Imran considered his response for a moment. “No, though I did have an interesting time.”
Primrose put a plate of spaghetti Bolognese and salad on the table. “Where did you go?” she asked and sat down beside him.
Surprised by her sudden close proximity and newfound confidence, Imran paused and looked at the food.
“Err,” he began and started eating, hoping she wouldn’t pursue the question. There was a general rule that magical beings didn’t discuss the Free Zone with humans. It wasn’t that humans weren’t allowed there. It was just the less they knew about the Free Zone, the safer everyone was.
“I command you to tell me where you went,” Primrose whispered, her voice resonating with strength and the knowledge that her Genie could not refuse.
At the command and with a moist gurgle, the partially masticated food leaped from Imran’s mouth and plopped onto his plate, allowing for his immediate reply. “The Free Zone, Kuching.” He scowled. “Do not demand things from me mid-mouthful. It is humiliating!”
Primrose chewed her lip, suppressing a smile. “I did a bit of research on Genies while you were gone.”
This was actually a gross understatement. Her work had suffered because she had researched every known source on Genies instead of her prescribed jobs.
“Is that so, Mistress?” Imran replied as dryly as he could manage, and then continued to eat.
“I know what you’re going to do. You went in search of a magician who could break our bond, and as that failed, you plan to trick me into making those wishes. Am I correct?”
Imran stared at her, his mouth full. Primrose’s lips slammed into a tight line of disapproval. He swallowed quickly, but still didn’t answer.
“I command you to answer my question!” she whispered again.
“Yes,” Imran conceded, finishing his meal hastily and returning to his coffee.
Primrose took an awkward glance toward the living room, making sure Ian was still there. “I command you do not use trickery to entice me into making those wishes. Do not trick me in any way, shape, or form, Genie.”
Imran stared at her sparkling brown eyes, and knew there was nothing he could do but acquiesce. “As you command, Mistress,” he agreed steadily.
Primrose flushed with excitement and kept her gaze on him.
“You do realize I will be with you until your dying day if you do not take these wishes willingly.” Imran’s voice was deceptively mild.
“I know that,” Primrose replied, “but for the moment it will have to do. Perhaps in a few years’ time when I no longer work for the government, I may take your wishes, when it is not so risky.”
Imran raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, before they furrowed with annoyance. “In the meantime, you expect me to follow you around like a moon calf?” His fist clenched around his fork. “While you go about your life, I get nothing but the tail end of your interest?”
“I suppose so.” Primrose smiled and Imran realized she was exercising some level of control, and enjoying it. “Think of it as freedom, as the greatest freedom a Genie could ever be capable of. Most Genies would dream of a mistress like me.”
Imran frowned petulantly, not liking his lack of control in their relationship. After all, he was used to being in charge of the situation. Primrose conversely grinned even wider.
“Prim!” came Ian’s irritated bellow from the living room. “Are we watching this movie or not?”
It was like watching a flower wilt in the face of the hot sun. Primrose’s smile dropped, and her head fell forward. She stepped forward to join Ian in the living room, but Imran caught her arm.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t go to him.”
Primrose looked at the deep black eyes and the handsome face. She wanted to throw herself into his strong, tanned arms and inhale the spicy scent of him, and never let go, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice taut with what Imran could only hope was longing. “Ian’s real. What you offer is just an illusion. He’ll be there forever. You will one day disappear.” Primrose turned and scurried out of the room to Ian.
Imran felt his shoulders tense as he watched her go. What she said wasn’t true, yet potentially it was. He growled under his breath and in a swath of smoke, disappeared into his room. Damn her.
Late that night, Imran was woken by the sounds of rhythmic animal grunting occasionally perforated by a pained feminine moan. Imran bit back a howl of frustration, jealousy, and anger. After a moment of unsuccessfully fighting the urge to feed Ian to a Manticore, he dematerialized and sat in a park not far from the house, to calm his raging temper.
