I awoke in the canopied bed in Wolf's Glen Manor, the pendulous rain falling like a ball gown across the thatched roof. Dawn – so early, twas simply a blush on Eos's gay face – peeked still through the sill.
Samael looked at me bemusedly, smiling in pride.
"So, you found your own way into Briah, past Abaddon and Dumah alike," he teased.
I blushed, hiding my face in the pillows. "You are not ashamed of me, are you?"
Samael belted a laugh. "Far from it, my Annis. In fact, I am rather proud. My girl is cunning, conniving – and has charmed the closest brother I have, my own dear twin Michael. You are well worth a Nephilim indeed."
I blushed. "I – I did not understand all that you said, but I have a passing familiarity with Jewish scripture and apocrypha. The Book of Enoch, is it? The man whose Kiss of Life you gave so that he could ascend to be Metatron. Enoch lived in the time of the Watcher angels taking women as brides, and their beastly Nephilim children that ate man, cattle, and crop..."
Samael winced. "Our child would be nothing like that. Nephilim conceived in lust are monsters. Nephilim conceived in love are perfection incarnate, given the sensitivities of mortals, and adamant strength of spirits. Yeshua was one. Not God, but half mortal, half of Gabriel. As for the fruit of our union..." he tucked a strand of white-blonde hair behind my ear. "I would not be surprised if David himself sprung from your womb."
"More like Samson," I joked, pecking him on the cheek. "Phew, so I did not upset you."
"You could never upset me, Abigail MacKay. Surprise me, yes – but the upsetting is left for your rambunctious soul. Dear Adonai, does she misbehave, going gambling in Shedim dens, getting boyfriends and girlfriends of Lilin and Seirim alike."
I flinched. "My soul is a strumpet!"
He winked. "All seventeen-year-olds are. There is not a handsome man or fair woman she does not fancy. Those souls touched by death behave in a much more libertine fashions than their own flesh and body. Think on it – you have had twelve years to mature. But part of you is stuck with immense power – that of a junior Reaper – and all the time in the world. Playing craps in Asmodeus' dens of iniquity is bound to happen to any curious lass-
"You let her gamble? Samael, we must discuss how you are raising my soul, much less how you will discipline our children!"
He flinched. "With... candy?"
I rolled over, laughing hard at the absurdity of him giving my soul the lollipop she had been sucking on. "Dear heavens, no! A stern hand is best with teenagers and young Nephilim alike!"
I beat the mattress, laughing. He scooped me up into his arms and tickled me.
"How about like this?" he teased as he tickled my collarbone.
"Mercy, cruel beast – hahahahha!" I laughed, tickling him back. We poked, caressed, and prodded each other, until he had pinned me. Suddenly, a great blush stumbled across Samael's pale olive cheeks as he found himself atop me.
I gazed into his kaleidoscopic blue eyes – so much like the sea! I bit my lower lip, nervous.
"You wanted... tea," he muttered as an afterthought, stroking my throat.
"I... you taste better than any black tea," I hiccupped. I hiccupped when nervous – blast it! Only Lleuwa had ever elicited hiccups in me before, both her and Samael full of frightful majesty.
"Tea can wait," Samael buzzed like a hive of jeweled honey. He leaned in, brushing his lips full flush against mine. I gaped, our tongues sparring as I sucked the zuhama black cobra poison of his lips that served as an aphrodisiac. This was halfway 'tween death, halfway 'tween life – full him.
"Samael, please, touch me here," I begged him, dragging his strong hunter hands to my bosom as I slipped my small, proud right breast out of the nightshift, crested with a gold-brown nipple.
He looked mesmerized, rolling the peak of my breast in his thumb and forefinger. I gasped, bucking my hips underneath him as he rolled it on his tongue, moaning.
"Abby... are you sure? How far shall we go?"
"No – nowhere 'neath the waist, that shall wait for the wedding," I groaned, overcome by warm heat pooling between my legs like a spilled wineskin.
What passed between us was best left for the sages.
