Lonely Werewolf Girl

by Martin Millar

  “I will always love you,” said Gawain, in her dream.

  Kalix woke in tears because she knew it wasn’t true. Gawain was far away; no one knew where. The Thane had banished him for his involvement with his daughter, an involvement that had started far too young for the Thane’s liking. Not that the Thane would have allowed them to be together in any case. Gawain was not of a suitable class to be allowed a relationship with the Thane’s daughter. He came from a respected werewolf family but even so he was not pure-blooded enough. Gawain had one wholly human grandparent. It made him an unsuitable partner for an aristocratic werewolf girl.

  Gawain was strong, impervious to the elements, a skilled hunter and frightened of no one. Kalix had always felt safe with him. Yet hadn’t he agreed to leave her too easily? Had he protested enough when the Thane sent him away? Kalix stirred uncomfortably in her drugged, stuporous state. Could he not have come back and rescued her when she needed him?

  Her mother Verasa told Kalix she should forget Gawain because he would forget her soon enough. Kalix couldn’t forget him. She loved him madly, and always would.

  The wound on her arm bled for a long time. Kalix had noticed recently that her blood didn’t seem to clot as quickly as it used to. Some symptom of her poor health she supposed. Kalix didn’t care. She wished she might just bleed to death where she lay.

  16

  In the late evening the Mistress of the Werewolves and her youngest son walked through Verasa’s art gallery. Verasa had a very fine collection of pictures, accumulated over the past two hundred years. Markus noticed an empty space on the wall.

  “Where’s the Vermeer?”

  “I lent it to the National Gallery.”

  Markus was surprised.

  “Just because I’m Mistress of the Werewolves doesn’t mean I have no sense of duty to the wider public. It’s the modern world dear, we all have to make a contribution.”

  Markus was distracted from the paintings by the family situation.

  “If I bring Kalix back to the castle there will be trouble. She’s so unstable. What if she breaks free and attacks the Thane again?”

  The Mistress of the Werewolves came very close to smiling.

  “That would be very unfortunate…”

  Verasa had let it be known, to those members of the clan from whom the severity of the Thane’s injuries could not be concealed, that Kalix had pushed her father down a flight of stairs, while under the influence of alcohol. The incident was supposed to have happened in daylight while they were both in human form. This was a terrible disgrace but the truth was worse. In reality Kalix had defeated the Thane at night when they were both in werewolf form. She’d have killed him if Sarapen and two of his servants had not come to his rescue. The full shocking circumstances could never be revealed to the clan. The Thane had to be respected, which he would not be if it were learned that his youngest daughter had defeated him in combat.

  The Thane, though old, was an extremely powerful werewolf. Neither of his sons would have relished fighting him. Verasa was at a loss to explain Kalix’s abnormal strength. Of course, Kalix was the only one of her children to be born at the time of the full moon, when Verasa was herself in werewolf shape. This was unusual. Werewolf mothers almost always gave birth while in human form. As a consequence of Verasa being werewolf at the time, Kalix had actually been born in her own werewolf shape, which was again extremely rare. Born as a werewolf by a werewolf, under a full moon. Perhaps this had contributed to her strength, though Verasa thought it was more probably a product of her insanity. This, Verasa swore, did not come from her side of the family.

  The Thane’s lack of emotion had alienated Verasa a long time ago. Sensing the same nature in her oldest boy Sarapen, Verasa had never warmed to him as she should. She had no qualms about planning to have her younger son Markus declared Thane when it was time for the succession. Succession to the Thaneship was rarely an entirely straightforward affair. The history of the MacRinnalch Clan was full of messy incidents.

  It would take time for the Mistress of the Werewolves to bring her plans to fruition. There were many votes on the Great Council that would have to be won over before Markus could become Thane. Verasa needed to be in control of as many elements as possible. A demented daughter running out of control in the streets of London could not be tolerated.

  “I’ll look for her tonight,” said Markus. “Is it absolutely necessary that I bring her back alive?”

  “It would be better,” replied Verasa.

