Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Gawain told Thrix about these encounters. She seemed interested. Though she took information from him she was very reticent about handing any over in return. She wouldn’t tell him what was happening in the clan feud, or who exactly was hunting for Kalix. And she wouldn’t tell him much about Kalix’s new lover. Thrix said that it was better for Gawain to try and forget Kalix. Kalix had moved on. Thrix was vague on details, but Gawain understood from her that Kalix and her new boyfriend were in love.

  So Gawain spent his cold days and nights on patrol, never going too close to Kalix’s house for fear of leading anyone to her. Occasionally he’d withdraw for warmth to the cafe at the Imperial War Museum, in the large park in Kennington, but he never stayed long. He’d be too troubled by the thought that at any moment Kalix might be in danger, so he’d hurry back into the streets and continue with his lonely work.

  Further north in the city, Dominil was also continuing with her work, though she ached so much she could hardly rise from her bed. Strong as her regenerative powers were, they couldn’t heal her as fast as she’d have liked. Muscles that had been ripped open by Sarapen’s teeth needed time to heal, even for a MacRinnalch. Three days had passed since the kidnapping. Three days lost. Dominil refused to rest any longer. She dragged herself to her feet and headed for the shower. She briefly regarded her wounds in the long mirror. There was a bloody scar on her thigh and her body was covered with scratches and bruises. She also had a black eye, which she found faintly amusing. She hadn’t had a black eye since she was a very young werewolf.

  The shower took away some of the pain. Dominil took the opportunity to wash her hair. Her long white hair was one of the few things she was vain about, vainer than anyone would have guessed. She dressed as quickly as she could and breakfasted alone in the kitchen. It was late morning and the twins were still asleep.

  Dominil planned to have her revenge on Sarapen but she’d filed away her fury for later. At this moment she had other things to do. Dominil finished her breakfast with a small sip of laudanum. She took a pair of Beauty’s sunglasses to hide her black eye and limped out into the grey morning drizzle, already concentrating on the task in hand.

  146

  Baron MacAllister had intended to withdraw his werewolves from Colburn Wood without fighting. He had been instructed by Sarapen to demonstrate his defiance to the Mistress of the Werewolves but not to engage in combat. As soon as Eskandor’s werewolves crossed the bridge, the Baron was meant to pull back, remain on the borders of his own lands, and await further instructions.

  Unfortunately, as Rainal had pointed out to Verasa, werewolves were not good at restraint when faced by an enemy. The Baron tarried longer than was wise. The moon was up, his force was all in werewolf shape and he delayed his retreat till the MacRinnalchs were in sight. He planned to march his company away in good order, showing that they were not afraid. This was a mistake. The new Baron was young and had never been in battle before. He didn’t know how a large group of werewolves, faced by an opposing group of werewolves, would react. As soon as the MacRinnalchs caught sight of the MacAllisters, they set up a terrible howling, and began to rush forward.

  Eskandor MacRinnalch was also partly to blame. He had intended to order the Baron out of the woods, and give him time to leave. He should have sent a messenger ahead, instead of leading his whole force so close to the enemy. Before Eskandor or Baron MacAllister could do anything to prevent it, battle was joined. The whole host of werewolves met in the middle of a clearing and began to fight, some on two feet, laying about them with their claws, and some as full wolves, rushing forward to rend with their jaws. There was no stopping the werewolves now. It was a fight to the death, a battle on a scale not seen among the Scottish werewolves for more than a century. The fifty MacAllisters were outnumbered by the eighty MacRinnalchs but no one hung back from the fray.

  Each side flung itself on the other in a flurry of terrible violence. Werewolf hides, almost impossible for human weapons to penetrate, split open freely under the werewolves’ own jaws and claws. All over the clearing they rolled on the ground, trampled and bit each other, clawed at each other’s flesh, inflicting dreadful wounds and sending werewolf after werewolf off to the forests of the werewolf dead.

  The fighting spread from the clearing to the ground beneath the trees, ground that was thick with bushes, dead wood, and thorns. The werewolves crashed through the undergrowth, snarling and biting all the while. Some of them found themselves flung back into the stream and there they fought furiously, seeking to drag their opponents under water and drown them before scrambling ashore and heading back into battle.

