by Shona Husk
“I’m working on that. But this is for something else.”
They moved onto the displays of objects from daily life over the centuries. Brigit pulled open drawers and pointed at things that were protected by a sheet of glass. Dai answered all her questions. He seemed to know a bit about everything. Was it truth or tales though? Where did the occult law of one culture end and another begin, or reality start? Was he even sure anymore?
Maybe she was rushing things? But when she was with him she wanted to hear about the places he’d been and the things he’d seen as if she could live vicariously through his travels, yet she never felt like he resented her asking. It was like he enjoyed talking about the things he’d learned.
But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was looking for or what he was going to do with it. “Nothing illegal?”
“No.” But it was what he didn’t say that made her concerned.
Not illegal, but almost.
She tugged on his hand. “What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for a magical item, that’s all.”
“And then?”
They stopped in front of a display on Iron Age people. Their weapons were held up for the world to see. Arrows and axe heads. Life must have been so hard back then. How would they feel knowing the things were being gawked at by a bunch of people with the free time to stop and stare?
Brigit pulled open the drawers to see more artifacts. Dai paled and stepped back. Amanda leaned over Brigit to have a look, but all she saw was a collection of knives, one with a bone-handle. She glanced at Dai and raised her eyebrow. His hand slipped from hers and he moved onto the next display by himself. Was it the knives? Was one of them magical? Ice settled in her stomach. What was he going to do with a magical knife?
Brigit bounced after him, oblivious to his need for space, and Amanda followed.
“Ohh, look at that spider.” Brigit placed her hands on the glass display cabinet.
“It’s a bird-eating spider,” Dai answered without the snap of exasperation of a tired parent who’d responded a thousand times before. He looked over his shoulder at Amanda. Instead of the shadows that had roamed his eyes there was sadness of a thousand things he couldn’t explain to her in any language.
In that breath, she knew he was going to leave. He was going to walk away before they even had a chance to see what could happen. Just as she was getting used to the idea that maybe she could risk being in love again. She took his hand and laced her fingers with his, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to keep him. He’d made up his mind.
Amanda drew him back a few paces from Brigit. “What’s happened?” Last night she’d thought there’d been hope, more than a chance of something.
He looked away. “I have to go away for a few days.”
“And take one of those knives?”
He didn’t answer.
“Will you be coming back?” she asked. He was pulling away and shutting her off.
He paused. “I don’t know. I want to.”
“Then what is stopping you?”
Dai looked at the other patrons, at Brigit only a few steps away staring at bees from around the world. “Let’s just enjoy today. I’ll tell you tonight.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t leaving Brigit with a baby-sitter every night for him. For any man. “Tell me now.”
He turned and faced her, held both her hands as if he could make her understand. “A friend is in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” She searched his face for answers but saw nothing she was able to read. “Trouble with magic?”
None of this was making sense. He had her believing in love and magic and was now tearing it away.
“Serious trouble. It doesn’t matter what. I have to help him.”
“It matters to me…” She lowered her voice. “Are you running? Is this because of last night?”
“No.” His eyes hardened, cold like hail. “I don’t run.”
“Then what is going on? The truth, in English.” His secrets were too much for her to handle.
There was a pop, like a change in pressure. Her chest was constricted for a moment and then she could breathe. She glanced at Brigit, only steps away still fascinated by the pinned bugs. The other couple in the room was just as focused on the display in front of them. Motionless.
“It’s not as pretty when you can understand the words.” Dai’s eyes glimmered like the darkest ocean in moonlight.
“Try me.” She’d heard plenty of ugly over the years.
Dai’s face seemed to change, like he was preparing for judgment. He held himself tall, but he was already defeated. As if he knew what her reaction would be, and was ready for the killing blow.