  17

  Thrix worked late into the night, preparing new outfits for the Fire Queen. Models paraded before them and the Fire Queen squealed with delight when she saw something she liked, which was often.

  Thrix’s regular models were by now used to some of her more unconventional clients. They didn’t mind. Thrix paid them very well, and treated them civily. Possibly more civily than she treated most people. The Enchantress had a sharp tongue and a somewhat impatient nature. She rarely lost her temper with her own workforce, but there were people in the industry who did not particularly like Thrix MacRinnalch. She was too intelligent, too beautiful and too ambitious to be universally popular.

  Thrix’s share of the family’s great wealth was not nearly as large as she would have liked. The family money was mostly under Verasa’s control and Verasa had never really supported her daughter’s ambitions in the fashion industry. For a long time Thrix had struggled to pay the bills. In the last two years, this had changed. The business was now beginning to pay dividends and with the extra income generated by her work for Malveria, the Enchantress was no longer struggling. She owned a comfortable apartment in the centre of town and had recently made a down payment on a Mercedes.

  Her wealth, beauty, and approaching success should have been more than enough to land the Enchantress at least one good relationship, but for some reason Thrix never managed to find a boyfriend she liked.

  “Can’t you just kidnap someone?” suggested the Fire Queen.

  “Not if I want to build a lasting relationship,” explained Thrix. The Fire Queen didn’t really understand. There was much about the human realm she didn’t understand. As one of the great elemental queens of nature, Malveria had human devotees all around the world, but though the Queen appreciated their support, in reality she was almost as vague about the norms of human relationships as she was about plumbing.

  “Is it because you are a werewolf and are required to go out with another werewolf but find this difficult because you have always tried to distance yourself from your clan?”

  “That doesn’t help,” acknowledged the Enchantress. “But I’d settle for a nice human who’d take me to dinner and not bore me by talking about himself all the time.”

  Malveria nodded. This she could understand. Even in her realm, the male fire spirits did tend to be full of themselves. Her ladies-in-waiting were always complaining about it.

  “Perhaps the more pleasant humans are intimidated by your beauty,” suggested the Fire Queen. “It is something I also suffer from, naturally. My own fabulous attractiveness has often made suitors tremble and shake but of course, I simply take whoever I please to be my consort. You know, I had a visitor last week, a most handsome young man, part elemental but with a little Elf in him, or possibly Fairy. He had a glorious smile and some interesting tales of several realms. Would you like to meet him?”

  Thrix shook her head. Her experience of blind dates had never been good. The conversation ended when Malveria was distracted by the most beautiful pair of silver slippers and practically shot from her chair with delight, a tiny flicker of flame appearing at the end of each of her fingers. Thrix shot her a warning glance. It wouldn’t do to be upsetting the models by bursting into flames, and besides, there was always the danger of damaging the clothes.

  “I want a hundred pairs,” yelled Malveria.

  “I can give you four,” said Thrix.

  “Four will be satisfactory,” said the Fire Queen.

&nbs
p; 18

  Kalix was now dangerously weak. She almost never ate while in human form but she was prevented from starving herself to death because during the three nights around the full moon when she would change into werewolf form whether she wanted to or not, the werewolf would eat.

  As a werewolf, Kalix was still in control of her actions. She did not lose her powers of rational thought. But there were differences. In werewolf form, life never looked quite the same. Her problems with eating would vanish and the wolf-Kalix would spend each night gorging herself on whatever meat was available. Sometimes dogs from alleys, sometimes the contents of butcher’s shops which she would enter by tearing the doors off. When she reverted back to her human form, the memory of eating made her feel nauseated. She would make herself vomit but it was too late to clear the food from her system. The three night binge was always enough to give her the strength to keep on living. The werewolf inside her was too strong to let her die.

  Now, close to the full moon, Kalix had not eaten properly for weeks. She was surviving on laudanum, tranquillisers, and the occasional shot of alcohol, and her strength was almost gone.

  Dawn filtered into the alley and Kalix woke with a start, still struggling with her dreams. Without warning a hand gripped her throat.

