Scrying secrets, come to me.
Drop again so I might see.

The crystal slams down on the corner of "Fifth and Hyde." "That's Phoebe," Piper breathes. DUN!

The Bay Mirror. The Bay Mirror would like to remind you that it's "The Newspaper Of The Year." As if. Phoebe zips her brand-new silver sports car into a parking space and emerges to find Mr. (Hewitt) lounging against a nearby roadster. "Great body," (Hewitt) smirks. "Mind if I borrow it for a while?" Oh, OW. Like a meat thermometer in my ear is that line. The thing is, Adrian Paul (Hewitt)'s clearly reveling in the cheese, so it's hard not to smirk along with him. As Raige, Piper, and the Dolt orb into the parking lot in broad daylight to bellow unheeded warnings at the Feebs -- and no, that's not conspicuous at all, you jackasses -- Phoebe launches into one of her standard-issue flying kicks, aiming for Mr. (Hewitt)'s disturbingly attractive face. Seriously, he's the strangest-looking B-movie sex symbol I've seen in a long time. He's what would happen if Rod Blagojevich mated with a basset hound, so why am I making damp eyes at him? Oh. That's right. The estrogen. Someone get Piper out of those goddamned clothes now. Anyway, Phoebe makes with the leaping kick. Mr. (Hewitt) simply catches her in his arms before erupting into another swirling cloud of sand as the camera spins around the space the two have just vacated. Not a bad effects shot, that. Raige, Piper, and the Dolt gape at the sand smoking on the asphalt before the oncoming commercials wallop the Dolt in the jaw.

Manor. In the dining room, Raige scries fruitlessly for the Feebs as the Dolt tries and fails to locate her with his Whitelighter spidey-sense. Or Lo-Jack. Or whatever the hell that stupid power of his is. During this, Piper bitches up a storm about her useless companions before Darryl interrupts via the telephone to fill them in on the coroner's demise and the mummy's disappearance. Long story short, Darryl's superiors blame him for Mr. (Hewitt)'s pre-credits escape from the long arm of the law, and Darryl's prospects for a promotion grow dimmer by the minute. Piper curtly cuts the call short, promising to do what she can for him later. Darryl stares at his cell in disbelief. Meanwhile, the Dolt notes that he could possibly help Darryl out, but doing so would involve bending a few Whitelighter rules. Piper's all, knock yourself out, Dolt. She and Raige will concentrate on finding the Feebs while the Dolt plays cops and robbers with the good detective.