by Donna Hosie
“But the choice is mine,” says Elinor gently.
The bile and heat of pure anger are now swirling inside me. I can’t keep on punching windows and doors, but I swear it’s the only way I can release my frustration.
“Why won’t you let me help you, Elinor?” I cry. “What was the point of coming if you won’t let me help you? When we passed through administration, you punched me in the face, you were so pissed, and now that we’re here, now that I know how to stop your death, you won’t let me.”
“I didn’t want ye to stop my death, Mitchell!” cries Elinor. Alfarin steps in front of her and glares at me. “I knew this was the moment when I would die, and I needed to make sure Alfarin knew what to do. I didn’t want to burn slowly, Mitchell. I didn’t want to die in agony. I wanted it to be quick. Ye said yerself in the house that ye couldn’t stop it. Alfarin saved me. You saved me.”
“We killed you!” I roar back.
“Do not raise your voice to her again,” warns Alfarin.
“Or what? Are you going to cut my head off, too?”
Alfarin pushes me; I push him back. We start jabbing at each other, but the first punch is mine. His chin is like hot steel, but I don’t care. The girls start shrieking as Alfarin and I grapple and fall to the floor. I throw punches and kicks, but I have no idea what I’m connecting with because everything feels like smashing into a solid wall. I take several blows to my stomach, and it feels as if my gut is going to shoot out of my mouth with the force.
The writing table and chair are sent flying across the room. A lamp falls on Alfarin’s head. My body feels as if it has been flayed with burning whips, but the pain is a motivator. I want to pummel Alfarin’s head into the carpet until he sees stars.
Medusa and Elinor are screaming at us to stop fighting. They both try to pull us apart, and our blows have to be aimed around them. I start swinging at thin air. So does Alfarin. There is wet stuff dripping from my lips. My dead blood tastes really salty, like concentrated seawater. No wonder Elinor’s brother spat me out.
I know Elinor is right. If we had saved her, her brothers would have died instead. We wouldn’t have been able to get all three of them out. That kid was like a Hell-cat in the way he punched and kicked. Knowing that I’m wrong about saving Elinor just fuels my anger.
I don’t know if Alfarin is seeing stars yet, but I’m seeing planets. I fall to my knees as the room starts spinning. Alfarin cuffs me and knocks me over. I fall onto the open guitar case. I grab for the axe and cry from the depths of my soul as I swing it low. The blade connects with the carved leg of one of the armchairs. Elinor has admired it from the beginning of our stay, claiming it’s a Queen Anne chair. Well, the only Queen Anne I know was beheaded by Henry “Chopper” VIII, and now that I have this axe in my hands, I feel like doing some chopping of my own. I’ll slice through everything in the room if that’s what it takes to make sense of all this.
“Stop it, Mitchell, stop it!” screams Medusa.
“Put down my axe!” cries Alfarin, and he grabs the Viciseometer from the one table in the room that hasn’t toppled over. He places it on the floor, underneath his boot. “Put down my axe or I will stamp on this and destroy it forever.”
It’s a face-off. I clamber to my feet with my swollen lip oozing thick blood down my chin. The axe is still clenched in my hands.
Alfarin looks puffy and sweaty, and several of his shaving nicks are also oozing with thick blood. He’s trying to balance on one foot, and he’s wobbling like a mound of pink jelly.
A snort escapes from my nose, which is very painful; I think the lining of my nostrils is burned as well.
The ends of Alfarin’s mouth start to turn up. I try not to catch his eye because I don’t want to laugh; I want to cause him extreme pain.
Now his arms are flapping like windmills. If he doesn’t watch out, it’ll be his enormous stomach that crushes the Viciseometer, not his foot.
“I’ll put down your axe if you step away from the Viciseometer.” I try to look tough, but now my throat has gone into spasms. It’s like trying not to laugh in math class. You can’t help it. It’s a hidden reflex designed to screw you over.
