Darkness Within

Marcus stood in their bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, staring at the garment bag hanging from the closet door with profound skepticism.

"A vampire," he said flatly. "You want me to dress as a vampire."

"Not a vampire," Jen corrected, circling around him with that mischievous gleam in her eyes that had first attracted him to her three years ago. "The perfect vampire. Trust me, babe, when I saw this costume, I immediately thought of you." Her fingers walked up his muscled forearm. "You're going to look absolutely devastating."

Marcus caught her hand and pulled her close, towering over her petite frame. "I was thinking more along the lines of a gladiator. Or maybe—"

"Too predictable for someone with your physique," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Every muscular guy at Derek's party is going to show up half-naked as some warrior or superhero. But this..." She glanced at the garment bag with something that might have been reverence. "This is different."

"Where'd you even find it?"

"That antique place on Mortimer Street. You know, the one we always pass but never go into?"

Marcus frowned. He knew exactly which shop she meant—a narrow storefront wedged between a vape shop and a closed-down deli, its windows so dusty and cluttered with oddities that you could barely see inside. The kind of place that seemed to exist outside of time, its interior dim even at midday. "That creepy place? Jen, seriously?"

"It's not creepy, it's atmospheric." She pulled away and unzipped the garment bag with a dramatic flourish. "The owner was this elegant older man with the most incredible accent—Romanian, I think? Or maybe Hungarian. Anyway, he said this costume has been in his family for generations. When I described you, he insisted this was meant for someone with your..." her eyes traveled appreciatively down his body, "...presence."

As the bag opened, Marcus caught a glimpse of deep black fabric that seemed to absorb the afternoon light streaming through their window. Something about it made his skin prickle.

"He gave me a really good deal too," Jen continued, carefully extracting the contents. "Almost too good. Said it needed to find the right person."

"That's not ominous at all."

"Oh, stop." She laid each piece across their bed with careful precision. "Look at the craftsmanship. You can't find quality like this anymore."

Despite his reservations, Marcus found himself moving closer. The costume was undeniably impressive. The cape alone was a work of art—black satin that caught the light like liquid shadow, lined with crimson that seemed to glow from within. The collar was tall and dramatically flared, reinforced with some kind of framework that would make it stand up regally. Silver clasps shaped like roses connected the front.

Beside it, a sheer white shirt of what appeared to be silk or high-quality satin lay pristine and ghostly pale. Victorian in style, with a high collar and elaborate ruffles at the cuffs, the fabric was so fine he could see through it to the bedspread beneath.

The pants made him pause. Black leather, polished to a mirror shine, they looked almost liquid. Not the cheap pleather costume nonsense you'd find at a Halloween store—this was genuine leather, supple and expensive-looking, cut to be worn skin-tight.

"Those are going to be... snug," he observed.

"That's rather the point." Jen's smile was pure wickedness. "The Victorian aristocrat aesthetic. Tight pants were all the rage."

A red brocade waistcoat lay beside the shirt, its pattern intricate and slightly hypnotic—swirling designs that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. Silver buttons caught the light. Next to it were tall black leather boots with silver buckles, and an array of silver jewelry: rings, a medallion on a thick chain, what looked like an antique watch on a fob.

"The shopkeeper included the jewelry," Jen said. "Said the costume wasn't complete without the 'proper ornamentation.' His words. Old-fashioned, right?"

Marcus picked up one of the rings—heavy silver with a dark red stone that gleamed like a captured drop of blood. The metal felt warm, though it had been lying on the bed. He turned it over in his fingers, noting the ornate engraving on the band. Symbols he didn't recognize.

"I don't know, Jen. This feels more like a historical costume than a Halloween outfit."

"It's a Halloween party, not a club." She moved behind him, her hands sliding around his waist. "Besides, everyone else will be in cheap polyester bought last week. You'll be the best-dressed person there. Most mysterious. Most..." her voice dropped to a purr, "...seductive."

He had to admit, there was something compelling about the ensemble. The quality alone set it apart from anything he'd ever worn. And the way Jen was looking at the costume, then at him, stirred something in his chest—not quite arousal, but adjacent to it. A strange warmth.

"Fine," he relented. "But if these pants split when I sit down—"

"They won't. Trust me." She kissed his shoulder blade and stepped back. "Get dressed. I want to see the full effect before we leave."