by Donna Hosie
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor have been infected with something, Septimus. I know you’re angry with me, but please, help them first. And I’ll take his place. Take me instead of the—”
But Septimus raises his hand, and I immediately fall silent.
“We have little time. We have all been betrayed, Miss Pallister. The other domain, too.”
Septimus sweeps past me and goes straight to Mitchell and Alfarin. He bends down and pulls back one of Mitchell’s closed eyelids. As it opens, yellow pus oozes out.
“Oh, Mitchell,” says Septimus softly. “I am so sorry.”
“Elinor is infected as well. She’s down by the lake.”
“Miss Pallister, where is the Viciseometer?” asks Septimus.
“I don’t know. I lost them, I lost them both.”
“Use the Dreamcatcher to find them. He’ll be able to see. I must get Team DEVIL back to Hell and into quarantine before this manifests itself too deeply.”
“Septimus—”
“Later, Miss Pallister. We must prioritize, and the safety of my charges is number one. Alas, I will have to take the angels as well. I wish there were another way, but there is not.”
“But the boy—”
“Not now, Miss Pallister,” booms Septimus. “Cupidore, Visolentiae, it disgusts me to even consider this, but you must each take two of the angels. Transport them into quarantine area number seven.”
“Our job here is done,” replies Cupidore with a sneer. “We have the Unspeakable, and soon he will be back in chains, once we have regurgitated his worthless remains back into the circles of Hell.”
The two Skin-Walkers howl with laughter, but Septimus is in no mood for fun. He steps forward and grabs Cupidore’s pelt. The wolf head snaps and growls as Septimus drags him to a tree and shoves him against it.
“Do not test me,” roars Septimus. “You will each take an angel, or Fabulara will be informed of how you defied her edict on the handling of devils.”
“We have done no such thing,” spits Cupidore.
“Your word against mine, and you know whom she’ll believe.”
“Septimus, please,” I beg. “Just take Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor. I’ll stay here and search for the Viciseometers. The angels can be taken back Up There once I’ve found their device.”
But Septimus ignores me. The two Skin-Walkers slink off into the darkness; I can hear them sniffing. Elinor is still lying on the shore, but I can’t go to her yet, and the thought of leaving her there alone, even for a minute, is destroying me.
Septimus grabs hold of Alfarin and, to my absolute amazement, hauls him over his shoulder. Then he does the same to Mitchell. I don’t know how Septimus can carry Alfarin, let alone Mitchell as well, but he does without breaking a sweat. His fire-filled eyes turn to me.
“I will return for Miss Powell shortly and then come back here. Do not move from this place in time in my absence, Miss Pallister. I know what you’re concocting in your head, but you cannot possibly hope to achieve it alone.”
And then he’s gone and it’s just me and the little boy. The Dreamcatcher leans into me and wraps his little arms around my swollen legs. It hurts so much, but I can’t push him away again.
“Do you know what a Viciseometer looks like?” I say softly, stroking his strawlike hair.
The Dreamcatcher nods and answers, “Yes,” in The Devil’s voice.
“There are two of them here, somewhere. Do you think you can help me find them?”
“I know where they are,” replies the Dreamcatcher. “I know where both of them are, because I saw them fall out of your pocket. You tried to help me.” He hugs me tighter.
I’m trying so hard not to scream. Everything hurts, inside and out. My arms and legs are blistering badly now, and I can’t see properly. The world is starting to double up and swim around in my peripheral vision. The only thing that doesn’t move is the Dreamcatcher, but I don’t want to look at him because I know I’ve failed. I thought I could save him. In my arrogance I thought I could change Hell and deceive not only Septimus, but The Devil as well.
All I managed to do was unleash a toxic cloud of poison that is eating away at my friends.
“Don’t be upset,” says the Dreamcatcher, and when I look down, I see that his tears of blood are falling, too. “The pretty watches are just over there.”
