Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  The Mistress of the Werewolves had called today to inform Thrix that she’d expelled Sarapen from the clan. Thrix wasn’t sure what she thought about this. She supposed there were good reasons. Verasa held Sarapen responsible for the deaths of Baron MacAllister, Talixia, and now Gregor, Markus’s bodyguard. Then there was kidnap of Dominil, and the assault on the twins, all of them members of the Great Council. And Verasa blamed him for inciting the new Baron MacAllister to invade MacRinnalch lands, leading to many deaths. The Enchantress didn’t know if Verasa’s actions were legal, in terms of clan law. She didn’t much care. Whether they were legal or not, it would only lead to more violence.

  Verasa mentioned another matter which was rather puzzling. Apparently Hiyastas had been sighted in Colburn Wood. It was hard to believe that the fire elementals should have been there, but there had been more than one report of their presence.

  “Do you have any idea why that might be?” her mother had asked.

  Thrix had replied in the negative, but her mother, knowing of Thrix’s friendship with Queen Malveria, pressed the point.

  “I really don’t know,” protested Thrix.

  “Colburn wood is sacred to the clan, dear. We can’t let it be overrun with Hiyastas.”

  “Perhaps it’s just a false rumour?”

  Verasa didn’t think so. Eskandor, captain of the castle guard, was a reliable witness, even though he still lay wounded in the castle. Which led to another piece of news. The Mistress of the Werewolves had decided to promote Markus to captain of the castle guard, placing him in control of the MacRinnalch forces.

  “Isn’t Markus currently incommunicado, suffering from severe trauma?”

  Apparently he wasn’t. According to the Mistress of the Werewolves he’d made a very swift recovery.

  “I spoke to him today and he’s in excellent spirits.”

  Thrix wasn’t completely convinced about Markus’s spirit but she was keen to get back to her work so didn’t pursue it. Her mother wasn’t about to let her off the phone so easily, and went back to the unexplained presence of Hiyastas in Colburn Wood.

  “They’re not friends of the MacRinnalchs and they’re not welcome there. Fire elementals are very untrustworthy creatures. What if they set fire to the Wood?”

  “The Hiyastas can control their fire, mother,” said Thrix.

  “Doesn’t your friend the Queen regularly burst into flames over minor fashion disappointments?” asked Verasa.

  “She sometimes flickers a little,” admitted Thrix, and wished her mother would drop the subject. “But I’m sure none of her subjects would visit Colburn Wood.”

  “Well Eskandor swore he caught a glimpse of one of them filling a flagon of water from the spring.” Verasa’s voice rose in annoyance. “The spring water is used for the MacRinnalch whisky. It’s not to be stolen or polluted by Hiyastas.”

  “I doubt the Hiyastas are distilling their own whisky. They generally prefer wine.”

  “Don’t be flippant dear. The pure water of Colburn Wood is a valuable resource. Your grandmother used to speak highly of its rejuvenating properties.”

  As soon as Verasa said this the Enchantress’s heart sank. Of course. The rejuvenating properties. It would take a lot of sorcerous power to transform the water into a suitable potion but Thrix had a good idea of who might be interested in doing just that.

  Thrix applied herself to her work. Suddenly she sensed someone penetrating her defensive spells. She half rose, ready to defend herself, before catching the aroma of jasmine. She relaxed.

  “You are working so hard, darling Enchantress,” said Malveria. “You are working hard, yes?”

  “I am.”

  “Excellent.” Malveria smiled. “Are we up to day five?”

  “I’m still on day three.”

  Malveria frowned.

  “Oh. Have we solved the vexatious problem of the handmaidens’ attire? Which must be glorious but not as glorious as my own?”

  “No.”

  “The page boys?”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  Malveria’s frown deepened.

  “I understand that the contemptible handmaidens of Kabachetka are already boasting of their new finery. My own handmaidens are starting to fret.”

  Rather wearily the Enchantress tried to reassure the Fire Queen that everything would be ready on time. She pointed out that recently she’d had a lot of other things to attend to. This didn’t go down well with Malveria.

