A series of short stories set in the universe of Disney's Encanto (2021). Not-for-profit fan project. Characters and elements owned by Disney.
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own. Compiled April 2025.
Visit online: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2772016.
To all my friends from the online Encanto community, especially Meredith, Kit, Lex, Rosella, Ashley, Nina, and Red.
And to the ones I was lucky enough to travel and meet in person: Mary, Erin, Ilona, Emily, and Maria.
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Encanto TV episodes from another timeline
Stats: Published: 2022-01-20 Completed: 2022-01-24 Words: 13,381
Tío Bruno is in charge, and he's banned Camilo and Mirabel from saving the Encanto.
The day Casita had died was the best day of Camilo’s life.
Okay, okay, not the best day. It sucked for a lot of reasons, Casita dying being one of them, and for a while the familia thought Mirabel had been digested by monsters. Camilo, personally, had been certain Mirabel had walked through the pass, went down the road, hitchhiked all the way to America and never looked back, which was what Camilo would have done in her position (i.e. brave and with a personality). But no, Mirabel had come back like a yo-yo, all smiles and love, de-estranging their estranged uncle and de-bitching their grandmother in one fell swoop. Somehow. Everybody hugged and nobody had powers. Fantástico! Magnífico! Let's not unpack any of that stuff and build an entire house.
But the temporary collapse of la Casa Madrigal had done something real for Camilo, and that was one month of uninterrupted time away from his family. That was when Camilo took the trip, the Secret Trip, outside of the Encanto. But that was done now. Camilo had what he needed.
He'd been staying with Eduardo. Eduardo (who Camilo had been friends with ever since they’d accidentally kissed while Camilo was shifted as Maria June) was the son of Mr. Nassar, the only man who ever made the long long trek over the mountain and out for supplies. When the mountain pass opened, the second thing Mr. Nassar did was ride his horse and cart right down there and figure out the new trade route, coming back with a sweet, sweet delivery of merchandise from outside the Encanto. (The first thing he had done was have his horse stolen, a mystery Camilo would solve when Mirabel, Abuela and Bruno rode back into town on the formerly AWOL Binky.)
There was never enough sheet music. He hoarded it like it was cast in gold. Camilo could play the piano, but Abuela had always used him like a performing monkey on the ivories, and anyway, the piano was just a means to an end. The small end was singing. The big end was America, where orchestras played for crowds of people in jazzy outfits and the stage came alive with music and dance. Vaudeville! Cabaret! Pantomime, if he really had to! And the Shakespeares - Camilo Madrigal in Hamlet - Camilo Madrigal in MacBeth - Camilo Madrigal as either of the twins in Twelfth Night, didn’t matter which, as long as he was there, on that stage, someone else, somewhere else.
Losing his gift had only been a blip. Camilo had never needed to shapeshift in order to act. When they were finished building, the magic had returned, and he’d found himself once again in possession of his third-most marketable asset (after his looks and his intellect, of course). Camilo’s dreams were taking shape, and with Abuela finally remembering how to smile after 5,000 long years and taking a break from abusing her loved ones, the future was very, very bright.
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It started with the snow.
The mountains got snow-capped in the Winter. Always had done, every year. Camilo knew it was picturesque - unusually picturesque - although nobody else seemed to have picked up on it. Camilo was, he was pretty sure, the only resident of all of the Encanto with any perspective. Perfect town! Perfect jungle! Honestly, it was pretty rich of everybody to say the Madrigals were the ones with the gift. The real gift was the impossible landscape, always bountiful and beautiful and bad-at-being-climbed-i-ful. Until the mountain broke in two, and paradise now had an opening to a river, beyond which lay Actual Colombia.
For the first time, leaving the Encanto and returning again without serious risk and effort became possible. It was inevitable that, eventually, the family would start to venture out.
“It’s your Abuelo’s birthday,” said Félix, “And for the first time, Abuela is able to go and visit the place where they grew up. And she wants her daughters with her.”
And not her stinky grandkids for a change, he didn't say. "Sure."
Félix patted Camilo’s shoulder. “I will find a music shop, I promise. And then I will take you there. Okay?”
“Thanks, Papi.”
“Keep an eye on Antonio, okay? Mirabel will be looking after him, but still - “
“I will, don’t worry.” Not that Antonio needed looking after, because Mirabel, Bruno, and most of the Encanto’s indigenous wildlife were looking after him already. “Look after Mami.”
Félix flashed him a white, brilliant smile. “We’re an amazing team, Camilo.” Then he ruined it: “And keep an eye out for your Tío Bruno too, okay?”
Big ask. Camilo barely saw ‘tío’ Bruno, even if he sat directly next to him at mealtimes. The man had a talent for shrinking out of view. The only thing Camilo knew about Bruno was that he didn't get along with Abuela, and the fact he would not be accompanying her on a trip for several days alone had not even been discussed. With little else to go on, it was the only thing Camilo liked about Bruno.
Of course, when the cat's away, the mice celebrate their upcoming wedding by going on a huge bender. Camilo discovered that one pretty soon.
“You’re what?!” he guffawed, a few hours after the adults had left.
“You can’t tell Mami,” said Dolores, leaning in. “Or I’m telling everyone how well you can sing.”
“Tell Mami?! I’m taking this secret to my grave! Conditional on you telling me everything! Ha ha, what?!” Camilo was beside himself. “You’re sneaking out?!”
Dolores was due to be married soon, and with a prime opportunity for mischief in her lap, she was taking herself and most of her girlfriends off drinking in the city, including Isabela and Luisa. Camilo was rapt. Even Luisa! His beefcake flower child really had let her hair down these days.
“Please don’t tell Mirabel,” urged Dolores.
“Yeah,” said Camilo, “The first thing I’m gonna do after this conversation is over is tell Mirabel, but don’t let me get you down.” He turned into Sexy Proposal Mariano. “Enjoy, babe.” Dolores scoffed and slapped him.
That left Camilo, Antonio, Mirabel, and Bruno, the four useless babies of the family as appointed by God and Alma Madrigal, holding up the fort.
The mountains were snow-capped, as they always were. The weather was getting warmer, as it usually did. It started with the snow, and it ended with Camilo, defenseless and powerless, standing wide-eyed in the path of an avalanche.
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“The animals are nervous,” said Antonio, hanging from the back of Camilo’s chair. “They say the snow is different.”
“I dunno, it probably is,” said Camilo, who was trying to make his way through the rest of She Stoops to Conquer. “The mountain broke in half.”
“Did Mirabel do that?”
“No,” said Camilo, “Abuela did.”
“I’m bored,” said Antonio.
“Where are your animals?”
“On top of the hill. Or in my room. But I’m bored of those guys. All they wanna talk about is worms and stuff. And the snow on the mountain. They wanna go fix it or something.”
Camilo pulled Antonio onto his lap and put his book aside, sighing exaggeratedly. “Then who do you want to talk to, Señor Antonio?”
Antonio giggled. Camilo made a point of raising his eyebrows and looking bored. Antonio bounced his legs and said, “Padre José!”
Camilo shifted into Padre José Sin Peluquín, dumbfounded expression already in place. “Jesús, Maria y José, Antonio, what am I doing here? Am I giving mass?”
Antonio laughed as Camilo looked around, confused, making a wobbly sign of the cross. “Señora Pezmuerto!”
“Oh, Antonio,” said Crazy Lady Pezmuerto, “It’s the worst day in the world! I wanted milk for breakfast and I ran out! I’m going to throw myself into the ocean!”
“Mirabel!”
“Huh? Me?” Everyday Mirabel lifted Antonio up by the arms, frowning. “Toñito, is that you? I don’t have my glasses... It sure looks like you... Or is that... one of the tapir?”
“No, no, it’s me!” Antonio was squirming with laughter. “Do Tío Bruno!”
“Anto-ni-ooooo,” said Nightmare Bruno, holding him close for inspection, “I can see in your future... You’re going to wet the bed!"
“Nooo!” Antonio was practically crying with laughter. “You don’t even sound like Tío Bruno!”
“Oh yeah?” Camilo shifted back into himself. “What should I say, then?”
“Um... uh...” Antonio screwed up his face in concentration. “Antonio, is your jaguar going to eat me?”
Camilo shifted into Evil Antonio. “What? We’re going to assassinate Bruno?”
That set Antonio off laughing again. “No, no, no!”
“You heard it, folks! We’re feeding Bruno to the jaguar! Funeral’s tomorrow!”
Camilo could keep Antonio occupied this way for an hour on a good day, but Antonio evidently had important Antonio Stuff to be doing, because after he’d settled down from laughing he started reaching curiously towards Camilo’s book. Camilo picked it up and turned into Perfect Isabela, whose long arms always came in handy. “Hey, this isn’t yours. Your books are upstairs. You’re too little for this book.”
“But I’m bored," insisted Antonio.
“Ay! You think I’m boring?” Camilo made his eyes big and shiny, and Antonio grinned mischievously and nodded. “Oh, my flesh and blood! You break your brother’s heart! Go on, get outta here. Go find Mirabel.”
Shooing Antonio out of the room, Camilo found himself in blissful silence and sighed.
Casita was quiet, missing more than half its occupants, and evidently feeling nervous. It rearranged the mosaics and fixed up the kitchen.
“I’ll clean the windowsills later, if you want,” Camilo said to the empty room, and received a pleased rattling of tiles in response. He’d always been a people-pleaser.
It was at least an hour before Mirabel appeared, maybe more. Camilo was far away in his imagination at this point. He didn’t even realize he was shifted as Pretty Englishwoman Kate Hardcastle until Mirabel gave him a blank look and he shifted back, eyebrow raised.
“Hey, Camilo, have you seen Antonio?”
“He was here a while ago. Maybe he’s with Bruno?”
“Sure!” Mirabel turned around, walked towards the door, and paused. She lingered there for a few seconds.
“Ye-es?” said Camilo slowly.
“You, uh... you can call him ‘Tío Bruno’.”
“I know,” said Camilo. “I could call him a lot of things, but I choose to preserve his dignity.”
Mirabel was Camilo’s age, almost exactly, and his cousin. That didn’t change the fact she was Camilo’s precious daughter child. Mirabel was full of love, and when she had something on her mind, every single one of her facial features practically wiggled off her face. She was kind, stubborn, and unfailingly, unflinchingly honest. In other words, she was absolutely nothing like Camilo. Mirabel had been the family punching bag ever since her door had faded away and apparently taken Bruno away with it, and every single jab and jive just made her kinder and more open. Mirabel bit her lip and squirmed her eyebrows nervously.
"And?" said Camilo.
"I think he'd... like it? If you called him Tío?"
Mirabel, on her quest to cultivate the perfect Familia Madrigal. Camilo shrugged. "I'd feel weird about it. I barely know him."
"Don't you remember him from before?"
"Barely. Do you?"
"No," Mirabel admitted, "But... he's our uncle. Wait, why did you tell me all that stuff about him if you didn't remember him?"
"There are three things I remember about him from when I was a toddler," Camilo began counting on his fingers, "Tall, Rats, and Stinky. Two of those I told you, one you found out for yourself."
"Tío Bruno isn't..." Mirabel winced. "...Tall."
"I used to be smaller." Camilo shifted into Baby Camilo. "Miwabel, time is welative."
There was the sound of knocking wood and clomping sandals. Bruno was rarely graceful, and generally moved like he was being chased by at least eleven bears, but there was something particularly frazzled about the way he burst into the room.
"Hey," he said, "Has anyone seen Antonio?"
The house opened several cupboards to indicate it had not. Mirabel and Camilo looked at each other with dawning apprehension.
"Oh boy, that is not the answer I was hoping for," groaned Bruno, "Where could he have gone?"
Now, Antonio was a smart little five-year-old. He was very capable of leaving the house and coming back again without getting into trouble. However, Antonio was also a very sweet little five-year-old, which meant he always told Casita where he was going. Unless, of course, he didn't want to be found. Which meant he was somewhere he wasn't meant to be, because of course he was.
Mirabel realized it the same time Camilo did.
"The snow," she said, "He keeps talking about the snow."
"The snow on top of the very tall, not very safe mountain," groaned Camilo, "Caramba! We are so stupid."
At the mention of that, Bruno's expression went from worried to distraught.
"Snow," he whispered, in a tone of voice that would more suit the words crazy axe murderers. “Not good with snow.”
"Let's go," said Mirabel, leaping to her feet. Casita, reliable as ever, was opening wardrobes and throwing out shoes and woolen parkas. "He can't have gotten far."
"Unless he had a jaguar," noted Camilo grimly. Mirabel groaned.
"You guys check the mountain," said Bruno, "I - I'll - "
"Tío Bruno!" Mirabel pleaded. "Can't you help?"
"Could you..." Camilo shrugged. "...Try magically seeing where he is?"
Bruno unhappily rapped the wooden doorframe a few times. "No. No visions. Better that way. No, I-I-I'll come."
Camilo shrugged. “It’s your funeral.” This earned him a few more wooden knocks and a glare from Mirabel. “Let’s go.”
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Here was another fun fact about the Encanto: magic mountains. Nobody talked about the magic mountains, but they were magic. Normal mountains were not surely this big. Or tall. Or... vertically inclined. The temperature dropped the higher they got, and Camilo could see his breath misting in front of his face.
“Jaguar,” panted Camilo, “Not a toucan, not a capybara, not an alpaca with one leg. Nope. Big, strong, long-legged jaguar.”
“That little boy is in so much trouble,” Mirabel spluttered.
Bruno (who had as many muscles as a roast chicken that had already been carved, and generally wasn't breathing enough to speak) pointed a trembling finger and cried, "There!"
One of Bruno's grey rats sat patiently on a branch, and it hopped off to run up Bruno's legs and into his hands. Bruno examined it gravely, biting his lip.
"He went this way."
"Why did Antonio have one of your rats?" asked Camilo.
"Oh. I always keep a few tailing him. Just in case."
Mirabel and Camilo both stared at him. Camilo spoke for both of them. "That's weird."
"But effective. He must be heading for the snowline."
Mirabel sighed unhappily, her breath misting in front of her face as she did. "I don't understand. Why the snow? Why now?"
"Jaguar wisdom," shrugged Camilo.
"Yeah, well, wise as they are, he's just a kid," Bruno shuddered. "This place isn't safe."
"At least he doesn't have to worry about wild animals?" said Mirabel.
"Yeah, unlike us, " said Camilo. Bruno, terrified eyes suddenly darting towards the treeline, crossed himself.
The appearance of snow - thin and brittle and not at all fresh or trustworthy - confirmed the worst of their suspicions, with a set of Antonio-shaped footprints leading them towards the broken side of the mountain. It was cold now, and there was no sign of any little brothers around. It was only when the sun began to set that they realized Bruno was glowing.
He had his arms tucked into his armpits and a grimmer expression than usual on his face. Bruno had apparently lost all his body fat in his teens and failed to scrounge any more together after that, and he was shivering. In the dimming light in was clear that his eyes were glowing an alarming emerald colour.
“Why,” said Camilo, “Are you glowing.”
“Glowing?” Bruno jumped like his underpants were on fire. “My eyes aren’t glowing. I don’t know what you mean. Eyes can’t glow. What?”
“Tío Bruno,” said Mirabel, “Are you okay?”
“Sure! Sure!” Bruno had developed something of an aura. And not just the weird vibe he usually gave off. The snow at his feet was gently floating in the air, as though being tossed by the wind. Except there wasn’t any wind. Bruno’s footsteps were starting to glow too.
Mirabel caught Camilo’s eye and frowned with worry. Camilo, who decided that Bruno could either explain himself or die in his own time, turned one eye emerald and winked at her. She rolled her eyes.
The quiet was eerie. There weren’t many trees up here, just bushes and rocks and footsteps that hadn’t yet led to Antonio. Camilo wasn’t worried. Camilo made a point of not worrying until it was too late and nothing could be done - it was smoother and a lot easier. Bruno set his jaw and shivered, glowing, and Mirabel drew close to him and bit her lip. Whether or not she wanted to comfort him or comfort from him was unclear. Undoubtedly, the two of them were sharing anxious and unhelpful thoughts. Maybe ones that involved the sheer cliff edge nearby.
Camilo watched small, thin snowflakes begin to fall, and in the quiet, felt the need to raise his voice. “Antonio?”
Antonio? Antonio? Answered the mountain. They began to approach the edge of the mountain, the one that had been created when the cracks through the Casita had gotten too big to hide.
“I don’t like this place,” muttered Bruno, which wasn’t surprising, given that generally Bruno didn’t seem to enjoy spending too long standing on planet Earth. Mirabel gulped and said, “I don’t like it either.”
Distantly visible below was the stream that separated the Encanto from the outside world. Naked rock, clean like a freshly cut birthday cake, was exposed on the same of the mountain, except for the parts that were topped with snow. Camilo looked over the edge and backed away, feeling dizzy.
“Antonio?”
At some point, the snow got thicker. Camilo tried squint into the distance. His attention was caught, instead, by the fact some of the snow was changing direction as it headed towards him. He followed it and found it swerving to form a mysterious swirl around Bruno and Mirabel.
“Bruno,” he said, “Can you...” He pointed. “...Be less psychic?”
Bruno shuddered. “N-n-nope. I’ve tried.”
There was a little stream, frozen, with an outcrop of rock next to it. Camilo stood on top of it, searched his mind for someone tall, and shifted into Luisa In Heels. “Antonio?”
“Tío Bruno!"
Camilo whipped around, shifting back. Bruno was on his knees in the snow, panting. Mirabel, clearly struggling to keep her composure, looked to Camilo helplessly.
“Just a -” Bruno panted, “Moment - “
Camilo, feeling like he was running out of spare moments, ran to Mirabel’s side and put a hand on her arm, squeezing, determinedly keeping his face calm. “What’s happening?”
The wind was picking up. The wind which hadn’t been there a moment ago. It was forming an ominous sphere around the three of them, glowing increasingly green and spooky and messed-up. Camilo looked at Mirabel, who had growing recognition in her face. The three of them, surrounded by swirling particles of snow, began to cluster together.
“You’re having a vision?” whispered Mirabel.
“I’m trying - ” Bruno gasped, “Not to! Not good - with snow - I told you - ”
Mirabel grabbed one of Bruno’s arms. Camilo was pretty sure this was a bad idea, but he wasn’t about to leave his homegirl on her own in this one, so he grabbed the other. The two of them pulled Bruno to his feet. Bruno’s glowing eyes were focused on something else, something in the maelstrom.
