Song of the Coquí

The next day, school crawled by in a blur. I trudged through classes with one ear half-tuned to the teacher's lectures and the other attuned to my pounding heartbeat—still stuck on the stranger we'd encountered in Old San Juan. Every time I thought about him, that swirl of movement, that alarming speed, I felt another burst of adrenaline. Something unusual was happening, and I was knee-deep in it.

By lunchtime, I couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. I found Soraya sitting on the steps behind the main courtyard, away from the crowd. She was scrolling through her phone, probably reading last night's local news stories. Her purple braids glinted in the midday sun.

She looked up at me with a curious spark in her eyes. "So, any dreams or sightings of mysterious scorch marks since yesterday?" Her tone was half-joking, half-dead serious.

I sighed, plopping down beside her. "Nothing new, but…" I glanced around to ensure no one was listening. "I can't shake the feeling that what we saw in Old San Juan might be linked to something… bigger."

Soraya raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I'm listening." She tucked her phone into her pocket, focusing on me.

I lowered my voice. "Have you seen anything in the news? Or on social media about that alley?"

She grimaced. "Not much. Just a few rumors—someone claimed fireworks, another insisted it was some late-night performance art. But you and I know that was no performance." She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "You're holding out on me, Delgado. Spill."

A flush crept up my neck. I couldn't tell her about my pendant warming up. Not yet. "I just… I feel like the guy we saw might be connected to something supernatural. Remember those scorch marks? They were shaped in almost perfect circles. And I swear I heard drums, or something like drums, right before we found him."

Her eyes lit up. "You heard drums?" She whipped out a small notebook from her backpack. "I didn't hear anything. Was it recorded anywhere? Did you see instruments?"

I rubbed my palms on my jeans. "No, it was more like… distant. In my head maybe." I cringed, wondering if she'd laugh at me, but she kept her gaze serious, scribbling notes. "Could've been my imagination. But it felt real—like it was part of some ritual."

Soraya's pen hovered over the paper. "Ritual? This is getting good," she said, voice hushed with excitement. "If we can find solid evidence—pictures, testimonies—this could be huge."

I swallowed, thinking of how Dad would absolutely hate all of this. "So, what's the plan?"

She snapped her notebook shut. "We go back. Tonight."

My stomach flipped. "Tonight?"

She grinned. "If that guy hangs around those streets again, maybe we can catch him, or at least learn more. I'm bringing my camera, and we can see if anything else weird is going on."

A thousand excuses rose in my throat—homework, Dad's curfew, sheer terror at the unknown—but the dream and the coquí pendant pulsed in the back of my mind. I couldn't let this go, either. "All right," I heard myself say, heart hammering. "Tonight."

My nerves were jangled by the time the final bell rang. I threw my textbooks in my locker, only half-paying attention. For the first time, the busy hallway and its clamor felt distant, like I was watching everything through fogged glass. My thoughts kept drifting to drumbeats and scorch marks.

Dad had texted me that morning, reminding me to be home early—he wanted to do a grocery run and cook together. My chest tightened at the idea of lying to him again. But part of me insisted that I needed to see what else was happening in Old San Juan. If Abuela were alive, she would tell me to trust the island's signs. "Our land speaks to us, Teo. You just have to listen."

I felt a pang of longing at the memory of her wrinkled hands patting mine, her soft lullabies about the island's spirit. With a slow breath, I shoved away the guilt and headed outside.

She lived in a modest high-rise on the edge of town. A quick bus ride dropped me in front of a three-story building painted a peeling sky blue. Soraya's place was on the top floor, windows flung open to catch the ocean breeze. I climbed the dimly lit stairs, each footstep echoing off cracked walls.

She answered the door, phone pressed to her ear, eyes glittering with anticipation. "Yes, Mom, I know. I'll be careful," she said into the phone, then waved me in. "Mateo's here now—yes, we're just doing some study stuff. Okay, love you too." She hung up, rolling her eyes. "Parents, huh?"

I offered a grim smile. "Yeah. They worry a lot."

Her apartment smelled of curry and fried plantains. Her mom was originally from India, and her dad from Puerto Rico, so the kitchen was always a heady mix of spices that made my mouth water. But hunger wasn't my top priority tonight. Soraya's living room was crammed with open notebooks, maps, and her beloved camera. She threw herself onto the couch, gesturing at her notes.

"Okay, so I've spent the afternoon searching local social media groups for any mention of weird lights or fights near that alley. A handful of people claim they saw strange flashes a few nights ago—always in different spots around San Juan."

I leaned over the table where she'd pinned a small map of the city, dotted with red stickers. "Are these… sightings?"

She nodded, braids swishing. "Yup. Each red dot marks a rumored event—flashes of light, unexplained scorch marks, or people running around with weapons."

My gaze wandered over the five or six dots spaced across the map. "So, it's not just that one alley."

