Tour guide to the scenic cemeteries of Savannah. Yeah, that’s what she spent her life aspiring to become.
Then Demetrious de Mecini stumbled into her graveyard and right smack into her suddenly unboring life. Along with three female killers, a passel of crazy militant monks.
On the run, they fight for their lives and sanity and land themselves in a headlong flight into danger and perhaps the answer to a mystery five thousands years buried in the clouded mists of mythology itself. Before it’s over, Dela finds herself between a stake and a hard place, but if she survives, love might be the ultimate prize or the ultimate curse.
“We are the Vampiric Inquisition and you, Demetrious de Mecini, have been judged, tried and found guilty by the Holy Court of Phroumage. We are here to carry out sentencing!” An evil smile bloomed from the darkness of the hood covering the monk’s head. “Prepare to die!”
I felt around on the top of my head. Nope, no bumps or signs of a cracked skull. So, the monk did just say that the pope’s cheese wanted Deme dead. I almost wished I did have brain damage. Then maybe this would make sense. Sacred cheese, Lily Munster, Vampires, blatant lust. Excuse me, but a nervous breakdown looked pretty damn good about now. So did a do-over but that wasn’t about to happen. The nervous breakdown on the other hand had an excellent chance of happening. Any minute now, if I was a judge of such things. Seeing as how this was me I was talking about, I thought I could say without a doubt I had five seconds and counting from a nice one.
Deme batted at the dust and peered intently at the monk. “Grahm, is that you?”
“Uh, no. I am the Grand High Inquisitor of Phroumage. There is no Grahm here and even if there was he wouldn’t be a Grand High Inquisitor of Phroumage, which I am.” The monk shuffled his feet. “A Grand High Inquisitor, that is.”
Another one of the monks scooted around him. “But that’s just for today. Tomorrow, I get to be the Grand High Inquisitor.”
“Inquisitor Michae, that will be quite enough of that.” The grand high mucky-mucky swatted at him. “Now back into the ranks before you forfeit your turn to be next in line.”
“That would be me!” Another monk shouted with glee.
“Enough!” Grandy shouted, stomping his foot.
“Grahm, you may call yourself whatever you wish, but I know it’s you.” Faster than I could see, Deme ran to the man and flipped his hood off his head. “Now, stop this nonsense and tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Heretic, you shall pay for that umbrage.” Grahm, or whoever he was, swept his arm around before twirling it into the air. “Off with ‘is head!”
Michae tapped him on the shoulder. “Hmmm, Grahm, we forgot to pack the swords.”
Grahm whipped his head around. “Then break out the cat o’ nine tails and flog him within an inch of his life, then flog him some more.”
“We… um… forgot that, too.” The monk titled his head skyward.
“By the most holy naughty bits of the divine Phroumage, what did we bring?”
“Let me think…” His hand disappeared into his hood. The faint murmur of scratching came from the folds. “We have some nice shrubbery.”
Grahm let out a surprised gasp. “Neep. You can’t expect us to adequately torture a heretic of de Mecini’s stature with shrubbery. Neep!”
“It has thorns and some delightful red berries that will stain his tender flesh. There’s always the chance of an allergic reaction.” Michae kneaded his hands together and giggled. “Imagine all the painful itching.”
“Oh, do be quiet before you wear it as an intimate undergarment for penance,” Grahm said, smacking the other monk upside the back of the head.
“Hah! I already am.” Michae stuck out his tongue. “So, there.”
I had had enough and ew!
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