"Maybe. But did you have to report Mr. Carmichael for claiming an extra night at the hotel in Brussels?"

"Why not? He did claim for an extra night. He wasn't the only one. Every member of the board padded their expenses last year."

"They were minor infractions," said Easterly. "Nothing to get too worked up about."

"When I'm asked to check expenses, I check expenses," said Albermarle, stiffly.

"Even if it means reporting the entire board?"

"If they've all claimed too much, then yes."

Easterly sighed. He was beginning to understand why the board of directors had agreed to let Albermarle go into active service as a werewolf hunter, despite his clear unsuitability for the task. "I doubt they'll be attending your funeral," he muttered and walked off, shaking his head.

Captain Easterly had come to the gym to clear his head. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he'd woken up with his mind completely fogged. He had a vague idea that he'd been on a date the night before, but he couldn't remember anything about it. It was very strange. Had he drunk too much? Even if he had, it was very odd for his memory to be so affected.

If he had overindulged, his body felt no ill effects. His exercise went well, and the whole episode had almost disappeared from his mind by the time he returned to his apartment upstairs. He showered, shaved, cleaned his teeth, and was dressing when he opened his wardrobe to select a shirt. He was startled to see a picture of a woman staring out at him. An attractive woman, with a lot of blond hair. Who was it? Who put the picture there?

Easterly gazed at it, and his memory began to return. Not in a flood, but slowly. That was the woman he'd been on a date with. She was a werewolf. Her name was Thrix MacRinnalch. But she was a powerful sorceress as well as a werewolf. Her spells of bafflement were such that any hunter who got close found himself unable to retain any memories. Princess Kabachetka had given him the picture as an aide to his memory and had worked some sort of spell of her own, enabling him to penetrate the enchantress's defenses.

Easterly stared at the picture, trying to recapture images of the night before. He'd gone out to dinner with her. Apart from that, he couldn't remember much. Apparently the princess's assistance wasn't strong enough. He'd have to ask her to boost it. He stared at the picture and felt a great loathing well up inside him. He hated werewolves, and he hated this one more than any other. As he selected a shirt and closed the door of the wardrobe, he swore he'd kill her.

CHAPTER 65.

Sarapen's funeral was a very quiet affair. Though he'd been the Thane's eldest son and a notable werewolf, his last actions had been war and rebellion against the clan. He was due his plot in the family graveyard, but there was no reason for an elaborate ceremony. The Mistress of the Werewolves wanted the affair performed with due dignity, but quickly and quietly. The only other attendees, apart from the castle chaplain, were Thane Markus, Verasa's sister Lucia, Kertal, and Kurian. Those were the council members currently residing at the castle. No one else was informed or invited.

Princes Kabachetka had delivered the body as promised but had withdrawn before the service. She waited in Verasa's private chambers, in the west wing of the castle. It was an anxious wait. If it were to be discovered that the body currently being buried wasn't Sarapen, it would be very awkward. The princess was prepared to fly at a moment's notice, not relishing the prospect of fighting a gang of angry werewolves in their own castle. She had poured all her sorcerous knowledge and power into the altering of the body. It should stand up to examination. It might not have fooled Doctor Angus, the werewolves' physician, if he were to examine it, but Angus was in Edinburgh, and Verasa had no desire for a medical examination. It probably wouldn't have fooled Thrix, but she was far away in London. The princess knew the enchantress would never show enough interest in clan affairs to examine the body. Once it was interred, she was safe. Not only that, the princess would then be considered a valued friend of the MacRinnalchs, if Distikka's calculations proved correct.

"None of them are really sad over Sarapen anyway," thought the princess, as she waited. "His family members were his enemies."

Given the princess's own feelings towards Sarapen, which were still strong, it didn't endear them to her. The Mistress of the Werewolves was obviously a calculating woman. As for Markus, the princess's impressions of him had been very unfavorable. Good-looking, in a feminine sort of way, but that was hardly an attribute for a leader. "It's amazing that this clan could select him ahead of Sarapen," she mused, her opinion of werewolves lowering even further.

The midnight funeral did not last long. No music played. The clan bagpipes were not called for, nor was the procession of torchbearers. Sarapen was buried quietly in the plot of land reserved for the Thane's family, and Verasa and Markus returned to the castle with the air of werewolves who had performed a necessary task satisfactorily. Sarapen had been decently buried. Clan honor was secured.

