Fade up on a contemplative Raige, burning the midnight oil with an assist from a can of Red Bull, and sighing in frustration at a large posterboard display mounted on five or six easels that includes the names of various vanquished demons, as well as a map of the city with an enormous red question mark drawn over the downtown area. "Come on," she mopes, "I know we can figure this out." She turns to address the Feebs, who's reclining on a divan on the other side of the nonexistent attic. "Can I get a little help over here, please?" Raige asks. Bad move, Raige, for this opening allows the self-centered hag enough room to launch a self-pitying rant into the stale nonexistent-attic air regarding the loss of her powers and how useless she feels without them. Raige rolls her eyes and tells the Feebs to stuff it sideways. Well, more or less. Phoebe pushes herself up into a sitting position and wonders how Raige can keep going the way she has been -- the implication being, of course, that with Piper confined to Not!warts for the remainder of her pregnancy and Phoebe being a lazy sow as per usual, Raige has assumed most of the household's bitchcraft duties. Raige twists her lips and mugs that she's "been taking a lot of naps" recently. Phoebe smirks and, rising to her feet, opines, "Part of me just thinks that should let him" -- the demon of the week -- "do his thing." "I mean," she clarifies, "a demon killing other demons? Is that so bad?" Raige notes that it is a Very Bad Thing indeed if the demon's embarked upon some sort of power-consolidation kick. After agreeing to keep Piper out of the loop -- because withholding vital information from each other has always worked so well for them in the past -- Phoebe puzzles that "there's no rhyme or reason" to the demon's attacks. "They're just wacky." Raige crosses to another section of the display to announce, "My gut says he's going after the Smoker Demons tonight because Mercury is in retrograde, and that is when they surface." What? I don't need Mercury in retrograde as an excuse to smoke. Wimps. I swear to God, if the dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell weren't such pussies about everything, they'd have long ago conquered the planet. In any event, Phoebe offers, "Interesting theory," while clearly thinking Raige is full of shit. "All I know," Raige counters, crossing to the table to scry, "is that the sooner we nail this guy, the sooner I get back to my 'naps,'" and yes, her tone of voice actually added little air quotes to that last word. Don't worry. You'll see. Sweet Jesus, will you see.