Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (64 page)

Markus had shown himself to be a worthy MacRinnalch. Whatever
stories had been spread about Markus hiding in London were false. He
donned an old-fashioned cloak trimmed with fur, the appropriate garment
for the captain of the castle guard, and as he walked the ramparts he
looked the part. The castle's defenders were heartened. Markus was
back, and it could never be said that he'd shirked his duty.

The Barons had not yet taken the field. The MacPhees and the
MacAllisters were ready but there was still no word from Baron
Mac-Gregor. The MacAndrises, in the west, were impatient to make a
start. Their leader, Red Ruraich MacAndris, had sent back a cold
response to Verasa's demand that he declare loyalty to her.
The
MacAndrises are loyal to Sarapen
, he replied. The Mistress
of the Werewolves was irritated. It was bad enough for a Baron to be
disloyal, but at least there was some historical precedent. It was not
too outrageous for a Baron to be occasionally rebellious. The
MacAndrises were a different matter. As a minor clan under the
protection of the Thane, they had no right to declare loyalty to anyone
else but the head of the clan.

Verasa joined Markus and Rainal on the eastern battlement. She
was pleased to see how well Markus looked. Strong, and very handsome in
his warrior's cloak. He would make a fine Thane.

175

Kalix lay in her room, huddled under her quilt. She was weak
after the fight in the park but was refusing to turn into a werewolf
because then she would eat. Kalix had made up her mind never to eat
again. Gawain having a new lover was final proof that she was a
worthless creature who didn't deserve to live. Her left arm was a mass
of new cuts. She sipped laudanum, and slipped in and out of bad dreams.

Moonglow lay on her bed, still devastated by Markus's
rejection. She'd been crying for two days and hadn't been able to
attend college. She played Kate Bush constantly but though this had
helped her to survive emotional emergencies in the past, it now brought
her little comfort. Her misery over Markus transcended even Kate Bush.
She just couldn't believe that she could be so quickly brushed aside by
someone she was so much in love with.

Daniel lay in his room, between those of Kalix and Moonglow,
and stared gloomily at the ceiling. Moonglow's profound unhappiness had
now plunged him into deeper misery. For a while he'd tried looking at
it positively. 'If Moonglow is so unhappy over Markus, maybe she'll
turn to me.' He hadn't been able to maintain the idea for long.

Daniel had done what he could to comfort both Moonglow and
Kalix. His efforts had been completely unsuccessful. They both seemed
to be beyond comforting.

'I'm living in the unhappiest household in London,' thought
Daniel. 'Possibly the world.' Daniel was also under his quilt, though
for warmth rather than emotional support. All the bedrooms in the house
were cold, thanks to the inefficient heating. Only the living room with
its fire had any real warmth, but no one was visiting the living room.
There was too much danger of meeting a flat-mate, and having to
confront their misery.

Oppressed by the silence, Daniel crawled from his bed to his
computer and connected to
doom-metal.com
.
Surely the only music suitable for a time like this. He studied the
radio station's play list. There was a list of genres: traditional
doom, atmospheric doom, gothic doom, metal doom, progressive doom,
death doom, suicidal doom, funeral doom, and various others. A wide
choice. Daniel could appreciate the subtleties involved. In fact Daniel
could have named a different band in every category, if anyone had
asked him, which no one ever had. He turned it on and was satisfied to
hear a series of loud groaning chords and an agonised voice telling him
there was no hope for the future. Absolutely right. These doom metal
bands, they really knew what was going on.

Next door Kalix could hear Daniel's music. She didn't like the
interruption so she put on her headphones to listen to the Runaways.
Night fell on the unhappiest home in South London, with neither the
Runaways, Kate Bush nor the assembled hordes of doom metal bringing any
real comfort to the occupants.

176

At two a.m. Thrix
was still in her office. Thanks to
another encounter with Gawain, a missing consignment of Chinese silk, and a
further emergency plumbing problem, she had now fallen further behind
with her work. The Enchantress had reluctantly resorted to sorcery to
repair the heating pipes. It wasn't something old Minerva MacRinnalch
would have approved of, but the Enchantress had her staff to worry
about. The newly repaired heating had not yet fully warmed the office
so Thrix took a long blue overcoat from the clothes wrack and draped it
over her shoulders. As she returned to her desk the spells of
protection that enshrouded the office started giving off their mystical
alarms.

