Chapter 1 Angel
Morgan climbed the empty stairs to the roof of her workplace, listening to the sound of her heavy snow boots echo up the shaft of the metal, industrial stairway. She grimaced at what she heard. Still two more floors to the top.
She plodded steadily upward, wishing for the thousandth time that the smokers didn't contaminate the entire outdoor courtyard below. Her heightened senses meant she couldn't stand the acrid smell. But, she reflected as she reached the summit, she wanted to be alone and the park-like space in the center of their building drew far too social a crowd, even in the dead of winter.
Snow fell again today sealing the door to the rooftop but when she leaned her whole body against the heavy metal barrier it gave, creating a soft crested wave in the powdery cold wetness. Morgan made a mental note to be careful when she came this way again tomorrow. The space the door scraped clear would be a frozen, dangerous icy patch and she didn't need to add a broken bone to her ever expanding list of worries.
With a deep breath, she pushed those worries away and left the scant shelter of the stairwell door, advancing into the brisk winter air. Her booted feet made soft crunching noises in the snow which paired harmoniously with the whistling call of the breeze through the nearby aluminum vents. She shivered slightly at the forlorn song.
Exactly twenty-five paces later she stopped and placed her mittened hands on the metal railing at the roof's edge, resting them lightly.
It was cold and impersonal up here in the icy grip of the North wind, but Morgan craved the isolation. She retreated to this space every day during her break and never regretted it. No one followed her up here. Except for the occasional stray pigeon, she was alone.
Small vibrations of the railing under her hands let her know one landed nearby, its quiet coo a soothing balm to her overtaxed ears. In other cities, it might be strange to encounter a bird out this late. In New York, the lights provided a false sense of daytime which allowed even second shift workers, like herself, to appreciate some wildlife.
She reached into her coat pocket and fished out a small plastic bag full of crusts carefully saved from the last loaf of stale bread in her apartment. She wouldn't be able to afford another until Friday when her paycheck cleared, but she couldn't begrudge her little feathered friends a snack in this weather.
She shivered a little as she removed her mitten and spread a substantial amount of crumbs on the snow around her. The soft flutter of wings, as the bird availed itself of her generosity, made her smile. She needed this quiet time, this calming break in her routine.
Aside from the wind, the only other sound up here was the constant on than off buzz of the neon sign of her workplace. Its continual cycling like the heartbeat of the building.
Reminding her, no matter how hard she tried to escape the daily grind, it still waited for her below.
Morgan sighed. Her position as a phone response agent for Angel Automotive Insurance meant she spent most of her time speaking to annoyed and upset motorists. Not her favorite pastime.
Somehow her life had become an endless parade of unknown strangers who locked themselves out of a car, slid into another vehicle, or wanted to be an ass about the damage a salt truck did as it passed by during the night.
Who knew winter caused so many problems for motorists? Summer would bring its own crop of issues, she was sure. It seemed, to her, a little too much to assume such a small premium should cover all the inconveniences of life. But she was a bit biased.
Morgan didn't own a car for a variety of reasons. For one, they were expensive to maintain, let alone park. Besides, she didn't need one. Getting around NYC was easy. Subways, buses, and taxis would do in a pinch, but she preferred traveling on her own two feet. They were dependable, affordable, and not tethered to any sort of timetable. Plus, she lived little more than a 20-minute walk away, so she was content.
She turned her back on the city and leaned against the railing, lifting her face towards the sky and closing her eyes. If she concentrated hard, she could feel the cool tingle as her breath misted in the icy air and fell down around her. Moments later an additional soft brush across her cheek announced the arrival of tiny snowflakes, falling from the heights once more.
The snow stuck to the curly hair peeking out around the edges of her fuzzy, knitted hat. She knew the cap looked plain and shapeless, but she didn't need anything fancy. She was grateful it kept her head warm and her hair mostly dry. Besides, it matched the worn material of her coat and scarf making the whole ensemble seem, at least slightly intentional.
A tiny chime from the watch on her wrist declared its five-minute warning and her mood changed abruptly as her break ended. She sighed taking one last deep breath of the crisp winter air before trudging back toward the stairwell and her life.
She had just reached the shelter of the doorway and resigned herself to the effort it would take to pry the heavy steel access open again when warmth from inside the building hit her face. She stepped back, surprised at the already open door.
"Hello?" she inquired, tilting her head.
She had not heard anything indicating another person, but for one fleeting moment, she sensed curious eyes upon her. Intense and warm, this felt like nothing she'd ever experienced before.
She froze. Was someone up here after all?
Shrugging off the momentary sense of unease, Morgan decided the door had simply stuck open when she came out earlier. Grateful she wouldn't have to struggle with it, she slipped back into the welcoming warmth and made sure it closed behind her.
After she left, he let out the breath he'd been holding and stepped from his hiding place among the shadows. He knew damn well he should not have interacted with her, but she struggled so much on her way out, he couldn't help himself. When she dragged herself back to the door with slumped shoulders and a subdued look on her face, he raced in front of her and silently braced it open.
