Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (34 page)

"Will you stop interrupting!" roared Malveria. "One more
inappropriate word and I will cut off your clothes allowance for a
year! And possibly your head as well. Now pay attention. There is no
sacrificing in prospect. The black clothes are by way of a fashion
statement. One which seems to be common among the people I am now about
to send you among. Even those preposterously clumpy boots of yours will
not be inappropriate. You are to attend a party in the human realm, and
there you must make the acquaintance of a young man called Daniel."

93

Gawain arrived at Euston station. As he disembarked from the
train he was followed by the two hunters, and by Madrigal, Sarapen's
agent. It was five o'clock and already dark. In London the temperature
was a few degrees warmer than it had been in Scotland but the early
winter evening felt cold after the warmth of the train.

Gawain remembered that Thrix's offices were in the centre of
the city. He set off on foot, keen to stretch his legs after the five
hour train journey. He walked south, past the buildings of University
College, heading for Holborn then turning right towards Oxford Street.
The pavements were full as the capital's shops and offices closed for
the day and workers headed for the tube stations and congregated at bus
stops. Unused to being among such a crowd, Gawain left the main road to
make his way to Soho by what he hoped would be a less busy route. The
hunters from the Guild followed discretely, looking for a quiet place
to confront the werewolf. When they saw him turn off the main road they
hurried to the next side street, hoping to overtake him and block his
path.

The hunters moved fast. They sprinted round the corner with
their guns drawn, ready to attack the werewolf who should now be
appearing in front of them. Gawain wasn't there. He was behind them,
concealed in a doorway. Though it was dark he had not troubled to
change into his werewolf form. Gawain sprang, and smote each hunter on
the back of the neck. They crumpled unconscious to the ground. He
picked their guns up from the pavement, slipped them in his pocket and
hurried off. Really, it had been absurd. Did the hunters think they
could take him by surprise so easily? He shook his head. In this city
they must not be used to dealing with warriors. Gawain threw the guns
in an industrial skip a few blocks away and carried on towards Soho.

When the hunters regained their senses and realised that the
werewolf had outmanoeuvred them they wondered why they were still
alive. Gawain didn't like to kill unnecessarily. Unlike many of his
clan, including Kalix, Gawain would not lightly take a life, even that
of a werewolf hunter. Besides, he was in a hurry, and they were not
worth wasting time over. Madrigal, a rather better tracker, was more
used to the ways of werewolves. He saw what happened, and continued to
trail Gawain, unobserved.

94

At two minutes past three o'clock, at the Huge Sound rehearsal
studios, under the arches just south of London Bridge, Dominil stood
outside the door, a look of displeasure on her face.

"Where are they?" she growled.

"It's only two minutes past three," Beauty pointed out. "You
can't expect people to arrive right on time."

"Why not? We were here at three and I expect others to be
punctual."

Beauty and Delicious had only arrived on time due to Dominil
dragging them out of bed at some unearthly hour and forcing them to get
ready. It was the latest in a number of shocks the sisters had received
since agreeing to let the white-haired werewolf help them. The house
cleaning had been extremely traumatic. It had taken a long time and
resulted in a house that was disconcertingly tidy. There was a funny
lemon smell everywhere that didn't seem right. The twins had protested
mightily about the whole process but when the cleaners unearthed their
favourite demo CD, which had been lost for months, they were obliged to
admit that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

On the day of the cleaning Beauty and Delicious took Dominil
to all the small venues in Camden where they might play. There were
many of these. One of them had a poster outside advertising a gig for
their rivals, the four boys who lived above a shop. Beauty and
Delicious growled with jealousy.

"Do not fret," said Dominil. "You will have the opportunity to
outshine them."

The twins sniggered.
Do not fret
.
Sometimes they couldn't help laughing at Dominil's choice of words.

Unfortunately, it had not proved easy to procure a gig for the
sisters. This was partly because many of the venues booked their bands
through agencies, and partly because of the twins' bad reputation.

