This story begins three days after the conclusion of the fourth Arkham Files story, Cinereous Skies. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. I've also written a status update on the main characters for the blog I co-write with Penna: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Vault Acquisition: Lion's Lair."

Chapter 1: Thief in the Night

Arkham, Massachusetts. Friday, November 21, 1975.

Neal's breath came out in a strangled gasp as he was slammed flat on his back. For a moment, the walls of the Miskatonic University gym spun lazily around him as the barbells on the wall mounts engaged in a slow, jerky dance.

Sara's head popped into view over his head, an annoying smile on her face. "Oops. I didn't realize you'd be such an easy mark." She held out a hand to help him up.

He clasped her hand, faking pants as if he were out of breath. "Sure you did," he wheezed. "This is what . . . the third time? You made your point. I'm as bad at self-defense . . . as you are . . . at singing." He rubbed his side with his left hand and grimaced.

Her smug look was immediately replaced by concern as she leaned closer. "Did I hurt you?"

Once her eyes were focused on his side, he yanked her onto the mat with a loud and eminently satisfying ker-plunk.

Sara glared at him indignantly. "That's cheating!"

She started it. How was he supposed to focus on judo when she wore that tight tank top and leggings? When Sara offered to give him a lesson, he'd expected her to show up in baggy trousers and a kimono jacket. When he teased her about the outfit, she excused it as being required attire for a fake girlfriend.

Because, of course, there was no place more romantic than the university gym for a fake date. On a Friday evening, they had the wrestling room to themselves. All they needed were candles, a bottle of wine, and a few less throws. Sara could also lay off the fake date references.

Knowing that it was his fault only served to increase Neal's frustration. He'd willingly agreed to her offer to be his fake girlfriend. Now she was settled so comfortably in the role, he doubted he'd ever be able to convince her to view him differently.

If he viewed it in a rational manner, Sara's strategy was the correct one. Like Peter, Elizabeth, and Mozzie, she'd volunteered to help him confront the threat of a hostile alien species. This was hardly the moment to pursue a romantic relationship. So stop tormenting me with tank tops.

When Sara offered to coach him, learning a few self-defense moves sounded like a good idea. She'd been studying martial arts since she was a freshman at college. For the past month, she'd been taking advanced classes along with Detective Diana Briscoe of the Arkham Police Department.

Neal had never studied any kind of wrestling or self-defense, and after two months of unplanned adventures, he was clearly past due. But it was also plain he wouldn't be an overnight wonder.

"You've forgotten what it's like to be a beginner," he pointed out. "You should go easier on me."

"Is that what you'll tell some thug from the Starry Wisdom cult when he grabs you on the street?" She slapped her forehead with her hand. "What was I thinking? I bet you're right! I'm sure he'll let you off the hook when he hears you're a novice. You can tell him to come back next year."

Sara raised a sensitive subject. Chad Lawson, a bully Neal knew from his childhood and who was now a cult member, had mugged him a few weeks ago. "The cult's no longer active in Arkham. After the police raid, there's been no sign of resurgence."

"But you don't know what the situation is like in Lyon. Hoodlums could be on every street corner." Sara sat next to him, crossing her legs. "With only a few days to prepare, we don't have the luxury of going slow. Honestly, you're not quite as horrible as you think you are."

Neal didn't feel like debating the degree of his ineptitude. "Did you have any trouble getting time off from the newspaper?"

She shook her head. "I simply told my boss the truth. We need to go to France because a space alien had written a message onto an armillary sphere once owned by the Renaissance scientist Heinrich Agrippa. When I explained that you were carrying the DNA of two alien species and that the world-famous archaeologist Peter Gilman and noted astrophysicist Dante Atwood were joining the effort, Larry immediately agreed that my presence was essential."

Neal restrained his joshing with difficulty until she'd finished. "What did you actually say?" They were scheduled to be gone over the Thanksgiving weekend. Sara was a rookie journalist with the least amount of seniority at the paper. Since she'd already used up her vacation days, the odds of her being able to go along had initially seemed slim to none.

