Monday, October 27, 2014

#Excerpts from Both Books of the War-N-Wit, Inc. by Gail Roughton Featured Today: Witch resurrected and Mean Streets #Giveaway

Welcome to the tour for the War-N-Wit, Inc. series.  Following you will find information about Books 1 & 2.  Each book also features an excerpt for you to enjoy.


Book 1 Details:

Witch Resurrected
War-N-Wit, Inc., Book 1
Gail Roughton

Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Books We Love, Ltd.

Date of Publication: September 21, 2014

ISBN: 978-1-77145-314-1

Number of pages:192
Word Count: 63,858

Cover Artist: Michelle Lee

About Witch Resurrected:

Ariel Anson thinks she has her life in order. She’s young, smart, and beautiful, even if she doesn’t believe the beautiful part. She’s a paralegal with a great career and a fiancé who’s a CPA. You just can’t get any steadier than that. Then she meets private investigator, bounty hunter, process server Chad Garrett.

What does War-N-Wit, Inc. stand for anyway?

Warlock and Witch? For real? Oh, yes! For real.

Her life as she knows it is over! Instead of organizing corporate documents and pleadings, she’s chasing bail jumpers and taking down serial killers. And investigating secret societies. Like Resurrection.

Not everyone can join, just the elite few who remember their past lives. Only the Seer knows if those memories are truth or fabrication. There’s just one problem. The new Seer is missing in action. War-N-Wit’s new assignment is a blast from the past! But whose past?

Here is the Excerpt;

I came abruptly out of total black but not into full light. Candlelight, that was it. And firelight. I was upright and could pass as a duct-tape dispenser, my arms secured at wrist and elbow bend to the arms of a chair. For good measure, another swatch of duct-tape ran on top of and across my fingers, rendering them immobile too. From the curve of the arms and what I could see, I was in a straight-backed chair of the Empire style. And just in case that didn’t hold me, another few turns of duct tape ran under my breasts and around the back. My ankles were crossed and looped with the damn stuff, too. Well, standing up and taking the chair with me was out. At least for now. Taped as they were, I couldn’t stand flat and didn’t think I could balance on the sides of my feet.

I looked around the room. I knew I was in the Bull Street house. The Empire style chair itself was a dead give-away and so was the room. It was wallpapered in dark red that seemed almost black in the muted candle-fire glow. It had been almost five o’clock when I’d seen the newspaper. It had to be full dark by now though the heavy velvet drapes, also dark red and trimmed with gold edging, wouldn’t have let much light in in any event.

It was a bedroom. Against the far wall stood a heavy canopied bed matching the décor of the last century that dominated the whole house. There was an antique washbasin, complete with a water pitcher in Wedgewood blue and white. The knick-knacks on the fireplace mantel looked like somebody’d robbed the British Museum. Not to mention the andirons holding the burning logs looked to be the original cast iron ones placed there when it was built.

But the kicker was the man sitting in a matching chair across from me. He was dressed in a three piece suit, complete with watch fob and chain. He wasn’t stuck to his chair with duct-tape. I didn’t think he needed to be. He was a lot more immobile than me. He stared straight ahead, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing anything. I’d never seen anybody in a catatonic state. Until now, that is.

“Hello, Mr. Hedgepath,” I said. “We haven’t met before, have we? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you haven’t left this room in a while, have you?”

No response. And no surprise.

The door opened. It creaked. Surprising, really, in a house this recently restored and so well-maintained.

I wasn’t surprised to see Oliver Hedgepath walking in. Or at least, the Oliver Hedgepath we’d been seeing.

“Well,” he said. “Ariel Garrett. The new Seer of the Tear of Isis. You’ve led me a merry chase.”

I didn’t respond.

“Cat got your tongue? Oh, dear, where’s that caustic repartee I’ve come to know and hate? Can’t think of any new names to call me?”

“I know exactly what to call you. Dead man walkin’.” I deliberately spaced out my next sentence, punctuating each word. “My. Husband. Is. Going. To. Kill. You. You know that, don’t you? Whoever you are?”


Book 2 Details:

Mean Streets
War-N-Wit, Inc., Book 2
Gail Roughton

Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Books We Love, Ltd.
Date of Publication: October 17, 2014


Number of pages:194
Word Count: 58,274

Cover Artist: Michelle Lee

About Mean Streets:

Daytona Bike Week. Biker’s paradise. The perfect place for Chad and Ariel Garrett to take a few days off and relax with Chad’s buddy Spike and Ariel’s little sister Stacy.