Despite his own better judgment, he had lingered when the young woman first came out. Even when it looked like she intended to stay for more than a quick cigarette break. She strode from the warmth of the stairwell with a precision, grace, and confidence he'd seldom seen in a human, outside of a well trained assassin.
She fascinated him, but he did not forget his training. He remained out of sight and observed warily.
This petite female seemed consumed by the overly large and shapeless winter clothes she wore. Her dark coat and hat were bland against the snow; muted olive, brown, and black. And she blended with the other shadowy shapes on the rooftop almost perfectly. If he hadn't seen her emerge, he might have missed her presence altogether.
A faded red scarf tied just under her chin implied an attempt at brightening up the outfit, but even it showed wear, raveling all around the edges. The whole ensemble screamed 'cast-offs' and didn't fit her well at all.
Not that he should judge. Money was hard to come by in all walks of life these days.
As he watched her from the shadows, her pale porcelain skin and the soft curls that peeked out from under her hat struck him in stark contrast to the drab colors of her clothes. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her eyes glistened in the bright neon light from the flashing sign above them.
Even more striking was the way she appeared to absorb the night. She relished the silence, took it in, and projected it back out again in calming, peaceful waves that soothed even his savage soul.
The more he observed, the more interested he became. The curious way she held herself intrigued him. Her mittened hands rested softly on the railing as if seeking information and she tilted her head first left, then right in a birdlike manner.
As though summoned, a bird actually flew up to join her moments later. The small grey pigeon was common enough throughout the city, but she treated it with reverence. Gently, she reached into her coat pocket and spread out a sumptuous feast of bread crumbs for it in the snow around her feet. Despite her obvious lack of funds, she was generous with what she had. He found himself nodding silently in approval.
And then she smiled.
Time stood still as the small upturn of her lips lifted her face from merely pretty to incredible. He stood frozen to the spot, dumbfounded in its glow. What he wouldn't give to have a smile like that directed at him.
Anger flared. He growled and shook himself to break out of the spell. What was he thinking? She might not be rich, but she was employed. Trouble did not stalk her every move. People like her, with jobs and a quiet life, did not need him. And he certainly did not need her.
Frustrated with his thoughts, he tore his eyes away and cast an annoyed glance around the rooftop for something to divert his attention while he regained his bearings. He couldn't leave his hiding place until she went back inside and that added to his irritation.
Why did I delay? This girl is nothing but a distraction.
Trying to focus on anything but her, his eyes landed on the neon logo above her head, blinking "Angel" over and over again. As if he needed to have that pointed out to him in large glowing letters. He snorted at this 'sign from above' then stilled himself as she tilted her head in his direction. Her perceptions were sharp.
Eventually satisfied she was alone, she leaned back on the railing and turned her face to the night sky. His breath caught. Had he really thought her merely pretty moments ago? Beauty was all he saw now in the light of the blinking sign.
Her features were pixie-like with large eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a tiny upturned nose. Brunette, almost auburn, curls softened her face and trapped the small white flakes of snow just beginning to fall again in a scene so serene it was almost magical. He stared, entranced, losing himself in the view, his irritation melting away.
A small chime from her watch interrupted their joint reverie. She sighed, opened her eyes, and began to trudge resolutely back toward the stairwell. That was when he'd decided to open the door.
A little gesture of kindness in return for sharing a moment of her serenity.
When the girl realized the door was ajar, she stopped in confusion. A soft hello broke the silence and almost startled him into motion. Her smooth, low, tone held a cautious edge that made him suddenly reconsidered his earlier notion.
She might be in danger after all.
She tensed, as if expecting a blow, then flinched in the golden yellow rectangle of light shining through the open door. When nothing occurred, her shoulders relaxed again and she slipped inside out of the darkness of the night.
He eyed the dull green door curiously as she closed it with extreme care behind her, wondering at her reaction. But he didn't have long to consider it. A vibration distracted him and he check his phone as he emerged from the shadows.
A text prompted him for an update and he huffed, irritated, as he sent the all clear for his portion of the patrol so far. There were still two hours left and several miles to go before he could call it a night and get out of this despicable cold.
God, I hate winter.
Tonight, though, he had forgotten it for a time. An angel showed him the beauty in the silence and stillness. Serenity, it seemed, could be found almost anywhere if you were open to it.
Even in New York.
After his patrol, he would come back this way. She worked the second shift so she should be finished by then and headed home. He wanted to escort her safely there. This neighborhood wasn't too bad but why should she have to brave it alone in the dark?
His route and course of action decided he turned and dashed toward the edge of the building, leaping the gap to the next in a smooth, agile movement. He didn't fear leaving footprints in the snow. His oversized leather boots left irregular melted marks which defied analysis and were strangely quiet.
Silence was his constant companion and the only sound that marred his passing was the soft rustle of the cloth he wore as a mask around his eyes. The crimson fabric that marked him as Raphael.