Notes: The Crypt is the third story in the Arkham Files series within the Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen. Although it can be read as a standalone, it will make more sense if read after the second story in the series, The Locked Room. See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.

Chapter 1: Family Ties

Sharkey's Bar, Arkham, Massachusetts. Wednesday, October 15, 1975.

Chad drained the last of his beer while he watched the customers in the bar. It was early in the evening, but Sharkey's was already packed with fishermen and dockworkers. Good potential for new recruits.

A waitress strode by, carrying a large platter of fried fish sandwiches and beer. She gave him a cheeky smile as she passed. She wasn't bad-looking, but he preferred his women svelte—like Sharkey's new bartender Emma. Now she was a looker. Redhead, sassy smile. Her tight sweater revealed every curve. And those legs . . . She rocked her miniskirt.

He could tell she liked him, too. He hadn't asked her out yet but he should. Just because he was an acolyte didn't mean he'd sworn off sex. Besides, she seemed interested in Starry Wisdom. They needed more women, particularly ones that looked like her.

Keller slid into the chair next to him, putting an end to daydreaming. Chad had chosen a table in the back where they could have privacy. The bar was a rowdy place. The clatter of plates and glasses mingled with jokes and curses would prevent anyone from overhearing them.

Keller waved to the waitress and pointed to Chad's beer bottle, holding up two fingers. "I've been thinking about the gal you're hot for."

"Emma? I can invite her into the order?"

"Sure. I gave her the benefit of the Keller charm yesterday evening and she cozied right up to me. She's sharp as a tack and sexy to boot. I can see why you're so twisted over her." Keller slanted a glance at him and smirked. "You got it bad, I can tell. Well, you'll be pleased to know I checked the covenants and there's nothing to prevent a female acolyte or priest for that matter. We're an enlightened religion. Equal opportunity for all."

"When's the next ceremony?"

"A couple of weeks. Go ahead and ask her when you feel the time's right." Keller sat back and eyed him appraisingly. "You know as my acolyte, all your possessions are mine. That a problem?"

Chad wet his lips. Hell, yeah. But if he said no, the repercussions would be severe. No more moon-tree wine. No woman was worth losing that. He forced a smile. "What if she resists?"

Keller chuckled. "Once she's had a taste of the wine, she won't want to. What do you have to report on those two intruders we surprised at our last meeting?"

"I've been doing like you requested. Following them around. They're two eggheads. The older one—Peter Gilman—is some bigshot archaeologist at the university. The kid, Neal Carter? Just like I suspected, he still can't keep his nose out of a book. If he's not teaching classes, he's at the university library. Never seen him with a date. I don't think he owns a set of wheels."

Keller grunted. "Why were they snooping around our meeting place? I don't like it. I don't understand why they were there and that's an itch that won't go away."

"You want me put your itch on ice?"

Keller chewed on the offer while he took a swig of beer. "Nah. As long as they keep out of our way, they're not worth the risk. But keep an eye on 'em."

Derleth Hall, Miskatonic University. Thursday, October 16

"Are you sure you're trying?" Mozzie took his glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief. "I can't understand why you haven't had any visions yet. I've been staring so much at that sphere, I'm starting to see things and I don't have the gift."

Neal vented his frustration in a huff. "I keep telling you it doesn't work like that. I can't just look at it and command a vision to pop into my head." He stood up and stretched his back. He'd been sitting in Mozzie's office in Derleth Hall, staring at the brass armillary sphere for more minutes than he wanted to count, but nothing was happening.

Let Mozzie grumble. Neal walked over to the window to refresh his eyes. Not that it was easy to find his window. Mozzie's office was larger than most but it was crammed with bookcases and tables, all stuffed with books, journals, and assorted astronomical devices. A blackboard on a rolling stand was currently blocking Neal's view of the window, forcing him to wheel it out of the way.

The squeak of the wheels spooked Mozzie's cat, who'd been napping on the window ledge. Letting out an indignant meowl, he jumped down onto the floor with an irritated swish of his tail.

"Sorry, Betelgeuse." Neal stooped down to stroke him. Accepting his apology with a loud purr, the tabby retreated to his favorite sanctuary in the keyhole of Mozzie's desk.

Neal propped his elbows on the window ledge and looked through the leaded glass panes. Mozzie's office faced west. The setting sun was a fiery jack-o'-lantern over the campus, announcing the approach of Halloween. It cast a copper glow to the familiar brick structures. The trees were already cloaked in their costumes of russet and gold.

