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, episode 10, episode 11, and episode 12). All caught up? Good. And now, on to the recap for last night’s episode, 2.13, “Barometz. Trick. Pressure.”
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!
At Hilton Hovel (drink!) Bo is passing the keys to the succmobile over to Doctor Lauren, who is taking NotComaNadia and going away for a few days. And there was much rejoicing in the land. Bo warns the car is not the best on gas, “but she’ll get you from A to B. And hit on!” she adds cheerfully,
and the doc chuckles. “Mostly by guys in cheese-grater hats, but…” Smiling, Doctor Lauren cuts her off, “Got it.” Bo continues to natter on about the car but basically this all just a bunch of Awkward!
“Maybe we should just take the bus,” the doc suggests, holding the keys back out to Bo who immediately objects. “No, sorry it’s–ah–” She reaches out herself to refuse the keys and now we have touching. Doctor Lauren looks at their hands and the melancholy music of I-love-you-but-had-to-give-you-up-for-my-no-longer-coma-ridden-girlfriend-who-I-lied-to-you-about plays. Seriously, that’s the title. Says so on the liner notes. “It’s OK, really,” Bo promises and methinks she means more than just the succmobile.
“Be careful on the road, OK?” Bo entreats after a few moments of shared emotional angst. Doctor Lauren takes a breath to respond, but stops at the sound of footsteps, which precede the arrival on NotComaNadia. Chick definitely has a keen sense of timing. “All set?” she asks and the doc nods. “OK. One sec, sweetie,” she tacks on. NotComaNadia smiles weakly and moves off a few paces, but not out of eyesight because, amazing, she’s actually not a dumbass.
“Well, have fun,” Bo chirps. “And let me know if you need anything, OK? Anything at all.” She’s going on a romantic weekend with her newly revived girlfriend Bo. Only thing she’s going to “need” you for is a threesome.
“I’m not going to call you while I’m gone,” Doctor Lauren says firmly. This just keeps getting better and better. “And I don’t want you to call me either.” It’s Christmas! In the background, NotComaNadia has been getting something out of her bag and I now notice she’s putting ear buds into her ears. This is a class act as NotComaNadia gives her girlfriend some private time with the woman who is obviously her competition.
The finality of the doc’s manner begins to worry Bo. “Why does it feel like I’m never going to see you again?” Oh, if only. “You will, Bo,” the doc unfortunately promises her. “I–have your car,” she reminds her, adding a note of levity to the angst, and they chuckle.
“I am coming back,” the doc reassures, serious again. “For good. I’ve recommitted myself to The Ash.” Bo recoils. “What?!” The doc is quick to head her off by revealing that Lachlan saved NotComaNadia’s life, which Bo knows is a lie. “I owe him everything.”
For a moment, Bo looks like she’s about to reveal the truth on that score, but she doesn’t. I don’t know why. NotComaNadia is awake now, her nail reclaimed and the curse broken, so revealing that Bo was the one who saved her shouldn’t change that–but the knowledge that she got played by The Ash again would probably send the doc back into misery, I guess. Sigh. Fine.
Bo keeps her tongue and her counsel and the doc thanks her again for the use of the car. As the doc and NotComaNadia depart–Doctor Lauren: “All right, we’re off,” and NotComaNadia smiles and removes her ear buds–Bo drops her hard held calm demeanor and stalks off to raid her weapons chest. Or punch somebody. Probably both.
At his dining room table, a British man (closing credits call him Wendell) polishes his spoon and prepares to eat beans and toast, so now we know he’s British for sure. He snits about a conversation with his boss about working a double shift tomorrow–or at least what he would have said if he’d been able to find his balls in time. In the kitchen behind him, his silent wife empties the dishwasher. I am entertained to see a very old picture of Queen Elizabeth on the kitchen wall. “Twenty-five years I’ve been at the Royal Celtic Museum.” There’s a Royal Celtic Museum in Toronto? I want to go there. “And who do you think is responsible for keeping the artifacts and the art work safe?!” He swears he’s going to march in today and give his boss a piece of his mind. Sure you are.
He takes a bite of the goulash in his bowl, frowns, and slams the spoon back onto the table. “Burn air you could,” he sneers toward his wife because he’s suddenly developed the speech patterns of Yoda. He continues to verbally abuse his cowed wife–calling her a fat slag and musing that his mother was right–right up until she steps up behind him and beats his head in with a frying pan. Her image warbles and in a quick second, she’s reformed into British Man himself–though still in her Sunday dress.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi’s cell phone rings. Sitting on the kitchen table, still in her pajamas, she scrambles for the phone and smiles adorably as she reads the text. As Bo enters the common room, Kenzi slams the phone down out of sight. “Chain letter?” Bo asks, crossing to the coffee pot. Kenzi says it’s something like that and then turns the convo onto to Bo, as per usual. “So what’s on the books for today, booby cakes?”
Bo muses that Trick asked her to stop at The Dal (drink!), “but then I was hoping that you and I could put our heads together and find a way inside The Ash’s compound,” she finishes cheerily. That is not how I expected that sentence to end.
Kenzi: “Panty raid?” Bo: “Nope. I’m gonna force-feed Lachlan a buffet of right hand burritos and stiletto boot tacos.” Kenzi: “Hmm, those sound delicious!” Bo grins, delighted at the prospect: “They do, don’t they? And the sun is shining!” Ha! LOVE.
Hopping down to refill her cup, Kenzi wonders if Bo wants to tell the class why she wants to start a war. “Because that unbelievable
dickwad dirtbag Lachlan somehow tricked (Doctor) Lauren into recommitting herself to the Light Fae,” Bo snarls. Technically, the doc volunteered apropos of nothing but carry on. “And I’m going to choke the lucky charms right out of his purple little heart.” Heeeeee. I love that line.
Puzzled, Kenzi wonders idly how he did that. “You want to know how he did that?!” Bo shouts. Kenzi warily, “yeah?” Snort.
Bo tries to get control and explain last week’s episode in five words or less without revealing anything specific. “OK, see, he tried to–like–he–er–Lau–just because (Doctor) Lauren thinks that he’s–um–see–because he helped wake NotComaNadia, it’s like–she–(snort)–” Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Actually, I don’t really want to get into it, Kenzi, OK?!” Kenzi: “Yeah, I thought–you–might–not.”
But Bo isn’t done raging yet. “You know, I let myself trust him, you know?!” Sure, sweetie. Twice now. “One of these days I’m going to stop being so naïve,” she finishes wearily. Oh, wouldn’t that be such a nice change! “And when that day comes, I’m gonna–you know what I’m gonna do?” she asks Kenzi who has now come around the table to stand before her meltdown bestie. “What are you gonna do?” Kenzi asks gently. Bo blinks at her. “Sleep in,” she moans. Kenzi coos in sympathy and draws Bo in for a hug. “You know trusting someone ain’t so bad,” she advises and texts someone behind Bo’s shoulder. Who are you and what have you done to our street-wise, smart-mouthed Goth girl? “It’s better to trust and lose than never to trust at all, right?”
Bo frowns. “Who are you and what have you done with Kenzi?!” Ha! Nailed it! Bo pulls back and before Kenzi can clue in, she’s grabbed the phone and the chase is on. Laughing, Bo reads the texts aloud while Kenzi gives the universal talk to the hand gesture. “Still pretty?” and “I haven’t laughed liked that since the last time you made me laugh like that,” and finally “wanna hang today?”
