Dead Light March

by Daniel José Older

  Sierra nodded. “My knuckles hurt but otherwise yeah. You?”

  “Scared shitless, but otherwise yeah.”

  Juan moaned and rolled over, rubbing his head. Sierra and Bennie rushed over to him. “Yo,” Juan muttered, blinking awake. He sat up, blinked at Bennie. “Whoa …”

  “We gotta go, man,” Sierra said.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “A lot. But we’re not safe here. We’ll explain in the cab.”

  “You okay?” Juan asked. They were standing outside Bennie’s building and the night seemed terrible, endless: the gaping maw of some monster. Juan wasn’t even sure whatall had happened, but he knew he’d failed her, failed his sister, basically been useless in every possible way. He’d offered to escort Bennie from the cab to her door and it had felt like the one sliver of chivalry left to him. And Bennie had smiled, and that had been enough to wipe away some of the shame and confusion of whatever had gone down.

  Bennie shook her head, shrugged. “Yes. No. I will be.”

  “I …” Juan shoved the toe of his combat boot into the sidewalk and looked away, his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry?”

  Bennie cocked an eyebrow. “Erm … for what?”

  “For not being there to sa … to help you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You mean for being the only one that picked up when I was in trouble and rushing to come find me and then getting caught by that death-faced freak that even Sierra wasn’t sure how to handle while I was being chased by Satan Fido? Believe me, Juan, I had no expectation of you saving me. You did a lot. I was feeling bad I couldn’t help you out.”

  “You were?”

  “I mean, when I had a moment to catch my breath and knew I wasn’t gonna die, yeah.”

  Juan felt like he’d been carrying a huge bag of laundry for the past hour and suddenly it was gone. “Oh.”

  “What are you smiling about?” Bennie said.

  “Just glad you’re okay. That we’re all okay, really.”

  “For real, man. You’re the one who got almost sucked dry and then tossed, from what I hear. Are you okay?”

  Juan shook his head, smile gone. It had been terrifying. He’d managed to worry about Bennie and Sierra enough to not think too hard about his own part in it all. A shudder sizzled through him. “I feel alright, yeah. It felt like that guy put a turbo-powered vacuum cleaner into my hand and sucked out everything vital inside of me though.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Yeah. And then Sierra shoved me and everything just went black. But I was fine when she woke me up. I dunno …” He looked at his feet. The night felt huge again, unforgiving.

  “Hey.” Bennie reached out, touched his arm.

  Juan looked up, tried to pretend like his skin wasn’t on fire where her fingers had grazed it. “Yeah?”

  “I really liked that song you guys played tonight. The weird one.”

  “Oh, word?”

  “Yeah, it was … different. Than your other stuff.”

  Juan tried to suppress the grin busting out across his face, failed. “Ha, thanks, B. The Red Edge must’ve liked it too — they offered us a weekly spot as the house band.”

  Bennie lit up. “Oh wow!”

  “And yeah, that song … It was —”

  The cab driver blew the horn twice, probably on Sierra’s command, and yelled out the window, “Di bloodclaat meter a run enuh!”

  “— in five,” Juan finished, rolling his eyes. “I should go, I guess.”

  “What’s five?” Bennie said.

  Juan was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to kiss her right then, or maybe he was. He had no idea, definitely. But she’d smiled, and she’d somehow cast away all his shame and confusion, almost like how that man had emptied him of his power but in a good way, the reverse. She really was magic, besides being a shadowshaper and all that.

  “Juan?” Bennie said.

  “Five is … some music nerd stuff.” He took a step away. “I’ll tell you about it sometime if you want.” He stepped toward her. They hugged.

  “I’d like that,” Bennie said.

  Juan smiled, turned, headed back to the cab, didn’t look back to see if she was watching him.

  Prospect Heights flew by outside the window, then Bed-Stuy. Sierra looked at her brother, his gaze distant. He’d sworn he was alright. She’d checked his powers and they seemed as intact and strong as ever. And Bennie had been terrified but okay, untouched. The shadow spirits had wrecked whatever creature had inhabited that poor dead dog. They’d left the man who attacked them in an unconscious heap, and Sierra felt pretty sure he wouldn’t be troubling her any time soon. Still …

  “What is it?” Juan asked.

