“Oh? Okay.” Melody looked perplexed, but she knew better than to question her boss.

As Melody’s rounded derriere exited the office, Primrose stood and locked the door. She pressed her ear to the door and could hear Melody chatting to her fellow secretaries.

“There’s a team of Magical Investigators in the building!” she crowed excitedly. “I wonder who…” Melody didn’t finish her sentence before Primrose heard the elevator open, and the secretaries around the reception desk all fell silent.

“We need to see Miss Brasco,” a man spoke softly, but with confidence.

Primrose’s heart started pounding wildly. Would she have magical traces?

“Imran!” she whispered furiously into the air. “Come here!”

There was slightly heated conversation going on at reception.

“You don’t have an appointment!” Melody squeaked at the man. “You can’t just barge in here without an appointment!” Primrose felt a small swell of warmth grow for her loyal secretary.

The man countered with some excuse Primrose couldn’t hear, and Imran appeared in a haze of black smoke.

“You called? Is it lunch already?” He smiled wolfishly, but the smile fell when he discerned the look of panic on Primrose’s face.

“Last night, would I be contaminated with magical ion traces? I was holding you while you performed the magic, does that contaminate me?”

Imran paused a moment before answering. Just as he replied “yes,” a black arm of dissipating smoke caressed a smoke alarm, and suddenly sirens began wailing.

“Warning unregistered magical being located floor three. Warning unregistered magical being located floor three.”

“Imran!” Primrose cried in dismay.

Imran shrugged his shoulders, looking only marginally disturbed by this new development.

“You’ve got to get me out of here!” Primrose called over the deafening alarm.

“Is that your first wish?” Imran asked steadily, his black eyes unreadable.

“Ms. Brasco, open this door immediately!” one of the MIT men growled through the door.

“Yes,” Primrose breathed. “Yes, just hurry!”

“Where?” Imran asked.

“Somewhere safe, away from the DMC,” she cried as a loud banging sounded on the locked door. “Hurry!”

“You are ordered by the government of Western Australia to open this door!”

“As you wish, Mistress.” Imran wrapped his warm arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest. The pounding on the door turned into a cracking sound as the thin wood began to give way under the onslaught. The Magical Investigations Team was creating chaos in the reception, yelling at Primrose to give herself up. Almost imperceptibly, Imran’s black smoke shrouded them. Primrose fought the urge to cough and it felt as though millions of tiny butterflies were fluttering inside her body, struggling to get out. She closed her eyes.

“Relax,” Imran breathed.

The frantic fluttering intensified in her throat, and she coughed and pressed herself to Imran’s chest even tighter.

Within seconds the cracking door and angry men’s voices were gone, and replacing them were the sounds of a bustling street and strange exotic smells.

Reluctantly, Primrose pushed herself away from Imran’s intoxicating embrace.

“What is the meaning of this, Genie?” a mildly irritated musical voice called. “You cannot just appear within my shop without invitation!” Leucosia scolded tunefully.

“A thousand apologies, Leucosia,” Imran began, maneuvering himself in front of Primrose to protect her from Leucosia’s view.

“You can stop trying to shield that human. I can sense humanity.”

Primrose stepped out of Imran’s shadow, curious to get a glance of this being with such a beautiful voice.

“She’s very pretty, such a smooth complexion,” Leucosia sang. “You will want to keep a close eye on her in the Free Zone, Imran. We have many here who desire the taste of sweet human flesh.”

Primrose stood in wide-mouthed horror at the desiccated creature. How was it possible to have such a glorious voice, yet look so horrific?

Leucosia smiled, revealing her pointed teeth.

“I sincerely hope you don’t intend on a taste of her flesh, Leucosia,” Imran quipped, seemingly unperturbed by her announcement.

“Oh, no! Not me.” Leucosia smiled again. “I gave up human when they made it illegal. Though, I will admit, I do miss it.”

“What is…Is she a…” Primrose stuttered.

“A Siren, and a rude one at that. You should not say these things in front of my mistress, Leucosia,” Imran chided.

“Indeed, Imran, I beg your forgiveness. Mistress of the Genie.” Leucosia turned her pearl-globe eyes on Primrose. “I am Leucosia and as your Genie revealed, I am a Siren.”

“I…I…am…” Primrose stuttered again, totally entranced by Leucosia’s melodic voice. “Primrose…Brasco.”

Leucosia smiled again, and it was creepy. “Then, Imran and Primrose, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“We had to leave Perth in something of a hurry,” Imran began. “We need somewhere to stay and bide our time, until the problem blows over.”

“If it ever does…” Primrose muttered.

“Somewhere to stay? In the Free Zone? Imran! This isn’t a safe place for a human,” Leucosia sang sternly.

“I feared nowhere else would be safe either. At least here they will not find us,” Imran replied.

“Imran. The Free Zones of the world are filling with the beings the humans loathe the most! This very Free Zone is filled with those of us who once feasted on their flesh and took pleasures ungiven from their bodies! All these creatures are effectively imprisoned here. Should they discover she is here…I could not stop them.”

Primrose stood aghast listening to the Siren’s symphonic warning.

“I shall keep my mistress safe,” Imran retorted, sounding quite offended.

“Against raging Manticores? Against a band of lustful Satyrs?” Leucosia laughed.

“Against anything.”

“Well, in that case, knowing full well the jeopardy you place her in by her presence here, there is little else I can do but offer you lodgings,” Leucosia replied.

“Where?” Primrose whispered, thinking perhaps she’d be better off investigated by Cerebral Care than here.

“I have a loft converted into an apartment above this very shop. I used to stay there, until I found accommodation more suited to my cultural preferences.”

Imran raised an eyebrow, but Leucosia did not elaborate.

“Well, thank you, Leucosia. That is most kind,” he replied.

“Well then, let me show you the way.”

Imran clasped Primrose’s hand, which was cold despite the hot, humid temperature.

Leucosia led the way through the shop, past the snake on the branch, and the shipwreck door. Her footsteps clicked on the hard wooden stairs until they reached the top.

“I don’t have a key. I simply lock the shop, and no one would rob me anyway.” Leucosia laughed beautifully, displaying her pointed teeth, and then opened the door.

What lay behind surprised both Imran and Primrose. A long room, decorated in a decidedly maritime theme, spread out before them. At the far end, above the shop door, was a massive window with a small balcony, overlooking the street and the brown, calm waters of the Sarawak River.

“Wow. It’s lovely, Leucosia,” Primrose said, looking around. There was a small kitchenette along one side, a large bookshelf on the other, and directly to their left was a large bed, draped with mosquito netting. The bed was dressed in a very romantic fashion, with lots of pale blue pillows and a pure white bed spread. It seemed out of place in the studiously tidy loft. As her gaze lingered on the romantically netted bed, Primrose became aware that Imran and Leucosia ceased talking and were gazing at her curiously.

Primrose felt a furious blush explode and burn on her cheeks. “Um, Leucosia, do you have an extra bed?”

Leucosia stared at Primrose a moment, her opaque pearl eyes wide with shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, her expression turning sly.

“Err, is there an extra bed for Imran? Um, he and I…don’t…aren’t…We don’t sleep together,” Primrose finally managed to say, though the words seemed to choke her.

Leucosia looked incredulously from Primrose to Imran. “Why ever not?” Leucosia sounded aghast. Her gaze settled hungrily on Imran. “There must be something wrong with you, girl, if you refuse such bounty.” She paused a moment, and then added, “Well, you’ll have to sort it out between yourselves. I am putting myself into trouble just by assisting you, so you ought to be grateful!” Leucosia’s voice was still melodic, but held a note of annoyance.

