by Shona Husk
“I should get going.” He stood, swathed in the blanket he’d wrapped around himself like a cloak. “I’ve a list of things to get done around my place today.”
Amanda got up too, cursing herself for killing the conversation. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you will.”
But instead of walking away, he raised his hand and his fingers grazed her cheek as if he couldn’t leave without touching her first. She knew the feeling, but was resisting as if she could prove to herself she didn’t want him. It was a lie.
Amanda turned her head into his touch, wanting the moment to last for as long as possible, seeking to feel the heat of his skin while awake instead of only in her dreams. She wanted to step closer, slide her hands under the blanket, and feel his arms wrapped around her. She needed to feel his lips on hers. The same need was mirrored in his eyes. But they couldn’t get close because their pasts were standing in the way.
His hand fell away as he stepped back. Her fingers curled as she resisted the urge to grasp his hand and keep him with her for a moment longer. With a smile and a small incline of his head, he turned and left her standing alone.
He strode inside with the blanket like dark wings flapping behind him. He didn’t move like an academic; there was something else. She frowned and touched her cheek, but the warmth of his fingers was stolen by the cold air. She snapped her fingers and Sheriff followed her inside. But while Dai’s cup was in the sink, he was gone, as if he’d flown away.
***
The skeletal deer toppled over with an arrow hanging like a misshapen limb from its flank. Meryn sprinted over and tore into the carcass. He sliced open the belly and pulled out the liver, gorging on the warm flesh. Then he hacked into the wasted muscle on the haunches. He had to move fast otherwise the deer would rot before his eyes, spoiling whatever he didn’t eat. And he was starving. His stomach was tight and hollow. He couldn’t remember the last time he was hungry for something other than gold.
Blood turned his hands red, washing away the gray dust he’d rubbed into his skin for camouflage. As he ate, swallowing chunks of raw meat as fast as he could put them in his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder, searching for a movement that didn’t belong, a flicker on the landscape that would give away the presence of a scout on his trail. He was always looking for goblins on the vast plains of the Shadowlands.
So far he’d been lucky. He’d seen no one. But he didn’t stay in one place for more than one sleep—as much as it could be called sleep. His body exhausted from running, but his mind alert to any sound and creating vivid nightmares of what the goblins would do to him when they found him. Nothing tasted better than tasty pink human, and once they smelled him they would be after him. Meryn spat out the deer meat he was chewing. He was human now.
His stomach convulsed and bile defied gravity, flowing up into his mouth. He couldn’t lose the meal. It had taken too much energy to find and hunt. He swallowed hard and turned away from the already discoloring carcass. How many humans had he eaten as a goblin? He scowled as he sorted through disjointed memories.
None. He’d never joined in the feasts. Why eat when not hungry?
Yet he knew hunger and the satisfaction of a full stomach. The same way he knew thirst, and tiredness. All weak human traits. He thrust aside unwelcome thoughts and tossed dust over the carcass. Leaving it exposed would be another clue for the goblins to follow. His hands became gray again, hiding his hated pink skin. Gray was an easy color to live with.
As a goblin he’d never been cold. He’d never thought of anything but battle and gold. As a human, all he thought about were food and warmth. If he wasn’t thinking like a goblin, how could he be one?
He had to act goblin—maybe then the nightmares and screams would leave him in peace and he’d wake up gray and goblin. He knew that was a vain hope. Whatever magic made him human was going to take more than a wish to undo.
Meryn turned away from the deer’s grave. He had to keep moving and put some distance between him and the kill before he stopped to rest. In the distance rose the rock spire that pierced the heavy, starless twilight.
That was where he was going. The only blot on the perfect landscape.
But in the spire dwelt a goblin so powerful he could cross between realms at will. His caves were laden with more gold than all the other goblin kings possessed. He was so strong, human queens went willingly to his side. All other goblins wanted to kill him and take his place, but none could get close enough because he lived in a fortress, surrounded by loyal goblins who would never try to usurp him.
The Goblin King was his last hope.
Chapter 9
Dai let the shaking in his hand subside as he stood in the center of his empty living room. The curtain flapped where he left the balcony door open all night. He risked stepping though the fabric of reality to get home instead of being tempted by Amanda. He couldn’t be around her without wondering what it would be like to kiss her, even though she was very clear that she didn’t date.
That was okay. Neither did he. He wouldn’t know the first thing about dating, or women, in this time…or in any time. But he’d stop questioning what he could’ve done differently many years ago. Seiran and he would’ve been found out eventually and the result would’ve been the same. After that he tried to become an invisible slave so no woman’s gaze landed on him. He couldn’t stomach the loss or the punishment. Somehow he’d failed, and Amanda’s gaze had landed on him and now neither of them could look away.
And for the first time in many years he didn’t want to. Didn’t have to. There was no one watching and waiting for him to step out of line. The only person holding him back was himself. He ran his hand through his hair. As he moved the skin on his back rippled as if tickled by an unseen hand. He shook off the feeling. Now he was imagining her hands on him while he was awake. He wanted to hate the idea of her fingers trailing over his skin, but he couldn’t. His dreams came back to taunt him. Daring him to go farther. He shouldn’t have left; he should’ve stayed and seen what happened next. She didn’t shy away from his touch. Would she have balked at his kiss?
