I knocked on the library door. Behind it, I could hear an audio track and hushed voices under it. I knocked again and waited.

Amy, who must have been the one on duty with the monitors tonight, finally opened the door.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to speak to Joey,” I said.

“Er, ah—” She glanced over her shoulder. Looked like she was thinking about whether she’d screw up by letting me talk to Provost—or by not letting me talk to him. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not really. I just have a couple of suggestions for him. You know. To really make the show pop.” Heh. I knew just enough of the lingo to make me dangerous.

“What is it?” Provost called from inside.

I preempted Amy by calling back, “It’s me! I wanted to talk to you for a sec. If that’s okay.”

Provost appeared at the door then, and Amy scampered away and out of the cross fire.

“Kitty! What can I do for you?” He pretended to sound happy to see me. However, the tension in his face showed annoyance.

“Hi. I’m just here breaking the fourth wall. Or fifth wall. I’m not really sure how the metaphor applies here.”

“Is there something wrong? What do you need?”

“I have a little theory I want to run by you.”

He stepped out of the library and closed the door behind him. We were standing in an isolated corner now, watching each other, waiting.

I said, “Are you really working for SuperByte Entertainment? Or do you report back to someone else, and there’s an ulterior motive to all this?”

He chuckled. “That’s kind of crazy-sounding,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. But look at it from a certain point of view. You’ve gathered together almost all the public movers and shakers who have anything to do with the supernatural, who personally know lots of others. And now you’re tracking their every move, recording their scheming. And it’s like you’re gathering information. Or waiting for something to happen.”

“Like what?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. But do you by any chance know a vampire named Roman?”

His expression turned thoughtful. I couldn’t tell whether I had touched a nerve or not; he was unreadable. “No. But I’d sure love to meet him. Maybe bring him on if we do a second season.”

That would be so very bad… “It’s not that I’m accusing you personally of anything. But I wonder if we’re all dupes, and there’s someone who’s manipulating all of this. A puppet master pulling the strings.”

He stared at me, and I couldn’t tell if he thought I was crazy, or if he was the crazy one, I’d gotten everything right, and he was about to go gonzo on me.

Finally, he chuckled nervously. The look in his eyes was spooked. So, he thought I was crazy. I could live with that.

“I suppose you’d have to develop a pretty good imagination, and a pretty healthy paranoia, given what you are,” he said. “You’d have to believe in the unbelievable.”

It wasn’t a denial. He didn’t give me the smarmy Hollywood reassurances I expected. We continued sizing each other up.

“I guess if you really were in on some kind of conspiracy, I couldn’t expect you to come out and admit it. Maybe I just wanted to see the look in your eyes. Just in case.”

The smile still looked nervous. Which was probably understandable, given a werewolf was standing here accusing him of plotting.

“There’s no conspiracy,” he said. Then his expression brightened. “But if you want to play that up, that could be a great thread for the show. I’ll mention it to the editors. We could get this whole suspense-thriller thing going.”

That was the response I should have expected. “Okay. You do that.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to it.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the library. I waved a quick farewell and trundled back to the living room.

“Well?” Grant said when I’d returned.

“I think he thought I was crazy,” I said. “Oh well. I had to try it.”

Anastasia tilted her head. “Should we consider that maybe he’s a really good actor?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess we’re back to watch and wait.” They still held themselves in wary stances. But at least they weren’t poking at each other anymore. “You guys are done with all the veiled accusations?”

Anastasia’s lip curled. “For now.”

I threw up my hands and marched upstairs.

Again, I awoke far too early, and far too grouchy. I was having nightmares about Roman and thinking too much about vampire conspiracies.

I went downstairs to get the coffeemaker started. It wouldn’t turn on. In fact, the whole kitchen was quiet, still—no hum from the refrigerator, no rattle from the furnace. I tried the light switch—nothing. The lodge ran on a combination of solar power and gasoline generator. Something must have gone out.

I went to the library door and knocked. Not that Provost and company would be at work this early; I wasn’t surprised when no one answered. I went in. A trio of chairs sat in front of wide tables, filled with TV monitors and equipment. All the monitors were dead—nothing was on, not even the red lights on the power strips. Upstairs, Provost and his production crew were using the three rooms at the end of the hallway. I went to Provost’s door next. I knocked—and got no answer.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?” Grant stood halfway down the hall, near his own room. He was neatly dressed as always. I wondered if he ever changed clothes and went to bed.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The power’s gone out. I was going to tell Provost, but I can’t find him.”

Brow creased thoughtfully, he went to the light switch at the top of the stairs, flipped it a couple of times. Not because he didn’t believe me, I was sure. He just had to try it himself. Nothing happened. “Odd,” he said.

I leaned close to the door and called, “Joey?” I took a chance and cracked the door.

The room was empty, the beds undisturbed. The other two crew rooms were also empty, though suitcases sat in the corners and clothes lay on one of the beds. Grant joined me, looking into the rooms over my shoulder.

“Thoughts?” I said. He shook his head, pensive. I squeezed around him and went back downstairs, to retrieve the satellite phone from the library. It ran on batteries, and it was time to make a call.