Our Lost Girl obsession is still 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, episode 7, episode 8, episode 9, and episode 10). All caught up? Good. And now, on to the recap for last night’s episode, 2.11, “Can’t See the Fae-Rest."
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!
Out in the dull, muffled light of a cloudy big city day, Bo and Kenzi are window shopping, specifically propositioning a leather jacket by pressing prostrate in adoration against its display window. “It is insanely gorgeous,” Bo moans. Kenzi tells her to buy it and Bo points out that it’s also insanely expensive, “and therefore staying on that side of the glass.” Kenzi says no one deserves it more. “You could go on in there and you could charm the pencil skirts off all those snooty clerks and snag that coat for free–but you don’t.” Bo says that’s because there are things she likes better than stuff. “Do you really think that those loaded ladies in there have a better life?” Which is exactly when Kenzi notices PerfectCiara emerging from the store. “Well, that depends. Does boinking your ex make for a better life?” To which we all say HELL YES!
Clearly delighted to see them, PerfectCiara greets them both, “what a treat!” Less thrilled to run into Dyson’s bang buddy, Bo and Kenzi fake smile their way through the awkward! PerfectCiara asks how they are and Bo and Kenzi exchange glances and shrug, “we’re good.” PerfectCiara goes on to say she never had the chance to properly thank Bo for “saving my life during that whole body snatch debacle,” aka Original Skin. Ah, yeah ya did, sweetie. Bo shrugs it off, “it’s really not necessary” but PerfectCiara insists that it is and offers to treat the ladies to lunch, where they would become Ladies Who Lunch.
Bo hesitates and Kenzi takes that as her cue and conveniently begins to cough. “Oh sorry,” Bo tells PerfectCiara, “Kenzi’s not feeling that good.” Kenzi: “Yeah sorry, I just had some really bad salami and it’s just gonna–” she mimes vomiting. Snort. PerfectCiara smiles; she’s not fooled, but she’s British so she goes along. “Some other time then,” she offers and leaves while Kenzi calls “bye!” in her wake.
PerfectCiara-free, Kenzi admits that Bo isn’t a saint. “Well, did you want to have lunch with her?” Bo asks. Kenzi: “Totes. I mean she probably eats somewhere expensive and…pay for it.” Bo grimaces, but Kenzi has her back and says that if Bo has a problem with PerfectCiara, then forget it. Bo, naturally, objects that she doesn’t have problems with PerfectCiara. “I just don’t really feel like hanging out with her. She’s not my friend.” Kenzi: “Do I not know what the word ‘problems’ mean?”
Bo gives her a friendly smack on the shoulder and smiles as Kenzi whines. “Let’s go.” As they saunter away from the posh store, Bo blows a kiss at the gorgeous jacket. Kenzi swats her playfully on the ass and it’s Bo who whines this time “Ow!” Kenzi: “That was for the arm!” and throws said arm around her bestie. Love. Them.
Cut to a swank uptown party in a penthouse. Think of a Gossip Girl-esque cold open of CSI: NY with people who look their age and shot through a gold camera gel and you’ve pretty much got it. Arm in arm, Socialite Female and Socialite Male stumble and meet and greet their way down to an empty bedroom where they proceed to get it on. Socialite Male pulls out–er–away and grabs a wooden box which hosts a buffet of prophylactic selection. Socialite Female drunkenly moans and giggles (kill me now). Socialite Male offers a cherry-flavored condom, probably the only cherry either one of them has to offer. Socialite Female: “Mmm. Cherries.” Her head bobbles and as her eyes close again, a shadow passes across her followed by the tell-tale grotesque noises of Socialite Male getting dead. The sound of his body hitting the floor rouses Socialite Female who opens her eyes, sees his body, and starts to scream. Whatdya know; he did pop her cherry after all.
Dyson draws a sheet over dead Socialite Male as Hale (Hale!) bends over via cell phone for his chief, saying that they are “all over it.” Oh, if only. Frustrated, Hale tells Dyson the chief is all over them, “tell me the killer left a signed confession.” Dyson: “Yeah, sure, it’s in that box of Cubans.”
Hale expositions the déjà vu about this murder, the third body in two weeks with lots of commonalities that Dyson proceeds to detail. He wonders if Socialite Female is worth a look but Hale dismisses her as a suspect. “Ain’t no way she did it; she’s half his weight and 50% of that is champagne.” Dyson motions for the uniforms to take the body away and Hale admits that the whole thing is starting to smell funny, “and I’m not even a wolf.” Dyson confirms that it’s definitely Fae. “Fae serial killer?” he murmurs doubtfully, but that’s exactly what Hale thinks. “Murdering humans and getting real sloppy.” Dyson notes the Fae is not even feeding on the dead humans. Well, shame on him/her. Hale decides they need to make a connection between the murders and fast. “Lucky for us,” Dyson says, holding up a smartphone, “Cam (i.e. Socialite Male) scheduled his every waking moment. Hell of a life too. Wall to wall parties in Rio, Dubai, Paris.” He had a few scheduled in town, too, and Dyson thinks they can get some intel from them. Hale points out that those parties are going to be serious A list and he and Dyson can’t crash them because they’ve already been made at this crime scene. Dyson in THAT VOICE complete with an eyebrow waggle: “We weren’t who I was thinking of.”
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Hale and Dyson are putting the hard sell to Bo and Kenzi. Not like that! Damn it. “The parties are insane, ladies,” Hale says with enthusiasm. Kenzi is playing with her phone while Dyson silently eyes a contemplative Bo. Hale: “One word: hot tubs!” and then he shoots his arms in the air and spins around all ‘nuff said, playa! Kenzi, without looking up, “that’s two words, dinkus.” Dyson shoots Bo an amused look. Hale isn’t done. “OK, OK. Hot tubs! Filled with–Cristal!” Bo: “Ooh, those are five really good words!” and Kenzi mmm hmms a strong agreement.
Dyson gets into the act. “They cater with celebrity chefs. Fly DJs in from all over the world.” Hale: “Oyster bars.” He leans over to whisper siren-like (heh) into Kenzi’s ear: “Vodka tastings…” Kenzi goes wide-eyed did someone say vodka?! I went to a wedding once with a vodka bar and it was as though heaven itself had opened the pearly, ice-cold, lip-numbing, tasty gates. “Swag bags worth more than my car!” Hale adds. They give out swag bags at these parties? Is there a candy necklace? ‘Cause I always loved to get the candy necklace in my bag. Though somehow, that’s sounds very dirty right now.
He had Kenzi at vodka. “I’m gonna marry these parties is what I’m gonna do,” she murmurs. Bo admits that it sounds like fun and they could always use some fun. “Annnddd,” Kenzi adds, holding out her hand to the boys and wiggling her fingers, “a clothing allowance.” Bo suddenly remembers that everyone at these parties usually knows everyone else. “How you figure we fit in?” Dyson, more than a little amused, drawls that they have to send the ladies to prep school. Hale: “Hook you up with someone to talk to.” Dyson ducks his head to hide a growing smile as Hale continues, “you know, someone who is dialed into the young money crowd.” Bo is nodding along with this idea. “OK,” she agrees. This makes sense, but “who?” Dyson and Hale exchange speaking looks, and Dyson does a speaking chin jerk toward Hale: (Perfect)Ciara. Hale is already nodding as they’re on the same page as usual: yep, (Perfect)Ciara, and they silently trade looks to decide which of them is going to break the news to Bo as to who is her new tutor.
