Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “I’ve made contact with all the musicians you wanted to play with again. They will be there tomorrow at three.”

  The sisters were surprised.

  “Even Adam?”

  Adam had been their last drummer. He’d sworn never to speak to them again after they’d blamed him, quite unfairly, for ruining their last gig. While his timing on the night may not have been perfect, their own intake of red wine and vicodin had contributed far more to the general shambles.

  “He was reluctant. I persuaded him.”

  Dominil looked round the living room.

  “Whatever you want to salvage from this mess, I advise you to take to your rooms and store safely. The cleaners will be here shortly.”

  “Cleaners?”

  “You cannot focus on anything while living in this sorry wasteland. I have engaged some cleaners to rectify matters. They will be here in thirty minutes so I advise you to get busy.”

  Beauty and Delicious protested vigorously. Dominil was unmoved.

  “You now have twenty-nine minutes. I estimate that the cleansing of this house will take most of the day but we can use the time well. You can take me to the venues in which you wish to play.”

  “But it’s raining outside.”

  “You are werewolves of the MacRinnalch Clan. Nieces of the late Thane. You can stand a little rain. It’s necessary for you to show me these places in order that I may procure gigs for you.”

  “Gigs? Aren’t you going a bit fast here?”

  “No,” said Dominil. “You assure me that you are fine musicians. Tomorrow you will be rehearsing with other musicians with whom you are already familiar. I have been reading about the bands you told me you admire, and it seems to be a common thread that they did not rehearse for an overly long time before placing their music before the public. To do so, I understand, can lead to a certain staleness, which is to be avoided. John Lydon was particularly insistent on this point. Now you really must make ready for the cleaners.”

  86

  Many werewolves and men now hunted for the lonely werewolf girl. Sarapen wanted her dead and sent the cunning and far-sighted Decembrius to London to find her. Markus, feeling that it would be good to know where Kalix was, dispatched his trusted lieutenant Gregor to search for her, though he did not tell his mother that he’d done this. Meanwhile the Avenaris Guild redoubled their efforts. Mr Carmichael made it his highest priority. He was determined that his organisation should not be beaten to the task by Mr Mikulanec. Mikulanec himself prowled the streets, the Begravar knife in his pocket. So far Kalix had eluded him, but the knife would tell him when she was close. Mikulanec had a strong suspicion that the werewolf girl was now hidden from the world in some way with which he was not familiar. Nonetheless, he remained confident. The knife would not let him down.

  Against these enemies Kalix had only Thrix to protect her, and Thrix was an unwilling guardian. Today Kalix’s anxiety was less but she was still very suspicious of Daniel and Moonglow. After passing out at the doorway she’d found herself back in front of the fire, wrapped in her quilt. Now Kalix was wondering what these humans wanted from her. It was very strange the way they kept wrapping her in a quilt and giving her a hot water bottle. Various ideas of what might be behind it flitted through her mind. They might be being paid by her mother to watch her till she was brought back to the castle. They might be in the employ of one of her hated brothers. What if they were being paid by the Guild to lull her into a false sense of security before handing her over to be killed?

  Kalix examined and rejected all these ideas but couldn’t help feeling it was a bad idea to remain here. But she was warm and comfortable and though she cursed herself for her weakness she just couldn’t bring herself to leave again right away. She’d taken too much laudanum for one thing, gorging herself on the new bottle, and her senses were very dull. She felt a shadow fall across her and looked up to find Daniel standing over her with a mug in his hand.

  “Do you want tea?”

  Kalix shook her head.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Kalix refused to answer. She had already given these humans too much information. Daniel put the tea down and sat beside her. He asked her if she’d like to hear some music. She shook her head.

  “Is there anything we can do to make you feel better? Do you want another pillow?”

  Kalix regarded him suspiciously. She wondered if he might be trying to have sex with her. She’d experienced offers of hospitality from men on these terms before. She made ready to fight him off.

