The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Wardens, Zandra . . . I have business to attend to. Your new idle task is to be watchful for any unwanted guests. Such a public display might make some women more curious than they should be. As before. Restrain. The time for action is soon.” A dismissive hand gesture is all it takes. The Wardens begin to walk in every which direction as though they’ve been here a million times.

“As for you, Sylvia. With me.” Rust leads me through her lair. I don’t even vaguely know what to call this place. The dim magical lighting makes it feel so special. Tapestries hang from the walls, and what few sight I see of them from the corners of my eyes are gorgeous. Women in ceremonial robes chanting before raised daises, great portals surrounded by huddled women in flowing magical robes, and even some of the council’s building we left earlier.

We’re moving too quickly for me to get too many details. Some of the women in the tapestries have hair the same color of purple as Valerie’s hair. I wonder if that means anything, but only for a moment.

Rust pauses in front of a door, tapping a finger thoughtfully to her own lips. “There’s so much I could tell you. My dear sister has revealed just how little you really know about your heritage, your powers . . . You know most of what she does, and even that is so insignificant. I could teach you how to steal your audience’s undying loyalty with such little use of your magic. Ways to weave spells into songs, techniques to make better use of your powers, and all of that would just be the start.”

She hasn’t asked me to respond. Oddly I don’t feel compelled to silence. That doesn’t feel like what she wants. I can taste it in her words. “Is that what you desire, Rust? Should I call you my dear aunt?”

Roaring laughter fills the hallway. The echo of her voice off the stone surrounding us is impressive, even with the tapestries in the way. It’s like her laugh is too strong for them to matter. Her unadulterated pleasure tingles inside of me like a bright red pulsing light.

A flick of her wrist and the door before her flies open. “Mm. I’ll need to think on what I wish you to call me. Somehow Rust seems so ill fitting for family, doesn’t it? After all, you don’t call my dear sister Silver Girl, do you? Oh and I could be such a better mother to you than she ever was. I can feel your power, licking at the edges of my own. So much alike, you and I. Our sisters inherit the prestige, and we make our own path, with powers all our own. Come, Sylvia.”

The thick satisfaction of pleasing her only keeps feeling better. More than just my obedience is pleasing her. I’m not sure if it’s what I am to her sister, or who I am, but it still makes me worth more to her. It makes her want me more and I need that.

Past the door is a lavish bedroom. The bed has posts, and the frame looks to be made out of the darkest red wood I’ve ever seen. Silver gauzy fabrics make up the canopy. A beautiful gold framed mirror hangs beside it. A shelf full of ancient looking tomes is in the nearby corner practically bursting with knowledge. A wardrobe carved from the same wood as her bed rests beside it, seeming larger than any I’ve ever seen.

Sensory overload doesn’t begin to describe how beautiful each and every piece of furniture is. All of it matches her, deep reds with silver details, or silver metal covered with deep red rust that looks at once both invincible and like a hard enough tap could make it fall apart.

Few women would take a name like Rust. It normally sounds like such a bad thing. Not bad as in evil or wicked, but something to be avoided at all costs. Somehow with her she makes it empowering. She is Rust, inescapable and so very powerful. She’s an arcane force of nature if such a thing isn’t a contradiction in terms.

She turns to face me, and brushes the red hair away from her silver eye for the first time. It falls just to the side, only mildly interested in obeying her whims. “Its simple enough to magic your clothes into something else, but this feels worth doing more thoroughly. Besides, I do rather like your uniform. Such a celestial view of your breasts is simply divine. Remove your clothes, and fold them on my bed. I’ll find something that should elicit the proper response from your mother . . .”

“As you wish, my dear aunt.” A not quite giggle rolls from her lips as she turns away, opening her wardrobe. Maybe that will help her decide what she’d prefer to be called. Anything I can do to feel more of her satisfaction . . .

I reach down and pull my top up over my head, squirming as the cool air of her candlelit room teases my bare skin. My amethyst and silver nipples rise to the occasion and I mewl. It feels different than just taking off my top. Its almost like I can feel the candle light gently massaging at the curves of my breasts. Every little flicker feels a little firmer, and a little warmer. It doesn’t get too hot, more like its designed to stimulate and warm me on the inside.

Somehow it reminds me of a fireplace we had in a fancy hotel somewhere on the east coast with a fireplace. Electric heat never felt quite the same since. Aurora’s heat still felt nice, but that’s a different kind of electric. That feeling always went deeper, especially with how much she’s always loved nestling her fingers deep inside of me.

