The Devil's Banshee

by Donna Hosie

  “Lord Septimus.”

  He turns and smiles. His teeth are as white as the spotlights in the room.

  “Have some water, Prince Alfarin,” says Lord Septimus, pouring me a glass. I drink it in three gulps. I am handed another—and another.

  “I will have food brought to you as well,” continues Lord Septimus. “You have been out for the count for a long time.”

  “Where is Elinor?” I ask, looking around. “Where is she? And where are Mitchell and Medusa? And—and where is—”

  “They are all here,” replies Lord Septimus. “And so is this,” he says, smiling. From under my mattress he draws Bót and hands it to me. For the first time since I awakened, I feel more like myself.

  “Walk with me, if you can, Prince Alfarin,” says Lord Septimus. “I have a great deal to tell you.”

  I allow the general to guide me out of the room. He has always struck me as a tall man. He towers above me and most other devils. But now, in his battle uniform, he appears even larger.

  Any thought that he was taking me to the accounting chamber on level 1 disappears the moment we set foot in the central business district of Hell. It has been transformed. Large fires are blazing on every floor, which no longer hold offices and places of work for devils, as the walls have been torn down. The noise of steel grinding into rock vibrates in my ears. Flaming sparks and glistening sweat combine to light up the entire cavern.

  “What has happened here?” I cry. “Where is the order of death? It has been replaced by chaos.”

  “You and Miss Powell were in Limbo with The Devil and the Banshee for just minutes in your time,” says Lord Septimus. “But time in Limbo extends toward the infinite, where a minute becomes a week for those existing in the true Underworld. Your selflessness was a gift, Prince Alfarin. Your sacrifice and readiness to see your quest through to the end gave me the opportunity to officially set in motion what I have been intending to do for a long while.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “It was thanks to your efforts in the Nine Circles that The Devil was persuaded to leave Hell, Prince Alfarin,” says Lord Septimus. “The Devil took a risk and lost. He knew that if he ever left Hell for the Nine Circles and ended up in Limbo, he could be trapped there, which is why he never went looking for Beatrice, much as he longed for her. I can only assume that his connection to Miss Powell alerted him to Beatrice’s location. But the Banshee’s whereabouts would have remained a mystery to him for all eternity if you hadn’t worked so diligently to ease Beatrice out of her shell. Once she was unmasked and named, he could not stay away—even if she was in the one place he feared most. And when he left to possess Miss Powell and confront Beatrice, I made my move.”

  “Alfarin!”

  So many voices cry out my name, but it is the sweet soprano of my beloved English peasant girl that pulls me forward.

  Elinor, Mitchell, Medusa, Johnny and Angela are running along the corridor. I lumber toward them like a three-legged bull elephant.

  “Ye are awake at last!” cries Elinor. “Ye have been asleep for so long. I wanted to wake ye, but Mr. Septimus has kept ye close to him.”

  “Good to see you, man!” cries Mitchell, hugging me. Either he is stronger, or I am weaker. I cannot have that. I must eat meat. Now.

  “Oh, Alfarin,” says Medusa. “It’s here. It’s happening!”

  “What?” I croak. Even Johnny has more strength than I as he slaps me on the back, and I feel my legs buckle. This simply will not do. Elinor’s brother is akin to a stick insect with red hair. Did I leave my manliness back in the Circles of Hell? If so, I need to be taken back there so I can retrieve it right now.

  Only Angela appears wary. She hugs me briefly, but once done, she starts to bite on her nails and doesn’t stop. Her eyes are now pale pink. How long have I been sleeping?

  I must look like a witless weakling, for Team DEVIL and the two members of Team ANGEL step back and look to Lord Septimus.

  “Do you want us to bring Alfarin up to speed, boss?” asks Mitchell. “Or do you want to?”

  “As always, I trust in Team DEVIL,” replies Lord Septimus. “I do not have as much time as Prince Alfarin deserves, for I am awaiting a communiqué from Private Owen Jones. He has been on another reconnaissance to the battlefield, although there is still no sign of Mademoiselle d’Arc.”

  “Battlefield?” I ask.

  “We’ll get to that,” says Mitchell. “First, how about a meat feast pizza?”

  “Wait!” I pull back from Mitchell and Elinor, who have each taken one of my arms. “Did we do it? Did we save M.J. and the other children? Does The Devil have Beatrice Morrigan back as his Dreamcatcher?”

  “We are assuming he does,” replies Elinor. “But The Devil is no longer the master of Hell, Alfarin.”

  “What?”

  “There’s been a coup d’etat,” says Johnny. “The peasants are revolting.”

  “Speak for yourself, Mr. Powell,” replies Lord Septimus. “I have never been a peasant, and in my deathday clothes, I am certainly not revolting. In fact, I understand I am regarded as quite dashing. By the way, Miss Powell, there will be a debriefing in my office in three hours.”

  “And I will be there,” replies Elinor.

  “Even in a skirt Septimus looks cool,” mutters Mitchell. “There’s no hope for me, standing next to him.”

  “Hope for what?” exclaims Medusa, elbowing Mitchell in the ribs. “Who are you trying to impress, huh?”

  “Absolutely no one,” replies Mitchell, planting a lingering kiss on the crown of Medusa’s head. “I’ve got you, and that’s more than I can handle.”

  “Are you two . . . ?” I find I cannot finish the question, I am so surprised and delighted.

  “Poor Alfarin,” says Elinor, sweeping my long hair away from my face. It has grown several inches since we began our quest. “Ye have missed even more than I, even though I was in Limbo with ye for so long. But then, ye have always liked yer sleep. Yes, Mitchell and Medusa are courting. And Mr. Septimus has started an uprising. And The Devil is amassing his own army. And I . . . and I . . .”

  “And El is the most important one of us all,” says Medusa proudly. “I think it’s safe to say that The Devil’s former right-hand man has gotten himself his own right-hand man. I mean, woman.”

  “He has?” I ask, looking at my princess and Lord Septimus in wonderment.

  “Yup,” Medusa replies, putting her arm around Elinor’s shoulder. “Since she’s seen The Devil’s dreams and nightmares, she knows what he’s planning to do.”

  “Which is what?”

  “We are going to war, Prince Alfarin,” replies Lord Septimus. “The end of days for Up There and Hell is upon us.”

  “Ragnarök,” I say, when I can find my voice. I clutch Bót in my hand, and suddenly I feel strong. “I am ready, Lord Septimus.”

  This is what my fate has finally brought me to.

  I am a Viking.

  A man.

  A devil.

  Alfarin, son of Hlif, son of Dobin, that is me. And I have started the apocalypse.