Magical Gains

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  Primrose, it said, Do not worry. I think you are wonderful—awkward and gauche maybe—but utterly wonderful. We are down in the dining room when you are ready. Love, Imran.

  Primrose felt her heart lurch at the love. Did he mean it? She dressed quickly and returned to the bathroom to brush her hair and apply lip balm and mascara. She slowly walked back to the bed and picked up Imran’s lamp and stroked it absently. She wouldn’t lose it again. Primrose grabbed a handbag supplied by Omar from the cupboard, placed the lamp inside, and threw it securely over her shoulder. Nervously, Primrose took another glance at the mirror and brushed her hair again. Her eyes were large and wide and her face was pale. She sighed, deeply disappointed in herself. Taking yet another deep breath, she pushed open the door. There, standing patiently, was Lugh.

  “Are you ready to go to the dining room?” he asked as he looked down at her.

  Primrose met his sparkling blue gaze uncertainly and tried to decide if they looked disgusted, disparaging, or bemused. She wrestled inwardly, wondering if he heard what happened between her and Imran. A hot flush of embarrassment flooded her face and she glanced away from Lugh’s curious eyes.

  “Err, yes, I’m ready,” she replied, although she wasn’t.

  Phil stalked into the hallway. He took a good look at Primrose and sniffed noisily at the air around her. He seemed more like a dog sniffing a crotch than a fearsome Manticore.

  “You don’t smell like sex. I was told you’d been having sex with your Genie.” The stink of his breath floated up and slapped Primrose in the face.

  She turned away in disgust.

  “Phil,” Lugh said warningly, evidently mistaking Primrose’s gesture for one of embarrassment.

  “Well, it was you that told me the Genie had been at her, and I smell no evidence. You must have been mistaken.”

  Primrose’s jaw dropped and she took an incredulous glance at Lugh. Would a mighty Tuatha warrior stoop to idle gossip?

  “Phil!” Lugh yelled and his voice boomed through the hallway. “I must apologize for him, Primrose,” he added a little awkwardly. “His culture is quite open about such intimate matters.”

  “It must be.” Primrose fought to suppress her glowing cheeks. “Just as yours must be about idle gossip!”

  Lugh had the decency to look away and after a pause, began to lead her down to the dining room.

  Phil chuckled wetly at the discomfort he caused, but said no more.

  When they reached the door to the dining room, Primrose could hear Omar and Imran talking. She waited, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

  “If she wanted you, Imran, she would have had you,” Omar said. “Perhaps she is not so fond of you after all? I heard how wanton she was with that Satyr! She can’t be all that reserved if she behaved so wildly at the Revelry.”

  “Primrose was under the influence of Dionysus wine, as you well know. She was wild for me that evening too.”

  “Indeed? I find it all very hard to believe. She does seem very repressed.” Omar paused thoughtfully. “Though I must say it is delightful to see you so rudely rebuffed! The infamous womanizer Abdul Imran, rebuffed! Ha ha ha.”

  Primrose heard Imran swear in Turkish under his breath. She pushed the door open after being firmly nudged forward by Phil, who was no doubt only attempting to get a better sniff of her.

  Primrose stumbled slightly and practically fell into the dining room. As always, food was laid heavily on the table, which almost groaned under its weight.

  “Ah, Primrose, do you feel refreshed?” Omar asked, his voice sly and eyes merry.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She looked at Imran, but he didn’t return her gaze. He was stalwartly looking at his hands, apparently oblivious to her presence at all.

  Another hot flush of embarrassment threatened to sink her remaining self-confidence. However, instead of allowing herself to wallow in self-pity, she stiffly took a seat opposite Omar.

  Omar grinned maliciously at her and then at Imran.

  “Imran, are you not going greet your mistress?” Omar laughed richly. “My, you are a rude swine.”

  Imran’s head jerked up, torn forcibly from his thoughts. “Primrose.” The air hung heavy with words unsaid.

  “We were just saying we really need to get this Quillian business sorted out,” Omar began quickly, breaking the awkward silence.

