Magical Gains

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  “Yes?” Primrose called, wrapping a silk dressing gown about herself to cover the outrageously filmy and flimsy night clothes Omar provided for her.

  “Breakfast is served,” came Lugh’s grumbling voice.

  “Err, yes, just a moment.”

  Primrose dashed into the bathroom, went to the toilet, and washed her face. She opened the door and Lugh stood there, like a blond mountain.

  “Um, I didn’t have a chance to dress.”

  “I shouldn’t imagine that will upset Omar too much,” Lugh replied with a grin.

  Primrose laughed and followed him to the dining room.

  The room, much the same as last night, was rather flamboyantly decorated and the masses of food made Primrose feel guilty about starving children in Ethiopia.

  “You look delectably disheveled, Primrose,” Omar said, by way of greeting. “I only wish I had been the cause of your dishevelment!”

  Primrose laughed a little awkwardly this time. “No, the very comfortable bed is to blame.”

  They fell into an uneasy silence.

  Primrose began eating self-consciously. It wasn’t until later that Omar spoke.

  “A visitor arrived for you earlier this morning.” Omar watched her carefully.

  “Imran!” Joy bloomed on her cheeks.

  “No,” Omar replied, disappointed by her enthusiasm.

  Primrose’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Then who? Not those awful Satyrs!” she cried with alarm.

  “No.”

  Primrose took a nervous gulp of very strong coffee. “Then who, Omar? Who else knows I am here?”

  “I do, child!” came the singsong tones of Leucosia, and Primrose’s skin crawled.

  Leucosia stood at the door with Lugh and Phil, dressed as always in a long black dress. Her dried features looked more weathered than before.

  “Leucosia!” Primrose exclaimed, shocked. “What on Earth brings you here?”

  “I was wondering how you and Imran were faring. I had not heard from you, so I thought I should investigate.”

  Primrose felt a little guilty at not having sent word to Leucosia who, after all, had been so hospitable toward them. “Oh, I am sorry!” Primrose apologized with a hot blush of embarrassment. “I don’t know how Imran is doing. Omar sent him back to Perth, alone.” Primrose sounded accusatory.

  Leucosia frowned and glared at Omar. “You dreadful man.”

  Omar shrugged with a gesture very similar to Imran. “What can I say? He stole my wife. Do I owe him any favors?”

  Leucosia rolled her eyes. “In the modern dictum, Omar, get over it,” she sang with a smirk.

  Primrose chuckled but Omar didn’t look impressed.

  “I was wondering, Omar, whether you might indulge Primrose and myself in a moment of privacy?” Leucosia sang.

  Primrose looked at Omar for approval. He frowned slightly and then nodded. “Certainly, you may use the room next door.” Omar‘s eyes roved over Leucosia’s eroded features in disgust.

  A door materialized in the northern wall of the room, and Leucosia ushered Primrose inside.

  When they were inside, Primrose realized the room must be Tallathalla’s. It was empty but for a bed, a toilet, a sink, and Tallathalla herself.

  Leucosia eyed Tallathalla curiously a moment and Tallathalla naturally did nothing.

  “What is wrong with her?” Leucosia sang inquiringly.

  “She’s a Magical Construct. No soul. She can’t do anything without being told. She just exists until someone requires her.”

  “How extraordinary.” Leucosia walked up to the beautiful woman and stroked Tallathalla’s silken blond hair with her desiccated claw-like hand.

  “What did you want, Leucosia?” Primrose finally asked after she’d had enough of watching the Siren sniff and prod Tallathalla.

  “Ah, well, that’s a little complicated. It’s got very little to do with what I want and more to do with what a certain friend of mine wants.”

  Primrose felt a coil of unease tighten in her gut. “Oh?”

  Leucosia’s already grotesque face contorted into the parody of a smile. “Yes, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something I’m not very good at.”

  Alarmed by the cryptic conversation, Primrose took a step backward and banged into the wall. She turned to find the door and call for Omar. As Primrose floundered searching for the doorknob, Leucosia started singing strangely in a language that sounded a lot like Latin.

