“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine when we get on stage.”
“You weren’t fine at the warehouse.”
“Not our fault,” protested Beauty. “We were put off by Pete obsessing about you.”
“You were put off long before that happened.”
“He’s still depressed. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“Absolutely not,” said Dominil.
“Delicious!” called Beauty over her shoulder. “Dominil’s ruining our career again.”
Dominil said a curt goodbye and ended the call. Her phone rang again immediately.
“Hello, Dominil. Are you having a nice time at the castle?”
“Aren’t you getting sick of calling me, Albermarle?” said Dominil, regretting it immediately as it could sound like Albermarle’s psychological campaign was succeeding.
“You didn’t deserve to be in that university quiz team.”
“Get over it,” said Dominil, and she closed her phone. She felt an unexpected urge to sip some laudanum, though it was some hours till her regular scheduled dose. Albermarle was getting to her, a little.
* * *
In the heart of the castle, the enchantress was making another attempt to find Minerva’s book, but the library was shut. Thrix placed her hand over the lock and spoke a few words. The door sprang open. Thrix walked in to find a partially clothed Markus and Beatrice embracing on a chair.
“What are you doing here?” cried Markus, leaping to his feet.
“Looking for a book. This is the library.”
“I found the book you were looking for.” Beatrice hurriedly buttoned her blouse. “Someone had left it in the photocopying room. It was tucked away under some files.”
This struck Thrix as odd. “The photocopying room? Has someone been taking copies?”
Beatrice didn’t know.
“This book contains a lot of powerful sorcery. No one should be taking copies. It shouldn’t be on display. It should be locked away.”
“It is, normally,” said Beatrice. “I don’t know who could have taken it from the secure bookcase.”
Thrix took the book and departed, leaving a discomfited Markus and Beatrice behind. She studied the index as she ascended the long stone staircase to her rooms. The book was written in Minerva’s own hand. As far as Thrix knew, there were no other copies apart from this one and Minerva’s. It was troubling that someone might have been photocopying parts of it. Minerva’s sorcery was far too powerful to be used by anyone except a very experienced practitioner.
“Okay, Minerva,” muttered Thrix, opening the book in her room. “What do you have to say about finding someone who really doesn’t want to be found?”
If Thrix did succeed in finding anything useful, she hoped it didn’t involve too many obscure herbs. She was well versed in herb lore, thanks to her training with Minerva, but these days she preferred to work her magic without resorting to trips to the countryside. It was a long time since Thrix had tramped around looking for herbs, and she didn’t relish the prospect. “I suppose I could visit Colburn Woods and say hello to Queen Dithean. I owe her a visit. And the fairies will probably point me in the right direction for the herbs.”
Chapter 134
On the day she was due to present her assignment, Kalix left the house early. Encouraged by Vex and Daniel, she’d prepared well, but was so anxious about talking in front of the class that she’d started to feel the troubling sense of unreality that came on in times of particularly high stress. She felt disassociated from her own body. Almost as if she were watching herself from outside. Kalix hated the feeling and found it impossible to cope with anyone while it lasted. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to keep up her pretense of being normal in front of her flatmates, she slipped out early, arriving at college before the gates were even open. The young werewolf walked a long way round the back of the building and then sat down to wait.
She sat, unwashed and miserable, till she heard the sounds of students entering the building. Head bowed, she made her way inside. Kalix knew her tutor would hate her assignment and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. She was surprised to find a note taped to her locker.
“Help me. I’m in the boiler room. —Vex.”
“What now?” mumbled Kalix. “What trouble has that idiot got herself into?”
Kalix trudged off towards the stairs that led down to the boiler room, a place she’d never visited before. What Vex was doing here, she couldn’t imagine. As she walked in, the room was dark. The light came on quite suddenly, and she found herself confronted by the Douglas-MacPhees. Duncan inclined his head towards his sister. “You were right.” He turned towards Kalix. “I thought we’d need some half-decent plan to kidnap you. But Rhona said you were so stupid, all we had to do was leave you a note. And here you are.”
“And here we are,” said Rhona.
