Can’t get enough of SyFy’s new show Lost Girl? Neither can we, so we’ve begun a weekly recap. Don’t miss any of Kiersten Krum’s episode reviews: episode 4, episode 5, episode 6, episode 7, episode 8, episode 9, episode 10, and episode 11.
And now, on to the recap of episode 12, “(Dis)Membership"...
We begin at The Dal (drink!) where Hale and Dyson are pouring over a map as Hale points out where a whole bunch of rifle action will be. “Well, I will be way over here, Papa Bear,” quips Dyson as Bo and Kenzi enter the bar behind him. “So you don’t have to worry about my ass.”
“And may I say for the record,” Bo says, wrapping her arms around Dyson, “what an ass!” He grins down at her. “Hello, beautiful.” I am a little giddy, I won’t lie. Behind Bo, Kenzi rolls her eyes at Hale and sneers. Bo wonders if they’re planning a raid on some moonshiners, and Dyson explains that he scored himself a long weekend and is going bear hunting. “Orange vest, rifles, and beer coolers?” Bo says. “Sign me the hell up.” Dyson: “That ain’t the way I hunt, babe.” They make happy, lovey dovey eyes at each other, and it’s so disgustingly cute, and I don’t care ’cause I eat it up like a double cookie dough ice cream hot fudge sundae with extra whip cream. Seriously, I even caught myself smiling. It was very weird.
Kenzi: “If you kill Yogi and Boo Boo, I am never talking to you again.” Bo wonders if Hale is part of this expedition. Hale: “Shee-it,” and admits that the closest he gets to a bear is a rug in front of the fireplace. “My boy’s forest playtime is strictly a solo affair.” I love that great character note that is Hale and his tea.
Bo suddenly catches on and whines a bit that with Dyson’s busy work load, they’ve barely seen each other recently and now he’s going to spend the weekend alone in the woods. “We could go away together,” she suggests and then hears the words that are coming out of her mouth. She laughs, “Oh God. Is that too relationshippy?” Dyson smiles and the top of my head lifts right off. “Just enough,” he assures her and wonders what she has in mind. Dude is sunk. When guys start agreeing to mini-breaks at B&Bs, they are goners for sure.
Bo: “Why don’t you come over tonight and we can put our heads together and come up with a nice place to go?” Dyson, grinning and 100% adorable: “You and I put our heads together we don’t do too much figurin’.” They’re moving toward each other during this exchange, not that there was a whole lotta space between them to begin with, and now they start kissing, totally and completely lost in one another. I dig this so hard because up till now, these two have never had the chance to simply be happy with one another and it’s a lovely thing to behold. God, I’m such a sap.
Thankfully, there’s Hale and Kenzi to pull me back who, hysterically lean forward from behind their respective alphas to simultaneously mime gagging themselves over the lovey dovey display. They debunk from the Bo and Dyson show. “I can never tell with those two whether they’re on or off,” Kenzi admits. Hale: “I’d put money on them fighting again in two weeks and back to square one.” They exchange looks and immediately pull out their phones. Kenzi picks a date. “Closest one wins twenty bucks.” Hale: “In the event of a tie, we’re down to the hour and the minute.” They shake on it. Hale and Kenzi for-evah! Behind them, Dyson and Bo are still macking and have been this whole while. I know; I rewound it to check. Several times.
We cut to a pretty park where a groundskeeper is trimming a tree, listening to tunes, and essentially acting high as a kite. A hand with a rock comes out from nowhere and hits him on the head. The man goes down bleeding as vines from a nearby bush snake out and wrap around him. He starts to scream as the vines drag him back into the bushes and we hear the sounds of his tragic demise.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo and Dyson are in the bathtub together. Oh hell, where’s my water bowl?! By the way, those are some seriously well-placed bubbles there on Bo. Very strategic. They’re reviewing brochures for bed and breakfasts options. Dyson dismisses one with three words “green tea colonics. That sounds so refreshing.” Bo suggests another one. Dyson: “Yeah, that one’s run by a couple of fairies. Literally, like wings and everything. Flittin’ around, getting’ in your business. Not very relaxing.” Bo snatches it back and wonders “whom, pray tell,” he went there with, then immediately demands he not tell her and that they just pick one. Dyson’s face is priceless parade of thoughts Bo can’t see nestled as she is in front of him her back to his front. Sigh. Can. You. Imagine? Dyson: “Well then it has to be the theme motel. Look, they got a pirate room. Arr!” Guys, I am dying at the sweetness. Bo just keeps giggling. She is liking playful Dyson. How could you not? Bo: “You’ve been alive for centuries and you’re still an 8-year-old boy.” They are all, honey. Sometimes, you might get lucky and get a 10-year-old, but really, there’s not too much difference.
Enter Kenzi: “I’m really sorry to interrupt rubber ducky time.” HA! It amuses me that she feels so free to walk in on them and neither Bo nor Dyson even flinch. Family. Comes from all kinds of places. Also, it’s not like a shifter and a succubus tend to be overly modest. The women have a client consult with someone from Kenzi’s “less than legit exploits” who she kind of owes. “So – thanks!” she brightly ends with and bounces away. “Nice timing there, Kenzi,” Dyson calls after her. “Anytime babe!” she shouts back.
Downstairs, Bo meets Kenzi’s friend whose cousin, Thumper, has gone missing. Bo: “You’re cousin’s a rabbit?” Friend explains that it’s a street name, like Kenzi’s moniker Meow Meow. Bo is mightily amused to hear about Kenzi’s alter ego. Friend goes on to explain that Thumper has only been in the country two weeks and is an illegal. He’s in country for only two weeks and already has a street name?! That’s some quick initiation there, fellas. Friend got Thumper a job as a groundskeeper at the hoity toity country club where Friend works but the other day, Thumper didn’t show up for his ride home. Kenzi supplies that Neville here works in the kitchen, and we have, for the first time, a name for the client of the week within the first 10 minutes. Way to raise your game, show!
Neville has already asked around, vigorously, but no one saw Thumper and Neville can’t go to the cops because that will get his cousin deported, something that’s less of a concern as we know Thumper is already dead, but Neville doesn’t know that. “That club,” Neville begins. “there’s some weird ass stuff that goes on there.” Immediately, Bo’s faedar goes up. “We’re listening.” Neville explains the club goes out of its way to hire illegals, and Kenzi says this is because they work for practically nothing, but Neville disagrees. “No, because maybe these rich people are selling them into slavery or stealing their organs or some shit.” He admits he sounds crazy, but Kenzi assures them they have heard much weirder things. She promises him they are going to find out what happened, “cross my heart,” and they do some super sekrit street handshake to seal it. Relieved, Neville chuckles. “Thanks. That’s the old Meow Meow.” Bo asks if there’s anything else Neville can give them and he passes over the name of a gossip queen, Blake, who knows everything that goes on at the club. Neville wonders how our ladies are going to get close, and Kenzi and Bo exchange conspirator smiles.
