I let out a laugh, cocky and unashamed because the spawn of a pair of admin Fae had just slashed the bellies of two warrior brats.
“You can watch for it all you want, but if it doesn’t save you, then I think I’m good,” I retorted as I landed.
Seph grumbled under his breath, but it was the medic who chided me. “Can’t you aim for less dangerous spots? Ones that won’t result in serious harm?”
“Isn’t that the whole point of fighting? To aim for the most dangerous body parts?” I countered, bracketing my hips with my hands after I shoved the point of my sword into the grass beneath us.
When she clicked her tongue, I pressed harder on the sword, not stopping until the hilt was flush to the ground. As I dragged it out, the earth worked its magic on the blade, sharpening and cleaning it as though I’d been buffing it for twenty minutes straight.
Seph plopped himself down, and after Angelique had healed Matthew with a reprimanding, “No fighting until you’re both recuperated,” he sagged too.
Cutting Gabriella a look, I saw her shoulders were hunched and her phone was in her hands still. She’d been there all along but hadn’t uttered a peep since she’d declared her need for a break.
If there was some swagger to my step when I moved toward her, then Sol, that was because Seph and Matt had needed healing after sparring with me. That was a big deal in this place.
When I loomed over her, my shadow cutting out the light as my wings spread—they were feeling just as cocky as I was—she peered up at me with a scowl.
“Can I help you?”
My lips twitched. “Would you like to fight?”
“What do you think?”
I frowned at her sarcasm. “You’re here to practice. You’ve had a break, now you need to get back to work.”
“No, I don’t. I practiced. Leopold tried and failed to instruct me.” The injury was evidently worse than anticipated since he hadn’t returned to the field. “Now, this is me done for the day.”
“What are you going to do when we’re thrown into the field?”
She blinked. “Let you boys have at ‘em?”
“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Matthew countered, but the question was aimed at me, not Gabriella.
“Nope. Not at all,” I retorted, folding my arms across my chest. “You need to learn to fight. Even if we do most of the work, you need to defend yourself. What if we’re busy and someone attacks you?”
“Then I blast their faces with pepper spray,” she replied. “Why you go to all this effort, I don’t know. Stupid fairies. Don’t you know? Things like guns and shit exist now so we don’t have to get all sweaty.”
“That’s dishonorable. To discharge a weapon such as a firearm is against our creed.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can see that. You like to look your opponent in the face when you make them bleed. Gotcha.”
“You’ve sat through Battle Theory. You know our creed. Why even make such a suggestion?” I argued.
“Because your suggestion that I fight is ludicrous,” she snapped, her jaw clenching. “Not only are you twice the size of me, you’re twice as strong. You’re accustomed to flying, taking off, and landing, whereas I’m a complete and utter noob. Eight months here isn’t long enough to train me in something you’ve been doing for twenty-five plus years.
“I’ve seen Tweedle Dumb and Dee over there fight before. If you can get them in the stomach, then you’re going to make me bleed. Do I look like a moron? Why would I put myself in a position to fight with you?”
“When you put it like that…” Seph muttered before chuckling slightly.
“I’m not lazy,” she carried on, not stopping to even grab a breath. “I’m just not stupid. I’m never going to fly like you or fight like you, so I’ll do what I can—”
“Mess around on your phone when you should be training?” I countered.
“Nope. Use pepper spray. Buy shares in the companies who make it. And spray every muthafucka’s ass who looks at me funny.”
“Well, that’s one way of defending yourself,” I grumbled, eying her like the oddity she was.
Not just because she was witch born either, but because she was just not what I’d expected from the final member of our troupe. A useless fighter, a snarky spitfire, and more sass than a spicy Vindaloo… just what we needed to round off our quartet.
“It’s the only way. I’m a sista from a not too great hood. Didn’t need to come all the way to this fancy pants school to learn what I learned when I was thirteen.” She sniffed. “Now, you’re blocking my light.”
“Yeah, Dan, you’re blocking her light,” Seph mocked, and I shot him a look, surprised to see he was amused.
Very little amused Seph, and that her outright contrariness had?
I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Gabriella huffed when I didn’t move. “We got a problem?”
Tilting my head to the side, I murmured, “Not particularly, but… whether you wish to be here or not, Gabriella, you are. You’re a part of a troupe that has great ambitions, and whether you choose to take an active role, you will be dragged along for the ride. Perhaps you’re not a fighter, but there are other ways you can help us fight.”
“Fight against who? The witches? Because they rise up against you so often?”
My expression was earnest. “No, but you know it happens.” Not for centuries, but still, it did go down on occasion. “We have to keep the Conclave and the humans safe.”
“Yeah, so you can carry on abusing your power with them.” Her top lip curled in a sneer. “Don’t worry. I’ll find my place.”
I shook my head. “Not with an attitude like that.” I dipped down low and pulled a dick move—got in her face and whispered in her ear, “It stinks.”
And with that, I pulled back, but as I did, she grabbed my wrist, just above my house band. Her fingers moved around the joint, tightening as she hauled me down so she could look into my eyes without having to tilt her head back so much.
It wasn’t just the connection of our eyes that stung me, however, it was where her hand met my flesh.