  Sierra shook her head. “Whatever happened tonight, it’s just the beginning.”

  It took the green cab forever to find a way through the crowds and get to the other side of Eastern Parkway. Mina had flagged it down, lugged Bertram in, and mumbled something about how her dad was always drinking too much by way of explanation. The driver had shrugged and pulled away and Mina had sunk down into the seat and sobbed silently for a good ten minutes before getting herself together.

  Now they were rolling down Classon, surrounded still by revelers and the sparkling thrill of an all-night party.

  “Shit!” the driver yelled, screeching to a halt. Mina gasped, her heart fluttering into triple-time, and peered through the divider at the street. Someone huge had plowed into a Crown Vic — looked like the car took more damage than the damn dude — and now the Crown Vic driver was out and cursing at the giant. People gawked and took out their cell phones. The giant loomed over the guy, a bat in one hand, and that was about all it took; the dude apologized and scurried back into his car.

  “People are nuts tonight,” Mina’s cabdriver grunted, veering off down a side street. “This is too much.”

  Mina closed her eyes as a gentle rain began splattering the windshield, fell into a troubled sleep to the smooth shushing rumba of the wipers sliding back and forth, back and forth.

  “This the place?” the driver said. Mina blinked awake, peered out the window at the rainy, deserted street, the gate, the dark steeple, barely visible against the darker sky. She nodded, then rifled through Bertram’s pockets for his wallet. The driver squinted into the night. “This is, uh, quite a place. You sure you’re alright?”

  Alright was the last thing Mina felt like but she nodded anyway, tapped in a generous tip, and slid Bertram’s Visa through the card reader.

  “Dad,” Mina whispered, jostling him. “Wake up. C’mon, Dad.”

  Bertram stirred, rubbing his head. “What the … Damn, my head. What happened?”

  “Long story,” Mina said, praying the driver wouldn’t make too big a deal out of any of this. “We gotta go. C’mon. We’re home.”

  “Eh?” Bertram gazed around, still dazed. “Ah.” He accepted Mina’s help limping out of the cab.

  “You guys alright?” the driver asked. “Sure you don’t wanna go to a hosp —”

  “We’re fine,” Mina said, slamming the door.

  Up ahead, the gates to the churchyard swung open, and Mina could see a row of gold-tinged shadows awaiting them.

  You have done so well, one of the Sorrows cooed — or was it all of them? So well, our little Mina.

  Mmm, you have triumphed, and you saved your brother.

  “I …” For the first time since she’d met the Sorrows, Mina was at an utter loss for words.

  Child of Light! the Sorrows howled as one. They spun a slow circle around her, which used to feel soothing but now just made Mina dizzy.

  “What about Mort though? I … What happened to him?” What was he? She really wanted to ask, but she bit it back.

  Never you mind Mort, one of them hissed. He is not one of us. He is rogue. Helpful at times, but of no consequence.

  And certainly wasn’t much help tonight, another one chimed in. From what we have gathered.

  Mina shook her head
, eyes closed. What else had they gathered? Did they know what she’d done? Maybe all these sudden niceties were a ruse …

  You are upset, young one.

  You have been through so much tonight.

  An ordeal.

  But you have proved yourself.

  A true Child of the Light.

  Ours.

  Not that we ever doubted you.

  Not in the least, in fact.

  Ours.

  Eyes still closed, Mina imagined a blade, sleek and ornate and sparkling, just above her head in the dim cathedral. At any moment, it would plunge down, sanctified by the combined wrath of the Sorrows, and it would pierce her, spill her blood on this tattered sacrificial altar.

  Put out your hands, Mina Satorius, Daughter of Light.

  She did, and they trembled. A small rectangular object was placed in them. Mina opened her eyes. A deck of cards. Then a bolt of energy erupted through her. She gasped. Her fingers clenched the deck. The world around her grew hazy; the Sorrows glanced back and forth at one another.

  You saw it?

