“Don’t make me burn that paper.”

The Witch giggled mockingly at Ibrahim’s aggression. Ibrahim tapped his foot. His thumb grated against his wand and he wore a scowl on his face.

“Why so angry?”

“'Cus I finally have my powers back and you want me to read a book.”

“But it's just a few pages. Are all magicians like this?” Gathering some between her fingers, she pinched them up. Her nails extended over her fingers. Her middle fingernail stood out with swirls of green studs on a royal purple back. Ibrahim slapped the papers away, to her amusement.

“Put those down,” he commanded. Ibrahim sat humorlessly while the file for ‘Ms. Carmen Sanchez’ slid before him. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

The laughter faded and the Witch’s shoulders relaxed. She let out a sigh of relief. The Witch peeled herself from the table and wiped her eye with the side of her palm.

“Okay. Okay. Alright, so here’s what I want you to do...” She slipped out another sheet, this time from beneath the manila folders and flopped it atop the others. It was an aerial photograph of the city, more specifically a small subsection – a superblock. “So, I found this guy that lives here. He makes these crystalline orbs that can store magic. And he’s been selling them for some time now to — to, well, people like you, who can use them. And he’s been making big bucks.”

“A Whitesmith?”

“Exactly.”

“And you want in?”

“I mean, I’d love the money, but that’s not what we’re going in for.” She lifted the map, revealing police records. Within the gap of overlapping files, Ibrahim spotted a unique paper. He hunched forward, cleared away the files to see a folder stamped Confidential. Ibrahim flipped it open, and skimmed. “You see, our friends are pretty smart, and they’ve been watching this guy for some time now.”

“’Cause he’s sloppy.”

“They’re just about ready to take him out. And this guy is one of the original Whitesmiths. If you see him, he has three gold earrings ­­– right side – just like they used to. You know what the earrings mean, right?”

“It means the police are gonna regret picking a fight with us.” Ibrahim’s grip crumpled the paper at his fingertips. His eyes glowed violet.

A smirk. “That’s why I like you.”

“When are they moving in? There’s no date.”

The Witch leaned in to continue. She and Ibrahim discussed the confidential file, scattered and unveiled files of police officers assigned for the bust. Projected sunlight muddled their silhouettes onto the glazed glass. Once again, the office workers glanced at the room, wondering just what department they even worked in. Typing rattled keyboards as phone lines rang. The buzz of the office work faded.

***

Back at The U, Wino and Cheryl spent the whole day together. It seemed like they were getting used to it. The tenderness of their embrace was intoxicating. They shared Wino’s room, his couch, and his TV. They felt like they’d gotten away with something, even though this was how it used to be before His Majesty showed up. Right now, the pair occupied the couch, ankles overlapping atop the table.

Cheryl tucked under Wino’s arm, her own arms sandwiched between her thighs. Ibrahim’s blanket disappeared. Twin large plates sprinkled with home-cooked scraps filled the sink. The peaceful couple spent the time with TV. Wino tucked his head into Cheryl’s hair, kissing her and rubbing her shoulder. The rustling of shrubs and trees, void of the squeaking cicadas, complemented the dying sun in the far distance.

A soft triplet of knocks sounded at the door. The two sat perfectly still, basking in the bliss of feigned ignorance. The knocks repeated, triggering Wino to untangle his ankles from Cheryl’s. Wino huffed on his way up. He made for the door, opening it upon the sounding of the third triplet. A large, white board with feet shooting out from the base stood in the hall. Wino paused. He waited confusedly for a moment before stepping out of the board’s way.

It barked, “Move it!” waddling into the room like an uncoordinated infant.

It resembled an oversized pizza box with Ibrahim marching behind it. He came to a halt before the table. The box angled its flat side of the box towards Cheryl. She got the signal and retrieved her feet. Ibrahim plopped the box onto the table. He leaned back and threw up his arms, shouting “Arriba!”

Wino stood over him as Cheryl leaned in.

Cheryl flicked the box, asking, “A board game?”