Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “I’ve got them interested because I have an American actress - ”

  Thrix’s phone rang. An expression of annoyance flickered across Donald’s face though he stifled it as best he could. By now, Thrix was regretting coming out to dinner while expecting her business call from New York.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Dominil.”

  The Enchantress was surprised. She couldn’t remember her cousin Dominil ever calling her before.

  “I am in London. I have some news I’d rather not discuss on the phone.”

  Thrix made an arrangement to meet Dominil the next day. Her cousin did not engage in the small talk which had so far blighted her date but even so by the time the call was finished, the main course had gone cold and Donald Carver was looking impatient.

  “That was my cousin.”

  “You’re a very close family.”

  “Not exactly. But you know, family business, after the funeral.”

  “The funeral?”

  “My father. That’s why I was in Scotland.”

  Donald looked shocked. Thrix cursed herself for mentioning it.

  “You’ve just been to your father’s funeral? I had no idea. I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t have asked you out if I’d known.”

  “No, it’s fine. I mean… once he’s gone, just get on with life, you know?”

  Thrix thought she hadn’t phrased this particularly well. Donald looked at her rather strangely. She was rescued by the appearance of the waiter. By now Thrix had completely lost her appetite but searched for some desert she could manage, not wishing to appear unenthusiastic about the restaurant’s food, or her date. At least she hadn’t been unenthusiastic about the wine, she reflected, as she refilled her glass and asked the waiter to bring another bottle.

  Thrix looked at the menu rather glumly. Being a werewolf, the Enchantress had a healthy appetite, but she was so used to being with models and designers, none of whom were large eaters, that it was unusual for her to be eating a dessert which would be packed full of calories.

  ‘Not that I need to worry about that,’ Thrix told herself. ‘I haven’t put on a pound in years.’ Yet there was something about the desserts which made her uncomfortable. What if she did put on some weight? She didn’t want to end up flying to New York looking like a pudding. She waved away the menu.

  “I’ll just have coffee,” she said, in a tone of voice which attempted to imply that not having a dessert did not mean she wasn’t having an excellent time with Donald. She tried to concentrate on his conversation but it was difficult, with thoughts of Malveria, fashion espionage, Dominil and her mother all floating round in her head. What did her mother mean, she hadn’t been able to attract a suitable werewolf? Since when was her mother keeping score? Thrix realised that Donald was talking to her and tried to drag her attention back to the matters in hand. He was asking her about her possible show in New York.

  “It would be a very good opportunity for me to break into the market - ” began Thrix. Her phone rang. It was New York. For what seemed like the fiftieth time, Thrix looked apologetically at her date. About thirty seconds later, when she was deep in a conversation with the woman who was organising the show, she had forgotten all about him. Once Thrix was discussing business she was oblivious to the outside world. The call was a very long one, longer than all the others put together. When she finally put her phone back in her bag she noticed that Donald was looking bored.

  “Sorry. Was I on the phone for long?”

  “Very long,” said Donald, rather sharply.

  80

  The Enchantress paid the cab driver and walked quickly up the steps to her apartment block. The doorman let her in and she thanked him politely. She took the lift up to her floor with a middle aged couple who had just returned from the opera. The couple stood close to each other, quiet, but affectionate. Thrix endeavoured not to look like a woman coming back from a really bad date. The Enchantress walked slowly from the elevator to her apartment. As she was about to put the key in the door she halted, sensing someone.

  “Malveria?”

  The Fire Queen materialised beside her, dressed in a pale lilac evening dress which set of her dark skin to breathtaking effect.

  “Hello my darling Enchantress.”

  “What brings you here, Malveria?”

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  “You wanted to see if I was engaging in some sexual relations?”

  “Also that,” admitted Malveria. “Is your man presently parking the car prior to rushing up the stairs where he will fling you on the bed or maybe the floor of the hallway if he cannot contain his passion?”

  “The man is on his way home regretting he ever had such a dull date as me.”

  “Oh.” The Fire Queen looked disappointed. “This is not the result I was hoping for. And why are you unable to open the door?”

  Thrix was fumbling with her key. She realised she had drunk more wine than she intended, and had hardly eaten anything. When she finally managed to get the door open the Fire Queen put a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

  “What went wrong?”

  “Everything. Too many interruptions. I hardly listened to a word he said. By the fifth phone call he was looking bored and by the seventh he was asking for the cheque. I’ve never seen a man disappear so quickly.”

  The Enchantress waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen and the coffee machine sprang into life. When a woman badly needed coffee it was a blessing being a sorceress.

  “Perhaps the situation could be repaired?” suggested Malveria.

  Thrix shook her head.

  “You can’t ignore a man for the entire evening. It hurts their pride.”

  “I am pleased I do not have to participate in this ritual you call dating,” said Malveria. “Really, it sounds so tiresome.”

  When the coffee was ready Malveria offered to bring it through, which was an indication of the warmth of her friendship for the Enchantress. There were very few people for whom the Fire Queen would carry a tray.

  “We could work spells to make him love you,” suggested Malveria.

  “Forget it Malveria. I’ve gone off the whole idea. I’ve got plenty of other things to think about.”

