I threw the elf porn at him like a girl, feeling a shiver go through me as it left my aura. He caught it, and someone grabbed me from behind. A coat fell over my shoulders, hitting just under my butt. “I made a mistake!” I shouted as I struggled to keep facing the assembled people. “I’m not abad witch!”

Trent gripped the statue, frozen, wonder on his face.

“Get a shot of that,” the newswoman said, then smacked Frank. “Not her, the statue!”

At my feet, Frank panned to the left, and my hands were wrenched behind me, making the coat flop open. “Hey!” I shouted, going down on my stomach. Flat on the stage, I was at the same level as the news crews. I tossed my hair out of my eyes and looked at Trent. He’d slipped the statue into his suit jacket’s pocket, but Quen—wise-to-the-world Quen—was pulling it back out and tucking it in his own.

“Watch it!” I shouted, trying to breathe as there was the cool feel of a zip strip around both my wrists and the ever-after flowed out of me. I was yanked to my feet, stumbling. Where in hell is Glenn? “I’m a good witch!” I shouted over the uproar. “The coven made me do it! But I had to give it back to Trent. I’m a good witch. I am! I’m just scared! The coven is trying to kill me!”

It was going too fast. The coven wasn’t here yet! Rough hands were tugging me to the steps, and I hooked my foot behind the man’s ankle and sent him down. I fell on him, my elbow somehow managing to hit his solar plexus. His grip on me fell away, and I got to my feet, struggling with the next guy. Where in hell was Glenn?

“Get back!” his voice thundered, and I almost cried. “Get off the woman! Can’t you see she doesn’t have any weapons?”

“She hardly has any clothes,” a man at the front of the crowd said, but I didn’t care when Glenn’s muscular, bald, big-black-man’s presence shoved his way to me. One hidden punch, and the I.S. guy holding me went down, gently eased to the stage floor by Glenn.

“About time you showed,” I said as he zipped my coat closed. “I think that guy felt me up.”

“You okay?” his voice rumbled, and I searched his eyes.

“Just tell me you’ve got David’s paperwork for an FIB arrest.”

His grin was like sunshine, and I felt this just might work.

“Ms. Morgan! Ms. Morgan!” the newscaster was shouting, holding her mike up over her head. “You claim the coven told you to steal Mr. Kalamack’s statue?”