Free Make Willing the Prey (Dreams by Streetlight) by Luna Lindsey Page B

these
stories.  The ones that end well do so because someone had a strong enough
will, or believed the apparitions couldn’t hurt them.  So maybe it doesn’t
matter so much that we’ve eaten his food.” 
    Lewis seemed to perk up a
little.  “When I first got here, I tried arguing with him.  I convinced him
that none of this could be real, and... he went away for a while.  I think
Sandy may be right.”
    Sandy nodded and continued
reading.
    “Fuck,” she said abruptly.  “Some
of these stories outright conflict with each other.  Folklore makes me want to
rip my hair out.  It always has some kernel of truth, but it’s heavily laden
with red herrings and distracting details...”
    Sandy kept reading a little
longer.  Then she looked at her hand.  “My ring.  It’s made of iron.  Why would
he...?”
    “What?  Tell us!”
    “It says here,” she said,
returning to the book, “that fairies are weak to ‘cold iron’, which could mean
anything.  Weapons, wrought iron, steel.  Most accounts hint that it’s any kind
of iron.  This book was written before steel was widely available outside of
industrial settings.  So most likely wrought iron, or maybe cast iron.  Why
would S.A. give me an engagement ring that looked like gold but was actually
something that could hurt him?”
    “He did say this was a game. 
What kind of game would it be if we didn’t have a chance?  Maybe he gave you
the iron and the book out of a sense of fairness?”
    “Or to make it more interesting. 
Like a fucking cat letting the wounded mouse run a few feet.”
    Sandy flipped through more
pages.  Silence passed.  The two on the couch listened to the sounds of distant
music that they realized had been there all along.  A phonograph someplace
deeper in the house scratched out a snappy old jazz tune.  It freaked Jina out
a little, but Lewis seemed undaunted by it.  He tapped out a beat with
invisible drumsticks.
    “You a drummer?” Jina asked.
    “Yup.  Damn good too.”
    “In a band?”
    “Not anymore.  Lookin’.  Was,
anyway.”
    Jina caught his eye and scooted
in a little closer to him.  “My band could use a drummer.  If we get out of
here, that is.”
    Lewis smiled while Jina took a
sip of coffee.  Something fell from above and landed in her cup with a soft
splash.  Another something immediately followed, and left a deep red drip trace
down the side of the ceramic.  It froze.  Wax.
    Jina squeaked in pain and rubbed
at her arm.  Lewis jumped and curled himself into a trembling fetal position in
the corner of the couch.
    Sandy looked up.  Liquid wax was
beading along the cracks in the ceiling.  The pastries on the table were
already covered in wax, like display food.  Strangely, no wax fell on her,
though Jina and Lewis weren’t faring so well.
    “Stand next to the fireplace. 
There’s no wax over there.”  Sandy leapt up to follow her own advice.  At that
moment, a book hurled down from a shelf and landed in front of the fire.
    Orange flickering light drown Pride
and Prejudice .
    A draft fluttered the book open. 
It sped through some pages, while on others it slowed, as though it were
looking for a specific paragraph.
    The pages stopped moving near the
center of the book.  Sandy leaned in to read the page, looking for some kind of
meaning or reason.  Before she could see a single word, the center of the book
began filling with red.  Not wax this time.  Blood.
    The blood seeped upward from the
center, absorbing into the white paper and crisp black words.
    “What, did you get a little bored
you sick fuck?” Sandy shouted at the ceiling.  “Decided it’s time to play
again?”
    There was no answer.  Instead,
the edge of the pages, untouched by blood, began to rot.  They crumbled with
age, as though the book were bio-degrading before her eyes.  The blood-soaked
portion remained unchanged.
    Yet the blood continued to flow. 
It now pushed away brittle bits of paper.  Dirtied and