The Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Malveria was the absolute ruler of the Hiyasta nation. In theory, she could do whatever she liked. However, in reality there were many social constraints. The duchess could not be treated badly. It was still remembered by the population that, on one famous occasion, the duchess had ridden to the queen’s assistance at the head of a troop of cavalry, bringing much-needed relief when the queen’s forces were in danger of being outflanked. She remained a popular figure among the mass of ordinary Fire Elementals. Were the queen to treat her unfairly, the population wouldn’t like it.

  The queen smiled at the duchess, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She really didn’t know how to broach the subject. She turned away, ostensibly to look at a small flower of blue flame. The depressing thought struck her that she might be stuck with the duchess as her card partner forever, no matter how many foolish plays the duchess made. She would find herself always on the losing side, forever having to accept the sympathies of her victorious opponents. Eventually Beau DeMortalis would make some comment. DeMortalis, the Duke of the Black Castle, was an infamous dandy and an equally infamous wit. Though he hadn’t yet said anything cruel about the queen’s card playing, it was surely only a matter of time. And when he did, his comment was bound to be repeated endlessly. Malveria felt herself flushing with annoyance. She refused to let her card playing be a subject of mirth among her subjects.

  The queen was gathering her energies for another assault on the tricky subject when there was a sudden interruption. There was the sound of the swift patter of feet and of a few plants being trampled, then Agrivex rushed into view, breathing heavily.

  “Aunt Malvie!” she called.

  Queen Malveria drew herself up to her full height and cast her most ferocious stare at her niece. She had told her a thousand times not to call her Aunt Malvie, particularly in company.

  “What do you mean by interrupting my pleasant walk, dismal niece?”

  “Kalix has been shot by a silver bullet! You have to come and help her!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Kalix!” yelled Vex, obviously agitated. “I just went to her house, and she was lying there all shot and groaning and stuff. Moonglow’s really worried, and the enchantress is in Scotland so she needs some help right away!”

  The Fire Queen blanched. She could feel the duchess and the duchess’s handmaiden staring at them with interest. Though it had apparently escaped Vex’s notice, werewolves were regarded as inferior creatures by the Elementals. Not only that, the MacRinnalchs were historical enemies. The idea that the Fire Queen should drop everything and rush to their assistance was quite bizarre. Attempting to draw herself up further and finding that she was already at full height, Malveria levitated a few inches off of the ground. “If Kalix MacRinnalch is in distress, I’m quite sure her clan can assist her. Why you imagine I would trouble myself is beyond me, foolish girl.”

  The queen turned to the duchess and smiled pleasantly. “Agrivex is prone to these ridiculous fancies.”

  Vex started to jump up and down, not an easy feat given the size and weight of her boots. “But you healed her before, Aunty! You’re great at healing werewolves! You have to come quickly!”

  The tiniest flicker of flame appeared at the queen’s fingertips. “Should you not be in class, learning something?”

  “How can I learn anything when Kalix has been shot? We need to hurry!”

  Duchess Gargamond coughed tactfully. “Perhaps I should withdraw to allow you time to talk to your niece?”

  “Niece is an honorary title,” growled Malveria. “I have not yet adopted her.”

  She was about to abuse Vex further but halted. By now the damage was done. Like all Hiyasta nobility, Duchess Gargamond was a skillful reader of auras. The queen could successfully mask her own aura, but Vex couldn’t. To an experienced observer, it was quite obvious that Vex was telling the truth when she claimed that the queen had already healed werewolves. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Malveria nodded apologetically to the duchess, glanced rather ruefully at the duchess’s handmaiden—a gossipy young Elemental if ever she saw one—and apologized for cutting their meeting short. Gargamond and her attendant withdrew from the garden.

  “Will I see you at the card table tonight?” called the duchess.

  “Most certainly,” replied the queen, and she smiled frigidly. “I look forward to it.”

  As she turned away, the flames that played around Malveria’s fingers grew longer. She glared at Vex with loathing. “Why you vile, irritating, annoying—”

  “Can we go now?” cried Vex. “I really think we should get there quickly.”