Derleth Hall had the highest elevation of any of the buildings on campus. To provide optimal visibility for the observatory on the roof, it had been built on top of Founders' Hill. Mozzie's office was on the fifth floor, just underneath the observatory. He called his office a lab—a place to conduct thought experiments. To Neal it was a penthouse. Because of the importance of his research, the university granted Mozzie privileges no other professor had obtained. He was allowed to live there since he did most of his thought experiments at night. He'd installed a kitchenette and a cubbyhole of a bedroom, although he mainly slept on the old leather couch in his office. A cast iron spiral staircase led to his private entrance onto the roof.

It had been two weeks since the bizarre events in the house on Birch Street when Neal and Peter had been seized by members of the Starry Wisdom cult. He and Peter had traveled via a wormhole in a locked room into another world where the standard laws of physics didn't apply. Mozzie was dismayed at having missed out on the journey but at least he'd been present when they discovered a zoog lurking in the house. Sightings of the strange rat-sized animal with a snout covered in pink tentacles had also occurred on the streets of Arkham.

Mozzie had yet to see a ghast, and he wasn't about to let Neal rest until he too had seen one of the jackal-headed monsters. Mozzie was convinced the answer lay in the armillary sphere. A few weeks ago, Neal had experienced a vision of a ghast stealing the sphere from the Nautical Shop in town. Peter had persuaded him to inform the police and that night during a stakeout of the shop, not only had he seen the ghast, but Peter and two police detectives, Diana Briscoe and Reginald Jones, witnessed it as well.

Mozzie bought the armillary sphere which had sparked the visions in the hopes history would repeat itself but so far it hadn't happened. That Dante Atwood, the Karl Jansky Professor of Astrophysics, had missed out on all of Neal's ghast sightings and otherworldly experiences was not to be tolerated.

After all the assistance Mozzie had provided him over the years, Neal wished he could help. But his visions were infrequent and random. For the past two weeks, he hadn't experienced any.

He heard the scrape of a chair behind him. Mozzie walked over to stand next to him. "I have a Merlot that calls out to be drunk. Let's take a break." He glanced at his watch. "I still have plenty of time before I need to leave. President Upton's invited me to dine with some of the university's benefactors tonight. He warned me that one of them was a fierce teetotaler and that there will be no wine. I should prepare my stomach. We'll drink a glass of together and toast the sunset."

Neal fetched the glasses from the kitchen cabinet while Mozzie retrieved the bottle from his extensive wine collection. The observatory dome was about fifty feet away from Mozzie's doorway. He kept a couple of lounge chairs and a table in a small shed next to the entrance. The university was tolerant of his additions, especially since he'd advised them that he did his best thinking while stretched out on a lounge. The chairs could be reclined perfectly flat, making for comfortable viewing of the stars. Betelgeuse usually accompanied him onto the roof, and this evening was no exception.

While Neal unfolded the chairs, Mozzie uncorked the bottle and poured out two glasses. The sun had dipped below the steeple of St. Jude's Church. Mozzie expounded on how sunsets would look on different planets while Neal was content to sit back and enjoy the beauty of the scene.

Betelgeuse, however, had other ideas. He'd been sitting quietly on Neal's lap but suddenly jumped off and, with a low growl, raced over to the observatory.

"I don't know what's gotten into him," Mozzie remarked. "He's been on edge for the past few weeks. He seems to be constantly on the prowl. Yowls at random moments throughout the night. You know I like to sit up here and think, but he's forcing me to use my office instead."

"Does he cry when he's inside?"

"No, only outside. Perhaps he hears other cats. Betelgeuse is very protective of me."

"He was such a tiny kitten when Lavinia gave him to you. He must think of you as his papa." Bestowing the kitten upon Mozzie was an odd act of Miskatonic's head librarian, Lavinia Armitage, but then everything about her was strange. Mozzie had been strolling by the library one afternoon just after the start of the school year when Lavinia strode out to meet him and handed him the tiny furball, ordering him to take care of it. That had been in 1969, Neal's freshman year. Mozzie named the kitten Betelgeuse because of its reddish fur.

Neal had never had a pet. He and Betelgeuse immediately bonded. Mozzie declared that the tabby was fonder of Neal than of himself, but that wasn't true. Betelgeuse had become the unofficial mascot of Derleth Hall and wandered freely throughout the building.

"How's the work of translating the appendices proceeding?" Mozzie asked, refilling his glass.

