Good Things: An Urban Fantasy Anthology

by Mia Darien

  Her car was missing. It had been towed.

  It took every ounce of self-control that her poor, exhausted body had left in it to keep from sprinting through the reception area. She had to check in and get her visitor’s pass, Marcus right on her heels. She walked, very fast, through the halls to Tom’s room, just barely keeping from knocking people down. She just didn’t care.

  She reached his room and stopped in the doorway, trembling again as she found herself fearing it was a mistake. Tom wasn’t awake. It wasn’t okay. Nothing had changed, or worse, it had taken a downward turn.

  Swallowing hard and forcing a breath, she once more fought her wooden legs and pushed herself into the room. When she reached his bedside, she found him sitting up. He was alert and awake, talking with a nurse. The nurse turned to Jesse as she gripped the plastic railing at the foot of the bed just to keep from falling down.

  “The doctors can’t explain it,” the nurse said before either Tom or Jesse even had the chance to speak. Jesse could only stare at her husband, and he looked back. “The swelling and bleeding have just gone away, and all of his vitals are...normal. He’s a very lucky man.” The young woman paused, like she was waiting for something.

  “Thank you,” was all Jesse said.

  The nurse seemed to take the hint and left. Jesse moved around to the side of the bed and crawled up beside him. It didn’t occur to her to wonder where Marcus was, but a good guess would’ve been he was giving them privacy. Tom didn’t say anything as he pulled her into his embrace and she burrowed against his chest. The fabric of the gown they’d put him in was coarse against her face, but she didn’t care. She cried. She sobbed.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you,” she whispered over and over again, her fingers gripping fabric as if to hold herself to him, like she was afraid to let him go.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “You heard the nurse. I’m alright.”

  “I know, I know,” she said around a hiccup.

  “Everything’s going to be alright now.”

  She nodded and sniffed. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s you and me, and everything will be fine. I’m with you until the wheels fall off.”

  Somewhere outside the window, she heard the sound of flapping wings, and thanked the gods.

  From the Author: The plight of the First People’s children being taken from the reservations and placed in Caucasian homes has been a secret for a long time. The tribal lawyers fight, to keep their children, but it is an uphill battle. I would like to thank the Lakota Law Project for offering me answers to the questions I had about the issue, and for supporting me in my decision to bring this story to light. For more information on the Lakota Law Project, please visit http://lakotalaw.org/

  I would also like to thank Reverend Melissa Burchfield and Reverend William E. Ashton for guiding me through all my diversity and spiritual questions of the past year and being the inspiration for the group of people I use for Gabby’s religious group.

  Jemine Windsong stood under the green and gold striped awning of the used bookstore she had just exited, watching as the lights went off behind her. The woman in the shop had made her tea, and let her sit in one of the reading areas all afternoon. Jemine had not eaten the cookies the woman had set out, even when her stomach rumbled, because she knew she could barely pay for dinner, let alone one of the books the woman sold, and it felt like she was taking advantage. She offered to help the woman stock books, or to sweep the floors, but the woman had said that it had been slow lately and she didn’t need any help.

  Wasn’t that the story of her young life so far? A willingness to do, but the world’s lack of acceptance and an unstable path behind her, now made worse with her last choice to try and return home. It felt like it was the right choice, but making her way had not been easy.

  She pulled her sweatshirt hood over her head. Colorado summer days were warm, but the evenings cooled, especially when the huge thunderstorms rolled in, lighting the clouds with spectacular shows in black and white, just like Great-Aunt Winterhawk’s ancient TV. Another wet evening, and the need to find a place to stay dry. The Waffle House down by the freeway had let her in a few times, but then the manager told her more than a cup of coffee was needed as booth rental, leaving her in a position of trying to pin down which car was his so she could see if the nicer waitstaff would let her stay when he wasn’t there.

