Emerald City Dreamer

by Luna Lindsey

  Several of the women heard the approaching bikes and looked up with smiles. Benjamin held up his hand in a wave. “Rejoice! Yahweh has given us a great harvest this day!”

  They wheeled the bikes down to the cooking fires. The women cheerfully untied the boxes and carried them to rusty card tables.

  “You got back just in time for evening prayer meeting, Brothers,” said one of the women, Sister Rebekah. “Let us gather to hear Elder Isaiah speak.” She nodded her head in the direction of the Chapel. People were already laying down their tasks and heading in the same direction.

  As Ezra walked, the small group pressed closely around him. He looked down at his feet and nervously fingered the twine bracelet around his wrist. He’d made it himself, as a young child, out of colorful treasures he’d found in the trash. As jewelry, he wasn’t allowed to have it, but he never made a big show of it, and no one seemed to notice.

  In a small clearing just outside camp, they had arranged a slipshod array of benches made from cinder blocks and 2x4s, wood, and barely-functional lawn chairs, all encircling a slight rise in the ground which served as a pulpit. Yeshua had preached from such humble surroundings, Elder Isaiah had told them.

  Even though people still arrived, Elder Isaiah already spoke to the gathering crowd, with a worn Bible in his hands. Ezra found his usual quiet place under a tree along the back row. A small collection of pebbles was still there from the last gathering, and he leaned over slightly and began stacking them.

  “Yahweh has called upon us to leave behind our property, to forsake the riches of the earth, to follow Him. He has said it is easier for a camel to crawl through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. And the people of this nation are rich indeed.

  “Yeshua spoke to all people of all times. Worldly heathens worship the idols of money, televisions, automobiles, phones, and fancy clothing. They are haughty and walk with stretched forth necks, mincing as they go, making a tinkling with their feet. Isaiah of the Bible has said that God shall take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments, and their cauls, and their round tires like the moon.”

  Ezra wondered briefly what a caul was. Probably some kind of fancy clothing. He glanced down at the pyramid he’d built, then smashed it and started over with a circular structure.

  Isaiah continued. “He shall take away their bracelets, the earrings, and nose jewels, the changeable suits and fine linen.

  “They do not own these idols – the idols own them! They are enslaved by their corrupt addictions, forced to work at jobs to pay for the next unaffordable toy by building more idols for others to consume.

  “How does Satan blind their minds and hide the truth that is so plain before them? They have ears, but they cannot hear. Satan blares over their radios, television, and newspapers, and spreads his filth over their internets. How can they hear the voice of God with all these distractions? They are given up to their lusts and vile affections.”

  Isaiah paused and waited a moment for his words to sink in. Ezra always felt as if Isaiah were speaking directly to him, and this was no exception. What if he knew that Ezra tried to glance at the magazines he found in dumpsters or enjoyed the bits of music he heard from cars passing by?

  A thought caused Ezra to hold his breath: What if Isaiah knew about his lusts? He looked up and it seemed the Elder’s eyes met Ezra’s, as if he could see into his mind. Ezra frowned at the miniature building. Not enough rocks. He started over, something square this time.

  “The Devil is crafty, misleading people by spreading the lie that he does not exist. He does exist, and with his pointy ears, forked tongue, distorted face, and horns of an animal, he leads men to indulge in those lusts.”

  Ezra blushed and felt the heavy horns weighing down on his own head. He forgot about his little pebble pile, drown in the deluge of rising panic. He reminded himself that no one had ever seen him as he saw himself, with his scraggly hair, monstrous nose, and long arms that ended in claws. For once he took refuge in the notion that, perhaps, he was only crazy.

  “There is hope…” Isaiah’s voice had grown suddenly quiet. “There is hope in God’s forgiveness.”

  Everyone leaned in a little, awaiting the Elder’s next words.

  “You have all met Sister Esther, who has just joined our number. She told me her story, which proves how sinful the outside world is. She was a student at the University, being taught the ways of the Adversary. The Holy Spirit touched her heart, through God’s mouthpieces, Zedikiah and Seth, who diligently and bravely went out to teach among the heathens.