Camilo and Mirabel looked forward and saw the mountain.
Except it was the mountain from below, the view of the mountain from the Encanto. The snow was patchier, and as they watched, it began to shift. Mirabel, Camilo, and Bruno watched as the snow began to move, slowly, then faster, like wax melting. The top of the mountain suddenly began to change shape, as though it was swelling up. Rocks began to fall off as the snow fell, then bigger ones, then slabs of the mountain. The snow picked up more snow, more rocks, trees; a tidal wave of debris began to form, rushing down the slope, and the image began to distort and warp as buildings began to appear in the path of the wave, and it began to twist into an unrecognizable mess of green and white as they watched the avalanche crunch and destroy a building like it was nothing.
Bruno suddenly jumped back, taking Camilo and Mirabel with him, and when they all stared at the ground, a large patch of green ice had formed. Inscribed into the ice was the perfectly frozen image of the valley, with several tonnes of metric destruction heading directly towards the Encanto.
When the snow stopped moving and dropped abruptly to the ground, leaving the night still and cold and silent, Antonio was there, riding his jaguar.
“Oh, good,” he said, “You already know about the avalanche.”
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"Antonio! "
Mirabel dropped Bruno immediately, which caused him to sag against Camilo like a sack of rotten potatoes. Camilo said, "Dude, you need to put on some weight," and received a ragged groan in response.
Antonio was clearly fine, judging by the confusion with which he was looking at Mirabel as she picked him up and frantically examined him. Parce, the jaguar, was happily rubbing his cheeks on Mirabel’s shirt.
“Antonio!” Mirabel put her hands on his shoulders and bent down to his level, face stern. “You had us worried sick. If you really needed to come up here, you should have told us! You should never have come here by yourself! You are in so much trouble!”
Antonio, who was rarely reprimanded and let alone by Mirabel, was shocked into silence. His eyes began to well up with tears, which made Mirabel bite her lip guiltily. She was easy to play as a kazoo for beginners.
Camilo, seeing that he was apparently on Old Man Duty, turned to his mother’s unfortunate brother and checked to see he was still alive. Some of the colour was returning to Bruno’s face, which was impressive because he hadn’t had much to begin with anyway. Camilo hadn’t realized gifts could hurt. Although maybe it hadn’t, and Bruno had gone faint out of sheer terror. “Ay, Bruno,” said Camilo, “You okay?”
Bruno nodded, gulped, and tremblingly stood on his own feet. He reached into his ruana, threw a handful of salt over one shoulder, and stared numbly at the vision spread out in front of him.
Félix was certain that the future wasn’t set until Bruno saw it, and that Bruno’s visions were inevitably terrible. However, Félix also thought rainbows were created directly by Jesus, so Camilo wasn’t inclined to take his scientific opinion on anything. Camilo glanced between the vision and the vision-ee and saw that nothing helpful was happening, so he kicked some of the snow over the glowing green visage of death and gestured for Bruno to go and be a grown man at Antonio. Bruno stumbled over to Antonio, only to sigh, “C’mere, Toñito,” and hug him tightly. Apparently, that was as much discipline as Bruno was going to enforce. Bruno was so relieved, he only screamed a little when the jaguar began to rub against him.
Camilo looked down at the faint green light shining beneath his feet and frowned to himself.
“We have to do something,” said Antonio, pointing.
Bruno stood up, eyes narrowed, eyebrows set. Camilo thought he was about to say something profound. Instead, he doubled over and sneezed.
Bruno straightened up, rubbed his nose, and gave his family a bleary look.
“We talk about this later,” he sighed, “Right now, we’re going home. Everything is already terrible, it might as well be terrible and warm. Antonio?”
“Yes?”
“You’re grounded.” Bruno shrugged off his scarf and put it over Antonio, ignoring his protests. “And so is the jaguar.”
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Bruno paced up and down beside the fire. His family gathered in front of him, confused and a little helpless without any of their regular leaders. Judging by the way Bruno was muttering to himself and shaking, it seemed he was the most confused and helpless of them all.
“Avalanche, avalanche, avalanche,” muttered Bruno, his eyebrows furrowed. “Who do you call for an avalanche? Can an avalanche destroy a town? Can an avalanche kill a rat?”
“I hate to be the one to say it,” said Camilo, “But the answer to both of those questions is yes.”
Bruno wrung his hands, bit his nails, and generally twitched at the head of the room. His eyes were flickering from side to side, as though he were expecting the avalanche to knock at the door and demand to see his credentials at any minute. Eventually he sagged against the wall, said, "I need a minute," opened a door that Camilo had thought was a painting his entire life, and vanished.
Mirabel sighed as the unfortunate wreck of their uncle vanished, leaving the three of them sitting around feeling cold and uncertain.
“We have to do something,” she murmured. “We have to save the town. There’s gotta be something we can do.”
Stage lights. Audience. Music. Cue. It was a lot easier to play as someone who was dealing with the upcoming destruction of their hometown than be one. So Camilo opened his eyes and told himself to shapeshift into Camilo Madrigal, who isn’t worried about what’s coming.
“Like what?” he said. “Maybe Isabela or my mom could do something to stop an avalanche, but not us.”
“We can’t stop the avalanche," she frowned, “Because Tío Bruno already saw it. That means it’s going to happen. But what if there was some way to stop it from falling on the town? Like if we built a wall, or if...”
“I know a way,” said Antonio quietly.
He was sitting quietly in the corner, looking afraid that his precious Mirabel would tell him off again. Parce the jaguar was curled around him, with his head on his paws and a sorrowful expression on his face. Antonio must have told him that Mirabel wasn’t pleased with them.
“You do?” said Mirabel.
“In a few days,” said Antonio, “The streams on the mountain thaw out. The streams go towards the town, because of the rocks. And when they melt, they make all the snow fall.”
Mirabel tilted her head and frowned.
“But if the streams aren’t melted,” continued Antonio, “The snow all falls down the other end of the mountain, the one with nothing at the bottom. That’s the steeper end. It only goes the other way because of the water.”
“I don’t get it,” said Camilo, who was still trying to figure out whether the mountain counted as one mountain or two when it was split in half. Mirabel, who had always been better at her studies than Camilo, was getting a light in her eyes.
“In Tío Bruno’s vision, things stopped being clear when the building appeared,” she said, “Because... it’s not certain which slope the avalanche falls! There’s a chance it won’t fall this way at all!”
“Mami could control when the streams melt,” said Camilo, “But we can’t.”
“We could call her,” said Antonio, “If we were really fast, maybe...”
“No,” said Mirabel, her face lighting up. “No, we wouldn’t have time. But we wouldn’t have to. We can’t change when the streams melt, but we can make sure the avalanche happens first. ”
Camilo gave her a look. “How?”
“Because!” she clapped her hands together. “Do you remember when the brickmaker was helping us rebuild Casita? Most of our bricks are made of clay, but some of them are carved out of rocks.” Casita rattled its floor tiles supportively.
“Oh-kay,” said Camilo, “Fascinating, really, Mirabel, but what does that have to do with the avalanche?”
“Because we have a quarry," she said, a brilliant grin forming on her face, “And if we have a quarry, that means we have dynamite."
Camilo and Antonio both stared at her with their jaws slack. Camilo tried to laugh, but instead made a high-pitched noise like a donkey that had been startled.
“You wanna blow up the mountain?!”
“It could be the only way!” At some point, Mirabel had leapt to her feet, and her eyes were blazing with hope. “A noise can set off an avalanche, right? And this avalanche is going to happen in a few days! If Antonio’s right, if we can trigger it before then, it’ll fall right in the other direction!”
“That’s a pretty big gamble,” said Camilo, but he couldn’t help it: Mirabel, when she got that light in her eyes and that fire in her voice, was hard to stay pessimistic around. She was grinning like a maniac, and her optimism was contagious. “Are we sure Antonio’s right?”
“Coyotes told me,” said Antonio.
“They knew the avalanche was going to happen before we did,” said Mirabel, “They must know something! Antonio, could you find out if that would work?”
“You’re ungrounded,” added Camilo, when Antonio began to look uncertain. This made Antonio smile and nod.
“Camilo,” she said, “We need dynamite. Manuel Donato owns the quarry.”
Camilo grinned widely. He had so many talents for espionage, and so few chances to use them. “Consider it done.”
Mirabel thumped her palm. “We should evacuate the houses near the bottom of the mountain, just in case. I can talk to Padre José and get him to spread the word. If everybody is on the south side of the village when we do this, we can at least make sure nobody gets hurt.”
“And if we tell them it was Antonio who found out,” added Camilo, “They might not execute Bruno.” Mirabel whipped around and gave him a glare. “What? I said they might not! ”
“If we can pull this off,” said Mirabel, starting to pace, “We can totally save everyone. Nobody has to get hurt. All we have to do is evacuate the town for a few hours, get some dynamite, plant it on top of the mountain, blow it up, and make sure the avalanche falls the other way! It’s perfect!”
There was the sound of something breaking. Bruno, standing in the doorway (the normal doorway, not the secret one) had his mouth hanging open and the remains of something now shattered at his feet.
“Buenas noches,” said Camilo, “What have you been up to?”
Bruno ignored him and strode across the room. Camilo didn’t realize Bruno could move with enough conviction to stride, but apparently he could, because he grabbed Mirabel by the shoulders and gave her a wide-eyed, horrified look.
“Mirabel,” he said slowly, “What are you talking about?”
“Tío Bruno, it’s okay! We found a way to save the town! The avalanche doesn’t have to come this way!” Mirabel shrugged off his hands and began to gesture, shaping her hands around the solution. “We can make sure that nothing bad happens, we can even clear out the other side of the mountain first, and then - ”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa !” Bruno grabbed Mirabel’s hands and steered her back towards him. “Mirabel! Nobody is blowing up anything on top of that mountain! Especially not you!"
“I’ll do it then,” said Camilo, which everybody ignored.
“Tío Bruno - ”
“Look, we know about this avalanche, we gotta do something about it, I get it,” Bruno wrung his hands. “But that doesn’t mean stealing bombs and going back up there with them, it means - it means - look, I don’t know what it means, but it’s not that!”
“But if we wait for the others to get back - ”
“Kid, you know as well as I do that visions aren’t always that clear,” said Bruno, “We aren’t even certain it’ll fall this way even if we do nothing.” He was halfway through the motion of throwing a handful of salt over his shoulder when he paused, glanced at it, deliberated with himself for a moment, then stuffed it back into his pockets. “We can tell the town. Get someone else to go up there if we have to. I mean, you two are fifteen - “
“Tell who?” said Camilo. “ We’re the family that protects the town. Technically, the person in charge is the oldest Madrigal. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that’s you , Señor Bruno. So, tell us, what plan did you come up with while you were off taking your minute?”
Bruno opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, and threw his handful of salt over his shoulder after all.
“Camilo’s right,” Mirabel protested, “We’re the Madrigals. We look after the the Encanto. That means keeping the valley safe.”
Bruno glanced between the two them, stricken. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and flexed his hands. “Nope. No. You’re kids. You’re my sobrinos. I don’t care what your surnames are.”
“Tío Bruno...” Mirabel pleaded. Bruno closed his eyes and, Camilo guessed, wished for a quick and merciful death to get him out of this situation. When he opened his eyes and saw to his disappointment that Mirabel was still there, he held her shoulders again, although more gently this time.
“Mirabel,” he said softly, looking intently into her eyes, “ No . Go to bed - “ He glanced sideways at Camilo and Antonio. “ All of you. Tomorrow we talk, we figure out what to do, whatever. But nobody goes up that mountain. Nobody steals anything. Nobody is blowing up anything. I’m your uncle. I am the only adult in this house, and you’re right, I am the oldest Madrigal here. And I’m saying no. I don’t wanna hear another word.”
The emotions going through Mirabel’s face - the dying fire, the softening conviction, the embarrassment, the deflation - that was enough for Camilo. He’d seen that look a thousand times before. Camilo was an idiot and a coward and he never stood up to Abuela - heck, he barely even stood up to his own parents. But this guy? Bruno, who had waltzed into their life out of nowhere less than a year ago? The words were rushing out of his mouth before he could even think about them.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” said Camilo coldly.
Bruno’s eyes widened in shock, as though he’d just realized Camilo was there. Camilo didn’t think Bruno had made eye contact with him before that point, and when he turned to face Camilo, Bruno didn’t even have the dignity to hide the fear and hurt in his expression. Camilo had never spoken to a less adult adult in his life. The Madrigals he was used to had walls, walls Camilo had inherited. Camilo smiled a dangerous smile, daring Bruno to argue, daring him to try parenting this teenager he barely knew.
It was Antonio that broke the silence. “Please don’t yell at each other,” he whispered.
Antonio had his hands wrapped around Parce’s neck, hiding behind his ears. The jaguar had a cowed expression and stared at the floor. Antonio looked between Camilo and Bruno fearfully.
Camilo was first to react to that. He inhaled quickly, remembering Big Brother Camilo, and walked over to Antonio with an easy, nonthreatening smile. Antonio didn’t even flinch as Camilo picked him up, and Camilo felt a glint of satisfaction in his craft.
“I’m sorry, Toñito, we were just having a very grown-up conversation and those things can get really intense. We’re not gonna yell, I promise. C’mon, let’s get you to bed. Bruno is right, we can talk about this tomorrow.”
He turned back to Bruno and Mirabel. Bruno had completely deflated, as though he’d run out of energy for the next decade or two. He was leaning against the walls with his hands wrapped around his sides, staring at nothing. Mirabel was looking at Camilo with a concerned expression, but when he caught her eye, she nodded, very slightly.
“G’night,” said Camilo airily, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Goodnight,” murmured Mirabel, subdued. She turned to Bruno, who was looking a bit like a dog who had been smacked. She said, softly, “You’re right, Tío Bruno. We should go to bed. Goodnight. I love you.”
Mirabel stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Bruno gave her a smile so weak and fake it couldn’t have lifted a feather.
Camilo carried Antonio to his room. Casita opened the door for them. Antonio, despite how tense and important things were, was already starting to fall asleep. It had been a long day for a very little guy, after all. Parce followed them, rubbing his cheeks happily on the trees.
“Want a story?” asked Camillo, as he made the (admittedly really long) trek to Antonio’s hammock.
“Yeah,” mumbled Antonio.
“Which one?”
Antonio responded with a gentle snore. Camilo chuckled. “Guess not.”
Camilo lay him down carefully. He looked at him a moment, making sure he was definitely staying fast asleep. Parce curled up beside him, and Antonio snuggled up to him.
“Right,” said Camilo to himself softly. He gave it a minute or two, just to be safe.
Then he snuck out and closed the door behind him as softly as possible. He thought of the person with the quietest footsteps he could and found, to his disgust, that it was Bruno.
Hooded Barefoot Bruno snuck across the landing and over to the nursery. Camilo put back on his Camilo look before he opened the door.
The lights were off. Mirabel was sitting on the bed with her bag on, waiting for him with a determined expression. Camilo nodded at her.
“Casita,” whispered Mirabel, “Let us out.”
The window swung open quietly, and a set of winding stairs leading down to the ground formed themselves in front of the windowsill.
Camilo flashed Mirabel the most dazzling smile he could.
“We are so dead,” he whispered. Mirabel couldn’t help smiling back.
“I’m telling Abuela this was your idea,” she whispered back.
“We can always go into hiding,” Camilo whispered, “Take the jaguar and move to Panama.”
He nodded at the stairway.
“After you, Mira,” he said, and helped her onto the windowsill and into the night.
Successful Quarry Owner Manuel Donato strolled, whistling, towards his office. An unfamiliar young man was sitting on the steps, smoking a cigar, but he stood to attention when Señor Donato approached.
“Boss? I thought you’d gone home.”
“Forgot something.” Señor Donato tried to open the office, but found it locked. He clicked his tongue. “My keys. Could you let me in?”
“S-sure, boss.” The man quickly fumbled with his pockets and opened the door, and Señor Donato strolled in, making a show of rummaging around a while, muttering.
“How are things here?” Señor Donato asked.
“G-good, boss. Ernesto says the deer have all left the mountains, says there might be an earthquake.”
“Huh.” Señor Donato slipped something into his pocket. “You believe him?”
“I don’t really know.”
Señor Donato shrugged and closed the door behind him. He paused at the door. “By the way, where’s the dynamite?”
The man frowned.
“The dynamite?”
“Señora Madrigal wanted us to re-count it. She didn’t say why. I said to move it.”
“I - Ernesto didn’t tell me, sir. It’s still in Tunnel One.” The man gestured. Señor Donato shrugged.
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll go look, see if it looks alright. See you later.”
“Boss?”
Señor Donato glanced backwards as he walked away. “What is it?”
“Weren’t... weren’t you the one who locked the office door?”
Señor Donato shrugged and kept going.
“I don’t remember that. Could have been that Madrigal boy,” he called, a smirk on his face. “He’s always causing trouble.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Bruno Madrigal said what?” Padre José looked a little alarmed even at the name. Mirabel had to make soothing gestures with her hands.
“That, uh, everyone in the Northern farmhouses should spend the night here,” she said carefully, hoping her nervousness wasn’t showing, “Because if they don’t, then, uh...”
Padre José sat down on one of the pews, eyes wide. “Why? What’s going to happen to them?”
Mirabel didn’t realize just how afraid you could make people with the words Bruno said . She realized that she had Bruno’s very delicate reputation in her hands, and she didn’t like it at all. “Uh... Because... they’re going to find treasure! On their way back!”
The priest’s eyes widened. “What? Really?”
“And they’re going to be so grateful,” Mirabel was sure she could hear Camilo laughing at her in the distance, “That they’re going to donate it to the church?”
El Padre stared at her for a moment.
Dios mío, thought Mirabel, Maybe I should have told him the truth. He’s never going to do it.
“I was just saying to your grandmother,” he said, brightening up, “That we needed something for the Eastern Wing. She must have asked Señor Bruno to look into it!”
“Yes! That’s exactly what happened!” Mirabel tried not to scream. “Uh... You handle it! I have to... go... talk to... someone else... about another vision...”
“Señor Bruno seems busy,” said Padre José.
