The Curse of the Wolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “Do you think I need more extensions?” Beauty’s hair, as violently blue as her sister’s was pink, was equally thick and long.

  “You’d fall over,” said Delicious, and they both laughed quite raucously at the thought of falling over because they had too much hair.

  A key sounded in the lock, there were light footsteps in the hall, and Dominil appeared.

  “Dominil! Have some whisky.”

  “The token of friendship does not have to be offered to a fellow werewolf who visits every day,” said Dominil, calmly.

  “Well, have some anyway.”

  Dominil declined. The sisters filled up their own glasses again.

  “Kalix, what brings you here?” Dominil asked.

  “I want to talk about…things,” replied Kalix, not wanting to mention Gawain’s death in front of the twins.

  “Come upstairs,” said Dominil.

  “Did you talk to Pete?” asked Beauty.

  “Not yet.”

  “You said you were going to.”

  “I’ll get round to it.”

  “What’s the matter?” demanded Delicious. “When we do something wrong, you’re always shouting and screaming about it, but now Pete’s not even playing guitar, and you’re letting him get away with it!”

  “I do not shout and scream,” said Dominil.

  “It’s just not good enough. Our guitarist is depressed because some slutty barmaid has hooked him with a few free pints of lager.”

  “And cleavage,” added Delicious. “She really bends over when she serves drinks.”

  “True. Pete was probably powerless to resist. No wonder he fell for her.”

  Beauty looked puzzled. “Hang on. If she’s been luring him with free beer and cleavage, why’s he depressed? That should be enough to keep him happy.”

  “Maybe she rejected him?”

  “She never rejected anybody. Pete must be in love with someone else. Who could it be?”

  The twins thought for a few moments, and then turned to each other in surprise.

  “Could it be one of us?” Beauty asked.

  “That would be a disaster!” exclaimed Delicious. “You can’t have the guitarist going around moping about the singer. It’s really bad for the band. Dominil, is Pete in love with one of us?”

  “I really wouldn’t know,” said Dominil. “And I don’t want to—”

  “He should show more self-control,” cried Beauty, “though I have noticed him looking at me. I expect he tried to hold out for a while then just abandoned the attempt.”

  “It’s sad he’s fallen for me in such a big way,” said Delicious, “but I’m not going out with him.”

  The twins looked at each other.

  “What do you mean fallen for you? He’s fallen for me.”

  “No, he hasn’t, he’s fallen for me.”

  The twins paused and then laughed. They’d never argued over a boy and weren’t about to start now.

  “We’ll just have to let him down without crushing him too much.”

  “Dominil should do it; she’s the manager.”

  “Dominil, could you try and make him fall in love with someone else?”

  Dominil regarded them with icy dislike. “I’m not a dating agency.”

  “How about giving him a whirl yourself? He’s not bad looking in a sort of hollow-cheeked guitarist way.”

  The twins exploded with laughter at the thought of Dominil being a groupie for their guitarist. Beauty choked on her drink and needed assistance from her sister.

  Dominil turned her back on them. “Kalix, I don’t imagine you came here to listen to this pair of idiots. Come upstairs to my office, and we’ll talk.”

  Chapter 51

  At the top of the house, Dominil had cleared out a small room and installed some shelves for files and a computer, making a small haven of efficiency in the chaotic household. She sat at her desk, directed Kalix to a wooden chair, and looked directly at her. “What do you want to see me about?”

  Kalix gazed at the ceiling.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” said Dominil, “so please get to the point.”

  Kalix shrank back a little. Even though she’d experienced Dominil’s abrupt manner in the past, it could still be alarming. “Gawain,” she whispered.

  “What about him?”

  “I want to find out who killed him.” Kalix shrank a little more, half expecting Dominil to throw her out for wasting her time.

  Instead the white-haired werewolf nodded. “That sounds reasonable. You did have a close relationship. I don’t imagine the police are going to solve the case, especially as Thrix has removed the body and sent it back to the castle.”

  Kalix’s heart lurched. “What?”

  “Weren’t you aware of that?”

