“Did we bring spares?” inquired Dominil.
Thrix emitted a loud throaty growl, and glared at her cousin. Her temper, never far from the surface, began to make the intricate task almost impossible. Dominil felt her own frustration starting to rise. She was quite sure she could have arranged the petals in the required order quite easily. Thrix struggled on.
“Finished. Does that look like the diagram?”
“It’s close. Though not quite perfect. I’ll move those two into place.”
“Go ahead,” said Thrix, in a bad mood.
Finally, the petals were all in position. They snaked toward the wall in a twisted arrow.
“What’s next?” asked Dominil.
“I recite the spell.”
Now that the petals were in position, Thrix managed to calm herself. She knelt on the floor and closed her eyes. Dominil watched silently.
Thrix opened her eyes, then said a few words in the secret language of the fairies of Colburn Woods. Next she said a sentence in Gaelic, and waved her hand over the petals. They wavered, as if blown by a breeze.
“Are there enemies?” asked Thrix in English.
The petals rose from the floor and, as if they were a real arrow, shot toward the wall, hitting it with some force.
“What does that mean?” asked Dominil.
“It means the Avenaris Guild is on the other side of this wall.”
The two werewolves stared intently at the wall, trying to imagine the scene on the other side. What was happening there? Were hunters planning their raids? Practicing with silver bullets?
“You’re all going to die,” muttered Thrix, and bared her fangs.
Suddenly, the petals rose from the floor, formed themselves back into an arrow, and flew through the room. They hit the door and fluttered to the ground.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” said Thrix, lowering her voice.
“More enemies?” whispered Dominil.
Thrix nodded. They crept toward the door, muscles tensed, ready to fight. Dominil swept a strand of long white hair from her face and flexed her great werewolf claws. They put their ears to the door and listened with their keen werewolf ears.
“This room will do for a week or so until we find you a more permanent address.”
“A lot of hunters have stayed here when they first arrived in London.”
The voices faded.
“Well, now we know,” whispered Thrix. “The Guild does use this hotel.”
There were more footsteps in the corridor, and more talking, followed by the sounds of room doors opening and closing.
“It sounds like they’re putting a lot of hunters in here,” whispered Thrix. “We could kill a lot of them right now.”
“It would ruin our plan. We should wait till things are quiet, and leave discreetly.”
“I suppose so.” Thrix sat on the bed. “Seems comfy,” she said. “Do you think we could get room service?”
“I hardly think that’s necessary.”
“We might be here for a while.”
Dominil sat in one of the plush armchairs. They remained there in silence, still alert to danger, wondering if they’d be able to leave the hotel safely and report everything to the clan.
“Are you going to take up that offer of modeling?” asked Thrix.
“That seems like a strange question at this moment. But no, I’m not.”
“Why not? I know that agent, it was a serious offer.”
“One experience of modeling was enough.”
“Didn’t you once say you were looking for a career?”
“I am not modeling again. Although it strikes me that Agrivex and Kalix could take up the offer. They’d earn money, and they both have the energy.”
“They’re too short,” said Thrix dismissively.
“I understood that a few models of smaller stature have succeeded, due to their exceptional beauty. Both Kalix and Vex might be said to fit that role.”
Thrix didn’t want to think about Kalix and she didn’t enjoy hearing her described as an exceptional beauty. She dropped the subject, and they sat in silence again. At midnight, having heard no sound outside for some time, Dominil suggested they leave. They picked up the flower petals and slipped quietly out of the room. They encountered no one as they left. The werewolf cousins made their way quickly up Gloucester Place, turning into the first side street they came to.
“I’ll see you in Scotland,” said Thrix.
Dominil nodded, and they went their separate ways.
CHAPTER 122
At 3 AM Kalix lay on her bed, fully dressed, wide awake and very depressed. She’d cried herself out, eventually. Finally prying herself away from Moonglow’s embrace, Kalix had retired, hoping to go to sleep and forget about everything. She felt physically exhausted after sobbing for such a long time. Unfortunately, she couldn’t sleep, even with a dose of laudanum.