"I didn't even have to ask. Gideon had already contacted Larry. He explained that he was funding a series of archaeological expeditions and he'd like me to be present to document the discoveries. When Larry heard that Gideon would pay all my expenses and that the Arkham Gazette would have first rights to publish any discoveries, how could he refuse?"

"And I assume you didn't mention that Gideon Talmadge, renowned global financier and Miskatonic University benefactor, is actually an extraterrestrial?"

"That didn't seem wise," she admitted, breaking into a smile.

"Good thinking."

She rose to her feet. "Break time over. By the end of the evening, I want you to be able to toss me as easily onto the mat as I can you. Don't think of me as Sara Pabodie, your fake girlfriend and private investigator. Picture me as Chad Lawson."

Neal's emotions must have projected onto his face for she quickly added, "I know you don't like thinking about him. I don't either, but he's still out there. The Starry Wisdom cult may have marked you with one gigantic bullseye."

During the remainder of the lesson, Sara concentrated on defensive postures and basic footwork. He particularly appreciated learning how to fall correctly. Neal sensed he'd be doing a lot of that. At the conclusion, Sara pronounced herself satisfied with his progress. To his eyes, he hadn't advanced much. It was plain that having alien DNA didn't bestow any talent toward being a ninja warrior.

When he returned to his loft in June's house, Neal had a difficult time focusing on the stack of student assignments he should be correcting. Sara would come over on Sunday for her first music lesson. He and June had schemed to combine it with a cooking lesson. They'd originally decided on something simple. But after the shellacking he'd received this evening, it would only be fair to reciprocate with something equally challenging. Beef Wellington could be entertaining.

And, as long as he was on the subject of being fair and objective, he should stop bemoaning Sara's lack of interest in him. How could she possibly view him as a potential dating prospect after hearing he'd been genetically modified with unknown repercussions? Neal had been bred with one goal in mind—to help protect Earth from the Ymar. His fate was now irrevocably linked to a friendly species whose representatives had been working in Arkham since he was a child. Perhaps that was what made Sara so appealing. She represented the safe world that was no longer his. That was hardly a valid reason to involve her in his uncertain future.

Neal picked up his red pencil and resumed reading his students' attempts to translate a passage from Beowulf. They'd been campaigning for him to teach a seminar exclusively on the epic poem. He'd already spoken with Marjorie Whipple, his department head about it. He hoped he'd be around to give it. But the upcoming term, like everything else in his life, was up in the air at the moment.

It was late by the time Neal called it quits for the night. The next day, he'd meet Peter for an early morning run along the Miskatonic River if it wasn't snowing. The sky was already overcast. There'd be no stargazing for Mozzie tonight.

. . .

"Yeoooowl!"

As Neal struggled to open his eyes, cold furry paws landed on his chest and a rough tongue began scraping his chin. There was enough light coming in from the skylight over his bed to recognize Betelgeuse. He and Mozzie's tabby were old friends, but the cat had never visited him at the loft. Betelgeuse paused to let out another mournful yowl.

"What's wrong, fella? Did you get locked out of Mozzie's place?" Neal glanced around the loft as he stroked the tabby. The cat's fur was cold from being outside. The patio door was ajar. He must have left it unlocked and Betelgeuse somehow managed to pry it open. Mozzie had a suite on the top floor of the science building at the university. Normally, the tabby was only outdoors when he joined Mozzie on the roof for stargazing sessions.

"Enough, I'm awake." Neal's initial grogginess had been washed away by the bath he'd received from Betelgeuse's tongue. The cat stared at him expectantly, swishing his tail impatiently. Suddenly an image popped into Neal's mind of Mozzie lying face down on the floor of his office. A second later it was gone.

Neal sat up, stunned. Was that a vision or his subconscious trying to figure out the puzzle he'd been handed?

Betelgeuse cocked his head and growled.