“I accept your surrender,” says Alfarin, and he promptly falls down.
I pass the axe to Medusa and she almost drops it. That treacherous weapon is seriously heavy. Elinor scampers across the room, picks up the Viciseometer, and slips it into her back pocket.
“It wasn’t a surrender,” I say, walking over to Alfarin. “It’s a truce. A cessation in hostilities.”
He holds out a plate-sized hand. I take it. I try to pull him up, but I don’t have the strength of a forklift.
“You fight well, Mitchell,” he says. “You almost connected at one point.”
“Dude, I totally got you at least three times.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I lie. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“No. I’m trying to rescue your manhood in the sight of the women. In truth, it was like being licked by puppies.”
“Murderer.”
“Girl.”
“Want some food? Room service does an awesome BLT.”
“Sounds like a plan, my friend.”
The girls are staring openmouthed at the pair of us, but this is how guys do it. We get mad, we fight, and we’re friends again. I instantly feel better for having landed a few punches on Alfarin’s body, even if I’ve shattered every bone in my right hand doing so.
Two deaths down and nothing has changed. I’m still angry at my own failures and worried sick about what’s to come. I’m sitting on the floor with Medusa’s back to my chest, the remote control in her hand. She wasn’t too impressed by my suggestion that she feed me. In fact, she told me where I should shove my BLT and fries, which would be totally gross and unhygienic. A vibrating ringtone shrills from the pile of muddy clothes we threw in a corner after coming back from the year 970.
“What’s that noise?” asks Elinor.
“Sounds like a cell phone,” replies Alfarin. He burps twice in quick succession, having just demolished two main courses and half a chocolate cake.
“I think that’s my cell phone,” I say.
“Who on earth is calling you?” asks Medusa. She crawls across the carpet and starts rummaging. Her jeans have crept down so I can see the top of her black underwear, and I wonder if she’s the type of girl who wears a matching bra. I don’t know why I think of dumbass things like that when I’m stressing out, but I do.
Medusa finds the cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans. It’s glowing red.
“Since when has your phone been able to do that?” she asks warily.
I don’t answer, because as far as I can recall, it’s never done that before.
The glowing stops. Just like the light filament in a bulb, the red fades away and the casing returns to its normal black.
“Oh, mother in Hell,” gasps Medusa. She’s thumbing through the directory. I know without seeing the screen that she’s looking at the missed calls.
“Who was it, M?”
Medusa’s face is white. Even her curls seem to have gone limp. She looks at me with panic in her eyes and hands me the phone. As soon as it’s in my hand it starts to ping and vibrate. The glow returns, and the snakes in my stomach contract as if electrocuted.
I have a message from Septimus.
He knows.
19. Paradox
i know
The message is just two words, but it’s enough to send me into a blind panic. We have to get away. Septimus is the number one civil servant in Hell; he has no alternative but to inform the HBI if there has been a security breach. The safe in our office is full of files on them. I had to dig past several red files to get to the Viciseometer so I know, firsthand, just how much trouble we’re in.
Stealing money and The Devil’s credit card was bad enough, but I stole the Viciseometer: an item so fabled that even tho
se who hear about its existence don’t truly believe the reality.
“We have to leave,” says Alfarin. “Immediately.”
I wipe my mouth with my hand. My split lip is throbbing. In my head I can already hear the screams and howls of time travel. I agree with Alfarin, but I’m in no rush to feel the hands of the dead again. Every journey is worse. I’m terrified that next time, I’ll be able to open my eyes in the darkness and actually see what is reaching for me and making the noise.
“What do ye think, Mitchell? You’re the leader.”
“Would it have killed Septimus to write a longer message?” I wonder aloud. The black casing of the cell phone is cold and heavy. I’m so used to the delicacy of the Viciseometer that anything else in my hands seems crude.
