Much A’Broom About Nothing: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Magical Renaissance Faire Mysteries Book 1) by Erin Johnson

Author:Erin Johnson [Johnson, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Faire Ladies LLC
Published: 2021-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

The Dungeon of Despair

“The Dungeon of Despair?” I looked from the sign above the chained, spiked doors to Bruce. “Seriously?”

The pirate shrugged.

“Can’t we at least come back during the day?” I rubbed my goose-pimpled arms. The moon hovered high in the sky, eerie clouds drifting across it.

Bruce shot me an apologetic look. “Vampires don’t really do the daytime.”

I whimpered.

“Oh, don’t be a turkey leg.” Mort, tail in the air, trotted around the side of the building and led the way through a couple of gates to the back door.

Bruce knocked, then leaned close. Close enough for me to smell the rich leather of the straps crossing his chest…. My gaze drifted to his lips. Hoo boy. I shook myself. It’d been way too long since a man got that close to me. I needed to get ahold of myself.

“Don’t worry.” Bruce gave me a steady, encouraging smile. “Vern gave up drinking from live people centuries ago.”

I gave a weak chuckle. “Oh, phew. So relieved.” I’d gone from being an out-of-work Pilates teacher to meeting real live (er, undead?) vampires.

What was my life?

Locks clicked and slid, and the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

“Enter, little suns,” a silvery voice drawled.

This was not filling me with confidence.

“Ladies first.”

I shot Bruce an incredulous look, but he flashed his charming smile and chuckled. “Just joking.”

I scoffed, torn between giggling and stomping my foot. “You’d better be.”

He laughed harder. We climbed down a dim stairwell, then stepped into a cavernous museum of torture instruments. These must be the vampire’s private pieces, stored below the public museum up above.

It was pretty much what I’d expected. Magically sparkling overhead spotlights cut through the thick darkness and starkly illuminated gruesome displays of mannequins on the rack and in that spikey sarcophagus thing. Sharp knives and spiked clubs glinted on the walls.

And, to my utter horror, in the center of it all, a body lay under a sheet on a slab. I gulped. Pretty sure that one wasn’t a mannequin. A lock of Macy’s curly orange hair peeked out from underneath. Yep, definitely not a mannequin.

“Vern?” Bruce looked about.

“Yes, fair ones.”

I shrieked as a tall, pale man appeared in front of us—literally appeared out of nowhere!

Mort arched his back and hissed. “Gads, man!”

I glanced at Bruce, my heart pounding against my chest. “Vern?”

The pirate captain, who looked as shaken as I felt, nodded.

Vern slid in front of me, his dark eyes large and eager, as though he were drinking me in. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” The hint of a sharp fang peeked from between his full lips.

I managed a weak smile. “I’m Adelaide—Laidey.”

He shook a dark, wavy lock out of his eyes. “Dr. Vernadsky Kostyuk.”

He emphasized the “doctor” part.

“But you may call me Vern, dear one.”

Dear one, eh? Laying it on a little thick, weren’t we, Dr. Vern? I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the intense and supremely creepy way he was looking at me.

“Doctor, hm? So do you

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