by Aiden Thomas
“Finally!”
Yadriel jolted, but when he whipped around, it was Maritza’s angry face staring at him.
“Jesus, Maritza!” he hissed, pressing his hand to his hammering heart.
Maritza wore a white dress with ruffled skirts. Her fists were on her hips, where a yellow sash was tied around her waist. A marigold was tucked behind her ear amid her purple-and-pink curls. She wore her portaje around her neck, as usual. The rose-quartz rosary perfectly matched the pink in her hair. “Your dad’s been looking for you and bugging me about it all night!” she snapped.
“Sssh!” Yadriel looked around, worried that someone would notice him or, worse yet, Julian, if they lingered in one place for too long.
“Did you do it yet?” Maritza searched the air around Yadriel.
Julian made a disgruntled noise and stepped up to Yadriel’s side.
Maritza’s eyes snapped right to him.
“Good to see you, too.” Julian waved.
“Not yet,” Yadriel told her. “I’m taking him to the old church.”
Maritza’s pink lips pursed. “Yads—!”
“Just buy me some more time—”
“I’ve done all I can!” Maritza pressed. “We’re supposed to be setting up the last of the ofrendas! Any minute he’s going to freak out and send a search party looking for you!”
Frustration simmered under Yadriel’s skin. He wanted more time with Julian. He didn’t want to be rushed into releasing his spirit. “What if—”
“You should go.”
Yadriel turned to Julian, surprised. He looked completely at ease—happy, even—which threw him off entirely. Yadriel frowned and gave a small shake of his head. “I thought I was going to release you before midnight?” he said, confused.
“Yeah, we’ve still got time.” Julian shrugged. “I’d kind of like to check everything out, anyways.” His eyes drifted around the cemetery, alight with excitement and curiosity. “Go check in with your fam,” Julian told him with an encouraging nod. “I mean, this is your big night, right? You should enjoy it.”
Yadriel wanted to argue. For some reason, Julian’s nonchalance made him angry. “But—”
“I’ll go with you,” Maritza said to Julian. When Yadriel looked at her, feeling betrayed, she shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, someone needs to babysit him.”
Julian scowled and hissed between his teeth. “Tch.”
“And I already did my chores,” she pointed out.
Yadriel bit down on his lower lip. It was a nice offer, but he wanted to go with Julian. He wanted to show him around, to point out all the details and traditions of their holiday, to enjoy and experience them with Julian, while he still had the chance.
“Yadriel!”
Yadriel spun toward the church. His dad had spotted him, a relieved smile on his face as he craned his neck to see him over the sea of brujx.
“There you are! Come!” Yadriel’s heart sank as his dad waved him over. “We’ve been waiting for you to put the final touches on your mamá’s ofrenda!”
“One sec!” Yadriel turned back to Maritza.
Julian was already backing up, his attention caught by the dance circle that was forming. “Do what you gotta do,” he told Yadriel.
“Can you stash this for me in the old church?” Yadriel asked Maritza, reluctantly slipping his backpack off his shoulder.
She nodded and took it from him. “Sure.”
He turned to Julian. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Sure, sure, sure.” He was already blending into the crowd. “We’ve got time.”
But they didn’t.
Julian threw Yadriel a smile before disappearing into the crowd.
It took every bit of self-control Yadriel had left to not chase after him.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Maritza repeated with an encouraging smile. “We’ll meet you at the old church. Come find us when you’re done.”
“Thanks for covering for me,” Yadriel said to Maritza. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, well.” She sighed dramatically, her mood starting to warm back up. “You owe me. Like, big time.” Maritza hoisted the backpack higher on her shoulder. “I’ll go take care of this.” She turned and took off after Julian.
Yadriel went to his dad.
“You had me worried,” his dad told him as brujx filed by, shaking his hand.
“Yeah, sorry,” Yadriel replied, sidestepping the line of people. Luckily, his dad seemed to be in a good mood. He didn’t see his tío Catriz, but before he could ask where he was, Lita spotted him and gasped.