"The last time they played here," said the manager of one
venue. "They set fire to the stage and started a fight with the
audience. It was the only time we've ever had to call the police, the
fire brigade and an ambulance all in one evening."

"Is this not acceptable behaviour in the world of music?"
asked Dominil. "Good publicity perhaps?"

"There are limits. The police nearly closed me down and I had
a lot of explaining to do when my license was up for renewal. What's
more, someone stole some crates of whisky from my storeroom and I've
got a strong suspicion who might have done it."

Beauty and Delicious had by this time departed the scene, to
hang around outside looking guilty.

"Can't you give them another chance?" asked Dominil. "After
all, they are an excellent band."

"No they aren't. The gig was terrible."

Dominil nodded her head, and walked thoughtfully out of the
venue to the street outside.

"You did not inform me that your behaviour had been so
abominable you would never be welcomed back."

"It wasn't so bad," protested Beauty. "The guy just doesn't
understand our music."

"Did you steal several crates of whisky?"

"We were helping to salvage things from the fire. No point
letting it get burned, was there?"

It was a scene that was repeated all over Camden. Even in an
area where musicians were not expected to behave all that well, the
sisters' incredible debauchery had made them unwelcome everywhere.
Several venues would not even let them through the door. Dominil
eventually sent them home and retired to a cafe to consider the
situation. She was still considering it the next day when she dragged
the sisters from their beds and drove them south of the river. The busy
streets of London were very different from the quiet roads around
Castle MacRinnalch. Dominil had not fully adapted yet and drove
carefully, too carefully for the sisters' liking. They sat in the back,
and criticised her driving. Dominil ignored them.

At six minutes past three Pete turned up in a car with his
friend Adam who was the sisters' last drummer, Simon, their bass
player, and Hamil, who played some keyboards and took his computer
onstage to trigger their samples. Dominil scowled at them.

"You are six minutes late. I'll overlook your tardiness on
this occasion but don't let it happen again."

The boys started to smile, thinking that Dominil was joking.
When they noticed her hard black eyes boring into them, and realised
she wasn't, they hurried inside. The sisters were already in their
rehearsal room, making noise.

"Who is that frozen woman from hell?" Pete asked.

"Our cousin Dominil. She's completely insane. We've really
been suffering."

Pete, Adam, Simon and Hamil could believe it. Who made a fuss
about being six minutes late?

"You wouldn't believe how evil she is," said Beauty.

"So why are you working with her?" asked Pete. "Is she some
sort of music biz person? Does she have good contacts?"

"No," said Delicious. "But she gets things done."

It was true. Here they all were, ready to rehearse, only days
after Dominil had arrived. It was quite an achievement.

"You know we're not going to be able to play anywhere?" said
Simon. He himself was still unwelcome in several establishments due to
his association with the twins.

Beauty shrugged her shoulders.

"Dominil will sort something out."

95

Though Markus was worried about leaving his mother at the
castle, Verasa still would not countenance the thought that she might
be in danger.

"Sarapen will not return to Castle MacRinnalch. Anyway, I'm
very well protected by my retinue, Markus. You should go to London."

"Why? You've already sent some werewolves down there to keep
an eye on things."

"None of them know the city as well as you, dear. And there's
Thrix, Dominil, Kalix and the twins to look out for, and who knows what
Sarapen might attempt next? And don't you want to make sure Talixia is
safe?"

"Surely you don't think she's in danger?" said Markus, alarmed.

"Not really. But she is associated with you. Perhaps it would
be as well to be with her for a few days. Unless she cares to visit us
at the castle?"

Markus explained that Talixia couldn't leave London just now
as she was engaged on a photo shoot.

"It's going to be awkward for her to be the bride of the Thane
if this carries on, Markus."

