Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Malveria beamed.

  “I trust you are not offended by my assistance?”

  “Not. I’m grateful. Did you sense Sarapen anywhere close?”

  The Fire Queen shook her head. There was an amused gleam in her eye.

  “But I do sense the handsome Gawain. You have brought the young wolf here for some later entertainment?”

  Thrix scowled.

  “If he’s entertaining someone later it won’t be me.”

  She directed her gaze to where Gawain and Kalix shared a chair.

  “Ah,” Malveria nodded sympathetically. “He has transferred his attentions to the other sister. I am sorry, Enchantress.”

  “No need to feel sorry,” replied Thrix. “I don’t even like him. He was just convenient for a while.”

  “Indeed,” replied Malveria. Showing unusual tact, she said no more, though it was plain to her that Thrix was irritated. Thrix hadn’t been in love with Gawain, by any means. Nonetheless, it wasn’t exactly pleasant to see the werewolf she’d been sleeping with now having a much better time with her sister. When Gawain arrived he’d greeted Thrix as politely as he could, but it was obvious he was embarrassed to see her.

  Malveria’s attention was caught by some energetic movement.

  “What is my niece doing?”

  “Dancing?”

  “Dancing? In what way would that qualify as dancing?”

  After their shaky start Yum Yum Sugary Snacks had forgotten their nerves, built up momentum, and were now thrashing their way through their set with tremendous enthusiasm. Vex was flinging herself around in front of the stage. She was convinced that watching Yum Yum Sugary Snacks was the finest experience ever had by anyone, anywhere. She was completely engrossed in noise, music and excitement. Vex loved Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, and danced with abandon, completely oblivious to everyone around her.

  Kalix didn’t feel like dancing - it would have meant letting go of Gawain - but she was enjoying the gig. She didn’t like the band as much as the Runaways but she liked them well enough. There was something about the raw noise coming of the stage that stirred her. She held Gawain tightly, and felt happy.

  “Our next song’s called Evil White-Haired Slut,” yelled Delicious.

  If Dominil minded, she didn’t show it. The gig had gone well and the audience had responded enthusiastically. So far, everything was satisfactory. If she could plunge the Begravar knife into Sarapen’s heart, the evening would be a total success.

  216

  Madrigal, a small, nondescript man, but intelligent, and tenacious, drove a motorbike swiftly from Camden to King’s Cross. He’d called ahead, and Sarapen was expecting him.

  “Well?” said Sarapen.

  “They’ll finish playing soon. There are nine werewolves in the room.”

  Sarapen nodded. Nine werewolves. He knew that Butix and Delix could not transform this night. Which left seven. Thrix and Dominil were strong. So was Kalix, in combat. As for the four bodyguards, they were probably experienced fighters. It was not enough to worry Sarapen. He had twenty-four werewolves at his side, plus a powerful elemental princess. With his overwhelming advantage in numbers, he hoped to sweep up his enemies in the space of a few seconds, and end the affair quickly. He planned to attack as late as possible, when the cousins were packing up their equipment and the audience had departed. The only obstacle had been the Enchantress’s sorcery. Now that Princess Kabachetka stood at his side, it was no longer a problem.

  “Good,” said Sarapen. “You’ve done well. You have always done well for me, Madrigal.”

  Madrigal stepped forward. He had been waiting for this moment all his life. He was going to be werewolf. The great Sarapen himself was going to share his blood and transform him. Sarapen changed into his werewolf shape. He bent down, took Madrigal in his jaws, and snapped his neck. Madrigal fell down dead. Sarapen looked at the corpse with contempt.

  “I would never make a werewolf from a spy such as you,” he growled.

  “Quite,” said Princess Kabachetka. “But could we get on now? I’m planning a late arrival at the Sorceress Livia’s but even so, time is pressing.”

  “We will - ” began Sarapen, but halted as the Hainusta Princess held up her hand. She had sensed something.

  “Is there any reason for twenty men to be creeping into this warehouse?”

  Sarapen reacted instantly.

  “Hunters,” he hissed. “Everyone get out of sight.”

