The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf

by Martin Millar

  The Queen sat on the edge of Moonglow’s bed. She always felt comfortable in Moonglow’s room. It was small and rather dark, with the walls painted black and hung with Gothic posters and some of Moonglow’s favorite dark dresses. It reminded the Fire Queen of the caves she’d hidden in so often in her youth, as a fugitive.

  “If I do get a spare moment, there is always some trouble with Agrivex. Really, Moonglow, I sometimes become tired of looking after a whole nation, and Agrivex as well.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Moonglow. “Sometimes I feel that way too.”

  “How can you feel this?” asked the Queen.

  “Well, I don’t have a country to look after, but I have got Daniel, Kalix and Vex. None of them are exactly competent. You know, at paying bills. Or washing up, or buying food, or tidying the house. I have to keep making these schedules for everyone and then they get annoyed with me. But if I don’t do it, everything just gets in a mess. I really get tired of acting like their mother.”

  “I know just what you mean!” exclaimed the Fire Queen. “Ministers of state ask me the most ridiculous questions, and I am continually thinking, Can you not work it out for yourself? And as for Agrivex . . .”

  Moonglow nodded. Agrivex could be a burden.

  “I presume this so-called boyfriend will never call her again?” said the Queen.

  “That’s what I’m guessing. She’ll probably be upset.”

  “She will get over it.” The Fire Queen fished in her handbag and produced a small, glossy leaflet. “This is what I wished to consult you about. You will be aware that for a very long time I have been dissatisfied with my lip coloring?”

  Moonglow nodded, having heard this complaint before.

  “Sometimes it seems as if the universe is conspiring to make my lipstick fade,” said the Queen. “No matter what I do, it will neither go on in a satisfactory glossy manner nor retain its luster through the evening. And this is becoming a matter of great importance because, at a fashion show next week, photographers from Vogue will be in attendance. And if I tell you that the evil Kabachetka will also be at this party, you will see how important it is that my makeup is flawless, and remains so all evening.”

  Malveria handed the leaflet to Moonglow. It read “Six Steps to Perfect Lips,” and there were six pictures, each with a lengthy caption underneath.

  “What do you think?” said the Fire Queen. “Is their six-step procedure worth implementing?”

  “It’s quite a long procedure,” said Moonglow. “I don’t know if I’d want to do it every time I went out, but it does look good. Do you want to try it?”

  “Yes! Unless you are busy with other important matters . . .”

  “My only plans for today were avoiding Daniel,” said Moonglow. She studied the leaflet: Step one—Prepare and prime the lips by applying a lip conditioner.

  The Fire Queen had come prepared, and produced her lip conditioner from her bag.

  “Let’s get to work,” said Moonglow.

  CHAPTER 26

  Thrix MacRinnalch was generally regarded as a glamorous young woman. She appeared to be no more than thirty years old. But werewolves lived long and aged slowly. Really, she was much older. She’d first met Minerva MacRinnalch shortly after the end of the Second World War.

  A few of the young werewolves at the castle had been planning to attend a dance in the nearest town. They were looking forward to the event. There had not been much in the way of enjoyment to be had during the war. In the two years since, life had been easier, but hardly more enjoyable. Britain was in debt and few people had money. Everything was rationed, including food and clothing. Thrix had become very adept at altering clothes, taking an old dress and making something new for a special occasion. It was satisfying when it worked out well, but she was weary of it. Thrix would have loved to buy a beautiful new dress but she couldn’t. Even if the Mistress of the Werewolves had allowed her daughter to spend so much money, which she probably wouldn’t have, there weren’t any beautiful new dresses to be had in this part of Scotland. As far as Thrix could tell, there was not a fashionable frock to be had anywhere in the north of Scotland.

  Thrix was walking down a dark stone corridor, deep in thought, and had almost bumped into her mother.

  “My daughter Thrix,” announced Verasa to her companion. “Not looking where she’s going.”

  “These corridors are so dark,” said Thrix.

