Cemetery Boys(17)

Yadriel had never actually held a spirit’s tether before. They were incredibly powerful. Some of the brujx claimed mishandling a spirit’s tether would get you cursed.

But Yadriel had never heard of anyone ever actually getting possessed, and he had no intention of disrespecting this tether.

“But it’s not Miguel’s, that’s not his portaje,” Maritza said, reaching out as if to touch it before thinking better.

“It could be Miguel’s,” Yadriel tried to reason, his hope of finding his cousin fighting against logic. He squeezed the medal in his hand. Warmth spread through his palm and up his arm.

He turned to Maritza with a smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Maritza gave him a skeptical look.

“I have to try—what if Miguel’s spirit got tethered to this instead of his portaje?” he said, twisting the chain between his fingers.

“It might be attached to someone who’s gone maligno,” Maritza said, casting a pointed look around the dilapidated church.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got this, isn’t it?” Yadriel said, pulling out his portaje.

Maritza eyed the dagger but then grinned. “All right, brujo, work your magic.”

The rush of excitement made Yadriel feel giddy as he knelt before Lady Death. Maybe it was the feel of the dagger in his hand or the magic he now knew flowed through his veins, but for someone who usually erred on the side of caution, Yadriel felt recklessly brave.

He dug into his backpack and pulled out the clay bowl. Quickly, he poured in the rest of the small tequila bottle and some chicken blood, then grabbed a box of matches. He stood and tried to take a deep breath, but he was too excited, practically buzzing. His palms were sweaty, making it difficult to light the match, but it finally caught.

He glanced over at Maritza, and she nodded encouragingly.

Yadriel had seen his father summon a spirit. He knew what to do and how to do it. He just needed to say the words.

The flame inched toward Yadriel’s fingers. There was no time left to second-guess.

He held out his arm, the medal hanging from the chain looped around his hand. It glinted in the dim light.

“Te—” Yadriel cleared his throat, trying to breathe around the lump that had formed. “?Te invoco, espíritu!”

He dropped the match into the bowl. For a second, it sizzled in the blood and alcohol before there was an explosion of heat and golden light. Yadriel sprang back, choking on the smoke.

The fire in the bowl burned calmly, casting orange light over a boy. He was doubled over on his hands and knees before the statue of Lady Death, clutching his chest.

Yadriel could hardly believe his eyes. “It worked!”

The spirit’s face was screwed up tight in a grimace, his fingers knotted into the material of his shirt. He wore a hooded black leather jacket over a white tee, faded jeans, and a pair of Converse.

“That’s not Miguel,” Maritza tried to whisper, but she’d never had a very good inside voice.

Yadriel groaned and dragged a hand over his face. On the bright side, he had actually summoned a real-life spirit.

On the not-so-bright side, he had summoned the wrong one.

“Obviously,” Yadriel hissed back, unable to look away from the boy as he gasped for breath, the muscles in his neck straining. He had that translucent quality around the edges, like all spirits. The boy’s eyes swung to them. He had a handsome but very angry face, his grimace now more of a sneer.

“Well, at least it’s not a maligno spirit?” Maritza offered.

The boy staggered to his feet, upright but unsteady. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled, dark eyes blazing, sharp as obsidian.

“Uhhh” was Yadriel’s unhelpful reply, suddenly unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Where am I?” the boy barked, head tilting back as he took in their surroundings. “Am I in a church?” His attention swung back to Yadriel and Maritza with an accusing glare. “Who let me in a church?”

Familiarity prickled at the back of Yadriel’s mind, racing to place his strong features and booming voice.

“Uh—well—you see,” Yadriel stammered, not really sure how to explain their situation, but he wasn’t given the chance to finish.

The boy’s eyes snagged on the necklace still dangling from Yadriel’s hand. “Hey!”

Yadriel saw the anger swell, hunching his shoulders and propelling him forward. The boy stomped up to him. “That’s mine—”

He reached out to snatch the necklace, but his hand went right through it. He tried again, and when his hand slid through it a second time, he froze, blinked, and waved it back and forth.

The boy’s eyes went wide, and he let out a strangled shout, stumbling back. “Wh-what—” he stammered, looking between his hand and Yadriel and Maritza, “the hell is this?”

“Wow, this is really awkward,” Yadriel said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Maritza seemed less worried. “Well, there’s no denying you’re a brujo now,” she said, circling the boy with keen interest.

He scowled at her. “Who are you, and what are you doing with my necklace?” he demanded, looking to Yadriel for answers.

“Well, uh, I used it to summon you,” Yadriel tried.

The boy arched a thick eyebrow. “Summon me?”