  The queen attempted to speak but abandoned the attempt, something she seemed to be doing a lot recently. She snapped her fingers angrily, transporting both herself and her tactless niece from the burning land of the Hiyasta to the dampness of South London where they materialized abruptly in Moonglow’s living room. There they found Kalix unconscious on the floor, Moonglow kneeling over her anxiously, and Daniel hovering around with a pot of tea in his hand.

  “Would you like some tea?” asked Daniel.

  “A cup of tea will not compensate for the dreadful indignity,” snapped the queen.

  Moonglow looked up, relieved to see Malveria. Moonglow had great faith in her healing powers. “A werewolf hunter shot her through the hand.”

  “Through the hand? That does not sound so serious.” Malveria glowered at Vex. “You brought me here for this, you foolish girl? Have you any idea how much embarrassment you’ve caused me? What possessed you to run into the garden and blurt out such a thing in front of Gargamond and her handmaiden?”

  “Kalix needs help!” protested Vex.

  “She needs to stop filling herself with cheap wine and laudanum,” retorted the Fire Queen, “which, I perceive, is more the cause of her current state of collapse than the minor wound.”

  Moonglow rose to her feet, a bewildered look on her face. She couldn’t understand the queen’s hostility. “She probably needed some laudanum to dull the pain,” suggested Moonglow. “I think a silver bullet would be agony for her, even a minor wound.”

  “Pah,” snapped Malveria. “As a young warrior, I suffered worse on countless occasions. I may have given assistance to this degenerate young werewolf in the past, but that does not mean you can send my niece rushing hither and thither to seek me out any time she has a minor scratch. I have a kingdom to run. Now if you will excuse me—” Malveria raised her hand to snap her fingers and dematerialize.

  “I really think you should help,” said Moonglow, forcefully. “After all, we’re helping your niece go to college.”

  The Fire Queen’s lips compressed in anger. “Are you implying that you may stop helping her?” She took a step towards Moonglow. In her high heels, she towered over the student. “You would be very unwise to think you can blackmail the Queen of the Hiyasta,” she snarled, sounding angrier than Moonglow or Daniel had ever heard her.

  “Wooaahh,” said Daniel, stepping between Malveria and Moonglow. “Queen Malveria, we’re sorry if this is inconvenient. We didn’t send Vex to find you; she just shot off on her own. But now you’re here, could you take a look at the wound? Please? Everyone says silver is really bad for werewolves.”

  Malveria glared at Daniel, though her expression softened a few degrees. She’d liked Daniel from the moment they’d met because he’d called her beautiful and then blushed, which amused her.

  “Oh…very well,” she said.

  Kalix’s skinny frame lay rag-like on the floor. Queen Malveria examined her wound. There was a lot of dried blood on the werewolf’s hand, and the flesh was torn where the bullet had passed through.

  “The damage is not great,” said Malveria, “though it will have been painful. The silver will indeed have burned her inside.”

  She spoke a short sentence in an unknown language then pressed her lips to Kalix’s palm. Kalix’s hand glowed faintly orange for a second or two.

  The que
en rose gracefully. “I have repaired the damage. The bones will heal in a few days. I’ve removed what traces of silver remained, and the pain should be less. Now I must return to my palace and repair the terrible damage that Agrivex has done to my reputation.” The Fire Queen pointed at Vex. “You will return to class, and when that is finished, you will report to the throne room for whatever substantial punishment I decide on. Never bring such embarrassment on me again if you wish to remain alive.”

  With barely a nod to Daniel, and without acknowledging Moonglow at all, Queen Malveria dematerialized, leaving the two students uncomfortable. They’d never seen Malveria quite so unfriendly before.

  “Help me get Kalix into bed,” said Moonglow. “Her hand’s looking better. I suppose we should be grateful for that anyway.”

  Chapter 33

  Marwanis MacRinnalch didn’t attend the council meeting, but after it was over, she visited Morag MacAllister, the baron’s young sister. Morag had received a full report of the proceedings, which she repeated to Marwanis.

  Marwanis allowed herself a moment of sadness at the news of Gawain’s death. At one time, they’d been close.

  “So Kalix was shot by a hunter? A shame she wasn’t killed.” Marwanis’s hatred for Kalix was uncompromising and had grown rather than faded in the few months since she’d killed Sarapen.