“You are not dressed!” she scolded.
Yadriel looked down at himself. The last thing he was worried about right now was his clothes. “What do you need me to do?” Yadriel asked his dad.
“I need you to get dressed!” Lita said before welcoming a family of brujx to the church.
His dad chuckled and gave a small shake of his head. “Go get changed,” he said before nodding toward the church. “I set aside the calavera you made for your mamá. Take it to her ofrenda, and then you and Maritza can go enjoy the party for a while. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great,” Yadriel said, not even finishing his sentence before he was off and running toward the house.
“Meet at the ofrenda by midnight!” his dad called after him. Yadriel lifted his hand in acknowledgment.
He raced through the cemetery and back to the house. Throwing open the door, he ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The sooner he did what his dad asked, the sooner he could get back to Julian.
In his room, Yadriel tore off his hoodie and T-shirt and changed into an olive-green button-down. He didn’t have time to obsess and worry over whether his binder flattened down his chest enough to make it fit right. Yadriel shucked off his torn black jeans for a clean, if a bit wrinkled, pair. He kept the combat boots and headed back to the church.
His heart thudded in his chest, like a clock ticking down to midnight as he dodged brujx and spirits to get back into the church. It was packed with people and long tables covered in white linens, laden with food and drinks.
During Día de Muertos, you could really see how the diverse cultures of the brujx came together in celebration. Ecuadorian colada morada—a sweet, purple corn juice made with berries—was passed around in plastic cups. Brujos from El Salvador brought honeyed pumpkin to share. The Haitian families always brought plenty of homemade beeswax candles for decorating ofrendas and tombstones. Andean t’anta wawa—fruit-filled sweet rolls in the shape of babies—had been one of Yadriel’s favorites since he was little.
But he didn’t have time to indulge.
There were only a couple of boxes of calaveras left sitting on one of the tables. Yadriel picked up the one filled with the skulls he’d decorated for his mom and the rest of his ancestors the other night. Carefully cradling it in his arms, Yadriel left the church and the delicious smells behind him.
Just outside the church, a large dance circle had formed. In a ring, men and women played huehuetl, large animal hide drums, and teponaxtle, log drums with slits. The beat shook in Yadriel’s chest as he skirted around the outside of the crowd.
Clay flutes and ocarinas trilled like birds, while conch shells bellowed, deep and strong. The beat thrummed, and, in the center of the circle, the dancers danced. Chachayotes, adornments of shells and nuts, rattled on their wrists and ankles, shaking with each stomp. They wore traditional regalia, large and colorful headdresses made of long feathers. Women wore colorful tunics, while the men wore maxtlatl. A small girl in purple danced next to her older sister, her face serious and pinched in concentration. Sweat glistened on the dancers’ skin, catching the orange glow of the candles as they danced and moved through their paces.
Yadriel wondered if Julian had seen them. He would’ve liked to see his face as he watched them.
His mother’s grave was in the small graveyard adjacent to the church, saved for the family of the brujx leaders. His grandparents on his
mother’s side, as well as his Lito, were all laid to rest in the same plot. The quiet little corner of the cemetery was decorated with care and pride.
Diego’s sugarcane handiwork was front and center. Tall arches and crosses stood at each grave, adorned with marigold blooms bursting with hundreds of petals. Lita’s hand-cut papel picado hung in colorful banners, gently swaying in the October breeze. His father had built sturdy altars for everyone, seven steps high and covered in trinkets, pictures, and food.
One by one, he placed each calavera atop a headstone. His mother’s parents had a matching set of understated worn stone. Lito’s was a huge slab of jade carved with intricate Maya glyphs, befitting of a passed brujx leader.
Yadriel’s mother’s tombstone was made of polished white marble. Sinking down into a crouch, Yadriel placed her calavera, careful to make sure it was straight and wouldn’t slip off the slick stone.
He ran his fingers along her name carved into the front in gold lettering.
CAMILA FLORES DE VÉLEZ.
