Notes: This story takes place a couple of weeks after the events in Lion's Lair. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. There are summaries of the previous Arkham Files stories in the blog I co-write with Penna: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Inside the Arkham Files Vault." The blog also has an introduction to this story: "Vault Acquisition: Time Crystals."
Chapter 1: Lost and Found
Providence, Rhode Island. Wednesday, December 13, 1961.
Hide!
Zophar's command blared in Neal's head as he frantically raced around the room. Zophar had shoved him into his grandfather's bedroom and ordered him to lock the door, but no lock could restrain ghasts for long. They were just outside, hiding in the shrubbery, biding their time to attack. Even though it was dark outside, Neal could see them plainly and so could Zophar. Soon they'd break in. His heart pounded so loud, they were bound to hear it. They'd kill him just like they had Mom and now Gramps. There was no escape.
Hide!
Neal slid open the closet door. There was a stack of storage boxes at one end. If he squeezed behind them and draped a coat over himself like it had fallen off a hanger, he might have a chance.
A crash reverberated outside the room. Neal cowered behind the boxes. That must be the front door. The loud pops of gunfire must have been made by Zophar. He was trying to chase them off, but a gun couldn't kill one ghast, let alone three. He heard Zophar yell something, but he couldn't make out the words. He was shaking so hard, the coat fell off him. He hastily draped it back over him.
Slowly the sounds grew less. He didn't hear Zophar. Had he been carried off? Was he lying on the floor, dead? Ghasts had killed Gramps in an alley a block from home. Their house was no longer safe. Neal squeezed his eyes to stop the tears and compressed himself even tighter against the wall.
A loud crash accompanied by the sound of splintering wood made him jump. That had to be the door to the bedroom. The rough thud of hoofs grew louder. They were just outside the closet door. Neal's stomach clenched at the distinctive stench penetrating the closet. His hand reached under his sweater and clutched his amulet.
The door slid open. Zophar said the amulet would keep ghasts from smelling him, but they could see in the dark. Neal tightened his grip on the amulet. He held his breath as he listened to the harsh snuffling sounds.
Fainter thuds indicated there must be more in the house. One of them made a sickening hoarse call as if it was hurling out its stomach. The ghast in front of the closet called back. Neal's own stomach was doing flip flops.
With a grunt, the ghast slammed the door closed. It clumped away, the sound of its hooves receding.
The house grew quiet once more, but Neal didn't dare move. He had to stay hidden till Zophar came back. But what if he didn't? He'd told Neal if that ever happened, he was to run and never return. Their house would never be safe again.
After what seemed like hours and still no sound, Neal cracked open the door. There were no lights. He couldn't smell the enemy. He snuck into the room. The bedroom opened directly into the living room, and he could see the front door was open.
Neal didn't waste a second. He fled into the night.
Boston, Massachusetts. Fourteen years later. December 6, 1975.
Sara glanced up at the airplane departure display when the loudspeaker came on. "That's my flight. I suppose I should go . . ." Her words trailed off as she looked at Neal wistfully.
"I'll walk with you to the gate," he offered. He'd ridden with Sara to Logan Airport in her red Beetle and stayed to help with her luggage. Afterward, he'd drive the car back to Arkham. "Your career as an international investigative journalist is at the launch site. Your dream's about to come real." For her sake, Neal tried to appear enthusiastic. Hopefully, it didn't sound too fake.
He'd bought them drinks at the airport lounge to toast her new job. On a Saturday afternoon, the concourse was packed with travelers, but it wasn't the crowd which made them walk slowly.
Sara had returned from London three days ago, job offer in hand from the International Herald Tribune. She'd only had a few days to prepare for her return flight. Her folks drove from Hartford to see her and stayed in her apartment and had left this morning. Yesterday evening, her co-workers at the newspaper threw a farewell party. Today was really his first opportunity to have time alone with her, and there was still so much unsaid.
"I feel like I'm leaving you in the lurch," she admitted. "After the discoveries in Lyon, how can I abandon you?"
"But you're not." He'd already prepared his rationale. It helped that it was truthful. "You'll be on the task force which is investigating the upsurge of cult activity. If the Starry Wisdom cult is active in England, we may be joining you there before long."
