CHAPTER FOUR

"A Series Of Unfortunate Events - Part 1"

It was dusk when they finally left the carnival.

Dick Grayson was beginning the feel his age. He felt exhausted after a fun day. He was still young in comparison to Bruce, but he wasn't as young as the two passengers in his car as he drove everyone home.

The day had been a success, and he had gotten Damian to brake out of his hard shell he always kept himself in, a form of discipline he acquired while training with Ra's al Ghul and his mother Talia. He began to enjoy himself close to the end, even after the incident with the gypsy fortune-teller.

He looked over at Tim and smiled. The teen was in the front passenger seat with his head leaned against the window, his eyes closed. It was odd to see him napping. The kid was often up all hours of the day and night, drinking his Red Bulls, and working on the Batcomputer. The day must have worn him out.

Damian, on the other hand, was wide awake, with his face in his cell phone. He wasn't an out-going kid, but he and Jon Kent (Superman's son) often texted each other — the kids were close these days; friends — and Dick wagered that that was what "D" — which he sometimes called him — was doing now, telling his friend about his day.

"Still up, eh D? You certainly had your fill of cotton candy today."

Damian looked up from the phone. "Yup, the day was okay. Thanks, Grayson."

Dick's hand almost slipped from the driver's wheel when he heard it. Had Damian actually thanked him? Obviously Tim hadn't been sleeping but just resting his eyes and Dick caught him looking at him with equal shock. Tim then mouthed: "He thanked you?" Dick nodded, shrugged his shoulders.

This put Dick in a very good mood as he pulled onto the side road that lead to the Manor off the main road. He had done something even Bruce couldn't accomplish with Damian, he had made Damian act like a typical kid if even only for a day. To forget his life as Robin, even for a day. And that was the purpose of the day. Originally he thought it was "punishment" for the kid who liked nothing better to do but train and fight, but in the end Damian enjoyed himself.

Damian's shell was hard to crack sometimes, but today he had made a hairline fracture in its hard exterior.

Within a couple of minutes, Dick's dark Sedan came to a stop. He had modified the vehicle over the years, added security features, hidden weapons, a special control panel in the dashboard with a communique station with encrypted wifi, and also added a turbo powered engine if needed. The car could go up to speeds of 250 km per hour on open terrain. If anyone looked inside, all these features would be hidden. Only a button underneath the dash on the driver's seat would reveal them all. Otherwise, it looked like your typical car to the average on-looker.

It was of an older make of car and he liked working it, greasing his hands and getting into its guts. Jason had called it a "Daddy's car", but if he really knew how much Dick had put into it, he'd be impressed.

Just the other day, Arsenal, whose real name was Roy Harper, once the Green Arrow's sidekick, now Jason's ally in the group he formed with others that he called the Outsiders, had paid the Manor a surprise visit, because he was in the area on business. Dick showed him the Sedan and all its features. The young looking buck Arsenal had similar tastes in older cars and was astounded and amazed with all the work Dick had put into it. Roy left with some great ideas he said he would use in his own motorcycle, and other vehicles for the rest of the Outsiders' team.

The Outsiders sounded like your typical roughneck eclectic bunch, but Jason choose a winner of a team when he formed them. Each of them had long-term experience in fighting crime and had their own unique skills and talents. And despite it being fancy, Jason had managed to swing a deal with one of his "clients" — Jason never explained who; but the man had been very grateful for whatever job Jason had performed for him; one-the-level, he had said, and not crime-oriented — for a large loft in the centre of Gotham's residential district. It was where they gathered to plan their missions, or just relax, rest, (a get-away place from world chaos), but not for partying, Jason claimed. There was an entertainment centre, finished and furnished rooms, a fully stocked kitchen, bar, and other things. There were strict rules, of course, and it was leased out to them at a considerable discount. The "client" owned it, but all the amenities were paid by the Outsiders. They called it "The Club House."

Dick pulled up to the front of the Manor and parked. "We're home, kids!" he said fatherly.

All of a sudden, there was loud POP and then the rear of the car dropped. Each of them jerked from the impact.

"What the hell was that?" Damian demanded.

"Is everyone okay?" Dick asked; the others nodded. Dick was the first to get out of the car. When he looked at the back of the Sedan his jaw dropped in utter disbelief. Damian got of the rear carefully and immediately saw the issue.

"Holy double blow-out!" Tim voiced, when he got out and looked at the back. Dick gave Tim an incredulous look; Tim knew the referral. That was something Dick often said when he was Robin. It was half way between swearing and shock. "What happened? I don't see anything around like that would've caused it." He then looked at Damian. "Time to cut out the sweets, Damian."

Damian gave Tim a condescending look, but didn't retort with a snide remark. He knew he didn't cause the tires to blow, but in this instance, Tim was right, and knew he had eaten too much at the carnival; he felt a little ill.

Alfred appeared at the front entrance to the Manor. "My word…What happened, Master Dick?" He came down the steps to stand next to Tim, and looked at the rear tires of the Sedan. "I was dusting in the vestibule and suddenly heard two loud pops like balloons. How did this happen?"

Dick scratched the back of his head. "I don't know. Everything seemed fine when we left for the carnival." Dick shrugged. "It's rare, but not unusual. They're old tires. I meant to change them last week. If I can get the Sedan into the back garage, I'll be able to switch them with another set in storage." Dick looked to Damian. "I know it's asking a lot, D, but instead of us going to the bother of setting up a hitch to drag it back to the garage, do you think you can call Jon Kent to help us? It's nice to know someone with super strength."

