The Curse of the Wolf Girl (26 page)

“Let’s go to the café,” suggested Albermarle.

Dominil shook her head. “I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy,” said Albermarle, his voice rising.

Dominil’s eyebrows went up a fraction. While she had no feelings at all for Albermarle, she was aware that he’d shown signs of being attracted to her at university. He had a habit of appearing at her door in the halls of residence on some pretext or other, or of sitting close to her when they were attending the same lecture. But Dominil had had many admirers at Oxford and had rarely cared for any of them. Albermarle was too far down the list to raise even a flicker of interest.

“Goodbye,” she said, curtly, and moved away, leaving Albermarle staring after her while some children, attempting to force their way past, found themselves bouncing off his large, solid frame.

Princess Kabachetka appeared distracted. Her fellow aristocrats were puzzled. Her outfit had been widely admired. At the card table, she’d scored a notable success against her cousins, the Letaka sisters. It should have been enough to put her in a good humor. Yet as soon as was possible, without being dreadfully rude, the princess called for her coat, for her servants, and for her carriage, and left the soiree with the briefest of thanks to her hostess, the Countess of the Greenest Flame.

The young countess felt rather insulted by the whole thing. “The princess barely touched her dinner.”

“Perhaps she’s worrying about her weight,” suggested one of the Letaka sisters.

“I’ve heard she struggles with it,” agreed the other.

Difficult as it would have been for her friends to believe, Princess Kabachetka had more important matters on her mind than the social calendar.

She urged the carriage on as it made its way through the sheet of flame that swept up from the third level of the Eternal Volcano, finally depositing her at the small ravine that led into her private lair. Distikka, with her customary punctuality, was already waiting for her. The princess greeted her in a friendlier manner than she had previously. “Your plan is proceeding well, Distikka. For a Hiyasta, you have an effective cunning.”

Distikka barely acknowledged the compliment; she wasn’t given to displays of emotion. Small, methodical, intelligent, she was not an Elemental who would ever pour out flames of excitement. Of course, pouring out flames of excitement was rather a low-class thing to do.

“How did the Mistress of the Werewolves react to your visit?” inquired Distikka.

“Rather well. For a werewolf, she’s not as uncivilized as I feared. Though the castle is a dank and unlovely place. No wonder Thrix left to go to London.”

“And your proposal?” continued Distikka.

The princess peered at something in the far corner. “Before we discuss that, there’s something else I want to talk about.”

“What?”

“Your motives,” said the princess. “You arrive here full of traitorous intentions towards Queen Malveria, although she seems to have treated you well, given your humble origins. You suggest plans for my advancement. And for this you claim to want nothing more than a large sum of money.” The princess paused and took a few steps up and down the cavern, as if gathering her thoughts. “Of course money is a powerful incentive, particularly to someone who was born poor. But it seems strange that you’re prepared to risk so much. If Queen Malveria were to learn of your treachery, you would die very swiftly.”

Distikka rose and, though small in stature, when she confronted the princess, she seemed equally strong. “Is there a point to this?”

“Of course. At first I thought it likely that you were a spy sent here by Malveria. It would be quite in keeping with her despicable behavior. But no matter. I have discovered your true intentions.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. Distikka seemed interested, but not intimidated. “I doubt you could discover much about me,” she said.

“And that is where you are wrong,” replied the princess, triumphantly, “because like Malveria, you do not realize the full extent of Hainusta sorcery. The power of our volcano is greater than yours. The Empress Asaratanti uses spells of which you have no knowledge. For instance,” she paused as if to savor her next sentence, “the empress’s Spell of Reverse Inheritance. Are you familiar with that? No? Of course not. Few people are. My mother Asaratanti developed it to deal with a troublesome case where a young man appeared at court claiming to be the long-lost son of a Duke who died intestate. As the inheritance involved was considerable, and as my mother did not wish to hand it over without good reason, she set her sorcerers to work. They created a spell for checking the heritage and parentage of a Fire Elemental that was far more powerful than anything that had been used before.”

“Was he the son of the duke?”

