Cemetery Boys(2)

Like hours of playing hide-and-go-seek where they always used their non-corporeal bodies to cheat, or purposely leave you waiting to be found behind the smelly dumpster on a hot LA afternoon. It was definitely not worth being indebted to those two.

When the girls finally ran off, Yadriel wasted no time sprinting to their final destination.

They rounded a corner and came face-to-face with the lich-gate to the church. Yadriel’s head tipped back. Whitewashed bricks were stacked before him, forming an archway. The words “El Jardín Eterno” were hand-scrawled delicately in black paint. The Eternal Garden. The paint was faded, but Yadriel knew his cousin Miguel had already been tasked with giving it a fresh coat before the Día de Muertos festivities began in a few days. A heavy, bolted lock kept out any trespassers.

As leader of the brujx families, Yadriel’s father, Enrique, held the keys and only gave them to the brujos who were on shift to guard the cemetery at night. Yadriel did not have a key, which meant he was only allowed to enter during the day, or for rituals and celebrations.

“?Vámonos!” Maritza’s harsh whisper and her manicured fingernail jabbing into his side made Yadriel jolt. Her short thick hair was windswept. Pastel-pink and -purple curls framed her heart-shaped face, popping against her deep brown skin. “We need to get inside before we’re spotted by someone!”

Yadriel batted her hand away. “Ssh!” he hissed.

Despite her words of warning, Maritza didn’t seem worried about getting into a heap of trouble. In fact, she looked downright excited. Dark eyes wide, a devilish grin played across her lips that Yadriel knew all too well.

Yadriel crept to the left side of the gate. There was a gap between the last wrought iron bar and the wall, where the bricks slumped. He tossed his backpack over the wall before turning sideways and wiggling his way through. Even through his polyester-and-spandex binder, the bar scraped painfully against his chest. On the other side, he took a moment to adjust the half tank top under his shirt so the clasps didn’t dig into his side. It had taken a while to find one that masculinized his chest without being itchy or chokingly tight.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Yadriel turned to find Maritza having a bit more difficulty. Her back was pressed against the bricks, her legs straddling the bar as she tried to drag herself through. Yadriel stuffed his fist against his mouth, stifling a laugh.

Maritza shot him a glare as she tried to wiggle her butt free. “?Cállate!” she hissed before finally stumbling through. “We’re gonna need another way to get in here soon.” She wiped at the dirt smeared across her jeans. “We’re getting too big.”

“Your butt’s getting too big,” Yadriel teased. “Maybe you should lay off the pastelitos.” He grinned.

“And lose these curves?” she asked, smoothing her hands down her waist and hips. Maritza gave him a sarcastic smile. “Thanks, but I’d rather die.” She punched his arm before sauntering toward the church.

Yadriel jogged to catch up.

Rows of marigolds—the flores de muerto—lined the stone path. The tall orange and yellow flowers leaned against one another like drunken friends. They had exploded into bloom over the months leading up to Día de Muertos. Fallen petals dusted the ground like confetti.

The church was painted white and had a terra-cotta roof. Starburst windows flanked either side of the large oak doors. Above, a small alcove was set into a semicircular wall, housing another cross. On either side, two cutouts held iron bells.

“Are you ready?” There was no look of trepidation on Maritza’s face as she watched him. She beamed, practically dancing on the tips of her toes.

Yadriel’s heart pulsed in his veins. Nerves roiled in his stomach.

He and Maritza had been sneaking around the cemetery at night since they were kids. The churchyard was a good place to hide and play when they were little. It was close enough to the house to hear Lita when she called them for dinner. But they’d never actually snuck into the church before. If he did this, they’d be breaking about a dozen brujx rules and traditions.

If he did this, there was no turning back.

Yadriel nodded stiffly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Let’s do it.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the same time Maritza shivered next to him.

“Do what?”

The bark-like demand made both of them jump. Maritza sprang back, and Yadriel had to catch her arms to keep her from bowling him over.

Just to their left, a man stood next to a small peach-colored tomb.

“Holy crap, Tito.” Yadriel exhaled, a hand still clutching the front of his hoodie. “You scared the hell out of us!”

Maritza sniffed indignantly.

Sometimes, even to Yadriel and Maritza, a ghost could go unnoticed.

Tito was a squat man wearing a burgundy Venezuela soccer kit and shorts. A large, worn straw hat sat on his head. He squinted at Yadriel and Maritza from under the brim as he bent over the marigolds. Tito was the longtime gardener of the cemetery.

Or well, he was. Tito had been dead for four years.

When he was alive, Tito had been an incredibly talented gardener. He used to supply all the flowers for the brujx celebrations, as well as weddings, holidays, and funerals for the non-magic folks in East LA. What had started as selling flowers from buckets at the local flea market had grown into his own brick-and-mortar shop.