The Devil's Dreamcatcher (15 page)

“The people will certainly look twice at the beast with the axe,” mutters Jeanne.

“And if they hear you talking, they'll look twice because they'll think they're about to be attacked by a swarm of bees,” I snap, fed up with this saint who has done nothing but put down my friends since we met her.

“New York?” says Alfarin eagerly. “That is the land of glorious wenches with fried chicken, is it not?”

“Alfarin, ye cannot call the women that!” cries Elinor. “I'm sorry, everyone, but he cannot be trusted in New York. There are just too many large backsides for him to slap.”

The hairs on my arms suddenly rise as the bickering continues.
Shadows have started to creep around the walls of the mausoleums. They look like snarling dogs, and the others are so busy talking about food that they haven't noticed.

But I do, because I notice when things are lurking.

We've been tracked.

And we've been found.

Alfarin sees the shadows next; his axe immediately goes into a nine o'clock position. I see a quick glint of silver—so bright it's almost white—to my left. Jeanne has pulled out a small knife with an ivory handle.

“Did you think because I'm an angel I would not be armed?” she says to Mitchell, who is staring bug-eyed at her. “I remember the cruelty of this world only too well.”

“What's making those shadows?” asks Angela, her voice breaking with fear as she sees them next.

We all take another four steps back as the shadows continue to stretch out along the white stone. One throws back its head and howls. The black mouth splits apart and the shadowy outline of a man stretches out of it.

We start running.

I still have sneakers on, so my footing is solid, unlike Elinor's and Angela's. They're both slipping and sliding around in ballet flats.

“Leave us behind!” cries Elinor.

“Alfarin, can you carry Elinor?” I shout.

“It would be an honor,” he booms. As he shouts, an invisible weight bears down on me and my knees buckle. My head threatens to burst open with a sudden, blinding pain. Then I recall a haunting image, ghostly and pale, of Alfarin sweeping Elinor over his
shoulder and the four of us—Team DEVIL—running from a hot wind that comes screaming at us through a cave.

“Medusa, you have to run.” Strong hands grab my arms, and I'm pulled to my feet by Mitchell and Owen.

“Which way?” shouts Johnny.

“Put me down, Alfarin,” says Elinor. “I will run quicker without shoes on my feet.”

I twist around and see the distinct outline of nine Skin-Walkers on the walls of the mausoleums. Are they really here with us, or is this some kind of projection designed to scare the crap out of us? If it's the latter, it's working. Alfarin has dropped Elinor and he's now by my side, sweating. His thick, trunklike legs are bent, ready to launch into battle against enemies we cannot possibly hope to defeat.

“Go with the others, Medusa,” he says. “I will hold them back.”

I spot the rest of the group running together. If we all had somewhere to hide, I could get us away with the Viciseometer. There must be something more substantial in this sprawling graveyard than headstones and mausoleums, like an office or small visitors' center, but if there is, we're too far away for it to be any use.

Even if we weren't, though, I wouldn't leave Alfarin alone.

“We have to stick together, Alfarin.”

Then, as if a light has been switched on above us, the shadows disappear. All nine outlines of the men with the wolf pelts have gone.

The smell hits.

“Oh, shit, oh, shit!” I cry as I spin around. “The Skin-Walkers are here. They're actually here. Where are they? Where are the others?”

Alfarin and I are completely alone.

“
Elinor!
” he cries.

“
Mitchell!
” I yell.

Our voices drop like dead weights. I look down and see that the grass beneath our feet is dying.

“Look, Alfarin,” I pant, grabbing his forearm. “The grass has
been poisoned just by us being here. We can follow the others' footsteps.”

My great plan immediately unravels as we stumble across a large patch of blackened grass that has footprints leading in two different directions. The others have already split up.

“Which one is Team DEVIL and which belongs to the angels?”

Alfarin falls to his knees and spreads his plate-sized hands across the damp grass.

“These are Mitchell's footsteps,” he says. “He has feet the size of a longboat. The ones next to them are dainty, the feet of a princess. It is this way, Medusa.”

We hurtle down a tightly packed row of crosses and stone tablets. Then I catch a glimpse of blond hair. The head is bobbing and weaving directly ahead of us. It's like an albino hedgehog on steroids.