  Daniel was unaware of Kalix’s suspicions. Last night she had been far more friendly, and he didn’t realise that Kalix’s moods could oscillate so wildly in a short space of time. So he spoke to her as if nothing was wrong, apart from her again being ill.

  “Me and Moonglow will clear out the small room tonight and then you can move in there. I’ve got a little CD player you can have. We don’t have a spare TV unfortunately but maybe we could find one. Are you sure you don’t want this tea?”

  Kalix raised herself on one elbow and looked him directly in the eye.

  “Why do you keep trying to help me?” she demanded.

  Daniel was surprised. It seemed like a difficult question to answer.

  “I don’t know,” he said, and shrugged. “Just because we like you, I suppose.”

  “Is someone paying you?”

  This made Daniel laugh.

  “Of course not. Who would pay us?”

  Kalix looked unhappy. Daniel fell silent. Given the amount they’d done to help her, he might have been justified in thinking that this was a very ungrateful werewolf. Daniel didn’t really think this. There was something so pathetic about the skinny girl that he couldn’t help wanting to assist her.

  “Are you going to stay with us now?” he asked.

  “No,” said Kalix.

  “Oh. That’s a pity. I was hoping you might help me persuade Moonglow to get cable TV.”

  “What?”

  “Moonglow is a fine woman in almost every way, but she does have this irrational dislike of television. It’s criminal the way she refused that gift from her mother. If you stay around we might be able to work on her, you know, gang up till she gives in.” Daniel smiled. “So really, I need you here.”

  Kalix was quite surprised at the thought of helping someone. It was a long time since she’d done that.

  “I’m not staying,” said Kalix.

  “All right,” said Daniel. “We’ll miss you.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “You’re right, we won’t. After all, who wants a nasty clumsy werewolf cluttering up the place, particularly one who likes really bad music like the Runaways?”

  Kalix’s eyes widened.

  “The Runaways are not - ”

  She stopped. She realised that Daniel was joking. It was such a strange feeling to have someone joking with her. She couldn’t remember when that had last happened. Despite herself, she smiled, then tried to erase it quickly so Daniel didn’t see.

  “I’m leaving right away,” she said, but made no attempt to get up.

  87

  Verasa, Markus, Rainal and several trusted advisors sat in the outer room of Verasa’s chambers. It was the room she used for her private conferences and in homage to this there was a painting on the wall by Velasquez of two ambassadors. This was one of the finest pictures by Velasquez in private hands, and did not appear in any of the standard lists of the painter’s works.

  “I did not expect Sarapen to do this. Not so suddenly anyway,” admitted Verasa.

  “It seems that Sarapen didn’t even attempt to negotiate with Baron MacAllister before removing him,” said Rainal.

  According to the MacAllister Clan, their Baron had tragically lost his life after accidentally falling from the highest part of the east wall of his keep. The Baron had been on his own at the time, in human form, and had been killed instantly. The Baron’s eldest son had now sorrowfully acceded to the leader
ship of his clan.

  No one in Castle MacRinnalch believed this story for a minute. The old Baron had obviously been murdered, probably by agents of Sarapen.

  “The Baron’s son will now join the Great Council,” said Rainal. “But surely he won’t vote for Sarapen? A werewolf who just killed his father?”

  Verasa made a genteel noise of derision.

  “Rainal, you’re being naive. The Baron’s son was in on the assassination.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because the MacAllister keep is a strong place with high walls. Sarapen’s werewolves couldn’t have entered without help from the inside. It’s obvious that young MacAllister decided his best interests lie in siding with Sarapen.”

  Each werewolf had a decanter of whisky before them. Verasa sipped hers slowly as her advisors considered her words. There was an air of shock around the castle as the werewolves realised that war had now begun.

  “Sarapen is trying to bring matters to an end quickly,” said Markus. “He gains the vote of the new Baron by this action and is hoping it will intimidate others.”

