“No,” Gunnar said. “I’m not. But I’m the Commandant’s adviser, and he’s your boss. I have no knowledge of this ‘raid.’ I find it questionable, considering where you are and how many people you’ve brought.”
He looked around the store, met the gaze of each agent. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, but the Commandant does not support the destruction of private property. If you found magical objects here, you take them, you log them, and you turn them in. You don’t destroy nonmagicals in the process.”
“You’ve got an obvious conflict of interest,” Broussard said, slanting his gaze to me. “She’s your girlfriend.”
“You are completely oblivious, Broussard. She’s not my girlfriend; I’m gay. But she’s a private citizen with civil rights. And I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked for the paper.” He held out a hand.
Gunnar stared Broussard down with a look that was a mix of fury, irritation, and sheer daring. I wasn’t sure if he actually had any authority over Broussard, but he sure looked the part.
Broussard looked pissed, but he pulled the paper from the inside of his coat pocket, handed it over.
Gunnar unfolded and read through it while we waited in silence for his verdict.
After a moment, he looked back at Broussard. “This says the warrant covers the store.”
“And?” Broussard says.
“The store is here, on the first floor. There’s no store upstairs, so you have no right or authority to go up there.”
“The warrant—”
“Says what it says,” Gunnar said, folding it and putting it in his own pocket. “You had authority for the store, which you’ve clearly inspected.”
“How do I know there’s no store upstairs?”
Gunnar rolled his eyes, looked back at the rest of the agents. “Is there a store upstairs? Have you ever bought products up there?”
Silence, until a man in the front shook his head. “No, sir. Not upstairs.”
“And there you go. And since you’ve trashed it, I strongly suspect the Commandant will have some questions about how you went about inspecting said store. And Claire will probably have some thoughts about whether you can ever come back.”
“I do,” I said to Broussard. “Don’t ever step foot in this store again.”
Then I lifted my gaze to the agents. A couple looked embarrassed, maybe that they’d let things go so far, maybe because they’d followed Broussard in here at all against their better judgment. Maybe they’d followed tough orders even though they knew better. We’d all done difficult things in difficult times.
Others just looked irritated. For whatever reason, or because of whatever Broussard had told them, they believed I was Public Enemy Number One. And that was fine. They could believe whatever they wanted, no matter how naive.
“If you believe I’d try to hurt this city,” I said, “you’re not as smart as you think. And you’re no longer welcome here.”
Broussard directed an agent to pick up the crate that contained the “evidence” they’d gathered. He gestured the man to the door, walked toward me with a piece of paper in hand. “You can come to Containment in forty-eight hours to check the status of your things. They may be retained as evidence in the event further action is warranted, but the clerk will advise.”
I scanned the receipt, felt immediate relief. Among other totally innocent things, they were taking a saltcellar, candles, a pearl-handled knife, and a book about nineteenth-century spiritualism. “None of those things are magical,” I said, handing the receipt to Gunnar, “and none of them are banned.”
Broussard’s expression was flat. “These are all goods that could be utilized to develop magic.”
He said it like magic was something that could be made from scratch, like baking a cake. Like lighting a candle and saying a few words over the flame could raise someone from the dead or make someone fall in love. Hadn’t the Veil proven that what humans knew of magic was just illusion? Just manipulation or coincidence? There was magic, absolutely. But the thing we’d imagined it to be had been only a sickly shadow of the real thing.
“No,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “They couldn’t. And I’m pretty sure everyone in the room knows that.”
“Forty-eight hours,” he said, then looked at Gunnar. “Perhaps we should both speak with the Commandant.”
Gunnar nodded. “I think that would be best.”
Broussard strode to the door, yanked it open, and moved into the overcast day outside.
The door closed silently behind him. They’d even taken the bell off the doorknob. Because that was clearly the key to my improper magical undertakings.
Silence fell as Gunnar and I stared at the remains of my store. No, they hadn’t destroyed everything. But they’d tossed over enough furniture, dumped out enough nuts and bolts, that the floor was littered with stuff. It would take hours to put the room back into order.