Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

“In general, yes,” Dinçer said, glancing in the rearview mirror from the driver seat. Talha winced. “The maids told us everything.”

  “What did they say?”

  “As if you don’t know.” Ejder snapped. Spinning in the rear seat, next to him, he faced Talha. “You can always ask your protégé. Unless you want to see the pictures?”

  “Ejder…” Talha swallowed his rising anger. “Please, spare me from your sarcasm. I have a headache. Who was the poor bastard that discovered the bodies?”

  “That would be me,” Dinçer sighed. “You didn’t answer your phone, and I couldn’t reach anyone in the mansion.”

  “What was the procedure? Did you involve the police?”

  Dinçer shrugged. “Who do you think I am, a magician? It wasn’t one body you can dump anywhere, it was a fucking massacre. It blew up before we knew it. Everyone knows now.”

  Heart sinking, Talha kept asking, “What about the footage from the security cameras?”

  “There was nothing. He took everything.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Slater doesn’t have them, does he?”

  “No DNA as well?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Talha nodded a few times, processing the information. A splitting headache frustrated and annoyed. He rubbed his temples with icy fingers. “Ejder, when you put a bounty on Slater’s head, did you call him Iblīs?”

  “N-no, but it’s clear.” Hesitation crossed Ejder’s serious face; his eyes full of defense. “Only an idiot won’t make a connection.”

  “Call it off.”

  “What, now?” Ejder frowned.

  “Now. You don’t want to cause Miraç problems, do you?” Turning back to Dinçer, Talha kept investigating, “So, I assume, the Hale family blames Iblīs?”

  “Everyone does. People say he betrayed you like he betrayed Behçet. Isn’t it what happened?” Ejder said, fishing for his phone. Quick fingers flew over the touch screen, as he entered the Dark Net and removed the contract.

  Talha ignored him, building a picture in his head. To keep everyone happy, he needed something more solid than a jealous assassin. Long ago, Talha learned that sometimes good can come out of a bad situation. Maybe he still could turn this disaster to his advantage or, at least, minimize the damage. “Tonight, Slater returned covered in blood. Who did he kill?”

  Taking a turn, Dinçer replied keeping his eyes fixed on the road, “Just some street thugs.”

  “Do they work for anyone?”

  “They were from the Tekin family, but they are small potatoes. No one will care about them.”

  “The Tekin family? Aren’t they under the Kılıç group?”

  “Technically, yes. But the Kılıç group only uses them for dirty jobs.” Dinçer squinted up. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Talha chewed on his bottom lip, his mind whirling. “Where are the maids?”

  “Some quit, some are still in the mansion. Why?”

  “Dinçer… Clear the house, but leave the staff in. I won’t be giving my statement today. Ask them to come tomorrow.” Talha directed, closing his eyes.

  “You can’t be serious…” Ejder protested. “They need to see you now. The Hale Family has the right to know what had happened to your bride. You can’t throw them out like this.”

  “I can, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Talha closed his eyes, leaning against the backrest. “Tell them I’m not well, which is the truth. Now, keep quiet, my head is spinning…”

  THE CAR PULLED to a stop. Ejder got out and slammed the door as a final argument. A childish gesture he’d carried through the years. Talha opened his eyes, sighed, and got out.

  Entering his mansion felt weird. Despite being missing for only four days, it felt like an eternity had passed, yet the memories were vivid.

  A single thread of Christmas lights, leading him in the Grand Hall… Pools of blood marring the white marble… Slater’s liquid voice brimming with pride… Everything felt and sounded too real in his head. Step after step, he climbed the stairs, sure that as soon as he turned around the corner, he would see Camilla’s decapitated frame, Zaal’s baked head, and dozens of mutilated bodies.

  But no blood, no stench of death greeted him on the second floor, only the closed double doors of the Grand Hall. He couldn’t remember them ever being closed before. He loved the airy space open doors created. In the daytime, the sun flooded the Grand Hall and showered the top of the staircase, making the marble painfully bright. In the night, the bluish light of the moon silvered the staircase, creating a surreal, ephemeral picture.

