Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Distikka had regained control of her aura and remained impassive.

  “That makes you her heir,” concluded the princess with satisfaction. “Her only heir. Virtually the equivalent of a death sentence, given how fond Malveria is of executing her relatives. It was clever of you to work your way into a position of confidence, given your origins. It speaks highly of your abilities. And yet, you’re not satisfied, are you?”

  Distikka was unabashed. She smiled a small smile that failed to light up her face. “No, I’m not.”

  “You’d much rather be Queen of the Hiyasta yourself. That does go a long way towards explaining your treachery.” The princess looked pleased with herself. “So now we understand each other much better. Shall we examine the corpse?”

  They crossed the cavern together and stood over a body that lay on the bare stone floor.

  “Similar build, and not a bad resemblance,” said the princess. “The Mistress of the Werewolves will be seeking a quick and private burial for her son. With some sorcerous help, we should be able to pass this off as Sarapen.”

  Chapter 60

  Albermarle had taken two hunters with him to the museum, both junior members of the guild. He met them, as arranged, in the Roman gallery. It was their first mission, and their excitement showed.

  “Did you make contact with the white-haired werewolf?”

  “I did.”

  “So now what do we do?”

  “We set out to demoralize and confuse her.”

  Albermarle’s companions looked concerned.

  “Shouldn’t we just kill her?” one of them asked.

  “Of course we shouldn’t just kill her!” exclaimed Albermarle. Noticing he was attracting attention from other museum visitors, he lowered his voice and ushered his companions towards the far side of a large display cabinet. “Didn’t I tell you this was a special mission? Dominil isn’t your standard werewolf. She needs careful handling. And some demoralizing.”

  “I don’t remember anything about demoralizing werewolves in training.”

  “I thought we were just meant to kill them.”

  “Who’s in charge of this mission, you or me?” snapped Albermarle. “I say she has to be demoralized, and that’s what we’re going to do. By the time we’re finished with her, Dominil will be baffled, defeated, and forced to admit that she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. And she’s not that attractive either.”

  Albermarle led his companions around to the other side of the huge display cabinet. There he almost bumped straight into Dominil, who was studying the coins in the cabinet. He leapt back in alarm.

  “From the reign of Vespasian,” said Dominil. “I always thought he was one of the better emperors. He certainly stabilized Rome after the civil wars of 69 AD. I don’t think you’ll make a very good werewolf hunter, Albermarle.”

  “She heard us!” croaked one Albermarle’s companions.

  Albermarle shushed him. “No matter. Yes, Dominil, your time has come. I know you’re a werewolf.”

  “How fascinating.”

  “You think you’re smart just because you were top of the year at Oxford? Well, you’re not so smart. You can’t get into the guild’s computers now, can you? That’s because I stopped you! Me, Albermarle. I’ve always been a better programmer than you.”

  Though the news that Albermarle was a werewolf hunter had come as a great surprise, Dominil took it calmly. It was five years or so since she’d last seen him. He’d been a post-graduate student at Oxford while she was in the final year of her degree. Though Dominil had never held him in any regard as a person, she was aware of his intellect.

  It was taxing confronting hunters in daylight when she couldn’t transform. Her own natural strength was such that she didn’t fear anyone, but there was always the possibility of a hunter using his gun, even though shooting a werewolf in human form was against the guild’s normal policy.

  “I don’t suppose you thought you’d ever have to pay for your crimes at Oxford.”

  “Refusing to attend a dance with you is not a crime,” said Dominil, dryly.

  “That’s not what I was referring to,” yelped Albermarle. “I mean the mysterious deaths on campus.”

  “Nothing to do with me,” said Dominil.

  “I know you were behind them.”

  Dominil raised an eyebrow. “Are you still upset I took your place on the quiz team?”

  “No! But that was my place! You stole it.”

  Dominil almost smiled. “Hunting doesn’t seem like an ideal profession for you, Albermarle.”