“Oh, no! Really, I am very grateful. Thank you, Leucosia,” Primrose blurted awkwardly, no longer able to hold the Siren’s gaze.

Imran watched Primrose struggle with her embarrassment with a wry smile.

“Many thanks, Leucosia. I do realize the position we have put you in,” he said courteously, his heavy-lidded eyes slowly moving away from the bed to Primrose.

“I don’t think you do,” the Siren sang in reply. “Anyway, I will bid you good day. I will be in the shop until quite late, and will bring you an evening meal. Please, I warn you again, Primrose, do not let yourself be seen. I guarantee if you do, you will see and experience much more than you bargained for.”

With that, Leucosia turned in a swish of black skirts and retreated downstairs, leaving Imran and Primrose alone.

“I wish she wouldn’t say things like that,” Primrose murmured and walked toward the balcony.

“She’s right,” Imran replied sternly, clasping her arm and pulling her back. “Primrose, don’t go near the balcony. Don’t let anyone or anything see you here. As Leucosia said, there are…beings who will not take favorably to a human being in their Free Zone.”

Primrose frowned and shook off his warm hand. “Well, what am I going to do here? What am I going to do, period? I must be riddled with magical traces now. I’m going to lose my job. God, I’ve made a mess of this.”

“Yes, you have,” Imran agreed, his voice heated mildly with annoyance. “I thought it peculiar you commanded me to take you away at all. You probably should have stayed to sort it all out.”

Primrose felt hot with anger.

“Now you tell me!” she snapped. “That morsel of advice would have been more welcome an hour ago!”

“You didn’t give me a chance to offer my advice, if I recall correctly,” Imran countered, his voice now well modulated and impassive, which actually meant he was getting quite annoyed. His achingly handsome face stared into hers unflinching.

“Why did you bring me here? Why not Barbados or some other nice place?”

“Well, if you must know, it was the first place I could think of, and one of the few I knew the government wouldn’t be able to find you in. You did ask me to take you somewhere they couldn’t find you,” Imran reminded, his black eyes hardening. “You were the one worrying about what would happen if they traced Ian’s attack to you…which they obviously have.”

“How did they trace it to me though?” Primrose groaned, and lifted up the mosquito net on the bed and lay down. “It was only 11:00 a.m. It was too quick. Something else has got to be going on.”

“My guess is Ian was suspicious, or perhaps they were watching you before. I do not know, but I do know you will be in trouble having an unregistered magical being in your care…especially as you are a government employee. That aside, we have a more pressing problem.”

“What on Earth could be worse than this?” Primrose wailed, flopping her hands over her face, not even daring to glance at him.

She heard him step closer to the bed, and felt his weight settle down on the side.

“I do not have my lamp,” Imran said, close to her ear. Goose bumps erupted over her arms and her heart began hammering. “It is sitting in your living room, awaiting a Magical Investigator to find it. They can seriously damage me by damaging my lamp. I have to go and get it.” Although his voice was quiet, almost seductive, there was accusation and anger in it.

“You sound like you are blaming me for this mess!” Primrose snapped, sitting up straight on the bed and glaring at him, rubbing her hands down her arms. “I didn’t magically attack Ian.”

“No, but you are my mistress and should have taken care of my lamp.”

Primrose paled then reddened. “You are attributing this entire disaster to me?”

“No, I am not attributing this entire disaster to you, but I am directly attributing this portion of the disaster to you, yes,” Imran snarled.

Chapter Six

While Primrose and Imran argued in the sultry heat of Kuching, Quillian sent a Magical Investigations Team to Primrose’s small suburban home. He was enraged she had escaped his jurisdiction.

The MIT stormed up the front path. They looked formidable in their crisp black suits, and caused significant alarm to Primrose’s elderly neighbor Mrs. Michaels.

“Oi!” she called. “Oi, you lot!”

The identically dressed men ignored Mrs. Michaels’ irate warbles and proceeded to use a lock picker to open the door.

“You can’t just go breaking into innocent people’s homes!” Mrs. Michaels barked in her cockney accent. “I’m going t’ call the police!”

“We are a Magical Investigations Team, madam,” one of the men to the rear of the group yelled back, flashing a badge and card. “Please return to your home.”

Mrs. Michaels’ jowls dropped and she scurried back to her own home, but not before yelling over her shoulder. “She’s a good girl, is Miss Brasco. You ought to leave ‘er well enough alone!”

As the door opened, Primrose’s alarm started squealing. One of the team silenced it immediately with an electronic device.

“Get your RMITs out and search every room. Start from the backyard and back rooms, ending in the living room. Take anything that gives off unregistered magical readings,” the man at the front ordered.

Each of the team pulled out an RMIT device from his suitcase, and began to scour the rooms.

* * * *

Meanwhile Imran, after arguing pointlessly with Primrose a few more moments, angrily disappeared in a swath of smoke, yelling, “Do not leave this apartment! Understand?”

A few seconds later he staggered weak and hungry, at the steps of Primrose’s house. The door was open. Imran heard men stomping about inside and the loud wailing sirens of RMIT devices.

“Oh, no,” Imran moaned. He could hear the team exclaiming delightedly over the discovery of his room, where everything the RMIT tested resulted in an unregistered magical reading.

“Them lot’s from the Magical Investigations Team or whatever they call them.” Mrs. Michaels addressed Imran from the veranda of her home after recognizing him. “You’d best get yourself well away from that lot,” she said. “I saw you materialize. If them RMIT devices are wailing in there where you’ve been staying, they’re going to wail a lot more when they catch you. Get out of here!” she urged.

“I can’t…I’ve got to get something from the house. It’s important…I can’t let them get it.”

Imran wasn’t sure if it was the ill-disguised desperation in his voice, or just that Mrs. Michaels liked the look of him. Nevertheless, Mrs. Michaels scurried down from the veranda with surprising speed.

“What is it, then? What do you need from in there?”

“A brass lamp. In the living room,” he replied, willing her with his words to go and get it for him.

Mrs. Michaels hesitated for only a second. “I’ll get it for you. Just you see.”

Imran felt a wash of relief as Mrs. Michaels bustled her way into Primrose’s house.

The men were just about in the living room when Mrs. Michaels entered the room.

“Oi, I said, you need a warrant or something to be allowed to do this.” She edged over toward the corner cabinet where the ornate brass lamp sat innocently.

“Madam, you are hindering a government investigation,” one of the men growled. “Leave these premises immediately. You may be contaminating the site of a magical assault.”

“Magical assault. What rot,” Mrs. Michaels said, turning to face the lamp. She caressed it a moment and picked it up. “Oh, my lamp. My niece brought this from Abu Dhabi. I must have left it here when I showed it to Miss Brasco. I’ll take it home with me, then.”

Imran, who stood by the window unseen by the investigators, cringed. As if in slow motion, one of the team took out an RMIT device and switched it on. The siren began wailing with a new intensity.

“It’s off the meter,” he said to his comrade who lurched forward and snatched it from Mrs. Michaels.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Give that back! It’s mine!”

“It is now the property of the Western Australian government,” the investigator murmured. “Now get out of this house, woman, and go home, or we will arrest you for hampering an investigation.”

Mrs. Michaels needed no further urging. She scurried out of the house and back into her own where Imran was now waiting.

“Why don’t you stop them?” Mrs. Michaels gasped. “You’ve got magic! You could do it!”

