The Devil's Intern

by Donna Hosie

  Already I know I’ve done the right thing.

  Medusa and Alfarin have walked a little farther away from Hell’s entrance. Both seem keen to observe a little more of our surroundings before celebrating. Alfarin drops to one knee, places his clenched right hand to his forehead, and starts muttering a Norse poem. His axe is gripped tightly in his left hand.

  Elinor skips along the ash-colored gravel to where Medusa is standing, and the girls hug.

  “It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” says Elinor wistfully. “I’d forgotten what the HalfWay House looks like. It’s been so very long since I died.”

  A colossal glass-fronted building, at least a hundred floors high and just as wide, takes up most of the horizon. As I stand facing it, I immediately notice that two different reflections are being cast on its rectangular windows. To the left is an iridescent rainbow sheen that showers the structure in color. To the right are shadow and darkness.

  The sky above it is just as mixed: an unnatural juxtaposition of day and night squeezed into one view. From the left, the spectrum of color blends from a golden haze into a deep blue before it settles on dark pink and orange. As my eyes travel east, the sky darkens until it is a dense, starless black mass. The entrance to Hell is positioned directly below this.

  “Do ye think we should tell people Hell isn’t as bad as they might imagine?” asks Elinor as we watch a group of terrified-looking new devils being rounded up. It’s fine for Elinor to say that; she now works in the housing administration area on level 427. Before that she worked for decades in the files of devil resources. She’s never heard the screams that rock through the Oval Office, or seen the shadows that slink along the floor like black ghosts. I think Hell is exactly as bad as they might imagine.

  A young woman has a baby in her arms, and the Grim Reapers are trying to separate them. Everyone knows that children go Up There to become cherubs, but the mother is refusing to let her baby go. She’s screaming and spitting, and then she nearly drops the baby as she continues to fight back.

  Medusa and Elinor immediately rush forward, but Alfarin and I hold them back.

  “You can’t help her,” I say quietly. “None of us can. And we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “But it isn’t fair!” sobs Medusa. “Why can’t they stay together?”

  “Death isn’t fair.”

  We don’t watch the woman and baby being dragged apart, but we can hear them. It’s a sound that pierces the marrow of my bones. Then suddenly the screams of the woman are silenced and we know she has been dragged down into Hell.

  She’ll be okay, I keep telling myself.

  But I don’t believe it, and all of a sudden I realize that there are dead people way worse off than me. Why couldn’t Up There take the mother, too? Why does death have to be so cruel?

  The four of us look pretty frazzled now. We weren’t expecting to see that. It’s Elinor who tries to lighten the mood.

  “We should have a team name,” she announces. “If that’s okay with ye, Mitchell?” she adds quickly.

  “I think that’s a great idea.” I smile at her, grateful for the distraction. “Any suggestions?”

  “What about the Marauding Devils?” she replies.

  “I vote for Evil Incorporated,” says Medusa.

  “What about Dead but not Evil Vanguard in Life? Team DEVIL for short!” I exclaim.

  The others laugh. “Well, that beats mine—for once,” says Medusa approvingly. “I love it.” My stomach feels hot as her pretty chocolate eyes stare directly into mine. I probably need some food. I’d kill for a decent curry right now. Or maybe some Chinese noodles.

  “We could get T-shirts,” adds Medusa, clapping her hands.

  “War paint!” cries Alfarin, pumping his fist.

  Now, this is more like it: four friends planning an adventure. I’m their natural leader, and my first decision is met with universal approval. I’m in control of the situation.

  Plenty of time for that to change, of course.

  “So what’s the plan, my friend?” asks Alfarin. He has lent his axe to the girls and they’re using the mirrorlike blade to check out their eyes and hair. I nod toward a small copse of leafy trees. I want to tell them how the Viciseometer works before I use it for the first time, but I’m so nervous my feet are shaking in my sneakers. It may take four pairs of hands to hold the Viciseometer steady at this rate.

  We head toward a quieter, shady area. There’s sand beneath our feet. Both Medusa and Elinor take off their hiking boots and socks and squeal as they bury their toes in the sand. Medusa has sparkly blue polish on her toenails. It makes them look bruised, but I don’t tell her that because I don’t want to upset her.