  Albermarle stared into Dominil’s dark eyes. “I found out about you and tracked you down, didn’t I?”

  Dominil stared back, looking up at him though she was a tall woman herself.

  “I hate werewolves.”

  “We’re a dangerous breed,” said Dominil, evenly. The display cabinet backed up against the wall, making it impossible for Dominil to retreat. Deciding that it was time to leave, she stepped forward to pass by the hunters.

  “Look out!” cried the youngest. With that, he pulled a gun from under his jacket.

  “Put that away,” said Albermarle, but the young hunter was panicking. He knew that, even in human form, Dominil had the strength to break his neck. He leveled his gun. Dominil reacted instantaneously, grabbing his wrist, yanking him forward, and striking his throat all in one swift action. The other hunter leapt backwards and reached for his own weapon. Dominil knocked him over then ran from the room. As she exited the gallery, there was a loud explosion, and a bullet whistled over her head.

  Dominil sprinted for her life. She hated fleeing, but three guns wielded by nervous hunters was too risky. A silver bullet would kill her just as surely in human form as in werewolf shape. She ran through the next two galleries, the tails of her long leather coat flying out behind her. She wove her way through the crowd of visitors, barging past them so that a trail of shouted protests followed her as she ran. As she burst into the corridor, another shot rang out. The young hunter had apparently lost all control and was intent on killing her right here, witnesses or not.

  Dominil had already formulated a plan of escape. Remembering the layout of the vast museum from her previous visits, she knew there was a small exit at the back of the building. To get there, she’d have to circle around through some of the galleries and corridors. Once outside, she could outdistance her pursuers.

  Dominil ran through two galleries of Greek artifacts. A uniformed attendant shouted at her but stepped back sharply as two hunters burst into view, one of them with a gun in his hand. There were screams from a family of tourists. The werewolf sprinted into the next gallery, which she remembered had a door leading back to the Egyptian section. From there she could make for the exit.

  Unfortunately, the door was locked.

  Dominil skidded to a halt, almost crashing into the woodwork in her haste. A sign on the wall informed visitors that the gallery was undergoing alterations. There was no exit other than the door she’d come in.

  Dominil spun around in time to see the two young hunters racing into the room, followed by Albermarle. She didn’t hesitate for a second. As they raised their guns, she grabbed hold of an enormous cabinet of Greek vases. She wrenched it free of its fastenings and hurled the glass case straight at the hunters. It crashed into them, showering them with broken glass and pottery. Alarms sounded as the exhibit was destroyed. Attendants flooded in and stared in surprise at the sight of three men lying on the floor under the shattered cabinet.

  Dominil brushed the attendants aside as she headed for the exit. She hurtled into the huge marble hall at the front of the museum then out of the door and through the great stone pillars in the courtyard. Sprinting towards Museum Street, she knocked students out of the way as they studied their visitors’ maps. Alarms were still going off behind her. Dominil kept running till she reached Gower Street, where she paused briefly to sniff the air, searching for Albermarle’s scent. As far as she could tell, he w
asn’t close.

  Dominil disappeared into the nearby warren of buildings that made up the university campus. The flight hadn’t fatigued her. She maintained a brisk pace till she was a long way north of the museum then stepped onto a bus that took her towards Euston station. Sitting on the lower deck, she appeared quite calm. Inside, she seethed with anger. Dominil didn’t like to be pursued.

  When she finally arrived home, Dominil spent some time carefully checking that she hadn’t been followed. As she opened the door and slipped inside, the sun dipped below the horizon. Dominil felt a strong desire to take on her werewolf shape, to replenish her strength, but resisted the urge for the few moments necessary to take the carefully measured dose of laudanum she required each day. That done, she transformed then sat on the couch in her sparsely furnished living room, pondering the surprising news that her old acquaintance Albermarle was now a werewolf hunter. It was bad enough that the Avenaris Guild was seeking to destroy Yum Yum Sugary Snacks. Now they were chasing her out of museums as well. Dominil bared her fangs. She was fond of her trips to the museum and wasn’t about to give them up for anybody.

