Page 26 of How I Met Your Murderer

“I’m sorry,” I answered, barely louder than a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about demons unless I’m rolling dice to shoot a magic missile at them.” I was babbling and I knew it, full of restless unease. Something had just threatened Raff’s family, and I hadn’t been able to help. I’d barely been able to manifest, and no amount of running my fingers over his sore knee would erase the damage done.

“I think,” Raff said slowly, still staring wide-eyed at the remnants of the decorative candle, “I’m in over my head, and I’m willing to admit it this time. I’m going to call for backup.”

Rule #465: Limit Phone Use While on the Job

Entities of all levels and types hate competing for your attention. This is especially true if you’ve decided to swipe on potential hookups while you’ve got a poltergeist waiting to jump your bones in the bathroom. Keep your dating life and the afterlife separate to avoid complications or premature disembowelments.

From the Notebook of Rafferty O'Meara, ExorSquad Spirit Extraction Expert

Entity Name: Eric James Crawford, the American, the Wildcard, Professional Nerd, Mr. Brightside

Level: 4

Year of Expiration: 2009

Haunting style: Pulls my hair. Steals my stuff (my pin, sometimes my water bottle even though he can’t drink out of it). Whistles better than I can hold a tune. Imitates local bird calls: jays, blackcaps, magpies, wagtails, robins.

When you pay him a compliment, he looks so solid that I can’t tell him from the living. Funny, I can’t find remember sayings about ghosts and praise. Just him?

Ideas to keep the peace: I’m not sure yet. I’ve learned so much from him this past week, but I feel like I need to keep learning more about him. I can’t even say why, but I’m fairly sure there’s a line in The Handbook about trusting your gut on these things.

For now, I’ll stick with our little partnership. Keep it simple, like: he helps me, I don’t zap him.

Updated the 27th of September:

He’s still stealing my stuff (at this point, I’d just give him my pin if he was able to actually fasten it to his shirt). He makes me sing 90s songs. He talks a lot, to me and the birds. He’s good craic. Smart. Knows everyone in the castle. Pepper the dog is fierce fond of him (or at least fond of his legs). He died wearing contacts, but misses his glasses. Bet they look deadly cute on him. He played the piano for a few years, but doesn’t remember enough to try the one here. Pity; I would have liked to listen.

He’s bi. I learned that the other week. I don’t know what sorts of guys he fancies. Ones as pretty as he is, most likely.

Likes: Dungeons and Dragons. His cats (Merlin, Morgana, and Pixie, the bean). The ocean. Books with good endings. Writing. Playing games and making new ones. Astronomy. (Cassiopeia? He’s said it a few times.) His sisters (Amy, Elena, Chloe). His mam’s lasagna. His dad’s library. Frozen custard. Baklava. Warm hoodies. Collecting new dice and enamel pins (I never would have guessed). The café at the end of his block with the iced lavender oat milk lattes. Animals wearing little jumpers. Meme humor. Summer over winter and sunny days. Trying new restaurants. Learning about hurling, apparently.

Should I find his family and reach out to them for closure? I’ll have to ask him. Until then, we’ll keep watching the stars.

Updated the 28th of September:

I’m not sure why I wrote that, about the stars. I don’t know why all the spirits seem to be stuck here no matter what I do. This is nothing like my other cases, I’m sure of that much, but I’m glad zapping Eric didn’t work. Talking to him reminds me of nights out with the team, except I never watched any of my mates back home the way I watch him. I wonder if he’s noticed. I don’t know that I want him to, because where would that leave us? What could become of it?

Updated the 29th of September:

I don’t know why I wrote that stuff above, either. Good thing no one else will see these notes unless I decide to send them to a priest for confession.

I need to get a damn dog. I need to get back on Flair. I need Eric, too.

Galaxies. If only he knew he was the one who had charted constellations for me in the first place.

ten

Hidden Agendas

Raff

As I drove into the village the morning after the candle incident, my first call was to Ronan, but only because he had the expertise we needed. Once he got the measure of the situation and assured me we weren’t dealing with a demon—given the lack of growling, pushing, or a strong, rotten odor during such a manifestation, nor any reaction from our resident monk Brother Fintan during the whole ordeal—I wished him well. And then finally blocked his number, because he texted me a dick pic right after I hung up and asked when I might be free to meet, which made me feel nothing but more than a little used.

That done, I called my mam and da, who were both busy with work and sharing an ordinary Friday. They were pleased but a little confused to hear from me. Then I opened a group thread I’d muted a long time ago and checked on the hurling team buzzing from a recent win I hadn’t been part of. That might have stung a few months ago, but as I read through their jokes and slagging, I was warm and limp with relief.

Now, with a couple bars of signal on my cell and a bit of time to kill, I sat at a small table in one of Ballycorven’s two cafés with a nice view of the castle up on the hill, sipping an iced lavender oat milk latte and thinking about the candle. Maybe it was simply one of the castle spirits trying to frighten me off, no matter what Eric insisted to the contrary. Probably the same one who wanted to drop a chandelier on my head and killed the guy doing this job before me. That was the obvious and reasonable explanation once we ruled out demonic activity. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to have another expert on the job with me now that something had gone so far as to threaten the people I cared about. There had to be someone with more experience who could take better control of the situation—not that I planned on abandoning my post either way. It would take more than a bit of fancy trickery to drive me off, even if it had knocked the breath clean out of me.

As I waited for ExorSquad’s London office to open for the day so I could call, I definitely wasn’t wondering if each sip of my latte was anything like how Eric would taste, because that would have made me barking mad.