  One of them locked!

  She is indeed one of ours.

  Ours.

  Of course she is!

  We never doubted it.

  Ours.

  But which … which will it be?

  We shall see, we shall see.

  “What … what is it?” Mina said. “What are you talking about?”

  The Deck of Worlds, child. The Deck of Worlds.

  Which will restore order to this broken world.

  Two rows of Sinestrati slid down the aisles of broken pews toward them.

  Order, all three of them hissed, to this broken, broken world.

  “I don’t understand.”

  You will, child. You will.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next book in the Shadowshaper Cypher …

  Sierra Santiago closed her eyes and the whole spinning world opened up around her. A brisk wind whispered songs of the coming winter as it shushed through browning leaves and then whisked along the moonlit field, throwing Sierra’s mass of curls into disarray. Up above, the first round of overnight flights leaving JFK cut trails across the cloudless sky. Traffic whirred along just outside the park walls, and beyond that the shuttle train sighed and screeched to a halt; doors slid open; weary passengers collected their personal belongings as instructed, adjusted their earbuds, and headed off into the night.

  But that was the simple stuff. Sierra had learned to expand her senses out farther than any normal person. It wasn’t easy, but when she quieted her mind and the spirits were close, she could hear the city’s clicks and groans halfway across Brooklyn. Tonight wasn’t about meditation or the ongoing urban symphony, though. Where were her spirits?

  As if in response, a vision sizzled into view in her mind’s eye: There in the forest, not too far from her, a figure crouched. She could make out the silhouette leaning against a fallen tree, see the person’s fast-beating heart telegraph frantic pulses out into the chilly night. The person scratched something onto the tree and looked around for nearby spirits.

  I see you, Sierra thought, tensing her face into a smug smile. Whoever you are. Now who else is out there? She let the image go and immediately another appeared: in the field she sat on the edge of, a figure lay facedown in the grass, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, the person hunched up on their elbows and peered into the darkness. Okay. Sierra nodded. Got it. What else?

  The next vision appeared so suddenly it almost knocked her over. Dark trees whipped past, and someone was panting. Running and panting. Sierra felt her own heart thunder in her ears. The other views she’d seen had been through spirit vision: a cadre of shadows she’d come to think of as her own Secret Service detail. But this was different — it was someone alive. Or something … Branches whisked out of its way as it bounded across the forest. Which forest? Was it … was it close? Sierra tried to scan for clues, but everything was moving too fast.

  Spirits, Sierra beckoned. Find this … thing. She didn’t remember having stood up, but she was on her feet. A wave of dizziness rushed over her as the half dozen views of Prospect Park swimming through her mind veered suddenly skyward and then turned toward the shadowy fields and forests below.

  All but one.

  Whatever it was kept storming through the forest, panting, its whole body tensed with intent. It was … it was hunting. Sierra felt its hunger deep within herself; saliva flooded her own mouth. Flesh would be torn, a panicked heart would race and then falter and finally fail in this monster’s jaws. The thing lunged, and Sierra’s eyes popped open as a hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Gotya!”

  Sierra screamed and spun around, elbows first. She hit something soft and jumped back.

  “Ow! What the hell, Sierra?” Big Jerome stood there rubbing his chest and pouting.

  “I … Jerome …” Sierra scanned the field behind him, the forest beyond. Nothing. “I don’t know … what happened.”

  “I do: You were so surprised I actually won a practice round you damn near cracked a rib.”

  “No …” Sierra rubbed her eyes. A branch snapped in the woods she had been facing. She turned, probed the darkness for movement.

  “Sierra?” Sierra’s mom, María Santiago, called. “¿Qué pasó, m’ija?” She walked up next to Jerome. “I was hiding and then I saw this guy barrel past and actually reach you and I knew something had to be going on.”

  “Whoa,” Jerome said. “Mrs. Santiago with the snark. If you hadn’t tangled your chalk spirits with my twig monsters at the last training run, neither of us would need extra practice.”

