Emerald City Dreamer (50 page)

The last option had the most benefits, and the most complications. She'd have to convince Jett to let her go. Trey could bring her some iron, and she'd have to use herself as bait. Maybe Trey would help her fight, since her life depended on it.

Jina looked down at the pink chilblain forming on her index finger, and lowered her arm in front of the heater to help thaw it. It felt like pins and needles, and as it warmed, her other hand chilled.

Even if Jina knew where to find the korrigan, she'd die of hypothermia before she got there.

She would give Sandy a little more time. If she wouldn't come around, the geas was her last hope.

Instinctively, Jina wrapped a blanket very closely around herself, until she started shivering hard. It only shielded her from the heaters.

Jina threw it down and picked up Fiz's guitar, even if she couldn't feel the strings beneath her fingertips. She had tried so many spells to break Pogswoth's curse. Now she would try a new kind of spell.

One time during a kiss - it seemed a lifetime ago - Jina had heard a strange word chiming in her head.
Cuillael
. She might not need a true name, though it couldn't hurt. If she had to, she would swear the geas. But she wouldn't do so without protecting herself.

She sang quietly, trying to limit the magic to the confines of her room. It was said that the fae did not like to be tricked, and she couldn't count on Jett being an exception. Once the geas was sealed - once Jett swore to protect Jina - there wasn't much the elf could do to punish her.

At least, so hoped.

As for Sandy, she'd send Trey with some food, as soon as he got off work.

THERE WAS NO TIME to lose. Sandy had to find out who had faestruck Jina, and put an end to it.

If Pogswoth had done it, she could make him end it, or kill him. Or both. And if Jett had done it, well... Pogswoth had promised to help kill her, hadn't he?

As soon as Jina hung up, she took out a piece of paper, and wrote
WE CAN HELP ONE ANOTHER
in big letters. With a piece of tape, she hung it in the window.

Pogswoth appeared within the hour, as if he had been waiting for her. He was ugly, stinky, and fae. But he was salvation. He was justice. And he'd brought groceries. They were from the same store as the anonymous donor.

"
I would invite you in," Sandy said. "But..." She motioned at the rune-engraved iron plate surrounding the door frame.

Pogswoth handed her the groceries. She hesitantly reached out to take them, past the wards where her arms weren't safe. She set the bags just inside the door.

"
Told you you'd need me," he muttered, his voice a grumble. "I've been helping you out, you know. Been bringing food by, a couple of times. Didn't take long for you to hang that damn sign."

A week isn't long to an ageless faerie
, she thought, and she questioned her sanity, to be talking to one like this.

"
We appreciated having real meals, eggs, bread," she said.

"
Bah," he said. "Didn't anyone ever warn you against thanking a faerie? Some of us get weird ideas."

Sandy worried she'd made a terrible mistake, but after a pause he finished with, "Not me though. Nothing impolite about a little gratitude."

"
Good," Sandy said, relieved. She looked into the bags, hoping for a bottle of liquor, and found none. The disappointment must have shown on her face.

"
What'd I forget?" he grumbled.

"
It's no big deal. I've just been wishing for some alcohol."

Pogswoth grunted.

Sandy tried to forget about her cravings. "We should talk about how we might assist one another. Talking at the door like this is awkward. We have a garage out back. No wards, so it's probably full of faeries."

"
Leave that to me," he said. He turned and headed back down the walk to the side of the house.

Hollis and Gretel had been listening behind her.

"
I still don't like this," Hollis muttered. His shirt said,
Come to the dark side. We have cookies
. It had been making Sandy hungry all day.

Gretel shrugged. "Neither do I, but what else can we do?"

"
Get the shotgun, Hollis."

Outside, Sandy glanced back at the house. It was covered in faeries. A lot of faeries. If the gargoyle sculptor for Notre Dame decided to build himself a house, it would look like this mansion. They were everywhere, clinging to the walls, perched on the roof, hanging from the gutters, all staring at or into the house; those that could find uncovered windows were looking through them, and the rest just stared at the walls.

Pogswoth stood at the side of the garage, by the little door, yelling at the faeries there. "Keep away or I'll bust heads!" he growled. They scampered away from his menacing glare.

Only a couple of humanoid grumps remained, standing strong with arms crossed. But they made no move to attack.

"
All clear," Pogswoth said. "These two are mine. Keeping watch."

Hollis kept the shotgun pointed at the korrigan, though Pogswoth pretended not to notice. He opened the door and motioned them inside, as if it were his own house, and not Sandy's garage.

It had once been a carriage house, with a high ceiling and room enough for the van, a few organized storage boxes, and a white metal patio table and chairs.

"
First things first," Sandy said, after everyone sat down. "Was it you who faestroke Jina?"

"
Me?" Pogswoth said. "I like Jina. Why would I hurt her?"

"
Did you?" Sandy asked. "Jina can't see the sun. That's a korrigan spell."

