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Jeremy bent to read the schedule posted behind a cracked glass case.
"So what are we booked under?" I asked. "The New Age Alternate Lifestyle conference?"
"No, the Corporate Technology Workshop."
"Great. Witches without broomsticks, teleport spells, or imaginations. What's next? If there are vampires in there, they probably drink artificial blood plasma substitute. Sterilized, of course."
"If there are vampires, they'd be in their crypts right now. It's daylight."
"So, in that case, I can logically conclude that vampires don't exist, right? If they did, they'd be at the meeting. And if they were coming to the meeting, it'd be held at night. Ergo a daytime meeting means no vampires. Bonus."
"Not a big vampire fan?"
"It's not that. Think about it. Witches, sorcerers, magicians, whatever ... they're minor-league bad. If such things existed, they wouldn't be more than gifted humans. Werewolves are major league. No magic sleight of hand can top our big trick. Add superhuman strength, preternatural senses, and a really nasty attitude--"
"Speak for yourself."
"Present company excepted. Point being, witches have nothing on us. But vampires? Vampires could be more powerful. They certainly get better press. I might walk into that meeting and find out I'm not the baddest thing in the room."
"Maybe not, but you'll still be the baddest thing alive in the room."
I grinned. "The undead angle. Hadn't thought of that."
"Proper categorization is the key. Now let's get inside."
Jeremy pulled on the door. It didn't budge.
"Locked," he said.
He paused a moment, as if considering whether to knock, but I knew he wouldn't. The Alpha of the werewolves did not wait to be admitted to any so-called meeting of the supernatural. Jeremy yanked on the door, but it didn't break, didn't even quaver.
"Guess the powers are bound to fail once you hit a certain age," I said. "Allow me."
Jeremy stepped aside with a mocking half-bow. I grabbed the door handle and heaved with enough force that the door should have flown from its hinges. It didn't move.
"Oh," I said.
"Oh, indeed. Perhaps you could huff and puff and blow the door down."
An image from Pittsburgh came to me. Lock-pick guy complaining about the Winterbourne's hotel-room door.
"A spell," I said. "They've cast a spell on it. Guess we have to knock."
"Be my guest."
That was embarrassing. Werewolves knocking at the door. What was the world coming to? Still, we had no choice. I knocked and a few moments later, Paige answered.
Her eyes widened as she opened the door. "You're early."
"Is that a problem?" Jeremy asked, his voice pure silk.
Paige glanced up at him, hesitated, then shook her head. "No, of course not. Come in and meet everyone."
CHAPTER 6
INTRODUCTIONS
As Paige led us down the hall, we could see the main room ahead. There were four people on folding chairs around a folding wooden table, the type of furniture found in church basements every where. Looking at the four, I was relieved--or perhaps slightly disappointed--to note a complete absence of cloven hooves and unsightly body appendages. The four looked as if they could have really been at a conference, albeit a casual midsummer conference in cottage country.
