The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lemma the Librarian

Possession with Intent

by Jennifer Kohl

“Khemeth!” Iason announced as we stepped off the riverboat. “Breadbasket of the Inner Sea!”

“It smells like dung and river muck,” I said.

“Well... yes,” he admitted. “It’s basically one big farm.”

“Great,” I said. “And somewhere in here is one of the last three books, of which at least two are really bad.”

“Maybe it’ll be the not-so-bad one,” Iason suggested cheerfully.

“Yeah, with our luck, what’re the odds of that?” I grumbled.

There was a brief silence, which Iola broke: “About one in three, I believe.”

“Smartass.”

* * *

We made our way overland from the Great River, across the fields upon fields upon fields of wheat and barley, an endless and endlessly flat sea of light brown which at last gave way to the slightly less flat, slightly lighter brown of the desert.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” asked Iason.

“The book is that way,” I said, pointing. “Not too far, maybe a mile.”

“Why would it be out in the desert?” Iola asked. “Normally, we’ve found books around people, not in the wilderness.”

“Actually, it is a bit weird,” I admitted. “Deserts are normally full of really nasty wild magic—burning winds, drifting sands, lots of death, they’re about as inhuman as anywhere can get short of the deep ocean. But I can feel the book, loud and clear. Maybe there’s a town out there... for... some reason? Or a temple?”

“Could be a temple,” said Iason. “One of the Khemeti death gods is supposed to rule this desert.”

“Oh fun,” I said dryly. Then I paused. “Wait, one of? Also, how do you know Khemeti religion?”

“Oh, I came here on a monster hunt with dad, once. It was my first big hunt away from home!”

Iola nodded. “I remember that. I was quite annoyed that for my turn we just went to Rasnia to hunt gnolls. Not nearly as exotic.”

“Reminisce about your weird-ass childhood later,” I said. “Tell me about the multiple death gods?”

Iason shrugged. “Not much to tell. They like death around here. Well... not like, exactly, but they’re kind of obsessed with it? So there’s a god of dying, and a god of death, and a god of judging the dead, and a god of the world of the dead, and I think a different god of the world of the dead, too?”

“Okay, and which one are we probably going to piss off when we take the book from his temple?” I asked.

“Don’t remember,” said Iason. “I think he’s the old god of the dead that died and got replaced by the new god of the dead, maybe? Or something.”

I sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll find out when he curses us to eternal suffering or whatever. Let’s go.”

Five hours later, I stumbled, rolled down a dune, and lay on my back at the bottom. “We’re dead, aren’t we?” I moaned.

“We’re not dead. Have some water,” replied Iola.

“No. We’re dead. We pissed off the dead god of dead deserts or whatever, and he cursed us to eternal suffering, and that’s where we are now.”

“Where?” asked Iason, sitting next to me and pulling out his waterskin.

“There,” I said. “Where he cursed us to. Eternal Suffering. It’s a place now.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” said Iola.

“It’s been a thousand years,” I insisted. “My feet say so.” I took out my water skin and sucked out a mouthful. I let it sit in my mouth, swished it around, and pretty soon it was gone, without me even swallowing. And my mouth still felt like old leather. “This is fake water,” I continued. “An evil illusion from the evil death desert dead god.”

“A death illusion?”

“Right, Iason,” I said. “A death illusion.”

“What about those shacks?” asked Iola. “Are those a... ‘death illusion?’”

“Probably.” I sat up and blinked blearily into the glare of white sun on white sand. There was a neat row of little shacks a little way ahead of us—and the book felt very, very close. Well shit, guess I’m not dead. Which means I have to get up and walk the rest of the way to those shacks...

It took us about another fifteen minutes to reach the shacks. By that time, we could see what was spread out below them: a huge pit, at least a couple of hundred feet across, divided up by crisscrossing walls that separated it into roofless hallways and rooms. Dozens of people swarmed into and over the pit, laying bricks or carving symbols into them. Near us, a tall, lean, muscular man gazed watchfully over them. He was bald, beardless, darker than Iola or Iason, and a bit shorter than either, too. If his position and posture hadn’t given away that he was in charge, the gold bracelets on his arms and adorning his loose, chest-baring tunic would have—and if that weren’t enough, he was holding a large piece of cloth-like paper and a stick of charcoal, which he was clearly using to mark off tasks as they were completed.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice rich and deep.

Oh, I hope so, I thought. Not quite the solid wall of manmeat that was Iason, but that voice more than made up for it. It was the kind of voice you could drown in, and be glad you were. What I said, however, was, “Possibly. I’m looking for a book.“

“A book?” he asked. “There’s a library a few hours downriver—”

“A specific book,” I said. “One I have reason to believe is here.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, sorry, nothing here is for sale. We need all of it for The Project.”

I ignored the ominous, very audible capital letters with which he pronounced “The Project,” and said, “Well, that’s not a problem. I’m not looking to buy the book, seeing as it was stolen from my people’s library. I’m here to take it back.”

“Huh,” he said. “Well, I’m sorry, but everything here was either purchased for The Project or belonged to me already. Nothing here was stolen.”

I could feel my lightning bolt finger getting itchy, but I fought down the urge to set him on fire. A man that pretty should only be immolated as a last resort. “Is it possible it was stolen before you acquired it?”

