First things first: No, I don't speak Romanian, and yes, I'm misguided enough to believe tonight's incessant babbling in what the captioning insists is that little-known tongue is the writers' way of exacting revenge on us for slamming their misuse of more widely-known languages. Like English. Thanks for asking.
We fade up on Phoebe roaming the narrow, teeming alleyways of San Francisco's infamous Gypsy Quarter. Just go with it. The area's residents, in keeping with their time-honored tradition of warding off outside threats to the community, huddle in the alcoves of nearby buildings, crossing themselves repeatedly while forking the Evil Eye at Phoebe and her hateful ensemble of filmy Edwardian undergarments masquerading as outerwear. Or maybe the alleyway is pretty much deserted and I'm the superstitious soul cowering in a corner muttering dark oaths under my breath in a language I don't speak as that bony hag crosses into my frame of vision. What's with the knit hat, Feebs? We covering the bald spot left behind after that operation we had to remove the tumor? She doesn't answer me. Perhaps the surgery left her deaf. One can only hope she's now mute as well. The camera follows Phoebe into the storefront parlor of the local palmist, who's lighting a couple of candles by the register. "Are you closing?" Phoebe inquires. Dammit. She can still talk. The palmist turns, regards Phoebe with a smile, and replies, "Not anymore -- please come in." "I am Madame Tereza," the woman continues. Phoebe introduces herself in kind. Madame T reveals that she already knows Phoebe's name. "Did you read my mind?" splutters the Feebs. "No," Madame T smirks with a kindly twinkle in her eye. "I read your column." You know, I would love to see for myself one of these Bay Mirror advice columns that have so captured the hearts and minds of Northern California's chatterati. They keep telling us the Feebs is some mystical, compassionate font of wit and wisdom, but they have yet to produce actual evidence in support of this claim. I mean, should Dan Savage be watching his back? Should Sars be watching hers? These are the questions that keep me awake at night, dammit!
In any event, Madame T is quite the vivid stereotype, what with the thick Central European accent, the red silk blouse, the paisley-patterned head scarf, and enough jangly, bejeweled baubles dangling from her ears, neck, and wrists to choke Elizabeth Taylor. "You're not sure if you're a believer, are you?" she asks of the Feebs. Phoebe assures her that she does indeed believe in the power of the Gypsies, and confides, "I didn't know where else to turn." Madame T gestures towards a nearby pair of chairs and joins Phoebe as she sits at the table. At the center of the table is a crystal ball as big as Phoebe's head. "Let's see what your hands tell us," Madame T grins. She examines Phoebe's right palm, then exclaims, "You have the gift of foresight!" Phoebe flinches and withdraws her hand, afraid that she's revealed her secret bitchcraft to a stranger. Madame T assures her that whatever they discuss shall remain in the shop, so Phoebe relaxes a bit. Madame T whips out a Sharpie and enhances the various lines on Phoebe's palm. We're informed that Phoebe is "creative," "sensitive," "street-smart," and blessed with strong, close family ties. Again, I must insist on proof. Although now that I think about it, Madame T could be a fortune teller of the shrewdly polite sort, editing down to more flattering sound bites a reading that actually tells us Phoebe is "creative" in manipulating any given situation to her benefit, "sensitive" to the needs of no one but herself, "street-smart" in the way a hooker knows which is the most profitable corner to work, and "blessed with strong, close family ties" she has no problem breaking whenever things aren't going her way. That sound about right to you? Works for me.
Anyway, Madame T rightfully wonders why Phoebe's chosen to consult a stranger for advice, given her supposed close ties to her family. Phoebe, whose softer make-up this week has left her looking like Rupert Graves in drag, breathes, "I don't want to worry them." As if that attitude's ever been helpful in the past. "I'm having trouble with...my gift," Phoebe stammers, "and that's why I'm here. I want to figure out what's wrong." Madame T examines Phoebe's index fingers and diagnoses overwork. "Besides my column and my personal appearances," Phoebe glums, "my boss has me giving advice on a radio show." There are so many things wrong with that one sentence that I'm just going to press on before I vomit all over my laptop. Madame T basically tells Phoebe that her emphasis on her professional life is blocking her premonitions. This is, of course, A Very Bad Thing, as Phoebe's "gift must be honored." And no, Feebs, hacking out an advice column for a weekly tabloid, cruising Marin County shopping malls in the hopes that your adoring fans will shower you with adulation like you're some sort of scantily-clad West Coast analogue to Sally Field in Soapdish, and flashing your implants at Oakland's version of Mancow during morning drive-time are not the actions of someone "honoring her gift." Just so we're clear on that, okay?