“You know, if you don’t have time for this...” Bo is seated in the plush environs of a high-end dress shop. A clerk in a pencil-thin skirt (heh) brings over a tea tray. As PerfectCiara stalks into the room, I half expect her to ask “shall I be Mother?” before she commences pouring.
“Bo, I will make time,” she says instead, definitively. She presents a guest list to Bo for the party she’ll be attending, “fully notated with advice and juicy detail on each guest. Oh! Also–” She holds up an off-white, toga-ish silk dress. “You should try this on.” Bo refuses, politely for her. “Oh no, that’s OK. I’m dressed,” but PerfectCiara asks that Bo humor her. Also, even a downtown hottie like Bo would know she wouldn’t make it past the uptown door in her leathers unless she was on bodyguard duty. PerfectCiara asks the clerk for one in Bo’s size, declining to mention what size that is, but I guess size zero is obvious on everyone. The clerk gets around her nonspeaking line contract with a snippy “Mmm Hmm” of consent.
Bo holds up a head shot and asks PerfectCiara for an ID and she names Russell Cooper, who is tonight’s host. Bo goes through PerfectCiara’s list as the fairy queen adds additional anecdotes along the way. “Lita S? Play up your interest in fashion.” PerfectCiara notes Lita does accessories, “very exclusive,” then remembers that there was “some chatter” about Lita and the first victim. “She’s gorgeous, single, and she spent a lot of time on a custom piece for (HostRussell).” Bo, wryly: “People thought they were knocking custom boots?”
Before PerfectCiara can reply, the clerk returns with the toga in Bo’s size. Again, PerfectCiara asks Bo to try it on and again, Bo resists. “I just love this window into your world,” PerfectCiara adds. “And–and Dyson’s. He can be so impenetrable. Plus, every time I offer to buy him a dress he turns me down,” she jokes. Bo agrees to try it, but refuses to let PerfectCiara buy it for her. “Nonsense!” PerfectCiara calls after her. “It’s for Dyson’s work, and, sorry to go on about it, it’s just you know him so well and I–” Bo interrupts her, calling out from the dressing room, “I can’t hear you, the dress is over my head!” With a frustrated sigh, PerfectCiara gives up.
At the next GG party, it seems like every woman in the room went to the same dress shop as that off-white non-color peppers the room. Champagne is poured, ladies kiss kiss, darling, and the camera zooms in on Lita S who is pooh, poohing the food to HostRussell while calling the canapés “charming.” “Well someone gave me the name of a charming caterer,” Russell says. “You’re welcome,” Lita chirps and then remembers she has something in her bag for him. “Because the host is always the most important decoration.” She passes over a box and HostRussell extracts one of Lita’s custom made belts from it. “It’s a signature Lita S belt,” she preens and prompts him to parrot what she “always says.” HostRussell: “Hand-made artisanal belts set a man apart in a pre-fab world.” Lita grabs a flute of champagne as HostRussell vows to put the belt on right now, “for battle.” Lita simpers that he would be making her night. As HostRussell moves off, three nameless socialite males flock around Lita who takes it as her due. Yeah, I’m not going to like this chick. At all.
Bo and Kenzi move tentatively through the party. She looks beautiful in the toga-ish dress, and incidentally this may be the first time her impressive, slightly-enhanced cleavage has not been on full display. Kenzi is downright demure for her, channeling her funk through the soft pink wig. Kenzi plans their attack. “OK, I say we start with the whiskey bar,” (there’s a whiskey bar too?! I want to go there!) “the raw bar and then gift bags. Or we can do gift bags, dessert, vodka tasting,” (that’s my girl!) “whatever, but we need a strategy pronto.” Bo agrees, but caveats that they need an investigation strategy. “I did not go shopping with Princess Grace just for the makeover.” Snort. Kenzi: “Yes, but Lita S is here! What if there’s a free boot bar?!” Oh, sign me up!
HostRussell approaches them, charmingly cautious. “I’m sorry, do I–” “You must be (Host)Russell,” Bo interrupts, extending her hand, which HostRussell shakes. “And you are,” he prompts, smiling at Kenzi. Bo says she is very pleased to introduce her friend “Ken–Kimmie,” she quickly corrects herself. “Thank you–Bitsy,” Kenzi returns, shaking HostRussell’s hand. She spins that they live upstairs and to HostRussell’s skeptical, “Really?” adds that they thought they’d come downstairs “and say ‘Holla!’” she finishes with a club raise-your-hands-in-the-air move.
HostRussell points out that Kenzi looks “a little more downtown than my other neighbors.” Kenzi’s back goes up as she smiles at him archly. “Well, aren’t you charming, darling,” she grits. Russell: “Nothing hotter than a girl who’s a little dirty around the edges.” He means it as a compliment and with a tight smile Kenzi tries to take it as one. HostRussell offers to take “Kimmie” on a tour of the place and Bo insists that Kenzi would love one. “Got a bar fridge in each bathroom fully stocked…with snacks,” he tells Kenzi proudly as they walk away. Kenzi: “’Cause that’s the best place to eat food.” She twirls around once like a wind up doll with dance hands, mouthing Oh My God to Bo. Heee. HostRussell claims he knew that he liked “Kimmie” right away, “I knew it!”
Alone now, Bo slinks through the GG crowd. She zeros in on a NerdCute guy who’s holding an EyePad and dodging a waiter. Bo pulls the “haven’t we met?” card and NerdCute fumbles, admitting he doesn’t do faces well. “You know, I wish someone would invent an app for that.” Bo chirps, “I’d buy it,” and they giggle together for a moment. “I’m Clive,” NerdCute introduces himself. Good Lord, everyone is naming themselves so quickly tonight! I’m a tad giddy, I won’t lie. “Or as my friends call me, C3PO,” Clive adds, shrugging. “Human cyborg relations,” he clarifies. Darling, that is not the way to keep a hottie talking to you. Though it’s a little sad that I not only get the reference right off, but the deeper, job-related meaning as well.
Bo’s smile tilts a little. “Clive it is,” she chimes and there’s more awkward giggling. She asks if he’s friends with HostRussell and Clive admits that he likes to think he is as “he (HostRussell) invested in my company.” Bo concludes that this is how they are able to have this much fun, “you’re tech guys,” she says with a playful jab at Clive. He offers to show Bo something cute and dials up the EyePad to show pictures of his new niece, “Steven Arianna, after the original genius, of course, Steve Jobs.” Oh that poor baby. Bo fakes smiles a “yeah, right,” but Clive actually picks up on the awkward and adds “my brother is the dork of the family.” And that makes you…?
“Aw, cute baby,” Lita simpers as she joins them and introduces herself to Bo after giving Clive a squeeze. Bo tells her that she heard Lita would be there. “Oh, I’m flattered,” Lita preens. “And I’m in the market, actually,” Bo says, “for a truly special pair of boots for my very best girlfriend.” Aw. Still looking out for Kenz even undercover.
Lita mewls that she wishes she could help but she really doesn’t have any lines for women any more. “But if you have any men you’d like me to dress, let me know,” she adds coyly. She turns to Clive, caressing his EyePad (not like that!) and says she was just going on about his tablet cover, how it “warms the chill technology spreads.” She asks to borrow it, but doesn’t wait for an assent before she whisks it away to other penthouse parts.
Alone again, Bo asks Clive if he knew Cam Ferguson, Dead Socialite Male. What!? It says so on his business cards! Clive sadly says that he did and that he, too, was at the party that night but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He excuses himself with more charm then HostRussell has in his pinkie finger and leaves. Dissatisfied, Bo sips from her flute and surveys the room.
