Building From Ashes
Page 56
“Show off!” Anne yelled, but she could tell her friend was pleased with her. Everyone was pleased. They were impressed. For the first time in her life, Brigid felt confident and strong. Carwyn had been right. There were more than a few benefits to this whole immortal package.
As soon as she thought it, a wave of exhaustion took over and she swayed a little.
Cathy chuckled. “Whoa there, I think we better get you back to your room.”
“No,” she murmured, even though she could feel the heaviness begin to descend. “It’s still dark.”
“It is, but you know how long the nights are in winter. Your body doesn’t care. You’re young; it still wants you to get in those twelve hours.”
“Come on.” Anne rose from the lake’s edge and grabbed one of Brigid’s arms. Cathy grabbed her other one and they helped her up to her room. Brigid was careful to make sure her door was securely bolted before she went to lie down in the feather bed that smelled like lavender and lemon.
Sleep.
As her eyes flickered closed, she smiled. The best thing about being a vampire? It wasn’t not needing to breathe or night vision. It was sleep. Vampire sleep, quite simply, kicked ass. No dreams. No nightmares. Nothing interrupted the sweet oblivion of rest. So far, it was her favorite thing about immortality. With a soft sigh, she let the blissful exhaustion take her.
Her eyes flickered open hours later. She glanced at the clock on the wall, then at her body, which still lay in the same position as the night before. For a few minutes, she enjoyed the utter silence of the castle and thought about the previous months. Peaceful. It was the most peace she’d ever felt, despite the loud arguments that filled the hall. Castle Mackenzie was a happy and cheerful place, full of laughter and love. Max was the prankster. Tavish the straight man. And Cathy was the live wire that everyone reacted to.
Her rooms were in their own wing. Part of that was probably because everyone liked their privacy, though she’d certainly had to become accustomed to hearing Cathy and Max going at it on a regular basis. No vampire hearing was going to miss that; Cathy was loud. But Brigid’s rooms, for the most part, were isolated. Tavish had some small burrow in the basement where he huddled, and Anne had taken one of the lavish guest rooms, leaving Brigid in the south tower by herself.
She knew that, partly, it was a safety measure. On the off chance that she exploded, she didn’t want to take anyone with her. Though, from what Deirdre had said, she’d exploded when she first woke up and hadn’t left a mark on herself. They were still trying to figure that one out.
She ran a hand over the short crop of hair that covered her skull. Cathy told her she looked like a pixie. Anne said she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Brigid thought she was a little closer to a Sinead O’Connor look-alike with funky eyes. She got out of bed and dressed in the leggings and T-shirt she wore for practice. She’d learned her lesson about wearing loose clothing the first night and had the smudged burns to prove it.
Just then, she heard a scratching at the door. Sighing, she rose to open it and Madoc pushed in.
“Why? We go through this every night, dog.”
The large puppy ignored her; then he walked over to the heather-green sweater that was draped over the chair in the corner and pulled it. It fell on the floor where Madoc promptly turned in a circle and laid on top of it. Brigid rushed over and pulled at the sweater as the dog whined.
“Don’t! You beast, you’ll get fur all over it. That’s not yours.”
It wasn’t hers, either. Carwyn had left it in the library, and she’d found it after he’d left. She was just keeping it for him. She pulled up and the dog released the sweater with a whine.
“No. You can’t have it. I’ve told you before.” She held it in both hands and sat on the edge of the bed, fingering a frayed edge along the collar. She wondered if Anne could teach her how to fix it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have time to learn a new hobby. Plus, knitting needles were sharp and could double as a handy weapon, should the need arise. The wolfhound came over and put his chin in her lap, looking up with mournful black eyes. Reluctantly, she lifted a hand and put it on his head, rubbing the coarse grey fur between her fingers. “I know,” she whispered. “I miss him, too.”
“Brigid!” She heard Cathy’s call from across the castle.
She set Carwyn’s sweater on her bed and gave Madoc one last pat before she stood.
“Time to eat, drink, and…” She looked down at the dog, who really was becoming alarmingly big. “Drink some more.”
The wolfhound huffed and walked to the door.
“Well, I don’t see you offering, dog.”
Madoc barked and sat back on his haunches as she locked her door and pocketed the old key. Then the small woman and the giant dog set off down the hall.
“I was just joking, you know. The way you smell, I can’t imagine your blood tastes very good.”
“Again!”
She built the fire up along her arms, then snuffed it out, and the flames appeared to sink into her skin. Every time she did it, there was a sharp tingling sensation that reminded her of needles. She looked up into the full moon and took a deep breath, calming the race of her heart.
“Again.”
“Shit,” she muttered. It wasn’t painful in the way that she remembered pain as a human, but it was still uncomfortable, and she’d been repeating the exercise for over an hour while Anne and Cathy chatted near the lake’s edge. She built the fire again. Then snuffed it out. Again. Cathy claimed that learning to put out the flames was just as important, if not more, than learning how to control them.
