He seemed intrigued by the house's modern decor. He questioned me about the creator of every piece of art we passed, but only paused once to lean in for a better look. That was at the Warhol, drek knows why. I led him upstairs and, deciding to be grandiose, threw wide the study doors as he entered.

He grinned, and strode past me. "May I present Dunklezahn," I announced.

The man the dragon had come to see stood as we entered. He hadn't cleaned up the room any; it still reeked of sausage and pepperoni. He'd managed to get dressed, though, and was wearing black boots, denim pants, and one of the white cotton shirts he'd bought the other day. He'd kept his face unpainted.

"It's been some time, hasn't it?" he said, touching his chest with the fingers of his left hand, just below the heart. I'd seen him do that a few times before, but he'd never explained what it meant. I think it meant he was viewing the new arrival as an equal, thank god.

"Yes, it has, Harlequin," replied the dragon, repeating the gesture. "I was pleased to hear of the outcome of your chal'han." Dunklezahn didn't turn, but I felt his attention rest on me for just a moment. Obviously, there were no secrets from him.

Harlequin grinned. "I'll bet you were." He gestured at the overstuffed black leather couch across from him. "Won't you sit down?"

The dragon nodded. "Thank you." He walked to the couch, considered it for a moment, then carefully sat down. Only when he was fully balanced on the seat did he lean back. He smiled.

"So, what can I do for you?" inquired Harlequin.

"I take it you are aware of my status?"

Harlequin tilted his head. "You mean as host of 'Wyrm Talk'?"

I laughed to myself. Dunklezahn had been interviewed by an international media team shortly after reemerging. He'd apparently enjoyed the experience, especially his spontaneous cross-examination of the journalists, so much so that he requested his own show from one of the networks.