  “True, you are very busy,” agreed the Fire Queen. “The Sorceress Livia’s 500th birthday celebration is only two months away.”

  Malveria had commissioned Thrix to make her clothes for the event. It was one of the highlights of the Hiyasta social calendar. Livia’s 400th birthday celebration had been a legendary affair, and this one promised to be even grander. It would last for five days, and the Fire Queen would need several different outfits for each day. In addition, Thrix was designing clothes for the handmaidens and page boys who would attend Malveria throughout the event.

  “Is there any chance, Enchantress, that with your upcoming engagements in Milan and New York, and the interference of your family feud that you may - ” Malveria’s lip trembled.

  “Your clothes will be ready,” said Thrix, emphatically. “Everything is on schedule.”

  “Will we make fittings tomorrow?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t. Not in the morning anyway. I have to meet Dominil. Mother has some insane idea that she can get the twins to vote for Markus. It all seems very unlikely to me. Have you ever met Dominil?”

  “The white-haired one? No. But I have heard of her. Very beautiful, I understand?”

  “Yes, very beautiful. But completely cold. I’ve no idea how mother persuaded her to do this. Meanwhile I’m supposed to look after Kalix which is just about the last thing I want to do.”

  The Mistress of the Werewolves expected Thrix to protect Kalix. Thrix had refused to commit herself, but could see that she would probably end up doing it anyway.

  “Kalix is in danger from Sarapen,” said Malveria, who was now abreast of the situation regarding the Thaneship. “So it is fortunate that I provided her with a pendant, yes? Perhaps she will be safe now?”


  Thrix sipped her coffee, rather wearily.

  “Perhaps. I suppose I should make more effort to protect her but you know I’ve never liked her much. I gave her the first pendant just so she wouldn’t bother me any more.”

  “I do not know if I like her or not,” said Malveria. “But she is interesting. I feel there is the prospect of some entertainment while she remains in the humans’ house.”

  “Is that why you went to so much trouble?” asked the Enchantress. She had been very surprised to learn that not only had Malveria obtained a new pendant for Kalix, she had summoned her back from the outskirts of the forests of the werewolf dead. The Enchantress was aware of the expenditure of power this must have required. However she was not aware of the price Malveria had extracted from Moonglow, and believed that Malveria had saved Kalix as a favour to her. The bargain with Moonglow was Malveria’s secret, for her future amusement.

  “Do you mind if I remain when Dominil comes to visit? I am curious about this white-haired wolf before whom all tremble.”

  Thrix looked at Malveria.

  “Just how bored are you these days?”

  “Very bored,” admitted Malveria. “Sometimes I regret that I so completely vanquished my enemies. But I am forgetting - tomorrow I will meet the daughter of my ambassador to the cursed Empress Asaratanti. I may learn of the spy who torments us. How I will make the culprit suffer!”

  Thrix’s head was drooping. She muttered a word and released the spell that was preventing her transformation. As the werewolf form came upon her she sighed like a woman slipping off an uncomfortable pair of shoes after a long day’s shopping.

  “Ah, Thrix, you feel the effects of too much wine? I hope you did not put the man off with drunkenness? It is never ladylike, you know.”

  “He was put off long before I got drunk.”

  “Drink more coffee and become awake,” said Malveria. “Because tonight, if my memory does not play cruel tricks, is the night of the wonderful Japanese fashion show on your excellent television of many, many channels.”

  The Fire Queen switched on the television and worked the remote control with the triumphant air of a woman who, although living in a realm where technology was very basic, had nonetheless mastered the art. She shrieked with excitement as a young Japanese model floated across the screen in a black kimono. The Queen was even more obsessed with clothes than usual. Nothing in her life was more important than the prospect of securing a great fashion triumph at the Sorceress Livia’s upcoming birthday celebration.

  81

  Kalix woke up and wondered where she was. She remembered that she was in Daniel and Moonglow’s flat. She thought about watching TV, and smiled. Then she thought about all the food she’d eaten the night before and immediately felt ill.

  Moonglow put her head through the door of the bathroom as Kalix was vomiting profusely. Wary of being struck again, she let Kalix be. Kalix threw up for a long time then trooped past Moonglow without even looking at her. Kalix was once more a mess. Her hair was matted with sweat and the front of her T-shirt was stained with her vomit. The young werewolf went downstairs, took water from the kitchen, then wrapped herself up in her quilt on the floor, and sipped from her new bottle of laudanum. Kalix was again feeling anxious. Though the attack was not as severe as the previous day, she was sweating and trembling. She took more laudanum and a pill. She could sense Daniel and Moonglow hovering in the background and wanted them to go away. Kalix felt deeply suspicious of their motives and wondered why they had asked her to remain. Once her strength returned she resolved that she would leave and never come back.

  Daniel and Moonglow withdrew to the kitchen to confer.

  “Things can’t go on like this,” whispered Moonglow.

  “She likes eating when she’s a werewolf and then it drives her crazy when she’s human.”

  “What’s in that bottle she drinks from?”

