Son of a Succubus Series Collection

by Dorie, Sarina

  “The farmer was in greater debt than before now because he still hadn’t paid back all he owed from the previous years. He tried to run the farm without Fae magic to aid him, but he couldn’t. The crops shriveled up and starved in soil depleted of nutrients. The Fae noble purchased his land and kicked the farmer out of his home, leaving his family without anything other than what they could carry. They had no prospects, were chased off their land by the noble’s dogs, and decided to go to the Morty Realm where there were no Fae tricksters.” MacCoinneach paused, looking to Lucifer. “That is how Witchkin see us, is it not? As tricksters and liars?”

  “Not all Fae are like that,” Abigail said. “My teacher, Yoshi, isn’t a trickster. And King Elric is very nice. He wouldn’t do anything like that even if he did come from the Silver Court. And Principal Khaba from Womby’s School for Wayward Witches wouldn’t trick farmers either. Not all Fae would do something so mean.”

  MacCoinneach stiffened. “But was this Fae mean? It was the Witchkin farmer who had wronged him first. Shouldn’t he have been entitled to revenge?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  Lucifer didn’t like what MacCoinneach was implying. If the leshi remembered this story, surely he remembered Lucifer killing his father and Abigail killing his family. Was this his way of toying with them as he pursued revenge? He might be haunting them with guilt before they admitted their wrongs.

  Abigail looked to Lucifer, tears in her eyes. “Clarissa says revenge is wrong, but Queen Vega says revenge makes her feel better.”

  Lucifer kept his voice gentle but firm. The tiny soul inside her needed guidance. He wanted to be the rock she needed to help her. “Revenge is hurtful and sometimes it comes back to bite you. Or it can harm people you don’t intend it to.” As had been his Abigail’s situation. “That Fae in the story was cross with the farmer, but the whole family suffered, including the children who had nothing to do with that bargain. The farmer would have been better off making a fair deal with the Fae in the first place. And the Fae would have been a better man if he had forgiven the farmer and helped him pay back his debts. In an ideal world.” Not that they lived in an ideal world. The Fae he had met were seldom forgiving.

  “That is a sad story,” Abigail said. “Is that the end? What happened to the girl?”

  “The story isn’t over. It only grows sadder.” MacCoinneach relaxed into the brush, reclining on his side. “The girl and her family journeyed far to reach the Morty Realm. Her father had lived there once, and he had told his family tales about that land. He still had kin in that other realm, and he said they would be willing to help him start a new life.

  “Along the journey to the Morty Realm, the girl’s family had to pass into the dangerous territory of the Faerie Realm. They begged for food and sometimes stole in order to survive. After many days of travel, the parents disappeared while going to find food for the children. The little ones waited for days but couldn’t find their parents. The eldest brother decided to go searching for their parents. His name was . . . it was . . . Nevin? Neville?”

  Abigail’s voice was little more than a breath. “Niall?”

  Lucifer’s heart lurched against his sternum. This was impossible. She had no memories of the past. Yet there were things she knew, like Coinneach’s name. Weaving, caring for babies, and tending to plants—were those activities locked in the muscle memory in her body? Or was that what the fragment of soul inside her knew?

  And what about MacCoinneach and what he knew? It seemed impossible that MacCoinneach could know Abigail’s brother’s name but not hold animosity in his heart over the past. Lucifer considered the danger Abigail might be in if MacCoinneach did remember more than he let on.

  The only reason he didn’t stop MacCoinneach was that Lucifer wanted to see if this tale would jolt something more back into her, some memory that he had accidentally loosened when he’d returned her first sliver of soul. It might be cathartic for her to hear her past.

  MacCoinneach continued, his gaze intent on Abigail. “The eldest brother left the girl and her little brother all alone. The two youngest children wandered about the forest, hungry and thirsty. They resisted Fae temptations and the witch’s gingerbread cottage.