  Her mother nodded. “I know. It’s gloomy. But the Thane won’t sanction any more lights. Have you met Minerva MacRinnalch?”

  Thrix had been taken aback. Minerva was a famous, or infamous, figure in the clan, and not a werewolf she’d ever expected to meet in the castle. Minerva was a sorcerer, and that was a very odd thing for a werewolf to be. It wasn’t respectable. The MacRinnalchs were suspicious of the art. As far as Thrix knew, Minerva had never visited the castle before, and wouldn’t be welcomed by the Thane. He set great store by respectability. The MacRinnalch werewolves are a civilized clan, he said on many occasions. The clan mostly agreed with him, though some of the younger members were coming to resent the Thane’s rather harsh domestic discipline.

  “Are you really Minerva the sorceress?” said Thrix.

  “I am.” Minerva looked around fifty, in human terms, though she could have been any age. Verasa herself was several hundred years old. Minerva was a sorceress and might have lived for far longer than that. Thrix had never heard an exact account of her origins.

  “You seem preoccupied,” said Minerva.

  “Most probably she was wondering about a new dress,” said Verasa.

  “Ah,” said Minerva. “The dance?”

  Thrix nodded. “I’m so fed up with wearing old clothes.”

  Minerva smiled. Thrix felt more uncomfortable. She had the feeling Minerva had quickly summed her up, and wasn’t that impressed.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” said Minerva. “We’re off for a small glass of whisky before the Thane returns. Perhaps I can give you some help.”

  Even now, many years later, Thrix could still visualize the dress that Minerva had created for the dance. Casting a spell on an old garment, she’d produced the most beautiful dress Thrix had ever seen. She just conjured it out of a ragged old frock. Thrix had been staggered. Her mother had seemed puzzled that Minerva would waste her power on what seemed like a trivial matter. But Minerva had done it, and the dress was beautiful, and fashionable. Thrix wore it to the dance, where it caused a sensation. No one could imagine how Thrix had managed to appear wearing such a fine new garment.

  Halfway up the mountainside, Thrix came to a halt. She laid Minerva’s body at her feet. Thrix’s face was anguished as she looked down at her old teacher.

  “It was cunning of you to make me that dress. You knew I’d be interested in sorcery after that.”

  What Minerva had seen in the Thane’s daughter to make her select her as a pupil, Thrix had never really understood, but soon afterward she became her student. The MacRinnalchs had been shocked. Her father had raged against it. Her mother, while less angry, had not approved. Nor had her brothers. Thrix had been obliged to ignore her family and the clan to become a pupil of Minerva MacRinnalch.

  “You really sucked me in with that dress.”

  Thrix began to cry. She wanted to take Minerva to the top of her mountain, but she couldn’t go on. Horror and misery were engulfing her, freezing her body, making it impossible to act. Thrix knew she should have studied the area where Minerva had been slain. Her sorcerous powers might have picked up some hint as to the killer’s identity. But Thrix couldn’t go back down the mountain either. She was frozen in misery, halfway up, with her old teacher’s body lying in the rain at her feet. Thrix wept bitterly, changing from her werewolf form to her human form and then back again, not knowing which was preferable, and not knowing what to do.

  CHAPTER 27

  Kalix slept in the back of the car and didn’t revive until they were almost at the airport. At first her
memory was unclear.

  “Where are we?”

  “Near the airport,” said Dominil.

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  Dominil pulled up at a red light and turned to look at Kalix. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Everything’s hazy,” said Kalix.

  “You overdosed. You’re fortunate not to be dead.”

  Kalix’s memory started to clear. She remembered taking some laudanum the previous night, then taking a little more.

  “Did we see Minerva? Why aren’t we on the mountain?”

  “Minerva is dead,” said Dominil.

  The lights changed to green and they pulled away. They’d reached the edge of Inverness and were slowly funneling through the one-way system that led to the airport. Kalix still felt confused. Her face was aching. She put her hand to her bruised cheek.

