Chapter 3: Black Annis

Annis opened the violet shades over my black room the next morning. I groaned in bed, my night dress white and stained in sweat.

"My friend, it – it is time to get up. Cook Panetta has made just the most ah – amazing beetroot jelly stew and porridge of raisin, cinnamon, and oats for – for breakfast," Annis smiled, laying out a red tartan dress with emerald paneling and gold ribbon for me to wear on the vanity, alongside a black bonnet. "Look, my lady, t – tis the colors of Clan MacKay. I even have the b – badger pin your mother gave you to tie your clo – cloak with."

"Oh Annis, you spoil me. Tell me, did you wake up at the crack of dawn to sneak tarts to Peter this time?" I rolled the covers off myself, the air smelling of Devil's fruit – it was a gray, drizzly day, and the apple orchard was giving off a wicked, juicy scent as the buds blossomed.

Annis put a finger on her lip, smiling mischievously as if she had told the parson a secret dream of marrying a rich banker, then asked the holy man for his blessing. "I used the pumpkin jelly you and I – I canned last season."

"What a lovely harvest that was!" I exclaimed.

Annis giggled, her pinched, pale face lighting up with joy, her freckles blushing. "Peter came in with orange jam on his chin. Said an angel must be watching over him, and that the angel wants him to – to get fat!"

I tickled her under her green tartan dress and purple shawl. "Oh, you flirt, Annie!"

"Abby. I fear I am too old to – to offer myself in marriage. Even if he did pursue me, Peter is twenty-four. He would do bet – better with a younger lass, who can bear him tw – twelve children. He says he wants a gaggle for – for taming the palominos... and the monster hunts. It is hard, being a Ranger. We age out of weddable sensibilities, living a lonely life of blood."

My face darkened. It was the Invermoore royalty and staff's sacred duty to protect the Scottish moors from hungry wulvers, roaming bands of bloodthirsty redcaps, Beira's roving retinue of Cailleach hags and snow lasses, and stop swan maidens from enchanting the menfolk, or punish gancanoghs for draining lassies' hearts.

"It's the kelpie, isn't it, that is drowning young men aberrantly in Pottsmouth, on your mind and ailing you?" I sighed. "No matter how much you, Peter and I hunt it, the irascible kelpie never responds to any of our traps or lures." My face darkened. "Perhaps I shall start popping out girls and boys with the Witchfather to serve as undead protectors of the realm, sweet God knows we need more men at arms." I moaned, burying my face in my clothes as I slipped into the tartan dress. I fixed the silver badger pin on my black and tan cloak, the green-ruby and gold tartan pattern soothing to me – reminding me of mama...

"What is the death tally, Annis?"

"Three boys gone by the Lakewood Loch."

"Ugh, we must act in a month, on the next full moon. And tea with the Reaper is not helping. We must set out with Peter in a fortnight, after Samael calls. Cook Panetta and her husband, Butler Reuben will do well managing Invermoore while we are out hunting monsters. I have taught dear Reuben the basics of ledgers, and to give the official MacKay stamp."

Annis' face, typically prudish but merry, darkened. "You think the kelpie wi - will kill again on the next full moon?"

"Of course. Once kelpies go bad, their sore, evil hearts crave blood. I would... know."

I blushed. Annis blushed. "You are one of the good Unseelie, my – my lady," Annis soothed. "It is not like I am any less monster." She let her Black Annis claws – the legacy of her wretched grandma - stretch out from her nailbeds, then retracted them like a cat.

We took a walk through the lilac fields in bloom, picked apple blossoms and pressed them for honey on our thumbs, sucking up the juice.

"Let us ride the Sedgewood with Marino and your steed Hyacinth," I said, brightening. I did not know when to expect the Witchfather for tea, so I was trying to make myself as scarce as a wandering troubadour fleeing a lady's scorn around Invermoore.

"At this hour? It is thundering..." Annis said, surprised. But we had Peter fix the steeds anyway. For Rangers, the rain mattered not. Not beast shit, not mud and blood and grizzle, or the strange potions of the fey. We were killers of evil, after all.

Peter fastened Hyacinth, Annis' palomino mare's, stirrups. "Who woulda thought, a tart of pumpkin my lass did leave for me? She must be a jewel among women." He smiled like a burbling brook, his dark skin and sorrel hair radiant.

There was still the stain of pumpkin tart on his beard. He wore it with pride. Annis looked like she wanted to run her hand through his thick locks. "Am I getting fat, dear Annis? This angel of tarts surely is blessing me with a rotund belly."

Annis blushed, fiddling with her reins. Her fingers twitched as her orange hair shone in the lightning. "I... you..." she ran out of words, looking out the window. "It is raining."

"Yes. Rain," Peter agreed. "Well, off you go to enjoy your ride, my ladies, before we set off to hunt the rogue kelpie in Pottsmouth next month on the full moon. Best enjoy your leisures and pleasures while ye may."

Annis and I galloped off – Annis too fast in embarassment. Sedgewood swallowed us like a dark omen.