Showing results by author "Kim M. Watt" in All Categories

DI Adams fled London to escape bridge-dwelling monsters and magical toasties - a one-time experience she's in no hurry to repeat. She's police, not some cryptid hunter. Leeds has other plans, though. Tasked with the seemingly mundane case of a missing necklace, Adams soon realises she's stumbled into something inexplicable. The trinket is dangerous, and she's the only one who recognises it for what it is - a weapon that could tear the North apart.

When a man from Callum's past turns up at our door claiming to have lost both the last herd of unicorns in England and his sister, I knew it should be a hard pass. The past has teeth. But old debts plus a damsel in distress means Callum just can't say no. G&C London, Private Investigators, are plunging deep into the magical underbelly of Leeds, and we're going to have our work cut out for us. Never mind the criminal dynasties, cross-dressing trolls, trained attack lizards, and philosophical donkeys - we need to find the sister and get out before the Watch get involved.

We hadn't planned a return to Leeds. But our friend Gerry is missing, and we've got to find him. Never mind the fact that anyone who can take out a troll is operating way above our pay grade. It doesn't take long to discover a missing troll is the least of our worries. Leeds has blown straight past dicey and into end times. The necromancers are back, and this time it's not just a few cats they want dead. It's everyone. So if we want any chance of life as we know it to continue, we need to stop them as well as save Gerry. Easy, right?

Rebellious Christmas wreaths. Mysterious welly-dwelling eggs. A plague of irate water fowl. And ten ladies of a certain age who are by no means the least troublesome of Toot Hansell's residents, as far as Detective Inspector Adams is concerned. She's entirely certain her training never covered dealing with the Women's Institute, dragons, or festive magic spills. Not to mention invisible dogs with caffeine dependencies. But Christmas is almost here. Things can't go too wrong. . . can they? Well. It is Toot Hansell.

Baton. Light. Chocolate. Duck. This is not DS Adams' usual kit. This is not DS Adams' usual case. She doesn't think it's anyone's usual case, not with the vanishing children and the looming bridge and the hungry river. Not with the snap-snap-snap. But six kids are missing, and she's not going to let there be a seventh. Not on her watch. And she knows how to handle human monsters, after all. How different can this really be?

There's a fine line between 'eccentric' and 'a danger to oneself and others'. That's certainly what DI Adams is thinking when a body turns up in Rose's freezer. Rose might not look like an octogenarian black widow, but it's the inspector's job to follow the evidence. Alice and the Toot Hansell Women's Institute couldn't disagree more. Certain that Rose is responsible for nothing worse than a little forgetfulness, they're not going to let her be sent to jail or an old folk's home.

Suspicious deaths on the Skipton city council don't sound as though they should have anything at all to do with the Toot Hansell Women's Institute, and DI Adams would rather like to keep it that way. But when the councillor for Toot Hansell becomes the latest victim, Alice Martin, chair of the W.I. and RAF Wing Commander (ret.), steps straight in to take his place.

One should never meddle in the affairs of dragons, but someone has been doing just that. They've been making imitation dragon scale baubles that are nothing short of lethal, and kidnapping delivery drivers all over the Yorkshire Dales. They've also been leaving behind some distinctly dragon-ish traces. Beaufort Scales, High Lord of the Cloverly Dragons, is hot on the trail—or would be, if he wasn't having political problems at home.

Warring staff. 'Accidental' poisonings. Topiary of dubious intent. Throw in the full complement of the Toot Hansell Women's Institute and dragons doing yoga, and DI Adams is starting to wonder if she might have made a small misjudgement signing up for this particular spa weekend. And that's before the dead body in the sauna and the storm that cuts them off from the rest of the world. Now she's dealing with a houseful of guests (and staff) who're looking more suspicious by the moment, fending off protesters, and trying to keep everyone safe as the storm closes in.

A dragon is missing. DI Adams' missing person is human, not dragon, but the trails of both lead to the village of Eldmere, where glimpses of a mysterious Beast have drawn in the nation's monster hunters. And where the Toot Hansell Women's Institute and the Cloverly dragons are in hot pursuit of Gilbert. A valley full of weekend Yeti hunters and cryptozoologists won't stand between them and the young dragon. But something strange is happening in Eldmere, and the dragons, Beast, and ladies of the Women's Institute are at the heart of it.

I see dead people. And I'm not the only one. They're even on Facebook. The dead are rising, and if we don't stop them before the infection spreads any further, we're going to be knee-deep in the zombie apocalypse before you can say mmm, brains. The only problem is, we don't know why they're rising, who started it, or how to stop them. But G & C London, Private Investigators, are on the case. Just as soon as we get through dealing with disapproving reapers, irate magicians, zombie-fied chickens, and a small internal case of undeadness. Trust us.

Find a missing book. That was the job the woman in the Doc Martens gave us. Easy money, right? Only now it seems she's actually an ancient, powerful sorcerer, and the book is a Book of Power that doesn't want to be found. It wants to tear reality apart at the seams, and it'll use anyone it can to do it. So now we've got one spectacularly displeased sorcerer, a hungry, still-missing book, a dentist with bad hygiene, and a neighbourhood having some reality issues to deal with. Plus about a day before the book turns our world - and us - inside out.

Miriam has never exactly seen eye-to-eye with her sister. But when a body's dumped on the doorstep of a Women's Institute meeting and all signs point to Rainbow, Miriam knows her sister's being framed. Going to the police would be the smart move, but Rainbow's got her own reasons for avoiding them. Before long she's on the run, trusting to Miriam and the W.I. to clear her name. The killer's left nothing to chance, though, and Rainbow's in more danger than she realises - and she's dragging the others right in with her.

A simple case - or it should be. But all clues point to the Toot Hansell Women’s Institute, and Detective Inspector Adams is about to discover there’s much more to the W.I. than just bake sales and jam-making. Alice Martin knows the ladies of the W.I. are not guilty. But she has a bigger problem. Toot Hansell has a large and dragonish secret, and she needs to keep the police well away from it. Beaufort Scales, High Lord of the Cloverly dragons, knows even better than Alice that the modern dragon only survives as long as no one knows they exist.

I'm not saying the entire magical population of North Yorkshire want us dead. Just the majority. Which is why we fled Leeds to hide out in the dubious safety of the seaside town of Whitby. But lying low isn't really in our skillset, and when one of our few remaining friends is taken by the sea, we can't just walk away. We've got to get her back. Especially as her partner is a reaper with a scythe that can slice through reality, and the whole situation might be a teeny, tiny bit our fault. We're not going after Emma alone, though.

Like it or not, when a sorcerer asks you to track a magician, you track a magician. It's that or spend life as a hamster. So we did. But, turns out, the scary magician is the least of our worries. Between raging squirrel mobs, My Little Ravenous sewer monsters, and bungalow-dwelling necromancers with a good line in attack dogs, it's all we can do to keep ourselves the right side of dead. And that's before we stumble onto something far more sinister. Something that makes one dead son look like small carrots. Something that's going to raise an ancient almost-god and bring the world to its knees.

"Find Malcolm. His safety is your safety." Threat or promise, I wasn't hanging around to find out. Not when the sorcerer making it had just yanked me out of my skin for a friendly chat. But with scheming magicians, lurking necromancers, and Callum's long-lost family all competing to make my next out of body experience a permanent one, having a sorcerer on our side seems like a pretty good option. There's just one problem. If we want her help, we need to find her dentist. And we've only got one lead. Weres. Mouth-breathing, ravening monsters with too many teeth and no affection for my kind.