Our Lost Girl obsession is going strong! Be sure to check out all of Kiersten Krum’s recaps, from Season 1 up to the most recent Season 2 episode aired on SyFy (episode 1, episode 2, episode 3, episode 4, episode 5, episode 6, and episode 7). All caught up? Good. And now, on to the recap for last night’s episode, 2.08, “Death Didn’t Become Him."
Spoiler Policy: Please remember that there is a strong NO SPOILERS policy for any and all comments. We are ONLY DISCUSSING episodes of Lost Girl that have ALREADY AIRED IN THE UNITED STATES. Be kind and respectful by not ruining it for those who have yet to watch all of Season 2. Thanks!
Doctor Lauren rolls a body bag into the White Room of Lies and thanks her guard for his help wheeling it in. As soon as the orderly leave, the doc unzips the body bag revealing Bo. “This bag smells like feet!” Bo complains, sitting up quickly. Doctor Lauren says they need to hurry as the guard could be back at any moment, but that doesn’t stop Bo from prattling on. After all, how else are we to get updated?
She tells Doctor Lauren she knows the doc wants Bo to see ComaNadia and she knows she told the doc she could totally be mature about the entire thing (liar!), but she doesn’t really see the need anymore. Doctor Lauren goes into one off her cute prattles. “If someone I’d slept with and care about told me they had a girlfriend in a coma trapped inside a top-secret facility run by a society of uber-humanoids called the Fae—I’d think it was a blow off.” That or an episode of Days of Our Lives circa 1991. The doc insists that she really needs Bo to meet ComaNadia. ’Cause, why? They’re gonna have Cosmos together, talk strategy, the doc’s preferred positions?
Bo agrees—how could she not in the face of that plea?—and walks around the gurney to ComaNadia’s pod. Pretty rude to have this whole conversation right in front of her, ladies. Bo comments that ComaNadia is so pretty, even like this. “Can’t imagine what she’s like when she’s up and walking around.” Doctor Lauren smiles and tenderly describes ComaNadia’s beautiful smile. Bo’s face falls a little to hear the doc talk that way about ComaNadia. Agitated, Doctor Lauren confesses that ever since they got a lead, all she can think about is curing ComaNadia.
Bo contemplates Doctor Lauren, tore between her jealousy of ComaNadia and her genuine desire to help the doc, not only because of her feelings for Doctor Lauren, but also because that’s the core of who Bo is, much as Kenzi described her last week when Bo insisted on helping Sheri the Stripper.
“Well,” she says now to Doctor Lauren, “I guess the only thing left to do is figure out what this nail means.” She takes out the nail and hands it over to Doctor Lauren who has a sample bag ready for it. “The Morrigan never said anything else? How the nail could save her?” she asks. Bo admits that she didn’t, “and I kinda get the feeling that even if she did know something, she’d take too much pleasure in torturing me to ever tell me.” They face each other across ComaNadia’s pod, the visual cue deliberate as ComaNadia is now the one thing that stands between them. Bo thanks Doctor Lauren for “letting” her see ComaNadia, as though the doc hadn’t insisted quite strongly to that end. “We’ll figure this out,” she tells the doc. “I promise.”
Cut to a graveyard at night and a drunken groundskeeper singing “Spanish Ladies,” which is one of my favorite Irish bar tunes. “Farewell and adieu,” hiccup, “fair Spanish ladies.” He stumbles through the graveyard, but stops when he hears someone digging. DGK shines his flashlight forward and catches General Patton digging into a grave. When he objects, strongly, Annie Oakley (who looks a lot like Lou from The Young Riders) lassos DGK from behind and drags him off screen.
“Wait, your husband was kidnapped?!” Bo asks.
At The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Lair, Trick informs Bo and Dyson that his friend Donovan’s husband Christophe died a week earlier. When Donovan went to the grave site today, though, Christophe’s body was missing. Donovan is sitting beside Trick on the settee. “They desecrated his grave, his memory,” Donovan says desperately. “What kind of a sick animal could do such a thing?” Dyson gently asks if Donovan and Christophe were having any issues with anyone, any enemies, but Donovan insists that everyone loved Christophe.
Trick tells them that “Donny” is his oldest friend, although he appears to be human, so I think by “oldest,” Trick means in this lifetime, but I’ll allow it.
Show! Less than three minutes and we are already teed up with the names of the Fae of the Day!! Yes! They can be taught!
“I need you two to help me,” Trick tells Bo and Dyson, firm but desperate. “Please find out what happened,” he implores. Naturally they both agree without hesitation (Team Badass on the job!). “Of course. Anything. You know that,” Bo immediately reassures Trick, and Dyson seconds that with a caveat that he has to get out of a security detail first but “it’s not a biggie,” a phrase that for some reason amuses me greatly coming from him.
Trick passes over a framed photo of Donny and Christophe embracing. Dyson asks if Donny has any idea of what Christophe was wearing when he was—uh, taken. Donny: “Leotards. Tights. Slippers.” Beat. Dyson: “Excuse me?” Trick explains that Christophe was one of the finest dancers in the world and was buried the way he lived. Uncomfortably squashed?
Donny is overcome with regret. He tells the trio how Christophe wanted Donny to be present and not work, but Donny yelled and made Christophe drive to the theatre alone. “It took them three hours to get his body out of the wreck,” he confesses sobbing.
Upstairs, Hale is shooting pool (Hale!) while regaling two nameless extras that have no lines with a story of how he fought a behemoth. “My partner was knocked out cold,” he begins, meaning Dyson. “Sky started to fill up with dark clouds. There was a storm brewing, a storm of thunder, lightning – and Hale,” he adds spouting that beautiful smile. But wait! There’s more! “But then!” Hale continues. “The behemoth let out a mighty howl! He was ready to rock, so I looked that fool dead in the eye – he only had one eye – and I sang him to sleep till he was suckin’ his thumb like a little kitten about to wet the bed. Yeah, well, I mean what can I say, ladies? I got a job to do, so I do it.”
He bends over the pool cue to add a denouement to his story when Dyson ambles in and calls his name. They slap hands and do that hail bro well met guy thing. Hale explains how he was telling “his friends here” how they took down that behemoth that one time. Dyson acknowledges the girls and picks up his cue, saying that it was back in the day. Which day was that? The time with the nuns during the Crusades or when you lusted after your best friend’s girl whom you are now enthusiastically banging? There are so many backs of the day, I can hardly keep track…
“We were lucky to have this, ah, sexy singing superstar along.” Dyson segues into asking Hale if he’s told his partner about the cool security detail he’s pulled with The Glaive. “My man Dyson!” Hale marvels, “protecting the Attorney General for all Fae kind!” Dyson admits that the only problem is he can’t do it because Trick needs him to do something else. “So I need to find someone smart, tough, competent, sexy wouldn’t hurt. Hey ladies,” Dyson calls back to the girls, “you know anyone of that description?” A little offended, Hale asks D-man if he knows anyone of that description. “I don’t know, man,” Dyson dissembles. “It’s a big commitment. Twelve hours.” He’s totally playing Hale who is the only one who can’t see it. Hale insists he’s Dyson’s man. “Who the hell are you gonna trust with The Glaive?” Fake baffled, Dyson shrugs and again says he doesn’t know.
Hale laughs and turns back to the woman to repair his image. “People say sirens are sexy ladies sitting side-saddle on a rock singing folks to their death, but he knows I’m as tough as they come!”
