“Leading to his weird and hostile behavior,” thought Moonglow, morosely, and she shook her head, not knowing how to make things better. She shivered and hurried through the narrow side street that led to her small flat above the old row of shops, her clumpy heels thudding dully on the pavement. She let herself in, maneuvered her way up the permanently dark stairs, and entered the living room. Forcing some cheer into her voice, she shouted a greeting to Kalix. There was no reply.
Moonglow went upstairs and knocked on Kalix’s door. Again there was no reply. Moonglow, who’d learned not to be tactful in this situation, opened the door and stepped inside. She halted abruptly, appalled at the sight that greeted her. Kalix was sitting on her bed, slumped unconscious against the wall, naked except for the duvet round her shoulders. Her bottle of laudanum was beside her and the whole room stank of the opiate. There was a gash in Kalix’s thigh and blood had congealed over her leg and the sheets.
Moonglow felt angry. Kalix couldn’t go on like this. It was ridiculous. Moonglow wasn’t going to just stand around and do nothing while Kalix starved and bled herself to death. No doubt Gawain’s death had been a terrible shock but this wasn’t the way to deal with it. Moonglow stalked over the threadbare rug, prepared to wake Kalix and give her a piece of her mind. As she reached the side of the bed, she halted and noticed that Kalix’s journal was beside her. It was open at the back page, which was unusual. Kalix was quite organized in the way she wrote, starting at the front and using a new page every time. Moonglow suppressed her guilt as she picked up the journal. She knew she shouldn’t read it, but her anger at Kalix’s behavior overcame her inhibitions, and she looked at the latest entry, hoping it might contain something that might help her get Kalix into a better frame of mind.
As always, it was very hard to decipher. Ill-formed letters, misspelled words, shaky handwriting made even worse by Kalix’s intoxication. “list of suspects for killing Gawain,” Moonglow read the list. “the avenaris guild. duncan douglas-macphee. other douglas-macphees. thrix. markus and the clan.”
Moonglow’s anger melted away. The thought of Kalix sitting in her room trying to write out a list of suspects for the murder of Gawain seemed unbearably sad. It was such a pathetic image that Moonglow felt overwhelmed with guilt for feeling angry at Kalix. She blinked away a tear, put the notebook down, covered Kalix with the quilt, and resolved that when Kalix emerged from her stupor, she would do something to help.
Chapter 42
Princess Kabachetka sat on her own in her private caves and wept fiery tears. Their brilliance illuminated the cavern, turning even her bright blond hair an angry shade of red.
“My life has plumbed new depths of humiliation from which I can never recover,” she groaned and hung her head.
Two days ago, the princess had attended a small get-together organized by Apthalia the Grim at her desert mansion. Thanks to a garbled invitation, for which she would never forgive her chief lady in waiting, the princess and her retinue had turned up at the event too early and found themselves forced to wait in private rooms.
“Which are really not up to the required standard,” complained the princess. “Has she modernized them at all since the days she used to kill lonely travelers?”
Worse was to follow. The princess found that the gathering was not the daytime soiree she had imagined, but a late dance for which evening dress was the only correct attire. When Queen Malveria arrived majestically in full evening dress, the incorrectly attired princess had been utterly mortified. To be wrongly dressed for the occasion had been the most shameful thing imaginable. Princess Kabachetka had burned with humiliation throughout the entire evening. She left as quickly as she decently could but not before suffering the indignity of the mocking stares of Malveria’s handmaidens, who, while undoubtedly slatterns of the lowest order, had at least been properly attired.
The succeeding two days had not lessened the princess’s humiliation. She knew that people were gossiping about her. The princess who couldn’t dress properly. The humiliation would never end. Kabachetka hung her head even lower and wailed.
