Saint’s Passage: Elemental Covenant Book One

by Hunter, Elizabeth

  “Fuck no! What a waste that would have been.” Brigid looked around the room. “Yer so bloody talented—I’d give my right arm to be able to make anything this grand.” Thoughts of craving oblivion were hardly new to Brigid, so the confession didn’t surprise her, but she was surprised by how violently her mind revolted at the thought.

  Adriana’s cautious face broke into a wide smile. “Thanks. And thanks for coming tonight. I really wanted you to see…” She looked around the room. “Just… more than what you saw before, I guess.”

  “…when life breaks, you pick up the pieces and keep moving. Otherwise you stay broken. And instead of being a survivor, you’re always a victim.”

  “Thank you for inviting us.” Brigid looked around for Carwyn’s tall profile. “Fair warning, my man’s likely to eat all the fancy food if you’ve left anything out.”

  “My mom’s catering company did the spread tonight, so I think she probably took Carwyn into account.”

  “Good thinking.” Brigid nudged Adriana toward her family. “Tell me a bit about this school then. Hope yer not paying too much, ’cause yer already fucking good.”

  Adriana just laughed.

  * * *

  Brigid leaned against Carwyn in the back of the car. They’d both completely forgotten about safety belts. Thankfully, so had their driver.

  “You were right,” she said. “It’s good we came.”

  “I know.” His hand played with her knuckles. “You’re good at protecting people, Brigid.”

  She kept her eyes closed and luxuriated in his quiet attention. “That’s my job.”

  “You protect powerful people.”

  “Powerful people have powerful enemies.”

  “And sometimes ordinary people have powerful enemies too.”

  She frowned and opened her eyes, looking over her shoulder. “What are you getting at?”

  “I’ve been thinking… we shouldn’t go back to Dublin.” Carwyn drummed his fingers on his knee. “I think you should quit your job.”

  Chapter Three

  The Dancing Bear was a human bar in the theater district with a high tolerance for vampires. At least that was the impression Carwyn had when they first entered the cozy pub with red velvet booths, heavy green drapes, and theater-themed art on the walls.

  It was a carnival of odd characters, and if Carwyn had been younger, he would have been hard-pressed to pick out his own kind among the kaleidoscope of humanity on display at two in the morning. There were humans in Goth makeup and vampires in period clothing. There were even humans and vampires who’d made body paint a feature of their evening couture.

  The Dancing Bear was a bit of everything that made up New York, which meant a bit of everything in the world. In other words, it was an absolute delight and Carwyn’s new favorite place to hang out.

  Plus there was no mistaking the vampire behind the bar.

  “Gavin.” Carwyn leaned on the scarred stretch of oak. “Not your usual type of place.”

  Gavin Wallace was the owner of dozens of vampire clubs and restaurants around the globe, all of which were neutral territory for their kind. There was no feeding allowed, except from designated donors, and absolutely no violence. Usually Gavin’s places felt subdued and serious.

  The Dancing Bear?

  Gavin set a short glass in front of Carwyn and filled it halfway with clear gold whisky. “You’ll be honored to know that I bought it for Chloe but I named it after you.”

  Carwyn threw his head back and laughed. “I like you more since you met her.”

  The corner of Gavin’s mouth turned up. “I like you more since I met her, as well.”

  Gavin, like so many of their kind, had fallen for an extraordinary human. Chloe was a dancer, a budding choreographer, and an old friend who was currently sitting with Carwyn’s wife and an even older friend who was playing host to them while they were in the city.

  “How long are you in New York?” Gavin asked, sipping his own drink as Carwyn lifted his. “Sláinte.” He clinked Carwyn’s glass. “Your business is finished, isn’t it? You catching a slow boat back to Dublin soon?”

  “Not if I can convince that one to quit her job.” Carwyn nodded toward the booth where Brigid, Chloe, and their friend Tenzin were sharing a bottle of wine.

  Gavin raised a curious eyebrow. “I didn’t know Brigid was looking for a change.”

  “She’s not. I am.” Carwyn sipped his scotch. “She’s outgrown him.”