Phoebe bites her lip, drops her gaze, and softly wonders how she can strike a balance in her life. Madame T gifts her with a warm, winning smile, and says, "Let's start by unblocking some of that energy, shall we?" Aw. I like Madame T -- she's like Grams on goulash. I'll be sorry when she ends up battered and lifeless on that Oriental carpet of hers. Whoops. Spoiler! Madame T and Phoebe link hands, close their eyes, and concentrate on their breathing. Suddenly, a violent shudder passes through Madame T's body, almost as if a burst of energy traveled through Phoebe's hands into her own. Phoebe recognizes this particular physical reaction and guesses that Madame T "intercepted" a premonition meant for her. Madame T shoots Phoebe a horrified look and leaps to her feet, insisting that Phoebe vacate the premises immediately. Madame T shoves Phoebe onto the sidewalk and draws the blinds once she's locked the door behind her. Phoebe gapes.
Elsewhere in the apparently vast Gypsy Quarter, an angular, middle-aged bleached blonde with fried ringlets, black roots, and a sparkly pink headband paces in front of an old Gulf Stream trailer, babbling into her cell phone and trying to get Madame T to calm down. We cut back to the palmist's parlor, where Madame T hastily packs a suitcase. "Orrin!" the terrified Tereza moans into her cordless. "He's coming for me!" Dude. Orrin Hatch? I'd be scared shitless. Kidding! Tereza actually identifies her antagonist as a "Gypsy Hunter," which has to be one of the rarer job titles circulating at the moment. Nearly as rare as "Mormon Senator." Sparkly Headband claims that the reappearance of Orrin is impossible, as they "blinded him decades ago" and "only Gypsy magic can lift his curse." Heh. I think somebody on staff hates the senior senator from Utah as much as I do. "It had to be him, Lydia," Tereza counters, tossing fistfuls of trinkets into her bag. "The girl I was dukkering for -- she has a powerful gift for seeing and somehow, I received her vision." Lydia and her ebony roots realize that Madame T's not kidding with all this and offer to spirit her to safety. Madame T immediately shoots this idea down and insists that Lydia pack her things to flee the city as well. "If he's hunting Shuvanis," she warns, "he could be after you ." As Madame T urges Lydia to leave, a shuddering swoosh hits the soundtrack. Tereza turns to gasp something in Romanian at the tall, dirty-blond intruder who's appeared in her shop as Lydia screams Tereza's name over and over again into her cell. "You were expecting me?" the intruder asks. The intruder's too-close eyes, overly prominent nose, and puckered lips are smashed together in the center of his face, and the fact that his hair's spiked up to Jesus isn't exactly mitigating his weaselly appearance. "Orrin?" Tereza demands. "You've heard of my father," Son Of Mormon replies. "He'll be pleased." "What do you want?" Tereza spits, her fingers slowly curling into defensive claws. "His revenge," Sonny intones, "and your eyes." Sonny twists his lips into a menacing sneer and stretches his hands before him. Glowing bolts of reddish electricity materialize at his fingertips and race to the centers of his palms, where they fuse to blast outwards across the room towards Tereza's head. She unhinges her jaw to howl in pain as her eye sockets blaze and we hurtle into the opening credits.
In the event that anyone out there cares, tonight's Cole- and Darryl-free version of the opening credits includes the familiar shot of Piper freezing the exploding centerpiece from "Ms. Hellfire," Raige redirecting The Shell Of Suck with her orbing telekinesis from the season premiere, and Phish 'n' Tits leaping from the water from the same episode. And you thought you'd never have to see the golden pasties again, didn't you? Muah ha ha ha ha ha.
Manor. Up in the kitchen, the Dolt silently reads the promotional material on the sleeve of a videocassette entitled The Joys Of Home Birthing, and yes, he's moving his lips. Heh. I'm not kidding with that one, either. Piper and Raige pedebitch from the dining room about the prenatal yoga class they attended that morning. Raige thinks Piper should try a different instructor. Piper insists that she had no problems with the guy at the front of the room. No, she wants to slaughter each and every chipper mother-to-be who brandished her sonogram print-out after the session all, "'Look! It's Jasper's first photo! And it's gonna go on the fridge in a little metal frame that says Jasper's First Photo!'" Piper's ponytail bobs violently as she recalls this outrage. Snerk. Piper's Issue Of The Week involves the Dolt refusing his wife proper obstetric care, as he's worried that the percolating infant's mischievous ways will result in wacky, difficult-to-explain hijinks during an examination. Piper's not having it. Her morning sickness shows no signs of abating, and she's concerned that her continuing nausea signifies something ominous. The Dolt blithely notes that every pregnancy is unique; therefore, Piper's ongoing battle with the vomit is not a problem. It's true! He read it in the book that came with his video. Piper clenches. Raige brightly offers to microwave some popcorn for an impromptu videofest, because her Issue Of The Week involves what a "big, dumb, fat, unemployed," and friendless loser she's become since she resigned from THE BLACK HOLE OF SOCIAL SERVICES. You're not fat, Raige, but God knows that scarlet tracksuit you're sporting isn't doing your hips any favors at the moment. And yes, Raige's Issue is even more contrived than Piper's, but it's far less traumatizing than last week's Crusade For The Elusive O, so we'll take it, and we'll like it. Phoebe jiggles into the room to mainline caffeine as she exposits that Cole's "off soul-searching somewhere" this week. "Or off searching for a soul," she absently modifies. Piper spots the remains of Madame T's Sharpie on Phoebe's palm, and wonders what gives. Phoebe reluctantly admits that she visited a fortuneteller the evening, then bolts for the front door with no further explanation when the office rings her cell. Piper, Raige, and the Dolt exchange suspicious glances, then barrel out of the kitchen after her.
