“Morning, Imran,” Ian said, his eyes instantly hardening. “You want breakfast?”
Imran ignored him and looked searchingly at Primrose. “Sleep well, Primrose?” he asked, his tone mildly accusing.
Primrose’s stomach lurched. Had he heard what happened last night? Primrose felt an unflattering blush crawl up her neck and settle on her burning cheeks. She knew in her heart he heard every one of her muffled cries of discomfort. Primrose’s mouth went dry and her heart raced. Imran’s gaze did not leave her. “Yes,” she finally replied with a croak.
Ian grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “Do you want breakfast?” he repeated, now with a smile.
“No,” Imran replied curtly, not even gracing Ian with a glance. “Primrose, I have things to attend to this morning. Is it all right if I leave until this evening?”
Ian’s mouth dropped. “You don’t need her permission, mate!” He laughed awkwardly.
Primrose looked at Imran. Of course, he did need her permission to travel beyond the kilometer radius of his lamp. It was one of the things she had been taught at university in her magical beings unit.
“Of course you can,” Primrose replied softly. She looked up and met his eyes evenly. “Where do you intend to go?”
“I have some acquaintances in Perth whom I haven’t seen in some time,” he said cautiously. “If you do not require my presence, I would rather like to see them.”
“Of course,” Primrose replied again, although secretly she was desperate to find out who he was going to see.
Ian looked from Imran to Primrose and a frown marred his brow.
“Come on, Prim, I’m going to be late.” He scoffed the last of his toast and tightly grasped the top of Primrose’s arm. As Ian tugged her to her feet, Primrose threw an apologetic glance at Imran, whose face was also creased with a frown. He stood immobile in the kitchen for a moment, holding her gaze for a second too long. Clearly, he was not pleased with the situation at all. As Primrose was pulled from the room, she heard Imran’s angry sigh, and smelled the sweet scent of his magic as Ian doggedly ushered her away.
* * * *
“He’s a pretty strange guy, that Imran,” Ian said when in the relative solitude of Primrose’s car.
“Yes, I suppose,” Primrose replied evasively.
“What does he do for a living?” Ian asked.
Primrose paused, pretending to be absorbed in the Stock Road traffic. “Um…private investigations or something, I think.”
Ian frowned, unsure whether to believe her. “What’s that got to do with your university degree?” Ian asked, his eyes not budging from her profile.
“Oh, I think he was only in one of my units at Uni. Probably Magical Culture 101 or something, before he specialized into investigations,” she added quickly, hoping she sounded convincing. Primrose was not a good liar.
Again, Ian looked unconvinced. “Where has he come from, then? If he went to Uni in Perth, surely he’s lived here since? Where is his family? Friends?”
“Ian! I don’t know! It’s not like we’ve stayed in touch much!”
Ian frowned, and failed to look reassured. Primrose knew that as a high-ranking official in the Department of Cerebral Management, Ian had her emails monitored. If Imran had ever emailed her, Ian would have known about it. She hoped this knowledge would put his mind at rest, but knew by the vicious way he was tearing at his fingernails, it hadn’t. “How did he know how to find you?” Ian asked after a pause.
“Ian!” Primrose snapped. “I said I don’t know! Maybe he looked me up in the phone book! It wouldn’t be that hard. After all, I am still Primrose Brasco!”
“Not for long,” Ian remarked, looking out the window.
Primrose stiffened. “There isn’t a wedding date set yet, Ian,” she reminded him.
“Oh, so now it comes out! You have an ex come and stay with us, and suddenly I’m not good enough to marry?” Ian’s fists clenched.
Primrose concentrated on the road.
“That’s not what I meant,” Primrose said, as Ian scowled at her. “Besides, Imran is definitely not an ex. He’s so not my type.”
Ian fell into an angry silence, and his frown remained in place until they finally arrived at the oval.
Primrose stepped out into the cool air and watched Ian pull his training bag out of the trunk.
