Suddenly there was a shimmering of golden smoke.
“Ah, so you have captured another,” a pale, almost transparent man said.
“Silence, Genie,” Quillian replied, irritably moving Imran’s lamp into an empty glass box on the far northern wall.
“Who is he?” the fading Genie asked, his voice increasingly faint.
“A Genie called Imran,” Quillian replied, a little more conversationally now that the lamp was safely in the box.
“He…” the fading Genie whispered, “still has a master…I can sense it.” The Genie faded again, but within a moment reappeared a little brighter. “You can’t steal all his power…It belongs to his master. Not you.” Anger was palpable in the frail voice.
“I know that!” Quillian snapped. “The master will return with him. Eventually she will give him to me. They always do. All in good time. All in good time.” Mr. Quillian grinned. “Now, I must organize these electrodes to start the power drain. It might take a while.”
The fading Genie’s face contorted with sorrow, and he disappeared in a swath of spicy golden smoke.
Chapter Eight
Primrose wondered what on Earth she should do. She knew most Satyrs were known sex offenders, which was why they chose mostly to live in the Free Zone. In the Free Zones of the world there were few, if any, human females to tempt them and no policing to stop them either.
I’m not going to be subject to some bestial rape! Primrose thought angrily, and hurtled toward the balcony again. She flung open the bay doors and the heat and smells from the street hit her with a physical blow. She could hear the Satyrs’ feet closer at the door. In desperation, Primrose awkwardly crawled over the rails and balanced precariously there a moment.
The door burst open and there the Stag Satyr stood, surveying the room.
This particular Satyr stood about six feet high. He had strong goat-like legs, covered in a shining auburn pelt, and his genitalia hung large and heavy, unencumbered by clothing. His upper body was all human male, with sculpted muscles and a frighteningly handsome angular face. His ears were pointed sharply and unlike his companions, he had two horns growing in deep spirals from his temples. It was evident he was the Stag of this group.
Primrose gasped in shock, horror, and embarrassment.
“Come to me, my pretty little thing!” he chortled, his blunt white teeth flashing.
“Never in a million years!” Primrose squeaked as he edged forward. She hazarded a glance at the street below her. “I will jump! I warn you!”
The Satyr shrugged. “I’ll have you dead, alive, or broken…I don’t have a preference, really.” His strange amber eyes flashed with amusement.
“You told Leucosia you were going to escort me from the Free Zone, not molest me!” she cried.
“Oh, it’s all much of a muchness. Besides, you really shouldn’t eavesdrop.” He grinned again.
For an instant, Primrose imagined the sordid abuse she might receive under the hands of the Satyr. Terror gripped her belly.
“I’d rather be dead!” Primrose wailed, and with only a moment of hesitation jumped from the balcony. She closed her eyes, expecting her life to flash before her. It didn’t. Instead, she felt the hot air rush past her as a second or two ticked endlessly by. Primrose clenched her eyes tighter waiting for the painful impact. It never came. Instead of hot pavement, she was suddenly caught in warm arms and her eyes flew open in dismay.
Two of the Satyrs, who were waiting patiently for their Stag underneath the balcony, had caught her.
They roared in triumph and as Primrose struggled, the Stag came down the stairs, jubilantly kicking his feet in the air. “I see you are indeed coming with us. Alive too!” He laughed. From inside the shop they heard Leucosia’s dismayed wail. With another guttural chuckle, the Stag Satyr led them away, and Primrose was carried off into the depths of the Free Zone.
If the other magical beings thought it odd a group of Satyrs were carrying a struggling human woman, they were very good at hiding it. There were perhaps a few curiously concerned glances, but no one attempted to assist Primrose as she kicked and struggled in the Satyrs’ strong arms.
“Imran!” she screamed. “Imran, help me!”
The Satyrs laughed gleefully.
“Nobody can help you now. Nobody.”
* * * *
Back in Mrs. Michaels’ house, Imran dozed on the floral couch while she knitted booties for her great-granddaughter.
Suddenly he lurched into wakefulness.