  “He doesn’t need much more intimidation,” pointed out Rainal. “If the new Baron votes for him, Sarapen will have seven votes. If Sarapen kills Kalix then Dulupina will give him her vote. And Kalix’s death will open the way for Decembrius which will give him the required tally of nine.”

  Consternation showed on the faces of Verasa’s advisors. All Sarapen had to do was remove Kalix and the Thaneship was his. They did not relish the thought, not after they had thrown in their lot with Markus. Everyone looked to Verasa for guidance.

  “I’ve provided Kalix with protection. And I’ve taken other measures. Don’t forget, Kalix is not the only werewolf whose vote is still unsecured.”

  “Are you referring to Butix and Delix?” asked Rainal. “I must say it seems very unlikely to me that we’ll ever see them at the castle again.”

  “It seems likely to me that we shall,” countered Verasa.

  “I had six votes at the last meeting,” said Markus. “If you could somehow succeed in bringing the twins that would give me eight. Which means…”

  Markus paused.

  “Which mean what?” said Verasa.

  “Which means that if we ourselves were to deal with Kalix, Dulupina would add her vote to these eight, giving me the Thaneship.”

  Verasa took Markus’s suggestion calmly though in truth she was not at all pleased.

  “It will not be necessary for us to assassinate my youngest daughter.”

  “I didn’t say we should,” protested Markus. “Dulupina may be satisfied if she were merely returned and incarcerated.”

  “I doubt that very much,” said Verasa. “Dulupina is set in her ways. Leave the gaining of votes to me, Markus. Don’t forget, there are others in the castle on whom we may bring pressure to bear.”

  “Kurian and his brood? Nothing will persuade them to change their minds.”

  “Who knows what may happen to change their minds?” said the Mistress of the Werewolves.

  Later that night Verasa received a second piece of bad news. Beneath the south tower of the castle was a vault in which the clan kept various private relics. One of these was the banner the MacRinnalchs had carried into battle at Bannockburn. The clan believed that this was the only remaining standard which had been present in 1314, when Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, defeated Edward I of England. Another precious relic was the axe belonging to MacDoig MacRinnalch, who had fought a pitched battle with Danish Vikings in 1172, and driven them from the family lands. The Vikings had come to rule much of the surrounding country but had never ruled over the werewolves.

  Also in the vault was the Begravar knife, brought back by the werewolf knight Gerrant Gawain MacRinnalch, after he had travelled overseas with the Black Douglas. When Douglas died in Jerusalem, Gerrant MacRinnalch travelled on to the far off lands of the biblical Mesopotamia, where the ancient cities of Sumeria had emerged on the plains more than four thousand years ago. There, Gerrant had come across the Begravar knife, taking it from a Persian Knight who had a reputation as a killer of shape changers. No one knew what the shape changers of ancient Sumeria had been like, but the MacRinnalchs believed they had been in some ways similar to themselves, and may even have been their ancestors. Certainly the Begravar knife was as effective against werewolves as it had been against any ancient shape changer. It was virtually impossible to kill a werewolf with a normal blade, but a cut from the Begravar knife was fatal. Whoever made the knife had given it properties that had kept it sharp and deadly throughout all its long history.

  It was no longer in the vault. Verasa was astonished. No one could enter the vault but her. She had the only set of keys. For a while she simply could not believe that it had disappeared, and looked round the small stone chamber as if it might somehow have been mislaid. It was not there. Someone had taken it. She checked the lock. It was undamaged. If anyone had entered it could only have been with a duplicate key. Verasa wore the key on a chain which she kept round her neck and no one could have taken it without her noticing. The Mistress of the Werewolves was baffled. Her suspicions fell on Sarapen, and she was troubled at the thought of him now having the Begravar knife.

  88

  Thrix picked up the latest copy of Elle from the reception desk and flicked it open in the lift up to her floor. When she arrived at work she had been feeling rather depressed. By the time the elevator doors were sliding open she was in a rage.

  “Ann!” she yelled. “My office!”

