War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch (12 page)

"Natural
talent," he said modestly, and hugged us both simultaneously. "You
okay, baby girl?"

"Tip-top,"
I affirmed, and turned back to the counter to collect our tray. Actually, I was
more shaken than I wanted to let on, but not because of Scott. Because I had
more than a sneaking suspicion that if Scott hadn't let go, Chad wouldn't have just kicked some
ass. He might have
deleted
some ass.
Further, it was a bit unsettling to realize that my only concern with that was
that it would have been
way
too
inconvenient to start out married life with such a legal tangle over our heads,
which was a glimpse into a part of my personality I hadn't known was there. I
supposed it would be a handy trait to carry into my new profession.

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
?"