The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key) (7 page)

“
I
have
a feeling you might be dead, maybe a ghost or something,” Owen blurted out. He cringed and shrugged when Sierra looked at him appalled and he realized he didn’t say that as gently as he should have. How does one tell another that they’re dead? There is no etiquette for that.

The Sultan looked around confused.

“I cannot be dead, I am here.” He waved his hands around and went to reach for Sierra as if to prove he was real, but she stepped back and threw up her hands for him to stop.

“Whoa, I’m pretty sure you’re dead, uh Sultan…if not you would be like a hundred and fifty years old, or something like that. Welcome to the twenty-first century.” He hated bursting the Sultan’s bubble with the whole death thing, but the guy needed to hear the truth.

“That is oddly strange,” the Sultan frowned. “That Peri only just forced me into that hole to die, it did. Fiend buried me alive. He could not be bothered to take my head like the rest of my household. That would have been much quicker.” He looked around at the courtyard, a perplexed look on his face. When he noticed the dead child he winced.

“Needless carnage this demon wrought on my people.” He went over to the boy and knelt at his side. He whispered words in a thickly melodic tongue and touched the child’s back.

“You are the exiled Turk, the Sultan who lived in the 1800s?” Owen asked, trying to put all the pieces in place.

The man stood and looked back at Owen.

“I traveled to New Orleans in 1872 from Turkey, yes, after your American war.”

“Like Owen said, it’s been almost a hundred and fifty years since you came to New Orleans. The Peri buried you in that hole almost a century and a half ago.” She looked at him sympathetically.

“A century and a half?” He looked up startled, the words sinking in now that Sierra said them. He walked over to a fountain and it began to bubble and churn out water, something it had not been doing before. He washed the mud and blood from his body. “What is the year?”

“2016,” Sierra answered.

“Your names, what shall I call you?" the Sultan asked the pair.

"I'm Owen and this is Sierra," Owen smiled when Sierra did a funny little curtsey.

"Is that what they call you? You are mountain? How strange.” He finished washing up and strutted around his courtyard like the Sultan he was supposed to be. Owen noticed Sierra’s eyes followed the man everywhere he went and a twinge of jealousy bit through his gut, followed quickly by anger. The guy didn’t seem worried about the Peri or the fact that he had been dead for over a century. He acted like he was about to go to a party.

“This Peri, the demon,” Owen urged him back on track.

“Evil creature,” the Sultan spat.

“Yes. I think the Peri put some sort of spell on this house. It killed everyone and it’s holding their ghosts, souls, whatever you want to call them, in this place. Not letting them leave. It’s feeding off the terror of killing them over and over again. You said you felt like it put you in the hole just moments earlier, but I think it put you in that hole hundreds, maybe thousands of times.” Sierra’s thoughts were in line with Owen’s and he smiled at her encouragingly.

“I have heard rumors that a Peri can do this, they possess magic,” the Sultan agreed.

“We’ve also seen people that are not from your time, so I believe it’s also luring people in, or killing people who rent or buy the building and holding their souls within the walls, like your people,” Sierra added.

“It must be a very strong Peri,” the Sultan mused.

“We killed it, put swords through its body. Would this save you?” Sierra asked.

“I do not know,” the Sultan shrugged.

“But why hasn’t this place changed? Why haven’t you moved on if we’ve killed it?” Owen asked. There should have been a change if they killed the thing, they should go back to their own time. It was obvious that this wasn’t over, Owen thought. But, was it something else that held them here, or did the Peri still hold this place in thrall?

“You are sure you have killed the Peri?” the Sultan asked incredulously. The look he gave Owen spoke volumes about how he doubted this was possible.

“Yes," Sierra insisted. “I ran it through with one of these scimitar things, he turned into sand.” Sierra motioned to the sand on the walkway behind them.

“Ah! You dervish, you! You must be a witch to have accomplished this great feat. Only a witch can run a Peri through like that. What spells do you have about you, woman? Who has sent you?” The Sultan peered at Sierra, finally treating her as if she was something to be acknowledged.

He walked toward her, continuing his perusal, taking in her odd dress and the blood on her body. He was about her height, small for a modern man, but he was wide and the way he walked added to his imposing factor.