Kenzi goes on the offensive, agreeing that Nate is in total stalker mode
but Bo sees all. “You love him!” she accuses. Kenzi rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t,” she stresses unconvincingly. “You do! You love Nate!” Bo repeats, unconvinced. Bo’s mouth drops open on an epiphany. “Oh my God. You totally got some,” but this, at least, is not true. “Oh honey,” Kenzi drawls, “it takes a lot more than a blooper to shallow right to get past first base with me. OK, you have to work for this!” she declares circling her chest with her finger. But Bo isn’t having any. “You know what, Kenzi? I think I’m going to fly solo today.”
Kenzi objects, but Bo is already hot footing it out the door. “No. Honestly. I got this. You just have a great day hanging out with your new boyfriend,” she coos. Kenzi: “Boyfriend?! Two words, succubus!” she calls after Bo. “Boob punch!” “Bye Kenzi!” Bo trills. Kenzi sighs and walks back into Hilton Hovel (drink!).
“If you get killed going after Lachlan, so help me!”
At the loft, Dyson is boxing up his books for The Big Move into PerfectCiara’s perfect mansion. He reminds PerfectCiara, who is standing near the open door packing his shirts, that he has to go help Trick today. The motorcycle, by the way, is in frame. Ahem. “I find it so strange that a high-ranking, Light Fae police detective spends so much of his time running errands for a bartender,” she passive-aggressively complains. And that’s why you won’t be staying much longer, lady. “You haven’t seen my tab,” Dyson quips lightly.
PerfectCiara giggles and Dyson wonders what’s so funny. “What in the name of all that’s holy is this?” she asks. She holds up a t-shirt featuring a caricature of Hale with a bulls-eye on his chest and the words “10th Annual Metro Police Darts Tournament. Take your best shot!”
Dyson: “Ah, my favorite t-shirt. Obviously.” I am highly entertained at the notion that Dyson even wears t-shirts much less has a favorite one as cheesy as this! PerfectCiara declares that she in not living in a house with a man who has his partner’s face on a t-shirt. Fine by me! “It’s just–it’s just weird.”
“Really?” Dyson muses. “Well, I guess I’m just not moving in then.” Hallelujah! Oh crap, he’s kidding.
PerfectCiara: “What?!” Dyson, smiles adorably: “T-shirt’s a deal-breaker, babe.” She throws it at him in mock offense and he catches it and grins. “Do you really want to do this?” she asks, more seriously as she sidles up to him. “Move in and play house?” NO.
He tosses the t-shirt aside. “Yes,” he says, and growls playfully, “yes, I do.” PerfectCiara giggles and they mack. Damn it. “Excellent,” she says, coming up for air. Picking up the t-shirt, she teases that he won’t be needing this then “so I’ll just–” she backs up to the trash bin. “What are you doing?” Dyson asks with an eyebrow waggle. PerfectCiara: “No, I think I have to.” “You’re asking for trouble,” Dyson warns playfully but PerfectCiara drops the shirt into the bin anyways, chirping, “Bye.” “Oh, you’re so dead!” Dyson teases. Yeah, they’re totally gonna bang.
Look, I love Happy Dyson–it’s so rare he gets to come out and play–I just don’t want PerfectCiara to be the one responsible for said happiness. I’m loyal; sue me.
At The Dal (drink!) Trick is downstairs in Tolkien’s Lair wearing Doc Brown’s head gear as he pours over a pile of books Giles-like. Yes, this is a case of how-many-genre-references-can-a-recapper-cram-into-one-sentence. Thanks for noticing. Bo stalks into the room, still in high dudgeon as she makes herself at home. “Hey! If I murder The Ash, do we have another stag hunt or does the job just go directly to Hale?” Because THAT would be AWESOME!
Trick peers up at her. “I am hoping this is merely a hypothetical exercise,” he assays dryly. Bo angrily explains that Lachlan lied to her. “And what’s worse is that he used me to get (Doctor) Lauren into giving her life over to the Light Fae–again!” Trick is, naturally, confused. “Nothing for nothing,” she barrels on (shouldn’t that be ‘not for nothing’? Or is that a Canadian thing?), “but he deserves a good, swift kick to the zipper part of his pants!”
Already weary, Trick slowly removes Doc Brown’s head gear. “And there’s nothing I’d like more than to help you,” he declares. Well, let’s have a party then! “Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t be worse,” he informs her. Bo: “See, I knew you would say something like that.”
Trick explains that tonight is the Blood Moon. “Every twenty years or so, on this night, I can go into a trance and divine the future. I want a look at this evil that’s coming. See what we’re up against.”
Bo wonders what kind of a trance and worries it might be dangerous and Trick admits that it can be, particularly for him, but not if he has the right ring, specifically, “The Kingmoor Ring.” Naturally, there’s a picture in one of his books. “These rings possess the charmed ability of the material from which they came.” Extra points for proper grammar there, Trickster! He can’t complete the ritual without the Kingmoor Ring, which will staunch the bleeding.
Bo, however, is not big on the bleeding. “Trick, are you crazy?!” Trick admits that he might be. “I need you to forget about Lachlan for now,” he entreats Bo. “For now!” he repeats with emphasis when Bo whinges. “I need you to get me the Kingmoor Ring. My life could depend on it.”
Of course she’ll do it. It’s Trick. “Where do I find it?” Trick reveals that the ring is usually kept at the Royal Celtic Museum. There’s a Royal Celtic Museum in Toron–hang on. I’m having snark déjà vu. Ohhh, Dead British Man from the cold open worked there. Connect the dots, I have.
Bo is skeptical. “You want me to break into a museum and steal a ring for you?” But this is not the case because, “I already stole it,” Trick reveals, but actually did not steal the ring himself. “I paid someone else.”
“Oh. Good,” Bo snarks. The thief was a shifter named Teague, which explains the body reformation into DBM who he killed and changed into in order to infiltrate the museum and steal the ring. I wonder if Trick realizes that two people died already for him to get it…
Teague, it seems, just flew in from England and now wants more money for which Trick does not have the time to negotiate. All this info dump means I have to revise because 1) It’s clear now this portion of the cold open happened in England, which, when you have a sturdy population of Brits in country, really needs to be better communicated, show, beyond a 1950s picture of the Queen! and 2) The Royal Celtic Museum is actually–if it’s even real–in the UK and I now have to go and cancel my Acela tickets.
Trick says he’d go himself to meet Teague, “but I have to go see an old friend and get a hallucinogen for the trance.” Which is exactly what old friends are for. “Hallucinogen?” Bo repeats, if only so I can misspell it twice. “Like the magic mushroomy kind?”
“Barometz,” Trick clarifies, handily giving us a third of the title. “It’s a plant that’s also part sheep. You grind the bones, oil the blood, inhale the smoke and–have a vision.” Sounds like most of my attempts at cooking. Bo: “Of plant sheep being slaughtered?” Trick chides that this is serious especially as the side effect of the barometz is severe bleeding and without the Kingmoor Ring, he could bleed out. I’m guessing being The Blood King is not an advantage here. “At the risk of sounding dramatic (who? you?!), this may be the only chance we have of finding out what’s heading our way. After tonight, it’ll be too late.”