  “But eventually the children suspected the Fae might have their brother, so they spied on their enemies and found he had fallen into one of their snares for catching game. They attacked the bellies of the Fae and tried to free him, but Niall was already dead. One of the plants tried to defend itself, but in the process, the little brother was bitten.”

  “Emmet?” Abigail’s tears spilled down her cheeks, dropping onto the blanket.

  Lucifer didn’t know if tears from the current Abigail would ruin the blanket, but he didn’t have the heart to take it from her.

  “Indeed, I believe that was his name,” MacCoinneach said. “Emmet became ill from the bite. The girl took him to the witch’s hut, not knowing if the witch would eat them or help them. The witch told the girl that if she made a sacrifice, she might be able to save her brother.”

  Abigail’s shoulders shook. Lucifer kneeled beside her and stroked her back.

  “The witch took the girl’s fingers, but it wasn’t enough.” MacCoinneach held up his hand and examined the gnarled bark of his own fingers. “The girl couldn’t save her brother.”

  Abigail brushed away her tears. “It’s difficult to be alone.”

  “I know that too well.” MacCoinneach’s voice was calm, emotionless, giving away no indication there was hatred in his heart. “The girl asked the witch to teach her magic. She wanted to know healing. She wanted revenge.”

  “This story is about the old Abigail. I don’t want to know any more.” Abigail looked to Lucifer. The vivid green of her eyes was rimmed with pink.

  “I can’t blame you, but it might do you good to hear the rest. You need to understand who you once were.” He circled an arm around her shoulders. She felt so small and fragile.

  She curled her knees to her chest and buried her face against the blanket. “I don’t want to know what she did. I’m not that girl.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” MacCoinneach sat up, returning to his tense crouch.

  “Go on. Tell her the rest of the story,” Lucifer said.

  “No!” Abigail said. “I don’t want to know.”

  MacCoinneach clutched his knees, mirroring her posture. “Perhaps another time.”

  Lucifer didn’t like MacCoinneach leaning closer to Abigail, but it was possible he was simply curious, not about to launch himself at her.

  Abigail wept silent tears as she clutched the weaving. Perhaps these tears were part of her past that needed to be in the blanket. For all Lucifer knew, Baba might have divined this moment and seen that it needed to be woven in. She had been the one to suggest they go outside and work on it together in the first place.

  “I’m afraid this story has made you upset,” MacCoinneach said. “I was the one who was supposed to cry, not you. And I promised Lucifer I would be nice.”

  “You were nice. It’s just a sad story. That’s all.” She wiped her face on the blanket.

  “Give me the bottle. I will fill it later,” MacCoinneach said. “It’s easier to shed tears when I’m alone at night. It’s harder to feel sad when I’m with friends.”

  Was that how MacCoinneach thought of them? As friends? Or was that a lie to get them to let their guards down. Lucifer still couldn’t tell what this leshi wanted.

  Abigail lifted the bottle from where she’d placed it beside her and held it out.

  “Here, I’ve got that,” Lucifer said. He leaned across her to grab it, not wanting MacCoinneach to come closer to her.

  MacCoinneach stretched out spindly fingers as sharp as talons. The golden glow in his eyes grew brighter, and he sucked in a breath. Lucifer pushed himself from the tree, fearing something was about to happen.

  MacCoinneach lifted his hands, hi
s body language shifting to that of a predator about to strike.

  “Abigail!” a female voice screamed. “Get away from that thing!”

  Lucifer whirled.

  Kelsie stood there on the path, an ax in her hands.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Idle Hands Make the Devil’s Work

  A squeak of alarm came from MacCoinneach. He pulled Abigail back. Despite the defensive pose with his arms raised menacingly, he scrambled farther from Kelsie.

  Abigail cried out. Lucifer didn’t know who was the greater danger, Kelsie or MacCoinneach. Probably Kelsie, even though he didn’t trust MacCoinneach. She was the one holding an ax with malice in her eyes.

  Clarissa had stirred up the anguish of Kelsie’s past with questions about her family. The raw wound throbbed inside her heart. Or perhaps that wound was inside her soul. It tainted her every breath with the desire for revenge.

