The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(A week later)

Scarlett and Emily went dress shopping.

The taller woman’s dark hair was drawn out of her face with a simple clip behind her head; Emily had her golden-blonde hair in a bun.

“I’m glad you got the job,” Emily told the Southerner as they browsed through a antique clothing store. The blonde woman was admiring a blue dress, and looked up at the other woman when she received no reply.

Scarlett was standing there, grinning at her. “So am I,” she said softly.

Emily smiled back, and took the dress off the shelf to hold it up in front of her. “What do you think?” she asked.

The younger woman watched Scarlett admire the garment. Emily could tell the hypnotist was imagining her inside it. The dress itself was lavender above and navy blue below, with long, flowing sleeves.

“You’d look like Cinderella,” Miss Scarlett said.

“Should I get it?” Emily asked hopefully. It’s so nice to be able to go dress shopping with a lover who understands, she thought.

“Definitely,” Scarlett said, smiling. “Have you seen anything that might look right on me?”

Ducking her head, Emily pointed out a Victorian dress of rich blues and purples, with hints of red trim along the sleeves. “How about this?”

The hypnotist looked it over. “Seems a little complex. I like more solid colors.”

“You’d look like Snow White,” Emily suggested with a grin, and Scarlett smiled back at her. After a moment, the blonde woman pulled out a maroon gown with Renaissance sleeves and a sable torso.

Scarlett held it up in front of herself.

“Now who’s the fairest of them all?” Emily asked, and Scarlett, with a blush, kissed the top of the blonde woman’s head. “I do think that would work,” Emily added. “You’d look like an enchantress.”

“Are you sure you’re not biased?” the Southern hypnotist asked, draping the garment over one arm.

“All right, you always look like an enchantress to me,” Emily admitted. “But the dress would look good on you, especially if you did your hair up.” She paused. “And maybe you could enchant me later,” she added shyly.

Scarlett smiled at her as they walked down another aisle. “You do realize there’s nothing magical about hypnosis?” the Southerner said. “There are methods. It’s completely scientific.”

Emily shook her head. “Don’t explain it to me,” she said. “I like thinking of you as magical.”

“Thank you!” Scarlett couldn’t help but grin. She pointed out a black-and crimson dress for Emily, its outfit completed by a white blouse with ruffles.

Emily looked at herself in the mirror, holding up the gown in front of her. “Did I ever tell you what I did last Halloween?”

“I seem to remember something,” Scarlett said suggestively.

Emily smiled up at her, and enjoyed the tingly feeling she always got when Miss Scarlett talked about their hypnotic escapades. “Before that,” Emily said, “Anna and I held a movie marathon. The Witches of Eastwick, Hocus Pocus, and The Craft. I was thinking all about witches—and hoping you would call.”

Scarlett gazed at her. Emily loved seeing her that way, her brown eyes certain, interested, feline.

“And then you made me dream,” Emily said. “I was kinda wondering...”

“Yes?” the Southern belle said softly.

“I remember when you hypnotized me in your show,” the blonde woman said, her tone just above a whisper. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the times we’ve spoken on the phone and you’ve made me dream—those dreams seem so real—but I was wondering. Could we do something like that in real life? Now that you’re really here?”

Miss Scarlett blinked once or twice. Emily loved looking into those deep, shining pools, so dark and inviting.

“Yes,” the beautiful Southerner repeated.

The two women paid for their purchases, then headed back to Emily’s apartment. They talked a little about Scarlett’s plans for her show at the Faire and about Emily taking a few hours off from work to join her there. At they carried their purchases up the staircase, the subject drifted back to hypnosis—and Emily felt her heart beating a little faster.

“Now, just how elaborate would you like this to be?” Scarlett asked as they ascended the staircase.

“As elaborate as you’d like,” Emily said softly. She was already beginning to imagine what the beautiful hypnotist would make her believe, once she was deep under her spell. She would be truly enchanted, with Scarlett’s voice controlling her perceptions, controlling her desires.

“Is there anything you have in mind?” her guest asked in her soothing Southern voice.

Emily nodded. “Something with fairy tales, and magic, I think.” She unlocked the door to her apartment. The two women entered, leaving their bags in the front hall.

The younger woman sat down on the couch. Scarlett sat down facing her, and tossed her dark hair behind her shoulders. “Are you ready?”

Emily nodded.

The two women stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Emily felt butterflies in her stomach, but they faded as she let herself appreciate the beauty of Scarlett’s eyes. They were deep and dark, soft and intense, brown and bewitching.

The hypnotist snapped her fingers, and Emily’s clear blue eyes blinked, then closed. The light gleamed off her golden hair as her head nodded limply onto her chest.

Leaning forward, Scarlett kissed her subject’s earlobe, then began to whisper into her ear.

Grand Duchess Emmalyn loved to ride.

She loved the partnership between horse and rider. She loved how she could relax the reigns, let the animal run free, and know its strength and swiftness could outmatch any enemy.

Not that she’d seen much of their enemies. The Summer Palace was isolated; the hills surrounding the castle were empty for miles, save for wild goats and the occasional mustang. Beyond that were dozens of farms. It was perhaps a hundred leagues to the closest city of any size. And that was the way Emily liked it.

Her parents had been bringing her here since she was four. Although her father the King often had to return to the city on business—and the entire family lived there during winter months—she always spent the beautiful summer days between March and October here at the Summer Palace. There was never any business, never any intrigue; she could even let her hair loose as she rode. It was a wonderful feeling of freedom. Of course, she’d pay the price later trying to get the tangles out. She couldn’t put the servants through what she let happen to herself.

They passed into a wooded area, and Emily let the horse slow to a walk. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed, inhaling the sweet scent of September.

There was a fragrance to the breeze that she didn’t recognize. Curious, she turned the horse towards it. The beast—happy enough to accept Emily’s brief guidance after she’d let it run free for so long—trotted forwards.

Inside the grove, she saw them. There were glorious, shining red fruit hanging from the branches. So that was the source of the aroma! Surprised that she’d never seen such a plant before, she plucked one from the tree. It was a deep crimson, with an oval leaf still attached to the stem. A rough spot below, shaped vaguely like a blossom, indicated clearly which way was down.

Emily held the fruit to her lips and breathed in its sweetness. Her mouth watered slightly; would it be all right to taste? Common sense dictated that she should ask someone, though. It was unwise to just start eating anything one found in the wild.

Curiosity building inside her, she turned the horse back to the Summer Palace.

“I was wondering,” Emily asked the stable-hand who came to attend her horse, “can you tell me what kind of fruit this is?” She produced her discovery from the saddlebag, and held it out.

“GRAND DUCHESS EMMALYN!” the man bellowed, and tackled it. Surprised, Emily dropped the fruit as the stable-hand threw himself over it, clutching it to his breast and rolling around on the floor. “Heavens be praised that you’re all right!” he cried.

Emily put a hand to her breast in shock. “What—what is it?” What could have possibly provoked that reaction, she wondered.

“You’d best be asking your parents about apples, your Grace,” the stable-hand said from the ground. He stood, brushing himself off. “You don’t have any others, do you?”

Emily shook her head. “I found several, but only brought this one.”

“Thank heavens,” the man said again. “Talk to your parents.”

Her mother blanched. “You found an APPLE? And you’re all right?” She seized Emily’s chin with her hand and turned her face this way and that. “Heaven be praised! Where was it?”

Dumbfounded, Emily told the Queen the location of the grove. At her mother’s nod, several servants made a speedy exit.

“She found an APPLE?” came the hoarse voice of her father, entering in uncharacteristic haste. “Thank heavens you’re all right!”

