The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Beardwood’s eyes poured over Mair Ab Owain. She stood silently and stiffly in the dark cave. Her half-lidded eyes showed no sign of concern, no awareness of the dim situation she was in. Her forest-green ballgown looked beautifully out of place in the subterranean space. Beardwood ran his fingers along the cool silk of her gown, tracing the curves of her hips.

“It is time for you to join her,” he whispered. “She has been lonely.”

He looked beyond Mair towards the edge of the cave. Bedelia Ecclestone’s unconscious body was tied to the wall by several tree roots. Her arms were bound above her head, which was slumped forward in her slumber. Small tendrils snaked their way into her nostrils. Her soft lips were wrapped around a larger root that wound its way down her throat.

Vines curled around Bedelia’s small pale breasts, supporting them like a botanical brassiere. Lower down, larger offshoots curled around her waist and hips before eventually penetrating Bedelia’s holes. Two large roots were wrapped around each of her ankles, ensuring her legs remained spread wide.

Bedelia had kept him company for the past several days, but the Tree of the Harvest prevented her from being a great conversationalist. He rubbed his salt-and-pepper goatee for a moment before shrugging. “Exaixos,” he whispered.

Suddenly Mair closed her eyes, scrunching her face while yawning. Her body loosened up as she rubbed her eyes. She squinted in the darkness of the cave. Eventually her eyes adjusted and she noticed Beardwood’s silhouette.

She jumped back. “Who are you?!”

“Professor Brython Beardwood,” he answered with a smile.

“Oh, uh, hello Professor. Where… where am I?”

“Beneath the Sonswyg Forest.”

“Beneath the Sonswyg…” she repeated, scanning the dark room. Eventually her head turned toward Bedelia.

“Great Galt!” she screamed when she saw the naked girl. “That’s Bedelia!”

“Yes it is,” said Beardwood. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“You…” Mair retreated, her back against the earthen wall. “You took her? She’s been here all this time?”

“Indeed. And it’s time you joined her.”

“You’re disgusting!” she shouted. “I won’t let you do this!”

“You won’t let me?” he laughed. “You think Weirhaven students let me do anything? You think you let me bring you here in the first place?”

“You’re just an old, grimy bastard!” she shouted, louder this time. Her eyes reflected the candlelight, temporarily taking on the same color as her fiery hair. “I’m reporting you to Weirhaven immediately!”

“You will stay in this cave until the Tree is done with you.”

“Oh yeah?” she said sarcastically. “We’ll see about that,” she said as she reached into her bust and pulled her wand out from behind the silk.

But Beardwood was faster. “Exaixakata.”

Mair froze, her arm halfway extended toward Beardwood. “What the—”

“Drop the wand.”

Beardwood heard the clatter of her wand hitting the ground.

“What have you done to me?” she demanded. Beardwood thought he heard a twinge of fear in her voice.

“I have you under Exaixon. I got you while you were at the Dawns Mabon. You’re my puppet now.”

“At the Dawns Mabon?” she breathed. “How…?”

“It was quite easy, actually. Bedwyr Parry did most of the work, isolating you from the rest of the students.”

“Bedwyr? That’s who was wearing the mask?”

“You should be thanking me, really. It sounded like Parry was really going to have at you while you slept.”

“That fucking bastard,” she whispered.

“Agreed,” said Beardwood. “Anyway, let’s get on with it. Come closer now.”

Mair inhaled sharply as her feet moved involuntarily. She took two steps closer to the wizard.

“Much better,” he smiled. “Take off the gown.”

“No way,” she protested. But her hands moved to her back where they began to undo her buttons. “What?!”

“Your body is under my control. I’m just temporarily allowing your mind to be free. It’s nice having someone to talk to.”

“You’re a pig,” she snapped as her fingers made quick work of her buttons. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Who’s going to stop me? No one knows you’re here.”

“My friends… my friends will!”

With all the buttons undone, Mair slowly slipped her shoulders out of the gown. Her face, in all its rage, made a sharp contrast to the smooth movements of her limbs. She pulled the gown down her chest, revealing her chemise, and wiggled her hips as she tugged the gown down past her waist. Finally, the silken gown fell to the dusty dirt floor.

“Step out of the gown.”

Mair lifted her bare foot and took a step to the left, followed by her right foot. She shivered in the cold.

