"My job," Anzu says, musingly, drumming his fingers on the table as he thinks. "Nu. I am a physician. And since ah, in the world I was born, it is quite clear when a soul departs the body, and when a soul subsequently fails to move on past the place of death, I am called on to ensure that the dead move on, the living bother not the dead what stay put, and ghosts ... ah. Ghosts move on, if they so choose. And since much supranatural matters are quite opaque and their categories fluid, part of my job is to be physician to the undead and those what never lived in a true sense, and those what linger suspended between life and death, but not due to illness. Though, ah. Since I'm a koschey, I see plenty of the latter, too. And a koschei is one what attends directly to matters of birth, and matters of death and dying and prolonged illness."

He pauses, and looks at Valdis, head cocked to one side.

"I have spoken to one claiming to be the Angel of Death," he says, softly. "But I know not if the wight spoke truth." He shrugs. "I've spoken to idols claiming to be gods, too, but feh! That one, he lied for sure. He were mere marble and the hubris of his builders."

But a fear mixed with distaste comes into his eyes. He relishes not speaking of Apollon, even after all the years between then and now.

"Valya is a diminutive, nu?" he explains. "A nickname. Though it's the nickname for both Valeria and Valentina, too, it means merely what thy name means ... but in a fond tone."

He pauses, and then adds, "like'st thou thy present name, darling? Or prefer'st thou the old one?"