  “I remember Thrix hit me!” cried Kalix. “What for?” Kalix was gripped by rage at the thought of her sister hitting her.

  The car stopped. Dominil turned again. “She hit you because she blamed you for Minerva’s death.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Your overdose meant we were late arriving. Presumably, Thrix thinks Minerva may not have died had we been on time.”

  Kalix’s outrage drained away, to be replaced by a crushing feeling of guilt and shame. She’d taken an overdose. It had made them late. Old Minerva had been left alone and exposed on the mountainside and now she was dead. Kalix moaned and tried to make herself disappear by shrinking into her seat. She sat in unhappy silence as Dominil drove to the outskirts of the airport.

  “I have to leave you here. I’ve booked your ticket. Are you well enough for the journey home?”

  “Why am I going home?” said Kalix. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to go to the castle. There will be a lot to discuss now that Minerva’s been killed.”

  Kalix felt her face burning with shame. She, of course, could not go to the castle. She was being sent home like a misbehaving child. Although “misbehaving child” didn’t seem adequate in the circumstances. Kalix could picture the scene at the castle, with every werewolf discussing Minerva’s death and blaming Kalix for it.

  “I don’t want to go home,” she muttered.

  “I don’t have time to discuss it,” said Dominil brusquely. “I’ve got a long drive and I have to get there before night.”

  It was the third of the werewolf nights. They’d all turn into werewolves when the moon rose.

  “You’ll be back in London in the afternoon,” continued Dominil. “I’ve already called Daniel, and he’ll meet you at the airport and make sure you get home.”

  Dominil opened the doors. Kalix stared hopelessly at the world outside.

  “Was it really my fault?” she asked, hoping for some reassurance from Dominil.

  “It could have been,” said Dominil. “We don’t know for sure.”

  As Kalix emerged from the car she was gripped by a disturbing sense of unreality. She stood outside the departure lounge with her bag in her hand, hardly knowing how she’d got here. Her face hurt and her ribs ached from vomiting. She felt nauseous. Her inherent werewolf strength had revived her a little, but no one could take that much laudanum without feeling the effects afterward.

  Why did I take so much? she wondered. She walked slowly into the departure lounge, head bowed, wishing that she might become invisible, or, better yet, cease to exist.

  I’ll never be able to talk to any MacRinnalch again, she thought. Even the thought of talking to Daniel and Moonglow was troubling. Had Dominil told them about her overdose? Would they know about Minerva’s death?

  Kalix reached inside her coat and turned off her phone, scared in case any of her family might call to abuse her. She felt her tread growing heavier, and for a moment she felt she couldn’t make it to the plane. Her head swam with nausea and unhappiness. She had to hurry to the restroom, where she was once again sick.

  In the cubicle, Kalix rested her head on the toilet bowl and felt her eyes fill with tears. She sighed loudly and hauled herself to her feet. She washed her hands and face. When she looked in the mirror over the sink, her skin was deathly pale and her eyes seemed shrunken, with prominent dark lines below them. Her hair was lank and dirty, and there were stains on the front of her coat.

  Another journey where I’m the crazy person everyone wants to avoid, she thought, making her way slowly from the restroom to the lounge outside. She looked up at the travel indicators. There weren’t that many flights, but, even so, she had difficulty making them out. She found them confusing and difficult to read, and when some of the letters flickered and changed she began to feel a familiar sense of helplessness and panic. Fortunately, her flight was announced via the public address, quite clearly. Kalix made her way toward the departure gate with her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.

  On the plane, she drank some water and then slept again. She wished that Dominil hadn’t called Daniel, as she’d rather have slunk home unnoticed, but he was waiting for her at the exit gate at Heathrow, and there was nothing for it but to accompany him to his car. Daniel greeted her heartily. Kalix couldn’t raise a smile in reply.

  “Dominil said you were unwell.”

  Kalix didn’t feel like lying. “I took an overdose,” she said wearily.

  “Oh. Are you OK now?”

  Kalix nodded. “I’m fine. I’m tired.”

