Sierra turned toward Robbie and found his face startlingly close. She smiled, her cheek grazing against his, and she felt the little beginnings of stubble, smelled sweat mixed with the musky scent he wore.
A different track came on and folks started heading toward the tables. “Outside,” Robbie said, panting. “Let’s get air.”
The light summer rain cooled them off after the thick haze of Club Kalfour. Sierra and Robbie leaned against a brick wall and watched the cars roll by. “I’ve never had a night like this in my life,” Sierra said.
Robbie’s smile spread all the way across his face. She felt him watching her out of the corner of his eye. It would be so simple to just stand on her tiptoes and plant a kiss on his neck. He would look down at her and smile, and then they’d make out all night, and everything would somehow make sense.
“Robbie?” Sierra looked up at him.
“Hm?”
His neck called out to her like the tractor beam in one of those sci-fi movies her brother Juan was always watching. She opened her mouth.
“Shoot,” Robbie said, looking over her shoulder. He stepped forward.
Sierra growled. “What is it?”
“Someone’s coming. You see?”
At the far end of the block, a tall corpuscule stood in the shadows, staring at them.
“Run, Sierra!” Robbie said. “Go! I’ll handle him. Just get out of here.”
“You said that last time and a damn corpuscule guy grabbed up on me!”
Robbie ran past her toward the figure in the shadows. “Go!” he yelled back at her. “Get out of here!”
Then another corpuscule rounded the corner at the other end of the block and burst toward them. It was Ol’ Vernon, or Ol’ Vernon’s poor, abused corpse anyway. Now Sierra and Robbie were trapped between them.
“Run!” Robbie yelled again. He was almost to the corner. The first corpuscule looked back and forth down the block.
Ol’ Vernon’s corpuscule stopped in the middle of the street and stared directly at Sierra. Sierra wasn’t sure if she was breathing or not. She took a step backward. The corpuscule walked toward her.
Somewhere, Robbie yelled unintelligibly. It didn’t matter. Ol’ Vernon wasn’t interested in him. Sierra ducked into the alley alongside Club Kalfour, came out on a large avenue and sprinted across it, turned a corner, and ran as hard as she could.
She had never been to Flatbush before, so she didn’t even bother trying to figure out where she was heading. When you’re lost in Brooklyn, the next corner store should only be a block or two in any direction, and they’d always be able to point the way to a nearby train. But somehow Sierra had stumbled into a quasi-suburban enclave of stand-alone houses, complete with front lawns and porch swings. It was creepy. The southern-style mansions glared out at her, making sure she had no designs on the untold secrets and treasures hoarded within. She turned corner after corner, panting as she hurtled through an endless night maze of sleepy, tree-lined streets.
The rain was falling heavier now. It cascaded over the shiny streets, drummed the tops of cars, and pooled in dark curbside gullies. Sierra ran until her chest was on fire, and when she stopped, there was no corpuscule in sight, but something …
Something else was following her.
The knowledge of it was as clear as if she could see the thing, but when she squinted her eyes into the dim, soaking suburban streets, there was nothing there.
“Dude stays disappearing when things get tight,” Sierra said under her breath. “I swear Imma kill Robbie the next time I see him.” She rounded a corner and walked halfway up the block. A raspy intake of air hissed all around her. She spun around. Some tall shape flitted away just as she turned — now nowhere to be seen.
Alright, she thought. Robbie said the spirits were his friends and teachers. That they protected him. “Here I am,” she said to the empty street. “So protect me.” She was proud of how calm she’d managed to make herself, standing there without even a tremble, waiting for some unfathomable wraith to come and deal with her. “Bring it.”
The rain fell around her. In the big mansions, behind those darkened windows, happy well-to-do white people snuggled in their cozy beds. Maybe some were peeking out, wondering what that crazy Puerto Rican girl was doing in the middle of their block.