“There!” I point the way to Alfarin, who is grunting and groaning with every step. The muscles in my neck and shoulders ache as I continue to run while twisting to watch our backs at the same time. I can no longer tell if the shadows around me are cast by some of the ornate gravestones, or whether there is something far more nefarious on our tail.

And all the while, that disgusting stench rolls over us in rotten waves.

“Mitchell!” I cry. “Wait up!”

Immediately the bobbing head stops running and turns around. A gap appears in the headstones, and my stomach drops with a sickening thud.

Mitchell is running with Angela. And they're alone.

“Where's Elinor?” Alfarin and I cry together.

“I thought she was with you two!” shouts Mitchell, looking stricken.

“She must be with her brother,” calls Angela. “They went in the opposite direction.”

“
Why didn't you go with her?
” bellows Alfarin.

“Because Johnny went in the direction my mom went in, Alfarin!” yells Mitchell. “There's only so much space in my head,
and not being seen by my mom and escaping from the Skin-Walkers was all I could think of.”

“I am sorry, my friend.”

“No, it's my fault, I screwed up.” Mitchell is clawing at his short hair.

“Let's just find the others,” says Angela, taking Mitchell's hand. “We'll find them.”

And Mitchell lets her hold on to him as the four of us run back the way we came. I watch their fingers link, and my throat closes up.

“That smell!” cries Angela. “What in the name of Down There is that smell?”

“It is the worst of Hell,” replies Alfarin.

“There's Owen!” shouts Mitchell. “Hey, Owen, wait up.”

“Have caution, my friend,” says Alfarin. “You cannot let your lady mother hear you.”

“Crap.”

“She's not here, Mitchell,” says Angela. “Medusa and I will keep a lookout, won't we?”

I tear my eyes away from their interlocked fingers, and the heaving sensation in my stomach shifts to my chest.

“Red coat,” I whisper. “His mom is wearing a red coat.”

But it isn't a red coat we see next. It's red hair. Short, flaming red hair.

It's Johnny, and Elinor isn't with him. Only Owen is.

“Perhaps she's with Jeanne,” says Angela hopefully.

“Yeah, because that witch would have waited for a devil,” replies Mitchell as Johnny comes racing toward us.

“Elinor isn't with you?” he cries.

“Which way did she go?” demands Alfarin. Mitchell and Owen each place an arm across Alfarin's huge chest, but they are twigs in a tornado and easily brushed aside as Alfarin strides forward and grabs Johnny's T-shirt, lifting his feet clean off the ground.

Suddenly there is a blinding flash. Alfarin is on the ground, and the streak of light that knocked him down is holding a blade to his throat.

“
Stop fighting!
” screams Angela. “
We have to find Elinor!
”

Her desperation to find Elinor immediately dilutes my jealousy over Mitchell. Locating my friend is all that matters. But the others ignore her and continue shouting at one another. Forget Mitchell's mom and her hearing us—they're making enough noise to wake the dead. Somehow through the din I hear a rustle to my right.

And then I see her. She's next to a stout tree with thick bark that looks like flaking skin. Elinor is motionless; she appears to be floating.

Perfidious steps out from behind her. He's wearing a policeman's uniform, but I know right away it's him because his mouth is too large for his head. He smiles and bares black teeth.

And unlike ours, his irises haven't changed.

“You will come with us, child,” he growls in a deep, sonorous voice that stretches with each word. He sniffs at Elinor and then runs his long fingers through her hair. “You will come with us, or you will see your friend devoured by wolves.”

I stare at Elinor. She has her eyes closed; I'm not sure she's aware of what's happening. I hope not. I try to take a step toward her, but my legs feel rubbery and unstable. The stench from Perfidious is horrific. It's a mixture of rotten food, sour milk and sweat. He's surrounded by a thin black haze that moves around Elinor's body with thin tendrils that poke and prod her motionless form. The guilt I feel at seeing her like this is drowning me. Elinor is here because she wanted to stay with Alfarin; and he is here because of me.

“Please don't hurt her,” I plead, my voice cracking as the syllables gets stuck in my dry throat. “I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt her.”

