Page 30 of Watch Me Turn

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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 Español" neon signs I've been searching for and begin my descent into the strip mall parking lot.

The laundromat is completely unassuming. From the outside you'd never guess that it was a front for something far less domestic and much more mystical. I spot Paloma's custard-yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked as I glide down and land on the tarmac.

I hop across the lot, the ground still warm from the sun, and make my way to the entrance. The flickering light of the signs guide me in like a runway. The familiar smell of jasmine-tinged laundry detergent wafts out the glass door, driven by the heat of the whirring tumble dryers churning rhythmically inside.

Once inside, I fly up onto one of the machines so I'm level with the older woman napping in the folding chair. My aunt Maria doesn't stir as I land on the warm metal surface of the dryer beside her. Her chest rises and falls in the gentle rhythm of deep sleep, her reading glasses swaying on their beaded chain with each breath.

I need to shift back, but there's the small matter of being completely naked when I do.

The transformation reverses itself—wings folding inward, bones restructuring, feathers retracting into skin. In moments I'm crouched on top of the industrial dryer, human and very much exposed. Maria snores softly, oblivious.

I hop down as quietly as possible and pad over to the nearest machine that's just finished its cycle. The metal door is still warm as I pull it open and start grabbing whatever's inside.

In amongst a tangle of socks and boxers, I land on an oversized tie-dye Grateful Dead shirt and a pair of men's cargo shorts. "Sorry, random Austin dad," I mutter as I button themover my bare ass. They're several sizes too big and hang dangerously low on my hips, but at least I won't be naked.

I pad past Maria toward the vending machine in the back corner. I reach behind and tug at it, and with a satisfying click, the machine becomes a door, swinging open and revealing a narrow corridor behind it.

The smell of dragon's blood incense and palo santo drifts down the hall, and the familiarity of it soothes my raw nerves instantly. I run my hand over the vines that climb the walls in the hallway and ground myself. Paloma is one of the few tethers to my old life, and sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn't turn. She was just a baby when I left to join the Malditas, and watching her grow into the woman she is today has been the privilege of my life.

I've barely taken ten steps when the door at the end swings open, revealing a breathless Paloma in a long black kaftan dotted with gold stars. "Mana!" she exclaims. "I've been waiting for you."

She opens her arms, and I run into them. "P! I've missed you so much," I say as I squeeze her tight and mumble into her hair. "I'm sorry I didn't call, but I didn't know where else to go."

"I know, my love. It's okay. You never have to call ahead. Besides, I always sense when you need me." She pulls back to look at me and pushes my hair away from my face. "You look good."

"I look the same." I shrug. "You look great."

"Ah," she says as she throws her hands up. "I'm getting old. Look at this." She gestures to the fine, barely there lines forming around her dark brown eyes. "Crow's feet. Can you believe it?"

"And I'm just an old crow."

She throws her head back to laugh, and her cackle echoes down the corridor. "Come, come," she says as she grabs my hand and pulls me toward her office. "I guess you don't have long?"

Once inside the warmth of her office, she busies herself lighting candles on the old cloth-covered desk she works from. The place is dripping with quirks and magic. Wonky shelves stuffed with herbs, wooden saints and fresh flowers left for offerings, dusty ancient books piled up everywhere. I move the stack on an old leather chair and perch on the edge.

"Did you really feel me coming?" I ask as I watch Paloma blow out a long match.

"Mmhmm," she says. "It actually started a few days ago. I got a strange feeling in my ears, like something was off balance, but it felt like there was blockage. But then earlier I felt it again, and as the hours went on it got stronger. I tried to call, but?—"

"No phone signal. Yeah. I've been underground."

She arranges the candles between us and fiddles with a pile of pink crystals, arranging them in a neat line. "Ah. That makes sense. So, what's up? What can I do?"

I take a deep breath and spill everything. The job. The client. The man I've been guarding and the bad feeling that's been gradually growing in my gut. Paloma just watches and listens intently. Occasionally nodding or letting out a little "hm", but she never interrupts.

"...So now I need to find a way to save him, or I'm screwed. So if there's something I can do—anything—I'll do it. Just tell me, and I'll do it." I flop back in the chair and study Paloma's face, which is frighteningly expressionless.

After what feels like minutes, she speaks. "Well, I have bad news, and some more bad news. Which do you want first?"

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