Martin Millar - Lonely Werewolf Girl (41 page)

"That white-haired maniac never gives us a break."

"She's insane. She belongs in an asylum."

"Hey, don't knock it," said the third young man. "She got us
back in the studio didn't she?"

The rest of their words were lost as they drove off. So they
were musicians. And Dominil was helping them. Kalix stood on her own on
the pavement in the rain, wondering if she should go inside. It would
be good to see Beauty and Delicious, perhaps. Kalix suddenly remembered
that even though the twins had given her whisky at the castle, they
hadn't really been her friends. They had been too involved in their own
affairs to pay her much attention. Sometimes when they'd been up to
some mischief and Kalix had wanted to go along, they'd sent her away,
telling her she was too young.

It was becoming dark and Kalix didn't like this gloomy street
with the boarded up buildings. Deciding she didn't want to meet three
werewolves who'd probably not want to talk to her, she turned to leave.
Then several things happened in quick succession. First Kalix caught
the scent of Sarapen. Before she could move Sarapen dropped from the
sky having apparently travelled over the rooftops. As he landed beside
her he seemed surprised.

"Kalix? It was not your scent I followed. Indeed, you seem to
have no scent."

Sarapen took a step towards her, as darkness fell.

"But it's as good a place to meet you as anywhere, sister."

Kalix prepared to defend herself but they were interrupted by
a great commotion as several vans raced into the street. A crowd of men
with dogs emerged from the vehicles and swarmed into the rehearsal
studios.

"Dominil," muttered Sarapen. He immediately changed into his
immense werewolf form and sprinted towards the rehearsal studio. Kalix
transformed and ran after him. Seeing members of her clan in peril she
forgot about the danger she was in from Sarapen, and hurried to assist
them.

The two werewolves crashed through the front door of the
studio to find the place in uproar. The corridor leading to the
rehearsal rooms was full of men with snarling dogs who were heading for
a room at the far end. The mighty Sarapen in his terrifying werewolf
form fell on them with fury, sending one crushed body spinning away
before picking up another and tossing it like a child's doll onto the
heads of the men in front. The hunters, surprised by the unexpected
assault from behind, yelled as they turned to face their attackers.
Kalix fixed her jaws to the neck of a hunter and her teeth tore great
wounds on his throat. She tossed the body away and leapt for the next.
Her battle-madness descended on her and she bit, clawed, kicked and
beat her way down the corridor in a savage fury, arriving at the door
of the rehearsal room over a pile of broken and bloody bodies.

Sarapen was already there. He rushed into the rehearsal room
where Dominil was disappearing under the weight of her attackers. There
were men with guns, trying to get a clear shot at the savagely
resisting werewolf, and dogs hanging on to her legs, snarling and
barking. Beauty and Delicious, who for some reason had not transformed
into their werewolf shape, were trying to beat off their attackers with
their guitars. This was futile. The sisters were thrown back and
hunters leapt to grab hold of them. Kalix jumped across the rehearsal
studio, tearing the gun from one hunter's hand then smashing her
taloned foot brutally into the face of another. A dog tried to sink its
teeth into her leg and Kalix stamped downwards, breaking its neck.

Sarapen leapt into the heaving mass of bodies around Dominil,
dragging them from her and tossing them against the walls. Two shots
rang out and he flinched slightly before his jaws were around the neck
of the man who had fired them, almost decapitating him with the
strength of his bite. Seizing he opportunity, Dominil leapt to her
feet. Her white werewolf coat was stained with blood but she threw
herself back into the fray, tearing and rending the men from the Guild.
They began to fall back, finding themselves confronted by a great deal
more werewolf strength than they'd been expecting. They had not
anticipated the savage, bestial fury of Kalix, Sarapen and Dominil.
When Kalix finished off the hunters who had been attacking the twins,
and turned to fall upon the men confronting Sarapen and Dominil, they
broke and ran.

The rehearsal room was now a grim scene of destruction. Broken
and bleeding bodies lay everywhere. Men and dogs moaned in pain among
the smashed remains of the studio equipment. Ruined amplifiers and
speakers littered the floor. Dominil wasted no time in examining the
aftermath of the battle.

