Emerald City Dreamer

by Luna Lindsey

  “She offered to protect me, feed me.”

  “I protected you, I fed you. Go to her then, if yer deadset on being her thrall. Unless…” He held the word for a long time.

  “Unless what?” Ezra asked.

  “Unless you’re a religious fellow… You’re not religious are you?”

  “Of course I am. I was building a cathedral, wasn’t I?”

  “Hurmph,” Pogswoth said, looking up at him from under his bushy brow. “Then she’s right out. She’s a wicked witch, that one. Worships Satan three times a day, and boils lost souls in a cauldron. You wouldn’t last the week before she’d stick you in a cage and make you poke yer finger out to check it for fatness.”

  Ezra winced.

  “Good thing you didn’t accept her help when she offered. You’d already be burning in the underfires of hell.”

  The color drained from Ezra’s face.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, son. Just stop making things bad for everyone else and you’ll be all right on yer own.” Pogswoth scratched at his temple. “Like me.”

  “Can’t I… Can’t I build my cathedral using something else?”

  “You could use money. Get a piece of real land and a respectable set of blueprints, hire a few hundred construction workers.”

  “I don’t have any money.” Ezra never had any money but for the forty bucks Jett had given him.

  “Then tear it down. It’s an eyesore. You do this for me, and I’ll owe you a gift. Tit for tat, writ for rat. Might come in handy someday if you need more eggshell stew.”

  “But I’m not good at anything else.”

  “Sure you are. Here’s yer gift early, just to prove I’m an honest fellow. I’ll tell you what yer good at – convincing.”

  “You mean… I’m good at being convinced?”

  “That too… No, son, when you decide you want people to do things yer way, I’ll wager my best eggshell they listen.”

  Ezra shook his head. “I don’t think anyone listens to me.”

  “Well that’s my gift, so like it or not, now yer obligated.”

  There was a thumping sound and the muffled voice came again, louder this time. It sounded like it was saying something…

  Ezra stood and made a move for the pile of clothes. Suddenly Pogswoth’s foot thumped against his chest and Ezra found himself sitting on his bruised butt in the middle of the street.

  For a while, things had gone well when he did what felt right. Building the cathedral felt right, but in the end, it was all wrong.

  He stared at the ruby on his bracelet for a long moment. Pogswoth seemed… confused. Ezra couldn’t tell what was up or down with him. Calling Jett felt like the right thing, but what if that was all wrong too, and Pogswoth’s warning was true?

  A car swerved past him, honking. He stood, remembering only his lovely cathedral and the amazing beauty it would have been. If only…

  He slowly walked back to the pillar park and stared at his foundation for a long, sad time. The angry eyes lurking in the shadows dared him to pile on one more stone.

  So he untied the thing that held them together, and they slid into an anonymous jumble of rocks.

  CHAPTER 34

  *

  “WELCOME TO THE SURVIVORS of Faerie Trauma group.”

  Jina couldn’t believe it had only been two weeks already since the last meeting. She glanced around at the usual cast of characters. Gretel sat beside her. Then Kimberly and Tom obviously, Myrtle – or was it Maud? – and Cameron. Trey had graduated to the second level, so she wouldn’t see him till Tuesday.

  Cameron. Last meeting Jina had been thinking about the woman’s poltergeist, wondering if it was faerienormal activity, and planning to ask Sandy if they should investigate. Jina had been so distracted lately…

  They should help Cameron. Why couldn’t they just hang out a sign, go public as paranormal investigators? There were so many weirdoes in Seattle that they’d blend right in. It wasn’t like the fae would join forces and attack them. If the Ordo had done that in the first place, Jett would have known everything from the outset, before everything became so complicated.

  Jina sighed. No new faces today. That made sense. It was a nice spring Friday, so she expected attendance to be down. It was the kind of day when Seattleites left work early in the hopes of spending the afternoon in the sun, only to get caught light-blinded in traffic along with a hundred-thousand other people who had the same idea. They’d sit squinting against the glare in idle cars and arrive home at the same time as if they hadn’t left early. Then they’d head out of town, or go to the park, or do just about anything other than go to a meeting. As a Seattle tradition, it would happen every time the sun came out.