Out in the hallway, the three confront the tight-lipped Feebs. Eventually, she allows as how she hasn't received a premonition in several months. Even worse, she can no longer levitate. To demonstrate this, Phoebe moves to the center of the hallway and thinks real hard for a moment, only to rise a mere inch from the floor. The Dolt berates her for keeping these developments to herself. He's her Whitelighter, after all. She should be telling him about these things. "You've been busy," Phoebe meekly protests. "I've? Been busy?" the Dolt burbles incredulously. This episode is just one shout-out after another, isn't it? Phoebe natters something about her professional responsibilities before the Dolt cuts her off with a terse instruction to Piper and Raige: "You guys yell at her. I'm gonna check with the Elders and see what they know." Bwa! Ha! The Dolt made a funny. I suppose they'll be wanting overcoats down in Hell now. After the Dolt orbs out, Piper tosses her head around, wailing that Phoebe should have confided in her sisters before assaulting some random Gypsy woman with her problems. Phoebe dismisses this criticism to focus on the more urgent matter of her intercepted premonition. She believes something desperate and demonic befell Madame T the evening, but she hasn't had a chance to return to the storefront. Raige immediately volunteers for Gypsy duty. Phoebe thanks her, hands her Tereza's business card, and disappears through the front door as her cell phone chirps yet again.
Lair Of The Mormons. Sonny Hatch plucks Tereza's eyeballs from a small box and places them on a tray. Delicate clumps of moist tissue cling to each eye. It's vile. "I have a good feeling about these," Sonny growls. Such a loving weasel. The Reprehensible Senator From Utah's pasty, whiskered, weak-chinned face is partially obscured by a pair of dark glasses. "I was glad to see the Shuvani didn't put up much of a fight," he notes. Sonny's surprised that Dear Old Dad could "see" that far: "Your mind's eye grows stronger." The Reprehensible Senator snorts that his goddamned mind's eye better be stronger. After all, he's "had a long time to develop it." A mouse chooses this moment to scamper across the table. Without hesitation, The Reprehensible Senator raises a hand and fries the hapless rodent with a flaring bolt of demonic mojo. Sonny Hatch smirks in admiration, then grows serious as he presents The Reprehensible Senator with the purloined eyeballs. The Reprehensible Senator slides the dark glasses from his face and opens his eyelids, and we drop into a vast, sucking vortex of cheap CGI. They've simply blacked out the actor's eyes. That's it. No sunken sockets, no purplish bruising, no sick-making ooze. Nothing. Nada. Zip. And things were going so well. The Reprehensible Senator pops Tereza's eyes into his own skull and grins. His malicious glee is short-lived, however, as the eyes almost immediately combust in his head. The Reprehensible Senator howls and moans and pounds his fists against the table for a bit before quieting down. Sonny averts his gaze and softly suggests they stop it with the eye-snatching already. "No!" The Reprehensible Senator From Utah grunts. "The eyes I seek are worth this pain." He senses Tereza's "Shuvani friend" roaming around nearby, and sends Sonny Boy after her.
Meanwhile, Raige loiters on the sidewalk across from Tereza's shop. The area overflows with police, and a non-Darryl detective examines Tereza's corpse inside the storefront. Raige phones Phoebe at work to pass along the bad news. Phoebe's shocked and appalled. She's also wearing crocheted fingerless gloves as she taps away on her laptop. They're like teeny purple legwarmers for her wrists. No, I don't understand it either, and they're by far the most disturbing development this evening. As Phoebe and Raige attempt to process Tereza's suspicious death and its attendant demonic implications, Elise Rothman, Girl Editor pokes her head into Phoebe's office to saddle her with a few more professional responsibilities. Phoebe promises to meet Raige at the Manor as soon as possible, and slams down her receiver to chase Elise out into the main office. Phoebe insists that she can't accept additional assignments at the moment. Elise glares at her, then snidely sing-songs, "Dear Phoebe: My career is on the fast track, I'm wildly popular, and the money's pretty damn good, too. What should I do?" "Stop whining?" Phoebe whispers. Elise is all, "Bingo!" and sails off. Phoebe, beleaguered, sighs.
