Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (72 page)

"You do not appear keen," said Dominil.

"Well it could be a problem," declared Thrix. "I've no idea
what to wear."

Dominil looked rather coldly at Thrix.

"I presume you could solve that dilemma with a minimum amount
of effort."

Thrix stared back at Dominil.

"Do you have absolutely no sense of humour?"

"Very little, so I am informed."

"You must be having a great time with the twins."

"It is occasionally exasperating. Can you attend?"

The Enchantress nodded. Really, she didn't have any choice.

"Mother would never forgive me if I let beautiful young Kalix
get shredded by Sarapen and the Douglas-MacPhees."

Thrix opened the fridge and wrinkled her nose with distaste on
finding that the only alcohol on offer was a large plastic bottle of
cider. Unable to find a glass, she poured some into a coffee mug. She
offered the bottle to Dominil and was a little surprised when the
white-haired werewolf accepted. Thrix noticed how well cared-for
Dominil's hair was. It took an effort to maintain such long straight
hair in such perfectly shiny condition. Thrix, who was vain about
everything, was relieved to learn that Dominil was at least vain about
something.

Here, in the close proximity of the tiny kitchen, the
Enchantress could almost feel the cold emanating from Dominil. Had
anyone from outside observed the pair, they would have been astonished
to learn that the golden, elegant and beautiful Thrix was a werewolf.
But as for Dominil, it might not have been such a surprise.

"Have you considered cancelling the gig?"

Dominil told Thrix she had considered it, but decided against.
If this gig was postponed, the opportunity would be lost, perhaps
forever. Who knew what might happen in the next month to prevent the
twins from playing again? In reality, Dominil was not being completely
honest. It might have been possible to delay the event. The Mistress of
the Werewolves might have been amenable, and changed her plans
accordingly. But Dominil didn't want to cancel the gig. She was eager
to confront Sarapen.

Dominil asked the Enchantress if the Fire Queen would
accompany her. Thrix shook her head. Malveria would be attending the
first night of the Sorceress Livia's birthday celebration.

"Don't worry," said Thrix. "I've enough power to repel
Sarapen."

"I know," replied Dominil. "Though I only require you to repel
his werewolves. I intend to take care of Sarapen myself."

Kalix was pleased with her new combat trousers. She thought
the straps were funny and she liked the big pockets at the sides.

"I knew you'd like them," said Vex. "You can wear them to the
gig. If Gawain comes he'll like them too."

Kalix immediately looked gloomy. Vex was puzzled.

"What's the matter? You can wear something else if you like.
No need to get stressed about it."

The Fire Queen was happy when she climbed down from the attic.
The ball gown was fabulous and most of her outfits were now completed.
If the Enchantress kept working day and night then everything should be
ready on time. Malveria raised her head, sensing the atmosphere around
her, testing it for intrusive sorcery. She nodded, satisfied at what
she found. Kalix's pendant was doing a splendid job of hiding the
clothes.

"There is nothing stronger than a pendant of Tamol for
hiding," she muttered to herself. "It was an excellent idea of mine to
give it to Kalix. It has all worked out well. Ah Moonglow, how are you
today?"

"All right," replied Moonglow, attempting to smile. "A bit
behind at college."

Malveria could discern that Moonglow was distracted, but did
not enquire why. Moonglow's aura was full of misery. It covered her
like a shroud. Mixed in with the misery were feelings of resentment.
And was that a hint of treachery? Very suitable, thought Malveria. No
doubt Moonglow was intending to treacherously steal Daniel from his new
admirers. Dominil and Thrix walked back through from the kitchen and
Vex appeared from Kalix's bedroom and suddenly the main room was again
full of werewolves and elementals.

"Would everyone like some tea?" asked Moonglow, politely.
"Where's Kalix?"

"She's being gloomy again," replied Vex.

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," protested Vex. "She's just crazy. You know what
werewolves are like."

The young Hiyasta noticed that there were two werewolves in
the room, currently staring at her.

"Hey, no need to look at me like that. Some of them are crazy.
Moonglow, back me up. Wasn't Markus crazy when you were going out with
him?"

