Page 131 of Cemetery Boys

Yadriel’s heartbeat slowed. His vision went dark. The sweet scent of apples tickled his nose.

He held on to the thought of Julian as tightly as he could.

Stay with me.

TWENTY-FOUR

Julian woke up with a violent jerk. He gulped down air, his heart hammering in his ribs.

What the fuck happened?!

He tried to focus and remember, pushing through the sludge in his head.

Someone was yelling, and Julian cringed as their voice rang in his ears. He wanted to tell them to shut the hell up, but all he managed was an annoyed grunt.

When he tried to sit up, his head swam. If there had been anything in his stomach, he definitely would’ve barfed it into his lap. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to make himself stop being dizzy through sheer force of will.

He was lying on something hard and cold. His whole body ached, like he’d eaten shit on his skateboard. There was a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. But—

Holy shit.

Julian touched his arms, his face, his chest.

He was alive?

He was alive!

Julian turned his heavy head, forcing his eyes open to seek out Yadriel.

He needed to tell him, he needed to show him, he needed to grab him and—

“Some goddess you are!” a familiar voice all but screamed.

Julian squinted into the dark room. “Maritza?”

Slowly, things came into focus.

He was sitting on what looked like a stone table.

It was covered in blood.

He was covered in blood.

Everything came rushing back to him. The church. The crypt. The dagger.

Julian’s hand flew to where he had been stabbed. His shirt was torn open and there was a cut. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it still hurt like a son of a—

“You’re nothing but a coward!”

Maritza sat on the floor, shouting up at the ceiling.

Who the hell was she yelling at?

Julian pushed himself to the edge of the stone table and placed his unsteady feet on the ground. He dug his fists into his bleary eyes and looked down. Then he sucked in a gasp, recoiling.

The floor was covered in blood. Maritza knelt in it, her white dress smeared crimson. She was leaning over something, muttering to herself, her movements erratic.

“Maritza?”