“Father, Mother, I do not understand,” Emily said in a calm tone that did not betray the exasperation she felt inside. “Are these fruits poisonous?”

“To you, yes,” the Queen said. “Emmalyn, promise me you will never touch an apple again!”

“Very well, Mother, I promise,” Emily said. “But how is it poisonous to me but to no one else?”

Her father sat down on one of the sofas. “Come sit by me, Emmalyn, and I will explain. I suppose it is about time you were told, anyway.”

“Told?” Emily echoed as she alighted next to the King.

“I hate to even put my mind back to that awful day,” her mother said.

“It is my fault, really,” her father responded.

“You are not responsible for the actions of others,” the Queen told him.

“As King and Father, I am responsible for the safety of my family,” he insisted.

“Mother, Father, please,” Emily put in.

Her parents exchanged glances. “It was at your Christening ceremony, my child,” her father said. “After you were born, your mother and I discovered we cannot have any more children. According to the law then, there could be no ruling queens, but as I have no other close male relatives, we held a conclave and changed the law to allow you to pass to the throne. Thou art aware that thou shalt follow me, and must be a just and noble queen when I am gone?”

“Of course, Father,” Emily said, bowing her head in acknowledgement. “But all these things have I known from my youth. What happened at my Christening?”

“Viv—Vivian appeared,” her mother said, and covered her face with her hand to hold back tears.

“Whom?”

“My cousin,” the King told her. “She was banished in her early twenties for practicing the Malevolent Arts. She was forbidden to ever return to the kingdom, but—well, we can’t have guards patrolling every inch of the border at all times looking for one person. She claimed—well, she claimed that she had cursed your mother and I, and that was why we can have no more children.”

“We don’t know whether that’s true or not,” the Queen put in.

“I ordered the guards to seize her,” the King said, “but before they reached her she called out another curse. She said that all apples would be poisonous to you. Should you ever taste one, you would die.”

Emily stared at her father. That luscious red fruit with its wonderful smell—poison? Because of a curse from a relative she never knew she had?

“Do not be alarmed, child,” her mother said, taking her hand.

“But—there are magicians living within our nation’s borders,” Emily said. “Surely you could hire some of them to lift the curse?”

“We tried, my dear,” the Queen said. “The magicians could confirm the curse existed, but they could not lift it. Finally, your grandmother came to our aid.”

“Grandmother?” Emily repeated. She remembered the kind matron, rocking her to sleep in a chair when her parents were away.

The King nodded. “My mother, the Dowager Queen, knew aught of the Virtuous Arts,” he explained. “Alas, she could not lift the curse either—but she could modify it. Instead of slaying you, the taste of an apple will send you into a deathlike sleep, from which there is no release.”

“Save by the kiss of a male of royal blood close to your own age,” the Queen said, “and there aren’t any.” She placed a supporting hand over her husband’s.

“In order to lessen the effects of the spell,” Emily’s father finished, “your relatives had to agree to share the burden. So, your grandmother, your mother and I all chose to take part of the curse upon ourselves as well. Should you eat an apple and fall into a coma, your mother and I shall as well—as would your grandmother, heaven rest her, were she still with us.”

“So your father gave orders that all apple trees for a hundred leagues’ distance be replanted elsewhere if possible, and if not, chopped down,” her mother said. “Obviously we missed some. And within a stone’s throw of the palace, too!”

“Mother, Father!” Emily exclaimed. “Fear not! I shall avoid apples like the plague. Though I do wish you had told me of this earlier! Now that I know, I shall never touch one again.” What would it have been like, she wondered, if she’d had a taste of that sweet-smelling fruit? One swallow, and she would have fallen into a dark, accursed sleep from which there would be no waking.

“Thank you, my daughter,” said the King. “Thank you for your caution—and for your forgiveness.”

Her body clad in a white nightgown, her hair braided, Emily went to sleep that night... and dreamed.

Her first sight was a glass sphere. It must be a sculpture, the Grand Duchess reasoned, for within the orb were gray clouds. What amazing artwork! What skilled hand had cut the glass?

Then the clouds moved.

She stifled a gasp as she saw the scene within the globe shift. When the images took on a familiar setting, she felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her body and through the floor. For the image was of the grove.

The apples—both ripe and young—were torn off the branches by frenzied groundkeepers. The smaller apple trees were dug up and carted away, the larger hewn down.

The sphere was not alone; it sat on a wooden table. Beside it, a shadow moved... a shadow of long hair. Dark gray curls swished back—and a fist slammed down on the table.

Emily woke with a gasp.

In October, the royal family removed to the Winter Palace. There was a marvelous late summer that year, and due to the warmth, Emily received permission to return to the summer residence for one weekend in mid-November. That Saturday was bright and clear—she did not even need a jacket when she rode out in the morning.

All that changed come afternoon. A biting cold wind sprung up, and Emily turned her horse towards home.

The snow hit hard, and after a few minutes trying to ride through it, the Grand Duchess knew she would not make it back to the palace. She wasn’t dressed for it, and was soon soaked through.

Fortunately, there was a hunting cabin with a small stable within a few miles. Emily rode for it, hoping she’d make it before turning into an icicle.

Her horse secure, Emily changed into the plain servants’ clothes left in the cabin. They were several sizes too large, but they were certainly better than her wet things, which she draped over a sawhorse. She cleared the rakes and hoes away from the hearth, and started to prepare a fire.

There was a knock on the door.

Surprised, for she could not imagine who could be calling at the hunting cabin at this hour, Emily opened the door.

The visitor was an old woman! Shocked by the stranger’s appearance and the cold, Emily stood there, gaping.

“My lady,” the woman gasped, “show mercy?”

This woke the Grand Duchess out of her reverie, and she helped the woman inside. Both pressed their backs to the heavy door, and pushed it closed against the wind.

“Thank you, my lady,” the woman said, brushing snow feebly off her long black cloak. “I’m sorry to intrude—really I am—but the snow—and I have so far to walk home!”

“Think nothing of it,” Emily said, guiding the woman over to the fire. “I fear we’re stuck here until the storm lets up, but we have fire and shelter.” The Duchess smiled in embarrassment as her stomach growled.

“But no food?” the woman said perceptively. With a sardonic smile, she took off the cloak and laid it out on the floor. Placing her canvas bag down, she brushed her hair out of her face and smiled at Emily.

Emily looked into the old face and smiled. The visitor was old, but not gnarled. She could tell that she was her parents’ age, or older; yet keen gray eyes shone from her face. She had long, curly black hair that seemed a bit too dark for her skin. She wore brown pants—how odd!—and a dark gray blouse.

“I’m afraid not,” the Grand Duchess said.

“Well, maybe I can help,” the woman said. “I WAS on my way home from market.” Her mouth twisted into an odd smile. “It’s not much, but I can certainly share it in return for your hospitality.”

Emily looked at the woman, then reminded to drop her gaze before it became rude. There was something about that smile. It wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but it did have an air of... wrongness, somehow. The Grand Duchess wouldn’t turn the poor creature out in the cold again—but she would be on her guard. What was the visitor hiding?

The woman produced a bunch of bananas from her bag, along with a few small round fruit that Emily had never seen before. With a smile, she took the bananas from the old woman and look them over happily.

“Wherever did you find these?” she asked. “Bananas have to be imported, you know—it’s hard to get them unspoiled.”

The old woman nodded. “The trader said these were his last batch of the season. I fear they may have spots, though.”

“We can eat around them,” Emily said. “What is that?” she added, placing the bananas next to the yellow globe.