  A sound next to the building caught her attention, and she moved around the corner into the dark of the small town street and looked into the parking lot. There the woman from the bookshop was locking the door as she talked on the phone. The pale blue of the phone’s light built shadows into the older woman’s face as Jemine had seen in the fires of the reservation cast upon dancers and storytellers. As they always did, the thoughts of her home brought a lump to her throat, but foster care had dried away the tears. The woman turned and her purse caught on the door handle, sending her phone sliding across the dark pavement, almost to Jemine’s feet, as the other woman cursed into the night. “Fuck.”

  Picking up the phone and offering it to the woman, Jemine smiled shyly, then turned to go once it was taken. As she moved, the woman waved a hand at her, then held up one finger, asking for Jemi to wait. Blue eyes looked appraisingly at Jemine and she began to squirm under the scrutiny, tugging nervously at her long, black braid. The woman was a few inches taller than her, and understandably more well fed, considering Jemi’s homeless state. As the other woman had let her stay and read earlier, Jemi decided to see what she wanted to say.

  The phone conversation from this end was mostly, “Yeah I’m fine,” then listening, “Yes, I will get that and see you soon.” Jemine listened, but unlike the loud conversations her mother used to have over the phone, she could not even determine if the other speaker was male or female.

  The bookstore woman hung up and continued to look at Jemine. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said and gestured with her phone. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  Jemine shook her head, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Good. I am Gabby and I have to go pick up some things for a meeting, I could use help carrying them. In exchange, you can eat with us,” Gabby spoke with a gentle smile, and Jemine could almost feel the tension she was holding, ready to bolt at any sign of danger, melt from the woman’s kind demeanor. Gabby turned to her car, then looked back at Jemi. “Come on. You don’t expect me to leave my phone’s rescuer unfed, do you?”

  Returning the woman’s look with a guarded one of her own, Jemi shook her head and followed, getting into the passenger seat of an older car. The interior was neatly kept, just like the bookstore, except a bag in the back and a few books on the back floorboard. She stayed quiet as Gabby got in and started the engine.

  “Afraid dinner is likely to be a mishmash of whatever everyone brings. It’s my chance to be in charge of the meat, do you like chicken?” Gabby asked, not looking at her as the woman carefully pulled out of the lot, signaling as she turned right towards the main area of town.

  “Eat about anything,” Jemi said softly.

  Gabby chuckled. “Me too, as is obvious,” she said, then turned up the music. It was the same as had been on in the bookstore, piano and soulful singing, some horns, but nothing like Jemi had ever heard. “You like jazz?” Gabby asked.

  “That the music?” Jemi asked, then when the other woman nodded, “Seems okay.”

  “Find it gets me through my Mondays, no matter what day they fall on,” Gabby stated with a chuckle as if she had made a joke.

  Jemi just stayed quiet, looking around. She hadn’t ventured far from the freeway in her time in town. She needed to find a ride north but the last ride had been with a foul-smelling trucker and she felt she had just gotten away in time before something bad happened. Great-Aunt Winterhawk was her grandmother’s sister and she had always told Jemi to follow the spirit wind, as it would tell her what she needed. But while in foster care, she felt like almost all the spirits of her people ha
d left her. Maybe it was because of the Christianity most of the homes offered. The church her grandmother had attended was one of tolerance, acceptance and peace, but in the foster homes, religion felt forced. One of the other girls had told her that foster parents were judged by the social workers and if the social workers felt they were not Christian enough, they might get less children.

  In her young life, so much had changed. Jemi’s mother was a white girl. She’d been sixteen, the age Jemi was now, when she got pregnant. Her father, a Lakota from the reservation, took her in with his family and did the only thing he could do at eighteen to support a woman and child: joined the military. They never married so when he came home in a flag-covered coffin two years later, the uneasy truce between Jemi’s mother and grandmother ended, and her mother left, only to appear every once in a while asking for money and then threatening to take Jemi away. Grandmother said her mother was getting money from the government that should have been Jemi’s because of her father’s death, but there was no way to try and get custody unless her mother signed her rights away, which she always promised but never did.

