Fall From Grace

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Inspector James McLevy looked at his shadowy image in the glass of the window.

‘You are a miserable bugger,’ he thus addressed the standing figure.

Past and through the ghostly outlines of his face, he viewed the city of Edinburgh stretching out below him, the various lights reflecting up into the night sky.

For a moment he thought to see a shooting star far away in the distance but decided it was a firework left over from Bonfire Night.

Of late he had taken to prowling the bookstalls of Leith marketplace, randomly buying anything that caught his eye. His latest haul included some stories by Edgar Allan Poe and a tattered book of Arab legends. Poe had little to offer on shooting stars but the wise men of the East were of the opinion that these manifestations were firebrands hurled by the angels to keep out the wild spirits of nature, which seek to climb the constellations and peek into heaven.

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