ROSS ERRILY

"Why are we stopping again?" Nellie asked impatiently, even though they had been riding silently for at least two hours in a row. She had nodded off several times. Now everything hurt, she was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, longing for nothing more than a soft bed and many hours of sleep. Any further delay was wearing on her nerves.

Cowan rode ahead to inquire. "Mac Gaoth says we should wait for him here in this grove. He needs to take care of something quickly. He'll be back soon so we can ride together to the hideout, which we'll reach soon."

"Mac Gaoth says," Nellie mocked. "Have we become his lackeys? Don't we have our own leaders to tell us what to do?"

Her brother shrugged. "He told us about the warehouse, so he's in command of this operation, and everyone follows suit. He needs to finish what he started."

"I just hope we reach this end soon and Father takes the reins again," Nellie grumbled.

"Ah, someone is tired and cranky. This is clearly not for children," her brother teased. "I told you so, but you think you know better and have insisted on imposing your stubbornness on Father. Maybe you'll learn from this and stay in Aunt Rosaleen's warm nest next time."

Nellie stuck her tongue out at her brother. But inwardly, she thought how much she wished she were with her aunt right now. And yet, how could she find peace while her father, her brother, and all the others she had known all her life were putting themselves in danger? When will this all be over? When will we return to our peaceful life? And who among us will still be alive then? A cold fist seemed to clench around her heart, robbing her of breath.

It's just the long ride, she told herself as she paced a little to shake off the stiffness in her legs. It doesn't mean anything. Really?

Nellie had learned to trust her instincts, but in this hour, she couldn't help but push them aside. Facing them would have been beyond her strength. Nellie folded her hands and began to pray. For herself, for her family and friends, and for the country on the brink of going up in flames.

"Stay hidden here," Ivy commanded the others.

"Why don't we just take one of the fishing boats?" Maurizio grumbled, his hangover already inspecting the ships moored at the dock.

Ivy shook her head. "You wait! It won't take long." She even refused to take Alisa or Luciano with her and walked with Seymour by her side to a fisherman's hut, which could be seen a little further up the hill. She knocked. Nothing happened. Ivy knocked again. Finally, she heard shuffling steps, and the door opened. The old man showed no signs of surprise to find a silver-haired girl and a white wolf at his door in the middle of the night. He bowed stiffly.

"What brings me the honor?"

"Quintin, I need to borrow your boat," Ivy said.

The old fisherman looked up at the night sky. "There are still a few hours until dawn. Will I get my boat back in time?"

"No, that won't be possible. And I can't promise you'll have it back by the next day either."

The old man shook his head. "That's not good. I need the catch. I'm a poor man."

"I know, but I have to make this request of you. It's important!"

"It always is," he grumbled. "It's about Ireland's and all our fates. Do you want to go to the island?"

"No, to the other side of the Lough."

"Hm, and you'll steer the ship?"

"I actually thought I - well, I'd look around on the other side while my companions sail across the lake."

The fisherman fell silent. He had long stopped pondering the strange things that crossed his path. "Does any of your companions have experience with such a boat?" he wanted to know. Ivy shrugged.

"Then wait a moment. I'll steer it over myself and then bring it back with me."

Ivy hesitated, but he had already disappeared into the house to exchange his nightgown for pants, a sweater, and a knit cap.

"There won't be any people on board," she said cautiously.

"And I suspect it's not a herd of sheep either," grumbled the fisherman.

"No, that can't be claimed. But they won't harm you."

"I assume so. Otherwise, Tara would have to do without my services in the future. That wouldn't please her for sure."

Ivy chuckled. "No, it wouldn't."

She hurried back to the dock. Since the fisherman was naturally much slower, it gave her time to prepare the others for his arrival.

"Please, hold back! Not a hair on him must be harmed! I need to be able to rely on all of you." She put on a stern expression and looked at each of them.

"We're not allowed to drink human blood," Tammo grumbled, who would be deprived of this pleasure for the longest time.

Ivy asked Seymour to stay by Alisa's side for the journey across the lake. The wolf growled reluctantly but went to Vamalia and lay down at her feet.

The heirs watched eagerly as the old man approached them over the pier and led them to his boat. He nodded to them and began to tend to the ropes, his sails, and the rudder. He seemed unaware of the unusual passengers he was to transport, or he didn't care. In any case, he didn't feel fear; they would have sensed it.

Fortunately, thought the Lycana. Who knows if the scent of fear wouldn't have aroused the hunting instinct in some of them.

Ivy waited until everyone was on board and the boat had set off before transforming into a falcon and shooting like an arrow over the Lough. On the other side, she skimmed low over the pastures and meadows. Where were the Lycana and her companions? Had they already found out that the werewolves were hiding in Ross Errily? Or was Alisa mistaken?

Ivy flew towards the old Franciscan abbey to find out for sure.

