He ran his fingers along her name carved into the front in gold lettering.
CAMILA FLORES DE VÉLEZ.
Her picture smiled up at him from the ofrenda, illuminated by the soft glow of white candles.
In less than an hour, he would be able to see her again. They would be a complete family again, if just for a couple of days. She would talk to his dad, and she would see all that he had accomplished. Tomorrow night, Yadriel would be part of the aquelarre, and his whole family, and all the brujx, would see. Finally, he would be a brujo.
He should’ve been excited. He should’ve been thrilled. He had been fighting for this moment for years.
But there was a growing ache in the pit of his stomach. An anticipation of impending mourning was looming over him.
Tonight, he would get so much back, but he was also going to lose Julian.
He needed to get back to him, while there was still time.
The bustle of the celebrations began to fade as he ran deeper into the cemetery. The old church loomed before Yadriel. A soft glow from inside the church flickered through the dusty glass windows. As Yadriel stepped through the small gate, a strange, tingling sensation went from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
Maritza sat on the steps, her white skirts splayed out around her.
She stood when he approached. “Is it time?” she asked as Yadriel came to a stop in front of her.
He gave her a jerky nod, unwilling to tear his eyes away from the wooden doors. Yadriel’s fingers trembled, so he clenched his hands into fists and pinned his elbows tight to his sides.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and neither did he.
Then Maritza stepped to the side. “Go on.” She gave his side a soft push and said in a gentle voice, “I’ll stand guard.”
Yadriel forced himself to walk up the steps, breath shaky as he struggled to fill his lungs.
When he pushed the door open, his breath hitched in his throat.
Dozens of candles lined the windows and stone walls. From tea lights to thick pillar candles, they adorned sconces and sat on the floor, lining the pews.
Yadriel reached for Julian’s necklace around his neck. He squeezed the St. Jude medal in his hand. It was warm in his sweaty palm. Yadriel’s heavy feet carried him down the aisle, past the steadily burning flames. Tall gold stands, stocky prayer candles, and ornate candelabras crowded the main altar, creating a sea of gently swaying light.
Julian stood before them at the foot of the altar, his back to Yadriel. His chin was tilted up to where Lady Death stood in her black mantle.
Every sluggish heartbeat pulsed painfully through Yadriel veins.
Hearing his approach, Julian looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Yadriel, he turned and smiled.
Julian stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, his head tipped to the side. The flames of hundreds of candles shone through his blurry edges, like he was putting off his own light.
“I was starting to think you’d stood me up,” Julian said. He squinted at Yadriel, a playful grin tugging the corners of his lips. The warm glow caught in his dimples. “Which one of us is Cinderella in this scenario?”
Yadriel’s mouth was dry, making it hard to speak. “I’m the fairy godmother,” he managed to croak out. “I think that makes you the pumpkin.”
Julian’s melodic laughter echoed through the church and danced through the gaping hole in Yadriel’s chest.
“So…” Julian’s gaze shifted to Lady Death.
She waited for them at the altar.
When Julian looked back, that crease between his thick eyebrows was back. “What’s next?”
Yadriel wanted to give Julian some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. He was having a hard time reining in the flood of emotions tearing through him. His heart thudded dully in his pulse. “Give me a minute to set up.”
Gingerly, he dusted the cobwebs off Lady Death’s faded black mantle and plucked a couple of dead moths from the golden embroidery. He swept his fingers over the delicate feathers of her headdress, letting their colors show their true vibrance.
His backpack sat on the nearest pew. Yadriel took out Julian’s favorite snacks they had bought earlier. He set the desserts, Takis, and smelly duros at Lady Death’s feet, along with a pan de muerto. He could feel Julian hovering behind him as he worked. He pulled out a St. Jude prayer candle he’d snuck into his basket at the store when Julian wasn’t paying attention. When he lit it, the flame trembled. A tiny bottle of mezcal and container of salt joined the snacks.
Yadriel pulled out the picture of Julian and his brother held under their father’s arms. Carefully, he propped it up in the center. The marigolds he’d grabbed were a little rumpled and wilted, but he popped the flowers off their long stems and made a small ring around the makeshift altar with the petals.
