Emerald City Dreamer

by Luna Lindsey

  Jina giggled, in part because she’d lived in places like this before, but also out of nervousness, because it could easily be some monster huddled under those covers.

  “Clearly this foyer is overpopulated,” Jett said, “and the living room is taken. My room then?”

  Jett took her hand and led her up the stairs of the old house. Her heart began to beat with excitement, with the anticipation of discovery. Slowly she was beginning to understand that Jett could show her so much, another side to this great big world.

  And these fae she had taken in. Assuming Jett was seelie, she would have rules. She could teach them and shelter them, give them structure, keep them from becoming monsters like Haun and Pogswoth and Ezra.

  At the top of the stairs, Jina stepped through a door and looked around Jett’s room in wonder. Fabric covered every surface, embroidered pillows in silk and satin piled on the floor. A grand bed stood against the wall, a canopy draped with gauzy cloth and silk flowers. At least, she supposed they were silk. She wondered how the room appeared to faerie eyes. She could probably see it, if she tried. She’d rather Jett show it to her.

  “What a beautiful room,” she said.

  “I created it to please delightful creatures such as yourself.” Jett sat down at the edge of the bed and patted the red coverlet. “Come, feel how soft the bed is.”

  Jina felt the weight of the amulet hanging around her neck, hidden under her shirt. “Do you have a bathroom first?” she asked, sheepishly.

  Jett chuckled. “Of course.” She pointed to a door, and Jina slipped through, closing it behind her.

  Once inside, she lifted the chain from around her neck and held it up, gazing at it through the mirror. Jina wasn’t sure which she was more afraid of: being truly exposed to this faerie, or explaining the Ordo and its mission to her.

  She should tell Jett. As soon as possible. She looked down at the iron in her hand. There was no way Jett could understand. Jina tried to imagine Jett’s reaction.

  In her mind, Jett made demands for loyalty, and forced her to abandon Sandy. Coming clean now would be a betrayal of Sandy.

  Jina reached in her pocket and held the tiny daisy between her finger and thumb. It was no worse for wear. The iron weighed heavily in her other hand, so she stuffed the medallion into her pocket. As soon as these pants came off, Jina would be defenseless. Vulnerable. Trusting.

  Let Jett prove herself, then.

  Jina hooked the daisy over her ear, flushed the toilet, and washed her hands. Then she left the bathroom and plopped into the bed next to Jett and worried herself with far more interesting things. Like how to get Jett’s shirt off. And touching her smooth white breasts and pink nipples. And nibbling at her neck. And letting Jett unzip her pants.

  A couple of hours later, Jina lay fighting off sleep, with her head against Jett’s tummy, their fingers crisscrossed, Jett’s right hand braided through Jina’s hair.

  “I want to know more about you, Jina. Like, what places have you been? Where did you grow up? How did you get into music? Where did you go to college? What do you do for money? What were you like as a child?”

  “You know way more about me than I know about you,” Jina muttered.

  She wanted to give Jett the opportunity to talk. She didn’t like this shadow between them. She wanted to open the door, to make Jett walk through. “It seems like… there’s something more to you. And something more to this house.”

  Jett simply squeezed her arm.

  It didn’t seem to be working. Jett wasn’t ready to spill it. So be it. Jina needed just one thing. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked Jett directly in the eyes. “I’m betting that you know what I’m talking about. I understand why you can’t explain it yet.” She paused. “Promise me one thing – if you have anything other than the best intentions, let me go right now.”

  “I’ll give you as many assurances as you need, little flower. Whoever hurt you in the past…” Jett sat up and gripped the sheets. “Just say their name, and I will hunt them down and–”

  “No, no, I don’t need that. Not vengeance. God, please, no more vengeance. I just want your word.” There was power in promises from the fae. Or so the stories said.

  Jett took her hands and said, “Jina, I love you.”

  “That’s…” Jina swooned. She touched Jett’s face and pulled her close into an embrace. Love. It filled her and distracted her from the fear. But real or not, that fear served a purpose, warning her to be cautious lest she, no matter how low the risk, be hurt again. So with regret, Jina sat back again, inhaled deeply, and said, “I love you too… But that’s not… enough. I need you to swear.”