"What are you trying to tell me?" On Merope, there'd been telepathic animals. Had Betelgeuse sent him the image? If so, it was a one-shot occurrence. The tabby rubbed against him but there were no more images.

Neal flung off the covers and headed for the phone. Mozzie worked at night. He was probably still awake even though it was two in the morning. After learning that all was well, Neal could go back to sleep and return Betelgeuse later in the morning.

But any lingering sleepiness vanished when Mozzie didn't answer. Neal's stomach clenched into a hard knot. Mozzie couldn't be on the roof, not with the storm clouds overhead. It might be a false alarm, but Neal didn't want to take the risk. He pulled out the university directory for the phone number of the campus police.

Betelgeuse paced the floor, flicking his tail nervously, while he spoke with the security dispatcher. It took several minutes to convince her that he wasn't a student playing a prank and that Professor Atwood could have suffered an accident.

After extracting her promise to send an officer to check, Neal threw on a pair of jeans, grabbed Betelgeuse, and darted downstairs. He didn't attempt to awaken June but borrowed the keys to her Chevy for the drive to the campus.

By the time he arrived at the Derleth Hall of Science, an ambulance with flashing lights was parked outside the building. He raced up the five flights of stairs with Betelgeuse galloping beside him. When he arrived at the suite, the door was open. He could see Mozzie being strapped onto a gurney.

A campus guard stopped him at the doorway, demanding identification.

Neal introduced himself and fished out his wallet to show him his ID. "I was the one who called security. How is Professor Atwood?"

One of the emergency techs, a young stocky woman with short black hair, looked over at him. "He's still unconscious. He has quite a bump on the back of his head. At a minimum, he sustained a concussion."

"How did you know to call us?" the guard asked.

"His cat woke me up in my apartment. I was concerned something might be wrong." The guard eyed him skeptically but luckily didn't press. Neal swiftly changed the subject. "Any signs of a break-in?"

"None. The door was locked when we arrived. I used a security key to enter."

"You better check the roof. Mozzie often leaves the door at the top of the spiral staircase unlocked."

"We'll do that," the guard assured him, "but more likely he simply fell and hit his head. With the amount of stuff he has crammed into his office, it would be easy to trip on something. That blackboard, for instance, is an accident waiting to happen." He nodded toward a board on wheels which was covered with equations.

Neal scanned the room and his heart began to hammer. "Someone was here." Despite the seeming amount of clutter, Mozzie had developed a system to deal with the chaos. To the guard, it might look like the typical untidy office of a scatterbrained professor, but to Neal, it was clear there had been a struggle. Books had been knocked off his desk. Papers were scattered on the floor.

The most compelling bit of evidence was what wasn't there—the armillary sphere. Mozzie always kept it on a shelf behind his desk and now it was gone. Had he been attacked by a ghast? One had made an earlier attempt to steal it.

Neal fought the encroaching panic. If a ghast had been here, Mozzie would likely have visible wounds. A couple of days ago, they'd discussed moving the sphere to the library vault for safekeeping. Perhaps Mozzie had gone ahead and simply neglected to tell him.

If not, they were all in serious trouble.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"Sit down," Diana ordered, pointing to the chair. "I can't question someone in perpetual motion."

"El will call us as soon as he's ready for visitors," Peter added, giving a gentle nudge of his own. "She's pleased with the test results. Mozzie's going to make a quick recovery."

Neal gave in, taking a seat next to the desk. El had supplied them with one of the staff's consultation rooms for their use, and he'd paced every inch of it. Peter's wife was Neal's doctor and a neurologist at the center. He knew Mozzie couldn't be in better hands, but at the moment it was hard to be reassured.

He'd accompanied Mozzie in the ambulance, leaving it to the security guard to contact the police. El took over Mozzie's case once she and Peter arrived at the hospital.

Diana had stopped at the science building before showing up. The apartment was being examined for forensic evidence. There was no sign of anything amiss on the roof. The science building wasn't locked at night and there was no guard. The assailant could have simply exited by the front door.

