Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

“The people love him too.”

  Princess Kabachetka frowned at her lady in waiting. “Must you keep praising my wretched brother?”

  “I apologize, Princess.”

  The princess had never liked her elder brother. They’d never gotten along well and had nothing in common. She counted it a blessing that he spent most of his time with his regiment. It amazed her that her mother, a woman who did understand the value of clothes, could value him so. Esarax had never been well dressed. Yet here he was, having banquets thrown in his honor just because he’d received another promotion.

  The princess’s evening wasn’t improved by having to be polite to Lady Krimsich, her brother’s consort.

  “What a dreadful woman she is, with her cheap shoes and arrogant laughter. Quite what the woman has to be arrogant about, I can’t imagine. She’s the sixth daughter of an impoverished earl! If she hadn’t gotten her hooks into my brother, she’d have been thrown in the volcano long ago.”

  The evening worsened after the princess finally succeeded in gaining her mother’s attention.

  “About my request for help with the werewolves,” began the princess. “I wondered if—”

  “The answer is no,” said the empress.

  “What?”

  “No.”

  “But I require your help.”

  “And I’m not going to give it,” said the empress, sharply. “The whole notion is ridiculous. Leave those low creatures alone, and concentrate on being a proper princess for a change. You could learn some things from your elder brother.”

  “Like how to dress poorly and drink too much at banquets?”

  The empress glowered at her daughter. “Prince Esarax does not drink too much. He knows how to relate to our citizens. I’d like to see you making more of an effort to please the population instead of spending their taxes on endless new outfits.”

  “But I don’t want to please the population,” protested the princess. “They are all such dreadful people.”

  The princess was forced to break off while some tedious ambassadors offered the empress their congratulations on Esarax’s promotion. As they departed, she made a final attempt to win her mother over. “Think of how pleased the population will be if I outshine Queen Malveria! Which I will do if you lend me several powerful sorcerers to defeat Thrix MacRinnalch.”

  “I will do no such thing. The imperial sorcerers are for the defense of the realm, not your foolish whims. If you hate this Thrix MacRinnalch so much, go down to Earth and hire some werewolf hunters.”

  The princess felt momentarily faint. “Hire werewolf hunters? Where will it end? Soon you will be asking me to sweep the streets.”

  The empress glared at her daughter, broke off the conversation, and swept across the room, taking Prince Esarax’s arm on the way. Princess Kabachetka stared after them with loathing.

  “The way everyone fawns on my brother is just appalling. You’d think he was emperor.”

  “Well, I expect he will be one day,” said Alchet, her lady in waiting.

  The princess’s blood froze. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I expect he will be emperor one day, Princess.”

  “Why? The succession has not been decided.”

  Alchet looked at the princess with something that might have been pity. “Everyone expects it will be Esarax. He would have the military on his side.”

  Kabachetka gaped at her lady in waiting. As she paid little attention to politics herself, she was surprised to discover that Alchet seemed to know something about the subject.

  “I expect it will not happen for a long time, however,” said Alchet.

  Princess Kabachetka wasn’t so sure. The Empress Asaratanti showed no signs of infirmity, but one could never be sure. She was very old. She had to go sometime. What if Esarax decided to encourage the process? It wouldn’t be the first time a Hainusta monarch had been tactfully disposed of. The empress had given the Hainusta nation a very long period of stability, but before her reign there had been a time where one ruler followed the next in rapid succession.

  The princess pursed her lips. Could her overwhelming obsession with fashion have blinded her to other realities? Now she was facing the worrying possibility of her hated elder brother taking power, perhaps not that far in the future. Her brother disliked her quite as much as she disliked him. If he ever succeeded to the throne, he’d get rid of her as quickly as he could.

  “I’d be lucky to survive till the day after his coronation,” muttered the princess, and she clenched her fists in annoyance as she wondered what she could possibly do about it.

  Chapter 18

  Daniel and Kalix were watching cartoons when Vex appeared in the room wearing an unusually large scarf and holding a comic.

