War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch

by Gail Roughton

  We settled in the booth I'd sent Stacy to stake out and I distributed the food. Chad picked up my hand, sporting red splotches from Scott's grip.

  "What a charmer," he observed. "That hasn't happened before, I'm assuming?"

  "No," I confirmed. "Though I'm pretty sure it would have started happening if we'd actually gotten married. If Mark hadn't needed a complaint served down in Albany. Don't know how I missed it. Stacy didn't. Thought you couldn't read anybody but me, Antsypants, how'd you know if I didn't?"

  "I don't read anybody but you. I mean, not really read 'em, not the way you and Chad read people. I read you. You knew, you just kept pushing it out."

  I shuddered mildly. "Don't remind me."

  "So, Vegas wedding?" Stacy asked. "You two owe me. I was on the phone with Mom for two hours last night. You've completely ruined my wedding, whenever that happens, 'cause she'll stake it out like a gold mine."

  "Sorry, honey. Guess you'll just have to run away to Vegas too." My bounce-back abilities were improving. Last month, I wouldn't have let anyone see it but a scene like the one with Scott would have had me in internal shakes for the rest of the day if not longer. Now, I was attacking my slaw dog with gusto.

  "Lots of options in Vegas, precious. Just because it's Vegas doesn't mean you can't have a pretty wedding. Got any ideas?"

  "Well," I said, glancing over slyly for the reaction. "I searched around some last night. And the Excalibur offers medieval weddings where you can rent your costumes, and the guys' stuff has all sorts of outfits, from King Arthur to knights in armor—" I broke off as Chad choked on some of Frick & Fries famous flaky ice. "I'm joking!" I laughed while pounding his back. "What really grabbed me was this really neat package for a Gothic wedding where the couples can be anything from vampires to werewolves to—"

  "Witches and warlocks!" Stacy chimed in in delight. "Now that's just about perfect!"

  Chad choked harder.

  "All right, all right!" I sighed in defeat. "Since it's Vegas of course you can be Elvis! Why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

  "Yeah, that'd work!" Stacy, reading me as perfectly as always, played it to the hilt. "But first we have to make sure we get some of that Grecian formula, turn the silver back to dark, Elvis can't be silver!"

  Chad took a deep breath. "I don't know why it never occurred to me the two of you together would be deadly and dangerous. You're—joking? Really?"

  "And here I thought that'd be right up your alley. Yes, I'm joking. Feel better? I really had you going there?"

  "Well, I didn't think you were totally serious, but there's always that margin of error. I was thinking more in lines of booking the Venetian for a couple of days and just something simple and pretty at the –"

  "White Wedding Chapel?"

  "Yeah. You too?"

  "Oh, yeah. I'm not quite unconventional enough to marry King Arthur. Or Elvis. Though he could walk me down the aisle."

  "Baby girl."

  "Okay, okay. I don't know anything about Vegas hotels, though. And the Excalibur did have—"

  "Faded glory, precious. The Venetian."

  "Okay, you know more about it than I do, obviously. But I thought this was a working trip?"

  "Now a double job for the same amount of trouble. Prostitution charge. Turns out her pimp skipped too. And that they hooked up in Vegas. Won't take long, pimps and hos don't tend to be all that bright. And do tend to be pretty predictable. Thought we'd have a few days to ourselves and I can grab the skips on the way back. Which is another ulterior motive, I don't transport female skips without a female operative."

  "Wise move," I affirmed. "Legally speaking."

  "Knew you'd approve. And I don't particularly want another female operative."

  "Another wise move. I sure as hell don't want you operating with another female."

  "Which would have been completely business, and you know it. And if we do run a day or two over—"

  I shrugged. "What are they goin' to do? Fire me?"

  We walked back to his SUV and as he hugged me goodbye he whispered in my ear. "I'm not that stupid, baby girl. I'd never delete anybody's ass in front of witnesses."

  "Good to know," I said. "You sure the skips on the way back aren't a problem?"