“That’s a golden-ginger,” the woman said.

“I’m not familiar with those,” the blonde woman said wonderingly. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I have not asked for your name!”

The two women sat down, cross-legged, before the roaring fire. “Bibi at your service,” the woman said.

“Emily at yours and your family’s,” the Grand Duchess said. She chose to give her informal name, and decided not to reveal her title for now. The old woman seemed friendly enough, but there was something about her smile she didn’t like. On the other hand, she had to give the woman a chance, and not prejudge.

“So what is a golden-ginger?” Emily said, picking one up. Its texture was hard, yet she could easily imagine her teeth sinking into its tender interior and tasting its juices. Its smell was sweet, reminding her of autumn. “It doesn’t bear much resemblance to ginger-roots.”

“You’re correct—it’s not related,” Bibi said. “It’s named after the woman who discovered it. The variety is not native to our lands. I believe they were not imported until recently.”

“It’s beautiful,” Emily said, turning it around before her eyes. She could imagine a whole tree of them. The fruit would glimmer on its leafy branches under an orange sunset.

There I go again, the blonde woman thought. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet tangy scent. “I hope they’re not related to apples.”

“How’s that?” Bibi asked.

“I’m allergic to apples,” the Grand Duchess said, her eyes still closed.

“Might be distantly related,” Bibi said softly. “But I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

With a sigh, Emily put the golden-ginger down. “Thank you, Bibi,” she said. “But I’d better not.”

Bibi shrugged and scooted herself closer on the hearth to the flames. “I am most fortunate to meet someone tonight,” she said. “I feared I’d freeze to death! How do you come to be here, Emily?”

“My family owns lands near here,” the blonde woman said honestly enough. It was the truth, if not the whole truth—she didn’t need to volunteer more information to a total stranger. “I was caught in the storm and found shelter. Fortunately, all the makings of a fire were here. It was a simple task to build it, thank heavens.”

Bibi nodded, and stretched her toes towards the flames. “I thought I’d never be warm again.”

“I am glad that I was here in your time of need,” Emily said.

Bibi smiled at her. “It’s so comfortable and relaxing here by the firelight,” the old woman said. “The fire is so warm, keeping us safe from the snow.”

Emily nodded. “Yes, it is.”

The woman picked up one of the golden-gingers and held it in her hand before the firelight. “These are the most beautiful fruit,” she said softly. “They are nature’s works of art. I love the gentle yellow color of their skin, how they shine in the light, how the light reflects off them.” She turned the fruit in her hand. “I love how the firelight shines off it.”

Emily looked at the fruit in the old woman’s hand. She was right. Its skin was reflecting the firelight, and it seemed to glow.

“The light dances on the fruit,” Bibi said soothingly. “It reflects the flickering flame, shining, shining.” She rotated the golden-ginger with her fingers. “The light dances, flickers... you can see the oranges and reds reflected on the gold of the skin... it’s so easy to look at the patterns, so easy to gaze at them. It’s very relaxing. It’s so safe and calm here before the fireplace, watching the light of the fire dance on the golden-ginger... so relaxing, so calm.”

Emily stared at the fruit as it rotated slowly in Bibi’s hand. Her fingers were long; her nails were painted amber, and her skin showed the first hints of age.

“I often wonder how soothsayers tell the future,” the old woman said gently. “I understand some of them stare into pools of water, watching the sunlight reflect upon them. Can you imagine it? Can you see the ripples of water? Can you see the fortune-tellers seeing the future in those ripples? Don’t you think it would be easy to tell the future as the light reflects off the skin of the golden-ginger?”

Could I tell the future? Emily pondered.

“I wonder what it’s like?” came Bibi’s voice. “Do the soothsayers let themselves be fascinated by the light? Do they focus on it so completely that they pay attention to nothing else? Do they relax into the feeling? Can they tell the future when the light shines off the fruit’s golden skin? Maybe anyone can, maybe the state of mind for seeing the future is something anyone can do.”

Anyone? Emily thought.

“Can you imagine yourself doing that, Emily?” Bibi asked. “Can you imagine becoming so focused and so relaxed that you enter a calm, tranquil state where your mind is open, completely open? Imagine yourself now, staring at the golden-ginger, seeing the light reflected, the warm light from the fire, where you’re warm and safe... imagine yourself becoming so focused, so intense...”

Focused, Emily thought. Relaxed.

“And the more you watch, the more focused and relaxed you become,” the old woman said. Her voice was lulling, almost a chant. “Focused and relaxed, focused and relaxed. And now you are so relaxed that your eyes are starting to close, because your eyelids are getting so heavy. Heavy from the warmth of the fire, heavy from watching the light on the golden-ginger, watching it turn. Your eyelids are drooping, Emily... it happens so easily and naturally that you want to focus completely, it’s almost like you can’t stop it from happening.”

Emily’s clear blue eyes began to blink.

“Focusing completely,” Bibi said, turning the fruit with her fingers. “Completely focused now, completely relaxed now... and now you can’t keep your eyes open. Your eyelids are too heavy to keep open... you’re falling deeper and deeper. It’s almost like you’re falling asleep. It’s that easy, it just happens naturally. Your eyes are closing, it’s too hard to keep them open, you can’t keep them open. The more you try to keep them open, the heavier they become.”

Something was strange about that, odd. Emily tried to force her eyes to stop blinking, to stay open, but she only found herself closing them.

“There, that’s right, that’s good, so focused and relaxed, your eyes are closed now, closed tight, and you are drifting off into a trance... into a trance... that’s right, that’s good... so easy.”

With a smile, Bibi put the golden-ginger down on the hearth. The Grand Duchess Emmalyn sat before her, eyes closed.

With a sigh, the old woman stood up, and a muscle creaked. She muttered impatiently, and shivered. It was so cold!

Scowling, she went to the cabin’s door and inched it open. Peering out, she saw the snowfall was unabated. Careful not to let in a draft—she couldn’t be waking up Emily now, could she?—Bibi shouted a few words into the snow.

There was no noticeable effect. Perhaps a real storm had showed up, invoked by her magical weather-enhancements? Oh well, it would dissipate eventually. Down to business.

Bibi sat down at the hearth again, where Emily still sat with her eyes shut, deep in a trance. The old woman smiled.

“You are in a trance now, Emily,” Bibi said. “Your mind is completely relaxed and open. You will listen to my voice, and trust me completely.

“In a moment I am going to count to three, and when I do, you will open your eyes, and have no idea that you just slipped into a trance. You will forget everything, and have no memory of your eyes closing. When you open your eyes, you will be intoxicated by the smell of the golden-ginger. You love its smell. You cannot stop yourself from admiring the aroma, and you cannot stop yourself from taking a bite. You will revel in its taste, the juices... you will chew, and swallow.” Bibi picked up the golden-ginger again. “One, remembering nothing, two, you are feeling very hungry, three, opening your eyes.”

Emily’s crystal-blue eyes popped open. Smiling as the old woman offered her the fruit, she took it in her hand, cradling it. Its skin was so smooth; its aroma somehow both sweet and tart. She held it under her nose, breathing in its fragrance.

“I think I may have a bite after all,” the blonde woman said softly. Her teeth slid into the fruit. It was both juicy and crunchy, and a bite easily came away. Bibi was smiling; the Grand Duchess smiled back at her and tilted her head as she chewed. She swallowed delicately, brought the fruit up to her lips for another bite...

And Emily’s blue eyes rolled back into her head. She collapsed, limp, onto the hearth.