"
A horrible spell I'd never cast on someone I like. More like Jett did it. Or she's not even faestricken and it's all some illusion to make you
think
it was me."

Sandy continued to try to weasel the truth out of him. "If you did it, just tell me. We can still work together. Just cure Jina, and we can move forward against Jett."

"
I'd cure her if I could. Except that Jett is a cunning thief and a liar. She stole Jina, framed me, besieged yer house. She's provoked the both of us. Someone needs to stop her."

Sandy turned to Gretel. "Is he lying?"

"
That is not the way my sight works. Remember he is fae. They all lie."

"
You see that gun pointed at you?" Sandy asked, motioning to Hollis, who had the thing propped up on his knee.

Pogswoth looked down the barrel. "Bang bang."

"
It's not funny. The bullets are iron. The cold kind. Wrought iron made before 1973."

"
Cold iron, huh? Good idea. I knew I liked you."

"
With one word from me, Hollis will shoot you. And I'd not cry a tear."

Pogswoth pointed a finger at the gun. "Bang bang." He pointed at himself. "I fall down." Then he pointed at Sandy. "Yer still gonna be trapped here. Jett will run free, Jina will still be her prisoner, and I won't even be dead-dead."

Sandy looked uncertain.

"
That's right," he said. "I'll be free of this body, to come back and haunt you all yer days for breaking hospitality. It's been a serious crime since the days of Sodom and Gomorrah. I don't give a damn who you wanna thank, but never, ever shoot a man you've invited into your house under truce."

Sandy motioned to Hollis to lower the gun. He relaxed, keeping the trigger ready and the barrel resting on the table.

"
You ain't offered me nothing but death," Pogswoth said. "I got an offer. This meeting has given me some ideas. How 'bout I rescue Jina from her thieving captor? Then I might find some way to lift that curse."

"
In return for?"

"
In return for nothing. I do this to save sweet Jina from the clutches of that evil elf queen. And prove my goodwill, so we can team up against Jett if we have to."

"
Do it," Sandy said. "But hurry."

"
It might take some planning. And some time." Pogswoth's chair scudded on the concrete as he pushed it backward. "Just remember who came 'round to help you, and who didn't."

"
I still don't like this," Hollis said, after he'd gone. The two gnomes still stood watch by the side door while they went back into the house.

"
I don't like it either," Sandy said, letting the door slam behind her. "What other choice do we have?"

JETT HEARD THE TUB DRAIN. Jina had been in the bath for several hours. It was the only way her poor little dreamer could keep warm.

Jett felt her approach from down the hall before she appeared, towel-wrapped, in Jett's room. The dreamer's aisling tugged unrelentingly, threatening at every turn to shape Jett into something she was not. The effort of keeping the tantalizing force at a safe distance exhausted her.

Jina dried herself twice before putting on a warm pink robe that Fiz had lent her. Pete had given her cucumbers and pepper and potatoes to rub on her fingers and toes to help fight the chilblains, but her digits glowed red and swollen.

"
Sandy hasn't called me back," she said, resignation in her voice. She shivered.

"
And she never will," Jett said. "She is an iron post driven too deeply into the ground."

"
I just keep hoping... It's only been a few hours."

Jett shook her head. "The faeries there bring deep Tir Nan Og up from below. Time will be flowing differently for her now. She has forgotten you."

"
You mean..." Jina's confusion was writ plainly upon her face.

"
A day to us is a week for her. More or less. She has had days to come to your aid. You have but one option left."

It was a simple inevitable act, a mutually-beneficial covenant that would place them in their proper roles - Jett the powerful defender, protector, and mother; and Jina the cherished vassal, devoted, and compliant. This was meant to be.

Jina sat at Jett's feet. "You have to stop this. Please, I beg you."

Jett looked out the window, the sky turning orange at the setting sun that Jina could not see. "You know what you must do."

Jina should be honored to accept such a role. Relieved, even. Blathin hadn't hesitated. In those days, no one refused an offer of patronage, not if it came from the Tuatha De Danann, the Alfar, the elves, or any of the seelie folk from any of the known lands.

But modern times made men responsible for their own destinies, seduced them with the concept of free will, made them wary and mistrustful. It should be so easy, but Jina could not release her fate to other hands, not even gentle, guiding hands like Jett's. She resisted at every turn, and clung to her freedom even when it strangled her.

The paranoia was so strong, she even refused to eat any of their food, insisting on deliveries.

Jett regretted not having more time to prove her benevolence, as she had with Ramon and the dozens of dreamers before him. She looked down at Jina's red, bath-wrinkled hands and took one in her own. It was icy cold, her grip weak.

"
You haven't much time, and you cannot spend your life in the bath," Jett said. "This relationship of patron to artist is nothing to fear. It has existed longer than I have. Each of us will give equally our best talents. You will benefit. I will benefit. Even humans have practiced
patrocinium
since Roman times, and before that, the Celts did so in their own lands. I have the power to protect you, but you must trust me."