“I don’t know. Looks like you got your hands full here,” Dyson says with a glance at the girls. “I don’t want to take that away from you,” he adds coyly and makes to go off and find someone else to do the job. Truly, I love watching these two guys riff off one another. It’s good to get a break from the chick angst from time to time and lovely to see the softer side of Dyson too.
Hale finally clues in, “why you playin’?” Dyson: “You want this? All right, you got it!” Hale is grinning and preening to the girls at the table when Dyson announces “oh, and here she is!”
A blonde teenager—natch–in a pink top enters The Dal (drink!) with two burly guards and a pissed-off expression. “Whoa, whoa,” Hale says, “I thought The Glaive was older. What is she, a Fae Doogie Houser or something?” Way to make a joke from 1990, show. Dyson explains that the detail isn’t for The Glaive, per se, “it’s for her daughter. And,” he adds, holding up a card, “she comes with instructions.”
“Dyson,” the girl acknowledges him obnoxiously. “Tori,” Dyson returns the greeting in kind. “Good luck!” he tells Hale and decamps. Hale is reading from Tori’s instructions: “no booze, no boys, no rap music, no coffee…” Tori immediately gets up in Hale’s face. “Are you as boring as Dyson?” she demands rudely. “Excuse me?” Hale asks, taken aback.
Cut to the cemetery where Dyson and Bo are looking down on the emptied coffin, complete with velvet pillow. “Imagine coming to lay flowers and the man you loved is gone,” Bo muses. Dyson says that he smells something. Could be your complete inability to catch the metaphor there, babe. But no, it’s blood as per usual. They follow Dyson’s nose down the lily-strewn path while in the foreground, a pick ax sticks out from the discarded coffin top.
Dyson leads Bo to another headstone. A naked and very dead DGK lies in front of it, loosely covered in dirt. “It’s a hunting kill,” Dyson explains. “Shot to the head; throat’s been slit to drain the blood before the heart stops so the–” he hesitates slightly, “meat doesn’t spoil.” Bo frowns; all righty then. “Never take me hunting,” she tells him. Dyson adds that it’s a strange kill. “They’ve only taken the sweetbreads, the delicacies.” Bo: “So we’re looking for a flesh-eating Fae foodie?” This line is especially amusing considering Anna Silk’s vegan status and her recent guest stint with KC Collinsworld and Rick Howland on Top Chef Canada. Oh meaty Meta, how I love thee.
“Or his butcher,” Dyson agrees. “Cheenoo.” Bo wonders who is Cheenoo? “Not a who,” Dyson clarifies, “a what. It’s a type of Fae that only eats human flesh.” Bo grimaces. “And you wonder why I never aligned myself to a clan. Can’t wait to meet this guy.” They both ominously stare off into the cemetery in different directions.
Back at The Dal (drink!), Hale is detailing his behemoth story to an apparently enraptured Tori. “Oh my God,” she interrupts just as he gets to the ‘mighty howl’ part. “I was timing that entire dumb story to see how long it would take you to realize that I actually didn’t care what you were talking about but now even that’s boring.”
Hale is rolling his eyes, all offended, when Kenzi tromps in wondering if there’s anything in the Fae world that can get that new doggie smell out of tights. Hale, relieved for the moment to see her, asks “little mama” what brings her down to The Dal. “Oh, helping my cuz with pit bulls at the doggie dentist. Dude, there is not enough suction in that little tube for dog slobber.
And now I’m thinkin’ why not hook up with my bestie, succubus our way into the spa so Mama can get a little rinse.”
Tori is glaring at Kenzi, but like she doesn’t quite know what to make of her, which is pretty much par for the course. Kenzi asks who she is and Hale spiels that she’s a big security detail he’s been tagged to do, “very high profile client.” “He’s babysitting for my mom,” Tori says, spoiling his mojo. “And he won’t let me do anything fun. It sucks.”
“Hale?” Kenzi asks archly. “Does the trust fund faeby speak the truth?” Hale insists that he has very specific orders that he has to follow to the letter. Tori whines that she’s never allowed to do anything. She holds up her wrist to display a tracking bracelet. “See this? I’m telepathic so I don’t need a cell phone. But my stupid mom makes me wear a stupid tracking bracelet so she can track my whereabouts all the time.” Kenzi is sympathetic and thinks Tori is getting a raw deal. “And when my stuff was getting messed up like that,” she says with feeling, “I hit the road and I ain’t never looked back.”
Hale intervenes here, “easy Kenz” but the damage has been done. Tori wonders what kind of Fae is Kenzi? Wait, what happened to it being passé to ask another Fae about their power? Eh, whatever. Nobody on this show pays attention to that one anyways. Kenzi admits that she’s human and Tori is amazed that she just comes and goes as she pleases. “I guess, technically,” Kenzi says, rolling her eyes, “my BFF Bo claimed me, but yeah. I call my own shots, sistah.” Tori thinks Kenzi is the best thing evah, and I can’t help but agree. “I’ve never met a claimed human that’s just allowed to run free. I’m so jealous.”
Hale steps in and admits that he knows some of these rules are ridiculous and unfair, but this is important. “How important,” Kenzi asks, dramatically, “is it to ruin a young woman’s chance at freedom?!” But Hale is already shaking his head. “The Glaive’s instructions were clear,” he emphasizes. “Tori is not to drink or have fun of any kind. I got a list!”
Kenzi: “Hale! Boobie!” She insists that she’s “got this” and that she has his best interests at heart. “I understand the lady in captivity dealio,” she says to Tori with feeling. “We’re just gonna have some fun, Tori is going to have a lovely time, and Detective Hale is going to come out looking like a hero!”
Tori is actually smiling and the spoiled brat visage has eased considerably. “Please Mr. Hale, sir?” she pleads, laying it on a bit thick with the Dickensian orphan routine. Can I have some more, sir? An impression Kenzi backs up when she begs Hale, “Please?! Please, please, please, please, please, please?!” in a Cockney accent. Hale gives in allowing for a little fun. “But Kenzi, you have to be smart about this and responsible.” Kenzi: “Dude. Those two words are like both my middle names.” So is vodka and wine, sweetie. “And I’m not even drinking this month. I’m on a cleanse.” This all exasperates Hale, who knows Kenzi all too well to buy that one. He is in serious trouble. “I am so your fairy godmother!” Kenzi tells a grinning Tori and they high-five it.
At an old, eerie theatre, Mozart plays the harpsichord on stage while a creepy dude carefully approaches a formal table where a ballet dancer sits, unconscious and with blue-grey skin tone. Tentatively reaching out, CD touches the dancer’s face. The dancer reanimates forcefully and CD jumps back. “My goodness,” he smarms, “you almost scared the life out of me!” The dancer is the missing Christophe in case you hadn’t already guessed, what with the show’s penchant for subtlety.
CD laughs at his own joke, cracking himself up, and tells Christophe to relax as he’s in exalted company. “The finest lady marksman (woman) in the Old West,” he says, pointing out Annie Oakley. “A five-star general, genius of the Italian kitchen.” Christophe leaps to his feet, demanding to see his husband as Annie Oakley cocks her gun at him, literally. CD tells Christophe not to be scared, that he is a great fan of the dancer as he is sure Christophe will soon be a huge fan of his. “Isn’t that right, everyone?” he asks the table at large, and leads them all in a head nod of combined agreement. Christophe is still clearly frightened so CD tut tuts at him. He takes the dancer’s hand and mumbles an incantation over it. Christophe’s eyes droop as he falls into CD’s trance and under his control. “The fates have smiled upon me,” CD decides. “And now, you will dance again!” Christophe steps forward and proceeds to pirouette and dance at CD’s command.