  “First of all, are you all okay with me leading? It’s not that I think I’m better than any of you, because obviously I’m not, but I think one person needs to manage this.”

  “You’re the most organized devil I know, Mitchell, and this was your idea. You should definitely lead, as long as you don’t start bossing me around, because if you do . . .” but Medusa is smiling as she cracks her knuckles.

  “A natural dead leader of women and Vikings, my friend,” says Alfarin.

  “I trust ye completely, Mitchell,” replies Elinor.

  I take a deep breath. “Great, and thank you. So, um, listen up,” I start. Four heads lean in until they’re touching. “The Viciseometer not only allows us to travel back and forward in time, but the actual watch face allows us a small glimpse of the future or past as well.” Everyone stays silent as they listen intently. “So this is what we’ll do. We’ll travel back to the present day first. I thought New York City would be a good place to base our operations, because we’ll be able to slip in unnoticed. From there, we’ll each take turns to travel to our moment of death, and, and . . . well, if we want to change it, then we can.”

  It starts off so well and ends up sounding like as lame a plan as I’ve ever heard. I couldn’t even say it without stuttering, but Medusa, Alfarin, and Elinor have gone even paler than normal. I think the enormity of what we’re about to do has only just hit them.

  We can change time. We are going to change time.

  A loud gong starts to sound from the HalfWay House. A ship is leaving for the Pearly Gates. Hundreds of dead people start running to the dock, where a sign reads: DECEASED DOMINION. Some of the dead are waving white tickets in the air. Others less fortunate are trying to steal them. A riot breaks out as punches are thrown; it’s all a bit of a mess. I can’t remember it being like this when I first arrived, four years ago, but then I was so shell-shocked I can’t remember much, to be honest. I don’t like it here. I’m dead, so reliving a memory is the wrong phrase to use, but I don’t know what the right one is. I want to get out of here—now.

  “This is our cue to leave,” says Medusa. “With everyone distracted by the ship, no one will notice four devils suddenly disappearing.”

  I pull out the Viciseometer and start to maneuver the red needle around the two faces. Medusa and Elinor shake the sand from their feet and put their socks and boots back on.

  “This is so weird,” mutters Medusa. The others murmur their agreement.

  I close my eyes and let the tingling warmth of the Viciseometer spread through my fingers. It travels up my left arm and eventually through my whole body. I smile as it reaches my stomach. It’s like kissing, without the wetness and clashing of front teeth. It helps calm me down.

  “Now, according to the book, I need to take the needle and input a time on the white face. Then I press the bottom three buttons, once. That secures the hour, minute, and second of where we want to travel to.”

  “You can do it, Mitchell.” Medusa has rested her hand between my shoulder blades. The smell of strawberries in her hair makes my insides squirm. Jeez, I’m hungry.

  I carefully move each hand across the milky dial, connecting the golden arrows. Inhaling deeply, I secure time.

  “He is very good,” booms Alfarin. “Mitch
ell has the wisdom of Odin himself.”

  “Thanks, Alfarin,” I croak like a frog about to die. “Elinor, do you know how the Viciseometer can tell whether we want to travel to a time in the morning or evening? I can’t see an a.m. or p.m. marker on the face.”

  “Ye have to wait until both sides are fixed and then ye just will it in yer mind, Mitchell. Now turn the watch over.”

  I do as I am instructed and the red face glows back at me. I knew Elinor would have read the book cover to cover before she took it back to the library for me. I am so glad she’s here. I have a feeling she’s going to end up saving my neck if I screw this up.

  “Now I need to move the smallest black hand to the month, the next one to the day, and then I press the first two buttons on the top rim.”

  As quick as my fingers are, and even with all my practice, this is taking way too long. What if we need to escape suddenly? An image of a snarling Skin-Walker with bloody teeth swims to the front of my mind.

