“Have a good night,” he said. “Don’t get?—”

“I won’t get eaten,” Luna said. “God. Have a good flight, you warm bastard. Love you.”

“Love you,”he echoed like an afterthought.

The lobby was empty once again. The ceiling leaked a steady stream into a new bucket, the wood creaking. Faint music drifted in from the hallway.

Luna shivered, dragging her itchy robe closer around her. She was wearing socks, but she wished they provided complimentary slippers along with this robe. And a hairdryer. Her hair was a limp, frigid press against her cheeks.

She was about to follow the music down the hall when a flash of blue caught her eye. She looked over and saw the mystery booze Oliver had been drinking perched at the edge of the front desk.

Luna paused. The bottle was pretty, all slim and curvy in ways that didn’t match this small, shabby little inn. This was a bottle that belonged at a cool loft party. Or, Luna considered as she picked it up by its strange warped handle, a Halloween party. It wouldn’t look out of place in some fairy ritual.

“Or werewolf ritual,” Luna mumbled and snorted.

It didn’t have a label, but that guy had been drinking it. It had to be safe. And if it had wolfsbane in it, Luna would just get drunka lotfaster.

She lifted the bottle.

The roof creaked again. This time, it was so loud it overtook the howl of snow outside.

Luna paused, the bottle resting against her lips.

After one more creak, the wood fell silent.

Luna shrugged and tipped the bottle back. Shinyliquid ran into her mouth. It tasted… strange. Bitter with a fruity aftertaste. But the strangest part was that it waswarm. Nothing in this room was warm. Maybe it was from the guy holding it, body heat leaching from his hand and through the glass, transferring into the liquid sliding down her throat.

Luna pulled back, smacking her lips.

“Huh,” she said.

Then the ceiling fell in.

One second everything was normal, just a steady stream of water falling into the bucket. Then there was a horrible crack that made Luna jump, wood and metal collapsing into the carpet to reveal a hole in the roof.

Luna shrieked. Snow swirled in through the hole, cold wind whipping her robe. It wasn’tstorminganymore, but it was still snowing hard, and Luna immediately broke into goosebumps.

People came tearing around the corner. A succubus arrived first, tail arcing over his massive wings. Then a minotaur holding a vase of lilies, his snout falling open in shock.

“Oh, shit,” said the succubus. He turned back toward the hallway, calling down it, “Everybody owes Jackson ten bucks! The roof caved in!”

“The roof didnot,” came that infuriating voice. Then it stopped, Hot Jackass coming to a standstill in the lobby as he stared up at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

Grandmother Musgrove arrived beside him, strands of hair falling out of her neat bun.

“What happened?” she asked. Her eyes widened on Luna. “Oh.Oh.”

An older werewolf stumbled to a stop behind them, panting. He was wizened and hairy, a burn scar blotching his chin and neck. His gaze fell not on the hole, but on Luna, an ugly scowl creasing his face.

More monsters poured into the lobby. Minotaurs with party hats between their horns, dragons in scuffed overalls. Chimeras, gargoyles, orcs, vampires, a mermaid in a wheelchair.

Luna barely looked at them. She was too busy staring back at the ever-growing pack of werewolves, all of whom were staring right at her. The scarred old man was still scowling; several kids were frowning at their parents in confusion.

Oliver kneaded his forehead. Luna could hear his teeth grinding even over the wind and music, which nobody had turned off. The macarena drifted down the hallway, heading to a crescendo.

“Whathappened?” Oliver snapped.

Grandmother Musgrove cocked her head. She wasn’t staring at Luna, she realized. She was staring at the bottle in her hand, her expression opening in puzzled wonder.