So, uh. Like parties, shows, stuff like that?" He looked past me, as though he expected to see a white tiger, or possibly some skimpily clad assistants prancing around my one-room office.I sighed, not in the mood to get mocked again, and reached for the mail he held in his hand. "No, not like that. I don't do parties."He held on to it, his head tilted curiously. "So what? Some kinda fortune-teller? Cards and crystal balls and things?""No," I told him. "I'm not a psychic." I tugged at the mail.He held on to it. "What are you, then?""What's the sign on the door say?""It says 'Harry Dresden. Wizard.' ""That's me," I confirmed