Fangs & Fairy Dust (Paranormal Cozy Mystery Novella Prequel): Priscilla Pratt Mystery, #0

By Melissa Monroe and Kyla Colby

Sink your fangs into this paranormal cozy mystery!

 

Years before vampire Priscilla Pratt opened up her bakery in a small town in Massachussetts, she was involved in solving another mystery...

 

The Priscilla Pratt Mystery Series
Book #1 – Fangs and Fondant
Book #2 – A Bite of Blueberry
Book #3 – Blood in the Batter
Book #4 – Holy Crepes
Book #5 – Crumbs in the Casket
Book #6 – A Ghost of Glaze

 

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Cinnamon Cozies
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393863823

Melissa Monroe

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Melissa is an Interior Designer for Private Aircraft. Formerly the Director of Design for Gulfstream Aerospace and now the principal of her own Design Consulting Practice, she has traveled the world working with fun and fascinating clients. While she loves designing aircraft for her jet setters, she felt the call to write in 2020. With eight books now in the works, this is another fulfilling way to express her creativity and share with others. Her faith-filled life is made full by spending time with those she loves and creating and designing to help others. ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR: Daria Rosso was born and raised in Italy. Currently living in London, she has the privilege of being an itinerant artist and illustrator. Art is a way of life for her— the filter through which she perceives the world and shapes it, making it her own. Her style is inspired by traditional scientific illustration, pop art, and photography. The result is artwork with a bright and modern aesthetic, emphasizing realism, color, and bold, spaceless composition. Wondering Why is her debut illustrated book.

Book preview

Prologue

P riscilla? Anna asked, leaning her elbows on the counter.

It was a slow night, with the only thing on the agenda being the savory monkey bread Priscilla been asked to prepare for Linda Hudson’s retirement party. It was a favorite of hers, and although apparently very tasty, time-consuming to make. She had at least an hour and a half before it would be done, and they were both enjoying a rare moment of peaceful relaxation.

Hmm? Priscilla asked, checking over her calendar. It seemed she couldn’t tear herself away from work for too long, unless a murder was involved. She sincerely hoped she’d be done with that business eventually.

I was wondering about something. Your fairy godmother. How did you meet her?

Priscilla grimaced. She didn’t care to talk about Avalon, her 800-year-old guardian and perpetual nuisance. Ava popped into her life at odd intervals to pester her and make life difficult, as the fae were wont to do. Most of the time she avoided invoking the faerie’s name, for fear of attracting her attention. But since she was in town, and showed no signs of leaving soon, Priscilla figured the worst she’d do was summon her to the shop. Ava would probably leave in a few minutes out of complete and utter boredom. Faeries thrived on chaos.

It’s a long story, Priscilla hedged. And not an altogether happy one.

Anna glanced pointedly back at the oven. I think we’ve got plenty of time. And it’s hours yet before close. C’mon, Priscilla, spill the beans.

Not a good faerie deterrent, Priscilla teased. Though salt and dill are effective, if it matters.

Anna arched one thin brow. Are you saying that I could ward Ava off with a pickle, if I wanted to?

If you placed pickles end to end around your house, I believe so.

Anna let out a delighted laugh. Oh, I am so trying that next time she’s over for poker. She cheats, and I want to catch her in the act this time.

Just watch your milk jugs, Priscilla advised. The fae can sour milk, and she just might, for a slight like that.

Anna leaned even further over the counter. Tell me the story, Priscilla? Please? It’s a good way to pass the time.

Priscilla glanced at the kitchen timer. Still an hour and fifteen minutes before the bread would be ready to come out of the oven.

She leaned against the stove, letting the heat warm her back as she told the story. She could almost imagine sitting by the hearth in her small Salem home so many years ago as the fire raged and snow whirled outside her window.

It all started in autumn of 1665 …

Chapter One

J acques Amaury, you answer me this instant!

Priscilla’s sire looked up lazily from the book he’d purchased from a traveling merchant. It was an exceedingly old copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, perhaps one of the few to be bound into existence before the printing press came into widespread use and made reading easier for the masses.

"Yes, ma chère?"

She scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. Don’t you dare use any of your pet names on me. I said I wanted to talk. You’ve been ignoring me for days. What exactly were you up to in town with Goodwife Clarke?

A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and Priscilla felt some of her ire slip away, despite herself. Jacques had that effect on people, women most of all. Nothing of consequence, chère.

The sharp pangs of jealousy she’d experienced upon seeing him flirt shamelessly with Mabel Clarke had not eased with time. She’d thought that maybe, with the snowstorm and the subsequent need to stay inside to uphold the human façade, since nothing human could survive the cold outdoors, she might coax the answer out of him. However, thus far he’d ignored her subtle prods and attempts to wheedle an answer out of him with kisses and the offer of blood.

I don’t believe you, she said.

He put a hand to his chest, pulling a wounded expression. He was too handsome. It was why she’d been drawn to him in the first place. Priscilla had considered herself a bright girl and hadn’t expected to be so disarmed by him. But when Jacques had come into town to sell or trade his furs, she’d been flattered by the attention he paid her.

He was taller than even she was, and she towered over all the girls and many of the boys. She suspected that was the reason that her betrothal to Jude Abbott had failed. He’d chosen a more petite bride in the years to follow and now had two short children.

Jacques had hair the color of a ripe chestnut, and eyes to match. He’d looked like a wild man, dressed entirely in furs when he strolled into town, so different from the stiff-collared Puritan men she’d grown up with. With Priscilla’s impending marriage to a man she intensely disliked, it hadn’t been difficult for Jacques to convince her to leave Plymouth for Salem, where no one knew their names or faces.

It was there he’d revealed his true nature to her and offered to make her immortal—for a price. That price was marriage, under the condition that he be allowed to take her last name. He’d grown tired of the hunt, and it was hard for him to feed while trapping in the woods. Occasionally he’d hunt down a native man or woman, but he feared doing even that. They had powerful guardians who could ward Jacques off. He wanted to settle where the humans were thickest, and largely unprotected. So here they were, three years later, Jack and Priscilla Pratt, a miller and his sickly wife.

Stop looking so wounded, Jacques. You know what you did.

Do you really think my reasons are nefarious, Priscilla?

There he went again, twisting her words. Not nefarious, per se—

Then what’s the problem?

She ground her teeth, not mindful of her fangs, grazed the inside of her cheek, and tasted blood. It had been hard learning how to live with the extended canines. Even now, three years later, she could end up hurting herself if she wasn’t careful. She swallowed back the sweet, coppery taste rather than answer him. He knew full well why she was upset, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

We agreed we’d only feed on the Johnsons, she said, trying to rein in the anger. Tobias Johnson was a freed man from Cape Ann, and as much an outsider in the city as they were. He was a tall black man with close-cropped hair and sad eyes. Tobias had known what Priscilla was from the moment he met her. Apparently the legends of their kind were numerous in West Africa, and taken far more seriously than the tales of the European vampire. He had told her that every man in the village was taught to recognize the signs of a monster in disguise.

It was hard for Tobias to find permanent work within the city, so Priscilla had come up with a barter system. Tobias and his wife would give them blood, and she would give him the first pick of the foods she grew in her garden or harvested from the livestock. It was useless to her now, and she used the surplus as a way to earn income.

But that was a concern for another time. They wouldn’t be able to go into town for another day or two at least. The storm would block the roads into town with snow, and no human could believably get from the outskirts to town without suffering frostbite.

Jacques frowned and set