Nora and Nico slept obscenely late the next morning. They had sex upon waking, went back to sleep, and almost had sex again upon waking the second time, but decided they needed food more than sex. By then they’d missed breakfast at the B&B, but a large brunch at the Ugly Mug diner saved them from cannibalism.

Nora and Nico texted back and forth with Justine all day. She gave them suggestions galore of places to visit. Through their texting, they learned Justine was bartending by night to pay for her Master’s in Art Education by day. Justine thought it was “amazing” that Nico, barely twenty-six, had his own winery in France and begged to try some of his wine if it were for sale in Salem. She thought it was equally “amazing” that Nora was a published author. Nora promised her wine and dirty books, and Justine said if they weren’t careful, she’d tie them up in her basement and never let them leave Salem.

This, Justine texted, was how people flirted in Salem.

Nora approved.

Soon as the sun set at the ungodly early hour of six in the evening, Nora and Nico headed out on foot to a nearby haunted museum attraction Justine had recommended. Hand in hand, they wandered long dark hallways where zombies, ghosts, and demons awaited them around every corner and behind every door. In a room labelled “The Oddities,” a collection of medical nightmares that had been discovered in the home of a doctor six decades earlier were on display. Nora and Nico peered through the glass at deformed animals stuffed and mounted, tumors with hair, and even one human brain preserved in formaldehyde.

“This is so disgusting,” Nora said, wincing at the sight of a tapeworm in a jar. It was one hundred feet long that had been supposedly removed from a woman’s stomach in 1898. Proof Justine was right that time travel was for idiots.

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Nico said.

“The woman thought she was pregnant for two years, and it wasn’t a baby. It was a tapeworm.”

Nico shrugged. “In France, that’s like a...like a kid’s book. You know, a secret pet.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at him. “What happened to the French to make you all like this? Was is the Revolution? It was, wasn’t it?”

They survived the haunted house. Nora screamed and jumped twice, Nico once. In Nico’s defense, he screamed because Nora stepped on his foot. In Nora’s defense, she only stepped on his foot because a young girl in a torn and bloodstained nightgown and white facepaint reached out from under a table and grabbed her ankle with a claw-like hand.

Nico held Nora tightly and patted her back while she caught her breath.

“That was a demon,” she said. “A demon attacked me.”

“It was only a baby demon.”

“Next time you want to celebrate an American holiday, we’re celebrating motherfucking Thanksgiving.”

“You’re so cute when you’re terrified,” Nico said into her ear.

“I think I pissed myself.”

“Maybe not so cute.”

Thankfully, Nora did not piss herself, and Nico’s foot was fine. He’d been wise to wear his steel-toed work boots this evening.

Once Nora recovered from her brush with the demonic ghost girl, she was more than ready for dinner. Afterward, she and Nico picked separate rooms to get ready in for the costume party at the Highbury. She didn’t have to do much but shimmy into her cheerleader outfit and put her hair into pigtails. Nico’s costume, whatever it was, took a little longer. They were meeting Justine in front of the Highbury at nine and it wasn’t until 8:30 that Nico called out from the bathroom.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for an hour, pretty boy. You’re the one taking forever.”

“I can take forever,” Nico said. “I have all the time in the world.”

He emerged from the bathroom. He had changed into black breeches and Hessian boots, a silk vest, white shirt with an elaborate cravat, a black and silver silk jacket, very much in the classic Georgian style. He looked dashing. And a little familiar.

Nora crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the floor.

“Didn’t I tell you not to dress like Kingsley?”

“I didn’t,” Nico said.

He smiled to bare his fangs.

Nora nearly screamed again.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“You told me Interview with the Vampire was one of your favorite books.”

“And movies,” she said. “Holy...you look amazing. Can I call you Lestat? “

“I’m yours. You can call me whatever you want,” he said.

He held out his hand and she slowly slipped her fingers into his. With a quick jerk he pulled her to him, spun her so that her back rested against his chest, and dug his quite realistic fangs into her jugular vein.

“Oh...it tickles,” she said, half-laughing, half-purring. “I like it. Do you have any fake blood on you?”

He did. Nora took it and applied it to her neck.