He’s pointing to the edge of the fissure that he helped create. It’s closed up a little now, but it’s still dangerous. I have no idea in this darkness how far down it goes. It must go some way, because Jeanne flew into it to save the others who had fallen.
It’s probably a shortcut to Hell, I think.
“It is,” says the Dreamcatcher.
“What? How did you—”
“I can see inside your head. Are you always so sad?”
Now my nose is running and my eyes are blistering and it feels like there are great chunks of grit rubbing against my retinas. It all hurts so much.
“I haven’t met anyone like you before,” says the Dreamcatcher. “Your head is jumbled up.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, sobbing so hard now my chest is rattling.
“The others, like that man with the yellow beard and the girl with red hair, I saw into their heads and they only had one, but you have two.”
“Two of what?”
“Memories.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve died twice,” says the Dreamcatcher. “But they made your first death disappear by changing time. So you had to die again.”
“Who made my death disappear?”
“The devils. The dead people who love you. The ones Septimus took away,” replies the Dreamcatcher. “Is Septimus going to take me away, too? Is he going to take me back? I don’t want to go. The Devil is a bad man—he has bad dreams that he makes me keep in my head.”
I pick the boy up and hold him tightly against my chest. So Owen was right. This is as close to the truth about my existence as I have ever come. I think of all those details that are held in personnel records, but because most of us don’t read the damn things, no one knows.
But Owen knew about me, and so does the Dreamcatcher. And I would bet everything that Septimus does as well.
“Please show me where the Viciseometers are,” I whisper. “And tell me exactly what you see in my head. I’ll get you to safety, I promise.”
“And how will you do that, Miss Pallister?” drawls Septimus. He’s back already. I slowly turn to face him. “Without Private Jones or Miss Jackson,” he continues, “you will be unable to find the wandering ghost that is Miss Jackson’s mother.”
Instinctively, I back away from him, shielding the Dreamcatcher as I move. I won’t hand over this little boy. I won’t, not without a fight. I don’t care if there’s nothing left of me by the end, but I have to save him.
“Stay away from us, Septimus!” I cry. “You’re not taking him.”
“I have no intention of taking the Dreamcatcher back to Hell, Miss Pallister,” replies Septimus softly. “Not anymore.”
“I’m offering myself in his place, Septimus.” I take several steps farther back as the pressure from two little arms around my neck increases. “I’ll be The Devil’s Dreamcatcher.”
“I’ve told you before that you are an exceptional person, Miss Pallister,” replies Septimus. “Your willingness to sacrifice yourself to such a fate is further proof. But this is not a matter we can discuss right now.
“As we speak, Mitchell, Prince Alfarin and Miss Powell are being treated in Hell’s quarantine section, as are the four young angels. I fear the angels’ predicament will be the most grievous of all, and no doubt they’d prefer to be Up There, but I had no choice.” I cringe at the thought of Team ANGEL in Hell. “Their timeline is now in sync with the time that you all left my office,” continues Septimus. “And I’m relieved to report that the Unspeakable is back with the Skin-Walkers. Right now, you and I must transport t
he Dreamcatcher to the protection of the ghost of Mrs. Jackson, and then I need to return you to Hell for treatment.” He looks at me sadly. “You are not doing as poorly as the others, but you will get worse without proper care.”
I’m still digesting his words about the Dreamcatcher. “You mean you won’t take him back to Hell and The Devil?”
Septimus takes several long strides toward me until he’s only a couple of feet away. For the first time, I notice a big lump on his forehead. It’s shaped like an egg.
“I was deceived, Miss Pallister. There are times I forget—foolishly—about the true nature of the office for which I work. But not even I thought . . .” Septimus trails off and looks across the shimmering lake. Starlight is reflecting off the surface, now that the fires of Hell are gone.
My thoughts drift back to the accounting office, where this all started. Something falls into place. “That red mist, the smoke that hurt us,” I say. “It’s the weapon that you spoke about in the office, isn’t it?”
