Read The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) for Free Online Page B

huh?”
    “When McHenry says he wants to clean up Baltimore, I want you to set aside the rhetoric and the money. I want you to hear what he’s really saying. What is he really trying to clear out? Who is he clearing out?”
    Cecil gave me a lot to think about. I wasn’t sure why he was pitching this all to me at that moment, but it was pretty compelling.
    “Well, you don’t have to convince me not to vote for Sooner.”
    His shoulders wilted a little. “I’m just trying to broaden your vision.”
    “And I appreciate it. Really.”
    Cecil held out his hand once more. “It was good seeing you again.”
    “You too. Everything work out for you since last time?”
    “Oh yes. Remarried. Three kids. All girls.”
    “Wow.”
    “I love my work. I’m living. And I don’t know how much of this would have been possible without you.”
    “What can I say? You get what you pay for.”
    He chuckled and gave my shoulder a tap with his knuckles before stepping quickly back up the brick steps to the street.
    Cecil Rawls, editorial assistant to some asshole at The Sun. Married with three daughters. And a dozen years after hiring some jerk selling him a hex against his ex-wife, he’s in a position to change city politics. Hopefully for the better.
    Hopefully for the better? That had been my professional credo since Emil died. It wasn’t every day I was given concrete evidence that I was changing people for the better. Yeah. It was a good day.

he next morning I still hadn’t reached Julian on his phone. I left a series of “it’s Dorian; seriously, call me” messages and decided to focus on the more terrifying part of my weekend. The date. Well, it was kind of a date. It was her and I and the entire Swain clan, and we were all going to be in my house.
    That was the scariest part. Ches was going to be in my house.
    By the time Edgar and Wren dropped off their kids before heading over to the Yards, I had retrieved the sandwiches from the corner deli, removed as much of the esoteric bric-a-brac as I could from the first floor, and started working on Aunt Viv’s cassoulet.
    The Swain kids settled into the house without much fuss. The younger, Edgar Swain Jr., gave me a seven-year-old bro hug before hunkering down on my couch with some kind of electronic distraction machine. Elle, his thirteen-year-old sister, stayed at my elbow as I started layering the beans and spinach in a casserole dish. Her mouth kept moving. I mean, it never stopped. It was clear she was trying to impress me. She had been nursing a minor crush on me for a year, now. I honestly had no idea how to deal with that beyond putting her to work cutting onions.
    She stood behind the island in my kitchen, chopping a yellow onion with the delicacy of a Visigoth.
    “My Mom’s going to murder you.”
    “Why, this time?”
    “I’m not supposed to use knives.”
    “Still got ten fingers?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Keep up the good work.”
    Elle waved her knife at the countertop. “What is this, anyway?”
    “It’s an onion.”
    “No, the food. What are we making?”
    “It’s a cassoulet. French dish.”
    “Where did you learn to cook?”
    “I didn’t. I mostly just burn things, then order pizza.”
    She snickered awkwardly. “Do I have to eat it?”
    “You saw the sandwiches, right?”
    “They have mayo.”
    “So?”
    “I hate mayo. So does Eddie.”
    “I didn’t know that. Maybe you can scrape it off or something?”
    “Dad says it’ll give Eddie the running shits.”
    I winced at that.
    “Elle? You better watch your mouth. Okay?” I didn’t get a response, so I turned to face her. “Elle?”
    She finally looked up at me, her cheeks flushed.
    “I’m serious. You can’t go full S-Word when your parents aren’t around.”
    She nodded dourly.
    “I know I’m not your parent, but they kind of trust me not to screw you up too much when they leave you alone with me. I take that seriously. Crap, I keep a box of Captain Crunch around this place just