Chris had a near endless number of questions when approaching a topic for her latest novel. She had spent 6 months reading about locks and lock picking when trying to work out a plot point for The Mystery of Erasmus Munch, which had included buying and then trying to pick more than a dozen types of door locks. The miads had been driven to dsitraction by Christ replacing the lock on her room with one of her jerry rigged varietals and then locking it to see if it was possible to gain entry through any other common means. It had been worth it in Chris' view but she was sure the maids would have a very different opinion of the lengths she had gone to to achieve artistic realism. She had already begun to read extensively on curses, but somehow the sort of practical engagement with her subject matter that had, to date brought a good accessibility to her writing seemed like a very different, a very dangerous kettle of fish.

The truth was that Chris was itching to touch it, but discretion told her not to - not yet. There were too many unknowns, too many variables. Christabel's mouth formed a soft O as he listed off the places that his adventures had taken him, and in her minds eye she saw the red headed man standing amidst desert stands, a hot dry wind whiping his hair and attacking that too pale skin of his, perhaps in one of those bedouin head wraps to keep the elements at bay. Yes the picture was indeed forming in her mind.

'The sorts of people who comission you?' she asked, scribbling furiously, 'Who usually sends you out into the wilds? and why?' Chris couldn't imagine the sort of person who might engage a private curse breaker -somehow she made the assumption that their intention was nefarious - or at least self centered, after all they sought access to something to which the original owner had every intention to keeping everyone away.

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