Loretta of the Lamp - The Fallout

Blood magic

He released her. "What is your name?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and revealing the only jewellery he wore, a black metal bracelet around each wrist.

"Loretta," she told him the truth, because somewhere deep down she wanted him to know her, to know her name and to know who she was.

"What a curious name." His right eyebrow twitched, but still Loretta could tell he did not recognise her. He rubbed his jaw with frustration, then turned and walked away toward his bed. As he went he clapped his hands twice. From a hidden place outside of the room, music began to play. Though the musicians could not been seen, the throb of the strings swirled around the cavernous room and fell down around her with perfect clarity. The strings rose to a mournful high note as the Djin King ascended the three steps to his bed and sat down, turning back to face her. His posture was impatient and restless.

Loretta knew he was keen for the dance to be over. But she would give him a dance he would remember.

Drum rhythm cut into the music, slicing away the pitch of the strings and building a tempo deep with bass and primal, earthy notes. With confidence, Loretta began to step into the same dance she had given the Sultan of Morocco. The graceful posture and routine movements of her classical training fused with the strong, flowing and sensual movements she had learned from watching Hess. As she recreated that dance, she watched him intently. And as she watched him, she connected two poignant pieces of information.

One, that this man had never, ever met her before. He did not know her.

Two, that the timelines between the lamp and her world were not parallel. Her interaction with the Sultan of Morocco had not yet happened.

The Sultan had reacted so violently in the aftermath of Loretta's dance in the grand palace because he had seen the dance before.

Here, now.

Where she had finished the dance the last time, she now continued with a renewed passion, climbing the steps to the bed. The king moved back onto the mattress, beckoning her to come toward him. She kept her eyes locked with his as she prowled onto the tangle of sheets. She was in control. His response to her was pliable as she smiled, pushing him back further until his shoulders were up against one of the pillars, and the items on his bedside table were within reach. Then she pushed him down, doing her best to appear as seductive as she could, not that it was an area she had any expertise with. She pretended she was Hessna or one of the women she had seen in the harem, strong and confident despite the lack of control they had over their lives. The king let her move him, while he rested his hands on her thighs.

She could feel his flesh against her, sweaty with excitement, and she had to fight her gag reflex to stay in control as she reached up and over his head for the dagger, keeping her dance smooth and her eyes locked with his.

Light fingers, adept at lock picking, liberated the dagger from the table without a sound or even the slightest change in movement. Slowly she slid back down onto his chest, bringing it with her.

He sat up with her suddenly, and Loretta's heart jumped with fear at how compromising her position was, and how little control she really had if he forced himself on her. Her physical strength was no match for his. But the dagger was still clutched in her hand, her arm slung almost casually over his shoulder.

The music had slowed to a single note held on a single string. She pushed herself up off his lap with her thighs, bringing her left hand around to caress his neck. It was a clumsy move, but in seconds it wouldn't matter. Loretta arched her spine, lifted the dagger up in her right hand, and plunged it down toward his neck.

His hand whipped out and caught her by the wrist. A raw scream leapt from her lips as her composure dissolved. They wrestled over the knife, but it exploded in her hand and the momentum of the explosion threw them both tumbling off the bed and down the three steps to the marble floor in a heap. Her head smacked against the side of the stair, and then landed hard on the smooth floor. Stars swam through the red soup of her vision, but she continued to fight with everything in her.