Page 30 of How I Met Your Murderer

The tightness in my head and the pounding at my temples from lack of sleep and too much caffeine agreed. I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“Oh, I know,” she said gently. “He hasn’t stopped replaying it. And he’s in the dungeon—if ghosts could wear tracks in a floor, he’d have carved a trench down there by now with all his pacing. I haven’t seen him in such a state since his early days here.”

My heart sank, even though I’d expected as much. I flipped through a few pages of the book I’d bought him in the village, needing something to do with my sudden restless energy now that I knew Eric was upset. My days of pacing were behind me.

“He’s worried sick that something is going to happen to you, and that he won’t be able to prevent it,” Síofra confided, leaning out of the mirror and resting her elbows atop the dresser. “Which is how you might conclude he cares about you a great deal.” She let the words linger while she rubbed one of the oozing sores on her chin and fixed me in her pale gaze. A soft flicker of old longing passed through those ancient eyes as she added, “Were it me, and I cared for one of the living that much, I’d want them to die here and stay by my side forever. But Eric thinks you’re too good for this place, and after all the kindness you’ve shown us, I’m inclined to agree. You’re a true friend, Rafferty O’Meara.”

“Go raibh maith agat,” I thanked her, oddly touched by the words in that long-dead voice. “But I don’t know that I deserve all that when I haven’t found a way to move any of you on yet. It’s already been near a month, and what have I got to show for it?”

Síofra considered that for a moment. “An anxious spirit pacing the dungeon on your behalf? He’s convinced you’ll vanish into the night and never speak to him again because he couldn’t protect you from whoever was acting the fool.”

“It’s not his job to protect me, and absolutely nothing that happened last night was his fault. He has to know that. If he doesn’t, I’ll go tell him as much.” Slowly, testing a bit of weight on my knee before fully standing, I got to my feet. “Unless . . .” I darted a hopeful look at the noblewoman as she retreated into the mirror once again. “You can call him here?”

Behind the glass, Síofra shook her head. “For you, Raff dear, I’d try anything. But I can’t make him listen. He’s convinced he’s safer down there where he can . . . I don’t know how you say it. Brood properly?” She frowned. “He thinks if he hides himself away, he won’t make things worse. Silly lad. He’s always been better at protecting others than himself.”

“I’d better go talk to him before he decides to make that his permanent haunt, then,” I said, striding toward the door. I didn’t care if the hallway was oppressive. Didn’t care if the feeling would worsen a hundredfold as I descended the basement stairs, something I had only attempted once in my time here. And that had been with Eric’s cheerful company to dispel the worst of the gloom.

He always helped me see the good and feel better on my worst, most haunted days. I was determined to do the same for him.

“Oh, and—Raff dear?” Síofra’s voice ringing out from the mirror pulled me back a few steps. “Be careful with him. He’s braver than he knows, but his heart . . . I don’t know that anyone has ever been gentle with it. If they’ve ever even seen it.”

“I see it,” I assured her, nerves tangling in my stomach that had nothing to do with spirits who could conjure fire. I saw it—I saw him—but that didn’t mean I had the foggiest idea of how to handle any of this with care. I was out of my depth, a fish out of water. Or more like a cat dropped in a bathtub, wet and anxious and mad about it.

Still, I willingly plunged myself in deeper, all the way down the steep basement stairs, clinging to the handrail like a spider dangling from the last thread of a shattered web. Each scuff of my work boots barely echoed, like the darkness hungrily swallowed the sound in the same way it swallowed the weak light from the bare bulb overhead.

I didn’t feel Eric down here, or at least, not yet.

Finally, after what felt like a sheer hike up the flanks of MacGillycuddy’s Reeks thanks to the pressure of the unwelcoming air, I reached the bottom step and planted my boots on the earthen floor of the unfinished basement that had once been a dungeon. Over the years, as the demands of modernity crept in, the space had been converted into storage: a few more bare bulbs throughout the room gave off just enough light to suggest the shapes of a utility sink and washer/dryer hookup in one corner, bags of soil and gardening supplies from landscapers past in another. There were boxes of decorations from old parties and even some bunched-up old newspapers that looked like they were playing home to something. Sure enough, when I pulled the Temporal Distortion Logger from my pocket, it showed me the little energy signatures of the mice that had been getting busy in there.

