The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf

by Martin Millar

  “It’s Vex!” said Daniel. He hurried back upstairs into the flat, followed by Kalix and Moonglow. Vex was standing in the living room, apparently unharmed but distressed.

  “Aunt Malvie’s gone mad! She started exploding all over the place!” Vex paused. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “What did you do to drive her mad?” demanded Daniel, voicing what the others were thinking.

  “I didn’t do anything! I was just telling her about my boyfriend and then she wanted me to try producing flames, which I couldn’t, and then she just started exploding!”

  “It doesn’t seem enough to make Malveria lose her reason,” said Moonglow.

  “I don’t know,” said Daniel. “Vex can be very irritating.”

  “Was there anything else?” asked Moonglow.

  Vex’s bright yellow hair was a dull gray from plaster that had descended from the ceilings. She tried to remember what else had been said.

  “Aunt Malvie wanted to see if I could use my computer, so I was showing her how great I am using it, and we looked at some manga, and then some Japanese fashion, and then she wanted to see if there was anything about Vogue, so I went to the Vogue webpage . . .”

  Vex looked thoughtful. “And you know, it was right then that Aunt Malvie exploded.”

  The flatmates were mystified. Moonglow crossed over to the table where her own laptop had fortunately been closed at the time of the explosions. She blew off the dust then searched for the website of British Vogue.

  “‘On set with Chanel—new street chic,’” she said, reading from the page. “‘Our pick of the best summer shoes’—what’s this?”

  Moonglow clicked on a link while Daniel, Vex and Kalix craned to read over her shoulder.

  “Fashionable party people,” said Moonglow. “Who’s been out and about this week in London. Famous society beauty Señorita Kabachetka, seen here at Tuesday’s reception with editor Emily St. Claire. Señorita Kabachetka, heir to a huge gold-mining fortune in Brazil, will be sponsoring this year’s St. Amelia’s Ball.”

  Moonglow looked up. “Well, that explains it.”

  “What?” asked Daniel.

  “Kabachetka’s beaten her into the ‘fashionable party people’ page.”

  “Is that serious?”

  “Serious? Have you never heard Malveria talk about it? It’s her one ambition to get herself into that page.”

  “It’s true,” said Vex. “I’ve always thought it was a bit frivolous really.”

  Everyone stared at the screen, where the Empress Kabachetka, in the guise of a South American heiress, looked blonde, happy and fashionable.

  “Where’s your aunt now?” asked Kalix.

  Vex shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was hiding under the bed. I think she went outside and exploded some more.”

  “Will she be all right?” asked Moonglow.

  At that moment there came a sound like thunder: the fiercest, most earth-splitting thunder ever heard in the city. The whole street vibrated. There was another terrible crash as the Fire Queen materialized at the top of the room, hurtling downward. She smashed into the couch, which collapsed in flames, then lay motionless among the wreckage.

  “Well, I’ve seen her better,” said Vex.

  Moonglow, Daniel, Kalix and Vex gathered around in concern.

  “Wake up, Aunty!” said Vex.

  There was no response. Moonglow became very worried. “I think we should get a doctor,” she said.

  “How?” asked Daniel. “We can’t call nine nine nine and say we’ve got an injured Fire Elemental in the house.”

  “I didn’t mean a human doctor,” said Moonglow. “An elemental doctor. Vex, you have doctors, right?”

  Vex nodded. “Aunt Malvie’s got her own doctor. He’s famous. He lives in the palace.”

  “Could you bring him here?”

  The young Fire Elemental frowned. “I’m not sure. Most Hiyastas don’t like to come to Earth. They don’t like the journey.”

  But Vex, who up till now had been expecting her aunt to suddenly sit up and be normal again, became worried. The Fire Queen, lying among the ruins of the couch, showed no signs of movement.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” said Vex, and disappeared into thin air.

  “I’ll get a blanket,” said Moonglow.

  “Is that a good idea?” wondered Daniel. “Isn’t the Queen made of fire? What if she overheats?”

  “I don’t like to just leave her lying there,” said Moonglow. “We have to do something.”

