The Curse of the Wolf Girl (45 page)

“The public demands more cat food,” he said. “We better serve it up before there’s a riot.”

He emptied the cat food into the bowl, where Kalix and the cat again began eating.

Moonglow, Daniel, and Vex left them to it and returned to the living room.

“That was unexpected,” said Moonglow.

“She’s certainly got a powerful appetite.” Daniel was a little impressed.

“I’m not really sure about her eating cat food though.”

Daniel shrugged. “It looks healthy in the advertisements. It’ll keep her coat shiny.”

* * *

Not long afterwards, Vex nodded off to sleep on the couch. She smelled strongly of wine. Moonglow was troubled. “We’re supposed to be looking after them.”

“We are looking after them.”

“Vex is drunk, and Kalix is eating cat food!”

“Well, we’re doing our best,” said Daniel.

“I’d better pay the rent before Malveria and Verasa start asking for their money back.”

Mr. Carmichael had never stood out as a well-dressed man. He owned three suits, which he rotated throughout the month. Today’s choice, a very conservative gray, looked particularly dated as he visited the offices of Captain Easterly’s magazine. The young receptionist regarded him unsympathetically. She seemed suspicious when he claimed to have an appointment with their men’s fashion editor. After checking her calendar, she reluctantly directed him to Easterly’s office, which in keeping with the eclectic nature of the magazine, was cluttered with an odd assortment of formal and informal clothes, electronic gadgets, toys, snacks, and artwork.

It was unusual for Mr. Carmichael to visit any of his operatives in the field, but Easterly was now unwilling to visit the guild’s headquarters. He feared that Thrix’s sorcery might detect any close involvement with other werewolf hunters. So he said anyway. But Easterly had always exhibited a somewhat cavalier attitude towards the rules. Mr. Carmichael suspected he might just not feel like visiting their headquarters these days.

“Albermarle thinks you might be going over to the other side.”

“Albermarle’s an idiot.”

Mr. Carmichael sipped coffee that, despite coming from the most modern coffee-making machine on the market and having been sent to the magazine for review, had been given to him in a plastic cup. “He thinks you’ve become too close to this werewolf…this…what was her name?”

“Thrix MacRinnalch.”

“It’s odd that none of our other operatives seem to have heard of her.”

“She’s a sorceress,” explained Easterly for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Her defenses make it almost impossible to get close to her. Even when a hunter does come across her, he soon forgets.”

“Very unusual for a werewolf to be a sorceress.”

“I’ve reported all this before. Her sorcery makes us forget about her. I’ve spent weeks gaining her trust.”

“But you can’t kill her?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve explained that a hundred times too. No attack would work. Her body repels silver. You could fire a bullet at her from point-blank range, and it still wouldn’t penetrate.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

“Wait for the right moment. Meanwhile, I’m tracking her all the time.”

“You mean you’ve bugged her?”

“Not exactly,” said Easterly. “Her defenses would detect any sort of listening device, but her sorcery hasn’t quite moved with the times. Albermarle gave me a code to enter into her mobile phone. There’s no mechanism involved, so she hasn’t detected it.”

“You said you weren’t getting on well with Albermarle, but he’s helped you track your target?”

“I never said he wasn’t good with technology. He’s excellent. He’d be worth more to the guild if he just stayed in the background. He’s only helping track the enchantress because he thinks it will bring him closer to Dominil.”

“You think Albermarle is too personally involved with Dominil?”

“I do.”

“He says exactly the same about you and Thrix.”

“He’s wrong.”

Mr. Carmichael was reassured, to an extent. He didn’t think Easterly was falling in love with Thrix MacRinnalch, as Albermarle claimed. There might be more of a connection than Easterly was prepared to admit, but he didn’t doubt that when the opportunity arose, Easterly would kill her.

Carmichael fumbled in his wallet. “Where’s my receipt for lunch gone? Since Albermarle reformed our expense claims, I have to keep track of every damned thing.”

The enchantress was surprised by the security chain preventing the door from opening fully. It seemed an unusual precaution for a strong werewolf like Dominil.

“Worried about burglars?” she asked.