"At a snail's pace," Neal admitted, pausing to savor the soft silkiness of the wine, a much more pleasurable sensation than thinking about the appendices. "Although the script resembles Arabic, the characters are unlike any I've come across. Its closest relative appears to be Phoenician but the differences are too numerous for Phoenician to be much help. We know theNecronomicon has illustrations of ghasts and nightgaunts, but the main text carries little additional information. I hope the answers will be found in the appendices."

"Have you found any reference to the starfish in the Necronomicon?"

"The object that started it all? Not yet."

It had been a little over a month since Neal first saw the artifact that Peter had brought back from a dig in Abydos in Egypt. Since then they'd made significant progress. Their colleague Cyrus Dexter, head of the Chemistry Department, had discovered the soapstone carving contained a previously unknown element which they dubbed algolnium. But there were still so many blanks. Similar starfish had been found at crime scenes for several months. Each had vanished without a trace within a few hours of being discovered. Only Peter's was stable. And as for the glyphs written on them, they were no closer to solving the meaning. Without a Rosetta stone, a translation was near impossible to achieve.

"What about the Shrewsbury cabinet in the library vault? When Lavinia finally granted you access and gave you the key your advisor Thaddeus Shrewsbury had left for you, I was sure you were on the cusp of major discoveries. The journals of his famous archaeologist father, Laban Shrewsbury. The mysterious crystal manuscript. So many coded papers with untold mysteries to be revealed." He sighed. "I know you've been applying yourself in every spare moment, but still . . ."

Neal understood his impatience. He felt the same way, but he couldn't help feeling Mozzie was being a little unfair. "How long did it take you to develop your theory of parallel worlds?"

"M-branes?" He gazed up at the sky as he considered. "Roughly seven years. But my theory explains the fundamental nature of the universe. You're simply trying to decipher a few languages."

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Neal didn't respond. Peter repeatedly cautioned him against spending too much time in the vault, reminding him of Lavinia's warning not to overdo it. But since the materials couldn't be removed, he was spending long hours there every day. To have so few results was discouraging.

"Never mind. I'm sure it will come to you eventually. You should do more stargazing. That's when my most brilliant ideas pop into my head." Betelgeuse trotted back from his patrol, looking pleased with himself. He jumped onto Mozzie's lap and rubbed against his chest. "Yes, my friend," he added, stroking his head. "You inspire me, too."

Neal smiled. Perhaps that was his problem. He needed a pet. Mozzie had Betelgeuse, Peter and El had Satchmo, even the scary Lavinia had animals living in the rafters of her office. He'd like to know what species they were, but that was one of the many questions she refused to answer.

"Are you still working in Peter's office once a week?" Mozzie asked.

"Yes, and it's going well. I no longer have any discomfort around the artifact. It's hard to believe it used to provoke such a violent reaction." For the past several weeks Neal had been working on Monday afternoons with Peter in his office. El's theory that greater exposure to the starfish would allow him to build up a tolerance had proved to be correct. Initially Peter had suggested the use of his office where he'd be around if the exposure caused difficulties. Now that they knew Peter also had algolnium within his spinal fluid, they were able to monitor each other. So far Peter didn't have the ability to sense algolnium like Neal did, but it could only be a matter of time. They knew that the algolnium was self-replicating.

"You're not sensing any change at all?" Mozzie asked, sounding disappointed.

Neal considered for a moment. "It may simply be my imagination but my senses seem a little heightened. Colors are brighter, smells more intense."

"Like being high on LSD? I had that same feeling."

Neal snorted. "I wouldn't know. You know I don't do drugs, and you shouldn't either."

"Of course, you're right. I never do . . . now. That was merely a scientific experiment."

"You better go slow on those experiments. They could get you in trouble someday."

"How about Peter? Does he still experience no reaction?"

"That's right, and it's a mystery—"

"Yeowl!" Betelgeuse flew off Mozzie's lap and once more raced to the observatory.

Mozzie rubbed his thigh ruefully. "I knew I should have cut his claws this morning."

Angry snarls and hisses could now be heard coming from behind the dome. "Who's he attacking? Another cat?" Neal stood up. "I'll go check."

"I wouldn't bother," Mozzie dismissed, taking a sip of wine. "It's probably just a tree rat. Betelgeuse is quite capable of fighting off any marauders."

Neal dismissed his suggestion and jogged to the observatory to lend his assistance. He and Betelgeuse were comrades. Neal wasn't about to abandon him to face killer tree rats on his own.