  She thought of Ezra again. They were meeting to plan the “extraction” tonight. Jett would know so much more about a stray troll than Sandy, Gretel, and Hollis put together. They sure could use her help.

  Jina imagined a world where Sandy and Jett were friends. Jett would show up at their house for tea, to talk shop, and they would all visit Jett’s place to watch movies on Friday nights.

  That was too much to hope for. Might as well wish for world peace.

  But it dawned on her. There were some things she could tell Jett without betraying Sandy. That she knew Jett was fae. About Jina’s past. About Haun.

  God, it would feel so good to finally be able to share that with a lover. To come clean.

  Jina relaxed. She always knew a good decision when she felt this way, this simple release of pressure. Yes, right after this meeting, she’d head over to Jett’s place. She wiggled in her seat, hardly able to sit still.

  “Let’s start a little early,” Jina said.

  The door slowly opened, and someone nervously looked in.

  “Hi, is this the–”

  Jina suddenly sat up straight. “Ramón? What are you doing here?”

  “What… Oh, hi Jina. Weird bumping into you here. I must have the wrong room. I’m looking for Survivors of Faerie Trauma.”

  Her serenity shattered. Why would Ramón need trauma support? Was he… Was Jett…?

  What is she doing to him?

  Jett had promised her, had sworn that she… What had she sworn? She hadn’t exactly sworn to never hurt Jina. Only that she had only good intentions. Maybe the intentions were good, but things were bad for Ramón anyway. Or maybe she’d never had such good intentions with him.

  She wouldn’t know unless Ramón chose to talk in this meeting. She made sure her voice was steady and friendly before speaking. “Ramón, come on in. You’re in the right place.”

  “No kidding. Huh.” He sat down in a gap between Tom and Kimberly. He pursed his lips and looked from face to face.

  “There’s absolutely no need to be afraid, Ramón. We do our best to make this a safe space for sharing. You can trust us.” God, I hope he tells me what the hell is going on. Maybe he just saved me from making a terrible mistake…

  “Yes,” Myrtle said. “They’re so warm and welcoming here. Never any judgments. I have no safer confidant. Except maybe my cat, Filbert.”

  Ramón nodded.

  “Let’s get started,” Jina said. “My name is… Lynne.” She saw Ramón’s raised eyebrows and felt like a liar and a hypocrite. She broke the script a little bit, hoping to explain her sudden name change. “It’s important everyone here feels safe and anonymous. We still encourage people to start with their first name, just so we know what to call you. Your personal comfort and safety is the highest goal.” She wanted to add, “If you know what I mean,” but she didn’t. She couldn’t read Ramón’s expression.

  Gretel glanced at her sideways; Jina ignored her. She couldn’t comprehend how to explain this to Gretel. She was barely sure what was going on herself.

  Jina repeated the rules as she had the previous meeting and then opened the floor for sharing.

  Kimberly started out with some yarn about how her Hearth Gnome had been feeling sad until the sunshine today raised his spirit
s and his health. Jina cut her off after 10 minutes. Kimberly started to protest the time limit, since there weren’t as many people today. Jina responded, “Rules are rules.”

  Tom began with a tale of a transcendent experience he’d had the weekend before while leading a drum circle, which Jina could sort of relate to, though his conclusion that it had something to do with aliens baffled her.

  Poor Ramón. He had to know about Jett. She had to have told him, or he had to have seen something. She remembered all the various stories she’d heard in Second Circle, most of them horrific. Had she abducted him? Killed someone he knew? Enslaved him?

  Yet he seemed happy enough. Jina’s mind wandered, searching for clues, answers. Maybe he was more like Trey. Maybe something minor bothered him. Maybe Jett was always making his keys disappear, like Myrtle’s faeries.

