Free The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) by Kate McIntyre Page B

in his mouth and puffed on it leisurely until even Chris felt a twinge of annoyance. Finally, the man shook his head and extended a hand. “Going to need some upfront, for a run like that.”
    “Oh, for―” Olivia snapped and bustled out of the hackney with her voluminous skirts flouncing. She reached into her handbag and thrust a handful of notes into the cabbie’s hands without counting. “Is that good enough, or should we beg, too?”
    The man puffed on his pipe and the corner of his lip curled. “Aye, missy, that’ll be enough. Get your arses up in the car.”
    The trip was considerably farther when they weren’t soaring over the city. Chris wished they were in that splendid winged carriage today, not only because of how fine it had made him feel, but because he could have used the vistas as a welcome distraction from the tense air in the cab. He watched the city go by in its most mundane of ways, and thought of witty, unflattering remarks he could throw at his employer.
    And saying any of them would have been idiotic. Fernand’s dire words this morning couldn’t be ignored. He was a pauper, there were another six years ahead of him, and Olivia was paying him an absurd amount of money for clerical work. Apparently, Healfday mornings spent smelling death was part of the reason why.
    He pushed up his specs and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t going away, and whether he wanted to or not, neither was he. There had been moments in the past week where Chris had found himself fond of her. He had to focus on those times and get through these ones.
    “It won’t happen again,” he said, not looking at her.
    A long silence followed his statement. They turned from the clothiers’ district and down into one of the jewellers’ roads. Chris wondered if Olivia had fallen asleep, if she’d even heard his near-apology at all. Gods, that would be too cruel. He wasn’t sure he could say the words again.
    But after they’d driven down three different streets, top to bottom, Olivia made a neutral sound and murmured, “I know it won’t,” and then, after a brief pause, “Your sister is lovely.”
    The view changed from the claustrophobic streets of Darrington’s trade district to the rolling hills of its peaceful countryside. Chris turned to look at his employer and found her staring listlessly out her own window. “What are we doing today?” he asked. Encourage communication. Show interest. Six more years.
    Olivia jumped, swinging her gaze to his. “I’m sorry, what?”
    Chris repeated his question, adding, “I’m sure you have some clever plan. I’m just wondering if I can be let in.”
    She raised her eyebrows then, and a bit of her usual delighted mischief crept into her expression. “Are you trying to proposition me, Mister Buckley?” she teased, fluttering her lashes. “It’s not going to work. I’m impervious to charming, handsome men, you see. And I’m at least ten years older than you.”
    Any other day, that would have had him blushing and stammering, but he recognized it for what it was: a peace offering. “What a harsh refusal,” he replied, playing along.
    “Sorry, but I have no choice. I know your type. Brass balls blunt, I have to be, or you never learn.” She drummed her fingers on the window ledge. “We need to speak to the daughter. Right now, that’s the most important thing.”
    “Analaea?”
    “Was that her name?” Olivia gave a dismissive shrug. “I’m wondering how
she’d
be affected by her father spontaneously becoming a devoted patron of the arts. She looked about your age, which means she was probably old enough to have known him before the change and after. Was she neglected by his sudden interest in young women? Confused by the change? Did their relationship deteriorate? Was she
jealous
, maybe?”
    “That’s disgusting,” Chris said without thinking.
    Olivia gave him a suggestive look. “Of the
attention
.” Chris looked away, embarrassed. “Or the