A few weeks later things hadn’t changed much in Primrose’s household. Ian was still a boor and Imran, though noticeably distant, was the epitome of grace and chivalry. The only difference was the ever-mounting tension between the trio.
Although Imran was distant toward Primrose, it was mainly just to retreat from his consuming jealousy. Never in his life as a magician or Genie had he suffered as he did when Primrose was with Ian alone. Ian constantly belittled Primrose, and used her like a toy. Imran was forced to remain silent and not interfere, but what he really wanted was to scream his frustration out and beat Ian’s boorish face to a pulp. Whenever Imran was around, Ian would possessively put his arm about Primrose, a gesture Imran found beyond irritating. Primrose would glance somewhat apologetically at Imran and gently shrug Ian away. This in turn would make Ian even more suspicious and possessive than before. The only consolation for Imran was that when Primrose was at work and away from Ian’s possessive eye, she would allow him to take her to lunch.
At their lunches Primrose was in control, confident and beautiful. Imran was a perfect gentleman, opening doors and pulling chairs even before the waiter had time to do it for him. Imran, in his own mind at least, would watch her like a starving man. Behind his inscrutable black eyes, he would hungrily devour Primrose’s every movement. He would watch the way she brushed her dark hair from her eyes when the wind blew and how she licked her lips when she felt uncertain, and memorize each gesture. At these quiet, intimate lunches, Ian was a million miles from either of their minds. Primrose and Imran had not kissed since that first time in the car and Imran didn’t attempt to seduce her again. The sexual tension was there, palpable, like a tight rubber band they kept pulling in separate directions. Still, it was pleasant and fun and Imran relished their lunches away from Ian’s angry, reddened face. Occasionally he would let his knee rest against hers as they ate. It was all very innocent, but still tempting. Imran could sense Primrose’s desire for him, and both admired and bemoaned her strength of will. At these times Imran often wondered how a woman with such evident strength and composure could suffer to stay with a creature like Ian. Nonetheless, in those bustling cafés and restaurants of West Perth, they could be alone, talking and enjoying each other, almost as though they weren’t Genie and mistress. They didn’t discuss their situation, nor at this time did Imran continue his search for Omar. Instead, they just relished the times they were together, and fantasized at the times when they were not.
* * * *
Unfortunately, the day came when Ian found out, by way of office gossip, about Primrose’s private lunches.
“You know who I saw at the Villa restaurant on Tuesday?” Dermott said as he and Ian met for a coffee one lunch hour.
“Who?” Ian asked, only mildly interested. The Villa restaurant was a fancy establishment, and not many of his friends could afford a lunch there on a departmental budget.
“Primrose.”
Ian’s head snapped up and heat rushed to his cheeks. “My Primrose?” he asked, struggling not to grab Dermott and force him to elaborate.
Dermott attempted a smile, but it was more of a sneer and his pale freckled face lightened with malevolent amusement. “Do you kno
w any other Primrose?” he countered before continuing. “She was there with some guy. He looked like a walking GQ Model, or whatever they call them these days.” Dermott smiled through thin lips.
Ian gritted his teeth so hard it was audible, and Dermott looked momentarily taken aback. “I’ve actually seen her there quite a bit,” he added a little nervously. “I didn’t tell you the first few times because I thought it might have been a business thing, but…” Dermott was rambling as Ian grew quieter and his face grew redder. After a moment Dermott stopped rambling altogether and fell into a hot, awkward silence.
“Err, bathroom.” Ian excused himself abruptly, the blood roaring in his ears.
Bloody Imran! Primrose, the fucking cheating bitch, he thought furiously. Hurriedly, he walked toward the men’s bathroom, crashing into someone as he blindly sought his way to the toilets through a haze of rage.
“Watch out!” Ian growled, not even pausing to glance at the person with whom he collided.
“Young man!” came a stern voice. “Mind who you are speaking to!”
