A/N: Last year I sent the characters to Hawaii for Christmas and New Year's. This year I'm sending them someplace even more exotic; yes, it's a sci-fi Christmas so I can finally answer a question that's been in the back of my mind for a long time: What would our AU Peter think if he met the canon Peter of season 5?

This story takes inspiration from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens and from the movie It's a Wonderful Life, with references to A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and the poem A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore.

If you're new to the Caffrey Conversation AU, these stories are a variation of White Collar where Peter and Neal met in late 2003. Peter recruited Neal to join the White Collar team, helping him gain immunity in return for a confession. Since then, Neal has connected with several family members, and is attending Columbia University.

The latest stories in the AU have been set in May of 2005. I'm skipping ahead to December in order to post this story while I'm in a holiday mood. Silbrith will continue posting stories set in May through November of 2005 over the next few months, and hopefully everything will sync up.

This story references Silbrith's Arkham Files. If you haven't read those, the premise is as follows: To catch the attention of a cybercriminal who's a fan of the Lovecraftian Cthulhu Mythos, Agent Diana Berrigan started writing stories placing the White Collar characters into that setting in the 1970s. In her stories, Peter and Neal and Mozzie are professors at Arkham College, Elizabeth is a doctor, and Diana & Jones are cops.

Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. Early Friday morning. December 16, 2005.

Peter reached for the sugar bowl, and his wife pushed his hand away. It was a game they played whenever they had oatmeal for breakfast. "Add raisins if you want more flavor," she said this time.

He reached for the raisins. "So you still want to keep me healthy?" he teased, kicking off a long-running joke.

Elizabeth nodded. "I plan on an eventful retirement one day, and that means you need to stay healthy enough to go on adventures together."

Discussing those adventures helped him ignore how bland the oatmeal was, even with raisins. She mentioned visiting France, hitting the beaches and art museums. He suggested heading north from there, to see old Viking villages and to watch the Northern Lights.

Compromise and variety, those were keys to their marriage. Plus openness, of course.

Elizabeth's phone beeped to let her know she had a text message, and she bit her lip. Normally they had a policy of silencing their phones when they had meals together, but her event planning business was booming right now with holiday parties. The threat of an ice storm on Sunday had many clients anxious about plans for next week.

Peter grinned. "One spoonful of sugar in exchange for you reading that message."

"Deal," she said, grabbing her phone. It beeped again while she was reading, and she didn't even notice what a heaping spoonful of sugar Peter managed to balance before pouring it into his oatmeal. She huffed out an impatient breath. "A client is worried the furnace is malfunctioning at one of my venues for next week. I need to get over there to assess the situation and discuss alternate locations." She stopped staring at her phone and looked at Peter. "Can you take Satchmo to his appointment at the V-E-T this morning for his annual checkup?" They'd taken to spelling out vet because hearing the word made their Labrador hide. "I can pick him up in the afternoon, but I need to deal with this." She was already standing up and carrying her breakfast dishes to the kitchen.

It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to suggest rescheduling the appointment, but in fact things were slow at the Bureau. Many team members were taking the next two weeks as vacation, and therefore weren't picking up new cases. Yesterday the bullpen had reminded him of that Christmas poem about the night before Christmas, because not an agent was stirring. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'll call the office and get someone else to lead the morning briefing."

He ate one last bite of his oatmeal to hide his smile. El was up to something. She hadn't forgotten to silence her phone this morning. She'd been expecting that text, and had been concentrating on her phone so she wouldn't look at Peter and start laughing. The lack of actually scrolling through her messages had given her away.

White Collar Division, Manhattan, NY. Friday morning. December 16, 2005.

"Surprise!"

Neal didn't have much experience with surprise parties, but he was certain this one wasn't a surprise. It wasn't just that Peter would have seen the cake and balloons as soon as he entered the bullpen and looked up at the glass-walled conference room — it was also that Peter and Elizabeth didn't have a lot of practice keeping secrets from each other. Her job had been to make sure Peter came in late, so they'd have time to set up the party decorations. Neal could have told Jones that bringing El into the surprise was a weakness in the plan, but decided to stay quiet about it. Peter probably enjoyed figuring out the team's secret in advance.