  “Murphy?” Gavin shrugged. “Everyone knows that one of the reasons Ireland is so stable is that Brigid Fucking Connor will incinerate anyone who irritates Patrick Murphy.”

  “Well, that’s not precisely true. I irritate Murphy regularly, and she only occasionally tries to incinerate me.”

  Gavin smirked. “Still. It’s allowed a flourishing vampire tech industry for the first time in history. You want to risk that?”

  “Murphy would be risking nothing. The connection is still there. I still have family there. The security office she’s established isn’t moving, and it operates independent of her. Why do you think we’re gone so much as it is?”

  “Because you hate your wife’s boss?”

  The corner of Carwyn’s lip curled up. “He’s just so…”

  “Polite.”

  “Fucking yes.” Carwyn slammed a hand on the bar. “A proper, polite dandy these days. The only time I like the man is when I’m throwing him around a room or we’re knocking seven shades of shite out of each other.”

  Gavin smiled as he sipped his drink. “You sound quite Irish these days.”

  “Don’t remind me.” He was far from his birthplace in South Wales and even farther from his last parish in North Wales where Welsh was the common tongue and life was far more subdued.

  “I’m not craving quiet.” He glanced around the bar. “I wouldn’t be in this place if I was. I’m just craving… more. Something more meaningful than making sure rich, powerful vampires stay rich and powerful.”

  Gavin leaned against the bar. “Aren’t you a rich, powerful vampire?”

  “Please. I was a man of the cloth for centuries. The rumors of my wealth are greatly exaggerated.” They weren’t, but Carwyn also had a massive clan to support. He had ten vampire offspring, all their children, and assorted relatives around the world. It gave him great influence and great obligations, all at the same time.

  Gavin nodded at Brigid in the corner booth. “I’m not the one you need to convince, Father. Sounds like you need to be taking your arguments elsewhere.”

  Carwyn cut Gavin slack on referring to him by his old title since the barman had known him since long before he left the priesthood. He grabbed the bottle of scotch, refilled his glass, and walked to the table, dodging a pirate in Rollerblades on his way there.

  Definitely hard to spot the vampires in this place.

  He reached the table and slid into the booth next to Chloe before any of the women could speak.

  “You are so large” —Tenzin narrowed her eyes at him— “and yet irritatingly quiet.” She looked like a small East Asian woman who could have been anywhere between sixteen and thirty. In reality, she was a multimillennial-old wind vampire from prehistoric Mongolia, daughter of immortal royalty, and occasionally an assassin.

  Carwyn’s wife adored Tenzin and wanted to be her when she grew up, which was more than a little terrifying.

  “Tenzin.” Carwyn leaned across the table. “I think Brigid should quit her job with Murphy and work for herself. What do you think?”

  Brigid glared at him.

  Tenzin said, “I have never willingly worked for another vampire who wasn’t my sire, so yes. Brigid should stop working for Murphy.”

  Chloe raised her hand. “Uh, not everyone wants to be their own boss. Just saying. Brigid, you said you enjoy working for Murphy.”

  “Well, I—”

  “If she enjoys it, she shouldn’t quit.” Tenzin sipped her wine. “That would be illogical.”

  “B
ut Brigid is independent by nature,” Carwyn said. “It’s part of what makes her such an excellent investigator.”

  Chloe said, “Weren’t you, like, a priest for ages and ages? You weren’t your own boss then.”

  Chloe Reardon was Gavin’s partner, a vibrant woman with medium-brown skin and delightful curls that sprang wild all over her head. Normally Chloe enchanted Carwyn. Tonight she wasn’t being much help.

  “Church hierarchy and vampire hierarchy are completely different things,” he said. “Whose side are you on?”

  Chloe pointed at Brigid. “Hers. In whatever decision she makes as long as it’s a healthy choice for her.”

  Carwyn muttered, “Kiss-up.”

  Tenzin leaned forward. “I should tell you Carwyn was a priest, but he was very bad at being obedient to his church masters.”

  “Thank you, Tenzin.”

  Chloe frowned. “Was that a compliment?”

  Brigid raised her hand. “Would you like to know what I want?”