"Not before you get rid of that infection," she warned. "For now you need to stay as far away as possible from cult members."
He appreciated her calling ymarite an infection, but that was a euphemism. Poison was more accurate—a souvenir from his abduction to the planet Merope. "Elizabeth reported they're making progress." She was working with Lavinia to develop an antidote to neutralize the toxin. "She may have news at tomorrow's meeting."
She made a face. "I should be there. Dream jobs come with unexpected downsides."
"But you're not leaving Arkham for good. This is the equivalent of a special assignment. Once the exposé is done, you can return. Larry said your desk would be waiting for you." Sara's boss had facilitated the arrangement with the newspaper. Neal didn't mention what, in his gloomier moments, he believed would happen. The London office would be so enchanted with Sara, they'd offer her a permanent position. She was already acquiring the notice of other papers. The New York Times asked to reprint the article she'd written about the archaeological discoveries they'd made in France.
"Do you know if you'll be able to come home for the winter holidays?" he asked.
She shook her head regretfully. "I don't think I'll be able to manage it. Nigel warned me the workload would be a heavy one. They want to publish the exposé in February, and there's a ton of work to be done before then."
"What's Nigel like?"
"I believe he's Welsh. Mid-thirties, dark, suave, piercing brown eyes . . ." At Neal's groan, she broke into a laugh. "Can I help it if I'm attracted to men whose name begins with N?"
"Larry makes a much better boss—mid-fifties and happily married. Is Nigel married?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "Somehow that didn't come up during our discussion."
"Does he wear a wedding ring?" he persisted.
"No."
"So you noticed?"
"It's the duty of an investigative journalist to be observant," she retorted.
Neal had intended to tease her about Nigel, but he was becoming uncomfortable and Sara probably was, too. She might think he was jealous, and she'd be right. But all they'd exchanged were a few kisses. He decided to reverse course before she got the wrong idea. "Just remember. You admitted to me you have a penchant for bad boys. You'd asked me to vet your Diegos and Don Juans before you took any leaps."
She linked her arm through his. "Should I have you vetted?"
"Better not. You wouldn't like what you find." He gave her a mocking smile to make a joke out of what was an unpleasant truth. A genetic hybrid with the DNA of two alien species, tainted with a suspicious chemical, hardly made a suitable candidate.
"That's where you're wrong, and when I return, I aim to prove it." She hesitated. "I wish we had more time. Time for the two of us." They'd reached the gate. Passengers were getting in line to board. Neal unaccountably felt like he might never see her again. That was nonsense, and he shook the dark thoughts away.
"That will happen," he said, trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt. "By the time you get back, I'll have that poison out of my system, and we'll make a fresh start."
"I hope so. Saying goodbye to you before boarding a plane is not something I fantasized about. This is the second time in a week. Enough already!"
She dropped her tote and kissed him. He lingered, holding onto the sensation of her lips against his as long as he could.
The embers which ignited between them in Lyon would have to cool it till she returned. Yet one more aspect of his life on hold. Lavinia had promised to train him in techniques to develop his Meropian abilities, but that too had been postponed. Her argument that researching a cure for ymarite was a higher priority was true, but he wondered if another factor wasn't involved. Did she worry that he was a funnel to Azathoth, and the knowledge would be leaked to her enemy?
Sara's new assignment arrived at a good time. Sometimes he wished the other members of their group were thousands of miles away too. The algolnium band they called themselves in lighter moments. Mozzie declared that they were a band of thieves, snatching wormholes away from the Ymar. But there was no denying that the others would be safer without him in their lives.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
When Neal arrived back at June's, he could smell the hearty aroma of jambalaya as soon as he crossed the threshold.
June came into the entry from the kitchen to greet him.
"I'm surprised you're cooking," he said. "Weren't you planning to go out with Cyrus tonight?"
"You'll have to be my date instead. He called this afternoon while you were at the airport. Lavinia and Elizabeth are still working with him in the lab. They were running a test on a compound and wanted to continue."
"So I'm the cause of your date being called off?" Neal winced. That meant Peter was being left in the lurch as well. No Saturday date night for anyone.
"It's for the best. I assume you could use the company." June glanced at his bag. "Unless you and Ch'uli have other plans?"