  Kalix shook her head. No one had told her. Tears formed in her eyes at the thought of Gawain’s body being transported across the country. She wiped them away angrily, not wanting to cry in front of Dominil.

  “You found his body,” said Dominil, ignoring Kalix’s tears. “Was there anything there to suggest who killed him? Or even how he died?”

  Kalix managed to control her tears, but her voice was small as she spoke. “I don’t know. It all happened so quickly. I’d just found him and then the hunters arrived and then I was fighting them and the police came.”

  “Was he freshly killed?”

  Kalix shook her head, and felt quite miserable. “He’d been dead for days. I could smell it.”

  “With a wound in his heart?”

  “A bad one. It bled a lot.”

  “A silver bullet?”

  Kalix was uncertain. She gone over it in her mind since, trying to remember all the details, but she wasn’t certain about the wound. “I think the wound in his chest was too big for a bullet.”

  “If he was shot from behind, the bullet would tear a large hole in his chest when it exited the body,” said Dominil.

  Kalix broke down completely. She thought she might have cried enough about Gawain already, but apparently she hadn’t. She sat in the small wooden chair and sobbed. Her thin frame shook, and she panted for breath as she cried miserably, once more picturing Gawain lying dead. It took a long time for her to compose herself. She wiped her face with her sleeve. “Gawain was strong and fast. It wouldn’t have been easy for a hunter to even fire a shot at him. Gawain would have killed him first.” Kalix paused, gathering her thoughts. “I wondered if it might have been a Begravar knife.”

  The fabled Begravar knife was a weapon deadly to werewolves. Once activated, it disoriented and confused them, and its blade could pierce their hide.

  “It’s possible. You killed Sarapen with a Begravar knife. Though Thrix returned it to the castle.”

  “There was another. Mikulanec had one.” Kalix had killed the hunter Mikulanec, but she didn’t know what had happened to his knife. “So that’s one weapon, deadly to werewolves, not accounted for,” continued Kalix, “and there are other ways he could have died. Another werewolf with a silver-coated knife could do it. It could have been the Douglas-MacPhees.” Kalix looked down at her list of suspects. “And there’s sorcery.”

  “Who would use sorcery against Gawain?”

  “My sister,” said Kalix.

  “She seems an unlikely suspect.”

  “I don’t think she’s unlikely. She could have killed him out of jealousy.” Kalix growled, a long, low sound. “I don’t trust the clan either. Plenty of people at the castle hated Gawain.” She looked directly at Dominil. “So will you help me?”

  “Help you? With what?”

  “Finding the killer.”

  “No,” said Dominil, immediately.

  Kalix was shocked. She’d been expecting her cousin to agree.

  “I can’t. I have too much to do.”

  “But I need your help,” pleaded Kalix.

  “Sorry,” said Dominil. “I can’t.”

  Kalix was bewildered. She’d been certain that Dominil would help
her. “But I need to find out. I’m going to kill whoever murdered Gawain.”

  “I don’t blame you for that. But I have too much to do too.”

  “What?”

  “Private matters,” said Dominil. “Important to me.”

  Kalix felt on the verge of tears again. She knew she couldn’t really count Dominil as a friend, but the white-haired werewolf had helped her in the past. She’d thought she would again.

  “I suggest you talk to Thrix about it,” said Dominil.

  “I don’t want to talk to my sister!”

  “You should. She examined the scene of death. She might have picked up useful information.”

  “But Thrix slept with Gawain!” yelled Kalix, and she stood up in agitation. “I’m not going to talk her. She probably killed him herself!”

  “I don’t think that’s likely.”

  Kalix tried to think of something else to say, something persuasive. She couldn’t come up with anything. “Why won’t you help?” she said, for want of anything better.

  Dominil remained impassive. “I have too many things to do.”

  “You don’t care about Gawain!” screamed Kalix, losing her temper completely. “You’re glad he’s dead! Everyone’s glad he’s dead! The MacRinnalchs probably killed him! You all did it!”

