Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “Why don’t you just go back to Scotland, bitch?” growled Beauty.

  Delicious also growled a hostile, wolfish growl, but when it ended she looked at Dominil with just a flicker of interest. Delicious had once, a few months ago, thought something very similar to what Dominil had just said. She’d suppressed the thought and almost forgotten all about it. Now she remembered her own apprehensions about never walking onto a stage again.

  “So what would you do?” she asked.

  “You will explain to me what is required and I will make it happen,” replied Dominil.

  83

  Thrix woke up a little hungover and very depressed.

  ‘Poor Donald,’ she thought. ‘That was probably the worst date of his life. How am I going to explain it to Ann?’

  “I should never have agreed to go,” she muttered, wrapping herself in a dressing gown and heading for the shower. Malveria had stayed last night in the guest bedroom. As Thrix emerged from the shower the Fire Queen appeared, a broad smile on her face, to wish her a good morning.

  “Have you got over the disappointment of last night’s calamitous encounter?”

  “Just about.”

  “I will make coffee. Do you have any pop-tarts?”

  The Enchantress shook her head, bemused that the Fire Queen should make such a request.

  The door buzzer rang. Thrix made a face.

  “Dominil. I forgot she was coming.”

  Thrix hurried to dress while Dominil rode up in the lift. The Fire Queen opened the door to her and greeted her politely. As Dominil walked into the room Malveria eyed her ankle length leather coat with envy. She had several herself, made in her own realm, but she felt that none was quite so finely cut as Dominil’s.

  “Thrix will be out shortly. Would you like tea?” asked Malveria, who had decided to play the part of an excellent host.

  Dominil nodded. She took a seat and sat in silence. Dominil sat very elegantly, her back straight. As Malveria brought her tea she tried to read her aura. Hiyastas could often learn a lot about a person just by examining them. Dominil’s aura, however, was not very revealing. The white-haired werewolf’s emotions were buried very deeply, too deeply to reveal themselves to a cursory examination from even such a mistress of interpretation as Malveria.

  Thrix emerged, looking, Malveria noticed, rather radiant. ‘Ah,’ thought the Fire Queen. ‘She does not wish to suffer in comparison to her cousin’s beauty.’

  “Good morning, Dominil. This is an early visit. Are you already settled in London?”

  “The Mistress of the Werewolves has made satisfactory arrangements for me,” replied Dominil. “If you will excuse my brevity, I will not remain here for long. I have much to do today.”

  “Helping the twins?”

  “Yes.”

  The Enchantress was as puzzled as everyone else by Dominil’s acceptance of the task, and wondered how she intended to go about it.

  “Are you going to make them pop stars?”

  “That is not what they require,” replied Dominil. “At least, not yet. First they wish to obtain credibility among their peers.”

  “Credibility?”

  Dominil nodded.

  “It appears that success is not everything. When I suggested that a large sum of money from the MacRinnalch vaults might be enough to buy them successful music careers, they were unenthusiastic. I was surprised. I had assumed it would be possible to purchase everything that was necessary. Songs, musicians, advertising, radio play and such like. And indeed after talking to them I learn that it is possible to gain success of a sort by these methods, but it is not what they wish.”

  Thrix, despite being put off by her cousin’s rather formal manner, found herself interested in what she had to say. Dominil explained that the sisters desperately wanted the respect of the people they knew in Camden.

  “They live in a community which is full of struggling musicians. Were they to buy their way to success the other struggling musicians would simply hate them. To avoid this it is apparently necessary to do things in a rather more difficult manner. They must play small gigs at which people they know must acknowledge them to be worthwhile. They must attract attention from journalists and record companies on their own merits, rather than by bribery. In short, they must do things with credibility.”