  Jett’s brow wrinkled, then she nodded with an intensity Jina had never seen from her. “I promise. I swear by the dew that rises up from the ground, by the stars that never falter, by the ocean that presses against the strand, and by the fire that burns in my heart, that my intentions towards you are as pure as a snowflake that never can melt.”

  Jina smiled. It would have to do. She sighed, and relaxed into Jett’s embrace.

  She longed to sink in further, to talk about all of her problems and worries with Jett. But most of those had to do with the Ordo. She wanted to let all her shrouded secrets fly free, something that could deepen the moment if it didn’t blow everything to pieces.

  Jina still had a chance to tell Jett about the Ordo, right then. But she knew she wouldn’t, and she already regretted it.

  CHAPTER 33

  *

  TWO SEPARATE AUDIENCES COLLECTED to watch him build. Those by the fence were normal people. The others in the shadows under the overpasses were others.

  He’d rarely seen so many in one place before: creepy crawlies of all shapes and sizes, some just sneering eyes peeking out of the gloom. They said nothing he could understand, only murmurs in the dark. He paid them as little attention as possible. He knew homeless people went crazy, and he was far enough down that path already. Especially with the voice he’d heard the night before, calling his name.

  The humans seemed entertained. He overheard them talking about urban art projects, though some openly called him a lunatic.

  Over time, more creatures gathered, and he felt a threatening spirit grow.

  When night fell, three stepped out of the dark towards him: a tall tree-like fellow, a dwarf, and a cat-sized … thing. Like the Brothers Grimm themselves, however many there were. Or at least how he imagined the Brothers Grimm must have looked.

  “You,” the tall one said, his voice like a creaking branch. Ezra paused with a big chunk of concrete between his hands. Aside from Fiz and Lady Jett, the things he saw had never talked to him before now.

  “What?” he said. “I’m busy.”

  “No yer not, troll,” squeaked the little one, his gray ears twitching and his fangs quickly hidden in a frown. “Ye need to stop bein’ busy,”

  Ezra’s arms had started to hurt, so he set down his load, a barrier between them. He couldn’t concentrate well enough to stack it on the foundation properly. “I’m not bothering anyone,” he said.

  “Yes ye are, ana if ye don’t stop, there’ll be some a little trouble now.” The little guy jabbed in the air with a bony finger, as if he were five feet taller and could poke Ezra in the chest.

  Ezra stood straight, his back aching slightly. These little freaks weren’t going to stop him. “I don’t see what difference it makes,” he said. “No one is using this part of the park, and these rocks were going to waste.”

  The dwarf grunted.

  Ezra took it as permission to keep defending his rights. “I’m doing God’s work, so stand back and let me build my cathedral!”

  An uproar of giggles and guffaws came from under the bridges. The people at the fence started muttering. Some of them walked away uncomfortably. Someone exchanged money; probably winning some bet about his sanity.

  “An cathedral, he says, is that whatcha building? ‘Tis amusing, but you no jester. Gitter lost ana stop eatin�
� up all these toradh.”

  “I’m not eating up anything.” As Ezra spoke, the tall one took a step forward. He… or she… was easily three heads taller than Ezra, an advantage he wasn’t used to. He took a step back. There was a sound like leaves blowing in a whirlwind, and Ezra found himself on the ground.

  “Ye is eatin’ all the toradh. So leave it.”

  Ezra stood and on his way up he grabbed a brick. “Don’t you–”

  He felt a hand on his wrist. “No, you leave it,” said an ugly, wrinkly, warty man who had stepped into the fray. He wore the standard uniform of the homeless: an orange knit hat, a striped scarf, and an old green coat. He even smelled homeless. Probably just about how Ezra himself smelled, only with more piss. At least his hair was nice, the only soft thing about him.

  “I got this,” he said to the three. They paused only a second before shambling back to their underpass.

  “Get thee behind me,” Ezra whispered.

