Chapter Eight. Julian #3
“Uh, are we ready to go?” Maritza murmured out of the corner of her mouth to Julian and Yadriel while Lita continued to fawn over Rio.
“More than ready,” Julian said, grabbing Yadriel’s hand and pulling him toward the door. He and Maritza exchanged fist bumps before he shot a glare at Rio. “We’re leaving now!”
“Have a good day!” Lita called after them, waving cheerily as she hung on Rio’s arm.
“Yo, should we be leaving Rio alone with them?” Maritza asked, glancing back at the house as Julian made a beeline down the path that led into the cemetery.
“You mean ‘her’?” Yadriel corrected. He ran a hand over his face as if he were trying to scrub the past five minutes from his memory.
“He’ll be fine!” Julian grumbled. “That’s what he gets for being an asshole,” he said, scanning the shadows between gravestones. “Come on—let’s move.”
As they walked through the cemetery, old trees cast long shadows across the path. The morning mist clung to the weathered stones and wrought iron gates like a shroud. Despite the festive decorations dotting some of the graves, an undeniable chill seeped into Julian’s bones.
Julian marched ahead, each step crunching over gravel and dried leaves as he quickened his pace.
“Grumpy?” Yadriel nudged Julian’s arm, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“He’s always grumpy,” Maritza teased, bumping her hip into Julian’s.
“I mean, grumpier.”
“I’m not grumpy!” Julian barked, his mood as sour as the milk he’d almost poured into his cereal. “I’m annoyed! It’s totally different!”
That and he had something very important to tell them. Several somethings, in fact, none of which he wanted Rio, Enrique, or Lita to overhear.
“That was super convincing,” Maritza said flatly. She pulled a stained Tupperware from her bag and popped it open. Bright-red Haitian spaghetti steamed into the cold morning air, the vegan sausage and peppers smelling amazing as she dug in for a huge bite.
“You’re annoyed about Rio?” Yadriel asked. “It really wasn’t that bad,” he tried to rationalize. “It’s totally reasonable that Rio would want my dad’s contact info. Honestly, it’d be more weird if he didn’t, considering we’re dating and spend so much time together.”
Julian grunted. He continued forward on his mission, glancing over his shoulder as they walked, eyes darting from mausoleums to dark corners.
“I agree with Yads,” Maritza said. “This time I do think he was doing the right thing and not being a dick.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Or, not only being a dick.”
“I guess,” Julian replied disdainfully.
Somehow, it was worse that Yadriel and Maritza were on Rio’s side when Julian was pissed off at him. He kicked a loose pebble, sending it skittering across the cemetery path.
“You okay?” Yadriel asked, jogging a few steps to catch up.
“Fine,” Julian muttered, quickening his pace. “Just—keep walking.”
The moment they passed into the older part of the cemetery—past the headstones with faded names, past earshot of Lita’s house, and far enough from any lingering spirits—he veered them off the main path without explaining, eyes sharp, shoulders tight.
Yadriel and Maritza exchanged a glance, startled.
“Jules—what’s going on?” Yadriel asked.
“Just—wait.”
They passed a crooked row of headstones, and Julian paused, scanned the area again.
“Okay,” he said, breath shallow. “We’re alone now, right?”
Yadriel opened his mouth, but Julian didn’t wait for a response. He turned to them so fast he nearly tripped.
“Angel can see my dark spot!” Julian blurted out. “And it’s not just me—Luca has one, too!”
Yadriel’s and Maritza’s eyes went wide.
“What?” Yadriel asked, stepping closer. “Angel can see it?”
“Luca has one?” Maritza repeated, as if Julian must be wrong.
“Yeah! Right here!” Julian pressed a hand to his chest, over the scar above his heart. “I saw it on him!”
Yadriel frowned deeply, his gaze fixed on Julian’s hand. “What did Angel say?”
“They called them Marca Huecas,” Julian said, closing his hand around his St. Jude medal. “They said it’s a sign of susto?” The word was still unfamiliar on his tongue.
“Susto?” Yadriel echoed, his brows knitting together. Then he started nodding. “Yeah, I know what that is.”
“You do?” Julian asked, surprised.
“It’s a common illness,” Yadriel explained. “Even non-brujx know about it.”
Julian shook his head. “Well, I’ve never heard of it before! Angel said it’s like—like—pieces of my soul are missing! Scattered!” he said.
“That’s what happens with susto,” Yadriel confirmed grimly. “It’s like PTSD but spiritual. Brujas treat people for it all the time.” He paused. “I got susto after my mom died.”
That news startled Julian. “You did?!” He instantly searched for signs of a dark spot lurking in the fabric of Yadriel’s black hoodie.