He shrugged. “If I have a book, and I’m not saying I do, then I got it fairly. It’s not my responsibility where it came from before that.”

I closed my eyes, let out a slow breath, and counted to ten. “Look, it’s a book of magic, and if we don’t get it back, the entire nation of Lemuria is going to take that as a personal insult, and I’m going to make very clear to them that it’s your fault.”

His eyes widened. “You’re Lemurian? Oh, of course, you’re looking for that book! Why didn’t you say so? Of course you can have it.”

“What?” I asked, feeling like the rug of righteous anger had just been yanked out from under my feet by the prankster arms of surprise helpfulness. “Really? Just like that?”

“Sure,” he said. “Let me finish up here and I’ll look up which treasure room we stashed it in.”

* * *

It had been late afternoon when we arrived at the—well, at whatever that pit was supposed to be. The Project, I suppose. Anyway, it had been late afternoon when we got there, and it was near sunset when Mr. Pretty rolled up his scroll, called out to the workers that they were done for the day, and then led us into the nearest, and nicest, of the shacks.

The inside of the shack turned out to be much nicer than the outside: there was a large, low table in the center, and basically the enter rest of the floor was covered in pillows. The Very Pretty Man settled himself on the far side of the table, lounging on the very comfy-looking pillows, and gestured to us to sit as well.

As some of the workers brought in food, we introduced ourselves.

Our host nodded graciously, and said, “I am Set-Perib, Eighth Prince of Khemeth. Welcome to The Project.”

My jaw dropped. Hot and friendly I could handle, but hot, friendly, and royalty? That was a new one.

He laughed at my expression. “It means very little,” he said. “For now, I am indulged by my father; when one of my older brothers inherits the throne, I am likely to be less indulged. Probably I will be married off to support some diplomatic measure or another.” He shrugged. “But until then... there is The Project.”

“Yeah,” I said. “About that. What, um, is the Project?”

“The Project,” he corrected me. “And it is nothing less than a revolution in death!”

I glanced at Iason and Iola. Pretty and rich or not, people looking to revolutionize death are rarely safe to be around. Especially if they want to share...

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing to do with killing people. I find violence quite distasteful. No, no, this is about what happens after you die.”

“Is that why you’re building it out in the desert?” asked Iason.

“Exactly! Where else but the home of death would I build my palace of the dead?” He beamed as he explained: death, it is said, comes for everyone equally, but why should it? Why should a king, for example, have to be just another man once he dies? He had a palace in life, it’s what he got used to—you can’t expect him to be happy with just a normal house in death!

(I mean, I can expect that, because what did he do to deserve a palace anyway? But Peri clearly didn’t think that way.)

“So,” he said, “that’s when it hit me: why not build a palace for my father to... uh, live in, after he dies? Hrm. Be dead in? Sorry, I’m still working on this bit of the pitch.”

“So that’s what the pit with all the rooms is?” I asked.

“Well... it’s the start,” he said. “We have to roof that over, and then—okay, you want to hear the really good part?”

“I guess?”

He beamed. “Then we roof it over again, but slightly smaller this time. And we keep doing it until we have a, a giant pointy thing! It’ll be like a mountain, but made by human hands. People’ll see it for miles, and flock to it from around the world!”

Okay, Mr. Crazy Man. “That’s... it?” I asked.

“It?” He looked crestfallen. “I can see you don’t quite get it, but believe me—in times to come this will be what all the great rulers want to be buried in!”

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Yeah, I’m real sure that thousands of years from now, people are going to slog out into the desert to look at big stone triangles or whatever and say, “Oooh, I wonder who was buried here, I bet he was an awesome king or something.“

We chatted a bit more, by which I mean Prince Peri-whatever went on, and on, and on about his “genius” idea to make big piles of rocks to put dead people under, but he confirmed that a book of magic was in one of the treasure chambers of The Project. “In the morning we can check the records and figure out which one it’s in,” he said. “Until then, please, enjoy what hospitality we can offer, here in the wilderness.

Turns out that even in the wilderness, when you’re a prince, that’s a lot of hospitality. I went to a very nice bed in a smaller shack adjacent to the prince’s, with a belly full of delicious food and slightly too much of some very excellent wines.

That night, I had a strange dream. I was a courtesan of some kind, with aspirations to be more. Two brothers were in love with me—a worker and a palace guard—but while I liked them both, I had my sights set on a nobleman and the life of ease I would have as his concubine. I successfully seduced him, but didn’t count on the jealousy of the worker. I tried to use the guard’s infatuation with me to turn him against his brother, but I did too good of a job and he became obsessed with me as well. In the end, both brothers and I ended up dead, but it wasn’t clear exactly who killed who.

I woke up feeling fuzzy-headed and confused. The dream had been so vivid, it took a moment for me to remember I was Lemma, brilliant sorceress and adventurer, not some wannabe schemer whose only real skill was being a simpering sextoy for rich men to play with. As much fun as that would be...

I shook my head. Prince Peri was cute, sure, but the shorter the list of missing books got, the closer I got to going home. I wanted this done with. Goodbye to walking for days, deserts and rain-drenched mud fields, seasickness and sunburn. Goodbye to vampires and cannibal fairies and demons.