He found the tabby on the far side of the observatory. He had his jaws around the neck of large rat-like creature and was shaking it furiously. Neal couldn't get a good view of his prey, but it had a long hairless tail. Then he caught a glimpse of its face. "Mozzie, come here! Now!"

"What's going on?" Mozzie demanded, racing over.

"Betelgeuse caught a zoog!" The tabby had not only fought it, he apparently had killed it. The zoog was dangling limp from his jaws. "Quick, memorize everything about it. It may disappear on us." Neal knelt down. "Good boy, Betelgeuse. Now let it go."

Betelgeuse dropped the creature. By the angle of the body, it was clear its neck had been snapped. Up to now Neal had only caught fleeting glimpses. In the house on Birch Street, the zoog had been lurking in an upstairs corridor and scurried away before they could get a good look. Diana said the police had received several calls about a strange rat with a deformed snout skulking in back alleys or in the undergrowth. The only written report Neal had found of zoogs was in the Necronomicon.

"This is almost as good as a ghast!" Mozzie said excitedly. "I'll fetch my camera."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

But by the time Mozzie returned, the zoog was gone. It had vanished in a poof in front of Neal's eyes. When he called Peter from Mozzie's office to describe their encounter, Peter invited him over, explaining that he also had something to report.

That came as no surprise. Peter had been reanalyzing potsherds from the dig at Abydos where he'd found the starfish artifact. Neal hoped he'd discovered something that would help decipher the symbols.

El was working that evening and had left a Crock-Pot of beef stew with ample to share. They had their meal at the butcher block table in the kitchen while Neal gave a detailed description of the zoog. "Its fur was coarse and sparse like a possum. And that wasn't its only similarity. It had a pouch."

Peter passed him the bread basket. "A marsupial?"

"It's certainly possible."

"Could you tell if it were a carnivore?"

"We pried open its jaw. The teeth were razor sharp and appeared designed to shred flesh. And those tentacles? They looked very much like pale pink earthworms."

"You should call Diana first thing in the morning to report it," Peter advised. "Why was it on the roof of the building? If it were foraging for food, wouldn't it have stayed on the ground?"

"I don't understand it either. It must be an excellent climber to scale Derleth Hall. You remember the time I thought I glimpsed one by your patio? That was at night. Satchmo alerted us." He reached down to stroke the Lab, who was rubbing against his legs in a subtle reminder he was available for handouts. "This time Betelgeuse found it. The zoog put up quite a struggle. I had no idea Betelgeuse was so fierce."

"I'm glad he is. You were wise to warn June about zoogs. We don't know how aggressive they are or what they're capable of."

Neal tore off a piece of bread to dip into the stew. "You said you had something to report as well," he prompted.

Peter nodded as he swallowed. "I'd tried to reach you earlier in the day. El got the results back from my parents."

Neal's heart quickened. El had raised the possibility of algolnium being an inherited trait. She'd suggested testing Peter's parents to see if they also possessed the rare element. Was he related to Peter?

Peter shook his head in answer to Neal's unspoken question. "They don't carry it. Cyrus and El have refined the test to detect algolnium, and they're convinced they'd be able to identify even the slightest trace."

Neal shrugged, concealing the disappointment. "This casts doubts on El's favorite theory."

"That the algolnium we have is derived from rare deposits left on Earth by meteorites? You're right."

Neal mulled over options while he chewed. "I still could have inherited it. El mentioned that the amount you have is so small, she wondered if you'd acquired it from an external source, perhaps from your food or from the environment."

He nodded. "Did you attempt to speak to Lavinia about it?"

"I did, and she heaped sarcasm on me for asking her about an element that hasn't even been accepted yet by the international body. Did you fare any better with her?"

"No, unfortunately. I'm certain she knows more than she's letting on, but for whatever reason she refuses to explain, and until she's ready there's no point in trying to force it out of her. I know a stone wall when I crash into one."

Peter steered the conversation onto his archaeological research. Neal tried to refocus as well, but the news had hit him harder than he first realized. The odds of him being related to Peter were astronomically slim even if El had found evidence that algolnium could be inherited. He knew that. And if they were related, it probably would have been such a distant connection, it wouldn't have been worth discussing.

"I'm sorry too," Peter said quietly.

Sometimes it was like Peter had a wire attached to Neal's brain. "Is telepathy a benefit of algolnium? Mozzie will be even more envious."

He smiled. "That could be a useful skill to have. It warrants further investigation. But, kidding aside, I'd also hoped we were related."

