The Curse of the Wolf Girl (65 page)

“He should be on stage.”

“They’re temperamental, opera singers.”

“They can be temperamental on their own time,” muttered Verasa, heading for Felicori’s dressing room. “Not on mine.”

Unexpectedly she bumped into Princess Kabachetka. Verasa regarded her suspiciously. She was a Fire Elemental after all. Not as dreadful as Malveria, certainly, but still not to be entirely trusted. “What are you doing here?” she asked the princess.

“I slipped away to rescue Mr. Felicori.”

“From who?”

“Queen Malveria, of course. It is she who detains him, undoubtedly.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can sense her aura from here. Who knows what she may be doing in his dressing room?”

Now quite alarmed, Verasa picked up the pace. She burst into the dressing room without knocking, fearing the worst. The sight that met her wasn’t quite as bad as she’d imagined. Malveria was seated on a small couch, weeping freely, while Felicori and his vocal coach were apparently trying to console her.

“Mr. Felicori! You’re due on stage.”

The singer looked apologetically towards Verasa. “I’m sorry. But my friend is quite distressed. We have been attempting to comfort her…”

As Kalix approached the dark doorway that led down to the cellar, she could sense the presence of several werewolves. The MacRinnalch scent was unmistakable. Beauty and Delicious were here, and a few others. But not, as far as she could tell, Dominil. She hurried down the stairs into a tiny corridor lined with posters advertising obscure local bands. She knew immediately that the young man sitting at the table taking money was a werewolf. She grabbed him by the throat and bared her teeth. “Where’s Dominil?”

Cameron MacRinnalch shrank from Kalix’s grasp. He’d never met Kalix, but he recognized her immediately from her reputation. Stories of her madness circulated in the clan, stories that grew bloodier in the telling. She’d killed three huge MacAndris werewolves, Sarapen’s bodyguards, cutting them down in an instant. She’d massacred any amount of werewolf enemies at the great battle in London. Kalix had killed werewolves and men from one end of the country to another, and now she was here, with madness in her eyes and the stench of blood seeping from her hidden wounds. Cameron wilted under the terrible strength that flowed from her skinny frame. “She left!”

“Where did she go?”

“The opera!” Cameron felt desperate. He was strong like any MacRinnalch but young and unused to fighting. He knew Kalix could kill him. “The opera at Andamair House.”

“The charity event?”

Cameron nodded, and looked terrified.

Kalix let go of his throat. She growled. So Dominil had gone to Andamair House. Kalix had been there as a child. It was some distance away. She didn’t know the bus routes. Perhaps she could take a taxi.

From inside the cellar came the raucous sound of Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, pounding out a disjointed version of “Vile Werewolf Whore,” one of the songs they’d written about Dominil. The smell of Kalix’s blood and the strength of his own fear gave Cameron MacRinnalch a desperate yearning to take on his own werewolf shape. He struggled against it, fearing that Kalix would kill him if he did.

“I need money for a taxi.”

“Take this,” said Cameron, desperate for Kalix to leave. He thrust the metal box containing his takings towards her. Kalix scooped up some notes, stuffed them into her pockets, and ran back up the stairs, her hair and coat flying behind her. Behind her, Cameron MacRinnalch shuddered. He regretted putting on the gig. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks was terrible, and Kalix was worse. The encounter left him shaken. He’d never met a werewolf like Kalix before. She wasn’t civilized. She was violent and insane. Yum Yum Sugary Snacks came to a grinding halt midway through a song. There was a terrible cacophony of jeers, screams, and feedback. Cameron shuddered again. Perhaps he should forget about promoting music and just concentrate on his studies.

Please leave this dressing room,” demanded the Mistress of the Werewolves. “Mr. Felicori is late on stage.”

The Fire Queen regarded Verasa with dislike. She resented anyone ordering her about. Nonetheless, realizing that this was not the best place for an argument, she withdrew as gracefully as she could.

“I knew it was a mistake to attend this event,” she muttered as she left. “I shouldn’t have let the Mistress of the Werewolves talk me into it. The MacRinnalchs cannot be trusted to behave in a civilized manner. And what are you doing in my presence, Kabachetka?”

“Assisting you to walk straight. How much champagne did you consume?”