  "Piece of wedding cake," he said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He was there by eleven that night and only went back to Quitman on Wednesday during the day to pack and coordinate. He actually beat me home that day, and my end-of-the day tension flew out the car window as soon as I saw the silver Equinox in the extra space in front of my unit. I hadn't been looking forward to the evening alone, even though he was with me all the time now, just as I was with him, even when we weren't together. I'd gotten used to the ever-present presence. Now I reached down on purpose to rub the big central stone of the ring periodically. It intensified the presence. How the world can change in the space of five days, this interweaving that was so complete I couldn't actually remember why I'd fought so hard for so long, pushing it away while pulling it closer.

  Thursday morning we headed to Hartsfield International Airport, one of the busiest in the world even without the new security measures playing havoc with the system. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me sooner, but it didn't trigger until we were actually on the road that Magic Man would sure as hell take firepower.

  "What are you doing about your gun?" I asked. "We're not going to get arrested, are we? Or detained?"

  "Baby girl."

  "Give me a break, I'm new to the world of bounty hunters and PIs and law enforcement."

  "Don't worry, I could actually carry it on the plane, but it'd be a lot of trouble, checking in with all the right people, bigger pain in the ass than it's worth. It's in the baggage."

  "You can do that?"

  "Anybody with a license to carry concealed can do that. You just have to tell 'em and show 'em your license. And if a terrorist tries to hi-jack us, I'll just sic' you on 'em."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your mental push thing that got you girls lunch last Saturday, remember? I'm thinking one of your latents might be a tad bit of mind control."

  "Get serious."

  "I am serious, baby girl, you've got a lot more—"

  He broke off as his phone rang. "Damn," he swore mildly as he picked it up off the seat. "These people never give up." He hit the send button. "War-N-Wit, Inc. Chad Garrett." He listened a minute or two and frowned. "Look, I already told you. I'm not the man for this job. I look for live bodies. Usually pretty bad ones. I've got a full plate for the next several weeks and I wouldn't be able to put any time in this." He frowned again. "Yes, you can check back. But the answer will still be the same. War-N-Wit, Inc. deals with the living. The modern American justice system. So I don't want to give you any ideas that my answer will change in the next few weeks. Have a good day."

  He hit "End" and dropped the phone back on the seat, glancing over at me. I raised my eyebrows, saying nothing, in the universal female sign language that needed no telepathic ability to translate.

  He sighed. "Okay, here's the thing. There's magic in the universe. And there are those of us who understand it, at least a little, and to a certain extent, more than most people, anyway, we can use it. And there are those who don't understand a damn thing but pretend they understand everything. And try to use it. Pretenders. And they're who give magic and witchcraft a bad name. Because those of us with real power, we don't talk about it to anybody but others we know to have power."

  "You announced within five minutes of meeting me that you were a warlock and I was a witch and we were reincarnated lovers, an eternal couple."

  He laughed. "That's because you're a witch and I'm a warlock and we're reincarnated, eternal lovers. And I knew it. And I knew you knew it way down deep and I didn't think anything less would bring it to the surface. But believe me, I don't tell anybody anything personal unless I'm damn sure who I'm talking to. None of us do. You didn't even talk about it with
your sister. For years."

  "So, that call?" Time to get to the point here.

  He sighed and glanced over before changing lanes. "There's a group called Resurrection. Membership is contingent upon being reincarnated. Status is contingent on how many times."

  "Say what?"

  "To be a member you have to be reincarnated. And how high up you go in the membership depends on how many times you claim you've been reincarnated. The more times, the higher the status."

  I sat and digested this. "You mean—like being a Daughter of the American Revolution? Or a Daughter of the Confederacy or something? You have to show your bloodline? Only in this case, your past lives?"

  "Exactly."

