Shadowshaper Legacy

by Daniel José Older

  Stinking magic cards.

  Then she blinked. Picked up the top one again, squinted at it.

  That was strange.

  She leapt up, clicked off the desk lamp.

  Now the only light in the apartment came from the gray afternoon sky outside and the far end of the room, where Septima was tending to a still-unconscious Mort. And the Deck. But not the card in Sierra’s hand.

  She put it back, picked up another — one from the new emergent house, the Silver Hound. It wasn’t glowing either. So what was?

  The next card was the River, also not glowing. She remembered when she’d first seen that picture of a pleasant stream of water rolling through the countryside; she’d wondered if that Hierophant might be delightful somehow, an ally. Fat chance. She’d glimpsed the River standing there with Dake yesterday, and he was as foul and seedy as any Deck denizen to date.

  The next card was the Reaper, and it was definitely glowing. How had she not noticed that before? She must’ve always looked at the individual cards with lights on; the glow was soft enough to be indistinguishable under the glare of any other light.

  “Hey,” Anthony said from the doorway, and Sierra jumped, dropping the card.

  “Whoa!”

  He hurried over. “Sorry, sorry! You okay?”

  Sierra put the card back on top of the Deck, shook her head, blinking. “Yeah, I …” She looked up at him. “Yeah. As much as … you know …”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just trying to sort through this some more … But, I’m … I’m happy to see you.”

  Seeing Anthony was both a horrific reminder of all that was about to go wrong and a soothing balm amidst everything that had already gone wrong. Sierra tried to balance the two, couldn’t, then just gave up and kissed him.

  “Mmm!” He knelt down to more easily wrap around her, then heaved her up with a grunt.

  “Lift with your legs! Lift with your legs! I’m heavy!”

  “I am!” Anthony said. “And no, you’re not!” He straightened all the way and pulled her close. “Or really, yes, you are, and it’s delicious.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “And anyway, I been working out.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “So I see.” Sierra closed her eyes and counted to ten, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strength holding her up, the exquisite warmth of those arms enwrapping her, his breath on her neck. Then she exhaled and nodded. “Okay.”

  “Time to get to work?”

  “Mmhmm. More play later, please.”

  He set her down gently. “You can bet on it.”

  She smiled up at him.

  “Oh,” he said. “And I wanted to ask you something …”

  “Yes,” Sierra said, bapping his arm. “But first, kneel, please.”

  “Are you gonna —” He lowered himself into a squat, then got on his knees. “That’s what I was gonna ask you!”

  “Good. I don’t think it’ll get us far in terms of getting you off the kill list, to be honest, but it should happen anyway. If you’re down?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Been down.”

  “Sir Anthony,” Sierra announced Britishly. “Sir Anthony … ?”

  “Malachi.”

  “Ooh, I like that! That should be your stage name, not Pulpo.”

  “I’ll let Juan know so he can ignore me.”

  Sierra snorted, then got serious again and closed her eyes ceremoniously. “Sir Anthony Malachi King.”

  “This is the second time we’re doing this in a week,” Anthony said.

  She peeked one eye open. “Are you over it?”

  He shook his head with a concerned frown. “Opposite. I am worried, though. But that’s all happening regardless. This? This is the good part.”

  Beaming, Sierra raised one shoulder and dipped her head so her ear touched it. “I think so too. Shadowshaping is … forget everything else. Shadowshaping is it. And I know, I mean, obviously, I would say that, right? But, like, for real, shadowshaping has changed my life, saved my life, made me who I am, and even though when we first started talking, I wanted to keep you as far away from all this as I could …”

  “Hoo yeah,” Anthony said. “I remember that.”

  “Right. But that way back in October when the Deck was really just first starting to make an appearance on our scene, and everything was terrible, and everyone was trying to kill us.”

  “As opposed to now, when the Deck has been around for a few months, and everything is terrible, and everyone is trying to kill us.”