  “Hey, look what I just found in Daniel’s room!”

  Daniel looked up sharply, though it meant missing the denouement of the cartoon. “Have you been in my room?”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Why?”

  “I was looking through your stuff.”

  “Why were you doing that?”

  “I wanted to see what sort of stuff you had,” replied Vex, logically.

  “You’re not supposed to look through other people’s stuff!”

  Vex looked puzzled. “But then how would I know what stuff you had?”

  Moonglow emerged from the kitchen with a tray containing a teapot, several cups, and her copy of the Sumerian translation she was working on.

  “Moonglow, Vex has been looking through my things!”

  Vex couldn’t understand why Daniel was making a fuss. “Moonglow doesn’t mind me looking through her things.”

  “Yes, I do!” cried Moonglow.

  “See? She’s fine with it. Moonglow, could you take me shopping for some nice underwear like yours?”

  Moonglow put the tray down on the table rather more roughly than she’d intended, causing a drop of water to emerge from the spout of the teapot. “Vex, I know you’re not used to living with humans, but—”

  “Look at Daniel’s funny scarf,” said Vex, cheerily, and she wound the long woolly item around her face, making Kalix laugh. Daniel scowled, not keen on seeing the odd garment, a present from his grandmother, displayed in public. Vex made a small slit in the scarf so she could peer through at them.

  “And look! You’ve got a comic about Kalix.”

  It was Kalix’s turn to look up sharply. “What?”

  “Curse of the Wolf Girl!” Agrivex waved the comic around. Daniel attempted to snatch it but was beaten by the swifter fingers of Kalix. She stared at the cover, a luridly colored depiction of some sort of werewolf creature apparently about to bite a man’s head off.

  “It’s just an old comic,” explained Daniel. “It’s not any good.”

  Kalix frowned and strained to read the words on the cover. “Why’s it called Curse of the Wolf Girl? What’s the curse?”

  “She turns into a werewolf.”

  Kalix was immediately offended. “That’s not a curse.”

  “I know. It’s just a comic.” Daniel glared at Vex. “See, this is why you shouldn’t go through other people’s stuff. Now you’ve offended Kalix. And me. And Moonglow.”

  Vex peered over Kalix’s shoulder. Her reading skills were much better than the young werewolf’s.

  “Arabella Wolf was a normal girl until she was bitten by a mysterious wolf-like creature in New York City! Now, at the full moon, she prowls the streets in Curse of the Wolf Girl! It sounds great!”

  “It doesn’t sound great at all.” Kalix brushed Vex aside before settling down to make an effort to read the comic.

  “Is Wolf her real name?” asked Moonglow. “Or does she just get called that because she’s a werewolf?”

  “It’s her real name! Isn’t that ridiculous?” cried Kalix. “Her name is Arabella Wolf, and then she just happens to become a werewolf! What are the chances of that? Who writes this rubbish? I want to complain.”

  C
hapter 19

  The Avenaris Guild had dedicated itself to hunting and killing werewolves for many hundreds of years. There were numerous successes recorded in the guild’s archives, but they’d suffered a serious defeat in their last campaign against the MacRinnalchs. Their attack had gone disastrously wrong, and many of their operatives had been killed. It occurred to Mr. Carmichael, the head of the guild, that if the MacRinnalchs had decided to take the offensive while the guild was weakened, it could have caused serious problems. With so many hunters dead or injured, an onslaught by the werewolf clan would have been hard to resist. Thankfully the MacRinnalchs had not taken the offensive. Most of their strength lay in Scotland, and they had never mounted a major campaign as far south as London.

  “If they tried it now, they’d be too late,” he mused. In the past few weeks, a stream of new recruits had arrived from Central and Eastern Europe. The guild was almost back up to strength. He looked up as his secretary came into the office.

  “Captain Easterly is here,” she announced.

