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.”

“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?”