by Aiden Thomas
“Santa Muerte,” Maritza whispered, pressing her palm to her forehead.
“Julian, shut up!” Yadriel glared at him, cutting his hand through the air.
He ducked, holding his hands up in concession.
Yadriel led the way to the kitchen, motioning for the other two to follow.
The small kitchen was still warm with the smell of cinnamon, sweet bread, and pozole. A huge Crock-Pot simmered near the sink. Trays of pan de muerto and colorful concha took up all the counter space. A large clay pot sat on the stove from an earlier batch of café de olla.
Julian’s eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath, but before he could make another outburst, Yadriel shot him a glare, holding his finger up to his lips. Julian nodded, his eyes roving over all the treats.
“Seriously, what’s all of this for?” he asked in a whisper. Or in what was apparently a whisper by Julian standards, which wasn’t much of a whisper at all.
“Día de Muertos,” Yadriel said as he started to load up on food. “It’s kind of a big deal for us.”
“Oooh, right, right, right,” he nodded.
Maritza crept to the stove and peeked under the Crock-Pot lid. “Is any of this vegan-friendly?” she asked, giving the pozole a sniff.
“I think it’s all got chicken in it.”
Maritza wrinkled her nose. “I’ll keep a lookout,” she said, returning to the living room.
Julian hovered over the pan de muerto, practically drooling over the round sweet bread. Each bun was adorned with bone-shaped details. Some were covered in cinnamon sugar, while others were dusted with pink sprinkles. Yadriel figured it was the only food Julian could actually eat. He left the pozole alone. He doubted trying to feed a spirit soup would go well.
“Does your family celebrate?” Yadriel asked as he picked out some pan. They were still warm. His stomach growled.
“Nah, not really religious,” Julian said with a shrug, wandering over to some bound stalks of sugarcane in the corner.
Yadriel took a detour to the fridge and put some ice cubes in an empty glass. The cut on his tongue was puffy and starting to throb.
With an armful of food, he led the way back to the living room. He poked Maritza’s side to get her attention and nodded toward the stairs. He motioned for Julian to follow her. “That way,” Yadriel told him. “My room is the last door on the left—”
The creaking of Lita’s armchair made Yadriel stop short, but this time, she didn’t settle back into sleep. She let out a tired groan and sat up in her chair.
Maritza stared at him, wide-eyed, and Yadriel frantically shooed the two of them toward the stairs. In a panic, Yadriel moved to shove Julian, but his arm sunk right through the spirit’s back.
It was like being plunged into cold water, ripping a gasp from his lungs as one of the conchas fell to the floor.
“¿Quique?” Lita called, the nickname she used for Yadriel’s dad. Her voice was thick with sleep.
“It’s just me, Lita!” Yadriel called back, breathless as ice pulsed through his veins.
Lita yawned and pushed herself up out of her chair.
He flapped his hand frantically at Julian, who raced up the flight of stairs. Maritza took off after him.
Lita limped over to where Yadriel stood, conchas balanced in one arm. Maritza and Julian froze, trying not to draw her attention.
Lita frowned at Yadriel. “I was worried.”
He did his best not to look guilty, urging his heart to stop beating so fast. “Sorry.” He bent to scoop the fallen concha off the floor. “I just needed to…” He trailed off, waving the bread in the air, not knowing how to finish.
Lita nodded, bracing her hands on her hips. “I know, I know,” she told him.
He seriously doubted that.
Lita opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped short and shivered.
Yadriel’s heart leaped.
Brow furrowed, Lita rubbed at her arm.
Yadriel held his breath and forced himself to not look at Maritza and Julian on the stairs. If Lita saw Julian in the house, sneaking up the stairs with Maritza, he was screwed.
In a flash of movement, Julian raced up the final steps.
Yadriel sucked in a sharp breath.
Lita turned her head a split second after Julian ducked around the corner.
Leaving Maritza crouched awkwardly on the stairs.
“Maritza?” Lita asked, squinting up at her through the dark.
She jumped to her feet and smiled. “¡Hola, Lita!” she said with a cheerful wave.
