Page 1 of Espíritu

ONEJULIAN

Julian scooped up a fistful of shriveled marigold petals and flung them at his boyfriend. “You missed a spot!”

Yads dodged, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Are you actually cleaning, or just making trouble?”

“Multitasking,” Julian said, scraping at the wax with exaggerated effort.

They were supposed to be tidying graves—everybody was. It was December 19 and the whole East LA brujx community buzzed with preparations for the upcoming Midnight Vigil and the Candle Dance of Eternal Light: sweeping leaves, replacing old candles, making everything perfect. Julian didn’t know much about the holidays yet—Yadriel had promised Lita would give him the full rundown, whether he wanted it or not—but he was always down for a party, and he could follow directions.

Scrape, shine, don’t knock over the flowers.

It was still wild that he could see spirits so clearly. It made sense, though. Julian had been a ghost himself. Dead and yet not dead. A brujx but also not. He knew he belonged—he just wasn’t sure how he fit.

“Good work, mijos!”

Lita and Enrique appeared with armfuls of papel picado, string lights, and incense. Lita’s braid glinted silver in the sun, her shawl as loud as her voice. Enrique’s mustache twitched as he smiled, big hand already clapping Julian’s shoulder.

“Everything looks beautiful,” Lita said.

Julian rubbed the back of his neck, ears hot. “Uh … thanks.” He never got compliments for doing chores.

Yadriel set down his brush a little too hard. “We could be doing more than this,” he muttered, brows bunching. “Spirits need help, not just swept headstones.”

Enrique’s smile faltered. “Everyone starts with the basics, Yadriel. You put in your time, work your way up. That’s how it’s always been.”

Yadriel’s jaw tightened. “Shouldn’t we be releasing spirits by now?”

“Chores build character,” Enrique said, patting a headstone like that settled it.

Julian snorted. “Guess I’m about to be the most ‘character-built’ brujo in East LA.”

That cracked a reluctant smile out of Yadriel.

A few plots away, someone huffed, “No, no, no! You can’t call el diablito when I clearly had el catrín first!”

Julian glanced up. A cluster of golden shimmers hovered around a granite angel—spirits deep in a very serious lotería beef.

The old man in suspenders wagged his ghostly cigar. “Hah! Tell that to Lady Death when she comes for you, Luján. Oh, wait—”

The other spirits gasped as Señora Luján swatted at him with her translucent card. “¡Descarado! Just for that, I’m calling el borracho next—”

Julian couldn’t help it. He leaned over, grinning. “You guys fight dirtier than my friends in Mario Kart. At least try to look ‘restful’—you’re supposed to be resting in peace.”

“Rest is for the boring, mijo.” Luján sniffed.

“Spirits gotta have hobbies,” Julian shot back.

“Exactly!” she said, smug.

Julian was supposed to be scraping wax with Yadriel, but it was hard to stay on task when everyone wanted his attention.

“¡Julianito!” Felipe called, strumming his battered vihuela. The cheerful twentysomething ghost’s bolero jacket was as dusty as his grin was reckless.

Julian pulled a crumpled bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos from his pocket. “I put these on your ofrenda that one time and you swore it burned your ghost tongue!”

Felipe cackled. “It did! Totally worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Julian said, tossing the bag onto Felipe’s headstone like a busker’s tip.