Witch At Heart

If you like J.K. Rowling or secretly want to be Harry Dresden, Jinx Hamilton may be the witch for you. She's new to magic, with one option: learn fast.

Jinx Hamilton has been minding her own business working as a waitress at Tom’s Cafe and keeping up with her four cats. Then she inherits her Aunt Fiona’s store in neighboring Briar Hollow, North Carolina and learns that her aunt has willed her some special “powers” as well. They say admitting you have a problem is the first step and Jinx has a major problem. She’s a brand new witch with no earthly clue what that means. Throw in a few homeless ghosts, a potential serial killer, and a resident rat and Jinx is almost at her wit's end. Thankfully she has the unfailing support of her life-long BFF, Tori and it doesn't hurt that there's a hot guy living right next door.

Come to Briar Hollow and enter Jinx Hamilton’s world. From witches and werecats to ancient Fae and alchemists, this series begins on a sweet, cozy note and evolves into a richly complex urban fantasy readers say they just can’t put down!

“As a huge fan of the Lockwood Legacy series by Juliette Harper, I was a little skeptical of a completely different type of series by this author. Not to worry! Juliette Harper does not disappoint. I was immediately taken with this whole new entourage of characters and the fascinating new concept involving beleaguered ghosts, good witches and a most dapper, charming rat. The dialog is snappy and flows without a hitch. The friendship between the two main characters is to be envied. Escapism reading at its best. So glad there is another already available and yet another to come!” – Carla, Amazon Reviewer

 

Witch at Heart: A Jinx Hamilton Witch Mystery Book 1 by Juliette Harper, is a fun read filled with southern charm. Jinx Hamilton just inherited her Crazy Aunt Fiona's building. It comes with a shop filled with everything under the sun, probably including a kitchen sink, and an apartment full of her stuff. Sad but excited to start this new chapter in her life, Jinx moves into her aunt's apartment, and as she falls asleep thanks her aunt, but also asks her for her “magic” too. Not realizing, the ghost of her aunt would take her seriously, Jinx awakens to find out that she's not just a new business owner, but a witch too. Now, with her best friend Tori in tow, Jinx learns the hard way how to be a witch while trying to solve a murder mystery too. Overall, I really enjoyed this story. Its a mix of coming of age, mystery, and a lot of magic too.” – Relina Skye, Amazon Reviewer

 

“I would recommend this book to all ages from young adult up. The mystery plot is well constructed and believable, the writing style is relaxed and flows naturally. Main characters are relatable, quirky in a good way, and the kind of folks you would enjoy as friends. The witchy part is also not over the top and has enough information casually mentioned that anyone interested could immediately do some intelligent research. Well done, and looking forward to the rest of the series!” – Rowan Stormdancer-Brasier, Amazon Reviewer

 

“What a great writer and great storyteller! Grabs you right off. Jinx is left a store by her Aunt Fiona when she passes that has some magical properties. Add in a very smart rat, a absolutely best-est BFF in the whole wide world and new skills as a witch that her ghostly aunt passes on to her, and oh – that's right a serial killer, ghosts and an awesome cat loving hunky guy next store, and you have a smart, funny and creative story line! Add into the mix a few ghosts, her 4 prankster cats … oh just read the books and find out for yourself!” – Amazon Reviewer

More from this series

Read an Excerpt

The next morning, a little after dawn, I woke up under the combined and forceful gaze of four cats who were used to being fed at 5 a.m.

 

“Come on,” I groused. “We talked about this. I don’t wait tables anymore. There is no breakfast shift. The store opens at 9. Y’all can just hang on.”

 

The cats exchanged a communal look of resignation. Clearly, they didn’t want to have to do this the hard way, but I was leaving them no choice. A silent vote was taken, and Winston apparently drew the short straw. He shook his head as if to say, “It didn’t have to come to this,” right before he jumped off the bed. In seconds he reappeared on the dresser and lifted his paw in the direction of a porcelain figurine.

 

“You wouldn’t!” I said, outraged.

 

Winston nudged the knickknack toward the edge and looked at me. In the crowd at the foot of the bed, three heads swiveled toward me. My turn in this contest of wills.

 

“Winston,” I said sternly, “you get down from there right now.”

 

That was not only a useless statement; it was a serious breach of etiquette. Cats don’t like to be ordered around.

 

Winston fixed me with a sorrowful expression and that line from The Godfather shot across my mind. It’s just business. As I watched, he scooted the delicate figurine to the very lip of the dresser and looked at me without blinking. A long moment passed. I refused to be the one to break. Not again. Not this time. No sir . . .

 

Fur met porcelain.

 

I cracked.

 

Throwing back the covers in a panic, I exclaimed, “Okay, fine,” but it was too late.

 

The figurine teetered and fell. My hand shot out even though I was too far away to catch the fragile object. As I watched, the figurine slowed and hung suspended in mid-air. Without really knowing why, I brought my hand up, lifting the delicate object with it. When the endangered breakable was once again level with the top of the dresser, I pushed forward very gently and watched as it settled safely back in place.

 

Winston observed the whole process with studied feline impassiveness. Once the figurine was settled, he sniffed it and gave me an imperceptible nod. Well played, human. Then he jumped down, and the entire pack went into the kitchen. All they’d wanted was for me to get up and feed them; they really didn’t care how that was accomplished.

 

As for me, I stood rooted in place, my mouth hanging wide open just waiting for a fly to go buzzing right on in. I don’t know how long I would have stayed frozen there if the boys hadn’t started raising the roof with their yowling.

 

I shuffled into the kitchen, flipped the light on, and doled out the morning rations. With a line of dining cats at my feet, I shook my head. “Get a grip, Jinx,” I said aloud to myself. “That was nothing but a half-awake dream. Serves you right for eating Doritos at bedtime.”

 

Xavier looked up at me telegraphing his agreement. He’s a Cheetos man.

 

Talking to yourself qualifies as a major perk of living with cats. If anyone comes in the room, you blame it all on the fur balls. “It must have been a dream,” I continued, stubbornly reasoning with myself. “That’s what happens when you spoiled brats wake me up out of a sound sleep. Everyone knows you can’t just put out your hand like that and . . . ”

 

All the cats looked up when my self-justifying monologue morphed into a kind of choking gurgle that sounded very much like a hairball on its way north.

 

You see, I’m one of those people who can’t talk if her hands are tied behind her back. When I said the words “put out your hand,” I did just that, accidentally raising a loaf of Wonder Bread clean off the counter where it now hung peacefully suspended in air right beside the spice rack.

 

Cautiously I drew my outstretched hand toward my body and the bread followed. As it crossed the room, Zeke jumped straight up, making a grab for the plastic wrapper. On instinct, I jerked like I was pulling on a rope and the Wonder Bread shot at me like a guided missile, thwacking me in the face before landing at my feet, scattering cats right and left.

 

Curious to see if it would work, I crooked my index finger toward the loaf, using the classic “come here” motion, and darn if that bread didn’t obey me like a well-trained coonhound.

 

Standing there with the Wonder Bread in my hand, I asked the cats, “You all saw that, right?”

 

A voice behind me answered. “They saw it, and so did I, honey.”

 

It was my turn to jump like I’d been shot. When I whirled around, ready to beat off some attacker armed with nothing but a loaf of white bread, I found Aunt Fiona standing in the doorway leading out to the living room.

 

“Hi, Jinx,” she said pleasantly, before adding with just a hint of concern. “I think maybe you better sit down before you fall down, sugar.”

 

“No,” I said, starting to back up. “Not only no, but hell no. I am not going to be seeing dead people.”

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