Aiden Thomas

But he knew this wasn’t sustainable. No one was meant to last as a spirit floating between two worlds, but especially not Julian. He was a boy made of fire who’d been turned to frost. He was meant to burn.

Yadriel wanted to chase down the sunset. To not let it rise.

“Nothing gaudy and ridiculous like Diego’s,” she said with a roll of her eyes, referring to Yadriel’s older brother.

Yadriel pulled back the last of the cloth to reveal a dagger nestled inside. “Wow,” he breathed.

“It’s practical,” Maritza explained, hovering over his shoulder.

“It’s badass,” Yadriel corrected, a wide smile pressing into his cheeks.

Maritza beamed.

Being transgender and gay had earned Yadriel the title of Head Black Sheep among the brujx. Though, in truth, being gay had actually been much easier for them to accept, but only because they saw Yadriel’s liking boys as still being heterosexual.

But Maritza had certainly earned the title in her own right as the only vegan brujx in their community. One year younger than Yadriel, she’d gone through her own quinces when she turned fifteen earlier that year, but she refused to heal because it required the use of animal blood. One of Yadriel’s earliest memories of Maritza was of her crying inconsolably when her mother had used blood from a pig to heal a child’s broken leg. Early on, Maritza decided she wanted no part of healing if it meant harming another living creature.

In the dim light of the church, Yadriel could see her portaje hanging around her neck—a rosary of pink quartz that ended in a silver cross, but the concealed vessel remained empty. Maritza explained that, even though she refused to use her powers, she still respected the diosa and their ancestors.

Yadriel admired her for her convictions, but he was also frustrated by them. All he wanted was to be accepted—he wanted to be given his own portaje, treated like any other brujo, and given the same responsibilities. Maritza, on the other hand, had been offered every right of the brujx, but she chose to reject it.

They wouldn’t even let him try. It was easier to hide behind their traditions than to challenge their own beliefs and understanding of how things in the world of the brujx worked.

“What’s the plan?” Maritza asked, her long legs easily keeping stride with Yadriel. She wove between tombstones, careful to step around flower vases and framed pictures.

“Find Miguel’s portaje, summon his spirit, find out what happened, and release his spirit before Día de Muertos starts,” Yadriel said as they started jogging through rows of brightly painted tombs. “That way, he can come back to celebrate with the rest of the brujx, and I can be in this year’s aquelarre.”

“Uh, there’s a lot of gaps in your plan,” Maritza told him.

“I didn’t say it was a good one.”

“This place kind of gives me the creeps,” Maritza whispered at his side, rubbing her arm. “What if it’s haunted?”

Yadriel huffed a laugh. “Of course it’s haunted, this is literally a cemetery full of spirits,” he said, trying to use sarcasm to calm his own nerves.

Maritza punched his arm. “I mean like a monster or something.”

“There’s no such thing as monsters.” Yadriel went to one of the tall windows, but, even after wiping at it with his sleeve, he still couldn’t see anything but blackness inside.

Maritza stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t just say that—did you really just say that?” she demanded before throwing her arms in the air. “That’s classic start-of-a-horror-movie dialogue you just threw out into the universe!”

Three beats passed before Julian’s eyes suddenly went wide. “I died, didn’t I?” The fierceness was gone, leaving his voice small and weak. “Am I dead?”

Yadriel winced and gave a small nod. “Yeah…”

Julian stumbled back a step, his body wavering in and out of existence for a moment, like a camera trying to focus. “Oh, Jesus.” He pressed both hands against his face. “My brother is gonna kill me,” he groaned against his palms.

“Looks like someone already beat him to it,” Maritza said, reaching out to poke her finger right through Julian’s elbow.

He watched Julian, whose hands were tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket as he casually strolled between the headstones. The taller boy’s eyes roved, drinking everything in. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a spirit, Julian would’ve tripped over three different grave markers by now. But, instead, he walked right through them with no problem.

“Really?” Julian’s head canted to the side, sparing Yadriel a confused squint. “I ain’t never seen this place before, and I know the streets of LA like the back of my head,” he explained.

“Back of your hand,” Maritza corrected.

Julian hummed, unconvinced. “I’d remember this place.” He shook his head and continued on. “Besides, I’m pretty sure someone jumped me. It was, like, right after sunset, and we were taking a shortcut to King Taco—”

Maritza glanced up long enough from her phone to offer, “That place is the best.”

A grin split Julian’s face, white teeth flashing. “Right?” He pressed his palm to his flat stomach. “Their chicken sopes are—”

“Then what happened?” Yadriel cut in, continuously glancing around for anyone else in the cemetery.