by Donna Hosie
“It’s a sign that The Devil is in a foul mood. It happens all the time these days. Let me just listen in on the Oval Office. If he’s still in there, we need to run. Don’t worry, Medusa. You’ll get used to the crazy stuff up here—eventually.”
But it isn’t the fact that The Devil might be in the Oval Office that’s worrying me at the moment. It’s the fact that I’m going to be working in an office that has electricity moving along damp walls. If I come into contact with one, my hair is going to explode into its own mushroom cloud.
Mitchell puts his ear up to another door and closes his eyes in concentration. Alfarin has his axe clenched tightly between his plate-sized hands, and Elinor is shaking so hard she looks as if she’s about to drop the box with the strawberry cheesecake.
I take it from her trembling hands. “Save the cake first” is my motto. Gingerly, I step over discarded coffee cups that have clearly been thrown at the recycling bin instead of in it, and I place the cheesecake box on the messiest desk I’ve ever seen. And I thought lawyers were disorganized.
“Thank ye, Medusa,” whispers Elinor. “Can ye hear anything, Mitchell?”
“All quiet on the Devil front,” he replies. “Now, who has the pizza?”
Alfarin has placed the boxes on a chair, so we all sit on the warm stone floor, and it isn’t long before we’re munching away in silence.
Their quietness is companionable. Mine, I’m not so sure. I don’t make friends easily. I’ve always been suspicious of strangers, even in Hell. If I couldn’t trust people in life, who can I trust in death? The way the girls in my dorm turned on me with a pack mentality that wolves would be proud of was proof to me that the answer is no one. Yet I have to admit that the four of us make a very comfortable square as we all stretch out our legs and rest our backs against a wall, a safe, a desk and a dark oak wardrobe that’s covered in symbols and runes.
“So, Medusa,” says Mitchell, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Since we need to get to know each other, and since you’re the newbie, it’s only fair that you should get to ask us the first question.”
I swallow my last mouthful of strawberry cheesecake and wipe my fingers on my black shorts. My questions tend to be blunt and awkward, and I’m always being told by other devils in the kitchens that I ask too many. I’ll ease into this slowly, I decide.
“Why do you call yourselves Team DEVIL?”
“It’s the initials, D-E-V-I-L,” replies Elinor quickly. “It stands for Dead but not Evil Vanguard in Life. Mitchell thought of it.”
“And it’s just the three of you?”
“Yeah,” says Mitchell, but there’s a strange, abstract look on his face, as if he isn’t quite sure. He looks to the others for support, but they all have the same confused expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s just . . . well . . . we . . .” stutters Elinor.
“What my princess is attempting to say, Medusa,” says Alfarin, “is that there were three of us who returned to Hell after our journey back to the land of the living. Yet there are shadows in our recollections of our time away. Empty spaces that do not make sense.”
Aha. Here’s the opening I’ve been waiting for.
“How did you get back to the land of the living in the first place?” I ask. “No one can leave Hell.”
“We took—borrowed—something from the safe, in this office, that helped us,” replies Elinor.
“Well, technically I did,” adds Mitchell sheepishly.
“But what?” I ask.
“Have you ever heard of a Viciseometer, Medusa?” asks Alfarin.
A Viciseometer? I thought that was just another urban legend in Hell. You hear all sorts of crazy myths and stories down here, but the Viciseometer is one that’s stayed with me. It’s a time-traveling device, supposedly used to introduce new inventions to the earth. So that’s how Team DEVIL got back to the land of the living. I try to wrap my head around the idea that Viciseometers are real and these three devils managed to get a hold of one.
“So why did you come back to Hell?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do we, Medusa,” says Mitchell. “I mean, we know we came back because we found out we couldn’t control our fates the way we thought we could, but there’s more to it than that. Something happened to us back on earth, and we don’t know what it is. It’s like we’re being haunted, but we can’t see or hear what it is. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe you might be able to help us.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“We think we did something, something we shouldn’t have done, and we’ve been trying to figure out what it was ever since we got back, M,” says Elinor. She looks up at me and blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry—do ye mind if I shorten yer name to M?” she asks. “Medusa in the Greek legend was nasty, and ye seem so nice.”