  That was why when her grandmother’s spirit went to fly with the ancestors, Child Protective Services came onto the reservation and took her. She had no family left but her mother and her great-aunt, who was gone on a spirit walk when they came. Not that the spirits would have stopped them, nothing ever did once the county took interest in a child of the tribe.

  Gabby had been speaking, but Jemi had been lost in her thoughts. “Sorry, wasn’t listening.”

  The older woman looked at her. “I asked if you liked that book you had been reading in the store.”

  Jemine shrugged. She loved reading, but she didn’t understand quite yet what was happening and it wouldn’t do to trust this woman. “S’a’right.”

  They pulled into the small local market and Gabby grabbed her purse. “Come on,” she said, that easy smile still in place. “The others will start to eat all the sweets and leave none for us if we don’t appease them with meat.” Getting out of the car, leaving it unlocked, she didn’t even look to see if Jemi was following.

  Curious, and hungry, Jemi got out and followed her. Once inside, Gabby was waving to the workers and chatting easily as she grabbed a cart. Filling it with a few items, she didn’t address the small shadow behind her, just accepted her presence. Soon they were back in the car and headed north. Just as the last streetlights of the town left the edges to the shadows, she pulled over and said, “Here we are.” The house was two stories. In the dark it was hard to tell, but the paint looked to be some pale color, maybe a yellow, or white. The house looked almost like a cookie house one of the foster homes had over Christmas, with colored shutters over wide open windows spilling light out into a slightly overgrown front yard with different flowers in bloom.

  Continuing the pattern of trailing behind Gabby, Jemi picked up a bag and followed her into the house. All the lights were on, and once inside, she could see many candles lit. It looked like one of the groups she had read about in books, the ones that honored gods from the past, like her people, the gods before Christianity took hold. Seeing no places where it looked like they were about to cut her heart out, like in movies, she chuckled to herself and just accepted the comfort she felt when entering the place. There were five other people there, all calling out and asking what had taken so long with the food. Gabby answered them good-naturedly and led them all back to a dining room, which was easily as large as half of Grans’ house.

  “Everyone calm down, we have food,” Gabby said, then began introducing the people before turning back on Jem. “I am sorry, I forgot to even ask your name.”

  Jemine’s head was spinning with the whirlwind of acceptance she felt there, and she looked down. “Jemine.”

  The others welcomed her, then swarmed Gabby as she laughed and continued to empty the bags. The older woman grabbed two plates and handed one to Jem, gesturing toward the food. “Meetings are no fun without food,” Gabby said, then started piling food on her plate. Watching to see that Jemi did the same, she then led them to the front room. “The house belongs to Wheaton and Marcy.” A woman next to the fireplace filled with candles raised her hand and a older man with long grey hair and a long beard in a chair near the window did the same. “We meet here every week to talk, discuss books, the world, and life in general.” Taking a seat in a high-backed chair, Gabby kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her.

  Night, and the storm that rode with it, passed as everyone talked. The evening’s topic seemed to be books, though they eventually moved on to things happening in their lives and in town, but all were respectful of Jem’s choice to stay quiet. Some people left, and only Gabby, Wheaton, Marcy and one other woman, Jemi thought was Sheila, were left. Gabby looked at Jemi then, “Do you have a place to stay?”

  Blinking quickly, Jemi shook her head. “Been staying where I can find a dry spot, but I can find somewhere.”

  “Nonsense,” Marcy said. “We have three rooms, and with my children gone for a few weeks, you can stay if needed.”

  Sheila grinned. “Stayed here once or twice myself when the wine was opened too late in the night.”

  “I live just down the street,” Gabby said. “You are welcome to come with me, but you might end up pushing dogs and books off the spare bed. I am not heading out yet, we have some work to do tonight, but you are welcome to stay, or go, just know you don’t have to sleep outside if you don’t wish.” The way she said ‘work’ had Jemi curious, it held a weight to it, like it was something special.