  “Now, finally, we fix the year,” I say, shaking away the image as I carefully manipulate the last hand—the longest—with the thin red needle. I skim it across the four tiny numbered snakes that correspond with the four digits of the year. I’m speaking aloud as if I’m teaching the others, but really it’s for my benefit more than anything.

  The Viciseometer starts to emit a low-pitched whistle that sounds like a kettle boiling.

  “Is it supposed to do that?” asks Medusa.

  “This is absolutely normal,” I say with a conviction I certainly don’t feel. “The next stage is to concentrate my mind on the location we want to travel to.”

  “New York,” say four very different voices. We all burst out laughing. It helps break the bubble of tension that has cocooned us.

  The fingers of my right hand curl around the hot skin of Medusa’s wrist. The Viciseometer starts to vibrate more urgently.

  “Concentrate,” says Elinor. “This is when ye decide whether ye want to travel to the morning or evening, Mitchell.”

  “I’m going to aim for Central Park, and I think we should all be thinking of it, just in case. You guys know what Central Park looks like, don’t you?” Alfarin and Elinor nod and smile. “Excellent. I think it’s best if we travel under cover of darkness so we don’t stand out, but it’s going to be early evening, so places will still be open to get food and provisions. When I see our destination appear in the red face, I’ll press down hard on the large button. We’ll all travel together, so hold on to someone.”

  “Do not be afraid, Mitchell. Your friends are with you,” says Alfarin. He secures one of his arms around Elinor’s waist.

  “Have the courage of yer convictions and nothing will go wrong,” says Elinor. She wraps both of her arms around Medusa’s right elbow, although her head is resting against Alfarin’s chest. Her long red hair splays out like a waterfall of orange soda.

  Medusa reaches up on her toes and kisses me near my earlobe. “I trust you completely,” she whispers.

  We hold hands and I stare at her for what seems like an uncomfortable age. If this goes horribly wrong, and we end up floating above Mars or worse, it will be her face I remember last. Those ridiculous little ears and her mad corkscrew hair, and the way her nostrils flare when she’s excited or angry, and that really cute dip between her nose and top lip that matches her dimples.

  I think it’s called a philtrum.

  Great. I’m about to get lost in space and I’m thinking of the word philtrum.

  I screw up my face, willing the red face on the Viciseometer to see into time and space—but not too much space. The snakes, symbols, and runes start to swirl as if trapped in their own tiny circular vortex. They blur into one mass and then, just as the violent vibration continues, the image of a green park suddenly materializes, like a pixelated picture from a small television screen.

  “Now!” cry the four of us in unison. I push down hard on the red button at the top center of the timepiece.

  The world goes up in flames and the rush forces my eyes into the back of my skull. Then everything goes dark.

  11. The Chill of the Big Apple

  We materialize out of thin air. For a few terrifying seconds I’m too afraid to open my eyes. I was never this scared of stuff when I was alive. I think death misplaced my balls. Man up, for Hell’s sake, Mitchell. This is New York, New York. So awesome they named it twice.

  I peek out of one eye. Then the other. I remember I have blue eyes again. Blue for a boy. What I can’t remember is New York being this freezing. Has the North Pole migrated while I’ve been busy being dead?

  I chose this spot—behind a row of large bushes—deliberately after seeing it in one of Septimus’s travel guides. Central Park: the most iconic patch of green in the world. Our spot is well hidden, beyond the line of sight of any observing living soul. I look up. Beyond the tops of the bare, bending trees is a large wall of illuminated concrete that looms up in front of us like a tsunami. I immediately pull a map from my backpack and we huddle around it.

  “Do . . . y-y-you . . . know . . . wh-wh-where . . . we . . . are?” asks Medusa through chattering teeth.

  “Here . . . I . . . th-th-think,” I reply, pointing to the edge of a large green rectangle on the map. My finger is shaking so violently that it’s difficult for the others to see exactly which spot I mean.

  “Wh-wh-where?” asks Elinor. Her lips are rapidly turning blue.

  I point again and again to the bottom of the park. I’m now too afraid to speak for fear of biting through my tongue. Clearly, we’re acclimated to the intense heat of the Underworld, and not a bitterly cold November evening in North America.

