Emerald City Dreamer (26 page)

"
I'm... I'm sure that's not true. Just subject yourself to the judgment of the Elders and your sins will be wiped clean." She seemed uncertain, as if begging him to affirm what she'd been led to believe. "That's how it works, right?"

"
I think only Yeshua can cleanse my sins. At least, that's what I learned... I don't know anymore."

"
Listen Ezra. I don't think you're evil. I think you're just a kid. But people are scared of what they don't understand."

Esther had always been really nice to him. Maybe God sent her to help him, to answer his prayers. "I don't want to hurt anyone," he said. "I just want to leave. Sister, will you help me escape?"

"
Here, take your stew. They're going to wonder why I've been in here so long."

Did he say something wrong? "Please, just help me get free. You want to call your mother, right? You could come with me long enough to get to a phone, and you can call your mom, and then come back and they'll never be the wiser."

"
No Ezra. Here, take the bowl. Just wait for the judgment of the Elders. They'll do the right thing."

She shoved the stew at him, spilling a little on his dirty hands, and fled the tent.

JETT SAT PERCHED on the sofa, staring at the TV while it flashed soundless images of
Ghost in the Shell
, and while Ivy sat nearby. Memories of a pretty wench in a dark pirate shanty consumed her mind, the movie a mere backdrop, like the clicking of Ivy's knitting needles.

On a whim, the best kind of plan, they'd driven north, beyond the city lights, further than the suburbs, past the casinos and factory outlets, into rural northwest Washington, as far as Mt. Vernon. They took an exit and found themselves at a place called Deception Pass. They'd gotten out and walked along the water, looking at the stars, talking of San Juan and other explorers, of pirates and galleons, making up stories in place of not knowing the true history of the place. She just couldn't stop dreaming, this girl with the wheat field hair, teller of new tales and follower of the new ways, singer to what few gods may still be listening.

Jett had to relearn the ways of protecting herself from listening too closely to a beloved dreamer's aisling, keeping herself outside, separate, apart. Distinct. And thus far, she'd been successful. She found that if she held a morsel of toradh tightly in her heart, it distracted her from following the flood back into Jina's heart.

A daisy had grown, a product of their union, of Jina's orgasmic toradh mingling with Jett's own climactic glamour. A sign. Jina was her little flower. Blathin reborn or not, Jett wasn't about to let this one get away.

Jina had spoken of past hurts, of her misgivings, of long-past relationships which still haunted her. Jett learned far more of the modern science of psychology last night than she'd ever feared to. Now she knew it was as much a religion as a science, with its attempts to explain behavior, thought, emotion, and dreams. It would be as apt to call it psychomancy, divination by reading the turns and curves of the human mind. And for that, she could respect it, as long as it sought no "cure" for dreaming. As it sometimes did.

Jett had driven out to Deception Pass again that day and stared out over the water, the looming shadows of the night before transformed by sunlight into tree-encrusted rocky islands and craggy arms that jut out into the azure water. The silver bridge arched high above, its trusses crisscrossing over the churning sound.

The strand was more pebbles than sand, and it connected her to that wide body of water, as it connected to the ocean, which touched every other ocean on the massive globe. There she stood and thought of her singer until the bleached driftwood started sprouting leaves and the damp air had soaked her to the bone.

The door opened and Jett heard someone shuffling around in the foyer. She heard a zipping sound, and a jacket coming off. People came in and out all the time. This time, a chill ran across Jett's scalp.

"
Ivy?... Are all mo chlainne home right now?"

Ivy looked up from her yarn. "I think so," she whispered.

"
Then who has entered?"

Just then, a figure passed the wide doorway between the rooms, heading for the kitchen as if she lived there. She had auburn hair and wore a tidy blouse and slacks.

She also had a tendency to flicker.

"
Hey!" Jett leapt up. Ivy followed.

In the unlit kitchen, the intruder slowly turned, as if becoming aware for the first time that anyone else was there. She flickered a few times, sometimes becoming a black shadow, and other times revealing raw flesh and bones beneath its skin.

"
Who enters the brugh unbidden?" Jett demanded.

"
Lady Jett, Ivy. I bring a message. D-" She blinked out and back again. "Danger!"

"
Wyrdwyn? Is that you?" The doppelganger. It had no reason to be here.

It seemed very agitated. Afraid.

"
Y-" Blink. "Yes, m-" Blink. "Milady. Please, it is very-" Blink. "-hard to... Danger!"

"
Who are you now? Who did you imprint?"

The blinking stopped and a solid figure stood before them. "My name is Sandy Windham."

This copy of Sandy Windham was merely the doppelganger's interpretation. It had imprinted by touching her. It took on her looks, mannerisms, and voice, though it had its own personality.

"
What do you want, Sandy?"

"
I hunt faeries," it spat.

Ivy hissed beside her, while Jett maintained her composure. Wyrdwyn was afraid of what she had become. She warned of herself. It continued, a look of hate on its face. "I want to see them eradicated. No more faeries on the face of the earth."

"
Is that so? And just how do you go about doing that?" Jett crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. The gentle wind nudged the clouds and now brought her answers.

