Willow scoffed at the idea, grabbed his arm, and pushed him down onto his knees, her hand tight
behind his back. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Don’t touch me, creep.”
“Got it.” Bray winced, relieved when she let go of him. He rubbed his sore arm where she'd death-
gripped him. “Who's Eilith?”
She stepped toward the stone door and bent down to examine the keyhole. “Of course, it's made of
dead pixies!”
Bray watched, but he refused to approach her after what she'd done to him. “Dead pixies? As in
fairies?” he asked, walking to the side window. He glanced outside to see the pink sun gradually setting.
“When silver touches pixies, they die. Their remains, in the form of dust, become a weapon that
shields us from using our power. To answer your question earlier, no, pixies are not the same as fairies. It would do you well to learn that, should you ever come across one.”
“This isn’t funny, Lil.”
“I don't joke, and it’s Willow,” she said, correcting him. There was no hint of humor in her voice. “Pixies and fairies do not get along. Come over here,” she commanded him.
“No way.” Bray hesitated. “I'm not falling for that again.”
“Just do it.” Her voice held an urgency to it. “I saw you earlier at the door.” She gestured toward the
lock. “You were able to touch it. You're not from here, which perhaps means your blood is immune to dead pixies.”
“The name's Bray, by the way,” he said as he hesitated before he approached the door. “What do
you want me to do?”
“Bray.” She paused, giving him a putrid look. “Put your palm to the keyhole and I can handle the
rest,” Willow said.
Bray did as instructed and pressed his palm to the lock. He masked his fear behind his eyes.
“Good, you're immune. Now, let's try this.” She moved to rest her hand on his.
“Is it working?”
Heavy footsteps erupted from just outside the chamber.
“Quick!” Willow pulled Bray away from the door. “Get back.” The door swung open and Bray
stumbled backwards.
Bray glanced from Willow to the strange dark-haired woman looming over them in a black lace dress. Her fingernails were dark as night with a strange translucent appearance. Her lips were a deep fiery red, and her eyes held no hint of color or light. Her skin was incredibly pale. Had she ever been outside?
“What's going on?” Bray asked once he’d steadied his heartbeat.
“Silence!” the woman said. She held up her hand, making it impossible for Bray to speak again. He
struggled to breathe. She not only sucked out his voice, but also the air from his lungs. After a moment, she lowered her hand and Bray fell to the stone floor, gasping. He didn't bother to get up again. “Come now. If you wish to live, you'll do as I tell you. Understand?” his tormentor said.
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