HostRussell is leading “Kimmie’ into his office. “And that’s how I made my first mil,” he says. “No bigs.” Oh, look who’s going for the trendy slang! Bless. Kenzi plays with HostRussell’s tie as she pumps him for information (not like that! Yeesh! What is with you guys today?!) on “Cameron, the dead guy.” HostRussell claims that DSM was like a brother to him, and I buy it as they were high-fiving one another in the cold open. No, stop, seriously, not like that. Come on now!
HostRussell changes topics and asks if Kenzi has ever seen his etchings–I mean, Isabella’s book of artistic nudes. “Gosh, mister, no!” Kenzi says, wide-eyed and with a smack to his shoulder. As he gets the book, Kenzi cases the office, sticking a silver pen down her dress and rifling through a wooden box that looks suspiciously like DSM’s box o’ condoms. “That box?” HostRussell says, proudly. “Balinese.” Caught, Kenzi only needs a second, “I love Balinesia,” (ha!) and then pulls out a snakeskin business card holder and asks if it’s by Lita S. “I heard she was going to be here tonight.” HostRussell nods , smug and pleased. “She’s a good, good friend. She actually made me this belt,” he says, displaying it. He asks if Kenzi wants to meet Lita and our girl nearly pees her pants with glee. “If you could arrange a one-on-one that would be so cool!” HostRussell smiles, but the smile turns upside down as he looks behind Kenzi. “What are you doing?!” he exclaims just as someone clocks Kenzi across the back of her head. She goes down. Hard. NOT LIKE THAT!
Kenzi wakes sprawled on what’s probably a very expensive rug. “Dude!” she moans without opening her eyes. “Did you roofie me up the side of my head? Owwww.” She realizes that HostRussell is draped across her teeny tiny midsection. “That was a creepy way to cop a feel, man,” she says, shoving him off her. It’s a testament to Kenzi’s tenacity not to mention a sad commentary on her past too, that she takes the supposed roofie feel up so in stride. Deadweight, emphasis on dead, HostRussell merely sprawls on the floor next to her. Realizing something is Very Wrong, Kenzi becomes violently wide-awake, scrambling back from HostRussell only to bump into another dead guy lying face-down behind her. “Oh great!” she gasps. “Just what every girl needs: a matching set of dead guys!” They are the fashion accessory of the season. Just ask Lita S.
Turns out that the second guy is Clive and not only that, but he’s only Mostly Dead. He rouses slowly and Kenzi punches him on the arm. “Dude, aren’t you dead?!” Clive: “No. Are you?” Snort. Kenzi gasps no, then, thinking maybe HostRussell is only Mostly Dead too, she smacks his chest a few times. When he fails to revive though, she starts to moan, “ohhh, but he is!” Clive glances over, sees HostRussell, and starts to properly freak out.
In the throne room of The Ash’s compound, Lachlan is examining a bug suspended in a glass box when the doors behind him open, admitting a wary Doctor Lauren. She says The Ash wanted to see her and Lachlan spins in his chair Dr. Evil-like, holds up the boxed bug, and asks if she knows what it is. Doctor Lauren blinks. “A peri?” Lachlan informs her that it’s an ancient and endangered Persian Fae. “Yes, I know,” Doctor Lauren says. Lachlan calls them exquisite creatures, “until they begin to swarm and then they become more like killer bees, bees with the voices of angels.”
“I know what a peri is, Ash,” Doctor Lauren points out, aggravated. “I did an autopsy on one for you a few weeks ago.” Lachlan holds up the presumed report. “What? This?” It’s clear he thinks the report falls short of Doctor Lauren’s usual professional mark. A little put out, the doc reminds him that he’d asked for a quick turnaround. “And a full autopsy which I want you to do now,” he tells her definitively.
Doctor Lauren tries to appeal to the softer side of The Ash. “I’m having a hard time–personally.” Lachlan shifts in his chair and drums his fingers yes? “I have new evidence about what happened with (Coma)Nadia,” Doctor Lauren continues. “Well, I want you to do the report again,” Lachlan repeats, unmoved, “correctly.” Doctor Lauren glares at him. “Now off you go,” he patronizes. Helpless not to, blinking back tears, unable to speak, Doctor Lauren nods and exits.
“I’m running low on patience,” a wizened uninformed cop tells Kenzi. He sits across from her in the cop shop interrogation room. Where are Hale and Dyson? “And I,” Kenzi snits, “got hit on the head, Sergeant Hard Ass!”
He blinks and nods, too experienced to be taken in. “Haven’t you ever heard of Victim’s Rights?” Kenzi asks, but Sergeant Hard Ass merely thumps a hefty file down on the table between them. “Your Sunday paper?” Kenzi snarks, but it lacks bite because she knows what’s in the folder. “Your rap sheet,” Sergeant Hard Ass confirms.
I don’t get this; it’s not like Kenzi’s never been in the cop shop before. The local uniforms must know by now that she’s linked to Hale and Dyson. She was there only last week with NotAmyMadigan! Also, sergeants typically don’t investigate homicides. That’s why they have homicide detectives! Or at least that’s how it works in the U.S. Maybe it’s different in the Great White North.
“Well, a rap sheet for some of you,” Sergeant Hard Ass caveats. He goes on to list a few of Kenzi’s aliases, ending with Tony Soprano. “Oh yeah, that last one was a bit of a boondoggle,” Kenzi admits with a giggle. “But it wasn’t my fault. Big mix up at the passport office.” Sergeant Hard Ass invites her to try again and Kenzi tries to play him, stalling for time I think. “Mine was a troubled youth,” she whispers, calling up the tears. “The orphanage. And then I became a governess for a Mister Rochester…” HA!
Sergeant Hard Ass decides he’s indulged her enough. “Listen,” he growls, “I have a holding cell and a dead guy. I also have a mouthy girl with quite the record. You want to do the math?!” Kenzi glares at him but for once, has finally found someone who can shut her up, and she twitches in place. This is when the Calvary arrives, as it so often does, in the form of Hale. He tells “Rossy” that the chief needs to see him. Sergeant Hard Ass gives Kenzi a nod and a knowing look and she pulls out a small smile. Hale thanks Rossi for “softening this one up for him.” Exeunt Sergeant Hard Ass.
“Oh,” Kenzi exhales hard, “thank Hale.” Hale winks at her as he takes Sergeant Hard Ass’s seat. “I gotcha Little Mama.” Awww. He asks that she try to give him something to tell them. “What did you see before you got K.O.’d?” he asks, taking out his cop notebook. Kenzi rolls her eyes, back on solid ground. “Some privileged MoFo trying to impress me out of my girdle.” “Uh Huh,” Hale says a little dimly as he pictures her nekkid in a girdle equivalent for a moment. She goes on to describe a desk and Persian rug, “books of artistic nudes,” she scoffs. Suddenly, she remembers the Balinese wooden box, which pings for Hale as Dead Socialite Male had one of those, too. He asks if she looked in it and Kenzi tells him about the minutiae and the Lita S business card holder. Hale writes it down, murmuring “Good job.” That brings Kenzi to her breaking point and she groans and lays her head and arms on the table. Immediately, Hale is up, quickly checking the bull pen to make sure no one’s watching before he rounds the table. “All right, all right,” he murmurs to a miserable Kenzi and he takes her into his arms. Double awwwww. “I don’t like dead people,” she whines against his hard, strong shoulder.
Out in the hall and still dressed to the nines, Bo makes her way back to her seat with a bottle of water and a vending machine sandwich. I do like the way the dress is styled from the waist down. Oh, I geddit now. She and Kenzi are maintaining their covers as party attendees, which would mean they have to be treated like the rest of the witnesses/suspects. Naturally, Kenzi, with her record, gets singled out. Also, there’s the fact that she woke up with a dead guy on top of her, and no, definitely not like that.
