A Love Spell for Fitz

Liv has just about salvaged Orang's reputation...as she always does SO well, all while prevailing over obstacles that no insecure human could ever possibly. And now, it's just about time for him to repay her.

He takes her to a cabin, in alpine Virginia. They take a Cadillac.

She sits shotgun. He drives. He smiles, as she tells him about her problems with a man. (For the purpose of protecting both of them, she never tells anyone that the man is President Grant II.)

"I might know someone who can help you," he tells her. "She's weird, but she keeps things simple...which I love."

"Have you...known her for long?"

"No. But I've a good hunch about her."

They enter her cabin. The door creaks as it's opened and shut.

The rooms are (over)-decorated with Persian rugs. Many lamps are lit.

Liv's impressed. Although she isn't sure she should keep going with this for long...

"You said she'd help me," Liv reminds Mr. Zahed. "How?"

"I am not sure either. I only know she inspires me."

"Yeah," Liv admits, gaping in half-amazement and half-disgust. "I can see that."

From a pitcher with a narrow spout, Roma, their hostess, pours them cups of coffee. Liv takes hers...but barely suckles it. This place looks like it's served doped brownies at least once. Liv knows not to be judgmental...then again, she's in love with a man who was most likely raised to be...if he isn't.

Fitz sure wasn't judgmental when he fell for a black woman, Liv knows. She knows the rightists were supposed to end slavery, but...would they still do so today?

"Interesting," Liv mutters. "I half-expected there to be a moonshine still in here."

Zahed chuckles. "If we distilled moonshine, we'd not only make our problems worse, but we'd look weird. No, Ms. Pope, I assure you the only whiskey we ever drink is at Ramadan...and that's hardly an enviable amount. Although I must confess that there are some years I wish it was moonshine."

"Just to be clear," Liv assures him, "if what this is doesn't work, and if Fitz doesn't become more passionate in his love, I won't offer you my services. I'll make sure you get arrested for fraud."

Zahed grins. "Understood."

Liv sits nude in a tent, and has oils dumped on her. Outside, Roma chants. Steam rises from everywhere. Liv smears the oil all over herself.

"What was once two," Roma chants, "will become one.

"What was once apathy will become passion.

"What was once chance will become guarantee.

"What was once monotonous will become steamy.

"The spice of life, I beseech thee,

"Allow Fitzgerald Grant to infinitely desire she!"

Behind Liv, a portal opens. It swallows her whole, and vanishes.

Roma rubs her hands together. All around, her equipment levitates itself back into place. The messes clean themselves. She adjusts her hair, and faces Mr. Zahed; she seems shocked by how close behind her he stands.

"So, Mr. Zahed," she asks, "tell me, of all these rumors about the women you've married," she leans forward, "how many are true?"

"None are," Zahed admits. "I'm a bachelor, and always have been."

She gawks. "Oh! Well, that's..." She adjusts her top too. "That's just fascinating! Tell me...how would you feel about a free card-reading?"

"I don't know. How would either of us feel if the cards told us we weren't going to make it?"

"Ah, well... I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I'd love to. Alas, I have to leave. Will...what you just did take care of Ms. Pope?"

"Well, I certainly don't know. That all depends on the reliability of this 'Fitzgerald Grant' she has high hopes for."

Zahed stares at her. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but...do you know who the President is?"

She chuckles. "Why on Earth would I take it the wrong way?"