“It’s useless. I admit defeat. I tried to wage warfare on the dreadful Thrix, and I failed. I tried to battle Malveria, and I have also failed. Now I’m reduced to turning up at formal events in daytime attire, and the disgrace will never end. My attempts to gain revenge on Kalix MacRinnalch for her assault on Sarapen have also failed. Perhaps it will be a blessing when my brother seizes power and throws me into the Eternal Volcano.”
Suddenly, to the princess’s surprise, there was a polite cough from the shadows. This was impossible. No one was permitted to enter the princess’s private cavern under any circumstances.
“Prepare to die,” she hissed and summoned up a powerful spell.
“I can help you defeat your enemies,” said the intruder.
The princess put her spell on hold. “Which enemies in particular?”
“The werewolf fashion designer. And Queen Malveria.”
The princess stared at her visitor. She was a dark skinned Hiyasta, below average height, with rounded features and an old-fashioned shirt of black chain-mail. No one wore chain-mail like that anymore. It was most peculiar.
“What is your name, and how did you penetrate my private cavern?”
“Distikka,” replied the stranger, but left the second part of the question unanswered.
“And?”
“I am Queen Malveria’s advisor.”
Princess Kabachetka wondered briefly if she might have become deranged due to a surfeit of guilt and shame. This certainly didn’t seem to be making much sense. “The Fire Queen’s advisor? In those clothes? Not very likely. You are a wanderer from the desert, driven mad by the sun. As I’m late for an important moisturizing, I may spare your life if you depart immediately.”
Distikka showed no inclination to depart. The princess noticed that her visitor’s black eyes burned with a peculiar intensity. “The defeat of the werewolf clothes designer and the Fire Queen may also lead to the defeat of your brother Prince Esarax. He’s a great threat to you.”
Princess Kabachetka stared at her visitor, who seemed to know far too much about her private thoughts. No one was supposed to know that Kabachetka feared and hated her brother. She looked over Distikka from head to toe and tried to study her aura, but the Hiyasta Elemental had it well masked, and the princess could discern little.
“Do you always wear that elderly collection of chain-mail that hangs so unflatteringly?”
“I do.”
“Do you plan to suddenly take up with high fashion and set yourself up as a style icon among the Fire Elementals?”
“Certainly not.”
“In that case,” said Kabachetka, “I may be prepared to listen to what you have to say.”
Chapter 43
Captain Easterly remembered why he never visited his cousin Albermarle. The clutter was intolerable. As an adult, Albermarle hadn’t given up on his teenage enthusiasms, he’d indulged them. His spacious apartment was packed full of books, comics, games, toys, and models. It was beyond Easterly’s comprehension why a grown man would devote an entire row of shelves to replica spaceships, but Albermarle did. Running out of shelf space, his spaceships had overflowed onto the floor, and Easterly had to tread carefully to avoid splintering some of the small silver models.
“Don’t go hunting werewolves, Albermarle. It’s not like in a comic. It involves violence, blood, and death. You’ll be very bad at it. Stay in the office where you belong.”
“I’ve completed the training course.”
“That’s not the same. It doesn’t prepare you.”
“Mr. Carmichael obviously thinks I’m ready. He’s assigned me a team.”
Quite why Mr. Carmichael had done that, Easterly couldn’t fathom. Surely Easterly wasn’t the only one who could see that Albermarle was unfit for duties as a hunter?
“You’re just worried I’ll eclipse you,” said Albermarle.
Captai
n Easterly shook his head. He knew his cousin was jealous of his own reputation within the guild, but he hadn’t imagined Albermarle’s jealousy would make Albermarle volunteer to actually face werewolves and, inevitably, die.
Albermarle, moving quite rapidly, rescued a spaceship from under Easterly’s feet.
“You’ve never treated me like a grown-up.”
“That’s true.”
Albermarle glared at him. “And I’m not overweight anymore.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
There had been a period in Albermarle’s life when he’d been very overweight. In his last year at university, he’d ballooned to an incredible size. When he’d started working for the guild, he could hardly fit behind a desk. He’d lost most of that weight over the years and, recently, become rather fit. Though Easterly might not have acknowledged it, his cousin had been working hard in the gym beneath their apartments. He was now a large, strong man, with only a hint of surplus flesh.