  Ann hurried after her. Thrix threw the magazine down on the desk and let out a growl that could not have come from a human throat. She pointed to a page in the magazine, a photo of a young model wearing a pretty and elegant white summer dress.

  “I designed that!” yelled Thrix. “And I haven’t shown it yet! It was meant to be new for the show in Milan. Someone’s stolen my work!”

  Thrix paced around her desk, extremely agitated, and then she did something which startled Ann. It would have startled anyone, even a member of the MacRinnalch Clan. She transformed into a werewolf, though it was daylight outside. Thrix threw back her head and howled in fury. Ann rushed to lock the door. No one else knew that Thrix was a werewolf and it seemed unwise to advertise it to the world. The Enchantress growled a few more times then transformed back into human form.

  “I didn’t know you could do that in daylight,” said Ann.

  “Sorry if I startled you.”

  Ann shrugged. Having learned about a year ago that she was working for a werewolf, a werewolf with magical powers at that, she was beyond being much surprised at anything. Which was just as well, for at that moment Malveria materialised in the room.

  “Did I hear you call?” she asked, sweetly, before noticing there was something strange about Thrix’s aura.

  “You have been a werewolf? In daylight? My goodness Thrix, this is very exceptional anger. Has another of your models been taken to the substance abuse clinic?”

  “No.”

  “Ah,” Malveria nodded sagely. “Still upset over the romantic dinner which went so sadly wrong.”

  “The dinner went wrong?” said Ann.

  “Terribly wrong,” replied the Fire Queen. “Poor Thrix was quite desolate when her man abandoned her at the earliest opportunity.”

  “He abandoned you?” said Ann.

  “He did not abandon me! I asked for a cab home.”

  “Really, it is too bad,” said Malveria. “But perhaps this Donald was not the right man. You know the Enchantress is very hard to please. I have searched my realm for a suitable - ”

  “Could we get back to the topic in hand here!” demanded Thrix, loudly. “I did not howl as a werewolf because my date went disast… eh… not that well. I’m annoyed because my designs have been stolen!”

  “Ah,” said the Fire Queen. “Now I understand. Of course, when it is Malveria who is suffering such cruel indignities there is no great crisis but now it ha
ppens to you, you begin to see the full horror of the sufferings.”

  “When I find out who’s responsible I’ll make them suffer!” cried Thrix.

  Ann, who had kept a calmer head in the midst of the crisis, picked up the magazine.

  “But isn’t this a step forward?”

  “What? How?”

  “Well, before we only knew of the espionage because the Fire Queen was turning up at events and finding that her clothes were already there. But now we have a picture of one of our outfits in a magazine. So now we should know who’s behind the whole thing.”

  “Of course,” cried Thrix, grabbing the magazine. “I was too upset by the picture to even read the caption. Who’s the designer?”

  She scanned the page, then frowned deeply.

  “It would be.”

  The dress had been designed, or so the magazine claimed, by Alan Zatek. Zatek, whose house occupied a place in the fashion world not dissimilar to Thrix Fashions, was one of her main rivals.

  “Alan Zatek will be showing his new collection in Milan next season,” read the Enchantress. “Will he now? Not if I blast him off the face of the earth, he won’t.”

  “He very much deserves to be blasted,” agreed the Fire Queen. “Not least because when I wore a pair of trousers designed by him my hips looked bulky, for which I will never forgive him. But consider. Should we not make more investigations before we take action against him?”

  Thrix could see no reason not to hurry over to Alan Zatek’s fashion house and launch an attack but Malveria, more used to the art of war, urged caution.

  “It does not do to fly at your enemy before you have a clear idea of his strength. This Alan Zatek is most obviously not a standard human designer. If he were, he would not be sending clothes to the vile Princess Kabachetka. He must be a man with connections to the other realms. Perhaps he does not realise your power, and doesn’t know the risks he takes. But it is also possible that he does. He may be aware of all your sorcery, and all your werewolfness, and still believe he has enough strength to defeat you. There are other sorcerers in this world, some of them not to be taken lightly.”