Tracker

Asher knew he was being followed right away, so he turned into an alley, skipped up the wall onto a fire escape and through an open window into a dark living room.  He watched his pursuer through the half-closed drapes.

The Queen’s Bishop slid into the alley, tall and strange.  It stopped underneath the window, turned its eyeless face toward him, silent as a ghost.

“If you’re here,” Asher said, almost to himself, “it means you need me for something.  And you being you, that means you need someone to find your Queen.”

The Bishop said nothing.

“Alright.  I’m in.”

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