  “Sister Esther is excited to share with us for the first time. Sister?” Isaiah motioned to a young woman sitting in the second row. She smiled and stepped up to take Isaiah’s place.

  Ezra recalled the last time he had been called upon to speak; he could barely find his voice. But she didn’t seem nervous at all. Her jubilant, youthful voice rang out proudly.

  “Hello my Brothers and Sisters! I am so happy to be counted among your number, to be blessed by God, to have been discovered by good Zedikiah and Seth in my hour of need! I was lost. My life was empty. I was studying biology at the University of Washington, where they taught that there is no God, that creation is an accident. There is no meaning in their empty words. There are no spiritual laws. There are no sins, they say. All things are permitted.

  “Their textbooks misled me with lies. Each choice I made in this void of morality led me further from happiness. I sought meaning in sex and relationships. I spent my time with the most depraved people; liars, cheaters, drunks, and even homosexuals. I tried to drown my sorrow with loud music and drugs. I distracted myself with Facebook and constant texting.

  “When Brother Isaiah speaks of vile affections, I know what he means. I have lived that life. I have done unspeakable things…”

  Tears began to stream down her face, and she took a moment to collect herself. She continued, “And in that, I lost touch with my humanity, with faith, charity, and hope.”

  She paused again, searching for her next thought. “I had never known God. But now I know God has a purpose for me, for you, for all of us.” She bowed her head slightly, and, with her eyes on the ground, returned to her seat.

  A purpose. That sounded nice. Something beyond the daily drudgery of collecting food. Something to work at, to build.

  “Thank you, Sister Esther,” said Elder Isaiah as he returned to the pulpit. “Your talents are treasured by Elohim, and we rejoice that He has led you to us.” He held his Bible close to his chest, and cast his eyes around the circle, searching for another speaker. Then to Ezra’s horror, they landed on him.

  “Brother Ezra, please join me here.”

  Like a lamb to the slaughter, Ezra walked forward to stand by Isaiah, who placed his gentle hand on Ezra’s back.

  “Brother Ezra has come of age. Yahweh has told me he is needed in the field, to preach and spread His Gospel to others. Ezra, you are called of God to join with Brother Noah, to travel and teach with no more than the shirt on your back. Are you willing to accept the will of God?”

  Ezra felt both excited and scared. It meant he had been fully accepted by the group. Elder Isaiah approved of him. He had a chance to show he could really be someone. It also meant he would have to talk to people, tell them God’s message, stand on street corners, to open his mouth and hope smart words came out.

  As if Isaiah had read his mind, he quoted, “‘The Lord said unto him, Who hath made man’s mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say.’ And on that note, young Brother, please share with us what the Holy Spirit has put into your heart.”

  Isaiah left Ezra standing alone before so many piercing, judging eyes. Ezra had to open his mouth twice before any sound came out.

  “Thank you Elder. It is… I am happy to be called… to this great purpose… to tell the world about the love of Yeshua.


  “Uh… Like Sister Esther, I am glad to be adopted by The Wanderers of the Way. I was lost, and you all took me in. No one…” Now it was his turn to choke up. What was it about standing in front of everyone that made it so easy to cry? The Holy Spirit, that’s what.

  “No one… No one wanted me. Not until Elder Isaiah found me, just a child, sleeping on a park bench with nothing but a newspaper to keep me warm.

  “I am blessed. That’s all.” Then he looked at the ground and returned to his place under the tree, not even noticing when he stepped on the half-finished pebble church. His heart pounded with the exertion of being in front of everyone, and he wondered how he would ever fare among the cruel heathens.

  CHAPTER 5

  *

  “SHE WILL NOT BE BACK,” pronounced Gretel in her slight German accent. “I could see her aura plain as the sun. I tried to chase after her, but she vanished into thin air.”

  Jina and Gretel sat on leather chairs facing Sandy’s desk, and Jina felt as if she were the subject of a job interview, although she had changed into a pair of jeans.