Say. Suddenly Shrewish here just gave me an idea! Dear Brad: May I call you Brad? I feel like we know each other so well, after all. Anyway, just letting you know that having the Girl Editor inexplicably morph into a raging Hell-bitch over the hiatus will not make me stop hating Phoebe. Try again! D.
Hospital. Wasn't I just here? A petite, dark-haired surgeon counsels a patient as Lydia barges into the emergency room, slurring in Romanian. Doctor Ava excuses herself from her charge and draws Lydia aside, ordering her to keep her voice down and to speak in English. Lydia breathlessly relates the details of Madame T's untimely demise, and warns Ava to take the proper precautions. Ava's Shuvani too, you see. However, she rejected her superstitious Romany heritage in favor of the rational world of Western medicine, and wants nothing to do with Lydia and her charms and Evil Eyes and ancient incantations and such. Why would Ava turn her back on her people, you ask? That's easy. Ava's got a Dead Mom. Yep -- Ava's mother shunned chemotherapy in favor of traditional herbal folk remedies, and died as a result of her misguided decision. Ava also volleys a bit of backstory regarding Mom's unfulfilled deathbed vow to contact her daughter from beyond the grave before she tells Lydia to make like a tree. "Your friend was murdered?" Ava snaps. "Turn to the police, not superstition." She spins on her heel to return to her patient as Lydia blinks back tears.
Manor. Piper and the Dolt slouch on the couch in front of the TV. The tinny sound of a woman shrieking in abject agony drifts through the room from the television's speakers. Piper eyes the Dolt's home-birthing video with mounting horror, then finally yelps, "I need an epidural just to watch this." The Dolt mildly suggests they fast-forward to the bit where the doting parents get to meet the new infant. Piper shoots him a filthy look and snatches the remote from his paw to put an end to this earthy-crunchy home-birthing crap once and for all. When the time comes, she insists, the Dolt is to wake her up after it's all over and the "professional medical people" have cleaned the damn kid up. Excellent call, Piper. Raige interrupts the birthing banter to announce the arrival of the latest demon in their lives. According to The Amazing Invisible Darryl, Tereza's murder was "the third in a string of Gypsy killings, and all of them had their eyes gouged out." Phoebe bursts into the parlor from the kitchen to ask the Dolt what he learned about her power regression. Not a whole lot, as you might have guessed given the ever-useless Elders' track record. Whatever Phoebe's going through is linked to her human emotions, not her supernatural abilities. Phoebe grimaces as Raige suggests hitting Tereza's funeral on the off chance Phoebe might receive a premonition of the killer. "Prenatal yoga this morning, and now you wanna crash a stranger's funeral?" Piper snorts derisively. "You really do need friends." Now, that was just uncalled for. Turning Piper into a hormonal shrike isn't going to make me stop hating Phoebe, either, Kern. Watch it.
Funeral montage. The Glamorous Ladies elbow their way into the gathering outside Lydia's decrepit Gulf Stream. Lydia babbles away in Romanian as Ava impassively observes the ritual. Meanwhile, Piper needs a cracker. No, seriously. The morning sickness has returned with a vengeance, and she's tempted to swipe the offering of saltines someone's placed by Tereza's open casket. Atop a pile of bananas and cheese, no less. Raige, who's been conveniently filling her friendless, jobless days with research into Gypsy customs, prudently advises Piper against such action. Evidently, the offerings are meant to accompany the deceased into the afterlife in case God's run out of canapés. Lydia concludes the ceremony with, "May I join the choir invisible of those dead who live again in minds made better by their presence." It's a touching sentiment when you think about it, but whatever. I get the feeling the writers are attempting to atone for last year's unforgivable bastardization of Chinese culture with a near-fetishistic attention to Gypsy detail, and I'm not falling for it. As the mourners head off towards the open bar, Piper and Raige order Phoebe to mingle. After all, she can't have a premonition if she doesn't invade the personal space of several dozen grief-stricken strangers, now can she?