“Take of the chemise,” Beardwood ordered.

Mair’s face twisted as she bent forward and took the hem of the linen undergarment into her hands. She then pulled the chemise up over head and tossed it to the side.

Mair now stood totally nude. Beardwood couldn’t help but notice her breasts, which were larger than he expected. Freckles ran down her pale skin from her face to her chest.

“Rub your breasts,” he breathed.

Mair protested as her hands slid up her torso and grabbed each of her breasts, rubbing them in a circular motion. Her breasts were bigger than her small hands, and they overflowed beyond her fingers. “Pig…” was all she managed to say.

Beardwood breathed heavily as he watched Mair knead her breasts against her will. After a few more moments, he shook himself off and cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Ms. Ab Owain. It’s time for you to join Bedelia now.”

Mair’s head snapped to the side as she stared at the sleeping Bedelia. “No…” she whispered. “No! You can’t do this!”

“Two more girls will join you two soon,” he said. “Then we’ll be ready.”

“Don’t do this!” she begged.

Beardwood raised his wand. Mair shook her head.

“Somneron.”

Mair collapsed in a heap. Beardwood reveled in taking away the fiery girl’s consciousness.

“Eigeron.”

Mair’s limp, nude body levitated up into the air. Beardwood floated her over next to Bedelia and dropped her. Her body crumpled into a pale white ball.

He walked over to her body and touched his wand to the earthen wall above her. He closed his eyes, recited the incantation, and took a step back.

I made sure, he thought. I made sure Pixton selected a bright one for me.

He watched as a new set of roots sprung to life above Mair. They uncurled from the ceiling, stretching and twisting their way down to her unconscious body. Beardwood held his breath.

He watched as the roots wrapped around her hands, pulling her up slowly so that she eventually hung from the ceiling, arms above her head, just like Bedelia. Then, smaller roots emerged from the ceiling. After circling sleepily above Mair’s head, they descended further and began wrapping around her temples.

Only two more. If this works, I only need two more.

The tendrils continued to wrap around her head. Beardwood stared. It felt like he hadn’t breathed in minutes.

Then larger roots emerged from the earth, wrapping around her ankles and spreading her legs. Beardwood exhaled. She would work after all.

Alys jolted awake. Her sweat had soaked through her linen nightgown. She rubbed her temples and tried to slow her breathing.

It was just a dream, she told herself. She placed her hand over her heart. It was beating fast. But a very vivid dream.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember. She saw a girl with red hair walking barefoot through a dark forest. A tall, older wizard followed a step behind. She was wearing a green ballgown.

Alys opened her eyes and crawled to the end of her four-poster bed. She reached out and peeled back one of the curtains, glancing over at Mair’s bed. Her curtains were still tied to the posters, but in the darkness it was hard to tell whether the bed was empty or not. Alys placed her bare feet onto the cold wooden floors of the dorm room and stood up, careful to duck her head beneath her bed’s upper panel.

She shuffled across the creaky floors until she stood next to Mair’s bed. She could tell now that it was empty. Alys started rubbing her temples again. Her head felt like it could split apart at any moment. I drank way too much. Indeed, she had started drinking aggressively after Mair had left with… him.

Just then, the sound of snores broke Alys’s train of thought. She looked grumpily over towards Guinevere’s bed—the source of the interruption. Gwen, too, had drank aggressively after returning from her unexplained absence. They had accounted for three empty bottles of redgwin between the two of them.

Alys returned to her bed, sliding between the silk drapes. She was so tall that her feet always dangled off the edge. She usually wore thick wool socks to keep her feet warm (her blankets weren’t long enough either), but she had been so drunk returning from the Dawns Mabon that she had forgotten.

Her head now resting on her pillow, her mind reluctantly returned to her dream. It was a coincidence, she was sure. She had been pissed at Mair for leaving with Bedwyr, so her redheaded friend was surely top of mind when Alys had fallen asleep. It makes sense that I’d dream of her. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then her mind went even further back. Back to before she had ever stepped foot on Weirhaven’s campus.

Viscount Merwin sat across from her, tapping his foot impatiently. A sturdy walnut table separated them. Alys anxiously ran her fingers along the rich, dark grain of the wood. It was her favorite piece of furniture in the manor house.

