A practical witch must sabotage her beloved son's ascension to the throne in order to keep the kingdom from ruin, in this delightful cozy fantasy from the author of The Ruthless Lady’s Guide to Wizardry. Once upon a time, a somewhat wicked witch named Gretsella lived in a cozy little cottage in the Dark Forest of Brigandale. She dispensed herbs and tinctures at reasonable prices, met with her slightly oddball coven on a regular basis, and had absolutely no need of any further company whatsoever, thank you very much. But then one afternoon, Gretsella came home to find a screaming infant on her doorstep. Against all her better judgement, she took the baby in. She named him Bradley. Eighteen years later, Bradley has grown into a bafflingly likable young man under Gretsella’s extremely tolerant—one might even say doting—eye. But the witch’s hopes for an unremarkable yet fulfilling life for her son are shattered when small woodland animals start prophesying that he is the lost prince and should ascend to the throne. Bradley ignores Gretsella’s advice that prophecies and talking chipmunks are to be avoided at all costs, and sets off for the capital. But soon confusion and chaos are reigning, and scheming courtiers are using Bradley for their own ends. Sometimes a witch has to roll up her sleeves and take matters into her own cauldron. So Gretsella resolves to bring about the downfall of her darling son… “ The Somewhat Wicked Witch of Brigandale is wildly witty, utterly delightful, and stars a cranky crone I absolutely adore. There’s nothing somewhat about how much I love this book.” – Sangu Mandanna , New York Times bestselling author of A Witch’s Guide to Magical Innkeeping "My favorite thing I've read all year. A fairy tale for everyone who'd rather wear sensible shoes than glass slippers... Witchy, witty, wise, and wonderful." – Julie Leong , USA Today bestselling author of The Teller of Small Fortunes “Humorous and warmhearted... Readers seeking fun and clever comfort reading will find this hits the spot.” - Publishers Weekly “Fun, easy and lovable, The Somewhat Wicked Witch of Brigandale is both unexpected and familiar. Once you pass the classic opening line of 'Once upon a time,' you won’t turn back." - BookPage C. M. Waggoner grew up in rural upstate New York, where she spent a lot of time reading fantasy novels in a swamp. She studied creative writing at SUNY Purchase and lived in China for eight years before moving with her husband to Albany, NY. In her spare time she volunteers, performs kitchen experiments, asks if she can pet your dog, and gardens badly. Chapter 1 In Which Gretsella Receives an Unusual Delivery Once upon a time, on a somewhat muggy Wednesday afternoon in late August, the witch Gretsella arrived home to her cottage in the Dark Forest of Brigandale in the Kingdom of Evermore to find a bottle of milk on her steps. There was also a screaming baby. The milk was there because the milkman always came on Wednesdays. Gretsella paid him to do so. She didn't know when or why a babyman had come as well, though it seemed clear that when the babyman cameth, he had cometh for her. Attached to the baby's ankle was a luggage tag that read "To be taken into the care of Gretsella, the Witch of Brigandale with the Reasonable Prices." This was, in fact, Gretsella's preferred epithet. When it came to making a career out of witchery in today's economy, whether you were a good witch or a bad witch was of less concern than whether you were a witch whose subtle arts were accessible to the middle-class homemaker. The baby was still screaming. "Stop that," Gretsella said. The baby did. "Well, at least you know your manners," Gretsella said, and carried the baby inside. Gretsella's cottage was a nice, cozy little place, if Gretsella said so herself, which Gretsella often did. Gretsella was firmly convinced that her home could not be surpassed by the finest mansions in all of Evermore. On this point, she might not have been entirely incorrect. It was a cottage perfectly positioned and enchanted to catch only the coolest, most fragrant breezes in summer, and in winter it was always snug and warm and smelled of the rosemary tincture that Gretsella used for everything from washing her hair to mixing up a fortifying drink with a modest slug of gin. There were always fresh sweet rushes on the floor, and the hearth was swept as clean as the dinner plates. It was, in short, a very wholesome atmosphere for a baby to visit, if a baby saw fit to go visiting. Gretsella could think of no reason why the baby shouldn't be invited inside. Though she had never had any children of her own, Gretsella had never found herself particularly intimidated by babies. As she saw it, they were a bit like wolves and termites and fast-growing asymmetrical moles: One only needed to be firm with them. That was, at least, her own experience. She'd noticed that people who had the misfortune not to be witches s