“No. Simply an adventurer who was swiftly executed. I’ve used the Spell of Reverse Inheritance to examine you, Distikka.” Though Distikka controlled her aura so effectively that it was virtually impossible to read, now, for the first time, the princess could discern the tiniest flicker of discomfort. “You are the last living relative of Queen Malveria. A granddaughter of a long-forgotten brother who died before Queen Malveria came to power in the great war. Though she slaughtered all her remaining relatives soon afterwards, it was not known that this long-dead brother had produced any offspring. I assume you are the result of some casual dalliance with the temple prostitutes of the western desert. Am I correct?”

Distikka had regained control of her aura and remained impassive.

“That makes you her heir,” concluded the princess with satisfaction. “Her only heir. Virtually the equivalent of a death sentence, given how fond Malveria is of executing her relatives. It was clever of you to work your way into a position of confidence, given your origins. It speaks highly of your abilities. And yet, you’re not satisfied, are you?”

Distikka was unabashed. She smiled a small smile that failed to light up her face. “No, I’m not.”

“You’d much rather be Queen of the Hiyasta yourself. That does go a long way towards explaining your treachery.” The princess looked pleased with herself. “So now we understand each other much better. Shall we examine the corpse?”

They crossed the cavern together and stood over a body that lay on the bare stone floor.

“Similar build, and not a bad resemblance,” said the princess. “The Mistress of the Werewolves will be seeking a quick and private burial for her son. With some sorcerous help, we should be able to pass this off as Sarapen.”

Albermarle had taken two hunters with him to the museum, both junior members of the guild. He met them, as arranged, in the Roman gallery. It was their first mission, and their excitement showed.

“Did you make contact with the white-haired werewolf?”

“I did.”

“So now what do we do?”

“We set out to demoralize and confuse her.”

Albermarle’s companions looked concerned.

“Shouldn’t we just kill her?” one of them asked.

“Of course we shouldn’t just kill her!” exclaimed Albermarle. Noticing he was attracting attention from other museum visitors, he lowered his voice and ushered his companions towards the far side of a large display cabinet. “Didn’t I tell you this was a special mission? Dominil isn’t your standard werewolf. She needs careful handling. And some demoralizing.”

“I don’t remember anything about demoralizing werewolves in training.”

“I thought we were just meant to kill them.”

“Who’s in charge of this mission, you or me?” snapped Albermarle. “I say she has to be demoralized, and that’s what we’re going to do. By the time we’re finished with her, Dominil will be baffled, defeated, and forced to admit that she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. And she’s not that attractive either.”

Albermarle led his companions around to the other side of the huge display cabinet. There he almost bumped straight into Dominil, who was studying the coins in the cabinet. He leapt back in alarm.

“From the reign of Vespasian,” said Dominil. “I always thought he was one of the better emperors. He certainly stabilized Rome after the civil wars of 69 AD. I don’t think you’ll make a very good werewolf hunter, Albermarle.”

“She heard us!” croaked one Albermarle’s companions.

Albermarle shushed him. “No matter. Yes, Dominil, your time has come. I know you’re a werewolf.”

“How fascinating.”

“You think you’re smart just because you were top of the year at Oxford? Well, you’re not so smart. You can’t get into the guild’s computers now, can you? That’s because I stopped you! Me, Albermarle. I’ve always been a better programmer than you.”

Though the news that Albermarle was a werewolf hunter had come as a great surprise, Dominil took it calmly. It was five years or so since she’d last seen him. He’d been a post-graduate student at Oxford while she was in the final year of her degree. Though Dominil had never held him in any regard as a person, she was aware of his intellect.

It was taxing confronting hunters in daylight when she couldn’t transform. Her own natural strength was such that she didn’t fear anyone, but there was always the possibility of a hunter using his gun, even though shooting a werewolf in human form was against the guild’s normal policy.

“I don’t suppose you thought you’d ever have to pay for your crimes at Oxford.”

“Refusing to attend a dance with you is not a crime,” said Dominil, dryly.

“That’s not what I was referring to,” yelped Albermarle. “I mean the mysterious deaths on campus.”

“Nothing to do with me,” said Dominil.

“I know you were behind them.”

Dominil raised an eyebrow. “Are you still upset I took your place on the quiz team?”