He was half tempted to go back, kiss her, and see what would happen. But only half. Was he a Decangli warrior or a cowed slave?
Pale winter sunlight illuminated his apartment. He was neither anymore. He could be whoever he wanted. Was he what Amanda wanted? The only reason she wasn’t wearing her husband’s ring was because it had been taken. While he knew Amanda would want the ring back, would she put it on again if he found it?
The kid was probably just human, even though he stole gold compulsively, as the chances of finding someone actually turning goblin were slim. But he couldn’t let the thought go. If the kid was truly on the path to becoming goblin, he’d be avoiding daylight as it would hurt his skin and eyes. Damn, he wished he had that linen roll he’d recorded the conversation with the priest on. This kid could be the evidence he needed to prove the old man’s claims.
But he’d also recorded ways to save a human soul. Although how effective they were he didn’t know since none of them had helped in breaking the curse, and he couldn’t remember a single one. That was the trouble with having two millennia to learn things. He’d forgotten more than he could remember.
It was why he needed his books and scrolls and tablets. But that would mean facing Birch again, and after their veiled threat at the dead tree, he wasn’t sure that was a great idea. He didn’t want any danger falling at Roan’s feet. He needed a better plan; so far all he had was they could keep the darker, more dangerous information and he’d get the rest. He didn’t see them going for that option, otherwise they would’ve already handed over some of the most innocuous books. A smile twisted his lips; maybe they were having trouble reading them. Hopefully they wouldn’t take as long as he had. He didn’t have twenty centuries to waste now that he was human.
Around him his house remained silent. It lacked the life that Eliza’s house had, her house was a home.
He stared at the cream wall where shelves and books should line the room. Books he knew, and there were books written about everything. He’d even written some on goblins and curses and obscure occult practices.
“Books and bookshelves.” That was what he needed to make this place his.
He showered, and as he dried he peered into his chest with the sight to examine the taloned hands gripping his ribs and piercing his heart. They had definitely moved, but had their grip eased or tightened? It was hard to tell, but if they were moving, maybe they’d drop out of their own accord like a full leech. He doubted it, though. They’d fed on him for so long, why stop? He slung the towel over the rack and dressed in his usual long sleeves and jeans, then added a jacket as an afterthought. Perth might have mild winters when compared to Wales, but the mornings were still bitter when the wind was funneled up the street.
The footpaths were already busy as people made their way around the city. Cars and buses clogged the streets. Dai shook his head; sometimes it was quicker to walk. He joined the people on their way to work as they pushed into the center of the city. People veered around an obstacle. As Dai drew level he saw what people were avoiding. A man sat against the wall of a takeaway shop, a hat in front of him and a few coins in the bottom.
Dai walked past a couple of paces then turned back. The man had the same expression he’d seen too many times on the faces of men trapped in the Shadowlands. One part resignation, one part futile wish that something would change; all he needed was a chance. A quick glance at the weave of the man’s body was all Dai needed to confirm that it wasn’t how the man normally lived. The man wasn’t reaching and grasping for a handout; he was embarrassed and trying to be invisible—no wonder no one else was stopping.
He couldn’t go past and do nothing, so Dai opened up his wallet and pulled out the diamond and gold earrings Eliza gave him, one in the Shadowlands and one in the Fixed Realm. They’d stopped him from fading to gray, and the man could use the same luck. He dropped them into the hat along with a few bills he had in his wallet. He’d spent years collecting wealth and had more than he could ever spend.
“Thank you,” the man called after him.
But Dai didn’t pause. He hadn’t done for it for thanks. He didn’t like seeing people trapped by circumstances they had no control over. Sometimes where planning and praying failed, simple luck came to the rescue. If Eliza hadn’t summoned Roan, and then fallen for him, he and his brother would be dead. Eliza was the luck he hadn’t been able to predict or manufacture despite all his study.
A couple of blocks up, Dai reached the shops. Two streets had been closed to traffic to create a pedestrian mall. Most of the stores were for clothes with a few coffee shops scattered among them, but he passed them in search of books.
The idea that a whole shop could be devoted to books was decadent considering that when he was born, none of his tribe could read. Druids had learned their craft and committed it to memory. When the Romans had arrived they’d brought their writing with them. It wasn’t hard to learn.
Roan struggled, but they had years to waste in the Shadowlands so it hadn’t mattered. Learning to read and write was the one good thing that had come out of being the general’s pet. Knowledge was power. Power meant he was no one’s slave. His lips twitched in an almost smile. He was free.
So why did he feel like he was always looking over his shoulder, waiting for his past to catch up with him? Because he could never tell Amanda the truth, and it would always be between them no matter what he did or didn’t do. It would be forever lurking, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But the idea of bringing it into the light was too terrifying.
