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"Like something from The Addams Family."

"Not nearly so ooky."

As Cory Windrunner pushed the button that sounded a Westminster carillon, she had to admit that Gabriel had a point. The house was huge and sprawling, a mansion to lesser beings, although a perfectly sensible size and type of dwelling for the size and type of its primary inhabitant. There had been a good number of secondary inhabitants, if the phrase could be forgiven. She knew about Dean Williamson (it was never a secret, simply unknown to most of the current generation), and Wendell, of course -- he was the reason for Cory's advocacy all those years ago. If she thought about it, she could probably name a good many of the others. Easiest, of course, would be Eoin, and she really wished that she had more information about what was going on there. As she heard the door opening to admit them, she pushed the thought aside for now. If an opening became available, she'd take it.

"Spot on time!" the great crimson dragon greeted them enthusiastically. "Do come in!"

As the equines set hoof inside what was teasingly referred to as Chateau Spenser, Cory found herself once again slightly in awe of the house, as she'd been every time that she had visited. She was convinced that some sort of dragon's magic had created the ongoing illusion that the house was larger within than without - an effect that even Frank Lloyd Wright hadn't quite been able to master. The thought of architecture brought Eoin back to mind.

After Benedict had shut the door behind them, Gabriel shook the professor's foreclaw as the mare began unwrapping herself from the collection of cold-weather gear that she'd worn against a deepening cold. It's one thing to enjoy a gentle snowfall for Christmas, but they were nearing January, when the weather starts its relentless plummet into the freezer and stays there for a while. She made her hellos idly wondering about helping Gabe find a proper jacket. She was sure that Melbourne had its frozen winters as well, but the Clydesdale didn't seem to have packed for it.

Not having seen Benedict in his full Dickensiana before, the grad student was complimenting the garb -- not sycophantically, but lavishly nonetheless -- with interest. Benedict, ever the proper host, demurred and thanked, helped the lad with his coat, as Cory's nose managed to warm up enough to catch the exceptional aromas from the kitchen. Her mind spun with the combinations of pastry dough, cinnamon, sugar, vanilla, a touch of almond, a breath of licorice, a hint of coconut, and could that possibly be (in even further invocation of Dickens) the orange and apple of wassail? As a proper Brit, the dragon wouldn't have begun preparing the tea itself prior to the guests' arrival, as over-steeping the leaves simply wasn't done. Cory smiled inwardly as she remembered both Benedict and Jerry regaling her with tales of tea done right and tea gone wrong. It made her wonder, in just a split second, why Jerry hadn't been Benedict's lover, rather than Eoin. She shook her head briefly to clear it. The Saluki's ghost did seem to be hovering.

"Please come through," Benedict was waving grandly toward the living room. "I've stoked a lovely fire, and I can have the tea steeping shortly."

"Profes-- excuse me, Benedict," Gabriel corrected himself. "I hope I'm not impolite to compliment you on such a wonderful home." The stallion dipped his head, an ear flicking with apparent embarrassment. "I was told that being overly complimentary was somehow as bad as saying nothing at all."

"Not at all, my dear fellow! I'm gratified. Here in the States, it is for some reason common to resort to Spanish, saying 'Mi casa es su casa.' I will simply say, you are very welcome here, and I'm glad of your company."

Cory and Gabriel sat, not too closely, on the particularly comfortable couch, as Benedict excused himself to get the water started for the tea. "Won't take a moment," he said with a flourish. "Fancy kettle -- start it up, and a chime goes off when the water reaches the right temperature."

The stallion let his eyes graze on the minutia and bric-a-brac of the dragon's abode, his jaw slightly agape. The mare had to smile; Gabriel's was a common reaction to the vast, orderly-yet-random-seeming collection of gewgaws that Benedict had collected over his years. She slipped her forepaw into his and squeezed gently, bringing him back to the present. "Shiny-shiny," she whispered to him, grinning.

"Not 'arf!" he agreed, chuckling. "Is it speciesist of me to use the term 'dragon hoard' in this context?"

"Not if you say it nicely," the mare grinned. "Try the word 'collector' instead."

"Ah, sweet Cory," Benedict intoned as he reentered the room, "always defending my crotchets!" He paused long enough to plant a kiss atop her head, then moved to settle himself in his rather grand chair opposite his guests. "I suppose that 'hoard' could be considered cliché, but it's far from inaccurate. I could blame longevity," he observed, looking Gabriel in the eye. "Truth is, I'm a pack rat, if you'll forgive another tired cliché. I do tend to hoard just a bit, I confess, but I hope I do so with an eye toward quality rather than mere quantity."

