Magical Gains

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  The blood ceased to roar in Imran’s ears, and he felt infinitely calmer. Within a few moments Primrose lay, youthful and alive—though still quite soundly asleep on the desk before them.

  Quillian collapsed back into his chair behind the desk. His countenance was ashen and sweaty with lines of exhaustion etched deeply in his brow.

  Leucosia glared at him. “I want you to take me back to the Free Zone, Quillian,” she sang, though her voice had lost some of its anger.

  “Later…” He breathed heavily, ineffectually mopping his brow with the back of his equally sweaty hand.

  Imran ignored them both for a minute and studied Primrose closely. In slumber she looked peaceful and absolutely perfect. Her high brow was smooth once again, and her dark lashes thick. Imran wanted to kiss her, but blood still stained the corner of her mouth. Using his shirt, he tenderly wiped it away. By God, I love her, he thought, his throat constricting.

  “Very…touching…” Quillian sneered, shattering the moment. “I suppose you love her, do you, Imran? When the novelty of having you has worn off, she’ll be back to that oafish fiancée of hers to provide her with a real life.”

  Hatred for Quillian burned in Imran’s dark eyes. He did not reply.

  “Think you’ll live happily ever after, do you?” Quillian continued.

  Those words seemed to resound in Imran’s head, and he knew at that moment it was what Primrose wished.

  Imran’s heart thumped. This time it was with a great, private joy. He looked up.

  “Actually, I do,” Imran retorted, his hand tightening on the lip of the desk. “Now, Quillian, I think you should stop trying to distract me from your inevitable punishment. Nobody tortures Primrose and gets away with it.” He paused and chuckled. “Shall we proceed with my retribution?”

  Quillian’s pale eyebrows hit his hairline and he stared, flabbergasted. “What do you mean? I fixed her, didn’t I? I fulfilled my end of the bargain!”

  Imran’s lip twitched. “Yes, you did, but you don’t think I’m going to let you get away with it, do you?” Imran snapped, his attention locking back on Quillian’s distressed and exhausted face. “In addition to torturing the one human being I care about, you have also kidnapped countless Genies, and I hold you personally responsible for Hamza’s death. I can’t let you get away with it.” Imran paused for effect. “I hope you understand.”

  Primrose began stirring fitfully in her sleep and Imran rested a warm hand on her shoulder.

  “No!” Quillian began, knowing he was trapped as he attempted to recharge his power. “You…you…” He struggled for an argument, but found none forthcoming.

  Without further discussion, Imran began murmuring a curse under his breath. The words he used were ancient. They were words Imran had not heard for over three hundred years, yet he knew them well, as they were seared on his very soul.

  “No!” Quillian struggled for the first time, trying to remove his feet from their magical bonds. “You can’t do this! You’re a Genie!”

  Imran didn’t reply. The curse flowed from his mouth like liquid. The small halogen lamp on Quillian’s desk shimmered and a strange green and spicy smoke hung limply in the air.

  It was a well-known fact that Genies couldn’t curse anyone with the same curse they suffered themselves, otherwise a vengeful Genie could reap substantial damage on those who enslaved him. Amazing as it seemed to Imran, Primrose’s last wish set him free, and now he could curse whomever he pleased.

  Leucosia let out a melodic laugh. “How ironic!” she sang, her face gleeful but still wary.

  Imran’s chant did not pause. Quillian bellowed, twisting and writhing. He tried to throw some spells at Imran, but he had no power whatsoever.

  Imran continued chanting as Quillian continued to yell and swear. He could feel the power of the curse fill him. It filled him to the brim with beautiful, magical power, but he couldn’t use a drop of it against Imran.

  Imran stopped suddenly. The shimmering green smoke swam around Quillian.

  “You total bastard!” Quillian squealed and moved toward Imran threateningly, the power well at his feet empty and useless.

  “What do you intend to do, Genie?” Imran sneered. “Curse me?” Imran laughed as Quillian moaned in outrage.

  The noise caused Primrose’s eyes to flutter open.

  Imran knew, from his own bitter experience, Quillian was frantically trying to figure out how to reverse the curse, or at least break through some of its protective bonds so he could do something with his own power.

  “You can make yourself a cup of tea, or a nice bedroom suite,” Imran suggested, as Quillian struggled wordlessly now with his overwhelming magic, “but you cannot do anything to hurt anyone…of course, unless your master requires you to.”

  “Who is to be my master?” he ground out angrily.

  “Well...If you know your Genie lore, which I know you do, then you would know your master will be the first person to touch your lamp.”

  Imran looked pointedly at the halogen lamp resting on the desk beside Primrose’s leg.

  Quillian made a grab for it, to try and pull it away from Primrose. “She will not be my master!” he shrieked, hysteria echoing on his face long after his cry was silent. The lamp, however, remained as if glued to the desk top.

  “You cannot move your lamp, Quillian,” Imran explained. “Only if your master allows it.”

  “This mistress does not!” Leucosia cried, rushing at the lamp in a flurry of black skirts and tearing it from the desk and power point.

  Imran’s eyes widened in amusement. “Leucosia,” he chided, “do you really want a Genie?”

  Leucosia cradled the ugly halogen lamp to her bony chest. “No, Imran, I do not want a Genie, but I do want this Genie.”

  Quillian appeared lost for words. It was obvious he had truly relished Leucosia as a lover, but to be her slave for eternity, or until she made her wishes? It seemed too cruel for words. His eyes glimmered, and his lip trembled.

  “What about my wife? My job? The Harpies?” he whispered.

  “You have my permission to tidy up those loose ends before we return to the Free Zone,” Leucosia sang graciously, and then turned her pale orb eyes on Imran. “I am sorry for betraying you, Imran,” she said sotto voce.