Back upstairs, Dyson is still lounging in the bath. Splashtastic. Bo and Kenzi hover on the edge of the tub while the super bubbles presumably hide his big manly night stick. “No way,” Dyson says emphatically. Kenzi assures him she’ll be the one going undercover as kitchen staff while he gets to pose as a member “and live the good life!” Dyson wishes them well, but “I’m on vacation, remember?” Bo insists that her cover will work so much better if he comes along as her husband, and Dyson laughs, genuinely. “Is that a proposal?” and she grins back at him (but doesn’t answer!!). Kenzi implores that he would be helping her do a solid for a friend. Dyson points out that Neville is Kenzi’s pal, not his. Kenzi whacks him on the arm and Dyson grimaces playfully, “Ow!” and laughs.
“Remind me,” Bo ponders, “what was that time recently when you were wanted for murder and I totally covered your ass?” Kenzi plays along: “You total saved his life too!” Bo nods, “You know, now that you mention it, I think you’re right without asking a single thing in return!” Dyson rolls his eyes, but knows he’s sunk. “Come on,” Bo cajoles, wiping bubbles from his furry face and tapping his nose. “You are going to look so cute in a polo shirt and a pair of chinos.”
At the country club, Bo and Dyson are on a balcony overlooking the pool and getting the full sell from the douche director. Bo is a knock out in a form-fitting coral flower dress, her long hair in rare full display. Dyson is in the aforementioned polo and chinos with a sports jacket and looks just as yummy as he does rocking his cop vests. They follow Douchector into his office as he rattles off their cover – Mr. and Mrs. Thornwood, banker and diplomat for the UN respectably. It’s a little scary how easily they slip into these covers, and it’s not at all hard to see them in this alternative, fae-free life. Bo chatters away as Douchector gently interrogates them. As Dyson watches her prattle on, he catches sight of his faux wedding ring and doesn’t look too upset to ponder its meaning.
Finally, Douchector smarms that he doesn’t think they’ll have any problem and should have them signed up for membership in a month. Bo’s mouth drops, and Dyson drawls, “Actually, Mitch, we were hoping to join the club ah - ,” but Bo interrupts, leaning forward to touch Mitch’s hand and jolt him with the succubus juice and finishes Dyson’s sentence “as soon as possible.” Dyson watches and is clearly not happy but doesn’t interfere. She is being really flirty with Mitch though I don’t think it’s any more than she usually does when she’s–er–pumping people for information.
“Would today work?” Mitch asks and Bo giggles that it would make her very happy. “One probationary membership coming up.” Dyson raises his chin. “Ah, two.” Mitch backpedals and writes them up two slips while Bo pours on more charm. “You are such a peach! I could just eat you right up.” Mitch smarms that he can give her a personal orientation tour. Bo hands the membership cards over to Dyson, who is watching Mitch like a wolf sizing up his prey, and dissembles that they don’t want to take Mitch away from his work. She touches his hand again and juices him while asking where to find the gossip queen, Blake. Mitch douchily tells them Blake’s drinker but is usually on the tennis court this time of day. Bo is still in charm mode, chirping that they’ll find Blake on their own and “we’ll see you – later,” to Mitch who seems to be reading his own meaning into her words. I do not think they mean what he thinks they mean.
Dyson hasn’t said a word since Bo started the succubus spiel but has been watching it all very carefully. Something is cooking in the wolf boy. He stands as she rises and with a coy wave back at Mitch, Bo takes Dyson’s hand and they exit. Behind them, Mitch pounds the table in misplaced triumph all I am so in there.
In the club’s kitchen, the head chef in interviewing – Kenzi?! She is dressed in the club uniform of green polo and black skirt with apron, her hair braided back tight from her head and sporting a pink hibiscus, make up even more pronounced than usual. On the far side of the kitchen, Neville watches the proceedings while cleaning the knives. Head Chef posits that it’s a long way from Venezuela and, in a think mashed up South American/Asian/Spanglish accent, she agrees. Kenzi tries to pump the cook for information, mentioning the high turnover of illegal workers, but Head Chef assures her that no one will call immigration. Kenzi wonders if there are any horror stories about the members and Head Chef sneers at them for being nouveau riche. She advises Kenzi stay on their good side but not let them intimidate her. Kenzi naturally, has started to snack on the veggies nearby. Did she learn nothing from Food for Thought?! “Hey!” Head Chef exclaims. “And no snacking on the job.” It’s a fireable offense. Kenzi agrees but exchanges this bitch is crazy glances with Neville.
In tennis whites, Dyson and Bo stride across the court toward a drunken woman in a pink visor who is still solidly hitting tennis balls over the net. With Bo leading the way, Dyson swings his racket as though limbering up with his sword, including a nice over-the-head downward slice. “Nice backhand,” Bo compliments the woman. “Thanks,” Blake says, for it is she. “I perfected it on my ex-husband.” Oh, I’m gonna like this boozehound, I can tell.
Bo introduces herself and her husband Dyson (sigh), admitting that they’re new at the club. “We’ve been travelling so much, I’m a little rusty,” Bo gushes. Blake, eyes fixed on Dyson: “A good stiff one usually loosens me right up.” He snatches a tennis ball out of the air and peers at her all I know I heard you wrong, lady. “Excuse me?” Bo asks in the same tone and Blake holds up her glass. “Drink,” she clarifies. “Stiff drink.” She introduces herself and Bo confesses they were looking for her. “I would love to get the scoop on this place from a real insider,” and invites her to lunch. Blake continues hitting tennis balls while Bo chatters and Dyson’s head whips back and forth watching each ball she strikes sail over the net. I kid you not, it’s as if the wolf inside is thinking about chasing after one. He is on vacation, after all.
Blake: “Well aren’t you two adorable.” I know, right?! They really are! As they leave the tennis courts, a dodgy looking groundskeeper hovering behind the gate looks on ominously.
Poolside, Blake is slurring away about the club bitches to Bo and Dyson. “This place is just a bunch of ass-kissing wannabes. Most of them are peasants in Gucci.” She poses that they probably didn’t even play fair to get it either. Waitress Kenzi is refilling Blake’s wine glass while topping off Bo and Dyson’s water goblets. Dyson is paying little attention to Blake, but is highly amused by Kenzi in her undercover role. “You’re very good at that, señorita,” he says to Kenzi, hiding a furry smile behind his hand. “Thank you, señor,” she replies in her role and covertly flips him the bird. Dyson responds with a grinning eyebrow waggle. Oh just kill me now.
