Chapter 11 Reality Check
REALITY CHECK
Ordinarily a flight over the Rio Grande would feel like drifting through a dream, but right now it feels like a waking nightmare.
Each beat of my wings brings me closer to my home, closer to safety, but there will be nothing warm about my homecoming. No heroine's welcome. No open arms to hold me.
It's time to come clean and tell my fellow Malditas the truth.
Not the whole truth though. That would be like sealing my own death warrant, and I'm too much of a coward.
I have no idea how La Madre will react to the news that her divine feminine bloodline, protected with magic and selectively shared with worthy witches, has been polluted by a man who will spend eternity bound to a gang of criminals.
I can't imagine it'll be good.
The maquiladoras of Juarez twinkle beneath me like a map of halogen stars knitted together in rows. I want to enjoy the view for as long as possible, but I know every moment is borrowed. As the rusted roof of the auto repair shop comes into view, my heart sinks.
It's unusual that there are no clothes waiting for me in the alley behind the shop, nothing to grab and change into, so when I shift back to my human form, I'm bare and exposed to the stilted evening air.
I grab a half-damp piece of cardboard from behind the dumpster to hide my modesty and slink through the rolling door in the back, setting the heavy chains jangling like industrial wind chimes as I do.
The familiar smell of motor oil and gasoline lingers on every surface. I feel along the wall and flip the light switch on, illuminating the shop in cold white fluorescent light. At the center is a dented red '87 Pontiac Firebird up on blocks with the hood popped.
I'm already on edge, and the deathly stillness of the shop unnerves me further. Usually the chaotic sound of trumpets would be blasting out of the tinny little radio on the workbench, punctuated by the droning of an impact wrench, but tonight there's nothing.
Someone’s left a coveralls pegged to the wall. I'm halfway into it when footsteps sound behind me.
"Welcome home." My sister Catriona's Scottish lilt is unmistakable. She's wearing an identical set of coveralls, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with her long black hair braided over both shoulders. "I'd ask you where you've been, but we already know the answer."
My hands shake as I click the snaps of the coveralls together. "Oh yeah? And where's that?"
"Playing stupid games with stupid men," she taunts. "Jesus, Sophia, how could you be so fucking naive?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" I ask as I fasten the last snap.
She shakes her head, nostrils flared like she's caught a foul smell, and kicks open the door behind her. "You'd better come down. She's waiting, and she's not happy."
With Cat leading the way, we move through the back room and descend the spiral staircase into the shared home we've built in the foundations of the shop. In sharp contrast to the grubby, oil-slicked place on the surface, what lies beneath is anything but sinister.
Sandstone walls curve around the stairwell, their natural pink and terracotta hues catching the warm glow of the candlelight.
The blush tones deepen as I descend, shifting from pale rose to deeper coral where moisture has darkened the porous rock.
When I reach the bottom, the smell of gasoline dissipates and is replaced by the mineral scent of the stone mixed with the woody perfume of palo santo.
We pass my sisters' chambers one by one, each marked by a different colored door in the rock. Green for Catriona, cobalt for Nadège, fuchsia for Anna, on and on it goes until we reach the wooden door at the end of the narrow corridor. The one made from yew and etched with symbols carved by a blade.
"I'll leave you to it," Cat says. She leans in and gives me a terse hug, lowering her voice and dropping a warning into my ear. "If I were you, I'd come clean about everything. She'll find out anyway, so you might as well be honest."
Then she's gone. Leaving me alone to meet my fate.
I raise my hand to knock, but the door swings open before I make contact, leaving me standing with my fist pushing air outside her quarters.
"Enter."
She's waiting for me, sitting cross-legged on a pile of mismatched cushions at the center of the candlelit room. Long grey hair pulled into a single braid that trails over her shoulder, wearing her signature earth-toned robes and long linen trousers.
Many times over the years I've come to this place for solace and comfort, seeking La Madre's wisdom in these underground chambers.
She's filled the space with a thousand years of mementos.
A jumble of things that shouldn't work together but fit perfectly.
A Moorish oil lamp, a jade Buddha, a rococo chaise lounge with worn upholstery.
I've broken blood with her on that chaise more times than I can count, me and my sisters drinking from mismatched goblets.
