Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  So it was that they finally ran into Kalix. They had no warning of the meeting. No werewolf scent reached them. But there she was, walking along the pavement outside Kennington Park. The Douglas-MacPhees leapt from their van and ran to intercept her. Kalix had once again been careless. She should have scented the MacPhees well before she saw them but she was too wrapped up in thoughts of her day with Dominil to pay attention to her surroundings.

  “Kalix MacRinnalch,” snarled Duncan Douglas-MacPhee.

  Kalix looked at him. Oddly, she didn’t seem overly concerned at her plight.

  “Get out of my way,” she said.

  “You’re coming with us,” said Duncan. “And your boyfriend isn’t around to help you.”

  Kalix glanced up sharply and Duncan knew his words had got to her.

  “Yes, we saw Gawain, out looking for you, no doubt.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t looking for her,” said Rhona, and they all laughed.

  “What do you mean?” said Kalix, puzzled.

  “Gawain MacRinnalch reeks of she-wolf but he doesn’t reek of you. Your boyfriend’s found another bitch to play with.”

  “Take her to the van,” said Duncan.

  Kalix sank into her fighting crouch, her knees slightly bent, her fists at shoulder level, each lightly clenched. At this the Douglas-MacPhees howled with laughter. She looked like a skinny waif who’d just watched a kung fu film, and come home from the cinema to practice. Her raised fists were as intimidating as the paws of a little kitten.

  Fergus tried to grab hold of her. Kalix abruptly lashed out with a brutal kick, catching him in the groin. He howled and fell over. Then she sprang at Duncan and smashed the heel of her hand into his face. Duncan’s nose erupted with blood and he stumbled backwards. As she landed Kalix was caught by a blow from Rhona but she rode it as Gawain had once taught her to, deflecting its force. Kalix chopped at Rhona’s throat and drove her foot into her belly with such force that she doubled over and sank to her knees.

  Fergus was on his feet in an instant with a knife in his hand. Kalix knew she couldn’t fight like this for long in her human form. Her strength would give out. She took off, sprinting for all she was worth towards Kennington Park. She was over the fence in a second and disappearing into the evening gloom before the Douglas-MacPhees could come near her. The MacPhees set off in pursuit, scrambling awkwardly over the fence.

  By the time Kalix reached the bushes she was short of breath. As always, her habit of not taking care of herself was costing her. Dusk was falling. Kalix kept on running. If she could evade them till the moon rose she’d transform and then she wouldn’t need to run. She’d rend them to pieces. Thorns ripped her flesh as she fled through the bushes. She burst into a clearing and there was Gawain.

  “Kalix!”

  Gawain tried to take her in his arms, but Kalix remembered the mocking words of the Douglas-MacPhees. She hadn’t seen her beautiful Gawain for years. She should have thrown herself into his arms as she’d dreamed of doing but instead she found herself yelling at him.

  “Do you have someone else?”

  Gawain hesitated. Kalix, who knew him so well, could see that it was true. He did. Kalix’s world imploded. Gawain gazed at her, distressed, unable to find any words that were appropriate. Suddenly a figure emerged from the bushes. It was Decembrius, come to Kennington to guide the Douglas-MacPhees. Decembrius stepped forward, and laughed.

  “How fortunate to be present at the great reunion,” he said.

  Decembrius’s powers of seeing were often of little use. He hadn’t yet learned to control them. Here, however, with such raw emotion all around, he could easily sense what had been happening.

  “Yes, Kalix. Your beloved Gawain does indeed have another lover.” He peered closely at Kalix. “And so, I think, do you.”

  Decembrius was exaggerating. Kalix didn’t have a lover. But he thought it was worth exaggerating, to demoralise his enemies.

