The Curse of the Wolf Girl (66 page)

Easterly led Thrix to a solid wooden bench, set back in one of the arbors that were scattered throughout the maze. Since Markus had taken on responsibility for Andamair House, the grounds had been well cared for, and the maze was tall and neatly trimmed. Easterly helped her to sit down. She slumped against him.

“I’m feeling terrible,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

Easterly put his arm around her. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I think I drank too much.”

“I don’t think so. It could have been something you ate. I’m not sure all the food in there was well prepared.”

Thrix appreciated his tact. Again she felt the warmth of his body, and it comforted her. “Thanks for looking after me.”

She felt Easterly kiss her lightly on the side of her head. A sudden spasm of pain in her abdomen made her wince, and she clung on to her lover more tightly, waiting till it passed. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and she felt Easterly dab it with a handkerchief. Thrix let her head drop into Easterly’s lap. She felt as helpless as a kitten, defeated by whatever malevolent force was attacking her.

“And I did drink too much anyway,” she thought, and regretted it. She shivered. Her evening dress wasn’t suitable for outdoor wear, not with the cold fog rolling off the sea.

“Let me put my jacket around you.” Easterly gently eased himself out of the chair.

Thrix closed her eyes and felt him place his jacket on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

The night was still and the sound of Felicori’s voice carried far, his perfect baritone penetrating the walls of Andamair House and spreading over the grounds. The orchestral music floated over the trees and hedges, seeming almost to merge with the
haar
as it blanketed the area.

“Thrix,” said Easterly.

Thrix, prone on the bench, turned her head. “What?”

“There’s something I should tell you.”

Thrix managed a weak smile, expecting to hear Easterly tell her he loved her.

“I’m a werewolf hunter.”

The enchantress blinked. She tried to move, but another wave of pain racked her body. “You can’t be.”

There was a click as Easterly took a silver gun from his pocket and flicked the safety catch. When she saw the gun, a tear rolled down the enchantress’s cheek, and she tried to speak but couldn’t.

What’s this?” Duncan glanced round at his sister, surprised at the music that suddenly filled their transit van.

“‘Celeste Aida.’ Sung by Felicori. I thought we might get a taste of what we’re in for.”

Duncan laughed. “I don’t think we’ll be hearing much of the opera.”

The Douglas-MacPhees were some way behind their fellow werewolves in their journey to Edinburgh. They hadn’t intended to go, being generally unwelcome in Scotland, but Marwanis had suggested it, and she was still paying them well.

“If Decembrius is on his way, he must be chasing Kalix,” she’d said when they’d called her. “You’d better get up here as soon as you can.”

“We’re not all that welcome in Scotland.”

“You’re only banished from the MacPhee’s estates. The MacRinnalchs can’t stop you from going to Edinburgh. If you can catch Kalix here, it will be perfect. We’ll drag her back to the castle.”

The Douglas-MacPhees had set off in their old van.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have beaten up Decembrius,” mused Duncan, “before he told us what he was doing, I mean.”

“He deserved it anyway,” said William. Neither Duncan nor Rhona disagreed.

“
Celeste Aida, forma divina.
”

“I don’t much care for Felicori’s singing,” stated Duncan.

“I don’t mind it,” said Rhona. She let the aria finish then clicked the music player to bring on Motörhead. The Douglas-MacPhees all liked Motörhead. “We’re making good time,” she observed. “The van’s holding up well.” Despite the dilapidated appearance of their vehicle, it ran smoothly. Duncan had it serviced regularly, knowing that it never paid to have your transport out of commission. “So are we still supposed to kill Kalix or not?”

“Kill her, capture her, whatever,” Duncan answered. “Marwanis will still pay us.”

In the back of the van, William nodded his huge head in time to the music. “We’ve been chasing her a long time. It’s time we cashed in on the deal.”

Dominil, making the logical decision that it would be best to abandon her normal careful driving, made good time from Edinburgh to Andamair House. She’d tried calling both the enchantress and the Mistress of the Werewolves but had been unable to contact either of them. She was, by her standards, very concerned about Albermarle’s message. Thrix was the most powerful werewolf in the clan, but if, as Albermarle claimed, the guild had found some way to remove her powers, she might be vulnerable.

