“I’m sure Butix and Delix will take up their positions in due course,” said Verasa smoothly. “Perhaps when they’re a little older.”
“Decembrius will be here next month, I’m certain,” said Lucia.
No one believed her, though no one was rude enough to say it.
“Perhaps Marwanis . . .” began the Mistress of the Werewolves.
Young Baron MacAllister laughed. He’d seen his father and his brother killed in the deadly feud. “Marwanis isn’t coming back. And, incidentally, she tells you all to go to hell.”
Marwanis had been a strong supporter of Sarapen. She’d left the castle in fury after his defeat, and now resided at Baron MacGregor’s keep. Verasa had made several peaceful overtures to her, none of which had brought any response.
“As for Kalix—” began Tupan.
“Enough of this!” roared Thrix, and slammed her palm into the table, causing it to vibrate. “Minerva was murdered and I want to talk about it!”
There was a surprised silence.
“We’ll get to it—” said the Mistress of the Werewolves.
“I want to talk about it now!”
Verasa looked toward Rainal.
“We could alter our agenda—”
“Good!” Thrix rose to her feet and leaned forward so that the long blonde hair around her shoulders hung on the table.
“The Avenaris Guild killed Minerva. I want revenge. We’ve backed off for too long and now this has happened. We should have moved against them long ago.”
Thrix turned to look accusingly at her mother and her brother. “The clan thought it was safe because the Guild was far away in London. So we let them get away with the occasional werewolf killing for the sake of not getting ourselves involved in a war. For a quiet life. Because you’re all so worried about the outside world intruding into your cozy little castle. Well, now they’re almost here. If the hunters can kill Minerva on her mountain then they can strike anywhere. We have to take action.”
Thrix slammed her paw on the table again. “I’ll be taking action anyway. But I’d prefer if the clan helped.”
Baron MacPhee spoke. He was a huge, rotund figure, with a deep voice to match. “Before discussing action, could we have a report? All I know is that Minerva’s been killed. I haven’t heard how it happened.”
“She was shot,” said Thrix. “A rifle, I think, which is unusual.”
“Didn’t she have spells protecting her?” asked Tupan.
Thrix looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he was hinting at disapproval for Minerva’s sorcery.
“Minerva had retired. She rarely used magic for anything. She’d gone beyond it. She was living out her life peacefully.”
“What did you find when you examined the area?” asked Markus. Thrix’s forensic skills were well known. The Enchantress could learn a lot about any werewolf death by studying the surroundings.
Thrix sat down. “I didn’t really examine the area. I was too upset. I took Minerva back to the top of the mountain and then I . . .” She fell silent.
“So you didn’t see any trace of her attackers?” asked Markus.
“It wasn’t Thrix who discovered the body,” said Dominil. “It was me.”
There was some surprise at this. Tupan turned to his daughter. “You found Minerva? What were you doing there?”
Dominil didn’t answer. There was a long pause.
“What were you doing there?” asked Tupan again.
“I’d rather not say.”
“This is unsatisfactory,” said the elderly Baron MacGregor. “How can we discuss it if we don’t know the circumstances?”
Thrix’s temper welled up again. “Dominil took Kalix to see Minerva because Minerva was going to help her get off laudanum,” she said. “But Kalix took an overdose on the way so they were late arriving. Minerva was left on her own, waiting for them. An old woman without any protection. That’s when she was killed.”
“Ah,” said Tupan. “Kalix.”
There was muttering around the table. No one was surprised to learn that Kalix had been involved. She was outlawed and known to be insane. The Mistress of the Werewolves sat stony-faced, not wishing to hear ill of her youngest daughter, but Thrix’s eyes blazed with anger.
“Yes, Kalix! Kalix and her laudanum addiction caused further destruction!” Thrix raised her paw and there were several swift moves by werewolves to steady their glasses of whisky before she crashed it on the table again.
“She’s always been a disgrace,” said Baron Douglas MacAllister. As the youngest baron, with strong reason to resent Markus and Verasa, he was more willing than most to voice his feelings, and not sorry to have an opportunity to criticize Verasa’s family.
“My daughter is not a disgrace,” said Verasa quietly. “She’s had troubles, but she is not a disgrace. And she is not insane.”
“But she is banished,” said Douglas. “She shouldn’t have been visiting a clan member in Scotland.”
“Kalix was with me,” said Dominil. “As a member of the council, I’m entitled to take a werewolf anywhere, even one who’s banished. I judged the journey worthwhile.”
“It seems to have gotten Minerva killed,” said Douglas. “She’d never have come down from her mountaintop if she hadn’t had to treat her for laudanum.”
“That’s not entirely fair,” said Dominil. “Kalix wasn’t the only one needing treatment.”
There was a long silence while the assembled werewolf council digested this.
“What exactly do you mean?” asked the Mistress of the Werewolves eventually.
“I’m also addicted to laudanum. I made the initial approach to Minerva. I asked her if she could help me. Then I asked Kalix if she would like to accompany me. So the responsibility for bringing Minerva from her mountain rests with me.”
In the long, astonished silence that followed, the only sound was the crackling of the great log fire. Everyone stared at Dominil with disbelief.
Markus eventually spoke. “Dominil, you’re telling us you’re addicted to laudanum? Is this just some way of protecting Kalix?”
“No. I am addicted.”
“But you’re not. You can’t be.”
“I assure you I have been for some years now. I’ve controlled it to the extent where I’ve kept functioning. But I am an addict, and take the substance every day.”
Dominil had not looked forward to confessing her addiction to the council. She was aware of the shock it would cause. The barons looked aghast. The Mistress of the Werewolves, who had the highest regard for Dominil, looked like she’d been struck a blow. Markus’s werewolf jaws were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t think of anything to say. As for her father Tupan, he was leaning away from her in his chair, as if trying to distance himself from his own daughter. That Dominil, known as the most intelligent, least passionate and most self-controlled werewolf in the clan, should share a substance addiction with Kalix was unbelievable. Kalix’s addiction was shameful enough but had been rationalized by the clan as part of her