Diana shoved Neal's cup of lukewarm coffee toward him. "Drink," she ordered, "and stay focused. Worrying about Professor Atwood won't help him and you'll be hindering our investigation." She glanced down at her notepad. "You were telling me about the armillary sphere that was taken . . . Is this the same one that the ghast tried to steal from the Nautical Shop two months ago?"

Neal nodded. "Mozzie purchased it as soon as he found out about the ghast's interest." Neal had called Lavinia early in the morning, and she confirmed his fear. Mozzie hadn't placed the instrument in the vault. The obvious conclusion was that the assailant had stolen it.

"Back in September, you had a premonition—a vision— that the theft would occur." Diana frowned for a moment, tapping her pen absently on her notepad. "I put you through the wringer about those visions you were having. First the murder at the rare bookshop, then the attempted burglary at the Nautical Shop . . . Did you have any kind of warning this time?"

"No."

"Then how did you know Professor Atwood was in trouble? And don't tell me it was because his cat came to see you."

"But that's what happened," Neal protested impatiently. "Betelgeuse woke me up. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have known anything was wrong. It's not like I was dreaming about Mozzie." He left it at that. Not an untruth. Diane's frustration echoed his own. Why hadn't he sensed anything earlier? He might have been able to prevent the crime.

"We'll leave that for now," she said in a quieter tone. "Peter, do you have any theories about why a thief would only snatch that one item when Professor Atwood's office contains many other valuable antique instruments?"

"We believe it's because the Starry Wisdom cult is interested in it. Mozzie discovered that the instrument was owned by Heinrich Agrippa when he lived in Lyon, France. This was in the early fifteen hundreds. In addition, the armillary sphere was inscribed with a coded message referencing Lyon."

Peter's description was carefully constructed to not contain any lies. He omitted the bits that were privileged, such as their belief that an extraterrestrial from the planet Celaeno had visited Agrippa and inscribed the riddle on the armillary sphere.

"What does the message say?" she asked.

Neal quoted the lines for her. "Seek the answers to your questions in Lyon. Go to the lion's lair on the hill that prays and place your hand on the tuft of his tail. The serpent flies overhead." He repeated them slowly so she could write them down.

"Do you know which questions the message is referring to? Or what the significance of the lion and serpent is?"

"No," Neal admitted. "We were planning to travel to Lyon on Wednesday. We hope to find out why the cult is interested in it."

"Perhaps they consider it a holy object," Diana suggested. "The message could be a prophecy. You said a code was used. Is it related to the script on the starfish artifacts we discovered at crime scenes?"

"No, it's a different language," Neal said, hoping she wouldn't quiz him more about the starfish. It was a source of frustration that despite his progress in decrypting other languages, he still hadn't succeeded in deciphering the symbols.

Diana's lips tightened into a frown. "We could be facing the start of another crime wave. Eight days ago the cult abducted you two. Now this burglary. Starfish could start reappearing. I'll alert patrols to be on the lookout for them."

Neal didn't attempt to correct her. The police believed that cult members had kidnapped him and Peter. That was much easier to accept than the truth—that they'd been sucked into a wormhole which ejected them onto the distant planet of Merope.

"Fortunately, there have been no reports of zoogs or those other weird creatures you've seen," she added. "Have you detected any ghasts?"

"None," Peter assured her. "This is the first incident since our abduction."

The door opened and El walked in. She was wearing a lab coat over her bell-bottoms. "Mozzie's awake and asking for you," she said, smiling at Neal. "He's recovering well. There's no cerebral edema. I don't expect any complications."

Neal let out an audible sigh of relief at the good news. When they regrouped in his room, Mozzie offered quick confirmation. His bed had been elevated and he gave Neal a cheerful smile when he approached his bedside. His eyes particularly lit up when he spotted Diana. "Have you caught the scoundrel?" he asked eagerly.

"Not yet. Did you see who he was?"