Septimus raises his hand, as if to touch the Dreamcatcher, but pulls away before making contact. I see the Dreamcatcher as a little boy, but Septimus still sees him as something else. Something worse.
“So much sacrifice,” mutters Septimus. “And nothing ever changes.”
The Dreamcatcher is pulling at my hair, or maybe he’s trying to push it away. Either way, he’s got my attention.
“The pretty watches are over there,” he says. “Put me down. I can show you.”
I gently lower him to the ground, and he immediately takes my hand in his and starts to pull me over to the end of the fissure. Faint smoke, not red but gray, is snaking up from it. I can hear voices coming from inside. Shouting, crying, screaming and howling.
“There are people down there. Are you sure you got everyone away, Septimus? I think someone’s still down there.”
“Team DEVIL and Team ANGEL are all accounted for,” he replies. “The voices you hear are the dead. It is a portal to the true Underworld.”
“To Hell?”
“Not the Hell you and I know, Miss Pallister. This is a portal to the nine circles. The domain of the Skin-Walkers. What you can hear is the inner essence of the Skin-Walkers, much like what you experienced when two of them decided to travel through time with you.”
“But Alfarin fell down there, and I think Johnny did, too.”
“As did Private Jones and Miss Powell,” replies Septimus. “They were saved by Mademoiselle d’Arc. This makes her fate even more repulsive to me.”
I’m about to ask him what he means, when the Dreamcatcher suddenly runs ahead with an excited squeal. He crouches down, then straightens and runs back to me. In each of his hands is a Viciseometer: the red one from Hell, and the blue watch from Up There.
“Take the Viciseometers, Miss Pallister,” instructs Septimus. “We must not change the date. You have crossed one timeline with the ghost of Mrs. Jackson, and therefore must remain in that stream so as not to confuse her. I will determine her whereabouts in the timepiece.”
I pick up the boy and balance him on my hip. Owen used the Viciseometer from Up There to take Angela’s mom home, and I decide that will be the one I use now. I look up at Septimus for affirmation, and he nods. I don’t ask Septimus how he knows what we’ve done, because I know he won’t tell me. But he’s been keeping an eye on us, somehow, this whole time.
I move the time forward by five minutes, just to allow a big enough gap between the time when Owen left Mrs. Jackson’s house and when Septimus is about to show up.
We’re ready, but there’s one thing I do want to ask him before we go. “Who deceived you, Septimus?” I ask. Yet as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I already know the answer. The one person powerful enough to deceive Septimus is also the only person powerful enough to release my stepfather from the nine circles of hell. There was only ever one person it could have been.
“I don’t want to go back to him,” says the Dreamcatcher.
“You are not the only one, child,” replies Septimus darkly.
“I want my mommy.”
The face of the blue Viciseometer starts to swirl.
Ice-cold stars bounce around the palm of my hand and between my fingers, like fireworks.
“I will place one finger on the Viciseometer, Miss Pallister, as I visualize the final resting place of the child,” says Septimus.
A blanket of azure blue rises up in front of us, but while the view of traveling with Up There’s Viciseometer is serene, the sensations I feel are not. It’s nothing like traveling with the Skin-Walkers this time, but it’s unsettling all the same. I feel nothing. I can’t smell, I can’t taste. The sense of pain I had before has been replaced by nothingness. This is what it must feel like to be an angel, and I don’t like it. There is no sense of self at all.
The pain returns as soon as we land. The Dreamcatcher falls from my hip as my legs give way and I sink into red gravel.
“Hold on, Miss Pallister,” says Septimus. “I will leave the boy. Just hold on.”
I’m lying in a shallow, stone-filled hole. I try to raise my head, but I can’t. I want to say good-bye to the Dreamcatcher, but my throat is now so swollen, nothing comes out. He looks back at me once as he follows Septimus through a line of trees. The Devil’s accountant still won’t touch him, and I’m overwhelmed by the feeling that if I could speak, I wouldn’t be saying good-bye to him, I would be telling him to run.