  Moonglow hurried off upstairs to bring a blanket for the Fire Queen. Daniel surveyed the room, which was in a poor state. Apart from the shattered couch, everything was covered in fine dust, and there were cracks and scorch marks on the ceiling. Kalix wondered what she could do to help. Though she had never felt much affinity with the Fire Queen, she knew she owed her life to Malveria’s powers of healing.

  “Maybe she’d like a glass of water,” she said, and went to the kitchen to run the tap.

  Daniel sat down beside the Queen and placed his hand gently on her arm, in what he hoped was a comforting way. Soon the Queen lay under a blanket, with a glass of water beside her, and three anxious flatmates watching over her, waiting for Vex to arrive with an elemental doctor from another dimension.

  CHAPTER 53

  The mood at the Avenaris Guild was brighter than it had been for many months. The gloom caused by the death of Captain Easterly had pervaded the whole organization, but now there was optimism in every part of the building. First there had been the good news about the legacy from the Countess of Nottingham. Using that money, Mr. Carmichael had moved quickly to replace the hunters they’d lost. The Guild was reinvigorated. The assassination of Minerva MacRinnalch had been a fine start. Even if she had not been a well-known werewolf, any success in the Scottish Highlands, where the MacRinnalchs were so strong, was regarded as a triumph. And now the same squadron, Group Sixteen, had scored a great coup by killing all three Douglas-MacPhees. The operation had gone as smoothly as anyone could have hoped for. The four hunters had tracked the Douglas-MacPhees in London and then swiftly eliminated them. There was celebration at their headquarters. Mr. Carmichael had silenced his detractors.

  The chairman of the board personally congratulated his four new recruits on their successful mission. He met Stone, Marshall, Braid and Axelsen in his son’s office, and told him how proud the Guild was of their achievement.

  “The Douglas-MacPhees were three of the strongest werewolves ever to infest London. You’ve eliminated them in a brilliant operation without sustaining a single casualty. It’s one of our greatest moments.”

  The four members of Group Sixteen accepted Mr. Carmichael’s praise without exhibiting any great degree of emotion. They knew there were stronger werewolves than the Douglas-MacPhees. Royston, who was responsible for most of their intelligence, had immersed himself in the Guild’s records. He’d briefed his companions on some of the werewolves they were likely to meet.

  John Carmichael’s office contained the same mixture of furnishings that characterized the Guild’s headquarters: a Georgian mahogany bookcase in the corner, a metal filing cabinet from the ’60s next to the door and a brand-new computer on his desk. On the screen was a file with pictures of each of the Douglas-MacPhees. Below each picture, the word “eliminated” had been added.

  “When will our next mission be?” asked Marshall.

  “Soon,” Mr. Carmichael told him. “We’re still gathering intelligence.”

  “I don’t like waiting,” said Braid.

  Mr. Carmichael nodded. He knew Braid to be a fine hunter. He also knew he was a very violent man—more violent, probably, than most of their hunters. He’d been dishonorably discharged from the army. Mr. Carmichael had read the report.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be in action again soon. I warned you that some of these werewolves have extra protection. Sorcery, so it’s said. But we’ve got people on our side now who can dea
l with that. We’ll find them.”

  Mr. Carmichael leaned over the desk and tapped some keys on the computer. A blurry photograph, taken in the street at a distance, came up on-screen. A young woman, her face partially hidden, with a long coat and very long hair.

  “The werewolf princess,” said Royston, who’d read all that the Guild had on Kalix MacRinnalch.

  Mr. Carmichael nodded. “She’s been very hard to find. But we’re getting closer.”

  Braid leaned closer to the screen. “I’d like to meet her,” he said.

  CHAPTER 54

  Many MacRinnalchs had never regarded Markus as a suitable candidate for Thane. The same was true among the smaller clans associated with the MacRinnalchs—the MacAllisters, MacPhees, MacGregors and MacAndrises. After Markus’s victory in the election, the animosity toward him gradually ebbed away. This was largely due to the astute politicking of his mother Verasa. The Mistress of the Werewolves had many years’ experience in placating dissatisfied werewolves. It helped that Markus had defeated the huge Wallace MacGregor in single combat. The fight had been witnessed by many werewolves, and it had proved that Markus did not lack either strength or spirit.

