War-N-Wit, Inc. – MeanStreet, LLC

W
AR-N-WIT, INC.

“MeanStreet, LLC”

By

Gail Roughton

ISBN: 978-1-77145-146-8

Books We Love Ltd.

Chestermere, Alberta

Canada

Copyright 2013 by Gail Roughton

Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2013

 
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

* * *

Dedication:

This book, like all past and any future War-N-Wits, is
for Magic Man.

Wherever he is.

Chapter One

There’s an underlying power, a Grand Conductor, leading the magical symphony of the universe. Everything and everyone is
connected
, intertwined. And in that connection lies the ancient, universal truth, lost and twisted and forgotten through the ages. The truth? There’s a little bit of magic in all of us. Lots more in some than in others, of course. And that magic in and of itself is neither good nor evil. It’s either. Depends on the person possessing it, you see. When it turns dark to match its owner, it’s a very dangerous thing. Trust me. I know. From personal experience.

My name’s Ariel Garrett, Ariel Anson when I first entered the magical world, though that seems a lifetime ago. Funny. Hasn’t
been that long, really. I was just sitting there minding my own business, a paralegal by trade, when the private investigator we’d hired on a case called in and reported success. In his words, “they can run, but they can’t hide.” And neither could I. Turned out Chad Garrett wasn’t your ordinary private investigator. Oh, no. He was the “War” in the company name. War-N-Wit, Inc. C’mon, use your imagination. Yes. Warlock. On the hunt for his eternal soulmate, the soulmate he’d reincarnated with many times over the centuries, aka “Wit”. Yes. Witch. And that, he insisted, would be me.

Well, you know what they say. Whoever “they” are. You don’t spit into the wind. And thus I entered
into simultaneous apprenticeships—novice PI/bounty hunter, exotic enough by most folks’ standards, and witch. I can’t describe myself as a novice there, though. Turns out I’d been a half-ass, half-practicing witch my whole life and just didn’t know it. Or more truthfully, didn’t want to admit it. I’d blocked it out so successfully even my baby sister never told me she was a ghost whisperer till I came out of the closet myself.

And oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I’m a writer. That’s kind of
an in-born thing, I don’t have any more control over it than I do my eye-color. Okay, scratch that. My eye color tends to shift with the intensity of magic going on at the moment. Bad example. Point is, I didn’t choose to be a writer any more than I
chose
to be a witch. I’d written for years, but never had any luck with the publishing world. Then I sat down at the keyboard one morning and started typing the story of our first meeting and that first case as a dynamic duo.
The Witch
. Names appropriately changed to protect the guilty, of course. And in the blink of an eye, I was a published writer.

So then I wrote up our second big case.
Resurrection
. Now that was a blast from the past for sure. It’s just—my past kept getting entwined with other folks’ past. Which I suppose was only to be expected when investigating a society structured on reincarnation. Then came
The Coven
, so named because that little adventure brought Chad’s best friend Spike out of the closet.

I’d always thought he was Chad’s best friend
, anyway. Turns out they’re actually foster brothers. And Spike’s a ghost whisperer, just like my baby sister Stacy. Also known in the family vernacular as Antsypants. They fell madly in love during that little adventure and got married. And now we’ve got our own little family Coven. Life’s a real kick in the ass sometimes, huh?

Anyway, readers seemed to fall in love with the characters of those books. They just
rave
about my imagination. Chad and I laugh like hell over that. Proof if any was ever needed—tell the truth and nobody will believe you.

So now it’s time to tell another story.
Because of everything that went on throughout this little adventure, I can’t tell it the way I usually do. There’s too many folks involved. So I’m going to have to switch-hit a little. Shift around from one viewpoint to the other. So bear with me, if you will. The story’s worth it.

Remember in
Resurrection
, I introduced y’all to a dude goes by the name of Gabriel Smith? He’s one of the hotshots of this thing called the Guardian Council. The Galatic Guardian Council, to be precise. The Guardians patrol the magic world. Which includes the
celestial
world. They keep an eye on magic turned dark.