“Now I’m a cheerleader for the damned,” she said.

“And a very sexy one,” Nico said. He was standing behind her at the mirror while she put on the fake blood makeup. His hands kept wandering under her short skirt.

“Save that for Justine.”

“I have two hands. I can grope you both.”

Nora kissed him. “Such a good boy.”

On the cab ride to the hotel, Nico was quiet, more so than usual. Nora took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

“I take good care of my property,” she said in French. “Nothing happens that you don’t want to happen.”

Nico said nothing, and simply kissed her. As it was a French kiss, she took it as a good sign.

The cab let them off a block from the hotel, which was as close as he could get on Halloween night in Salem, Massachusetts. Nora and Nico emerged into a carnival of costumes. She spotted two Iron Mans (Iron Men?), every possible type of witch (good, bad, and ugly), one slave Princess Leia (she must have been freezing her ass off), and two Captain Americas.

“Do you have anyone like Captain America in France?” Nora asked Nico as they worked their way through the crowd.

“Yes,” he said. “Charles de Gaulle.”

“Charles de Gaulle was a real person,” Nora reminded him, “not a comic book hero.”

Nico grinned, baring his fangs. “Exactement.”

She pinched his sweet undead ass for being cheeky.

They finally made it through the freak show to the Highbury. Nora couldn’t help but feel a little proud of all the admiring looks Nico received from the women they passed, and from quite a few of the men. In truth, however, she preferred the way Nico looked the other 364 days of the year, when he could be found in worn jeans and work boots, with garden shears in his hands and dirt up to his knees and elbows.

“There’s Justine,” Nora said, pointing at the girl coming through the crowd. It was impossible to miss her in her scarlet red witch’s dress and her matching red hat.

Her orange-red hair was coiffed in old-fashioned victory rolls, and she wore glamorous ruby red lipstick. She’d dressed to impress and Nora had a feeling Justine had dressed to impress Nico. Justine spied them and waved enthusiastically. They had to push past an adult baby, Catwoman, and a satanic surgeon with blood on his scrubs to get to her. Nora eyed the baby, the surgeon, and the woman in the cat suit.

“I feel like I’m back at the 8th Circle,” she said.

Nico smiled. “You had big Halloween parties there?”

“No, this is what it looked like every night.”

Justine managed to weave her way through the crush of people like she had cast a spell on them. They didn’t even seem to notice her.

“This is crazy, right?” Justine asked, bright-eyed and blushing.

“A little,” Nora said. “I’ve seen crazier. You look fabulous.”

“Thank you.” Justine patted her hair coquettishly. “Took me two hours to get my hair to do this. Hope it was worth it.”

Nico said, “Worth every second.”

Justine pointed at him and addressed Nora. “Are all Frenchmen this suave?”

“In my limited experience, yes,” Nora said.

Justine turned to Nico. “What’s the immigration process like in France right now?”

“A nightmare,” he said.

“Hmm,” Justine said. “Still gonna do it.”

Nico put one arm around Nora’s waist and the other around Justine’s as they walked up the steps of the Highbury and through the open double doors.

Nora gave the doorman their tickets—three of them—and Justine asked, “How much do I owe you for mine?”

“It’s on me,” Nora said. “You’re our date, remember?”

“Are you one of those rich writers?” Justine asked.

“I wish,” Nora said. “I’m a decently-paid writer. But I have a second job.”

“Professional cheerleader?” Justine asked.

“Dominatrix,” Nico said.

Justine’s brown eyes widened to saucers. “Wow,” she said. “Really?”

Nora nodded.

“So you weren’t kidding about the Marquis de Sade thing,” Justine said.

“I read more de Sade than I watched Family Ties,” Nora said.

“I can imagine,” Justine said. “So you’re a dominatrix and a writer. And he’s a farmer.”

“Right,” Nora said.

“So...how the hell does a dominatrix from New Orleans hook up with a French farmer?”

“Do you want the long version or the short version?” Nora asked.

“Short version first,” Justine said.

“I used to work for Nico’s father.”

“As a…writer?”

“As a dominatrix,” Nora said.

Justine looked at Nico then back at Nora. “Yeah, I’m gonna need that long version.”