by Donna Hosie
“I was not slam-dunked. I slipped on the wet grass.”
“She totally owned you, Alfarin.”
The angel called Angela bends down over Elinor and strokes her long red hair. Her eyes twinkle with starlight. It’s hypnotic.
“She’s just as pretty as you said, Johnny,” she says warmly. “We thought you would all come here. We’ve been waiting for ages. Jeanne wanted to leave, of course, but Owen said we had to stay.”
Then she leans forward and hugs me.
The angel hugs me! Surprisingly, it’s like being wrapped in ice.
“Wow, you’re really hot!” she exclaims. “I don’t mean hot as in I fancy you, although you are very pretty. Your skin is very hot. I’m Angela, by the way—Angela Jackson. Dead five years and counting, thanks to cancer. Seventeen years old forever, although I had cancer from the age of five. Totally sucked. Family trait, unfortunately. The Big C also got my mum and granny.”
“M-Medusa,” I stutter.
“Where is Owen?” snaps Jeanne. “He needs to know we have found the devil infidels.”
“Jeanne!” exclaims Angela. “Be nice.” The angel called Johnny is still staring at Elinor.
“Hang on,” I say, shaking my head, trying to comprehend everything that has happened in the last couple of minutes. “You just said Elinor was as pretty as he said.” I point to the angel called Johnny. “But he doesn’t know Elinor. They’ve never met. Elinor’s a devil, and she’s been dead for hundreds of years. And why were you waiting for us? We came here to find you. What’s going on?”
“Say nothing, Angela,” snaps Jeanne. “We were told to trust no one, especially devils.”
Angela rolls her eyes at me; she’s still stroking Elinor’s hair. Static from her fingers is causing the thick red strands to dance like a marionette’s limbs.
“Elinor,” whispers Johnny. “Wake up, Elinor.”
Elinor stirs again. This time her bottle-green eyes open and stay that way. She looks up into Angela’s face with wonder, and I see the starlight reflected in Elinor’s inky pupils.
“Nice to meet you, Elinor,” says Angela. “I’m sorry we scared you. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? That was a pretty impressive drop—very elegant—but I think your brother was rather excited at seeing you again after all this time.”
“Brother?”
The cacophony of our chorusing voices echoes around the graveyard.
“Our John, is it really ye?”
“Hey, sis. Long time no see.”
Elinor scrambles to her feet and throws herself into the angel’s arms. Mitchell, Alfarin and I gape at each other with wide-open mouths. I can actually see Alfarin’s molars, although I wish I couldn’t because they don’t look too good. Did Septimus mention at any point in the office that the fourth angel was Elinor’s brother? I’m sure he didn’t. Now that I think about it, Johnny’s last name had been redacted in the information Septimus shared with us about Team ANGEL. Septimus must have done that because Elinor would have said something right away.
First Mitchell, now Elinor. How many more family members are we going to come across? I don’t know how to feel about this turn of events. I’m an only child, so I know I don’t really get the bond between siblings, but I’m moved almost to tears by the sight of Elinor and Johnny, who are now jumping up and down and laughing. They’re so happy to see each other. I’m not jealous, but I do wonder if anyone would ever be that happy to see me.
The look on Mitchell’s face isn’t jealousy, either. It’s worse than that. He looks heartbroken. I’m a poor substitute for family, but I approach him anyway. Jeanne is still standing her ground, and she looks as if she might throttle me.
“Touch me and you’ll find out why I’m in Hell,” I growl. She steps aside.
Mitchell’s head collapses onto my shoulder as I hug him.
“I thought it would be easier seeing my mom this time, but it was worse. It isn’t fair, Medusa.”
“I know,” I whisper, patting his back. His warm hands are on the base of my spine. I can’t breathe. I don’t breathe. It doesn’t matter.
“Alfarin, son of Hlif, son of Dobin,” announces Alfarin. He goes down on one knee with his arm across his chest. “It is an honor to meet with the kin of my princess. From this day forth, young John, my axe shall be your trusty comrade in arms, ever ready to hack the ribs from—”
“Alfarin,” calls Elinor; her voice is still shaky. “Thank ye kindly, but our John will not be needing yer axe for anything.”
