Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  Kalix shook her head, still not completely over her nightmare. She felt the moon above her. It would be comforting to change, but she still hesitated. Being werewolf dulled her anxiety and depression, but it affected her in other ways she didn’t like. When she was in her werewolf shape, she’d gorge herself on almost anything. In her days of living on the streets, she’d killed and eaten dogs and wolfed down the contents of supermarket skips. Now she was well provided for by Daniel and Moonglow. The fridge was full of meat bought to satisfy her eager werewolf appetite. The werewolf feasting was good for her health, but the next day, when Kalix reverted to human, she’d remember how much she’d eaten and how much she disliked eating, and then she’d feel badly again. Sometimes she’d be sick, quite violently.

  Moonglow knocked on the door.

  “Go away,” said Kalix.

  “Don’t you want to talk about your first day at college?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “College is stupid.”

  Kalix felt an urge to add “and so is poetry” but refrained, not wanting to engage in conversation.

  “There’s a letter here for you.”

  Kalix blinked. In her semi-stupor, she wondered if she’d heard correctly. A letter? No one ever wrote to her. Hardly anyone knew where she lived. Her location was well hidden by spells provided by her sister Thrix.

  “Who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know,” called Moonglow through the door. “Should I bring it in?”

  “No,” said Kalix, but it was too late. Moonglow came in anyway and smiled as she handed Kalix the letter. Kalix scowled at her. She took the envelope in her hand then buried it under her duvet as if pointedly telling Moonglow that whoever the letter came from, she wasn’t going to discuss it with her.

  The air was thick with the smell of laudanum. Kalix remained silent, daring Moonglow to lecture her about it. Moonglow didn’t mention it, however, instead asking her brightly about her first day at college. Kalix, who quite clearly remembered telling Moonglow she’d hated it only a few moments ago, refused to discuss it.

  Realizing that Kalix was intent on resisting all attempts at friendly communication, Moonglow began to withdraw, having satisfied herself that at least Kalix wasn’t cutting herself—which she was also prone to—or descending into the grip of an anxiety attack or dying of a laudanum overdose.

  As Moonglow reached the door, Kalix, despite herself, suddenly burst out. “Wasn’t Vex’s poem the most stupid thing ever? How could the teacher like it?”

  Moonglow paused. “Well, it was imaginative, I guess,” she answered.

  “No, it wasn’t! It was awful. I hate her poem.”

  “Did you write one as well?” asked Moonglow, brightly.

  “No. And I hate college,” said Kalix, and she pulled her duvet over her head.

  Chapter 7

  The Empress Asaratanti, a Fire Elemental of regal aspect and—since her recent trip to the cosmetic surgeon in Los Angeles—of a very good figure, still couldn’t understand why her daughter was so keen to punish a group of werewolves who lived in the human dimension. It was true that since the mania for high fashion had swept through the courts of both the Empress Asaratanti and her neighbor Queen Malveria, there had been rather more contact with the world of humans. The great ladies of their courts had hurried to make use of their fashion designers. They did have a way with clothes. But werewolves?

  “Werewolves are low creatures, Princess. Beneath our notice. Why trouble yourself?”

  “They assisted Queen Malveria!” exclaimed the princess. “Without the MacRinnalchs’ help I would have overshadowed her. Does it please you that your daughter now suffers mockery and derision from the ladies of Malveria’s court?”

  The empress considered this. Though they were at peace these days, the Hainusta and the Hiyasta had never gotten along well. There was no denying that Malveria was very full of herself. Asaratanti couldn’t blame her daughter for disliking her.

  Around the empress’s throne, her ministers and courtiers stood at a respectful distance, careful not to let any flames emerge from their bodies, something that was frowned on at court as rather common.

  “So what, dearest daughter, do you want me to do?”

  “Provide help to the enemies of the werewolves.”

  “You already helped their enemies by giving them sorcery. Without asking my permission.”