  There was terrible slaughter. When the battle was over, many werewolves lay dead, including the new Baron MacAllister. Eskandor was badly injured. The surviving MacAllisters retreated and there were few MacRinnalchs in a fit state to pursue them. The wood, normally alive with the night-time activities of its animal inhabitants, lay eerily silent, as the squirrels, foxes and badges hid in their lairs, waiting for the violence to pass.

  147

  Moonglow sat on her bed, reading Bleak House, a lengthy work by Dickens. She’d dragged her quilt over her legs for warmth and was propped up comfortably on her pillows, making good progress. Unusually, Daniel was at this moment doing much the same, in his room. It had been intimated to him by his tutor that while the English Department did not expect their first year students to perform academic miracles, they did expect them at least to read some of the course books. Daniel had arrived home with the look of a condemned man on his face, and a copy of Bleak House in his bag.

  He realised he might have made a strategic mistake in being so annoyed with Moonglow over Markus. It meant he couldn’t really ask her for help. He considered approaching Moonglow with a full apology, and begging her to hand over her notes. But Daniel set his mind firmly against this. He was furious with Moonglow and was even prepared to go to the lengths of reading Dickens to demonstrate his displeasure.

  Moonglow was interrupted by a peculiar snuffling noise outside her bedroom door. She put down her book and turned her head. She was momentarily alarmed to see a snout appearing through the door. A large wolf padded into her room.

  “Eh…” Moonglow didn’t know whether to panic or not. But there was something friendly about the wolf. It was medium brown, shaggy even by wolf standards, and it seemed to be wagging its tail. The wolf bounded onto the bed and started licking Moonglow’s face.

  “Kalix!” cried Moonglow, and began to laugh. “You’re a wolf!”

  Kalix, in her full wolf form, licked Moonglow’s face again, and pawed at the bedclothes. Moonglow patted her on the head. The wolf seemed to enjoy this. In fact, wolf-Kalix seemed far more enthusiastically friendly than werewolf-Kalix ever had. After licking Moonglow’s face some more, she bounded round the room, in a manner which could almost be described at frolicking. Moonglow laughed as Kalix rolled over. She thought she’d never seen anything as beautiful as Kalix in her full wolf form. Abruptly Kalix departed, leaving Moonglow delighted at the whole event. She loved Kalix as a wolf.

  Wolf-Kalix hurried back to her own room where Vex was waiting.

  “Did it go well?” asked the young elemental.

  Kalix nodded enthusiastically.

  “Okay,” said Vex. She knew they had to act quickly. In the form of a full wolf, Kalix would soon forget what she was meant to be doing. Vex picked up the TV guide, rolled it up and stuffed it between Kalix’s jaws.

  “Go get her,” she said.

  Kalix bounded back along the corridor and into Moonglow’s room then leapt on the bed, wagging her tail furiously.

  “You’re back,” cried Moonglow. “What’s this?”

  She took the magazine from Kalix’s jaws.

  “The TV guide?”

  The wolf looked at Moonglow as appealing as she could, which was very appealingly indeed. Her wolf face was really so beautiful. She licked Moonglow’s nose. Realising that this was a plot by Kalix to persuade her to i
nstall cable TV, Moonglow burst out laughing. It was a funny idea. She stroked Kalix’s coat.

  “You think you can persuade me to get more TV by being such a beautiful wolf?”

  Kalix nodded her head enthusiastically.

  “Well maybe,” said Moonglow. “I’ll think about it.”

  Kalix rolled around on the bed some more then rushed back to her own room. There she continued to bound around.

  “Hey, stop it,” said Vex, as Kalix started growling and sniffing around under the bed. “Change back.”

  Kalix, by now forgetting all her human thoughts, looked suspiciously at Vex, and growled. Vex rolled up another TV guide and whacked Kalix on the nose.

  “Change back you idiot.”

  Kalix yelped and transformed into her werewolf shape, then, after a moment or two, back into human.