  Lucifer leapt to his feet. He lunged toward Kelsie to make sure she didn’t accidentally kill anyone—or purposefully kill anyone. He thrust out an arm to bar her from attacking. She howled and threw the ax.

  Abigail screamed behind him.

  Lucifer grabbed Kelsie around the waist. He turned to find Abigail flat on the ground. The ax was embedded in the earth where MacCoinneach had crouched moments before. The leshi darted away through the trees, his feet silent despite his speed.

  “Abby? Are you all right?” Lucifer asked.

  Kelsie squirmed against him. He didn’t dare release her for fear she would set after MacCoinneach. The leshi had chosen to flee rather than attack, but he might change his mind if she cornered him.

  Abigail pushed herself upright.

  “She’s bleeding!” Kelsie shrieked.

  Abigail cradled her hand to her chest. “It was an accident. You scared him, and he moved too quickly. It’s just a scratch.”

  “What were you thinking?” Tears filled Kelsie’s eyes. “He might have killed her.” She attempted to elbow Lucifer.

  He pinned her arms to her sides to keep her from grinding her elbows into his ribs. “I was here. No one was going to kill anyone.” Until Kelsie had arrived.

  Kelsie stomped on his foot, the pain startling enough that he let her go. She sank to her knees in front of Abigail. “Let me see your hand, baby.”

  “Kelsie, I’m not a baby.” Abigail showed her the scratches. They were superficial, as she’d said.

  Kelsie kissed the crown of Abigail’s head. “I’m glad you aren’t hurt.”

  Lucifer crossed his arms. “I hope you’re happy. You just cost me leshi tears.”

  “No, I’m not happy.” She rose, stalking toward him. “How dare you endanger Abby like this!”

  “I wasn’t the one who threw an ax in Abby’s direction. You were the one who could have killed her.” His fury rose out of him.

  “He pushed me down,” Abby said quietly. “So that the ax wouldn’t hit me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have.”

  Kelsie’s shoulders shook. Abigail wrapped the blanket around Kelsie and embraced her.

  Lucifer was afraid to approach Kelsie. She was more teeth and claws than he was these days. Even so, it didn’t mean a hug would harm her. Hesitantly, Lucifer placed an arm on her back. He pulled Kelsie and Abigail to his chest and hugged them both.

  “Do we have to tell Clarissa about this?” Abigail asked. “She’ll never let me come back if she thinks you almost chopped off my head with an ax.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kelsie said. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

  This was the second time that suggestion had been made that day.

  Lucifer patted Kelsie on the shoulder one last time. He picked up the ax. The bottle for the leshi tears was gone. He pushed aside crocuses and fir moss and patted the ground to see where it might have rolled.

  “You’re looking for the bottle?” Abigail asked with a wan smile. “He took it with him.”

  Perhaps there was hope for capturing leshi tears after all.

  * * *

  Abigail left with Clarissa and Vega shortly after they returned to the cottage. Lucifer laid the blanket on Baba’s lap and showed her the work they’d accomplished that afternoon. Mostly it had been Abigail’s work. It had been her magic, her weaving, and her tears.

  He smoothed a hand over the intricate knotwork she’d made. “I don’t have the leshi tears yet, but Abigail cried on the blanket.” He added quickly so Kelsie wouldn’t become alarmed. “It was because of the sad story the leshi told her.”

  Kelsie didn’t look at him as she cleared the dishes, but from the stiff way she held herself, he knew she was listening.

  Baba nodded approvingly. “Good. She give a little bit of herself. Her soul will know this is her. Not all in soul is happy.”

  He plucked a blue hair from the blanket that was probably Kelsie’s. “Is that why you sent us out? So Abigail could help me with the weaving? Or for the tears?”

  “Both and neither.” She folded the blanket neatly. “Tell me more about encounter with leshi. I trust you did not allow Kelsie to chop him up?”

  Kelsie’s cheeks flushed, and she turned away.