  “Absolutely,” Chloe said.

  Carwyn and Tenzin exchanged a glance.

  “Of course,” Carwyn said dutifully.

  Tenzin said, “I suppose.”

  “Yeah, you suppose,” Brigid muttered. “It’s not like it’s my own life or anything.”

  Tenzin pointed at Carwyn. “But it’s also his life.”

  “I know that, Tenzin. I married the fecker.”

  Tenzin looked at Carwyn, then back to Brigid. “If you’re trying to make us respect your judgment, that might not be the thing to bring up.”

  “Oi!”

  “I think…” Brigid raised her voice. “That I don’t want to make this decision by committee. And I don’t want to make this decision right now.” She looked at Carwyn. “You brought this up in the car three hours ago and expected me to just jump for joy and say ‘Absolutely, you brilliant man, we should do whatever you want,’ and it’s not that simple, Carwyn. It’s not.” Brigid finished her wine, set the glass down, and stood up. “I’m going for a pee. Who’s coming with me?”

  “You don’t need to pee,” Tenzin said.

  “No, I really just want to move around and look at myself in the mirror to make sure my makeup isn’t smeared to hell the way I’m fairly sure it is.”

  Chloe nudged Carwyn. “I’ll go with you. And I’m human, so I do actually have to pee.”

  Brigid and Chloe departed for the female bonding ritual in the bar bathroom, leaving Carwyn and Tenzin alone at the table.

  Tenzin stared at him. “Why do you really want her to quit?”

  “I don’t think she’s happy.”

  “She says she is.”

  “And Ben never says he’s happy, but you know he’s really not?”

  Tenzin had recently begun a relationship—an actual romantic relationship—with Ben Vecchio, a young vampire who was also the son of one of Carwyn’s oldest friends. It was an odd dynamic, but that was far from unusual in the immortal world. The fact that Tenzin had found companionship with anyone was a minor miracle in Carwyn’s eyes. She wasn’t the most well-adjusted vampire.

  Tenzin said, “You’re right. Ben is still quite human in that sense.”

  “Humans and vampires lie to themselves regularly,” Carwyn said. “I know she’s probably not going to jump at the change, but I want to put the idea in her mind. I think she stays with Murphy because he gave her a chance when she needed one, but obligation is a horrible reason to stay on in an organization. I did it too long with the church.”

  Tenzin nodded. “I will agree with you on that.”

  “Plus Brigid and I could be doing something more important than playing bodyguard for the rich and powerful. Murphy likes having her there—she adds to his reputation—but he doesn’t need her. Not like other people do.”

  Tenzin glanced toward the corner where the women’s bathrooms were, then back to Carwyn. “You’re talking about finding people. Like Ben and I find treasure.”

  “I mean finding people.” He finished his drink and leaned forward. “Returning them to their families. Helping them start new lives. Putting them on a safe path, whatever that means for them. Brigid couldn’t rescue herself when she was a child. But there are other ways to slay our dragons. I want her to know that.”

  “Why not stay as you’ve been doing?” she asked. “She technically works for Murphy, but he allows her to go on these errands anytime you ask her to help.”

  Carwyn wanted to grind his teeth when Tenzin said the word allow.

  Her eyes lit up. “You really do hate him, don’t you?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Fine. You hate that he has a tie to her. Hate that she feels a sense of obligation to him.”

  “Yes.” Carwyn tried to find the words that would make sense to Tenzin. “I don’t want her to feel an obligation to anyone other than me. And I only want her to feel one toward me because I’d cut off my right arm and give it to her if she wanted it.”

  Tenzin scrunched up her nose. “I don’t think she will ever want to possess your right arm. Or your left one for that matter. Why would she want your arm? I suppose if she wanted a piece of you left if you die—”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Tenzin.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Chloe and Brigid coming back from the women’s bathroom. “I’d give her anything she wanted. Anything. Anytime. I don’t want her to feel obligated to anyone outside of us.”

  Tenzin frowned. “But Ben says that’s not how it works.”

  “What?”

