The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key) (6 page)

S
ierra felt
her brain slowly come back into focus. Before she had felt drugged, sluggish, out of it. She didn’t want to think about what she had done with Owen. The things they had done together. How intense it had been.

He had to be right about the lust thing. They were spelled or something. She would never have acted that way. Granted, it had felt good, she had never experienced anything even close to what they had done together, but it had been influenced by something. Something that scared the crap out of her.

She looked at her feet. They were coated in the blood of the pretty serving girl. Something glinted from underneath a pillow and she kicked it aside to reveal a scimitar. She picked it up and gripped it in her hand, it felt good there. She didn’t know if ghosts could be taken out with a blade, but it was better than nothing.

Owen nodded in agreement, it was a good idea to find protection. He looked around the room and saw the other fallen guard. He tried to tug the blade from the guard’s hand, which seemed harder to do than expected. It was stuck and all he managed to do was shake the big man’s body, what was left of it at least. He shook the man’s hand harder, but still the guard’s dead fingers stayed stuck around the blade.

Sierra knew this was going to screw with her head for eternity. She could see the PTSD lurking around the peripheral of her mind. She went to Owen’s side and kneeled down, even though everything in her screamed not to. She pried the guard’s hand open, finger by finger. They were stiff as a board and she heard cracking as she forced them open. The blade clattered to the ground and she scooped it up and handed it to Owen.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Welcome,” she replied out of habit.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he whispered. She looked up and met his eyes surprised. No one had ever said that about her before. There was blood smeared across his chest and up both his arms. He looked like a deranged psychopath, but she couldn’t help but notice how fit he was, how muscular his chest and arms were. She remembered his chest flexing over her as he pounded into her again and again. She felt the tug of lust pull her away, into that other reality and she shook her head to stay focused. She had a feeling if they fell back into each other’s arms there would be no coming back.

They would be like that couple who appeared to be from the 1920s. Stuck in this house for eternity. They couldn’t let that happen. They had to fix this house. How they were going to do that, though, was a mystery.

“Help me.” The voice came from the back of the house. It was close, but low and distressed. It was the voice of the Sultan, the man they had met earlier.

Sierra and Owen stepped over the body propped in the doorway. The look on the dead’s faces would haunt their nightmares forever, but they were determined to end this. They walked farther and farther into the house, down a long hallway, uncovering horror after horror. They found a room full of women. All of them were dressed in beautiful fabrics and beaded tops with long flowing skirts. All were dead. Their bodies had been run through with swords, their legs were red with blood from atrocities done to them. Two were completely nude, they were decapitated and scratches covered most of their bodies. These women were tortured before they were killed.

“Help us.” One of the women abruptly sat up, her eyes staring blind at the pair in the doorway. A sword was still stuck in the woman’s chest, the wound now seeping blood, it ran down her body in thick rivulets.

“Fuck,” Owen cursed after they both nearly soiled their pants, the woman’s sudden movement making them jump out of their skins.

“Help us.” Another one sat up from her position on the floor and reached out her hands like a toddler wanting to be picked up.

“What did this?” Sierra’s voice was wavering; she was staring at the women coming to life around them. She looked down at the body of a young girl, she couldn’t be more than fifteen. A child. Dead and possibly raped.

Her eyes shot open and she wailed. She wailed a death keen and Sierra clutched at Owen’s hand in terror. It was pain, terror and longing all wrapped into one sound. Owen and Sierra flung themselves back and away from the women. Owen almost tripped over another body in the hallway and he had to steady himself on the wall. A wall that was dripping with blood.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, wiping his hands on his jeans. “This is crazy. This isn’t real. Crazy, this has to be a nightmare,” he repeated and Sierra grasped his hand, pulling him close to her.

“We can do this, c’mon.” She pulled him away from the room and the girl’s wail cut off. The women’s bodies fell back into their death positions. They were done for now.

The pair heard a clatter of noise. It was close, through a pair of doors. Owen and Sierra opened the doors and stepped out into a courtyard. From death to life in one small step over a threshold. The paved courtyard was teeming with flowers and tropical plants, potted ferns were in every corner and lush banana trees reached to the second story. Honeysuckle and jasmine vines crept up trellises, and the smell washed over them as if it was a hot summer night. Birds of paradise and gardenia bushes teemed with flowers, the fragrant gardenia almost overpowered the underlying smell of blood. But the smell was still there. Still lurking in the recesses and the cracks. No amount of flowery smell could overpower death.

