Read Online Allegiance: A Dublin Novella by Heather Domin - Free Book Online Page A

clamped around William’s wrist. He smiled, pale and bloody. “Hello, William,” he said, white lips cracked over pink teeth and William stumbled back in horror but could not pull free, and when he fell backward the bricks dissolved into black and Adam was standing, pulling him to his feet and spinning him to his back, pinning him to the shelves, bottles tinkling in their racks, no longer pale but flushed and sweating, and his mouth did not taste like blood but like dark sweet wine.
    William jerked and flung himself from the bed. He looked around for a single wild moment, until the panic began to drain from his chest. He drew the back of a shaking hand across his mouth and listened for echoes in the silence – no, he had not screamed after all. He turned then and swept up all his notes and papers, crumpling them as he stuffed them into his briefcase and shoved it back into its hiding place. The bed creaked beneath his weight and he dropped his head into his hands, bracing his elbows on his knees until the tremors stopped. His erection pressed painfully into his stomach, hard and throbbing with his slowing heartbeat, and he knew better than to close his eyes. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. He needed air.
    He stood abruptly and groped for his shoes. The nightmare had already begun to dissolve, fading in the chilly night air – everything but the feel of long fingers digging into his shoulders, a rough mouth hot against his own. William rubbed his face, and when he drew them back he almost thought he saw blood on their palms. His mouth went hard then, and he reached for his coat and blew out the lamp before slipping down the stairs without waking a soul. Yet another useful trick from his boarding school days.
    He did not come back until morning.
     
     
     
    11.
    February 17, 1922
     
    The black-haired girl was not in the office today. The receptionist behind the desk was blond, and thinner, with a perm as stiff and an expression as pungent as the smell of furniture polish permeating the front hall. She ignored William’s presence until the clock struck precisely ten; when the tenth chime finished she looked up and said, “You may go in now,” and then returned to her typing.
    William tried his favorite tactic – a smile and a light “Thank you, love” – and was met with a blank stare and one slightly raised, severely plucked eyebrow. The smile disappeared, and it did not return during the entire twenty minutes William sat waiting in front of Lord Christopher’s mahogany desk.
    The Director perused every page in the file before him, his spectacles propped on the bridge of his sharp nose. William looked at his own handwriting upside-down on the desk – all his notes, lists, even a handy diagram, plus the original briefing packet dotted with dates and filled-in margins. The Director read through every bit, page by methodical page, all without a single word; his face remained impassive while William’s back began to ache in the red velvet chair and he put his hands in his jacket pockets to prevent them from fidgeting.
    The morning outside was overcast and frigid. Tiny, fragile snowflakes had begun to collect on the panes of the great bay windows. William wondered if the snow would stick this time or if it would just melt again, spreading into piles of muddy slush by mid-afternoon. Either way he’d be shoveling the front step tonight for sure, or one of the lads was bound to end up with a broken skull. He
—
    “This is everything, I trust?”
    William flinched, but the Director was still looking down at the papers, oblivious to his wandering thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Yes sir, it is.”
    The Director tapped the papers into a stack and collected each stray paperclip. He pushed his spectacles into place with one forefinger.
    “This would seem to be adequate,” he said.
    William allowed his face to go stiff; Christopher wasn’t looking at him anyway. The past six weeks sat in a neat little