Espíritu (Cemetery Boys #2)

Chapter One. Julian

ONE

JULIAN

Julian scooped up a fistful of shriveled marigold petals and flung them at his boyfriend. “You missed a spot!”

Yads dodged, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Are you actually cleaning, or just making trouble?”

“Multitasking,” Julian said, scraping at the wax with exaggerated effort.

They were supposed to be tidying graves—everybody was.

It was December 19 and the whole East LA brujx community buzzed with preparations for the upcoming Midnight Vigil and the Candle Dance of Eternal Light: sweeping leaves, replacing old candles, making everything perfect.

Julian didn’t know much about the holidays yet—Yadriel had promised Lita would give him the full rundown, whether he wanted it or not—but he was always down for a party, and he could follow directions.

Scrape, shine, don’t knock over the flowers.

It was still wild that he could see spirits so clearly. It made sense, though. Julian had been a ghost himself. Dead and yet not dead. A brujx but also not. He knew he belonged—he just wasn’t sure how he fit.

“Good work, mijos!”

Lita and Enrique appeared with armfuls of papel picado, string lights, and incense. Lita’s braid glinted silver in the sun, her shawl as loud as her voice. Enrique’s mustache twitched as he smiled, big hand already clapping Julian’s shoulder.

“Everything looks beautiful,” Lita said.

Julian rubbed the back of his neck, ears hot. “Uh … thanks.” He never got compliments for doing chores.

Yadriel set down his brush a little too hard. “We could be doing more than this,” he muttered, brows bunching. “Spirits need help, not just swept headstones.”

Enrique’s smile faltered. “Everyone starts with the basics, Yadriel. You put in your time, work your way up. That’s how it’s always been.”

Yadriel’s jaw tightened. “Shouldn’t we be releasing spirits by now?”

“Chores build character,” Enrique said, patting a headstone like that settled it.

Julian snorted. “Guess I’m about to be the most ‘character-built’ brujo in East LA.”

That cracked a reluctant smile out of Yadriel.

A few plots away, someone huffed, “No, no, no! You can’t call el diablito when I clearly had el catrín first!”

Julian glanced up. A cluster of golden shimmers hovered around a granite angel—spirits deep in a very serious lotería beef.

The old man in suspenders wagged his ghostly cigar. “Hah! Tell that to Lady Death when she comes for you, Luján. Oh, wait—”

The other spirits gasped as Senora Luján swatted at him with her translucent card. “?Descarado! Just for that, I’m calling el borracho next—”

Julian couldn’t help it. He leaned over, grinning. “You guys fight dirtier than my friends in Mario Kart. At least try to look ‘restful’—you’re supposed to be resting in peace.”

“Rest is for the boring, mijo.” Luján sniffed.

“Spirits gotta have hobbies,” Julian shot back.

“Exactly!” she said, smug.

Julian was supposed to be scraping wax with Yadriel, but it was hard to stay on task when everyone wanted his attention.

“?Julianito!” Felipe called, strumming his battered vihuela. The cheerful twentysomething ghost’s bolero jacket was as dusty as his grin was reckless.

Julian pulled a crumpled bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos from his pocket. “I put these on your ofrenda that one time and you swore it burned your ghost tongue!”

Felipe cackled. “It did! Totally worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Julian said, tossing the bag onto Felipe’s headstone like a busker’s tip.

Felipe launched into a tragically off-key rendition of “Te Boté,” his voice echoing through the headstones. Some ghosts made the world feel more alive than the living did.

Julian scanned the cemetery. Someone was missing. “Hey—where’s Claribel? Thought she’d be yelling at you by now.”

Felipe’s grin faltered. “Dunno. Haven’t seen her all week. Probably still mad at me.” His strumming turned softer. Something pinched behind Julian’s ribs.

A cool breeze brushed his shoulder. He spotted a faint shimmer near a row of graves. A jump of excitement shot through him. “HEY, MARISOL!” he shouted, waving enthusiastically.

The teenage ghost startled, her golden form flickering. She gave a hesitant wave back.

Julian jogged over and crouched at her side. “Wanna play lotería?” He jerked his head toward the spirits playing cards. “I’ll even help you cheat.”

Almost a smile. A shake of her head. She drifted farther among the stones.

Felipe appeared at Julian’s shoulder, watching her go. “She doesn’t talk much.”

“Yeah, but she’s cooler than half my living friends,” Julian said. “Sometimes being quiet just means you’re carrying heavy stuff. Doesn’t make you any less badass.”

He returned to Yadriel and grabbed the brush as if he’d never put it down. “See? I’m totally focused.”

“Uh-huh,” Yadriel said, but his mouth twitched.

Enrique squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “At least our brujo here is learning fast.”

Brujo.

