Building From Ashes (26 page)

“Thanks.”

He took another sip of tea and glanced at the clock over the old wooden mantle. “I should be going. I have to get back to the city before dawn, which is coming earlier and earlier this time of year.”

“It is, yes.”

They both finished their tea and stood. Murphy, like Carwyn, towered over her, but he had a leaner build and moved with a quick elegance. He walked to the door with her. “Thank you for the tea, Brigid. It was lovely to see you.”

“Thank Max.” She shrugged. “I’m not exactly the best hostess.”

“But you’re excellent company.” He leaned down, ever so slightly. Brigid could smell the clean scent that rose from his neck. “Now that our schedules are more in sync, I’ll see you at the office when you come back. I’m looking forward to it.”

Good Lord, was Murphy… flirting with her? Oh no. She’d always been spectacularly bad at flirting, and she doubted turning into a vampire had helped.

“Um… thanks. I am, too.”

She turned her face up so she could see his reaction when he looked into her inhuman gaze.

His voice was rough. “Your eyes did change.”

“A bit freaky, I know.”

“No.” He shook his head. “They’re beautiful.”

What was this reaction? The tightness in her chest. The rush of blood in her veins. “Murphy… I don’t know—”

“I need to go,” he said abruptly and stepped back. “I’m sorry. Can we continue this conversation when you get back to Ireland?” His tone may have been formal, but his eyes burned hot as they stared into hers. That damn dimple almost taunted her. “We don’t have as much time here as I’d like.”

“Of course, Murphy. Good—”

She sucked in a breath when he leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. He murmured, “Please, Brigid. Call me Patrick.”

“Tavish, how does one go about… dating when they’re a vampire?”

The gruff old man looked at her in annoyance as he pried a stone from his prize cow’s hoof. “You’re asking
me
? About courting?”

They were standing outside in the misty night air. Brigid had been forced into helping Tavish since his favorite herding dog had a broken leg from getting kicked by one of the bulls. A few spring calves already dotted the hills. Brigid took a deep breath. The calves smelled far better than the grown cattle, but Tavish gave her dirty looks every time she mentioned taking a sip from one of his babies.

“What’s courting? I’m talking about dating. Seeing people socially who you’re interested in on more than a friendly level.”

Tavish just gaped at her. “Are you daft, girl? What makes you think I know anything about dating? Or that I even care, for that matter?”

“Well…” That was a good point. Why
was
she asking Tavish? Oh yes. “I’d ask Anne, but she’s gone. I can’t ask Max because he’d immediately call Deirdre to gossip about it. And Cathy—”

“No explanation needed there. She’d probably tell you to leap on the first lad you come across and just keep trying till one tickles in the right spot. Heathen.”

She blinked. “Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way, but—”

“She’s a different temperament than you, Brigid. Temperament’s important.” He stood and looked over the hills, dotted with the shaggy, russet herd. He squinted into the night. “You know, I probably do have some advice.”

“Really?” Brigid didn’t actually expect him to give her any insight. Frankly, she’d been avoiding thinking about both Patrick Murphy and… other people that she shouldn’t be thinking about, but the subject kept circling her brain. “So, what’s your advice, Bovine Casanova?”

“You may joke, but look out there.” Tavish nodded to the herd. “That’s not purebred Highland Cattle there. That’s a healthy hybrid lot. There’s no mistaking the strength of this herd. I’ve built a very strong bloodline over the years.”

“So, what you’re saying is you can give me advice on
dating
because you’re good at breeding cattle.” Brigid squeezed her eyes shut. This was ridiculous. Where were the sheep? She’d round them up and bring them in, then go to her room and hide under her covers in embarrassment.

“It’s all the same basic idea.”

She started to walk away. “It is not. Never mind.”

Tavish grabbed her shoulder. “It is, Brigid.”

“Fine. Enlighten me.”

The vampire frowned. “It’s all about finding the right match. Find the right partner. The one who fills in the weaknesses in yourself and you do the same for them. This bull is hardy, but stupid. That cow is delicate, but keener. Together, their calves will be strong and keen. Same idea. I don’t know about foolish things like dating—ridiculous modern concept—but cows. Vampires. Both need to find the one that makes them better. The match that fits best.”

