When Angels Fall

Chapter 1

This book is dedicated to BerlinSchwester

My name is Paris. Like the capital of France. Yeah, fancy, I know.

Let me start off by saying that I have lived in Boston my whole life. It's all I've ever known. So when I say there's not much I don't know about it, I'm telling the truth. Just wanted you to know that up front. It may have some relevance later on in my story.

The next thing to say is that I'm not one of the popular girls. In fact, I'm practically invisible. And I like it that way. Leave me alone to my books and iPod, and I'll leave you alone to your...whatever it is you do.

I have maybe two friends, but we aren't close. Since I graduated, life has been kind of, well...boring. Get up, go to work, get home, eat, sleep, repeat. And go to the toilet in there somewhere. It gets really aggravating after a while.

On one particularly sunny day, which I've managed to get off from work, I walk down the street toward my favorite coffee shop. The leaves on the trees are just beginning to turn their many colors, and the air is crisp and cool. I've decided to enjoy the day, but it's hard. Memories of summers long past and nicer times are very bold in my mind, and I can't help but sigh and wrap my coat tighter around myself.

I enter the shop and smile at the waitress as I order my drink, then go and sit at a table beside the window. I fix my beanie, which rests comfortably atop my cinnamon waves, and sip my coffee. I pull a paperback from my purse and try to read, but I can't get into it today. The day I lose interest in a book is the day I'm really in trouble.

I tiredly set my book down and turn my attention to looking out the window at the trees and other people. I've managed to work myself into a doze when I hear someone stop beside my table. "Hi."

I look up in surprise. It's a young man, about my age, with black hair that hangs loosely and around his face, almost covering his eyes. His skin is a sunkissed tan, and he's dressed all in black, except for a blood red hoodie under his leather jacket.

"Hi." I return, managing a small smile. Ugh, why does everyone want to talk to me today. The boy smiles back.

"You look lonely. Mind if I sit and be lonely with you?"

I hesitate, not really wanting company. But he's being friendly and I don't want to be rude, so I nod and gesture to the empty seat across from me with a smile. "Be my guest."

The boy sits down with a sigh, his heavy motorcycle boots clunking loudly. He sets a cup of plain coffee on the table, then leans back and regards me. His eyes are the most startling thing about him: they're such a light blue they're almost white, rimmed with a deep violet.

"So how has your day been?" he asks after a few seconds of silence, taking a sip of his coffee. I chuckle slightly, looking down at the book in my hands. Its pages are crumpled and yellow. Guess I'll have to be gentle.

"It's been alright." I say with a sigh, not sure if I want to get into a conversation with this stranger. But he seems genuine and...maybe even a little worried. "Could've been better." I admit softly.

"Oh? How so?" The boy seems to realize something, and he leans forward, setting his cup down before offering his hand. "How rude of me. I'm Kuzo."

"Paris." I return, shaking his hand. I take my cup in both hands, letting the warmth of the coffee heat my cold fingers. "And...I guess it's just too monotonous. Every day is the exact same thing. And it's starting to get kind of boring."

Kuzo chuckles, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "Well, I can't say that I know what you mean, but yes, that does sound dull. Have you considered taking up painting?" he asks, peering at me over the rim of his cup as he takes another drink. His fingers are long and slim, well cared for, not a single scar. He must be rich or something.

"Not really my forte." I reply, shrugging. "That's more my mom's thing. That and writing." I haven't talked to my mom in a while. Maybe I should call her later...

"So what is your forte?" Kuzo asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. I shake my head slightly to clear the cobwebs, then shrug.

"Reading. It's my favorite thing to do. But, sadly, I don't have much time for that, and the library is currently closed for repairs, so..." I lift my book so he can see the cover: it's some stupid romance comedy. "This is the only book in my apartment I haven't read."

"Yeesh." Kuzo says, looking at the book with disdain. Hey, at least we have something in common. "You know they have this thing called an online library, right?" Kuzo asks with a chuckle. I roll my eyes and nod.

"Yes, but I much prefer to read from paper. It just feels better." Kuzo nods in understanding, taking a long drink from his cup before tossing it in the trash can nearby.

"So what about you?" I ask, deciding to change the topic a little. Kuzo glances at me.

"Oh, me. Hm. That's a bit of a long story." He chuckles softly. "Well, I'm a traveler. I go all over. I'm not really from any place in particular," He runs his fingers through his hair, somehow managing to make it messier than it was. "I have a huge family. Huge, like nothing you've seen before. And we don't always get on very well."

I laugh at this, raising my cup to my lips. "Well, aren't most families like that?" Kuzo smiles and nods.

"Yeah, I suppose, but...my family is the kind where one argument can lead to a world war." He seems nervous to have admitted this, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. I watch him with interest.

"So your family is powerful, then?"

"More powerful than I'd like to say," he admits sheepishly. "But that's a long story."

"Long stories are the best stories." I return with a smile. A genuine smile, not a fake one. "Especially when there's a plot twist."

Kuzo grins, revealing perfect teeth. "Plot twists are good, especially near the end. That way you still have time to be surprised." I nod with a smile, looking down to straighten some loose pages in the book. It's not even mine, it belonged to my roommate, but she left and let me have it. The type of person who leaves a book behind is the type of person who would leave a friend behind, I think to myself.

I look back up at Kuzo, who has fallen silent, and see that his gaze is focused on the front door. I turn and look to see a man has entered. Nothing strange about him. He's wearing a business suit and a dark overcoat.

"Friend of yours?" I ask, turning back to Kuzo. Maybe it's a father or a brother or something.

Kuzo doesn't take his eyes off the man, his casual posture suddenly becoming much more tense. Okay, definitely not someone he likes. I look back at the man just as he glances this way. And he smiles. At first I think it's because he's seen Kuzo, but then I realize his eyes are trained on me. And not in a good way.

He starts toward me, his hand delving into the pocket of his coat. It comes back out with a gun, and I feel my breath catch in alarm. His eyes are still trained on me as he marches this way and raises the gun until it's level with my head.