Page 4 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 3

Leo

My phone lights up like a Christmas tree, five different “L” names flashing across the screen. The Martinez sisters, coming together like they always have since Mom died. Because apparently naming all your daughters names that start with L wasn’t confusing enough—now they’re all converging on Shadow Locke as the realms collapse, refusing to be separated again.

I create a small shadow butterfly while I answer the group call, letting it dance between my fingers. Mom always said my shadows were different—playful where others were predatory. “Make them smile, Mijo,” she’d say during those final days in the hospital. “The world needs more light, even in the shadows.”

“Luna, I already told you the exit number—no, Lucia, don’t try to fix it yourself, you’ll make it worse—Lena, I swear if you psychoanalyze my pack one more time—Lyra, put your sister’s inhaler back in her bag—” The butterfly dissolves as I juggle conversations, but smaller shadows still swirl around me, responding to my energy like eager puppies rather than the wolves most shifters manifest.

“But the flow of energy in polyamorous bonds suggests—” Lena starts, her psychology major voice taking over.

“No,” I interrupt, pressing my fingers to my temple while my shadows form little hearts just to make Matteo roll his eyes. “No psychology papers about my love life. Mom wanted you to have a normal college experience, remember? Not turn your shadow-shifting brother into a case study.”

“It would be completely anonymous!”

“You tried that with Luna’s divorce. It wasn’t anonymous enough.” I watch rain drench Shadow Locke’s parking lot, each drop creating ripples in the growing puddles. My shadows reach out to dance in the water, creating patterns that would have made Mom smile.

“That was different,” Lena argues. “And the paper got published.”

“Yeah, and Tony’s lawyer quoted it in court,” Luna snaps in the background. Despite being the only one of us to attend law school instead of Shadow Locke, she’s always been our fiercest protector. Mom’s death hit her hardest—she was the one who encouraged me to accept the Shadow Locke scholarship, to learn what Mom had tried to protect us from.

Matteo leans against the wall beside me, a steady presence after years of dealing with Martinez family chaos. My shadows reach for him instinctively, curling around his darker ones like they’re trying to make them play. Through our incomplete pack bond, I feel his amusement at my shadows’ antics.

“Your sisters are going to eat Bishop alive,” he says, watching my shadow creatures try to dance with his. “Remember when Luna made my father’s business partner cry at that dinner party?”

“In her defense, he was embezzling.”

“She didn’t know that yet.”

“?Dios mío! Luna, what do you mean he’s trying to claim custody?” The words cut through my playful mood. Our father, who walked out when I was twelve, suddenly wants custody of Lyra and Liliana? After years of nothing but birthday cards with wrong ages—when he bothered to send them at all. The same man who missed Mom’s funeral, who wasn’t there when we needed him most.

My shadows suddenly surge, less playful and more protective as they spread across the walls. Even the happiest person has their triggers, and family—both the absence and presence of it—has always been mine.

“Someone told him about the pack,” Luna says, her lawyer voice taking over. The one she developed after Mom died, when she had to become more parent than sister. “He’s claiming our alternative lifestyle creates an unstable environment for the girls. As if he has any right to judge stability after walking out on us.”

Matteo’s amusement vanishes as my shadows darken, responding to my anger rather than my usual cheer. Through our pack bond, I feel the others stir—Frankie’s protective rage echoing my own, Bishop already plotting legal strategies, Dorian’s cold fury at anyone threatening pack. The bonds pulse with their energy, and my shadows respond by creating a protective dome around me and Matteo.

“You would think,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone while letting my shadows paint funny shapes on the wall—Mom’s old trick for calming Liliana’s anxiety attacks, “that dating four hot people would make me more stable, not less. I mean, have you seen my pack? We’re gorgeous.”

Matteo rolls his eyes, but I catch how his shadows reach for mine, trying to soothe. He’s seen me use humor to mask pain since we were fourteen, since the day Mom first got sick. “Leo...”

“No, really. Between Bishop’s cheekbones and Dorian’s... everything, I’d say I’m making excellent life choices. Mom would have loved them.” The last part slips out without my permission, and my shadows briefly form the shape of her favorite flower—lilies—before I can stop them.

A sleek black car pulls into the lot, and Luna steps out looking every inch the power lawyer in her designer suit. The same one she wore to Mom’s funeral, though she’s filled it out better since then. Her expression says she’s ready to commit murder, preferably with legal precedent. She makes a point of ending the group call.

“Leo,” she calls, waving a manila envelope. The sight of it makes my shadows twist anxiously, forming abstract patterns that reflect my unease. “We need to talk.”