"Hello Malveria."

The Fire Queen appeared, looking very excited.

"Tremendous information from my intelligence services
regarding the malodorous Princess Kabachetka!"

The Enchantress sat up alertly.

"Is she going to attack my office?"

"No, she has booked into a clinic in Los Angeles for a tummy
tuck! I knew it! Aha!"

The Fire Queen marched triumphantly round the room.

"Did I not say it? Did I not claim that while the fabulous
Malveria was dieting, exercising and putting her body through hell to
achieve the perfect figure, the vile Hainusta Princess was all the
while accumulating extra poundage? I knew she could not maintain her
figure by natural means. The fake-blonde-slut-Princess is to have
pounds of surplus ugly fat carved from her body like a sacrificial
bullock. Aha!"

Malveria halted her triumphant marching, and smiled broadly at
the Enchantress.

"Did I not say so?"

"Yes, Malveria you did. Congratulations, you've really
defeated her on this one."

Malveria perched jauntily on Thrix's desk. It was some time
since Thrix had seen her looking so happy.

"Did you learn anything else?" enquired the Enchantress.

"She had an affair with a gladiator. Very disreputable."

"I mean did you learn anything about her plans?"

Malveria looked puzzled.

"Her plans?"

"You know. For attacking me. Stealing my designs, ruining your
grand entrance at Livia's."

Malveria pursed her lips.

"Hmm… Now that you mention it, no. My intelligence services do
not seem to have provided me with any such information."

"Did you ask them?" enquired Thrix.

"Certainly. Perhaps not with such urgency as my enquiries into
her tummy tuck. But really, I think it is fabulous news."

Malveria caught sight of her face in the large wall mirror and
frowned.

"Am 1 looking old?"

"No."

"I'm sure I am. I'm convinced I am falling prey to disfiguring
wrinkles. Who knows how harmful to the skin may be the radiation and
poisons emitted by my volcano?"

"Can't you just avoid the volcano?"

"Of course not. It is my favourite volcano. I must visit every
day."

Thrix knew what was on Malveria's mind.

"Malveria, please hold off on the water for a little while
longer. We've got a full scale war brewing up in Scotland and if your
Hiyas-tas keep tramping around in Colburn Wood it will only make things
worse."

"But I need my rejuvenating water," protested the Fire Queen.
Her eyelids trembled, threatening tears.

"Aren't there a million sources of water throughout the
realms?"

"None as good as Colburn Wood. You know yourself how excellent
it is. And if I'm not using it, what if the Fairy Queen decides to sell
the water to someone else?"

Thrix was confused.

"The Fairy Queen? Of Colburn Wood? You mean she knows about
this?"

"Well of course, dearest Enchantress. One does not go around
taking water from woods without coming to some arrangement with the
local fairies. Who knows what spiteful magicks they may work if they
are upset? I do not intend my firstborn child to be an imbecile. I
already have Agrivex to worry about."

Thrix felt irritated. It seemed to her rather disloyal of the
fairies in Colburn Wood to be selling the MacRinnalch water to the
first fire elemental who came along and asked.

"Well the fairies are generally good at business," pointed out
the Fire Queen. "When not too busy fluttering around trees. No doubt
Dithean NicRinnalch, their Queen, saw it as a sound commercial
proposition. And I'm sure she has the best interest of the
MacRinnalchs at heart. Though she may have them more at heart if the
werewolves were to pay her more respect."

"We pay Queen Dithean NicRinnalch plenty of respect!"

"Does this respect include a well-laden thimbleful of gold
every now and then?"

"Possibly not. But it will from now on. Really Malveria, my
mother will have a fit if she learns about this. Please hold off for a
little while."

"Very well," sighed the Fire Queen. "Though when I am old and
haggard, as I will be soon, it will not matter what clothes you design
for me. I will be mocked and reviled on all sides."