Bo takes a seat next to an older woman with bag lady overtones.
Bag Lady smiles sadly at Bo and her booty–er–food. Being Bo, she offers the sandwich to Bag Lady. “I’m not that hungry.” Bag Lady thanks her and introduces herself as Maganda. “It means ‘pretty of the forest’,” she explains. Bo returns the favor, “I’m Bo. It means–well–Bo.” They share a laugh. Bo asks Maganda if she’s there as a witness to the murder. “I witness all,” Maganda intones dramatically, “from beneath the tree.” Bo is confused: “You live in the park?” Well, possibly, but I don’t think that’s what Maganda means. Maganda tells Bo that her home is lost and Bo sympathizes with her. Bo asks if Maganda saw anything at the party related to the murder. “Moon of silver,” Maganda murmurs, looking up at the ceiling. “Owl seeking God. Snake with the face of lady. Beautiful face. Long, dark silk down her back.” Sergeant Hard Ass steps out of the bullpen to tell Bo that she’s next for questioning. Bo stands and passes the unopened bottle of water over to Maganda before following after Sergeant Hard Ass.
In the bullpen, Dyson looks up as Bo takes the empty chair next to his desk. “Wow,” he says appreciatively, getting his first glimpse of Bo in her uptown duds. Bo shoots him a look out from under her lashes yeah, I know, don’t get me started, realizes he’s serious in his admiration, and smiles with a sigh. “How’s Clive doing?” she asks, bypassing the moment smoothly. “Is he going to be OK?” Dyson says yes, though Clive got it worse than Kenzi. “Well maybe the killer’s more determined to hurt guys,” Bo suggests. Dyson hands her the floor plan of HostRussell’s penthouse. He points out where Kenzi and HostRussell were in the office and how Clive came down the hallway toward the bathroom. “Where are you?” he asks Bo. “I am in the kitchen trying to pretend I’m not dressed like Succubus Barbie,” Bo quips. Dyson smiles with another admiring look at her chest. “It is a...different look for you,” he admits and by the sound of it, he really likes it. “Ciara picked it out,” Bo admits with a shrug, preening a little. Oh, I don’t blame you, honey. It’s been a long time since he’s looked at you that way. “You look nice,” he understates softly and with such heavy subtext there’s now a suspicious burning in my eyes. God, writers! Will you get them back together already?! My heart can’t take much more of this!! Strewth. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Bo’s head pops up–what did you say?–and they stare at one another for a loaded-meaning moment and oh, the expressions on their faces. Sigh. That’s it. I’m hittin’ rewind. Again.
Coming back to herself, Bo asks where Lita is during all this. Dyson doesn’t know who she means. “Lita S? She’s some kind of designer, lifestyle consultant something,” Bo explains while Dyson checks his notes. Bo says as far as she can tell, Lita has been at every party, but Dyson doesn’t have her on his witness list. “But your squad cars got there in minutes and she’s not the kind of girl who can walk away unnoticed.” Not if she has anything to say about it, no. Dyson posits that Lita probably blended right in. “Anyway, nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary.” Yeah, except for the dead guy! “Actually,” Bo muses, “somebody did,” and we get a shot of Maganda still sitting on the hall bench.
At a table at The Dal (drink!), PerfectCiara and Dyson are seated across from Bo. “You think Lita is Fae?” PerfectCiara asks. Bo: “Maybe some kind of snake shifter?” PerfectCiara confirms that all the products Lita makes are real snakeskin. “So she uses her own dead skin to make her stuff,” Bo says, disgusted as she sets down her mug. “Very green of her.” Dyson tells Bo how Kenzi saw a snakeskin case on HostRussell’s desk before he died and one of the other victims had snakeskin shoes. “I think you need to talk to (Lita) again,” he says a tad apologetically. “Oh no,” Bo objects. “I’m not her type, except in a snake toying with a mouse kind of way.”
“She really likes guys,” PerfectCiara drawls with a pointed look at Dyson. “Handsome guys with more money than brains.” Bo chuckles and Dyson clues in. “Are you saying that I fit that description?” he asks with a playful look. PerfectCiara: “Oh, you’ve got the handsome part down.” Hoo Shah, lady.
“So, what?” he asks. “I go undercover? Act moneyed?” PerfectCiara confirms this plan, “and you bring Bo,” she adds firmly. Bo immediately recoils. “What? What?” she parrots frantically looking back and forth between the other two. “Who does what?” Are you kidding me? PerfectCiara says that Lita is a predator, “she’ll love chasing him with you right there!” Bo tries to get out of it by suggesting that, since Lita has already met her, she could say that Dyson was her brother and I roll my eyes so hard for a moment I can see out the back of my skull.
“Ah go with fiancé. That’ll bring out her fangs,” PerfectCiara counters casually. Dyson, who has been letting Bo get out of this snarl with his girlfriend, flinches and frowns. “That’s not a great idea,” he says quietly, because he, like everyone else right now, has immediately flashed back to the events of season one’s (Dis)Membership, which includes that heart-melting love confession he gave Bo. Bo takes up the pass, admitting that they’ve played those roles before but things were pretty different then. “I know,” PerfectCiara chirps, “but we’re all friends now the three of us, right?” Bo and Dyson have an entire conversation in one look before Dyson shrugs and caves. “All right. Let’s do it,” he says with another speaking look at Bo before he gets up from the table. Bo is less sanguine about this plan, probably because she knows better than to tug the tiger’s tail. “Are you sure?” she asks PerfectCiara intently. PerfectCiara is failing to grasp the potential torrential bad in this situation. “I trust you,” she declares, all genuine and perfect. Oh, low blow, lady. Bo grimaces and then smiles. Yeah, great. But as she, too, quits the table, PerfectCiara’s confident mien falters and she doesn’t look quite as assured with the situation.
At Lita’s office, Bo tells the smug designer that “poor Wendell” is so smart when it comes to finance, “but all he ever wears is this exact same suit. You have twenty versions,” she says affectionately to Dyson. For her part, Bo looks like she walk off the set of Dallas, and I don’t mean the remake, in a striped silk blouse complete with a tie around her neck and a black suit jacket as though she just came from hosting a southern Mary Kay party. Also, the conservative retreat from the toga gown isn’t in undercover character either, but whatever. Dyson is in the aforementioned navy suit and sporting specs, taking nerd cute to a whole new smokin’ level. “Darling, please. I also have my golf shirts,” Dyson claims in a slightly higher-pitched voice with the trace of an upper-class by-way-of British accent. “Which I wear for golf,” he adds. Oh no, please don’t break out the golf shirts. I can’t handle that much Mister Thornwood in one night.
Bo giggles but Lita hasn’t taken her eyes from Dyson this whole while and frankly, if she looked at me like that, I would be afraid she was going to eat me, and not in a good way. “Wendell,” she coos. “Adorable.” She reaches over and removes Dyson’s specs. “Your fiancée didn’t mention how handsome you are,” Lita simpers. She tells Dyson that what she wants to do is bring out the natural man in him. “There’s a wild animal in there somewhere,” she purrs. Oh honey, you have no idea. “Oh yes,” Bo agrees heartily, “there is.” Lita smirks and fake chuckles. Oh yeah, you’re here and Dyson steps in claiming that he’s sat on a couple of boards with HostRussell. “He always looked impeccable and I know that was due to you,” he compliments Lita.