  Sarapen’s troops melted into the shadows. The hunters from the Guild, confused by the Fire Queen’s sorcery, had come further south than they intended. When they reached King’s Cross, the one among them with powers of seeing detected the presence of werewolves. The hunters drew their weapons, and advanced.

  217

  Markus had fought valiantly but Wallace’s superior strength was now starting to tell. The Barons’ wolves roared encouragement while the MacRinnalchs looked on in mournful silence. Markus was now down on one knee, desperately fending off blows. Blood ran freely down his mane from ten or more cuts. Rainal glanced over at the Mistress of the Werewolves, looking for a signal that he should intervene. If Markus surrendered, his life could still be spared. Verasa remained impassive, and gave no signal. She stood quite still, not even brushing off the snow that settled on her werewolf snout.

  Wallace finally succeeded in dragging Markus to the ground, crushing him with his weight, and fixing his jaws around Markus’s throat.

  “Stop the fight!” hissed Rainal to Verasa. “Tell Markus to yield!”

  Up on the battlements, Beatrice MacRinnalch moaned in torment as she watched her lover being savagely mauled, but there was no sound from Verasa. She stood in silence, and watched the fight.

  Markus writhed under the jaws of Wallace. His arms flailed but his blows were becoming weaker, unable to hurt his opponent. Or so it seemed, right up till the moment when Wallace dragged Markus’s head back to snap his neck. Markus connected with a blow to the side of Wallace’s face. It was no stronger than any of the other blows which Wallace had shrugged off, but it seemed to have more effect. Wallace sagged. Markus hit him again, and Wallace sat back, loosening his grip. Markus was able to hurl him off and scramble to his feet. Sensing his opportunity, he threw himself at Wallace, reigning blows on him and tearing at him with his claws. Wallace reeled backwards through the snow, fending him off as best he could.

  “His strength has gone,” said Verasa, calmly. “I knew it would.”

  Now Wallace’s supporters fell silent as cheering erupted from the MacRinnalchs on the castle walls. Markus continued to pound Wallace. Though he had been all but spent, the scent of victory renewed his vigour and when Wallace himself sank to one knee, exhausted, Markus leapt on him and fastened his jaws round his neck. Wallace collapsed. His resistance was gone. Abruptly Verasa stepped forward. She hurried across the trampled, blood-stained snow and put her hand on her son’s shoulder, then looked up at Baron MacGregor.

  “Do you admit defeat?” she called.

  Her question was heard by the hundreds of silent werewolves who surrounded the Baron. If the Baron accepted mercy from the Mistress of the Werewolves, the MacGregors could no longer continue to besiege the castle. Everyone knew it. Baron MacGregor walked forward.

  “Stop the fight,” he said.

  Markus allowed Verasa to draw him away. He was satisfied with his victory. He didn’t have to kill Wallace. Verasa signalled to her assistant Erenx and she led Markus back into the castle where Verasa’s doctor was waiting to attend to his wounds. The Mistress of the Werewolves nodded courteously to Baron MacGregor, turned on her heel, and followed Markus back into the castle.

  “That was far too close,” muttered Rainal, at her side.

  “I had confidence in my son,” said Verasa.

  “Would you have let him die?”

  “Markus would not have wanted me to intervene on his behalf,” replied Verasa. “It would have sullied his honour.”

  Rainal was again impres
sed at Verasa’s coolness in the face of danger. But Rainal was not privy to the Mistress of the Werewolves’ every secret. He didn’t know, for instance, that Eskandor MacRinnalch was hiding in a tower on the castle walls, with a sniper’s rifle loaded with silver bullets, under orders from Verasa to shoot Wallace dead if he seemed to be on the verge of killing Markus. He didn’t know that Verasa herself had a small pistol hidden in her cloak, also loaded with silver bullets, which she would have used if necessary. Rather than let Markus die she would have broken all werewolf taboos by killing Wallace, even as the clans looked on. And Rainal didn’t know, and would never know, that before the whisky was drunk at the start of the fight, the Mistress of the Werewolves had arranged for the inside of Wallace’s goblet to be smeared with poison. The poison had slowly sapped his strength, making it seem as if he was simply worn-out from fighting. Verasa, observing the struggle, had felt a twinge of concern that she might have used too little of the poison. As it turned out, it had done its job perfectly. To those who saw the combat, Wallace had just burned himself out, and the superior stamina and spirit of Markus had carried the day. The poison was debilitating but not lethal. By the time Wallace recovered from his injuries, the substance would have disappeared from his body. No one would ever guess what had happened, least of all Markus.

