The Devil's Dreamcatcher

by Donna Hosie

  I realize that the moaning and screaming I’m hearing are coming from Team ANGEL. They’re in pain.

  But angels can’t feel pain, can they? I thought that was one of the advantages of getting into Up There.

  I manage to raise my aching neck and back off the ground. My arms don’t appear to belong to me as I force them back into the ground. It’s like manipulating pastry dough.

  Angela is the first angel I see. She’s sitting, but her legs are drawn up tightly into her body. I can’t see her face because she’s buried it in her knees, but from the way her shoulders are convulsing, it’s clear she’s crying.

  Johnny is the only dead man standing. He’s brushing at his arms, torso and legs, trying to dislodge something that’s no longer there.

  Jeanne is dry-heaving into the base of a large fir tree. She hollers after every painful retch.

  And Owen isn’t moving. He’s not seeing. He’s just lying there. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is a silent scream.

  “Medusa,” groans Mitchell. “Is everyone . . . here? I can’t see.”

  I crawl closer to him. His burning hand is still touching mine. As gently as I can, I brush the blackened skin on his cheek.

  “We’re all here, Mitchell.”

  “How could we hear that?” gasps Mitchell. “The victims of the Skin-Walkers. They have their tongues torn out. So how could we hear them scream? That sound was beyond pain. It was awful.”

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “The Skin-Walkers feed off pain. I think what we heard was what those monsters have absorbed, but it’s okay now. They’re gone. The Skin-Walkers aren’t here.”

  I knew this as soon as we landed because the scent of summer is clean and flowery around us. And while Team ANGEL doesn’t sound so hot right now, the spirits and pain of the tortured dead, trapped in the nine circles of Hell, have gone, too. Hell knows where the Skin-Walkers have disappeared to, and I hate the thought of them roaming the land of the living while they wait for the Unspeakable to find me. They gave us their word they wouldn’t hurt anyone else, but treachery is in their nature, and I don’t know how long they’ll have to wait.

  Alfarin pulls himself up by his axe, which sinks into the earth. We are surrounded by long yellow grass and dark-green fir trees. Small bushes with tiny thorns are everywhere.

  “In all of Valhalla, I have never seen such a sight,” says Alfarin. “Come, my princess. The beauty of this place is but matched by your own.”

  I continue to stroke Mitchell’s face. One eyelid is swollen shut; his other eye is open, but bloodshot. I’m so used to pink and red irises, it seems strange seeing that color in the whites of his eyes, but the blue is still there. So deep, so pretty.

  “How are we going to do this, Medusa?” he whispers. “This is so sick, so evil, I can’t even . . .”

  “I know, I know,” I say. Already his skin is starting to heal as the burned flesh changes under my fingertips. Scaly black becomes swollen red, and swollen red becomes pale pink before my eyes.

  One problem at a time, I decide. We train and then we fight.

  “You have a plan, don’t you,” whispers Mitchell again. It isn’t a question.

  “What makes you say that?” Our heads are so close, my hair is bouncing on his forehead.

  “Because you look . . . you look . . . alive.”

  “You just can’t see very well,” I whisper back.

  My mouth is so close to his now. The smell of burned flesh is gone. Mitchell is whole again, truly whole. I can’t understand why he’s in Hell. He almost combusted in the rage he felt for a little boy he has never even met.

  He’s an angel.

  My thoughts are interrupted by coughing. Alfarin and Elinor are standing—arm in arm—and staring down at me and Mitchell. I immediately pull away, although I don’t want to.

  Alfarin pulls us to our feet, and we both gasp at the scene before us.

  Angela has taken us to the edge of an enormous lake, surrounded by mountains, the largest of which are covered in snow. I’ve never seen water like it. The lake shimmers as if it’s filled with aquamarines.

  “Is this real?” asks Mitchell.

  “It reminds me of the home of my fathers,” says Alfarin. “I have seen this place in many a book in Hell, never knowing that one day I would witness it with my own eyes. You see that mountain in the distance? That is Aoraki, the son of the Sky Father. This land is Aotearoa, one of the most beautiful places known to man.”

  “Ye know a lot about other cultures, Alfarin,” says Elinor, clearly impressed.