“Super busy,” said Mirabel faintly, backing out very quickly, “Visions left and right! You know Tío Bruno, always having visions! Anyway, adiós!”
She practically sprinted away from there, in case the man thought too hard about it. It wasn’t like him, but you could never be careful. Her heart was hammering. Whatever Camilo was doing, he was definitely doing it better than she was.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,” Camilo muttered to himself. “Curly hair, beautiful complexion, no brains. Camilo Imbécil Madrigal coming through, with his partner in crime Mirabel Idiota Madrigal.”
He tightened his grip on his bag, which was loaded with a reassuringly heavy amount of dynamite, with nobody any the wiser. It had been the perfect heist. He’d considered leaving a calling card and starting a life of crime.
And they hadn’t brought any matches.
Dynamite! In the snow! And not a single match. Camilo considered going feral and quickly teaching himself to light fires using only rocks and his own farts, but gave up in favour of sneaking back into the house. He sneaked up to the side of the house, choosing to disguise himself as Guy He Had Once Seen Walking Through Town Wrapped Entirely In Black Silk For Some Reason.
“Casita,” he hissed, “I need matches. Help me out.”
A couple of bricks stuck out of the wall indifferently.
“Oh, c’mon,” he groaned.
A window opened unsympathetically.
“I’m sorry I didn’t clean the windowsills, I didn’t have time.”
The hinges squeaked accusingly.
Camilo settled on sneaking in through the front door. His footsteps were distressingly loud on the tiles. He considered going for a quieter form, but last time he’d encountered Bruno while disguised as Bruno, he was pretty sure the real Bruno had cried.
No luck with the various clutter-accumulating-spots around the foyer. Camilo cursed under his breath and crept into the kitchen. Plenty of cutlery, serving bowls, pans... Didn’t you need matches to cook? Camilo wished he helped out in the kitchen more. He remembered the candles in the dining room and made his way there.
A single burnt-out match on the table, that was no good to him... He had to start going through drawers. It took effort not to cry out when he found a fresh box of matches. Score. Camilo closed the drawer as quietly as he could and shimmied along the wall, at which point one of the framed portraits swung open and slammed him on the back of the head, knocking him right back into his normal appearance.
“Ow! Casita!”
Casita rattled the plates in indignation, and Camilo looked up to find yet another hole in the wall, with Bruno staring at him, wearing a look on his face like he was the one who’d just been caught sneaking around and not Camilo.
“Camilo!” Bruno folded his long limbs out of the hole in the wall like a spider escaping from under a cup and landed on the floor, sandals slapping. “Did I hurt you?”
“No -”
“Good. That’s good.” Bruno inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, then made an absolutely pathetic attempt at looking stern. “Okay. What are you doing here?”
“I live here. What are you doing here?”
“I live here too. Hah!” Bruno lit up for a moment. It didn’t last. “No, I mean what are you doing here? I know you snuck out! Both of your bedrooms are empty!”
“Huh,” said Camilo, “You know, I actually didn’t give you enough credit. I didn’t think you’d check.”
“I check your bedrooms most nights.”
“What? Why?”
“I'm making sure you're still alive - "
"That's weird."
"Where’s Mirabel? What’s in that bag? Why do you need,” Bruno looked at the box of matches in Camilo’s hand and deflated, “I don’t know why I’m asking these questions. The answers are kind of obvious.”
“I don’t know either.”
“If I asked you to go to your room,” said Bruno weakly, “Would you do it?”
“Definitely not, compadre.”
“Okay.” Bruno massaged his temples. “That plan’s out the window. I got nothing.”
“Well, God loves a trier,” said Camilo, “Don’t wait up.”
Bruno rubbed his eyes, like he was fighting off sleep. Camilo was about to turn away, but he was, admittedly, unsure if Bruno would make a grab for his ankles if given the opportunity. Camilo liked not to underestimate his opponents. Rather than getting more frantic, though, Bruno gave Camilo a sad look and smiled.
“You know, uh, this was a lot easier,” said Bruno, “When you were a kid.”
That made Camilo pause. Truth was, Camilo did remember a handful of things about the Tío Bruno of his childhood. Dry hands. A book with parts that moved, with long fingers pointing out the words and sounding out the letters. A hoarse and off-tune voice making a mistake while singing a nursery rhyme and pausing for a moment before continuing.
Bruno put out his palms in concession. “You don’t have to listen to what I'm saying, not if you don’t want to. But I’m asking. Please. Just... give me a second of your time.”
Camilo narrowed his eyes. “Sure.”
“I - I know you and Mirabel are smart." Bruno looked at his hands for a moment, smiling. "You're practically grown up now. So please don't - don't think I don't know that, because I do. I know you're smart and you're capable and you can do... amazing things!”
He inhaled deeply. Exhaled. He turned to look, for a moment, at the family tree on the wall.
“But... uh, how can I put this... I’ve seen the way you look out for Antonio and Mirabel. And the way you make your sister and cousins laugh when they need it. You even put your parents before yourself.” Bruno gave him a fleeting smile. “Your family, it’s everything to you. I get it. I’m not... Well, you don’t know me as well as you might know everybody else, but, uh...”
He sighed.
"You're my family, alright? I couldn't - I couldn't handle it if something happened to you. You understand, don't you? When Antonio vanished earlier today, you - you felt it too. We're not so different. So, please - just for tonight - Stay here. Please. For me."
Bruno was speaking softly and nervously, but his smile was genuine. His eyes flitted across Camilo’s face as he looked for a reaction, fidgeting with his hands, patient and understanding.
But Camilo wasn’t like Mirabel. A smile and a bit of affection weren’t going to undo anything that had been done, or change what was right or wrong. Camilo was sure Bruno loved him, but he sure as hell didn’t know him, and he didn’t care to see Bruno pretend to understand what Camilo felt.
Bruno wanted to play hardball? That was fine. Camilo would play hardball.
Camilo shapeshifted. Bruno’s smile was wiped off his face in an instant.
Pepa, ten years ago, face red from tears, tired and empty, stared at Bruno with contempt.
"Do you know what Mami said to me the night you left, Bruno?" asked Camilo. "She asked me what she'd done wrong. I was five. It was the first time I ever saw my mom cry. I didn't get it. But I did my best to make her smile. It was all I could do. Where were you then, Bruno?"
Bruno's eyes were wide and fearful. He took a step back.
Mirabel, five years old, an expression of shame and fear frozen on her face, confused and alone, stepped after him.
"You left right after Mirabel's ceremony," said Camilo, "You think nobody made the connection? There was a lot of tension. A lot of anger and confusion and grief. And without you, all that anger turned towards Mirabel. You knew it was wrong, didn't you, the way she was treated? So where were you?"
Bruno was backing away like Camilo was physically attacking him. He stumbled, but didn't take his eyes off of Camilo's face.
Camilo shifted back into himself.
"You weren't there," said Camilo, "You could have helped. You could have protected us. You could have taken us away from here - you could have done anything. But you didn't. You watched every second and you didn’t lift a finger . And now you wanna come back into our lives like nothing happened and tell us what to do?"
Bruno was backed up against the wall. Camilo hadn't realized he was closing in until he was already there, staring his uncle in the face.
"You don't know me. You're not my family. I'm not doing anything for you."
Bruno didn't even have the guts to defend himself. He just stared, shell-shocked and horrified, and said nothing at all.
"I'm leaving," muttered Camilo, "Do what you want."
Camilo didn't look back as he left the dining room. He walked out the front door without anybody stopping him.
The house was silent, although the windows seemed to tilt towards him, as though judging him.
"Well, it worked," muttered Camilo, "He's not following."
A very slight creaking, thoughtful and critical.
"I meant it," said Camilo, "Even if it was mean. It was true."
The house was still and silent in response. Fine. Camilo had places to be.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"There you are," said Mirabel, relieved, as Camilo approached. "I was getting worried. What took you so long?"
Camilo reached into a pocket. "Matches. There weren't any at the quarry."
"Geez. Good thinking. Ready to climb?"
"Sure."
Mirabel looked more closely at him. "... What's wrong? Did something happen?"
Camilo's face was closed-off and blank. It wouldn't have looked sullen to a stranger, but it sure did to Mirabel.
Camilo shrugged. "See," he said, "There's a problem."
"What is it?"
Camilo pointed to the huge fissure in the middle of the mountain.
"Two mountain peaks," he said, "Two piles of snow."
"Ah." Mirabel bit her lip. "Well... there's two of us."
Neither of them liked the idea of making the climb alone, and it hung unspoken in the air for a moment as they stared up at the slopes.
Camilo ripped the box of matches in half and began to divvy them up. Mirabel bent down and started putting sticks of dynamite (oh god, they were actually using sticks of dynamite) into her satchel.
Each with provisions to blow up a mountain, they both walked in silence to the point where the pass split the land in two.
“Okay,” said Mirabel, determined, “Let’s do it. Let’s save the Encanto.”
“Right,” said Camilo, echoing her.
There was a small pause.
“Or die trying,” said Camilo.
“Yeeesh!” Mirabel puffed out her cheeks. “You didn’t have to say it!”
“It’s foolproof,” said Camilo, grinning, “Coyotes told Antonio.”
Mirabel gave a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Hahaha! Okay, let’s do it! Let’s set off bombs! Woo! This is what rebellious teens do, right? Set off bombs?”
“Definitely,” said Camilo, “I literally can’t think of anything more appropriate for us to be doing tonight. Eduardo and I actually went blowing up the Eastern mountain the other day. He’s dead now but we had the time of our lives.”
The two of them began to laugh like maniacs, and Mirabel, wanting to preserve the moment, began to jog away.
“See you on the other side!” she said, and Camilo gave her a light, easy grin. Camilo’s grin, no matter the circumstances, was always easy.
If Mirabel had been given a gift, it would have been an unnatural talent for feeling guilty.
Because, boy, Mirabel was good at feeling guilty. She could probably have won awards for worrying about people. Guilt was clawing at her stomach even as she walked.
Tío Bruno is going to kill me, she thought. Or, worse, he’s not going to blame me at all, and instead he’ll blame himself for me not listening to him.
Problem was, Tío Bruno was... extremely soft. He'd been with the family for months and he still smiled a huge dorky smile every time she or Antonio hugged him. For heaven’s sake, Bruno would get a stricken expression and knock on wood if Mirabel used her embroidery needle too violently. Mirabel was acutely aware of how much it would break Bruno’s heart to think they were up to something dangerous. (Another part of Mirabel, which she was making an effort to ignore right now, knew how much it would smash his heart to pieces and destroy it if something actually happened to her.)
But Mirabel Madrigal wasn’t just somebody who worried. She wasn’t just somebody who loved. Okay, those were primarily the things she did, and she was pretty sure her portrait was on the front door specifically because those were defining traits. But anyway, in addition to worrying and loving and maybe also being really good at giving presents because, heck yeah, Mirabel was also a Madrigal. Abuela hadn’t done a perfect job raising them. Heck, Camillo would have said she hadn’t even done a good one. But nonetheless, she’d raised them to be proud. And she’d raised them to do what was right.
So Mirabel, scraping together the little part of her that she’d inherited from her grandmother, didn’t look back as she climbed to the top of the mountain.
There weren’t any animals on the mountain. At all. There were barely any flowers. There was just snow and impending doom. So Camilo, without anything or anyone to talk to, was forced to think.
Last time he’d been here - well, actually, he’d been looking for Antonio. But the time before that. he’d been taking the Trip. It hadn’t been long. He’d slept one night on a bench, feeling not too uncomfortable in the summer air. He’d scrounged together enough pesos for the bus. From the bus, the city. From the city, the train station.
And he’d stood in front of the boards and stared.
Bogotá. Once you got to Bogotá, you could go anywhere in Colombia. From Estación de la Sabana, you could ride the train up north to Santa Marta. From Santa Marta, the bus to Barranquilla. Then the boat from Barranquilla to New York. He hadn't quite worked out how to pay for the fare yet. Could he work his way there? Could he join a travelling circus? Heck, he could trick his way across the ocean if he wanted to - if his gift still worked. Maybe he could stow away. Anything. Anything to get to New York. That was where Broadway was.
...He had spent a long time at the station, watching the trains come and go. And then, for reasons he wasn't entirely certain of, he turned around and started the journey back home.
Someday, he would be there. Camilo, Rising Star. Those were the things he thought about at night, the thoughts that got him through the day and towards the morning. In the cold and quiet of the mountain path, the image kept him warm. Someday, Camillo. Someday.
Mirabel stood at the edge of the precipice and swallowed.
It was a long, long way down to the open path, and the cliff face was sharp bare rock. From the bottom of the mountain, it looked like the two halves weren’t so far apart. From up here, though, the chasm was vast and yawning. In the dark, she could barely see the other side of the mountain, only just illuminated by the moon. Without any better idea of what to do, she’d planted her bundles of dynamite in a promising-looking snowdrift, held the wire, and walked away as far as she could until it went taught. She held it nervously, staring out over the edge of the cliff.
She didn’t realize what she was waiting for until she saw it. A pinprick of light on the opposite cliff edge, tiny but clear in the darkness. A match.
She lit a match and held it up in the air, wondering if she should light a branch or something. But she heard the sound, ghostlike and quiet, at the edge of the silence, barely recognizable as her cousin’s voice:
“La Familia Madrigal!”
And suddenly, feeling elated, she shouted it back, as loudly as she could, into the huge split in the mountain. “La Familia Madrigal!”
Before she allowed herself to think about it, she lit the fuse. And then she ran like hell.
Mirabel’s explosion went off before Camilo’s.
It was impossibly loud in the silence of the night, making Camilo jump out of his skin. There was a sound, terrifying and deep: a creaking, cracking, rumbling, the sound of rocks and snow and destruction! He was running, but Camillo risked a glance backwards and looked at the opposite peak and saw it: the shape of the cliff distorting, bending, and warping away from the town. Away! Away from the Encanto!
“Ha!” Camilo was screaming at nobody. “Hahaha! We did it! We did it! Suck it, avalanche!”
And then a sound like a clap of thunder behind him. He risked another look and saw smoke, movement. His face hurt with the grin stretching his cheeks. The landscape behind him was sinking, moving, like it was alive. The rumbling of snow moving spurred him onwards.
At first, it just felt a little funny. Like the feeling of standing on a riverbed and feeling the sand slip away from you.
Even then, Camilo didn’t realize the ground underneath him was moving until he tripped, fell, and kept going.
The soil, frozen and brittle, was shifting under his hands. The cracking and rumbling was growing. The lights of the Encanto were visible, twinkling at the bottom of the slope, and getting further away as the land dragged him back the way he’d come. He made it back to his feet and started running again, but he could see the trees ahead of him were starting to bend, and keeping his balance was getting harder.
Camilo bit his tongue. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t scream until there was no hope left. Except -
Except someone was screaming, somewhere in the rumbling and creaking. In the dark, Camilo couldn’t see anything except the shape of the landscape in front of him, and anyway, he wasn’t exactly looking. If he concentrated he could make out the shape of the word -
“Camilo!”
Bruno appeared out of nowhere like the world's worst ghost and tackled Camilo to the ground.
Camilo, like a drowning man swimming towards light, tried to struggle. He heard his uncle's voice shouting, high and terrified over the sound of the world falling apart. "Stay still!"
Camilo, suddenly frantic with the idea that he might actually survive, flattened himself against the ground. He felt Bruno wrap an arm around him and pin him there. The ground creaked and warped around them, and for a sickening moment Camilo remembered the house falling, the group dissolving underneath them, and Casita pushing them away in waves of porcelain.
Then there was a bone-wrenching crack and suddenly they were falling.
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The next few moments were a blur. Camilo hit a hard cold surface that knocked the wind out of him. The sounds suddenly grew in intensity, and things were falling and piling on top of them and he was sure he'd be crushed to death here, in some hole in the earth, drowned in dirt and snow...
...It took a long moment for Camilo to realize that despite the sound, nothing was moving.
He tried sitting up and found himself emerging from a shallow pile of snow and debris into... darkness. The night sky was completely invisible.
He wondered briefly if he'd died, but the sound of coughing next to him hinted that he wasn't. He fumbled blindly for the sound, tossing aside chunks of rock and wood until he found the shape of a person in the darkness.
"Hey! Hey! Are you - AY!"
A pair of monstrous eyes had opened in the darkness, illuminating the space around them in an unnatural light. It took Camilo a moment to realize those eyes were Bruno's, glowing in the darkness.
He received a hoarse whisper back: "We're alive."
In the dim green light, he saw that he was at the bottom of a small stone chasm, the avalanche raging above him. As though they'd fallen right into the mountain. In fact, nothing was falling on top of them any more, as though something was blocking the top of the cave from being buried. The sound was getting further away, receding down the mountain.
"I can't believe that worked." Bruno sounded dazed.
Camilo reached up a hand and touched something rough and damp at the top of their little cavern. The bark of a tree? He tried pushing it and it didn't budge.
"How..." Camillo looked around and realized that, somehow, they'd fallen through somewhere sheltered from the avalanche. "How did you know...?"
In the darkness, Bruno's glowing eyes gave Camilo a withering look.
"Camilo," said Bruno flatly, "I can see the future."
Once they'd pushed aside as much debris as they could, there was enough space for the two of them to sit next to each other and stare at the wall in comfort. If they were feeling particularly adventurous, they could probably have tried standing, but they'd have to be stopped and bent in strange shapes to both fit.
"Mirabel - " said Camilo suddenly.
"She's safe," said Bruno, "Her half was okay. But this part of the mountain, i-it must be soft. The whole top collapsed."
For a moment they just sat pressed against each other. Camilo waited until the noises outside had calmed.
"Why are your eyes glowing?"
"Because it's dark."
"You glow in the dark?"
"Only when there's no light."
"That's cool," said Camilo, "Uh... thanks, by the way."
"Oh, I only came cause I saw there was a safe spot. I would never have tried that otherwise." Bruno paused. "I shouldn't have told you that."
Camilo snorted. "It's fine."
There was a dripping sound coming from somewhere.
"Um," said Camilo, "Sorry for being a jerk earlier."
"Don't worry, your mother was way worse at your age. Being fifteen, it's not easy." Bruno sighed to himself. "And... well, you might have a point about me... not being around much."
"Nyeh. I mean, it's cool that you saved my life."