“Sure, if you want.”
I pinch myself again. My answer to her question came out sounding harsh, but thankfully Elinor just beams. She has the prettiest smile; it lights up her face. She would have made the loveliest angel.
“The point is,” continues Mitchell, “—and by the way, none of you are shortening my name to anything, so don’t even think about it—the point is, the three of us don’t know why we were in San Francisco that day. It was like we opened our eyes and we were there, on that street, in that time. So don’t you think it’s more than just a coincidence, Medusa? You were there, you saw us, and then from all the billions of devils in Hell, it’s you who Septimus told me he thinks is the most promising of all the applicants for this job? It’s just strange, that’s all.”
“If there is one thing I have learned, it is that nothing in this death is an accident,” says Alfarin solemnly.
“Fate,” adds Elinor, nodding.
Fate. Mitchell spoke about that earlier. My grandmother used to talk about it all the time. She used to say our destinies were already mapped out for us. It was just up to us to take the right road, and even if you took a wrong turn, there would always be another way.
I don’t think Team DEVIL will laugh at me if I tell them that. Well, Mitchell and Alfarin might because they’re guys, but Elinor wouldn’t. There’s an innocence about her that’s childlike, but she doesn’t seem to take any crap from Mitchell and Alfarin, either. She’s the absolute truth. The kind of person I always wanted as a friend in life, but never gave myself the chance of finding because I was scared they would get hurt, too.
But I don’t get the chance to say anything, because just as I’m about to lay myself bare, a red light in the accounting chamber starts to flash. A terrible wail, like a person screaming in fear and pain, fills the office. Mitchell jumps to his feet.
“That’s The Devil’s panic alarm!” he cries. “Something’s happened, right here on level one! Something really bad. This will be the first place they come!”
“Run!” Alfarin roars.
3. Lockdown
Alfarin is already at the door, but Mitchell pulls him back.
“We can’t run,” he says. “We have to stay here.”
“We cannot remain!” cries Elinor. “We’re in Hell, Mitchell! Act first, think much, much later is the rule here, ye know that!”
“Mitchell’s right,” I say. “We haven’t done anything wrong, but if we’re seen running away from level 1, it’ll definitely look suspicious.”
“Then I will trust in your judgment, my friends,” replies Alfarin, backing down. His next words are drowned out by a sudden increase in the volume from the screaming siren. I can feel it piercing my eardrums, like needles. The pain of the person screaming is actually inside my skull. And then I recognize the voice. It’s mine. It’s the sound I made when I fell to my death.
Elinor has her fingers in her ears, and she’s the first to collapse to the floor.
“Make it stop, make it stop!” she screams. “I can feel the flames again.”
Alfarin is moaning about fangs and knives. His axe slips to the floo
r as he’s forced to block out the sound with his hands. The flashing red light is getting darker. Liquid is dripping from its base onto the stone floor below.
The liquid is blood.
I don’t like blood, especially the blood of the dead, because it looks like lumpy gravy. I start to sway.
“It’s programmed so . . . so that every devil hears his own . . . death again,” groans Mitchell. His pink eyes are rolling in their sockets.
I drop to my knees as the room starts to spin. My relentless scream is now accompanied by Septimus’s deep, drawling voice, which seems to be coming out of every fissure in the stone walls.
“HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. YOU ARE STRONGLY ADVISED TO STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS UNWISE. HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. . . .”
It’s the last thing I hear before I pass out.
I wake to the sensation of something cold and wet being splashed on my face. Aside from the goose bumps I got when I heard The Devil screeching only a few hours ago, I haven’t been cold for four decades, and the feeling is strange and unnerving. There’s a bitter taste on my tongue. I can’t quite open my eyes yet, but I sense someone crouching over me, watching me. Expecting the worst, I immediately lash out with my arms and legs, but it’s only Mitchell’s voice that responds.