Markus frowned. He was very keen on Talixia but he hadn't been
thinking of asking her to marry him yet. Verasa didn't press the point.
About forty years ago the Mistress of the Werewolves had realised that
the world she had grown up in had gone forever. A profound change had
taken place in the country's manners. Affluence had arrived along with
technology. Werewolves, like people, no longer expected to live in the
same way their parents had. She could no longer expect her children to
settle down quickly with the first suitable werewolf their parents
approved of. The young werewolves today, like humans, were free in a
way they had never been before. Verasa, who remembered back to the days
before motor transport, before telephones, before electricity even,
regretted much of what was lost in the old world. Never again would a
werewolf set out on horseback from the port at Leith to bring news from
abroad to Castle MacRinnalch. And never again, thought Verasa, would a
writer like Samuel Johnson arise in the world. Or if he did, few people
would notice. Verasa had met the great Doctor Johnson when she was
eighteen, when Johnson, with his friend Boswell, had travelled through
Scotland. They had been guests of the old Thane at Castle MacRinnalch.
The Mistress of the Werewolves still remembered with pleasure the power
and wit of the Doctor's conversation at the dinner table.

Verasa adapted to the modern world as she always did. If
Markus needed to run through twenty or so girlfriends before settling
down with a bride, so be it.

Though he was worried about leaving his mother, Markus was
looking forward to seeing Talixia. 'Perhaps mother is right. Maybe I
should marry her.' It was a novel thought. He called to let her know
he'd be in London later today. Talixia was pleased. She told him that
her work had been going well.

"But I'm worried."

"Worried? Why?"

"I think someone might have been in my flat."

Markus was instantly alarmed.

"Why? Was there a burglary?"

"I can't see any sign of a break-in," Talixia told him. "But
my clothes have been disturbed. I had a red dress in the wardrobe and
it was moved. Other things as well."

Markus frowned. And then he shrugged. He supposed that it
would be as good a time as any to have Talixia tell him she never
wanted to see him again.

"I moved them," admitted Markus.

"What?"

"I moved them. I thought I put them all back in the right
places but obviously I didn't."

Talixia was puzzled.

"Why were you moving my clothes?"

"I was trying them on," said Markus.

"What?"

There was a long pause.

"Is that something you generally do?" said Talixia, eventually.

"Yes."

"You should have mentioned it to me before," she said.

"Do you still want me to come down?"

"Of course I still want you to come down," said Talixia.

96

The two American werewolves walking through Trafalgar Square
were enjoying the last few days of their vacation. The werewolves,
husband and wife, had spent the last week travelling round Scotland
where they'd seen numerous places of interest to any member of the
MacRinnalch Clan. Among these was the harbour at Greenock where Roy
MacRinnalch, one of their grandfathers, had set off for America on a
sailing ship in 1868. They'd been particularly pleased to visit Castle
MacRinnalch, home to so much of their heritage. The election of a new
Thane had not gone as smoothly as expected but still, it was fine to
see the traditional estates of the clan; the mountains to the north,
the great stretches of moorlands to the south, and Colburn Wood, rich
with MacRinnalch history.

After completing their tour of Scottish sites they'd flown
south to complete their vacation in London. Here they'd visited the
Tower where William James MacRinnalch had been imprisoned after the
suppression of the Scottish rebellion of 1745. William MacRinnalch had
fortunately not been held in prison for long, and his werewolf identity
had not been discovered. The MacRinnalchs had not been enthusiastic
supporters of Bonnie Prince Charlie, deeming his rebellion to have
little chance of success. William's involvement had been very minor,
but he'd written a poem about his time in the tower of London which was
still well known in the clan.

From Trafalgar Square they walked along the Strand to Waterloo
Bridge then turned south. Between Waterloo Brigade and the South Bank
Centre there were a series of underground passages, slightly confusing
for visitors. They stopped to study the signs.

"I think we have to go through this tunnel and - "

The werewolf stopped, and looked troubled.

"What's the matter?" said his wife.