"A genetic connection doesn't mean much. I'd hoped this would tell me a little about my family, but I realize I was being unrealistic." He stood up and went over to the sink to rinse his bowl. "Mozzie can continue to spin theories about an extraterrestrial origin to the element."

Peter walked over to stand next to him. "The algolnium we share, the mysteries we're working on—they mean much more than a distant genetic connection. El and I both consider you a member of the family. Satchmo would disown us if we didn't. Nothing will change that."

Neal looked at him, speechless, but before he could stumble out his appreciation, Peter switched the topic back to his research. A colleague had sent him photographs of starfish drawings in a Neolithic cave in France which bore a strong similarity to the potsherds found at Abydos and Morocco. They all possessed the same curved tadpole tails. A coincidence or something else? The evidence didn't help Neal's translation efforts, but it invited speculation of an unknown culture which predated ancient Egypt and extended throughout the region.

After helping to wash dishes, Neal prepared to make his departure, but Peter suggested he stay to watch a new TV show with him. Space: 1999 had premiered a few weeks ago. The premise of the show was intriguing. The Moon was blasted out of orbit. It, along with the inhabitants of the colony on its surface, was sent hurtling through space—on their way to explore new worlds. Perhaps they'd find algolnium somewhere in the vastness of space. It made Neal think of the planets he dreamed about the previous year when he was at Oxford.

At the end of the show, he locked his eyes on Peter. Time to test the algolnium theory.

After a minute the subject of his experiment could take it no longer. "Why do you have that goofy look on your face?"

"Can't you read my mind?"

He snorted. "Checking to see if I have telepathy? Sorry, you're in for another disappointment. But El says my algolnium, just like yours, continues to strengthen. Try it again in a few weeks. If I could read your thoughts, what would they be?"

"Off-world exploration. Do you ever dream of visiting other planets?"

"Like that world we saw from the non-Euclidean tower?"

"Preferably worlds which aren't so hostile."

"As I recall, you were hoping to hitch a ride on a shantak bird and explore that planet." He paused to chuckle. "It was an adventure, wasn't it? Life's been pretty boring lately." He shook his head. "But I can't say I ever dream about alien worlds. Do you?"

Neal nodded. "When I was in England. There was one when I was walking along an alien beach. I had that one several times. In another one I was in a forest."

Peter's face flashed recognition. "Those paintings you did that are hanging in the coffeehouse! I knew there was something otherworldly about them."

"You would have known it for sure if I'd included all the details. Multiple moons, unknown species of wildlife."

"Any zoogs or ghasts in them?"

"Not that I remember. I'd wondered if the dreams were another effect of the algolnium."

"If they were, the element's not producing the same result in me. It may be because I'm not an artist. Do you think your home planet was calling to you?"

Neal looked up at him suspiciously. "You're joking, right?"

He shrugged. "Only partly. What's the answer?"

"I'm not sure what to think. Most likely, it's the Star Trek effect. That show was very popular at Oxford. Visiting strange planets, learning new languages—it's a dream job for a linguist."

"For an archaeologist as well. I loved reading Robert Heinlein as a kid. That was part of the initial appeal of archaeology—the excitement of exploring the unknown and unearthing ancient civilizations, whether on Earth or other planets. "

"I used to haunt the second-hand bookstores for foreign language texts when I was growing up," Neal admitted. "I daydreamed about traveling the world." That wasn't quite accurate. He still daydreamed about it. Maybe someday he could when his student loans were paid off.

Peter closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the side of his head. "A signal's coming through. It's fuzzy." He tapped his head lightly several times and snapped his eyes open. "Have Space Suit—Will Travel was one of your favorite books, wasn't it?"

"You caught me," Neal said, grinning. "You do have telepathy after all. When the Mother Thing spoke to Kip in birdsong, I said linguistics is the field for me."

"It was one of my favorite books as well. You see, I knew we were related," Peter added complacently. "The fact my parents don't have algolnium proves nothing."

Related through a novel and algolnium? There were worse ways to be connected. Neal recalled how he'd longed for a Mother Thing in his life when he'd been a child. He'd take Peter any day instead.

When he stood up to leave, Peter offered to accompany him part way, claiming it was time to take Satchmo for a walk. Neal was glad for the company. Although they didn't discuss it, Neal could tell Peter was also keeping a careful eye out for zoogs.

