“Come on,” Yadriel murmured quietly to Julian, hoisting his backpack higher up on his shoulder. It was packed tight, the zipper hardly able to close. Yadriel ducked his head to slink back into the crowd when someone caught him by the arm.
“Finally!”
Yadriel jolted, but when he whipped around, it was Maritza’s angry face staring at him.
“Jesus, Maritza!” he hissed, pressing his hand to his hammering heart.
Maritza wore a white dress with ruffled skirts. Her fists were on her hips, where a yellow sash was tied around her waist. A marigold was tucked behind her ear amid her purple-and-pink curls. She wore her portaje around her neck, as usual. The rose-quartz rosary perfectly matched the pink in her hair. “Your dad’s been looking for you and bugging me about it all night!” she snapped.
“Sssh!” Yadriel looked around, worried that someone would notice him or, worse yet, Julian, if they lingered in one place for too long.
“Did you do it yet?” Maritza searched the air around Yadriel.
Julian made a disgruntled noise and stepped up to Yadriel’s side.
Maritza’s eyes snapped right to him.
“Good to see you, too.” Julian waved.
“Not yet,” Yadriel told her. “I’m taking him to the old church.”
Maritza’s pink lips pursed. “Yads—!”
“Just buy me some more time—”
“I’ve done all I can!” Maritza pressed. “We’re supposed to be setting up the last of the ofrendas! Any minute he’s going to freak out and send a search party looking for you!”
Frustration simmered under Yadriel’s skin. He wanted more time with Julian. He didn’t want to be rushed into releasing his spirit. “What if—”
“You should go.”
Yadriel turned to Julian, surprised. He looked completely at ease—happy, even—which threw him off entirely. Yadriel frowned and gave a small shake of his head. “I thought I was going to release you before midnight?” he said, confused.
“Yeah, we’ve still got time.” Julian shrugged. “I’d kind of like to check everything out, anyways.” His eyes drifted around the cemetery, alight with excitement and curiosity. “Go check in with your fam,” Julian told him with an encouraging nod. “I mean, this is your big night, right? You should enjoy it.”
Yadriel wanted to argue. For some reason, Julian’s nonchalance made him angry. “But—”
“I’ll go with you,” Maritza said to Julian. When Yadriel looked at her, feeling betrayed, she shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, someone needs to babysit him.”
Julian scowled and hissed between his teeth. “Tch.”
“And I already did my chores,” she pointed out.
Yadriel bit down on his lower lip. It was a nice offer, but he wanted to go with Julian. He wanted to show him around, to point out all the details and traditions of their holiday, to enjoy and experience them with Julian, while he still had the chance.
“Yadriel!”
Yadriel spun toward the church. His dad had spotted him, a relieved smile on his face as he craned his neck to see him over the sea of brujx.
“There you are! Come!” Yadriel’s heart sank as his dad waved him over. “We’ve been waiting for you to put the final touches on your mamá’s ofrenda!”
“One sec!” Yadriel turned back to Maritza.
Julian was already backing up, his attention caught by the dance circle that was forming. “Do what you gotta do,” he told Yadriel.
“Can you stash this for me in the old church?” Yadriel asked Maritza, reluctantly slipping his backpack off his shoulder.
She nodded and took it from him. “Sure.”
He turned to Julian. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Sure, sure, sure.” He was already blending into the crowd. “We’ve got time.”
But they didn’t.
Julian threw Yadriel a smile before disappearing into the crowd.
It took every bit of self-control Yadriel had left to not chase after him.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Maritza repeated with an encouraging smile. “We’ll meet you at the old church. Come find us when you’re done.”
“Thanks for covering for me,” Yadriel said to Maritza. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, well.” She sighed dramatically, her mood starting to warm back up. “You owe me. Like, big time.” Maritza hoisted the backpack higher on her shoulder. “I’ll go take care of this.” She turned and took off after Julian.
Yadriel went to his dad.
“You had me worried,” his dad told him as brujx filed by, shaking his hand.
