Page 133 of Espíritu

“Help him!” Flaca screamed, but Julian didn’t know how.

Julian’s pulse roared in his ears as he fumbled for the St. Jude medal, holding it like a lifeline.

Then, without warning, the energy ripped itself free.

The glowing light tore from Luca’s chest and streaked across the room—

Straight into Angel.

“No, no, no—” Julian barely managed to catch Luca before he collapsed.

His knees hit the floor hard. Luca’s small body was slack in his arms, his face pale and too still. Julian pressed his ear to his chest. The sweater muffled everything. “Luca—please—”

Across the room, Angel reeled backward, gasping as the light slammed into her chest. Her dagger clattered to the floor. Her back arched—arms flailing—and for a second, she didn’t look like herself at all.

And then she went still.

When her head lifted, her eyes weren’t hers anymore. They gleamed with venom green, pupils slitted like a jaguar’s.

“Finally,” said a voice that did not belong to her. Deep. Ancient. Everywhere at once.

Julian knew that voice from the water. Him.

“Get away from her!” Julian shouted, still cradling Luca.

Bahlam turned Angel’s face toward him. The smile that spread across her mouth was all teeth. “You’ve been quite the thorn, Julian.”

“Let her go!”

A chuckle, like claws on stone. “I have what I need now.”

Dread and panic seized Julian by the throat.

Hair-thin cracks laced out from the fallen dagger, glowing water blue, spiderwebbing through the concrete. The apartment buckled.

“NO!”

The fissures pulled wider, round and hungry—the mouth of a cenote opening under his heels.

Bahlam, wearing Angel like a mask, stepped back into the glow without breaking eye contact.

The dagger tipped, skittered to the edge, and slid after him into the water-light.

The rift sealed on a breath, leaving earth-cold air, ozone, and silence.

Julian stared at the empty air where the rift had been, brain blanking and roaring at the same time. Luca was deadweight in his arms—warm, breathing, but too still. Julian pressed his ear to Luca’s chest and couldn’t hear past his own pulse.

Footsteps pounded the stairs.

Rio barreled in, barefoot, old T-shirt and sweats. His eyes swept the wrecked room, then locked on Luca.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Words jammed in Julian’s throat. His breaths came sharp and ragged, wheezing in his ears.

“Breathe, Julian!” Rio commanded.

He did because when Rio used that tone, he listened.