Juliet stirs her cauldron and says magic words until an image appears. Who is it? We don't know. Perhaps a secret member of Operation Smile, perhaps an upcoming guest star? Whoever it is, their power is legion. Juliet tells the wicked mystic on the other end that she's got a van der problem and that they are her only hope. Is it Obi-Wan? You're getting warmer. Okay, is it Georgina Sparks? Closer, but think: Who is the only person that has ever pulled off a scheme, on this entire show? Who is the one person so ass-crazy and nihilistic that even her society events, her dances, her gowns, the crown upon her very head are warped into strange Gaga-esque monuments to the sharp and jagged?

"If you are crazy," says the haunting face upon the water, all eyeshadow and dark wisdom, "I'm sure they made you that way. Believe me, I know from firsthand experience."

A snake no thicker than your thumb twists up Jennifer's arm, tasting the electric air. She is nearly manifest; her rage hangs over the apartment like a poison cloud. She leans closer, closer to her crystal ball, hungry for the hurly-burly. The banished, the strong, the terrible. The darkness, waiting. Hungry.

But where takes place this devil's bargain? For Juliet is homeless, without even a cauldron or iPad to call her own. Is there a third weird sister to take the place of our Georgina? We've our young Clotho, our spurned Lachesis, but where to find barren Atropos? Whom shall cut the threads of Serena's life once and for all? What is the spark that lights the flame this time, to raise Dark Serena from the ashes once again? And in what dank cave do those mustachioed and bearded women make their covenant? In DUMBO, of course. And there she is now, our wild Crone: Why, see! Vanessa Abrams. Hair matted and maculate jaw, lip curled and homespun rags. Arcane movements in the smoke. Eldritch curses under her breath. Scissors at the ready.

Next week: Masquerade redux, Shakespeariana, and a little snip-snip.