“You should just stay behind the scenes at the guild. You do good work, locating werewolves for us.”
“Now I’m going to hunt them,” said Albermarle, stubbornly.
“My father was killed by a werewolf.” Easterly tried to adopt a conciliatory tone. “I’ve got a good reason for risking my life. You don’t. Just stay out of the front line.”
Albermarle drew himself up and put down his spaceship with some dignity. Though he was large, his rounded face had never lost its boyish features, and his pink skin, thick curly hair, and small wispy beard didn’t make him look any older. “I have my reasons.”
“What did werewolves ever do to you?”
“That’s a curious thing for a werewolf hunter to say,” countered Albermarle. “Aren’t we meant to hate them anyway, no matter what they’ve done?”
“Yes. We are. But most people won’t take the risk of hunting them unless they’ve been personally affected in some way.”
“My life was ruined by a werewolf at Oxford,” said Albermarle, rather dramatically.
“What did he do? Break one of your spaceships?”
“It wasn’t a he. It was a she. But I didn’t know she was a werewolf then. Now I do, and I’m going to hunt her down.”
Captain Easterly looked inquiringly at his younger cousin. “Is this something to do with the time you became depressed in your final year and put on all that weight?”
“Stop calling me fat.”
“What happened? Did some female werewolf break your heart?”
“It’s none of your business,” shouted Albermarle, suddenly flaring up. “Just look after your own werewolf hunting. Which isn’t really all that great, when you look at the numbers.”
Easterly had indeed been going through a lean spell. These things happened. He was still one of the leading hunters in the organization.
Albermarle ushered him out of his flat. “Excuse me. I need to go to the gym and then the firing range.”
“Suit yourself,” said Easterly, “but if I was you, I’d just forget whatever happened at Oxford. You’re no match for a werewolf. She’ll kill you.”
“No, she won’t.” Albermarle closed the door emphatically on the captain.
Chapter 44
Thrix’s mood had deteriorated. She complained to her designers, shouted at models, and abused Ann for failing to set up an interview with German Vogue. Her assistant pointed out that Thrix had refused to do the interview.
“I didn’t refuse. Why would I refuse?”
“You said you were too busy.”
“I said no such thing!” yelled Thrix.
“You did. What’s the matter? Why are you in such a terrible mood?”
“I’m not in a terrible mood.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Fine. I’m in a terrible mood.”
“Why?”
“Because I had to move Gawain’s body from a police morgue and send it to Scotland for burial!”
The whole operation, to remove the body and cover her tracks, had been extremely difficult, requiring all of the enchantress’s skill. Whether it would extricate the MacRinnalch clan from the potential problems of a police investigation remained to be seen.
“I suppose that explains it,” said Ann. “I thought you were just annoyed about business being bad.”
“I’m annoyed about that too. You know that woman Markoza? She only left fashion college last year, and now she’s selling clothes all over America just because Susi Surmata liked her last collection. And will Surmata write about me?”
“No?”
“No!” Thrix clenched her fists and swore under her breath. There was a long pause.
“Were you very sad about Gawain?”
Thrix prepared to lie, but stopped herself. She trusted Ann and might as well be honest with her. “Yes.”
Ann knew that Thrix had felt a powerful attraction for Gawain, even if she’d professed to not liking him very much. Thrix growled, sounding very wolf-like. It was a trait shared by all the MacRinnalchs, as if their werewolf voices never entirely left them, even when they were human.
“So is it all right to just remove the body? Won’t they notice?”
“Of course they’ll notice!” roared Thrix, her temper flaring up again. She attempted to calm herself. “I did what I could. Spells of forgetfulness, some altering of records. If we’re lucky, it might blow over. If not…”
At that moment, there was a flash of pink light, and Agrivex tumbled into the room, ending up on Thrix’s desk, her heavy boots sending a pile of papers onto the floor.