"Not as long as you have cookies to share." Neal unzipped the canvas tote and the silver-and-green chittak darted into the living room. Neal was surprised she didn't immediately head for the kitchen and June's cookie jar. "Will Pagna join us?"
"No, she called to say she'd be working late as well."
A familiar bass voice called out from the living room. "I'll gladly eat Pagna's portion." Peter walked into the entry with Ch'uli perched saucily on his shoulder. Did Peter realize how honored he should feel that she chose him over cookies?
"You know whenever I make jambalaya, it's enough for the entire band," June said. "Persuading Peter to join us was not difficult, and he'll be able to take leftovers home."
The evening was looking up. It'd be hard to mope about Sara with his support team in place.
Neal hadn't talked to Peter about his evolving relationship with Sara. There wasn't much to say. But Peter had teased him enough about their former fake dating status that he probably understood. Ever since their trip to the planet Merope where Neal was able to connect telepathically to Peter, their bond had strengthened to the point that it often seemed like they could read each other's thoughts.
"I'm glad you took Ch'uli along for the drive," Peter said. "Did you take her inside the airport?"
"I didn't want to risk a commotion. All those food options in the airport? I could have spent the day searching for her. She seemed content with her nest of blankets in the car."
"Can Sara see her yet?" June asked.
"No. She claimed that was the real reason she accepted the job offer." Chittaks were native to Merope. Humans were unable to see them unless algolnium was part of their chemical makeup. The rare element was part of Neal's body chemistry, and it was also growing inside Peter.
"By the time she returns from London, I bet she'll be able to," Peter predicted. "Lavinia only injected Sara and El a couple of weeks ago. Mozzie can see her now." Ch'uli rubbed against his neck as if to indicate her approval. He turned to June. "Do you wish you had algolnium, too?"
"And deprive myself of the fun of watching my food disappear as if by magic?" She chuckled. "No thanks."
They joined June in the kitchen to finish dinner preparations. While Neal made the salad, Peter cut carrot sticks for Ch'uli. June took the lid off the green ceramic alligator jar to signal that the jar was empty. Invisible or not, Ch'uli would have to wait till after dinner for dessert.
"June, has your life changed much now that Pagna is staying here?" Peter asked. The Meropian had arrived a week ago and was living in one of June's extra bedrooms.
"Honestly, I hardly ever see her," she admitted. "She's been spending most of her time in the lab."
"She must have communicated her schedule to Ch'uli," Neal said. "When Pagna arrived, I didn't expect my cookie-munching friend would be here so often."
"I'm glad she is," Peter said. "According to Lavinia, Ch'uli's able to sense a wormhole forming as accurately as Pagna's instruments. Until the toxin is neutralized, you could be an easy target."
Neal went to the refrigerator to retrieve the salad dressing. No one knew what effect the chemical ymarite was having. Lavinia and Gideon were familiar with the compound since a few Meropians had been contaminated with it when their planet was invaded. They felt that it was likely the drug produced a signal allowing Azathoth to track him. The question was why. The Starry Wisdom cult was devoted to the worship of Azathoth. Perhaps they were concerned about what action Neal planned to take against them.
So far, they didn't need to worry. Neal and Peter had managed to quash the Arkham branch of Starry Wisdom, but that was the result of a fluke discovery of the wormhole. Lavinia and Gideon seemed to be convinced that the band would be able to disrupt the cult's operations throughout the world, but without knowing where open wormholes were located, it was hard to know how. And as a practical matter, Neal couldn't simply roam the globe looking for portals. Neal had been able to seal the wormhole in Arkham because it was a permanent portal created by the Elnath, the first aliens to colonize Earth. The Celaenians had left a failsafe disk at its entrance which Neal was able to activate with his amulet. But the Ymar had been able to somehow open other wormholes by use of ruby crystals, and for those there was no way of predicting where they would pop up. If Azathoth planned to capture Neal to learn about their strategy, they wouldn't find out much. He supposed that should be a comforting thought.
"Has Pagna been able to trace the location of the armillary sphere?" June asked, sprinkling chopped parsley over the rice.
Peter tossed a carrot stick to Ch'uli. "Not that I've heard. Neal?"
"I've hated to ask," Neal admitted. "It's a sensitive subject with Mozzie. He still blames himself that it was stolen. Now that Pagna's here and there's a chance we can recover it, he's been tireless in working with her to find it."
