It was; didn’t matter whether Death thought so or not. It definitely was. Still … something was different than she’d thought it would be. Something she couldn’t place. This wasn’t the peaceful send-off she’d been expecting. It felt more like the beginning of a whole new mission. Typical. She’d spent her life fighting one rugged battle or another, why should her death be any different?
Once, a very long time ago, Death’s icy whisper trilled within Cantara Cebilín, I told your mother, María, that I would gift her my powers.
And you did, Cantara Cebilín said, taking a deep drag and exhaling it into the shadows of her apartment.
And I did, Death agreed. Do you know what she said to me when I told her that?
This sounded like the windup to a great joke, and Cantara Cebilín did not want to ruin it, whatever it was. What? she asked.
The voice that came next inside her head was not Death’s; it was her mother’s when she’d been just a girl of twelve or thirteen. I can take any life I want? she’d asked, full of all that childish earnestness and curiosity.
For a good few moments, Cantara Cebilín and Death laughed together. Then she lit another cigarette. Ah, Mami … that was a good one. What did you tell her?
The truth, Death said inside Cantara Cebilín. That my power is much greater than that, as she would see, and that it was well worth the price she’d paid.
Cantara Cebilín felt a sadness well up within her. Her face, she said.
Mm, Death agreed. And her innocence.
Cantara Cebilín unleashed her grim smile again. Was my mother ever really innocent?
Mm, Death agreed. That was taken away by La Contessa before María Cantara ever had a chance.
What is your power, if it’s not to take any life you want?
Death stared at her for a few moments. You don’t know by now?
Well, I —
My power is not about death, Cantara Cebilín. It is about life. The movement of life, mm? And what is life, if not movement?
Shadowshaping, she whispered.
Death nodded. Everyone sees the movement of Death in what I do, what we do, hm. What they don’t see is the movement of life. Life moves through the spirit, through the shadowshaper by way of the spirit, through the art by way of the shadowshaper. You see? Life moves through it all. Life is what powers it, much as a creature of the light, Lucera, is what powers a whole realm of shadow, yes? They are all one. This silly opposites game you mortals play all the time, it’s such a tragedy really.
Cantara Cebilín gave a dry laugh. I know what you mean, man.
Death stood, the tip of his cowl almost hitting the low ceiling. Are you ready?
She stood too, barely coming up to his chest, grabbed her pack of Conejos, and glanced around the room. Yes, old friend. Where is it we’re going this time?
To see the Sorrows. Your grandmother has finally decided to fill the final Hierophant card. They reached out to me, acting as her emissaries.
Cantara Cebilín groaned. Will this bitch never give up?
Not until she’s stopped, no. But that job doesn’t fall to us. Not yet anyway. For now, it is only for us to say one thing to La Contessa’s request.
And what’s that? Cantara Cebilín asked, stepping forward into Death just as Death stepped forward into her. Gradually, lovingly, they became one.
Yes.
Nothing will ever be the same. That was the simple truth of it, Tee thought, running her fingers in circles over Izzy’s forehead.
Izzy nuzzled deeper into Tee’s embrace. I know, babe, she thought. And I think that’s okay. They were wearing matching tuxedo tops and ball gowns, and they both had dapper little top hats poking off at an angle.
It is, Tee assured her. I’m just taking it all in. It’s a lot.
It’s a whole lot.
“You two alright back there?” Ms. R’s friend Bri asked from the front seat. She had impeccable makeup and a smile that promised it would never lie. “Looking mighty solemn.”
“They alright,” Ms. R assured her, looking warmer and more amiable than they’d ever seen her in a forest-green suit and Stetson hat. “That’s just their faces. Plus, they been through a lot.”
“No wonder you guys all get along so well,” Bri mock pouted. “Grim face of dead-ass chicks.” She turned around in the seat, flashed a devilish grin. “You know she thinks you guys are the bee’s knees, right?”
“Bri,” Ms. R groaned.
“Really?” Tee and Izzy said at the same time. They’d been doing that a lot recently. It probably wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
“She’s always talking about how you’re so mature for your age and whatever weird spiritual woo-woo crap y’all are going through, she hopes it’ll be over soon.”
“Bri!” Ms. R growled.
