Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

It hadn’t occurred to Albermarle that she might have. He attempted to pacify her. “I’m not a hunter. My cousin is. I happened to learn a few things, that’s all. My cousin’s been listening in on some phone calls. A woman called Thrix? Is that right?”

  Kalix stared at him. She hadn’t abandoned the idea of killing him right now, but she needed to learn what he knew. “What about Gawain?”

  “Well, I don’t know much about him really, but when my cousin—”

  “Get to the point,” growled Kalix. “Who killed him?”

  Albermarle hesitated. He’d planned to lead up to this more gradually, building a convincing picture of himself as an innocent party, but he hadn’t bargained for Kalix’s instant ferocity. The muscles in her face were already twitching, and her body came an inch off the chair, as if she was ready to spring.

  “Dominil,” said Albermarle. “Dominil killed him.”

  “Dominil! How do you know?”

  “My cousin bugged her phone. She talked to Thrix about it. She stabbed him with some sort of special knife. One that kills werewolves.”

  Kalix’s face was now contorting in an alarming manner, and Albermarle could hear her breath quickening. He slipped his hand inside his coat, ready to use his gun if necessary. Terrible trouble would ensue were he to actually shoot someone in this café, where he was known, but he was starting to think it might come to that. The young werewolf with the abnormally long hair seemed to be descending into madness before his eyes. Too late, Albermarle realized that Kalix was nothing like Dominil. She couldn’t be reasoned with.

  “Dominil killed Gawain,” she muttered. Her black eyes bore into Albermarle. “And you’re a hunter.”

  “Computer help only.”

  “If you keep sliding your hand towards your gun, I’ll kill you right now. What else do you know?”

  “Not much. Except someone called Markus paid her to do it.”

  For a second, Kalix’s vision dimmed, as if the weight of information were crushing her skull. She shook her head and snarled, partly at Albermarle and partly at the world. Could Dominil really have killed Gawain? It might explain why Dominil wouldn’t help look for his killer. And why Thrix hadn’t been much help either. Kalix didn’t think to ask Albermarle why he was telling her this. She wasn’t interested in his motivation. Nor was she interested in continuing the conversation. She leapt to her feet, picked up her chair, then brought the heavy piece of wood crashing down on Albermarle’s head. There was a stunned silence as the large man crumbled to the ground. Kalix kicked him then ran out of the café, coat trailing behind her, and the hint of a tear in her crazed eyes.

  Chapter 143

  The enchantress’s heels clicked noisily on the old stone staircase. She’d promised to visit Dominil when she arrived in Edinburgh but didn’t have much time. She had to make an excuse to leave Captain Easterly, something she’d been loath to do. The thought of Easterly back in her hotel room brought a warm smile to her face, and she was still smiling when Dominil answered the door. It pulled open heavily; the tenement, an old stone building, was a very solid edifice, more so than any modern apartment.

  “I’ve done my best to check for hunters, Dominil. I can’t trace any. I think we’ll be all right.”

  Dominil thanked Thrix. She appreciated her help.

  “But when the twins are playing their gig,” continued Thrix, “I’ll be quite a long way away, over on the other side of the city, at Mother’s event. Do you really think Albermarle might show?”

  “It’s hard to say. From the guild’s point of view, I don’t see it as a sensible move. But Albermarle’s not sensible. He’s intelligent, but not sensible.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he’d be able to persuade the guild to mount any sort of large-scale attack. How many werewolves will be at the gig, apart from you and the twins?”

  “Four or five. There’s Cameron, the organizer, and a few other young MacRinnalchs who generally go to his events. It should be enough to keep us safe.” Dominil almost smiled. “I’m not entirely against the idea of Albermarle showing up.”

  “I know. But it will be best if you can confront him in London instead. Once we get back, I’ll find him for you, I promise.”

  “How are arrangements for your opera?”

  “Good, I think. Markus has taken care of most of it. As far as I can gather, he’s got all of Scotland’s most fashionable people, and the richest donors, all heading our way.”

