“Yads?” Maritza said tentatively.
With a quick slice, Yadriel cut open his palm with his dagger.
“Yadriel!” Maritza shouted.
This was the only way he could think to get Lady Death’s attention. He needed this favor. He squeezed his hand into a fist. Blood spilled through his fingers. “Lady Death!” he called out. “I need you!”
A bright light exploded in the crypt. Maritza stumbled back. Yadriel threw his arm up to shield his eyes.
Marigold petals showered down around him. They twisted and sparked, tickling his face as they cascaded to the floor. The sweet smell of apples filled his nose.
The light faded. Tall and glowing with a warm light, Lady Death stared down at them, her expression calm. Her skin was smooth as stone, milky white and translucent. Through it, Yadriel could see her golden skeleton.
Parts of her ghostly flesh were missing from the left side of her face. An uneven line curved around her eye and down the side of her jaw, revealing some of her golden skull, teeth, and neck.
Lady Death’s hands pressed together, as if in prayer. The left one was only bone. Her white dress billowed out gently around her, like she was underwater. The hem swept along the tops of her bare feet.
Yadriel caught a glimpse of thick, black hair under her gilded lace mantle. A crown of marigolds rested upon her head, their petals gently falling around her. Bright and undulating, her right eye looked as if it had been filled with molten gold, while the other was just an empty, gleaming socket.
Yadriel openly gaped at her, barely even registering the throbbing pain in his hand.
“Mi hijo, Yadriel Vélez Flores,” she said, watching him carefully. Her voice was beautiful and melodic, like a song but with the echoing weight of stone. She spoke with an accent that Yadriel couldn’t place, like each syllable hit his ear with a ring from every Spanish voice he’d ever heard.
“Holy shit,” Maritza breathed, open-mouthed and staring.
Lady Death’s golden eyes slid to her. Her black-painted lips curled into a small smile. “Mi hija, Maritza Selena Escabas Santima.”
Her eyes bulged. “Holy shit.”
Yadriel was in shock. He couldn’t believe it had worked.
Lady Death looked around the crypt. Her gaze landed on the cenote, the blood on the floor. “You stopped a terrible thing from happening here,” she said, slowly shaking her head and sending more marigold petals cascading to the floor. “Without you, Bahlam would’ve escaped his prison.”
“My tío, is he…?” Yadriel trailed off.
Lady Death nodded somberly. “Bahlam has taken him to Xibalba.”
Guilt ripped Yadriel in half.
“It is not your fault,” she said gently. “Greed and hurt drive people to do horrible things.” Lady Death turned to the bodies lying on their sacrificial slabs. “My children were taken from this world before they were meant to go.”
“Can’t you bring them back?” Yadriel asked, desperation leaping in his chest. Miguel. Julian. The other two whom Yadriel didn’t even know.
But Lady Death was already shaking her head. “I am sorry, but I cannot bring them back,” she said gently.
“Please,” Yadriel begged, panic clawing up his throat once again. “Please, they didn’t deserve this! Like you said, they weren’t meant to die! They shouldn’t have lost their lives like this—just to be sacrificed for this!” He grabbed the jaguar amulet in his fist.
Lady Death sighed and bowed her head. “It is not my place to interfere.”
Anger and betrayal boiled in Yadriel’s gut. “Then why did you even come?” he spat.
“Yadriel,” Maritza hissed, staring at him with wide-eyed shock.
“If you can’t help me, then why even bother to appear?” Yadriel raged, ignoring Maritza.
Lady Death remained impassive. “I can’t undo what has been done.”
Yadriel seethed. “Then why—”
“But you have the power in your hands to right many wrongs.” Her golden eyes drifted to his hand.
Yadriel stared down at the amulet in his fist.
“But it will come at the greatest cost, mijo,” Lady Death said.
Brow furrowed, Yadriel tried to understand what that meant. The amulet continued to glow. He could feel the tingling on the back of his neck, sense the trapped spirits swarming in the amulet. The two strangers’. Miguel’s. Julian’s.