Dyson and Bo are in some sort of underground butcher shop. Dyson greets “Gary” and asks if he’s been down to the cemetery lately. Gary is all kinds of revolting skank with dank, greasy black hair across his forehead into his eyes, rotting teeth, a dirty, bloody butcher’s apron, and streaks of blood on his mouth, shoulders and neck. Charming. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, wolf boy. You so much as lay a finger on me and I’ll eat it right off your light Fae hand.” Dyson smiles; he is amused by the empty threat. “Hey man,” he says, arms harmlessly akimbo. “I’m just here to borrow some sugar.” He’s a butcher, not a baker, darling. “This is Bo’s deal. Do you know Bo?” Gary looks a little wary. Guess he’s heard about our girl. “She’s unaligned, which means she’s got the right to do whatever she wants to you. Oh. And uh, she’s got a pretty wicked temper.” Bo nods. “We used to date,” she tells Gary, as though that explains everything. Come to think of it, it really does.
Bo glances down at the table. “What happened to your finger there, Gary? You’re not so good with the meat cleaver?” The camera helpfully showcases the bloody, fleshy stump that used to be Gary’s index finger. Gary: “Oh you know what they say. Sometimes a flesh eater’s too tired to get outta bed, go to the fridge. Know what I mean?” He demonstrates his meaning by proceeding to chomp down on his middle finger and chew away, giggling. Extra points show, for officially giving us the most revolting scene and Fae of the Day character in the entire series, and that includes the creepy Kappa in season one’s episode two.
Bo and Dyson exchange disgusted, resigned glances. In a restrained tone, Dyson pointedly asks what Gary knows about DGK. “I run a respectable and legal organic human meat butcher shop.” There are way too many troubling things about that statement. He goes into his advertising spiel as though shilling for his infomercial, which would be equal parts revolting and hilarious. “Are you having an office party? Is your dark Fae son coming of age? Looking for something special and easy to eat for your buffet table? Well look no further than Gary’s Meats! We’ve got chops, liver, ribs, eyeballs…”
Bo has had enough. She draws her dagger and holds it against Gary’s throat snarling that DGK was murdered and he had a family. “Humans are chosen by farmers,” Gary says and explains that these farmers watch and monitor these humans for their entire lives including their living and eating habits. “See, a vegan who works out three times a week? Ooh, top shelf, baby. But a smoker who sits at a desk all day–Get your Red Hots here!” Gary doesn’t seem at all concerned with the dagger at his neck, but then if Bo were to cut him, he’d probably merely see it as an aperitif.
Disgusted, Bo is beginning to look like she wishes she hadn’t asked the question. Dropping the act, Gary flatly tells her that he butchers what’s brought to him and keeps a portion for himself. Bo reaches over to stroke his face and pour on the succubus juice. Dyson lifts his chin and goes on alert. She asks Gary if he’s sure he doesn’t know anything about DGK. “I would be very grateful,” she says as Gary moans. “Maybe we could feed some of those other appetites.” Dyson shoots her an enigmatic look from the corner of his eye.
“Oh baby,” Gary groans. “I wanna eat you up,” and I don’t think he means this in a good way. “I wanna bite your little cheeks off and fry ‘em up in a little butter and cream. C’mere!” he shouts, grabbing her wrist. Without hesitation, Bo bangs his head into the table. “You listen to me, Gary,” she orders as they both take a step back. “If you don’t talk, my friend Dyson here, he’s gonna pin this murder on you anyway and as a condition of your life in a human prison? He’s gonna make sure you get four square meals a day—all vegetarian.” Gary freaks at this threat and shoots Dyson, who is calmly standing by silently backing Bo up, a terrified look. “Oh!” he says, keeping a wary check on Dyson, “that groundskeeper.” Dyson cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. Yeah, thought you’d remember.
Gary tells them that he butchered GDK for a lich, which Bo mistakes for lick. “Wow. Gary, you really should charge more for what you do.” Gary scoffs at her. “Not lick,” he sneers and grotesquely demonstrates what he means with his tongue. “L-I-C-H,” he spells out.
Now Dyson intervenes, cautiously, “Are you sure?” Bo looks at him with surprise. “You know this lich?” Dyson says it’s an ancient Egyptian Fae royal family who found a way to cheat death and keep themselves alive to feed their insatiable hunger for knowledge. “The lich eats flesh to feed his body. But he lives to feed his mind. He’s bad news bears.” Oh, all right. Killjoys. “He’s bad news, Bo,” he finishes. They both look at Gary, who smirking with a pursed mouth. Dyson smacks Gary’s order form clipboard on the table between them and lays his pen on top. “Address,” he orders. “You don’t expect me to give you anything on the lich?!” Gary sneers. “It’d be like signing my own death warrant.”
Bo stabs her dagger through the clipboard, which I’d think would make it harder for Gary to write the info on it, but whatever. “Tofu, Gary!” she threatens. “Tofu four times a day.” Reluctantly, Gary gives in with the obligatory, “You guys didn’t get this address from me.”
At The Dale (drink!), rap plays loudly as the senior Fae contingent, complete by Hale who is worrying the brim of his hat, sits at the bar, a frowning Trick behind it. They are watching as Tori and Kenzi dance madly. “And I’m also sorta email dating this guy named Zack who’s really cute and has really big arms, but that’s okaybecause he’s tentative.” The girls laugh as Hale finally steps up. “Okay little ladies, ha ha, I think it’s time to turn the music down. These people want their usual easy listening time at The Dal.” Behind him, Trick commiserates with a complaining old Fae. Tori snits she guesses everybody else doesn’t have a really important mom. “I’m The Glaive’s daughter, bitches!” she chortles and Kenzi lets out a raucous howl.
With a worried look over his shoulder, Hale insists they can’t talk to the people like that. Oh, poor Hale. That pesky royal family upbringing of his keeps coming out at the wrong time. Tori slurs whether Hale has called her mother yet to check in. Alarmed, Hale wonders if he was supposed to do that. “Duh,” Tori slurs again. “You’re my babysitter. If you don’t check in every three hours, my mom craps her pants.” Kenzi slaps both hands to her cheeks in mocking horror, “uh oh!” briefly imitating Macaulay Culkin. Distracted and desperate, Hale goes off to make the call. “Wait, wait!” he says, coming back into frame. “Kenzi, that’s her last drink.” Kenzi: “You got it, boss!” and the girls go back to dancing.
At CD’s Creeptastic Theatre, Christophe is dancing along the balcony as CD exhorts the dancer to embrace the pain. “Every time you leap, I can feel your quads burning. That is not fatigue!” This is when Bo and Dyson wonder in from the back of the room. “It is your artistry begging to be broken, to be compromised, but you mustn’t let it!” Surprised, CD notices Team Badass in the background. A little shaken, he orders Christophe to take five and towel off. Padding himself down, CD tells Bo and Dyson that it’s a closed rehearsal. “We’re here on behalf of the owner of the local way station,” Dyson informs him. “I’m sure it was just an oversight,” he says, pandering to the lich, “but you and your party failed to sign in when you came to town.” He looks at Christophe on the balcony when he says this.