But he’s underestimated Lita and she retreats at Russell’s name. “Oh how awful! I just remember something, I am double booked and I need to run.” No kidding. Dyson’s face hardens, giving up the game. Bo tries to save the sting by protesting that they came all this way but Dyson recognizes that the gig is up and confronts Lita. “We know you’re Fae, Lita,” he says. Agitated, Lita looks between them and then suddenly spits venom into Dyson’s face and runs off. Dyson recoils, yelling in pain as he covers his eyes. Frightened, Bo hurries to his side calling his name but he insists he’s fine and tells her to go after Lita. With one final check on him to be sure, she does.
Lita runs out of the building and down the block, Bo right on her heels. Or at least she is until Maganda rolls her shopping cart full of stuff right in front of her. Bo goes down, taking the cart with her as Dyson exits the building behind her still wiping his eyes. Seeing Bo on the ground with Maganda pawing at her belongings, shouting “My home! Don’t touch! Don’t touch!” as Bo apologies profusely and tries to help, Dyson and his long-legged stride break out into a full-on run. “I got her,” he shouts at Bo as he lopes on by. Tag Team Bad Ass! As Bo watches, he tackles Lita and brings her down. Still looking down the block to make sure Dyson’s all right, Bo misses Maganda frantically shoving one of those Balinese boxes back into her cart. Dyson likewise looks back to check on Bo and then roughly drags Lita to her feet. “You spit on the wrong guy,” he snarls.
In Lita’s office, Bo is going through the designer’s files when Dyson rejoins her. “The Ash’s guards have her sedated,” he informs her. “Heavily. She’s in the dungeon.” Bo teases him about his impressive tackle back there and he shoots her a similarly themed look. “Well what can I say? I’m a snake charmer,” he quips. You certainly are some kind of charmer, darling. Bo grins and it’s so good to see them in accord and enjoy each other relatively angst free for a change.
He asks if she’s found anything interesting yet. “Just that you can make a killing selling hand-made snakeskin items.” Suddenly, she pulls out a smoking gun. Dyson reads over her shoulder as she explains for the rest of us that it’s a client list, “and our last victim is on it.” Dyson reads down the list and notices Dead Socialite Male is also on it. He has Bo flip the pages but stops when he recognizes another name. “Heinze? No, that can’t be.” Bo asks for clarification and Dyson explains that Heinze is a kobold, ex-Navy and retired. “Definitely not Lita’s type.”
Clive is seated outside a café pouring cream into his cappuccino when Hale and Kenzi join him. Hale thanks him for agreeing to meet and introduces himself, “and you probably remember Kenzi,” he adds as they both sit. “We got our heads bashed in together,” Clive recounts. “We’re practically engaged,” Kenzi agrees. Clive is puzzled: “I thought you were Kimmy?” he asks and Hale drops his head with a sigh. Here we go again. Kenzi: “That’s my middle name.” Hale: “She’s got a few of those.” Snort.
Hale prods Clive about Lita S and Clive admits that he sees her at parties all the time. Hale asks if she ever threatened any of them, but Clive denies it emphatically. “Everybody always wants her around. She’s like having a mirror ball at your party.” He pulls out the EyePad to prove it and flips through a series of pictures, all of them featuring Lita. “I guess I’m a little in love with her,” he admits, flustered. He starts to tear up a little as he talks about how now (Host)Russell is dead, and (Dead Socialite Male)Cam, and Neil, whoever that is. “What if I’m next?” he asks, frightened. Kenzi encourages him to buck up. “She’s locked up and you’re safe. Or my name isn’t Kenzi Kimmy.” Hale smiles, but refrains from pointing out that is not, in fact, her name. Clive desperately clings to Kenzi’s reassurance. “Really?!” And she smiles and nods. Who can resist that face?!
At The Dal (drink!), Heinze, who looks about like you’d expect him too, grizzled and shabby, admits to Bo and Dyson that he knows Lita. “Wouldn’t mind her walking my plank, if you know what I mean,” he says. Unfortunately, we do. Bo asks if Heinze was one of Lita’s clients, but he claims he doesn’t live up in such high environs. ”Wanna buy something nice for your girlfriend here, Dyson?” he asks craftily. He offers up some ivory bangles from “darkest Africa.” “
She’s my colleague,” Dyson corrects tightly and Bo looks at him–is that all?–and yet I think she’s a tad pleased that he regards her that highly on a professional level. “Not to mention the global ban on ivory,” he adds. Heinze laughs and claims he’s just joking “they’re plastic.” Dyson is not amused: “She asked you a question,” Dyson reminds Heinze with a head bob toward Bo. From behind the bar, Trick keeps a wary eye on the conversations as he polishes some glasses. Heinze explains that he used to sail stuff around the world for people but now he sells the stuff himself. “Exotic goods,” he clarifies, handing over one of his cards. “Sent from the four corners. ‘Handicrafts’ Miss Lita calls them.” As Bo and Dyson each examine his card, Heinze admits that Lita sends him lots of clients, “for things that are–unique. Humans,” he scoffs. “Those poor sods are always looking to buy things that make them feel special.” Bo wonders what Lita gets out of it and Heinze says the designer gets a wee cut of his sales and a steady supply of rats from his ships for her snacks. Ewwwww.
“I’m a trustworthy guy, hey Trixie?” Heinze calls to Trick for confirmation. Trick, dryly counters that, “Unless a kobold is bound to you, don’t leave any of your stuff lying around.” Heinze whines that Trick is being unfair and Bo assures him they don’t care about that but something tells me they should. “We just care about some recent human deaths.” Dyson lays photos of the dead guys on the table and tells Heinze to take a look at them. Heinze, unconvincingly, claims he’s never seen them. “These boys were killed by Fae hands, probably Lita’s,” Dyson informs him. Heinze checks his watch and actually says, “Would you look at the time! I’ve got an antiques show to set up for. You’d be surprised at the old stuff you can talk humans into buying.” This is true. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
Bo, Dyson, and Trick all look after Heinze skeptically. “OK,” Bo says with a sneer. “I know kobolds are shifty, but that was over the top.” Dyson agrees with her as his phone rings. He tells someone (probably Hale) that he’s on his way. “Snake is awake,” he informs Bo, gathering up the photos and putting them back into the file. “Time to play,” he quips and leaves.
Down in The Ash’s stone dungeon, Hale and Dyson interrogate Lita who is bound by hand and forehead to a chair in a nearly medieval manner. Actually, given that it’s a Fae dungeon, it probably is medieval. Dyson asks if Lita was angry when she killed the men but Lita denies it. “I loved them. And their credit cards,” she adds, squirming against her bonds. She says she thought they were going to bust her for selling her skin. “Yeah. Shedding your Fae DNA all over the human world. The Ash didn’t like hearing that.” Lita: “The Ash can bite me.” Careful, chippie. Judging by the size of his teeth revealed in last week’s episode that may not be the phrase to go with. “Are humans going and getting their boots and shoes tested now to see if they contain Fae DNA? Please. They can barely do them up.”
Hale goes bad cop and demands one last time to know why she killed the men. “I. Didn’t!” she asserts again, breathing heavily. Dyson looms over her shoulder to murmur in her ear. “You expect us to believe this, snake?” Lita pops fang. “I’m innocccccccent,” she hisses.
Dyson is unmoved. “You gonna do that in The Ash’s house? I don’t think so. Put them away,” he orders. Lita fingers one fang with her tongue. “Put ‘em away!” Dyson repeats more forcefully and she complies.