  She used this as an excuse not to talk, and closed her eyes on the drive home. This didn’t prevent Daniel from talking.

  “Dominil sounded grim on the phone. She always sounds grim, but this was even grimmer. Did something bad happen?”

  Kalix didn’t reply.

  “I didn’t mind driving to the airport anyway,” continued Daniel. “Gets me away from Moonglow for a while. Things are a bit awkward just now. We had a discussion at the cinema. It was agreed we should never have a relationship. Agreed by Moonglow, mainly. So that’s that.”

  Daniel noticed that he was exceeding the speed limit and slowed down. He looked over at Kalix, whose eyes were still closed. “That’s a bad bruise.”

  Kalix turned her face away. She didn’t want to talk about it. The anxiety to which she was always prone had started creeping up on her. By now, everyone at the castle would be saying it was her fault that Minerva had been killed.

  It occurred to her that her sister Thrix wouldn’t let the death pass unavenged. Kalix was momentarily heartened by the prospect of revenge, but it faded as she realized she wouldn’t be involved. Thrix won’t let me join in. She’ll keep me out of it.

  Kalix felt her anxiety growing. She wished that Daniel would stop talking, but didn’t want to tell him to be quiet for fear of snapping at him. She kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep, though her anxiety and misery were growing stronger all the time.

  CHAPTER 28

  The Fire Queen’s suspicions were immediately aroused by Agrivex’s enthusiasm for attending the official reception for the Great Keeper of the Minor Volcano.

  “You wish to attend? Why?”

  “I’m officially your niece now,” said Vex brightly. “I should go to these things. Like a member of the royal family.”

  Malveria studied her niece, attempting to interpret her aura. “You are quite clearly lying, dismal niece, and had you not recently learned how to partially conceal your aura from me, I would know why. Tell me your motivations for this upcoming outrage.”

  “What outrage? You’d make me attend anyway.”

  “True. But normally you would protest.”

  Agrivex had arrived for her weekly visit to the Fire Queen’s palace at the foot of the Great Volcano. Though she could now spend four or five days a week in London, she still had to return regularly to her own realm to replenish her fire.

  “I enjoy an official reception every now and then,” she said.

  The Fire Queen shook her head. Her niece’s willingness to become involved in official life at court should have been a wel
come development, but Malveria had her reservations. Things tended to go wrong when the young Hiyasta was around.

  “Well, Agrivex, I will welcome you at the event. Be aware that even by the standards of the court, this will be a rather tedious affair. The Great Keeper of the Minor Volcano is not one of our most interesting dignitaries, though I admit he does do a splendid job.”

  “Why does he need a reception?” asked Agrivex.

  “It is wise to keep these officials happy. The Minor Volcano does provide power for part of the nation. And the Keeper comes from a very ancient family.”

  “Will there be dukes and earls there?” asked Vex.

  “The full array of our aristocracy will be in attendance. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. Just wondering.”

  The Fire Queen again glared at her niece suspiciously, certain that she was up to something.

  “Is there something different about your lips?” asked Agrivex, cunningly diverting her aunt’s attention.

  “There is! I have a new lip program entitled ‘Six Steps to Perfect Lips.’ Yesterday I went through it with Moonglow. Unfortunately, we could not complete the process as we were lacking ingredients, but we will carry on next week.”

  “They’re looking good,” said Agrivex.

  “Thank you.” Malveria frowned. “I do not recall you ever complimenting my makeup before. Are you trying to get me to buy you something?”

  Agrivex looked extremely pained. “Can’t I do anything? I volunteer to come to this dull reception, and I tell you your lips are on the right track, and all you do is look suspicious.”

  The Fire Queen’s features softened. “I apologize, Agrivex. You are right. I appreciate your efforts. Do you have a suitable dress?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Vex picked a dress up and held it to her frame. To the Fire Queen’s surprise, it was almost suitable for the occasion. Agrivex had actually found something respectable. As her niece departed to make herself ready, Malveria was left wondering if she might have turned a corner.