The crimson crochet-blanket was warm and soft, wrapped around my torso as I curled up on the sofa in the attic. In my lap was spread the Book of Shadows, bits of the yellowed pages flaking off onto the blanket. The tips of my fingers traced the image of the menacing red demon on the page I gazed down at, unable to really believe what I was seeing - but what I knew, ultimately, to be true.

"Beware of this Demonic Soldier of Fortune. Both powerful and dangerous, he has destroyed countless witches, innocents, and demons. As sinister as he is intelligent, he is not to be trusted. Belthazor's known abilities include throwing energy balls and shimmering from place to place, but his powers are probably not limited to these capabilities. Because there is no known way to defeat him, Belthazor should be avoided at all costs."

I scoffed to myself. Yeah, avoided if he was still alive that was - which he was most certainly not. The girls had made sure of that.

A sharp knock on wood shook me from my reverie, my brown eyes instantly snapping to the sound. Standing there in the doorway with a sheepish little smile on her face was none other than Phoebe.

I bit my lip. To be honest, I had been avoiding her a bit. And she me, I believe. Neither of us really knew what to say to the other when my demonic parentage had been revealed so unceremoniously the previous week.

But in her defense, a lot had transpired since then. For example, Piper and I had made up after our spat and Wyatt was finally enrolled into pre-school. We were all more than a little worried about him showing his powers though - orbing and the like. Piper had more than a little apprehension over it.

Phoebe sent me a wobbly smile as she gingerly sat down beside me on the worn, red sofa.

"How you holding up?" she asked me, her voice gentle as always.

I shrugged, biting down hard on my lip. If I was being honest, I really didn't know how to answer that. How was I holding up? I just found out my father was a deranged demon who was also incidentally the Source of All Evil. And that my psuedo-older-sister was briefly my step-mom and oh, yeah, murdered him, too. How did she think I was doing?

I settled for a shrug.

She nodded, understanding without me having to spell it out, "Look, if I had known that you were-"

"-your psycho ex's daughter?" I interjected helpfully.

Phoebe stopped short, catching my eye before going on, "-my ex-husband's child - that Cole even had a child...I would have found you immediately. You know that, right?"

"Why, though? I'm nothing to you, Pheebs. Nothing at all. Well...not besides what I've become by living here, by you guys taking me in,"

She shook her head, not having any of my self-deprecating "nonsense" as she liked to call it. Tentatively, as if scared I would shy away from her touch, she pressed a gentle hand on my cheek.

"If you're Cole's, then that makes you mine, too. Not by blood but...but because Cole was apart of my life. I married him... You're my step-daughter, Mattie,"

Sighing once, more to myself than for her benefit, I tried to move away from her, "I was your step-daughter, Phoebe. Not anymore, remember? You killed him - he's dead."

But the bitterness in my words weren't aimed at her. No, I had no blame or animosity for them because of what happened. I knew it had to be done - Cole was out of control, he had to be stopped. I just...it was a strange sort of feeling, like an ache deep in your chest. Probably because with him gone, now we would never be able to meet. I never really thought I even wanted to meet him. But now, even if I had, I knew I'd never get that chance.

But the middle Halliwell sister was not swayed, not easily persuaded in her resolve.

Gently, her hand held firmly to my face, "Honey, for all intents and purposes - you still are. So Cole is gone, so we got divorced. Does that make you less my child than if he were still here? You're already family to me, Matt. One way or another. So in my eyes, yes, you are my daughter."

My own brown eyes filled with hot tears, her words really hitting home in that moment - that one single, solitary moment when feelings of anguish and abandonment were swirling up inside of me once more. I hadn't felt that way since I was a child.

Without any fanfare, without any words spoken at all, Phoebe - tears in her own eyes as well - took me into her arms. The tears came then in angry, bitter sobs as she held onto me tightly, never letting go. Her hand rubbed my back gently in a motherly fashion I had missed so dearly. One thing I knew was certain - Phoebe would never replace my own mother, not for anything. But no matter what, I knew she would be there for me. And she would be the best second mother I could ever ask for or hope to have in my life.

A tiny laugh bubbled up from my lips then as, furiously wiping at my eyes to get rid of the evidence of tears, I pulled away to face her, "But why in the world did he name me 'Grace', though? Is that all he could think of?"

Phoebe giggled at my question, shaking her head playfully before replying, "Well, you do know he was born in 1885. I'm sure everyone was named Grace back then."

Childishly, I stuck my tongue out at her but she only laughed in response. Silence ensued then and a thought occurred to me - one that had been gnawing at me ever since I found out the identity of my father.

"Hey, one last thing I wanted to ask you..." I trailed off, unsure of how she'd react to my request.

But Phoebe, as always, smiled back at me kindly, "What would that be?"

"Can, um..." I started, struggling to get the words past my lips as I plunged ahead, "Can you take me to see him?"

At first, her brows creased in confusion, not understanding the question - or rather, understanding it incorrectly. But as soon as she figured out I hadn't meant Cole, her expression softened into that of something unfamiliar, private. Like I had pulled a veil back and saw a side of her people rarely did.

Her hand found mine then, squeezing gently before she replied softly, eyes brimming with tears, "He's at Angelus Rosedale. I'll take you to meet him soon."

I shot her a grateful smile at the prospect of finally being able to meet my half-brother, even if it was too late physically. There was a sharp pain that was a mixture of eagerness and bitterness locked inside my chest because of this.

Suddenly, a very disheveled and likely disgruntled Piper burst into the attic. With her hands on her hips and a grim expression plastered to her face, I knew what she had to say was nothing good.

"Think you two might wanna come see this. By the way, anyone know anything about the Headless Horseman?"