Chapter Twenty-Four. Julian
TWENTY-FOUR
JULIAN
Julian leaned against the doorway of Lita’s kitchen, watching as she bustled around the countertops with practiced ease.
The smell of cinnamon and sweet masa filled the air, blending with the savory tang of simmering mole.
Yadriel and Maritza stood by the stove, reheating frozen tamales they’d made earlier in the week in large, steaming pots while trading playful insults.
It was comfortable chaos—noisy, warm, and alive.
He tried to let the warmth soak in, but something inside him refused to settle. His body stayed braced for impact.
Julian kept glancing toward the hallway, half expecting a shadow to stretch across the floor, or a cold draft to slip under the door. His nerves wouldn’t unclench. Not after what happened last night.
Yadriel glanced up, catching Julian’s eye. “Do you want to invite your friends to the Danza de la Luz Eterna tonight?” he asked, breaking Julian’s train of thought. His boyfriend’s tone was casual, but the look in his eyes was expectant.
Julian gave him a dubious look. “After last night, I’ve got the feeling they’ve kind of had their fill of, uh … paranormal activity.”
Yadriel chuckled, stacking tamales onto a platter with Maritza’s help. “Fair enough. We should probably ease them into it.”
Behind him, the thump of footsteps echoed down the hall.
Rio appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Omar, Flaca, and Rocky, all of whom looked like they’d just rolled out of bed.
Rocky’s hair stuck out at odd angles, and Omar’s T-shirt was a wrinkled mess.
Flaca, somehow, still looked put together despite the dark circles under her eyes.
Luca appeared at Rio’s side, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
That was the first time Julian got a good look at him. His eyes immediately went to Luca’s chest, but there was nothing to see.
The dark spot was gone.
Relief hit him hard.
“How you holding up, little man?” Julian asked, a huge grin splitting his face.
“Tired,” Luca said, a little hoarse. “And sore,” he added, rubbing his chest. “But better.”
“Good,” Julian said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the spot where the Marca Hueca had been. It was gone. Luca was whole again.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” Rio asked, his gaze flicking to the table of tamales.
“Yadriel wants you to come to the Danza tonight,” Julian said, his lips twitching in a half smile. “Apparently, it’s open to normies. Or, my normies, I guess.”
Rocky crossed her arms, tilting her head. “There’s a dark god on the loose and we’re throwing a party?”
“Yeah,” Flaca chimed in, raising her hands in mock surrender. “No offense, but I think we’ve hit our paranormal quota for the year.”
Julian gave Yadriel a pointed look. “Told you.”
Yadriel rolled his eyes.
Omar frowned. “What even is this Danza anyway?”
“Danza de la Luz Eterna,” Yadriel explained. He didn’t seem fazed by their reactions. “It’s a celebration—candles, food, music. We honor the spirits and keep the light burning.”
“It’s not just a ceremony,” Maritza interjected. “It’s a feast. Food, drinks, the whole thing. It’s a way to make sure no one is ever really forgotten.”
Rocky squinted. “And we’re doing that … now?”
Lita entered the kitchen, clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention.
“Now, manana, when I say,” she said, pointing her spoon like a gavel.
“Spirits still gotta eat. All the more reason to feed the light.” She pointed her spoon at Rio, Omar, Luca, Flaca, and Rocky.
“Chop, stir, clean—everyone pitches in!”
“I don’t even live here,” Omar muttered, but he grabbed a knife anyway, grumbling. Flaca busied herself wiping down the table, Luca grabbed silverware, and Rocky helped Rio bring plates and cups to the counter.
Julian watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with an odd mixture of gratitude and guilt. His found family and his brujx family didn’t overlap much, but here they were, crammed into the same kitchen, existing in the same space.
He made a mental note to keep working on it—to find ways to bring both worlds together, even if it meant juggling a few extra commitments.
After breakfast, Rio took Luca, Omar, Rocky, and Flaca home for quick showers and a reset, while Julian stayed to help with Danza prep.
The candles from the Midnight Vigil still burned in their holders, arranged in constellations around the gravestones. Their fire from the eternal flame hadn’t dimmed, the wax hadn’t even gone down.
By noon, the yellow church wasn’t solemn—it was blooming. Strings of vibrant poinsettias and papel picado cascaded along the walls, their brilliant hues illuminated by the golden glow of flickering candles.
Long tables were being dressed, not served—embroidered cloths smoothed flat, name cards tucked beside votives. Trays clattered. Aluminum lids billowed steam.
There were pupusas, arepas, arroz con leche, and tres leches cake sitting in a line. Stockpots of pozole murmured on low flame while atole and hot chocolate perfumed the air.
The air buzzed with an energy that felt alive, a current of reverence and joy weaving through the crowd.
Families moved about, their voices hushed as they carried steaming platters to the staging tables or adjusted candles at the place settings.
Children darted around the edges of the room, their laughter bursting like firecrackers, their bright, carefree energy infectious.
Julian felt Yadriel at his side before he saw him.
“Come on,” Yadriel said, his shoulder brushing against Julian’s in a way that was both grounding and insistent. “We need to grab our candles.”
Maritza appeared on Julian’s other side, adjusting her skirt and nodding toward the door. “Let’s go, Candle Squad.”
They waited in line to approach Lady Death’s altar. Julian picked up his candle and held it to his chest. The wax had softened from the lingering heat, but the flame stayed sharp and steady.
“Council at dusk,” Enrique said, low and practical as he approached Julian, Yadriel, and Maritza. “We meet and decide what to do. If we can force Bahlam back through the rift tonight, we do it.”
Maritza’s mouth flattened. “That slams the door on everyone he’s got trapped in there,” she said, counting on her fingers without looking. “The quince girl. All the others.”
Julian’s stomach went cold. Marisol, he thought. Winning couldn’t look like leaving them behind.
Lita shook her head as she straightened a line of candles. “First the god, then we mourn the rest.”
Julian swallowed what he wanted to say. Not here. Not in front of half the community. Hopefully, the council would hear him.
Back inside the nave, the brujx moved in steady procession, testing placements, setting candles at assigned seats around the long tables. The glow spread across the room like dawn breaking, small flames becoming a tide of light.
At Lady Death’s altar, Julian’s fingers brushed the painted hem of her robe.
“You okay?” Yadriel asked, barely above the rustle of flowers.
“Yeah,” Julian said, though his voice was thick. “It’s just … a lot.”
“It’s supposed to be,” Yadriel said. “That’s how you know it matters.”
Julian nodded once.
Enrique approached. “Come, it’s time,” he said, motioning for them to follow.
Lita pressed a small votive into Julian’s palm. “Para luz,” she said. “Bring it with you.”
Julian tucked the candle into his pocket. Light in one hand, resolve in the other. Time to make them listen.