Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (36 page)

"I thought it was in the bag. Any moment now he asks me home
and it's mission successful and Aunt Malvie buys me new boots. You
remember you promised me new boots, right? Anyway, he still seemed
hesitant so I said I'd never met any boy I liked so much as Daniel and
then I told him how good looking he was. Then 1 looked into his eyes
and asked him if he knew anywhere I could spend the night."

"And what happened?" demanded Malveria.

"He ran away."

"What do you mean,
ran away?"

Agrivex looked puzzled. If her aunt didn't know what
ran
away
meant, it was difficult to know where to start.

"Well, you know, like walking, but much faster, in the
opposite direction - "

"Silence, imbecile!" roared Malveria. "I do not need an
explanation!"

The Fire Queen frowned, very deeply.

"You'd didn't go to the party with vivid orange skin, did you?"

Agrivex shook her head.

"Absolutely not. I was my normal alluring honey colour. He's
just a hopeless case."

Malveria was bewildered. She couldn't understand it. Of course
Vex was not an accomplished seductress, but for a young man like
Daniel, an accomplished seductress would have been quite unsuitable.
Someone young and bright was what was required. Agrivex should have
been ideal.

Vex smiled brightly at the Fire Queen. She had a lovely smile.
Her spiky blonde hair gave her a boyish look.

"So can I have my new boots now? I saw this fabulous pair at
the party. Sort of clumpy but with these really nice silver buckles - "

"The boots were a reward for success. You have failed."

"But I did everything I could," protested Vex.

"Foolish girl," said the Fire Queen ominously. "Do not trouble
me at this time."

"It's no trouble," said Vex, brightly. "I just need the boots."

"Begone!" roared the Fire Queen.

Vex looked hurt.

"But I want the boots."

"Get out before I call the guards, dismal niece," said
Malveria.

"I hate you!" cried Vex, then stormed out of the throne room,
complaining loudly that her life would have been better if she'd been
thrown into the volcano when she was eight.

Malveria sighed. Today had been very unsatisfactory.

99

While the band rehearsed Dominil sat outside in the small
reception room at the front of the studio. It was not a comfortable
room, having only one ripped sofa and a coffee machine that had stopped
working years ago. Dominil didn't mind. She took a notebook from her
pocket and jotted down a few phrases in Latin. For some time Dominil
had been working on a new translation of the poetry of the Tibullus, a
Roman poet from the first century BC. He was quite a minor poet, but
Dominil liked his light style, and was amused by his tales of
mistresses and prostitutes.

She looked in on the band occasionally and was pleased to find
that they were busy. Dominil had wondered if the twins might indeed be
nothing but talk but now, guitars in hand, microphones in front of them
and a rhythm section behind them, they were working hard. Dominil
didn't find the sisters' harsh music appealing but she hadn't expected
to. It didn't matter. It only mattered that she could place it before
the public in some way. She wondered what to do about finding gigs. No
venue in the Camden area would let them play. There were other small
venues around London but the twins weren't keen.

"It's no use getting us a gig south of the river," Beauty had
said. "Who wants to go south of the river?"

"There are a few places for bands to play in the west of the
city."

"West London? Who goes there? You might as well get us a gig
on the moon."

Dominil mulled over the problem. As most of the local venues
only accepted bands through booking agencies, she wondered if she might
find an agent who was willing to represent them. That was a
possibility, but it might take a long time. Dominil needed to find them
a gig soon. For now, it seemed best to keep looking by herself. As the
Mistress of the Werewolves had suspected, she was taking to her task
with something approaching enthusiasm. Dominil had spent far too many
years doing nothing. Now, with something to accomplish, she was almost
enjoying herself. She turned her mind to the matter of a name for the
twins' band. They'd last played gigs under the name of Urban Death
Syndrome but wanted something new.

"We want something aggressive," said Delicious. "We want to
let people know they're in for a hard time."

