Chapter 3: Authority

"So the infamous Count Dracula has come to Ireland at last."

It was more of an accusation than a statement of a fact. This younger vampire was either very brave or incredibly stupid.

"Yes," the count answered. His thin lips curled at the Irish vampire's scrutinizing expression. Anyone that made the mistake of thinking that that grin of Dracula's was a true smile was doomed from the beginning.

"And you plan to create numerous fledglings here?" the vampire called Conn questioned.

"That is what Lucifer commanded," Dracula replied with annoyance. Must this vampire continue to question him? It would save so much time and effort if he would just agree to stay out of his way instead of complaining – which was what this Irish Nosferatu was doing. He only hid his whining behind useless trivia.

"And I can be assured that the Vatican will not invade and destroy my covens?"

"The Vatican has not investigated the countries I have already infected," Dracula replied smoothly. "And furthermore, Conn - " Dracula leaned forward in his chair and across the sleek table, pressing his fingertips together in an arched union. "All the covens belong to me. Everything is mine. This includes your servitude and your loyalty. You would do well to remember that."

Conn briefly lowered his eyes in submission. "Yes, I will in the future. Forgive me."

Dracula's brow creased.

"Forgive me, milord," Conn hastily added.

The count relaxed and leaned back in his seat, satisfied. The pup that would be king now knew his place. He had seen this scenario all too often: a vampire lord that behaved as if he were the son of the devil, strutting about as if he had sole power of the entire undead race. Yet as always once he, Count Dracula, privileged them with an audience they were immediately cowed.

This relationship both suited and irritated him. Opposition was never tolerated and those petty vampire lords never learned. They were cockroaches forever yearning to be a spider. "Good, now onto our previous conversation. As set down by Lucifer himself, I am to create fledglings in all of Europe. I have nearly succeeded save for a few countries in the far north. But every country will be subjected to my virus, Conn, including yours."

"Yes, Count."

Dracula chose to let Conn remain unscathed. He was receiving what he wanted. "Now, I understand that the balance of fledglings and vampires and their feeding grounds must be maintained. Secrecy has been a key factor for this entire operation."

"Yes, Count. My only concern with your task is that Ireland already houses many vampires, namely the English. The English control the mortal lords in the countryside. But their power grew so great that they poisoned the human's food – their precious potatoes. Our mortal population still has not fully recovered from that grave loss."

Dracula nodded as he listened. "Ah yes, An Gorta Mór. Word reached my ears during my travels. An unfortunate time for mortals."

"And vampires," Conn added. "With our food source reduction so high many vampires were forced to leave with the mortals traveling to America."

"The poor creatures," Dracula replied dryly, arms folded loosely against his chest.

Conn dared to narrow his eyes. "Yes. The immortal creatures of Ireland have had to struggle for territory – not like in the old days. It is not like it was centuries ago, Count, when superstition and the sword ruled the land. To create a number of new vampires here would make it much harder to keep the Vatican in the dark."

Dracula eyed Conn with disapproval. "You question my abilities?"

Conn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No, no of course not, Count. I was only reminding - "

"I think you are questioning me, Conn," he continued calmly. "I think you are displeased that I have come to your country. I think you wish for me to leave as soon as possible."

"No! I – I am honored for you to be here, milord. My concern is that – "

"Is that the Vatican will discover my plans and ruin them?"

Conn said nothing, choosing to keep his eyes downcast and out of reach from the twin whirlpools of blue. He wished himself on the other side of the world to save him from the count's wrath. Conn had fallen into a trap – and he knew it.

"Is that what you believe, Conn? That I will fail and the Vatican will invade with their knights?"

The Irish vampire made no move to speak. If he could pray to God, Conn would beg Him to allow him to leave this room with his life and title still intact. Instead he was trapped in this room alone with Count Dracula. If only he had been allowed to have his men beside him for support. But the count had insisted they talk unaccompanied. Conn was alone and at the mercy of the Dragon.

"Answer me, Conn, or I will be forced to believe that you are not my ally, and thus my enemy. Do you know what I do to my enemies?"

He knew; Conn attempted to moisten his lips at the thought, shuddering. He needed to choose his words carefully. In less than half an hour he had already managed to rid himself of the count's favor. "Count, allow me to assure you that I have never doubted you or your prowess. I am nothing but completely loyal to you."