Goodbye to Iason.

I shook my head again. These early-morning thoughts were getting silly. I should go to the Prince’s for breakfast. That was an odd thought too, but it made sense, didn’t it? He’d said he’d host us while he was here, and to come back in the morning to find the book. That had to be what he meant.

He smiled at me as I entered, and I nodded back. What am I doing? He’s a Prince! I need to show proper respect to earn his favor! I dropped clumsily into a sort of bow/curtsy thing and said, “Thank you, Your Highness, for the hospitality you’ve shown us.” Which, again, seemed odd... but I did need to stay on his good side until I got that book.

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” he replied gravely. He gestured at the large breakfast arrayed on the table in front of him. “Would you care to join me in breaking our fasts before the day’s work?”

I smiled. “I’d love to.”

I spent the meal on full charm offensive: I batted my lashes at him, and played with my hair, and giggled at his jokes even when they weren’t funny—which none of them were. I gasped in wonder at his lame-ass boasts about his military prowess, and stroked his bicep appreciatively as I admired his muscles—which admittedly were pretty nice, in a whipcord sort of way. So easy. I know just what he wants. All I have to do is give it to him, and he’s eating out of my hand...

After breakfast, we met Iola and went down to the pit. “Your book should be in the Chamber of the Asp,” he said, taking my arm and leading me down the ramp. I looked down at his hand on me—Let him, he’s just being gentlemanly. Anyway I want him thinking I want him, right?

Which was another odd thought, but before I could consider that I noticed something else even odder: Iason, stripped to the waist, bronze torso glistening as he pushed a barrow full of bricks down the ramp. Odd? No, just seriously hot.

But it was odd, too, so I called out to him and asked what he was doing down here.

He set down his barrow briefly, mopped his brow, and came over. “I just figured, long as I’m here, might as well help out, right?”

“It is greatly appreciated,” said Prince Peri.

Iason smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes, which were fixed on Peri’s hand on my arm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous. Of course he is, what man wouldn’t envy the man who had me?

Before I could question what I meant by “the man who had me,” Peri led us down into what I assume was the Chamber of the Asp.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to a series of cubbyholes built into the wall. “The book should be right... Wait, where is it?”

Iola immediately stepped forward, hand on her sword, and examined the cubby. “It’s missing, Your Highness! It must have been stolen!”

“Of course it must have!” he snapped. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to me. “I am so, so sorry,” he said. “Who knows when it was taken? The thief could be miles from here.”

“Could be,” I said, “but the book’s not. I can feel it, it is definitely somewhere in this pit.”

He looked surprised. “Then we must search for it!”

Ugh, I thought. Being in the desert is bad enough, but grubbing around in a literal pit?

“I’ll help look,” said Iason. “It has to be somewhere.”

“And I’ll question the workers,” said Iola. “Someone must have seen something.”

I watched them walk off. Iason, so strong and rugged, hard-working and down-to-earth. And Iola, tall, tough, a noble protector.

“Come,” said Peri, patting my arm. “Let’s go somewhere out of the sun. I’m sure I can find something to entertain us while we wait.”

I smiled up at him through my lashes, and said softly, “I’m sure you can, Your Highness.” I giggled. He is so into me. By the time they find the book I’m going to have him completely wrapped around my little finger.

We were halfway back up the ramp when it hit me: my dream! Iason was acting like a worker, Iola like a guard... and I was acting like a status-seeking courtesan. I opened my mouth to say something, and then stopped. Either Prince Peri is doing something to us, or someone else is. Either way, he could be useful... maybe getting him a little wrapped around my finger is a good idea.

* * *

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you, my lady,” Peri said to me a couple of hours later.

It had been a relaxing couple of hours, just lying on a wide couch under an awning that hung from the roof of Peri’s shack, watching the workers swarming in the pit. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of Iola talking to a group of workers or Iason poking into corners looking for the book.

“How so, Your Highness?” I asked.

“Well, firstly there’s this,” he said, holding up the drink in his hand. It was a sticky, tangy-sweet fruit juice, not too bad, but it became excellent when I cast a bit of ice magic to make it cold. Frost still rimmed our glasses from the spell. “There are few capable of such feats.”

“True!” I laughed. “But surely you have met other enchanters or sorcerers in your wanderings?”

“Mmm, perhaps,” said Peri. “Dour old men. Never someone with youth, energy... beauty.”

I didn’t need to fake the blush. “Surely Your Highness has met many beautiful women, as well.”

“I have,” he admitted. “But you are different.” He lifted a strand of my long hair. “I have seen black, brown, even yellow hair before,” he said. “But only once have I seen red, on a trader from Hattush. You wear it better than him—you remind me of tales of the far Tin Isles, where it’s said beautiful maidens with scarlet hair dwell.”

It’s a good thing I never changed the color back after that time in Yr! “You flatter me, Your Highness.” Now reel him in... Visions danced in my head of a besotten prince offering me my weight in gold for one night of pleasure. I rolled onto my side, so I was facing him instead of reclining and looking out over the pit. Gently I traced a finger down his bare chest. “I haven’t met many princes. Are they all this charming?“

“Perhaps,” he said. “But rarely are we this motivated to try.”

