Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  The Briarwood Witches series is another reverse harem about a science nerd heroine who inherits an honest-to-goodness English castle, complete with five hot British/Irish tenants, a fas problem, and some magic she can’t control. It’s a little bit dark and angsty and sexy, and complete at 5 books. You can grab the box set here.

  If you want to hang out and talk about all things Nevermore, my readers are sharing their theories and discussing the books over in my Facebook group, Books That Bite. Come join the fun.

  I’m so happy you enjoyed this story! I’d love it if you wanted to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. It will help other readers to find their next read.

  Mina’s got a hell of a journey ahead of her. She came to Nevermore Bookshop broken and defeated, but she’s stronger than even she knows. And she’s got Heathcliff, Morrie, Quoth, and Jo by her side. With a gang like that, she’s invincible.

  Xxx

  Steffanie

  Excerpt

  Memoirs of a Garroter

  Oh shite, oh shite…”

  CRASH.

  “Get back here, you bastards!”

  I moaned, crawling deeper under my blankets and shoving my pillow over my head. What’s going on now?

  I’d been flatting with my new BFF, Jo Southcombe, for the last six weeks. So far, it had mostly been awesome. Unlike the dingy flat I grew up in, Jo’s place had Edwardian features like high ceilings, picture rails, and beautiful fireplaces, as well as decent heating, comfortable furniture that didn’t smell faintly like the rubbish tip, and a coffee machine that I would marry if humans and inanimate objects were allowed to wed.

  It was also pretty cool to come home at the end of the day to a glass of wine and a friendly face. Especially after all the extra work I’d been doing at Nevermore Bookshop. Not only was looking after my three boyfriends Heathcliff, Morrie, and Quoth a full-time job, but I’d decided to forge ahead with a program of events to bring more business into the shop. I’d lined up the next three months with author visits, art exhibitions, local history talks, and even a ghost hunting tour. It was super exciting and heaps of fun, but also a ton of extra work. Jo was great at listening to my tales of woe and offering advice.

  But Jo was also… unique. She was the county pathologist, which meant that a) she worked all hours of the day and night, so sometimes she wanted to share that bottle of wine at three a.m., and b) she filled her home with the oddest collection of strange and macabre things. The other day I opened the fridge for a snack and found three Petri dishes of bacteria sitting on the bottom shelf. Then there was the anatomical skeleton behind the shower curtain (The first time I met ‘Barry’ I got such a fright, I tripped over the edge of the bath and smashed the bottle of Britney Spears’ perfume I purchased ‘ironically’ but secretly loved), and the doorbell that played Monty Python’s ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ whenever someone called in. Last week, she started a project studying forensic entomology and set up a shelf in the living room containing several jars filled with dead mice and various alive and very disgusting flies, ants, wasps, beetles, and locusts.

  Another crash sounded from down the hall. Sighing, I threw off the covers, pulled on an oversized Iron Maiden hoodie, and peeked my head out the door.

  “Jo, what’s wrong?”

  My flatmate danced around the living room, slapping at the air. I squinted into the dim light. What’s she up to now?

  “Are you learning some kind of hunter-gatherer mourning dance off Youtube again, because I think it needs work—” my words died on my lips as I noticed small objects darting around Jo’s head. Are those insects? Don’t tell me she let her science experiment escape…

  My gaze fell to the floor at Jo’s feet, where pieces of glass scattered across the rug. Please don’t let that be the South American fire ants—

  “Argh!” I yelped and leapt back as something large and black dived at my face. The bug zoomed past me and slammed into the door, where it hung around, admiring the view. “Kill it! Kill it!” Jo screamed.

  I grabbed the nearest object – a replica Egyptian canopic jar – and swung. The ceramic vessel shattered into pieces, and the black insect darted down the hallway, completely unscathed.

  “What was that?” I demanded, watching it flit across her portrait of Sir Bernard Spilsbury (he was the father of forensics, so I discovered in a forty-five minute impromptu lecture after I’d innocently asked Jo about it the other day).

