by Luna Lindsey
Their lips met, and met again. It was like her name shouldn’t be Jett, but something more elfin, like Lael or Cael or Becuille or … Cuillael.
A shiver rippled over her skin. What a silly line of thought. She drew Jett closer to her.
Jett’s hand wandered from Jina’s face to her waist to her hips, and Jina reciprocated.
“Hey, you two can’t do that in here.” The waitress hovered over them with her eyebrows raised. Jina untangled with a guilty look on her face. Then the waitress’ features softened and her voice grew conspiratorial. “But I know this really great place, just down a few doors. By the Castle store there’s a stairway. Go up to the top, and there’s a nice little corner by the tanning salon. No one goes up there this time of night. Want me to bring your check?”
Jina giggled and nodded, and then Jett started laughing, giddy.
“Or my place is really close,” Jina said, “and it would be more comfortable, except… my housemate and I haven’t been getting along too well lately.”
“There is deep pain there for you,” Jett said. Her eyes were far away and after a moment, she gazed at Jina with intensity. “If anyone in your house touches you with violence—”
“No, no,” Jina said, laughing it off and shaking her head. “It’s just a squabble. Housemate stuff. Really.” Was this the kind of wall that revealed her secrets so plainly?
Jett broke away from Jina and took a long sip of mead. “There is no betrayal so rotten as that which comes from those closest to us.”
“I agree.”
“Then tonight, our affair will be illicit, in a stairwell above Broadway, until the day comes when one of us takes the other home.”
They split the check and wandered past the well-lit adult store and up the concrete steps. There was indeed a small corner between the elevator and a sub shop. Jett wrapped her arms around Jina’s waist and they leaned against the glass door leading to a hallway full of apartments or offices or something. It didn’t really matter. No one else was here.
Jina touched the back of Jett’s neck lightly, and drew her closer. She reveled in her small, female ears, her delicate skin, and that scent again: lilacs, springtime, lightness, and purple. She remembered as a kid, plucking the lilac blossoms and sucking the nectar from the tiny trumpets. She remembered the warmth of the sun and the joy after a long winter deprived of its rays. A valley surrounded her, green and lush, a cool stream trickling at her feet, the stones of a ruin nearby, covered in runes and vine, only no longer a ruin; it was a palace once again.
The feeling of her dress being unbuttoned brought her back to reality. She longed to do the same in return but Jett’s hands were in the way.
Jett stopped and stared at Jina’s necklace.
“What’s that?” Jett asked. Jina could not read her tone.
Jina would to share everything with Jett, even her secret life as a faerie hunter. She trusted Jett, but now was not the time to explain. So she went for the misleading half-truth: “Oh, this? Just a memento from a group I was in back in college.”
“Like a sorority?”
“No, nothing so formal. We pretended to have a secret society. I’ll tell you the whole story later.” Jina realized that from a certain perspective, that summary wasn’t too far off the mark. It reminded Jina of her fight with Sandy and made her stomach roil. She slipped the medallion off and put it in her jacket pocket.
“There are some unpleasantries I’d rather not think about. I’d rather think about you.” Jina relaxed and took Jett’s hands to place them on her breasts.
Jett pulled her back into a kiss, and the exploration continued. The entire time, Jina’s mind filled with thoughts of sunshine and pastels, growing things and pleasant, far off times and places.
No one saw them, or if they did, no one had the heart to bother them. They had the place to themselves.
At last they sat in one another’s arms, glowing, and slowly getting cold.
Jett buttoned her shirt and Jina pulled her jacket back on.
“Hey, look at that,” Jina said, pointing to a tiny white daisy growing out of a crack in the concrete wall. “How did it get all the way up here, especially this time of year?”
Jett leaned in close and touched it delicately. “Life is like that, growing where it can.” She plucked it from its cold home and handed it to Jina, pinched between her elegant fingers.
Jina beamed and tucked the flower behind an ear. “Now what?”
“The night is far from over, my little flower. Let’s go for a drive, and see where we end up.”
“Yes. And we can talk about what we are to each other. I… I really like you, Jett.”
Jett touched her cheek ever so lightly. “The sacrifice of a thousand stars would be fair exchange for this passion I feel for you.”
Jina blushed and looked at her feet.
“However,” Jett continued, “I would never try to own you. Shall we agree to an open relationship, without jealousy for any others in our lives?”
Trouble or no, the idea started to sound better and better. Jina grinned. “That would be just about perfect.” She took Jett’s hand, so warm and tingly within her own, and led her down the steps to an old silver BMW.
They sped off into the night, Jett fast becoming lodged in Jina’s life.
CHAPTER 24
*
GOSSIP IS A SIN, BUT WITCHCRAFT is a greater sin, and so the rumors spread. The guards kept him separated from the others, but the only topic in camp was Ezra, so he couldn’t help but overhear.
A couple of Sisters had caught a spring cold, and he suddenly was to blame. They were having trouble negotiating for a place to stay, and it was because God had removed His favor. Every time it rained, it was Ezra’s doing. And it had rained five times that day.
No one would speak directly to him, for fear he would pollute their minds and lead them astray. Ezra’s guard only gave weight to their fears – why guard someone who isn’t dangerous?
Anger is a sin too, and he slammed the shovel into the ground with such a force that the wooden handle cracked a little. It hit a small rock, and the sound rang out, causing all eyes in the vicinity to turn towards him. More whispers, more penetrating stares. The cross look on his face must have made him seem evil. Didn’t villains always look angry?
