Chapter Thirty-One. Julian
THIRTY-ONE
JULIAN
Yadriel’s house was alive with soft energy when Julian arrived. From the sidewalk, Julian could see the front windows glowing with candlelight and hear the occasional burst of laughter. Inside, the air was thick with the smells of cinnamon, beeswax, and something sweet baking in the oven.
The brujx were getting ready—embroidered shawls and fresh-pressed guayaberas, candles tucked into flower crowns, skirts and sleeves adjusted one last time.
Kids darted through the hallway with glowsticks shaped like stars, led by the troublemaker spirits Nina and Rosa.
Elders leaned in close over murmured prayers.
Julian stepped carefully through the entryway, trying not to bump anyone. Someone had added a picture of Catriz to the family altar, alongside an unlit cigar. It sat next to the photograph of Yadriel’s mom, surrounded by marigolds and flickering candles.
Julian’s chest tugged. He’d never known Catriz the way Yadriel had, but it felt right that the man wasn’t just a warning anymore. He was a story with an ending.
“I’m here for the Light Bringer!” Julian announced, passing a tío who just chuckled and pointed toward the stairs.
Julian waited by the banister, adjusting the collar of his too-big shirt, swiped from Rio’s side of the closet. The ceremony hummed through the house, building in quiet intensity—sacred, not ominous. Like something big was about to begin.
Footsteps padded down the stairs.
Yadriel appeared, framed in soft gold. He wore a deep black shirt with fine gold embroidery at the sleeves and collar, a sash of marigold yellow tied at his waist. A pillar candle was cradled carefully in his hands.
He looked radiant. Calm and focused, but also a little breathless, like he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.
Julian stared. “Damn,” he said, because it was the only thing his brain would give him.
Yadriel gave a nervous laugh. “Too much?”
Julian shook his head, a wide grin pressing dimples into his cheeks. “Not even close.”
Before Yadriel could answer, the front door creaked open and Maritza entered in a sea of ruffled, layered skirts. She wore a white blouse embroidered with orange marigolds and purple dahlias, and her hair was freshly braided with golden threads.
“Well?” she said, striking a pose. “How do I look?”
“Like a literal goddess,” Julian said, offering a low bow.
Maritza grinned, preening. “Correct answer.”
Lita swept in, shawl over her shoulders, and fussed with the cuff of Yadriel’s sleeve with tactical tenderness. “It’s time, mi amor,” she said, pressing a kiss to his temple.
Julian’s heart thumped as he watched Yadriel nod and straighten. This was it.
The courtyard beside the yellow church glowed with anticipation.
The brujx gathered in a wide circle, the crowd bundled in embroidered shawls and layered skirts, pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath the winter stars. Pillar candles flickered in every hand—tall and plain, their unlit wicks waiting.
At the front of the church, Yadriel stood with the eternal flame. It crackled faintly, tucked inside its weathered glass lantern, golden and unbothered by the cold breeze.
Julian watched from the front of the crowd, Maritza beside him, clustered near Lita and Enrique. He glanced toward Yadriel—calm and sure in a way that made Julian’s chest go warm and proud.
Yadriel lifted his voice. “In the darkest part of the year, we call to the light. We invite warmth and welcome to every spirit who wanders. For those who are lost. And for those who guide them.”
He touched the eternal flame to Lita’s wick. It caught. She turned and lit the next, and the next, and the next—fire blooming outward in a widening ring.
Strings under a white canopy found the first notes of “La Bruja,” slow and eerily beautiful.
Jarochas in white lace descended the church steps with shallow clay dishes balanced on their heads, each dish holding a single candle that did not flicker as they moved.
Hips swayed, flames danced, and a spiral of light unfurled around tables piled with tamales, pasteles, pan dulce, and steaming champurrado.
Yadriel stepped into the center. He didn’t balance the candle on his head—he cradled it, its flame reflected in the shimmer of his portaje at his hip. His steps were small, steady. The light moved with him, shadows curling and flickering like spirits slipping closer to warmth.
Julian stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart thudding, practically vibrating with joy and the want to be with Yadriel.
He flashed Maritza a grin. “I’m goin’ in.”
“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she hissed after him.
Julian darted forward, weaving through the other brujx, and slipped into the circle. He caught up to Yadriel just as the rhythm quickened.
