Page 8 of How I Met Your Murderer

He leapt toward my leg, humping the air absurdly for a few seconds before inevitably crashing back to the floor along with the pin that I finally dropped.

“What have you been feeding Pepper?” Caoimhe asked her brother, dry as toast, as Jordy grabbed the little beast and frantically checked to make sure not a single red hair was out of place. “Maybe you should switch things up.”

“He’s just seen a ghost,” Jordy answered absently, still kneeling by the dog and frowning as he rubbed its belly. “He sees things in here all the time, even when we can’t. Sometimes I think he’s trying to keep us safe, but then . . .” He shook his head. “Some days, I’d almost swear he’s in love with whatever it is. Maybe we have a ghost dog.”

Caoimhe arched a neatly plucked brow. “Well, I think he’s in heat.”

“Male dogs don’t—” Jordy started to argue when he was interrupted by Raff.

“I’m going to get rid of your paranormal pests. Expertly remove them,” he said, glowering right through me as he rubbed the back of his head where I’d unintentionally gotten my fingers caught. Then he strode forward to retrieve his pin. To his credit, he was already more aware of me than the last guy had been. Maybe he was as good at his job as he claimed. “Trust me, I’m taking this one as a personal challenge.”

I might have been dead, but I could still take a hint. It was time to disappear for a while.

four

Stranger in the Shadows

Raff

Only a few hours into my time at Ardruin Castle, I already knew this place was going to be the death of me, and how it would do it. The Second Sight had given me a glimpse while we were discussing matters in the foyer: that great monstrosity of a chandelier anchored in the ceiling center, sparkling crystal carved to resemble cascades of meadow heather, was going to snap from its chain and come crashing down on my head.

I had already decided, as I headed back to the van to collect my gear and my thoughts, that I wasn’t going to spend any time in the foyer, if I stuck around at all.

I was also half-wondering if Caoimhe Dolan would give me another one of her looks, the kind that said I was no more appealing than a cockroach scuttling underfoot in the kitchen, if I started wearing a helmet indoors. I didn’t want to die here, even if the ghost who touched me earlier agreed to call me Lord Raff for all eternity. Because while the castle’s exterior was whole and gleaming and nearly unrecognizable from years past, the inside felt much the same as it did in my memories of studying the ruin with Colm on that long-ago outing.

Like it was stained—only now, a fresh coat of paint and a few nice rugs had been added to cover the problem. But this was some kind of darkness that couldn’t be fully glossed over, a sickness still keenly felt in the way it was hard to get a proper breath inside those walls.

Oppressive. That was the word I wanted. It was as if the whole structure was caught in the grip of some unseen fist, from which all the Dolans’ cash couldn’t buy its freedom.

And then there was the spirit who had tugged on my hair and stolen my club pin earlier. That had been more of an electric shock to the system, not at all like brushing up against a solid hand of darkness. It had brought out the fight in me and, admittedly, sparked my interest. Was the ghost a former hurler, too? And if so, what was causing them to make the atmosphere in the castle as heavy and gross as a wet blanket?

I didn’t need to know. I could have called it quits after that little display or my vision in the foyer, driven away and left the Dolans to a haunted Halloween in their money pit of a castle that wouldn’t be able to draw in the tourists for long. But I liked easygoing Jordy and his interesting facts about the castle and local history. I liked the spunky mini dachshund who had tried to fight the ghost for me. I even liked Caoimhe’s direct, honest manner, and respected her intense devotion to her goals. I was the same way.

And unfortunately, right now my goal was to become the expert at removing spirits that I claimed I was. I was also awfully curious about the spirit who had pulled my hair and possibly apologized right after, if I had heard correctly. That was some intense activity right out of the gate, which meant investigating couldn’t wait.

Keeping the pin on my uniform in case it would inspire further contact, I ventured back inside for answers as a hazy dusk fell over the castle. Maybe, just this once, the Second Sight had shown me something in time to prevent it from actually happening. Maybe I could make a difference here without losing my head to that flashy chandelier in the process.

Jordy watched me from the foyer as I lingered on the threshold, the fully charged, machine-gun-shaped PolterPulse V2.1 and the X5000 Turbo Pro holstered on either side of my heavy utility belt. My worn leather jacket would be enough to ward off the castle’s perpetual chill. I took a few deep breaths as a cool, brisk wind buffeted my face, imagining I could pick up the slightest tang of the Irish Sea on my tongue even though we were maybe twenty miles inland. And then I turned my back on the world of the living and limped inside.

“Is that part of your ‘unusual methods’?” Jordy asked with a grin and a gleam in his blue eyes, nodding to the novel sticking out of the top of my supply bag as I gently pulled the door shut behind me.

Inside my bag was a voice recorder and extra batteries, an EMF meter for measuring spirit energy, a water bottle, and a few protein bars, even though Caoimhe had told me I was welcome to help myself to the kitchen stores that looked worthy of a Michelin-starred chef. I was a little intimidated to touch anything in there (what exactly was edamame, anyway?), and knew they’d had to replace a lot of ingredients thanks to the spirit shredding bags and discarding items from the industrial fridge, so I had eaten in the van and brought my own snacks.

“What, do you read to the ghosts to try to soothe them? See if you can make them mad by spoiling the ending?” Jordy teased, and I realized I hadn’t answered him.

Tapping the spine of the decades-old fantasy romance novel I’d picked up secondhand in the village, I explained sheepishly to the man who was effectively my employer for now: “This is just to pass the time in case the troublesome spirit decides not to show itself again tonight. Although, after that display upstairs earlier, I don’t think that will be an issue.”

Back home, when I was still in hurling, I hadn’t had much free time outside of training and hanging with friends on the team. But since I hit the road, I found it fun to bring a book along, usually fantasy—the further it took me out of my own head, the better. I’d pick based on the cover or a feeling, and when I was done, I’d donate it to the library and choose again from any secondhand bookstore that caught my eye unless the novel turned out to be something I’d read over and over.

So far, there were two such books in the van’s glove box, both featuring court intrigue, princes who fell in love with their handsome guards, and no ghosts. It was nice to dream, anyway. To be reminded what was possible for a big, brooding bodyguard of lowly parentage. Clearly, not getting any action in a while was starting to mess with my head.

“I’m going to lock up, then. It’s time to make tea for me and Pepper, and he’ll leave a puddle on the floor if I’m late, no matter how many times Caoimhe lets him out,” Jordy said with a wince of apology, holding up a cluttered keyring and heading toward the door.

I gave the chandelier a wary look as he passed under it.

Jordy hummed some pop song under his breath as he messed with the keys, and then he was gone. Ardruin Castle was mine for the night.

The silence was immediate, and the shadows long. I didn’t shrink from them, but drummed my fingers against the plastic casing of the Turbo Pro at my side and said into the shivering, anticipatory quiet, “Honey, I’m home!”