  “We . . . n-n-need . . . to . . . find . . . sh-sh-shelter,” stammers Alfarin. Medusa and Elinor wrap their arms around themselves and nod in agreement. At least they have sweatshirts on, which is more than Alfarin and I do. I only have a short-sleeved black T-shirt covering my upper body. I might as well be in a Speedo.

  “Follow . . . m-m-me,” I gasp, “and . . . Alf-f-f-arin . . . hide . . . that axe.”

  “Where?”

  Medusa and Elinor stare at Alfarin and then at me. We have no way of disguising the axe. It’s too large to fit into one of the backpacks and too bulky to slip under Alfarin’s thin blue tunic.

  “I . . . h-h-have . . . an-n-n . . . idea,” says Medusa. My joints are now starting to ache with a violent shivering that’s completely out of control. “El, c-come . . . w-w-with . . . me.” She motions to me and Alfarin to stay where we are.

  “Wh-why . . . c-c-can’t we . . . c-c-come . . . with . . . y-you?” I ask.

  “A-a-axe!” is all Medusa can say as she points at Alfarin’s weapon.

  I let her go. I can’t trust myself to speak. My teeth are threatening to chatter out of my gums and onto the grass where we’re all standing like vibrating idiots. Medusa dives into my bag, grabs Elinor’s hand, and then drags her onto a path, and together they disappear into the darkness.

  Thirty minutes later, two arctic explorers appear. To my overwhelming relief, it’s Medusa and Elinor, who unzip the fur-lined hoods of their new, thick navy-blue parkas and beam at us. Alfarin’s fingers are so cold he’s lost the ability to hold on to his axe. It lies at his feet, the silver blade dull in the moonless sky. Any longer and pieces of me would have started dropping off from frostbite.

  Elinor is laden with shopping bags, while Medusa has the handle of a hard leather guitar case in her hand. Alfarin and I dive into the bags and start pulling on layer upon layer of clothing. Both Medusa and Elinor have to help with the fastening of buttons and zippers, which is a bit like being dressed by my mother and not at all how I like girls to deal with my clothes. It’s another quarter of an hour before we’re almost defrosted and able to talk.

  “How did you get all this stuff?” I ask. My voice is slightly muffled by the long red scarf I’ve wound several times around my head. “Did you steal it?”

  Medusa slips her hand into her parka pocket and pulls out
the cash she took from my bag.

  Girls’ brains clearly continue to work even when they’re frozen like a Popsicle.

  “Less than an hour back and I’m already saving your skinny ass.” She thumps me, but I don’t feel it because I’m padded like a sumo wrestler.

  “Surprise, surprise. Ten seconds in New York and the girls go shopping,” I counter. “Anyway, I would have thought of that eventually.”

  “Glad I came now?”

  “You’ll have your uses, I suppose.”

  “And what will they be? C’mon. I want a long list of how awesome I am.”

  I grab Medusa in a headlock, which is easy because now that I’m warm, my strength is back and she’s still small and puny.

  “You can do the cooking and the washing and the cleaning—”

  Her hands grab my calf and she pulls it back, upending me in the process. I take her down onto the grass with me and we roll around, wrestling and laughing.

  It feels good to be almost alive again. Not long to go and I actually will be.

  “Is the guitar for me, Medusa?” I ask, looking down at the long case half covered by empty shopping bags.

  “Don’t get excited, Mitchell. It’s empty,” replies Medusa—she is sitting on my stomach—“but we thought it would be an excellent place to hide Alfarin’s axe.”

  Alfarin flicks open the two silver buckles that secure the guitar case. It falls open, revealing a spotted green silk lining.

  “Medusa!” cries Alfarin. “Never before have I been presented with such a magnificent gift. My axe will honor your generosity by gorging on the brains—”

  Medusa quickly interrupts Alfarin’s well-intentioned albeit bloody rapture. “No thanks necessary, Alfarin, and El was the one who actually chose it.”

  Elinor lowers her head and does that really cute thing she does, looking up through her eyelashes. Then she staggers back slightly as Alfarin falls at her feet and starts kissing her wrists.