THE WITCH WARS
THE WITCH WARS
by Gail Roughton
GENRE: paranormal romance
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. Now every day is full of strange powers, secret societies, clandestine agencies, and out-of-this-world adventure. Her life as she knows it is over!
Enjoy an Excerpt:
Mom paused for the fourth time in front of a shop window and stared at her reflection. She reached up and fluffed her hair. No more middle-age chin length pageboy. The layers ruffled in the wind. The new golden brown blush thrust her cheekbones into prominence and the golden brown eye-shadow magnified the amber in her eyes.
Stacy tugged at her arm to get her moving. “C’mon, awakened sleeping beauty! We still have to get you a dress for the clubs tonight. My bachelorette party, remember?”
“Oh, but dear! I brought an outfit—”
“No! You’re not goin’ out in a two-piece tailored suit! Get over it!”
“But y’all have spent so much money already—”
I sighed. “Mom, you ever total the money you’ve spent raisin’ us?”
“That’s different! That’s what parents do!”
“Well, this is what grateful daughters do! Now hush!” She was getting better at reading facial expressions. One look at ours and she hushed.
“Oh, look!” Stacy pointed at a long champagne colored sheath in the boutique window. Simple, elegant. Boat neckline. Discretely sparkly. Definitely Mom’s color, especially with the new make-up. “Perfect!”
“Oh, my God! That dress in that store has to cost—”
“Mom. You’re worth it.”
Stacy opened the door and shooed her inside. She turned back to me in silent exchange.
You do know there’s a black cat following us, right?
Two of ‘em, actually.
And I’m sure you’re sure one of ‘em’s Micah?
The other one?
Not a clue.
Double the trouble?
Distinct possibility. And I got an idea it might concern a phone call Chad and I got on the way to the airport. Talk to you later this afternoon.
* * *
Mom’s classy new champagne sheath safely tissued and bagged in the trunk, Stacy turned off Las Vegas Boulevard and headed toward the outskirts of Vegas.
“Last stop!” she announced.
“Oh, I can’t wait!” Mom pulled down the passenger visor to access the mirror and fluffed her hair again.
“Mom! It looks the same way it looked when you got out of the stylist’s chair!”
“I can’t embarrass you at your club, darlin’! Just checking.”
Stacy slowed, turned onto a state highway, rounded a curve and pulled into a drive sporting a large “Private Property – No Trespassing” sign.
“Voila!” She spread her hands in a flourish.
Mom’s eyes rounded like an owl’s.
“This—uh—doesn’t look like a—uh—country club, somehow.”
It damn sure didn’t. The low cinderblock building, built for utility and not aesthetics, sat back off the dusty parking lot. Ten or twelve big motorcycles were parked in front, mostly Harleys but peppered with a few Hondas. Underneath the front row of windows stretched a billboard type sign. “Desert Troopers – Ride the Wind, Brothers!”
“I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t realize you thought it was a country club!”
Like hell you didn’t! I projected out. God’s gonna get you for that one, little sister!
Look on her face is worth it, though, huh?
“Oh, look!” I got out of the car quickly and pointed over to the line of parked bikes. Time to get Mom moving before she went into full shock. “Jackster and Moondog are here!”
And so was Micah and his new little friend. Over there, disappearing around a corner of the clubhouse.
On cue, the door opened. A big grin lit the face of the middle-aged guy in Desert Trooper colors standing in the doorway. He spread his arms and came toward us.
“Well, well, both my little Rambo girls! Ari, honey, good to see you!” He swept me up in a bear hug and swung me around.
“Jackster!” I hugged back as good as I got. “Good to see you, too!”
Stacy got her bear hug. “Mom, this is our good friend, Jack Hudlin. Affectionately known as the Jackster. Jackster, this is our mom, Grace Anson.”
About the Author:
Gail Roughton is a native of small town Georgia whose Deep South heritage features prominently in most of her work. She’s a paralegal who’s lived in a law office for over forty years, during which time she’s raised three children and quite a few attorneys. She’s tried retirement but it didn’t take. Through it all, she’s kept herself sane by writing novels and tossing them into her closet. Thanks to BWL Publishing, Inc., most of those novels have now emerged in published form. A cross-genre writer, her books range from humor to romance to thriller to horror and she’s never quite sure what to expect when she sits down at the keyboard. She usually has a project or two on the backburner but doesn’t discuss them for fear of jinxing herself. Given her affinity for the supernatural, this should come as no surprise to any reader.
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