I glance behind me. I need to warn Alfarin against doing something stupid, like charging at Perfidious with his axe.

But I don't need to, because the blade is lying at his feet. The sight of Elinor trapped by Perfidious has petrified the warrior.

“Slowly walk toward me,” growls Perfidious. Each word is elongated and reminds me of someone who is learning a new language for the first time. For the first time, it occurs to me that the Skin-Walkers probably aren't human, and that makes them even more dangerous.

I raise my hands in surrender.

“I will do anything you want, just please, don't hurt Elinor.”
Fear makes my feet feel large and clumsy; I might as well be wearing clown shoes instead of sneakers.

Then Mitchell places himself in front of me.

“Take me instead,” he says. “Not Medusa. Take me.”

A pack of wolves jumps out at us from all directions. I can't help screaming, and I'm not the only one. Two of the beasts bound toward Elinor and then straighten up on either side of her. She jerks violently as they grab her arms. They've morphed into men wearing animal pelts. The black haze surrounding Perfidious stretches out and covers them. When the dense fog evaporates, they're also wearing police uniforms. If anyone were to see this scene, they would assume a large group of delinquents was being arrested for vandalizing graves or something. No one would stop to help us. The Skin-Walkers would probably be cheered and encouraged to take us away.

Jeanne has come back to the group; she's standing next to Owen. He whispers something to her that I don't catch, but she shakes her head in response.

“Mitchell, don't,” I say forcefully, pushing against his arm. He grabs my hand, and I hear a choking sob escape from his chest. Winding my fingers around his, I squeeze, but he has to let me go.

“We will tear the girl limb from limb,” growls the Skin-Walker to the left of Perfidious. “Do not test us.”

“Melissa, the Viciseometer!” shouts Owen.

But I ignore him. Does he really expect me to use the Viciseometer now? I don't run away from problems I've caused—and I'm certainly not running now, when the girl who's the closest thing I've ever had to a friend is in danger. I slowly place one heavy foot in front of the other. My fingers release from Mitchell's, but I'm the one letting go. I'm still a good ten yards away from Elinor. Her thin arms are being pulled to either side by the two Skin-Walkers, and one licks his lips with a forked black tongue.

They are feasting on our fear.

“Melissa,” calls Owen again, even more urgently than before. “The Viciseometer. Throw it to me.”

Perfidious growls, and the vibration and chill it causes shudder right through me.

“Shut the Hell up, Owen!” I shout, twisting back to glare at him, but the soldier angel is making strange movements with his hands.

Trust me
, he mouths. Then he taps his heart and draws a circle with his index finger.

And I understand, or at least I think I do.

My fingers fumble in the pocket of my shorts.

“What are you doing, Medusa?” whispers Mitchell frantically. “Take it with you. Take it with you.”

But I throw the Viciseometer to Owen as I take another few steps toward the Skin-Walkers. I'm not trusting the angel for my sake. I'm doing this for Elinor, because it's the only hope we have.

“Let her go,” I say.

“
Medusa!
” cries Mitchell. “
No!
”

All of the Skin-Walkers have transformed, and there are now nine policemen surrounding Elinor. Her skin is becoming mottled with purple and green blotches covering her cheeks and neck. What are they doing to her? Her physical form looks like it's rotting. I want to throw up, but the pain of fear is tightening every atom in my soul.

“What did you pass to the angel?” growls Perfidious. His black teeth are bared.

“A Viciseometer. A time-traveling device,” I reply. “They will need it to return to Hell. It means I'm unarmed. I have nothing on me at all.”

“You will remain in our circle,” says Perfidious. “Any attempt to fight and we will attack. Do you understand?”

I nod. My mouth is so dry, my tongue is sticking to my gums. Elinor drops to the ground as the two Skin-Walkers release her arms. She doesn't move. I try to get to her, but the world falls from my feet as I'm lifted up and encircled by the nine Skin-Walkers. Then my ankles turn over with a painful twist as I fall back to the ground.
The second they all close in around me, I feel my ears pop, as if I've been encased in a glass dome. A heavy burning sensation presses down on my chest. The sensation, the longing, to breathe is sucked out of me, and I'm trapped in a vacuum.