Stupid werewolf vitality, she thought.
The weight of depression felt like it was crushing her into the mattress. She couldn’t believe how badly she’d messed things up.
It’s an all-time low. I must have set a new record. Again.
Her arm felt sore. She’d put a long cut on her bicep with the special sharp blade she kept for that purpose. That usually made her feel better. This time it hadn’t.
Kalix sat up. I wish hunters would attack.
Kalix wondered again if Dominil had found the Guild. She hoped she had, so that there might be a battle. Kalix again imagined herself charging into a large group of hunters, rending and tearing at them. She sighed. Dominil might not find the Guild.
“And they might not even tell me.” She became angry at the thought, and resolved to call Dominil the next day, to make sure she wasn’t left out of their plans.
Kalix felt the moon outside. She changed into her werewolf shape for comfort. Her cupboard was open, and she could see her reflection in the long mirror attached to the back of the door. Kalix stared at herself. A few of Vex’s crayons were lying on the floor. Kalix noticed that the brown crayon was the same color as her fur. For want of anything better to do, she picked it up and drew an outline of herself on a blank page at the back of her journal. It was hard to manipulate the crayon in her werewolf paw so she changed back and forth for a while, becoming human to draw in the details, and changing back to werewolf to make broader strokes. It took her mind off things for a little while.
When she’d finished, she examined her self-portrait.
I’m a hopeless artist, she thought, and ripped the page from her journal, and crumpled it up. She turned to her self-improvement pages.
“Werewolf Improvement Plan—be less violent—be independent—stop taking laudanum—get on better with people—stop being anxious—stop being depressed—stop cutting myself—eat better and don’t throw up—improve reading and writing and maths.”
She shook her head. What was I thinking? I can’t do any of that.
Kalix ripped out the pages and went downstairs to the kitchen. She searched in the drawer and found a box of matches. Then she put the pages in the sink and set fire to them. She lit more matches to burn them quicker. Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, there was a great wailing sound as an alarm went off. The noise made Kalix leap backward in surprise. There was not much room in the kitchen and she banged her head painfully on a cabinet.
There was the sound of doors slamming upstairs.
“What’s happening?” cried Daniel, appearing in only a pair of tracksuit bottoms. “What’s that noise?”
The shrieking alarm was sounding incessantly. Moonglow ran into the kitchen, clutching a black dressing gown around her.
“Where’s the fire? What’s happening?” Moonglow looked at the burning papers in the sink. “What are you doing?”
Kalix was very embarrassed. She hung her head. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know we had a smoke alarm.”
“Neither did I,” said Daniel. “When did we get a smoke alarm?”
; Moonglow climbed on a chair, reaching up to switch the alarm off. “It’s always been here,” she said. “I put a battery in last week.”
“Couldn’t you have warned us?” said Daniel. “I almost had a heart attack.” He looked at the burning embers. “What were you burning?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel was going to inquire further, but Moonglow nudged him quiet, thinking that it was probably something Kalix didn’t want to talk about. The cat arrived, meowing energetically.
“I’m not surprised you’re meowing,” said Daniel. “Kalix nearly frightened us to death.”
“It was my self-improvement plan,” said Kalix.
“What?”
“My self-help plan. For making things better. Like in my therapy book.”
“Oh. So you burnt it?”
“It was a stupid plan. Sorry I woke everyone. Goodnight.”
Kalix walked out of the kitchen. The cat hurried after her. Moonglow and Daniel looked at each other.
“That’s so sad,” said Moonglow. “I think I’m going to cry.”
“I didn’t know Kalix had a self-improvement plan. Did you know?”
“No.”
They peered into the sink.
“I don’t believe in self-help,” said Daniel.
“Maybe you should. You’re looking a bit flabby.”
