Chapter Eight. Julian #4
“Look,” Maritza said, breaking through Julian’s thoughts. “Releasing a spirit, even a maligno, is supposed to have care in it. Intention,” she stressed. “It’s not just about getting rid of a problem or fighting a danger. It’s about guiding someone home.”
Julian shifted uncomfortably. “That doesn’t mean Angel’s a bad bruje.”
“No,” Maritza agreed, “but it means I don’t trust how she treats the dead. Or what she’d do if she had to choose between helping someone—or just … cutting them loose.”
That landed harder than Julian expected.
“But I’ve got this spot, and Angel knows about them.
I can see Marca Huecas,” Julian said, the words tumbling out.
He looked between Yadriel and Maritza, voice catching and panic rising like a tide.
“And I think I can help people with them—Luca at least. I don’t know how yet—but I have to try.
I can’t let anything bad happen to Luca—! ”
“Or you,” Yadriel added sternly with a frown.
“The point is,” Julian said, “that mark is growing.” He paused, then added, quieter, “All the stuff I’m seeing—hearing—it’s getting worse, and I know it’s got to do with this stupid thing—” He pointed to his chest, to the mark that neither of them could see.
Julian turned back to Yadriel, his voice pleading. “Yads, I need to do this. I need answers. I need to save Luca.”
Yadriel sighed, the tension in his shoulders visible. “I get it,” he said finally. “I do. And I’m not saying Angel is bad, but—” He reached out, resting a hand on Julian’s arm. “Malignos are dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Julian’s heart squeezed at the concern in Yadriel’s voice. “I’ll be fine,” he said, though the weight of his own doubts lingered. “Angel’s going to teach me what to do. I’m not rushing into anything blind.”
Yadriel didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “And if anything feels off, you leave and call me.”
Julian squeezed Yadriel’s hand, his voice low. “I promise.”
As they neared the school gates, the morning noise swallowed them—the slam of lockers, the echo of skate wheels over concrete, someone blasting music from a phone that needed better speakers.
The three of them slowed as the crowd thickened, students splitting off toward their first classes.
“Stay safe,” Yadriel murmured, releasing him reluctantly.
“Always am,” Julian lied, flashing a grin.
Maritza bumped his shoulder. “Text if you need backup. Don’t be stupid.”
“I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid,” Julian reassured her.
That, at least, made Maritza and Yadriel laugh.
And then they were gone, swallowed by the crowd. But the weight in Julian’s chest didn’t go anywhere. It only settled deeper.
The classroom was stuffy. Julian slouched in his chair in his usual post-lunch food coma, propping his chin on his hand as he gazed out the window.
His biology teacher, Mr. Núnez, was droning on about osmosis, his voice a low hum like the static of an untuned radio.
Outside, sunlight filtered through the jacaranda trees, their purple blossoms long gone, golden leaves clawing against a pale winter sky.
He should’ve been half asleep by now, same as everyone else, but a jittery energy buzzed under his skin. Maybe too much caffeine. Maybe not enough sleep.
Julian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as a faint prickle ran up the back of his neck. It wasn’t just boredom—something felt … off.
He scanned the classroom, his gaze darting over the hunched forms of his classmates, most of whom were either scribbling notes or staring blankly at their desks. No one seemed to notice anything unusual.
Still, the sensation lingered, an itch beneath his skin he couldn’t scratch.
Mr. Núnez stood at the front of the room, gesturing toward a diagram of a cell membrane projected on the whiteboard.
At first glance, everything seemed normal, but then Julian saw it—a dark, oily patch seeping through the front of Mr. Núnez’s starched white shirt, spreading slowly like ink in water.
Julian’s breath hitched. He blinked, his vision sharpening as the blotch pulsed faintly, almost alive.
A murmur tickled his ears, indistinct and fleeting, like distant whispers carried on a breeze.
He angled his head, trying to listen, but the voices remained just out of reach, swirling and overlapping until they became a static hum that burrowed into his skull.
The hairs on Julian’s arms stood on end. His fingers gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart raced, each beat pounding like a drum in his chest.
“Julian?”
Mr. Núnez was staring at him, eyebrows raised in concern. The dark spot was gone, leaving nothing but an unblemished white shirt.
“Are you paying attention?” Mr. Núnez asked, his tone stern but tinged with worry. “You look a little pale.”
Julian forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Yeah, sorry. Just…” He was too distracted to finish, still looking around the room.
Mr. Núnez’s frown deepened. He dipped his chin to look at Julian over his glasses. “Do you need to see the nurse?”
“Uh, no— Can I use the bathroom?” Julian asked, already half rising from his seat. He couldn’t stay in the room a second longer.
After a moment, Mr. Núnez sighed and nodded. “Take the hall pass.”