Shadowshaper

by Daniel José Older

  The shadows fell into a line on either side of Sierra. She took a breath, banished the tremble from her voice, and spoke: “I am Sierra Santiago, shadowshaper.”

  For a few seconds, all she heard was the warm night wind shushing through the willows. Then the three Sorrows swept forward around her. The shadows tensed but Sierra waved them back. The Sorrows spun in a slow circle, faces concealed beneath their drooping hoods, their glowing robes swaying slightly in the breeze.

  She is the child from the brotherhood of shadows, ay? The whisper cut through her mind. It was sharp and gravelly.

  Ay, but is she ready? said another.

  Pssshhh, hissed the third, this is no child, sistren, this is Lucera. She has transformed.

  At last!

  Ay, but is she ready?

  She will be soon.

  “Enough!” Sierra yelled. “I’ve come for information, not to be glared at and spoken about like I’m not even here. Tell me where Jonathan Wick is.”

  The Sorrows stopped spinning and the three voices spoke as one: He has been watching all along.

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  He has been watching all along.

  “I don’t have time for these riddles, y’all. Just tell me where he is, how I can destroy him.”

  Wick cannot be brought down. He is too powerful now.

  “No!” Sierra said. “I don’t believe you.”

  We are no longer concerned with Wick. He has failed us.

  “Meanwhile, he’ll destroy everything I love.”

  No concern of ours.

  Sierra stomped her foot. “You made him what he is! You bear the responsibility.”

  It is you we are concerned with now.

  “What? Why?”

  One of the Sorrows stepped forward. Our destinies are entwined, Lucera. Our futures and pasts. We will soon be one, as we have always been, and on that day, the Sisterhood of Sorrows will attain its ultimate power. It has been prophesied, child. We strengthened Wick so that he could infiltrate your shadow fellowship and take on the role of the Lucera.

  Or Lucero, in his case, one of the other Sorrows added.

  He seemed worthy of such a task. But to complete it, he had to track down the current holder of that position, which he failed to do, as you know. We gave him a year. The year has run out. Instead of finding Lucera, Wick became drunk with the power of binding magic. His ego was so wounded when the shadowshapers didn’t embrace him as their leader, his vision became clouded. He began destroying them in the quest to save their legacy. And still he failed.

  Another Sorrow swept forward, this one closer. Sierra took a step back.

  You, on the other hand, found Lucera, and we see she has passed on her power to you, child. You are Lucera now, Lucera is you. And Lucera and the Sorrows are destined to become one. Your grandmother was of an archaic generation, not so open-minded as you are, Sierra Santiago.

  “It’ll never happen,” Sierra said.

  We simply ask that you lis —

  “No,” Sierra said. “I’ll never be one of you. If you won’t help me, back off and I’ll …”

  The first shroud that had spoken lurched toward her. Sierra leapt back. Who is this fool who thinks she can address the Sisterhood of Sorrows with such audacity? The Sorrow’s shrill voice cut like a rusty knife.

  Back, Septima! another voice howled. Do not touch her. The child is stained.

  “Stained? What are you — is that why you send others to do your dirty work for you? You won’t touch us normal people?”

  You are impure, the three voices whispered together. Just like your grandmother. We thought if you were willing to hear us out, to purify yourself, you could one day be amongst us.

  Sierra shook her head. “Never.”

  And in exchange, we would give you the information you desire.

  “You send this madman to destroy my family, my friends, and then you demand I join your stupid club or you won’t tell me where Wick is?”

  The Sorrows stood perfectly still, staring at her.

  “Go to hell,” Sierra said. “I’ll find Wick myself.” She turned and stomped out of the churchyard, shadows swarming in her wake.

  “What happened?” Nydia asked.

  “They said he’s been watching all along,” Sierra said. “That’s all they’d tell me.”

  “So he’s got a camera on you? He’s got a spy, what?”

  Sierra shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m done with this crap. Give me the ax.”

  “What? Sierra, you can’t …”

  Sierra took the ax from Nydia and marched back down the path into the churchyard. The shadows swooped along with her and fell into formation at the gate.