"I'm not in any position to judge, in any sense of the term." The stallion smiled easily. "I'm enough of a cliché myself, as the poor grad student. Not yet destitute, by any stretch, but hardly in a position to start a collection of much more than beer mats."

"My goodness, my Guinness!" the dragon quoted the old advert, chortling. "Tell me that some of your local brews have their own?"

"A few, yes. I've stored them all with a friend until my return."

"Time yet, eh?"

"I'll be able to bring back a few from the States, I should hope. They're light and easy to pack."

"Even with the draconian restrictions of our airports."

"If there's a fuss," Cory added, "I'll pack them up and mail them to you. But not for a while yet."

"Not until the queens of crime have been thoroughly investigated!" the dragon nodded, grinning. "We don't have to talk shop, by the way. Today is a time for relaxation and good company. Tell me a bit about yourself, dear fellow, and no, you're not talking to Uncle Bennie so that he can find out if you're good enough to date his favorite niece!"

"We hide the family resemblance," Cory quipped.

Gabriel tossed back his head and laughed, seeming to become completely at ease. "Little to tell, actually. Born, grew, worked my way through uni, contacted the uni here to ply my particular interests."

"How did you find our charming little hamlet?"

"I hope you don't find me fawning, but the school has a very fine reputation. It was one of the colleges recommended by the program I'm working through. I think that they want the more dangerous of us to get their advanced schooling outside the country."

"Dangerous?" the dragon echoed, the grin on his muzzle expanding. "Why in the world would you be considered dangerous, my lad?"

"I think too much," the Clyde responded. "I'm told I have a thinking problem and should seek out a support group."

Cory had to chuckle over that one. "Save a seat for me," she said, surreptitiously squeezing Gabe's forepaw again.

"Not easy, working through college," Benedict noted. "What sort of work did you do?"

"Tended non-sentient horses, although that's not a term I'd necessarily agree with. They don't use words, but I think of them as being more communicative and even more intelligent than some of us."

"I tend to agree," the dragon nodded. "Forgive me if I imagine you pitching hay in your bib-alls."

"Never one to stifle the imagination," the stallion demurred softly, grinning when Cory fetched him a slap on his arm.

A chime attracted the drake's attention. "Tea's up!" he said cheerfully, standing in a fluid motion that Cory always found vaguely hypnotic. Snakelike, if she were being unkind. "I'll bring everything in, and we'll let the tea steep for a bit. Back in a trice."

Leaning close, Gabriel whispered into Cory's ear, "He's no less a character than I'd imagined. I can see why he's popular. Is he really a therapist, too?"

"In rare cases, but yes, he's qualified." The mare frowned a little. "What brought that up?"

"I did say that he had a reputation; I'm afraid some of that recent... unpleasantness filtered through the web pages. I hope all that's going well."

"I've no idea."

The gentle rattling of china announced the arrival of Benedict, who pushed a hostess trolley that seemed almost comically small in comparison with his size but which was nevertheless large enough to accommodate a great serving platter laden with fresh pastries, a trio of cups and saucers bearing a lovely Japanese-style design, with a particularly large and beautiful teapot to match, along with all the accoutrements needed for the perfect tea. Cory had expected no less, but the presentation was still a bit overwhelming.

As if catching her brainwave, Benedict grinned, bringing the cart round to the side of the sitting area. "I did say full tea, didn't I? And absolutely not a single Marmite sandwich in sight. I realize I might be jeopardizing my status as a Brit for saying this, but frankly, I despise the stuff." He turned with the full plate of delights upon it and offered it to Cory first. "While that steeps, let's enjoy at least a bit of the sweet, eh? Macaroons, almond paste cookies, raspberry jam thumbprints, snickerdoodles, and for your beau, some anise snaps." The dragon grinned. "I had to find a proper recipe, but I had a thought that you'd enjoy them."

"Very kind, Benedict," the stallion said, his lips smiling. "Anise rings are a particular weakness of mine. These cookies smell very good."

"All yours," the mare declared, her own forepaws taking a small plate and a discreet sample of a snickerdoodle and a raspberry jam cookie, wondering why she felt that Gabriel's smile hadn't reached his eyes. "Never quite got the taste for licorice."

