Page 8 of Espíritu

A few weeks ago, he’d stood in this very church with smoke and marigolds in his lungs and felt chosen. The blessing had been a warmth that soaked into his bones, a certainty as bright as a lit wick. He’d walked out dizzy with it—hands clasped with Julian’s, sure that the path ahead would open, sure that he’d be doing real work. Guiding. Releasing. Helping.

Now he was wrist-deep in satin, tying bows.

He tugged a loop too tight. The ribbon bit his skin. It wasn’t that the work didn’t matter—it all mattered. The Midnight Vigil, the Candle Dance of Eternal Light, the way the community remade the cemetery into a vision of hope. But every time someone called him “el elegido,” they also handed him a broom, or a list, or a “maybe next time.” Excitement had curdled into impatience.

“Careful,” Maritza said, hip-checking him out of his spiral, her pink-and-purple hair styled into box braids. She tipped her chin at Yadriel’s mangled bow. “Saint Knot-Finger, patron of trying too hard.”

He huffed. “Funny.”

“True.” She scooped up Purrcaso from the floor where he was trying to eat a stray piece of ribbon and wiggled him at Yadriel until the crooked cat’s tiny chin presented for tribute. Yadriel obliged, scratching, and was rewarded with an undignified string of drool.

Across the aisle, Enrique and Lita directed a parade of candles, incense, and ladders. Yadriel’s father caught his eye and smiled, proud and patient. Everyone starts with the basics, his dad kept saying. You put in your time. You work your way up.

Time. Up. When?

“Wanna ditch? We could hide out at my place,” Maritza said under her breath, reading him like always. “I mean, it’s not like they’re letting us do anything important anyways—”

“This is important,” he said, sharper than he meant to. He forced his voice down, gentler. “All of it, including the bows. The whole community counts on us to do our part.”

Maritza fixed him with a look that said she was holding back a retort. She wasn’t wrong—he did agree with her that they were being benched more than they should be. But if he said that out loud, the impatience would leak into everything else. And there were jars to finish.

“Basics first,” he muttered, more to himself than her. He tied the ribbon again—clean loop, clean tail—and set the jar in the growing line of soft lights.

“Okay, Mr. Broody Brujo, enough sulking,” Maritza announced. She hooked her arm through his and tugged him toward the house. “Come on! Bedroom meeting! Emergency escape!”

Before he could argue, she was already hauling him outside. Purrcaso’s tiny paws padded after them.

The moment they reached his room, Maritza threw herself across the bed, arms flopping like she’d just run a marathon. Purrcaso trotted in after them, purring loudly.

“My arms are gonna fall off,” Maritza groaned into the comforter. She rolled onto her side, raising an unimpressed brow. “You’ve literally been blessed by Lady Death. You brought Julian back from the dead. And your dad still has us running candle duty?”

The words were meant to tease, but they stung anyway. Yadriel sank into the chair at his desk, jaw tightening. He had hoped that being blessed by Lady Death would finally prove he was ready—that his dad would see him as more than just his kid needing to be kept safe.

Instead, it felt like the opposite.

Maritza propped her chin on her hand, studying him. “I know your dad thinks he’s protecting you, but maybe it’s time he realized he can’t wrap us in Bubble Wrap forever. He’s gotta let you, like, be who Lady Death already said you are.”

Yadriel managed a crooked smile, though the heaviness didn’t lift. “Us?” he asked, raising a brow. “Last I checked, you were a vegan who didn’t practice brujería.”

“Uh, yeah, us,” Maritza said, punching him lightly in the arm. “I was there for the whole bringing-your-boyfriend-back-to-life thing, remember? Doesn’t matter I don’t heal. You do the magic, I contribute with my cleverness and beauty.” She batted her eyelashes so dramatically he couldn’t help but snort.

“Is that it?” he teased. His chest was lighter already.

“Duh!” She knocked her knuckles on his head. “We’re a package deal! The duo! The dream team!” She paused, then added grudgingly, “Plus Julian. I guess.”

A surprised laugh slipped out of Yadriel before he could stop it. For a moment, he could almost believe everything would work out—that someday, his dad might finally trust him to do more than clean-up duty.

The door to Yadriel’s room slammed open, banging against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame.

Purrcaso yelped and darted under the bed.

Julian stumbled in, chest heaving, hair damp. His eyes were wild, darting too fast, like he couldn’t find where to land them. “GUYS—GUYS—GUYS! You have to see this!” The words tumbled out, sharp and breathless, almost tripping over one another.

“Dammit, Julian!” Maritza shrieked, clutching her chest.

“What—?” Yadriel started, but Julian bulldozed right over him, voice pitching higher.

“Some weird shit is going on!” He was frantic. “There’s this dark spot on my chest—I swear it wasn’t there before, and then I got out of the shower and it WAS, and I don’t know what it wants from me!”