I could feel the burn. Smelled the sizzle. Only the fact I’d been in worse pain on the battlefield stopped me from crying out—the last thing I needed was Medic Angelique spotting the injury she’d just inflicted. But then I thought about it, and realized I wasn’t hurting. The burn stank, sure, but there were no acute pain.
What in Gaia’s name did that mean?
Whatever she’d intended to say, she closed her mouth and shut up. Leaping to her feet, her hand retracted from my wrist. At the sight of the burn she’d directly caused, her skin blanched and she mumbled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What happened?” Matthew asked quietly, as I stared down at my arm.
“Grab me my jacket?” I countered, watching as he dipped down to grab it. Then, and only then, did I hold it up to him, half-covering the burn with the leather so the medic couldn’t see. I showed him the burn mark where her fingers were visible, right down to the ring she wore on her left hand where the scorch hit deeper thanks to the metal’s temperature soaring past whatever the Sol kind of magic she’d flung my way.
His brows rose at the sight. “You need the medic?”
That had my brows lowering. “No. No, I don’t.”
“The Sol?” Seph muttered, once he caught sight of the burn. “Why don’t you need the medic? It looks sore as shit.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt.”
They cut each other a look, and then me. Seph was the first to speak however. “What does that mean?”
Blowing out a breath, I mumbled, “It means our witch born has claws when she’s angry, but that anger won’t hurt us.”
❖
Gabriella
As I sniffed at the bowl of Ajiaco I’d spelled into existence, I dipped my spoon into it and waded through the bobbing ingredients.
This stew reminded me of my abuela. She’d spend hours standing at
the stove, fixing this and that, adding pinches of herbs and spices that made hers unique to our family. When she’d died, she’d taken the recipe with her, but what had always impressed me the most was that she was a witch. She could have flashed it into being as I had, but she didn’t. Hadn’t.
Would.
Never.
Spell.
Ajiaco.
Into.
Existence.
To us, using magic on food was like using the microwave. A foodie would gasp, while a millennial—witches included—just shrugged and sacrificed flavor for time. But my abuela? Nope, everything had its proper place, and magic and the kitchen were enemies, not friends.
My lips twitched at the memory, and even as I inhaled the broth, I mentally supplanted her flavors over the ones I’d created.
Mine, of course, was lacking and dull by comparison. But it wasn’t like I could take over a part of Eight Wings’ kitchen to start producing Ajiaco on a small scale.
They barely tolerated me here, and with good reason. I’d been an awkward student. Purposely. I’d done my best to get the fuck out of here, to return to my roots, but to no avail.
Fate was fucking with me. There was no two ways about it.
Well, either fate, or Gaia and Sol. Sheesh, I hoped the Gods weren’t involved. If they were, then I was fucked. Yeah. And not in a good way either.
But someone or something had gotten involved in my business. They had to have. I hadn’t answered a single question on the fairy version of SATs, and yet, I’d passed.
The fuck?
I’d doodled in the answer boxes. Doodled. So, how the Sol were drawings of the instructors accepted answers?
I didn’t get it, but I didn’t need to. I was still here, stuck at the Academy when I didn’t want to be, and worse, my entire future was entwined with a fucking troupe.
I’d intended to crash bang through the exam process, then return home and to my life. Only my family knew the truth of my dual nature, and no one outside of our family knew we were witches anyway. The move from the homeland to Miami had made my people cautious. What was freely known in Havana, that the de Santos del Sol women were witches, was not widely shared in the Sunshine State.
Wishful thinking had me hoping I’d be going back to L.A., to a capsule collection I’d been crafting in my down time, and regular life would recommence.
But nope.
Here I was, stuck flash-cooking Ajiaco, drowning my sorrows in hibiscus tea, with buñuelos waiting on me for dessert.
Yeah, I was in full pity party mode.
The buñuelos never came out until the holiday time. For us, it indicated that Los Reyes Magos were visiting soon, and it was the equivalent of what Pumpkin Spice Lattes were for white chicks around Fall, but here I was, waiting on it to fill my belly in April.
Blowing onto the stew on my spoon to cool it down, I took a sip and sighed. It was good. Not great, but just what I needed after a long, shitty day around fairies.
Fuck, I hated these pretentious assholes. They thought they were so goddamn right all the time, and they refused to see reason. Sure, I saw things differently than most. I had a dual heritage, saw things from both sides of the fence as a result of that, and even knowing what I did, knew the fairies were asshats.
Just thinking about what that dick Leopold had done to me today made the stew in front of me bubble.
I winced at the sight, tried to force myself to calm down, but it was hard. So fucking hard. My magic was leaking left, right, and center. Ever since I’d received my results, things were going crazy inside me. It was like I’d been able to control everything until that moment. When I’d found out I had to stay here, integrate even further into a world that didn’t want me, it was like I’d blown my top.
What I’d done today was unprecedented, however.
It was official. I was getting worse.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I sank back into my chair and stared over my apartment.
I’d have killed for a loft this big in L.A. But Sol, who had a spare twenty thousand a month for digs this grand? No one, that’s who. Sol, not even my ex-boss had a place this fancy, and when I said fancy, it was with a capital F.