Damian paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket for his phone, and began to text Jon. This surprised both Dick and Tim. Normally Damian wouldn't bother with a "do-it-yourself" attitude. He told Grayson that he was returning the favour in going to the carnival. He had had a good time.

Jon got back to Damian almost immediately, but he said he couldn't come for another hour due to helping his Mother with some chores, but he would be happy to help, adding several "loud out loud" emojis to his response.

"Good," Dick said, and shut the driver's side door.

All of a sudden, the passenger side door dropped, sliding off his hinges. Then the driver's side collapsed similarly, followed by both rear doors. All four of them quickly skidded back away from the seemingly self-destructive Sedan.

Dick stood in shock. "What the—My baby!"

Alfred put a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, hiding a small chuckle. "We have encountered meta-humans who can manipulate metals and fittings, but I've never seen this before. Maybe its time for a tune-up, Master Dick?"

Dick eyed Alfred with incredulity. "Okay, did anyone see a yellow blur just now?"

Everyone shook their heads. Dick wondered if Wally West (Kid Flash) was playing some sort of joke. Pranks were his speciality. He could do this in the blink of an eye and make it look like a mechanical issue. But if so, this wasn't funny, it was dangerous. He made a quick call to Wally, but his friend just laughed at him. He didn't do it.

"We'll deal with this later. I'll try to rebuild it."

"Or just junk it," Damian said. "Maybe Jason was right, 'Daddy' needs a new ride," he quipped, smirking.

"You're gonna pay for that remark you little brat," he said.

x x x

The next morning, everyone sat down at the kitchen table to eat.

Jon Kent had come when he said he would and helped Dick with the Sedan and all its pieces and stored everything in the back garage. But the question remained, how on earth could something like that had happened to his car? It was unfathomable unless something other-worldly had occurred?

The gypsy's words came back haunt Dick: "The hounds of hell beset upon your house and all those that encircle you". She had cursed Damian in the tent at the carnival for calling her a fraud. If history taught Dick anything, it was to never, ever, call someone with her mystic heritage a fraud. Strange and supernatural things always seemed to happen afterwards. He read a book where the main character had actually done such a thing and strange things began to happen to him, and then he later died, horribly.

Never mock a gypsy. Ancient magic is real. The Lazarus Pit was a perfect example of that.

But he put that thought on the back burner for the time being. He was reading too much into it. Alfred had made them a wonderful breakfast with Eggs Benedict, bacon, and french toast, and Dick wasn't going to let his suspicious nature of recent events spoil such a delicious looking meal.

Alfred served them. Dick went to dig in, but he noticed a lack of serving-ware or even drinks. Tim and Damian also noticed. This was not like Alfred. He was a stickler for proper edict and it was embed in his very being and soul.

"Ah, Alfie? Forget something?"

Alfred gasped. "Oh my, I apologize, Master Dick; everyone," he said. "My mind isn't where it's supposed to be this morning. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Some form of insomnia. I can't explain the reason why."

"No need to apologize, Alfie," Dick smiled, getting up from the table. "Let me help. You made this fantastic looking breakfast. The least I can do is do my as part as a family. Please, join us."

Dick went to the fridge and opened the double doors to bring out the orange juice. The best complement to Eggs Benedict was a cold, tall glass of fresh OJ. Unfortunately, the glass jug normally containing it was almost empty.

He looked directly at Damian and sloshed the bottle with its near emptiness. "Hey Damian…Do you remember when I spoke to you about sloppiness and irresponsibility? It's your job to prep the juice. Alfred can't do everything."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Hey, look, I forgot. Sue me."

Dick gave Damian and incredulous look, said, "I guess it's water then."

He collected four glasses from a wall cabinet above the counter top, choosing one, he put a glass under the tap of the sink situated in the kitchen island to fill. But he wasn't paying attention when he pulled up the lever with its detachable spray nozzle, momentarily distracted when Damian put a hand down on the kitchen table, rather too hard, and water gushed out in a massive spray, saturating Dick with water. Someone had turned the nozzle right-side up.

Tim jumped to his feet, an instinctive urge to help. Blinded by water, Dick fumbled to switch off the tap.

"Are you all right, Dick?" Tim asked. Damian laughed, and laughed hard.

Dick stood there with his eyes closed, his hair, face, and clothes, soaked and dripping. He sighed. "No, I'm okay. Towel please," he said.

"Sure," Tim said, and reached for a serving towel that was on the counter opponent the isle. Unfortunately, he didn't realize the towel was underneath a bag of flour used for preparation of the French Toast, and when Tim yanked it, the bag of flour fell to the floor, and exploded in a poof, jettisoning its contains up into the air and all over Dick.

Dick stood like a statue. First water, now baking flour. If he could see himself in a mirror he probably looked like a snowman, or something that Mr. Freeze would do to one of his victims.

Damian laughed harder, and Tim chuckled, but later apologized.

"Master Damian, Master Tim — this isn't funny," Alfred chided. "My word…Are you all right, Master Dick?"

"I'm fine, Alfred. Just peachy-keen." He took the towel from Tim literately ripping it from his hand and wiped his face. He was mad, but not at any of them. Okay, maybe a little at Damian for laughing so hard. He hadn't put much clout into it, but maybe the gypsy did do something? No, he thought. Jason had at times accused Dick of being too gullible. He had seen many weird things happen in his crime fighting career, even supernatural. But was this just bad luck?

"Alfred, what do you know about curses?" he asked the apt butler.

"There are many types in ancient history, Master Dick. But on a basic level, according to ancient lore, I know they can cause a series of unfortunate events if evoked by a person who knows dark magic. Why?"

And Dick told him what had happened at the carnival.

To be continued…