  The princess shifted uncomfortably. It was true that she’d provided Thrix and Malveria’s enemies with powerful spells without consulting her mother, something Asaratanti had not been slow to point out afterwards. The empress’s own sorcery was of great importance for the defense of her realm, and its secrets were not to be transmitted to all and sundry at the whim of her irresponsible daughter.

  “And when you did this,” continued the empress, “you failed. Which made it all the more lamentable. I don’t intend to allow any more of my private sorcery to be shipped to Earth, where it may be examined and copied.”

  “Then we could send someone to assist the Avenaris Guild instead,” suggested the princess.

  “The Avenaris Guild? The werewolf hunters? According to your report of that sorry affair, they were soundly defeated.”

  “That’s why we should help them now. With our help, they’d soon put an end to the Werewolf Enchantress. Once the enchantress is defeated, she won’t be making any more clothes for Queen Malveria. Without a new outfit every day, the woman is nothing.”

  The empress mused on her daughter’s words. Dealing Malveria a blow wouldn’t go amiss. Particularly now, with the border dispute over the Western Desert still dragging on.

  “What I require,” continued the princess, “is a Hainusta who can go to Earth. A strong warrior to defeat the werewolves.”

  “No Fire Elemental can survive for long on Earth. You know our visits to that dimension are limited. And incidentally, that blue dress does not flatter you.”

  “My designer is not up to the task!” exploded the princess. “Which is another reason to destroy Thrix MacRinnalch!” The princess was indeed enraged by the deficiencies of her outfit but calmed herself by glancing at her feet. She wore a new pair of high-heeled sandals fresh from Italy in a beautiful shade of gray with a delicate strap, which were beyond reproach. Even if her dress was deficient, her shoes were excellent, which was something at least. “As for the matter of how we might send a warrior to the Earth, I was hoping you might think of something.”

  “I’ll ponder the matter,” replied the empress.

  “Might you ponder it quickly?”

  The empress yawned. “I’m two thousand years old, dearest daughter. I don’t like doing much quickly these days. But I’ll consider it.”

  As the princess withdrew from the jeweled throne room, passing under the great burning arch of state, she was reasonably satisfied. If she could elicit her mother’s support, she was sure she could defeat the hated Werewolf Enchantress. Thrix MacRinnalch, however, was not uppermost in the princess’s mind as she made her way back to her chambers. There was another werewolf the princess was much keener to destroy: Kalix MacRinnalch. Princess Kabachetka hated the young werewolf because it was she who’d plunged the knife deep into Sarapen’s heart. Princess Kabachetka had fallen in love with Sarapen, and she now intended to take revenge for his downfall. The princess had sworn to herself that Kalix MacRinnalch was going to die.

  Chapter 8

  Dominil MacRinnalch examined the living room with distaste. As ever, the twins’ house was extremely messy. Dominil found the untidiness offensive. On occasion, when the mess had reached crisis proportions, she had been obliged to call in professional help. A team of domestic cleaners had put the house back in some sort of order. Unfortunately, Beauty and Delicious were incapable of keeping it that way. The floor was littered with guitars, clothes, CDs, DVDs, magazines, plates, cups, glasses, food cartons, and several empty bottles of the MacRinnalch whisky.

  Dominil knew she shoul
dn’t let it bother her. After all, she didn’t live here. She had a comfortable flat of her own in London, lent to her by the Mistress of the Werewolves, who seemed quite happy that Dominil was again helping Butix and Delix. Beauty and Delicious, as they preferred to call themselves, were notoriously incapable of helping themselves.

  If the werewolf twins were incapable of keeping their house in Camden in any sort of order, they did at least have talent in other directions. Several months ago, Dominil had helped them reform their band. They’d played a gig that had gone surprisingly well. The sisters wanted success above anything else, and they might even be able to achieve it if they could only focus their attention.

