Rocked by Love (Gargoyles, #4)(75)
When she had spotted enough stares and whispers, she checked the clock to be certain the next session was about to begin before she tapped Wynn’s arm. “I think we’re good. Let’s get out of here.”
“No, wait.” Wynn continued to face her, smiling, but her gaze was fixed over Kylie’s right shoulder. “I just saw a couple of guys take a cart loaded with electrical equipment toward the sign pointing to the auditorium. It looks like they may already be setting it up. Maybe luck is actually on our side.”
Kylie made a noncommittal sound. She didn’t plan on counting any chickens, personally. “All right. What’s the closest minisession to the auditorium?”
Wynn flipped through her program. “Let me see. Um, it looks like ‘The Technology of Social Justice’ with Armand DuClare.”
“Perfect. It sounds like something a techhead would go to, but I’ve never heard of the presenter. That means there won’t be any need to meet and greet, and no one to contradict me if I have to say I was there. Let’s go.”
The women strolled through the convention lobby with their complimentary reusable canvas tote bags on their arms. Kylie kept a discreet eye peeled for anyone who might know her well enough to waylay her, but honestly she tended to steer away from the do-gooder philanthropical crowd. Not because she didn’t support philanthropy and doing good, but because she kept her head in the bits and bytes and let her accountants worry about making her contributions. To her, it was just another form of point and click while she got on with her work.
Which reminded her, she didn’t think any of Richard Foye-Carver’s little projects was on her list of approved charities, but she thought it might be a good idea to call someone and double-check. Just to be safe. Wouldn’t it suck large to find out she’d been unknowingly financing the very people who were trying to kill her and as many other innocent people in this world as possible?
Ick.
Wynn and Kylie lingered in the hall while the crowd slowly began to thin out as people and groups disappeared into the various meeting areas for the breakout symposia. When the area outside the auditorium was clear, Kylie waved her friend to follow and chose the farthest door in the corner to ease open and peek inside.
No one even noticed.
The floor of the auditorium hosted huge racks of chairs ready to be unloaded and placed in rows and aisles according to the markings taped to the polished concrete. Around the perimeter of the room, balconies on three sides boasted permanent theater-style seating. At the far end of the room, workers and technicians scurried around erecting a long low stage and rigging lights and screens for what would obviously be a multimedia presentation. Didn’t want anyone thinking Richard Foye-Carver might be behind the times.
A sharp finger in the back forced Kylie into the room. Wynn followed right on her heel. “Ouch! What the heck was that for?” Kylie hissed.
“Standing in the hall with the door half open and your butt hanging out is a heck of a lot more conspicuous that just coming inside and taking a look around. Like actual conference attendees can’t be curious?” Wynn took out her cell phone and began snapping pictures. “Besides, I wanted to get this on camera.”
“Excuse me, ladies?”
A man’s voice carried toward them through the nearly empty auditorium. Just what Kylie had been afraid of—ten seconds inside the damned place, and already they had called attention to themselves.
A man in his thirties wearing a loose-fitting gray suit approached them at a fast clip, with a patently false public-service smile on his face. “I’m so sorry, ladies,” he said, arms out to herd them through the door, “but this part of the facility is off limits at the moment. We’re setting up for tomorrow’s event, and insurance won’t allow us to have the public around all the heavy lights and electrical equipment. You understand.”
His tone said he didn’t care if they understood or not, he was making them go. Glancing at the pin on his lapel revealed that he worked for the convention center, though, not Carver or his foundation, so Kylie relaxed a little. Chances of him being nocturni at least had gone down a few notches.
She was about to order him to take a chill when Wynn opened her mouth and played dumb.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m being such a tourist,” the witch gushed, painting a little bit of Chicago into her voice. “I’m making my friend here show me everything. But we totally understand your concerns. I mean, I wouldn’t want one of those great big light boxes falling on my head, that’s for sure. We’ll just get back to our session.”
The member of the convention staff offered them another fake smile and an instruction to enjoy their day, then snapped the doors closed approximately three inches from their faces.
Wynn looked at her, one eyebrow arched. “Why do I feel like he just told us no one gets in to see the Wizard?”
“Yeah, well, the wizard can kish mir en tokhes. Let’s go show the boys what we found.”
“Do you think what we got is enough?”
“I think it’s the best we’re going to get. Between the photos you took and the plans and photos I should be able to dig up, I’m sure we can figure something out. Besides, we left four Guardians alone with Fil. I’m afraid to stay away too long.”
“True, but Ella’s there, too. She should be able to keep the peace. Maybe.”