“Yes?” Imran called, lifting is head from her shoulder.
“Please follow me. You may see Omar now,” Lugh’s voice called.
Primrose’s heart skipped a beat. “Gosh, I hope he helps us,” she whispered and gripped onto Imran’s hand.
“I do too.”
In silence, Primrose and Imran followed the imposing figure of Lugh down a series of winding corridors, most of which were magically created simply to confuse them. They finally came to a set of curtains at the end of the corridor.
“Omar is waiting for you,” Lugh said, giving an appreciative glance to Primrose in her nice red dress.
“Thank you.” Primrose smiled back and ignored Imran’s irritated sigh.
As Lugh parted the curtains, Imran and Primrose found themselves in a remarkably normal-looking living room. There was a faded orange settee, a bookshelf, television, and potted plant. Sitting on one end of the faded settee was a man.
Confused, Primrose gaped. “What?” She looked frantically from Imran to Omar, and then back again. “What is going on here?”
“Did Imran not tell you?” Omar asked with an arched brow. “We are brothers.”
“Twins?”
Omar laughed, and it was a rich, melodious laugh. “No, just ordinary brothers, my dear lady,” he replied. “Imagine my amusement when my nasty, wife-stealing little brother appeared at my door with a bedraggled human woman by his side.”
Imran stiffened and Primrose tightened her grip on his hand.
“Why have you come here, Imran? I heard you have been searching for me.”
Imran’s face was like stone. “I need your help, Omar,” he said. The words seemed to choke him. “My lamp has been stolen, and someone is draining my power. I need your assistance to get back to Perth and retrieve it.”
Omar’s face hardened. “Your lamp?”
“Yes.”
Omar was silent a moment. “Perhaps you are not aware, Imran, but for some time, someone has been targeting Genies. Many Genies have gone missing. It is one of the reasons I am so…particular about my own security.”
“Security? They are henchmen and murderers.”
“I prefer the term security. There are very few who can get past them,” Omar replied dryly. “Now, as I am so particular about my security, I am most anxious to discover exactly how you came to know my whereabouts.”
“I think you know,” Imran replied.
“Ah, the lovely Leucosia.” Omar smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Never could keep her sweet mouth shut.”
“Are we wasting time, Omar, or will you assist us?” Imran asked. Primrose looked up and him, and she could feel the intensity in his voice.
“Ah, well, that’s where it gets a little complex.”
Imran looked momentarily confused. “A simple yes or no would do, Omar. I cannot undo what happened in the past. I apologized for what I did with Amira. I have paid for that mistake all these years as a Genie.”
“I am a Genie also, Imran,” Omar snarled. “I have suffered too.”
“I never asked Amira to curse you, as you cursed me!” Guilt and anger sharpened Imran’s words. “She did it of her own accord.”
Omar scowled.
He never recovered from his wife’s treachery. After finding his brother with his wife, Omar exacted his revenge and cursed Imran as a Genie. Amira did not take kindly to her lover being forced into another’s service and, in a vengeful twist, cursed her own husband to an eternity of slavery for the loss of her lover.
“It is of little consequence now,” Omar replied tautly, “and my decision to assist you has precious little to do with past. It has more to do with my alliance with the Satyrs.”
A gasp of dismay escaped Primrose’s mouth.
“The Satyr Silenus came to me this morning. He was inquiring as to why I had attacked him in order to free a reluctant Maenad. Imagine my surprise at this accusation! I explained to my friend I had not attacked him, nor rescued a Maenad, yet Silenus was adamant a Genie who resembled me committed this atrocity! I then suspected the only Genie to resemble me could be my brother, and within time you would come to me. I also had to give the Satyrs my word I would return the Maenad should I locate her.” Omar looked pointedly at Primrose.
Imran gripped Primrose’s hand tightly.
“She isn’t a Maenad. She is my mistress,” Imran growled. “She belongs to no one but me.”