  “Leucosia!” Primrose cried, her body beginning to feel odd and fluttery. “Stop! Oh, God! Omar! Lugh!” she shrieked.

  Leucosia didn’t appear to have heard her and continued her chanting. Primrose looked down at her body and noticed she was barely visible. It felt as though hundreds of moths were fluttering through her body as it slowly dematerialized.

  “Omar!” Primrose shrieked again. “Lugh! Phil!”

  Unfortunately, as her body lost its substance, so did her voice, and after a further second Primrose and Leucosia were gone.

  In the other room, Omar glanced at the doorway.

  “Did you hear something?” he asked Phil.

  “Yes, a cry,” Phil replied, looking only slightly perturbed.

  “Quickly!” Omar barked. “Open the door!”

  As they opened the door, they could barely see the faint, hazy outline of Primrose and Leucosia as they disappeared.

  “No!” Omar growled in frustration. “No!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Tallathalla! Did you see anything?” Omar growled irritably, walking up to the woman who sat so still on the bed. He shook her shoulders in agitation, her blond hair shimmering with the force of the movement.

  “Yes,” she replied blandly.

  “What did you see?” Omar pressed, and released her.

  “The door, two people, my sink.”

  Omar swallowed his frustration, ran his hands through his hair, and thought about his next question. Phil smirked with amusement.

  “What did these two people say just now, before we entered the room?”

  Tallathalla then regurgitated verbatim the conversation Primrose and Leucosia just had. She then began to sing Leucosia’s chant. Omar was the first to feel tiny flutters in his throat, the calling card of the motus spell.

  “Stop!” Omar roared before she finished the first sentence. “Do not sing anymore!”

  Tallathalla stopped immediately.

  The smirk dropped from Phil’s face. “What was that chant?”

  “It was a motus spell. One specifically formulated for non-magicians to move themselves and others from place to place.”

  “Leucosia is working for this same magician who has been killing Genies?” Lugh asked.

  “It would seem so.” Omar sighed.

  “Well, then good riddance. That’s our problem solved.”

  Omar laughed dryly. “No, not really. After this magician has Imran, he will next come after me. We are no longer safe in this Free Zone. Who knows how many spies he has? Obviously he knows where I live and how I am protected. It is only a matter of time before he figures out how to capture me.”

  “He’d have to get through us first,” Lugh retorted.

  “You two aren’t infallible. You’re good, but one day I will be unguarded…I think.” Omar sighed again. “I think it is time I really helped my brother.”

  * * * *

  As Primrose fought the fluttering moths that ravaged her body, she quickly found herself standing in a granite-clad room with lamps in glass cabinets all around. She spun around in shock. At one end of the room, a man stood observing the lamps on the wall.

  “Imran!” she exclaimed and threw herself at him.

  Imran’s jaw dropped as he saw Primrose dress
ed in only her nightie, flying toward him. He opened his arms just in time for her to collide heavily into his chest. An enormous sob erupted from her as she felt his arms wrap around her.

  “You’re okay!” Primrose sobbed, and inhaled his familiar scent.

  Imran suddenly stiffened as he noticed Leucosia for the first time, standing by the corner of the room. “Leucosia?” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, don’t look so shocked,” she sang with annoyance. “I do what I must to get by.”

  Primrose turned around in Imran’s arms and glared at Leucosia.

  “You’ve turned me over to the man who will kill Imran.”

  “Collateral damage, isn’t that what it’s called these days?” Leucosia countered.

  “What are you getting from Quillian in exchange for my life, and probably Primrose’s too?” Imran asked, his eyes hard and angry.

  “It’s complicated. Among other things, I want permanent residency in Western Australia,” Leucosia stated proudly.

  “Did you say Quillian? Mr. Quillian is the magician responsible?” Primrose gasped, although no one responded.

  “Leucosia, you could have applied legitimately,” Imran said.

