my God.” Yadriel slung his backpack over his shoulder and stomped after Maritza.
“Hey, I’m seriouuus!” Julian whined.
Julian went on ahead, and Yadriel moved to close the door behind them, but something made him hesitate.
He still had a strange feeling in his gut. A nagging sensation, like he’d forgotten something. The ground below his feet still felt charged. He stared down the aisle to where Lady Death was little more than a black smudge in the dark church once again. Yadriel stood there, listening and searching the shadows, but all he could hear was Julian complaining about wanting a cheeseburger while Maritza pretended to gag.
Yadriel waited a moment longer, but when nothing happened, he closed the door behind himself and jogged through the tombstones back to Julian and Maritza.
FOUR
“Where the hell are we?” Julian turned in slow circles, taking in their surroundings as Yadriel and Maritza led the way back to the main church and Yadriel’s house.
“Cemetery,” Yadriel and Maritza said in unison.
Julian rolled his eyes. “I know, but where?”
“East LA,” Yadriel supplied.
He watched Julian, whose hands were tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket as he casually strolled between the headstones. The taller boy’s eyes roved, drinking everything in. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a spirit, Julian would’ve tripped over three different grave markers by now. But, instead, he walked right through them with no problem.
“Really?” Julian’s head canted to the side, sparing Yadriel a confused squint. “I ain’t never seen this place before, and I know the streets of LA like the back of my head,” he explained.
“Back of your hand,” Maritza corrected.
Julian waved her off. “Whatever.”
“It’s secret,” Yadriel supplied, feeling a bit dumbstruck as he trailed behind the other two.
“Right, right, right,” Julian nodded, his head bobbing over and over. “The secret society of witches.”
Yadriel felt like he was in the middle of a very weird dream. How could they be so calm? Julian had barely batted an eye upon finding out he was dead. Maritza effortlessly weaved between sarcophagi and urns as she stared at her phone, her long lavender fingernails typing away.
Yadriel couldn’t understand it—this was a huge, ginormous big deal! He’d summoned a spirit, and now they had to placate Julian before he’d let Yadriel release him to the afterlife. Día de Muertos was only a few days away. Yadriel was on a deadline. How was he supposed to help the brujos find Miguel if he was babysitting Julian Diaz?
If he wanted to prove himself in time to be presented at the aquelarre, they needed to get down to solving this mystery, and fast.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Yadriel asked, quickening his pace to catch up to Julian. “Before you, you know”—he gestured vaguely—“died?”
Julian didn’t seem affected by his lack of tact.
His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I was just with my friends, walkin’ through Belvedere Park—”
“When?”
“Tuesday night.”
“Well, it’s still Tuesday.” Yadriel checked his phone. It was past midnight. “Or Wednesday morning, technically.”
Julian frowned. “How did my necklace make it to your spooky old church if the last place I remember being was Belvedere Park?” he asked, as if it was somehow Yadriel’s fault.
“How am I supposed to know?” It was a fair question, but one he didn’t have an answer to. “Maybe you were here and just don’t remember.”
Julian hummed, unconvinced. “I’d remember this place.” He shook his head and continued on. “Besides, I’m pretty sure someone jumped me. It was, like, right after sunset, and we were taking a shortcut to King Taco—”
Maritza glanced up long enough from her phone to offer, “That place is the best.”
A grin split Julian’s face, white teeth flashing. “Right?” He pressed his palm to his flat stomach. “Their chicken sopes are—”
“Then what happened?” Yadriel cut in, continuously glancing around for anyone else in the cemetery.
Raised voices alerted him that someone was up ahead. Julian opened his mouth but Yadriel cut him off.
“Shh, wait!”
Yadriel steered them clear of the pair—a brujo arguing with the spirit of a feisty old woman.
“You couldn’t even get the flores I asked for?” the woman demanded, gesturing to a bouquet of what Yadriel thought were very pretty roses in a vase at the foot of an ornate angel statue. “I hate roses!”
“Ay, Mamá! It was the best I could do!” the brujo exclaimed. “I can’t fight with you about this right now—Miguel is missing; people could be in danger—”
“Oh, so they’re more important than your own mamá?” the woman demanded, her chest puffing up indignantly.