Broussard pulled a little black recorder out of his pocket, and it blinked green on the counter. “Are you hosting illicit meetings of Sensitives here?”
I stared at him for a moment. He’d missed the truth—if only by a little—which was helpful, because it meant I didn’t have to fake an answer. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
“You’ve been seen with Liam Quinn on several occasions. His loyalties are questionable.”
“Yes, I know all about your history with Liam Quinn.”
For the first time, Broussard’s composure slipped. His eyes flashed. “Liam Quinn is a traitor.”
“Liam Quinn is a bounty hunter, and as you probably know, he’s training me to do the same.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“What, precisely, is hard to understand about that? Surely you don’t think a woman can’t bring down a wraith. ’Cause I’ve done it twice now. He’s training me because I’ve seen wraiths and what they can do. I was here during the war, Broussard. I saw people die. I don’t want that to happen again.” And I’m trying to keep it from happening.
The cuckoo clock chimed, and one of the agents moved toward it, reached up a hand to grab it.
Enough, I thought. If I couldn’t go around the damn counter, I’d just go over it. It wouldn’t be the first time. I braced a hand on the wood, used the shelves like the steps of a ladder, hopped onto the top and onto the floor on the other side.
“Don’t touch that,” I yelled out, and prepared to move forward, but Broussard grabbed my arm, fingers pinching hard enough to bruise.
“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” His teeth were clenched.
“I’m not the one making it difficult. Your thugs are destroying my store for no reason. You’re going to regret this.”
“Is that a threat, Ms. Connolly?”
I managed to wrench myself free, saw the gleam of enjoyment in his eyes. “You’re trashing what’s left of my family for nothing. But no, Broussard. I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you the truth.”
I tried to wrench away, but Broussard grabbed my other arm, too. And he held them behind me while the agent ripped the clock off the wall.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I tried to jerk forward. “Stop! Just stop, please! Stop!”
But he didn’t stop. He ripped off the doors, broke off the girl and the wolf, wrenched away the hands of the clock. He looked inside. Satisfied there weren’t any Secret Court of Dawn Plans inside, he dumped the pieces onto a nearby table.
If Containment wanted a war, this was precisely the way to get one.
? ? ?
They went through the front and back rooms, the kitchenette. And then they headed for the stairs.
For the first time, I remembered there was something incriminating on the second floor—the go bag I’d tucked back into the armoire after my run-in with the wraiths. There wasn’t anything magical in it, but there were copies of my papers, a change of clothes. The purpose would be pretty obvious.
Broussard had let go of my arms, but stood beside me in case I decided to bolt. Like there was a chance I’d leave the store with these people in it.
But when the first agent made for the stairway, I jumped toward the staircase, put my arms against each wall to bar her way. “That’s private property, not part of the store.”
“Get out of the way,” she said. “Or I’ll move you myself.” She pulled the stick from her belt, adjusted her fingers around the grip.
The bell rang on the door, and we all looked up. Gunnar walked inside.
I didn’t think I’d ever been so glad to see him.
There was a pile of wooden-handled brooms in front of the door, spilled from the umbrella stand I’d stored them in. Gunnar looked at them, then the rest of the destruction, the men and women in fatigues, me standing in front of the stairs, arms crossed. His gaze fell on Broussard, and his eyes went ice cold. His jaw clenched, body stiffening, chest rising with indignation.
He strode right to Broussard with fury in his eyes, and his voice was low and dangerous. “What the hell’s going on in here?”
“Containment raid,” Broussard said. “For potential violation of the Magic Act.”
“We haven’t actively enforced the Magic Act in three years.”
Broussard didn’t look intimidated. “That doesn’t make it less valid. Just means the enforcement has been lax.”
“He asked me if I’m holding secret meetings of Sensitives,” I said, my gaze still on the agent in front of me. Oh, how I’d have liked to use my magic to take her down.
Gunnar looked up, found me on the first tread, arms across the stairway, then dropped his gaze to the agent in front of me, who looked like she was ready to tear my arms from my body.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, holding out a hand to Broussard. “Give me the warrant.”
“You’re not an agent.”