June reduced the fire under the skillet. "Gentlemen, get your plates! The jambalaya's ready."
June had decorated the dining room table with an emerald-green tablecloth and red taper candles for the holidays. She owned a set of Jamestown Christmas dishes which they'd been using since the first of the month. The village scene depicted on the plates reminded Neal of the familiar clapboard houses of Arkham.
There was plenty of beer for Peter to wash down the hot spiciness of the jambalaya while Neal and June had a bottle of Chardonnay. Ch'uli took command of the obligatory bowl of grapes placed in front of one of the chairs. It was a merry group as they discussed plans for the upcoming winter break.
Neal and Peter had gone into the kitchen for seconds when he heard the front door open.
"The conquering heroes have arrived!" Mozzie trumpeted. "Neal, where are you?"
"In the kitchen," Neal called out. "What was the victory?"
"A discovery worthy of a celebration." Mozzie joined them in front of the stove, accompanied by Pagna.
"Is there enough for us?" Pagna asked, sniffing the skillet. "It smells delicious."
"There's ample for all," June said, walking in. "The plates are in the cupboard by the sink."
Neal set the table for two more while the new arrivals loaded themselves down with food. They refused to announce the breakthrough till they were seated. And it was worth the wait. They'd located the armillary sphere.
"I knew it was just a matter of time," Mozzie said complacently. "Gideon had embedded a microchip in one of the grooves of the sphere. It was so tiny, it would have been undetectable by thieves."
"We also confirmed the reason why we had such difficulty in tracing it," Pagna added, reaching for the French bread. "The instrument is no longer on Earth. It's been taken to Tirelia."
"Earth's sister planet?" June asked, looking startled.
"That's an apt description for it," she replied. "Tirelia and Earth reside on opposite ends of a node connecting the two universes."
Andrew had found the armillary sphere during a trip to Tirelia with Zophar. It sounded like Neal would need to follow in their footsteps. He supposed he should call them grandfather and father instead, but since he had no memory of them, the words felt awkward. His mother was named Melina. Did he call her Mom, Mum, or something else? He only knew them by a couple of photos. The one image of Melina was when she was about five years old. Recollections of his family were lost in the inaccessible black hole that was his life before Arkham.
Neal realized he'd been mechanically tearing a slice of bread into tiny pieces. He hurriedly stopped before anyone noticed. His appetite had vanished.
"Can you pinpoint the location on Tirelia?" Peter asked.
"After refinement of the sensors, we should be able to," she confirmed.
"Once we know where it is, we can prepare a rescue mission," Mozzie said enthusiastically. "Since the armillary sphere technically belongs to me, I insist on being included."
"I agree in principle," Peter said, "but how can we travel to Tirelia? Pagna, do your people possess the technology to open a wormhole?"
"Not to a parallel universe," she admitted, "but the permanent wormhole you sealed in Arkham is not the only one in existence. Gideon and I discussed options before he left. From the beginning, he suspected that the armillary sphere was likely on Tirelia. Gideon is aware of another permanent wormhole not far from you. It's close to the town of Taunton."
"I'm familiar with that area," Mozzie said. "It's about halfway between Arkham and Providence, Rhode Island. A friend of mine, Levi Heath, has a cottage on the Taunton River. He's an astronomy professor at Brown. We've often conducted thought experiments at his retreat. It's been most enlightening for him."
"I'm sure it was," Pagna agreed, with only a slight smile at Mozzie's comment. They'd been working together for a week. She must have grown accustomed to his special brand of humor. "The wormhole is located in Freetown State Forest outside Taunton."
"Can Gideon lead us there?" Neal asked.
"No, he's not familiar with the exact spot, but you are."
"I am? I don't remember ever having been there."
"Zophar told Gideon that you stopped in the park on your way from Boston to Providence. This was just after your mother's death. You asked to explore the woods. Zophar thought a short hike would help refresh your spirits. You were the one who sensed the wormhole. Zophar told Gideon it was in a cave. He believed it had been made by Celaenians and appeared to be untainted by the Ymar. He didn't take the time to explore it then but hoped to return."
"Did he?" June asked.