  “Hello little sister.”

  It was Markus. Beautifully attired as always in a long overcoat and a dark suit, his long curly chestnut hair tied back neatly with a black ribbon. He picked Kalix up with one hand and threw her across the alley. She crashed into the opposite wall and slumped heavily to the ground. She attempted to rise but Markus was already standing over her. He looked down at the skinny girl with contempt.

  “Another bad day for the lonely werewolf girl,” he said, mockingly.

  Kalix struggled to regain her feet. Markus put his foot on her chest, crushing her to the ground.

  “Should I take you back?” mused Markus, out loud, “What do you think, lonely werewolf girl?”

  “Don’t call me that,” snarled Kalix.

  Markus laughed.

  “Why not? Have you ever made a friend?”

  He looked down, directly into her eyes. Kalix glared back at him with loathing but she felt shame at his mockery.

  “Is there a single werewolf or human who cares whether you’re alive or dead? Anyone to come to your rescue?”

  Kalix still met his eyes, refusing to look away, but she had no answer for her brother.

  “The family wants you dead. The hunters want you dead. You probably want yourself dead. Why are you still alive, lonely werewolf girl?”

  Markus leant on her more heavily and Kalix struggled to breath.

  “Even your ill-bred lover doesn’t care about you.”

  At the mention of Gawain, Kalix erupted in fury and managed to heave herself free but as she scrambled to her feet Markus caught her with a blow and she slumped once more to the ground. Her brother looked at her with loathing.

  “Do you realise the trouble you’ve caused us all, you foul girl? I almost wish the Douglas-MacPhees had cut out your heart. I’d cut it out myself if mother didn’t want me to bring you back you alive.”

  Kalix, on her knees, sneered at him.

  “And you always like to do what mother tells you, Markus.”

  Markus, angered, kicked out at her savagely, and Kalix fell to the ground unconscious.

  19

  Daniel and Moonglow trundled slowly along the street in their rented van. Moonglow was navigating; Daniel was driving. They halted at a traffic light, where Moonglow struggled to read her map.

  “Did that really happen today?” said Daniel, abruptly.

  “It did.”

  “It was a startling experience.”

  “Very startling.”

  “I thought we coped well,” said Daniel. “I mean, how many people would have the presence of mind to offer a werewolf a pop-tart?”

  Though meeting a werewolf had been an astonishing experience, they hadn’t discussed it as much as they might have, because, suffering from the stress of packing and moving in secret, they’d had a prolonged argument which left them barely talking to each other. Tense at the thought of being caught by their landlord, Daniel had yet again found himself criticising Moonglow’s huge collection of scented candles. At four in the morning it suddenly seemed unreasonable of her to own so many.

  “Who needs so much lavender scent?” he complained.

  “I do,” declared Moonglow, who was in no mood to take criticism over a few candles. “The main reason for this experience being hell on earth is your music collection.”

  Daniel had an enormous collection of CDs plus a healthy amount of old records and tapes. He’d started collecting when he was nine and never lost the habit.

  “At least they’re useful,” said Daniel.

  “Three different copies of one Slayer album is not useful,” declared Moonglow.

  “They have slightly different covers,” countered Daniel, defensively.

  Daniel dumped the box of candles in the back of the van.

  “You just have so many because Jay likes them,” he said, accusingly.

  “Will you get off my back about Jay?”

  Moonglow’s mood was worsened by her memory of Kalix. She supposed she would never see the young werewolf again and would never know what became of her. Moonglow was troubled by the thought of her running through the streets, pursued by who knew what.

  By the time they finished packing they were barely talking to each other and Moonglow was wondering if maybe she should have found a place of her own to live. But she liked sharing with Daniel. He was a good flatmate. Funny, interesting, and reasonably considerate in household matters, which is to say he didn’t mind that Moonglow was extremely untidy. So was he. Both of them were quite prepared to let the dirty dishes pile up to alarming levels. It didn’t bother them at all. As flatmates, they were well suited. It was just unfortunate that Daniel was jealous of her boyfriend.