  Kalix smashed her fist into the shelf beside her and broke it, sending folders tumbling to the floor. Once more her eyes flooded with tears. She wrenched open the door and stormed downstairs and out of the house. The young werewolf rushed along the quiet side street in Camden, back to the busy area around the tube station. Then she stepped into a shop doorway, took her bottle of laudanum from her bag, and sipped from it, something she would not normally have done in public.

  As she replaced the cap, she noticed the bottle was almost empty. She’d have to replenish her supply soon. For that, she’d need money. The only money she had was the allowance from her mother. Kalix scowled quite ferociously, hating Moonglow for her treacherous behavior in threatening to tell Verasa if she didn’t go to college. Kalix wondered how she’d managed to get herself into the position where she was forced to go to college when she had other things she should be doing. She raged against her fate, and by the time she arrived back in Kennington, she’d added Moonglow, Daniel, and Vex to the list of people she hated.

  Chapter 52

  Captain Easterly didn’t need to arrive at work at the magazine early and had time to deliver a case of wine to the warehouse. He was something of a wine connoisseur and paid for specialized storage. He drove from the warehouse into town, trying not to think about Albermarle. If his cousin wanted to get himself killed over some girl he’d known at Oxford, that was his problem. Passing the large roundabout at the foot of Hyde Park, he glanced in his rearview mirror and discovered, rather shockingly, that he wasn’t alone in the car. There was a woman sitting in the back seat. Easterly was quite certain she hadn’t been there a moment ago. He jammed on the brakes and thrust his hand beneath his jacket to draw his gun, assuming that a werewolf had somehow tracked him down. Before he could produce the gun, the woman vanished. The captain was stunned, wondered briefly why he’d started hallucinating, and was still wondering a second later when she appeared in the front seat alongside him.

  The woman glanced in the mirror and adjusted a strand of long blond hair. “You seem to have no protection at all,” she said, in an accent that was both exotic and difficult to identify.

  “Did you just travel through space?” demanded Easterly.

  The woman shrugged. “In your terms, perhaps.” She studied Easterly. She didn’t find him the most imposing hunter she’d ever encountered, but at least he hadn’t panicked when she’d materialized. That would have been a bad sign.

  Easterly pulled over to the side of the road, demonstrating impressive driving skills in the heavy traffic. “Who are you?”

  “Princess Kabachetka of the Hainusta.”

  “The Hainusta?”

  “The mightiest of Fire Elementals.”

  The captain stared at her. He’d read about the Hainusta and the Hiyasta in the files of the Avenaris Guild but had never really believed in them before. The guild had a great store of esoteric knowledge, gathered over hundreds of years, but he’d never expected to meet any sort of otherworldly being. Apart from werewolves, of course.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I want you to kill a werewolf.”

  “How do you know I know anything about werewolves?”

  “I just know. And I know you have a good reputation within your organization, though you’ve had little success recently. But please don’t question me on matters of no consequence. I have many demands on my time. You need a new werewolf target. I’ll show you one who’s more powerful than any other werewolf in London.”

  “How can you travel through space?”

  The princess frowned. That didn’t seem like a relevant question. She held up her hand and briefly caused one of her fingers to ignite. “I can do many things you would find strange. But they are not of great importance at this moment. What is important is that you must kill Thrix.”

  Easterly’s brow furrowed. Thrix was an unusual name, and he seemed to know it from somewhere.

  “She owns a small fashion house. Thrix Fashions.”

  He almost laughed. He’d met Thrix briefly at a fashion show. Quite a well regarded designer, he recalled. “I know her. She’s not a werewolf.”

  “She’s the most powerful werewolf in London.”

  “She certainly isn’t.”

  The princess compressed her lips.

  “I did fear that this would be a tedious conversation. Captain Easterly, believe me when I tell you that Thrix MacRinnalch—”

  “MacRinnalch? You’re saying that Thrix, the fashion designer, is a member of the MacRinnalch clan?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It only sounds ridiculous because she’s a powerful sorceress and has spells of bafflement that hide her from hunters. Anyone who wishes evil on Thrix cannot hold onto his thoughts. The memory of her werewolf nature is made to fade.”