Yadriel exhaled.
Lita gave Maritza a stern look. “Ah, ah! Es muy tarde,” Lita said, disapprovingly wagging her finger between her and Yadriel. “You have school in the morning. Time to go home!”
Maritza’s bottom lip jutted out, and she glanced up the stairs, but Yadriel shot her a pointed look. They’d nearly gotten caught already. He wasn’t about to push their luck.
“But—” she started to whine.
Lita cut her off. “Come,” she said, motioning for Maritza to come down. “We’ll call tu papá and have him pick you up.”
Maritza stomped back down the stairs.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Yadriel reassured her as she headed for the front door.
“You better text me,” Maritza threatened.
Yadriel wanted to tell her if she didn’t want to miss out so badly, she should’ve taken Julian home herself, but it was a bit late for that.
Lita looked at the contraband in his arm and smiled. “Ah! Finally eating!” She chuckled. “Bueno, bueno.” Lita arched her back in a stretch. “You eat and go right to bed. You need rest,” she told him.
Yadriel forced a small laugh. Being sleep-deprived at school tomorrow was the least of his worries. “Sí, Lita.”
“I need you to look in the rafters for la garra del jaguar mañana,” she went on with a huff.
“Yes, Lita.”
“Don’t know where they went—”
When Yadriel turned to go up the stairs, she called after him.
“Ah, ah!” Lita tapped her cheek. “Un besito, por favor.”
Yadriel bit back a groan and planted a quick kiss on her soft, warm cheek.
Maritza smirked from the front door, and he could’ve sworn he heard a muffled chuckle from upstairs.
“Buenas noches, mi amor.” Lita smiled. “¡Pa’ fuera!” she said to Maritza, ushering her out.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Yadriel tore up the stairs. At the top, he looked down the hall toward his room, but there was no sign of Julian. He frowned. “Julian?” he whispered, moving down the hall.
“What?”
Yadriel spun around.
Julian stood at the opposite end of the hallway. He pointed at a slatted door. “This is a closet,” he said, giving Yadriel a critical look.
“I said left, not right.” Yadriel jerked his head, and Julian followed him into his bedroom.
Once they were both inside, he closed the door, wishing it had a lock.
Julian stood in the middle of his room, looking around. It occurred to Yadriel how messy it was, with clothes tossed here and there, drawers half-closed, and the bed a tangled mass of blue sheets.
He felt embarrassed and awkward, not knowing what to do with himself or the spirit in his room.
Julian didn’t seem bothered, or even to notice. All of his attention was locked on the food Yadriel was holding. “Can I eat?” he asked, dark eyes glancing up.
“Uh, yeah.” Quickly, Yadriel pushed a heap of clean clothes off the old office chair. “Here.” He cleared a spot on the desk, moving textbooks, an incense burner, and his bus pass out of the way so he could set down the pan. “Have at it,” he said, dusting the bits of sugar off his sleeves before plucking an ice cube and popping it into his mouth. The cold provided instant relief as he pressed his tongue against it.
Julian didn’t need to be told twice. He threw himself into the chair and rubbed his palms
together, a smile lighting up his face. But his hands hovered over the buns. “Wait, how am I supposed to eat this if I can’t touch stuff?”
“It’s pan de muerto,” Yadriel told him around the ice cube, but all Julian replied with was a frown. “It means—”
“I know what it means,” Julian interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “I can speak Spanish; I just choose not to.”
That was a weird thing to say.
Yadriel wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the irritable look Julian shot him said not to. “We make this food for spirits,” Yadriel explained, biting back his curiosity. “I mean, we can eat it, too, obviously, but we use it for ofrendas to welcome spirits back for Día de Muertos.” He shrugged. “It’s spirit food.”
Julian didn’t need to be told twice.
He snatched up a bun and took a huge bite. Yadriel found himself grinning as Julian threw his head back, letting out a triumphant laugh.
“Oh, man.” Julian hummed appreciatively, shoving two more bites into his mouth. His knees bounced under the desk, and he swallowed with effort before stuffing more into his mouth. “So good,” Julian mumbled, eyes rolling in ecstasy. In a matter of moments, he had chomped down three pieces of pan.