  “Hi, my name is Mildred. Yesterday, I set out the milk for the faeries, but Filbert was outside. He drank their milk. And… I haven’t seen him since.” Her voice cracked, and, as was her way, Mildred left it at that. She folded her papery hands together and sat in silence, as if she would broker no further questions.

  Jina’s heart went out to her. Even if the fae hadn’t stolen her cat, even if he was simply lost, well. That certainly had to be traumatic. Myrtle should talk more about it. There was no way to force her.

  Ramón stirred to share, and Jina’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Hi. You know my name, Lynne.” He looked up and locked eyes with her, the way Jett had looked into Scarf’s eyes. His voice sounded both hostile and hurt at the same time. “Someone I love has been betrayed. By someone who hunts her in her own home.”

  Then he stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  Jina wanted to call to him, or chase after him, but Gretel sat beside her, squinting her eyes in accusation…

  She hesitated. She felt sick and dizzy. His tone was clear. He wasn’t here for help. Somehow he knew about them. Somehow Jett – ever so protective of those she loved – had learned of the Ordo. Ramón came to spy and found Jina in their company. Had found her in charge.

  There were few ways Jett could interpret this, all of them very bad. And untrue.

  Jina grit her teeth in frustration and fear.

  Everyone else stared at the closed door in confusion and shock. An uncomfortable silence spread over the room.

  Cameron broke it. “Hi, my name is Cameron. Uh, I know no crosstalk, but that was weird. So I’ve got an idea. Let’s end the meeting early. It’s nice outside, and it would be fun to head out of town, or go to a park or something.”

  Kimberly opened her mouth; Tom interrupted. “I second that motion.”

  “Motion carries,” Jina managed to say. Then she slowly gathered up her notebook and pen as everyone left the room. Everyone, that is, except Gretel.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I’m not sure, Gret,” Jina partially lied, the implications of explaining what she did know to Gretel outside the grasp of her mind; she was too busy trying to figure out how this had happened in the first place.

  That goth faerie who came to the last meeting – maybe she knew Jett. Then how did she know this was a front group for faerie hunters? How did she know it was anything more than a bunch of whiners?

  “You know that guy,” Gretel persisted.

  “Yeah, I’ve met him in my art circles.”

  “What did he mean, about hunting?”

  Jina felt sicker by the minute. She didn’t have time to deal with Gretel’s questions. Not yet. She needed to think.

  “He said hunt?” Jina said. “I thought he said haunt. Maybe he was on crack.”

  “I do not need to be a psychic to know you are lying, Jina. Are you in trouble?”

  “No.” Jina took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Listen, everything is fine. You know how we attract the crazies. I hardly know him. Come on, let’s… go home and work on catching Ezra.”

  Her stomach would not stop churning. She didn’t know which was scarier, that she might have just offended a faerie, or that she could lose Jett’s love and acceptance.

  Once she got a moment to herself, she texted Jett: Don’t make any assumptions. Please give me a chance to explain. I love you.

  Somehow she had a feeling it wasn’t going to make any difference.

  CHAPTER 35

  *

  JETT SAT ON THE FRONT PORCH soaking up the sun’s rays on this rare sunny Friday afternoon, sipping lemonade, and inhaling deeply the crisp, cool smell of Pacific Northwest air.

  Her soul called out to Jina. Come to me, little flower, she called, careful not to infuse it with glamour. She was not a siren, and she would not commit olc-spreagadh. Yet her wish still floated across the dream: that Jina would awaken in Jett’s bed on many more future mornings.

  Jett would have to tell her soon. Dreamers were too sensitive to Tir Nan Og. If Jina sensed something already, denials would not work for long.

  All humans struggled against knowing what was there. They used every defense against the dream – fear, logic, dismissal, always clutching to cherished reality. They clung to every dream-terminating cliché – I’m crazy. I’m thinking like a child. It’s just pretend.

  But dreamers… some part of them wanted to believe. She would bring them to the fringes of her realm, and they would begin to open up like blooming dandelions. Then she would show them, and they could no longer deny it. She would take them into her arms and savor the torrents of aisling that spilled over from their realization of so many new possibilities.

