Page 94 of Espíritu

He nodded.

Something in Rio’s face unspooled. “Fine. Wear a jacket. And answer your phone.”

Julian didn’t even argue. He grabbed the thickest coat he could find, shoving his arms through the sleeves like his life depended on it before snagging his skateboard. The second the zipper hit his chin, he was already at the door.

Behind him, Rio stood in the kitchen, unmoving. Watching him go.

There was something else he wanted to say. Julian could feel it.

But the words never came.

Julian hopped off his skateboard before reaching the cemetery. His stomach churned, and the wind cut sharper than before—or maybe that was just in his head. He rode his skateboard up to the back gate, too anxious for the long way around. The rusted chains gave just enough for him to slip through and book it for Yadriel’s house.

He cut a wide berth around the old church. Just being near it made his skin crawl. Something about it felt like the closet—that wrongness, like the shadows there watched.

He was almost clear when his body seized.

That chill again. Deep and instant, like someone had dunked him in ice water.

Julian spun around. “Not now,” he groaned.

He scanned the rows of headstones—and then he saw him.

Catriz.

No mist. No blurry half form. This time, he was there—fully visible, framed against the crooked silhouette of the church. Those watery lights danced across his skin, shadows pooling and billowing at his feet.

More solid than ever before, his features came into sharp focus—the stern line of his jaw, the deep furrows of his brow, and the sharp hook of his nose. Those strange, watery lights continued to dance across him from an unseen source. This was no fleeting apparition.

This time, Catriz looked like he could reach out and slap Julian upside the head if he wanted to.

Julian’s breath caught.

It was him.

The figure in the closet.

The voice in his dreams.

The one who’d killed him.

“Julian,” Catriz said, voice warped and echoing like it was dragging itself through a tunnel.

Julian’s fists clenched. His whole body bristled, every nerve screaming at him to run—but he didn’t.

“Come to finish the job?” he barked. “Because this time I’m not going down without a fight.”

He had no weapon. No portaje. Not even a plan. But he had anger. And fear. And Yadriel’s name clenched behind his teeth like a protective spell.

Catriz’s mouth twisted—not in amusement, but in frustration. “I’m—” he began.

Julian didn’t let him.

“Okay, Tío Espooky, what’s your deal?!” he demanded. “Don’t you gotta clock back in for your shift at the haunted house or something?” Julian kept his voice sharp, flippant—but his pulse was spiking. His skin felt too tight.

Catriz’s outline stuttered like something had a hook in him. “I’ve been trying—”

“To give me a heart attack?” Julian snapped. “Congrats. Ten out of ten.”