Carla pulled up a chair beside the Formfit couch on which Corwin was sprawled. "Mitsuhama Corporation’s magical research lab." she said. "It could be dangerous." She hoped Corwin was up to it. She didn’t relish facing Greer with the news that one of his pet deckers had burned out station equipment on an unauthorized data snoop. The producer would chew her head off, then demote her to the sports-entertainment beat and make her cover the urban brawl matches, just to watch her squirm.