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“Hey! Larry!”

Larry spun at Zee’s voice.

“Choke on this,” Zee thrust a lollipop between Larimer’s tight lips and smacked it home. The concierge choked, stumbled . . . and dropped the handset. It clattered to the floor, and to the sounds of Larimer’s wheezing, plumes of static black smoke bellowed from the handset to form a distinctive Tom Collins outline.

“If anyone is going to yell at these three embarrassments to the hospitality industry,” Tom began, striding toward Larimer. “It’s me.” And with that, and despite being ghost-like, he grabbed Larimer by the head and slammed his face down into the reception desk. Sparks and bits of metal and dirt, like brick dust, sprang from cracks in Larimer’s skull.

“Fuck me sideways with a Wiggly Wizard,” Zee gasped.

Tom Collins slammed his face into the desk a second time, then pinned him there and leaned in. “You hear that?”

We all listened.

“I said . . . you hear that?” Tom let Larimer go and straightened. He tugged at his burgundy silk vest and swept a hand over his impeccable hair. “Must I do everything myself?”

Wait . . . we were supposed to do something?

What was I missing? “Erm . . .”

“The bell?” Tom said. “You do have it?”

“Oh! Fuck. The bell. Right.” Zee reached behind him, produced the silver bell, and tossed it to Tom.

Our overqualified bartender snatched it out of the air, and—ding! Beside Larimer’s head. Larimer twitched. Sparks buzzed from his ears. His hair fizzed. “As concierges go, you are the worst I’ve seen, and that includes the extremely low bar from when Zodiac attempted it.”

“Excuse-moi?”

I gawked, watching all this, Tom absolutely and literally killing it. Tom was badass.

“Are you three going to stand there and gawk while I keep Larimer busy, or are you going to head down those stairs and stop the fae from freezing this entire hotel with everyone in it? I can escape—phone lines don’t freeze—but you can’t.”

Grinding Larimer’s broken, twitching face into the reception desk, Tom Collins smiled and plucked the lollipop from the broken golem’s mouth then slotted it between his own. Even though he didn’t technically have a body to uhm . . . suck with. “I should get out more,” he said with a smile.

“Ew.” Zee icked.

Right. Okay then. It seemed Larimer was in Tom’s capable hands, and as I turned back toward Victor, I noticed some of the other SOS Hotel cosplayers had stopped in the foyer to admire our barman’s spontaneous arrival.

“Now may be the opportune moment to distract Frostweaver,” Victor suggested, as events had taken on their own momentum.

“I am on it!” Zee announced, then poofed away.

“Did he just go straight to the cellar without us?”

Victor sighed. “I suspect so.”

We had to get down there, and fast. “Everyone, we need you to distract Stephanie. Head on downstairs with us. Confuse her with your uh . . . costumes.” I gestured at a nearby pretend Zee and Victor, the contrast between bubbly, colorful demon and grouchy, gray-suit-clad vampire might just be enough to distract the fae without much fuss. “We’ll do the rest. Please know . . . this is just an ask. You do not have to do this. We will not be offended if you choose⁠—”

“SOS Hotel! Supernaturally safe for all!” they chanted.

Oh-kay then. We headed down the secret staircase, with Victor in front.

We spilled into the ice-cold cellar.

Vapor crawled across the floor, hiding our feet as we moved through the room. The chambers were empty of their frozen occupants . . . and of Zee.

No Stephanie either.

This wasn’t good.