"
They must be studied, understood, dissected. I create inventions and spells to hurt and trap them." The fetch winced at the word trap, and then returned to the Sandy-persona. "I have collected a group of intelligent people who have the same goal."

Fiagai, as she feared. She had to protect her
duine chlainne
. Jett carefully chose her words so as not to alert this false-version of the hunter that it was in the presence of its prey. "And where do you find these other people, people who hate the fae as much as you?"

"
I recruit them."

Green leaves fell from the trees. Her wind shook them down. "And just how do you recruit them?"

"
We hold meetings. Support group meetings. People attend, and from there we find out who is serious."

"
I knew it," Ivy whispered beside her. "Let me go to the next meeting. It's this Friday. I will kill her for you."

"
Ivy, tell me. Is this Lynne? Is this what Lynne looks like?"

Ivy shook her head vigorously, her pigtails swinging back and forth. "No. This is
not
her. Although I am most assuredly certain that loathsome Lynne and the abominable Sandy Windham work together."

"
You will not go to the meeting, and you will do nothing... yet. I'm sending Ramon."

Ivy pouted. "Yes, milady."

Jett turned to the fetch. "Where do you live?"

The figure began to blink again.

"
Do you know where you live?" Jett pressed.

"
S-" Blink. "Some questions I do not know how to-" Blink. "-say. I know, but cannot explain."

"
Locations, they're hard for you?"

"
Y-" Blink. "Yes. I can only... walk there."

"
The words are hard. I understand."

"
The trap! It burns!"

Jett felt pity for it as the story became clear. Wyrdwyn had encountered Sandy at one of her traps, a would-be science experiment that had escaped. It now appeared with Sandy's body, but in the memory of its pain, her face was a hollowed-out skull filled with a black emptiness.

"
Bring Sandy back. Sandy?"

"
Yes?" it said, appearing with the solid form of the fiagai once more.

"
Do you have a leader? Are you a member of a larger organization?"

"
No. I started the group. The rest are all gone, including Fraternitatis
Frumentarii Ferrumcrucian
. We are, sadly, alone."

Murderers. Committers of genocide. Committers of deicide. So much blood, so many dreams, violently forced out of existence.

Jett grabbed a knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and took two steps forward.

No, this is not my foe, no matter how alike they seem.
She lowered the knife and stepped backward. The metal clacked against the counter as she set it down, and Wyrdwyn-Sandy just stood there as if not fully aware of its surroundings.

"
How many members have been recruited to your organization?" Jett asked, forcing a calm, and continuing the interrogation.

"
One. One. One. And myself."

"
Four?"

"
One. One. One. And myself."

"
It can only count to one," Ivy rasped.

"
I can see that. So four. Not as organized as I'd feared. Perfectly manageable. And what have you been up to lately?"

"
Trapping!" She sounded excited. "I have a redcap, and we are trying to make a glamour generator out of him."

"
What's a glamour generator?" Jett pressed. She glanced at the knife. Wyrdwyn's performance was almost too believable.

"
Toradh goes in, glamour comes out. It will be brilliant. We'll be able to cast spells whenever we need."

"
How horrible," Ivy rasped.

"
No, wonderful!" Wyrdwyn-Sandy exclaimed.

"
What else?" Jett asked.

"
We are about to recruit a man with faesight to help us find them."

Ivy nodded. "We have knowledge of this one. What is his name?"

"
Name, name, name..." the doppelganger answered, confused.

Ivy opened her mouth, and closed it when Jett shook her head. "What else are you working on?" Jett probed.

"
There is a boy, an ugly troll. We've been watching him."

Ezra. They were after her boy. "Stop there. Tell me more about the troll."

"
He lives on a cult compound at-" The figure started to flicker again. "...at..."

"
In the woods?"

It sighed. "Yes. In the woods. He's under constant watch. As soon as we can, we're going to abduct him."

Barbaric. For all the positives of modern progress, this woman wished to begin the worst parts of the Middle Ages anew.

"
Sandy, if the fae wanted to come into your house and destroy you, how would they do so?"

"
They can't. We are untouchable. There are wards, iron, traps, defenses - everywhere. Each opening is hexed, each window and door. Nothing fae can-" Its voice cut off in a sudden sob and there was a rapid series of blinking.

"
What is it, Wyrdwyn?"

"
I want- Sandy wants- to go home. But we cannot." For a while, it turned to shadow and there was silence. Then it said, "Nothing fae can enter- can enter- can enter- unless forced."

Jett pitied it briefly, before asking Wyrdwyn to bring back Sandy. Then she pressed. "What are the names of your accomplices?"

The flickering continued. "I- know what they- appear as-"

"
Names are like locations?"

"
I know my own name."

"
Some help she is," Ivy muttered.

"
Nonsense. Sandy, ignore her. Do you know anything about us here?"

"
I know of her," it said, pointing to Ivy. "Not who she is or where she lives. We're growing in knowledge and power. It won't be long before we find you."

Suddenly Wyrdwyn-Sandy looked at Ivy as if just now seeing her. "Find...
you
!" It raised its arm and pointed a finger at Ivy.

"
Wyrdwyn!" Jett shouted. The fetch ignored her and advanced with a screech.

Ivy dodged to the left, leaving the mimic gripping the edge of the counter. It saw the knife.