Chapter Twenty-One. Julian
TWENTY-ONE
JULIAN
The Stingray hummed through the quiet, broken now and then by bass from a passing car or a distant siren.
Streetlights swept across Luca’s face, casting long shadows that danced across his scar.
Julian watched him quietly, a gnawing concern squirming under his exhaustion.
Luca’s usual spark was gone, replaced by a glassy stillness Julian couldn’t read.
He wanted to tell Luca it would be fine, but the words felt like a lie too heavy to lift. Instead, he let his gaze linger, willing him to feel the silent promise of protection.
He thought about their narrow escape under the church—how Bahlam’s grip seemed to reach further into their world with each passing day.
Julian’s brow furrowed. They were running out of time.
To stop Bahlam, they had to stop Angel. What that meant, Julian wasn’t sure, but that was why he had Yadriel and Maritza to help him.
The car rolled to a stop outside the apartment. Upstairs, a few windows still glowed faintly.
They trudged up the stairs with squelching footsteps, every one heavier than the last. Julian’s limbs ached, and the back of his neck prickled with the lingering residue of Bahlam’s presence. It clung to him like smog—weightless but choking.
Inside, the apartment was dim and warm. The soft flicker of the TV cast shifting light over the living room. Omar, Flaca, and Rocky were curled up in blankets, half asleep and anxious. At the sound of the door, they sat up quickly, blinking at the sight of the three of them.
“Julian!” Flaca exclaimed, blinking hard as she scrambled upright. “Luca—? Are you okay?”
“Oh my God,” Rocky said, eyes wide as they took in Luca’s pale face and soaked hoodie. “What happened? Where were you?”
Omar squinted. “Why are you guys wet?”
Julian stepped aside instinctively, letting Luca shuffle into the light. He looked half frozen, half faded. Even Rocky, who’d been giving Julian the cold shoulder for days, went straight to him.
“Luca?” she asked gently, brushing his sleeve. “Are you okay? Say something.”
Luca looked at her. Then nodded once, very slowly. “I’m okay,” he said, voice low and hoarse. It didn’t sound like him.
“You scared the hell out of us,” Flaca said, pulling a blanket tighter around herself. “You both did.”
“What happened?” Omar asked, standing up.
Julian ignored the chill of his damp shirt clinging to his back. “It’s … a long story.”
Omar scowled. His eyes flicked from Julian to Luca and back again. “Was it Angel? Did she do something to him?”
Julian hesitated. “We had a falling-out,” he said vaguely. “She’s not coming around anymore. Just—if you see her, tell Rio. Don’t talk to her.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Damn,” Omar muttered, rubbing his face. “That bad?”
Rio stood behind them, arms crossed. He studied Julian, then Luca, then back again. Julian braced for a lecture.
But instead, Rio just let out a slow breath and nodded.
“Is he okay?”
“He just needs rest,” Julian said quickly.
Rio gave another small nod and, out of habit, checked the dead bolt and the chain.
“All right,” Rio said, rubbing his face. “I’m gonna crash for a few hours. You should, too. You all look like shit.”
Julian huffed a breath.
Rio turned to Flaca, who was still hovering protectively near Luca. “Keep an eye on him?” he asked, softer now.
Flaca nodded. “Of course.”
“Wake me if anything weird happens,” Rio added, glancing at Julian as he retreated toward the bedroom.
The room loosened a notch, but Julian kept his eyes on Luca. Damp hair, that faraway stare.
Julian gently steered Luca toward the bathroom, grabbing clean clothes for him. “Take a hot shower,” he said, keeping it light. “Warm up. You’ll feel better.”
Luca nodded again, no argument, no joke, and moved down the hall like someone walking through a dream. The bathroom door clicked shut. A beat later, the pipes groaned and water rushed on. Steam curled under the door.
Julian stood in the hallway for a long moment, listening. Just listening.
He made himself take one slow breath.
“Are you okay?” Flaca asked, watching him from the couch. “You look … bad.”
“I’m fine,” Julian lied. “We’re just tired.”
“Yeah,” Rocky said, yawning. “Same.”
Omar was already flopping back onto the couch, muttering something about “finally,” and Rocky followed suit.
The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the kind of bone-deep fatigue that didn’t care how weird things felt.
Flaca lingered for a second, looking between them, before curling up in her blanket again, eyes still half open as if she were trying to keep watch.
The sound of the shower was a strange kind of comfort—steady, predictable, familiar. But Julian couldn’t shake the unease prickling under his skin.
He stood just outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall and fidgeting with the hem of his damp shirt. The adrenaline might have worn off, but the chill hadn’t. Not from the night, or the water. From what had almost happened. From how close they’d come to losing Luca.
From how close they still might be.
Steam billowed when the door opened. Luca stepped out in clean clothes, curls damp and clinging to his forehead. His skin looked sallow in the hallway light, his gaze sliding past Julian like it didn’t know where to land.
“Feelin’ better?” Julian asked.
Luca nodded once. “Yeah.” The word came out flat, like he’d practiced it.
When his eyes finally met Julian’s, something flickered there—quick and wrong—then went still again.
Julian forced a smile. “Cool. You should get some sleep. Take my bed tonight. I’ll just sleep on the floor.”
Another nod. No tease about stealing the “good” pillow. No “You snore.”
He moved down the hall with that same too-even pace, as if he were counting his steps.
Julian took a shower in an attempt to warm up, but it did nothing to ease the chill in his bones.
By the time he was done, the others had drifted back to sleep.
Rocky’s soft snore hummed under the low murmur of late-night TV.
Omar had his hoodie pulled over his face.
Flaca was still on edge, her eyes fluttering open every time the floor creaked.
Julian went into the bedroom. Rio was knocked out, and Luca was already in his bed, lying perfectly still under the quilt and staring up at the ceiling.
“Night, Luca,” he said softly.
“Night” came back, faint and empty.
Julian frowned but didn’t press.
His phone buzzed on his mattress, the screen lighting the dark with a message from Yads.
Home safe?
Yeah. Luca’s out. Everyone’s freaked but okay.
There was a pause, the little typing dots pulsing.
Good. Council’s meeting now. We’re reinforcing the wards tonight—cemetery and the shop first. I’ll let you know when it’s done.
Julian stared at the message, a mix of relief and dread twisting in his chest.
Be careful. Don’t do anything dumb without me.
Wouldn’t dream of it.
A tired huff of a laugh escaped him. The tightness in his shoulders loosened by a notch.
Sleep.
Trying.
The light dimmed as the phone went dark.
Julian grabbed an extra blanket and beat-up pillow and laid on the floor next to Luca, the threadbare carpet cold against his back. His eyes burned, his body ached, but sleep didn’t come easy. His thoughts spiraled—dark and anxious—until exhaustion finally dragged him under.
The dream didn’t creep in. It took Julian by the throat.
He was back. Under the old church. The cenote churned, black and thick as oil. Whispers curled through the dark—soft at first, then sharp, crowding his ears.
Ayúdanos … por favor …
Find us …
No podemos salir …
Faces broke the surface—half familiar, hollow-eyed—then slid under again, leaving ripples that shivered under the weak light.
The floor turned slick and pulsing, like he was walking on muscle and bone. The walls throbbed. He couldn’t catch his breath.
A low growl rumbled through the water. Hot breath touched the back of his neck.
Julian turned.
Bahlam, the jaguar god, reared up behind him, black fur slick, golden eyes burning. A dagger hung from his jaws, the cursed blade Angel had used, dripping something that hissed when it hit the water.
Those eyes pinned him. Not Luca. Him.
A voice—inside the walls, inside the water, inside his ribs—spoke like a promise dragged over teeth:
Me lo robaron.
Devuélveme lo que me pertenece.
Julian stumbled backward, heart clawing up his throat.
“Cuidado, Julian…”
Catriz stepped out of the shadow like a figure under rippling glass, his face shifting, his voice layered—high, low, all at once.
“Cuidado…” he said again. “Listen. They’re already here.”
The floor gave way. Julian fell—clean through—the world flipping to black. Xibalba swallowed him whole.
The ground pulsed under his hands like stretched skin. From below, a pale face rose—Luca’s—eyes wide and terrible, mouth working soundlessly as clawed fingers hooked his shoulder and tugged.
Julian lunged but nothing in his body answered. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
Bahlam’s roar shook the dark, and the world shattered into light and shadow and—
Julian shot up, gasping, drenched in cold sweat.
The room was wrong. Too still. Too quiet. The kind of silence that meant something was listening.
He blinked into the dark—and saw him.
Luca.
Standing in the middle of the room. Unmoving. Silent. Watching.
“Luca?” Julian’s voice cracked.
His friend didn’t respond. He just stood there, half lit by the moon, eyes reflecting flat and dull.
“What are you doing?” Julian asked, pushing himself upright.
“Watching,” Luca said.
The word was empty. Memorized, not spoken.
Julian’s skin prickled. “Watching what?”
Nothing. No blink. No breath he could hear.
Julian rose slowly, not certain if he was still asleep. “You okay, dude?”
“I need it,” Luca said, voice clipped and robotic.
Julian blinked. “Need what?”
“My bracelet,” he said. “Angel has it. I need it back.”
Julian scrubbed a hand over his face, heart still slamming from the dream. “We’ll deal with it later, okay? Just—go back to sleep.”
“No,” Luca said.
Julian took a step toward him. “Come on, man. We’ve had a rough night. Let’s just—”
Without another word, Luca turned on his heel and walked out of the room. The door creaked faintly as it swung open, and Julian hesitated for a split second before following.
Julian glanced at Rio—still asleep—then slipped after Luca, barefoot and cold.
“Luca, wait,” Julian hissed, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Rio.
Bare feet slapped the cool floor as he trailed Luca down the hall. The TV’s blue wash lit the room. The static hum felt too loud.
Luca moved with that same unnerving purpose, not looking at any of them.
Omar groaned and sat up, locs wild. “The hell’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
Rocky blinked sleepily from her spot on the floor, her blanket sliding off her shoulders.
Flaca shot upright, her gaze darting between Luca and Julian. “Jules, what’s happening?”
“Luca, stop!” Julian said, reaching—
Too late. The door unlatched with a soft click and swung open.
And Angel was standing on the other side.
Angel stood in the hallway light. Dark bubble braids, gold-bright eyes. The cursed dagger was in her hand, catching the glow with a glint like a fang.
Ice shot through Julian’s veins.
He threw an arm across Luca. “Get back!”
To Angel, he said, “Get away from him.”
He didn’t have a plan beyond that. Just Luca behind his arm and the cenote’s cold still lodged under his ribs. Think roots. In four, hold two, out six. Don’t blink.
Angel tilted their head, unreadable. “Or what?” She stepped inside, slow and deliberate.
Fear and adrenaline snapped tight in Julian’s chest. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Behind him, his friends asked panicked questions, but Julian ignored them, afraid that if he so much as blinked, something terrible would happen.
“Rio!” Rocky yelled.
Julian kept his arm out across Luca. “Luca, get away from them,” he said, never taking his eyes off Angel.
Luca didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
Angel’s gaze flicked past Julian and landed on Luca.
“Luca,” Julian tried again, voice tight. “This isn’t funny.”
From the bedroom came the thud of feet hitting the floor. Rio up, moving.
“You’re freaking me out, man,” Julian said, turning fully to Luca.
Luca just stared back, unblinking.
“Good.”
Julian’s stomach dropped. Something else was wearing his friend.
“You’re not Luca,” he whispered.
The cenote had followed them home.
Luca’s mouth stretched wider. Wider. A grin too big for his face. With too many teeth.
The apartment plunged into darkness.