The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf

by Martin Millar

  She showed Thrix the sheet of paper. “Vex stole this from Adviser Bakmer. It appears to be some notes he’s made, perhaps prior to writing them in his own diary. Look here.” Dominil indicated a scrawled line in the notes. “Distikka off to red house again. Always worming her way in with the Empress.”

  “Red house?”

  “The entry appears on the same day as Alchet’s entry about Gloucester Road. ‘Red house’ may be a code word for the Guild’s headquarters.”

  Thrix didn’t look convinced, but shrugged. “OK, it’s good enough for me. Let’s find a red house in Gloucester Place.” She paused. “The ball was two days ago. Did you just learn all this?”

  “No, I knew as soon as I saw the documents.”

  “Then why didn’t you call me right away?”

  They were interrupted by a siren as an ambulance made its way through the dense traffic. Dominil waited for the noise to subside.

  “I thought I’d give you a day to recover.”

  “What do you mean?” said Thrix. “I didn’t need time to recover.”

  “Malveria had to take you home after the ball.”

  “I briefly used too much power. I was fine the next morning.”

  Dominil examined Thrix. Her cousin seemed healthy enough, but Dominil wasn’t sure. There was a certain look in her eyes that Dominil didn’t like. She turned her attention back to the long road in front of them.

  “I examined Gloucester Place as carefully as I could with satellite maps and I couldn’t see anything that looked like a red house. But perhaps we’ll find something. Red curtains, or a red door.”

  “Enough talking,” said Thrix. “Let’s go.”

  “If we find their headquarters we’re not charging in to attack them. We’ll notify the Great Council, and take it from there.”

  Thrix’s frown deepened. “I’m not liking this so much.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t. But it’s time for you to start acting responsibly.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean you’ve been acting irresponsibly.”

  “I’ve been acting irresponsibly?”

  “Yes. You killed those hunters with little thought for the consequences. Had Kalix not quickly brought Queen Malveria to the scene to dispose of the bodies, they might well have been found. That would have led to police, publicity and everything the MacRinnalch Clan strives to avoid. Besides which, there’s no telling what the Empress may have done had she learned of it.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said Thrix angrily. “You’re actually criticizing me for killing hunters?”

  “With some forethought you could have baffled the hunters and led them away to some quiet spot. Killing them in the middle of the gardens was highly irresponsible.”

  “We were in the bushes. No one could see. I admit my power dropped after that and I couldn’t get rid of the bodies. But the Guild don’t bother about leaving bodies when they target werewolves.”

  They walked on down the pavement. The afternoon was warm, much warmer than usual for the last days of summer.

  “I’m not the one who takes laudanum,” muttered Thrix. “How irresponsible is that?”

  “I’ve heard more than enough about that,” said Dominil. She began to study the houses around them, but Thrix seemed unwilling to let the disagreement drop.

  “What would you expect me to do if hunters appeared right now? Just let them shoot you?”

  “I’ve managed to take care of myself quite satisfactorily so far,” said Dominil.

  “Really? How’s your laudanum intake these days?”

  “Carefully measured, as ever.” Dominil halted, and looked Thrix in the eye. “Is there any particular reason for this hostility?”

  Thrix glared back at her. She seemed on the verge of an angry retort, but controlled herself. “I’m sorry. I haven’t felt right since Minerva was killed. I’ve been getting these terrible moods. Anything can set me off.”

  Dominil nodded. “Let’s search.”

  The Scottish werewolf cousins walked on in the sunshine along Gloucester Place, looking for their enemies’ headquarters.

  CHAPTER 110

  Dominil and Thrix walked south, all the way down Gloucester Place. They didn’t pass any red houses and they didn’t find the Guild’s headquarters. Dominil was thoughtful as she looked back along the street.

  “I saw nothing that gave any hint of the Guild. Thrix, will you pay attention?”

  Thrix was studying her reflection in the window of a shop selling expensive Chinese antiques.

  “Are these extensions still looking natural? I can feel something at the back. Can you see where it joins?”

  “This is not the time for worrying about your hair.”

  “Any time is fine for worrying about your hair. Is there something wrong at the back?”

  “The extensions are fine. There is no sign of artificiality.”

  “Good. You need to take a lot of care with extensions.”

  “Are you seeking to infuriate me?”

  Thrix turned to her cousin. “No, I’m just being vain about my hair. That’s not a crime. You’re vain about your hair too.”

  “I am not.”

  “Oh really?” Thrix was amused. “You walk around with that huge white main and you claim you’re not vain about it? I’ve never seen it anything other than perfectly brushed and conditioned.”

  “I take normal steps to maintain it.”

  “Dominil, if you weren’t vain about it you’d have cut it short years ago. Much more practical, and you love being practical. You’d have dyed it some normal color too. Make you much less identifiable to the hunters.”

  “I refuse to change my appearance for the sake of werewolf hunters.”

  “So you won’t admit to even the tiniest bit of vanity?”

  Dominil considered this. “Perhaps a little. Having settled this matter, could we get back to looking for the Guild? We should walk back up the opposite pavement.”

  Thrix shrugged. “All right. Though it’s a fairly boring road, for the center of London.”

