Episode Report Card Demian: B- | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Look Who's Barking
By Demian | Season 3 | Episode 21 | Aired on 05.09.2001
Bridal boudoir. Piper, seated in the lotus position, meditates on the bed as the soothing instructions of a New Age swami pour from the speakers of her stereo. The Dolt orbs in unannounced, startling her. She flings her hands in the air and blows up her tape deck. “Leo!” she bitches. “You’re supposed to knock!” She fetches a nearby fire extinguisher and sprays her smoking stereo. Blah blee Piper’s-a-menace-to-society bling. The Dolt reminds her that it took a bit of time to master freezing. Piper reminds the Dolt that “freezing is one thing. Blowing up stuff is another thing altogether.” The Dolt sweetly counters that he’s there to help her. Blather about canceling the honeymoon, which, as you’ll recall, was already decided upon last week. Piper orders her husband to order The Powers That Be to relieve her of her new power. “I’m not ready for it,” she insists. “Nonsense” noises from the Dolt. The two then set up Piper’s Lesson Of The Week, to be learned this evening after enduring as-yet-unspecified hardships. She claims she feels “helpless.” “You are not helpless,” the Dolt replies. “You are one of the strongest, most capable people I’ve ever known.” He eases her back down onto the bed as he continues, “And don’t forget: I’ve been around for a while.” She snuggles against his chest as he reassures further, “We can handle [this] together.”
Cut to the apartment of Misty’s Murdered Master. Inspector Nathaniel “Nat” Bussicio asks Phoebe and Prue, “So what kind of specialists are you, anyway?” So nice of Shannen to toss a little work at her old pal, Joe E. Tata. Phoebe deflects his question, muttering something about Detective Darryl while Prue takes a look at the discarded photo album on the floor. Inspector Nat’s curiosity must be satisfied, however. He wonders if the two are the “psychics” Darryl has been rumored to consult from time to time. Phoebe guffaws, dismissing the notion. Prue comes across the photo of Catherine, and asks if she was the wife of Misty’s Murdered Master. Inspector Nat confirms this, revealing that she died recently, leaving Misty’s Murdered Master inconsolable. Prue wants to know if a suspect has been identified. Nope. The police do know the perp broke in through the window. Given the apartment’s on the third floor, they’re a bit puzzled about how the perp managed to get up that high. Um, the fire escape shown in the establishing shot, maybe? Just a suggestion. Phoebe looks for scorch marks, the signature of a Flaming Ball Of Death. Prue starts to note that the body would be missing in that case, but catches Inspector Nat’s suspicious glance and shuts herself up. “Are you from Arson?” he squints. No, they’re not. But would he be so kind as to let them know the cause of death? Why, of course: Misty’s Murdered Master burst every blood vessel in his body. “He drowned in his own blood.” Ew. Messy. Nat’s still not giving up on the pesky questioning of the Ps’ credentials. “Are you two Feds?” Phoebe’s had enough and gets in his face to announce, “We’re witches, okay? We think a demon might have done this -- probably my ex-boyfriend -- and if he did, we have to find him and vanquish him. Satisfied?” Inspector Nat snarls at her and leaves. Prue wonders if Phoebe has lost what little remains of her scattered mind. Phoebe tells her to shove it. She got rid of Nat, didn’t she? Prue believes a supernatural force was at work, but does not believe said supernatural force was Belthazor. Phoebe glares.
Cut to the Cavern of the Bi Kraps. Cole’s consulting a demonic alchemist. “Why would they try to summon me?” The alchemist believes that Phoebe wants to pick up where she left off with the Colethazor. “Humans can be very forgiving,” he observes, unfortunately reminding me of the numerous second, third, and fourth chances I gave the various morons I’ve dated. Thanks for nothing. Cole finds this hard to believe. The Phoebe-wants-him-back thing, not the bit about the lug nuts I managed to saddle myself with in years past. “If I know [Phoebe],” he snarks, “she wants to crucify me.” Cole wants the alchemist to come up with some sort of potion to destroy his human half, thereby severing all connections he has with the mortals upstairs. The alchemist allows that he can “transmute” Cole’s blood to render the violet vanquishing potion useless, but Cole will never be able to rid himself of his humanity. This, Cole did not want to hear. He evaluates his options briefly, then crosses to the alchemist’s side. “Do what you can,” he orders, rolling up his sleeve. The alchemist TKs a dagger into his hand and draws the blade down Cole’s forearm. He then places his palm over the open wound. Blue bolts of electricity flicker about the gash as Cole gasps in pain.