  “I am a Viking prince, not a heathen,” replies Alfarin, swinging his axe onto his shoulder.

  Team DEVIL stands together, drinking in this amazing piece of Up There on earth, and I can think of no better place to prepare for what we’re about to do.

  18. Weapons Training

  The angels are still struggling to cope with the fact that they just time-traveled with two of the Skin-Walkers. Team DEVIL has already recovered. I am so proud of my friends’ resilience.

  My grandmother once told me that strangers were just friends you hadn’t met yet. After everything that happened when we moved away from her, I stopped thinking of that sentence in a positive way, but now I get what she meant. Strangers can become friends, and I desperately want to believe that Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor see me that way now, too.

  I’m not sure how friendship works with angels. Angela and Johnny appear to have some kind of bond, but Owen and Jeanne are still in a lonely state of shock. They could take comfort from each other, but they don’t.

  Death and then an existence in Hell have hardened me up for what we’re about to do, but I’m starting to think that maybe we need to cut our losses and break off from Team ANGEL sooner rather than later. I’m not sure they have the nerves for what I’m planning. Not even Jeanne.

  Then again, I need that other Viciseometer. It’s one thing to become a weapon, but to be invisible is a tool like no other. The Skin-Walkers didn’t see or even appear to sense the others when they rescued me in Washington. The only way we have a chance to retrieve the Dreamcatcher from the Unspeakable is if he can’t see us as we fight him.

  The Viciseometer from Up There puts us at a huge advantage when joined with the timepiece from Hell. So the two teams will have to stay together—for now. There’s just no other way.

  Angela and Johnny pull Owen to his feet. He’s shaking violently. No one goes to Jeanne, and I feel sorry for her because I know what that’s like, but when I make an attempt to approach her, she turns away. I’ll give her time. I want to believe she’s worth the effort I’m trying to put in with her. It may never come to a friendship, but an understanding is possible.

  “What did the Skin-Walkers do to us?” whispers Owen. “That noise . . . it was like . . .”

  “I think we heard the absorbed screams of pain of everyone who’s trapped in the nine circles of Hell,” I reply. “We should be thankful it was only the two of them that came along for the ride.”

  “Thankful?” gasps Jeanne.

  “There are nine Skin-Walkers, Jeanne,” I reply tiredly. “Owen knows. He’s going to fill you in on what they all represent.”

  I know I shouldn’t be so harsh, but I won’t be the angels’ encyclopedia anymore. I’m pretty sure Owen knows far more than he’s letting on—even if half of the stuff he’s mentioned to me doesn’t make sense. I think back to our conversation about my death, when he claimed to have seen my records, to have read that I have two timelines or something. I still think he’s crazy—no one can die twice—but that doesn’t change the fact that Owen has more information than the other angels.

  Which makes me think . . . I trusted him back in Washington because I had no choice. Now I do have a choice, and I’m going to be wary.

  “Angela, I take it you know this place?” I ask.

  “Like the back of my hand. My grandpa would bring me and my sister here when we were little. We used to stargaze and make wishes.”r />
  Angela stares up into the blue sky.

  “They never came true, though,” she adds sadly.

  “I need you to get supplies, Angela. Owen has money and we still need food.” I glance at Alfarin. “Well, we don’t need it, but we operate much better with full stomachs. We also need sleeping bags or something, because we could be here a couple of days while we train. Devils don’t cope well in cold weather.”

  “You are not our leader,” growls Jeanne. Clearly, the warmth she showed me earlier has disappeared after her encounter with the Skin-Walkers.

  “Medusa is our leader,” say Mitchell and Owen together.

  “What?” chorus Alfarin and Johnny, staring in amazement at Owen.

  “I agree,” say Elinor and Angela.

  “Never!” shouts Jeanne.

  Owen pulls the blue Viciseometer from his pocket and hands it to Angela. “Do as Melissa—Medusa asks. Take Johnny and Elinor. Get everything she requires. Team ANGEL isn’t a team, we’re just dead souls thrown together. I’ve seen firsthand what can happen to a team that doesn’t work together. Jeanne has been right all along. We need one leader, and I think that should be Medusa.”