“Ah, what an absolute ninny I’ve been,” CD exclaims. “I’m sorry for the–what was it you called it?” Dyson caters to him with a polite smile and a knowing tilt of his head. “Oversight,” he repeats with emphasis. CD: “Yes. How well put—oversight.” Good. Now everyone knows that everyone knows what’s really going on here.
I’m enjoying the double talk, I won’t lie, and watching Dyson tiptoe over Fae formalities is also entertaining. Having more of the trappings of the Fae world come back into play this season has broadened this world and added depth to the series.
CD has taken out a compact and is dabbing at the swatch of rotting flesh which has sprung up on his cheek. Vain Fae. “Please, give my regrets to Mr. Patrick McCorrigan.” Interesting that he knows Trick’s full name. CD goes on to say that he’s leaving in the morning, so he hardly sees the benefit to checking in with Trick now. “My goodness,” he exclaims, oozing across the floor toward Dyson, “you are gorgeous.” WE KNOW.
He finally takes a proper look at Bo and that stops him in his tracks. “But you, my dear, are divine.” Yep, we know that too.
Bo is tense, uncomfortable with dancing through politics and uneasy by the creepiness of CD. She spies a portrait of CD behind his shoulder in which a much younger CD, like a reverse Dorian Gray. I guess no one told him it was the portrait that’s supposed to age, not the man. In the portrait, CD is wearing a scarab necklace. My Fae sense is tingling in a way that tells me this will be important later. Again—subtle, show. Real subtle.
At The Dal (drink!), the music is still blaring while Hale is on the phone, sycophantically agreeing with The Glaive. “I can assure you, your daughter, she is having the time of her—ma’am she is so bored out of her trees, ma’am, yes, as per your instructions, yes.” The Glaive hangs up on him and Hale’s smile drops as he wearily turns around to take a strip off Tori—only to find that Kenzi and The Glaive’s daughter (bitches!) have vanished. Trick walks by and points to something—the door? The jukebox?—that tells Hale the girls have bugged out. Hale, exasperated: “Man. This is one of those moments when I wish working homicide meant you got to do the killin’!”
Back at Creeptastic Theatre, CD has taken the gloves off. “I didn’t realize times were so hard in this city that a light-Fae police detective and an undeclared succubus had to stoop to delivering messages for a retired king!” For someone who didn’t check in, he is remarkably well-informed as to who is everyone. He passionately admits that he’s always wanted to meet a succubus. He goes on to detail one of his trips through southern interior of Africa during the Boer War. As he natters on about the sensations he experienced among the death and atrocities, Bo watches Annie Oakley take her place as guard in front of the portrait. Dyson glances up at the balcony where Christophe goes through positions as he waits.
“But what I searched for was much more,” CD continues. “Such…hunger,” he gasps. “Such lust. The power to kill with a kiss!” Oh, so we’re talking about Bo now. I was still back in the Boer War. Carry on. “I know almost everything there is to know,” he tells Bo with a small arrogant smile. “But I don’t know what you feel. Such uncontrollable passion. Such burning desire!” Overcome, he reaches out for Bo, but now it’s Dyson who’s had enough. He steps forward and stops CD with a shove against the lich’s shoulder.
“You’ve taken the husband of a very good friend of ours,” he says in THAT VOICE, his hand still holding CD back. Wolf is done with the pandering. “And we’d like him back. Now!”
“Oh dearie me,” the lich simpers. “Who?” Bo finally speaks up. “Christophe, the dancer,” she says, in a tone that says she knows CD knows exactly who they are talking about. The lich pretends that Christophe is speaking to him. ”Your marriage was technically over when you were announced dead? The dancer does have a point,” he snits at Bo and Dyson. Bo calls up to Christophe that he should come with them now, but the dancer is too far under the lich’s control to act on his own. “He seems rather content, I should say,” the lich muses. “Of course I am such an interesting person to be around.” This is why he’s inviting her, “plus one” to his new acquisitions wine and cheese later on in the afternoon.
“Well, I can’t wait,” Dyson drawls. The lich swings his head to look at the wolf. “Sorry. Light Fae being on the premises? Bit of a Fae faux pas.” Ha! Fae faux pas is now my new favorite phrase to be worked unexpectedly into random conversations.
“Don’t worry,” Bo assures Dyson. “I’ve got a date.” He frowns at her. A date? Who? “Come on, Dyson!” Bo says. “Let’s go before my uncontrollable passion makes me forget my manners.” She tells the twitch lich that she’ll see him later and takes one last important look at his portrait in case we missed the fact that It Is Important. Dyson glares at the lich as they leave and CD looks after Bo with an anticipatory mien, as though he already tastes her flesh and power. Exeunt Team Badass.
Back in Tolkien’s Lair, Donny is having trouble understanding what Bo is trying to explain. “He’s…eating Christophe?!” Bo insists that the lich is eating humans, not Fae. So Donny and Christophe are Fae after all? What kind of Fae? Obviously it’s not relevant, and I guess given the Fae prejudice against humans, it’s kind of a given that Trick’s “oldest friend” wouldn’t be human. Still. You couldn’t pony this up earlier, show?
“They ate the groundskeeper,” Bo admits, “but Christophe is fine.” Donny vehemently disagrees. “He’s NOT fine!” he shouts. “He’s up and he’s alive, which I’m having a little trouble reconciling at the moment! And he’s being held hostage by that–” Trick tries to calm him down, but Donny doesn’t want any of it. “I want you two to stop talking and get Chris back.” Two? Where did Dyson go?
Donny leaves Tolkien’s Lair as exasperated Trick asks Bo what else she can tell him about the lich. She’s says he’s leaving town tomorrow, which doesn’t give them a lot of time in which to get Christophe back or stop CD from eating more humans. “In order to achieve immortality,” Trickopedia relays, “some believe a lich puts his chi into a phylactery, a container for the soul.” Destroy the container; destroy the lich. Trick admits though that no one really knows how the lich was able to cheat death. “Still, it’s a good theory.” He asks Bo if the lich was wearing anything around his neck, but she says no and then has an epiphany. “Oh wait a second! There was this creepy painting of the lich
when he was younger and less fally-aparty. He was wearing this amulet around his neck, like a beetle. Something about the way it stood out in the painting it seemed–” “Important,” Trick finishes. “Picture of Dorian Gray, maybe.” Hmm, that sounds strangely familiar. Bo posits that the lich’s essence is contained in the painting. Trick: “Destroy the picture and we’ll know soon enough.” That’s Bo’s plan at the lich’s show and tell this afternoon.
“Those under the lich’s power, their souls can’t cross over. They lead a tortured existence. We have to bring Christophe back and if there’s any way, bring him back alive for however long that may be.” He knows Donny would love the chance to say goodbye properly. Bo swears to bring Christophe back alive. Trick adds that Bo needs to make sure she brings herself back alive as lichs are notoriously ruthless. Danger! Danger! Foreshadow alert! “Don’t worry,” Bo assures him. “I got back up.” I’m really not gonna like her idea of backup, am I?
Hale is on the phone, frantically trying to find Tori and Kenzi. “I need a very hush hush APB put out on two young girls.” Dyson sidles in unnoticed behind him as Hale describes Tori as a blonde with a bad attitude. “And the other, a blue-eyed, pain in the—she goes by Kenzi. But don’t use their names! I can’t have certain people finding out.” He turns right into Dyson. “Hey! My partner,” he chuckles and pats Dyson’s shoulder. “The epitome of handsome.” WE KNOW. “What’s going on?” Dyson explains there’s a lich in town who stole one of Trick’s friends from the grave. “It’s stressing everyone out.” Dyson is studying Hale with amusement. Hale wonders if Trick is okay and Dyson reassures him that Trick is stronger than he looks. “How’s things with Tori going?” he asks, eyeing Hale knowingly. “Yeah, yeah, she’s okay. Awesome. Special little girl. Makes me wanna have kids of my own.” And drown them. Hale ducks past Dyson, muttering “so, so precious.”