Yadriel self-consciously crossed his arms over his chest, blocking it. “I don’t have susto anymore—I got better,” he said, a little tersely.
He hesitated, gaze dropping to the cracked tile between them. “When my mom died, though … I had it bad for a while. Couldn’t sleep. Felt like my spirit didn’t fit inside me right—like it kept trying to float out through my ribs.” He rubbed his sternum absently.
“How’d you get better?” Julian asked quietly. How could he get better?
“Lita did limpias, and my dad helped with the offerings,” Yadriel explained, quiet and thoughtful at the memory.
“But what really made it easier was building her altar at home. Leaving out her candle and favorite café. Knowing I’d see her again on Día de Muertos—that she was still close—that’s when I started feeling whole again. ”
Julian swallowed hard. That kind of hope wasn’t available to him. His dad wasn’t waiting anywhere—just gone. No holiday, no candle, no second chance.
“Mostly Lita and my dad taking care of me,” Yadriel went on. “And time. That helps, too.”
Julian’s mind reeled, terrified by the idea of Yadriel having the sickness, even if he’d recovered from it already.
“Angel says the Marca Huecas are like … like scars? A hole where your soul busted out of you like that alien in that alien movie!” Julian’s fingers twitched at his sides, craving something to fidget with, a physical anchor to ground his spinning thoughts.
“Seriously?” Yadriel breathed, his dark eyes searching Julian’s face for any hint of jest. But Julian’s somber expression spoke volumes.
“And if I don’t fix it, if I die with this hole inside me, I’ll turn into one of those malignos!” Julian wrapped his arms around himself.
“Okay, hold up,” Yadriel said, trying to calm him. “First, I’ve never heard that before, Jules. Second, you’re not dying anytime soon, so get that out of your head,” he said firmly.
Maritza stepped forward, her arms crossed and her expression skeptical. “And Angel told you all this? Why would they know more about susto than your Lita or Enrique?”
“And why can Angel see them but we can’t if we’re all brujx?” Yadriel added.
Julian’s brain was starting to buzz with too much information.
“Angel said that some folks in her círculo do a special ceremony, a ritual thing that lets them see the marks,” Julian said, doing his best to remember how Angel phrased it.
“And their portajes get a special blessing from Lady Death. Her and her family can see them.”
Maritza’s expression darkened, and she let out a sharp laugh. “Convenient.”
“She’s seen Marca Huecas before,” Julian insisted. “She knew what mine was. And Luca’s. Angel might actually know how to help.”
Maritza’s eyes narrowed. “How do you even know she’s telling the truth? She could be feeding you a load of crap.”
Julian bristled, her words hitting a nerve. “She’s not lying!” he said firmly, the memory of Angel’s serious, almost haunted gaze flashing through his mind. “She can see the marks, Maritza. Mine. Luca’s. That’s real!”
Maritza crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Doesn’t mean we should just trust her without question,” she said. “What do you even know about Angel? Besides the fact that she’s a bruje from Texas?”
“Not every new person you meet is suspicious just because you don’t know them!” Julian shot back, his arms crossing over his chest as a shield.
“All right, let’s take a second to slow down,” Yadriel said, holding his hands up.
“How can you see the Marca Huecas, then? You didn’t do any special ceremony,” Maritza pointed out.
“I know!” Julian said, throwing his hands up. “None of it makes any sense to me! But Angel knows more than any of us do, and she offered to teach me how to see the Marca Huecas easier, how to help people who have them. She said not to worry—if a maligno shows up, she’ll handle the release.”
Yadriel tilted his head, considering that, but his dark eyes were full of concern. “Answers are goo— Wait.” Yadriel’s brow pinched. “Why would malignos even show up to begin with?”
“Exactly!” Maritza said. “It doesn’t make sense!”
“Why don’t you trust Angel?! She’s a bruje who can see Marca Huecas and use them to release malignos!” Julian snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “This is literally what she does!”
“First of all,” Maritza said, her sharp tone cutting, “lower the bass in your voice.”
Julian snapped his mouth shut, cheeks burning.
“It’s just…” She let out a growl of frustration. “Angel used her portaje as a weapon. It doesn’t sit right with me, Jules. Something’s off.”
Julian turned to Yadriel. His boyfriend usually saw the good in people. “Yads, come on, you trust her, right?”
Yadriel hesitated, glancing between them. “I mean … it is strange to fight with your portaje,” he admitted, then exhaled. “But she’s another trans brujx.” His voice gentled. “I don’t think she’d hurt us.”
Julian blinked, surprised at the almost dreamy tone in Yadriel’s voice. It wasn’t like Yads to let down his guard, but Julian could see how much meeting someone like Angel meant to him. Yadriel looked at Angel and saw someone who understood—someone like him.