“Don’t admit defeat. There is always a way to come back from adversity.” Malveria glanced around the room. “And I’m sorry about your door.”
“That’s all right,” said Thrix.
“Could one of these helpful men who carry tools fix it?” said Malveria. “My repairing magic has never been very good.”
Thrix stood up. Normally her powers of repairing were good, but she had no sorcery in her at the moment. She picked up the door and propped it back in place.
“I’ll call for someone later,” she said. “Why did you burst in anyway? What were you saying about perfidious behavior?”
“Nothing, nothing.” The Fire Queen waved it away. “I will explain another time. First we must get you back to good health. You need coffee, food and, most importantly, some urgent attention from a hairdresser. The gamine look is quite fashionable at the moment. With competent repair work by a top professional, you may get away with it. Otherwise, my salon does excellent work with hair extensions.”
Thrix put her hand to her head. “Right. I chopped my hair off. I forgot about that.”
“Why did you do such a thing?”
Thrix shrugged. “It was getting in the way.” She sat down heavily. “Could you possibly make me coffee, Malveria? I don’t even have the power to do that.”
Malveria rose gracefully. “I will bring coffee. Not for nothing have I learned the ways of your kitchen appliances.”
The Fire Queen hurried to the kitchen, leaving Thrix on the couch. After Malveria’s healing, she felt physically restored, but she was still mentally drained. Her last attempt at a spell had gone hopelessly wrong, producing no result other than to drain her strength and send her into a state of despair that a bottle of wine had not lessened.
Thrix reached into her handbag and pulled out a small mirror. It was some time since she’d seen her own reflection. She winced. Studying her jagged, poorly cropped hair and the makeup smeared over her face, she wondered if the Fire Queen had been right. Perhaps she had gone mad. Thrix growled, once more feeling the anger and despair that had tormented her since Minerva’s death.
“Do not worry,” said Malveria, arriving in the room with two cups of coffee. “I will soon have you back to health. And I have seen some very chic hats in Paris. We will get you through this crisis somehow.”
CHAPTER 65
“How are you feeling?” asked the Fire Queen some time later. Thrix had drunk her coffee and managed to eat.
“A little better,” said Thrix. “I can’t believe you made me a meal.”
Malveria smiled. “I learned to cook as a child, though it is not something I like people to know.”
The buzzer rang. Thrix had a visitor. She got off the couch unsteadily and stood by the intercom beside the broken front door.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dominil.”
Thrix made a face. “I’m not feeling that much better,” she muttered. She pressed the button to let Dominil into the building.
“This place is a mess,” said Thrix. “So am I.” She didn’t much mind her close friend Malveria finding her in such a state, but would rather not have encountered Dominil. Thrix felt a flicker of the sort of guilt she might have felt as a child when her mother scolded her for having an untidy room.
“Do you have a spell for tidying everything up really quickly?” she asked Malveria.
“Unfortunately, no. I have people who do that for me.”
Dominil knocked on the door and it fell inward with a crash, leaving her looking surprised.
“That was quite funny in a way,” said Thrix.
Dominil wasn’t amused. “Why is your door broken?”
“I am responsible,” said Malveria.
“Why don’t you fix it?” asked Dominil.
“I don’t know how,” said Thrix. “I’ll call someone.”
Dominil studied the door. “It’s only been pulled from its hinges. Screwing it back would effect a reasonable temporary repair. Do you have a screwdriver?”
“I think there might be one under the sink,” said Thrix.
While Thrix hunted for a screwdriver, Dominil took her laptop out of its bag and cleared a space on the table.
“I hope you have not come to interrogate Thrix as rigorously as you interrogated me,” said the Fire Queen. “She is suffering from some weakness brought on by overwork.”
“And wine,” said Dominil, clearing bottles from the table.
“That too. But she has strained every resource to find the Guild.”
Dominil didn’t comment. The Fire Queen had the impression that Dominil did not entirely believe that her cousin had been working as hard as she might have been. This Dominil is a terrible creature in some ways, she thought. Never satisfied with anything.
