Page 41 of Espíritu

Julian frowned and gave a shake of his head. “Fright?” he echoed. “How do you even get that? Am I contagious or something?!” Julian thought about all the times he’d kissed or touched Yadriel since noticing the dark spot.

If he accidentally passed along a magical disease to Yads—

“You’re not contagious!” Angel said with a laugh.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about this!” Julian barked.

Angel held up their hands. “Sorry, sorry,” they said before clearing their throat and getting their facial expression back under control. “It’s like an illness of the spirit.”

“But what IS it?” Julian was getting frustrated.

“Susto’s what happens when something really bad—like, soul-deep bad—scares the spirit out of your body,” Angel explained. “Sometimes it’s just a piece, sometimes the whole thing. The Marca Hueca isn’t the cause. It’s the scar, what’s left behind when part of your soul’s missing.”

“What kind of trauma?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

Angel shrugged, but their eyes darkened. “Could be anything—a spirit encounter gone wrong, messing with forces you shouldn’t, almost dying, losing someone,” they listed off. “Anything that rips you open in a way you can’t patch. The kind of shit that makes you feel like you’re walking around with half your soul missing.”

The words hit Julian like a punch to the gut.

Luca. His bruises, his scar, the weight he carried on his small, hunched shoulders. What Luca had been through seemed more than enough bad shit to rattle anyone’s soul loose from their body.

He thought of his own jagged scar over his heart, memories of Catriz and Lady Death.

“How do you know if someone has it?” His voice cracked, a threadbare sound barely tethering him to the here and now.

“Aside from the gaping hole in their chest?” Angel cocked an eyebrow. “Trembling hands are common—”

Julian clenched his fists to still them.

“And chills. Like your body forgets how to stay warm,” Angel said. “The soul’s like your inner heater—lose part of it, and you’re always cold. But it messes with your head, too.”

Angel tapped their temple. “That’s where it hits hardest. Mood swings, insomnia, no appetite … It’s not just being sad or freaked out—it’s deeper. Like your soul’s out there somewhere, trying to find its way back without a map. Like you’re stuck between this world and the next.” They paused, thinking. “Disconnected.”

“Disconnected,” Julian echoed. He’d felt that—being a ghost in his own life, drifting through scenes like he didn’t belong in any of them. Was that what Luca had been feeling, too?

Julian shuffled his feet, the gravel beneath his sneakers crunching in the heavy silence that had fallen between them. The moon hung like a watchful eye overhead, casting pale light on Angel’s angular features as they leaned against the Stingray, their catlike eyes reflecting the streetlights overhead.

“The body don’t lie,” Angel told him, sorrow—maybe pity—seeping into their voice. “You see someone shivering when there ain’t no chill in the air? Or maybe they’re just standing there, staring into nothing like they lost the script to their own life?”

Julian nodded, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the invisible cold. He felt it, that shiver that kept crawling up his spine.

Luca had been more distant lately, quiet and closed in on himself. And Julian? He couldn’t deny the constant unease that had lodged deep in his chest, threading through him like ice water.

Julian hadn’t realized he was shivering until Angel narrowed their eyes, watching him like they were putting something together.

“So, Julian,” Angel said, a gravity to their voice, “what happened to you?”

Julian flinched.

He could still smell the oil outside the mechanic shop. Hear the tires screeching.

The sharp crack of the gun.

His dad’s body crashing into his, pinning him to the pavement.

And then—nothing.

The hospital ceiling. Rio telling him the truth.