The girl moves with a liquid, animal grace, the light glittering on her oil-black hair as she passes under a streetlamp. Her dusky skin is smooth and fresh. She is a bird, a ripe brown fruit, a shining toy, astray in the shadows.

One of the shadows moves.

"Hello, lovely."

She pauses in mid-flight, her dark eyes luminous with fright. "Who is that?"

"Where to so fast?"

Her voice is like her body, small but pure. Her English is tinted with the rich tones of Spanish, the cadences of French. "I am looking for my little goat."

Hyde laughs.