  The Mistress of the Werewolves hadn’t told her son of her precautions. Despite this, he’d gone out to fight the fearsome Wallace, and had not hesitated for an instant. Verasa felt proud of him. Few werewolves who watched the single combat now believed he was unworthy of the Thaneship. Many of them might still favour Sarapen, but it couldn’t be said that Markus’s spirit was weak.

  218

  Yum Yum Sugary Snacks were finishing their set in fine style. The twins rampaged around the stage, singing, screaming, and knocking things over. The gig had been a great success; much better than anyone previously acquainted with the sisters had anticipated. Dominil was satisfied. In her detached way, she found herself disapproving of the number of mistakes the band made, but she knew it didn’t matter. The sisters’ raw talent and enthusiasm was enough for tonight.

  ‘Though if I am ever responsible for a studio recording,’ she mused. ‘I’ll make sure it is a good deal more competent.’

  Vex was glowing. She hadn’t stopped dancing the entire night. Daniel couldn’t keep up, and now sat at a table nearby, occasionally bringing her drinks. Further back, Malveria was perplexed. She was used to the stately music played at Hiyasta ceremonies. The sounds emanating from the stage didn’t sound like music at all. The Enchantress wasn’t enjoying it any more than the Fire Queen. Thrashing guitars had never been to her taste. Besides, she was on the alert for Sarapen or the Guild, and continually scanned the surrounding area, checking that her protection spells were all in place.

  Gawain held on tightly to Kalix, and was surprised when he felt someone trying to pull her from his lap. It was Vex.

  “Stop being so boring,” she was saying to Kalix. “You’ve been sitting there all night. Come and dance.”

  “The band’s finished,” said Kalix.

  “They’re going to play an encore. Come and dance!”

  Vex’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. She started tugging at Gawain. Gawain felt awkward.

  “I don’t dance,” he said.

  “What do you mean you don’t dance?”

  “I’m… eh…”

  “Brooding and poetic,” said Kalix, finishing his sentence for him, and kissing his forehead. Vex looked disappointed.

  “You go,” said Gawain to Kalix.

  Kalix allowed herself to be dragged forward by Vex, just as Yum Yum Sugary Snacks were returning for their encore, Vile Werewolf Whore, a particularly virulent denunciation of anything to do with white-haired werewolves from Castle MacRinnalch.

  Watching Kalix and Vex dance, the Fire Queen shook her head. She was struck by the huge contrast between Vex’s behaviour and her own when she was that age. Then Malveria had been fighting a guerrilla war, dressed in rags and sleeping in a cave with a sword in her hand. Vex slept in a huge bed under a pink quilt and danced without a care in the world. Tomorrow Malveria would scold her thoroughly for her foolish behaviour, and make sure she attended all her lessons. But it was good to see her niece happy.

  Thrix glanced at Gawain. He was transfixed by the sight of Kalix in motion. The Enchantress scowled, and snapped her fingers, filling her glass with whisky. She drank it back quickly, then turned her attention back to her protection spells. They were all in order. No enemies were near.

  “Yes, I sense nothing out of order,” agreed Malveria. “And now it is time for me to go. Soon the appalling Princess Kabachetka will know she has been defeated by the magnificent Malveria Maladisia.”

  “Maladisia?” said Thrix. She knew many of the Queens names, but had never heard that one.

  “One of my most secret names,” said the Queen. “I give it to you as a present, because of your tireless work on my behalf. With that name, you can always call me to your side.”

  As the band’s set ended, the audience clapped and cheered. Dominil was gratified. She could report to the Mistress of the Werewolves that her mission had been successful. But as Beauty and Delicious left the stage, she turned towards the entrance and wondered what had happened to Sarapen. She’d been sure he would arrive.