  “You cannot betray us like this!” cries Jeanne. “We were sent on a mission from Heaven. You must see it through!”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want to—not anymore,” replies Owen.

  “It was an order.”

  “I’m sick of orders.”

  “This is cowardice.”

  “No, Jeanne. It’s self-preservation.”

  Jeanne is shaking with rage, so much so that her skin is starting to change color. Blinding pockets of brilliant white light seem to be radiating out of her very pores. It’s nothing like the flames that erupted out of Mitchell, but instead looks like countless laser beams.

  “We must take orders from the devils, Jeanne,” says Owen.

  And now I see what he’s doing: Owen is deliberately baiting Jeanne—and it’s working.

  “Oh, shit,” mutters Mitchell. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. “Stay behind me, Medusa. Alfarin, if Jeanne attacks, you know what to do.”

  “You are a coward!” screams Jeanne, and her voice is so deep that the ground beneath her actually rumbles.

  “The devils are now in charge, Jeanne. We have no choice but to capitulate,” says Owen, standing his ground as he adds extra emphasis to the word capitulate. “I hope this works,” he adds in a low voice.

  Suddenly, Jeanne streaks into the sky. There are no wings and no harp, but finally we see a flying angel.

  And it’s beautiful.

  Jeanne’s entire being is golden, surrounded by a crystal nimbus. In the center, I can see the very vague outline of a person: two arms, two legs, a head, but it’s like the outline of a body at a crime scene. White stars shoot from Jeanne’s form as she speeds into the distance like a firework.

  “You did that with deliberate purpose, Owen,” says Alfarin. “You are either very brave, or very foolish. Jeanne is as fearsome as my father sister Dagmar, and she would scare the Skin-Walkers.”

  “Those of us who will train to become weapons will need to have a trigger,” says Owen, staring at me. “We know Mitchell’s is the thought of something happening to his living brother. I took a guess that Jeanne’s would be an angel deferring authority to a devil.”

  “I’m glad you tried that, Owen, and not me,” says Mitchell. “You forget, she’s gonna come back at some point, and when she does, I think we’ll find out how Joan of Arc kicked so much medieval ass—before she got tied to a stake, of course.”

  “Do not say that out loud, my friend,” says Alfarin. “She may still be able to hear you.”

  “So what’s your trigger, Owen?” I ask. “The immolation is activated by rage. We’ll all need that anger for it to work properly—”

  “Well, being dead kinda pisses me off,” interrupts Angela. “I could think about that.”

  “It’s not enough, Angela,” I reply. “We’re all angry about being dead, but this goes beyond being pissed off. This is a rage so intense, it changes the physicality of existence.”

  Angela’s heart-shaped face falls. Elinor wraps her arm around the angel’s shoulders.

  “Ye must not feel sad,” she says. “I will not be able to do it, either. I have never felt rage. It just isn’t in my nature, although I did once punch Mitchell.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that reminder, Elinor,” says Mitchell, rubbing his jaw.

  “And I am still very sorry about it.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to be mother and look after everyone,” says Angela.

  Jeanne is now a mere speck in the distance. I hope she lands before her rage wears off, because that looks like one awfully long drop.

  “What about you, Alfarin?” says Mitchell. “Do you think you’ll be able to do it?”

  “Find my trigger and watch me burn,” says Alfarin proudly, puffing out his chest.

  Elinor shakes her head at Mitchell. A deep frown has formed on her pretty freckled face.

  “Here goes nothing,” says Mitchell, with a resigned shrug of his shoulders.

  “Mitchell, what are ye doing?”

  “This isn’t going to be pretty,” mutters Johnny, and he starts taking big steps back.

  I’m expecting Mitchell to punch Alfarin, or steal his axe or something, but instead, Mitchell just strolls up to Alfarin and starts whispering in his ear. The Viking’s jaw locks, and I can actually hear his back teeth grinding as Mitchell continues to whisper.

  “Mitchell,” calls Elinor in a warning voice. “Ye had better not be saying what I think ye are saying.”

  Alfarin’s huge frame is starting to shudder. His blue eyes are fixed firmly on the horizon.