Another cluttered, seething breath sounded over the endless rain splatter. Sierra squinted her eyes the way Robbie had said to and let her vision go soft. At first she saw just falling rain and the glint of streetlights. Then a shadow loped out from behind a car without so much as a sound. It was massive, bulkier than the spirits in the club, and its shimmering darkness seemed to churn endlessly like black lava. It limped toward Sierra, thrusting one long dark appendage forward and then fluidly gliding ahead on the other like a wounded giant.
All that composure Sierra had been so proud of dissolved instantly. Her eyes went wide; the shadow vanished. By the time she got hold of herself to soften her vision again, it was just a few feet away. She barely stopped herself from crumpling onto the street as the giant shadow creature dragged itself forward, towering over her. A sharp, tangy smell flooded her nostrils — an ancient stench that told her whole body to run as far away as she could — but Sierra held her ground. The phantom’s infinite emptiness expanded and contracted in long, rattly heaves. It wasn’t the warm darkness that the spirits in the club had been — more of a void, like she was looking into the depths of a black hole.
A mouth, wide open in a silent scream, emerged along the sleek emptiness of the shadow creature and then sank back in. Sierra caught her breath. Another mouth appeared along the creature’s shoulder; this one blubbered and gnashed. Two more came when that one was gone. Soon the whole creature bubbled and churned with silently screaming mouths.
Sierra. It wasn’t one voice but many layered on top of each other to form a hideous dissonance. It sounded like when Juan hit a bunch of piano keys at the same time that were too close together. Let’s see. The mocking chorus grated the inside of her brain. What have they made of you, hmm … Come, let me see. It reached for her, agonized mouths blossoming along its long arm.
She turned. Ran. Stumbled over her own feet and then achingly clambered back up. Tried to run again but found herself barely able to move. It felt like an invisible net had been cast over her body, dragging her down. She turned back and caught a glimpse of the towering creature taking a slow, ungainly step in her direction. She couldn’t think. Everything inside her concentrated on breaking out of whatever was holding her fast. She thrust one leg forward, groaning from the effort, and then the other. Her insides burned. The thing shushed and crunched as it moved. It sounded as if it was right behind her.
Sierra yelled and managed to make it another two steps, but had to stop and catch her breath. Panting, she turned around.
The shadow lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, and every cell in Sierra’s body caught fire at the same time. Its cool, horrible presence crawled under her skin along her left arm. Then her breath seemed to have been whisked away entirely. She collapsed into the rain-drenched street.
Sierra, the many voices said together. Ahhh … You hold many secrets. Now tell us: Where is Lucera?
Darkness wrapped around Sierra. Her scream caught in her throat as the shadow overtook her.
“What the hell?” The voice sounded miles away. “What’s going on out there?”
Gradually, Sierra found she could move her body again.
“Who’s there?” Another voice, a little closer.
“It’s a Spanish girl. Looks like she’s bleeding.”
Everything around her was tinged with a golden haze. Sierra lifted herself from the street but stayed in a crouch. Her wet clothes clung to her. “Lucera? Is that you?”
“Did someone call the police?” a voice asked from up the street.
“Lucera?” Sierra whispered. Her vision began to clear, but the world still seemed bathed in that golden glow.
“I already call
ed,” a man’s voice said. He sounded irritated about it, whoever he was. Sierra fought gravity and managed to stand.
A few feet away from her, three towering golden shrouds stood glowing in the middle of the street. They looked like hooded giants; somewhere within their haze, Sierra could make out the edges of long robes draping down from hoods that hung over their faces. They must’ve been eight feet tall.
“Lucera?”
She knew the shrouds weren’t Lucera, they couldn’t be. Something huge stirred in the air, and the ground rushed up at Sierra again. She looked up, squinting with pain, and saw that the shadow creature was back. It lunged toward the shrouds, momentarily eclipsing the stunning golden light.
“Get that girl out of here!” a woman’s voice demanded. None of them could see the shrouds or the shadow creature.
The golden shrouds spoke as one: It’s too late for that now. Their shrill whisper was an explosion inside Sierra’s aching head. You have failed.