Lastly, he pulled out a calavera decorated with swirls of neon green, yellow, and blue. Piped orange flowers bloomed from its eyes. Julian was scrawled in lopsided letters across its forehead with magenta icing.
Yadriel stood and wiped his sweaty palms off on his thighs.
Julian leaned down, his fingers brushing over the calavera, rustling the golden marigold petals. “My own ofrenda?” he asked, looking up at Yadriel.
“Didn’t seem right for you to not have one, especially on Día de Muertos.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not much, I just thought—I don’t know—”
Julian stood up. “It’s perfect,” he said earnestly.
Yadriel stared up at him, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He clutched at Julian’s necklace around his neck and bit down on his bottom lip. He felt sick to his stomach. His own skin felt suffocating. That strange rushing sensation was under his feet again, throwing him off balance.
He wanted to say something important, something meaningful. He needed to, but he couldn’t find the words, and his throat was dangerously tight.
Julian’s smile fell from his lips. His pressed his palm against his chest like it ached. “You should get it over with,” he said. “It’s almost midnight, you don’t want to be late to see your mom.”
Yadriel just nodded numbly, because he didn’t know what else to do. Fumbling, he pulled out his portaje and the insulated bottle he’d filled with pig blood that morning. Gripping the hilt in one hand, Yadriel dipped his finger into the cool blood before swiping it across the length of the blade.
Julian watched as Yadriel unclasped the necklace and held the chain in his fist. The St. Jude medal quivered in his shaky hand. The silver glinted in the firelight and Julian’s obsidian eyes.
For a moment, Yadriel stood there, the necklace in one trembling hand, his portaje in the other.
Yadriel knew keeping Julian meant he’d be trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, until he became a violent husk of his former self, just like Tito.
But he wanted to keep him. Selfishly, dangerously, against all reason.
“Are you ready?” Julian asked, searching Yadriel’s eyes.
“No,” Yadriel told him, because he wasn’t.
Julian exhaled a quiet, surprised laugh that seemed to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.
The back of Yadriel’s throat ached, and his eyes stung.
How could he possibly recover from falling for Julian Diaz?
A smile conjured up those perfect dimples. He stepped closer and cupped the side of Yadriel’s face. His cold thumb swept across Yadriel’s wet cheek. The firelight danced in Julian’s glassy, dark eyes. “Do it anyways.”
Yadriel drew a shaky breath. “Muéstrame el enlace,” he said, his voice cracking.
The candles flared, their flames tall and erratic. The blade of Yadriel’s portaje glowed bright, and the golden thread appeared, connecting the medal in Yadriel’s hand to the center of Julian’s chest.
Julian’s eyes went to the side and his hand twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach up and touch it.
Energy charged through Yadriel’s veins and danced across his skin.
Julian drew in a shuddering breath and exhaled it through pursed lips. He looked at Yadriel and gave him a small nod.
Grasping his portaje, Yadriel drew his arm back.
Everything in Yadriel screamed at him not to do it. He tightened his grip, but his hand still shook. His chin wobbled. His teeth clicked against each other and his vision blurred.
“It’s okay,” Julian murmured, but he was lying. He kept his eyes on Yadriel’s. He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch.
When Yadriel spoke, his voice broke and the ache in his chest fractured and split into a thousand sharp pieces. “Te libero a la otra vida.”
He sliced his dagger through the air, bringing the blade down on the golden thread.
His arm jolted, violently jamming into the socket as golden light exploded. Yadriel squinted. The edge of the blade trembled on the line, sending off sparks where they met.
Yadriel sucked in a breath. Panic charged through him. It hadn’t worked. His portaje hadn’t cut the tether. Why hadn’t it worked?
Yadriel’s eyes shot to Julian. He looked just as surprised, his mouth open and his expression tight with confusion. Julian quickly shook his head. “It’s not me, I’m—”
In the distance, the church bells began to toll, ringing in midnight and welcoming the returning spirits.