Dyson and Hale (Hale!) enter Tolkien’s Lair right on the heels of these not-at-all frightening words. “You ready to go, Trick?” Dyson asks, not at all surprised to see Bo. Trick assures the men that he nearly is and with effort, lifts a doctor’s bag of gold bars onto the table. “This is the payment we agreed upon,” he tells Bo. “Wow,” she says, petting a gold bar (not like that!). “Don’t ever let Kenzi know you’re hiding gold bricks in here.” Trick eyes her sheepishly (heh). “If you wouldn’t mind using your–special talents to get him to–rethink his current position, I’d be eternally grateful.” Bo is already grinning and nodding. “As would all Fae kind,” he is quick to add, a bit embarrassed. “And watch your back,” he warns. “This Teague can’t be trusted.” Bo: “A shifty shifter. Got it.” Grunting, she hefts the bag and picks up her coat. “I’ll just lay the boots to Lachlan later,” she quips, and with a “bye guys” to the boys, exeunt Bo.
Bo walks down a motel hallway that looks ridiculously the same as the storage unit center from Season 1 episode Where There’s A Will and by the same I mean except for the carpet and the wooden walls and the narrow corridor, but other than that, ridiculously the same. Ditto the motel room itself. She goes through the empty door and spies someone, or at least someone’s eye, er, spying on her through the latticed bathroom door. “Did anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” she says flippantly, setting the bag o’ gold down on the rickety table with a thunk. Behind the lattice, the flesh around the eye shifts and when the door open, Bo herself emerges in a man’s suit and tie. Or at least Teague does in the form of her doppelganger. “Wow,” Bo snarks, “I clean up nice.” Teague/Bo pulls out and fumbles with a gun and awkwardly aims it at Bo who holds out her arms. “I take it back.”
Seated across from one another at the flimsy table, Teague tells Bo he guesses she was sent to hasten the negotiations. Bo: “I am just not used to looking in the mirror and finding myself so full of crap.” Hee. Teague/Bo is quite upset, however, and shoots the floor to prove it. “I am a man of business,” he/she grits out. Beneath the table, Bo is slowly positioning her feet to make a move as she asks, “Besides screwing people over and going back on your word, if you had to go to the bathroom right now, would you pee sitting down?” Incensed, Teague/Bo knocks a conveniently placed mug off the table and demands that he/she finally gets what’s owed him/her. “This is my chance!” he/she declares pointing at his/her chest with the nozzle of the pistol. Teague/Bo thinks two gold bricks isn’t enough payment for the Kingmoor Ring, which he/she handily pulls from the inside pocket of his/her suit jacket and slams on the table. I can’t really blame him/her what with the price of gold these days.
“I have used my talents to make people rich and I’ll I’ve gotten is a bloody identity crisis!” He/she slaps at his/her face. “When I look in the mirror, I don’t even see my face! My real face!” Teague/Bo details all the nameless people he/she sees instead of him/herself as Bo slowly eases her foot out from her boot. I have never known a woman who is able to remove her boot so easily–and without socks too! They’re knee-high boots, which means she has to maneuver them over calf and foot, however small they might be, and back on again, all without using her hands! Truly, Bo is a supernatural creature.
Teague continues his/her rant. “So if finally getting out of the game means that I have to become you for long enough to rob Trick blind, so be it!” Bo warns that before he goes around pretending to be her, there’s something Teague/Bo should know. Underneath the table, she eases her bare foot up his pant leg till she’s touching his skin and pours on the succubus juice. “Looks can be deceiving,” she murmurs as Teague/Bo goes down.
Teague/Bo happily collapses back in his/her chair. He/she smiles blissfully and goes through a rapid change of previous incarnations much like the T-1000 in T2 ending up in supposedly his original form which reminds me a bit too much of The Gentlemen from the brilliant BTVS episode Hush. Satisfied, Bo puts her boot back on, stands up, and plops the bag o’ gold down in front of Teague. “Sorry pal,” she says, not at all sorry. “But hey–you’re one step closer to retirement.” She picks up the ring box and checks inside, holding up a wide Celtic wedding band for those of us playing along at home to see. I am distracted by an intense admiration and need for the stupendous maroon frock coat she’s wearing. WANT! Bo pats the still blissed out Teague’s shoulder and leaves.
In a back room of a shop, Dyson holds aside a door of stringed beads so Trick can enter. Seated at a table, an old Chinese woman with the cloudy eyes of mystical blindness lifts her head. “I once had a boyfriend who wore sandalwood behind his ears. Is that you, Fitzy?”
“Hello Wai Lin,” Trick says in a flat voice. Someone is not happy to have to visit an old flame. “What a happy coincidence. I was just thinking of the time we made love in the rain.” Wai Lin croons. Dyson and Hale look at one another and share amused smiles at Trick’s expense before looking at the man himself. Playa got game. “With the eyes of the entire terracotta army,” Wai Lin continues, “upon our writhing, naked bodies.”
Mildly embarrassed, Trick looks up at Dyson. “She was much prettier before she got into drugs,” he excuses. Dyson, still smiling, “Hey man, no one’s judging.” Hale: “Yeah. Play on, player.” I love our ladies, but am vastly entertained watching these three just be guys with one another, chick free. Well, except for Wai Lin, of course.
“Have you policemen come to–raid me?” she asks, and it’s clear that she would very much enjoy experiencing her meaning of “raid.“ “Nnnnno,” Hale drawls, a little scared by the horny old lady. “We, ah, actually just came by to see if you had a Mogwai to sell.” Wai Lin snaps her exceedingly long-nailed, creepy-assed fingers and Hale’s entire body jerks forward. “We’re here for the barometz,” he confesses as though the words are yanked out of him. Hale is immediately contrite as both Dyson and Trick look at him, Dyson all what the hell man? Trick is more resigned. “Wai Lin is luduan,” he informs the boys. “She’ll find the truth so there’s no point in lying to her.” Trick turns back to Wai Lin. “And it would be in your interest,” he explains wearily, “to take your hand off that shotgun, Lin.” The camera falls back to show that she indeed does have a shotgun primed and ready in her lap under the table. “If Dyson so much as suspects foul play, he’ll tear your throat out before Hale can finish whistling your brain into a soup.” Sigh. Good boys.
“Touchy touchy,” Wai Lin snits, but she lays the shotgun down on the table all the same. Trick approaches the table, the boys at his back, flanking him. “You know what I’ve come for,” he says to Wai Lin, “and I don’t have time to waste.” She agrees, “sure, sure” but caveats that barometz has a price. “Four questions.” Here Dyson flicks an interested brow toward Trick. He knows the kind of secrets Trick holds. “Four true answers freely given.” Trick reluctantly agrees to her price.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi lays on the couch, filing her nails and swinging her feet. Nate pounds on the door and enters toting his guitar without waiting for her to invite him in. So, not a vampire then. “I just found something really weird,” he tells her. “Oh, like on your person?” Kenzi teases. “No,” Nate says in the same vein, but is too busy unzipping his guitar case to continue. He perches on the back of the couch and tantalizingly strums through a chord and then begins to sing a jaunty tune. “Dear New Older Boy, hel-lo my name is Kenzi and I live next door to you that’s right next door directly and I-I-I-I-I like ponies and I like milk more than I like juice.” It is absolutely, 100% adorable.