  "But—but—how in the hell would you prove—"

  "Exactly. You wouldn't. You couldn't. I mean, my trace memories are stronger than most. But that's because of you. I remember you, not a particular past life. And I don't have any idea how many times, except I know for sure it's been at least a few for the connection to be this strong. Probably more than a few. And I'm sure it goes back a very long way. One of the strongest trace memories I have is Rome, and don't you dare laugh. Another really strong trace is something about Russia. And one from the tropics somewhere, the Caribbean maybe or Mexico or South America."

  His words sent a chill down my spine. I flashed back to our first meeting at Rosita's, the sudden kaleidoscope of rushing scenes, the heat and sand and blood of a Roman arena, the bone-chilling, mind-numbing cold of the Russian steppes, shining white sand and the smell of salt air. I shook my head to clear it as he continued.

  "But I'm not about to get up and claim I was Caesar or Alexander the Great or King Arthur, or one of the Borgia popes, for God's sake!"

  "And these people do?"

  "Oh, my God! You have no idea! And they've got two factions trying to prove the other side's leader is an imposter. And worse, they've got my name! How the hell they think anybody's gonna investigate that?"

  "I guess they figure a reincarnated warlock ought to be pretty good at it?"

  "Yeah, and just how in the hell would they know I'm a reincarnated warlock? If in fact they do or think they do. That's the part that bothers me, this is my professional life, completely aside from what I believe personally. I don't need a reputation as a crackpot, I'm damn good at what I do and I've worked hard as hell at it. Nobody else's business if a psychic twinge now and then's been a really big help. And I sure don't have the words 'reincarnated warlock' listed in my resume, believe me!"

  "No, you certainly don't. Background listed includes Fort Lauderdale PD and Florida Bureau of Investigation but no Warlock University or Reincarnation College."

  "You looked?"

  "First serious flirtation day. Absolutely."

  We were beginning to run into the first streams of Atlanta traffic and the subject of Resurrection fell by the wayside in negotiating lanes and airport traffic and security checks, which went a lot smoother than I'd thought they would. Which called forth a question.

  I leaned close and raised up on my toes to target his ear. "Do you by any chance have any of that mind control push thing you were talking about?" I whispered.

  "Not a speck, precious. And no, even if I did, I wouldn't have tried to use it on you, for two reasons. One, it's not love if one party's in control of the other and two, you're way too powerful, there's no way any mental push from anybody else'd have any effect on you other than to piss you off. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  And things stayed okay right up until we landed at McCarran in Las Vegas and Chad began glancing around, obviously looking for someone.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Not what. Who. Oh! Good, right on time." He moved forward, heading to one of the biggest, roughest, toughest-looking bikers I had ever seen. "Spike! Thanks, man, I really appreciate this." He handed over our luggage tickets. What? I was entrusting my underwear to a six foot six gorilla in a black leather jacket and black chaps? "Baby girl, this is my buddy Spike. Spike, this is my lady, Ariel."

  I held out my hand cautiously. "Nice to meet you, Spike."

  He lifted my hand in a courtly gesture and kissed it. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he proclaimed, in a voice as smooth and soft as melted butter.

  For real? I looked over at Chad. "Can it, Spike. She's taken. And she's about to be a madam, not a mademoiselle, though I suppose that's the wrong thing to say in Vegas."

  Spike laughed. "Better get that license quick, man, she'll get snapped up. Your ride's right out front, buddy. I'll check in with you later. Your bags'll be waiting for you at the Venetian."

  Spike headed to the baggage pick-up area and we headed to the front of the terminal.

  "Who on earth and how did you meet him?"

  "Long story. Impressive, huh?"

  "Scary, huh? Until he talks. My God, that voice!"

  "He's a doctor."

  "You're kidding, right? Not a gynecologist I hope, not with those hands." I shuddered mildly. "And he doesn't scare his patients to death?"

  "Pediatrician. Kids love him. And he cleans up pretty good, doesn't usually look that rough. And where—oh! That's my man, he brought me his Roadster!"

  Chad stopped in front of a massive black motorcycle, two helmets strapped to the back. I froze.

