The knock at the door startled me, and I dropped it. Scrambling, I stood it upright. It was Jenks and Glenn, and I wiped my hands on my borrowed jeans as I saw the stack of paperwork in the FIB officer’s hand. “Hi, Rache,” the pixy said, doing a quick circuit and landing on the tips of my chopsticks, poking out of the takeout box, to enjoy the rising heat. “Trent’s here. And the coven guy. Glenn’s got your papers to sign first, though.”

“Thanks, Jenks. Are you sure your wings are okay?”

Making a face, he sent them humming so fast that the dust from him rose high in a pixy-made draft. “Yeah, they’re fine. Bastard I.S.”

Glenn was smiling when he slapped the papers down on the table. “David is still stuck on the tarmac,” he said as he handed me a pen, “but he had his brother fax everything here.”

Nodding in understanding, I flipped to the first flag and signed with my first name, middle initial, and last name. “This is for the trial, yes?” I asked as I found the next flag.

“According to David,” Glenn affirmed as I finished. “I won’t file it unless you say so or go missing for more than three days.” He glanced at Jenks, then me. “Rachel,” he said, seeming to lose some of his professional polish, “I’m required by law to inform you that your proposed actions are both risky and prone to landing you in prison, permanently incarcerated if not worse—”

“It’s all she’s got, Glenn,” Jenks said, rising up on a silver column of dust.

Hand raised, Glenn smiled. “Personally, I think it will work,” he finished, and the pixy relaxed. “I don’t know Oliver well enough to give an accurate estimation of what he might do, but if what you say is true, I think he’ll go for it.”

“He’ll go for it,” I said, worried. “Can I keep the paperwork here? Visual aids help.”

Glenn nodded. “You signed two originals,” he said as he took half the stack and tucked it under his arm. “If you’re ready, I’ll send them in.” His gaze dropped to my dinner as I picked it up. “Good?” he asked.

“Delicious,” I said, reaching for it. “Thanks, Glenn. For everything.”

The man smiled wickedly. “Any time, Rachel. Have fun.”

He left the door open, and I could hear Trent’s beautiful voice in the hall. He was talking with Jonathan, and Jenks’s wings clattered as my blood pressure rose. I hated the man. “Jenks,” I said on impulse as I dug into my dinner. “You go, too.”

“What?” Peeved, Jenks confronted me. “Why can’t I stay?”

“If you’re in here, Trent might want a witness, too. I don’t want Jonathan with him.”