Make Willing the Prey (Dreams by Streetlight) Read online

  Make Willing the Prey

  by

  Luna Lindsey

  To the Illuminadi who named me a Dreamer.

  I’ll never have a better bunch of friends.

  Prologue

  Scry, scry, visions flow

  Show me now the world below

  Scry, scry, never hide

  Show me now the world outside

  Scry, scry, seeing right

  Show me, lift the shroud of night

  Scry, scry, sight remake

  Show to me a soul to take

  His chair creaked as he leaned in to look. No, just a maintenance cart. Some kind of janitor.

  Haun sagged in disappointment. How boring.

  What time was it, anyway? Eleven? No, midnight. Ah, midnight, his favorite time. But not a favored time for humans. On a weekday, all he could expect to see in the university’s courtyard at midnight would be lonely janitors. If only it were a weekend. That would be quite a different thing.

  He mused about how humans marked of the passage of time. Days. Weeks. Weekends. What of nights and fortnights? Why ignore the passage of the moon, with its, new moons, full moons, waning and waxing?

  The image in the mirror had grown misty with his distraction. Refocusing his gaze, he muttered, “Scry, scry, focus do, Show me now, keep vision true.” The fog vanished, and the square became clear once again. A couple of students stepped out from behind a bush. The girl plucked leaves from her hair. The boy… was it a boy? He buttoned his shirt. Then the girl laughed, and they walked through the square arm in arm.

  See, that’s a little more like it. Not mundane at all. If only he had known they’d been there, he could have watched.

  But they were a diversion from what he really sought.

  How long could it take to find her? Fortnights? Moons?

  Pox on Niglith! A pox on him and his whole accursed kind! What a stupid bet. He never should have taken it. But he wouldn’t let it get the best of him, nor would he settle for merely meeting the minimum requirements. If he was going to put forth this much effort, he wanted some kind of return on investment: something beyond winning the challenge.

  Why did he let Niglith into the house in the first place? That old fart was bound to be nothing but trouble. If Haun had any sense, he would board up all the windows and doors just to keep them out, those ugly, horrible social ones.

  Not that Haun hadn’t enjoyed that night, drinking good spirits, gambling and laughing. He had even smoked a pipe. Not generally his style, acting like such a gnome, but it felt good. Haun was never one to pass up a good feeling. Maybe Niglith was right, he should get out more often.

  A figure flicked past in the mirror. A professor. Cute, but old and not his type. Plaid? Who wears plaid?

  Where were his thoughts? Oh yes, the bet. Niglith had gone off about Shakespeare, how he had known the man, what great company he was, blah blah blah. The old timers were like that, babbling on and on about how great things were in the good old days, when faith was strong and everyone had dreams. Whatever.

  Niglith had finished some yarn about how ‘ol Spear had come up with the idea for the Taming of the Shrew. He got a wicked look in his eye then, and said, “We should do it!”

  “Do what,” Haun had said. A statement more than a question.

  “Tame a shrew, of course.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Surely you’ve read Shakespeare?”

  “Bah. He bores me.”

  “Ah. Well here’s how it works. I find some cranky old bitch and bet that you could not get her into your bed.”

  “You mean fuck her?”

  “Yes.”

  Haun initially felt reluctant to take on any part in a plot involving ol’ Spear. But… A challenge? And sex?

  “Why do you get to choose her? If I’m going to fuck her, I want to choose.”

  “Fine, I will let you choose, but you must let me approve of her, to prevent you from cheating.”

  “A cranky old bitch, huh?”

  “Yes. Wait… no. We shall adapt it to our situation. She shall be a boring, stuffy sort of old goat.”

  “Not old. I want her young.”

  “Yes, young. Perhaps a girl without a creative or lusty spark in her whole being? Someone who would never be interested in someone like you?”

  “Got it. But that’s not enough of a challenge.”

  “Ah. A nun then?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Boring girl is fine. What I mean is sex is too easy.”

  “Alright, not sex. What then?”

  “Marriage. In order to win the bet, I must marry her.”

  Niglith chuckled. “Oh, that, that would truly amuse. Marriage then.”

  Once he found her, abduction would be simple. As if in answer to this thought, he heard a scraping sound coming from beneath the floorboards, followed by a soft whimper. He stomped on the floor and the scraping stopped.

  But finding her, and then getter her to marrying him. That’s the kind of challenge that made a game worth playing.

  Lost in memories and plans, Haun’s mirror had grown dim again. It had almost gone out completely this time. No matter. Clutching the mirror frame, he chanted:

  Scry, scry, make to fear

  Show to me the people near

  Scry, scry, feed my need

  Show to me the ones who bleed

  The university square appeared again. There, there was someone. Young, attractive frame, nice walk. Is that her face? Pretty. Yes not bad. In fact, quite alluring. But would she meet Niglith’s standards? She carried books, but those could be art books, or poetry. He touched the mirror and zoomed closer.

  “The Dynastic States of Europe”, “Rome 1500-1750CE”, “Prussian Society, Religion, and Economics”, “The Fall of an Empire: Ottoman Letters and Legal Documentation”. Stuffy stuff indeed. Entire books written on the most mundane aspects of past human affairs. Just reading the titles made him want to fall asleep.