But nothing ever goes as planned with that magical duo. Trouble just stalks them like a black cat. A missing agent riding with an outlaw biker gang, a call from Chad’s past, and War-N-Wit, Inc.’s riding again, with romance blooming in the midst of danger. From Daytona, the crew heads back to Vegas and another family wedding. Spike and Stacy are ready to say “I do!” In the Tunnel of Love Drive-Thru at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Vegas, of course. It’s become a family tradition.

But what’s supposed to happen in Vegas just refuses to stay in Vegas. And you’re not going to believe this side-trip!

Here is the Excerpt;

I peered around the corner of the Tallahassee alley where we’d parked the SUV. Yep, there he was. The skip. Danny Delvecchio, a/k/a Ferret a/k/a Dapper Dandy Dan. At the moment, operating as Father Daniel right in front of the Teen Rescue Center run by St. Benedict’s and soliciting donations with practiced ease. I shoved the wimple completing my nun’s ensemble above my eyebrows. Damn thing kept slipping down.

“One more time, from the top,” Chad said.

“Magic Man! It’s not rocket science! He’s just a sleazy con man parading around as a priest. Which is really low, even for a bail-jumping con man.”

“Sure is. So from the top. You’re going to—”

“I’m going to rush up, grab him and babble about a poor boy doubled over in the alley who’s probably overdosed and come with me now, I need help. That about it?”

“That’s about it.”

“Okay. I’m on it!”

I peered around the corner again. Good a time as any. I hitched my habit up a bit and headed toward him in a sprinting semi-jog.

“Father! Father, I need help—”

Before I could grab his arm, I heard an echo. Not in my voice though.

“Father! Father, I need help!” And a hand, not mine, grabbed Dapper Dandy Dan’s arm from behind.

“Oh! Thank you, sweet Jesus!” The hand dropped Dandy Dan’s arm and grabbed mine. “You’re even better! The Lord provides!”

An older nun hauled me through the door of the Rescue Center, her habit flying out around her legs.

“One of the girls—she’s in labor and I’m all by myself right now, even all our kids are gone this morning! We didn’t know she was pregnant. She’s been hiding it under big sweatshirts. I’ve called for an ambulance but I don’t know if they’ll make it, she’s been in labor for a while, I think, she’s in denial! She refuses to believe she’s having a baby!”

She pulled me through a curtain separating the front room from a back room used as a dormitory. The girl lay on a cot under a sheet she clutched close, refusing to let go. And she was all of fourteen. Maybe.

“Sister Marie! Sister Marie! It’s just a stomachache! You’ve got to let me up, I’m not—” She broke off and writhed in pain. Sister Marie dropped to her knees besides the cot.

“Sandra, you’ve got to listen to me! I’ve called for help but it might not get here in time. You’ve got to let us help you, child. You are having a baby and if you don’t listen to me and open your legs, you can hurt it. Badly. You don’t want that, do you?”

Wisps of gray hair peeked from Sister Marie’s wimple, and a harsh ray of sunlight highlighted every wrinkle on her face. Her hand, visibly work-worn and roughened, smoothed the girl’s hair back from her forehead. Sitting there in a halo of harsh sunlight, face lined with compassion and concern, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I felt like a fraud. Until I remembered. I could help. There was no such thing as coincidence. I was here for a reason.

About the Author:

Gail Roughton is a native of small town Georgia whose Deep South heritage features prominently in much of her work. She’s worked in a law office for close to forty years, during which time she’s raised three children and quite a few attorneys. She’s kept herself more or less sane by writing novels and tossing the completed manuscripts into her closet.
A cross-genre writer, she’s produced books ranging from humor to romance to thriller to horror and is never quite sure herself what to expect when she sits down at the keyboard. Now multi-published by Books We Love, Ltd., her credits include the War-N-Wit, Inc. series, The Color of Seven, Vanished, and Country Justice. Currently, she’s working on Black Turkey Walk, the second in the Country Justice series, as well as the Sisters of Prophecy series, co-written with Jude Pittman.

Another War-N-Wit plot always seems to be brewing on the back burner, too, whether she’s actually trying to brew one or not, and usually boils quicker when she’s trying not to brew one at all.

Find Gail Online:

Amazon Page:



Books We Love, Ltd.

Twitter: @GailRoughton


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Bonny McDevitt said...

Thanks for the chance!

Sapphyria said...

You're welcome :)

Gail Roughton said...

Thanks for having me, Sapphyria! And thanks for stopping in, Bonny!

Sapphyria said...

You are very welcome, Gail!