“I’m worried about Albermarle.” Dominil slipped the chain loose and let her cousin in. “I’ve been as careful as I could be to keep this address secret. Did you make sure no one followed you?”

“No one can follow me anywhere.”

“I hope you’re right. You’re the only one I’m telling about my movements these days.”

Thrix looked curiously at her cousin.

“Why is this Albermarle such a problem? We’ve dealt with hunters before.”

“Albermarle is more intelligent. When I locate him, he’s gone, and when I hide, he finds me.”

Dominil’s temporary apartment was small, clean, and extremely austere. The landlord had painted the walls white for his new tenant, and Dominil hadn’t done anything to change it. Her computer was on the table, and her coat hung by the door. Apart from that, the place could almost have been uninhabited.

“Where did you find this place?”

“I walked into a letting agency and took it at random. It’s best if I stay away from clan properties. Albermarle would find me. He’s in command of a group of hunters these days, and that’s too many silver bullets to dodge.” Dominil shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine the Albermarle I knew at university being in charge of anyone. Though it’s not hard to imagine him working every minute of the day to track me down. He always was obsessive.”

“Breaking his heart probably made it worse.”

Dominil pursed her lips. “I’ve heard enough about that from the twins. I didn’t think it was funny coming from them either.”

“Sorry,” said Thrix. “If he’s really that dangerous, let me help you kill him.”

Dominil shook her head. “If you can hide me from him for a little while, that’ll be enough. I want to kill him myself.”

“Are you letting this get personal, Dominil?”

“He chased me out of the British Museum. No one can do that.”

Thrix nodded. She noticed that Dominil was dressed a little more casually than normal. The black trousers she wore were plain and not particularly well cut. Her black sweatshirt was old, well worn. Practical, Thrix supposed, but not smart. Despite this, Dominil’s hair was still well cared for. Long, thick, and lustrous, as was Thrix’s, but straight, rather than curling.

“I’ll find my bottle of whisky.”

Thrix waved this away. “Don’t worry, I don’t need it.”

Dominil ignored her and went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of the MacRinnalch malt and two clean glasses.

“To us,” said Thrix, raising her glass, “and clan traditions. And to the departed spirit of Gawain MacRinnalch, may he wander happily in the Forests of the Werewolf Dead.”

Dominil looked sharply at her visitor. “What?”

Thrix put down her glass on the bare wooden table. “I’m remembering Gawain.”

“Gawain has been dead for a while.”

“I know,” said Thrix. “But he didn’t get much of a send-off. I doubt many werewolves raised a glass to his departure. Maybe his sister, wherever she is. And Kalix of course. She took it badly.”

“I understood your affection for Gawain faded away some time ago.”

“It did. Which doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. He was a fellow MacRinnalch, after all.”

Thrix looked pointedly at her empty glass. Dominil refilled it for her, but remained silent.

“I was surprised you refused to help Kalix look for his killer,” said Thrix.

“As is quite obvious, I have other things on my mind.”

“True. Albermarle and the twins. That’s a lot to take care of.” Thrix sat back in her seat and seemed to relax. “Whoever killed Gawain probably expected it would end there. After all, who would care he was dead? But if they’d thought it through, they’d have realized that my crazy sister wouldn’t let it go. Kalix loved him with all her youthful passion and that doesn’t fade so easily. You know I’m on her list of suspects?”

“I believe I am too,” said Dominil.

“It’s unfortunate for the killer that Kalix is friendly with a Hiyasta who can detect people’s auras after they’ve gone. Fire Elementals are good at that. Of course, Agrivex isn’t the brightest Hiyasta around. If a really powerful Elemental—Queen Malveria for instance—were to apply herself, there’s no telling what she might learn, even now.”

“Perhaps you should suggest it to Kalix,” said Dominil, coolly.

There was a very long silence, interrupted only by a faint humming from the elderly fridge in the kitchen.

“Why did you kill Gawain?” said Thrix, abruptly.

If Thrix was hoping for a reaction, she was disappointed.

Dominil’s expression remained completely calm. “That’s a peculiar question.”