  “I noticed some blue plaques,” said Dominil. “I always like them.”

  “Blue plaques?”

  “Signs placed by English Heritage commemorating notable people who lived in these houses. You are aware of them?

  “Vaguely,” said Thrix.

  “There were four. For Sir Gerald Kelly, Rupert Edward Dawson, William Wilkie Collins and Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

  They crossed the road at a zebra crossing and began to walk back up the other side.

  “Are they famous?” asked Thrix.

  “Famous? Sir Gerard Kelly was quite a well-known painter in his day. I wouldn’t say he was famous. I don’t care for his portraits. Rupert Edward Dawson was once a renowned political essayist but I don’t think his renown has lingered.”

  “Good,” said Thrix. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “But the other two are well known. Wilkie Collins was a Victorian novelist, often cited as one of the originators of the detective genre. Elizabeth Barrett Browning you will of course be familiar with.”

  “I’ve never heard of her,” said Thrix.

  Dominil halted. “You’ve never heard of Elizabeth Barrett Browning?”

  “No.”

  “How can you not have heard of her?”

  Thrix shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. What did she do?”

  “She was a poet.”

  “Was she any good?”

  “Sometimes,” said Dominil. “I wouldn’t class her in the top rank of poets, but some of her work is worthwhile. Generally I admire her. She had an interesting life. You might even describe her as a feminist icon.”

  They walked on, studying the houses as they passed.

  “Do you have many feminist icons?” asked Thrix.

  “Icon may have been putting it too strongly. But I admire women who made their mark in history.”

  “Plenty of women made their mark i
n the fashion industry,” said Thrix. “Why don’t you admire them?”

  “Who said I didn’t?” replied Dominil.

  “You know you regard it as a waste of time.”

  Dominil halted again. “It’s true that it’s too frivolous for my tastes. That doesn’t mean I regard it as a waste of time. I admire women who’ve been successful in the industry. I admire you for your efforts.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  They walked on. Thrix was surprised to hear Dominil say she admired her. She tried to think of something complimentary she could say about Dominil in return. She couldn’t immediately think of anything, and was on the verge of praising her satchel again, when Dominil came to an abrupt halt. She was staring back across the busy street at one of the large houses they’d passed earlier.

  “What is it?” asked Thrix.

  “That blue plaque.”

  “Rupert Edward Dawson? I’ve still never heard of him.”

  “The initials,” said Dominil. “R-E-D. Perhaps that’s the red house.”

  They stared at the house. It looked the same as many others in Gloucester Place: four stories, brown stone above with a white marble facing at ground level.

  “I’m not picking up anything,” said Thrix. “I need more time to study it.”

  “We should walk on for now,” said Dominil. “It would be unfortunate if a hunter were to look out a window and recognize me.”

  They walked on.

  “So how are we going to . . .” began Thrix.

  “It was right next door to a hotel,” said Dominil. She took out her phone, then changed her mind, and walked up the next side street till she came to a phone box. Dominil found the number of the hotel and immediately called to book a room.

  “Quick work,” said Thrix. “You don’t hang around.”

  “If we visit the hotel you should be close enough to study the building next door with your sorcery,” said Dominil. “Perhaps you can positively identify it.”

  “I hope so. I still need to know more about this ‘House That Can’t Be Found’ magic. I’ll talk to Malveria again.”

  “I’d also like to speak to her.”

  “What about?”

  “An unconnected matter.”

  They returned to the main street. Thrix glanced back at the building though Dominil resisted the urge.

  “If they weren’t getting help from Kabachetka I’d destroy them right now,” said Thrix.

  “It is unfortunate that the Empress has become involved,” said Dominil.

  “Why does she hate us so much, I wonder? Just because Kalix killed Sarapen, and she liked Sarapen?”

  “You also infuriated her by dressing her rival Queen Malveria in superior clothes. Which should not be enough reason for a murderous feud, but I regard the Empress as an unstable character. In her struggle with Queen Malveria, we seem to have become stuck in the middle.”

  “I need a glass of wine,” said Thrix. “And there’s a nice-looking wine bar right over there.”

  They crossed the road, weaving their way between a long line of stationary traffic. It was hot in the city and a few drivers sounded their horns in frustration at the delay. They found a table inside and ordered two glasses of wine. As always, the beauty of the MacRinnalch women drew attention. Customers at nearby tables stared; some discreetly, some openly.

  “Dominil, I’m a little ashamed of this, but I wasn’t paying full attention to everything that went on at the ball. When you learned all this information, did Kabachetka know what you were up to? Is she going to warn the Guild we’re on to them?”

  “No,” said Dominil. “Distikka knew we were looking for something, but there is no way they can know we’ve located the Guild, if we have indeed located it. In terms of surprise, we now hold the upper hand.”

  CHAPTER 111

  As Dominil and Thrix walked the length of Gloucester Place, an emergency board meeting was taking place inside the Guild’s headquarters. Three members of Group Fifteen had not returned from their mission, and nor had Mr. Eggers. All were now presumed to be dead. It was a very serious blow. Mr. Carmichael found himself facing hostile questioning.

