by Shona Husk
“You also left the fridge open.” Roan nodded at the two empty beers on the desk.
“Sorry.”
He’d never thought to close the fridge, simply willed the beer to his hand and didn’t consider the process. He frowned as he thought about the way he was using magic. Could he get a beer without opening the fridge?
It would mean altering the material of the fridge for just a moment so the beer could pass through. The practice of magic was proving different to the theory. His fingers curled as he was tempted to try, but he would have to wait for Roan to leave. His brother knew nothing of the magic he could use and that was probably for the best. The magic Roan used in the Shadowlands had almost taken his soul. He’d only worry if he knew.
“You didn’t sleep again.” Roan leaned against the door frame.
“Too much noise in this realm.” Dai tried on a crooked smile.
Roan pressed his lips together but let the lie pass. “You will get used to it.”
How could he tell Roan that surviving the curse was never a plan he’d made?
They’d vowed to die before fading to goblin. But every thread of the Shadowlands that ran through Roan and tied him to the curse was replaced by Eliza’s love for him, and his for her. She did everything he’d tried to do for centuries in a few short days. The death he expected had been exchanged for a second chance.
“I’m sure I will.” Dai flipped the newspaper closed.
Roan paused with his hand on the door frame. “You’d tell me if it was something serious.”
“I’m fine.” Dai forced a smile and relaxed. “It’s just goblins keeping me up.” That at least was the truth. Erasing the memories of the Shadowlands was harder than searching for a cure to the curse.
“The curse is broken.” Roan’s fingers whitened against the wood like he could force Dai to believe it.
He already did. He was in the Fixed Realm, and there was no going back.
***
Being on hold was like existing in the Shadowlands—meaningless. It was the third time Dai was transferred to a different department within the Birch Trustees. He’d never gotten the runaround as a goblin.
Chatter filtered in through the open study door. Dai lifted his head. He recognized the voice and laughter as clear as sunlight. Amanda. His lips twitched as he remembered the way she’d looked at him at the wedding. The last woman who’d smiled at him that way had ended up whipped and sold, with Claudius making sure Dai watched from screaming start to bloody end. Seiran’s only crime was that she was caught kissing him. Claudius was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch.
“Mr. King, how may I help you?” The voice was oily, as if used to smoothing over all manner of problems.
Dai stood, immediately on guard. “When can I collect my books?”
Not that he had anywhere to put them yet, but he needed them. It made him anxious that the bank had already kept them so long.
“They are being catalogued and the contents examined, sir.” The words were slick, as if read from a script.
“Why does Birch need to examine them?” When he’d packed them all up and deposited them in the Birch vault with the rest of his ill-gotten goblin wealth, it was so the world wouldn’t lose the knowledge contained in the books and scrolls if he died. Goblins had no respect for anything that wasn’t either a weapon or gold; if it was both, it was a highly valued item indeed.
If he’d known he was going to live and Birch was going to take their time returning his treasure, he would’ve put it somewhere else where he could’ve retrieved it at his leisure. He knew plenty of secluded caves, lost tombs, and the like where they would’ve been safe from weather and archeologists who’d lock up the books and spend the rest of their lives wondering what they meant. He knew what they all meant. It was his life’s work and a distraction from the ever-present weight of the curse slowly stealing his humanity. That thirst for knowledge—and love for his brother—kept him from turning fully goblin.
“Just a moment, sir.”
Amanda’s laughter echoed down the hall, but he pushed down the warm thoughts that sound brought, because he knew they would be followed by memories he’d rather forget. It wasn’t her fault; the damage had been done hundreds of years before. Yet she called to him in a way he couldn’t describe. He wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her and break down the boundaries he’d built for himself.
The phone clicked, and once again hold music filtered down the line.
Dai clenched his fist and the lamp on the desk blew, followed by the light overhead. Glass hit his hands like brittle rain, but Dai remained silent. He knew when to play mute. It was a useful skill for a slave to have and had saved many fights with his brother.
Aggravating whoever was on the phone wouldn’t help his case. Instead he focused on a melodic chant monks had taught him to gain control of the anger. He gritted his teeth and forced the words to flow through his mind. Learning to control the fury that could never be spent by shedding Roman blood had been the first step to learning how to master himself and then magic.
Wielding magic was like holding any weapon—it required training or the user was more likely to injure himself. It was one thing to know which end of the sword to hold, but another to be able to handle the blade in battle. He’d never had the opportunity to use magic while goblin, and now that he needed help there was no one left alive to ask for guidance. All he had left were his books.
And Birch had them.
He glanced out the window. Roan was digging in the yard. Since breaking the curse, he’d busied himself around Eliza’s house as if he’d been there all his life. If Dai dug into the magic of the world in the same way, he’d do irreversible harm. Who knew what the shock waves would do, or what threads would loosen? It would only take a few cut threads to unravel the world as everyone knew it and make it into something else. He swept the broken glass to the side with the edge of his hand, then changed his mind and used magic to push the shards back into place as if the bulbs were never broken. The familiar pressure in his temples returned. He didn’t remember being told magic would hurt. But then what didn’t?