"Only two, Cory?"

"Won't do for me to be too greedy, at least at first, eh?"

"Not a bit of it." The drake seemed to bow before the Clydesdale, smiling as he offered the selection. "I won't make any jokes about the nutritional needs of growing lads, but do take all you wish. There's plenty in the kitchen besides."

"My thanks." Gabriel focused on the plate, selecting an anise, a macaroon, and a snickerdoodle for his own plate. "I'll try not to be too greedy right off the bat."

Setting the serving plate back onto the trolley, Benedict took up his own plate and served himself a modest selection consisting of an almond paste cookie, a macaroon, and a snickerdoodle. "I've been nibbling," he confessed. "I can't seem to resist my own cooking. It's a wonder I've not blown up to the size of a parade float!" He settled himself back into his chair with a satisfied sigh, looking to his guests. "Now, where were we?"

Cory nibbled delicately on the raspberry cookie, one of her favorite types (Benedict probably knew that, now she thought about it), felt something in the room change ever so slightly, as the conversation slowly returned to the various topics of cricket (spawned by the comment "off the bat"), tending horses at an Australian ranch, university classes in Melbourne, and the dragon assuring the stallion that he would adapt to the course and lecture structure here quite easily. As if hearing yet another chime (this one, no doubt, only inside his head), the great crimson dragon stood to prepare the cups for his guests, Cory requesting a touch of honey (as the brew already smelled sweetly of orange and clove -- no wonder she'd thought of wassail), Gabriel requesting it straight, nobly ignoring the obvious joke. The mare accepted her cup and saucer properly, taking a polite sniff but waiting until all were served; Gabriel was next, and the host would take his last. Benedict had his back to them only briefly as he prepared each cup, then moved back to his chair in order to face them again, raising his cup in salute. His guests returned the gesture and sipped gently. The mare found the tea hot, tasty, and for the first time in her experience, not as comforting as she would have expected.

She listened more than she spoke, her natural sensitivity to situations (both as a female and an equine) giving her a very strange combination of mixed signals. Trying her best to be unobtrusive, she mentally switched on a segment of her collegiate training that she'd not often used but found invaluable at times like this. A sociology class in negotiation and mediation had seemed almost a whim at the time, but the various skills had come in handy when securing her position at the university (particularly when the chance for tenure arose). Even more interesting to her, however, were the skill sets involving verbal cues and nonverbal communication. Body language was different for each species, although some few behaviors were common -- the smile, the frown, the nod or shake of head, even certain gestures of the forepaws. From these cues, one could glean information regarding how well or poorly the negotiation was proceeding.

Being an equine, Gabriel's physiological vocabulary should have been second nature to the mare; the fact that he was stifling a great deal of his more subtle movements, in favor of gratuitous, broad gestures, spoke to an inefficient means of trying to hide something. He had helped himself to more of the anise snaps, supping down yet more tea, which Benedict had insisted upon pouring for him. It was, somehow, more than merely being the host; there was a sense of being not merely armored but sly. There was no reading of body language; with dragons, the entire rule book was thrown out.

She tried instead to listen to the conversation, the phrasing, the choice of words between them, occasionally trying out a comment or two of her own. Neither of the two seemed to react directly. The stallion offered only fairly obvious commentary, as if his tongue had been loosened by the camaraderie; the drake was impervious to the effect of her usual female's wiles, his own conversation speaking of everything and nothing. She scored only one hit, when they discussed literature and she referred to the "architecture" of a particular work. Benedict didn't do anything as obvious as flinch, but there was a certain lack of artistry in his reach for another biscuit. Whatever was going on here, the Crimson One was bedecked fully in his invisible armor, and he was not to be stripped of it or cajoled out of it.

Setting down her service as she polished off her second cup, Cory stood to excuse herself, only partly from any actual effect upon her kidneys. She patted the stallion on his shoulder as she left, and he looked up at her with a soft smile that was more revealing than she might have expected. She had the strange impression of his being all too fully relaxed, despite the tea being stout enough to have some caffeine content. Having been a guest on several occasions, she knew where to find the loo, and she spent several extra minutes there trying to rid herself of the sensation that something was horribly wrong. She made up her mind that she needed to get Gabriel out of there as quickly as possible. Perhaps it was just Eoin's absence, as the Saluki had been a stabilizing force in the drake's life, but Benedict seemed to be playing some sort of game that she just couldn't fathom. Even knowing him as long as she had, she knew very well that it was dangerous to play any game with a dragon, and more importantly, that one can never trust a dragon playing his own game... not at any level.