  “Whose decision was it to send Group Fifteen into action before they were ready?”

  Mr. Carmichael admitted it had been his decision, but defended himself. “They were the only hunters available. We had to do something, we couldn’t just let the opportunity vanish.”

  “Why not?” demanded Mr. Evans, head of the Intelligence Department. “It was obviously too dangerous to send three inexperienced hunters up against a werewolf like Kalix MacRinnalch.”

  “They were not all inexperienced. Jefferson was in charge and he’s been a hunter for a long time. The others had completed their training.”

  “But they’d never encountered anything like the ruling family of the MacRinnalchs. You made a mistake sending them.”

  “Is the Avenaris Guild just to ignore a confirmed werewolf sighting right in the middle of London?” said Mr. Carmichael. “If we don’t pursue werewolves then what are we here for?”

  Mr. Evans was not satisfied, and he wasn’t the only one.

  “We couldn’t afford to lose these men. Group Fifteen wasn’t ready. I think you got carried away because of Group Sixteen’s success.”

  “You’re forgetting that Mr. Eggers was already in the hotel,” said Mr. Carmichael. “What was I meant to do, just leave him there on his own?”

  “Now Eggers is dead and so are our hunters.”

  “It would have been better to tell Mr. Eggers to get out of there as quickly as he could.”

  “With a savage beast like Kalix MacRinnalch on his tail? She might just have torn him to pieces anyway. And don’t forget, Kabachetka was at the hotel. I thought she’d assist our men.” Mr. Carmichael paused. “Apparently that didn’t happen.”

  “Why didn’t it happen?” asked Mr. Evans.

  Mr. Carmichael didn’t know. “I’ll be able to give you a fuller account after I’ve talked with her adviser Distikka.”

  Mr. Dale, head of Northern Operations, made a dismissive gesture.

  “You place a lot of faith in these Fire Elementals. I’ve never thought they were suitable allies.”

  “They’ve helped us in the past.”

  “It’s never turned out well though, has it?”

  The meeting ended without any agreement. Mr. Carmichael received support from his son John, who was also a member of the board, but most others were critical. After the meeting broke up, Mr. Carmichael had a brief word with his son.

  “Distikka had better have something good to tell me or I’m liable to lose my job.”

  “The board won’t get rid of you,” said John. “They need you. They’re just angry because we lost four men.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Evans has been after my job for years.”

  “Where are you meeting Distikka?”

  “The Courtauld Gallery again. She likes the place, for some reason.”

  CHAPTER 112

  Vex was still obliged to return to her own realm for two days every week to recharge her fire. She arrived at Malveria’s palace in good spirits.

  “Here I am!” she announced, walking uninvited into the Fire Queen’s private chambers. “The hero of the ball.”

  The Fire Queen, engaged in some quiet reading, welcomed her adopted niece without much enthusiasm.

  “Have I not told you to announce yourself properly? And what do you mean ‘hero of the ball’?”

  “Master spy and seductress,” said Vex. “I expect the papers I cunningly got from Bakmer were just what Dominil needed. Probably the vital clue.”

  “It was not all that cunning to get him drunk and stick your hand in his pocket,” said the Fire Queen. “And as for your behavior at the ball, it left a great deal to be desired.”

  Agrivex looked exasperated. “You see, Aunt Malvie, this is why I don’t like coming to the palace. It’s
just criticism all the time. What did I do wrong now?”

  The Fire Queen laid down her scroll. “You became hopelessly intoxicated and made an exhibition of yourself.”

  “I did not. I was just pretending.”

  “I can tell when you are intoxicated, dismal niece. Your aura turns a particularly unpleasant shade of purple. But your public grappling with Adviser Bakmer is not the only reason I was displeased. I expected you to formally greet the Empress of the Hainusta.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you are her equal. As my heir, you now carry heavy responsibility for the dignity of the Hiyasta.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be your heir in the first place,” protested Agrivex. “You only adopted me in a hurry so I could use the powers of the volcano.”

  “Nonetheless it was done,” said Malveria. “And I expect you to act accordingly. As a first step, start wearing appropriate clothing while in the palace.”

  Agrivex looked down at her clothes. She had on the same tiny shorts she’d worn to the ball, now accompanied by a very chunky pair of glacier boots, a colorful Tokyo Top Pop Boom Boom Girl T-shirt, accessorized with some yellow plastic beads.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Everything that is possible. Retire to your chambers and put on a dress.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I insist.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  The Fire Queen’s eyes blazed. “You dare to speak to me in that tone?”

  “Yes. You’re really the worst aunt ever. I come here after doing my best at the ball and what happens? You start moaning about my clothes. What are you in such a bad mood about anyway?”

  “I am not in a bad mood,” said the Fire Queen, who quite obviously was.

  There was a discreet knock at the door.

  “Enter,” said the Fire Queen testily. A young attendant put his head into the room, rather nervously.

  “Duke Garfire is without, mighty Queen.”

  The attendant withdrew swiftly. The Fire Queen glared at her niece. “Garfire! How I loathe this man. And now I have agreed to spend the afternoon with him in the Royal Galleries. This is all your fault, vile niece.”