Imran banged his head with his hands and howled softly in frustration. “I cannot! I’ve exhausted myself traveling here. I wouldn’t be able to perform any useful magic right now! Besides that, it is an international offence to attack Magical Investigators. There is no way…” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. Unable to suppress a groan, he cursed the absurdity of his situation. He was a Genie! He should have known better.

Mrs. Michaels brushed her hands down her floral dress and matching pink cardigan, struggling to contain her own dismay at the situation. “Oh, come now. It can’t be that bad, and I did try.”

“I know. I thank you,” Imran replied, though he didn’t make any attempt to move.

“Come, I’ll make you a cup o’ tea and have some cake. You’ll feel better.”

Imran nodded weakly and allowed the old woman to take his arm and lead him to the kitchen.

As a Genie, Imran’s lamp was his most precious possession. The lamp was a powerful magical artifact, imbued with the Genie’s own life force and a potent reservoir of power. Imran knew it was only a matter of time before the investigators realized they had a Genie lamp, and started experimenting with it.

* * * *

Primrose sat still in Leucosia’s loft apartment, reading one of the many magical—and banned—texts in the bookshelf. There was a soft knock on the door and Leucosia’s singsong voice asked for entry.

When Leucosia entered, Primrose was again struck by her extraordinary ugliness.

“Don’t stare, child,” Leucosia chided softly. “I’ve brought you lunch. I thought you may be hungry.” She looked around the empty apartment. “Imran not returned, then? It is a very exhausting journey for him I suppose.”

“How did you know he’d left?” Primrose asked, suspiciously eyeing the steaming bowl of soup before her.

“I can sense his presence, just as I can sense yours. I also heard your argument,” she added helpfully.

Primrose looked down, sick with shame. “Gosh, I hope his lamp is okay. It will be all my fault if they get it. I just thought it would be safe at home.” Primrose paused, and felt compelled to continue. “Well, actually, I just didn’t think about it at all. Imran always seemed so in control, and I just didn’t know.”

Leucosia made some understanding noises before speaking. “I don’t know a great deal about the workings of the male mind,” she began, and Primrose cringed, unsure where the conversation was leading. “Most men don’t have a taste for my flesh, you see.” Leucosia paused, allowing Primrose a little gasp of distaste. “What I do know is this. Men loathe admitting a weakness. That lamp is Imran’s weakness. With it, he is a mightily powerful being, although trapped within certain parameters of course. Without it, he is weakened and vulnerable. I am guessing he automatically supposed you knew this and even if he suspected you didn’t, he felt too proud to mention it, which in hindsight, may have proved a very costly mistake and one I am deeply surprised Imran made.”

Primrose’s face crumpled, and the frustrated tears she held at bay began to fall.

* * * *

Back at the Department of Cerebral Management, the investigations team finished their report to Mr. Quillian. They set out the magical artifacts they’d found at Primrose’s house, namely Imran’s entire bedroom suite and the lamp. Mr. Quillian tried to hide his excitement.

“Tell me, Investigator Morris, do these artifacts correlate to the magical ions found on Mr. Beckwith?”

“Indeed,” Investigator Morris answered, without removing his sunglasses. “The whole house reeked of magic. It is little wonder Miss Brasco ran. She won’t be able to continue working for the government with levels like this.”

Quillian again struggled to contain his excitement. “In her escape, she used an unregistered magical being. Is that correct?” Quillian asked.

“Yes, and again the ions detected in her office correlate exactly to those on these artifacts and those on Mr. Beckwith. It is our suspicion the magical being in question has befuddled Mr. Beckwith’s mind for reasons unknown and Miss Brasco has fled with it. She is therefore guilty by association. Although…” Investigator Morris paused. “I believe we ought to question Mr. Beckwith, to decide whether to put out a warrant for them. I think there is sufficient evidence to continue pursuing our investigation.”

Mr. Quillian murmured thoughtfully and nodded his head, his eyes never leaving the lamp. “Tell me, do you have any idea what this magical being may be?”

Investigator Morris nodded. “It is likely to be a magician turned Genie. The lamp in particular seems to be a very powerful magical artifact. We are most anxious to examine it further. I suspect it is his reservoir of power.”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Quillian said and looked thoughtful for a moment. “However, based on what you have told me, I do not think this truly requires any further investigation.”

Investigator Morris’s jaw dropped. “Sir! Miss Brasco, a non-magical human, has fled with a magical being, and Mr. Beckwith has hazy recollections of last night and strong magical ionic traces! It all indicates a magical assault! The whole situation is deeply suspicious! Not to mention that power in that lamp!”

Mr. Quillian’s lips thinned. “As I said, Investigator Morris, I do not think there is sufficient evidence to continue spending taxpayers’ money on an investigation based on what, in my opinion, is Mr. Beckwith’s drunken argument with his fiancée. After all, it isn’t a crime to have a magical being in your home. Although the unregistered nature of the being is somewhat problematic…” Mr. Quillian paused, and settled his stern gaze on the Magical Investigations Team. “I will discuss with Miss Brasco, when she returns, the dangers of harboring an unregistered being. Other than that, I do not believe any further investigations are required.” He smiled grimly. “I will arrange for a Magical Artifact Team to remove these artifacts and place them in storage, until such a time that Miss Brasco comes out of the woodwork to claim them.”

There was a murmur of dissent amongst the team, and once again Investigator Morris stepped forward to speak.

“If Miss Brasco returns, you will question her regarding Mr. Beckwith’s magical traces? Won’t you?” Morris insisted.

Quillian scowled, lips curling. “If Miss Brasco returns, I will determine what disciplinary action ought to be taken, and will indeed inquire as to Mr. Beckwith’s magical traces. It is my opinion she has made a mistake, one she must learn from, but not necessarily suffer from.”

“She should at least be sent to a Cerebral Management Center to reform her ideas. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?” Investigator Morris’s eyes gleamed with zeal.

Quillian, who by this stage simply wanted the Magical Investigations Team to leave, rolled his eyes and sighed.

“When, and if Miss Brasco returns, I shall deal with her directly. You have no further part in any ongoing investigations or correctional punishments that may take effect upon her return. I do. Good day to you!”

Frustration was palpable as the team turned and left, but Quillian did not care. He followed and securely closed the door behind them.

When Quillian was certain he was alone, he slowly walked up to the furniture and paraphernalia taken from Primrose’s house. He first went to the bedding and ran his fingers over the soft, cool silk of the bedspread. He stared at the glittering cloth, excitement itching through his muscles. Finally, Quillian knelt down beside it and buried his nose into the soft cover. He inhaled long and hard. As he exhaled, he breathed one word, Genie. A sadistic grin grew on his face. He then walked over to the lamp that shone innocently in the halogen light of his office and picked it up. The lamp was warm and the heated scents of cinnamon and spice exuded from it. “I’ve got you now,” he cackled.

When Quillian sobered enough to take action, he dropped Imran’s lamp into his Samsonite suitcase and locked it. Then he marched back over to Imran’s bed suite. Concentrating hard and holding his hands over the bed, he began to chant. The air around the bed suite shimmered like heat haze. Slowly in the midst of it, an exact replica of Imran’s lamp appeared. He smiled to himself and walked back to his desk and removed a silver RMIT device from his top drawer. He casually returned to the bed and turned on the RMIT, pointing at the lamp. The siren wailed enthusiastically, and Quillian looked down to read the notification. Unidentifiable/unregistered magical ions detected. 10 000 ppm. Quillian grinned. No one would know the difference.

