Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Now there was the matter of the werewolf princess. The Guild had been tracking her but had lost contact. Mr Carmichael had invited Mikulanec to demonstrate his skills by finding her.

  ‘Very well,’ thought Mr Mikulanec. ‘I will locate the girl and kill her. Then perhaps the Guild will see that I am not a man to be excluded from their inner circle.’

  55

  Castle MacRinnalch and the surrounding estates were now full of werewolves. Rarely had so many been gathered in one place. It was a long time since they’d last come together for the funeral of a Thane, and the MacRinnalch Clan had grown since then.

  Verasa strode into the council chamber. Even as a werewolf she was upright. It was rather difficult to carry oneself totally erect in werewolf form but Verasa refused to walk like a hulking beast. She was not expecting any surprises at the meeting. The Thane’s brother Kurian was never going to vote for anyone but Sarapen. Nor was his son Kertal or his daughter Marwanis. They were the most traditional of werewolves and while Verasa found this frustrating in some respects, she admired them in a way. Marwanis in particular was an intelligent young woman of great beauty and distinction. With her dark brown hair, large hazel eyes and perfect complexion, conservatively yet tastefully dressed, she was every inch what a female member of the ruling family should be. Rather different to certain others of the younger generation, reflected Verasa, ruefully.

  Verasa sat next to Rainal. She poured herself whisky from the crystal decanter in front of her. Fine whisky from the clan estates, and fine crystal from France. It had been imported more than three hundred years ago by Hughan MacRinnalch, an uncle of the late Thane.

  A large portrait of Hughan MacRinnalch hung in the castle’s banqueting hall. The clan had good reason to remember him fondly. He was the first werewolf of the modern era to take to business, and it was his dealings in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that had set the clan on the road to its present wealth. While the MacRinnalch estates were of great intrinsic value, Hughan had added immeasurably to the MacRinnalch fortune with his forays into foreign trade, banking, and the nascent stock markets in Edinburgh and London. By the time the industrial revolution got going in the 1760s Hughan was in a position to invest heavily, and the clan’s wealth was further swelled by shipping, iron works, and the new manufacturing industries. Though much of the nation’s aristocracy frowned on trade, the MacRinnalchs had never turned their noses up at the prospect of making money.

  There were signs of impatience around the table. With everyone in werewolf form, and the moon almost full above, tempers could be expected to wear thin very quickly. Sarapen tramped heavily into the chamber, not upright, but slightly bent as if ready to spring on anyone who dared to oppose him. It was obvious that Sarapen had arrived in a poor temper.

  “Greetings, cousin,” said Dominil.

  Sarapen did not return her salutation. Dominil merely spoke to annoy him; she was party responsible for his ill temper, as she well knew. Sarapen had visited her that afternoon. If he had been hoping to persuade her not to nominate Markus, it had been a hopeless mission from the first.

  “Markus will never be Thane,” Sarapen had told her, fiercely.

  “Then we must look further afield, for neither will you.”

  “Why did you nominate him?” demanded Sarapen. “Did my mother put you up to it?”

  “I need no encouragement to oppose you,” replied Dominil. As she said this her eyes blazed. Faced with Sarapen, even Dominil could not keep her temper completely under control. Sarapen and Dominil had been lovers for a brief period, some years ago. It had ended very badly. Whatever had happened was secret between them but the antagonism between the pair had never lessened.

  “We will begin the meeting,” said Rainal.

  “Where is Baron MacAllister?” demanded Sarapen.

  “He has returned to his own keep,” replied Rainal.

  “Why?”

  “A sudden illness.”

  “What!” Sarapen rose to his feet and pounded his fist on the table. “Why was I not informed of this?”

  “He was afflicted only a short time ago,” explained Rainal. “In fact I’ve only just received his apologies.”

  Sarapen glared at Verasa.

  “And what do you know of this, Mistress of the Werewolves?”