Something dark loomed here.

Sierra slipped her hand into Owen’s as she felt him shudder at her side. He felt it too. Something wasn’t right. Whatever it was, it was hungry, so very hungry. The sky above them was dark, stars by the millions could be seen above, the city lights not bright enough to filter out the weak light of the stars. She wanted to look up and marvel at the difference, try to figure out which constellation was which, but a darkness lingered close and she couldn’t let her guard down. Something lurked in the back of the courtyard. Sierra could feel it.

A loud clatter came from the back of the courtyard and both of them startled, jumping from the sound. The shadows were deeper back there. The light from the one gas lamp in the center of the courtyard did nothing to penetrate the darkness.

“Welcome,” a snakelike voice hissed from the shadows.

Sierra made a tiny squeal of surprise, but gripped the scimitar with a death grip and brandished it in front of her.

“We’re here to help. We’re here to save the Sultan, you can’t hurt us,” she said with more bravado than she felt.

“What can you do, female? You cannot save anyone, not even yourself,” the voice hissed and Sierra looked down, noticing the swirl of fog at her ankles. It was thick and moved around the courtyard as if it had a mind of its own.

“I’m here to help,” she said boldly.

“We’re here to help,” Owen added and Sierra smiled gratefully at him.

“There is nothing you can do. Take your female and leave. If you stay, you shall join us for eternity. I shall feed off your pain and your lust until your souls evaporate. I rule this place, this is my domain. Leave or I shall own you!” The fog coalesced around them. It started to become thicker in front of them, forming into the shape of a man.

“We won’t leave until we’ve helped the souls trapped here,” Sierra called out.

“You will help no one!” the voice yelled. “You have come to feed me!” The fog moved in a parody of a living man. Slowly features were forming. The fog solidified into dark, black skin, bright green eyes, shining from the shape that was the head.

“What are you?” Owen asked, not stepping back even though the thing was only a foot away, dark and demonic.

“I am the Peri, the Jinn, the demon of your nightmares. This is my domain. You have come to feed me, everything that comes here feeds me. I was given this domain to rule. I feast and I have become stronger than ever before because of my feast. And now you have come to make me even stronger!” The black shaped thing made a move like it was going to attack and both Sierra and Owen held up their blades in protection.

The demon began to laugh.

“Your paltry human weapons are nothing against my might.”

The demon was getting solid. Sierra knew she couldn’t let it form into a solid thing, something bad would happen if it got that far. She didn’t know how she knew that, but it felt right. She had to destroy this thing, but had no idea of how to do it. She was mesmerized by the swirling of the fog as it slowly began to become more defined, more real. She noticed jewels sparkling at its throat and wrists. She began to see the pattern of its clothes. The color of its hair.

“We will defeat you, demon,” Owen said.

“You cannot defeat me. I have been given this place. It is mine! I am the ruler.”

“Who gave you permission to rule here?” Owen asked.

“The Sultan, Abduliziz, sent me as a gift to his brother. His brother, the coward who fled like a dog to the New World. The Sultan sent me to decimate and rule and I did what he ordered. Who are you, boy, to question me?” He was now almost fully formed. Sierra was surprised that he took the shape of a handsome Middle Eastern man, with skin the color of bronze and long dark hair that flowed down his back. He almost looked like the Sultan. The only testament to his otherworldliness was the glowing green eyes that shone from his sockets.

“We told you why we were here,” Owen said and with one quick motion he shoved the scimitar through the Peri’s midsection. The blade, wickedly sharp, slid through the demon’s body like butter. The thing looked confused and then he began to laugh, the scimitar still stuck within his stomach, blood pouring from the wound.

Sierra struck, shoving her blade through the chest of the thing, adding her blade to Owen's. Both blades stuck within the demon. But still it laughed.

“You can weaken me, but you cannot kill me!” he yelled as he collapsed to the floor, his body turning to sand before their eyes.

“I hope that was the help that was needed,” Sierra said to Owen. She bent down and picked up her bloody sword and Owen did the same.

“I don’t think this is over,” Owen said quietly. Sierra knew he was right. They were still here, still in the home of the Sultan, nothing had changed. They still had work to do.

O
wen looked around the courtyard
. It was a beautiful environment, if you didn’t notice all the gory bits. If there wasn’t blood splattered over everything and the dead bodies of servants laying on the cobblestones, the place would be perfect. A nice place to bring a date.