"You knew, didn't you?" Neal asked as he handed Peter a glass of ginger ale.

Peter shrugged. "The fact that yesterday absolutely no one commented on my two-year anniversary as the leader of this team made me suspicious. The best explanation was that someone decided Friday would be a better day for a celebration than a Thursday."

"Feeling smug?"

"A bit," Peter admitted. "I haven't forgotten that yesterday was also your two-year anniversary on the team. You doing okay?"

"I'm not going to repeat last year's panic," Neal promised. A year ago he'd worried he wasn't reformed enough and had considered quitting.

"Good." Peter sounded relieved. "The fact that you were the only one who came down with strep throat at the end of last year always seemed odd to me. El thinks your stress made you more susceptible than the rest of us."

Jones carrying over slices of cake gave Neal an excuse to change the subject. "This bakery we tried did a great job with the cake. Maybe El should use them sometime for one of her events. They probably…"

The room fell silent when Reese Hughes arrived. Peter's boss didn't often join them for meetings, instead spending his time with teams that weren't running as smoothly as White Collar. "Quite a year," Hughes said in his dry manner. "I've been reviewing the team's case files for 2005, and I have to say they read more like an adventure movie than government documents."

From where he was slicing the remaining pieces of cake Travis said, "If we're comparing cases to movies, then I have to say the search for Hagen felt like a crossover between Dracula and Close Encounters of the Third Kind."

"Not a Star Trek film?" Neal asked, because he knew Travis was a fan of Spock.

That elicited a snort. "I wish. That case wasn't nearly logical enough for my taste."

"Capturing Keller could be The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb," Jones said.

"Oh, and the undercover op at the posh resort." Diana fluttered her eyelashes in an imitation of the suspect's love-struck wife, who had been besotted with Peter in his role of a ski-instructor. "That was totally Dirty Dancing."

"I did my best when the resort held their dance," Peter added with a sheepish grin. "It's generous of you to imply I achieved anything close to Patrick Swayze's moves."

"Well, I have to say it," Neal said. "Chasing leads on Ydrus and Azathoth across Europe was like a James Bond movie."

There was a groan from the team members who knew Neal had once been known as James Bonds in the FBI case files.

"He's right, though," said Diana. "After Neal and Peter teamed up with Interpol, the reports we were getting sounded like a mix of James Bond with Harry Potter, plus a dash of Doctor Who."

"Don't forget the U-boat angle," added Jones. "That was like The Hunt for Red October meets a World War II flick like The Train."

Peter chuckled. "You know, most people who sign up to be FBI agents have unrealistic expectations about how exciting it's going to be. This year exceeded any expectations I had at Quantico. Honestly, a nice boring mortgage fraud case sounds pretty good right now."

"I can't think of a movie based on mortgage fraud," Neal said.

"How about It's a Wonderful Life?" Diana suggested. "Bank fraud. Close enough."

Neal noticed that Peter frowned oddly. A bad memory related to the movie, perhaps?

"Or A Christmas Carol," Peter added. "El's community theater group is performing that now. Definitely some labor law infringements going on, and it wouldn't surprise me if Scrooge was cooking the books. He probably owed taxes."

Hughes chuckled and then said, "There's a meeting I need to join soon, but before I go I'd like to say a few words." When the room was silent he said, "First, I know the nor'easter heading up the East Coast is threatening to interfere with travel plans that some of you have for the next few days. Play it safe, and if you need to reschedule to get out of town ahead of the storm, then you don't need to ask permission to leave work early today." He paused as several agents called out thanks and whistled in appreciation. "Second, I want to congratulate Peter on his anniversary as the leader of this team, and to extend my thanks to the entire team for your extraordinary work this year. In fact, my next meeting involves negotiating to get this department funding for the raises you all deserve."

A cheer followed, with team members shouting encouragement for Hughes to get to that meeting on time.

He had taken a step toward the door when his gaze fell on Neal, and Hughes stopped to say, "And it's a service anniversary for you, Caffrey. I'd almost forgotten. I'll admit when Peter first recruited you I didn't believe you'd last a year, much less two. I think it behooves a leader to admit when he's wrong, and I'll even go so far as to say on this occasion I'm glad I was wrong. It's difficult to imagine the team without you."

