The Wren, The Wren, the Queen of All Birds
“Oh, blast!” Nathaniel muttered under his breath as he rounded the alley corner only to see a young woman walking down the street, headed away from him. He’d hoped the street would be empty at this time of night, but apparently his luck was just plain rotten tonight. “Excuse me, Miss!” he called, jogging to catch up with her. His black-on-blue argyle sweater vest bore a few superficial tears, while his khaki slacks and the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt were stained in places with a black, greasy substance. A few locks of his short brown hair stuck straight up and he seemed a little out of breath. He stood about five foot eight, with a slender, wiry build. Rectangular glasses framed his blue eyes, set in a slightly narrow face. “Miss,” he said again as he drew nearer, “this street isn’t safe right now. Do you live nearby?”
