In the middle sat a round table with a red velvet cloth draped over it. Eight seats circled it, waiting for the guests. The eeriness of the room seemed not to affect Horace. He strode in and plopped himself upon a chair. "So, is this where I sit, Wesley?" Clara and Marguerite exchanged glances over this broach in protocol — Clara with embarrassment, Marguerite with amusement. Mr. Lowenherz cleared his throat, but did not correct the man. "Indeed, Lord Oroberg. In fact," Wesley motioned to the entire company, "Please, find the place at the table which makes you feel the most comfortable. There are resonances in the spirit world which will become in tune with your harmonics. Your energy will create a chord of harmony to invite your loved ones through." Norman sniffed. "In that case, might I request a chair in the hall?" Clifford slapped him upon the back. "Now, now, sir. Are you in league with this man? Wanting a chair outside to pull the table strings and ring the tambourine? You almost had us fooled by your misanthropic ways, but I am on to you now, sir." Clifford sat down, his legs spread wide and patted the two seats beside him. "I believe the spirits are telling me that I should have Marguerite and Mrs.