  Primrose raised an elegant eyebrow. “Were you? Really?” she said with mock belief. “I thought you were talking about me and my sexual ineptitude.”

  Imran snorted, a small, proud smile playing on his lips.

  “Well! I…” Omar began, rather outraged and mortified he had been caught gossiping. “That is to say, you really ought not eavesdrop on my conversations! I thought I had a spell on that door to prevent―”

  “Evidently not,” Primrose replied.

  “Anyway…” Omar faded off. “We do need a plan of action. Hiding forever isn’t really an option, as I well know. This Quillian must be destroyed.”

  Imran slowly nodded.

  “You can’t be serious!” Primrose exploded. “He is the acting CEO of Cerebral Management. He’s a West Australian government employee!”

  “He is also an evil magician, who has crippled and perhaps destroyed countless Genies,” Imran added.

  “Well, we should notify the government and let them deal with it,” Primrose insisted a little haughtily.

  “If they haven’t figured out what he is by now, going to them and spouting wild accusations following your magical disappearance isn’t going to hold much strength, Primrose.” Imran paused and chewed on a carrot. “Quillian has the power of thirty or so Genies behind him. There is no one in the government who could stop him with a power base like that.”

  Primrose was silent, unable to argue. Imran knew magic better than she did.

  “Well, what can we do?”

  “We need to get some allies,” Omar said, scoffing the tail of a small lobster into his mouth.

  “Allies? Who? I thought you were mostly isolated here.”

  “Mostly. Yes, but I have allies with the Manticore Pride here and some of Lugh’s Tuatha De Danaan. Of course there are also the Satyrs,” he added.

  Primrose instantly stiffened. “Please tell me I’ll have nothing to do with the Satyrs.”

  “Well, you might be able to help cajole them to our side a little more than I could.” Omar grinned.

  Primrose looked desperately at Imran. “Imran, I don’t have to do anything with Silenus, do I?”

  “Do you think so little of me, Primrose?” His gaze was searching.

  Primrose weakly shook her head, embarrassed yet again. After a moment of picking listlessly at some food, she changed tact. “How can a bunch of goat men help against something like Quillian anyway?” she asked.

  “Satyrs are impartial to many forms of magic,” Omar interrupted before Imran had a chance to explain.

  “The night of their Revelry, Imran’s power subdued Silenus. It choked him, strangled him, the same way it did with Ian,” Primrose said, “so they aren’t impartial to that kind of magic.”

  “That is Genie magic, Primrose, not just ordinary magic. I doubt very much even Quillian with his vessel of Genie magic would be able to conjure that kind of spell. He isn’t a Genie and cannot work the smoke like one,” Imran explained patiently.

  “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as one can ever be about things of a magical nature,” Imran answered.

  “You see, Primrose,” Omar began, clearly feeling left out of the conversation, “although Quillian may be considerably powerful, the Satyrs are immune to some, but not all of his magic.”

  “I see.”

  They fell into silence for a moment and Primrose picked at some more food, although she didn’t feel hun
gry in the least.

  “Are we just going to wait here until we are ambushed, then?” Primrose finally erupted. “This man is mad. He will gladly torture me to make that last wish.”

  “Perhaps it may be safer if you take it now, Primrose,” Imran suggested. “Then at the least I can send you home and you will not have to be involved anymore.” His eyes were watchful and wary.

  Primrose’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “What? Imran! You can’t be serious! Do you really want me to leave you? Am I that much of a disappointment to you?” She finished with a guttural sob.

  Imran’s face crumpled a little at her distress. “No, Primrose. No.” He moved toward her in an unusually awkward gesture.

  “Then why would you say that?” Primrose whimpered. “Unless you don’t want me.”

  “Primrose, I’m thinking only of your safety. I don’t want to leave you, and I certainly don’t want you to leave me.”

  Primrose’s heart thumped. She wanted this man. “Well, I won’t go,” she said furiously. “I just won’t go home without you.”