Bo, oblivious as usual, wonders if they’re talking dodgy accounting or what. Blake says Mitch and Chloe, his wife, “the bitch of the ball,” have this rather exclusive clique. She points Chloe out on the other side of the pool where a blonde power wife has stopped Waitress Kenzi in her tracks. “Cheap teeth, cheap tan…cheap tits.” Excellent alliteration there, Blake. She can’t figure out what they get up to behind closed doors, but somehow they’re making one another obscenely rich. She explains that once a month, they have an exclusive, invitation only scotch tasting. There’s actually one tonight. Bo and Dyson both react to that all cagy and oh really? Bo: “Sounds juicy. I’d love a peek.”
They’re attention is drawn across the pool by a shout and a desperate “Oh, señora!” Waitress Kenzi has spilled wine all over Chloe’s white tennis dress. As she desperately mops at the blonde, Dyson and Bo exchange amused knowing looks. Blake chortles, “Remind me to tip that one,” as Waitress Kenzi flees for the bar. Catching her breath, she sees creepy groundskeeper watching her from behind the bushes.
Back in the kitchen, Head Chef warns Waitress Kenzi that there’s already one strike against her. Every strike goes in the file that Mitch keeps detailing every screw up by every staff member. As Head Chef goes out to pick some fresh squash, Neville warns Kenzi that she needs to watch herself or she’ll be out before she can even get started. Thumper had two strikes against him by the time he disappeared and Chloe was itching to fire him.
Somewhere on the grounds, Blake is drunk jogging in her tennis whites and pink visor as Chloe drives up behind her in a golf cart. Chloe prattles on about board nominations and agendas, but Blake cuts her off to say that when she, Blake, gets her seat on the board, there will be a lot more dividends coming her way. Blake drunk jogs off while Chloe pouts, “That’s what I was afraid of.” She drives up behind Blake and conks her over the head with a golf iron, shouting “Fore!” Snort! Chloe muses that Blake isn’t country club material after all. “She’s all yours,” she mwah ha has as the creepy vines, um, creep out from the nearby bushes to wrap around Blake.
In the kitchen, Kenzi accidently knocks over something important. She looks up to see CGK standing on the other side of the chopping block. “You’re in real trouble, missy,” he warns. Freaked out, Kenzi runs off.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo and Dyson are making out on the couch, still in their country club wear. Bo compliments him on his skill at undercover work. “Who knew you could be so duplicitous?” Dyson flinches slightly. “I’ve got my secrets.” Bo chirps that he can’t keep any secrets from her, interspersing her words with more kisses. “It’s just one of the things that I love about you.” Dyson looks like he just sucked on a lemon. I duck repeatedly, because I don’t want to be hit in the head by the anvils falling all over this scene – ow! We all know Dyson knows more than he’s said about Bo’s past, but I can’t blame him for not fessing up when they just managed to come back from the last time he was an asshole to her. Also, I’m getting a little disturbed by cutesy wootsy Bo. It’s not at all like her and it’s starting to weird me out.
Kenzi limps in from her late shift and plops down on the couch next to them, throwing her shoes across the room. “Public transport sucks tail.” It cracks me up how she constantly invades their couple space, first in the bath and now on the make out couch. I also dig how Bo and Dyson immediately make room for her.
Dyson starts in on Kenzi, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Senorita, the servant’s entrance is in the rear.” Bo smacks his shoulder. “Bite my rear, dog breath,” Kenzi sneers and Dyson laughs. I freaking love these two together. Love it love it love it. Kenzi gripes that she just spent 45 minutes on the subway with a woman clipping her nails in Kenzi’s face and a man “poking what I can only hope was a baguette in my back. And my feet really hurt, so someone please,” here she swings her legs and feet up across Bo and Dyson’s laps, “give me a foot massage, stat.”
Bo supports Kenzi’s legs and asks what she found out as Dyson starts rubbing Kenzi’s feet – oh my giddy aunt, can you imagine?! Kenzi confirms that the club does employ a lot of illegals and “oh my God, that’s amazing.” Her head drops back off the end of the couch. “I can almost forget how mad I am at you guys.”
Bo wonders if Dyson knows any fae that prey on employees, and Dyson points out that nothing here points to a fae killing. Kenzi alerts them to Chloe’s hit list and that Thumper was on it. Dyson says no one kills workers over performance problems and they’re probably just working elsewhere. Bo: “My gut says different and, come on, so does yours,” and by the look on his face, she’s pegged him right as usual. Dyson agrees to get Hale to do background checks on some of the members. Bo says meanwhile, they should crash the scotch tasting. Dyson: “Think you can get us in?” Bo: “Watch me.” He chuckles a little and I think, much as it bothers him to see her come on to other people in order to get information, he kind of digs watching her do her thang at the same time. The that’s my woman response. They’re mutual love fest is interrupted by Kenzi’s snore as she passes out.
In a pricey, stunning white on white suit, Bo is buttoning up Dyson’s equal high class, soft pink Oxford and the way they’re looking at one another makes me think we just missed some serious nookie time. Dammit. Hale wanders in. “Well lookee lookee, everyone’s getting all glamorous for a night out.” He’s a little bitchy with it too. Kenzi pipes up from the kitchen where she is fiddling with some gadgets that some of them are having less glamorous nights than others, “so thanks, guys.” Um, wasn’t this whole undercover operation Kenzi’s idea in the first place? Shuddup, Kenzi.
Hale hands Dyson a folder saying he spent all afternoon digging into the club member’s financials. Bo admits to still being creeped out that the fae can access such personal information so easily. Kenzi: “Yeah? Well, it creeps me out that they think of humans as one of the four basic food groups.” Hale wanders into the kitchen and automatically starts reassembling Kenzi’s Mag light, who goes on to say that she’s pretty sure the CGK is sizing her up to fit in a bun. Hale snorts. “Must be just looking for a snack.” Hale downloads everyone while Kenzi smacks him in the shoulder hard enough that she loses her seat on her stool. Most of the members had significant bumps in their bank accounts soon after joining the club. Dyson wonders if it’s a kickback scheme and Kenzi adds that Thumper could have found something out and they killed him for it. Hale is testing out the Mag light on Kenzi and hilariously turns it on the hair hibiscus before she bats it away. The rhythm in this scene between the four of them couldn’t be better; they are so in tune with one another on various levels. Bo says they now have a plan of attack for the scotch tasting that night and while they do that… Kenzi, snatching her mini binoculars off of Hale’s face, finishes up, “will let myself into Herr Director’s office and see if I can find anything incriminating.” Hale: “And I’ll have your back.” Awww.
There’s a knock at the door. Dyson is still flipping through the file and Bo presses his arm before going to answer it. Hale and Kenzi are arguing about their upcoming B&E. Kenzi: “Can I have a gun?” Hale: “No.” Kenzi: “Grenade?” “Nope.” Kenzi: “A magic sword?” Hale gives her a girl, please look. Kenzi: “Come on!”
