“Sure.” Shea walked with Lucian, through the formal living room, past the grand piano that nobody ever touched, and into the dining room, tricked out with reds and golds. The table sat eighteen comfortably, twenty with the spare chairs, and the eleven members of Lucian’s closest circle sat chatting at their appointed places. Lucian gestured for Shea to follow him to the head of the table. A seat was vacant to Lucian’s right, and Clark sat on his left.
“So good of you to join us,” Clark said.
“It was bound to happen eventually,” Lucian answered, watching Shea take his chair.
“Yes. But before we gave up the last hope of being fed,” Clark said with a mock sigh. “You’re going soft in your old age.”
“Undoubtedly following your example.” Lucian smiled at Clark without mirth.
Clark snorted. “Good to see you, Shea. Have you met my professor?”
Shea smiled at Daniel. “No, but I’ve heard of you. I’m Shea Ollivander, sir.”