Meanwhile, Lydia's cornered Ava by the coffin and begs her to remain for the wake. Not only will Ava find protection from The Reprehensible Senator within the crowd, she'll also be able to enjoy the fabulous stew Lydia threw together for the occasion! It's a bonus! Ava tells Lydia to cram it, and blows on out of there. Lydia starts after her, but rams into the awkwardly galumphing Feebs, hurling Phoebe into a scattered premonition featuring Tereza's corpse, the funeral violinist, weeping mourners, lonely Lydia amid stacks of cordwood, and a certain nearby someone getting her eyes fried right out of her skull. Once Phoebe's snapped out of it, Lydia apologizes for jostling her and asks if she's all right. Rather than, oh, warning this Gypsy high priestess that she's about to die, the foresighted moron merely mumbles, "I'm fine," and cowers in an exaggerated cringe as Lydia passes into the crowd. Phoebe's far more sensible sisters scurry over, figure out what's going on, and chase after the imperiled bleached blonde.
Lydia races through a maze of stacked cordwood, calling for Ava. I'm guessing Lydia sells the wood on commission to pay off the mortgage on her decrepit Gulf Stream. Either that, or Gypsies fashion intricate mazes out of cordwood just for the hell of it and then charge admission to easily-entertained Anglos. I bet if the easily-entertained Anglos lose their way, the Gypsies charge them extra to lead them back outside. And then pick their pockets. What? Oh, shut up. At least I'm trying to explain the goddamned cordwood's presence. In any event, Sonny Boy Hatch's disembodied voice echoes through the area before he materializes suddenly to make with the threats. Lydia shouts something in Romanian, and green bolts of electricity shoot from her eyes to kick up the dust at Sonny's feet. A whirlwind of splinters encases his body until he mojos a red bolt of his own into Lydia's chest. As she collapses unconscious to the ground, the whirlwind dissipates, and Sonny advances on her to commence with the eye-sucking. The Glamorous Ladies dart onto the scene just as Lydia begins screaming. Piper flings out her Hands Of Discontent. Rather than dissolving into the expected cloud of black goo, Sonny hurtles end over end through the air to land on the far side of a stack of wood. Piper gripes in surprise and dismay at the failure of her explosive power as she joins Phoebe and Raige at Lydia's side. Sonny leaps upon the cordwood to fry some interfering Halliwell ass, but Raige orbs her little group out of the clearing. Sonny growls as he's overwhelmed by the onrushing commercials.
Manor dining room. The Dolt applies the tingly touch to Lydia's injured eyes. She gasps and blinks a few times, then quickly collects herself to rise, thank them all, and leave. The Ps, mistaking Lydia's independent resolve for fear of the Power of Three, insist that she remain under their protection in the Manor. Lydia scoffs at the suggestion that she's afraid of the Halliwells, reminding the gals that Gypsies and witches "come from sister traditions." She then notes she's not the only target of the demonic force in question, firmly but gently suggests they mind their own freaking business for once in their lives, and again attempts to return to her Gulf Stream to protect her own as best she can. Raige, clad in a hideously patterned sweater featuring irregular patches of mustard, pink, ecru, red, chocolate, and institutional aqua that are so appallingly ugly the whole thing almost works, pleads with Lydia to stay and share with them what she knows. Meanwhile, Phoebe tries unsuccessfully to ignore the jangling telephone. Finally, the Feebs groans in frustration and darts into the parlor to deal with Suddenly Shrewish alone. Lydia exposits that the Shuvanis -- a Gypsy class of hereditary high priestesses -- collectively robbed The Reprehensible Senator From Utah of his sight decades ago, but there are too few of them available nowadays to curse his son, "Cree," as well. Doctor Ava, a Shuvani by way of her dead mother, has exposed herself to attack by abandoning her birthright and the protective magic that comes with it. Piper announces that she and the Dolt will orb to San Francisco Memorial to check up on the good doctor, and perhaps hit up the OB/GYNs for a quick round of prenatal tests while they're at it. Once they've left, Phoebe emerges into the hallway with the cordless, apologizing repeatedly as Suddenly Shrewish places more unreasonable demands upon her time. Phoebe vows to make her "personal appearance," and hangs up. Raige assures Lydia that they'll do whatever they can to help vanquish The Reprehensible Senator and his boy.
Lair Of The Mormons. Sonny shuffles in from his failed mission, worried that the Charmed Ones will vanquish his sorry ass should he mount another attack on Lydia's eyes. The Reprehensible Senator From Utah callously insists that Sonny proceed with the plan at any cost. They know Lydia possesses the power The Reprehensible Senator seeks -- it's simply a matter of Sonny being better prepared. Besides, The Reprehensible Senator senses that Lydia's more concerned for "her niece" than herself. Should Sonny exploit this concern, he's certain to succeed. Sonny silently shakes his head, convinced that he'll end up impaled on a stick down in Hell, flailing and aflame for all eternity, as a result of this, but he agrees to the plan. That Reprehensible Senator. Sacrificing his own flesh and blood upon the altar of power. What a dick.
