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Chapter 1
AUTUMN
There are three things I know for certain about Halloween in Devil’s Peak.
The pumpkins are overpriced, the bourbon is stronger than advertised, and absolutely nothing good happens when my best friends start a sentence with, Trust us.
Which explains why I’m standing backstage at the Blackthorn Hotel, dressed like a witch who charges by the hour, waiting for a roomful of wealthy strangers to bid on a date with me.
“This is humiliating,” I mutter, tugging down the hem of my black velvet dress.
“It’s charitable,” my best friend, Clara, corrects.
“My ass is practically hanging out.”
“Also charitable.”
I shoot her a look. She grins and adjusts the crooked point of my witch’s hat.
“Besides, you look incredible. If I weren’t happily taken, I’d bid on you myself.”
“How much?”
“Twenty bucks. Maybe thirty if you throw in a cinnamon roll.”
“Some friend you are.”
“Your cinnamon rolls are excellent.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling when the auctioneer’s voice booms through the curtains.
“Next up, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special treat!”
“Oh, God.” I grab Clara’s wrist. “I changed my mind.”
“Too late.”
“Tell them I have food poisoning.”
“You’re a baker. That’s terrible advertising.”
“Tell them I’m contagious.”
“With what? Good looks and excellent pastry skills?”
Before I can answer, she gives me a shove toward the stage.
Traitor.
I stumble through the velvet curtains and into the ballroom of the Blackthorn Hotel, Devil’s Peak’s oldest and most notoriously haunted establishment.
The place looks like Dracula hired an expensive wedding planner. Black roses spill from silver urns, hundreds of candles flicker beneath crystal chandeliers, and carved pumpkins grin from every table. Guests in elaborate masks lounge beneath the soaring ceilings, sipping champagne and pretending they aren’t here to watch their neighbors embarrass themselves for charity.
I spot Uncle Hank near the bar, wearing a pirate hat and drinking something amber. He’s not my uncle specifically, that’s just what everyone calls him. He’s everyone's Uncle Hank, I guess.
He raises his glass.
“That’s a girl!”