  You have returned, Little Lucera! the Sorrows said.

  Sierra stormed directly into their midst, watching with satisfaction as they swerved out of her way.

  Where are you going, Little Lucera?

  She made a beeline for the pine grove.

  Little Lucera! the Sorrows howled. Do not go in there!

  “No more riddles!” Sierra shouted. She swung the ax in a wide arc and smashed it against the first dancing-woman statue. It clanged against the marble with a satisfying crack, carving a chunk out of the figure’s swirling robe.

  Lucera! The Sorrows billowed around her. Stop this!

  She’s mad!

  Do not corrupt the Queen Phantoms with your filth!

  “Where is Wick?” She swung again, taking a sizable chunk of the next statue’s hand.

  Stop this!

  “No” — Sierra raised the ax over her head — “more” — she brought it down directly on the third statue’s foot, shattering it — “riddles!”

  The Tower! the Sorrows yelled as one. The Tower above the lot of trash that your friends recline within. The greedy professor makes his domain in the Tower.

  Sierra lowered the ax. He really had been watching all along. Biding his time. Listening. She shuddered.

  There he has brought the young shadowshaper, there he will raise his army of throng haints. For he is a man of observation, but his own creations fail to take. What’s more, the use of corpses has proven problematic for him, as you have seen. The decaying human form cannot sustain the power of spirit for long. You are so fragile, children of blood and bone. The boy shadowshaper will provide the forms for the throng haint army with his painting.

  Sierra turned and headed back out of the churchyard.

  But you will be destroyed there, Little Lucera. One of the Sorrows floated after her as the other two tended to their damaged shrine. You have been warned. The greedy professor will not be toppled. And his army will not be stopped. Your family will be destroyed. And even if you live, Sierra Santiago, ruler of the shadowshapers, what you have done here tonight will not be forgotten.

  Sierra swung around suddenly and reached for the Sorrow. It darted out of the way, hissing. “That’s what I thought,” Sierra said. “Now scatter. I’ve gotten all I need from you.”

  “This is it.” Sierra shuddered as she gazed up at the Tower. It gave her chills, thinking that Wick had been up there all along, was probably up there now, watching her every move. Neville had dropped her and Nydia off and then blasted away to Sierra’s house, promising to keep everyone safe inside. Somewhere far away, police sirens wailed into the night. A stray cat trotted away from a torn-open trash bag, but otherwise the street was empty.

  The blue construction tarps on the Tower flapped angrily against its concrete shell. The windows on the ground level were boarded up, but a few random lights blinked on and off in its uppermost floors. Robbie had to be up there somewhere. He had to be.

  “So we gonna …” Nydia started.

  “Go up there and whup some —”

  “Sierra …”

  “Psssst!”

  Sierra nearly jumped out of her skin with fright. “What the …?”

  “It’s Bennie!” She stepped out of the shadows, followed by Juan and
Tee.

  “You guys!” Sierra almost yelled. “What are you doing here? You can’t —”

  “Sierra,” Bennie said. “We got your text.”

  “But that was to warn you guys to stay away from the Tower, not to —”

  “Don’t be an ass. You wanna die alone? That’s not how we roll.”

  “But I can’t. I don’t know what’s gonna happen in there. I don’t wanna get you involved.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” Tee said, smiling. “Anyway, we brought weapons.” She held up a heavy garden shovel and passed Sierra a baseball bat. “Who’s the hottie?”

  “Who? Oh …” Sierra realized Nydia was still standing beside her. “This is Nydia Ochoa, everyone. She’s a librarian at Columbia and she’s been helping me out with all this. She’s good people.”

  “Hey, guys.” Nydia waved and forced a smile.

  Juan snapped the broomstick he’d brought over his knee and handed half to Nydia. “Here you go, miss.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Nydia said.

  Tee shoulder-punched Juan. “Hands off, little man. She’s mine.”

  “You got a girl,” Juan hissed.