“Kind of in the middle of a crisis here, sis. Lucia’s car broke down with the girls—and you know how Liliana’s asthma gets worse around unstable shadow energy.” Another thing Mom warned us about before she died, one of many reasons she kept most of us away from shadow society.

“I’ll handle it,” Matteo says, already pulling out his keys. His shadows wrap protectively around mine, steadying their nervous dance. “Text me their location.”

I catch his arm, forcing a smile even as my shadows betray my anxiety by forming little storm clouds. “My hero. Have I mentioned how sexy competence is?”

“About twelve times today,” he deadpans, but his eyes soften. We both remember how he helped after Mom died, showing up every day with his mother’s cooking and quiet support. “Focus on Luna. I’ll get your sisters.”

Before I can steal a quick kiss, Luna reaches us. She eyes Matteo with her lawyer’s assessment, though her smile is warm. After all, he’s been at our family dinners since high school, has seen us through our worst moments. “Good to see you still keeping my brother in line, Matteo.”

“Someone has to,” he says, and my shadows form a tiny heart between us just to make him blush.

“I feel attacked,” I declare, letting my shadows create a dramatic fainting couch behind me. “And also kind of turned on.”

“Leo!” both of them snap, then share a look of mutual exasperation that makes my shadows dance with genuine amusement.

My phone erupts again, and I answer quickly, my shadows instantly shifting from playful to alert.

Lucia’s voice comes through panicked, “Leo, Liliana’s having an asthma attack! The air feels wrong—like when Mom—” She cuts off, but I know what she means. Mom’s last days were filled with similar attacks as the shadow realm’s instability affected her already weak lungs.

Shadow energy. They’re near a weak spot in the barrier. My shadows surge outward, seeking, protective in a way that would surprise anyone who only knows my sunny side. All playfulness vanishes as I meet Matteo’s eyes. Through our bond, I feel Frankie stir, her own shadows responding to my distress.

“Go,” Luna says, reading my face the way she has since she became both sister and mother to us. “I’ll wait.”

I hesitate, torn between sister duty and pack obligation. There’s a crucial meeting about the twins in twenty minutes, but Liliana—Mom made me promise to protect them. My shadows swirl anxiously, creating a chaotic dance of light and dark that reflects my inner conflict.

“Bring them here,” Matteo says suddenly. His shadows reach out to steady mine, just like he steadied me during Mom’s funeral. “The medical wing has the best equipment for asthma, and Dr. Sharma’s here. Plus...” he glances at Luna’s envelope, “seems like we all need to talk.”

My shadows brighten slightly at the solution, forming little celebration spirals. “Ooh, meeting the whole pack at once? Frankie’s going to love that. And by love, I mean possibly hide in the shadows forever.” Through the bond, I feel her immediate response—a mix of anxiety and resigned acceptance that makes me grin.

“Focus, hermano,” Luna says, but her lips twitch. She’s seen how the pack has helped heal parts of me that broke when Mom died.

“I am focused! I can multitask. Save sister, flirt with pack, solve custody crisis—I contain multitudes.” My shadows illustrate each point with little vignettes, a trick that used to make Mom laugh during chemo.

“You contain something,” Matteo mutters, his own shadows fondly exasperated.

“That’s what she?—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m letting Bishop handle the family introductions,” he threatens, and my shadows form tiny versions of Bishop with a pointer and charts.

“You wouldn’t.” I gasp, letting my shadows create a dramatic death scene. “He’d probably make a PowerPoint. With charts. About pack dynamics and proper shadow etiquette.”

Luna’s car keys jingle as she checks her watch. “As fascinating as your love life is, Liliana needs us.” Her voice carries that same mix of authority and love she’s used since stepping into Mom’s role.

“Right. Crisis. I can definitely handle this like a responsible adult.” My shadows form a tiny business suit and tie around themselves, making Luna snort despite her worry. “Luna, come with me. Your car’s faster. Teo?—”

“Will get things ready for your sisters and meet you there,” he finishes, then adds with a knowing look, “Try not to traumatize Bishop too much with the Martinez chaos.”

Through the pack bond, I feel Bishop’s indignant response to that thought. My shadows form a tiny version of him clutching his pearls.

“Please, when have I ever—” Both of them stare at me. My shadows helpfully recreate the time I introduced Bishop to Lucia’s pet iguana. “Okay, fair point. But in my defense, Jorge the Iguana really liked his expensive shoes.”

Luna unlocks her car, and we quickly get in, the rain pounding on the roof. My shadows curl protectively around us both as she starts the engine, the way they did during those long drives to Mom’s treatments.