“I’m sorry for keeping you on hold. The processing is taking much longer than I first thought.” The man paused. “Is there any reason you require all of those magical texts?”
Dai narrowed his eyes. There was something beneath the question, like the slither of scales over skin. A shiver ran down his spine. The real issue wasn’t the texts; it was the magical secrets they held. The lore he’d paid little attention to when his sole aim was breaking the curse, information he could really use. Dabbling in magic without proper safeguards was dangerous.
While searching for a way to break the curse, he’d studied under masters of the art in the Fixed Realm, but everything had been theoretical. As a goblin, he’d been unable to practice human magic—but he’d understood it the same way he’d understood the Shadowlands magic, even though he couldn’t use that either. His knowledge had given him standing despite his goblin appearance and his inability to perform even the simplest trick. The theory and practice were different and he’d forgotten too much, or remembered the wrong bits. Either way the answers he sought were in his books.
He projected a calm he didn’t feel into his words, as if he didn’t truly care about the delay. “No, just interested in curses.” He forced out a dark laugh. “They’ve fascinated me for too long.” He wished he’d paid closer attention to the other studies of magic.
“Mmm.” The Birch employee didn’t believe him. “So you aren’t using magic?”
His heart gave a heavy thump. Did they know? He turned the question around and answered before the pause could become suspicious.
“Don’t you think if I could actually use magic, I would’ve broken the curse that bound Roan and me to the Shadowlands a little sooner?” Not a total lie. He would have broken the curse a lot sooner if he’d been able to use magic while in the Shadowlands. No one in their right mind wanted to live in the Shadowlan
ds—he’d spent as much time as he could in the Fixed Realm, but looking like a goblin had its own problems.
Why was Birch Trustees so interested in books about magic?
“Yes. I’m sorry, Mr. King.”
He winced at the use of his name; he was never going to get used to hearing it.
“Birch will be in contact in a few days regarding your library.” The line went dead.
Dai placed the phone down carefully instead of slamming it into the table the way he wanted. They wouldn’t call. If he wanted his books back, he would have to fight for them. The same way he always had to fight for everything.
He closed his eyes as the talons pressed closer to his heart and the pain radiated through his back. There had to be another way—yeah, don’t use magic—but he knew he couldn’t just stop. The world tempted him to play with every breath. It was around him, part of him, the way the magic of the Shadowlands had been part of Roan. Fixed Realm magic was different though; it didn’t require the payment of soul. Well, most Fixed Realm magic didn’t. The kind he wanted to use didn’t. The other kind, well, he’d survived one curse and had no intention of being part of another. Some magic was best left well alone.
The room became too small. He didn’t want to hide from the world, but he wasn’t sure how to be part of it. Roan had easily thrown off his past. From Goblin King to husband in days.
For a moment when he held Amanda he’d thought he could be like Roan and put aside the past and be someone else. A clean slate. But as desire awoke in his veins, it stirred the ancient demons from their sleep and his flesh crawled at the thought of being touched by anyone. There was a reason he’d been celibate in the Shadowlands, even when women came to entertain and fill their pockets with silver.
He opened his eyes, knowing he couldn’t avoid her, but not knowing what to say. What did she expect from him? It would be much simpler to tell her the truth and walk away before he could see the expression on her face. But that was never going to happen. He was going to have to struggle on and pretend to be normal—whatever the hell that meant.
If he wasn’t living here, he could avoid her. He wouldn’t have to deal with anyone. Being on his own was becoming more attractive by the moment. He picked up the phone again and rang the real estate agent.
Chapter 4
“Coffee?” Eliza held up a white mug as if she knew Amanda wouldn’t be able to resist the offer.
After a couple of nights of broken sleep, Amanda would’ve drank anything that vaguely resembled coffee. “Only if the machine is on.”
She needed it. Between checking on Brigit and peeping out the front window to see if Flynn was watching her house, she’d hardly slept. And when she had, Dai invaded her dreams.
“It’s always on for you.” Eliza smiled as she got out milk. She was almost glowing. Whatever Roan was doing could only be good. It was about time Eliza had some luck and love in her life after that scumbag Steve destroyed her family’s legal firm. Amanda looked away with a small shake of her head.
Who was she to judge? She’d married Matt two months after discovering she was pregnant. Hopefully Eliza would have better luck.
Brigit crossed her arms and stood sullenly with her head turned pointedly away from Amanda. It was her latest phase, the suffering seven-year-old who doled out the silent treatment when she wasn’t getting her way. It could’ve been worse. The fearsome fives had involved many, many tantrums.
“Can I watch TV, Eliza?” Brigit asked.
Amanda faked a cough. Brigit had also grown out of her manners.
She rolled her eyes as only a disgruntled child could. “Please.” The word was loaded for Amanda’s benefit.
“If you can’t ask politely, you can stay here in the kitchen.” If this was her daughter at seven, what would she be like at seventeen?
She saw many teenage girls walk through her door with imagined issues, but she also saw the teenagers with real problems on whom everyone else had given up. Even their parents. Some days she wanted to chuck it in and get a job that didn’t suck her dry. But it was part time and during school hours, and she liked to think she was making a difference. That lie was becoming harder to believe after Flynn’s violent robbery.