Kenzi has been wide mouthed and visibly touched and amused and embarrassed from the first word, but here she breaks and shoves him off the couch. “Stop it you’re going to ruin it.” Nate protests and resumes singing. “So if you like some of those things too yeah yeah just like I do then one day do you think that I might play with you?” Cue big, fat, goofy grin on my face.
Kenzi: “Oh my God.” Nate coos back, “I know!” and reminds her that she wrote that for him when she was six, so clearly our girl was a dance and musical prodigy. He pulls out the scrap of paper he found with her lyrics on it. “Isn’t it sweet?!” Kenzi: “No, I mean oh my God, you are such a psycho!” Nate wonders why and she says it’s because he still has the paper. “What do you just carry it around and pretend to not be crazy?” He gently explains that he didn’t know he had it but only just found it the night before in a box of old notebooks. “And I think that we should jam it out together.”
But Kenzi decides to backtrack, getting up and trotting to the kitchen while telling Nate that Bo is on a job and she, Kenzi, is really worried about her, “so maybe this isn’t the best time to finish ‘Ponies are awesome’ song.” Nate follows her and asks if he can tell her something important. Anytime anyone says “can I tell you?” to me as a predecessor to what they absolutely intended to say no matter what, I say “I don’t know, can you?” or “no.” Because I’m a smart ass, yes.
Kenzi, however, a little wary, tells Nate yes as she sets the half full coffee carafe on the kitchen table. Immediately, Nate breaks out in song again, “and I-I-I-I-I like ponies and I like milk more than I like juice.” Heeee. Kenzi smiles and agrees. “If you’re sticking around, I am definitely going to need some coffee,” and she pours as he starts again from the top, “hey, new, older boy.” “Or maybe a shot of whiskey,” Kenzi whispers, turning back to the sink.
“Hey, Kenzi,” he says to her back. “You are so pretty.” WE KNOW! Kenzi pauses, and then smiles over her shoulder at him. Nate smiles back. Cuteness. Overload.
Back in Wai Lin’s back room, Trick, now seated across from her, braces for her questions. “1419,” Wai Lin prompts, and Trick goes on alarmed alert oh no. “We were on a Song Dynasty junk ship headed to the Americas,” she reminds him. “Lin,” Trick growls in warning. “You were carrying a box,” she says. Behind Trick, a watchful Dyson and Hale perk up interested to learn something about the Trickster’s shrouded past. It’s quite telling that Trick trusts them so much he didn’t send them from the room before Wai Lin asked her questions. “You were very protective over it. What was inside that box?”
Trick sighs heavily. “You know I can’t tell you that, just like I couldn’t tell you then.” This upsets Wai Lin greatly. “I want to know! I demand to know!” she grits out through clenched teeth. Dyson frowns and Hale looks between him and Trick and Wai Lin, noting everyone’s tensions and clearly wondering what the hell is going on. “Don’t make me force you to talk,” Wai Lin threatens. Trick stares her down–just try it, lady–and Wai Lin flinches. “Oh sure. You’re the almighty Blood King,” she sneers. Dyson shifts in place, oh shit, and goes on alert, but this is too much for Hale, who chuckles with disbelief. Chick be crazy. Dyson glances down at his partner. “Maybe you are immune to my powers,” Wai Lin allows. “Or maybe no one is immune to the truth. You wanna try your luck?” Still laughing, Hale draws her attention as he looks up at Dyson to share the joke–and freezes mid-smile when he sees the wolf isn’t laughing. “Blood King?” he asks with a nod toward Trick and Dyson nods back once, sagely.
Wai Lin smiles pleased that she’s at least revealed one of Trick’s secrets. Trick reluctantly concedes and gives the sense that it’s only because he just doesn’t have the time for this shit. “In the box was the skull of a very dangerous man,” he says, ignoring Hale who is staring at Trick, still trying to reconcile the barman he knows well with the legend of the Blood King. “I will not say who or where it was buried, and if you try and force me to tell you, I will give Dyson,” and here Dyson’s eyes go wolf gold to prove the point, “permission to use whatever force is necessary to make sure those fingernails click their last clack.” I do love snarky Trick.
Wai Lin smiles tightly, but moves on to the next questions. “Your wife,” she begins, “she died–how?” Trick allows himself a moment of relief; this one will cost him less. “She was killed during the Great Fae War,” he reveals. Again, Dyson frowns and shifts in reaction–they are getting an education in the Trickster tonight!–while Hale shakes his head with bemusement at the barrage of revelations. “Her throat,” Trick adds with difficulty, “her throat was slit in battle.” And with this, Trick is through playing games. “The barometz, Lin,” he demands, hand extended. “Now!”
Wai Lyn reaches over and unlocks a small cherry wood and ivory inlaid jewelry box with brass fittings. How do I notice such detail? I have the exact same jewelry box! She holds out the barometz to Trick but when he reaches for it, she pulls back, noting that she is owed one more question since he wouldn’t give her the truth about the box. Two, by my count, but whatever. “Was it your fault,” she sneers, “that your wife died?” Something tells me she already knows the answer to this question.
“If I had opened my veins sooner to write the laws that brought us peace,” Trick allows, “maybe she’d still be alive. Still be with me,” he finishes quietly. Once again, both Dyson and Hale react to this intimate insight into Trick’s heart. “But I didn’t,” Trick admits. “If that means it’s my fault, then so be it.” He stands up, snatches the barometz out of Wai Lin’s hand and leave without further comment, Hale on his heels. Dyson makes to bring up the rear when Wai Lin stops him.
“Hey pretty boy,” she croons. Watch it, crone. “If you ever want a good time with sex, you give me a call, OK?” It’s disturbing and creepy and more than a little funny. “I’m sad to say, I am spoken for,” Dyson says with more gallantry than she deserves. He walks away. “Oh, no fair,” Wai Lin whines. “You love her?” she asks. Well, that there’s the question, innit? Dyson pauses to look over his shoulder at the crone, but doesn’t answer and begins to leave again. “I said,” Wai Lin repeats with bite, “do you love her?” and she click clacks her Fingers of Truth. Compelled, Dyson almost lazily blurts out the hard truth: “I can’t love (Perfect)Ciara.” FINALLY.
Hearing his own words, Dyson stops short in shock. He turns back to look at Wai Lin and an expression of horrified realization suffuses his face. What the hell was that?! Wai Lin merely snorts with satisfaction. Exeunt Dyson.
Back at The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Parlor, Dyson perches on a table Kenzi-like while Trick uses his still to mix the barometz into a witchy brew for his trance. Bo stalks into the room. “Hope this little trinket does what you say it will,” she says to Trick, handing over the Kingmoor Ring. Trick hums with satisfaction as he passes a beaker off to the nearby Hale and puts on the ring.
More than a little concerned, Bo asks if bleeding is a side effect, why bother going into the trance at all? “Why not Dyson or Hale?” At the sound of his name, Hale checks her as Bo continues. “Seems kind of risky, you know, for–someone–like yourself, you know, considering.” Hale: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Bo knows too?” Trick grimaces at the siren. Yep. Sorry. Hale: “Wow.” I’m always the last to know.