Primrose’s heart pounded at his words. She didn’t want to be considered anyone’s property but when Imran used such possessive vernacular, it made her insides tighten quite involuntarily.
Omar, for a conceited individual, was exceptionally observant. With a flush of irritation he noticed Primrose’s reaction to Imran’s words. Without warning, Omar turned his attention to Primrose. His dark eyes drank in her image, resplendent in the red silk.
“Might I say, Mistress, you look very fine in the dress I supplied.” He smiled brightly at her, ignoring Imran’s sigh of agitation.
Primrose blushed. “Thank you. It is a lovely dress.”
Omar’s expression deepened. “Now, if you would be so kind as to excuse us a moment.”
He held Primrose’s gaze, and she felt a little awkward and embarrassed at keeping it so long.
Suddenly, without warning, she collapsed in a pretty puddle of red silk, fast asleep.
“How dare you!” Imran roared. “She is my mistress! You can’t do that to my mistress!”
Omar smiled, raising a well-groomed eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re able to do anything about it, are you?”
Imran hissed under his breath. “Please, Omar! Whatever grudge you have with me, do not bring her into it. I came here for help, not to make the situation worse.”
Omar was quiet a moment, his black eyes studying Imran intently. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Imran said nothing. His eyes were hard and empty. Omar studied his brother and saw a subtle but unmistakable giveaway—Imran’s jaw muscles tighten.
“You do love her! Well, that makes this all the more enjoyable.” He laughed. “Phil!”
Suddenly the Manticore appeared from the doorway behind Imran.
“You called, Master?” Phil grinned as if he’d just heard a fantastic joke.
“Tell Silenus we have his reluctant Maenad,” Omar ordered.
“No!” Imran yelled, stepping toward Omar. “No!”
Phil, the Manticore, chuckled. “Certainly, Master.”
“Please, Omar! Whatever you want, I’ll give you, if only you leave her alone and help me get my power back.”
Phil paused at the doorway, awaiting confirmation of his instruction.
“You seem to forget, Imran, you have nothing to give,” Omar replied slyly.
“Please, Omar, please! Don’t send her to those animals.”
Omar hesitated and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, there is one thing you could give me,” Omar began, his eyes roving hungrily over Primrose.
“Anything, just don’t send her to the Satyrs,” Imran implored.
“Give her to me instead,” Omar hissed. “Then we will be even. Then I will help you get your lamp back.”
Imran, who had always been good at hiding his emotions, felt his jaw drop. “I…I…can’t do that,” he stuttered.
“Oh, don’t be so shocked, Imran!” Omar laughed. “After all, you didn’t have such a problem sharing my wife.” He paused. “I think you shall leave her here with me. I will send you back to wherever it is you came from, and you can get your lamp back. Then, when you get it, you can return and your lovely mistress can choose who she wishes to be with.”
Imran shook his head. “She is my mistress. She can’t just choose you over me! Besides, Primrose has not made her w
ishes, so I cannot leave her,” Imran stated. “Even if she chose to stay with you, which is entirely unlikely, you are a masterless Genie, so she can never be your mistress.”
“That is true,” Omar said proudly. “I have no master, so I need no mistress, but...” He grinned. “She can be my lover.”
Imran winced. The same feelings that flooded him each time Ian touched Primrose rose like bile. “Primrose would not take you as her lover. She isn’t that kind of woman,” Imran said with little confidence.
“It matters not, brother, what kind of woman she is. I could wind a spell around her so powerful she would not be able to breathe without me.”
Imran felt sick. He knew the truth in Omar’s words. “Do not bewitch her, I implore you. It is not fair. I did not bewitch Amira. You know that.”
Omar thought for a moment, and the shadow that crossed his face, at the mention of Amira, passed. “That is true, and perhaps I will not have to bind a spell to her. I give you no promises. Just leave her with me and I shall send you on your way.”
“I cannot leave her without her permission, Omar,” Imran retorted. “You should know that. In your unnatural masterless state, you seem to forget I am an ordinary Genie.”
