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The smell that arose was vile. I began to choke on the fumes.

Soon all that was left was a pile of molding dust among the remains of the now-sodden evening clothes. Even the skeleton had vanished. Where the right hand had lain was a great golden signet ring set with a jewel and a crest. Automatically, I picked up the ring. I do not know what prompted me to do so. I turned it around in my fingers, still staring at the remains that had, a moment before, been a body.

My eye then caught something on the ring. A name inscribed in old fashioned Gaelic lettering. “Abhartach.”I realized that the phonetics would be “Averty.”B ut it was the Gaelic form of the name that stirred a distant memory.

I swallowed hard. Then my rational mind took a grip of my confused emotions, and I wheeled round to Ronayne.

“Is this some kind of joke?”I demanded angrily. “If so, it is a joke in bad taste.”

Ronayne was staring at the slab as if he could not believe what he had seen.

“It is not possible,”h e moaned over and over again. “He cannot die.”

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Ronayne,”I went on coldly. “I don’t like being made a fool of.Are you responsible for this charade?”

He turned to me. There was terror in his eyes. If he was acting, then he was brilliant. I tried to make myself believe that this was some bizarre charade.

“It is not possible!”h e almost screamed. “I did everything I could to protect him; to protect the Master.What has gone wrong?”

I backed off from his wild staring eyes.My first thought returned. Ronayne had gone mad. Stark-staring mad!

“You’d better calm down,”I coaxed, reaching out a placating hand.

His eyes suddenly fell on the ring I still held in my hand, and he seemed to crumple before me.

“My family has served him down the generations. From the time he was lord of Doire and Ciannachta, when even the Uí Néill would tremble before him. We have served him before the High King Laoghaire converted to Christianity.He was the Neamh-Mhairbh! He cannot die.”

It took me some time to translate the Old Irish. Neamh-mhairbh—UnDead! I had a cold feeling come over me, as I remembered the legend of Abhartach of Derry. He had been an evil prince who was supposedly slain by his people, was buried but did not die. Every time he was buried, he rose from the grave to feed on the blood of the living. I chuckled nervously. It was some practical joke.

“What are we to do?”R onayne was crying. “He protected us. He must not die. He cannot die!”

Ronayne, I realized, was without doubt in the middle of some nervous breakdown for no one sane could act like this. I began to back away, thinking to use my mobile phone to call an ambulance.

It was then that I heard a sound like the sharp intake of breath. There was a smell of cheap perfume, which seemed strangely familiar. It reminded me of something. There was a swish of a skirt behind me. I turned.

I recognized her at once, in spite of the new whiteness of her skin and the curious staring eyes and redness of the lips. It was the blond girl from south Dublin.

“What are you doing here?”I asked, totally bewildered.

She appeared to shuffle forward. She did not walk normally but had a lurching gait. Her hands were reaching out like claws toward me. Her mouth was opened, showing the teeth, teeth that seemed so white and sharp against red lips, lips that were so red. She gave a chuckle. I have never heard a laugh like it. The lips curled back showing gums and displaying the large white canines. Then she lunged forward toward me.

A silver crucifix was thrust before my face, and I heard a scream of pain. The scream came from the blond girl. Her face was distorted in a fearful expression; she was cowering back away from me, eyes wide on the religious symbol.

Ronayne was holding the crucifix up before me.

“Take this,Doctor,”h e muttered, suddenly very calm.“Get out of here—quickly. These new sisters often do not differentiate between those who must remain in life to help them and those who are their natural sustenance. Be careful. There are more about.