"Exactly," Soraya said, tapping her pen on the largest dot in Old San Juan. "We're going back to the scene of our sighting. Hopefully, we'll find more evidence." She smiled a little too eagerly. "You in?"

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Yeah. Let's do it."

We left after sunset, agreeing to tell our parents we were studying at each other's places. My guilt churned, but the curiosity—no, the pull—was stronger. The bus ride into the old city felt surreal: neon signs glowing outside the windows, silhouettes of ancient fort walls looming against the starlit sky. Every bump in the road made me clench my fists harder around the coquí pendant under my shirt.

We hopped off near the same plaza as before, footsteps echoing over uneven cobblestones. This time, the streets were quieter, tourists mostly gone. A faint breeze carried the smell of saltwater from the bay.

Soraya lifted her camera. "Let's start at that alley and branch out if we don't see anything."

I nodded. My heart drummed in my ears. We passed shuttered shops, their wrought-iron grilles locked for the night. Ornate lampposts cast circles of light on the pavement, and the old Spanish architecture rose around us like silent watchers.

When we reached the alley, my stomach lurched. The scorch marks were still there, charred lines spiderwebbing out from a central point. Under the lamplight, they looked even more sinister—like the remains of some forbidden ritual. Soraya moved in, camera clicking.

I stepped forward, breathing in the stale air. That strange tingle flickered at the base of my spine, the same one I'd felt yesterday. As if on cue, my pendant felt warmer against my chest.

Then I heard it—faint at first, more vibration than sound. Drums. Low, rhythmic, and impossibly distant, as though they emanated from underground or another realm entirely.

"Soraya," I whispered, barely able to form the word.

She was still snapping photos. "Hmm?"

I grabbed her arm. "Do you—do you hear that?"

She tilted her head, face scrunching in concentration. "Hear wh—?"

Suddenly, the drumbeats grew louder, insistent. A gust of warm wind surged down the alley, making our hair whip around. My heart thundered in my chest. Soraya's eyes went wide as she finally heard it too—her breath hitched.

In the dim glow, a figure stepped into view at the far end of the alley. Instantly, my pulse spiked. It was him—the same lean form, same dark hair, same intense stillness. The lamplight revealed enough for me to notice he wore a thin, black hoodie and jeans. No weapons, but the way he stood radiated alertness.

He locked eyes with me, and for a moment, the invisible drums hammered in my ears, matching my heartbeat. Then he bolted—again—with inhuman speed, racing into the deeper shadows.

"After him!" Soraya hissed. She sprinted forward before I could object, camera bouncing against her chest. My brain scrambled to keep up.

We tore down the alley, feet slapping the cobblestones. My lungs burned. Half a block in, the figure glanced back, and under the flicker of a distant streetlamp, I saw something I couldn't explain—a faint glow around his right hand, a swirl of crimson like a living ember.

My fear and curiosity warred, but I kept running. We skidded around a corner, emerging into a quiet back street flanked by tall stone walls. A dead end. The figure had stopped, cornered by high fences topped with broken glass. He spun around to face us, eyes flashing with something between urgency and alarm.

"Who are you?" Soraya demanded, breath hitching. "What's going on here?"

He shook his head, stepping back. "You shouldn't be here. You don't understand." His voice was low, carrying an accent that was both local and oddly formal. "Leave now, before—"

A surge of red light crackled up his arm. My stomach flipped. It looked like a flame dancing just above his skin, no torch or lighter in sight. Soraya made a startled noise, lifting her camera, but he spun again, scanning the nearest walls as if looking for an escape route.

"What—what are you?" The question slipped out of me in a trembling breath.

His gaze flicked to mine, and in that instant, something in his expression softened. He took a single step forward. My pendant grew scalding hot—almost painful. I winced, pressing a hand to my chest. He noticed, and his eyes widened slightly as if recognizing the coquí shape even through my shirt.

Then, from behind us, came a crashing sound—metal on stone—and a rough voice snarling words I couldn't understand. I whipped around. Another figure emerged from the shadows, taller and bulkier than the first, hands erupting with bright red sparks. They crackled like a mini firestorm in his grasp, illuminating a face twisted with rage.

The newcomer snarled something in Spanish that made the hair on my neck stand up: "No witnesses."

Before I could blink, he hurled a bolt of pulsing red energy straight at me. A scream died in my throat. My legs froze. It was as if I were trapped in a nightmare, watching death hurtle at me in slow motion.

At the last possible second, the lean stranger lunged forward, yanking me out of the way. The blast smashed into the cobblestones, sending shards of broken stone into the air. Soraya cried out, stumbling back.

Time fractured into a burst of adrenaline and terror. The newcomer advanced, hands crackling with more of that unnatural red light. He eyed me and Soraya with a dangerous gleam, then focused on the stranger who'd saved me.

"Elias," he spat, voice dripping contempt. "Traitor."