The word still left Julian a little dazed. It felt like someone had handed him a name tag he wasn’t sure he deserved—heavy in one hand, proud in the other. He’d woken up after dying to a world filled with spirits, and somehow the brujx had made room for him in it.

There were rules, though. Keep the brujx secret. Keep a low profile when you could see ghosts lingering between the aisles at Walmart. Don’t screw it up.

Julian covered the warmth in his chest with a smirk. “Guess I’ll add it to my résumé—‘professional wax scraper, amateur brujo.’”

“You’re not even good at the scraping part,” Yadriel said, deadpan.

“Wow, rude! Show some respect to the little people.”

“You’re not little.”

Julian flashed him a smug grin. “Exactly.”

Yadriel’s ears went pink and he tried to look annoyed, but Julian wasn’t falling for it.

Lita clapped her hands, startling a few gossiping spirits into silence. “All right, enough lounging! Enrique, get the rest of these decorations down from the rafters before tonight!”

Enrique sighed good-naturedly and headed toward the church.

Lita hooked her arm through Julian’s. “Come, mijo. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Finally, someone who respects my union breaks!” Julian said.

“You don’t even know what a union is,” Yadriel muttered, bumping his shoulder as they headed for the gate.

“Sure I do. It’s when I do the jokes and you do the chores. Perfect balance of labor!”

Yadriel groaned, but he was smiling as Lita ushered them toward her rust-patched beater at the curb.

Julian reached for the car door, half ducking inside—then stopped. On impulse, he pivoted back, caught Yadriel gently by the front of his hoodie, and stole a quick kiss. Soft, warm, gone in a heartbeat.

Yadriel made a startled sound, blinking fast as color rushed up his cheeks.

Julian grinned, breathless with how easily Yadriel could undo him. “Don’t forget about me while I’m gone.”

Yadriel let out a tiny, helpless laugh, still pink. “I literally couldn’t if I tried.”

Lita gave Julian a ride home in her ancient car that sounded like it was held together by determination and spite. Banda music blasted from the speakers, the brassy, cheerful notes rattling the loose dashboard, and Lita drove it like a bat out of hell.

Julian stumbled out of the car when she screeched to a halt in front of the mechanic shop, his legs feeling like jelly.

“Thanks, Lita!” he called as he slammed the car door shut.

“Be good, mijo!” she sang in reply. Lita gave him a bright wave before peeling out, tires squealing like she was already late for her next appointment.

Julian kicked his board up under one arm and paused at a fresh alley piece—a coyote with neon wings.

The lines weren’t clean, but the colors slapped.

His brain pinged like, Side quest unlocked, and he had to drag himself back on task.

ADHD was like living with a thousand mini games, every new one begging him to play.

The mechanic shop took up most of the street corner, its faded sign advertising tune-ups, custom paint jobs, and hydraulic suspension repairs. The wide bay doors were rolled open, and the clank of metal on metal mixed with the rumble of engines. A tang of grease hung in the air.

“Julian!” Rio’s voice cut through the noise. He was bent under the hood of a rusted truck, sweat dripping down his temples. “Go upstairs and help with cleaning. You’re in for the night.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Julian threw a lazy salute.

Carlos, the owner, was pinstriping a sixties Impala while “Feliz Navidad” blasted overhead, loud enough to make Julian’s teeth grind. Christmas music had been a constant fixture for weeks now.

Julian trudged past, scowling with both hands clamped over his ears. “Seriously?! ‘Feliz Navidad’ again?!” he barked.

Carlos just grinned, gold tooth flashing. “Gotta keep the holiday spirit alive, kid!”

Julian rolled his eyes, hiding a smile. “I doubt that!”

He slid his fingers along the side of the Corvette Stingray as he passed it, slick from the fresh wax he and Yadriel had applied just a few days ago.

He kept walking until he reached the narrow stairway on the side of the building.

The music chased him up the steps. The last verse ended as he reached the door.

“Thank God,” Julian huffed to himself. The door stuck, as always, so he threw his shoulder into it until it popped open.

Inside the apartment was pure chaos. Flaca was waging war on the counters, Omar was cussing at a dust bunny like it owed him money, and Rocky’s broom spread crumbs more than it caught.

“Welcome to the Christmas edition of spring cleaning,” she said, not looking up.

Since Julian’s hospital release, they’d been doomed to extra chores. Punishment for stealing the Stingray and almost dying—but mostly for stealing the Stingray.

“Guilty by association,” Rio had said. Between Enrique, Lita, and Rio, Julian was on triple cleaning duty.

Julian let out a whistle at the pile of half-filled trash bags and an overflowing laundry basket. “I love what you’ve done with the place—really brings out the mold!”

“Grab a rag or grab the door,” Omar shot back, sneezing. “Actually—no, don’t touch anything.”