Legend's Apprentice

*#@$

I got ready for my date with Damian with the hope that maybe it would be better than the last one. Certainly with summer half over, he should have some interesting things to talk about. After all, he couldn't be spending the whole thing partying at night and sleeping in.

Lewis and Aslyn picked me up. As we pulled away from the curb, we drove a route that was taking us out of the city. "Damian is under house arrest," Lewis said. "We're going to have dinner at his house, maybe watch a movie."

"Oh, god," I said.

"What? The whole purpose of this date is so we could peel him off, spend a small amount of time without him hanging around," Aslyn said, frowning. That started an argument. I put my head back. I thought it went without saying that this was the last Damian-related favor I was prepared to do for Aslyn. Although from the sound of it, I might not have to worry about that for much longer.

I tuned in again when we pulled off the main road. The asphalt was as smooth as glass, the trees carefully trimmed back on the new road. Then the trees gave way to an expansive lawn and with a final turn of the road, the house came into sight. Mansion, to be accurate. A huge, neo-Gothic/Victorian kind of monstrosity. The kind you might expect to see in a Scooby Doo cartoon, with bats erupting from somewhere for the extra spooky touch. "Holy shit," Aslyn said, and I burst into laughter. It was ridiculously ostentatious, and Mr Wayne hadn't seemed like this kind of guy, more of a modern design sort of person.

"Damian's grandparents bought the estate before they were murdered," Lewis said matter-of-factly. "Damian loves it, so don't make fun of it."

"I bet there are secret passages," I said, looking in my purse for a tissue to blot my eyes. "That would be cool."

"Maybe ghosts, too," Aslyn said. "Atmospheric." That set me off again for some reason, and this time the other two joined in. From meeting Mr Wayne that once, I bet he had a pretty firm control on the estate, up to and including any theoretical ghosts. They probably had designated haunting times and locations. If it were up to Damian, they'd probably hang out in whatever room had the liquor and smoke cigars. Our laughter died away as we pulled up to the steps leading up to the wraparound porch. I fell behind the other two as we walked up to the door. Lewis rang the bell, and the door was opened promptly. Didn't creak appropriately, which was a point for being house proud and a point deducted for lack of appropriate atmosphere. A middle-aged man in a black suit surveyed us quickly.

"Master Lewis," he acknowledged in a plummy English accent. It was the first time I'd actually witnessed a social courtesy used as an insult. I looked at the man with more interest.

"Alfred, this is Aslyn Akiyama, this is Alex Barnes," Lewis offered. Alfred scanned us quickly but thoroughly and smiled.

"Master Damian is in the--"

"I'm here," Damian called, skidding a little on the highly polished wood floor as he entered the hall. "Thanks, Alfred," he said, and we set off to meet him.

"Thanks," I said as I passed the man. It seemed rude to ignore him. He smiled austerely.

"Dinner will be served in an hour," he informed Damian, who nodded, and we went into the room, a high-ceilinged library. A good chunk of the books were leatherbound sets that looked like they'd been moved in the first day the house was complete, but there was also a large collection of more modern hardcover books, with paper dust covers. There was one bookcase absolutely stuffed with paperbacks and not-pristine hardcovers, mostly obviously well read judging from the broken spines and worn edges. There were a lot of series-the Saint, somebody called the Baron, Modesty Blaize, Nick and Nora Charles, Amelia Peabody, Charlie Chan, the 87th Precinct novels... I was seeing a theme of mysteries and detective stories. On the bottom shelf was a collection of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and Encyclopedia Brown books. There was a lot of comfortable seating and a large desk, as you'd expect. Damian and Lewis greeted each other and Damian offered us seats. He picked up a remote and music flooded from hidden speakers. To my surprise it wasn't the rap he seemed to prefer (and I didn't) but classical. My knowledge of classical music was limited to what was choreographed, but this was nice. Maybe Damian (or D-man, as Lewis called him, eyerollingly) wasn't as big a tool as I thought.