Shadowshaper Legacy Page 3

  This was about to get nastier than they’d planned for. Tee had panicked. Whatever that thing was, unloading both her arm paintings onto it was overkill. Now she was left with the paintings on either leg and one elaborate one on her back. Not bad, but she couldn’t afford to freak out. Tolula’s small form twirled up toward her, and then Tee felt that flush of contact. She raised both arms above her head, breaking into a jog toward the Bloodhaüs woman again. The painting on her back split into two vicious, spiky wings. It looked like some kind of angry M.C. Escher crab, she’d thought, when Robbie finished and she was left to gaze into the mirror at her wide form, the folds of her naked back that she’d come to love, in part through Izzy’s caress.

  Now Tolula locked with the whole image and then divided it and herself within it into two, barreling forward along each arm and then careening out into the sky as Tee broke into a full-on run.

  “Back!” the woman yelled, and another furry creature leapt from the grass between them. The thing caught one of the colorful projectiles full-on and squealed toward the ground. The other one splattered across the woman’s face and sent her stumbling. Tee followed up with a full-body tackle, bringing them both down in an aching tangle of limbs.

  “Get it off!” the woman screeched, shoving a hand sloppily into Tee’s face. Tolula swerved that spiky paint across her neck and into her scalp. Nearby, something snarled and rustled along the ground toward them, and Tee heard the sounds of approaching boots.

  “Protect the queen!” someone yelled. Well, there’s one pressing question answered, Tee thought, but she knew any minute Bloodhaüsers would be on her, pulling her off, and frankly, who their queen was wouldn’t matter much if Tee ended up stomped to death.

  “Grahhh!” a sturdy, deep voice yelled from behind her, and then Caleb’s massive form swung into view and collided sharply with one of the approaching Bloodhaüsers. Tee let out a sigh of relief and then concentrated on holding this woman’s failing arms down.

  “Protect the queen!” The call echoed across the field, and it sounded like there were more of them than Tee had originally thought. They must’ve had troops hiding out in the tall grass too. Then a snarling bleated out to Tee’s left, and something hairy collided with her and dug its teeth into her shoulder.

  “Ahh!” Tee yelled, scurrying off the woman and ripping the thing off herself. It came apart in her hands — just frail bones and tattered fur and the dusty remnants of insides — and mostly fluttered away in the breeze. The bite hadn’t gone too deep, probably didn’t even break the skin, but still … “Ugh! What the hell?” She looked up to see the woman getting to her feet and pulling something shiny from her jacket.

  “Gun!” Tee yelled, diving for the weeds, and then bright purple light spread across the sky.

  Spirits flooded toward Sierra as she stood. They were young and old; some felt downright ancient, from a whole other era of human history. Didn’t matter. They were with her, like she knew they always would be. She’d called them, and they’d come in droves, and now they swirled in a shadowy, glowing tidepool around her and slid through her with that chilly tremble one by one. They filled her, as they had once before, found the pools of light and shadow within her and then ignited, fusing and then unfurling outward through the purple streaks Sierra had painted along her arms.

  The lines splashed out and upward like bright lava that didn’t give a damn about gravity. A purple glow lit up the night and still the spirits poured through her, bolstering the strength of wavy spills extending from each arm.

  Up ahead in the field, everyone froze. Good, Sierra thought. She could just make out the awestruck faces of her friends and enemies, all locked in combat. And there was the woman who must be Axella — the one they’d called their queen. She held a pistol in one hand and the other was raised above her head, palm out, now clenching into a fist.

  “Si, watch out!” Tee called from where she lay on the ground.

  Four blurry shapes flung toward her out of the weeds. Sierra swung one arm forward, and the massive purple streak came swooping out of the night like a huge burning wave. It flushed through each of the attacking creatures, leaving only a few wisps of fur and dust in its wake.

  Before anyone could grasp what had happened, Sierra swung her other arm, and the second purple streak flicked across the field and smashed into Axella’s gun hand, knocking the Bloodhaüser over and the pistol into the grass.

  “Get her, Tee,” Sierra said, turning her attention to the others. The Bloodhaüsers had given up fighting and were scurrying to get away. “Stop them, y’all.”