As they strolled along Cedar Street, they speculated about what the significance was of seeing the strange beasts. Mozzie believed there was a wormhole somewhere that was allowing them to pass through. It was difficult to defend any other possibility. No one had reported any UFO sightings over Arkham. Conceivably a spaceship could have landed far enough away that no one had seen it. But if that were true, why were zoogs appearing in Arkham and nowhere else? Diana had checked the police reports for neighboring towns, and not found any other mention of them.

When Neal opened the front door, June was sitting in the living room. She called him in. His questioning smile turned to worry when he saw her face.

"What happened?" he asked, sitting down beside her on the couch.

She took his hand. "There's not an easy way to tell you. I'm afraid I have sad news. You received a call from Dr. Zhang at the Medical Center."

As soon as she said his name, Neal knew what she was going to say. "It's Thaddeus, isn't it?"

"He passed away a few hours ago. I'm so sorry. I know how attached you were to him."

Neal had been half-expecting the news for a while, but it was still a blow. His former advisor had been in a coma for close to two years. Neal had refused to give up hope he'd recover. His condition had been a mystery from the beginning. Doctors suspected a neurological disorder, but had never been able to pinpoint the cause. To all appearances he'd simply fallen into a deep sleep from which there was no awakening. His heart rate was normal. His lungs functioned as they should. All his vital organs appeared undamaged. Neal had made it a habit to see him weekly and read aloud to him. The doctors encouraged him but Thaddeus had never shown the slightest sign that he was aware of Neal's presence.

"Have a brandy, dear. It will do you good." Neal looked up to see June in front of him with a glass in hand. She placed it in his hands. "Thaddeus didn't have any family, did he?"

"Not to my knowledge. The university and his doctors tried to locate relations when he fell into a coma but weren't successful."

"You were probably the closest he had to family. You should take comfort that you visited him so much. Although he didn't respond, I'm convinced that on some level he was aware of your presence." She raised her glass. "To Thaddeus."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

The memorial service was held on Sunday in the college chapel. Thaddeus might not have had any relatives, but the chapel was filled with colleagues and former students. He'd achieved global recognition for his expertise in linguistics. Many scholars had flown in to pay their final respects. Neal sat in a pew with June, Peter, Elizabeth, and Mozzie. Lavinia arrived just as the service began, taking a seat in the back row.

President Upton delivered a short eulogy, but the service mainly consisted of organ music. As the dark resonant tones of Bach's Toccata in D minor reverberated throughout the small chapel, Neal thought back on his studies with Thaddeus. His final assignment had been to help him on the Necronomicon appendices. That project had been put on hold when Lavinia denied him access to the library vault. Now that Neal had secured vault privileges, what did he have to show for it? A few scattered words. Azathoth was the only one of significance. Neal had not found a parallel to the language in any of the materials in the vault. Thaddeus's own notes had been too rudimentary to be of any practical value.

Neal vowed to devote renewed effort to the task. This he could do in honor of Thaddeus.

After the service, they lingered on the lawn outside to talk with some of the visiting professors. Out of the corner of his eye, Neal noticed that El was speaking with Lavinia.

As they made their departure, he questioned her about the conversation.

"I asked her to lunch. Would you believe she turned me down flat?" El huffed her displeasure. "I even offered to rearrange my schedule. She glared at me as if I'd insulted her and marched off. Honestly! Does she think being an eccentric gives her an excuse to be rude?"

Peter shrugged. "I did warn you."

"Did you have a special reason to invite her?" Neal asked.

El hesitated for a moment. "Lavinia assumed the post of head librarian the same year you were found on the streets of Arkham. She was the one who told you the pendant you have is an amulet. I wanted to question her about it. I hope you don't think I was being nosy."

Neal hadn't realized Lavinia showed up in Arkham the same year he did. Simply an interesting coincidence, or was there more to it? He understood why El was curious. He was too.

Peter's Office, Wingate Hall, Miskatonic University. Monday afternoon.

Peter glanced at his watch. Neal was late. Usually he was punctual to a fault . . . unless he was in the vault, where he tended to lose track of time. Neal had gone to the vault after brunch the previous day to work on the appendices, the final task Thaddeus had asked him to perform. Was that where he was now?

Neal dismissed concerns of vault madness but if he knew more about Thaddeus's collapse, he might not. Why hadn't Lavinia told him? She'd confided in Peter, but made him promise to keep it a secret. Wasn't it time Neal knew?

When Peter learned that Thaddeus had been Neal's advisor, he looked into it. The curmudgeonly linguist had acquired quite a reputation on campus. For over fifteen years he'd refused to take on any student, grad or undergrad. The dean had pleaded with him, explaining it set a bad example, but Thaddeus turned a deaf ear to all entreaties.

