Cemetery Boys(78)

Julian hadn’t said much on the way back, and Yadriel hated it. Their roles seemed to reverse as Yadriel tried to fill the silence that Julian left.

“We just need a new plan,” he said, trying to throw out solutions and words of encouragement that would jump-start Julian back to talking.

Julian’s face was tense. Deep creases lined his forehead.

Yadriel wished he would just tell him what he was thinking. “Are you okay?” he asked Julian as they moved between graves. The slick stones reflected the streetlights, giving everything an eerie shine.

“I’m fine,” was Julian’s curt response, not even bothering to look in Yadriel’s direction.

“You don’t seem fine,” Yadriel pointed out, carding his fingers through his wet hair, but it flopped right back into his eyes. “Are you still upset about your brother?”

Julian stopped suddenly and frowned out across the cemetery.

Yadriel clutched the dripping straps of his backpack. Julian had every right to be mad at him; he didn’t blame him for it.

“I could try talking to my tío, see if he can help us. I mean, he saw my portaje, so he knows now,” he said, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms as he shivered in the rain.

Julian gave a frustrated shake of his head and started walking toward the house again, not even listening to Yadriel’s suggestions as his eyes swept back and forth across the headstones and colorful tombs.

Yadriel chased after him, desperate to get Julian to just hear him out. “I mean, I know I messed up, but I still think I can—”

Annoyed, Julian spun around. “Yads.”

But then he froze, staring.

“What?” The word billowed in a cloud from Yadriel’s lips. Electricity ran up his spine, jarring his teeth.

Julian wasn’t staring at him.

He was staring past him.

Yadriel turned and found himself face-to-face with a figure. He sucked in a sharp breath. His first thought was they’d been caught—someone had seen them, had seen Julian, and now they knew he was hiding a spirit and would tell his dad.

But then he recognized the burgundy jersey. The floppy straw hat.

Relief crashed over him. “Co?o. Holy crap, Tito—” He forced out a laugh. “It’s just Tito.”

He threw Julian a glance, but his posture was still rigid. His dark eyes wide with alarm.

“It’s okay, he’s—” But Yadriel cut himself off as he turned back to Tito. Something was wrong.

It hit Yadriel’s senses all at once.

Tito didn’t look right. He was perfectly still, his gardening shears held in his hand. His beloved Venezuela jersey was covered in dark stains. His skin was puffy and gray. The brim of his hat cast his eyes in dark shadows. Then the smell hit Yadriel’s nose. It was an earthy, putrid stench.

Tito’s mouth yawned open—too wide, as if his jaw had unhinged. He drew in a deep, rattling breath. His bloated fingers tightened around the handles of the shears. They made a rusty squeal.

“Yadriel!” Julian shouted.

He didn’t have time to do anything more than suck in a gasp before Tito raised his arm and brought the shears down toward him. Yadriel tried to scramble away but tripped over his own feet, landing hard on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He expected to feel rusty steel sink into his chest. Instead, he heard the colliding of bodies meeting with a sharp grunt.

Coughing, Yadriel rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath, the taste of mud on his lips.

Julian was on his feet and fighting. Tito brought the shears down at him, but Julian used his arm to deflect the blow. He threw his fist into Tito’s nose. There was a loud crunch and a ghoulish wail, something entirely inhuman that put Yadriel’s teeth on edge. Julian sank his knee into Tito’s gut with a wet thud, slamming his elbow into the back of his head when he doubled over.

The shears clattered to the ground.

Yadriel arched his back and twisted, pulling his portaje out from its sheath. He needed to sever the tie between Tito and his shears.

Ripping open his bag, Yadriel plunged his hand inside, searching for his Hydro Flask filled with chicken blood.

Julian fought hard, but this wasn’t some scuffle in the school halls. It wasn’t a brawl in the street. His opponent wasn’t even human anymore. The horror that used to be Tito caught Julian around his throat, fingers catching under his jaw and pulling him off his feet.

“Julian!” Yadriel shouted, fear shredding his voice.

Julian thrashed, hands scrabbling at Tito’s arm, feet kicking wildly as he choked.

Yadriel yanked out the bottle and clumsily unscrewed the top. With shaky hands, he dumped the blood onto the blade.

“?Muéstrame el enlace!” he said, and his dagger burst to life with glowing light.

The golden thread appeared, drawn between the garden shears on the ground and the center of Tito’s chest.

Tito’s head swung to Yadriel. He tossed Julian to the side with surprising strength. Julian careened through headstones and out of sight. Yadriel had no idea if a spirit could destroy another spirit, but he could hear Julian groan.

Tito lunged for him, and Yadriel was barely able to throw himself behind a sarcophagus in time. The voice in his head screamed at him to get to the shears, to cut the tie.

An inhuman screech filled the air. Tito threw himself onto the sarcophagus, nails digging at the stone in a frenzy as he tried to reach Yadriel.