Chapter Five. Yadriel
FIVE
YADRIEL
Yadriel stared at the stranger in the alley. His brain stumbled through what had just happened—the fight, the maligno, the stranger with a portaje—and then stalled on the word they’d used, still ringing like a bell.
“Bruje.”
Not “brujo.” Not “bruja.” Not “brujx,” either.
The syllables turned over in his mind like a stone being smoothed by water.
Angel was tall, with dark bubble braids falling over one shoulder and eyes that glinted like molten gold.
“Easy,” they said, hands up and steady. “Maligno’s gone. You’re okay.”
Julian cradled his hand, which had been bloodied by the maligno’s strike. “I’m fine—still attached—just…” He winced. “Ow.”
“Can I take care of that for you?” Angel asked, glancing to Julian first, then to Yadriel and Maritza, as if asking for permission.
Before Yadriel could say anything, Julian shrugged.
Angel stepped forward. They gently took his wrist and unwound a burgundy rosary from their own knuckles. They pressed its beads to Julian’s palm.
Yadriel’s breath caught. Warm light kindled between their hands—soft, golden, familiar—until the torn skin knit closed.
Julian flexed his fingers, eyes huge. “No freaking way.”
Angel let out a small, amused laugh. “Way.”
“What the shit?” Maritza whispered, her voice tight.
Julian continued to stare at his hand, mouth open in shock. “How’d you do that?!”
Angel only smiled, a calm, self-assured energy radiating from them.
Yadriel couldn’t stop staring at the rosary still in Angel’s hand. A rosary. For healing. But they’d also had a dagger—Yadriel had seen it during the attack. One portaje for healing, and another for release.
“You’re from the East LA círculo, right?” Angel asked.
Yadriel gave a cautious nod. “Yeah…” he said slowly.
Angel’s gaze swept the three of them. “Name’s Angel, like I said—she/they pronouns. I’m from a small Texas círculo—off the radar but legit.”
Yadriel tried to mask his surprise. He knew there were other círculos, of course, but the idea that someone like Angel—someone like him—had grown up in one where they could be open, could do magic like this, was staggering.
Julian tilted his head, catching up and connecting the dots. “Wait, you healed me. But that’s—I thought only girls—” He grimaced. “I’m saying this wrong.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Maritza agreed.
Angel chuckled, unbothered. “I get that a lot.” Their fingers adjusted the rosary on their wrist. “I’m nonbinary, so Lady Death gave me both gifts—healing and release.”
Yadriel’s mind reeled. Impossible. It wasn’t supposed to work that way.
Yet here Angel stood, effortless and real, living proof of a version of brujería Yadriel had never been allowed to imagine.
He had spent so long fighting just to be seen as one thing—as a brujo—and Angel had both.
Both powers. Both gifts. Like Lady Death hadn’t asked them to choose.
And the wildest part? They didn’t look conflicted. They looked whole.
Maritza, seeming a bit flustered, crossed her arms. “For real?” she asked, more curious than hostile.
Angel raised an eyebrow. “Our traditions have changed. Evolved. Lady Death’s magic is gender-affirming, and so are we. I’m not the only trans bruje in our círculo, either.”
“I KNEW IT!” Julian shouted.
Yadriel’s heart clenched in his chest. He couldn’t believe it.
Yadriel swallowed hard. “So … your círculo just … accepted that?”
“Of course,” Angel said, as if it were obvious. “Lady Death sees me as I am. They just followed her lead.” Angel chuckled. “It’s been that way for longer than I’ve been alive. Kids, people my age, even elders,” she listed off. “We all have our roles, but there’s room for growth, for adaptation.”
Their gaze flicked to Yadriel, and their lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Tradition is important, but so is change.”
Yadriel’s heart felt like it might burst. This—this was everything he wanted for his community.
Angel paused when they caught the look on Yadriel’s face—a flicker of confusion, maybe even longing. Their grin dimmed. “Wait … your círculo doesn’t?”
Yadriel hesitated, then shook his head.
Angel’s brow furrowed with quiet disbelief. “Damn,” they murmured. Not judgmental, just disappointed. “You’d think Lady Death made that clear enough.”
Yadriel didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping the hilt of his dagger until Julian bumped him with a shoulder.
“See?” Julian grinned, always looking on the bright side. “Told you there had to be more trans brujx out there.”
Yadriel managed a small smile, but his mind was spinning.
Julian looked so happy—practically glowing with excitement at having been proven right, that other trans brujx like Yadriel were out there.
And part of Yadriel wanted to be swept up in that joy, to lean in to the hope that this meant things could be different.