Malveria eyed her with loathing. “You may have defeated me in the matter of shoes, but that does not disguise your—” She halted. She couldn’t think of a suitable insult. The shoe upset and the champagne seemed to have erased her imagination. She scowled and made to depart.

Behind her, the princess steeled herself and almost lost her nerve. If she didn’t get this part right, the whole plan would fail, and disaster would follow. Princess Kabachetka sent all her power into her aura, rendering it impossible to read, or so she hoped. The Queen of the Hiyasta had great powers when it came to interpreting auras. “On the other hand,” thought the princess, “she is full of champagne and disappointment. It’s now or never.” She reached forward, lightly tapping the Fire Queen on the shoulder.

Malveria spun around. “What do you want, vile Princess?”

“To say goodbye.”

Malveria’s expression brightened. “Are you leaving?”

“No. But you are. Leaving your throne, that is.”

“Pardon?”

“Distikka is at this moment taking over your realm. She belongs to the royal blood, being the granddaughter of your forgotten brother Gravan. She can control the volcano and will be in charge by the time you arrive back.”

If the princess expected the Fire Queen to leap in alarm, she was disappointed. Malveria merely narrowed her eyes and studied the princess very closely. “What is this nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense. No doubt you can tell from my aura I’m telling the truth.”

“I can tell from your aura you’re using all your power to prevent it from being read.”

“I’m also telling the truth. Distikka is your relative. She claims power over the volcano and the throne. By the time you get home, she’ll be Queen.”

Malveria put her face close to her rival’s, scanning it. “Why would you tell me this?”

“To laugh at you before you die.”

Malveria stepped back, snapped her fingers, and dematerialized. The princess smiled and walked back into the main hall where Felicori was now in full song, the glory of his opening aria making the audience forget that they’d had to wait.

“Goodbye Malveria,” muttered the princess. “By the time you make it through the barrier I’ve set up, Distikka really will be in control. And now, Enchantress, while the queen is away, it’s time to deal with you.”

It bothered the princess that, in this realm, the enchantress was probably her equal in power. Thrix was undoubtedly prepared for any piece of Hainusta sorcery, at least any piece that could be brought to Earth.

“But you are not prepared for the sorcery of your old teacher, are you?” she muttered beneath her breath as she slipped back into the main auditorium. Minerva MacRinnalch’s work was fascinating. Particularly her spell for producing a false eclipse of the moon.

At the far end of the hall, the princess saw Markus MacRinnalch leaving the building, apparently in pursuit of some woman.

“You will suffer too,” thought the princess, maliciously, though she didn’t really care about Markus. Thrix and Kalix were her main targets.

The princess muttered a short sentence, speaking Minerva’s spell.

“The werewolves may find it much more painful than a normal eclipse, being unnatural, and wrenched through the fabric of time, as it were. Now I really must sit down. Mr. Felicori seems to be in excellent form.” The princess made her way to her seat, apologizing sweetly to the people she disturbed on the way.

* * *

The enchantress was relieved when Felicori finally appeared on the stage. After the effort her mother had put into the event, she deserved success. “If it goes well, she might not notice when I don’t turn up to the next council meeting.”

Captain Easterly slid his hand into hers, and they sat contentedly together, a couple who, while not exactly fans of the opera, were happy to be there together. Suddenly Thrix’s senses felt a tiny prickle of apprehension, followed immediately by a great wave of nausea. She struggled to remain upright in her seat. The nausea was overwhelming, and she fought to avoid throwing up over her evening dress. Thrix’s head swam. The pleasant haze brought on by Easterly’s company, the warmth in the room, and the champagne turned into a thick, dense fog that clouded her senses and made it difficult to even think. Thrix suddenly put her hand to her mouth and lurched forward.

“What’s the matter?” whispered Easterly.

“I’m going to be sick.”

Easterly didn’t hesitate. Showing no self-consciousness about making a fuss in front of the audience, he rose, took Thrix’s arm, helped her to her feet, then unapologetically pushed past the rows of seated people, taking Thrix with him.

“Take me outside, I need air.”

Easterly guided Thrix out.

“Oh God,” she thought, blearily. “Everyone will think I’m drunk.”

