Page 123 of Espíritu

“Get the blanket, too, before you both freeze to death,” Rio added.

Julian opened the trunk and grabbed the old beach towel and a faded San Marcos cobija—the one with the white tigers. Sand still clung to the fabric from their last beach trip. He draped the towel over the passenger seat, then handed the blanket to Luca, who disappeared beneath it with only his eyes peeking out.

Julian slid into the passenger seat and pulled Luca in against his side, tucking the blanket around both of them. Rio got behind the wheel and cranked the engine. They pulled away from the cemetery, the iron gates shrinking behind them.

Julian stared out the window, heart pounding with everything left unsaid.

Secrets pressed against his ribs. Angel. Bahlam. The spirits in the water. Catriz’s warnings. The fact that Julian still felt like something was crawling under his skin.

But for now—they were alive.

Julian glanced at Luca, bundled in the blanket, eyes fluttering closed. His chest rose and fell slowly.

That was enough.

TWENTYYADRIEL

The inside of the church still glowed with the remnants of the Midnight Vigil. Voices were low now—tired laughter, murmured goodbyes, chairs scraping the floor as people packed up for the night.

And then Yadriel and Maritza burst through the doors, soaked to the bone and wild-eyed.

Every head turned.

A few brujx gasped.

“¡Dios mío!”

“What happened?!”

Yadriel’s hair clung to his forehead in dripping clumps, his hoodie plastered to his skin. Maritza’s curls hung limp and soaked, dyed strands bleeding faint streaks of color into the neck of her shirt. The hems of their pants were caked with cemetery dirt. They looked like they’d climbed out of a grave.

But Yadriel didn’t slow down.

He pushed forward, scanning the room with laser focus. “Where’s my dad?” he asked the nearest person.

The woman blinked at him, stunned. “Uh—he’s over there, with your Lita—”

Yadriel was already moving.

Maritza followed closely behind, wringing out her sleeves and muttering to herself.

They found Enrique and Lita behind the altar, deep in conversation with a few elders. Lita looked up first, her smile faltering the second she saw them.

“¡Santa Muerte! What on earth happened to you?!” she gasped, rushing toward them.

“We need to talk,” Yadriel said, voice low but firm. “In private. Now.”

Enrique turned, his eyes widening. “What—? Yadriel, are you hurt? What happened—”

“Not here,” Yadriel said through gritted teeth. “Please.”

Maritza backed him up by giving Enrique a tight, no-nonsense look that said she agreed, and this wasn’t the time to argue.

Enrique exchanged a glance with Lita, then gave a brisk nod. “Come with me.”

They ducked into the side room just off the altar—the one used for prayer and planning. It was quiet here, the chaos of the church muffled by thick adobe walls. The faint scent of palo santo lingered in the corners. Candles glowed low in their holders.

Lita closed the door behind them. “All right. Talk.”