She circled three times over the extensive ruins of the monastery, whose buildings only partially carried roofs. Ivy could make out two cloisters around two courtyards. But the figures she could see didn't fit into a monastery. Their aura differed from that of humans, even though undoubtedly warm blood flowed in their veins. She had tracked down the werewolves! Ivy flew even lower and then landed in a niche in the church tower. She watched attentively the activity below. Just then, two men emerged from the cloister into the grassy rectangle in the middle. Ivy recognized Áthair Faolchu. The younger werewolf at his side was unknown to her. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but their gestures indicated they were at odds about something. The younger werewolf stayed a step back, turned around, and signaled to someone Ivy couldn't see from her vantage point. Two gray wolves leaped towards Áthair Faolchu. The old werewolf turned around, but only stared in disbelief at the two predators. The first one jumped at his chest, causing him to stagger. The second brought him to the ground. Helplessly, he lay on the ground, an open mouth at his throat. The younger werewolf bent down to him and said something. Áthair Faolchu didn't react. Nevertheless, the two attackers stepped back a few steps and took on their human form. Then the young werewolf reached out his hand to the one on the ground to help him up. It wasn't a gesture of respect. It was the hand of the jailer leading away his prisoner. Áthair Faolchu surrendered without resistance to his fate. Perhaps the power dynamics in the pack had long been out of balance, but now new facts were being created for everyone to see. Only his proud posture remained to the dethroned leader of the werewolf pack of Connemara.

Ivy had seen enough. She spread her wings and flew south and then back to the lake shore. There below her, in a small grove, something was moving. Figures could be guessed, except for one, who lacked the reddish aura of human warmth. Ivy landed in the branches of a tree. At first, no one seemed to notice her presence, but then she felt a gaze piercing through her feathers. Tara! Of course, who else. Ivy flew off the tree and transformed. Naturally, she hadn't expected a joyful welcome. But the horror on the faces of the Lycana and her mother made her raise her hands in appeasement.

"It's all right! Don't worry, I'll report immediately what happened and what we found out!" She kept Ireens's destruction to herself and also reassured the servants of the other families.

"They've taken the cloch adhair to Ross Errily because they know the Lycana can't enter the monastery."

"But I can," said Tara.

"Do you want to confront a pack of werewolves alone?" Ivy replied.

"I can speak with them. There must be a peaceful solution. They won't harm me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I saw them attack Áthair Faolchu and take him away. The power dynamics are no longer what they were."

Tara nodded. "I feared as much. But what choice do we have? No vampire can enter the monastery."

"You know very well that there is a way. You just don't want to take it. Both Francesco and Leonarda and Pietro are capable of it." The Romans nodded unanimously. "And the heirs have also learned in Rome how to successfully resist the Church's defenses." Ivy pointed north along the shore. "Quintin's fishing boat will soon land, bringing the heirs to us. They are ready to do their part to bring this dispute to a good end. This is not the time to discard our chances just to keep the heirs away from any danger."

The message didn't elicit much joy. However, Donnchadh acknowledged the advantage that the monastery walls presented no obstacle for almost two dozen of the vampires. And so they set off to receive the heirs.

The vampire had already left Cong early in the evening to make her way to the meeting point the werewolf had indicated to her. A small barn near the shore of the Lough, no longer used by the sheep farmers.

Despite her simple black attire today, which still managed to stand out, the lady cast a final glance at the magnificent castle before leaving Ashford. She had obtained a small boat several days ago - and a young man who had gazed at her with such fascination during their first encounter that she decided to forego her ability to control humans completely. Now he waited at the dock, gallantly offering her his hand to board, and then hurried off to fetch the two crates whose contents had cost her some effort to acquire. Perhaps she wouldn't need the shimmering metal parts, but she wanted to be prepared.

The primary goal was to remove the obstacle standing between the Master and the object of his desire. She had once failed and fallen out of favor with him. She wouldn't fail again - couldn't fail again! The vampire knew very well there wouldn't be a third chance for her.

The young man, whose name she had forgotten and who didn't interest her anyway, untied the ropes securing the boat to the dock and steered out onto the lake. He kept throwing admiring glances at his late passenger and tried several times, unsuccessfully, to engage her in conversation. But her aloof demeanor quickly discouraged him, so he contented himself with silent adoration. The vampire sat motionless, gazing towards the nocturnal shore. Occasionally, she caught the warm aura of an animal, otherwise the meadows and damp groves seemed deserted. Finally, the young man steered towards the shore. There was no dock here, so he jumped overboard as soon as the keel scraped the muddy bottom, and dragged the boat through the reeds so close to the shore that his passenger could step out onto dry land with a large stride. He reached out his hand to gallantly assist her. Her handshake was icy as death and much stronger than he would have expected from this delicate, beautiful creature.

"You didn't say you were cold," he said worriedly. "I can give you a blanket for the return journey."

The lady elegantly disembarked, her hand still in his. "There will be no return journey," she said with her seductive voice, tinged with a purring that sounded like laughter.