“From the time I was fifteen I was tortured by Claudius. I stopped fighting back when I realized he enjoyed the struggle even more. But using me kept his hands off my sister, Mave.” He stepped closer to her. “When I was sixteen, my father found out. He rallied the tribe. There was a battle and he was killed. Roan almost died. He became the new king of the Decangli. I got a beating and then some. At nineteen I helped Roan organize a rebellion, one that wouldn’t fail, but our cousin betrayed us to the Roman invaders.” His lips twisted as if the acid words still burned his tongue.
Amanda’s mouth opened, but she had no words. What had happened to him was awful but clouded in things that couldn’t be true. Had he created a delusion for himself to cope? What of the magic? The things he’d learned while overseas? Last night she’d thought she understood, if not the details then the emotion. Today how could she believe him when he spoke of things that had happened hundreds of years ago?
“The Roman Empire has been gone for centuries.”
“I know that. You asked for the truth and this is it. That fairy tale Eliza told Brigit is real, but Roan and I were the ones cursed. Damned to the Shadowlands to live as goblins.”
“Goblins don’t exist.” She stepped back and tried to pull her hands free. She didn’t know him at all. Beneath the surface of a scholar was a man who had lost touch with reality. “It’s not possible.”
He mimicked her step. “I’ve just had my twentieth human birthday. I’ve never even been with a woman because I don’t trust my hands not to repeat what I’ve learned.” He let go of her hand as if it burned. “Adapting to this changed world might be hard. But I’m not running. I like you, more than I should. More than is safe. But a friend is trapped in the Shadowlands and I have to help him before the goblins eat him.”
Amanda blinked. What could she say? He believed in this world he’d created so he could escape reality. But Eliza had told Brigit a story about goblins and the Shadowlands. About a king who’d been cursed and saved by love.
“Dai, you need help, counseling.” She touched his arm, but he jerked away.
“Ask Eliza how she met Roan.”
She had, and she’d gotten a vague response about running into each other. She should have asked more about Dai…Eliza had never warned her, nor had Roan. Did they both think he was stable?
“Ask Roan about the scar that slashes across his chest. Ask him about Meryn, Brac, Anfri, and Fane. You knew Fane, the albino kid who loved gold. Ask Roan how Fane died.”
She stepped closer to Brigit, determined to put as much distance as she could between the man she’d thought she knew. She’d been so close to making a mistake. But it was hard to move, like walking through syrup. While they talked, no one had moved. She looked at Dai; his eyes were still unnaturally lit. Magic. Was it real or an illusion?
“What are you doing to me?”
He blinked, startled. Then her ears popped and movement and noise returned. She hadn’t realized how quiet it was. She grasped Brigit’s hand and pulled her away without explanation. A wave of loss threatened to drag her to the floor. How stupid was she? She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he didn’t follow, but he was already gone taking a piece of her heart with him.
Amanda’s throat ached. She’d trusted him even though
she knew he was damaged. She didn’t realize he was rusted to the core. Her left hand covered her heart. The ring that protected her for so long was absent, and she wanted it back. She wasn’t ready. It was easier to be numb than have her heart sliced open for inspection.
Brigit stopped, refusing to be dragged any farther. “Where’s Dai?”
“He had to go.” Damn him. He’d made a friend out of Brigit and would hurt her too.
“Why?”
“Because he did,” Amanda snapped.
“You made him go.” Brigit tugged her hand free.
“He wanted to leave.”
“What did you say?” Brigit crossed her arms and pressed her lips together looking as cross as a seven-year-old could.
Amanda gritted her teeth. “Nothing.”
“Daddy sent him. You were supposed to help him. Dai was supposed to stay.”
Matt was gone, yet Brigit held onto the belief he was watching over her. It was a lie Amanda started, but one she thought they’d both grow out of. She sniffed, trying to lock up her turbulent emotions that didn’t know whether she was angry or upset, or both. Even if Matt was watching them, he certainly wouldn’t have brought Dai into their lives.
Brigit sucked in a breath. “I hate you. You never listen to me.”
“I’ve done everything for you.”