  “Which, of course, they can’t,” thought Dominil, picking up a CD from the floor and placing it on a nearby shelf. She wondered if it had been wise to agree to help the twins again. She’d done it first as a favor to Verasa, the Mistress of the Werewolves. Dominil had succeeded in that task to everyone’s satisfaction. The sisters had been so grateful to Dominil that they’d actually gone back to Castle MacRinnalch and voted for Markus as Thane. That had been the point of the whole exercise from Verasa and Dominil’s point of view. Markus needed their votes to be elected. Now that was done, there was really nothing else that the family needed from the twins. Yet here Dominil was in London again with the declared intention of helping them. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, the twins’ band, needed more rehearsals, more gigs, and more publicity. Dominil could make that happen. Though only a few months ago Dominil had had no knowledge of the music business, she was both competent and determined and could generally do whatever she set her mind to.

  It wouldn’t be so bad, mused Dominil, if the twins weren’t so fond of drinking. And continually surrounded by a drunken rabble of admirers and hangers-on.

  Dominil stared at her reflection in the glass of a cabinet. Her snow-white hair was long and in fine condition. While not particularly vain, Dominil nonetheless liked to take good care of her hair. She was the only living MacRinnalch to have white fur when she transformed into her werewolf shape. If she changed into her full-wolf form, as many of the MacRinnalchs could do, she appeared as a great arctic wolf. It was commonly held that the icy white coat reflected her character, and Dominil did nothing to dispel the notion.

  Dominil sensed Kalix’s approach before the doorbell rang. Dominil’s sense of smell was extremely acute, allowing her to identify potential threats even in the city, where the competing odors could be overpowering. Heightened senses were not the only characteristic that differentiated the MacRinnalchs from humans. As werewolves under the moon, they were abnormally strong, but even in daylight, in human shape, the MacRinnalchs were unusually powerful creatures.

  Kalix arrived at exactly the agreed time, which pleased Dominil. People tended not to be late for appointments with her. The young werewolf looked better than she had when Dominil had first encountered her in London. She was still extremely thin and rather pale, but her unusually long hair was well cared for rather than knotted and tangled. Her eyes had lost the haggard look they’d had while she’d been on the run. She wore a long, dark coat, a style that seemed to be favored by the MacRinnalchs. Kalix was now almost eighteen, but since she’d regained her health, she looked younger.

  * * *

  Kalix stood hesitantly on the doorstep, looking up at Dominil, who was tall for a MacRinnalch woman. Though she liked Dominil, Kalix was a little nervous of her. Besides, Kalix was not the sort of person to stride confidently into anyone’s house. She’d faced too much rejection and hostility in her life to feel confident about her welcome. They looked at each other without expression. Kalix was too shy to smile, and Dominil rarely did. The awkwardness continued as they walked through to the twins’ living room.

  “You’ll notice that the twins’ liking for mess hasn’t changed,” said Dominil.

  Kalix nodded. She knew the untidiness offended Dominil. No doubt it was partly for this reason that the white-haired werewolf had chosen to stay at the apartment provided for her by Verasa rather than with the twins. Kalix didn’t know where Dominil’s flat was. Possibly no one did, apart from Verasa. Dominil wasn’t forthcoming on personal details.

  “Have you organized any more gigs?” asked Kalix, in an attempt to make conversation before coming to the real point of her visit.

  “Not yet. I could, but first I’d like to introduce some order into their chaotic lives. I’ve put their website up with some music for people to listen to. I’ve got an agent interested in them, which will help us get more gigs.”

  As always, Kalix was impressed by Dominil’s endeavors. When Dominil had first arrived in London, she’d been displeased to find the sisters even more degenerate and disorganized than their reputation suggested. Despite this, Dominil had swiftly managed to galvanize their careers. She’d managed to reunite their band and get them on stage in the space of a few weeks, something none of their many acquaintances in Camden would have thought possible. The gig had been a success. Unfortunately it had been followed by a ferocious battle during which many werewolves died. Still, the twins had played well.

