The Mystery Megapack

gave me a look. “There’s no need to disturb Mr. Masters.”
    Since I knew there were twenty people already in there, I didn’t think one more would hurt, especially since it was a buffet. “I’ll go ask him.” But Pinky continued to block the door.
    “Don’t bother. Mr. Masters informed me that he doesn’t want to spend any further time with this woman.”
    “You’re lying!” Girl Friday shrieked. “Bane would never say that.”
    Pinky just stared at her.
    “You’re lying,” she said again, her voice cracking. Then her face crumpled, and she ran off down the hallway, sobbing like a woman betrayed by her idol.
    “Geez, Pinky,” Elliot said. “Do you think you could have said something to make her feel worse?”
    “I wouldn’t have said it if Regina hadn’t interfered.”
    “Regina is head of security,” Elliot snapped. “Doing her job is hardly interfering.”
    “Regina assigned me to Mr. Masters, and I’m meeting my obligations the best way I know how. If she wants me to step aside …”
    They both looked at me, finally acknowledging that I was right there, even though I wished I weren’t. “No, Pinky, you keep doing what you’re doing.”
    He nodded, mollified, and I started toward the restaurant, with Elliot close behind.
    “Who does he think he is?” Elliot wanted to know. “Why are you putting up with him?”
    “Because he knows what he’s doing,” I said, leaving unsaid the thought that maybe I didn’t.
    The rest of the afternoon went reasonably smoothly. We had to defuse a couple of arguments over seats at Bane’s talk, but the talk itself was a big success. The afternoon’s panels went fine, too, and a gap in programming at dinner time meant we redshirts could meet for pizza. Except for Pinky, of course, who was maintaining watch over his subject, and Shannon, who’d suddenly remembered she was in the costume contest and wouldn’t be helping with security for the night. By the time we’d eaten and planned the evening’s coverage, it was time for the masquerade.
    The first part of the costume contest went fine. Of course, getting the contestants into the right order was the masquerade staff’s headache, not ours, and the tech crew was in charge of setup, lights and sound. All we had to do was make sure nobody snuck into the ballroom early and when the time came, resolve the inevitable arguments over seats. After that, we got to relax and enjoy the show.
    Though I wasn’t all that happy with her, I loyally cheered for Shannon, who was dressed as a woods-dwelling sprite who’d lured Bane to her tree in Season Two. Or rather, undressed, because sprites wear fur bikinis with boots. At least Shannon could carry off the skimpy outfit, unlike some of the other contestants.
    Once the procession of werewolves, werewolf hunters, miscellaneous lycanthropes, and other Werewolf Hunter characters had paraded across the stage, the judges retired to deliberate while a band came on stage to perform “Werewolves of London,” “Bad Moon Rising,” and other appropriate songs.
    All the judges were supposed to go to the control room, which had been emptied for that purpose, but after they left, Pinky buzzed me on the walkie-talkie.
    “Regina? Pinky, in the main corridor with Mr. Masters, en route to his suite. He prefers to deliberate on his own, and will join the other judges later.”
    “He’s going to get a beer, isn’t he?” I said.
    I could hear laughter when Pinky keyed his walkie-talkie, and realized Bane had heard me. “Affirmative,” Pinky said dryly. In the background, I heard Bane say, “After looking at that lot, I deserve it!”
    Feeling like a complete idiot, I asked, “Do you need backup?”
    “Negative. The halls are clear.”
    “Good enough. Call me if you change locations.”
    “Roger.”
    Then I checked with Elliot, who’d accompanied the other judges. Since they hadn’t expected much input from Bane, they were perfectly willing to carry on without him.
    The band was followed by a demonstration of sword fighting, but despite the fighters’ best efforts, the crowd was fidgety. There was a constant flow of people going to the bathroom, or to grab a Coke from a machine, or just deciding they’d rather party now and find out who the winners were the next day.
    I knew the contestants had to be sweating bullets. Competition is always fierce, but the stakes this time were higher than usual. At the con’s closing event, Bane was going to act out a scene