  “That’s a large crowd to be on werewolf property at night.”

  Thrix nodded and almost laughed at the thought. “It could be tricky. But there won’t be that many werewolves there. Markus didn’t offer any wide-scale invitation to the clan. A few senior members, but not many others.”

  Thrix’s phone rang. It was Easterly. She answered it and spoke briefly, before giggling. “I can’t talk about that! I’m not alone.” Thrix giggled again.

  Dominil looked on impassively.

  Thrix shut off her phone. “Sorry about that. It was Easterly.”

  “So I surmised.”

  “He told me he loved me,” said the enchantress.

  Dominil didn’t reply but picked up a bottle of MacRinnalch whisky and poured a glass for Thrix.

  “Is this to congratulate me for being in love?” asked Thrix.

  “Do you need to be congratulated for being in love?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  Dominil remained silent.

  The enchantress felt a twinge of annoyance. “You might say something nice.”

  “I might.”

  “But you’re not planning to.”

  There was a silence.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you approve? Is it because he’s human? What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

  “No,” replied Dominil without hesitating.

  “Maybe you should try it.”

  “I understand it requires a suitable partner.”

  “I’m sure there’s a werewolf for you somewhere, Dominil,” said Thrix, who was gripped by the feeling that really, everyone should be in love.

  “Love’s hardly been a positive force among the clan recently, has it? More like an excuse for violence and revenge. The MacRinnalchs have a habit of confusing love, violence, and revenge.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” protested Thrix. “Plenty of werewolves fell happily in love and didn’t kill anyone afterwards.”

  “If so, none of them made it into our legends,” said Dominil. “Can you think of any MacRinnalch love story that doesn’t involve some sort of bloody revenge?”

  “What about Jamie MacRinnalch and the baroness? They lived happily ever after.”

  “Only after slaughtering the baron and his entourage.”

  “Did they? Then how about young Flora MacRinnalch and the handsome werewolf bandit? I remember hearing that story when I was young.”

  “Flora killed the bandit after he kidnapped her sister.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. For some reason, every MacRinnalch love story ends in mayhem and slaughter,” said Dominil.

  “Well, maybe so,” conceded Thrix, “but that’s probably just because we like exciting stories. In the real world, a MacRinnalch can have just as happy an affair as anyone else.”

  “Let us hope that’s true,” said Dominil, “though it’s hard to see much innocent romance blossoming around us. Revenge, on the other hand, is always popular. Did you know that Marwanis is still offering a reward for Kalix?”

  “Well, Kalix is annoying,” said Thrix.

  “I wouldn’t be so flippant about it. If Marwanis did succeed in getting rid of Kalix, your own family would no doubt look for revenge themselves.”

  Thrix looked resigned. “Probably.”

  “Even apart from that, Kalix is looking for revenge herself, for Gawain. Which would involve—”

  “You.”

  “Yes. Me.”

  “I don’t think Kalix will find out you killed Gawain. She’s not t
hat intelligent.”

  Dominil wasn’t so sure. “Kalix is intelligent. And she’s persistent.”

  “So how do you feel about the prospect of her finding out?”

  “I don’t feel anything. If it happens, I’ll deal with it.”

  The twins clattered noisily through the front door.

  “Hi Thrix! Edinburgh’s awful, what a place, I swear I’m never coming back. Hey, did you know Dominil once dressed up as Wonder Woman?”

  The twins carried on unsteadily to the rooms at the back of the apartment to begin the long process of readying themselves for the gig. Hair, clothes, and makeup could take a long time.

  Thrix looked at Dominil. “Wonder Woman?”

  “An ill-judged attempt to fit in with my fellow students at a party during my first term.”

  “Where did you get the costume?”

  “I rented it.”

  “Didn’t Wonder Woman have an invisible plane?”

  “Could we drop the subject please?” said Dominil, testily.

  “Or was it an invisible lasso? I’m surprised you told the twins.”

  “I didn’t tell them, it was Albermarle. He’s trying to humiliate me.”

