“Anything?” she asked Bennie.
“Caleb says … wait.” She put her phone to her ear. “What’s going on, C?”
The other shadowshapers were all still in class and completely unreachable, so Sierra had had to rely on only the adults for once. Her mom had opted to step back from all of what she called “the exciting stuff” after everything that happened Halloween night, so Sierra called back to tell her not to bother picking up Juan, then had to get off the phone quick to avoid eight billion rightfully suspicious questions. Then, as Tee and Bennie tried and failed to flag down taxis, she’d called Uncle Neville — it had gone to voice mail — so she’d tried Nydia Ochoa, a librarian at Columbia who had studied the shadowshapers for years before becoming one. If Neville was anywhere, he was probably with her, and the two of them were a pretty unbeatable pair when they teamed up.
But Nydia’s phone had gone to voice mail too, and then Bennie finally snagged a cab, and they were off, and Sierra was stuck with a pounding terror inside and the echoes of her own terrified voice leaving desperate messages for both of them.
Culebra’s reckless intro riff zipped her back to the present tense, where a soggy rain had begun sloshing against the taxi windows. “Nydia!” Sierra almost sang, putting the phone to her ear. “Where you guys at?”
“We’re heading to Rikers now,” she said. “Neville’s driving.”
“Hey, girl!” Neville’s voice chimed in from farther away.
Sierra had to fight off tears. That meant they’d be there first, no matter where they were coming from. At least someone, no, two someones — a badass probably gangster and a fierce shadowshaper — would be there to protect the boys when they got out. “Thank you,” Sierra said. “I …”
“Stop,” Nydia said. “You already know. I’m just sorry we didn’t get your first call. We were —”
“None of my business!” Sierra yelled. “Just thank you, is all.”
“Alright, lemme go — I’m trying to paint some evil machinery on my body while Speeds McGee goes Mach ten on the FDR.”
“Tell him to go Mach twelve!” Sierra called, and then hung up with a long exhale.
“Caleb says they’re outside the detention center and don’t see nothing,” Bennie reported.
“Hey,” the cabbie called, locking eyes with Sierra in the rearview. “When you said people might die if you don’t get there in time, that wasn’t just some teenage girl drama, was it?”
“It absolutely the hell was not,” Sierra said. “And I’ll have you know —”
“Say no more,” the man chuckled, and gunned it.
“What did the lawyer guy say?” Caleb asked.
“Desmond. He hasn’t been able to find anything out so far,” Tee said. “Keeps getting the runaround from his sources.”
Caleb shook his head and took another swig of coconut water. “Yep. Sounds like some Iron House bullshit.”
“What do you mean?”
They’d spent the past twenty minutes standing against a bodega around the corner and across the street from a concrete park that was near the fortresslike detention center. Twenty-foot-high walls topped with barbed wire encircled the place, and American flags waved cornily in the early afternoon breeze. Caleb hadn’t said much up to this point, except to make sure they were as far enough away as possible from the building itself while still being able to see the entrance.
Tee could never tell if he was actually mad at something or just had a surly demeanor. Or both. But either way, she liked Caleb, dark cloud and all. He’d shown up just a few minutes after her, ready for action. And the man struck her as someone who would fight hard for people he loved and always tell the truth, even when it hurt. He was also a legendary tattoo artist, and she hoped he’d do one for her someday. Maybe a matching one with something Izzy got. Not like their names or anything so obvious; something mysterious and intriguing that only they knew the meaning of. Izzy already had a few, at least three of which were extra cheesy and she already regretted.
Izzy.
She would get out of this alive. Both of them would. Tee transformed her desperation into a rugged determination, and that sustained her for the otherwise nerve-racking moment.
“House of Iron is in the prisons, right? For obvious reasons.”
“Because there’s so much of their favorite element there.”
