Cemetery Boys(79)

Yadriel ducked out of Tito’s reach, his feet slipping through slick mud as he tried to propel himself forward.

He dove for the shears, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Tito was on him in a blink, knocking him off his feet and onto his back once again.

As he pinned Yadriel down, Tito’s mouth opened wide. Black lips split open, revealing rotten teeth. A rattling growl flowed from the gaping hole. Something wriggled under his purple tongue.

Yadriel tried to get his dagger free, but Tito had his wrist in an iron grip. He shoved his hand against the side of Tito’s face, trying to push him away, but his dead skin was slippery and squished under his fingers.

Tito’s blackened teeth snapped.

Yadriel thrashed wildly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

A strangled shout ripped from his throat.

“?Muéstrame el enlace!” someone bellowed.

In his peripheral, there was a flash of light, but all Yadriel could see was Tito’s lumbering form on top of him. The golden thread ignited at the center of Tito’s chest, shooting off to the left.

Tito raised his meaty fist over his head, ready to slam it down onto Yadriel.

He threw his arms up to shield himself, but the blow never came.

“?Te libero a la otra vida!”

Tito’s face went slack.

Yadriel could’ve sworn he heard a soft sigh, and, a moment later, Tito dissolved into thousands of glowing marigold petals. They fell in a gentle cascade over Yadriel, tickling his cheeks before they faded and disappeared into the mud.

Yadriel stared at the spot Tito had been, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.

When he looked up, a man stood over him in a black rain jacket, a portaje glinting in his hand. When he pushed back his hood, it was his father’s stunned face staring back at him.

“Yadriel?” He pulled him up to his feet and gripped tightly onto Yadriel’s shoulders. “Are you okay?” His father’s panicked eyes searched his before looking him over.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” His voice quaked. Immediately, he looked for Julian, but he was nowhere in sight. “I—”

His dad pulled him to his chest and locked his arms around him tight, pressing his nose into Yadriel’s hair. “Thank the saints!”

Yadriel could feel his dad’s shuddering inhale. His own body trembled in his dad’s embrace. Enrique withdrew, still holding on tight to his shoulders. “What on earth happened?”

Nerves and adrenaline fried Yadriel’s brain as he tried to come up with something. “I—I—”

Finally, Enrique spotted the portaje clutched in Yadriel’s hand. His eyes bulged, watching as the glowing blade faded back to steel.

“Santa Muerte,” his dad breathed, bewildered, as he pushed his hand through his wet hair. “Where did you get that?”

Guilt and panic swarmed in Yadriel’s stomach. He wanted to tell a cover story, to make up some sort of excuse, but this wasn’t a situation he could just lie himself out of. “Maritza made me my own portaje…”

“Maritza?” Yadriel’s dad shook his head, but he didn’t sound surprised by that answer. “But … It was glowing. It glowed.” He kept shaking his head, as if that would rattle his brain into connecting the pieces. “How?”

It felt like there wasn’t enough room in Yadriel’s chest for him to take a deep breath. His legs felt wobbly under him. He was terrified.

“I went through my quinces ritual,” Yadriel told him, clutching his portaje to his chest, worried his dad would take it away. “On my own.”

“On your own?” Enrique repeated, staring at the blade. “And … And it worked?”

Yadriel nodded.

“You received Lady Death’s blessing?”

He nodded again, his face growing hot, shoulders creeping up to his ears. Would his dad ever forgive him for sneaking around behind his back? For lying? For breaking the sacred rules and traditions of the brujx?

“Yadriel…”

He heaved a large sigh, and Yadriel cringed, bracing for impact.

When his father spoke, his voice was small and defeated. “I am sorry.”

Yadriel blinked. He was … sorry? Yadriel stole a look up at his dad, convinced he’d heard him wrong.

“I did not think it was possible,” his dad confessed, still looking quite shocked. “I thought—” He shook his head at himself. “Whatever I thought, I was wrong.”

It was Yadriel’s turn to be shocked. “You were?”

He must’ve had a strange look on his face, because his dad exhaled a small laugh. “We have a lot to talk about,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We need to speak about this as a family, with your mother.”

“With Mom?” Yadriel repeated, his heart aching.

His dad nodded. His expression was filled with remorse. “You were denied your quinces for too long, and I won’t let another aquelarre pass without you in it.”

“Really?” Yadriel felt ready to pass out. Hope, relief, shock—the swirl of emotions was dizzying. He didn’t even feel the cold or the rain anymore. “But what if the others don’t agree?”

His dad gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Lady Death would not bind you to a dagger—your dagger,” he emphasized, “if you weren’t a brujo, Yadriel.”