The Curse of the Wolf Girl (48 page)

Captain Easterly pursed his lips. His cousin was becoming more obsessive compulsive, something he remembered from previous occasions when Albermarle’d been under stress. No one could touch his models. Moving a spaceship was liable to lead to a temper tantrum.

Albermarle tore off another huge slice of pizza and busied himself with eating.

Easterly looked on impatiently. “Does the tracking work at long range?”

“It should. Where is she going?”

“Scotland. I’m thinking of going with her.”

“To Scotland?” Albermarle was interested. “To the castle? That’s dangerous.”

“Not the castle. Some other MacRinnalch property, near Edinburgh. They’re holding a charity event.”

“A charity event?” Albermarle was surprised. “Werewolves?”

“I know. It’s ridiculous.”

Albermarle lowered his pizza. “Is Dominil going to this event?”

“Can’t you stop obsessing over her?”

“I’m not obsessing over her. Or the quiz team.”

Easterly sighed in frustration. He’d heard the story of the university quiz team many times. Somewhere, hidden away in Albermarle’s belongings, there was a copy of the university magazine chronicling the event. On one well-thumbed page was a report of competition between Albermarle’s college and another of the Oxford colleges. Dominil had been the star of the occasion, demonstrating such powers of intellect and memory as to virtually win the contest single-handedly. Her score on the evening had been more than that of her three teammates put together. Thanks to her, Albermarle’s college had won the competition. This brought Albermarle no pleasure.

“She shouldn’t have been on the team. I was captain.”

“You got sick. They had to pick a substitute.”

“She never even tried out for the team! When they needed someone to replace me, they just went right to Dominil like she was something special. She wasn’t anything special.”

“I thought she scored a record number of points?”

“I’d have done the same,” sniffed Albermarle. “She got a lot of easy questions.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t eaten so much the day before, you wouldn’t have gotten sick.”

“I was nervous,” protested Albermarle. “Food calms me down. Do you think if I wrote to the college and told them Dominil was a werewolf they might retrospectively disqualify her?”

“I think if you don’t stop obsessing about a silly little university quiz that happened years ago then Dominil will kill you even quicker than she’s probably going to anyway.”

“I wasn’t even that sick,” said Albermarle. “I could still have competed if she hadn’t barged in ahead of me. And you know what happened after that?”

“She refused to go out with you?”

“No! Well, yes. Like she was too good for me just because she won some infantile quiz. And people thought she was attractive. I never thought she was attractive.”

“Then why did you ask her out?”

“I was just sorry for her. With that weird white hair. It’s not natural. I always knew there was something strange about her.”

“Albermarle, let it go.”

“Let it go? Whose side are you on? Humanity or the werewolves? So is she going to be at this event in Edinburgh or not?”

Easterly wasn’t sure, but thought she probably would be. “If the Mistress of the Werewolves is organizing it, most of the important MacRinnalchs are bound to be there. If I see her, I’ll bring you a report.”

“I won’t need a report,” replied Albermarle. “I’ll go myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Easterly’s expression hardened. “You’re not exactly an experienced hunter, are you? You can’t go mingling with werewolves in their own territory. You’ll get killed.”

“I’ve managed so far, haven’t I? And I’m fed up with you criticizing me. Just leave me alone to hunt Dominil.”

“Fine. Go to Edinburgh. Don’t blame me when you get your head ripped off. Now could we get on with things? I’m in a hurry.”

“Why? Is your werewolf girlfriend waiting for you?”

“I don’t have a werewolf girlfriend, and I’m getting fed up with you saying I do.”

“You love Thrix!” mocked Albermarle.

“You love Dominil!” retorted Easterly, and immediately regretted allowing himself to be dragged down to Albermarle’s level.

“At least I don’t send her flowers.”

“How do you know I’ve been sending flowers?” demanded Easterly.

“Because unlike you, I can gather intelligence. I’m telling you, Easterly, your kind of hunting is on the way out. Running around like an action hero isn’t good enough these days. Today’s werewolf hunter needs technology skills, and you don’t have them. It’s not me who’s unsuitable, it’s you. You’re out of date. Now excuse me, I have a pizza to finish. And then I’m going to track some werewolves.”