Bo opens the door and the music goes all squirrelly as Saskia comes into view all Hail Girlfriend, well met. She eyes Bo’s expensive suit with distain. “What are you modeling for GQ now?” she scoffs, moving to enter. Bo blocks her way with a smack back on her shoulder. “What do you want, Saskia?” she demands, unfriendly. Saskia tries to cute it up. “Oh, I don’t know; a 24-hour international orgy? But I’ll settle for a night on the town with my fellow sex fiend.” Bo says no how, no way. Throughout their entire conversation, Dyson is in distant view behind Bo’s shoulder.
Saskia claims she doesn’t like how they left things last time and wants a fresh start. “Plus there’s a certain debauched rock band in town. I’m talking sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll at a level so high you need NASA training.” Bo snits that she has plans and Saskia really doesn’t like that. Her gaze lands on Dyson. “With the Ken doll? You’re not serious.” Bo checks Dyson then raises her arm to block Saskia’s view. “What if it is serious?” she asks. “Are you going steady?” Saskia mocks. “Cause that would make you the lamest succubus in history.” Bo pushes her out. “Good night, Saskia.” Saskia trills that Bo doesn’t know what she’s missing. Bo shuts the door, but her expression shows her inner conflict.
As she returns to Dyson’s side, he asks who was at the door and Bo shrugs it off as a former client she wasn’t able to help. She puts her arm around his neck and jokes, “what do you say we have James bring the car around?” and Dyson smiles at her. “Indeed.”
At the club (eh, sip), Mitch is leading Bo and Dyson downstairs to the sekrit sekrit scotch tasting. He does a little dance and walks them down the corridor Bo on his left arm; his right around Dyson’s shoulders in false bonhomie. “We don’t usually allow newcomers to join our soiree,” he smarms and Bo giggles that they are so grateful, “aren’t we babe?” Dyson, strained: “Oh, we are so grateful.” Bo chatters on in character about believing in community and how she and Dyson feel the special group is just what they’re looking for. Mitch thinks they’ll find everyone “simpatico” but warns that this isn’t a tradition scotch tasting. He opens the French doors to the patio with a flare and mimes swinging a golf club. “Welcome to Scotch Night,” he declares. Bo’s mouth drops open and Dyson’s brows go up as they observe the scotch group in various forms of undress cavorting about the patio. Scotch night is actually Swingers night. Chloe beckons them from the hot tub as Mitch preens, Bo grimaces slightly and Dyson clearly thinks “I gave up hunting for this?”
Back at the main club, Hale and Kenzi are breaking into Mitch’s office. Hale notes that Kenzi’s a little too good at that and calls her short stuff. “It’s a vocation,” she emphasizes. “And call me short one more time and I will cut you.” He calls her touchy and spicy and she’s says he would be too if he was on “these rich freaks hit list.” Kenzi boots up the computer while Hale goes for the paper files. “Let the long night of research begin.” Hale: “Welcome to half my job.” This sets Kenzi off on a rant about how it’s same old same old. “You and me do all the grunt work while Bo and Dyson get all the damn glory.” She hopes that tonight, they’re the ones suffering.
Cut to Bo huddling in the hot tub with Dyson beside her spread armed and superior. Chloe sits across from them. Bo: “So. This is nice.” Dyson, pointedly: “Yes it’s delightful. So much better than hunting.” Bo narrows her eyes at him and he raises those brows again. The nonverbal communication between these two is almost as entertaining as the quipping. Chloe latches onto the fact that he hunts. “That’s so – primal,” she says with a wiggle. Honey, you have no idea. Bo: “Oh, you have no idea.” Ha! Incidentally, Chloe isn’t even trying to hide the fact that she has plans for Dyson and his big, manly night stick.
Bo, trying to stay on mission, wonders why Blake isn’t a part of Swingers night as she seems to be an A lister. Mitch smarms that she’s a “valuable member but not really a team player,” but gets diverted and possibly aroused by Head Chef’s arrival with a tray of food that Chloe delights in noting its fresh from their own garden. Dyson and Bo exchange more speaking looks as Head Chef, whom Chloe now calls Amy, details the many organic delights she has prepared for them. “Me darlin’?” Dyson drawls, sliding closer to Bo, “I would say that Mitch is hiding something.” Bo looks at Mitch who chooses that moment to drop his towel and reveal his blue, Speedo swimsuit. Bo, dryly: “I would say he’s not hiding enough.” Snort.
Mitch splashes into the hot tub, drenching Bo and he and Chloe give Bo and Dyson, respectively, their best seducing looks and maneuvers. Bo kinda smiles/grimaces again while Dyson gives Chloe a neutral smile and that slaying eyebrow waggle again. Seriously, those brows should get a line credit tonight ‘cause they are workin’ overtime for sure.
Back in Mitch’s office, Kenzi is disappointed to find nothing of worth on the computer. Hale brings over a file of stories about various members’ successes since joining the club. “Belonging to this club means you have ah-rrived!” Kenzi wonders if they’re all pulling strings for each other. She shows Hale how Mitch stupidly kept files on all the illegal employees. She finds her own file where there are already two strikes marked at the top of the page. Hale laughs at her: “You should be more worried about that picture!” He realizes that the most any employee has is three strikes.
Suddenly, they hear footsteps approaching. Kenzi freaks and drags Hale down behind the desk with her. CGK shows up at the door. “He already told me I was in trouble,” Kenzi whispers frantically, “and he said no one could help me!” Hale tells her to relax and calls her “little momma.” Kenzi: “Do not call me little!” Hale tries to calm her down while CGK tries the locked door. Kenzi says she can’t, CGK is just too creepy. Hale uses his soothing non-siren voice, urging her to come closer. We can only see one hand from each on the on top of the desk. Kenzi’s hand is wrapped around the Mag light, her fingers twitching with fear. Slowly, Hale slides his hand closer to hers as Kenzi tries to stop freaking until his fingers touch hers and she catches on. Kenzi, springing up to her feet: “This is not a sexy undercover moment!” Hale, rising slowly and more serious than I expect: “No ma’am we are – we are all business.” Kenzi orders him to get his damn files and hopes that Bo and Dyson are getting something useful on their end. Ah – nope, not even. That’s just way too easy.
Robed and hot tub free, Bo and Dyson meander poolside while Mitch and Chloe try to sell them on the “positive energy” that can be felt flowing through the club. She and Mitch mack on one another. Dyson glances away with an all righty then expression, but Bo is beginning to get that hungry look on her face as she watches them. Mitch savors the kiss “tastes like success,” and hastens to add that they are very discrete. Dyson is ignoring them, looking around the patio. “We, ah,” Bo begins putting an arm around Dyson’s waist. “We didn’t realize.” Mitch smarms that he did, and cites the way Bo came on to him during the interview, touching his hand with Dyson looking on. A couple stops next to them, disrobing, and starts to make out. Bo watches them, and it’s clear she’s swiftly heading to the point of no return. Chloe adds that they showed up without an invitation…or bathing suits. She reaches out and pulls open the tie holding Bo’s robe closed. Mitch: “We knew right away you were our kind of couple.”