Very convoluted organizati
on, three major divisions. MeanStreet LLC, FlyingLow, LLC, and SassyWings, LLC. Gabriel heads MeanStreet. So called because they patrol some mean streets. Who heads the other two? We’ll get around to that. Why LLC? That’s very simple.
Limited. Liability. Corporation.
Because even the Guardian Counsel can’t absolutely guarantee they can protect humans, magical or not, against their sometimes almost unlimited stupidity. Or even against their own stupidity. Just because they’re
celestial
doesn’t mean they can’t be stupid. And this, I’m told, is how it all started.

* * *

The Grand Conductor sighed as the dark crept out of the edges of brightness and shadowed the earth. Obviously, some sort of check and balance system had to be put in place. Tricky thing to do. That free will factor. Enough to make a Grand Conductor shout out loud.

“Did I give you a brain? Is it still in your head?
Is your head with you today?” Still, how boring life would be without it.

What to do, what to do?

Good needed a Guardian. More than one, in fact. A Council. A Council of Guardians. Hmmm. Couldn’t be fully human, of course. Couldn’t be just pulsing energy like the Grand Conductor. More a combination of both. Couldn’t be too many of them, either, certainly not enough to patrol the streets of humanity all by themselves. That much power in one place…no, not a good thing. Enough for supervisory positions only.

The Grand Conductor concentrated. Pulsi
ng particles, rainbows of light. The music of creation. Flash of lightning, crash of thunder. There! Done! Enough to start with, anyway.

“
Gabriel. Michael. Raphael. Welcome, boys! Have I got a job opportunity for you or
what
?”

They’d need help. From the humans themselves? That was a thought.
A reward. Exemplary lives deserved exemplary rewards. A magical being who never succumbed to the temptation to misuse magic in life wouldn’t misuse it in death. Especially if they weren’t really dead. Just—
transformed
. And of course, there was transforming and then there was
transforming
. No need to limit the form they could operate in. Human form might not work as well sometimes as say, a cat. Or dog. Or whatever. And then there were those who walked a tightrope between good and evil, balancing delicately between the two. If they hadn’t proved themselves in life—well, maybe they deserved a second chance after death. No point in
wasting
all that magic.

And speaking of wasting magic, well, hey! Plenty of
living magical folks walking around all the time, too. Powerful, some of them. Already utilizing their magic to protect the innocents. So why wait till they were dead to recruit them? Definitely. Gotta pull the humans in. Human resources, that was the ticket! The Grand Conductor smiled.

“Oh, yeah, boys! We’re cooking with gas now! Don’t just stand there and flap those wings at me!” Then the Grand Conductor frowned. “Can’t have you walking and talking down there
looking like that, you’ll stand out in the crowd.” Wave of hand, problem solved. “Don’t worry, guys, you’ll have ‘em if you need ‘em. Now hit the streets. There’s some mean streets down there need patrolling.”

Chapter Two

“You want to explain yourself?” Gabriel, also known occasionally as Gabriel Smith, glared over his desk at the long figure lounging in the hot seat. At least, most individuals sitting in the chair in front of his desk considered themselves in the hot seat. Not this one. Never had, never would. Damn it.

“I look like a psychologist to you, O Fearless Leader?”

“Your vocabulary has four syllable words in it? I’m impressed.”

“Well, you know how it is. I have so little time when I’m not stuck with
meooowwww
and
hisssss
. Unless of course I’m using
woof
and
grrrr.
Like to expand my horizons when I can.”

“And who
se fault is that? That you’re—what was that you said, now? Stuck? I want to be sure I’ve got it right because
stuck
implies you’re
stuck
. Fixed, immoveable, unable to alter your situation by choice. When in fact, how many promotions have you refused? This was supposed to be an interim assignment. Just to be sure you had the proper dose of humility. Empathy. Wouldn’t get the big head. ‘Cause that has happened, you know. Nobody ever intended you to make it your eternal career choice! Face it, Micah! It’s way past time for you to move on!”