Brigit’s lips moved, but no words came out. Her lips faded from pink to blue. She leaned over and put her hands on her knees as if she were trying to catch her breath. Amanda dropped to the floor and pulled the inhaler out of Brigit’s bag. Her daughter’s eyes were wide as she sucked the medication down. It made no difference.
She pulled Brigit into her lap, waited, and gave her another dose. Brigit couldn’t breathe. Amanda fumbled for her cell phone and called for an ambulance.
“It’s okay, Brigit.” She smoothed her daughter’s hair and gave her another dose, willing her to breathe again. Brigit couldn’t afford another major attack. These were the ones that did the most damage to her fragile lungs.
Brigit gripped her hand, crushing her fingers as she began to panic. Tears burned Amanda’s eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Wouldn’t let Brigit see how scared she was. She had to be strong for both of them, even when her world was being torn in all directions.
She lifted her head, looking for help, but there was no one there. She was alone. Always alone.
Chapter 19
Dai stepped into his apartment. Time had stopped in the museum. Localized around him and Amanda—she’d walked away and he’d let her take the threads that linked them together. They’d trailed after her, shortening with each step. That way would hurt less. She wouldn’t feel the sting if he died.
But he felt the loss of each one. The tear as it left his body and the raw, gaping hole that remained in him once she was gone. Even if he made it back, he’d lost her. And he had no one to blame but himself. His shoulders hunched as he battled the agony crushing him. The talons of his past had never cut so cruelly and made breathing seem like such hard work.
He fisted his hand. He’d kept one golden ribbon, the first one that had moved through his hand when she’d touched him, as a reminder of her light. He’d need it in the Shadowlands. He always knew she wouldn’t believe him, even though he’d wanted her to with every cell in his body.
Was that what love was? Wanting to protect her from his past while at the same time wanting her to know him the way no one else did?
He cursed Claudius for ruining him so much that he couldn’t recognize love when it was right in front of him. And then the druid for cursing them all. And finally Meryn for being alive and needing rescuing. After everything he’d been through, after getting everything that had been taken back he was being asked to give it up. But he couldn’t leave Meryn in the Shadowlands. If he did, his nightmares would never end, and he would know he’d bought his new life with the blood of the man who’d been closer to him than his own father and brother.
It would have been easier to lie to Amanda and act like nothing had changed, but he couldn’t. After her husband’s death he couldn’t leave her shipwrecked and waiting for him when he might not be able to get back.
Damn it.
He didn’t want to leave. He might not have ever planned on having a human life again, but now he had one, he wanted to keep it. He wanted it more than anything else. He’d trade all the magic in the world to have one more night with Amanda. One more kiss. One more smile. But he’d been denied the first time, so what made him think he’d be allowed a second chance?
Dai sighed and looked at his blood-stained floor. He hadn’t cleaned up after Meryn shot him. Maybe some people just weren’t entitled to a life. Maybe this was what he deserved. With a thought he gathered up the dried blood and it vanished. The blood-soaked towel followed. At least it wouldn’t look like he’d been murdered if anyone came looking for him. The only person who would notice his absence was Roan. His apartment echoed around him. He’d never been so alone and yet no one had ever demanded so much of him.
He wanted to hate Meryn but couldn’t. If it had been him in the Shadowlands, Meryn would have done the same. And Roan would’ve been after him in a heartbeat. The people who gave a damn were the same ones who’d damned him. Cursed because of Roan, now lost because of Meryn.
With a snarl he pushed aside all thoughts of living and focused on the Shadowlands and what he’d need to survive. That was something he knew how to do. He tossed items on the bed.
Water, flak jacket—in case Meryn tried to shoot him again and didn’t miss—food, and throwing knives. The shop down the road must be wondering why there was always extra cash in the register. When he came back the first thing he was going to do would be to buy food. Lots of it. All from the little supermarket. Then he put all but the weapons into a backpack. He unpacked and repacked, anything to stall inevitable theft from the museum. He scanned the items again. It was a lot to take for a quick rescue visit. He tried not to examine the darkness in his heart. Or listen to the quiet voice that whispered you’ll never make it back.
