Chapter Twenty-Two. Julian
TWENTY-TWO
JULIAN
Julian’s heart thundered in his chest.
Flaca, Omar, and Rocky were shouting behind him, their voices fractured by the oppressive dark. The air was heavy, electric, charged with something far older and more malevolent than anything Julian had ever felt.
And then, with a sound like snapping bone, the dark ripped open.
A blast of venom-green light seared across the room. Julian threw an arm over his face. When he blinked the afterimages away, his stomach dropped.
Luca’s chest was glowing.
The mark only Julian could see wasn’t a blemish anymore. It had split wide, jagged and pulsing, like a wound torn into the soul. Venomous light spilled from it in sharp tendrils, twisting and writhing like smoke that wanted to bite.
“LUCA!” Julian’s voice cracked.
Luca’s eyes flew open, wild and terrified, as a strangled scream tore from his throat. The light grew brighter—too bright. Shadows burst from his chest in slick ribbons, slamming into the walls and vanishing into the dark.
Julian lurched forward, only to skid to a stop as Luca convulsed.
“Help him!” Flaca screamed, but Julian didn’t know how.
Julian’s pulse roared in his ears as he fumbled for the St. Jude medal, holding it like a lifeline.
Then, without warning, the energy ripped itself free.
The glowing light tore from Luca’s chest and streaked across the room—
Straight into Angel.
“No, no, no—” Julian barely managed to catch Luca before he collapsed.
His knees hit the floor hard. Luca’s small body was slack in his arms, his face pale and too still. Julian pressed his ear to his chest. The sweater muffled everything. “Luca—please—”
Across the room, Angel reeled backward, gasping as the light slammed into her chest. Her dagger clattered to the floor. Her back arched—arms flailing—and for a second, she didn’t look like herself at all.
And then she went still.
When her head lifted, her eyes weren’t hers anymore. They gleamed with venom green, pupils slitted like a jaguar’s.
“Finally,” said a voice that did not belong to her. Deep. Ancient. Everywhere at once.
Julian knew that voice from the water. Him.
“Get away from her!” Julian shouted, still cradling Luca.
Bahlam turned Angel’s face toward him. The smile that spread across her mouth was all teeth. “You’ve been quite the thorn, Julian.”
“Let her go!”
A chuckle, like claws on stone. “I have what I need now.”
Dread and panic seized Julian by the throat.
Hair-thin cracks laced out from the fallen dagger, glowing water blue, spiderwebbing through the concrete. The apartment buckled.
“NO!”
The fissures pulled wider, round and hungry—the mouth of a cenote opening under his heels.
Bahlam, wearing Angel like a mask, stepped back into the glow without breaking eye contact.
The dagger tipped, skittered to the edge, and slid after him into the water-light.
The rift sealed on a breath, leaving earth-cold air, ozone, and silence.
Julian stared at the empty air where the rift had been, brain blanking and roaring at the same time. Luca was deadweight in his arms—warm, breathing, but too still. Julian pressed his ear to Luca’s chest and couldn’t hear past his own pulse.
Footsteps pounded the stairs.
Rio barreled in, barefoot, old T-shirt and sweats. His eyes swept the wrecked room, then locked on Luca.
“WHAT HAPPENED?!”
Words jammed in Julian’s throat. His breaths came sharp and ragged, wheezing in his ears.
“Breathe, Julian!” Rio commanded.
He did because when Rio used that tone, he listened.
Rio took Luca’s wrist, then pressed fingers to the side of Luca’s neck. “He’s alive.”
Julian nodded frantically, his tears spilling over. “We need Lita! She can fix him, I know she can!”
Rio was already moving. He scooped Luca up with the same ease as if he were a child. “Keys are in the Escalade,” he grunted. “Wheel well.”
“I’m coming with you!” Flaca said, grabbing her jacket.
“Me too,” Omar added shakily.
Rocky was already shoving her feet into her sneakers. “Not leaving him.”
Rio didn’t argue. “Move.”
They spilled into the night. Rio muscled the Escalade open, Luca in his arms, and everyone piled in.
The engine roared, the tires screeched, and the street blurred. Julian fumbled his phone with shaking hands.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Julian chanted under his breath, and as if by some divine intervention, the line clicked alive.
“Julian?” Yadriel asked sleepily.
“Luca’s hurt!” Julian’s words tumbled in a frantic rush. “Luca’s hurt—Bahlam—Angel—there was a rift—”
Yadriel’s voice cut through. “We’ll be ready. Just get here.”
Julian nodded, even though Yadriel couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
He hung up and gripped Luca tightly as Rio tore through the streets, his knuckles white. In the back, Flaca, Omar, and Rocky continued to ask frantic questions. Julian wanted to reassure them but he couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t sure himself.
All he could do was hope that they weren’t too late.