As Mitch drops his robe, Chloe urges them not to be shy. “We’re not.” Mitch puts his hand on Dyson’s shoulder, but Dyson is watching a heavy breathing Bo as though waiting for her to say something and stop the lascivious couple, but she is already too far down the succubus rabbit hole. “Unfortunately, I have an early morning,” he finally tells them. “Maybe another time.” As Chloe puts her hand on Bo’s chest, Bo visibly works to dial herself back from the edge. “Right. Another time.” She tightens her robe sash and they leave.
Scene of the Night
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo is stalking into her bedroom, aggravated, limping, and yelling at Dyson. “OK, will you just spit it out already?! What was your problem tonight?” Dyson takes off his jacket and pours a glass of lemon-flavored water from the waiting pitcher. OK, who exactly set that up for them? Kenzi? Or did James the chauffer pull double duty while they were fending off the handsy set? Bo: “So you’re not a swinger Dyson, big frickin’ news flash!” She doesn’t understand why that would make him blow a chance to get more information. “How do women wear these frickin’ shoes?!” she finishes, plopping down on the bed and throwing her heels across the room. Dyson snaps back, “Well I guess we’ll have to find a less sleazy way of getting our information!”
This is an interesting wrinkle because, up till now, with the crap he’s thrown at her, Bo’s been doing a lot of the succubus wiles action without Dyson around to see it or pretending that, in theory, it doesn’t bother him. Like when she turned the juice on the art dealer last week in Faetal Justice or when she fed off of Hale in Arachnofaebia. Now that they’re momentarily in shiny happy people land together, he’s definitely not enjoying watching her come on to other people even for their benefit and the thought of her banging someone else with him around is a total oh hell no! moment for him. Bo, whose been doing this her whole life in one way or another, can’t see what the big deal is; ends justify and all that. Her sexuality and the power she derives from it is like breathing to her; she’s not used to considering how it looks to others, particularly her equally alpha lover.
OK – back to the super duper awesome scene.
Bo: “Hey! You talk to me!” Dyson breaks and crosses the room to her while saying the following. “I don’t want to share you Bo! I don’t want anyone else’s hands on your body. I don’t want anyone’s mouth on yours.” Swoon. He knows that this is the last thing that Bo wants to hear right now. Bo: “Why wouldn’t I want to hear that?” Dyson, with feeling, says because she’s a succubus and it’s not in her nature to be monogamous. Bo admits, with equal feeling, that she is fighting her nature for him. “And I am more than just my species. And I don’t see you out there running around howling at the moon and chasing rabbits all day!” Dyson, a little calmer, admits that she has a good point and Bo, with a little bite, says she knows.
Holy crap, an emotional, frank, adult conversation about feelings and expectations in a relationship. Who knew?!
Dyson admits that he’s been through more relationships than Bo and he knows that lying about who you are or trying to change the person that you care about never ends well. Good grief, self aware too?! He kneels before her. “I can be intense,” he says – intensely. “I can be territorial and God knows I can be – mule-headed. But I’m also yours. If you’ll have me.” I am a puddle on the friggin’ floor.
Bo chuckles, giddy with his uncharacteristic revelation. “Dyson, you are an idiot.” I love that this is her first response because it shows just how far they’ve come and how well they know one another. “You’ve been mine for a very long time.”
“Well you better be careful,” he warns. “‘Cause wolves mate for life.” She chuckles again “Oh you don’t scare me.” and strokes a hand over his face, cradling it. Bo goes on to say that she’s not making any promises and not asking for any in return except that they keep talking like this and stay honest. “The only chance we have of making this work is if there are no secrets between us.” Oh honey, way to toss the anvils around again. Dyson sighs with gravity and Bo asks if he promises. “No secrets,” he agrees. “I promise,” and he means it, and yet oh holy shit, we all know he’s got a whopper in his wheelhouse that he has got to come clean about, stat.
But not right now. Bo sighs heavily now that the hard part (heh) is done, or, for Dyson’s part, just beginning. “Can I just say – ” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Wow!” she teases. “That is the most amount of words I’ve ever heard you say!” Dyson exhales, relieved, happy, and looms up and over Bo, kissing her. “No more words,” he says shaking his head, so absolutely sweet and adorable I just – I just – dying. Bo, laughing, giddy, “no more words” and they kiss and fall back onto the bed and all is bloody well right in their worlds.
A near perfect, if temporary, HEA scene.
At the Dal (drink!), Trick is setting up chairs when country club clad Dyson and his long-legged stride wander in. “Nice threads,” Trick snarks. “Rules are rules: no booze before eleven.” Dyson, quite gravely, says he’s not there for a drink. Trick says Dyson looks like he could use one. Yeah, you might want to keep the bottle handy there, Trickster.
Dyson: “I’m done, Trick. No more keeping secrets from Bo. Either you tell her or I will. By tonight.” Trick: “Tell her what?” Dyson: “Everything.” Trick sighs and they exchange dark looks, but the T-man knows Dyson is right. I think he’s known it for a while.
Back at the club (sip), Dyson and Bo are lunching poolside. Both are sporting sunglasses and Bo is stunning in a blue and white flowered sundress while Dyson lounges (hotly, natch) in chinos and shirt, a long-sleeved sweater draped around his shoulders. They look like a million bucks. Dyson is on the phone as Kenzi approaches with their plates, bitching about how she wishes they hadn’t told her the club members are swingers. “I can feel everyone checking me out on the boinkability index.” Bo admonishes her to relax. “They only boink other members.” Kenzi decides that’s great, now she only has to worry about them killing her then as the file says the workers have three strikes and she already has two “and I already racked up another this morning because I was late.”
Dyson hangs up the phone, bemused. Hale has just told him that next year’s budget came through for their department with a 10% bump. “It’s weird,” Dyson muses. Apparently they used him as the poster boy to get the increase. And they only got 10%?! Bo teases: “Don’t play humble. You love it, Mister Thornwood.” Dyson waves it off. “Like I said, it’s weird.” Bo wonders if the prosperity of this place is rubbing off on them already. But wouldn’t it rub off on their undercover alter egos, not in their real lives? How can whatever fae that is running this show affect a life it knows nothing about? Sigh. Eh – whatever.