"As soon as you left I looked into the future to see how it would go. It wasn't easy getting up here in time, actually. I've gotten more exercise today than I have in years. I think my ankles might not work any more but that's a problem for tomorrow. Are you cold?"
Camilo realized he was shivering. "It's fine."
Too late: Bruno was taking off his poncho. "Put this on."
"What? No."
"I'll be fine."
"Blatantly a lie, and I'm not putting it on. I'm not even cold."
"I have perfect night vision, it's a curse and a burden most of the time, and you have goosebumps. Put it on."
"You keep it! You're skinny!"
"I'm older, it's the natural order that I die before you die, I'd knock on wood but there is no wood, so wear it."
"I'm not wearing your stinky old man clothes!"
"I told you not to come out here, twice , and you almost got both of us killed cause you didn't listen to me, and now I'm telling you to put this poncho on."
Bruno, with an oily grace he must have developed putting dress costumes on rats, managed to get it over Camilo's head before Camilo could stop him.
“Augh! Get off me! I totally tore you a new one earlier and trapped you in a hole, shouldn’t you at least be a little mad?!”
He sighed. “I love you, you weird little gremlin of a kid. And I'm not good at being mad,” admitted Bruno, “Usually I just tell your mom and she does it for me.”
Camilo groaned in disgust and folded himself against the wall.
Bruno, with unnatural grace considering his age, crossed his legs and put his chin in his hands. By the flickering of green light, it seemed that Bruno was glancing at Camilo and away again.
They were quiet for a moment. Camilo heard Bruno make an awkward humming noise.
“So,” said Bruno, “Uh... waiting for rescue... am I right?”
For reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, Camilo wrapped his arms around Bruno and started to cry.
He felt Bruno stiffen for just a moment, then pull Camilo into an embrace that was distantly familiar. Camilo found himself muffling a sob into Bruno's chest, his uncle pulling him in with unexpected strength. Bruno was warm and wiry and smelled like a guinea pig hutch.
Camilo could barely get the words out. "I - I'm sorry - "
Bruno's voice was soft and kind and made Camilo's heart hurt. "Hey, hey, it's alright. It's okay, Camilo, I got you. You're okay."
Camilo tried to breathe in and choked. He found himself shaking uncontrollably out of nowhere, his chest feeling hollow and painful; his body didn't seem to listen when he told it to calm down.
"I-I'm so s-stupid - " Camilo couldn’t get his breathing steady. "This - this is all my fault - "
"No, no, cariño, it's okay," said Bruno gently, "You're brave and stubborn and you're just a kid. It's okay."
Camilo gulped in a breath. Then another. He opened his eyes and Bruno's bright green gaze was examining him with concern.
"There you go." Bruno smiled at him. "Easy, now."
Camilo breathed deeply for a few moments. He managed to get his voice something like steady. "S-Sorry about your shirt."
"Eh. It'll dry. Or freeze."
Camilo rubbed his face and sighed. Bruno kept his arm around Camilo's shoulders, maybe for warmth and maybe to keep him sane. They sat there like that for a long moment. Bruno, without any wood nor any room behind his shoulders, had resorted to crossing his fingers on his free hand and holding his breath in one-minute intervals.
At some point Camilo realized he had his head on Bruno's shoulder. He felt like he could have slept for a month. "Stay awake," said Bruno gently, when Camilo closed his eyes.
"I'll try. Aren't you tired?"
"Me? Oh, no. I don't sleep."
Camilo opened his eyes in order to narrow them at Bruno. "What do you mean, you don't sleep?"
"It's a habit. Less dreams. If I sleep too long I start remembering the future."
"...Dude, how are you still alive?"
“Don’t get me started on seeing other people’s dreams.” Bruno shuddered. “People are bad enough when they’re awake.”
“You -” Camilo blinked. “You can actually do that? I thought the villagers just said that ‘cause they think you’re creepy.”
Bruno winced. Camilo made a note not to mention Bruno’s reputation going forward. A generous number of people in town genuinely believed he had returned after being fully dead for ten years.
“I can’t see dreams on purpose,” sighed Bruno, “Yeesh, you see one guy’s nightmare and suddenly everyone’s a critic.”
Camilo laughed. Then, remembering he was stuck in a hole after narrowly escaping death and bursting into tears, he doubled over and laughed some more. Bruno turned to stare at him.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Pfft! Nothing! Nothing.” Camilo wiped an eye. “You’re a weird guy, Tío Bruno.”
The smile that lit up Bruno’s face practically brightened the cave.
“Weird flex, dude,” said Camilo.
“You called me ‘Tío Bruno’.”
“You save my life, you get one ‘Tío Bruno’, old man.”
Bruno sighed wistfully. “I was right. This was easier when you were a kid.”
“You snooze, you lose.”
“I do sometimes wonder if living in the walls for ten years was...” Bruno folded his arms. “...The smartest way of handling my problems.”
Camilo shrugged. “Well, you know what they say, don’t let me tell you not to go up a mountain and blow up dynamite.”
Bruno looked troubled. “Did you and Mirabel... inherit... my brains? Cause I don’t know if that’s advisable. I got a lot of stuff going on.”
“You can say that again. I mean, at least it proves we’re family if we’ve all got the idiot streak.”
Bruno gave him another wide smile.
“Don’t smile when I call you an idiot, Tío Bruno.”
“Nope,” said Bruno cheerfully.
A loud noise from above their heads made them both look up. There was a scraping, scrabbling sound, and bits of soil dropped down from the cracks in their cave’s ‘lid’. Camilo and Bruno shared glances. And then a muffled voice: “Camilo?! Tío Bruno?!”
Camilo remembered he could shapeshift and took the form of Luisa , which had the accidental effect of causing Bruno to bounce off of him, but never mind that. He put his hands on the tree that blocked off their shelter and pushed. After a moment, he felt something else pulling back, lifting the lid of their weird, melodramatic little prison.
The early morning sun hit him like a hammer, or maybe a hammer that was really good and fun to be hit by despite the discomfort. Mirabel was pushing a fallen tree with all the might in her soft nerdy body, with the assistance of a handful of llamas Camilo hadn’t realized lived nearby. Supervising from the top of a particularly tall llama was Antonio, smiling innocently. This mountain looked entirely different to the one he’d seen last. It was a ruin of rock and dirt, upturned trees and bits of rubble scattered around.
“Mirabel!” Camilo called. Her face lit up, and she gave one more push to ensure they were free before letting go and running over.
“Camilo! Oh my gosh, I - here, let me help you -”
“Lift with your legs, not your back!” As soon as Mirabel took his hands, Camilo shifted into the smallest toddler he could think of, which wound up being Antonio about three years ago. Mirabel only fumbled a little as she swung him out. Camilo wasn’t even annoyed when she pulled him directly into a hug without waiting for him to change shape, and she didn’t so much as groan when he shifted back directly in her arms and stepped on her feet.
“Hey,” said Antonio, “Mirabel said you might have gotten lost in the avalanche, so I came to help find you!”
“Haha, yeah!” Mirabel’s smile was too wide. “Good thing they’re totally fine like I said they would be! It’s not like anything bad could have happened!”
“How did you find us?” asked Camilo, looking at the llamas start milling around aimlessly without direction from Antonio.
“Oh, the coyotes.” Antonio pointed at a number of glinting yellow eyes in the distance. Bruno, who was in the middle of climbing out of the hole, fell back in at the mention of coyotes. Mirabel went over and reached down.
“Here,” she said, but there was worry barely disguised in her face. She could hardly wait for him to climb out and back on his feet before the rest of the words started spilling out. “I’m so sorry, I -”
Bruno held her shoulders and gave her an intense look. “Mirabel, do you resent me for increasing the background level of stress in your childhood? Be honest.”
“Um, no?”
“Then let’s call it even.”
They hugged it out. Some people were born to get along, thought Camilo.
“Tío Bruno, look,” said Antonio, raising his arms, “I brought rats!” A number of gray squirming shapes crawled out of his sleeves. Camilo winced. Bruno, on the other hand, gave a cry of happiness and reached for them, throwing out a couple of names Camilo was pretty sure he was making up as he went along.
Mirabel watched this bizarre interaction with a wobbly smile on her face. “This went well,” she said.
Camilo looked around the ruined landscape of bare rock, soil and tree roots.
“Could’ve been worse,” he conceded. “Wanna go home? I’m... literally about to drop dead.”
“Same,” she admitted, “Let’s never do that again?”
“Yeah,” sighed Camilo, “Dibs on the fastest llama.”
Casita was apparently feeling generous when they got back. There was already a fire in the grate, and a thick rug Mirabel wasn't sure previously existed was sitting in front of it invitingly.
Camilo saw this, mumbled, "Thanks, Casita," and immediately lay face down on it like a corpse and began to snore.
"Aren't you gonna - nope, there he goes." Mirabel collapsed onto one of the wooden sofa's cushions. She yawned. "Actually, maybe I'll take a nap... right here..."
"It would... probably be better for your spine not to," suggested Bruno, but Antonio was already climbing onto the sofa cushions too. Bruno sighed and took the other end, then leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
Mirabel stared distantly into the flames. Then a grin crept onto her face, and she muttered: "We just saved the Encanto."
Bruno groaned. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that part. Anyway, you don't know that it wouldn't have worked out in the end."
"I guess not," admitted Mirabel. She sighed. "I'm... I'm really sorry. We should have listened."
"Yes," said Bruno smugly, "You should have." Then he sighed. "But... maybe it worked out for the best. Just don't make it a habit, okay? Getting into trouble?"
"I'll... try." She grinned. "I can't make any promises."
He groaned. "Of course you can't. And I'm not even gonna ask Camilo." He groaned. "Caray. I have my work cut out for me with you two, you know that?"
"Sorry, Tío Bruno."
"And me," insisted Antonio, crawling into Bruno's lap. "You got your work cut out with me."
Bruno couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Toñito. And you."
Mirabel yawned. "Oof. You're alright, right, Tío Bruno?"
"I hope so. If I catch a cold after this your mom's not gonna help me."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"
"Hmph. I'm sure it'd work out great for you if your mother never knew." Bruno frowned to himself. "Although now that you mention it... It'd work out great for me if my mother never knew, either."
"Aren't you..." Mirabel yawned again. "...A little old to get in trouble with Abuela?"
"I think that's why I don't want her to know." He arched an eyebrow at Mirabel. "After all, if you're apparently too old to get in trouble with me..."
"Mmm-hmm..." Mirabel was getting increasingly sleepy in the glow of the flames. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Bruno, perpetually unable to stay annoyed for long, put his arm around her.
"No snow next time," she mumbled.
"Deal," he said. Then, softer; "Just be careful with yourself, Mirabel."
Too late: Mirabel was fast asleep. Bruno sighed.
Antonio, in his lap, was joining in and starting to fall asleep too. Bruno examined the three kids piled around him.
"And every single one of them ran away to try and save the Encanto," he muttered to himself. He shook his head. "Is it something I do?"
Still, they were all safe, which surely counted for something. Bruno touched the wooden back of the sofa and knocked, five times. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They were all grounded. Including the jaguar.
Dolores, Isabela and Luisa returned home, having partied so hard that they only came back with a single shoe between them. Having apparently been banned from two separate bars in one night, they perfectly happy to exchange secrets and agree on a collective vow of silence. It would have worked if Padré José hadn't approached Abuela and thanked her for the new relic. In the Eastern wing of the church, there now hung a large, glowing window made of green ice, depicting a mountain with an avalanche rushing down it. And Luisa had apparently cried and admitted everything about the party because she was "tired of living a lie".
With nothing to do except laundry and rat theater, Camilo found himself spending more time with his family than he usually was willing to consent to. Bruno was incredibly picky as a director, but Camilo figured this would be good practice for Broadway.
"Dunno why you'd wanna go there," Bruno shook his head. "the Encanto has everything you could ever want. And standing on stage of a bunch of people? Sounds nightmarish. Although," he got a light in his eyes, "You could go to Hollywood instead."
"Ugh, Tío Bruno, the pictures aren't the same thing."
"Why not?" Bruno brightened up. "You could be in a musical film. Like Gone with the Wind."
"Has anyone ever told you," said Camilo, "How old and lame you are?"
"I like movies. And that way, we could actually watch you."
"We could go see one," said Mirabel suddenly.
They both looked at her.
"Now that the road's open! We could go see a movie, in a real theater. Or a play. Or..." She frowned at the two of them. "Maybe both."
"I - I mean," stuttered Bruno, "I... I dunno about that, Mirabel. I've never even left the Encanto before - "
"It would only have to be a day or two!" her face lit up. "We should get someone to start a bus service!"
“ - And last time I was left alone with you two, you committed at least one crime.” Bruno added.
"Maybe you should come," Camilo told Bruno, "Just to make sure we don't do something stupid without you."
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. "Maybe you have a point," conceded Bruno. "I think I prefer keeping you two where I can see you."
"Not our fault," said Camilo, "We get our common sense from you."
"At least we got our love for the family from you too, Tío Bruno." Mirabel, always the sweetheart, smiled.
"Speak for yourself!" Camilo gestured. "You guys are always being nice and smiling at each other. I don't wanna be a part of it."
"You know you love it." Mirabel punched him in the arm.
"Only cause I don't have a choice!"
Bruno looked at the two of them, proving Camilo's point by smiling wistfully.
"I like having a family. It's a favorite hobby of mine. You two... Don't grow up too fast, okay?"
"Maybe," said Camilo, "Only if you take us to the theater someday."
Bruno chuckled. "Well, I guess... maybe. If you stay out of trouble."
"Us? In trouble? We wouldn't!" Mirabel grinned.
"Well, at least I know you're safe while you're in here." Bruno shuffled his papers. "Let's take it again from scene two."
Camilo sighed. "If you insist."
"I do insist. I'm getting you to Broadway, Camilo. You remember me when you're famous, okay?"
"Not planning on it. By then I'll be rich. I'll be way too rich and famous to have a family."
"No, you won't," Bruno grinned.
"Eh," conceded Camilo, " Maybe."
"Scene two, people," Mirabel scolded, "Juanita's not going to marry herself."
She watched the two of them fidgeting with their dorky little set, trying to smother a grin.
"What are you laughing at?" Camilo raised his eyebrows at her.
"Nothing, nothing," she said, "Just that you two make a good team."
Camilo pretended to gag. The house creaked happily. Outside, where the one-and-a-half mountains overlooked the town, the sun was beginning to shine. Winter, apparently, was over in the Encanto.
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Encanto TV episodes from another timeline
Stats: Published: 2022-02-07 Completed: 2022-02-18 Words: 19,715
Mirabel has a secret. Bruno has an incurable cold. Camilo and Antonio have a mystery to solve. And Julieta... has too much to do.
Sana, sana, colita de rana,
Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.
Si no es mañana, pasado mañana,
Y sino será para la otra semana.
[Heal, heal, little frog's tail,
If you don't heal today, then you'll heal tomorrow.
If not tomorrow, then you'll heal the next day,
If not on that day, then a week's time away.]
Mirabel was usually the first one out of the house in the mornings. She liked to be busy; it was a trait she inherited from her mother. And there was always work to be done in town. Kids to be looked after, errands to run, messages to pass to the more useful Madrigals... Anyway, the point was, Mirabel wasn’t actually home for much of the mornings. But right now, she was avoiding town. It was... well, it was complicated. But it did mean she got to watch her mother preparing the day’s haul of healing food.
Mirabel often watched as her mom cooked. It wasn't a rare sight, of course. But today, there was something about the set of her shoulders as she chopped and boiled that made her look... Different. Maybe she was nervous, thought Mirabel. It had been over ten years since Julieta had cooked for her brother.
Next to her at the table, Tío Bruno sneezed. He groaned to himself.
"Salud," said Julieta, "Not long now, okay?"
Bruno sniffed and rubbed his nose, grimacing. "Thanks, Juli."
Julieta smiled. Mirabel patted Bruno on the arm.
He really did look miserable. To be honest, it wasn't surprising. Tío Bruno looked sick when he was perfectly healthy. He was a very sorry sight when he was actually sick.
Mirabel had woken up that morning and found her uncle hiding in the upstairs sitting-room, wrapped up in blankets and sneezing incessantly. She'd dragged him downstairs, ignoring his weak protests, and plonked him at the kitchen table in the knowledge that her mother would drop everything to cure him as soon as she laid eyes on him. Sure enough, Julieta had immediately stopped cooking arepas and started chiding Bruno for not being careful enough.
"You're staring at me," muttered Bruno, and Mirabel flushed.
"Oh! Sorry! I was just... uh... thinking. About how bad you look." She realised she'd accidentally told the truth. "Wait, no! Not that you look bad, I meant - "
"No, no, it's fine, I've heard people in town wondering if I'm still alive or just a zombie, it's not new."
"I didn't mean it like that! I just meant you look terrible right now! No, hold on - "
Mirabel realised her mother was laughing quietly to herself, and she turned around in her chair. "Don't laugh, you know what I meant!"
"I know, corazón. You two are very like each other, you know that?"
Mirabel turned around to her uncle and saw that he was also laughing. She winced as the laugh turned into a cough.
"When you were little," said Julieta, "You wanted green glasses to match your Tío Bruno. Do you remember?"
Mirabel blinked and reflected that no, she didn't even remotely remember saying that. Bruno, though, brightened up.
"Yeah, your little green glasses! And when you put them on, you were so disappointed you couldn't see the colour of them. You kept taking them off just to look."
Mirabel thought her glasses had always been green. She found herself instinctively pulling them off to look, then kicked herself when both her mother and uncle started laughing.
"She loved you when she was little, I remember her asking for you to put her to bed," said Julieta.
"Nah. Camilo and Mirabel would cry if I put them to bed. They'd ask me what I did to you and Pepa."
"Not when they were babies. Pepa would give me Camilo and I'd give you Mirabel, do you remember? And she'd just look at you, all quiet. I used to wonder what she was thinking."
"I'm pretty sure Mirabel used to wait until I was holding her to go to the bathroom. Maybe that was what she was thinking."
"Mom, Tío Bruno," groaned Mirabel, "I'm right here! Can't you have this conversation some other, less embarrassing time? I'm kind of not a baby any more."