"Outside," she said. "My car."

Beauty and Delicious seemed shocked by the events. They were
not warlike. Dominil grabbed them and dragged them from the building.

"You drive," she said, thrusting Delicious into the front
seat. Delicious put the key in the ignition and pulled away from the
kerb like a racing driver, and Dominil didn't protest. There was no
telling if reinforcements from the Guild might be on the way.

In the back of the car Kalix found herself in the unusual
position of being separated only by Dominil from her older brother. She
remained in her werewolf form, ready to fight him off. Dominil turned
her white head towards her.

"A timely intervention," she said, calmly. She turned to
Sarapen.

"And a timely intervention from you, cousin."

If Dominil was surprised to see Kalix and Sarapen together she
didn't show it, concentrating instead on giving some brisk instructions
to Delicious as to the quickest route away from the studio. When they
were some way north of the river, she told Delicious to turn down a
side street and stop the car.

"This is as far as you go, Sarapen."

There was a trickle of blood on Sarapen's arm where he'd been
grazed by a silver bullet. It wasn't a serious wound but even so, it
was painful. An injury caused by silver was always painful for a
werewolf. He ignored it. Sarapen changed back into his human shape, and
looked over at Kalix.

"Well fought, sister. Like a MacRinnalch."

It was a strange fortune of war, thought Sarapen. Only days
ago he had sent out the Douglas-MacPhees to find Kalix. Now Sarapen had
encountered her, but honour prevented him from taking her prisoner. He
could not resume hostilities so soon after she'd fought by his side.
But it was interesting that something was masking her scent, and he
would pass on the information to the MacPhees. He turned back to
Dominil and they stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Then
Sarapen opened the door and exited into the street. Unexpectedly,
Dominil followed him.

"Cousin," she said, quietly, so those in the car couldn't
hear. "What brought you to the scene?"

Sarapen didn't answer. The rain poured down but it didn't wash
away the tension than flowed between Dominil and Sarapen.

"Were you tracking me?" demanded Dominil.

"No. I was hunting Markus. But I warn you, the situation has
now become worse. If you continue to support Markus you may come to
harm."

Dominil's face was hard and emotionless.

"You need not fear for me. Why has the situation become worse?"

"Markus killed my counsellor Mirasen. I'll make him pay for
it."

Sarapen stared into the dark, dark eyes of his former lover.
His look was so intense than Dominil made ready to defend herself.
Sarapen stepped forward. Dominil held her ground. There faces were only
inches apart. They remained like that for several seconds. Abruptly, he
turned on his heel to vanish into the rain. Dominil climbed back into
the car.

"Drive," she said. "Quickly. I don't trust him not to follow
us."

112

Thrix had spent the day trying to make up for lost time. As
she had important shows in Milan and New York coming up, Ann suggested
that she delegate some of Malveria's outfits to other designers. Thrix
rejected the idea.

"You can't delegate Malveria. She'd have a fit. Besides,
Malveria's money has been keeping me afloat for the past year. Without
her I'd never have made it this far. I owe her."

For Livia's 500th birthday party, the Fire Queen's outfits had
to be perfect. The sorceress's party would be the highlight of the
social calendar. Her four hundredth birthday celebration had gone down
in legend and this one was set to surpass it. Everyone of importance
would be there, even the ladies from the court of the iron elementals,
and they hardly ever went out to social events. Last night at Thrix's
apartment a tear had formed in Malveria's eye at the thought of
Princess Kabachetka once more outdoing her in the fashion stakes.

"If she is judged to be better dressed than me I shall simply
die," said Malveria, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief. "There
are many jealous elementals who are now envious of my excellent style.
It is not easy, darling Thrix, to be the fashion leader in the realm of
the Hiyasta. Jealousy lurks around every corner. Apthalia the Grim
would like nothing better than a chance to gossip about my poor
garments, if poor they were."