  “I have, ten times in the past ten years. It’s always the same, MB discrimination. Nobody wants to let a Siren into their country.”

  Imran shook his head wearily. “Leucosia. Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted? Maybe I could have helped.”

  “Don’t be lame, Imran. You’re a magical whore, useless 98 percent of the time to anyone but your master.”

  Imran’s struggled to remain expressionless but Primrose didn’t miss the tiny flinch that flickered through his body. “Why didn’t you just hand Primrose over earlier, then?”

  “Oh, you know I like to have the bargaining power. Besides, I needed time to learn the motus spell.” Leucosia gloated. “Now how do I get out of here?”

  “You can’t. The room is covered in spells. You will have to wait until Quillian arrives. You are trapped here, just as we are,” Imran sneered.

  “The motus spell should work.”

  “Not unless you want to burst into flames.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because, although you have betrayed me, I have no intention of betraying you.”

  Leucosia was silent a moment. “Well, I suppose I shall just wait then,” she snapped, turning her back on Imran and Primrose and attempting to ignore them.

  Imran stepped back and took a good look at Primrose. His emotionless gaze drank in her attire. She was barely clad beneath the silk dressing gown. The night clothes so casually provided by Omar consisted of a filmy camisole top, so see-through the deeper pink of her nipples was clearly visible, and little French knickers of the same material. Imran’s eyes hardened as he noticed her neat triangle of pubic hair was hazy, but discernible, through the thin material. His handsome features tensed, and his jaw tightened. Primrose caught his strained glance and wrapped the dressing gown tightly closed.

  “I presume Omar is responsible for your clothing?” Imran asked, his lips tight.

  “Well, yes, otherwise I’d still be in Leucosia’s black dress,” Primrose replied, tightening the silk gown around herself again, a little perplexed by Imran’s abrupt shift in attitude.

  “How far did my brother get in his seduction? Quite far, judging by your attire,” Imran grumbled.

  Primrose laughed softly. “Imran! Are you jealous?” she breathed, taking a step closer to him.

  “Of course not,” he replied gruffly, avoiding her eyes.

  Leucosia heard the exchange between them and walked up to Imran.

  “They were having a cozy breakfast this morning. Word has it she was up late last night with Omar too.”

  Primrose felt Imran stiffen beside her.

  “Is that true?” he said, trying to keep the heat from his voice.

  “Well, yes, but it’s not like that,” Primrose replied, amusement still evident in her tone. Again, Imran’s eyes hungrily absorbed her scanty clothes, clearly finding her words hard to believe.

  “Did you sleep with him?” Imran asked, heat now obviously warming the edges of his words.

  “No!” Primrose laughed again. “No, of course not!”

  Imran looked affronted, but unconvinced. “Did you kiss him?”

  Now Primrose stiffened.

  “Primrose?” Imran questioned.

  She licked her lips nervously. “Imran, it’s not how it seems.”

  “You did? You kissed him?”

  “Well, to be correct, he kissed me,” Primrose mumbled self-consciously.

  “Did you kiss him back?”

  “Well…I don’t know!” Primrose was exasperated. “I’d had a bit too much wine, and I don’t know—it was nice to be wanted.”

  Imran was silent for one heavy moment. His dark eyes were impenetrable but intently locked on her.

  “I want you.”

  Primrose was still, unsure of what she heard.

  At that inopportune moment, Quillian excitedly burst into the room.

  “Ah, Miss Brasco! Lovely to see you! You really should have filled out an annual leave form before you left!”

  Primrose’s jaw dropped, and she ran a nervous hand down the silk dressing gown. “Mr. Quillian?”

  “Indeed, child! I am delighted to have you here!” Mr. Quillian looked extremely pleased. “This will solve all my problems!” His fickle attention suddenly shifted to Leucosia, who lurked in the corner near Hamza’s lamp. “Ah, the lovely Leucosia!” Swiftly and softly in his leather-soled shoes, Quillian walked to Leucosia’s side and kissed her. It wasn’t a peck, or a deferential kiss on the hand, but a passionate French lip-lock.