We set out the next morning for Pottsmouth, chasing rumors of a strange kelpie. It had been a fortnight, and the full moon was about to awaken strange ghosts from the ancient Celtic raths and cairns that dotted the pastoral, rolling hills.
"How many sheep can one field contain?" Peter asked, his black skin shining in a riding suit. "Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Annis, is that an ewe, or just you?"
Annis laughed, blushing at his pun. "You – you are a jokester, my Peter Stonecroft."
Samael and I rode Sally and Marino in front, as Peter and Annis flanked us. We had our packs saddled with money, camping and hunting supplies, and holy relics necessary to take out a kelpie gone bad.
I spurred Marino on to canter alongside Samael's Tartarian mare, Sally. Hyssop and yarrow bloomed like great bucolic wreaths in the valley below. Pottsmouth was in a bustling river valley, known for its fresh buns made with Loch Linslear water.
"Sketch out the plot for me, my badger," Samuel said as we rode on ahead, leaving Annis and Peter to awkwardly coquette. "What strangeness of a kelpie lays ahead in Pottsmouth?"
He took my gloved hand in his and squeezed it as lilac sun rose over the crest of the Linwood Range.
"Tis a strange beast, this one," I admitted. "I have never witnessed a rogue kelpie that targets only teen boys. Typically, being male fey, kelpies prefer young women, either to make as brides or as a better food source - less muscle, more meat and fat on the bones. That the kelpie devours young men on the full moon almost reminds me of cultic activities. They say the water of Loch Linslear tastes oh so sweet due to the tears of the herds of kelpies' drowned maidens."
Samael's thin, angled lips set into a hard line. "Something foul is afoot. And I have only heard of one kelpie that feasts solely on young men."
"Who?"
Samael gazed out at the shuddering trees of the Linwood. "The Laird of All Kelpies, Silverhoof. Manannan's old steed that went mad off the blood of soldiers in the 100 Years War. But that can't be - Silverhoof is long dead.
I shuddered, bringing my clan tartan and badger pin mantle closer around me. "Whatever it is, it is hungry."
We rode all day until we came to the Bear and Shield, an inn Rosy's cousin ran. Annis and Peter were thick as thieves by the time we arrived and checked the luggage and horses. I kept my gun at my hip, discrete, and my MacKay tartan on - not that I would be recognized this far away. We had traveled a night and day. And let's just say, the towns surrounding Invermoore stuck to themselves out of fear of Uncle Puther and Aunt Redelia's bloodbath of a reign, never caring to acquaint themselves with Clan MacKay.
I supposed we were a threatening bunch.
A gaggle of university boys from St. Andrews were drinking and jostling each other - by the cut of their cloth and fine waistcoats, they were by the looks of them lesser nobility - the sons of minor Lairds and baronies.
Rosy's cousin embraced me, a sturdy middle-aged woman with blue eyes and a shock of white hair.
"Laird Black. Lady MacKay. And the Rangers of Invermoore. Rosy has told me much in her letters about you. Glad tidings indeed. I am Begonia - Nia for short. Here, here, some Trappist fare a silent monk from Belgium brought last fortnight." Begonia plied us with dark, nutty ale.
"Begonia, fair fortune to meet you," Samael bowed, hanging his cloak by the door. "What fine malt you have - and is that a bottle of sambuca from Abruzzi I see?"
Begonia winked. "Aye, Laird Black, 'tis. A Venetian Laird brought it a few years wayback."
"Shots of the sambuca with seven coffee beans for the hills of Rome, my Edom of old, for all four of us." Samael pulled out the bar stools for Annis and I and lightly traced the nape of my neck under my ashen braid.
"Fine taste, my distinguished friend," Peter winked, squeezing Annis' hand. It seemed they were on a thumb-to-thumb basis now - something my Black Annis had only dreamed about a mere month ago, before Samael arrived and brought great cheer to Invermoore Manor with him.
"Just like we used to pound back in the bookie circuit." Samael winked back. Quickly and precisely, Begonia poured the shots of Italian alcohol, the seven beans of precious coffee apiece floating in the glass, and Samael held them high in a broad toast.