Tío Catriz said the power of the amulet, when fueled by the spirits of those who had been sacrificed, would help him gain the strength the brujx hadn’t had flowing through their blood in millennia.
Could he use that stolen power to release their spirits? Could he set them free?
Could he bring them back?
He thought of Miguel, his gentle cousin who was a great man and a doting son. He thought of Julian’s wild energy, his undying loyalty to his loved ones, and his determination to do anything to take care of them.
He thought of his mom and her kindness, how all she wanted was to heal and help others. He knew exactly what his mom would do if she were here. The same thing he was going to do.
Yadriel would let himself die, gladly, if it meant saving the four who had been so viciously and carelessly sacrificed. He refused to let them die for his uncle’s selfish gains.
He would do it for them. He would do it for Julian.
When he looked up at Lady Death, she smiled.
“Yadriel,” Maritza said at his side, as if just realizing what she meant. “Yadriel, don’t do it!”
But his mind was made up.
Holding it with both hands, Yadriel pressed the amulet to his chest.
Golden light ignited his skin. He sucked in a breath as electricity surged through his veins. He felt light-headed as the power swelled. Yadriel squeezed his eyes shut.
Let them go. Let them be free. Let them live.
“YADRIEL!”
The amulet exploded in his hands, throwing him onto his back. Yadriel groaned. His head swam. He tried to sit up, but every ounce of energy quickly bled out of him. He was too tired to move, too tired to breathe.
He could feel his mind slipping. His vision blurred and darkened.
Yadriel pushed through the fog, searching for something to hold on to, for somewhere to go.
He thought about Julian. The reckless glint in his eyes as he hung out the window of the Stingray, speeding down the highway. The low tenor of his voice as they whispered in the middle of the night, sprawled out on Yadriel’s bed and listening to music. The punch-drunk curl of his lips. The way he touched Yadriel’s cheek. The light brush of Julian’s lips. The way they made Yadriel’s heart thud in his chest.
He clung to them, even though they made him weak with grief and loss. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried to hold on to the memory, to hold on to Julian.
Stay with me. Stay with me.
Yadriel’s heartbeat slowed. His vision went dark. The sweet scent of apples tickled his nose.
He held on to the thought of Julian as tightly as he could.
Stay with me.
TWENTY-FOUR
Julian woke up with a violent jerk. He gulped down air, his heart hammering in his ribs.
What the fuck happened?!
He tried to focus and remember, pushing through the sludge in his head.
Someone was yelling, and Julian cringed as their voice rang in his ears. He wanted to tell them to shut the hell up, but all he managed was an annoyed grunt.
When he tried to sit up, his head swam. If there had been anything in his stomach, he definitely would’ve barfed it into his lap. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to make himself stop being dizzy through sheer force of will.
He was lying on something hard and cold. His whole body ached, like he’d eaten shit on his skateboard. There was a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. But—
Holy shit.
Julian touched his arms, his face, his chest.
He was alive?
He was alive!
Julian turned his heavy head, forcing his eyes open to seek out Yadriel.
He needed to tell him, he needed to show him, he needed to grab him and—
“Some goddess you are!” a familiar voice all but screamed.
Julian squinted into the dark room. “Maritza?”
Slowly, things came into focus.
He was sitting on what looked like a stone table.
It was covered in blood.
He was covered in blood.
Everything came rushing back to him. The church. The crypt. The dagger.
Julian’s hand flew to where he had been stabbed. His shirt was torn open and there was a cut. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it still hurt like a son of a—
“You’re nothing but a coward!”
Maritza sat on the floor, shouting up at the ceiling.
Who the hell was she yelling at?
Julian pushed himself to the edge of the stone table and placed his unsteady feet on the ground. He dug his fists into his bleary eyes and looked down. Then he sucked in a gasp, recoiling.
The floor was covered in blood. Maritza knelt in it, her white dress smeared crimson. She was leaning over something, muttering to herself, her movements erratic.
“Maritza?”
She jerked her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Look” was the wrong word. It was a vicious glare. Her painted lips were peeled back, showing her teeth. Her hair was a frazzled mess. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She seemed ready to claw his face off.