This time Neal was the one hiding a frown. He thanked Hughes, and then fell silent as various agents congratulated Peter again before heading back to their desks. Neal stuck around to help with the clean-up, mostly trying to recapture the moment and the thoughts that had briefly danced in his head when Hughes made that comment. It was like a dark variation of visions of sugarplums. He had the annoying feeling that some half-forgotten memory was trying to come forward and couldn't quite make itself heard.

"Care to share the secret to your success, Peter?"

Peter looked startled, as if he had also been lost in thought. "Tricia! I didn't notice you before. When did you get here?"

"I slipped in while Hughes was giving his speech. Even though I transitioned out of your team this year, I wanted to join the celebration. Congratulations, Peter."

"Thanks. There's some cake left, if you want."

Tricia smiled. "Not for me. I'm watching my weight."

Peter looked askance at his own plate. "No wonder El didn't want me adding sugar to my oatmeal this morning. She knew I'd be indulging in cake." He put down his plate. "There. I won't keep eating it if I'm not holding it. Getting back to your question though, I think my wife had a big role in my success. She's an excellent listener, and she has… Maybe empathy is the word I'm looking for. She understands how the cases affect me and how to help me decompress. Sometimes I worry, though, that she's too interested in my work. I don't want her getting involved and endangering herself. That's one reason why I usually wait until after a case is over to share many details."

"I've enjoyed getting to know Elizabeth better as a member of the Arkham Round Table."

Several months ago Hughes had approved a plan in which they tried influencing a cybercriminal known as Azathoth by having Diana write Cthulhu Mythos fan fiction, which she posted in forums Azathoth visited. The Arkham Round Table was made up of Diana and a group of editors and advisors, which included several White Collar team members, plus El and Mozzie. June Ellington acted as a beta reader and hosted the meetings in her home, as it was rare to get Mozzie to agree to enter the Federal Building. Tricia had contributed in her role as a Behavioral Analyst, providing suggestions of what would influence their target reader.

"It's a perfect compromise. El gets her wish of contributing toward a case, and I don't have to worry that she's in danger," Peter said. "You have a Round Table meeting today, right?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, that's something I wanted to discuss. Do you have time now?"

Neal was running out of things to pretend to be picking up so that he could keep eavesdropping. "I'll get out of your way," he offered.

To his surprise, Tricia said, "No, stay. I'd like to talk to both of you."

Peter led them into his office, and when they were seated he asked, "What's on your mind?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Sometimes, even strong teams have things they want to say to one another but don't feel comfortable expressing aloud. They often find other ways to get their message across."

"They're using the stories to send messages to each other?" Peter asked.

"They know the whole team reads Diana's stories. In recent chapters we've covered everything from annoying habits of colleagues to giving dating advice to Neal."

Neal chuckled. "Yeah, I've definitely noticed their fascination with Neal Carter's love life. I figured it was payback for all the suggestions I'd been emailing Diana for my character."

"You, too?" Peter asked. "El finally told me I can only give her three suggestions to take with her to each Round Table meeting." Facing Tricia he said, "Are they concerned about us trying to meddle with our characters?"

"No, I'd say meddling with characters is the status quo, but I think you should join a session in person to hear first-hand what they're saying, and to make the case for your own ideas. The series is at a turning point now and could use your direct input. And I think they could use your expertise in dealing with Mozzie. He's been cornering each of the individual members of the Round Table over the last week, advocating for major changes. Yesterday was my turn, and he told me he wants to explore whether either of your characters regretted starting to work with the other."

Neal and Peter glanced at each other, and Hughes' words echoed through Neal's mind: imagine the team without you. Neal frowned as the odd memories kept trying to bubble to the surface. "I'll talk to him."

"Hold off on that a few days. The Arkham Round Table is supposed to meet at 3:00 this afternoon, and that's also when my sons get out of school for their winter break. I expect the boys will be bouncing off the walls, and I don't want to leave my husband alone to deal with that. I'd like to make that my excuse to send both of you as my substitutes to this afternoon's meeting. Listen to what Mozzie's saying in that context. Then let's talk next week about how we should handle it."