Then his arms were around me, holding me to him while my lips sought his. We kissed long and deep, and he took my waist in his hands while I rolled on top of him. I stroked his arms, his chest, kissing him hungrily, again and again. I clutched his shoulders and pushed my hips down into his and humped slowly against him.

Then I broke the kiss and sat up. Still panting, I said, “We should see how the search for the book is going.”

I stood, and he stared at me in breathless disbelief. Then he shook himself. “Right. Right, of course, my lady.”

I tried not to let my legs wobble on the way down. That was close—I’d nearly given in to whatever force was pulling me toward the Prince, and that had made an already pretty intense moment even hotter. I’d had to break it off then, before I went to far. Besides, gotta keep him wanting more.

* * *

That night, when work ended for the day and Peri had to do his tallies, I managed to snatch a moment alone with Iason and Iola. “Has your day been as weird as mine?” I asked.

“Possibly,” said Iola. “I kept looking for thieves and interrogating workers. It kept making sense at the time, too, like...”

“...like your thoughts had a mind of their own?” asked Iason. “That’s what it was like for me. Every time I tried to do something else, I suddenly thought of a bunch of reasons to keep on working.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s similar to what happened to me. But I’ve been looking for magic, and there’s none on us that I can recognize—no glamours or enchantments or anything like that. We’re just... acting weirdly.”

“What did you do?” asked Iola.

I shrugged. “Made out with Prince Peri a couple of times.”

“What!?” snapped Iason. “Him? What could possibly possess you to do that? He’s so... weird.”

Somebody’s jealous... I could have fun with that... I pushed the thought away and focused on what Iason had just said. Something about it... “Wait.” I closed my eyes. There were three books left. I knew the titles of all three, and—I opened my eyes again. “Whoa.“

“Lemma?” as Iola. “What’s wrong?” There was urgency in her voice, alarm—that protectiveness again.

“I didn’t realize I could do that,” I said. “Or maybe I couldn’t until I had more experience with the books. But... I don’t just know there’s a book here, I know which book—one of the bad ones. The Liber Paginarum Fulvarum Mortis, a book full of the forbidden secrets of necromancy. We’re not enchanted, guys... we’re possessed.“

* * *

Death is powerful. It’s one of the most powerful magics there is—stronger than life, than love, than almost anything humans have found. Not even time—which can destroy just about anything else—can overcome death. But there’s nothing less human than death—it’s pure wild magic.

Which makes ghosts weird. They’re human, but not—like vampires, they’re human-shaped former humans, but made of wild magic. The difference is that vampires’ bodies look human; with ghosts, the body is gone, and it’s everything else that stays human-shaped. They’re like floating blobs of unfinished business and unfulfilled intentions, drifting around until their business is done.

In theory, anything you can do with wild magic you can do with high magic and vice versa. In practice, some of the things high magic can do would require much too much control to accomplish with wild magic, and some things wild magic can do are much too complex and dangerous to do with high magic.

That’s where necromancy comes in: using high magic to try to control death. It never ends well for the practitioner... but in theory it could enable possession, or it’s possible a powerful ghost could pull it off on its own.

“So we’ve got ghosts in our heads,” I explained. “The ones from my dream—the worker, the guard, and the courtesan.” I tried to remember what I could from what little training I’d got on ghost possession. “They want us to do things, finish their business, and the more we go along with what they want, the more control they get.”

“In my dream, we ended up dead,” said Iola. “If these ghosts get control...”

“Yeah,” I said. “They’ll act out the ends of their lives... and take us with them.”

“Lemma!” Prince Peri’s voice carried from above. He was clearly done tallying. “My lady, where are you?”

“Shit, time’s up,” I said. “Listen, it’s probably him that’s playing necromancer, but it could be anyone. Watch out, but don’t let anyone suspect anything.” Never show what you feel... play the part, and dammit, that was the ghost, but what could I do? She was right, that was the right way to play this, even if doing it sank her hooks deeper into me. At least it means getting my hooks deeper into the Prince...

Peri soon found me. “What are you doing down here, my lady?”

“Oh, meeting one of my many other lovers,” I teased. I slipped in under his arm and placed it around my waist. “You should be careful, Your Highness. If you don’t pay attention, someone might steal me away.”

“My lady, I will gladly pay you all the attention The Project allows me,” he said grandly. “But... if you have other lovers besides me, does that not imply...” he trailed off.

I simpered and snuggled against his side. Play the silly servile slut, and he’ll suspect nothing. “Your Highness is a powerful prince. Surely whatever you wish for me to imply, you can simply command?“

He stopped and turned to face me. Hands on my hips, he looked down into my eyes and spoke seriously. “I don’t want to command an unwilling servant,” he said. “I want you to welcome the command, when it comes.”

I linked my arms around his neck and smiled up into his eyes, playing the besotted serving-girl to the hilt. “If it came from Your Highness, any command would be welcome.” That’s it. Make him think I’m nearly his. I leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him softly. Make him want to claim me, and he’ll never notice he doesn’t own me at all.

Those weren’t my thoughts, and I knew it. They were the thoughts of a long-dead woman, a seductress who got turned on by manipulating people... trying to control me, a woman who very badly needed to be manipulative right now... and who got turned on by being manipulated and controlled.