  Morag clicked a button on her computer.

  “You really expect this to work with the Douglas-MacPhees?” Marwanis asked.

  “Videoconferencing isn’t hard,” said Morag.

  Marwanis was skeptical. Werewolf children these days might be learning about the Internet at school, but the Douglas-MacPhees belonged to an earlier generation. She doubted any of them had any technical expertise. She was surprised when Duncan’s face appeared in a small window on the screen.

  Duncan grinned and called over his shoulder, “Well done. Got the Wi-Fi working.”

  “Any sign of Kalix?”

  Duncan scowled. “No. And we’re fed up with looking for her.”

  “The reward’s still on offer.”

  Duncan nodded. Before his death, Sarapen had offered the fantastic prize of four gold nobles for Kalix’s head. A gold noble was an ancient Scottish coin, rare and extremely valuable, taken from the deepest vaults of the MacRinnalchs’ ancient wealth. It was a reward rich enough to tempt many werewolves.

  “Have you met Ruraich?” asked Morag. Red Ruraich MacAndris was chieftain of the MacAndrises. He liked to think of himself as equal to the barons, though he wasn’t.

  “He’s playing tonight.”

  “Didn’t you tell him I wanted to talk to him?”

  “Ruraich’s keen on his fiddle music. He wanted to go.”

  Red Ruraich was a noted fiddler. While in London he’d find a pub with an open session and join in with the other musicians.

  “Don’t worry, he took his phone.”

  “What?”

  There was a bleeping sound from the computer. Morag clicked the mouse, and Red Ruraich’s face appeared onscreen. He was a large man, and his thick, red hair hung down past his shoulders, giving him the unkempt look of a traveling musician. He greeted Morag and Marwanis, raising his voice to make himself heard over the noise in the background. Ruraich was apparently still at the music session in the pub and had withdrawn to one side of the room to call them.

  “Shouldn’t you go somewhere private to talk about werewolf affairs?”

  Ruraich shrugged. “If anyone overhears me, they’ll just think I’m crazy. So, has anyone found Kalix?”

  “No,” said Duncan.

  “Is anyone likely to?”

  “I’m coming down to London with Morag,” said Marwanis. “Between us, we ought to be able to find her.”

  Duncan Douglas-MacPhee was doubtful. “The enchantress hid her too well.”

  An annoyed and confused conversation ensued about the iniquity of the enchantress hiding Kalix when she was an outlaw from the clan and of the Mistress of the Werewolves covering up for her. If clan law had been followed properly, Kalix would have been dragged back to the castle, not hidden by her relatives.

  “It sickens me,” added Red Ruraich MacAndris. “I saw her kill Sarapen with my own eyes. For even using a weapon like a Begravar knife, she should be punished.”

  The other werewolves nodded in agreement. The Begravar knife Kalix had used to kill Sarapen was an heirloom of the MacRinnalchs and had uniquely destructive powers. Its use was utterly forbidden.

  “But she’ll never be punished as long as Markus and Verasa protect her.”

  Rhona’s face appeared onscreen over her brother’s shoulder. “We’re not giving up. She killed our brother Fergus.”

  Ruraich looked over his shoulder. “The music’s starting again. I have to go.”

  “We’ll be down in London soon,” said Morag.

  Ruraich disconnected, followed swiftly by the Douglas-MacPhees.

  “That went better than I expected,” observed Marwanis. “Who says werewolves can’t adapt to technology?”

  “When are we going to London?” Morag asked.

  “As soon as possible.”

  “If the council finds out, there will be trouble.”

  “They won’t find out,” said Marwanis, firmly. “Who’s going to report anything to Markus or Verasa? Everyone despises them.”

  Chapter 34

  Kalix woke up in her small bedroom and couldn’t remember where she was. Though her eyes adjusted instantly to the darkness, she felt disoriented. Not until she moved and her hand burned with pain did she remember what had happened. Gawain had been murdered. Immediately she was swamped with feelings of rage and despair. She leapt from her bed and transformed into her werewolf shape, ready to rush out and kill whoever had murdered Gawain. She halted. She didn’t know who had killed him.