  As far as Moonglow could gather, Daniel had never actually had a girlfriend. That was a strange thought. Moonglow, who’d grown up in Winchester, had been surrounded by boys since she was fourteen, when she’d first dyed her hair black and gone to the local Goth club. Her mother had paid for her hair dye. And she’d let Moonglow have her ears pierced on her tenth birthday, feeling that it was always good to let her daughter express herself.

  “Which turning?” asked Daniel.

  “Wait a minute,” said Moonglow, who was still studying the map.

  “I can’t wait a minute, the traffic light’s turned green. I knew you couldn’t read a street map.”

  “I could read it if you’d let me concentrate,” retorted Moonglow.

  “Look - ” said Daniel.

  “Be quiet!” said Moonglow, loudly. “I’ve almost got it.”

  “There’s a - ”

  “Will you shut up!”

  “In the street!” screamed Daniel. “The werewolf girl!”

  Moonglow finally noticed that Daniel was pointing in front of them. There, at the mouth of an alleyway, a man was dragging the young werewolf girl along the ground.

  “We have to help!” yelled Moonglow, and opened her door. Hearing this, the man looked over and as he did so Kalix, regaining consciousness, broke free of his grasp and started to run. The man ran after her but Kalix, now having a little room to manoeuvre, planted one foot firmly on the ground and raised her leg to deliver a fierce kick into her assailant’s midriff. He fell to the ground.

  “Over here!” screamed Moonglow.

  Kalix ran towards them. Behind her Markus was already rising to pursue her. Kalix made it to the van and leapt onto Moonglow’s lap. Moonglow slammed the door shut and screamed for Daniel to drive. Daniel was already putting the van in gear but by the time he’d got them underway their pursuer was alongside. He struck out at the window and Moonglow gasped as the glass broke, showering her with fragments. Daniel put his foot down and they sped away, no longer worrying about which directi
on they were going.

  Kalix squirmed off Moonglow’s lap. In the front of the van there was plenty of room for her slender frame. They drove quickly in silence through the empty morning streets.

  “So,” said Daniel, finally. “Another of your brother’s employees trying to kill you?”

  “Different brother,” replied Kalix.

  Daniel and Moonglow mused on this for a while.

  “You have a really bad family,” said Daniel, eventually.

  20

  By the time they reached their new flat Kalix had fallen asleep.

  “For a person who’s always being pursued by murderous relatives this girl spends a lot of time sleeping,” said Daniel, as they carried her inside.

  “Perhaps it’s the stress,” suggested Moonglow. “Remember how much we slept during the exams?”

  They laid Kalix on the couch then went back to the van to start unloading their belongings.

  “Do you think maybe we should wake her up?” said Daniel, after they’d made a few trips. “She could help us unload the van with her mighty werewolf strength.”

  Moonglow looked at Kalix, thin, ragged and filthy, asleep on their couch. Blood had congealed around her nose and mouth.

  “Don’t be heartless,” she said. “She needs to rest.”

  “So do I,” muttered Daniel, and went back for another box. He was convinced that he was doing all the work, though really he had done no more than Moonglow.

  When Kalix woke up Moonglow helped her to wash the blood from her wounds. The werewolf, surprisingly, did not object.

  “Maybe you should take a bath,” suggested Moonglow. She tried not to sound insistent though she couldn’t help noticing that Kalix smelled really badly. It was a long time since she’d washed properly.

  Kalix felt that she should be moving on. She wasn’t safe here. But she wasn’t safe anywhere. She gazed longingly at the bath, white and clean, then nodded. While Moonglow ran the water Kalix slipped out of her rags and for the first time since Moonglow had met her, something resembling a smile appeared on her face. Moonglow went to hunt through her boxes for her shampoo and bath oils. Downstairs Daniel was finally bringing in the last of their possessions. He was very red in the face. As a first year English student he wasn’t used to a lot of exercise. Two days a week his lectures started at nine in the morning and he always felt that this deprived him of a lot of sleep.