  “Can’t you concentrate on me?”

  Thrix became slightly irked. To listen to Malveria, a person might think that Thrix Fashions was deliberately neglecting her, which was surely the very opposite of the case. Thrix had rescued Malveria from fashion hell, but the Fire Queen seemed to have forgotten this.

  “I presume you have spent no time sleeping with Gawain?”

  “What do you mean by that?” responded Thrix, sharply.

  “I mean you may make more progress with the fabulous costumes if you were to spend less time in the arms of Gawain. Really Thrix, one understands the need, but you must not let it interfere with the important things in life.”

  Thrix was becoming more and more annoyed. Here she was, up alone in the middle of the night, working on Malveria’s clothes, and Malveria herself was criticising her. Not only that, she had the nerve to meddle in her love life.

  “If you didn’t drop in here every five minutes I might get some work done,” said Thrix, quite harshly.

  “If I didn’t drop in here every five minutes you would no doubt be spending all your time in the embraces of Gawain.”

  “Malveria, I don’t even like Gawain! And what does it have to do with you anyway?”

  “Nothing at all,” declared Malveria, rising an inch or two from the ground. “And I hope you have a splendid time with the young werewolf while I am facing disgrace at Livia’s.”

  Thrix stood up. Not liking the way Malveria was higher than her, she levitated eight inches from the ground, and they faced each angrily in mid-air.

  “You’d be facing disgrace every day if I hadn’t started dressing you properly.”

  “And you would be out of business long ago had I not poured money into your coffers,” replied Malveria, which was true enough to wound the Enchantress.

  “Thrix Fashions can manage very well without your money, Malveria.”

  A flicker of flame now played around the Fire Queen’s eyes.

  “Really? Perhaps we should see if that is true, wretched werewolf. London is full of designers who would kill to have Malveria as their client.”

  “Then I suggest you find one,” stormed Thrix. “And while you’re at it, stay out of Colburn Wood.”

  Malveria, taken by surprise, descended a few inches.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Mother told me Hiyastas have been there.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Please, Malveria, if Hiyastas have been visiting Colburn Wood I’m quite sure you know the reason why. You’ve been stealing water from Colburn Spring and using it for rejuvenation.”

  Malveria was outraged, and rose higher from the floor. She completely denied the allegation, raging against the Enchantress for daring to suggest such a thing.

  “Malveria requires no rejuvenation! You may count yourself fortunate that I do not blast you from this earth!”

  The Enchantress levitated further, bringing herself level with Malveria.

  “And you can count yourself lucky I don’t sling you out my office! Have you any idea the trouble it will cause for me if you’re found stealing from Colburn Wood? Do you know how important it is to the MacRinnalchs?”

  “Pah!” spat Malveria. “What may be important to the barbaric Scottish werewolves is of no importance to the Queen of the Hiyasta. Good Day, Enchantress, and may you never cross my path again!”

  “That’s fine with me,” yelled Thrix. “I should have known better than to try making elegant clothes f
or an elemental who’s only happy when she looks like an extra from an old disco movie!”

  “And I should have known better than to trust a nefarious werewolf who is no doubt treacherously in league with the repulsive Kabachetka!”

  Malveria vanished, her dematerialising being so violent that she left behind a circle of fire on the carpet. Thrix snapped her fingers, putting out the flames, and floated back to ground level.

  “That’s the way to treat your most important client,” she sighed.

  The Enchantress released her spell, sinking with relief into her werewolf shape, gaining strength from the moon. Then she sat on the couch and read Vogue, in a very bad mood.

  164

  On the night of the full moon Sarapen called a meeting of potential supporters. Representatives from each of the three Barons flew to London, and there were delegates from the MacAndrises and other smaller clans with whom Sarapen had influence. Twenty grim-faced werewolves now sat in the largest room in his mansion. Sarapen had greeted each arrival with due courtesy. They had been provided with food and drink as hospitality required. This done, Sarapen began the meeting without further formality.

  “The Mistress of the Werewolves has expelled me from the clan. I don’t accept this. She does not have the authority.”

