The Devil's Dreamcatcher (16 page)

But even though the space inside the Skin-Walkers' circle is an airless void, it's filled with the sound of screaming. I can feel invisible hands grabbing at me. I want to cry out, but I can't. I want to run back to Mitchell and Alfarin and Elinor, but I can't do that, either. I have no alternative but to walk with the Skin-Walkers. They are leading me away from my friends.

I trusted Owen. In that split second, I decided to give him a chance to prove that his soul was good.

I hope he proves me right.

For forty years of death I have continued to breathe, even though I know I don't need to. It's a reflex that becomes a part of who you are from the moment you're born. Now, for the first time since I died, I can't do what comes naturally, and the effect is devastating. I claw at my chest and then my throat. The heavy burning pressure forces my mouth open. I can sense invisible fingers inside my mouth that reach down my throat. I gag.

A female mourner is walking toward us. It isn't Mitchell's mom, because this one is too young to be the mother of a seventeen-year-old. She's wearing a short black jacket, and her hair is dyed the same color. She stops suddenly, and her eyes widen at the sight of us. Not with surprise, but with fear. The Skin-Walkers are still dressed like policemen, but the woman doesn't recognize them as men. It's the eyes. There's too much darkness in the eyes.

The woman can't possibly know what they are, but her sixth sense tells her to start walking quickly in the opposite direction. White earphones trail in her wake as she flees from the group striding toward her.

“Down here,” growls Perfidious. “Iratol, keep watch behind us. We do not want devil or angel essence tracking us.”

The Skin-Walker to my right immediately swings his head
backward. His neck stretches almost one hundred and eighty degrees around without even a shift in his hunched shoulders. I'm in my very own horror movie, and for the first time in my death, I wish there were no Afterlife.

“They have not followed,” he replies in a voice that is slightly higher than Perfidious's. It leaves a painful ringing in my ears.

“Forsaken,” says Perfidious, and he leers at me with a wide grin. Saliva clings to his blackened teeth like a gauzy drape, and my stomach heaves.

Perfidious leads the group into a small thicket of trees. Twigs snap under my feet, but as I look down, I see what the Skin-Walkers are doing to the earth. They are leaving behind scorched footprints that are far worse than the imprints we left. The ground sinks in where they have stepped, and it steams with putrid-smelling black smoke.

“Release the girl,” orders Perfidious.

The Skin-Walkers part and the glass-dome-like atmosphere surrounding me lifts. I choke as the heavy burning sensation in my lungs disappears. I can feel the air in my mouth again, and not invisible fingers. But I'm no less scared. Nine sets of black eyes are now fixed on me. Several of the Skin-Walkers are sniffing me.

“What do you want?” I ask Perfidious. “Septimus told you I know nothing about what happened in Hell.”

“Do not speak of Septimus as if you know him, child,” growls another Skin-Walker. He reaches out to touch my hair and I flinch, but I have nowhere to go. I simply back into another monster.

“Leave her, Cupidore,” snarls Perfidious. “This one is not for us—for now.”

Does Septimus know what's happening here? Would he come to help me? I have to believe that he would if the others had gone to him for help. I'm not evil. I'm not like my stepfather.

“We cannot take back that which is ours while it holds the Dreamcatcher in its hands,” growls Perfidious. He eyes me, leering again. “We have seen inside the Unspeakable's mind, child, and it is filled with longing for you. You will offer yourself up as a
sacrifice. At that time, with what is left of his mind distracted, we will act.”

“And what if he decides he doesn't want me?”

“That will not happen. The Unspeakable wants you. And only you can make the Unspeakable leave the Dreamcatcher.”

“What if I refuse?”

“You will not.”

“What if I can't?”

“So many questions. Let me illuminate your mind, child. If you fail to do as we command, we will tear your lifeless friends apart and make you watch as we feed on their souls, starting with the one who offered himself up,” replies Perfidious. “And then, when you think you can bear the pain no longer, we will ravage
you
.”

“And if you lay one finger on Miss Pallister, it will be my wrath you have to deal with, Perfidious.”

I spin around. Septimus is standing just inches behind the Skin-Walker that tried to touch me. The one called Cupidore.