  Gawain and Kalix looked at each other and didn’t know what to say. This was not the reunion they’d dreamed about; it was the reunion from a nightmare. The Douglas-MacPhees burst into the clearing and it all became worse. There was an ugly fight as they rolled around on the cold damp grass, punching and kicking. Kalix found herself underneath Rhona, pinned to the ground by her far heavier opponent. Rhona drew a knife and tried to stab Kalix in the neck. Kalix grabbed Rhona’s wrist but the blade came closer and closer. Kalix knew it was coated with silver, and Rhona had the strength to drive it into her. In desperation Kalix bit her wrist. Rhona yelled and the knife fell to the ground. Kalix then butted Rhona savagely on the bridge of her nose. Rhona groaned and rolled to one side. Kalix dragged herself to her feet and stamped on her, though she no longer had the strength to do it as hard as she’d have liked. She raised her foot to drive it back into Rhona’s chest when a voice called out behind her.

  “That’s enough.”

  Decembrius had stayed clear of the fighting. When it seemed that Kalix and Gawain were gaining the upper hand, he drew an automatic pistol from his coat and pointed it at them. Kalix was sure the gun contained silver bullets. Decembrius wouldn’t be pointing it at them otherwise. Firing a silver bullet at another werewolf, even a deadly enemy, was one of the most taboo things a werewolf could do. Apparently Decembrius was prepared to break that taboo.

  Gawain was struggling with Fergus and had wrestled him to the ground. Decembrius pointed his gun first at Kalix, but seemed to change his mind, and turned it towards Gawain. Kalix leapt at Decembrius, getting a hand to the gun before it went off. There was a scream behind her and she looked round in anguish, expecting to see Gawain lying dead. The bullet hadn’t hit Gawain. Thanks to Kalix’s intervention it had gone through Fergus’s shoulder. Fergus screamed in agony as the silver, so deadly to werewolves, burned the flesh and bones. Kalix grabbed the gun from Decembrius and tossed it away. She tried to strike him but she had no strength left. He brushed her off and she tumbled to the ground.

  Gawain rushed to Kalix’s side and picked her up. The Douglas-MacPhees were howling in confusion around the stricken Fergus. Decembrius was scrabbling in the bushes, trying to retrieve his gun. Gawain hoisted Kalix over his shoulder and set off at a run. He’d escaped from the clearing and reached the edge of the park when Kalix began to struggle.

  “Put me down,” she demanded.

  He did as she asked. Kalix’s body sagged, as if she was about to faint. Then the moon rose. Kalix transformed into werewolf shape. Her vitality returned and she spun round and ran away. Gawain pursued her at a distance. He saw her change back into human as she left the park to hurry away into the side streets. He followed her till she was almost home, making sure that she wasn’t pursued, then retreated into an alleyway where he sat down on a wooden crate, put his head in his hands and sighed.

  174

  Markus returned to Castle MacRinnalch one week after the full moon. The Mistress of the Werewolves was overjoyed to see him return. By coming back to the castle while the Barons were preparing to attack, Markus had shown himself to be a worthy MacRinnalch. Whatever stories had been spread about Markus hiding in London were false. He donned an old-fashioned cloak trimmed with fur, the appropriate garment for the captain of the castle guard, and as he walked the ramparts he looked the part. The castle’s defenders were heartened. Markus was back, and it could never be said that he’d shirked his duty.

  The Barons had not yet taken the field. The MacPhees and the MacAllisters were ready but there was still no word from Baron MacGregor. The MacAndrises, in the west, were impatient to make a start. Their leader, Red Ruraich MacAndris, had sent back a cold response to Verasa’s demand that he declare loyalty to her. The MacAndrises are loyal to Sarapen, he replied. The Mistress of the Werewolves was irritated. It was bad enough for a Baron to be disloyal, but at least there was some historical precedent. It was not too outrageous for a Baron to be occasionally rebellious. The MacAndrises were a different matter. As a minor clan under the protection of the Th
ane, they had no right to declare loyalty to anyone else but the head of the clan.

  Verasa joined Markus and Rainal on the eastern battlement. She was pleased to see how well Markus looked. Strong, and very handsome in his warrior’s cloak. He would make a fine Thane.

  175

  Kalix lay in her room, huddled under her quilt. She was weak after the fight in the park but was refusing to turn into a werewolf because then she would eat. Kalix had made up her mind never to eat again. Gawain having a new lover was final proof that she was a worthless creature who didn’t deserve to live. Her left arm was a mass of new cuts. She sipped laudanum, and slipped in and out of bad dreams.