But he wasn’t ready to go yet either.
He stripped out of the civilian clothing he was just getting used to wearing. The ink on his skin was dark and stark against hard muscle and pale skin etched in ancient scars. He checked the wound on his arm, running his fingers over the cut. The knotted threads made lumps of skin; between them the wound was still raw. With the sight he checked how it was healing. Not well. The other threads weren’t joining as he’d expected; instead they seemed to be wilting like plants that were denied water. He frowned and as he concentrated on the wound, and willed it to heal. The strands thickened and pulsed. Why the change?
He’d put energy into the wound…the same way Amanda was pouring life into Brigit without even realizing. That was what he’d been missing. Healing wasn’t just about tying off wounds and untangling threads; it was about energy.
The tree’s rapid growth made perfect sense. Once unknotted, the energy from the earth flowed freely. Humans, generally, weren’t that well connected and healing energy had to come from somewhere.
He looked at the wound. There was only one way to find out if he was right or if it was just another theory. This time he pulled the strands together and let some energy slide into the area, and as they drew close they joined without the need for a knot. The familiar pressure built in his skull, but he hadn’t yet reached the point of pain, so he kept going until the wound was sealed. He ran his hand over the muscle, but only a dozen clumps of knotted skin remained. Another decoration on his highly marked body. He allowed himself a grim smile.
Pity his magic had never worked in the Shadowlands.
Dai dressed in the gray-and-black, military style clothing he’d worn in the Shadowlands. While he had no sword to belt on, he slid his knives into the vest. Was he arming himself against Meryn or goblins? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going anywhere without being armed.
There was nothing left but to get the kn
ife.
With a wrench of will he reached out, found the sticky gray rope, and pulled the knife out of the museum. The knife wasn’t as old as the display had claimed, or maybe it was. Maybe the goblin bone did date back to the Iron Age. Who knew how long goblins lived, or who they were before?
The knife’s handle hit his palm. Cold as ice and coated in the gray threads that bound it to the Shadowlands. He tossed the knife from hand to hand to get the feel of it again, to test the weight. The knives had always flown true, as if they were attracted to their own kind.
The knife had found him.
Like all things from the Shadowlands, it closed in on his dreams and turned them to nightmares. He turned it over in his hand. To hell with the museum. The ugly blade would remain in the Shadowlands where it belonged.
Dai rolled his shoulders. All he had to do was follow the knife’s threads back to the Shadowlands. He forced out a breath and found the calm he needed to make the step between realms.
When he closed his eyes, he could still smell Amanda. The last remains of her perfume clung to his skin. How long would the delicate scent last in the Shadowlands? He already knew the answer. Not long. Her perfume would fade before his memory of her did. The thread through his palm linking them vibrated with pain. He could follow the golden trail to her, but she didn’t want to see him. He was the cause of her hurt. Sometimes it was easier to live with a sweet lie than taste the bitter truth. He closed his fist around her light. She would guide him home. Maybe once he was back he could put things right…that was the dream he could hold onto, one the Shadowlands couldn’t take.
With the gray strand in one hand and the gold in the other he was ready to go. Cold crept up his arm, crawled down his veins, and pooled in his stomach like he’d been eating snow. He checked to see if the fine thread linking him to Meryn was still intact. It was. His cousin was alive. If Meryn died while he dawdled, he’d never forgive himself.
Before he could stall any longer he grasped the solid gray threads that joined the knife to the Shadowlands and pushed through the layers of realities, different worlds, and possibilities to the nightmare where he’d spent most of his life. The familiar jolt of dislocation was coupled with a crushing of his temples that lasted only a couple of heartbeats before fading. Around him was the Shadowlands in all its dullness. The cold sucked away his breath and left raw ice crystals in its place. Had it always been so cold and desolate?
