Rivi was much more extraordinary. To say she was an albino would not do justice, either to Rivi or to albinos in general. She had the telltale white hair and eyebrows, the unpigmented skin and the pale pink eyes; but she had decided to paint herself, to apply make-up and dyes in a controlled chaos that only emphasized her pallor. Red eyeshadow made her eyes look like blood-filled sinkholes in her face. The merest touch of blue on her cheeks gave her the icy look of a corpse who has lain overnight in the snow. Her long white hair was streaked with bands of red and green, which would look cheerfully festive on some women; on Rivi, however, the effect was harshly lunatic, as if nightmares had bled from her skull and contaminated her scalp.

She wore a gown of clinging black silk, sheer enough to betray the stark whiteness of her body beneath; and like many venomous women, Rivi had the body of a goddess, maintained as carefully as a champion fencer might hone her sword. I could scarcely take my eyes off the play of black silk over white flesh, taut fabric stretching over tauter curves. Some sages claim that the powers of evil take delight in bestowing such visceral allure on the most corrupt of souls… and although I have known many beauties with no great darkness in their hearts, I have met a handful like Rivi, demons sporting the voluptuousness of an angel.

Rivi smiled at me now with the triumph of a viper watching its victim die. «Hello, darlings!» she cooed. «What lovely subjects for my experiments! No sooner do I find my wee trinket than you give me a chance to use it.»

She held up the «wee trinket»… an artifact of terrifying power disguised as a harmless salt grinder, a small white container with a winding arm on top. Trickles of pale dust spilled out the bottom. «The crank controls the flow,» Rivi said, holding the grinder up higher. «Anything from a light shower like this to that cloud that coated you all. Think what it can do against those precious wee schemers who use magic in Sigil.»

«The Lady of Pain will stop you,» Oonah snapped. «She'll seal every portal against you.»

«Perhaps,» Rivi admitted. «But a little bird told me there are some things too powerful for The Lady to stop. This coy wee grinder is one of the most potent relics in the multiverse; it will be such lovely fun to compare its strength to hers. And even if I'm barred from Sigil… oh, the planes offer a world of opportunities for a woman who can stop magic in its self-important wee tracks.»

«Who can stop enemy magic,» the Fox put in, speaking for the first time. «The people on our side don't have to worry.»

He lifted a trinket of his own, a twin to the grinder Rivi held, except this one was tan in color. Holding it over his head, he flicked the crank with one finger, and a deluge of brown dust cascaded down on top of him. «See?» he asked, his gleeful eyes blinking under a cake of dust, «I'm magic and you're not. Hah!»

«Don't play, darling,» Rivi said, taking the brown grinder from him. «It'll make the other children jealous.»

«I'll show you jealous,» Oonah muttered, raising her staff.

Wheezle put a gentle hand on her arm. «Let me try first, honored Guvner.» He moved to the patch of wall I had wiped free of dust and pressed his face to its glass-like surface. His gaze slipped slyly toward the Fox and Rivi, then fixed on the gang of wights. Suddenly he snapped Unveiler up into sight and shouted, «I command you —»

He never finished his sentence. The dust-covered scepter erupted with searing incandescence, so hot that a blast of scorching air hit my face like an invisible punch. Wheezle, much closer to the expulsion of energy, was thrown off his feet and propelled shrieking backward toward the opposite side of the room. He smashed against the wall and slid downward, coils of smoke curling from the hand that had held the scepter.

Unveiler itself, still blazing white-hot, tumbled to the floor. Normal metal would have melted to lava… but then, the Dustmen had done their best to destroy the scepter without noticeable success, so why should a little heat make a difference?

«I don't understand,» Hezekiah cried. «What happened?»

«The white dust burns if you try to focus magical energy,» I replied.

«But Wheezle didn't use any magic,» the boy protested. «He was only talking to the wights.»

«Unveiler uses magic to control the undead,» I told him. «As soon as Wheezle tried to issue a command….»

«Wights!» Wheezle groaned, not trying to get up. «Listen to me, honored wights… I am still your master.»

He was answered with an agitated shuffling of feet. Both inside and outside our room, the wights seemed confused and anxious. Perhaps they wanted to obey Wheezle, but he was no longer holding the scepter; that left them leaderless and adrift. Would they attack us indiscriminately now, filled with the customary hatred of the undead for the living? Or would they simply wander away like disoriented children, eventually stumbling out into the infinite dust?

«I can't tell you how this irks me,» Rivi murmured, glaring hungrily at the fallen scepter. «Petrov… dear Petrov… pick up that wee bauble, please, before it gets dirty.»

Petrov, on our side of the transparent wall, stared at Rivi in disbelief. «You're barmy!» he told her. «It'd burn my sodding hand off.»

Rivi's eyes narrowed. «Darling – I said, pick it up!»

For several long moments, nothing happened. Petrov wasn't held tightly by wights anymore; they were blinking stupidly, trying to decide what to do. Our friend Bleach-Hair struggled free of their limp grasp and looked desperately around the room… maybe searching for a hiding place, hoping he could escape Rivi's reach.

Her eyes continued to bore into him, as sharp as stilettos; and at last, as if an invisible giant had him in its grip, Petrov turned to face the woman. Immediately, he tried to look away again. He couldn't. I don't think he could even close his eyes – as he shuddered under her gaze, flecks of dust shook free from his hair, wafted downward, and settled on his bare eyeball. Petrov didn't react… but prickles of sweat beaded up on his face as Rivi's eyes continued to pierce his mind.

«Please,» he whispered. «Please don't.»

Rivi answered with a calm smile. «Pick up the wee scepter, darling. You've been a bad boy, leading these people around our stronghold… but I'll forgive you with my soft girlish heart if you do me this kind wee favor.»

Petrov took a jerky step toward Unveiler. At the top of his lungs, he screamed, «No!»

«We all love the sound of your voice, darling; but bring me the pretty wee thing.»

Petrov jerked forward another two paces. The veins on his neck bulged with strain, resisting the flood of power from Rivi's mind; but mere flesh couldn't oppose the woman's dominating will. Roaring and weeping, Petrov was forced across the room like a convulsive marionette, his strings pulled by the cool albino.

At last, the scepter lay at his feet. One arm reached downward; the rest of his body fought back, tendons standing out like cables. Something burst with a loud crack – his collarbone, I think, snapped in the tug-of-war between different groups of muscles. It didn't matter. Slowly, agonizingly, Petrov picked up the scepter.

It blazed white-hot again. I had to avert my eyes to avoid being blinded.

«Tell the wights to obey me, darling,» Rivi said. Her voice had turned thick and throaty, aroused. «Order them to obey me, and perhaps I'll let you set that bauble down.»

«Obey her!» Petrov shouted to the wights. «Do whatever she tells you to. I command it!»

«Very good, darling. But I don't think you should let go of the scepter yet. Bring it to me.»

Squinting, I looked back at Petrov. His entire arm was sheathed in flame, from the blazing sun of Unveiler to the smoking flesh of his shoulder. The air around him wrinkled with the heat, burning so fiercely I had step back. Still, I considered leaping forward with my rapier, plunging one clean thrust into Petrov's heart, just to put him out of his misery; but what good would that do? Rivi wanted someone to bring her the scepter. If Petrov were killed, she'd turn on the rest of us. Did I want to see one of my friends mind-raped and set on fire?