I sit on the edge of the bed and carefully work to wiggle out of my shoes. Elaborate heels can be a little bit of a pain sometimes but they’re worth it for the extra style. After they’re gone my skirt follows close behind, and then so do my panties.

They’re not quite ruined, but only because I’ve learned to wear thicker underwear. Otherwise I think I’d be dancing with slick thighs halfway through most of my sets. I’d wear bike shorts or something like Aurora does, but those aren’t nearly as sexy. They kill all the thrill of spinning in a short skirt. There’s nothing fun about that.

“Ah! Yes, this . . . this will do quite nicely. I think you have just the hair for it, too. Come, Sylvia. There’s no sense in keeping your mother waiting. She’s likely already as worried and anxious as she’s going to get.” Like an invisible leash suddenly pulled taut Rust’s words pull me away from my own. Its strange, the longer I feel her red inside of me the more I can feel that what she wants isn’t mindless obedience so much as for there to be obedience beneath everything else.

It reminds me of Miss Corvi without the feeling that I should be thinking in the exact direction that she wants to tug me along. As long as I obey, her power inside of me is pleased, and yet with how delicious her pleasure inside of me feels I want so much more than that.

Rust’s smile is so radiant. Standing before her, and that too large wardrobe, all I can feel is anticipation. “This isn’t likely to ring any bells for you my dear, but don’t you worry about that. She’ll remember, and this is as much for her as anyone. Though I don’t imagine she’ll be quite as pleased that we went through all the trouble as I will.” Isn’t that what matters? I nod, and her smile grows that much brighter.

In a motion so graceful that it almost seems like the world around us moves instead of her, Rust slides a salmon shirt down over my body. Piece by piece follows a blue formal business look. The skirt is a little longer than I usually wear, and the top over the salmon shirt is a bit starchy but I’d fit in behind a secretary’s desk. Each article of clothing makes the red inside of me pulse more and more vividly. It’s strange to be dressed so conservatively when I’m under someone else’s control. She was less thrilled when I was naked.

“Just two more little touches, and then we’ll be ready to say hello to my dear sister. Oh I can just imagine the look on her face, can’t you? Though she might not even recognize you at first. A shame, but it would kill my presentation if we didn’t make this look of yours so . . . exact.” She’s so meticulous. Every little detail matters so much.

Yet it’s not without reason. I can feel how deeply it pleases her each time that she gets a small detail just perfect. Her satisfaction tastes rich and complicated, like a guitar solo so complicated it feels like you’re bending your fingers in brand new ways.

She steps behind me, and my eyes roll back into my head at the pleasure of her fingers in my hair. Every touch she gives me is so tender. She’s not viciously remaking me in her image like Quillspawn, or trying to set me up with someone to keep me in line like Doctor Lys. Her nails teasing my scalp feel heavenly. It would be impossible to hold back my moans.

Even still, her attention is more focused on my hair. She’s making me look presentable, but she isn’t rushing through it. She’s savoring every strand. She’s savoring me. I try to rub back against her as much as I can without interrupting her work. I’ve had plenty of stylists play with my hair, but I’ve never felt any of them make love to it like this. The longer her fingers stay in my hair, the more I want to wrap my arms around her and rub as close as I can. I want to taste her lips, to feel the way her thoughts flow with just enough nebula to not slow it.

She’s just so intoxicating. “There . . . that should be just about right . . .” Something slides into my hair, thicker than a normal styling stick but not so weighty that it pulls it down. “And to finish it all off, these.” Slowly she pulls away to reach into the wardrobe, sliding a pair of dark framed glasses onto my face.

Something dark and slick is spreading through my hair. I can’t see anything happening when I look up, but I can feel it. The more it spreads out the more I feel light headed, dizzy, and warm. My eyes fall half shut all on their own. It’s hard to stop swaying. It feels more and more familiar, but more sticky, emptier. If I knew why I was dressed like this it would probably all come together but I don’t.

“Oh just perfect!” Her pleasure rocks through me, and with the dizzy waves flowing through me from my hair I can’t hold back the mewls. “Mmm I never anticipated that your powers would play with my own like this. Even Yana’s powers didn’t behave this way. And here I am twice your aunt for her . . . intervention.”

