Magical Gains

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  In the Satyr colony, the Revelry was underway. Satyr bodies entwined with human, and all that could be heard was the rhythmic beating of drums and flesh. Primrose kissed Silenus hungrily, as if she could not get enough of him. Her hands roved frantically underneath the orange cloak. He tasted so good, he smelled so good, she wanted to devour him, or at the very least, for him to devour her. Little of her self-consciousness remained. Somewhere, in the dark recesses of her mind, Primrose knew she should pull away, but that small, insignificant voice was drowned out by the roar of her lust.

  Silenus growled gutturally as he returned her kiss. He pulled Primrose tightly to him. Her body reacted to the close proximity of the Satyr, and her hands reached and stroked his auburn pelt. Silenus pulled away momentarily.

  “I told you I would have you, Primrose. You are not so unwilling now.” He laughed gleefully and shed the orange cloak. At the sight of the naked Satyr, Primrose fell to her knees, weakened by desire and incapacitated by lust. Silenus looked down at her and reached for her blouse. In one swift movement he tore it in two, leaving Primrose vulnerable and exposed. Silenus observed her appreciatively and swiftly took a step closer to her. Suddenly all Primrose could see was Silenus’s manhood, jutting eagerly toward her. A fresh, hot wave of desire rushed through Primrose and she leaned in closer to touch, feel, and taste.

  “Primrose!” A furious roar echoed from the darker recess of the courtyard.

  The drumbeat faltered momentarily, and both Silenus and Primrose stood still. The courtyard suddenly smelled like cinnamon and allspice, and black sinuous arms of smoke were everywhere.

  “Primrose!” Imran yelled angrily again, as Primrose remained motionless and precariously close to Silenus’s most intimate parts.

  Primrose’s head turned and her eyes focused on Imran, who was barely visible in the flickering depths of the candlelit courtyard.

  “Move away from her,” Imran shouted at Silenus, and stalked toward the couple.

  Silenus smiled at Imran. “Nothing, not even you, Genie, will be able to stop her from wanting me.” He looked down at Primrose, who remained motionless watching him. “Primrose, suck me.”

  The vulgarity and abruptness of Silenus’s order turned Primrose rigid with shock.

  “Primrose, stop this. You don’t want to do this!” Imran tried to mask the fury that was etched on his features.

  Primrose paused, momentarily stricken. She could smell Silenus and he smelled good, like hay and fresh grass, and she wanted him. The shock of his words was quickly washing away when she turned dazedly to face Imran. He stood there in his trousers and shirt, looking angry but unutterably handsome.

  “Imran,” she breathed as if seeing him for the first time, and the lust that was so all- consuming for the Satyr shifted its focus temporarily.

  Silenus could sense the change and his strong hands gripped Primrose’s shoulders to draw her back. “Finish what you have started, Maenad,” he ordered.

  In her befuddled mind, Primrose knew she wasn’t a Maenad, nor ever wanted to be. Desire rippled through her body like a pebble in a pond, and she felt herself drowning in it, yet this time she was torn.

  “No,” she said softly and glanced up at the Satyr, whose angular face glared down at her. “Help me, Imran!” she called, and struggled to stand.

  The tussle that ensued was slightly obscene, as a semi-naked Primrose struggled with the naked Satyr. Primrose attempted to wrench Silenus’s hands from her shoulders, but this only caused him to tighten his grip and pull her closer into his crotch. Again the scent of him, combined with the Dionysus wine, intensified the aphrodisiac effect and she groaned.

  Silenus, seeing her weakness, pulled her to her feet and kissed her deeply, and Primrose melted into him.

  Imran growled angrily under his breath. Despite the fact Primrose had cost him his lamp and had in general been a rather poor mistress, irrational jealousy and rage at what he saw consumed him.

  Within a moment, Imran’s black snakes of smoke were entwining around Silenus, wrenching him from Primrose’s arms.

  Several of the other couples in the courtyard suddenly became aware a preternatural tussle was occurring and despite being in various states of undress, they rushed to aid Silenus.