"You'll always be my baby," said Julieta, coming up behind Mirabel and planting a kiss on her head. Mirabel gave an exasperated, "Mom," but Julieta was still smiling widely as she went back to the stovetop. Mirabel glanced at Bruno and saw he had an identical smile. She rolled her eyes.
"Just like Brunito will always be my baby brother," added Julieta, tipping soup into a bowl.
"Ten minutes!" protested Bruno, "I'm ten minutes younger than you are!"
"Ten long minutes. You can't cook soup."
"Okay, maybe not. But I can eat it. That counts for something, right?"
Mirabel knew her uncle and her mother were close - at least they'd seemed that way while rebuilding the house. But she never really saw them spend much time together. Her mother was always busy and Bruno was... Well, Bruno had a tendency to vanish. It made her happy to see them laugh together, she realised. Her mom got so few chances to just... hang out with her brother. Or anybody, really. Julieta was always needed somewhere, by somebody.
Julieta passed a steaming bowl across the table. "There you go. And it's hot, be careful."
"Mm-hmm. It looks great. I'm not gonna be careful."
Julieta clicked her tongue at him and he grinned. Bruno raised the spoon to his lips and sipped. Mirabel and her mother watched.
Bruno ate a spoonful of soup, then another.
...Is it just me, thought Mirabel, or is he still looking kind of pale? And his nose is still looking kind of red. Maybe he was just uglier than Mirabel thought now that she was looking closely.
Bruno took another gulp, dropped his spoon, turned his head to the side and sneezed.
Mirabel and Julieta exchanged glances.
Mirabel had only a vague idea of how her mother's gift worked. She knew that it was kind of specific. It didn't work if you tried to steal or buy the food, for example - it had to be given to you. And it didn't work on people Julieta didn't like. (Luckily there weren't many people who Julieta disliked, but she'd told Mirabel that at school her powers didn't work on anyone who bullied Bruno or Pepa.) And it sometimes mattered what the food was. Arepas con queso for pain and injuries, soups for colds, sweet cakes for persistent pains and cups of tea for what her mom called Melancolia. Sometimes, when someone was seriously ill, Julieta would spend a few hours working on the perfect meal. She kept sheets of handwritten recipes and old battered books on a shelf in the kitchen for those occasions, and she would sit, looking for the right food for her patient.
(“It’s not just about making people better,” her mother had explained, “It’s also about making them happy, giving them something that makes them feel good.” Mirabel had suggested that people became happy when they were cured regardless of what food did it, but Julieta had shrugged that idea off.)
Mirabel had no idea why the food wouldn't have worked on Bruno, and judging from the look on her mom's face, neither did she.
"Oh, Bruno, I'm sorry - "
"No, no, I'm sure it's doing something!" Bruno, perhaps more concerned with cheering up his sister than getting better, picked up his bowl and drank directly from it. Then he choked, fumbled as he put it back down and coughed a couple of times. "I'm f-feeling better already - "
Julieta had one hand on Bruno's back and another on his forehead. Bruno grimaced. Julieta was furrowing her eyebrows. "Maybe it wasn't enough. I could try something else - "
"Julieta?" Agustín called from the other room. "We gotta go! Are you ready?"
"Just a minute!" Julieta glanced from the door to her brother and back again, frowning. Bruno looked at the pile of unfinished arepas on the counter and waved his hands dismissively.
"Vamos, vamos, I'm fine!" he said. "You got stuff to do, more important patients than me right now, there's always later. I managed ten years without your gift -"
Julieta winced. "That's why I want to help, gordo, I wish you hadn't had to."
Bruno was blushing as he got up to leave. "W-well, it can wait a few hours, you've got a lotta stuff to do. I'll just be over here, doing, um - " He was saved from having to finish making up an excuse by a coughing fit.
"But Bruno, you haven't even finished - "
In true Bruno fashion, he vanished before Julieta could stop him.
Julieta sighed.
"He hasn't changed," she murmured to herself. Then she looked at Mirabel. "I’ll be back before dinner. Mira, will you check on him?”
"Of course I will, mom."
“Just make sure he’s still here and not doing anything too strenuous." Julieta shook her head. “He’ll push himself until he collapses if you let him, you know.”
That information didn’t surprise Mirabel, although she was surprised to hear her mom mention it - Bruno didn’t look that bad. Julieta must have seen it in her expression, because she added, “Mm-hm, he’s got quite a temperature. And he’s not as young as he used to be, he can’t keep pushing himself like he used to.” Julieta frowned. “...Maybe I should stay... I’ll come back soon if I can.”
If Julieta could have picked a second gift, Mirabel thought, it would have been the ability to be in two places at once. At the look of hesitation on her mother’s face, Mirabel knew she needed to step up to the plate; she put her hand on Julieta’s arm.
“Don’t worry about it!” Mirabel said brightly. “I’m not going anywhere today! I can look after Tío Bruno! He’s in good hands. He’s not going anywhere! I totally got this!” Probably, she thought.
Still, her mother brightened up. “Oh, you’re wonderful. Thank you, cielo. Just make sure he actually gets some rest, okay? And keep him company. He gets lonely when he’s like this.”
“Sure!” Mirabel glanced at the abandoned bowl on the table. “...Lonely? He just... ran away from the kitchen.”
"He still gets lonely, I can tell. He thinks he's being helpful by running away. He always does this." Julieta turned to her work, frowning. "Maybe he's having an allergic reaction. I've never been good with hayfever... Maybe a drink...?"
Mirabel left her mother thoughtfully cooking her arepas con queso and went to start investigating Bruno's various hidey holes.
Camilo wasn't the most powerful Madrigal. Not by a long shot. But it was unarguably true that he was the most popular. It was one of the things about him that was unique among the Madrigals: people trusted Camilo.
The rest of the family didn't fare so well. It wasn't easy being the only kids in town with supernatural abilities. People were in awe of them, and the awe came with a big helping of jealousy and resentment, neither of which were great for making friends. They all had their own ways of dealing with it. Isabela used to have a gaggle of friends who worshiped her, who she'd since abandoned. Luisa found her friends by standing up against bullies. Dolores was simply very quiet. And poor Mirabel - too Madrigal to be normal, too powerless to be cool - tried way too hard to be friends with everybody. Nobody in Encanto was desperate enough to be friends with Mirabel. It would have been a social death sentence.
Little Antonio, who had recently started school, was starting to experience the Madrigal effect. Camilo was surprised to learn that, despite the fact Antonio never said anything to anybody, he was totally fine. Antonio seemed completely indifferent to what anybody thought of him. It had the effect of making him both very weird and giving him an air of easy confidence.
Camilo, on his way into town, found himself waylaid by Lorenzo Zacarias Ramos and his gang of cronies. Camilo had liked Lorenzo more when they were younger, when they used to play football together. These days Lorenzo was compensating for his nerdy body and thin frame by carting around a group of friends who were all at least a year younger than him. Big fish, small pond.
Not that Camilo didn't sometimes pull pranks with Lorenzo, or occasionally still play football. He was just a little bit judgy about it. It was classy.
"Hey hey hey, Camilo, my man!" Lorenzo gave him a toothy grin. "You busy tomorrow? I got an epic prank going."
"I dunno, depends how epic," said Camilo, flashing back a grin in return. Lorenzo was eager to impress Camilo. It was, in all honesty, a little off-putting.
"We're heading to the new bridge to get things moving," said Lorenzo. "We got a hideout under it. See you there?"
"Camilo!"
Camilo looked around for the source of the noise and found, to his surprise, Antonio. Who was meant to be at school. But no, there he was, down the street, calling for his brother.
Camilo shrugged at Lorenzo. "Guess I'm busy," he said, "Some other time."
"Your loss, dude!" Lorenzo began to lead his flock away.
Antonio rarely trusted Camilo with anything. He never had, ever since Camilo had drawn eyebrows on the frog he caught when he was four. Antonio was an independent little kid, and if he needed help, he asked the local wildlife, Mirabel, and their mother, in that order. Antonio also didn't shout very often, especially not when other people could hear him - he could be painfully shy sometimes. It was therefore very serious business if Antonio yelled for him in public.
Camilo waited as Antonio ran up to him, then paused to catch his breath. "What's up, Antonio?"
"Señora Mia told me that the rats are being taken!"
Camilo took a few seconds to work this out in his head. " What is Señora Mia?" he said eventually.
"A cat."
"Uh-huh. And which rats are being taken where?"
"Our rats. And I don't know where, that's the problem."
By our rats, Antonio presumably meant the rats that lived in the Casa Madrigal. They weren't exactly pets, even if Tío Bruno had a couple in his pockets at all times. To say they were Bruno's rats implied they were subservient to him, whereas Camilo was pretty sure the rats viewed Bruno as a big rat colleague.
"Someone's stealing our rats," said Camilo flatly.
"Yeah."
"And that's a problem?"
Antonio's face answered the question for him. Camilo sighed.
"Okay, okay," Camilo put his hands in his pockets. "What do you need from me?"
"Señora Mia says that at night, the rats get this really good scent and follow it somewhere. She said it was a sweet food smell. So I have to talk to the baker."
Camilo raised an eyebrow.
"And by that you mean... I have to talk to him for you?"
Antonio hid in Camilo's ruana. Camilo shrugged.
"Alright, detective," he sighed, "Let's go."
Mirabel, to be honest, didn't know that much about what it was like to be ill. The longest she'd been sick in her life was about forty minutes. Her mom could cure her with a glass of water. Still, Mirabel was an educated woman! She was the daughter of a healer! She could do anything. Probably.
Of course, said a voice at the back of Mirabel’s mind, You’re only trying so hard because you need the distraction. Mirabel cheerfully ignored this voice. She was busy making tea and putting it on a tray with a plate of empanadas.
...Well, she would have been if she knew how to make any of these teas, and whether Bruno actually drank any of them. She spent a few minutes squinting at them until she gave up. He drank coffee, right? Was coffee good or bad for you if you were sick? She was about to find out. Then, considering her masterpiece so far, she decided to add a biscuit to the tray. She even managed to find an alpaca-wool blanket that she’d once stolen and used for embroidery practice and tucked that under her arm too. Florence Nightingale couldn’t have done a better job.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself, “So the only question now is... Which dark corner did he go into...?”
Usually, there was at least one errant rat around to lead her to Tío Bruno, but she was having no such luck today. She figured probably in the walls, not in his tower. Bruno had a tendency to go into the walls when he was feeling low. The only person who ever made the walk, climb and leap all the way to his room in there was Mirabel. (Not that others hadn’t tried. Her dad had once tried to visit Bruno in his ‘office’ and broken both ankles. Her mother had to throw an arepa down the hole.)
...Maybe Bruno really did want to be alone? He wasn't feeling well, right? Oh, well. Her mom said to keep him company. And if Bruno really didn't want to see her, he would doubtless find a way to escape. Bruno would rather jump out of a window than stay in an uncomfortable situation. She'd seen it happen.
She saw candlelight coming out through the doorframe of Bruno’s weird little behind-the-kitchen room. Thinking about her mother’s words, she cracked the door open and peered through, trying to go unnoticed.
Well... he certainly didn’t look happy. He was hunched in his battered armchair, head in his hands. She wondered briefly if he was asleep, but he gave a ragged sigh that suggested he was awake, just feeling sorry for himself. Or maybe suffering from a migraine. Or an involuntary vision. It was hard to tell with Bruno sometimes.
She braced herself, then knocked and pushed the door open like she’d just arrived. He quickly sat up, clearly trying to get himself into a less telling position. She could have sworn there was a flicker of relief in his face when he noticed her; then it was gone, and he looked - well - he looked tired and bedraggled, but that was just kinda how he looked normally.
"Mirabel! Everything okay?"
"Yeah! I'm just checking in! You did... physically run away... just now...”
Bruno shrugged as though this were a totally normal thing that everybody did all the time. “Didn’t wanna make your mom late. Your abuela would never let me hear the end of it.”
Actually, if Abuela saw Bruno right now she’d probably have insisted he stay and eat soup until he was either better or too full to move. Mirabel kept this thought to herself. “I brought you some coffee.”
Bruno perked up at this prospect, and she managed to give him the tray then drop the blanket on his lap while his hands were full. He looked down at it, then at her, then evidently decided to pick his battles and just said, “Thanks.”
He lifted the cup to his lips, but instead of drinking, he inhaled slowly. Mirabel studied him. His nose looked red and sore, like he’d spent all night blowing it. Judging from the way he was breathing, he probably had. Why was he still sick? A worry suddenly popped into her head - was it something serious? Surely not. Julieta had dealt with worse. Did Julieta not like her brother? That couldn’t be right, could it?
Bruno met her eyes over his cup of coffee and raised an eyebrow. Mirabel, remembering her mission, blurted, “So, are you planning on taking a nap or something?”
“You just gave me a cup of coffee.”
Dang it. She had. “Well, I dunno, you look cozy.”
“ You put this on me.”
Also true. “So, uh, are you busy later?”
Bruno paused to cough. “Bleh. Weird that you mention it. Yes.”
This was an odd answer. Now, this being Bruno, ‘busy’ could refer to him sitting on the floor cross-legged with his arms splayed on the floorboards for ‘flexibility’ for twenty minutes straight. Bruno did not have a thriving social life or a whole heap of work to be doing, especially while everybody else was out. However, there was something about his answer which struck Mirabel as sounding weird. She gave him a questioning look.
“A bunch of the rats seem to have gone somewhere - ” he paused to cough again. He made a sweeping gesture of the room. “See?”
“Uh...”
Actually, now that Mirabel was looking, the room was weirdly empty. Usually, wherever Bruno went, at least four or five rats were around somewhere nearby. But there wasn’t even the usual scurrying sound at all. Mirabel remembered that she hadn’t seen any rats on the way here either. Was that weird for them?
“And I would be a pretty lousy rat guardian if I didn’t go looking for ‘em,” said Bruno.
Mirabel made a note of the phrase ‘rat guardian’ and decided to tell Camilo about it later. “I mean, I dunno about that. It’s only been, like... less than an hour? Right?”
“I haven’t seen ‘em at all today.”
“Oh, really? I have!” Mirabel tried to sound casual. “I saw a whole bunch of them this morning! Just chillin’ out in the kitchen! I think Casita might be playing with them or something?”
The picture-frames rattled supportively. Bruno relaxed. “Oh, well, if that’s all...”
“Definitely,” said Mirabel, “Probably! You should just, you know, sit tight. Maybe just sit down, drink some coffee... Maybe some water. Or fruit juice?”
Bruno sneezed. He squinted at her through watery eyes, sniffling.
“Did your Mom put you up to this?”
“Pfft, no!” Mirabel waved away this question as though it wasn’t obviously true. “I just thought we should hang out! And do... healthy... activities.”
Bruno was giving her a look. She couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t believe her, or because he did. Mirabel was pretty sure Bruno wouldn’t judge her for not having anyone better to hang out with than her fifty-year-old uncle. But that didn’t stop it crossing her mind. Especially today...
...His piercing green gaze was enough to make her say, “Okay, well, I’m kind of avoiding the village at the moment,” which made his face soften.
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “Well... Consider me at your service, Mirabel. A-although I’m not exactly stellar company at the moment...”
“Hey, I don’t mind,” she said, “I’m not picky.” That made him smile. “I have some sketches I could use your feedback on, I could bring them to you...?”
“I mean, I could just go upstairs and see ‘em for myself,” he said, “Let me just - AUGH!”
He was halfway through the motion of standing when his armchair whacked into the backs of his knees, knocking him back into his seat. The floorboards jolted violently, sending his chair - with him in it - sliding across the floor and against the wall. The impact made the armrests pop off, and when they reattached to the chair, it was big enough to lie on. It also nearly knocked Bruno off, and the chair had to duck to catch him before he hit the floor. Bruno, dazed, raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, well, I’ll be right here, apparently.”
Mirabel laughed. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one paying close attention to her mom’s worries. “Sure! Don’t go anywhere!”
Casita rarely did anything within the walls. Mirabel wasn’t sure why - maybe that was how Bruno preferred it. As she walked back, though, the floorboards squeaked questioningly at her.
“Tío Bruno will be fine,” she told the house, “It’s not like he’s bedbound or anything.”
A wooden beam lowered itself from the ceiling and hung in front of her, gently stopping her in her tracks. The creak repeated.
“Me?” she scoffed. “I’m fine, he’s the one that’s sick.”
The beam tilted towards her.
“I’m fine, Casita, nothing’s bothering me,” she sighed, “Let’s just focus on Bruno for now, okay?”
The beam receded into the ceiling, but not before creaking doubtfully one more time. Mirabel, frowning, continued her way to her bedroom.
It turned out investigating was a lot harder when Antonio refused to speak directly to any human witnesses.
“Well, I don’t think I’ve been making anything new recently,” said Milo, crossing his flour-covered arms. “I do bake at night sometimes... But I can’t imagine you could smell that from the Casa Madrigal.”
Antonio tugged on Camilo’s ruana to indicate he had a question. Camilo sighed and bent down. Milo, luckily for them, gave a smile showing he found this endearing rather than annoying.
“Ask him if she’s seen any rats doing strange things,” whispered Antonio.
“I’m sure he would have mentioned that,” said Camilo, out loud. Antonio hid his face again. Camilo sighed. “You haven’t seen any rats doing weird stuff, have you?”
“No, not recently. I wouldn’t really know,” admitted Milo, “I tend to avoid them if they’re indoors. They’re sweet to look at if they’re outside, but I always get a little freaked out if they get too close.”
Camilo looked at Antonio, who indicated that he had no further questions by not revealing his face.
“Well, thanks anyway,” said Camilo, “And thanks for the roscóns.” (It was admittedly very powerful for Camilo, popular teen, to walk around with an adorable little brother; he should consider doing this more often.)
“That’s okay!” Milo smiled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I’m sure your Tío Bruno is very worried. Tell him I’ll keep an eye out!”
Camilo waited until they were out of the bakery to think about this.
“Antonio, have you asked Tío Bruno if he knows what’s happening?”
“No,” said Antonio earnestly.
“Why not?”
“If something was happening, and he knew what it was,” said Antonio, “He would fix it. It’s still a problem, so he hasn’t.”
Camilo raised his eyebrows at that reasoning.
“Antonio, my friend, I think you overestimate Tío Bruno’s ability to do things,” he said, “We should go to talk to him. C’mon.”