  "You're kidding, right?" I felt the blood draining out of my face.

  "Precious, this is a Harley-Davidson Road King, show some respect."

  "And we're riding it?"

  It began to filter through to Magic Man I wasn't thrilled at the prospect. I was petrified. One of Scott's few unexpected ventures away from the conventional involved motorcycles, though nothing this big. He'd started out with one of the smaller Hondas, a Shadow something or other, I think, which he'd retained when he bought the next-size up Shadow something. And he'd been determined that I was going to learn how to ride the smaller one notwithstanding the fact I had absolutely no desire to do so.

  "Oh, com'on, honey! You already drive a stick-shift so the gears shouldn't give you any trouble, there's nothing to it! If I'd known you were going to be stubborn about it, I'd have traded it in and gotten some benefit from it instead of wasting the money. I just thought it'd be a fun thing for us to do together, don't want it to sit and go to waste."

  And of course, as I always did, I'd given in. Because it was much easier to give in to Scott than to listen to him when you didn't, which of course was the magic secret of how he usually got his own way. Everybody gave in to him just to shut him up because he never shut up for anything less. I had one lesson on the thing. One. Because while cruising up and down the country road curves of the outermost Macon subdivisions, I practiced the oft-repeated instruction that you didn't turn the wheel, you leaned into the curve. I leaned the whole time it flew off the road, depositing me squarely into a ditch on top of a concrete pipe covered with blackberry thorns, the damn cycle on top of me, still running, while gas leaked out of the tank and sent clouds of vapor into the air. I'd been certain the whole thing was going to explode into flames all around me in the three or four minutes it had taken Scott to realize I wasn't behind him and come back to check. He said it was three or four. I didn't know. It felt like an eternity. To his credit, even he shut up about me becoming a lady biker after that.

  I looked at the Harley and back at Chad.

  "Oh, shit," he said. "I'm sorry, it didn't occur to me you were scared of motorcycles. I'll see if I can catch Spike, and if I can't, we'll go rent a car, no big."

  "I didn't know you rode motorcycles," I said.

  "I don't have to, baby girl, not with you."

  "But you really like 'em, don't you? I mean, this is some serious bike, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Like a real biker's bike?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Like a Bikers' Week in Daytona bike?"

  "Bikers' Week is great, precious, but not one of the things I can't live without. You're the only thing in that category. Well, along with air and water and food, I guess.
"

  I laughed and moved to the back of the Harley, unsnapping the bungie cord holding the helmet.

  "And it would never upset you if all I want to do is ride with you and I never, ever, want to learn to ride one alone?"

  "Nothing you want to do will ever upset me as long as it's with me, baby girl. I think we've both had enough of doing things alone."

  "Then let's go!" I said, fastening the helmet strap under my chin.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Then here, you'll need this, too." He unlocked the back compartment and pulled out leather jackets. Black, of course. We climbed on and maneuvered out of the parking lot. We hit the open road and he opened the Harley up. I wasn't fool enough to think he was letting it do anything near its top speed, and not fool enough to think he wouldn't be close to top speed if I wasn't on it, but it was fast enough. And it was wonderful. I laughed into the wind and tightened my arms around his waist, and that felt wonderful, too. And the last vestiges of the old Ariel blew away in the wind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  We blew by the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign and into Las Vegas proper. At the first light, I leaned forward and shouted in his ear. "Let's go ahead and get the marriage license first thing."

  "Right now?" he shouted back.

  "Right now," I affirmed. "Marriage License Bureau's on

  Clark Street. You know Vegas?" "Pretty good, yeah, but why right now?"

  "Don't know. Just do it."

  He shrugged and started off when the light changed, weaving through traffic towards the requested destination. Gotta love Vegas. The Marriage License Bureau stayed open 8:00 a.m. to midnight, seven days a week, and all you needed was $60.00 cash and a valid ID. Gotta love the internet too.