by Shona Husk
Claudius smiled. That smile alone woke a thousand unpleasant memories. “Choose. Her life, or her death.”
There was no choice. He wouldn’t let Mave suffer the way he had. “Death.”
The Roman general tossed Dai the sword. “Then go ahead and kill her.”
His gray, gnarled hand caught the sword even though he wanted to let it fall at his feet. He watched his arm rise, unable to fight the order. Mave stared into his bulging yellow eyes; she didn’t blink or cower. Even if Claudius wasn’t holding her, she was true to her bloodline. The last queen standing proud.
Her lips moved as she whispered her final words, “I forgive you.”
Then his hand slit her throat while his mind screamed.
Claudius dropped her as if she were a sack of rags. Dai couldn’t move to catch her and lay her down gently.
“You’re dismissed.”
***
Dai woke with a jolt. Nausea from the sweet scent of blood rolled in his stomach, and his skin was cold as if the Shadowlands had invaded his sleep to keep the nightmare alive. He hated that dream. Even being in the Fixed Realm didn’t remove the sharp edges of Mave’s death. He’d never been able to tell Roan what had happened that night.
When the six of them had regrouped in the Shadowlands after that first summons to the Fixed Realm the night of the rebellion, no one had spoken. It was bad enough to have been cursed by the druid, but to be summoned back to the Fixed Realm to watch the massacre was devastating. They were in a state of shock after watching the slaughter of their kin. Then they all had their own private summons, the final punishment for daring try to throw off the Roman yoke, but they didn’t share what they were compelled to do. It was bad enough Meryn faded to goblin as they watched. It was easier for Dai to let Roan think he was summoned to kill the traitor, Drem, than to speak the truth. He’d discovered later that Roan had been forced to kill the remaining men who were loyal to their king.
Dai sat up, turned on the light, and blew out the candle. There would be no more sleep, so he pulled out a law book that dealt with property contracts. Study was always a useful distraction from the horror going on around him. It would be useful to know what he was dealing with before he attempted to manipulate reality and buy his apartment.
Chapter 7
Dai locked the door behind him and paused, enjoying the silence. One suitcase and an oversized shopping bag held all his possessions. He moved them to an empty bedroom where he wouldn’t be able to see them and nothing spoiled the emptiness. The space he craved echoed around him; it was nice. Peaceful. He toed off his shoes and walked around barefoot, enjoying the feel of the thick ivory carpet instead of the rock or cold dust of the Shadowlands.
He opened the sliding doors that led from the dining room onto the balcony. From there, Perth stretched out along the Swan River. The only people out were too far below him to be a nuisance; they marched along the footpaths on each side of the traffic. The world was there, only a short drop away if he wanted it. He tapped the railing, unsure what to do next with his freedom. Then he remembered the six-pack of beer in his bag and went inside for a bottle. He’d have a drink and watch the sunset. He hadn’t grown tired of that, or watching the sunrise—not that he could see both from his balcony. Would he ever after missing so many?
With a beer in hand, and the others in the fridge, he went back out to watch the sun melt away and be replaced with velvet blue. There were fewer stars visible than when he was born, and they were different in the southern hemisphere, but he didn’t care. There were stars. There was a moon—hell, there was weather. It wasn’t until they were gone that he realized how much they were a part of living.
His life had been on hold, yet in that holding pattern he learned. He had the knowledge of many lifetimes. And nothing to do with it. He couldn’t correct the errors made in history books. No one would believe him, although he’d left hints to be found over the years. Sometimes they got picked up, most of the time they were ignored. The healing magic he wanted to use, he couldn’t control well enough…that, and Birch was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see someone, but his apartment was empty and everyone below him was getting on with their lives. No one cared about one man having a drink on his balcony.
He leaned on the railing. The building had been designed so he had no view of his neighbor’s balcony. It was one of the reasons he chose it—that and it was the reality most easily altered to suit his needs. He drained the last of his beer and went inside, leaving the door open to let in the breeze—even the movement of air was worthy of notice simply because his life had lacked it for so long. The curtains fluttered like the delicate wings of a newly hatched moth.
How was he going to follow up on his books when Birch knew he was using magic? He couldn’t plead innocence and curiosity. His lips curved in a bitter smile. It had been a bloody long time since he was able to claim the former, and the latter had been with him all his life.
He closed his eyes. In the quiet he heard music and car engines. He let it fade away until it was just him, the carpet beneath him, the wall at his back, and the cold beer in his hand. From around the edges crept a scent like summer and the sea. Salt and heat. His mind strayed from the blankness until it found the answer. Green eyes and a smile that could melt gold. It lingered in his mind and couldn’t be pushed aside.
He needed a distraction. Something else to focus on. He may not have his books, but he could still experiment with the magic.
Dai opened his eyes so he could see the threads around him. His place was a web. Solid items were woven tight, but even the air was crisscrossed with strands and fibers, some no thicker than a hair, others like rope. Some were smooth, others uneven. He’d yet to remember the subtleties between the different kinds. He was sure he’d learned something about them, but he’d forgotten when he couldn’t manipulate them to break the curse.