  “In particular,” continued Dominil. “They wish to surpass the achievements of four boys who live above a shop not far from them. The twins dislike them. The four boys once mocked them for being rich girls, another reason they refuse to buy their way to success. These four boys have a band of their own and are beginning to generate interest. Beauty and Delicious are eaten up with jealousy. I believe if I can put them on a footing which is even slightly superior to that of their rivals, they may actually be grateful enough to do what the Mistress of the Werewolves wishes, and vote for Markus.

  The Enchantress was impressed. Dominil seemed to know what she was talking about.

  “You really seem to be making quick progress, Dominil.”

  Thrix asked Dominil if she could bring her anything, food or drink, but the white werewolf shook her head.

  “If you do get the twins back onstage, isn’t Verasa worried that they might become visible to the hunters?”

  “That would be for the Mistress of the Werewolves to worry about,” responded Dominil. “However, this brings me to my reason for visiting you. I have some information. While spending my last night at the castle I hacked into the computers of the Avenaris Guild.”

  “You can do that?” said Thrix, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “What is this?” asked Malveria.

  “I broke through their security system to read their computer files.”

  There was a slight delay while Thrix explained it to Malveria, as best she could. Thrix was impressed. She knew that Dominil was the intelligent one of the family but hadn’t been aware that computing at a high level was among her achievements.

  “I discovered that the Guild has no knowledge of Butix and Delix. Their files on the MacRinnalchs are extensive but very incomplete. They have no knowledge of me though my father’s name is listed.”

  “Do they mention me?” asked Malveria, eagerly.

  “No.”

  Malveria looked disappointed,

  “They’re only interested in werewolves,” said Thrix, reassuringly. She looked at Dominil. “Are you about to tell me they know about me?”

  “They know a little. Not your name or location but there was a report that an unknown fashion designer in London could be a MacRinnalch werewolf. Other than that they had no details. I thought I had better warn you. Furthermore, they have a great deal of information about Kalix. Up until a few weeks ago they were actively tailing her and they have a very accurate description of her. They’ve now lost contact, but they’re aware of her status as daughter of the Thane. They count it as a very high priority to kill her.”

  Dominil paused, and sipped her tea.

  “The Mistress of the Werewolves asked me to inform you of anything I learned about Kalix. It is your job, I believe, to protect her?”

  “No,” said Thrix. “It isn’t.”

  “I understood from the Mistress that it was.”

  “My mother suggested it,” admitted the Enchantress.

  “Then it would seem sensible to do it,” said Dominil, pointedly.

  Thrix was not pleased to hear Dominil tell her what was sensible for her to do but didn’t want to get into a discussion about it. She thanked Dominil for bringing her the information.

  “There is one more thing,” said Dominil. “The Guild have formed an association with a man from Croatia who has a great reputation among the werewolf hunters of Central Europe. His name is Mikulanec.”

  “No hunter will ever trouble me,” stated Thrix.

  “Yet he might trouble Kalix.”

  “Yes all right, I’ll check on her,” responded Thrix, not very graciously.

  The phone rang.
Expecting it to be her early morning call from Ann, Thrix picked it up. It was the Mistress of the Werewolves. Thrix listened for a few minutes.

  “Dominil is here. I’ll tell her.” She put the phone down. “Baron MacAllister is dead.”

  “Already? I was not expecting Sarapen to act so quickly.”

  The Baron on whom Verasa had worked so assiduously to gain his vote was now dead. The war for the Thaneship had claimed its first casualty.

  84

  Gawain sat for a day and a night in the small cell, thinking. He had come to the castle looking for Kalix. She was not here, and he had gained no information as to her whereabouts. He watched from the small barred window as far below, the castle grounds emptied of visitors. The werewolves were going home. Dissatisfied, most probably, with their visit to the ancestral home of the MacRinnalchs. The cell door opened and Marwanis strode in. Marwanis was the daughter of the Thane’s youngest brother Kurian. Though she was not striking like Kalix and Thrix, with their dramatic cheekbones and overly wide mouths, she was beautiful still, and in the opinion of many of the clan, far more what a MacRinnalch woman should be. Gawain rose to his feet, out of respect for her.

