Tori and Erzulie's Skye ferry pulled into the harbor of the tiny Isle of Ronay. An isolated island in the Scottish Hebrides, Ronay was still largely rural. Its economy was based on brewing and exporting its famous beer, Ronay Gold, and more recently on tourism. Tourists came to see Roney's dramatic cliffs, its ancient stone circles, its medieval castle, and its unique folk customs.
Tori and Erzulie disembarked from their ferry and took a look the main settlement, Breanish. "These guys seem pretty trapped in the past, don't they, hon?" said Erzulie. "The fashion's straight outta the seventies, and none of the buildings look like they went up within the past hundred years."
"Just the kind of time capsule a vampire would love the shit out of," Tori nodded.
They quickly located The Sheep Heid Inn, the pub with rentable rooms where they'd be living during the mission. The slipped into the dark, smoky room and went to speak to the proprietor. He was a portly, balding man wearing a shirt that looked like it hand been made (and last cleaned) in 1973.
"Guid day, lassies!" he said brightly. "Whit kin ah dae fur ye?"
"We're here to speak to the landlord," said Tori. "We're Victoria Vordenburg and Erzulie Lachouette, and we're staying in Room 11."
"Then ye'r keekin' fur me, Donald MacLeod," the landlord said. "Fàilte tae Ronay, lassies! Juist gimme a minute while ah check ye in."
"Keekin'?" asked Erzulie.
Tori hastily consulted her dictionary of Scottish Regional English. "It means 'looking,'" she explained. "Fàilte's a Gaelic welcome, if you're asking."
"Sae, whit brings ye tae Ronay?" Mr. MacLeod asked as he checked them in.
"The colorful folk festivals, mostly," said Tori. "Can you tell them anything about their significance?"
"They're fertility rituals, mostly," Mr. MacLeod answered. "We call oot tae th' spirits, th' fairies, 'n' th' auld gods tae heal th' land 'n' make it bountiful fur annur year. Oor planting festivals ur comin' up, ye ken. Ye'll be able tae watch a' th' ones open tae th' public. We juist ask that ye ootsiders keep fae barging in oan oor private ceremony wi' th' Moon's Daughter."
"Wait, the Moon's Daughter?" Erzulie asked, the name setting off warning bells in her head. "Who's that?"
"Th' Moon's Daughter is a holy bein'," said Mr. MacLeod. "As ye'v na doubt guessed, she's th' daughter o' th' Moon 'n' th' Nicht itself. Her skin's paler than th' moonlight, she's mair bonny than th' stars, she's aulder than th' isles, 'n' she's wiser than th' druids. 'Tis her wha carries oor prayers tae th' auld gods, ye see."
"Yes," said Erzulie, stroking her chin. "Yes, I think I do."
"Where does the Daughter of the Moon live?" asked Tori.
Mr. MacLeod shrugged. "Nobody kens fur sure. Some say she bides in Breanish Castle. Ithers say she bides wi' th' fairies deep underground. Then thir's th' folks wha say she's aw weys at wance, aye peepin' ower us."
Tori took a second to translate the regionalisms in her head. "Everywhere at once you say? Always watching over you?"
"Aye," Mr. MacLeod nodded. "Thare ur times she'll juist ken things, things she wasn't aroond tae see. Or wis she? Wha kin jalouse th' ways o' th' spirits?"
"Thanks for all the information, sir," said Tori. "We'll go unpack now. We'll be down for a beer this evening."
Once they were safely in the privacy of their own room, Tori turned to Erzulie. "Well, what did you make of this Daughter of the Moon?"
Erzulie scoffed. "She's so obviously the vampire, it's not even funny."
"I think we're going to have to crash this private ceremony," said Tori.
"Not without more research," said Erzulie. The ebony witch tugged absentmindedly on one of her dreadlocks as she talked. "We need to know everything about her first if we don't want to be fucked over when we confront her. Hell, we don't even know the time and place of her ceremony."
"Fair point," Tori conceded, slipping out of her leather jacket. "Good thing the locals seem friendly, if a little creepy. Well, welcome to Ronay, 'Zulie."
Erzulie chuckled. "Seems like a real nice place to vacation... if you always wanted to live in The Wicker Man. The good version, I mean, not the shitty Nicolas Cage remake."