Chapter Fifteen. Yadriel #3
“Inextricably,” Catriz confirmed, sidestepping the first question.
“Bahlam sees through the wound. Marca Hueca isn’t a just mark on skin—it’s a tear.
He leans on what festers there. You, Julian.
” His attention swept him over. “You can see those marks because of your connection to Bahlam. Not words in your head, but weight. Rooms dimming at the edges. The way your gut drops. That pull? That’s him.
A gift or a curse, depending on how you look at it. ”
Catriz’s arms crossed with a smug look, as if he expected some kind of praise for clarity.
“Gifts, curses—kinda seem like the same thing at this point,” Julian muttered, absently rubbing the spot on his chest. “So I can see spirits and these weird dark spots because you stabbed me and tried to sacrifice me to Bahlam. What now?”
“Now?” Catriz’s laugh was a hollow echo. “Now you have to stop what’s coming.”
Julian winced. “Awesome.”
Yadriel glanced sharply at Catriz, trying to ground himself in pragmatism. “What exactly does that mean? What’s Bahlam trying to do with Julian?”
“It means Bahlam’s still growing stronger,” Catriz said, his voice tightening. “That night—the ritual—it opened a door. Ever since, energy’s been seeping from Julian into Xibalba, fueling Bahlam from the other side.”
“A buffet for a starving death god,” Julian muttered bitterly. “Just great.”
There was no undoing the past, but the consequences were still rippling outward. And now they were the ones left to clean up what Catriz had started.
Catriz glanced at his feet, tense, like he expected the shadows to start reaching for him. “He’s gathering power. Julian’s just one source, but Bahlam wants more. He needs souls, torn loose and funneled in, to grow strong enough to escape the prison he was bound to.”
Julian looked down sharply, arms crossed tight, knuckles white.
He didn’t say anything, but the color had drained from his face.
Yadriel saw the twitch in his jaw, the way he blinked hard like he was trying to force the thought away before it settled too deep.
Yadriel wanted to say something—to reassure, maybe, or to ask if Julian was okay—but what comfort was there to offer? None of them were okay.
Catriz’s mouth tightened. “He’s getting closer.”
His form flickered again, like a candle caught in a gust.
Yadriel stiffened, suddenly hyperaware of how fragile this moment was, how easily it could slip through their fingers. The air pressed down on him, thick with something electric. Urgency? Fear? Maybe both.
“Bahlam is gathering strength,” Catriz said, and his voice hit Yadriel like a stone dropping into water. “He’s trying to rip through the veil between Xibalba and the land of the living. And if he succeeds…”
Catriz didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
But Maritza had more to say. “Don’t you dare soften this,” Maritza snapped.
“You put the dagger in Julian’s chest! He died!
They all did! I was the one keeping Yads alive while he bargained with Lady Death!
Miguel died, too—we all felt him go! You weren’t trying to do those things. You did them!” she spat.
Maritza had always been Yadriel’s defender. The first to draw a line in the sand, the first to throw herself into the fire if it meant keeping him safe.
Even now, facing down the spirit of the man who betrayed them, she didn’t flinch. She never did.
Yadriel didn’t say anything, but the gratitude rooted deep. She was his ride or die, and he wouldn’t have made it this far without her.
Catriz’s ghostly form wavered, a look of pain breaking through the cool detachment he’d worn since appearing. His mouth opened, then closed again. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its edge.
“I was blinded,” he said, low and hollow, like the words had to crawl their way out of him. “By spite. By resentment. I let it fester until it became the only thing I could see. Bahlam saw that darkness in me. My Marca Hueca. And he fed on it.”
Yadriel stared at him, heart heavy. He’d wondered what had twisted Catriz so completely. But hearing it now didn’t make it any easier.
If anything, it made the betrayal more real.
“The more I wanted revenge for what was taken from me—for being denied brujería—the easier it was for him to take hold,” Catriz continued solemnly. “Until I couldn’t tell what was me and what was him.”
Yadriel didn’t want to feel sympathy. But that man—the one who once saw him, believed in him—was still buried in there, twisted beneath Bahlam’s influence. And now, standing before Yadriel, was all that remained.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Catriz said, his voice cracking.
His hands twitched, restless and transparent.
“I’m trying to stop it from happening again.
I don’t want our family”—he glanced toward Yadriel, and his voice dropped into something raw—“I don’t want you to suffer more because of what I did. ”
Yadriel looked away, unable to hold Catriz’s gaze, even though part of him wanted to. That same part, the one that had never stopped mourning, wanted to believe him.
But the rest of him, the bruised and wary parts, knew better than to reach for a ghost.
Yadriel didn’t answer.
He didn’t walk away, either.
His mind scrambled to contain the implications, but they were already fracturing out of control. The veil wasn’t just weakening—it was breaking.
It wasn’t just Julian who was in danger. It was everyone.
He found his voice. “How close is he?” Yadriel asked, trying to sound steadier than he felt. He needed something concrete, something they could fight.
Catriz’s expression darkened, and for the first time since appearing, something like real fear crossed his face. “With every spirit sent to him, Bahlam grows stronger. If you don’t act—if you don’t stop this—he will break free.”
Yadriel swallowed hard, a chill crawling down the back of his neck. He didn’t ask what would happen then. He didn’t have to. He could see it written in the tension around Catriz’s mouth, the shadow in his eyes.
“You can’t even fathom the chaos he would bring,” Catriz added. “What he’d do to the dead. To the living.”
Yadriel didn’t respond right away. His hands were fists at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms. He could feel Maritza beside him, still and silent. Julian was quiet, too. The weight of what they’d just heard had settled over them like dust from something ancient collapsing.
Yadriel’s mind raced desperately, fitting pieces together like puzzle pieces. Julian’s illness, the Marca Hueca, the visions—it all stemmed from that failed ritual. “Julian’s connection to Bahlam. Is that why Julian has susto?” he asked, voice tight with urgency.
“Yes,” Catriz said, his usual sarcasm softening into something grimmer. “Julian had susto before, but Bahlam’s influence has made it worse. The Marca Hueca’s been exacerbated.”
Julian blinked. “Exacerbated?!” he repeated, scandalized, clearly not familiar with the word.