Pagna shook her head. "They discovered the cave in November. Zophar died a little over a month later."
"I don't understand," Neal said. "I wasn't able to sense the wormholes in Arkham. What makes this one different?"
"Those others weren't made by the Celaenians," she said. "Gideon hopes that your ability will be even stronger now and you'll be able to relocate the site."
Peter rubbed his chin. "Wouldn't some evidence of the wormhole have been detected long ago? Surely we would have heard reports of it."
"If bizarre creatures had popped out, locals would have simply added them to the preexisting legends," Mozzie said and turned to Pagna. "The forest is part of the Bridgewater Triangle. The area, which also includes several towns and a swamp, is known for paranormal occurrences. Perhaps some of the legends were inspired by visitors from Tirelia."
"A fascinating possibility, but it's unlikely," she said. "Celaenians have the ability to exclude other species from their wormholes."
"This one could be like the wormhole on the planet Merope," Peter said. "Gideon was concerned that it would only allow Neal to pass unharmed so he lashed us together for the return trip."
Pagna nodded agreement. "Gideon feels certain Neal could enter this wormhole, but as for any others . . ." Her words trailed off and she shrugged at the uncertainty of him being able to take companions.
"Then we'll just have to rope ourselves to Neal," Mozzie declared, rubbing his hands together. "As soon as we have a location, we're off to Tirelia!"
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
It was late in the evening by the time El pulled into the garage behind the house. The breakthrough they'd hoped for remained elusive. She reminded herself that they'd only been at it for a few weeks. Pharmaceutical companies often spent decades researching a new drug. Perhaps tomorrow's results would be more promising. She locked the garage and entered through the back door into the kitchen.
Satchmo was sprawled in front of the door. The Lab jumped up to greet her with Peter a close second.
"You must be exhausted," he said, giving her a kiss. "I hope you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow. Can I tempt you with breakfast in bed?"
She shrugged off her coat. "That sounds heavenly. Cyrus suggested we cancel tomorrow's group meeting so we can continue the experiments and Lavinia agreed. We'll resume work in the morning."
"Have you eaten anything? June packed jambalaya and insisted I take the rest of the pecan pie home."
El scanned him warily. "No arm twisting involved?"
He laughed. "Scout's honor!"
"We stopped for a quick meal but a small slice of pie would be wonderful."
"Coming up, and to show my discipline, I'll restrain myself to only a small sliver to keep you company."
While Peter sliced the pie, she poured them glasses of brandy. "I assume Mozzie and Pagna filled you in on the news about Tirelia."
He nodded. "He's already launched his campaign to go there tomorrow. If Gideon were here to give his approval, there'd be no stopping him."
They carried their plates into the living room and sat on the couch. "I sympathize with how Mozzie feels," El said. "He blames himself for the armillary sphere being taken, and that won't change until it's recovered. But he'll have to exercise patience. Neal's presence will be essential, but until we've figured out how to purge the chemical from his system, it's too dangerous for him to attempt a trip."
"That's the way I feel too. We can't charge off to Tirelia without learning what we're getting into." Peter swirled the brandy in his glass for a moment. "There's a risk no matter what we do. We don't know what the armillary sphere is capable of. The longer Azathoth has it, the greater the threat."
"It's more than that." El paused to collect her thoughts. "Lavinia and I've been working closely together for the past week and I have a better understanding of the pressure she's under. Neal's situation is, as far as we know, unique. No one else in the galaxy is known to have both Meropian and Celaenian DNA mingled with their native chemistry. How algolnium behaves under those conditions is a mystery. When Lavinia corrected the imbalance in Neal's system as a child, she didn't realize he'd have amnesia as a result. Not that it would have made a difference. She had to act because he was suffering from major organ failure. Now we're in a similar situation. We don't know how ymarite is reacting with his hybrid components. What side effects will whatever drug we develop have?"
"You fear another episode of amnesia?"
She nodded. "Or something worse."
Peter drew her close to him. "Neal is grateful for the effort you're making . . . and more than a little guilty. We've talked about it. He understands the risks and accepts that there may be unforeseen consequences. But everything we do comes with a set of challenges." He began massaging the tight muscles in her back.