“Unnatural state?” Omar laughed. “I worked for many years on spells to free myself of masters, many painful spells. Finally after one hundred years, I freed myself and now my freedom, in my humble opinion, is far from unnatural.”
Imran scowled. “Still, Omar, I need her permission to leave. You will need to wake her, and I doubt very much she will let me leave Kuching without taking her.”
Omar sighed in irritation. “Imran, just ask her now if you have permission to leave and seek your lamp,” he said impatiently.
Imran groaned, knowing what was going to occur. He looked down at Primrose who was breathing deeply in her sleep, her face young and peaceful. His heart ached at the thought of leaving her.
“Primrose, do I have your permission to leave your side and seek my lamp?”
For a moment Primrose lay immobile, beautiful and silent in her crumpled heap. Then through magical means, Omar forced Primrose’s unconscious head to nod. Her head fell forward twice, her long dark curls falling over her face.
“There, that is permission enough.” Omar gloated.
Imran reluctantly admitted it was.
“If she wakes and finds me gone, she will be afraid,” Imran said uncertainly.
“I shall be there to give her comfort.”
Imran was silent. There was little he could do but accept Omar’s offer. He needed to go back to Perth. His own power would not sustain him for long with the perpetual drain.
“All right,” Imran acquiesced unhappily. “Please tell her I did not go without her willingly.”
Omar smiled, his eyes sparkling with malevolence. “Of course, Imran. Of course.”
Imran knew Omar would not. He closed his eyes and prayed Primrose would have enough faith in him to resist his brother’s dubious charms.
“Well, dear brother, where is it you wish me to send you?”
“Perth, Western Australia,” Imran replied dully, unable to take his eyes from Primrose’s beautiful slumbering form.
Omar raised an eyebrow. “However did you end up there? Such a quiet town. Quite unlike you, I must say.”
“Times have changed me, I suppose,” Imran said. “I like it there.”
Imran knew what he liked most about Perth—sharing it with Primrose.
Omar watched Imran struggle with emotion for a moment, and smiled smugly. Finally he broke the silence. “Well, brother, good luck to you! If you do not return after a week, I shall sever your relationship with Primrose permanently.”
“Omar! If I am alive, and severely weakened, the only thing that would keep me alive would be my link with Primrose! You could kill me!” Imran yelled. He took a step closer to his brother, but Omar stood his ground.
“That would be a shame, so you’d best return within a week, would you not?” Omar smiled again. “Friday evening, I shall be expecting you.”
“Omar…” Imran began uncertainly. Suddenly red arms of smoke surrounded him and he felt his brother’s magic being forcefully fed through his skin, filling the depleted well inside him.
“Goodbye, Imran, until next week.” Omar dismissed him, and muttered a spell under his breath.
Imran felt Omar’s power fill his chest. He felt like coughing and choking. It seemed impossible to breathe. Imran closed his eyes and he knew that as Omar forced the power into him, he also sent him to Perth, where he arrived in St. George’s Terrace in a small explosion of red smoke.
“Why don’t you learn how to use magic properly? Dickhead!” yelled a small humanoid figure driving past in a battered, watermelon-colored Hyundai.
Imran stood up and dusted off his trousers. A cold wind blew like a howling demon down the terrace. He stepped onto the footpath, out of the way of traffic, and clutched his shirt around him in an attempt to stem the chill. He looked at the line of purring traffic, and wondered absently how he could get to his lamp. In the distance, Imran could feel its presence softly pulsing. With Omar’s power still strong inside him, Imran was comforted that despite the drain on his own power, he still had some backup.
Chapter Twelve
Primrose awoke in a strange bed, in complete darkness. She felt disorientated, and struggled to remember where she was and what was going on.
“Imran?” Primrose whispered into the blackness. There was no response. She couldn’t even feel him. “Where is the light in this place?”