Dracula chuckled a cold, unfeeling laugh. "Such lies you tell me, Conn, for one who insists upon his loyalty. I should think that honesty would be a trait of one who pledges allegiance to their master, unless of course the servant plans to stab his master in the back." The count impaled Conn with his unwavering gaze of ethereal azure like a hungry snake would to immobilize a mouse.

"Count," he bravely began. "I would never – "

"Of course you would never attempt to overthrow me, Conn," Dracula said dismissively. "You are far too cowardly to be so bold, aren't you? You would only defy me whilst I am not here, when you have your own men to protect you in your castle."

The count swept his gaze over the walls of the Ardgillan Castle. This is a charming castle in your tenure, is it not, Conn? Not nearly as grand as my own Castle Dracula, but befitting of one in high society."

He paused for a moment to relish in the look of horror scorched on Conn's face as he realized what he was up to.

"It is quite adequate indeed, far better than the manor I currently reside in. I wonder if during my stay in this country, I would be better off in your castle. What is your opinion?"

Conn struggled to form comprehensible words. Remember, this is Count Dracula, he thought. All I must do is say what he wants to hear – without lying. "I – I believe that wherever you think you will be the most content is where you should stay, Count. After all, all this is yours."

Dracula smirked. Ah, so the weak could be trained after all. "You are fortunate tonight," he told him. "But I forewarn you this: I can drag you down just as easily as you were risen, understood? Should you cross me again, your title and name among the vampire covens would be demolished; your castle would be repossessed for me should you ever betray me in any manner! And I would not stop with your fortune. Traitors don't live long under my jurisdiction," he hissed. "And I am sure the surviving traitors would discover that they would not desire to live before I am through with them."

"I understand Count."

"Good. As for your precious castle, I do in fact think I can find some use for it. Though I will not evict you as I previously considered. Perhaps after our conversation you will show me around the estate? I hear you have a ghost. Is this rumor true?"

Conn relaxed, shaking off his previous rigid demeanor. "Y-yes, Count, Ardgillan Castle is the home of a ghost. A woman haunts the bridge down in the lower gardens. She is a sort of guard-ghost, if you will. And I would be honored to give you a tour."

Dracula's smirk burned strong. "Excellent. Now, moving onto my plans for other wealthy Irish estates – "

A sharp knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

"Enter," Dracula answered coolly. Conn remained silent at the vampire king's order in his own home.

The door swung open and in strode Antonio. "Master," he greeted with a bow of his head. "And Lord Zaylour," he added respectfully to the other vampire. "Forgive my interruption, but I have an urgent message for my master."

Dracula presented his servant with a curt nod. "Speak freely."

"Your spies, Master, have discovered alarming news from the Vatican. They have recently been taking an interest in the wealthier populace of Europe – specifically citizens they suspect to be vampires due to their wealth status and connections."

The count frowned, ignoring Lord Conn Zaylour entirely. Inquisitive blue froze into livid shards of ice. Leave it to the Holy Order to thrust their large, pious noses into his affairs this close to success! "Continue," he instructed Antonio, remaining composed.

"They do not have proof that they are your vampires, master. Though they keep a keen eye on those they suspect. Another issue your spies uncovered was that the Vatican sends their own spies to collect information about our movements from manor to castle. They have not found a precise trail, but they are curious enough."

Sensing his master's silent fury, Antonio added to assuage him, "So far the Holy Order sends only footmen to collect information. Nobodies."

"But," Dracula hissed. "If we are not careful it will not be long before they send in Gabriel."

Silence asphyxiated the room at the mention of the Order's knight. Though he was more like their personal assassin. But of course the Vatican would not see it that way. Not the precious, self-righteous capital of Christendom.

"I will not give Rome a reason to use their hunter. The Left Hand of God will not thwart my plans yet again!" the vampire king growled, the warmth of the room diminishing completely. He turned his cold gaze to the unfortunate Conn, forcing the Irish Nosferatu to use all self-control to keep from looking away. "Do you know how many popes I have seen, Conn?"

Conn hesitated fearfully. Where was the count going with this? When Count Dracula asked you a question, you best beware of the lethal varnish. "I – I do not know."

Dracula turned to the Spaniard vampire. "Antonio?"

Antonio shook his head. "No, Master. But please do enlighten us."

Dracula's thin lips twitched into a grin at Antonio's words. "I have dealt with fifty-two popes and their councils, their warriors. Fifty-two. Out of those fifty-two, it is the present pope – Pope Leo XIII - that I loathe the most. Did you know gentlemen, that Pope Leo XIII is known as 'the Social Pope?'" the count sneered.