As they entered the castle, Verasa was somber, but if Markus felt the slightest sadness over the interment of his brother, he didn't show it. They were both sincere in their thanks to the princess for the return of the body. Both had been impressed by the princess's manners, charm, and sincerity.

"Perhaps I've been too harsh in my opinion of Fire Elementals," Verasa confided to her son. "The Hainusta may not be as objectionable as the Hiyasta."

Markus didn't regard Queen Malveria nearly as poorly as did his mother, but even so, he was charmed by the princess. Though her blond hair falling over her dark skin was unusual, she was soberly attired and had an air of respectability about her. She told them she was interested to find herself in Scotland for the first time and admired the castle building.

"Its strong lines remind me of home. Tell, me what are your great cities like? I've heard much of the beauty of Edinburgh."

"It's a fine city," Markus assured her. "I was there just last week, making preparations for our opera."

"Opera?" asked the princess. "What is this?"

"A charitable event my mother is hosting."

"It sounds fascinating," exclaimed the princess. "Please tell me more."

CHAPTER 66.

Is that all she told you?"

After Decembrius's encounter with Thrix, Kalix was dissatisfied. Decembrius didn't seem to have learned anything at all. "She examined the place. She must have found out something."

Decembrius spread his arms. "She says not. She thought it was probably the guild. Maybe a Begravar knife. And maybe there were werewolves there sometime, though she seemed evasive about that." Decembrius suddenly turned east out of Soho.

"Where are we going?" asked Kalix.

"I found an interesting place. You'll like it."

Though it was close to midnight, the center of town was still busy. Decembrius led them through the crowds and across Regent Street, where it became quieter. They walked past several small shops with men's suits in the windows. Tailor's shops, Kalix thought, though she couldn't read the signs.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Savile Row."

Decembrius surprised Kalix by abruptly changing into his werewolf shape and leaping up to a narrow window ledge far above them.

"Come on," he called down. "Before anyone sees us."

Kalix transformed and leapt after him. The two werewolves scrambled agilely up the side of the building, climbing several stories before finally coming to a metal fence. Decembrius clambered over it, followed by Kalix. She found herself on a flat rooftop, three stories above the ground.

"You like it?" asked Decembrius.

Kalix shrugged. She'd been on a lot of rooftops. There didn't seem anything to distinguish this one.

"This is the roof of the old Apple Building." Decembrius looked pleased with himself. "This is where the Beatles played their last live gig."

If Decembrius was expecting Kalix to be impressed, he was disappointed.

"It's a funny place to play," she said. "Couldn't they find anywhere better?"

"It was a famous event."

"Oh," said Kalix, sounding even less impressed.

It began to rain, quite gently, and Kalix noticed the temperature had dropped. As a werewolf child, Kalix had been completely impervious to the weather. She'd run through the valleys around Castle MacRinnalch in deep snow and hardly noticed it. These days she wasn't so immune to the climate.

"I thought you were taking me somewhere good."

"This is good," said Decembrius.

"I think it's stupid," said Kalix, and she decided that she didn't like Decembrius at all, which she'd known all along anyway. "I'm going home."

"Don't you want to discuss what Thrix said?"

"You didn't learn anything useful. You probably asked the wrong questions."

"Maybe you could have done better," said Decembrius, annoyed at Kalix for her ingratitude.

"Maybe I could."

"Fine. Solve it yourself."

"What do you care who killed Gawain anyway?" demanded Kalix.

The two werewolves faced each other on the rooftop in the rain. Kalix emitted a small growl then withdrew, climbing over the fence and making her way down the face of the building via a series of window ledges. When she reached the street below, she hurried away and didn't remember to change back to her human shape till she scented some people around the corner. She pulled up the collar of her coat and hurried past a group of young people carrying guidebooks.

"This is where the Beatles played their last gig," she heard one of them say. Kalix shook her head. She still didn't see why that was of interest to anyone.

The night bus was almost empty, and the journey through the quiet, dark streets was quicker than normal. Kalix reached Kennington in twenty minutes and hurried off of the bus. From habit, she scanned the area and smelled the air, checking for signs of pursuit. Though her pendant masked any sign of her scent and the sorcery provided by her sister hid her house from hunters, there had been a time when the streets of Kennington had been full of people pursuing her. It was still wise to be careful. Kalix didn't intend to let herself be ambushed while there was vengeance to be taken for Gawain.