  Women and Satyrs were everywhere as Primrose fought against the black smoke to reach Silenus, her body reacting willingly despite her mind’s disapproval.

  Imran could stand it no longer. Primrose’s curvaceous, semi-clad form writhed over the smoke sinews to get to the Satyr, who struggled lamely against a power he could not overcome. Swiftly Imran walked up behind them and Primrose suddenly felt his warm hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. Almost immediately, Primrose felt the lust for Silenus disappear and reform with Imran as its target.

  “My God, I want you!” she breathed heavily, spinning around and wrapping her arms around Imran’s warm body.

  “Not here, you don’t,” Imran warned with a slight laugh in his voice. Silenus bowed with fury and struggled to speak. The black smoke was merciless and wrapped tighter about the struggling Satyr. As Silenus continued to struggle against the suffocating smoke, Imran disappeared from the courtyard, taking Primrose with him.

  When Imran appeared yet again in Leucosia’s apartment, he was visibly tired. Lines of fatigue etched his smooth brow, and his shoulders sunk with weariness. Alas, the same could not be said for Primrose. The Dionysus wine acted as a fuel to the latent fire she felt for Imran. She had denied her feelings for months, but now was filled with lust and confidence. She couldn’t keep her hands off him.

  “Primrose…” Imran groaned as she pushed him back on the bed, ignoring the mosquito net that was ripped from the ceiling as she did. She pressed her body against his, and he lamely pushed her away. “You need to calm down, Primrose!”

  “I can’t,” she groaned, and kissed Imran ferociously, trying to consume him. He tasted as he smelled, slightly sweet and spicy, but utterly intoxicating. She ran her hands over his arms, feeling the strength beneath his biceps. “I need you, I want you.”

  “No. Not like this, Primrose. You’ll never forgive me if I allowed it,” Imran moaned, kissing her back with reluctantly rising ardor.

  “I don’t care! Don’t stop,” Primrose moaned. “I’ve wanted you ever since that kiss in the car…You can’t deny me now!”

  Imran groaned at her words. “Really?” Masculine delight flickered in his eyes.

  She kissed his neck. “Yes…hurry.”

  Imran ran his hand over her back, and his fingers flickered over the lace of her bra.

  “Take it off!” Primrose growled, the desire to feel his skin against hers was all consuming.

  Imran hesitated, his eyes questioning.

  “I said take it off!” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe as she did.

  Primrose felt Imran’s remnant moral resistance to her charms shatter. His hands ran up and down her back, stroking her. After a moment, he fumbled clumsily and unsuccessfully with the bra clip. Imran’s brows furrowed and he muttered under his breath, and the bra disappeared in a neat puff of smoke. Then, without further preamble, he removed his own shirt the same way and finally Primrose felt his skin against hers. The spicy warmth of him aroused Primrose as no man had ever previously. It wasn’t long before Primrose was fumbling wildly at the zip of Imran’s trousers.

  Suddenly Imran pulled away. “Primrose, stop,” he groaned as she continued to fumble frantically, albeit unsuccessfully. “I mean it!” His voice sounded anxious. “It’s my lamp!” Imran’s voice faltered. “Something is happening to my lamp.”

  He gasped a little and struggled away from her, and then he was silent.

  Primrose paused. She drunkenly touched his face and it no longer felt warm.

  * * * *

  Far across the ocean in the secret room be
yond his home office, Quillian let out a whoop of happiness.

  “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Finally, I have tapped into his magic!” He mopped his brow with an Egyptian cotton handkerchief.

  * * * *

  Imran lay motionless and cool to the touch, and Primrose, for the first time in hours, felt frighteningly sober. “Wake up!” she urged, gently patting his face and rocking lightly from side to side. “What happened to your lamp?” she cried. “What can I do?”

  Imran remained motionless, although his chest still rose and fell with his weak breath.

