The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (61 page)

She was prepared for an uncomfortable encounter. Mr. Carmichael was not going to be pleased to learn that the werewolves had discovered the location of their headquarters. But now it was done, there was nothing for the Guild to do but prepare themselves properly for the inevitable assault.

“And get rid of these annoying werewolves once and for all,” as the Empress had said.

Distikka didn't find werewolves that annoying. She'd rather liked Dominil. But the Empress wanted them all dead, and it suited Distikka's ambitions to assist the Empress. She was examining a drawing by Murillo when she sensed the arrival of Mr. Carmichael. Distikka was not as highly skilled in the interpretation of auras as the Empress, but she could tell he was far more agitated than she'd anticipated. She greeted him with her customary lack of warmth, and waited to hear what was bothering him.

“St. Amelia's Ball,” began Mr. Carmichael. He looked round to check that no one was listening. “That turned out very badly.”

“Badly? Why?”

“Are you mocking us?”

“I really don't know what you mean,” said Distikka.

“The deaths of my hunters,” hissed Mr. Carmichael.

Distikka was baffled. “What deaths?”

“We lost four men at the ball.”

“This is news to me.”

“Really? You didn't know?” Mr. Carmichael raised his voice sufficiently for him to be shushed by a uniformed attendant.

“I had no idea,” whispered Distikka. “There was no disturbance that I was aware of.”

“Well, there were killings nonetheless. Mr. Eggers and three hunters.”

“What were the hunters doing there?”

“I sent them, after Mr. Eggers reported there were werewolves at the hotel.”

“And they were killed? I wasn't aware of this. Nor was the Empress. It must have been done very discreetly.”

“Very discreetly. We haven't found the bodies. But I'm sure they're not coming back.”

An influx of Italian tourists forced them away from the Murillo drawings.

“I'm sorry you lost hunters,” whispered Distikka. “But perhaps it was unwise to send them to the ball?”

“Unwise? We thought the Empress was in charge of the event. We didn't know it would be a playground for the MacRinnalchs.”

“We weren't expecting them either. But really, the Empress was occupied with other matters. You couldn't have expected her to assist your men.”

“I might have expected her to save Mr. Eggers, given that she'd asked him to meet her.”

It was an uncomfortable moment. The Empress had agreed to meet Mr. Eggers at the ball. The Guild might reasonably have expected that she'd keep him safe.

“This does make my news a little more difficult to transmit,” said Distikka.

“What news?”

“The MacRinnalchs have learned the address of your headquarters.”

Mr. Carmichael came to a dead stop. “What?”

“They know where you are.”

“They can't. It's impossible.”

“I believe it to be so.”

“They can't,” insisted Mr. Carmichael. “No one can find us.”

“Dominil MacRinnalch has learned your address. Or perhaps I should say, if she has not quite learned it yet, she very soon will.”

Mr. Carmichael was appalled. “How can you possibly know this?”

“I've extrapolated on past events.”

“You mean you're guessing?”

“I wouldn't put it that way. We may stand here discussing it for any length of time, Mr. Carmichael, but the outcome will still be that the MacRinnalchs know your location. Soon they'll muster their forces and attack you.”

“I can't believe I'm hearing this. There's no way they could find us. Have you given us away?”

“The Empress would never betray you. Even now she's thinking of ways to assist you. When the attack comes, Mr. Carmichael, you must be ready for it.”

Distikka glanced at a charcoal drawing by Picasso, and nodded appreciatively.

“And really, is it so bad? You've spent months, or years, unable to find all these important werewolves. Now they're all going to arrive on your doorstep. I'd say that's a good thing, as long as you're prepared.”

Mr. Carmichael didn't see it that way. He was aghast to learn that their headquarters might have been found. It was ingrained into the culture of the Avenaris Guild that they were untraceable. The news that they might not be was profoundly shocking.

“Nothing remains the same for ever,” said Distikka, reading his thoughts. “I repeat, it's not such a bad thing. When Kalix, Dominil, Thrix and their companions are all lying dead inside your building, you won't regard it as such a disaster.”

CHAPTER 117

Decembrius sat in his shabby armchair in his small rented flat in Camden, watching football on TV. He hadn't moved all day. Since the charity ball he'd spent all his waking hours in front of the television, before slouching off into his small bedroom where he slept badly, and woke up depressed.

Decembrius knew he suffered from depression. He sometimes had the uncomfortable feeling that, knowing this, he should be able to shake it off. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He'd never been able to. He could suffer the most serious depression for no reason. When something happened that was worth being depressed about—Kalix for instance—the extra pressure it added became almost unbearable.

The football provided some diversion. Decembrius liked football. But even as the match was in progress, he'd get a sudden unwelcome jolt, and he'd think about Kalix, off enjoying herself somewhere with her new boyfriend.

When the match finished Decembrius took the unusual step of phoning Dominil. He wanted to know how the hunt for the Guild was progressing.

“Quite well,” she told him. “I think we've found the building.”

“So we can attack?”

“Not yet. We have to receive clearance from the Great Council.”

For the first time Decembrius felt keen to attend a meeting of the council. “I'll be there. I'll vote we attack.”

Decembrius felt a little better after the conversation. At least something was happening. He looked forward to a confrontation with the Guild. He planned to rush suicidally into the Guild's headquarters and kill as many hunters as possible before they shot him down. As he sat on his own in front of the TV, he found that quite an attractive prospect.

