Broken Angel

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I have a secret.

A terrifying but absolutely wonderful, magical secret and that's why it's a secret. No one believes in magic anymore. I'm not talking about kid's birthday tricks, I mean real magic. The kind that can take your breath away, or knock all of the wind out of you, or sweep you off your feet - both literally and metaphorically. I am an Angel.

Not the kind that have wings - not until you get into heaven that is - we're the kind that are born with gifts and we are challenged by how we use that gift. There are three types of angels: white-soul angels, black-soul angels and broken angels. That's what I am, a broken angel.

The white-soul angels are the nice ones, the good guys. They have unlocked the full extent of their gift and are very powerful; they use those powers for good. In contrast to them are the black-soul angels they have also unlocked the full extent of their gift but use their powers for evilness. Broken angels are scary - well, to me they are. Normal people can't see which people are angels as they all look like humans since they get their wings at the end of their lifetime, which can be unnerving, but broken angels can't tell the difference from white-souls to black-souls. Broken angels can easily change like the weather; they may start off good but being in the presence of a black-soul they can begin to do evil deeds without even realising its evil. The worst thing is they can begin to enjoy it.

That's why I've got trust issues. I was an orphan until Scotia and Seth adopted me. I don't one-hundred percent trust either of them. Oh, they know about angels; they are angels. But I can't tell which kind. I did ask once when I was younger and Scotia laughed - suspiciously - and said 'we're white-souls, silly.' I've been too timorous to ask since. I always had this image of me accusing them of being black-souls and suddenly they admit it whilst attacking me and I was too late to protect myself.

My town's pretty weird. Some unusual names - like mine, I suppose, Ryvre Storm. Angels can read minds and use telepathy on any human or angels. When they use telepathy on humans, humans take it as an instinct but when it is used on other angels, they can actually hear the voice of the angel using it. Every angel has a twin-soul - a soul mate - born within the time the angel was born, either the same day or the same month. The chance of finding your twin-soul is very slim. Only one in five thousand do find them. The feeling you get when you find them, I've heard, is like falling in love. They're the sun and your whole world orbits them. You would do anything for them, kill for them or die for them. If they die it's like apart of you dies with them.

I've grown out of that fairytale. I mean, look at Cinderella. She had to go get her prince and he didn't even remember who she was. I, however, have no intention of waiting around for him to come and 'rescue' me. My motto is: stop waiting for Prince Charming. Get up and find him. The poor idiot may be stuck in a tree or something.

Just another miserable Monday morning and I was walking up to the entrance of the horrific world of high school. I'm half way through year twelve and I'm stuck here for another year and a half in sixth form. You've got the typical groups that you get in every high school. I don't stick to the same groups; I'm what you might call a drifter. That's how I know that my twin-soul isn't in school. As I settled into my first lesson after tutor, I heard rumours spread throughout our English class about a new boy coming to school.

'He comes from America.' One girl said.

And there he was, in the doorway with the head teacher behind him. He was tall, had dark brown hair, blue sparkling eyes and was dressed in jeans and a dark grey t-shirt. I would bet a lot that he had a six-pack underneath his shirt. His skin was tanned from living in sunny America and his black leather jacket was hanging over his bag.