When the men finally came to take the items into storage, the lamp sat lying on the bed.

“How long shall these be held for?” the man asked.

“Oh, until Miss Brasco returns, I should think.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, and none-the-wiser took the lamp and other pieces to the Holding Area.

* * * *

In Mrs. Michaels’ house, Imran felt his lamp being moved and he shivered.

“What’s the matter, luv?” Mrs. Michaels asked, after having been delighted by Imran’s prodigious appetite.

“My lamp,” he whispered.

Chapter Seven

Primrose knew instinctively something had gone very wrong. She sat miserably in the humid silence of the apartment, close to the balcony window, hidden by the curtains. As she ate Leucosia’s soup, which was surprisingly delicious and refreshing, she watched the myriad of magical beings walk, fly, and crawl up and down Main Bazaar. A few times, she suspected they sensed her presence up in the loft apartment, but as far as she was aware, none saw her.

When Leucosia wasn’t dealing with customers, she would pop up, and have a quick chat. Primrose got the impression Leucosia wasn’t impressed with her treatment of Imran, and Primrose was beginning to realize she was right.

As the sun began to set and there was still no sign of Imran, Primrose stood up. Her legs cramped instantly and she wobbled before stumbling and banging into the balcony window.

Several creatures in the street immediately turned and stared up at the window where Primrose was clearly visible. She stood there momentarily, immobile with shock.

“Human!” a small group of Satyrs exclaimed excitedly, pointing up at her.

It was then, as the saying goes, all hell broke loose.

The group of Satyrs, led by a horned Stag Satyr, broke into a run. Primrose heard their cloven hooves clattering on the wooden floor of Leucosia’s shop.

As Primrose felt panic rush through her body, she anxiously thought of what action to take.

With only a brief hesitation, Primrose pelted to the bed and tried to push it to block the doorway, but it was far too heavy. Frantically, she fiddled with the lock, but there was no key. She could hear Leucosia trying to calm the Satyrs. “Desist this nonsense!” Leucosia sang loudly.

“Move out of the way, old Harpy,” one of the Satyrs said.

“I am a Siren, not a Harpy,” Leucosia corrected haughtily. “What on Earth do you think you are doing barging through my shop in this manner?”

Primrose’s heart hammered as she leaned into the door, listening.

“We saw a human woman at the window of your apartment. You have no right to hold a human here,” the Satyr replied with equal hauteur.

“You have none either,” Leucosia quipped. “I must insist you leave her where she is.”

For an instant, Primrose wondered why Leucosia did not deny she was a human, but realized with a sick swoop of certainty that Satyrs, like most magical beings, had an incredible sense of smell for the arcane. Denial wasn’t a realistic option.

“We shall escort her out of the Free Zone. She is not safe here,” the Satyr replied, and Primrose felt a new wave of panic flood her.

“She is safe with me. Safer than she would be with you and your insatiable desire for human females,” Leucosia retorted.

“She may be partial to Satyr flesh, and who are you to deny her the chance?” Primrose could hear the defiance echo in his voice.

“I doubt that very much.” Leucosia’s tone was dry. “She is in my care. I cannot allow you to pass.”

Primrose held her breath tightly, and didn’t move.

“How will you stop us?” the Satyr jeered. “Sing to us?” Primrose heard his companions bay with laughter. “Your singing won’t work with us. Now move.”

There was nothing Leucosia could do to stop the Satyrs, and Primrose knew it. Although a Siren was strong, she wasn’t anywhere near as strong as the horned Stag Satyr Primrose had glimpsed from the window.

Leucosia’s voice was resigned. “Very well, although I must insist you treat her gently.”

“I do not take orders from you, crone,” the Satyr said dismissively. Primrose could hear him clip-clop up the stairway awkwardly on his cloven hooves. Her heart began to hammer even harder.

* * * *

Back in Western Australia, Mr. Quillian drove home at a rapid pace with Imran’s lamp safely on his lap.

As he drew into his Dalkeith mansion alongside the sparkling Swan River, he exhaled in relief. He didn’t think anyone would notice the switch of the lamps. The Magical Investigations Team had been removed from the case, so it was unlikely, but you could never be too sure. He parked his antique Jaguar in the garage and strolled into the house. It was empty. His wife was out. Good.

Quillian’s mansion was centered on an enormous block. He had bought six riverside properties and demolished everything to build his mansion. The house sat in the center of his land. A one kilometer radius surrounded it perfectly. He built it precisely to house his collection.

The house was silent, and neither the cleaner nor the cook appeared to be at home. Quietly Quillian walked to the west wing of the house, and by finger-scan technology entered his office. It was a desolate and barren room, with only his desk and Spartan bookshelf. The only thing of interest in the entire room was an ornate small door on the west wall. Again he walked through the room, this time more hurriedly, feeling the warmth of Imran’s lamp pulse in his hands. He unlocked the ornate door with yet another finger scan.

The next room opened up, large and windowless. It was tiled entirely with black granite and the halogen lights made it dizzying. On intervals along the walls were various lamps encased in boxes of thick, clear glass. Some were very ancient pottery, and some newer. All were covered in electrodes with wires that disappeared into the walls.

Suddenly there was a shimmering of golden smoke.

“Ah, so you have captured another,” a pale, almost transparent man said.

“Silence, Genie,” Quillian replied, irritably moving Imran’s lamp into an empty glass box on the far northern wall.

“Who is he?” the fading Genie asked, his voice increasingly faint.

“A Genie called Imran,” Quillian replied, a little more conversationally now that the lamp was safely in the box.

“He…” the fading Genie whispered, “still has a master…I can sense it.” The Genie faded again, but within a moment reappeared a little brighter. “You can’t steal all his power…It belongs to his master. Not you.” Anger was palpable in the frail voice.

“I know that!” Quillian snapped. “The master will return with him. Eventually she will give him to me. They always do. All in good time. All in good time.” Mr. Quillian grinned. “Now, I must organize these electrodes to start the power drain. It might take a while.”

The fading Genie’s face contorted with sorrow, and he disappeared in a swath of spicy golden smoke.

Chapter Eight

Primrose wondered what on Earth she should do. She knew most Satyrs were known sex offenders, which was why they chose mostly to live in the Free Zone. In the Free Zones of the world there were few, if any, human females to tempt them and no policing to stop them either.

I’m not going to be subject to some bestial rape! Primrose thought angrily, and hurtled toward the balcony again. She flung open the bay doors and the heat and smells from the street hit her with a physical blow. She could hear the Satyrs’ feet closer at the door. In desperation, Primrose awkwardly crawled over the rails and balanced precariously there a moment.

The door burst open and there the Stag Satyr stood, surveying the room.

This particular Satyr stood about six feet high. He had strong goat-like legs, covered in a shining auburn pelt, and his genitalia hung large and heavy, unencumbered by clothing. His upper body was all human male, with sculpted muscles and a frighteningly handsome angular face. His ears were pointed sharply and unlike his companions, he had two horns growing in deep spirals from his temples. It was evident he was the Stag of this group.

Primrose gasped in shock, horror, and embarrassment.

“Come to me, my pretty little thing!” he chortled, his blunt white teeth flashing.

“Never in a million years!” Primrose squeaked as he edged forward. She hazarded a glance at the street below her. “I will jump! I warn you!”

The Satyr shrugged. “I’ll have you dead, alive, or broken…I don’t have a preference, really.” His strange amber eyes flashed with amusement.

