"A dozen new-age folksy types would tell you differently. Also a number of psychologists - but nobody really pays attention to those guys."

Chase stretches (unladylike, both arms splayed over his head much the way his legs are splayed in the chair to accommodate something that just isn't there today), and looks back across at his desk.

"You can ask me anything you want."

Not to say the reply will be an honest one. The desk is probably more personal (and better decorated) than the various apartments he keeps around the city. Most of the things are remnants of curses - the bow he found in his old apartment, not too long after returning to the city.