Shadowshaper

by Daniel José Older

  “They were all shadowshapers? All the women in Mami’s lineage?”

  “Not just shadowshapers. The role of Lucera has been passed down the line. The song is a lullaby we gift to each new generation, a riddle. If something ever happened, I knew the sea was where I’d end up.”

  Sierra imagined her mom as a young girl, sleeping as Mama Carmen sang the shadowshapers’ riddle to her. When had María let her heart push all that magic away? All those walls she built … “I never knew.”

  “Of course you didn’t — she would never speak of it. The night I left, I put a spell on that silly group photo your abuelo took of the shadowshapers after he’d made it into his own little boys’ club.”

  “The fingerprints?”

  Mama Carmen nodded. “It’s called photomarking. When anyone in the picture is murdered, their face gets smudged out. Wick hadn’t started on his crusade yet, but I saw it in him, I knew it wouldn’t be long.” She wrinkled her brow at Sierra. “How … how many has he killed?”

  “At least four so far,” Sierra said. “Counting Manny.”

  Mama Carmen closed her eyes and shuddered. For a moment, Sierra thought her grandma was about to burst into tears. “That was one thing Jonathan Wick never could understand. He thinks he can wipe out the ’shapers and keep the power to himself, that the power comes from me.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Without Lucera there’s no shadowshaping, but without shadowshaping there’s no Lucera. We are entwined. I drew power from the spirits and spirit workers and I returned it to them tenfold. The true source of shadowshaper magic is in that connection, community, Sierra. We are interdependent.”

  “Donde los poderes se unen y se hacen uno,” Sierra sang.

  Mama Carmen unleashed a wide smile. “Right, m’ija! Not one and only, one as in togetherness.” She rolled her eyes. “I wrote out a copy of that poem and made Lázaro swear he’d pass it on to you when the fingerprints started appearing.”

  Sierra dug in her pocket and retrieved the scrap of paper Grandpa Lázaro had placed in her hand. “You mean this? He must’ve torn it up.”

  Mama Carmen shook her head. “Comemierda.”

  “No wonder he kept apologizing.” Sierra traced the wrinkles etched across her abuela’s face. She took in the old ghost’s quiet ferocity and found that it was deeply familiar — a certain glow that in better times she occasionally found looking back at her from the mirror. “It falls on me next, doesn’t it?”

  Mama Carmen smiled sadly. “Hold up your hand, m’ija.”

  They’d stopped moving. Sierra could just make out the dark shoreline ahead of them and now hovered just a few feet above the waves. She closed her eyes and lifted her left hand to her grandmother, palm out. A warm tingling sensation enwrapped it. She heard Mama Carmen chuckle under her breath. “You have tried shadowshaping already, have you?”

  Sierra nodded. “It was fun.” A smile found its way to her lips.

  Suddenly the warmth was all around Sierra. A burning glow infiltrated her eyelids. “My child,” Mama Carmen whispered in her ear. “I am so proud of you.”

  “But …”

  “So proud.”

  Something inside of Sierra was melting inside that embrace — a gentle tide of acceptance flooding through every corner of her body. It was all real, every moment of it, and it reached deep into the heart of her own family. Her abuela — that same old face she’d feared and loved as a child — was Lucera, the exiled sun of the spirit world.

  Sierra made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and laughter. Her grandma squeezed her tighter, patting her on the back. “Hush, mi niña, shhhh. Está bien.”

  When Sierra lifted her teary face from Mama Carmen’s shoulder, she saw that the spirits had circled closer. She thought she could glimpse the hints of faces on some of them, open mouths and eyes both sad and inspired. She wondered what secrets they carried, what powers. They spun in slow orbits around the two women, singing their spirit songs and watching, always watching.

  They would help her, these spirits. They would rise up against Wick beside her. And Mama Carmen would lead the charge.

  “So, c’mon,” Sierra said. “Let’s go back there so we can be Luceras together and whup Wick’s ass.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot return.”