  Mr. Carmichael nodded. Captain Easterly was one of the guild’s most senior hunters. He’d just returned from a fortnight of training new recruits from Poland.

  “How are they?” he asked Easterly after they had exchanged greetings.

  “Good, mostly. They’ve all had some experience. Though none of them have encountered as many beasts as they’re likely to meet here in Britain.”

  There had been a time when it was difficult to bring in hunters from abroad. Now, with the European Union and the free movement of labor around the continent, it was much easier. Workers could travel easily from one country to another. Not that anyone actually had “werewolf hunter” written on their passport as a job description. The four Polish recruits had arrived under the guise of electricians.

  “What’s this I hear about Albermarle going into the field?” Easterly asked.

  “We’ve approved his application.”

  Captain Easterly was incredulous. “Albermarle isn’t a werewolf hunter. He’s a computer man.”

  “He passed our training course for active hunters.”

  “But he’s an idiot.”

  “Albermarle was the guild’s most valuable information technology specialist,” said Mr. Carmichael.

  “He’s still an idiot. You should keep him behind a computer where he belongs.”

  Mr. Carmichael smiled. He was aware that Easterly and Albermarle didn’t get along. They were distant cousins and had disliked each other from a young age.

  “Albermarle’s a strong man these days. Good performances on the training course and shooting range.”

  Easterly scoffed at this. “That’s not the same as hunting a werewolf in real life. Albermarle will be ripped apart. Why are you letting him do it?”

  “He requested the transfer to active duty. We’ve been short of men, remember. And I repeat, he performed well in training.”

  “And I repeat, if that overweight Star Trek fan ever comes up against a real werewolf, he’ll wish he was back with his computers and comic books.” Captain Easterly was fair-haired, almost blond, with blue eyes and a weather-beaten complexion. He had good features, roughened by long service in the army. Though he was no longer in the military, the other hunters in the guild tended to still use his old rank of captain as a mark of respect. As a hunter, he was worthy of respect. He was skillful, efficient, and hated werewolves quite passionately.

  “Would you really trust Albermarle to put a silver bullet through a werewolf’s heart? The way he blunders around, he’d be lucky to get a shot off before he was killed.”

  Mr. Carmichael was unmoved. Albermarle had been with the organization for several years and had earned their trust. It wasn’t unheard of for a member of the backroom staff to request a move into an active unit. Having passed the relevant tests, Albermarle was ready to hunt werewolves.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine. You should be more supportive. He is a relative of yours, after all.”

  Easterly laughed, quite good-naturedly. “I’m still trying to live that down. All right, I’ll try. But really, the thought of Albermarle lumbering around the streets looking for werewolves isn’t going to fill anyone with confidence.”

  “He weighs a lot less than he used to. Took his training very seriously.”

  Easterly couldn’t imagine why his ungainly, obese cousin had suddenly decided to transform himself from computer specialist into an active hunter, but he assured the chairman of the board that he’d do his best to help him. “Or at least keep him alive for a few months, which is about the most we can expect.”

  Chapter 20

  Castle MacRinnalch stood in a remote part of the Scottish Highlands. The MacRinnalch estates, sweeping over mountains, woodlands, and glens, were little disturbed by the outside world. It was an ideal place for werewolves to flourish. Displacement of the human population during the Highland clearances of the eighteenth century, followed by a general movement of the remaining rural community towards the cities in the south, had left the area one of the most sparsely populated in Europe.

  When times were hardest, some of the MacRinnalchs had also departed, ending up in Australia, New Zealand, America, and Canada, but most had remained on the ancestral lands. Mainly they’d avoided human contact, but in recent years, the Mistress of the Werewolves had brought them closer to the outside world, while taking good care to preserve the secret of their true nature.

  An immense, black stone building, constructed in the thirteenth century and added to since then, Castle MacRinnalch had been the home of the werewolf clan for many hundreds of years. During that time, the castle had seen treachery, bloodshed, and warfare, and only recently had been besieged in the course of the violent feud over the thaneship. The three werewolf barons—MacPhee, MacAllister, and MacPherson—had not supported Markus, but now that he was in power, they were content to live in peace.