San Francisco General's Maternity Ward. Piper and the Dolt bicker some more over her need for proper medical attention as Doctor Ava conveniently ambles by in a white lab coat. The Manor Two rise to confront the good doctor regarding Aunt Lydia's concerns. Ava plays the Dead Mom card and blows them off to answer a page. Piper chokes back some vomit and insists on firing the writers. Or seeing a doctor. It's your call.
Manor kitchen. Phoebe, Raige, and Lydia finish mixing vanquish ingredients at the stove, then repair to the sink for a brief lesson in the mysterious properties of tea leaves. Phoebe's leaves form "an axe, a thorn, and a broken spiral" in the bottom of her mug, which somehow indicates that her priorities are completely out of whack. I could have told you that just by looking at her shredded hair. Lydia anviliciously blames this lack of balance on Phoebe allowing her "brain" to override her "heart." Yeah. "Brain." Pull the other one, honey. And for God's sake, leave Cole out of it the time. Lydia fetches a mug for herself and allows Raige to interpret what she discovers therein. Raige sees the letter X and a lightning bolt. DUN!
"Ava," Lydia breathes. She crosses quickly to the stove and tosses a pinch of something into the pot. The resulting explosion temporarily blinds Phoebe and Raige long enough for Lydia to make her escape. Phoebe clutches Lydia's mug and tries to force a premonition. Obligingly enough, her dormant, whacked-out supernatural ability provides her with a brief glimpse of Doctor Ava getting fried by Sonny among some parked cars. Of course, Phoebe being Phoebe, she can't quite put "Doctor Ava" and "parked cars" together to arrive at "hospital parking garage," so the long-suffering Raige must connect the dots for her. The ladies wonder why Phoebe would receive that particular vision if Piper and the Dolt are protecting Ava.
Cut to one possible explanation, which happens to be Piper wincing as a doctor draws blood from her arm. With an unseemly amount of wry amusement, the doctor notes that some expectant mothers spend the entire gestational period battling morning sickness. Piper resists the urge to blow him into thousands of tiny wryly amused bits. The Dolt paces impatiently in the background for a bit before announcing that he's "getting Paiged." Oh. My. God. Shut up, Dolt! The doctor assures them that he's almost done, and removes the syringe from Piper's arm. The percolating infant instantly heals the tiny wound in the crook of its mother's elbow. The doctor makes "the hell?" noises as Piper bolts with the Dolt.
Outside the entrance to the emergency room, Phoebe and Raige cool their heels on the sidewalk as the Dolt orbs onto the pavement with Piper, like, that's not conspicuous at all, you moron. Piper and the Dolt get the skinny on Aunt Lydia's disappearance just as they hear Aunt Lydia herself screaming in the adjacent parking area. The Manor Four wig and race out of the frame.
Lydia's doubled over in pain as a cloud of smoke dissipates in the air around her, but she quickly recovers to confront Sonny. She squints, shooting blazing green Gypsy bolts of death from her eyes into his. For some unexplained reason, Sonny simply absorbs the bolts and grins, unharmed. I suppose his father armed him with a protective spell, but really, does anybody care at this point? Sonny sneers and tosses out his hands to fry Lydia's eyes. Lydia tries to smite him with a mighty vial of the Manor vanquish, but Sonny's death rays hit her before she can aim properly, and the bottle crashes uselessly to the asphalt. The Ps plus the Dolt arrive, Phoebe in the lead. She hurls her own bottle of vanquish into Sonny, who quickly howls and wails and vanishes in an explosive gout of flame. With the camera snapping at his heels, the Dolt scampers like a great big bloated girl over to Lydia's lifeless form. He applies the tingly touch, but this time it fails to take. Phoebe's aghast. Piper and Raige are slackjawed with shock. The Dolt threatens to bust out the constipated chimpanzee faces with the tears and such, so verklempt is he at his failure to save the Gypsy woman's life.
Over in the ER, a middle-aged Asian woman busily flatlines in one of the trauma rooms, but Doctor Ava's there at her side with the defibrillating paddles to shock the woman's heart back into some sort of sustainable rhythm. Unfortunately for the patient, Doctor Ava appears to need a refresher course in anatomy, because she's applying the paddles to the poor woman's neck. Suddenly, and to Ava's immense horror, Aunt Lydia replaces the victim of egregious malpractice on the gurney to intone some ominous and guttural Romanian phrases before vanishing as quickly as she appeared. Doctor Ava's paralytic with fear. One of the attending nurses calls for the Asian woman's time of death as Doctor Ava gasps and pants her way into the commercial break.
