Lonely Werewolf Girl Page 13

  Kalix pulled her quilt over head and wished that she was dead. Moonglow’s continual conversation was unbearable. She longed to knock herself out with laudanum but her supply was so low she daren’t risk finishing it, not when she was too weak to visit the Young MacDoig.

  “Do you dislike all Hiyastas?”

  The question took Kalix by surprise. She’d never heard a human utter the word Hiyasta before. She half-turned her head.

  “What?”

  “Malveria said that Hiyastas and werewolves are never friends.

  “She’s right,” muttered Kalix. “Stupid Hiyastas.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They’re stupid,” repeated Kalix, who lacked the vocabulary to construct a really telling insult.

  “The Fire Queen saved your life,” pointed out Moonglow.

  “That just shows how stupid she is,” replied Kalix, and hid under the quilt.

  48

  Daniel was fatigued when he arrived home.

  “I’m in shock,” he reported. “I never realised how difficult university was without you to tell me what was going on.”

  “Did you get the notes?”

  “Extensive notes. Apparently Timon wasn’t very happy in Athens. No doubt you can explain why. How’s our werewolf?”

  “Sleeping. I’ve been aggravating her.”

  “Pardon?”

  “She’s just lying there refusing to eat or make any effort to get well. I thought if I talked to her enough it might produce some reaction. You know, improve her spirit.”

  “Or just get her so annoyed she attacks us,” suggested Daniel. “You know Moonglow, I think you’re taking a far too relaxed attitude about this whole werewolf thing. First you insist they come and live with us and now you’ve taken up a deliberate policy of werewolf aggravating. It’s dangerous.”

  They looked at Kalix, asleep in front of the fire.

  “She does look sort of pathetic,” admitted Daniel. “All right, I suppose you’d better annoy her some more if you think it’ll help.”

  Moonglow made tea for both of them and put bread in the toaster.

  “Alicia was sitting close to me in the lecture today,” said Daniel. “I was going to talk to her but I lost my nerve.”

  Moonglow was sympathetic. She knew all about Daniel’s shyness with girls. She’d given him as much encouragement as she could, so far without results.

  “You should have spoken to her. Alicia is really nice and she just broke up with her boyfriend. It’s the ideal time.”

  “Could you break the ice for me?”

  “I already introduced you.”

  “What if she’s forgotten?”

  “We’re at university,” said Moonglow. “It’s okay to speak to other students. Think of it as personal growth.”

  “I think of it as potential huge embarrassment,” said Daniel, and looked gloomy while buttering his toast. “I never know what to say to girls.”

  Moonglow smiled. Poor Daniel. He really could do with a girlfriend.

  “You think she likes music?” wondered Daniel.

  “Wouldn’t that have been a good thing to ask her?”

  “Not if she said no. Which is possible. I have encountered girls who don’t like music. It always leaves me struggling for conversation.”

  Though Daniel’s taste for heavy metal was well removed from Moonglow’s liking for Kate Bush, they did share an enthusiasm for progressive rock from the 1970s, which was a great help to their friendship. Late at night they could always agree to listen to some favourite album from thirty years ago: Yes or Jethro Tull. The times he’d spent lying in the living room with Moonglow listening to Close to the Edge were already some of Daniel’s happiest memories.

  “Will you be all right looking after Kalix tonight?” asked Moonglow.

  “Me? Why, where are you going?”

  “To Jay’s house. I don’t want him to come over, not with Kalix here. We should keep it quiet for a while, at least till she gets better.”

  As ever, Daniel was disgruntled at the thought of Moonglow visiting her boyfriend.

  “How did he get on at Stonehenge? Make any important new discoveries? Maybe do some repairs?”

  “No, he just camped there and looked at the stars. He sounded really inspired on the phone.”

  Daniel swallowed the numerous caustic things he could think of to say about Jay receiving inspiration from the stars. He thought it was probably best to hide his huge dislike of Jay from Moonglow, something which, of course, he had completely failed to do.