“But there are other werewolves there,” reasoned Dominil. “How could they attack her?” Albermarle was cunning. Perhaps he’d found some way to isolate Thrix. Dominil fretted and wished she could go faster, but the fog was now lying thickly, slowing all traffic.

The great gate that led into the Andamair estate was manned by attendants. Several of them had worked for the MacRinnalchs before and recognized Dominil. She was waved through without delay and continued on towards the country house. It lay some way down the drive and was blocked from view by trees, though above the treetops, some light from the mansion could be seen, even through the fog.

Dominil screeched round the final corner of the long driveway and headed for the large temporary parking lot some way to the side of the house. She parked by the side of a huge truck, one of the vehicles that had brought the stage equipment. She was still some way from the front entrance, but as she emerged from her car she could already hear the voice of Felicori floating over the grounds, amplified and projected through the still night air.

“
Onor, virtude, amore, mi preparano il premio?
”

Dominil recognized the line. “Does honor, virtue, and love, prepare me a reward?” “I doubt it,” she muttered. She swiftly scanned the area, looking for any sign of werewolf hunters. Finding none, and reassured by the lack of any sort of outcry, she started towards the house. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously, neither of them good. Firstly, she was hit by a wave of nausea that caused her to gasp and sink against her car for support. Secondly, Albermarle walked out from behind the huge truck and grinned at her.

“Hello, Dominil. Nice to see you again. Not feeling well?”

Dominil immediately attempted to transform into her werewolf shape, but to her horror, nothing happened. She screwed up her face with the effort and tried again.

“Trying to become werewolf?” asked Albermarle, in the light, bantering tone he might have used in the comic shop. “Not going to work, I’m afraid.” He looked triumphantly at Dominil, waiting for her to speak.

Dominil glared at him but remained silent.

Albermarle made an impatient sound. “Stop trying to spoil it. Ask me why you can’t become a werewolf.”

Dominil eyed him without expression and remained silent. She tried to move but failed and remained on one knee beside her car at the back of the parking lot, hidden from view by the cars and the fog.

Albermarle quickly lost patience. “Fine. Don’t ask. That’s just like you. Well, I’ll tell you why you can’t become a werewolf. Because there’s a spell in place that’s emulating the effect of the lunar eclipse. Making you weak, nauseous, and generally powerless.” He drew a black gun from his pocket, slipping the safety catch and pointing it at Dominil. “You think you’re so superior, don’t you? Best degree at Oxford, and students falling over themselves to ask you out.” He frowned, as if again reliving some old bad memory, and raised his voice. “
I
should have been on that quiz team.”

Dominil remained silent.

“Who’s the clever one now? Me, that’s who. I’ve outsmarted you every step of the way. I’ve bugged your phone, listened to all your conversations, read your email, and followed you around the country. You couldn’t move without me knowing about it. And now I’ve brought you here. You’ve fallen right into my trap.” Albermarle smiled. “I’m smarter than you.”

A gentle breeze blew over Dominil’s face, again bringing with it the sound of Felicori, now singing an aria she knew well. Somewhere in the distance there was a muffled bang, a noise that might have been a gun being fired. Albermarle glanced over his shoulder. “I sent my two companions off to see what they might find. You might not be the only werewolf getting a silver bullet tonight.” He inched closer to Dominil. “Admit I’m smarter before I put a bullet through your heart.”

Dominil tried to gather her strength. Her intellect told her that it was hopeless, that she had no strength, that she wasn’t going to reach Albermarle before he pulled the trigger, but she didn’t intend to go down without a fight.

“Admit it!” roared Albermarle.

Dominil could see the gun vibrate slightly as Albermarle’s fury made him tremble. She sneered, though even moving her mouth seemed like an effort. “I’d never go out with you,” she said.