"Can we kick him out of the group?" Peter suggested.

"That's tempting at times," Tricia admitted, "but he does make valuable contributions. His knowledge of science, of the writings of Lovecraft, and of the 1970s setting is genuinely helpful. And honestly, I think spending time in a forum with FBI agents has helped a little with his paranoia about the government."

White Collar Division, Manhattan, NY. Friday afternoon. December 16, 2005.

Neal ducked into an empty conference room, closed the door, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his cousin's number.

"Hey, Neal," Henry said. "What's up?"

"You gotta help me, man. I'm desperate."

There'd been background noise on Henry's side of the call, but it stopped. Henry had also stepped into a quiet space. "Anything you need, just tell me the problem and I'm there for you."

"Tricia talked Peter and me into taking her place in an Arkham Round Table session later today. Acted like it was no big deal. She's a master con artist. I had no idea what I was stepping into. You have to come with me, or I swear I might choke Mozzie. Or one of my team members. It's a toss-up at this point."

"You're talking about Diana's writing group? I haven't read her latest stories."

"Writing group. Loony bin. Take your pick. These people are certifiable. They seem all normal until they start talking about writing, and then they get this crazed look in their eyes." The blinds over the glass walls in the conference room were closed, so the loonies shouldn't be able to find him here, but Neal peeked between the slats to make sure he hadn't been followed.

"Okay. I wanna help, but you need to take a deep breath and tell me exactly what's going on."

Neal took that breath and also sat down. "It seemed innocent enough at first, you know? Tricia told them that Peter and I would join their session. Travis was the first one to stop by my desk. He asked me to help with Mozzie. Turns out Mozz is obsessing over some theory of wormholes and alternate universes."

"Isn't that the premise of the stories? Cthulhu and his band of monsters travel to Arkham or pull people from Arkham into bizarre worlds?"

"Yeah, but Mozzie's insisting that Arkham isn't a fictional setting created by Lovecraft and his fans, but that it's a real place. It's an alternate reality that we can visit. And the characters, the ones based on him and me and Peter and so on, they're all real people — parallel versions of ourselves. He insists that the Arkham version of himself — the professor of astrophysics — is duplicating his own efforts to travel between our realities, and therefore Diana needs to write that as a plot element into her stories for accuracy."

"Yeah, that sounds kind of annoying. But that's not enough to provoke you into violence."

"Jones decided to join the conversation, next. He said Mozzie wants to explore alternate universes in which we took different paths. Like one where Jones became a lawyer instead of an FBI agent. Or one where I turned down the chance to exchange a confession for immunity. It's… He did this last year, too. Mozzie, I mean. When I hit my first anniversary of working for Peter, Mozzie started bemoaning how I'd sold out, and that fed into my stress about whether I'd made the right choice. And then Diana joined the throng at my desk. Mozzie wants her to wear some kind of electronic device on her head when she sleeps, to measure brain waves, because he has a theory that writers and other creative people travel to alternate universes for their ideas, most notably when they're asleep or daydreaming. She's insulted that Mozzie believes she isn't really creative at all. Instead of having unique ideas, she's simply reporting visions she has of other worlds."

"I'm getting why Diana might be tempted to inflict violence," Henry said.

"Then she went back to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a couple of stuffed animals. Little guys, you know? One would fit in your hand. She brought a lion over to me, told me his name is Nick, and that he's my muse or spirit animal or something. Everyone in the writing group has to have one, apparently."

"What about Peter?"

Neal smiled slightly. "She plans to give him a panda named Petric."

"Still not seeing the need for violence."

"It's complicated."

"It's something you don't want to talk about, so you're giving me a frame and not filling in the picture. If you don't tell me the real issue, I can't help you, kiddo."

Unable to sit still for this, Neal paced the room as he explained, "This morning Hughes made a comment about how the team would be different without me, and as soon as he said it, I had this… almost a headache, but there and gone like a flash. A microburst headache. Ever since, there have been these… these memories on the edge of my mind that I can't quite access. The few times I've gotten close to them, they're familiar and yet they're not. It's almost like someone else's memories. And that sounds crazy. But each time someone complained about Mozzie and his theories, the stronger these un-memories became. I think…" Neal paused and ran a hand through his hair. "I think I was dreaming about these alternate worlds and stuff. Last night, maybe the last several nights. And I don't want to talk about it, but I don't want to go off the deep end, either."