  “Mind your manners, jóven,” María snapped. “What’s a twig monster supposed to do anyway? Set itself on fire and dive-bomb the bad guys? Come on, man. Anyway, you didn’t ’shape anything this round to win, you just ran through the field like a lost moose! That doesn’t even —”

  “Shh,” Sierra said, her eyes still on the forest.

  María scowled. “Sierra, don’t you —”

  “Shh!” Sierra hissed. “Something’s out there.”

  If María asked a bunch of annoying parenty-type questions instead of being quiet, Sierra was going to scream. A year ago, that’s what her mom would’ve done, but since embracing the family legacy and becoming a shadowshaper four months back, María had let go of some of her extra-eyeroll-worthy mom habits. She sighed, probably scrunched up her face, but said no more.

  Sierra exhaled. Squinted into the forest. If her kinda-sorta-maybe-sometimes boyfriend Robbie had shown up like he was supposed to, at least she’d have another skillful shadowshaper to face this down with. But of course, he was once again a no-show.

  Her spirits had swooped back down into the park and were springing along through the underbrush. The charging, starving whatever-it-was was gone. At least, she couldn’t see through its eyes anymore. Maybe it was right there at the edge of the darkness, watching her.

  Sierra narrowed her eyes and steeled herself. She had done enough running away over the summer, when she first learned about the magical art of shadowshaping and her family’s legacy. It had only been a few months, but she wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. She wasn’t even just a shadowshaper—her dead abuela had passed on the mantle and made Sierra into the next Lucera, the beating heart of the shadowshaping world. She was still figuring out what all her powers were, but one thing she had promised herself was that she wouldn’t be that freaked-out, screaming girl in all the horror movies. No more running away. She took a step toward the dark forest.

  “Uh, Sierra,” Jerome said. “What’re you doing?”

  “There’s something in the trees.”

  “I get that. Why are you going toward it?”

  Shadows rose up around Sierra, tall, long-legged spirits that would leap into her drawings and lash out if needed. Their gentle hum rose in the night air, filled her with that familiar mix of ferocity and calm, like a loving hurricane within. She pulled two piec
es of chalk from her hoodie pocket and held one in each hand. “Stay where you are, J. I got this.”

  “But —” Jerome started. María must have calmed him with a hand on the shoulder, or probably a gentle slap. She knew better than to try to stop her daughter in one of her gung-ho moments.

  Sierra reached her arms out to either side and strode into the shadows. She scraped the chalk along the trees around her as she walked, then tapped the marks once with her fingertips. The forest night closed in around her. Even with the spirits heightening her vision as they slid along in smooth, sparkling strides, it seemed like a blanket of darkness had been thrown over the whole world. She could run — she could always run — but she would never run. She would find out what this was and fight it if she had to. The chalk scratches sped along the tree trunks, flashes of color, and then disappeared in the gloom up ahead. They weren’t the best weapons to have — nowhere near as strong as a painted mural, for example — but they’d be able to keep an enemy busy till she could work out something better.

  Hopefully.

  And then, very suddenly, Sierra stopped. She wasn’t alone. The certainty of someone else there, a presence, tickled along her shoulders and the back of her neck.

  “Don’t be afraid,” a girl’s voice said as Sierra spun around.

  “Mina?”

  Mina Satorius was a grade above Sierra at Octavia Butler High, but she looked fourteen. She had big eyes and her strawberry blond hair was ponytailed, with bangs at the front and a spindly curl framing her face on either side. She stood in the middle of a clearing, wearing a plaid shirt over a tank top and a sweater tied around her waist. Despite what she’d just said, Mina herself looked terrified — eyebrows creased with worry, bottom lip trembling slightly, arms wrapped around her slender frame.

  “What are you doing out here?” Sierra asked. Her towering shadows emerged in a circle around Mina; their gentle glow pulsed in time with Sierra’s own heartbeat. Shimmering chalk marks appeared on the trees, poised to flush forward and attack.

  “I’m … I …” She looked like she might collapse into a puddle any second. Sierra resisted the urge to walk up and hug her. Something had been out here hunting, something ferocious. It was hard to imagine Mina could have anything to do with that panting monster whose eyes Sierra had seen through, but …