Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (3 page)

Kalix didn't want to get into the car but the Douglas-MacPhee
was already emerging from the warehouse. Daniel flung open the
passenger door and Kalix leapt in, and they sped away from the
murderous attacker as fast as Daniel's ancient vehicle could take them.

Daniel was scared. He was a nineteen year old student and not
used to confronting men with machetes. He paid Kalix little attention
till he'd put several long streets between them and Duncan. When he
finally stopped the car and turned towards her, he was immediately
unsettled by the intensity of her expression. Kalix's eyes were larger
and darker than any he had ever seen, quite startling against her very
pale skin. There was something quite shocking about her appearance. Her
face was dirty, she was painfully thin, and her hair, unusually long,
was thick, filthy and matted, as if it had never been washed. The whole
effect was very unsettling.

"Drive further," she said.

"It's okay, we've lost him now."

"Drive further. He can still smell us."

Daniel was puzzled, and slightly insulted.

"Smell us? I don't really think - "

"Drive!" yelled Kalix.

Daniel put the car back into gear and drove on through South
East London, leaving the industrial area behind as he headed towards
his home in Kennington. Kalix sat in silence. She was recovering her
composure but felt no desire to enter into conversation with a
stranger. Daniel, however, did not feel like remaining silent. The
whole experience was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to
him and now that his terror was receding he was starting to think quite
well of his conduct. He imagined himself describing it to his flatmate,
Moon-glow. She could hardly fail to be impressed.

"Who was that man?"

"He works for my brother," replied Kalix.

"Was he trying to cut you out of the family?" asked Daniel,
trying for a lightness of tone that would show he hadn't been scared.

"He was trying to cut out my heart," replied Kalix,
flatly.

Daniel winced at the image.

"Any reason for that?" he said, after a while.

"The family condemned me."

They drove on in silence. Daniel found it hard to carry on the
conversation. Nothing seemed quite appropriate and besides, he was
becoming tongue tied, as he generally did while trying to make
conversation with young women. Even in the midst of the excitement and
danger, Daniel had not failed to notice the young girl's extraordinary
beauty. She might be skinny, ragged, and dirty, with an air of madness
about her, but she was undeniably beautiful. Daniel had never seen her
like, outside of a magazine.

"Eh… we're almost where I live now…" said Daniel, and felt
embarrassed in case she might think he was trying to invite her home
with him. Unconsciously, he let his long hair swing in front of his
face, which he always did to mask embarrassment.

"Do you want to come in… maybe call the police?"

But Kalix had gone. She'd swiftly opened the door, slid out of
the car and was already disappearing along the street.

7

As leaders of the MacRinnalch Werewolf Clan the Thane's family
were very wealthy. They owned property all over Britain. Verasa, wife
of the Thane and Mistress of the Werewolves, held land in the Scottish
highlands, more land in the Scottish isles, and considerable estates in
Kent. Her London home, in Kensington, was large enough to be classed as
a mansion. Verasa spent a lot of time there. Too much time, in the
opinion of her husband the Thane, but it was a long time since they had
agreed about anything.

Verasa was two hundred and fifty years old. In human terms,
she would have passed for forty-eight. Like most female members of the
clan her hair hung long and dark round her shoulders. Unlike her
wayward daughter Kalix, Verasa was a frequent visitor to the salons of
Edinburgh and Knightsbridge, and her thick mane was beautifully
coiffured. Her clothes were elegant and her features striking. While
taking tea at one of the smart little places in Kensington she
sometimes favoured, she would always be the subject of a few discreet
glances as the clientele wondered who she might be, what films she
might have starred in when she was younger, and what wealth she might
have married into.

Verasa was drinking a glass of wine from a crystal goblet that
had been in the family for four hundred years. A servant entered.

"Your son, mistress."

"Send him in."

