The invitation smelled of ozone and old library books.
Elara Vance stood in the middle of the Meow & Bow, holding the black envelope. The courier who delivered it had vanished in a puff of cheap fog machine smoke.
"Public Domain Horror," Elara read. "Great. My favorite genre. The one where everyone makes bad decisions and dies in the first ten minutes."
"I am vibrating with anticipation," Aldren Vance declared. He was already rummaging through a trunk labeled [SPOOKY PROPS]. He pulled out a candelabra. "Finally! A genre that respects the aesthetic of the night! I shall be the guide. I know all the rules."
"Rules?" Kaelen Thorne asked. He was sitting at a table, looking pale. He was still wearing his racing suit, but he was gripping a coffee mug with white knuckles.
"Rule Number One," Aldren recited, lighting a candle (even though the electric lights were on). "Never split up. Rule Number Two: If you hear a noise, do not investigate. Rule Number Three: If the music stops, run."
