Chapter 1
A scrawny girl of about fifteen stood calmly leaning against the wall of an old gray building in the middle of the rue de Lille, her arms crossed on her chest in a gesture of utter indifference to her surroundings. The passers-by, of whom on that sunny afternoon in Paris there were plenty, streamed by her, some nearly tripping over her petite form. Her eyes half-closed against the afternoon sun, she seemed completely oblivious to them, lost in some kind of a dream.
That air of indifference, however, was only feigned, and the ruse would have been obvious to anyone who could at that moment chance an even passing glance into her eyes. Half-concealed by the shade of the building that she so conveniently leaned into, those eyes followed each passing figure with the avidity of a lion that watches a herd of antelopes: cold, calculating, searching for the �right� victim to come along.
Suddenly a triumphant gleam flashed in the deep green of her eyes, and they widened in anticipation. She found it � or, rather, him � a boy, about the same age as her. Looks like a tourist, her mind registered quickly. Probably American. Easy prey.
Christian grunted in surprise, caught completely off-guard, as something � or someone slammed into him, forcing him to stumble back, and he swayed violently to keep his balance. Whoever bumped into him wasn�t so lucky, however, and Christian watched in amusement, as his own shock faded away, while the cause of their collision struggled to get back to her feet, muttering a string of what he could only infer were curses in his address.
�I�m sorry,� he offered, stretching out his hand, as the crowd, interrupted momentarily by their uncanny interaction, returned to its previous moderately busy rhythm.
She took the hand, pulling herself up rather angrily and saying something else to him in the process (Christian thought it sounded like �cretin�), and she walked away without so much as another glance in his direction.
Looking at her retreating back, he shook his head disapprovingly, shoving his hands in the pockets. At that very moment, however, his right hand came to rest against an empty spot which was previously occupied by his wallet, and Christian felt his blood begin to boil.
�Dammit!� he swore, as he took off after her, nearly knocking some people off on the way.
He caught up with her only a while later and largely (he had to admit) thanks to the dead end that she ran up against � wrong choice of a side-street.
She stopped, having reached the wall, and turned around to face him, the wet bangs of her short dark hair, swept about her face, her eyes gleaming madly � the look of a desperate cornered animal.
Christian regarded her silently for a few moments, finding himself at once fascinated and frightened by that strange creature before him. Finally, as his breathing calmed down, he took a cautious step forward.
�You know, for a girl, you�re not a bad runner,� he joked lightly, as he noticed her tense at his movement. �Not that I expect you to understand anything I�m saying, but I do think you know the reason why I just chased you across half the city.� He stretched out his hand again, this time with an admittedly different purpose. �I�d like my wallet back, please.�
Her eyes narrowed at that, her face taking on a cold disdainful look. �I thought rich American tourists were supposed to be charitable,� she stated in a perfect if slightly accented English and smiled, enjoying the look of astonishment on his face.
�Your English is � perfect,� he mumbled unnecessarily, his fascination with her growing evermore.
She shrugged indifferently. �My mother was American. She is morte � dead now.�
�I�m sorry.�
A moment of awkward silence passed between them; one � digesting the new information, the other � vacillating between staying or making a run for it, confused to find herself somehow more tempted to stay.
�You didn�t answer my question,� she prompted finally. �Why is a rich American kid so � greedy with money?�
He shook his head, smiling ruefully. �This American kid is not rich � not yet, at least. That money�s all I got, lady.� He paused, his smile growing more welcoming, more open. �I�m Christian, by the way.�
For several long seconds she didn�t respond, watching him closely, as if debating something with herself. Finally she reached into her side pocket, pulling out the small wallet and tossing it his way.
�I�m Alexandra� But you can call me Xandrie. Everybody does.�
***
Christian jolted awake, looking wildly about him until his mind fully registered his surroundings. The inside of the plane�s cabin was fully lit. All around him there was movement, passengers hustling toward the exits. We have landed , he realized with a start. His rosy-cheeked neighbor had already apparently vacated the premises, and soon Christian seemed to be one of the few remaining passengers still lingering inside the enormous jet. It was time to go and face the world outside. Well, Paris, ready or not�
He pulled himself up, grabbed his bag and, throwing a last look around, walked stiffly toward the exit door.