  Sandy’s leather chair squeaked as she leaned back with Scotch in hand, and eyed Jina through her reading glasses. She had a fresh bandaid on her right index finger and a scowl on her face.

  Something had put her in a bad mood again.

  “We did our best,” Jina said, squirming under that stern gaze, and wondered what had happened to the easy-going, happy Sandy she’d once known. “She probably escaped down a furrow or fey line or whatever they’re called.”

  Jina suspected Sandy would be more cheerful if she decorated her office with brighter colors, especially in the consistently dark weather of Seattle, though Sandy obviously felt more comfortable surrounded by traditionally rich dark furniture and wood walls. The only pretty color in here was the stained glass lamp on Sandy’s enormous desk: a shade of rust that complimented Sandy’s hair. Jina thought of dying her own hair blue just to bring something new to this dreary office.

  “It’s too bad she got away,” Sandy said. “She’s not the only one. I chased a faeborn off the porch earlier tonight. He was looking for you, Jina.” She peered over her reading glasses. From her tone, this announcement may as well have been about a UPS delivery.

  “Me?” Jina put her hand to her chest. Gretel shifted her weight uncomfortably.

  “Yes, a groupie. He claimed you’d given him our address so he could buy a CD. Why would you do such a thing?” she asked.

  “I never give our address. He must have followed me after a show… Did he… What did he look like?”

  “Filthy. Green coat. Striped scarf. Homeless looking. Wavy light-colored hair.”

  Just as she’d feared. Some jerk really was following her, and he wasn’t human. And he knew where she lived… Her heart beat a little faster.

  She’d a stalker before, but he wasn’t fae. A human stalker was bad enough. She’d been lucky, and after a while he’d lost interest, started stalking someone else.

  But a faerie… She wondered how long he’d been following her, what he’d seen, how many times he’d been close enough to snatch her down into Tir Nan Og.

  “Regardless,” Sandy said, “after I told him you weren’t home, he tried to break into the house. The wards work pretty well, by the way. He didn’t dare cast any mumbo jumbo at me. Instead he took off running.”

  “Did you go after him?” Jina asked.

  “Hollis and I did, but like your faerie, mine also got away.”

  Fear bubbled up to consume her thoughts. She took slow, deep breaths, reminding herself that she was safe, in a safe place.

  “How I wish I could have been there,” Gretel said.

  This isn’t fear. It’s excitement, Jina thought. It made sense she would attract faeries. After all, she was a dreamer. They must come for the toradh at her gigs. She’d never thought of that possibility before. How many actually bothered to follow her? Just this one?

  “We need to go after him,” Jina said.

  “There’s no way of finding him now,” Sandy said. It seemed like her hands were shaking. She reached for her drink and took a sip.

  Jina felt a stab of guilt, unwittingly leading a faeborn to the mansion before Sandy felt ready to face one. Although, technically it was his fault, whoever he was. “Were you scared?” Jina asked, wishing she could reach out and still Sandy’s fears.

  Sandy waved her away. “Of course not. I scared him.”

  “You make us all feel safe,” Gretel said.

  “Feeling safe is not the same as being safe,” Sandy said. “We need a way to keep them in place, some sort of portable rooting spell that can be cast at a moment’s notice. That’s your department, Jina.”

  Surely Sandy already had such a spell in all these books stacked on the shelves and piled up on the desk. She had the world’s largest collection of books on fae lore, and on all topics even remotely related: demonology, the occult, paranormal, and mythology. Most were stored in the library in the next room, but Sandy kept the most useful close at hand, everything from mass-market paperbacks to old hardcovers, even handwritten journals and grimoires.

  The books reminded Jina of their journey together. After their harrowing experience trapped in Haun’s house, they entered the world again to find that six months had passed. Having been dropped from the rolls of the college, they had to start over. Their fellow-survivor, Lewis, was severely traumatized, and had to spend time in a mental hospital. She and Sandy were left to repair their minds and their lives on their own, lying to the world about what had happened. It was a bit like letting a stab wound heal without treatment.

