Page 100 of Espíritu

“Jaguar,” Yadriel corrected, mouth tight. The moment his fingers brushed over the cold jade, memories rose unbidden—Catriz ruffling his hair, teaching him knife grips, showing him how to cast a protection circle with a smirk and a joke. And then … blood. Betrayal. A scream in the dark.

Yadriel clenched his jaw, shutting it all out.

“He wore it every day,” Yadriel murmured, his thumb brushing over the carved glyph—tall ears, exaggerated teeth, fanged mouth. “Except when he put on the regalia…” He trailed off, the weight of what they were about to do pressing on his chest like a stone.

“Okay,” Maritza said, her voice low. “Let’s get this over with.”

Julian didn’t joke this time.

No one did.

Yadriel’s hands were already moving, clearing space on the desk and pulling ritual supplies from his backpack—candles, small bowls, salt, and chicken blood in his trusty Hydro Flask. He arranged the candles in a precise pattern around the necklace, Maritza and Julian watching him in quiet anticipation.

The room felt even smaller now, like the walls were pressing in. Yadriel’s heart thudded painfully as he lit the candles one by one. The small flames danced, casting jagged shadows across the walls.

“Okay,” Yadriel murmured. He set a small bowl of alcohol in the center and lit it, the blue flames flickering to life. The ritual words sat heavy in his mouth. He forced them out, his voice rising and falling with the familiar cadence.

The air rippled. Yadriel felt it—the sharp pull of something breaking through, as if the room itself inhaled. Then, with a snap like a rubber band, it released.

A plume of smoke hissed out of nowhere, acrid and stinging, and Yadriel coughed as it burned his throat. He stared at the jade jaguar charm as the smoke thinned, his breath caught behind his ribs.

Then, he saw him.

Tío Catriz.

Fully visible. Not warped or shadowed. Solid. Just … there.

His uncle’s spirit stood beside the desk, arms crossed over his chest, his expression just as impatient as it had always been in life. The years hadn’t softened him. Neither had death.

Yadriel’s heart lurched.

Even though his uncle looked much clearer now, there was still something off. He didn’t have the golden glow of most spirits. He was cloaked by shadows swirling around his form, a watery blue light illuminating him from below.

It was surreal to see Catriz again—so unmistakably himself, yet achingly unreachable. Grief surged, tangled with betrayal. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out rational thought. He wanted to demand answers, to shout accusations, to ask why—why he’d let Bahlam twist his mind, why he’d turned on them.

But beneath the fury simmered something softer.

Sorrow. This was still his uncle. And despite everything, Yadriel still mourned the loss of him.

“Holy shit,” Maritza murmured. “That’s definitely him.”

“You can see him?” Julian asked, as if he hadn’t believed they would.

“Yeah,” Yadriel said faintly. He couldn’t look away.

Catriz looked older than Yadriel remembered—more worn, more haunted—but undeniably him. Still the man who’d once stood by him when no one else would. And the man who’d betrayed him so completely, it shattered something fundamental in Yadriel’s chest.

The last time he’d seen Catriz, he was raising a blade to Julian’s heart.

And now … here he was.

“Why could only Julian see you before?” Maritza asked.

Catriz rolled his eyes in a grand gesture that rivaled even hers. “Bahlam’s mark,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Julian sees and hears what you can’t.” He tipped his chin at the candles and the jade. “But this? Yadriel dragged me through the right way. Now you all can.”

Yadriel’s stomach twisted. His mouth was suddenly too dry to speak.

But Julian was good to go.