"How can I help?"

"Can you get away from work and join the Round Table at 3:00? Instead of hearing complaints from everyone else about Mozzie, we'll get his exact words, and then afterward I can try to remember the dream. Between us, maybe we can make sense of it. In fact… There's one more piece I didn't mention." Unsure if he wanted to stand or sit, Neal compromised by leaning against the table. "The latest forecasts have bumped up the timing of the ice storm, and now they think it will hit the city this evening. When June heard that, she invited all the members of the Round Table to stay the night. Most of them are jazzed about having an overnight writing session. I need someone who can act as a buffer."

"Peter can't do that?"

"The thing is, Peter had a reaction this morning to someone mentioning It's a Wonderful Life. Something about it made me think… I mean, I don't have proof, but I have this feeling I'm not the only one with weird dream-like memories."

"Got it. El will watch out for Peter, and I'll watch out for you. I'll pack a bag and be at June's place by 3:00. Should I bring candles or something?"

"It's a writing group. We're not conducting a séance."

"I mean in case the power goes out, wiseass."

"Nah. Over the summer Mozzie convinced June that she shouldn't be entirely dependent on the grid. She installed solar panels on the roof. That'll keep the hot water heater and the kitchen appliances going even if the electricity goes out. She stocked up on wood for the fireplaces last month, and that gives us heat. Peter said he'll bring battery-powered lanterns for light."

"What about food?"

Typical Henry. "An event El had planned for tomorrow is cancelled due to the storm, but the caterer prepared most of the food today. Since Burke Premiere Events had already paid for it, she's going to pick up what she's describing as a feast." Neal paused for emphasis before adding, "And yes, there are multiple desserts in this feast. At least one of them is chocolate."

"Good to know. I'll call Elizabeth to see if she needs help transporting all that food. No need to risk a dessert being left behind because she didn't have space in her car. I'll stay in your apartment overnight, and if you start having a nightmare or vivid dream, I promise I'll wake you up. We can talk through your dreams while you still remember them."

"Thanks," said Neal. He didn't have to say anything else. He knew his deep gratitude was reflected in his voice.

Neal's loft. Friday night. December 16, 2005.

"What was in that wine?" Henry asked, groaning after he followed Neal upstairs to the loft.

It was a good question. Throughout the Arkham Round Table session, Mozzie had barely spoken, making Neal wonder if the complaints of the others had been a hoax of some kind. But Mozz had simply been biding his time. As dinner was served, he poured everyone glasses of his latest variety of honey wine, and then things went sideways.

For the last week or so, Mozz had been experimenting with increasingly odd ingredients in his wines, to the point that Neal wondered if something was affecting his friend's palate. Some of the results were barely drinkable.

Tonight Peter had taken a sip, made a face, and started to push his glass away, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm and insisted that he finish one glass and then he could switch to coffee. Everyone else but Jones followed their lead, drinking one glass and refusing a refill. After sniffing the contents of his glass, Jones announced he wasn't "a wine guy" and switched to water. As the rest of them forced down the stuff — Neal felt it was overly generous to call it wine — they often gazed at Jones with jealousy.

About half way through the meal, Mozzie began elaborating on the inspiration he'd gained recently from reading A Wrinkle in Time.

Neal was vaguely familiar with the scientific concept of a Theory of Everything, but Mozzie had taken that and run with it in an entirely different direction. Throughout the meal he'd expounded on a unified theory of literature. There was no such thing as fiction, he insisted. Every story was true in its "source universe" and authors were simply people whose minds had unconscious access to those other worlds. Therefore the travel described in a story like A Wrinkle in Time was equally as true as the time travel described in A Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life. By studying these works, Mozzie was certain that people could learn to travel to the worlds of their choosing. Therefore, people who had regrets about a specific life choice could visit an alternate version of themselves who hadn't made that choice and observe the results.

The group had intended to watch movies in the mansion's media room later that evening, but by the end of the meal everyone except Jones was looking a little green. Whatever was in that wine had not mixed well with the meal, and it was mutually agreed that going to bed and sleeping it off sounded like a good idea. Even Mozzie seemed a little woozy.