I like the subtle misdirection this whole interaction promotes. It seems like Bo might be advocating for someone physically stronger to take on Trick’s burden, when in fact it’s the source of his power that concerns her in this ritual. Then it appears that Hale’s objection is to the fact that Bo volunteered him for trance duty when in actuality, he’s put out that he’s the last of their little group to know Trick is the Blood King. Wait till he hears Kenzi’s already in the know too.
“I’m the only one who can manipulate the barometz vision to divine the future,” Trick explains (again) to her. Bo: “At the risk of bleeding to death!” Trick understands her concern, but remains steadfast that it must be him. Discussion over.
As Trick goes back to potions class, Bo pings on Dyson and his current state of misery. She makes a beeline straight for him. “You OK?” Dyson, with a figment of his usual warm smile, insists he’s fine. Unconvinced but unwilling to push, Bo returns to Trick. “So. Have fun
storming the castle in the future.”
Trick is suddenly very serious. “Bo, I need you to let Lachlan be,” he orders. “The last thing we need to do is alienate our most powerful ally!” he adds when she scoffs. “And the compound is locked tight,” Hale interjects. “Not to mention me and Dyson are kinda legally bound to alert The Ash whenever’s there’s a threat made on his life.” Whoops. Bo wonders if Trick would change his mind if he knew Lachlan was the new Big Bad en route. Trick says they’ll know soon enough either way. “Until then,” Trick stresses, “he’s innocent.”
“Well, I could go over there right now and prove that this son-of-a-bitch is pure evil!” Bo protests. “
You can’t just charge in there with your head down swinging!” Trick yells back. “There’s too much at stake! I’m telling you–Stand Down.” This is absolutely an order from the Blood King. We get a shot of the four of them: Hale in the forefront at the still, his back deliberately toward the combatants. He glances over his shoulder to see if Trick will be the one to finally rein in Bo. Dyson is in the background, still sitting on the table and unusually silent with Bo and Trick squaring off with each other in the center of the room. Good shot show.
Silently, Trick raises his eyebrows at Bo in one final do what I say moment. “I’ll leave it alone,” Bo agrees, sullenly. Satisfied, Trick slowly returns to his preparations. As he steps away, Bo shoots a look at Dyson who, equally quickly, looks off to the side toward a pile of Trick’s books and scrolls. Gotta love their silent play by play.
Bo checks on Trick and then all-too-casually wanders over in the direction Dyson indicated as the wolf himself tracks and studies her. Trick lights a flame and boils, toils, and troubles, and Bo asks if Trick would mind if “since I suddenly find myself with a quiet night in,” she borrowed some “light” reading. Heh. “Take anything you like,” Trick calls over, unwisely. Bo shuffles through the pile. As Bo looks like she doesn’t quite know where to start, Dyson frowns down at the one scroll on the table next to him and partially unrolls it to reveal a detailed floor plan. Bo begins to leave, a woman on a mission, but Dyson stops her abruptly with a hand on her arm. With a wry and all too knowing look, he holds up the scroll, confident it’s what she’s looking for. (Yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition. Deal with it.)
After a pause Bo grins at him with relieved guilt. They know one another so well. Without comment, Dyson removes the scrolls in her hand and she snatches the new one from his. “Happy hunting,” he murmurs, utterly miserable. “Thank you,” she returns, full of subtext and Dyson nods once. Of course. She stares at him a moment I don’t know what’s wrong with you, babe and then leans in and sweetly kisses his cheek. Here if you need me.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi and Nate are jamming on drums and guitar respectably. “I think that someone just had a lot of fun,” Nate observes. “Oh, it was–it was OK,” Kenzi downplays. Nate suggests that they could trade instruments. “Or we could–” here he embraces Kenzi so that the guitar is around her back, “do this together,” he finishes archly. Kenzi smiles up at him knowingly. “I have a ninja sword, you know,” she says amused. Nate is unimpressed. “Uh huh.” He plays a chord and, very sweetly, leans down and kisses her. Go Kenzi!
She snuggles against him as Nate haltingly admits that he’s leaving tomorrow. Kenzi leans back, “Of course,” she scoffs and ducks under and out from his embrace. He calls after her but Kenzi is on a roll. “Yeah, well, that is your M.O., right? Leaving. Without a trace, without saying goodbye.” Nate chuckles that it isn’t like that but Kenzi starts to mock all the things that he’s said to her–in the last day or so. “There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you and wonder if I’d ever see you again,” she says. Dude, she was six-years-old. That’s a little creepy. “God, I’m so stupid!” Nate is unconcerned and claims that all of that is indeed true. Kenzi: “Did you ever have a job writing Hallmark Cards?” Nate calls her name, but she barrels on. “Because you should. You’ve got some really good lines, hombre.” Also? Her big brother is a wolf-shifter so think twice before you piss her off, ‘kay?
“And I want you to come with me,” he blurts out. That stops her. Nate goes on to say he has some gigs coming up and he wants her to come with him on ‘tour.’ He admits that it’s weird for him, too, and he’s never done anything like it before, “but I just have this feeling that if you don’t come, that I’m going to be miserable.” Kenzi just gapes at him until it becomes Awkward! Nate tries to be all casual about it, but fails and finally asks, “What do you say?” Slowly, she walks over and kisses him. “Hellz. Yes.” she asks softly, and they mack some more as he backs her up, presumably to the floor in the back room as we’ve never, evah seen Kenzi’s bedroom and I’m beginning to be sure she only ever sleeps on the couch or standing up in a coffin.
At The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Lair, Dyson and Hale are strapping Trick down in a chair. Not like that! “Whatever happens during the trance, do not wake me. If I get to the 30 minute mark, pull me out.” Wait, what? Way to immediately contradict yourself there, Trickster. “A few seconds longer and it could be fatal.” Dyson wonders how exactly they’re supposed to wake him. “You’ll think of something,” Trick says confidently. Dyson and Hale exchange worried looks–I guess we’d better–and Dyson pats Trick’s hand for good luck and to signal that they’re ready to go. “OK,” Trick says taking a deep breath and testing the strength of his bonds. “Spark me up!”
We get a speedy Guy Ritchie-esque series of shots of the still powering up as Dyson and Hale put that chemistry degree of theirs to work. Dyson puts a gas mask over Trick’s mouth and nose so he can better inhale the fumes, man. And as he does, Trick goes rigid and starts to scream…
It’s a drive-in! I love drive-ins! Automatically, I’m thinking about The Outsiders and wondering when Dallas is going to drop in on Cherry and Ponyboy. Stay gold, Trickster. Stay gold.
Alas, there’s only one–wait–there are two old, dilapidated car(s) in the lot. Trick wanders across the drive-in, his image projected up on the screen, only there he’s walking along the seashore. ScreenTrick and RealTrick make the same movements and speak simultaneously so, basically they’re the same. Or near enough. Thunder rolls through the sky as both Tricks pause and look around the lot aimlessly.
A woman’s voice echoes
across the plain through the lot. “It’s been a long time,” she calls to RealTrick and ScreenTrick. As rain begins to fall, Trick turns around to see a figure in a hooded cloak. “I never lost hope I’d see you again,” the woman says. “Show yourself,” Trick demands quietly and the woman holds back a fold of her hood to reveal her face. As she comes forward to stand before Trick, she lowers the hood entirely. Trembling and elated, Trick smiles at her. “That’s the same look you had on your face when we got married,” she tells him with tenderness, stroking his face. She embraces him and Trick clutches her close.
