The garage held a plethora of artifacts and items. Glass display cases and sturdy wooden boxes held ancient weapons and carvings. Sacred regalia and featherwork were kept in the house in fancy containers away from light until they were taken out for special occasions, like Día de Muertos.
Yadriel often got tasked with climbing into the rafters to take down boxes for whatever very specific item Lita was looking for.
She pushed aside a box of chachayotes in her search. The hard shells, sewn onto leather that were worn around the ankles during ceremonial dances, rattled. Purrcaso’s ears perked where she sat in the crook of Yadriel’s arm. She leaped down to help investigate.
“What are you looking for, Mamá?” Catriz asked, though he didn’t move from his seat.
“¡La garra del jaguar!” she snapped, as if it were obvious. Lita turned, consternation pinching her wrinkled face.
Yadriel knew about the claw of the jaguar, mostly because Lita would never let him forget it. It was an ancient set of four ritual daggers and an amulet in the shape of a jaguar’s head. The ceremonial blades had been used back when the dark art of human sacrifice was still in practice. When pierced into the hearts of four humans, the daggers used their spirits to feed the amulet, giving the brujx who wore it immense—but dark—power. Lita liked to pull the daggers out on special occasions—including Día de Muertos—to scare younger brujx and lecture them about the treachery of abusing their powers.
“Have you seen them?” Lita asked.
Catriz quirked an eyebrow, his expression placid.
“Aye, yi, yi,” Lita said, flapping her hands at him dismissively.
When Lita looked to Yadriel, he simply shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t particularly feel like being helpful.
She sighed heavily, clicking her tongue. “Your father is under a lot of stress right now, nena,” Lita said solemnly.
Yadriel cringed at the offensive word. Navigating pronouns was a minefield when language was based on gender.
“Ay, poor Claudia and Benny,” Lita lamented as she fanned herself with a hand, not even noticing his reaction.
Anger simmered under Yadriel’s skin again.
She fixed him with a stern look. “This is a job for the men, and we need to leave them to it. Ven!” Lita waved him toward the door. “I have pozole in the kitchen, come warm up—”
His deadname slipped from her mouth.
Yadriel flinched and took a step back. “¡Soy Yadriel, Lita!” he snapped, so suddenly that both Purrcaso and Lita jumped.
Catriz stared at him. Surprise quickly turned to pride.
Lita blinked at him for a moment, a hand pressed to her throat.
Yadriel could feel his face grow hot. The knee-jerk reaction to apologize was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back.
She sighed and nodded. “Sí, Yadriel,” Lita agreed.
She stepped closer and gently cupped his cheeks in her soft hands. She planted a kiss on his forehead, and hope lifted in his chest. “Pero siempre serás mijita,” she told him with a chuckle and a smile.
But you’ll always be my little girl.
The hope came crashing down.
Lita turned and went back into the house, leaving Yadriel on the steps.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and clenched his jaw to keep his chin from wobbling. He should’ve been out with the rest of the brujos, searching for Miguel. He wanted to use his portaje, to show them that he wasn’t powerless. He could help them find Miguel. If he could just show them—
“I’m so sorry, Yadriel.” His tío’s hand grasped his shoulder.
Yadriel dropped his hands to his sides and looked up into Tío Catriz’s face. His uncle’s expression was pained. Even though they were outsiders for different reasons, Catriz was the only one who could understand what Yadriel was going through. He was the only one, aside from Maritza, who put the work in to understand him. The rest of the brujx seemed to ignore him. They were so worried about calling him by the wrong name or gender, they would avoid him altogether.
But not his tío.
“I wish your mom were still here,” Catriz confessed.
The crushing ache of missing his mom filled every space in Yadriel’s body. Sometimes it was dull, just enough to prickle if his mind wandered too far. Other times it burned.
Without her, Yadriel was floundering.
“What do I do?” he asked, hating how desperate and defeated he sounded.
“I don’t know,” Catriz said.
“¡Catriz!” Yadriel heard his abuelita call from inside. “I need más frijoles!”
Catriz exhaled through his nose. “I’m just useful for reaching things on the top shelf,