Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (23 page)

"At least she has the pendant now. She's safe from her family.
And the werewolf hunters."

65

It was just bad luck that brought Kalix up against the
Avenaris Guild. Her new pendant meant that hunters could not sense her,
and nor could their trained dogs. In effect, she gave off no werewolf
scent, and no one could tell she was not human. The Guild did not use
sorcery, as a rule, but they did have members who through a form of
mystic training could recognise a werewolf, even in human form. Even
they could not now detect Kalix. Unfortunately, Kalix was not safe from
being recognised by one of the hunters who had previously been tailing
her. The young werewolf made it to the end of Moonglow's street without
any notion of what she was doing. Gripped by the terrible anxiety
attack she fled from the confines of the house but when she went
out-side her condition didn't improve. The anxiety was coming in waves
that made it impossible to think. Kalix hurried on, as if by fleeing
she could somehow escape from herself. People stared as she passed
because her face was messy from vomiting and her eyes were red with
tears.

With so much werewolf activity in the country just now, the
Guild had stepped up its patrols. Between Kennington and Vauxhall,
Kalix walked right past a group of three hunters, and one of them
recognised her. He'd followed her last month, before she evaded him.
The hunter waited till the sensitive-eared werewolf was some distance
away before whispering to his to companions.

"That's Kalix MacRinnalch."

"The werewolf princess?"

His companions had been expecting someone more impressive than
the skinny girl with very long hair who was currently walking
unsteadily down the road that led to Vauxhall Bridge.

"She doesn't look a like a princess."

"Never mind what she looks like. Let's go."

They followed on, discreetly at first, but more confidently as
it became clear that Kalix was paying no attention to her surroundings.
The werewolf seemed unaware of what she was doing, and more than once
came close to bumping into other pedestrians. The leader knew this area
well. The street that ran down to Vauxhall bridge passed under several
railway bridges close to the river. Around these bridges were some
desolate areas that had once contained small industrial units, now
mostly empty. It was an ideal place for an attack. The hunters each had
a gun concealed in a shoulder holster, loaded with silver bullets.
Though the Guild preferred to kill werewolves while they were in
werewolf shape, a daughter of the Thane was too important to let
escape. Besides, there was no possibility that they might be attacking
a human by mistake. This was Kalix MacRinnalch. When she was dead, no
one was going to complain to the police. They closed in, ready for the
kill. When the girl stepped into the shadows of the first bridge their
leader gave an order and the three men sprinted forwards.

Kalix's dreadful anxiety had negated her normally keen senses,
preventing her from scenting or hearing her pursuers. It almost got her
killed. At the last second, she sensed the hunters. She whirled round,
saw three men running at her, and fled. Her anxiety vanished, as did
her weakness. No amount of vomiting could clear all of last night's
food from her system and whether she liked it or not, Kalix was strong
again. The young girl, the only member of the ruling family born as a
werewolf, took flight with a speed which left her pursuers gasping.
Kalix disappeared beneath the arch of the bridge before anyone could
fire a shot. The hunters sped after her, hurtling round the corner
before coming to a halt, straining their senses for any trace of her.

"Look down that - " began their leader, then broke off as
Kalix fell on him from above. Realising she was strong again, and not
wanting to run from the hated Guild, Kalix had decided to bring the
fight to them. She'd scaled the wall and clung on till the hunters were
right beneath her. She landed squarely on the leader and pulled his
head violently to the side as they went down. Kalix sprang immediately
to her feet. The hunter, his neck broken, remained where he was. The
other two went to pull their guns from their shoulder holsters but
Kalix was far too quick for them. She kicked one backwards then smashed
her fist into the other's throat. He fell down unconscious. The third
hunter, his ribs cracked from the force of Kalix's kick, tried to
scramble to his feet but Kalix kicked him again full in the face and he
slumped to the ground.