“Tell me, female, what spells can you cast? Can you put my world back? I never cared for witches, but one that kills my tormentor I greatly respect. I shall make you one of my wives. Do you still retain your maidenhead or did you give that to a sorcerer?”

“
T
hat devolved quickly
,” Owen said with a nervous laugh. “You should probably step back. I don’t know how they do things in your time, but we don’t say things like that now.” Sierra gave him a grateful look and smiled at him embarrassed.

The Sultan waved a hand at Owen. “I shall pay you in gold for her. You shall go away now.”

“Uh…Sultan. You can’t buy me and Owen stays.”

“You are attached to him, then. I shall let you keep him around. I like pleasure with men too. Be my wife. You shall be the thirteenth, and your maidenhead, you did not answer, have you been defiled already?” He leered at Owen.

“That’s really awesome that you would take me on as a wife, and rather flattering," she said with fake enthusiasm, "but I’m not in the market for a husband at the moment. And the maidenhead thing, long gone, but really none of your business. ” She looked at Owen and shrugged.

“I can attest to that–
oomphf.
” He rubbed his stomach where Sierra had punched him to shut him up. She couldn’t believe he was about to attest to her not being a virgin. Men were ridiculous sometimes when it came to posturing.

The Sultan looked at the two of them and smiled wide.

“Your female is quite strange, but this should be expected with a witch. Protect your testicles at night.” He winked at Owen who looked like he was about to bust a blood vessel or run away screaming. A little vein in his forehead twitched and he was all pink and splotchy.

“I’m not a witch, dammit.” Sierra stamped her foot, wanting to reign in this bizarre conversation. They needed to fix this place and get gone. “I have no idea how to undo this place, or do the witchcraft thing. And there was no spell when I stabbed that thing. Not. A. Witch. So, let's figure this out like rational human beings.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the Sultan.

“Not a witch? Are you sure?” Sierra nodded exaggeratedly. “This grieves me, the Peri might still live then.” The Sultan clutched at a string of beads around his neck and began walking toward the house. “You two are worthless.”

O
wen glanced
around the courtyard and realized birds were chirping, the fountain bubbled and the blood that had marred the area was gone. The place was stunning, beautiful and lush.

“Come, worthless people,” the Sultan beckoned.

They followed the Sultan into the house, and they gaped at the clean and orderly home. Everything was restored. The drapes were whole again, a servant darted in front of them carrying a tray laden with food and they heard the giggle of female voices coming from the room they had found the mutilated and raped women.

“It might have been something else, I mean, someone else might have cast the spell. Could someone do that?” Sierra rushed to keep pace with the Sultan. “A woman, she definitely was a witch. She gave me the outfit I was wearing.”

Owen’s ears popped and he shook his head to clear them. He noticed Sierra was gaping down at herself. She was dressed like when they first met, her costume restored, her skin clean and her hair perfectly fixed in dark waves over her shoulders. Even the bodice she had lost during their earlier escapades was back and affixed to those perfect tits. Owen’s dick twitched and he tried to think of something disgusting to put it in its place.

He touched his own chest and realized he was dressed again in his T-shirt, clean and put together.

“Magic,” Sierra said, running a hand through the fringes of her outfit. “She made a point of putting me in this outfit and she knew I was going on a ghost tour. It must be some sort of spell. Like what is happening now, I was a mess, covered in blood…you saw me, right? I was a mess,” she trailed off and sniffed the air. Owen noticed it too, the smell of jasmine and incense and the room had brightened.

“If this is a mess, I like a mess.” The Sultan stepped forward and fingered the fringe that fell from Sierra’s bodice. It took a second for Owen to realize what was happening because he too was staring at Sierra’s fabulous outfit and the way that it pushed up her tits perfectly. He could barely make-out her nipple through the shining discs that made up her top, but it was there. Erect. Like his dick. His disgusting train of thought had failed.

“Fuck.” Owen jolted when a breeze flapped a curtain in front of him. “Hey, this isn’t…”

“Magic indeed.” The Sultan was now pressed against Sierra, her eyes were big. Owen saw fear in her eyes, but he also saw lust. There was something wrong, something off.

It was the lust spell again. They were back in the main room, even though they had been in the hallway. Pillows and low sofas beckoned. The beautiful serving girl was back, moving to the sensuous music played by the half nude musicians in the corner.

