The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf (65 page)

She wished she could be a werewolf again right now, to dull her depression, but it was still hours before the sun went down. Kalix looked out of her window.

“Stupid daylight,” she muttered.

She felt at a loss as to what to do. There just didn't seem to be any way of blocking her unhappiness over Manny.

I didn't know him that long! she thought. Why do I feel so bad? I didn't even want a boyfriend in the first place. It's all Vex's fault, she made me get involved.

Kalix growled, a low hostile growl that only a werewolf could produce. She stood up.

I need to do something. I'll go mad sitting in here
.

She looked at her supply of laudanum. She had enough to last her for a while but wondered if it might be a good idea to buy more. She put on her boots and coat, and then her headphones. Daniel had digitally transferred her old Runaways tapes into her new music player. Kalix liked the tiny music player. She was surprised to have anything so modern. She sneaked quietly from the flat, careful not to let anyone hear her go. She was scowling as she walked though Kennington but at least it felt better to be doing something.

The late summer weather was still too warm for her coat but Kalix wore it anyway. She liked the feeling of being wrapped up and protected from the world. She put her sunglasses on for more protection, and walked over Vauxhall Bridge. North of the Thames, she turned onto the steps that led down to the walkway along the riverbank. Just then, for some reason, she was overwhelmed by an attack of misery so crushing that she couldn't take another step. She wiped some tears from her eyes
and stood there feeling like a tiny, unloved, unlovable speck in a hostile universe.

Kalix, in the depths of her misery, was unexpectedly mowed down by a jogger coming down the stairs. She tumbled onto the pathway and landed in an undignified heap.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, didn't see you there.”

The jogger helped Kalix to her feet. Kalix glowered at the woman, who was wearing a sports vest and jogging pants. She looked healthy, lithe and muscular, with short dark hair. Kalix noted that she had an American accent.

“Are you OK?”

Kalix nodded. She stared at the woman, who looked familiar. “Are you Joan Jett?” asked Kalix.

“Yes.”

“Joan Jett from the Runaways?”

“Yes.”

“I'm listening to the Runaways right now,” said Kalix, motioning toward her music player.

“There's a coincidence.”

“It's nice to meet you,” said Kalix, who immediately wished she could have thought of something better to say.

“Nice to meet you too. Sorry I knocked you over.”

“What are you doing?”

“Jogging. Have to keep in shape.”

And with that, the jogger departed, running off along the riverbank.

I just got knocked over by Joan Jett
. Kalix watched the figure disappear.
She really looks healthy
. Kalix frowned.
I wish I was that healthy
.

She put her music player back on. The Runaways'
Live in Japan
was still playing. She wished she'd thought of something better to say to Joan Jett. She wondered what she was doing in London. Playing a gig, maybe.

The unexpected encounter had driven Manny from her thoughts.

I should get healthy, thought Kalix.

She abandoned her plans to visit Merchant MacDoig's, and turned back across the bridge, heading for home.

CHAPTER 126

Sarapen noticed a change in the Empress's demeanor. She no longer protested at his reluctance to share her sleeping chamber. She didn't mind if he went missing for long periods. She stopped complaining about his lack of interest in her affairs. At the same time he noticed court officials distancing themselves from him. Even those few who'd sought his friendship were now withdrawing.

The Empress is bored with me, and these people know it
.

Sarapen was briefly pleased. Perhaps she'd finally send him home. He still didn't know if he'd survive on Earth but he was willing to take the risk. He'd been trapped in this palace for far too long, surrounded by elementals he didn't especially like, wooed by an Empress he didn't care for.

Sarapen thought about his old keep in Scotland, the ancient family building he'd carefully renovated. He remembered the pleasure of hunting stags on his land, and prowling the forests at night.

The Empress isn't going to send me back, he realized. Her vanity won't allow it. His failure to respond properly to the Empress's advances was a deadly insult. She wasn't just going to send him on his way. She'd kill him first. Sarapen knew it wouldn't take much for the Empress to get rid of him. All she'd have to do would be withdraw her sorcerous protection. In the harsh, burning environment of the Fire Elementals, he'd shrivel and die in no time.

He thought about Dominil. She'd agreed to help. Sarapen knew she'd keep her word. She'd try to rescue him. But realistically, how could she? Werewolves could not cross dimensions like elementals. Even if they could, how could she reach him here in the palace?

Still . . . if anyone can work it out, it's Dominil, he thought. She might manage it. Though I doubt the Empress is going to wait much longer.

His thoughts turned toward Castle MacRinnalch and, inevitably, his brother Markus. Sarapen still hated him.

Some day the MacRinnalchs will regret they elected him as Thane
.

At Castle MacRinnalch, Markus was giving no thought to his departed brother. He'd rarely thought of him since his funeral. Sarapen was still sadly missed by some werewolves, but in the past months Markus's
own popularity had been growing. He was friendly and approachable, and he gave the impression of working hard for the clan, an impression that was boosted by the assiduous support of his mother. Not only had Markus shone at several important charitable events, he'd provided work for many local werewolf businesses through his contacts in Edinburgh. He'd persuaded the Great Council finally to release funds for drainage improvements in the marshland that ran between the lands of the MacGregors and the MacAllisters. As if that was not enough, the Mistress of the Werewolves had let it be known that her son had decided it was time the clan's records were organized properly, and was already hard at work on the task.

Markus had been busy with the database, and was consequently a little deflated when Dominil called to tell him she'd tracked down the Avenaris Guild without his help.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thrix has confirmed it.”