He deepened the kiss, and I slid my hands down his chest, over his abs. “I am Your Highness’ loyal servant,” I whispered. “Shall I kneel to demonstrate my devotion?”

Without waiting for an answer, I slid to my knees, running my hands over the front of his kilt. I could feel him through the linen, hot and hard, and I knew the part of me that was a courtesan loved the feeling of control that gave her, while other parts of me loved the feeling of being on my knees, the awareness that my actions and even my thoughts were being manipulated—and all of those parts agreed, they wanted his cock in my mouth.

“Does Your Highness have any commands for me?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Take it out, please...”

I did, flipping up his kilt so I could stroke his cock with eager fingers. There was already a droplet of precum on the tip; I gently scooped it up on the tip of my index finger, brought it to my mouth, and licked it off with a steamy smile and an “mmm.”

I wanted to suck him off there and then, but the courtesan knew it was better to wait for an order, make him think he was in control, and the possessed girl knew it would be so much hotter to hear a command and be forced to obey it.

We didn’t have to wait long. “P-put it in your mouth,” he stammered, and that was enough. I wrapped my lips around him and suckled gently, my tongue flicking at the underside of the base of his bulb. We were good at this, courtesan training and fun times at the Academy in perfect alignment. We stroked his muscular thighs, caressed his balls, deep-throated him, licked and sucked, while he held our shoulders and gasped in rising pleasure.

He came, and we gulped it down, except for a little we let dribble out onto our chin as if there was so much our mouths couldn’t hold it—which is nonsense, no human man can cum that much, but they do like thinking they can. Eyes locked on his, we scooped up that little dribble on a finger and sucked it clean, then beamed.

“Wow,” he said.

We rose gracefully to our feet, teased his chest with a finger, and said, “Happy to be of service, Your Highness. I hope I’m invited to dinner again tonight? That was delicious... but I’m sure I’ll be hungry again by then.”

He gathered his composure impressively quickly for someone who’d just gotten a blowjob from us. “I hope to dine together every night, my lady. I shall instruct the chef. Bring your appetite.”

“I intend to,” we murmured sultrily. “Until then, Your Highness.” We sashayed away down the hill before he could question where we intended to spend the time until dinner. Princess Lemma, we thought. It has a nice ring to it.

* * *

We made our way down into the pit as quietly as we could. There was no sign of Iason and Iola, but we knew they’d be along soon. Sure enough, as we passed a shadow it detached itself from the wall, grabbed our arm, and pulled us around.

“Where were you?” Iason hissed.

We yanked our arm out of his grip. “Hello to you too,” we said.

“You were with him, weren’t you?”

We smiled. “So what if I was? That was the plan, remember? Make him think everything’s normal?”

“I don’t like it.”

We stepped up close to Iason and laid our hands against his chest. Looking up into his eyes, we said softly, “Jealous?”

Iason closed his eyes and groaned. “Lemma,” he said with obvious difficulty. “I’m fighting a ghost that’s in love with you—I mean, the ghost in you. Don’t... don’t make it harder.”

We let our hands drift lower. “Is it hard?” we teased.

He grabbed our hands. “Stop it! I know—I know the ghost’s in your head, feeding you thoughts like me, but we have to fight them together!”

Oh, getting under his skin is FUN.

“Get away from her!” shouted Iola, running up to us, her sword half out of its sheath. Iason started and dropped our hands, and we all turned to face her as she shoved her way in between us and Iason.

Iason’s fists clenched as he and Iola glared at each other, about an inch apart. “She’s coming on to me, Iola!” he shouted.

“Yeah? She’s a fool. If you two aren’t careful, the Prince will find out what you’re up to and have you killed!”

We turned our smile on Iola. “Worried about me? That’s sweet.”

“I’m just looking out for—for my brother’s friend,” said Iola gruffly.

We drifted closer to her. “Just your brother’s friend?” we said softly. “I thought we were friends, too. I’d like us to be... close.”

Iola’s mouth twitched as she looked down at us. “Nnnn... Nnnnnggghh... NnnnggghhhhGAH!” She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head. “Stop it!”

We stared down at her in shock. Iason knelt beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Iola?” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Thoughts..!” she groaned. “It’s in my head, making me, making me... think about... HER!”

She waved a hand at us. “Is that really so bad?” we asked, letting just a hint of a tease slip into our voice, but keeping it mostly gentle. “There are worse things.”

“You don’t get it!” she snapped. “Every time I think about... that... I think about the time we did!”

Oh. Right. Iola and I had, hadn’t we? And remembering it no doubt brought up memories—of being under Brinksmoor’s control, of leading the women after his defeat, of their slaughter... “Fuck,” I said. “I’m sorry, Iola.” I can think of ways to cheer her up, I thought, but I knew that wasn’t really me. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that would help.

“It hurts to think those thoughts,” she gasped, “but fighting them is so hard, and the more I do the more it hurts...”

So stop fighting. But that wasn’t me. I could feel the friction building in my head, the ghost and I diverging again: she wanted to use me to act out her last days, and that required Iola playing the role her ghost was pressing on her. But I saw a friend getting hurt. If only ghosts were flammable.

See, now that thought was definitely me!