Thrix returned with a screwdriver. “I don’t know if it works.”
“Are you being willfully facetious?” Without waiting for a reply, Dominil picked up the door, put it in place, then began replacing the screws. Each one was replaced easily enough, though they fitted loosely into the damaged frame. Dominil carefully closed the door, having effected the repair in only a few minutes. The Fire Queen and the Enchantress were both impressed.
“I really could not have done that,” said the Fire Queen. “You are so clever and practical.”
“Let’s sit at the table and talk,” said Dominil. “I have an idea for finding the Guild. It’s not a very great idea, but it’s the best I’ve been able to come up with.”
“One moment,” said Thrix.
Dominil waited while Thrix took a bottle of the clan whisky from her cabinet and poured measures into three small glasses. They sat at the table and drank.
“What’s your idea?” asked Thrix.
“So far, everything we’ve tried has failed,” began Dominil. “Sorcery, computer espionage, physically searching and the collective intelligence gathering of the MacRinnalchs and the Hiyasta have brought us no nearer to learning their location. Apparently, their defensive sorcery is too powerful, and their cyber security now unbreakable. Is there any prospect of you devising some new locating spell that might actually work?”
“No,” said Thrix flatly.
“Very well,” said Dominil. “That leaves us only one option.”
Thrix and Malveria leaned forward.
“We find someone who already knows where the headquarters is, and ask them.”
Thrix, momentarily enthusiastic, was deflated. “That’s your idea?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think much of it.”
The Fire Queen was not so dismissive. “Do you mean capture a werewolf hunter and torture the information out of him? That could be done.”
“That’s not what I meant,” interrupted Dominil. “We couldn’t depend on capturing a werewolf hunter. They seem to be the ones surprising us these days.”
“Then what is you idea?” asked Malveria.
Dominil sipped from her glass. “Apart from the hunters, who else would know their location? I can think of two, and possibly three or four. Firstly, Empress Kabachetka.”
The Fire Queen frowned. “You cannot simply ask the Empress. She will laugh at you.”
“I’m coming to that,” said Dominil. “The second person who probably knows where the Avenaris Guild’s headquarters is, is Distikka. Your intelligence services say she’s advising the Empress, so she might even have been there. Then there’s Lady Gezinka. She controls the Empress’s diary. She may have written a detailed entry there some time. Also there’s Alchet, Kabachetka’s handmaiden. You told me she sometimes accompanies Kabachetka on her visits to London. She might have visited the Guild with her. Finally, there’s Adviser Bakmer. If he’s become as trusted an adviser as your intelligence services believe, he might have learned of the Guild’s location.”
The Fire Queen looked puzzled. “It is true that Kabachetka will know the Guild’s location. Distikka may also know. As for her secretary and handmaiden and adviser, it’s possibl
e, I suppose, if unlikely. But how does this help?”
Dominil glanced toward her glass, which was now empty. The Enchantress poured a little more whisky into it.
“They wouldn’t intentionally tell us. But we might be able to solicit the information somehow. By trickery, perhaps. Maybe the secretary keeps a diary with the address entered somewhere, and we could steal it. Perhaps Distikka’s tongue starts to wag when she drinks wine. The handmaiden might be open to bribery.”
Thrix shook her head. “This is all sounding very tenuous, Dominil.”
“I did admit it wasn’t the greatest of ideas. But it gives us a chance. There are three or four Fire Elementals who might know the Guild’s address. If we can place some suitable agents in close proximity to them, who knows what might happen?”
“How are we going to get in close proximity with the Empress of the Hainusta?” asked Thrix.
“At St. Amelia’s Ball,” replied Dominil. “In two week’s time. The Empress is sponsoring the event. Surely she’ll take her handmaiden there, and quite probably her secretary. As for Distikka and Bakmer, I don’t know, but it’s possible they’ll be there.”
“Perhaps I’m being dense,” said Thrix, “but I still don’t understand what you’re suggesting. Isn’t St. Amelia’s Ball some upper-class charity event? Are you suggesting we gate-crash it?”