  Sierra pulled away from her grandmother’s embrace. “Why not?”

  “Once a spirit enters this realm, it is for good. I’m no longer of the living world, Sierra. I held on this long only so you could reach me.”

  “But I just found you, Abuela … I just … found out who you really are. The murals are fading … Wick is killing the shadowshapers off. Who will …?”

  Mama Carmen’s face hardened. “You will, Sierra.”

  “But you can’t … I can’t … I’m just …” Sierra looked around. She couldn’t say she was “just” anything; she was, after all, floating a few feet above the crashing waves off the southern tip of Brooklyn. But still …

  “Of course you can,” Mama Carmen said. “You are a brilliant young woman: brave, passionate, adventurous.”

  “But I don’t —”

  Carmen’s voice turned sharp. “Sierra, stop second-guessing yourself. There isn’t time for all that. You made your way here, just like I’d hoped you would. You followed each hint. You’ve earned this; you almost died for it. I won’t see my legacy destroyed after we’ve given up so much to keep it alive. No. You will be Lucera now, Sierra. You will come to understand everything that means in time, but for now, you have to make a stand against Wick.”

  “I can’t do it alone, Abuela!”

  “Who said you had to do it alone? There are those around you well qualified to help you through. And yes, you will need the help. I don’t know what exactly Wick is up to, but I have no doubt that whatever he has in mind involves the complete annihilation of our family, all of our spirits. You understand?”

  “No, Abuela. I barely understand what we are …”

  “You will. Be careful, m’ija.”

  The old spirit wrapped around Sierra, and suddenly the entire world was full of blinding light. The brightness seared into Sierra’s eyeballs, coated the inside of her brain, and burst like a languid, slow-motion explosion down her spine and through her entire body. Light, invincible, unstoppable, infinite light flooded through her veins, filled each of her organs, poured out of her mouth, covered her skin. And it pulsed, Sierra realized. The same gentle, relentless rhythm that surged through the shadows and Mama Carmen surged through her now. The spirits’ hymn grew louder and louder, erupted from inside her, but somewhere beneath it all she heard a voice singing softly. She could barely make out the words.

  And then everything stopped: the crashing waves, the singing spirits, the wind. Sierra floated in an infinite sea of light. The only sound she heard was the old woman’s song:

  Cuando la luna llena … mata al viejo sol …

  It wasn’t Mama Carmen’s voice; it was someone else, even older than her. Sierra inhaled; the smell of fresh soil and recent rain surrounded her. And something else: garlic. Garlic simmering on a stovetop nearby.

  … a los cuatro caminos …

  The rush of wind and crashing waves returned gradually, drowning out the old woman’s trembling voice.

  When Sierra opened her eyes, Mama Carmen was gone.

  “Don’t go,” Sierra whispered. “I’m not ready.”

  Back on the shore, Sierra trudged toward the blurry boardwalk lights. With Mama Carmen gone, she didn’t know how she’d learn about her powers, how she’d defeat Wick. But if she kept moving forward, eventually she’d get there, and then she would find Bennie and Juan and … Robbie!

  There are those around you well qualified to help you through. Robbie was a powerful spirit worker. The image of his swirling tattoos sliding up the corpuscule’s legs during the fight on the boardwalk danced through Sierra’s mind. He’d saved her life then, even if he’
d blown it the first few times with the corpuscules. He knew all kinds of secrets, understood the depths of this mysterious new world. He could help her. They could do it together. And once she got her bearings and they’d dealt with Wick, she could see what all this being the shining center of the shadowshapers business was about.

  Sierra quickened her pace, her eyebrows arched, mind racing now. She was a shadowshaper, one who had the power to transfer spirit into form. It all seemed so new, yet the power had been with her all along. Power. It was an odd thought, the idea of some strange magic coursing through her veins. Robbie had used his tattoos as weapons earlier … What more could be done?