  “Fair point,” Sierra allowed. “I guess I realized that this is my life one way or another, and anyone who’s gonna be a part of it better know about it and understand. And anyway, the Deck is not shadowshaping, and I finally get that. What we got is different. And it’s better. Hold on.” She raised her right hand and put her left on his forehead. This was so much better than anointing him with some obnoxious card. This was hers — her magic, her world, and it was about to be his too. She smiled inwardly for a moment, taking in Anthony’s closed eyes, his slight smile. She just wanted to close the distance between them and wrap around him, but there would be time for all that later, there had to be.

  “Come forward,” she whispered. Before she could say spirits, Anthony scooched a couple inches toward her on his knees, and Sierra rolled her eyes. “Not you, homey.”

  “Oh!” he whispered, squinting his eyes open just a little to see who else was in the room. “My bad!”

  Spirits emerged from the darkness around them. The Black Hoodies first, then others that Sierra recognized from her adventures.

  “I called you forth to bear witness to our newest shadowshaper,” Sierra said. “And I call forth those ancestors of Anthony Malachi King who wish to stand with him as he steps forward into his destiny.” At first, nothing happened. Sierra was about to shrug and keep it moving — it had been worth a try anyway. But then a glowing form appeared behind Anthony, then two more. Then five more. Sierra widened her eyes. “You didn’t tell me you had a whole-ass crew walking with you, man.”

  Anthony smiled, eyes still closed, shrugged his big shoulders. “I didn’t know!”

  Six of the eight appeared to be women, three of them elderly, and it made a strange kind of sense. Sierra hadn’t known how to put it into words, but something about the way Anthony carried himself spoke of a man who walked with powerful female energies around him.

  “Welcome,” Sierra said, and the cadre of shadow spirits nodded, and one snapped an impressive salute.

  Then a shimmering face emerged from the shadows beside her own, and she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, now you show up!”

  Grandpa Lázaro lowered his old wrinkled head, a gesture Sierra had no idea how to respond to.

  She turned back to Anthony. “Dude been dead for three months and not a peep. Now we initiating the first boy into shadowshaping since he died, and he wanna make an appearance. I see you, Abuelo.”

  “Everything okay?” Anthony asked, eyes still closed.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sierra said. “Pay me no mind. Family stuff. Let’s do this.”

  She put her hand back on his forehead, taking a breath to center herself.

  Lucera. The name seemed to reach her from somewhere far away. Her name. Her inheritance of power. How many times had the other Luceras who came before her stood in the middle of a terrible storm, placed their hands on a loved one’s head, and increased their embattled house by one more soul? The power rose in her now, the swirl of shadow and light, and then the fierce blend of the two, and beyond that, something older, fiercer even. Shadowshaping. She let it slide down her arm, pool in her palm at the point where it touched Anthony’s head.

  “Ooh,” he whispered. “I feel that.”

  “Shh!”

  Then she released.

  “You look different, Doudou.” Ma Satie’s withered face glared up from her rocking chair.

  “No, Mamie.”

  The old woman sucked her teet
h. “What you mean, no? You don’t look different? How you know, eh? You in front of a mirror?”

  Tee shook her head. Izzy had already snuck in through the bedroom window, and Tee was anxious to get to her. It felt like every moment without her was a violent one, an empty one. She definitely didn’t want to get stuck being interrogated by Ma Satie, who always somehow knew everything, every damn thing, no matter what. But also: She had work to do and that took precedence over everything else. “I just mean …”

  “Think hard now before you make an excuse, Doudou. Because whatever it is, you know I’ll break it.”

  Of course she would. Tee almost rolled her eyes but managed to stop herself. Finally, she rallied, looked her grandmother right in her withered old face. “I look different because I am different.”

  “Ahhhh … now we’re getting somewhere, eh! Sit with your grandmother, Trejean.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing was easy. Tee sat. Outside, it had begun to snow again, the gentle flakes cascading slowly past the orange haze of streetlights as the sky grew dark.

  “It look good on you,” Ma Satie croaked.

  “What’s that, Mamie?”

