The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf. Martin Millar

      “No, but—”

      “So just discharge your stylists and find some new ones. Then you won’t have a problem. Is that the only reason you called me here?”

      Empress Kabachetka tapped her fingers on the armrest of her ruby throne, which twinkled from the reflection of the burning torches on the walls.

      “Distikka, you really must show me more respect. Had I not given you refuge after the failure of your coup against Malveria, you would now be a homeless refugee. Or dead, more probably.”

      “You asked me to come to your court. You asked me to be your adviser. So I’m giving you advice. But I’m not going around bowing and scraping like your other advisers and ministers do. And I’m not giving you only the advice you want to hear either.”

      The Empress glared at Distikka, then laughed. As a princess, Kabachetka had not successfully negotiated the hazards of life at court by being unable to adapt. In the few months that she’d been Empress, she’d come to appreciate Distikka’s qualities.

      “Would it really be a bad idea to execute my hairdressers?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, I won’t do it then,” said the Empress. “Though I’m sure they deserve it. Ash blonde is not that difficult to achieve, I’m certain.”

      The Empress leaned forward. “That, however, is not the reason I called you here. Now that the realm is more or less in order, it’s time I made progress with a few other matters. You are aware, of course, of my hatred for the Scottish werewolves on Earth, in particular Thrix MacRinnalch and her miserable sister Kalix?”

      Distikka nodded. The Scottish werewolves were one of Empress Kabachetka’s favorite topics.

      “It’s time for revenge. I’m going to destroy them with a plan of quite unparalleled cunning, a plan so intricate, devious and powerful that it will eradicate forever the dreadful werewolf sisters, and hopefully their annoying clan as well.”

      The Empress sat back in her throne and smiled happily at the prospect.

      “What is this plan?” asked Distikka.

      “I’ve no idea,” admitted the Empress. “I want you to come up with it.”

      “Ah.”

      “My best attempts to defeat these werewolves have gone wrong,” said Kabachetka frankly. “I admit I may not be the best planner. But you are good at it, Distikka. Cunning plans are your forte.”

      Distikka frowned. “My greatest plan was a failure.”

      The Empress waved this away. “You almost succeeded. It was a glorious scheme to overthrow Malveria, and you got very close. Much closer than I was expecting. Had Thrix MacRinnalch not interfered yet again, you might well have killed Malveria and taken the throne for yourself.”

      The Empress’s eyes flashed with angry golden fire at the thought of Thrix’s interference. She composed herself quickly. It was not the done thing to exhibit flames at court.

      “I have confidence in you, Distikka. I want you to think up some plan for revenge. I now control the Eternal Volcano, and my power is much greater than it was. In London, I have access to the guild of werewolf hunters. That ought to be enough to deal a deadly blow against the poorly dressed Thrix and the scrawny Kalix.” The Empress paused. “Scrawny is perhaps a little unfair. I rather admire Kalix’s slender physique. Remind me I have to step up my exercise program. I want Kalix punished. Can you do this?”

      “I’m sure I can,” said Distikka.

      “Excellent. Now leave me, Distikka. I have a nail appointment, and I have little confidence in my nail attendants. I foresee another very unsatisfactory session.”

CHAPTER 4

      The Fire Queen was noticeably maudlin when she arrived at her friend Thrix’s apartment. Never one to hide her emotions, she sighed loudly as she settled down on the couch.

      “Are you all right?” asked Thrix.

      “I am perfectly fine, my dearest friend. I have arrived here to watch the Japanese fashion show in excellent spirits.”

      Malveria sipped from a glass of red wine and sighed loudly again. The Enchantress smiled.

      “Tell me what’s wrong, Malveria.”

      “Really, nothing is wrong. Apart from the most trifling matter. But not a matter the Queen of the Hiyasta would trouble herself over.”

      Thrix gave a little shrug and settled down to watch the program. The first model was no more than halfway down the runway when the Fire Queen uttered another sigh.

      The Enchantress raised an eyebrow. “Malveria, stop sighing like a love-struck teenager and tell me what’s on your mind.”

      “Well, really, Thrix, I would not dream of mentioning it had you not dragged it out of me in such a brutal manner, but the truth is I’m feeling old.”

      “Old?” Thrix was very surprised. Though Malveria was many hundreds of years old—the Enchantress wasn’t quite sure how many—she was still far from elderly in terms of the Hiyasta, the most vigorous of whom could carry on brightly for thousands of years. Fire Elementals took a very long time to grow dim. “What brought this on?”

      “My appalling niece. Kalix has an eighteenth birthday party approaching. The foul Agrivex has plunged headlong into the affair, declaring herself to be eighteen too, which is accurate, more or less. She will now share the party.”

      The Fire Queen looked downcast. “Hearing them planning their eighteenth birthday made me feel very old. No doubt the party will involve much foolish behavior, and Agrivex will drink too much and make herself ill. But really, I cannot help feeling jealous.”

      “Jealous? Why?”

      “On my eighteenth birthday, I was hiding in a cave with a price on my head. Only good fortune and the assistance of Xakthan allowed me to escape.”

      “But you like these memories,” said Thrix. “You were facing hopeless odds and you defeated them. You became Queen.”

      “Eventually, yes,” agreed Malveria. “But it was a long, weary process and it took up my youth. I never had an eighteenth birthday party, or any sort of party. I was always running, hiding or fighting. And now, observing Agrivex, I suddenly wished that I had had some parties when I was a young girl.”

      The Fire Queen sighed again. “And now I feel old.”

      Malveria sank further into her armchair. “Look at that young model in her beautiful dress. I could not wear that. It is too young a style.”

      “You could wear it perfectly, Malveria,” said Thrix sincerely.

      “And now the model is pouting!” cried Malveria. “It is annoying!”

      “What’s wrong with pouting?”

      “Only young people can do it gracefully. Agrivex pouts furiously. Many days she does little else. But on me it would be unbecoming.”

      Thrix was quite certain she’d seen Malveria pouting many times, quite becomingly, and didn’t understand her friend’s gloom. Though the Fire Queen was prone to excesses of emotion, it was unusual for her to exhibit depression. She lapsed into silence in front of the television. Thrix caused the wine bottle on the table next to her to levitate, filling both their glasses, and they sat mostly in silence, only occasionally commenting on the fashions on display. From the kitchen came the faint hum of the air conditioning. Though it had been an indifferent summer in London, the clouds had cleared in the past week, ushering in an unexpected wave of heat that now hung over the capital.

      “There is much talk in the elemental lands of the new young Empress of the Hainusta,” said Malveria, suddenly.