“You have no power over us, Septimus,” snarls Perfidious. Flecks of spit shoot out of his mouth. One of the Skin-Walkers yelps as the saliva hits his face, leaving small red welts on his pockmarked skin.

“And yet you know I am not a devil to cross,” replies Septimus, and he steps into the uneven circle and stands by my side. I want to collapse against him with relief. He came. He didn't abandon me.

Then I think back to the last few minutes before I left Hell, when we were all in Septimus's office and he said he was counting on the Skin-Walkers tracking us. Did he mean for this to happen? Has Septimus been waiting for this moment in time?

“You know what I am, Perfidious,” drawls Septimus. “What I am capable of.”

How can his deep voice be so calm? Septimus could be reading the weather report, he's so collected.

“You are a traitor,” replies Perfidious.

“Well, it takes one to know one,” says Septimus.

Perfidious laughs. The sickening sound is like a hacking cough.
Then Perfidious's mouth rises at the edges. The cracks in his brown lips widen, revealing throbbing red flesh.

“You sent the child out here as bait, Septimus,” says another Skin-Walker. “Do not think you can fool us with your duplicitous words of compassion.”

“And Miss Pallister was aware of that, Frausneet,” says Septimus. “But that does not mean I intended for her to be offered up as a sacrifice. You can have no claim to her soul, and she and her fellow travelers remain under my protection. And while Perfidious is quite correct in saying I have no power over the Skin-Walkers, need I remind you that Fabulara does?”

Fabulara, the Higher who has control over The Devil and Him, also controls the Skin-Walkers?
The effect of that name on the demons around me is instant. The black haze surrounding the Skin-Walkers thickens and starts to swirl like smoke from flames fueled by a gasoline fire. Their appearance is rapidly changing from policemen to their original animal pelts, to the policemen again. I feel nauseous and faint as my vision becomes blurred by the flickering mass surrounding me.

Septimus takes my arm and leads me away from the Skin-Walkers. My legs are shaking so much I have to cling to him with my other arm to stay on my feet.

“Stay here,” he whispers, “until I give the word.”

“Do not toy with us, Septimus,” growls the Skin-Walker called Frausneet. “You will recall the fate of the fool Baumwither.”

“And the master is most displeased about it,” replies Septimus. “Now listen carefully. Like The Devil himself—and
unlike
Baumwither—I will treat you with all the respect your position in Hell demands, but I reiterate: the minute you touch me, or my charges, it will be Fabulara whom you have to deal with. In fact, it is with her assistance that I am here.”

“What do you want, Septimus?” spits Perfidious. The pretense of the policemen is gone. Slowly, one by one, the Skin-Walkers revert permanently to their real forms. Each wolf pelt bristles with anger.

“It is now clear to me that the Dreamcatcher has absorbed much of The Devil's powers, including the ability to leave Hell on a whim,” says Septimus. “This explains how your Unspeakable got out of Hell, although it does not explain how he managed to escape all of you in the first place.”

At this, several of the Skin-Walkers lunge toward Septimus. The roar from those who stayed in place is like a pride of lions. I scream and jump backward, but Septimus stands his ground.

“You cannot leave the other Unspeakables unguarded in Hell, Perfidious,” says Septimus reasonably. “And to have all nine of you roaming the earth looking for the one who has escaped is folly—”

But I don't hear Septimus's next few words because a voice whispers in my ear.

“We're right behind you.”

Warm fingers tuck a single strand of hair behind my ear.

I look back to see Perfidious strike two of the Skin-Walkers with the back of his hand. They yelp and retreat behind him.

“Two, you say, Septimus? And why would I take orders from you?” Perfidious growls.

“These are not orders. They are merely a suggestion,” replies Septimus. “What say you?”

What have I missed? Two of what? Could Mitchell have picked a worse moment to whisper in my ear? Could he have picked a better moment? I hope Alfarin and Elinor are with him. The thought that Team DEVIL is at my side—albeit invisible—gives me a shot of courage. I had sensed that Owen was giving me a cryptic message about the two Viciseometers, and that was why I threw it to him. Not to take them back to Hell, but to allow them to come with me, unseen by the Skin-Walkers. Owen must have told Mitchell about the effect of the two timepieces: that when they're joined together, the bearer becomes invisible at that moment in time. Only Owen and I proved it works with more than one dead person. All seven devils and angels could be with me right now.