Moonglow abruptly broke down in tears and fled from the room.

"What?" demanded Vex, looking round her with pained innocence.
"It's not my fault if everyone just bursts into tears the moment I open
my mouth. What's the matter with them all? Is there anything good on
TV?"

"Come with me, niece," said Malveria. "I wish to talk to you."

Vex was immediately suspicious.

"Is this about your pink shoes? Because I really think it's
time to get over that."

"It is not," said Malveria. "Now come with me to the palace."

As they materialised in the flower garden of small yellow
flames, the Queen told Vex that she had a task for her.

"Attend to my words closely. Have you forgotten your misery
over Daniel?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because I want you to entice and fascinate a young man."

"Who?"

"Daniel."

Vex looked confused.

"Yesterday you wanted me to forget him."

"Well today I want you to fascinate him. Daniel is becoming
more attractive and it's time to increase the pressure. It must seem as
if Daniel is the most desirable boy in the world. I want you to make
Moonglow jealous."

"I don't understand."

"You do not have to understand. You simply have to do as I
say."

Vex shrugged.

"Okay. Do I get a reward?"

"A reward? For carrying out the wishes of your benefactor?"

"Well do I?"

"No," said Malveria. "You do not. Because I am not at all
pleased with you."

The Fire Queen produced a scroll with a flourish.

"Do you know what this is?" she demanded.

"A shoe catalogue?" suggested Agrivex, hopefully.

"It is not a shoe catalogue. It's a report from your tutors.
And a most shocking piece of reading it is in every respect. You are
woefully deficient in all subjects. Never has the professor of history
written in such agonised terms over one of his students. As for your
mathematics tutor, the paper is still damp with his tears."

Agrivex looked defiant.

"They're all against me. It's not fair."

"The only unfair thing is that your miserable self is
inflicted on these most learned Hiyastas. Really Agrivex, this cannot
go on. Your tutor of auras reports that you show no skill or
application whatsoever. Do you appreciate how important it is for a
Hiyasta to read auras? I am shocked that my almost-adopted niece is so
deficient in this talent."

The Fire Queen put on her sternest expression.

"Agrivex. You wish to attend the werewolf music event in four
days time. If you do not show an immediate improvement in your
interpreting of auras, you shall not go."

Agrivex's mouth dropped open.

"It's not fair!"

"Life is seldom fair," replied Malveria. The Fire Queen raised
her hand to silence the protesting Agrivex. "I have given you two tasks. Fascinate Daniel and improve your reading of auras. Now
begone, and do not disappoint me, miserable niece."

194

Merchant MacDoig settled back in his armchair in front of the
fire, a satisfied smile on his face, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. A
fine crystal decanter rested on the small mahogany table at his side,
one of the numerous pieces of antique furniture that adorned the
upstairs rooms of the Merchant's London premises. The Young MacDoig sat
on the other side of the fire in another armchair which, while not
quite a match for the Merchant's, was also old, and very comfortable.

"It'll be time for me to get back to Scotland soon," said the
Merchant. "It's been a bitter feud, but it's coming to an end now. And
it's been a profitable affair for us, son."

The Young MacDoig nodded. He inhaled on his cigar, which he
preferred to the pipe smoked by his father. His father drew out a great
silver hob watch and stared at the dial.

"Two days till the MacRinnalchs go to war. And not much more
than a day after that, I'll wager, till the war ends."

"There are a powerful lot of werewolves on each side," his son
pointed out. "I'd say it might last a while."

Merchant MacDoig shook his head.

"Sarapen MacRinnalch will sweep them all before him, son, mark
my words."

The Merchant knew something about most of the affairs of the
MacRinnalchs, and he'd made a profit from many of them. He'd sold the
Begravar knife to Dominil and he'd helped import Kabachetka's sorcery
for Sarapen. He'd sold laudanum to Kalix and Dominil, provisions to the
Barons, and found a discreet source of silver bullets for Decembrius.
Equally profitably, he'd sold information to various interested parties.