They were on repeat. Sex then death. Sex then death.

The Sultan was pulling Sierra to the center of the room and she was following obediently. Owen watched, knowing something was wrong, but unable to move, unable to stop them. His dick throbbed in his pants and his eyes were drawn to the serving girl. She peeled off her top and let it fall, her breasts swaying with her movement.

“Come,” she whispered. Owen felt his feet move on their own accord. He moved toward the woman. He needed to see what she wanted. He was a gentleman like that.

T
he smell
of the place was intoxicating and Sierra was lost. She knew she should be focusing. She knew she shouldn’t let the Sultan lead her further into the room, or let him touch her right there…

She wasn’t even sure if that was his hand. How could he touch her there if he was in front of her? She looked down and tripped over a cushion on the floor. Her falling was not graceful. She sprawled across the floor, legs this way, arms that way, chin slamming into the floor with a loud
plunk
.

“Mother fudge packer!” Sierra was sure she had broken her jaw, but her exclamation was proof against that. She couldn’t have spoken if her jaw was broken. Her jaw throbbed with pain, she hadn't noticed the pile of pillows. She hadn't realized she was this deep in the room. She had been in a fog, but now her head was clear.

“Ah,
gülüm
, are you injured?” The Sultan garbled something out in his spicy language and fell upon her on the floor, groping at her skirts and kissing her stomach. She felt his fingers yanking at her underwear and she hollered out a protest.

He went straight for the kill, no flowers and candies from this one.

“Uh, Sultan, what the hell…” She pushed at his head which was trying to burrow under her bodice but it only succeeded in pushing him between her legs in a very awkward position.

“But, you are tempting my manhood very much.” He looked up from between her legs.

“Ugh.” She slammed her legs closed and managed to knee him in the nose, which got his attention but didn’t manage to dislodge him.

“Get off her,” a growl came from Sierra’s left and she turned in time to see Owen grabbing the Sultan and yanking him up and off of her.

“Brute!” The Sultan looked at Owen liked he had just peed in his cereal.

“Stop, guys!” She jumped to her feet and got between them, slapping her hands on their chests to put an end to the madness. Both men looked down at her hands where she touched them; both had heat welling in their eyes. She pulled her hands back quickly. “I think this is the lust spell again. Quit acting like idiots.” Sierra stepped back and straightened her costume, trying not to think about how her breasts had been totally out and about. Both men stopped grumping at each other and turned to face her with chastised looks on their faces.

“If the lust spell is kicking in again, that means the Peri is still alive, right?” Owen asked worriedly.

“Yes, the lust spell would be gone if the thing were dead, at least I think so. The Peri said it fed off of death and lust, any kind of strong emotion. This proves it’s still feeding. It might be trying to get more power, so it can return to being whole,” she said.

“I do not see the issue with this, I like lust.” The Sultan stepped forward and pressed his lips to Sierra’s. He tasted of spice and wine and something very carnal. She didn’t push him away. She was distracted by the feel of his soft lips, which were almost feminine. With the contrast of his beard that scratched at her face, she was mesmerized by the feel of him. He took this as an invitation to explore further, pushing his tongue into her mouth and sparking an overwhelming urge in her to rip off her clothes and let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do.

But one name ripped through her brain.

Owen
.

She pushed hard against the chest of the Sultan with a gasp and guiltily looked over the Sultan’s shoulder at Owen. He was standing there, hurt, but with an understanding look on his face. He knew what she was battling. He was probably feeling it himself.

“That’s enough, err, Sultan. We can’t do this. I like lust too, but not with you.”

“I do not know why we cannot enjoy the lust spell,” he argued, looking to Owen for support.

“Well, for one, I don’t even know your name. I can’t call you the Sultan while…uh…”

“Ali,” he said with a nod.

“Yeah, well, look Ali, you’re nice and all, but I’m not interested. The only reason why I didn’t fight you more was because of the spell. I’m kinda sort of with Owen and we have a job to do and it doesn’t involve getting sweaty and naked.”

“Kinda sort of?” Owen asked, eyebrow raised.

“Don’t want to assume anything. We did only hookup because of the aforementioned lust spell,” she whispered to him.

