Boondocks White Shadow Novels & Stories

When I arrived at the Wildlands, I found Sabrina barely recognizable. The place was overrun by rogues, and for a weak woman like her, she had no choice but to sell her body to survive. She was a shadow of her former self, chained by the ankles and trembling in a corner. When Sabrina saw me, she was already half out of her mind, staring at me for a long time before snapping awake like from a dream. Then, she crawled desperately to my feet like I was her last lifeline.

How could I know what was a lie when the foundation, something as simple as his last name, was a lie? The world around me crumbled. The room turned into just shadows of people, with whispers across the air. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my head snapped up to look at them; it was Cleo. I could see her lips moving but there was no sound. I looked over at the stage to see his eyes on me. He was still talking to the crowd, probably explaining everything, but I couldn’t hear anything that was being said. His face softened with apologetic eyes at me, and I wobbled to my feet. He twitched like he wanted to come to me but couldn’t.

A decoy wearing a shadow well. The ramp rattled as it lifted the last foot. The figure held his gaze, then deliberately looked past him—toward the vendor rows, toward the service gate, toward the places a real shadow would go. Fionn swore, spun, and sprinted the other way. The captain yelled into his radio. The wolves scattered like thrown knives.

As they drew closer, the shadow began to morph, splitting into multiple entities, each a reflection of the guardians but shrouded in darkness. Malachi, staring at his own shadowed form, whispered, "It's us... but twisted, altered." Ezra, analyzing the scene, responded, "The Dreamweaver is presenting us with our own shadows, our doubts, fears, and insecurities. To move forward, we must confront and overcome them." Niamh, her voice shaky, admitted, "Facing external enemies is one thing, but confronting our own inner demons... that's a different challenge altogether." Liora, drawing close to Niamh, reassured, "Remember, these are but manifestations. By understanding and accepting them, we can d

As we head their way, I glance around and observe that other teams are already gathering together in their respective sections. I observe a handful of them looking our way—or, more specifically, at Atticus. As I look around us in the vast space, I observe shrubs shaped like wolves. And each wolf took on a distinct appearance than the others. One appears to be resting, another seems to be ready to pounce, and another appears to be pursuing something in the air.

Just as I exit Laura's house, I alert all the dons and pahkans of the Allied Faction, and I'm sure they're on their way. Time stretches, anger sears through me while Bones and I fill up our guns with bullets. We're not certain what we'll encounter there, but it's better to be prepared for an attack. “Fucking bloody shadows!” Bones curses beside me, loading bullets into his gun. “When's that fucker ever gonna show his dead face?” He's talking about our shadow enemy, clearly as pissed as I am. Half of all the money we contribute together for the progress of the faction is right there at the headquarters, and knowing it was under attack not long ago makes me worry about them.

Lucky there’s nothing deep needing stitches. In my grieving and broken state, I begin to feel faint. I let myself go and pass out. Opening my eyes I feel myself transported into another realm. Standing in front of me is my grandmother’s house which stands in front of a looming property which I dare not go near. The “LeFleur” mansion. A place said to belong to my ancestors from centuries ago. A place that continues to haunt my dreams since a child. Something about this place calls to my soul, it pulls me and begs me to return. The house stands in the Normandy countryside. She feels it in the wind and air, she feels it in the depths of the earth, it’s as if a spirit like a piece of me is locke

“You’re drooling, Little River.” He teases lightly, and I flush. “Sorry” I murmur, but before he can say anything, something moves beside him and moves towards me as if coming in for a hug. I scream and jump back, only to take a close look… What in the Dr. Facilier shit, is this? Is that his shadow casually coming my way? “I-uh-I…” “Back.” He says, and the shadow seems to deflate sadly and then retreat into his actual shadow.

The wards screamed the second my foot touched the dirt. A pulse of shadow rippled through the clearing—and then the wolves emerged. But they weren’t like us. Their eyes glowed white, not gold. Their claws were blackened bone. And their mouths were filled with too many teeth. Shadowbound. Lucan cursed. “They’re feral. They’re not supposed to—” But before he could finish, a single howl tore through the air. Not from the pack. From the center of the Hollow. A boy—no, a man—stepped from the ruins.

He sends me a photo of our victim, one he received from Emory. We stop in the street in front of the bar. As Sanchez climbs out of the car, she zips her black puffer jacket halfway up and places her hands in the pockets. I lead the way toward the big black door and the neon sign that says 'Cheers and Beers'. Once opened, I gesture for her to enter.