In her time away, Patrick Murphy had moved the center of his operations to the newly refurbished building in the heart of Dublin’s emerging Docklands. The old building had been razed and a bright, modern structure of glass and steel had been built in its place. Since Brigid considered this move a new start for a new her, she approved of her flat. She never wanted to step foot in Parliament House again.
“Miss Connor?” The building director was still standing in the door. “Will this be acceptable?”
“Thank you, Smith. It’s lovely. When my things arrive, please have them brought up.”
The older gentleman nodded. He probably could have worked running any one of the world-class hotels in the city, but instead, Smith coordinated the residents in Murphy’s new building. The bottom floors hummed with the night and day business of the immortal leader. Shipping. Clubs. Restaurants. Her new landlord was powerful and very, very wealthy.
“May I escort you to Murphy’s office for your interview, Miss Connor?”
She dropped her purse on the table in the entry and picked up a small handbag. Smith cleared his throat. “You won’t need your bag, miss. I’ll be happy to see you back into your rooms, but security does not allow any bags or briefcases into Murphy’s office.”
“Well, of course not. Thank you, Smith.” She picked up her jacket and patted the pockets, looking to Smith with a smile. “Best make sure I don’t have any spare pen-knives, matches, or broadswords in here, either.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
They walked down the hall to the elevator and took it down to the first floor. Unlike most executives, who would consider the top floor a mark of stature, Patrick Murphy kept offices on the first. As they walked past the wall of glass that lined the hall, Brigid looked at the lights of the boats floating up and down the river. She noted that the building jutted out over the bank, giving Murphy and any other water vampire immediate river access and what would probably be very strong elemental strength.
They stopped in front of a set of double doors, and Smith paused. He gestured toward a small sitting area with a coffee table and an old rotary phone.
“You may wait here for security to come get you when Murphy is ready for your interview. If you dial fifty-four when you are finished, it will connect directly to my office, Miss Connor. I’ll see you directly back to your room, or escort you through the building, if you like.”
“Thank you, Smith. But please, call me Brigid.”
He smiled. “Of course, Miss.”
Brigid held out her hand and gave Smith a firm handshake. Her heart did not race. She was calm, and her palms were not even damp. After months of Anne’s unique therapy, which combined traditional counseling with the targeted use of vampire amnis to treat certain symptoms, Brigid finally felt as if she was in control of her reactions for the first time in her life. She no longer felt an instinctive aversion to touch and she was far more comfortable in social situations. She had feared, prior to her return, that being back in Dublin would cause her to relapse, but so far, none had occurred.
She took a seat and started to page through one of the local newspapers that lay neatly on the table, but as soon as she picked up the first one, the door opened.
“Brigid Connor?” The tall vampire had a blank expression as he looked her over. Other than his height, he was very average looking. Average brown hair. Average brown eyes. Pale, unlined skin marked him as an immortal, and his canny eyes scanned her for any detectable threat. She rose quickly.
“I am.”
“Murphy is ready for you. Please, come with me.”
She walked ahead of him through the doors, but paused before she ran into the second set of doors. The vampire smiled almost imperceptibly.
“All of his offices are light-proof, of course.”
“Of course.”
The vampire fitted a key in a lock, then drew a stylus from around his neck and punched in a code on a keypad above the lock. He caught her glance and smiled again. “The passcode changes every night. Just in case you were curious.”
She blinked. “I—I’m not. I’m just not used to most vampires using electronics and such.”
He gave a low chuckle. “The ones who work for Murphy do.”
Brigid heard a small buzz, then he pushed the door open and entered. Beyond the door was another office that looked like any rich executive’s welcome desk. An efficient-looking human woman worked behind a computer, glancing up with interest. She lifted the half-moon glasses she’d been wearing and tucked a lock of her smooth silver hair behind her ear. “Murphy’s ten o’clock?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The vampire’s voice held a hint of a tease, and Brigid looked up to see humor lighting his face. The secretary scowled.
“Ma’am me, you impudent lad. You’re a hundred years older than me, and you know it.”
“And yet you still call me a lad, Angie. I must be living right.”
Angie rolled her eyes at him, but stood and offered Brigid a hand. “I’m Angela McKee, Miss Connor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ignore Declan. Work here long enough, and he’ll start teasing you about your age, too. You’ll rue the day your first wrinkle appears, for you’ll hear no end of it from these lads.”
Brigid thought she might just like working with the older woman, who was, she had to confess, one of the most handsome women she’d ever seen, no matter what Declan teased. She glanced over at the tall vampire, very obviously looking him over. “Well, Ms. McKee. I wouldn’t take much heed of him. He’s stuck with that unfortunate face for eternity, isn’t he? At least we can shove off after eighty or ninety years.”
The formerly plain face of her escort broke into a charming grin as he joined Angie laughing. Just then, Brigid heard a door crack open, and she looked over her shoulder.
