Emerald City Dreamer (4 page)

She quickly searched for a stick in the darkness of the park. The few old-fashioned street lamps from the nearby path helped, as did the fact that there had been a recent wind. She found a branch that was a little too big and still had prickly pine needles attached. She maneuvered the bare end under the bush, and pulled out the trap.

It had sprung as designed, and was now a three-inch cube made of iron bars. To her eye, it appeared empty. The only evidence of a faerie was the bleeding bite on her finger and a chill that raised the hairs on her arms.

Jina would probably be able to see this one, if she tried. Gretel for sure. What a nasty little beast. She hoped the cage was much too small for it and that it got a stiff neck.

More, she wanted to see it with her own eyes. It would be difficult, but easier than seeing that faeborn fellow. This nykk, or wisp, or unborn, or whatever you wanted to call it, didn't have a body to distract her. A nykk could be nearly any size or shape, depending on its basic nature, taking on the mold of human culture gave it over decades or even millennia, be it the gnome and knocker of the west, or djinn, deva, yokai, rusalka, jengu, and Tsonoqua from all the other corners of the world. The stories changed the nykks and sightings of the nykks changed the stories.

Some were as small as mice - others as tall as houses. Sandy had been unable to take a proper scientific count, but a survey of the stories revealed that most were no larger than cars and no smaller than cats.

In some ways, nykks were easier to sense than faeborn, because there wasn't some human body there to distract, to give her rational mind an easy out. Most people had some extra perception to pick up a certain
something
, like a movement out of the corner of the eye that could easily be passed off as a trick of the mind, a visual flaw, or a chill.

Those who saw more had a knack for believing. They opened their minds to allow an image to take form to explain the
more
they sensed. Like smoke blowing across the beam of a laser, the nykk would appear, partly seen, partly imagined.

The knack came more easily to children, dreamers, and the insane.

And therein lay Sandy's problem. She was too grounded. She lacked imagination. How could she see the impossible?

Yet she laid this trap. She knew it held a faerie. She had the bleeding finger to prove it. Hadn't she wished it too big for its confines? That would be a good start.

Holding the box aloft, she stared, and then she felt a tickle at the back of her mind, a little chill down her spine.
What is it?
she encouraged her brain.
What is there?

That's when she saw it, hunched, head curled in on its body, arms and legs sticking out from the holes in the cage as if they were a random assortment of broken body parts thrown into a box.

Smoke arose from its flesh as the cold iron burned into it like a grill. What an ugly pile of bones and hair. Red hair. And teeth, pointy, sharp, sticking out from its snout at all angles like its limbs. Its evil eyes pierced her as though it could kill her where she stood. Drool dripped down its chin. For a moment, she was back there, in that house, trapped by Haun, held against the wall, barely breathing, as a knife scraped along the wall towards her.

No! This time she had the power. This time, the monster was hers, like that jerk she'd just chased down the street. It might wish to do her harm, but this one, bound in iron, would never get free.

She took comfort in classifying it, giving her world order by naming it. A redcap, who dyed his hair in the blood of his victims. She held it in a cage. It was hers.

Sandy couldn't carry it this way, hanging out in front of her on a stick. So she removed her jacket and shivered a little as she wrapped it around the cage and carried it home.

JETT SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the couch with a plate piled high with Pad Thai. Between bites, she turned the pages of an art book with chopsticks, her straight black hair spilling over her elfin ears and into her lap.

It was a comfortable Friday evening at home, and a rare quiet one at that. She'd even changed into her pajamas: a wife beater, and sweat pants. Pete had made dinner, even though no one else was home to enjoy it. Fiz was allergic to peanuts, so he was up hiding in his room, and everyone else had gone their own way tonight.

To most humans, the living room of the BrughHaHaus would look like any other in a shared house in the University District, tossed together with two dumpy couches, a torn overstuffed chair, an ancient coffee table, mismatched end tables, and an assortment of houseplants and knickknacks collected from thrift stores and street fairs. The 42" LCD TV filled one wall as the only sign of advanced civilization, and it seemed only capable of showing anime. Beneath it were all the latest game consoles and a pile of games.

To Jett's eyes, the knickknacks seemed almost alive, especially the stone face of the Green Man that hung over the main couch. The houseplants overgrew their containers, covering the walls and ceiling with vines. The chair seemed to have been grown out of living wood, while the couches sparkled slightly with iridescence, as if dipped in slug slime. The air smelled of lilacs.

Every once in a while something just at the edge of vision seemed to move.

The TV looked the same, and it still showed anime, which she watched intermittently while slurping noodles.

She heard the sound of the front door open. Ivy entered, taking off her jacket and shaking out the rain before hanging it on the coat rack. She wore one of her typical gothy outfits, today looking something like a schoolgirl who had lost her braids while fucking some guy in the bushes of the schoolyard. Her long, messy black hair hung over her eyes, hiding the permanent smudges that surrounded them like running mascara, and obfuscating the translucent pale skin tightly stretched over her skull. Her sweater stuck out half-tucked, and her skirt was a little lopsided. She made no attempt to straighten anything.

"
Duine
chlainne
,
you
have
returned
. Tell me about the meeting,
" Jett said.

