The Devil's Intern

by Donna Hosie

  “Elinor, can you hold them long enough to drop them out of the window?” I yell as another part of the ceiling falls down. Burning thatch scatters throughout the landing as the embers set fire to the wooden stairs.

  “Yes!” she screams back.

  “Then drop them to me. I’ll catch them and then you.”

  The living Elinor doesn’t know who we are, but she accepts us immediately as people who just want to help. Our Elinor. As trusting in life as she is in death. There are no words of hate against the family that deserted her.

  I run back out, pulling Medusa by the hand. We fall down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. The downstairs is ablaze. The fact that we can’t die again is cold comfort now that we’re back in the land of the living, because Hell is actually safer than this inferno. We dodge the flames and run back out into the street. People are crying and screaming and trying to escape the red monster that is now devouring everything in its path. I secretly hope the fire gets that woman who slapped Medusa. I don’t care if she was Elinor’s mother.

  A face appears at one of the windows. It is Elinor. She has the smaller child in her arms. He has yanked off her cloth cap and is pulling at her hair.

  “Drop him now, Elinor!” I cry.

  The toddler falls with a scream, but I catch him in my arms before his head hits the cobbled street. A young woman who is heavily pregnant scoops him up and sets him in her cart.

  “Hurry, Elinor!” screams the woman. “Throw down young John.”

  The older boy doesn’t fight as much as his brother, but Elinor is struggling. She staggers several times before levering him out of the window. I can see the flames directly behind her. I catch the boy again, although his legs land with a heavy thud on the cobbles. He screams out in pain.

  “We’ll find Elinor!” I yell at the pregnant woman. “Now get out of here.”

  With a strength that awes me, the pregnant woman grabs the shafts of the cart and starts to pull it. The boys scream for their sister, but they don’t move as they trundle away to safety.

  Fire has now taken hold of the houses on either side of Elinor’s. Men aren’t trying to fight the fire with water; they’re just pulling down houses farther up the street. People are still screaming and crying and searching for loved ones. It’s absolute pandemonium.

  “Elinor, you have to jump now!” screams Medusa, but we can’t see Elinor anymore. Smoke belches out of the broken window.

  Then there’s a sickening crack, like a giant bone being snapped in half, and the entire second floor implodes. The instinct to survive doesn’t vanish just because a person is dead, and both Medusa and I jump back as enormous orange-and-blue flames leap into the air.

  And then the screaming starts.

  I now understand why victims of the Skin-Walkers have their tongues taken out, because the cry of true torture is unbearable. It burrows into every fiber of your being. My stomach heaves as the dying cries of the living Elinor clutch at my soul.

  We came to save her, to stop her death and give her a second chance at life, and we have failed.

  A huge figure suddenly barges past me. The blade of an axe reflects the hungry flames.

  “Alfarin, what are you doing?” screams Medusa.

  But he doesn’t stop. He runs into the burning shell and disappears.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I run in after him.

  17. Blade and Flame

  My skin is already blistering in the heat. Two wooden beams, one upright, the other lying across the top of it at a ninety-degree angle, create a tunnel into the remains of the house. If they fall, the entire building is coming down. Trying to see in this blinding mass of smoke is hopeless, but I have one sense that I can use.

  My hearing.

  The living Elinor is screaming like a trapped animal. We knew she died because her house collapsed on top of her, but I never imagined it took her this long to pass over. The harrowing, gut-churning sound is coming from the kitchen area where Medusa was attacked earlier. Elinor must have fallen straight through the ceiling.

  I know that’s where Alfarin is now, and a glimmer of hope resurrects itself in the darkness of my mind.

  This house is made of wood, and Alfarin has his axe. We can still get the living Elinor out.

  With my left arm raised above my head, I push through the burning beams. Alfarin is only a few feet away from me. I tread on his axe, which is lying on the ground, inches from the living Elinor’s blackened and bloody face.

  She is pinned down on her stomach beneath two thick pieces of wood. One is across her legs; the other is across her back. Blood is filling Elinor’s mouth.

