“You’re watching for a mystery symbol so you know when some new asshole intends to start the apocalypse, and I’m trying to learn how to get rid of these,” she rubbed the magical black marks on her neck, too hard. “And worrying about mystical Guardians and magical time-destroying artifacts, and what to do when Mom inevitably tries to murder us again. The most experienced Hunter we’ve got is preoccupied listening for rumors of a red werewolf, and we’re at a conference with the people that shut us down. A little insomnia is understandable.”

I put my arm over her shoulders and pulled Julie in close. “I do love how you always manage to look at the bright side of things.”

We stood there together for a time, me looking at the pretty flashing casino lights and Julie looking at what I could only assume from the strength of her prescription as a bunch of colorful blurs. Regardless of how strange our life was, as long as we had each other, everything was going to be fine. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. I’m going back to bed,” she finally told me. “Registration starts at nine.”

“I don’t think I can fall back to sleep just yet.”

“I said I was going back to bed, not back to sleep.” Julie grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me along. “Sleep is for quitters.”

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The first annual International Conference of Monster Hunting Professionals was held at the same time as the shooting industry’s big trade show, SHOT (Shooting, Hunting, Outdoor Tradeshow). That had been a good call on the organizer’s part. First off, since we were in a business that officially did not exist, at a conference that didn’t exist, talking about things that didn’t exist, it provided a crowd of tens of thousands that we could easily blend into. Second, it killed two birds with one stone. For those of us that didn’t particularly care to listen to panels about laws, regulations, and the latest trends in blah blah blah, we could sneak down the street to play with all the latest guns and toys. Many of us had gotten memberships for both events. Milo had a federal firearms manufacturer’s license, and both of us had come armed with MHI corporate cards and a stack of purchase orders. You know…Just in case…