  Markus was now secure in his position. Only some terrible blunder on his part could lead to anyone questioning his authority.

  “Markus, is that webcam on?” asked Beatrice.

  “Uh . . . I’m not sure,” said Markus.

  Beatrice slammed the laptop shut. “You have to be more careful!” she said. “Your mother was on the other end of that webcam not five minutes ago!”

  Beatrice was angry. “If you don’t care about being run out of the castle, I do. I need my job.”

  Beatrice MacRinnalch was assistant keeper of the archives at Castle MacRinnalch, and in line for promotion to chief curator. She was also one of Markus’s two girlfriends, the other of whom was standing next to them, partially dressed, with a safety pin in her mouth as she made adjustments to Markus’s long blue dress.

  Heather MacAllister took the safety pin out of her mouth. “Beatrice is right. If the clan catches you wearing a dress with two half-naked girlfriends beside you, you’ll be the shortest-reigning Thane in history.”

  Markus was grinning. “Maybe they’d be impressed.”

  “They won’t be. Baron MacAllister would chase me out of Scotland. I’m his grand-niece and he has standards.”

  Markus was standing in front of a long mirror in the living room of his Edinburgh flat. His two girlfriends were adjusting his dress.

  “We’ve got an openly gay gardener at the castle,” said Markus. “Maybe cross-dressing might be the next thing to get past the standards committee of the werewolf clan.”

  Beatrice laughed. The werewolves didn’t actually have a standards committee, but if they had, Markus wouldn’t have made it past them, of that she was quite certain. Two separate girlfriends would have been bad enough, though possibly acceptable, if handled discreetly. Two girlfriends that he saw at the same time wouldn’t have been. As for his liking for cross-dressing, the uproar that would cause could hardly be imagined.

  “You wouldn’t be grinning, that’s for sure,” said Beatrice.

  Markus acknowledged the truth of that. “But we’re far away from the clan now, and the webcam’s off, so let’s get this dress sorted.”

  “I think we should put it to one side for the moment,” said Beatrice.

  Markus looked at her in surprise. Since confessing his liking for cross-dressing to Beatrice, she’d proved to be rather fond of the whole thing. He looked toward Heather for support.

  “Beatrice is right,” said Heather. “We should get back to work.”

  The Thane looked disappointed. “When did you both become so responsible?”

  Heather MacAllister picked up her blouse from the floor and put it on. She was a little taller than Beatrice, though in other ways they were similar. Beatrice had lighter hair, but recently Heather had lightened hers, making them both dark blonde. Heather had plucked her eyebrows, making them resemble Beatrice’s, which were very finely shaped. They both had brown eyes, as was most common among Scottish werewolves, and both were rather slender, also common.

  Beatrice reopened the laptop, carefully pointing it away from anything incriminating while she checked that their webcam connection was indeed off. Satisfied that it was, she opened a folder and started laying out files on the desktop. Markus sighed and joined them at the table.

  “I’m not sure we’re going to find anything,” he said.

  “We might,” said Beatrice. “Anyway, Dominil said it was worth doing.”

  For the past week, Markus, Beatrice and Heather had been engaged in collating information about the Avenaris Guild. While the MacRinnalchs had had many encounters with the hunters over the years, no one had thought to classify these encounters in any meaningful sort of way. Dominil had pointed out that it was ridiculous for the clan not to possess some sort of database on their enemies. Markus had taken on responsibility for the task. He recruited Beatrice, who, as an archivist at the castle, was used to recording things. The two of them, with the assistance of Heather, were now engaged on the important though tedious task. Every recorded encounter with the Guild was being classified and filed.