“Ah, it is over, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Tee said, finally smiling.
“Extremely,” Izzy concurred.
“Well, I’m glad! Because it’s Christmas! Heyyy!” Bri opened the window and yelled into the frosty air. “Merry Christmas, bitches!”
Ms. R rolled her eyes in the rearview and smiled at Tee and Izzy. “I’m glad too,” she said quietly. “And look, Charo doesn’t invite just anybody to the Christmas party.”
“I can imagine,” Tee said. “We appreciate it.”
“Well, I told him about the ordeal … more or less, you know … and he wanted to do something special for the crew.”
“We appreciate it,” Izzy said. She settled back against Tee’s shoulder. I don’t know what’s going to happen, she thought. But I know I love you.
Tee smiled down at her. I love you too.
Even though we can’t leave our bodies anymore and become air together?
Especially because we can’t leave our bodies anymore and become air together.
Izzy kissed her neck. Good, she thought. Me too.
“It’s in E-flat minor, you dick,” Juan chided.
“It’s not!” Pulpo said. “Listen.”
Juan listened as the corny bachata band wound around toward the chorus one more time. Culebra’s own Yoda, a big ol’ Cubano dude named Gordo, was sitting in on keys and kept doing weird chord modulations and winking like he was in on some wicked divine joke. Which, to be fair, he definitely was.
“There!” Juan said triumphantly. “That was the five, and now we’re in the one and … shit.”
Pulpo made a little explosion motion with his hands. “Boom.”
“Point is …”
“Uh-huh.”
Around them, the party swirled, full tilt and rambunctious. Juan had never imagined a taxi company would have such a lit holiday party, but then again, the Medianoche was unambiguously a front for more nefarious operations, so that probably explained it.
“Why does Gordo take these corny gigs anyway?” Juan said, still salty about being proved wrong.
“Uh, he says it keeps his chops on point. Plus, he gets paid? And I think he likes it. Look how much fun he’s having!”
The other guys in the band were busy trying to look like Dominican guapos, but Gordo was living his best life, bouncing up and down as they made their way into the bridge. The spirits were having a blast too, Juan noticed. They circled the stage, longstepping and two-stepping and sidestepping in time to the thundering timbales.
“The fact is,” Juan said, glancing at his best friend, “now that we’re both shadowshapers …”
“Culebra show’s gonna be a whole new level of lit,” Pulpo finished. They dapped, chuckling and shaking their heads. Juan had no idea how yet, but everything was definitely about to get really, really weird and cool.
“I know you hate dancing,” a voice said behind them. “But …” Juan closed his eyes. He’d been waiting to see Bennie all night; he’d been thinking about seeing Bennie all night. He’d been pretending not to be thinking about seeing Bennie all night. He hadn’t seen Bennie face-to-face since the whole mess in Jersey — there had been a brief check
up in the ER (at Caleb’s insistence) and then dealing with family stuff and one thing and another — and sure they’d Skyped, uh, every single night usually for a couple hours, but like, it wasn’t the same, and anyway: He stood and turned, and there she was, wearing a dark purple dress with no sleeves and bright red makeup and looking somehow totally at ease even though both of their worlds had come inches away from total collapse just a few days ago.
Juan felt his mouth drop open.
“Yeah?” Bennie said. “Like that?”
He nodded. “I do hate dancing. But for you, I make an exception.”
They both bowed formally to Pulpo and then made their way to the dance floor, giggling like schoolkids.
Once, very, very recently, when Brooklyn still seethed in an epic struggle between what had been for a long, long time and what was brand-new and undeservedly self-confident, when movements rose and fell with a series of zeroes and ones, and fresh forms of music still awaited to be born amidst the churning avenues and colliding peoples, a girl and her family gathered together to celebrate a hard-earned victory.