  Still, it might not mean she was boring. After all, human students took all sorts of classes they didn’t really like.

  Then he saw why she traveled the square in the middle of the night. She wasn’t going home like the others. No, she was headed into the library.

  Haun leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together. “Ah, my sweet. You’ll do. You’ll do nicely.”

  Following her with his scry, he watched her unlock the library door, then lock it behind her. She walked with familiarity to a darkened corner and returned with a pile of books. He grinned with pleasure as she sat down, put on a pair of reading glasses, and began flipping through them, one by one.

  She had short straight hair that looked like dark maple leaves in autumn. Thin eyebrows. Smooth skin, small features, adorable nose, moist soft mouth.

  “Yes, you will more than suffice.”

  What lovely eyes she had…

  Sandy awoke, not to the invasive buzzy whine of the alarm clock, but to the sound of it stopping. In horror she looked at the clock to find it read one hour past the time she needed to get up.

  She leapt from the bed, the books that had kept her up all night sliding off the covers to the floor.

  “Crap,” she muttered blearily at the tragedy of bruising the pages. She tripped into the bathroom and flinched when she thought she saw a spider on her counter. But it was only one of Jina’s hairbands. She must have left it last night after they’d watched that movie.

  Groaning, she glared at herself in the mirror. She’d have to skip her shower. What a lousy way to begin the day.

  But she wasn’t about to skip her tea. By the time she had dress
ed, putting her shirt on twice because it was backwards the first time, she heard the kettle whistling. The sound invaded her quiet world and she rushed to make it stop. She barely remembered to turn off the burner before filling the paper cup.

  When the doorbell rang, she flinched, knocking over the half-full cup and spilling hot water down the front of her skirt.

  She flinched again and screamed “Fuck!” before ripping her skirt off to keep it from burning her more. A shuffle sounded at the door, and yelled, “I mean, just a minute!”

  Her legs stung and two bright pink lines ran down her skin, but it hadn’t blistered. She would live, assuming she survived the rest of the day.

  She ran to her room to put on a fresh skirt before opening the front door.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Sandy Windham?” A grizzled old delivery man stood outside in the apartment hallway. His nametag said “FDS”.

  “That’s me,” she said gruffly. “What do you want?”

  With hesitation, as though afraid she might start yelling at him, he handed her a single white rose.

  Her features softened immediately. “Sorry for being so… I’m just having a bad day. You know how it goes.”

  “Sure, I get it.”

  She took the flower and looked for a card, and when she found none, asked, “Who is this from?”

  “Don’t ask me. I just deliver. Uh, have a better day, ma’am.” He raised his hand a little in a half wave, and retreated down the hall.

  She closed the door and examined the rose. It was pristine, perfect. The dark green of the leaves and stem contrasted against the white bud. Each soft petal seemed to be placed in exactly the right positions to make the rose a work of art. It looked like she might have a good day after all.

  But for all its beauty, there was no indication of who sent it or why. She couldn’t think of any upcoming or recently past special occasions. And she had dumped Darryl over nine months ago. Not that he would send flowers.

  A pleasant thought came to mind. She smiled at the idea that she might have an admirer. Especially someone romantic enough to send flowers. But who would know where she lived?

  She trimmed the stem and felt a sharp pain in her thumb. She winched and sucked the blood from the puncture wound. She looked for the thorn so she could clip it, but found none.

  Somehow she’d pricked her finger on a thornless rose.

  The day still conspired against her, but she wasn’t going to let it win. She had a stockpile of warm thoughts as her mind worked on the origin of the rose and the possibility of an admirer. That should overcome any number of clumsy, sleep-deprived accidents.

  After slapping a band-aid on her thumb, she dug around for the only vase she owned – a cheap piece of black plastic with a bulge on the end for holding water. It looked just as wonderful in spite of its container.

  The rose lightened her mood, but didn’t make her any less late. Looking in the mirror one last time, she combed her short, auburn hair. Then brushing the lint from her skirt, she bounced from her apartment in a cheerful mood.

  Jina popped her head into the door of the History TA’s office.

  “Psst… Sandy,” she whispered.

  Sandy looked up from examining a student’s paper on the Salem Witch Trials and grinned.

  “Hey, Jina,” she said. “I’ll be off work in just a few minutes. I need to finish helping this student with his mid-term.”

  Jina down off to the side, and slid her backpack to the floor. She smacked her bubblegum and played with the beads on her hemp necklace and re-read the flyer she’d taken out in the courtyard. Then she read the titles of the books beside her. Then she looked at the guy Sandy was helping.

  He was kind of hot. At least twice as good looking as any of the other TA’s or students in the room. Why wasn’t Sandy flirting with him?

  Sandy made a couple of marks on the last page of the paper. “Remember, this is due on Wednesday next week. Good structure, but do more research and less fantasizing. Here are some books you should check out from the library. Actually read them this time, ok?”

  The student nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, Ms. Windham. I’ll fix it up. Thanks!” He left as Sandy flitted over to her jacket and book bag in the corner.