  No one contradicted Sarapen, though the point was far from clear. In an emergency, the Thane did have the power to expel a werewolf. Whether this power also extended to someone who was in temporary charge of the clan, as Verasa was, had never been tested.

  “The Mistress of the Werewolves intends to force through the election of Markus. I say she’s unfit to lead the clan, and should be removed before she foists Markus on us.”

  Around the table there were some expressions of concern, but many were in full agreement with Sarapen.

  “We should end this farce immediately,” declared Morag MacAllister, who’d seen two Baron MacAllisters die in quick succession. The new Baron Douglas, young and hot-tempered, had sent his equally fiery sister Morag to the meeting with instructions to urge Sarapen to march on the castle and take the Thaneship by force. “Expel the Mistress of the Werewolves and declare yourself Thane!”

  Lachlan MacGregor, emissary from Baron MacGregor, was not keen on Morag MacAllister’s suggestion.

  “Baron MacGregor also inclines towards Sarapen MacRinnalch as Thane but the removal of the Mistress of the Werewolves would be illegal.”

  Lachlan found little support. The Mistress of the Werewolves’ behaviour had caused resentment among the clans. Support for Markus had never been strong and it was fading quickly. Murdo MacPhee made it quite clear that the MacPhees preferred Sarapen over Markus.

  “Baron MacPhee will back Sarapen on one condition.”

  “And that condition is?” asked Decembrius.

  “The Baron wants justice for the old Thane. Baron MacPhee was his companion for two hundred years and he’s never been reconciled to the Thane’s killer walking free.”

  “I agree with the Baron,” said Sarapen. “Kalix MacRinnalch should have been brought to justice long ago. It’s only lack of will on the part of the Mistress of the Werewolves that’s prevented it. As proof of my commitment to her capture - ”

  Sarapen paused, and drew out a leather purse. He emptied five gold coins onto the table.

  “I offer these as reward for her capture. Or for her heart.”

  The werewolves looked with wonder at the coins. Five gold nobles, minted in the reign of King David II of Scotland, in the year 1357. Ancient gold, from the legendary vaults of the MacRinnalchs. These coins were hardly known to exist in the world these days. Gold like this was coveted by any werewolf.

  “Then Baron MacPhee will support you,” said Murdo MacPhee.

  Red Ruraich MacAndris was adamant that the MacAndrises would never follow Markus, no matter what the Great Council decided. Sarapen was pleased. He’d known from the start that Verasa had overestimated the strength of her own position. Sarapen clearly commanded the loyalty of almost all who were gathered here. It was surely enough support to defeat the Mistress of the Werewolves, if it came to a confrontation. The MacRinnalchs were strong but would the MacRinnalchs in the castle really fight for Markus? It had not gone down well with them that Markus was in hiding.

  “Very good. I’m grateful for your support. At the next full moon, we’ll advance on Castle MacRinnalch, demanding that the Mistress of the Werewolves rescinds my expulsion. If necessary we’ll storm the castle. Then I’ll call a meeting of the Great Council at which I will be declared Thane.”

  Morag MacAllister chafed at the delay. The next full moon was four weeks away. She wanted to know why they couldn’t march earlier.

  “You forget,” said Decembrius, “A great many of the MacRinnalchs in the castle can take on their werewolf shape any night. The majority of werewolves under the Barons cannot.”

  “I can be wolf any night I choose,” declared Morag, fiercely.

  “Indeed. But most of your clansmen can’t.”

  Sarapen nodded his agreement. There were other reasons to wait. Thanks to Madrigal, Sarapen now knew that Butix and Delix would be playing on the fourteenth of next month, directly before the next full moon. Dominil would be with them. It was possible that Kalix and Thrix would also be there. Five members of the Great Council, all opponents of Sarapen, all together at a venue in Camden. Sarapen planned to attack the gig. With the promise of help from Princess Kabachetka, Sarapen was confident he could defeat the sorcery of the Enchantress. Kalix would be killed and the other members of the council taken prisoner. That night Sarapen would deal his enemies a fatal blow and the next day he’d fly to Scotland to lead his troops against the castle.