  They sat in the front room of the solid Georgian apartment Markus owned on George Street in Edinburgh, making entries in the computer. Beatrice had brought several large boxes from the castle archives, filled with tales of old fights with the hunters, some of them handwritten notes on parchment dating back hundreds of years. There were entries in old diaries, some scraps from newspapers about mysterious fights, faded photographs and a lot of miscellaneous notes, recorded over the years but never organized. For more recent attacks, Markus was contacting those werewolves who’d been involved. It was a large task. Markus was taking it seriously, but would never have put in so many hours had it not been for Heather and Beatrice.

  “Who are you going to talk to about the Douglas-MacPhees?” asked Heather.

  Markus scowled. Happening so soon after Minerva’s death, the murder of the Douglas-MacPhees had come as a serious blow to the clan. Never mind that they were outcasts. They were still werewolves, and they’d been killed in cold blood. It was a clear sign that the Avenaris Guild was again in the ascendency.

  “Decembrius found them. And Kalix.”

  Heather looked up. “Kalix? Are you talking to her?”

  “If I can. Though Kalix doesn’t like speaking to me.”

  They worked in silence for a few minutes.

  “What’s she like?” asked Heather.

  “Kalix?” Markus wasn’t quite sure how to reply. A year or so ago he’d have replied that Kalix was terrible in every way. Since becoming Thane he’d developed a little more sympathy for her.

  “When she was a child at the castle she was awful. Insane, violent, angry. I hated her. She used to smash things and get in fights. Not just with other children, with adults too. It didn’t bother her that she’d get beaten. She was so crazy that eventually even werewolves who were much bigger and stronger would avoid her, because if they got into a fight, Kalix would never stop. It didn’t matter what they did, she’d just keep fighting. They had to knock her out to make her stop. And that was awkward, with her being the Thane’s daughter.” Markus shook his head. “Hardly a day passed when there wasn’t some Kalix outrage.”

  “When did it start?”

  “She was always like that,” said Markus. “She was in trouble as soon as she could walk.” He frowned. “Or I think she was. I didn’t pay much attention to her when she was an infant. But I remember her well when she got to about eight or nine. None of the other werewolf kids in the castle would go near her; they were terrified.

  “A few years after that, she broke into the Thane’s study and emptied the whisky cabinet. Drank everything that was there. Young werewolves are always keen to try the MacRinnalch malt, but she took that to ridiculous levels as well. Once she had to get her stomach pumped when
she emptied the medicine cabinet.” Markus shook his head and frowned. “I suppose it wasn’t far from that to laudanum. But by then she was so mad I wasn’t surprised by anything she did. She actually fought with my father. No other werewolf would have done that. I wouldn’t have dared.”

  Markus and Kalix’s father, the old Thane, had been a famously strong werewolf.

  “Did she really kill him?” asked Heather.

  “More or less. Fastened her teeth to his throat and flung him downstairs. He lasted a while afterward, but he died of the injuries. He was getting old by then. I suppose that had something to do with it.”

  Markus was troubled by the conversation. He wasn’t used to talking about Kalix with anyone except his mother. “Maybe it wasn’t all her fault. Thrix says girls in the family didn’t have a good time when they were young. I don’t know if that’s true.”

  “What does she do in London?” asked Beatrice.

  “She lives with some humans. I’ve met them; they’re all right. They look after her.”

  Markus abandoned his work and ran a hand through his hair in a pensive gesture.

  “This is making me depressed. I don’t know what to think about my mad little sister. Perhaps I should have done more for her.”

  “You helped her out when she came to Edinburgh,” said Beatrice.

  It was true. On her last visit to Scotland, Kalix had found herself in a difficult situation, surrounded by her enemies. Markus had rescued her and managed to smuggle her back to England without the clan becoming aware of her presence.

  “She can’t even read,” said Markus. “How did that happen? How did we manage to have a little sister who can’t even read?”

  Heather put a comforting hand on Markus’s arm. “I’m sure it’s not your fault.”

  Markus sighed. He picked up an old diary and looked at it with distaste. “Could we carry on with this later? I’m not much feeling like transcribing entries any more.”

  The phone rang. It was Dominil, asking if they had finished the task.

  “Finished? Are you joking? Do you know how many encounters there are to track down?”