“You told Leucosia you were going to escort me from the Free Zone, not molest me!” she cried.

“Oh, it’s all much of a muchness. Besides, you really shouldn’t eavesdrop.” He grinned again.

For an instant, Primrose imagined the sordid abuse she might receive under the hands of the Satyr. Terror gripped her belly.

“I’d rather be dead!” Primrose wailed, and with only a moment of hesitation jumped from the balcony. She closed her eyes, expecting her life to flash before her. It didn’t. Instead, she felt the hot air rush past her as a second or two ticked endlessly by. Primrose clenched her eyes tighter waiting for the painful impact. It never came. Instead of hot pavement, she was suddenly caught in warm arms and her eyes flew open in dismay.

Two of the Satyrs, who were waiting patiently for their Stag underneath the balcony, had caught her.

They roared in triumph and as Primrose struggled, the Stag came down the stairs, jubilantly kicking his feet in the air. “I see you are indeed coming with us. Alive too!” He laughed. From inside the shop they heard Leucosia’s dismayed wail. With another guttural chuckle, the Stag Satyr led them away, and Primrose was carried off into the depths of the Free Zone.

If the other magical beings thought it odd a group of Satyrs were carrying a struggling human woman, they were very good at hiding it. There were perhaps a few curiously concerned glances, but no one attempted to assist Primrose as she kicked and struggled in the Satyrs’ strong arms.

“Imran!” she screamed. “Imran, help me!”

The Satyrs laughed gleefully.

“Nobody can help you now. Nobody.”

* * * *

Back in Mrs. Michaels’ house, Imran dozed on the floral couch while she knitted booties for her great-granddaughter.

Suddenly he lurched into wakefulness.

“Primrose!” he gasped, sensing her strife. “Mrs. Michaels, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind assistance.” He reached up and clasped her aged hand in his smooth, tanned one.

Mrs. Michaels flushed.

“I only wish I could have helped you more,” she replied wistfully.

Again Imran felt Primrose call him and his heart lurched in panic. “I must go. Thank you,” Imran repeated quickly and stood up. Without a further glance at his elderly assistant, he concentrated on Primrose.

Mrs. Michaels gasped as black folds of scented smoke began to surround Imran’s body. Before her very eyes, Imran began to disappear, leaving only the sweet scent of cinnamon and allspice and the ardent wish she could have assisted him more.

As Imran materialized back in the relative safety of Leucosia’s shop, Primrose was carried, now only weakly struggling, into a large Mediterranean-style town house. Primrose didn’t get to see much of the town house as her face was uncomfortably buried in a Satyr’s smooth back. As she had been carried for quite some time, Primrose knew she must be deep in the Free Zone, and the thought of never being found filled her with dread. The Satyrs hadn’t spoken much to each other during the trip either. They just followed the Stag and did as he bade them. When she was finally released, Primrose found herself in a medium-sized courtyard at the back of the town house. The courtyard was decorated in a bacchanal fashion, with lanterns, candles, and a riot of vegetation, looking like the jungle was trying to reclaim the area.

“Where am I?” Primrose asked as she was dropped unceremoniously on a stone bench.

“You are in the Satyr Colony, obviously,” a snide feminine voice growled.

Several of the Satyrs turned to face the speaker. It was a heavily pregnant woman who, by the looks of it, was human.

“Eloise, remember yourself,” the Stag retorted swiftly and sensing a fight, clip-clopped between Eloise and Primrose. “Eloise is the head Maenad. She is bearing my Satyr child,” he said. “She forgets herself.”

Eloise rubbed her protuberant stomach restlessly, evidently annoyed by Primrose’s unexpected presence.

Primrose looked from the Stag to Eloise and back again. “Well, I’d rather not cause domestic unquiet, so I might as well just leave,” Primrose said hopefully and stood, noticing with dismay her favorite skirt had torn and split up the thigh, revealing a suggestive amount of leg.

The Stag uttered a rich masculine laugh. “Leave before we have even been properly introduced? How rude!” He moved closer to Primrose and the surrounding Satyrs. “Bring our guest a drink, Priapus.” He winked at a younger Satyr who was repeatedly glancing covetously at Primrose’s exposed thigh.

“Now, as you await your drink, I beg you tell me your name, sweet lady.”

Primrose could barely contain her blanch at his lame endearment. “Primrose Brasco,” she replied stiffly.

The Stag smiled broadly. “A beautifully pure and chaste name! I hope you taste as sweet as you sound.” He grinned again. “I am Silenus and as you may or may not have guessed, I am the Stag of this colony. You are very fortunate to be our guest this evening...Tonight is a night of Revelry.”

Primrose stared blankly at him. “This is supposed to make your kidnapping of me okay? Some Revelry?”

A flash of annoyance was visible for only a moment on Silenus’s handsome face, before he smoothed it away with a nonchalant flick of his curly auburn hair. “We follow the ancient ways of the god Dionysus in this colony. It is our law that every full moon, we partake in the Revelry.” Several of the other Satyrs’ eyes lightened with excitement.

“Let me guess,” Primrose began with much more confidence than she felt. “This Revelry has something to do with drinking and sex?”

Silenus grinned. “Of course! Everything about Satyrs has to do with drinking and sex.”

Primrose winced, and glanced once again at the Satyr’s exposed genitals.

Priapus, the youngest of the Satyrs, handed Primrose a drink. It seemed to be a mulled wine, although it wasn’t hot. It smelled of spices that reminded her vaguely of Imran. Where on Earth is he? she wondered, and without thinking of what could be in the wine, took a sip. Primrose was so very thirsty, she was completely unaware of the Satyr’s grin of delight, which grew larger the moment the wine passed her lips.

* * * *

“Where is she?” Imran groaned as he collapsed exhausted on the worn wooden floor of Leucosia’s shop.

Leucosia rushed toward him, her strong arms surrounding him. “Satyrs. The Satyrs have got her,” Leucosia sang, and stroked Imran’s head.

“What do you mean? How?” Dismay flooded him again.

“I don’t know,” Leucosia moaned, standing quickly and bustling about behind the desk. “They just came in saying I was harboring a human and I think Primrose jumped from the balcony and they caught her. I really couldn’t stop them, Imran. My singing is useless against such as the Satyrs.”

Imran couldn’t say anything for a moment. Alarm squeezed his chest in a vice as a sigh of exhaustion escaped him. “Please don’t tell me it is a full moon?” he said as Leucosia thrust a suspiciously green drink into his trembling hand.

“Drink,” she ordered, without answering his question.

“Is it a full moon?” Imran repeated after taking a sip of the drink, which tasted good and sweet.

“Yes, Imran. It is a full moon, so it is the night of the Satyrs’ Revelry. I’m sorry.”

Imran groaned and struggled to stand up. “I’ve got to get to her. They’ll…”

As he attempted to stand, his legs gave away and he collapsed thunderously on the floor, spilling the remainder of Leucosia’s drink.

Leucosia tutted and hauled him to his feet, dismissing the spilled drink that spread over the wooden floor. “You need sleep. You know you do,” she soothed. “Let me help you to the bed. The Satyrs won’t touch her until the moon has risen to full height at midnight.”

Imran couldn’t speak. His exhausted brain wouldn’t connect his thoughts to words. Reluctantly, he allowed Leucosia to pull him up the stairwell and into the apartment.

When he reached the bed, he collapsed, sinking into its squishy depths and despite the worries that crowded his head, was asleep instantly.