“Watch it! Jeez, you’re seriously bony, Medusa. You could take an eye out with those elbows.”
I stop flailing and manage to open an eye. Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor are already awake, although Elinor’s pale skin has turned a jaundiced shade of yellow. Alfarin is the only one standing; Mitchell now has his long legs drawn up well away from me, and he’s placed his head between his knees.
“HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. YOU ARE STRONGLY ADVISED TO STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS UNWISE. HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. . . .”
The screaming siren has stopped, but Septimus’s prerecorded warning still booms out of the rock at intermittent moments. I look up, both eyes open now, at the connecting door to the Oval Office, and see that the flashing light has also been extinguished. The only proof that it was ever in use is a thick puddle of blood, the circumference of a car tire, which is bubbling away below it.
“I see that not even the dead can rouse you easily, Miss Pallister.” Only then do I see Septimus, standing behind a desk with a crooked smile on his face. “Let me assure you that this is not a further aptitude test to see whether you can cope with working on level 1.”
He places a cup of water on the desk. I’m guessing he’s the one who splashed me awake.
“That alarm is the sickest thing I have ever heard,” groans Mitchell. “I could hear my bones crunching.”
“As you know, it was designed that way to make devils listen, Mitchell,” says Septimus. “It was programmed for each of us to hear our deaths once more. I am sorry for the distress it caused you all, but as an alarm, it is extremely effective. Even I stop everything at the sound of a sword slicing through an intestinal wall and the resulting harmony of dying moans caused by infection.”
“How long do we have to stay in lockdown, Lord Septimus?” asks Alfarin. He’s mopping at his face with the edge of his tunic.
“A while longer, I’m afraid, Prince Alfarin,” replies Septimus. “There has been a grievous breach in security in the master’s private chambers. The HBI and Sir’s own private security team are currently scouring the central business district for that which has been taken.”
“Someone stole something from The Devil?” I ask incredulously. “Only someone insane would try that.”
“This is Hell, Miss Pallister. So yes, I would say chances are likely that the person or persons involved are almost certainly insane.”
“HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. YOU ARE STRONGLY ADVISED TO STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS UNWISE. HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. . . .”
“Is there any way we can turn that thing off, boss?” asks Mitchell. He looks as if he’s going to hurl—and then he does.
“Actually, I find it quite comforting,” says Elinor. She is sipping from another glass of water. “Yer voice is very soothing, Mr. Septimus, sir.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Powell,” replies Septimus. “Now, can I trust Team DEVIL to not go . . . wandering? It is vitally important that the four of you remain here. There may be creatures roaming the corridors over the next few hours that no decent devil should meet.”
“My axe and I will guard the door, Lord Septimus,” announces Alfarin. He has more color in his face than the rest of us put together. “No one will go out, no one will get in.”
“Then I place my faith in you, Prince Alfarin, and my first intern, once he stops vomiting pizza,” says Septimus, grimacing at Mitchell. He then turns to Elinor and me. “Ladies, as it is in death as well as in life, you are both in charge, of course.”
“Will you come back?” I ask.
“You have my word, Miss Pallister.”
“HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. YOU ARE STRONGLY ADVISED TO STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS UNWISE. HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. . . .”
“Have ye ever known Hell to be in lockdown before, Alfarin?” asks Elinor. Septimus has gone and she’s on her knees, cleaning up the large pool of blood under the light by the door. I take a deep breath and go to help her.
“Only once in my time here,” replies Alfarin. “It was in 1348. The bubonic plague was eating away at the living in medieval England. Millions of devils arrived in Hell after Up There closed the gates. There were so many that the Black Death came with them.”
“But devils can’t die again,” I say. “So what was the problem if the Black Death came to Hell?”