One Venetian crystal, another made from Roman glass gone cloudy with age.
It's a cultured, curated kind of clutter, but today it brings me no comfort.
Neither of us says anything. She just stares at me, head cocked slightly like she's trying to reach inside me. I take half a step back when she surges to her feet and stalks toward me.
The slap comes so fast I don't see it coming.
My head snaps to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. I taste blood—my own blood—where my fang sliced the inside of my mouth.
"Mother, I'm sorry—"
"You're sorry?" Her laugh is bitter. "You went behind my back. You disobeyed a direct order. You put yourself in danger because you were too arrogant, too stubborn, too desperate to prove yourself to listen to reason."
I swallow the blood down. “I thought that maybe I could prove myself. Show you what I'm capable of. Then you'd be proud of me. Maybe trust me to do more."
"You certainly showed me what you're capable of." La Madre straightens. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"
"I know. I know I fucked up. I won't do it again, I promise—"
"Lazaro Malvini is a snake," she hisses.
"Men like him are nothing but darkness. I have spent almost a thousand years keeping my daughters safe from his kind.
Criminals who would use us, manipulate us, destroy us.
" She leans forward, hands curled into fists.
"And you willingly went to him, despite my strict instructions to leave it be. "
My voice is small and childlike. "I should have listened. I know that now. I was stupid, I was reckless, but if you can find it in you to forgive me, I swear on all that is sacred I will never dishonor you again."
Her face is granite grim. A slab of something cold and unforgiving with disappointment etched all over it.
I'd prepared for her anger on the flight home.
I'd pictured how she would rage at me, her face hot with fury, and rage seeping from every pore, but for some reason I never imagined disappointment.
The weight of it is too much to bear.
I drop to my knees and land on one of the plush Persian rugs that line her room. And with tears streaking my cheeks, I grasp at her feet and kiss them.
"Whatever it takes," I say in between wet sobs. "Whatever you need, I'll do it."
"It's not that simple."
"It is. I swear it is. No more independent jobs. No more going rogue. I'll stay here. I'll clean cars again. I'll run errands. I'll do everything in my power until you forgive me. Even if it takes decades."
"I know what you did, Sophia."
I freeze. My mouth hovering above her toes, a thin line of bloody saliva connecting my lip to her skin.
How could she know? Did she feel it? The moment my blood flowed into Angel and made him whole again?
I back away from her feet and rest on my haunches. Even though she's only five feet tall, she looms over me.
"I know what you did," she repeats, harsher this time.
I swallow. "What do you—"
"Our bloodline has been tainted because of you," La Madre says, her voice shaking with rage. "Nearly one thousand years of keeping this magic sacred, keeping it within our sisterhood, keeping it away from men who would use it as a weapon—and you gave it away for a man you barely knew."
Fuck.
"I was trying to save him.” I stamer. “He was dying. I... I took an oath. I swore to protect and defend and..."
"That's not why you did it, Sophia." She's matter-of-fact. "A sacrifice like that only comes from a place of love."
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. All I can do is sob.
"Sophia, am I right?"
I nod.
She grimaces. "I thought so. Nothing good ever comes from men. No such love is worth that kind of sacrifice."
"You don't know him," I croak. "You don't see what I see. There's something in him. Something fierce. Something passionate and kind."
"I don't care to." La Madre walks over to her antique desk, her back to me. "What's done is done. That man carries our magic in his veins now. He's bonded to you forever. And Lazaro—" She turns back to face me. "Lazaro knew exactly what he was doing."
"What do you mean?"
"He manipulated you, Sophia. He set the entire thing up. Can't you see it?" Her eyes bore into mine. "He knew I would refuse. I just didn’t think that one of my own girls would be gullible enough to fall for his tricks. I thought I’d trained you better than that."
I start to protest, but the realization hits me like a brick. The suited guy who came by the shop when all my sisters were out and pushed his business card into my palm. The Sangre Negada poisoning. The locked room. It was all too convenient. I was way too naive.
"He wanted your blood," La Madre continues. "Wanted rare Maldita magic in one of his vampires. And he knew the only way to get it was to make you give it willingly." She shakes her head. "And you did. You walked right into his trap."