  That realization made him reluctant to open the doors, as a haunting suspicion that the Grand Hall still washed in blood increased. Crushing the momentary weakness, he grabbed the handles with both hands and shoved the doors open.

  Acute brightness stabbed his eyes. Blinking through the welling tears with his oversensitive eyes, he couldn’t find a single dark spot among the pristine whiteness. The tables had disappeared, so had the Christmas tree and not a single chair remained inside. No curtains enveloped bare windows. The blood was washed away and the acrid smell of antiseptic replaced the stench of death.

  Nothing reminded of the horrific events that had happened here mere days ago.

  Keeping close to the wall, Talha drifted around the perimeter. A cascade of blood-curdling memories, surfaced in front of his eyes, overwhelmed his mouth with a sour taste. Wanting to spit, he swirled, facing the empty spot where two throne-like chairs used to stand. The flicker of silverish marble resembled a glint on the silver cover he had held in his fingers, as he examined Zaal’s severed head.

  Talha had seen lots of death in his life. Some were necessary, some were accidental, some hurt more than the others, some didn’t touch him at all. But this… This felt horribly wrong. The realization aggravated his guilt.

  “None of this was supposed to happen…” he whispered, to disperse the cataleptic silence that seized his mansion.

  “It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” Ejder’s accusing words cut the air as he strode past him. Hands crossed over his chest, he froze in the middle of the hall, granting Talha a hard stare. “I warned you. I told you this would happen, yet you never listened. What are you gonna do now, Abi?”

  “Who knows…” Talha faced the window. The bright light he used to love now felt intrusive. “Put the black curtains up. Print Camilla’s portrait, frame it, and attach a black ribbon to it. Put it on a stand and bring the table back, but no chairs. People should remain standing. Do it today. I’ll be giving my statement here tomorrow. Only the Hale Family and my people. No outsiders, no police.”

  His focus jumped around until it stumbled over the black figure standing in the doorway. The surprise in the dark eyes of his lieutenant was obvious, but Dinçer quickly steeled his face into a mask of dispassion. “Shall I take care of it, Talha?”

  “Please, do.”

  “This is a bad idea,” Ejder said, rubbing his shoulders. “She died here. Even being here now feels disrespectful. It’s like… the signs of death are everywhere. This whole place is giving me chills now. Think about her family. All they see here will be blood and the massacre. Instead of listening to you, they will be imagining what happened to her here. People will think you are heartless or that you don’t respect the dead.”

  “They might if I fail…” Talha said, blood pounding in his head. But if my words reach them, they will have a greater effect. People’s minds will be more receptive here exactly because of the tragedy.

  “Sell this place.” Ejder pressed, and Talha raised his hand, demanding silence.

  “I’m selling nothing. Please, do what I ask without arguing. I’m tired.”

  Jaw squaring, Ejder drew his shoulders up and forward. “I don’t like it. I know that look in your eyes. You are playing games. Why? You will give him up, won’t you?”

  Talha replied with an ambiguous movement of his head, and Ejder, materializing by his side, grabbed
his shoulder. Hellish flames dancing in his glare, as he leveled his eyes with Talha’s. “There is no other way. Either you give him away, or I demand the Royal Game.”

  “The Royal Game?” Talha shot up a brow, too tired to laugh. “And who would be the game? Me?”

  “Iblīs.”

  Talha smirked, shaking the painful grip off his shoulder. “No, you won’t. I’ll never allow it.”

  “I’m not asking you.” Ejder deadpanned. “I demand his head. It’s my right.”

  “You demand nothing.” Slamming his palm against his brother’s chest, he ground out the words. “While I’m the head of the family, you will listen to me. I will not allow the Royal Game. Is it clear?”

  “Talha…” Dinçer’s face darkening with every step as he approached. “Ejder isn’t the only one who wants him dead. I’m sorry, but he pissed off too many people. The Game is inevitable and the most merciful death for him.”

  Ignoring his friend, Talha kept going, “You have no idea what you are talking about. You will die there and bring death to all the hunters. He will laugh while feeding you part by part to snakes. Don’t you remember how wrong the last game went?”

  Dinçer frowned. His eyes flickering between Talha and Ejder. “Was he there?”