Yadriel’s mom always used to say Lita’s pan de muerto was so good it’d wake a dead man just so he could get a taste. Apparently she was right. Maybe he should’ve grabbed more.
Cold water slid down Yadriel’s throat as the ice cube he sucked on melted. He did his best to appear aloof, but that turned into him rocking on the balls of his feet and watching Julian. Yadriel shook his head at himself. Staring at Julian while he ate was weird. He couldn’t remember how to act normal.
Sitting down seemed like a nonchalant thing to do, so Yadriel plopped himself onto the edge of his bed.
A chirruped mewl made him jump, his heart lurching into his throat. Julian spun in the chair. The mass of blankets rustled, and Purrcaso crawled out, shaking herself off.
“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” Yadriel said, gingerly picking up the small cat and placing her in his lap. He teased his fingers down her pointy spine and she purred in appreciation, her forgiveness immediate. Her tiny presence let the tension in his shoulders ebb.
“Holy shit,” Julian laughed, the deep kind that came from his belly. “That’s one messed-up looking cat!”
“Shut up!” Yadriel snapped, pulling Purrcaso close. “Don’t make fun of her.” Her enthused purrs reverberated against his chest.
Julian held up his palms in defense. “Hey, hey, hey, didn’t mean any disrespect! But, c’mon—” The chuckles started again, and he did a very bad job of holding them back. “She is pretty funny looking.”
Yadriel glared, but Purrcaso was unfazed. She wiggled out of Yadriel’s grasp and clumsily leaped to the floor. With a trilling meow, she hobbled over to Julian.
He sucked the sugar off his fingers. “What’s up, little one?” he asked before looking up at Yadriel. “She can see me?”
“Cats are like little spirit guardians,” he said with a shrug. “They hang out in the cemetery all the time. My mom said they were good luck. Cats can see spirits and sense them nearby, just like us.”
Julian reached down, and when his fingers brushed against her fur, a wide smile split his face. “I can pet her!” He scratched her behind the ears, and Purrcaso’s eyes slid shut, leaning into the touch.
Yadriel was surprised at how quickly she took to him. Usually, Purrcaso was uninterested in anyone other than him and his mom, but here she was, drool gathering at the corner of her mouth as Julian scratched her furry chin.
“Never had any pets growing up, but I always liked cats,” Julian told him.
A thought occurred to Yadriel. “What about your family?”
Julian’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t look up. “What about ’em?”
“Don’t you want me to talk to them, too?” Yadriel asked. As uncomfortable as that sounded, it was weird that Julian was so worried about his friends but hadn’t mentioned his family at all. “You’re not worried about your parents?”
“Don’t got parents,” Julian said, his words curt. Gruff. Purrcaso batted at the unraveled end of Julian’s shoelace.
Yadriel blinked. “Oh…” Growing up in a multigenerational household and being part of a huge Latinx community, the concept of not having any family was both foreign and distressing. “But you mentioned your brother. Isn’t he going to be worried?”
Julian let out a sharp, bark-like laugh. “Trust me, me being dead is a good thing for him. Probably a weight off his shoulders. Best thing that could’ve happened.” He spat the words out like they were bitter.
Yadriel frowned. That sounded … awful. His own family was far from perfect, but would he be better off without them? Or vice versa?
“When can I start moving stuff?” Julian asked, finally looking up. The discussion about family was clearly over.
Purrcaso limped over to one of Yadriel’s hoodies on the floor and curled up, settling in for another nap.
“Moving stuff?”
“Yeah, you know—” Julian stood and paced the room. He couldn’t sit still, and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to touch things. He thumbed a stack of books on the desk and rapped his fingers against the closet door. “Like slamming doors, stacking chairs, stuff like that,” he explained, coming to a stop before the altar on Yadriel’s dresser.
