Adrian was matter-of-fact about it, just turned and hung it beside his own on the rack. “Come on through,” he said. He ushered Percy down the short hall, past an ajar bedroom door and into a large, high-ceilinged living room with bookshelves all along one wall. “What’s your poison?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves and turning to a drinks cabinet set near the door.
Percy stepped forward to look at the books. “Brandy, if you have it?” he asked. Adrian made a noise in the affirmative. Percy ran a finger along the spines, absorbed. It was an eclectic collection. Law books…perhaps he was a solicitor, then, or a barrister?…side by side with Ovid and Herodotus and a good sprinkling of science fiction. Heinlein, Ballard, even the latest Le Guin.
“You read?” Adrian came up beside him quietly and