“You must be Brigid Connor. I was warned about that mouth.”
She’d heard a lot about Patrick Murphy in the past ten years, first in Wicklow, but more at school. The girls in Parliament House had treated him with a kind of awe only shown toward movie stars. He was rich, powerful, and appeared to have been frozen in time around thirty years of age. Rumor had it, he still enjoyed a hardy bout of bare-knuckle boxing with his cadre of security guards and employees. And first time Brigid saw him, face-to-face, she thanked God and all the saints that he was a vampire. Because permanently marring that incredible face with a bloody fist would have been a crime against heaven, she was sure of it.
She tried to look cool and calm, but she was fairly sure she was staring. Murphy, to his credit, only smiled politely.
“With insults like that, you’ll fit right in here, Miss Connor.”
She spoke before she even thought. “Oh, that’s nothing. Talk to me after a few pints. They get better.”
His blue eyes crinkled in the corners, and his face split open into a mischievous grin. “Is that an invitation?”
Was that her imagination or were his fangs down? Brigid cleared her throat and took a deep breath, trying to stop the flush she could feel creeping up her neck. “I…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Patrick,” Angie butted in. “Don’t pester the girl before she’s even started work. She’ll run off and I’ll be left on my own with you lot again.”
Murphy winked at Angie, then opened the door wider and held a hand out for Brigid. “Miss Connor, if you please? We have the formality of an interview to dispense with before I may pester you again.”
Brigid smiled and walked into the office. As soon as she entered, she scanned the room.
The walls were solid, with no visible access points, but she had a feeling one of the thick bookshelves against the far wall housed a door of some kind. There was also a slight crease in the center of the area rug that told her a seam of some kind was concealed beneath. River access, if she had to guess.
“Yes,” Murphy said quietly, as he walked toward his desk, eyeing her with calculation. “I think this will work. I like the way you just examined this room, Miss Connor.”
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“Please, call me Brigid.”
“Brigid, how many exits do you see?”
She paused, giving the room one last sweep with her eyes. “One.”
“And how many do you not see?”
“I’d say… one behind the bookcases that leads to whatever room is beyond Ms. McKee’s office, and another under the rug where the carpet is worn. That one probably leads to the river somehow.”
Murphy walked over and flipped back the rug, revealing bare floor. Brigid frowned in disappointment until he walked to the other side of the room and flipped up another rug, revealing a square door in the floor.
“We rotate them so the wear marks aren’t too obvious. The rug you spotted will need to be replaced. I’ll remind Angie.”
“Or you could keep it. It would make a good distraction for someone not accustomed to your habits.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Indeed it could. Excellent suggestion, Brigid.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a seat.”
They walked to the smooth cherry desk in the corner of the room in front of a set of bookcases. Murphy took a seat behind the desk, and Brigid sat across from him.
“I understand you were attending UCD and planning to enter into law enforcement. Then you left school and moved back to your family home. Why?”
Brigid took a deep breath. She had expected the question, but it was still difficult to answer. “I had substance abuse problems that I developed in school. I left to get it taken care of, which I did, but my history and medical record would disqualify me for the Garda.”
Murphy shrugged. “Records can be expunged. Disappear easily for someone such as Ioan ap Carwyn. Why wouldn’t he do that? I know you are a valued member of his aegis.”
Records could be expunged, but psychological evaluations could not be avoided, or faked. Brigid had faced the fact that her history of abuse, anxiety, and depression would disqualify her from human law enforcement. But vampire?
“I decided, after some reflection, that I was more suited to private, instead of public, security, Mr. Murphy.”
“Call me Murphy. Everyone does.” Then he smirked. “Except for a few who don’t, but you’ll know when you’re one of those.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”
Murphy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of himself, the picture of innocence. “Perhaps. I make no assumptions.”
“Good idea.”
“I have a lot of them.”
She couldn’t stop the blush that stained her neck. “I’m sure you do.”
He had a smart mouth, and Brigid wished she didn’t find it quite so appealing. She smoothed the very conservative grey slacks she’d worn and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. Gone were the clashing colors and rows of earrings. Her hair was its natural dark brown. Her ears held only two piercings each, and her suit was plain and well tailored, fitting the office, the vampire across from her, and the organization she hoped to work in.
“Almost all the employees in my security department are immortal. Most of them are related to me in some way. I have very few outsiders here, and I’ll be quite honest, despite your connections—which are the only reason I’m considering you—I will not trust you until I know you better.”
“That’s perfectly understandable, sir.”
He narrowed his eyes and examined her as she sat across from him, still as a vampire. “As I said, most of my security is vampire, except for Angie. Obviously, this presents some challenges. How proficient are you on the computer?”
“I’m no expert, but I’m very computer-literate, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“That’s all I need. I have my own sources for other kinds of information.”
She nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem, then, and I’m a very fast learner.”
“Are you?”
“I am.”
“Good. And of course, you won’t burn up in sunlight, which also has obvious advantages.”