“Are ye kidding me?” replies Johnny excitedly. “Are ye a Viking, then? A real one from Valhalla? That is . . . what’s the saying, Angela?”
“Way cool,” replies the turquoise-haired angel, with a giggle.
“Way cool,” repeats Johnny.
Alfarin strides forward and crushes Johnny into his chest.
“We are now brothers. I shall score our skin for the blood oath.”
“This is all very touching,” says Jeanne, who doesn’t appear touched by any of it whatsoever, “but we must watch for Owen and wait for our orders, since he has been placed in charge of this . . . mission.”
“And aren’t you as pissed as anything about that,” mutters Angela.
“What did you say?” snaps Jeanne.
“I said that’s a great idea, Jeanne,” says Angela genially. “Why don’t we all go and wait back by the mausoleums over there? Owen said he wouldn’t be long.”
“He has already been too long,” replies Jeanne, with a contemptuous glare at Mitchell and me. “Come, before we attract too much attention. We were meant to be discreet. You are all failing.”
“She’s a bright bundle of French sunshine, isn’t she?” says Mitchell as he pulls away from me. “I’m starting to pity the English who fought her. Maybe something got lost in translation and really Maid of Orléans should be Dictator of Orléans.”
“Sorry about threatening you earlier, Johnny,” I say, holding my hand out. “I thought you were going to hurt Elinor.”
Elinor has both of her arms wrapped around her brother’s waist. He’s not as tall as Mitchell—few guys are—but he must be a couple of inches taller than Alfarin. He has a mass of freckles splattered across his face, and his startling green eyes twinkle with the same pulsing stars as Angela’s.
“Sorry I scared ye both. I forgot that Elinor hasn’t seen me since I was a little lad,” replies Johnny, shaking my hand rather limply. “She wouldn’t have recognized me. Ye were very brave, standing in front of her like that. It’s good to know our Elinor has friends Down There.” He lowers his voice. “Alfarin isn’t really going to make me do a blood oath, is he?”
“Of course not. He is very gentle, really. Like a big kitten,” replies Elinor.
“Can’t say I’ve seen many kittens with an axe,” mutters Mitchell, but I think I’m the only one who hears him.
“We’ll have to call him Tibbles the Terrible from now on,” I whisper back.
“Fluffy the Fart Machine,” snickers Mitchell.
“Mufty the Murderous.” Mitchell and I are now convulsing with repressed laughter.
“So what age are ye now, our John? When did ye die?” interrupts Elinor loudly.
“Fifteen,” replies her brother. “I died from consumption. Sounds like I ate myself to death, doesn’t it? Chance would have been a fine thing.”
“And our William and Alice? Are they Up There with ye?”
“They sure are. William got to the grand old age of thirty-four before he got trampled by a horse, and our Alice is an old lady. She made it to forty-one.”
“Mausoleums—now!” demands Jeanne. “You all can play childish games and have happy family reunions when we are out of sight.”
Although she is really starting to piss me off, I follow Jeanne to a row of five mausoleums. The bricks are crumbling, the stone is gray. We all squeeze into a gap between the nearest two, and Alfarin only just manages it. All of us are now hiding, with the exception of Mitchell.
“What are you doing?” asks Jeanne.
“I want to see something,” he replies. He’s looking back at the statue of the white angel blowing a trumpet.
“Is it your fair mother?” asks Alfarin.
Mitchell shakes his head. “It’s me—us. I think we’re about to walk up the path.”
“You what?” asks Angela.
“We have been here on this day before,” whispers Elinor. “Mitchell, Alfarin and I. We have been in this moment in time already.”
“A double-trouble paradox,” says Angela eagerly. “How exciting. I want to see, too.”
She clambers over everyone in her white jeans, which are so tight I’m amazed she can move, and takes a stand next to Mitchell. I feel another stab of jealousy as she links her arm through his. I can tell Angela is touchy-feely by nature. I knew people like that back when I was alive. It’s a gift that comes with being loved and nurtured. I try so hard, but it’s far more difficult when you’re used to constantly flinching away. Affectionately touching Mitchell or Elinor is a conscious effort for me. Not so for Angela.