That’s this feeling! It’s like ink, but it’s . . . different. It isn’t full of words, full of thoughts. It feels slicker. “Mmm twice my dear Aunt . . .” Her phrasing, but something about using it is so enticing.

“Precisely, my dear niece. I think my plans for you may be changing. But enough about that for now! Your hair should be black enough by the time we reach our destination. Won’t that just be lovely? You’ll be a trip down memory lane for her.” This feels so strange. Not just the dreamy glaze the stick in my air is spreading through me, but the way she’s responding to me. She wants something different than anyone has ever wanted from me before, and something about that feels so good. “Come, Sylvia.”

Rust leads the way again, and I follow. Even walking behind her feels different than walking behind or beside anyone else. It makes me feel smaller, but in a way that I can somehow enjoy. It makes me wish Aurora could be here with me. She’d love this feeling, too. Maybe she’ll be here with us soon.

I try to keep my bare feet in rhythm with the click of Rust’s heels. The floor should be cold, but it isn’t. The candle light isn’t nearly enough to keep this place warm, but something does – even the floor. Everything just feels nicer here.

There are so many things I want to ask, but every time I part my lips they fall shut on their own. This isn’t the time. She’s enjoying me, but right now we’re giving her something that she wants. Interjecting with curiosity will only slow her down. If I want more from her than just following or being set out to keep watch over a door or a room I’ll need to show her just how good I can be wrapped up in her red.

When we finally reach the right doors she places her hand on them both and shoves with such little force. Red energy glows around one hand, and silver the other. With barely any effort on her part the doors fling open so fast it seems unreal. “Oh dear sister! I’ve brought you a guest! Or, I suppose it would be more fair to say I’ve brought myself a guest.”

There she is. Hanging from chains, her arms held over her head, feet barely able to reach the ground, is Sarah. I don’t know what state I expected her to be in, but this isn’t that. She’s wearing a dark gray skirt with white trim around the hem. It almost goes down to her knees where the points of her white heeled boots reach. Up to her elbows are covered with similarly pointed white gloves. A sleeveless top with no cleavage or any real defining features covers her chest, coming down in a point down past her skirt. Silver hair hangs loosely around her face, looking cared for and yet somehow untamed.

Sarah’s hands clench into fists and yet she doesn’t struggle against her chains. Around her ripples a field of silver and red, doubtlessly keeping her caged as much if not more than the chains holding her. “I don’t need a shrink, and I’m not your ‘dear sister’ any more than you’re mine!”

Doesn’t need a shrink? I can’t even begin to understand what she means. Me? Do I really look like a therapist?

Rust leads me further into the room. It isn’t terribly large, but it is mostly barren. Besides Sarah hanging at the far end of the room there are several pillars adorned with mirrors aimed towards the back of the room, and a large two-doored cabinet made out of rusting metal. Unlike the other rooms, the lighting here is only red. Most of it comes from an elaborate chandelier hanging from a series of rusted silver chains.

I can’t imagine being trapped in this room for as long as she’s been missing. Nothing to see but those mirrors, that rust, the field of crackling energy . . . it’s not surprizing how vicious she sounds. Is it really viciousness, or exhaustion and a desperate attempt to be left alone if she isn’t going to be freed?

“Come now, is that anything to say to your own daughter? I think I liked you better when you were trying to appeal to my morality, Lucia.” Rust steps around behind me, before pulling off the glasses she so recently adorned me with. A moment later she draws the stick from my hair, and it falls out of whatever configuration she’d made of it. As it falls the black I could feel in it drains away to reveal the silver and purple underneath.

“Sylvia! Nebula . . . What did you do to her?!” Sarah’s whole body flashes brightly as she tries to struggle out of her chains. They seem to have just enough give for her to fight, but there’s no way she can break free. Flight, magic, sparks . . . none of Sarah’s powers make her good at tearing out of shackles. If she could teleport out of them that might work, but I’m betting that magic around her wouldn’t let her do that.

Still, it is nice to see her again, in a distant kind of way. I lazily raise my hand to wave. I think I’m smiling, but I still feel dizzy and woozy from that slick feeling that dyed my hair.

My aunt wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me back tight against her. I moan, falling back against her in a swoon. “Oh, less than I’ve done to you, my dear Lucia. So much less. Of course unlike you, she can’t cut through it all with a bright dose of inner light like you can. And she is such a lovely darling, isn’t she? So beautiful, even dressed so dully. It doesn’t take a genius to see how she could make so many fall in love with her, does it?”