"Doesn't Apthalia the Grim spend her time waiting on quiet
roads, trying to ambush lonely travellers?" asked Thrix.

"Not so much now," replied Malveria. "These days she's more
interested in fashion. And since she had her warts removed and her nose
done, and started buying her clothes from Dior, rather than simply
robbing the corpses of her victims, she is not so bad looking, I admit.
But she is a terrible gossip. When the Duchess Gargamond, Lady of
Blazing Destruction, wore the same aquamarine frock with matching shoes
and handbag to two separate sacrifices, Apthalia the Grim had spread it
all round the realms before the day was out. Poor Duchess Gargamond was
forced to retreat to her castle in shame and has never been the same
since."

"I see," said Thrix. "That would explain why she hasn't been
responding to summonses recently. I understand her devotees are
devastated."

"Indeed they are," agreed Malveria. "But really, who can blame
the Duchess? One cannot be answering requests to deal out blazing
destruction when one's frocks are the subject of public ridicule."

Thrix showed her most recent sketches to Ann.

"What do you think of this line for Malveria? I mean a formal
coat like this in dark blue for her arrival in the horse drawn
carriage, then a dress something like this for the start of the
evening?"

"It's a beautiful dress but Malveria will probably want
something a little more daring."

Thrix nodded. It was a continual problem, trying to merge
Thrix's good taste with the Fire Queen's liking for the dramatic and
the revealing.

"I think I can persuade her, particularly as I've been working
on these for the night-time carnival."

The Sorceress Livia's birthday party was spread over five days
-which was appropriate, as the birth of the sorceress had taken five
days - and Malveria would need a lot of outfits. Ann nodded with
approval as she saw Thrix's design for carnival night, a short golden
skirt and halter top which might have been worn by a dancer in a video
on MTV.

"She'll like that."

"She will. Malveria's been doing sit ups for the past three
months and is keen to show off her flat abdominal muscles. Ever since
she read about Heidi Klum's exercise regime she's been hard at it."

Malveria would need around twenty complete outfits. It was a
major task for Thrix, and she was already falling behind schedule. At
the end of her working day she only had time for a hastily eaten
sandwich before hurrying out with Ann to a fashion show she could not
afford to miss. When she had settled down in her seat - not as
important a seat as she would have liked - she noticed with displeasure
that Donald Carver was in the audience.

"My last miserable date," she whispered to Ann, with some
suspicion. "Are you trying to set me up again?"

Ann shook her head.

"I couldn't if I wanted. You messed it up too badly."

At the drinks party after the show Thrix studiously tried to
avoid coming into contact with Donald Carver and consequently bumped
into him every time she turned round. She felt embarrassed, and the
fact that he seemed to have become very close to the new accessories
editor at Cosmopolitan didn't make it any better. Thrix took refuge
with Ann behind a phalanx of Japanese buyers who were grouped together
near the bar.

"Every time I take a step I'm practically falling over him."

"Don't worry," said Ann. "You didn't like him that much
anyway."

"What's that got to do with it? He never called me back. Which
he should have. A woman is entitled to at least one phone call even
after the worst dinner date. So now I'm standing here on my own while
the man who never phoned me back is waltzing round with a new date. I
might as well just carry a sign saying
don't date Thrix
MacRinnalch she s a complete waste of time
."

Thrix took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter,
downed it quickly enough to replace the glass on the tray of the next
waiter and take another, then walked to the bar to see what they had in
the way of whisky.

"You never find a decent whisky at these things," she
complained to her assistant.

"There's not that many Scottish werewolves wanting service, I
sup-pose," said Ann.

By the time she took a taxi home, Thrix was in a very bad
mood. The strain of over-work, the annoyance of dealing with her family
and the embarrassment of meeting Donald all combined to put her in a
foul temper which was exacerbated by her intake of alcohol. She
regretted going to the show, particularly as they hadn't even provided
her with a good seat. Thrix felt the familiar resentment of the
outsider who couldn't quite force her way in. She drummed her fingers
on her lap. She would triumph in Milan and New York and then perhaps
she might get the respect she deserved.