Chapter 8 Let Me Soar
LET ME SOAR
“Ineed to get out of here.”
Angel doesn't respond, just studies me as I pace the room. My heels thud against the herringbone floor—restless, rhythmic—as I wear a path back and forth in the wood.
This place never felt small. Until this moment it was a luxurious underground sanctuary with high-end fixtures and a chic, complicated microwave. No sunlight, no neighbors, no problem. Take away the bank vault-style door that only locks from the outside, and I'd cut a check for a down payment.
But right now? I'm suffocating.
Julian knows. He knows everything, and when that door opens, I'm fucked.
Angel is not turning as planned, and I'm woefully underprepared and under-resourced to deal with it. I just can't understand why there's not a single mention in the book about this. No reports, no advice, no solutions.
I up the pace and change direction so I'm marching between the kitchenette and the couch and taking an anxious bite from my cuticles with each step.
"Sophia," Angel says, stopping me in my tracks. "Are you going to tell me who was on the phone?"
"The client," I say without looking at him. "He knows something's up, and I think he knows we..." I bang my fists together. "Y'know...what we did."
Angel manages a slight smile. "Is that a bad thing?"
I resume my pacing. "Shit, I don't know, but I don't think it's a good thing.
I mean, they never told me not to, but it's probably a violation of some professional boundary.
But we're vampires, not public servants.
There's no fucking ethics committee to answer to.
" My voice gets higher, more frantic as I increase my pace.
"He sounded like he knows everything. If he knows, that means he's seen, and if he's seen, that means we're being watched.
So by now he knows you're dying, and he's counting on me to fix it.
Except I don't know how to fix it. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
Maybe he knows nothing, but he said there'd be consequences—"
"Sophia," Angel says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're giving me a headache with all this parading. Siéntate, please."
"Sorry," I mumble as I perch on the edge of the bed. "It helps me think."
He reaches out and brushes a curl away from my forehead, exposing the scar that runs through my eyebrow. He traces it with his thumb, his expression soft. "It's okay. I know you'll figure it out. I trust you."
"You shouldn't," I groan.
"Well, I do."
I chew my lip. "I need to go get help, but I'm afraid to leave you here in case something happens."
"But you can't leave, Sophia," Angel says, his voice strained. "Unless you have a key you're not telling me about?"
My eyes dart to the grate in the ceiling—the one he foolishly tried to climb out of a few days ago. Then back to him.
"I'm going to show you something, and it's going to be...different." I stand and square my shoulders, measuring my words. "Being a Maldita isn't just about protecting things or doing spells or having an ancient familiar bond. We're not really like other vampires. We have special abilities."
Angel's brow furrows. "What kind of abilities?"
I cross to the center of the room and crane my neck up at the grate. With a small leap and an outstretched hand, I pop the metal cover off. It clatters to the floor beside me. Angel watches, confusion deepening on his pallid face.
"It's easier if I show you," I mumble.
My fingers move to the hem of my black vest, and as I lift it, Angel's eyebrows shoot up.
"I didn't know it was that kinda—"
"It's not sexual. I just need to undress," I say, pulling the vest over my head. "Can't shift with clothes on. They don't...come with me."
"Shift?" His voice cracks.
I kick off my Chucks, then peel off my jeans. I'm down to my bra and underwear now. Angel doesn't take his eyes off me.
I reach up to remove my hooped earrings first—pop one out, then the other—and set them on the edge of the kitchenette counter. Then place my delicate gold nose ring in the center.
"When I shift into my other form, I can be out in daylight. It's a Maldita-only thing. Very few people—aside from other Malditas—have ever seen us do it. So I'm warning you, it's about to get pretty fuckin' weird."
He shrugs. "This whole thing has been weird. Hit me with your best shot."
I reach back and unclasp my bra, then step out of my underwear. The cool air raises goosebumps across my skin. The tiny hairs along my forearm crackle with energy. They always do right before I turn. It's like my whole body is charging up for what comes next.
"I can't go to my sisters," I babble. "They'll tell La Madre, and she'll be pissed off because I'm not even supposed to be here.
So I'm going to fly to Austin to see my cousin Paloma.