“Primrose!” he gasped, sensing her strife. “Mrs. Michaels, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind assistance.” He reached up and clasped her aged hand in his smooth, tanned one.
Mrs. Michaels flushed.
“I only wish I could have helped you more,” she replied wistfully.
Again Imran felt Primrose call him and his heart lurched in panic. “I must go. Thank you,” Imran repeated quickly and stood up. Without a further glance at his elderly assistant, he concentrated on Primrose.
Mrs. Michaels gasped as black folds of scented smoke began to surround Imran’s body. Before her very eyes, Imran began to disappear, leaving only the sweet scent of cinnamon and allspice and the ardent wish she could have assisted him more.
As Imran materialized back in the relative safety of Leucosia’s shop, Primrose was carried, now only weakly struggling, into a large Mediterranean-style town house. Primrose didn’t get to see much of the town house as her face was uncomfortably buried in a Satyr’s smooth back. As she had been carried for quite some time, Primrose knew she must be deep in the Free Zone, and the thought of never being found filled her with dread. The Satyrs hadn’t spoken much to each other during the trip either. They just followed the Stag and did as he bade them. When she was finally released, Primrose found herself in a medium-sized courtyard at the back of the town house. The courtyard was decorated in a bacchanal fashion, with lanterns, candles, and a riot of vegetation, looking like the jungle was trying to reclaim the area.
“Where am I?” Primrose asked as she was dropped unceremoniously on a stone bench.
“You are in the Satyr Colony, obviously,” a snide feminine voice growled.
Several of the Satyrs turned to face the speaker. It was a heavily pregnant woman who, by the looks of it, was human.
“Eloise, remember yourself,” the Stag retorted swiftly and sensing a fight, clip-clopped between Eloise and Primrose. “Eloise is the head Maenad. She is bearing my Satyr child,” he said. “She forgets herself.”
Eloise rubbed her protuberant stomach restlessly, evidently annoyed by Primrose’s unexpected presence.
Primrose looked from the Stag to Eloise and back again. “Well, I’d rather not cause domestic unquiet, so I might as well just leave,” Primrose said hopefully and stood, noticing with dismay her favorite skirt had torn and split up the thigh, revealing a suggestive amount of leg.
The Stag uttered a rich masculine laugh. “Leave before we have even been properly introduced? How rude!” He moved closer to Primrose and the surrounding Satyrs. “Bring our guest a drink, Priapus.” He winked at a younger Satyr who was repeatedly glancing covetously at Primrose’s exposed thigh.
“Now, as you await your drink, I beg you tell me your name, sweet lady.”
Primrose could barely contain her blanch at his lame endearment. “Primrose Brasco,” she replied stiffly.
The Stag smiled broadly. “A beautifully pure and chaste name! I hope you taste as sweet as you sound.” He grinned again. “I am Silenus and as you may or may not have guessed, I am the Stag of this colony. You are very fortunate to be our guest this evening...Tonight is a night of Revelry.”
Primrose stared blankly at him. “This is supposed to make your kidnapping of me okay? Some Revelry?”
A flash of annoyan
ce was visible for only a moment on Silenus’s handsome face, before he smoothed it away with a nonchalant flick of his curly auburn hair. “We follow the ancient ways of the god Dionysus in this colony. It is our law that every full moon, we partake in the Revelry.” Several of the other Satyrs’ eyes lightened with excitement.
“Let me guess,” Primrose began with much more confidence than she felt. “This Revelry has something to do with drinking and sex?”
Silenus grinned. “Of course! Everything about Satyrs has to do with drinking and sex.”
Primrose winced, and glanced once again at the Satyr’s exposed genitals.
Priapus, the youngest of the Satyrs, handed Primrose a drink. It seemed to be a mulled wine, although it wasn’t hot. It smelled of spices that reminded her vaguely of Imran. Where on Earth is he? she wondered, and without thinking of what could be in the wine, took a sip. Primrose was so very thirsty, she was completely unaware of the Satyr’s grin of delight, which grew larger the moment the wine passed her lips.
* * * *
“Where is she?” Imran groaned as he collapsed exhausted on the worn wooden floor of Leucosia’s shop.