Mirabel didn't usually like showing anyone her drawings. She didn't really like showing off her embroidery that much, even if she wore it around the house, although she liked to make gifts for people to wear. But sometimes she liked to sketch out ideas for patterns, and sometimes she would draw a whole outfit, one she would usually never get around to making.
It wasn't that her parents weren't supportive of her, of course. They were extremely supportive. It was just... her dad would say it was 'real neat!' and 'so you!' and her mom would gush about how talented and clever she was, and she didn't really feel like either of them understood what she was doing or why.
Bruno, on the other hand, always seemed like he took it seriously. He would carefully consider each design, occasionally commenting on what their strengths were. He would always give criticism if she asked, but never if she didn't. And if she needed advice, he was surprisingly good at giving it. He had a great sense of design for a guy who dressed in... well... rags. He didn't just seem indulgent of her art, like everybody else; he acted like it was genuinely cool and interesting regardless of who made it.
...It was a lot to think about for Mirabel, who had two sisters and three cousins and hadn't exactly been heaped with praise and attention growing up.
Bruno flicked through the pages she'd brought him in silent consideration, eyebrows furrowed.
"It's for Dolores' birthday," Mirabel explained, "I was gonna make a shawl. I didn't wanna just do wavy lines or, y'know, ears to represent her gift, but I wanted something I could make a pattern out of..."
"These actual music notes? From a song?"
"Mariano actually gave me some of his sheet music to use, he said it's one of the songs he plays for her."
"It's good, simple but it's kinda elaborate. These lines here," he traced a part of her drawing, "They'll be hard to recreate with thread."
"I know, but I can't think of a better way to do it..."
He took a thoughtful bite of empanada. Mirabel noted, with pleasure, that distracting Bruno with her sketches had somehow caused him to eat most of the food she'd brought him.
"Here, gimme a pencil," said Bruno, and a shelf tipped towards him and rolled a pencil into his hands. "Oh, thanks. You mind if I draw here? ...Yeah, if you tried this..."
Eventually Mirabel had a fresh sheet of paper and was sketching at Bruno's table, occasionally showing him her progress. He was still coughing and sniffling, but he was definitely less droopy and sad than he had been earlier. She was feeling pretty good about it until there was a knock at the door, which surprised both of them.
"Tío Bruno?" said Camilo. "You in here?"
Camilo? He didn't come here often. Bruno paused to clear his throat. "Yeah, what's up?"
Camilo swung the door open, and Antonio came wandering in with him. Mirabel winced. She might have advised against bringing an energetic little kid around a man who was meant to be resting. Luckily for her, Bruno lit up when he saw his two nephews.
Camilo raised his eyebrows at the sight of his uncle, who had a blanket around his shoulders and a growing pile of tissues next to him. "Wow! Looking terrible, Tío Bruno! Were you hit by a truck or what?"
"Mm," said Bruno tiredly, "I wish."
Antonio paused when he saw Bruno, and Mirabel could see him trying to figure out how to feel. It was confusing, when you were five, to see a grown-up laid low like that. "Antonio, be gentle with Tío Bruno," she called, "He's not feeling very well."
"Oh, okay."
Antonio solemnly walked across the room and gestured for Bruno to lean closer to him. Bruno did, and Antonio reached up and dutifully gave his uncle a hug, patting his back in a way that was very reminiscent of his dad.
"Sana, sana, colita de rana," said Antonio kindly, as though he were an adult and Bruno the child. Mirabel had to cover her face to stop herself laughing. Antonio really was too precious for this world.
Bruno seemed to be thinking the same thing. He was smiling warmly, his eyes crinkling affectionately. “I’ll be just fine, Toñito,” he said, "Now, what can I do for you two? You here for pleasure or business?"
"Business," said Camilo, "We were gonna ask you about your rats, Antonio says a bunch of them are... uh... totally... fine...?"
Mirabel was violently gesturing at Camillo not to say any more, but neither Antonio nor Bruno saw. Antonio continued to explain, "The rats told me that some of them have started leaving and not coming back. We're trying to find them, but we can't."
Bruno's eyes widened. "What?"
"They keep smelling a really good smell nearby, but it's not the baker. We don't know where it's coming from."
Bruno was about to respond, but he had to turn away and sneeze into his elbow. The force made him start to cough. Antonio didn't seem to mind, but Camilo winced, starting to realise what Mirabel was trying to tell him.
"Well, no rats here," said Camilo, "I guess we're out of leads. Maybe we should..."
Both Antonio and Bruno turned around, very clearly not receptive to the idea that they should give up. Mirabel quickly gave Camilo a look that they should. A lesser man would have wilted, but Camilo didn't even miss a beat.
"...Try putting out some food and waiting a day. Once we've attracted some rats, we might be able to follow them to wherever they're going."
Antonio nodded. Bruno stroked his beard and considered this idea. Mirabel, sensing a weak point, pounced.
"That's a great idea, Camilo! We can even make a trail back into the house, then make sure someone's here to catch them when they show up. Oh, man! That means someone will have to stay here!" She snapped her fingers. "Ooh, I can't do that, and Antonio has school, so that means Bruno has to be on house duty. Well, dang!"
"Mirabel," said Camilo, paused, and then said, "No, never mind. Just admiring your wit and charisma."
Mirabel glared at him, but neither Bruno nor Antonio seemed to be picking up on anything. They seemed more concerned with their rodential affairs.
"We have to make something that smells more than whatever keeps catching the rats," said Antonio.
"I haven't noticed anything that should've tempted them away." Bruno made a face. "Well. Not that that matters. I can hardly smell anything at the moment."
Antonio turned around to Mirabel and Camilo, eyes wide. "We have to cook something."
"Funny that you mention cooking," said a voice.
A small window had opened up in the wall that bordered the kitchen. Peeking through with a bemused expression was Julieta. Bruno jumped, maybe at the idea that his secret room could be easily peeked at.
"Mom!" said Mirabel. "You're home early!"
"Very healthy town today," said Julieta, grinning, "Except for a certain someone still here. What are you all doing?"
Casita politely shuffled plaster and wooden panels out of the way, making a little doorway for Julieta to step through. Mirabel didn't realise the kitchen wall could open. She wondered why Casita had never done so before. She'd gone on many perilous journeys to get here.
Julieta looked around Bruno's room curiously, which made Bruno start to shrink into his chair.
"This is where you...?"
"Yeah," said Bruno weakly, "Hey, kids, why don't we move into the kitchen...?"
Julieta put her hands together. "You know, that's exactly what I was thinking. You seem to be planning something very important," she gave Antonio a smile, "And it sounds like you might need my help."
When they were all situated in the kitchen, Mirabel noticed that Casita was putting away more bags of groceries than usual. She wondered what her mom had been buying so much of, and made a note to ask.
“This is all very exciting,” said Julieta, when Camilo finished explaining their epic quest. “Is this what you do while I’m out? I should come home more often.”
“Well, Mom? Do you know what we can make?” said Mirabel.
Julieta smiled widely. “I know what to make for everything, mi amor.”
She began to shuffle through her piles of papers and books, searching for something. She managed to dig up a single sheet of handwritten paper, which was headed Luz’s Pandebono Special. “Casita, is the anejo still there?”
The pantry door opened and proudly shot forth a platter. “And the blue cheese,” added Julieta. Another one came out. Camilo caught them and put them out. “Paprika.”
Antonio diligently rolled up his sleeves. Bruno began to do the same. “No, not you,” said Julieta, “No, no protests! You’ll sneeze on the dough! Camilo, measure these out.”
“Mom, what’s all this... stuff?” asked Mirabel, watching the rapid exchange of things in and out of the pantry.
“That’s a surprise!” Julieta seemed very pleased with herself. “Here, you crack the eggs.”
Mirabel watched her mother bustling around. No matter how much cooking she did, Julieta didn’t seem to ever get tired of it. However, Mirabel very rarely saw her mother having... quite so much fun.
“Oh, that reminds me,” mused Julieta, “Casita, toffee?”
A wrapped toffee popped out of a grocery bag and flew into her hands. She unwrapped it.
“In a pandebono?” said Bruno. “That’s definitely mmphh!”
Julieta shoved it into his mouth. She stared at him intensely until he chewed and swallowed. She continued to stare for a few seconds.
“Ah, well, it was a thought,” she shrugged, shaking her head and turned away. “Camilo, are you done?”
“Nearly, Tía Julieta!”
“You don’t know that didn’t work,” protested Bruno.
“Of course I know. Look at you. Camilo, show him.”
“Infirm old man comin’ right up!” Camilo shapeshifted into Bruno as he brought over the mixing bowl. Bruno put his hands over his face.
“You’re exaggerating,” sighed Bruno, without much hope.
Camilo responded by throwing his hand back on his face and swooning, giving a couple of exaggerated death-coughs, and saying, in Bruno’s currently hoarse voice. “ I am dying, Egypt, dying; only here importune death awhile, until - “
“Knock knock knock knock knock! Knock on wood! Don’t do that!” Bruno, without opening his eyes, knocked on the table, then his head, then placed his hand back over his face.
Julieta laughed. “Camilo, be kind!”
Camilo shifted back. “I’m giving Tío Bruno the pleasure of my company.”
“If you being here is a gift,” Mirabel called over, “Imagine how much you could brighten up Tío Bruno’s day by leaving!” Camilo pursed his lips and blew a kiss to Mirabel, which made her flick a piece of wet eggshell at him and successfully hit his cheek.
“Focus, you two, we have some very important work to be doing.” Julieta’s face was crinkled in a smile that suggested she didn’t really mean this.
Mirabel wasn’t sure what was so special about these pandebonos until her mother uncovered the platter with the blue cheese. She had to cover her nose. “What is that?”
“Oh, this was from when Luz was going through her cheese-making phase. She gave me this in return for healing her son a while ago. She had a very particular gift for making cheese.” Julieta laughed at the look on her daughter’s face. “It’ll taste good in the recipe!”
Casita was already heating up the oven and speeding up the heating process. The odor eased off as Julieta mixed and shaped balls out of the dough, but not as much as Mirabel would have liked. Eventually, with all of the grunt-work done, the three sobrinos and their uncle sat around the table and watched Julieta finish her work.
As Julieta arranged the pandebonos on a baking tray, Casita opened the oven door, and pulled in the tray when Julieta brought it over.
“I assure you,” she said, satisfied, “That if you put these out, rats will be able to smell them for miles.”
“Are they even still edible?” said Camilo. “They smell like feet.”
“They’re very nice, actually. The odor is deceptive. It would be very unkind to give the rats something that wasn’t tasty, wouldn’t it?” Julieta, having delegated all the dishwashing already, joined them at the table.
“I don’t think they’d notice,” said Mirabel.
“They would,” said Antonio and Bruno in unison.
As the pandebonos baked, the smell - which was, admittedly, not that bad once you got used to it - began to float out of the oven and flood the room.
“Sheesh, even I can smell that,” said Bruno.
“I gotta ask,” said Camilo, “Who’s Luz?”
“Oh, you know, Luz Zacarias Ramos, the dairy farmer’s wife. They have a son about your age, I think. Lorenzo?”
Mirabel, without meaning to, made a high-pitched noise of distress.
Her family turned to stare at her.
“Mirabel?” said her mother.
“Is everything okay?” said Bruno.
Mirabel, with four pairs of eyes boring into her, felt her palms start to sweat. “Oh? What? Me? I’m fine, what?”
“You look like you just sat on a nail,” said Camilo.
Mirabel was saved from further interrogation by a jingling and the sound of a meow. A fluffy white cat, a little bell tied around its neck with a ribbon, leapt onto the kitchen windowsill, its tail raised in a sort of self-assured way.
“Señora Mia!” Antonio got out of his chair. Mirabel, glad of the distraction, got up with him.
“Is this your friend? Oh, what a cute cat! Hello, precious!”
Señora Mia purred and rubbed her face on the wall.
“What are you doing here?” said Antonio. Señora Mia didn’t make any noise, but she did flop onto her side when Mirabel started petting her. “Uh-huh... But... where was that?”
Señora Mia turned and exposed her belly. When Mirabel touched it, the cat grabbed Mirabel’s hand with her claws. “Ow! Hey!”
“Oh, that makes sense,” said Antonio brightly. “Thank you! Would you like some food?”
“Toñito,” chided Julieta, “Cats shouldn’t eat bread.”
“She could have some cheese, couldn’t she?”
Julieta looked uncertain. Señora Mia meowed. “Well... I suppose. They can drink milk, can’t they?”
“They can’t digest lactose, but that won’t become mainstream information until...” Bruno began, paused, tilted his head back, and sneezed. He gave a frustrated sniffle. “Augh! Dios mío! What was I saying?”
“Salud,” said Camilo, “Nothing that made sense.”
Antonio fed Señora Mia a crumb of cheese and she jumped off the windowsill. She trotted off back to the town with her tail in the air.
“What did she want?” asked Mirabel.
“She wanted to know what the smell was,” said Antonio. Camilo laughed.
“Well, it works!”
“I think they should come out,” said Julieta, “You could try one, you know, we don’t have to give them all to the rats.”
“Eh, if there are any left once they’re back,” said Bruno.
“I was talking to the kids. You’re trying one right now. Here, eat this - “
“Let it cool down first!”
Camilo found Antonio tugging on his ruana again, to his surprise. He looked at his little brother expectantly, but Antonio just pulled him out of the kitchen, out of earshot of the rest of the family.
Camilo bent down to let Antonio whisper.
“The smell,” said Antonio, “Señora Mia says that’s what the rats have been following.”
“What?”
“This recipe, it’s the one that the kidnappers are using.”
Camilo paused.
“Kidnappers?”
“It’s kidnapping,” said Antonio seriously. Camilo shrugged. He’d have called it stealing, or maybe just pest control, but Antonio didn’t need to hear that.
“So someone’s using rotten pandebonos to take the rats at night?”
“I think so.”
Camilo frowned. Well... that was weird. But who was he to argue with the cat?
“I guess that narrows things down,” he said, “We can ask who else has the recipe.”
Antonio shook his head. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Mirabel got very upset when you mentioned Luz Zacarias Ramos,” said Antonio. “And... Tía Julieta says Luz gave her the cheese and the recipe as a thank-you. So there’s probably not that many people who know it except her.”
Camilo paused.
He wasn’t expecting Antonio to be perceptive enough to pick up on that. But yes, Mirabel had reacted funny. That was a mystery for later. For now, he was seeing what Antonio was suggesting.
What was it Lorenzo had told him earlier? That he had a plan?
“We can keep it a secret between you and me,” murmured Camilo, “Just sneak off and investigate the dairy farm ourselves. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Boys?” called Julieta from the other room.
Camilo and Antonio went back in.
“They’re ready,” said Julieta, “What do you want to do with them?”
“We’ll take them,” said Camilo. He rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got a plan, don’t worry.”
Julieta had to stifle laughter as she watched her two nephews setting off with a bag full of pandebonos, on a quest to find a bunch of missing rats. Mirabel took one of them, announced she was going to go look for any errant rats still in the house and secure them, and left.
This was around the time she would usually be getting home, and very soon the rest of the family would be returning too. Soon the house would be bustling, and there would be things to do again. But for a few minutes, she was alone with her brother.
She made a pot of tea. Even when she had free time, Julieta liked to make things and serve them. It made people happy, but more importantly, it made her happy. (Not that Bruno didn’t sound like he needed something hot to drink.)
She spooned honey into his cup and passed it to him, watching carefully as he sipped. The pallor of his face didn’t change. The chapped red parts of his face stayed red. She shook her head. It was a mystery to her. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.
“They’re funny, aren’t they?” she said to him. “The kids. Always up to something.”
Bruno sniffed. Julieta suddenly worried he was upset, but then he chuckled.
“Isabela and Dolores used to be the same,” he said, “Do you remember? Doing something crazy, Luisa running around trying to stop them...”
“Oh, they were chaotic,” she smiled, “And you’d have to tell Luisa she wasn’t in trouble because she’d cry if either of us said it.”
“I used to carry her on my shoulders.” He looked wistful. “She could carry me on her shoulders now. ...Well, she could do that back then too, but I didn’t fit that well...”
The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Outside the sun was starting to set.
“I’m glad, you know,” she said, “That... Well, I mean, there are many things I’m glad about, with you back here with us. But I’m glad you and Mirabel have become so close.”
Bruno smiled. “She’s a good kid.”
“She always reminded me of you.”
Bruno raised his eyebrows. “Uh... Because we were both outcasts?”
“Bruno! No, of course not that. Well... not entirely.” Julieta sighed. “She’s clever, and she thinks more than Augustín and I. And her sisters. She reminds me of you, the way she gets so far away sometimes. I used to wonder how you would get along, if you ever... Well, anyway, it makes me happy, seeing you two. I wish I had more time to spend with you.”
Bruno was silent in response to that, just sipped his tea, but the set of his face said, yes, me too.
“Thank you for keeping an eye on her today,” said Julieta, “I don’t know what’s bothering her, but I hope she says something soon.”
“Whenever she’s ready,” said Bruno. “There’s no rushing the future.”
Julieta nodded. Outside the kitchen, the clatter of approaching footsteps heralded the rest of the family arriving home, and she stood up to make dinner as Bruno slipped away. There were always things to do.
Antonio was little, but he was still a Madrigal. Every week, one of the adults would walk him around to the various farms around Encanto, letting him ask the farm animals how they were doing. Camilo suspected that, someday soon, Antonio would be doing this every day, plus liaising with the wildlife and the pets. Then again, who knew? With Abuela’s new lease on life, she might actually let him have a childhood. Either way, Antonio knew his way around the dairy farm well.
They snuck into the barn, where the cows seemed to be... well, standing around being cows, to Camilo’s untrained eye. Antonio said they were having their ‘evening salon’ and went over to talk to them, a stinkbomb in hand. (Camilo had started calling them ‘stinkbombs’; it seemed an insult to the innocent pandebono population otherwise.)
“They know the smell,” said Antonio, “Luz makes them a lot. But they haven’t seen any rats around, except the regular rats.”
Camilo frowned. “How many rats are there in Encanto?”
“More than you can imagine,” said Antonio solemnly. Camilo chose not to try imagining.
No rats in the storage shed. No rats in the fields. No rats in the hayloft -
"Wait!" cried Camilo. "There!" He pointed out a grey rat scurrying along one of the ceiling beams.
