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I bite back a smile. I like her already.

Georgie explodes forward like a champagne cork, and every last inch of her is pulsating with excitement.

“Countess Clawdia Noir!” She clutches her chest. “I have seen every single episode of Midnight Mausoleum. Every. Single. One. Including the Thanksgiving special where you hosted in a Pilgrim collar made of bones!”

Clawdia’s expression shifts to something between amusement and genuine surprise. “You remember that episode?”

“I have it on VHS.” Georgie is already digging in her enormous purse. “Can I get your autograph? I collect locks of hair from interesting people and you are officially the most interesting person I’ve met since that man in Atlantic City who claimed he invented Velcro. I’m making a memory doll.”

Mom closes her eyes for a moment. “Georgie.” A memory doll? She’s going to need to hang onto that doll because clearly she’s losing her ever-loving mind.

“What?” Georgie balks. “I’m networking.”

Clawdia gives a deep belly laugh, and it transforms her entire face. “I adore you to pieces. What’s your name?”

“Georgie Conner. Professional chaos agent and part-time muse to many, especially the hot among us.”

There are no truer words.

Mom nods as well because she can personally attest to it, too. At least the part about chaos.

“Well, Georgie Conner,” Clawdia says, leaning in a notch, “we’re doing audience-participation events all week. Various workshops, costume contests, interactive panels. You should absolutely sign up.”

Georgie’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Absolutely. In fact—” Clawdia turns to Morticia. “Can we get Georgie and her friend registered for the full week?”

Morticia’s already making a note on her clipboard. “Of course.”

“Hear that?” Georgie grabs Mom’s arm. “We’re doing it, Preppy!”

Mom blinks. “We’re doing what?”

“Participating! In the horror-diva activities! Think of the food, fun, and men. Plus, it’ll be educational!”

Mom scoffs. “It’ll be a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Same thing.” Georgie winks and seals the deal on that legally binding promise.

Morticia looks up from her clipboard and smiles at Mackenzie and me. “You two should really participate as well. We’re encouraging everyone to dress up as their own version of a horror hostess. And there will be plenty of very luxurious prizes given away all week.”

Mackenzie’s expression suggests she’d rather eat shards of glass. “I’m the mayor. I don’t dress up.” And I certainly don’t participate in anything that might photograph poorly. That’s Bizzy’s department.

I openly frown at her for having the thought. She might be right, but I don’t have to like it.

“Oh, come on, Mayor Woods,” Clawdia says with a sly smile. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

Before Mackenzie can respond—and I’m guessing that response would involve several near-miss expletives and a thinly veiled threat—a woman walks past carrying what looks to be a plate stacked dangerously high with desserts.

“Vampyra!” Clawdia calls out, and the woman stops. “Well, if it isn’t Vampyra Vex!”

She turns, and I get my first good look at her.

Vampyra Vex is petite with curves that her deep purple corset is absolutely not hiding, dark curls pinned up with small silver bat clips, and the warmest smile I’ve seen all night. She’s wearing a velvet choker with a tiny vial of what I’m hoping is fake blood, and she’s got a presence that makes you want to be her friend immediately.

She heads over, balancing her dessert plate with impressive skill. “Clawdia, my wicked little pumpkin! This festival is absolutely to die for!”

Clawdia’s smile sharpens just slightly. “Vampyra, this is Bizzy Baker—she runs the inn. And this is Mayor Woods, and Georgie, and Ree.”