Page 42 of Espíritu

Julian shook his head roughly, willing the memory away like he always did.

Some part of him had never come back from that day.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice hoarse. “Maybe I’ve always been like this.”

Angel studied him, their gaze unreadable. “Something must’ve happened,” they murmured. “You’re not normal, Julian. Not the regular kind of abnormal, either.”

They hesitated. “You must’ve made some kind of connection to a death god.”

Julian’s breath caught.

Angel went on, matter-of-fact. “I can see them because I was blessed by Lady Death, like the rest of my family. We serve her by helping spirits pass on.”

“A death god?” Julian repeated, heat rising to his cheeks.

His brain betrayed him—Yadriel’s trembling hands, the chill of the stone floor, the moment Lady Death called him back to his body.

The second chance he was never supposed to have.

But this wasn’t something he could just share. Not with someone from another círculo. Not with someone he barely knew. Especially because it was really Yadriel’s secret to tell.

Telling Angel would feel like handing over something sacred—like betraying Yadriel, the brujx, and whatever fragile thread still tied him to the living.

“I, uh…” Julian shrugged, painfully casual. “I dunno. Maybe I’ve always been a little haunted.”

It sounded weak even to him, but the last part was true.

Thankfully, Angel didn’t push. “If you can see Marca Huecas, you’ve got something else at play. Something … otherworldly.”

Otherworldly.

Like the shadows that had followed him since that night.

His thoughts spun—back to the stone floor, to Lady Death … and then, suddenly, to Catriz.

To the jaguar mask. The altar. The pain. The knives.

“Catriz!” Julian blurted out, the name tasting bitter on his tongue.

Angel’s brows knitted together. “Catriz?”

“Yadriel’s uncle!”

Julian could still feel the heavy air, the sting of blood, the sharp edge of obsidian. The way Catriz had looked at him as if he were already dead. “He tried to sacrifice me to Bahlam, some ancient death god!”

Angel’s eyes widened, a glint of recognition sparking within their golden depths.

Julian rambled on. “Drained my soul with those jaguar knives—”

“La garra del jaguar,” they breathed. The words didn’t just hang in the air—they stuck.

Angel stepped closer. “That’s not just dark magic, Julian. That’s … ancient. Dangerous. Why risk that?”

“Because the guy was messed up! He was born without powers and was desperate enough to try to steal them by sacrificing people to that jaguar god!” Julian spat out, each word punctuated with a fresh wave of realization washing over him. “He wanted power!”

Something passed through Angel’s eyes. Gone before Julian could clock it.

“Bahlam,” Angel said. “That’s heavy brujería, Julian. Not something you walk away from unchanged.”