  Kalix stood for a few moments in darkness then put on the light, changed back to human, and sat on the bed. She looked at her hand. It hurt, but the wound seemed to be healing rapidly. She remembered the dreadful pain as the silver bullet had penetrated her skin, a burning sensation the like of which she’d never experienced. The memory made her shudder, and she reached out for the bottle of laudanum hidden in her small cabinet beside the bed. She took a sip and then, because she was feeling anxious, took another.

  The young werewolf tried to piece together her thoughts. If she was to take revenge for Gawain’s murder, she had to know who was responsible for his death. It could only have been the hunters. They must have come from the guild. Kalix stood up. All she had to do was visit the guild’s headquarters and then kill everyone there. Kalix realized that she didn’t know where their headquarters was. She sat down again. Abruptly, a tidal wave of misery engulfed her as she realized that Gawain was really dead and that she’d never see him again. Tears formed in her eyes. Kalix hated crying and would normally strive not to, but this time she let the tears flow. Full of misery, she took another sip of laudanum to dull the pain. She hung her head so her huge mane of hair hung down like a curtain in front of her face. She closed her eyes, but immediately the image of Gawain lying dead in the hallway began to haunt her, and she opened them again in a panic. What would happen to Gawain now? Where was his body? Who would take it? She remembered the police flooding up the stairs and thought of Gawain lying in some police morgue, which made her feel even worse. She should have stayed where she was, killed them all, and taken Gawain’s body away to safety.

  Then she remembered that, as she’d fled, she’d seen one of the Douglas-MacPhees. What had he been doing there? Had he killed Gawain? Kalix felt confused. The young werewolf sipped more laudanum and felt scared of everything. Any strong emotion tended to bring on anxiety, and when she felt herself in its clutches, she would panic, which made it worse. The anxiety and the panic fed off of each other. She clenched her fists and tried to pull herself together. Kalix slammed her bottle of laudanum down on the cabinet and rose to her feet.

  “I’m not going to panic,” she thought.
“I refuse to panic. Gawain is dead and I’m going to take revenge and nothing is going to stop me.”

  But even as she thought this, she was aware she was lying to herself. The walls were starting to close in, and a disturbing darkness was visible at the periphery of her vision. Her palms began to sweat.

  “I’m not going to panic,” she repeated, this time out loud, “and I don’t need laudanum. I’m going to take revenge.”

  She sat down again and drank some more laudanum. It made her feel sick. She had a sudden memory of the huge pool of dried blood under Gawain’s body, a sight so horrifying that she wished she could somehow go back in time and make it never happen. The anxiety grew worse. Kalix screwed up her face and changed back into her werewolf shape. It helped a little, and she felt fierce again, but it didn’t last. Kalix clumsily manipulated her bottle of laudanum into her werewolf paw, drank some more, then lay down. Exhausted by her exertions and her wound, worn out with anxiety and dosed with a great deal of laudanum, Kalix abandoned her thoughts of immediate revenge. She curled up on her bed, drew the quilt over her head to protect her from the world, and fell into a stupor.

  Chapter 35

  Markus had enjoyed his first few months as Thane. Since being elected as head of the clan, he’d reorganized business affairs to his liking. At one time, the Mistress of the Werewolves had expected him to look after much of the clan’s properties. Markus always found this tedious and had now delegated the task to others. He was an enthusiastic supporter of the planned fundraising event. Like his mother, Markus was a great opera enthusiast, excited at the prospect of Felicori coming to perform.

  He was listening to a recording of Felicori when Dominil appeared at his door. He greeted her with a show of conviviality, which was rather forced. Markus often felt uncomfortable in Dominil’s presence. Many people did. Her frozen demeanor didn’t help to put a person at ease. Even the werewolves in the castle who’d known her for a long time rarely felt much warmth towards her, nor did they receive any warmth back. She preferred to keep her own company and was reputed to spend her time working on her computer skills and translating Latin poetry. That was odd in itself. The Latin poetry and computer skills didn’t seem to sit easily together as interests, though both might be seen as indications of her intellect. Dominil’s intelligence was commonly acknowledged: it didn’t make her any more popular.