“Finally, after twenty years,” Bibi said to no one in particular. She ran a hand through her curly dark hair, ruffling it. The unconscious Grand Duchess could not see it, but the glamour-spell fell away, along with the artificial dark coloring. Multiple strands of gray appeared in the old woman’s dark curls, no longer hidden.

A few minutes later she peered out the door. She’d overdone her spell—the snow showed no sign of abating. Oh well, Bibi thought, she’d waited this long, she could wait a day longer. Once the storm let up, she’d head straight to the Summer Palace, the only conscious member of the royal family. She could send Huntsmen to retrieve Emily’s body later.

Emily dreamed.

She floated through the kingdom like a ghost. Through the farms, through the villages, through the cities, people cried out. Peasants, merchants, boyars, all chafing under taxes. Pigs were seized when serfs could not pay; nobles saw family heirlooms confiscated; salesmen took their business elsewhere. Wealth poured into the royal palaces, and the land began to wither.

Were these things real, or imagined? She couldn’t tell. She tried to make contact with the people she saw, but those who did notice her generally stared in shock for a moment, then vanished into thin air.

In her dreams, she could fly, walk underwater, or appear at opposite ends of the kingdom within moments. But whatever freedom Emily might have enjoyed from her dreaming was all spoiled by the suffering she saw. Out of nowhere she saw Huntsmen—ruffians skilled in the axe and bow—enforce the new taxes with leaded whips. She could not wake up, and she could do nothing,

Until the girl in the convent noticed her.

Emily had taken to visiting the convent just over the border from time to time. Although it was drab, with little art—the icons were painted, not lacquered—there were some girls her own age. They didn’t go out, but they probably didn’t want to. Instead, they studied, and prayed.

Tiptoeing through the corridors at night, Emily had been surprised to find another girl doing the same thing. The girl was wearing a gray dressing gown and slippers, her dark hair in a braid. She’d been returning to her cell with a glass of water—when their eyes met.

At first Emily didn’t think anything of it. The girl was staring at her with an unusual inquisitiveness, but that wasn’t so unusual. The blonde woman smiled at her.

With a pop, the girl vanished, water and all.

With a sigh, the Grand Duchess continued floating through the convent... And then she saw the girl again, ten minutes later.

The brown-haired girl padded towards her in her slippers. Emily smiled at her again, and the girl smiled back. That was something—this was the best contact Emily had experienced with another person in what seemed like weeks! Emily extended her hand. The girl reached for it—

And pop, she was gone.

Emily didn’t know whether it had been hours or days since she had visited the convent, but she felt curious, and had returned. She found the nuns disciplining many girls, often harshly; they had no new-fangled ideas about sparing the child. I’ll have to make a formal protest to the government of this country, Emily thought at first—then, glumly, accepted that there was nothing she could do. She was in a dream.

The Grand Duchess wandered from classroom to classroom—when she ran across the brown-haired girl again.

She was bent over a desk with the rest of her classmates, studying. Emily peered over her shoulder, and read the text on the page.

A SPELL TO MAKE ONE’S HAIR GROW TO THE BOTTOM OF A TOWER, the page read. The ingredients called for included a pigeon’s feather, a bean, and a bit of string.

Emily looked around the classroom with renewed interest. The girls at the convent were learning magic!

And woe to those who learned slowly, she thought, as one of the nuns dragged a girl at random to the front of the class. When the girl failed to perform the spell properly, the nun raised the ruler and slapped her wrists unmercifully.

That evening, Emily followed the brown-haired girl back to her cell. She saw the girl look at her assignments, and then toss the book aside in favor of another. The Grand Duchess stole a glimpse of the title.

SPELLS FOR LUCID DREAMING.

Lucid? Emily wondered. Was the book written by a nun named Lucy?

Emily had no way of knowing how time passed. She’d look at clocks, and as often as not they had stopped. Even when they still ticked, no two she saw ever seemed to agree.

But after seeing the anguish brought about by the tax collectors who stole, and the Huntsmen who punished, she tried to find a place of solace. Her attempts to return to the palaces in her dreams always ended in failure. Eventually, she found herself wandering back to the convent.

It must be late at night, the Grand Duchess reasoned. Most of the nuns and students were asleep, and few candles burned. Emily went to visit the brown-haired girl—and saw a most perplexing sight.

The girl was sitting on her bed, clad in a nightgown, her hair braided—and another girl was sleeping in it. The two could have been twins. Did the girl have a sister?

The brown-haired girl looked at Emily, and her jaw dropped. She tried to speak, but no words came. Emily found herself running forward, arms outstretched—and she touched the girl’s arm.

It was the oddest sensation. Emily hadn’t even thought of how she had been travelling—her bare feet had always seemed to touch the floor, but she suddenly realized the ground had never been hot or cold, rough or smooth. But this girl’s body was real.

Emily almost burst into tears, she was so happy to touch someone. I’m starving for human contact, she realized.

“Hiya!” the brown-haired girl said—and started to fade away. Her twin sister in the bed stretched.

“No!” Emily cried. She thought her heart would break. What had fate condemned her to?

Incredibly, the girl stood on one foot and spun around. To the blonde woman’s bewilderment, her edges grew solid again, and after a few seconds she was no longer transparent.

“Are you real?” the brown-haired girl asked. “Are you a ghost? Or am I just imagining you?”

“I’m real!” Emily said. “You can hear me?”

Wide-eyed, the other girl nodded. The Grand Duchess could not help herself, and threw her arms around the girl. The brunette responded in kind, and hugged the blonde woman back.

“Oh, please heaven, I hope I’m not imagining all this,” the other girl said. “I thought I saw you, and I’ve been trying to find a way of talking to you.”

“You’re the first person who ever has!” Emily exclaimed. “I’m so glad to talk to you! What’s your name?”

The brown-haired girl blushed. “Rose Red,” she said softly.

“Emily,” the blonde woman said, and extended her hand. To her surprise, Rose kissed it—and Emily blushed slightly, realizing she’d extended it for a kiss instead of a shake. Well, she supposed offering her hand for a kiss was the proper thing to do, given her rank. But under the circumstances, she’d thought of them as equals, two women seeking the same goal: communication.

After a moment, the two stepped apart.

“Are you a ghost?” Rose asked.

“I—I don’t think so,” Emily said. She supposed it was a reasonable question, but she certainly felt alive.

“An angel?” the brown-haired girl suggested.

Emily looked down at herself, and smiled. It was the first time in heaven knew how long that she’d smiled. I suppose I do look a bit like an angel, she thought. She was barefoot in a loose white gown, and her long blonde hair fell loosely down her back. “No,” she said softly.

“Then you’re dreaming too!” the brunette girl said.

“I guess I am,” Emily replied. “But this has been going on for so long—I don’t know how long, but I’ve been alone, with no one to talk to—it seems like years, but it could be weeks or months.”

Rose’s eyes widened. They’re a wonderful deep color, Emily thought—dark as chocolate but clear as cider. “When was the last time you were awake?” the brown-haired girl asked.

“I don’t know,” Emily confessed. “It was November—there was a snowstorm—that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Well, it’s September now,” Rose said thoughtfully. “I don’t understand. How can you be asleep and not be able to wake up?”

Is that what’s going on? Emily wondered.

“A trance couldn’t do that,” Rose continued, thinking out loud. “An open ended trance session concludes automatically when your body’s fully rested, the same way one wakes from sleep.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, Emily—I don’t know what’s happened to you. I’ll have to do more research.”

“Don’t worry,” Emily said. “I’m just so glad to have someone to talk to! Please, Rose Red—tell me about yourself! Is that your sister?” She indicated the woman sleeping on the bed.