"Chad Lawson. I was working at the blackboard when I heard someone on the stairs leading to the roof. I whipped out my slide rule to defend myself but he got the best of me."

Chad. Why hadn't he thought of him earlier? Chad had been one of the cult members who kidnapped Sara in late October but had managed to escape arrest. He'd served as assistant to the so-called priest of the cult in Arkham. By now he could have become the head of another branch.

"We haven't had any reports of Lawson since he fled after the raid," Diana said, frowning. "We'd assumed he'd caught a freighter for Europe, but no sightings have come in from Interpol. We'll start a search."

When Diana left to phone in the news from the nurses' station, Neal wondered if they shouldn't also depart. "Mozzie, are you sure you feel up to our questions?"

"Of course. I only have a slight headache, and that can be easily vanquished."

"We'll keep him overnight for observation," El said, "but he should be able to go home tomorrow."

"I take it Betelgeuse wasn't hurt?" Mozzie asked, glancing up at Neal.

"He's fine. When I called Cyrus with an update, he was rewarding Betelgeuse with mackerel for his heroic efforts on your behalf." One of the tabby's favorite haunts was the chemistry lab and Cyrus had promised to take care of him till Mozzie returned. "Betelgeuse was the one who alerted me that something was wrong."

"He's a highly intelligent animal," Mozzie said complacently. "I'm sure all those years of accompanying me at my work have added to his brilliance." He grimaced. "Chad probably made a mess of my office. Was anything taken?"

Neal hesitated, slanting Peter a glance. There was no need to distress him immediately. The news could easily wait till he was released.

"Neal?" Mozzie raised his voice in the same tone he used when Neal was a boy and had miscalculated an equation. "What happened? It wasn't . . .?" He clapped a hand over his mouth in dismay. "Not the armillary sphere?"

"I'm afraid so," Neal admitted

His face went white. "This is a catastrophe of the highest magnitude!"

"Not as important as your health," El admonished, placing a hand on his forehead. "We'll get it back. Now, relax or I'll shoo everyone out."

"Once Gideon returns, we should be able to trace it," Peter added. "He'd placed a marker on the instrument during his last visit for just this sort of eventuality."

"That may help if it's on Earth," Mozzie moaned. "What if Chad gave it to a ghast who returned it to Azathoth?"

There wasn't any way to whitewash the calamity. Gideon suspected the Celaenians had designed the instrument to have hidden capabilities. The rings were inscribed with fractal equations, but so far they'd only been able to speculate on how they were meant to be used.

"It's my fault," moaned Mozzie. "I'd planned to take the sphere to Lavinia before we left for Lyon." He slapped the right side of his chest, his eyes widening. "The letter! Did Chad take it as well?"

"Where was it?" Neal asked uneasily.

"I was wearing a tan plaid flannel shirt. It was in the pocket."

"Your clothes are in the closet. I went through them when we arrived at the hospital and didn't find a letter but I'll look again."

"It was an international aerogram. You can't mistake the blue paper."

"Who was it from?" Peter asked while Neal searched.

"Philippe Vannier in Lyon. He had important news about Agrippa."

"Are you sure it was in your pocket?" Neal asked. There was nothing in the shirt pocket. He also checked Mozzie's trousers one more time.

"It may have fallen out during the struggle," El suggested.

Peter offered to search the office, but Neal was sure he would have seen it if it had been lying on the floor.

"It's not a problem for us," Mozzie said, a slight scowl crossing his face. "I have perfect recall, but I'd hate to think the cult has it now."

"What did the letter say?" Neal asked, uneasy over what additional information the cult might have acquired.

"Philippe had found a manuscript at the Lyon Historic Archives. It's unsigned, but he believes it was written by Agrippa. Because of its content, it had been classified a work by an unknown mystic."

"Could he read it?"

Mozzie nodded, closed his eyes, and began speaking in Latin.

"Peter and Elizabeth may prefer the English version," Neal murmured.