  Chapter 61

  Vex, having received her allowance from her aunt, skipped down Tottenham Court quite cheerfully, a large plastic bag in each hand. The day had started off well when she put on her new Tokyo Top Pop Boom-Boom Girl T-shirt and had improved even further when she found a great new pair of boots in Camden Market. They were of the huge, gothic variety she favored, and Vex, wise to the potential skin-chafing problems new boots could bring, had also purchased some new Hello Kitty ankle socks to wear underneath them. Life, she thought, could hardly be better.

  She paused in front of a large computer store to check her reflection. Completely oblivious to passersby, she adjusted several of her blond spikes, forcing them back into the golden sphere that now encompassed her features.

  As she turned the corner onto Oxford Street, her thoughts turned to Kalix. It was unfortunate that her werewolf friend seemed so unhappy. Suddenly she spied a comic shop.

  “Ah,” thought Vex. “The very thing. Nothing will cheer Kalix up like some new werewolf comics.”

  The young Fire Elemental rushed enthusiastically into the shop but was momentarily confused to find it packed with everything except comics. Vex looked around with wonder at the huge array of models, T-shirts, figurines, posters, and DVDs. It all looked like it was worth investigating, but she stuck to her task and approached the counter. “I’m looking for comics.”

  “Downstairs,” said the assistant, a rather surly looking young woman in an X-Men T-shirt.

  Vex hurried downstairs, but once there she looked in bewilderment at the huge array of comics in boxes and on racks on the walls. At the counter, there was another gloomy-looking assistant.

  “I’m looking for Curse of the Wolf Girl,” she said to him.

  “What for?”

  “I want to buy it.”

  The assistant looked at her with contempt. “Waste of money. Terrible comic. Try under C.”

  Vex looked again at the boxes of comics. “Could you show me?”

  The assistant frowned. “In a minute; I’m busy.”

  Vex was puzzled. When she went to buy T-shirts and boots, the assistants were usually friendlier. She wandered over to the comics, where a large man was flicking through a box with a determined air. Vex wasn’t sure if he was an assistant or a customer.

  “Is there any Curse of the Wolf Girl?” she asked, hopefully. The man looked at Agrivex with interest, taking in her dark complexion, odd makeup, spiky blond hair, and cheerful grin. He smiled down at her.

  “Curse of the Wolf Girl? That was a good comic.”

  “The assistant said it was terrible.”

  “He knows nothing. He’s an idiot. He has no taste in comics whatsoever.”

  Vex was slightly alarmed at the large man’s apparent vehement dislike of the assistant. “Curse of the Wolf Girl?” she repeated hopefully.

  “Yes, that was a good comic. Early artwork by Nathaniel Smith-Morris, as you probably remember. Of course, Curse only ran for twelve issues before it was canceled, back in the seventies, so there’s not that many of them around these days.”

  Vex looked on expectantly as the large man rifled through another box.

  “Here we are!” he said triumphantly. “Issues three, seven, and eight. Not bad condition.”

  Vex’s face lit up. She thanked him sincerely. She liked this helpful stranger, even though he wore a rather shabby gray shirt, draped loosely over a Batman T-shirt, and his hair hung over his pudgy face in quite an odd manner. To her surprise, he took the comics to the counter, went behind the cash register, and rung them up himself. Apparently he worked here too, despite his contempt for his fellow assistant.

  “Are there any more?”

  “Not right now. We get a few old issues in every now and then. If you come in again, ask for me, and not any other dim-witted assistant who might work here. I’m Albermarle.”

  Vex thanked him and left the shop feeling happy. Now she had new boots, new socks, new makeup, and three comics that were bound to cheer Kalix up. It really had been a good day’s shopping.

  Chapter 62

  Is that red hair natural? Does it stay red when he’s a werewolf?”