She was relieved that neither Moonglow nor Daniel were around when she arrived home. She wanted to think about Thrix's conversation with Decembrius. She was sure her sister was lying about something. Maybe if she wrote everything down, she'd find some clue. Unfortunately, her small bedroom wasn't empty. The cat was there, a tiny bundle of dark fur.

"Go away," said Kalix.

The cat purred, pleased to see her.

"Go away, you stupid cat," repeated Kalix, dropping her coat on the floor and kicking off her old boots. When she sat on the bed, the cat leapt into her lap and started turning this way and that, apparently quite excited to see her.

Kalix was perplexed. Dogs were always nervous of her, and she'd assumed that cats probably would be too. This cat seemed to like nothing better than trampling all over her.

"I'll show this stupid cat," thought Kalix. She changed into her werewolf shape and opened her mouth wide, displaying her alarming rows of long sharp teeth. "You see how fierce I am? Go away before I eat you."

But the cat apparently didn't feel in any danger of being eaten and indeed seemed even more comfortable than before, snuggling down in Kalix's long werewolf fur. Kalix sighed and gave up. Obviously the cat was too stubborn to leave. She sat back on the bed and took her journal from her bag. She sipped some laudanum and thought about making some notes, but now she was home, she felt tired. She could already feel the opiate dulling her senses.

"I'll make notes in the morning." Kalix stretched out on the bed, but something was wrong. She couldn't get comfortable. She looked up. "Stop hogging the whole bed you stupid cat! How much bed does a small cat need anyway?" Kalix pushed the cat out of the way. The cat meowed briefly in protest before moving back to settle down comfortably on Kalix's werewolf fur, and then it fell asleep, purring heavily.

CHAPTER 67.

Stumbling into their house at three in the morning, Beauty and Delicious were surprised to find a large white wolf sleeping on the couch. Surprised, though not shocked; many MacRinnalch werewolves could take on the shape of a full wolf. Delicious swayed a little as she studied Dominil's sleeping form. "I wish I could do that."

The twins' degenerate lifestyle had robbed them of some of their werewolf powers. Neither of them could take on the full-wolf form anymore. Even the simple werewolf transformation was often too difficult. Though most of their contemporaries could transform on any night, the twins generally had to wait for the full moon. It was peculiar, as Beauty had said only recently. Almost as if continually binging on drugs and alcohol could have affected their metabolism in some mysterious way.

"Is this reasonable behavior?" demanded Delicious. "What if she wakes up and attacks us?"

It wasn't such a ridiculous notion. Changing into a wolf was different from changing into a werewolf. The intellect became blurred. A MacRinnalch in full-wolf form tended to become completely animal, forgetting their human identity until the morning came.

"At least she doesn't look so weird." Beauty sat down heavily, as the night's intake of alcohol caught up with her. "I mean, the white werewolf thing is pretty strange. It's like living with a yeti."

"She's strange enough as a human."

The white wolf opened one eye and growled faintly.

"Hey, are you about to get savage?" asked Beauty, eying the wolf suspiciously.

The wolf looked angry then changed abruptly into werewolf form. Seconds later, there was a further change, and the human Dominil sat on the couch, regarding them coldly. "If I wanted to savage you to death, I'd have done it already."

"What's the idea of lying around on our couch being a wolf? It's dangerous."

"The full-wolf form does not diminish my intellect."

"Well, that's a surprise," said Beauty, and looked disgusted.

"The full-wolf form is very rejuvenating."

"It wouldn't be rejuvenating for us if you went crazy and started tearing up the place."

"I already told you. Even as a wolf, I retain my normal intellect."

"That didn't stop you from attacking us in the castle," said Beauty, referring to a well-remembered incident from their childhood when the twins, aged twelve, had knocked on the door of Dominil's chamber during Halloween, looking for some sort of treat. They'd found themselves confronted by a white wolf who'd claimed to be busy working on a computer program. The young twins, insistent on receiving chocolate and unwilling to withdraw, had soon found themselves pursued down the corridor by an angry wolf. Beauty and Delicious had resented it ever since.

Delicious opened a can of lager, took a sip, and sat down on one of their deep armchairs. "Well, while you've been lying around as a wolf-probably solving the world's problems-we've been busy. We got a gig."

"What?"

"For Adrian's birthday. He's hired a warehouse, and we're playing."