The Devil's Intern (11 page)

“We . . . n-n-need . . . to . . . find . . . sh-sh-shelter,” stammers Alfarin. Medusa and Elinor wrap their arms around themselves and nod in agreement. At least they have sweatshirts on, which is more than Alfarin and I do. I only have a short-sleeved black T-shirt covering my upper body. I might as well be in a Speedo.

“Follow . . . m-m-me,” I gasp, “and . . . Alf-f-f-arin . . . hide . . . that axe.”

“Where?”

Medusa and Elinor stare at Alfarin and then at me. We have no way of disguising the axe. It’s too large to fit into one of the backpacks and too bulky to slip under Alfarin’s thin blue tunic.

“I . . . h-h-have . . . an-n-n . . . idea,” says Medusa. My joints are now starting to ache with a violent shivering that’s completely out of control. “El, c-come . . . w-w-with . . . me.” She motions to me and Alfarin to stay where we are.

“Wh-why . . . c-c-can’t we . . . c-c-come . . . with . . . y-you?” I ask.

“A-a-axe!” is all Medusa can say as she points at Alfarin’s weapon.

I let her go. I can’t trust myself to speak. My teeth are threatening to chatter out of my gums and onto the grass where we’re all standing like vibrating idiots. Medusa dives into my bag, grabs Elinor’s hand, and then drags her onto a path, and together they disappear into the darkness.

Thirty minutes later, two arctic explorers appear. To my overwhelming relief, it’s Medusa and Elinor, who unzip the fur-lined hoods of their new, thick navy-blue parkas and beam at us. Alfarin’s fingers are so cold he’s lost the ability to hold on to his axe. It lies at his feet, the silver blade dull in the moonless sky. Any longer and pieces of me would have started dropping off from frostbite.

Elinor is laden with shopping bags, while Medusa has the handle of a hard leather guitar case in her hand. Alfarin and I dive into the bags and start pulling on layer upon layer of clothing. Both Medusa and Elinor have to help with the fastening of buttons and
zippers, which is a bit like being dressed by my mother and not at all how I like girls to deal with my clothes. It’s another quarter of an hour before we’re almost defrosted and able to talk.

“How did you get all this stuff?” I ask. My voice is slightly muffled by the long red scarf I’ve wound several times around my head. “Did you steal it?”

Medusa slips her hand into her parka pocket and pulls out the cash she took from my bag.

Girls’ brains clearly continue to work even when they’re frozen like a Popsicle.

“Less than an hour back and I’m already saving your skinny ass.” She thumps me, but I don’t feel it because I’m padded like a sumo wrestler.

“Surprise, surprise. Ten seconds in New York and the girls go shopping,” I counter. “Anyway, I would have thought of that eventually.”

“Glad I came now?”

“You’ll have your uses, I suppose.”

“And what will they be? C’mon. I want a long list of how awesome I am.”

I grab Medusa in a headlock, which is easy because now that I’m warm, my strength is back and she’s still small and puny.

“You can do the cooking and the washing and the cleaning—”

Her hands grab my calf and she pulls it back, upending me in the process. I take her down onto the grass with me and we roll around, wrestling and laughing.

It feels good to be almost alive again. Not long to go and I actually will be.

“Is the guitar for me, Medusa?” I ask, looking down at the long case half covered by empty shopping bags.

“Don’t get excited, Mitchell. It’s empty,” replies Medusa—she is sitting on my stomach—“but we thought it would be an excellent place to hide Alfarin’s axe.”

Alfarin flicks open the two silver buckles that secure the guitar case. It falls open, revealing a spotted green silk lining.

“Medusa!” cries Alfarin. “Never before have I been presented with such a magnificent gift. My axe will honor your generosity by gorging on the brains—”

Medusa quickly interrupts Alfarin’s well-intentioned albeit bloody rapture. “No thanks necessary, Alfarin, and El was the one who actually chose it.”

Elinor lowers her head and does that really cute thing she does, looking up through her eyelashes. Then she staggers back slightly as Alfarin falls at her feet and starts kissing her wrists.

“I think we should get some food before Alfarin starts to eat El,” sniggers Medusa. I’m trying my best not to laugh at the expression of panic that’s growing on Elinor’s red face.

“There’s a fast-food restaurant not far from here,” says Medusa. My map is open on her lap. I push her off my stomach and snatch it away from her. I’m in charge here.