  Tenzin didn’t finish her thought because Brigid and Chloe had returned to the table and Carwyn’s phone started buzzing in his pocket. He grabbed the small device wrapped in a heavily insulated case and looked at the number.

  “Los Angeles.” He looked at Brigid. “Who do we know in Los Angeles?”

  Brigid looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Besides two of our best friends?”

  “Oh right.” But Beatrice and Giovanni’s number would have come up as listed on his phone. Carwyn was staring at a number that was totally foreign.

  Oh, why not? It was probably a telemarketer, but he could have fun with that. He pushed the button and said, “Hello?”

  “Father Carwyn?” The voice sounded worried. “Am I speaking to Fath— I’m sorry. Carwyn. I was told you’d left the priesthood.”

  “Who is this?” He motioned Brigid closer. As long as she was close to the phone, her superior senses would allow her to pick up the man’s voice. “Who gave you this number?”

  “It was given to me by a priest in Ensenada. A man I trust. I thought he might know… Well, being brushed by the drugs trade, I thought he might have an idea of what I should do. Though there’s no evidence that she was involved in anything—”

  “I’m sorry,” Brigid broke in. “We have no idea who you are. My name is Brigid Connor. I’m Father Carwyn’s wife and partner.”

  “That sounds so weird,” Chloe said. “And wrong.”

  “My name is Father Anthony Clarence at Saint Peter’s Holy Church in LA,” the man said. “I’m calling to reach Carwyn ap Bryn. I’ve been told he might be able to help me.”

  “Help you with what?” Carwyn asked.

  “You’ve reached the correct person,” Brigid said. “Take a deep breath. How can we help?”

  “Her name is Lupe.” The urgency in the man’s voice morphed into exhaustion. “Lupe Martínez. And she’s already been missing for a week. The police won’t do anything. They said she ran away.”

  Carwyn and Brigid exchanged a look. Unfortunately, running away was an all too common occurrence.

  “Can you help me?” Father Anthony said. “The police don’t understand. I know this girl. Lupe would never leave her mother like this. She’d never leave her family. I know something is very wrong.”

  “It’s past midnight on the West Coast, Father.” Brigid scooted closer to Carwyn. “Why are you calling so late?”

  “Am I?” The man’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. �
�I thought you’d be awake because of the… Well, the… You know. Your particular condition.”

  Brigid’s eyebrows both went up.

  Well, well. Carwyn was impressed. Someone trusted Father Anthony not only with Carwyn’s number but also with the truth about what kind of creature the priest was.

  “Is this a good number to reach you?” Carwyn asked.

  “Yes. You can use it anytime. Day or night. I tell my kids that too.”

  Brigid nodded. “Okay. Give us an hour or two to get back to you. We’ll know more then.”

  Carwyn pushed the End button and looked at his wife. “You feel like taking a road trip?”

  “Don’t get any ideas.” Brigid shoved her tiny finger in his face. “This is not me quitting my job. This is me possibly helping out a family who needs help because I happen to be on the right continent. I haven’t quit my job and I haven’t decided anything.”

  Carwyn nodded. “Duly noted.”

  “Fine.” She reached for her own phone. “Now let’s call our contacts in Los Angeles and find out exactly who Father Anthony Clarence of Saint Peter’s Church is and why he’s so sure this Lupe Martínez needs our help.”

  Chapter Four

  Los Angeles, California

  Three days later

  “Like I said, it’s been over a week now,” Father Anthony Clarence of Saint Peter’s Holy Church told Brigid as they walked through the dark streets of downtown Los Angeles. “It’s not like her to disappear. Lupe isn’t a runaway.”

  Brigid watched the shadows with eyes that saw far more than the human beside her. “The types of kids who run away might surprise you, Father.”

  “Hey.” He paused and looked Brigid in the eye. “I’m not naive. I’ve been working among the homeless and addicted in this city far too long to be naive. I know kids run away and I understand the reasons are complicated. I’m still telling you, Lupe isn’t the type.”

  Brigid nodded. She’d seen her fair share of priests over the years, and her gut was telling her Father Anthony was one of the good ones. “I’ll take your word for it.”