It was over in seconds. Kalix studied the three bodies. One
dead, one maybe dying and one that would probably recover. Kalix was
not inclined to let him recover. The Guild had hunted her kind and
killed them without mercy. She stepped over to the man with the bloody
face and stamped her heel onto his chest so hard that his ribs broke.
Blood gurgled from his mouth. Before making her escape the werewolf
girl quickly slipped her hand inside their jackets, taking their
wallets. Satisfied, Kalix trotted off.

She felt better. Her anxiety had gone, the excess adrenaline
used up in the fight. Kalix passed by a cafe and noticed her reflection
in the window. She looked a mess. She wiped her face, then fished
around in her bag, found her sunglasses, and put them on. Then she
started jogging up the road, the words of
Cherry Bomb
playing in her head. She ran over Vauxhall Bridge, running now not out
of fear, but because she felt like it. As she ran, her long hair
billowed out behind her like a vast sail. On the other side of the
river she hopped nimbly over a tall fence, heading down towards the
river bank where she would be alone. She settled down with her feet
dangling over the dark water of the Thames, took out her journal, and
started to write.

66

As soon as the funeral was over Gawain was arrested. He went
without a struggle. He was taken to the dungeon, which was dark and
damp. It was rarely used these days but the walls were extremely thick
and the doors were strong. It was a place from which even the most
powerful werewolf could not escape. Gawain made no attempt to escape.
He intended to see the Mistress of the Werewolves, and learn news of
Kalix.

Gawain sat with his back against the wall, and thought of
other, happier, times in his life when he'd visited the castle. Gawain
was the great-great-grandson of the renowned warrior Gerrant Gawain
MacRinnalch. His family had always been welcome guests. Their status
had only been slightly diminished by Gawain's grandfather marrying a
human. Gawain's one quarter human blood would not have precluded him
from much though it did mean he could never ascend to a position on the
Great Council. Apart from that, he was free to do anything he liked,
except sleep with the Thane's adolescent daughter.

High above the dungeon, in the chambers of the Mistress of the
Werewolves, Verasa was taking to Markus. Thrix had already left, keen
to get back to London as soon as possible. Sarapen had also departed,
heading east to his own large keep. After the funeral he had not spoken
again to either Verasa or Markus. He'd left formal notice with Rainal
that he would return in one month's time for the next meeting of the
Great Council. As for Baron MacPhee and Baron MacGre-gor, their
farewell salutations to the Mistress of the Werewolves had been
respectful but there was no hiding their disquiet at the events of the
past few days.

Verasa sighed.

"If the Thane had only managed to live for a few more months I
could have delivered the Thaneship to you in one easy meeting."

Markus nodded. His mother was still confident that she could
gather sufficient votes, but what would Sarapen do in the meantime?

"Attempt to capture or kill Kalix, work on Baron MacAllister,
possibly make representations to Thrix," said Verasa. "No doubt if left
to his own devices he'd try to kill everyone who opposes him, but he
has some good advisors. Mirasen is clever."

When his mother had first mooted the idea of Markus as Thane,
her younger son had been uncertain, not really thinking it was possible.

Now he believed it was. The prospect of finally gaining
dominance over his brother was enticing.

"Will Dominil really go to London?"

"Yes."

Apart from her sojourn at Oxford, Markus could not remember
Dominil going anywhere.

"I'm amazed, mother. The idea of Dominil rousing her languid
self to travel south is astonishing. And to look after the twins?"

"She was bored, my dear. I believe that boredom may be the
strongest factor in her life."

"What has she been doing for the past six years?"

"Translating Latin poetry. And studying her computers, I
believe."

Verasa knew more than Markus about Dominil's private life but
she did not share the information.

"But now she wants to do something. The twins need help. And
who knows, perhaps Dominil will find the task to her liking."

"Does she know what she's letting herself in for?" asked
Markus.

"Probably not. But I expect her to cope."

"Does she know anything about the music business?"

"She says not. But I have confidence in her. Whatever Butix
and Delix need, I am sure that Dominil can provide it."

