The Curse of the Wolf Girl (39 page)

Captain Easterly accompanied Thrix to the Young Fashion Designer awards at the Olympia Conference Center in London. It was a reasonably prestigious event. The winners were guaranteed some good publicity in the press. Thrix had never been nominated for the award and resented it. Now, at the ostensible age of thirty, she was too old. As they took their seats, she reached over and pressed a finger lightly on Captain Easterly’s cheek. “Designer stubble?”

He smiled and looked slightly embarrassed. “Do you hate it?”

“It suits you. Have you been reading the papers?”

“No.” He continued to look embarrassed. “Maybe.”

Last week a survey claiming that women found slightly unshaven men attractive had been widely reported. Thrix was amused at the thought of Easterly being influenced by a newspaper survey. He was already attractive. His charm hadn’t faded, and having found a man who was not only attractive, but also just as interested in clothes as she was, she didn’t intend to let him go easily. The enchantress was becoming very fond of Easterly.

“How did you ever survive in the army?” she’d asked him last week, breaking off suddenly from an intense hour-long discussion about the colors that would be fashionable next season.

“I didn’t talk about clothes so much,” he admitted.

“Were you too busy killing people?”

Easterly didn’t like to talk much about his military experiences. Thrix knew he’d been in action during his career. Thrix didn’t mind. She’d been involved in violence herself when necessary, as violence sometimes was for the MacRinnalch werewolves.

The event was late starting. Both were used to this and expected it. In the fashion world, events never started on time. As the lights eventually dimmed and the music changed to announce the arrival of the first models on the catwalk, Easterly’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He slipped it out smoothly to see who was calling. It was Albermarle. Easterly was obliged to take the call, and there was some consternation as he clumsily made his way through the fully seated audience to the corridor outside.

“What is it?” he demanded. “I’m busy.”

“I’ve been arrested,” said Albermarle.

“What for?”

“Breaking and entering. Get the guild to send me a lawyer. We’ll need to smooth it over.”

“Who were you trying to burgle?”

“Dominil.”

Easterly cursed his cousin but did as he requested. Though he was furious with Albermarle, there was a code between members of the guild. They were obliged to help each other, no matter what. It took some time for Easterly to make the required calls. When he returned to his seat, he thought Thrix was a little distant.

“My cousin just got arrested for burglary,” he whispered, reasoning that coming clean was the best option.

Thrix looked surprised. “Really?”

“He’s the black sheep of the family. I sent him a lawyer.”

Thrix inched closer to Easterly, feeling that he’d provided a reasonable explanation. She knew how annoying families could be.

“I hate this collection,” he whispered, frowning in disapproval at the models who paraded by in clothes from a particularly well-regarded new designer.

It further endeared him to Thrix, who also hated the designer and who didn’t see why anyone made a fuss about her uninspiring dresses.

Kalix read out her list of suspects to Decembrius, though she kept the paper shielded so he couldn’t see how bad her handwriting was.

“You suspect your mother?”

“She hated Gawain. She had him banished.”

Decembrius was skeptical. “Just because she didn’t like him playing around with her daughter doesn’t mean she wanted him dead. I don’t see why Markus would care about Gawain either. Now he’s Thane, he’s got other things on his mind.”

“What about Thrix?”

“Maybe Thrix,” conceded Decembrius. “If she’s as jealous as you say.”

“She is,” said Kalix, fiercely.

“As for the other werewolves on your list, I suppose they’re possible. Marwanis certainly hates you for killing Sarapen. So does Morag MacAllister. And the Douglas-MacPhees haven’t forgiven you for killing Fergus. But didn’t you say you saw Duncan Douglas-MacPhee outside the house after Gawain was dead? Why would he hang around if he killed him? Anyway, I can’t imagine him killing Gawain. Gawain could look after himself.”

“They might have taken him by surprise.”

Decembrius shook his head. “You said he was wounded in the chest. He must have seen his attacker.”

“Thrix could do that,” said Kalix. “She could use some spell on him to make him confused and then another one to kill him.”

“You really don’t like your sister, do you? What did she do to you?”

