He replied, “Since I didn’t know when I would be coming or going over the next few days, I threw things out. What are you doing here, Con? I’ve been up all night and I’m tired.”

“I’ve been up all night too.” The other gryphon inspected the Keurig on Graydon’s counter, selected a cup and started the machine. After giving Graydon a quick once-over, Constantine said, “From the look of things, I probably had more fun with my night than you did with yours.”

“I’m not available to talk about work stuff. You’ll have heard I’m on leave right now.”

“Why, yes. I did hear that. I thought it was interesting, since you never ask for a leave of absence. I mean, sure, you take your vacations when it’s your turn, but you don’t ask for time off. Like, literally almost never, which makes it memorable when you do.”

He stared pointedly at the mug Constantine pulled from the machine. Not that Constantine chose to pick up on it.

The other man blew on the hot liquid in his mug. Then he took the bottle of scotch Graydon had left on the counter and splashed some liquor into his drink. “In fact,” Con said, “I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve asked for a leave in, oh, let me think…”

Graydon watched the other man without moving. Damn him, Constantine was sharp as a whip, stubborn as a bulldog, and he had a memory like a computer – he just wouldn’t give up or stop piecing things together. His personal life was a mess. He catted around compulsively, and he was always wrecked and hungover, but he was a vicious, talented fighter, and his mind never, ever shut off.

Constantine gave him a gentle smile. “If memory serves, wasn’t the last time you took a leave of absence when we went to London all those years ago? And wasn’t that right after you’d had a private conversation with the Lady of the Elven demesne, at the Vauxhall masque?”

Exasperated, Graydon said, “Now, why the fuck would you remember something like that?”

“I watched you walk away with her, and you didn’t reappear until the next day. I remember it so clearly because afterwards, you were uncommunicative and withdrawn for weeks. Gray, that’s not like you. You’re usually a laid-back, friendly, cheerful kind of an SOB.”

Sighing, Graydon pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

“Nope, I don’t think I am.” The other man turned back to the Keurig machine. “Why don’t I make you a cup of hot chocolate or coffee while you get dressed? Then we’ll chat.”

Spinning on his heel, he stalked into his bedroom, dragged on black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a hood and pockets. Tucking the hard drive into one of the pockets, he strode back into the living room to face his tenacious friend.

Constantine had stretched out on the couch, boots propped on the coffee table, balancing his hot drink on a flat stomach. He had set another full, steaming mug on a coaster in front of a nearby chair and had put the bottle of scotch beside it.

Growling underneath his breath, Graydon sat in the chair. He inspected the mug. Constantine had made him a cup of coffee. After having drunk so much coffee already, he almost set it aside. On second thought, he grabbed the neck of the scotch bottle to splash some into the drink.

He took a swallow. The hot coffee-liquor mixture burned all the way down.

He said, “I’m giving you fifteen minutes. Not a second more. After that, I’m booting you out and going to bed.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Constantine narrowed one eye at him. After a moment, he said abruptly, “It was Beluviel, wasn’t it? Back then. Even though I said to you at the time that she was the definition of unobtainable, something caused you to fly straight at her like a moth to the flame.”

Graydon drank his hot drink and said nothing.

“She was married. She was the Lady of the Elven demesne. She was all kinds of inappropriate.” The other man paused. “Is it Beluviel this time too?”

Graydon finished his drink.

“You’re not going to say, are you?” Constantine looked half-admiring and half-annoyed. “What the fuck, Gray? You said you’d give me fifteen minutes.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t say I was going to talk. Just said I’d give you that much time.”

The other man’s wry smile faded. Constantine said, “While I can respect your level of discretion, I’m trying to help you, man.”

The other gryphon didn’t sound like his feelings had been hurt, but still, his direct, quiet words shook Graydon’s resolve. Shoulders slumping, he rubbed his face.

Con was one of his oldest friends and coworkers. To say they had a friendship was a misnomer. He was more like a somewhat irritating, good-hearted brother. He was also loyal to the point of death, and while currently he was being intrusive, he didn’t deserve a cold shoulder.

“Con,” he said, setting aside his mug and leaning his elbows on his knees, “I appreciate you poking your nose into my business.” To make sure his words didn’t carry any sting, he gave the other man a sidelong look and a smile. “I’m trying to keep a strong separation between all this” – he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture that included Constantine and his surroundings – “and a long-standing issue that is really, mostly not mine to tell.”

Silence fell between them. Then Con shifted his boots off the table, took the scotch bottle and poured more into his empty mug.

He said, “You know what I think?”

One corner of Graydon’s mouth lifted reluctantly. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Constantine didn’t even blink. He pointed the top of the bottle at Graydon. “Maybe this has to do with Beluviel, and maybe it doesn’t. After all, whatever happened in London was a long time ago. But I do believe you wouldn’t be trying so hard to compartmentalize if you weren’t involved in something dangerous.”