Page 101 of Espíritu

“All right, Tío Espooky, spill it,” he said, arms folded tight over his chest like a shield. His attitude was stormy, but Yadriel could tell by the set of his jaw that his boyfriend was freaked out.

Yadriel’s throat tightened painfully. It was like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room—the weight of everything Catriz was, and everything he’d done, pressing down on him.

How could one person be so many things at once?

Catriz stared at Yadriel for a long moment, the weight of countless unspoken words lingering between them.

“It’s been a while, sobrino,” he finally said, voice carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed a depth of quiet remorse.

Yadriel’s voice cracked, bitterness and pain warring inside him. “Why’ve you been haunting Julian?”

Catriz shrugged elegantly. “He was the only one who could hear me, even if he did his damnedest to ignore it.” He shot Julian a pointed look.

“Hey, ghost whispering wasn’t exactly on my bucket list,” Julian retorted defensively. “Next time, pick a more willing medium.”

Catriz’s lips twitched faintly, his casual demeanor strained by urgency. “Bahlam has marked you,” he began, shadows undulating at his feet. “You’ve been touched by two death gods, cabrón. You got your sight from Lady Death, and from Bahlam … Well, let’s just say you can spot the darkness in people’s souls. The ‘dark spots,’ as you keep calling them.”

“Wait—” Julian gave a rough shake of his head. “Have you been spying on me?!”

Catriz paused, visibly gathering himself, his spirit form flickering with effort. “I tried warning you earlier, but Bahlam’s hold made it difficult. He’s stronger now, and growing stronger still.”

“So it’s related?” Julian asked, his voice trembling faintly. He glanced at Yadriel.

Of course it was related. Everything had been pointing to something bigger, darker. And if Julian was connected to it, then so was Yadriel. He tried to force himself to stay calm, to think clearly, because panicking wouldn’t help them stop whatever was coming.

“Inextricably,” Catriz confirmed, sidestepping the first question. “Bahlam sees through the wound. Marca Hueca isn’t a just mark on skin—it’s a tear. He leans on what festers there. You, Julian.” His attention swept him over. “You can see those marks because of your connection to Bahlam. Not words in your head, but weight. Rooms dimming at the edges. The way your gut drops. That pull? That’s him. A gift or a curse, depending on how you look at it.”

Catriz’s arms crossed with a smug look, as if he expected some kind of praise for clarity.

“Gifts, curses—kinda seem like the same thing at this point,” Julian muttered, absently rubbing the spot on his chest. “So I can see spirits and these weird dark spots because you stabbed me and tried to sacrifice me to Bahlam. What now?”

“Now?” Catriz’s laugh was a hollow echo. “Now you have to stop what’s coming.”

Julian winced. “Awesome.”

Yadriel glanced sharply at Catriz, trying to ground himself in pragmatism. “What exactly does that mean? What’s Bahlam trying to do with Julian?”

“It means Bahlam’s still growing stronger,” Catriz said, his voice tightening. “That night—the ritual—it opened a door. Ever since, energy’s been seeping from Julian into Xibalba, fueling Bahlam from the other side.”

“A buffet for a starving death god,” Julian muttered bitterly. “Just great.”

There was no undoing the past, but the consequences were still rippling outward. And now they were the ones left to clean up what Catriz had started.

Catriz glanced at his feet, tense, like he expected the shadows to start reaching for him. “He’s gathering power. Julian’s just one source, but Bahlam wants more. He needs souls, torn loose and funneled in, to grow strong enough to escape the prison he was bound to.”

Julian looked down sharply, arms crossed tight, knuckles white. He didn’t say anything, but the color had drained from his face. Yadriel saw the twitch in his jaw, the way he blinked hard like he was trying to force the thought away before it settled too deep. Yadriel wanted to say something—to reassure, maybe, or to ask if Julian was okay—but what comfort was there to offer? None of them were okay.

Catriz’s mouth tightened. “He’s getting closer.”

His form flickered again, like a candle caught in a gust.

Yadriel stiffened, suddenly hyperaware of how fragile this moment was, how easily it could slip through their fingers. The air pressed down on him, thick with something electric. Urgency? Fear? Maybe both.

“Bahlam is gathering strength,” Catriz said, and his voice hit Yadriel like a stone dropping into water. “He’s trying to rip through the veil between Xibalba and the land of the living. And if he succeeds…”

Catriz didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

But Maritza had more to say. “Don’t you dare soften this,” Maritza snapped. “You put the dagger in Julian’s chest! He died! They all did! I was the one keeping Yads alive while he bargained with Lady Death! Miguel died, too—we all felt him go! You weren’t trying to do those things. You did them!” she spat.