transformed into her golden werewolf shape, though it was daytime. Thrix, now stronger, picked up Minerva with ease and marched away up the hill.
Dominil watched her go. She hadn’t known that Thrix’s sorcery allowed her to make the change in daylight.
Kalix still lay on the ground, wet and dirty. An ugly bruise was forming on her cheek where Thrix had slapped her. Dominil shook her head, helped Kalix back into the car, then drove toward the main road.
Distikka met Mr. Carmichael by arrangement at the Courtauld Gallery in the Strand in London. They had decided that it was best for her not to visit the Guild’s headquarters again, lest she give some clue as to their whereabouts. Distikka wore a large brown coat, covering her chain mail. It made her small figure look bulky.
“Minerva is dead,” said Mr. Carmichael.
“I know. I watched her die.”
“You are quite certain she was a werewolf sorcerer?” said Mr. Carmichael. “We had no records of her.”
“She was too cunning for you to have any records, but, believe me, Minerva was an important werewolf.”
“I hope so,” said Mr. Carmichael. “Otherwise we’ve just assassinated a harmless old woman on a mountain.”
The Hainusta Elementals had many powerful spells for spying. These were difficult to use on Earth, but the Empress, with her newly increased strength, had managed to spy on Minerva. Not directly on her retreat, but the area around it. Following her directions, the Guild had secreted a sniper in the valley.
“It was a good shot,” said Distikka.
Mr. Carmichael nodded. “It’s not so easy, using a silver bullet in a sniper’s rifle, but we have some excellent new hunters these days. I’m expecting great things from them.”
Distikka found herself wondering if killing werewolves counted as great things, but didn’t mention it. They paused beside a sculpture of a dancer by Degas.
“Minerva’s death will infuriate the MacRinnalchs,” said Distikka. “I’m confident they’ll do something rash, thereby exposing themselves to further action.”
Distikka examined the sculpture, one of a number of pieces by Degas in the gallery. “I like this,” she said.
Mr. Carmichael didn’t care for it, but he had never had much interest in sculpture.
“So what next?” asked the chairman.
“The Empress and I will attempt to locate more targets. London is full of werewolves.”
“What about Kalix?”
“Kalix is very well hidden,” said Distikka. “She carries a pendant of Tamol, given to her by Queen Malveria. It makes her impossible to locate by any known means. But other werewolves may lead us to her.”
Mr. Carmichael nodded. He was quite determined that the Guild would kill Kalix.
“And the other one you mentioned . . . what was her name again?”
“Thrix,” said Distikka. It was frustrating that Thrix’s sorcery was so effective in blocking all knowledge of her. Mr. Carmichael could never remember anything about her, no matter how often Distikka explained who she was. “She’s the most powerful werewolf in London. I hope Minerva’s death will madden her and bring her into the open.”
Mr. Carmichael looked at his watch. “I’m due back at the Red House.”
“The Red House?”
“It’s our code name for the Guild’s headquarters. No one could ever find it anyway, but you can’t be too careful.”
Mr. Carmichael left, with an arrangement to meet Distikka again in a week’s time. Distikka was not sorry to see him go. She was enjoying the gallery and he had been a poor companion.
“How is the head of the Guild?” asked Empress Kabachetka, stepping out unexpectedly from behind a display cabinet.
“Empress? I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I have business in London. My dress is not yet perfect.”
For the past week the Empress had been obsessed by the dress she was wearing to the fashion designers’ reception.
“It is of the utmost importance,” said Kabachetka, not for the first time. “Malveria will be in attendance, and if she eclipses me again I may declare war. Or have harsh words, at the very least.” The Empress found herself staring at the back of Distikka’s head. “Distikka, are you ignoring me?”
“I was looking at this sculpture.”
The Empress frowned. “How did it go with Mr. Carmichael?”
“Quite well,” replied Distikka. “He’s pleased to have killed an important werewolf.”
“I’m glad Minerva is dead,” said the Empress. “She was a nuisance, like all these MacRinnalchs. But she wasn’t that important. You told me she’d retired from clan affairs.”
Distikka nodded. “True. She had retired. But she was very important to Thrix. It’s the perfect start to my plan.”
They walked on. Distikka studied the sculptures while Empress Kabachetka looked at her own reflection in the glass cases. She too was finding her new extra-high heels a challenge, and was obliged to walk slowly. She frowned as they reached the end of the room and she saw that the next room also contained sculptures.
“Are these horrid statues everywhere?”
“There are paintings upstairs.”
“I have no wish to see paintings,” said Kabachetka. “I don’t like this gallery. One can tell that the people who visit do not care for clothes. You should not spend too long here, Distikka. You don’t have the sorcery to survive for long in this dimension.”
The Empress left, eager to see her London fashion adviser. Distikka remained behind, calculating that she had enough time left to see some of the works by Matisse and Henry Moore before she had to leave. Distikka liked the gallery. Before departing she picked up a leaflet giving details of their future exhibitions. She was disappointed to find that the leaflet didn’t survive the journey back to her own dimension. It took a lot of sorcery to carry any item undamaged from one dimension to another. However, she’d already memorized most of it, and resolved to visit more exhibitions in the coming weeks.
The Fire Queen knocked politely on Moonglow’s bedroom door. Moonglow answered it hesitantly and looked relieved to find Malveria there. The Queen slipped inside.
“I take it you are hiding from Daniel?”
“Sort of,” admitted Moonglow. “Everything has become very difficult.”
The Fire Queen nodded. “Vex informed me that you had crushed his aspirations, dealing him a savage blow.”
“I’m hoping it’s not that bad.”
The Fire Queen waved her arm dismissively. “It cannot be helped. If he is damaged by his passion, so be it. My realm is full of elementals whose hearts have been sundered by their hopeless passion for me. One does not like to brag, of course.” The Fire Queen smiled, but it quickly faded. “These days I seem to have little time for breaking hearts. I’m busy with government all the time, with hardly a moment to attend to my wardrobe. I wouldn’t be here had I not sneaked away from my advisory council.”
“But you’re the Queen. Doesn’t everyone have to obey you?”
“One would think so.” The Queen lowered her voice. “But I do not