In case the power went out later, Neal built a fire in the loft's fireplace to give them light and warmth. Before the Round Table they'd set up a cot for Henry to sleep in, so they only had to don their sleepwear and slip into their respective beds.

It felt odd that he'd just thought the word don, but the wine really was messing with his head. Neal and Henry tried talking about Mozzie's ravings, but both fell asleep within minutes.

He must have been dreaming about Christmas, because when Neal woke to a pounding on the door, the words of a holiday poem were running through his head with a slight variation, When out in the hall there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Neither Neal nor Henry actually sprang from their beds. They'd piled on so many blankets that it took more effort than usual to extricate themselves, but soon Neal was running to the door, mentally cursing the cold hardwood floor and his decision not to take the time to put on shoes.

"Power's out," said Henry, who had gone in the direction of a light switch.

Opening the door, Neal saw Mozzie carrying a lit candle. Odd choice, given that Peter had given everyone battery-powered lanterns or flashlights. "Mozz, what the hell?" Neal asked. Leaving the door open, he walked back to the bedroom area and slid on slippers. Henry was sitting on the cot, pulling on warm socks.

Then Henry switched on their lantern and Neal could see Mozzie more clearly. He had changed into something different from what he'd been wearing earlier, but it wasn't sleepwear. He wore orange corduroy pants, an olive green turtleneck, and a gray tweed jacket with elbow patches. In other words, he'd dressed like a garish version of his counterpart in Diana's stories — Professor Dante Atwood.

Their visitor was wandering around the loft as if he'd never been there before. He reached the French doors overlooking the terrace and exclaimed, "Snow! Perfect. Exactly what I had in mind. You're familiar with A Christmas Carol, yes?"

"We were talking about it over dinner, remember? El's playing the part of Scrooge's fiancee in the community theater production."

"Excellent. My doppelgänger prepared you exactly as promised. You must…" Mozzie's meanderings had taken him to the kitchen, where he stopped in apparent surprise. "I was expecting more advancements in the appliances. It is 2005, correct?"

"You've seen them a hundred times, Mozz. They're vintage." The firelight caused an unusual effect, making it look like Mozzie was flickering. It reminded Neal of watching an old, worn film, and in fact sometimes it seemed like the color faded out and Mozzie was in black-and-white, which was preferable to seeing his outfit in all its glory. "What's with the costume? Not to mention pounding on the door after everyone's gone to bed?"

Mozzie said, "For the purposes of this conversation, you may want to call me Dante. That will reduce confusion with your friend. I dressed in a caricature of 1970s style in order to make it even more obvious that I'm not the Mozzie you know."

Henry scoffed. "You woke us up to role-play your part in The Arkham Files? C'mon, man. Isn't it enough you poisoned us with that weird wine?"

Mozzie-Dante turned toward Henry and studied him carefully. "You're Neal's cousin. I've heard about you. You don't have a presence in my world or at least, you aren't known to me there. Unfortunately, I won't get to know you here. My time is brief, as I'm needed back in Arkham to direct this experiment. I came here to confirm our unified theory of fiction, and to let you know what to expect." Now his mannerisms were less what Neal recognized as Mozzie and more what he saw in his professors at Columbia when they were leading a lecture. "Think of me as your Jacob Marley, who sets up the story. Tonight I'll send three sets of otherworldly visitors to guide you. They will help you explore the past, present and future, showing you alternatives to your current path. Prepare to be amazed!"

Then Mozzie was surrounded by a brilliant light. By the time Neal's eyes stopped watering, their intruder was gone.

"Ow," said Henry, rubbing his eyes. "How'd he do that?"

"We discussed something like that once, a chemical compound that would create a blinding light to disable security guards during a heist. The challenge was creating special glasses so we could still see to escape. I didn't realize he'd kept working on it."

"Looks like he perfected it. You gotta convince him to teach me how to make that compound, and the glasses of course."

"Yeah," Neal said. "In the morning we'll track him down and make him tell us all about it."

"Not gonna follow him now?"