Markus strode into the chamber. Markus was her younger son,
and her favourite. Markus, who didn't look much like a werewolf, having
a somewhat rounder face than was usual, less lupine around the
cheekbones. His hair was a little lighter, more chestnut than was
common among the MacRinnalchs. Slightly feminine. Pretty even, which
was unusual in a male werewolf. It didn't mean that he was weak. No
werewolf with the blood of the MacRinnalchs flowing in his veins had
ever been weak. He was certainly a more congenial companion for his
mother than Sarapen, her eldest son, who had turned out to be the
double of his father the Thane; strong and grim, and not given to shows
of affection.

Markus's main residence was in Edinburgh but he was a frequent
visitor to London. He embraced his mother and she responded with a
warmth she felt towards no other member of her family. As Markus
finally withdrew from the embrace, she looked at him questioningly.

"Kalix killed some hunters," said Markus.

"From the Guild?"

"No, just some freelancers. Of no account."

Verasa nodded. Bounty hunters were an occasional annoyance,
but rarely able to trouble the powerful MacRinnalch Clan.

"And the Douglas-MacPhees?"

"Kalix encountered Duncan yesterday," answered Markus. "She
escaped."

"Escaped? Was he trying to harm her?"

"No doubt. You don't send the Douglas-MacPhees after anyone
unless you want to harm them."

Verasa frowned. Duncan, Fergus and Rhona were a notorious
trio. It was infuriating that her own son Sarapen should employ such
people. She poured wine for herself and Markus. As she handed him his
glass she thought, as always, that she was fortunate to have at least
one child who loved her.

"Poor Kalix," said Verasa, in her well modulated Scottish
tones. "I admit we've had our difficulties but I'd hate to see her
heart cut out."

Markus made a sound of mild contempt. He loathed the girl, and
made no secret of it.

"She would deserve it. But we can't let Sarapen capture her.
Or kill her. Great Mother Dulupina would never let us forget that he
succeeded while we failed." He looked at his mother. "We should have
tried harder to catch her."

The Mistress of the Werewolves sighed.

"I hoped she would just disappear. It's not pleasant for a
mother to have her youngest daughter dragged back for sentencing, even
if the Council insists on it."

Verasa stroked Markus's hair. He was such a good child. It
would be difficult having him succeed as Thane instead of her older son
Sarapen, but Verasa had successfully manoeuvred her way through the
tortuous and occasionally murderous political strife of the werewolf
clan for long enough to be confident of succeeding in her wishes.

"Incidentally," said Markus, raising his head. "We still
haven't dealt with the matter of the cousins about whom we do not
speak."

An expression of distaste flickered over the Mistress of the
Werewolves' features.

"Please Markus. I can't think about both Kalix and the cousins
about whom we do not speak. Not in the same day anyway. This family
will surely send me to an early grave."

8

"Cut out her heart? Ew!"

Moonglow was appalled. So appalled that she wondered if Daniel
might be making it all up to impress her. It wouldn't be the first time
he'd done such a thing. When they first met, Daniel had told her he
could play guitar and had an older brother who made films in Hollywood.
Neither of these things had turned out to be true. And it was very
unlike Daniel to rescue anybody from a machete-wielding maniac. Not
that he'd be unwilling, just incapable. Last time they'd got drunk
together in the student bar Daniel had offended two large rugby players
and had it not been for Moonglow's tactful intervention they would
certainly have pummelled him. Daniel was not the fighting type though
he was good company, when he got over his shyness. She might have been
inclined to dismiss his story altogether if it hadn't been for the book
and the journal.

The girl - a wild beauty, according to Daniel, who'd been
unusually forthcoming on the subject - had left them in his car,
wrapped in a plastic carrier bag.

"The Flower Fairies of the Summer?"

It was a children's book, with pictures of fairies sitting on
flowers. It was old and seemed to have been through a great deal of
wear and tear. The book was stained with finger prints. And paw prints,
as if a dog had walked over it.

"This proves she was there," said Daniel, aware of Moonglow's
slight scepticism.

"Not entirely," Moonglow pointed out. "It could be yours."

"Very funny. And there's this as well," continued Daniel,
plucking a very worn looking notebook from the carrier bag.

