The Curse of the Wolf Girl (72 page)

Kalix lay down on the couch and moaned.

“You look terrible,” said Vex.

“I feel terrible. I’ve been fighting and getting into trouble, and everything’s a disaster.”

They lay in the darkness in silence.

“I got money to pay Daniel and Moonglow back,” said Kalix.

“Good.”

“But I expect they’ll throw me out of the house now for stealing.”

“Maybe. Me too, I expect.”

The pair drifted off into uncomfortable slumber in the living room. Early next morning, Kalix called a taxi, as neither of them felt able to face public transport, and they slipped quietly out of the house.

Vex groaned as she tried to put weight on her injured leg. “College isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.”

“It’s exactly as much fun as I thought it would be. You know I’m going to fail this exam?”

“So am I. Why are we doing it?”

Neither of them could say for sure. But they got into the taxi and headed for the old stone building just south of the river, each clutching a bag with their notebooks inside.

Dominil found the enchantress in a poor state. After answering the intercom and buzzing her cousin in, Thrix had staggered back to the couch where she lay with her eyes closed. The TV was on, there were papers strewn around the floor, and two empty bottles of wine rested on the small table.

“What are you doing?” asked Dominil.

“Drinking to forget I’m a werewolf. You’re not helping.”

“Why would you want to forget you’re a werewolf?”

“You fall in love, and then your lover turns out to be a werewolf hunter. Then he gets his throat ripped out. It’s not pleasant for anyone.”

Dominil nodded in her serious way. “I’m sorry the affair ended in an unsatisfactory manner.”

“Unsatisfactory? That’s not the word I’d use.” Thrix hauled herself upright and groped for a half-f glass of wine.

“Perhaps coffee might be more appropriate?”

Thrix laughed a slurred, unhappy laugh. “I’ve reached the last refuge of the MacRinnalchs. When there’s nothing else to do, drink yourself into oblivion.”

“I don’t think that’s the best way of dealing with things.”

“Why not? It works for the rest of the family.”

“Life will carry on, Thrix. The MacRinnalchs are fortunate to have a very long lifespan. There will be other men.”

“Other werewolf hunters you mean. For Kalix to kill.” Thrix’s eyes narrowed. “I hate Kalix.”

“She acted according to the principles of the clan.”

“I know. I still hate her.” Thrix looked up. “So how do you feel about her after she tried to kill you?”

“We came to an understanding. And I was reasonably grateful to her for killing Albermarle, though I’d rather have done it myself. Perhaps, Enchantress, if the notion of romance is too troubling, you could immerse yourself in your work?”

Thrix drank some wine then scooped up some papers. “I don’t have any work. I’m going bankrupt. Take a look at my bank statements.”

Dominil glanced at the papers. The enchantress did seem to owe a lot of money. But by this time, Dominil’s sympathy was running out. She never had much to spare, and she hadn’t come here to discuss Thrix’s problems. “I have news. I’ve located Susi Surmata. I finally tracked down the computer she’s been using.”

This got her cousin’s attention. A small light appeared in Thrix’s previously dull eyes. “Where is she?”

“Epping. A little way north of London. The last stop on the Central line.”

“That’s very suspicious,” said Thrix. “No genuine fashion blogger would live there. There are no decent shops for miles.” She hauled herself upright again. “Are you coming with me?”

“I still advise caution,” said Dominil. “She’s been trying to lure you to her. Simply ignoring her would be safest.”

“But are you coming with me?”

“Yes. I get paid for killing werewolf hunters.”

“Really? Who by?”

“Markus.”

Thrix looked at her reflection in the wall mirror and shuddered. “I’ll just fix myself up first.” She hurried off to the bathroom to wash and attend to her hair.

Dominil herself had not had time to take care of her hair as she would have liked and wore a fine woollen hat, borrowed from Delicious. Along with her leather coat, it gave her something of the appearance of a commando. While waiting for Thrix, she took the empty bottles of wine to the kitchen. It was messy and looked as if Thrix had attempted to prepare food, given up, and turned to alcohol instead.