El tried to relax, but she sensed neither one of them would sleep well tonight. Neal had experienced a vision where he saw an alien standing beside a huge apparatus resembling a monstrous armillary sphere in an onyx fortress. He said the alien looked like a praying mantis but was ten feet tall with whip-like tentacles. Lavinia believed the vision was of Azathoth. After the initial vision, Peter and Neal had suffered from recurring nightmares where one or the other of them was being tortured by Azathoth.
According to Lavinia, the scenes could be what would come to pass if they didn't retrieve the armillary sphere or they could be a warning not to venture to Tirelia. It was even possible the vision had been planted by Sornoth when Neal was held captive by the leopard. The Meropian argued that to base their actions on what he'd seen would be foolhardy. Were Peter's nightmares caused by Neal reaching out to him subconsciously or was there some other force at work?
El had known when they volunteered to help combat the alien threat, it would be dangerous, but at the time it'd only been an abstract concept. Now it was at their doorstep.
Fourteen years earlier. Providence.
Neal shivered in the cold wind. He'd grabbed his parka when he fled from home but forgot his gloves. The sky was one mass of gray clouds. He'd heard people on the street talking about a snowstorm.
The first night he'd spent in the train station, picking first one group of travelers then another to sit close to while hoping no one would notice him. He kept waiting for Zophar to find him, but he never came.
Neal clutched his amulet tighter as he saw Gramps once more in his mind. His scream when the ghast attacked . . . Neal bit his clenched fist to choke back the sob. Not a sound. It was dark. Ghasts were about. He'd spotted one a couple of blocks away.
Zophar had told him never to go back if the ghasts found out where they lived, and he'd obeyed. It had now been two days since his flight. After his mom died, Zophar had coached him on what to do if they were attacked. Neal was supposed to flee onto the streets and Zophar would find him. Had he been killed too?
Their house was on the fringe of a run-down section of downtown Providence. Many of the other blocks had been redeveloped. Shops and restaurants catered to the prosperous residents.
The first day, Neal had hidden out in a department store. His navy parka was dark enough that it didn't look very dirty. The store was crowded with holiday shoppers. No one paid any attention to him as he wandered from department to department. The Christmas shop offered samples of fudge, but they'd quickly caught onto him and only allowed him two samples.
He'd spent the evening in a grocery store. A friendly stocker had given him a cookie, but when the store closed he was back out on the streets.
Zophar told him not to hide in the same place twice so he trudged the extra miles to the bus station. The waiting room was cold and dreary. He could control his tears by not thinking about Gramps, but his stomach insisted on grumbling. He was too scared to sleep.
The second day, there were no fudge samples at the department store, but at least it was warm. He'd had better luck at the grocery store. At the deli counter, a worker had given him a slice of cheese. He'd stayed in the store till closing time.
Neal left his hiding spot behind a restaurant dumpster and looked wistfully at the families leaving the restaurant. He'd hoped to find some discarded food but the lid was too heavy for him to lift. He decided to walk along Westminster Street. It had the best Christmas displays. If he was surrounded by people, ghasts probably wouldn't carry him off.
A street vendor was hawking hot chestnuts and pretzels on the corner. Neal stood close, warming himself by the cart, till the man shooed him away.
"No loitering or I'll call the cops on you," he growled.
Scared, Neal ran till he bumped into a shopper who yelled at him to watch where he was going. He slowed down, pausing at each window display. Many of the shoppers were stopping to look at the Christmas decorations as well. They helped shield him from the wind.
Neal wandered next to a bakery. There was a gingerbread house in the window along with gingerbread cookies of all descriptions. Women, dogs, cats . . . Neal eyed them hungrily, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He could eat the entire display.
"Want one?"
He spun around at the sound of the friendly voice. A boy a few years older than him, maybe twelve or thirteen, gave him a grin. He was wearing a wool pea coat over his jeans and had a dark green stocking cap.
Neal felt his face redden. "I don't have any money."
"So?"
When Neal stared at him, speechless, his grin broadened. "Wait here. Don't move, okay?"
Neal nodded.
He patted him on his shoulder. "I'll be right back, kiddo."
Neal blew on his hands to warm them while trying to look through the window. The shop was crowded with people. He couldn't see the boy. Neal turned away from the window to scan the crowd. Was a ghast lurking within one of them? He'd stayed here too long. He needed to run.