"He is far too social in my opinion. He gives me no peace!" Dracula snarled, his eyes dancing like blue flames licking molten rock.

"His sociality begets him to assault my door, seeking my demise like his long ago predecessor, Pope Pius II. But it is his holy soldiers that have become a far greater pest than even Pius II. I suppose His Holiness thinks himself safe in his city whilst others do his work for him. Ha!" Dracula snorted. "Once my plan is completed, he will not be safe behind his holy walls. Walls did not protect Constantinople from destruction and walls will not protect Rome from her imminent ruin. Simple parapets cannot discourage me. They never have.

"Conn," Dracula addressed icily. "You are to send word to your countrymen that all vampires are to remain where they are. Under no circumstances are they to travel from their current roosts, am I clear?"

"Perfectly, Count."

"Very good. Now go. I will join you shortly."

Conn stood up and hastened from the room. He couldn't escape fast enough.

Dracula glanced at Antonio, noting his servant's still demeanor, waiting for his orders. "Is that all, Antonio?"

The Spaniard nodded. "Yes, master. That is all."

Dracula rose from his chair in one languid movement. "Before I end this conversation, how does the fledgling fare?"

"He is still plagued with the prolonged suffering that comes with the Change. It should not be much longer before he has completely turned. I will check on his status the moment I return to the manor."

Dracula nodded to his servant and made for the door to inspect Conn's progress. "You are excused, Antonio," he called over his shoulder.

With a respectful bow, Antonio was gone, leaving Dracula to his thoughts as he strode down the corridor. Once he found Conn, the younger Nosferatu had already managed to send a large party of his servants out to relate Dracula's message. The count could not help but smirk with cruel satisfaction at that. See what could be accomplished with a little motivation? Soon after that, Conn led the count on parade through the halls and gardens of the castle, etching stories of how the Fey had originally built the estate. This was Ireland, after all.

Passing over a bridge, Dracula noted the green intensity of the hedges. The sharp green that reminded him of a certain set of green eyes. Green eyes that were like absinthe; they sparkled and glittered to lure you in. The Green Fairy. Yes, Dracula thought to himself. She is the Green Fairy from the absinthe.

Now that he was calm, Dracula could not help but admit that the girl was pretty from the brief glimpse he had had of her. Not the most stunning female he had ever seen by far, but pretty in her own way. The more the pity for her that she was not a goddess of beauty to him. If she was, he may have considered sparing her life. Such a pity, indeed.

One thing bothered him however, and he could not evade the puzzlement for long: why had the girl been out at such an hour? Humans, let alone young women, did not entertain the land after dark. They feared it, as they should. But even his new fledgling had been by his open window, so why had the girl ventured from the safety of her home? Dracula furrowed his dark eyebrows together. What was she doing? She is most certainly no hunter for Good, so what was she doing?

Dracula frowned, annoyed by his own curiosity. It made no difference. He would find out all he desired about the girl. He would instruct her in the way of the world. His way of the world when it came to those who displeased him. Once he did, he would dispose of her.

And that would be that.

--

"You are very quiet tonight, Maeve," Catherine observed.

Maeve prodded her food, eyes downcast. "If you think so, Mama," she replied flatly. Six days. Six days since she had taken that walk and seen Felim taken by the sídhe. And every day she walked to and from the schoolhouse she would see Felim's parents searching for him. It was all in vain. In her heart, Maeve knew the sídhe would not release Felim. He was as a good as dead if not so already. Maeve kept her eyes on her food. She still had no idea of what she should do. Who would believe her if she told the story? Perhaps Granda…

No, she firmly decided. I cannot tell even Granda. That sídhe may come for me in revenge for what I saw. Creatures from the Other World have never let a mortal spy on them in their wonder and live to boast of it. And the sídhe I encountered is far more dangerous then an enraged Artemis sulking with wounded pride.

Catherine studied her eldest daughter, attempting to decipher the dramatic change in her personality. All Maeve had done these past few days was stare into the sky and ruminate on an unknown subject when she was not at the schoolhouse teaching. "Has something happened at the schoolhouse? I've told you that that place was no place for a woman, but you never listen."

"Nothing is wrong at the schoolhouse, Mama."

Catherine looked thoughtful. "Have you at last taken my teachings to heart then?"

Maeve fought the impulse to either smile at her mother's eternal wish that she be more feminine, or snap that she would never be a docile twit. "I… think about your lessons, Mama. I consider them," she answered truthfully.