“But you can’t make me, can you?” Micah grinned. A Cheshire cat grin.
“Yep, that ‘free will’ thing. It’s a real bitch sometimes, ain’t it?”

“Squawk…real bitch…real bitch
...squawk…hot mama gimme some..squawk!”

“Harold! Can it!” Micah and Gabriel shouted in unison.

The parrot sitting on the perch under the framed office logo blinked and ruffled his feathers.

“Well, ‘
at’s the last time
I
attempt to interject some humor in the situation, what?”

“What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on that magic act in Vegas?”

“Everybody’s entitled to a spot o’ R&R
now an’ a’gin, mate! Pip, pip, cherio an’ all that. Besides—’
achoo!
’Scuse me, mates. ’At damn rabbit’s got me sinuses all clogged, it’s allergic to ‘em I am, but does anybody care? Why’d I get tagged with ’at one anyway?”

“Because it takes a con to know a con, Harold. And in your day, you were the best.”

“Flattery and a dollar’ll get you a cup of coffee, mate. Maybe.”

Gabriel glared at Harold. “And you
just can’t
wait
to get back to that perch beside the rabbit, can you, Harold?”

“
Pretty bird…squawk…Harold wanna cracker…Harold don’t want no stinkin’ rabbit…squawk…”

“
Then Harold best be putting a clamp on that smartass beak.” Gabriel turned back to Micah. “Now. Back to you. What in the hell possessed you to show yourself in human form to one of your charges on that last assignment?”

“The devil made me do it?”

“Not funny.”

“Oh, lighten up, G! She saw a guy. That’s all. For just a minute.
And the next time she looked a black cat was walking off.” Micah shrugged. “No big.”

“A guy in a leather jacket with a logo reading
‘The Guardians’.
You don’t think she had that cell phone whipped out in two seconds flat looking up angel names on the search engine?”

“Did she?”

“She did.”

“You
saw
that?”

“It’s in my job description.”

Micah waved a casual hand in dismissal. “We’re talking about Ariel Garrett here, G. The lady who named the stray cat
Micah
right off the top of her head. I never told her in cat-speak that was my name. She just knew it was. She’s not your ordinary witch and she was about two centimeters away from figuring it out anyway. Now, you gonna just keep me here chewing my ass or you got a new job for me? ‘Cause you can’t fool me. You’re trying to work me to damn death to make me take a promotion. Ain’t happening. I like what I do. I like humans. Used to be one.”

“
I can’t work you to death. You’re already dead. Sort of. And you sure are throwing ‘ain’t’ around a lot lately.”

“I
been in the south a lot lately, remember? That assignment by the name of Ariel Garrett you’re yelling at me about? Very handy word. So is y’all. Rubs off on you. New job?”

“There’s a particularly nasty group of wan
nabe black wizard badasses in Philadelphia. You know the drill. Working their way up the ‘oh, let’s summon the dark master and gain eternal youth’ chain. Progressing rapidly up the ladder from sacrificing white cocks—”

“I do ‘ope you’re talking about the chicken kind of cocks, mate! Makes me cringe if you’re not.”

“Harold, you’re a bird. Remember? Sacrificing the chicken kind of cocks should make you cringe. But
yes
, the chicken kind of cocks. And they’re moving up the animal chain. We have intelligence they may actually be planning a human sacrifice tonight. Of the infant kind.”

Micah grimaced. “Never ceases to amaze me
I can still be amazed at these sick sons-of-bitches. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“Got two different a
ddresses for you. Apparently they alternate. Both addresses high-end.” Gabriel scribbled furiously on a notepad and tore the sheet free.

Micah snorted.
“Big surprise there. Poor people too busy trying to live this life to worry about trying to stay young and beautiful forever.”