“There’s a fast-food restaurant not far from here,” I announce. Medusa slaps me across the head as she climbs to her feet.

“I love this city already,” gushes Alfarin, packing away his axe. “It has food that is fast, and has provided a beautiful bed for my axe to sleep in.”

The four of us waddle away from the park. I think Elinor and Alfarin are wearing seven layers each, but they’ve been in Hell a lot longer than Medusa and me, so they need a lot more warmth. The living barely spare us a second look. We all find the vibrant colors hard to take in at first. We’re so used to shadows and fire that this rainbow city hurts our adapting eyes. Elinor also find the hundreds of cars too noisy, and after a while she resorts to walking with her fingers in her ears. Alfarin is particularly excited by the crosswalks, having spent many an hour poring over books from the library about anything mechanical. He spends several minutes playing with the walk sign, until an irate Italian man lowers the window of his yellow cab and threatens to do something to Alfarin that would absolutely guarantee the driver would end up in Hell.

The smells of hot dogs and crispy fried chicken lead us down a
side street. Alfarin stares in wonder at the colorful menu displayed on a huge window. I swear I’m going to eat everything on it at least twice.

“Never in all of Valhalla have I seen such a wondrous sight!” he cries, turning to me. “May I have the honor of providing tonight’s meal?”

I slip Alfarin some cash. “Go for it, big man.”

Alfarin slaps his chest and throws open the double doors of the fast-food restaurant. Nothing smashes, which is a novelty. Several diners look up from their cheeseburgers as an enormous, barrel-shaped man with long blond hair strides up to the counter dressed like an Eskimo.

“Why do I think this is going to go badly?” mutters Elinor under her breath. Her fingers are massaging the back of her neck again.

“He’ll be fine,” Medusa assures her. “Let’s go find a seat.”

A large woman with an even bigger chest is serving behind the counter. Her red-and-white-striped shirt—which is stretched so tight the seams look as if they’re going to explode at any second—bears the logo
HAPPY TO SERVE
. From the scowl on her round face, she doesn’t look it.

Alfarin unzips and throws back his fur-lined hood.

“Wench, give me a bucket of chicken,” he demands.

The next sound is Elinor’s head hitting the white plastic table where we’ve just sat.

“What did you just call me?” snarls the fast-food server in a deep southern drawl very similar to Septimus’s.

Alfarin slaps some cash down on the counter as Elinor jumps up. She starts rushing across the tiled floor, but before she reaches our Viking friend, she slips on a discarded pickle slice, flies into the air, and comes crashing down on her back.

“Chicken, wench,” demands Alfarin again. “My name is Alfarin, son of Hlif, son of Dobin, and this money is my ticket to food. Now, provide for my friends or I will slap your buttocks to prove my displeasure.”

“Who are you calling wench, you fat son of a bitch?” yells the woman, shaking her pudgy fist. “Get the hell out of here before I call the cops!”

Medusa is trying to haul a disoriented Elinor to her feet. I’m laughing so hard I don’t dare move for fear of peeing my pants.

“Forget me,” groans Elinor to Medusa, “just get Alfarin out of here.”

It takes several minutes to drag Alfarin’s enormous frame out of the fast-food restaurant. He only consents to leave when the woman he has offended starts hitting him with a greasy fish spatula.

“I did nothing wrong!” exclaims Alfarin. “In our halls, all of the serving women are called wenches. It is a compliment.”

“I think chocolates, flowers, and calling someone darling are more acceptable here, ye big oaf,” says Elinor with exasperation.

“Get out, get out!” screams the woman, who is now brandishing the spatula at all of us.

“You get ’em, Martha,” drawls an elderly customer with crinkled black skin and a shock of gray hair. “You show ’em nobody messes with my girl and her buttocks.”

Only when the four of us have hurried back into the relative safety of Central Park do I remember the money that Alfarin slapped down on the counter. We can’t waste cash. Working in Hell’s accounting department has taught me that.

“Did someone pick it up?” I ask in a panic.

“I’ve got it,” replies Elinor. She pats her back pocket. “I grabbed it after the woman started throwing cheeseburgers at us.”

“I don’t understand!” cries Alfarin. “If I had slapped her rump, a smack across my face would have been expected. In fact, I would have welcomed it. In my day, this was how we attracted the opposite sex.”

“You have a lot to learn about women, Alfarin,” replies Medusa. “Just don’t go asking Mitchell to teach you anything.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demand.