“Well, you could’ve sent me to school.”
“You had a bad night.” Like every other night when she was sick, Brigit struggled to breathe with the asthma squeezing her lungs.
“I have a cold.” Brigit glared, her lips pressed into a tiny pout. “So what?”
“Better you stay home instead of spreading your germs.” Amanda gave her daughter a firm glance that Brigit ignored.
“If I’m well enough to come out—”
“We can always go home and you can go back to bed.” She’d let Brigit go to school the day before. But after last night, she needed a quiet day. If not at home, then there with Eliza.
Brigit opened her mouth. She liked having the last word on everything. Maybe Amanda had been too soft and had left reining Brigit in until too late. But it was hard being the only parent and harder to watch her daughter suffer.
“You can watch TV,” Eliza said, breaking the standoff. In the background, the coffee machine gurgled. At least with Brigit watching TV, Amanda would get five minutes to sit and relax.
“Thank you, Auntie Eliza.” Brigit suck her tongue out at Amanda as she strolled to the living room with her little handbag full of medication over her shoulder. It didn’t matter what she did or what therapies they tried; nothing lessened the effect of the asthma.
Amanda pretended not to notice and let her go. She wasn’t the best parent after four broken hours of sleep. Just once it would’ve been nice to be able to share the load.
Eliza placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. “Asthma playing up again?”
Amanda took a sip and regretted it as it burned the tip of her tongue; the coffee was far too hot.
“She doesn’t get it. A cold could be fatal.” Brigit had been hospitalized many times because of a cold, or spring pollen, or anything that triggered a severe attack. The asthma wasn’t improving. If anything, the doctors thought Brigit was getting worse. Her lungs were becoming more sensitized and prone to attacks. Six months before, they had warned her there was a strong chance Brigit could die.
Amanda refused to believe the doctors. So they had started experimenting with new age treatments. Things science couldn’t prove would work. Halotherapy helped for a week, maybe two at a time. The turquoise necklace she’d bought her for her birthday didn’t seem to have made any difference. Nightly oil rubs of cardamom and cedar wood helped her breathe a little easier, but it wouldn’t save her. Brigit needed something stronger, something that would cure her. One of the women in the halotherapy salt room recommended a healer who thought disease was caused by damage to one’s aura. It was a worth a try.
Eliza bit her lip.
“Don’t you start,” Amanda warned. Eliza would side with Brigit. It was easy for Eliza to say she was overprotective because she didn’t have kids. She didn’t have a sickly child and no backup for when things went downhill in a couple of trapped breaths.
“I said nothing.” Eliza filled her own cup. “One day you’ll have to let her grow up.”
Amanda listened to the banter of the cartoons in the background. She was still so little; she deserved the opportunity to grow up. But if her asthma didn’t improve, or they didn’t find the right medication or a new age cure, even that small dream was under threat.
“Not yet.” Brigit was all she had.
She wrapped her hands around the cup, but the heat from the coffee didn’t warm her. Every birthday was a reminder of how many years Matt had been gone. She couldn’t lose Brigit too. Amanda forced a smile and changed the topic. “So when are you going on your honeymoon?”
“We’re waiting until Steve’s trial is over.”
“At least the media has cleared off.” They’d been camped on the front lawn for several days after Eliza’s ex-fiancé had been arres
ted for embezzling funds from the law firm.
“A footballer’s divorce is much more interesting.”
“Especially when the wife is caught with the assistant coach.” The scandal was front page news. Football players couldn’t stay out of the headlines for long. Six months before it was drug use and before that drunken, debauched parties.
“Allegedly.” Eliza waved her finger.
“You’re still a lawyer at heart.”
Gunn and Coulter closing was still a sensitive issue. But it was the subject of her new man and marriage that Eliza dodged the most, as if talk of love would upset Amanda, or point out her own lack of romance. Eliza pulled out a box of chocolate chip cookies and offered them to Amanda. Silence spread between them as they drank their coffee.
She sighed into her coffee cup. Unlike Eliza, she couldn’t drop everything and take a risk on a man she barely knew; she had to think of Brigit too. Amanda wasn’t jealous. She had a lovely daughter—well, she was lovely most of the time—a house, and a job. Everything she needed. She swallowed the coffee without tasting it. But not everything she wanted.
That one dance with Dai stayed with her. Those few minutes reminded her what was missing in her life, and she couldn’t blame the sudden realization on being caught up in the moment, not when she caught herself wondering what would’ve happened if Brigit hadn’t walked in. Would he have kissed her? In her mind he did, and she enjoyed it. And she wasn’t sure she liked what that meant. How could she wear her wedding ring and think of Dai?
“So, how is married life going?” she asked, hoping for a distraction from the unsettling line of thought. But she was aware Dai was in the house and when she saw him she didn’t know what she’d do. Maybe whatever had happened existed only in that stolen moment and he’d be just another man who would fail to spark any lust.
It had been a long time since any man had been able to arouse any interest. Yet he slipped under her skin with a smile, and she hadn’t felt a thing until her blood began to heat. Once she looked into his eyes, she had trouble looking away. There was something about him…like he was a mystery to unravel.