  There’s so much to talk about with him, she thought, breaking into a light jog. Long nights staying up late figuring out new ways to channel spirits together. Someone who understood her.

  Sierra stopped in her tracks. Up ahead, the streetlamps of Coney Island twinkled in the night sky. She wanted Robbie. She wanted him by her side, wanted his smell all around her, his goofy smile pressed up against hers. She wanted to sort through clues with him, figure out this terrifying supernatural puzzle with him, laugh about it all when it was over. She wanted him right then and there. Nothing felt more true.

  She was so close now. Her feet plodded over the sand. She felt light suddenly, free of the terror that she was all alone in this maze. She would find Robbie, tell him what she learned, kiss him full on the lips. She wasn’t even concerned about whether or not he’d kiss her back — of course he would. She was his match: a child of spirit just like him, a fellow traveler in this mystical Brooklyn labyrinth. He hadn’t said it, but he didn’t have to — he told her with his eyes every time they met up. They would make out, and then they’d go ahead and figure out how to get rid of this Wick madman, together.

  She charged up the stairs onto the boardwalk, skipping every other step. Bennie was talking to Tee and Juan beneath a lamppost. They all turned as Sierra hurried toward them. Bennie’s tearstained face, clenched with fear, told Sierra all she needed to know.

  “They took him,” Bennie sobbed. “They took Robbie.”

  The subway ride home was a blur. Sierra tried to explain the gist of her encounter with Lucera, but her heart wasn’t in it. Juan sat with his mouth gaping open at the thought that their grandmother had been Lucera all this time without telling him, and Sierra was too tired and afraid to throw the irony in his face.

  Bennie and Tee gave a play-by-play of what had happened back on the shore. Robbie had tried to go after Sierra when she took off, but more corpuscules had come out and surrounded him. Juan said at least four of them had been caught in the colorful web of his tattoos before they finally grabbed Robbie and ran off with him. Tee had tried to sneak after them to see where they were headed, but they’d disappeared quickly into the darkness of Coney Island. It had all happened so fast, and the shadows had swept in from the beach just a few minutes later, too late to help Robbie.

  Tee shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Sierra.”

  Sierra gave a half-hearted “Don’t be,” and then everyone fell into a gloomy silence as the Q train rumbled toward Prospect Park.

  “Juan,” Sierra said as she and her brother walked up Lafayette Avenue toward their house. “Do you remember anything at all that could help us figure out where Wick might have taken Robbie?”

  Juan shrugged. “I dunno, sis. I’m still reeling from the fact that Mama Carmen was a part of this all along and no one told me.”

  “Hmph. Now you know how I feel.”

  “Fair point.”

  Sierra was getting impatient. Robbie could be a corpuscule already. “What if someone is helping Wick … another shadowshaper maybe?”

  “I mean, who would do that? Most of the shadowshapers don’t ’shape anymore, otherwise I’d say we should track them down to help us. Even the ones that do — I wouldn’t know where to look for ’em. And I don’t think we have time for all that anyway.”

  They walked up the front steps. Sierra stopped Juan from opening the door.

  “What?” Juan demanded.

  “I need you to think, Juan.”

  “I am thinking!”

  “Were there any of the ’shapers that struck you as weird or off?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Any that seemed jealous of Abuelo?”

  “How are you so sure it was a shadowshaper, Sierra? Coulda been one of your friends helping Wick.”

  Sierra opened her mouth to argue and then closed it again. Juan had a point.

  “Think about it,” Juan said. He opened the front door and walked in. “Did anyone else know you were heading out to Coney Island?”

  Sierra growled and followed him inside.

  “Wassup, young’uns?” Uncle Neville sat at the kitchen table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. “How the night treatin’ you?”

  Sierra had no answer for that. Grandpa Lázaro’s heavy, impossible presence seemed to cast a shadow on her all the way from the fourth floor.

  She stormed up to his apartment. A slew of furious demands, accusations, and complaints for him burned on the edge of her tongue. But when she opened the door, Lázaro slept peacefully, splayed out across the bed. She shook her head and marched past him to the photographs.