Caleb nodded. “Exactly. But also, their whole thing about telling the truth and all that. To hear them tell it, that strict adherence to honesty makes them the house of justice, so to speak. So they got guys entrenched all throughout the criminal justice system, supposedly. Lawyers, judges, corrections officers. All that.” Caleb’s whole demeanor seemed to warm up when he was explaining something — a born teacher. It was like he forgot that he was supposed to keep up the vexed façade.
“But it was House of Light who had that corrupt lawyer working for ’em, right?”
“Well, yeah, House of Light is — was — all about power and control. So of course they’d get a lawyer embedded. Plus, they’d been gunning for Sierra since before she even knew what a shadowshaper was so that was how they figured they’d keep tabs on her.”
The detention center doors swung open, and Caleb and Tee craned their necks around the corner to get a better look. A family — two little kids and a mom — came out. The mom was crying into her cell phone, trying to keep the kids from waddling off, fishing in her purse for some tissue.
“Anyway,” Caleb said, turning back away, “that whole justice thing is what I mean by Iron House bullshit.”
“Why?”
“Because a lie of omission is still a lie. A deception is a lie. You can’t just pretend the words you speak are what matter when it comes to honesty and then call yourself all about the truth. Makes me sick.”
“You thinking ’bout Ol’ Crane, huh?”
Back when Crane had been alive and posing as a shadowshaper, the old man had taken Caleb under his wing and taught him about the Deck of Worlds and various assorted magics. Caleb had taken care of him, spent endless hours at the St. Agnes Home keeping him company, given him his trust and respect. And then Old Crane had betrayed all the shadowshapers — revealed himself to be not just a part of their rival house but the Iron King himself. One of his henchmen had badly wounded Caleb with some kind of chain weapon that left a permanent scar running like a sash across the tattoo artist’s chest and annihilated some of the spirits who had been deeply woven into the fabric of his body art.
“I deeply, extremely, bottomlessly hate that guy,” Caleb said after a pause. “I’m not one of those people who don’t use the word hate much — I use that shit when it’s true, which happens to be every now and then to semi-regularly — but … but it doesn’t even fully do justice to how deep my dislike of Old Crane is. I hate him more than I hate Facebook. I think I like cancer better than I like that rotting vulgarity of a creature.”
“Well, shit,” Tee said.
“If I ever figure out how to kill a spirit,” Caleb rumbled, “it’s curtains.”
“It’s weird though, right?”
“What’s that?”
“It was that creepy priest guy that hit you with the chain, right? But how do you feel about him?”
“Oh, that guy?” Caleb shrugged. “He’s a soldier. He was doing what he was told, protecting his king. I’da done the same, so I can hardly be mad at him. If I saw him in the street, he’d just be another dude in the street, no love lost.”
Tee made an unconvinced face.
A group of corrections officers rounded the corner at the far end of the square, coming back from their lunch break probably. They all gawked and guffawed at something on a cell phone screen one was holding up for the rest to see.
“It’s the hypocritical thing that kills me,” Caleb said. “Yada, yada, Iron is the truth, okay cool, and then go around stabbing cats in the back.”
“Cats being you.”
“Me being cats. Truth is, since we’re talking about
the truth, I just want this whole thing to be over so I can go back to being a regular shmegular ol’ tat artist, not some henchman in an ancient spiritual battle. No offense.”
“None taken,” Tee said. “I feel the same. We didn’t ask for this. I just want to shadowshape and hang out with my girlfriend all day.”
“Yeah. Exa —” Caleb cut himself off, and then his mouth dropped open, his eyes glued to something across the park from them.
“What is it?” Tee asked, trying to get a look past the slow-moving traffic.
“Remember when I said if I saw the guy that chain-smashed me in the street, he’d just be another dude in the street, no love lost?”
“What, like five seconds ago? Uh, yeah.”
Caleb took off at a fast pace toward the detention center. “I lied.”
“Man, I hate that damn place,” Neville said, chewing on some kind of flavored twig they sold in the halal groceries, and scowling across the channel to where Rikers Island rose out of the water like some evil wizard’s lair. “That’s the devil’s dungeon.”
