Much to Primrose’s surprise, Imran was reading a book in the bed, looking surprisingly well.
“Are you feeling a bit better?” Primrose asked. “Leucosia has brought you some special food.”
“It’s not fish, is it? I can smell fish,” Imran said, looking up from the book and wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Primrose cringed.
“No, I have made you an energizing stew of vegetables, herbs, and meat. The meat may be chewy. It didn’t stew long enough,” Leucosia warned and handed the bowl of delicious-smelling food over.
Imran devoured it in moments.
“Thank you, Leucosia. It was exactly what I needed.”
Primrose looked away, vaguely irritated she wasn’t the one able to give him what he needed. However, despite her annoyance, Imran did indeed look a lot better and Primrose was surprised by the energy in his voice.
“Now, do you know where we can find Omar? I know you said previously you do not know, but since I was last here, have you heard any news?” Imran asked Leucosia.
Leucosia sighed irritably. “Imran, where is the book I gave you?”
“What book?” Imran asked, frowning.
“The book I gave you when you were last here.”
“Oh…I think it is in Perth,” he said.
“Did you look in it?” Leucosia pressed.
“Err, no, I didn’t see the point.”
Leucosia sighed exasperatedly. “In the front of the book is Omar’s address in the Free Zone. I didn’t want to tell you directly, as even talking about Omar can be a perilous business around here.” She paused, looking deeply annoyed. “I thought you would at least look at the inside cover.”
Imran failed to look sheepish. “You should have known me better. I do not read spell books,” he retorted.
“I thought you might have thought it odd I gave you the book and perhaps looked inside,” Leucosia countered.
Primrose had enough of their argument. “Excuse me? Could we please stop arguing and go and find Omar? Leucosia, if you know the address, please tell us so we can at least attempt to get Omar’s help.”
“He won’t help anyway, not with the history between those two,” Leucosia mused, and Primrose huffed with impatience.
“Please, Leucosia, I am sorry I did not look in that book,” Imran apologized, although not looking the slightest bit remorseful.
“He lives near the Satyr colony, number 255 on Jalan Barrack. It is just off Main Bazaar, though I suspect the house front leads to a building that is closed off at the back.”
Imran beamed, and Primrose looked cautious.
“Thank you, Leucosia,” Imran said.
“You would have known where he was a long time ago if you’d just looked at the book,” she chided.
Imran stood to go, and Primrose couldn’t help but feel a tinge of worry about trying to encounter Omar.
“Be careful of the Manticore and Tuatha warrior,” Leucosia warned as she swept out of the room.
A spike of alarm shot through Primrose with the force of a thermal lance. She spun around to face Imran. “What Tuatha and Manticore?” she asked, alarm freezing her eyebrows an inch higher on her brow.
Imran looked at Primrose, and she knew he wasn’t telling her something.
“What Tuatha and Manticore?” she asked again, this time more sharply.
Imran bit his lip, a gesture suggestive and distracting, and smiled a soft smile that was unlike any he’d given her before. “You look...nice...in that outfit,” he said, changing the subject.
“Thanks,” Primrose replied dryly. “My top and skirt were destroyed last night and so Leucosia’s seconds are all I could rustle up.” She ran a hand down the dress. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”
Imran’s handsome face turned into a frown. “There is little to tell that wouldn’t unduly distress you, so please don’t ask me. Just trust me instead.”
Primrose rolled her eyes. “I do trust you,” she muttered and Imran’s frown lifted marginally.
“You know, I would gladly dress you, my Mistress, but at present I don’t think it would be a sound idea for me to expend any unnecessary power.”
“I know. I don’t mind.” She smiled. “I’m just glad you’re feeling a little better. Although…” She paused. “I could do with a toothbrush.”
Imran, who at this point was standing close to her, laughed loudly, without denying the truth of her statement.
“Me too.”
Primrose blushed again and moved her head away so her breath was a little more distant.