Mozzie uttered a low rumble but acquiesced. "I have been visited by an angel. He declines to call himself that, but who else could change his appearance from one to another? With his finger, he traced an intricate pattern on the rings of the celestial sphere but I can see nothing."

"That must be the Celaenian who left the message!" El exclaimed.

"We know the species is capable of shapeshifting," Peter added. "That manuscript could be the first reference to Celaenians on Earth." He turned to Mozzie. "I assume Philippe's address was on the envelope."

Mozzie nodded. "Philippe wrote in French. I find it hard to believe Chad has knowledge of either the language of Lucretius or Voltaire, but it wouldn't be difficult to find some impoverished student willing to translate it for him. Philippe also said he'd found a fragment of a manuscript at an antique store which he believes was written by Agrippa."

"Did he explain what its content was?"

"No, but he purchased it and intends to prepare a translation."

When Diana returned to the room, Peter told her about Vannier. "He could be the next target."

"I'll alert Interpol," she promised. "They'll notify the local authorities." She turned to Neal. "I assume Chad hasn't tried to contact you?"

"No, and I haven't been aware of anyone stalking me."

She studied him a moment, her lips tightening. "Since the cult has the armillary sphere, they may leave you and Peter alone, but I wouldn't count on it. Both of you need to be on your guard. Don't walk alone at night. I'm particularly concerned about you, Neal. Chad has had a grudge against you since you were children. After the raid on the cult, his animosity has likely increased tenfold. Your landlady could also be in danger."

"Neal could stay with us," Peter suggested.

"That will help," she agreed. "I'll request extra patrols at night. The police units won't have to divide their coverage between two houses."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"I appreciate the offer, Peter, but it's really not necessary," Neal said. They'd moved into the hallway. Once Diana departed, El evicted them from Mozzie's room so her patient could rest.

"Does June have a guard dog?"

"No, but—"

"—or a gun? In light of what happened, extra precaution is warranted." Peter hesitated, his expression growing more serious. "This is not just for your sake. I've been having nightmares about Merope . . . about what you looked like after Sornoth attacked you in the cell. The wounds have disappeared, but in my mind I still see them. I'd rest easier having you close by. I'm willing to wager your nights aren't entirely peaceful either."

Neal didn't attempt to deny it. The bright lights and constant activity of the hospital were a universe away from the dark tunnels of the fortress of H'nir where the ghasts had abducted him but even here the saber-toothed leopard stalked his thoughts in unguarded moments. It had only been a week since the ordeal on Merope. It was small consolation that lingering nightmares were inevitable. He hadn't realized that Peter was also troubled by them.

"El won't let us back in to see Mozzie for a while. We have time to go by your place and pack a suitcase."

"I'd like to see Lavinia first."

"I thought she already knew."

"She does, but I wasn't completely forthcoming with Diana. When Betelgeuse woke me up, an image of Mozzie flashed into my head. It made me wonder if the cat had put it there."

He knew Peter wouldn't laugh at his words, not after they'd experienced telepathy on Merope. Their perception of what was possible had radically changed since they'd been abducted to that distant planet. They now knew that Lavinia, the redoubtable head librarian of Miskatonic University, was a shapeshifter from that world. Both she and her fellow Meropian Gideon Talmadge had been working secretly on Earth for decades to help safeguard Earth from incursions by the Ymar.

When Neal was held prisoner he'd been able to communicate telepathically with a small lemur-type species. Was the vision he'd had of Mozzie something similar? Lavinia should know. He hadn't mentioned it to her over the phone because this was one conversation he wanted to have in person. And she wasn't the only one he wanted to consult.

Lavinia's apartment was in one of the turrets of the university library. She shared her home with two chittaks who nested in the exposed rafters above her office. Resembling Earth's bushbabies, they were native to Merope. Lavinia was able to communicate with them. Did she have the same ability with Betelgeuse?

The library was a short walk from the medical center which was also on campus. The cold November air revived Neal better than the hospital coffee.