“Are you going to stay and watch?” Ian asked mulishly, leaning back on the car.
The glary winter sun shone down on them, making Ian’s small blue eyes seem more piggy than before.
“I don’t think so. I want to go to the gym,” Primrose replied, brushing an errant strand of dark hair from her face and taking a glance at the huddle of wives and girlfriends at the end of the oval. With the exception of Emma, Primrose detested the wives and girlfriends of Ian’s rugby team. Mostly they were all fake nails, fake tan, fake blond and the complete opposite of Primrose.
“Well, I’ll see you back at your place this afternoon,” Ian replied, his gruff tone failing to hide his disappointment.
Primrose didn’t fail to notice the emphasis put on “your place” and she swallowed a chuckle. “Okay. Have a good session,” she said, and before Ian could stoop to kiss her, she leaped into the car and closed the door.
As Primrose drove away, she glanced in the rearview mirror. She watched, with a pang of sadness, Ian heave his bag over his shoulder and dejectedly turn to join the rest of the team.
Chapter Three
As Primrose drove into the fairly light Saturday morning traffic, she grappled with guilt. Why did the mere sight of Ian irritate her? Why did his sparkling, if not a little piggy, eyes not fill her with joy anymore? When had this started happening?
Primrose was just about to pull into the gym car park when, in a swirling black haze of smoke, Imran appeared in the seat beside her.
“Holy shit!” Primrose screamed and slammed on the brakes. The woman in the car behind screeched to a halt and gesticulated offensively before slamming on the horn. “Don’t ever do that again!” Primrose gasped, recovering control of the car and driving into the car park.
“My most sincere apologies,” Imran replied without remorse.
“Aren’t you supposed to be visiting a friend?” Primrose asked haughtily.
“I did,” he replied, leaning back in the warmth of the car. “Now I am at my mistress’s side, where I should be,” he answered with a quirky smile.
Primrose laughed, the first real laugh in days. “Such meek servility doesn’t suit you at all, Imran.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he replied rather seriously, “which is exactly why I was made into a Genie in the first place.”
Primrose looked startled for a moment.
“You were made into a Genie as punishment?” she asked softly.
“You know that is how all Genies are made.” Imran stared at her unflinching, his dark eyes boring into hers, as if daring her to ask the next question.
“What did you do to warrant such a humiliating punishment?” Primrose chose her words deliberately to bite.
Imran smiled, but the warmth didn’t reach those impenetrable eyes. “I couldn’t tell you that…” His voice resounded with finality, and Primrose wisely chose not to pursue that particular question.
“Well, you could tell me how old you are at least? I’ve never met any true immortal before.”
“I am a magician turned into a Genie, not an immortal, but humor me and guess my age.”
“Well…judging from the original form of your lamp, I’d say you’re from the 1920’s?”
Imran laughed with true amusement this time. “No. No! Much older! Surely you know you cannot judge a Genie by his lamp!” He laughed again. “Primrose, isn’t it obvious I can manipulate the form of the lamp? That chrome and onyx was just
a fad to get me into an antique shop and make the lamp affordable for someone a little interesting...”
Primrose knew he meant her. “I don’t like 1920s style,” she replied, looking away.
“You bought it anyway,” he retorted.
“Only because you enticed me. I know Genies.”
“Not well enough, I suspect. Tell me, Mistress, what happens when a Genie has given his master the three wishes?”
Primrose sighed, taking a glance at her watch. She was going to miss the Combat Aerobics class. “Is this necessary?” she grumbled, but continued anyway, enjoying this moment of privacy with him. “The Genie goes back into his or her lamp and it gets passed on.”
“There is a little more to it than that,” Imran interrupted. “The Genie begins to fade from the master’s memory.” He looked sad. “Eventually the master forgets that Genie ever existed and wonders why they have such an ugly lamp in their possession…A rather ignominious end to a special relationship, don’t you think?”