  “Hello Gawain.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you,” said Gawain, awkwardly.

  “No doubt. It’s a long time since you’ve been pleased to see me, Gawain.”

  “I didn’t say I was not pleased to see you.”

  Marwanis regarded him for a few moments, as if musing on something. Gawain felt uncomfortable. He had reason to.

  “Why did you come back to the castle?”

  “I’m looking for Kalix.”

  “Still? You’ve left it rather late, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve never stopped looking for Kalix.”

  “I heard you were working on a croft on the Shetland Isles,” said Marwanis, with a faint smile. “Did you expect her to be hiding there in a peat bog?”

  Gawain didn’t reply. Marwanis seemed to be implying that he had not looked hard enough. There was some truth in this. For a while he had lost heart, his spirit defeated by the long search.

  “You should have stayed with me,” continued Marwanis. “Instead of transferring your affections to the Thane’s daughter. Things would have gone better for you.”

  Not knowing how to reply, Gawain remained silent.

  “Still, that is all in the past. Do you want to know where Kalix is?”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “Not exactly. But I can probably point you in the right direction.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Marwanis shrugged.

  “I still remember you reasonably fondly. They were enjoyable nights, before you decided I was not quite good enough for you.”

  “That’s not what I felt at all,” protested Gawain. He was extremely uncomfortable to be confronted by the lover he had abandoned for Kalix.

  “I could see the attraction, I suppose. She is wild. No doubt I was rather dull in comparison.”

  “Marwanis, I’m sorry if I hurt you - ”

  “You could not hurt me, Gawain. There are a hundred MacRinnalchs more worthy than you. Do you want me to tell you about Kalix?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s in London. She fled there after she attacked her father. No one knows exactly where she is but the Enchantress could probably tell you more. She gave Kalix a charm which hides her. That should be enough for you to find her, if you really want to.”

  Marwanis turned to go, then stopped.

  “If you need more help, you might try the Young MacDoig.”

  “The Merchant’s son? Why?”

  “Because Kalix stinks of laudanum these days. Did you not know that?”

  Marwanis slipped out of the cell, locking the door behind her. Gawain wondered if she’d been telling the truth. Historically some werewolves had shown a liking for laudanum but it was a rare affliction, and very degenerate. Gawain didn’t like to think of Kalix being involved in it. He wasted no time wondering why Marwanis had chosen to give him information. Kalix was in London. Gawain had searched there before, two years ago, without success. But on that occasion, Thrix had sworn she had no knowledge of Kalix at all.

  ‘That’s as much as I’m going to learn here,’ he thought. ‘So it’s time to leave.’

  He examined his cell. The window was much too small for him to squeeze through and the walls were of thick stone. The cell door was made of layers of hard wood, reinforced by iron bands. It was some hours till darkness so he sat on the cot in the corner of the cell, and waited.

  Night came and the moon rose. It was two nights after the full moon. Only pure-blooded MacRinnalch werewolves could now change at will. With one human grandparent, Gawain should not have been able to do this. Gawain however, was a werewolf of unusual determination, with exceptional powers of concentration. He meditated briefly, then let the werewolf form come over his body. He walked towards the door and stooped to place his great jaws over the handle. Then he bit so fiercely that the handle and the wood around it was torn from the door. Gawain took one step back then kicked with all his strength. The door flew open sending shards of wood and metal flying out into the corridor. Gawain leapt out of the cell.

  The two guards outside were startled. They had not been expecting that Gawain would be a werewolf this night. Gawain brushed them aside before running down the corridor to where the torch light flickered on a large window. Without breaking stride Gawain leapt at the window, crashing through the thick glass to fall all the way from the highest level of the castle into the moat below. He hit the water with tremendous force but surfaced quickly and struck out for the far side. He was hauling himself onto the far bank while the guards were still raising the alarm. By the time they’d rushed down the staircases, flooding out of the great gate of Castle MacRinnalch with torches in their hands, Gawain had long since disappeared into the darkness.