  Ma Satie leaned over, put a warm crinkly hand on Tee’s shoulder. Her breath smelled like milk and her voice shifted to a shrill whisper. “Power.”

  Tee closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she said softly.

  “I mean, you ’ave always been powerful, Doudou. But this different, mm.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a great danger, that circles near?”

  “Yes.” Tee felt tears; she let them come. “Yes, Mamie.” She opened her eyes, took in the lines running down her grandma’s face, the dangles of her flesh along her neck that quivered as the old woman nodded.

  “Alright,” she said. “Do what you ’ave to do, eh.”

  It didn’t take long. She’d already gotten the hang of it from their first run with Nydia’s boys. Now Ma Satie’s bright energy waves seemed to leap out at Tee as soon as she looked for them. A fierce kind of light surrounded the elder, and Tee thought about how much of a life she’d lived before Tee even existed, how many messes she’d survived, how many loves she’d lost. “Close your eyes, please.”

  To her surprise, Ma Satie didn’t snap back or even sigh. She just did what she was told, head slightly bowed. It caused a sudden eruption of emotion to surge through Tee. This frail matriarch who had survived so much — at least two abusive husbands and one war, not to mention the death of her only son — and now some random teenage asshole was threatening her with his grimy Internet army. It was all so infuriating. But Tee had to focus. She could tumble into that well of rage forever, and what good would it do? She had to put that away, at least for the moment, and concentrate on keeping the people she loved safe.

  Her fingers found that gentle buzzing purchase against Ma Satie’s energy field, and then Tee dragged her hands a few inches to the left.

  “Ooh!” Ma Satie exclaimed. “Ooh!”

  “You okay, Mamie?”

  “Aha, oh, yes! Ah, Doudou. You really come into your own, ha.”

  “Yes, Mamie.”

  “Good, love, good.”

  Tee stood. Kissed her grandma’s wrinkled little forehead. “I love you, Mamie.”

  “Mm, love you too, Doudou.”

  She started to walk away.

  “And, Trejean?”

  Stopped. Scrunched her face. Waited for it. The moment she’d wondered about for years now. Here it came. “Yes, Mamie?”

  “Tell that boy you always have sneaking around these parts not to be such a stranger, eh?”

  Tee rolled her eyes. Didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could elders understand so much and so little at the same time? she wondered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mamie.”

  “Aha, I’m sure.”

  Tee shook her head and walked into her room, closing the door behind her and then silently sliding the deadbolt she’d installed into place.

  Izzy was watching her from the bed. Tee hadn’t turned around, but she knew. She knew a lot of things these days, more and more it seemed, and it was still as exhilarating and exhausting as it had been when she’d first woken up. She knew the whole web of connections, spiraling back to that hideous old countess, trembled in a state of ongoing anticipation and anxiety in a way it never had before. She knew whatever was going to happen next, it would all depend on how everything played out in the next two days. She knew a great many forces were at play now, and all of them — from the spirit world, to the other Hierophants, to various other entities who hadn’t made themselves known yet — all of them watched and waited, poised, breathing heavily in the shadows, some ferocious, some terrified, all warbling semi-blindly through a world on the brink of utter catastrophe.

  She released a long breath. All of it mattered so much, but right now, in this sacred and tiny and dark moment, none of it mattered. None of it could. It had to fade, because in another few hours it would launch heavily into prominence, and then, whatever happened, she and Izzy would be dealing with all that mess first and foremost, and not much else. And that meant that now, it all had to fade away. Just for a little while. She was still blinking away some tears from her moment with Ma Satie, and now they threatened to come again, full force. Outside, the snow kept falling, and it was fully night now, and Izzy awaited her on the bed, sitting perfectly still, breathing heavily, sending away the very same thoughts and demons that Tee was.

  Tee turned. Took in Izzy’s watching face, her wide eyes and long jawline. She’d already changed into some of Tee’s pj’s — the pair that hadn’t fit Tee since she was thirteen that Izzy had dug up from deep in some closet — and her long brown arms rested on her knees, and her chin rested on her arms, and goddamn, she was a sight to behold, and just like Ma Satie, she’d been through so, so much, but also nowhere near as much and such different storms.

