Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “Has anything happened to disturb my realm?” she enquired.

  “No, Mighty Queen,” he replied.

  “Is there any matter before the courts of justice which requires my judgement?”

  “I do not believe so, Mighty Queen.”

  “Oh.” Malveria was disappointed. “Any sign of rebel activity on the borders?”

  “The rebels are all dead, Mighty Queen. So superb was your leadership that none remain.”

  “Just checking,” sighed Malveria.

  Her First Minister was a very loyal ally. He had been one of her original supporters. Malveria had fine memories of these days. When the old King died and every member of the family scrambled for power, she had been commonly supposed to be the fire elemental with least chance of success. Her mother and several of her brothers had vast armies at their disposal, while Malveria had almost no support. She spent many long years hiding in the terrible wastelands at the edge of the kingdom, evading her pursuers. Yet the Fire Queen, by dint of her skill, intelligence, bravery and indomitable spirit, had led her tiny force from victory to victory, gaining strength each time.

  Eventually, having amassed a great army of her own, she defeated the combined forces of her remaining enemies at the Battle of Askalion, an affair of such unparalleled ferocity that it breached the walls of several neighbouring dimensions. After four days of fighting, Malveria, sword in hand, had finally waded through a river of blood to despatch the most terrible of her enemies, her uncle, known as the Dragon of Despair. Malveria had severed his head and thrown it into the great volcano. It was the final triumph. Great celebrations followed, and Malveria had ruled the kingdom ever since.

  She sighed. Happy days. She had rewarded her supporters well and her First Minister proved to be worthy of her trust. Malveria had never really cared for the blue flames which occasionally blazed from his left ear - it gave his head such a lopsided look - but he’d proved to be as good an administrator as he had a fighter.

  “Is my water here?” she enquired.

  “It has been delivered to the Royal Baths,” replied Xakthan.

  Malveria had the water she bathed in brought to her from outside her kingdom. From outside her dimension, even. When she bathed she added crystals to the water to keep her looking young, crystals treated with sorcery which reacted with the water. It had to be water of the greatest purity from an untainted source, preferably one which had been blessed by a Fairy Queen. These days Malveria’s bathing water came from an excellent source: the untainted, magical spring which flowed through Colburn Wood, on the lands of the MacRinnalchs.

  “Remind my gatherers that they must take great care. One can imagine the fuss the werewolves will make if they discover I am using their water.”

  Xakthan nodded, and Malveria dismissed him. She still felt bored. Really, it was too bad. No rebels, no justice to be dispensed and nothing of any real significance in her social calendar till the sorceress Livia’s 500th birthday celebration.

  Daniel and Moonglow floated into her mind. They were unlike anyone she had encountered before. Really quite cheerful in their way, despite having to make do with no servants and very little in the way of comfort. Not at all like her own human worshippers. Malveria valued her human devotees because they were a source of power for her, but she didn’t like them that much. Far too obsequious. You could never trust them for an honest opinion on a dress or a pair of shoes. They occasionally made her feel like returning to the old days of persecuting mankind. But as for Daniel and Moonglow, she rather liked them. They were honest, and hospitable.

  The Fire Queen was quite certain that Moonglow would one day fall for Daniel. It would be very entertaining. Moonglow had agreed that she could never have him. Of all the permutations of romantic entanglements there were to be observed in the world, Malveria liked it best when someone was in love with another and knew they couldn’t have them. It was the stuff of tragedy and it led to the most interesting things. Rage, madness, death; she had often been very entertained. Malveria smiled. All it needed was for Moonglow to realise she liked Daniel which she surely would if she were to see Daniel with another woman. Then, Malveria knew, jealousy might rear its head. It was one thing for Moonglow to think nothing of Daniel while he was alone. Would she feel quite so sanguine about things if Daniel were involved with another woman?

  Malveria could see a problem. Daniel’s extreme shyness made the prospect of him ever meeting a girl rather remote.

  ‘While he remains single Moonglow will never fall for him,’ she mused. ‘What can I do to move things along?’