“I cannot move in such a confined space,” says Alfarin. He pushes himself out of the gap, too, and stands by Mitchell and Angela. Next to go are Elinor and Johnny, and before long, we’re all standing, watching and waiting, while Jeanne hisses like a snake with venomous words about being seen in a paradox.
A tiny ball of light appears in the distance, next to the angel statue. It hovers several feet off the ground. At first the ball is white, then a brilliant blue. It becomes brown and rapidly expands. The figure of a soldier quickly appears in the light. He is small but muscular. He has fine black hair that is slicked back. Something round and silver is glinting in his hand. The soldier tucks it into his breast pocket without taking his eyes off the angel statue.
It’s Owen.
Then we see another version of Alfarin and Elinor approaching, and they walk straight past him with their noses buried in a map. A golden aura surrounds them.
A few yards behind, dragging his feet, is another Mitchell. Just as sad, just as heartbroken as the version I tried to comfort a few minutes ago. This graveyard is clearly toxic for his soul, too.
“Stay here, and do not allow yourselves to be seen,” snaps Jeanne. She walks out a little farther. “Owen,” she calls in her thick accent.
The soldier looks in her direction, but he quickly realizes when he spots Jeanne that her attention is not aimed at him. After all her hissing about the dangers of being seen, it’s Jeanne who gives herself away. Owen follows her line of sight to the other Mitchell, who is surrounded by a halo of light and gaping at them both. I didn’t get it wrong that evening when I saw Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor outside my house. The three of them did look like angels. They were glowing just like Owen and Jeanne and the other Mitchell are now. The brightest one of all was Elinor.
Owen nods to the other Mitchell, and Mitchell reciprocates. Paradox Mitchell then looks away, and in the time it takes for him to look back again, both Owen and Jeanne have become golden streaks of light. Within a split second they are with us, hidden away from the other Mitchell’s line of sight.
No one says a word. The exhalations we do not need to make are long and labored and completely fake.
“Thanks for that warning, Jeanne,” says Owen in an English accent. He looks at each of us in turn, as if sizing us up. “So this is Team DEVIL. You are aware that some of you are in a paradox right now?” His brown eyes are twinkling with stars as well, but he looks worn out and there are dark shadows, like bruises, under his eyes.
“We know,” replies Mitchell.
“Interesting,” says Owen quietly. “Both appear to work the same.”
Judging by the confused look on Mitchell’s face, he doesn’t understand Owen’s comment, either.
“This is my sister Elinor,” says Johnny. “You said she would be here, and she was. Gave her a right old fright, though, because I forgot the last time she saw me I was a young lad. And I remember you, too, Mitchell. You were there when the house caught fire.” But Johnny is looking at me and scratching his head. It sounds like something being scraped across sandpaper.
“What?” I ask.
“You look familiar, too. But I can’t picture where from. It’s like I remember you from a nightmare or something when I was living.”
Not a dream, but a nightmare. Way to go, Medusa. I’m actually able to transmit my horrible unconscious thoughts beyond the Underworld.
Owen shakes Elinor’s hand and nods to the rest of us. Jeanne has her arms folded across her chest; Angela is smiling away, twirling a turquoise strand of hair around her finger; and now Johnny is pushing Elinor away because she’s trying to flatten down his mop of bright-red hair with fingers she has just spat on.
“Which one of you is the leader?” asks Jeanne. She automatically stares at Alfarin, who certainly looks like he should be in charge. He’s the only one with a weapon, for a start.
“I was advised Melissa is in charge,” says Owen softly.
How the Hell does Owen know my real name? Mitchell seems to be thinking the same thing, because he says, “You seem to know a lot about us, Owen.”
“I was prepared, Mitchell. I once made the mistake of not being prepared, and it cost me my life. You have been sent to recover The Devil’s Dreamcatcher, haven’t you?” Owen asks me.
I nod. “It was an Unspeakable who took it.”
“And would I be correct in assuming that if this involves an Unspeakable, we are also dealing with Skin-Walkers?”
