Page 72 of How I Met Your Murderer

I left the office knowing my best wouldn’t be enough to keep everyone safe. And, worse, the elemental knew that, too.

twenty-two

Mine

Raff

Days to Halloween: 18

It’s a good thing there was so much room in the van. After mailing off a special Belleek porcelain teapot that my mam had delivered to me in person at the village café, I’d had to ride with the strangest copilot I’d had to date: a sheep who couldn’t respect that the driver picks the music, and bleated over the radio the whole way up to Ardruin.

He was on loan from a local farmer for twenty-four hours, and I was already dreading the inevitable cleanup I’d have to do in the back of the van before I could put my mattress in there again. Caoimhe had awkwardly offered me one of the guest rooms she was restoring for the rest of my stay here, like some kind of apology for her decision to open as planned, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sleep directly under the elemental’s roof and hadn’t given her an answer yet.

The sheep, who I was calling Séamus because he had the same judgmental stare as an old teacher who thought I was a right eejit, hopped out onto the castle’s neatly mowed lawn the moment I opened the back doors.

The morning was a fine one, sunny and cool with a hint of a breeze, though that wasn’t why I had chosen it for this particular item from Eric’s list: it was the weekend, so Caoimhe and Jordy weren’t hovering nearby to question my mental state or demand that I immediately return the woolly beast chewing on a patch of clover like he’d never tasted something as delicious as haunted castle grass.

My mind flashed to the deer and fox carcasses near the woods and in the courtyard. I had to shove the image away as Eric materialized beside me with the kind of timing that suggested he’d been hovering, waiting for this like a kid anxious for Santa to arrive. It made me feel a little like a kid again myself.

Heavy in the pocket of my overalls was a jar of black salt I’d picked up from Niamh, her last one. Ready to toss at the slightest provocation, because I wasn’t about to explain to the dour-faced old farmer how his sheep had been eaten at the medieval dining experience.

“Right,” Eric said cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get this over with before he eats the fence and the front door, huh?”

He was brighter today, his edges sharper, his colors more saturated. And when he bumped his shoulder against mine, I felt it: a faint, impossible warmth. Barely there, but real enough to make my breath catch, just like it had when he’d used his tongue on me in the back of the van like we were a couple of horny teenagers making a holy show of ourselves.

We’d been doing a lot of that—kissing that led to our hands roaming everywhere and usually ended with us needing to hit the shower, more action than I’d ever had in my life—and I rarely felt a shiver of cold off him anymore. A couple times, usually while his trousers were around his ankles and my hand was wrapped around him, it had seemed like he wanted to tell me something. Ask me something. But whatever it was, he never quite got there. Mostly, he just moaned my name, and that was good enough for me.

“All right, Yank, get ready: you’re about to take a selfie with livestock and become the envy of your entire nation,” I teased, trying not to think too much about what we were getting up to after-hours while we had a list to complete.

“Oh, it’s Yank again, is it?” Eric sounded a little hurt.

And maybe it was just for show, but I wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance when any day could be our last together, so I scooped him into my arms like a groom carrying a bride and kissed him right there on the castle lawn, the sun beaming down on us.

Séamus bleated loudly, as if offended by public displays of affection.

Eric stuck the finger up at him.

Laughing, I pulled my phone out and handed it to him. His fingers brushed mine, warm again, and the little jolt of it went straight to my chest. It was hard to believe that every day put him one step closer to leaving this world—leaving me—behind.

I swallowed, trying to stay in the fun of the moment as capably as he did.

“Right,” Eric said eagerly, turning the camera on himself and arranging the strands of his dark hair just-so. “Let’s get our good side.”

“You don’t have a bad side, a stór,” I assured him.

He shot me a look, his hazel eyes soft, startled, pleased. Then he crouched beside the sheep, who stared at him like he was up to no good.

“Come on, buddy,” Eric cooed. “Just smile for the camera.”

Séamus either didn’t understand a word or didn’t like what he heard, because he responded by headbutting Eric square in the shoulder and knocking him on his arse.

Laughing and in no hurry to get up, Eric declared from the grass, “Aw! He loves me!”

“That’s not what that means!” I said, but I was grinning like a fool.

Eric brushed himself off and knelt once again, holding the phone out at an angle that included both him and the sheep in the frame. “Raff, hurry up before he headbutts me again!” When I didn’t move, confused, he added with a goofy smile, “Get in here!”

“This is your list—from before you knew me,” I said, shaking my head.