Elias. Now I had a name for the lean stranger who stood between us and our attacker. He flicked a glance over his shoulder at me and Soraya, his jaw set. "Get them out of here," he hissed. Then he charged forward, meeting the other man's blast with a swirling crimson spark of his own—but his energy seemed… different. Less wrathful, more desperate.

I grabbed Soraya's wrist, heart hammering. "Come on!" We scrambled backward, ducking behind a dumpster as another wave of colliding magic lit the narrow street. Heat radiated in waves, and the air smelled of ozone and scorched stone.

Peeking out, I saw Elias pivot gracefully, arms crackling with faint, reddish light. He blocked a vicious strike, but the brute force sent him crashing into a wall. My mind reeled—this was real magic, right in front of me, something out of Abuela's old folktales but twisted, terrifying.

"We have to help him," Soraya breathed, knuckles white around her camera.

Another firebolt soared, but Elias dove, rolling to his feet. I glanced up at the towering walls behind us, no easy escape in sight. My instincts screamed to flee, but an unexpected surge of protectiveness blazed in my chest. These people—whatever they were—had the power to annihilate us, but Elias had saved me. I couldn't abandon him.

I spotted a loose metal pipe near a pile of broken crates. With shaky hands, I snatched it. "Soraya, if he needs a distraction…"

She looked at me like I was nuts. "Teo, you're not—"

Before she could finish, I ran out from behind the dumpster, pipe in hand. The attacker was focused on Elias, arm raised for another deadly blast. Summoning every ounce of courage, I swung the pipe at the man's back. It thudded against him with a dull clang. He stumbled, sparks sputtering from his palm.

With a roar, he turned on me. My courage dissolved into sheer terror. I tried to backpedal, but his next blow slammed me to the ground, heat searing the air above my head. Pain flared in my shoulder, and I gasped.

Lightning-fast, Elias lunged, hooking the attacker's arm. For a split second, their blazing energies clashed—crimson sparks clashing in the night. Then Elias managed a deft twist, forcing his enemy to the ground. A guttural curse erupted from the fallen man.

"Leave them alone," Elias rasped, face scrunched with exertion. "They have nothing to do with this!"

A savage laugh tore from the attacker's throat. "They do now." His eyes flicked to me, pinned under the weight of fear and adrenaline. "And they'll pay for it."

In one fluid motion, he shoved Elias back, sprang to his feet, and hurled another wave of red fire at the wall behind us. Dust and debris rained down, forcing Soraya and me to cover our heads. When the cloud settled, the man was gone—vanished into the labyrinth of Old San Juan's side streets.

Silence descended, broken only by our ragged breathing. Elias stood a few feet away, shoulders trembling. The faint glow around his hands flickered out. In the cold light of the nearest streetlamp, I noticed bruises forming along his jaw. He looked at us, expression a storm of regret and relief.

"I—I'm sorry," he said, voice shaking. "I couldn't let him…" Then he swayed, exhaustion draining his features.

I rushed forward, ignoring my own throbbing shoulder, Soraya by my side. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked, reaching for him. Warmth from his skin and the lingering tingles of energy made my fingers tingle.

Elias steadied himself, grimacing. "We have to get out of here before more show up. You're both in danger now." He glanced at the scorching marks on the walls and the pile of shattered crates.

Soraya panted, camera still clutched to her chest. "W-what was that? How did you… do that?"

His eyes flicked to her camera, then to me, then down to the coquí pendant I wore. Something like recognition passed over his face. "This isn't the place to talk," he said, voice low. "They'll be looking for me—and for you."

Despite the pain radiating through my body, I forced a nod. My mind whirled with the gravity of what we'd just witnessed: magic—violent, dangerous magic—right here in Old San Juan. And we were somehow tangled up in it.

Soraya cleared her throat. "Where can we go, then?" she asked, adrenaline still high.

Elias hesitated, scanning the dark streets. "Follow me. But you have to promise not to say a word about this to anyone else—your lives depend on it." He locked eyes with me, gaze resolute. "You don't know it yet, but you're caught in the middle of something that could destroy everything you know."

A chill crawled up my spine. My pendant throbbed again, reminding me of Abuela's stories about ancestral spirits and ancient power. I didn't know whether to be terrified or strangely excited, but with my heart hammering in my ears, I heard myself say, "I—I promise."

Soraya, her face pale but determined, nodded too. "Lead the way."

Elias swallowed, then jerked his head toward a narrow side passage. "Stay close. And be quiet. There's much I need to explain—but first, we need to hide before they track us again."

With that, we slipped into the shadows, leaving the smoking rubble and scorch marks behind. My entire world felt like it had spun off its axis, but I couldn't deny the electric thrill coursing through me. Something bigger than us was at play—and we were no longer just clueless teenagers in a city of ghosts and legends. We were witnesses to magic and violence centuries in the making.