William moved his huge bulk in front of the door. “You know what we’re going to do with the reward on your head? Pay for a nice memorial for Fergus. He deserves something.”
Duncan took out his long machete from beneath his leather jacket. “I once said I’d cut out your heart. I meant it.”
Kalix was trapped with the Douglas-MacPhees. Trapped in daylight, when she couldn’t transform. She dropped into her fighting crouch, raising her arms and fists in front of her. She wasn’t scared, but she was expecting to die. She felt annoyed that she was going to die before she’d avenged Gawain, but other than that, she just hoped she could take one of the Douglas-MacPhees with her. She waited for her attackers to spring.
“This time there’s no one to rescue you.” Rhona sprung towards Kalix. Abruptly, and inexplicably, she was flung back, rebounding as if off an invisible wall.
“Except me,” said Thrix.
Kalix turned sharply, her fists still raised and her teeth bared. Her battle madness didn’t come on quite as strongly when she wasn’t a werewolf, but she didn’t think that clearly either. She couldn’t understand why her older sister had suddenly appeared.
“You and your filthy sorcery!” screamed Duncan, and leapt for the enchantress.
Thrix repelled Duncan as easily as she had Rhona, and he went sprawling across the room, leaving a long trail on the dusty floor. Thrix stepped towards Kalix, her high heels clicking on the wooden floorboards. “That’s a really good teleportation spell Minerva made,” she murmured. “Much better than my old one.” She looked with disgust at the Douglas-MacPhees. “You really are a vile collection of bullies. Do you never get fed up chasing my sister around?”
Rhona’s dark eyes blazed from underneath her black headband. “You won’t always be here to rescue her.”
“Rescue her? I’m not exactly here to rescue her.” Thrix took Minerva’s book from her handbag. “And really, I am very busy.”
“What do you mean you’re not here to rescue her?”
“I don’t think my sister would thank me for rescuing her. She’d probably resent it if I took her away. Wouldn’t you, Kalix? You always like fighting, don’t you?”
“Then let us fight,” said William, in his deep, earthy voice, “and stop interrupting.”
“I’m going to let you fight,” replied Thrix, “but I’m going to even things up.”
The enchantress flicked open the book and smiled. “That Minerva. No one ever made spells like her. The clan had no idea how powerful she was.” Thrix brushed a speck of dust from her dress. She was perfectly attired, and her stylish frock stood out in sharp contrast to the leather jackets of the Douglas-MacPhees and the shabbiness of Kalix’s old coat. “She recorded a few spells before she retired. Spells she never taught anyone, as far as I know. Certainly not me, and I was her best pupil. I particularly like this one: Spell for Producing Moonlight in Daytime.” Thrix looked up from her book. “I don’t think anyone except Minerva ever used it. But there’s always a first time.”
With that, Thrix began to intone the spell. It was short, and the language was both unfami
liar and ugly. The light dimmed and took on an unexpected yellow tone. A feeling that was familiar to all werewolves filled the room.
“What have you done?” demanded Duncan.
“I’ve brought moonlight into the day,” said Thrix, “and between Kalix and the three of you, that should even things up.”
The last words of the enchantress were lost in the great roar that erupted from Kalix as the young werewolf realized what had happened and transformed instantly into her werewolf shape. Her battle madness descended immediately, and she flew at her attackers. Duncan, Rhona, and William changed quickly, and the werewolf Kalix descended among their werewolf shapes in a frightening whirlwind of teeth and talons. As a werewolf, Kalix was virtually oblivious to danger; tackling three werewolves, even wolves as large and vicious as the Douglas-MacPhees, meant absolutely nothing to her. She smashed Rhona out of the way and sank her talons into Duncan’s shoulders. William managed to land a powerful blow on her face, but Kalix didn’t feel it. She raked her talons across Duncan’s chest, causing blood to spurt out in a great arc, threw him down, then brought her foot into Rhona’s midriff so that the female werewolf collapsed, howling in pain. With Duncan and Rhona down, Kalix was free to take on the huge William. He was far too slow to trouble Kalix. She sank her teeth into his throat, and they fell to the ground, William screaming in pain and desperately trying to shake his opponent off before she severed his artery or snapped his neck.
