Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Daniel put his arms round Kalix. Kalix still looked uncomfortable but there was nowhere to retreat in the crowded kitchen. She came close to smiling.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  “Tea,” said Moonglow. “We need tea for Malveria. That woman is a great healer, don’t you think?”

  “She is,” agreed the Enchantress. “Though it’s fortunate that Dominil was not so near to death.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if Dominil had been closer to the forests of the werewolf dead Malveria would have had to expend much more effort in bringing her back. A fire elemental won’t do that without demanding some sort of payment in return. Even from a friend the price could be severe. I might have had to enter into some bargain I’d have regretted.”

  Moonglow was filling the kettle. She paused.

  “Do you think you would have regretted it?”

  “Certainly,” said Thrix. “You must never strike a bargain with the Queen of the Hiyasta.”

  “But you make clothes for her. Isn’t that some sort of bargain?”

  Thrix shook her head.

  “That’s a clearly defined commercial transaction, which is fine. But a bargain concerning any matter where the outcome is unclear must be avoided. Malveria will always get the better of you, and you’ll regret it.”

  “She brought me back,” said Kalix. “I didn’t make any bargain.”

  “She did that as a favour to me,” said Thrix.

  Moonglow knew this wasn’t true, and worried a little about her bargain with the Fire Queen.

  138

  Sarapen was keen to see the man whose sorcery had repelled the Enchantress. He went to visit Zatek. Zatek was not willing to give details of his power to a stranger, but did go so far as to refer Sarapen to Merchant MacDoig.

  “Your sorcery comes from MacDoig?”

  “In a way. He might be able to help you.”

  Zatek showed no nervousness during their meeting, though the designer could tell he was a werewolf. Zatek obviously had confidence in his protection spells. Too much confidence, perhaps. In his full rage Sarapen was difficult to repel, even by sorcery. As Sarapen walked back to his car he was thoughtful. Early this morning Madrigal had brought news. He had been tailing Gawain around London. So far this hadn’t led him to Kalix, which was surprising. Gawain should surely have found her by now. But if he had, he wasn’t visiting her. However he was visiting Thrix.

  Madrigal thought that Gawain was sleeping with Thrix. Sarapen found this almost impossible to accept. He had little regard for his sister but he could hardly believe that any member of the MacRinnalch ruling family would stoop so low as to form a relationship with a banished werewolf. Could it possibly be true? Even Sarapen, the very last person to show an interest in scandal, realised how potentially explosive the situation was. Gawain, the great love of Kalix, now in bed with the brat’s older sister? What would Kalix make of that, he wondered?

  Sarapen scowled as he drove slowly through London towards the Merchant’s. His sisters were almost as degenerate as the twins. At least the twins wouldn’t be poking their noses into the dispute over the Thaneship. The Douglas-MacPhees had scared them off.

  The hunt for Markus continued. Though Markus’s disappearance was annoying it was not necessarily of desperate importance, as Decembrius had pointed out. After all, it hardly reflected well on Markus MacRinnalch to be in hiding, afraid to face his brother. It would not impress his followers. Sarapen found himself concentrating more coolly now that there was action in Scotland. Following his instructions the new Baron MacAllister had planted himself in Colburn Wood and was defying the Mistress of the Werewolves’ orders to withdraw. Let his mother deal with that if she could.

  Sarapen wondered where Dominil was. Her escape had cost him the lives of several of his guards but he admired her for her courage. Kalix too, in a way. There was no denying her fighting spirit. But he would certainly kill her now. No one could be allowed to live after slaughtering his followers. If Sarapen did not exact vengeance his status would suffer.

  He arrived in Limehouse and made his way along the curiously old-fashioned alleyway that led to MacDoig’s. Rats scuttled away from Sarapen, sensing that he was a creature to be avoided. If the rats showed nervousness at Sarapen’s approach, the MacDoig did not. Sarapen was displeased to find himself once more confronting a human who was aware of his reputation yet, like Zatek, showed no signs of unease. Obviously the Merchant also believed himself to be well protected.