The altar was three steps tall, covered in an orange, magenta, and royal-blue shawl that had once been his mother’s. It was adorned with half-burned candles of different colors and sizes. The bottom step had black-and-white photos of his relatives—his maternal grandparents standing outside their yellow-painted home back in Mexico, his paternal grandfather squinting through his glasses at the new cell phone they had gotten him for his birthday.
Julian bent down to sniff the unlit incense.
Yadriel snorted. “You’re really taking this ‘ghost’ stuff literally.”
Julian tilted his chin and grinned in a way he could only describe as preening. “I’m very committed to my new lifestyle.”
A surprised laugh bucked in Yadriel’s chest.
Who was this guy?
“Practice,” Yadriel answered with a shrug. He thought of the large metal shears Tito used to tend to his precious marigolds. “You’ve got to concentrate and focus.”
“Mm,” Julian hummed, pressing his lips together. “Not exactly my strong suits.”
“I’ve gathered.”
Julian looked up. “What?”
Yadriel cleared his throat. “Lucky for you, the closer it gets to Día de Muertos, the more powerful the dead become,” Yadriel said. “It’s only a couple days away, so you’ll be moving stuff around in no time. Don’t touch that,” he added when Julian reached for his statue of Lady Death.
Julian snatched his hand back. “I know her,” he said, pointing. “Santa Muerte, right?” he asked, turning to Yadriel.
Yadriel blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah.” He stood and came to a stop next to Julian.
On the top step stood a small painted statue of Lady Death he’d gotten during a trip to Tepito, Mexico. She was made out of white clay and wore a white huipil with rainbow-colored flowers along the neck. Her skirts were layers of red and white. A gold sash was tied around her waist, her oily-black hair braided over one shoulder and accented with tiny painted marigolds.
“We call her Lady Death; she’s our patron,” Yadriel explained, affectionately straightening the skeleton dressed in her huipil and skirts. “She’s the one who gave us our powers. She looks after us, and we help her maintain the balance of life and death.”
“So, she’s your patron and your patrón.” Julian grinned, quite pleased with his own cleverness and ignoring Yadriel’s groan entirely. “She’s one of our saints, too,” he told Yadriel, head bobbing in a nod. “Bunch of folks have little altars for her. Someone’s always pouring out mezcal for her at parties. One of my friends got a big tattoo of her
across his chest. My brother’s got one on his arm.” He tapped at his own bicep. “I’ve always been more partial to St. Jude, myself…” Julian’s eyes slid to Yadriel’s neck, his brow puckering.
St. Jude. Yadriel had nearly forgotten. He pressed his fingers to the medal at his throat—Julian’s medal. Yadriel remembered how possessive he’d been of it back in the church. It clearly meant a lot to him.
“Who’s that?” Julian suddenly asked, pointing to the picture of Yadriel’s mom. It had been taken the Christmas before she died. She was mid-laugh, wearing a red dress with the Christmas tree lights behind her. Delicate earrings made of multicolored hummingbird feathers dangled from her ears. She had a heart-shaped face and brown hair that she’d always worn down in natural waves.
Yadriel took a large step back. “My mom.” The words were clipped, making it, hopefully, clear that it wasn’t a topic for Julian to play another round of twenty questions.
Julian quickly withdrew his hand and stuffed them both into his pockets. “Oh.”
Yadriel steered the conversation back to Julian’s original question. “Well, you won’t have long to try it out—going all Paranormal Activity, I mean. Hopefully we’ll get everything sorted out—make sure you’re friends are okay, figure out what happened—soon.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “Like, before Friday.”
“Halloween?” Julian smirked and nodded his approval. “Awesome. Very on theme.”
“Día de Muertos kicks off at midnight, the night of October thirty-first,” Yadriel explained. “We clean up the graves in the cemetery to prepare for the spirits to arrive, like cleaning up the house before family comes to visit. Everyone takes special care of their portajes—”
Julian nodded along as if he understood perfectly. “Right, right, right.”
“We set up ofrendas for the spirits of the returning brujx. We put out pictures of them, their favorite foods or toys, little mementos, stuff like that. They lead the spirits back to the world of the living, that’s why we use candles and bright colors, like the marigolds. And the smell of the food, of course.”