The world is dissolving into time and space. The images I’m now seeing, haunting me before my eyes, don’t make sense. I can see the HalfWay House, glinting under a rainbow, but that dissolves into an image of Elinor throwing a young boy out of a burning building.
So much fire. I’m burning up. No wonder Jeanne was so scared of the flames.
Alfarin is on fire, too, but not through immolation. Instead, he’s lying on a longboat in choppy water.
I’ve changed my mind. I want to be an angel. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I don’t want to feel anything anymore.
But I have offered myself up as the next Dreamcatcher, and I know that soon, I will never feel anything but pain.
“Don’t let me go, don’t let me go.”
The words are in my head, but they aren’t mine. They belong to another Medusa. The one who disappeared from time?
“Don’t let me go.”
Septimus is back. We disappear on the wind.
26. The Sacrifice
When I wake up, I’m lying supine on a rock-hard bed. It’s comfortably warm. I blink several times as tiny red spotlights shine down on me.
Where am I?
There’s a slight whiff of antiseptic in the air, and something else, too. I think it’s lavender, because it reminds me of the flowers my grandmother used to have in huge clumps in her garden.
“Don’t try to move,” says a bored-sounding voice over an intercom. “You won’t get very far if you try.”
So, of course, I do—and quickly find out that I can’t. There are thick straps holding down my arms and legs. I raise my head, just a fraction, and see wires and tubes of various colors, pumping liquid into my limbs.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Where are the others? Where are Mitchell, Alfarin and Elinor?”
“You really need to stay still, you know,” replies the voice, completely ignoring my question. “The antiserum takes far longer to work if the . . . patient . . . is resisting.”
“Antiserum . . . what are you putting in me?” I cry. “Where’s Mitchell? Where’s Septimus?”
There’s a crackle, and then another voice—with a deep southern accent—drawls throughout the room.
“You are in quarantine, Miss Pallister,” says Septimus. “As is the remainder of Team DEVIL.”
“What happened? Where are you? I can’t see where you are.”
“Healer Travis, could you leave us for one moment?” asks Septimus. “Miss Pallister needs to be debriefed, and as I am still unable to enter her decontaminati
on chamber, I will have to do it over the speaker system.”
“Can’t do that, General Septimus. Orders from The Devil. All eight are to be kept under observation.”
My neck is aching, so I lie flat once more, trying to take in my surroundings. The room looks small, only fifteen square feet at the most, and it’s windowless. I know I’m back in Hell when I note the black stone walls, but unlike the rest of Hell, they don’t drip with moisture. There aren’t any shadows, either, even with the red lights above glaring down.
I’m naked underneath a white sheet. There’s no sensation of pain anymore. The only part of me that I can really see is my hands, and they are a pale orange. There’s a drip with three red prongs inserted into the middle three fingers on my right hand. On the left, there’s a thick yellow tube dispensing liquid into my wrist. My skin is actually bubbling up as the mixture pumps through my body.
The next sound I hear is a dull thump, quickly followed by the clatter of several metal implements falling onto the rock floor.
“Miss Pallister?” says Septimus over the intercom.
“Septimus, what’s going on?”
“Healer Travis has just—accidentally—fallen onto my fist. It is ironic just how many times these days I find myself saying these next words, but we do not have long.”
“The little boy?”
“Is gone. The official report is that he was destroyed when the Unspeakable unleashed him as a weapon. You and I are the only ones who know the truth, but the lie has been accepted and the truth will stay with us. There is to be a meeting in the next twenty-four hours, when the next Dreamcatcher is chosen.”
“Not Mitchell’s brother.”
“He was the next name on the list. A threat to ensure that Team DEVIL did not fail. This is not a situation of my choosing, but I am running out of options, Miss Pallister.”
“You have to get me out of here, Septimus.”
“You need to think this through very carefully, Miss Pallister. Your intentions, while very brave and noble, could unlock a chain of events over which you will have no control. I strongly counsel you against this course of action.”
