Page 11 of Espíritu

Maritza crossed her arms. “Look, you know I love them, but Julian’s right—they don’t handle ‘different’ well. Not at first.”

Yadriel winced but nodded. “They … didn’t really know how to deal with me when I came out,” he admitted quietly. “They weren’t trying to hurt me, they just … reacted wrong. Out of fear. Out of not understanding.”

Julian’s expression softened—but only for a moment.

“Exactly,” Julian said. “I don’t want them looking at me like I’m some problem to fix. Or something to be scared of.”

Maritza moved over, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Which is why we’re not going to them yet. We need information first. Answers. Then we bring it to them when we actually know what we’re talking about.”

Yadriel nodded firmly. “We protect each other. We don’t throw you into the deep end without a life jacket.”

Julian let out a long breath, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay. So it’s just us for now.”

“Just us,” Maritza echoed. “The Brain Cell Coalition.”

Julian snorted. “We don’t have enough brain cells for a coalition.”

Maritza gasped. “Excuse you!”

Yadriel stepped in. “If anything, there’s a brain cell,” he said. “And it’s Maritza’s.”

Maritza nodded while Julian spluttered indignantly. “Thank you, Yads.”

Yadriel smiled faintly, though unease still prickled at his skin. If Julian’s mark was tied to brujería, sooner or later the adults would have to find out. Knowing his dad, he would forbid Yadriel to spend time with Julian—not until his dad and the other brujos were able to clear the dark magic, if that’s even what it was. He definitely would not let Yadriel help. It’s too dangerous, mi hijo, he’d say.

A soft knock rapped at the door, and Enrique leaned in. He looked the same as always—neat plaid button-down, steady posture—but there was something off.

“Oh,” he said, glancing between them. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Everything okay?” Yadriel asked, trying to read him. Maybe his dad already knew about Julian’s invisible mark.

“Of course,” Enrique replied a little too quickly. “Just a lot to prepare. The holidays always bring extra work. And there are spirits who need tending to.”

That tracked, but something about his dad’s tone made it feel like only half the truth.

“Let us help,” Yadriel offered instantly, taking a step forward. “With the spirits, I mean. We can handle it!” He needed this. To learn from his dad and make him proud.

Enrique’s mustache twitched. A telltale sign of hesitation. Yadriel could feel the no coming.

For once, Maritza and Julian remained silent.

Yadriel steadied his gaze on his father. “You said it yourself, Papí—it’s time to embrace change. Right?”

It was a cheap shot, directly throwing Enrique’s words back in his face from Día de Muertos, but it seemed to get through.

Enrique rubbed his jaw.

“Okay,” Enrique said with reluctance but also a hint of acceptance.

Yadriel’s heart leaped in his chest.

“There is one spirit,” Enrique said carefully. “Nothing dangerous. He’s been around for years, quiet, peaceful. Bartolomé, a guitarist who drifts through Belvedere Park.”

Julian’s head snapped up, eyes widening with excitement. “Wait, the ghost guitarist?! That’s real? Everyone at school says if you skate the park at sunset you can hear him playing across the lake!”

Enrique laughed. “That would be him. He’s never caused trouble. He’s just lingered too long. Lita has been holding on to his tether, waiting until he’s ready.” Enrique paused as though weighing his decision once more. “If you want to help—if you’re serious—this would be a safe place to start. Offer Bartolomé some solace in his final moments.”

“We’ll do it,” Yadriel said, his voice steady. This was what he’d wanted, a chance to do real brujo work, to prove himself.