  Easterly looked at her very skeptically. “So now she’s a werewolf and a sorceress? This isn’t sounding very convincing.”

  Princess Kabachetka help up one hand, beautifully manicured. “Enough. It’s beneath my dignity to try and persuade a human I’m telling the truth. You should be honored I’m talking to you at all. Fortunately, I am prepared.”

  With that, the princess touched her fingertips to Captain Easterly’s forehead. Easterly looked concerned, then interested, then amazed.

  “Thrix MacRinnalch is a werewolf,” he said, very surprised.

  “As I just said. I have removed her spells of bafflement from you. And though your memory will fade again, I can replenish the energy and keep it in your mind that she is a werewolf. You can hunt and kill her.”

  “I can’t believe that Thrix is a werewolf. I really admired her last collection.”

  “I don’t believe her clothes are really so fine. It’s irrelevant in any case. Now that you know what she is, I’ll help you defeat her.”

  “Why are you so keen to see her dead?” asked Easterly, who felt he had good reason to be suspicious of this so-called princess.

  “Because I don’t like her. Not that, once again, it is of any relevance.”

  “Are you really sure you’ve got the right woman?” he asked.

  The princess touched her fingertips to his forehead again and transmitted some clear knowledge of Thrix’s past, knowledge that didn’t fade immediately. Easterly shook his head and felt angry that a powerful werewolf like Thrix MacRinnalch could have passed herself off as human for so long.

  “The first thing to do is secure you an introduction,” said the princess. “Do you like opera, Captain Easterly?”

  Chapter 53

  “I sense some sadness in you,” said Dithean NicRinnalch.

  “You
do? How?” asked the Fire Queen.

  “The trees tell me that you’re not happy.”

  “Hmm…Perhaps the trees should mind their own business. But I admit that I’m not entirely happy. Despite my brilliant success in securing the services of Mr. Felicori for the Mistress of the Werewolves, I myself will not be able to attend the event. Really, it’s intolerable. One almost wishes there was no feud between the Hiyasta and the MacRinnalchs.”

  “Could you end the feud?” asked Queen Dithean, reasonably.

  “Not without a heartfelt apology from the MacRinnalchs who were the prime instigators of the whole affair. The Queen of the Hiyasta cannot go cap in hand to a bunch of werewolves.”

  “Then you must take pleasure in doing your friend Thrix MacRinnalch a good favor, without any benefit to yourself,” said Queen Dithean.

  “I suppose so. But I’d like it better if there was some benefit to myself. I have never claimed to be a philanthropist. Beau DeMortalis sends his best regards, by the way.”

  The Fairy Queen laughed. At the chariot races, he had shamelessly flattered her. “Perhaps you should take DeMortalis as a consort?”

  “Impossible. He was an enemy in the war. I like him, but he has too many detractors among my loyal supporters. How lucky you are, Queen Dithean, to have many children already fluttering around. Had I not the estimable Distikka to protect me from the constant complaints of my government, I would have despaired. A little more whisky in my buttercup? Thank you, Dithean, that would be very acceptable.” Queen Malveria sipped her drink, but though she was comfortable in Colburn Woods, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dissatisfaction that clouded her mind. “Thrix will be at the operatic event. I can’t help feeling that she could have applied more pressure on her mother to enable me to attend. But she seems unwilling.”

  “Did I not say that the MacRinnalch women think mainly of themselves?”

  “Really, Dithean, that was not my meaning at all. You are far too severe in your judgments. Thrix has many warm and selfless emotions, and she has often helped me out.”

  “For payment, in the main.”

  “Perhaps, but she is a businesswoman.” Malveria felt slightly annoyed by Queen Dithean’s criticism of her good friend Thrix. When the Fairy Queen again mentioned the enchantress’s notable lack of romantic success, Malveria refused to let it pass unchallenged. “Once more, you are being unfair. True, she may have scared off men all over London, but these were unsuitable men. It’s not her fault.”