"No," I whisper. "No, that's not—he didn't know—"
"Didn't he?" La Madre's voice is sharp. "Did he seem surprised when that door opened? Did he seem pleased with himself?"
I think about Lazaro's smile. The way he called Angel special. One of a kind.
Oh god.
"He knew," I breathe. "He knew what I did. He wanted it to happen."
"He made it happen." La Madre sounds almost pitying now.
"Men like Lazaro will always find a way of getting what they want.
They're predators, Sophia. They study their prey.
Find weaknesses. Exploit them." She walks toward me.
"And you—young, impulsive, and desperate to prove yourself—you were a better mark than he could have ever hoped for. "
The sobs tear out of me then. Great heaving gasps that shake my whole body. Because she's right. About all of it.
I was played.
Manipulated.
Used.
And I gave Lazaro exactly what he wanted.
My voice shakes. "How do you know I did it?"
She picks up a letter opener from her desk and runs it along her palm, leaving a trail of blood.
"Because of this," she says, holding her hand up to the light.
"Our blood is blessed, and I am the only one given the honor to pass it on.
I feel it in every one of my daughters. It calls to me.
It used to be so beautiful...but now? Now I can feel it in him. "
She closes her fist.
"You will be punished for this."
I look up at her through my tears. "I deserve it. Whatever it is."
"Get up."
I rise on shaking legs.
La Madre raises her hands and closes her eyes. The candles flicker as a cold draft blows through the room and licks at my face. "Quedas congelada bajo mi voluntad."
And just like that, I'm frozen. Feet rooted to the spot, pulled by an invisible force.
An icy sensation crawls up my ankles and forearms—like something metallic coiling around my wrists and biting into my calves.
Four invisible chains locked to each extremity, wrenching me wide open so my arms and legs are splayed.
I open my mouth to call out, but it's like screaming in a nightmare.
My voice locked away and buried somewhere I can't reach it.
La Madre raises her hands, palms facing me, and begins to chant. A low, throaty hum that comes from her chest. I can't make out the words, but each word pulsates through me. A low-frequency thud that penetrates my bones.
No. Please no.
It starts in my skull and trickles down. Bones crack. Feathers sprout. A beak forms. It's painful, violent, and feels deeply wrong. Like something sacred has been violated.
And then I'm a crow, standing on the floor of her office, unable to move. Held in place by her powerful magic.
I twitch and glamce up. From down here she's gargantuan, mythic.
She leans down to scoop me into her hands, and I'm powerless in her palm.
She's not rough, but she's firm with her touch, holding me steady as she walks over to her ornate dressing table.
She drops me down onto the polished wood top, and I'm stuck facing my reflection.
She pulls out a pair of golden shears from the drawer, and I watch in horror as she fans my wings out and places the open scissors at the tip.
No, please, not that—
"Sophia, over these years I have given you much freedom—some would say too much—because I believe in trusting my children. I always wanted you to have the space you need to thrive." She snips a feather, and as it falls, it takes a part of me with it.
She's really doing it.
"But I have been too lenient, and too distant, and I have paid the price for your betrayal. So now you must too."
I study the mirror as she swiftly and methodically trims my feathers back one by one.
It’s not physically painful, but it tears at me somewhere hidden.
Each cut severing a piece of my soul with it.
If I could move, I would be wailing, screaming, and raging until there is no fight left in me. I would kick and bite and howl.
But all I can do is watch.
"Unlike what you did to us, this is not permanent. Your clipped wings will grow back eventually, but you will not be able to fly for some time." She moves to the other wing and does the same on the other side. "I think that's more than fair. Don't you?"
I try to cry, but all that comes out is a broken caw.
When she's done, she releases her magic, and I slide off the dresser and collapse onto the floor, shifting back to human without meaning to. I'm naked, shaking, my back burning where the wings connected.
"You will stay here," La Madre says as she towers over my trembling body. "You will work in the shop. You will earn back our trust. And you will never—under any circumstances—see or contact that boy again. If you do, I will cut them off for good. Do you understand?"
I nod, but a streak of defiance ignites inside me.
I know something she doesn't.
Love doesn't need wings to find its way back.