Meredith coughed to hide her giggle, nearly choking on her bite of potato with milk lashings, onion bits, and a knob of butter. The only thinking her older sister ever did over their mother's lessons on "the proper woman" was how incredibly stupid they were.

"Perhaps the lass frets over Felim McHenry's disappearance," Brian suggested, watching his granddaughter's eyes flash at the name with interest. "Maybe the lad fell into a fairy ring, or perhaps the wee folk have a plan for him. What do you think, little queen?" Sipping his ale, he waited for Maeve to respond or avoid the question.

"Celia says he ran away to be with a girl," Meredith put in with a dumb grin on her petite face. Her eyes shone at the idea of the scandal. "She thinks he might be in England by now, married and working as a clerk somewhere grand… like London!"

"Now that is a horrid thing to say! Gossip is not attractive. You would do well to stay away from Celia, Meredith," Catherine scolded. Meredith shrugged.

"It's what Celia said…"

"Celia is wrong!" Maeve snapped, glaring at the stupidity of her sister.

"How do you know?" Meredith challenged.

Maeve paused, and eyed her supper again. "I – I know Felim," she mumbled. "He is trustworthy and honorable. He would not just abandon his family, and certainly not to run away to an English city!"

"That is what they all say," Meredith replied self-importantly. "But it's the honorable ones that surprise you."

"Meredith!" her father reprimanded. "That is no way for a lady to talk."

"Yes, Papa. But it's true," Meredith muttered under breath.

"And it's the snooty, ghastly sisters that are repulsive and deserved to be squashed like a beetle!" Maeve countered angrily, standing up. "You are a silly twit that knows nothing! Stop acting like you're the Princess of Wales!"

"Maeve!" Catherine exclaimed. "To your room! Immediately! I will not tolerate this!"

Wordlessly, Maeve stood up and marched to her room. Meredith always behaved that way after conversing with that wretched Celia. Celia would sell her soul to hear a scandalous rumor. But Maeve would hear none of that about Felim, especially when she knew the truth. Shutting her window with a loud slam, Maeve slid her night shift over her head and retrieved her journal. She rarely used it, finding the desire to write fleeting as well as pointless in the past: nothing exciting happened here, until now. She wanted to hide from all this, this panic that had been unearthed from Felim's disappearance. Why would a good boy such as Felim leave? He would not, so people assumed some outside force was at play, but what? Not even Maeve knew, and what she did scared her senseless. She wanted to feel safe, but she was not.

21 April 1895

I don't know what to do. What does God want me to do? What do I even want to do? So many questions, but I have no answers. I know not where to look for answers. There is a dark smoke hovering over Ireland. I can sense it, everyone can sense it, but what is it? Have the sídhe become restless? Are they angry with us for allowing the English to corrupt our land? Or is this God's doing?

God killed our potatoes years ago. Granda told me about it. He had been there and seen the potatoes turn black. God must have been trying to save us from the English by evicting them, even though it hurt us, too. We all must carry a Cross. Perhaps the Lord works even now with His Other Worldly creatures to free Ireland from the English shackle. But why take Felim? Why anything at all? Why threaten my people's safety again? That is all I want for myself and for Granda. Safe.

Safe from it all: the plague in her thoughts, her fears for Felim, and most of all, from the shadows lurking outside her window.

AN:
How many popes Dracula has seen as a vampire is true. Yes I went and counted. Pope Leo XIII was the Catholic pope at this time period, as was Pope Pius II when Dracula was murdered by Van Helsing in 1462. Pope Leo was also actually known as "the Social Pope" and was said to have a sense of humor. I don't think Dracula agrees, however. lol.

An Gorta Mor means "The Great Hunger" and that was the time in Ireland from 1845-1852 when the potatoes of the Irish countryside turned black while under English rule, killing thousands of Irishmen, and thousands more fled to America to survive.

The Ardgillan Castle in Dublin is a real place, and legend does tell that it housed the ghost of a woman under a bridge in the garden. The vampire Conn's name means "chief" in Gaelic, since Conn is the chief of the Irish vampire covens. My reference to the Greek goddess Artemis of the Hunt was to the myth where she was bathing and a hunter found her there, and like an idiot, stayed and gawked. Typical, stupid, perverted man. Artemis was furious and so she turned him into a stag. Then he was brought down by his own hounds. Lovely, no? lol.

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