Nothing that she’s saying is new to me, but it still feels so good to hear it from her. Her voice makes words taste sweeter. Her arms holding me make warmth feel so much better. Everything with her is just . . . more.

“Let her go! She hasn’t done anything to you, and she can’t give you what you want from me!” Sarah sounds so terrified. She wants to be angry, I can tell from the way her eyes are narrowed, but it only barely teases at her voice.

“No, Lucia. I don’t think I’ll be letting her go. Because she’s so much more useful to me right here.” Red and silver lips press to my ear burning with such pleasant wanting. “I’d considered grabbing your sturdier daughter, but it occurred to me that it might be more effective to use something softer, more vulnerable. Maybe she will succeed in plying you where torture and paradise could not.”

So much feels like its right over my head. Rust’s warm breath blows into my ear, and I moan louder. It’s so hard to keep my eyes open, but it’s so nice to see Sarah again. Even as her words threaten me I can feel something deeper inside of me whispering that this is all just a show. I just need to play my part.

Sarah struggles with her chains again, pulling so hard the shackles are cutting into her skin. She lets out a horrific scream, flailing her arms and legs like a wild animal. I don’t know how anyone could refuse Rust after spending so much time as her prisoner. Even keeping in mind that Sarah is so invulnerable to being controlled, she’s still a woman. Her clothing makes her look so much younger, so pure and untainted. I don’t know if I was ever that pure.

I wish I could help her. Not set her free, but walk up and slide my fingers through her hair until all she could think would be what I told her. If it was just that simple with her Rust would have already done it, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

Laughing, silver and red lips press to my ear again before she pulls away. The suddenness makes it hard not to fall to my knees, but a little of my nebula helps keep me upright. “Look at her, Lucia. Really look at her. So soft, supple, yielding . . . Do you think she could suffer through half of what you’ve taken and stay as whole? It would be so simple to do, you know. You’ve given me such practice. Maybe she’d surprise us both! Maybe, if I ground away at her will long enough, in just the right ways, she’d adapt. Maybe, I’d even be able to take from her the same thing I want from—”

“—No! You fucking monster!” Tears sparkle in Sarah’s eyes. It’s sad, but she’s really doing it to herself. She’s keeping something from her sister. If she just gave it to her then everyone could be so much happier. She’s just being so selfish. “You can’t do that to her! I . . . You fucking monster . . . You make your mother look nice . . .”

“My mother was nice, sister. Never forget why that changed.” Rust raises a hand over her head and with a low whisper snaps her fingers as she brings her hand down by her hip. Red energy courses out from the field surrounding Sarah, arching across her body like lightning. It stays visible even as it moves past her clothes, high under that skirt, along the curves of her chest, and into her scalp.

Her cries of pleasure are even louder than her cries of horror. Red pulses and flashes in her eyes as her thighs tremble and clench. Even from so far back I can taste how good she’s feeling. Each bolt is like a thousand years of longing laced with such a possessive lust. Even the light bearer can’t fight how good it feels.

Red pulses in my vision. The same red sizzling such burning hot bliss through my mother makes me obedient. It’s so much more than just a compulsion to obey. It makes me want it.

“Sssss-top it! Nnn . . . f-fuck! Y-you know this doesn’t work!” But she wants it to. She doesn’t say it, but there’s nothing right now that she’d love more than for that red heat to overwhelm her reason. She wants to be right where I am, dressed as Rust wants me, obeying without question, no worries or struggles. “My light just . . . just . . . nnnn cuts through it . . . every . . . time . . . fuuuuck!”

She arches so dramatically as the orgasm tears through her, eyes shining an even brighter red before her own silver shatters it like a pane of glass. “And that’s the point, dear sister. Even without any effort from you, your light cuts through everything else. You can’t turn it off. You can’t make it stop. You’re just . . . invulnerable. I’m going to give you some time to think about just how unalike you and your daughters are.” She takes my hand, fingers lacing between mine. I fall against her with a dreamy sigh as she leads us away from my screaming mother.

“W-wait!” Sarah is trying so hard not to moan but it’s not doing her any good. I don’t know why she even tries. “Please, wait! Rust! Sylvia!”

“Oh, and one last thing before we go. I want you to consider that your Olivia’s precious sunrise is still out there, and will inevitably try getting in my way. She might have her mother’s metal, but . . .” Rust laughs, such a cold yet deeply pleased laugh. I have to squeeze closer to her to keep my footing. “Consider how much good that did for Olivia.”

