The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (36 page)

The Fire Queen slipped back into the earthly dimension and headed down a familiar path. Remembering that Thrix had recently increased her sorcerous security, Malveria did not attempt to materialize inside her flat. Instead, she entered the block and approached her door from the outside. The Fire Queen halted, examining the space around her.

“Thrix is home. I can feel her. And I can feel her new spells, protecting the apartment. But I am not just a sorcerer like you, Enchantress. I am the all-powerful Queen of the Hiyasta!”

The Fire Queen struck the door a great, flaming blow with her forearm and it buckled inwards. Malveria marched in triumphantly.

“Enchantress!” she cried. “I am here to make you account for your treachery, perfidious behavior and failure to provide me with a summer frock as promised. What do you have to say for yourself, cursèd werewolf?”

Malveria stood in the smoldering doorway, arms raised to cast spells and deal destruction. Thrix was in the room, lying on her couch.

“Well?” demanded Malveria.

Thrix didn't look up. She lay with her head half hidden by a fashionable jacket, which, rather shockingly, she was using as a pillow. Malveria felt a little foolish, waving her arms in the air. She lowered them and marched over to the couch in a fury.

“I demand you look at me, wretched Enchantress, and prepare to pay for your numerous crimes!”

Thrix raised her head and gazed blankly at the Fire Queen. Malveria yelled and took a step back. “Thrix, what have you done?”

Thrix had cropped off her hair, very roughly. It was short and jagged, clipped hurriedly and carelessly with scissors. The Fire Queen was horrified. Adding to her horror was the sight of Thrix's long golden tresses stuffed into a plastic carrier bag on the floor. Nothing could have affected the Fire Queen more. Thrix had obviously gone insane. Malveria's anger instantly disappeared, to be replaced with distress for her friend.

“Thrix, what has happened?” she cried, and knelt down beside her friend. “Speak to me.”

There was a vacant expression on Thrix's face. “I can't do it,” she mumbled.

“Can't do it? Do what? What has happened? Have you been attacked with spells of madness?”

Malveria studied Thrix's aura. She had been drinking wine, but that didn't account for the poor state she was in. She was weak, both physically and mentally, and her spirit, usually bright, was flickering unsteadily.

“I will revive you,” cried the Fire Queen. “You must not worry about the frock outrage, you could not help it, having lost your senses!”

Malveria placed a hand on Thrix's forehead and another on the back of her neck, and let some of her fire flow into the Enchantress. Thrix's cold body began to heat up. After a few minutes, she began to stir and dragged herself into a sitting position. Her physical strength was returning, but the Fire Queen still didn't like the look of her aura. It was deranged.

“I will bring my strongest potions. They can restore sanity even in the worst cases.”

Thrix managed to focus her eyes on the Fire Queen. “I don't need potions, Malveria. I haven't gone mad. I'm just defeated.”

“What?”

“I'm defeated. The Guild killed my teacher and I can't find them. I've tried everything I know and it's no use. I can't find the Guild. They've beaten me.”

The Fire Queen was perplexed. She realized she might have overreacted by assuming Thrix had completely lost her senses, but when she looked at her aura, there did seem to be a touch of madness there.

“Don't admit defeat. There is always a way to come back from adversity.” Malveria glanced around the room. “And I'm sorry about your door.”

“That's all right,” said Thrix.

“Could one of these helpful men who carry tools fix it?” said Malveria. “My repairing magic has never been very good.”

Thrix stood up. Normally her powers of repairing were good, but she had no sorcery in her at the moment. She picked up the door and propped it back in place.

“I'll call for someone later,” she said. “Why did you burst in anyway? What were you saying about perfidious behavior?”

“Nothing, nothing.” The Fire Queen waved it away. “I will explain another time. First we must get you back to good health. You need coffee, food and, most importantly, some urgent attention from a hairdresser. The gamine look is quite fashionable at the moment. With competent repair work by a top professional, you may get away with it. Otherwise, my salon does excellent work with hair extensions.”

Thrix put her hand to her head. “Right. I chopped my hair off. I forgot about that.”

“Why did you do such a thing?”

Thrix shrugged. “It was getting in the way.” She sat down heavily. “Could you possibly make me coffee, Malveria? I don't even have the power to do that.”

Malveria rose gracefully. “I will bring coffee. Not for nothing have I learned the ways of your kitchen appliances.”

The Fire Queen hurried to the kitchen, leaving Thrix on the couch. After Malveria's healing, she felt physically restored, but she was still mentally drained. Her last attempt at a spell had gone hopelessly wrong, producing no result other than to drain her strength and send her into a state of despair that a bottle of wine had not lessened.

Thrix reached into her handbag and pulled out a small mirror. It was some time since she'd seen her own reflection. She winced. Studying her jagged, poorly cropped hair and the makeup smeared over her face, she wondered if the Fire Queen had been right. Perhaps she had gone mad. Thrix growled, once more feeling the anger and despair that had tormented her since Minerva's death.

“Do not worry,” said Malveria, arriving in the room with two cups of coffee. “I will soon have you back to health. And I have seen some very chic hats in Paris. We will get you through this crisis somehow.”

CHAPTER 65

“How are you feeling?” asked the Fire Queen some time later. Thrix had drunk her coffee and managed to eat.

“A little better,” said Thrix. “I can't believe you made me a meal.”

Malveria smiled. “I learned to cook as a child, though it is not something I like people to know.”

The buzzer rang. Thrix had a visitor. She got off the couch unsteadily and stood by the intercom beside the broken front door.

“Hello?”

“It's Dominil.”

Thrix made a face. “I'm not feeling that much better,” she muttered. She pressed the button to let Dominil into the building.

