Page 64 of How I Met Your Murderer

He was still smiling faintly when he gathered himself enough to ask the transparent stable hand, “We don’t have all night, either, so we’ll skip the pleasantries: have you ever seen anyone die in your time here?”

Donnacha gave a steady nod. Even in life, working with horses, death was a present part of his days. “Aye. Plenty of people and creatures. This place has a long memory, and so do I.” He resumed a rhythmic brushing of the nearly invisible mare as he listed them for us. “There was the lord who fell from his horse and broke his neck. A maid who slipped on ice and cracked her skull. A lad who drowned in the pond in the woods. So many soldiers who bled out after battle and those who fell to plague and the great hunger, An Gorta Mór. I’ve mostly forgotten their names.” He paused, his young but work-worn features softening. “And wee Gráinne. That was the worst of them.”

Raff stiffened beside me. “What happened to her?”

Donnacha put down the brush again and sighed. The mare nosed at him, and he patted her neck. “She was playing by the well just up there.” He pointed with one hand, but when I peered out the open stall door, I saw nothing but the dark ground. It must have been filled in a long time ago. “Her mam was always tellin’ her not to mess around with it, especially not to lean over its lip, but Gráinne told her she liked the echo.”

Raff shivered as the air around us grew heavier. More aware.

“The day she died,” the stable hand said slowly, “the ground was soft with rain. I remember, because one of the living grooms at the time slipped and fell while mucking stalls. The stones around the well must have been slick, too. I was making rounds to help fill water buckets when I heard her laughing. And then . . . the laughter stopped. It weren’t a fall,” he said grimly. “I saw it, as I was headin’ to the well. The water rose up to meet her, like a great, cold hand reaching out of the well itself. Fingers made of water, muck, and stone reaching up over the lip and grabbed her by the throat.”

The mare behind him shifted restlessly, hooves scraping the ground, almost too softly to be heard.

“She didn’t even scream, she was so surprised. The thing held on tight, and pulled her in.” The stable hand frowned. “I don’t like fairy-stories, but this was real. I saw it.”

I slipped an arm around Raff’s waist beneath his jacket and nestled into his side.

One-two-three-four went his heartbeat as he took it all in.

“I floated,” Donnacha continued. “The whole way to her. There was nothin’ that could slow me down, and I thought maybe, if I got there in time, I could pull her out. But the closer I got, the air felt . . . heavier. Harder to move through, even for me. And the well was groaning—kind of like a throat. Water was crawling down the stones, dragging wee Gráinne with it, and clods of earth, too.”

The mare rested her head on Donnacha’s filmy shoulder, but he hardly seemed to notice. “And then . . . she was gone. The water sealed itself over her like a lid, no splash, no bubbles. Just gone. The living had taken notice by now, and there was so much screamin’. And before I went back to the stables to get away from all the noise, I saw something moving beneath the surface. Eyes, green as moss. Watching me.”

The lantern Raff had brought for the stable hand flickered a few times and died, leaving the darkness to swallow us whole.

I wished, more than anything, that there were stars out tonight.

Five-six-seven-eight. Raff’s heart tapped against his ribs so hard that the urgency in it moved me, too. Nine-ten-eleven-twelve.

“Let’s go,” he whispered as his hand found mine and held on tight. He thanked Donnacha and promised to bring fresh batteries for the lantern soon.

We wound up back in the parlor, on that couch, collapsing against each other. As if the more modern lighting in here somehow made us safe from a centuries-old killer who was clearly on the prowl again.

A shapeshifting killer.

Raff pulled me close, a strong arm around my shoulders, my head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat was still much too fast.

When he finally broke the silence, it was in a whisper: “Elemental.” I waited for him to say more, though from what he had told me about them, I knew he was right. “Water, moss, earth, fire—the candle that lit itself on us. Stupid Gary’s an elemental. It can bend nature, use it to manifest in different ways. Kill in different ways.”

“And it’s not the only reason people have died here,” I said, “but it’s also been murdering for centuries alongside all those other causes. Chef Máirtín died in the 1500s, and Gráinne in the 1700s. And . . .” I still couldn’t bring myself to suggest what was on the tip of my tongue. I buried my face in the warmth of Raff’s shoulder. “And now it’s killing animals, and maybe feeding on spirits—like Chef Máirtín and the poltergeist from the courtyard. Maybe more.”

Raff had obviously sensed that something was wrong, but as per usual, he didn’t push. He just ran a hand down my back in a slow, soothing repetitive motion. “If it’s taking other spirits’ energy, it’s obviously trying to make itself stronger. So then the question is why? Why now?” He paused, head cocked. “Suppose it feels threatened by all the living that are going to be invading its home six nights a week if steady ticket sales continue?”

I considered this for a moment, drawing back to meet his eyes. “You’d think that would almost make it happy, though. More victims. I think it feels threatened by you.”

Raff laughed, not exactly a happy sound—more disbelieving. “Me? Why me? I don’t expect I have a weapon that can stop it.”

“But you’ve moved spirits on before, at your other jobs. You told me yourself. You’re good at this. Think how calm the other spirits have been since you got here, just because you took the time to get to know them and what they like. You respect them, even at their worst and most frightening. Well, aside from the time you zapped me.”

I couldn’t resist reminding him about that, even now, though I softened the words by kissing his cheek.

“And if this thing needs to feed on other spirits, if that’s how it gets strong enough to make its next kill or something—you’re threatening its energy source by being here.” I swallowed. “Raff . . . I’m scared for you.”

He tightened his arm around me again. “I’m scared for you, too, and that’s exactly why I’m not leaving. Because Gary’s going to keep killing people and feeding on spirits whether I’m here or not. So I’m staying, as long as you’re here. This changes nothing—we’re still finishing your list, and in the meantime, we’ll find a way to fight if it comes to that.”

We stayed like that for a moment, Raff breathing and the rise and fall of his chest gently moved me, too. I leaned into him, counting his heartbeats again—one . . . two . . . three. They were slower now, despite everything we were piecing together, and I let the sound steady me.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about number two on my list. Raff had already put so much time and effort into chasing down an autopsy report we might never see, or at least not by Halloween. And I had a sinking feeling that the answer was much closer than in a file on someone’s computer.