  Inside the castle, life had almost returned to normal, although the relationship between the new Thane and the Mistress of the Werewolves was still a little uneasy. Markus attempted to exercise his authority, and his mother Verasa strove to maintain hers. It had led to some awkwardness, though not as much as might have been expected. Verasa and Markus MacRinnalch had always been close, and they knew that they’d reach an accommodation eventually.

  At this moment, all arguments had been put to one side. Verasa and Markus were both great opera enthusiasts and were collaborating on the plan to stage a performance in aid of one of Verasa’s charities. She was fast becoming an influential figure among the ranks of Scotland’s charitable fundraisers. As she often said, “We may be werewolves, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t contribute to society.”

  It was because of Verasa’s desire to integrate the clan more fully with the modern world that she’d supported her younger son Markus as Thane. To her mind, he’d been a far more suitable choice than her elder son, the warlike Sarapen. Had Sarapen become head of the clan, trouble would surely have followed. Verasa would not now be talking with pleasure of her plan to stage her event at Andamair House. The MacRinnalchs were very wealthy, and Andamair House, situated a long way south on the outskirts of Edinburgh, was one of the many properties they owned throughout Britain. Verasa had flirted briefly with the idea of actually holding the event at the castle. It would have been a beautiful location. She’d swiftly rejected the notion. It was not unknown for tourists to go missing on the MacRinnalch lands. The clan discouraged its members from actually eating people, but during the physical transition to werewolf, temptation remained strong.

  “Nothing would draw unwelcome attention onto us more than the unexpected devouring of important civic dignitaries,” reasoned Verasa. “Not that I would expect any MacRinnalch to do such a thing, of course. But some of the MacPhees are hardly civilized. And you really can’t trust the MacAndrises at all. Andamair House will solve our problems.”

  Andamair House was an imposing Georgian country mansion, surrounded by landscaped grounds, cl
ose enough to Edinburgh for people to travel there easily. Markus agreed that it was the ideal location, and plans were laid for the event.

  * * *

  The moon had only just risen as Markus appeared in his mother’s chambers in the west of the castle. He’d changed into his werewolf shape, though his mother remained human. She had some calls to make, and modern phones were so small as to be almost impossible to manipulate with werewolf talons.

  “How did Thrix get on with Felicori?” asked Markus.

  Verasa smiled, pleased to see her son. He was such a handsome boy, with his thick, curly chestnut hair and fine features.

  “Quite well, she tells me. Though I wish she hadn’t taken that Hiyasta with her.”

  “Queen Malveria is not so bad,” said Markus. “She fought on our side.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to like her. She is a Hiyasta after all, and they’ve been enemies of the MacRinnalchs for a very long time. I’ll always regret that Thrix became friends with her.”

  “You regret most things about Thrix,” pointed out Markus.

  “That’s not true. I admire her ambition.”

  Markus was skeptical. His mother might claim to admire Thrix’s drive and her success in the fashion world, but he knew Verasa resented her eldest daughter’s distancing herself from the clan.

  “Perhaps Malveria would appeal to the opera crowd. She’s dramatic enough.”

  “Perhaps. Though if she has any notion of attending my event, she can abandon it,” said Verasa, sternly. “Anyway, Thrix has an appointment with Felicori’s agent, and if that goes well, I’ll go down to London next week to meet them both.”

  The Mistress of the Werewolves sipped some wine and lit a last cigarette before changing. She glanced out the window at the darkening sky. The windows had been greatly extended recently, providing her chambers with more light than anywhere else in the rather gloomy castle. It was an improvement her late husband, the old Thane, would never have approved of. He’d never really approved of anything Verasa did. Since he’d died, Verasa couldn’t honestly have said she missed him, though she had continued to pay his memory the proper respect in public.