As Thrix and Easterly reached the door, Felicori soared to the conclusion of a piece from
Aida
. The audience burst into applause, and he bowed in the spotlight. Easterly supported Thrix as they made their way through the door that led to the gardens of Andamair House. Outside a heavy fog was swirling around the grounds.

“Take me where no one can see. There’s a maze on the other side of the lawn.”

Easterly hadn’t asked what was the matter. Thrix thought that was gallant of him, given that the only credible explanation was that she’d drunk too much.

“No one can see us here,” said Easterly, leading her to the edge of the maze and then a few yards inside. “Do you want to sit down?”

Decembrius hurried down the stairs into the cellar. From within the room below came an odd noise, a mixture of guitars, screams, and breaking furniture. At the foot of the stairs, he met Cameron MacRinnalch, whom he didn’t know but sensed immediately was a werewolf.

Cameron was aghast as Decembrius approached. Normally he’d have been pleased to welcome any fellow werewolf into the venue, particularly one with red hair, a leather coat, and multiple earrings. But Decembrius had a livid bruise on his cheek and several deep scratches on his face. Decembrius had regained his vitality, but his injuries would take longer to heal. “Is Dominil MacRinnalch here?”

“She left. Went to the opera.”

“Has Kalix been here?”

Cameron nodded. “She left too.”

Decembrius glanced towards the door. “What’s that racket?”

“I think the twins might be fighting with the audience.”

Decembrius grunted and hurried back up the stairs. His car was double-parked, and as he arrived, several drivers were gathering around in the narrow street, wondering who was responsible for the obstruction. Decembrius brushed them out of the way without a word and set off towards Andamair House.

Seconds after he’d gone, Vex popped into sight on the street. She looked around her, smiled with satisfaction, and trotted down the stairs.

“I finally got here. You’re a werewolf, right?”

Cameron regarded her suspiciously. As this latest visitor wasn’t a werewolf, there seemed no reason why she should have recognized him as one. “Who are you?”

“Vex. I’m a Fire Elemental.”

“I’ve never heard of Fire Elementals.”

“Oh…Well, here I am. Is Kalix here?”

Cameron shook his head wearily. He longed to be back in his halls of residence, studying quietly. There was the sound of breaking glass, then a guitar started up, and Yum Yum Sugary Snacks lurched into a frantic version of “Yum Yum Cute Boys,” another crowd pleaser. Judging by the accompanying noise from the audience, it appeared that half of them was enjoying the performance and the other half was rioting.

“I want to see the band!” cried Vex, and clenched her fists in frustration. “Can’t see the band. Have to find Kalix. Where is she?”

“She went to the opera. With everyone else.”

Vex held out her map. “Could you show me where it is?”

Cameron looked at Vex’s map, which had a section showing Edinburgh City Center. Unfortunately, it didn’t extend quite far enough outside the city to show the precise location of Andamair House. “It’s just a bit further than the last page. By the time you get there, you’ll probably be able to see it.”

“Okay.”

Vex leaned forward and kissed Cameron on the forehead.

He looked surprised. “Why did you do that?”

“I thought you were looking depressed,” said Vex, brightly. “Next time you put on Yum Yum Sugary Snacks, I’ll be here for sure. Bye!” Vex dematerialized.

Cameron MacRinnalch shrank back in his chair. “And I thought it was strange being a werewolf,” he muttered. “Tonight is really terrible. I wish that awful band would stop playing.”

The maze at Andamair House had hedges that were taller than a man. Once inside, a person was completely hidden from view. Captain Easterly led the enchantress in, as she asked him to.

Thrix had a fear of showing weakness in public and didn’t want anyone to see her so ill. She regretted at first that Easterly was with her and would rather have suffered alone. But as the freezing tendrils of the cloying fog brushed her skin, and as she felt the reassuring warmth of his body beside hers, she changed her mind and was glad he was with her. Easterly knew her well. If he assumed she’d simply overindulged in alcohol, that wouldn’t be so bad. He wouldn’t be outraged. She felt a moment of extra warmth towards him before almost doubling over with nausea.

“What
is
this?” wondered Thrix, desperately. “Illness? Sorcery? It feels like an eclipse, but worse.” She felt too poorly to think clearly and struggled to remain conscious. “I need to sit down.”