Harold smiled and poured her a cup of Assam, sliding the cup along the old pine. The table itself was nineteenth century, bought for two pounds in a house clearance when Harold ran a second-hand furniture business and had sat in his shop for years, slowly buried under a multitude of other items until it had come to light again when he bought the bookshop, the perfect piece for the kitchen area where philosophy was debated daily.
Felicia pulled out a chair opposite Harold and set her phone on the table, propping it against a spare cup at a convenient viewing angle.
Ada reached across and tapped her on the arm. "What are you looking at?"
"It's a feed from the gallery cameras." Felicia turned the phone to show her. "I can see if anyone comes into the gallery."
"So we can be graced with your presence." Legion's face split into what looked to be a smile. "How lucky for us."
"It is rather." Harold's barely-perceptible shake of the head left Ada in no doubt of her son's annoyance. He was as close to losing his temper as she'd ever known – the last time he'd been this close was when the school bully had made paper aeroplanes out of his stamp album. "Felicia is the best tracker I've ever known.
"But can she track a demon inhabiting the body of a man? Can she sense the presence of a power behind a mortal throne?" Legion leaned forward and just for a moment allowed her fingers to blur into individual free-roaming spirits.
"I'm sure she'll do her best." Ada reached out and deliberately patted Legion's insubstantial hand. "Why don't you have a biscuit? Harold? Do you have any handy?"