  Dominil fetched a bottle of whisky from a cabinet. The MacRinnalch malt, distilled on the clan estates in Scotland, was an exclusive drink, available only to the clan. The MacRinnalchs used it as a traditional token of hospitality towards guests. Kalix accepted a glass of whisky gratefully. She’d been drinking the MacRinnalch whisky from a young age. Too young an age, even by the standards of the MacRinnalch werewolves, which were not quite the same as those of their human neighbors.

  “Sit down,” said Dominil.

  Kalix sat down.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Kalix looked at her feet, and felt uncomfortable. She noticed that her boots were in a poor state. She supposed she could buy a new pair if she kept on accepting the allowance from her mother, though her mother would stop sending her money if she left college.

  After a pause of only a few seconds, Dominil spoke again. “Please get to the point quickly. I have things to do.”

  Kalix flushed. Rather unwillingly, she dragged an envelope from the pocket of her long overcoat.

  “I got a letter,” she said. “It’s from Gawain.”

  Kalix fell silent.

  “And?” asked Dominil.

  Kalix’s face went bright red with embarrassment. She stared down at the floor.

  “I take it you are unable to read the letter?” asked Dominil. She rose and plucked the letter from Kalix’s hand.

  Kalix continued to stare at her feet, intensely ashamed that her reading skills were so poor. Though she’d made some progress in recent months, the close handwritten script of Gawain’s letter had completely defeated her. Kalix was unwilling to take this problem to either of her roommates. It was too personal. She’d much rather not have shown it to anyone, but after agonizing over it for days, she’d realized that she had no choice. Either she asked someone to read it to her or she’d never know what was in it. At least Dominil was trustworthy. Kalix was certain she wouldn’t repeat any of the letter’s contents to anyone.

  “Would you like me to read it all out to you or simply summarize it?”

  “Just tell me what’s in it,” muttered Kalix, who didn’t think she could bear to hear Dominil read out every word. Dominil scanned the letter quickly.

  “Gawain professes his love for you. He apologizes profusely for forming a relationship with your sister Thrix. He also apologizes for disappearing so abruptly after the battle at the gig, but says he was unable to face you after you learned of the affair. He suggests that you may be able to make another attempt at forming a relationship.” Dominil paused. “His language is rather more romantic than my summary.”

  “Is it?” Kalix looked up eagerly. “Is it romantic?”

  “I would say so. Though I may not be the best judge. It’s certainly heartfelt.”

  “Read it all out to me!” said Kalix, who was now feeling better about this shameful experience.<
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  Chapter 9

  There is no need, dearest Enchantress,” said Queen Malveria, “to tell me how splendid I look. This dress you provided for me is of such fine design as to render compliments superfluous. One does not need reassurance when one is attired in such a superb garment.” The queen examined herself in Thrix’s huge wall mirror. “It does look splendid, does it not?”

  “It does,” agreed Thrix.

  “I apologize for my minor impatience after the third fitting.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Thrix.

  “And my hair is coiffured to perfection?”

  “It is.”

  “Thank you. You are looking splendid yourself, Enchantress, and are a credit to werewolves everywhere, and to blonds, and to blond werewolves.”

  Tonight Thrix and Malveria were going to the opera house at Covent Garden. While Thrix was not a great fan of the opera, it was an excellent opportunity for some fine evening wear. The opera house was an expensive and fashionable place, and no one was going to turn up more expensively or fashionably dressed than the Werewolf Enchantress and the Fire Queen.

  “Tell me again, what is this musical event?”

  Thrix almost laughed. She’d already explained to Malveria several times what an opera was, but the Fire Queen found it difficult to understand. In Malveria’s realm, there was music and there was singing, but there was no Theater. Malveria could just about imagine what a spoken dramatic performance might be like, but the idea of a story being told through song seemed very strange.

  “This is not normal, surely? People do not sing songs as they go about their business?”