The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (33 page)

“I don't want to stay here alone!”

“You know Manny,” said Vex. “You'll be fine.”

During the conversation, Vex had been edging her way toward the door. As she reached it she flung herself at Pete and kissed him.

“Hi, Pete!” she cried.

With a wave to Kalix, they departed. Kalix stared hopelessly after them, unable to believe Vex's treachery. To bring her here and then abandon her seemed unbelievably rude. To make it worse, Kalix knew that the few people in the gallery would all have heard the conversation. Knowing
there was no way to make this better, she resolved to just put her head down and hurry out of the building.

I'll never have to see any of these people again, thought Kalix. Maybe I could move to North London, to make sure.

She was about to make her exit when she found her way blocked by Manny. He smiled at her.

“Some friend,” he said. “Abandoning you like that. But don't leave now. I'll show you my paintings, there's more in the next room.”

Kalix couldn't help noticing how pretty Manny was. He had long, curly blond hair, blue eyes, a small nose and quite a feminine face. And he was thin, skinny enough that Kalix thought she could push him over with one finger.

He held out a plastic cup. “And we've got wine.”

Kalix accepted the proffered cup. “OK. Show me your paintings. But I don't know anything about art.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Manny.

He had a soft voice, with a noticeable London accent. Kalix rather liked his voice. She allowed herself to be led back into the gallery, to look at the rest of his paintings.

CHAPTER 59

Beauty and Delicious had sunk into an intoxicated gloom in which they hated everyone. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks were no longer playing, recording or rehearsing.

“That stupid Dominil,” said Beauty, sitting in a busy pub near the tube station in Camden. “She just abandoned us.”

“Remember how she used to say we were all talk?” asked Delicious. “She's just as bad. All these things she was going to do and now she's disappeared.”

“She's ruined our careers,” said Delicious.

“Just when these useless boys got a record deal.”

Beauty and Delicious scowled. Among the many hopeful bands in Camden, there was one comprising four boys they particularly disliked. They had been rivals for a long time. Last week the boys had been bragging about their new record deal. Though it was only a small deal with a
tiny independent label, the twins were eaten up with jealousy.

It was a warm evening. The pub was crowded, as was the garden at the back where smokers congregated at wooden tables.

“Decembrius is here.”

“Buy us a drink, Decembrius.”

Decembrius had called the twins, asking to meet, which was unusual. They'd never been on particularly good terms. He went to the bar and arrived back with three bottles of lager. As he sat down beside the twins there were some jealous looks from young men standing nearby, who'd been eyeing them with interest.

“How's life?” asked Decembrius.

“Really bad,” said Beauty. “What about you?”

“Quite bad as well,” said Decembrius.

Delicious laughed. “Three unhappy werewolves.”

“So what are you depressed about?” asked Delicious.

“Nothing in particular,” answered Decembrius, which wasn't true.

“He's depressed about Kalix,” said Beauty.

“I know,” said Delicious. “I was just helping to introduce the subject. So it's all gone wrong?”

“We fell out again,” admitted Decembrius.

“You were always fighting anyway,” said Beauty. “You should just find someone else.”

Decembrius looked at her coldly. “That's your solution?”

“It works for everyone else.”

“Even Pete,” said Delicious. “Though he's only pretending.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Decembrius.

“Pete, our guitarist. He never got anywhere with Dominil so he went and found someone else, but he's not serious about it. He's been seeing Vex, but really he's only hoping it will make Dominil jealous.”

Beauty nodded. “Which is never going to happen. Dominil doesn't have enough emotions to get jealous.”

“It's a shame about Vex,” said Delicious. “I like her. She should have found a better boyfriend.”

“Maybe you should warn her Pete is just using her?” suggested Decembrius.

The twins were incredulous at their cousin's naivety.

“That's the most stupid suggestion ever. She wouldn't believe us and she'd be angry. It would be a waste of time. Don't you know anything? No wonder Kalix gave up on you.”

“Kalix is unreasonable,” said Decembrius. “You can't suggest anything to her, she always thinks you're criticizing her, she's so defensive. No one could go out with her, it's impossible.”

“So how was the sex?” said Beauty brightly.

“It hardly ever happened.”

Beauty and Delicious leaned closer, interested in this.

“Why not?”

“I don't know. It just always seemed like a big problem. And no, it wasn't my fault.” Decembrius looked defiant, and then abruptly he sagged. “She'll be going out with someone else soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can tell.”

Beauty and Delicious looked at Decembrius suspiciously. He was once said to have powers of foresight, giving him glimpses into the future. That wasn't completely unknown among the MacRinnalchs, though it was rare. They'd never thought that Decembrius showed any particular talent for it. Decembrius saw they were doubtful.

“I can tell,” he insisted. “I can feel it.”

“Whose turn is it to go to the bar?” said Beauty.

“I shouldn't drink any more,” said Decembrius. “I'm making an early start tomorrow. I'm supposed to go to the castle and then on to the Douglas-MacPhees' funeral.”

Beauty and Delicious scoffed at this. “The Douglas-MacPhees? Who wants to go to their funeral?”

“I didn't like them any more than you. But they were werewolves still, and they were killed by hunters. They'll get a proper burial from the Baron. If I don't turn up for the funeral my mother will probably disown me.”

“Have a nice time,” said Beauty, mocking him. “If you see Dominil, tell her we hate her.”