The Viscount glanced at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall and continued to tap his foot. “He’s late,” he grumbled, his eyes still glued to the timepiece.

“I’m sorry, father,” was all she knew to say. She wore a light green dress. It had once reached down to her ankles. Now it fell to her mid-calf. She had been growing so fast lately. The tailors in Merwood couldn’t keep up.

Just then, the door to the room opened. Alys smiled as Brochfael, the seneschal, peeped his head in.

“My Lord Viscount, Professor Cennydd Fardd to see you.”

“Send him in,” the Viscount growled.

Brochfael’s head disappeared back through the door. A few moments later, a short, bespeckled wizard strode in.

“Apologies for my delay, Viscount Merwin,” said Professor Fardd as he bowed. “The roads from Druicraeft were quite muddy.”

“Very well,” said the Viscount, sitting up in his chair. “This is my daughter, the Lady Alys.”

Professor Bardd bowed once more. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Alys replied without thinking, her formal training kicking in.

The short wizard stood up straight, then gestured toward the seat next to Alys. “May I?”

“Of course,” Alys nodded.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, sitting down. He reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. When he was situated, he looked up at the Viscount, who nodded. Then Professor Bardd turned back to Alys, smiling.

“Now, dear,” he said, dipping his quill into the black ink, “tell me about these dreams of yours.”

“Wake up, Alys, damn it!”

Alys’s blue eyes fluttered open and looked hazily into the deep brown eyes of Guinevere, who was kneeling over her and shaking her shoulders.

“Finally!” Guinevere exhaled when she realized Alys was awake. “I was shaking you for like ten seconds.”

“Sorry. Rough night,” Alys moaned as she sat up. She saw sunlight peek through her drapes. “What time is it?”

“11. Mair’s still not back.”

“Still?” Alys tried not to sound worried.

Guinevere got off of Alys’s bed and rubbed her forehead. “I feel terrible.”

“Me too,” said Alys, “I don’t think I’ve ever drank that much in my life.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Guinevere vowed.

“I’ve heard that before.” Alys slipped out from underneath her covers and stood up.

Guinevere rolled her eyes. “Maybe Mair went straight to Branwen for breakfast?”

“It’s possible,” said Alys. “She could be in Swefnwicc, too.”

“You’re not worried?”

“No,” Alys lied.

Guinevere shrugged, “Okay. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

“I should eat something, but I don’t know if it’ll stay down.”

“Only one way to find out,” Guinevere smiled.

Alys did her best to smile back. She turned around as Guinevere pulled her linen chemise over her head.

Alys took her own chemise off and placed it in her drawer. Her nipples hardened in the drafty air of the dormitory.

When the two girls were ready, they descended the stairs and set out across campus towards Branwen Hall. Even though it was late in the morning, the campus was deserted.

“Looks like the rest of campus drank too much, too,” Alys observed.

“Or maybe all the witches went to Druicraeft and we’re the only losers still here,” Guinevere said.

“I wouldn’t dare go home with one of those wizards,” Alys sneered. “They’re brutes.”

Alys saw her friend’s face grow suddenly solemn. “Not all of them,” Guinevere whispered.

“What ever happened to the Duke’s son? I didn’t see him all night.”

“Not sure,” Guinevere said quickly. Then, “It’s actually quite a nice day out, don’t you think?”

When the two girls arrived outside of Branwen, they found a few witches hunting around the ashes of the fire that had been lit for the Dawns Mabon.

“Shall we look for our stones?” Guinevere asked.

“I don’t believe in that stuff,” Alys replied.

“Right. Neither do I.”

The girls walked past the ashes just in time to see Rhae Wygold, with her billowing blonde hair, pull her stone out of the ashes and scream, “Aha! I’ll be married in a year!”

Guinevere leaned in closer to Alys and whispered, “She does know that’s not what it means, right?”

Alys smiled, “Lady Rhae is the daughter of my Eorl. I won’t tolerate any slander.”

“I think Lady Rhae’s education is going to waste.”

As the two girls entered Branwen, they both marveled at how the hall had miraculously returned to its regular state overnight. The enchanted starlit canopy was back to its impressive—albeit austere—vaulted ceiling. The tapestries had returned to the walls, and the spidersilk tablecloths had vanished.