“You should go,” said Iason. “I’ll take care of Iola.”

“No,” Iola managed. “Lemma, if you have the book, can you get these ghosts out of our heads?”

“Probably,” I said. Though it’s much more fun to just—I nipped that thought in the bud.

“Good. I’m going to go try to rest. You two find that book.”

We watched Iola trudge back up to the shacks, struggling every step of the way. I could understand that feeling—her ghost was trying to pull her back, just like mine was trying to get me to chase after her, flirt with her, try to make Iason jealous.

Because that was what I—what she did. Flirt, distract, encourage jealousy, all for her own amusement or advancement. And I wasn’t about to do that to Iason, of all people! He was different. Special. Comfortable. I’ll admit, very, very pretty—no. Peri is pretty. Iason is tasty. There’s a difference.

“So, uh, how do we start looking?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Dunno. I’m trying my best to focus on its location, but I can’t seem to get much more accurate than ‘close.’ You spent the whole day down here working, didn’t you find any clues or anything?”

“Sorry,” he said. “It was hard to focus on the book... easier to just work, and listen to the other workers complain. It’s rough for them... I think maybe they’re possessed, too, because they talk about wanting to go home to their families, to take a break when it gets hot, but it’s like they just can’t.”

“Puppets,” I said. “Dancing on ghost strings—and I bet Peri’s the one pulling them.” I hope he is. Hope he pulls me down to my knees again and—no! I needed to think about something else.

“I’ll get you away from him,” said Iason, and I smiled. Poor guy, he really means it, but what can he do? The prince has all the power here. Iason’s just a nice guy with a great body. Who was thinking that? Me or her? I mean, I thought he was hot from day one, he just never looked at me that way. Like in Munn, he had me, could’ve done anything he wanted with me, and all his inhibitions were gone... and he did nothing. He just doesn’t want me. I looked up and met his eyes. So why is he looking at me like that now?

Obviously, that’s the ghost, stupid. The worker in love with the courtesan, that’s how we all get killed—got killed—how they all got killed. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t really want him to kiss me, that it was just the ghost making me want it. But I do want him to want me. I want to be wanted. I want to be wanted so much he’ll stop at nothing to take me, claim me, own me... possess me.

His lips met mine. I wrapped my arms aroudn his neck, and his hands on the small of my back pulled me against him, my soft, slender form pressed up against the broad, solid muscles of his body.

And then he broke away, pulled away, turned away. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m sorry. That was the ghost. I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

We put our hand on his shoulder, turned him back to face us. We smiled up at him dazzlingly. “It’s okay,” we said. “I liked it. Kiss me again?”

He groaned, clearly fighting the battle I’d already gladly lost, and then he lost too, and kissed us again.

It didn’t feel like losing.

Everything seemed to slow, like we were in a dream. There was the feel of his body under our hands, and his hands on our body. The light of the moon and stars in the clear, black desert sky. His lips at our neck, our breasts, our thighs.

Part of us was excited because Iason was a weapon against the prince, a way to make him jealous and therefore more possessive—and the more he needed to own us, the more leverage that gave us over him. Part of us was excited because we were helpless not to want this, helpless to stop increasing not only the control of the sorceress over the courtesan, but the control of the love-besotted worker over the monster hunter.

And part of us was still horny from earlier, and excited just to be getting naked with a tasty chunk of man-meat. A very big part, actually, and rapidly growing.

Speaking of very big, rapidly growing parts, we could feel Iason’s hard cock pressing against our thigh as we lay back in the cool nighttime sand, our lips tangled with his once again. It filled us so perfectly, so completely, that we couldn’t help but moan and clutch Iason to ourself while he slowly began to pump in and out.

We cried out in ecstasy as we came, and so did he. Then we and he collapsed back onto the sand, side by side. He pulled us close, kissed us softly, and we snuggled against his side.

We must have dozed off, because next thing we knew, we were dreaming...

* * *

Before the desert, there was grassland. It was already dry, and nearly barren, but there was enough grass and enough water to sustain sheep and goats and their herders. But the desert was coming, expanding slowly, driving people from their old lands toward the river.

And there was this village. Less than a day from the fertile farmlands by the river, it was a place of trade, wealthy by the standards of the time, and most of that wealth belonged to the man who ruled it, a cousin of the king of the farmlands. For a girl with little education, less money, a lot of ambition, and a way with men, the way up was clear.

But the desert was growing, and the grasslands dying, and the refugees kept coming. The nobleman, fearing his wealth would be looted, ordered the construction of town walls. When the people balked—they would rather build canals to bring water in, not a wall to keep people out—he had his guards round them up and put them to work at swordpoint.

We barely noticed any of that. We were too busy getting closer to the nobleman, despite our attraction to one of the workers, a handsome young rabblerouser who was trying to urge the others to revolt. He loved us, and we felt something for him, but our ambitions would not allow that. He grew jealous, and that drew attention, and that made the noble jealous, too. Scared one or the other might murder us, we seduced the worker’s guard brother for protection.

Then came the confrontation. The workers threw down their tools and refused to keep building. The noble stormed down, a guard—our guard—at his side, to order them back to work, and found himself face to face with their leader, our lover.