  Moonglow lay on her bed, still devastated by Markus’s rejection. She’d been crying for two days and hadn’t been able to attend college. She played Kate Bush constantly but though this had helped her to survive emotional emergencies in the past, it now brought her little comfort. Her misery over Markus transcended even Kate Bush. She just couldn’t believe that she could be so quickly brushed aside by someone she was so much in love with.

  Daniel lay in his room, between those of Kalix and Moonglow, and stared gloomily at the ceiling. Moonglow’s profound unhappiness had now plunged him into deeper misery. For a while he’d tried looking at it positively. ‘If Moonglow is so unhappy over Markus, maybe she’ll turn to me.’ He hadn’t been able to maintain the idea for long.

  Daniel had done what he could to comfort both Moonglow and Kalix. His efforts had been completely unsuccessful. They both seemed to be beyond comforting.

  ‘I’m living in the unhappiest household in London,’ thought Daniel. ‘Possibly the world.’ Daniel was also under his quilt, though for warmth rather than emotional support. All the bedrooms in the house were cold, thanks to the inefficient heating. Only the living room with its fire had any real warmth, but no one was visiting the living room. There was too much danger of meeting a flat-mate, and having to confront their misery.

  Oppressed by the silence, Daniel crawled from his bed to his computer and connected to doom-metal.com. Surely the only music suitable for a time like this. He studied the radio station’s play list. There was a list of genres: traditional doom, atmospheric doom, gothic doom, metal doom, progressive doom, death doom, suicidal doom, funeral doom, and various others. A wide choice. Daniel could appreciate the subtleties involved. In fact Daniel could have named a different band in every category, if anyone had asked him, which no one ever had. He turned it on and was satisfied to hear a series of loud groaning chords and an agonised voice telling him there was no hope for the future. Absolutely right. These doom metal bands, they really knew what was going on.

  Next door Kalix could hear Daniel’s music. She didn’t like the interruption so she put on her headphones to listen to the Runaways. Night fell on the unhappiest home in South London, with neither the Runaways, Kate Bush nor the assembled hordes of doom metal bringing any real comfort to the occupants.

  176

  At two a.m. Thrix was still in her office. Thanks to another encounter with Gawain, a missing consignment of Chinese silk, and a further emergency plumbing problem, she had now fallen further behind with her work. The Enchantress had reluctantly resorted to sorcery to repair the heating pipes. It wasn’t something old Minerva MacRinnalch would have approved of, but the Enchantress had her staff to worry about. The newly repaired heating had not yet fully warmed the office so Thrix took a long blue overcoat from the clothes wrack and draped it over her shoulders. As she returned to her desk the spells of protection that enshrouded the office started giving off their mystical alarms.

  “Hello Malveria.”

  The Fire Queen appeared, looking very excited.

  “Tremendous information from my intelligence services regarding the malodorous Princess Kabachetka!”

  The Enchantress sat up alertly.

  “Is she going to attack my office?”

  “No, she has booked into a clinic in Los Angeles for a tummy tuck! I knew it! Aha!”

  The Fire Queen marched triumphantly round the room.

  “Did I not say it? Did I not claim that while the fabulous Malveria was dieting, exercising and putting her body through hell to achieve the perfect figure, the vile Hainusta Princess was all the while accumulating extra poundage? I knew she could not maintain her figure by natural means. The fake-blonde-slut-Princess is to have pounds of surplus ugly fat carved from her body like a sacrificial bullock. Aha!”

  Malveria halted her triumphant marching, and smiled broadly at the Enchantress.

  “Did I not say so?”

  “Yes, Malveria you did. Congratulations, you’ve really defeated her on this one.”

  Malveria perched jauntily on Thrix’s desk. It was some time since Thrix had seen her looking so happy.

  “Did you learn anything else?” enquired the Enchantress.

  “She had an affair with a gladiator. Very disreputable.”

  “I mean did you learn anything about her plans?”

  Malveria looked puzzled.

  “Her plans?”

  “You know. For attacking me. Stealing my designs, ruining your grand entrance at Livia’s.”

  Malveria pursed her lips.

