Building From Ashes (17 page)

Now he knew. Knew the agony of loss his sire had felt when she lost her sister. Knew the creeping despair of losing his most ancient friend.

And in his grief, what had he become?

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I don’t remember when my last confession was…”

The whispered words of confession as his son’s murderer detailed Ioan’s last hours.

The beating. The torture. The quick slice at the neck that had ended nine hundred years of a beautiful life.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

Didn’t they realize? He offered their prayers up to God, but harbored the memory of their sins for eternity.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

Carwyn closed his eyes and heard the quick twist of the boy’s neck as Gemma took her vengeance on her brother’s murderer. The young vampire paid in the only currency their brutal world understood. And in Carwyn’s mind, he realized it wasn’t only vengeance. It was a warning. A necessary declaration of power that kept all of them, and all the humans under their aegis, safe from those who intended harm.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

But he also knew that he had knelt next to Ioan’s killer on the wet deck of a freighter in the English Channel, offered absolution to a sinner, then walked away, knowing he would be killed.

Who had he become? The conflict between his earthly and heavenly obligations had never been so stark.

He brushed the thought aside and shuffled through the correspondence that had built up on Ioan’s desk. He’d told Deirdre that he’d sort through it for her, even though he dreaded the task. But life moved on. A passage from Ecclesiastes came to him.

Generations come and generations go, but the Earth remains forever.

He remained. Like the earth that surrounded him in Ioan’s library, he remained solid and unchangeable. And life moved on.

The two vampires directly responsible for his son’s death were dead. Lorenzo was not. Not yet, anyway. But his close friends, Beatrice and Giovanni, were safe in South America, finding peace and love even in the midst of pain. His clan was shoring up their defenses with an enemy still on the loose. His son, Gus, received word from his twin sister, Carla. Carwyn’s child, Luc, had sent a letter from the Netherlands, and Guy had called from his home in Northern France. Tavish and Max had both checked in from Scotland. Gemma was safe in London, secure under the careful guard of her powerful fiancé. She was Carwyn’s oldest child now and had already sent men to guard her youngest brother, Daniel, who lived in the Lakes region in England.

Generations came and went. His children rose in power and spread their influence. After a thousand years on earth, Father Carwyn ap Bryn felt the stirring of change in his blood, and the earth surrounding him hummed in awareness.

“Carwyn?” Deirdre called down the hallway. He turned just as she peeked her head into the library. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

He saw the hollow grief in her eyes. She had lost half of herself when Ioan was killed. “No. Unless you want something to do.”

She nodded, so he pulled a chair next to him and she sat down. He handed her a stack of letters to sort.

Mail from family went in one stack. Letters from medical journals and scientific societies in another. There was correspondence from immortals all over the globe whom Ioan had known professionally and personally. Letters from numerous humans he’d had contact with or helped. Financial statements. Bills. Notices. It was overwhelming.

“This is just from the last four months?”

She nodded. “Well, four and a half, I suppose.”

Carwyn shook his head and put another letter in the “family” pile. It was from one of Ioan’s children who was considering a move to the United States and needed an introduction. Ioan would have contacted one of his own associates in New York. Or perhaps Seattle or Chicago and consulted with them. Then letters between the two would need to be exchanged. Details of what the business implications of the move were. Why the vampire wanted to relocate. What allegiance or support they could offer. Though the immortal world had no central government, it operated on a feudal system of power, money, allegiance, and personal connections. All things that Ioan, as the oldest of his children, had dealt with in his stead for nine hundred years.

He muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

Deirdre looked up with a frown. “What is?”

Carwyn threw up his hands. “All this. He handled all this because I couldn’t be bothered with most of it, Deirdre. I had responsibilities and I ignored them.”

“You are dedicated to the church. And these were our responsibilities. Our children, not yours.”

“They are part of my clan and my connections are the most extensive, so it’s something I should have shared. It should never have fallen solely—”

She grabbed his hand. “It didn’t. It was shared between all of us. Ioan was just the oldest, so he did the most. And we all understood that you had a calling. You still do. You owe us nothing, Father.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I think it may be time for a change.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

She was silent as she looked at him, then she turned back to the stack of letters and continued sorting. “He was happy to help. He was always—” Her voice broke, and Carwyn reached across to embrace her.

“Shh.” Her shoulders were stiff and he knew she was fighting back tears. Deirdre had always been strong. She was the warrior, never the one to show weakness. “Grieve, daughter. You have the right.”

“There are too many depending on me,” she whispered. “And you cannot stay here forever. Your church—”

“I’ve already contacted the bishop. He’s sent another priest for the time being. I told him that my family needed me. They know not to argue.”

“Carwyn—”

“I am here. For as long as I am needed.” He still hadn’t made it to Dublin, though his thoughts had turned to Brigid Connor often in the past four months. He wanted to see her. Needed to comfort the girl. Deirdre and Sinead had been, but he’d been so occupied with finding Ioan’s murderers, then taking revenge, then sorting through the shattered branches of his family…

He needed to see her.

Deirdre lifted her face, stained with bloody tears. “I need to know that this monster cannot hurt others. I know you will stay here as long as you need, but if Giovanni and Beatrice ask for help finding Lorenzo or any others who took part in this, you must go. I am the mate of Ioan ap Carwyn. I am the leader of this clan. I will guard my people. I do not know to what purpose all this has happened, but there must be some greater good. I will cling to that until I see him again.”

Carwyn tugged on a lock of her wild, red hair. “Which will not be for many, many years.”

She smiled and lifted a hand to pat his shoulder. “No, Father. I do not despair of this life. I am simply… weary of it at the moment.”

He left an arm around her shoulders. “Pray with me?”

“Of course.”