  “We have to move this one first!” I shout to Alfarin, pointing to the beam across Elinor’s back. One end is on fire, and I frantically start stamping on sparking embers that are threatening to set Elinor’s long dress alight.

  Alfarin and I position ourselves on either side of the beam and try to raise it, but it’s jammed fast by other pieces of the walls and ceiling that have come down on top of it. We try again and again. Alfarin is stronger than ten men, but we can’t raise it an inch. We get so frustrated we start kicking it, but the beam won’t move.

  Living Elinor’s head is twisted to the side and blood is leaking out of her mouth; she’s gagging on it. Her internal organs are being pulped. Soon she’ll be drowning in her own blood.

  The flames are now all around us. We have no way of extinguishing them. Alfarin’s T-shirt catches fire and I jump on him to smother it before the flames take hold. Then Elinor screams out in agony. It’s primal, like a woman giving birth.

  Her dress is ablaze.

  Alfarin picks up his axe and starts chopping at the wood, but the second he does, the beams that are resting above us start to vibrate violently. Everything is about to come crashing down.

  I take off my T-shirt and start beating out the flames on Elinor’s dress. I swear I can feel my skin bubbling and blistering in the heat.

  “I don’t want to die like this,” sobs Elinor. Pockets of blood are erupting from her mouth and nostrils.

  “We can’t get her out, Alfarin!” I shout. Panic is spreading through me. How have we managed to screw this up again?

  “Please don’t let me die like this,” begs the living Elinor. She is pleading with Alfarin, who is on his hands and knees by her face.

  “I understand,” he says quietly, and he bends down and kisses Elinor on the forehead.

  “Make it quick,” begs Elinor.

  “I will see you on the other side, my princess,” says Alfarin, and he picks up his axe, grabs hold of the wooden handle with two hands, and raises it above his head.

  I realize what he is going to do a split second before the blade slices through the flame.

  “Alfarin, no!”

  I crumple onto the beam that has pinned Elinor’s legs. I am now burning in the pits of a living Hell. We came here to save Elinor, not kill her.

  Alfarin grabs hold of me and starts to pull me away. I fight back. I don’t want him touching me. More beams start to fall. Let them come. Bury me in this inferno. I deserve to burn in Hell for the rest of eternity for what I have started.

  “Take us back!” roars Alfarin.

  I feel freezing hands on me. Everything is cold now. I’m encased in ice. That was one of Dante’s circles of a mythical Hell. The ninth circle, reserved for the treacherous. What greater betrayal could we have committed than this one?

  The screaming comes quickly. Burning hands grabbing and pulling in the darkness. Harder and faster than before. And now the howling. The baying wolves of death are coming for us.

  “Get them into the shower. The water needs to be ice cold.”

  Medusa and our Elinor are taking charge. I let them manipulate my body the way a mother would a baby because I am helpless.

  Alfarin and I are pushed into the shower; I collapse onto the tiled floor. Elinor turns the dial and freezing water gushes onto our smoking, burned, dead bodies.

/>   “Should we remove their clothes?” asks Elinor.

  My eyes lazily trail across the bathroom to where Medusa is standing. Everything is in slow motion. Medusa is in front of the sink with Alfarin’s axe in her hands. She is scrubbing the blade. The water runs red.

  “Don’t look, El,” sobs Medusa, but Elinor places a hand softly on Medusa’s back.

  “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I’ve been waiting four hundred years for this day to come.”

  And now Medusa is crying violently. She is bent over the sink and her shoulders are heaving. I look up at Alfarin. The water is streaming through his singed beard and hair. His pale skin is red and is blistering. I don’t need a mirror to know mine is doing the same, but we stay silent through the pain.

  We deserve it.

  Alfarin’s eyes are closed, and Elinor is comforting Medusa. No one can see me crying. I put my fist into my mouth and bite down hard.