Then Neal came along.

Peter had buttonholed the dean to find out the circumstances. What he learned was disquieting. By the time Neal started at Miskatonic, the dean had given up on Thaddeus as a lost cause. Out of the blue during Neal's freshman year, Thaddeus approached him and requested Neal be assigned to him.

In view of Neal's youth—he was only sixteen at the time—the dean had taken a personal interest. He feared that after such a long absence from mentoring, Thaddeus would be too demanding. His suspicions turned out to be accurate. Thaddeus piled on far more extra assignments and research than any advisor had a right to expect.

When the dean questioned Neal about it, he'd made no complaints, but that didn't lessen the dean's concern. He approached Thaddeus, ordering him to ease off. Thaddeus promised to comply, but as far as the dean could judge, he didn't. Whenever the dean spoke with him, Thaddeus made vague, disturbing references to the amount of work which needed to be done.

At that point, the dean decided for Neal's sake he had to switch advisors, but Neal had become so attached to Thaddeus, he pleaded to be allowed to continue. The compromise solution was a strict adherence to a schedule established by the dean with defined limits for extra research.

Peter doubted that the schedule did much good. Judging by the way Neal was overworking himself now, he'd probably done the same with Thaddeus.

Thaddeus had been found collapsed on the sidewalk outside the library early on a Monday morning. He'd spent the previous weekend in the vault, working on the appendices. Lavinia had confided in Peter that she feared his illness was another case of vault madness. Additional tests had been run to test the air quality and nothing harmful had been found.

When Lavinia granted Neal access to the vault, she'd warned Peter. Why was she so insistent Peter not share the information with Neal? Peter had tried to get her to explain, but prying information out of Lavinia was a herculean task beyond his capability. If she answered his questions at all, the replies would be riddles or on a totally different tangent.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings. It was a relief to see Neal walk through the door.

"Sorry I'm late." He placed his briefcase on the side table in front of the window and sat down.

"Linguistics emergency?" Peter asked, retrieving the starfish artifact from his safe.

He chuckled. "My students might call it that. Panic is beginning to set in for the paper I requested for my Anglo-Saxon seminar. I suspect my office will be jammed tomorrow with pleas for assistance."

"But you'll be tough, right? Hold your ground. Show them that you won't be a pushover."

"Right. I'll take lessons from the Peter Gilman manual on how to succeed in intimidating without really trying."

"Good. No coddling allowed."

"Got it. Marjorie Whipple, the department head, is also mentoring me."

"I was surprised I didn't see you at the Faculty Club for lunch. You weren't working in the vault like last week, did you? 'Cause you know I warned—"

Neal rolled his eyes at Peter's lecture in the making. "Stop. You're beginning to sound like Lavinia."

Peter winced. "That's a low blow."

"Sorry, but surely you don't believe in vault madness . . . You're not responding." Neal stared at him incredulously. "You're a believer?"

"Agnostic is more accurate." Peter paused a moment. Promises be damned, Neal had the right to know. "You remember when Lavinia spoke with me after she granted you vault access."

He nodded. "I asked you about it, and you said she'd requested the conversation be kept confidential."

"Lavinia mentioned that you would find yourself drawn to studying the rare materials in the vault to the point it could become an addiction." When Neal scoffed at his words, Peter added, "That's what she claimed happened to Thaddeus. She was concerned that the long hours he put in contributed to his collapse."

"Did she think he fell prey to vault madness?"

"That's right. Thaddeus was spending over twelve hours a day on weekends in the vault. Although no evidence has ever been found, Lavinia continues to believe that prolonged exposure can lead to issues."

"I appreciate you telling me. I'm surprised she didn't explain it herself. Did she think I'd sue her?"

"Who knows with Lavinia? Just pace yourself."

"I am," he protested. "In any case, I wasn't at the vault today. Thaddeus's lawyer wanted to speak with me and this was the only chance I had to meet with him." Neal paused for a moment. "Thaddeus mentioned me in his will. I couldn't believe when I heard about it."

"I'm not surprised. It was obvious how much he thought about you."

"Yeah, but I never expected . . . Thaddeus had told me once he planned to leave everything to the university to set up a scholarship fund. I think I was just named the first recipient. Thirty thousand dollars!"

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. My bank will probably think I've taken up a life of crime. I've never had more than a thousand in my account. Now I'll be able to pay off my student loans. I'll be free and clear of debt. That will take getting used to."