I’m so confused. The doors slam shut behind us, leaving Sarah to scream with no one to watch her. What could Rust want from her? She used to have to will her light to work, but if it’s really become like it is now, rising up on its own even when she doesn’t want it, Sarah couldn’t possibly be her slave in the only way that Rust would ever be able to accept. She’d fight past the control every time. It wouldn’t even be intentional, just a matter of course.

Without warning Rust’s lips melt into mine, her hand holding my face so tight. I melt against her, arms wrapping around her tight as I can will them to. Her curves feel like they were made for my body to fit into them, like I was made just to fit against her. The longer her lips stay on mine, the more I want the moment to never end.

The easier it is to just let go of all of my curiosities, of all of my questions. All that’s important now is her. Red is all I can see with my eyes so tightly closed. It’s not the red of my eyelids. It’s her Red. Her red burning into me hotter. Her red infecting me with more of her addictive perfection. Her taste, her touch, her voice, her desires guiding me, I could cry with how magical this feels.

Nothing can withstand this hot burning red. Nothing could want to. Rust, my aunt, my owner, my world, burning everything away. I moan into her kiss, pressing into her arms, into her body as a crimson oblivion embraces me.

“I have a much better idea for what to do with you than torment you, Sylvia. I think it’s time that you learn just what it means to be a LaSilvas, and more.” I didn’t even realize the kiss ended until I heard her voice teasing across my lips. “How does that sound?”

“P-perffffect . . .!” There are no other words. My voice trembles too much for me to throw out the word with as much passion as I want to, but from the delight I can see in her eyes and taste in my mind she knows.

She kisses me again, but so much quicker. “Lovely. Then lets get you back out of those boring clothes, and into something fit for a witch.”

Cold. I feel so incredibly cold. I feel pretty damn sore, too. Between my legs, my arm, my head, my chest . . . ow. I can’t remember ever feeling this sore.

I’ve felt more pain, sure. Falling from a building hurt a lot more than this once the shock of being alive wore off. My metal doesn’t make me invincible, just a heck of a lot tougher. But for just soreness, just rawness, this wins by “five nights with Sylvia nonstop.”

My eyes are burning, too. The places that red whip hit me sting, but not with pain. They sting like they still need or want something. There’s way too much that I don’t know about this “Rust”. I need to fix that.

I pull my hand out from between my legs and shudder at how intense it feels. Still so sensitive. It almost hurts. Slick, my hand slides when I try to use it for leverage and my head hits down against the floor. Ow. So far this is not a great way to come to after being mind fucked. Then again, I really wouldn’t call what she did mind fucking.

She tore my mind open with . . . need. Desire. Lust. Every hit of that red whip made less of me, and more of that primal craving. I’ve wanted someone bad, like how I wanted Sylvia that night in my old car, but I could have resisted that if I’d wanted to. This wasn’t the kind of want that self control can fight off. This was like needing to gasp for air when you’ve been under the water too long. This was like how tears feel when your heart breaks. It wasn’t a question of resisting. It was only a question of how long I could hold out.

Using my other hand I manage to sit up. My knees are killing me. At least my ass isn’t as sore. Something not being just pure ache is relieving. Every ache feels like it has just an edge of how that red felt. It almost feels like if I closed my eyes and felt across my breasts right where her red struck me I could lose myself to that feeling again.

It’s almost like she gave me a whole new way to yearn for something. Did she control what it was for that time? Did she just want me indisposed so she could run away with . . .

Sylvia!

Thinking about her is all I need to rise up to my feet. I stand a little too fast and almost fall back over, but I manage to stabilize myself on the small table again. Ow ow ow ow ow does this head rush hurt. It’s like all of the blood in my whole body is trying to slam its way in to offer some idea of what to do. She isn’t here. It’s just me, a red orb in the center of the table where a blue one was before, and the same bookshelves and artifact cases.

Books are still on the floor. Rust must not have any love lost for books if she left without getting that shelf restocked. She knew all of this already. But how? If many people knew about the Wardens this book wouldn’t need to be hidden away here. It has other stuff in there too, sure, but still . . . !

If Lida knew about that, she would have told Sarah. Sarah would have done something. Someone would have done something.

None of the answers I need are here. Answers about The Wardens might be, but nothing about Rust. I kneel down to grab that book back up, cradle it under my arm, and move over to the door. They at least went through the trouble of closing this. Not wanting to fall on my face again and deal with how fun it would definitely feel to try standing back up, I push the door open gentler.