  Medusa slumps onto the toilet seat. Elinor hands her several tissues. Then she wipes Alfarin’s axe and takes it back into the main bedroom. The rest of us are in pieces, and yet our Elinor is as calm as a summer day.

  I don’t understand. Why isn’t she screaming at us for what we’ve just done to her? That filthy axe is not something to be revered and handled with care. It is treacherous. Elinor has just watched Medusa wash her own blood from its blade. For centuries Elinor has hung out with Alfarin, waiting patiently for Medusa and me to join them. She said it was fate that we were friends.

  Why doesn’t she hate us? We’re the reason she is dead. And all this time she knew.

  Elinor knew.

  I pull off my soaking-wet sneakers, socks, and jeans. My T-shirt remains in 1666, incinerated along with everything else in that house, that street, that city. The rubber soles of my Converses have melted. Every inch of my skin is pulsing with pain.

  “We’ll need some salve for your burns, Mitchell,” sniffles Medusa. She wipes her eyes with the tissues, blows her nose, and stands up.

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t bother. I remove myself from the shower and stand in dripping-wet boxer shorts on the cold tiled floor. Medusa starts to pat me down with a fluffy white towel.

  “You were both so incredibly brave,” she says quietly. Medusa bites down on her bottom lip, but she can’t stop the tears from coming again.

  “We killed her.”

  Medusa shakes her head vehemently. “You saved her.”

  “I killed her,” says Alfarin. He is still smoldering under the water. He looks waxy, like a mannequin. His eyes are red and swollen. The black pupils have completely disappeared.

  “You saved her!” shouts Medusa. “Don’t either of you realize what you’ve done for her?”

  I smash my fist into the door. Screaming, with my burned lungs bleeding into my mouth, I pound the door again and again and again. I need to feel more pain on the outside. The burns are not enough. I have to be consumed by it. It’s the only way I can get rid of the agony in my head.

  When things get tough, the living will often complain that they wish they were dead. How stupid and naïve can you get? Do you think you can get rid of all the crap in your life by ending it? There is no escape, not ever. The pain and sins in your head will stay with you for all eternity, and now I am cursed with the death of one of my best friends. For the rest of my existence I will carry the burden that my selfishness caused Elinor to die. I didn’t strike the blow across her throat, but I was the reason the axe was there in the first place.

  I was right all along. I’m a danger to them, and I should have had the balls to do this alone.

  Medusa is pulling me into the main bedroom. “Mitchell’s lost it,” she tells Elinor.

  “Ye stay with him in here,” says Elinor. “I’ll see to Alfarin.”

  I feel Medusa’s rough fingertips against the split skin of my knuckles. Then her fingers stroke my face.

  “You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” she says quietly. “So come back to me. Come back to me, Mitchell.”

  “I’m evil, Medusa.”

  “You’re anything but, Mitchell. You are the most loyal person I know. You would do anything for your friends—anything.”

  Her skinny arms wrap around me and I let my head fall onto her shoulder. Another oath is secretly sworn, and I swear it on Elinor’s blood because I will not risk any hurt to the one person I love more than anything in this world or the next.

  My death is coming, and then this will be over.

  18. Fight, Fight, Fight

  Medusa and Elinor bought clean underwear for Alfarin and me on that first night in New York. The ridiculousness of it makes me want to laugh. Only girls would think like that. We’ve seen two of our deaths—directly caused one of them—but the world will be okay because I’m wearing new boxer shorts.

  They should meet my mother. They’d all get on like a house on fire.

  No, I can’t ever make that joke again. Houses and fire and death—damn, I can’t shake the sound of that axe. It whistled through the smoke. It was singing as it sliced through Elinor’s neck.

  The girls want to talk about what has happened, so they’ve called a meeting of Team DEVIL. Elinor feels she has to explain herself, but she doesn’t seem to understand that I just want to forget that any of it happened. I certainly don’t want to relive it. I’m sorely tempted to use the Viciseometer and just leave for Washington right now.