  Imran and Primrose stood with mouths agape, as Quillian attempted to devour Leucosia’s weathered face with his kiss.

  After an extremely awkward moment, Leucosia pulled away from his embrace and smiled coyly at Primrose.

  “I told you, Primrose. There aren’t many men who have a taste for my flesh.” She delicately wiped her mouth with her clawed hand. “Naturally, when I find one, I will do almost anything to keep him.”

  Quillian’s hand roved over her bony shoulders.

  Imran, who masked his surprise at this turn of events only marginally better than Primrose, took a step forward to address Leucosia.

  “It’s nice you’ve finally found someone, Leucosia.” He sounded genuine. “I am disappointed you have betrayed me, but I know love—or lust—is much more alluring than mere friendship. I do want to make sure you’re aware of something though.”

  “What?” Leucosia replied haughtily.

  “You do know he’s married, don’t you?” Imran whispered.

  Leucosia stiffened momentarily.

  “Oh, no? You didn’t? Oh, dear.”

  Quillian stepped back up to Leucosia and wrapped his arms around her skeletal frame.

  “My dear, take no note of the doomed Genie! My wife and I lead very separate lives. You have nothing to worry about.” Leucosia relaxed a little. “Besides, your charms far outweigh hers.”

  Imran raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t like to meet her in a dark alley either, then,” he joked.

  “You go too far, Imran,” he spat, and after giving Leucosia another overly familiar stroke, ushered her out of the lamp room.

  “Wait in my office, dearest. I will be with you as soon as I can,” Quillian called in a syrupy voice. Once the door was sealed shut, the pretense of sweetness disappeared. “Now, I have you as a captive audience. Let us get down to business.”

  Primrose was still deeply shocked at learning the acting CEO of Cerebral Management was actually an evil magician.

  “My dear Primrose, or is it Pansy
?” Quillian began, without waiting for her response. “I really do need for you to take your remaining wishes from your Genie. I am afraid it is holding back progress.”

  “I will not take the wishes,” Primrose retorted when she finally found her tongue.

  Mr. Quillian’s brow furrowed. “Oh, I think you shall. Perhaps you need a little persuasion…” His voice dropped almost an octave and became oily and sinister.

  For the first time, Primrose noticed the slash mark on Imran’s shirt. She cringed. Torture wasn’t something she could cope with very well, and she knew it.

  “Define persuasion,” Imran interrupted.

  “Well, a few slaps and maybe a little tickle? I don’t think it will take much for Miss Brasco to fold, do you, Imran?”

  Imran glanced at Primrose, whose face was already ashen. “No, I don’t suppose it would.” He sighed. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hamza materialize stealthily behind Quillian. He was standing near Imran’s lamp, motionless and still. What was he planning on doing? Imran hadn’t given him any extra power, so there was little Hamza could do but watch. Imran was going to have to use up Omar’s power to defend Primrose, but then what would they do? He would be weakened and nearly useless.

  “Your attention is wandering, Imran,” Quillian snapped. “I don’t like it when people don’t listen!” A few droplets of spittle flew from his mouth. Again Imran smelled the acrid burning scent of Quillian’s corrupted power.

  Quick as a flash, Imran found himself floored, his arms pinned behind him. He struggled, but Quillian’s power held him immobile. Primrose’s light brown eyes were wide with angst.

  “Imran!” she gasped and began to assist him. Unfortunately, Quillian was quick and he swung his arms around her, clasping her tightly. The bitter fumes that emanated from him were choking and nauseating. Primrose coughed, her lungs burning, and she furiously tried to free herself.

  “Naughty girl. Do you need a smack?” Quillian chortled. Suddenly Primrose felt herself falling to the granite floor and she struggled to right herself. Strangely, however, she found herself held in a similar fashion to Imran, unable to move her arms or legs. She hung there, mid-fall, her gown slowly opening with the gravity.