“Come on, let’s find Omar and get my lamp back,” Imran said after reveling in a few moments in her embarrassment.
Chapter Eleven
Primrose and Imran left Leucosia’s apartment with a bottle of water and a container of Leucosia’s stew. The Siren wasn’t even present to farewell them.
As they stepped out into the humid street of Main Bazaar, the heat fell like a suffocating blanket and within a moment, Primrose was drenched in sweat.
I am going to absolutely reek, she thought worriedly as Imran led her safely down the main street. Once Primrose thought she heard the clip-clop of the Satyrs’ cloven hooves. Sensing her concern, Imran clasped her hand in reassurance. The small action almost took her breath away.
Soon they stood before number 255 Jalan Barrack, and Primrose felt a trill of anxiety as she saw the Satyrs’ town house nearby looking dark and empty. The street at this point was very quiet, almost unnaturally so. Again, Imran’s hand tightened on hers.
“Well, shall we go in? I can’t stand being so close to the Satyr colony,” Primrose whispered in the eerie silence.
“Wait,” Imran said, and Primrose sensed he was wilting somewhat from all the walking.
“Are you okay? Do you need more food?” Primrose asked, unaware she was running her hand up and down his back in an overtly affectionate gesture.
“I’m okay. We just need to see if he will help,” Imran replied, smiling reassuringly.
“Primrose!” A disturbingly familiar voice sounded from the left.
Primrose spun around. To her surprise, she saw not Silenus, but Priapus, the younger Satyr. Imran instinctively put an arm around Primrose to keep her close to his body and waning power.
“Priapus,” Primrose answered, her heart pounding thunderously.
“What are you doing back here?” Priapus asked, his black curly hair glimmering in the hot tropical sun. “You and your Genie have committed a serious crime in our community. Leaving the Revelry before donating your pleasure to Dionysus is unheard of amongst us.”
Primrose cringed, and sank back into Imran’s arms, which wrapped tighter around her. “I stated clearly I did not wish to be a part of your Revelry,” Primrose explained somewhat unsteadily. “It was unfair to ply me with your wine. My Genie did what was right—rescue me.”
“You still got drunk on our wine and no doubt partook in your own Revelry with him afterwards?” Priapus sneered.
“No,” Imran replied for her, “she did not.” His eyes were hard and emotionless.
Priapus looked as though he didn’t believe him, but shifted weight on his hooves uncomfortably.
“They are searching for her,” he finally said. “Silenus will have her. Nobody denies Silenus his Revelry.”
“I did.” Imran smiled wolfishly, but the smile dropped as though it never existed. “Nobody takes Primrose from me. Nobody,” he finished with a snarl.
Primrose felt a warm wave of affection flush through her.
Priapus shrugged and his black curls bounced.
“Well, if you want to keep Primrose for yourself, you ought to be more careful with her. I suggest you leave the Free Zone as soon as possible. Silenus has some powerful
friends in Kuching.”
“I will take your advice and remove her as promptly as I may from this place. However, at this moment, we have pressing business.”
Priapus looked unconvinced. “Here?” he asked.
“Where is none of your business,” Imran replied curtly.
“Well, I suggest you take her away now, before Silenus returns.”
“Thank you, I will as soon as I can,” Imran barked, evidently unable to contain his irritation.
Primrose wondered why Priapus wasn’t running straight to Silenus with the news of her whereabouts. She considered Priapus with renewed interest. As fresh as he may seem, Priapus evidently had his own agenda.
Imran, however, seemed to completely disregard the young Satyr. Without further word, he turned, still holding tightly onto Primrose, and steered her in the direction of number 255.
“Don’t go there!” Priapus’s warning call echoed, but it was too late. As soon as Imran’s hand touched the rotten, worm-eaten door, it shimmered in a haze of red smoke and there stood the Tuatha warrior and the Manticore.
“You!” the warrior roared. “You were warned!”