“Hi!” she cried and struggled to her feet. “I’m okay, don’t worry, I just bumped my elbow a little bit.” The young Fire Elemental looked ruefully at her elbow and rubbed the injured limb.
Ann was used to the Fire Queen teleporting in but had never encountered Vex before. She took a step back in case this was some enemy, which was always possible, given Thrix’s connections.
“Agrivex!” exclaimed Thrix. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come about college! It’s so great that me and Kalix are going to college! Thanks for organizing it!”
The enchantress was surprised. While it was true that she had made inquiries as to a suitable institute, she hadn’t expected the young Fire Elemental to come and thank her for it. Vex leapt from the desk, sending more papers flying everywhere. “The teacher gave me another gold star for my new poem! Do you want to hear it?”
“Eh…”
At that moment, there was a brighter flash, and the Fire Queen stood in their midst, looking at Vex with some displeasure. “Foul niece! Are you attempting to hide from me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“She was thanking Thrix for finding a college,” said Ann.
“An unlikely story. Agrivex has been attempting to avoid me since I informed her it was time for the pre-adoption ceremony. Prepare yourself, vile niece.”
Vex looked pained. “I don’t want to.”
“What you want is of no importance.”
“They’ll make me wear a fire wrap.”
“The fire wrap is the traditional garb of the well-bred young Hiyasta. And, in this instance, you.”
“It’s ugly. And the ceremony sounds boring.”
“Boring?” Malveria was outraged. “The opportunity is presented to move towards adoption by the Queen of the Hiyasta, and you dismiss this as boring?”
Vex looked towards Thrix. “Have you ever seen a fire wrap? It’s the most stupid piece of clothing ever. And the ceremony takes hours.”
“The ceremony will take ten minutes,” said the Fire Queen. “This is necessary for affairs of state, Agrivex.”
“I won’t do it. Maybe I don’t want to be your niece. Did you ever think of that?”
“Then perhaps I should withhold your allowance and stop granting you the power to live in the human dimension?”
“You see how she treats me?” said Vex. “It’s scandalous.
No real relation would treat me as meanly as Aunt Malvie. If that’s even her real name.”
“It is not my real name, you imbecile.”
“Aha!” cried Vex. “I knew it. You’ve been lying to me all along.”
A flicker of flame appeared from the queen’s eyes. She controlled it swiftly. “Cease this stupidity, dismal niece. I have not yet forgiven you for the dreadful humiliation you heaped on my head in the Garden of Small Blue Flames. What induced you to ask me to heal werewolves in front of the Duchess Gargamond?”
“Kalix needed help. She was shot.”
“So? That does not mean that the queen of the Fire Elementals has to rush to her assistance. Has it escaped your attention, witless one, that the MacRinnalchs are historical enemies of our people, with the exception of Thrix, of course, who has won over everyone with her immense grace and beauty, including Beau DeMortalis, Duke of the Black Castle.” The queen turned towards Thrix. “He sends his fond regards.”
By this time, Ann had left the room and returned with wine for the queen, which Malveria accepted with thanks.
“Thank you, Ann. My life has been most trying recently.”
“I’m sorry about the humiliation,” said Thrix. “Mother said to thank you for healing Kalix’s hand anyway. Any wound by silver can go bad in a werewolf, even a minor one.”
“Will Kalix still come to college? I don’t want her to stop going.” Vex suddenly looked very glum. “Someone killed Gawain. She’ll want revenge. She won’t want to go to college.” The young Fire Elemental turned towards Thrix. “Can you make her go? She has lots of friends there, and all the teachers like her. And she’s learning a lot.”
Thrix almost laughed. Vex was a poor liar. Thrix doubted very much that Kalix had made any friends or was popular with the teachers. The enchantress had always found Vex oddly amusing, and she appreciated her coming to thank her, even if she was really hiding from her aunt.