He shoved his frustration inward and berated himself for losing control. Anger is a tool of the devil, or so they said. In the absence of any real ire towards them, he simply felt helpless. So he continued to dig.
All he wanted to do was leave. It might make him a heathen again, and it might condemn his soul to the fiery torments of hell, and he might succumb to the tribulations of the end times, which were scheduled to happen any day now. But at least he wouldn’t be their problem anymore.
He was kept under constant guard by the Elders and certain trusted younger Brothers. At any given time, there were at least three of them. They made it clear that escape was not an option. Which was weird, because a guilty outcome of a Trial of Love meant excommunication. So why keep him here until then?
The rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour, until he no longer shoveled dirt, but mud.
Elder Noah tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Brother. The new latrine can wait. Elder Isaiah wants to speak with you.”
Ezra felt the eyes of one of the younger guards, blaming him for the weather again. A sense of dread drenched him like the cold of the rain as he trudged back to the tent. Elder Noah dropped him off and left his guards posted outside.
Isaiah wasn’t there yet, so while waiting, he removed his soaked, muddy clothes and put on a clean shirt and pants. Then he leaned back against the tent wall, letting it sag. Water had pooled up on the roof, and he heard it spatter behind him when it fell.
At least he got to stay in Elder Noah’s spacious shelter. That was some consolation.
The tent flap unzipped, and Elder Isaiah stepped in.
“Hello, my boy.”
“Good afternoon, Elder.
”
This was the first time Ezra had spoken alone with Elder Isaiah since he’d joined the Wanderers. He wasn’t sure whether to be honored or afraid. He felt both.
The Elder popped open a folding camp stool with one hand and placed it in the center of the tent in front of Ezra. The Prophet sat on it, hands clasped in front of him. His voice sounded soft but stern.
“You must know by now the accusations that stand against you. And since you are only a child, I must also remind you of the seriousness of your situation.”
Ezra nodded humbly.
“Some have said you are a prophet, and but for the blasphemy you spoke, I could be persuaded to agree.”
Ezra looked down at his lap.
“Ezra, look at me. Can you tell me what you were doing out there at the University?” The Elder still sounded gentle, like a caring father. He couldn’t help but love and trust the old man, even though Ezra was in so much trouble.
“I… I don’t know, Elder. It just happened. I don’t know where the miracle came from, and I don’t know if it was blasphemy. I just let the Spirit speak through me, like you tell us to do.”
“The Spirit of Yahweh, or the Spirit of Lucifer?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’m confused.”
“And you know who the Author of Confusion is, don’t you?”
“No… no, I didn’t mean… I…”
Elder Isaiah rubbed his forehead, as if his head hurt. “Ezra, you’re going to have to help me help you. If you’ve been involved in anything Satanic, now or at any other time in your life, I want you to tell me.”
“No, no, sir. Never. I’ve always done just as you said, and avoided all the temptations of evil.”
“Always?” Isaiah glared at him, and Ezra glanced up to meet his eyes. Every evil deed for which he’d felt ashamed flashed through his mind as he struggled to contain them. His lusts and temptations and stray thoughts and quiet self-abuse at night, every magazine cover he’d stared at too long, every white lie he’d told, every woman he desired, every wet dream. It was as if Isaiah could see all of that, right then, in his eyes.
Yahweh would tell Prophet Isaiah all of Ezra’s dark secrets.
Why am I so evil when everyone else is so pure? He blinked back tears.
“Exodus 22:18, Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Elder Isaiah quoted like a kindly grandfather offering ice cream if the chores got done. “Everyone in Congregation knows this. If you are found guilty, we could follow the ways of the world, and turn you out from our midst. Or we could follow the guidelines that Yahweh has set for us in His Holy Scripture.”
Ezra looked at him with desperation, pleading in his eyes. “But… But I thought the Wanderers abhorred violence… In Sacramento, when those people stole everything we had, we didn’t–”
The Elder stood abruptly and began folding up the camp stool. “There is worldly anger, and there is righteous anger, like Yeshua showed when he expelled the money changers from the Temple.” Isaiah towered over him, making his point by gesturing with the stool. “I’m doing this out of love and obedience to God’s commandments. I would suggest that you take stock of yourself, Brother Ezra. If you have anything for which to repent, you’d better do it before the Trial.”
With that, he left the tent, zipping it up behind him.
Ezra put his face in his hands and sobbed. How could he repent when he didn’t even understand what he’d done?
The tent unzipped again suddenly and Sister Esther poked her head in and looked around. Ezra quickly wiped his eyes.
“Hey,” she said. Her voice held a tinge of sympathy. She unzipped the door the rest of the way and entered with a steaming bowl of stew.
“Where’s Sister Rebekah? She usually brings my dinner.”
“She’s sick, and none of the other Sisters wanted to come. So they sent me, the new girl. They say you’re a demon. Is that true?”
Ezra laughed darkly. “I wish I knew. I just want to get out of here.”
“Why?” Sister Esther asked. “We’re the chosen people of God. Why would you want to leave?”
“Because no one wants me around.” Ezra fought to keep the sob out of his words.
“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.
CHAPTER 25
*
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. Bláthín 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 doppelgänger. 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 doppelgänger’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.”