He looked over at Sierra. She looked up and met his eyes, a grimace on her face.

“Not exactly how I planned out my night,” she laughed morosely.

“Me either.” He touched her shoulder gently. “But, I’m glad I met you.”

“You’re crazy.” She shook her head.

“Maybe, but I plan on getting out of this with you at my side and see if that fire we had earlier can be recreated without whatever lust spell this demon cooked up.” He watched with interest as her eyes widened and her tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip. She wasn’t saying no.

“I like that plan,” she said in a low whisper.

“Good, then we have something to look forward to when we get out of this place. Now let’s find this Sultan and help his ass cross over.”

“Lead the way.” She motioned and Owen turned and headed back the way they came.

They didn’t go far. They took a few steps toward the house and came across a small body. It hadn’t been there before. It was a boy, or at least it looked like a boy. It was hard to tell. It was on its stomach and its legs had been chopped off, the small body had been mutilated.

Owen and Sierra looked down in horror as the child pulled itself across the cobblestones, unable to walk but trying desperately to get somewhere. When the two got closer the child stopped its progress and rolled onto its back. The dead child looked up at them, its glassy eyes staring, unsettling.

“There,” its voice gurgled in its bloody throat. It flung its arm to the side and pointed. The small hand directed them to the center of the courtyard and when it saw it had delivered its message its eyes closed, as if it had spent all of its energy to relay that message.

They walked in the direction the child had pointed. To the center of the courtyard. What remained of the courtyard at least. While the rest of the outdoor area was still in good condition, this area had been decimated. Plants had been ripped from the ground and all that remained was a dark patch of dirt. In the center of the dirt something was buried. When the two got closer they realized with shock that it was a hand. Planted in the center like an errant weed, the hand reached for the sky.

As Owen looked down at the hand, the fingers twitched and both of them jumped back.

“Shit, you would think I would be used to this brand of crazy by now,” he said under his breath.

“Look.” Sierra pointed at the hand. The movement of the fingers had moved some of the dirt exposing a wrist. Owen had assumed it was a hand detached from a body, but as he peered closer, it seemed to be an arm buried, maybe even a–he looked closer. It couldn't be, he thought.

More dirt moved and the entire area shifted as if there was something under there.

There was someone buried here.

“There’s someone down there, we have to help.” Sierra walked forward but Owen grabbed her and pulled her back.

“You don’t know what’s down there, you don’t know who,” he hissed.

“It’s the Sultan, it has to be, why else would the kid point this way?”

“It might be a trap. We don’t know what is keeping us here, it might be another spell.”

“We have to try,” Sierra said determinedly. He tried to stop her again, fearful of something happening to her. “No, let me do this.” She held up a hand and walked across the patch of dirt. She bent down and gripped the hand. The hand gripped hers back. She pulled. Owen sucked in a breath, terror clenching his gut. This was taking this insanity to a whole other level. But he couldn’t let her do this on her own.

She yanked as hard as she could, straining under the pressure. Owen went to her side to help.

The dirt fell away, revealing a muscular bicep and a second hand pushed through the dirt. Owen bent down and gripped the other hand. That hand gripped him tightly and he tugged, helping whatever was buried to rise. They were both committed to unburying whoever was down there. They used their body weight as leverage and slowly pulled a man from the dirt.

It was the Sultan. The man they had met earlier. He seemed bigger and more muscled. He was caked in dirt and he was grinning as if this was the best day of his life.

He threw his head back dramatically and sucked in a lungful of air. He was bearded, and his face was beautiful in a masculine way. He had a sharp aquiline nose, high raised cheekbones, and full lips. He patted at his clothes, cleaning himself off, trying to make a presentable impression to his guests.

He spread his arms in welcome and grinned at the couple. He spoke a few words in a language they didn’t understand. Both Owen and Sierra shook their heads to show they didn’t know the language.

“
Francais? Anglais
?” he asked in his thickly accented voice.

“English,” they both said together in a
deja vu
moment.

“I guess he doesn’t remember us from before,” Owen whispered to Sierra.

“Thank you much,” he said. “Did I know you from before? I apologize greatly. I cannot remember. My mind seems to have the fog about it. I was attacked and I would be dead if you had not come to my rescue. Very dead in fact. I was getting so tired and I could not seem to dig myself out of that hole. I was close to dead.” He looked down at the hole gravely and shook his head.