Emerald City Dreamer
Page 1
EMERALD CITY DREAMER
*
by
Luna Lindsey
Book One in the Dreams by Streetlight series
Copyright ©2010-2012 by Luna Flesher Lindsey
Cover Art ©2012 by Ana Cruz
Illustrations ©2012 by Elizabeth Lindsey
All rights reserved.
Font “Little Trouble Girl” by Jess Latham used in Cover Art, www.bvfonts.com
This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
www.lunalindsey.com
First digital publication: March 2012
EMERALD CITY DREAMER
CHAPTER 1 - Jina
CHAPTER 2 - Sandy
CHAPTER 3 - Jett
CHAPTER 4 - Ezra
CHAPTER 5 - Jina
CHAPTER 6 - Sandy
CHAPTER 7 - Jina
CHAPTER 8 - Sandy
CHAPTER 9 - Ezra
CHAPTER 10 - Jina
CHAPTER 11 - Jett
CHAPTER 12 - Jina
CHAPTER 13 - Ezra
CHAPTER 14 - Sandy
CHAPTER 15 - Jett
CHAPTER 16 - Ezra
CHAPTER 17 - Jett
CHAPTER 18 - Ezra
CHAPTER 19 - Sandy
CHAPTER 20 - Jina
CHAPTER 21 - Jett
CHAPTER 22 - Sandy
CHAPTER 23 - Jina
CHAPTER 24 - Ezra
CHAPTER 25 - Jett
CHAPTER 26 - Jina
CHAPTER 27 - Ezra
CHAPTER 28 - Jina
CHAPTER 29 - Ezra
CHAPTER 30 - Jina
CHAPTER 31 - Jett
CHAPTER 32 - Jina
CHAPTER 33 - Ezra
CHAPTER 34 - Jina
CHAPTER 35 - Jett
CHAPTER 36 - Jina
CHAPTER 37 - Ezra
CHAPTER 38 - Jina
CHAPTER 39 - Sandy
CHAPTER 40 - Jina
CHAPTER 41 - Ezra
CHAPTER 42 - Jina
CHAPTER 43 - Jett
CHAPTER 44 - Sandy
CHAPTER 45 - Jina
CHAPTER 46 - Sandy
CHAPTER 47 - Jina
CHAPTER 48 - Sandy
CHAPTER 49 - Jett
CHAPTER 50 - Sandy
CHAPTER 51 - Jett
CHAPTER 52 - Ezra
CHAPTER 53 - Jina
CHAPTER 54 - Sandy
CHAPTER 55 - Jina
CHAPTER 56 - Sandy
CHAPTER 57 - Jina
CHAPTER 58 - Sandy
CHAPTER 59 - Jina
CHAPTER 60 - Sandy
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
GLOSSARY
MAKE WILLING THE PREY
EMERALD CITY HUNTER
This book is dedicated to Seattle, to all she is, was, and ever will be. Especially to all the wonderful places that have closed, or moved but just aren’t the same anymore.
Tir Nan Og may or may not be real, but Seattle is magical just the same. Here’s to all the genius loci of the Emerald City.
WAR …
… is a subtle thing. At least in the beginning.
The horrors of real war repel every sane person. Yet, at its root, each war starts with a simple and all too common compulsion – the desire to do the right thing.
Seattle is a beautiful city, flanked by the ports of an inland sea to the west and towering snow-capped mountains to the east. It is a haven for peace-loving citizens.
The bustle of the aircraft and software industries, along with the flow of international commerce, provide the usual weekday tensions. These are routinely relieved by either loud music, salt water spray, powder snow, or a pine-scented trail.
The diversity of life here is great, greater even than some can imagine. The diversity of the city is also balanced by a level of tolerance unmatched in the world.
Within this haven stirs a hidden tension – the seeds of a war that could engulf all reality in a global battle against its unperceived residents. It is an ancient war to some, an impossible war to others, an unthinkable war to all. And the seeds are unknowingly, subtly, being nurtured on both sides.
WAR is a subtle thing … at least at the beginning.
CHAPTER 1
*
KEEP AN EYE ON THE CREEPY ONE, the note said.
Jina looked up and followed Gretel’s nod to a new girl sitting at the edge of the table. Appearing anorexic, she wore a black sweater over a collared shirt, a pleated skirt, and striped stockings. Her stringy, long black hair concealed her eyes. Jina wondered if she were emo or goth. It was getting harder to tell the difference.
“Would anyone like to say how you heard about the Survivors of Faerie Trauma, Seattle Branch?” Jina’s gaze lingered on the creepy one, but a different woman, also new, raised her hand.
“I saw your flyer at Outside the Lines bookstore,” she said. “I’d really like to learn how to get faeries to come to my garden.”
Jina smiled politely. Another one of these types. She should visit Home Depot and buy a ceramic gnome. Looking for the fae was like hoping to catch the bird flu, or praying for a plague of insects. But whatever.