He glanced around his place looking for something he could practice on, something with no life, something he couldn’t kill. He saw the empty beer bottle, then looked at the mesh that made up the fridge. Could he get a beer out without opening the door? Inside the web of the fridge, he could feel those that belonged to the beers. He grabbed one and tugged. The bottle slammed against the solid reality of a closed fridge. Glass exploded against the door and his concentration broke.
“Damn.” Three beers left and a mess to clean up. Solids couldn’t pass through each other. But magic could beat physics any day of the week. All he had to do was alter reality instead of blindly groping around like a novice. He should’ve known better. He chided himself, knowing that if his old teachers saw him, they’d be shaking their heads. It had taken a long time for him to earn their respect as a goblin and he wasn’t about to fail their memory now—or himself.
If he wanted a beer, he was going to have to get it with magic, or go without. He refocused his vision and studied the weaves for longer, and while he could’ve opened the door with magic and brought a beer to his hand, that wasn’t what he wanted to do.
With a thread of thought he took hold of the beer and as it approached the door he let it slide against the fibers of the fridge. Instead of trying to break the weave, he let the beer slip through a gap too small for the actual bottle, lifting so it cleared the kitchen island, then the bottle slapped against his palm. Whole and undamaged and full of beer. With a grin he twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips, then paused.
If the beer could come to him, why couldn’t he go to the beer?
Dai stood. While his apartment was tangled with threads, he could have easily stepped over and under them without touching them. But that would be boring. He wanted to be able to cross the room with a thought. Except the kitchen island was in the way and getting stuck in the carpentry would require a hell of a lot of explaining, if it didn’t kill him. He walked around until he had a clear view of the fridge. It wasn’t far to travel, ten feet tops. He rolled his shoulders and thought about where he wanted to
be.
The thought became a fragile thread no thicker than a hair traveling out from him to his destination. Then he let his body be pulled along the delicate strand. Pressure built at the base of his skull and the thread snapped. Carpet solidified under his feet. The room wobbled—no, that was him as he struggled to hold his balance. After a couple of breaths, the room stabilized and he realized something was different.
He looked around.
He’d moved four feet.
He had moved.
It had worked. The spider tattooed on his chest shifted in her web. He was the spider spinning a web, altering reality to suit himself. Flickers of knowledge he’d learned centuries ago resurfaced. All he had to do was remember, and the best way to jog memories was with use. He took a swig of his beer and placed it on the floor. He’d do it properly this time, with full focus. With a thought he was in front of the fridge. Back to his beer. Picking up his empty bottle and putting it in the bin. All without taking a step. All without crossing the kitchen island.
Excitement and adrenaline pumped in his veins. He could actually do something useful. He ignored the tightening at the back of his neck and tension building in his temples. A headache was nothing; he’d lived with worse. He had to see what else he could do. He turned to the kitchen island with its polished marble top and oak doors. It wasn’t about forcing his way through; it was about flowing through the same way water changed shape to fit the container. Nothing was so solid there weren’t gaps for other threads to pass through. He threw out a thought line straight through the island to the fridge. It thickened with his will and he jumped.
Dai’s hip hit the oven. He grunted as searing pain jolted through the bone and tightened his stomach, but he ignored the agony like so many other times. He had reason to celebrate.
He’d moved through something. He ran his hands down his legs even though they felt fine and wriggled his toes. Aside from what would be an awesome purple bruise in the morning, he’d done it. He could move through solid objects.
His celebration was cut short by the pulsing in his temple as his vision blurred into a confusing mess of web and normality. He reached out a hand to steady himself, as the room spun with increasing speed and threatened to send him sprawling, and blinked to clear his vision of magic. It took two tries to see the way a man should without the tangle of threads. Magic and beer didn’t mix. He was drunk and hung over at the same time. And it really, really wasn’t good. The room canted to the side. He lowered himself to the floor and lay down on his back. One arm rested over his eyes as if he could block out the lights dancing on his eyelids as he tried to center his breathing.
It was about the same as when they’d first learned to slide through people’s nightmares into the Fixed Realm. The brain didn’t like the idea and the stomach didn’t like being taken for the ride. No…actually, this was more like being ripped out of the Shadowlands with a skin-peeling summons—the gut-wrenching loss of ground and the suffocating spin as reality shifted.
It was almost as bad as being in a car.
The slow, deep breaths didn’t help, and the room moved even without him watching, which only reinforced that he hadn’t eaten any dinner and that beer wasn’t a good substitute. He was human and he needed to eat. After not needing to eat for so long in the Shadowlands it was a hard habit to get back into. He would get food after he finished lying down.
Without magic to distract him, his thoughts wandered off and found their way back to Amanda and the way her lips curved when she smiled. His headache receded as blood was redirected. He fisted his hand, his nails digging into his palm. How could he want something that had only ever brought pain?
While he knew that wasn’t always the case, the only memories he had of Seiran’s touch were smothered with what had happened after. He knew being touched by another wasn’t supposed to be bad. But knowing it and living it were two different things, and he couldn’t separate the pain and fear that came with thinking of letting another get that close to him. If she was close enough to caress, she was close enough to kill.