At The Dal (drink!), Kenzi looks over Bo’s shoulder and sees PerfectCiara amble into the bar. “Danger! (Perfect)Ciara at one o’clock!” she warns in a whisper. Bo looks over as PerfectCiara greets Trick. “Do you want to fake food poisoning?” Kenzi quickly asks. “Let’s go with chicken wings.” But Bo’s changed her position on PerfectCiara. “You know what,” she says. “I’m actually kind of starting to like her.” Kenzi goes wide-eyed. “OK,” she says with a wag of her finger. “You need to get laid.” Preferably by PerfectCiara’s boyfriend. Yeah, I said it.
“Ha ha,” Bo snarks. “But not by Dyson.” DAMN IT. “Dyson and I are done. Like done, done. We are so done!” They are so not done. Going by Kenzi’s face, even Bo’s bestie knows the lady doth protest way too much there. “But he obviously has great taste in women. And (Perfect)Ciara? She’s smart–and funny–and–and–she’s ballsy.”
“Oh my God,” Kenzi mocks with a squeal. “Isn’t she just so perfect? Why don’t we just blow up an air mattress and invite her to move in?” Bo is greatly entertained. “You are jealous,” she teases. “Who’s jealous,” PerfectCiara asks, suddenly standing next to their table. Damn, that fairy moves quiet and fast. “Nobody at this table,” Kenzi is quick to say. “Obviously we are all way super-uber mature, so...” PerfectCiara takes a seat–uninvited, mind you–next to Kenzi.
Bo makes sure PerfectCiara knows they got Lita. “Yeah, I came to buy you some champagne but you don’t sound too enthusiastic,” PerfectCiara observes. Kenzi objects to this conclusion. “Bubbly?! Are you kidding me?! She’s ecstatic! I’ll get the champers.” As Kenzi heads for the bar, Bo explains to PerfectCiara that Trick says Lita is a mama wata, a snake Fae. “I knew one once and they do tend to like expensive trinkets,” PerfectCiara confirms. Bo’s problem is that the men were all crushed to death, strangled. “But when confronted, Lita spat poison.” PerfectCiara confirms this is how a mama wata would operate. “It’s not a python. It’s a poisonous snake.” Technically, it’s venomous, not poisonous. Only poisonous if eating it will kill you. i.e. it’s poison. Ergo, Lita is venomous because her fangs inject/spit venom that will kill you. But potaeto/potahto.
Kenzi returns with a bottle and three glasses. “OK! I christen thee Good Ship DrunkyPop!” but PerfectCiara warns her not to pop the cork yet. “We have the wrong Fae,” Bo explains wearily. Concerned, Kenzi immediately calls Clive–they exchanged cell numbers? What, to meet up late for coffee?–who is, naturally, walking alone down an alley to his car. “Clive you gotta watch out. Just watch your back OK? We got the wrong Fae, man.” Um, way to tell the human about the Fae there, Kenzi. Clive, however, doesn’t have the chance to catch her slip as he’s already looking off screen at the real culprit. His screams echo from Kenzi’s phone while she frantically calls his name as Bo and PerfectCiara look on with concern.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi is miserable as she sits on the floor in front of the couch, Bo beside her on the couch staying close when Dyson and his long-legged stride enter. He sits on the table in front of Kenzi explaining that they tracked the GPS on Clive’s phone. “He’s dead,” Dyson says giving it to them straight after a pause, admitting it was the same kind of kill with no witnesses. Kenzi’s face falls and Bo pats her back in comfort. “His computer tablet was smashed and his body was crushed,” Dyson explains. “Dude!” Kenzi objects. “Keep the gory details to your gory self!” But not Edward Gorey as the case may be.
Kenzi grimaces. “That poor little nerdnik,” she says. Bo agrees that he was a sweet guy and Kenzi exclaims that he was and now she’s starting to feel like the Black Widow. “Meet me at a party and bam! You’re cooked!” Way to make it all about you, Kenz. Bo insists that it’s not Kenzi’s fault that there’s someone else out there who has lost it. “And we had the wrong suspect,” Dyson agrees.
Kenzi: “Yeah. About that, Fae Sherlock Holmes and Fae Watson. What the hell?!” HA! Oh man, that’s perfect. Wait, that would make Hale Inspector Lestrade and Trick Mrs. Hudson! DYING. Bo and Dyson give each other another one of those conversation looks–they do that a lot–and we’re back at The Dal (drink!) where Heinze is drunkenly trying to unload some wooden ‘handicrafts’. He approaches two extras and begins his spiel when Trick intervenes and asks if he needs anything. He insists that he’s just having a chat with “these fine ladies” and invites one of the extras to try out the stool. She plops her fanny down on it as Trick says he trusts Heinze is not soliciting in Trick’s establishment. Heinze: “Would I do such a thing?” Trick: “Yes!” The extra wiggles on the stool and then asks how much and when Heinze is quick to offer a sum, Trick throws up his hands. “What?!” Heinze asks. “The wood’s from Bali. I have to recoup my costs somehow.”
“Would that be endangered wood from Bali?” Trick asks, getting angry and when Heinze makes a face, Trick throws him out. “Trick,” Heinze says, suddenly serious. “I got a lot of stuff I got to sell and fast.” Ignoring him, Trick tells “Eulalie” to get off the stool as it’s going with Heinze. Eulalie actually gets a line, claiming the hard, wooden stool is so “comfy” her bottom feels like it’s come home. That because you’re bottom is as flat as that stool, sweetie. She giggles and Heinze giggles with her and says that it’s quality stuff. He offers Trick a try and then a cut. Trick glares at him and then, hilarious, forces a resisting and whinging Eulalie off the stool. “Gute. Nacht. Heinze.” Trick says forcefully and sweeps his arm toward the door. Disgruntled, Heinze limps to the exit, pausing to leave a walking stick behind in the umbrella stand that I have never, ever noticed there before as he grunts that if they need a four-poster bed or a cutting board, Trick knows who to call.
At The Ash’s compound, Lachlan is musing over Doctor Lauren’s new and improved autopsy report. “So someone is killing tiny, endangered Fae,” he murmurs, “harmless, defenseless Fae.” Doctor Lauren says she believes so, “and based on the evidence that you provided, I believe that there’s already been three peri deaths by electrocution.” Lachlan thinks it doesn’t make sense and Doctor Lauren agrees–and she has a theory! The Ash is interested in her theory but Doctor Lauren won’t give it without his help first, “with this.” As Lachlan comes around to the front of the desk, Doctor Lauren tentatively holds up the ComaNadia’s all-important nail. Lachlan casually identifies it as a cursing nail, African. Doctor Lauren tells him she has reason to believe it has to do with ComaNadia’s coma-state. “I have to get her out of that coma,” she says with feeling. Preferably, before she chucks ComaNadia entirely and jumps on top of Bo for good. “You think she’s cursed?” Lachlan asks and Doctor Lauren admits it fits.
“I’ve done everything that you’ve ever asked of me,” she says, getting even more emotional. “I think that I have earned the right to ask one thing of you.” She’s not wrong here. Yes, I sided with the doc. Try not to faint in shock. But this “ownership” thing in Faedom seems to be symbiotic in its truest form; the Fae may own the human, but in turn, it is responsible for the protection and well-being of said human. There should definitely be some quid pro quo going on.
“Surely there’s something that you–” Lachlan interrupts her here. “I wasn’t The Ash when she was cursed, if indeed she is.” he says, not unkindly. “I can’t help you.” Doctor Lauren points out that he’s The Ash now and he has all the power of The Ash. “Just grant me top level clearance for research and documents,” she begs, increasingly frantic and desperate. “The old Ash kept journals religiously.”