  “Leucosia!” Primrose called, hoping she was somewhere close enough to hear. There was no answer. Primrose could hear some movement from the street below, but didn’t dare go to the balcony to ask for help. She didn’t know who, or what she might encounter there. Primrose sobbed a little into the pillow beside Imran. Gently she sank down on the bed with Imran’s cool, still body. She felt a little calmer listening to his rhythmic shallow breathing. Within moments her sobbing ceased and thanks to the Dionysus wine, she unexpectedly fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  When the morning came, Primrose woke up feeling rather well, though very hungry. She also had a very hazy memory. She opened her eyes and glanced at Imran, who still lay slumbering. She touched him gently. His face was warm. What exactly happened last night? she wondered.

  “Imran?”

  Imran stirred quietly. “Hello,” he whispered, opening his eyes and watching her. His eyes fell to her naked chest and a slow smile grew on his lips.

  Primrose blushed and reached for the sheets to cover herself.

  For a moment they just stared at each other. Imran’s black eyes were as unreadable as ever, but the wolfish smile suggested something of his inner thoughts.

  “What happened last night?” Primrose felt shy. “I don’t really remember much. Just a few jumbled things.”

  Imran smiled suggestively, and Primrose felt a sick hot swoop of shame.

  “Did I embarrass myself?” she whispered, now unable to meet Imran’s merciless gaze.

  “That depends on what you call embarrassing,” Imran teased.

  “Oh no, did I have sex with that awful Satyr?” she gasped. The thought caused a wave of disgust to swirl around her gut.

  Imran’s smile faltered. “No,” he replied curtly.

  Primrose’s mind was suddenly filled with jumbled images from the Satyrs’ courtyard—Silenus, strong and aroused above her and Imran’s thunderous anger. Then the images returned to Leucosia’s apartment and memories of herself entwined with Imran bombarded her.

  “Oh!” Primrose gasped. “Did we? Did we end up in bed together?”

  Imran’s countenance lightened considerably. “As you can see we are in bed together,” he answered, and Primrose felt her face flush again with embarrassment.

  “I…I can’t remember,” she mumbled, still unable to hold his gaze.

  “Well, perhaps that is a good thing,” Imran said, his voice serious. “I became unconscious quite suddenly in the midst of all the excitement, so all we ended up doing was sleeping.”

  Primrose looked up awkwardly. “You mean we didn’t actually have…you know, sex?”

  Imran snorted. “If we did, I didn’t have anything to do with it.” They fell silent for a moment. “Primrose, there is a problem. Someone has my lamp, and they are successfully managing to drain my power. That is why I lost consciousness last night. I was exhausted from all the travel, and when whoever started to drain the power, well, I couldn’t sustain consciousness any longer.”

  Primrose leaned over and squeezed Imran’s warm hand. “What can we do?”

  For a moment, Imran watched her in silence before replying. His gaze was unguarded and warm. “Well, so long as you are my mistress, they cannot drain all my power, so this will not kill me. It will, however, severely incapacitate me. Even now, my magic is more limited than before. Whoever is doing this will want to extract more power than they are currently getting. They, therefore, need you to give them the lamp. If you give them the lamp they will be able to extract all my power. I don’t think we have much time. We need to get back to Perth and find the lamp.”

  Primrose bit her lip, confused. “Who, or what, could possibly have the knowledge and power to do this to you, and why?”

  Imran shrugged. “I suspect an evil magician trying to gain more power, but I can’t be sure.”

  Primrose laughed abruptly. “Imran…There are no such things as ‘evil magicians.’ They were just invented as fairy tales to frighten children. You only have bad people, bad beings.”

  Imran looked at Primrose, his eyes hardening. “You have been in the government’s employ long enough to not be so naïve. Of course there are evil magicians. Any magician who gains power through evil deeds will become evil himself.”

  Primrose didn’t look convinced. “Well, I would prefer we call them ‘bad magicians,’ not ‘evil.’”

  Imran rolled his eyes. “If you insist, but we need to get to Perth and I cannot take us there. I cannot risk expending too much magic when my reservoir of power is already being drained. We need to find Omar. He is the only one who can help.” Primrose wanted to interrupt, but Imran continued. “I know he is in the Free Zone, or was recently, as I met two of his henchmen. I do not know how willing Omar will be to help us, but he is the best chance we have.”

