Marcus quirked an eyebrow. ‘You always come prepared?’
‘You can take the man out of the force, but the force never leaves the man.’
Marcus grinned and gestured for Rowan to lead. ‘May the force be with you.’
Rowan shook his head, trying to hide his smile as he filed after the last person in the crowd, Veronica leading the way.
She stopped halfway up Keeper’s Lane. Marcus looked up at the faded sign overhanging the door. The Lantern was barely visible, and the street light a few feet away flickered, adding to the atmosphere.
Veronica angled her torch up from below her chin, casting her face into shadows. ‘Can you all turn off your torches for a moment!’ She waited until all were off before continuing. ‘Imagine it’s a stormy night. Waves are crashing in the distance. Gulls are squawking from the cliffs as they try to shield themselves against the elements. Mist is creeping up Keeper’s Lane.’ Veronica pointed in the direction they just came from, and all eyes followed. Rowan and Marcus’s eyes met and Marcus pretended to shiver. He noticed a glean in Rowan’s eyes.
Veronica continued. ‘The lantern has had many uses, and has been home to many residents... but the story that is most poignant, is of the woman who lived here when it was called Lantern House. Legend says, the woman had a secret love. A love so secret, the only way of communication was for her to place a lantern in the upstairs window whenever she wanted her love to know she was thinking of him. But because of pride, family pressure, misunderstanding, or timing, they never fullyfound their way to each other.’ Veronica turned off her torch, and remained silent for a moment, before aiming her torch up at a window, and turning it back on again. A couple of women in the group gasped. ‘Legend says, she went to her grave with a broken heart... But every year, a light mysteriously appears in the top window. Especially when the sea is at its roughest.’
A woman made a mock shriek, and the group laughed.
Atlas immediately reacted, his legs jumping up and landing wide, his chest puffed out, ears pricked up.
Rowan crouched down and placed a hand on Atlas’s shoulder, and in his deep controlled voice, began to calm Atlas. ‘Leave it. Down. Quiet... Good boy.’
Marcus was impressed. Atlas’s reactions to Rowan were much more responsive than he’d seen before.
Veronica lowered her torch. ‘Okay. Torches back on, and off we go to the next location on our tour.’
Marcus went down on his haunches to be at the same level as Rowan and Atlas. ‘Are we good? Or do you want to stop?’
Rowan patted Atlas. ‘No. We’re good.’
The corners of Marcus’s mouth hitched. ‘That’s great. He’s doing so much better.’
Rowan stood up and Marcus followed suit. ‘Hmm. It’s slow progress.’
‘But it’s progress.’
‘So you keep saying.’ Rowan looked down at Atlas.
Rowan walked after the group, Atlas quickly getting up to walk by his side. Marcus took a moment to compose himself before following after Atlas.
By the time Marcus caught up, Veronica had already guided the group away from The Lantern and towards the narrow lane that curved in the direction of the harbour. The sky above Seagull Bay had deepened to bruised blue, the last streaks of sunset fading behind the rooftops. Lights glowed in cottagewindows, warm and golden, and the smell of salt, seaweed and evening fish and chips drifted on the cooling breeze.
Marcus fell into step beside Rowan again, careful not to crowd Atlas.
‘You handled that well,’ he said quietly.
Rowan kept his gaze forward. ‘It was a small reaction.’
‘Still counts.’
‘You count everything as progress.’
‘That’s because it is.’ Marcus glanced down at Atlas, who was walking with his head up, ears pricking at every sound but not straining to leave. ‘He could have shut down completely, but he didn’t.’
Rowan said nothing, but Marcus saw his fingers loosen slightly on the lead.
Ahead of them, Veronica stopped beside the old stone steps, leading down towards the harbour wall. She waited until everyone had gathered, then lifted her torch again, the beam catching the underside of her chin and nose, turning her pretty face theatrical with shadows again.
‘Now,’ she said, lowering her voice until the group leaned in, ‘Seagull Bay has always been a place of warnings. Bells, lanterns, lamps in windows, knocks on doors before storms. But not every warning comes in time.’
A hush moved through the group.