“Peculiar? Maybe. But I’m sure you did kill him. I went back to Gawain’s flat to take another look around. Because I’m fed up with Kalix annoying me. Which is another of her talents. She’s dogged, if not that bright. She might even find out the truth in the end.” Thrix paused for a reaction, which again was not forthcoming.

“Mostly I use my sorcery for fashion work and personal protection. I wouldn’t claim to have any great skills at investigating. But old Minerva taught me a lot, up on that mountain. The Personal Fragment Collection Spell, for instance.” Thrix took a small plastic bag from the pocket of her elegant coat. “Tiny dust particles, flakes of skin, and so on. They came from you.”

“I already acknowledged I was there,” countered Dominil. “I visited Gawain on Kalix’s behalf.”

Thrix drew out another small plastic bag. “These came from the wound in Gawain’s chest. Tiny pieces of you, transferred when you stabbed him. Which raises another interesting point. What did you stab him with? The only thing I know that could kill a werewolf like that is the Begravar knife, and that’s safely back at the castle.”

“It’s possible for a werewolf to be killed by a silver-coated knife.”

“Possible, but rare. Generally it would need another strong werewolf to be holding the knife. Is that what you used?”

“You seem to be making a lot of assumptions,” said Dominil. “I’m sure there could be other explanations for dust fragments from me being on Gawain’s wound.”

“We’re not in a court-room. Nor are we giving evidence to the Great Council. I don’t know if I could prove you killed Gawain or not. But I’m quite sure you did.” Throughout the conversation, Dominil had remained calm, which the enchantress found irritating. The least a werewolf could do on being accused of murdering a fellow MacRinnalch was look guilty about it.

“Perhaps you should report your suspicions to the Thane,” suggested Dominil.

“I have a feeling he knows already.”

There was another long silence. The fridge went quiet for a few moments before spluttering into life again. Outside there was a constant low rumbling as traffic edged around a nearby corner.

“I might not have gone to Oxford, but I’m not stupid, Dominil. I don’t imagine you killed Gawain on a whim. That would be very unlike you. I believe you went there for a reason. Markus probably knew what it was. I’ll get the truth out of him, if I can’t get it out of you. So why not just tell me what happened?”

Dominil weighed Thrix’s words for a few moments. “Very well. Markus sent me there to retrieve the Begravar knife.”

“But it went back to the castle after the fight in London.”

“One of them did, the one that belonged to the clan. There was another, brought there by the hunter Mikulanec. I don’t know how Gawain ended up with it, but he did. He took it home with him. Later he attempted to sell it to the clan. For a lot of money.”

“I can understand that. Gawain probably needed money.”

“He had no great liking for the clan either,” said Dominil, “after they banished him.”

“So Markus sent you there to steal the knife?”

“He sent me to negotiate. And he paid me for the mission, in case you’re wondering why I went. I’ve never had any of the family wealth turned over to me. I’ve taken pay from both the Mistress of the Werewolves and the Thane, at various times. Unfortunately in this instance, there were complications. Markus balked at the price Gawain was asking. Gawain suggested that if the MacRinnalchs didn’t want to buy the knife, someone else might.”

Thrix’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected to hear that. “You mean the Avenaris Guild? Gawain would never do that.”

Dominil made the faintest of shrugs. “I don’t know how serious he was. Probably it was just a bargaining ploy. Or perhaps he’d really come to hate the MacRinnalchs. I can’t say they treated him that well. And when Kalix rejected him again, he took it very badly.”

Thrix poured more whisky for herself.

“When this happened, I still had access to the guild’s computers. I read a report that suggested that certain hunters may have been contacted about buying a valuable item. That gave some credence to Markus’s suspicion that Gawain might sell them the knife.”

“So he dispatched you.”

“He hired me. I found Gawain in an agitated state. At first he said he wasn’t going to sell the knife at all. When I pointed out it was of no use to anyone who didn’t know how to activate it, he said that perhaps there were other people than the MacRinnalchs who knew how to activate it. We started to argue.” Dominil sipped from her glass. “Gawain was a strong werewolf. When the moon came up, he transformed. I reasoned that he may well be a more capable fighter than myself.”

“So you stabbed him?”

“I picked up the knife and told him the deal was concluded.”

“You mean it was just lying there?”