Screaming mouths opened all over the hulking shadow. NO! It swung a long arm toward the shrouds.
“Well, isn’t anyone gonna help her?” someone yelled.
The three shrouds raised their arms at the same time. The creature howled, stumbling back toward Sierra, and then it fled down the street and disappeared into the night. The shrouds turned to Sierra, seemed to stare at her for a moment, and then vanished.
All the colors went back to their dull darks; the streetlights glinted off car hoods. The shrieking shadow creature was nowhere in sight.
“She must be another OD from that damn Dominican club over on Flatbush!”
“Someone do something!”
Sirens wailed not far away, and a delirious panic welled up in Sierra’s chest. What had that shadow thing been? And those shrouds? And now the police … She had to make her exit quickly, but she could barely stand. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle.
“You there!” someone called from the house to her left. “Girl. Get out of here! Go on!”
“What’s wrong with you, Richard? She’s obviously hurt …”
Sierra placed a shaking hand on the slick SUV beside her and steadied herself. Someone was coming toward her on a bicycle, pedaling through the puddles. She squinted through the rain. It couldn’t be …
“Sierra!” her brother’s voice said.
“Juan?”
She almost broke down in tears at the very idea of him being there, and then there he was, soaking wet and grinning like a fool in front of her. His grin faded when he saw her frightened, tearstained face.
“Jesus, Sierra, what the hell happened to you?”
“Can’t … explain …” she sighed, throwing herself into an awkward embrace around Juan and his little stunt bike. “Let’s get outta here.”
“No problem, sis. Hop on.”
It had been years since Sierra had ridden the pegs on the back wheel of her brother’s bike. They’d been cruising down DeKalb one bright summer afternoon, he was talking trash with some girl from around the way, he hit a pothole, and they’d both ended up at Kings County, Sierra with a concussion and a permanent scar across one eyebrow and Juan with a fractured wrist and wounded pride. That was that, Sierra had declared as they lay side by side on the hospital stretchers. No more stupid peg riding.
But it was strangely comforting on this dreary, haunted night, standing behind Juan with her hands on his shoulders, watching his spiky head bob up and down as he pedaled along Ocean Avenue, and the manicured suburbs gave way to the twenty-four-hour vegetable stands and roti spots. Even the rain was a soft blessing against her face, and the warm June wind brushed away some of the terror of what had just happened. The gloomy darkness of Prospect Park loomed ahead of them.
“Juan,” she said, squeezing his shoulders. “How’d you know to find me? You never bike around Flatbush. And you’re s’posta be in, like, Connecticut or something with the band.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Juan?”
“I just popped back through to check on things.”
“Juan. You suck at lies. Just skip it.”
“The shadows led me to you.”
Sierra dropped her foot to the street and the bike almost tipped over.
“What the hell?” Juan yelled, screeching to a halt.
“What do you know about the shadows?”
He looked away. “A thing or two, I guess.”
“Juan.” Sierra got off the bike and walked around to glare at her brother, full in the face. “What’s going on?”
“Look, you being shady too. You tell me what happened to you back there, I’ll tell you what I know about the shadows.”
“Deal. You first.”
Juan scrunched up his face and exhaled irritably through his nose — the same frustrated tic he’d been doing since his whole life. “It was Grandpa Lázaro first told me about all of it.”
“When?”
“When I was like, I dunno, ten.”
“When you were ten?” Sierra crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you serious?”
“Dead ass. Said he was passing on the legacy or something.”
“Legacy of what?”
“It’s like a whole spirit world in Brooklyn that Abuelo was in touch with. He was deep with them. Came over from PR with a buncha spirits, I guess, and then kept it going the whole time he was here. Right up till his stroke.”
Sierra just stared blankly at her brother. The rain was a misty sprinkling on her skin. Cars honked and shoved busily past, sending out fleeting excerpts of whatever hot new single was getting overplayed on the radio. All these years, she’d blamed herself for having a shallow relationship with her aging grandfather, and now it turned out he’d had an entire supernatural universe he shared only with Juan.