  Sierra gasped. More than half of the faces had been smudged out now. Manny’s, of course, and Raconteur and Ol’ Vernon, along with four other guys Sierra didn’t know. Besides Papa Acevedo, the only shadowshapers left unsmudged were Caleb Jones, a tall, light-skinned guy in his thirties with a bright red fro and tattoos creeping up his neck; Theodore Crane, a shriveled-up old man with his arms crossed over his chest; Delmond Alcatraz and Sunny Balboa, the two guys who ran the barbershop over on Marcy; and a thick, frowning guy in a tracksuit and Stetson hat named Francis True.

  None of this helped. If someone was helping Wick, it could be one of the surviving shadowshapers, but how would she find out which one? Sierra shot one last angry look at her grandfather and went downstairs to her room.

  She didn’t know what to pack, didn’t even know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out of the house and start looking for Robbie. She started putting random things into her courier bag: a flashlight, batteries, some rope. A vague notion began swimming through her mind; an answer. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but it was there. It was there and it was uncomfortable — something that was throwing off everything else in her calculations. Someone who knew about Sierra’s every move.

  Why? Because every time she made one, no matter where she went, those corpuscules were there waiting. Like there was an all-seeing eye glaring at her from above. Or a spy.

  A spy …

  “Sierra?” Her mom’s voice was still grating from three floors away. “¿Dónde estás, m’ija?”

  Someone she trusted.

  “¡Aquí arriba!” Sierra called, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. She sat at her desk and rubbed her face. Tension pulsed angrily through her tired body. The answer was flirting with her, staying just out of her mind’s eye but making itself known around the edges. María Santiago’s footsteps came up the creaking stairs. Sierra wanted the answer to show up before her mom did.

  “Sierra?” A gentle tap-tap. María always started extra meek when she was really upset about something. It had been years since the technique had thrown Sierra off guard, but it was still unnerving. María eased open the door and poked her head in. She looked exhausted. “What’s going on, baby? Can you talk to me, please?” She walked in and stood at the foot of the bed, looking like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “You’re going and coming at all kinds of strange hours. You’re yelling at Rosa. You’re not yourself, m’ija.”

  Sierra stared into her mom’s dark, severe eyes. “I … it’s …” None of the possible lies made any sense. “I can’t … talk about it.”

  “Sierra, are you taking drugs?”

  “Mom!” Sierra slam
med her fist on the desk, maybe a little harder than she’d meant to. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. You keep pressing the issue. Sound familiar? How do you like being on the other side? I’m learning from my elders how to be nice and quiet when the situation calls for it.”

  María’s exhaustion turned quickly to anger. “How dare you pull attitude with me right now, with all that’s going on? How —”

  “How dare I? How dare I?” The dam that had been holding back Sierra’s rage collapsed. She stood up so forcefully the chair almost fell backward behind her. “You’ve been keeping things from me about my own family for my entire life! How dare you?”

  “Sierra” — María switched into wise-old-mother mode — “now is not the time to get into all that.”

  “Now is exactly the time to get into it. You think if you don’t talk about something, it just goes away? You think you were …” Sierra felt herself swinging dangerously close to tears and slowed her breathing, keeping an icy stare on her mom. “You think you were protecting us? Well, look where that got us. Manny … Robbie …” She couldn’t find the words to explain without breaking down.

  “What did you want me to say?” María yelled. “That your abuelos were crazy magicians? That they thought they could communicate with the dead? Es una locura, Sierra, family eccentricities. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to —”

  “It’s insanity!”

  Sierra realized her hands had been trembling, clenched in tight fists. She relaxed them. She had thinking to do; the possibility of someone helping Wick still danced just out of sight. It was time to go. She took her bag and walked calmly toward the door.

  María exploded into a fury. “Don’t you dare walk out on me, Sierra María Santiago!”