  Caleb simply backhanded the one nearest to him — the tall guy called Crevil — crumpling him. Mina, who had managed to stay out of the way for the most part, just dropped to her knees, hands raised, and made a pretty good show of sobbing. A third woman, who’d been fighting with Robbie, made a dash for it. Sierra flung one streak then the other out into the night, smacking the woman’s feet as she ran and sending her careening into the mud.

  “Bring them to me,” Sierra said. “I want them to see this.”

  She squinted out into the darkness as the shadowshapers grabbed up the Bloodhaüsers and returned to the field with them.

  Someone was missing.

  Dake! The boy who’d searched Robbie and Caleb for body paint.

  Spirits, Sierra thought, but they were already on it, spinning cool, wide circles in the sky above. She closed her eyes, letting the purple streaks gather gradually back into her arms.

  There.

  The boy was hiding in a patch of tall grass nearby, his whole body heaving up and down with each breath. Ever so slightly, Sierra smiled as the semblance of an idea took root in her mind. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, she thought. Vincent grunted an affirmative and circled closer.

  “Don’t you dare lay a finger on our queen,” the woman who’d tried to run whimpered. Mina just cried quietly, and Axella sent a defiant glare at Sierra.

  Crevil scowled at her. “Shut your face, Enta.” He turned to Sierra. “What are you going to do to us?”

  “Whatever I want.” Sierra walked slowly toward them. “That should be obvious.”

  “You do know,” Axella said smoothly, “that as an ascendant house of the Deck of Worlds, we are protected and have rights, especially as prisoners. You can’t just murder us in cold blood.”

  Sierra stopped walking. Something glinted up at her from the dirt. “Is that so?” she said pleasantly, bending down to retrieve the pistol. “Then why would you bring this to our meeting?”

  Axella shrugged. “We knew you couldn’t be trusted, and obviously we were right.”

  Sierra felt the pistol’s cool heaviness in her hand. She’d held a gun once before — her godfather, Uncle Neville, had meticulously taken all the bullets out of his Glock and handed it to her along with a stern warning to either never touch a gun or learn everything about it before she did. Then he’d taught her as much as he could about his and taken it back, his face uncharacteristically clenched. “I mean it, Sierra. These are world-enders, is what they are. Only time you need to use one is to end the world.”

  Now Sierra passed the weapon over to Caleb’s waiting hand and felt the whole of Bloodhaüs let out a breath. They’re more afraid of me than they are of big ol’ Caleb, she realized. And it’s probably not just because of the face paint.

  “Let us go,” Enta pleaded. “I’m sure we can make a deal.”

  Sierra shook her head, eyebrows raised. “Making a deal was the point of this meetup, and look how that went. Nah. Dealmaking time is over.” She took a step toward Axella. The other Bloodhaüsers flinched collectively. She was their queen indeed, then.

  Sierra was done playing. She stood eye to eye with Axella, took in the woman’s tight face, her threaded eyebrows and sleek bob. She had a whole other life, surely. A day job, maybe — a corporate executive or a lawyer — or perhaps she was a housewife. She might have a family, Sierra realized. Kids tucked into bed and waiting for her in so
me suburban enclave, blissfully ignorant that their mom ran with a dangerous white supremacist supernatural gang.

  Axella didn’t flinch when Sierra placed one palm against her pale forehead, but her eyes went wide when understanding dawned on her. This was what the whole meetup had been about: This was the point. Bloodhaüs had set a trap — they couldn’t help themselves.

  All Sierra had done was make sure they would only ensnare themselves. And now they were at her mercy.

  What Sierra was about to do would reverberate all through the Deck of Worlds. It would tremble from the Iron House to all the nascent groups trying to get on top and reach all the way to the mysterious Hierophants to La Contessa Araña herself. They would feel the shivering coils as the Deck rearranged itself around the total collapse of Bloodhaüs, and they would understand: Sierra Santiago did not adhere to their ridiculous little rules. The Hierophants would finally show their faces — they’d have to, since they arbitrated the Deck and were supposed to maintain order — and then she’d figure out how to get them out of her way too.

