2. Sullivan

Chapter 2

Sullivan

The past week has been a whirlwind of animatronic arms moving when they shouldn't and smoke machines that seemed to have a mind of their own. I'm still surprised no one has summoned an actual ghost from the eerie atmosphere we've been conjuring. But at long last, "The Reaper's Reckoning" ride is up and running, terrorizing visitors just the way it's meant to and without any unintended asphyxiation events. With that checked off the list, I'm itching for a change of scenery.

So tonight, I've traded the techno-haunts for Trick or Treat, the newly minted bar that everyone in Midnight Falls is raving about. The thrilling bar is deep into its Thirteen Nights of Halloween celebration, and I'm game to join the fun. Who needs an excuse to don vampire garb in a town that reveres Halloween as devoutly as Texans do barbecue?

As I approach the bar, confidently swishing my ridiculous cape, I spot Hugh, the high school wrestling coach who moonlights as a bouncer, at the bar. He's decked out in a snug T-rex costume. Irony at its finest since the guy could intimidate a rock if he chose.

"Evening, Count Sullivan," he greets me with a chuckle, his roar more purr at this point in the evening. "Here for a couple of pints of Type O?"

"Definitely if you've got it on draft," I quip back, biting down a grin. Hugh and I swap a few more playful jabs about fangs and fossils before he steps aside to let me in.

The interior of Trick or Treat is everything I've been told. The vintage stained-glass windows that line all the walls display scenes of autumn landscapes and Halloween motifs. When the disco lights hit them, they cast vibrant hues throughout the room, infusing the space with the festive spirit of this unique town. Each pane seems to narrate its own tale of artistry combined with spookiness.

Stretching across the far wall of the bar is a stunning stained-glass mural that intricately depicts spooky Halloween scenes. The rich colors of the glass send prismatic patterns through the room, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows and light that breathes life into the mystical scene.

There are several gothic-style fireplaces throughout the bar, their stone mantels adorned with gargoyles and twisted vines. These fireplaces cast a warm, inviting glow that complements the flickering candlelight scattered throughout the bar. The gentle crackle of burning embers adds a comforting sound to the ambiance.

Above us, elaborate chandeliers hang gracefully over all three levels of the bar, each a masterpiece of wrought iron and crystal. Shaped like upside-down black roses, their glossy petals cradle soft lights that cast intricate patterns on the ceiling and floors. As they sway slightly, the crystals catch the light, creating a dazzling effect that mimics twinkling stars in an inky night sky.

Three levels make up the bar, connected by sweeping wrought iron staircases adorned with carved pumpkins and trailing ivy. From the upper levels, you get a bird's eye view of the bustling crowd below, each patron enveloped in Trick or Treat's enchanting, ghostly charm. It's a seamless blend of whimsy and gothic style, fusing Halloween mystery with vintage elegance.

But what truly intrigues visitors are the whispers about what's hidden beneath the main floor. Rumor has it there's a unique speakeasy in the abandoned bomb shelter below the bar.

Known as Scared Shotless, this exclusive, invitation-only haunt is accessed through a secret door tucked behind an ordinary bookcase. Supposedly, the speakeasy boasts a Prohibition-era vibe, complete with vintage furnishings and a menu of classic, handcrafted cocktails.

As I glance around the crowded room, my eyes are immediately drawn to a Cher look-alike behind the bar, serving drinks like she's performing at Madison Square Garden. She's a tiny little thing, curvy in all the right ways, and judging by her no-nonsense demeanor, she knows how to work a room, or haunt in this case. With her long jet-black hair tied back into an uncomplicated ponytail, she somehow embodies the rock star glam with an effortless flair.

I saunter up to the bar, channeling centuries-old charm. "Can I get a Blood Mary?" I flash what I hope is a dazzling, fangy smile.

Without skipping a beat, she glances at me with something between amused tolerance and mild exasperation. "The other bartender will be here to take your order shortly," she says in a rich, velvety voice that does all sorts of interesting things to my internal organs and one external organ. What the fuck?

Before I can form a coherent sentence, she pivots, ponytail swinging, and disappears into the throng like it's Houdini Night. Oh, no, little goddess, you aren't getting away that easily.

Not to be thwarted by a high-heeled retreat, I decide I'm far too interested in this enigma of a woman to just let her disappear. Without stopping to consider my actions, I follow her through the crowd, spotting her slipping down a long hallway that I assume leads to the back.

I hasten my pace, my cape doing its level best to trip me, until I arrive outside a storeroom where I find her muttering to herself while she digs through a large cardboard box.

Stepping into the room, I accidentally kick over a box of black plastic bats. As the black toys spill out across the shiny, treated-concrete floor, she spins around, eyes wide, a startle running through her like she's ready to either scream or throw a novelty skeleton at me.

"Fuck a duck! Are you trying to give me a freaking heart attack?" she gasps, clutching a plastic skull as though it's a makeshift weapon.

"Whoa, sorry!" I raise my hands in mock surrender, wondering why I'm fucking this up so badly. One look at her and I turned into a dipshit with no common sense and two left feet. "No, I was trying to talk to you when you walked away."

Her expression shifts from shocked to deadpan, and there's something about the way she composes herself and glares at me that causes my cock to turn rock hard. "Excuse me." She throws her hands down on her luscious hips and lifts her adorable chin. "You should've gotten the hint that me walking away meant I'm busy and don't have time to talk."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "I figured it meant I had to try harder," I counter, flashing the charming grin I use to get my ass out of tight spots. "So, here I am."

She looks at me for a long moment, deciding whether or not this earns me the right to stay. The challenge in her eyes causes my blood to heat. I'm not sure if I want to spank her ass or kiss her and beg for forgiveness.

"You're in the employees-only part of the bar." I guess she isn't in a forgiving mood. "So, Mr. I Didn't Get the Message The First Time , what can I do for you, besides not calling security?"