  This part of the venue was now closing. Though the band could remain while they packed up their equipment, everyone else had to go downstairs. Dominil didn’t want anyone to become separated so she quickly gathered up every werewolf in the room.

  “We’re with the band,” she said, to the bouncer who was asking them to leave. The bouncer shrugged and turned his attention to hurrying the other stragglers downstairs.

  Sarapen and his werewolves drove from King’s Cross towards Camden. The fight in the warehouse had been brief. The hunters had seemed disorientated as they arrived in the warehouse and they’d been ambushed and slaughtered. The Guild’s careful preparations had been fatally disrupted by Malveria’s intervention. They had expected to make an attack on a small group of unprepared werewolf musicians. Instead they’d found themselves surrounded by a superior force of trained warriors. Sarapen’s wolves had all but annihilated them, and few of the hunters made it out of the warehouse alive.

  In the brief melee Sarapen had lost five werewolves. The hunters all had guns with silver bullets, and even the swiftness of the ambush hadn’t prevented them from firing a volley, many of them shooting from close range. Inevitably some bullets found their targets. Sarapen’s plan was unaffected; he still had plenty of wolves to complete his task.

  The rest of their musicians had already gone downstairs and Beauty and Delicious were packing away their guitars. Dominil cast a quizzical look towards Thrix, but Thrix shook her head. There were no enemies nearby. Dominil was disappointed. Vex was still excited.

  “Weren’t the band great?” she screamed at her aunt.

  Before Malveria could compose a suitably withering reply, there was a low growl from the corridor outside. A huge wolf padded into the room. Sarapen was here.

  219

  Markus’s skin was lacerated in many places and he was covered in bruises but he was so elated he hardly noticed the pain. He would have remained in the courtyard, accepting the congratulations of the MacRinnalchs, had Verasa not cut the celebration short, sending her son to his chambers for medical treatment. At the sight of blood flowing from her favourite son, she was moved almost to tears. She waited anxiously outside her son’s rooms while the doctor examined him.

  “What is taking so long?”

  “Doctor Angus is very thorough,” replied Rainal. “Don’t worry, Markus is fine.”

  A tear rolled down Verasa’s cheek which she wiped away angrily. Rainal pretended not to notice. Finally the doctor emerged. Angus MacRinnalch was grey-haired, old enough to be venerable, older even than Verasa. His manner was slightly brusque, and he dismissed Verasa’s fears with a wave.

 
“Nothing wrong, a few cuts and bruises. Maybe a cracked rib, I’ll need an X-ray to be sure.”

  “A cracked rib?” Verasa was aghast.

  “It’s a minor injury. If your son insists on fighting Wallace MacGregor, it’s fortunate he suffered nothing worse. Once he’s rested and had a few wolf changes under the moon he’ll be as good as new.”

  The doctor was spared further anxious questioning from Verasa by the unexpected appearance of Great Mother Dulupina. She moved slowly along the corridor towards them. The old werewolf greeted Doctor Angus before acknowledging Verasa. The doctor had ministered to Dulupina for many years, and she had a high regard for him.

  “How is the boy?” she enquired.

  “Well enough.”

  “Well enough for me to see him?”

  “For a little while. “

  Great Mother Dulupina spoke to the Mistress the Werewolves.

  “He did well.”

  Dulupina, who had never had much regard for Markus, went into his chambers to congratulate him. Markus was lying on his bed. His eyelids were starting to droop, but his head rose sharply as he scented Dulupina. It was something out of the ordinary for her to visit. He struggled to rise.

  “Stay where you are. Doctor Angus says you should rest,” she said, in her soft, old voice. “I watched from my window. You did well.”

  Markus acknowledge this with a nod.

  “It might now be that your mother can have you elected Thane,” continued Dulupina.

  She paused, and stared into the distance for a while.

  “I prefer your older brother,” she said eventually.

  Markus wasn’t sure what to say, and remained silent.

  “I might not object to you as Thane,” continued Dulupina. “You’ve shown you can fight. But I’ll never support you if you let Kalix go free.”

  Dulupina looked at him sharply.

  “Will you let her off? If you’re Thane will you pardon her?”