Kalix ignored the question.

“It’s far more likely the guild killed Gawain,” said Decembrius.

“Hunters couldn’t kill him. He’d have killed them first.”

“Who knows what might have happened? There might have been a lot of them. They might just have gotten lucky. Anyone can get lucky in a fight. They might even still have one of the Begravar knives.”

Kalix ground her teeth together. She knew that Decembrius was talking sense, but if the guild really was responsible for Gawain’s murder, she feared that she’d never be able to take revenge properly. “I’ll never find out which hunter it was. I don’t even know where the guild headquarters are.”

“It sounds to me like you should be asking for help from Thrix and Dominil,” said Decembrius, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “Computing skills and sorcery. They could find the guild if they put their minds to it.”

“But they won’t help!” cried Kalix, feeling agitated.

“We should ask them again. Tactfully maybe.”

“What do you mean
we
?” demanded Kalix.

“Don’t you want me to help?”

Kalix scowled. Now she’d opened up a little to Decembrius, she was regretting it.

He surprised her by asking what else was wrong with her.

“What do you mean?”

“Apart from Gawain, what else is making you unhappy?”

“None of your business.”

“Is it college? Are you failing?”

“Of course I’m failing.”

“What’s so difficult?”

“Everything. English. And math. Can you do math?”

“Some. I got an A before I went to university.”

Kalix hadn’t realized that Decembrius had gone to university. She regretted raising the subject. At remedial college, she’d just failed her Numeracy A test, which, she suspected, was the sort of test seven-year-olds might take at primary school. She didn’t want to discuss it with anyone who’d been to university.

“Show me the problem,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

“It’s all right,” muttered Kalix, who had no desire to let Decembrius know she’d failed such a basic test. Somehow, when she sat in class, either trying to follow the teacher’s words or staring at a computer screen with headphones on, her mind just seemed to go blank. Yesterday she’d failed to add up 1,000, 469, and 21 correctly, and after that she’d despaired. As for calculating how many hours had passed from a certain point on the clock or where anything was in a grid, Kalix was completely baffled. In class, she just became too anxious to think properly. As far as she could see, everyone in the class was making more progress than she was, and it wouldn’t surprise her if even Vex was better at converting simple fractions into decimals. Kalix sighed, sipped her tea, and wished that she never had to go again.

The Fire Queen settled down comfortably in the mushroom patch in Colburn Woods and waited for the Fairy Queen to arrive. Dithean, a punctual monarch, didn’t keep her waiting long. She rode out from under the shadows of the trees on a fox, which she thanked graciously before fluttering onto a mushroom next to Malveria.

“You look anxious, Malveria. Was your offer rejected?”

“Word has not yet arrived.”

Malveria fretted and pulled at the hem of her skirt. Though she adored the new range of tight-fitting skirts that Thrix had designed for her, she wasn’t convinced about the length.

“I feel it should be shorter, but Thrix claims this is a more stylish length.”

“The skirt is very flattering,” said Dithean, reassuringly. Dithean’s own dress was so pale and diaphanous as it drifted in the breeze that at times it hardly appeared to be there. Malveria studied it enviously and wished she knew what fabric it was made from, but the fairies had many secrets, and the queen’s dress was probably one of them.

“Along with her lip coloring,” thought Malveria, and she could not resist telling Dithean that Thrix was getting along splendidly with Captain Easterly. “They make an excellent couple. I really feel they have a future.”

“We’ll see,” said the Fairy Queen, and she smiled.

“Distikka should have sent me a message by now,” muttered Malveria. “But it’s a hazardous mission. I wouldn’t surprised if the Mistress of the Werewolves had her executed. And then how will I ever get to the opera?”

After considering Malveria’s problem regarding the charity event, Distikka had asked the Fire Queen if she’d considered making a donation to the charity. “Isn’t that what these events are for?”

The queen had confessed she didn’t know.

“I’m sure the object is to raise money for a cause,” Distikka had said. “If you offer a large sum of money for a ticket, then perhaps the Mistress of the Werewolves will forget her antipathy towards the Hiyasta and invite you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think it’s likely. After all, her prestige depends on the event raising funds.”