Swords were drawn. We pleaded with them not to hurt each other; all three demanded we choose between them. But how could we? How could we choose love over ambition, or ambition over safety, or safety over love? Our lover attacked the noble, or tried to, but the guard got in his way, and they fought. We tried to get between them, to make them stop... and our lover accidentally stabbed us. As we fell, we saw the shocked guard’s sword droop, saw our lover scream and cut him down, before finally falling on his own sword... all while the noble looked on in confusion and fear.

And then we died. Not long after, the walls went up—but the time and money spent on construction had meant less to spend storing up food and water for the coming dry season, and it turned out to be an unusually bad and long one. Most of the people were dead by the time the noble and a handful of survivors abandoned the village and fled toward the river, joining the stream of refugees they had tried to shut out.

The village stood empty, and in time the desert swallowed it completely. Walls, buildings, streets, all gone—nothing left but the ghosts.

* * *

Idiots, I thought as I woke up.

Iason was smiling at me, and at that sight the memories came flooding back of what we’d just done, how good it had been, how irresistible it was to go along with what the ghost wanted when we were in alignment, and we were in alignment, more and more with every passing minute and second...

We smiled back. “How long was I asleep?” we asked.

“A few minutes,” he said, and kissed our forehead.

“And you just watched us sleep?”

“Well—” he began, but a noise at the top of the pit made us look up.

Prince Peri stood there, with Iola at his side. “So it’s true!” he shouted. “You are plotting against me! Not just that, but...” he waved at us as if to take in our nakedness and in-each-other’s-arms-ness. “Betraying me, the both of you!”

We scrambled hastily to our feet and waved our hands. “No, no, Your Highness,” we said. “We are loyal to you. This was...” A trick? He won’t believe that. A mistake? Maybe I could say Iason forced me—but no, I couldn’t say that. Wouldn’t say that! I could feel the pressure of the ghost trying to make me, but I refused.

Beside me, Iason was on his feet, glaring at Iola.

“I had to,” she said. “The ghost was pounding and pounding on my head, trying to make me think about Lemma. I spent everything fighting that, so when it reminded me that I’m a palace guard and it was my duty to report to the prince that you’re fomenting rebellion... I couldn’t refuse that as well? I have a duty.”

No you don’t, I thought, and I was pretty confident it was me thinking it. The ghost is making you think you do.

Peri scrambled down the slope, Iola beside him. “You betrayed me!” he shouted at me. “Seduced me, used me, and all the while you were thinking of him!” He pointed at Iason. “You could have had a prince, and you threw it away for a no-name, no-family, muscle-brained...” He sputtered with rage, trying to get the words out.

“Better me than some skinny boy obsessed with death, who treats his people like slaves!” Iason retorted.

I looked up. The shouting seemed to be drawing some attention; a crowd of workers was forming at the edge of the pit. This could get bad, I thought.

“Guard,” said Peri, his face growing cold. “This traitor has insulted his prince. Cut him down.”

“But... Your Highness. He’s my brother!”

“And I am your prince!” snapped Peri. “Do your duty!”

Reluctantly, Iola drew her sword. “I’m sorry, Iason,” she said. “I have to.”

We watched in helpless horror. The details were different, but it was all playing out the same. At the same time, there was a fight happening within us. I was struggling, and there were moments where I was almost me, but we were too aligned for that to last long.

“Don’t do this, Iola,” he said. “You don’t have to do what the prince orders! None of you do! He doesn’t deserve your loyalty or service or work!” Growing numbers of workers in the watching crowd muttered noises of agreement.

Peri was looking more panicked and angrier by the second. “Kill him!” he screamed, and Iola advanced on Iason, her sword ready to strike.

Of course we aligned. We wanted the same things—we wanted the prince’s possessions, Iason’s affections, Iola’s protection. We were going to play out the same story, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

Fuck you, I’m Lemma. There’s always something I can do to stop it. A few seconds of clarity, but that was all I needed to call up a little wind power. A gesture, and a gust struck Iola sideways, hard enough to knock her off her feet, and tumbling off the wall into one of the chambers below. In the sudden silence, I heard her thud against the sand.

“Ow,” she said from below.

Peri stood alone on the wall, with Iason on one side, a crowd of workers on the other. He went white.

I stifled a giggle. Looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Get him,” said Iason, quietly, and with a roar, the crowd surged down the pit toward us. Peri yelped like a frightened puppy and scrambled for the ladder down into the chambers... only to find Iola climbing up, blocking his way.

“Guard!” he yelled at her. “Do your duty! Protect me!”

She reached the top of the ladder, sword still in her hand, and said, “Yes, I’ll do my duty.” She shoved Peri toward the advancing crowd. “My duty to my brother, and to the people.”

There was very little of Peri left by the time the workers were done with him.

* * *

“What will you do now?” I asked one of the workers later, after we’d broken open Peri’s food stores and all shared a big, raucous feast.

He shrugged. “The death of the prince will bring suspicion on all of us. But he was not a popular prince, even among his own family. If we tell them he wandered off into the desert in his madness, they will choose to believe us.”

I nodded, and looked down into the pit, at the squishy mess that had been Set-Perib, Eighth Prince of Khemeth. Lying dead in his monument to death, surrounded by chambers full of treasure, a palace to carry beyond the grave. “Fuck that,” I said, and lobbed a fireball into his corpse. In the dry air, it burned quite easily.