Decembrius caught the scent of the Douglas-MacPhees before he came out of Regent’s Park. He didn’t bother turning back. Decembrius would rather not have encountered them but had no intention of fleeing. Even so, he noted that the moon wasn’t far from rising. He walked slowly over the small bridge that led from the park over the railway line into the side streets of Camden. There on the pavement stood Duncan, Rhona, and the huge William. In their leather jackets, bandanas, and tattoos, they didn’t look out of place in the heart of Camden, but here in the quieter side streets, their appearance stood out. Decembrius wouldn’t have been surprised to find that a few net curtains were twitching as nervous homeowners wondered why the rough-looking trio were loitering here.

“Decembrius. You were supposed to be meeting us.”

The two siblings and their cousin studied Decembrius, their hostility quite evident on their faces. Duncan stepped in front of him while Rhona and William moved to either side.

“So?” said Duncan.

“So what?”

“Do you have our money?”

“Not yet.”

“Really? Yet you’ve been to see the merchant. And he gave our money to you.”

There was a brief and very tense silence.

“So where is it?” snarled Rhona, and moved closer.

“You’ll get your money.”

“We’d better get it right now.”

“You’ll have to wait,” said Decembrius, who was wondering how to extricate himself from this uncomfortable situation. He cursed himself for ever getting involved with the Douglas-MacPhees. He’d tried to distance himself from them, but he’d failed because he needed money. Now he’d unwisely taken goods to the merchant and kept the money. Decembrius wasn’t under any illusions that he was any more honest than the Douglas-MacPhees.

“We can just do it here,” muttered Rhona, and she slipped a knife from inside her pocket.

“Or we can wait till the moon rises then take him into the park,” said William.

“Either way, it’s the money or your hide,” added Duncan.

The sky was overcast, and already the clouds were shutting out the last rays of the sun. A faint breeze ruffled Decembrius’s hair. He wondered if it would be better to try to fight his way out now or wait till they all transformed. Neither option was appealing. It was unfortunate that the Douglas-MacPhees, while not MacRinnalchs, were pure-blooded enough to change on any night. It made them formidable, powerful among their clan, and explained why Baron MacPhee had been forced to expel them from his lands.

“What’s going on?” came a voice, and everyone jumped, for the approach had been so silent that none of them had heard it. Nor had anyone scented the presence of a werewolf. They turned to find the slender figure of Kalix MacRinnalch looking at them.

“Damn you and that pendant,” muttered Duncan, casting his eyes on the jewel that hung around Kalix’s neck, protecting her from detection. “Maybe it’s time we took that for ourselves.”

Kalix didn’t seem troubled by the threat. She looked at Decembrius. “Why were you talking to the Douglas-MacPhees? Were you trying to sell me out?”

“Of course I wasn’t.”

Duncan was sharp-witted enough to realize what this implied. “Sell her out? You mean you’ve known where she was all along? While we’ve been looking for her?”

“I never said I’d help you find Kalix.”

Rhona laughed. “He’s been protecting her. Isn’t that sweet?”

“I don’t need his protection,” said Kalix, and looked at them with contempt. “I’m going now. If any of you try to stop me, I’ll kill you.” Kalix turned to leave.

“I could do with your help,” said Decembrius, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t care,” said Kalix. “Sort it out yourself.” She started to walk away.

The Douglas-MacPhees laughed.

“Looks like you’ve made your girlfriend angry.”

“We’ll see you soon,” called Duncan after Kalix, and then he turned again to Decembrius. “Now, about the money you owe us.”

At that moment, everyone’s attention was caught by the approach of another werewolf, this time one they could all scent. A small silver car drew up, parked in a no-parking spot, and Red Ruraich MacAndris emerged. With his large frame and straggling red hair, he never appeared quite at home in the city. He took in the scene before him and nodded briskly to the Douglas-MacPhees.

“I’m surprised,” he said dryly, in an accent of even denser Scottish than the Douglas-MacPhees, “you’ve actually managed to find Kalix.”

Kalix, surrounded in daylight by the three Douglas-MacPhees and Red Ruraich MacAndris, showed no anxiety. Faced with the prospect of fighting, the young werewolf found her mind clearing. She was moved to smile and tell Ruraich she was glad she’d killed Sarapen, which infuriated him. He sprinted towards her.

