Page 8 of Enslaved By Magic

Chapter 4

(Amari)

Amari went through the normal disorientation as she reformed into her usual shape. She still preferred to look the way she did the day she was cursed when given the choice, though she could take any form. It was one of the few powers she had that didn’t rely on wishes and many owners over the years had forced her to change her appearance for their own purposes. She no longer fought the demand to fulfill one fantasy or another, but always she defaulted to herself and only her clothes had been updated. She did tend to prefer the less cumbersome modern clothing.

Of course, she was no longer that naïve girl inside, but the bottle kept her ageless and beautiful. Physically, she was as young and strong as she’d been the day she hiked up the mountain to beg for help. She’d lived so many lives since then, though, seen so many places, done so many things, that at times she could barely remember what it had been like to be that person.

And the bottle—her hated prison—had also become her beloved friend in a way. It spoke to her, soothed her, taught her everything. A world of knowledge was trapped inside the beautiful glass and wrought silver threads and it shared with her willingly. It wasn’t a person, but it was no simple inanimate object either. It catered to her wishes and desires the same way she was forced to cater to the many men and women who had owned her over the years, but she’d never felt a resentment from the bottle. It enjoyed doing what she had to be forced to do.

She thought perhaps it was because it had been created for the purpose and not tricked into submitting, but she’d probably never know. She could only envy the happiness it seemed to get when she asked for something it could provide. She hadn’t hated every minute of her slavery. There had been times she could almost have enjoyed watching the world change and grow around her, but underneath, there was always that seething resentment of the cruel reality of her life. She existed only to serve, and it seemed like her bondage would never end. She obeyed only because she had no choice, and there was no pleasure in it.

Yet here she was again, uncorked and ejected from her home into another new place—but it was different this time. She’d never been left to herself for so long before and she wondered what had happened. Usually, her owners were eager to pass her on to another before they could be tempted to make that essential third wish that would free her. They were all so greedy, yet somehow, they’d all been able to resist the urge.

Though that last one… she’d thought for sure it would be him with his grasping, greedy nature. He’d often bragged that once something belonged to him, he never let it go.

She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings without making a sound. The man passed out on the floor didn’t faze her. It wasn’t the first time someone had reacted like that upon seeing her, but he was new, so the bottle had been passed on once again. She sighed and stepped over him carefully as she went to investigate the room she found herself in.

How long had it been? It was hard to keep track inside. The glass world was different, and the passing of time was unimportant. She knew years had gone by but whenever she’d asked for a window into the world, just to get a glimpse of what was going on, the view was always darkness, and she was unable to see past her prison. That had never happened before. Normally, the bottle could show her any place she wanted to see, but not this time. She’d sensed time flowing by but had had nothing to gauge it by.

A muffled groan caught her attention, and she turned back to the man, sinking to her knees at his side and rolling him over onto his back so she could examine him. He was just beginning to come out of it, eyes still closed, but she could see he was attractive, aside from the scrape on his forehead. It didn’t matter to her if her owners were handsome; sometimes it made it worse, but with his dark hair and bronze skin just a shade lighter than hers, she felt a connection. Based on looks, he could easily have been from her home.

She hesitated and then reached out to brush the thick hair off his forehead. She felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through it and she scowled, dropping her hand to his shoulder, and sitting back on her heels. It didn’t matter, she scolded herself. He was just another in a long line.

“Master?” she said, shaking him roughly. “Are you injured?”

He groaned, and his eyes slowly opened a crack, peering at her with a look of complete confusion. As soon as she saw he was awake, she wiped the scowl off her face, fixed her best fake smile on, and prepared to do the willing slave act she’d perfected over the eons.

“I was worried, Master. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” she asked. She forced a sweet tone to the words. It was better if they thought she lived to serve, at least at first.

His eyes flew open and he sat up fast—the look of pain on his face showed an instant regret, and one hand went up to press against the side of his head. “Ow, fuck, what happened? Who—who are you? Did you just call me Master?” The questions shot out with barely a second’s pause between them, not enough time for her to answer, so she waited quietly. “Well?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Master. I was waiting for you to finish asking your questions,” she said politely. “My name is Amari. I belong to the bottle—and the bottle belongs to you, which makes you my master. I suppose you must have been frightened when you opened it,” she added.

“Of course, I was scared! I bought an antique bottle and a whole entire person just poured out of it!” he said. The hand that wasn’t actively involved in holding his aching skull flew up to wave dramatically, and she leaned back to avoid getting hit by the flailing limb.

She deliberately mentioned fear because it tended to annoy men, and she had to get her petty revenges in where she could, but times had changed and so had men apparently. She couldn’t help the slight smile that curved her lips up at one corner, but her voice was contrite as she spoke, “I’m sorry, Master. The bottle opens when the new owner polishes it. Weren’t you told?” she asked, tilting her head in question.

“Was I—No! I wasn’t told,” he said with a sharpness to his tone. He closed both eyes. “This is a nightmare. Or I hit my head and I’m hallucinating. Or maybe the bottle had some type of poisonous gas and I inhaled and…” He trailed off, opened his eyes, and gave her a hard stare before adding, “You’re not even real.”

“Oh, I’m real, Master,” she assured him with a laugh. “I guess um—you weren’t told anything about the bottle when you bought it? You didn’t realize it was magic?” she asked carefully. It was odd since that was its main selling point, of course. It had exchanged hands for vast sums of money in the past simply because of what it held.

“No, of course not. I—magic isn’t real. There aren’t any magic bottles with—what are you even supposed to be? Some kind of genie?” He shook his head, and then winced again. “This isn’t happening.”

No one had ever refused to believe in her before, but then they’d usually demanded proof and been convinced before purchasing the bottle, so she wasn’t entirely sure how to convince him she was real. She moved out of the way when he stood up, and after a hesitation, she got to her feet too.

He went into the bathroom to look at his head, while she stood behind him in the doorway and watched. That room was familiar. At least plumbing hadn’t changed much since she’d been out of commission.

She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes behind his back. “Not quite but it does seem to be the preferred name these days, so I guess that will work. It’s a long story, and if I’m a hallucination, then there really isn’t much point in telling it to you since you won’t believe it anyway,” she said, shrugging as she leaned against the wall. She dropped a little of the mystical ambience since he seemed to be ignoring it anyway and decided to just go for casual.

“I don’t believe in magic bottles, or magic anything else,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror as if he was trying to convince her. “There’s no way you could have fit in there. It’s not physically possible.” There was a firmness there that dared her to argue with him, but she just stared back blankly, refusing to engage. After a second, he looked away, reaching for some cream that he began to dab on his forehead.

“Ah, then I guess you must be right. I’m a hallucination,” she said. With a mischievous look on her face, she reached out and pinched his ass, laughing when he spun around to give her a shocked look.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded, sounding full of outrage.

“I was just trying to help, Master. I thought it might convince you,” she said. There was a teasing lilt in her voice, and she didn’t bother to hide the amused expression on her face.

To her surprise it did actually seem to help convince him, and instead of denying her existence, he began to examine her from the crown of her long black hair to her bare feet with their pink painted toenails. He paused and narrowed his eyes. “What kind of genie wears Jeans and a t-shirt anyway?” he demanded.

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