In the hours that followed, Primrose wondered furtively where Imran was, and why on Earth he hadn’t come to her rescue. She knew there was little or no chance of her making an escape attempt. The large male Satyrs were all covertly keeping an eye on her and the Maenads were far too numerous for her to even think about doing anything. Subsequently, Primrose sat rather sullenly on the stone bench in the courtyard, watching the preparations for the Revelry. In the process, she drank several glasses of the sweet mulled wine, which despite its unusual taste, was rather good. Primrose absently watched as the Maenads busied themselves making cushioned beds between the foliage, lighting candles, drinking, and giggling about the coming Revelry.

On her fourth glass of wine, Primrose, whom no one had spoken to since Silenus disappeared a few hours previously, realized she was feeling rather peculiar. Her whole body felt alive and although she would never admit it, she felt distressingly wanton. She shuffled awkwardly on the stone bench, noticing with distinct pleasure, that her exposed thigh actually looked rather good. I am so glad I had that wax, she mused, remembering her visit to the beauty parlor a few days beforehand.

“Enjoying the wine?” Eloise’s snide voice came from somewhere behind her.

Primrose spun around in both directions, wondering where it came from. Finally her eyes settled on Eloise who stood, pregnant and resplendent in an orange toga.

“Err, yes, but what is in it?” Primrose asked, glancing around at the other Maenads who were in varying states of undress and excitement.

“An ancient aphrodisiac,” Eloise said with a sly smile.

Primrose spat out her most recent mouthful and it rained dark crimson. Eloise laughed bitterly.

“He won’t like you more than me you know, despite how pure and chaste you seem,” Eloise snarled, her face close to Primrose’s and her eyes flashing jealously.

“I beg your pardon?” Primrose whispered. “Who are you talking about?”

“Silenus!” Eloise hissed.

“Silenus? I don’t want him to like me more than you! I don’t like him at all! I’m not into having sex with animals,” Primrose retorted.

“He is only replacing me with you until the baby is born!” Eloise continued as if she hadn’t heard. “He loves me!”

“If he is keen enough to kidnap a complete stranger from the streets to replace you in the Revelry, he obviously doesn’t!” Primrose snapped and pushed Eloise out of her face.

“I’m having his baby! A Satyr baby!” Eloise screeched, now causing several of the other Maenads to look up with genuine concern. Even through her aphrodisiac-addled brain, Primrose remembered a Satyr baby was a rare thing. There were few, if any, female Satyrs, so when a human woman bore a Satyr baby, it was a time of much joy for the Satyr community.

“Eloise!” a soft voice soothed. “Calm yourself.” A tall blond woman with a British accent came up behind Eloise and held her shoulders firmly, but not unkindly. “It doesn’t do to get yourself upset.”

Eloise spun around.

“Megan, why is he doing this to me?” Eloise suddenly sobbed.

Megan embraced Eloise soundly, and took a hard, long look at Primrose. “He is a Satyr, Elle, and it is the Revelry. There is nothing else he could do. I am truly amazed he has found this woman to replace you. I didn’t think he could. It’s not like there are many human women in the Free Zone, willing or not, to take part in our Revelry. We all know the Revelry is meant for willing Maenads, not unwilling women.” Megan looked meaningfully at Primrose from above Eloise’s head.

Is that some kind of apology? Primrose wondered.

“He’s kidnapped this woman. She doesn’t even want him! I do!” Eloise wailed.

Megan shrugged. “You knew the way they were before you entered the colony. Surprised though we are at Silenus’s actions, all Maenads know how Satyrs sometimes behave. Eloise. Be at peace. Take to your quarters and sleep. You need your rest.”

Eloise took a final glare at Primrose and did as her fellow Maenad bid.

“I don’t want him, you know,” Primrose said, although her body argued the truth of her words.

“You may not now,” Megan replied, taking a glance at Primrose’s empty glass, “but I see you have drunk our wine. Your body will receive Silenus gladly, I think.” She paused. “Even though your mind may not.”

“I am drugged? I don’t feel drugged,” Primrose retorted, sitting up straighter and pulling her skirt lower to cover her thigh.

“Do you see any Satyrs about at the moment?” Megan asked in an abrupt change of subject.

“Err, no,” Primrose replied, looking around and surprised to find the courtyard empty of Satyrs.

“That is because we have all been drinking the Dionysus wine. As the moon rises to its full height, the Satyrs will arrive, and we will all fall upon them like animals in heat.” Megan’s face held a manic joy that was deeply disturbing to behold. “We will fornicate! Drink and celebrate the full moon as Dionysus wished it!”

Primrose’s face paled. “I certainly won’t.”

Megan smiled, her face electric. “You won’t be able to stop yourself. It is the magic of the Revelry.” With that she turned and left.

Primrose sat alone for a moment, feeling the excitement and fear trill through her body and settle where she wished it wouldn’t. “Imran! Please come and get me!” she whispered, and just at that moment the moon reached its zenith and the Satyrs appeared.

Chapter Nine

Primrose felt her body react completely against its will. About thirty Satyrs entered the candlelit courtyard in single file. They were draped in orange cloaks from their heads to their cloven hooves. They were mesmerizing. From somewhere in the town house, drums were quietly beating, rhythmically and suggestively. As if choreographed, the Satyrs parted from their single file into the direction of an awaiting Maenad, or in some cases Maenads. The head Satyr, still draped in the orange cloak, turned to face Primrose. Primrose couldn’t tear her gaze from him. Slowly, in time with the beating of the drums, Silenus raised his hands and lifted the hood from his head and horns. His strange amber eyes locked with hers, and the effect was electric. Her heart pounded and desire for him rushed through her body like a freight train. Primrose had never felt anything like it.

“Come to me,” Silenus murmured, his shiny white teeth flashing in the candlelight. “Share the Revelry with me.”

If it had been humanly possible to say no, Primrose would have. However, no human could have turned down the Satyr after consuming Dionysus wine. Primrose’s body was so overcome by desire and lust for him there was nothing she could do but walk numbly into his embrace.

Imran woke covered in a film of perspiration. “Primrose!” he groaned, remembering the predicament she was facing. Moonlight bathed the apartment and Imran noticed the street was quiet and the shop beneath him empty. Why hadn’t Leucosia woken him? Exhausted but determined, Imran disappeared in a swath of black smoke. He would reach her in time. He was certain.

In the Satyr colony, the Revelry was underway. Satyr bodies entwined with human, and all that could be heard was the rhythmic beating of drums and flesh. Primrose kissed Silenus hungrily, as if she could not get enough of him. Her hands roved frantically underneath the orange cloak. He tasted so good, he smelled so good, she wanted to devour him, or at the very least, for him to devour her. Little of her self-consciousness remained. Somewhere, in the dark recesses of her mind, Primrose knew she should pull away, but that small, insignificant voice was drowned out by the roar of her lust.

Silenus growled gutturally as he returned her kiss. He pulled Primrose tightly to him. Her body reacted to the close proximity of the Satyr, and her hands reached and stroked his auburn pelt. Silenus pulled away momentarily.

“I told you I would have you, Primrose. You are not so unwilling now.” He laughed gleefully and shed the orange cloak. At the sight of the naked Satyr, Primrose fell to her knees, weakened by desire and incapacitated by lust. Silenus looked down at her and reached for her blouse. In one swift movement he tore it in two, leaving Primrose vulnerable and exposed. Silenus observed her appreciatively and swiftly took a step closer to her. Suddenly all Primrose could see was Silenus’s manhood, jutting eagerly toward her. A fresh, hot wave of desire rushed through Primrose and she leaned in closer to touch, feel, and taste.