As Kalix dragged William down, Duncan made an effort to rise. He was a spirited werewolf himself, and though dazed from Kalix’s attack, he wasn’t about to give up. Kalix was far too quick for him. She was always too quick for her ponderous relatives. Unlike any other werewolf in the clan, Kalix had been born at the time of the full moon. It had given her brutal strength and terrifying speed. She batted Duncan with her claw, and he crashed to the floor. Something like a grin appeared on Kalix’s werewolf features. Blood dripped from her jaws, and a mad light shone in her eyes. She paused for a fraction of a second at the satisfying sight of her three enemies lying broken in front of her. Then she moved forward to kill them all.
Kalix raised her talon and brought it down hard on Rhona’s face, but by the time the talon landed, it had transformed back into a human fist. Rhona groaned but didn’t die. Kalix looked at her pink skin and her fingers and felt confused. She looked down at herself. She’d become human again. The moonlight had faded.
“Put it back,” she said, thinking that Thrix had nullified the moon spell to prevent her from killing her opponents. But when she looked around, she saw that Thrix was sitting on the floor with her mouth open and perspiration glistening on her forehead. Something was wrong. Kalix struggled to control her thoughts. It was confusing to be snatched from her battle-maddened werewolf state before she’d killed her opponents. She didn’t know what to do. Thrix coughed and moaned, distracting Kalix further. She took a step away from the Douglas-MacPhees.
“What’s wrong?”
“That was a difficult spell,” said Thrix, so quietly that Kalix strained to hear. “I think there may be a problem.”
Kalix crossed over to her sister. Abruptly the book in Thrix’s hand glowed with a fierce yellow light that expanded around them, sucking Kalix into some sort of vortex in which she was tossed around before landing with a bump beside Thrix on the floor. The floor seemed to have been changed to grass. They’d been transported to a dark patch of countryside, with a few trees around them, and a forest in the distance.
“What is this? Where are we?”
“We’re near the Forests of the Werewolf Dead,” said Thrix.
“What? Why?”
“The spell was too powerful. I couldn’t control it properly.”
Kalix glanced around her anxiously. “Get us out of here,” she said.
“I can’t,” whispered Thrix. “No escape from the Forests. But it’s a pleasant place. We’ll walk to the Forests together when I get my strength back.”
With that, Thrix smiled, closed her eyes, and lay on the grass. In the distance, Kalix heard the call of a werewolf, waiting in the Forests to welcome them.
“Well, this is stupid and annoying,” thought the young werewolf. She shook her sister, but there was no response. “Great rescue!” she cried. “You’ve killed us both!”
“Welcome to the outskirts of the Forests,” said a huge gray wolf, emerging from the shadows. “Shall I accompany you inside?”
“I’m not coming inside. I’m not ready to die yet.”
The wolf smiled. “But you’re here. Let me accompany you.”
Kalix held up her hand. “Not interested. I’m leaving.”
The gray wolf smiled. “You can’t leave.”
“That’s what you think,” said Kalix, and batted him out of the way. She picked up Thrix, tossed her over her shoulder, and set off in the opposite direction of the Forests.
“This is quite irregular!” called the wolf from behind her, but it didn’t attempt to follow.
Kalix marched through long swampy grass with her sister over her shoulder. Above her the sky was an ominous gray, and the air was damp around her werewolf snout. Thrix opened her eyes a fraction and asked Kalix what was happening.
“Your stupid spell took us to the Forests of the Werewolf Dead, and now I’m taking us out.”
“You can’t leave the Forests,” whispered Thrix.
“Would everyone stop saying that?” said Kalix. “I’m leaving. I’m not dying yet.” Kalix marched on. As a werewolf, she felt strong enough to carry her sister over the rough terrain. In the distance, she fancied she saw a patch of blue sky and made towards it. The dampness turned into rain and a wind sprang up, cold enough to penetrate Kalix’s thick fur. She shivered and kept on going. As she rounded a clump of bushes, she found herself confronted by a werewolf she recognized. She looked at him suspiciously.