His appearance was so sudden, Primrose’s heart nearly exploded, and it took several deep breaths to calm the rapid beating of her pulse. The warrior’s concentration, however, didn’t even flicker toward her. His narrowed eyes focused on Imran as he awaited a response.
“Please, it is imperative I see Omar,” Imran said steadily without a tremor of anxiety.
“No one may see Omar. Least of all you,” the Tuatha retorted.
The Manticore yawned, displaying a very sharp set of pointed teeth.
Stemming her horror, Primrose stepped up, and looked at the enormous blond warrior. She deliberately chose not to look at the disturbingly deformed human face of the Manticore, lest she lose her nerve.
The Tuatha stared down at Primrose, his blue eyes sparkling with a thought or emotion Primrose couldn’t define.
“Please, we have a problem. Someone has…” Primrose spoke softly.
Again the Manticore yawned, evidently bored by the proceedings, and the odor of rotting meat suddenly became quite strong.
“Nobody comes to Omar with their problems. Omar does not solve problems,” the warrior replied, although his voice wasn’t nearly as stern to Primrose, who looked rather pathetic in her shambolic outfit with unkempt hair.
“Omar is the only one who can help us. Please, we have no one we can turn to.”
The warrior remained impassive and this time the Manticore spoke.
“We cannot let you or anyone see Omar.” His comment was directed at Imran.
Suddenly a red, shimmering smoke surrounded them and a whisper, inaudible to Imran and Primrose, took the interest of the warrior and Manticore. There was a moment of confusion.
“Our master has informed us he does wish to see you,” the Manticore grumbled, sounding more than a little perplexed. “Enter and wait here.”
Primrose and Imran looked at each other and smiled. They stepped through the wooden door and found themselves in a red-painted room. Persian rugs hung from every wall and elaborately embroidered pillows were scattered all over the floor. The Tuatha warrior strolled purposefully to a wall and walked straight through it in swaths of red smoke. The room smelled a little like Imran, but the scent was less cinnamon and more pepper. It was, however, the unmistakable scent of Genies. Watching them with amused eyes, the Manticore curled up on a pile of pillows and yawned, yet again baring enormous teeth. Primrose found it hard not to watch the strange creature, whose mutated humanoid face was much more expressive than any lion’s.
“Well, Imran…” the Manticore began, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Who is this filthy waif you have brought to our home?”
“She is my mistress,” Imran retorted, “and should be shown more respect.”
Primrose gave Imran a shy smile, not noticing the Manticore referred to him by his first name after not having been formally introduced.
“Respect? When she comes to see Omar dressed as a crone and smelling a peculiar mixture of Genie, Satyr, sexual arousal, and fish?”
Heat rushed through Primrose in mortification. “How dare you!” she squeaked. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“No, I don’t, but from the smell of you, I have a fair idea of what has been through you!” The Manticore laughed. “I do have a question, Imran. Why are you not looking after your mistress as a Genie should? She should be in the finest of silks, yet she…” The Manticore sniffed cruelly in her direction. “She just stinks! What are you playing at, Imran?” He laughed uproariously and his reddish-gold body shook with amusement.
Primrose felt hot tears of embarrassment begin to well in her eyes. She frantically widened them to stop the tears from falling. The effect, however, was less than charming. Now Primrose looked not only pale and disheveled, but also distinctly bug-eyed.
“Just look at the woman!” The Manticore bellowed with laughter again.
Imran didn’t need to see Primrose to know how she looked. He could veritably feel the anxiety and humiliation radiating off her.
“My inability to support my mistress is the reason I have come to seek Omar’s help. It is no business of yours,” Imran retorted hotly, and as comfortingly as he could manage, pulled Primrose into a rough side hug for consolation.
The Manticore raised a hairy eyebrow and stared at them. “Hmmm” was all he said as he sniggered.
