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Alexander’s tall, bulky, just-this-side-of-corpulent self, and silently bet on Hollis to win the standoff.
    In the end, there wasn’t really a winner, because the door opened and a middle-aged woman hurried in. She was lovely in a slightly faded way, dressed in something rather flowing and filmy that to DeMarco’s mind would have been better suited to June than October—and possibly thirty or forty years ago to boot.
    But what did he know about women’s fashion? Less than nothing.
    “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you,” she said, a little breathless. “Owen, honestly, haven’t you even asked them to sit down?” Before he could respond, she ushered Hollis and DeMarco to a long, elegant silk sofa and sat down in a chair at right angles and nearest to Hollis. “Thomas should be back with coffee any time now.”
    Thomas, DeMarco, reflected, was clearly the butler; Owen hadn’t spoken a word to the man.
    “I’m Anna Alexander. But, of course, you know that. Thank you so much for coming.”
    Owen Alexander sat down on an identical sofa facing the visitors, his scowl gone but displeasure lingering around a grim mouth. “I thought you were resting,” he said to his sister-in-law. “I didn’t see any reason to disturb you. They’re early.”
    DeMarco said calmly, “The roads were better than we were led to believe. We got an early start just in case.”
    “You’re very welcome here,” Anna Alexander assured him, her gaze flitting to Hollis almost hesitantly. “Forgive me, Ms. Templeton—”
    “Hollis, please. And he’s Reese. We aren’t very formal.” She glanced around at the huge, formal library, her mouth twisting slightly.
    “Then I hope you’ll call me Anna. And my brother-in-law is Owen.” She didn’t look at him, but kept her gaze on Hollis. “Forgive me, Hollis, but I was told your methods of summoning Spirit were somewhat unorthodox, so I wasn’t certain how to prepare for the séance. I wasn’t even certain which room would be best.”
    Hollis and DeMarco exchanged quick glances, no telepathy necessary between them to share the realization that Anna Alexander had indeed spent a great deal of time with mediums—and those who claimed to be. Enough, at least, to pick up the lingo.
    Clearing her throat, Hollis said, “Well, first, you need to understand that I don’t really summon anything. In my experience, mediums are simply people who have the ability to open a kind of door for . . . a certain type of energy to enter our space or dimension.”
    “Spiritual energy?” Anna’s hands, clasped together in her lap, were twisting restlessly even though her voice was calm.
    Relatively.
    Hollis nodded. “There’s nothing inhuman about it, nothing magical. In fact, it’s based on science being seriously researched in many different reputable facilities around the world as we speak. It’s an ability, the way some people have an ear for music or an uncanny flair for mathematics or physics. The theory is, some people are hardwired to . . . pick up and interpret electromagnetic energy on certain frequencies. Each medium’s frequency is different, which is why we get as many misses as hits and why we tend to use our abilities differently. Some mediums see the dead, some hear them, and a relative few of us can do both. But it’s perfectly natural to us. It’s how the human brain works, after all, using electromagnetic energy. What I have, what I’ve learned to use to a certain extent, is just another sense.”
    A short laugh escaped Owen. “Well, you’re original, I’ll give you that much. So it’s just a sense and not a gift, huh?”
    Before Anna could offer a fluttering apology, as she showed every sign of doing, Hollis looked at Owen and answered him in a very deliberate tone.
    “Believe me, most of the genuine mediums I know would never call it a gift, what we can do. At best, it’s something we learn to live with, and hopefully learn to control and make some decent