"That's not one of ours," said Antonio glumly.
"What? How can you tell?"
"Ours have a sheen."
Camilo didn't even know what a sheen was. Was that a rat thing? Did he learn that from Bruno or another rat? Oh, well. Camilo, in a flash of genius, threw one one of the stinkbombs towards the stranger rat as a bribe, which allowed Antonio to snag an interview.
“It says it hasn’t seen any unusual rats around,” said Antonio.
“Sheesh!”
Eventually, they gave up and decided to stop sneaking around and knock on the door. If the dairy farm family really were kidnappers, Camilo reasoned, then at least they’d have the advantage of surprise; however, if you were a farmer, and your business was therefore concerned with having lots of food lying around not being eaten by rats, it was unlikely you were doing it on purpose.
As they approached the farmhouse, it became evident. It was like a ghostly presence. The smell of death. The over-familiar smell of baking stinkbomb.
“Seriously!” said Camilo, baffled. “She makes these things on purpose?!”
“We should put away our ones,” said Antonio, “In case she suspects something.”
“Why did we even bring these if the woman’s making her own? What is she planning, an aerial assault? Alright, put them in the bag.”
Antonio prepared for a bit of interrogation by hiding behind Camilo. Camilo knocked, a charming smile plastered across his face, and tried not to wrinkle his nose. The door swung open.
Luz Zacarias Ramos was the physical opposite of her weird lanky son. She was short and plump, with rosy cheeks, and she radiated an aura of pleasantness. How, exactly, Lorenzo had managed to deftly avoid inheriting any of these things was a mystery. She acted like Camilo and Antonio were long-time family friends.
“Boys!” she beamed. “What brings you here? Are you out of milk?”
“We’ve got plenty, thanks,” Camilo (who had no idea) said. “Actually, Señora Zacarias Ramos... Oh, wow, what are you making in there? It smells amazing!”
It was a testament to Camilo’s skill as a liar that Luz didn’t bat an eyelid at this. “Oh, those are my special pandebonos! It’s a secret recipe!” she winked. “They’re Lorenzito’s favourite these days. He eats them up like he’s starving! This is the third batch I've made this week!”
“Wow, I don’t blame him!” said Camilo, who had never blamed anybody more in his entire life. “Speaking of, that’s actually why we’re here! Is he around?”
“Oh, you just missed him,” said Luz, “He’s out playing with his little friends right now. If you see him, will you tell him dinner is nearly ready?”
“Sure thing,” said Camilo, had a brainwave, and slapped his forehead like he’d just remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot! I mean to ask... have you seen a grey rat around? One with a sheen? Some of Tío Bruno’s pet rats went missing, and they love the smell of baking.”
Lorenzo’s mom put her hands on her hips and looked thoughtful.
“Oh, that explains it,” she said, “I just caught one in a basket. I was about to put it outside. Maybe little Antonio could take it?”
Now, Camilo was no rat expert, but the rat that Antonio came out of the house with was fat. He knew enough animal science to recognise a huge chunky rat lump when he saw one. He was bursting with questions. He nearly didn’t stay and chat to Luz for five minutes about the weather and business and how his mom was doing. But he did have a reputation to maintain.
As soon as the door closed, Antonio immediately spoke: “Maria Rosa! What are you doing here?!”
"Who named it Maria Rosa?”
Antonio held the rat delicately to his ear and listened intently. He nodded along, frowning. Camilo tapped his foot impatiently.
“She smelled food last night,” said Antonio slowly, “So they all followed it, but then she lost track of the others. She got lost... then she smelled it again... then she came here... Uh-huh, uh-huh... And then we found her. That’s about it.”
“That’s it?” said Camilo. “Doesn’t she know where the others went?”
“Nope.”
“Eh. Well, it doesn’t matter. I think I might’ve accidentally found our kidnapper, Antonio.”
Antonio tilted his head. “Lorenzo?”
“Bingo. We’ve got the murder weapon - the kidnapping weapon,” he corrected himself, “And I think I might just have the scene of the crime, too. Only question now is the motive.”
“We should go look for him!" said Antonio.
"Not so fast, compadre!" and Camilo. "You're forgetting something way more important that we gotta do first."
"What's that?"
"Eat dinner," said Camilo, "And go to bed. Oh, don't look at me like that, dude. I already helped you bunk off school today, I'm not pushing my luck."
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Bruno didn't show up for dinner. It was a first. He hadn't missed a meal since he'd come back - heck, even if he wasn't eating he would still sit in his place at the table. Abuela, at the head of the table, frowned and said, "Where is Bruno?"
Dolores tilted her head. “He fell asleep reading,” she said. Then, “Somewhere under the floor.”
There was a small silence as everyone tried to figure out how he got there.
“I’m sure he’s very tired,” said Julieta hesitantly.
“He was up all night coughing,” said Dolores.
Abuela’s mouth twisted worriedly. Pepa’s expression stayed serene, but a small breeze began to blow her hair.
Eventually, Abuela made a decision and shrugged to herself. “Well, we can keep a plate warm. One night will not hurt.”
“I’ll make him something later,” Julieta suggested. Abuela nodded her agreement. Tía Julieta is keeping it a secret that she couldn’t heal Bruno, Camilo noted. Wonder why?
Either way, dinner couldn’t have been served fast enough. He leaned over to Mirabel, who gave him a conspiratorial glance back.
“I think I might have a lead,” muttered Camilo.
“What?”
Camilo gestured at Antonio, who opened his waistcoat to reveal a hidden rat within. Mirabel’s eyes widened.
“If I’m good, we might be able to get this case wrapped up by tonight,” said Camilo, “And based on my performance so far, I’m pretty good.”
Mirabel rolled her eyes.
“Soo....” said Camilo.
He could tell immediately by her reaction that she was hiding something. She tensed up, waiting for a question she didn’t want to answer. Camilo took aim and fired.
“The rats... you know something about them, don’t you?”
A miss! Mirabel’s expression turned confused. “Huh? What?”
“Just testing you.” Camilo gave her a smirk, although internally, he was filing this information away in his case-notes. Mirabel rolled her eyes again.
“So, Toñito,” said Abuela, “What did you learn about at school today?”
Camilo choked on his food. Mirabel dropped her fork. Antonio looked up at his grandmother, eyes big, and said nothing.
“Oh, Antonio was telling me earlier all about where bread comes from,” said Julieta, smooth and sweet as syrup. “You still remember what it’s made of, don’t you, Antonio?”
“Flour!” blurted Antonio. “From the mill!”
“Oh, yes?” Abuela smiled indulgently, none the wiser. Camilo caught his aunt’s eye across the table. She gave him a wink. Had Julieta always been this much of an enabler? Camilo should’ve tried recruiting her earlier.
“So, who’s busy tonight?” said Tío Augustín. Then, “Wrong answer! You’re all busy! I got a new deck of cards and I wanna break them in with a little toruro!”
“I can’t tonight, Tío Augustín,” said Camilo, “I’m, uh...” He trailed off. Planning a night-time raid of a rat trafficking ring?
“I can’t either,” said Mirabel.
Augustín gave them a playful pout. “Oh? What’s more important than a good game of toruro with your favourite uncle-slash-father, eh?”
“Camilo and Mirabel are helping me in the kitchen after dinner,” said Julieta, nudging Augustín with her elbow. “I have new recipes to test out.”
“Ay! You too? You betray me, mi amor!”
“I don’t need to play to know how it’ll go, honey,” said Julieta, “You’ll lose.”
“You don’t know that! Tonight is the night my luck turns around!”
“In your dreams, my friend,” said Félix. “Nobody can beat me at cards. I’m cool as ice. The card king.”
Both Mirabel and Camilo looked at Julieta, but she didn’t even glance in their direction. Never mind Félix, thought Camilo. She’s got a hell of a poker face.
“So, Julieta,” said Félix, “What are these new recipes you’re trying, eh?”
Julieta gave him a smile. It was only slight, and Camilo couldn’t be sure, but he was certain there was something mischievous about it.
“Something crazy, I hope. I was thinking to myself, earlier today,” she said, “I spend all this time cooking, but I never let myself have fun.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Camilo watched his aunt preparing her materials. Mirabel had vanished off somewhere, which was annoying, because he had been hoping to grill her a bit before he left. That left him sitting in the kitchen with Antonio, washing dishes and feeling increasingly nervous.
"I thought you were lying about the recipes," he said to Julieta, "You're actually cooking?"
"I thought you needed an excuse to get out of the house," said Julieta, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "The rest is all true. Tell me, what did you find out that was so important?"
"Your hunch about the pandebonos was too good. Someone's been using Luz's stinkbombs to lure the rats out of the house. And apparently, her son Lorenzo has been asking for a ton of them. And he told me this morning he's building a hideout under the bridge."
Julieta raised her eyebrows at the word stinkbombs, but she didn't comment.
"So you think he's..."
"The criminal," said Antonio.
"The perpetrator," said Camilo.
Julieta crossed her arms and thought about it.
"Lorenzo," she said slowly, "Hm... He seems like a nice young man to me. A little awkward, but he's only a boy. Are you sure it's him?"
Camilo frowned. "He's... a primary suspect."
"It's a good guess," said Julieta, "But maybe you should talk to him first, before you make any assumptions?"
"That's the plan," said Camilo, although admittedly the plan had mainly involved breaking and entering first. "Anyway, he's kind of a prankster. I bet he's stealing them to pull some kind of joke on somebody."
"Well, try to be open-minded, corazón," said Julieta. "It never hurts. You like to play jokes, but you would never hurt an animal, would you?"
"Well, no," admitted Camilo, although he did privately wonder if the secret rat-nectar stinkbomb recipe could be employed in future pranks.
"I think before you do anything," she said reasonably, "You should go up to his house and ask to speak with him. You may find your culprit, but you may also find someone who can help you solve the mystery. If you break into his hideout and find nothing, you'll only succeed in hurting his feelings."
Camilo couldn't think of a counter-argument to this point, although it did deflate him a bit. He liked breaking into hideouts. He was good at breaking into hideouts.
"I'll make something you can bring around, as an excuse to talk," said Julieta, "It never hurts to bribe, you know."
"Bribe? Tía Julieta, that's a devious way of looking at it. I like it."
"You know, before I was your tía, I was a teenager with two very chaotic siblings," she said, eyes twinkling. "I haven't forgotten the tricks. But you'll have to do something for me in return, of course."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Help me cook, of course!" She held out a platter of fruit. "Chop these. Same-sized pieces, please."
"Anything," said Camilo, "For Encanto's most notorious criminal."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mirabel stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. She had opened the door with the intention to go downstairs and help her mother a little, but the sight of her reflection made her pause. The sound of her family playing cards floated up the stairs and into the nursery, far away and echoey. It had the effect of making her bedroom feel... emptier.
Mirabel didn't own many clothes that she hadn't embroidered. After dinner, she'd found a blouse and skirt with only a little decoration around the back. She didn't put on any extra jewelry because she didn't own any extra jewelry. She could have asked Isabela for flowers, of course, but she didn't want to look like her sister had dressed her. Besides, Isabela felt that flowers were 'passé'.
So she hadn't changed her appearance very much, really. She looked the same as ever, except maybe just a tiny bit more normal, without her embroidery. That was good, wasn't it? Normal was good.
"Mirabel Madrigal," she said softly to herself, "Who would wanna spend tonight with you? "
Her reflection didn't answer. She sighed.
There was a knock on her door. A very quiet, hesitant knock, but even so, it made her jump a little.
"Sorry," said Bruno, who was watching her through the gap.
"Tío Bruno! You're awake?"
"I'm pretty sure I am, anyway," he said, as she opened the door for him. He stepped into her room, rubbing his arm awkwardly, and his gaze wandered curiously to the drawings pinned on her wall and the things on her crafting table.
"How do you feel?" she asked him. "Dolores said you... kind of passed out."
"Not much different. But, it's fine, I've felt worse. I've... felt better too, but..." He sniffed and rubbed his nose, grimacing. "Well, that's life. Was I out for long?"
"Kinda. You, um, slept through dinner."
A pained look briefly crossed his face. He shook it off. "Oh, ah - well - th-that's fine, I was pretty tired. Probably good for me. I don't, uh, sleep that often."
"That's... maybe why you got sick in the first place, Tío Bruno."
"Well. That's a fair point. More importantly, though," he said, and rubbed his chin, "...Well, not to pry, Mirabel, but I was walking past your door and I feel like I heard you talking yourself down in the mirror, so..."
"Oh."
Mirabel didn't really have the energy to make any more of an excuse than that. She looked back at the mirror, and behind her, she heard Bruno cross the room and sit on her bed. Her own face stared back out at her, doubtful and nervous.
Bruno didn't say anything. She wished he would. If he'd asked her what was wrong, then she could have insisted it was nothing and chided him for asking. Instead, he sat quietly and patiently, looking at her with a gentle half-smile, and waited for her thoughts to bubble over. It was a trick he had used on her before, and she hated that it always worked.
“It’s nothing, really,” she blurted, after the silence had gotten too heavy for her to bear.
He nodded.
“You’ll probably think it’s stupid.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” he said kindly. Bruno was a horribly, chronically awkward man; she hated how, despite how awkward he was in every other situation, he knew exactly what to say at times like this.
“A-and it’s a secret.”
“I’m good with secrets,” he said evenly. No kidding, Mirabel thought. He’d been one for ten years.
Mirabel walked over and sat next to him on the bed. Her face was burning and she hadn’t even said anything. She didn’t look up, but she was sure she could feel him peering curiously at her.
“Tonight,” she said slowly.
“...Yes?”
“And this is a secret.”
“I remember.”
“I have a date.”
Bruno, for reasons that could have been completely unrelated, burst into a coughing fit. He thumped his chest a couple of times, trying to quiet himself, and managed to choke out, “A date?”
“Please don’t be mad - “
“I’m not! I’m not! Just - ack - “ He cleared his throat and breathed in sharply. “I mean, uh, I won’t, that’s - well - excuse me. That’s... well, that’s... A date?”
“With a boy.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, clearly finding himself in territory he wasn’t expecting and reeling from it. “Well, that’s... you’re fifteen, so that’s... that’s the kind of thing you would do, isn’t it? Why, why would I be surprised by that? Your date with a boy? There’s no reason I would be anything but unsurprised and supportive. About your date. With a boy.” He nodded, but there was clearly quite a lot happening behind his eyes.
“Forget about it.”
“No no no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He waved his hands. “You just caught me off guard! No, if you’re going on a date tonight, that’s... That’s great. That’s totally fine. And it’s your secret to keep, that’s totally fine. It's good news! It's great! Aren’t...” His voice softened, and he started sounding worried. “...Aren’t you excited?”
“I mean, I guess,” she said.
“Do you... not like this guy...?”
“I mean... maybe! I don’t know, really,” she found herself blushing. “He seems nice, I guess. He, um... He said we should sneak out and go for a walk and he’d be waiting by the bridge if I wanted to see him. And I thought... Well, I thought... I just thought it might be fun, is all. And maybe I’d get to know him a little and I could make up my mind after if I wanted to see him again? I-I dunno.”
“Sure,” said Bruno, then cleared his throat again. “Sure. That makes sense. Very... sensible. And you’re gonna go? Tonight?"
She looked at her hands. “I haven’t really decided.”
“You haven’t decided? Why not?”
Mirabel turned around to look at her uncle. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern and confusion, the corners of his mouth turned down in worry. She figured, why not? Why not just reveal the extent of how much of a loser she was? It wasn’t like he was going to judge. He lived in a wall and trained rats as a hobby. What did she have to lose?
She said, in a small voice, “Last time somebody asked me on a date, it was a prank.”
“Oh.” He blinked, processing that unpleasant idea slowly. A frown formed on his face. “Oh.”
“This guy, Vincent, he asked me to meet him at his house, and I went, and a bunch of his friends were there, and they had the key to this chicken coop, and, uh,” she gave a small, mirthless laugh. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. There was a lot of glue and they totally ruined my dress and I don't really wanna talk about it. The point is, I’m not exactly... the kind of person people ask on dates.”
Mirabel was expecting a kind, pitying look. Bruno was a master of kind pitying looks. He could’ve won an Olympic gold in Freestyle Sympathy. Instead, she watched in horror as her soft-spoken uncle’s face contorted in fury.
“Vincent who?!”
“I-it doesn’t really matter - “
“Does your mother know about this?”
“It was, like, a year ago - “
Bruno stood up and started rolling up his sleeves. “Was it Vincent Donato? I know where he lives!”
“No!”
“I oughta - ”
“Tío Bruno!” She suddenly had to bite back laughter. She couldn’t help it: the sight of her uncle, all five feet four of him, puffing up like he was actually going to do something was wildly funny. “You don’t have to go threaten anybody! Sit back down!”
He sat down with a vengeance. “A prank! Caramba! I can’t believe that.”
“It was a long time ago, it’s fine! The point is, well, I’m a little nervous.”
“I’ll say!” He shook his head. “And this boy, is he...?”
“Well, he’s... kind of a jokester.” she sighed. “But he’s never been rude to me before, I dunno... And I don’t think any of his friends really know who I am, so... Maybe...? I mean, lots of people play jokes and aren’t jerks about it, right?”
“Hmm.” Bruno rubbed his beard. “Yeah, that’s... That’s complicated, huh? Oh, Mirabel,” he suddenly sounded saddened, “I’m sorry you were worrying about this all by yourself, I shoulda asked...”
“I-it’s fine. I didn’t wanna say. I don’t really know how Mom and Dad will... you know...”
“I understand. When are you meant to go meet him?”
“A couple of hours.”
Bruno nodded. He was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, to Mirabel’s horror, his eyes began to glow.
Alarmed, she cried out, “No, no, no! Don’t look!”
He jumped. Apparently the surprise made him gasp, because he started coughing. “Ack - sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean to!”
“Oh no, I'm sorry!" Mirabel hated doing anything that might make her uncle think she disliked his gift. “It’s okay, I just..."
“It’s fine, it’s fine, I just think too hard about the future and, well, there I go, psychic Bruno, don’t mind me,” he smacked the side of his head a couple of times until the glow faded. “Nope, no, I won’t look, no worries. We’ll find out the old-fashioned way how it goes, it’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, Tío Bruno, I...”