He spat once, then put his arm around Sierra and pulled her close as they watched another ferry pull off from the prison dock and head their way. “I don’t remember ever having to take no boat there though.”
“The bridge is under construction,” Sierra said. “According to their website. I was trolling it last night for any info we might need. Didn’t come up with much.”
“Is it actual construction or some sus Iron House ploy?” Nydia asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, everything is a sus Iron House ploy until proven otherwise.”
Neville nodded. “I’ve taught you well, grasshopper.”
“Get ready,” Bennie said from Sierra’s other side. Nydia squeezed Neville’s shoulder once and then rolled up her sleeves. Around them, Vincent and a few of the other Black Hoodies spread out into battle formation.
Sierra stepped forward. The December wind slathered tiny frozen rain shards against her face like the kiss of some giant phantom dog. Around her, a few other people waited for their newly freed loved ones: an elderly woman with flowers, a young couple, a guy in blue postal service trousers holding a shiny balloon. Corrections officers milled about on the landing, looking surly and ready to pop off at any moment if someone got out of line. No one Sierra recognized from their run-in with Iron House, but all she’d met were Crane and his Iron Knight, a tall, slender man dressed like a priest who carried a huge chain. Any of these fools could be on his side, really.
The ferry got closer, seemed to be taking forever.
“What’s the plan?” Bennie asked, and it was a good question, but Sierra once more didn’t have a good answer. She couldn’t just yell, Improvise! with a whimsical chuckle and think everything would be alright. But that’s all she really had at the moment.
“Just gotta keep our eyes open and then get ’em out of here quick,” Sierra said, feeling like it wasn’t nearly enough. Bennie nodded once, apparently satisfied.
Neville chimed in, speaking Sierra’s heart with an authority she couldn’t muster: “Times like this — extractions — any plan gotta kinda depend on whatever plan we up against, to some extent. And we really have no idea what we’re up against in this case, right, Sierra?”
“If there even is one.”
“Right. Which means we gotta stay light on our feet.”
“Alice,” Sierra said softly, and one of the Black Hoodies stepped beside her and lowered her cowl, a tall girl with raised eyebrows. “Can you see if they’re on that boat? And see if any Iron-types are with them.”
Alice nodded once and flushed out across the water along with two other spirits.
Sierra felt a bristling in the air, like the sky itself was recoiling somehow. Then a murmur rose among the shadow spirits, and finally, the telltale off-key crystalline jangling that meant Old Crane had arrived.
She took one last look at the approaching ferry — Alice and her small crew had just reached it — then turned slowly around. The shadows had formed into a tight ring around Sierra, Bennie, Neville, and Nydia. A BMW idled in the parking area just beyond them, and a white woman in sunglasses and a pantsuit stood in front of it. Sierra cocked her head to the side, waiting.
Sure enough, the jingle-jangle grew louder, and then the shadows spirits all took one step back as a hunched-over figure made from dangling silverware appeared. He carried a scepter staff and wore a rusted crown, and he was shaking his old head, sending even more dissonant tinkles out into the gray winter sky.
All the other people had moved to another part of the waiting area, surely sensing something indescribably off in the air.
“Crane,” Sierra said.
Young Lucera, the old man’s croaking voice shivered through her. It seems you’ve played an unusual hand, I must say. You are more … aggressive than the last Lucera. I admire that.
“What do you want?” Sierra said.
It is collection time, I believe.
Sierra made a show of a patting her pockets. “Damn, and here I am with nothing to give.”
Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I gifted you something when we met on Halloween night. An early birthday present, you might say.
“The Iron Knight card,” Sierra said. “That was really sweet of you.”
It’s time for the card to come back to its rightful owner.
“So you can … use it to destroy the shadowshapers? Why would I do that?”
Because, Crane rasped in his foul whisper, we have something you want, mm?
