Page 8 of Cemetery Boys

“Search everywhere!” Enrique stood upright, his eyes searching the crowded kitchen. “Has anyone seen—”

“Dad!” Yadriel pushed his way to the front.

Enrique’s head snapped to him, shocked relief hitting his face. “Yadriel!” He grabbed Yadriel and crushed him to his chest, squeezing his arms around him tight. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” His rough hands cupped Yadriel’s face as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Yadriel tensed, automatically resisting the sudden physical contact.

His dad gripped his shoulders, looking down at him with a frown. “I was worried something had happened to you!”

Yadriel stepped back, pulling free of his dad’s hold. “I’m fine—”

“Where were you two?” Diego demanded, his light brown eyes darting between him and Maritza.

Yadriel hesitated. Maritza gave a useless shrug.

There was a reason they had performed Yadriel’s portaje ceremony in secret. A reason that Maritza spent so long making his dagger without her dad knowing. The brujx practices were built on ancient tradition. Going against those traditions was seen as blasphemous. When Yadriel had refused to be presented to Lady Death for his quinces as a bruja, they wouldn’t let him go through it as a brujo. It was out of the question. It wouldn’t work, they’d told him. Just because he said he was a boy, that didn’t change the way Lady Death gave her blessings.

They wouldn’t even let him try. It was easier to hide behind their traditions than to challenge their own beliefs and understanding of how things in the world of the brujx worked.

It made Yadriel feel ashamed of who he was. Their blatant rejection felt personal because it was personal. It was an outright rejection of who he was—a transgender boy trying to find his place in their community.

But they were wrong. Lady Death had answered him. Now, he just needed to prove it.

Orlando rushed into the kitchen, pulling his dad’s attention.

“Did you find him?” Enrique asked.

Orlando shook his head. “We’re still sweeping the cemetery, but there’s no sign of him yet,” he said, taking off his baseball cap and wringing it in his hands. “We haven’t been able to sense him or anything—it’s like he just vanished!”

“Dad!” Yadriel tried to make himself taller. “How can I help?” Everyone’s eyes went right over his head.

“More of you start searching the streets, fan out from the front gate,” Enrique said, a heavy hand still resting on Yadriel’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t have just left his shift for no reason.”

Orlando nodded and headed for the door. Yadriel moved to follow, but his dad held tight to his shoulder.

“Not you, Yadriel,” he said, calm but firm.

“But I can help!” Yadriel insisted.

Another brujo slipped into the kitchen, and Yadriel felt a pluck of hope in his chest.

Tío Catriz was his father’s older brother, though, just looking at them, it was difficult to tell. While Enrique Vélez Cabrera was broad and rounded, Catriz Vélez Cabrera was lanky and angular. He wore his long black hair looped into a knot at the base of his neck. He had high cheekbones and a hooked nose. Traditional, flared plugs made of jade and the size of a quarter adorned his earlobes.

“There you are, Catriz.” Enrique sighed.

“Tío,” Yadriel said, feeling less outnumbered.

Catriz threw Yadriel a small grin before turning to his brother. “I came as soon as I felt it,” he said, a little winded. His fine eyebrows pulled together. “Miguel, is he…?”

Yadriel’s dad nodded. Catriz gave a slow, somber shake of his head. Several brujos in the room crossed themselves.

Yadriel couldn’t take all the standing around. He wanted to do something. He wanted to help. Miguel was family and a good man—he helped provide for his family and had always been kind to Yadriel. One of Yadriel’s favorite childhood memories was of riding around on the back of Miguel’s motorcycle. Yadriel’s parents had explicitly forbidden him from going anywhere near it, but if he begged enough, Miguel would always give in. Yadriel remembered how his helmet was way too big and heavy as Miguel would give him a ride around the block, barely going ten miles an hour.

Realizing he’d never see him alive again hit Yadriel with a fresh wave of grief.

“What if we can’t find him?” Andrés asked, breaking the quiet. He was a skinny, freckle-faced boy, and also Diego’s best friend.

The muscles in his dad’s jaw tensed. People exchanged looks.