  Moonglow went off to take a bath leaving Kalix sleeping uneasily in front of the fire. As Moonglow lit some of her favourite scented candles in the bathroom, she wondered what exactly was the source of Kalix’s misery. If Kalix had been the only werewolf Moonglow had met she might have assumed that just being a werewolf was enough to make a person unhappy. Obviously it wasn’t. Thrix hadn’t seemed to be suffering from internal torment. Quite the opposite. If Thrix was anything to go by, it was quite possible to be a werewolf and not be miserable.

  49

  It was a long time since the huge, dark walls of Castle MacRinnalch had housed so much activity. The grey morning light ushered in a day of talking, plotting, threats, and bribery as the two sides each considered how best to improve their position. There was not much time; the Great Council would meet again at midnight. The night that followed would be taken up by the Thane’s funeral. If the council had not reached a decision by then, the funeral would be presided over by the Mistress of the Werewolves. Once that happened it would be clear to everyone that the Great Council had failed to elect a new Thane. There would be a delay of at least a month, till the next council meeting. This would not go down well with the clan.

  “The clan will just have to wait,” said Verasa. “I’ve already breached tradition once and I’m quite prepared to do it again.”

  Verasa sat in her chambers with her son Markus as the daylight crept in. The thirteenth century castle had been built without much in the way of window space. Verasa, tiring of the gloom, had once planned to have the windows of her chambers enlarged, but the Thane would not agree to it, fearing that any such alteration would weaken the castle’s defences. Verasa pointed out that in the modern world, it was unlikely there would ever be an armed assault on the castle, but the windows remained unaltered, just in case.

  Verasa had been to see Dulupina.

  “She’s still concise when she wants to be, despite her age, I’ll grant her that,” reported Verasa. “Anyway, we can discount her vote.”

  Markus looked pointedly at the Mistress of the Werewolves.

  “I repeat, we can discount her vote. I will not go along with her wishes. I’ll find another way to get the votes we need.”

  Great Mother Dulupina had informed Verasa that she was outraged the clan had not brought Kalix to justice. Although the Great Council had decided that the young werewolf should be brought back to Castle MacRinnalch, nothing had been done about it.

  “She killed my son,” stated Dulupina. “I won’t vote for anyone as Thane until Kalix has been dealt with.”

  “In other words,” said Markus to his mother. “Whoever brings back her heart gets Dulupina’s vote.”

  “That’s about it,” replied Verasa.

  Again feeling that her son was looking at her a little questioningly, Verasa spoke angrily.

  “I won’t sanction the killing of my youngest daughter.”

  “I’ve heard you wish her dead,” said Markus.

  “Maybe in a moment of anger. But I will not have Great Mother Dulupina or anyone else tell me that my daughter must be killed.”

  Verasa could see a positive side.

  “At least she’s not going to vote for Sarapen. She’ll abstain again which makes it impossible for Sarapen to get the nine votes he needs.”

  Markus was doubtful about his mother’s calculations.

  “What if Sarapen promises Dulupina he will kill Kalix? Might
she not cast her vote for him?”

  “I don’t think so. Even if she did, he’d still be one vote short and the only free vote now belongs to Thrix. Yes, well may you scowl, Markus. A great shame you get on so badly with your sister. Fortunately for us she’s getting on equally badly with Sarapen. Did you know he swept her designs onto the floor?”

  “I was there when it happened mother, or just after.”

  “Then you should have picked them up. Thrix will not tolerate interference in her business, for which I respect her.”

  “I thought her fashion business annoyed you?”

  “It only annoys me that she must distance herself from the family so. Now you must try and make things up with her.”

  Markus promised to do what he could, without much conviction. As tonight was the night before the full moon, Markus was expecting the council meeting to be a good deal stormier than the last one. Verasa saw that her son was troubled.

