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The drizzle turns to rain, turning the landscape grey, and I think of Branok and his stories of lingering in spaces around the cove and cottage.

We have to help him. I’d felt so sorry for him when he told us his story. The love he has for Xander is as obvious as the rain on my face, and I also feel a funny kinship with Xander. I’d liked him and I feel honoured that he chose me to show himself. But what exactly can Blue and I do to bring them together? I quicken my pace. I like a mystery and there’s no one better than Blue to plan and scheme with.

By the time I get to the cove, the tide is in, and the waves are crashing onto the rocks. The lights in the cafe glow golden in the gloomy morning. I look up at our cottage and see a light in the window. Blue must be up.

I start along the sea wall, but then my steps stutter. There’s a man sitting on the wall under the shelter of an old tree that’s been twisted and gnarled by the sea winds. He’s dressed in black and peering down at something to his right, but when he hears my footsteps, he looks up. It’s the creepy man from the other day with the odd smile. He raises a hand and I reluctantly draw to a stop by him. Obeying my instincts to run past him would be so incredibly rude. I hear Blue’s voice in my head, offering commentary on that, and repress a grin.

I raise my fingers to my forehead in a loose salute to the stranger. “It’s a rainy day for sitting outside.”

He’s wearing that smile again—the one that seems too big—and he nods cordially. “Aye. A stormy day. But I am well covered, as you see.” He gestures at the tree which doesn’t seem to offer that much protection to me, but it must, because the man is completely dry. “Are you enjoying your time here, Mr Black?”

I blink. “You know my name?”

The smile widens. “The village is a small one and strangers are always… interesting.” He gestures to me. “Come look at these.”

I slowly step closer. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so uneasy. Then I look down and forget my wariness. “Oh, they’re lovely.”

He’s sitting by a selection of loose, flat stones that have been painted with miniature scenes of the area—the beach, seabirds, even the cafe. The artwork is extraordinary, the brushstrokes delicate but full of life.

“They’re so good,” I say, looking at him. “Did you do them?”

He smiles again and I suddenly realise what makes me feel on edge. His eyes are dead and completely cold. And the effect of them in conjunction with his too-toothy smile is enough to make me take an involuntary step back.

He raises his eyebrow. “Am I scary, then, Mr Black?” he asks, his tone amused.

“Oh, n-no,” I stutter. “It’s just that I have to be going.”

He looks past me. “Ah yes. Your husband. Yes, you shouldn’t leave him alone for too long.”

I frown. “Sorry?”

He inclines his head in an apologetic way. “It is your honeymoon, is it not?”

“Erm, yes.”

“Such a strange word. Back in the fifth century, it linked to the custom of a groom seizing his bride and stealing her away. The honeymoon was the period when he would hold her captive, until either her family would give up looking for her, or she would become pregnant. Either way, there was no chance of escape for her.”

“I didn’t know that. That’s very sad.” I take another step back. “Well, I must be getting back.”

“Take one before you go,” he urges me, gesturing at the stones.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I immediately protest.

“Not at all. A gift from me to you, Mr Black, to commemorate your own version of a honeymoon in my cove.”

“Yours?”

He smiles again. “A habit of mine with Porthkrogour. It has long felt like mine. Maybe that is part of its charm for me.”

He points to the stones again, and I give in out of politeness. It can’t hurt, and the quicker I choose one, the faster I can be gone. “Well, if you’re sure. That would be lovely.”

I bend over the stones, reaching for one blindly.

“Ah no,” he chides.

“Sorry?”

“You must pick the stone that speaks to you. It is ever the way with gifts, you see.”