Hospital. Aftermath. The Glamorous Ladies solemnly stand vigil as the coroner wheels Lydia's remains past in a body bag. From across the room, Doctor Ava picks up on the guilt and grief in Piper's eyes, connects the figure in the body bag to her vision in the ER, and immediately loses her shit. The gals escort her to chairs for a processing summit. Ava reveals that Lydia's spectral appearance in the ER constituted what Gypsies supposedly refer to as "mulo" -- an ill omen sent by "the living dead" to their survivors to warn of impending misfortune. Unfortunately, Ava's Romanian's a bit rusty. All she could glean from Aunt Lydia's ghostly murmurings is that, despite Sonny's fiery death, The Reprehensible Senator From Utah somehow remains a threat. A word Lydia repeated -- "waffediyok" -- in some way relates to The Reprehensible Senator absconding with Lydia's Blazing Green Gypsy Bolts Of Death. Phoebe, uncharacteristically anguished, blames herself and her wonky powers for Lydia's untimely demise, and demands the Dolt return her to the Manor so she can at least attempt to recreate the vanquish. The Dolt quietly acquiesces. Piper and Raige glumly wonder how to proceed. Ava stares through her tears for a moment, then breathes, "Tereza would know."
Tereza's. Piper, Raige, and Ava discover Ava's mother's "treasure chest" in a cupboard, then try to one-up each other with Dead Mom stories. Ava wins, because Ava's the only one with access to appropriately emotional props at the moment. She finds a photograph of her mother's last Christmas, then retrieves a Gypsy Book of Shadows that falls open to an entry entitled "The Six Keys." I'd transcribe it for you, but it has nothing to do with anything that follows. Ava beams with joy as she reconnects with her heritage. Whatever. Raige stumbles across a pendant identical to the one Aunt Lydia wore at all times. Ava identifies it as "the family talisman -- the Evil Eye." Of course, it's only evil "to those who would wish [the family] harm." Furthermore, Nicolae family folklore dictates that "the keeper of the Eye could use it to magnify or channel her powers." Raige flips the pendant over and finds "WAFFEDIYOK" etched into the metal. The ladies quickly realize The Reprehensible Senator From Utah isn't just stealing random Gypsy eyes -- he's been searching specifically for the eyes from the talisman's guardian. The gals gulp.
Over in the morgue, The Reprehensible Senator From Utah gouges Aunt Lydia's eyes from her rapidly-cooling corpse with his fingernails. He shoves the things into his own blank sockets and, unlike Tereza's, these eyes do not spontaneously burst into flame. An unfortunate morgue attendant wanders through the scene and demands to know what The Reprehensible Senator's doing there. The Reprehensible Senator shoots a Blazing Green Gypsy Bolt Of Death through the attendant's chest and into the metal cabinets that line the wall behind him. The Unfortunate Attendant drops dead. The Reprehensible Senator grins. Evilly.
Manor. Phoebe finishes the second batch of vanquish with a flourish as the Dolt gets off the phone with Piper. He notes that Piper, Raige, and Ava are headed to the morgue, and suggests that Phoebe join them. Perhaps she can force another premonition? No thanks, says the Feebs. Her last premonition is what landed Lydia in the morgue in the first place. Wrong! Aunt Lydia's tea leaves landed her in the morgue. Your subsequent premonition led to Sonny's vanquish, thereby saving Ava's life. You idiot. The Dolt reminds Phoebe that sometimes the gals lose innocents, that sometimes nothing they do can alter that particular outcome, and that no individual P is ever to blame. It's Fate, you see. No, Dolt. It's not Fate. It's Phoebe. Phoebe ruins everything. The Dolt ignores me to put his foot in it by mentioning Cole. Phoebe tries to shut him down, but he persists, arguing that Phoebe lost control of her powers because she became obsessed first with the ex-husband, then with a job she took to get over the ex-husband. Lost in something approximating thought, Phoebe averts her gaze from his just as the telephone rings. The two allow the machine to pick it up, and the kitchen immediately fills with Suddenly Shrewish's strident hectoring, as Phoebe's late for an appearance. Phoebe darts to the cordless, tells the boss to kiss her bony derriere, and hangs up. "Thank you," she smiles at her brother-in-law. The Dolt glows. Shut it, git.
