Page 28 of Watch Me Turn
Has Julian been watching us?
And more importantly—what has he seen?
8
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."
