Chapter Ten. Julian #3
A shimmer bloomed across the room—faint gold threading from the maligno’s chest to a windblown heap. In the heap, glinting among bits of plastic and a crushed soda can, was the real version of the comb.
Julian ran.
He slid behind a toppled shelf and grabbed the peineta. The spirit recoiled with a keening wail that made his bones ache.
From the corner of his eye, Angel vaulted onto a nearby display, blade raised, bubble braids whipping behind her. It was clear they weren’t fighting a person—just the maligno. Just the threat.
But Julian still saw her.
“Here!” he shouted, holding the peineta high.
Both Angel and the spirit turned.
Her fathomless eyes locked on to him.
For a flicker of a moment, her fury cracked open into something raw and human. Her twisted mouth parted, and her gown sagged around her like it remembered what it used to be. Her hand reached forward, trembling like she wanted it back—not to hurt him but to touch something real again.
And then the rage returned.
Julian dove to the side, clutching the peineta to his chest.
Boots thundered behind him. The flash of a blade in motion.
“?Te libero a la otra vida!” Angel’s voice rang out like a command, absolute.
The blade sliced through the golden thread.
The world erupted.
A shriek tore through the room. Not just sound but force, a scream that pushed everything out.
Julian staggered backward, vision seared by a venomous green flash that lit the room like lightning under skin. No petals. No peace. Just rupture. Smoke. Ash.
Then silence.
Julian stayed crouched, heart thudding. The peineta was still in his hand. Still warm.
Angel stood in the center, chest heaving, portaje dimming. Neither spoke.
“Holy shit,” Julian breathed, stumbling back. He stared at the scorched floor where the spirit had vanished. “What the hell was that?”
Angel turned, their chest rising and falling with sharp, measured breaths. They gave a loose shrug and gestured toward the space with their still-glowing portaje. “Didn’t care for my special touch.”
Even across the room, Julian wanted to back away from the blade. Yadriel’s dagger had felt warm, purposeful, like holding something sacred. Angel’s seethed. Sleek. Lethal. Made to hurt.
“Special touch?” he echoed, voice rough. It didn’t sound like a joke.
It sounded like a warning.
“Not all blades are the same,” Angel said, slipping the portaje away with the kind of care someone might give to a loaded gun. “Mine hits harder when it comes to malignos.”
Julian swallowed. The scream was still inside him, trying to find somewhere to go.
He looked at the comb. He’d held it like it mattered. He passed it to Angel.
“Pretty,” she said softly, something like memory or guilt flickering and then gone. She tucked it away. “We should bounce. Before something worse shows up.”
They slipped back into the cold. Streetlight carved Angel’s silhouette sharp.
“You good?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he lied. It came out brittle. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to hide how hard they were shaking. “When Yadriel releases spirits, it’s quiet. Peaceful. Like they’re just going to sleep.”
Angel’s expression didn’t change much, but their voice lowered. “Yadriel’s portaje isn’t like mine. Mine’s firepower. Lights-out.”
Julian looked at them sharply. “Yeah. ‘Lights-out’ with a scream.”
Angel looked away, their posture unreadable. “Not all brujería is marigolds and mercy. Malignos are dangerous.”
Julian turned toward the empty plaza, lit only by scattered halogen and the glow of a nearby liquor store. The kind of light that didn’t chase away shadows, just reshaped them.
“They still deserve gentleness,” he murmured.
Angel’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet. “You try asking a maligno to release nicely when they’re clawing through your walls at three in the morning.”
Julian didn’t argue. But the pit in his stomach told him he wasn’t convinced, either.
Angel was quiet for a long beat. “Darkness isn’t always the enemy, Julian. Sometimes it’s just misunderstood.”
Julian exhaled. “You sound like someone who’s been living in the dark a long time.”
Angel finally looked at him, really looked. And for a split second, Julian saw something raw and unguarded flash in their expression.
“I have a job to do,” Angel said softly.
Julian didn’t reply.
Headlights burned across the lot.
Julian flinched, shielding his eyes. The familiar snarl of an engine cut through the air.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered.
The Stingray sat at the curb, rumbling like it was ready to chase him down. The moment he saw it, dread sank sharp and fast into his gut.
“Go on,” Angel said quietly, her eyes flicking to the Stingray and then back at Julian. “We’ll talk later.”
Rio’s door swung open. “JULIAN.”
Julian’s shoulders hunched. Guilt. Annoyance. Being caught.
He trudged to the car. Rio stood braced in the frame, jaw tight, coveralls smudged with grease, the tattoo of Santa Muerte flexing on his forearm.
“Get in the car.”
Julian didn’t argue. He slid into the passenger seat and flinched when the door slammed shut beside him. The engine revved as Rio pulled away from the curb.
Julian glanced back. Angel was already fading into the shadows behind them.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?” Rio said as the city smeared by in neon.
“Sorry,” Julian said. It tasted hollow. He stared at his hands. They were still shaking. The mark on his chest throbbed.
His leg bounced while his mind spun out.
The girl’s scream still echoed in his skull.
The way Angel’s blade had burned through the tether.
The way it didn’t feel like peace.
His hand drifted to the chain around his neck, fingers curling around the St. Jude medal. He pressed it flat to his sternum like a shield, as if it could ward off the guilt climbing up his throat.
“How did you even find me?” Julian asked miserably.
Rio jabbed his finger at the phone mounted on the dash. A blinking dot glowed over a map.
Julian leaned forward and saw the GPS app still open. His name right there. Like a neon arrow saying Idiot here.
“You’re actually tracking me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, but the edge of accusation in it was loud. He’d watched Rio install the app on his phone, but he didn’t think he’d actually use it.
“Only since you decided playing Houdini was your new thing. You think I got time to play hide-and-seek?” Rio shot back. “You’ve been disappearing. Lying. Showing up late. Looking like shit with half a story.”
Julian turned to the window. “Didn’t know I signed up for my own personal FBI agent.”
“Jules.” Rio’s voice softened a fraction. “I gotta know where you are. It’s not safe. The shit you’re into now…”
Julian nearly laughed. He had no idea.
“Right, because a stupid app is gonna stop—” Julian caught his breath, biting down on his tongue.
“Stop what?” Rio asked sharply, eyes flicking toward him. “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing, man,” Julian growled, arms crossing tight.
Silence. The scream in Julian’s head refused to die. The comb’s heat ghosted his palm. Angel’s blade burned through the tether again in his mind, ripping light from darkness. It hadn’t felt like a release. It had felt like an execution.
They pulled up to the apartment, the engine sputtered to a stop and then ticked as it cooled. Neither moved.
“You think you’re invincible,” Rio said. “But you’re not.”
“I was just trying to help a friend,” Julian said miserably, the admission dragging out of him like pulling teeth.
“Help,” Rio echoed, his scowl deepening. “And what happens when you need help, huh?”
Julian didn’t have an answer. The bravado that usually kicked in just … didn’t.
He opened the door and stepped out into the night. The cold hit him first, sharp against his sweat-damp skin. The metal handle bit into his palm as he let it swing shut behind him.
Rio stayed behind the wheel, face lost to shadow, hands clenched around the steering wheel.
Julian stood there for a long moment, the night pressing in on all sides. The porch light was out, but a warm flicker bled through the windows—laughter, something crashing, maybe Rocky yelling at Omar. The normal chaos of his people.
It didn’t feel like it belonged to him tonight.
He didn’t look back at Rio. Didn’t have to, to know he’d let him down.