Nothing happens. The door doesn’t budge an inch. It doesn’t make a creaking sound, it doesn’t squeak . . . nothing.

Oh, duh! Before I pushed, so this time I’d need to pull. Only . . . there’s nothing to pull. Both of the doors are devoid of even one of those old knocker things. They definitely don’t have any knobs.

It’s probably just because my hand is still metal. I take a deep breath, pull my metal back, and try to push again or reach for a magic knob. I try again, this time letting some of my silver energy spark out around my hand. Nothing. Rust said she’d needed me to open the door. Did that change after the Warden-orb-thingy went red?

I have absolutely no idea.

I do know that I’m starting to panic. Something has to open up this door. It can’t be impenetrable. If I have to punch my way through, I’ll get out . . . but that’d take forever. By then Sylvia would already have any number of rusty-tetanus-y things done to her.

Who the hell would name themselves “Rust”?!

I close my eyes, and take a deep slow breath. I just need to think of ways to open a door. There has to be some way that makes sense. Since I’m stuck in here if I can’t figure it out there’s no reason not to try every damn idea that comes to mind. So, I knock. I knock harder. I pound on the door. I kick it. I melt my metal back over my fist and slam it as hard as I can into the faint seam between the doors.

All that happens is that the force of the punch vibrates down my arm so hard I almost fall back down. Shit! “Come on, door! Doors are made to open! That’s what you do! You open, like a nice litt-big set of doors! Okay?! Just open!”

The door doesn’t respond. Why should it? It’s a fucking door! Doors don’t talk. If it did, I don’t think I’d be any good at figuring out which side of the door was the door that always told the truth and which one always lied. And it’d probably be a Goblin Queen, not a Goblin King waiting for me.

Watching movies about magic as a kid is not helping me any when it comes to dealing with magic! This is another reason why Counter should be here. She’d have a spell or two to get us out of here. She always did.

That was her thing. It was what her name meant. She countered spells. This is some kind of spell. It has to be. I might not be Omega Girl strong, but I can bust my way through a fucking door! Ugh! Finally I know who has mom and I’m stuck behind a pair of magical doors that don’t know I have places to be! Mom was stuck behind a magic door once or twice. The time that I remember she had some kinda magic amplifier . . . and an extra self.

And Lida.

Hopeless. Even mom needed more than this to get out. If she didn’t have that amplifier, The Domina, and Lida, she would still be trapped there . . .

No. No, that’s not right. She never would have given up. Just because she found one way out doesn’t mean that there weren’t others. She never tried throwing white out at Quillspawn. It might not have worked, but it did something.

And here I am, all out of white out.

There’s no reason to think it would get me out of this situation, but there’s no reason to think that it wouldn’t work either. I’d go for anything about now. I’m desperate enough to start trying paperclips. What would I possibly have on me that might help?

I hold the book about The Wardens up infront of me and frown. This is very unlikely to help. Until that changes there’s no reason to worry about it. I set the book down away from the fallen books and walk over to one of the display cases. Maybe there’s something in one of these that could do the trick.

A cup probably wouldn’t help and I don’t feel daring enough to take a sip from it, empty or not. There’s a dagger with a crimson hilt, but the color red sounds like a bad idea. Just thinking it too loud makes my chest ache. Useless. Without knowing what these are they’re just objects!

For all I know the dagger is some weird healing artifact. Maybe it gives someone blood to make up for any lost. Magic does all sorts of really weird things. My ideas are probably way too mundane compared to all of the real possibilities.

One of the cases is sealed up with big padlocks. Taking the chance that its not some sort of rabid porcupine made of magical daggers I grab the lock in my hand and squeeze it tight as I can. Something starts pushing back besides just metal. It’s hard to describe, almost like pressure welling up inside of the lock. It aches, but I just push my own magic back against it.

The pressure changes, starting to feel more and more like a fire. Hot. Painful. Searing. I’m not really in the mood to find out if my metal can get hot enough to be stuck together, but I can’t give up. I try to force as much of my silver up the center of the lock.

It clicks into place, and instantly all of the fire and pressure dies back down. Maybe the lock was sealed the same as the door? It sounds too good to be true, but I’m able to pull the lock away either way.

