Read Online The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) by J.P. Sloan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.P. Sloan
Ads: Link
harm if that’s your meaning.”
“I don’t want her in play at all. She was the victim, here.”
“Dorian?” He waved the envelope in front of his face. “She’s already in play. We didn’t start this, but by God, I’m not going to let Sullivan tank to save face for a heroin user.”
“She’s on heroin?”
He nodded.
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t spend the last two decades of my life studying dead languages and mysticism, Dorian, but I did learn a thing or two about politics. I’ll pull together a counter for this, hopefully before The Charm City Spectator even goes to print.”
He cradled the envelope under his shoulder and turned back for the entrance.
“You’re welcome,” I called out.
Julian paused and turned to me slowly, his brow lifted. After giving me a tired look, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.”
I watched Julian slip back into the pool of city politics without so much as a ripple, and wondered what had become of our friendly repartee? He wasn’t the young lion I had met at the Druid Hill Club nine months ago. He had been so impressed by me, so eager to do business. I even gave him some basic lessons on the hermetic arts as he had always fostered an interest. They never came to much, unfortunately. Julian simply didn’t have the time or the available space in his gray matter for the Craft.
But things were tense, now. He wasn’t my buddy. He was my employer, and with the mayoral campaign about to hit the public, he had precious little interest in kissing my ass anymore. I shuffled back to my car, perhaps a little pensive. I missed those nights at the Club sipping wine with Julian, talking about unimportant matters. But things had changed. Those moments of homecoming were little more than echoes now, bouncing off the marble halls into which he had retreated.
It was Sunday afternoon. The day had been a bag of pissed off cats, and I wasn’t feeling particularly good about myself at that moment. The Club was precisely what I needed.
he arboreal drive to the Druid Hill Club was densely canopied, the last dying rays of sunset unable to penetrate the Live Oak leaves along the gravel lane. I had to grip my steering wheel whenever I drove through dark streets or tunnels. Too many shadows. For whatever reason the shadows enjoyed taunting me when I visited the Club. Perhaps they knew this was where I found my center, refilled what vital essence the week had worn away.
Perhaps they knew I would die there some day.
That’s all they really wanted. My life. A man without a soul was a man doomed, and the moment of my death would bring them like sharks in a frenzy.
Ramon took my car keys as I pulled up to the porte cochere. I struck up a conversation with Ramon whenever I could. He had an intimate understanding of the interiors of the club members’ cars, and a sharp eye for incriminating miscellanea found therein. He fed me dirt from the parking lot, and I fed him dirt from inside the club. He only recently stopped changing my radio to the one and only salsa station in Baltimore.
I stepped inside the double oak doors and paused in front of Kim, the Coatroom Dominatrix. She pretended not to notice me for a few seconds before finally giving me a cock of her brow.
“Card?”
I had it ready in my front pocket, and slid it casually across the coatroom counter. She picked it up and pressed it against her lips, leaving huge lipstick marks on the laminate. With a wink, she slid it back to me.
“I suppose I’ll let you in.”
“Don’t think I’m not grateful. How’s the room?”
“Sunday. Business, y’know?”
“Hey, you seen Julian Bright around much lately?”
She shook her head.
“Okay.”
“Listen, Dorian. I have another sit next Wednesday. Property managers from Columbia. You have those photos yet?”
“Shit. Forgot.”
“Think you can take care of that by tomorrow night, and email them to me?”
“I’ll do it.”
Kim had started up her own
“I don’t want her in play at all. She was the victim, here.”
“Dorian?” He waved the envelope in front of his face. “She’s already in play. We didn’t start this, but by God, I’m not going to let Sullivan tank to save face for a heroin user.”
“She’s on heroin?”
He nodded.
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t spend the last two decades of my life studying dead languages and mysticism, Dorian, but I did learn a thing or two about politics. I’ll pull together a counter for this, hopefully before The Charm City Spectator even goes to print.”
He cradled the envelope under his shoulder and turned back for the entrance.
“You’re welcome,” I called out.
Julian paused and turned to me slowly, his brow lifted. After giving me a tired look, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.”
I watched Julian slip back into the pool of city politics without so much as a ripple, and wondered what had become of our friendly repartee? He wasn’t the young lion I had met at the Druid Hill Club nine months ago. He had been so impressed by me, so eager to do business. I even gave him some basic lessons on the hermetic arts as he had always fostered an interest. They never came to much, unfortunately. Julian simply didn’t have the time or the available space in his gray matter for the Craft.
But things were tense, now. He wasn’t my buddy. He was my employer, and with the mayoral campaign about to hit the public, he had precious little interest in kissing my ass anymore. I shuffled back to my car, perhaps a little pensive. I missed those nights at the Club sipping wine with Julian, talking about unimportant matters. But things had changed. Those moments of homecoming were little more than echoes now, bouncing off the marble halls into which he had retreated.
It was Sunday afternoon. The day had been a bag of pissed off cats, and I wasn’t feeling particularly good about myself at that moment. The Club was precisely what I needed.
he arboreal drive to the Druid Hill Club was densely canopied, the last dying rays of sunset unable to penetrate the Live Oak leaves along the gravel lane. I had to grip my steering wheel whenever I drove through dark streets or tunnels. Too many shadows. For whatever reason the shadows enjoyed taunting me when I visited the Club. Perhaps they knew this was where I found my center, refilled what vital essence the week had worn away.
Perhaps they knew I would die there some day.
That’s all they really wanted. My life. A man without a soul was a man doomed, and the moment of my death would bring them like sharks in a frenzy.
Ramon took my car keys as I pulled up to the porte cochere. I struck up a conversation with Ramon whenever I could. He had an intimate understanding of the interiors of the club members’ cars, and a sharp eye for incriminating miscellanea found therein. He fed me dirt from the parking lot, and I fed him dirt from inside the club. He only recently stopped changing my radio to the one and only salsa station in Baltimore.
I stepped inside the double oak doors and paused in front of Kim, the Coatroom Dominatrix. She pretended not to notice me for a few seconds before finally giving me a cock of her brow.
“Card?”
I had it ready in my front pocket, and slid it casually across the coatroom counter. She picked it up and pressed it against her lips, leaving huge lipstick marks on the laminate. With a wink, she slid it back to me.
“I suppose I’ll let you in.”
“Don’t think I’m not grateful. How’s the room?”
“Sunday. Business, y’know?”
“Hey, you seen Julian Bright around much lately?”
She shook her head.
“Okay.”
“Listen, Dorian. I have another sit next Wednesday. Property managers from Columbia. You have those photos yet?”
“Shit. Forgot.”
“Think you can take care of that by tomorrow night, and email them to me?”
“I’ll do it.”
Kim had started up her own
Similar Books