"Nothing about Lavinia would surprise me anymore," Peter confessed as he opened the front door to the library. "Even communicating with Mozzie's cat seems a reasonable hypothesis."

When Lavinia greeted them at the door to her suite, the chittaks made their presence known immediately. Ch'orri, a male, had an emerald mask which covered his eyes. His mate Ch'uli lacked the mask, but as if to compensate, the emerald spots on her silver fur were more numerous.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said. "Has Mozzie's condition worsened?"

"No, he continues to improve," Peter said, stroking Ch'orri who'd leaped upon his shoulder as soon as he entered the room. "He's lucky he wasn't injured more seriously."

Neal disentangled Ch'uli from his chest and plopped her comfortably in the crook of his arm. "El expects Mozzie can go home tomorrow. He claims he feels well enough now." The dim surroundings of the librarian's office, with its tapestry-covered oak table, bookcases filled with history books and antique astronomical devices, used to be a forbidding place—just like Lavinia—but no longer.

She'd been drinking tea. She poured two cups for them from the earthenware pot on the table. Her brew had a floral fragrance he now associated with the rainforests on Merope. "Why did you come to see me?" she asked.

Neal explained what had happened with Betelgeuse. "Is it possible that he planted the image in my head?"

"It's quite likely," she agreed calmly as if that wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

"Did you have anything to do with it?" Peter asked. "We've speculated there might be a connection between you and the tabby. My understanding is that when Betelgeuse was a young kitten you gave him to Mozzie."

A sardonic smile flitted across her face. "You think he's my familiar?" She was quite aware of the reputation she had on campus of being a witch. Many students liked to scare incoming freshmen with spooky tales about the intimidating woman who lived in the library turret.

Peter continued to stroke Ch'orri. "Well, no, Lavinia, not quite that, but since you brought it up, is he?"

"Not in the traditional sense, but I enlisted his help to be an extra set of eyes and ears. Neal, you were a freshman. You often went to Mozzie's office to study. At that time, the wormhole in Arkham hadn't reopened, and there was no particular threat. It was purely a precautionary measure. Betelgeuse knows he can transfer visuals to me. It's a mark of your progress that the tabby sought you out instead." She gave an unexpectedly sneaky smile. "As long as I'm confessing, I might as well include Satchmo."

Peter's eyes widened. "What did you do to my Lab?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much. My primary concern was about ghasts. When zoogs appeared in Arkham, I added them to his watch list. Satchmo already considered you and El to be members of his pack. I made sure he included Neal, too. As for Betelgeuse, Mozzie and Neal have been members of his pride since he was a kitten. I recently added Cyrus. The animals are both very protective. They're aware that ghasts and zoogs are dangerous predators. They now can transfer images of what they see to those who have the ability to perceive them."

"Will I ever be able to see their messages?" Peter asked.

"Perhaps one day as the algolnium within you continues to strengthen." She turned to Neal. "Betelgeuse was telegraphing you that image because of extreme distress. It's a similar situation to when you were able to broadcast your thoughts to Peter on Merope. Under normal circumstances you're not able to communicate. You'd require much training before you'll be able to consciously project your thoughts."

"But in theory I could?" Neal asked.

She hesitated for a moment. "It's possible. We really don't know what you're capable of. Your father had shapeshifted into human form when he mated with your mother. It's unclear how many of our abilities you'll eventually master."

Neal was all too familiar with the need to be patient. After his return from Merope, he'd hoped to be able to communicate with the chittaks, but so far there was no evidence of it.

"Can dogs and cats see ghasts?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "I'd explained to your wife that each individual has a unique magnetic resonance. You may prefer to think of it as a harmony. An individual's distinctive pattern overlays the harmony created by each species. The resonance patterns of certain extraterrestrial species, such as ghasts and chittaks, are out of phase with those of humans. That's why they appear invisible."

"And it's algolnium which allows us to see them?" Neal asked.

