The Last Shadow Excerpt

Hello again, Speculative Fiction Lovers! For the past few weeks, I’ve been working on the novel that will probably be my next publication. It’s a still-untitled dark fantasy story involving a competition between demonic beings for a position as an overseer in hell. I hope to finish it before going back to my rewrite of Mind of Goddess. I’ve been tempted to finish Mind of Goddess instead after reading Noami Alderman’s The Power, which likewise reimagines the world under the control of women. (I highly recommend it, if you haven't read it already.)

In the meantime, here’s a gift for Black History Month. It’s an excerpt The Last Shadow. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3, Scene 4:

Danforth closes the door and extends a hand toward me. After I surrender the gown, his eyes sweep over my body. My legs and arms appear blotted with ink where the day-mask has receded. I struggle with whether to cover my breasts and groin or cover the ebony areas between them – where Deborah couldn’t apply the mask. I feel repugnant. I squirm, crossing my thighs and folding my arms across my chest and stomach.

“You can go ahead and step inside the masker while I reset it to scrub you,” Danforth says. “We’ll do this in five-minute increments. Close your eyes now until I tell you to open them.”

After complying, I hear clicks and hums, then a whir that repeatedly fades and amplifies while swirling around me. Faint sparkles appear behind my eyelids, and a mild warmth rises over my entire body. After a few minutes, it abruptly ends, and Danforth tells me to open my eyes.

I look at my body and groan. No trace of the mask remains, only coal black skin. Danforth also conducts an inspection, kneeling and sliding around me. His fingers sweep against my arms, my back, my legs, my hips, lingering a little longer each time. It feels different somehow from the groping I endured during the daily exams on Jamesims Island. When we finally face each other again, he slowly strokes my nipple.

“Lovely,” he says. “Such a shame to cover it.”

Shock scrambles my brain. My skin prickles. My stomach twists, but I can’t move a muscle.

-- Hemmaat