  “What’s that?” Sandy asked, pointing to Jina’s flyer and slinging the bag over her shoulder.

  “Remember that guy who turned up missing last fall? His mom is still handing these out.”

  “Yeah, Lewis somebody. If they haven’t found him by now, he’s never coming back. Why don’t you throw that thing away?”

  Jina shrugged. “One of my roomies is Wiccan. Megan.”

  Sandy laughed. “I can’t believe you buy into that stuff. Like they used to believe rainwater on tombstones could cure freckles, but that’s obviously not true.”

  “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I thought maybe she and I can cast a spell on his picture. Send out good energy for his safe return or whatever. I feel bad for his mom. She looked ready to cry. It just feels like somebody should do something.”

  “All right, if it makes you feel better.” Sandy bounced to the door and opened it for Jina.

  “Why are you so cheerful? You got a crush on that guy?”

  “What guy?” Sandy asked as they walked out the door.

  “Him.” She pointed ahead as the student turned a corner and disappeared out of sight. “He’s pretty hot.” Jina fiddled with the tail end of the scarf that dangled from her long blond hair.

  “Him?” Sandy snorted. “No way. He’s not very bright. Been in here three times in the past week. I’m pretty sure he gets all his information from movies.” They turned down another hallway.

  “If he’s in here a lot, it means he’s willing to ask for help, which is an indication that he perseveres and that he likes to listen. He can take advice. It may also mean he’s interested in you, which is a very good sign. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s slow. He might be brilliant at math or English or science. No one understands history.”

  Jina caught Sandy’s disapproval and retreated. “Sorry. Not all of us like memorizing when dead people fought their wars. Anyway. Even if he’s not your type, I think you should start looking for someone. It’s been ages since Darryl.”

  Sandy smiled. “Well, actually, there may be someone who’s into me.”

  “That’s the spirit! Is he sexy?”

  Sandy pushed the door open and they walked into the sunlit parking lot.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. And actually, I may just be making things up. I got an anonymous rose this morning. It may just be from a friend, someone in my family, or maybe Darryl’s trying to get me back. But, maybe… just maybe it’s from a cute guy. I don’t know.”

  “A rose? How wonderful, Sandy! That is so romantic. But it didn’t say who it was from?”

  “Nope. Just the rose. No card.”

  “That may be romantic, or just a little creepy. I’m not sure which.”

  “I happen to think it’s romantic. Anyway, I can dream a little from time to time, can’t I?”

  “I didn’t think you capable, but you certainly have my permission. But let me take my rare turn being the voice of reason. Just in case it doesn’t work out with the rose guy, you should start looking. You need someone, Sand. You’re certainly attractive enough to get anyone you want.”

  “Who are you to talk about relationships? Stan was awful to you, and now you’re just as single as I am.”

  “Yes, but it hasn’t been nine months since I broke up with him. You can’t be alone that long. It’s not good for your circulation.” Jina brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

  “So when are you going to get a car?” Sandy said, as she opened the door to her Yugo.

  “When I graduate.” Jina blew a pink bubble, popped it, pulled the gum back inside her mouth, and got into the passenger side.

  “Like that’s going to happen anytime soon.” She smiled and started the car.

&n
bsp; “Hey. It’s going to happen this year, I swear.”

  Wednesday. The week would be over in just two more days.

  Wearily, she stacked the mid-term papers on her desk in a neat little pile. Her eyes stung but she waited until the last student left before rubbing them vigorously. She didn’t stop until she saw spots.

  What a rut. Graduate studies in World History, tutoring in the TA’s office, and now this job teaching a history lab four days a week. If it weren’t for Jina dragging her to the occasional party or club, she would rot here at this desk. Or the one in her office. Or the one in the library.

  She stood and stretched, her joints cracking a little, her neck sore from bending over to read endless crappy papers. She picked them up and shambled toward the TA’s office.

  Maybe Jina was right. Maybe it was time to start looking for a man again. The rose thing hadn’t panned out. No more deliveries, no secret notes, no evidence whatsoever it had been anything other than a random fluke.

  She needed someone to get excited over. Something to look forward to. Someone to cuddle with in the middle of the night. All that excitement last week had her wishing for love she never knew she wanted.

  But there had been no further deliveries. If she was going to find a man, she should take matters into her own hands. But how? A dating site? Get out more? Maybe Jina could hook her up.

  Sandy wanted someone who would send her flowers and gifts. Did men like that even exist anymore? Or, like her, were they confined to history and old literature?

  Maybe she should just settle for whoever she could get. Otherwise, they would end up burying her old spinster bones in six feet of history books. Smiling wryly, she fought back images of her wrinkled self stooped over a desk, squinting through bifocal glasses, correcting papers and writing books no one would ever read. She was halfway there already.

  When she opened the door to the TA’s office, a giant crystal vase full of white roses greeted her.

  Her heart beat a little faster. She dared not hope they were for her. But Rob, one of the TA’s, walked over to her and said, “Hey Sandy. You seem to have a secret admirer.”

  She moved closer, not sure what to think or how to feel. A tiny card hung from one of the stems.