  “What are you trying to say?” Ejder growled.

  “What do you think happened back then? Salik?” Without waiting for the reply, Talha finished, “Slater was unhappy because I didn’t let him join the game, so he entertained himself instead. Back then, he was playing, fooling around. Now, imagine him getting serious.”

  Disbelief narrowed Ejder’s black eyes. Talha instantly hated that look on his brother’s face. “Then kill him now, while he is still unconscious…”

  “I don’t want to say that, but Ejder is right. You don’t have a choice, Talha.” Dinçer said. “If not him, it will be us. The Hale family demands his head. If you shield Iblīs, they will come after you.”

  Shut up, I know it already. Talha closed his eyes.

  “Abi, please, listen to Dinçer.”

  “No, you listen. Do what I say or go home to Mardin. Iblīs is mine, and I’m not giving him to the Hale Family, you, or anyone else. His life belongs to me, and only I can take it, is it clear? He’ll die from my hand when I decide it’s time. That’s it for today. I need to rest. I’m tired.” He faced the door but halted. “Dinçer, don’t leave yet. I might need you later.”

  THE HOPE TO FALL into the oblivion of a dream crushed against the cold mattress. He’d been sure that sleep would swallow him as soon as his head touched the pillow, but he kept tossing and turning, uncomfortable in the cool softness of linens. Something felt lacking, and he couldn’t figure out what. Everything seemed normal. The smell of bitter almond suffused the air. The mashrabiya windows glowed with golden light, casting symmetrical patterns over the fluffy carpets, and not a single bird chirped outside.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  Instead of relaxing, Talha’s senses sharpened, as if his whole body expected an attack any moment. He wasn’t used to silence and solitude. Not anymore. Life with Slater had never been quiet. The unquenchable energy the reaper oozed filled his days with constant chaos. The one he learned to live in. The one he didn’t know how to live without anymore.

  Why do I think about him? It’s already decided. If he won’t run, I’ll kill him…

  Yet, despite the thought, he couldn’t escape the hollow feeling of loss that dented his chest. The bed became uncomfortable as if stuffed with needles. He sat up so abruptly that blood, draining from his head, left him blinking through the darkness of his failed vision. The buzzing in his teeth and nape washed him in cold sweat and intensified the piercing noise drilling a hole in his brain.

  Camilla’s head. Slater. The Hale Family. The Kılıç group. Slater again. Ejder. The police. Fuck… How do I solve this all in one go?

  The stinging swarm of his thoughts refused to abate. They throbbed and thrashed in his skull making sleeping impossible, yet, they also refused to form anything more or less substantial, as everything seemed to center around Slater. His invisible presence, sweet, flowery scent, flowing rivulets of his speech, and the electric gaze of his pale, intense eyes.

  “Fuck it!” Tossing the blanket away, he got up. The first desire to grab sleeping pills conflicted with a need to keep his head clear. The medication would probably make him drowsy the next day, and he still didn’t know which story to tell. Also, it wouldn’t solve his problem. No drug would.

  “I wonder if he has already woken up…”

  Tugging on his jeans, he grabbed a clean shirt before storming out of the room. Striding down the corridor, he yanked the door to his office open, hoping to find Dinçer there.

  Two pairs of eyes shot up as he stumbled into the room barefoot, the smell of cannabis too vivid in the air. Rolling his head from one shoulder to the other, Ejder brought his hand to his mouth, taking a long draw on a half-smoldered joint. The drug weighted his eyelids and clouded his gaze.

  Propping the bookcase with his wide frame, Dinçer cocked a brow. “Weren’t you tired?”

  “I need Ifrīt. Now.”

  “YOU ARE INSANE…” Ejder concluded. Small hiccupping laughter settled in his chest, turning into giggling. The ashes, falling from the tip of his joint, crashed against his blue shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Poking the burning side in the air, toward Dinçer, he added, “You both are if you’re considering it.”

  “Back then, you said anyone can be Iblīs, didn’t you?” Keeping his voice low and calm, Talha faced Dinçer. “They worked together. Maybe trained together. Can’t he do what Slater does?” Dinçer scowled, and Talha pressed, “I’d like to see him. Now.”