Markus put his disappointment aside. This was momentous news. “We have to act quickly.”

“Thrix will give a report at the next council meeting,” said Dominil. “That's only two days away.”

“Shouldn't you do it?” asked Markus, who knew that a report from Dominil would be clearer and more concise.

“I'm still in disgrace in certain circles.”

Markus couldn't contradict her. Dominil's fall from grace hadn't been forgotten by his mother, or the barons.

“Dominil, you've really done well. I'm grateful. Everyone will be.”

“I hope so,” said Dominil. “Thrix is uncertain that the council will be keen to attack.”

“I'll get it through the council,” said Markus.

CHAPTER 127

The next day Dominil consulted her iPad as she ate breakfast. She'd made a list of five people she needed to talk to: the twins, Merchant MacDoig, the Fire Queen and the Fairy Queen. She intended to take care of the first
four today. Tomorrow she'd travel to Scotland where she could visit the Fairy Queen. Summer was now turning into autumn but while London remained warm, Dominil noted it was already much colder in the north around Castle MacRinnalch. She had experienced many bitter winters in her youth.

She had arranged to meet the Fire Queen in the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, refusing the Queen's offer to visit. Dominil guarded her address closely, and received no visitors. She arrived at the gallery early, hoping to have time to look around the Renaissance rooms before the Fire Queen arrived. It turned out that she had plenty of time. The Fire Queen was late, failing to appear at the gallery's restaurant as arranged. Dominil walked round several more exhibition rooms before returning to the restaurant. Again, there was no sign of the Fire Queen. Dominil was irritated by the Queen's poor timekeeping. It wasn't till her fourth visit to the restaurant that Malveria appeared.

“You're late,” said Dominil.

“I'm a Queen,” said the Fire Queen, deeming that to be a sufficient explanation. She put a hand to her temple. “With something of a headache. Really, one is upset with DeMortalis. The man will insist on music, banquets and wine. And there is no getting him away from the card table. The gambling is quite shocking. Could you order me one of those nice little almond cakes, and some coffee?”

Dominil did as requested.

The Fire Queen looked around her. “This restaurant is rather bland. I had expected better in the National Gallery. I take it we are meeting here because you enjoy the art?”

Dominil nodded.

“I would not claim to be a great art lover,” said the Fire Queen. “Though I did donate a painting to this gallery, a long time ago.”

“You donated a painting?”

“Yes. By Caravaggio. He gave it to me as a gift, but really, there was nowhere to hang it in my palace, and it would have wilted in the heat.”

Dominil stared at the Fire Queen. “You met Caravaggio?”

“There is no need to sound so surprised, Dominil. I have encountered many interesting mortals in the course of my life. He was a handsome young scoundrel, always fighting when he wasn't painting.” The Fire Queen smiled. “I could tell you some stories about him. But another time, as I sense you are busy.” The Fire Queen nibbled on her almond cake. “So. About Sarapen.”

Dominil looked surprised. The Fire Queen was pleased. “Surely you did not think you could tell me some tale of a werewolf in the Empress's palace without me quickly realizing who it must be?” The Queen lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Is this really something you should be keeping from your clan?”

“I made a promise.”

“My intelligence services have been making enquiries. Do you know he's been the Empress's lover?”

“I imagined as much.”

“It's not thought that he is the most enthusiastic partner. There has been gossip in the servants' quarters.”

“Can you bring him back?” asked Dominil.

“Possibly.”

“Will he survive?”

“That is difficult to say. The strike from the Begravar knife should have been fatal. The Empress has healed him, but whether the healing is permanent or would fade on his return to Earth, there is no telling.”

“He has no real choice than to make the attempt,” said Dominil.

“Indeed not. The Empress will get rid of him if she's bored. But does it not worry you, bringing him back? He is your enemy. Letting him die would benefit you.”

“I can't abandon a MacRinnalch.”

The Fire Queen smiled. “You used to be lovers, yes?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

The Fire Queen was still smiling as she drew a red brooch from her handbag. “Elementals who are poor travelers occasionally use the jeweled pathways. I could provide you with a simple form of this sorcery. This brooch will act as a target. If Sarapen has a similar jewel, he will be able to step through dimensions.” The Fire Queen kept hold of the brooch as she spoke to Dominil. “Needless to say, it is a rare piece of sorcery. That brings us to your payment.”

“Which is?”

“I'm finding it difficult to decide.”

“Really.” Dominil looked the Fire Queen in the eyes in a way that few people ever did. The Fire Queen was not troubled by Dominil's intense gaze, though it did nothing to endear the werewolf to her. “Would that be because you're looking for some price which would be humiliating or annoying for me?” asked Dominil.

“It may be.”

“Perhaps it's time for you to move past that,” said Dominil.

“I do not understand your meaning.”

“Instead of treating bargains as things that are amusing but ultimately bring you no benefit, why not ask for something you need?”

The Fire Queen regarded Dominil with suspicion. “That does not sound very amusing.”

“But it would be practical. I suggest you give me what I require, and in return I'll tutor Agrivex through her next year at college.”

“Tutor Agrivex?”

“Unless someone does, she won't pass. I'll make sure she does.”

The Fire Queen pondered Dominil's words for a moment or two, and frowned. “Really, Dominil, you are taking all the enjoyment out of this. A bargain with the Fire Queen is generally meant to lead to a broken heart, or some other misfortune involving unforeseen complications. You seek to reduce it to a simple matter of commerce. Am I a tradesman, to simply sell you what you want?”