  Lucifer recounted the story MacCoinneach had told Abigail—the same tale she’d once told Coinneach.

  “How can he remember, but claim he doesn’t remember at the same time? Do you think he’s lying?”

  “How is it salmon know to swim upriver and spawn? Instincts make many things possible.” Baba pursed her lips as she watched Kelsie. “Instincts make us repeat past. Sometimes we live again to fix past. Sometimes to try to change what cannot be undone. We must ask ourselves why we make choices we make and if they are wise. We must know past to know future, but that does not mean we must repeat. You understand?”

  Lucifer nodded, though he wasn’t certain he did. “I want a different future with Abby. A happier one.”

  “I know,” she said. “Perhaps Kelsie want happier fate as well?”

  Kelsie didn’t answer.

  Lucifer recounted more of what had happened. “Today when Abby and I were out there alone, I tried to feel her soul. I wanted to know how much room was left.”

  Baba handed him the blanket. “You try or you succeed?”

  “I succeeded. Sort of. I could feel her soul. I just can’t tell how big it is or if there’s any space left for me to put the rest back in.” He couldn’t tell whether she was progressing normally or the soul trying to fill the space was twisting into something unnatural.

  “Her soul is young. One year old. Or less. There is room in her body still.” Baba removed her cane from her chair and pushed herself to the edge, struggling to sit up. “You must practice so you will be ready when it is time.”

  Lucifer placed a hand under her elbow to assist her. “How much time do I have?”

  “I would not wait more than one more year. In six months, it will be challenge for her body to accept old soul. Of course, in six months, her soul will be too fragmented in underworld to be her anymore either.”

  “Six months my time or her time?” Six months had already passed in the outside world while two had passed where Baba’s cottage was located in the Faerie Realm. Abigail’s mind had progressed so much already. That meant her soul had as well.

  “Her time,” Baba said.

  He had less than two months in their time to retrieve the remnants of her soul and put it back inside her.

  Baba reached into her sleeve and pulled out a key. He’d never seen her use a key—or use that trick before. She hobbled over to the cupboard. A lock appeared that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She inserted the key and opened the door. Instead of the plates and cups that should have been in the cabinet, he found a large hourglass filling the entire space.

  She motioned for him to take it. He did so. It was heavy, even for him. He heaved it onto the table. Kelsie looked up from washing dishes in the tub as it thumped onto the table.

  “This is the month glass,”
Baba said. “Tomorrow we go to new season. You turn timer over. When all sand falls to bottom, you know one month has passed in outside world. Sometimes sand moves slowly, sometimes quickly. Time is not as constant and steady as you think. You will be able to see how much time is passing outside this cottage. It will tell you when month is over.”

  She stared into his eyes, her words sinking in like barbs. “Turn it six times, it will be six months outside where Abby is. It will be difficult for body to accept soul, but not impossible. Twelve times, it will be too late.”

  He swallowed. One year. That might be six months in his time—if time behaved and didn’t speed up. He could do this.

  “Tonight, we shall test your weaving to see if you can catch her soul without leshi tears. You will practice soul work every day. You must do this before too much is gone—and before she has grown too much for more to be given to her.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  What Are You Looking at, Pegasus Breath?

  Lucifer returned to the underworld, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. As he drifted through misty nebulous lights, he searched for the flavor of Amni Plandai magic. Baba had said once he felt her presence, he should take the blanket and throw it over the soul. The blanket would serve as both a lure and net, and he could bring it back with him.

  It would have helped if he could actually find her.

  * * *

  The next day they moved the cottage to another season, the chicken feet underneath trampling through the forest to reset in a new spring. Lucifer turned the month glass, white sand slipping downward to mark time.

  In the days that followed, he practiced the other exercises Baba gave him. She piled more onto his plate, not just exercises switching animals’ souls, but using the magic his affinity had stored for healing. He learned to mend Baba’s arthritis and wounded animals in the forest.

  “How is this going to help me with Abigail’s soul?” he asked.