The haze of rage was cleared by a cold dash of reality. Standing beside him was a man, short and beige-looking, with neat ash-colored hair and a small goatee beard. Mr. C. L. Quillian, the new Acting CEO of Cerebral Management was speaking to him and, in fact, looking rather cross.
“I’m so sorry, sir!” Ian gasped in horror. “I—”
“A mistake easily made, I suppose, when one’s in such a terrible rush.” Quillian’s frown lifted and his strange honey-yellow eyes glittered. “It’s Mr. Beckwith, isn’t it?”
Ian nodded numbly.
“Mr. Beckwith, I advise you to watch where you are walking in the future.” Mr. Quillian inhaled sharply, as if sniffing the air. He gave Ian another searching look before continuing on his way, and Ian rushed into the bathroom.
As Mr. Quillian arrived in his office, he spoke to his secretary briefly. “Tell me about Ian Beckwith.”
The secretary looked up at her new boss, shrinking back into her seat under his penetrating gaze. He was slightly creepy, but not definably so.
Quillian had come to the Department of Cerebral Management only a few months previously. His predecessor, Mr. Tyrone Kimberley, developed early onset dementia at the age of fifty-five and had to take an early retirement. Quillian was brought in as his temporary replacement. From where, no one seemed to know, but everyone held him in high regard. Additionally, although Quillian was only Acting CEO, there was strangely no action in arranging for his permanency.
“Mr. Beckwith? Um…I don’t really know anything about him,” Narana said after a pause.
Mr. Quillian sighed with irritation. “You dim-witted girl, go and find out about Ian Beckwith, everything.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I get someone from Investigations?”
“No. Just you,” Quillian replied quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Narana.”
“Yes, sir?” she answered tremulously.
Quillian looked at the petite blond intently.
“Never mind.” he said, and walked into his office.
* * * *
Late that night, after pretending all was well throughout dinner, Ian confronted Primrose as they watched television.
“Are you sleeping with him?” Ian asked, as Imran headed to bed early after bidding Primrose good night and ignoring Ian.
“Who?” Primrose replied sharply.
“Don’t fucking ‘who’ me, Prim! Bloody Imran!” Ian growled and pulled closer to her on the couch. His big meaty hand reached over and clutched tightly to her thigh.
“No,” she replied, although her heart beat a little faster at the accusation. In an attempt to reassure him she rested her own hand lightly on his.
“Dermott said you’ve been having lunch with him every single day,” Ian spat jealously.
“Dermott said that, did he?” Primrose replied as nonchalantly as she could manage.
Primrose knew, through office gossip, Dermott was the proverbial nosey parker so she wasn’t particularly surprised.
“Yes, he bloody did. I was so fucking embarrassed! My fiancée, repeatedly having cozy lunches with another man! What am I supposed to think, Primrose!”
Primrose looked at the television blankly.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to think!” he repeated angrily, his hand gripping her tighter.
“Being the Assistant Manager of Cerebral Management, I should hope you could do that for yourself!” Primrose finally snapped, peeling his bruising fingers from her thigh. “Imran is working in the vicinity, and has been able to have his lunches with me. Why shouldn’t he? After all, I don’t see you rushing to join me for lunch.”
“Don’t blame me for this,” he snarled, “and stop this shit about him being an investigator! He is not an investigator! I’ve known that for weeks. I did some investigations of my own and there is absolutely no record of Imran anywhere. I really need some explanations, Primrose.”
Primrose felt as though she had been dashed with ice water. “I’m not the one to provide them. Sorry, Ian. It isn’t my place to talk about Imran’s private life.”
“Well, I can’t get a thing out of him!” Ian yelled. “He doesn’t even answer me. I want him out of our home.”
Primrose had known this was coming. Truthfully, if Imran was to leave, it would probably be for the best, but as they had discussed, unless she took her wishes, he couldn’t. With things the way they were at the DMC, she wasn’t going to risk it. Jobs were hard to come by at the moment. “He hasn’t found anywhere else to live yet,” Primrose began lamely. “You know how hard the rental market is.”
