Chapter Three. Julian #2
He focused. At first, it was just the scar—then the black split winked open, smoky tendrils flexing like fingers. He yanked his shirt down.
“Yep, definitely still there,” Julian said. “I think it’s taunting me now,” he added, scowling.
“Maybe it’s some kind of brujo birthmark?” Maritza wondered. She took out her phone and started tapping away at the screen.
“What are you—?” Yadriel glanced at the screen over Maritza’s shoulder.
“I’m checking BrujxTok,” she said.
“Maritza!” Yadriel hissed, swiping at the phone. “You can’t post stuff about brujx!”
“I’m not posting, I’m searching!” Maritza argued, holding the phone out of Yadriel’s reach.
“We’re not even supposed to talk about it outside the community!” Yadriel’s voice pitched higher, like his dad was going to appear out of thin air and confiscate his portaje.
Julian remembered Lita’s warning and felt it pinch all over again. Outsiders couldn’t know. Not Omar, not Rocky, not Luca, not Flaca. His people. He hated it, but Yadriel’s panic and Lita’s voice in his head made the rule feel carved in stone.
“We can’t ask the adults, so what else am I gonna do, Yads?!” Maritza barked back, waving him away as she attentively flicked through videos.
She paused. “Okay, yeah, I’m only seeing tarot girlies and white dudes with locs.” She shot Julian a glare. “My algorithm has been fucked ever since you sent me that video, Diaz!”
“THAT CAT-SUMMONING WAS HIGH ART,” Julian defended himself. “YOU LAUGHED!”
“Is it a curse?” Yadriel wondered quietly, his voice laced with concern. He kept stealing glances at Julian. Like maybe if he caught it off guard, the mark would reveal itself.
“Great, from zero to cursed in a day,” Julian muttered, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to him.
As they continued their trek through the familiar streets, Julian couldn’t shake the nagging thought poking at the back of his brain.
What if he was wrong? What if they did need the adults?
The possibility gnawed at him, a tiny mouse nibbling holes in the fabric of his certainty. They had knowledge, resources—maybe even answers.
But then he pictured Yadriel’s worried frown, the way his hands twisted together anxiously.
No. Protecting Yadriel from his family’s backlash trumped everything.
“Earth to Julian!” Maritza snapped her fingers in his face.
“Sorry,” Julian said, shaking off the creeping dread.
“Your face does this little twitchy thing when you’re stressing,” Maritza observed, half teasing, half concerned.
Julian sighed. “Just thinking about the next move.”
Maritza huffed. “Well, whatever the move is, we gotta be careful about it.”
“Right, totally,” Julian said, nodding along. “Measure once, cut twice.”
Maritza stopped dead in her tracks. “It’s measure twice, cut once.”
Julian threw his hands in the air. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Maritza!”
Yadriel’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You sure you don’t wanna rethink the whole ‘no brujx’ plan?”
Julian hesitated, caught between his loyalty and the fear of what might happen if they were wrong. But admitting doubt now would only fray the thread of bravery he was clinging to.
He’d made Yadriel’s life difficult enough—he refused to make it worse.
“Nah,” Julian said, more to convince himself than them. “We stick to the plan. We always land on our feet, right?”
“Right,” Yadriel echoed, but he seemed less sure.
“Hey.” Julian managed a grin, looping his arm around Yadriel’s neck to pull him against his side. “We got this!” he said, planting a loud, wet kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. “First, we gotta help out Bartolomé!”
Route 60 ran straight through the middle of Belvedere Park, from east to west. The north side was pretty run-down, with worn-out sports fields and some picnic benches. It was mostly dried grass, dirt, and cracked pavement.
They crossed the street to the entrance of the pedestrian bridge that crossed over the 60. A chain-link tunnel covered the bridge like metal bones of a giant snake silhouetted against the sky. Up ahead was the downward slope where Luca had gotten jumped and Julian had barreled to his rescue.
A coldness slithered over Julian’s scar.
“Hey, you good?” Maritza asked loudly over the roar of traffic below. She might not have seen his mark, but she always seemed to know when he was on edge.
“Fine,” Julian lied. He could still feel the sting of Catriz’s attack but shoved it to the back of his mind.
Julian’s favorite spot was the skate park. His dad used to bring him and Rio there all the time. Rio usually sulked on the bench while Julian hurled himself into the bowl, fearless enough to give their dad a heart attack every few seconds. Rio never got the balance down.
Now the place buzzed with life. Skaters grinding rails, roller girls flipping tricks, some old dude arguing with kids on scooters while a crowd filmed the bowl for the next viral crash.