"Not gonna give him the satisfaction." Neal yawned and turned toward his bed. His eyes had finally adjusted so that he could see furniture as more than big blobs, and what he saw shocked him. "What happened?"

Guest bedroom. Friday night. December 16, 2005.

Peter tried not to wake his wife when he slipped out of bed, but he heard her ask, "What's wrong?"

"I think that wine gave me heartburn. Did we pack any antacids?"

El sat up and pushed her hair back, and looking at her, he was reminded of the words of that old Christmas poem, And mamma in her 'kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

Given the possible power outage, they were wearing the matching flannel pajamas her parents had given them for Christmas three years ago. They were a hideous plaid, but at least they were more comfortable than the sweaters El's mother knitted. This set had come with caps or hats of some sort, but they'd never worn them.

"I don't think so," El said, "but let's look." She slipped out of bed to join him in rummaging through the bag they'd packed.

"Maybe in the kitchen?" Peter suggested, since he usually kept some on hand there at home.

"I doubt it. Not in a household with a professional chef. Neal's loft is just one floor up. Let's see if he has some, or if he can at least tell us where to look."

They paused to put on slippers and then traipsed upstairs. Peter knocked softly on the door. "Neal? You awake?"

The door opened, and to his surprise it was Mozzie, who for some reason was wearing something out of the 1970s. "Welcome," he said. "I was about to go looking for you."

With remarkable tact, El said, "That's an amazing outfit. You should wear it to the Arkham Round Table to channel your character. Did Janet find it for you?" she asked, naming his girlfriend who worked in fashion and costume design.

"Ah, yes, I would like to meet Janet, but we don't have time for that now."

Peter blamed the weird wine for that nonsensical remark, and wondered why he wasn't hearing any other voices from the room. He pushed past Mozzie and saw that Neal's bed and Henry's cot were empty, with the blankets pushed aside as if they'd risen in a rush. "Where'd they go?"

El followed him and also looked around the room. "Mozzie, what happened to Neal and Henry?"

With a slight bow, Mozzie said, "A pleasure to meet you, and the name is Professor Dante Atwood. Have no fear for your friends. They're just next door, cosmically speaking. You'll see them again soon."

"What are you talking about?" Peter said.

"Hmm. Not as bright as Professor Peter Gilman, I fear. My counterpart assured me he had explained this to you already during the meal. Wormholes. Parallel universes. These aren't novel concepts, although they have been the topic of many novels." He grinned. "Excuse my play on words. But you are familiar with science fiction, yes? And A Christmas Carol? Your friends said they knew of the story."

Peter was about to start demanding answers, when El squeezed his arm and said, "Excuse us a moment, professor? We need something from the bathroom and we'll be right back." She tugged her husband along and opened the medicine cabinet.

"Yes!" Peter grabbed a bottle of pills and swallowed two. "Want some?"

El held out her hand and took two pills herself. "There's something very strange about Mozzie," she said in an undertone. She shook her head at her husband's incredulous expression. "No, seriously, he's different tonight. I wonder if he drank more of that wine than the rest of us, and is having some kind of… I don't know, a psychotic episode? I don't think we should upset him, especially if we want to find out where Neal and Henry are."

For the wise woman who'd led him to the magic medicine, he was willing to make concessions. Peter nodded. "He likes you. Go ahead and take the lead."

They returned to find Mozzie gleefully going through Neal's bookcase, as if he hadn't seen the books many times before. "Professor Atwood?" said El tentatively. "You said we'll see our friends soon. Can you show us the way?"

"An adventurous spirit! That's more like it. I'll send you back in their direction now. Neal is waiting for you. Follow me." He started walking toward the terrace, and then disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

Peter squeezed El's hand while his vision gradually returned to normal. He kept blinking, assuming his eyes were still tricked by the light, but El's gasp told him he wasn't the only one seeing the impossible.

A/N: Are these wine-induced dreams, or something more incredible? Check out the next chapter, where the characters take a tour of Christmas past.

During the party, some of the cases the characters mention will occur in stories Silbrith hasn't posted yet. Hope you enjoyed the teasers!

For more visuals related to the story, see the A Caffrey Christmas Carol board on Pinterest. For more about the series, visit our blog: Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation at Blogspot.