Page 55 of Espíritu

Maritza tapped her temple. “She always knows more than she lets on. And she’s so damn nosy.”

“You’re right,” Yadriel said, nodding. “We’d have to be careful how we ask about it.”

Lita was stubborn, but above all else, she always wanted to help. If they could steer the conversation and keep it away from “Julian has a cursed mark only he can see,” that would be for the best. Yadriel still didn’t trust Lita or his dad to listen to them and not fly off the handle. He needed to do what was best for Julian.

Yadriel’s pulse picked up. He could already picture the tight set of Julian’s jaw, the way he brushed off concern with a joke. He wasn’t okay. And if this kept spiraling … “We need to figure it out. Soon.”

“Before things get worse,” Maritza agreed.

They walked a few steps in silence. Then, an idea hit Yadriel.

There was someone else they could ask: Miguel.

Miguel had been sacrificed, just like Julian. If this Marca Hueca thing had to do with the sacrifice, then Miguel might’ve gone through something similar. Maybe he could see the marks, too. More important, Miguel was an adult Yadriel did trust. He’d had Yadriel’s back from the start of his transition, and Miguel knew when to keep secrets.

“We should talk to Miguel,” Yadriel told Maritza.

Her eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!”

Yadriel grinned. Finally, a plan. “But we’re not showing up empty-handed. Conchas, minimum.”

Maritza chuckled. “Obviously. If we want emotionally repressed revelations, we bring carbs.”

“Exactly.” He bumped his shoulder into hers.

“But first we need to understand what we’re dealing with.”

And Lita hopefully would have the answer.

Simmering fruit and spices greeted Yadriel and Maritza as they stepped through the door of Yadriel’s house. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the crisp December air outside. The rich aroma of guavas, apples, and cinnamon curled through the air.

Maritza elbowed him with a grin. “Ponche!” She gasped, beelining toward the stove.

Yadriel couldn’t bring himself to match her energy.

Lita stood nearby, apron dusted with sugar, her silver hair pinned into a loose bun. She hummed softly—a melody Yadriel couldn’t name but had heard a hundred times before. Her voice, the smells, the soft bubbling on the stove—it should’ve soothed him. But all it did was churn the tight knot in his chest.

Lita turned, a wide smile gracing her face. “Niños, just in time! The ponche’s almost ready. You can help me with the tamales after a cup. We’re going to need a bigger freezer!” she added, chuckling to herself.

Maritza already had a mug in hand and was sipping from it dramatically. “We’re not here for tamales, Lita,” she said.

Yadriel squared his shoulders, doing his best to be brave. “We have questions.”

Lita’s smile faltered. “What’s on your mind, mi amor?”

Yadriel hesitated. He could feel Maritza watching him. But it was Lita’s steady, quiet presence that helped him push the words out. “It’s about susto.”

Lita’s brow knit. “Susto is not something people ask about lightly,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why are you asking now?”

Before he could answer, Maritza stepped in. “We’ve heard things. But no one ever explains it. Not really. We realized you’re probably the one who knows best.”

Lita’s eyes stayed on Yadriel, quiet and unblinking. He shifted under the weight of her gaze. Finally, she nodded and motioned for them to sit. “What do you want to know?”

Yadriel took a deep breath. “I know what susto is—or I thought I did. I had it after my mom died. I was so depressed, I barely remember any of it. But…”

He trailed off, unsure how to say it without unraveling. Maritza gave him a tiny nod, her expression unusually serious.

“We just … want to understand the parts no one talks about,” she said. “The stuff healers know. The things that don’t show up in books or rituals.”