The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) by J.P. Sloan

raining the entire time I was there. It was that constant, drizzly misting rain that drove me to the end of my ragged nerves. As we sidled up to the concourse, I was relieved to find endless sunlight bathing the city of Portland.
    I secured a cab ride across the Willamette and into the downtown Westside. As the cab crossed one of the dozen-odd bridges spanning the river, my phone rang.
    It was Julian.
    “Hey, Julian.”
    “Dorian.”
    “This whole thing with the photos has been taken care of.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Trust me, and I mean you really have to accept this when I say it… you don’t want to know.”
    “Granted.” After a long pause, he continued, “So, I’m here at Gordon’s.”
    “Having a late lunch?”
    “Where are you?”
    I blinked away the question. “Oregon.”
    “The state?”
    “Yeah, that one.”
    “That’s funny because it’s kind of hard to make a meeting here at Gordon’s when you’re in the state of Oregon.”
    Shit.
    “Right. That… that was today.”
    “I know we had a lot of back-and-forth in the last couple days, Dorian, but I had some people I wanted you to meet.”
    “Sorry, Julian. I… shit. Yeah, that’s on me.”
    “This would almost be funny if this wasn’t basically our standard operating procedure at this point.”
    I rammed my head into the cab’s upholstery a couple times. “I didn’t―I just forgot. I’m not blowing you off.”
    “And I had people here for an hour and a half.”
    “How many ways can I apologize here?”
    He went silent for a while.
    “Julian?”
    “I’m not saying this whole arrangement was a mistake, yet.”
    “Okay?”
    “But you’re not giving me a lot of reasons to think otherwise.”
    I balled a fist trying to figure out how to save face without losing patience here. “I know it.”
    “Is this about finding your soul, or whatever you’re doing?”
    I didn’t want to confirm nor deny. So I just shut my mouth.
    “Dorian, I need you with me, or I need to get you out of my peripheral vision. You’re distracting me more than you’re helping me.”
    “Someone died yesterday, Julian.”
    “What?”
    “A whole family. A couple and their two kids. It looked like an accident, but I know it wasn’t. It was damage control. Our damage. You and me.”
    “The photos?”
    “That’s just part of it. I want to help you, but you need to take a moment and get some perspective. You’re focused on the mayor race. That’s great. I’m on board. There’s some specific bastardy McHenry is whipping out of his pants right now that I wouldn’t mind shoving back up his ass. But there are people in higher places than City Hall who have me under a really big microscope. Now, I’m going to say ‘I’m sorry’ exactly one more time for missing this meeting. And then, you know what? I’m going to see you again this week. Hell, I’ll pound some yard signs into the ground if you want. And if you feel like we can’t continue this arrangement, no hard feelings. But right now, right this very minute, I just have bigger problems.”
    Julian simmered on that for a good while, but I didn’t give him anything else.
    “How does your Thursday look?”
    “I have a meeting with Julian Bright, but after that…”
    “Alright, smartass. Gordon’s. Nine a.m.?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “You promise this time?”
    “Barring an act of God or people in scary high places, yes.”
    I hung up in time for the cab to roll onto Columbia Street. A row of trees lined the one-way two-lane cutting through the middle of Westside Portland. I oriented myself as I stepped out onto the brisk bustle of morning pedestrians. I spotted a canvas awning sporting the words,
Green Tree,
in what could be generously described as twig-letters. My watch read eleven-fifty. I was early, but only just.
    A young man skateboarded directly in front of me as I tried to cross with the light, and nearly knocked me over. No one seemed to notice or care. In Baltimore, that