  “It’s a locust! I accidentally knocked the jar and it smashed and now they’re all over the apartment.” Jo swung an anatomy textbook at the wall. She left out a satisfied “Yah!” as she connected with her target, leaving an ugly brown smudge along the paint as she drew back and swung again.

  “You’re telling me the flat is crawling with locusts?” I ducked as another angry insect dove at my head.

  “It’s less crawling, and more swarming!”

  I covered my head with my arms and ducked into the kitchen. Locusts flew around the room like a whirlwind, pinging off the windows and diving at the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. In seconds, they reduced the herb garden on the windowsill to a bare dirt patch.

  I fumbled under the sink, barely able to read the labels on the cleaning products. My fingers closed around an aerosol can. Fly spray.

  By all the goddesses, let this work.

  “Go back to Egypt, you poxy bastards!” I yelled, aiming the can at the swarming bugs and slamming my finger down.

  A stream of white liquid shot out from the nozzle. I swung my arm around, laughing maniacally as I coated the insects. Take that, you grotty little wankers—

  “Oh no, that’s cooking spray!” Jo yelled.

  What? Shite.

  I lowered my arm just as a huge jet shot from the nozzle and hit the wall behind the stove. Oily bubbles exploded all over the kitchen, coating the floor and the walls and Jo’s Victorian apothecary set and Jo and also me in a layer of slick, sticky oil.

  “I’m sorry,” I moaned, turning the can around to read the label. How had I missed the words ‘Non-Stick Cooking Spray’ in huge letters?

  Probably because I’m going blind, that’s how.

  “We’ve just made them angry.” Jo ducked as a dark swarm careened toward her head. She crawled across the floor and grabbed the front door knob. “Hurry, Mina!”

  I scrambled after Jo as she yanked open the door and dived down the steps. I slammed the door shut behind us, wincing as locusts dive-bombed the stained glass window.

  Icy wind whipped around my bare legs. My feet sank into freezing snow. I hugged my hoodie to my chest. “I’m sorry. I thought it was bug spray.”

  “Nope,” Jo wiped a smear of oil from her cheek. “Definitely not bug spray. If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry I broke that jar and set a swarm of locusts free in our flat.”

  I waved a hand. “I’m sure it happens all the time. What are we going to do?”

  Jo raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking of just giving them the house?”

  I couldn’t feel my feet. “Or we could maybe call an exterminator?”

  “I guess that would work.” Jo glanced at her watch. “Oh, shite. I have to go. I’m late for work, and Cal will be waiting for me to prep the body.” She scrambled in her pocket for her car keys.

  “You can’t just leave. What if the locusts get out? How am I going to get to my room? I need clothes.” I gestured to my bare legs, now turning a bold shade of blue.

  Jo shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve got some old clothes in the back of the car. You can change while I drive you to the bookshop, if you like. It’s not as if those guys aren’t used to seeing you without your clothes on.”

  “But all our stuff—”

  She flung open her car door and climbed in behind the wheel. “Forget the flat. We’ll raze it to the ground, salt the earth, and get another one. With a hot tub and one of those multi-head showers. Come on, Mina. I’ve got a dead body to cut up, and you’ve got three hot guys ready to fan you with pal
m fronds and serve you peeled grapes. What’s it to be?”

  Sighing, I pulled the hem of my hoodie down over my arse and climbed into the car beside Jo. “I thought living with you would save me from chaos and mayhem, not invite it.”

  “You can’t be right all the time,” Jo said as she sped off. “Look on the bright side. At least it was locusts and not another dead body.”

  I groaned. She had no idea how right she was. Just before Christmas, I’d been a guest at the Argleton Jane Austen Experience, where two people were killed. That was on top of the other murders I’d been involved in – my ex-best friend Ashley, and members of the Argleton Banned Book Club. If I never see another dead body, it’ll be too soon.

  Relax, I told myself as I fumbled in the junk behind Jo’s seat for some clothes I could wear. All I’ve got to look forward to this week is a book signing, a writer’s workshop, and some sexy times with the guys. It’s not as if any murderers are going to be in attendance.