* * * * * * * * * *

After several calming breaths, Cory opened the door to the half-bath and stepped into the hall. It took no time at all for her calm to shatter completely. It wasn't sight or sound, not scent nor taste, nothing tangible, yet more oppressive than the concussion of distant thunder. Nothing moved, no voices came from the living room. The insane thought that flew through Cory's mind was Holy gods, he's swallowed him whole. Not quite daring to run, the mare still quickened her pace down the thickly carpeted hall and turned into the living room, stopping short as she took in a tableau she could not understand.

Gabriel sat where he had been all this time, his body appearing completely relaxed, arms at rest to his side, breathing smoothly, but otherwise not flickering a millimeter. His eyes, half-lidded, stared into a middle distance, at nothing that could be seen by anyone else. Across from him, Benedict too seemed frozen in time, breathing but not moving. His eyes were focused on the stallion, also half-lidded, and from one eye, a long, silent tear ran down his cheek to drip soundlessly onto the pristine, perfectly-tailored Dickensian waistcoat. Cory stood gape-mawed for what seemed a full minute before the dragon, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, said, "Cory, sit down."

Not quite daring to be too close to either of the two males in the room, the mare found herself balanced on the edge of a hassock, looking from one to the other, desperately trying to recognize either of them.

"Gabriel, what is your full name?"

"Gabriel Stephen Clyde." The reply was quiet, almost mechanical.

"Where were you born?"

"Melbourne, Victoria, Australia."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"I remind you that you are to tell only the truth. Are you here to become a graduate student."

"No."

"Why are you here?"

"To kill Zachary Parker."

Cory could not have stopped the gasp that escaped her throat if she'd tried. Her mouth moved, trying to ask a question, but nothing further came out.

"Why do you wish to kill Zachary Parker?"

"He killed Demmie."

"The full name, please."

"Cullen Demetrius Riddell."

"Are you in the employ of the Riddell family?"

"Yes."

"Are you employed to kill Zachary Parker?"

"No."

"What is your employment with the Riddell family?"

"I help run the stables."

"In the United States?"

"No."

"In Australia."

"Yes."

Cory found her voice, strained and squeaking though it was. "Benedict, what--?"

"Cory, hush." Still, he did not look at her. "You may listen, but you must not speak. Not yet." In the pause, the mare noticed another tear falling from the drake's eye. Sorrow? Strain? "You're here to help me keep what little honor I have left. Few get to see this and remember. Forgive me for forcing this upon you, dear colleague, but you are now my conscience. Don't let me become..." Benedict swallowed hard. "Don't let me go too far."

She shook her head, not understanding. "How far is...?"

"Gabriel," he intoned, "when did Demetrius die?"

"Five years ago."

"When did you learn this?"

"Eight months ago."

"How did he die?"

"Zachary Parker killed him."

"How do you know this?"

"Demmie wouldn't kill himself."

"How were you told that he killed himself?"

"Barrett told me."

"Who is Barrett?"

"Ranch manager."

"At the ranch in Australia?"

"No."

For the first time since Cory had entered the room, she saw Benedict move. He leaned forward, angling his body toward Gabriel, and she felt the air in the room like a thick liquid gelatin shift and congeal between the dragon and the stallion. The mare felt ill, as if she were drowning, unable to draw a breath into her lungs, unsure if she would want the air in this room inside of her, where it could swim and writhe and tunnel into her.

"Benedict!"

Her shout broke through, piercing into the space between him and the unmoving Clyde on the sofa. The drake still did not look at her, his focus still on the equine across from him. Cory felt something that she could not identify, like a bulky, ill-intentioned ghost in the ether, trailing behind it the sensation of a wet cloth being wrung tightly between two powerful forepaws.

"You will tell us the entire story from the beginning. You will tell us how you knew Cullen Riddell. You will tell us all you know about what happened to him. You will tell us your actions, your thoughts, your emotions, and you will withhold nothing."

A single drop of blood pooled at the end of Gabriel's left nostril and began to trail slowly down to his lip, which quivered just the slightest bit in the over-warm room. Cory shut her eyes tightly.

"You will tell us everything," Benedict intoned mercilessly.

"Everything," the stallion echoed. "Every... thing..."

Cory forced herself not to scream.