The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

of the Mid-Atlantic summer sun, and Ches had her hair up in a ponytail again.
    I was still flying a bit from my meeting with Leibnitz the day before. This was more than simple comfort with my practice. This felt righteous. I had a solid lead on finding a way to reacquire my soul, at least as solid as I had seen in the past half-year. Not to mention the party on Saturday. Aside from the ever-present sense of impending doom that usually haunted the periphery of my consciousness, it was a pretty good morning.
    Ches eyed me from inside the café as I took my usual seat out underneath the canvas awning, tipping my feet up on the black wrought-iron balusters separating the eating area from the sidewalk. She emerged from the café with my usual, a large cup of Americano with a tiny pot of half-and-half. She shook her head with a grin.
    “You look chipper this morning,” she chimed as she set my coffee down on the iron table.
    “I had a good week.”
    She sighed and leaned against the aluminum pole holding up this side of the awning. “I’m jealous.”
    “Problems?”
    “My brother.”
    “Again?”
    “Yeah. I know, I know. He’s going to lose his kids if he doesn’t do something.”
    About a week ago, Ches started opening up details of her family life when it was just me and her in the mornings. Her life was like a primer in vetting hexcraft customers. I had almost a dozen ways mapped out in my head to keep her brother from losing his kids in the divorce. But I wasn’t going to bring it up at the café. It was my Holy of Holies, and I wasn’t going to drag the Life inside.
    “But that’s him, right? I mean, you’re doing okay.”
    She shrugged. “I suppose. Fall semester is going to make my budget suck out loud. Not looking forward to that.”
    “Cutting your hours?”
    “Still working mornings, though,” she muttered, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.
    My heart slapped a quick beat against my sternum. I knew that comment was directed at me. She was dropping hints lately that she could be interested in something beyond our usual morning coffee small talk. I was getting really bad at pretending not to notice.
    It could have been the coffee, which was extra strong that morning. It could have been the sunshine, or my unusual optimism of the moment. Hell, it could have been some kind of alignment of Venus and Jupiter. Whatever it was, I started talking without thinking.
    “I’m having a party Saturday after the game. Some friends of mine are coming over. I’m going to cook something I’ll pretend is a family recipe, and they’re going to pretend they like it.”
    She grinned. “You have friends?”
    “Baffling as it may sound. So, anyway, here’s the part where I stumble over myself trying to invite you to come over while looking cool and disaffected.”
    “Disaffected?”
    “You know. Aloof? Manly?”
    “I don’t think that’s what disaffected means.”
    “Oh?”
    “I think it means pissed off and dissatisfied.”
    “Ah. Not exactly what I was going for.”
    She crossed her arms and shot me a sharp grin. “How about smarmy and disingenuous? Because you pretty much got that nailed.”
    “You coming or not?”
    “Yes. Yes, I am.”
    “Well, you could have just said so.” I took a long sip of coffee and wondered what was wrong with me. “If I could possibly be more awkward, you’ll let me know. Right?”
    “What time?”
    “Oh, any time.” Ugh. Any time? “I mean, I’ll be home all day, but everyone else will be coming over after the game. It’s kind of hard to tell when baseball games end, from what I gather.”
    “Okay. Well, I’m just going to go with six o’clock. That work?”
    “Sure.”
    “And home is?”
    “Hmm?”
    She snickered. “Your address?”
    I sat for an uncomfortable moment, my jaw unwilling to move. I had avoided this particular collision of my professional and private lives to date. It took effort to will the words into sound.
    “Ten twenty-four Amity Street.