Lunys and Nerys Price waved the girls over to their table. As the girls made their way over to the twins, Alys scanned the dining hall, searching for Mair’s fiery red hair. But the redhead was nowhere to be found. Alys’s sense of dread began to simmer.

They sat down across from the twins and stared down the toast and butter that sat before them.

“Weirhaven spent half its annual food budget last night,” said Lunys.

“Rumor is they had to ship this bread in from Lothaire,” Nerys added.

“Good morning,” said Alys.

“I’m surprised to see you two alive,” said Lunys.

“You both drank quite a bit last night,” Nerys continued.

“Don’t I know it,” mumbled Guinevere. “They could have at least buttered our toast for us.”

“Hey,” Alys interrupted, “have either of you seen Mair this morning?”

The black-haired twins scrunched up their faces as they thought. Then Lunys said, “We haven’t seen her since she left with the Parry boy.”

“Why? She didn’t come back last night?” asked Nerys.

“No,” answered Alys. She reached for the kettle in front of her and poured some tea into her mug.

“I’m not sure how Mair could’ve snuck off campus,” said Lunys.

“Faculty from both colleges were patrolling the grounds like leerkats,” added Nerys.

Alys thought back to her dream, picturing the graying wizard following Mair through the forest.

“Great Galt, Alys!”

Alys’s eyes darted back down to her mug as the tea started to overflow onto the table. Guinevere stood up as the tea spilled onto her lap.

“What’s gotten into you?” Guinevere snapped.

“Sorry!” Alys exclaimed, reaching for a napkin, “I don’t know! I’m just tired!”

Guinevere snatched the napkin out of her hand and began patting her thighs. “That tea was really hot,” she grumbled.

Nerys stood up. “Well, we’d better be off then.”

Lunys joined her. “We’re going to walk around the Faerie Garden.”

Without saying another word—or waiting for a response—the twins turned around in a synchronized motion and began walking out of the dining hall.

Guinevere sat down again and watched the girls walk away. “Who spends their weekend walking around the Faerie Garden?”

“They’ve always been… interesting,” said Alys. Once the girls were out of sight, she turned to Guinevere and whispered, “I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?” asked Guinevere without looking up. She picked up her piece of toast and examined it closely, making sure it had avoided the deluge of tea.

“I have this, uh, ability…”

Guinevere started spreading the butter over her bread. “Oh yeah? Do tell.”

Alys cringed as she spoke, “Sometimes, when I’m asleep, I have these dreams. Except they’re not like normal dreams. They’re, uh, sometimes they’re more real than dreams.”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow as she took a bite of her toast. “Wha’s tha supposed t’mean?” she asked, mouth full.

“Sometimes I dream things that are happening in real life, in different places. Sometimes they’re things that have already happened that I shouldn’t have any business knowing about. Other times I dream things that haven’t happened yet.”

Guinevere swallowed the toast and took a sip of water. “You’re talking about oneiromancy?”

“Yes!” Alys whispered, her eyes darting around the dining hall.

“You’re an oneiromancer? Why am I just hearing about this now?”

Alys shook her head, “No, I wouldn’t call myself an oneiromancer. When I was younger, my father tried to get me to cultivate the ability—he even hired an oneiromancy professor from Druicraeft to tutor me—but I could never master it.”

“I’ve heard it’s quite difficult,” Guinevere nodded as she took another bite of toast.

“No matter how many sessions I had with Professor Bardd, I could never learn to control it. My father never forgave me. He saw himself getting rich, winning battles, all from my ‘power.’ I think he even pictured himself as an Eorl or Duke one day. But I was useless in his eyes.”

“Hopefully you’re more to him than just a tool,” said Guinevere. She took another sip of water and asked, “Did you have a dream or something last night?”

Alys leaned in close now. “Yes. I saw Mair in a forest. She was in the same gown she wore to the Dawns Mabon. And she was with an older wizard.”

Guinevere’s hand froze halfway to her mouth, her toast idling in midair. “She wasn’t with the Parry boy?”

“No.”

Guinevere set the toast down. “What are you saying?”

“What if the wizard I saw is the same one who abducted Bedelia Ecclestone?”

“We don’t know that anyone ‘abducted’ Bedelia.”

“There’s been no sign of her since she disappeared. No first-year can just disappear like that.”

