Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  He found her unconscious, an empty carton of wine by her side, an open bottle of laudanum still clutched in her paw. Gawain halted, mopped some blood and sweat from his brow, and smiled, rather grimly. This, he reflected, was very like Kalix. He put the cap back on the bottle of laudanum, and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then he picked her up in his arms, and took her out of the bushes. As they emerged into the park, Kalix woke up.

  “What’s happening?” she murmured.

  “Werewolves hunting you,” said Gawain. “We have to leave.”

  “Okay,” said Kalix. Her eyelids drooped.

  “I love you,” said Gawain.

  Kalix opened her eyes.

  “I love you,” she said, then threw up over him.

  Gawain gallantly ignored it. He tenderly wiped her mouth, and carried her out of the park.

  200

  It was past midnight. The twins were downstairs, trying on clothes, and making a lot of noise. Dominil was both bored and irritated by their behaviour. Her translation of Tibullus was spread out before her but she was bored with that as well. Dominil hadn’t been bored since arriving in London. Now her work was almost done, it was creeping up on her again.

  Tomorrow would not be boring, of course. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks would be onstage, and Sarapen would be in Camden. It occurred to Dominil that she could die. Dominil didn’t feel alarmed at the prospect, but it made her dissatisfied. If she was about to die, she didn’t want to spend her last night on earth listening to Beauty and Delicious screaming about which pair of shades to wear onstage. She looked around for something to do. The van to take the musicians to the venue was booked. The sampling software had been upgraded. All instruments and equipment had been checked. She’d made out the set list and the guest list. There was nothing left to do and no more instructions to give.

  Dominil put on her long black leather coat. She checked her hair in the mirror, brushing it down around her shoulders, then strode silently out of the house. Outside it was snowing, and the streets were quiet save for a few determined beggars around the tube station. Dominil walked past them without a glance. She crossed over Camden High Street and carried on up the road.

  Pete, guitarist in Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, was surprised to find Dominil at his door in the early hours of the morning.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” said Dominil.

  There was snow on her shoulders and some flakes rested on her brow, unmelted. With her mass of pure white hair she looked like a mythical snow queen who’d strode out of legend to bury London under a new ice age. Pete felt discomfited at the sight, and more uncomfortable at the way her black eyes stared deep into him.

  “Are you alone?” asked Dominil.

  “Yes. But I was about to go to sleep… you know… gig tomorrow.”

  Dominil walked in, uninvited. She put her hand behind Pete’s head and dragged his face to within an inch of her own.

  “I grow bored in the twins’ house,” she said.

  Dominil drew Pete forward further till their lips almost met. Her touch was cold, still frozen from the snow.

  “So I would like to spend this night here with you,” continued Dominil. “Tomorrow you will not mention it to anyone. Do you understand?”

  Pete said that he did.

  “Very well,” said Dominil. “Let us proceed. I trust your bedroom is not in the same deplorable state as the rest of your flat.”

  201

  Unusually among the MacRinnalchs, Markus was not a great whisky drinker. He sat alone in his chambers, sipping water from the castle’s well, and brooding over Verasa’s rejection of his plan to attack the Barons. He’d started to feel that his mother did not have as much faith in him as she should. Every time he made a proposal she would overrule it. Markus began to wonder what was said about him behind his back. Might there be whispers that he was completely under his mother’s thumb? He bridled at the thought.

  Markus was wearing a peach coloured blouse, the same one in which he had once dazzled Moonglow. Here in the castle he took care to limit his penchant for female attire. Even a garment like the blouse, which didn’t stray too far over the boundaries of normality, he would only wear in the privacy of his chambers.

  He tapped his foot on the dark stone floor. Captivity in the castle was as irksome to him as the rest of the MacRinnalchs. He removed the blouse, replacing it with a black shirt, and draped his fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders before heading out to the courtyard. From there he climbed to the walls, greeting the werewolves on guard duty. Despite the respectful greetings he received in return, Markus couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Did these werewolves really respect him? Might they all wish that Eskandor was still captain of the guard?

