Yadriel’s stomach twisted into knots. “We still haven’t found anything?” he asked.
Tío Isaac shook his head solemnly. “Not yet.”
Yadriel just didn’t get it. How was that possible?
“Not to mention”—Tía Sofia propped her fist on one hip and shook her spoon at her youngest daughter—“you still haven’t tried on the dress I got you for your aquelarre, and you said you’d take those colors out of your hair before Día de Muertos, too!”
Yadriel shot Maritza a hard stare. They needed to find Julian’s friends, get answers that would satisfy the stubborn spirit, and wrap this whole thing up before Día de Muertos.
Maritza nodded, reading his look loud and clear. “Ugh, you guys!” she whined. “I’ll try on the dress later, and I definitely never said I’d re-dye my hair—”
Tía Sofia opened her mouth to argue, but Maritza cut her off.
“I said I’d think about it, and I thought about it, and I decided not to.”
Yadriel pinched the bridge of his nose. Arguing with her mom about dresses and hair was definitely not going to put Maritza’s mom in a lenient mood. “Maritza,” he hissed.
Maritza looked at him like she’d completely forgotten that he was there and what the real matter at hand was. “And the sun’s still up until like six!” she argued, getting back on track. She paused for a second and then walked her fingers toward one of the blades on the kitchen table. “I guess if we had a couple of these to defend ourselves—”
“No!” her parents answered in unison.
“They could take the boys?” Tío Isaac suggested, looking to his wife.
Maritza’s eyes went wide. “Dad, no—”
Tía Sofia nodded in agreement. “Yes, mi amor!”
Yadriel always liked how a Puerto Rican accent turned soft r’s into l’s, so it sounded like mi amol.
“I like that idea!”
“Mom!”
Paola snorted a laugh.
Maritza growled and spun to Yadriel. “You go home and grab—uh—your stuff. I’ll meet you there.” With that, she turned back to her parents, fists firmly planted on her hips. “I’M NOT TAKING THEM WITH US! THEY ONLY GET IN THE WAY! AND THEY SMELL!”
Yadriel slipped out of the kitchen before it was too late.
Outside, Julian was right where he’d left him, leaning against the van and looking bored.
“Where’s Maritza?” he asked, glancing back toward the house where Yadriel could still hear arguing.
“Uh, she got a little tied up,” Yadriel told him. Julian looked amused. “Come on, she’ll meet us back at the house.”
Worry dug under Yadriel’s skin. If Maritza’s parents were any indicator, they were going to have a hell of a time sneaking out after school. As a whole, Yadriel’s dad didn’t like him out on the streets after the streetlights came on, but now? The adults were bound to instate a curfew after what had happened to Miguel, especially because they still didn’t know what happened. It seemed like just a matter of time.
Not to mention, it was the end of October, which meant the sun was setting earlier. They had only a handful of hours to work with.
He led the way around the corner and across the street to the cemetery. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before they slipped through the gate. There weren’t any brujx between the front gate and his house, though he could see a couple of figures off in the distance tending to the graves.
“Let’s go,” Yadriel said to Julian, keeping an eye on the brujx as he waved him forward and picked up the pace. “Before someone—”
“Wait, Yads!” Julian’s hand shot out, in an attempt to grab him, but, of course, it went right through his shoulder, hitting him with a shock of cold.
The next second, Yadriel ran into something. The crash sent him stumbling, and he landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Around him, things clattered. Yadriel groaned.
He looked up, and Julian was standing over him, his hand clamped over his mouth as he laughed.
“Dude, are you okay?”
Yadriel glared up at him.
“I’d offer you a hand, but…” Julian let out another chuckle.
“Glad to see my pain puts you in such a good mood,” Yadriel griped as he pushed himself back onto his feet.
“Did you hurt anything?”
“Just my dignity.” He dusted off his pants and turned to see what he had tripped over. A stack of milk crates had been knocked over and large bunches of marigolds lay scattered across the ground. Tiny orange petals were everywhere.
“Uh-oh,” Julian said, stepping behind Yadriel.
“My cempasúchitl!” Tito fumed as he stomped over. The air around his translucent body rippled like heat waves. He looked down at his beloved flowers and got on his knees, gingerly gathering the bouquets into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Tito!” Yadriel apologized. “Here, let me help!” He bent down to pick up one of the crates, but Tito shooed him away.
“No! Don’t touch!” His round, tanned face pinched into a glower, his eyes cutting back and forth between Yadriel and Julian. “Troublemakers!” he barked, wagging a finger at them.
“I’m sorry, Tito.” Yadriel cringed. He knew how hard Tito worked on his marigolds all year round to make sure they were perfect for Día de Muertos. “We were just, uh—”
Tito’s attention swung to Julian who shrank back a step, shoulders hunching up to his ears, a painfully guilty smile on his face.
“Uh, this is…” Yadriel trailed off, not knowing what to say. Certainly not the truth. What if Tito told Yadriel’s dad that he and a spirit boy had ruined some of his marigolds? He did not need his dad getting suspicious or asking questions. He could just lie and say Julian was a new spirit in the cemetery, right? That wouldn’t need much explanation, would it? “This is— He’s just,” Yadriel blabbered, trying to put a coherent sentence together. Tito’s eyes narrowed. “He’s—”
Tito held up his hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to know! Take your trouble and go!” he snapped before going back to picking up his marigolds, murmuring words of comfort to them in Spanish.
Yadriel certainly wasn’t going to argue with him, so he raced to the house, Julian right on his heels.
“Do you think he’s gonna tell on us?” Julian asked as they got to the door.
“I hope not,” Yadriel said, jumping to get a peek through the window in the door. He didn’t hear anyone inside or see any movement behind the curtains. “Tito tends to mind his own business.”
“You did mess up his flowers, though,” Julian pointed out, giving Yadriel a disapproving shake of his head.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” he hissed back. He didn’t smell any food cooking, either, which was a good sign. Yadriel pushed the front door open and poked his head in.
“Hello?” he called. “Anyone home?” he strained his ears, listening for a response or a creak of floorboards, but the house was silent.
At least one thing was going right today.
Yadriel led the way up the stairs and to his room, shutting the door behind them. Immediately, he went to his bedside table. He yanked open the drawer, dug out the wadded-up T-shirt, and took out his portaje. It was still there, undiscovered and untouched. He sat heavily on the edge of the mattress and clutched the dagger to his chest and let out a sigh of relief.