Brigid’s mouth had fallen open right about the time he’d motioned to her while mentioning the cow. Still… “Tavish, that’s surprisingly insightful.”

“Told you. It’s all about crossbreeding for hybrid—”

“Stop while you’re ahead, old man.” He tossed the pebble he’d pulled from the cow’s hoof at her head. “Ow!”

“Who are you thinking about dating, anyway? The be-flowered one?”

Her eyes popped open. “Wh—what?”

“My sire. The vampire who asks about you when he calls to speak to Max. Which is far more often than normal, I might add.”

She couldn’t blush, could she? Still, she could feel her cheeks warm at the thought. Carwyn wasn’t—
couldn’t
be—interested in her that way.

Could he? She ignored the thump of her heart, wishing Tavish couldn’t hear it. If he did, he ignored her. “Carwyn’s a priest. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re such a Catholic.”

“And you’re such a Presbyterian. What does it matter?”

“He was married before.”

“And hasn’t been married since.”

He shook his head. “Well, maybe he just hasn’t found his match yet.”

“In a thousand years?”

Tavish shrugged and slapped the side of the cow he’d been standing near. The giant animal lumbered off. “Some bulls are very, very stupid. You have to put the female right in front of them and just hope they figure it out.”

“Please, let’s not continue this comparison any longer. Please.”

“And by ‘bull,’ I mean—”

“I get it, Tavish!”

He nodded and pulled on her arm. “Good. Now, enough of this girlish chitchat. Let’s get the sheep in. You’re getting better with the commands. Almost as good as Rufus.”

Almost as good as the dog? With Tavish, that was as effusive as it got.

The next night, she was staring at the ceiling. She’d found a poster in the back of one of the spare room closets. A sunrise over the ocean. It was tucked behind a pile of coats and blankets, as if the sunny reminder had been retired with the out-of-season clothes. She’d stolen some tape from the kitchen and somehow attached it to the ceiling, the bored wolfhound cocking his head as he watched her.

Well, it wasn’t as good as the real thing, but maybe it would make her feel a bit better about the endless night. Wasn’t there some depression you could get from not enough sun? How did vampires combat that? She’d have to remember to ask Anne. She sure as hell didn’t need any more depression.

“Brigid!” Tavish’s shout came from the hall a moment before he pounded on the door. “You’ve a package. Eat something, then come help me with the sheep.”

She opened the door, but he’d already left. A small package lay on the floor in front of her room. Deirdre? Anne? She picked it up and looked at the return address.

Chile, S.A
.

She spun and slammed the door shut, immediately forgetting about both the blood she hungered for and the wandering sheep. Madoc whined in excitement and sniffed the package, as if he could smell the traces of his master in the brown paper she tore from the small box. Inside was a simple white envelope and red box with Spanish writing she couldn’t decipher. She opened the envelope, and tears welled at the corner of her eyes as she read:

‘Just in case you miss the sun.’

She swallowed the lump in her throat and opened the box. Nestled under tissue paper was a mass of bright colors. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple. She pulled the silk scarf from the box and held it against her cheek.

It was soft and silly. Flamboyant. She could see him picking it out with a mischievous grin on his face or a laugh.

Brigid would never wear something so frivolous. She wore dark colors. Sensible fabrics. If he had been in the room, she probably would have rolled her eyes as he teased her.

But Carwyn was nowhere in sight, so she wound the scarf around her neck and lifted the ends to cover her eyes. Then Brigid lay back on the bed, opened her eyes, and looked into the brilliant blooming night.

Chapter Seventeen

The Atlantic Ocean

May 2011

Carwyn stretched out as much as he could on the small bed as he crossed the Atlantic, wondering why, exactly, his children had decided to live in such inconvenient places. As much as he traveled, he still hated it every time. Unless he could tunnel under the earth as God intended earth vampires to do, travel was something he only ever put up with.

