Free The Heartless City by Andrea Berthot

at his trousers. “Bloody hell!” he cried, smacking his head on a nearby branch. “Get the hell away from us, you bloody disgusting bird!” He shooed it away, kicking a wild foot in the creature’s direction, but Iris stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up the stair.
    “Let’s go back inside. There is no escaping that beast.”
    She hauled him into the office, released his wrist, and closed the door, and Elliot rubbed the place where she’d touched him, confusion cooling his blood. Her heart had been pounding as violently as his a moment ago, but when she seized his wrist, his fingers had closed around hers as well, and even though her feelings hadn’t changed, her pulse had steadied.
    “I suppose adoring birds does not ensure they’ll adore me back,” she said, turning around to face him. “Although, I must admit, I detest that sort of goose. It’s nothing like the wild geese I remember from back home. People call them Canada geese, but they live in America, too, and every summer they filled the lake just north of my family’s farm.” She strolled to the desk, her wistful voice masking her nervous tension. “They’re elegant birds with long, black necks and a splash of white on their heads, and I used to love watching them take off from the water and fly through the air, forming a perfect arrow as they soared above our pecan grove.” She brushed her hair back over her shoulder, and something caught Elliot’s eye.
    “Iris―I mean, Miss Faye―look at your hand. I think you’re hurt.”
    He took a step toward her, and she opened her left hand. A dark streak of blood smeared the center of her palm.
    “Did you cut it when you―” he began, but then his voice dissolved. The blood was new―fresh and wet.
    But there was no wound beneath.
    She jerked her hand away and wiped it off inside her pocket. “I think it’s only dirt. From when I tried to grab the door.” She turned around and crossed to the opposite side of the room. “We should get some sleep before the birds’ caretakers arrive. They’ll be here in the morning, which is just a few hours away, and I don’t want to be miserable and exhausted at work tomorrow.”
    Elliot’s stomach turned; he had to work tomorrow, too. When his father refused to continue his education, he gave him a job―a grim, disgusting business he tried not to think about.
    “You’re right,” he said. “We should get some rest.” He approached her, removing his overcoat. “Please, take my coat.”
    “There’s no need. Really, I’m fine.”
    “I insist,” he said, holding it out. “You’ll freeze in that.”
    She let out a breath and took the coat. “Thank you, Mr. Morrissey.”
    “Please, call me Elliot.”
    She looked at him, her eyes burning embers in the darkness, but then she turned away and wrapped the coat around her shoulders, murmuring “thank you,” again and crouching down against the wall.
    Elliot rubbed his arms and crossed to the other side of the office. The floor creaked as he lowered himself against the opposite wall, but other than that, the dim, frigid room was utterly silent. He closed his eyes and took a breath, wondering how in the world he could sleep with Iris a few feet away, but then her bright, sparkling voice rang out across the room.
    “Elliot?”
    It was as if he’d heard his name for the first time in his life. “Yes?”
    For a moment, she didn’t speak, and her face was lost in the shadows, but then she finally said, “If you want, you can call me Iris.”
    A smile spread across his face. “Goodnight, Iris. Sleep well.”
    Eventually, exhaustion overpowered his excitement, and he curled up against the wooden floor and drifted off. At first, his dreams were as empty and cold as the freezing boards beneath him, but then a heavy warmth began to creep inside his brain. He saw Iris standing in a grove of golden trees, watching a flock of wild geese soaring above the branches. She turned to him, smiled, and