“You lost her, didn’t you?” Dyson calls after him and Hale folds, admitting that she vanished. “Did she pull the old ‘you’re supposed to call my mother’ gag?” Dyson asks. Hale wonders how he knew and Dyson admits that she caught him with that his first time too. “Which is why,” and here, Dyson puts a consoling arm around his partner, “I got a receiver for her tracking bracelet the last time The Glaive was in town.” And you didn’t give it to him from the outset? Nice. “My man,” Hale says, ridiculously relieved as he hugs Dyson. I would be relieved to hold on to him too, Hale.
Down in Tolkien’s Lair, Bo is sharpening her dagger against a small whetstone. “So, thanks for getting Dyson to sneak me out of the compound,” Doctor Lauren says as she strolls in from the back. Oh, so that’s where Dyson went. She admits that they both know she can use the fresh air, “But um, you want to tell me what’s really going on?” Bo says that in addition to wanting Doctor Lauren as her back up—let’s just pause there for a sec, ‘kay? Back up?! In what world is Doctor Lauren appropriate back up for entering a potentially dangerous situation with a virtually immortal dark Fae who, incidentally, feeds off human flesh? Resource, yes, absolutely. Bring on the nerding. But back up?! Please.
Moving on. There seems to be a lot of that tonight. “I thought you could ask this lich fellow.” Doctor Lauren applies lipstick as Bo continues. “He’s been everywhere, met everyone and learned everything.” She picks up the Ziploc bag w/the nail in it. “And I thought he could us what the deal is with this little guy and we could get (Coma)Nadia back to you.” Doctor Lauren looks sadly back and forth between the nail and Bo, her version of Solomon’s dilemma.
After a pause, Bo reaches out and smoothes away a stray smear of lipstick. “There,” she murmurs, “all pretty now.” Doctor Lauren claps her hand. “You know, things have really been bleak for me these past few years. And I don’t know what I would do without,” she pauses meaningfully, “your friendship.” Bo smiles and ducks her head. “You sure you’re okay with this?” the doc asks. “Helping me with (Coma)Nadia?” Bo ducks her head again, this time without smiling. She picks up a tissue and holds it out to Doctor Lauren. “Blot,” she orders gently, neatly sidestepping the question. Without taking her eyes from Bo’s, the doc leans forward and does so.
At Creeptastic Theatre, Annie Oakley, General Patton, and the rest set an elaborate table as Bo and Doctor Lauren arrived. CD smarms his way across the room and greets the ladies. “Enchanté,” he says kissing each of their hands. He refrains from nibbling on Doctor Lauren’s fingers. He leads them to three chairs that have been set out in front of the stage, trilling that he has prepared a wonderful show for them. Bo wonders exactly what the show is for and CD says that he has a little salon for himself all the time. “It’s not enough to merely feed oneself physically; one must always nurture the intellect, feed the mind and soul as it were.” He explains that by raising his “dolls” from the dead, it gives him the chance to experience their specific talents directly. “A long life is only worthwhile if one can fill it with the extraordinary.” Suddenly, he claps his hand fanatically. “Let my festivities begin!” he demands. The curtain parts and Christophe himself is revealed—surprise!—as the main event. He begins to dance before CD’s rabid, Bo’s horrified, and Doctor Lauren’s assessing gazes. The remaining dolls line up behind CD, standing guard and clapping on cue. Near tears, CD confides to Bo, “I was so right about this boy!”
At Hilton Hovel (drink!)—FINALLY—Kenzi is now in her short, hot pink wig as she and Tori dance madly. Tori has another drink in her hand, which proves you should never make Kenzi the good cop. Hale enters, yelling “What are you girls doing?” I’d think that was obvious, babe, but you go ahead and ask for clarification. Also, you needed a tracker to figure out the girls were at Hilton Hovel (drink!)? I’m seriously beginning to doubt your detecting skillz. It was the one set not yet used this episode; where else would they go?!
The girls can’t hear him over the loud music, even when Hale pounds on the beam that makes for a wall. “Aw, okay,” Hale snits and pulls the chord to the stereo or ifone or whatever out of the wall. “Hey!” Tori complains. Hale: “Can someone explain to me why you left The Dal without telling me?!” Hale yells. Kenzi giggles that they totally forgot as she pulls Tori into a one-arm hug. “We’re actually getting warmed up to go clubbing!” and her voice gets higher with each word. Covering Tori’s ear with one hand, she makes the universal sign for crazy with the other, spinning it round her ear. “I totally heard that,” Tori sneers. Kenzi claims she didn’t say anything—and she didn’t. “I’m telepathic, you idiot.” Tori explains, heavy on the duh. Suddenly, she grabs her stomach. “Oh gosh. I think that tequila I drank wants to get out and party.”
Hale throws his hands up. “You gave her tequila?!” he accuses Kenzi. “I tried to hide the booze, but you heard her, she’s a telepath!” Tori chooses that moment to puke all over Hale who is now seriously grossed out. “Get it off me! Get it off me.” Kenzi takes Tori in hand. “Okay, Linda Blair. Let’s get you horizontal.” Hale is muttering to himself. “It ain’t right. There ain’t no dignity in getting puked on, it’s just—”
Kenzi comes back to help, grimacing as she carefully unbuttons Hale’s vest and shirt. “Why do I have to touch it?!” she complains, and then murmurs encouraging “okays” for both their sakes. She “ewwws” her way through the process of stripping off Hale’s shirt, but that lasts only until the shirt hits the ground because holy hopping snot!! Hale is RIPPED. I mean like are-you-sure-that’s-not-drawn-on cut. Gobsmacked, Kenzi stares wide-mouthed while he brushes off his amazing chest, long enough that Hale notices. “Can I help you?!” he demands, pointedly. Jerked back to herself, Kenzi stutters that she was just sizing him up to see if he’d fit—into any of her clothes, “obviously,” she whispers as a postscript as she goes back to staring. Right. Because his hot six-foot self is gonna slide right into a perfect fit in your micro skirt. Well, there is maybe one way that could happen…
As he heads for upstairs to find some clothes (maybe Dyson left some behind?), Hale orders her to just go get Tori sobered up, “Cause if you don’t? The Glaive is gonna make garters of my tender bits. And I need my tender bits!” Looking like that, you really do.
Back at Creeptastic Theatre, Mozart is back on the harpsichord playing—well—Mozart while CD, Bo, and Doctor Lauren watch. “Makes me cry every time I hear this piece,” CD simpers. Bo takes the chance to lean back and give Doctor Lauren a speaking look. Can you believe this guy? Doctor Lauren pointedly rolls her eyes at CD. Slowly, Bo reaches out and strokes a succubus-juice infused finger down CD’s cheek, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect as he prattles on. “Artistry lies in the fact that even though the composer was German, I gave him the gift of inspiration from my own various travels through —well—everywhere.” As she pulls back, Bo looks up and catches Annie Oakley’s eagle eye on her, watching her every move.