"The Hiyastas will love you no matter how you look," said
Thrix. "Or respect you. Or fear you, whatever it is you prefer."

Malveria waved this away, though she was secretly pleased. She
peered at Thrix's computer screen. Since encountering Moonglow,
Malveria was not quite so computer illiterate as she had been,
something which Thrix regretted.

"You are working on day four? Does this mean you have
completed day five and are now going back over the clothes for day
four, lovingly adding that final touch?"

"No it doesn't," admitted Thrix. "It means I'm still stuck on
day four."

"And what of day five?"

"I haven't started it yet."

The Fire Queen's eyes widened in great alarm.

"You have not yet started on day five? The great ball in which
every lady of my realm and the next will be dressed in the most
exquisite ball gowns ever made? With much added finery to boot? But
Enchantress, this is a disaster. Am I meant to attend the most
glamourous, glittering, fabulous ball in history in an off-the-peg
dress purchased in some wretched street bazaar? Apthalia the Grim has
been in fitting rooms for a month and as for the Duchess Gargamond - "

Thrix held up her hand.

"Malveria. Everything is in hand. You'll have the finest ball
gown ever seen."

Malveria was not placated. Only yesterday Beau DeMortalis,
Duke of the Black Castle, had arrived at Queen Malveria's court and
already her courtiers were saying the Duke was on top of his form. He
had witticisms and bon mots to spare, and any poorly dressed elemental
to whom he took a dislike could expect to find herself on the end of a
withering set-down.

"If I am subjected to a withering set-down from Beau
DeMortalis it will be quite the end. One utterly dreads it. It will
reach the ears of Princess Kabachetka and she will repeat it endlessly."

"Can't you tell the Duke of the Black Castle you'll throw him
in the volcano if he speaks out of place?" suggested the Enchantress.
"He is your subject, after all."

"Impossible, dearest Thrix. Were I to do such a thing it would
be said that the mighty Queen Malveria fears the tongue of Beau
DeMortalis because she is poorly dressed. I would be sneered at in
every corner of the realm. Besides, I rather like the Duke."

"Wasn't he your enemy during the war?"

"Yes, but I forgave him because he is always so impeccably
dressed. And he is very good company. Really Thrix, you cannot send me
to dance with the Duke while dressed in an inferior ball gown. I will
be forced to abdicate, and flee the kingdom."

Thanks to the efforts of Thrix and the other fashion designers
who now attended Malveria and her rivals, most of their clothes were of
an elegant and human style, but the gowns for the final evening, the
great ball, were like nothing seen in the human world these days.
Malveria had brought Thrix several paintings of such garments and they
were extravagant items of lace, tulle, silk and satin, with great
hooped skirts and flouncing bodices, belonging to a ballroom somewhere
between Regency England, Gone With the Wind, and the realms of the
fairies. Thrix had not flinched from the challenge of creating
something special for Malveria. Unfortunately, she was now running out
of time.

Thrix rose to her feet. It was time to display some
confidence. More confidence than she really felt, which was something
that Thrix often had to do.

"Malveria. The gown will be ready on time and it will be
fabulous. Trust me, I'm your designer."

Malveria was reassured. After all, Thrix had never let her
down.

"You have not been…?" murmured Malveria. "Not that it is any
of my business…"

"No Malveria. I've not been seeing Gawain. I ended it."

This was not true, but the Enchantress had cleansed his aura
so thoroughly from her body that not even Malveria could now detect it.
Thrix had some of the clothes for the carnival night lying completed in
the room next door. Knowing that it would cheer Malveria, and take her
mind off the ball gown, Thrix suggested taking them over to Moonglow's
house before Zatek managed to spy on them here.

"You can try them on in the attic. And the shoes for the lunch
time promenade on day three arrived from Italy."

"The pink high heel sandal? I am trembling with excitement
already," said Malveria. "Let us hurry to the house of the young
humans."

As there were only a few clothes to carry, Malveria could
teleport them. She set off enthusiastically but as they materialised in
the attic the Fire Queen flinched.

"What's the matter?" asked Thrix.

"This house. It has become a place of such tremendous misery.
What has been happening to the young humans?"