  “He’s making him relive something,” says Owen quietly. “But what?”

  “His death?” I ask, with a glance at Elinor.

  “Not his death, no,” she replies, tugging at the back of her neck. Elinor is getting more and more distressed as Mitchell continues to whisper.

  Alfarin’s immolation is immediately triggered when a sob breaks from Elinor’s chest. Mitchell and Owen are thrown thirty feet into the air as Alfarin explodes into a mushroom cloud of crimson fire.

  “Holy shit!” screams Angela as an invisible heat wave knocks the rest of us off our feet, with a blast of burning air that reminds me of the enormous ovens in Hell’s kitchens.

  “We have to put him out!” cries Elinor. “There will be nothing left of him.”

  Mitchell and I start crawling through the thorny grass toward the burning Alfarin. I had completely forgotten what Septimus said about combustion, and Alfarin, who died a thousand years ago, has enough heat in him to take out half of New Zealand.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Elinor’s death is his trigger,” pants Mitchell. “I just . . . I just made it worse.”

  Suddenly a golden streak zooms over our heads. It lifts the Alfarin fireball and flies it at high speed through the sky like a blazing comet—and then we hear his elongated cry as he’s dropped into the aquamarine lake.

  The water explodes as a cloud of steam and spray gushes upward like a geyser.

  “Alfarin!” screams Elinor.

  “Holy shit!” cries Angela again.

  Mitchell and I are already running toward the pebble-lined shore. A steaming Alfarin emerges from its depths; his beloved axe is still in his hand.

  “The French wench is strong,” is all he says before falling forward, flat on his face.

  “What was Jeanne thinking?” yells Mitchell. He skids into the stones and tries to haul Alfarin out of the water. He doesn’t get very far with such a dead weight.

  “She was the only one who was thinking,” I reply. “Alfarin can’t possibly control his immolation yet. He would have combusted if Jeanne hadn’t dropped him into the water so quickly.”

  Jeanne lands next to us on the shore. The blinding light fades like the filament in a bulb.

 
“Thank ye, Jeanne!” cries Elinor. “Thank ye.”

  Alfarin starts to stir at the sound of Elinor’s voice. He pulls himself onto his haunches and shakes his long blond hair and beard like a dog.

  “I will need to practice,” he croaks, “but I will be victorious once I have food in my belly.”

  “Did it hurt, Jeanne?” I ask.

  “Of course it hurt, but I have known worse.”

  “Will you be able to train Owen?”

  “If he will listen.”

  That’s good enough for me.

  “Okay, I think I have the first stage of a plan ready,” I say when Elinor and the guys finally manage to drag Alfarin out of the water. “Mitchell, Alfarin, Owen and Jeanne will train to control their immolation. Elinor, Angela and Johnny are responsible for keeping a lookout and getting supplies. Angela will have the Viciseometer from Up There, and I will keep hold of the other one. Even though Angela and Johnny will be keeping watch, we all need to be alert for the Skin-Walkers. That should be easy because we’ll smell them before we see them. But even more importantly, we need to be alert for the Unspeakable and the Dreamcatcher. He’s coming after me, and I’m happy to be the bait. When the time comes, we, as weapons, will attack the Unspeakable and I will rescue the Dreamcatcher. I’m going to need both Viciseometers for that, Angela, so you’ll need to be ready to hand it over when I ask. The Skin-Walkers will take the Unspeakable back to Hell, and we’ll have the boy.”

  “And what then?” asks Jeanne.

  “Then comes stage two.”

  “Which is what, Medusa?” asks Mitchell, and I know what he fears.

  “We’re going to change the culture of Hell, Mitchell, because no more children will be used as Dreamcatchers. Not ever.”

  19. Mother Love

  Elinor, Angela and Johnny disappear in search of food. Owen is happy to entrust Angela with their Viciseometer, and I know I can count on Elinor. Jeanne complains, but not for long. She has a purpose now, which is to train the guys for their immolation. She’s a natural, and my intuition is telling me it’s something she’s done before. Not just at the graveyard when she slam-dunked Alfarin, or the time she took Owen away from the paradox Mitchell, but other times, too. She’s just too good at it.