“A longer message about what?” asks Alfarin impatiently. “My friend, do you honestly think that Lord Septimus is basking in the glory of our escape from Hell? I would wager with the god Loki himself that our treachery has already been reported.”
But I shake my head as the sensible part of my brain starts to overtake the panic. “I don’t know, Alfarin. A few months before I died, I borrowed my father’s car without asking. There was a party, and this girl, and . . . well, that doesn’t matter. When my father found out, he didn’t send me a text message saying ‘I know.’ He sent me a message saying he had called the cops and he had no intention of posting bail. I damn near crapped my pants. I got in that car and went straight home before the cops got me.”
“Did he call the police?” asks Elinor.
“No,” I reply, “but that’s not the point I’m trying to make. What I’m saying is if Septimus had reported us, I figure we’d already be under arrest by now.”
Everyone shudders as if a dark cloud has passed over the room. We don’t have to mention the Skin-Walkers anymore to be scared of them.
“Look,” I continue, “Septimus tried to call me before he sent the message. I think he wants to talk to me.”
“You aren’t seriously considering calling him back?” cries Medusa. “Are you insane?”
“Who has the Viciseometer?” I ask. Elinor raises her hand. Her other is already on the nape of her reconnected neck.
“Right, get your things together. We’re checking out,” I decide. “Everything you want to take, put in your backpack. Everything else, like dirty clothes, gets left behind. Okay?”
Alfarin and Elinor nod and start getting busy in the room. Elinor folds everything neatly, but Alfarin just starts piling clothes into his backpack like he’s stuffing a turkey. Elinor slaps his hands away and takes over the organizing.
Medusa hasn’t moved from my side.
“You cannot call Septimus.”
“I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, you have. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Medusa,” I say wearily, “you put way too much faith in people’s eyes.”
“It’s the only way I can see if they’re telling the truth. I lived for seventeen years among liars. I know the signs.”
“Go pack, Medusa. We’re leaving in two minutes.”
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Why are you lying to me? You, of all people.”
I move to hold her hands, but she jerks them away. She’s biting her bottom lip and her little nostrils are flaring.
“Please don’t be mad at me.”
“You never had a real plan, did you, Mitchell? You’ve just crashed from one situation to another, making it up as you go along.”
I can feel the red mist of anger descending again. I never asked Medusa to come along, or Elinor, for that matter. According to my memory, the girls gate-crashed despite my best efforts to keep them away. I only ever wanted to protect them, and now Medusa has the nerve to take a shot at me. I’ve been covered in crap and burned to a cinder, one of my best friends has used me for boxing practice, and I’m still no closer to stopping my death.
“If you don’t like the way I’m managing this, go back to Hell, Medusa,” I snap. “No one is forcing you to stay.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Of course it isn’t. What I want is for you to get off my back for ten seconds.”
“Well, why don’t you try ditching us again?” Medusa taunts with her hands on her hips. “You have the Viciseometer. You could leave us anytime you wanted.”
“For the last time, I wasn’t ditching you. I was trying to protect you.”
“No one has ever protected me!” she screams back, arms thrown wide open.
“Why do you say things like that? Why are you blaming me for something that clearly happened when you were alive? Do you seriously think I wouldn’t have tried to stop it if I had been there? I’d stop it now if you just told me the truth, but no, it’s easier to have secrets, isn’t it, Medusa? Maybe if you trusted me a bit more—”
I notice Alfarin and Elinor backing away toward the door. “Stay where you are and finish packing!” I yell at them.
Medusa opens her mouth to say something again but mercifully closes it. Instead, she grabs Elinor and drags her into the bathroom.
Loud muttering comes from within. I don’t think the girls are arguing, but Medusa is getting pissed about something else now, judging by the rapid stream of words gushing from her mouth. Alfarin is just shutting the lid on the guitar case when the girls reappear. I’ve punched in Septimus’s number and my thumb is hovering above the green key.
