Madrid

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Ana turned the letter over in her hand a few more times as the Plaza illuminated itself with the sun. She knew the scrawl as soon as she had seen it -- a romantic with a love of her birth city, Maria was a woman to be counted on for her predictability. Small dark haired children played with marbles in the center of the plaza while tourist and native alike, walked over the heated stones that played hide and seek with pillar shadows. Instead of funeral black, Anastasia had become a vision from the sea -- wrapped in blue, she walked with a purpose through the center of the plaza and down the stairs intent on walking through the market district where she could lose herself easily among the tourists.

Maria tipped her head toward the Spanish headlines but the copper of her eyes were trained on the people passing in front of her table. Centavos had already been left for the table space by the time Anastasia passed by her table. Slowly, Maria folded the paper against her leg and slipped from the table in order to shadow the movements of the woman in blue. In contrast to her, she wore white that bite at her tan skin and caused the women on the street to cross themselves and bow their heads when she passed: Santa Mar?a.

Streets turned to jagged stone that resembled the cobbled pavement of London as Ana kept a sharp eye on the colorful market stands and the women shouting in Spanish behind them. Maria lost herself in the crowd, keeping herself just steps ahead of Ana on a parallel street until both streets met in a turn. She smeared herself along the corner of the building until she saw Ana approach -- the result was a deafening crack from the butt of a revolver into Ana's nose. Maria's arm slung around Ana's throat before she had a chance to speak and pressed her mouth close to the woman's ear.

"I've never really been afraid of the dark, have you?"

Before Ana could struggle, Maria hit her in the back of the head again and drug her body back down the alley and into a doorway.