Page 13 of How I Met Your Murderer

“Oh, you looked it,” Eric assured me with a half-cocked smile. “But on that note, things are only going to get more chaotic around here before Halloween. I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s always more energy for us to draw from then. And if you’re here to move us on, or at least to keep the peace between us and the living when tensions are at their highest . . . I think you ought to meet the rest of the party, so to speak.” If ghosts could blush, that’s exactly what Eric would be doing as he stumbled over his words. “The adventuring party. I mean—our fellow lodgers. Sorry, sometimes I think about all this like it’s a game.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?” I asked, thrown by the unnecessary apology. “It’s a good way to cope with the afterlife, I reckon.”

Eric ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back, and his form seemed to briefly brighten. “Thanks. So, how about I give you the tour the Dolans couldn’t?”

I hesitated. I wished I could refuse, go home, but this clusterfuck of a castle was officially my problem. And just like Caoimhe with her visions of medieval banquets, I was digging my heels in. I couldn’t see myself actually helping this many ghosts move on with my clever tricks even in the span of two months, but I could certainly solve a few headaches. I already had some ideas about how to spare any future mirrors from Síofra.

Even more encouraging, I could no longer feel the weight that had settled over me each time I entered the castle. Either I was getting used to the heavier energy, or perhaps now that the ghosts had had their night of fun, it was the fresh wind blowing in after a storm.

Still, I wasn’t sure I should trust Eric. He and Síofra had both admitted to being unpredictable at the best of times, and inviting a ghost to accompany me on my ghost-hunting job felt like crossing some kind of line that—once again—hadn’t been discussed in training.

Besides, it was late. After midnight, going by my yawns and the deepening ache in my knee. Possibly closing in on one or two in the morning.

“Another night, maybe,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. After all, I wasn’t quite decided. “The living still need to do things like hit the jacks and have a lie down. But . . . if I want to take you up on it later, how do I find you?”

Eric looked at me thoughtfully for a long moment, and it might have been my imagination, but it seemed like some of the color returned to those brilliant hazel eyes. Eventually, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Easy. Just whistle Smash Mouth’s 1999 classic: ‘All Star.’”

“Ah, you’re having me on!” I laughed.

But he didn’t join in.

He was fading before my eyes until I appeared to be alone in the room. Síofra, too, had disappeared from the armchair. As I gathered my bag and my fallen gear to return downstairs and make my way to the van, I caught the faintest “Catch you later, All Star,” on a passing breeze.

I flipped my middle finger in the air on my way out the door.

In my dreams, I was back on the pitch. Back in the green and gold. The hurley was in my hand, fitted comfortably in my sweaty palm. The sun was shining. Fionn and Dara screamed my name, cheering like mad as my hurley connected with the sliotar and sent it soaring over the bar.

The satisfying tap of wood on leather still echoed in my ears as I made up a victory dance on the spot, acting the maggot to my teammates’ whistles of approval.

Tap tap tap.

The sound kept getting louder even though I wasn’t using the hurley for anything but holding it above my head while I swayed my hips.

Tap tap tap.

I glanced around the pitch, even out into our small group of onlookers, but couldn’t find the source of the sound.

Until I finally, reluctantly, opened my eyes to face my new reality.

Which currently looked like Jordy tapping on the van’s back windows, where I lay sprawled half on my mattress in a patch of golden sunlight, my cheek smushed against the charging PolterPulse V2.1.

As we made eye contact, Jordy grinned and held up two takeaway cups, one in each hand. Tea, probably. I hoped it was strong.

I struggled upright and glanced at my phone, catching the time: already past noon. I had apparently slept in my uniform, so there was no need to change just yet. I opened the back doors and smoothed out a few wrinkles, dangling my long legs over the edge of the van and patting the spot beside me in invitation.

Jordy lifted his little dachshund up first, then sat down and handed me a hot tea. A knowing look filled his blue eyes as I groaned a hello while fragments of last night crashed back into me: Eric, pretty and petite and almost familiar, who had looked so alive at first that he had even me fooled. The flashing lights and chaotic noise, worse than being in a club. Eric, wanting to protect me. The spilled liquor from the kitchen and the crash in the dining room. The rotting ghost in the mirror who had turned out to be pretty nice, for a spirit. Eric grinning like an eejit and telling me to whistle that stupid song if I wanted him to appear.

Well, too bad for him that I couldn’t whistle.

And too bad for me, because I had left the carnage of the broken mirror and spilled wine and whatever else to deal with in the morning. But now morning had come and gone with me none the wiser, and Caoimhe was probably inside right now, going spare at the mess.

“Caoimhe’s not giving you the boot or feeling cross that you slept in,” Jordy said, like he knew what I was thinking. “Every time someone new comes to deal with the haunting, the ghost pulls something like this. If anything, she was expecting it. I suspect she’s relieved you didn’t drop dead. She and Basil have a cleanup crew working away, and she’s called a friend who sources antiques to help look for our next mirror.” He reached into the bag he had brought with him and offered a foil-wrapped sandwich that still felt warm in my palm. “Chef Aislinn’s in today, testing some sample menus. Asked her to make us a couple egg and cheese bagels, with a bit of bacon if she had it to hand.” With a conspiratorial grin, he added, “I’m usually up late myself, messing about on the PlayStation with the lads. Perks of the single life.”

The sandwich was good. Filling and hot, bracing. Helping me better digest some of what had happened last night. Without taking Eric up on his offer to meet the rest of the castle’s spirits, I still didn’t know the full extent of what I was up against. But I wondered if Jordy, with his love of history, might be able to fill me in just as well.

“Did you know there’s more than one spirit haunting the place?” I asked between greasy bites, not at all surprised when Jordy shrugged and took this in stride. “Easily more than two. More than . . . well, let’s just say it’s a lot.”

“Pepper’s hot for something in there, but not everything,” Jordy said after a moment, petting the small dog now stretched across his lap. “Occasionally he sees something he loves. Other times, he can’t get out of the place fast enough. Makes sense that it’s different spirits.”