Albermarle’s eyes widened with fury. “That’s not what I was talking about!” he screamed. He kicked Dominil hard in the face, and she toppled to the ground. “I never wanted to go out with you! And I’m still more intelligent than you. That’s why I’m up here with the gun and you’re down there!” He walked forward till he stood right over Dominil. He pointed the black automatic pistol at her heart. “I’m smarter than you, and that’s all there is to it. Admit it or I’ll kill you.”

Beau DeMortalis, Duke of the Black Castle, left the Duchess Gargamond’s townhouse later than he’d intended. Dawn was already breaking, and in a short while, the fiery daylight of the Hiyasta sun would illuminate the land. The duke frowned. It really wouldn’t do for him to be seen here. For one thing, he had no business being at the duchess’s townhouse, as she had withdrawn to her castle and hadn’t asked him to visit. For another, it would do his standing at court no good were it discovered that he was carrying on a liaison with the duchess’s junior kitchen maid.

“But who could have believed the duchess had such a beautiful junior kitchen maid?” reasoned the Duke. “It was simply beyond my power to resist.”

He pulled up his collar, lowered his head, and walked swiftly past the military training ground and barracks that until recently had housed the duchess’s regiment. If he could make it back into the rows of elegant villas that adjoined the palace, he could claim he was simply out for an early morning stroll. Anyone who knew him well might wonder why the famously well-dressed duke was taking a morning stroll in an evening coat, but even so, that was better than the queen learning of his liaison with a junior kitchen maid. Malveria had been irked by his comments about her recent losses at the card table and would welcome the chance to spread gossip about his rather shameful relationship. He paused as the hot morning wind brought the distant sound of marching feet to his ears. “That’s odd. Why is Commander Agripath marshaling troops at this unearthly hour?”

As he watched, the commander led out battalion after battalion of troops, making their way the short distance to the volcano, which dominated the landscape, rising high above the palace in the foreground. He was startled by the sudden appearance of First Minister Xakthan, running towards him in a manner quite unsuited to the dignity of the government’s most senior member. “First Minister? What is going on?”

“Distikka is mounting a coup! Commander Agripath is supporting her with his troops, and they’re heading for the volcano! Distikka believes she can take control of the Great Volcano.”

“Preposterous. Only the queen can do that.”

“Or a member of the royal family. Which Distikka now claims to be. She’s proclaiming herself ruler at this moment.”

“But this is simply ridiculous,” said the duke. “Where is the queen? She’ll swiftly put an end to this nonsense.”

First Minister Xakthan looked anguished. “The queen is missing. She has not returned from the Earth! No one knows where she is!”

“Then who’s defending the volcano?”

“Fifty troops from her personal guard. That’s all there is. Every other soldier in the capital is under the command of Agripath and Distikka.”

The duke took off his coat, laying it on the ground with regret. It was an exceptionally fine coat, and he was fanatically fond of his elegant clothes, but it would hinder him in running. He loosened his sword in his scabbard and set off at a sprint towards the volcano. As he ran, he tried to sense where Queen Malveria might be. Her powerful aura could usually be perceived this close to the palace, but the duke searched in vain. In this hour of great crisis, there was no sign of Malveria.

* * *

The Fire Queen was stranded somewhere in limbo between the dimension of the Earth and her own. Immediately after she’d received the warning from Princess Kabachetka, Malveria had flown with all haste back to her realm, but instead of arriving back in an instant in the hot environs of her palace, as she normally would have done, she found herself trapped in a cold region of endless gray. Somehow the pathway between the worlds had been filled with some soft ethereal substance that she couldn’t penetrate.

Malveria raised her hands to firebolts of the most powerful energy, seeking to clear the obstruction out of the way, but it was useless. Her fire was enveloped by the gray mist, and it hardly receded at all.

“This is no use,” she raged. “I’m making no progress. Eventually my power will run out, and I still won’t have reached the palace. Damn Kabachetka, and damn Distikka!”

Malveria turned around and headed back to Earth to seek assistance from the enchantress, but neither was this easy. The way back was also full of the gray mist, hiding the way, and obstructing her movements. But it was less dense, and through sheer force of will, the queen edged her way slowly back towards the Earth.