Suddenly a glowing red globe lit up the room with a soft light. The room appeared to be the same one she had been in earlier, but the couch was gone and in its place was the soft canopied bed in which she lay. The window was blacked out by some very thick curtains and the room and surrounds were unearthly and quiet. Primrose inhaled deeply. She could smell the spicy smells of Genie, but it wasn’t Imran. Why am I in bed? she wondered anxiously.
Her stomach growled audibly and she tentatively rolled out of the bed. Her bare feet hit the wooden floorboards, and Primrose realized she was actually quite hot. The air conditioner was silent and the room was stifling. She was about to open the curtains and window, when she remembered the Satyrs were still searching for her. Frowning, she hurried away from the curtains. As Primrose made her way back to the bed, she noticed the air was rushing through her dress. Primrose looked down and in the dim red light, she noticed she was now dressed in a flowing, positively see-through nightgown. She blushed, hoping it was Imran, not Omar, who dressed her, though she suspected the latter.
Suddenly she heard a loud knocking on the door and Lugh’s voice boomed through it.
“The master wishes your presence for dinner.”
Primrose’s heart beat faster. “Dinner? Um, err, I need something else to wear.”
“The master has filled the wardrobe for your pleasure,” Lugh replied, sounding haughty, as if Omar shouldn’t demean himself to do such a thing.
“All right! I’ll be out in a moment.”
Flustered, Primrose hurried to the wardrobe and opened it. Much to her delight, there was a row of dresses in every color of the rainbow. She also saw several pairs of trousers, tops, and a shocking variety of underwear. Omar must think I’m staying quite a while, she thought with a frown. Primrose looked at the dresses a moment longer and finally chose a peach, filmy thing to wear for dinner.
Quickly, Primrose slipped the dress on and went to the bathroom, where she found a bouquet of perfumes and a beautician’s archive of makeup. She quickly applied some and combed her hair, but left it loose.
When Primrose opened the door, she found Lugh waiting for her. The Tuatha warrior looked at her with ill-disguised lust and Primrose shrank away. I should have chosen the blue dress, she worri
ed; it wasn’t so low cut. Steeling her back, she pulled her shoulders tight and tossed her hair as nonchalantly as she could manage. Primrose had a lot of questions for Omar, and Imran, wherever he was.
* * * *
Imran walked down St. George’s Terrace in the vague direction he felt his lamp. It was late in the evening, so there were only a few office workers hurrying to the bus stops. The traffic was thick, but Imran didn’t pay attention. All he could think of was his lamp. He had very little idea how he would get it back. He didn’t know where it was, or exactly who had it. He could be walking straight into a trap.
If what Omar said was true, then many Genies had been kidnapped by this individual. Whoever it was must be powerful and dangerous, for none of those Genies had ever been seen again. Imran’s mind chased this thought for a while before it was inevitably dragged back to Primrose. How was she? Was she worried? Was she angry? Imran suppressed an audible sigh of frustration. He needed his lamp back. It would solve most of their problems.
When Imran walked as far as Kings Park, he suddenly felt as though someone was watching him. He first turned to the dark bush to his left and scanned it for intelligent life. A car whooshed past on his right, and Imran turned his attention away from the park and back to the road. The car zoomed away down the road and Imran frowned. The back of his neck prickled.
“Imran?” a boorish male voice called. “Is that you?”
Imran spun around and found a car had pulled in behind him. It was Ian.
Imran grimaced. Just what I need.
“Oh, hi,” Imran said cautiously.
“You need a lift?” Ian asked, leaning over and speaking through the passenger’s side window.
“Um,” Imran answered uncertainly. After all, where could Ian take him?
“Are you still staying at Primrose’s?” Ian asked, sounding strangely bereft. “I can give you a lift.”
“Err,” Imran mumbled, not exactly sure what Ian knew, especially about the magical assault.
“She’s disappeared, you know, with some unregistered magical being,” Ian added quickly.
“I didn’t know. I’ve been out of town,” Imran lied, finally gathering his thoughts.
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