  Right?

  * * *

  Find out in book 4 of the Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries – Memoirs of a Garroter. START READING NOW

  Read the Amazon top-20 book readers are calling “The greatest mindfuck of 2019.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  I should have let them win.

  Now the kings of the school are out for my blood,

  ... and they’re not the only ones.

  The fire took everything.

  My parents. My best friend. My life.

  Now I have a second chance.

  I only have to endure one year at this prestigious academy for rich snobs.

  One year of being the charity case no one wanted.

  One year of taunts and insults and bullying. Then I’m free.

  But I didn’t count on Trey, Ayaz, and Quinn.

  Arrogant, privileged, dangerous.

  Drop-dead gorgeous.

  They want me gone.

  They want me to suffer.

  They’re determined to make my nightmares real.

  Tough luck, bully boys – I won’t hide away.

  I’m not afraid.

  But maybe… I should be.

  HP Lovecraft meets Cruel Intentions in book 1 of this dark paranormal reverse harem bully romance. Warning: Not for the faint of heart – this story of three broken bad boys and the girl who stood her ground contains dark themes, crazed cultists, books bound in human skin, high-school drama, swoon-worthy sex, and potential triggers.

  START READING NOW

  Other Books By Steffanie Holmes

  This list is in recommended reading order, although each couple’s story can be enjoyed as a standalone.

  Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries

  A Dead and Stormy Night – READ NOW

  Of Mice and Murder – READ NOW

  Pride and Premeditation – READ NOW

  Memoirs of a Garroter – READ NOW

  Prose and Cons – READ NOW

  How Heathcliff Stole Christmas – READ NOW

  Kings of Miskatonic Prep

  Shunned – READ NOW

  Initiated – READ NOW

  Possessed – READ NOW

  Ignited – READ NOW

  Broken Muses of Manderley Academy

  Ghosted – READ NOW

  Haunted – READ NOW

  Briarwood Reverse Harem series

  The Castle of Earth and Embers – READ NOW

  The Castle of Fire and Fable – READ NOW

  The Castle of Water and Woe – READ NOW

  The Castle of Wind and Whispers – READ NOW

  The Castle of Spirit and Sorrow – READ NOW

  Crookshollow Gothic Romance series

  Art of Cunning (Alex & Ryan) - READ NOW FOR FREE

  Art of the Hunt (Alex & Ryan) - READ NOW

  Art of Temptation (Alex & Ryan) - READ NOW

  The Man in Black (Elinor & Eric) - READ NOW

  Watcher (Belinda & Cole) - READ NOW

  Reaper (Belinda & Cole) - READ NOW

  Wolves of Crookshollow series

  Digging the Wolf (Anna & Luke) - READ NOW

  Writing the Wolf (Rosa & Caleb) - READ NOW

  Inking the Wolf (Bianca & Robbie) - READ NOW

  Wedding the Wolf (Willow & Irvine) - READ NOW

  Want to be informed when the next Steffanie Holmes paranormal romance story goes live? Sign up for the VIP Readers Club to get the scoop, and score a free bonus prequel to enjoy!

  About the Author

  Steffanie Holmes is the author of steamy historical and paranormal romance. Her books feature clever, witty heroines, wild shifters, cunning witches and alpha males who always get what they want.

  Before becoming a writer, Steffanie worked as an archaeologist and museum curator. She loves to explore historical settings and ancient conceptions of love and possession. From Dark Age Europe to crumbling gothic estates, Steffanie is fascinated with how love can blossom between the most unlikely characters. She also writes dark fantasy / science fiction under S. C. Green.

  Steffanie lives in New Zealand with her husband and a horde of cantankerous cats.

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  Come hang with Steffanie

  www.steffmetal.com

  hello@steffanieholmes.com

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  Thank you so much for reading and enjoying the Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries!

  I’ve got a super-active reader group on Facebook. Join BOOKS THAT BITE if you want to talk about the series, get exclusive previews and bonus content, and meet some other awesome readers! I’ve love to see you there!

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