He’d made himself sit up. He’d rather have the headache and dizziness. His pulse echoed in his ears like a drum. Of all the things he’d thrown into his bags, painkillers weren’t one of them. He pressed his fingers against his temple as if to reassure himself his head wasn’t about to crack open. Then with a wrench of will he stood and placed his hands on the kitchen counter for support like an old man not sure of his footing.
He’d had a concussion before…but this was something else. And it wasn’t improving.
Around him, his apartment was like an empty cell closing in and there was no end to his sentence. He needed painkillers…and family. One more night in Eliza’s study wouldn’t hurt. Could he travel that far? Could he travel that far at the moment? His head pounded in time with his heart, a throbbing beat, but the alternative of staying here alone without the prospect of pain relief was worse. And if he couldn’t get there? He’d probably be unconscious so it wouldn’t matter. He sent out a tenuous thread, the way a spider might when looking for an anchor for the web. Dai forced himself to step forward.
Green eyes flashed in his mind. A split second of distraction and his path was altered. The room he stood in wasn’t Eliza’s study. He was in a bedroom. He blinked and glanced around confused, as the room danced around him in time with the pounding inside his head. He caught himself with the wall and tried to stay upright. He’d pushed himself too far. All he wanted to do was slide onto the floor and pass out—not necessarily in that order.
A sigh that wasn’t his drew his attention to the bed in the center of the room and he knew why he was drawn here. Amanda was sleeping in the bed, curled up on her side. The blankets stirred and she stretched like she was about to wake. Her long legs, bare to mid-thigh, were revealed. Dai looked away, but the image was already embedded in his brain like shrapnel. The room turned around him like a child’s spinning top.
His gaze was drawn back to her sleeping form. He shouldn’t be there. Yet for a heartbeat, it was where he wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world. He wanted to be next to her, his body curled against hers. No bed had ever been to tempting…or so wrong.
What was he doing? Staring, creeping around like a bloody goblin instead of facing her like a man. A gray dog lifted its head off the floor at the end of the bed. It tilted its head as if deciding if Dai were real. He stared at the dog; it wouldn’t dare bark and give him away. The dog opened its mouth.
Dai didn’t have time to walk out of the bedroom—even if he could’ve walked in a straight line. All he knew was he didn’t want Amanda waking and finding him watching her. Adrenaline flooded his system and gave him a moment of clarity. People pulled stronger than places. One thought. One chance to get it right, or he was sleeping wherever he landed. His brain felt like roadkill. Killing himself by getting stuck in a brick wall was beginning to look very attractive.
Roan.
He fell along the thread, a bark echoing in his ears.
Dai landed flat on the floor on his stomach. White tiles pressed cold against his cheek. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the personal fireworks display on the inside of his eyelids complete with sound. Ridiculous. He needed his books. Not everything could be learned on instinct. If he kept experimenting, his head might just explode.
There were painkillers in the kitchen. Eliza kept them on the top shelf of the pantry. All he had to do was get them. What was going to be worse—getting up or bringing them to him? He groaned. He had to get up. He didn’t want Roan or Eliza finding him sprawled on the floor; explaining why he was here was already going to be hard enough. He’d use the lack of furniture as an excuse, say he caught a cab. He didn’t care.
He waited another two breaths then forced himself up and used the wall for support and balance. In the kitchen he helped himself to four tablets, two more than he should take, but he had an extra strong headache and he was pretty sure the manufacturers hadn’t taken magically induced brain
implosion into account when they thought up the recommended dosage. He washed them down with a glass of milk and helped himself to bread, ham, and cheese. After his second sandwich, the vertigo was gone even if the headache wasn’t, and he was almost ready to face his brother. As he walked past the living room, he tried to look nonchalant in bare feet, like he’d walked over for a visit.
Eliza and Roan looked up from the television show.
“How’d you get here?” Roan frowned.
“Long story.” Dai didn’t stop walking, hoping Roan would let it go and let him sleep.
Dai went into the study, closed the door, and lay down on the floor. The air mattress was un-inflated in his apartment, even though Eliza had lent him the vacuum cleaner to blow it up. The study door opened.
Dai lifted his head and glared at Roan. “I’m not up for talking.”
“You can’t sleep on the floor.”
“Yes I can. Done it plenty of other times.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. Rapid action wasn’t nearly fast enough.
The door closed, but Roan hadn’t left. “You’re using magic, aren’t you?” Roan said softly.
“Yes.” It required too much effort to deny the obvious. He didn’t walk from Perth to Peppermint Grove without shoes.
Roan made himself comfortable on the floor, so Dai forced himself to sit up. The headache lodged in his temples was like a jack pushing his skull open so his brain could be examined. He was going to have to give up beer or magic. He already knew which one had to go.
“Is it safe?” his brother asked in Decangli, the language they had always spoken with each other.
That depended on Roan’s definition of safe. Safe as in it wasn’t going to kill him instantly, or safe as in it would never harm him?
He shrugged. “Safe enough.”
“You manipulated to get your place.”
“It was for rent.”