Raige orbs into the room, dragging Piper and Ava along after her. The three arrive with the news that The Reprehensible Senator From Utah has absconded with Aunt Lydia's Evil Eyes. Ava hands Phoebe her mother's talisman, and the Feebs is suddenly hurled into a seasons-delayed power progression. An eerie breeze tangles the shredded mess crowning her head as she staggers to the table and gasps, "Premonition!" We get a Feebs-eye view of the following future events: Raige, Piper, and the Dolt stand in the attic at the Book of Shadows. The Reprehensible Senator From Utah flares in, snatches from the air and pulverizes the vial of vanquish tossed his way by Piper, and blows a fist-sized hole through her chest with his freshly-obtained Blazing Green Gypsy Bolts Of Death. The Reprehensible Senator incapacitates the Dolt, and guts Raige with her own Blazing Green Gypsy Bolt before turning the Evil Eye on Extra-Special Advanced-Power Feebs-Eye Premonition Phoebe. As Premonoebe's Blazing Green Gypsy Bolt shoots towards the camera, Kitchen Feebs reels backwards from the impact, stares blindly at the others in the room, and drops to the floor. The Dolt scampers over and applies the tingly touch to the heavily-damaged Fun Bags. Phoebe presently awakens and guhs, "What happened?" Well, let's see. The good news? You died. The bad news? The Dolt brought you back. Just in time for commercials, though. That has to be a plus, right? Right?
Back from the break, Piper can't understand how Phoebe's body was affected by Premonoebe's jaunt through possible future events. No one understands, Piper, but we can't wait to hear the half-assed explanation we're certain to receive from the crackheaded hacks who come up with this shit. Phoebe likens her power progression to a form of astral projection, which is bound to piss off the legions of fans who still mourn the loss of The Late Lamented and her inimitable sense of style. Phoebe then cuts through the crap to remind them all that no matter what form her premonitions take, they serve the same purpose -- to warn the Glamorous Ladies of future events so that they can take steps to effect the best possible outcome.
Attic. Piper's not sure how visiting the scene of the impending witch massacre will help them vanquish The Reprehensible Senator From Utah. Raige notes Doctor Ava wasn't present in Premonoebe's vision; therefore, they've already altered the outcome. Uhhhh...okay, Raige. As long as you realize that, thus far, you've simply upped the probable body count from four to five. Raige explains to Ava that they might be able to rid themselves of The Reprehensible Senator once and for all if they combine Wiccan and Gypsy traditions into some sort of Super-Wiccy vanquishing force. She suggests Ava call upon her ancestors for assistance, much as the gals called upon their own to off The Source. Raige opens the Book of Shadows to the spell in question, and instructs Ava to substitute her family members' names for those on the page. Ava does so just as The Reprehensible Senator flares into the attic. The first half of Premonoebe's vision plays out as detailed above, with Piper on ice and the Dolt incapacitated. However, as Raige and Phoebe join Ava in chanting, "Nicolae witches stand strong beside us -- vanquish this evil from time and space," the ghosts of Ava's ancestors emerge from the Book to form a whirling protective shield around the gals. When The Reprehensible Senator shoots a triple blast of Green Gypsy Death at the women, Ava's ghosts propel the Blazing Bolts back into The Reprehensible Senator's body. The Reprehensible Senator howls and moans and wails and dissolves in an exploding veil of flame. As Phoebe hustles to her fallen sister's side, the recapacitated Dolt quickly knits up Piper's wounds, like, is the percolating infant asleep or something? Meanwhile, back at the Book, Ava bursts into tears because she felt her dead mother's presence in the room. She's quite the weepy one, that Ava. Raige slings a companionable arm across Ava's shoulders for a sympathetic half-hug.
After a brief and mercifully ovary-free closing travelogue, it's off to San Francisco's Infamous And Bustling Gypsy Quarter for the Weekly Summation. Doctor Ava's converted Aunt Lydia's decrepit Gulf Stream into a free medical clinic for Gypsies without health insurance, and Raige has volunteered as a physician's assistant. No, really. No. REALLY. That takes care of Raige's Issue -- what about Piper's? Well, as Ava's already a party to the entire bitchcraft thing, she'd make a perfect primary-care physician for the expectant Charmed One and her magical percolating infant. Right? RIGHT? Which leaves us with Phoebe. Unfortunately, Phoebe's Issue Of The Week is deeply rooted in the ongoing disaster that is her relationship with the ex-husband, so no resolution for the Feebs in the foreseeable future. Are you disappointed? I know I am. Actually, that's a lie. I'm so weary of this storyline that I'm unable to muster anything more than withering ennui as each new development unreels. Except, of course, when said developments involve Julian McMahon losing his shirt. The evening ends with the Ps plus Doctor Ava giggling while bathed in the golden light of newfound friendship. Or something like that.
week, they're actually dragging that bastardized abomination back to a television screen near you. Take a little advice from your friendly neighborhood recapper and catch the rerun of Six Feet Under instead. You'll be glad you did.