  Thrix frowned at her assistant. Decembrius was sitting in her waiting room, and she didn’t feel like discussing his hair.

  “He was very insistent about seeing you,” Ann explained.

  “Of course,” muttered Thrix. “Every MacRinnalch is insistent about seeing me. It never occurs to them I might not want to see them.”

  Despite her persistent attempts to separate herself from the clan, the past few months had brought visits to her London office by Sarapen, Markus, her mother, Dominil, Kalix, Gawain, and now Decembrius.

  “Why don’t they just organize their damned council meetings here and have done with it?” she grunted, putting her computer to sleep. “You might as well show him in and get it over with.”

  The last time Thrix had seen Decembrius, he’d been slinking out of the wreckage after the great battle in which Sarapen had died. Though the feud was supposedly over now, Thrix readied herself with a defensive spell, just in case.

  Decembrius walked into her office with a self-assured air.

  “What do you want?” asked Thrix, making no attempt to sound friendly.

  “The normal token of MacRinnalch hospitality?” said Decembrius, grinning.

  Thrix wasn’t amused, but she took her bottle of whisky from the cabinet and poured two glasses. There were times when she found the need to offer this token of hospitality intensely annoying. “Here. Now what do you want?”

  “Kalix wants to know who killed Gawain.”

  “So?”

  “We thought you might have some ideas.”

  “Why isn’t she asking me herself?”

  Decembrius shrugged. “I suppose she doesn’t feel like visiting.”

  “So you thought you’d come instead?”

  Decembrius smoothly ignored her irritation. “Do you have any idea who killed Gawain?”

  “Why should I? Does Kalix think I killed him?” The enchantress shook her head. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she did. I still don’t see what it’s got to do with you.”

  “What’s so strange about me wondering about the murder of a fellow werewolf?” asked Decembrius.

  “The fact that you don’t care whether Gawain is alive or dead, for one thing. Is this your way of trying to win Kalix over?” Dominil had once told Thrix that she believed Decembrius was very attracted to Kalix. “Try taking her a bottle of laudanum. She’ll like that better.”

  “You studied the crime scene, Thrix. You sent the body back to Scotland. You might have picked up some clues.”

  The enchantress stared at Decembrius with dislike, taking in his longer and brighter hair and his new piercings. “When did you turn into Ziggy Stardust anyway? It’s a bit late for your teenage rebellion.”<
br />
  Decembrius hadn’t expected the enchantress to be pleased to see him, but he was surprised by the level of her hostility. He endeavored to remain calm, though that was never the easiest thing for a MacRinnalch to do while being insulted by a fellow member of the clan.

  “What about your famous second sight? Learned anything with that?” asked Thrix, witheringly. She had a feeling that Decembrius’s much vaunted powers of extra-perception might not be working so well these days. Not that she had ever held them in high regard anyway.

  The intercom buzzed. “You’ve got a meeting in ten minutes,” said Ann.

  “I’ll tell you what I know if it will get you out of my office quickly. I work for my living, unlike certain other MacRinnalchs. Gawain was killed by a huge wound in his heart. I’m not certain what caused the wound because, when I visited his bedsit, he’d been dead for days and the body had gone. When I saw it later at the morgue, it had already been touched by a lot of people. I couldn’t learn that much. It’s possible the wound was caused by a Begravar knife, but I can’t be certain.”

  “I thought the knife was back at the castle?”

  “There were two Begravar knives. One is at the castle, but we don’t know where the other one is. It’s possible it was picked up by a hunter. Or the wound might have been caused by a silver knife. A human wouldn’t have been able to drive it through Gawain’s chest, but a werewolf might. As for a silver bullet, it didn’t seem like a bullet wound to me, but I’m not an expert on ballistics. It might have been.” Thrix paused. “It’s hard to kill a werewolf, but I couldn’t say exactly how it was done.”

  “What about a spell?” asked Decembrius.