"To ridding Linwood and Pottsmouth of this rogue beast!"
All of the inn cheered - except for the students.
"Aye, I'll drink to that - though I much rather prefer tea..." Annis echoed, pinched and held her nose shut, and swallowed. "Yikes, Oh, Peter! It burns!" She coughed, laughing.
The gaggle of noble students were growing rowdy - they eyed us in suspicion.
"Pay no mind to that lot," Begonia tut-tutted, polishing a boot for German beer. "Nothing but trouble, the rapscallions."
Samael steeled his gaze. "I remember all the mischief Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael and I got into at that age," he whispered to me. "Their auras reek of corruption."
I nodded, examining them more closely. "The smell faintly of magic. Magic..."
"And old blood," Annis completed, her green eyes burning. She put on her best flirtatious face and simpered over to the lot of nobles. "Boys, a girl grows awful lonely here. Care to buy me a drink?:
"Ah, Annie's old dig for information at ye olde pub. Always works like a charm," Peter explained under his breath to Samael. The men looked at her hungrily. Samael watched Annis' flirtations intently.
"So expert in her precision," Samael murmured, half-laughing. Intrigue was etched in his cut-glass eyes. "She is bold when she needs to be."
'Do not let me ever fall for her vixen facade, Abby, only Annie's true heart!" Peter thumped his chest, clearly drunk.
"I won't, fair Peter," I nodded, then used my dhampir's heightened listening to tune in.
"I like the looks of this slut," a pasty, strong boy said - the finest dressed. "Come, ride hobby horse on my knee, aye, pretty lass?" He bounced his leg in dirty suggestion, and the young men cheered him on.
Annis laughed, obliging - exposing her pale ankles in the process. The university students all cheered, pounding back drinks as she flirted with them, shifting so her ample bosom showed. I was jealous of the meadow of her curves. Samael had little to play with!
"S- so boys, I h- hear there is a great horror in Lock Linslear," Annis said naively. "Would you brave lads defend me, pray tell, were I to ever fall into trouble with this terror?"
Their leader, who was quite enjoying having Annis on his lap, spat some chewing tobacco onto the floor. "You have nothing to fear, pretty girl. We are out to avenge our brother who the kelpie slayed," he whispered into her ear. "But I can show you true magic - and your pretty blonde friend - delights of the sweetest kind on the banks of the Linslear tonight - just ditch the deadweight, low-born louses who accompanied you."
Ah, Annis had fished and struck a salmon of wisdom from Old Connla's well.
He handed her a scrawled note with the time and address, gave her bum a hard smack, then off she teetered to us, facade still at play until we folded her into our private seating.
"Pay dirt, those scoundrels. They were covered in the kelpie's last murder – either trying to protect, or sacrifice, innocent blood." Annis assessed, having gotten close enough to sense them. Samael and Peter formed a shield around us as Annis undid the note: "Look, the seal of the Hellfire Club, with a bar sinister. They are a bastard offshoot of the nefarious clique of magicians and Lairds in England and Edinburgh, who are probably callously dissecting the wulver I skinned with my own claws in the Sedgweood a while ago."
"I am in awe of their forthcomingness," Samael whispered, tucking the letters into his pocket.
"I - I often pose as a str- trumpet to lower me - men's defenses - they think my lisp an addled mind. Outside Invermoore, women are cruelly treated, and no one suspects we have our wits about us." Annis said callously. She tickled Peter's chin, clearly drunk. "Nothing like the kind men of Sedgewood - and the stable hand of Invermoore Manor in particular."
Peter steadied her, serious.
"So, Annis and I will go tonight to see what these Hellfire Club knockoff revels consist of, and you and Sam can wait in the wings out of sight. This may be a false lead. Samael and Peter, seek out the priest of the Episcopal Church for holy water. Annis and I must seek out more suitable clothes befitting an evening of debauchery, fresh bullets and perfume of harlots, and knives for our garters - small enough to go under stockings if it comes to that."
Samael kissed me: "Be safe, badger."
I kissed him back.
We settled our tab, put away our things, then Annis and I departed.