As we peel out of the parking lot, Luna glances at me. “You’re different, hermano. Calmer, even with everything falling apart. Despite...” she waves at my still-buzzing phone and the void consuming campus.

“Having four partners will do that to you.” I wiggle my eyebrows while my shadows form a suggestive dance. “All that tension release, you know?”

“Leo.”

“What? I’m just saying, shadow powers have many creative applications?—”

“I will crash this car.”

I laugh, but her expression softens. “Not that. You’re not trying so hard anymore. To be her.” The ‘her’ doesn’t need clarification. Mom was everyone’s sunshine before she got sick. I just picked up where she left off.

I wince. Trust Luna to cut right to it. “Lena’s rubbing off on you, sis. Next you’ll be asking about my childhood trauma and daddy issues.” My shadows curl inward, betraying my discomfort.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m remembering how you handled everything when Papa left. Making Mama laugh during chemo, helping with homework, never letting the girls see you cry.” She takes one hand off the wheel to squeeze mine. “You don’t have to be the strong one all the time anymore. The pack... they make you actually happy, not just acting happy.”

My shadows form a small scene of all of us—pack and sisters together—before I can stop them. “They do. Even if Bishop definitely has a PowerPoint ready.”

“It’s not a PowerPoint,” Bishop’s voice comes through the bond, full of affronted dignity. “It’s a comprehensive visual guide to pack dynamics with appropriate shadow realm citations.”

I relay this to Luna, making her laugh. Then we spot Lucia’s broken-down car just past the bridge. I can hear Liliana wheezing from here, and my shadows surge forward protectively.

Lyra waves frantically as we pull up. “Leo! Something’s wrong—the air—it feels like when Mama?—”

I’m out of the car before it fully stops, scooping Liliana into my arms. Shadow energy crackles against my skin as I wrap her in protective light, the way Mom taught me before she died. “Deep breaths, pequena. I’ve got you. Want to hear about how I accidentally set Bishop’s notes on fire trying to impress him? Or how about the time Dorian found my Netflix password and spent three days critiquing period dramas?”

She manages a weak giggle between gasps, which I count as a win. My shadows form little scenes from the stories, making her smile grow stronger.

“The pack bonds,” Luna murmurs, watching my shadows create a protective bubble around Liliana. “They’re not just about romance, are they?”

As if answering her question, my sisters’ nascent powers respond to the protective energy. Lyra’s shadows form delicate musical notes that weave through my protective barrier, while Lucia’s manifest as swift, darting shapes like her beloved Jorge’s scales. Even Lena’s analytical nature shows in the geometric patterns her shadows create. Each distinct, yet harmonizing with the pack energy in a way that makes the air itself feel steadier.

“The old stories Mom used to tell,” Luna continues thoughtfully, “about matriarchal packs and shadow-songs... they weren’t just stories, were they?”

“No,” I say, watching how our combined shadows seem to sing together, creating patches of stability in the deteriorating realm. “But someone wanted us to think they were. Wanted us to forget what shadow magic could really do when we work together instead of alone.”

“Though the romance part is pretty spectacular.” The shadows around Liliana pulse with warmth and safety. “Mom would have loved them, you know. All their weird, wonderful parts.”

After Dad left, Mom became obsessed with understanding shadow shifter abilities. Her research filled notebooks—ancient legends, family stories, warnings about what happens when shadow essence corrupts. “You need to be ready,” she’d tell me during late-night study sessions. “Your gift connects to the void differently than others. Remember that when your sisters need you.” She couldn’t manipulate shadows herself, but she understood them better than anyone.

“First things first,” I say, pulling out my phone to warn the others. “Let’s get Liliana some help. Then... then I’ll introduce you to my other family. Fair warning: Dorian’s probably going to judge your outfits, Bishop might actually have citations prepared, Frankie will try to hide in shadows, and Matteo—well, you know Matteo.”

“Other family,” Lyra repeats thoughtfully, holding Liliana’s hand. “Does this mean we get four new brothers?”

I choke. Luna laughs. And through the pack bond, I feel Matteo’s amused response to my sudden panic, followed by what feels suspiciously like Bishop organizing reference materials.

My shadows dance with joy, forming a family portrait that includes both sisters and pack. Because maybe that’s the point —love doesn’t follow expected patterns. It just is. Even in the shadows, even as the realms collapse, we find ways to shine.

Mom taught me that. And now I get to share it with both my families.

Through the bond, I feel Bishop’s indignation. It’s not reference materials, it’s a professionally curated introduction to pack dynamics with appropriate visual aids.

I laugh out loud, my shadows forming tiny fireworks of happiness. Yeah, this is going to be interesting.

And somewhere, I know Mom is laughing too.