Chapter Nine. Yadriel
NINE
YADRIEL
Warm gold clung to the tops of houses as Yadriel and Maritza walked home. The air had cooled just enough to make Yadriel tuck his hands into his hoodie sleeves. He walked beside Maritza in silence, the full-volume commotion known as Julian having split off with Rocky, Luca, and Omar.
Yadriel kept replaying the exchange with Julian from earlier. Wide eyes. Rigid shoulders. Breaths coming in panicked gasps. It was as if Julian were trying to act normal but couldn’t pull it off because he was that scared.
He’d told Julian that they would figure it out, but he didn’t know how. Especially not without help from the other brujx.
Yadriel glanced at Maritza, who was scrolling through her phone, her brow furrowed in thought.
“Something’s wrong with Julian,” he said.
Maritza looked up from her phone, thumb hovering mid-scroll. “Uh, yeah, no kidding,” she said. “He looked like he’s one more hallucination away from a meltdown.”
Yadriel winced. “He texted me to meet him after lunch, and when I found him, he said he saw something in the janitor’s closet.”
Maritza made a face. “Gross.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Yadriel said, though a ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth. “He said there was … glowing water? Whispers. And he swore there were eyes staring back at him from a mop bucket.”
That made Maritza slow her pace. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “Gross and haunted.”
Yadriel’s chest tightened. He’d seen Julian scared before—flinching from shadows, hiding it behind jokes—but this was different. Maritza was right, he was haunted. Whatever Julian had stumbled into, it was brushing too close to the kind of danger Yadriel couldn’t exorcise with words.
Yadriel’s voice dropped. “Between that, susto, and the Marca Huecas…” He trailed off.
The pattern was starting to scare him. It wasn’t just one weird experience—it was threads weaving together, too deliberate to ignore. Whatever was happening to Julian wasn’t random, and if the magic was fraying around him, it meant something—or someone—was pulling at the edges.
Maritza rolled her eyes, sharp and immediate. “And he thinks Angel has the answers,” she said flatly.
Yadriel didn’t bite. “They’re the only other person we know who can see the marks. That’s useful.”
Maritza’s mouth flattened. “Useful isn’t the same as trustworthy.”
“We’ll take the help and keep our guard up,” Yadriel said, ending it.
He hated that she wasn’t wrong. But he also hated how helpless he felt. Julian was slipping through his fingers, and no matter how tight he tried to hold on, he couldn’t stop it.
Maritza sighed. “So what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know yet,” Yadriel said, hesitating. “Maybe if we can figure out how to cure the susto—his and Luca’s—”
“Then we’ve got a lead,” Maritza finished, nodding. “Okay. That means we need more information. About the marks. About susto.”
“Lita might know,” he suggested. “She’s dealt with soul stuff before. Whatever Julian’s seeing … it’s different.”
Maritza tapped her temple. “She always knows more than she lets on. And she’s so damn nosy.”
“You’re right,” Yadriel said, nodding. “We’d have to be careful how we ask about it.”
Lita was stubborn, but above all else, she always wanted to help.
If they could steer the conversation and keep it away from “Julian has a cursed mark only he can see,” that would be for the best. Yadriel still didn’t trust Lita or his dad to listen to them and not fly off the handle.
He needed to do what was best for Julian.
Yadriel’s pulse picked up. He could already picture the tight set of Julian’s jaw, the way he brushed off concern with a joke. He wasn’t okay. And if this kept spiraling … “We need to figure it out. Soon.”
“Before things get worse,” Maritza agreed.
They walked a few steps in silence. Then, an idea hit Yadriel.
There was someone else they could ask: Miguel.
Miguel had been sacrificed, just like Julian.
If this Marca Hueca thing had to do with the sacrifice, then Miguel might’ve gone through something similar.
Maybe he could see the marks, too. More important, Miguel was an adult Yadriel did trust. He’d had Yadriel’s back from the start of his transition, and Miguel knew when to keep secrets.
“We should talk to Miguel,” Yadriel told Maritza.
Her eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!”
Yadriel grinned. Finally, a plan. “But we’re not showing up empty-handed. Conchas, minimum.”
Maritza chuckled. “Obviously. If we want emotionally repressed revelations, we bring carbs.”
“Exactly.” He bumped his shoulder into hers.
“But first we need to understand what we’re dealing with.”
And Lita hopefully would have the answer.
Simmering fruit and spices greeted Yadriel and Maritza as they stepped through the door of Yadriel’s house. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the crisp December air outside. The rich aroma of guavas, apples, and cinnamon curled through the air.