Leucosia rushed toward him, her strong arms surrounding him. “Satyrs. The Satyrs have got her,” Leucosia sang, and stroked Imran’s head.
“What do you mean? How?” Dismay flooded him again.
“I don’t know,” Leucosia moaned, standing quickly and bustling about behind the desk. “They just came in saying I was harboring a human and I think Primrose jumped from the balcony and they caught her. I really couldn’t stop them, Imran. My singing is useless against such as the Satyrs.”
Imran couldn’t say anything for a moment. Alarm squeezed his chest in a vice as a sigh of exhaustion escaped him. “Please don’t tell me it is a full moon?” he said as Leucosia thrust a suspiciously green drink into his trembling hand.
“Drink,” she ordered, without answering his question.
“Is it a full moon?” Imran repeated after taking a sip of the drink, which tasted good and sweet.
“Yes, Imran. It is a full moon, so it is the night of the Satyrs’ Revelry. I’m sorry.”
Imran groaned and struggled to stand up. “I’ve got to get to her. They’ll…”
As he attempted to stand, his legs gave away and he collapsed thunderously on the floor, spilling the remainder of Leucosia’s drink.
Leucosia tutted and hauled him to his feet, dismissing the spilled drink that spread over the wooden floor. “You need sleep. You know you do,” she soothed. “Let me help you to the bed. The Satyrs won’t touch her until the moon has risen to full height at midnight.”
Imran couldn’t speak. His exhausted brain wouldn’t connect his thoughts to words. Reluctantly, he allowed Leucosia to pull him up the stairwell and into the apartment.
When he reached the bed, he collapsed, sinking into its squishy depths and despite the worries that crowded his head, was asleep instantly.
In the hours that followed, Primrose wondered furtively where Imran was, and why on Earth he hadn’t come to her rescue. She knew there was little or no chance of her making an escape attempt. The large male Satyrs were all covertly keeping an eye on her and the Maenads were far too numerous for her to even think about doing anything. Subsequently, Primrose sat rather sullenly on the stone bench in the courtyard, watching the preparations for the Revelry. In the process, she drank several glasses of the sweet mulled wine, which despite its unusual taste, was rather good. Primrose absently watched as the Maenads busied themselves making cushioned beds between the foliage, lighting candles, drinking, and giggling about the coming Revelry.
On her fourth glass of wine, Primrose, whom no one had spoken to since Silenus disappeared a few hours previously, realized she was feeling rather peculiar. Her whole body felt alive and although she would never admit it, she felt distressingly wanton. She shuffled awkwardly on the stone bench, noticing with distinct pleasure, that her exposed thigh actually looked rather good. I am so glad I had that wax, she mused, remembering her visit to the beauty parlor a few days beforehand.
“Enjoying the wine?” Eloise’s snide voice came from somewhere behind her.
Primrose spun around in both directions, wondering where it came from. Finally her eyes settled on Eloise who stood, pregnant and resplendent in an orange toga.
“Err, yes, but what is in it?” Primrose asked, glancing around at the other Maenads who were in varying states of undress and excitement.
“An ancient aphrodisiac,” Eloise said with a sly smile.
Primrose spat out her most recent mouthful and it rained dark crimson. Eloise laughed bitterly.
“He won’t like you more than me you know, despite how pure and chaste you seem,” Eloise snarled, her face close to Primrose’s and her eyes flashing jealously.
“I beg your pardon?” Primrose whispered. “Who are you talking about?”
“Silenus!” Eloise hissed.
“Silenus? I don’t want him to like me more than you! I don’t like him at all! I’m not into having sex with animals,” Primrose retorted.
“He is only replacing me with you until the baby is born!” Eloise continued as if she hadn’t heard. “He loves me!”
“If he is keen enough to kidnap a complete stranger from the streets to replace you in the Revelry, he obviously doesn’t!” Primrose snapped and pushed Eloise out of her face.