“Yeah, sorry,” Yadriel replied, sidestepping the line of people. Luckily, his dad seemed to be in a good mood. He didn’t see his tío Catriz, but before he could ask where he was, Lita spotted him and gasped.
“You are not dressed!” she scolded.
Yadriel looked down at himself. The last thing he was worried about right now was his clothes. “What do you need me to do?” Yadriel asked his dad.
“I need you to get dressed!” Lita said before welcoming a family of brujx to the church.
His dad chuckled and gave a small shake of his head. “Go get changed,” he said before nodding toward the church. “I set aside the calavera you made for your mamá. Take it to her ofrenda, and then you and Maritza can go enjoy the party for a while. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great,” Yadriel said, not even finishing his sentence before he was off and running toward the house.
“Meet at the ofrenda by midnight!” his dad called after him. Yadriel lifted his hand in acknowledgment.
He raced through the cemetery and back to the house. Throwing open the door, he ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The sooner he did what his dad asked, the sooner he could get back to Julian.
In his room, Yadriel tore off his hoodie and T-shirt and changed into an olive-green button-down. He didn’t have time to obsess and worry over whether his binder flattened down his chest enough to make it fit right. Yadriel shucked off his torn black jeans for a clean, if a bit wrinkled, pair. He kept the combat boots and headed back to the church.
His heart thudded in his chest, like a clock ticking down to midnight as he dodged brujx and spirits to get back into the church. It was packed with people and long tables covered in white linens, laden with food and drinks.
During Día de Muertos, you could really see how the diverse cultures of the brujx came together in celebration. Ecuadorian colada morada—a sweet, purple corn juice made with berries—was passed around in plastic cups. Brujos from El Salvador brought honeyed pumpkin to share. The Haitian families always brought plenty of homemade beeswax candles for decorating ofrendas and tombstones. Andean t’anta wawa—fruit-filled sweet rolls in the shape of babies—had been one of Yadriel’s favorites since he was little.
But he didn’t have time to indulge.
There were only a couple of boxes of calaveras left sitting on one of the tables. Yadriel picked up the one filled with the skulls he’d decorated for his mom and the rest of his ancestors the other night. Carefully cradling it in his arms, Yadriel left the church and the delicious smells behind him.
Just outside the church, a large dance circle had formed. In a ring, men and women played huehuetl, large animal hide drums, and teponaxtle, log drums with slits. The beat shook in Yadriel’s chest as he skirted around the outside of the crowd.
Clay flutes and ocarinas trilled like birds, while conch shells bellowed, deep and strong. The beat thrummed, and, in the center of the circle, the dancers danced. Chachayotes, adornments of shells and nuts, rattled on their wrists and ankles, shaking with each stomp. They wore traditional regalia, large and colorful headdresses made of long feathers. Women wore colorful tunics, while the men wore maxtlatl. A small girl in purple danced next to her older sister, her face serious and pinched in concentration. Sweat glistened on the dancers’ skin, catching the orange glow of the candles as they danced and moved through their paces.
Yadriel wondered if Julian had seen them. He would’ve liked to see his face as he watched them.
His mother’s grave was in the small graveyard adjacent to the church, saved for the family of the brujx leaders. His grandparents on his mother’s side, as well as his Lito, were all laid to rest in the same plot. The quiet little corner of the cemetery was decorated with care and pride.
Diego’s sugarcane handiwork was front and center. Tall arches and crosses stood at each grave, adorned with marigold blooms bursting with hundreds of petals. Lita’s hand-cut papel picado hung in colorful banners, gently swaying in the October breeze. His father had built sturdy altars for everyone, seven steps high and covered in trinkets, pictures, and food.
One by one, he placed each calavera atop a headstone. His mother’s parents had a matching set of understated worn stone. Lito’s was a huge slab of jade carved with intricate Maya glyphs, befitting of a passed brujx leader.
Yadriel’s mother’s tombstone was made of polished white marble. Sinking down into a crouch, Yadriel placed her calavera, careful to make sure it was straight and wouldn’t slip off the slick stone.