  In the west wing a very flustered attendant rushed into the chambers of the Mistress of the Werewolves.

  “Mistress, the prisoner has escaped.”

  “Escaped?” said Verasa. “How?”

  “He became werewolf and tore the door from his cell then leapt for the moat.”

  “Really?”

  Verasa took this calmly enough but Markus, who was with her in the chamber, was furious. He berated the attendant and instructed him to gather all available werewolves and hunt for Gawain. The attendant nodded and left the chamber as quickly as he could, glad to escape from Markus’s wrath.

  The Mistress of the Werewolves was not exhibiting much wrath.

  “Markus, it’s quite all right. I rather expected him to escape. That’s why I put him in that cell, rather than the dungeon. He is a vigorous young wolf, despite his human blood.”

  “Why did you want him to escape?”

  “Well,” said Verasa. “He was no use to me here. What was I going to do with him? Have him executed?”

  “That is what he deserves,” answered Markus.

  “Perhaps. But Markus, do we really want to be executing MacRinnalchs in this day and age? We are trying to modernise the clan, after all.”

  “What if he finds Kalix?”

  “Then he’ll lead us to her. Thrix claims not to know where Kalix lives. I’m not sure if she’s being honest. It’s disturbing that we still don’t know where Kalix is. And if Gawain does find her, then he’ll try to protect her from Sarapen, which would be no bad thing.”

  Markus did not totally approve of this. He had never liked Gawain.

  “I was not aware that he could transform into a werewolf at will, on any night.”

  “Weren’t you? Gawain comes from a very strong lineage. His great-great-grandfather brought back the Begravar knife from Mesopotamia when he went overseas with the Black Douglas. And he was one of the MacRinnalchs who helped win the day for Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn. As of course was your own great-great-grandfather.”

  The Mistress of the Werewolves might not ha
ve been so calm had she been aware of the phone call Marwanis made to Sarapen a short time later.

  “I gave Gawain the information about Kalix, as you wished. He then managed to escape.”

  “Already?” Sarapen sounded pleased. This was better than he had expected. Even if Decembrius failed to locate Kalix, Gawain might well lead them to her. He congratulated Marwanis on her work. Marwanis took his praise calmly, though she glowed inside. These days, she found herself increasingly attracted to her cousin Sarapen.

  Verasa’s calm was soon to be shattered. A messenger arrived with news from the MacAllister keep.

  “The Baron is dead.”

  “What!” yelled Markus, and leapt to his feet.

  Verasa’s face was grim.

  “Tell us what happened,” she said, though she already knew in her bones who was responsible for the death.

  85

  Pete was extremely surprised to find himself being roused from his bed at nine o’clock in the morning. Usually he slept until noon. He was even more surprised to find that the person responsible for ringing the doorbell in such a remorseless manner was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, with hair so long and white that he wondered if it could possibly be real.

  “Are you Pete, who plays guitar?”

  “Eh… yes…”

  “Good. Beauty and Delicious are re-forming their band. They again require your services. Turn up for rehearsal at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon at the Huge Sound studio in Leyton Street. Bring your guitar, do not be late and do not be intoxicated. Is there anything else you need to know?”

  “Beauty and Delicious? I thought they’d given up.”

  “They have reactivated their career.”

  Dominil looked deeply into Pete’s eyes. He flinched under the intensity of her stare.

  “Can I count on you to be there?”

  Pete nodded. He’d planned to spend tomorrow handing out fliers to earn a little money, but whoever this woman was, she didn’t seem like someone he wanted to argue with.

  Dominil turned on her heel and departed, her long black coat swaying gently round her ankles. Having repeated this scene at various flats around Camden, she walked calmly through the cold drizzle back to the twins’ house. The sisters were as surprised as Pete to find themselves roused so early but Dominil brushed aside their protests.