“You know,” Doctor Lauren begins, “I spent a few months in the Congo with a medical group.” CD scoffs at the mention of the Congo. “Dreadful place,” he says distractedly, not removing his attention from Mozart. The doc explains that she wasn’t on vacation. “I was there treating patients of an epidemic. It was killing a Fae tribe.” Now she has the lich’s attention. “You’re the human doctor who found the cure! Your Ash was very wise to snatch you up. Lucky dog,” he compliments, glancing over at Bo to commiserate. Doctor Lauren quickly relates how ComaNadia became ComaNadia and that she hasn’t been able to get anywhere with the diagnosis since. “But The Morrigan gave me this,” she adds, holding up the nail. “Said it was a cure to (Coma)Nadia’s illness.”
The lich flinches at the sight of the nail. “Coma,” he repeats, noncommittal. “Indeed.” He turns back to the music without saying anything else. “Do you know something?” Bo prompts, impatient. “I’m watching the show,” CD whines. Bo and Doctor Lauren exchange frustrated looks.
Back at Tolkien’s Lair, Donny is plowing through Trick’s drawers. Dresser drawers. Yeesh. He finally pulls a dagger out of a top drawer and sets off to go after Christophe himself—only to find the Trickster himself blocking his way, and I don’t mean Loki. Donny orders Trick out of his way, but Trick refuses. Donny insists that while he doesn’t want to hurt Trick, he will do it if that’s what it takes to get Christophe back. Slowly, Trick gets into Donny’s space and grabs the dagger, ordering his old friend to give it up. Donny does, weary and heartsick. “He was dead, Trick. I witnessed him dying. And now to know that demon has him! How can you expect me to just sit here?!” Trick states that Donny of all people knows that Trick knows what it’s like to lose a loved one. “When my wife was taken from me, I felt powerless too.” Hmmm, tasty back story tidbit! He insists that running into the situation like this blindly and hotheaded will only make things worse. “You know of what I speak. You know how I ended up here. Be patient, friend. Bo is special. If anyone can get Christophe back, it’s her.”
Back at Creeptastic Theatre, Mozart is still tickling the ivories (not like that!). Bo is eyeing the portrait portentously. She takes a different tactic, shifting towards CD to flatter him. As she moves, Annie Oakley shoves her way to the front of the doll pack all protective like. Bo tells CD that she feels they’ve really bonded, she’s already learned so much in such a short time about him, “and of course, from you.” Surely such good buds can make a deal? “Find it in your big, several thousand year old heart to hand Christophe over to me?” The lich shrugs. “Okay.” Bo, dryly, “Really.” The lich: “Nope.” Bo sighs. “Okay. Then I guess we’ll just have to do this my way.” She shoves Annie Oakley back and draws her dagger, running up to the portrait. Doctor Lauren leaps to her feet and—stands idly by. Some real good backup work there, doc.
As the dolls move to stop her, CD motions them all back. He is clearly afraid of what Bo is going to do next. “This is your last chance, pal” Bo warns the lich. “I tried to be nice, but you just won’t listen. So I’m going to free everyone and destroy you in one fell swoop unless you release Christophe to me, now.” The lich thinks she’s bluffing and calls her on it. “Do you have any idea how many of the world’s secrets I keep in here?! Even you aren’t that stupid!” Bo repeats that she gave him a chance. She stabs the portrait right in the scarab and the lich convulses. He gasps, arms flailing, and collapses to the floor as Mozart’s adagio comes to a morbid end. Side by side, Doctor Lauren and Bo gaped down at the lich—that was too easy—just as he starts to laugh and allows one of the dolls to help him to his feet. Mozart starts to play another jaunty tune.
It’s Doctor Lauren’s turn for an epiphany and she quickly informs Bo that the lich knows what his entourage is thinking. “He feels what they feel.” She reminds Bo that Trick said the lich puts his essence into a vessel. Bo catches on. “Maybe it’s not a vessel but vessels. The entourage.” She and Doctor Lauren look at the lich and his dolls with trepidation. “I’ll just suck the chi from all of them individually,” Bo suggests, though she doesn’t look as confident as she’s trying to sound. “Easy peasy.” Way to announce your intentions to the group there, Bo.
Not surprisingly, CD and his dolls turn en masse to face the women, Annie Oakley and General Patton drawing and pointing their guns at some silent command from CD. “Oh,” Bo exhales nervously. “Great. Leave it to me to bring a knife to a gunfight.” She and the doc hold up their hands as Bo slowly lowers her knife to the floor tells everyone to take it easy.
The curtain draws back to reveal Bo and Doctor Lauren chained and displayed on the stage. Both are cuffed by the wrists. As though that’s not enough, they’re also chained via the dog collars around their necks, to ram home the implicit S&M vibe. CD speechifies to his entourage, presenting “the show I have been waiting for my entire long existence.” Despite feeding his intellect with Christophe’s dancing and gorging on the thrill of Mozart’s musical performance, he still longs for something deeper. Also, his face is now rotting in two places. Lovely.
He announces that finally that moment has arrived. “I will witness a succubus feed!” The dolls begin to chant “Feed! Feed! Feed!” Bo and Doctor Lauren exchange another look and for her part at least, the doc looks afraid and a little desperate. “I know that I said we should spend more time together,” Bo snarks, “but this is not what I had in mind.” I know she’s badass alpha and all, but the lack of any real alarm here on her part is distracting.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), a strung-out Tori is wearily, if genuinely, apologizing for “acting like a turd head” by throwing up “and stuff.” Kenzi clomps in from the kitchen, cup in hand, and assures her it’s all right, it’s all over now, so we know that it really isn’t. Tori drinks the cup down as Hale wanders into frame behind the couch, settling an olive-green t-shirt in to place over his fabulous abs. Suddenly, Tori stops drinking. “Oh no, is this coffee?” she asks with alarm, and shoves the cup at Kenzi so forcefully, it splatters all over her front. “COFFEE?!” Hale yells. “What’s the big deal?!” Kenzi shoots back. Tori stands up and begins to stumble toward the kitchen as Hale whips out his cheat sheet and starts muttering his way down the list. He gets to the “no coffee” axiom, just as Tori stumbles to stop and collapses to the ground, unconscious.
Horrified, Kenzi gasps. “Oh crap!” Hale just looks at her all are you happy now?!
Back at Creeptastic Theatre, the lich orders Bo to feed off the human, meaning Doctor Lauren, but Bo refuses. The doc tells Bo to go ahead and feed off her just a little to satisfy the lich, but CD nips that plan in the bud. “The one thing that has always eluded me is true, unbridled passion. I want. To see it IN ACTION!” He orders Bo to suck all of the life out of the human. Interestingly, he doesn’t seem too bothered by the fact that he is essentially ordering the murder of The Ash’s claimed human. I can’t tell if that’s because he’s leaving tomorrow anyway or he’s too old and powerful to be bothered by such trivialities, or merely because the writers forgot to take that little wrinkle into account. I’m betting the latter.
“I have left enough innocent bodies in my wake,” Bo says with feeling. “I would rather die than live like that again.” That’s fine with the lich. Without hesitation, he has Annie Oakley shoot Bo straight in the gut and Doctor Lauren barely catches Bo as she drops to the stage.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi is dully coming to terms with killing The Glaive’s daughter. As expected, she’s doing this badly. “I—KILLED—The Glaive’s daughter!” Hale is likewise wrecked. “Dyson trusted me,” he murmurs. Well, technically, he played you, but all right. “He depended on me. This poor girl!”