My reply of affirmation is drowned out by cries from the angels.
“We were never informed of this, Owen,” says Jeanne. “Why would this be kept from us?”
“Because the Skin-Walkers are not our concern,” replies Owen. “We must find the Dreamcatcher. That is all.”
“Why were you waiting for us?” I ask. “How did you know we’d be here?”
“When you’re dead, you have nothing but time,” replies Owen cryptically.
Mitchell rolls his eyes at me.
“So the Dreamcatcher is your quarry, too,” says Alfarin. “Meaning Up There desires a weapon?” His eyes are narrowed, and I notice he has tightened his grip on his axe.
Owen shakes his head. He has lines on his forehead and around the edges of his mouth. The soldier looks absolutely exhausted, like he hasn’t slept for a hundred years. “I’ve had enough of weapons to last an eternity, Alfarin,” he replies. “And we certainly aren’t here to steal the Dreamcatcher, either.”
“Then what do ye all want it for, if not a weapon?” asks Elinor.
Owen leans back against one of the mausoleums. I can feel myself being pulled toward him, and it’s physical, almost magnetic.
“We don’t want to use the Dreamcatcher, Elinor. We want to save it.”
11. Two Become One
“You want to save the Dreamcatcher?” I ask incredulously. “But that’s our job. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“I knew this was a mistake, colluding with devil scum,” says Jeanne. “You should have remained silent, Owen.”
“Who are you calling scum?” snaps Mitchell. “Just because you’re angels, that doesn’t mean you’re better than us.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Jeanne,” says Angela, stepping between Mitchell and the French angel. “Could you at least try to be nice? It’s not as if they want to hurt the Dreamcatcher.”
“Of course we don’t,” I reply. “We came this close to him an hour ago.” I indicate inches with my fingers. “Elinor and I would have grabbed him, given a few more seconds. The last thing we wanted to do is leave it with him.”
“You’ve seen the Dreamcatcher?” exclaim Owen and Jeanne together, although her voice is a lot higher and more surprised than Owen’s. Even though Owen is the leader of Team ANGEL, it’s becoming obvious that it’s Jeanne—a former military commander—who thinks she’s in charge.
I glance at Elinor, and I’m grateful it r
emains just as easy to catch her eye now that they’ve changed color. She shakes her head, just a fraction, and I understand immediately. We need to be cautious around these angels, even if one is her brother.
“Where did you see the child, devil?” demands Jeanne.
I ignore her. I’ve never been a deliberately rude person—dead or alive—but I don’t care with Jeanne. She may be a saint, but there are devils in Hell who are more polite than she is. She could give the HBI a run for their money in how to stick your head up your ass and still retain the ability to speak.
“I’m sorry we’ve gotten off to a bad start,” says Owen, and he turns his body, just enough to cut Jeanne out of the picture. “Please forgive us. I truly believe that we can work together on this. It’s why I was waiting for you, Melissa.”
Even though Medusa is the name I go by now, I don’t correct Owen. I don’t know why. Maybe there’s something about being here on earth again that makes me want to hang on to that part of me that’s still Melissa.
“We can all work together, ye know,” says Elinor warmly. “We may be devils, but we are very nice.”
Angela laughs, and it’s like the tinkling of bells.
“You are so sweet, Elinor,” she says. “Johnny said you saved his life in the Great Fire of London.”
“I helped,” mutters Mitchell, and I see Alfarin give him a swift kick to shut him up.
Okay. Team DEVIL clearly didn’t stop any of their deaths, but what did they do the last time they were here in the land of the living? For every step forward with my new friends, I seem to take two back when it comes to clearing up mysteries about their time travel with the Viciseometer.
I look down at my shorts pocket when a strange heat starts pulsing through the fabric, almost as if the Viciseometer knows that I’m thinking about it. It’s getting impatient for something. I look up to see that Owen is getting fidgety, too. His hand keeps going to his breast pocket.
Suddenly I remember that ball of light I saw before Owen materialized in front of the angel statue. It was white at first, then it turned a brilliant blue, and then Owen appeared. He had something round and silver in his hand, which he placed in the same pocket he keeps reaching for now.