  “No,” Axella whispered. “Anything. I’ll give you anything.”

  All Sierra could feel was the cool rush of spirits spilling through her arm. The blood magic churned, a majestic pool deep within Axella. Sierra’s spirits decimated it in seconds, sent tiny flickers of it spiraling out into the ether as they trundled through.

  “What’s she doing?” Enta moaned. “What’s happening?”

  And then it was done. A sudden silence. Sierra stepped back and Axella slumped forward and then fell to her knees, face buried in her hands.

  “Listen carefully,” Sierra said. “As of tonight, consider yourselves vanquished and Bloodhaüs annihilated completely.”

  “That’s over a century of tra —” Crevil started, but Caleb backhanded him again and he quieted down.

  “Understand,” Sierra went on, “that the woman who you once called queen is now nobody. She has no power.” Axella let out a quiet sob. “And understand this too: We see you. We know who you are now, we know where you live, who your families are, what your routines are. We are the shadows. We are the spirits of the night. We’re everywhere. If you try to meet up with each other or anyone else from Bloodhaüs again, we will know. And we will make you suffer.” She made eye contact with each of them, managing not to smile when she got to Mina. “We are everywhere.” She turned around. Shook her head. “You are each to head in a different direction and never let us see you again.”

  A moment passed; the whole sky held its breath. “Now go,” Sierra said.

  And they did.

  The last footfalls of the now defunct Bloodhaüs faded into the night, and then there was the faraway rush of traffic down I-95, the random clicks and whispers from the field around them, the gentle shush of water tinkling somewhere nearby.

  Sierra realized everyone was staring at her.

  “What?”

  She tried to flash an innocent grin but then remembered half her face was a skull. The dim forms of shadow spirits began to emerge out of the darkness around them.

  “That was a lot,” Bennie said.

  Vincent stepped forward beside her and lowered his hood. Dake.

  Sierra hadn’t forgotten, but Vincent was right — he didn’t need to see whatever conversation was about to happen. They’d have to have it later. Sierra turned to Tee, who, always meticulous about her looks, was wiping the field grime from her slacks.

  “What?” Tee asked, eyes wide with … was that fear?

  Sierra realized she had been about to give a command, softened instead. “That Bloodhaüs boy is out in the weeds behind me,” she said quietly. “Can you go get him?”

  Tee nodded, headed off. Sierra turned back to find the rest of the shadowshapers were still gaping at her.

  “What?”

  “Shit,” Tee mumbled, stumbling through the darkness and weeds.

  For not the first time (never the first time, when had been the first time?), she felt too big for herself, too big for her bones even. Just an ungainly walking disaster in pants, and even her pants, which she was positive had fit perfectly when she’d put them on earlier, seemed to cinch tightly against her skin and shove her belly out farther. “Dammit.”

  It wasn’t Sierra’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own. Somehow, in the midst of tangling with those ridiculous nazi (now ex) blood magicians, she had just become a bumbling mess. She didn’t even know when it had happened; she’d felt mostly just annoyed passing all that time hidden in the damn grass. And then mostly terrified as everything seemed to go so suddenly south and she had to intervene.

  It was too dark to see where this peevish little muskrat would be hiding, and she was in no mood to get ambushed by some baby fascist in his last-ditch-effort, lost-cause bullshit. She scowled and squinted into the waving grass ahead of her. Took a step forward and felt her foot sink into first mud and then water, murky black water.

  “Dick.”

  Forward or back, forward or back? There didn’t seem to be any right answer, and to top it off, this kid could jump out at her at any moment. Or send one of those roadkill demons her way, if that was one of his special blood powers. “Ass.” She took a step back and with a sucking, slurping pop, felt her penny loafer yanked off her foot. “Aiino,” she whisper-yelped, splashing her now socked foot into a nearby puddle as she leaned forward to snatch her shoe.

  Her fingers grasped it, but now something was rustling just ahead of her, and whatever it was — might be evil possum meat or an evil teenage boy and it didn’t matter which because both were equally as bad, and dammit — she was going to have to leave her shoe behind. So she did, cringing and cursing, and flung forward into the muddy underbrush as Little Tolula swam gracefully through the sky nearby.