Without hesitation, Lachlan denies her and Doctor Lauren breaks, throwing her files onto the ground in a fit of temper. “I cannot go on like this!” she tells him. “You can and you will,” Lachlan says through gritted teeth, barely holding in his own considerable temper. “Come back when you’ve composed yourself,” he orders.
“No!” Doctor Lauren rips off the necklace that identifies her as The Ash’s property and throws it at Lachlan’s feet. “Because nothing is worth this life. I will not be your servant any longer. I will take (Coma)Nadia and we will leave!” As she is yelling at him, Lachlan reaches back to the desk and presses a button.
“And how on earth will you manage that?” he asks calmly as the doors open and guards enter. Doctor Lauren looks behind her and then back to Lachlan. “No, please,” she begs, crying as the guards drag her away. “Please! Please! Ash, I beg you! PLEASE!” But Lachlan ignores her pleas as she’s taken away.
Her cries echo back into the throne room as Lachlan takes his seat again behind the desk. Pressing another button on the phone, he orders a lackey to get him the private journals of the old Ash. Ash-hole. Aw. Poor doc. Also? Bo is going to have Lachlan’s balls for breakfast when she finds out.
At The Dal (drink!), Bo, Hale, PerfectCiara, Kenzi, and Dyson are gathered around a table as Bo examines Lita’s client list once more. Hale notes that being on Lita’s client list is still a risk factor and PerfectCiara adds that all of those boys wore the same clothes, played at the same places, liked the same things. Dyson says it’s not enough of a connection and Kenzi goes off on a rant about how she could’ve met the other victims at some point and not even known it. “I keep popping up!” Bo says she’s being crazy but there is someone who does keep popping up. Hale: “Crazy homeless lady? We picked her up in the park near (Host)Russell’s.” Bo identifies Maganda and adds that she was there when Bo and Dyson chased Lita out of her office. Dyson muses that those two locations are close and that’s a mighty coincidence. Kenzi: “I didn’t think the po-po believed in those.” Dyson: “We don’t.”
Suddenly something in the file pings for Dyson and he rustles through it, pulling out a crime scene photo, he asks what Bo saw in Maganda’s cart and she describes several wooden items including men’s jewelry boxes. “Uh, the box from (Host)Russell’s desk is gone,” Kenzi reveals, holding out the photo. Bo grabs the photo, surprised that the box is what Maganda wanted. Puzzled himself, Dyson calls Trick over and asks if he has any ideas about this.
Trickopedia to the rescue! He is already on the case and joins them, old book in hand, with the answer ready and waiting to be asked. “She’s a batibat,” he tells them. Kenzi: “A whatiwhat?” Bo reads from the book that each batibat belongs to one tree and one tree belongs to them. Trick opines that they’re generally peaceful. “The problem starts when you cut down a batibat’s tree. Every sliver is a part of them. They won’t let any of it go.” Dyson catches on: “To the point where they’ll kill to get it back.”
Trick says the tree’s rings are the batibat’s history, “their diary. Someone, and I think I might know who, took the batibat’s tree and it got made into the items your victims owned. The wood feels good. It feels like home.” Eulalie’s bottom agrees with you.
Bo concludes that Maganda was compelled to kill the Socialite Males to reclaim her home. Trick: “Like a mother seeking a lost child. It’s instinctual, primal. Almost animal.” “And she needs every piece back,” Dyson intones.
“Ah, great, wicked guys,” Kenzi applauds warily. “But what is she looking for here?” She points toward the door where Maganda is pawing through the piano and its seat. As everyone comes to their feet, Trick warns them all to keep calm and don’t play with the wood...
He calls out to Maganda that they’re here to help as Bo and Dyson flank him. “Maganda,” Bo says cautiously, “we know it’s been you all along.” But Maganda is in a state beyond reason and with a guttural howl, she rushes them. Dyson steps in front of Trick, shoving the barman out of the way. Maganda wraps her arms around him (I’m with you there, sweetie) and proceeds to squeeze the life out of him (not so much on board with that, though).
“She’ll crush him!” PerfectCiara shouts. Hale tries to siren Maganda and though Kenzi cringes, Trick yells that it won’t work as Maganda has lived with bird song all her life. PerfectCiara trundles over to the fireplace in her heels. Grabbing a poker, she whacks Maganda across the back with it, as Bo gapes at her, but only manages to knock the batibat to the ground still on top of Dyson. He lands hard with an “Oh!” and Maganda still squeezing him to death. “Sorry!” PerfectCiara shouts. “Good one though,” Bo compliments breathlessly and PerfectCiara shoots her a fast grin. “Stay with us, D!” Hale orders.
“What here is hers?!” Bo demands of Trick while the others try to pry Maganda off a groaning Dyson. “Heinze was trying to sell wooden things,” Trick updates her. “He was desperate.” “He was trafficking her wood!” Kenzi announces, pulling fruitlessly at Maganda’s arm. I hear some guys like that. “Balinese,” Bo says, thinking and I don’t care what my closed caption says, I swear she’s saying “he has a dumpling” but whatever. “He was limping,” Trick adds, following along as Dyson grits out “hurry!”
“His cane!” Trick shouts, pointing. “Hold on, Dyson!” PerfectCiara says as Bo rushes for the umbrella stand. “HURRY!” Dyson grunts again. Bo snatches the cane from the stand and holds it out for Maganda to see. “Look what I got,” she taunts. Immediately, Maganda stops trying to put the squeeze on Dyson (heh) and Dyson gasps for air as the batibat gets up and pursues Bo. “Bo!” calls Trick. “My vault!”
Bo uses the cane as a carrot to draw Maganda down the stairs to Tolkien’s Lair as Trick brings up the rear. “Come on, tree hugger. Come with me,” she croons while Trick hurries past and opens the vault. Bo tosses the cane in and when Maganda quickly follows, Trick closes the door on her. Breathless, Dyson joins them just as Trick spins the dial and Bo gives him the once-over. “We got to get Heinze. And the rest of her wood,” he says emphatically and Bo nods. “Fast,” she adds with feeling.
Dyson and PerfectCiara are bracing the bouncing vault door as Maganda pounds against it shouting “Those trees are mine! Mine!” “She’s certainly a rather focused individual,” PerfectCiara gasps. “That’s admirable.”
Maganda calls out desperately, “open the door! Let me out!” as Trick leads Heinze into the room. “Thought you’d try to run, Heinze,” Bo accuses but Heinze doesn’t know what she means. “I was off to the Bahamas. You can’t just abduct a guy!” Oh yes they can.
Maganda moans loud and long from inside the vault and Heinze’s face falls. “Oh no,” he groans. “Oh yeah!” Dyson snaps. “You took her tree, Heinze, what did you expect?!” Heinze sputters that he didn’t know it was a batibat’s wood. Trick: “Oh, now you’re going to tell me you left your cane by accident too?!” Heinze insists he didn’t want any more boys to die. “I figured you’d know what to do!” he says to Trick. “Bah, you were saving your own skin,” Trick scoffs as Bo crosses to the vault. She calls through the door to Maganda explaining that they have the man there who bought her tree from the poachers. “We know he had it cut up and made into things he was selling,” PerfectCiara adds. Bo promises that Heinze is going to get all the goods back for Maganda. Heinze objects strenuously, saying it’s impossible as he’s sold most of it already. “Hundreds of items! People won’t give it back for free!”