"Trust me, you'll quickly adjust. I vividly remember my satisfaction when I finally paid off my college loans."

"Then there was something else." Neal reached into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. Opening it, he took out a photo and passed it to Peter.

A young man and a girl, perhaps father and daughter, were sitting on a concrete bench in what appeared to be a park. A large tree was behind them. The girl looked to be five or six years old. Her dark hair was curled in ringlets—a brunette Shirley Temple. The man appeared to be around thirty. He had his arm around her and was looking at her with affection. "Do you know who they are?"

"Not a clue. There's no information on the back. The lawyer said Thaddeus had given him the photo in 1974 and instructed him to give it to me at the time of his passing. A month later he slipped into the coma. I can't help but wonder if they're related to me."

Peter studied the photo. "They have dark hair. I'm no expert, but judging from the man's clothes, I'd guess the photo was taken sometime in the 1930s. And something I do know about is bone structure." Peter studied the photo. "They have dark hair. I'm no expert, but judging from the man's clothes, I'd guess the photo was taken sometime in the 1930s. And something I do know about is bone structure." Peter stopped to scan Neal's face then the man's in the photo. "He has your chin. Your smiles are similar . . ." Peter paused to consider the implications for Neal, a kid who had no knowledge of any family. He'd been found wandering the streets of Arkham when he was eight. A card was in his pocket giving a date of birth, his name, and no other information. He had no memory of anything before that day. Had Thaddeus known something? But if that were the case, why hadn't he shared it earlier? He must have known how much it would mean to Neal.

"The lawyer also commented on the resemblance. Then there's this." He reached inside the collar of his shirt and pulled out his amulet.

Neal had been wearing the pendant when the police found him as a child. Cyrus had conducted an analysis of its composition and discovered it was made of an algolnium-based compound similar to bronze.

Neal pulled out a magnifying glass from his briefcase. "Look at the pendant the man is wearing around his neck in the photo. It blends in so well with his shirt, I didn't notice it at first."

Peter took his magnifying glass and reexamined the photo. "It's your amulet!"

"It certainly looks like it. Is he my grandfather? Could this girl be my mother?"

"Very possibly, especially given the similarities in bone structure between the man and you. It's more problematic for the girl, but their pose is suggestive of a bond. How do you want to proceed?"

"All I have is this photo. The lawyer said university agents are in the midst of making an inventory of the contents of Thaddeus's office and apartment. If they find any photos or journals, he'll let me know. I don't expect they'll find much. I'd gone through his effects for the dean when Thaddeus slipped into a coma and didn't find anything of a personal nature relating to me. I don't have a clue where to start. Research old newspapers?"

Peter considered for a moment. "Sara's an investigative journalist. You should ask her. You know how good she is. You gave her the nickname of news-ferret after all."

"I couldn't impose on our friendship. I'd insist on paying her . . . I wonder how much she'd charge?"

Peter chuckled. "For her fake boyfriend? You'll get a bargain rate."

Neal winced at his words. "I was thinking I should let her off the hook. It was a joke, after all. It keeps her from dating someone else."

"Sara doesn't strike me as the type who'll just sit back if she wants out of the arrangement. Don't forget how this got started. Your female students were much more interested in you than their coursework. You and Sara have been out in public a few times. You should ask her out again. Besides, isn't having her help on the photograph worth it?"

Notes: Thanks for reading! I hope you'll join me for the next chapter when Neal meets with Sara and discovers he's not the only one with news, Mozzie uncovers information about the armillary sphere, and Peter offers some advice. The Crypt has six chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday. Many thanks to the awesome Penna Nomen, creator of the Caffrey Conversation AU, for providing outstanding beta support for this story.

The Arkham Round Table is planting messages to Azathoth in this story. You'll be able to see their effect in the next Caffrey Conversation story, Nocturne in Black and Gold, which begins immediately after The Crypt. One of the messages is what Keller tells Chad: it's not worth the risk of harming Neal and Peter. Peter and Neal's close friendship is another one. Did you find more?

There are pins of the people in Neal's photo on the Arkham Files board of our Pinterest site: Caffrey Conversation. I've written short summaries of the previous two Arkham Files stories for our blog, Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called: Inside the Arkham Files Vault. Fanfiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to our blog and website to my profile.

FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. Most of her characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development. Diana's user name is Lomaria and she occasionally posts comments to the Arkham Files stories. She wrote about Mozzie in this week's comment.

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