Her picture smiled up at him from the ofrenda, illuminated by the soft glow of white candles.
In less than an hour, he would be able to see her again. They would be a complete family again, if just for a couple of days. She would talk to his dad, and she would see all that he had accomplished. Tomorrow night, Yadriel would be part of the aquelarre, and his whole family, and all the brujx, would see. Finally, he would be a brujo.
He should’ve been excited. He should’ve been thrilled. He had been fighting for this moment for years.
But there was a growing ache in the pit of his stomach. An anticipation of impending mourning was looming over him.
Tonight, he would get so much back, but he was also going to lose Julian.
He needed to get back to him, while there was still time.
The bustle of the celebrations began to fade as he ran deeper into the cemetery. The old church loomed before Yadriel. A soft glow from inside the church flickered through the dusty glass windows. As Yadriel stepped through the small gate, a strange, tingling sensation went from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
Maritza sat on the steps, her white skirts splayed out around her.
She stood when he approached. “Is it time?” she asked as Yadriel came to a stop in front of her.
He gave her a jerky nod, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the wooden doors. Yadriel’s fingers trembled, so he clenched his hands into fists and pinned his elbows tight to his sides.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and neither did he.
Then Maritza stepped to the side. “Go on.” She gave his side a soft push and said in a gentle voice, “I’ll stand guard.”
Yadriel forced himself to walk up the steps, breath shaky as he struggled to fill his lungs.
When he pushed the door open, his breath hitched in his throat.
Dozens of candles lined the windows and stone walls. From tea lights to thick pillar candles, they adorned sconces and sat on the floor, lining the pews.
Yadriel reached for Julian’s necklace around his neck. He squeezed the St. Jude medal in his hand. It was warm in his sweaty palm. Yadriel’s heavy feet carried him down the aisle, past the steadily burning flames. Tall gold stands, stocky prayer candles, and ornate candelabras crowded the main altar, creating a sea of gently swaying light.
Julian stood before them at the foot of the altar, his back to Yadriel. His chin was tilted up to where Lady Death stood in her black mantle.
Every sluggish heartbeat pulsed painfully through Yadriel veins.
Hearing his approach, Julian looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Yadriel, he turned and smiled.
Julian stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, his head tipped to the side. The flames of hundreds of candles shone through his blurry edges, like he was putting off his own light.
“I was starting to think you’d stood me up,” Julian said. He squinted at Yadriel, a playful grin tugging the corners of his lips. The warm glow caught in his dimples. “Which one of us is Cinderella in this scenario?”
Yadriel’s mouth was dry, making it hard to speak. “I’m the fairy godmother,” he managed to croak out. “I think that makes you the pumpkin.”
Julian’s melodic laughter echoed through the church and danced through the gaping hole in Yadriel’s chest.
“So…” Julian’s gaze shifted to Lady Death.
She waited for them at the altar.
When Julian looked back, that crease between his thick eyebrows was back. “What’s next?”
Yadriel wanted to give Julian some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. He was having a hard time reining in the flood of emotions tearing through him. His heart thudded dully in his pulse. “Give me a minute to set up.”
Gingerly, he dusted the cobwebs off Lady Death’s faded black mantle and plucked a couple of dead moths from the golden embroidery. He swept his fingers over the delicate feathers of her headdress, letting their colors show their true vibrance.
His backpack sat on the nearest pew. Yadriel took out Julian’s favorite snacks they had bought earlier. He set the desserts, Takis, and smelly duros at Lady Death’s feet, along with a pan de muerto. He could feel Julian hovering behind him as he worked. He pulled out a St. Jude prayer candle he’d snuck into his basket at the store when Julian wasn’t paying attention. When he lit it, the flame trembled. A tiny bottle of mezcal and container of salt joined the snacks.
Yadriel pulled out the picture of Julian and his brother held under their father’s arms. Carefully, he propped it up in the center. The marigolds he’d grabbed were a little rumpled and wilted, but he popped the flowers off their long stems and made a small ring around the makeshift altar with the petals.