“Julian—what are you doing?” Yadriel whispered, startled and smiling.
“Learning by doing!” Julian said, moving his feet in patterns that could only be described as erratic. “What’s the next step?”
Yadriel gave a short, incredulous laugh, his whole body relaxing. “You’re gonna knock someone’s candle—”
“I’ll be graceful!” Julian immediately tripped.
They both broke into laughter. Yadriel danced, guiding Julian with glances and the flick of a hand. Julian followed (ish). His feet were wrong, his rhythm worse, but he matched the joy in Yadriel’s smile perfectly. He didn’t even drop his candle.
Maritza joined, candle in one hand, the other yanking Julian into place as she kicked her skirt with weaponized flair.
Together, they danced. Not perfectly. Not solemnly. But full of light and life, bumping shoulders and laughing.
The music shifted brighter. Trumpet players joined and the music swelled.
More brujx stepped into the circle, their candles held high.
More voices joined in, laughter and celebration erupting around them, each grito sending another flicker of light jumping toward the stars.
The courtyard flickered with firelight and movement, a living constellation of warmth and welcome.
Laughter spilled. Partners spun. Between skirts and candlelight, spirits danced as well.
An older spirit couple twirled arm in arm near the edges of the crowd, their footsteps light as breath.
Nina and Rosa giggled as they darted between tables, their laughter echoing softly, chasing each other in loops that passed through the legs of the living.
Julian’s cheeks hurt from smiling. His legs ached. He didn’t want it to stop.
Here, in the glow of the Candle Dance, surrounded by friends and family and spirits who watched over them, he felt whole.
He and Yadriel slipped to the edge of the courtyard, breathless.
Maritza vanished toward the champurrado.
They found a quiet corner, just beyond the reach of the candlelight, where the shadows softened and the cold made them huddle close.
Julian didn’t step away when the music swelled again.
He stayed pressed to Yadriel like the night might try to take him back.
Their cheeks were pink with wind and laughter. Their hands were still faintly glowing from the dance.
Julian leaned into Yadriel, their shoulders brushing. “You were amazing out there,” he murmured.
Yadriel ducked his head, grinning. “You tripped three times.”
“I fell with style.”
Yadriel chuckled through his words. “You fell into me!”
“Strategy!”
They both laughed.
Julian nudged him. “Seriously, though. Watching you lead like that? I hope you know how proud I am. How proud everyone is.”
Yadriel looked up, his eyes warm and glowing gold in the candlelight. “Thanks,” he said softly. “That … actually means a lot.”
They stood in silence for a moment, candles flickering all around them. Somewhere across the courtyard, a child laughed. A guitar eased into a slower tune. Above them, the sky was velvet black and pinpricked with stars.
Yadriel leaned his head against Julian’s. “Think they’re still watching?” he asked quietly.
Julian laced their fingers together. A draft swept through the courtyard, flickering the candles. Julian shifted automatically, angling his body so Yadriel’s flame stayed steady. “We lit the whole damn night,” he said. “No way they’d miss it.”
Yadriel’s lips quirked into a smile. He tilted his head up, just enough to press a kiss to Julian’s cheek.
Hours later, Lita handed him, Yadriel, and Maritza each a giant Tupperware full of hojarasca and marranito cookies, waving them off toward the apartment like a tiny general dispatching troops.
The three of them climbed the long outdoor stairs, the night air still tasting faintly of copal and sugar. Laughter and music leaked under the apartment door. Somebody whooped over the clatter of dishes.
Halfway up, Luca was asleep on the steps, sweater bunched under his cheek, one hand curled like he’d meant to keep himself awake.
Julian crouched, brushed a thumb across his hair, and held out the woven bracelet without ceremony. “You dropped this,” he said, voice rougher than he meant.
Luca blinked himself back to the world, then his mouth wobbled into a smile as he slid it on.
“Thanks,” Luca whispered.
“Anytime,” Julian said, and meant it.
The door swung open, and warm light spilled over them. Rio stood there with a dish towel over his shoulder. His hand found the back of Julian’s neck for one steady second, a squeeze that said what he didn’t.
“C’mon,” Rio murmured, ushering them inside. The heat and noise of very-late Christmas Eve swallowed them whole—voices, music, the smells of cinnamon and pizza. Home.