  “Hmm… Now that you mention it, no. My intelligence services do not seem to have provided me with any such information.”

  “Did you ask them?” enquired Thrix.

  “Certainly. Perhaps not with such urgency as my enquiries into her tummy tuck. But really, I think it is fabulous news.”

  Malveria caught sight of her face in the large wall mirror and frowned.

  “Am I looking old?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure I am. I’m convinced I am falling prey to disfiguring wrinkles. Who knows how harmful to the skin may be the radiation and poisons emitted by my volcano?”

  “Can’t you just avoid the volcano?”

  “Of course not. It is my favourite volcano. I must visit every day.”

  Thrix knew what was on Malveria’s mind.

  “Malveria, please hold off on the water for a little while longer. We’ve got a full scale war brewing up in Scotland and if your Hiyastas keep tramping around in Colburn Wood it will only make things worse.”

  “But I need my rejuvenating water,” protested the Fire Queen. Her eyelids trembled, threatening tears.

  “Aren’t there a million sources of water throughout the realms?”

  “None as good as Colburn Wood. You know yourself how excellent it is. And if I’m not using it, what if the Fairy Queen decides to sell the water to someone else?”

  Thrix was confused.

  “The Fairy Queen? Of Colburn Wood? You mean she knows about this?”

  “Well of course, dearest Enchantress. One does not go around taking water from woods without coming to some arrangement with the local fairies. Who knows what spiteful magicks they may work if they are upset? I do not intend my firstborn child to be an imbecile. I already have Agrivex to worry about.”

  Thrix felt irritated. It seemed to her rather disloyal of the fairies in Colburn Wood to be selling the MacRinnalch water to the first fire elemental who came along and asked.

  “Well the fairies are generally good at business,” pointed out the Fire Queen. “When not too busy fluttering around trees. No doubt Dithean NicRinnalch, their Queen, saw it as a sound commercial proposition. And I’m sure she has the best interest of the MacRinnalchs at heart. Though she may have them more at heart if the werewolves were to pay her more respect.”

  “We pay Queen Dithean NicRinnalch plenty of respect!”

  “Does this respect include a well-laden thimbleful of gold every now and then?”

  “Possibly not. But it will from now on. Really Malveria, my mother will have a fit if she learns about this. Please hold off for a little while.”

  “Very well,” sighed the Fire Queen. “Though when I am old and haggard, as I will be soon, it will not matter what clothes you design for me. I will be mocked and reviled on al
l sides.”

  “The Hiyastas will love you no matter how you look,” said Thrix. “Or respect you. Or fear you, whatever it is you prefer.”

  Malveria waved this away, though she was secretly pleased. She peered at Thrix’s computer screen. Since encountering Moonglow, Malveria was not quite so computer illiterate as she had been, something which Thrix regretted.

  “You are working on day four? Does this mean you have completed day five and are now going back over the clothes for day four, lovingly adding that final touch?”

  “No it doesn’t,” admitted Thrix. “It means I’m still stuck on day four.”

  “And what of day five?”

  “I haven’t started it yet.”

  The Fire Queen’s eyes widened in great alarm.

  “You have not yet started on day five? The great ball in which every lady of my realm and the next will be dressed in the most exquisite ball gowns ever made? With much added finery to boot? But Enchantress, this is a disaster. Am I meant to attend the most glamourous, glittering, fabulous ball in history in an off-the-peg dress purchased in some wretched street bazaar? Apthalia the Grim has been in fitting rooms for a month and as for the Duchess Gargamond - ”

  Thrix held up her hand.

  “Malveria. Everything is in hand. You’ll have the finest ball gown ever seen.”

  Malveria was not placated. Only yesterday Beau DeMortalis, Duke of the Black Castle, had arrived at Queen Malveria’s court and already her courtiers were saying the Duke was on top of his form. He had witticisms and bon mots to spare, and any poorly dressed elemental to whom he took a dislike could expect to find herself on the end of a withering set-down.

  “If I am subjected to a withering set-down from Beau DeMortalis it will be quite the end. One utterly dreads it. It will reach the ears of Princess Kabachetka and she will repeat it endlessly.”