As soon as she thought it, a wave of exhaustion took over and she swayed a little.
Cathy chuckled. “Whoa there, I think we better get you back to your room.”
“No,” she murmured, even though she could feel the heaviness begin to descend. “It’s still dark.”
“It is, but you know how long the nights are in winter. Your body doesn’t care. You’re young; it still wants you to get in those twelve hours.”
“Come on.” Anne rose from the lake’s edge and grabbed one of Brigid’s arms. Cathy grabbed her other one and they helped her up to her room. Brigid was careful to make sure her door was securely bolted before she went to lie down in the feather bed that smelled like lavender and lemon.
Sleep.
As her eyes flickered closed, she smiled. The best thing about being a vampire? It wasn’t not needing to breathe or night vision. It was sleep. Vampire sleep, quite simply, kicked ass. No dreams. No nightmares. Nothing interrupted the sweet oblivion of rest. So far, it was her favorite thing about immortality. With a soft sigh, she let the blissful exhaustion take her.
Her eyes flickered open hours later. She glanced at the clock on the wall, then at her body, which still lay in the same position as the night before. For a few minutes, she enjoyed the utter silence of the castle and thought about the previous months. Peaceful. It was the most peace she’d ever felt, despite the loud arguments that filled the hall. Castle Mackenzie was a happy and cheerful place, full of laughter and love. Max was the prankster. Tavish the straight man. And Cathy was the live wire that everyone reacted to.
Her rooms were in their own wing. Part of that was probably because everyone liked their privacy, though she’d certainly had to become accustomed to hearing Cathy and Max going at it on a regular basis. No vampire hearing was going to miss that; Cathy was loud. But Brigid’s rooms, for the most part, were isolated. Tavish had some small burrow in the basement where he huddled, and Anne had taken one of the lavish guest rooms, leaving Brigid in the south tower by herself.
She knew that, partly, it was a safety measure. On the off chance that she exploded, she didn’t want to take anyone with her. Though, from what Deirdre had said, she’d exploded when she first woke up and hadn’t left a mark on herself. They were still trying to figure that one out.
She ran a hand over the short crop of hair that covered her skull. Cathy told her she looked like a pixie. Anne said she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Brigid thought she was a little closer to a Sinead O’Connor look-alike with funky eyes. She got out of bed and dressed in the leggings and T-shirt she wore for practice. She’d learned her lesson about wearing loose clothing the first night and had the smudged burns to prove it.
Just then, she heard a scratching at the door. Sighing, she rose to open it and Madoc pushed in.
“Why? We go through this every night, dog.”
The large puppy ignored her; then he walked over to the heather-green sweater that was draped over the chair in the corner and pulled it. It fell on the floor where Madoc promptly turned in a circle and laid on top of it. Brigid rushed over and pulled at the sweater as the dog whined.
“Don’t! You beast, you’ll get fur all over it. That’s not yours.”
It wasn’t hers, either. Carwyn had left it in the library, and she’d found it after he’d left. She was just keeping it for him. She pulled up and the dog released the sweater with a whine.
“No. You can’t have it. I’ve told you before.” She held it in both hands and sat on the edge of the bed, fingering a frayed edge along the collar. She wondered if Anne could teach her how to fix it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have time to learn a new hobby. Plus, knitting needles were sharp and could double as a handy weapon, should the need arise. The wolfhound came over and put his chin in her lap, looking up with mournful black eyes. Reluctantly, she lifted a hand and put it on his head, rubbing the coarse grey fur between her fingers. “I know,” she whispered. “I miss him, too.”
“Brigid!” She heard Cathy’s call from across the castle.
She set Carwyn’s sweater on her bed and gave Madoc one last pat before she stood.
“Time to eat, drink, and…” She looked down at the dog, who really was becoming alarmingly big. “Drink some more.”
The wolfhound huffed and walked to the door.
“Well, I don’t see you offering, dog.”
Madoc barked and sat back on his haunches as she locked her door and pocketed the old key. Then the small woman and the giant dog set off down the hall.
“I was just joking, you know. The way you smell, I can’t imagine your blood tastes very good.”
“Again!”
She built the fire up along her arms, then snuffed it out, and the flames appeared to sink into her skin. Every time she did it, there was a sharp tingling sensation that reminded her of needles. She looked up into the full moon and took a deep breath, calming the race of her heart.
“Again.”
“Shit,” she muttered. It wasn’t painful in the way that she remembered pain as a human, but it was still uncomfortable, and she’d been repeating the exercise for over an hour while Anne and Cathy chatted near the lake’s edge. She built the fire again. Then snuffed it out. Again. Cathy claimed that learning to put out the flames was just as important, if not more, than learning how to control them.