“I am not!” Daniel looked down at his naked torso. “Maybe a bit. But I got in shape for modeling.”
Moonglow smiled. “True. And it worked. Lady Gezinka just whisked you off to her room.”
At the mention of Lady Gezinka, Daniel looked keenly at Moonglow, wondering if there was a hint of jealousy there. But Moonglow had turned toward the kitchen cabinet, and he couldn’t see her face.
“What do you think Kalix will do next?” said Daniel.
“Be depressed, I suppose. And crazy, going on past experience.”
“Did she really like Manny that much?”
“I don’t know. I think she felt happy around him. That would be a change for Kalix.”
“Hey look.” Daniel fished a crumpled piece of paper out of the sink. Though blackened round the edges, it hadn’t suffered much in the fire. He smoothed it out. It was Kalix’s self-portrait, drawn in brown crayon.
“Kalix did that?” said Moonglow.
They both stared at the paper, quite surprised.
“That’s such a good picture,” said Daniel. “It’s really like her.”
There was something about Kalix’s crayon drawing that had caught her spirit exactly. Though roughly drawn, it showed her in a way both Daniel and Moonglow recognized immediately—troubled and unsure of herself.
“This is a really good drawing,” said Moonglow. “It can’t be easy making a werewolf look vulnerable with a brown crayon. I’d no idea Kalix was such a good artist.”
They took their tea into the living room.
“I wish Kalix hadn’t burned her self-help plan,” said Moonglow. “It wasn’t such a bad idea.”
“Unlike telling Manny she’d slept with Decembrius. That was a bad idea.”
Moonglow sighed. “Maybe it was. I didn’t think it would go so badly. But people should be honest.”
Daniel remained unconvinced. “Some healthy lying never hurt anyone. I wonder what was in her self-improvement plan.”
He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. “I wish I could draw that well.”
CHAPTER 123
The Fire Queen and her dining companions had not yet finished their first course when the Queen summoned her chief steward.
“Steward, what is this wine?”
“The light sun-grape, mighty Queen.”
The fire Queen wrinkled her nose. “Light sun-grape? Is that a suitable wine for my table? One can hardly taste it.”
“It was served at your instruction—”
“Nonsense,” the Queen interrupted him. “One cannot entertain guests with light wine fit only for children. Take it away and give it to any children who may be nearby. Then bring us some proper wine.”
“Very good, mighty Queen.”
The Queen looked round at her dining companions. “My chief steward. A good man, but sometimes becomes confused.”
As the next course was being served the chief steward hurried in with several bottles of volcano grape wine, a thick, dark red liquid.
“Splendid,” said the Fire Queen. “You will enjoy this, DeMortalis, unless the advancing years have dulled your tastes.”
“I believe I can cope,” said the Duke.
The Fire Queen looked at her chief steward. “Steward, is it not customary to have music as an accompaniment to dining with guests?”
The chief steward was alarmed. “I believe the Queen instructed that no music . . . Obviously I have made a mistake. I will summon the royal chamber orchestra.”
“Please do,” said the Fire Queen. “And bring more volcano grape, one cannot stint when there are guests.”
Outside the Queen’s dining chamber the corridors were now full of servants running to round up the royal musicians. This was a potentially difficult task: given the day off, most of the orchestra would be now ensconced in the nearest tavern, and might resist any attempt to recall them.
“Are you enjoying your meal, DeMortalis?”
“It is splendid, mighty Queen.”
“Excellent. You must excuse the simple fare, Duke. As I said, I am much in need of rest, and can take no excitement. Ah, here are some of the royal musicians now. Excellent. Steward, did I not instruct you to bring more wine? Send to my cellars for the special vintage, the Duke is in need of a pick-me-up.”
The Fire Queen looked at the Duke. “Where is Garamlock?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Prince. Is he not always in your entourage? How are we to play cards if you have no partner.”