“The fact you used aforementioned in a sentence makes me want to turn kinda sorta into yes please.” His face lit up in a grin and she had the desperate urge to kiss him. She couldn’t though, she couldn’t be lost in it. And if she kissed him, they would be lost. Maybe just a small kiss. She stepped forward.

“Yes, please," she grinned back. "And all it takes is words to get you all hot and bothered?”

"Writer," he shrugged and leaned in.

She felt the tug of the spell and wanted to move even closer and scream a few more yeses and pleases, but she shook her head. Sierra had to focus. “Gah! Focus, people.”

“Geez, yeah, I’m sorry, Sultan, Ali, whatever. The Peri. Tell us about the Peri.”

“I do not know about the Peri. He appeared. He killed everyone. He buried me. I would rather talk about sweaty and naked, like Mountain mentioned.”

“Sierra,” she shot back. “And don’t you care about getting free? Do you want to be buried alive again and again?”

“No, I do not want that,” the Sultan sighed.

“Then what about this Peri? He said he had a right to rule this place, that he was given ownership from the Sultan, Abdul something or other…do you know anything about this?” Sierra asked.

“Abduliziz,” he said with a shocked look on his face. “This means my younger brother sent the Peri to secure his rulership. That does make sense. He was always a ruthless…” He muttered a few unintelligible syllables that sound like corgi and octopus.

“How does that make sense?” Owen urged him back on topic.

“I ruled for ten years. A decade of political machinations and leading a ruthless empire of ruthless people. They all hate the Ottomans, all the people the rulers before me conquered. My ancestors ruled and took advantage and did very bad things to its people. I was made the Sultan after my parents were killed. I was only ten years of age, my younger brother was eight. He aligned himself with my father’s brother and tried to do many things to take rulership from me. After two attempts on my life and when the members of my family began to die, including my first wife, to save myself I fled here. To the New World, the New Orleans. I was a coward. But I was the coward that lived. I thought my brother would be at peace once he got what he desired. He must have thought I would return and want my rulership back, so he took care of the business. I didn't plan on returned ever, though.”

“He probably was scared that you would come back,” Sierra concluded.

“He turned into a very bad person, black soul,” the Sultan sighed, regret obvious by his defeated posture. “To do this, to send something of this blackness, a Peri, is very dangerous. He knew not what it could do. Peris cannot be controlled. They make you believe you are the master and then they turn upon you and destroy you.”

“This one seems to be restricted to only this house. How could your brother have done this?” Sierra asked.

“Would it be a spell? Or something like that? Something that holds it here? If we break the spell, would it release this thing? I wouldn’t want something like this being free to do whatever it wants,” Owen added.

“Very smart you are.” The Sultan looked at Owen and Sierra and nodded. “It would not be a spell. It would be an object. The Peri, they cannot move around without this object. It is their prison.”

“Okay, so if you suspect it was your brother who sent the Peri, did you receive a trinket from him, a present, anything like that?” Sierra asked.

“I keep my new domicile secret from anyone but my trusted advisors. My brother did not know of my whereabouts. He could not send me a gift,” the Sultan said indignantly.

“They had to find you somehow. It could have been anything, right? Did you receive anything as a gift, even if it was from someone local?” Owen asked.

“Yes. I believe so. A young man. He was a very pretty one, I invite to many parties I host. He presented a token of his affection, said it would remind me of my homeland.”

“That could be it. Where is it?” Sierra asked.

The Sultan spun around, moving quickly through the room. He looked behind the drapes and even under a bench, until finally he held up an ornate vase.

“This,” he said.

“Now what? Do we break it, or maybe cast a spell?” Sierra asked.

“I do not know.” The Sultan looked desperately at Sierra.

“These Peris, what are they? Maybe if you explain exactly what they are, we’ll get a better idea of how it can be stopped,” Owen urged the Sultan.

“A Peri, to the Turks is what an American would call a fairy or spirit. But, no…no, wait that is not right. This is much darker. Much evil compared to the stories I have heard. I believe this is a spirit of the Jinn. Maybe that is why it is so powerful.”

“Jinn, I don’t know much about them, only the old tales from my family, and what I have read in the Quran, which isn’t much. My family converted when they came to the US,” Sierra said thoughtfully. “I always thought of them as genies, like the cartoon.”