Imran sounded tired and Primrose sighed heavily in subconscious sympathy.
Will that happen to us? she wondered sadly, strangely hoping it never would.
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “What if I wish to set you free? Then you could go and live your own life.”
Imran’s head jerked up in an uncharacteristically awkward motion. “Never set a Genie free. We die if set free!” He took a deep breath. “You see, the curse that has carried me into this long life of servitude ceases to support my life if broken by a wish of freedom.” He paused abruptly, as if he had divulged too much information. “Never wish a Genie free, unless he asks you to end his life.” Imran glanced away. “Now,” he added with a slight smile, “guess how old I am.”
“You’re old enough to die if I set you free?”
“Oh, yes,” Imran replied slowly.
“How old?”
“Approximately three hundred and forty years old.”
Primrose was struck by the age of the man beside her. At a glance he couldn’t be more than mid-thirties, but when she looked once again into those impenetrable black eyes, she could see there was an old soul hiding behind that beautiful and ageless face.
Primrose and Imran were silent for a moment. Both were oblivious to the curious stares of a passerby, as they each sat motionless in the warm stillness of the car.
“Wow. How long can a Genie live?”
“I am not sure,” Imran shrugged. “I suspect I shall live forever in the servitude of humanity. As long as humans exist, so shall I. That is my supposition at least.”
Primrose absorbed this and realized with horror that Imran, eternally handsome, was also eternally a slave. “Wow,” she murmured. “I don’t think we’ll be extinct anytime soon.”
Imran smiled vacantly, more out of habit than sentiment, and they sat in silence a moment longer.
“I don’t know what to do…” Primrose began. “You know I can’t take your wishes. I don’t know what to do.”
Imran rubbed his chin, considering her words for a moment. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Primrose. Invariably, these things have a way of sorting themselves out.”
With that, he leaned over toward her and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it set Primrose aflame. His lips were warm and soft, and he smelled like roast cinnamon and allspice. As Imran leaned into the kiss a little more, he murmured something beneath his breath and tendrils of black smoke stroked her face and hair, although Imran’s hands themselves lay immobile.
“I can’t do this!” Primrose gasped and pulled away from him, opening her eyes. The black smoke shimmered in the sunlight and disappeared. “I can’t do this to Ian. It’s just not fair.”
Imran scowled. “That oaf? Do not deny us for the sake of that irritant hemorrhoid of a man!”
Primrose felt an unaccustomed flush of anger. “Ian is not a hemorrhoid, and what am I denying us, a paltry fling? No doubt hundreds of women have fallen into your arms over the centuries! Well, I’m not one of them, Imran! I’m not a repressed housewife in need of servicing either! You are not my whore, and I certainly will not be yours!”
Imran bit back a nasty retort and was silent.
“I am going to marry Ian, and I will not jeopardize my future marriage for a crazy three wishes! Ian is forever. You are until we can sort this business out!”
Imran’s face was cold. “Why you endure that man, I cannot fathom, but if my advances are so unwelcome to you, Mistress, I will withdraw them.”
Primrose flushed hotly. In truth, his advances weren’t unwelcome at all. It was the best kiss she’d had in years, and the only kiss in her recollection that ever made her heart pound.
“I would appreciate that,” Primrose replied sharply, forcing any warmth she felt lingering from the kiss far out of reach. “Now I’m going to the gym. I will see you when I get home.” Without a further glance at Imran, Primrose slammed the car door and stalked to the gym. As she did, Imran couldn’t help but admire the sight of her derriere in tight tracksuit pants wiggle and jiggle its way into the gym complex.
As Imran watched her, Primrose stumbled on the step of the gym. Once again, Imran was reminded he made a dreadful mistake in choosing Primrose as his new mistress. He hadn’t taken into consideration the large diamond on her finger, or ever inquired as to her profession. Now as a direct result of his negligence, they would be stuck together for quite some time. This was particularly shocking to Imran as he had never been subject to rejection by a woman, especially one as gauche and inept as Primrose. Even as a magician, he always considered himself something of a ladies’ man and it was no surprise his transformation into a Genie was due to this fact.