Inside are more artifacts with no obvious usage. A brooch shaped like a heart. A broken pen. A golden ring. And . . . a key! Ha-ha! A key! Why else would they double-lock up a key like this? If it could open absolutely any lock ever! If someone got their hands on this then they could get into the vault whenever they wanted, or anywhere for that matter. That would be pretty damned dangerous . . . right? Without a doubt. That has to be it. There’s no other explanation.

The key is unnaturally cold and heavy in my hand like it’s made of super dense ice that’s only colored like metal. It doesn’t feel dangerous to hold – for the key or me – so I walk over to the door and just try pushing it into the surface like it should fit.

Nothing. I shove harder and harder, but the door doesn’t magically open a keyhole and the key doesn’t magically open up the doors. It’s a failure in every possibly conceivable way.

Why would a key open a door without a keyhole?! Nothing else even vaguely looked like it could do the trick. I’m not quite desperate enough yet to try putting on magical jewelry. Considering what happened to Sylvia I might be lucky to be Aurora by the time I got that door open.

I’d do anything for Sylvia, but if I saved her just to pin her down and surrender her body over to a piece of evil jewelry I don’t think it’d be worth it.

Back to square one. I pinch the door, but it’s a half hearted effort. It doesn’t even hurt to do. Trapped. Caged. I won’t need to find a way to make it so Rust can’t just whip me silly again. I’ll be too busy being stuck here to do a damn thing.

I punch the door again, and let myself slide down to my knees. The pressure makes me wince. Mid sigh I can hear a voice on the other side of the door. It’s just a gasp, but I know that I heard it. “Who is that?! Rust? Sylvia?! You need to get me out of here!”

“Aurora LaSilvas . . . Zandra told us that you were one of the two she helped find their way down here.” Her voice isn’t one I recognize. Given that she doesn’t sound happy this might be a good thing. Maybe.

“A little! We thought that we were saving The Wardens from Leora, Leora LaSilvas! Zandra told us . . . Look, I promise, I’m not going to do anything to hurt anyone! I just want to get out of here so I can stop Rust, save my sister, and fix things! We really didn’t mean to make this happen!” Standing back up is a whole lot easier when its powered by desperate hope.

If she opens the door (if she can open the door, but I don’t want to imagine that she can’t) then things get a whole lot simpler. Well, my problem gets more complex but there’ll be fewer steps left for Sylvia to be okay. Maybe? I need out of here!

The woman on the other side makes a long slow thoughtful sound. “You thought you were saving The Wardens from . . . Leora . . . You’re not from Sanctuary, are you?”

“Sanctuary?” Did Rust say something about that or did I read it in the book? I’m not even sure if that means this city, this world, what. Maybe it means nothing. I feel too frazzled to be sure. “I’m from Midas City! I promise! I know, being the light bringer or light bearer or whatever’s daughter is probably pretty popular, but that’s really who I am! I’ve never even been here before! Zandra said she found mom . . . that’s Sarah, Silver Girl, you know, her . . . and we came here to help! Really! It’s a big misunderstanding!”

She doesn’t respond. It’s hard to blame her, even with how much I’m freaking out. Wouldn’t anyone in my position say something like this? It’s true, but that doesn’t make it any less convenient.

I take a deep breath, and brace myself against the doors. “Look, I know this sounds ridiculous. Stretches believability. But it’s still true! I don’t know enough about this place to be convincing, or to lie helpfully. All I know is Zandra came to help us take care of Quilspawn . . . A Nesatealia, at least sort of? She was Yanuka’s daughter . . . But anyway, she helped us, and left us these rings, then she came and told us that we needed to help her free the Wardens, and free my mom from Leora or Rust or whoever had her. I promise, that’s everything!”

“And you truly don’t recognize my voice?” This feels like a trick question. Her voice sounds incredulous. It’s not so much like she’s calling me a liar so much as she finds it hard to believe.

“I swear!”

One of the doors starts to open. I pull my hand away, and the door opens the rest of the way. Standing on the other side of the door is a very dignified looking woman with elaborately curly silver hair. I don’t need to check her eyes but I do anyway. Just as silver. She’s wearing formal wear that looks like a cross between a military uniform and business not-so-casual with a neck I’ve only seen Asian dresses have, and shoulders that almost look like those pads with big fringe that generals have only without the fringe.

It’s all tastefully silver and white. She manages to make a relatively short skirt look professional – maybe even intimidating. “So . . . who are you?”

“I’m Leora LaSilvas.”