She smiled. “True.”
He paused for a moment, staring at her intently as his hands steepled on the desk in front of him. “The drugs problem is growing worse in Dublin. To a certain extent, this does not concern me.” He must have caught the stiffening of her shoulders. “Not that drug use isn’t a concern to all citizens, but for the most part, the mortal authorities are equipped to deal with it. Only rarely does it interfere with those under my aegis or those in my territories.”
Her voice was quiet when she asked, “Are you sure about that?”
Murphy arched an eyebrow at her, but continued. “As you may have guessed, the problem of drugs at Parliament House—which is in my territories—and the safety of its residents, has been of some concern considering developments over the past year. Further, the import problem does fall under my purview, as well.”
“Where is it coming from?”
“In Ireland, Brigid, almost everything arrives by boat. Especially drugs. I am a water vampire and the largest private holder of shipping interests in the country—not that the mortals are aware of it. The import of narcotics, and the criminal activity associated with such, has become something of a problem that overlaps with my own interests. Therefore, I have become involved, no matter how I may have wanted to avoid it.”
He fell silent, and Brigid forced herself to meet his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
Murphy smiled. “You working for me could be beneficial to us both. You have knowledge about this problem you may not even realize you possess. But that also means you’ll have to be in contact with some of the elements you’ve tried very hard to distance yourself from. Is that something you can manage?”
Brigid thought about her old friends. Thought about the greedy glint in the eye of the boy she’d bought drugs from and the utter terror and pain of heroin withdrawal. Could she willingly put herself into that world again? Would she manage to resist the quick and easy promise of oblivion? If she could really help, she would.
“Depend on it. I’m in.” Murphy’s face was utterly blank. Brigid could hear the clock on the wall behind her ticking, but there was no electronic hum of a computer or ringing phones to distract her from his examination. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Did you have any other questions for me?”
He finally smiled and leaned toward her. “Would you like meet the team?”
Chapter Seven
Snowdonia, Wales
September 2007
“Hello, Father.”
Carwyn nodded at the older man who passed him on his way to the small market in town. Sister Maggie had run out of currants and asked him to pick up some more for the scones she was baking in the morning with the ladies at the church. Since the nights were finally getting longer again, he told her he’d enjoy the walk. If he stopped by the small pub in town for a pint… Well, she wasn’t baking that night, was she?
“Hello, Father Carwyn.” He smiled at the little girl and her mother who passed him.
“Noswaith dda.”
“Evening, Father.”
“How’s Sister Maggie, Father?”
The small village tucked into the hills of Northern Wales was a relic. The majority of his ancestral homeland had long ago abandoned the Roman church, but in the isolated mountain community, his old stone chapel still stood, faithful and enduring, and the people of the town were set in their traditions.
He brushed back the shaggy red hair that fell over his forehead. He still needed that haircut Maggie was pestering him about. A light rain fell and twinkled on the black coat he wore. Though he only wore clerical attire during formal occasions or mass these days, he still kept to a more muted wardrobe when he was home and working.
He stepped into the small market a few minutes before they were set to close. The round face of the young woman at the counter broke into a smile.
“Hello, Father! Can I help with anything this evening?”
He frowned. “Currants for the s
ister? I’m not sure where they would be.”
She waved him over to a row. “I’m not surprised. We keep moving the baking things about the store and I often get lost myself.” The clerk handed him a small package of the dry red berries and then started back to the front of the store.
Carwyn frowned. What was her name? Ginny? Jennifer? Her mother’s name was Mary, he was sure of that, but the young woman hadn’t been to mass in quite some time.
“Thank you…” His embarrassed expression must’ve given him away. He shot her his most charming grin.
“Jenna.”
He smothered the laugh when she blushed. He’d caught her looking for his teeth. They always did. Only the children asked directly, and even then, it was rare. His life, such as it was, was not questioned by the people in the town. He was the Father. They were his people. “Thank you, Jenna.”
“You’re very welcome. Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you. Tell your mother I said hello.”
“I will, Father.”
The girl’s mother had entertained a furious crush on him when she was younger. It hadn’t been the first, nor would it be the last. Far from a deterrent, his vocation was an attraction for a few. It always had been. For some, it was the allure of the forbidden, never mind that he’d been a married man when he was human. For the other, shyer sort, he was considered safe. A man, but not a threat.
He smiled to himself. Except for the teeth. They always forgot about the teeth.
Carwyn whistled as he walked into the pub and waved at the man behind the bar. David had been pouring pints for years in the small, cozy establishment, as his father had before him. Carwyn could see David’s son, Dylan, helping another customer as he sat at one of the stools. Father and son working together, following a tradition, year after year and generation after generation. The farmer’s son. The teacher’s daughter. He thought of his own children. Not a single one in ministry to the church. Of course, a lifelong commitment took on an entirely different tone when you were talking about hundreds of years instead of fifty or sixty.