“Primrose!” A furious roar echoed from the darker recess of the courtyard.

The drumbeat faltered momentarily, and both Silenus and Primrose stood still. The courtyard suddenly smelled like cinnamon and allspice, and black sinuous arms of smoke were everywhere.

“Primrose!” Imran yelled angrily again, as Primrose remained motionless and precariously close to Silenus’s most intimate parts.

Primrose’s head turned and her eyes focused on Imran, who was barely visible in the flickering depths of the candlelit courtyard.

“Move away from her,” Imran shouted at Silenus, and stalked toward the couple.

Silenus smiled at Imran. “Nothing, not even you, Genie, will be able to stop her from wanting me.” He looked down at Primrose, who remained motionless watching him. “Primrose, suck me.”

The vulgarity and abruptness of Silenus’s order turned Primrose rigid with shock.

“Primrose, stop this. You don’t want to do this!” Imran tried to mask the fury that was etched on his features.

Primrose paused, momentarily stricken. She could smell Silenus and he smelled good, like hay and fresh grass, and she wanted him. The shock of his words was quickly washing away when she turned dazedly to face Imran. He stood there in his trousers and shirt, looking angry but unutterably handsome.

“Imran,” she breathed as if seeing him for the first time, and the lust that was so all- consuming for the Satyr shifted its focus temporarily.

Silenus could sense the change and his strong hands gripped Primrose’s shoulders to draw her back. “Finish what you have started, Maenad,” he ordered.

In her befuddled mind, Primrose knew she wasn’t a Maenad, nor ever wanted to be. Desire rippled through her body like a pebble in a pond, and she felt herself drowning in it, yet this time she was torn.

“No,” she said softly and glanced up at the Satyr, whose angular face glared down at her. “Help me, Imran!” she called, and struggled to stand.

The tussle that ensued was slightly obscene, as a semi-naked Primrose struggled with the naked Satyr. Primrose attempted to wrench Silenus’s hands from her shoulders, but this only caused him to tighten his grip and pull her closer into his crotch. Again the scent of him, combined with the Dionysus wine, intensified the aphrodisiac effect and she groaned.

Silenus, seeing her weakness, pulled her to her feet and kissed her deeply, and Primrose melted into him.

Imran growled angrily under his breath. Despite the fact Primrose had cost him his lamp and had in general been a rather poor mistress, irrational jealousy and rage at what he saw consumed him.

Within a moment, Imran’s black snakes of smoke were entwining around Silenus, wrenching him from Primrose’s arms.

Several of the other couples in the courtyard suddenly became aware a preternatural tussle was occurring and despite being in various states of undress, they rushed to aid Silenus.

Women and Satyrs were everywhere as Primrose fought against the black smoke to reach Silenus, her body reacting willingly despite her mind’s disapproval.

Imran could stand it no longer. Primrose’s curvaceous, semi-clad form writhed over the smoke sinews to get to the Satyr, who struggled lamely against a power he could not overcome. Swiftly Imran walked up behind them and Primrose suddenly felt his warm hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. Almost immediately, Primrose felt the lust for Silenus disappear and reform with Imran as its target.

“My God, I want you!” she breathed heavily, spinning around and wrapping her arms around Imran’s warm body.

“Not here, you don’t,” Imran warned with a slight laugh in his voice. Silenus bowed with fury and struggled to speak. The black smoke was merciless and wrapped tighter about the struggling Satyr. As Silenus continued to struggle against the suffocating smoke, Imran disappeared from the courtyard, taking Primrose with him.

When Imran appeared yet again in Leucosia’s apartment, he was visibly tired. Lines of fatigue etched his smooth brow, and his shoulders sunk with weariness. Alas, the same could not be said for Primrose. The Dionysus wine acted as a fuel to the latent fire she felt for Imran. She had denied her feelings for months, but now was filled with lust and confidence. She couldn’t keep her hands off him.

“Primrose…” Imran groaned as she pushed him back on the bed, ignoring the mosquito net that was ripped from the ceiling as she did. She pressed her body against his, and he lamely pushed her away. “You need to calm down, Primrose!”

“I can’t,” she groaned, and kissed Imran ferociously, trying to consume him. He tasted as he smelled, slightly sweet and spicy, but utterly intoxicating. She ran her hands over his arms, feeling the strength beneath his biceps. “I need you, I want you.”

“No. Not like this, Primrose. You’ll never forgive me if I allowed it,” Imran moaned, kissing her back with reluctantly rising ardor.

“I don’t care! Don’t stop,” Primrose moaned. “I’ve wanted you ever since that kiss in the car…You can’t deny me now!”

Imran groaned at her words. “Really?” Masculine delight flickered in his eyes.

She kissed his neck. “Yes…hurry.”

Imran ran his hand over her back, and his fingers flickered over the lace of her bra.

“Take it off!” Primrose growled, the desire to feel his skin against hers was all consuming.

Imran hesitated, his eyes questioning.

“I said take it off!” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe as she did.

Primrose felt Imran’s remnant moral resistance to her charms shatter. His hands ran up and down her back, stroking her. After a moment, he fumbled clumsily and unsuccessfully with the bra clip. Imran’s brows furrowed and he muttered under his breath, and the bra disappeared in a neat puff of smoke. Then, without further preamble, he removed his own shirt the same way and finally Primrose felt his skin against hers. The spicy warmth of him aroused Primrose as no man had ever previously. It wasn’t long before Primrose was fumbling wildly at the zip of Imran’s trousers.

Suddenly Imran pulled away. “Primrose, stop,” he groaned as she continued to fumble frantically, albeit unsuccessfully. “I mean it!” His voice sounded anxious. “It’s my lamp!” Imran’s voice faltered. “Something is happening to my lamp.”

He gasped a little and struggled away from her, and then he was silent.

Primrose paused. She drunkenly touched his face and it no longer felt warm.

* * * *

Far across the ocean in the secret room beyond his home office, Quillian let out a whoop of happiness.

“Finally!” he exclaimed. “Finally, I have tapped into his magic!” He mopped his brow with an Egyptian cotton handkerchief.

* * * *

Imran lay motionless and cool to the touch, and Primrose, for the first time in hours, felt frighteningly sober. “Wake up!” she urged, gently patting his face and rocking lightly from side to side. “What happened to your lamp?” she cried. “What can I do?”

Imran remained motionless, although his chest still rose and fell with his weak breath.

“Leucosia!” Primrose called, hoping she was somewhere close enough to hear. There was no answer. Primrose could hear some movement from the street below, but didn’t dare go to the balcony to ask for help. She didn’t know who, or what she might encounter there. Primrose sobbed a little into the pillow beside Imran. Gently she sank down on the bed with Imran’s cool, still body. She felt a little calmer listening to his rhythmic shallow breathing. Within moments her sobbing ceased and thanks to the Dionysus wine, she unexpectedly fell asleep.

Chapter Ten

When the morning came, Primrose woke up feeling rather well, though very hungry. She also had a very hazy memory. She opened her eyes and glanced at Imran, who still lay slumbering. She touched him gently. His face was warm. What exactly happened last night? she wondered.

“Imran?”

Imran stirred quietly. “Hello,” he whispered, opening his eyes and watching her. His eyes fell to her naked chest and a slow smile grew on his lips.

Primrose blushed and reached for the sheets to cover herself.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Imran’s black eyes were as unreadable as ever, but the wolfish smile suggested something of his inner thoughts.

