Page 156 of Espíritu

Enrique nodded, his expression softening. “But listen, mijo—after everything, if you’re too exhausted, if you don’t want to lead the danza this year, I’ll understand—”

“Wait.” Yadriel stared at them, stunned. “You were going to ask me to lead it?”

Enrique hesitated. He glanced at Lita, who blinked at him like she was just now realizing what he hadn’t said.

“You didn’t tell him?” she asked, exasperated.

Enrique gave a sheepish shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you were going to!”

Lita tsked. “I told you it’d be better coming from you, Quique!”

Enrique ran a hand over his face, then looked at Yadriel. “I want you to serve as Guía de la Llama—carry the flame and set the intention for the Danza,” Enrique said. “I’ll act as majordomo, marshal the procession, and coordinate the outer ring with the elders. Lita will tend the altar and give the closing bendición. We’ll plan it together,” he told Yadriel. “You lead the opening prayer and the first turn, and if anything needs to change, we’ll call it together.”

The words didn’t feel like a crown. They felt like a hand held out.

He remembered coming out as trans and being told it didn’t matter—that he couldn’t be what he already knew he was. He remembered being fifteen, watching the other boys receive their aquelarre while he waited on the sidelines. Remembered sneaking into the old church with Maritza, trying to summon a spirit, begging Lady Death for the blessing no one else would give him.

And now they were asking him to lead the Candle Dance.

“I…” Yadriel started, his voice catching. “I never thought you’d ask me.”

Lita smiled gently. “We should’ve asked sooner,” she said, tossing Enrique an irritated glance. “But we’re asking now.”

He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Just once.

Enrique stepped closer, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You changed things, mijo. Not just for yourself—for all of us,” he told him. “You made us look again. Think again. I’m proud to learn from you—and I’m asking you to learn with me.”

Yadriel’s breath caught. For so long, he had carried the weight of proving himself—to the spirits, to his family, to the entire brujx community. He had fought for every inch of space he stood on. And now, they weren’t just letting him in.

They were trusting him to carry part of the weight—together.

Tonight, the Danza de la Luz Eterna would light up the night.

And Yadriel would carry the flame at its heart—not instead of his father, but with him.

Learning from each other. Moving their people forward.

THIRTYJULIAN

Julian crouched where the pile of tethers had been, palms blackened with cenote grit as he sifted through the mess one piece at a time.

Nearby, Rio was talking quietly with Enrique, helping the other brujx clear debris from the circle. He moved slower than usual, still pale from what he’d seen—the flash of light, the shadows, the god. But he kept his voice steady, his hands sure. When his gaze met Julian’s across the crypt, he gave a small nod—tired but solid.

Julian examined an amethyst rosary. An old Zippo lighter. A faded red hair bow.

Then—there. A woven bracelet, the knot frayed just so.

Luca’s.

His breath left him in a rough sound he didn’t recognize. He rubbed the braid clean with his thumb, the pattern he’d seen a hundred times suddenly heavy as a heartbeat. He slipped it around his fingers and held it, not ready to pocket it, not ready to let it go.

Angel stood a little apart from the others, their shoulders hunched. They cradled a small bundle of tethers in their hands—a dagger and two rosaries. Remnants of their family, the weight of which seemed almost too much to bear.

Enrique approached them, his expression apprehensive. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the tethers.

Julian watched Angel hesitate before handing them over.

Enrique examined the items carefully. His brow furrowed, and he murmured something under his breath.