said, tossing the bag back into the bushes. She snagged Donatello by his collar before he could dive in after it. “I think it’s going to start raining.”
Yadriel knew she was right, it was getting darker by the minute, but he didn’t want to go home empty-handed. He wanted to help Julian, to find Miguel. He hated the idea of just waiting around for Día de Muertos, to see if Miguel’s spirit would return and tell them what had happened. And, even if he did, what if, like Julian, Miguel couldn’t remember, either?
Yadriel felt the first drop on the very tip of his nose.
Julian held out his hands as it began to drizzle, and rain fell right through his palms.
SEVENTEEN
By the time Yadriel and Julian got back to the cemetery, the drizzle had turned into full on rain. Yadriel’s hoodie was sopping wet, and his jeans were starting to chafe. Water had soaked into his binder, making it tight and freezing cold, sucking all the warmth from his core. His hair was a limp mess. Drops of water trailed down his scalp and the back of his neck. As they jogged across the street, his combat boots splashed in shallow puddles.
“Careful,” Yadriel whispered to Julian as he slipped through the front gate as quietly as possible. “My dad’s on graveyard shift tonight.” The dark clouds plunged the world into night as soon as the sun went down.
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. “Coño. 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,