“I’m having his baby! A Satyr baby!” Eloise screeched, now causing several of the other Maenads to look up with genuine concern. Even through her aphrodisiac-addled brain, Primrose remembered a Satyr baby was a rare thing. There were few, if any, female Satyrs, so when a human woman bore a Satyr baby, it was a time of much joy for the Satyr community.
“Eloise!” a soft voice soothed. “Calm yourself.” A tall blond woman with a British accent came up behind Eloise and held her shoulders firmly, but not unkindly. “It doesn’t do to get yourself upset.”
Eloise spun around.
“Megan, why is he doing this to me?” Eloise suddenly sobbed.
Megan embraced Eloise soundly, and took a hard, long look at Primrose. “He is a Satyr, Elle, and it is the Revelry. There is nothing else he could do. I am truly amazed he has found this woman to replace you. I didn’t think he could. It’s not like there are many human women in the Free Zone, willing or not, to take part in our Revelry. We all know the Revelry is meant for willing Maenads, not unwilling women.” Megan looked meaningfully at Primrose from above Eloise’s head.
Is that some kind of apology? Primrose wondered.
“He’s kidnapped this woman. She doesn’t even want him! I do!” Eloise wailed.
Megan shrugged. “You knew the way they were before you entered the colony. Surprised though we are at Silenus’s actions, all Maenads know how Satyrs sometimes behave. Eloise. Be at peace. Take to your quarters and sleep. You need your rest.”
Eloise took a final glare at Primrose and did as her fellow Maenad bid.
“I don’t want him, you know,” Primrose said, although her body argued the truth of her words.
“You may not now,” Megan replied, taking a glance at Primrose’s empty glass, “but I see you have drunk our wine. Your body will receive Silenus gladly, I think.” She paused. “Even though your mind may not.”
“I am drugged? I don’t feel drugged,” Primrose retorted, sitting up straighter and pulling her skirt lower to cover her thigh.
“Do you see any Satyrs about at the moment?” Megan asked in an abrupt change of subject.
“Err, no,” Primrose replied, looking around and surprised to find the courtyard empty of Satyrs.
“That is because we have all been drinking the Dionysus wine. As the moon rises to its full height, the Satyrs will arrive, and we will all fall upon them like animals in heat.” Megan’s face held a manic j
oy that was deeply disturbing to behold. “We will fornicate! Drink and celebrate the full moon as Dionysus wished it!”
Primrose’s face paled. “I certainly won’t.”
Megan smiled, her face electric. “You won’t be able to stop yourself. It is the magic of the Revelry.” With that she turned and left.
Primrose sat alone for a moment, feeling the excitement and fear trill through her body and settle where she wished it wouldn’t. “Imran! Please come and get me!” she whispered, and just at that moment the moon reached its zenith and the Satyrs appeared.
Chapter Nine
Primrose felt her body react completely against its will. About thirty Satyrs entered the candlelit courtyard in single file. They were draped in orange cloaks from their heads to their cloven hooves. They were mesmerizing. From somewhere in the town house, drums were quietly beating, rhythmically and suggestively. As if choreographed, the Satyrs parted from their single file into the direction of an awaiting Maenad, or in some cases Maenads. The head Satyr, still draped in the orange cloak, turned to face Primrose. Primrose couldn’t tear her gaze from him. Slowly, in time with the beating of the drums, Silenus raised his hands and lifted the hood from his head and horns. His strange amber eyes locked with hers, and the effect was electric. Her heart pounded and desire for him rushed through her body like a freight train. Primrose had never felt anything like it.
“Come to me,” Silenus murmured, his shiny white teeth flashing in the candlelight. “Share the Revelry with me.”
If it had been humanly possible to say no, Primrose would have. However, no human could have turned down the Satyr after consuming Dionysus wine. Primrose’s body was so overcome by desire and lust for him there was nothing she could do but walk numbly into his embrace.
Imran woke covered in a film of perspiration. “Primrose!” he groaned, remembering the predicament she was facing. Moonlight bathed the apartment and Imran noticed the street was quiet and the shop beneath him empty. Why hadn’t Leucosia woken him? Exhausted but determined, Imran disappeared in a swath of black smoke. He would reach her in time. He was certain.
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