“He can have my apartment,” Ian suddenly said. “The lease is up in two weeks.”
Primrose was surprised by this and although she could order Imran to live there, she simply didn’t want him away from her. She liked Imran, much more than she would ever dare admit. The sad fact of the matter was she wanted to get rid of Ian, not Imran. Primrose felt safe when Imran was in the house. She simply did not feel safe with Ian, and had come to realize she never really had.
“Perhaps you should move back there.” Primrose said very softly, but she knew Ian heard.
“What?” he gasped, his face instantly reddening.
“You heard me, Ian. This isn’t working. We aren’t working.” Primrose avoided his angry face.
Ian roared, and his hand came crashing down on her cheek. “You bitch!” he screamed, his face purple with rage. Primrose cowered a moment, as pain blossomed in her face. Ian roared again, but this time Primrose was ready. She jumped from the couch in a bid for safety. Unfortunately for Primrose, although Ian was big, he was also quick. With amazing speed, he jumped up and grabbed her arm. “You bitch!” he howled again. “No fucking way! You’re not ditching me for some fucking Turk!”
“Imran!” Primrose screamed, shocked by the hysteria in Ian’s voice. She needn’t have called. Imran appeared only seconds after Ian threw the first blow. He materialized silently behind Ian. As Ian made an angry lurch toward Primrose, Imran caught him around the waist and held him momentarily immobile.
Ian continued yelling profanities and despite being held firm by Imran, did not release Primrose’s arm. He yelled at her again and twisted her arm violently.
“Let me go, Imran, you bastard—or I’ll break her fucking arm!” Ian screamed.
Primrose screeched in pain and in response, Imran tightened his grip around Ian’s waist and squeezed.
“Release her,” Imran whispered to Ian and squeezed even tighter. Primrose tugged at her twisted arm, sobbing as Ian’s eyes bulged. It was then Primrose realized Imran was using his power to enhance the pressure around Ian’s waist. Still, Ian didn’t let go. Instead, he twisted her arm a little further.
Tears were run
ning down Primrose’s cheeks.
“You’re breaking it!” she cried at Ian’s bulging face.
“I’m warning you, release Primrose now!” Imran said furiously.
Primrose tugged but Ian’s grip still did not lessen.
“I warned you!” Imran released Ian, who staggered toward Primrose. She began screaming afresh as Ian lurched, gasping toward her. Imran stood silent and, almost imperceptibly, black arms of smoke entwined around Ian’s head. The smoky snakes insinuated at rapid speed up Ian’s nose and down his ears and mouth.
Ian stopped advancing and began a long, choking scream. Instantly, he released Primrose, who watched with mounting horror as Ian clutched, to no avail, at the vaporous sinews that forced their way through his facial and cranial orifices.
“Don’t kill him!” Primrose sobbed and ran to Imran, who stood immobile and watching.
“It won’t, unfortunately,” he replied.
Ian collapsed, pitifully choking and howling, to the floor.
“Stop now, please!”
“Primrose, I must render him unconscious. He must have no memory of this! If I stop now, he will remember and we will both go to prison…or worse. You know the heavy penalty for magical assault!” Imran hissed, his face creased with concentration.
Ian kept wailing, clutching at his face and ears, trying ineffectually to pull the smoky sinews from himself.
“It’s awful!” Primrose sobbed and held onto Imran, burying her head in his chest to try and block the horrible sounds of strangulated retching.
“It is no worse than what I have to endure when he molests you every other night,” Imran replied coldly, his eyes never leaving Ian’s writhing form.
Primrose pulled away quickly. Her stomach lurched as she curled on the couch. Hot shame and embarrassment clashed with the adrenaline and fear coursing through her body. Her gaze locked on Ian who, with wide unseeing eyes, writhed in pain on the floor. Finally Ian’s wailing softened into whimpers, and within another moment he was silent and immobile on the floor.
Magical Gains Page 5