  “Haha, what Satan? Not quite. Name’s Pogswoth.” He wheezed as he laughed. “You’re new in town,” he said. “One of the lost ones. Maybe I should ‘splain to you how things work on the streets of Seattle. Let’s go for a walk.” He squeezed Ezra’s wrist slightly and the brick fell from his hand.

  Ezra saw that all the people and weird creatures had left. This new guy didn’t seem too bad, not compared to the three misfits from before. And if Ezra was attracting the wrong kind of attention for some reason…

  “Okay, explain then,” he said, trying to jerk his hand free.

  Pogswoth tugged him forward and Ezra looked at the hand like it was the tail of a boa constrictor.

  “So you think you’re building a cathedral here, son? Hmm, it looks nice, pretty.”

  Ezra turned his eyes back. It did look rather nice, dark stone contrasting with glittery granite, exactly like he’d imagined. “I’m just getting started,” he replied. “There will be–”

  “Shut it,” Pogswoth said, yanking him up to the fence. He waited for Ezra to climb over first before following. He hopped it in one step and grabbed Ezra’s wrist again. “I don’t care what it will look like. Everything’s got a price, and you ain’t paying for what you’re using.”

  “But I–”

  “Hey, let’s say you and me go to the Merc and talk over a drink. I’ve got a membership.”

  “What’s the Merc?” Ezra asked, struggling to keep up with Pogswoth’s conversation jumping all over the place.

  “Mercury Machinewerks. It’s a goth club, you know, black clothes, clove cigarettes, vampire wannabes. Hell, even fae wannabes now and then. Just a few blocks from here.”

  “Vampires?” Ezra asked, his pace slowing. “It sounds… Evil.”

  Pogswoth kept talking as if he hadn’t heard a thing Ezra said. He looked Ezra up and down. “You’d have to change. Strict dress code, and they’d never take you in those disgusting rags.”

  Ezra looked at Pogswoth’s own attire and wondered how either of them would get in.

  “You know what else is a few blocks from here?” Pogswoth said. “My place. It’s a mess though. The neighborhood, not my house. My house is nice. I could give you some stew. Special stew. You eat it and won’t be hungry for a week. Hungry?”

  Ezra nodded and stopped resisting the strange man’s tugging. The least he could do was hear this guy out, maybe get a meal, and then get back to building.

  “Good, come on.” Pogs yanked at his arm but Ezra was already moving.

  “What were all those little things under the bridges?” Ezra asked.

  “All the spriggans and redcap and brownies and wights and other good and free folk of the city. Good folk, mind you. Unlike you, you thieving, stealing, mooching, taking–”

  “Hey. I didn’t take anything that wasn’t just laying around. All old junk that was going to the dump.”

  “Not the dross son, not the stones and rocks you were stealing. No one cares about that crap.”

  “Then what are you–”

  Pogswoth cut him off and started singing a song, “Sunday, Monday, Tuesday… Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.”

  “Wedn—”

  Pogswoth held up a warning finger. “Shush! See? You’re a thief by nature. You would steal the days of the week. My song only gets the three I know. Teach me another, and there’s one less for everyone else.”

  Ezra put aside his own worries that he was crazy, when he had this guy to compare himself to.

  They passed a black box of a building, with the letters “NEUMOS” in lights in the corner windows. Loud music spilled out and a line of people waited to get in. Ezra took in a great big breath of it, felt the energy like he’d felt in the woods and around the city. He could use it later as more glue to hold the stones of his cathedral together. Then he coughed as he passed a group of smokers.

  “See what I mean,” Pogswoth grumbled. “Stealing, just like that.”

  “Are you going to say I stole their smoke?”

  “No, of course not. That would be silly. You can’t steal smoke.”

  Ezra just shook his head.

  Pogswoth poked at his shoulder. “You’re confused because you can’t share. Were you locked in a closet through kindergarten?”

  Ezra didn’t answer. He couldn’t remember.

  Pogswoth spread his hand around the expanse. “This here is my ‘hood. You’ve got your tattoo place, the yoga studio with barred up windows, a dozen dives next to a dozen upscale restaurants, a goth club, sunken parking lots, all my favorite music venues, and a Ferrari dealer on the corner. Truly a ‘mixed use’ neighborhood. And if you can tell the difference between Pike and Pine streets, you win a prize.”