Suddenly Imran made a decision. If their relationship was not going to work in the manner in which it was meant, the relationship must be broken. There was no point following Primrose around and lusting after her if his attentions would never be rewarded. Additionally, the thought of watching Ian paw over her for months, even years while he waited for Primrose to take her wishes was simply untenable. If he could find a magician strong enough and learned enough in the ancient magic of Genies, it would be possible to break the bond. Imran knew, with little doubt, the only magician able to do this was Omar.
Omar was the only Genie who made himself truly masterless. The problem was finding Omar could prove incredibly difficult. Omar always had an evasive nature. This fact, compounded with Omar and Imran’s shared painful past, would make him a difficult man to find. Many years ago, Imran’s transformation into a Genie had been effected by Omar as vengeance. Imran pushed the unpleasant memories from his mind. After all, he could only try to appeal to Omar’s kinder side, and hope time healed some wounds.
As Imran watched a rather obese woman wobble into the gym, he realized, with a growl of frustration, he would again need Primrose’s permission to leave the one kilometer radius of his lamp to search for Omar. Sighing with irritation, he went to ask his mistress’s permission.
Primrose was pounding away furiously on a treadmill overlooking the car park when Imran materialized silently behind her. Again, he took a pause to admire her backside before speaking.
“I can see you in the reflection. Stop staring at my ass,” she snapped, and several of the other women in the vicinity jumped, startled at the appearance of a very attractive man in their midst.
“This is a women’s only club, you know,” a particularly large woman barked, her triple chin dripping with perspiration.
“Yes, and now I know why,” Imran replied with a cool glance at her rippling lard shuddering on the cross trainer. The large woman gasped, and enraged at the slur, screeched for security.
“Primrose,” Imran said, ignoring the woman’s warbling cries. “Can I have your permission to search for Omar, who may be able to assist in our dilemma?”
“Can I go anywhere in this search?” Imran continued. “Even if it means I may be gone days? Even weeks?”
“Yes!”
“Oi, you!” came a gruff Yorkshire accent. “This is a women’s only club!” The security guard strode up to Imran and grabbed his arm.
“Then you would have to be the ugliest woman I have ever seen!” Imran said with mock sincerity. “Good bye, Primrose,” he added. “I’ll be back soon.”
With that, Imran disappeared in a swath of black smoke, leaving the security guard and other patrons looking thoroughly bamboozled.
Primrose stifled a laugh.
“Make sure your mate doesn’t come back ‘ere though!” snarled the security guard, who looked decidedly flushed with embarrassment. “Whatever the ‘ell ‘e is.”
Primrose ignored him and continued running on the treadmill.
Much to Ian’s delight, and Primrose’s secret dismay, Imran didn’t come back the next day, or the next week, or even the next month.
Primrose’s work began to suffer. She found herself constantly wondering where Imran was. She knew she could call him, one word whispered into the night would have been enough, but pride, among other things, always stopped her.
* * * *
Far away in the bustling “Free Zone” of Main Bazaar Kuching in Malaysian Borneo, Imran stood in a dark, hot shop.
The Free Zone was an area where magic was deregulated and magical beings could work magic, without fear of recrimination. Most Western governments heavily governed magical beings so they could not out-compete their non-magical counterparts. However, as it was patently unfair to restrict magical beings so completely, the Free Zones were created. There were many such zones in the world, but all were situated outside Western government control. Kuching’s zone was one of the busiest, and was a significant tourist attraction, though human tourism to the Free Zone was strenuously discouraged. Many of the Free Zone occupants were magical beings whose habits, abilities, and tastes did not conform to modern human rights conventions.
Magical Gains Page 3
