Clare sat at the bar, a beer in front of her. As she glanced down the long, black surface she saw other women, their brightly colored and sweet drinks set in front of them. She had never really been a fan of the sweet drinks. When she wanted a drink, she wanted a real drink. Beer was her go to, but sometimes she would dabble in whiskey or rum. If she was going to drink hard liquor she liked to feel it burn as it went down.
She glanced down at the tight black dress she was wearing. It was cut just low enough to attract attention. Her black pumps weren't exactly the most practical of shoes, but she had her reasons for wearing them, and they made her legs look amazing. As she looked at the other women she was glad to see that she really didn't stand out. At least, she didn't look like she was trying to stand out. She still managed to attract a few stares from a few of the men and women around her.
She sighed, glancing back at her beer bottle.
She had been at this conference for three days, and already she was growing bored. Lectures and demonstrations got old, especially when it was stuff you already knew. She had lived most of what these people just speculated about. She had faced ghosts and demons. She had stared world ending deities down, and she hadn't flinched.
Most of the people here would wet themselves if they had seen what she had seen.
"Not much of a people person?" A man slid into the seat next to her. He was tall, handsome, with a chiseled face and broad shoulders. His sandy brown hair seemed messy, but in a very intentional way. "I've seen you down here every night this week, and not once have I seen you talk to anyone."
"I don't really have much to talk to them about." Clare kept her eyes on her drink.
"I'm Max, Max West. Maybe you've heard of me." He smiled.
She had. She wasn't impressed. Max West was 'The Ghost Hunter', a TV star who used the paranormal and supernatural to further his career. He was a fake, a fraud and from a few rumors she had heard, a complete coward and cad.
"I know who you are." He leaned in close. His breath smelled of cheap whiskey. "You're a self proclaimed 'demon slayer'. Clare, right? Everyone here is talking about you. Think most of them are scared of you."
"Then you should also know that I don't have time for men like you." Clare finally looked at him, throwing an icy stare his way.
"Men like me?" He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Famous? Wealthy? Respected?"
"Fake." Clare upturned her beer, finishing it off. "You fool people into believing. You take doctored video, photos, audio, and you show it to them like it's proof of life after death, and then you take their money. You give people false hope, and honestly, you make me sick."
Clare turned, getting up from her seat. Max just watched her, slightly stunned.
"How do you know it's fake?" His voice hinted at growing anger.
"Because I've seen the real thing." Clare glanced at him over her shoulder. "You couldn't handle the real thing."
"I could." He was on his feet now, following her. His cool was quickly fading, and his booze born bluster was coming through. "I mean, I have. I'm a pro."
Clare stopped, turning to him. Her eyes were like daggers. "You really think you could handle the real thing?"
"Of course!" He was starting to shout.
"Then how about we pay the spirits of this hotel a little visit?" A sly smile spread on Clare's lips.
"This... This hotel?" He seemed to choke on his words.
"Yep." She crossed her arms. "Chicken?"
He shook his head.
"Good. Then follow me." She smiled, then turned, and walked out of the bar with Max in tow.
"Good. Then follow me." She smiled, then turned, and walked out of the bar with Max in tow.
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