“What happened last night?” Primrose felt shy. “I don’t really remember much. Just a few jumbled things.”

Imran smiled suggestively, and Primrose felt a sick hot swoop of shame.

“Did I embarrass myself?” she whispered, now unable to meet Imran’s merciless gaze.

“That depends on what you call embarrassing,” Imran teased.

“Oh no, did I have sex with that awful Satyr?” she gasped. The thought caused a wave of disgust to swirl around her gut.

Imran’s smile faltered. “No,” he replied curtly.

Primrose’s mind was suddenly filled with jumbled images from the Satyrs’ courtyard—Silenus, strong and aroused above her and Imran’s thunderous anger. Then the images returned to Leucosia’s apartment and memories of herself entwined with Imran bombarded her.

“Oh!” Primrose gasped. “Did we? Did we end up in bed together?”

Imran’s countenance lightened considerably. “As you can see we are in bed together,” he answered, and Primrose felt her face flush again with embarrassment.

“I…I can’t remember,” she mumbled, still unable to hold his gaze.

“Well, perhaps that is a good thing,” Imran said, his voice serious. “I became unconscious quite suddenly in the midst of all the excitement, so all we ended up doing was sleeping.”

Primrose looked up awkwardly. “You mean we didn’t actually have…you know, sex?”

Imran snorted. “If we did, I didn’t have anything to do with it.” They fell silent for a moment. “Primrose, there is a problem. Someone has my lamp, and they are successfully managing to drain my power. That is why I lost consciousness last night. I was exhausted from all the travel, and when whoever started to drain the power, well, I couldn’t sustain consciousness any longer.”

Primrose leaned over and squeezed Imran’s warm hand. “What can we do?”

For a moment, Imran watched her in silence before replying. His gaze was unguarded and warm. “Well, so long as you are my mistress, they cannot drain all my power, so this will not kill me. It will, however, severely incapacitate me. Even now, my magic is more limited than before. Whoever is doing this will want to extract more power than they are currently getting. They, therefore, need you to give them the lamp. If you give them the lamp they will be able to extract all my power. I don’t think we have much time. We need to get back to Perth and find the lamp.”

Primrose bit her lip, confused. “Who, or what, could possibly have the knowledge and power to do this to you, and why?”

Imran shrugged. “I suspect an evil magician trying to gain more power, but I can’t be sure.”

Primrose laughed abruptly. “Imran…There are no such things as ‘evil magicians.’ They were just invented as fairy tales to frighten children. You only have bad people, bad beings.”

Imran looked at Primrose, his eyes hardening. “You have been in the government’s employ long enough to not be so naïve. Of course there are evil magicians. Any magician who gains power through evil deeds will become evil himself.”

Primrose didn’t look convinced. “Well, I would prefer we call them ‘bad magicians,’ not ‘evil.’”

Imran rolled his eyes. “If you insist, but we need to get to Perth and I cannot take us there. I cannot risk expending too much magic when my reservoir of power is already being drained. We need to find Omar. He is the only one who can help.” Primrose wanted to interrupt, but Imran continued. “I know he is in the Free Zone, or was recently, as I met two of his henchmen. I do not know how willing Omar will be to help us, but he is the best chance we have.”

“Who is this Omar?” Primrose asked finally.

“He is the magician, now a Genie himself, who cursed me.”

Primrose’s mouth dropped, and the sheet she held to her chest slipped a little.

“Why did he turn you into a Genie?”

Imran glanced momentarily at her partially exposed bosom before meeting her gaze steadily. “I wondered when you’d ask.”

“Just tell me, Imran,” Primrose snapped.

“In a moment of impaired judgment, I slept with his wife.” He glared at her, defiantly willing her to chastise him.

“You slept with his wife? This man will never help us, Imran!”

“I can only hope he has forgiven me.”

Primrose huffed with exasperation. “Yeah, right! I don’t think so.”

“Primrose, it was over three hundred years ago. Time may well have mellowed him.” As Imran spoke, the doubt in his voice was audible.

“Well, if you’re certain.”

“I am,” Imran affirmed with little certainty. “If nothing else, he might send us out of the Free Zone.”

Then, as suddenly as it happened last night, Imran’s face paled. His lids fell to half-mast and he sunk back into the bed. His breathing, a moment ago deep and easy, became shallow and weak.

“Imran?” His name caught thick in her throat. Primrose reached to touch him, her fingers dancing tentatively over the skin of his arm. She recoiled as her fingertips met not warmth but cold clamminess. She gulped audibly, trying to dislodge the lump developing in her throat, and waited a few moments to see if there was any change. As the clock ticked anxiously from the bookshelf, Imran groaned and his eyes opened to meet hers.

“Primrose, get Leucosia to make some food. I’ll be a little better once I have eaten something.”

Primrose nodded, then without further hesitation, leaped off the bed. Feeling panicked, she looked around lamely for something to dress herself in. Spying the wardrobe, she scurried over and opened it. The wardrobe smelled musty and ill-used and Primrose crinkled her nose in distaste. After a moment of fruitless gazing at the dark line of clothing, she reached in and pulled out a long black dress. It must have been one of Leucosia’s older garments, or so Primrose supposed, due to its moth-bitten appearance. Primrose lamented the loss of her bra as she slipped the dress over her head, and then pulled off her ruined skirt beneath it. Despite its old and smelly façade, the dress felt rather nice against her skin. It was form-fitting to her curves and Primrose had little choice but to accept it as what she would have to wear.

After one last troubled glance at Imran, Primrose hurried downstairs.

Leucosia sat behind the desk eating what seemed to be a fish sandwich. It smelled rather bad, but even so, Primrose’s stomach growled angrily.

“I see you are back from your sojourn with the Satyrs, and have helped yourself to my wardrobe,” Leucosia sang irritably.

Primrose ignored her. She had better things to worry about than Leucosia’s grumpiness. “Imran’s power is being drained by whoever has his lamp. He needs food! Where can I get him some?”

Leucosia’s pale orb eyes stared at Primrose unflinching. “I shall get him some food. Please wait a moment.”

“Well, what can I do to help?” Primrose exclaimed with a frustrated sigh.

“You need to get that lamp, you dolt,” Leucosia retorted.

Primrose was affronted by the insult. “I meant with organizing food.”

“You may have my sandwich and I will stew up something to restore some of Imran’s power.”

Primrose looked down at the discarded fish sandwich on the bench. The snake still coiled on the branch hissed. Primrose felt her shrunken stomach revolt at the thought of eating it.

“Eat it, child,” Leucosia sang from the back of the shop where the sounds of clattering pans rang out.

Primrose was hungry, and knew in Leucosia’s present mood, another offering of food may be a long time in the future. Reluctantly, Primrose picked up the sandwich and bit into it. It was very salty, and very fishy. She was going to absolutely stink after eating this, and she didn’t even have a toothbrush! Still, as disgusting as it was, Primrose devoured it and helped herself to a few glasses of water to wash the foul taste away.

Leucosia finished stewing up whatever it was for Imran, and both Primrose and Leucosia went up the stairs.

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 wanting 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.

“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 wishes, 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 worried; 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.

“Oh,” Ian replied, seeming strangely vague.

Imran’s dark implacable eyes masked his surprise at Ian’s flat and woeful manner. Could losing Primrose have actually meant something to this uncouth moron?

They were silent a moment and Imran paused awkwardly on the footpath beside the unearthly depths of the park.

Ian, meanwhile, appeared to be thinking furiously.