"The Barons have all met on the field, you know. MacGregor,
MacAllister, and MacPhee's son Euan. And Red Ruraich MacAndris, who
fancies himself as a Baron one day too, I'd say. Sarapen will find a
way to lead them into the castle. Just like he's found a way to defeat
that sister of his."

The Merchant looked thoughtful.

"It's not like the old days, of course. I remember when it
took an army months to march from one end of the land to another. Now
Sara-pen can fight in London one day and fly to Scotland the next. It's
not the same at all. It's not what a man would call a proper campaign."

He poured himself whisky from the crystal decanter.

"But the result is the same. The strongest son gets to be
Thane."

He glanced at his own son.

"Be sure to reduce our order for laudanum. We'll not be
selling so much of it after this. Dominil MacRinnalch is unlikely to be
alive in a few days time, and Kalix certainly won't be."

The Merchant looked thoughtful.

"It's a fine reward he's put on her head. Five gold nobles.
She won't last long. "

The Young MacDoig leaned forward to prod the fire with a
poker, and flames leapt up the narrow chimney. It was no longer legal
to light a coal fire in London, but the Merchant was too attached to
the warmth of his fire to abandon the practice.

"What did Mr Carmichael want?" he asked.

"Just some information," replied his father. "As to the timing
of the werewolves' music event, and suchlike. He's never been a
generous payer, Mr Carmichael. It takes some negotiating to get a fair
price off the man. And I'm not sure he'll be with us much longer
either, to tell you the truth. I wouldn't say it was prudent for the
Avenaris Guild to involve themselves with the MacRinnalchs at this
moment. But he seemed confident, so perhaps he knows some things I
don't. In an affair like this, there's always a lot of plots and
treachery going on behind the scenes."

The Merchant drew out an unusually large gold coin from his
purse and studied it fondly. Hiyasta gold, very old and very pure. It
was part of his payment from Princes Kabachetka.

"The Princess is counting on profiting by some treachery she's
worked up for herself. Some information she has from a youngster, I
believe. She can be persuasive woman."

War was always good for trade. It was as true now as it had
been when the Merchant's great-grandfather established the family
business with the profits gained from selling weapons to the Scottish
Covenanters before they marched south in 1640. The Merchant puffed on
his pipe.

"I'll miss dealing with the Mistress of the Werewolves. But no
doubt Sarapen will continue to put business our way, when he's Thane."

195

The day before the gig the twins' house was in uproar. Beauty
and Delicious rushed from one room to the next carrying bundles of
clothes and make-up, trying on endless outfits and dismissing each
quicker than the last. The sisters were not well focused. The final
rehearsal had been chaotic. The other members of the band had managed
to play quite competently but the sisters were over excited and had put
in some of their worst performances ever. Dominil was frustrated,
though not as angry as she once would have been. She knew they'd been
making an effort. Unfortunately the twins were becoming overwhelmed.
Even though it was only a small gig, the prospect of performing in
front of an audience again had caused Beauty and Delicious to work
themselves up into a state where they could hardly remember how to play
the most basic chords. Dominil reminded them of their relaxation
exercises, tried to prevent them from consuming too many intoxicants,
and hoped for the best.

She hadn't informed them that Sarapen might attack the gig.
The twins were scared of Sarapen. If they even suspected he might turn
up they'd never be able to play.

"Do you like this top?" yelled Beauty, hurrying into the room
wearing a small strip of red latex.

Dominil raised her eyebrows. The tiny piece of latex didn't
seem large enough to qualify as a garment.

"It depends. What effect are you trying to achieve?"

"Rock'n'Roll slut."

"Then you've succeeded. Wear it."

Beauty looked in the mirror. She wasn't satisfied.

"Maybe the black one was better," she muttered, and hurried
back to her bedroom to change.

There was nothing more for Dominil to do in the way of
publicity or promotion. To escape from the twins' manic behaviour she
retreated upstairs to her room. She took the Begravar knife from its
hiding place and spoke the Sumerian words that were engraved on the
handle. Dominil frowned. She wasn't certain that the knife was properly
activated. It could be that her translation was wrong. She sipped
sparingly from her laudanum, and logged onto the university website
she'd been consulting, to check her it again.