  “You really screwed him up, didn’t you?”

  “Apparently,” said Dominil. She wasn’t the sort of werewolf to snarl wolfishly while in human form, something both Thrix and Kalix had been known to do, but her lips parted slightly, giving a glimpse of her very white teeth. “I’ll do worse to him next time we meet.”

  The enchantress had had enough of Dominil’s talk of revenge and violence. Though Thrix and Dominil were not close, they’d been getting on better in recent weeks. But now Thrix resented Dominil’s refusal to congratulate her on her love affair or even acknowledge it, and she felt that she really didn’t care much for her white-haired cousin.

  The twins trooped back into the living room, looking sheepish.

  “Dominil, you know that new digital recorder we bought that Musician magazine described as the best portable recording device on the market?”

  “What about it?”

  “We spilled beer over it.”

  Delicious brought out a shiny silver box from behind her back. Dark liquid dripped from every surface. It was a surprise to see that a metallic device could look so soggy. “Do you think you could get it fixed for us before the gig tomorrow?”

  Beauty and Delicious took in the look on Dominil’s face and hurried out of the room before she could explode.

  “I may have to kill them as well,” she muttered. “It’s not like anyone would miss them.”

  Chapter 144

  Decembrius was bored with being depressed but that didn’t stop him from being depressed. He wished it would go away but knew from experience it wouldn’t. His depression had settled down to stay and would take some time to depart. Decembrius made some effort to just accept it, but that was never all that successful. He sat on his couch drinking whisky, felt dissatisfied with that, and slid down to sit on the floor with his back to the couch. He didn’t feel any more comfortable there.

  The doorbell rang. He decided not to answer it. It rang again and kept ringing. Then the door started shaking as someone threatened to break it down.

  “The Douglas-MacPhees,” thought Decembrius, morosely. “Fine. I’ll fight them. I’ve nothing better to do.”

  He transformed into his werewolf shape and opened the door. It wasn’t the Douglas-MacPhees; it was Kalix.

  “You’re looking worse than usual,” said Decembrius.

  It was true. Kalix’s eyes managed to be both sunken from stress and puffy from tears. Her cheeks were hollow, and her hair was a tangled mess. She barged in without being invited.

  Decembrius didn’t feel that pleased to see her. He was still full of desire for Kalix but thought now that it would never go well.

  “Did Dominil kill Gawain?”

  Decembrius was surprised. “I don’t know. Why do you think that?”

  “A hunter just told me.” Kalix gave Decembrius a brief description of her encounter with Albermarle. “I’ve been to see Dominil, but she’s not there. Neither are the twins.”

  “They’ve gone to Edinburgh. They have a gig.”

  “Oh.” Kalix had forgotten about that, even though Vex had been going on about it for weeks. “I called her, but her phone’s dead.”

  “She keeps changing the number,” explained Decembrius. “She’s having problems with hunters too.”

  “Did Dominil kill Gawain?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You have powers of seeing,” said Kalix, intensely. “Use them. I want to know.”

  “I told you already my powers don’t work anymore.”

  “Then make them start working again,” said Kalix, flaring up.

  “I can’t just switch it on and off.”

  “Try it.”

  Decembrius felt himself becoming angry. “It’s okay for you to demand I try it. It doesn’t feel good when it doesn’t work. I’m depressed already. If I try using my powers and it fails again, it will be enough to send me over the edge. I’ll be depressed for months, and I might never come out of it.” Decembrius was resolute. He feared the effect it would have if he tried and failed.

  Kalix let the matter drop. She poured a small amount of Decembrius’s whisky into her glass and a larger amount into his, and they talked for a while about the castle in Scotland and about places they liked in London.

  “I like your T-shirt,” said Kalix.

  Decembrius looked pleased. It was an unusual T-shirt, with a face on it. He’d bought it only the day before.

  “Who is it?”

  “Soo Catwoman.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “One of the earliest punks in London. A lot of people copied her style. I bought it from her website.”