  Really, in terms of the Queen’s bargain with Moonglow, it was cheating for Malveria to do anything to move things along. Certainly a breach of the spirit of the agreement. But no one would ever know. She sent for Agrivex, her not-quite-adopted niece.

  Vex, a young girl with skin the colour of dark honey, spiky blonde hair, and an inappropriately large pair of boots, appeared minutes later.

  “If this is about the broken windows in your private gardens, I had nothing to do with it,” said Vex. “Nor the overturned plants and stuff.”

  “Forget the broken windows and destroyed plants. I have already deducted the money from your allowance.”

  “Hey! That’s not - ”

  “Silence!” said Malveria, raising her hand. “I have a mission for you.”

  “A mission?”

  Agrivex looked surprised. The Queen had never sent her on a mission before.

  “Will it be fun?”

  “Whether or not it is fun is of no importance. I want you to - ”

  “But will it be?” said Vex, eagerly.

  Malveria frowned. “Yes, it may be fun. But please attend to my words. You must dress entirely in black and - ”

  “What, am I going to be sacrificed?” demanded Vex. “This is way too harsh, I mean it was only a few plants and a window. You can’t kill a girl for a minor - ”

  “Will you stop interrupting!” roared Malveria. “One more inappropriate word and I will cut off your clothes allowance for a year! And possibly your head as well. Now pay attention. There is no sacrificing in prospect. The black clothes are by way of a fashion statement. One which seems to be common among the people I am now about to send you among. Even those preposterously clumpy boots of yours will not be inappropriate. You are to attend a party in the human realm, and there you must make the acquaintance of a young man called Daniel.”

  93

  Gawain arrived at Euston station. As he disembarked from the train he was followed by the two hunters, and by Madrigal, Sarapen’s agent. It was five o’clock and already dark. In London the temperature was a few degrees warmer than it had been in Scotland but the early winter evening felt cold after the warmth of the train.

  Gawain remembered that Thrix’s offices were in the centre of the city. He set off on foot, keen to stretch his legs after the five hour train journey. He walked south, past the buildings of University College, heading for Holborn then turning right towards Oxford Street. The pavements were full as the capital’s shops and offices closed for the day and workers headed for the tube stations and congregated at bus stops. Unused to being among such a crowd, Gawain left the main road to make his way to Soho by what he hoped would be a less busy route. The hunters from the Guild followed discretely, looking for a quiet place to confront the werewolf. When they saw him turn off the main road they hurried to the next side street, hoping to overtake him and block his path.

  The hunters moved fast. They sprinted round the corner with their guns drawn, ready to attack the werewolf who should now be appearing in front of them. Gawain wasn’t there. He was behind them, concealed in a doorway. Though it was dark he had not troubled to change into his werewolf form. Gawain sprang, and smote each hunter on the back of the neck. They crumpled unconscious to the ground. He picked their guns up from the pavement, slipped them in his pocket and hurried off. Really, it had been absurd. Did the hunters think they could take him by surprise so
easily? He shook his head. In this city they must not be used to dealing with warriors. Gawain threw the guns in an industrial skip a few blocks away and carried on towards Soho.

  When the hunters regained their senses and realised that the werewolf had outmanoeuvred them they wondered why they were still alive. Gawain didn’t like to kill unnecessarily. Unlike many of his clan, including Kalix, Gawain would not lightly take a life, even that of a werewolf hunter. Besides, he was in a hurry, and they were not worth wasting time over. Madrigal, a rather better tracker, was more used to the ways of werewolves. He saw what happened, and continued to trail Gawain, unobserved.

  94

  At two minutes past three o’clock, at the Huge Sound rehearsal studios, under the arches just south of London Bridge, Dominil stood outside the door, a look of displeasure on her face.

  “Where are they?” she growled.

  “It’s only two minutes past three,” Beauty pointed out. “You can’t expect people to arrive right on time.

  “Why not? We were here at three and I expect others to be punctual.”