“We will . . . consider,” says Perfidious.

“And I will be waiting,” replies Septimus, with a slight bow.
“Now forgive me, but I have one last task before I return to my master.”

Septimus turns and winks at the space behind me.

“
Now,
” he says loudly.

A freezing cold hand grabs mine as a wall of flames erupts around me.

We are traveling through time once more.

“Ow, get off me, Johnny.”

“I ain't on ye, Angela.”

“No, he's on
me
. Jeez, you're as bony as Medusa, Johnny.”

“Ye leave my brother alone, Mitchell. He just needs fattening up.”

“Unlike the Viking beast crushing my legs.”

“
Shut up, Jeanne!
” cries everyone.

We're in darkness. I know by their voices that I have been taken away by Mitchell, Alfarin, Elinor and Team ANGEL. The air is light and crisp on my skin. It smells sweet. That means the Skin-Walkers are no longer here.

A match strikes. The small flame illuminates Owen's tired face.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Keep your voices down,” he warns. “If my grandmother hears us, there'll be trouble.”

“You've taken us back to your time in England?” I ask.

Owen nods. “1916, the day I signed up to fight. Septimus told me to take everyone somewhere safe, but I couldn't think of anywhere, so I brought us here. It's the coal shed at the bottom of my grandmother's backyard.”

“A coal shed!” exclaims Angela. “I'm wearing white jeans, Owen.”

We are plunged into darkness once more as the match burns out.

“Are ye all right, Medusa?” asks Elinor. “They told me what ye did to save me from the Skin-Walkers. Ye are so brave.”

“You would have done the same,” I reply, although I can't be sure that she would, that any of them would. I don't see condemnation in their eyes when they look at me, but it has to be there, doesn't it? They must blame me for this mess.

I offered myself to the Skin-Walkers because it was the right thing to do. Protecting Elinor was an instinct that I couldn't fight. I didn't want to fight it. Being decent and caring toward another devil felt natural. Empowering. I would do it for any of them.

Mitchell wanted to do it for me. A warm sensation fills my chest as I remember him offering himself in my place. He
did
do the same for me. Or he would have, if the Skin-Walkers had let him.

I can't see where Mitchell is. I need to know he isn't pissed at me for giving the Viciseometer to Owen.

Which reminds me.

“Owen, I need the Viciseometer back.”

Another small flame casts a dim tangerine glow over the four devils and four angels squished in the coal shed. Owen holds the match aloft between his thumb and forefinger. He's looking for something.

“Owen,” I say more urgently. “My Viciseometer. I want it back.”

Mitchell clambers across the coal and plunges his hands into the small hollow where Owen landed. He starts to dig and quickly reveals the two Viciseometers lying inches apart. The miniature flames and stars flickering around each timepiece illuminate the shed better than the temporary light from Owen's matches.

Mitchell throws me the red-faced Viciseometer. I catch it, and immediately a quickening sensation spreads through my whole body. It feels like a pulse, but just as soon as it arrives, it leaves me.

“The Skin-Walkers didn't hurt you, did they?” asks Mitchell. He crawls back over the coal, across Angela's legs, and settles down next to me.

“They threatened to, but then Septimus turned up,” I reply. “I couldn't believe it. How did he know? They were on the verge of offering me up as a sacrifice.”

Mitchell looks at me sheepishly and pulls his black cell phone from one of the many pockets in his cargo pants.

“I had it the whole time. I thought I left it in my backpack in Hell like you guys. But when the Skin-Walkers took you, I immediately went for it to call the boss—it was just a reflex—and I remembered I changed into these pants before we left. . . .”

“And you realized you'd put your phone in a random pocket,” I said, smiling. I'm too relieved to be pissed. Jeanne, however, is not.

“Mitchell betrayed us,” she hisses, “and Owen allowed it to happen. Now everyone in Heaven will know that we have joined with the devil infidels.”