“That would be an option,” said Dominil. “But it would be better if there was some legitimate reason for attendance. Gate-crashing might be difficult. Security is probably more extensive than one might expect.”
“Probably,” agreed Thrix. “No one wants their young heiresses being bombed or kidnapped.”
“Indeed. The event takes place in the evening, but is preceded in the late afternoon by a charity fashion show. Various designers show their new clothes, often using the young attendees at the ball as their models. This, I imagine, satisfies various needs: publicity for the designers, and pictures in magazines of rich young people who wouldn’t normally get the chance to model. No doubt egos are gratified by it.”
Dominil finished her whisky and turned to Thrix. “If you were one of the designers at the fashion show, you would have license to take several people with you, in the role of assistant, perhaps, and models.”
The Fire Queen leaned far over the table, suddenly enthusiastic. “Yes! I like this idea! Subterfuge at the ball! It is very suitable. I have known many stratagems to be worked on these occasions!”
Thrix shook her head, still not convinced. “Dominil, I don’t see this working. Kabachetka’s not going to be stupid enough to hand over important information to either me or Malveria. I doubt her secretary will either.”
“It might be difficult for either yourself or the Queen to approach any of them,” conceded Dominil. “But there are a few other people that could attend. Agrivex, for instance.”
The Fire Queen, who was now examining herself in the large mirror, imagining herself in a fabulous ball gown, spying furiously, turned back in alarm. “My idiot niece? The chances of Agrivex successfully performing a spying mission are very slight.”
“She did well for you on the mountain. Agrivex could easily pass as one of Thrix’s models. She’s certainly skinny and attractive enough.”
“I suppose so,” said Thrix. “Bit short for a model though.”
“The other designers won’t be using professional models either,” said Dominil. “So her height wouldn’t be a problem. I thought you could also ask Kalix.”
This brought Thrix fully back to life. “Definitely not. Kalix can’t model my clothes.”
“Why not?” said Dominil. “She looks the part.”
“She does,” agreed Malveria. “She is waiflike and beautiful. More waiflike and beautiful than models you have used, even when you have specifically called for models who are waiflike and beautiful.”
“Fine,” said Thrix, her voice rising. “My sister is waiflike and beautiful. She’s also unstable, a laudanum addict and I detest her. Have you forgotten her part in Minerva’s murder?”
“A part which you have overstated,” said Dominil firmly. “Kalix is a MacRinnalch werewolf, and she’s as keen as any of us to find the Guild. If she and Vex were to pose as models, they might be able to come up with something.”
Thrix fumed at the prospect of employing her young sister. She raised her eyes toward her cousin. “And what about you, Dominil? I take it you’ll be coming along?”
“I thought I could pose as your assistant.”
Thrix narrowed her eyes. “Malveria can pose as my assistant. I’ll need more than two models. You can be the third.”
“I’m too old to model,” said Dominil.
“Nonsense,” replied Thrix. “What are you, twenty-seven? Models go on a lot longer these days. You’ll be fine. Tall, good bone structure, exotic white hair. You’re in.”
Dominil stared at the Enchantress, suspecting that her enthusiasm for including her as a model was mostly in revenge for forcing Kalix on her. After a few moments, she nodded. “Very well, I will model too.”
“At least your ridiculous idea has got my energy levels back up,” muttered Thrix. She snapped her fingers, turning on the coffee maker in the kitchen. “Have you considered how I’m meant to be selected as one of the fashion designers? The ball is only two weeks away; they must all have been chosen by now.”
“I was hoping that you and the Fire Queen could arrange that. Either through your contacts in the fashion world, or by sorcery.”
“I not sure—” began Thrix.
“I’m certain we can arrange it!” said Malveria. The Fire Queen was thrilled of the prospect of espionage at a ball and didn’t intend to let anything spoil it.
“What is this ball like, Dominil? Is it large?”