Though Malveria was quite used to using bribery in state affairs, she had no experience of human charities. It hadn’t occurred to her to offer money. There was the awkward problem of how to make contact. The queen could hardly risk her own dignity by making the application herself like some beggar at the castle door.

“I’ll undertake the mission,” Distikka had said nobly.

“It may be very dangerous. Many of these Scottish werewolves are not civilized like the enchantress. They might tear you apart. But now that Kabachetka is attending the event, I simply must go, so we will just have to risk your life.”

So Distikka had been dispatched to offer a substantial sum to the Mistress of the Werewolves, and Malveria now awaited the outcome.

“I will regret it if Distikka is ripped to pieces. She really is the most excellent advisor. I considered sending Agrivex, whom no one would miss, but she is too stupid to carry out such a mission.”

“How is your young almost-adopted niece?” inquired the Fairy Queen.

“As foolish as ever. At this moment, she’s watching some band of musicians in London and probably causing a great disturbance.”

* * *

The Fire Queen was correct. Vex was causing some disturbance to those around her. The small warehouse, an old carpet showroom, was packed with guests, leaving little room for dancing, but Vex was undeterred. The moment the band came on, she pushed her way to the front and began leaping about enthusiastically. Vex was Yum Yum Sugary Snacks’s greatest fan, and though she was a slender girl, she soon cleared enough space around her by dint of her enthusiasm, her large boots, and her reckless disregard for public safety.

The rest of the audience was less enthusiastic. Most of them knew Beauty and Delicious. They were sympathetic towards the sisters, but no one could pretend they were putting on a good show. From the moment Beauty fell over the drum kit, it had been obvious that tonight wasn’t going to be a great performance. The twins were too intoxicated to play their guitars, nor could they remember any of their lyrics. Delicious only stayed on her feet by clutching at her microphone stand. Beauty seemed to have forgotten where the audience was and stood towards the side of the tiny stage, mumbling inaudibly. The rest of the band did their best, but they too had succumbed to the party spirit. Despite the strict regime of rehearsals insisted on by Dominil, the band rarely managed to start or finish a song in time with each other.

Dominil’s lips were compressed in a thin, disapproving line. It didn’t matter to her that they were at a private party where no one really minded the terrible performance. Dominil did not like to see anything done so badly and took the band’s poor efforts as a personal insult.

“So much for the constant rehearsals,” she fumed as Beauty crashed into Hamil’s keyboard and knocked it off the beer crates on which it was balanced. The music ground to a halt. There were some friendly groans, punctuated by the sound of Vex screaming her appreciation.

* * *

“Weren’t they better than this last time?” said Moonglow to Daniel, somewhere in the middle of the packed room.

“Much better,” agreed Daniel.

They retreated to the makeshift bar, where Daniel bought them two pints of lager from a keg. The barman had no change and asked if they had the exact money, which led to some fumbling for coins in the darkness. Moonglow hunted in her purse while Daniel dug into his pockets, and between them, they came up with the exact amount. As they forced their way back through the crowd, Daniel suddenly felt an extra wave of affection for Moonglow. It seemed to him that their successful cooperation at the bar was a clear sign that he and Moonglow were destined to be together. He edged a little closer, which wasn’t difficult, as there was little room to move apart. Unexpectedly, Moonglow brushed a finger against Daniel’s cheek.

“You haven’t shaved,” she said, genially.

“I forgot,” explained Daniel, who had read a report about women finding unshaven men attractive but wasn’t about to admit it. He found it very significant that Moonglow had touched his cheek. Suddenly, he felt quite unlike his normal self. He abruptly grabbed Moonglow and kissed her. Moonglow remained static and didn’t really kiss him back with great enthusiasm. On the other hand, Daniel noticed, neither did she fling him off, nor punch him in the face, both of which might have happened. He decided to press on but, without warning, he felt himself go weak. The strength vanished from his legs. He felt hot and fevered and began to sink to the floor. “I don’t feel well…”