The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (22 page)

Dominil and Thrix both planned to return to London that night.

“I won't be sorry to leave the castle,” said Dominil.

“Yes, you're in disgrace,” said the Enchantress.

Whether those regarding Dominil as a disgrace included Thrix was not entirely clear. Thrix hadn't accused Dominil of being responsible for Minerva's death. She hadn't even referred to Dominil's revelation about laudanum. But the Enchantress was so furious at the Guild that it was hard to tell if she was angry at Dominil or not.

“My father and the Mistress of the Werewolves insisted I remain in the castle and receive treatment for my addiction from Doctor Angus,” said Dominil. “They are not pleased that I've refused.”

“I've never seen Tupan so shocked.”

“My father is very shocked, I acknowledge. But I need to get back to
London. My laudanum problem will have to wait for a while, as will the affairs of the twins. My priority is to find the Guild.”

“Mine too. Though I'm not sure that everyone else agrees. I sometimes get the feeling that nothing would rouse these barons.”

“Markus will support us,” said Dominil. “When we find the Guild, we'll need a large force to attack them. The Thane will authorize it.”

“Let's hope so. Or else it will just be you and me charging into the Guild's headquarters on our own.”

“Possibly. And Kalix, I imagine.”

Thrix scowled fiercely. “Kalix can stay out of it.”

“Kalix hates the Guild as much as anyone. If there's an attack, she'll want to be involved.”

“I can't stand Kalix,” said Thrix. “And she's too unreliable.”

“She's also a savage and experienced fighter who's probably killed more hunters than anyone else in the clan.”

Thrix shook her head and refused to talk any further about her sister, who she still blamed for Minerva's death. “I'm giving up my fashion business for a while.”

“Can you do that?”

“I'll ask my assistant and my chief designer to keep things moving. It should be OK for a week or two. I can't be worrying about making clothes when I need to find the Guild.”

Thrix raised her glass. “To the destruction of the Avenaris Guild.”

“To their destruction,” agreed Dominil, and drank.

CHAPTER 39

Malveria was cheerful at the prospect of picking up her new dress. She materialized at Thrix's office in Soho to find Ann sitting in front of the computer. The Fire Queen greeted her warmly.

“Hello, esteemed assistant of my dearest friend Thrix. It is good to see you on this fine day when I am picking up a new dress!”

Malveria had always liked Ann who, she knew, was a vital part of Thrix's business. As well as being an excellent assistant, Ann was also one of the very few people who knew that Thrix was a werewolf.

“So, valued assistant, where is Thrix? And where is my dress? I'm
really trembling with excitement.”

During Malveria's expansive greeting, Ann had been regarding her rather sourly.

“Thrix isn't here. And your dress isn't ready.”

Malveria blinked and shook her head. “I fear that travel through the dimensions has affected my hearing. This can happen on occasion. What did you say?”

“Thrix isn't here and your dress isn't ready.”

“But how can Thrix not be here and my dress not be ready? These things are not possible.”

“There's been some werewolf crisis in Scotland. Thrix went there in a hurry and she hasn't come back. She sent me a message telling me to run the company for a while.”

From Ann's expression, she wasn't pleased to have the responsibility of running the business thrust on her so abruptly. Malveria felt her ankles start to give. Her high-heel spell was not yet perfect, and that, coupled with the shock of Thrix's non-appearance, was enough to make her sit down quickly.

“What about my dress?”

“As far as I know it's not ready.”

“But it must be ready,” protested the Fire Queen. “The fashion event is in two days time and I must be there, wearing it.”

Ann raised her palms hopelessly in the air. “I'm sorry, Malveria. I don't really know what's going on. Thrix hasn't explained it to me. All I got was an email and that was vague.”

“What did it say about my dress?”

“Nothing.”

The Fire Queen struggled to take this in. What manner of crisis could have overwhelmed the Enchantress so completely?

“This makes no sense. If Thrix is well enough to compose an email, surely she is well enough to make a frock?”

Ann knew that Malveria was Thrix's most important customer and couldn't be palmed off, but at this moment she was more concerned about the difficult task of canceling all of Thrix's upcoming appointments without damaging the business. She'd been on the phone with fashion editors, buyers and journalists all morning, making excuses for her employer's absence. Once she'd done that, there was a missing consignment of cloth from Korea to be sorted out, and later in the day Thrix was meant to be interviewing models. Ann didn't know what she was going to do about that.
The rest of the staff was already uneasy, sensing something was wrong.

“Probably worried about their bonuses,” muttered Ann, “which all need calculation and authorization. By me, apparently.”

Malveria ignored this and looked toward the full rack of clothes at the side of the office.

“Might my dress be there?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Is it in the designers' room?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Could it be at the warehouse? Have you checked?”

“Malveria,” said Ann wearily, “I'm really sorry, but your dress isn't ready, and Thrix hasn't given me any idea when it will be.”

A flicker of flame appeared around the fingers of the Fire Queen's right hand. Ann was aware of Malveria's nature as a Fire Elemental.

“Please don't get upset and incinerate the room, I can't do anything about it.”

“But this is not tolerable! If I have not got my new dress, what am I to wear to the designers' reception in two days time? Some aging creation from last year? The very notion terrifies me.”

“Thrix isn't going to the designers' reception,” said Ann. “She's canceled.”

The Fire Queen reeled in her chair. Flames erupted from both hands and for a few moments she struggled to speak. Ann silently poured a glass of wine and passed it over the desk. Malveria gulped it down.