Rose laughed. “No, that’s my body,” she said. “Usually when dreaming all the action takes place inside your head, so you don’t leave your body. Rarely—very, very rarely, only a very few people can do this—rarely, your spirit leaves your body in an out-of-body experience. I guess that’s what you’re doing too!”

“But how can I?” Emily asked. “I’ve never heard of that before! I’ve never had this kind of dream before, not in my whole life.”

Rose looked pensive. “Well, if you’ve been asleep a long time, you must have figured it out on your own. I mean, what else have you been doing?”

The Grand Duchess nodded slowly. “I guess so. How is it you can talk to me?”

Rose’s face went pink, and she looked away shyly. “I’ve had out-of-body dreams before,” she confessed, “but I’ve never tried to control them. Then I saw you, and so I learned the techniques.” She indicated the Lucid Dreaming book on her desk.

“Thank you, Rose Red!” Emily said, and the brown-haired girl smiled back at her.

“Tell me about yourself?” Rose asked.

Emily smiled, and although she felt a bit self-conscious, she began.

She didn’t tell Rose everything—she didn’t mention that she was royalty, for instance—but explained how her parents were rich landowners, and gave the name of her home country. She explained how she was being groomed to take over the family business, but she loved to sneak away for an afternoon ride.

Finally, she explained about the freak snowstorm in early November and how she and an old woman had taken shelter in a hunting cabin. She explained how they’d talked in front of the fire, how she’d somehow fallen asleep... and that was the last time she’d truly touched anyone before tonight.

At the mention of the storm, Rose had gone white, and had spun around a few times to prevent herself from waking up.

“What is it, Rose?” the blonde woman inquired.

“We’re pretty cloistered here in the convent,” the brown-haired girl said. “But I heard about a wild snowstorm that shut down everything for almost a week.”

“Why are you troubled?” Emily asked. She sat down on the bed beside her friend and took her hand.

“That was three years ago,” Rose said quietly.

“Three years?” Emily said, dumbfounded.

Rose Red nodded, and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Are you sure you’re not a ghost? I don’t know how anyone could sleep for three years. A normal person can’t go without water for more than three days.”

“I don’t think I’m a ghost,” the Grand Duchess confessed. “I’ve never seen any other ghosts, and I don’t remember anything bad happening to me.”

Rose shook her head. “Then your body must be sustained by magic,” she said, and saw the blonde woman grow pale. “I’m sorry, Emily—I don’t mean to frighten you!”

“That’s all right! I can hardly get worse, can I?” the blonde woman admitted.

Rose put her arm around Emily, who leaned into the hug.

“Your family must have powerful enemies, then, to go to such elaborate lengths,” the brown-haired girl said.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Emily said slowly.

“I will look up those kinds of spells in the morning,” Rose Red promised. “Many of them are forbidden, but maybe I’ll find something to help you. Can you tell me anything else about the last night you remember?”

Emily nodded. “The visitor and I were sitting before the fireplace. She started talking to me about all these strange things... I lost track of time... then I fell asleep, I guess.”

Rose looked at her oddly. “What kinds of strange things?”

The Grand Duchess shrugged. “I don’t remember, it was a long time ago. Um... let me see... she talked about fortune tellers, and how they focus... and how their visions are powerful, but they have to surrender to them.”

Rose’s brown eyes grew wide. “Emily, I think you went into a trance!”

“A what?”

“A trance,” Rose explained. “It’s a state of focused concentration. It’s not magic, but it can seem like magic to someone who hasn’t seen it before. It’s like falling asleep, but the dream-mind stays awake, and the person in trance can become very suggestible.”

Suggestible? Emily thought. That doesn’t sound pleasant, having someone messing with your head! Well, maybe if it were a sweet girl like Rose...

A clatter of bells rang off in the distance. To the blonde woman’s surprise, Rose’s sleeping twin stretched, and her friend became insubstantial.

“I’m sorry!” the brown-haired girl exclaimed. “It’s almost time to rise—will you come again tomorrow night?”

“Yes!” Emily promised. She reached for her friend—who vanished into thin air.

Before the Grand Duchess’ eyes, the version of Rose in the bed opened her eyes, rolled over, and sat up. Emily waved to her frantically, but although Rose gazed about the room, she did not see her.

Emily visited Rose Red often, and soon the two women found themselves spending most of their sleeping hours in conversation. Without mentioning any names, Emily told Rose about her parents, about how they were responsible for so many people. The Grand Duchess explained how she’d been tutored, in politics and economics. She spent hours talking about how she loved nature and riding, plants and animals.

Rose Red told Emily how she had been sent to the convent to learn magic. Her mother had always looked after her, making sure she was fed and clothed, but she wasn’t particularly kind. Her mother’s interest in Rose’s life extended to making sure she was doing well on her studies—and that was it. She’d been sent to the convent when she was still in her single digits. Although she’d often been told she was magically gifted, she wasn’t the valedictorian—which caused her mother no end of disappointment. Her mother’s few letters always insisted that her daughter wasn’t receiving high enough marks.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be able to tell you these things,” Rose said one night, and took both of Emily’s hands in her own. “I feel so disloyal criticizing my mother this way!”

Emily hugged her. “My parents told me I always have to be good, and always have to do my best,” she said. “But they’ve never been disappointed with me when I’m not the best at everything.”

Rose lay her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I wish my mother could love me just because I’m her daughter.”

Emily was surprised to see suitcases in Rose’s bedroom one evening.

“The holidays start tomorrow,” her friend explained. “I’m going home for a week!”

That explains all the snow, Emily thought. “Will I be able to visit you?”

“Of course!” Rose Red told her. “I don’t think it will be difficult finding me when I’m travelling—just picture me in your head, concentrate on my personality.”

The two women hugged.

It seemed a long time before Emily saw Rose again. She did as her friend had suggested, focusing on her image in her mind—but she could not find her. She returned to the convent, traced the roads across the border—and found nothing.

And then one night she felt a peculiar pulling sensation, like she was being dragged feet-first across the surface of a lake. To her shock, Emily found herself in the Winter Palace—a location she had never been able to visit since she first entered the bizarre dream-world. Standing before her was Rose Red.

Her friend was wearing a white bathrobe, and her hair was uncharacteristically loose. Emily was struck anew by her friend’s elegant beauty as she gazed at Rose’s high cheekbones and long, wavy brown-black tresses. Why haven’t I noticed before, Emily wondered. Rose really is good-looking!

She looked around. It was already past nightfall, but Rose’s bedroom was illuminated by dozens of candles. There is more light in here than we usually have in the convent, Emily realized—and Rose’s robe is more feminine than her usual gray unisex pajamas.

Rose was standing at a desk, reading a large, brown book. Emily tried to hug her friend, but Rose didn’t seem to see her. She’s awake, the Grand Duchess realized. Emily turned to see what her friend was looking at, and the words almost seemed to jump off the page at her.

A SPELL TO SUMMON A FRIEND.

Scowling, Rose walked around the bedroom, blowing out the candles—then lay down on her bed. She spoke some more words in a language Emily didn’t recognize.

To the Grand Duchess’ amazement, Rose Red promptly fell asleep—and her dream-body sat up, leaving her real body breathing gently on the bed.

Rose’s eyes fixed on the blonde woman. “Emily!” she cried, and ran forward. The two embraced.

“I’ve missed you!” the dark-haired woman exclaimed.

“I’ve missed you too!” Emily replied. “I couldn’t find you!”

“I know,” Rose nodded. “There must have been some magic—even when I left the palace I couldn’t seem to contact you. I cast this spell—”

“Yes, I saw.”