"No return journey?" He looked around, for the first time wondering what a lady like her was doing in such a lonely place at this late hour. Whether with or without a return journey, it was already a bit strange. Very strange! She still held his hand firmly and looked at him with a desire that gripped him like an icy embrace. He should have felt flattered to be noticed by her at all! Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. The lady also looked attentively in that direction. A shabby-looking man emerged from the bushes and sauntered towards them. The realization hit him like a lightning bolt. Of course, that was the only possible explanation. She was meeting a man - to elope with him? Did she not need his boat for the return journey? Had he arranged horses or a carriage to take his bride away? He stared curiously at the man who approached with feline grace. The clearer his features became, the more his confusion, indeed, disappointment, rose. How could she get involved with such a ragged fellow? He couldn't imagine what she saw in this man - except perhaps a wild abandon when he held her in his arms. He could only too well imagine that her family would not accept this man.

Why didn't she let go of him already? His hand hurt and was icy cold under her grip.

The newcomer bowed. "Everything is as you planned it."

She nodded regally. "I hope so. I don't like it when my plans are thwarted."

"I figured as much." He smiled ominously and nodded towards the boatman.

"Will you let him go or haven't you dined yet?"

The young man blinked in confusion. He understood the words the stranger spoke, but they seemed to make no sense.

The lady turned to him and exposed wonderfully white, yet oddly pointed teeth. "No, I don't think I can resist this delicacy. I'll indulge in a few moments of pleasure before we continue with my plans. In the meantime, you can unload the two crates I brought."

He inclined his head, waded into the water, and bent over the two crates. The boatman wanted to protest. It was his job to assist the lady. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She took a few steps away from the shore, dragging him along like an unruly child, without him even attempting to resist. What the hell did she want from him?

She no longer smiled seductively but greedily. "Your blood, of course, foolish boy." Then her teeth sank into his neck. He stood there, eyes wide open, as his life flowed through her mouth. With his blood, his senses faded. He barely felt her release him and collapse to the ground.

"What is this?" Mac Gaoth's voice had never sounded so harsh toward her.

The vampire dabbed her lips with a lace handkerchief, stepped over the body on the ground, and approached the werewolf, who had opened the first of the two small crates. In his hand lay a small silver cylinder with a rounded tip.

"A bullet, as you have surely recognized," she said.

"But that's silver!"

"Yes," she agreed. "Deadly, destructive silver!"

"That not only destroys vampires but also werewolves!" he said with a threatening undertone that she didn't like. The unfamiliar vampire stretched and towered before him.

"It is not your place to think and plan, Mac Gaoth. That is solely my prerogative, do you understand?"

She saw his gaze cloud over. The power of her thoughts could subdue not only humans but also any mangy werewolf.

"Take these crates and give the humans the ammunition they need to cause some confusion. It's up to you where the guns are aimed. Make sure it's not your clan - or only those you can spare for your grand plans. Is it a pity for a few Lycana or the impure of other clans?" She brought her red lips close to his ear and whispered, "And when they all fight each other and the confusion is greatest, then the time will have come for you to bring me the stone!"

He shuddered as if water had entered his ears and backed away from her. His gaze was clear again. "The stone? You want the stone? That wasn't part of the deal. You said you would help me overthrow Áthair Faolchu and lead our clan back to its former glory under my leadership. And I promised you that no druid or Lycana would touch the stone again."

The vampire nodded. "Yes, you said that, but forgive me, my boy, I prefer to ensure myself that they cannot do so anymore. Permanently!"

"You want to destroy the cloch adhair? That's impossible! It is the soul of Connemara, of Ireland!"

The vampire made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, I've heard that. You Irish tend to romanticize. It's a stone! And no stone is so hard that it cannot be destroyed."

"Not the soul, because it is not just stone, but pure energy, and it belongs to us!"

He attacked so abruptly that she had barely time to step back. His arms shot forward. His long, powerful fingers clasped around her neck.

"You want to strangle a vampire?" she gasped oddly tonelessly. Her laughter was a wheeze. "Foolish boy. You can't destroy us this way! But I can destroy you with it!"

The silver dagger was so quick at his throat that he froze in the middle of his movement. While she kept him in check with one hand, she released his fingers from her neck with the other.

"And now listen to me carefully. Everything is going as we discussed. You may satisfy your lust for power. And I swear to you that I will not destroy your precious stone."

"You still haven't understood, have you?" He rubbed his neck where the knife had scratched his skin. "You cannot destroy it!"

"All the better for you. And now take the bullets - just in case. We don't know how things will go. How many people accompanied the train?"

"Five men, one woman, and two adolescents."

The vampire nodded. "Good. With the right weapons, they should be able to scare the Lycana. They will have to fight on two fronts. That will teach them a lesson - and give you a strong negotiating position. I want to be constantly informed about everything that is happening, do you hear?" She stepped closer, grabbed him under the chin, and brought her lips close to his. "Trust me! Everything will turn out for the best." She kissed him on the mouth, but her spell over him was broken. He pulled away from her and turned to leave. "For the best?" he murmured. "For you or for me?"

The vampire watched him until he disappeared. With a strong kick, she pushed the body of the young boatman into the water, where it drifted face down. Thoughtfully, the lady looked at the boat. It could still be useful to her. She waded into the water and pushed it up the bank.