Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

oven, a bookcase of
    paperbacks with cracked spines, and a collection of frankly ugly porcelain figures, before finally locating a tasteful polished wood wine rack, with the bottles lying properly on their sides. Brett pulled out half a dozen and sneered at the labels. Why do rich people always buy such rubbish? To hell with taste or discernment; just buy whatever's fashionable, whatever the glossy lifestyle magazines are plugging that month. There was nothing of any real quality, and a few domestic reds that Brett wouldn't have used as mouthwash. He finally settled for a fairly reasonable Elfshot vintage as the best of a bad bunch, just to be doing something with his hands. Brett was nervous.
    This was the first time the Durandal had invited Brett and Rose back to his place. Having seen it, Brett could understand why. The apartment was located in an excellent neighborhood, but the interior was cozy if you were feeling charitable, and cramped if you weren't. The furniture was mass-produced shit, functional rather than aesthetic, and only borderline comfortable. The walls boasted a color scheme that bordered on the soporific, and the gray (gray!) carpet clearly hadn't been shampooed in years. One wall was taken up almost entirely with a massive vidscreen, currently inactive, while another had been programmed to show a holoscene of a seaside view. No sound option. And that was it for the decorations. Brett took a wild guess and decided that Finn probably didn't spend a lot of time here. This wasn't a home, or even a den; just some place to crash when you weren't working.
    Rose was still sitting patiently in the chair Finn had directed her to, staring at nothing in particular. She didn't seem at all interested in her surroundings, but then, outside of the Arena, the Wild Rose didn't seem to care much about anything. She was just sitting there until Finn came to tell her it was time to be somewhere else. She was relaxed, in the way a cat is relaxed as it waits patiently outside a mousehole.
    Brett poured himself a very large drink, and downed half of it in several large gulps. It didn't make him feel any better. He threw himself sulkily into the nearest chair, and scowled unhappily. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home, lock and bolt the door against the unfriendly world, feed his aching stomach something warm and liquid and soothing, and then crawl into bed and escape into sleep so he could forget about the mess his life had become and having to work with crazy people like Rose Constantine and Finn bloody Durandal. Brett glared sullenly at the closed study door. Finn had been in there for some time now, running checks on the esper drug he'd purchased from Dr. Happy, at a price that had made Brett feel like screaming. Or fainting. Or both. Brett could have told Finn he was wasting his time doing whatever he was doing in his study with the door locked. The good doctor took pride in the quality of his wares.
    Finn still hadn't explained what he wanted with the esper drug. All right, Brett could see how having their own personal telepath could come in handy in all sorts of ways, but it would be easier and safer all around just to hire a rogue esper. There were always a few to be found hiding out in the Rookery, human nature being what it was, and they weren't all mean or weird, like the ELFs.
    Maybe Finn had taken it, after all. Maybe his pride wouldn't let him waste such an expensive drug on just anybody. And someone with an ego like his would believe he could beat the odds after all. Maybe Finn had taken the drug, and dropped down dead! Brett brightened at the thought. He sat up straight in his chair, and regarded the closed study door with new interest. If Finn was dead . . . one quick round of the apartment to steal everything worth having that wasn't nailed down, and then he would be out of here so fast it would make Rose's head spin. And it was up to her if she wanted to hang around and explain the body to the peacekeepers. Brett smiled, and his stomach actually settled a little.
    And then he jumped and spilled his drink as the study door crashed open and Finn came striding out. He was holding a test tube full of clear liquid in one hand and smiling broadly. Brett's heart sank, not least because Finn was smiling at him. Bad news was never far away when the Durandal smiled at him.
    "You know, Finn, I really should be getting home," Brett said hopefully. "I'm sure I left a light on somewhere . . ."
    "Stand