  Imran wrapped his arms tightly around her. Primrose sunk into his embrace gratefully, inhaling his strong spicy scent as if it were oxygen.

  It had been many years since anyone ever wanted Imran without a wish in return. Primrose had been the only person in his entire existence as a Genie who actually wanted him. Imran held her small round frame in his arms and felt his heart squeeze with emotion for her. He wanted more than anything for her to be something other than his mistress, but at this moment, he would gladly take whatever she gave him.

  “Very touching,” Omar interrupted sourly, “but we really ought to organize some sort of a plan. Phil has heard that a small flock of Harpies has entered the Free Zone. They seem to be forming an entourage for a male magician.”

  “He must really like unusual women,” Primrose murmured with a slightly amused note.

  “He must,” Imran agreed, his hand still lingering around the small of her back, unwilling to let her go just yet.

  “If he is already in the Free Zone, then we will be unable to leave the building,” Omar added. “I have significant spells around the building to stop intruders, but I am afraid getting the Tuatha or Manticore Pride to assist us now is quite unlikely.”

  “Why? Can’t you contact them somehow?” Primrose asked.

  “I could, but in all likelihood, they will be hesitant to offer us aid knowing the magician has a flock of Harpies at his beck and call.”

  Primrose frowned. According to her studies of magical beings, Harpies, although undoubtedly a fierce race of beings, had no particular power that could overcome Tuatha Warriors or a pride of Manticores.

  “What power would they have over Tuatha and Manticores?” Primrose finally asked, perplexed.

  Lugh, Imran, and Omar looked at her in surprise.

  “You should know, Primrose, that Harpies are the most tenacious creatures in the world. They never give up. They are strong and intelligent. Feuds with Harpies can last centuries. Nobody in this day and age would fight a flock of Harpies. In the world now, there are precious few places to hide from such persistent enemies, because hiding from them or killing them is the only option.”

  “We are totally stuffed, then,” Primrose said.

  “I don’t know,” Imran admitted.

  Phil came thundering into the room.

  “He’s here!” he roared, and his rotten meat breath nearly floored everyone in the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quillian stood outside the unremarkable red door. He noticed the Satyr colony that stood opposite was unusually silent and still for Satyrs. Twice he felt eyes following him from the cracks in the curtains and twice he spun around to see nothing. His Harpies, a small flock of four, were hiding in different locales in the street. Leucosia, who so readily disclosed Omar and Imran’s hiding place, refused to come for the trip. She claimed if anyone in the Free Zone saw her with Harpies, she’d never live it down. Personally, Quillian thought it was a moot point, as she claimed she wanted to live in Perth with him. He frowned at the thought. He truly didn’t understand some people. Perhaps Leucosia, who he really felt quite strongly about, wasn’t as serious about him as he was about her? He wrote himself a mental note to ask, before returning his attention to the unassuming faded red door.

  Quillian glanced up at the decrepit building. It appeared to be in an advanced state of decay. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring to unnatural proportions. He could smell quite clearly the spicy scent of Genie magic. Was this where Omar had been hiding all these years, this unobtrusive hovel? Had Abdul Omar, the greatest, most powerful Genie, been living in this dump for nearly one hundred years just to hide from him? Were Imran and Primrose huddled in there, fearful? These thoughts gave Quillian an almost sexual buzz of excitement.

  “Omar, I know you’re in there. Imran, I can smell you too.” He cackled to the empty street. Irritatingly for Quillian, nothing at all happened, except he could feel eyes on the back of his head again. He spun around angrily, and threw a bolt of acrid power at the highest window in the Satyr colony. Glass exploded, shattering the unnatural silence of the street. He heard a caprine bleat of pain. There was a burst of activity behind the shattered window and Quillian toyed momentarily with the idea of sending a few Harpies to cause a little more mayhem, but decided against it.

  “What was that?” Primrose asked and edged closer to Imran.

  “I’ll go and see,” Lugh said.