"That's right. The element modifies your ability to perceive other phases. In comparison with humans, dogs and cats are born with an enhanced ability even though they don't possess any algolnium in their chemical makeup. Betelgeuse and Satchmo can also see chittaks," she added nonchalantly. "They may have spotted them near your homes. The chittaks have been curious about you two."

Peter tickled the fur under Ch'orri's chin. "It's only been since I returned from Merope that I've been able to see you, my friend. Now I find out you've been dropping in on me. Next time, be sure to let me know."

"Oreos," Neal blurted out.

Peter shot a bewildered glance at him as Lavinia chuckled.

"I saw a plate of Oreo cookies in my mind. Was that from Ch'uli?"

"More likely Ch'orri. He's addicted to them. You see, your telepathic skills are improving." She waggled a finger at the Oreo-lover. "Were you trying to suggest that you can be bribed?"

"Message received," Neal said. "I'll add them to the grocery list."

Peter smiled absently and turned to Lavinia. "I'll accept that Neal's image of Mozzie was a message from Betelgeuse, but that doesn't explain his other visions."

"Did you plant the vision I had of my friend being killed in the rare bookstore?" Neal asked, picking up on Peter's concern. "Or of the armillary sphere being stolen in the Nautical Shop?"

She made a low rumbling sound in her throat. "Gideon and I have discussed those at length. Neither one of us had anything to do with them."

"What does that imply?" Peter asked. "Is Neal psychic?"

"We don't believe so. It's more likely the Celaenians are involved with it." She turned to Neal. "You're now linked to them through your DNA. Although they exist as pure sentient energy, that doesn't prevent them from being on Earth." She shrugged. "They could be in this room with us. Although we have no ability to communicate or test the theory, Gideon and I suspect they planted those visions." Before Neal could ask her more about it, she changed the subject. "You should take precautions. The attack on Mozzie could be a signal of worse things to come."

Lavinia had already told Neal of her concern that Sornoth had damaged him in some way during the attack. The leopard's saliva might have carried a chemical which was now acting as a tracer. Another equally grim possibility was that he'd been infected with a slow-acting poison. Neal didn't voice his fear that the attack on Mozzie was somehow tied to the events on Merope. Gideon had taken a sample of Neal's blood to the Meropian home base for analysis. When he returned, he might be able to provide an answer.

"Neal will be staying with us till we leave for France," Peter said. "Detective Briscoe offered to provide protection."

"The police may be ineffective against the type of danger you face. Under the circumstances, an extra safeguard is only prudent."

"What do you have in mind?" Neal asked warily.

"An additional bodyguard. You may prefer to think of it as an early warning system."

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. I hope you'll join me for the next chapter when that early warning system mentioned by Lavinia causes additional complications to Neal's life and the attack by Sornoth acquires an even more ominous significance. Lion's Lair has 6 chapters, which I'll post weekly on Wednesday.

In Arkham, Neal is preparing to celebrate Thanksgiving, but in our timeline it's the holiday season. If you're looking for a December holiday story, we have several options in Caffrey Conversation: Choirboy Caffrey (early December 2003), By the Book (New Year's 2004), An Evening with Genji (mid-December 2004 and an early New York Christmas), Caffrey Aloha (Christmas 2004 and New Year's in Hawaii), and A Caffrey Christmas Carol (December 2005). There's a chronological list of all our stories as well as short summaries on our blog.

An additional gift is coming your way when Penna Nomen posts a new fic later this month. It's so tempting to shake the box and give a few teasers, but I promised to be good. The story is set in the third week of December 2003. This is the time period of the final two chapters of Choirboy Caffrey. Penna also surprised me with a present, somehow finding the time to sprinkle beta magic on Lion's Lair while writing her own story, all during a very hectic work period. Thanks, Penna!

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Lion's Lair board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
Links to the blog and Pinterest site are in my profile.

Disclaimers: The worlds of White Collar and the Cthulhu Mythos as envisaged by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, and others are not mine, alas.