Abruptly there came the sound of what seemed like a silenced gun, not loud, but distinctive. A patch of red erupted in Ruraich’s chest, and he pitched forward onto the pavement, shot from behind. There was a brief second of incredulity as the werewolves looked for the source of the gunfire. Unable to locate it, they scattered wildly as another shot rang out. At one time, it had been unheard of for werewolf hunters to fire in daylight for fear of killing a human instead of a werewolf. That didn’t seem to be the case anymore.

Kalix sprinted through the corner of a garden. Finding herself confronted by a tall wire fence, she hauled herself over it in an instant and tumbled down a steep bank towards the railway that ran past the park. The line was broad, with eight tracks, and cut deeply into the earth. Kalix made to hurry across but was suddenly dragged backwards.

“What—”

It was Decembrius. At that moment, a train hurtled past on the nearest track.

“No need to throw yourself in front of a train,” said Decembrius.

Kalix wrenched her arm free and scowled, not wanting to be saved by Decembrius. They hurried across the line but were halted by another train, coming from the opposite direction. They were on a long bend and visibility was limited in both directions. Crossing eight tracks was a hazardous business. Just then another shot rang out, and a bullet ricocheted away off the metal rails.

“Damn this,” roared Decembrius, scanning the bank above for their assailants without success.

Both werewolves fled across the tracks as the train disappeared. As they reached the opposite side, they could feel night arriving. The moon was close, and they’d be able to change, if they survived that long.

“Get down,” yelled Decembrius. Kalix felt herself once again dragged by her companion, this time to the ground.

“There’s one of them on the opposite bank,” he said. “We’re trapped.”

Another shot rang out. The two werewolves flattened themselves down, trying to stay out of the firing arc of the hunters above them. Another train roared past, deafeningly loud at such close range.

“We need the moon,” gasped Decembrius. “And thanks for helping me with the Douglas-MacPhees.”

“You didn’t deserve help,” growled Kalix.

“I’d have helped you.”

More shots rang out, though whether they were directed at them or other werewolves still at the scene, they didn’t know. Neither Kalix nor Decembrius had had time to notice where the Douglas-MacPhees had gone after Ruraich was hit.

Kalix began to edge up the bank.

“Don’t! You’ll get shot!”

Kalix only growled in return. To find herself under attack, to actually see a fellow werewolf shot, was too much for her rational self.

“Wait till you change!” hissed Decembrius. “We’ll attack as werewolves!”

Kalix couldn’t wait. She lost all reason as her battle madness descended. Making no effort to conceal herself, she sprinted up the bank. Her skinny frame flew up the grassy slope, her long hair flying out behind her, a look of murderous rage in her eyes. Halfway up, the moon rose, and she transformed. She accelerated up the steep incline. Catching sight of a figure at the top of the bank, she hurtled over the fence, moving with incredible speed, jaws open, teeth bared, aching to kill and taste the blood of her opponents. She neither heard the next shot that was fired nor felt it as it whistled through the fur on her shoulder. She somersaulted off the top of the fence to arrive, howling with rage, at the side of a large hunter who turned and ran. He made it only a few steps before Kalix descended on him and sank her teeth into the back of his neck, picking him up like a doll, shaking him wildly, and flinging his body to the ground. Though he was already dead from the terrible bite, she smashed her taloned foot into his body before raising her snout, eager for another victim. She scented more humans nearby and began crashing through the bushes beside the railway fence, oblivious to any thought of danger from the hunters’ guns.

As she burst into a clearing, she found herself confronted by two more members of the guild. One of them began to run, but his companion raised his pistol and pointed it directly at the werewolf. Kalix flew through the air and took his arm in her jaws in the brief second before he squeezed the trigger. He yelled in pain as she dragged him to the ground and almost decapitated him with a swipe from her talons. Again, though he was killed instantly, Kalix bit his lifeless corpse and stamped on it cruelly before setting off in pursuit of the other hunter.

Decembrius had by this time reached the top of the bank and clambered over the fence. He couldn’t keep up with Kalix and ran desperately in her wake, convinced that he was going to find her bullet-riddled body lying dead in the bushes. He passed her first victim and then her second and sprinted through the clearing into a small clump of trees where he almost collided with Kalix, who was savaging the dead body of a third hunter. Decembrius, who never lost his rationality, looked on in shock as Kalix tore the man’s body to pieces, sending blood splattering over the nearby trees and over her own fur, which was now heavily stained.