Primrose looked at Imran questioningly, the tears still shining in her eyes, and Imran returned her gaze with guarded affection.
Momentarily the Tuatha warrior returned.
“Omar will grant you an audience. However, he will not do so until later this afternoon. He suggested you may use the facilities here, until such a time that he calls you.”
Imran’s brow furrowed. This was very unlike the Omar he used to know.
The Tuatha, whose name was Lugh, led Primrose and Imran up a narrow stairwell into a pleasantly air-conditioned room. To the left was a bathroom and kitchenette. A couch and television were placed near the window that overlooked an overgrown courtyard at the back.
“Oh, good, a shower! I’ll catch you in five!” Primrose exclaimed, red-faced with pleasure.
Imran didn’t reply, but walked to the couch and sank down. He was tired, and Omar’s reception was deeply suspicious.
As Primrose rushed into the bathroom, she stripped off Leucosia’s dress and hurried into the shower. Much to her delight, the soap rack was filled with expensive soap and shampoo and conditioner, all of which she used to excess.
When Primrose bathed, she checked the cupboard for a toothbrush and paste. Again, to her continuing joy, she found both. When she finally emerged from the bathroom she was squeaky clean and basking in sweet floral scents.
She found Imran reclined on the cool black leather couch, and resting in his hands was a rich red silk cloth.
“What have you got there?” Primrose asked, walking up behind him and leaning over.
“A gift from Omar,” Imran growled, sounding deeply unimpressed. He lifted it up, and the silk cloth actually turned out to be a loose, flowing, long-sleeved dress.
“Wow. Not really my style, but good for this climate.” Primrose beamed.
Imran’s face was hard. “I do not want you to wear it,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically mulish.
Primrose looked down at Leucosia’s faded black dress.
“Why? Do you really want me to wear Leucosia’s dress?” she asked as calmly as she could.
“Of course I do not want you wearing that thing, but Omar is insulting me!” Imran exclaimed. “He is implying I cannot care for my mistress, and he can.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Imran,” Primrose chided, desperately wan
ting to wear the clean silk dress.
Imran scowled. “Wear it if you must,” he said, rather petulantly.
Primrose really didn’t want to wear Omar’s gift if Imran found it so offensive, but the thought of being criticized because of Leucosia’s musty, awful dress was too much. She’d had enough humiliation.
“I’m sorry, Imran, but I just loathe this black thing. Couldn’t you just magic me a dress? I’m sure it wouldn’t expend too much of your power.”
Imran scowled again. “No, I can’t! As cheap as it sounds, even dressing you will use far too much of my energy.” Disgust sounded loudly in his voice. Shaking his head, he ran his hands over his face before looking up at her, his dark eyes imploring. “Primrose, I would do it in an instant, if I could.” He sighed. “I want you to know that.”
Primrose considered Imran’s words for a long, thoughtful moment.
“I do know that, Imran. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I’m going to wear the dress. I’m certain Omar is just being a gracious host,” Primrose added grimly.
“Omar has never been a gracious host, much less to me, who stole his wife so many years ago.” Imran’s face was hard and hurt. He rummaged in their bag, got out Leucosia’s stew, and began to eat. “There is a bowl of fruit for you over there,” he said, not glancing at her as she took the red dress and retreated back into the bathroom.
When Primrose exited the bathroom a second time, she looked a vision in the red silk dress. It clung to her chest and flared out at her hips, the cool silk sliding smoothly down her curvaceous form.
Imran looked up at her, and his face twisted. “You look good,” he admitted reluctantly. Omar had chosen the dress well. Although they had not seen their host, it was apparent he was watching them.
“Thanks, I feel heaps better.” Primrose smiled, and walked over to Imran. She wrapped her arms around him. Now it was her turn to be reassuring. “We’ll get your lamp back, you’ll see.”
Imran rested his head on her silken shoulder. “I hope so.”
Almost immediately, sharp rapping sounded at the door.
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