  “Who is this Omar?” Primrose asked finally.

  “He is the magician, now a Genie himself, who cursed me.”

  Primrose’s mouth dropped, and the sheet she held to her chest slipped a little.

  “Why did he turn you into a Genie?”

  Imran glanced momentarily at her partially exposed bosom before meeting her gaze steadily. “I wondered when you’d ask.”

  “Just tell me, Imran,” Primrose snapped.

  “In a moment of impaired judgment, I slept with his wife.” He glared at her, defiantly willing her to chastise him.

  “You slept with his wife? This man will never help us, Imran!”

  “I can only hope he has forgiven me.”

  Primrose huffed with exasperation. “Yeah, right! I don’t think so.”

  “Primrose, it was over three hundred years ago. Time may well have mellowed him.” As Imran spoke, the doubt in his voice was audible.

  “Well, if you’re certain.”

  “I am,” Imran affirmed with little certainty. “If nothing else, he might send us out of the Free Zone.”

  Then, as suddenly as it happened last night, Imran’s face paled. His lids fell to half-mast and he sunk back into the bed. His breathing, a moment ago deep and easy, became shallow and weak.

  “Imran?” His name caught thick in her throat. Primrose reached to touch him, her fingers dancing tentatively over the skin of his arm. She recoiled as her fingertips met not warmth but cold clamminess. She gulped audibly, trying to dislodge the lump developing in her throat, and waited a few moments to see if there was any change. As the clock ticked anxiously from the bookshelf, Imran groaned and his eyes opened to meet hers.

  “Primrose, get Leucosia to make some food. I’ll be a little better once I have eaten something.”

  Primrose nodded, then without further hesitation, leaped off the bed. Feeling panicked, she looked around lamely for something to dress herself in. Spying the wardrobe, she scurried over and opened it. The wardrobe smelled musty and ill-used and Primrose crinkled her nose in distaste. After a moment of fruitless gazing at the dark line of clothing, she reached in and pulled out a long black dress. It must have been one of Leucosia’s older garments, or so Primrose supposed, due to its moth-bitten appearance. Primrose lamented the loss of her bra as she slipped the dress over her head, and then pulled off her ruined skirt beneath it. Despite its old and smelly façade, the dress felt rather nice against he
r skin. It was form-fitting to her curves and Primrose had little choice but to accept it as what she would have to wear.

  After one last troubled glance at Imran, Primrose hurried downstairs.

  Leucosia sat behind the desk eating what seemed to be a fish sandwich. It smelled rather bad, but even so, Primrose’s stomach growled angrily.

  “I see you are back from your sojourn with the Satyrs, and have helped yourself to my wardrobe,” Leucosia sang irritably.

  Primrose ignored her. She had better things to worry about than Leucosia’s grumpiness. “Imran’s power is being drained by whoever has his lamp. He needs food! Where can I get him some?”

  Leucosia’s pale orb eyes stared at Primrose unflinching. “I shall get him some food. Please wait a moment.”

  “Well, what can I do to help?” Primrose exclaimed with a frustrated sigh.

  “You need to get that lamp, you dolt,” Leucosia retorted.

  Primrose was affronted by the insult. “I meant with organizing food.”

  “You may have my sandwich and I will stew up something to restore some of Imran’s power.”

  Primrose looked down at the discarded fish sandwich on the bench. The snake still coiled on the branch hissed. Primrose felt her shrunken stomach revolt at the thought of eating it.

  “Eat it, child,” Leucosia sang from the back of the shop where the sounds of clattering pans rang out.

  Primrose was hungry, and knew in Leucosia’s present mood, another offering of food may be a long time in the future. Reluctantly, Primrose picked up the sandwich and bit into it. It was very salty, and very fishy. She was going to absolutely stink after eating this, and she didn’t even have a toothbrush! Still, as disgusting as it was, Primrose devoured it and helped herself to a few glasses of water to wash the foul taste away.

  Leucosia finished stewing up whatever it was for Imran, and both Primrose and Leucosia went up the stairs.