Out of the Lamp

Chapter 2: Branded

Alia

Without waiting a moment longer, I grab the boy by his forearm and drag him off the set. The bubbly girl and camera man begin to protest but I wave them off. Hoping the panic isn't obvious on my face.

"Shizzle oh shizzle..." I mutter to myself. A humoured snigger momentarily stops me in my tracks. I glare at the boy and continue to pull him after me. My head whips around wildly, looking for the toilets. I spot a sign for the handicapped bathroom and dart towards it. Down a quieter side corridor and at the end. I don't hesitate in pushing open the heavy door and throwing my master in. I swear, Ali would have my head in for this with his bull old school etiquette.

"Easy, tiger." The boy grumbles, brushing himself down and facing me. I lock the door behind us and let out a shaky breath of air.

Out of nowhere, a stinging sensation claws into my skin, on the lower left of my abdomen, just over my hip. I gasp and clutch my body. The guy throws me a funny look and takes a cautious step towards me. I throw out a hand, waggling my finger in warning.

"You've done enough." I snap. The itching and burning doesn't subside so I push past the guy to stand in front of the full length mirror. I lift my top up and he whistles. Jerk.

"Wait - what the-"

He cuts himself short as he stares with widened eyes at the patch of skin left and downwards from my naval. Once bare and creamy clear, a dark ink swirls over, the flesh burns white-hot before settling into a shade of black. A delicate emblem forming. He watches with quiet horror as this lasts a full two or three minutes. I fight back the whimpers of pain. Show no weakness.

The end result looks like a tattoo to the untrained eye and it resembled the key of Hades in a load of nonsense swirling and twirling pretty calligraphy style. So ironic. Isn't that just like them? To try and make it pretty.

"What is that?" The boy behind me mutters, his eyes zoned in on the emblem. That's what it is. A sign to others, a marking. His claim.

'Your brand, you jerk!' I shove him with my free hand and he looks at me like I'm crazy. 'This is all your fault!'

He shakes his head and his eyes darken as thoughts whir in his head. His hand reaches out and touches me, cool slender fingers grasp my left hip and his thumb grazes over the fresh wound. I bite my lip and close my eyelids as I feel my eyes roll back. A low groan of pleasure softly escapes me. The boys breathing hitches and I grab his wrist, keeping him there. His touch soothes the pain, spreading a coolness through it. I open my eyes to find his flitting between me and the brand. His touch makes the skin ripple and the marking blazes a hot white gold and words in ancient runes appears:

"Jason Anutir." I mutter, reading upside down and releasing his wrist, flicking his hand away.

"Yeah." He whispers, taking a startled step back, totally in shock as the rest of the ghostly gold-white lettering disappears when his hand falls. "You're a Genie."