Daimon. Given what she'd seen in his head, she could only imagine that his parents had a twisted sense of humor. She met his smirk with raised eyebrows and a very small smile of her own, "Wanda." A cab drove up the street with its on-duty light lit, and Wanda raised her free hand to flag it down. She helped Daimon into the back of it.
From afar their illusion of winter clothes worked, but up close it was obvious that something was amiss. The cabbie stared at them suspiciously in the rearview mirror, on the verge of suggesting they get right back out of his cab. Wanda wiped her bloody palms onto her jeans and then held a hand out beside the driver's head, watching red energy flow from her fingers into his temple. "You will take us where we want to go," she told him, quiet but stern. "You will forget you ever did." The man nodded dumbly, gaze fixed straight ahead on the road now, and put the taxi into gear. Wanda glanced sidelong at Daimon to ask, "So what's the address?"