Spanish Shadow

As soon as she touched down, she heard another, smaller noise. She looked up, startled to find a figure just within arms reach. In what little light the moon provided the figure was dressed almost identically as she, except for the addition of a wide-brimmed hat and a sly smirk.

“Good evening, ma’moiselle,” the shadow said, in an accent that to Patrice’s untrained ear sounded Spanish. Patrice quickly turned on heel, but the figure seemed to swoop around to cut her off. “What is one—” he continued, leaning to the left to block her slipping away, “-such as yourself-” he turned to force her sidestep into an awkward pirouette, “—doing here?” he finished, nudging her into a corner.

Patrice quickly regained balance and huffed impatiently. “I would ask the same, monsieur, but unfortunately I’m needed elsewhere.” She ducked under his arm before he could protest and slipped down the street.

She had to find whoever had cried out… but something told her the shadowy company she’d just left would be close behind.

View this story's 2 comments.