  “Is he there?” Tee whispered, but of course, Little Tolula didn’t speak, and anyway, it didn’t matter. He was, popping up suddenly — his pale, shocked face taking in Tee for just a moment before he turned and bolted.

  “Ass! Dick! Crap!” Tee yelled, barreling after him through the mud.

  He was long and lithe, and he seemed to just fade off into the night like a ghost, but she could still hear him panting and sloshing around up ahead, and she’d be damned if she was going to go back empty-handed, especially after seeing Sierra turn into a supervillain and eliminate a whole house from the Deck in one fell swoop.

  “Tolula,” Tee called, and the child spirit spiraled into view above her. “Let’s do this.” Tolula swan-dove downward, and Tee felt her swoosh through as the paint on her leg began to tingle and swirl.

  She was clenching her fists and squinting up ahead, running out of breath, feeling enormous and somewhat pathetic, when a great big rustling and snorting erupted to her left. She leapt away with a really, really embarrassing squeal — if that was one of those roadkill creatures, it was a huge one, like they’d’ve had to have found two or three wild boar carcasses and stitch-them-together type situation.

  The gigantic rustling snorting thing veered closer to her and then burst ahead, still concealed behind the waving grass. Out in the darkness, Dake gave a scream that made Tee feel a little better about her own yelp. And then a shape seemed to launch out of the field and take over the entire night, like an all-black plane had suddenly decided to take off from beneath the mud.

  “Cojo!” Tee shouted, finally catching her breath and pumping a fist.

  Cojones the junkyard dog let out a massive snarl and, judging by the shriek that came next, landed directly on top of Dake.

  Tee hurried over, wondering if she’d find only body parts left.

  “Help.” The boy’s whimper reached her before she got to him, and then she stepped into the clearing, and sure enough, there was Cojones, looking very pleased with himself and preening slightly on his haunches, a deeply defeated Dake squished underneath.

  “Walk,” Tee demanded, once she’d managed to coax Cojo off and Dake had calmed down some.

  “Just … just …�
�� He shook his head, wide eyes blinking at where the slobbering hound stood glaring at him out of the darkness. “Just keep that …”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tee snapped. “But did you die? You didn’t. He didn’t even bite your ass, kid. Now walk.”

  Dake turned his gaze to her, and Tee felt a little chill run down her back but refused to show it. His eyes were auburn with long lashes and on a less nazi-ish kid would’ve been beautiful. His cheekbones looked like they’d been sharpened, and he had a little flush of acne running along his neck where he probably pretended to shave every morning, even though he had no facial hair to speak of. Had he been there that night upstate when the Bloodhaüs had almost wiped out Tee, Izzy, and Uncle Neville? It was all a blur: Everything had happened so fast. And then a mysterious and amazing woman known only as R had let loose with some kind of machine gun and sent the fascists scattering for cover.

  Tee couldn’t put her finger on it, but something flickered in this boy’s eyes that let her know he wouldn’t give a second thought to strangling the life out of her if he got a chance. It wasn’t just rage. Rage was a fiery thing, and it could fuel a reign of terror, for sure. But even rage could be reasoned with, dampened. Defeated. What Tee saw there in Dake’s eyes was something different: hate. She was barely human to this kid, something more like prey.

  “Cojo,” Tee said, without looking away.

  Dake threw his hands up. “I’m going! I’m going! Just … okay!” He started marching through the grass, hands still raised. Tee followed, then Cojo came loping along behind.

  “And if you curl even one finger toward making a fist, Imma make sure Cojo has a Bloodhaüs sandwich to nosh on, ya hear? I saw what your queen did with her little hand motions.”

  “Bloodhaüs doesn’t exist anymore, remember?” Dake grumbled.

  “Oh, damn,” Tee said. “And here I am without my tiny violin to play for you.” Tee snickered to herself as the sound of their footsteps filled the night. She’d stopped cringing so hard at every single step with her bare foot, gotten used to it, she supposed, and she was pretty sure Izzy would’ve loved that sweet little zing she’d just delivered.