  The courtyard below was busy, as the castle’s occupants sought relief from the confinement of their living quarters. Markus glanced downwards. In a dark recess on one of the stairs he noticed two werewolves in the shadows. They whispered together, and kissed briefly. Markus grinned. He had no doubt there were a great many secret relationships of this sort going on, in the prelude to war.

  Markus almost laughed when the female werewolf stepped out of the shadows and hurried down the stairs. It was Buvalis MacGregor, employed by his mother as head of her household. He could imagine why young Buvalis might want to keep any relationship away from the eyes of the Mistress of the Werewolves. Verasa always liked to know more than she should about the private lives of her employees. Markus was not so amused when the other werewolf stepped into the light. It was Kertal MacRinnalch, a supporter of Sarapen and a prime suspect for acts of treachery. Markus’s suspicious were aroused.

  He followed Kertal at a discreet distance as he made his way to the western chambers where Buvalis had her living quarters. By the time Markus reached Buvalis’s rooms the door was closed. Suddenly he felt ridiculous. What would people say if they knew he was going round the castle spying on illicit lovers? He was about to move on when he heard an unusual sound coming from the room. A sort of tearing noise, like metal being wrenched from stone. Markus’s suspicions were re-ignited. He hesitated for a second longer. ‘If it turns out that Kertal and Buvalis are merely enjoying an energetic lovemaking session, this is going to be very embarrassing,’ he thought, then took hold of the door handle, and pushed. The door was locked. Markus applied his shoulder and it burst open. Buvalis and Kertal looked round, startled. Markus was startled as well, because the tearing noise he’d heard had been the sound of the metal grate that covered Buvalis’s window being removed. Markus stared at the open window, and then down at Buvalis’s feet, where a very long coil of rope lay in readiness.

  “So. Kertal. Buvalis. I see you are about to throw open the castle to the Barons.”

  202

  Deep into the night Thrix and Malveria arrived at Moonglow’s with the final batch of clothes. Thrix sensed immediately that while the pendant was here, Kalix was not.

  “She’s gone out without it. Now of all times.”

  “Do you want to hunt for her?” asked the Fire Queen.

  “No,” said Thrix. “I don’t care if she dies or not.”

  “You are not serious?”

  Thrix was. She was too fatigued to care about anything except depositing the last of Malveria’s clothes and going home to sleep. If Kalix got herself killed through her own foolishness that was her affair.

  They sat in the attic, awaiting the arrival of Malveria’s chief dresser. For the next five days Malveria would be shuttling back and forth between her palace, this attic, and Livia’s celebration. Thrix had given specific instructions as to the wearing of her clothes and accessories, and some advice about the appropriate make-up for each event.

  “I wish you could attend to all this yourself,” said Malveria. “I trust you so much more than my dresser.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be around most of the time,” said Thrix. “But I can’t be here for your opening night, I have to watch the twins play.”

  The
Enchantress was rather worried about the gig. She really didn’t know what to wear, and dreaded turning up in the wrong outfit. Thrix studied her hair in one of the many sorcerous mirrors that hung in the attic. It was a mess. She was about to hunt for a brush, but abandoned the effort. A quick brush was not going to repair the damage. She changed into her wolf form, a shape that was more comfortable for lying on the floor, and drifted off to sleep. Malveria busied herself trying on clothes, and was so absorbed that she barely sensed the door opening downstairs.

  Gawain was carrying Kalix up the stairs. He took her to her room and laid her on the bed. Kalix opened her eyes.

  “Don’t leave me,” she said.

  Gawain nodded. He wouldn’t leave her.

  Upstairs, the Enchantress woke to find the Fire Queen in consultation with her chief dresser, a middle aged Hiyasta who emitted an orange glow.