  Imran sighed. He would have liked to tell her it was all right, that he could forgive her. He looked at Primrose and her eyes flickered in a struggle to awaken. At this moment, he decided forgiveness was impossible. Instead, Imran inclined his head as courteously as he could manage.

  A frown marred Leucosia’s already wrinkled countenance, but she was silent and sadly inclined her head wordlessly in return.

  All three waited for Primrose to regain consciousness. When Imran tore his gaze away from Primrose, it was to stare bemusedly at Quillian, who evidently was struggling with a gamut of emotions. In some way Imran could empathize. Quillian was in essence a mediocre magician. Now, he was filled to the brim with unimaginable power, but totally impotent in his ability to use it. Imran also knew Leucosia would be a hard mistress to please, and he would be serving her for many years. Desperation, frustration, fear, and rage flickered over Quillian’s face repeatedly and in quick succession. Imran suddenly felt voyeuristic and looked away. Even though Quillian deserved his destiny, Imran felt no longer able to revel in it.

  Suddenly Primrose coughed and mercifully it wasn’t wet or bloodied. Imran bent down over her.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Oh, Imran,” Primrose gasped. Her eyes were wide and still fearful. “What happened to me?” She stopped, suddenly remembering the disfiguring curse, and her hands reached up to cover her face. “Don’t look at me!” she abruptly cried. “Please, Imran, don’t look at me.”

  Imran couldn’t help but beam. “Primrose, calm down.”


  “Calm down? I’m hideous!” she shrieked, and Leucosia touched Quillian’s arm in order to usher him away from the emotionally escalating scene.

  “Primrose! Stop!” Imran soothed, gently wrenching her hands from her face.

  “You’re not hideous. You’re beautiful.”

  Primrose threw herself into Imran’s arms and buried her face in his chest, inhaling deeply to calm herself. “Can’t you see me?” She choked. “That bastard cursed me! I’m ancient.”

  “He undid the curse, Primrose. You’re back to normal.”

  Primrose moved up and looked him squarely in the eye. “Are you telling me the truth?” she asked, with more than a hint of pleading in her voice.

  “Look at your hands if you don’t believe me.”

  Primrose furtively took a quick glance at her fingers as if daring them to be aged and withered. Suddenly a titanic sob of relief erupted and split the silence. “Oh, Imran, thank you!”

  Imran raised a wry eyebrow. “How do you know I had anything to do with this?”

  “Because…” She stopped and looked up into his dark eyes. “Because you love me…Don’t you?” Her face froze in anticipation of his reply.

  Imran smiled. “Of course I do. I love you more with every passing moment,” he murmured and kissed her, because it was true.

  * * * *

  When Primrose and Imran strolled out of Quillian’s mansion and into the bright daylight, both were filled with great excitement. Wordlessly, they headed back to Primrose’s small house outside Fremantle.

  As they walked up the driveway, Mrs. Michaels yelled a raucous hello, trees swayed in the breeze, and a few fallen leaves danced around their feet. When they opened the door to the house, the familiarity of it washed over them both and instantly they felt at home.

  Primrose walked into the kitchen, and surveyed the empty shelves. “Damn, I need to go shopping,” she said, opening the fridge and finding it also empty. With a gleeful smile and a wave of his hand, Imran filled the fridge.

  Primrose felt her heart leap with several conflicting emotions.

  “I don’t want the Magical Investigations Team around here again, Imran,” she blurted a little curtly, then instantly regretted it.

  Imran, however, didn’t seem to notice. “While Quillian is still around, I don’t think that is a problem for us,” he replied smoothly and sat down at the table.

  Leucosia, as part of her apology, promised that Quillian would sort out any problems for Primrose with the government, and Imran believed her.

  In a companionable silence, Primrose made them food, and Imran conjured coffee and they sat down to eat.

  “Will you let Omar know we are all right?” Primrose suddenly asked. “Will you also sort out those poor Genies that were imprisoned at Quillian’s? See if they can come back to life?” She spoke in an awkward rush of words. Her gaze met Imran’s and suddenly embarrassed, she gulped and looked away, knowing she sounded gauche and self-conscious again. When her spasm of embarrassment passed, she looked shyly back at him as he watched her in a bemused fashion.

  “Of course,” Imran replied, although he suspected he would be hard-pressed to find Omar again. Even if he did, he knew he would not be welcomed.

  They were silent while they ate. The air was heavy with unspoken desires and hopes. Primrose wanted Imran so much she could burst, yet she felt fragile and fearful. The failure of her relationship with Ian was still raw and very much a humiliation she wished Imran had not witnessed. Nervous energy crept up her legs and scuttled down her spine, and she felt completely overwhelmed.

  “I need to freshen up.” Primrose avoided eye contact.

  “Okay.” Imran smiled impassively without offering to join her.

  Primrose blushed and turned to leave. Imran watched as her curvy backside sashayed out of sight and waited until he heard the bathroom door click shut. He knew at this moment Primrose was anxious about their relationship and future together, but she wouldn’t always be. Imran also knew she had wished for a “Happily Ever After,” and the fortunate thing about the dimension they lived in was that fairy tale creatures were real and so were happy endings.

  About the Author:

  Nicola E. Sheridan has always had a fascination with the world of fantasy. Having completed a Bachelor of Science majoring in Archaeology and Anthropology, she is particularly interested in the use of mythological creatures in modern romantic literature.

  Living in Western Australia with her husband and two children, she enjoys reading, writing, bushwalking, and four-wheel driving.

  She can be contacted via email at nicolae.sheridan@gmail.com

  Nicola’s website: http://www.nicolasheridan.com/

  Her blog: http://www.magicalgains.blogspot.com/

  Magical Gains was awarded the Highly Commended Best First Book in the IP Picks competition 2009.

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