“Sometimes I hate Dominil,” said Markus. He'd traveled from the castle to the capital expecting to have an enjoyable weekend with Beatrice and Heather. Thanks to Dominil, there hadn't been much enjoyment. They'd spent the whole weekend working. “Who could enjoy themselves when she's always on the phone, nagging and complaining?”

“I suppose she was right,” said Beatrice, who was with him in the car as they returned to Castle MacRinnalch.

“I know. But couldn't she have just waited a day before phoning up
and ruining our weekend?”

Beatrice looked rueful. “Two girls, one boy and a lot of lingerie. Who'd have thought we'd end up feeling guilty?”

Heather had gone off to work in Glasgow and they wouldn't see her again for weeks. It might be a similar amount of time before Markus was free to try on a dress. He rarely felt comfortable doing it at the castle.

“I'll make the Guild pay,” said Markus.

Beatrice looked worried. “When you find the Guild's headquarters, you're not going to go there are you?”

“Of course,” said Markus. “I'm going to lead the attack.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?” said Markus.

“You're the Thane. What if you get killed? The clan needs you.”

“The Thane should be a leader in war,” said Markus

Beatrice didn't agree. “The Mistress of the Werewolves won't want you to go fighting in London.”

Markus bridled. He hated any implication that his mother influenced his actions.

“I'm going,” he said angrily. “If Sarapen was still here, no one would expect him not to go. I'm fed up with people thinking I'm weak.”

“No one thinks you're weak,” said Beatrice.

They drove on in silence for a long time, the atmosphere now quite strained.

“Damn that Dominil,” muttered Markus. “She really knows how to ruin things.”

Perhaps the only MacRinnalch thinking fondly of Dominil that moment was Sarapen. They'd been lovers once, though they'd ended up as enemies. He remembered her now as he stood, a huge brooding figure, on the balcony overlooking the fire that poured from the Eternal Volcano.

“She's a proper werewolf,” mused Sarapen. “Fierce and determined. Not degenerate like the rest of the family.”

Sarapen wondered what Dominil might be doing. Still helping the twins, he supposed. That was a waste of her talents, though he had no doubt she'd be good at it.

I'd like to see her again, he thought. Not that it would go well. He smiled grimly. As part of the feud, Sarapen had kidnapped Dominil. He doubted she'd ever forgive him for that, even if she did have her revenge later.

Dominil, and the rest of the clan, believed him to be dead, according to the Empress.

“I might as well be, while I'm trapped here.”

Last night Sarapen had shared the Empress's bedchamber. Given the choice, he'd have preferred not to, but he had a strong suspicion that if he didn't, the Empress might decide to do away with him. Sarapen felt no fear at the prospect of death, but looked forward to meeting it in combat, rather than at the hand of some nameless palace assassin.

Which is my most likely fate, as far as I can see
.

Sarapen had grown up in a castle among the ruling family of the MacRinnalchs, and he could interpret the motivations of those who circulated around power. He'd noticed influential courtiers looking at him in a way that suggested that without the Empress's patronage, he'd be gotten rid of soon enough. A position so close to the Empress was valuable in the palace, too valuable to be granted to a stranger like him.

So I stay here as the Empress's lover, and eventually get assassinated by some jealous courtier, thought Sarapen. Or I tell the Empress I've had enough of her, and she gets rid of me even quicker. It seems like a poor choice.

Sarapen put his hand close to his heart, feeling the scar. He wondered again if it were really true that he'd die if he returned to his own dimension. If he found a way to do it, he knew he'd risk it.

CHAPTER 60

“Who's in charge of Empress Kabachetka's social engagements?”

The Fire Queen looked uncertain. “What do you mean ‘in charge,' Dominil? The Empress herself is in charge, I'm sure. She's not a woman to listen to advice.”

“But who records her engagements? Who keeps her diary?”

“Her secretary, Gezinka.”

“Does the Empress trust her? Would she have a full record of her movements?”

“I'm not certain. Who knows what Kabachetka thinks or whom she trusts?”

Under interrogation from Dominil, the Fire Queen was beginning to
wilt. “I really can't imagine why you wish to know so much about the court life of the detestable Kabachetka. It is a painful subject, Dominil, as she has so recently cheated and bribed her way into
Vogue.”

Dominil was taking occasional notes, though mostly committing the Queen's answers to memory. It was frustrating trying to get information from the Fire Queen, as she had a habit of straying off topic, but Dominil persevered.

“Does she have a bodyguard who always travels with her?”

“At home, yes. But on Earth, not necessarily. I have known her to come here with only her handmaiden Alchet.”

“Who else would know where she was when she visits London? Surely she must inform her government?”

The Queen shook her head. “Again, not necessarily. After all, I sometimes do not. But if anyone else were to know the Empress's movements, I imagine it would be her adviser Bakmer. My intelligence services report that he now has the Empress's ear.”

The Fire Queen fidgeted. “Dominil, I am suffering from this relentless interrogation. Would you mind if I were to ask Moonglow to bring us tea? Have you noticed how much care she takes over her tea?”

“Yes,” said Dominil. “She brews it properly, in a pot. So do I. I'll make us tea.”

Dominil was tall, and stooped slightly as she walked beneath the light shade on the ceiling from which Moonglow had hung a dark, patterned headscarf. As she descended the stairs she heard Moonglow talking angrily on the phone.

“I just pressed these numbers!” Moonglow pressed some more buttons, listened briefly, then gave up and ended the call. “I hate these automated payment things! You have to press so many buttons.” She had a council tax bill in her hand. “I must have entered some numbers wrong.”