Waitress Kenzi comes back with coffee and sotto voce informs them that she’s asked around and that Blake woman has done a Thumper and vanished, though Rita in housekeeping saw Mitch driving her car. Dyson adds that Hale checked the file Kenzi gave him and the workers with three strikes against them are the ones disappearing. Kenzi frets that just proves her point. “I am murder fae bait and when they kill me, I am never talking to you ever again.”
As she leaves, Bo suggests that she and Dyson take a walk around. Dyson: “I think that’s a lovely idea.” Behind them, Waitress Kenzi crashes into another waitress. “Oh, I am done for!” As she scurries away, CGK watches her intently – again.
Bo and Dyson are tiptoeing through the tulips, holding hands and being silly and fantastic together. “You know,” Bo muses. “This wouldn’t be such a bad life. Almost boring.” Dyson: “Boring, huh?” and he pulls her around in a smooth dance twirl, pulling her close in an embrace as they start kissing again. Ahhhhh. “Well,” Bo says coming up for air. “I look forward to you boring me for a long time to come.” Dyson bends down to lift her up against him. “Me too,” and he nuzzles her cleavage with a hot, throaty growl. SPLASH!
They mosey onwards, hand in hand. Bo notices something on the ground and picks it up. Dyson wonders what it is. “It’s a lottery ticket,” Bo says, bewildered. “Must have dropped from somebody’s pocket.” They pause for Bo to scratch off the ticket. “Oh honey,” she breathes and I so dig the casual endearment. “I think I just won $25,000.” A little freaked, they both look around the area. “What’s that thing about the members becoming suddenly successful?” Dyson asks. “Yeah,” Bo agrees. “This is all getting really creepy.”
They suddenly see the CGK break free from a bush nearby (it is not my fault that that sounds really drrty) and take off running. Bo pursues directly while Dyson lopes off to flank him. Bo cautiously sneaks around a bushy corner in her Espadrilles when a hand suddenly taps her on the shoulder. She and her raised fist whirl around, but Dyson catches her fist, smiles, and – oh my giddy aunt, the sweetness! – kisses it.
Startled and annoyed, she smacks him on the shoulder. “Don’t do that!” With a full on smile (good grief woman, what have you done to our surly wolf boy?!), he pulls her close and apologizes. “Forgive me?” She wonders if he found anything. “Not even a scent,” he admits. Pointing out a shed up ahead of them, they move on, but the shed is a dead end. “You wanna bet Blake came out this way and never came back?” Bo says her words slowing as her gaze falls on a covered manhole. She points it out to Dyson. “It stinks out here,” he says and unfastens the cover. They both recoil from the horrendous smell. Using a conveniently nearby twig, Dyson prods the revolting sludge inside and pulls out Blake’s pink visor. “Whadya wanna make a bet this is Blake?” Dyson asks.
At the cop shop (drink!), Hale reviews the lab results with Bo and Dyson. The sludge matches the DNA results from the hair Kenzi got from Blake’s locker AND Thumper’s sample Bo got from Neville. “All sorts of DNA in that stew including trace amounts of fae.” Bo: “As in a fae left some behind while killing a bunch of humans.” That’s Hale’s guess. Dyson wonders if it matches any fae DNA in database, but Hale points out that not a lot of fae volunteer to donate.
Bo decides that this is getting much too gross to play it coy anymore. Dyson wonders what she has in mind. Bo: “Well, I’ve always preferred the direct approach.” WE KNOW!
Cut to Mitch smarming on the phone. “Loved it! She used to be a gymnast.” Bo chirps “Hi Mitch!” as she and Dyson stalk in. Mitch scampers back. Bo to Dyson: “See, I told you he’d be mad!” and to Mitch, “we are so sorry we had to run out on you last night.” Mitch pouts that it was just as the fun was getting started. Dyson: “She’d like to make it up to you, Mitch.” Mitch is all, oh reallyz?!
Bo grabs Mitch’s head and gives him the full succubus kiss. Dyson looks on, for once not at all unhappy to see Bo go to work. Mitch collapses on the desk, totally under her spell. Bo tells Mitch that they know Blake is dead and that he and his “hot tub buddies” get rich over murder. “We just want to know how it all works.” Mitch slurs that they’re not the only ones reaping the benefits; every member gets something out of it. Dyson asks how. Mitch smarms that he doesn’t even know and Bo sucks a little more out of him. Mitch admits that he was handpicked by the previous director and entrusted with the secret. Here he pauses and Bo smacks him on the back of the head. “What secret?!” Ha!
Mitch explains that their group gets together and picks a sacrifice from a member of the staff. Then they go out into the woods and something out there feeds on them. “What kind of something?” Dyson demands. Mitch doesn’t know, but every member reaps the rewards and the victims’ deaths benefit the society. “These are illegal immigrants; they’re not even supposed to be here.”
“Oh,” Bo snits. “That sound reasonable.” She shoves him back with a disgusted look. Mitch insists they only pick the ones that are incompetent. Bo: “Nice management style!” Mitch sighs and pets her arm adoringly and Bo snorts, repulsed. “Sounds like dark fae to me,” she says to Dyson. As they chat through this next bit, Mitch, still enthralled, continues to paw Bo while she, revolted, hilariously keeps shrugging him off. Dyson explains that if it is dark fae, then the only rule that’s been broken is exposure to humans and that’s a dark matter to punish. “I can’t intervene. But I can–” he grabs Mitch by the throat, surprising Bo who quickly gets out of the way as Dyson lifts Mitch into the air “make sure this piece of garbage doesn’t remember the last five years of his life! Good times are over, Mitch. You won’t even remember them.”
“OK!” Bo chirps with fake enthusiasm, slapping a hand on Dyson back as he tosses Mitch aside. It cracks me up that she doesn’t bat an eye over what Dyson has planned for Mitch. “So all I have to do is find and defeat a mysterious fae? Great.” Dyson calls good luck to her over his shoulder and then eyes Mitch who has finally realized he pissed off the wrong wolf.
At the Dal (drink!), Kenzi is in total meltdown. “So there’s this fae and it’s going to eat me. EAT ME!” Bo says that won’t happen if they can find it first and asks if Trick can help them out at all. Trick says if they’re dealing with a forest-dwelling fae, it could be any number of species. “Well,” Bo offers as Hale walks in super timey with a thermos full of sludge. “We have something that can help with that. Leftovers.” Feeding byproduct, Hale clarifies, that they hope Trick might have an opinion about.
Trick smells the sludge and recoils. This is like tasting milk that’s gone past its due date. Not like there’s a chance the laws of nature have changed and somehow the milk’s gonna taste good. Ditto the scent of fae sludge. Trick wonders if the club members have been on the receiving end of good fortune. Bo: “You’re gonna say that’s bad, aren’t you?”
Trick takes out a dead plant that he just happens to have hanging around the bar and pours the sludge on it. Immediately, the plant resurges as fresh green leaves pop up on the dead branches in a not-that-bad CGI maneuver.