  “Savaş is nothing like Slater. If Slater is just a crazy psycho with no agenda, Savaş is complicated. He seldom smiles, and if he does, you wish he didn’t. There is nothing he enjoys. If you gave him a virus to destroy all life on Earth, he’d release it.” Messing his hair with his hand, Dinçer pushed off the bookcase and shuffled to the window. His fingers gripped the corner, spreading tension up to his broad shoulders. “If I ask him to do what you ask, I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it. Whenever I ask him to do something, he twists my every word.”

  “Because he hates you. You ruined his beautiful face,” Ejder remarked, stretching his sinewy body over the cowhide sofa. His face relaxed and his eyes dropped closed.

  “Then let me ask,” Talha said.

  Dinçer scrunched his face, back facing the window. The gaze of his dark eyes lay heavy on Talha. “I made a deal with him five years ago. Once he grants my three wishes, I have to grant one of his. I used up two of them already.”

  “What did you ask for?” Ejder leaned up, his eyes shimmering with curiosity.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Dinçer waved his hand in the air. “But I never intended to use the third one.”

  “You know, guys, you are insane. You don’t learn, do you?” Ejder’s voice sounded too loud with high-pitched, badly controlled intonation.

  Talha cringed. “You are high, and no one wants your opinion.”

  “Fuck off, I just started. I have every right to be high. You have no idea what I felt while you were protecting that piece of shit.” Ejder’s fist bumped against the sofa’s backrest. “And even if you don’t want my opinion, I’ll still say this. Things are happening because you brought all this upon yourselves. And you are about to step into the same trap. Kill them both and everyone’s life will be easier. The bullet is your only answer.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Ejder,” Talha said, grabbed a book from a shelf, and threw it at his brother.

  Despite the visible sluggishness, Ejder’s reactions were quick with a forearm block. He laughed, then closed his eyes.

  “It’s not about Slater. It’s about business. We can get rid of the Kılıç group and pacify the Hale Family in one go. If I have Ifrīt.”

  Shaking his head, Dinçer sighed, “Fine.”

 
; STANDING ON THE WATERSIDE, Dinçer’s mansion overlooked the bright blueness of Bosporus Strait and smelled like sea and citrus. White chiffon curtains flapped in the air as the breeze blew into the room through the opened windows. Sitting on one of the wide, cushioned windowsills in the guestroom, the slender figure dressed in black never moved, even though Talha knew Savaş had heard them entering.

  While Talha studied his flawless profile, Dinçer perched himself on the opposite side of the windowsill, seeking Savaş’ attention. Five years had passed since the last time they’d met. Savaş matured. His cheeks hollowed as his jaw squared and stubble grayed his olive skin, yet he was still beautiful. The gentle line of his lips brought to his clean features an almost angelic look, if not for the eyes. Wolfish, yet somehow glassy, they expressed nothing, as if his soul wasn’t present in the shell of his long-limbed, slender body.

  Talha voiced his request, but Savaş didn’t react, staring somewhere beyond the horizon. Not used to being ignored, Talha glanced at Dinçer but received a shrug in return.

  “Did you hear me?” Only Dinçer’s presence stopped him from grabbing the younger man’s shoulder and compelling him to look up.

  “I did.” Savaş soft, honeyed baritone sounded too smooth for his liking. Slowly, the reaper fixed his unblinking, yellow gaze on Talha. Two perpendicular, ugly scars maimed his right cheek connecting at his cheekbone, where the bullet had hit him. “I don’t work for you, Reis. I never swore to serve you. I can’t help you.”

  “Then start now.” Talha cut the distance; a breeze caressing his face intensified the smell of spicy oranges and burned wood. “What do you want for your service?”

  The way Savaş examined him gave him chills. His gaze was an abyss of a void, not even darkness reigned there. “You can’t give me anything, because you have nothing. You wouldn’t come to me if you had a choice, so I assume that without me your whole Empire will collapse.”

  Talha laughed. “Don’t underestimate me, ripper. My Empire won’t collapse, but I need you now because you can do what Iblīs does, and I don’t have time to look for anyone else.”