  Before the next moon Sarapen would send out the Barons. Though they’d hold off from attacking the castle, the threat would draw back to Scotland many of the werewolves Verasa had dispatched to protect her allies in London. Then Sarapen would sweep up every MacRinnalch who opposed him. Butix, Delix, Thrix and Dominil could vote for him or they could die like Kalix. Either way, Sarapen was going to be the Thane at the next full moon.

  165

  With the moon being full, Kalix had gorged on pizza and raw beef. Though Moonglow was out with Markus she had not forgotten to provide well for her, which Kalix completely failed to appreciate. She hated it that Moonglow was having an affair with Markus. To spite Moonglow, she decided not to learn to read anymore.

  To make matters worse, Kalix felt as if she’d betrayed Gawain. Even though her plan to sleep with Daniel had crashed in flames before she’d got started, she’d still betrayed him. It was treacherous behaviour on her part. Though it was almost impossible for a werewolf to be miserable on the night of the full moon, the uniquely troubled Kalix managed it. When the clouds parted outside the kitchen window, revealing the white moon looking down over London, Kalix scowled.

  “Stupid moon,” she muttered, and hunted in the fridge for more meat, and another carton of ice cream.

  The atmosphere in the house between Daniel, Moonglow and Kalix was now quite awkward. On her way back from the kitchen Kalix met Daniel in the living room but headed for her own room without greeting him. Daniel wondered if he should go after her but at that moment Malveria materialised with an unusually violent flash. Something was obviously wrong. Flames were flickering around the Fire Queen’s eyes, nostrils and fingers. Tears rolled from her eyes, hissing and sizzling in the heat.

  “I am here to burn the Enchantress’s foul designs!” she announced, and made for the stairs.

  “Wait!” yelled Daniel, not liking the idea of his flat burning around his head. “Wouldn’t you like to tell me about it?”

  “There is nothing to tell, young human! The perfidious werewolf has deliberately delayed the making of my clothes leading to inevitable disgrace at the Sorceress Livia’s birthday celebration.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Daniel. “But I’m sure you’ll look beautiful whatever you wear.”

  The Fire Queen s
et her mouth in a firm line.

  “It is no use bombarding me with compliments, Daniel. The clothes must burn!”

  The Fire Queen began to ascend the stairs with a determined gait.

  “But you can’t burn them. I saw you wearing the new orange dress. You looked eh… fabulous.”

  Daniel writhed in embarrassment as he said this but it brought Malveria to a halt. She turned her head slowly, steam still hissing from the tears that mixed with the flames in her eyes.

  “I did?”

  “Absolutely,” said Daniel, nodding his head furiously. “Fabulous. Believe me, I’ve never used that word about a dress before.”

  The flames around Malveria’s eyes and nose grew smaller. She took a step back towards Daniel.

  “It is a good dress.”

  “It’s wonderful,” agreed Daniel, meanwhile searching frantically for a further compliment. He remembered something he’d heard Moonglow say about a friend she admired.

  “And of course, not everyone could wear it.”

  Malveria nodded.

  “You’re right. It is a bold orange. Few elementals could carry it off. And yet the moment I laid eyes on it I knew I would look as brilliant as the midday sun.”

  “That’s the very words I was looking for.”

  The flames went out. Malveria descended the stairs. Then, quite abruptly, she dissolved in tears.

  “There there,” said Daniel, leading her back into the living room and helping her to the couch. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  It took Daniel a while to learn exactly what had happened between Malveria and Thrix. When her tears dried Malveria descended into a deep depression. Daniel brought her wine and scanned the TV guide for any fashion-related programme which might cheer her up. Unfortunately, when he found a programme on makeovers, it only made Malveria sadder.

  “I have no one to make me over,” said Malveria, gripped by her maudlin emotions. “You are so lucky to live with friends who would never betray you.”

  Daniel nodded.

  “But we’re not getting on so well,” he admitted. The Fire Queen seemed interested in this, so Daniel told her of his unhappiness over Moonglow and Markus.