  “Come in, Sarapen MacRinnalch. Will you have a drink with me?”

  Sarapen shook his head. The Merchant seemed disappointed.

  “Are you sure? You won’t mind if I have one myself? It’s a shame my son has just stepped out on business, he’d have been pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?”

  “The protection you gave to Zatek. I want it.”

  MacDoig stopped grinning.

  “Sorcerous protection? That’s not a thing I ever expected to hear from you, if you don’t mind me saying so, Sarapen MacRinnalch.”

  Sarapen frowned. Already he was feeling that this was an affront to his dignity and wished that Decembrius had been in London so that he could have made the visit instead.

  “I need something to protect me from prying eyes.”

  “Who’s prying eyes, might I ask?” said the Merchant, and sipped from a large tumbler of whisky. The MacDoig was as fond of whisky as the MacRinnalchs, and though he had no access to the werewolves’ own excellent malt, he had a cellar full of other fine old bottles.

  “I am not here to discuss my business with you, Merchant.”

  “Of course, of course. But if you need some protection, I’ll need some idea of what you’re up against.”

  Sarapen considered this. It probably wouldn’t do any harm to tell MacDoig. It was likely he knew most of the background to the family feud already, unfortunately.

  “The Enchantress. And the Hiyasta Queen.”

  “Ah.” MacDoig nodded, and tapped his silver headed cane lightly on the ancient floorboards of his shop. “The Enchantress. I did hear some rumours that things were not altogether well between you. Aye, she’s a powerful woman, Thrix MacRinnalch. And the Hiyasta Queen, she’s another. It takes a lot of sorcery to protect a man from those two.”

  A sly expression settled on MacDoig’s face.

  “A lot of expensive sorcery.”

  Sarapen took a purse from inside his great black coat. The purse contained gold, to which the Merchant was very partial. Even though his business now encompassed the modern world of the stock market and the internet, MacDoig was old enough to remember when all transactions were done in coin of the realm. Gold had never lost its attraction for him.

  “Let’s talk about sorcery,” said Sarapen.

  139

  Realising that she had rather neglected affairs of state recently, the Fire Queen summoned First Minister Xakthan to her throne room. He arrived wearing his finest blue robe and carrying the silver mace that denoted his rank. Thanks to the application of some sorcerous surgery, flames no longer rose from one ear. He looked a good deal more symmetrical. Malveria was pleased with the result, and so would Xakthan be, when it all healed properly, and the pain subsided.

  Xakthan was surprised to be asked for a detailed description of the state of the nation. Queen Malveria was being rather inconsistent these days, he noted, though he did not disapprove. Xakthan was far too loyal to disapprove of anything Malveria did. She had saved his life on numerous occasions during the wars, and rewarded him very handsomely afterwards. Malveria listened intently while he described the affairs of each of her ministries. When he finished, Malveria nodded, though Xakthan noted that the Queen did not look particularly happy.

  “Does this not please you?”

  “It pleases me well, Xakthan. But you know, I am occasionally bored by the lack of stirring events. We grew up fighting, and sometimes it does not sit so well, these long years of peace.”

 
“It is a consequence of your excellent rule, Mighty Queen.”

  “It is. And of your excellent ministry. I apologise for shouting at you recently.”

  Xakthan was overwhelmed to hear Malveria apologise to him, and hardly knew how to respond.

  “I have been spending time in the human realm,” said Malveria. “Too much time perhaps, but I find it diverting. They are often amusing creatures.”

  Xakthan, with his fire elemental’s traditional dislike of humans, couldn’t quite understand this. The only humans he ever encountered were Malveria’s devotees, and they never seemed amusing. Always very serious, and far too fond of chanting.

  “I don’t mean my devotees,” explained Malveria. “I have encountered some other young humans who I find very funny, and even charming. And the MacRinnalch werewolves, who are not funny or charming, but are full of intrigue, stratagems, and violence.”

  Xakthan was troubled.