But beneath that flicker of hope churned something deeper, heavier. Seeing Angel—confident, accepted, powerful—made him feel more than just awe. It made Yadriel ache. Ache for something he was still missing, just like when he first met Flaca.
Angel hadn’t had to fight for their place the way he had. And if they had … they didn’t wear it like armor the way Yadriel did.
He wasn’t jealous, not exactly. But the reminder of everything he’d had to prove just to be seen as a brujo, let alone one with power, made it hard to breathe.
“What are you doing here?” Maritza asked, still measuring.
“Passing through,” Angel said. “Heading south to see family across the border. I felt something wrong nearby and followed it.”
Yadriel’s brow furrowed. “The maligno?”
Angel nodded, impressed. “I got here just as it attacked. You’re the one who released it, right?”
Yadriel blinked, startled. “Yeah … I did.”
Angel grinned approvingly. “You’re good. Most people can’t manage it that quickly under pressure.”
Heat flared across Yadriel’s cheeks. “Thanks.”
Maritza still looked unsure, but her stance had shifted. Less guarded. More thoughtful.
“I’ve never met another brujx like me,” Yadriel said quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.
Angel met his eyes. “You’re not alone. Even if it feels like it.”
They said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it made Yadriel’s throat tighten. The silence stretched for a beat. Julian rocked on his heels and looked between them.
Yadriel blurted, “Do you want to come over?”
He hadn’t planned to say it. The words had slipped out before he could stop them. But now that they were hanging in the air, he realized why they had come so easily—why they felt necessary.
Because this was more than awe or curiosity. This was recognition. It was possibility. It was the first time Yadriel had seen someone like him—someone with both power and acceptance, who wasn’t caught in the fight to prove themself every single day.
He thought of Lita, of how she’d want to see this for herself, to look Angel in the eye and know the truth. He wanted her to see it, too.
He wanted to believe it was real.
Angel tilted their head.
“I mean—if you’re passing through anyway,” Yadriel rushed to add, suddenly nervous. “I’d like you to meet my abuela. She’d want to meet you.”
Angel studied him for a long moment, then gave a small, genuine nod. “I’d like that.”
Julian let out a whoop. “Awesome!”
Maritza finally uncrossed her arms. “Let’s hope Lita doesn’t faint,” she muttered.
But Yadriel saw a small smile tug at her lips.
Maybe things were changing after all.
Angel moved their car before dinner, promising to meet them at the address Yadriel gave in a few minutes. They didn’t offer much more than that, and Yadriel didn’t push. Something told him that giving Angel space was just as important as making them feel welcome.
Yadriel, Julian, and Maritza walked back together, the hush of evening creeping in around them. Whittier Boulevard hummed distantly behind them.
Julian was the first to break the silence. He practically bounced in place, unable to stand still as the excitement buzzed through his limbs.
“Okay, so, that was amazing! Did you see the way Angel healed my hand? Like, full-on movie magic!” he exclaimed, waving his hand wildly in front of Yadriel before spinning in a half circle like he might physically explode if he didn’t keep moving.
“Yeah, we saw,” Maritza said flatly, still sounding a bit rattled.
Julian ignored Maritza’s tone and turned back to Yadriel. “And did you hear what they said? Both gifts! Healing and releasing! That’s, like, next-level stuff, right?! You ever met anyone else like that?”
Yadriel shook his head. “Never. I didn’t even know it was possible to receive both of Lady Death’s blessings.”
He was used to Julian’s energy, the way he never quite stood still, but there was something even more charged about him now. Seeing someone like Angel had clearly lit a fuse.
And part of Yadriel envied that. Not just the ease with which Julian expressed his joy but the clarity of it. For Yadriel, this wasn’t simple. Angel’s existence made him feel hopeful and hollow at the same time—like he’d glimpsed a better world but didn’t know how to get there.
“Well, it is!” Julian said, practically bouncing beside him. “And they’re trans—like you!”
Maritza gave him a sideways look. “They’re not like Yads. Not exactly. They’ve got both portajes.”
There was something in her voice Yadriel couldn’t quite place. Not judgment, not jealousy, but something.
“They must do things really differently in Texas,” Yadriel offered, trying to keep the peace.
“It’s Lady Death’s magic, that part’s the same,” Maritza continued. “It’s the circle that’s different. Angel’s just lets them without being questioned or judged or ignored.”
Her words echoed in his head, louder than he wanted them to.
Maritza had always been frustrated by the limitations of their community’s traditions.
Yadriel could relate. Who wouldn’t be? She had the skill, the drive, the knowledge—but the East LA brujx wouldn’t even let her craft weapons like her dad, let alone give her a dagger of her own.
Their círculo had always said she didn’t fit, that her role wasn’t hers to claim.