I’m guessing wife. How ’bout all y’all? Yeah, totally wife.
At The Ash’s compound, Bo in her outrageously fabulous frock coat, drops down out of the ceiling into one of the lower dungeon corridors. A minute later a fire alarm goes off and several guards run around needlessly as the camera pulls back to show Bo hiding behind a wall with a lit lighter in her hand. She checks that the coast is clear and skulks into the now empty throne room, scroll clutched in hand. Skulk, skulk, skulk. Slowly she makes her way through the room and up the dais where she fruitlessly rifles a bunch of random papers on Lachlan’s desk. Frustrated, she looks around and–what is that mysterious chest hidden behind the dais? Whatever could it hold? Alas, it is locked, so Bo picks up a handy dandy and hefty paper weight from the desk and slams it against the lock until it breaks open.
Pleased, Bo searches through the chest, but is disappointed to find only old papers and boxes and pieces of cloth. But wait! Is that a secret panel under that piece of silk? It is! Lifting the panel Bo, of course, reveals Lachlan’s severed head. Shocked, Bo gapes at the head, checks over her shoulder for any guards, and goes back to gaping. Increasingly wary, she lifts off the top layer of the chest to reveal not one, but four of Lachlan’s heads hidden in the chest. So he’s a hydra?
Seriously wigged out, Bo leaps to her feet, panting, and as the camera moves up with her, Lachlan is revealed to be standing behind her. “Hello, darling,” he greets Bo. She whirls around and Lachlan smiles…and smiles and smiles revealing rows of his gnarly teeth right before he lunges at Bo.
Back at the driveway Trick’s wife (still no name, show?!) steps out of Trick’s embrace and now there’s a blood moon hanging in the sky next to the screen. “This is so real,” Trick says, and she agrees. “It is real, Trick. I’ve been watching you since the day I died, waiting for the right moment.” They kiss and again, everything they do is shown on the screen only there they wear different clothes, it’s daylight, and they’re on the seashore.
Trick’s wife says she knows what he seeks and has seen what is coming for him. “You are right to be afraid.” She tells him that there was an ancient evil feeding on the rage and aggression generated by the Great Fae War. When Trick opened his veins and wrote the ending to the war, he starved the evil and now it has returned to kill him. “It’s going to kill you all.”
“I ended the war because the world depended on it,” Trick tells her emotionally. “If I hadn’t, no one would’ve survived.” He strokes wife’s face. “I only wish I had stopped it sooner.”
Wife disagrees and tells Trick that writing the end of the war was a mistake. “You interrupted our true destiny. You created peace but it’s not real. There’s still much animosity between the clans.” She believes that the war was going to right itself and that a true peace was coming when Trick intervened and forced one.
In great distress, Trick tries to assert there was no other choice, but even he’s beginning to doubt that now. Wife reassures him that there’s still time to undo it, “to unwrite the laws in your blood.” She tells him that “it” says Trick can have Wife back if he does this. “We can be together again,” and by the look on Trick’s face, that’s all he’s ever wanted. She holds out a knife and a quill and Trick nods in acquiescence. The scene shifts to one of the dilapidated cars and we see that it is not in fact, empty. Rather a man sits in the driver’s seat, avidly watching Trick and Wife’s interaction while munching on–what, pistachios? Something. Apparently, it is dinner and a show.
Back in The Ash’s throne room, Lachlan, still with the teeth, has Bo pinned down on the desk as he looms over her. No, not like that! He moves to bite the back of her neck but Bo hits him with a reverse head butt instead, sending him flying down the dais stairs.
Chuckling, Lachlan gets up and retracts the teeth. “I have to admit,” he says, removing his suit jacket, “I was kind of on the fence about you. I was hoping you wouldn’t be the one to come and take my head.”
“Well,” Bo snarks, “it would look so super above my fireplace. What’s a girl to do?” Lachlan rolls up his sleeves and takes two swords out. “The Ash’s head up on your wall,” he muses. He tosses one of the swords over to Bo. “It would be quite the feather in your cap,” he agrees. Bo frowns at him. Why are you arming me? And how do feathers fit in this again?
He steps back, giving her room, and takes a fencing position just shy of the door. Eyeing him carefully, Bo slowly descends the dais steps. “I’m sure you’d find a way to take credit for that too,” she sneers. I get the feeling they’re not talking about the same thing here. Wondering how long it’ll take them to figure that out. And if Lachlan will survive long enough to realize it.
“You and your mother, you’re like two peas in a pod,” he says. Oh, you did not just play the Aoife card! “Looking to try to kill The Ash like she did, is that it?” Bo frowns at him–what the hell does my mother have to do with Doctor Lauren?–but that doesn’t stop her from squaring off. “Bo and Aoife,” Lachlan sneers. “The two dark fae sluts.”
Okay, Bo. Now you can cut his head off.
Snarling, Bo attacks wildly while Lachlan immediately goes into a perfect fencing defense. I don’t know if Anthony Lemke fences in real life or if he learned some moves just for this episode, but his form appears perfect. Though that might be his stuntman. Stunned to find the man has some skills and barely dodging his swing that nearly opens her belly, Bo retreats a step and gapes at him.
Back at the drive-in, ScreenTrick and RealTrick prepare to bleed themselves while Wife urges him on. Trick’s hand trembles as he hesitates.
In The Ash’s throne room, Bo and Lachlan circle one another. “You should quit while you still can,” Lachlan suggests smugly. “You’re unmatched, unskilled vagrant that you are.” “You’re not the first dumbass to underestimate me,” Bo snarls back. “And you won’t be the last.” She attacks again, and again Lachlan effortless repels her. He surprises Bo again and as he swings at her head, she ducks under his sword, reversing their positions. Newly enraged, Bo attacks wildly, pushing him back until finally she kicks him in the chest and though the door into a large poorly lit antechamber/formal dining room the better for the stunt people to imitate the actors, my dear.
Bo backs him up against a long wood table, but Lachlan does an agile backward roll to end up kneeling on it on one knee as his sword swipes at the advancing Bo. Very cool move, man. He stands and Bo climbs up on the table to join him. “I must say,” he gibes. “The dark really suits you.”
They duel. Pause for witty banter. Bo: “I’ve never looked good in pastels. It’s a skin tone thing.” More dueling. They cross swords and hold. Cue witty banter. “It’s your rashness,” Lachlan tells her. “Your inability to control your emotions.” Bo: “Hell hath no fury like a woman totally screwed over. That kind of thing?” Duel, duel, duel. Now it’s Bo’s turn to do an agile forward roll down the table and avoid his swing at her head. Duel.
It’s all done really well. Sure there are professional stunt people for the long shots of them crossing swords, but the moments when it’s clearly Anna Silk and Vincent Walsh are seamlessly woven in and they definitely got some mad skillz of their own. I also like how they’ve contrasted Bo and Lachlan’s dueling style. Lachlan was likely trained hundreds of years ago in court dueling; he certainly has the form and style. While Bo, raw, untrained, instinctive, but still effective, keeps hacking away at him.
They locked swords again. “You’re dangerous,” Lachlan tells her as Bo struggles to free her sword. “You’re a danger to everyone. I don’t think you realize just how much Dark is inside you–it’s in your soul!” he cries passionately. “Everyone you know will suffer: the doctor, the old barkeep, and the pretty, pretty friend of yours.”