Julian’s fingers itched to show off the new board Yadriel had given him, but they were on a mission. So he kept walking toward the aquatic center tucked in the corner, where he and his friends used to sneak in for free rec hours—always in the shallow end, for Flaca’s sake.
The south side of the park had a big lawn, trees, and, of course, the man-made “lake” that was technically just a pond. People called it El Parque de los Patitos because of all the birds that hung out.
On one side loomed the courthouse and civic center, on the other, the sheriff’s station with lots crammed full of cop cars.
But the courthouse lot stole the show—rows of lowriders gleamed under the fading sun, paint jobs shimmering with stories of pride and legacy, hoods lifted like treasure chests.
“Whoa,” Julian muttered, momentarily dazzled.
Then music drifted from the lake, pulling them onward.
It wasn’t hard to see why Bartolomé haunted this place—Julian would, too.
Laughter carried on the air, ducks skimmed the water, and the scent of fresh grass mingled with warm earth.
He imagined the spirit sitting on one of the benches, strumming chords while life buzzed harmoniously around him.
An amphitheater sat at the lake’s edge, facing a large stage built on a concrete island in the water.
Folklórico dancers spun, their colorful skirts painting the air with every twirl.
Beside the stage, mariachis serenaded the crowd, their voices rising above the strings and brass as if calling to the heavens.
“Let’s find somewhere quiet. We don’t need an audience for this,” Yadriel suggested as they dodged one family picnic and then another.
“Over there, it’s more secluded.” Maritza led them to a bench under a huddle of trees.
Something moved in the shadows of the branches.
“Wait—what was that?” Julian asked quietly, searching for—well, he didn’t know what, but he had a feeling it wasn’t a guitar-playing ghost.
“Look at you, tapping into your sixth sense,” Maritza teased, but the way she was grinning let Julian know she was impressed.
“Let’s hope it’s Bartolomé and not someone else.” Yadriel’s big brown eyes focused on the lake, his lips pressed between his teeth. He held his Hydro Flask and the guitar in front of him, his knuckles white.
“What’s up?” Maritza asked, coming up on his other side.
“A little freaked,” Yadriel admitted. “It’s my first official release—I don’t want to mess it up.”
Julian barked a laugh, earning him a glare from Maritza.
“But you’re you!” Julian said.
When Yadriel gave him a confused look, Julian continued. “You’re, like, the most powerful witch—”
“Brujo,” Yadriel corrected patiently.
“The most powerful brujo ever! You literally brought me back from the dead!” Julian reminded him.
“I guess,” Yadriel said, but he still sounded miserable. “But it feels like if I slip up, it proves I don’t deserve this.”
Julian’s chest filled with warmth. It was wild to him that Yadriel couldn’t see how cool, badass, and sometimes scary-in-a-good-way he was, but Julian was happy to remind him.
He grabbed Yadriel by the front of his hoodie and dragged him in close. “Listen, you already did the impossible—this is just ducks and a guitar!” he said, grinning ear to ear.
That coaxed the smallest smile out of Yadriel before he leaned in and buried his face in Julian’s chest. “I guess,” Yadriel muttered into Julian’s shirt.
Julian happily squeezed his arms around Yadriel in a reassuring hug.
“He’s right, Yads,” Maritza added, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Go show ’em how it’s done!”
Sandwiched between them, Yadriel finally smiled. “Thanks, you guys.”
He stepped forward, and Julian gave his butt a pinch.
Yadriel jumped, swatting his hand away.
Maritza groaned and rolled her eyes. “Can you control yourself?” she asked, pushing Julian out of the way to follow Yadriel.
“You know I can’t!” Julian shot back, chasing after her.
The lake shimmered with the fading daylight as Yadriel set the guitar down at his feet. “Here goes nothing,” Yadriel said, his gaze locked on the still surface of the lake.
Julian couldn’t help but shuffle impatiently beside Maritza, who gave him a shove.
“Chill,” she whispered, though her own hands kept toying with the pink quartz rosary around her neck.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Julian mumbled, locking his dark eyes on the calm waters, trying to anchor himself in the moment. It was like trying to hold on to a breeze—elusive and gently mocking his attempts at stillness.
Yadriel knelt beside the bench, setting down the old guitar case and pulling a worn canvas pouch from his bag.
Julian and Maritza instinctively moved into place on either side of him, standing like a pair of human privacy screens.
“I really don’t want to explain to a cop why my boyfriend’s waving around a bloody knife,” Julian muttered, glancing around.
“Then keep your body between him and the BabyBjorn brigade,” Maritza whispered back.
Julian snorted but nodded. Fair enough.