  “Ah, Enchantress, you are awake. We are discussing the order in which my clothes must be put on for my grand entrance. The entrance is so important. The imperial carriage has been newly plated with gold, and fresh blood sprinkled on the wheels.”

  When it was finally time to leave, Thrix bid farewell to Malveria. As soon as she descended from the attic she sensed Gawain. She walked to Kalix’s room and stood outside the door. She knew that Gawain was inside with Kalix. Thrix stared at the bedroom door for a while.

  “To hell with you both,” she muttered, finally. She arrived home in a foul temper, and despite her previous exhaustion, required a large shot of the MacRinnalch whisky before she could sleep.

  203

  Baron MacGregor’s son Wallace received a message from Markus MacRinnalch informing him that his scheme for entering the castle by treachery had been discovered. There would be no surreptitious ascent by rope ladder into Buvalis’s chambers. But if Wallace had the stomach for an honourable battle, Markus challenged him to single combat in front of the castle gates, the following night. Wallace snarled, insulted by the suggestion that he might not have the stomach for it. He would be there. He only wished it could be now, instead of twenty-four hours hence.

  Lachlan MacGregor was astonished when he heard the news. He couldn’t believe the Mistress of the Werewolves had allowed her favourite son to challenge Wallace. Wallace had never been defeated in combat. He was a huge werewolf, the strongest in his clan. It was unfathomable that Markus would engage in solo combat with him.

  “Why would he do it?” said Lachlan. “I can’t see us even getting over the walls now that Kertal and Buvalis have been discovered. They can sit tight and wait till we go away. Why would Verasa let Markus do this?”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t know about it,” suggested Marwanis.

  Lachlan dismissed this, feeling certain that nothing happened in Castle MacRinnalch unless approved by the Mistress of the Werewolves. But he was wrong, and Marwanis was right. Markus MacRinnalch had not consulted his mother before issuing the challenge. He hadn’t consulted anyone. He’d simply told Kertal and Buvalis that he’d have them killed unless they transmitted his challenge to Wallace. Markus planned to show his mother, and the clan, that he was a werewolf fit to be Thane.

  204

  Beauty woke at two o’clock in the afternoon and went to rouse Delicious.

  “I’m not getting up,” said Delicious.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t remember any of the new songs and I’ve forgotten how to play the old ones. Tell Dominil I’m sick.”

  “Dominil isn’t here. We asked her to give us some peace to get ready today.”

  It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Though the twins had almost reached a truce with Dominil they’d decided they didn’t want her hanging round as they made their final preparations. If Dominil started lecturing them when they were putting on their make-up, it could really set them back. Dominil had been a little reluctant to leave them to their own devices but in view of their recent progress had agreed to let them spend most of the day on their own.

  Beauty made a further effort to rouse Delicious. They had to leave for the gig around seven p.m. which only gave them five hours to get ready, not a lot of time really, given that they still hadn’t decided on their outfits, and their hair would need a lot of attention.

  “It’s no use,” said Delicious. “We can’t play and we can’t sing and all our songs are really bad. I’m never going onstage again, starting from tonight.”

  Beauty was depressed by her sister’s pessimism. She became disheartened, and went back to bed. When their drummer rang up to check that everything was all right for tonight, they didn’t answer the phone.

  The cousins about whom the family did not used to speak were not the only MacRinnalchs reluctant to rise that day. Kalix lay in Gawain’s arms and never wanted to get up again. She pressed herself close to the still sleeping Gawain, and drifted in and out of consciousness, drowsy and happy. She didn’t care that Gawain had temporarily taken another lover. He was back now and that was all that mattered.

  Thrix MacRinnalch slept very late, and would have slept longer had she not been woken by a phone call from Ann.

  “What’s the matter? If the heating’s gone again, close the building, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “You forgot one of Malveria’s handbags.”

  Ann had found the handbag in Thrix’s office. Apparently it had been left behind in the excitement over the final batch of shoes.

  “Which one?”

  “Black leather, silver clasp, Hiyasta imperial motif.”

