Page 97 of Espíritu

He pulled up Julian’s contact and pressed Call, holding the phone to his ear.

It barely rang once before a frantic voice cut through the air behind them.

“Yads!”

Yadriel and Maritza both jumped, whipping around to see Julian barreling toward them at full speed, skateboard tucked under his arm. His breathing was heavy, face flushed from the run as he skidded to a halt.

“Julian?” Yadriel called. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “What the— You’re here?”

“Yeah,” Julian panted, doubling over with his hands braced on his knees. His eyes darted between Yadriel and Maritza, wide and frantic. “I didn’t know what else to do. We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

Maritza folded her arms. “What kind of problem?”

Julian ran a hand over his head, trying to steady himself. “I saw him!”

Yadriel felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Saw who?”

Julian winced, as if the name hurt to say. “Catriz! In the cemetery!”

The broom slipped from Yadriel’s hand, clattering to the path. The breath punched out of his chest.

The name hit like a splinter under Yadriel’s skin—sharp, buried, impossible to ignore.

“No,” he said automatically, but his voice barely carried.

Julian nodded vigorously. “Like, saw him saw him. He wasn’t flickering or see-through. He was just … there.” Julian’s voice was urgent, hands slicing the air in frantic gestures.

It had been months since Yadriel let himself even think about his uncle. About the man who had once been his fiercest ally, who defended him when no one else would, who taught him how to draw protection sigils with a steady hand and gentler voice than any of the elders. The man who used to bring him mango paletas when he had a bad day. Who made him believe he was seen.

And then tried to kill Julian.

Yadriel’s stomach churned. All three of them had watched Catriz get dragged into Xibalba. How could he be haunting Julian?

Julian stepped closer, eyes searching his face. “I’m telling you, it was him. That thing that’s been following me—it’s him!”

Yadriel blinked hard, like the motion could flush away the swell of emotion rising inside him—grief, anger, shame knotted so tightly he couldn’t separate one from the next.

Maritza’s voice cut through the silence, quiet but firm. “Catriz shouldn’t be here.”

Yadriel didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because some fragile part of him had never stopped hoping to see Catriz again—the uncle who once made him feel wholly, unquestionably loved. But that man had disappeared the moment he raised that dagger.

“Well, he is!” Julian said with a huff. “He said we’re in danger. That he’s coming.”

Maritza frowned. “Who’s ‘he’?”

“No idea!” Julian barked, frustration cracking through. “But it’s like Catriz is stuck between here and … I don’t know, the other side. He’s not like a normal ghost.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” Yadriel said quietly, the words barely escaping past the lump in his throat. “Spirits who go to Xibalba don’t come back.” But then he frowned. “Can they?”

Maritza shrugged helplessly.

Julian threw up his hands. “I HAVE NO IDEA! I’m not the one with a ghost rule book! We’re in the beast of the belly here!”

“Belly of the beast,” Maritza sighed.

Yadriel’s mind raced.