  “So how did it go?” asked Vex.

  “Quite well, I think. Moonglow laughed.”

  “That’s a good sign. Did you remember to frolic?”

  “I frolicked loads. And licked her face.”

  They looked at the TV guides.

  “So it’s cable TV any time now,” said Vex, with satisfaction. “A master plan, though I say it myself.”

  Kalix agreed. It had been a good plan. Vex, with all her experience of manipulating her Aunt Malveria, had picked out a weak spot in Moonglow’s armour.

  “You were pretty cute,” said Vex. “There’s just no way a gothy girl who likes romantic poetry can say no to a friendly wolf.”

  Vex suddenly looked worried.

  “Uh-oh. Aunt Malvie. Pretend I’m not here.”

  The doorbell rang and they heard Moonglow tramping downstairs to answer it. Moonglow had been expecting Thrix and Malveria to visit earlier in the day, bringing with them a consignment of clothes.

  “We were delayed,” explained Thrix, and made ready to nudge Malveria in the ribs if she showed any sign of explaining the reason for the delay. Thrix had again erased all traces of Gawain from her by means of sorcery.

  Malveria and Thrix had several long cases with them. Malveria cradled her case like a precious infant.

  “Clothes for the party?” enquired Moonglow. “Can I see?”

  “No,” replied Malveria and Thrix, simultaneously. “They’re for storage in the attic and are not to be touched under any circumstances.”

  Malveria’s nose twitched. She snapped her fingers and Vex materialised in the room with a quilt over her head.

  “Please stop trying to hide under the bedclothes,” said the Fire Queen, exasperated. “It is not a convincing disguise. What are you doing here?”

  Vex struggled out from under the quilt and smiled brightly.

  “Hi auntie.”

  “Well?”

  Vex thought briefly.

  “I was checking the house was safe for storing your clothes.”

  “Did I not instruct you to attend to your historical studies with your tutor today?”

  “Something came up.”

  “And what would that be, dismal niece?” said Malveria, glowering at her.

  “I was watching a DVD with Kalix. We saw nine episodes of the Simpsons.”

  “That is not historical, vile girl.”

  “Well I think they were mostly from last season.”

  “Pah.” Malveria snapped her fingers again and Vex flew back to her own dimension, protesting bitterly.

  Thrix and Malveria climbed up to the attic. This small, dusty space had now been transformed into a cool, clean, storage area. They were relying on Kalix’s pendant to prevent it being breached by hostile sorcery. The Enchantress and Malveria had set up a complicated spell to maintain the pendant’s protection even if Kalix left the house. The loft was now so secure that nothing within it could possibly be observed from outside. It was safer than Thrix’s offices, safer even than Malveria’s palace. The new clothes would be brought here and stored until Malveria needed them. The Fire Queen was in an excellent mood as they returned downstairs.

  “When I arrive in the new formal coat the Princess Kabachetka will simply fade away in comparison. Dearest Thrix, you have excelled yourself again.”

  Livia’s celebration was on the fourteenth of next month, just five weeks away. Enough time, provided Thrix suffered no more interruptions.

  “Kalix is doing well,” said Moonglow, who’d noticed that neither of her visitors had asked about her.

  The Enchantress nodded.

  “Good. It’s important she stays here. It wouldn’t do for Sarapen to find her just now.”

  “She hasn’t been vomiting so much,” said Moonglow. This was true. After rescuing Dominil, Kalix had eaten pizza while still in werewolf form, and afterwards had not thrown up. Moonglow was hoping for further improvements if she would just stay around, and perhaps start to feel more secure. But in truth, neither Thrix nor Malveria seemed very interested in hearing about Kalix. They were too involved in plans concerning clothes.

  “I will dazzle the assembled multitudes at the Sorceress Livia’s 500th birthday celebration. Already my spirits are revived. I have quite forgotten my previous fashion disasters.”

  148

  “Werewolves are not keen gamblers, as a rule,” said Merchant MacDoig. “Not in my experience anyway. I don’t think it’s in the blood.”

  “Aye, father,” replied the Young MacDoig. “I’d agree with that.”