Markus didn't believe that the degenerate twins would ever
appear at Castle MacRinnalch to vote for him no matter how his mother
bribed them, but he agreed it was wise to protect them. If they died,
their places on the council would be taken by werewolves who would vote
for Sarapen.

"And now, I suppose I had better give some thought to Gawain."

"Why did he come back?" growled Markus.

"Who knows? But I'm sure he'll be keen to tell me now. The
dungeon is not a comfortable place. And rarely used these days, I'm
pleased to say. I don't think we've had a guest there since Baron
Mac-Gregor's youngest nephew got drunk and tried to climb down the
north wall of the castle. And I only incarcerated him because the Baron
wanted him taught a lesson."

67

Kalix had run out of laudanum. She urgently needed more. She'd
have to travel over to the east end of London where the Young MacDoig
had a small premises, hidden away in Limehouse. Laudanum was virtually
unknown in the world these days. The opium tincture had been replaced
by other drugs, heroin or cocaine. Where the MacDoigs obtained their
supply was unknown. Not from this world, perhaps. The price they
charged for it was certainly high enough. When the Merchant had first
sold her a bottle, back in Scotland, he'd let her have it cheaply. As a
favour, he said.

Having taken the wallets from the hunters, Kalix now had
enough money and she wondered which would be the quickest way to travel
to Limehouse. Kalix had often walked the whole length of the city but
she knew how to use the underground or the bus if necessary. The
underground would be quicker. She hurried up to Victoria where she
bought a ticket to Limehouse after first consulting the tube map on the
wall. Kalix liked the tube map. With its different coloured lines for
each route it was clear and easy to follow, even to someone with her
limited reading skills. She took the circle line to Tower Hill then
changed on to the Docklands light railway for the last two stops.

A hundred years ago this area by the river had been home to
the capital's opium dens. These were long gone, but there were, here
and there, a few pockets left which had not entirely lost their
connections with the old days. Kalix walked down to Narrow Street by
the river bank then disappeared into a tiny alley. Far along the alley,
almost invisible in the gloom, was a black door. Kalix rang the bell
four times and waited. The door opened and Kalix slipped inside.

The small room she entered was crammed full of artefacts, some
ancient, some unrecognisable. Some objects were of obvious value but
others appeared worthless. Probably they were of use to someone,
somewhere. The Merchant was a shrewd trader with a keen eye for a
profit. Kalix had occasionally sold him things she'd stolen and he'd
never asked too many questions about their origin. Verasa herself had
bought works of art from the Merchant and there were several pieces at
Castle MacRinnalch the legality of whose origins might not have stood
up to close examination.

Kalix was let in by the Young MacDoig. His father, Merchant
MacDoig, was already in the room. Merchant MacDoig was a very stout
man, corpulent, and quite effusive. In keeping with the antiquity of
his surroundings he wore a suit that had gone out of fashion in the
nineteenth century, and a black hat. He wore side-whiskers and carried
a cane. It gave him a Dickensian appearance, though genial rather than
sinister. His son, if slightly smaller, was also a man of considerable
girth who favoured old-fashioned clothes. Unlike his father, his thick
red hair had not yet turned grey. They beamed when they saw Kalix.
Kalix looked back at them without expression. She didn't trust either
of them.

"Young Kalix MacRinnalch!" cried Merchant MacDoig, as if
greeting an old friend. "It's fine to see you again. Have you brought
me anything today?" He winked conspiratorially, either because he was
making a joke or because he really thought Kalix might have something
of value. Kalix shook her head.

"I have only recently been in the company of your fine
mother," continued the Merchant. He had the soft lilting voice of a
Highlander. He had been born in Nairn; how long ago, no one could
guess. Certainly long enough for his lifespan to be not entirely
natural.

"Such a sad business about the Thane!" He shook his head. "It
was a bitter blow to all who knew him, may he roam peacefully in the
forests of the werewolf dead."

It was odd to hear a human use this phrase, but the Merchant
was familiar with the ways of werewolves and may have thought Kalix
expected it. Or he may have been mocking her.