“Very large. They rent out an entire hotel in the Strand, including the ballroom on the ground floor. They also use the gardens at the back, which stretch down to the river and include part of the ancient Prince Henry’s Tower.”
“An entire hotel? A ballroom? Gardens and a river? And an ancient tower?” cried Malveria. This is sounding more splendid by the moment. The Fire Queen halted and frowned. “I have spotted a flaw in the plan. Our targets, as you describe them, are the Empress, her secretary, her handmaiden and Distikka. All female. How are we to seduce them? We have no man in our party.”
The Queen spread her arms. “Our seduction is going to falter badly unless Kabachetka happens to bring along some male attendants.”
“There is Adviser Bakmer,” said Dominil. “He might be there. But really, I’d assumed we had more chance of success by theft, bribery or deceit. I wasn’t actually counting on seduction.”
The Fire Queen wasn’t satisfied. “We cannot ignore seduction. Is there no suitable male we could take? Someone who could perhaps play the part of a model as well?”
Dominil, Thrix and the Fire Queen considered this, as Thrix’s recovering powers of sorcery brought three mugs of coffee floating through from the kitchen.
CHAPTER 66
The funeral of the Douglas-MacPhees was well attended, given their poor reputation. In life they’d been unwelcome on Baron MacPhee’s estates, but now they had fallen victim to the common enemies of all werewolves, it was time for the clans to show solidarity. Werewolves from the MacRinnalchs, the MacPhees, the MacAllisters and the MacGregors all attended, along with representatives from the lesser clans such as the MacAndrises. Even some MacPhees who’d emigrated in the past sent representatives back to Scotland for the ceremony.
It was an unusually warm day in the Highlands as the Mistress of the Werewolves and the Thane headed toward the funeral at Baron MacPhee’s keep, north of Castle MacRinnalch in the Rinnalch Hills. They sat in the back of Verasa’s Mercedes, driven by Eskandor, head of the castle guard. Verasa was elegantly attired in black. Her dress, hat and shoes had all been selected for her by Thrix.
“Thrix has excellent taste in ceremonial attire,” said Verasa. “It’s such a shame she couldn’t
make it to the funeral.”
Markus, himself very elegantly attired in his dark suit, didn’t reply. His relationship with his sister was better these days, but not to the extent that he’d miss her presence.
“She tells me she’s spending all her time looking for the Guild’s headquarters,” said Verasa. “Using sorcery, I suppose.”
The Mistress of the Werewolves had never entirely approved of Thrix’s use of sorcery. It was not respectable. “Have you been to Baron MacPhee’s keep since you became Thane?”
“No,” said Markus. “I’m not much looking forward to it.”
“I’m not surprised, dear, we’re going to a funeral. There’s not much to look forward to.”
Markus smiled. “You know that’s not what I meant. Baron MacPhee never wanted me to be Thane. He was one of Sarapen’s strongest supporters.”
“Only because he was such a friend of your father,” said Verasa. “But that’s all finished with now. Everyone respects you as head of the clan.”
Markus wasn’t so sure. His mother had smoothed out the difficulties that had wracked the clan after the leadership feud. That didn’t mean Markus was well liked by everyone. Baron MacPhee had attended council meetings since the feud ended and he’d been generally respectful. But the barons were always respectful. Markus didn’t believe they really supported him.
“Wallace MacGregor will be there. That’s another werewolf I’m not all that keen to see.”
“Why ever not?” said his mother. “You defeated him, after all.”
There was a note of pride in Verasa’s voice. Her son had beaten the huge Wallace MacGregor in single combat, right in front of the castle gates. The whole clan had witnessed it. His triumph had been instrumental in bringing the feud to an end.
“It just seems strange, that’s all,” said Markus. “Not so long ago I was fighting Wallace, and now we’re going to be standing together listening to a service for three departed werewolves whom no one actually liked.”
“It will be fine,” his mother assured him. They were sitting close to each other in the back of the car. Verasa put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “I was very proud of the way you fought,” she said. “The whole clan was.”
The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf Page 26
