Page 119 of Cemetery Boys

Dozens of candles lined the windows and stone walls. From tea lights to thick pillar candles, they adorned sconces and sat on the floor, lining the pews.

Yadriel reached for Julian’s necklace around his neck. He squeezed the St. Jude medal in his hand. It was warm in his sweaty palm. Yadriel’s heavy feet carried him down the aisle, past the steadily burning flames. Tall gold stands, stocky prayer candles, and ornate candelabras crowded the main altar, creating a sea of gently swaying light.

Julian stood before them at the foot of the altar, his back to Yadriel. His chin was tilted up to where Lady Death stood in her black mantle.

Every sluggish heartbeat pulsed painfully through Yadriel veins.

Hearing his approach, Julian looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Yadriel, he turned and smiled.

Julian stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, his head tipped to the side. The flames of hundreds of candles shone through his blurry edges, like he was putting off his own light.

“I was starting to think you’d stood me up,” Julian said. He squinted at Yadriel, a playful grin tugging the corners of his lips. The warm glow caught in his dimples. “Which one of us is Cinderella in this scenario?”

Yadriel’s mouth was dry, making it hard to speak. “I’m the fairy godmother,” he managed to croak out. “I think that makes you the pumpkin.”

Julian’s melodic laughter echoed through the church and danced through the gaping hole in Yadriel’s chest.

“So…” Julian’s gaze shifted to Lady Death.

She waited for them at the altar.

When Julian looked back, that crease between his thick eyebrows was back. “What’s next?”

Yadriel wanted to give Julian some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. He was having a hard time reining in the flood of emotions tearing through him. His heart thudded dully in his pulse. “Give me a minute to set up.”

Gingerly, he dusted the cobwebs off Lady Death’s faded black mantle and plucked a couple of dead moths from the golden embroidery. He swept his fingers over the delicate feathers of her headdress, letting their colors show their true vibrance.

His backpack sat on the nearest pew. Yadriel took out Julian’s favorite snacks they had bought earlier. He set the desserts, Takis, and smelly duros at Lady Death’s feet, along with a pan de muerto. He could feel Julian hovering behind him as he worked. He pulled out a St. Jude prayer candle he’d snuck into his basket at the store when Julian wasn’t paying attention. When he lit it, the flame trembled. A tiny bottle of mezcal and container of salt joined the snacks.

Yadriel pulled out the picture of Julian and his brother held under their father’s arms. Carefully, he propped it up in the center. The marigolds he’d grabbed were a little rumpled and wilted, but he popped the flowers off their long stems and made a small ring around the makeshift altar with the petals.

Lastly, he pulled out a calavera decorated with swirls of neon green, yellow, and blue. Piped orange flowers bloomed from its eyes. Julian was scrawled in lopsided letters across its forehead with magenta icing.

Yadriel stood and wiped his sweaty palms off on his thighs.

Julian leaned down, his fingers brushing over the calavera, rustling the golden marigold petals. “My own ofrenda?” he asked, looking up at Yadriel.

“Didn’t seem right for you to not have one, especially on Día de Muertos.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not much, I just thought—I don’t know—”

Julian stood up. “It’s perfect,” he said earnestly.

Yadriel stared up at him, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He clutched at Julian’s necklace around his neck and bit down on his bottom lip. He felt sick to his stomach. His own skin felt suffocating. That strange rushing sensation was under his feet again, throwing him off balance.

He wanted to say something important, something meaningful. He needed to, but he couldn’t find the words, and his throat was dangerously tight.

Julian’s smile fell from his lips. His pressed his palm against his chest like it ached. “You should get it over with,” he said. “It’s almost midnight, you don’t want to be late to see your mom.”

Yadriel just nodded numbly, because he didn’t know what else to do. Fumbling, he pulled out his portaje and the insulated bottle he’d filled with pig blood that morning. Gripping the hilt in one hand, Yadriel dipped his finger into the cool blood before swiping it across the length of the blade.

Julian watched as Yadriel unclasped the necklace and held the chain in his fist. The St. Jude medal quivered in his shaky hand. The silver glinted in the firelight and Julian’s obsidian eyes.

For a moment, Yadriel stood there, the necklace in one trembling hand, his portaje in the other.

Yadriel knew keeping Julian meant he’d be trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, until he became a violent husk of his former self, just like Tito.

But he wanted to keep him. Selfishly, dangerously, against all reason.

“Are you ready?” Julian asked, searching Yadriel’s eyes.