Page 60 of Espíritu

Yadriel cracked a smile at her bravado, but the new pieces gnawed at him. Vanishing spirits, cut tethers, missing portajes. The answers felt close enough to touch.

Now they just had to keep Julian steady long enough to reach them.

TENJULIAN

Yadriel had turned his room into a Walmart endcap for “comfort.” Blanket. Candle. Steam curling out of a chipped mug that smelled like someone had boiled a bush.

“I’m not drinking plants,” Julian said, arching an eyebrow as he sat cross-legged on Yadriel’s bed.

“You are,” Yadriel told him, tucking the blanket around Julian’s legs as if he were a burrito. His voice was soft but tight at the edges. “Warm helps.”

Purrcaso hopped onto the bed as though she were supervising. Julian tickled his fingers down her bony, crooked spine.

He sniffed the tea. Hedge in a cup. Great. He took a token sip anyway and grimaced. He caught the way Yadriel’s mouth pinched, as if he were bracing for refusal, and took a second sip just to keep that look from getting worse.

Great—now he’d officially reached “delicate Victorian invalid” status. Still, Yadriel’s hands trembled when he lit the candle, and Julian’s stomach knotted. For someone who always had answers, Yadriel looked one wrong breath away from breaking.

Julian’s chest ached with something equal parts guilt and warmth. He hated being the reason Yadriel’s voice went all careful like that—and hated more that he needed it.

“Ruda’s not here to impress you,” Yadriel said, lighting the candle. “Breathe with me. In four, hold two, out six. Think roots.”

Witch cardio, but he did it. Inhale four, hold two, exhale six. The flame wobbled when he blew too hard.

“Slower on the out breath,” Yadriel murmured, scooting close until their knees touched. His hand hovered, then found the St. Jude medal at Julian’s throat. His thumb brushed the charm as if it might break. Julian swallowed. No one ever handled him gently, like he was something worth protecting. “Anchor. If it pulls, you grab this. No listening for whispers—”

“I’m not listening for them. They keep coming for me,” Julian muttered.

“If anything says your name, you turn away and call me,” Yadriel told him. “Names are hooks.”

“Names are hooks?” Julian frowned, tilting his head to the side. “What’s that mean?”

A flush rose in Yadriel’s cheeks. “I’m not sure—just, please.”

“Drama,” Julian muttered, but Yadriel’s eyes were steady, worried, and very not dramatic. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Limpia,” Yadriel said. His hand shook once as he lifted the little dish of copal. He steadied it and pretended he hadn’t. Sweet smoke rose. He wafted it over Julian’s head and chest—small circles, careful and slow.

The room smelled like church, if church didn’t judge him. He could feel the seriousness rolling off Yadriel in waves, as if he were holding the whole world still with breath and a candle.

“Okay?” Yadriel asked.

Julian shrugged, softer than a joke. “Better than detention,” he said, which earned the tiniest twitch of a smile.

Yadriel passed over a pen and a small spiral notebook, first page labeled in neat block letters: DATE / TIME / WHERE / WHAT IT FELT LIKE / AFTERCARE.

“You made me a homework sheet for my soul?” Julian chuckled.

“Start logging every time it happens,” Yadriel said, ears coloring. “Time, place, how you felt, what you saw.”

Julian stared at the notebook like it was written in hieroglyphics. “You’re asking me to remember all that when I can’t even remember how this sentence started,” he joked.

Yadriel tried very hard not to smile. “Patterns help. If it flares, write it down. If it doesn’t, write that, too.”

Julian flipped the cover and slid the notebook into his jacket pocket. They breathed with the candle again. In four. Hold two. Out six. Somewhere between rounds three and four, the static under Julian’s ribs dipped from mad hornet to annoyed fly.

“Huh,” he said, rubbing his chest. “It actually helped.”

Yadriel sat up straighter, his big, beautiful brown eyes going wide. “Really?”