  “It’s an okay place. Just where are you going?”

  “To my house. We’re here already.”

  They walked in front of an abandoned building painted blood red with high windows and spots of graffiti. Pogswoth stopped in front of a monochrome spray paint cartoon face with rounded teeth and droopy eyes. He cautiously looked up and down the street before peeling back the spray paint. A few moths escaped the narrow passage.

  “This way,” he said, motioning.

  Ezra huddled to squeeze into a small, candlelit room. It was decorated with cardboard furniture and newspaper, with LP-record-covers serving as pictures on the brick wall. Some kind of 60s music played on a record player in the corner next to an upended shopping cart which, covered with stained couch cushions, served as a sofa. Water boiled in five eggshells perched over the candles.

  Those bricks might look good in his cathedral, if only they weren’t stuck in the wall.

  “Have a seat,” Pogswoth said. He checked the eggshells. “Soup’s done,” he said. He handed Ezra one. “Watch out, it’s hot.”

  Ezra perched haphazardly on the shopping cart and politely took the shell. He wondered what he’d gotten himself into. When he tasted the water, the flavor of thick, savory meat and vegetables hit his tongue. It was the best stew he’d ever had.

  “Wow.”

  Pogswoth chuckled. “I learned that trick from a woman who thought I might be a changeling instead of her own baby. When she boiled those eggshells, sure enough, I jumped up and declared I hadn’t seen such a thing in all my hundred-year-life. That was a long time ago. Have more if you want. You won’t be hungry for days. Plus keeps the lice away.”

  Ezra stared into the second shellfull, thinking that one should be enough, when he heard a muffled cry from behind a pile of clothes. It sounded like it came from the other side of the wall.

  “Never mind that, my friend,” Pogswoth said. “Just a sick cat I’m tending. Now drink up while I explain to you why you riled up most of downtown.” He propped his foot on top of the clothes pile.

  “Building monasteries takes energy,” he explained. “And I don’t mean stone-lifting with yer muscles. It takes plenty of toradh, too, for that much glamour.”

  “Toradh?”

  “Like what was spilling out of Neumo’s. It’s in limited supply, and you’ve
gone and eaten it all up. Makes yer neighbors angry.”

  “I didn’t know–”

  “Shut it. You know now. It’s a share and share alike world. You only take what you need unless you want to answer to the rest of us like yer doing now. If you don’t attract unwanted attention from the locals, you can get away with just about whatever.”

  The sound came from behind the clothes pile again. Ezra stared at it.

  Pogswoth followed his eyes. “See, even kitty’s sick because of your gluttony, son.”

  Ezra frowned and gently set down his eggshell. “I’m sorry; I guess I… have a lot to learn.” He fingered his bracelet. There went any hopes of building a cathedral. Maybe there was something he could trade for this… toradh stuff.

  “That’s the problem, son. Who’s going to bother teaching the likes of you?”

  “I thought maybe you would. Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  Pogswoth snorted. “That would almost be funny if it weren’t pathetic. Only reason I paid any attention to you is so you’d quit building that senseless waste of time abbey nonsense and starving the rest of us out.”

  Ezra lowered his head and stared at his bracelet. No one wanted him. Now it seemed he couldn’t even live on his own. Jett’s ruby caught his eye, and he remembered. Maybe now would be a good time to talk to her. She’d promised to teach him.

  “If you won’t, I know someone else who will teach me,” Ezra mused.

  Pogswoth leaned forward and put his boots on the ground. “Who is it then? Who would help the likes of you?”

  “Her name is Jett, with beautiful black hair–”

  “Oh… her.” Pogswoth leaned back again and folded his arms.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s medieval, that one. Thinks she can just boss everyone around. And most buy it, too, bowing and scraping. They all forget what century it is, and that they can all be free of tyrants like her.”

  It seemed to Ezra that lots of people these days thought they could boss people around, this Pogswoth included. Although maybe it was different since he was protecting everyone else’s toradh stuff.