She's a witch—a human one, not a Maldita, but she knows a lot.
If anyone can help, it's P. I'll be quick.
A few hours, tops." My throat tightens. "I really don't feel comfortable leaving you alone like this, but I'm out of ideas. "
Angel turns back to face me, and there's something curious in his expression—trust mixed with wonder. "I'll be fine, Sophia. Go."
Does he mean that? There's a risk he could die while I'm gone, but I have to take it.
Besides, if I catch him in the right light, he almost looks like he's recovering.
Sure, there's no color in his cheeks and the dark purple rings under his eyes are deepening by the minute, but he's not wheezing anymore. That has to mean something.
It's not just his rapidly declining health that puts the fear of La Madre into me—it's knowing that leaving such a high-value asset unattended for six hours won't sit well with the client. But I'm doing what any Maldita would: improvising, adapting. I just hope they see it that way.
There are no obvious signs of hidden cameras, so either I'm being paranoid or they're very well concealed. Either way, it doesn't make a difference. I've made my decision.
I rest my hands on my naked hips and clear my throat. Then I address no one in particular.
"Hello there. If you're listening, I'm guessing you've seen my tits already, so this is no surprise. I'm just going out for a short while. I erm... I need a second opinion, but I'll be right back. Okay?"
He raises his eyebrows, “who are you talking to? Do you have cabin fever or something?”
“Just saying a little prayer”
I close the distance between us and lean in to kiss Angel. He reaches to give my bare ass a playful grope and kisses me back with an urgency that makes my stomach flip.
"A few hours," I whisper. "I promise."
He slaps my left butt cheek, and it jiggles against his palm. "Hurry back," he says with a smile. "I want to continue this when I'm at full strength."
"Well, we'll see. You might not want to after you see this next part."
Then I step back and let the change take me.
It starts in my bones—a compression that tingles in my scalp and works its way through my marrow.
A restructuring on a molecular level that feels like returning home after a lifetime of travel.
My arms elongate and split into wings, black feathers erupting from follicles in a sound like shuffling cards.
My face narrows, hardens into a beak. The world shifts perspective as I shrink, my vision sharpening into something both more and less than human sight.
In seconds, I'm standing on taloned feet where the old Sophia once stood.
I tilt my head and fix one black eye on Angel. His jaw has gone slack with shock.
"Holy shit," he breathes.
I spread my wings—test them once, twice—then launch myself upward. The grate opening swallows me whole, and the last thing I hear before the night air catches my feathers is Angel's voice echoing up from below.
"Holy shit."
Then I'm gone, arrowing into the darkness above.
Flying is freedom. Humans and other vampires alike will never understand the feeling of the currents of magic that run between places whipping through your feathers. Or finding the spots where you can press against the edges of the air and feel it collapse like origami.
The journey to Austin should take a regular bird twenty hours. For me, it'll be around three.
There's about an hour until sundown, and the early evening light is bathing everything in a marmalade glow that gives the desolate highways cutting through the arid landscape a magical quality.
When you've been trapped underground for days, even a concrete landscape becomes a thing of beauty.
From up here, the gas stations dotting the route feel otherworldly—like red and yellow beacons calling me in.
The breeze slices through my wings, and I say thank you to the universe and practice a little gratitude.
I hadn't realized quite how much I needed this.
If anyone has an answer to this, it's P, and she's the whole reason I took this job without telling La Madre. It's all for her and for her mom, Maria.
My cousin Paloma is like a sister to me.
Like many of the other women in our family, she's a practicing bruja, but she never had a desire to become vampire.
The irony is, she'd be an incredible one. Some of us have to study and work hard to hone our magical gifts, but not P. She’s had an instinct for it since the day she was born.
A natural talent with the kind of raw power that far surpasses anything I've ever seen in a non-Maldita.
If she ever came to La Madre I doubt she'd have to spend months polishing dusty Honda Civics for a shot at immortality.
She'd been bitten and branded before sundown.
Two hours and fifty-one minutes later, I spot the "Wash & Fold" and "Se Habla Espanol" neon signs I've been searching for and begin my descent into the strip mall parking lot.