Guinevere rubbed her forehead, then reached for the tea kettle. “But Mair ran off with Bedwyr. How did she end up with this other wizard? How’d he get her off campus?”

“I’m not sure,” Alys mumbled as Guinevere poured herself a cup of tea. “Maybe the wizard planned it all. Maybe he was one of the professors guarding campus.”

Guinevere nearly spit up her tea. “You’re saying a Druicraeft professor kidnapped Mair?”

“I’m saying it’s possible.”

Guinevere patted her chest as she coughed, her long brown curls bouncing as she did so. “Don’t you think this is a little… paranoid? I mean, you said it yourself—you never were able to control your dreams. Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?”

“Maybe,” Alys said as she took another sip of tea, “but what if I’m right? We haven’t seen her since last night and it’s almost noon now. You heard the Price twins—Weirhaven was heavily guarded last night. You think two drunk first-year students could have left campus without anyone noticing?”

Guinevere shrugged, “What do you suggest we do?”

“I think we should alert the Madam Wardress.”

“Heulwen Hanford? By the stars…”

“You don’t have to come with me,” said Alys, standing up.

“You’re going now?” Guinevere looked up. “Of course I’ll go with you. I’ll just… let you do all the talking.”

“You’re that scared of her?”

“I’m not scared,” Guinevere said, leaping up from her chair, “I’ve just heard rumors that she once tried to open a feirhound fighting house in Swefnwicc.”

Alys turned to leave. “I’ve heard that too.”

“I mean, who wants to be in the same room as a feirhound, let alone a room where they’re fighting?”

Alys shrugged, “The type of witch you hire as Madam Wardress, I suppose.”

As Alys and Guinevere approached Weirhaven’s main gate, a slight drizzle began to fall from the sky. Droplets began to fall from the brim of Alys’s dark blue witch hat. She looked up at the gargoyles that kept watch atop the wall’s perimeter. They had grown quite weathered over the centuries.

The office of Weirhaven’s Madam Wardress was in the Gatehouse. Built from granite, it was an imposing building that soared high above the archway through which hundreds of Weirhaven students, faculty, and guests shuffled on a daily basis.

As the two approached the ground-level entrance to the Gatehouse, a witch stepped out of the shadows and watched the pair as they drew closer. She wore the familiar black-and-white striped robes and hat that identified her as one of the wardresses, the witches charged with ensuring campus security.

Alys cleared her throat as they got closer. “We’d like to speak with the Madam Wardress, please.”

The wardress, who appeared to be in her 30th revolution, crossed her arms and frowned. “May I ask why?”

“That’s something I’d like to speak to her about directly.”

The wardress laughed and shook her head. “Students do not get to see the Madam Wardress as they please. A reason. Give me one.”

Alys looked down at Guinevere, who shrugged. Then she cleared her throat once more and said, “We believe another student may have gone missing.”

The wardress stopped laughing and glared silently instead. “Are you serious?” she asked after a brief pause.

“Very.”

“If you are jesting, I assure you the Madam Wardress will—”

“This is no jest.”

The wardress looked the girls up and down, seemingly weighing her options in her head. Finally, she whispered, “Follow me.”

As the wardress turned around and disappeared into the Gatehouse, Alys shot Guinevere another look. Guinevere smiled nervously back at her. “Here goes nothing,” said Alys as she followed the wardress into the darkness.

The three witches ascended the spiral staircase that took them into the upper levels of the Gatehouse. When they reached the final floor and walked onto the landing, they were greeted by a large wooden door enforced with iron straps. The wardress grabbed the knocker, which had been forged into shape of a wolf’s mouth, and knocked twice.

“Come in!” a gruff female voice shouted out.

The wardress turned to leave. “Good luck,” she said before starting her descent.

Alys grabbed the large iron doorknob and twisted. The large door creaked open, revealing a large, dark room. It was lit by a small fireplace on the opposite side of the room, along with a few torches placed strategically along the walls. Near the fireplace knelt a large silhouette.

“Come in already. You’re letting in a draft.”

As the two girls nervously stepped into the office, the silhouette stood up.

The first thing Alys noticed about Heulwen Hanford was her height. It wasn’t often that Alys met another woman as tall as her, but the Madam Wardress looked Alys straight in the eye. She was thick and solidly built, with a short crop of brown hair atop her scarred face. Her brow was imposing, her small brown eyes set deep in her face. She wore the black-and-white robes of the wardresses, but had white epaulettes on her shoulders signifying her rank.