  Beauty and Delicious had only arrived on time due to Dominil dragging them out of bed at some unearthly hour and forcing them to get ready. It was the latest in a number of shocks the sisters had received since agreeing to let the white-haired werewolf help them. The house cleaning had been extremely traumatic. It had taken a long time and resulted in a house that was disconcertingly tidy. There was a funny lemon smell everywhere that didn’t seem right. The twins had protested mightily about the whole process but when the cleaners unearthed their favourite demo CD, which had been lost for months, they were obliged to admit that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  On the day of the cleaning Beauty and Delicious took Dominil to all the small venues in Camden where they might play. There were many of these. One of them had a poster outside advertising a gig for their rivals, the four boys who lived above a shop. Beauty and Delicious growled with jealousy.

  “Do not fret,” said Dominil. “You will have the opportunity to outshine them.”

  The twins sniggered. Do not fret. Sometimes they couldn’t help laughing at Dominil’s choice of words.

  Unfortunately, it had not proved easy to procure a gig for the sisters. This was partly because many of the venues booked their bands through agencies, and partly because of the twins’ bad reputation.

  “The last time they played here,” said the manager of one venue. “They set fire to the stage and started a fight with the audience. It was the only time we’ve ever had to call the police, the fire brigade and an ambulance all in one evening.

  “Is this not acceptable behaviour in the world of music?” asked Dominil. “Good publicity perhaps?”

  “There are limits. The police nearly closed me down and I had a lot of explaining to do when my license was up for renewal. What’s more, someone stole some crates of whisky from my storeroom and I’ve got a strong suspicion who might have done it.”

  Beauty and Delicious had by this time departed the scene, to hang around outside looking guilty.

  “Can’t you give them another chance?” asked Dominil. “After all, they are an excellent band.”

  “No they aren’t. The gig was terrible.”

  Dominil nodded her head, and walked thoughtfully out of the venue to the street outside.

  “You did not inform me that your behaviour had been so abominable you would never be welcomed back.”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” protested Beauty. “The guy just doesn’t understand our music.”

  “Did you steal several crates of whisky?”

  “We were helping to salvage things from the fire. No point letting it get burned, was there?”

  It was a scene that was repeated all over Camden. Even in an area where musicians were not expected to behave all that well, the sisters’ incredible debauchery had made them unwelcome everywhere. Several venues would not even let them through the door. Dominil eventually sent them home and retired to a cafe to consider the situation. She was still considering it the next day when she dragged the sisters from their beds and drove them south of the river. The busy streets of London were very different from the quiet roads around Castle MacRinnalch. Dominil had not fully adapted yet and drove carefully, too carefully for the sisters’ liking. They sat in the back, and criticised her driving. Dominil ignored them.

  At six minutes past three Pete turned up in a car with his friend Adam who was the sisters’ last drummer, Simon, their bass player, and Hamil, who played some keyboards and took his computer onstage to trigger their samples. Dominil scowled at them.

  “You are six minutes late. I’ll overlook your tardiness on this occasion but don’t let it happen again.”

  The boys started to smile, thinking that Dominil was joking. When they noticed her hard black eyes boring into them, and realised she wasn’t, they hurried inside. The sisters were already in their rehearsal room, making noise.

  “Who is that frozen woman from hell?” Pete asked.

  “Our cousin Dominil. She’s completely insane. We’ve really been suffering.”

  Pete, Adam, Simon and Hamil could believe it. Who made a fuss about being six minutes late?

  “You wouldn’t believe how evil she is,” said Beauty.

  “So why are you working with her?” asked Pete. “Is she some sort of music biz person? Does she have good contacts?”

  “No,” said Delicious. “But she gets things done.”

  It was true. Here they all were, ready to rehearse, only days after Dominil had arrived. It was quite an achievement.

  “You know we’re not going to be able to play anywhere?” said Simon. He himself was still unwelcome in several establishments due to his association with the twins.

  Beauty shrugged her shoulders.

  “Dominil will sort something out.”