“Canceled? Without telling me? How can this be? It is the most splendid event and we have both been looking forward to it for the longest time!”

A tear escaped from Malveria's eye, sizzling on her burning cheek. Thrix's absence was so unexpected, and the prospect of not obtaining her new dress so terrifying, that the Fire Queen did not know what to think. She sat rigidly in her chair, completely bemused. It took her some time to compose herself, and by the time she could speak, Ann had returned her attention to Thrix's computer.

“Has Thrix really abandoned me?”

“I think she might have meant for Jason to finish the dress.”

“Jason? Your senior designer? Really, Ann, his clothes might do for others, but for me? You must know this is impossible.”

Ann was too polite to actually shrug, but she had nothing to add. Thrix had gone to Scotland, she hadn't returned, and she'd sent only the
briefest of messages about what to do in her absence. Another flaming tear trickled from the Fire Queen's eye, running down her cheek and disappearing into her long dark hair. She rose to her feet very slowly, as if her joints were stiff. She stood for a moment looking wistfully at the clothes rack and then, without another word, dematerialized.

CHAPTER 40

Eight hundred years in the past
.

Though the fairy wedding was a colorful event, the eight-year-old Malveria was dressed severely for the occasion, as was her grandmother Malgravane. Malveria had been excited to receive an invitation—her first visit to another dimension—but she'd had to put up with lots of lecturing from her grandmother about behaving appropriately and not bringing disgrace on the Hiyastas.

“The fairies are old friends,” her grandmother had told her, “and have been since before the humans crawled out of their caves. But they are not quite respectable. There will be many elemental dignitaries at the wedding, so be sure not to do anything untoward. Speak only if you're spoken to, stay close to me, and whatever you do”—Malgravane leaned over her granddaughter—“don't play with the fairy children.”

“Why not?” asked Malveria.

“Because I say so,” barked Malgravane.

Malveria shrank backward. Her grandmother was an intimidating elemental. Far more intimidating than her mother, even though her mother was Queen. But Queen Malgrasin had never been in very good health. She would not be coming to the wedding. She was poorly again, and lay in her chambers in the palace. Queen Malgrasin was a popular ruler, but there was a general worry about how long her reign would last, given her ill health.

Malveria was extremely excited on the day of the wedding, even though she'd been fitted into a heavy black dress that was even more uncomfortable than the dark-red fire wrap she normally wore. Malveria chaffed under the weight. Her grandmother was similarly dressed, in
formal black, as were their attendants. Malveria visited her mother before she left. The Queen lay propped up in bed, and though she kissed her daughter affectionately, she was too tired to talk for long.

“Be good,” she said. “And do what your grandmother tells you.”

Malveria promised she would. On her way out of the chamber she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the great mirrors on the wall, illuminated by the bright yellow torches, and she felt quite important in her formal dress. She wondered for a moment if she might impress the fairies at the wedding. She was the daughter of the Queen, after all. Although, she reflected, her older brothers and sisters would all be there too, and there were many of them.

Malveria had questions to ask her grandmother about the fairies, but her grandmother shushed her impatiently.

“Take my hand,” she ordered, which Malveria did. There was a brief darkness accompanied by an unpleasant cold, a coldness that as a Fire Elemental Malveria had never felt before. She hung on to her grandmother and was relieved when they emerged from the darkness into a beautiful green glade, full of flowers and surrounded by trees. Malveria found herself at the tail end of a procession of dark-clad Hiyasta who made their way solemnly through the glade toward a series of tables that seemed to have been formed from the trees and still to be part of them.

Malveria craned her neck to see around the crowd of relatives. A gap opened in front of her and her eyes widened in astonishment. There, clustered around the living furniture, were the fairies. Malveria had seen fairies before, at her mother's court, where their ambassadors would visit, but the fairies she'd seen there had been rather somber. They wore dark robes, with their wings folded neatly behind their back. They were the same size as the Hiyasta. Here, in their own forest, the fairies were different. There were hundreds of them and they were not acting at all somberly. They were brightly dressed, and they seemed to change size at will. Malveria saw one tiny creature, no more than two inches tall, flutter toward some Earth Elementals, then instantly grow to human size before landing and bowing politely. He was immediately joined by another tiny fairy, who perched on his shoulder. She grew in size too, but remained on his shoulders, laughing. As the dignitaries of the Fire and Earth Elementals made their formal greetings to the green-clad fairy, he returned their greetings cheerfully, while the young fairy perched on his shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Malveria frowned. She understood what her grandmother had meant
when she'd said that the fairies were not quite respectable. Malveria dreaded to think what would have happened if she'd tried to perch on her mother's shoulders while she was greeting royal guests.

As Malveria moved slowly forward, the young fairy, who seemed about Malveria's age, hopped off her father's shoulders and shrank again before floating off. Malveria looked at her departing figure with some disapproval. Clearly, these young fairies did not know how to behave properly. And what was she wearing? wondered Malveria. Her dress seemed to be made of gold. I've never seen anything like it.

Malveria was grabbed rather roughly by her grandmother and dragged forward to be introduced to the fairy in green.

“Princess Malveria, youngest daughter of Queen Malgrasin,” announced her grandmother.

Malveria bowed.

“Duke Foxglove Rinnalch Wallace,” said Malgravane, formally introducing him to her granddaughter.

Malveria bowed politely again, though she was still straining her neck to see more of the fairies who were fluttering around the tables. Now she could hear strains of music floating over the glade.