Simon straightened and forced the worry off his face. “Hibbert may have been stupidly involved with Gretta, and she killed him. We can hope that Imogen was just a bystander who was lucky enough to escape.”
“But we don’t know that,” Kate pressed. “She could’ve been involved in something she didn’t understand. After all, the homunculus was here for a reason. And it seemed to be Imogen. It could all come back to this Gretta Aldfather, yes?”
Simon took a deep breath. “Yes.”
The sound of bones creaking was audible as Kate squeezed her hands together. Her face was drawn, her mouth a slit of terror. Simon regarded her with sympathy.
Nick glowered at Simon. “This is exactly the sort of idiocy I was trying to avoid. It’s all well and good to wander around the city doing little magical chores. But we know the atmosphere has been growing more poisonous out there. We’ve been sensing it. There’s dark magic everywhere. And here it is writ as large and dark as possible. This is Gretta Aldfather and a pack of werewolves like no one has seen before. There is absolutely no reason to be involved in this, Simon. I told you we should stay in the shadows. Hungry sharks swim these waters and we’re bleeding like stuck fish out here! We’ve already done enough. This is far too big for us.” He pointed at Kate. “Who are these people to us?”
Simon remained calm even though he had never seen Nick so furious. “On the contrary, this is exactly the sort of thing we should be dealing with. This is why we’ve learned magic. Nick, we can’t turn our backs now. It isn’t just Miss Anstruther. All of London is at risk.” Simon offered his friend a questioning glance. “Once, I might have followed you into the shadows and left the work for others more capable. But not now. And that’s partly owing to what I’ve learned from you.”
“You never learned this sort of stupidity from me.” Nick fumed silently for a few moments, then said, “You’re not going to fight Gretta, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” Simon replied.
Malcolm crossed his arms. “Good.”
“Werewolves are savagely territorial.” Simon poured wine for Kate but looked at Malcolm, who sat at his right. The dining room was closed and the servants sent away. The meal was simple and the setting spartan. “How can they be together in such quantities?”
Malcolm ate like a starving man, seemingly disengaged from the conversation. He glanced up, chewing a chop. “From what I observed, Gretta has control of a sizeable store of wulfsyl.” He began gnawing the bone.
Kate set down her silverware. “Is she an alchemist? Even the best authorities have only limited understanding of wulfsyl.”
“I’ve no idea where she gets it, but I don’t take her for having such knowledge.” Malcolm tossed the bare bone onto his plate and scoured the serving trays for more food. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his jacket was hung on the back of his chair as if this were a communal meal at a coaching inn.
Kate said, “So wulfsyl allows the lycanthrope to control their transformation?”
“Hard to say.” Malcolm pointed for Nick to pass a plate of cheese. “I think they gain some control of their transformations as they age. I tend to believe they use wulfsyl to retain some sort of rational thought while they’re in beast form.”
Simon said, “That way they can remember what they did as an animal. What fun is slaughtering if you can’t recall the slaughter?”
Malcolm shrugged in agreement while spearing a hunk of cheese with his large dagger. “That’s why Gretta is so dangerous. She’s hundreds of years old, and she handles her berserker rages better than any other. She’s both brutal and rational.”
Nick shook his head. “She’s so hard to control that the Order of the Oak threw her in the Bastille a hundred years ago.” He grunted a laugh. “Bloody peasants stormed the place not knowing they were destroying the magic wards on the prison.”