The Escalade hurtled down the last block, headlights slicing through the dark. It was so late it was early, but the world felt frozen in a moment that refused to end.
Yadriel, Enrique, and Lita were waiting at the cemetery gate. Maritza stood beside them in a silk bonnet and her flannel thrown on over pajamas. Yadriel must’ve texted her and, by the looks of it, she rushed right over.
Relief hit so hard it hurt. People who knew what to do.
Rio barely brought the vehicle to a stop before Julian yanked the door open and stumbled out, half carrying, half dragging Luca out of the car.
Rio was at his side in a blink, scooping Luca up with ease. The boy’s head lolled against his chest, his small frame disturbingly limp.
Omar, Rocky, and Flaca scrambled out behind him, their eyes cutting between Luca’s limp form and the figures waiting at the gate—familiar now, not new, but terrifying at this hour.
Rocky muttered, “What the hell is happening?” while Flaca clutched her jacket tighter around herself, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“?Apúrense!” Lita’s commanding voice cut through the night as she ushered them inside, her frail-looking frame belied by her air of authority. Her cotton robe billowed in the night breeze as she led the way.
Enrique held the door open. His eyes scanned the scene—Luca’s pale face, Julian’s bloodshot eyes, the terrified teens behind him—but he didn’t ask questions. He just said, “Hurry.”
They spilled into the house, breathless and shaking.
Lita cleared the living room with practiced efficiency. “Lay him down—gently.”
Rio knelt and lowered Luca onto the couch. Julian hovered beside him, heart in his throat.
Omar, Rocky, and Flaca clustered nearby, trying not to panic. Their eyes darted around the strange room filled with old photos, flickering candles, and the scents of herbs and smoke.
Lita knelt beside Luca. Her hands hovered over his chest.
“Nunca he visto un susto tan grave,” she said, her expression darkening.
Julian’s breath hitched. Even Lita looked shaken.
Only he could see the shadows leaking from the wound in Luca’s chest. It pulsed, too deep and wrong.
Omar leaned closer. “What’s wrong with him? What’s happening?”
Julian opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say?
Flaca’s voice cracked. “Is he gonna be okay?”
Omar hovered close behind, eyes darting between Luca and Julian. “What do we do?!”
Rocky looked ready to vomit.
Before Julian could say anything, Rio stepped forward.
“He’s going to be okay,” Rio said, quiet but firm. His voice didn’t shake—it never did—but his eyes were locked on Lita like a lifeline.
“How do you know that?!” Rocky snapped.
“Because,” Rio said. “Yadriel’s mom healed him before. Years ago.”
The room stilled.
Julian turned to him, stunned. “What?”
Rio didn’t look away from Lita. “Carlos brought us here. After Luca left the gang and got real sick. Bad fever. No money for a doctor. Carlos said he knew someone who could help.” His jaw tightened slightly. “She saved his life.”
Lita’s face softened as she gazed up at Rio. “Ah,” she murmured. “So it was you.”
Rio gave a nod. “I recognized her picture at your house.”
Yadriel stood frozen beside Julian, eyes wide. “Wait … My mom healed Luca?”
Lita nodded. “She did.”
Julian stared, the pieces slotting into place. He’d assumed some folk healer. But it had been Yadriel’s mom all along.
“That … that sounds like her,” Yadriel said quietly. “She always took the ones nobody else would.”
Lita’s hand brushed Yadriel’s shoulder as if to steady him. “She was proud of what she did. That boy mattered to her.”
Yadriel’s throat bobbed as he looked at Luca lying on the couch. “And now he matters to me,” he said, voice thick.
He looked at Julian and Julian looked back in astonishment. Maybe they were always supposed to find each other.
Julian turned to his brother. “You never told me.”
Rio gave a small shrug, absently rubbing the Santa Muerte tattoo that covered his scar. “Didn’t think it mattered. She saved his life. That’s all I cared about.”
Lita reached out, squeezing Rio’s arm gently. “You were right to bring him back.”
She stood and turned to the room. “Luca’s soul has fled his body.”
Rocky’s jaw dropped. “Gone? Like … gone-gone?” she asked, glancing nervously at Luca’s motionless body.
Julian felt his knees wobble. The truth pressed down on his chest like a weight.
“Can you fix it?” he asked.
“We can,” Lita said. “But not alone.”
Julian hovered as Lita began setting up a circle in the living room, her hands moving quickly and deliberately. The room smelled of herbs, smoke, and urgency. Shadows drew long in the corners.
Yadriel stepped in beside her, picking up bowls and candles without being asked.
Maritza followed close behind, already pulling out the copal and muttering under her breath, “Of course this happens in the middle of the night.”
When she was ready, Lita turned to the others. “We must do a recuperación del alma—”
“A soul retrieval?” Flaca asked, her voice barely steady. “You’re serious?”