In my final year of high school, we were set a writing prompt: Shooting Stars. We could do whatever we liked with it as long as we had a story at the end with that title. Looking back, Mrs B. must have dreaded my essays. I never was one for taking things at face value and, needless to say, I dismissed out of hand the common classroom themes of wish fulfilment. That essay is finally coming of age this summer.
Candle Lane, the home of the Cult of Light, was mildly spectacular. Had I been there on holiday, I might have taken a moment to appreciate that the entirety of the avenue was illuminated in gold flame without the exception of a single crevice or corner, but there are reputations to be upheld when on duty. Besides, there had been a murder.