Hard-Boiled Witch 1: Hard-Boiled Witch, #1

By K. A. Laity

Hard-Boiled Witch: Hocus Pocus, You're Dead

Book one in the series
Print Length: 22 pages
Publisher: Women's League of Ale Drinkers

Hecate Sidlaw eats punks like you for breakfast — at least that's what her familiar Henry claims. When someone needs a protection spell or a nasty hex, they knock on her door. Hecate can handle most magical problems, but what happens when a new crime kingpin gets a magic man of their own?

This 20-page ebook single is the first in a new series from the author of WHITE RABBIT, OWL STRETCHING, and the CHASTITY FLAME thriller series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. A. Laity
• Release date: Feb 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224779925

K. A. Laity

All-purpose writer, Fulbrighter, uberskiver, medievalist, humourist, flâneuse, techno-shamanka, JANE QUIET scripter, Broad Universe and SinC Mavens of Mayhem social media wrangler, Pirate Pub Captain, currently dividing her time between Dundee and New York · Laity is the author of A CUT-THROAT BUSINESS, A LA MORT SUBITE, THE CLADDAGH ICON, LUSH SITUATION, CHASTITY FLAME, UNQUIET DREAMS, OWL STRETCHING, ROOK CHANT, PELZMANTEL and much more. She's edited the collections WEIRD NOIR and NOIR CARNIVAL for Fox Spirit Books and also writes as Graham Wynd (crime), Kit Marlowe (historicals), and C. Margery Kempe (erotic romance). Immanion profile: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kalaity

Book preview

Rain fell on the dirty old town, relentless as the guy you borrowed a fiver from last week. I was working on a tricky bluebell summoning spell when I heard the front door bell jingle, meaning we had a client. ‘You get that, Henry?’ I said absently, my mind on the mixture in my cauldron that was threatening to congeal. The problem with bluebell spells is that just about the time you work out the kinks, they’ve disappeared from the woods and you have to start from scratch again the next May. I knew I’d have to take a break and deal with this problem, but not just yet.

I knew it was going to be a problem because people never just dropped by The Singing Bone because they wanted to chat. Oh don’t get me wrong. I have all manner of friends hereabouts. We might chew the fat over a brew down at the Jiggery Pokery, but folks don’t like to hang around a magic shop.

For one thing, there’s the smell.

For another, there’s the explosions—not to mention the occasional angry banshee. Nobody wants to deal with a banshee who’s woken up on the wrong side of the century.

Henry grunted and got up to saunter through the door to the showroom. We had all the fancy stuff on display out there: crystal balls, shiny decks of tarot cards, a fine selection of brooms and all kinds of pre-packaged spells. Cheap stuff, tourist trade—anything to make the punters think they could work a little DIY and impress their mates at a hen party or stag do.

The problems came when wannabes thought they could do the real thing.

Magic is an art. Leave it to the professionals—unless you want to be picking up stray limbs when your attempt to turn Aunt Miriam into a newt goes awry.

It’s happened. I know: I’ve had to reanimate a corpse or two in my time. They’re never the same and the family, however grateful, never pays you enough to make it worth all the