  Tee wanted to burst across the room and wrap all the way around her girlfriend and send them both collapsing onto the bed in a mess of kisses and loving. She felt Izzy wanting it too, felt the heat rising off her from across the room. Instead, Tee walked. She breathed deeply and stepped slowly, saw Izzy crack a half smile when she realized Tee was making her wait, playing her patience.

  Tee reached her, reached out to her, took her rising body into her arms, and held her.

  This is a lot, they said.

  So much.

  This can’t go on forever, not like this.

  No.

  But tonight, this is what we are.

  Yes.

  Hold me.

  Yes.

  They eased slowly down onto the bed, together, as one.

  They loved.

  “Again,” Sierra said, trying to hide her smile.

  “Aw, man!” Anthony fake grumbled.

  “You love it,” Sierra chortled. “You know you love it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just like watching me mess up.” He stood beside the now completely rearranged butcher paper on the wall and raised a hand over his head.

  “True. Now which one you gonna ’shape into?”

  “Which one’s even left?”

  It was a fair point. He’d sent all the little drawings she’d made of the House of Iron scattering across the paper into a mess of quirky lines and broken faces. She’d told him not to mess with the Hierophants section because she was still trying to figure that stuff out, which meant … “Mess up the Bloodhaüs. They’re irrelevant now anyway.”

  Sierra had tacked a new sheet on and sketched what they knew of the House of Blood and Iron onto it earlier that morning. She’d been staring at the whole damn mess since then and felt like it was making less sense with every passing hour.

  “Bet,” Anthony said. He breathed in deep, put an adorably focused frown on his face, and then wiggled his eyebrows.

  Sierra shook her head. “Good grief, man. So dramatic.”

  “Hey! I’m concentrating!” A shadow stretche
d toward him from the corner, broke into a run. Dove and disappeared into his raised hand. “Whooo!” Anthony yelled as that shivery feeling Sierra knew well probably swirled through him. She snorked. He smacked the paper right over the crossed-out image of Axella. The woman’s mousy face exploded into a splatter of dashes and dots.

  ¡Desgraciado! Septima called from across the room. Este no tiene esperanza.

  “What’d she say?” Anthony asked. “She impressed?”

  “Oh, definitely.” Sierra laughed. “¡Oye, cállate, vieja!” The Sorrow had been harassing him in Spanish since they’d started practice, basically the shimmering Puerto Rican–spirit version of those old guys who heckled the Muppets all the time.

  Anthony sighed. “I’m a disgraceful shadowshaper, aren’t I?”

  “No, man, you’re just new. It’s cool. And anyway, we gotta see what happens when you try with other mediums. It’s probably gonna be music, because that’s where your heart is. I just start people off on drawings cuz it’s basic — the ABCs of shadowshaping.”

  “And happens to be what you do best.”

  “I mean …”

  Anthony raised one hand and smacked the paper in one fluid motion. It happened so fast, Sierra barely caught the shadow spirit sprinting across the room, and then more lines exploded across the paper as a few more Bloodhaüsers shattered. Sierra burst out laughing. Everything was so awful, the laughter just seemed to roll up on her out of nowhere. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really belted out a hearty cackle.

  Anthony smiled, encouraged, and did it again, now sending the last remnants of Bloodhaüs into a cataclysmic splatter. Watching her enemies get wiped away, even just cartoon versions of them, was the art therapy Sierra hadn’t realized she’d needed all this time. “Yes!” she cheered. “Do it again!”

  Anthony raised his hand, prepared the other one to slap; another spirit rushed toward him. And then Sierra blinked. Something clicked inside her. “Wait!”

  “Huh?” Anthony turned, just as the spirit slid into his raised hand and vanished. “What is it? Whooha, icy brain freeze but in my arm!”

  “They just … What if we could …” Sierra didn’t have full sentences yet; the ideas were still half-formed. But they were growing.