Thrix arrived back having put her golden hair in order in a surprisingly short time. She wore a jacket that, while resembling something military, was obviously an expensive fashion item.

“It’s the best I can do in terms of hunting apparel.”

“I’ve made you a flask of coffee for the journey,” said Dominil.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Yes, you are.”

They set off in Dominil’s car.

“Kabachetka’s moon-eclipse spell was powerful and unexpected.”

“It was.” Thrix frowned. “I was completely debilitated.”

“We all were. Apart from Kalix. It’s strange the way she remains unaffected by events that affect other werewolves. Something to do with her unusual birth at the full moon, perhaps.”

“And being crazy?”

“So the family would believe.”

“I hate Kalix.”

They drove on for a long way in silence.

“What outcome are you hoping for with Susi Surmata?” asked Dominil as they reached the outskirts of London. “Reluctant fashion blogger or secret werewolf hunter?”

“Good question.” Thrix sipped from the flask. “If she’s really a fashion writer, I might still be able to persuade her to write about me. It could save my career. On the other hand, I
would
like to kill someone.”

There was a startled buzz from the assembled students as Kalix and Vex hobbled into the exam room. Kalix was so disfigured with cuts, bruises, and abrasions that she might have walked straight out of a car crash. Vex had signs of recent burns all over her neck, and parts of her hair had been singed off. Her leg was held rigidly by some sort of otherworldly looking cast.

“Are you—?” began the tutor who was overseeing the exam.

“We’re fine,” muttered Kalix. “Bring on the exam.” Kalix helped Vex into her seat then eased herself painfully into her own. Her ribs ached where Marwanis had kicked her.

“You could apply for an extension,” the tutor suggested.

“We’re fine,” insisted Kalix. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The tutor looked at the pair very dubiously, perhaps wondering if they might expire while doing the exam, which could reflect badly on the college. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I have new color markers,” called Vex, and managed to grin, though weakly.

Papers were laid on every desk, face down, and the students logged into their computers.

“Turn over your papers now, and begin the exam.”

Kalix turned over the paper. “One good thing about the violence and fighting,” she thought, picking up her pencil. “It seems to have gotten rid of my anxiety.”

Kalix could hardly feel any emotions at all. The events of the last few days had left her numb. However, that was an improvement on the way she’d felt last time in class, so she got down to work, just wanting the exam to be over so she could fail and never have to come here again. Even the disgrace she’d feel in front of her clan didn’t seem to matter much anymore. Let them mock her. She didn’t care about them or anything else.

Princess Kabachetka was in a state of terror and despair as she made the long, cold journey back to her own realm. Her plans had failed. Everything had gone wrong. “I’m finished,” thought the princess, miserably. “Curse that Minerva MacRinnalch. My mother will have learned of my failure to defeat Thrix and Malveria and my attempt to usurp Esarax. She will now throw me in the volcano, unless Esarax beats her to it.”

Shivering, she materialized in the corridor outside her private chambers to find herself confronted by a battalion of grim-faced palace dignitaries and hard-eyed soldiers. The princess quailed but gathered herself, intending to meet her end as bravely as she could. Councilor Tarentia, one of the empress’s senior advisors, stepped forward and spoke gravely, “Princess Kabachetka. We have been awaiting your return.”

“I was led astray by others—” began the princess.

“I have bad news about the empress.”

“I demand a personal hearing! Close perusal of events will establish my innocence.”

“She is dead.”

The princess blinked. “Pardon?”

“Great Empress Asaratanti is dead.”

The princess was bewildered. What was Councilor Tarentia talking about? “The empress is not dead. I saw her only this morning.”

“I am afraid she expired during her afternoon sleep.”

“How?”

“From natural causes, Princess. The empress was, of course, very old.”

The princess considered this. It was true, of course. Though the empress had concealed her age by means of cunning sorcery and some cosmetic surgical enhancement, she was almost two thousand years old. That was a considerable age, even for the most powerful of the Hainusta. It just hadn’t occurred to the princess, or to anyone else, that she might die today.