  Plates were cleared and the food was put away, then the others headed out into the backyard. Jemine followed. The smell of the rain that had passed was heavy in the night, and she was curious as they lit a small fire between a tree and a small pond. Sitting back on the porch, she watched and listened as they talked softly, calling to outdwellers and ancestors and then spoke the spirits of the land. This was more recognizable to the religions she had thought of earlier, but she had built trust in these people over the night and they seemed like truly good people, if there were any in this world. She was curious as to what they were doing, but gave them space. She was sure she was not in danger, but her great-aunt was a shaman and had raised her to know the spirits and the knowledge of their power.

  As they worked, a blanket of comfort settled over her. Listening to them chant, talking quietly to each other and the spirits, helped her feel safe, protected, as if she was home again. While they worked, she began to notice things at the edge of the yard. At first, she thought they were just lights and shadows, but soon she could see the forms of animals and other things she had seen in her youth. She knew all about spirits. Her life had been filled with them until her grandmother died. She had never seen them before, except in dreams, but she knew that was what they were. The magic the people were doing was unfamiliar but the spirits of the land were not, and if they responded this well to these people, she knew deep inside that she was safe with them.

  Watching with her outsider’s eyes, the hazel of her mother, she followed the spirits they had welcomed. She saw her own people’s, curious and welcomed as she was, and tears came to her as they neared, sensing that she saw them. Her great-aunt had taught her some of the White Buffalo Calf Woman’s language, but had told her it was not a child’s path. It was that of an adult and as she was not full-breed, she would have a struggle to learn all of their ways, but the spirits protected her the same.

  The people in the circle spoke of their nine virtues: wisdom, piety, vision, courage, integrity, perseverance, moderation, and fertility. It reminded her of the seven Lakota virtues she had heard spoken of: praying, respect, caring and compassion, honesty and truth, generosity and caring, humility, and wisdom. All these things interlaced within Jemi’s mind and built a connection with these people that took time to honor the land and the spirits as did her people.

  Sitting calmly, she waited. The spirits’ curiosity about her waned. Some danced around
the fire, small human shapes, while the animals stayed further back, just watching. They circled as well, but she could tell the magic was an intrigue, not their calling. One circle of the flames, and Wolf padded slowly near her. The wolf was Winterhawk’s spirit animal, protector of them all, and just seeing it made tears come to her again. Wolf came to her, laid its head on its paws, and watched the magic with her, curious but unafraid, much as Jemi was herself. When the people began thanking the spirits for their company and their inspiration, Wolf stood, looked at her and in her head, like a bell, she heard, “The seeker needs a guide home.”

  Turning its back on her, Wolf walked through the center of the circle and passed through their sacred fire before disappearing. Jemi was certain the others did not even feel the presence of Wolf, but then she saw Gabby’s body tremble slightly, as if chilled. Gabby turned and the spirits of the land around them stilled, fading to shadows until she turned back to the fire.

  Jemine thought she understood Wolf’s message. She sought her home and in these people Wolf trusted. So, in her mind she made a decision, to share her story and seek guidance from those that welcomed her. Even if their religion was not the same, they honored hers and the spirits recognized them as safe.

  Accepting Gabby’s offer, Jemine went to her home to have a roof over her head for the first time in weeks. It was not until morning, with three dogs laying around the women’s feet, that Jemi opened up. She did not share all of her past, but explained a shortened version of her life so far, and asked Gabby if she knew of a way to help her earn enough money to go home. Gabby was a good listener, taking in all she could, then she offered even more. She offered that once they went to her store, they would start searching the internet to see if they could find help. Grateful and with a full stomach, something she was not sure she had felt in months, Jemi and Gabby began a quest. This one wasn’t guided by the spirits as if she had been on a vision, but one of technology and research.