Swapping the useless device out for a regular old flashlight, I swept the beam into the corners that the bulbs didn’t quite reach. Something skittered away, startled by the burst of light. It sounded like it was clawing its way up the wall.

“Eric?” I called softly. “Hello? Shee said you were down here pacing. I’m not mad about last night or anything.”

Either I was finally losing it, or the darkness was shifting. Becoming more alert. I’d go so far as to say it was listening.

Still, Eric didn’t appear, so I went on: “The shite with my phone—I don’t care. You had no idea he was my ex, and I blocked his number this morning, anyway. And the candle . . . It isn’t your fault if someone else wants to have a go at me. I won’t be scared off that easily, anyway, they’ll be disappointed to learn. I’m not giving up on—on this place just yet.” I tripped over my tongue a little, barely stopping myself from saying words that would have meant something else entirely. Something impossible. And I wasn’t in the habit of making empty promises.

“Maybe you should. Run away, that is.” Eric materialized in front of me, half-transparent and wild-eyed. His feet weren’t quite touching the ground, his stylish black-and-white striped sneakers skimming a few inches above the dirt. He kept hovering like that, hands twisting in front of him in a way I’d never seen before.

Standing taller, I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. “I won’t tolerate a bully, in this world or any other. And I won’t back down. When I was a little fella, I got picked on all the time by a couple bigger lads in the neighborhood. I acted like it didn’t bother me, but how could it not? But once I finally discovered the gym, I promised myself I’d never stand by when my strength could be used to help someone like the lad I once was.”

“You say that now, but you were scared last night,” Eric said, his apparition flickering like it cost him something to appear, or maybe to keep control. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve done something. I just stood there while whoever-it-was threatened you. I couldn’t even—” His voice cracked, thin as frost. “I couldn’t even move. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was ever since, and apparently, I can’t even do that.”

“Eric—” I tried to cut in, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“You were scared,” he breathed, so cold that it felt like a rime of frost coating my cheek, “because of me. Because you were with me, in this place. Your heart could’ve stopped. You shouldn’t have even come back. This whole thing—some job that doesn’t even pay you well—isn’t worth the risk. I’m not worth it.”

“Eric,” I said again, so desperate to reach him that I put out a hand like I could touch him. My fingers grasped cold, stale air, but at least he had stopped spiraling in favor of watching me now. Waiting for me to have a say. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And anyone with a lick of sense would be scared of something dangerous they can’t see, but I have never been scared of you.” I paused for a breath, holding his eyes. It was freezing down here, but I didn’t reach for the jacket tied around my waist. I wanted to feel his presence, such as it was, to know if my words made a difference. “I can assure you, I’m not about to flee into the night, and I like it so much better when you’re on my team. It’ll be a long month to Halloween if I don’t have Mr. Brightside telling me to keep going, all because you’ve decided to hide out in a dungeon like some sad Victorian poet while I get chased by a spirit who doesn’t like medieval-themed banquets.”

Eric was quiet for a long moment. And then he asked, with the barest ghost of a smile, “Which poet would you say I am?”

“An Oscar Wilde sort, without a doubt.” To my relief, I was rewarded with a bigger smile. “Now, if we’re still a team even though ExorSquad’s not paying you for shite, let’s get out of here before I come down with frostbite. I bought a book for you—it’s in the parlor upstairs. We can go get it, and you can tell me if you like the sound of it.”

“I didn’t know we were celebrating my birthday today, All Star—I need a little warning next time,” Eric teased as he gestured for me to lead the way up the stairs, obviously pleased. He was starting to look more solid, and there was a certain shine about him that pushed back the darkness better than the bulbs. “It sucks down here,” he added, and I agreed.

It wasn’t until we were back in the well-lit parlor, having a look at his new (well, gently used) book, that he noticed my necklace. The glint of the thick silver chain, anyway, the pendant itself hidden under my shirt and overalls.

“What’s that?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t as casual as he thought it sounded as he set down the book he was excited to read. His frown gave him away when I pulled it out to properly show him. “Oh. It’s pretty. Let me guess: Ronan gave you that. Or . . .?”