Heels and Hexes: Little Bold Ladies, #0

By Katie O'Keene

Witch. Widow. Wanted?!

Being accused of killing her husband helps unmagical Alice uncover a nefarious plan. Someone is robbing men of their powers and their lives and blaming their unsuspecting wives. Will Alice find the real culprit and clear her name before she becomes their next victim?

This story originally appeared in the Halloween paranormal women's fiction anthology, Girdles and Ghouls. It introduces a new series, Little Bold Ladies, to release in 2023.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fair End Books
• Release date: Dec 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215519165

Book preview

Chapter One

A -s-s-a-n-g-e-r, Alice said, her mouth a line worn free of giggles. Pronounced like the body part and the emotion, just as it's spelled. The crude jokes about her last name had gotten old before the ink was dry on her marriage certificate, but the Assangers were a magical family, and her parents weren't about to have their little disappointment join the mortal ranks.

Beggars can't be choosers, she thought as the technician rolled Gerold's body out on a gurney, covered in a shiny, black sheet. She felt no love lost when the authorities found his body, planted face first in the daffodils bobbing outside of Marsha Shershank’s bedroom window. Alice was less curious about what he was doing than people might have expected, though she knew the biddies of Garden Knell were all babbling.

Had they been having an affair, she wondered, or had he been peeping? The technician pulled back the cloth. Alice inhaled sharply at the strange look on her husband's face. She'd lived with this man for nearly 35 years. In death, he seemed so unfamiliar. She nodded at the technician, who held out a clipboard and a pen.

Positive Identification & Magical Transfer

She read through the document carefully, the twisted thrill of anticipation building in her throat. The Assanger line wasn’t the strongest, but still ... it was magic. She'd never had magic before, a thorn that continually tore apart her marriage, despite her husband using his for little more than stirring his coffee.

Without children, Gerold's power would become her own. It was different for other families. Someday, her mother would die, and Alice's older sister would accept her legacy. Her father would die, and his magic would go to her older brother. This was her only chance.

Alice took a deep breath in and signed. The technician took the clipboard and handed her a biometric pad with the outline of a hand printed on it.

Just press here, he said, tapping it. She looked apprehensively between the man and the device, the cadaver between them an afterthought. The technician sat the contraption on the table and took her hand in his own to press it on top. Together, they pushed her hand down, and she watched as a brilliant light began to pulsate beneath it. One pulse. Two pulses. Three pulses. It was done.

I don't feel any different, she finally said.

The technician chuckled. Sometimes it takes some persuading. The man meant it as a lighthearted joke. He didn't realize the sting.

Right, Alice thought. You'd need a whole lot of convincing for Gerold's magic to work for me.

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Back at their house, a too-small two-bedroom bungalow nestled in-between split levels, Alice blocked out her disappointment with the sounds of scrubbing. It was a habit she'd developed over the years. Gerold could have cleaned the whole house with a bit of wand work. He settled for complaining about the scratch of Alice's sponge against the Formica countertops, the roar of the vacuum, the swish of the mop.

Eventually, she went to work in the Faberdash Furniture Store. Alice wished she could head there now and slip into the back office where she kept the books. She dusted her damp hands on her apron and leaned against her kitchen countertop. Sweat already dotted her curly auburn hairline, but she'd run out of spots to rub out.

With everything Gerold hadn't given her in life, she still felt somewhat guilty begrudging the lackluster result of his death. She put her hand out as she'd seen her mother do a hundred times. Alice closed her eyes, hearing her mom's voice from her childhood telling her to just feel the flow. Then, as now, nothing happened.

She opened her eyes to her tiny, unassuming kitchen. The only remarkable thing in it was the wooden table for two, draped in a doily and topped with an impressive bounty of white flowers from the bed out back. She had a sneaking suspicion their neighbor had given her gardening efforts a bit of a boost.

A neighbor, she sighed. Not her husband. He'd rarely used magic around her and never for