Threatening Kenzi is Bo’s last straw and she shoves Lachlan away. Duel, duel, duel. Pause for witty exchange. “Are you trying to goad me, Lachlan?” Bo asks, breathless. “No, not at all,” he assures her. “But if I were, how am I doing so far?” They begin a slow exchange of thrust and parry (no, not like that!) Bo: “On a scale of 1 to 10?” Lachlan, casually: “Yeah.” Bo, equally flip: “Not bad!” HA! I love that exchange.
Back at the drive-in (I swear there’s a Motown song with those exact words somewhere. Maybe I’m thinking of “At the Car Wash” though), the Man in the Car watches with heighten interest as Trick cuts into his hand. ScreenTrick does the same.
Back at The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Lair, Trick begins to thrash in the chair as the wound appears on his palm. Noticing, Dyson calls out in alarm to Hale. But the Kingmoor Ring glows and the wound reseals itself. Eyes wide open but still in the trance, Trick thrashes. “What the hell?” Hale asks, bewildered.
At the drive-in, Trick pauses in his self-mutilation. He glances up at Wife, but she’s looking over his shoulder at the Man in the Car. Trick frowns and has an epiphany. “My wife would never ask me to do this,” he says. Wife frowns back at him and wonders what he’s talking about. “I’m right here.” But Trick is on a roll and gathering steam. “To unwrite the laws of the Fae. To let the war between the Light and Dark resume. She knew how horrible it was!” Wife begs him to just do it for her but Trick throws the knife to the ground. “Who are you really?!” he demands and Wife gives up the game and screams horrifically.
Trick covers his ears as she stalks away and disappears. Trick looks at the Man in the Car who throws his head back and screams exactly the same way Wife did. Trick cowers, again covering his ears as the scream blows out the car windows. Dark, angry clouds and jagged lightening roll across the movie screen as the Man in the Car gets out and faces Trick across the divide, the blood moon hanging in the sky behind the Blood King.
Back in The Ash’s compound, Bo and Lachlan continue to hack away at one another. They’ve moved into the halls now as Bo pushes him ever backward, her justifiable fury powering her onward. Duel, duel, duel, and then to change it up, Bo throws in a right hook that knocks Lachlan back into a stone window seat. “That’s it,” he goads, unperturbed. “Show your true face.” Barring her teeth, she swings wildly and manages to get him on the run.
They duel their way down the steps–and at several points, it is very much the actors doing the work–and pause again. “Whoever sent you to kill me,” the Ash drawls, “sent the wrong little girl.” He runs down the stairs and Bo jumps over the wall to land in front of him. Duel, duel, duel. Pause for exchange of insults. “I did not come here to kill you,” Bo tells him as they circle one another again. “I came here to get the truth!”
“The truth!” he shouts back at her and smacks at her sword as if chiding a child. “The truth about your nature, perhaps, to see if those dark feelings you keep bottled up inside are really who you are.” Hang on, is this a sword fight or a therapy session?!
Bo disagrees. “To prove that whatever this thing is, whatever the Nain Rouge keeps warning me about, it’s already here. Because it’s you.” But now it’s Lachlan’s turn for an epiphany as he processes her words and finally, finally, realizes they’re basically having a massive communication problem. He lowers his sword. As Bo draws her back for the next parry, Lachlan refuses to engage. Holding her position, Bo freezes, frowning.
“The Nain Rouge,” Lachlan repeats, brow furrowed. “Yeah,” Bo answers, still pissed. “Little girl. About your height.” Hee. But Lachlan refuses to be goaded on this matter. “Well, if you feel so strongly about it,” he drawls casual again, and drops his sword to the floor. Stupefied, Bo looks between Lachlan and his discarded sword.
The Ash takes a knee before her. “Take my life,” he offers and oh is she tempted. “Claim your vengeance,” he says more fiercely as she hesitates. “Come on. I’m right here,” he goads. “Do it!” he shouts at her and with a yell, Bo lunges forward to take his head.
And stops. Because she’s not Dark Fae and she’s not a murderer and she is most definitely not her mother. “Like I said,” she tells him, glaring and panting with the effort of restraint. “I am not in the killing business.” And then she kicks him in the face. HA! Lachlan hits the ground, and smiles a little as he spits blood from his mouth. “But I don’t mind a little justice from time to time,” she adds with a smirk. Slowly, Lachlan gets to his feet. “I think you and I need to have a little chat.” Maybe over some tea and biscuits, the perfect treat after you’ve just tried to gut each other.
Back at the drive-in, the Man in the Car approaches Trick. “Who are you?” Trick calls. “How are you able to manipulate my vision?! I am the Blood King!”
The Man No Longer in the Car laughs in derision. “The Blood King is no match for Garuda,” he scoffs. “Garuda?” Trick repeats. “But they went extinct a millennia before the Fae ever existed!”
“No one told me,” the Garuda says. He extends his arms and suddenly two bat-wings of flame erupt behind him. Trick shields his face from the heat of the Garuda’s fire as lightening cracks on the movie screen behind him.
The Garuda comes to stand before Trick. “Just as Fae feed from humans,” he tells the Blood King. “We feed off Fae. Their rage and their hatred.” He frowns at Trick. “You ended our feasting with your filthy blood. We will drink you dead,” he promises.
“No,” Trick denies him. “I stopped you once; I’ll do it again even if it means spilling my own blood once more.” The Garuda laughs again full of scorn. He inhales deeply and tells Trick that he’s already done that and Trick glances down at his cut hand. “We smelled Blood King’s blood,” the Garuda menaces, “when the Great Fae War was ended and we starved and waited hoping to smell it again to exact revenge.” He poetically explains how the very smallest of scents of Trick’s blood finally reached them and Trick flashes back to how he spilt his blood to save Bo in her fight with Aoife in Blood Lines. Doing so allowed the Garuda to find him, reigniting their thirst for vengeance. “And now, finally,” the Garuda growls. He takes Trick’s torn hand, inhales deeply once more, and licks the blood from Trick’s palm. Um–eww? The Garuda smiles beautifully, on a blood high like an overfed vampire. “We found you.” I get the sense that this is more the Garuda talking about himself in the third person than a resurgence of the species.
“What?!” Tricks asks, confused and frightened. The Garuda explains that they have smelled where he is. “The Dal Riata! (drink!),” he shouts and repeats it twice with increasing fervor. The screeches of Garuda fill the air as Trick cowers…and back in Tolkien’s Lair, his eyes pop open as he starts to scream from his trance.
In the Ash’s throne room, Lachlan leads the way back into the room. “Contrary to what you believe,” he says to Bo, lying his sword down on the table, “I’m actually one of the good guys in all of this.” Bo: “Oh, yeah. All good guys lie and cheat and prey on defenseless humans and threaten to torture people.” Lachlan calmly admits that he was testing her. “I had to use your doctor friend to get under your skin.” That stuns her in place. “I know,” he agrees, “it wasn’t easy for me either.” For whatever reason, Bo believes him. “What are you?” she asks, utterly bewildered.