Sierra narrowed her eyes, tried to calm her rising pulse. Had this all been another distraction? When she’d parlayed with Crane on the rooftop on Halloween, he’d delivered the card alright, but the whole thing had also been a ruse to keep Sierra occupied while the House of Light made its play. She glanced around for some imminent attack, saw nothing. Some of the shadows had spread into a wider circle, enclosing them all in a well-guarded perimeter. Others stayed close, Sierra’s personal protection unit. Neville and Nydia kept sharp eyes on either side; Bennie stared down Crane.
“Go on,” Sierra said.
Crane just chuckled. Behind him, the woman by the Bimmer whispered into her cell, looking unimpressed. She leaned forward, whispered something to him, and the old ghost shook his shimmering head, sending a pitchless cacophony cascading out.
Sierra. It was Alice, returned from the boat, which was now slowing as it approached the docks. Something’s wrong.
Sierra turned, scanned the choppy waters, the devil’s dungeon beyond them, the pale sky.
Your brother and Anthony King are there. There’s a guard with them who’s definitely Iron House; it’s all over him.
“And?” Sierra whispered.
Something’s off with Anthony.
Sierra’s eyes went wide; her fists clenched and the light and shadow in her began to rise, sending tiny tremors through the arrows she’d lined her forearms with in thick black ink. What is it? she thought to Alice.
I don’t know. He has powers now. I’m not sure what.
The gangplank dropped, and three officers marched off first, followed by some people Sierra didn’t know who must’ve been just set free as well, and then she caught sight of Anthony’s dark, beautiful face above some little white kid’s head.
Alice was right, but Sierra couldn’t put her finger on what it was that was different. He’d lost weight, for sure. Even from far away, she could tell his cheeks were sallow; his neck seemed longer, thinner somehow. He wore that same tank top he’d had on Halloween night — of course, that’s all he had — but now it hung off him loosely like excess flesh on a starving man.
It was a chilly December afternoon, but Anthony didn’t seem to notice. Beside him, Juan marched, eyes straight ahead. The two friends wouldn’t look at each other. After all they’d been through together … what had happened?
Sierra blinked a few times — everything felt like it was moving very slowly. Anthony stepped off the gangplank, n
odded once at the guard behind him, and walked right past Sierra and the others without even a glance. Sierra just stood there with her mouth slightly open as the boy she’d come to love — yes, love — slowed his stroll ever so slightly beside Old Crane’s shimmering visage, bowed his head once, and then got into the waiting BMW and was gone.
Crane vanished; the BMW pulled off. Sierra turned around to find Juan staring after them. “Juan,” Sierra said, and she was so happy to see him, finally, but everything felt like some terrible dream too, and they hugged, but all he could do was shake his head, blink away tears, and no matter how much they talked, or cried, or laughed, the brisk air around them still filled with the endless dissonant jingle-jangle of Old Crane’s cackle.
“Caleb, man! Wait!” Tee pleaded in a hissing whisper. She caught up with him halfway across the street, yanked his arm so hard he spun around with a surprised look on his face, then softened, exhaled. “We gotta …” Tee started, suddenly breathless. They’d been waiting for what seemed like hours, and before that she’d been waiting for weeks and weeks, and now everything was happening so fast — way too fast, and if they didn’t move right, Izzy would get snatched away and be gone all over again, this time much worse, which hardly seemed possible. And Caleb of all people had to understand that. They couldn’t let this whole thing shatter.
“We gotta …” She tried again. “We gotta watch. If we jump ol’ boy now, the whole thing could go to hell — they snatch Izzy and and and …” She felt a wave of panic rise up in her at the possibility.
Caleb nodded once, whatever sudden hatred he’d been pulsing with dissipated, and they ducked behind an SUV parked beside the open area. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Tee could tell those weren’t words the man spoke with any regularity. “I gotta get a handle on that. You’re right.” He looked her in the eyes, possibly for the first time. “How do you want to play it?”
Shadowshaper Legacy Page 8