stood in the middle of the altar, but Yadriel couldn’t quite make it out.
He nudged Maritza. “What’s that?”
“What’s wh—”
The flashlight’s beam swept to the altar. Hollowed eyes stared back at them.
“Santa Muerte,” Maritza gritted through her teeth.
A semicircle of dusty candles in ornate golden holders stood at various heights. In the center stood a figure in a dark shroud. The skeleton was covered in a black robe. The linen material was moth-eaten, and gold thread accented the hems and sleeves in lacy patterns.
Yadriel only realized Maritza was gripping his arm when she let go.
Uneasy relief had Yadriel chuckling as he grinned over at her. “You’re real jumpy tonight.”
That got him two swift punches to the arm.
He leaped out of her reach. “She’s just the original Lady Death from when this place was first built,” Yadriel said, lifting the lantern to cast the lady in bluish light. It was an older representation, one that incorporated the more ancient symbols. A very real scythe was held in one hand, and a clay orb rested in her upturned palm.
The skeleton itself was smooth and yellowing. Her jaw was open wide, and she was missing a few teeth. Yadriel wondered if they were real bones and she was an actual skeleton.
But he was distracted by the headdress she wore. Layers of spotted-owl feathers made up the smaller inner semicircle. These were sewn together and fastened with small plates of gold in the shape of crescent moons, almost like buttons. The feathers layered under the owl’s were the unmistakable plumage of the sacred quetzal bird. They were an iridescent green with hints of blue, like peacock feathers but twice as vibrant.
“Why would they just leave her here?” Maritza asked from somewhere behind him.
“I don’t think she was abandoned.” Yadriel shrugged, gently brushing cobwebs from Lady Death’s shoulder. “I think this church is just her home.”
He found himself smiling. He liked this classic version best.
Yadriel moved in closer, and he could feel energy swarming beneath his feet, like standing on a geyser, water rushing just below ground.
“Do you feel that, too?” Maritza asked.
He nodded. “It’s stronger in here,” he said. Whatever spirit had led them here was close.
Yadriel took a step back, and something crunched under his shoe. Hopping to the side, he found a silver chain with a small pendant lying on the dusty floor.
Maritza moved in. “What’s that?”
“I think it’s a necklace,” Yadriel murmured, setting the lantern on the ground.
Carefully, he picked it up. As soon as his fingers made contact, a shiver rolled through his body. He held it up to the light. A medal hung from the chain, barely larger than his thumbnail. The edge of the medal read SAN JUDAS TADEO across the top, and RUEGA POR NOSOTROS along the bottom. In the center stood a man wearing long robes with a book held against his chest and a staff in his hand.
The medal was in bad need of cleaning. The silver was tarnished, but it certainly wasn’t old enough to have been abandoned in the old church all this time. Only the raised form of St. Jude himself was bright silver, as if it had been polished by someone rubbing their thumb against it over and over.
Yadriel reached for the medal, and as soon as his fingers touched the cool silver, electricity flooded through his veins. He sucked in a sharp breath. Something pulsed under his feet in rhythm with the thudding of his heart.
“What’s wrong?” Maritza demanded as Yadriel tried to catch his breath.
“It’s a tether,” he said, and a spike of adrenaline made him feel light-headed.
Once a spirit was attached to a tether, they couldn’t venture very far from it, which was why things like haunted houses existed, but there weren’t many stories about a single ghost who roamed an entire city. It was only when the spirits were free of their earthly bindings that a brujo could release them and help them pass peacefully to their eternal rest.
Yadriel had never actually held a spirit’s tether before. They were incredibly powerful. Some of the brujx claimed mishandling a spirit’s tether would get you cursed.
But Yadriel had never heard of anyone ever actually getting possessed, and he had no intention of disrespecting this tether.
“But it’s not Miguel’s, that’s not his portaje,” Maritza said, reaching out as if to touch it before thinking better.
“It could be Miguel’s,” Yadriel tried to reason, his hope of finding his cousin fighting against logic. He squeezed the medal in his hand. Warmth spread through