Manor attic. Phoebe's discovered a drawing of Melinda Warren that I have to believe is a later "reinterpretation" of what Melinda might have looked like as imagined by one of her many, many descendants, rather than a contemporary portrait. The thing is all soft edges and gently-smeared chalk shadings, and it looks like a 1970s print ad for a feminine hygiene product. I half expect the woman in the drawing to leap to life to ask me about my problems with freshness. Piper, meanwhile, has stumbled across something far more worthwhile in an ancient vellum-bound tome. "Because the warlock had stolen her love," Piper reads, "she cursed him into the pewter heart where he could spend eternity knowing the sting of betrayal. The legend says the warlock must never be freed, or he will destroy the Warren line." Piper arches a brow. "That would be us." Well, yeah. You and God knows how many other people scattered across North America, but those people aren't in the opening credits, so screw 'em, right? The ladies bust Prue's chops for letting Fabio out early, then fret about how to defeat him.
Downstairs, the gals wander onto the sun porch just as the afternoon news features Fabio's defenestration from Prue's office. The Dolt, by the way, is stuffing his gob with snack food he apparently nicked from the Manor pantry. Spineless mooch. As the television reporter interviews that overly-excited fucker with the sports page and the joe, Andy rings the Manor's doorbell. Phoebe volunteers to get rid of him.
Out on the front porch, Phoebe lies that Prue must still be at Buckland's. Andy calls her on this. Then Andy gets loud. He tells Phoebe about the attorney with the familiar last name and the permanently dislocated neck, and demands to see Prue. "Where is she?" "Where's your warrant?" Phoebe counters, showing a bit of steel. She flashes Andy a smile and reenters the house, slamming the door in his face.
Parlor. The three Ps bat around ideas for confronting Fabio. Piper suggests letting Andy in on the whole bitchcraft thing in order to enlist his aid in the fight. Prue immediately shoots down this cunning plan as she flops into an overstuffed chair with a sigh. Phoebe gets a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "What we need is someone who's done this before," she asserts. "Someone like Melinda Warren." Prue pffts, "What are we supposed to do? Reach back in time and grab her and tell her that we need her help?" Phoebe leans forward on the sofa: "Yes."
Attic. An overhead shot of the Glamorous Ladies seated around a candle-laden table spins as Piper voices some last-minute reservations. "Aren't we, like, raising the dead?" she asks. "What if she's all..." What if she's all what, Piper? Mummified? Desiccated? Vermin-infested? "Cher?" Same difference, honey. I'm kidding. You know they'd never make a joke like that on this show. Not that that joke isn't sucky enough for Charmed, mind you, but you know what I mean. Phoebe reassures Piper that according to the Book of Shadows, Melinda will reappear just as she was in life, with the extra-special added bonus of having her powers intact as well. The spell, apparently, is one of those "blood-calling-blood" things, so each P must prick her index finger with a ceremonial knife. This of course leads to mighty protestations from the squeamish Piper. "Come on," exhorts the Feebs. "Don't you remember the summer at the lake?" When your mother drowned? "When we swore a blood oath to be friends forever -- not just sisters?" Oh, sorry. Wrong summer. "I remember my finger got infected," Piper deadpans. "I remember I couldn't go in the water for three days." Heh. Eventually, she relents, though she does insist that Phoebe prick her finger for her. The Ps collect their respective drops of blood in Melinda's locket, which Phoebe then snaps shut and drops into the bowl of dry ice at the center of the table. The dry-ice vapors spill over the sides of the bowl as the sisters chant the following: