Chapter Fifteen. Yadriel #4
Catriz ignored him, voice turning sharper.
“But it’s more than that. He’s not the only one fueling Bahlam.
There’s a portaje near you that’s been corrupted,” Catriz told them.
“A cursed obsidian dagger. When it’s used, the spirit doesn’t release—they’re rerouted.
Acid-green light. Screaming. Dragged straight to Xibalba. ”
“A cursed portaje?” Yadriel repeated.
A cold dread curled deep in Yadriel’s gut. His mind immediately conjured the image of Angel’s obsidian dagger. He remembered what Julian had said about it—how it glowed acid green, how the spirits screamed when Angel used it, how there was no peace in their release.
Unlike a brujo’s gentle parting, it sounded violent. Wrong. His heart stuttered. Something didn’t add up—and yet it did.
Yadriel looked at Catriz, his voice low and tight. “Who is it? Who’s using the cursed dagger?”
Catriz didn’t answer immediately. His brow furrowed, the flicker of strain deepening.
“I don’t know,” he said, and it sounded like a failure.
“I can feel the portaje from Xibalba, but the source—whoever’s wielding it—it’s masked.
Either Bahlam’s hiding them … or they don’t even know what they’re doing. ”
Maritza’s expression darkened, her voice sharp. “Angel. It’s Angel, isn’t it?”
Julian immediately bristled. “We don’t know that!” he shot back, too fast, too defensive. “Angel wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do something like this!” But even as he said it, his voice faltered, and Yadriel caught the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Julian didn’t want it to be true. But the more pieces fell into place, the more obvious the picture became. Yadriel could see him starting to realize it.
His gut twisted tighter, a dreadful certainty settling heavily in his chest. Angel had saved Julian, helped him, trained him. But how much did they really know about Angel? Could Bahlam have manipulated them, too?
“Maybe they don’t even know what the dagger’s doing,” Yadriel said.
“Possible,” Catriz said neutrally. “But whoever it is, you must break the connection between their dagger and Xibalba. Without that connection, Bahlam starves.”
“All right,” Julian said. “So we find Angel, talk to them, and figure this out. They deserve the benefit of the doubt.”
Yadriel glanced at Maritza, whose skeptical look mirrored his own fears. Julian was clinging to hope, refusing to see what felt painfully clear to Yadriel.
But Julian’s denial was fragile, desperate, and Yadriel couldn’t bear to crush it yet.
“We’ll look for them at the vigil,” Yadriel said. “If Bahlam’s feeding through that dagger, a crowded cemetery—restless spirits ripe for the picking—is exactly where the wielder will show. We get the truth. We break the dagger’s link. We starve Bahlam.”
Maritza nodded once, grim. Julian let out a shaky breath.
Yadriel’s mind spun, desperate to anchor to something actionable amid the swirling uncertainty. “But … How do we break the connection?”
“Find the dagger. Confront whoever wields it. Undo Bahlam’s magic.” Catriz tilted his head slightly. “Straightforward enough?”
“Yeah, just a normal day,” Julian grumbled.
Maritza sighed heavily, her voice full of reluctant determination. “We’re definitely gonna need more salt. And chicken blood,” she added, nose scrunching in distaste.
Catriz shifted, his form wavering slightly. His gaze softened when it met Yadriel’s eyes. “Yadriel—” he began, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle.
Yadriel felt something brittle fracture inside him, grief and anger and longing tangling into a painful knot. He couldn’t bear the thought of confronting everything he felt. Not now, not openly. “Don’t,” he whispered roughly, the word trembling at the edges.
Catriz hesitated, regret pooling briefly in his shadowed eyes. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
Yadriel closed his eyes briefly, holding back the painful admission that he hadn’t, either. He didn’t want apologies he wasn’t ready to accept, didn’t want closure he wasn’t ready to feel. But still, some quiet part of him yearned desperately for the uncle he’d lost.
Julian broke the heavy silence.
“Okay.” Julian squared his shoulders. “But if you’re playing us again, ghost uncle,” Julian gritted out, doing his best to both look and sound threatening, “there will be hell to pay. And I’ll be the one collecting. Got it?”
Yadriel’s heart gave a stupid little flutter. It was completely the wrong time for it, but watching Julian puff up and throw down on his behalf sent something warm and protective spiraling through his chest.
This was Julian. Fierce. Loyal. Ready to go to war for the people he loved. And every time he did it, Yadriel fell just a little harder.
Catriz nodded solemnly, grinning with something that could’ve been approval. “Understood.”
“Good,” Julian huffed, the atmosphere crackling with unspoken oaths and uneasy alliances.
Catriz flickered once more, shadows wrapping around him like bindings.
“Good luck,” he murmured, eyes holding Yadriel’s one last time. “You’ll need it.”
Then his spirit sank into the floor, swallowed by the watery lights—and left behind an emptiness Yadriel felt sharply.
“Let’s go,” Yadriel said quietly, clenching the jaguar charm tightly in his fist. “We don’t have much time.”