  The flickering light from the log fire was reflected on Sarapen’s great fangs. On the opposite side of the table the two remaining Barons couldn’t help flinching, and were glad that they did not oppose Sarapen. Baron MacAllister’s own keep was some distance from the castle, and a stronghold that was difficult to attack. He might be glad of that before this affair was over.

  “I’m just as surprised as you,” replied Verasa, smoothly. “Though I believe the good Baron has been in poor health for some time.”

  Sarapen glowered at his mother. One of his votes was gone and he strongly suspected that she was behind it. Already Sarapen was feeling that he had had quite enough of meetings.

  “Before we begin,” said Rainal. “I feel it is incumbent upon me, as secretary to the clan, to inform the council that there is already some dissatisfaction outside these walls. If there is no new Thane to officiate at the funeral tomorrow, the dissatisfaction will increase. Of course, I make no effort to influence this meeting. I merely inform you of the feelings among clan members.”

  “Thank you Rainal,” said Verasa. “As always, we appreciate your words.”

  Rainal shuffled some papers in front of him awkwardly with his werewolf paw.

  “Before we take the vote, does anyone wish to speak?”

  “I do,” said Sarapen. He rose to his feet. “This matter must be decided tonight. And it must be decided in my favour. I invite those wolves who were of a different mind last night to reconsider their opinions.”

  As he said this, Sarapen slowly turned his head so that his gaze fell on every person present, and never did a more hostile or threatening gaze come from a MacRinnalch. Dominil met his eyes, and her lips pulled back so that her teeth showed.

  “Thank you for that speech, Sarapen.”

  Sarapen snarled. Rainal shifted nervously in his seat. It would be quite intolerable for fighting to break out at a meeting of the Great Council. The clan members currently surrounding the castle were not expecting their visit to the MacRinnalch homelands to be marred by violence. Yet Sarapen was not the only werewolf here who showed signs of being on a short fuse. Kertal had let it be known he was none to pleased at what had happened last night. Kertal was young and vigorous, his sister Marwanis equally so. It would not take much to make them support Sarapen in a fight. Already Rainal could sense the werewolves sliding their seats back an inch or two to make it easier to leap up if necessary.

  “Why don’t you be quiet so we can vote,” said Markus, leaning far over the table towards Sarapen. Sarapen rose from his chair and let out a ferocious growl. Beside him Kertal also rose and next moment there were six werewolves on their feet, all roaring at each other. Seeing that matters were quickly getting out of hand, the Mistress of the Werewolves banged her fist on the table and spoke with all the authority at her command.

  “We will all sit down and proceed with the meeting. Now. Everyone. Sit down.”

  Great claws clenched and unclenched as the werewolves struggled to control their tempers. It was difficult to ignore a direct command from the Mistress of the Werewolves. They took their seats, uneasily. Sarapen was the last to sit down. Already he could feel that he was being outmanoeuvred by his mother and Markus.

  Verasa looked towards Rainal. Rainal was nervous and took some time to get his words out.

  “If there are no more… speeches… we will move to the vote. Who will nominate?”

  “I nominate Sarapen MacRinnalch,” said Baron MacPhee.

  “I nominate Markus MacRinnalch,” said Dominil.

  “Very well. Those in favour of Sarapen MacRinnalch please raise their hands.

  Six hands were raised. Sarapen, Kurian, Kertal, Mar
wanis, Baron MacPhee and Baron MacGregor. The same votes as last night, minus that of the absent Baron MacAllister.

  “Those in favour of Markus MacRinnalch.”

  Now five hands were raised, those of Markus, Verasa, Dominil, Tupan and Lucia.

  Thrix had been wondering all day what she would do. She’d rather have stayed out of the trouble that would follow another undecided vote. But her anger had grown under the moon. She couldn’t forgive Sarapen for dashing her designs from her desk. Nothing could have been more disrespectful. Besides, there was the fashion show in New York to which her mother apparently had access. Thrix would like to be represented at that show. She raised her hand.

  “Six votes also,” said Rainal. “Are there any abstentions?”

  Dulupina raised her hand.