Maritza elbowed him with a grin. “Ponche!” She gasped, beelining toward the stove.
Yadriel couldn’t bring himself to match her energy.
Lita stood nearby, apron dusted with sugar, her silver hair pinned into a loose bun.
She hummed softly—a melody Yadriel couldn’t name but had heard a hundred times before.
Her voice, the smells, the soft bubbling on the stove—it should’ve soothed him.
But all it did was churn the tight knot in his chest.
Lita turned, a wide smile gracing her face. “Ninos, just in time! The ponche’s almost ready. You can help me with the tamales after a cup. We’re going to need a bigger freezer!” she added, chuckling to herself.
Maritza already had a mug in hand and was sipping from it dramatically. “We’re not here for tamales, Lita,” she said.
Yadriel squared his shoulders, doing his best to be brave. “We have questions.”
Lita’s smile faltered. “What’s on your mind, mi amor?”
Yadriel hesitated. He could feel Maritza watching him. But it was Lita’s steady, quiet presence that helped him push the words out. “It’s about susto.”
Lita’s brow knit. “Susto is not something people ask about lightly,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why are you asking now?”
Before he could answer, Maritza stepped in. “We’ve heard things. But no one ever explains it. Not really. We realized you’re probably the one who knows best.”
Lita’s eyes stayed on Yadriel, quiet and unblinking. He shifted under the weight of her gaze. Finally, she nodded and motioned for them to sit. “What do you want to know?”
Yadriel took a deep breath. “I know what susto is—or I thought I did. I had it after my mom died. I was so depressed, I barely remember any of it. But…”
He trailed off, unsure how to say it without unraveling. Maritza gave him a tiny nod, her expression unusually serious.
“We just … want to understand the parts no one talks about,” she said. “The stuff healers know. The things that don’t show up in books or rituals.”
Lita nodded slowly. “Susto is a terrible sickness,” she said. “Not just grief. It’s when the soul dislodges—sometimes from shock, sometimes from pain. Suffering. The stronger the emotions, the harder it is for your soul to stay tethered to your body.”
Maritza tapped her fingers against her ponche mug. “What happens when someone has it? What does it look like?”
Lita tilted her head at the question, as if it puzzled her. Yadriel exchanged a look with Maritza—that seemed to confirm Lita didn’t know about the dark spots, either.
“It varies,” Lita said. “Some people become restless. Others feel disconnected—like they’re watching themselves live from the outside. You’ll see fatigue, emotional numbness. A deep … absence.”
She turned to Yadriel. “You remember, mijo,” she said gently.
“I do,” he said quietly. “But with Julian, it’s different.” His voice dropped. “Lita … do you think he has it?”
Lita’s face fell. She folded her hands in her lap and let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, mijo. I do.”
Yadriel’s stomach dropped. “Can you see it?”
Lita frowned. “See it?” she repeated.
Yadriel quickly course corrected. “How long have you known?”
Lita hesitated, but then she sighed deep, sinking farther into her seat. “Since the first time I met him,” she said even more gently. “The fear, the pain—it was all there, etched into him. He’d been through something terrible. I could see it in his aura.”
“You knew?” Yadriel’s voice rose before he could stop it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lita flinched. “Because healing from susto isn’t something you can force. It’s delicate work. Julian needed time. He still needs time.”
Yadriel clenched his fists in his lap, guilt biting at him. How had he missed it? He was Julian’s boyfriend, he should’ve been the first to notice.
“Sometimes people cling to their pain because it’s all they’ve known,” Lita continued sadly. “Or because they’re afraid of what comes next, if they let it go. In very bad cases, the soul doesn’t just leave—it fractures. Pieces scatter. That’s when you need a recuperación del alma.”
“A soul retrieval?” Yadriel echoed.
Lita nodded. “The healer has to call those scattered pieces back, gently, like coaxing doves home. It’s careful work. You can’t force a soul to return if it’s not ready.”
Yadriel frowned. “But I didn’t do that when I brought Julian back.”
“No,” Lita said softly. “You called him back whole. But if he was already fractured before he died … those missing pieces might have stayed behind.”
Her words hit like a cold wind. Yadriel thought about Julian’s brightness, his constant need to prove he was okay, how hard he smiled when he didn’t want to talk about himself. The cracks were there—they always had been.
Yadriel’s heart thudded. “Would there be a … sign? Like something left behind where a piece of his soul used to be?”
Lita paused, as if weighing something, then nodded slowly. “Sometimes, yes. Not something most people could see, though. More like a scar on the spirit. An emptiness.”