Princess Kabachetka had a brief second of joy, realizing that her mother was not about to throw her in the Eternal Volcano, but her spirit sank as she surveyed the soldiers who cluttered up her corridor. Now that the empress was gone, there was only one possible outcome. Esarax would be the new ruler. Undoubtedly he had already seized power and was now about to rid himself of his much-disliked sister. “What a dreadful mistake to choose this moment to try and strand him on Earth,” thought the princess. “My plans have gone tragically wrong, and now I must suffer for it.”

“Where is Esarax?” she asked. “I expected him to at least do the deed in person, not send his troops.”

“He is dead,” said Councilor Tarentia.

“What do you mean he’s dead? You said the empress was dead.”

“The prince has gone too,” said Tarentia, in his gravest voice. “He was apparently killed in the process of transporting himself through the dimensions. The prince, I believe, was not skilled in this area. It’s a dreadful blow for our nation. The population is in such a state of turmoil that we hardly know what to do. We have been awaiting your return most eagerly, Princess.”

The princess looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“To declare you Empress, of course. You are the natural heir.” Councilor Tarentia got down on one knee. From behind him, another dignitary handed him a tiara then swiftly knelt, along with everyone else in the corridor. Princess Kabachetka, dumbstruck, accepted the tiara, placing it lightly in her bright blond hair.

“So I’m the new empress?” she asked at last.

“Yes, mighty Empress.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Quite sure.”

Kabachetka looked around at the sea of kneeling bodies. She frowned. This was a lot to take in. Her expression brightened after a second or two. She was the new empress after all, and she wasn’t about to complain.

“There is much work to be done,” declared Empress Kabachetka. “The nation must be revived and healed. I will need—eh—to be made harmonious with the Eternal Volcano.”

“It has already been done, Empress. You are now in full control of the power of the volcano.”

Empress Kabachetka smiled. After a poor start, the day had really turned out well.

The enchantress and Dominil arrived in Epping. Susi Surmata lived in a house on the edge of the forest. A quiet location, the sort of place where hunters might gather. They slid out of the car quietly and confidently; a pair of hunting werewolves. The moon was up, and each was prepared to transform in an instant.

“If there’s trouble, just kill,” said Dominil.

“Don’t worry.”

They walked towards the front door of the picturesque, though run-down, detached house. The front garden was overgrown with moss and weeds and was surrounded by a hedge that hadn’t been trimmed for a long time. Both Dominil and Thrix noted that once in the garden, they couldn’t be seen by anyone outside.

“Okay, Miss ‘Slay the Wolf,’” muttered Thrix, “time to meet a real werewolf.”

She knocked on the door. Their keen senses immediately heard noises from inside. The lock turned, and by the time the door opened, Thrix had transformed into her werewolf shape. She barged her way inside, followed by the werewolf Dominil.

Standing in front of them was a young woman with terror in her eyes and an unusual blue jacket. She opened her mouth, perhaps to scream, but fainted instead. The werewolves paused and sniffed the air.

“No one else at home,” Thrix said.

They looked down at the young woman.

“She doesn’t look much like a hunter.”

“Maybe I should bite her anyway,” suggested Thrix, who was still unusually eager to engage in violence.

“Does she look like a fashion writer?”

“Possibly. That’s quite a stylish jacket.”

“She’s coming around.”

The young woman opened her eyes, looked up at them, but seemed unable to speak.

Thrix bent down, grasped her, and hauled her upright quite roughly, slamming her against the wall, the violence of the movement sending the long blond hair that hung from Thrix’s arms and shoulders whipping around her frame. “Okay, Susi, or whatever your name really is. I know your secret. You’re a werewolf hunter, and you’ve been trying to trap me. Bad mistake.” Thrix opened her jaws.

“Oh, God!” cried Susi. “I’m a werewolf too!”

Thrix paused. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You don’t smell like any werewolf I’ve ever met.”

“I am! Really! I thought I was the only one! Don’t kill me!”

Dominil put her snout close to the young woman. “Could be a werewolf. Not Scottish though.”

Thrix relaxed her grip, though she still held Susi fast. “Explain yourself.”

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Yes, you said that already,” growled Thrix. “But what’s the idea of refusing to write about my clothes and then disappearing and not writing your blog anymore?”