“No! But that was my place! You stole it.”

Dominil almost smiled. “Hunting doesn’t seem like an ideal profession for you, Albermarle.”

Albermarle stared into Dominil’s dark eyes. “I found out about you and tracked you down, didn’t I?”

Dominil stared back, looking up at him though she was a tall woman herself.

“I hate werewolves.”

“We’re a dangerous breed,” said Dominil, evenly. The display cabinet backed up against the wall, making it impossible for Dominil to retreat. Deciding that it was time to leave, she stepped forward to pass by the hunters.

“Look out!” cried the youngest. With that, he pulled a gun from under his jacket.

“Put that away,” said Albermarle, but the young hunter was panicking. He knew that, even in human form, Dominil had the strength to break his neck. He leveled his gun. Dominil reacted instantaneously, grabbing his wrist, yanking him forward, and striking his throat all in one swift action. The other hunter leapt backwards and reached for his own weapon. Dominil knocked him over then ran from the room. As she exited the gallery, there was a loud explosion, and a bullet whistled over her head.

Dominil sprinted for her life. She hated fleeing, but three guns wielded by nervous hunters was too risky. A silver bullet would kill her just as surely in human form as in werewolf shape. She ran through the next two galleries, the tails of her long leather coat flying out behind her. She wove her way through the crowd of visitors, barging past them so that a trail of shouted protests followed her as she ran. As she burst into the corridor, another shot rang out. The young hunter had apparently lost all control and was intent on killing her right here, witnesses or not.

Dominil had already formulated a plan of escape. Remembering the layout of the vast museum from her previous visits, she knew there was a small exit at the back of the building. To get there, she’d have to circle around through some of the galleries and corridors. Once outside, she could outdistance her pursuers.

Dominil ran through two galleries of Greek artifacts. A uniformed attendant shouted at her but stepped back sharply as two hunters burst into view, one of them with a gun in his hand. There were screams from a family of tourists. The werewolf sprinted into the next gallery, which she remembered had a door leading back to the Egyptian section. From there she could make for the exit.

Unfortunately, the door was locked.

Dominil skidded to a halt, almost crashing into the woodwork in her haste. A sign on the wall informed visitors that the gallery was undergoing alterations. There was no exit other than the door she’d come in.

Dominil spun around in time to see the two young hunters racing into the room, followed by Albermarle. She didn’t hesitate for a second. As they raised their guns, she grabbed hold of an enormous cabinet of Greek vases. She wrenched it free of its fastenings and hurled the glass case straight at the hunters. It crashed into them, showering them with broken glass and pottery. Alarms sounded as the exhibit was destroyed. Attendants flooded in and stared in surprise at the sight of three men lying on the floor under the shattered cabinet.

Dominil brushed the attendants aside as she headed for the exit. She hurtled into the huge marble hall at the front of the museum then out of the door and through the great stone pillars in the courtyard. Sprinting towards Museum Street, she knocked students out of the way as they studied their visitors’ maps. Alarms were still going off behind her. Dominil kept running till she reached Gower Street, where she paused briefly to sniff the air, searching for Albermarle’s scent. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t close.

Dominil disappeared into the nearby warren of buildings that made up the university campus. The flight hadn’t fatigued her. She maintained a brisk pace till she was a long way north of the museum then stepped onto a bus that took her towards Euston station. Sitting on the lower deck, she appeared quite calm. Inside, she seethed with anger. Dominil didn’t like to be pursued.

When she finally arrived home, Dominil spent some time carefully checking that she hadn’t been followed. As she opened the door and slipped inside, the sun dipped below the horizon. Dominil felt a strong desire to take on her werewolf shape, to replenish her strength, but resisted the urge for the few moments necessary to take the carefully measured dose of laudanum she required each day. That done, she transformed then sat on the couch in her sparsely furnished living room, pondering the surprising news that her old acquaintance Albermarle was now a werewolf hunter. It was bad enough that the Avenaris Guild was seeking to destroy Yum Yum Sugary Snacks. Now they were chasing her out of museums as well. Dominil bared her fangs. She was fond of her trips to the museum and wasn’t about to give them up for anybody.