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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