My original quarters had been nice. Nicer than nice, in fact. But when I’d been upgraded from regular student to troupe, I suddenly had oodles of space. Over five thousand square feet of it. So much so that I didn’t know what to do with what I had.
Grunting at the thought, I let my gaze drift over to the roll top bath that sat in a place of pride in a corner of the room.
With a click of my fingers, I called on the water and it filled the tub. The Ajiaco wasn’t what I needed now. I just needed to float and eat buñuelos as I tried to forget about how Leopold had, not once, not twice, but three times, copped a feel today.
The bastard was lucky I’d just dropped the tip of the blade into his foot and not rammed it all the way in to the hilt—the soft earth beneath us on the field would have facilitated such a move.
With a growl, I grabbed my tea and the plate holding my sweet treats, willed my clothes away with a spell, and strolled over to the bath. There was a little tray I stored my shit on as I stepped in and settled beneath the surface.
Sighing as the heat hit my bones, I relaxed my head against the cushioned rest and stared at the space around me.
This apartment had come at too high a cost, but I appreciated it, nonetheless. As someone who was used to too little space, the square footage alone was a luxury. But here, there was a whimsical delight I appreciated.
The walls were plain, a textured beige that should have been bland, but the texture had hints of gold—that shit was everywhere here. It extended from the bedroom to the bathroom to the seating area… everywhere. As were plants.
Huge ones.
The best part? They were buried in soil. The floor was bespelled, but honest to Gaia, plants, small shrubs, and trees grew there as though we were out in a garden and not inside. The huge fronds, delicate ferns, and perfumed flowers provided most of the decorative touches. Nature was always upheld by the Fae, and that wasn’t something I’d believed until I’d seen it with my own eyes.
Of course, they had magic in apparent abundance to waste on warriors’ bedrooms, because of the witches they were screwing out of their magic, which definitely marred my appreciation. Still, it was beautiful, and it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter anyway so I might as well enjoy my suite.
The bed was a four-poster with linen curtains that swayed in a breeze that was constant—even if the windows and doors were all closed. It kept the room warm if it was cold, and cool if it was starting to get warm. The sofa changed too. Morphing into a leather my skin never stuck to if it was hot out, and to a cushy kind of cord if I needed to feel cozy.
The ever-changing furniture was odd, hard to get used to, but easy to appreciate all at the same time. In the ten days since the results had been announced, I’d grown quite accustomed to the quiet luxuries inherent in this space.
Some staples didn’t change. The nightstands and the nacre pedestal lamps on them never changed, nor did the glass coffee table but, for example, magazines about the fashion world refreshed themselves every day. Anything from Russian Vogue to British Marie Claire… I wanted to ask how they knew I was interested in fashion, but when I thought about it, I didn’t really want to know. How far they’d buried into my background was a concern considering my dual nature, but I was still here whether I wanted to be or not.
To my mind, that was pretty much the definition of a prisoner.
With a sigh, I reached for a buñuelo. As I raised it to my mouth, I sat up slightly to try and catch any crumbs that might drop down. The waters shifted, rippling with my movement. I saw my body through the water. Slim legs but too curvy hips—something that wasn’t about to improve with the buñuelos I was going to eat, magical food unfortunately still had calories—too big tits and an ass that wasn’t going anywhere even if I lived at the gym, and recently, I�
��d been doing nothing but working out, so I knew that was a fact.
My legs were brown from the sun, as were my arms. I was getting to be as golden as everything else in this fucking place. But then, just as I began to sag back against the bath, the water changed.
The ripples swirled even as it should have settled, and coalesced into a picture.
I was a witch.
I was used to freaky shit happening.
But my dead abuela?
Making an appearance in my fucking bathwater?
No. I sure as Sol wasn’t ready for that.
Six
Gabriella
“Abuela?” I cried out, staring at my grandmother’s wizened face from the surface of my bathwater.
“Hush, niña, you’re in enemy territory. I don’t need people knowing I can do this.” She sniffed. “It cramps my style.”
Since when did the dead have style?
Blinking at her, I whispered, “What’s going on? Aren’t you…?”
“Muerta? Si, niña, I’m dead. But this was important enough for me to come and visit you.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Is this a joke?”
“I come from the land of Sol for a visit and you think this is a broma?” she huffed, her features crinkling into a thousand lines. “Ungrateful child.”
My cheeks flushed. “Perdóname.”
“Should think so.” Another huff, and the wizened features finally lightened, like an iron had been taken to her face.
“Why are you here?”
She made a sniffing sound. “Is that Ajiaco I smell?” She clicked her tongue. “Magicked? Gabriella, how could you?”
My shoulders wriggled as I squirmed in shame. “I was hungry,” I replied trying to excuse my actions, aware I was whining.
A twenty-five-year-old whining in the tub…
Talk about being stripped bare.
“You should plan ahead so you can eat real food. That magicked stuff isn’t good for you, mija,” she chided, wagging her finger at me.
“I’ll do better. It’s awkward here. I don’t have a kitchen.”
The Ascended: The Eight Wings Collection Page 8