  Thrix groaned. That was one of the bags Malveria needed for the first day of the celebration.

  “Maybe she could just substitute another one?” suggested Ann.

  “No,” sighed the Enchantress. “If she doesn’t have the right handbag for each outfit the world will come to an end. Maybe literally. Send it over on a bike, I’ll get a message to her.”

  Thrix dragged herself out of bed. She felt better for her long sleep, though not yet fully refreshed. A shower and perhaps a brisk transformation into werewolf shape should bring her back to life. Thrix was feeling angry. She tried to avoid acknowledging why she felt angry, but gave up after a while and faced herself squarely in the mirror.

  “You don’t even like Gawain,” she said to her reflection. “So who gives a damn if he’s currently snuggling up to your little sister, who you don’t much like either?”

  Thrix had difficulty in selecting her outfit for the day. She’d never been to a small rock gig before, and had to look long and hard in her walk-in wardrobes before she found anything appropriate.

  Dominil MacRinnalch had slept later than she intended. It was some time since she’d had a lover and the release provided by sex, plus the laudanum she’d take the night before, sent her into a deep slumber. She awoke feeling calm and almost satisfied. Pete woke at the sound of her dressing.

  “Eh… do you want breakfast?” he ventured.

  “No,” said Dominil. She leaned over him. “I’d rather you did not mention this to anyone.”

  For a brief moment the still bleary-eyed Pete had the strange illusion that a great white wolf was standing over him. He blinked, and it was only Dominil, but he felt quite shaken.

  “Of course,” he said, and he meant it. Dominil wasn’t like other women, and he wouldn’t have dared go against her wishes.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he called, as Dominil walked out the bedroom. She didn’t reply.

  Markus MacRinnalch rose later than most other inhabitants of the castle. The look-outs the walls had changed and the werewolf defenders were at their posts long before the captain of the castle guard made his appearance. Markus was feeling satisfied. His only worry was that his mother might find out about his challenge to Wallace MacGregor and try to prevent it. If she did attempt to stop the fight, he’d be disgraced.

  In his London mansion, Sarapen MacRinnalch was up very early, and felt vigorous and alive from the moment he opened his eyes. He was looking forward to this evening’s events.


  205

  Gawain lay in bed with Kalix, and didn’t want to leave. He only wanted to tell her he loved her, which he did, many times, and listen to Kalix say she loved him, which she also did, many times. But late in the afternoon he reminded her that she’d promised to go to the cousin’s house to help Dominil.

  “I don’t want to go,” said Kalix.

  “I don’t want you to go,” said Gawain. “But you should.”

  Gawain felt that it would somehow be unlucky for them to celebrate their re-union with a broken promise. Kalix was still reluctant. Gawain encouraged her. Already he’d formed the impression that the responsibility of helping Dominil had been good for Kalix. She’d talked enthusiastically of how she was going to help carry the band’s equipment.

  “Dominil’s designed T-shirts,” said Kalix, and sounded enthusiastic again, before her voice fell. She held on tightly to Gawain.

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “We’ll only be apart for a few hours,” pointed out Gawain. “I’ll come to the gig.”

  “And then we can be together?” asked Kalix.

  “Yes,” said Gawain. “We’ll always be together.”

  Kalix felt intensely happy as she dressed, and for once her happiness didn’t lurch into anxiety. She put on her new trousers which hung round her narrow hips, held in place by the new belt, then brushed her hair. Gawain had never seen her hair in such fine condition, so long and thick that she could wrap it around her like a cloak.

  Gawain slipped quietly out of the house and made his way back to his small room in Camberwell. It was snowing and a cold wind blew through the streets but Gawain barely noticed. In the space of one night, he’d shed three years of misery. He was serious when he told Kalix they’d never be apart again. Though he’d been concerned to find that Kalix was indeed taking laudanum, he hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps, now that they were back together, she would no longer feel the need to use it.