“This place is a mess,” said Thrix. “So am I.” She didn't much mind her close friend Malveria finding her in such a state, but would rather not have encountered Dominil. Thrix felt a flicker of the sort of guilt she might have felt as a child when her mother scolded her for having an untidy room.

“Do you have a spell for tidying everything up really quickly?” she asked Malveria.

“Unfortunately, no. I have people who do that for me.”

Dominil knocked on the door and it fell inward with a crash, leaving her looking surprised.

“That was quite funny in a way,” said Thrix.

Dominil wasn't amused. “Why is your door broken?”

“I am responsible,” said Malveria.

“Why don't you fix it?” asked Dominil.

“I don't know how,” said Thrix. “I'll call someone.”

Dominil studied the door. “It's only been pulled from its hinges. Screwing it back would effect a reasonable temporary repair. Do you have a screwdriver?”

“I think there might be one under the sink,” said Thrix.

While Thrix hunted for a screwdriver, Dominil took her laptop out of its bag and cleared a space on the table.

“I hope you have not come to interrogate Thrix as rigorously as you interrogated me,” said the Fire Queen. “She is suffering from some weakness brought on by overwork.”

“And wine,” said Dominil, clearing bottles from the table.

“That too. But she has strained every resource to find the Guild.”

Dominil didn't comment. The Fire Queen had the impression that Dominil did not entirely believe that her cousin had been working as hard as she might have been. This Dominil is a terrible creature in some ways, she thought. Never satisfied with anything.

Thrix returned with a screwdriver. “I don't know if it works.”

“Are you being willfully facetious?” Without waiting for a reply, Dominil picked up the door, put it in place, then began replacing the screws. Each one was replaced easily enough, though they fitted loosely into the damaged frame. Dominil carefully closed the door, having effected the repair in only a few minutes. The Fire Queen and the Enchantress were both impressed.

“I really could not have done that,” said the Fire Queen. “You are so clever and practical.”

“Let's sit at the table and talk,” said Dominil. “I have an idea for finding the Guild. It's not a very great idea, but it's the best I've been able to come up with.”

“One moment,” said Thrix.

Dominil waited while Thrix took a bottle of the clan whisky from her cabinet and poured measures into three small glasses. They sat at the table and drank.

“What's your idea?” asked Thrix.

“So far, everything we've tried has failed,” began Dominil. “Sorcery, computer espionage, physically searching and the collective intelligence gathering of the MacRinnalchs and the Hiyasta have brought us no nearer to learning their location. Apparently, their defensive sorcery is too powerful, and their cyber security now unbreakable. Is there any prospect of you devising some new locating spell that might actually work?”

“No,” said Thrix flatly.

“Very well,” said Dominil. “That leaves us only one option.”

Thrix and Malveria leaned forward.

“We find someone who already knows where the headquarters is, and ask them.”

Thrix, momentarily enthusiastic, was deflated. “That's your idea?”

“Yes.”

“I don't think much of it.”

The Fire Queen was not so dismissive. “Do you mean capture a werewolf hunter and torture the information out of him? That could be done.”

“That's not what I meant,” interrupted Dominil. “We couldn't depend
on capturing a werewolf hunter. They seem to be the ones surprising us these days.”

“Then what is you idea?” asked Malveria.

Dominil sipped from her glass. “Apart from the hunters, who else would know their location? I can think of two, and possibly three or four. Firstly, Empress Kabachetka.”

The Fire Queen frowned. “You cannot simply ask the Empress. She will laugh at you.”

“I'm coming to that,” said Dominil. “The second person who probably knows where the Avenaris Guild's headquarters is, is Distikka. Your intelligence services say she's advising the Empress, so she might even have been there. Then there's Lady Gezinka. She controls the Empress's diary. She may have written a detailed entry there some time. Also there's Alchet, Kabachetka's handmaiden. You told me she sometimes accompanies Kabachetka on her visits to London. She might have visited the Guild with her. Finally, there's Adviser Bakmer. If he's become as trusted an adviser as your intelligence services believe, he might have learned of the Guild's location.”

The Fire Queen looked puzzled. “It is true that Kabachetka will know the Guild's location. Distikka may also know. As for her secretary and handmaiden and adviser, it's possible, I suppose, if unlikely. But how does this help?”

Dominil glanced toward her glass, which was now empty. The Enchantress poured a little more whisky into it.

“They wouldn't intentionally tell us. But we might be able to solicit the information somehow. By trickery, perhaps. Maybe the secretary keeps a diary with the address entered somewhere, and we could steal it. Perhaps Distikka's tongue starts to wag when she drinks wine. The handmaiden might be open to bribery.”

Thrix shook her head. “This is all sounding very tenuous, Dominil.”

“I did admit it wasn't the greatest of ideas. But it gives us a chance. There are three or four Fire Elementals who might know the Guild's address. If we can place some suitable agents in close proximity to them, who knows what might happen?”

“How are we going to get in close proximity with the Empress of the Hainusta?” asked Thrix.

“At St. Amelia's Ball,” replied Dominil. “In two week's time. The Empress is sponsoring the event. Surely she'll take her handmaiden there, and quite probably her secretary. As for Distikka and Bakmer, I don't
know, but it's possible they'll be there.”

“Perhaps I'm being dense,” said Thrix, “but I still don't understand what you're suggesting. Isn't St. Amelia's Ball some upper-class charity event? Are you suggesting we gate-crash it?”

“That would be an option,” said Dominil. “But it would be better if there was some legitimate reason for attendance. Gate-crashing might be difficult. Security is probably more extensive than one might expect.”