“Good!” Rose said. “I’m so glad you’re here! My mother’s been so cold. You’d never know it was the holidays. Listen, I need your help.”

“Why is that?” the Grand Duchess asked.

“My mother has some rooms sealed off in her apartments,” Rose said. “I want to know what’s inside, but no one will tell me, and my mother’s forbidden me to speak of it. I think there must be some danger, but no one trusts me. How can I protect against a danger I don’t know about?”

Emily nodded. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can,” she said. “But what can I do?”

Rose took her hand. “I can’t break the seals with magic, or my mother would know,” she explained. “I haven’t been able to get through by leaving my body, either—but I think we might be able to manage it together. Two could succeed where one fails.”

“Of course I’ll help!” Emily said. “When do we start?”

“How about now?” Rose asked, and the blonde woman nodded.

Holding hands, the two dreaming girls set off through the Winter Palace’s too-familiar corridors. Emily noticed things had changed subtly. Many of her parents’ paintings—done in warm, summer colors—had been replaced by tapestries in gray, or other drab, dark hues.

In a moment, the girls reached the royal apartments, and stole through the King’s chambers. Emily noticed at once that the doors through to the Queen’s rooms had been hidden by tapestries. Behind them, the doors had been painted over. Exchanging glances, Rose and Emily stepped forward—and hit an invisible boundary.

Although it could not be seen, touching it felt like touching molasses—a pool of thick, sticky liquid. Faces set in grim determination, the two girls pushed—

And they were through.

The windows had been boarded up, and no light came in. Undaunted, Rose whispered a few words, and a blue ball of light appeared over their heads.

Both girls gasped, and dropped their hands. All the furniture had been removed. In the center of the room lay three glass coffins.

As Rose moved past her to investigate the farther coffin, Emily looked in the two nearer ones. The sight made her sick to her stomach, and she thought she would faint. Within the two transparent sarcophagi lay her parents.

Rose screamed.

Emily rushed over to hug her, but she never made it. The sight of the third coffin made her feel giddy. For the first time since she’d entered the bizarre dream world, Emily lost her balance and fell to her knees.

She was horrified, but raised her head to look again at the occupant of the third glass coffin. Terror gripped her bones. She felt a deathly chill course through her hands, her feet, and her neck, but she could not look away.

Emily was staring at her own body.

“You—you’re the Grand Duchess Emmalyn?” Rose started. Her voice was almost a shriek.

Emily nodded. Her stomach hurt, and she pressed a hand to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rose demanded.

“I—I didn’t know what had happened to me,” Emily confessed. “I didn’t want to put you in any danger. You’re the only one who’s been able to see me. You’re the only friend I have.”

Rose nodded. “We must go to my mother,” she said. “She has been working on a way to free you for three years—although what your body is doing here, and not in her laboratory—I don’t understand.”

“Free me?” Emily asked. This was news to her.

Rose nodded frantically. “Oh heavens, I had no idea—maybe that’s why she hasn’t been able to wake you up, because your spirit hasn’t been able to return to your body for some reason. I don’t know.”

“How is it your mother is trying to free me?” Emily looked from Rose to her own unconscious body, then back again. “Is she a magician?”

“Yeah, sort of,” Rose said, putting her hand to her mouth. “She’s regent—a cousin of the king—oh heavens, oh heavens.”

“What is it?” Emily said. Something odd was going on—although what could be more disturbing than encountering her own body?

“We’re cousins,” Rose said. “You’re my—my third cousin. Heaven save us. And the way I was thinking about you—oh my.”

Emily tried to look at Rose Red in a different light, but couldn’t. She was her only friend. “Rose, are you telling me that your mother is—what is her name—Vivian, the practitioner of the Malevolent Arts?”

“Malevolent Arts?” Rose echoed. “But those are forbidden!” The brown haired girl sat down abruptly on the floor.

Emily took her hand. “Rose, my parents told me that Vivian cursed us when I was a baby, that if I ever ate an apple we would all fall into a dead sleep.”

Rose shook her head frantically. “No, that can’t be. When you and your parents fell comatose three years ago, my mother came to help you, to try to find a cure.”

Emily stared at Rose. “And who’s been in charge of the realm while my parents have slept?”

“Oh, oh no,” Rose stammered, and covered her mouth with her hand. “No, that can’t be! My mother’s cold, but she’s not a liar. Emily, dearest, maybe it was something else. Have you ever eaten an apple?”

Emily shook her head. “Never.”

“Well, then maybe my mother really is trying to cure you, maybe she didn’t do this. Heavens, I hope, please... Emily, we have to figure out exactly what happened. Can you tell me anything more about the last night you remember?”

Emily tried to concentrate. “The snowstorm, the stables, the cabin, the visitor... I’ve told you all I can remember.”

“If there was only something I could do to refresh your memory,” Rose said, looking from the glass coffins to Emily and back again. “You might have forgotten, if you fell into a trance. But I can’t do that if you’re already in a dream... you have to be awake.”

Emily had a curious sensation in the back of her mind. She imagined herself and Rose sitting, facing each other, staring into each other’s eyes. Rose would speak the magic words and Emily would slip into a trance. She would be asleep, with Rose’s soft voice inside her head. She would be aware only of Rose’s words... she would control her dreams... she would be her whole world.

“We could try,” Emily whispered.

Rose shook her head decisively. “We can’t take the chance. You’re having an out-of-body dream, your consciousness awake while your body is asleep. If you go into a trance, from my perspective you’ll just vanish. It could take hours for you to wake up again.”

“Do we—do we have to discuss this here?” Emily asked.

Rose shook her head. The two women stood up and floated back to Rose’s bedroom, holding hands.

“What are we going to do?” the Grand Duchess whispered.

They sat down on her bed. “Tell me everything,” Rose said. “Tell me about the visitor, everything about the conversation you can recall.”

“It was three years ago,” Emily said.

Rose drew Emily into her arms. The blonde woman relaxed into the brunette’s body, her back to Rose’s chest.

“What did she look like?”

“My parents’ age,” Emily said readily, closing her eyes. “Curly black hair.”

“Thank heavens, it wasn’t my mother,” Rose said. “She has gray hair, has had it as long as I remember. What is the first thing she said?”

“She was on the way back from the market,” Emily said.

“What had she been shopping for?” Rose asked. Her voice was kind and comforting, close to Emily’s ear.

“Fruit,” the Grand Duchess said. “She had bananas, and a golden sphere I didn’t recognize.”

“Do you remember what it was called?”

Emily nodded dreamily. “A golden-ginger.”

At the dark-haired girl’s silence, Emily turned her head to look up at her. “What is it?”

Rose’s face was horrified. “Emily, a golden-ginger is a kind of apple.”

The Grand Duchess felt her stomach fall out from under her. So her instincts had been right—it had been the old woman’s intention to poison her all along.

“My mother used to say that ignorance would protect me,” Rose said glumly. “I guess she was wrong about that too.”

“I thought apples were red!” Emily said.

“Most are,” Rose sighed. “The golden-ginger is a rare kind with gold skin. They’re difficult to find—you have to import them from the New World.”

Emily grimaced. “To think that someone would go to all that trouble just to hurt me!”

Rose caressed the Grand Duchess’ golden hair. “People can do awful things. I’ll get you out of this somehow, dearest. I promise. What happened then?”

“She started talking about imagining, and relaxing, and being open,” Emily said. “That’s all I remember.”

Rose shook her head. “You must have gone into a trance—and the woman fed you the apple when you were asleep.” She sighed. “How are we going to break the curse? My mother has worked on it for three years—surely I won’t be able to.”