“I know not what a cartoon is, but it must be terrible,” the Sultan shivered. “A jinni is terrible. My grandmother would whisper stories about them before I slept to give us nightmares.”

“She sounds like a winner,” Owen said under his breath.

“She wanted strong men in the family,” he shrugged. “The jinn are the opposite of the angels, made from smoke, and can be very evil if they choose to be. Men have tried to use the jinn and their magic but they are treacherous and dangerous. They often do what benefits themselves and it usually is selfish and in the pursuit of power. But they can be restricted, imprisoned in an object, forced to do the bidding of the man who controls them. If it is my brother he is long dead, but the jinni is still imprisoned here.”

“Okay, which tells us a lot, but not how to kill them.” Owen looked at the vase in his hand as if he wanted to smash it on the ground. Sierra reached out a hand and touched his arm. He nodded, to let her know he wasn’t going to be a fool, and placed the vase on the mantel of a nearby fireplace.

“Do you know how they are controlled? Maybe we can control it and force it back to wherever it came from,” Sierra mused.

“To control it takes trainings in the arts of meditation and belief. To control a member of the jinn is to have it assist you, or grant you boons. If you err in the summoning, they destroy everything around you.”

“So, it is like the folklore, they grant wishes, is this what your brother did? He wished for your destruction?”

“The story is too complex for that, not how you describe it. More like a pact or a deal.” The Sultan shook his head at Sierra as if he couldn’t explain this.

“You mean a genie in a lamp is what modern day people think of this thing? But it’s really more of a devil, making deals in exchange for something?” Owen asked mystified.

“Yes, that sounds right,” Sierra said thoughtfully. “A deal with the devil. Rubbing a lamp and a genie popping out was a ridiculous interpretation of the old folklore.”

“Is this your modern interpretation of the jinn?” the Sultan asked intrigued.

“Yes, usually the genie is in an Arabian style lamp. You rub the lamp, the genie pops out and it grants you three wishes. You have to word your wish properly, though, or it can turn on you. It spawned the saying, be careful what you wish for,” Sierra explained.

“Ridiculous interpretation as you call it,” the Sultan scoffed. “The rubbing of lamp would be forty and one days of meditation and fasting to fulfill requirements for summoning. And this wish, the destruction of my people, would be a negotiation between the jinni and human. A bargain. My brother would ask for my destruction, the jinni would state his terms and they would be immense.”

“That makes sense. Your brother asked for him to destroy you and in return the jinni was granted rulership over your domain, which was basically only this house. Sounds like your brother made out like a bandit.” Sierra nodded her head, finally understanding the big picture.

“Again, this doesn’t tell us how to kill it,” Owen piped up.

“Can you remember anything from your grandmother’s stories?” Sierra asked the Sultan.

“A tale, yes. More a song. I do not know how it would go in English.” He hummed a few notes under his breath.

“The darkness of the smoke

Penetrates the realm of below.

When asked it forms for all to see.

Watch of the deal that it makes

Behind the smile of a snake.

Your wish is granted, but not free.

When your back is turned it strikes

And your wish calls down upon thee.

End it only when the Peri returns below.

Sent home to the smoke by innocent hands

That exist removed from the bargain.

Break the tomb, but beware of the costs.”

“That’s pretty specific,” Sierra said.

“What does break the tomb mean?” Owen asked.

“I believe that is the vessel the spirit is trapped within,” the Sultan responded.

“And the innocent hands, that what…what was that about?” Sierra asked.

The Sultan tapped his forehead thoughtfully and said, “Exist removed from the bargain.”

“So an innocent person that wasn’t involved in the deal can take care of this thing. So, basically anyone that isn’t you or your brother, right?” Sierra asked.

“Depends on what innocent means,” Owen sighed. “I never liked riddles.”

“What could it mean? It isn’t a riddle, this is pretty straight forward,” Sierra scoffed.

“Who knows, it could mean a virgin…does it mean a virgin?” Owen asked the Sultan, who spread his arms in a gesture that said he was clueless.

“It can’t be a virgin. I was sent by that shopkeeper. She would know I wasn’t a virgin. If the rule was a virgin, she would’ve known. In fact, that nullifies any argument against me. If she sent me, it had to be me. Give me that vase.”