Trick: “That’s not good at all.” Bo: “Because we’re dealing with an evil florist?” Snort. It’s a land wight, a nature fae that lives in harmony with the land. Kenzi: “Like a fae hippie?” Trick says it’s more like a shifter that can become completely indistinguishable from the plants it cares for. Hale notes this explains why Dyson couldn’t pick up a scent. A land wight flourishes in an organic environment, which is its strength, but also could be its weakness. Bo wonders how this explains the club members’ success and Trick informs them that anything that grows in this sludge becomes incredibly tasty and brings prosperity to any who eat it. Bo concludes that this land wight likes to eat people and Trick clarifies that it secrets a digestive juice onto its victim to soften it up and then swallows the resulting mass. The product waste becomes fertilizer for the plants that live on the land wight’s territory. I’m suddenly extremely glad I decided not to polish of my chocolate madness super cake while finishing this episode. Kenzi: “Wait. This fertilizer is fae pooh?” Trick, cheerfully: “Circle of life!”
Back at the club, Kenzi and Bo are inching their way through the fae pooh fertilized garden. “Oh, God!” Bo groans in misery. Kenzi: “Yes! This time is isn’t me that has to eat the gross thing!” Bo: “Why did I have to eat that salad?” Kenzi orders her to stay sharp. “I am still in danger. We gotta kill this land wight before I am the one pushing up the damn rutabagas!” They wonder who could be the land wight. Kenzi: “Somebody connected to nature…” Bo: “using fertilizer…” They spy CGK. Together: “Creepy groundskeeper.”
Bo sends Kenzi to the kitchen to do whatever she can to keep them from serving any more food while she goes after CGK.
Bo chases CGK “You are so going down!” CGK: “Not without a case of indigestion, girl!” Bo doesn’t understand. CGK turns on her with pruning shears. “And I’ll be damn sure to burn on the way out! You are NOT gonna eat me!”
Bo rips the shears from his hands. “Hey! I am not, not eating you! You are not, not eating me!” Snort. CGK: “Huh?” Bo accuses him of being the land wight. “I’m the groundskeeper! You’re the one who works for the monster!” Bo tells him he’s got it all wrong. He accuses her of being part of the secret group that feeds the rest of them whatever it is that makes the garden grow. Bo: “How do you know that?!” CGK: “I’ve been a groundskeeper for over 30 years. Nothing natural grows like that!” He knows about all the people disappearing too. “How do you think everything grows so nice and we’re not even allowed to use herbicide!”
Bo tries to calm him down, explaining that she’s undercover trying to help the workers. CGK, sizing her up and down: “You’re a cop?!” She clarifies that she’s there to kill “that plant thing” and if it’s not him, then who? He’s been trying to figure that out himself for months. “Who else has a vested interest in the garden?” Bo asks, but as she says the words, she has an epiphany, “Oh no. NO!” and goes off running.
Kenzi streaks into the kitchen yelling at the staff to stop. “It’s the garden, OK?! It’s like the attack of the mutant tomatoes or something!” Head Chef Amy tells Neville to give them a moment and demands to know what Kenzi is doing. No mention on her distinct and sudden lack of an accent though. Kenzi tells her that the vegetables are dangerous to the staff “And do you know what these grew out of?!” Head Chef Amy says she most certainly does know. Dun dun DUN!
Head Chef Amy grabs Kenzi wrists and vines snake out from under her chef’s coat to wrap around Kenzi’s neck. Bile grossly drips down and burns the floor. Kenzi, choking: “Venus – flytrap – mother–” Suddenly, Bo rushes in brandishing the shears. “Get your slimy vines off her or I will chop them off.” Insulted, Head Chef Amy snits that no human speaks to her that way and lives. Bo: “Who’s human?” Head Chef Amy wonders “so what’s your problem, sister?” Bo: “Uh, you’re drooling all over my friend here. And frankly, eating people is so low rent.”
Head Chef Amy explains that she cultivates her land and the creatures she allows to live on it have great lives as a result, but she needs to eat too. Kenzi, still choking, asks why she eats people. “Because you taste so damn good!” Head Chef Amy croons. I had a guy say something simila – oh, sorry, totally different meaning.
Head Chef Amy says if humans don’t like the deal, then they never should have developed on her territory. Bo points out that the people Head Chef Amy killed never got to choose. “So this ends, as of now.” Head Chef Amy chuckles, “You think you can take me?” Any cut or bruise will just grow back as if it never happened. Bo: “Let’s see how you like the taste of herbicide.” CGK and his staff come into the kitchen bearing hoses and tanks. Kenzi: “Yeah, villagers and pitchforks never made a good combo, did they?”
Afraid now, Head Chef Amy asks if Bo’s going to be a party to murder. Bo: “This is between you and your prey. Kitchen’s all yours!” She drags Kenzi out and we cut to the women speed walking their way out the front door and through the club’s parking lot as the sounds of Head Chef Amy’s screams echo behind them.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Neville muses that this must be the weirdest thing Bo and Kenzi have ever dealt with. “Yep!” chirps Kenzi “Definitely the – the weirdest thing we have ever seen.” Bo admonishes that none of the workers can ever tell what they saw. Neville: “Who’s gonna believe us anyway?” He worries what he’s going to tell Thumper’s parents back home. Thumper was sending them money. “What are they gonna live off of now?” Bo sighs with sympathy and shoots Kenzi an apologetic look as she reaches for the lottery ticket, offering that it’s not much consolation. Kenzi, horrified, “You’re not gonna –” Bo sends her another speaking look, “wait another minute to help this poor man’s family, are you?!” Kenzi finishes with bite. Neville tries to refuse, but Bo asserts that those winnings aren’t hers in the first place and Kenzi insists that Neville take it.
At the Dal (drink!), Hale, Dyson, and Trick are confabbing at the bar. Trick hangs up the phone and informs the boys that chatter from the dark fae community is that the land wight was killed by humans, so no one suspects Bo’s involvement and no one will come looking for revenge. Dyson inserts that Mitch is having his memory erased as they speak by the “drunk” in the holding cell next to him, which is clearly a reference to the kirin that probed Dyson’s mind last week in Faetal Justice. Hale wonders about Mitch’s buddies and Trick posits that now that the land wight is dead, their prosperity should nose dive. “The faster they rise, the more devastating the fall.”
Snickering as he gets up to leave, Hale warns Dyson that he better watch his own fortunes there, “Mister Country Club.” Dyson responds that he barely touched the food. Hale: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, by the way, paperwork?” he calls back over his shoulder. “Is all yours. How’s that for a start?” Dyson snarkily thanks him.
