Building From Ashes

“Far from it,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. I should take shelter. The sun will be up soon.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Happy Christmas, Carwyn.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “Happy Christmas, Brigid. Some priest I am, to almost forget my Lord’s own birthday.” Her mouth twisted at the corner as she watched him. She was smirking. No, she was smothering a laugh. He winked at her. “Almost.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” He started to walk away, but turned back. “There’s another verse I like more than Father Jacob’s very serious and somber homilies.”

“Oh?”

“It’s from the book of Jeremiah. ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.’”

Brigid stared at him, speechless.

Carwyn said, “Have a hopeful Christmas, Brigid.” He turned and walked into the house just as the sun started to rise.

Chapter Eight

Dublin, Ireland

April 2008

Brigid emptied the magazine into the target at the end of the range, carefully set down the assault rifle on the bench in front of her, and took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and she turned when she heard a short chuckle behind her. She grinned at Tom. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had firing a gun. Ever.”

“Wouldn’t get to play with those in the Garda, would you?”

“Not likely. But then, I wouldn’t have been able to touch ninety percent of the weapons you’ve shown me if I had joined the human police.”

“Well, don’t get too attached. That’s the same rifle the German army uses, and it’s not likely Murphy’s going to give the okay for you to cart one around town, is he? Though, if you asked, he might make an exception.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hush. Not you, too.”

Tom picked up the rifle and took it over to the storage counter where one of the employees that worked at Murphy’s shooting range would clean and store the weapon.

In the eight months she’d been working for Patrick Murphy, Brigid had come to realize that she held a charmed status among his employees, and not because of her pixie face. No, it was the fact that she was a mortal under Ioan and Deirdre’s aegis that made everyone—except Angie and her coworkers—give her special deference. Growing up in Wicklow, she’d never truly understood how powerful or well-respected they were. Here, spending time with immortals from all over the world, it was impossible to escape. She knew the only reason she’d made it onto the security team was because of her family.

Staying on it, however, was entirely up to her.

“Jack says you need to be more diligent with your PT,” Tom said as they walked out the door and up the stairs leading toward the first floor of the Docklands Building. Brigid took off her safety glasses, pulled out her earplugs, and tucked both into her bag.

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to train with someone who never gets winded? Never tires out. Never breaks a sweat. Never—”

“Stops teasing you about how slow you are? That’s Jack. Get over it and get to work. I’m serious.”

Of course Tom was serious. Tom was always serious. They never spoke about it, but Brigid was fairly sure that Murphy and Tom were brothers of some sort. Not biological. Tom Dargin looked nothing like Patrick Murphy. He was far older when he’d been turned, though his waist was still trim and his shoulders un-stooped. His lantern jaw had been broken more than once when he was a human, and he bore heavy facial scars. And yet, despite his brutish appearance, Brigid found his company the easiest of any of the vampires she worked with.

Tom was still talking. “There’s no better physical trainer than Jack on the team, and you’re still very green. Don’t make me put you at the desk. I want you to double your time at the gym.”

She curled her lip at the thought of more hours spent with Jack. “Fine.”

“And don’t give him a bad attitude.”

“Fine.”

He was glaring down at her. She could practically feel it.

“Do I need to take away your toys?”

Brigid’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t!”

The corner of his grim mouth turned up. “Double time at the gym or your nine millimeter is mine.”

“You’re a mean vampire,” she muttered, “and I don’t like you anymore.”

“You never liked me to begin with. You just liked my access to firearms.”

“That’s not… completely true.”

They waved at Angie, who was sitting at her desk, as they walked back into the security office that Tom ran with Declan and Jack. Declan was there with his hands, also known as Sean, a young computer programmer who did little besides type what Declan told him to on the computers the water vampire couldn’t touch.

A large map of the city spread over the back wall, desks dotted the room, and a full wall was taken up by monitors that covered the building and its perimeter. Jack was paging through a thick file and scanning the monitors. It looked like a small, and very efficient, police station.

And Brigid had a desk there.

“Jack,” Tom called, “Murphy around?”

“No.” He glanced at Brigid and gave her a devilish grin, as if he knew he’d have her in his clutches for twice as many hours a week. “He’s meeting with the Englishman; then he’s for France to meet with Desmarais. Brigid, he forgot to send you a kiss, love. Shall I stand in?”