  They didn’t know. Werewolf medicine perhaps. Kalix was very protective of her bottle and wouldn’t let anyone near it.

  “We really have to do something,” said Moonglow. “Perhaps we should go to see Thrix again.”

  Daniel was not enthusiastic. Last time they’d visited Thrix, not only had the blonde-haired werewolf been hostile but they’d had to hide from other scary werewolves.

  “Anyway, I felt self-conscious being surrounded by all that fashion and glamour.”

  “Hey, I’m suffering too,” said Moonglow. “Between Kalix, Thrix and the Fire Queen I’m starting to feel fat. How come they’re all so slender?”

  “You’re slender too,” said Daniel, loyally. This was true, but after exposure to the extreme glamour of the Enchantress and the Fire Queen, and the wild and youthful beauty of Kalix, anyone was entitled to feel a little threatened.

  They were interrupted by a noise outside. Kalix was limping towards the front door, her tattered bag in her hand and her ragged coat draped round her shoulders. Moonglow marched quickly to the door and stood in front of Kalix, barring her way.

  “This has got to stop,” she said. “And don’t you dare try and hit me again after I looked after you and gave you somewhere to sleep.”

  Daniel looked round for something to use as a weapon in case Kalix sprang at Moonglow and started savaging her. But Kalix seemed drowsier than she had yesterday morning.

  “Stay here and we can sort out your problems,” said Moonglow.

  “Stupid human,” muttered Kalix.

  “Well maybe,” responded Moonglow. “But I’m a better alternative than anything else you have. Why do you want to go and live in a warehouse again when you can stay here where it’s warm and comfy?”

  “And watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch,” added Daniel.

  “We’ll clear out the small room for you,” continued Moonglow. “And you can stay there and it’ll be nice.”

  “You can play your music,” said Daniel, and smiled, without drawing any response.

  “Really you should stay,” insisted Moonglow.

  Kalix swayed on her feet and abruptly collapsed on the floor. Her eyes remained open for a few seconds then closed as she drifted into unconsciousness. They carried her back to the front room, taking care not to trample on her hair which splayed out beneath her.

  “It’s funny,” said Daniel. “A few weeks ago, I’d never have expected to be wrapping a werewolf in a quilt and giving her a hot water bottle. Now it’s almost second nature.”

  82

  North of the river in Camden, MacRinnalch werewolves were involved in another unfriendly scene. Beauty and Delicious, recovering swiftly from their whisky-soaked celebrations of the night before, regarded Dominil with the same sense of derision they felt towards the rest of the family.

  “I mean, you’ve got nice hair,” said Beauty. “Good leather coat as well. But really, why would we want you to help us?”

  “It’s ridiculous,” added Delicious. “The Mistress of the Werewolves must be losing her mind. She thinks some hick from a castle in Scotland is going to help our band to succeed?”

  “Tell her thanks but no thanks.”

  “But say we really enjoyed the whisky.”

  “Ask her to send us more.”

  Dominil was untroubled by being refereed to as a hick from a castle. She was not even troubled by the sisters’ failure to offer her anything to drink, a breach of MacRinnalch hospitality. Having accepted the mission from Verasa, she didn’t intend to be put off by the girls’ poor manners.

  “The MacRinnalchs have considerable resources to put behind you,” she pointed out.

  “So what?” scoffed Beauty. “We have considerable resources of our own.”

  This was true. The sisters were wealthy, far wealthier than Dominil. Her share of the family money was still controlled by her father Tupan. While he had never denied her anything she wanted, neither had he turned over any substantial portion to her control.

  “Yes, I understand you are not short of funds. I also understand that you have been living here f
or several years and in that time have made the acquaintance of many musicians. Presumably you have also made the acquaintance of those people who are involved in the production side of the industry. I see from this room alone that you have a great deal in the way of instruments. And if your own claims may be believed, you are both excellent musicians and singers.”

  Dominil sipped at her coffee and, uninvited, picked up a bottle of whisky from the floor and poured the remnants into her cup.

  “So why is it,” she continued. “That you have failed to make any impression? You no longer even have a band. In the short walk between Camden High Street and here I saw posters everywhere advertising gigs at small venues. It would seem that it’s not difficult to at least make a start. You do not yet appear to have done so.”

  “Well…” said Beauty, and paused. She looked at her sister.

  “It takes time,” said Delicious.

  Dominil let her eyes roam round the room, at the mess and clutter everywhere, and the signs of continual partying. She could see very clearly why the sisters were not making any progress.

  “You did play onstage several times in the past. So you have in fact gone backwards. The reasons for this are obvious. You have no application and no direction. In reality you have very little prospects of success. No normal manager would be able to tolerate you for more than a few days. Left to your own devices you will remain in this house getting drunker and drunker, talking about the great music you’re going to make in the future, without ever going so far as walking onto a stage again. I imagine that within a short time you’ll become a laughing stock as the boys you brag to in the local taverns realise you are nothing but talk. I understand that being nothing but talk is a common attribute among musicians. Is this what you desire?”

  Beauty and Delicious looked at each other uncomfortably. Hearing their future mapped out in Dominil’s cold, authoritative tones was not pleasant.