"Hey, where you going?" The boy appeared next to him. His hands were in his pockets. "Don't you want the gingerbread?"
Before Neal could answer, he nudged him down the street a few doors down. "Best we don't eat them right in front of the shop." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gingerbread dog and soldier. "The soldier's for you."
"How did you—"
"Hey, they'll never miss them. Christmas is the time to give presents. I knew they wanted to give them to us."
"Thanks!" Neal stuffed the gingerbread into his mouth, closing his eyes with pleasure and licking every crumb off his fingers.
"My name's Henry by the way. Henry Elliot."
Neal hesitated. He'd been warned never to tell anyone who he was, but did it matter now? It would be rude not to tell him. "Neal Chaseman."
"Glad to meet you, Neal. Where do you live?"
"Nowhere," Neal said, keeping his voice a low mumble.
"What d'ya mean? You gotta have a home. You're too young to live on the streets."
"I'm not that young," Neal said quickly. "I'm eight."
"Oh, well, in that case it's fine." Henry snickered. "Wait till you're my age—I'm twelve—then you might get away with a fib like that. Even if you don't have a home, you must have a mom."
Neal shook his head. "She died."
Henry smile vanished. "A dad?"
Neal shook his head.
"Anyone?"
Neal began to feel very uncomfortable. He was giving away too much. "Thanks again for the gingerbread. I should go." He turned away.
Henry grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him in place. "Go where?"
Neal just stared at him, unable to think of an answer. The hopelessness of his situation took hold, and he blinked back tears. The wind was stronger now, and he couldn't stop trembling. Henry had to notice. He'd think he was a weakling.
"Look, I live with my mom in an apartment. You can stay in my room."
The thought was so appealing he longed to agree. "What will your mom say?"
He made a face. "She won't even know. She's hardly ever home. Come on, kiddo. There's heat, a big jar of peanut butter. That's gotta be better than the streets when it's below freezing, right?" He held out a hand as the first flakes of snow came down. "You better put on your gloves. It's about a ten-block walk."
Neal shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll be okay."
Henry frowned. "No, you won't." He stripped off his gloves. "Take mine."
"I can't take yours. You need them."
"Not as much as you do. When you're twelve, you can go without gloves."
Hardly likely, but Neal was too grateful to protest. Henry's leather gloves were lined with wool. They looked new and expensive. Neal's fingers were stiff from the cold but Henry helped him put them on. The gloves were too big, making the task easier. They were so warm, Neal wished he could fit all of himself into the gloves.
Henry helped him tie the drawstring on his hood tighter, and they set off. The snow quickly grew heavier, and they didn't attempt to talk. Henry set a fast pace and Neal struggled to keep up with him, hunger driving him forward.
The number of pedestrians dwindled as they left the shopping district. Dark barred storefronts and tenements lined the street. Neal felt exposed. He should be somewhere inside. Every dark alley looked like it could harbor ghasts. He could almost smell them.
Neal began to pant from the exertion and stopped to catch his breath.
"We're almost there," Henry said, his cheeks red from the cold. "I live on the third floor." He pointed to a faded yellow brick apartment building over an adult bookstore.
Neal nodded, too tired to speak. As they approached, he scanned the store. There were a couple of men inside but they weren't possessed by ghasts.
"Hey, you're too young for that," Henry said, giving him a push toward a side entrance. "Wait till you're twelve."
There was no lock on the front door of the building. Anyone could use the staircase. If ghasts had followed him, there'd be no barriers to slow them down. As Neal trudged up the stairs behind his new friend, all the reasons why this was a bad idea were screaming in his head. By the time they got to the landing for Henry's floor, he'd about decided not to go in. Maybe he could wait till after the promised sandwich.
Henry fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out a key. "You worried about my mom?" he asked, scanning his face.
"Yeah." That was a better excuse than the real one.
"Stay here. I'll make sure she didn't come back early."
When he went inside Neal moved back to the stairs, ready to take flight.
Henry came back outside a couple of minutes later. He spotted Neal on the staircase and waved to him. "The coast is clear. I'll give you the tour."