  “Listen,” Nydia said to the group. “I know the situation’s dire, but y’all sure you wanna go up in there now? Maybe we gather our strength, head in tomorrow?”

  Tee, Bennie, and Juan turned to Sierra. She looked up at the Tower. If Wick really was putting throng haints into Robbie’s paintings like the Sorrows said, he would surely send them after Sierra and her family first. There was no tomorrow to wait for.

  She started walking toward the Tower.

  “You don’t even wanna wait a day?” Nydia called. “Maybe figure out your powers a little more?”

  Sierra looked back. Tee, Bennie, and Juan were crossing the street toward her, each carrying something heavy and wearing their toughest frowns. Nydia looked around and then followed behind them. Sierra’s hands wouldn’t stop trembling and her mind kept dreaming up gruesome ways to die. But her friends were with her. She would not die alone, and she wouldn’t live her life having abandoned the one boy she’d ever really cared about to the mercy of some madman.

  Sierra turned back to the Tower, put her hand on the brand-new front door, and pushed it open.

  It shouldn’t be this easy, she thought, just before all the lights in the building flickered out.

  “Good thing we brought flashlights,” Juan said jauntily as they stumbled inside.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Nydia muttered.

  They took a few steps in, beams of light darting across the vast entrance space, and then just like that, the overheads flickered back to life.

  “See?” Juan said. “Not so bad after all.”

  Sierra was not convinced. They stood in a huge concrete hall. Plastic shrouds hung from various scaffoldings. Exposed pipes crisscrossed the high ceilings, snaking in and out of some fleshy-looking gooey substance. The air reeked of paint and sawdust.

  But there was something else. A heaviness hung all around them, a staticky, unpleasant feeling that seemed to coat the inside of Sierra’s lungs every time she breathed in. No tall shadows awaited them. “You don’t see any spirits?” she whispered to Juan.

  He shook his head. “Just abandoned high-rise creepiness. No ghosts. Yet.”

  Nydia stepped up beside them. “You have a plan, Sierra?”

  “I was thinking that we could spli —”

  “We’re not splitting up,” Bennie whispered hoarsely.

  The overheads fizzled out again. Someone said “Crap,” and the flashlights clicked back on.

  Sierra sighed. “If we’re in smaller groups, I figured we could —”

  “No!” Bennie said. “Come up with a better plan. If we get separated and then they attack one group, how’s the other gonna know? And we don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Look,” Juan said, “Bennie has a point, but …”

  The lights flicked on again. Everyone moaned and put away the flashlights.

  “You guys hear that noise?” Juan said.

  Sierra slapped her brother’s arm. “Juan, this is no time for your jokes.”

  He frowned. “I’m not kidding.”

  “I heard something,” Tee said. “But you were talking so I couldn’t really make it out.”

  “Like a muffled scream?” Nydia said.

  “Ugh,” Bennie groaned. “Stop it, you guys, that’s too creepy.”

  Juan sighed. “Maybe.”

  “C’mon,” Sierra said, starting toward the far wall. “I think there’s a stairway over there.”

  They crept toward the open metal stairs, stopping only once when Juan accidentally kicked a paint scraper across the floor. He shrugged off their four glaring faces.

  The heaviness in the air seemed to increase as they got closer to the stairs. Sierra felt as though it was suffocating her, a tension eating away at her very cells. She rubbed her eyes, tried to take a deep breath but coughed instead, and then started toward the second floor. Her feet made soft clangs on each stair, and soon the answering clangs of her friends’ footfalls rose behind her.

  “They’re close,” Juan said when they were halfway up.

  Sierra tightened her grip on the metal bat and went up the last few steps to the second floor. Most of the windows didn’t have glass, allowing a cool night breeze to swish across the room. The hanging plastic drapes swayed and dragged against the dirty floor, sending up gravelly whispers. Juan followed close behind her.

  The first corpuscule stood perfectly still, partly concealed by a drape, its gaze fixed straight ahead. Sierra caught her breath, raised the bat up, and waited. The corpuscule didn’t move. She tried to make out its face, see if she could recognize it as one of the shadowshapers from the photo, but it was too dark. Sierra heard her friends reach the landing and freeze as they noticed it. A flicker of motion caught her eye and she swung around to see another corpuscule stand up behind a shroud a few feet away. Beside it, another one rose.