When the moon rose he transformed into his werewolf shape without thinking about it, and remained seated, wondering how many werewolf hunters he might kill before they put a silver bullet through his heart.

“What did Decembrius want?” asked Thrix.

“He wanted to know if we've found the Avenaris Guild. He's eager for action. Eager enough to go to Castle MacRinnalch and vote at a council meeting.”

Thrix scowled. “Do we really have to bother with that?”

“Yes,” said Dominil.

“If the council doesn't want to attack, I'll do it anyway,” said Thrix.

“So will I,” said Dominil.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They sat at the large table in Thrix's living room. Thrix had a scroll open in front of her, and there were piles of very old books scattered around.

“This is difficult,” she said. “These spells of destruction are all ancient. None of them was designed to erase computer files.”

Thrix's idea of destroying the Guild had been vague, amounting to little more than entering their headquarters and killing everyone they encountered. It had fallen to Dominil to point out that this would not be enough.

“What does destroying the Avenaris Guild really mean?” she'd asked. “I'd say it means destroying not only people, but their records as well. There's no chance of us killing every single person associated with the Guild. Someone will survive. So we have to make sure they can never be effective again. We need to erase all of their knowledge of werewolves.”

Thrix had seen the wisdom of this, though it would be difficult. No doubt the Guild had a library which could be destroyed, but who knew what they had in their computers files? Dominil regarded it as a very difficult task to completely destroy all of the Guild's computer records. They could be located anywhere, on computers in the building, on laptops in hunters' homes, or on a server somewhere, or in a computer cloud. She'd turned her thoughts to the task of erasing them all.

“Do you think you'll survive this?” asked Thrix.

“Survive the attack? Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. We've been in some bad situations in the past few years. There was the feud with Sarapen. I thought we'd all die in that pub in Kentish Town. And then there was the opera in Edinburgh. I thought we'd die there too.” Thrix sipped from her glass of wine. “But we got lucky. We might not get lucky this time.”

“Our survival on these occasions does not influence our chances of survival on this,” said Dominil.

“Doesn't it? I'd say if you get lucky twice, the third time you probably won't.”

“Statistically, I would disagree,” said Dominil. She sipped her wine. “But even so . . . No, I'm not really expecting to survive. If we penetrate the heart of the Guild, there will be deaths. I hope we can do enough damage to make the sacrifice worthwhile.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Neither am I,” said Thrix. “But I'm probably going to die as well.”

“We're getting ahead of ourselves,” said Dominil. “We still haven't confirmed we've found the Guild.”

“We'll know tomorrow, when I work the Fairy Queen's spell. For a while I thought she wasn't going to help me.”

“Why not?” asked Dominil. “You've known her a long time.”

“I haven't paid her enough attention. She doesn't like that.”

Thrix picked up her glass. “To the Forests of the Werewolf Dead.”

“To the Forests of the Werewolf Dead,” echoed Dominil. They drank their wine, and carried on with their planning.

Kalix looked down at her small salad. She knew she couldn't eat it. Manny was eating a vegetable lasagna, one of the specials on the café's menu. Manny was cheerful, pleased with his new paint and pleased to see Kalix.

“I wish I'd seen you modeling!” he enthused. “You must have been a great model.”

“I was probably no good,” mumbled Kalix.

Manny leaned over and touched her hand. “Of course you were good. You'll probably get more offers.”

Kalix managed a weak smile. “Someone else did ask me to model for them.”

“You see?” Manny looked delighted. “You're so pretty. Who wouldn't want you modeling for them?”

Kalix came to a sudden decision. She had to tell Manny the truth. With Manny touching her hand, and smiling, and being funny and encouraging, she thought she sensed a faint ray of optimism. It would be unpleasant, but perhaps it wouldn't completely ruin everything. Manny might understand.

“So what else happened at the ball?” he asked.

“A clothes auction, and then a lot of people dancing.”

“What were the debutantes like?”

Kalix admitted she didn't really know. She hadn't talked to any of them. She leaned forward. “I have to tell you something.”

Manny grinned. “Yes?”

“After the ball I slept with my old boyfriend. I wish I hadn't done it. I'm sorry.”

Kalix had never seen anyone's expression change so quickly. Manny's grin disappeared to be replaced by an expression of anguish. Tears appeared in his eyes. “What?”

“I didn't mean it to happen. I thought I should tell you. I'm sorry.”

The tears began rolling down Manny's cheeks. He looked young and vulnerable, more like a schoolboy than a student. He stood up. “I can't believe you did that,” he said.

A few other diners looked round with interest.

“Don't ever talk to me again!” said Manny, and then ran out of the café.

Kalix sat where she was, staring at the table. She could sense everyone looking at her. She looked at her uneaten salad and Manny's vegetable lasagna. She felt frozen, incapable of movement. She couldn't even lift her head. She sat quite still for a long time. Manny's reaction had been worse than she'd feared. She'd thought he'd abuse her, and she'd take the abuse, and maybe manage to make it all right afterward. She hadn't thought he'd just burst into tears and run out the café.

Kalix wanted to leave but didn't think she had the strength. She was still frozen. Her mind went blank for a moment or two, then an image of Dominil came to her.

I wonder if she's found the Guild's headquarters?
Kalix imagined herself running into the building as a werewolf, tearing and rending hunters, killing them in droves before they finally shot her. She looked down at her chest, and imagined a silver bullet piercing her heart.