The Duke of the Black Castle, not until now looking as if he required a pick-me-up, did look a little puzzled.
“I understood there was to be no card-playing . . .”
“Really, Gargamond,” said the Fire Queen. “One might almost be disappointed with the Duke. Here he is, drinking light wine, and unwilling to risk his hand at a game of cards. It is not like you, Duke. I fear age must be catching up.”
The Duke sent a servant out hastily to fetch the Dead Prince of Garamlock.
The Queen looked around for her chief steward. “Steward, this dessert is unsatisfactory. When I asked for a light meal I did not mean I should be brushed off with a sandwich. Kindly rectify matters.”
“Yes, mighty Queen,” said the steward.
Some time later, while studying her cards, the Fire Queen was annoyed to have her concentration broken by a tap on her shoulder.
“What’s this?” She looked with displeasure at her young page. “Can you not see I am busy playing cards with the Duke?”
The page bent down to whisper in the Fire Queen’s ear. “You asked me to interrupt if the game went on too long.”
“So?” said the Queen. “I have hardly sat down to play.”
“Dawn is breaking,” whispered the page. “You’ve been playing for six hours.”
The Fire Queen waved him away. “Stop talking nonsense. And then bring wine.”
She turned to the Duke. “These young pages, always fussing. Your turn to deal, I believe, Garamlock.”
The Prince shuffled the cards with a look of intense concentration, the same look he’d worn for the past two hours since the cards had turned in Malveria’s favor and she’d starting winning money from him. There was a huge stack of gold coins at her elbow, and a similar sized pile beside her partner Gruselvere. DeMortalis and Garamlock had both suffered heavy losses, and had been obliged to send servants to fetch more gold.
“I trust the Queen is enjoying her rest,” said DeMortalis.
“One is tremendously rested,” replied the Queen. “Did I tell you how well you are looking, DeMortalis? Your new hairstyle quite disguises your age.”
D
eMortalis, a man of ready wit, thought immediately of several good replies he could have made to this, but restrained himself. The Queen’s age was not something that could be talked about lightly.
“It has met with some appreciation.”
“From kitchen maids everywhere, I imagine,” said the Fire Queen. Gargamond laughed.
“The stories of my adventures with kitchen maids are greatly exaggerated,” said the Duke.
The Fire Queen laughed. “If it wasn’t for your dalliance with Gargamond’s kitchen maid you’d never have been near the volcano on the day of Distikka’s rebellion.”
“And fortunate it was that I was there,” said the Duke. “Defending the nation while the Queen was absent.”
“Absent?”
“As I recall, I held the volcano while the Queen was trapped in limbo.”
“Arriving just in time to prevent the Duke from being roasted by a dragon, as I recall,” said Malveria, good-naturedly. “But one does appreciate your efforts, DeMortalis. As did my council of ministers, who discussed awarding you a campaign medal.”
“A medal?”
“Yes,” said the Queen. “A splendid device of flaming gold. It would have looked very fine on your chest.”
“What happened to it?”
“I vetoed the idea. As I said to my council, the Duke of the Black Castle thinks well enough of himself without making it worse by awarding him medals.”
“I appreciate your thoughts, mighty Queen.”
The Fire Queen smiled. “Garamlock, are you ever going to deal the cards? And where is the page with my wine?”
The Duke picked up his cards. “My lead, I believe? Let us see if the Queen’s good fortune can continue.”
“I feel it can,” said the Queen.
She concentrated on her cards, as did her companion Duchess Gargamond, who thought that the Fire Queen was enjoying herself more than she had for a long time, even to the extent of allowing a faint tinge of happiness to be visible in her aura. It was poor etiquette to display one’s aura in public, but here, in her private wing, the Fire Queen seemed a little more relaxed.
“Is that another hand to me?” said the Queen. “Excellent. Ah, here is the wine at last. Pay up, DeMortalis, and deal the cards again.”
The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf Page 45