Kenzi is on a tear. “Who doesn’t drink coffee? (ME!) I mean, it’s just coffee. You have it with breakfast or when you’re sitting in a café pretending to write a novel. It’s not a drink, it’s a HUG!” Hale is remonstrating himself that Tori was in his care. Kenzi: “I’m gonna be Fae food. Oh my God, they’re gonna lock me up with a crazy beast and watch as he eats me for breakfast maybe with a coffee!”
Without warning, she slaps an unsuspecting Hale across the face. “What did you hit me for?!” Hale yells. “Why didn’t you tell me she couldn’t drink coffee?!” Hale’s eyes bug out at this. “What?! You were the one that was all,” his voice goes high as he hilariously imitates Kenzi, “‘oh please let Tori have a fun night, she needs to be free!’” Kenzi: “Because she did!” Hale: “
She wasn’t living in a castle being guarded by an evil dragon, Kenzi! Her mom is just a jerk. I had a job to do.”
Kenzi is suitably quelled by this. She starts to cry and apologize and this is Hale’s undoing. “No, no, no, no, no, Kenz. Don’t do that girl.” Kenzi: “I just, I thought she could use a night of fun! I didn’t know she was this psycho chick that could break so easily!” A calmer Hale soothes her down, hugging and reassuring her that they’ll figure this out. “I’m sorry, little mama, I didn’t mean to be so mean.” Kenzi: “I’m sorry I ruined your whole life.” Hale tells her not to exaggerate. Uh, have you met Kenzi, Hale? Exaggeration is her resting state. Hale lets loose that beautiful smile and tells her it’ll all be fine. Kenzi wonders tearfully what he’s going to do. Hale: “Move.”
At Creeptastic Theatre, CD crouches down next to a panting Bo. “If you don’t feed, I will kill you,” he says flatly, “and then bring you back and feel for myself when we both go on a blind, lust-filled murderous rampage.” Frantically, Doctor Lauren admits that she can’t stop the bleeding and once again insists that Bo feed on her. “You can’t use me,” Bo spits with difficulty at the lich with difficulty as she gasps for breath and struggles with the pain. “That’s why you didn’t just kill me right away and experience me like everyone else. You can’t!” CD: “What is this nonsense?” Bo: “My chi is my life force! If you killed me, then it’s gone forever. If you raised me, than you can’t experience my power. You can only watch me do it,” she snarls.
By the look on CD’s face, Bo has the right of it. She convulses around another wave of pain. “Put the doctor on the table!” the lich orders, claiming Bo’s petulance has made him hungry. Bo protests tearfully, but is no match for the minions as they drag Doctor Lauren away. The lich leans up against the stage and gets in Bo’s face. “This is your last chance,” he warns her. Behind him, we can see the minions lift the doc onto the table. “Surely your lover’s death would be better by your hand then by my blade!”
Bo looks up at the table where Doctor Lauren is being secured by the dolls. The doc looks at Bo fatalistically as she seems to brace herself as they tie her down. Way to resist there, doc.
Bo is not giving in to the lich. “Have it your way, you stupid girl,” he sneers at her and stalks over to the table where Doctor Lauren awaits him. He draws a wicked knife and holds it up against Doctor Lauren’s throat before looking up at Bo meaningfully. Last chance. Protesting “no!” over and over, Bo looks helplessly at the doc. For her part, Doctor Lauren gazes at Bo, her heart nakedly displayed, and then she closes her eyes and waits for her death.
I think this is what Doctor Lauren has been waiting for from the moment she first agreed to be The Ash’s human. She has long accepted the fact that, as a human in the Fae world, she has been and always will be just another piece of discardable meat. I think in some way, the doc has known that this this or something like it would be her ultimate fate. In some way, her acknowledgement of how much Bo has added to her life so quickly was her recognition that at least she had Bo for that time, even if it turns out to be a short while. There’s a deeper resonance if taken in light of Bo’s Fae longevity compared to Doctor Lauren’s human age limit, an example of what could be their future together at some point as Doctor Lauren dies of old age while Bo remains relatively young.
And yet, this right here is the moment where Doctor Lauren loses me for good. Does she fight? No. Does she resist? No. She lies back and takes it. This is the type of backup she offers to Bo? That when her friend and lover is bound and chained and wounded, the best the doc can offer is to do—nothing?! Look, I know that Doctor Lauren’s strengths are with microscopes and not mallets. It’s okay, I geddit, not everyone is a warrior and they don’t have to be to have a place in a warrior’s life. But just like you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight, you don’t bring a victim as your only backup to what you know might become a murderous confrontation. If you can’t be an asset, don’t be a liability for crying out loud, and do not go passive to your fate because all that does is make everyone dead. Buck up, Betty.
OK. Rant over. Back to Creeptastic Theatre.
Overcome, Bo suddenly stops fighting the pain, her head dropping till it nearly touches the stage. The lich pauses in his murderous tendencies. What’s this? Slowly, Bo head rises, her eyes swirling blue with rising power. Her hand drops from cradling her bleeding belly as she rises to her feet, hands spread wide as red surges of succubus juice streak up and down her arms and through her chest and face.
CD is intrigued, but not yet worried. The air around Bo picks up, blowing around her as she draws her tongue across her upper lip, savoring the taste of chi. Her head tilts back and a gold glow emits from her mouth. Suddenly, the dolls moan as Bo begins to drain their chi simultaneously. Completely drained, the dolls drop to the ground, as does CD, his life essence drained with his minions’. Doctor Lauren struggles to raise her head from the table, her hair oh so pretty dangling behind her, as she gapes at the bodies lying around her and up at Bo.
Having consumed their collective chi, Bo yet stills glows with unrestrained power. “I could be more powerful than all other Fae,” she says, voice amplified as she has her Galadriel-considers-taking-the-ring moment. “Everyone would kneel at my feet.” She reaches for her dog collar and snarls the rest. “There would be no more Dark and no more Light. There would be only...me.” She rips the collar from her throat and tosses it aside.
This is SuperBo.
That seems to be more than enough though as, now freed, Bo begins to come back to herself, the colors of power fading as the wind dies down and Bo falls to the floor in a heap. Mysteriously freed, Doctor Lauren rushes to the stage to Bo’s side as she rallies. “What happened?” Bo gasps, all healed from the power high. “I don’t know what happened,” Doctor Lauren admits. “But you managed —you sucked the chi out of all of them. All at once.” What’s that doc? No mention of Bo declaring that she could effortless rule the Fae world if she wanted to? You have a funny handle on that whole full disclosure thing. But then, we knew that.
Horrified, Bo tearfully denies it, looking over at the dead-for-real-this-time dolls. Frantically, she leaps down from the stage and, running to Christophe’s side, feeds chi back into him until he revives. She moves to do the same to Annie Oakley, but the only mostly dead sharp shooter won’t allow it. “You can’t know the torture it’s been,” she tells Bo. “Now I can rest.” And she dies the true death.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi searches the Internet for suitable new places for Hale to live. For his part, Hale is sitting on the desk, contemplating the nearly all dead Tori who is still lying on the floor. Nice, guys. Kenzi wonders about Buenos Aries, but Hale nixes it. “I’ve got a cousin in BA who used to drive me nuts when I was a kid. Only siren I knew that was tone deaf. Make your ears bleed. I’d almost rather meet the wrath of the Glaive than see his face again.”
