Page 110 of Espíritu

He hadn’t told Yadriel or Maritza what had happened with his friends. He couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to make it through this first. Just one quiet hour of silence and candlelight, of honoring the dead instead of breaking things.

Dozens of candles lit the gravel paths and headstones in soft, flickering halos. The air was thick with the scents of melted wax, incense, and fresh flowers. Distant strains of solemn music drifted through the night—low, haunting strings that echoed off the gravestones and nichos.

Brujx families were gathering in clusters, dressed in traditional lace or embroidered cloth, some in tailored suits or formal dresses passed down through generations. Everywhere he looked, people were holding candles, adjusting ribbons on ofrendas, whispering prayers. The yellow church’s glowing windows cast long shadows, golden light spilling from the doorway where Lady Death’s altar stood at the heart of it all.

Julian paused, breath fogging in the December cold. The vigil was supposed to be sacred. Healing. But all he could feel was the hollow ache in his chest.

His Marca Hueca throbbed, deep and cold. His lungs felt too tight. He was unraveling. And no one could see it.

Julian blinked hard, steeling himself as he stepped fully into the path. The church was awash in candlelight, its stone walls glowing amber from the flames. The giant altar to Lady Death was overflowing with offerings—bouquets of poinsettias, photos, trinkets, rosaries, plates of food. The scent of copal hung thick in the air, curling around carved saints and trailing down the aisles.

His footsteps echoed as he approached the back where the brujx had set out their decorated candles. He spotted his—sky-blue wax, wrapped with silver ribbon, tiny red flames painted near the base.

Julian found them standing off to the side, Yadriel in an olive-green button-up, his portaje glinting at his side, and Maritza beside him in black skinny jeans and a cropped embroidered jacket that somehow still looked formal.

When Yadriel turned and saw him, his expression shifted with visible relief.

“You came,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure where they stood after earlier, but his eyes searched Julian’s face with concern.

Julian nodded, a little breathless. Just seeing Yadriel had loosened a knot in his chest. “Yeah,” he managed. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The joke fell flat with Yadriel, but Maritza gave him a pity snort. “Told you he’d show up,” she teased, bumping Yadriel with her shoulder.

The smile she aimed at him was crooked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was tension in her shoulders, like she was still braced for something bad. Julian didn’t blame her. He was, too.

“I was a jerk,” Julian blurted. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” Yadriel said gently, earnestly. “I know you’re doing your best.” He placed a hand on Julian’s chest, right above his heart.

Julian inhaled for four, held for two, out for six. The St. Jude medal was warm against his skin.

Maritza’s gaze softened, protective.

Julian let out a weak laugh and rubbed his nose. “My friends are pissed at me, too,” he confessed. “I forgot we were supposed to go to Carlos’s Christmas party tonight.” He scrubbed at his face. “I keep screwing everything up.”

Yadriel’s brows knit. “Carlos’s party?”

Julian nodded. “We’ve gone every year, since before my dad died. Food, music, stupid games. But I bailed, and they’re right—I keep choosing this over them. They don’t get why.” His throat was tight. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Yadriel’s hand found his again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to choose between them and us. It isn’t fair.” He squeezed Julian’s hand. “I’m determined to figure out a way where you don’t have to be stuck in the middle.”

Julian blinked, thrown by how easily Yadriel had said it—no anger, no judgment. Just understanding. It made his chest ache in a different way.

Lita emerged from behind the altar, trailing soft wisps of copal and palo santo behind her. She carried a small bundle of herbs in one hand and moved with the easy grace of someone used to commanding sacred spaces.

“Julian, mijo!” she greeted him warmly. “I’m glad you’re here!”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t stick. He gave a small nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Lita’s gaze flicked behind him, scanning the crowd. “Where is your friend Angel?”

The question hit him like a sucker punch.

Yadriel stiffened. Maritza glanced away.

Julian worked around the lump in his throat. “No,” he said, too fast, too flat. “They’re … not coming.”

Lita’s expression didn’t shift, but her eyes softened. She simply nodded, as if she already knew not to ask further. “That’s a shame,” she murmured, giving Julian a gentle pat on his cheek. “Well. Everyone finds their way in time.”