  “Use the perlucidus spell I taught you on the front door. Under no circumstances open it!” Omar said quickly. Imran sent a curious glance his way, almost amused by the panicked tone in his brother’s voice.

  “Of course,” Lugh replied tersely, as if annoyed Omar felt the need to remind him.

  “If necessary,” Omar added, his eyes darting nervously at Lugh’s retreating back. “I have built a magical bolt-hole into the rear of the building. It is in the living room. The fireplace is the door. Once inside, you can see out, but no one can see in and it is completely undetectable. If need be, we may have to retreat there. It will be a safe place to make our escape from.”

  “Are you suggesting we hide rather than fight, brother?” Imran asked archly.

  “I am saying the time may come when we are outnumbered, and we might feel fleeing the situation to hide elsewhere is the most pertinent choice.”

  Imran sighed. “If we hide our lamps, there is nothing he can do to us. I think it is best we place our lamps in there now.”

  Primrose moved quickly to her bag and grabbed Imran’s lamp. “Let me put it in there now,” she urged, not wanting to be responsible for its loss again. “Omar, where is yours?”

  “My lamp must stay with me,” Omar said. “I told you that.”

  Imran looked perplexed. “You have not told me though, brother.”

  Omar’s face went red. “One of the consequences of tampering with the Genie curse has been that I cannot be more than a few meters from my lamp at any time. A small price, I once thought, to be free of any master.” He avoided eye contact.

  “Interesting, but what if someone got their hands on it?” Imran asked curiously.

  “It depends. They could damage me I suppose, and I would have to follow them. The pain of being separated from my lamp is…unimaginable.”

  Imran looked amazed. “You actually managed to make yourself masterless, but are even more enslaved to the lamp! I think you have freed yourself at a greater cost to your actual freedom!”

  Omar looked decidedly peevish at this comment. “No, Imran! Unlike you—powerless to act when someone has your lamp—I can kill, cajole, or maim whoever tries to enslave me, thus getting my lamp back without having to grant any petty wishes.”

  “I wouldn’t like to test that theory with Quillian, brother.”

&nbs
p; “No, nor would I,” Omar admitted.

  As the conversation continued, Lugh stood at the red door. Using Omar’s perlucidus spell, he created a small transparent window through which he could view Quillian.

  At this point, Quillian was shifting irritably from left foot to right.

  “Come on! Somebody do something!” he screeched. “I don’t like to be kept waiting!” In response to Quillian’s cry, Silenus clip-clopped out of the Satyrs’ building. Silenus was at least a foot taller than Quillian, and his auburn pelt gleamed in the hot Bornean sun. Even to Lugh, he cut an imposing figure.

  “Why did you injure a member of my colony?” Silenus asked, his strange goat-like eyes narrowed and heated.

  “I do apologize, but I do not take kindly to being spied upon. Not by man, nor beast.”

  Silenus remained unmoved by the slur. “You could have injured one of our Maenads.” The heat in his eyes grew warmer. “We have a heavily pregnant Maenad who was resting in that room.”

  “Again, I apologize, but I do not take kindly to being spied upon.” Quillian’s eyes lingered on the shattered window, curious about the pregnant Maenad.

  Silenus noticed Quillian’s gaze, and shifted on his cloven hooves. “May I ask what you are doing here?” he asked, but took a step back as noxious, visible magical fumes began to shimmer around Quillian. “What business do you have in the Free Zone?”

  “Of what consequence is it to you?” Quillian’s eyes narrowed.

  “You are bellowing at my neighbor’s door and throwing bolts of power into my Maenad’s bedroom. What kind of Stag would I be if I were not to question you?” Silenus retorted hotly.

  “A wise one.” Suddenly Quillian yelled, “Aello! Ocypete! Podarge! Celaeno! Come now!”

  Four Harpies descended from their various hiding places. The sky became momentarily black with the extraordinary breadth of their dark wings. Dust swirled around in small vortexes, and Silenus’s long, curling auburn hair flew around his face. He reached up and pulled it from his eyes and his mouth opened in shock as the four Harpies approached.