Page 52 of How I Met Your Murderer

I needed to focus. Get help. Fix this before Eric disappeared at the whims of something malevolent, if that’s what really happened. Because the thought of losing him—really losing him—made something inside me unravel.

But that’s what was going to happen anyway, and I had to start accepting it. The Second Sight had warned me. No matter what Eric wanted—to introduce me to the family he hadn’t seen in sixteen years, to play games together, to try my mam’s cooking, to adopt a fecking pet together—we were going to lose each other soon. There wasn’t time for us to do all those things that sounded a lot like the usual boyfriend shite. The kind of relationship I’d never had.

Boyfriends.

What we couldn’t be.

The village was just waking up when I rolled in. Shutters lifting, lights flicking on, the smell of fresh bread drifting from the bakery with the fancy doughnuts and dense tea brack. A few of the locals out early on their errands nodded to me with the same curious half-recognition as usual. I nodded back, and even put on a tight smile, trying not to look as haunted as I felt.

Trying to look like a man who wasn’t falling hard and fast for a ghost.

Niamh’s shop was right where I remembered, a tight squeeze between the toy store and the gents’ boutique. The sign above the door, which I could finally read without the rain giving me a thorough lashing, said The Rowan & Reed in peeling paint. The door was unlocked despite the early hour, so I let myself inside.

The bell chimed softly, just like before, yet somehow the sound set my teeth on edge. Maybe it was a side effect of so little sleep for so many days.

Then the warmth of the radiator hit me, working overtime to fight the chill. Just like on my last visit, incense burned, an earthy green scent that made me feel at home despite the strangeness of the place. That same girthy purple and white stone carved to look like a lad’s bits was still prominently displayed on a shelf. It was a wonder that hadn’t been an instant sellout.

Niamh was actually in the front of the shop this time, tying twine around bundles of what looked like rosemary. “Maidin mhaith,” she said, soft and musical, wishing me a good morning in Irish. It was a friendlier greeting than last time, though it came with raised brows and a wry observation. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, Raff from up at the castle.”

“Feels like it, too,” I muttered.

Frown lines gathered around her mouth as she set down the herb bundles and made a study of me. “Hm. Protection pendant not working out for you? Or are ExorSquad’s usual methods proving as disappointing as I told you?”

“They’re definitely disappointing,” I admitted without hesitation, feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt as Gerald’s cloudy blue eyes flashed to mind. I shoved them into a dark corner, along with the question of how he was doing after the police had come calling.

He could figure everything out on his own, just like he’d left me to do.

“And I’m not sure about the pendant yet,” I continued, refocusing on Niamh instead of the man who had essentially stranded me here. “It seems to be doing its job, but—I could use some more help.”

Her frown softened, her gaze turning thoughtful. “All right. Come on, then, and we’ll see what we can do.” There was a flicker of concern in her eyes that I caught just before she turned, leading the way to a small table tucked between the shelves. Apparently, she had already sensed this would be a long discussion.

She gestured for me to take one of the chairs, and I sat heavily, rubbing my palms on the black denim of my overalls. The candles on the table—more like small tea lights, really—guttered slightly as I settled in, like even they could sense the tension rolling off me. There certainly wasn’t a hint of a breeze that could have blown them.

“So,” she said, folding her hands. Silver rings adorned her fingers, each set with a different colored stone that probably had a special meaning or intention. “Tell me everything.”

I watched the candle flames burn steadily again as I spoke. “Well, it’s that spirit at Ardruin—the reason I bought the pendant last time. It hasn’t touched me, but now one of the friendlier castle ghosts is missing, like he’s just gone, and . . . something tore apart a deer last night. Also a fox, and maybe a few squirrels, too.” I took a breath, noticing the way her gaze had sharpened. “And . . . I don’t have any idea what kind of spirit could do all that, or any of it. I just know it wasn’t Eric.”

“Eric?” she repeated softly. It was strange, just hearing someone else speak his name. “That’s one of the other spirits, then? You’ve . . . gotten to know him well?”

I nodded a little stiffly, feeling oddly protective of him. “He’s strong—level four, like. His manifestations are so real you’d think he was standing beside you, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s thoughtful and kind, he has great taste in books. He’s all-around good craic. Even if he hangs out in the dungeon when he’s upset, like a brooding Victorian poet.”

Niamh considered all this for a moment with slightly raised brows. “There are many kinds of spirits, as you probably know. Poltergeists, banshees, lost souls, demons. Some gentle, some angry, and some . . . older. If there’s a spirit at Ardruin strong enough to deal that kind of damage to a living creature, you may be dealing with something beyond a human haunting.”

My stomach dropped, my body grabbing on to the suggestion and taking it as fact. “Sure. That makes sense. Like what?”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward a shelf of dried herbs. Some of the bundles seemed to twitch, but then I blinked and they were still as they should be.

I couldn’t feel the dizzying warmth of the radiator anymore. It had gotten cold in here, as sharp as the morning outside.

“It could be . . . an elemental,” she whispered, as if speaking any louder might summon it. “I’m not saying that for certain, as I’ve not been to see for myself—and don’t ask me, because I won’t be going up there—but it’s . . . certainly within the realm of possibility for what you’re describing. A being that manipulates the elements, a force of nature itself.”

I wasn’t familiar with the word, but I had the sense that I ought to be afraid of it. Instead, swallowing down the bile of uncertainty, I sat up taller and said, “Okay. Let’s say that’s it. How can I move an elemental on?”

Niamh shook her head, curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don’t know that you can. And if so, not easily. There’s fewer people who do battles with them than demons.” Leaning in, she spoke in that same soft voice, as if she thought something might overhear: “At least with demons, some of us share a belief system. Icons, relics, even language that we can weaponize against them.”

Her voice dropped even lower, barely audible over the soft crackle of the tea lights. The wax was studded with crushed herbs and tiny stones that caught my eye in the dim. “Elementals are drawn to places steeped in emotion—usually great anguish and suffering. Fear. Rage. Places where the veil has been torn open again and again by loss, or by those with little experience reaching for things beyond their understanding or control.”

She glanced off toward the back of the shop—toward where we would surely see a distant silhouette of Ardruin if there were any windows.