The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

candy. “Oh, now, but here you are, standing in this office! How
fascinating
!”
    “I need the work,” he admitted. “I’m living on a limited supply of money, and supporting my sister, as well. It
will
run out. It’s
already
running out. My financial adviser insists I find employment, and fast, or we’ll need to sell our family home.” He paused, searching for the right words. Olivia watched him intently. “I…I can’t say that Mister Faraday’s frankness about all of this doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It does. Very much. I’m sure you can understand that, Miss Olivia. But I can admire…some bluntness, when it’s not just a cloak for being rude. There are plenty of Deathsniffers in Darrington, but they all try to deny it. Pretend they’re just normal truthsniffers who just happen to specialize. Maybe the only one willing to just call himself that is the best.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Maybe.”
    Olivia twirled her pen thoughtfully. “Do you hold Mister Faraday in
contempt
?”
    “I think it’s an important job that few people really want to do.”
    Her smile was thin. “Just like…cleaning latrines!” There was a joyous tune to her words, but they were clearly delivered as a challenge.
    His nerves clattered and he tried to collect himself. “Not like that. I don’t look
down
on it, not at all. After all.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s a more noble calling than what
I’m
going to be doing.”
    “But you do realize there’s a stigma by association? Every time you’re seen with Mister Faraday, every time you walk into this building, every time someone sees you dogging his heels faithfully, they’ll all say the same thing. Oh, there he goes. The Deathsniffer’s little assistant. You take that stigma onto
yourself
. Don’t think you’re exempt from it just because you aren’t him.”
    He laughed weakly. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” He ducked his head, ashamed. “Miss Olivia, I…I
need
the work. As I said. The rest doesn’t really matter, does it? With the state of Tarlish affairs, I can’t afford to be picky.”
    She stared for a very long time. A bead of sweat crawled between his shoulder blades. He was certain she was reading him like only his mother ever could, seeing deep and drawing it all out. He shivered.
    Abruptly, she stood up from her chair, grabbing a small, black, leather-bound book. She stepped out from behind the desk and crossed the room. Handed him the book. “Show me how fast you go,” she said.
    He swallowed the feeling of exposure. “…what do I write?” he asked, flipping open the first page. It was clean and white and empty.
    “Anything. Describe the room. Describe me! Or just transcribe your thoughts. To be honest, I absolutely do not care. Just show me you can go as fast as you say you can.”
    He licked his lips, staring down at the page, and tried to gather his thoughts into order. That was the difficult part, he’d found. He went
so
fast there was barely time to organize or separate what was pouring onto the page, so in the midst of a list of things he needed to get from the market, there was always a wisp of himself stirred in.
Tomatoes, Eggs, Threadwonderifthegirlwill, Milkbethere
. He decided to describe himself, instead of any of her suggestions. It was least likely to contain traces of
just what in the three hells is her problem
or
Gods, why the fog in front?
He built the image of himself up from his reflection as he’d studied it that morning, and then he sharpened the edge of his thought, took a deep breath, and focused it down on the page.
    slender blond fairly attractive at least I’m usually called so I think they’re probably right always wear spectacles can’t see anything far away part my hair down the middle wear it combed down but mother’s curls are always getting loose and
    always strive for sense of style though clothes are old I present a sense of togetherness to the world or at least I’d like to think I