“You’re students,” she said. Her voice was deep.

“Yes, Madam Wardress,” Alys answered, trying to keep her voice from shaking, “we’re first-year—”

“It wasn’t a question,” Hanford interrupted. “What do you want?”

“Well, Madam Wardress, we, uh, we believe another student has gone missing.”

“Is that right?” said Hanford as she walked behind her desk and sat. “Since when?”

Alys and Guinevere remained frozen where they stood, just inside the doorway.

“Since last night,” Alys sputtered.

“A student went missing during the Dawns Mabon?” Hanford smiled, revealing her missing front teeth. “Impossible.”

Alys felt herself growing angry, annoyed by her doubters. She thought back to father, to her sessions with Professor Bardd.

“Not impossible,” she blurted out.

Hanford raised an eyebrow. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Alys Merwin.”

“And your friend?”

Alys waited for Guinevere to respond, before nudging her with her elbow. Finally, she whispered, “Guinevere Gray.”

“Well, Alys Merwin and Guinevere Gray, please take a seat.”

The two girls reluctantly strode over to the worn leather chairs opposite Hanford’s desk and sat down. The chairs were large and deep, and the girls sank into them. This ultimately had the effect of magnifying the Madam Wardress’s size.

Hanford leaned forward, peering down at them. “I will repeat myself—which I do not like to do—and say again that what you’re telling me is impossible.”

“Madam—”

“Many years ago, long before your fathers stuck their cocks in your mothers, Weirhaven did have issues on the night of the Dawns Mabon. Druicraeft boys in Weirhaven dormitories. Weirhaven girls in Druicraeft dormitories. Fights. Pregnancies. Worse things that I won’t mention in front of first-years.

“Eventually Weirhaven got their collective head out of their collective ass and wised up. Silverthorn became Head Maven. Weirhaven students were no longer allowed to leave campus. Faculty and wardresses began standing guard outside of all Weirhaven gates and dormitories. And now we have gone years without issues.”

When Hanford finished her speech, she sat back and stared above the girls’ heads. She seemed self-satisfied, as if she had just perfectly recited a poem she’d been trying to memorize for weeks. Alys sat back too, trying to figure out the best way to proceed. It was then that Guinevere cleared her throat.

“Lovely paintings,” she said.

The Madam Wardress laughed in a rehearsed rhythm. “Oh these?” she gestured towards the walls that flanked them.

Alys looked to her left. It had been difficult to see what covered the walls when they had first walked into the dimly lit room. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the low light, she was able to make out a gruesome scene. Two feirhounds, easily identified by their pink eyes and patterned coats, each lunged at the other’s throat. In the foreground, dozens of dymies lay cast on the floor, thrown by the boisterous—and obviously intoxicated—men that stood in the background.

Heulwen Hanford leaned forward. “You should see them in person. You ever seen them in person? Beautiful beasts.”

“I never got to,” Guinevere piped up. “Outlawed where I’m from.”

Hanford twisted her face in disgust. “Used to be legal in Swefnwicc. Technically they still are. But Swefnwicc has changed since I first moved here. Used to be plenty of different landlords around, with plenty of different… sympathies. Now you’ve got fewer men with more properties.”

Hanford’s last statement made Alys’s ears perk up. There’s a play here, she thought. I just need to see it.

“Madam Wardress,” Guinevere went on, “we’re just two first-year students that are worried about our friend. We don’t want to make more work for you. But we’re worried nonetheless.”

Hanford’s momentary distraction evaporated with Guinevere’s words, and the tall, brawny woman retreated into herself, slumping over in her chair. “I know you’re worried,” she mumbled. “But you shouldn’t be. My wardresses were everywhere last night. So were your professors.”

“What if someone interfered?” whispered Guinevere. “What if someone wanted to get Mair off campus?”

“I have half a mind to let your professors know you think so poorly of them,” Hanford said, leaning forward. “That you think seasoned witches and wizards cannot protect this storied campus.”

“But what if…” Guinevere was whispering so quietly now that her words were almost imperceptible, “but what if it were a professor behind this?”

Hanford winced. “Excuse me, girl, what did you just say?”

“I asked what if a professor were behind this.”