  “I admire intrigue, stratagems and violence, Mighty Queen. But I’ve never regarded werewolves as honourable creatures, particularly the MacRinnalchs. They would stab you in the back, every last one.”

  “Well, our last battle with the MacRinnalchs was some hundreds of years ago,” Malveria pointed out. “The world in which they live has changed substantially in that time. Really, Xakthan, you would hardly recognise it these days. The humans have such machines, machines of doing and machines of thinking. And such weapons, and such entertainments, and such clothes. I do not understand how a race which lives for such a short time makes such changes, but they do. As if each human, living for only a few years, must invent something to make their world different.”

  “And do the werewolves invent things?”

  “No,” said Malveria. “They do not. That is part of their problem. Some of the MacRinnalchs want to join in with the modern world, and some of them don’t. There is strife between the modern and the old.”

  “Are you involved in this strife?” enquired Xakthan.

  “To some degree. But only because of my liking for the Werewolf Enchantress. Do not wrinkle your brow, First Minister. You know that the Enchantress has provided me with wonderful clothes which have brought me great happiness, and increased my status.”

  Malveria described the struggle for the Thaneship of the MacRinnalchs. Her First Minister listened intently.

  “If you had no involvement, Queen, who would win?”

  “Sarapen,” replied Malveria. “His enemies have underestimated his power, particularly his mother. Sarapen is not a werewolf who can be put off by the vote of a council.”

  Malveria paused.

  “Which is interesting. Sarapen is, after all, the werewolf who sets most store by tradition, and clan law. MacRinnalch law dictates that the decision of their Great Council is final.”

  “But he will not accept it,” said Xakthan. “Neither would we, in his position.”

  “Indeed we would not,” agreed Malveria, and smiled, remembering all the pronouncements and judgements that had been handed down against her when she was an outlaw princess.

  “It all comes down to power in the end, I suppose. As it is with the Hiyasta, so it is with the MacRinnalchs.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this younger son Markus,” said Xakthan. “He seems an unsuitable leader. You say he dresses in fancy clothes?”

  “I dress in fancy clothes, First Minister.”

  “It is appropriate now you’re Queen. When we slept in caves by day and fought by night, we wore whatever rags we had left after battle.”

  Xakthan’s eyes showed some fondness for his memories.

  “You are right,” agreed Malveria. “But his mother believes Markus is better suited to leading the clan in the modern age, and she might have a point.”

  Xakthan wondered if Malveria cared about the MacRinnalchs. She admitted that she didn’t care a great deal, as long as Thrix was safe.

  “Though I have some interest in another. Thrix’s sister Kalix, the youngest of the ruling family. I saved her life.”

  “Why?”

  “As a favour to Thrix.”

  Malveria halted.

  “No, that is not quite true. It was more as a favour to a young girl, Moonglow by name. And I did extract an entertaining price from her.”

  Malveria explained her price to Xakthan, who nodded his understanding. A tormented human was always entertaining, he had to agree.

  “But will this Moonglow ever really love Daniel? He sounds quite unappealing.”

  “He is appealing in his own way, I think. Moonglow may yet fall in love with him, and then of course she will be tormented, as I have forbidden her ever to have him.”

  “Of course,” continued Malveria, frowning deeply. “My scheme has not been helped by the appalling Agrivex.”

  The First Minister was surprised. He knew Vex well. Only last week she had stormed into a meeting of the ministers of state, demanding they pass a law to substantially increase her clothes allowance, and another law to have her history tutor thrown into the great volcano. Neither had been approved. Agrivex had then stormed out with threats and curses, spoiling the effect by tripping over a small table, banging her elbow quite painfully and bursting into tears.

  “You asked Agrivex to help in your scheme?”

  “Yes. And I know what you’re thinking. Any plan which involves the foolish young Agrivex is doomed to failure. But in the human world, she does not seem so unsuitable a candidate for turning Daniel’s head. I will tell her to keep trying. Once Daniel is involved with another, Moonglow will become jealous, I am sure of it.”

