Cemetery Boys(11)

It was such a small injury to fix, and on such a tiny creature, Yadriel should have been able to heal it easily with his mom’s help. With her warm smile and gentle encouragement, he held the rosary to the cat’s leg. His hand quaked, scared that something would go wrong, or worse, that it would work, showing that he was supposed to be a bruja. His mom placed her hand over his and gave it a small squeeze.

Yadriel spoke the final words, but it backfired.

He could still picture the drops of scarlet on his mother’s white skirt. The terrible yowl. The sudden, sharp pain of the poor cat piercing into his head. The stunned look on his mother’s face. It couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds before she’d taken the cat and quickly healed it herself.

In a blink, the terrible sound had stopped. The pain vanished. The small cat’s eyes closed, a ball of fur in his mom’s lap.

Yadriel had been inconsolable, convinced for a long moment that he had killed the poor creature. His mom pulled him to her side and spoke gently into his ear.

Shh, it’s all right. She’s okay; she’s just sleeping, you see?

But all Yadriel could see was his failure; all he could feel was the crushing weight of knowing he couldn’t do it. But, more than that, he knew this wasn’t him. He wasn’t a bruja.

His mom brushed her cool fingers along the side of his face, pushing his hair from his eyes. It’s okay, she’d said, like she knew it, too.

His mother hadn’t been able to patch the cat back together completely. The backfire had done damage not even she could repair, but the cat wasn’t in pain. They took her home, and Yadriel diligently went to work making sure she was well fed and taken care of. Even now, she slept in his room every night, and Yadriel always snuck her bits of chorizo and chicken after dinner.

Yadriel’s mom had affectionately named the cat Purrcaso, after the famous artist’s crooked paintings.

Purrcaso was more than a cat, much closer to a companion. When Yadriel missed his mom, it was like Purrcaso knew. When he got that dropping feeling of guilt in his stomach, Purrcaso would curl up in his lap, loudly purring. She was ball of warmth and comfort in which his mother’s magic still lived.

Purrcaso curled up against the toe of his shoe. Yadriel rubbed the soft fur behind her ears until her amber eyes slid shut.

His mom never pressured him to try healing again. In a community built on such staunch tradition, the news that Yadriel couldn’t heal, to them, meant he didn’t have magic. His quinces was postponed indefinitely.

The brujx thought he was just a product of the dilution of magic slowly working its way through their lineage. But Yadriel and his mom knew the truth.

She bought him his first binder online and helped him tell his dad and brother. It was hard explaining himself and his identity not only to his family but to their entire community. They still didn’t understand, clearly, but at least with his mom around, they were working through it together.

His mom championed for Yadriel to be given a brujo’s quinces, to be welcomed into the community as he was—a boy. She’d taken on the task of trying to explain to his dad that he was a brujo. He was a boy.

He can’t just choose to be a brujo, he’d heard Enrique say from the kitchen one night as he and Camila spoke quietly over sweet coffee.

It’s not a choice, his mother had said, her voice calm but firm. It’s who he is.

She told Yadriel the others just needed time to understand. But Yadriel’s mom, his advocate, had been taken away from him less than a year ago. Without her, there was no one to stick up for him. Now, he was treated as a magicless brujx. Someone who could see spirits and sense suffering, but who would never be a full member of their community.

“What a mess…”

The voice made Yadriel jump. He looked up and found Catriz standing at the door, a cigarillo between his fingers. He looked tired, his expression one of grim understanding.

Yadriel’s posture relaxed. “Tío,” he sighed. His eyes slid back to the door, wondering if maybe his dad would follow his uncle out here.

“Don’t worry,” Tío Catriz said, taking a drag from his cigarillo as he descended the steps. “Your father and the other brujos already left.” He pulled up a plastic lawn chair and sat next to Yadriel. “It’s just you and me.” Catriz placed his hand on the crown of Yadriel’s head and grinned. “Como siempre.”

Yadriel sighed a laugh. A small part of him had hoped his dad would be the one to follow him and apologize. But his uncle was right, it was always the two of them on the outskirts of the brujx. At least they had each other, and Catriz understood Yadriel’s yearning, unlike Maritza, who was entirely uninterested in being a part of the brujx and had no qualms about being an outcast. She seemed to enjoy being contrary.

Yadriel stuffed his hands into the pocket of his black hoodie. “I can’t believe Miguel…” He trailed off, not wanting to speak the words.

Catriz gave a slow shake of his head and took a long drag from his cigarillo. “So young, so sudden,” he said, smoke billowing from his nostrils. “I wish I could help, but…” He shrugged his angular shoulders. “They don’t find me of much use.”

Yadriel let out a short laugh. Yeah, he knew that feeling all too well. “What the hell happened to him?” he asked, repeating the same words Maritza had said earlier.