The bells tolled signaling the passing of another hour in the fog enshrouded city of London. Andrew stepped within the massive gates of Madré Square, waiting for his friend, Victoria.
Inaudible murmurs filled his head. Andrew turned, half expecting to see a group of tourists brushing past, but instead, he starred at a barren plaza. The leaves rustled in the wind and the sound vanished. The fog lifted slowly, exposing the delicate filigree hands of the Big Ben that hovered in the distance
He began pacing leisurely about the park, attempting to waste rime. The tulips were in fool bloom, bursting into bright vermilions, delicate lavenders, and sandy yellows. The talking returned. He looked first in one direction, then the other. Any witnesses to the scene would have thought him mad. Oddly enough, there were none. He was alone. Alone in London? The time for the two to meet had long since come and passed.
Where was Victoria? Andrew pondered. They had planned to meet in order to visit the bookseller to research the deceptive underground society of London. At that moment, he spotted a murder of crows. The words in his mind seemed to correspond with the rhythmic opening and closing of their beaks.
“I never thought that her mother would let it be known to her ‘precious child’” squawked one.
“Lucifer’s offspring that girl,” hissed another, “a marvel to one’s eye, but as treacherous as the Alps. Victorae malor, conqueror of evils.”
Andrew paused; Victoria Malor was friend’s name. His heart raced. Where was she? Now, he too knew she held secrets, that she was part of the “underworld”. Nevertheless, he had to find her.