“Assuming she hasn’t been too busy ruining the realm to spend time on magic,” Emily said. With a heavy heart, she described the tax collectors she’d seen ravaging the land of all wealth, and the Huntsmen who punished anyone who tried to stand up to them.

Rose nodded sadly. “One thing about my mother, she’s selfish. I don’t think she’s responsible for all of what you say, but I don’t know that she cares enough to stop it. How can we break the curse?”

“My parents told me that it could only be broken by a kiss by a male of royal blood my own age,” Emily said.

“And there aren’t any,” Rose confirmed after a moment’s thought. “But... maybe I could modify it.” She looked at Emily. “I’m going to have to wake up for this, but I think there’s a book I can check. I won’t be able to see you, but you should be able to see me.”

Emily nodded. “I can.”

“Stay with me, then? I can talk to you, at least.”

Rose lay down on the bed, and the Grand Duchess blinked a few times, seeing the brown-haired girl’s dream-body superimposed over her physical form. Rose spoke a few syllables, and her dream-form vanished.

Rose’s body opened her eyes, and looked around. Emily waved—but as she expected, her friend didn’t see. Lighting a candle and sliding her feet into slippers, Rose tiptoed out of her bedroom.

Emily followed Rose Red into the library. After poking around for a few minutes, the brown-haired girl dragged a ladder over, and climbed it to one of the top shelves. Pulling out a dusty brown book, she carried it down, placed it on a desk, and put the candle next to it. Looking over Rose’s shoulder, the disembodied blonde woman read: FAERIE CURSES.

The brown-haired girl consulted the contents, then the index. Finally she discovered the chapter she sought: THE ODIOUS SPINNING-WHEEL, AND VARIANTS.

“Found it,” Rose whispered. Emily put her semi-transparent hand over her friend’s, but she didn’t react.

“To modify it,” the young magician said, “I’ll need a lily.”

Rose copied the spell onto her own parchment, and then ordered a bouquet of lilies from the palace’s florist. The next evening, she and Emily discussed strategy in their dreams.

“I don’t see why my mother didn’t think of this before,” Rose said.

“Maybe she did, but she didn’t want to give up ruling,” Emily replied gently.

“I don’t want to believe that,” the brown-haired woman sighed, “but I can see her doing that.”

“Can you get through the barrier in your body?” Emily asked.

Rose shrugged. “I think it’ll be the same as in our dream-bodies—we can do it if we go together—but I’m sure the field will set off an alarm if something physical breaches it.”

“We’ll have to wait to cast this spell until your mother’s out of town, just to be safe,” Emily said.

Rose nodded.

That day came a week later. The Regent left that morning, and at the noon bell, Rose carried the lilies to the unused Queen’s apartments. She took an axe to the locks, and soon had them demolished—but she could not break the magic barrier. Emily joined her, and pushed—

And again, they were through.

“Thanks, Emily,” Rose said. Emily hugged her friend, even though Rose couldn’t see, hear, or feel her.

Rose hurried into the room, and produced a piece of chalk from her dress. She inscribed a strange symbol upon the creepy glass coffin holding Emily’s body—it looked like a figure eight with two plus-symbols attached at ninety-degree angles—and then placed the lilies on top. The young magician whispered some words Emily did not understand, then lit the lilies on fire.

Rose paced around the room impatiently until the petals were completely consumed, then threw a blanket over the coffin to extinguish the flames. As Emily stood beside her, watching, Rose pushed the blanket away and opened the coffin.

Emily’s body lay there, hands folded over her chest. Her eyes were closed; her body looked perfect and serene, as if naught were amiss. The non-corporeal Emily watched as Rose took a deep breath, and kissed her body on the lips.

With no apparent transition, Emily found herself lying in the coffin, opening her eyes. Above her was her friend’s face, clear dark pools full of concern. Emily did the only reasonable thing to do—she reached up, placed her hands on Rose’s cheeks, and kissed her back.

“Emily!” Rose Red exclaimed, and kissed back. Then both women remembered where they were, and the brown-haired magician helped the Grand Duchess to sit up.

Emily shook her arms. “I feel like I haven’t moved in weeks!”

Rose looked at her. “If that’s as bad as it is, we should be grateful!”

Emily nodded, and Rose helped her out of the coffin. Before she’d even got her bearings, they heard a knocking sound, and the King’s coffin flew open, with the old ruler sitting up. The Grand Duchess ran to him, and Rose helped the Queen.

“What is going on?” the King asked. “Who is that?”

“Father, this is Rose Red, our savior,” Emily explained.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” screeched a new voice. The four turned—to see Bibi, wearing a golden coronet and an elaborate purple gown, standing in the doorway. Behind her stood four Huntsmen.

“Vivian!” exclaimed the Queen.

“Cousin!” shouted the King.

“That’s the woman who tricked me,” Emily said in a small voice. The hair color was wrong, but it was the same face.

“Mother!” cried Rose. “How could you!”

“You traitorous witch!” Bibi shouted at her daughter. “What have you done? You could ruin everything!”

“Ruin?” Rose exclaimed. “What have you done to these poor people?”

“You idiot, I did all this for you, so you could be Queen!” Bibi snarled.

“Vivian, how dare you!” thundered the King.

“I don’t want it!” Rose cried. “Not after what you’ve done to the realm!”

“Guards, seize them!” Bibi shouted. “No, wait! I have a better idea—I should have done this long ago!”

To Emily’s amazement, the old woman pulled out a wooden rod from her sleeve—a real magic wand, she thought absently—and chanted something while gesturing in the air. Before the Grand Duchess knew what was happening, Rose had pushed herself in front of her, and pulled some stones from her pockets. As Emily peeked around, a bolt of light surged from Bibi’s wand—and hit the rocks that Rose had flung at her. The light rebounded back upon the old woman. With a screech, Bibi vanished with a puff of orange smoke—to be replaced by a cow.

“MOOOOOoooooo!” it bellowed.

The Huntsmen looked at each other, bewildered.

The King stepped forward. “Do you know who I am?”

Bibi’s henchmen didn’t respond at first—until the youngest one fell to one knee. With grudging frowns, the other three followed suit.

The King nodded. “You are promoted to captain,” he told the youngest. “Take this cow to the stables, and milk her for all she’s worth.”

The young man nodded, and rose. “Come on,” he said to his companions, and they led the caterwauling animal away.

“That’s the second time you’ve saved us,” Emily said to Rose as her friend turned to her. Then she blinked.

With her real eyes, she saw something she hadn’t been fully aware of with her dream-eyes—Rose was gorgeous! For the first time, the Grand Duchess saw her friend in full color. Her long dark hair was unbound, and fell elegantly around her, hanging almost to her waist. She was wearing a gown that was stunning despite its simple design, for its crimson-red colors ornamented her dark eyes and light skin. Most surprising of all, Rose—who had seemed the same height when they’d been talking in their dreams—was actually several inches taller.

The dark-haired woman stood there, staring.

Emily slid an arm around her neck and kissed her again. She didn’t truly comprehend why or how she could feel this way—wasn’t it unconventional for her to kiss another woman? Was this really a good idea?—but as Rose’s lips parted and she kissed back, Emily knew exactly what she wanted. Rose had been her only friend and had defied her powerful mother to save her, for no other reason than the goodness of her heart. Two kisses, three, four. Rose’s lips were smooth and gentle. She was so feminine, so magical.

“What is going on here?” the Queen demanded.