“What you see standing before you,” Lachlan says after a pause, “is what’s left of the Nāga.” Ohhh, so that’s what he is. I wondered. Bo: “Is that like the Fae boy band or something?” Lachlan is not amused. “Because I don’t think Justin Timberlake keeps members of his old group in a box!” she snaps. Well, really, you never know with Justin. Lachlan explains that the heads she saw in the chest were his heads, “my brothers,” he says in a devastated tone. “Over the years they were taken away from me, cut off from my shoulders by scared villagers, mystics, some other greater evils.”
Bo is affected by his evident emotion and gently asks why. “For my venom,” Lachlan admits candidly. Weary, he sits down on the dais steps and dabs at his bleeding mouth with a handkerchief. “It’s the only way to kill the most destructive presence our people have ever known: the Garuda." Bo, trying for levity and failing: “I don’t suppose that’s a smoked cheese, is it?” Lachlan explains that the Garuda is the thing that’s headed towards them, “the evil the Nain Rouge spoke about, the evil that I have been tracking down and fighting for centuries upon centuries.” So the dude’s pretty old then. You look really good for your age, Lachlan.
Bo wonders with bemusement why he didn’t just tell her all this in the first place. Lachlan tells her that he had to be sure “this time. The Garuda feeds off our anger and our violence,” he explains. “I needed to be sure that you, unlike your mother, could control that anger, not to be led by your emotions making you intent on blood.”
“Why me?” Bo asks. “Why do all of this to me?!” Doctor Lauren too, sweetie. Don’t forget she spent four days! In a dungeon! Lachlan tells her it’s because of her abilities. “They come from lust, passion, not aggression or hatred. In order to defeat the Garuda, you must be able to attack without attacking and like it or not, Succubus, you’re perfect.” He tells her the time has come. He indicates his one remaining head and says that this is their last chance. “Last chance for what?” she asks, still confused and more than a little overwhelmed by the info dump.
Lachlan stands up and clasps her arm. “I need you to lead the Fae in battle against its greatest enemy and take this bastard down once and for all.” In every generation there is a chosen one…wait, sorry, wrong show. “Are you up for the challenge?” he asks. “Will you be my champion?” Then again, maybe right show after all…
At The Dal (drink!) down in Tolkien’s Lair, Trick struggles violently against the bonds holding him in place in the chair. Helpless, Dyson and Hale hover over the timer, watching it tick to the stopping point. “It’s time!” Dyson calls out over Trick’s screams. He rushes over to pull the gas mask off Trick’s face. “Come on!” Hale shouts. “I don’t understand. It won’t come off!” Dyson yells back. Hale: “What do we do?!”
Dyson reaches over and pulls the hose off the still. Steam immediately hisses through the room. Coughing, Hale tries to pry Dyson away, but he won’t budge until he’s wrenched the mask from Trick’s face. Overwhelmed by the fumes Dyson crashes into a small dresser. He and Hale fall to the floor unconscious.
Back at Dyson’s loft, PerfectCiara
continues to pack Dyson’s things in boxes. She glances around the room then slowly walks to the bin. Smiling ruefully, she extracts the t-shirt and drops it in a box. Unfortunately, she truly loves him. But as she closes the box up, her smiles slowly fades.
At The Dal (drink!), down in Tolkien’s Lair, the camera pans across Dyson, passed out and spread eagle on the floor, then over Hale who is likewise unconscious finally ending on Trick, who wakes with a jolt.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi sits on the couch, playing with her phone as Bo returns home more than a little shell shocked. “Hey BoBo! Where you been all day?! I’ve been calling you and texting you! I mean, I’ve been doing other stuff besides texting,” she insinuates with a laugh. “Might be referred to as sexting,” she whispers. Yeah, WE KNOW. Good on you, babe! But Bo is in her own world and hasn’t heard a word.
“Bo, you OK?” Kenzi asks. Bo jumps at the sound of her name, coming back to the world around her. “Yeah, sorry Kenz,” she says. “I just–um–I don’t know what–I–” she stutters. “Today–” she begins again, but Kenzi cuts her off, too excited to wait anymore. “Has been the best day ever?!” Kenzi interjects.
“Was one strange, messed up day,” Bo says instead, haltingly. “Dude, let me tell you,” Kenzi agrees fervently. Something tells me they’re not on the same wavelength here either. “It has been so wickedly, wickedly messed up,” Kenzi chortles. “What did you do today?!” she asks, swinging back and forth in place. “Do you want to know what I did? Hmm?” Bo, decidedly less cheery, says she can’t really get into it right now. “I think I just have to go to bed.” I’d soak in that bath first for, oh, say a hundred years or so, but bed is good too.
“Bo!” Kenzi calls after her, following. “I said, ‘Do you want to know what I did?’” “Kenzi,” Bo says, but it’s too late. “Long, fly ball, oh baby it looks like it’s gonna be gone and YES it is out–of–HERE! Home run!” she shouts at her bestie. Still, it takes Bo a second to clue in. “And,” Kenzi continues, “If you don’t mind me saying, it was one for the Hall of Fame. I mean that is not the first time Nate has swung a bat, lemme tell you.”
Finally Bo catches on and she smiles, genuinely pleased for her friend. “That’s great, Kenzi, I’m happy for you, really,” she says weakly. Kenzi tells her how Nate asked her to go away with him on tour and she asks Bo if she thinks Kenzi should go. Bo, still not totally with it, says yes, absolutely, and gleeful, Kenzi hugs her, squealing. “I’m gonna go pack!” she exclaims running off and as she rushes past Bo, we can see one of the Chinese cats on the table next to them, waving madly.
Stunned, Bo stares after her. “And I’m gonna get up early tomorrow and…” she pauses and her empty smile fades as she finally confronts the task ahead of her. “…save the world,” she says flatly.
New Fae Folk:
Luduan: Light Fae who do not appear to actually feed on either humans or other fae. Luduan have an insatiable need to find out the truth of things and can compel individuals to reveal it, whether or not they’re consciously aware of those truths themselves. Appear to have very long life spans.
Garuda: Thought to the stuff of Fae legend, the boogie men of the Fae, the Garuda are NOT FAE. They pre-date the Fae and supposedly died out before the Fae came into existence but actually just went into hiding. Garuda feed off the aggression, malice, and hatred of the Fae the way the Fae feed off humans. Garuda resemble eagles and can take that shape with flaming wings and are the natural enemy of the Nāga.
Nāga: Nearly extinct, the Nāga are the natural enemy of the Garuda. A deity that takes the form of a snake, specifically a King Cobra, Nāga can rejuvenate but only a specific number of times. Nāga venom can kill a Garuda.
Quotes of the Night:
Bo: I’m gonna force-feed Lachlan a buffet of right hand burritos and stiletto boot tacos. Kenzi: Hmm, those sound delicious! Bo: They do, don’t they? And the sun is shining!
Bo: I’m going to choke the lucky charms right out of his purple little heart.
Bo: Don’t ever let Kenzi know you’re hiding gold bricks in here.
Trick: She was much prettier before she got into drugs. Dyson: Hey man, no one’s judging. Hale: Yeah. Play on, player.
Nate (singing): I-I-I-I-I like ponies and I like milk more than I like juice.
Bo: You’re not the first dumbass to underestimate me. And you won’t be the last.
Bo: You trying to goad me, Lachlan? Lachlan: No, not at all. But if I was, how am I doing so far? Bo: On a scale of 1 to 10? Lachlan: Yeah. Bo: Not bad!
Next week: Episode 14: Midnight Lamp