  “Don’t worry. Even if Dulupina and Thrix decide to vote against you, Sarapen will still not get his nine votes. Baron MacAllister won’t be at the meeting. He has unexpectedly fallen ill.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  Verasa and Baron MacAllister had come to terms on the loan that he required. The Baron was heading back to his own keep, claiming illness. If the election was not resolved and another meeting was called next month, he would then vote for Markus. The Mistress of the Werewolves was already swinging things in favour of her younger son. She asked him if he’d found out anything about the twins.

  “As far as I can see they don’t have a band any more. I read a message on a music forum wondering where they’d disappeared to. I also found a review of one of their last gigs. Apparently it was a shamble. Both sisters kept falling over, and one of them broke her guitar.”

  “Broke her guitar? How?”

  “She jumped on it.”

  Verasa was perplexed.

  “Was she annoyed with her guitar? Had it failed to function?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why would she destroy it?”

  “Part of her stage act, perhaps.”

  “How odd,” said Verasa, who couldn’t imagine destroying a perfectly good instrument. “Of course they do have a great deal of money. She can buy a new one. But it sounds like they’re making no real progress. Broken guitars and falling over onstage do not amount to much, I imagine. Presuming they wish to be successful, what would you say they most needed?”

  Markus considered this.

  “A responsible adviser, perhaps, to manage their affairs? Someone who knows the business and doesn’t get intoxicated?”

  The Mistress of the Werewolves nodded.

  “Yes, I agree. A manager might be just what they need. Rather awkward, given that it would really not be safe for anyone who isn’t a werewolf to be closely involved with them. I do worry terribly about them giving themselves away, and bringing the Avenaris Guild down on their heads. But I’ll think about it, and see who might be suitable.”

  There was a knock on the door and a servant announced that Dominil was here. Verasa noticed how her son drew himself up to his full height as Dominil entered the room. It was natural enough. Few male werewolves could resist the impulse to show themselves off to their best advantage when the icily beautiful Dominil arrived.

  50

  Tupan’s daughter Dominil had a powerful intellect and a cold demeanour. Her voice was not harsh but it was no longer warmed by the clan’s Scottish accent. Dominil had discarded her accent at Oxford university some years ago, where she gained a double first in Classics and Philosophy. The neutral tone of her voice made her stand out at the castle, but Dominil would have stood out anywhere, with her high cheekbones, large dark eyes and long snow-white hair. She was slender like the rest of her generation of werewolves, but a little taller, and a good deal colder. Verasa still remembered the day when Dominil, then seven years old, had broken her leg in a fall in the woods and resolutely refused to cry, not even wincing while Dr Angus MacRinnalch examined the fracture though it surely must have been painful.

  Dominil had followed this pattern through the rest of her life. She showed no pleasure on her admittance to Oxford and neither did she appear particularly pleased when she graduated with honour. Nothing seemed to excite her emotions. The younger female werewolves would routinely be stared at in the street because of their beauty but Dominil suffered this in extremis. As she strode along the pavement, tall, white-haired and dazzlingly beautiful, everyone would turn to stare. What Dominil thought of this, or if she even noticed, no one knew. No one really knew much of what Dominil thought. She had spent her youth at the castle, left for Oxford, returned four years later and now passed most of her time in her chambers in the east wing, with her books and her computers. She had no friends that anyone knew of. She seemed close to her father Tupan but if this closeness involved anything like warmth, it was hidden from outside eyes.

  It was rumoured that she had an affair, or at least a liaison, with Sarapen. They now disliked each other but Dominil never showed any sign of discomfort when Sarapen made one of his frequent visits to the castle.

  Verasa was not entirely ignorant of Dominil’s tastes. Few goings on in or around the castle were hidden from her. Verasa knew, for instance, that Dominil had taken various human lovers while at Oxford and had carried on the practice since returning home. Dominil had formed temporary associations with several young men in the neighbouring towns. She kept this to herself, and it was almost a secret, save for Verasa’s inquisitiveness. The Mistress of the Werewolves could not help wondering about the nature of Dominil’s relationships with the young men. As far as she knew, none of them had actually died, but several of them were no longer around. Their families believed that they had left the district but Verasa wondered if their bones might be lying at the bottom of a peat marsh on the MacRinnalch estates.