“Out!” Hanford howled. “Get out!” She thrust her finger in the direction of the door. “I won’t hear it.”

Guinevere leapt out of her chair. Alys stood up too, a million scenarios flowing through her head at once. Finally, she settled on one.

“I’m sorry, Madam Wardress, for our intrusion this afternoon,” she said, patting down her robes. “We just thought you might like to know that our fellow first-year, who we haven’t seen since last night, was last seen leaving with Bedwyr Parry.”

“What?” barked Hanford, her heard shooting up. “What was that, girl?”

“We last saw our friend with Bedwyr Parry,” Alys repeated.

Hanford shot up. “Really? A Parry you say…” She placed her weathered palms on the tables, seemingly deep in thought. She shook her head. “Of course… I should have known.” Then she looked up again and said, almost whispering, “I’m so glad you brought this to my attention, ladies. I will deal with this immediately.”

“Thank you—”

Before Alys could finish, Hanford had hurdled over her desk and ran towards the door. She flung it open and stared at the girls.

“Please, ladies—I mean, Ms. Merwin, Ms. Gray, get back to your dormitory as soon as possible. I fear there may be danger afoot,” then the giant woman screamed down the spiral staircase, “EIGRA!”

“Yes?! Madam Wardress?!” a surprised voice rang out from below.

“Assemble the wardresses! Five or six! We leave for Druicraeft immediately.”

And with that, the Madam Wardress disappeared, leaving Alys and Guinevere to stare at one another in a satisfied and confused silence.

When Alys heard the tenth bell, the dread really started to sink in.

Weirhaven’s bell tower rang on the hour, and the exact amount of times that the bell rang indicated the hour of the day, or evening in this case. It had been almost nine hours since they had watched Heulwen Hanford sprint out of the Gatehouse. It had been almost nine hours of anxious expectation.

Alys sat by the window, brushing her long blonde hair. Her nightly routine dictated that she unbraid her hair, brush it, then rebraid it. She sat in her linen chemise, her long legs chilly in the drafty dorm.

She watched as Guinevere entered the room, fresh out of the bath. Her long brown curls were tied in a ponytail. Her pale white skin glistened as she toweled herself down. “Nothing?” she asked as she slid the towel down her wide hips.

“Nothing,” said Alys.

Just then, Alys heard a gentle tap. At first she thought she imagined it. Then she heard it again. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

“What?” Guinevere continued to dry herself, rubbing the towel under her milk-white breasts.

“That sound,” Alys answered. She stopped brushing her hair and stood up. She heard the tap again. “What’s that?”

Guinevere ducked behind her bed and whispered, “I think it’s coming from the window!”

The girls slept in a room three floors above the ground. If someone really were tapping at the window, Alys had to admire their gumption. She tip-toed over to the window and gently peeled the curtain back.

But there was no one there. All Alys could see was the red-hued night. The Harvest Moon hovered in the distance.

Then the sound came again: a light tap against the window. Alys looked down. Then she saw it—a small white object fluttering in the air.

“By the stars,” she whispered as she quickly unlocked the window and pulled it open. As soon as she did so, the white object glided into the room. In the candlelight of the dormitory, Alys studied the peculiar guest that fluttered around their space. It looked to be made of a piece of paper folded into an elongated triangle, with two wings that flapped like a bird.

Once it was clear that the paper-bird meant no harm, Guinevere stood up and chased after it, her tits bouncing as she ran across the room. With an impressive leap, Guinevere snatched it out of the air. “I know what this is!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Alys asked, moving closer. She watched as Guinevere began to unfold the paper, revealing a sepia-toned map. As Guinevere flattened the paper out, Alys realized it was a map of Swefnwicc, and that their dormitory had been circled with red ink, with “Guinevere Gray” scratched above the circle in a surprisingly elegant script.

“It’s one of those enchanted couriermaps they sell in Swefnwicc,” Guinevere breathed. “To send messages that deliver themselves.”

“Who’s it from?” Alys peered over her shoulder.

Guinevere’s hands shook gently as she smoothed out the map. There was a small message written underneath the circle. Alys squinted to read it.

G.G.,

Flying Goat. Tomorrow. Noon.

T.M.

“It’s from Trystan,” Guinevere whispered.

“The news must be spreading.”

The two witches exchanged nervous glances. Each knew the other wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.