He went into the first bookstore he found and browsed the shelves. Out of curiosity and a little bit of hope he scanned the titles in the incorrectly named New Age section. There were plenty of books claiming to be about magic, but none held any real magic. There were books of spells, which if the right thought was applied could produce results, as a spell was just a focus for the magic the same way a prayer helped the follower focus his faith.
Divination was popular and probably still as inaccurate as it was in his day. Very few people could accurately predict the future, and those who could usually went mad, or gave their answers in riddles no one could decipher—not even with centuries to waste.
He gave up trying to find something that would help him get a better control over the Fixed Realm magic and instead went to look at the fiction books. There was plenty of magic in them. He’d read to escape the Shadowlands. In books, people succeeded, they beat the gods, broke curses, and defeated mythical beasts. There was a speck of truth in many of the old myths. He picked up a book about the son of a Greek god.
Guess he was one of those myths now, a tale two thousand years in the making.
“Can I help you?” A dark-haired woman smiled as her gaze slid from his eyes to the toes of his boots and back up.
Dai shifted uncomfortably. “Um.” He had been enjoying wandering around instead of skulking in the shadows. “Just browsing.”
“Okay, but if you need some help you only have to ask.” The sales assistant paused a moment before turning away.
He walked along a few more aisles filled with history, languages and warfare before finding something that might be useful. Self-help was full of books on everything that could possibly bother a person, including three titles on dating. He knew he had issues, but did everyone? Amanda did, but that was because she’d had her heart broken when her husband had died. He wanted to be the one to put it back together, but to do that, he had to sort himself out first, and there was no book written for recovering ex-slaves who’d spent the best part of two thousand years in the Shadowlands.
He knew Amanda was interested. But as much as he liked the idea of seeing her naked, the reality was it wasn’t going to happen. She might smile at him, but once she saw under his clothes…he wasn’t ready for that kind of scrutiny. No one had seen his scars except him and a handful of witch doctors, wise women, sorcerers, and one dragon who’d offered to eat him when he was ready to die.
He’d outlived the dragon. Returning to her lair and finding her bones turned to stone was painful. He’d never expected to see her die. They’d had many conversations about hoarding, magic, and humans. But not even she knew half his life story. That was for him alone. Not every story should be told.
The books closed in around him. He was surrounded and he didn’t know what to get. Once he would have taken everything in case he needed it later. Now the words were empty. Their promises hollow. There was nothing in these books to help him. He’d rather face the Roman army empty-handed than show Amanda his scars.
The corner of his lips curved. What he needed was a book on conquering fear.
He checked the titles again and found several, including one written by an ex-soldier—war he understood, so he selected that one, plus one on insomnia.
The tension between his shoulder blades eased. Books never failed him; he just had to know what he was looking for. He took his reference books, plus the novel about Zeus’ son, and went to the register.
The sales assistant rang up the total, and he pulled out his wallet, realized he no longer had any cash, so he pulled out his credit card. Roan and he had spent their first day free arguing as only brothers could. Roan thought the name King was as much his as Dai’s because the same blood ran through them. In the end it was concede or tell Roan the things that had gone on behind his back.
He forced his hand to sign, but it was still stiff and unnatural. The woman made a quick check between card and paper. To Dai’s eye they didn’t match—one signature a scrawl made in anger to stop a fight, and the other one that hadn’t been used enough to look natural. But she smiled as she handed the card back.
“Do you know where I could buy bookshelves?”
“You could try the department store over at the mall.” She handed him the bag of books.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Dai strolled over to the multi-story shop. They wouldn’t have the kind of shelves he was used to—antiques polished from years of use. He should’ve brought them from the Shadowlands along with the books. They’d be wasted on the goblins. Still, any shelves were better than no shelves.
Two hours later he had a set of shelves assembled and in place. They were pale and flimsy. He crossed his arms and looked at them. They weren’t even real timber, just a laminate. They certainly weren’t sturdy enough to take his entire collection. He’d replace them later, when he found something more suitable, but they’d do for a time. He unpacked his purchases and put them on the top shelf.
That looked worse.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had so few books. Maybe he should go back and buy some more just to fill up the space. He shook his head. He’d need the room when Birch gave back his books. The more he thought about it, the more he thought Roan had a point. There was no magic in the world anymore; he frowned. Maybe it died with the last dragon, or maybe she died when magic was replaced with science. If Birch thought that he wouldn’t do magic just because he didn’t have his books, they were wrong. And if they thought he’d give up, they were going to be unpleasantly surprised. He’d ring them today…he’d have to get a phone first. Damn it. He’d pay them a visit. They couldn’t be that hard to find; even though he didn’t have their address, he’d never had a problem locating a branch as a goblin.
His front door buzzed and jolted him out of his book dilemma.
Dai pressed the intercom. No one knew he lived here, so who would come looking? Hopefully not the real estate agent. “Hello?”
“Come downstairs and help me with the boxes.” Roan’s voice came through with a metallic edge. Of course, he’d taken the call from the agent and had no doubt extracted as much information as he could from her.