War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch (13 page)

"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

"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.

Our mission
accomplished with the speed of an assembly line, we walked back out with the
license tucked safely in my jean pocket. I couldn't pin why I'd become intent
on the immediate acquisition of that license but one thing I'd become
increasingly convinced of over the last few weeks. When an inner voice started
talking, I'd best start listening.

"Shit!"
Chad
exclaimed suddenly.

"What?"

"My skip.
Right there.
On the
corner.
Getting into the car with—double shit! My other
skip
!"

"Well,
what are we waiting for?" I ran towards the Harley and grabbed for the
helmet.

"I
didn't want to do this now! I didn't want to do this
first
!" Chad
grabbed for his helmet.

"Stop
complaining and follow that car!" I'd always wanted to say that but never
thought I'd have the actual opportunity.

"I can
track 'em later and—"

"Later
you might not find 'em! There they are, now go!"

"This
isn't going at all the way I planned." He revved the motor and took off.

I noted the
car—an older model Camry, rather the worse for wear, black with the fading
color spots that older black cars not taken care of properly seemed to acquire.
Plate number UL something—ULV! I got the last letter as it rounded a corner,
and leaned forward to concentrate as we followed. ULV0609.

The car
took what appeared to be a loop or a bypass and got onto something called the
Las Vegas Expressway. They were leaving Vegas. Chad shouted back at me.

"Next
real town's Indian Springs!"

I pounded
his back. "Pull over!" Time for a conference and we couldn't shout
loud enough and long enough to have it on the Harley. He complied and ran onto
the shoulder, slightly above what I hoped was the last exit that turned back
into Vegas but not far enough behind us that the Harley wouldn't be able to
backtrack without getting us killed. Maybe there were advantages to bikes I'd
never fully appreciated. He didn't turn the engine off, though, and combined
with the road noise and the passing cars, we were still shouting.

"Are
there many places on this highway they can turn off?"

"Not a
lot they'd want to. Like I said, next real town's Indian Springs, which is
logical for a hooker and a pimp."

"Why?"

"Military town."

"Can
the Harley catch 'em if we take a short side trip and come back?"

"Side trip where?"

"White Wedding Chapel.
Then we'll hop right back on the
expressway—"

His eyes
widened.
"Oh,
hell
no!
No way. We're booked for tomorrow morning, the actual White Wedding
Chapel, and you are going to have a
normal,
pretty
wedding! If we don't get 'em this afternoon, the hell with it, we'll
go back out Saturday and—"

"We
might lose them!"

"So
we'll lose them!
So what?"