  A sense of dread crept over her and she thought of Pogswoth. He would be a problem. If he got to Jina first…

  What did he mean, that Jina was fair game? He’d seemed so sure of himself, even though Cupid’s Arrow could not be thwarted by someone of his stature.

  He would not get her first. Jett would have Jina living here within a quarter-turn of the moon. That was certain. With Jina in her life, whatever was about to go wrong could only be beads of rain gathered on the underside of a flowering stem.

  Her phone buzzed. A text from Jina brought a smile to her lips. Speaking of flowering stems.

  The message confused her. Don’t make any assumptions. Please give me a chance to explain. I love you.

  She started to type a reply, when her phone buzzed again. Ramón. Jina has betrayed us.

  Her hand hovered over the keypad.

  Ramón had been at that front meeting for Sandy’s hate group. If he had seen her there… That didn’t seem right. Jina was just a human, a dreamer, Bláthín reborn.

  She decided to be sensible and wait for Ramón to explain before jumping to dangerous conclusions. She erased the reply to Jina, and instead wandered into the house to refill her lemonade and settle in the living room to wait.

  Ramón burst in about 15 minutes later.

  “She’s one of them.”

  Jett gripped the arm of her couch.

  “We were looking for ‘Lynne’, right?” Ramón continued. “Lynne is Jina.”

  Memories flashed through Jett’s mind like old portraits. The iron amulet. Reference to a secret organization. Jina’s distance on their last date. Her caution when entering the brugh.

  The standing-stones cascaded down, each clacking together in a long chain.

  The seducer had been seduced. The fiagai had pretended at love, had slept in this brugh, this safe house, with murderous aim. Like a Cold War spy. Like an Inquisition familiare. At any point Jina could have plunged an iron dagger into Jett’s heart and that would have been the end of her thousand-year timthreall.

  And to think that Jett had protected her, had saved her from the korrigan using the very fae magic that Jina sought to destroy.

  The lemonade in her hand turned from yellow to pond-green, and then bubbled over the edge of the glass with algae and scum. Jett hardly noticed.

  Don’t make any assumptions, the text had said. Jett chuckled darkly as Ramón looked on in horror. These were not as
sumptions, they were facts. Bláthín had been destroyed by the fiagai, and this pretender to her memory wore a shroud that could not disguise the perversion – that she was fiagai.

  And to think of how many times she’d been tempted to follow Jina’s aisling to its inevitable end, to be consumed by love. It would have destroyed her and the brugh as well. Possibly all fae in the area.

  Jett submerged into the regal tranquility. She let go of the morsel of Jina’s toradh she held in her heart. She rid herself of the thing in her hand, a former glass of lemonade on a formerly beautiful day.

  “Gather the others,” she said in a calmly cold voice. She stood and walked down the stairs to the basement, slime oozing up from her footprints, shadows left sticking in her wake.

  Ramón scrambled to pull together whoever happened to be home and then started phoning everyone else to reel them in from their various outings in the spring-lit city.

  Jett sat like a stone statue at the head chair of the giant table in the basement and waited.

  Fiz came down right away. As soon as she saw his feet on the stair, she ordered, “Clean this place up. Immediately.”

  “Yes, milady.” He scrambled around, picking up scattered pop cans and animal bones. He leaned over to Ramón and whispered, “Who hath pissed in her lemonade?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Ramón replied.

  Jett sat like a statue on her throne, brooding while the room transformed into something resembling a medieval meeting hall – a clean medieval meeting hall. When Ivy came down, glanced around at the gloom, she started helping with cleanup, probably to avoid Jett’s marble glare.

  Soon, the household had gathered around the table. Ramón sat to her right, Fiz on her left. Next to him sat Pete, a short, stocky fellow with curly orange hair. Next to Ramón sat Ivy, and next to her, Kenny, who popped a Smartie into her mouth, then wasted no time in opening a sticker-coated netbook and began furiously typing with tattoo-covered fingers.