Kenzi decides on Egypt. “I like pyramids; do you like pyramids?” But the mention of Egypt has pinged something for Hale. He remembers Dyson mentioning that a lich was in town. “What’s a lich?” Kenzi asks. Hale: “Our only hope, princess.”
At Creeptastic Theatre, said lich is clawing at the table cover to drag the food down to his level. But as he reaches for a hunk for meat, Bo steps on his hand. “The nail The Morrigan gave us—what does it mean?” she demands. Struggling under Bo’s hold, CD admits that ComaNadia isn’t sick, she’s been cursed. “That nail is an African shaman’s cursing nail. Somewhere, there is a piece of wood with (Coma)Nadia’s nail in it. Remove it and she will most likely wake up.” Bo and Doctor Lauren gape at one another. Do they seem to be doing that a lot this episode or is it just me?
“Please let me eat,” the lich begs Bo. “Sorry pal,” she tells him. “Life is off the menu. No more humans for you.” She kicks the meat out of reach. The lich rolls to his back, moaning about all the atrocious sensations he’s felt over the years, the Inquisition ripping through Spain, Rome burning. Good times. He then dies, which is a blessing if only because it means he finally stops talking. Exeunt Bo and Doctor Lauren.
At The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Lair, Donny and Christophe tearfully embrace as Bo and Trick look on happily. Upstairs later on, Christophe sits at the bar watching Donny and Trick debrief. Trick asks what they’re going to do before Christophe “fades” and Donny says they’re going to go their cottage on the lake, their favorite place on earth. Trick warns that three days is only a guess, Christophe could go as soon as that night. I guess, despite Bo feeding chi into the dancer, he will soon go from mostly dead to all dead at which point all Donny can do is go through his pockets and look for loose change.
Donny says that when Christophe was dying, he begged for five more minutes with him. “This time, any times a blessing.” He thanks Trick for a proper chance to say goodbye to Christophe, though technically he should be thanking Bo.
As Donny departs, Hale and Kenzi rush in with Tori dead in Hale’s arms. “OK,” Hale says to Trick. “Where’s the lich?” Trick frowns at them. “He’s dead.”
Freaking out, Hale lays Tori on the pool table. “Oh man! I needed that lich to raise this girl I was babysitting from the dead!” He turns to Kenzi. “They’re gonna send me to the catacombs! Do you know what they do to sirens in prison?!”
Seemingly from out of nowhere, Dyson is suddenly at The Dal. What, did someone send up a wolf signal or something? And if so, where the hell can I get one?! “Hale!” he shouts. “What did you do?” He takes Tori’s pulse from the neck as Hale tries to ramble through an explanation. “Okay look—” Laying a hand on Tori’s stomach, Dyson looks at his partner calmly. “Buddy,” he says, but Hale misinterprets. “Okay—just..wait—hold on—”
Without warning, Dyson forms a fist and thuds it into Tori’s core just beneath her breastbone. With a deep gasp of breath, Tori surges up, awake and alive and still in mid-sentence from Hilton Hovel. “’Cause I’m allergic to coffee, it makes me pass out.”
“Oh my God!” Kenzi exclaims, “but you had no frickin’ pulse!” Tori: “Duh. Cause when I go into allergic shock, someone has to help my second heart kick in!” Hale turns to Dyson, confused. “Second heart?” “Duh,” Dyson mimics Tori adorably.
Overcome, Kenzi throws her arms around Dyson, thanking him profusely. He pulls her in close, smiling and closing his eyes as he nuzzles her tiny head. I absolutely love their relationship! Have I said that before? Eh, too bad. Hale keeps repeating “second heart?” until, finally accepting it, he exuberantly embraces an ecstatic Kenzi.
Calmer now and at a table, Hale asks Tori if “there’s any way you could not tell your mom about the vomit, the booze and the coffee—and the rap music” he’d been eternally grateful. Tori admits that if her mom found out about any of it, she’d be grounded for fifty years. She tells Kenzi that she really likes her, “you’re a very spirited human,” and Kenzi preens. “How much, detective?” Tori asks flatly. It takes Hale a minute to understand. “How much for the human?” Tori clarifies. Shocked, Kenzi’s mouth drops open as Hale contemplates her for a second. “I’ll take fifty bucks and the promise that I never see her scrawny, meddling ass again.” Insulted, Kenzi whispers “fifty bucks?!” as Tori sticks out her hand, saying it’s a deal. Hale looks like he might actually go for it, but stops. “Actually,” he admits, “this ‘spirited human’ has a special place in my heart too, so I will have to respectfully decline.” Aww. Plus there’s the small fact that Bo would kick your ass when she found out.
Tori’s guards show up and she thanks Hale and Kenzi for a great night.
“I, ah, actually had fun,” she admits. Exeunt Tori.
“Thank you, Hale,” Kenzi begins. “Thank you for not selling me to a psycho Fae socialite!” Hale: “Silence, human.” Kenzi smacks his arm.
Back in the White Room of Lies, Doctor Lauren unzips another body bag and Bo climbs out again. “You really need to figure out a better way to get me in here.” But Doctor Lauren is paying no attention to Bo; she is all eyes only for ComaNadia. “You know, I spent years looking for a cure to a disease she doesn’t have.” The doc is pissed. She wonders who would curse ComaNadia. Bo suggests she think of it as a blessing. “We’re one step closer to getting (Coma)Nadia back to you. That’s good, right?”
Going by the look on Doctor Lauren’s face, it’s not all good, no. Reminded now that her opportunities to be with Bo are fleeting, she turns and kisses Bo, pulling her into a desperate embrace, then stopping suddenly so that they face each other, full of angst.
Fae of the Day:
Cheeno: n. dark Fae who eats human flesh though may also eat own flesh in a pinch. Cheenos have been known to take positions as butchers to the Fae so as to prepare cuts of human meat for other Fae flesh-eaters. Equally repulsive in appearance and demeanor.
Lich: n. Ancient, royal dark Fae family that has, over the centuries, discovered the secret to cheating death. Horcruxes need not apply. A lich eats human flesh, but is equally obsessed with feeding its intellect by raising dead artists, musicians, intellectuals, etc, the best of the best, and feeding off their talents.
Origin: Egyptian. As in, walk like an.
Quotes of the Night:
Hale: There was a storm brewing, a storm of thunder, lightning – and Hale.
Bo: So we’re looking for a flesh-eating Fae foodie?
Kenzi: Dude, there is not enough suction in that little tube for dog slobber!
Kenzi: I’m not even drinking this month. I’m on a cleanse.”
Dyson: And uh, she’s got a pretty wicked temper. Bo: We used to date.
Tori: I’m The Glaive’s daughter, bitches!
The lich to Dyson: My goodness, you are gorgeous! The lich to Bo: But you, my dear, are divine.
Hale: This is one of those moments when I wish working homicide meant you got to do the killin’!
The lich: Bit of a Fae faux pas.
Hale: The Glaive is gonna make garters of my tender bits. And I need my tender bits!
Kenzi: It’s not a drink, it’s a HUG!
Bo: “I could be more powerful than all the Fae. Everyone would kneel at my feet. There would be no more dark and no more light. There would be only – me.
Hale to Dyson: Second heart? Dyson: Duh.
Hale: I’ll take fifty bucks and the promise that I never see her scrawny, meddling ass again.
Hale: Actually, this ‘spirited human’ has a special place in my heart too.
Kenzi: Thank you, Hale. Thank you for not selling me to a psycho Fae socialite! Hale: Silence, human.