  Markus was a few years older than Dominil. Though not close they were on reasonably good terms. He greeted her politely, inquired after her health, then left the chamber to visit Thrix, as his mother had requested. Though Markus was not overly pleased to be ordered out of a meeting, he was nonetheless not too displeased to be excused from making small talk with Dominil. There was something about her company that he found very wearing. He sometimes got the impression she looked down on him. But there again, Dominil might look down on everyone.

  Verasa offered Dominil wine which she accepted. Dominil had a liking for wine, and the clan whisky.

  “I am so pleased you nominated Markus for Thane,” began Verasa. “I’m sure you agree that Markus will make a - ”

  Dominil held up her hand.

  “Please, let us not pretend I am a supporter of Markus. I regard him as quite unsuitable for Thane. But I’ll continue to oppose Sarapen.”

  “So at least we know where we stand,” said Verasa dryly. Already she could feel the oncoming full moon and she was trying not to let the excitement interfere with her judgement. She wondered if Dominil felt the same thrill when the wolf nights arrived. Possibly not. It would be no great surprise to learn that the werewolf state left her unmoved.

  When Dominil transformed she remained white, with the mane of a great snow wolf. It was a spectacular sight, one that had rarely been seen in the clan. Verasa could remember the first time it happened, when Dominil was no more than three weeks old. When she had first transformed into a baby werewolf and her coat turned out to be white, the whole family had been entranced. Tupan had been delighted. There was nothing unlucky about a white-haired werewolf. On the contrary, it was so rare as to be regarded as a good omen. But if Dominil was a good omen for anything, that thing had yet to arrive.

  “Do you feel any concern about remaining at Castle MacRinnalch?” Verasa asked Dominil.

  “Why should I?”

  “It may be uncomfortable now that you’ve come out in opposition to Sarapen.”

  “I do not fear Sarapen,” replied Dominil. “Besides my
father will remain close to the castle.”

  Verasa wondered if he would. Tupan had his own affairs to look after. The Mistress of the Werewolves realised she was not as confident about there being no violence as she had claimed when speaking to Markus. It would suit her cause very badly if Sarapen were to dispose of Dominil.

  “Sarapen will kill Kalix,” said Dominil, abruptly.

  “Kalix has proved remarkably hard to kill so far.”

  “He was not so concerned before. Now that Dulupina has made her thoughts clear he’ll certainly kill her.”

  “Kalix is his own sister,” pointed out Verasa.

  “Sarapen won’t let that stop him. He wants Dulupina’s vote. Your eldest son is quite without feelings.”

  Verasa was tempted to point out that in comparison to Dominil, Sarapen had plenty of feelings, but she remained silent. She wondered what motivated Dominil. One of the very few things she could ever remember Dominil saying about her herself was that she was bored. That had been some years ago, during a vacation from university. Was it possible, wondered Verasa, that this most intelligent and beautiful werewolf still suffered from boredom? There was a knock at the door. One of Verasa’s servants entered.

  “Gawain MacRinnalch has been sighted on the outlying estates, Mistress.”

  “Gawain?”

  This was most unexpected. Gawain? Ex-lover of Kalix? No one had seen Gawain for three years. He had been banished by the Thane from all the lands of the MacRinnalchs. By appearing anywhere near the castle he ran the risk of death at the hands of the clan.

  “Has he been approached?”

  “No Mistress. We await your instructions.”

  “Keep him under observation,” ordered the Mistress of the Werewolves, calmly. “But don’t approach him. On such a sombre occasion, it will not do to have any unpleasantness.”

  51

  Thrix was not surprised to find Markus at her door.

  “Come in,” she said. “I doubt you can offer me anything mother hasn’t already.”