  The only thing stopping me is the thought of leaving the others stranded here in this hotel room, in this city, in this world. I need a plan, but my head is on the verge of exploding with guilt. There’s no room for planning, not at the moment.

  Medusa is wrong; I’m a coward. I should have done this without them, but I was scared. I thought I needed help. The reality is way different. Medusa, Alfarin, and Elinor needed saving from me and my arrogance and my fears.

  Medusa and Elinor are pacing in the bedroom. I’m dressed, sore from the burns, and sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to move too quickly. You’d think my skin would be used to fire after four years in Hell, but 1666 was an inferno of pain that most devils never have to experience. Alfarin is in the bathroom; he’s been in there for hours. When he comes out we all gasp because he’s shaved off his beard. From the state of his mutilated face, you’d think he’d used his axe. He has bits of toilet tissue stuck to nicks all over his chin and cheeks.

  He looks so ridiculous that the girls start laughing.

  I just want to punch him.

  I hate myself for thinking it, but I’m so angry with him right now that I want to destroy him. We could have done something differently. We should have done something differently. I told Elinor we would go back and drag her out when we first saw her, but she won’t have it. She says she’ll explain why at the meeting.

  Why are Alfarin and Elinor so stubbornly refusing to change their deaths? I just don’t get it. Not everyone gets a second chance. This is a huge opportunity to right wrongs—and they’re passing it up.

  Medusa hands me three white pills and a glass of water. It’s medicine for the living, so we both know it won’t work, but I appreciate the gesture. Her fingers run through my short hair, but she stops when I flinch.

  “When El has said what she needs to say, I’ll go out and buy some aloe vera. It’s topical, so it might actually help,” says Medusa softly.

  “Thank you.” I have no idea who or what aloe vera is, but I know Medusa is just trying to help.

  The girls have their arms around each other and their heads are resting on each other’s shoulders.

  No chance of Alfarin and me doing that anytime soon. We can’t even look at each other.

  Elinor is nervous; she’s pawing at the back of her neck as she always does; only now I know why.

  “I know that ye all hate me right now,” she begins, “but now I’ve seen how it all happened, I just want to thank ye both . . .” She trails off, her green eyes filling with tears. Now that the crisis is over, Elinor is finally going to
lose it. She turns to Medusa and starts to wring her hands; she looks panic-stricken, but I couldn’t hate sweet, simple Elinor if my return to life depended on it.

  “We don’t hate you, Elinor,” I say dully. “Do you really think there’s anything you can do that would make any of us hate you?”

  “You always said it was fate that brought us together,” says Medusa, hugging Elinor tightly.

  “I knew I would find you all eventually,” sobs Elinor. “It took me years to find Alfarin in Hell, but of course he didn’t know who I was because he hadn’t seen my death yet. And then I had to wait centuries for you two to arrive, but I checked the logs every day. When Medusa arrived, I didn’t say hello until Mitchell got there, because it needed to be the four of us . . . and three seemed . . . three seemed so uneven. . . .”

  So far, Alfarin has said nothing. His eyes are fixed firmly on the carpet. He looks as if he’s zoned out.

  “We can still change your death, Elinor,” I start, but he interrupts me.

  “No, we cannot,” he says slowly. His deep voice echoes around the room.

  “Yes, we can,” I argue. “Medusa and I can go back and drag Elinor out when we first see her. I’ve already said this to her.”

  “And what of her brothers?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll throw them out of the window myself. Look, you weren’t there, Alfarin. You were lying unconscious in some piss-drenched warehouse. You didn’t see what happened. I’m telling you we can change this.”

  “Alfarin is right, Mitchell,” says Elinor. “He understands. If ye stop my death, then it will be my brothers who die instead. Ye tried to pick them up, and ye couldn’t hold on to them. They were raised in the slums. They could fight before they could talk. Ye would not have been able to get them out.”

  “Well, guess what, your brothers aren’t my best friends!” I shout back. “So if it’s a choice between their lives and yours, well, sue me for wanting to save yours.”