  Juan trembled next to her. She could feel the rage and terror build inside him as clearly as if it were her own. He let out a scream and ran forward, swinging his broomstick just as the three corpuscules burst toward them. Tee stood beside Sierra for a moment, panting, and then followed Juan. Sierra tightened her grip on the bat and stepped toward one of the charging corpses. She wound up and swung, catching the thing under its arm. The corpuscule grabbed the bat and yanked it hard, pulling Sierra off balance. She screamed, gripping the handle harder even as she stumbled, vaguely aware that keeping the weapon was her only hope for staying alive. She wrenched the bat out of the thing’s grip, planted a foot behind her, and swung hard as it barreled toward her again.

  Something solid cracked and reverberated down the metal bat shaft and through her arms. For a terrible second, Sierra had no idea what was happening. She heard her friends scream, the sounds of scuffling around her. Dust and gray particles exploded in what seemed like slow motion toward the ceiling, and something slapped against her face. She stepped back and saw the corpuscule slump to his knees and then collapse into a heap. His face was crushed in, and a huge area of dried flesh was missing entirely from just above his left eye.

  Sierra wiped dry dead-guy head off her face. She steadied herself and turned toward her friends just in time to see another corpuscule running toward her. It was Bellamy Grey, or had once been — one of the newly smudged shadowshapers in the picture. It closed on her too quickly for her to get a good swing, so she threw her body into its charge.

  The corpuscule’s icky cold fists rained down on her back as they both plummeted to the ground. All was blistering chaos for a second; Sierra felt a painful blow smack across her face and almost blacked out. Tee was screaming something in her ear. The corpuscule writhed beneath her, swung its torso up hard and threw her off, then was on top of her, its deathly hands grabbing her wrists, holding her down as his weight crushed the air out of her lungs. A flush of panic swept up Sierra’s
airway and took over her thoughts. This was it. They had tried and failed. She struggled, but each breath brought more of that heaviness inside her, pulled her down toward some dizzy oblivion. It was over.

  And then it wasn’t. Hands snaked around the corpuscule — brown hands. Tee’s hands. Sierra gasped for air. The thing tried to shrug Tee off it, but she wouldn’t budge. Then more hands appeared: Bennie’s and Nydia’s, Sierra thought. Her wrists suddenly free, she shoved her thumbs into the corpuscule’s eyes and pushed. There was a spirit in there — some poor enslaved thing that Wick had summoned for the sole purpose of doing Sierra harm. It wasn’t the human being whose dead face stared emptily back at her. It was something else. She pushed harder and felt the dried-up, dull flesh give beneath her thumbs, the eyes squish into nothingness.

  Then it was gone. Sierra sat up, gasping for air. A few feet from her, the corpuscule staggered backward, flailing its long arms. Nydia stepped forward, swung her shovel hard, and caught it smack in the chest with a dull thud. The thing toppled backward, sliding over the side of the stairwell and landing a few seconds later with a terrible, wet crunch. Nydia peered gingerly down to the first floor and then made a “done-deal” sweep of her hands to the others.

  Sierra stood, brushing the ickiness off her, and walked unevenly toward Tee and Bennie. “Where’s Juan?”

  Bennie nodded toward one of the plastic shrouds. Sierra stumbled toward it, trying to ignore the sickening thuds that were coming from the other side. Juan stood over a crumpled corpuscule. He was panting; sweat poured down him. A nasty black-and-blue swelled along his right cheek.

  “Juan.”

  He shut his eyes, and tears streamed from them.

  “What is it, man?”

  “I knew him,” Juan whispered. “His name was Arturo. He was … I met him when I was a kid.”

  Sierra put her hand on Juan’s trembling shoulder. “It’s not him anymore, Juan. It was something else. And it’s done.”

  He lowered the bat and turned his tearstained face to Sierra. “I destroyed him.”