Sierra Santiago, the fourth Lucera, sat between her mom and dad at a table loaded with piles of chicharrones, arroz con gandules, amarillitos, tostones, and about six different kinds of delicious sauces. A cafetera full of Bustelo sat steaming in the middle. In short, she was in heaven. Out on the dance floor, Juan Santiago tried desperately to keep time with Bennie, both of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
Neville and Nydia slow-danced nearby, even though the song was extra fast and spunky, they held each other tight in their own beautiful little world: two who had survived and made it through together, and no Dominican hypercaffeinated bachata bounce would stop them from having their moment. Virgilio and Timba played some goofy game on a tablet, giggling, while Tee and Izzy kept an eye on them from across the table, their hands wrapped in each other like an old married couple. Mort sat beside them, chatting amiably with Tee like they were old friends. He’d woken up when the whole Deck collapsed, wandered downstairs for a cup of coffee, and scared Dominic Santiago half to death.
Farther off, Caleb, Robbie, and Jerome talked excitedly about their plans for building a Brooklyn shadowshaping club for little kids, and all the games they would play, all the new ways to ’shape they’d discover, all the possibilities that lay ahead.
“Oh,” Dominic said, glancing at his phone and then putting it away quickly. “Oh, oh!”
“Oh what?” Sierra demanded. “What are you being sneaky about?”
“Oh, nothing,” Dominic said, utterly unconvincingly. “What do you mean?” He kept glaring at something just over Sierra’s head, so finally she rolled her eyes and turned around and then screamed, because there was Gael, swooping toward her like some gigantic well-dressed bird of prey and then wrapping her up in his arms and squeezing with all his might until Sierra could barely breathe.
“What the!” Sierra gasped. “How the!”
Gael shrugged. “I got leave! It’s Christmas or whatever, hey!”
He leaned down and kissed María on the cheek and then hugged Dominic, making it explicitly clear to Sierra that she’d been the only one not in on this brilliant move. “Wow, you guys,” she gaped, sitting back down as Gael headed over to the dance floor to embarrass Juan in front of his new girlfriend. “How did you … I’m impressed.”
María lifted one shoulder and wiggled her eyebrows to make sure Sierra knew that, yes, she was pretty pleased with herself for keeping that secret. “I still got some tricks up my sleeve, Sierra.”
“Hey,” Anthony’s sonorous, delicious voice said. “Can I …?”
“Dance?” Sierra said, popping up a little too enthusiastically.
“Ha, yes, definitely that, but also I wanted to bring over —”
A smiling face appeared behind him.
“Carmela!” Sierra yelled, hugging her.
“Hi, Sierra!” The girl looked really excited to see her, as if they hadn’t been about to knock each other out a few days earlier. Then she got solemn. “I just wanted to … I just wanted to say thank you. Anthony told me about shadowshaping and everything, and … yeah.”
He rolled his eyes and made bunny ear quotations with both hands. “Right, I told you! By which she means she read all the whole beautiful story of your shadowshaping life that you typed out for me while I was in prison! Little spy!”
“Shouldn’ta left it out on the table if it was so private!” Carmela protested. “If I’d realized it was letters, I wouldn’t have read it, for real! I thought it was a story he was writing, but then I realized it was too pretty for him to have written it, and then I made him tell me everything, and, and …”
Anthony rubbed his eyes, laughing.
“And I want to be like you when I grow up!”
“I’m not even grown up yet.” Sierra didn’t know what to say, so she hugged her again. “And anyway, I’m just glad you’re still alive,” she whispered, letting go.
“But, I mean, I wanna be like you,” Carmela said, breathless, amazed, full of so much life. “What you are …”
“A shadowshaper?” Sierra asked. “Ha! I’m sure we can —”
“Lucera!” she said, laughing. “I want to be a Lucera too! Can I? Like … is that a …”
Sierra’s face must’ve registered all the shock she felt, because almost immediately, Carmela’s eyes went wide, and she looked like she was about to back-step.
“Of course you can!” Sierra said, shaking off everything else. “I’ve … we’ve just never … there’ve never been two before! And it’s always just been in the family but …” She shook away the last lingering uncertainties, as well she should’ve. “Of course you can, sis. It’s a brand-new day. We make the rules now. We just gotta figure out how.”
“And now,” Anthony said, “yes, I would like this dance, if you don’t mind.”
Over by the band, the shimmering images of Vincent, Alice, Little Tolula, and the rest of the Black Hoodies watched approvingly.
Beside them, we mingled with the other spirits, some dancing, some chatting, some just watching, our wide, ancient eyes taking in the beauty of the world we fought so hard to bring to life.