  Last night the vote had gone seven to five in Sarapen’s favour. Now it was six votes for each candidate. No one had the required nine votes. Sarapen rose slowly to his feet. His face was a mask of utter fury but he did not speak. Instead, he turned on his heel and marched swiftly from the room.

  “The next meeting will be at the time of the next full moon,” said Rainal. The werewolves rose, and filed out of the room, each lost in their own thoughts, wondering what the outcome of this might be.

  56

  It was cold on the moorlands to the east of Castle MacRinnalch; cold, and very dark. The moon was hidden by clouds and it was threatening rain. Gawain knew that he shouldn’t be here. He was forbidden to enter the MacRinnalch estates and risked his life in returning. His sentence of banishment by the Thane was not to be taken lightly. Gawain already had the feeling that he was being watched.

  The approach to the clan estates had brought painful memories, particularly his journey through Colburn Wood. The wood was special to the MacRinnalchs: here they buried their heroes. Avreg MacRinnalch lay here, as did Gerrant Gawain MacRinnalch, Gawain’s great-great-grandfather. Colburn Wood was an ancient place. It had never been forested or cultivated and remained exactly the same as it had been for thousands of years. The large, dark, tangled wood contained the spirit of the MacRinnalchs, from a time before the castle was built. It was a place full of primeval magic.

  Less magical, but almost as important, it was from the stream which flowed through the woods that water was drawn to make the MacRinnalch whisky. Most importantly to Gawain, it was here that he and Kalix had come to make sport beneath the trees, unobserved and alone.

  Oddly, as Gawain had traversed the wood, he’d thought for a moment that he caught the scent of a Hiyasta. That was impossible. No fire elemental would dare to trespass on the sacred territory of the MacRinnalchs. He sniffed again, and decided that he’d been mistaken.

  When he broke cover and came within sight of the castle, memories flooded in again. Unhappy memories, ending with his humiliation and banishment. What was he doing here, on this cold, friendless night? Had he come for the funeral? To pay his last respects to the werewolf who’d banished him? Perhaps. The death of a Thane was momentous event for the clan. Gawain felt it as keenly as anyone. Perhaps he was here to gloat over the death of the werewolf who had caused him so much pain? But Gawain didn’t think so. His anger at the Thane’s actions had mostly faded. He thought he understood why the Thane has acted as he did.

  Gawain knew why he was here. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Kalix. Gawain burned with desire for Kalix, just as he burned with shame over the whole episode of their involvement and his expulsion. It had not been right, he knew, to become involved with the daughter of the Thane. She had been too young. Even if she had been older the clan was never going to approve of such a match.

  Though the humiliation of his trial had been great, it was not the reason that Gawain burned with shame. He had a terrible sense of guilt for allowing the banishment to happen. He should have stayed with Kalix, and not allowed himself to be sent away. He should have stood up to them. He shouldn’t have deserted Kalix.

  Gawain had himself only been nineteen at the time. Difficult for a nineteen year old werewolf to defy the Thane and all his household. Gawain hated himself for not trying harder. Since then he had wandered the country. He never heard any news about Kalix. He didn’t know if she was still at the castle. Even his sharp senses couldn’t discern Kalix’s scent at this distance. There were too many other werewolves on the estate and the castle itself was masked by an enchantment which muted the werewolf scent, to baffle their enemies. If she was still at the castle she would surely be in the funeral procession. Gawain had determined that he was going to see her again, no matter what it cost.

  57

  At three a.m. Kalix, Daniel and Moonglow were sprawled comfortably in the living room, surrounded by a great pile of empty food cartons, record covers, CD covers, and assorted junk that had not yet found a proper place in their new home. It could have been normal scene from any student flat, had it not been for one of them being a werewolf.

  It was odd, reflected Moonglow, that here was Kalix, acting for the first time something like a normal human being, but not being in human form. The meat and the pizza had certainly improved her mood. So had the Runaways though Moonglow had pleaded with Daniel to change the music after a few hours, feeling that she couldn’t take any more. Kalix had growled angrily but when Daniel explained that it was normal in human households not to listen to the same record for hours on end, she had grudgingly agreed to listen to something else. Moonglow intercepted Daniel on the way to the music shelves.