Lastly, he pulled out a calavera decorated with swirls of neon green, yellow, and blue. Piped orange flowers bloomed from its eyes. Julian was scrawled in lopsided letters across its forehead with magenta icing.
Yadriel stood and wiped his sweaty palms off on his thighs.
Julian leaned down, his fingers brushing over the calavera, rustling the golden marigold petals. “My own ofrenda?” he asked, looking up at Yadriel.
“Didn’t seem right for you to not have one, especially on Día de Muertos.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not much, I just thought—I don’t know—”
Julian stood up. “It’s perfect,” he said earnestly.
Yadriel stared up at him, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He clutched at Julian’s necklace around his neck and bit down on his bottom lip. He felt sick to his stomach. His own skin felt suffocating. That strange rushing sensation was under his feet again, throwing him off balance.
He wanted to say something important, something meaningful. He needed to, but he couldn’t find the words, and his throat was dangerously tight.
Julian’s smile fell from his lips. His pressed his palm against his chest like it ached. “You should get it over with,” he said. “It’s almost midnight, you don’t want to be late to see your mom.”
Yadriel just nodded numbly, because he didn’t know what else to do. Fumbling, he pulled out his portaje and the insulated bottle he’d filled with pig blood that morning. Gripping the hilt in one hand, Yadriel dipped his finger into the cool blood before swiping it across the length of the blade.
Julian watched as Yadriel unclasped the necklace and held the chain in his fist. The St. Jude medal quivered in his shaky hand. The silver glinted in the firelight and Julian’s obsidian eyes.
For a moment, Yadriel stood there, the necklace in one trembling hand, his portaje in the other.
Yadriel knew keeping Julian meant he’d be trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, until he became a violent husk of his former self, just like Tito.
But he wanted to keep him. Selfishly, dangerously, against all reason.
“Are you ready?” Julian asked, searching Yadriel’s eyes.
“No,” Yadriel
told him, because he wasn’t.
Julian exhaled a quiet, surprised laugh that seemed to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.
The back of Yadriel’s throat ached, and his eyes stung.
How could he possibly recover from falling for Julian Diaz?
A smile conjured up those perfect dimples. He stepped closer and cupped the side of Yadriel’s face. His cold thumb swept across Yadriel’s wet cheek. The firelight danced in Julian’s glassy, dark eyes. “Do it anyways.”
Yadriel drew a shaky breath. “Muéstrame el enlace,” he said, his voice cracking.
The candles flared, their flames tall and erratic. The blade of Yadriel’s portaje glowed bright, and the golden thread appeared, connecting the medal in Yadriel’s hand to the center of Julian’s chest.
Julian’s eyes went to the side and his hand twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach up and touch it.
Energy charged through Yadriel’s veins and danced across his skin.
Julian drew in a shuddering breath and exhaled it through pursed lips. He looked at Yadriel and gave him a small nod.
Grasping his portaje, Yadriel drew his arm back.
Everything in Yadriel screamed at him not to do it. He tightened his grip, but his hand still shook. His chin wobbled. His teeth clicked against each other and his vision blurred.
“It’s okay,” Julian murmured, but he was lying. He kept his eyes on Yadriel’s. He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch.
When Yadriel spoke, his voice broke and the ache in his chest fractured and split into a thousand sharp pieces. “Te libero a la otra vida.”
He sliced his dagger through the air, bringing the blade down on the golden thread.
His arm jolted, violently jamming into the socket as golden light exploded. Yadriel squinted. The edge of the blade trembled on the line, sending off sparks where they met.
Yadriel sucked in a breath. Panic charged through him. It hadn’t worked. His portaje hadn’t cut the tether. Why hadn’t it worked?
Yadriel’s eyes shot to Julian. He looked just as surprised, his mouth open and his expression tight with confusion. Julian quickly shook his head. “It’s not me, I’m—”
In the distance, the church bells began to toll, ringing in midnight and welcoming the returning spirits.