And thinking of all we had survived, all the many moments that we had fought through to arrive at this one, we watched, with love and victory in our hearts, as Anthony King offered the crook of his elbow, and Sierra Santiago slid her arm into it, and together they walked onto the dance floor, our stories tucked safely within their thoughts, and the future stretched ahead like a beautiful song.
What a journey it’s been! I’m so grateful first and foremost to all the readers who have read and been moved by Sierra’s story, who have seen themselves in her and her friends, who have connected to this magic. I write for you.
A gigantic thank-you to all the editors who’ve worked with me along this marvelous shadowshaping adventure, starting with Cheryl Klein, who pulled book one from the slush pile (literally! snail mail!) and believed in it from the beginning. The torch went then to Nick Thomas and Weslie Turner and then on to Jody Corbett, and I’m so grateful to all of you for seeing these books through to fruition.
Thank you to the whole team at Scholastic, all of whom have been amazing throughout this process, especially Arthur A. Levine, Lizette Serrano, Emily Heddleson, Tracy van Straaten, Rachel Feld, Isa Caban, Shannon Pender, Amy Goppert, Melissa Schirmer, and Erik Ryle.
A very special thank-you to Christopher Stengel, who designed all the amazing Shadowshaper Cypher covers, and Zephorah Nuré, who embodies Sierra so perfectly on each one.
Thank you to Tim Paul, who created the Shadowshaper map of Brooklyn. And thank you to the brilliant Nilah Magruder, who drew the Deck of Worlds, and always brings my words to life with such excellence.
To Eddie Schneider and Joshua Bilmes and the whole JABberwocky Lit crew: You are wonderful. Thank you.
Many thanks to Leslie Shipman at the Shipman Agency and Lia Chan at ICM.
&n
bsp; Thank you Renée Ahdieh and Roshani Chokshi for giving notes on the initial draft! To Tracy Deonn Walker for coming through in the clutch with thoughts about the ending! And a huge thank-you to Adriana M. Martínez Figueroa for her thoughtful consultations about the story and characters and advice on Puerto Rican curse-outs!
Brittany Nicole Williams was by my side and had my back throughout the process of this book coming into existence and, like my whole life, it wouldn’t be what it is without her. But most especially: Before even the first word had been written, it was Brittany who mentioned how she imagined Septima ending up a crotchety old vieja in Sierra’s attic — a thread that, once pulled, ended up revealing so many of the secrets of Shadowshaper Legacy. Thank you!
Thanks always to my amazing family: Dora, Marc, Malka, Lou, Calyx, and Paz. Thanks to Iya Lisa and Iya Ramona and Iyalocha Tima, Patrice, Emani, Darrell, April, and my whole Ile Omi Toki family for their support; also thanks to Oba Nelson “Poppy” Rodriguez, Baba Malik, Mama Akissi, Mama Joan, Tina, and Jud and all the wonderful folks of Ile Ase. And thank you, Sam, Lauren, Jalisa, and Sorahya and fam. Thank you, Sam Reynolds, Jason Reynolds, Jacqueline Woodson, Akwaeke Emezi, Jalisa Roberts, Lauren Chanel Allen, John Jennings, and Sorahya Moore and fam.
Baba Craig Ramos: We miss you and love you and carry you with us everywhere we go. Rest easy, Tío. Ibae bayen tonu.
I give thanks to all those who came before us and lit the way. I give thanks to all my ancestors; to Yemonja, Mother of Waters; gbogbo Orisa, and Olodumare.
Daniel José Older is the critically acclaimed and New York Times bestselling author of Shadowshaper and Shadowhouse Fall, as well as the novellas Ghost Girl in the Corner and Dead Light March, all part of the Shadowshaper Cypher series. He is also the author of the middle-grade series Dactyl Hill Squad, Stars Wars: Last Shot, The Book of Lost Saints, the Bone Street Rumba adult urban fantasy series, and the short story collection Salsa Nocturna. He won the International Latino Book Award and was shortlisted for the Kirkus Prize in Young Readers’ Literature, the World Fantasy Award, the Andre Norton Award, the Locus Award, and the Mythopoeic Award.
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