“Remember, the dead in Hell can still feel pain and suffering, Medusa,” Alfarin says. “That was one of the edicts of the Highers. When the Black Death came here, devils erupted in pustulating boils. Hell went into lockdown while the affected devils were being treated. But many devils disappeared around that time, taken away, it is said, to be experimented on.”
“That’s awful!” exclaims Elinor.
“Operation H,” mutters Mitchell. “Oh, no . . .”
“What?” I ask.
Mitchell shakes his head. “Nothing, ignore me.”
But I know when someone is hiding something. I remember hearing The Devil talking about an Operation H when I was waiting for my interview.
“Do ye think the same thing is happening now?”
“No,” I reply. “Septimus said something has been taken from The Devil’s private chambers. I wonder what it is.”
“HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. YOU ARE STRONGLY ADVISED TO STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS UNWISE. HELL IS NOW IN LOCKDOWN. . . .”
This time, the sound of something vibrating on a hard surface follows Septimus’s message. A red glow lights up the office, and for a moment I think the warning light is going to start raining blood again. But Mitchell staggers to his feet and starts digging around among the empty pizza boxes. He emerges with a cell phone in his hand.
“Why does your cell phone do that?” I ask.
“It only glows red when the person on the other end is the devil who happens to be my boss,” replies Mitchell. “Yours will probably do the same thing from now on.”
I don’t tell Mitchell that I don’t have a cell phone in Hell. I did once, but the messages I received weren’t the kind I wanted to read.
Mitchell puts the phone to his ear and falls into a big leather chair that has been wheeled into a corner.
“Hey, boss. . . . All fine. . . . Yeah, I’ve stopped puking my guts up. . . . No, Medusa hasn’t fainted again. . . . No problem. . . . Okay. . . . What? . . . Are you kidding me? . . . But you know we had nothing to do with it! . . . But Medusa was here. . . .” At this, Mitchell looks over at me in alarm. “. . . Then we’re coming, too. . . . I’m not panicking. . . . Easy for you to say. . . . I said I’m not panicking. . . . But she was here the whole time. . . . My voice is not high enough to shatter glass. . . . Okay. . . . We’ll wait
for you. . . . Bye.”
Elinor puts her arm around me. At first I think she’s trembling, but when I look down at the glass of water in my hands, I see that it’s me.
“Septimus is coming to get you, Medusa,” says Mitchell. “Apparently the security team wants to interview you.”
“But she was here!” cries Elinor. “M didn’t steal anything. She’s been eating pizza with us.”
“Actually, I ate most of the strawberry cheesecake.” My voice is breaking as I attempt to diffuse everyone’s obvious panic with humor. “Maybe the head chef knows I took it from his private storeroom.”
Mitchell’s voice sounded shrill on the call with Septimus, but mine could summon dogs. I haven’t even started working on level 1 yet, and already there’s a lockdown for the first time in nearly seven hundred years, and somehow they think I’m involved. That must be a record for screw-ups.
“You’ve been with me since the interview, and that was hours and hours ago,” says Mitchell. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Elinor is holding my hand when Septimus and four suited men arrive to take me in for questioning. I don’t want to, but I pull out of her grasp and wrap my arms around myself. I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I feel so humiliated that I’ve already dragged three devils into a situation that had nothing to do with them.
In single file, we are led along the level 1 corridor past the elevators and straight toward a blanket of darkness where the light from the flaming torches doesn’t reach. A caustic smell starts to wrap its disgusting tendrils around me. It’s like fish left to rot in a warm pantry.
“Oh, no!” cries Elinor as the smell reaches her. “Not here, not for this.”
I don’t know what the big deal is. “Try holding your nose, Elinor,” I suggest.
“It’s not the smell my princess is worried about, Medusa,” says Alfarin, far behind me. “Mitchell, are you thinking the same thing as I?”
“You got your axe, Alfarin?” Mitchell responds.
“Naturally.”
“Then we stand on either side of them when we get there, okay?”
