Building From Ashes

“You know, it’s really annoying when your sort do the eye-rolling thing.”

Her mouth hung open slightly, and Carwyn stared at her cheek where his hand still rested. “Why the eye-rolling, Brigid?”

“I’m not using drugs anymore; you don’t need to sniff me.”

“I didn’t think you were using drugs.” Her cheek was cool under his hand, her skin still chilly from the brisk wind outside.

“Oh.”

He frowned a little. Her cheek was heating up. Why was she blushing?

“Why are you blushing?”

“Why is your hand still on my face?”

He blinked and pulled it away. “Your cheek was cold.”

“So are my ears, Carwyn. It’s cold outside.”

He smiled and reached both hands over to cup her ears. “Better?”

The laugh was trying to escape. It was just behind her lips, but Brigid still held it in as he held his hands in the ridiculous pose.

“You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

He chuckled and lowered his hands. Then he lifted his drink and threw back the whiskey, making a face. “I still don’t like that stuff.”

She cocked her head at a curious angle, then shook it and looked down at his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. She took a sip of her whiskey. “Your skin is warm.”

He winked. “It’s only the water boys who run cold, Brigid. Our kind are very warm-blooded.”

“And fire, of course.”

“Of course.”

She finished her whiskey in a few more sips, her tongue catching the edge of her lip to catch the last drop.

“So, what you’re working on… it’s safe, isn’t it?”

Brigid nodded. “Yes, truly. I’m very well protected. And Murphy’s very keen to keep me alive.”

“Is he?”

She snorted. “Can you imagine Murphy letting Ioan and Deirdre’s pet human get in trouble?”

Carwyn scowled. “You’re not a pet. You’re family.”

“It’s just an expression.”

“Well, it’s not one I like. I’ve never liked it. We’re all children of God. Mortal. Immortal. That makes us equal, in my opinion. Always has been.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “Good to know, but really, don’t worry. I’m quite protected.”

“Good.”

“Carwyn?”

“Brigid?”

She looked up into his eyes, and his heart thumped. Then it thumped again. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then asked, “Can I ask you something? It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.”

He leaned forward. “Of course.”

Her voice was a whisper. “That night… when you and Ioan came for me, did you intend to kill Richard?”

Carwyn’s heart crashed in his chest and terrified brown eyes leapt to his memory. In that moment, he felt like the monster he had been that night. Angry. Vengeful. Full of wrath for the man with no thought for the child.

“I—I didn’t, Brigid. I know… I shouldn’t have done that in front of a child; there’s no excuse. I was in a rage when I saw him—”

He broke off when she waved a hand in front of her face. “No, no. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m sorry I asked. I just… I’ve wondered for years, and Anne said that I should just ask. So I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry he’s dead, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He kept silent so she would talk. “I’m rather sorry that I didn’t get to do it myself.”

He paused. “I understand what you’re saying. And I might even be sorry that I took your revenge from you, but…”

“What?”

“The woman may have wanted the vengeance. But I think… I think the child needed to know that she was worth avenging.”

Her eyes were glassy when she spoke again. “I’m sorry you had to see that. That you had to be involved.”

“I’m not. Why else has God given me this strength if not to protect the innocent?”

She took another sip of her drink. “I’m still sorry.”

“Why?”

Brigid’s mouth hung open, as if the words struggled to find a voice. “I just am. I don’t like thinking about that part of my life.”

“It’s a part of you.”

“Part, yes. But not the whole. Never the whole of me.”

He frowned. “Of course it isn’t. I know that. Do you?”

“Of course.”

Carwyn wondered if she really did, or if some wounds could only be healed with time. Suddenly, his heart thundered with the mad hope that she would have time. Far more of it than her human life would allow. He smothered the impulse to embrace her and deliberately turned the conversation to more pleasant topics.

They spoke of friends and family. Amusing stories about her co-workers. Music, which they had surprisingly similar tastes in. And Carwyn almost made her laugh three times, but she was stubborn.

When the pub closed, he could have continued talking to her for hours, but Brigid was yawning, so they decided to call it a night.

“I still don’t know who to believe about the wrestling thing. Ioan and Sinead both swear that you watch it.”

“Professional wrestling?” he scoffed. “Lies. Who would watch that ridiculous sport?”