With everyone on board and the clock ticking against Basil’s return, Matt and Trinity ran around the Showroom like hyperactive puppies. The few remaining fill lights afforded just enough illumination for them to find their way around. Matt hauled over a couple of gear bags and set up the tripods and cameras. Trinity ran down to the Market Floor and galloped back with a box of vanilla-scented votive candles that she deployed around the dining room display. By the time she was finished, it looked like a romantic lovemaking scene in a made-for-TV movie.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Amy said.

“Believe it,” Matt said. He positioned the cameras around the Frånjk in a loose circle and then dropped an EMF reader in the center of the table.

“The Ghost Bomb audience is going to love this,” Trinity said.

“But a séance doesn’t actually summon anything, does it?” Ruth Anne asked.

“Sure it does,” Trinity said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Amy said.

“We’ll have a great reel no matter what,” Matt said. “There’s no way to screw up footage of a séance.”

Once they were finished setting up, Trinity directed everyone to their seats. Carl took the end of the table, with Trinity on his left and Ruth Anne on his right. Matt sat beside Trinity, across from Amy.

“And now,” Matt said, digging into his bag. “I told you there’d be no unsanitary hand-holding.”

He pulled out his solution with a flourish.

“Oh, no, Matt,” Ruth Anne said. “No way. Uh-uh.”

“Are you kidding?” Amy asked.

Like a magician fanning out a deck of cards, Matt revealed five pairs of silver handcuffs and flashed an evil grin.

“It ensures that no one breaks the circle,” Trinity said. “And that no one reaches under the table and fakes spirit activity.”

“And it looks amazing on camera,” Matt said.

Carl shrugged. “Your house, your rules,” he said, and then reached for a pair of cuffs. He placed one of the bracelets over his left wrist, and the hasp slid into the ratchet with a click-click-click-CLICK.

“You rock!” Trinity said.

“I want to see the key,” Amy insisted.

Matt patted the pocket of his hoodie. “Right here.”

“I want to test it.”

Matt retrieved the key and spun it across the tabletop. Amy inserted it into her cuffs, confirming that it really worked and she wouldn’t be handcuffed inside an Orsk for the rest of the night. Then she leaned across the table and placed the key in the center.

“It stays right there,” she insisted. “I don’t want to have one of those stupid sitcom moments where no one can find the key.”

“You got it,” Trinity said.

“Basil is going to kill us,” Amy said, but she click-click-clicked the cuffs around her left wrist and offered the other end to Ruth Anne.