Page 66 of Espíritu

Then silence.

Julian stayed crouched, heart thudding. The peineta was still in his hand. Still warm.

Angel stood in the center, chest heaving, portaje dimming. Neither spoke.

“Holy shit,” Julian breathed, stumbling back. He stared at the scorched floor where the spirit had vanished. “What the hell was that?”

Angel turned, their chest rising and falling with sharp, measured breaths. They gave a loose shrug and gestured toward the space with their still-glowing portaje. “Didn’t care for my special touch.”

Even across the room, Julian wanted to back away from the blade. Yadriel’s dagger had felt warm, purposeful, like holding something sacred. Angel’s seethed. Sleek. Lethal. Made to hurt.

“Special touch?” he echoed, voice rough. It didn’t sound like a joke.

It sounded like a warning.

“Not all blades are the same,” Angel said, slipping the portaje away with the kind of care someone might give to a loaded gun. “Mine hits harder when it comes to malignos.”

Julian swallowed. The scream was still inside him, trying to find somewhere to go.

He looked at the comb. He’d held it like it mattered. He passed it to Angel.

“Pretty,” she said softly, something like memory or guilt flickering and then gone. She tucked it away. “We should bounce. Before something worse shows up.”

They slipped back into the cold. Streetlight carved Angel’s silhouette sharp.

“You good?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he lied. It came out brittle. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to hide how hard they were shaking. “When Yadriel releases spirits, it’s quiet. Peaceful. Like they’re just going to sleep.”

Angel’s expression didn’t change much, but their voice lowered. “Yadriel’s portaje isn’t like mine. Mine’s firepower. Lights-out.”

Julian looked at them sharply. “Yeah. ‘Lights-out’ with a scream.”

Angel looked away, their posture unreadable. “Not all brujería is marigolds and mercy. Malignos are dangerous.”

Julian turned toward the empty plaza, lit only by scattered halogen and the glow of a nearby liquor store. The kind of light that didn’t chase away shadows, just reshaped them.

“They still deserve gentleness,” he murmured.

Angel’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet. “You try asking a maligno to release nicely when they’re clawing through your walls at three in the morning.”

Julian didn’t argue. But the pit in his stomach told him he wasn’t convinced, either.

Angel was quiet for a long beat. “Darkness isn’t always the enemy, Julian. Sometimes it’s just misunderstood.”

Julian exhaled. “You sound like someone who’s been living in the dark a long time.”

Angel finally looked at him, really looked. And for a split second, Julian saw something raw and unguarded flash in their expression.

“I have a job to do,” Angel said softly.

Julian didn’t reply.

Headlights burned across the lot.

Julian flinched, shielding his eyes. The familiar snarl of an engine cut through the air.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.