  The Merchant slid a picture from the wall to reveal a safe.

  “But that’s not to say you won’t find the occasional werewolf who’s fond of a wager. Kertal MacRinnalch, for instance. He’s a gambling werewolf, sure enough.”

  Kertal, nephew of the late Thane, son of Kurian, and brother of Marwanis. A member of the Great Council, a strong supporter of Sarapen, and a respectable werewolf. Apart from his gambling habit.

  The Merchant opened the safe.

  “And a bad gambling habit will inevitably lead a man - or a werewolf - into debt. Your mother was strongly against it, son.”

  Father and son paused respectfully at the mention of the Merchant’s late wife.

  The Merchant took something from the safe, a small object wrapped in a tartan cloth. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a knife, very old, but still bright and sharp, and etched with curious symbols.

  “The great Begravar knife,” said MacDoig, with satisfaction.

  The Merchant had bought the knife from Kertal, who’d removed it from the castle vaults after cunningly making a copy of the key that hung round Verasa’s neck by taking an impression with a soft clay pad while he embraced her in greeting. It had been slyly done.

  It had cost the Merchant a large sum of money to buy the knife. Even so, he’d paid well below the market value. The knife was a relic of ancient Mesopotamia and would have been sought after by any museum.

  “An expensive item,” muttered MacDoig. “But when a werewolf like Kertal urgently needs money to clear his debts and doesn’t want his father to learn of it, the price isn’t so great, all things considered.”

  “It’s a beautiful artefact,” said the Young MacDoig.

  “It is,” agreed the Merchant. “Glows when a werewolf’s close, and confuses the wolf, so they say.”

  “And kills easily,” added his son.

  “It does. Not that we would want any werewolf to be killed, them being such fine customers of ours.”

  “Who will you sell it to?”

  The Merchant scratched his chin.

  “Well that’s a tricky one, son. There’s many a werewolf might be pleased to have this weapon. They’re all going to end up fighting each other, sooner or later. But we have to take care. There’s some of them as might want it, yet we couldn’t afford to let them know we had it.”

  “You mean Sarapen?”

  MacDoig nodded. Sarapen would not take kindly to anyone trying to sell him a stolen MacRinnalch relic. That was not to say the transaction couldn’t be made. The Merchant might claim, for instance, that the person who stole the knife had contacted h
im, and wondered if the Merchant might be willing to act as intermediary in the return of the knife, for a price. That had worked for the MacDoig before.

  “I’ll think on it a while, lad, and see who might be prepared to pay most. A lot of the MacRinnalchs have money of their own.”

  “The Avenaris Guild is also rich,” suggested the Young MacDoig.

  “The Guild? True, they have money. It’s a possibility.”

  The Merchant’s son pursed his lips.

  “Perhaps we should sell it soon, father. Before the MacRinnalch feud ends. It will lose some value if they make peace.”

  The MacDoig chuckled.

  “I don’t think that’s very likely, lad. I heard today that there’s been fighting in Colburn Wood. The new Baron MacAllister is already dead and the captain of the castle guard is gravely wounded. There will be no peace among the MacRinnalchs for a long time to come.”

  149

  The Mistress of the Werewolves cancelled the next meeting of the Great Council. Rainal was doubtful about the legality of this but Verasa overruled him.

  “Rainal, do you really expect me to hold a meeting of the Great Council when one member of the council has kidnapped and nearly killed another member? When that same member has induced Baron MacAllister to launch an attack on the MacRinnalchs in Colburn Wood?”

  Rainal did admit that the situation was awkward. How Sarapen, Dominil and Markus could ever again sit together in the council chamber could hardly be imagined. As for the MacAllisters, their new Baron was now dead after only three weeks in office. His place would be taken by his younger brother; another supporter of Sarapen, and no less rash, by all accounts.

  Eskandor, the captain of the castle guard, lay wounded in the state rooms which had been converted into a hospital ward for the victims of the battle. Verasa had not been expecting such injury and loss of life, and blamed Eskandor for his lack of caution. There was no way that the council could meet at the next full moon, only five days away.