  95

  Though Markus was worried about leaving his mother at the castle, Verasa still would not countenance the thought that she might be in danger.

  “Sarapen will not return to Castle MacRinnalch. Anyway, I’m very well protected by my retinue, Markus. You should go to London.”

  “Why? You’ve already sent some werewolves down there to keep an eye on things.”

  “None of them know the city as well as you, dear. And there’s Thrix, Dominil, Kalix and the twins to look out for, and who knows what Sarapen might attempt next? And don’t you want to make sure Talixia is safe?”

  “Surely you don’t think she’s in danger?” said Markus, alarmed.

  “Not really. But she is associated with you. Perhaps it would be as well to be with her for a few days. Unless she cares to visit us at the castle?”

  Markus explained that Talixia couldn’t leave London just now as she was engaged on a photo shoot.

  “It’s going to be awkward for her to be the bride of the Thane if this carries on, Markus.”

  Markus frowned. He was very keen on Talixia but he hadn’t been thinking of asking her to marry him yet. Verasa didn’t press the point. About forty years ago the Mistress of the Werewolves had realised that the world she had grown up in had gone forever. A profound change had taken place in the country’s manners. Affluence had arrived along with technology. Werewolves, like people, no longer expected to live in the same way their parents had. She could no longer expect her children to settle down quickly with the first suitable werewolf their parents approved of. The young werewolves today, like humans, were free in a way they had never been before. Verasa, who remembered back to the days before motor transport, before telephones, before electricity even, regretted much of what was lost in the old world. Never again would a werewolf set out on horseback from the port at Leith to bring news from abroad to Castle MacRinnalch. And never again, thought Verasa, would a writer like Samuel Johnson arise in the world. Or if he did, few people would notice. Verasa had met the great Doctor Johnson when she was eighteen, when Johnson, with his friend Boswell, had travelled through Scotland. The
y had been guests of the old Thane at Castle MacRinnalch. The Mistress of the Werewolves still remembered with pleasure the power and wit of the Doctor’s conversation at the dinner table.

  Verasa adapted to the modern world as she always did. If Markus needed to run through twenty or so girlfriends before settling down with a bride, so be it.

  Though he was worried about leaving his mother, Markus was looking forward to seeing Talixia. ‘Perhaps mother is right. Maybe I should marry her.’ It was a novel thought. He called to let her know he’d be in London later today. Talixia was pleased. She told him that her work had been going well.

  “But I’m worried.”

  “Worried? Why?”

  “I think someone might have been in my flat.”

  Markus was instantly alarmed.

  “Why? Was there a burglary?”

  “I can’t see any sign of a break-in,” Talixia told him. “But my clothes have been disturbed. I had a red dress in the wardrobe and it was moved. Other things as well.”

  Markus frowned. And then he shrugged. He supposed that it would be as good a time as any to have Talixia tell him she never wanted to see him again.

  “I moved them,” admitted Markus.

  “What?”

  “I moved them. I thought I put them all back in the right places but obviously I didn’t.”

  Talixia was puzzled.

  “Why were you moving my clothes?”

  “I was trying them on,” said Markus.

  “What?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Is that something you generally do?” said Talixia, eventually.

  “Yes.”

  “You should have mentioned it to me before,” she said.

  “Do you still want me to come down?”

  “Of course I still want you to come down,” said Talixia.

  96

  The two American werewolves walking through Trafalgar Square were enjoying the last few days of their vacation. The werewolves, husband and wife, had spent the last week travelling round Scotland where they’d seen numerous places of interest to any member of the MacRinnalch Clan. Among these was the harbour at Greenock where Roy MacRinnalch, one of their grandfathers, had set off for America on a sailing ship in 1868. They’d been particularly pleased to visit Castle MacRinnalch, home to so much of their heritage. The election of a new Thane had not gone as smoothly as expected but still, it was fine to see the traditional estates of the clan; the mountains to the north, the great stretches of moorlands to the south, and Colburn Wood, rich with MacRinnalch history.