Carwyn closed his eyes and felt the ancient mountain surrounding him, the pulse of creation beneath his feet. His soul reached up as he opened his lips to whisper the ancient words. “Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my meditation. Give heed to the voice of my cry, my King and my God, for to You I will pray. My voice You shall hear in the morning. In the morning, I will direct it to You…”

Deirdre whispered softly, “And I will look up.”

Dublin

May 2010

Another day. Another night.

Brigid slung her bag on her desk and picked up the list of tasks Tom had given her. It was too short. She looked up to see Declan watching her with guarded eyes. “This is all?”

He shrugged. “Ask Tom if you want more.”

“I have asked. Does he think I’m a weeping mess? I want more to do.”

Jack spoke quietly from the other side of the room. “No one thinks you’re a weeping mess, but you’ve been working fourteen-hour nights for the past five months. Perhaps—”

“Perhaps you all should just let me work like I want to and not worry about me.”

Jack’s mouth turned up at the corner. “Impossible.”

Declan said, “Angie said she had some messages for you. Did you check her desk?”

She left the room just as Declan and Jack began one of their wordless conversations that pissed her off. They all pissed her off. Murphy pissed her off with his kid-glove treatment. She hadn’t spoken to Emily in months. Axel and his little friends could go to hell. Her family wanted her home, but she had refused to go since Ioan’s funeral. Deirdre and Sinead had come to the city the month before. She smiled and nodded and made all the right noises so they would leave her alone. Carwyn… well, he obviously couldn’t be bothered.

Another day. Another night.

She picked up a stack of messages from Angie’s desk with her name on the top and paged through them. Anne had called again. Fecking doctor. She didn’t need to have a deep heart-to-heart with her therapist. She needed to work and she needed to kill someone.

And once again, Carwyn had already beaten her to it.

Fecking Carwyn.

She walked back in the office and began the manifest searches that Tom had listed for her. The one positive about this whole situation was that Lorenzo had been revealed as the source for the drugs that had been pouring into Dublin. He’d made himself quite rich off her streets, as a matter of fact. They were still trying to get a handle on how extensive his connections had been.

Her boss and colleagues thought they had things well in hand. Thought that the problem would drift away now that Lorenzo had been driven out of Ireland.

“Like the snake he is,” she muttered, curling her lip in a dark humor.

Idiots. Despite what Patrick Murphy and the others thought, Brigid knew the murderer hadn’t worked alone. He would have needed someone who knew the city better. Who had contacts and knew what clubs to distribute through. There had to be a local. Human? Vampire? It was her mission to find out.

“Connor!”

“What?” She looked up at Tom, annoyed by the interruption.

“Murphy wants to talk to you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be right there.”

Another day. Another night.

Another phone call from Deirdre that made Murphy hop to attention. Another “friendly chat” to see how she was doing. He’d ask her if she was sleeping well. He’d offer to listen. To give her time off from work so she could go home.

There was nothing and no one she wanted to see at home.

She nodded through her chat with Murphy, worked until Declan and Jack retired for the morning, then she worked a little more. Anything to keep her from the silent rooms where ghosts haunted her and sleep slipped through her grasp.

Another day. Another night.

Finally, she dragged herself up to her room and collapsed on the bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, images assaulted her—images of Ioan, bloody and tortured in the warehouse by the river. Then images of him from her childhood as they read books in the library. When Brigid finally fell asleep, she dreamed she was beating on a grey metal door, powerless to open it as she heard agonized cries from inside. She dreamt she heard Deirdre weeping, but when she woke, it was her own face that was covered in tears.

Wicklow

June 2010

Carwyn sat up when Deirdre came into the library.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?”

Deirdre’s eyes were wide with terror. “Murphy said that she didn’t come into work tonight. It’s the first night she’s ever missed work. She never misses work. And he says she hasn’t been sleeping. She says she’s fine, but she’s been working all night and day and—”

Carwyn stood and roared, “What the hell is he doing there? Does he have control of that city or not?” He rushed toward the door. “We’re going. Now.”

“Wait. She may just be with friends or—”

“Or she may be in trouble!” He spun around. “She may have stumbled onto something about Ioan’s murder and run off like a lunatic. She may be…”

Dead
.

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it. He had known she was traumatized by Ioan’s death and he’d avoided her. Avoided her grief and rage like a coward. Had foolishly taken comfort in the regular reports that the girl was coping. This wasn’t Murphy’s fault; it was his.

Deirdre whispered, “She has to be all right, Carwyn.”

“Listen.” He took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. “You go to Dublin. You know it better. Murphy—”

“Murphy already has his men searching the city. They all consider her a friend, and they know we’ll be searching as well.”

“Can you think of anywhere out of Dublin that she might go?”

Deirdre frowned. “Anne, maybe? I know they’re close. Anne’s been trying to talk to her. Maybe… if Brigid finally broke down, she might have gone to Anne.”

Carwyn nodded. “Fine. You go look for her with Murphy’s men. I’ll call Galway and see if she’s there.”

“Just go. Travel underground; you’ll get there faster. And bring Anne back. Even if Brigid’s not there, we’ll need her. She’ll come. Brigid needs help, and we haven’t been there for her.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

Blame me.

Her eyes were hollow. “She’s Ioan’s. She was my responsibility.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Just go.”

Dublin

June 2010

Deirdre raised her hand to push in the door of the warehouse. The scent of her husband’s blood still lingered, and she held in a sob.

Ioan, have I failed her, too?

Murphy’s men had found no trace of Brigid. She had very few places she would go. A pub she liked. A church in Ringsend. The Ha’Penny Bridge at night. She was nowhere. But then Deirdre had found Emily. Had coaxed the awful truth from her, and Deirdre knew with a sinking feeling where she would go.