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The long-sleeved T-shirt and flannel pajama pants kept the chill off the rest of his skin. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something useful like find a place to live. Come morning he’d ring Birch and start asking questions. A week should be long enough to examine his books. And as much as he liked experimenting with the magic, having his texts would make things easier. He began searching the newspaper for a place big enough to store his whole library.
    The sound of birds jerked Dai awake and his feet slid off the desk. His hand reached for the knives he no longer carried as if he were readying for battle. In that second he realized where he was. He took a breath and relaxed. He’d grown so used to the silence of the Shadowlands that the usual sounds of the world had the power to startle him. He glanced out the window. Daylight stained the sky pink.
    He flexed his fingers. The weave of reality was all around him, begging to be played with. The threads, split and joined, wove around each other and tangled. So beautiful, so easy to manipulate. The window unlocked and opened at his thought. He sucked in the cold morning air. His lungs cramped and shivered like they had in the Welsh winters when mist lay heavy on the ground, and ice had lined any still water. Outside, the sun crested the roofs and moved higher just like it always had. He watched, mesmerized by its movement. There was no sun in the Shadowlands, no night, no day. No life. Only eternal gray and the knowledge that he would never be able to make the bastard Claudius pay. The muscle in his jaw tightened. Some crimes were unforgivable. He understood that too well. In his darkest nightmares, the blood was still on his hands.
    There was a knock on the door a half-second before it swung open.
    Dai pulled down his sleeves so they covered the marks on his arms. He wasn’t ready for the world to see his past. “And if I’d been naked?”
    “I would have closed my eyes.” His brother stood in the doorway. He was hardly recognizable. A man, not a goblin. A husband, not a king.
    “You’re up early.” Since the wedding a few days before, Roan and Eliza took their time getting up in the morning.
    “I saw the lights on.”
    Through the open door Dai saw the house was too well lit for early in the morning. Crap. Had he been turning on all the lights in the house every night?
    “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