"It's some sort of diary."

He flicked it open and tried to read from a page near the
start.

"It's kind of illegible. She can't spell a single word right.
I think it says
My mother is mistress of the werewolves. My
father is -
can't make out that word, something like
thin
- of the werewolves
."

They both laughed.

"My brother is heir to the werewolf throne"

"She's pretty consistent with the werewolves," said Moonglow.
Really, she was not unsympathetic. Moonglow was fascinated by anything
otherworldly. Tales about werewolves were always interesting.

"Pity she can't spell it properly," said Daniel. "Her
handwriting is really terrible."

He struggled to read more.

"
I am fourth in line to the thin ship of the Mac -
something -
clan
."

Neither of them knew what that might mean. They didn't have
time to read any further, there was work to do. Daniel and Moonglow had
almost finished packing to move house. Daniel was going to pick up a
rental van and when night fell they were moving to their new flat.
They'd lived in this one for eight months, moving in after becoming
friends in their first year at university. It wasn't a bad place but
they were behind on the rent and couldn't pay so they'd decided that a
moonlight flit was the best solution. Moonglow was rather anxious about
this. She didn't relish the prospect of being apprehended by an irate
landlord. Moonglow had long black hair, soft pretty features, a firm
belief in astrology, a kind nature, and no experience of irate
landlords. She was certain that if she encountered one, she'd find it
very awkward.

9

The early winter afternoon was already turning cold when Kalix
picked up her prescription. The pharmacist looked at her suspiciously.
Kalix was wearing sunglasses, as she frequently did, even in the weak
winter daylight or the murky London night-time. The sunglasses always
seemed to arouse the suspicion of pharmacists. As did her ragged coat
which failed to cover her even more ragged T-shirt. And maybe her
skinny frame, which suggested either substance abuse or an eating
disorder. Her prescription was legitimate however. The werewolf clan,
whilst not exactly part of normal society, were not entirely outside it
either. In Scotland the MacRinnalchs had their own doctor, a werewolf
who had studied medicine at Edinburgh University. Werewolves rarely
fell sick, but there were often injuries to be taken care of and it was
vital that they received treatment from someone who knew of their
unique physiology. Certain human drugs could have a very bad effect on
a werewolf. Besides, as the Scottish werewolves took great care to
conceal the wolf part of their nature, it wouldn't do to have any
member of the clan examined too closely by a normal doctor.

So Kalix had been registered with a doctor in Scotland, and
through this she had been referred to a psychiatrist who had prescribed
diazepam for her anxiety. Kalix disliked her psychiatrist but she liked
the diazepam. She fretted uncomfortably while she waited for the
prescription. When it finally appeared she grabbed the packet and
hurried out of the shop. As soon as she opened her bag to put the pills
inside she realised that something was missing.

"Where's my journal?"

She cursed out loud. The journal was one of her few
possessions, and very precious to her. She remembered picking it up
before she fled from Duncan Douglas-MacPhee at the warehouse. She was
trying to work out where she could possibly have lost it when a
familiar scent caught her attention. Duncan was close. She spun round,
searching. She didn't have far to look. Duncan and his sister Rhona
were no more than fifty yards away, and closing fast. Kalix ran for her
life, sprinting up the street at a speed which would have left most
people in her wake. The Douglas-MacPhees raced after her. As werewolves
in human shape, they too possessed unusual strength and speed, but they
weren't as fast as Kalix. She turned the corner only a few yards ahead
of her pursuers but by the time they reached the next street she was
rapidly disappearing from view.

"Come on!" yelled Duncan. "She can't keep up that pace."

Duncan doubted if the scrawny girl could keep running for
long. She looked like she hadn't eaten in months, and even the
primordial energy that burned inside every member of the MacRinnalch
Clan couldn't support a starving werewolf forever.

Kalix ran for her life, and cursed the day she had sold her
pendant. It had been foolish. With it she had been undetectable. Now
she was easy prey for experienced predators like the Douglas-MacPhees.