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"They really got you doing everything around here, huh, Red?"
Wraith says as she sits down on a stool, watching as the tall lanky man behind the bar gives her a charming smile.
"It's always my pleasure to serve The Baroness and its guests in whatever capacity I can."
She doesn't know his name, has only heard of him referred to as the doorman, which is pretty stupid considering he does more than that. Receptionist, waiter, janitor—and now bartender. A real jack of all trades, this guy.
Which is why Wraith always tips so generously, making it a point to make small talk and be more open around him. After all, the people going around doing odd jobs are the ones who tend to know the most about any goings-on.
That's why she's here tonight. To learn more about a specific going-on.
"So," she starts, swirling her glass of whiskey, "you've been working here a long time."
"Yes," he beams. "Since the hotel's inception, really."
She has to hold back a snort, hiding it by taking a sip. Never met a guy who loves being in customer service more than—wait… did he just say—
"Since its inception?" She stares at his face in disbelief. "You don't look a day over thirty. What do you mean by—?"
"Tell me, Miss Wraith," he says, smoothly cutting her off with a fresh drink. "What are you really here for?"
She stills. Glances up at his placid smile. She returns it with a carefree one of her own.
"What makes you think I'm here for anything other than bottomless mimosas?"
"Other than the fact you haven't ordered one?" Red chuckles. "Why, I've known you long enough to recognize that look in your eye. That look of want." He leans closer, just the slightest bit, electric blue gaze fixed on her. "And you've known me long enough to know I hate to leave any of my guests wanting. So? What is it?"
Wraith blinks, before letting out a huff, trying to brush off the unsettlement in her chest with a sip of her drink. "Jesus. Am I really that easy to read?"
He laughs. "As I've said, I've merely known you long enough."
"Well, hopefully you're the only one," she huffs. She casts a glance around the lounge, noting the hustle and bustle of the evening crowd. She sets down her glass and leans forward, words sotto voce. "This place… it's not normal, is it?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Miss Wraith, this is the most haunted hotel in the tri-state area. Of course it's not normal."
"Not what I meant," she says, interest piqued by the deflection. "You host some of the city's most infamous people. Celebrities. Politicians. Crime lords. And yet not a single one of them has been assassinated. Hell, there are even rumors of contract killers straight up rejecting jobs once they find out the target's staying here."
"Your point?"
"My point," she leans closer, "is that there are protections here that my casino could use. And I'm real interested in knowing what those protections could be."
"Oh dear," his smile drops into a regretful frown, and he goes to pick up a glass and cloth. "I'm afraid that information is not one I could share."
"Ah, c'mon, Red," she says. "What's a little sharing between friends? I thought I was beginning to grow on you."
"I do like you, Wraith, which is why I'm warning you. I'd hate for you to die over something so… inconsequential."
A thrill runs down her spine, because that right there? That's confirmation. A bread crumb she can follow.
"Then how about a bet?" He pauses mid-polish, and Wraith presses on. "A round of poker. I win, you tell me what I want. You win, and… I guess you tell me what you want, Red."
"Poker?" he repeats, brow raised. "How pedestrian."
She scowls at the insult to her favorite game. "Then what do you wanna play, jackass? Bridge? Solitaire?"
"Oh, no. Those are equally as pedestrian." He shakes his head primly, before returning to his task, picking up a new glass to polish. "You humans and your frivolous little pastimes."
Wraith tenses, something about the way he says it putting her on edge. Something soft and otherworldly lining his words.
Only then does she notice how quiet it's gotten.
She casts a quick glance around, hackles raising when she sees the once-full lounge now empty of people. No music, no chatter.
Just her and the man behind the bar. If he even is one.
"Counteroffer," he sets down the glass. Wraith barely hears the clink of it over the blood rushing in her ears. "You walk through that door—"
Ding.
She whips around, and sees an elevator to her right, the scissor gate sliding open with a loud clang.
"—and you learn what you want."
She swallows. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," his eyes meet hers, irises glowing faintly, "is whether or not you manage to survive knowing."
Her heart rate shoots up, adrenaline spiking through her veins and sweat gathering on her palms, and yet—
"And all I gotta do is survive?"
"Yes."
She holds his gaze for a long moment, then she finishes her drink and places her bet. Stands. Makes her way over to the elevator.
He laughs. Loud, echoing and giddy.
"Oh, you are simply delightful!" He claps his gloved hands together. "You're not betting on your own ability to survive. You're betting on whether I'm benevolent enough to keep you alive."
She grins. "Well, you did say you like me. Guess I just like my odds."
His smile sharpens, cheeks rising in a way that should be anatomically impossible. "Ever the gambler."
She stops, looking over her shoulder.
"What's your real name, Red?"
He smiles, bows. "You may refer to me as The Doorman."
"Weird name, but alright. Well," Wraith tips her hat, "be seeing you, Doorman."
And with that, she steps through that impossible gateway.