"
It was terrible. Just terrible." Ivy's voice crackled like wadded paper. "They have a psychic, an awful, cranky woman who knows what I am. And a leader, full of hate. And a third, a dreamer who sees, but I hid my face from him."

"
Your words tumble, little creature. Slow down and start over." Jett muted the TV, set down her plate and listened carefully.

Ivy took a deep breath. "A vicious woman named Lynne leads the group. She means us ill. They seek those who have been vexed by fae, on thin pretenses of commiseration. Her second-in-command seems to be clairvoyant. She gazed upon me, so icy cold were her eyes, as if she could make me stop wanting to exist. It cut through to my heart, and I nearly vanished in that instant."

"
Ivy, you have a way with exaggeration."

"
So you say, but you were not there. It is possible that the fiagai have returned."

The fiagai? Eternal foe of the fae, destroyers of dream, hunters of hope? Humans could barely muster faith in faeries anymore, much less hate. This fanciful support group sounded nothing like the
Frumentarii Ferrumcrucians
.

Still it would be wise to keep watch on them.

"
Most of the other attendees were mad. Some were looking for tinkerbells. Some could be good sources of toradh, if we can find them. The one dreamer, who did not give his name, told an interesting tale."

"
Go on."

"
He has the faesight. In recent times, he saw a homeless fae boy, horned, possibly a faun or troll, dumpster diving behind his workplace at Trader Joe's."

Jett smiled. Rescuing the
leanai a cailleadh
was her specialty. This brugh was full of lost and forgotten faeborn orphans she had saved from the dreary outside human world, though too few. She had room for a thousand more, an entire kingdom.

"
We will find the poor thing," Jett said.

"
What about the dreamer?" Ivy asked, running her boney fingers through her hair, suddenly noticing how tangled it was.

"
We can seek him, as well. At the very least he will be a fine morsel. If he has faesight, and he's telling people about us, it might be wise to enchant him. How did he feel towards our kind?"

"
Not hateful. Only confused and afraid to tell his story. I made sure he remains afraid. He left early..." Ivy snapped her fingers, "...because he incorrectly believed himself to be late for an appointment. He will remember being mocked for telling his tale."

Ivy was so good at this, scouting, listening, incapacitating when needed. "Well done, Ivy. Is that all?"

"
Yes, milady." She curtsied.

The front door opened, and the noise-level shot up. The sweet scent of old clove smoke descended.

"
Did you
see
the way that Corvette just flew right off the cliff?"

"
And what about the bar fight? Spectacular."

"
I hate Star Trek, but that movie pwned."

"
Yeah, and thanks to you I got to see it a week early."

The two entered the living room: Kenny with her extra-long pointy ears, pierced, and Fiz with his raccoon tail. Apparently he wasn't holed up in his room after all.

"
Is we interrupt?" Kenny asked, popping a Smartie into her mouth.

"
Yes," Ivy said at the same moment Jett said, "No."

"
I have no idea what you're talking about," Kenny said, turning. "So here's a bunny with a pancake on its head." She spun on her heels and Fiz followed, asking if she wanted to play a video game.

Jett could have assigned tasks to them all - have Kenny break into the Community Center computer files to learn who had booked the room, and send Fiz out looking for dumpsters.

Or she could let the wind blow the leaves to her door.
There is no guide for the thistle down, let the acorn fall where it may.
When one controls what one cannot, nature hath gone astray.

"
They meet next in two weeks," Ivy said. "When I see Lynne again, she will join the shining hosts of the dead."

"
No." Jett held up her hand. "If they are serious, it will be dangerous for you. I will send Ramon instead. They will never suspect a human. Hopefully this clairvoyant woman won't see that he's enchanted, and a little glamouring will assist that."

Ivy balked. "She should be mine. I found her."

Jett stood. "Not this time, Ivy. You are dismissed."

She bowed deeply and fled.

Jett descended the stairs in the kitchen to the basement.

Human eyes would see the basement as a messy party room. To fae eyes, it was also a messy party room, but instead of a pool table and empty beer bottles, there was a bear skin rug, a long wooden table with overturned goblets, and the remains of a pig carcass. She'd have to make Fiz clean up, since it was his week for basement.

She walked past the washer and dryer - which to her looked just like a washer and dryer; faeries needed clean clothes too - and stared at a dark corner for a few minutes. With an outstretched hand, she pressed against the dirty concrete foundation, which crumbled away at her touch. Beyond it lay a tunnel and a stone ramp leading down. As she passed through, the wall returned to its former cobweb-covered glory.

At the bottom of the ramp, she found a torch, which lit at her glance. It did not give off the light of fire, but instead a bright white glow. She took it in her hand and continued on.

The air began to smell of moist soil. The stone floor and walls gave way to earth, and the tunnel opened into a natural cavern, as high as a mountain troll, and as big around as an English cottage. Jett sighed softly as the aura of the earth comforted her. Cloncahir, the fort of fertile ground. The black dirt glinted with sparkles, as if it were Folgers coffee. Tree roots grew down, and more tunnels led off in different directions.

The scrying pool shimmered from the floor against the north wall. A stalactite hung above it and dripped water steadily, causing ripples on the pool's reflective surface. On the opposite wall sat a stone altar, carved by elves in the manner of the Celts over a millennium ago and moved here in the last century. Upon the altar lay various objects of equally ancient origin.