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Dopey-sized hole.
    "What are you doing?" I clutched my head to keep it from spinning.
We needed to be smooth, not suicidal. She was going to get us arrested.
Property damage, breaking and entering—I'd never even had a speeding
ticket.
    And who breaks through the front window in broad daylight?
    The curtains swayed next door. We had to get out of here. We couldn't do
Phil any good from jail.
    "Pirate?" Where was my friggin' dog? He'd been sniffing Uncle
Phil's daisies not two minutes ago.
    "Get your panties out of a wad," Grandma said, digging around in
the front pocket of her jeans.
    "Oh because you've got this whole thing planned out. Well tell me who's
going to save Phil,
and
get Dimitri out of here if we get sent to the
pokey!"
    "Who calls it a pokey?"
    "Grandma!"
    A skinny man in a bathrobe burst out of the house next door. His sparse,
graying hair sprouted from his comb-over like unruly weeds. His mustache
twitched with excitement and—oh lordy—he brandished a rifle.
"I'm calling the cops!" he squeaked.
    "Oh yeah?" Grandma scoffed. "Then what the hell are you doing
out here?" Silver rings flashing in the bright desert sun, she yanked a
chain out from under her
Hairdoo by Harley
T-shirt.
    She'd brought her pets.
    Several Ziploc bags dangled on safety pins from the chain. Inside, living
spells hovered, practically falling over themselves as they vied for her attention.
They refashioned themselves at will—flattening, lengthening, twirling as
the mood saw fit. One spun itself in shimmering corkscrews before mashing flat
against Grandma's palm, rubbing at her like a cat.
    Grandma tore open a bag and let the spells fly. Globs of goo ricocheted off
each other like the Crazy Balls I used to play with as a kid.
    They were Mind Wipers. Heaven help us.
    "Sic 'em, Gene! Ace, Paul, Peter!" Leave it to Grandma to name her
spells after the original members of Kiss.
    "Duck!" I hollered as a pointy black one zipped straight for
Grandma's head.
    She sidestepped and caught it as it veered past her left ear. "Aw, come
on, Gene. I thought I had you trained." She tossed the spell toward the
neighbor with the rifle. "Go get 'em, tiger."
    The man bolted back inside, his robe gaping to reveal a pasty white chest as
he slammed the door. Curtains fluttered up and down the street.
    "Geez, Lizzie, don't just stand around with your mouth hanging
open," Grandma said, hauling me toward Phil's broken window. "Get in
there before the cops come!"
    Right. Go ahead, break in. Don't worry about the man with the gun. Or the
police who are without a doubt barreling right for us, handcuffs ready. I
needed to make sure I was actually inside the crime scene when they arrived. In
the meantime, we pin our hopes on Gene, the Mind Wiper, who couldn't seem to
tell the difference between Grandma and a rifle-waving crazy with a comb-over.
    Cold air streamed out into the dry, desert heat. I reached through the
jagged hole and unlocked the window, careful of the glass littering the marble
sill. I yanked a couple of cushions off the brown plaid couch in front of the
window and, shaking them off as best as I could, laid them over the worst of
the glass. My butt would be fine, but I didn't want to catch glass anywhere
else.
    "Move it, princess!" Grandma hollered as Phil's neighbor got off a
shot.
    Oh sure. Like I flung myself through broken windows all the time. And why
had I thought it was a good idea to wear stiff black leather pants? For
Dimitri. And while I was busy looking sexy for him, he'd left me with Grandma
and the Mind Wipers.
    I planted my rear on the cushion and straddled the window sill, one leg in,
one leg out. Broken glass crunched underneath the pillow and where my right
foot dug into Phil's couch. I ducked inside, eyes adjusting to the cool, shaded
interior of the house when I saw it. My legs went limp.
    "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the mule," I said, staring at the coffee
table in front of me.
    A mess of picture frames crowded the long wood table. Which