Emily turned to her. “Mother, this is Rose Red, the woman who risked everything to help us,” she said. “She is my best friend and my companion—and we must make her Court Magician at once.” She took her friend’s hand.

“But—” the Queen spluttered.

“Darling, let us be grateful that heaven has delivered us from prison,” the King said. “Come, I am sure there is much for us to do, and it will take all four of us. With Vivian gone, we must accept Emmalyn’s judgment and consider Rose Red our own daughter.”

He led the scowling Queen out, and as the four walked to the throne room, the entire Winter Palace staff broke into cheers.

Emily and Rose followed more slowly, holding hands and giggling.

“I don’t believe you want me to be Court Magician,” the brown-haired woman said. “I don’t even have my degree yet!”

“I’m sure you will be perfect for the job,” Emily said.

“Why’s that?”

The two women walked past newly-opened windows that had been shut for years. Emily smiled at her companion, clear blue eyes shining in the light.

“Because I’m already under your spell,” the Grand Duchess said, and pulled Rose in for a kiss.

“Do you know how this is done?” Emily giggled several hours later.

Vivian had converted the Grand Duchess’ state rooms into a storage space, and it would be a few days before they were restored. The stewards had quickly made up the chamber next to Rose’s—but, come evening, the blonde woman had snuck into her best friend’s room.

The two young women stood next to the bed, staring at each other. The tension in the room was palpable, and both were trying not to break it by laughing.

Rose Red nodded, then shook her head. “Well, kind of,” she said. “I think—well, I know what I like on my body, and your body, well, should be the same.”

Emily glanced at the blankets and pillows, then back at Rose. With a touch of nervousness, she threw the sheets and blankets back, and crawled underneath the covers. Sliding off her nightgown and settling herself in, she opened her arms. Rose lay down beside her, resting her neck in the crook of Emily’s elbow. Emily slid her other arm around her.

“Thank you so much,” the Grand Duchess whispered. She looked into her companion’s eyes—her incredible brown eyes, so rich and deep in full color.

Hesitantly, Rose Red slid her hands over Emily’s breasts. At the Grand Duchess’ daring nod, she began to caress, tease, squeeze. Rose looked up into Emily’s face, and saw her blue eyes shining, her mouth in a surreal smile of giddy delight. Rose slid herself down a bit, and kissed one of Emily’s breasts.

The blonde woman exhaled, and her breathing turned to sighing as her companion caressed her gently between her legs. As the Grand Duchess surrendered to bliss, the enchantress’ daughter opened her mouth on a breast.

“Yes, Rose,” Emily moaned. “That’s so right, just like that.” Her body tingled and shivered as her brown-haired companion lay beside her and turned the Grand Duchess’s body so she faced her. Rose fondled Emily’s breasts with her lips, her vulva with her hand.

“I love this,” the blonde woman found herself saying aloud. “Love this. Love this.” She kissed the top of Rose’s head, and her best friend looked up at her, brown eyes burning. The Grand Duchess and her companion kissed again; their lips parted and their tongues brushed together. Emily’s breath caught, it felt so good... and then Rose’s loving hand grew heavier, touching her more deeply, more intimately. Emily’s blue eyes caught fire as she felt the release inside her, and she let herself tremble as she came.

This time Emily rested her neck in the bend of Rose’s elbow. She lay her head on the pillow, gazing at her companion. Rose looked back, her wonderful brown eyes hesitant.

“What is it?” the Grand Duchess asked.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Rose Red asked shyly.

Emily nodded emphatically. “Yes.” Then she giggled.

“What, dearest?” the brown-haired woman asked.

“In a way, your mother got what she wanted,” Emily said thoughtfully. “She wanted you to be Queen after her.”

“I won’t be,” Rose said, her tone matching the perplexed look on her face.

“Yes, but I will be Queen someday,” the Grand Duchess said. “I will rule the country... but maybe you will be the one pulling my strings.”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t want the country,” she said. “I don’t want to smother you, dearest. I want to make you happy.”

“But what if I want you to use one of those trance spells?” Emily rolled over, facing her companion.

“Trance spells? After what my mother did?” Rose’s brown eyes were clear and deep, but her face was uncomprehending.

Emily nodded, imagining what it would be like to focus on Rose’s voice, the way she had once unwittingly focused on Vivian’s. Rose could put her to sleep, and whisper suggestions to her while she was in a trance. She would sit there, eyes closed, head bowed, believing every word Rose murmured into her ear. That could be so frightening... but Emily knew her mind would be safe with her best friend. “I do remember feeling very relaxed,” the Grand Duchess explained, “and as my responsibilities to this realm grow, I’m sure I’ll have to carry heavier burdens. I want you to be able to relax me like that, make me forget my office for a while—and I know you won’t misuse your power.”

Rose’s nodded in understanding as her lovely brown eyes shone with mischief. “Then you can rule the realm—and I can rule your dreams.”

Emily nodded, leaning forward. The Grand Duchess and her companion kissed, first in friendship, then in passion. Tentatively, Emily’s fingers began roaming over Rose’s body. As her friend sighed in contentment, Emily grew bolder... and soon Emily’s head disappeared beneath the covers and she kissed her way down to her lover’s vulva. Rose whispered the blonde woman’s name, and her sighs became those of rapture.

Miss Scarlett snapped her fingers, and Emily returned to reality. They were in her bedroom, lying together on her bed. The blonde woman glanced at the clock—several hours had passed while she’d been in the dream, and it was now early evening.

Emily looked down at herself, and was surprised to see that she was in her simple blue silk nightgown. When had she changed?

She looked up at Scarlett, who was wearing a dazzling crimson nightdress, the same color Emily had seen her wear in the dream. She looked perfect, like a living glamour photograph.

“Woooooooow,” Emily said softly after she’d blinked a few times. “Wow. That was so—so intense! It was like—like a dream, only it felt real, completely real.” She stared into Scarlett’s mesmerizing brown eyes, and knew she had to kiss her. Their lips met: the touch was soft and slippery, warm and sensual.

“Thanks,” Emily said amidst kisses. “Thanks so much.”

“Thank you,” Miss Scarlett said in her wonderful Southern voice.

“How did you—did you do it?” the blonde woman asked. “Who were you in the dream?”

“Well, I was everyone, really,” Scarlett said. “I gave you the ideas, and you filled in the blanks.”

Emily frowned thoughtfully as she helped her companion remove her dress. “But—were you Bibi, or Rose?”

Scarlett grinned. “Both,” she said, and lifted Emily’s nightgown over her head.

“My seductress, and my protector, all in one,” the blonde woman said, and kissed her as they lay down together in the soft sheets. “You can hypnotize me anytime you’d like.”

Miss Scarlett giggled. “Careful, I might take you up on that.”

“Which reminds me,” Emily said, turning to her. “How did you hypnotize me at the start? You just used your eyes—you didn’t say anything!”

The blonde woman shivered as Scarlett began to caress her—she loved the touch of the brunette’s gentle, talented hands.

“I thought you said you liked it to be magical,” Scarlett purred.

Emily grinned, then moaned as Scarlett’s hands slid over her inner thigh. “I guess I like a little understanding too, once in a while.”

Scarlett smiled, and Emily caught her breath as the Southerner’s gentle hand slipped between her legs. “I triggered you,” the raven-haired hypnotist admitted as her beautiful subject scooted closer. “I just asked you to forget that part.”

Emily laughed giddily as she sought Scarlett’s breasts with her own hands. “See?” she said, blue eyes shining. “You are magical.”

Scarlett’s fingers roamed her body as she smiled, and Emily surrendered herself to her lover’s touch.