Free War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Coven (War-N-Wit, Inc. - Book 3) by Gail Roughton Page A

wanted in his life. Where’s Micah, can you see him?”
    She pointed. Micah stood at the end of the block. He’d waited on us, but he sure hadn’t liked it.
    “ Hssssssssssss! ”
    “Not my fault,” I told him. “I’m doin’ the best I can.”
    He turned his head sideways and shot me a glare, clearly telling me my best wasn’t good enough before he moved on down the street.
    He stopped in front of one of the myriad bar-restaurants lining the street. Cyanide.
    “You’re kiddin’, right?”
    “ Meeeooowww. ” He didn’t budge. He turned in a circle and sat down in front of the door.
    “We’re supposed to go in there?”
    “ Meeooowww. ”
    Stacy looked at the name on the window.
    “Lovely,” she said. “How appetizin’.”
    The door burst open before we could enter, spilling a mass of flailing arms and fists onto the sidewalk. Micah shot threw the opening and into the bar. I started after him and Stacy pulled me back.
    “Not a good idea,” she said.
    “Can’t help it,” I said. “ Follow that cat! ”
     
    * * *
     
    “ Oh my God! ” Stacy rushed across the room, pushing big biker bodies aside like rag dolls. Spike lay flat out on the floor, unconscious.
    In the pandemonium of flying fists and bodies, we knelt by Spike. Stacy cradled his head on her lap and tapped his cheeks.
    “Spike! Wake up! Wake up, damnit!”
    I grabbed a glass of water from a neighboring table, miraculously still standing upright in the melee, and sprinkled droplets on his face.
    “ Whhaaattt… ” He bolted upright, coming from stupor into full consciousness in the space of a heartbeat. “Why that— owwww! ” He rubbed the side of his head. I could see the knot already formed there. And wondered how hard a hit it took to knock Spike out.
    “What the hell happened? And where’s Chad?”
    “The son-of-a-bitch tried to ditch me! Like a freaking novice . Like a rookie . And when it didn’t work he cold-cocked me! Son-of-a-bitch! ”
    “How ‘bout you cuss him out somewhere else?” Stacy suggested. “Like somewhere not here?”
    “Good idea, babe. By the way, I love you. And you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
    He raised his head and kissed her. As first kisses go, it wasn’t a real long one, circumstances being what they were and all, but considering it was in the middle of a bar brawl, not bad. Not bad at all.
    “Love you, too. Can you stand up?”
    “ Really?”
    “ Really. Can you stand up?”
    “Babe, after that, I can do anything.”
    He got to his feet but I stopped him before he straightened to his full height. “Maybe a crouch would get us out of here a little less conspicuously,” I suggested.
    “You might be right.” We formed a tight line, hunched over, and wove our way to the door. Micah waited on us right outside.
    “How the hell did he get back out?” Stacy asked.
    “How the hell does he get anywhere?” I countered. “Might be a good idea to get a little further away from here.” More bodies flew out the door.
    “I’d say so,” Spike agreed, and we moved down the block, headed to a group of outside tables sporting colorful umbrellas.
    A waitress in a halter-top two sizes too small and years too young for her scraggly bun of white hair appeared about two seconds after we sat down.
    “Gettcha?” she asked, making it completely obvious that she wasn’t wearing dentures. And that she needed to be.
    “Just a soda,” Spike said.
    “For everybody?”
    “Yep, all around.”
    “ Jezzzz. Why’d y’all bother to come to Bike Week at all?” She shook her head sadly and moved off. Stacy’s eyes widened as she walked away. I raised my eyebrows in silent question. Stacy pointed down at Granny’s feet as she walked away.
    She was wearing flip-flops and no wonder. Her toenails, painted hot pink and shaped and filed to perfection, poked out at least an inch over the tip of the open shoes. The crowning touch. A true poster child for Bike Week. We howled like hyenas.
    “ Oh, oh, oh— damn,