“Thank you,” she replied. “You may not find what you want here, but you’re welcome to stay.” The flyer specifically said that the group was for survivors of faerie attacks, abduction, abuse, and harassment, but most of these people were interested in meeting faeries on purpose. Insane.
“Would anyone else like to say how you heard about us? The meeting won’t begin for another five minutes.”
There were no takers, so Jina tapped her pencil impatiently against the plastic table. Two such tables had been placed end to end to form a larger one. This was surrounded by plastic chairs and plain, practical walls. A plastic room in a plastic community center in a plastic part of town.
At least the assortment of weirdoes brought some color to this place.
To her left sat Kimberly, a young woman with ribbons woven through her hair. She wore about a dozen bracelets, another dozen necklaces, a couple of eyebrow piercings, a bright yellow tank top, and a skirt that appeared to have been sewn together from ragged quilting squares. It was something Jina herself might have worn at college ten years ago, although maybe not so flashy, nor as many accessories, and certainly sans ribbons.
Next to her sat the faerie-gardener, middle-aged with short dark hair, smiling pleasantly and wearing a black sweater and a long frilly brown skirt.
Beside her sat Tom, a regular, and one of the few men to have joined the group. He had a balding head, a long white beard, a faded red t-shirt, and khaki cargo pants. Jina imagined he’d grown up on a commune in Eugene, and if she ever needed a new weed dealer, she figured he was the one to call.
Next to him sat another male, a new guy. She could tell by the way he looked at Kimberly that he wasn’t here for faeries at all. Jina had been to enough twelve-step meetings to know they called his kind “thirteen-steppers”.
He winked at Kimberly, and then tried to talk to the creepy girl, who sat to his left. She smiled tightly, ignored him and calmly assessed the rest of the group.
There were a couple of empty chairs, and then a little old lady. She’d been here before. She had an old-lady-sounding name, like Mabel or something.
Gretel sat beside Jina. She looked about eighteen, which wasn’t
quite true, and had a round face with glasses perched upon her nose. She sat up very straight and business-like while eyeing the scrawny girl with thinly-disguised suspicion. The girl turned her head and stuck out her tongue at Gretel. Gretel looked away.
Jina herself had long blond hair loosely held back by a clip. For the sake of the meeting, she managed to pull off a business-casual look using a blouse and plain skirt she borrowed from Sandy. Even then, her sweater wouldn’t quite stay on her shoulders and she fidgeted in her chair. Any other time, she could be found in jeans and a tank top.
Sandy had wanted her to start dressing less casually for these meetings, hoping to project a more professional attitude. Appearances never mattered at any of the other support groups Jina had attended, but lately she’d given in to Sandy’s nagging.
It helped to think of it as a disguise. Lately after playing at concerts, she’d noticed a certain creep sitting at the bar, and at other times and places around the city, and she’d wondered if he’d been stalking her. He wasn’t hard to spot: a shabby man who always wore a stripped scarf. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t followed her here, so maybe wearing Sandy’s clothes had given him the slip.
Sandy and Jina had started these meetings two-and-a-half years ago. The Seattle branch was, and forever would be, the only branch. They had two objectives.
First, the emotional goal. Survivors of normal trauma, human-caused, could find recovery through therapy and groups. But that kind of support only works when people believe and can validate your experience. Whereas Jina and Sandy had been abducted, tormented, and in Sandy’s case, actually raped by an imp. If it could happen to them, then perhaps there were others who had negative experiences with the fae. They could find them by simply hanging out a sign.
Jina wished Sandy would attend more often. Not this group, but the next level where the real sharing took place. Instead, Sandy stayed silent and her issues continued to fester. The two had grown more and more distant since college. Especially since moving to Seattle.
Their other goal was secret. Someone out there, somewhere, had to know more about faeries. The support group allowed them to research, to learn more about fae weaknesses. Better, they hoped to locate faeries so they could safely neutralize them.
Jina served as a talent scout to enlist the right people, the kind who were pissed enough to go hunting. This is how they found Gretel.
For the most part, the kind of people who showed up at a “faerie trauma support group” were useless on every level.
Interrupting Jina’s meandering thoughts, the young man piped up. “My name is Jared. My friend told me about this place. I uh, I believe in fairies. They’re really cool.” He flicked his eyes towards Kimberly and she winked at him. All the thirteen-steppers left with Kimberly. After this one scored, he’d never come back. If she didn’t have so many stories about faeries, Jina would have suspected Kimberly came here just to meet guys.
A few more people shuffled into the room over the remaining minutes: a yuppie gal wearing an outfit purchased entirely at REI, an artistic-looking guy with stubbly facial hair, and a butch woman who had attended the previous week.
Jina found her gaze lingering on the artist fellow. Probably a Burner, someone who participated in the counter-culture art event, Burning Man, every year in the Nevada desert. Likely he welded sculptures or made apparel out of recycled seat belts. He had a silver-colored chain around his neck that disappeared mysteriously under his shirt, and she longed to draw it up to see what was hidden on the other end.