  Kalix leaned closer as if to study the T-shirt. Then she took hold of Decembrius and kissed him. He kissed her back. After a few minutes, Kalix suggested they go into the bedroom.

  Decembrius’s bedroom was tiny, hardly larger than the bed. It smelled quite pleasantly of incense. Kalix half undressed and lay next to him on the bed. Decembrius wanted Kalix very much and kissed her quite passionately and his breath deepened.

  Kalix felt his fingers digging into her back. Abruptly, she sat up. “I want to know who killed Gawain,” she said. “Use your powers or I’m leaving.”

  Decembrius, a little muddled from a combination of whisky and passion, looked puzzled. “What?”

  “Use your powers or I’m leaving.”

  “Did you just half-seduce me so as you could get information?”

  “Yes.”

  “I ought to kick you out.”

  “Then you’ll be sorry, won’t you? So what’s it going to be? You using your powers and me staying or not using them and me leaving?”

  Decembrius glared at Kalix. “This isn’t cunning, you know. Cold and calculating, maybe.”

  “I’m getting fed up waiting,” said Kalix.

  Decembrius grunted in annoyance and sat up on the bed. “Try and keep quiet. I’ll do my best.”

  They sat in silence for a long time, Decembrius completely still, Kalix occasionally sipping from the glass she’d brought into the bedroom.

  Abruptly Decembrius opened his eyes and, after a brief moment of disorientation, nodded his head. “I think she did it.”

  “You think?”

  “It wasn’t all that clear. But I saw something. I think Dominil stabbed him.”

  Kalix growled. “I’ll kill her.”

  Chapter 145

  The day of Verasa MacRinnalch’s charitable function brought less anxiety than she’d anticipated. It had been a complicated operation, bringing Felicori and an orchestra to Andamair House, meanwhile pulling in every wealthy donor and anyone else who could help, but the Mistress of the Werewolves and Markus has worked hard in the preceding months. As the day arrived, there seemed to be nothing in the way of success.

&nbs
p; “I was expecting a last minute hitch,” Verasa told Markus, “but it all seems to be going smoothly.”

  Markus agreed. Everything had been taken care of. Catering was readied, cameras were in place, the stage was satisfactory; every detail appeared to be in order, right down to Felicori’s favorite brand of mineral water. In around twelve hours’ time, Andamair House should be full, and Felicori would step on stage in front of a packed audience of guests who’d paid extremely handsomely for the privilege. Verasa would be well on the way to hosting one of the most prestigious fundraising events ever seen in Scotland.

  “Thank you for working so hard, Markus,” she said, and put her arms round him in an affectionate embrace.

  There was one cloud on the horizon for Markus. Beatrice hadn’t been due to attend, not being a senior enough member of the clan to be automatically invited. She’d told Markus that she’d be away on the night, visiting her family, who lived in a small village east of the castle. Unexpectedly, on learning of this, Verasa had chided Markus, telling him that he really should take Beatrice to Andamair House. Verasa liked Beatrice and regarded her as a suitable companion for Markus on the night. Markus had duly invited her, and Beatrice was thrilled.

  Unfortunately, reflected Markus, things might become complicated. Heather MacAllister would be there too. As the set designer, she was one of the small crew of working werewolves who’d be on site all night. That could be awkward. Markus had been juggling his relationships. Neither Beatrice nor Heather knew about each other. They weren’t going to be very pleased to find out. Nor would his mother. Nor would Baron MacAllister, if he chose to attend.

  Markus chafed and thought to himself that the Thane of the MacRinnalchs really shouldn’t have to worry about offending the family because of a minor complication like having two girlfriends at the same event. It seemed, however, that he did.

  Markus wasn’t even sure which of them he liked best. Heather MacAllister was definitely a more suitable companion intellectually: a brighter sort of werewolf. But Beatrice was pleasant as well, in her own way. And, on the plus side, she was now quite enthusiastic about Markus’s liking for female clothes, something of which Heather was not yet aware.