“Like I said,” Bo states firmly, “you’re gonna get it all back for her.” Heinze grits out that it’ll take months and that the cost will ruin him. “What about what’s happened to her?” Bo demands. “What about what’s happened to the guys who bought stuff from you?” Heinze is properly cowed and Bo returns to the vault to assure Maganda that it’s going to take some time, but Heinze will do it. “You’ll just have to stay in custody until he does, OK?” Relieved and considerably calmer, Maganda is quick to agree. As she’s no longer a danger, PerfectCiara steps away and Dyson opens the vault, releasing Maganda.
“Hundreds of years, my tree,” she tells Bo. “Waltzing with the clouds. Waving to the rain. Every leaf grew in my heart,” she sobs. “It was my home,” she shouts at Heinze. “It was my hearth. It was a castle for my grandchildren. And now it’s gone.” Bo comforts her. “I’m so sorry,” she says with compassion. “It won’t be the same. But your tree will be yours again.”
Maganda holds out her arms to Bo in gratitude. “Oh–no,” Bo says with a wary smile. “That’s OK. I don’t need a hug,” she adds shooting a look at Dyson who’s standing close by just in case.
Back at the dress shop, PerfectCiara is admiring herself in the mirror in a new dress. What, does she have an office there? And how does Bo know to find her there? Eh, whatever. “Looks great,” Bo says, entering and PerfectCiara smiles at her. “Fits you like a glove,” she adds. “Sadly, I don’t have a rich, hipster party to wear it to tonight,” PerfectCiara quips. “Do you have a minute?” Bo asks. “For you? Always,” PerfectCiara answers without hesitation.
“(Perfect)Ciara,” Bo begins, “You’re smart. And you’re genuine.” PerfectCiara face is priceless here, as though the Prom Queen just told her she wants to be BFFs. “And you have an awesome swing with a fireplace poker.” They both chuckle at that. “Well, I try,” PerfectCiara says.
“But you also seem kind of lonely,” Bo adds softly, “and kind of hurt.” PerfectCiara wonders if she’s that obvious. “Look, I don’t want to talk about your boyfriend,” Bo says, “and I can’t claim to understand him now, if I ever did. But if you wanted to make me your friend? You succeeded.” It’s a very sweet moment, truly. “You deserve to be happy,” Bo tells her and PerfectCiara thanks her. “Talk to Dyson,” Bo advises. “Be direct.” And that’s all she’s going to say on the matter. “I’ll see you around,” Bo adds with another smile. But when she turns away from PerfectCiara to leave, her smile falls and she sighs heavily. Sending a woman into the arms of the man you love is never easy or painless.
Dyson enters his loft and stops short. “Hey, beautiful,” he drawls after a pause. Oh, I’m really not going to like this, am I. PerfectCiara is sitting at the table. She’s made a meal for her man! Or, more likely, had one delivered, but I can’t snark on that as take away is my in-house chef. PerfectCiara sets down her wine glass as Dyson shuts the door and ambles over to join her. “This looks like trouble,” he says lightly with a smile. PerfectCiara tells him that depends. “Will you sit with me?” “Of course,” he answers, tossing his jacket aside and doing so. “I’m good with trouble,” he reminds her and PerfectCiara smiles. WE KNOW.
What’s this? A man who doesn’t run screaming from a relationship talk? Wow. I’d heard about such creatures but have never seen one in the wild. Truly he is otherworldly.
PerfectCiara takes a deep breath and plunges in. “I’m mad about you, Dyson,” she confesses in case he hasn’t been paying attention. “Wild, crazy mad about you. I feel as though I’ve waited lifetimes for this–well, I have actually.” Dyson tries to head her off at the pass but she won’t let him. “Just remember how long I’ve known you.” Well, there was a big gap there, sweetie. I don’t think you get grandfathered in on this sort of thing. “I won’t be easy to fool. And I don’t want to be a fool. I don’t want to stay and clutch at something that will simply never be there.”
Dyson is staring straight at her, not ducking the emotional angst. “So I need to know,” PerfectCiara concludes, “will you love me back?” And here, Dyson glances away. There’s a brief pause before he holds out his hand to her and she takes it. “I will give you everything that I can,” he promises, staring at their joined hands before meeting her gaze. By the look on her face, that is not what PerfectCiara was hoping to hear. “Do my very best to make you happy.” Now PerfectCiara smiles, a little sadly. “You already do,” she tells him and as the music swells, Dyson leans over the table and they kiss passionately.
Maganda sits in a cell, surrounding by the trinkets that are some of what’s left of her tree, humming and rocking back and forth as she cradles them. The view panel in her cell door slides open and she smiles at the people watching her. “She looks so happy,” Bo says to Lachlan who stands behind her, watching Maganda over her shoulder. He agrees. “We’ll keep her here until Heinze does his duty and the police case cools down.” He notes that it might take a number of years. “Well, she did murder humans,” Bo observes. “She has to pay for it in some way.” She closes the panel with a definitive yank. Lachlan tells Bo that eventually they’ll ship Maganda back to the jungle with all her goods. Bo thanks Lachlan sincerely, but he brushes it off. “If the Light Fae are happy then I am happy. Their lives are more important to me than anything else,” and he’s genuinely sincere. Bo is surprised by his sudden and out-of-place intensity. “OK. Sure.” Lachlan adds that he’ll do anything to protect “our” people and it’s clear he’s trying to impart something deeper to Bo. Bo again says “great” politely, missing the tell-tale “our.”
Lachlan: “Now I trust you know your way back upstairs. I’ve got a few little things left to do.” Exeunt Bo. Once he’s sure she’s gone, Lachlan turns to another cell door, pulling back the panel to look in on Doctor Lauren who is quick to spring up to the door. “Lachlan, please,” she exhorts. He closes the panel without comment and as he walks, Doctor Lauren pounds on the door as her cries and pleas follow him down the dungeon hall.
Fae of the Day:
Mama wata: snake fae, possibly a shifter. Has fangs. Spits venom. Likes expensive trinkets. ‘Nuff said.
Origin: African/African Caribbean
Peri: Underfae. Quite tiny. Endangered. Alone, a peri is a relatively harmless, exquisite creature but when they swarm, they more greatly resemble and behave like killer bees. In mythology, peri are the descendants of fallen angels. Exhibit a level intelligence; good for spying.
Batibat: Jungle oriented, batibats belong to one tree and one tree belongs to them. The tree feels like home to the batibat and its wood has a similar effect on outsiders. Batibats may be a type of shifter; they are incredibly strong. If her tree is cut down, a batibat will go to any length to retrieve every sliver, even kill, much like a mother seeking her lost child or me in search of a chocolate bar or a glass of Baileys. Or both.
Origin: South American jungle
Kobold: a shifty fae, the three types of kobolds live either in human homes, deep in the mines, or on ships and dress according to their environment. The elemental name “cobalt” derives from these ambivalent, tricksy sprites as medieval miners blamed them for the poisons and dangers of the metal’s ores which polluted other mined elements.
Origin: Germanic mythology
Quotes of the Night:
Kenzi: Does boinking your ex make for a better life?
Bo: I did not go shopping with Princess Grace just for the makeover!
Kenzi: Lita S is here! What if there’s a free boot bar?!
Kenzi: Just what every girl needs: a matching set of dead guys!
Kenzi: Mine was a troubled youth. The orphanage. And then I became a governess for a Mister Rochester.
Kenzi: Oh! Thank Hale.
Hale: What did you see before you got KO’d? Kenzi: Some privileged MoFo trying to impress me out of my girdle.
Dyson: Where are you? Bo: I am in the kitchen trying to pretend I’m not dressed like Succubus Barbie.
Dyson: Snake is awake. Time to play.
Bo to Maganda: Come on, tree hugger.
Photos 2, 5, 6, and 7 courtesy of the Lost Girl Caps Tumblr