  Jina managed to graduate with a liberal arts degree. Sandy was never able to get back into her graduate program, so she continued on her own. A course of independent study was probably for the best, considering her chosen subject matter.

  “A rooting spell would require a source of glamour,” Jina said, focusing on the problem at hand.

  “We’ve been working on that,” Gretel said. “Hollis has a new contraption he thinks might work.”

  “Hopefully one that keeps the nykk from getting loose,” Jina said. “When that lutin escaped, I was undoing knots in my socks and underwear for a month.”

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “‘Multiple layers of security’, Hollis calls it.”

  Jina continued her train of thought. “And if we’re hunting, it might be easier to trace rather than bind. Say you spot a faerie at RiteAid and you bind him on aisle three. Then what? Tracing would let us catch them on our own terms. We would need to experiment, though… And since our last test subject died…”

  “There are plenty more where that brownie came from.” Sandy swirled the ice in her glass. “I caught a redcap earlier tonight.”

  Jina remembered that brownie, flattened, surrounded in a pool of blood-colored goo leaking from the cracks in its head. She shouldn’t have been disturbed by it – it was just a nykk – but she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  “You keeping it in the Dungeon in the Mason jar?” Jina asked.

  “It’s a large apothecary canister, a lot bigger than a Mason jar, but yes. And stop calling it a dungeon. It’s a basement lab.”

  “All right, I’ll work on a couple of different rooting and tracing spells,” Jina said, ignoring the corrections, “if you can get me a source of glamour from that faerie. I can’t cast spells without glamour.”

  “Hollis is working on that,” Sandy said.

  “Meanwhile, we have to find the girl,” Gretel reminded them.

  “Did she give a name, or anything?” Sandy asked.

  “No, nothing.”

  “I doubt I’d be able to scry her. I need a true name or a personal item. I bought a journal from a rare bookstore back east. It’s full of really good spells, including some insights on scrying, which may help. But I don’t know…” Sandy took a sip of Scotch and looked thoughtful.

  “Anyway,” Sandy continued. “Next time, try to get a name of some kind. Otherwise
that group of yours is a waste of time.”

  Jina bit her lip. It wasn’t a waste of time. When they’d given up searching for another secret society, and started the Ordo, the two of them had been alone. Now they had Hollis and Gretel, both recruited from the group.

  Hollis provided a background in science and an array of miscellaneous crafting skills, like metalworking and construction. And he could use a gun.

  Gretel was clairvoyant, and she had plenty of grudge against the fae. While she looked to be eighteen, she had actually been born over eighty years ago in Germany. During World War II, faeries had abducted her at age six and took her to Tir Nan Og. To Gretel, she had been gone only six years, while the rest of the world had moved on.

  Jina thought of the others who attended Second Circle, of the hope and healing they found by sharing.

  “The groups are not a waste of time,” Gretel said.

  Jina nodded in agreement.

  “Okay,” Sandy said. “Forget I said that. What else?”

  “There was this guy,” Jina said. “He can see them, in their true forms, just like we were able to see Haun. He also got away. Like our goth Cinderella, he left the ball without so much as leaving his name.”

  “Or a shoe,” Gretel added.

  “But he did leave something to go on,” Jina said. “He works at a Trader Joe’s. That should make it easier to find him than the girl. We should bring him into Second Circle. If he really has the power to see their faecast, as he claims, he would be a valuable asset to our team.”

  Sandy steepled her hands in front of her mouth, inspecting Jina’s face closely. “Jina, I can tell you’re interested in this guy. If you date him, and break up with him, he would leave and no longer be an asset to the team.”

  The criticism burned. At the same time it reminded her that Sandy still knew her better than anyone. “I’ll keep your advice in mind. However, I’d like to point out that I’m pretty good at gentle breakups now. I’m still on good terms with Lewis, Chris, Brandon, and even Paige.”

  Sandy nodded. “Just remember, it’s hard to find good recruits. Keep a lid on your passions.”