“Ian MacAndris,” he said politely.
“Do I know you?”
“You killed me. After the gig, in the fight with Sarapen.”
“Sorry about that,” said Kalix, and she marched past him.
“You can’t leave the Forests,” he called after her. “You’ll like it here.”
“I’ll be back soon enough,” muttered Kalix. She tramped on towards the patch of blue sky. The enchantress had now lapsed into unconsciousness, and her weight was pulling Kalix down. She paused for a second to catch her breath.
“I refuse to give up,” she said to no one. “I’m not being killed by some stupid spell. I still have to avenge Gawain.”
A sudden distressing thought struck her. “I have to hand in my assignment!”
There was a chuckle from in front of her. Another werewolf had appeared. “No need to worry about assignments in the Forests. Stay here where you belong.”
Kalix eyed the stranger. “Did I kill you too?”
“No. The enchantress did.”
“Then I expect you deserved it,” muttered Kalix, and attempted to walk on by.
The werewolf stepped in front of her. “Why do you want to leave?”
Kalix scowled. She was rapidly becoming fed up with all this. “I’m going to hand in my assignment. Now get out of my way before I bite you.”
The werewolf moved to one side.
“At least,” thought Kalix, “they don’t seem violent. Am I really in the Forests of the Werewolf Dead, or is this just some delusion brought on by Thrix’s spell?” Kalix couldn’t tell. But she thought that if she really was in the Forests of the Werewolf Dead, she might feel more at peace.
Kalix moved Thrix onto her other shoulder and started walking. Now she was confronted by more werewolves who looked balefully at her as she passed by. Kalix recognized some of them as werewolves she’d killed. She knew they hated her.
“It’s not my fault,” she thought. “You’d have killed me if you could.”
The ground seemed heavier, and the rain came down in torrents. The wind picked up so that Kalix had to struggle with her burden, pushing her
way against the elements. Suddenly Gawain stepped out of a shadow. Gawain, her great love, now dead. “Don’t leave, Kalix. Stay here with me.”
“I’m not ready,” said Kalix, and started to cry. “I’m going to avenge you.”
“I don’t need vengeance. Forget your troubles. Stay here with me.”
“No!” Kalix’s tears mixed with the rain. She lost her grip of Thrix, and her sister tumbled to the ground, sending muddy water splashing over them. Gawain moved forward to help, but Kalix screamed at him to get back. “You’re not really here! This isn’t real!”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t.” Kalix steeled herself to ask Gawain a question she really didn’t want to ask. “If you’re really here, who killed you?”
Gawain smiled. Kalix used to love his smile, but it didn’t seem appropriate now. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
A strong gust of wind rocked Kalix back on her heels. Gawain seemed to be going backwards, fading away from her.
“Who killed you?” she yelled.
Gawain waved. “Ask your sister.”
“Thrix? Why? Does she know?”
But Gawain was gone, lost in the torrential rain that now poured down from above. Kalix grabbed Thrix, threw her over her shoulder, and marched on, slower as the wind and the rain and the distant forest sapped her will and energy.
“You can’t go back,” came a distant voice.
“Just watch me,” muttered Kalix, and struggled on. For the first time, she was gripped with fear, and she knew there was something unpleasant in front of her. She tried to wake her sister.
“Wake up, Thrix,” said Kalix, miserably. “Father is round the next corner and I can’t face him.”
Thrix wouldn’t wake. Kalix sighed and tramped past some bushes, eyes downcast. She knew her father was waiting for her. All her life, Kalix had hated and feared him. She’d never regretted her final burst of madness that drove her to attack him, nor had she regretted his death. Now she had to confront him again. As she turned a corner in the path, the rain intensified, the distant patch of blue sky disappeared from view, and her father stepped out from the trees. Unlike the other werewolves she’d met here, her father still had the wounds that had sent him to his death. There was blood on his face and neck. Kalix shuddered at the smell of it.
Curse of the Wolf Girl Page 44