The sisters' four-hour rehearsal session was almost at an end.
As Dominil sat with her notebook the owner of the studio arrived
to confer with his staff. He looked at Dominil curiously as he passed
by but did not speak. At seven o'clock Dominil put her head inside the
thick, padded door of the rehearsal room to tell the band it was time
to leave.

"Did it go well?" she asked.

"Really well!" enthused Beauty and Delicious. For the very
first time Dominil felt some small amount of regard for the twins. They
had worked hard and their faces were flushed with excitement. Here in
the studio, with their bright pink and blue hair, and their guitars in
their hands, they looked comfortable. Happy, and quite pretty, Dominil
thought, in her objective way.

Beauty hunted around in the large black bag she used to carry
her book of lyrics.

"Rehearsal tiring. Need sustenance."

"Also need sustenance," said Delicious, and helped with the
search. They brought out chocolate, ripping the wrapping paper off and
cramming it in their mouths like children.

"Yum yum," said Beauty.

"Sugary snacks," said Delicious.

Dominil paused. She watched the twins shoving chocolate into
their mouths. Even by werewolf standards, it was an inelegant sight.

"That's what you should call your band," she said.

"What?"

"Yum Yum Sugary Snacks."

Delicious nearly choked.

"Are you serious?"

"We were looking for something aggressive, remember?" said
Beauty, scornfully.

"There are too many doom-ridden and aggressive names already,"
replied Dominil. "My suggestion would be ironic, and attractive."

"Do you have any idea what you're talking about?" demanded
Delicious. Dominil had to admit she was treading in an area in which
she had no experience. Nonetheless, she felt that it was a good
suggestion. It suited the twin sisters, somehow. The sisters remained
unconvinced.

"Please Dominil, thanks for getting us to the studio but don't
come up with any more names."

Peter was carefully putting his guitar in its large black case.

"I think it's a good name," he said.

"That's cos you're lame-brained," said Beauty.

They carried their instruments out to the car. If the four
young men noticed that Beauty, Delicious and Dominil were all unusually
strong when it came to carrying things, they didn't comment. They were
pleased at the day's events. None of them had ever expected to be
rehearsing with the notorious twins again but now it had happened, it
felt good. Already they could see that the sisters were right about
Dominil. She wasn't a lot of fun to be with but she did get things done.

After they departed, the owner of the studio made a phone
call. When the call was answered he spoke a password and was put
through to the private switchboard of the Avenaris Guild.

"I'd like to speak to Mr Carmichael. I have some information.
About creatures who can change their shape, you understand?"

100

Gawain arrived at Thrix's building at the same time as a
motorbike courier delivering documents. As the door was opened for the
courier Gawain strode in and made for the stairs. The receptionist
called after him angrily and the security guard rushed to intercept
him. Gawain brushed the guard aside and ran up the stairs.

Thrix was waiting for him. She had been alerted by the
security guard that an intruder was heading her way. She hoped it
wasn't Sara-pen. If it was, her staff were going to see her displaying
a lot of power she'd rather they didn't know she had. It was a surprise
when the invader turned out to be not Sarapen but Gawain. He halted
when he saw her.

"You couldn't phone for an appointment?"

"My business is very urgent," said Gawain.

"Or course," retorted Thrix. "Everyone's business is urgent,
apart from mine. This way."

The Enchantress turned and led Gawain towards her office. She
was extremely displeased to have her premises invaded by an uninvited
werewolf.

"Congratulations on breaking out of the cell. They Should've
kept you in the dungeon."

She crossed over to her cabinet and took out a bottle of the
MacRinnalch malt. This, she felt, was ridiculous. She had no reason to
welcome Gawain and had no desire whatsoever to offer him any
hospitality. But he was a MacRinnalch, and the tradition of offering a
guest from the clan a drink was too deeply embedded in her to break.
Gawain accepted the whisky.

"I want to know where Kalix is," he said.

Thrix placed the bottle on her desk and sat down.

"I may be missing something here Gawain, but weren't you
banished? I don't give out information to banished werewolves."

Gawain was not intimidated by the Enchantress and didn't
intend to bandy words with her.

