Disclaimer:

I being of sound mind (or maybe not), declare I do not own or claim to own any of the characters, plot, bank balances, social security numbers, telephone numbers, shoes, clothing, kitchen sinks, or anything else in this particular fictional word.

If you don't believe me, go ask Google, they know everything.

Notice to the Inland Revenue, this story is non profit, sorry.

Shush Shush - A Hush Hush parody.

Part I

Prologue

Loire Valley, France
November 1500 and something.

Chauncey was lying on the banks of the Loire River with a farmer's daughter. Whose daughter, he didn't know; he did not even know her name. She was a girl and was willing. That was enough for him.

A storm rolled in and having let his donkey wander in the meadow. He would have to walk back to the chateau. He removed a silver buckle from his shoe and placed it in the girl's hand.

"What's this." she cried

"Payment." He replied.

"What kind of girl do you think I am I don't provide services. Ask anyone." The girl looked at him with disgust.

Chauncey shook his head. "It is not for services, it is for your silence. I do not wish anyone to know about my little problem."

The girl grinned. "Oh yes, that little problem, have no fear your secret is safe with me, it is shush shush."

She rose and scurried away, slinging mud on Chauncey's face as she fled across the grass. He wiped his hand across his face and cursed to himself; pulled on his boots and made his way home. Rain poured down upon the countryside surrounding the Chateau de Chaise long. Chauncey trod over the graves and rotting leaves of the cemetery. Even with a dense fog, he had no fear; he could find his way home, even when drunk. This was very often; finding his way home, not being drunk. There was no fog this evening but it was growing dark and the rain was pounding down.

From the corner of his vision Chauncey saw a movement, he turned his head. He saw in front of him what appeared to be the figure of a large angel lying on top of a monument. The figure rose, it was not made of marble, stone or MDF, it was a boy. He was practically naked, unusual for this time of year, unless you wished to have frost bite. He wore ill fitting peasant trousers and they hung low. He jumped down from the monument. The rain ran down his black hair onto his face, which was as dark as a dark looking person.

Chauncey hand grabbed his sword. "Who is it?"

There was silence.

"Do not play with the Duc de Chaise Long, give me your name."

"Duc?" The boy leaned again a tree. "Or is it bastard."

Chauncey was outraged. "Do not curse at me, take that back! My father may have been harsh, and miserable man, but he was still the Duc de Chaise Long. I am now the Duc."

The boy shook his head. "Sorry to inform you but the old Duc was not your father that makes you a bastard."

Chauncey was seething with rage and extended his weapon. "How dare you, who was your father?" He would make this boy pay for his insult. "Who are You?" he demanded.

The boy laughed and pushed his weapon aside. He looked older than Chauncey had first thought.

"Your pants are undone, put your weapon away."

Chauncey looked down and hastily fastened his trousers. "Damn you! I still demand to know who you are."

"One of the Devil's offspring." The boy answered.

Chauncey was overcome by a wave of fear, where was a latrine when you needed one. "You are insane, get the hell out of my way."

Suddenly Chauncey felt himself sway; he had not touched a drop of alcohol today and yet he felt intoxicated. His eyes felt like they were ready to burst and his body hunched before the boy. He gasped for air; it must be something he ate. He thought those mushrooms he ate earlier tasted peculiar.

The boy crouched down to look Chauncey in the eye. "I want something from you and I will not leave until you give it to me."

"Never." Chauncey screamed, "You can have my donkey instead."

He grit his teeth and shook his head. The boy grasped Chauncey around his wrists. "I need your oath, I need you to swear fealty. Bend on one knee and swear it."

Chauncey felt as if he was choking, he fell head first into the mud. He felt weak and nauseous and had a mouth full of muddy water. He tried to spit it out, but it dribbled back down his face. He would not swear the oath, he could not he did not swear, particularly on Sundays. He made a vow to himself he would make this boy pay.

"Lord I am your man." Chauncey hissed.

The boy pulled Chauncey to his feet and asked him to meet him in the cemetery at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. The two weeks before the new and the full moons. "I will need your service."

"What! Chauncey raged I service no one, I am the Duc de Chaise Long."

"The boy smiled and said "You are a Nephil."

"Who is Neville?" Chauncey asked.

"Nephil not Neville; you belong to a race called Nephilim. Your father was a fallen angel. You are half mortal."

Chauncey's eyes met with the boy's "I am half fallen angel?"

A memory drifted into Chauncey's mind; of passages from the Bible telling of a deviant race, of tall giant like people created by fallen angels mating with mortal women. "Who are you?"

The boy turned and walked away, Chauncey wished to go after him but he could not move. He saw the boy's back, he had two thick scars, they narrowed and formed a V. Strange Chauncey thought, who would brand someone with a "V?" Then it came to him who the boy was; he wasn't Brand X.

"Are you one of the fallen?" He cried out. "Your wings have been stripped, along with the rest of you." Still furious he shouted. "What is this service I am to provide? Do you still need a donkey?"

The boy did not turn back, but Chauncey could hear him laughing.