I miss him. I hope he knows I never wanted to let him down. If I talk to him, explain everything, maybe we can work this out. I don’t want to be dead anymore, and he of all people will understand that.
Medusa and Elinor grab their bags and sling them onto their backs. Common sense has prevailed. We shouldn’t fight with one another, and the girls have to understand that I’m only trying to look out for them. They’re my best friends.
Elinor wraps her arm around Alfarin’s biceps and hugs him tightly. “Don’t forget yer axe,” she whispers.
Medusa slips her hand into mine. “Can we please stop fighting, Medusa?” I ask. I see that she’s also linked arms with Elinor, who has turned her back to me so I get a faceful of her backpack. Which reminds me, where is mine?
“Now, Elinor!” cries Medusa.
My neck jerks back as the floor falls away beneath my feet. I’m spinning in the darkness with the tortured screams of the dead passing through my head. Groping hands are replaced by teeth. I can feel them biting at me, tearing at my skin as snarling wolves circle me in the blinding black.
It’s wet. We’ve landed face-first in shallow water. My hands and feet find the bottom of the pool and I lever my aching body up. The sun is setting, and flaming pink streaks are shooting across the indigo sky. A towering steel obelisk stands in front of us, pointing skyward to the first stars.
“What have you done, Elinor?” I choke out. “What day is this? What time?”
“Elinor took us back in time six months, which is what you should have done in the first place, Mitchell,” replies Medusa. “If you hadn’t kept us in the present, Septimus wouldn’t have tracked us down already.”
There are people staring at us, pointing. Four teenagers have just materialized out of thin air into one of the fountains next to the Eiffel Tower.
It’s early evening in Paris.
In the summer.
We couldn’t have asked for more witnesses if we had landed on the stage during the Super Bowl halftime show.
I am seething.
“You can’t just imagine a scene from a book and take us there! Now give me the Viciseometer,” I say through gritted teeth.
“No,” replies Medusa. “Not until you’ve given me your cell phone and promised me you won’t call Hell.”
“I won’t need to call Hell, Medusa!” I shout, splashing through the water toward Elinor. “You’ve just announced our existence to half of Europe. I need to fix this now before it’s too late.”
/> Alfarin leans forward, snatches the Viciseometer from Elinor’s hand, and throws it to me.
“Take us back.”
Medusa jumps onto my back as I start to manipulate the red needle across the dials. Her hands are around my neck as she claws for the Viciseometer. Alfarin tries to remove her and promptly trips over Elinor’s long legs. The four of us splash back down into the fountain. We can hear the laughter of those watching.
I fix my thoughts on the hotel, but the dying flowers in the hall are what I see.
“Grab someone, now.”
I feel as if my head has disconnected from the rest of my body. Flaming wind whips at my skin as images of the screaming dead finally emerge in the darkness. Their open mouths swirl in a cloudy gray vortex. Then the images change and blood-soaked teeth on top of human heads lunge forward for the kill.
I land on top of Elinor; Medusa is on top of me. For one panicked moment I think we’ve lost Alfarin, but then I see his boot sticking out from underneath Elinor. He’s bearing the weight of all of us.
We’re in the hallway outside our hotel room. Steam is rising from our bodies and the walls around us are streaked with a thick black coating that looks like tar. As I glance up, a black shadow shaped like an enormous dog creeps along the wall toward us. It opens its huge jaws near the girls’ heads. . . .
“I can still hear the screaming,” sobs Elinor, shrinking into the doorframe opposite. “I saw the Skin-Walkers, and they saw me.”
“I saw them, too,” gasps Medusa. She’s shivering, and her hands and lips have turned blue.
“We need to get inside the room!” I shout. The shadow disappears. “Who has the key cards?”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t you have them?”
“I don’t even have my bag, why would I have the key cards?”
“They were on the table.”
“Why didn’t anyone pick them up?”
Alfarin starts slamming his fist on the door. Then he rattles the handle.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get in.”