"Where is Kalix?" he asked, again.

"I've no idea," said Thrix.

Gawain looked at her for a few seconds, as if considering his
next words carefully.

"Thrix. I once appealed to you for help. You told me then you
didn't know where your sister was. I doubt that was true. This time I
know Kalix is in London. I was told by a reliable family source."

"Marwanis, no doubt," said Thrix, surprising Gawain. "No one
else at the castle would tell you anything. You should have stayed with
Marwanis. She'd have been a much better partner than my underage
sister."

Gawain scowled but did not respond to the jibe.

"If Kalix is in London you know where she is. So kindly tell
me."

Gawain's voice had risen a fraction. Thrix knew that he would
not easily be put off. She was momentarily uncertain of what to do.
While she hadn't exactly approved of his association with Kalix,
neither had she been as outraged by it as the rest of the family.
Indeed, as it had seemed to make Kalix happy, Thrix had occasionally
thought it may have been better to let it continue. It crossed her mind
to simply tell Gawain where Kalix was. It would get him out of her
office. But would that really be for the best? Verasa wouldn't like it
and it would mean endless recriminations. Besides, Gawain might simply
lead Sarapen to Kalix.

"She was in London but she's gone," said Thrix, coolly. "I
gave her a new pendant to hide her and she left the city. I think she
intended to go to France."

"France? Why?"

"Who knows? With you out of the picture, there hasn't
been much here for her."

"I will not be put off by lies. I'll find Kalix."

"Good luck," said Thrix.

"If you're lying to me I'll be back."

"Are you attempting to threaten me?"

"I am threatening you," said Gawain, menacingly. "Nothing will
keep me from Kalix."

"Yes fine, you're a romantic hero," said Thrix. "So go find
your heroine. Shut the door on your way out."

Gawain rose to his feet and strode swiftly from the room.
Behind him the Enchantress was thoughtful. Thoughtful and displeased.
Another insolent werewolf who felt free to threaten her in her own
domain.

"If didn't have a business to run I'd blast them all to hell,"
she muttered. She reached for the phone, intending to inform the
Mistress of the Werewolves of her encounter but before she could pick
it up Ann buzzed through from outside.

"Who was the handsome stranger?" she asked.

"Just another werewolf I didn't want to see."

"Was he looking for a date?"

"Sorry Ann," said Thrix. "He's already got an obsession."

"Your brother is on line one."

"Which brother?"

"Markus."

Thrix shook her head as she took the call. There seemed to be
no end to her family's interference in her life.

"Markus? What do you want? I'm busy."

"Talixia is dead."

"What?"

"She's dead. She's been murdered."

"Who by?"

"I don't know."

"I'll be right there," said the Enchantress.

101

Thrix found Markus sitting in the hallway, numb with shock.
Talixia lay dead on the floor. She had suffered a cut across her ribs
and some blood had congealed around her body. It was a serious wound
but Thrix saw immediately it shouldn't have been fatal for a werewolf.
She knelt down over the body.

"Tell me what happened."

Markus spoke with some difficulty. He'd arrived at the flat
around an hour ago and the first thing he encountered was his lover's
dead body lying in the hallway. He was profoundly shocked and could say
little more. When Thrix asked him if the body had been cold when he
arrived he nodded and tears formed in his eyes.

"This wound," said Thrix. "It shouldn't have killed her."

She checked the body for any other injuries but found none.
She sniffed the air, then concentrated on the area around the body for
a few moments, trying to discern if sorcery might have been involved.
She couldn't say for sure but she thought she could sense something not
entirely of this world.

"She's been killed by the Begravar knife," said Markus.

Thrix shook her head. That was impossible. The Begravar knife
was locked away in the vaults of Castle MacRinnalch.

"It's not," said Markus. "It's missing."

"Missing? Since when?"

"Mother noticed it was gone a few days ago. She thinks Sarapen
took it."

Thrix frowned, very deeply.

"Sarapen couldn't have done this."