Julian spluttered, but Yadriel cut in before they got too off topic. Again.
“And that’s all you remember?” Yadriel asked, turning in a slow circle.
Julian shrugged. “That’s it.”
The pavement was cracked and overgrown with weeds. The barrier walls were covered in graffiti and did little to block the thunder of traffic on the other side. There were some trees and large, overgrown bushes. Litter was ensnared in tufts of dead grass: straws, take-out containers, and plenty of cigarette butts.
There weren’t any telltale signs of a struggle. Though, to be honest, Yadriel didn’t know what to look out for. Either way, there was nothing glaringly obvious, like blood or a murder weapon, let alone a dead body.
But that was why they had brought the dogs along. Hopefully, they could pick up on things the humans couldn’t, and lead them to something useful.
“Ready to give it a shot, boys?” Yadriel asked.
The sudden attention got them both wiggling with enthusiasm.
“Fingers crossed,” Maritza said, taking off their leashes.
Yadriel crouched down, holding Julian’s shirt out for them to get a good sniff. Their wet noses snuffled against the material, making sounds that were more pig than dog.
Michelangelo wandered off first, probably realizing there was nothing edible hidden between the folds.
Donatello, on the other hand, didn’t give up so easily.
Before Yadriel could realize what was happening, Donatello was choking on a sleeve. “No, don’t eat it!” He yanked on the shirt, and Donatello hacked it up. “Oh, Santa Muerte,” Yadriel groaned, nose wrinkling as he held it out of Donatello’s reach as the dog tried to jump up on his stubby legs.
Julian ran forward. “Man, that’s my favorite shirt!” he lamented.
“He didn’t tear it,” Yadriel said, examining the sleeve cuff covered in slobber. “It’s just kinda … wet. Down, Donatello!”
Donatello ignored him and continued to whine, pawing pathetically at Yadriel’s leg.
Julian scowled at the dog. “Some help you are.”
“Guys!” Maritza stood next to a line of overgrown bushes that Michelangelo’s entire front half had disappeared into. “I think we’ve got something!”
Yadriel and Julian rushed over. Leaves rustled as Michelangelo dug farther into the bush. He planted his paws and started to tug on something.
Suddenly, Yadriel realized how much he didn’t want to see Julian’s dead body. Julian stood rigid, dark eyes large and chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths.
“What is it?” he asked, voice tight.
Julian was the most alive person he’d ever met. Even as a spirit, he was bright and full of constantly moving energy. A sun crammed into the body of a boy. Yadriel didn’t want to see him without his light.
Maritza moved in to investigate, pushing branches out of the way as she reached into the leaves.
Yadriel held his breath.
Maritza cursed. When she stood upright, she held a white paper bag. KING TACO was written across it in red, loopy letters.
“My tacos!” Julian exclaimed with pleased surprise.
Yadriel exhaled heavily, feeling light-headed.
“Ugh, that’s rank,” Maritza said, face scrunched up as she held the bag as far away as possible in pinched fingers.
Michelangelo sat on his rump, looking very proud of himself. Donatello waddled over and tried to get at the bag of rotten tacos.
“Is that it?” Yadriel asked, stepping forward. “There’s nothing else?”
Maritza pushed more branches around with her free hand, searching, but ultimately shrugged. “That’s it.”
Relief was quickly replaced with disappointment. He had really thought, or hoped, they’d be able to find something useful. If not a body, then at least some kind of clue to point them in the right direction. Yadriel spun in a slow circle, triple-checking that there wasn’t something obvious they’d missed, but there was nothing.
“You don’t remember anything else?” Yadriel asked Julian for the umpteenth time.
Julian lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “That’s all I got.”
No sign of Julian’s body. No sign of Miguel.
“We should really head home,” Maritza said, tossing the bag back into the bushes. She snagged Donatello by his collar before he could dive in after it. “I think it’s going to start raining.”
Yadriel knew she was right, it was getting darker by the minute, but he didn’t want to go home empty-handed. He wanted to help Julian, to find Miguel. He hated the idea of just waiting around for Día de Muertos, to see if Miguel’s spirit would return and tell them what had happened. And, even if he did, what if, like Julian, Miguel couldn’t remember, either?
Yadriel felt the first drop on the very tip of his nose.
Julian held out his hands as it began to drizzle, and rain fell right through his palms.
SEVENTEEN
By the time Yadriel and Julian got back to the cemetery, the drizzle had turned into full on rain. Yadriel’s hoodie was sopping wet, and his jeans were starting to chafe. Water had soaked into his binder, making it tight and freezing cold, sucking all the warmth from his core. His hair was a limp mess. Drops of water trailed down his scalp and the back of his neck. As they jogged across the street, his combat boots splashed in shallow puddles.
“Careful,” Yadriel whispered to Julian as he slipped through the front gate as quietly as possible. “My dad’s on graveyard shift tonight.” The dark clouds plunged the world into night as soon as the sun went down.
Julian hadn’t said much on the way back, and Yadriel hated it. Their roles seemed to reverse as Yadriel tried to fill the silence that Julian left.
“We just need a new plan,” he said, trying to throw out solutions and words of encouragement that would jump-start Julian back to talking.
Julian’s face was tense. Deep creases lined his forehead.
Yadriel wished he would just tell him what he was thinking. “Are you okay?” he asked Julian as they moved between graves. The slick stones reflected the streetlights, giving everything an eerie shine.
“I’m fine,” was Julian’s curt response, not even bothering to look in Yadriel’s direction.
“You don’t seem fine,” Yadriel pointed out, carding his fingers through his wet hair, but it flopped right back into his eyes. “Are you still upset about your brother?”
Julian stopped suddenly and frowned out across the cemetery.
Yadriel clutched the dripping straps of his backpack. Julian had every right to be mad at him; he didn’t blame him for it.
“I could try talking to my tío, see if he can help us. I mean, he saw my portaje, so he knows now,” he said, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms as he shivered in the rain.
Julian gave a frustrated shake of his head and started walking toward the house again, not even listening to Yadriel’s suggestions as his eyes swept back and forth across the headstones and colorful tombs.
Yadriel chased after him, desperate to get Julian to just hear him out. “I mean, I know I messed up, but I still think I can—”
Annoyed, Julian spun around. “Yads.”
But then he froze, staring.