Soon as Hale is gone, Dyson starts in on Trick. “You talk to Bo yet?” Trick ducks the question with “there hasn’t been the right time.” Dyson: “Something like this, there’s never a right time.” And I get knocked off my perch by the biggest frickin’ anvil yet. Dyson gets up from the bar and pulls out his phone as Trick calls after him, “Dyson, please!” but big bad wolf boy is done screwing around with his succubus. Though not in that way, thank God.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo answers Dyson’s call. “Why yes, I could use the longest, hardest – back rub.” DAMMIT! Behind her, Kenzi and Neville are in the doorway saying goodbye. Dyson gravely insists that they need to talk. Bo duhs back at him, “we’re talking,” but Dyson insists that it can’t be over the phone. “It’s important.” Bo: “What, are you still mad about the polo shirt?” He’s not. Neither are we.
He tells her he has to go to the cop shop and wrap up this case. What the huh now? How is he going to file a human report on a fae kill? He was on vacation as far as the human world is concerned. Unless he has to go to the cop shop to file paperwork for the fae end of things? Oh good grief – whatever.
He asks Bo if he can come over after he finishes at the cop shop. Bo: “As I recall, your office gets pretty empty this time of night. Why don’t I bring you dinner?” Dyson agrees and asks if she remembers how to let herself in. Bo: “Desk sergeants are like putty in my hands.” They disconnect and Dyson checks Trick over his shoulder and heads out.
At the cop shop, Dyson is working, alone at his desk as the sound of a woman in heels click clacks down the hall behind him. He turns around, clearly expecting Bo, but it’s Saskia who’s standing in the doorway. She saunters in as he asks, “Can I help you?” and stands. Saskia: “Actually, I think I can help you.” She walks straight up to him, getting right into his space. “I’m the one you’re looking for.” He frowns at her, puzzled, but not quite catching on. Without warning, she grabs him by the head and starts sucking him down, eyes all bug-eyed crazy. Dyson is screaming and struggling uselessly as he collapses beneath her, but Saskia doesn’t let up. “Now do you know who I am? Say my name, bitch!” Well, I would honey, but you just beat me to it. Dyson, in agony, falls to his knees before her.
Saskia is sitting on Dyson’s desk, legs wrapped around his hips, humping him for all he’s worth and there is nothing, absolutely nothing sexy about it. This is rape, pure and simple, the succubus kiss at its darkest fae point. He’s running out of energy fast and Saskia’s full blue, bugged-out, bat crap crazy eyes couldn’t look more gleeful. “Say my name,” she demands again and Dyson is forced to gasp out “Aoife!” as Saskia giggles and sucks more chi out of him.
Bo is tentatively walking down the cop shop hallway. She hears what’s going on but can’t rectify what she’s hearing to the fact that she knows Dyson is the only one who could be doing it. She turns the corner into the office and stops stunned. Saskia sees her over Dyson’s shoulder and stops laughing. She shoves Dyson aside and he drops to the floor like so much dead weight, gasping for air. “This is embarrassing,” Saskia twits to Bo with fake apology. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”
Dyson is sprawled unconscious on the floor, shirt open, and it’s a testament to how disturbing this whole scene is that I don’t even ogle his bare chest – much. Bo rushes over to him, and tries to revive him by smacking his face and shaking him as she begs Dyson to stay with her. She turns on Saskia. “You are one hell of a toxic friend, Saskia.” Saskia snits that she’s doing Bo a favor. “It’s not like he put up much of a fight.”
“Try me,” Bo grits out and comes up swinging, but Saskia has already picked up the wooden suspects’ chair and breaks it over Bo, smashing her back down onto the ground next to a rapidly fading Dyson.
“A succubus letting a man own her ass?” Saskia asks. “Not on my watch.” She tries to entice Bo to go with her, “we’ll be good for each other!” but Bo picks up a broken chair leg, lunges upward, and shoves it deep into Saskia’s gut. Oh my, but that was satisfying to watch.
Gasping with pain, Saskia still won’t shut up. “You’re really a hard friend to help.” She pulls the chair leg out from her side with a grunt and tries to collect herself before stumbling away while Bo watches after her warily. Convinced she’s gone Bo drops down next to Dyson again and desperately tries to revive him. “Stay with me Dyson. Come on. Stay with me!” She looks over her shoulder almost as if she wishes Saskia was still there. “Oh, I don’t know how to do this!” she frets.
Grabbing Dyson’s chin, panting with distress, she breathes chi back into him the way Saskia showed her in The Mourning After. Dyson is still not coming back – “Come on!” – and she tries again, cradling his head, her voice cracking as she’s nearly sobbing with fear, “Come on! Come on! Stay with me!” A third time with the reverse chi and now, finally, his eyes open as he inhales deeply. He coughs her name and grabs hold of her hands. “It’s okay,” she reassures him repeatedly, stroking his face as he gasps for air. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”
As he starts to recover, he slides his hands behind her head, pulling her closer, brow furrowing with acute distress as the events of the last few moments come crashing back. “Oh Bo, I’m so sorry,” he moans and touches his forehead to hers in that heartbreaking way that they do and right on schedule, a fissure opens in my heart. “No, no, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” Bo keeps repeating and the episode ends with the two of them holding tight to one another against the oncoming storm, the depth and breadth of which neither one of them fully comprehends. Yet.
New Fae Terms:
Land wight or Landvættir: n. A nature fae, it cultivates its territory by consuming organic matter (in this case, humans) and using the resulting waste as hyper infused fertilizer. Akin to a shifter, it can become completely indistinguishable from the plants for which it cares. Anything that grows in this waste is very tasty and can bring great prosperity to anyone who eats it.
Origin: Norse mythology/Germanic neopaganism
Quotes of the Night:
Bo: May I say for the record, what an ass!
Dyson: You and I put our heads together we don’t do too much figurin’.
Dyson: Look, they got a pirate room. Arr!
Kenzi: I’m really sorry to interrupt rubber ducky time.
Bo: Nice backhand. Blake: I perfected it on my ex-husband.
Blake: A good stiff one usually loosens me right up.
Dyson: Senorita, the servant’s entrance is in the rear. Kenzi: Bite my rear, dog breath.
Kenzi: Can I have a gun? Hale: No. Kenzi: Grenade? Hale: Nope. Kenzi: A magic sword?
Kenzi: This is not a sexy undercover moment!
Dyson: I can be intense. I can be territorial and God knows I can be – mule-headed. But I’m also yours. If you’ll have me.
Kenzi: I can feel everyone checking me out on the boinkability index.
Kenzi: I am murder fae bait and when they kill me, I am never talking to you ever again!
Bo: I look forward to you boring me for a long time to come.
Next week: Season 1 finale, Episode 13: Bloodlines.
Kiersten Hallie Krum writes smart, sharp & sexy romantic suspense. Find her snarking her way across social media as @kierstenkrum and on her web site and blog at www.kierstenkrum.com.