Cemetery Boys(57)

Yadriel followed his tío and grabbed a plate of food before moving toward the crowd surrounding his dad. Everyone’s expressions were tense, their voices lowered as they spoke. He saw Tío Isaac, but he was easy to spot. Tall and broad, he stood at least a head higher than everyone else. But there was no sign of Tía Sofia or Paola.

Balancing his plate with one hand, Yadriel pulled out his phone with the other and thumbed out a message to Maritza.

Everybody’s at the church. Where are you?

Maritza’s response was almost immediate.

Being held hostage. They’re making me try on dresses. Send help.

Yadriel snorted.

Sending thoughts and prayers.

Yadriel’s dad stood in the center, mustache ruffled and head swinging back and forth as he was bombarded with questions.

“Enrique,” Tío Catriz called. He pointed down at Yadriel, and his father had to get on his toes to see him.

Yadriel shrank as everyone turned to look at him.

His dad let out a relieved sigh, and Yadriel gave him a guilty smile. He squeezed through the sea of brujx to get closer.

“Where have you two been?” his dad asked, voice edged with frustration, though he mostly just sounded tired.

Yadriel felt another pang of guilt. His dad looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. How many hours of sleep had his dad gotten over the last twenty-four hours? It couldn’t have been much.

“Sorry, Dad,” Yadriel said, because he was. He hadn’t meant to worry his dad. He had enough on his plate without Yadriel causing him more stress.

“You keep running off and coming home late,” Enrique said, like it was a question.

Yadriel tried to think of an excuse. What would Maritza say? “I just—”

“He was with me, hermano,” Tío Catriz said, his smile apologetic as he placed a hand on Yadriel’s shoulder. “We were having a heart-to-heart, lost track of time. We didn’t mean to worry you,” he explained with gentle sincerity.

Yadriel stared up at him, surprised.

Enrique frowned, deep creases wrinkling his brow. There was something churning behind his eyes, but Yadriel couldn’t quite place it. He got the feeling his dad didn’t like that answer, but then he gave a short nod.

Luckily, Yadriel wasn’t going to get lectured, at least not at the moment. His dad had bigger matters to tend to.

“How could there be no sign of Miguel?” a younger bruja asked, and the group devolved into more arguing and questions. They converged around his dad again, pushing Yadriel and his tío to the outskirts.

“Thanks for that,” Yadriel said to Tío Catriz. “You really didn’t have to cover for me.” The last thing he wanted to do was drag anyone else into this mess he’d gotten himself into, especially his tío.

Catriz chuckled. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said with a wink.

Yadriel smiled back. He wished the brujx treated his tío better. He was a good man and always looked out for Yadriel. Even if it sucked to be a brujx reject, at least he had his tío Catriz to go through it with. Yadriel wondered if things would change once they saw he was a brujo. Would it put a wall between them? Would Tío Catriz be upset? He didn’t think he would be.

At least, he hoped not.

“Eat, sobrino,” Tío Catriz told him, nudging Yadriel with his shoulder. “And try to stay out of trouble.”

Yadriel didn’t need to be told twice. He was starving and immediately began shoveling food into his mouth. He slowly wandered around the group of brujx deep in conversation, trying to listen in and gather any information that might be useful.

“Did Claudia and Benny go to the police?” Tío Isaac asked, his deep voice easily cutting through the chatter. “Has Miguel been reported as missing?”

Yadriel’s dad nodded, raking his fingers through his mustache. “They did this morning, but it didn’t go well.” The corners of his lips tugged down.

“How do you mean?” Diego asked. He and Andrés had squirmed their way into the middle of the group, as if they were very important and needed to be at the center of the discussion.

Yadriel rolled his eyes and took another large bite of ropa vieja.

“Claudia and Benny don’t speak English very well,” Enrique explained. “They kept asking for an interpreter, not wanting to miss anything important and so they could give the police as much information as they could. Of course, that was complicated on its own, since they couldn’t say they knew Miguel was dead without explaining how they knew it,” he told the group.

Murmurs rose.

Yes, Yadriel could see how that would make things difficult.

“But the officers didn’t bring in an interpreter and just kept asking them questions.” His dad shook his head. “I’m not sure what happened, but by the time I got there to help, the police were completely brushing them off and started asking if Miguel was a legal US citizen—if they were.”

The murmuring turned angry, and so did Yadriel. Over the last few years, more and more people in their community—brujx and otherwise—had been deported. Families were split apart and good people were torn away from their homes. People were fearful of the police and scared to seek out help when they needed it.

The brujx tried to band together and close their ranks. As a community that was already so close-knit and stuck to their own, it only exacerbated their fear of outsiders.