Relaxing a little, Neal followed Henry into the apartment. There was a bright red couch in the living room with some scattered plush rugs. A beaded curtain closed off a hallway which Henry said led to the bedrooms. His mom must like pillows. They were everywhere. Some were in the shape of kisses. There were large mirrors on the walls. Neal looked at his own pale, dirty face. Why had Henry bothered with him?
Henry guided him through another set of beaded curtains into the kitchen. There was hardly any food in the refrigerator. A jug of milk shared space with beer, a few bottles of soda, and several cans of whipped cream. But Neal didn't care. That jar of peanut butter was on top of the counter, beckoning to him. Henry got out the bread, grape jelly, and two bottles of root beer. They made massive sandwiches. Neal had never slathered on so much peanut butter in his life. He kept his parka on even though Henry had taken his coat off.
They went into Henry's bedroom to eat. The walls were covered with posters of Superman, Batman, and the Green Lantern. Neal sat cross-legged on the floor next to Henry to wolf down his sandwich, feeling like he'd found his superhero.
Henry didn't know his dad either. He didn't have any brothers or sisters. He was vague about what his mom's job was. Henry wanted to know about Neal, but there wasn't much he could tell.
"Where do you go to school?" Henry asked.
"I don't. Gramps gave me lessons at home." Neal stopped himself. He shouldn't have said that. Now that he had some food and was warm, he was getting so sleepy he could hardly sit up.
"So you do have a home?"
"Not anymore."
"Where's your grandpa?" Henry persisted.
"Dead." Neal swiped his eyes with the back of his hand and fled into the bathroom. It was the first time he'd told anyone, and he couldn't hold back the tears. He washed his face in the sink till he was able to get himself under control.
After a few minutes, Henry knocked on the door. "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it."
Neal opened the door. "That's why I can't go home. Bad guys are after me." That was the closest he could come to something Henry might understand. "They'll kill me if they find me. That's why I shouldn't stay here either."
Henry's eyes widened. "What do they look like? I'll help you watch for them."
"You can't see them," he said miserably. He'd already said too much. Zophar would be mad at him. He should tie a rag over his mouth.
Henry was looking at him with disbelief. He probably thought Neal was making a joke. If he weren't so tired, he'd laugh it off, then leave. Zophar told him to run. Neal started to turn toward the door.
"Hey, they don't know where you are. You're safe here." He grabbed Neal as he started to sway. "You're asleep on your feet. We'll talk more tomorrow. You can use my bed."
"I can't do that. The floor's fine."
Henry frowned. "It's probably safer for you not to use my bed. Mom sometimes checks on me."
"I could sleep in your closet," Neal offered.
His face lit up. "That could work! A small fry like you will easily fit. I'll make a bed out of blankets and a pillow. It will be like camping!"
Notes: Thanks for reading and welcome back to Arkham! If this is your first visit, you may wish to check out the resources on the Arkham Files page of our blog. Time Crystals has 8 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday.
Penna Nomen hopped into the wormhole to sprinkle beta magic on this story while crushing typos lurking in the chaos of deep space. Thank you, Penna!
Thanks also to Mysteryfan17 for introducing me to Taunton and the Bridgewater Triangle. Mozzie was immediately attracted to the eerie legends of what is reputed to be one of the most haunted regions in the U.S. Azathoth has taken note.
Readers of the Caffrey Conversation series know that starting with this story Diana and Mozzie are co-writing Arkham Files. It was Mozzie who insisted on the dual timelines in this chapter. In next week's chapter, Azathoth makes his move and it will become clear why Mozzie felt the two threads were necessary.
A couple of weeks ago, Penna and I held our third writing retreat. She wrote about the experience for our blog: "Writing retreat: 2019." The retreats often resemble a family reunion where our characters drop in to promote their ideas for the future. In Neal's timeline in Caffrey Conversation, it's currently November 2005. Many of the ideas we discussed were for stories set in 2006. Without dipping into spoilers, I can safely predict it will be a very eventful year. During last year's retreat, Neal's cousin Angela wasn't shy about expressing what she'd like to see occur during the speakeasy party in Columbia Ghost Story. If you've read that adventure, you won't be surprised to hear that at one point Penna and I were singing along to "Someday My Prince Will Come" while searching for screenshots of Snow White. This year, Henry was particularly vocal about what he'd like to see happen. Some of his ideas will find their way into stories later this year.
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website