Air vampires could fly once they had grown old enough; one hundred years or so was common. Water vampires, obviously, were comfortable crossing even vast oceans with their elemental strength. Fire vampires could bully their way into any passage they preferred, as long as it didn’t involve too much electricity.

But earth vampires, being the most domestic of the four elements, tended to stay near their homes in remote places. When they had to travel, large sun-shielded vessels like the freighter were their best option. This one belonged to his son-in-law in London, Gemma’s husband, a water vampire who did large amounts of trade between Europe and the Americas. Terrance Ramsay—eager to take advantage of his wife’s connections—happily loaned Carwyn any room he asked for. Terry’s generosity allowed Carwyn the opportunity to travel wherever he needed, though he would never enjoy being on the water.

It was the most vulnerable position for any earth vampire. Surrounded by vast amounts of water, Carwyn was still strong, but his amnis was dampened. Still, it was the only option, and he needed to get back to Britain. For… lots of reasons.

“It is not a sin to want someone to walk through eternity by your side.”

“It is if you’re a priest!”

“Do you really believe that?”

His conversation with Isabel had haunted his thoughts for months. He tried to distract himself in the notes he had taken from Beatrice. She had made notes about the effect of Geber’s elixir of life, the ancient formula that sounded more and more like the drug Ioan may have been thinking of. The more he learned of it, the more his suspicions grew.

‘Human subjects who had taken the elixir—most on the verge of death—showed improvement within hours of taking it. Their color and appetite returned within days. In the single vampire trial, the immortal subject who drank from an elixired human showed evidence of increased strength, a surge of elemental ability, and no evidence of further hunger for human or animal blood. In the year of observation, the only negative side effect seemed to be a slight increase in necessary sleep.’

Increased strength. Stronger amnis. No bloodlust.

Was it possible?

It seemed more like the performance-enhancing drugs that professional athletes used than the oblivion-producing drugs that humans favored. And while oblivion was actually something that many immortals craved after hundreds or thousands of years, his kind lived in a dangerous world. A world fueled by webs of alliances and power. A world where the strongest and richest really did survive the longest. This elixir—if it did what it promised—would be very, very attractive to those seeking power and control.

Carwyn had always steered clear of politics. He took care of his own; that was all he wanted. And though he had always been a man of God, he was the head of his clan, as well. His singular desire in increasing his strength and guarding his reputation was to protect those who belonged to him.

Carwyn closed his eyes and thought. A vampire drug. It had been exactly what Ioan had feared, a drug added to human blood that could affect vampires. But this drug wouldn’t weaken the immortals who drank it. In fact, it would seem like a miracle. Health for the human. Strength for the vampire. What was the downside?

There was
always
a downside.

Cardiff, Wales

May 2011

“Hugh?”

Carwyn poked his head through the old priest’s door. The old man was sitting curled over his writing desk, his simple black pants and neatly pressed shirt showing signs of both wear and age.

“Hugh,” Carwyn called again and stepped forward. The old man finally looked toward the door, and his eyes lit up.

“Father Carwyn!” he called, reaching up to switch on the hearing aid that had, apparently, been turned off. “I have to say that the benefits of hearing loss far outweigh the negatives when one is trying to finish writing letters. Why, just a quick switch of the batteries and I am plunged into a most pleasant silence, the likes of which not even Father Simon can disturb with his chattering.”

Father Hugh stood and ambled over to the hulking immortal. He wrapped spindly arms around Carwyn’s shoulders as they embraced.

Carwyn said, “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“I think it may be one of the last times,” the priest said with cheer. “I feel my homecoming may be soon.”

The vampire smiled. “Now, Hugh. I think that’s a bit hard to—”

“No, no.” Hugh waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t spoil my excitement. I’m quite ready to exchange the earthly body for the celestial one, thank you. My walks around the garden are getting shorter and shorter, and I can hardly taste food anymore. It’s about time.” Father Hugh patted Carwyn’s shoulder and led them toward the low chairs that surrounded the fire in the sitting room.