“Did Gael know?”
“I think Abuelo tried to tell him before I was born, but Gael wasn’t trying to hear about it.”
“Why … why didn’t he ever tell me?”
“I dunno.” Juan shrugged. “You know Abuelo was all into his old-school machismo crap. He probably just didn’t think you’d get it.” Sierra stopped herself from slapping her brother across the face, but only barely. He recognized the violence dancing in her eyes. “It’s messed up, I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured you’d just think I was crazy. Plus, the ol’ man made me swear not to tell nobody. Said it’d be dangerous.”
Sierra watched the speckles of precipitation jangle and spin beneath a lamppost. Sorrow and rage combined, and Sierra had to push back a wave of tears. This was not the time.
“Can we, uh, get back to heading home now?” Juan asked. “I’m pretty wet. You can tell me what happened on the way.”
Later that night, Sierra stood frozen at the foot of Lázaro’s bed. The rain sang its gentle song against his wide windows, and outside, the lights of Brooklyn made a blurry haze in the night. She studied her sleeping grandfather’s withered face, his gaping toothless mouth and flaring nostrils bathed in the warm glow of the reading lamp.
“Why?” she said, watching the emaciated chest rise and fall beneath his sheets. “Why’d you never tell me about all this stuff?” She sniffled and let a single tear slip down her cheek. “And you still won’t tell me what’s going on, viejo.”
Lázaro stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Sierra stared down at him, her heart pounding.
“I almost died tonight, Abuelo. And why? What boys’ club did I nearly get killed for? Did you think you were …” Her voice faltered, but she refused to cry in front of him. “Did you think you were protecting me by keeping me in the dark all this time?”
She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
In her room, Sierra unraveled her braids and stared at herself in the mirror. Her newly freed fro still bore the traces of Bennie’s handiwork, but Sierra didn’t feel like combing it out. Good hair, bad hair. Such nonsense. She blew herself a kiss, flipped off an invisible Tía Rosa, and stomped downsta
irs.
Juan looked up from his sticker-covered acoustic guitar. He sat at the kitchen table with an open bag of chips and a liter bottle of soda in front of him. “You done pouting?” he asked. “Because we need to have a serious conversation about what happened tonight.”
“You’re damn right we do,” Sierra said. She swung a chair around and sat backward in it, glaring at her brother.
“And you can start by thanking me for saving your ass.”
Sierra shrugged and looked away. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “How’d you know to come find me anyway?”
“You hungry?”
“Juan, it’s like midnight!”
“I know.” He jumped up and started rummaging around the cabinets. “Perfect time for midnight breakfast!”
“Alright, but don’t think this’ll get you out of telling me how you showed up in Flatbush tonight.”
Juan cracked some eggs into a bowl. “So, we were couch-crashing at this dude’s spot upstate.”
“Upstate New York? People there listen to Culebra?”
“What? People all over this nation listen to us.”
“But … are there Puerto Ricans in upstate New York?”
“I dunno, Sierra, probably. But I’m talking about white people!”
“Shut up.”
“I swear to God! White kids come out and eat our music up. They crazy about us. Sing along to our lyrics and everything.”
“Half your songs are in Spanish.”
“I know. Go figure. Can I finish what I was saying now?”
Sierra busied herself clearing the table of María’s loose paperwork and some ad catalogs. “By all means.”
Juan opened the refrigerator. “Mom made yucca! Sweet!” He retrieved a ceramic bowl with plastic wrap over it and tossed several white cassava chunks onto the frying pan. “Anyway, we were at this dude’s spot, partying, whatever, hanging out earlier today, and I felt something. I mean, I got the shadowshaping skills — Abuelo initiated me, but I don’t really use them a lot, so it’s all still kind of wild to me, to be honest. But this was like a fluttering in my chest, and then I could just feel the room get crowded. Suddenly there were, like, six spirits in the place.”
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