She hoped he had something interesting to say, so he’d come back. It was possible he was like Jared, just here to find a good lay. Either way, she’d better get his number at the end of the meeting. She smiled at him warmly before glancing up at the clock.
She rubbed her nose ring, a simple stud, for luck. “Let’s begin,” she said. “First, I’m your moderator, Lynne.” She used her middle name in these sessions to hide her identity. “I’m here to make sure everyone has a positive experience. There are a few simple rules to help facilitate that.” She made eye contact with each person in the room as she spoke.
“Rule one, everyone here is anonymous. Do not reveal anyone’s identity outside these walls. Likewise, nothing you hear should be repeated after you leave today.” Except of course what she and Gretel would report to Sandy.
“Rule two, respect. We all have our different experiences. You may be able to identify with the experiences of another, or you may think that what they have to say is crazy. Please keep any judgments and advice to yourself, since we wish to create a safe environment for everyone.
“Rule three. You do not have to say or do anything if you aren’t comfortable. You can speak, if you wish, or you can just listen. Again, we want you to feel safe.
“Rule four defines the guidelines of sharing. Anyone who has something to say can share. Please state your first name when you begin. While sharing, no one else is to interrupt, interject, ask questions, or otherwise interfere. Please try to keep your sharing about yourself, and do not comment on the experiences of others unless you are offering support. Today we have eleven people and only an hour and a half, so try to limit yourself to a few minutes so everyone gets a chance.”
Jina paused and took a deep breath. “Most of the people in this room believe in faeries. Many of us believe because we have seen them. Some of us have experienced trauma. Psychologists have found that sharing our traumas with a supportive individual or group can help heal emotional scars. I am not a psychologist, nor qualified in any way except one: I have experienced trauma at the hands of a faerie.”
She glanced around the room to see the variety of reactions. Those who had been here before didn’t bat an eye. The gardener had already been put on notice, but the more detailed description seemed to take her aback. Jina found herself wishing she would leave, but she would likely stay to be polite. Jared seemed determined to sit through whatever kind of bullshit he needed to in order to get Kimberly’s number. The scrawny girl… she looked… worried? It was hard to tell without seeing her eyes. The other new guy nodded slightly, with a look of interest on his face. Maybe he was legit.
The REI Yuppie raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“This isn’t the Bicycling for Social Justice meeting?”
“No. I think those are Tuesdays. Check the bulletins in the hall.” One down. Jina waited patiently for her to leave, and then said, “We can begin. Anyone who would like can share.”
Kimberly started almost before Jina could finish her sentence.
“Hi! My name is Kimberly. This week I was hiking through the woods, and I sat next to a stream and was playing in the water, and a new fairy introduced herself to me. Her name is Bluebelle, and she’s a water-dancer. She danced across the water the whole time we spoke. I asked why she showed herself to me, and she said it was because she trusted me. They all say that. She had green butterfly wings, which I thought was weird, with a name like Bluebelle…”
Kimberly continued her story, which bore a number of resemblances to last week’s monolog about her old friend, The Hearth Gnome. Jina herself had created Rule Two, and always maintained an outward appearance of respect so as not to scare any legitimate witnesses into silence. Internally she broke Rule Two. Because Kimberly was full of shit.
Jina had to interject ten minutes into the tale of how Bluebelle reacted upon meeting Daisy Oakpetal. “Thanks, Kim. Please give others a chance to share,” she reminded.
After a minute of silence, the little old lady spoke in a soft, cracking voice. “Good afternoon. My name is Mildred. Kimberly, you should know that the Good Folk are not always so gentle. You’d best be careful, or you may meet with some misfortune. Last week, I forgot to set out milk, and they stole my car keys. I was late for my doctor’s appointment.”
That was all she said. Mildred’s stories were always very short. Jina couldn’t tell if she really saw faeries or not, but gave her just a little benefit of the doubt.
After a few more minutes of nervous quiet, the butch woman cleared her throat. Jina was pretty sure she’d seen her working as a bouncer at The Flowering Thorn, and she had the muscles and even a few tattoos to match the job description.
“My name is Cameron. I told my story a little bit last time, but I’ll briefly summarize. My girlfriend and I have experienced a lot of strange occurrences lately. I don’t know if it’s faeries, ghosts, or some kind of psychic attack, but there are no groups for ghosts or psychic trauma, so here I am.”
Jina didn’t know if the woman had a ghost problem, though it didn’t exactly sound like a faerie problem, either. She believed the woman and was glad their group could provide at least a little support. Cameron described the events of the last month at their century-old home in the Wallingford neighborhood: broken objects, rapidly decaying food, missing items, slamming doors. It seemed a bit like a classic ghost haunting, if ghosts even existed, but a few things made Jina think of faeries, like the distant sound of children’s laughter. Maybe she should ask Cameron if they could visit to make an assessment. If the haunting was fae in nature, Gretel might be able to sense the creatures.