Page 5 of Curse of the Stag's Eye
“Exactly! And because it was clockwork, it meant they could control how often the lamp turned and flashed. Each lighthouse has its own light pattern. It’s good, isn’t it? Ingenious, really.”
Gaz stood under the dim, acid-green light of the Emergency Exit sign. He asked me why I didn’t have any torches.
“I prefer oil lanterns.” I took out my lighter and flicked it. “Cheaper than torches, for one thing, but also useful for detecting spirit breezes.”
“You mean draughts?”
I laughed. “No, mun. Spirit breezes. The breath of those departed, the physical disturbance caused by them passing by.”
Gaz’s blue eyes reflected the flame from the lantern. The soft light warmed his skin. I had to stop myself from staring.
“You only use it for effect, admit it.” He took out his phone and tapped the torch on. The stark white light dazzled me for a moment. “I don’t see why we can’t just use the lights,” Gaz said. “It can’t be safe, wandering about in here in the dark.”
I tried to remind myself to stay professional. “Well, setting the tone — setting the mood, if you like — is important. If you want to see a ghost, you have to be in the right frame of mind. Open. Receptive. You do want to see one don’t you?”
“I do!” Nikesh shoved his hands inside the pockets of his puffy jacket.
“Right, before we begin we’re going to do a little invocation.”
“A little what?” Gaz eyed me up like I’d asked him to strip down to his underpants.
“It’s just a way of calling out to the spirits to let them know we’re here and we don’t mean them any harm.” I set the lantern on the floor and shook my hands out. “Everyone join hands, come on.” I reached out for Gaz’s hand and he reluctantly gave it.
He gripped me firmly. His skin was soft and warm. The back of his hand was smooth, unlike mine with its dusting of fine black hair. His fingers were shorter than mine, thicker, too, with well-kept nails. He wore a silver ring on one finger — not his wedding finger, I noted — and I could just make out a chunky gold watch under the sleeve of his burgundy jacket. A classic, wind-up type, a bit like mine. I shouldn’t have been paying attention to any of that and yet it was all I could think of.
In the flickering light of the lantern, I closed my eyes and cleared my throat. “Right, then. We ask whatever spirits may linger here in Stag’s Head Lighthouse to come to us in love and trust. We mean no harm. We simply wish to communicate. If anyone can hear my voice and would like to, well, say hello, I suppose, you can. We’re open and we’re ready.”
“Nothing,” Gaz said. “Not a peep. As I expected.” He let go of my hand.
Nikesh tightened his grip. “Who’s knocking?”
Sure enough, a faint knocking came from behind us, in the museum. Once, twice. We waited. I called out but got no response. On the third knock, Gaz suddenly barged backalong the glass corridor and into the museum, despite Dawn’s protestations. He must have gone outside because a few seconds later the museum door opened and boots stomped about on the gravel pathway. The door slammed again and he marched back to us in the lighthouse.
“Well?” Dawn asked.
He shook his head.
“Did you see anything outside?”
He frowned at us. “I didn’t go outside.”
Nikesh’s eyes lit up. Dawn drew herself inward, like she was collapsing into herself.
“Oh, stop it.” Gaz huffed about from foot to foot.
I insisted on taking his hand again. He didn’t put up as much of a fight this time.
I called out: “If that was a spirit trying to get our attention, can you please do it again?”
Silence. We waited. I asked again.
Gaz glanced back to the museum. “Maybe our ghost doesn’t do tricks.”
I ticked the invocation off my list. Things were going even better than I planned and bang on schedule, to boot.
Chapter 4
Rhys led us outof the museum, his shoes smashing on the gravel path, and past one of the two walled gardens.