“Let’s just say your taste in girls needs improvement.”

“I have excellent taste in girls, thank you very much.”

“Mitchell, I’ve seen you make out with a girl with an Adam’s apple.”

“So?”

“Girls don’t have an Adam’s apple, you fool!” shouts Medusa.

Elinor is making a funny snorting noise like a pig. She’s laughing so hard tears are falling down her bright-red cheeks.

I stop walking. Is Medusa saying what I think she’s saying? I look to Alfarin for support, but he’s too busy trying to get ketchup out of his beard.

“What do we do now, Mitchell?” asks Elinor, trying to be the peacemaker.

“We book a hotel and get room service,” I reply. “I’m starving, I’m cold, my eyes hurt, and that girl did not have an Adam’s apple. Her neck was just a bit lumpy. I think she died of the plague or something.”

“If you say so.”

“What hotel would you like to check into, Mitchell?” asks Elinor.

“I vote we check into the first one we come across,” says Alfarin. “Mitchell needs to rest before we cause any more trouble today.”

Only pregnant women and old people need rest. Even Alfarin thinks I’ve turned into a girl. Hungry and exhausted, Team DEVIL starts to walk toward the looming bank of stone and light that first welcomed us to New York City. On the way, we pass a large bronze statue of a man on a horse with a winged angel next to it. It looks suspicious, as if it has eyes that are following our every move. A solitary policeman is standing next to it. He looks at Medusa and sniffs the air. Then his mouth widens slowly and he grins; his teeth look twice as long as normal. A rotten smell, probably the city’s garbage, fills the night air.

“That looks like a hotel,” says Medusa. She points to a château-style building on the corner. “Why don’t we stay there, at least for tonight?”

The agreement is unanimous. I look behind us nervously, but
the policeman is gone. All I can see is the outline of a large dog running off into the park.

Arm in arm, we troop up a red carpet and enter the building. I hear music coming from somewhere close by, and it takes all my resolve to not go searching for the piano that’s making it. Instead, I clutch my wallet. It holds the cash I stole from the office and my photo ID from when I was alive. I don’t know why I kept the ID; I certainly never expected to use it again. Maybe it was too hard to let go. But it’ll definitely come in handy today.

When we get to the front desk, I request the two cheapest rooms available: one for Alfarin and me to share and the other for Medusa and Elinor.

The pretty Asian desk clerk smiles at me as I hand her cash and she hands over the door cards. Just like that, we have shelter at one of the most luxurious hotels in the world. “Now, if there is anything we can do to make your visit more pleasant, Mr. Johnson, please do not hesitate to ask the concierge. We hope you enjoy your stay at the Plaza,” she says.

Medusa is asleep before her head hits the pillow; Alfarin isn’t far behind. It looks as if the four of us will be sharing one room tonight, because there’s no way Elinor will go into the other room alone with me, and I wouldn’t ask her to. I’m a gentleman.

Elinor tiptoes around the room. It really is impressive, especially considering we’re in the cheap seats. The faucets in the white marble bathroom appear to be made of gold. The clothes hangers are all padded like pillows, which I think is ridiculous, but they send Elinor into spasms of joy.

I’m busy counting our remaining cash when Medusa starts screaming and crying in her sleep. Her head thrashes from side to side and her arms fling out in front of her as she struggles to wake up from the terror she has fallen into. I’ve seen her do this before, and it isn’t pretty. Elinor and I both leap onto the bed as Alfarin tumbles out of the seat he was snoozing in. He has his axe in his hand and
is about to start swinging. This is just as scary as Medusa’s screams, because Alfarin is still only half awake and liable to take someone’s head off if he isn’t careful.

“Ye were shouting in your sleep,” whispers Elinor. She’s stroking Medusa’s hair away from her sweaty face. I want to do that, because I’m Medusa’s best friend, but I let Elinor.

“Another nightmare?” I ask. I put my hand on Medusa’s shoulder. She leans into me and I wrap my arms around her bony rib cage. Her chest is rising in short, shallow bursts. If she were alive I’d be able to feel her hammering heart, but she isn’t, so I can’t.

“Ye relived it again?”

Medusa nods. Large teardrops are leaking from her brown eyes, but she doesn’t make a sound. No sobs, no whimpers. Medusa isn’t one to make a fuss unless she’s really upset.

Like when a friend tries to swap a friendship for a leather jacket.