Horace was amidst piles of books, freshly removed from their packing crates, and neatly sorting them in piles according to subject and language, when the letter arrived and was handed to him by his Indian manservant.
"Just because we deal with the occult does not mean all of us keep the same bloody hours as the dead."
Huffing indignantly through his nose, he glanced around the disorder surrounding him, frustrated. He would be expected to attend, but it would disturb his sleep schedule. "It ought to be mandated that Council meetings are made at a more decent time of day."