  “Nothing loud. It’s three in the morning,” she said.

  “All right,” said Daniel, who was in a good mood. Kalix wasn’t being crazy and Moonglow hadn’t spent the night with Jay. That was enough to make Daniel cheerful.

  Moonglow was also happy. After the trouble she’d gone to in rescuing Kalix it was gratifying to see her finally showing signs of responding. Kalix was bound to find life a lot less stressful now that she had a new pendant to keep her safe, and some friendly people to live with. Moonglow assumed that Kalix would want to live with them. It had to be better than skulking in alleyways and sleeping in warehouses.

  “What is this music?” asked Kalix.

  “Kate Bush,” replied Moonglow.

  “I hate it,” said Kalix, who had never learned how to be tactful.

  “You’ll like it after you’ve heard it a few times,” replied Moonglow, who was completely invulnerable to criticism when it came to Kate Bush. Moonglow had spent far too much time in her bedroom between the ages of twelve and fifteen reverently listening to Kate Bush to take any criticism of her seriously.

  “Jay didn’t used to like her but he does now,” said Moonglow.

  “Who’s Jay?” asked Kalix, which was the first sign she’d ever shown of taking an interest in the life of either Daniel of Moonglow.

  “My boyfriend.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s nice,” enthused Moonglow. “He’s good looking and he’s smart and we go to gigs together and he’s really good at astrology.”

  “What’s astrology?” asked Kalix.

  “It’s the art of reading the future in the stars and planets,” said Moonglow, a little surprised by Kalix’s ignorance.

  “What’s going to happen?” asked Kalix.

  “When?”

  “In the future.”

  Moonglow struggled for an answer.

  “Well, it’s more like a sort of personal guidance thing.”

  “It’s total rubbish,” said Daniel, unable to contain himself. “They just make it all up.”

  Kalix lost interest and started licking the inside of a pizza box. Her tongue was alarmingly long, to match her teeth. But now they were used to her voice and could understand her, they didn’t find the werewolf Kalix intimidating any more. They had both started to look on her furry form as cute and attractive. Moonglow had an urge to stroke her long coat, an urge she wisely didn’t act on. She wondered about Kalix’s shape. Sort of man-beast. Or woman-beast.

  “Are all werewol
ves the same shape?”

  “What?”

  “Sort of half person half wolf. I was wondering if any werewolves can change into wolves. Like a complete wolf, I mean.”

  “I can do that,” said Kalix. “All the pure-blooded MacRinnalchs can change into wolves if they want.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s not so good for fighting,” said Kalix. “And you just can’t do anything with your paws. It’s hard to even open a door. You can’t talk. And you don’t think so clearly.”

  “When did you last try being a wolf?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” said Kalix. “It’s not the business of humans.

  “Sorry.”

  Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang.

  “Have we been disturbing the neighbours?”

  Kalix had risen swiftly and was sniffing the air.

  “It’s the stupid Hiyasta Queen,” she said, and sat down again.

  Moonglow went off to open the door. Downstairs she found the Fire Queen in an elegant blue outfit and a flood of tears. She was too upset to speak. Moonglow had to help her through the door and up the stairs. When they reached the living room Malveria simply collapsed on the couch and lay there sobbing.

  “It must be really tough being a Fire Queen,” whispered Daniel to Moonglow. “Every time we see this woman she’s in hysterics.”

  Moonglow brought some tissues.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

  Malveria shook her head.

  “It’s no use,” she cried. “Nothing will stop the pain.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “A cup of tea would be nice,” sobbed Malveria, then buried her face in the tissues and got back to crying uncontrollably.

  58

  Moonglow returned from the kitchen with a pot of tea to find the Fire Queen still sobbing. Daniel, in an effort to comfort her, was now patting her head, which rested on his shoulder.

  “There there,” said Daniel. He noticed that Moonglow was regarding him with amusement. Embarrassed, he moved away a few inches at which Malveria sobbed even louder then laid her head in his lap.