Page 134 of Espíritu

Rio took Luca’s wrist, then pressed fingers to the side of Luca’s neck. “He’s alive.”

Julian nodded frantically, his tears spilling over. “We need Lita! She can fix him, I know she can!”

Rio was already moving. He scooped Luca up with the same ease as if he were a child. “Keys are in the Escalade,” he grunted. “Wheel well.”

“I’m coming with you!” Flaca said, grabbing her jacket.

“Me too,” Omar added shakily.

Rocky was already shoving her feet into her sneakers. “Not leaving him.”

Rio didn’t argue. “Move.”

They spilled into the night. Rio muscled the Escalade open, Luca in his arms, and everyone piled in.

The engine roared, the tires screeched, and the street blurred. Julian fumbled his phone with shaking hands.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Julian chanted under his breath, and as if by some divine intervention, the line clicked alive.

“Julian?” Yadriel asked sleepily.

“Luca’s hurt!” Julian’s words tumbled in a frantic rush. “Luca’s hurt—Bahlam—Angel—there was a rift—”

Yadriel’s voice cut through. “We’ll be ready. Just get here.”

Julian nodded, even though Yadriel couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

He hung up and gripped Luca tightly as Rio tore through the streets, his knuckles white. In the back, Flaca, Omar, and Rocky continued to ask frantic questions. Julian wanted to reassure them but he couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t sure himself.

All he could do was hope that they weren’t too late.

The Escalade hurtled down the last block, headlights slicing through the dark. It was so late it was early, but the world felt frozen in a moment that refused to end.

Yadriel, Enrique, and Lita were waiting at the cemetery gate. Maritza stood beside them in a silk bonnet and her flannel thrown on over pajamas. Yadriel must’ve texted her and, by the looks of it, she rushed right over.

Relief hit so hard it hurt. People who knew what to do.

Rio barely brought the vehicle to a stop before Julian yanked the door open and stumbled out, half carrying, half dragging Luca out of the car.

Rio was at his side in a blink, scooping Luca up with ease. The boy’s head lolled against his chest, his small frame disturbingly limp.

Omar, Rocky, and Flaca scrambled out behind him, their eyes cutting between Luca’s limp form and the figures waiting at the gate—familiar now, not new, but terrifying at this hour.

Rocky muttered, “What the hell is happening?” while Flaca clutched her jacket tighter around herself, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“¡Apúrense!” Lita’s commanding voice cut through the night as she ushered them inside, her frail-looking frame belied by her air of authority. Her cotton robe billowed in the night breeze as she led the way.

Enrique held the door open. His eyes scanned the scene—Luca’s pale face, Julian’s bloodshot eyes, the terrified teens behind him—but he didn’t ask questions. He just said, “Hurry.”

They spilled into the house, breathless and shaking.

Lita cleared the living room with practiced efficiency. “Lay him down—gently.”

Rio knelt and lowered Luca onto the couch. Julian hovered beside him, heart in his throat.

Omar, Rocky, and Flaca clustered nearby, trying not to panic. Their eyes darted around the strange room filled with old photos, flickering candles, and the scents of herbs and smoke.

Lita knelt beside Luca. Her hands hovered over his chest.