  The Queen gazed into the distance for a while.

  “When I saw Vex and Kalix together I felt old. Do I look old to you?”

  Xakthan had fielded this question many times in the past.

  “Mighty Queen, you look like the fresh-faced daughter of a wealthy nobleman, a young girl who has never suffered a care in the world.”

  Malveria was pleased.

  “Really?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. But be sure to tell the gatherers of my rejuvenating water to take extra care. With the MacRinnalch Clan in such uproar, they must use great caution when entering Colburn Wood.”

  140

  Dominil spent only one night at Moonglow’s. On hearing news of the attack on the twins’ house she insisted on returning there as soon as possible. Verasa had called both Thrix and Dominil, informing them of events.

  “These vile creatures,” raged the Mistress of the Werewolves. “The Douglas-MacPhees should have been put down long ago. Their father was an evil werewolf and they are no better.”

  Apparently the twins were unharmed, but were shaken and intimidated. Dominil knew she had to get back there immediately. Her injuries were severe and Thrix was convinced that she should rest for longer but Dominil wouldn’t hear of it.

  “I will recover swiftly.”

  Thrix herself was too busy to look after the twins so she dropped the subject. Moonglow was more concerned. She really didn’t think that Dominil was in a fit state to return home.

  “Let her go,” said Daniel to his friend, privately. “She’s a werewolf. They recover fast. Anyway Dominil makes me nervous.”

  Moonglow knew what he meant. There was something unsettling about Dominil. She didn’t smile. Her dark eyes bored into a person and never seemed to soften. If she was in pain from her injuries she wasn’t admitting it. She spent the night on the couch in her werewolf form, renewing her strength, then limped into Daniel’s car to be driven back to Camden. Before she left, she spoke to Kalix, quite formally.

  “Thank you for your assistance, cousin. I appreciate it.”

  With that she departed.

  “Thank you for your assistance?” said Moonglow. “Is that all she could say?”

  “She was never chatty,” explained Kalix.

  After being congratulated by everyone for rescuing Dominil, Kalix had seemed pleased, but embarrassed, unsure how to react. She’d never
been the hero before. It was good but it made her feel self-conscious so she retreated to her room to write in her journal.

  Dominil had been spending part of her time in the apartment provided by Verasa. She decided it would be better if she now moved in with the twins to protect them, even though this didn’t sit that well with her. Dominil found it trying to be with them for too long. Nothing she could do could make them act like civilised werewolves.

  The house in Camden was still a shambles after the attack. Beauty and Delicious had made half-hearted attempts to clear up the mess, but had become depressed and given up. When Dominil returned, the sisters’ gloom lifted and they greeted her enthusiastically.

  “We thought Sarapen was going to kill you.”

  “I am fine,” said Dominil. “Were you hurt by the Douglas-MacPhees?”

  “No, but they wrecked a lot of stuff.”

  “So I can see.”

  “Can you organise a cleaner again?”

  Dominil said she would. She was relieved to see the twins apparently unharmed. Not in as poor a state as she had expected, given what had happened. Beauty picked up her guitar and posed dramatically on top of an armchair.

  “We’re back. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks rise like a - ” she halted. “What is it things rise like?”

  “A phoenix from the ashes, usually,” said Dominil.

  “Excellent. Like a phoenix from the ashes. We wrote a new song. Want to hear it?”

  Dominil sighed. Musicians were always writing new songs and they always seemed to think you wanted to hear them.

  141

  Markus was still traumatised by Talixia’s death, too shaken to make sense of what had happened in the past few weeks. He sat all day in a chair by the window, wrapped in a silver dressing gown, gazing out into the gardens where those few small birds that remained in London in winter fluttered around the trees. This apartment wasn’t far from Crystal Palace, rather a green part of the city. Grey squirrels would sometimes make their way from the park to the garden. Markus watched them as they scurried up trees, always busy with something. At night foxes would emerge from their hiding places and Markus would hear them in the garden below, listening to their shrill calls while he lay in his bed, unable to sleep.