With Peri’s records, it was easy to figure out where he’d hidden the Liber Paginarum Fulvarum Mortis. With it in hand, I expected to sleep easily that night, comfortable in the knowledge that this was over and we’d be moving on in the morning.

But of course not. I had to have one last dream first.

I was standing at the edge of the desert. Behind me was a world of water and life; ahead, just dry emptiness. The sky was black and heavy with bright white stars, far too many of them. The sand had that ghostly look of desert under the moon, even though there was no moon.

It’s possible the ghostly look also had something to do with the crowd of ghosts in front of me. Most of them were unfamiliar, but the three in front I recognized: the worker, the guard, and the courtesan.

“Unfinished business,” I said. “Of course. It wasn’t anything to do with the love triangle... it was the worker’s revolt.”

A sigh went through the crowd, like old pain finally released. It made sense. Without their leader, the rebellion didn’t happen, and everyone starved to death, filled with regret.

“Yes,” said the courtesan, “except for me. My unfinished business was a choice I’d been unable to make—a failure that got me and everyone else killed.”

“A choice?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” said the courtesan. “And thank you...”

Her voice faded as the wind rose—a cool, wet wind coming from the river behind me. The ghosts sighed again as the wind swept through them, picking them up like mist and spreading them out across the desert.

“Wait!” I said, thinking of something. “Before you go... is it true that the dead can carry messages to other realms?”

“Yes,” said the courtesan. “Is there someone you want to say something to?”

I gave her the message, told her who to take it to, and then I woke up. It was still night, but there was a growing paleness to the east. It would be morning soon, and I didn’t feel like going back to sleep.

I padded out of the shack and wandered toward the pit. There, sitting on the edge, one knee drawn up against her chest, Iola was looking at the stars.

“Not the sibling I expected,” I said, sitting next to her.

“No?” said Iola. “Expected, or hoped?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” said Iola. “And thank you.”

I stared at her. “That’s the same thing that... no, never mind. What are you thanking me for, exactly? Knocking you off a ten-foot wall?”

“I suppose,” said Iola. “It gave me a chance to knock some sense into myself. I realized the ghost and I both thought we had to fight for the prince, but really the person we had to fight for...”

“Was Iason,” I finished. “Your brother.”

“Yes. That was his regret, his unfinished business. He died fighting against his brother, when he should have died fighting beside him.”

I nodded. “They’re gone now,” I said. “Their business is finished, so there’s no regret to sustain them anymore.”

“I know,” said Iola. “Anyway, that’s not the only thing I wanted to thank you for.”

“No?”

“No. Thank you for Iason, too.”

“What do you mean?”

It was Iola’s turn to stare. “You really don’t know, do you?” She shook her head. “You’re a clever woman, Lemma, but you really can be a fool.”

“Hey!”

“Lemma, when I tried to overcome the ghost, it hurt. A lot. When I stopped fighting, he led me down the same path that got him killed. What changed was when he was divided—between duty and family. I didn’t feel any duty, but Iason is my family, and that tipped us over to the family side.” She stood. “Your ghost couldn’t pick a lover, correct? For different reasons, she wanted the worker, the guard, and the noble equally.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked.

“Lemma. When you acted against me and the prince, to protect Iason... did it hurt because you were resisting the ghost? Or was it that her feelings were torn... and yours weren’t?”

My face started getting hot. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said stiffly, and turned away.

Iola laughed. “I’m starting to see what he sees in you. You’re cute when you blush.”

I clenched my fists and whirled around, fully prepared to blast her so hard the ghosts would feel it, but she was already walking away. What the hell is she on about? I wondered. I have no idea who ‘he’ is!

Yes, you do. And there was no one that thought could be but me.

* * *

“So where to next?” Iason asked a few hours later, after we were all up and breakfasted and packed.

“There’s two books left,” I said. “Both about the same distance away. I looked at a map before I went to bed last night, and I think I know where they are—one’s in Lagasch, and the other Hattush.”

Iason whistled. “That’s far,” he said. “Far from each other, too—Hattush is way north, and Lagasch is way east.”

“The book in Hattush is way nastier,” I said. “I hate to say it, but I think we’re going to need backup.”

“Backup?” asked Iola.

I nodded. “We’ll go to Lagasch first. We’ll grab the book, meet up with our backup, and then head for Hattush.”

“And you’re not going to tell us who the backup is,” said Iola.

“Nope!” I replied cheerfully. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

Iola opened her mouth to say something, but Iason interrupted. “Don’t bother. The more we ask, the more she enjoys not answering.”

“Aw, ruin my fun why don’t you.”

We started to walk, but Iason wasn’t following. I stopped and went back.

He looked out over the shacks, the pit, and desert, and said, “You think he was right?”

“Who?” I asked. “About what?”

“The prince,” he said. “About the whole palace of the dead thing. Wave of the future, he said.”

“What, do I think that someday, people are going to drag tons and tons of bricks out into the desert to build big pointy things to put dead kings in?” I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Iason. It’ll never catch on.” I patted him on the back. “C’mon, we’ve got a long trip ahead. Let’s get going.”

* * *