He surprised her by planting a hand firmly on her arm. The look he gave her was steadfast, even if his grip was a little wobbly and his hand was kind of sweaty.
“No, Mirabel, you don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he said firmly. "Look, I think you should go. Tonight. And there's something I want you to remember."
Mirabel was, to be honest, kind of ready for Bruno's advice not to be very useful. He wasn't exactly an expert when it came to popularity. The only reason nobody laughed at him was because it was generally thought he had the innate ability to ruin lives.
But instead of giving her any advice, Bruno sighed, a little awkwardly, and said, "You... know you're one of my favourite people in the world, don't you, Mirabel? You have no idea how much better my life is because you're around."
Mirabel hadn't been expecting that. She didn't really know what to say.
"I'm sure my opinion isn't worth much, seeing as I'm your uncle and all," he continued, "And not even your coolest uncle, cause uh, I think your Tío Félix has that covered, but, uh... Well, I like you. And I wanna spend time with you. So you don't ever need to feel like nobody wants you around, cause I do. It really makes my day, having you around."
He cleared his throat.
“Look, I dunno what’s gonna happen out there," he said, "But I do know what’s gonna happen when you come back home afterwards. I’m gonna be right here, you’re gonna tell me everything, and I’m gonna think you’re the most incredible person in the world, because you are. Okay?"
“Tío Bruno..."
She couldn't think of anything else to say. He put one of his hands on hers and squeezed it, smiling, and she smiled back, feeling her eyes well up with the emotion of... something. Seeing her smile made his shoulders sag in relief, and Mirabel wondered, not for the first time, how strange it was that she had only known her uncle for less than a year. Looking at his face, worried and kind and smiling a smile that very much resembled her mother's, she felt like she'd known him her whole life.
Then his smile wobbled, and he suddenly twisted away from her and whipped his hand away. "AH-CHOO! Augh! Give me a break!"
With that breaking the tension, Mirabel couldn't help it: she burst into laughter. Bruno, in the middle of fumbling with a tissue, gave her a sour look.
"Tío Bruno," she giggled, “You should probably be asleep when I get back.”
“Pfft. I’ve slept plenty already today."
"You slept for like two hours, Tío Bruno."
"Two whole hours is a pretty long time! And it's not like I'll be staying up all night, cause I'm expecting you home before too long. You're not staying out that late, alright? You got one hour max. I don’t care how nice he is!”
“Okay, okay!"
“And if it is a prank,” added Bruno, “Then I got plans. Contingencies. However bad you come out, he’s gonna come out ten times worse.”
“Tío.”
“We’ll see! We’ll see." He shook his head. "I've trained rats to do things, Mirabel. Dangerous things."
"I'm sure you have."
"Now, c’mon,” he patted her shoulder. “I’m gonna head down to the kitchen and grab something to eat, and you should come with me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Bruno held her gaze until she smiled, and he smiled back. She leaned into his shoulder and said, “Thanks.”
Bruno chuckled and put his arm around her, giving her a brief squeeze. “Any time, kid.”
She let him lead the way. He stood up, but paused before he opened the door to let her out. He glanced back at her curiously. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to ask you something."
"Hm?"
"This boy you’re meeting. Who is he?”
“Oh, um, just some guy,” she said, “You know, the dairy farmer’s son. His name’s Lorenzo.”
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In practically no time at all, and practically without trying, Julieta already had several plates full of stuff. Camilo was in awe. She'd already had the dulce de leche put aside, but even so the wafers and the merengóns she basically conjured out of thin air. While Camilo prepared the figs for brevas con arequipe, she basically instantly assembled the merengóns and fruits together, and was now filling wafers with cheese and jam to make obleas. She was somehow simultaneously preparing a pot of changua, reasoning that while it wasn't breakfast time it was certainly a comforting meal to wake up to. Julieta seemed to know instinctively when things were ready or needed stirring or turning. Two trays from the oven were already cooling, while two more were still baking. Camilo felt like the apprentice of a wizard.
Antonio was sitting and watching too, though he wasn't happy to hear he wasn't invited on Camilo's latest mission.
"But I can help," he protested.
"It's nearly your bedtime, amór, let Camilo handle this part," said Julieta, "You can stay here and help me instead. Why don't you go wake up your Tío Bruno? I'm sure he's hungry by now."
Apparently there was no need, though, because before Antonio could go searching for him, Bruno appeared in the kitchen doorway with Mirabel in tow. Mirabel seemed subdued as she slipped into the kitchen and sat down, as though something had happened, and Camilo watched Bruno and Julieta hold a brief but meaningful conversation about it. They managed to do this, in the way only achievable by two family members who have known each other for far too long, without uttering a single word.
"So," said Mirabel, looking around, "What... is all this?"
"Oh, just taking a little personal time," Julieta, "Bruno, sit down, you're in the way."
Bruno looked equally as confused as he joined Mirabel at the table. Camilo began to explain that Tía Julieta had simply decided to lose her mind that evening, but he didn't get the chance; Bruno interrupted him by sneezing loudly into his elbow, making Mirabel jump.
"Salud!" she said. She winced as he sneezed a second time. "And... salud again. Oh geez."
Bruno gave a long, ragged groan. "Sana, sana..." He had to stop and cough. "C-colita de rana."
One of the kitchen counters tipped and threw a box of tissues, sending it skidding along the table. Bruno put out a listless hand to stop it, mumbled his thanks, and blew his nose with a noise that made Mirabel gently move her chair away.
"Mom..." she said, frowning, "You're not just making all this stuff for fun, are you?"
"I'm glad you thought to ask," said Julieta. "Casita, lock him in."
Bruno yelped as the house yanked him closer to the table. The wood of his chair cracked and snapped as it formed a firm ring around his middle, the legs of the chair solidly fusing to the floor. He was completely imprisoned.
"Julieta!"
"Works every time," she said happily.
"Let me go!"
"You can leave when you stop looking so ill! I'm curing that cold, I don't care what it takes. Besides, you've barely eaten. Goodness knows you could do with putting on a bit of weight."
"She's got a point," said Camilo, who was already eating one of the figs he was meant to be preparing. "I've had the changua. It's pretty good."
"You already had dinner," said Mirabel.
"What? What's Bruno gonna do, eat it all? His stomach is the size of a frog's!"
"And aren't you supposed to be going somewhere tonight?" Mirabel continued.
"Not while Tía Julieta is cooking. It can wait till I'm fed," grinned Camilo.
Mirabel rolled her eyes. "You're extremely fed already."
Bruno stared at the bowl placed in front of him, then at his three niblings, observed listlessly that none of them were going to help him, and sighed.
"My changua cures everything," said Julieta, "It'll do you good."
"I'm not sure," began Bruno, gave up, and grumpily placed the spoon in his mouth.
He looked up to find a rapt audience of four faces staring at him and swallowed uncomfortably.
"He still looks like a cadaver," said Camilo.
"Camilo," said Mirabel.
"And the calado," insisted Julieta, gesturing to the piece of hard bread she'd served with it.
Bruno picked it up, dipped it into his soup, and began to say, "Look, Juli, maybe this is just one of those - "
"I didn't say anything about magic, you just need the carbohydrates."
"Carbohydrates?"
"Yes, the carbohydrates. I've been studying medicine, you know, ever since the fall. It's very interesting. In my medical opinion, you should eat."
Still though, as Bruno made his way reluctantly through his meal, it was impossible to deny that nothing magical was happening whatsoever. Nor were the carbohydrates doing much for his health. He was breathing funny and repeatedly having to stop eating in order to sneeze, decidedly not the behavior of a man who was cured. Camilo watched his aunt frowning and drumming her fingers on the counter. He wondered what was going through her head.
Bruno, maybe out of guilt, finished everything that had been put in front of him. “Well, it was really good anyway. In fact I’m sure I’m feeling a lot better. Just for having eaten it? I’ll just be going... now...?” he protested weakly, as Julieta took away his empty bowl.
She gave him a glance, a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re forgetting about dessert.”
“I don’t eat dessert - ”
“You’re about to!” Julieta tutted. “I’m sure my magic is working normally. It was this afternoon. Maybe we should test it.”
“How would we test it, mom?” said Mirabel. “None of us are hurt.”
“Ah, but Mirabel!” said Camilo. “That’s a fixable problem!”
Before she could react, he punched her in the arm as hard as he could muster.
“OW! YOU JERK!”
“Camilo!” Julieta gave him a sharp look. “At least give a warning next time!”
“Okay.” Camilo made another fist. “Hey, Tío Bruno, heads up!”
The floor rippled and briefly threw Camilo into the air, making him yelp as he reconnected with his chair on the way back down. “Yow! Kidding! I’m kidding!”
Julieta chuckled as she slid a plateful of meregóns onto the table - with enough, notably, for all of them, which meant that Camilo was still in Julieta's good books. The three kids reached out with gusto; Julieta gave Bruno a commanding look.
“Eat.”
“I don’t even like -”
“Eat.”
Only Bruno could have made the act of eating dessert sorrowful, but he managed. Camilo watched the red mark on Mirabel’s arm fade away, and watched Bruno remain pretty much as gross as he had been that morning. Julieta...
...Wasn’t actually paying close attention. She was messing around at the kitchen counter, packing obleas into a basket and not even watching. She said, “What do you all think?”
“I think they’re great!” said Antonio.
“They’re not bad,” conceded Bruno.
"Really?" said Julieta, an artist's pride in her eyes. "I thought you didn't like them."
He shook his head. "Juli, you know you could make dirt palatable."
For a moment, Julieta smiled quietly and tenderly to herself. Then she grew more animated and said, “Have another!”
“I’m not even finished- !”
“I’ll have another one!” said Camilo.
“You,” said Julieta, carrying over the basket, “Need to get going before it gets too late, you know.”
“I will, Tía Julieta! ...In a bit. Are you making hot chocolate?”
“I thought it would be nice.”
“Julieta,” wheezed Bruno, “How many stomachs do you think I have?”
She clicked her tongue. “You used to like my hot chocolate.”
“Of course I still like - ”
“Oh, good! Then you’ll have some.”
Bruno sagged in his chair- at least, as much as he could while he was physically bound to it. “Ay. I don’t know why I try. You’re indomitable.”
“Or maybe you’re just weak-willed,” suggested Camilo.
“Says you,” said Mirabel, “You’ve eaten enough food to feed a small family.”
“I’m just a sweet and faithful nephew. I would never make my beloved tía feel unappreciated.”
“You wouldn’t?” Mirabel made a face. “You called your tío weak-willed just now.”
“Tía Julieta is an incredible cook. Tío Bruno has the backbone of a slug. I’m an incurably honest man.”
“Shame,” muttered Bruno.
Camilo popped into the form of himself as a small child. He leaned across the table and made big shiny puppy eyes at Bruno. “Et tu, Bruno? Am I not your sweet, beloved nephew for whom you would do anything?”
Bruno folded his arms. “You could say that. For example... there are plenty of things you’ve done that I’ve agreed not to tell your mother about. Would you like for that to change?”
Camilo winced and involuntarily found himself turning into Pepa, which made Bruno and Julieta burst into laughter. Camilo slid back into his chair and glared at Mirabel when she giggled at him.
“Well, I’m sure Bruno will sweeten up if you can crack the case tonight,” Julieta used her lips to point at the basket. “It would be very rude to show up once they’d settled in. Go on, I’ll keep a cup warm for you!”
“If you promise,” said Camilo. Julieta raised her eyebrows at him. “Okay, okay, I’m going!”
He picked up the basket. The contents were covered with a cloth, and he lifted it curiously to look at the obleas.
“Don’t eat any of them! They’re not for you!”
“I’m just looking!”
That got him another round of laughter. Mirabel looked at him. “Get outta here,” she said, grinning, “It’ll only get worse.”
“No kidding!”
Antonio, without saying anything, slipped out of his chair to walk Camilo to the door. He escorted Camilo through the courtyard and over to the front door before he spoke.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Visit the farm. Ask to talk to Lorenzo.” He raised the basket. “Probably eat an oblea or two.”
“You’re not gonna go check out his hideout?”
“Tía Julieta suggested I try the diplomatic approach first.”
“What’s diplomatic mean?”
“Not kicking in his dweeby little teeth for stealing our rats until we’re sure he’s guilty.”
Antonio nodded wisely. “Camilo?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful,” Antonio looked serious. “Anyone who does that kinda stuff to animals might do stuff to you.”
“Pfft! I can take care of myself, little guy, don’t worry about it.” Camilo winked. “I’m a lot harder to catch than some rat, okay? I’ll see you later!”
Antonio nodded. But he looked doubtful as Camilo slipped out into the evening, as though he wasn’t quite convinced by Camilo’s confidence.
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Camilo was excellent at interrogations. Now, granted, he hadn’t done that many of them. But an interrogation was, at its core, a conversation. And Camilo sure could converse. If Camilo wanted his opponent to say something, admit something, think about something... that was all easily within the remit of Camilo Madrigal, smooth as melted butter.
The one thing Camilo couldn’t do was interrogate someone who wasn’t there.
“Are you serious?” he cried.
“Sorry, Camilo! You just missed him again!” Luz shook her head. “Honestly, I keep telling him to pay more attention to his friends. But still, it was very kind of Julieta to send these! Thank you!”
Camilo only let himself flounder for a moment. Luz was Lorenzo’s mother. You could learn a lot about somebody from their mother. For example, Mirabel and Julieta had a strong nurturing streak. And if you wanted to know what the heck had happened to Bruno you just had to look at Abuela. Camilo needed evidence, and Luz was an excellent character witness where her son was concerned. Camilo just had to play his cards right. And Camilo was excellent at cards. If he’d been playing turoro that night, he’d have swept the table.
“No problem, no problem!” Camilo smiled, then looked around conspiratorially. “Hey, listen... do you have a minute?”
This resulted in him getting brought into the Ramos household. He’d never been in here before, and he found himself looking around curiously as he walked through. Lorenzo was an only child, and pictures of him dominated the entry hallway; the house was eerily tidy, and that was coming from a guy who grew up in a house that tidied itself. There were little decorations and carvings scattered around, mainly of cows.
Luz poured him coffee from an already-made pot and looked at him concernedly. “What’s wrong?”
Camilo was surprised by how kind she was. He’d sort of privately decided that the Zacarias Ramos family were... well... a little evil, given their tastes in cheese and bread rolls. But there was nothing but maternal concern in Luz’s face, and he felt, for the first time, a small pang of guilt.
“Well, uh,” he was flustered for a second, but he rolled with it as part of his performance. Focus, Camilo, focus! “Don’t tell Lorenzo this, but... To be honest... I’m a little worried about him.”
Camilo felt terrible about this lie the moment it came out of his mouth. He told himself that nothing bad could come from making a mom worried about her son - heck, maybe Lorenzo did need to talk! Maybe it was a good thing! He needn’t have worried, though; Luz didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. In fact, she reacted exactly the way Camilo hadn’t expected. She smiled and nodded.
“Ah, yes,” she said. “He’s been acting odd recently, hasn’t he?”
Camilo had no idea whatsoever. He was caught off guard again, but he recovered. “Well... a little.”
Luz’s smile was wide and wistful. She looked not unlike Camilo’s own mother - focus, Camilo! - and she learned against her immaculate kitchen counter, rubbing her chin.
“Yes,” she said, “He’s getting older, and all boys your age change eventually. You’re very sweet, to be worrying about him, and I think those other little friends of his wouldn’t quite understand... Yes, I think I can trust you with this information. You’re a good friend to him, after all.”
Camilo felt both guilty and proud that he had given Luz this impression.
“You see,” said Luz, and leaned in, “Lorenzo’s completely changed recently. He’s gone girl crazy.”
Camilo’s shock definitely showed on his face this time. The various lines of questioning in his head all vanished in puffs of smoke. “He’s what?”
Luz giggled. “Oh, yes! He barely sees his friends these days! They keep coming around and asking for him, but he’s not interested! He says their little jokes and games are too immature! You see, he’s not thinking about impressing them any more. He’s thinking about love!”
“Really,” said Camilo weakly.
“Oh, yes! He snuck out last night, and do you know what I caught him doing? Picking flowers!” She giggled again. Luz had a distressingly girlish giggle, for a middle-aged woman. “He’s got a little lady friend, I’m sure of it! I even saw him drawing a little heart in his diary the other day. He asked me to make enough pandebonos for two last night, you know!”
Well. Camilo sure felt sorry for whichever girl was on the receiving end of that romantic picnic. He heard himself asking, faintly, “So he’s... like... not interested in pranks any more?”
Luz tutted. “Oh, he’s so serious these days! I wish he wouldn’t grow up so fast, I could have sworn he was just my little baby yesterday... He says his friends don’t understand, says he wants to be more mature...”
Camilo was flush with shame. That didn’t sound much like the kind of guy who would catch a bunch of rats, huh? Not to mention... gross! Sure, Lorenzo deserved every happiness and all that sort of thing... but the image of weird, gangly Lorenzo gathering flowers and swapping spit with some equally nerdy girl was pretty nauseating.
“Wow, that’s,” Camilo heard himself saying, “That’s really sweet. Good for him.”
“I’m glad you think so! I’ve always thought he should spend more time with boys his own age. His little gang are very nice, but they’re a bit young, you know. Always getting into trouble and taking their jokes too far. I’m glad he’s finally starting to realise it. Well!” Luz beamed. “He won’t say anything to me, I’m his mother, but maybe he’ll open up to you about his little romantic life! You’ll check in with him, won’t you?”
“Sure I will,” said Camilo’s mouth, which was fortunate, because Camilo's brain had no idea what to say. “Thank you.”
Camilo finished his coffee and watched Luz talking at him, feeling like he was in another dimension. Was Lorenzo really just some innocently romantic teenager with terrible taste in baked goods? And if he was... who else could have been tempting rats out of the Casa Madrigal using Luz’s godforsaken blue cheese?
Camilo almost choked on his coffee.
“Lorenzo’s other friends,” he managed, “The young ones! Do they ever eat your pandebonos?”
Luz frowned and put her hands on her hips.
“Well, they certainly take plenty with them when they come around,” she said, “More than I think they can eat. I do wonder what it is they do with them.”
Camilo was already chugging down a mouthful of coffee grinds and standing up to go.
“Mrs. Ramos,” he said faintly, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve just realised there’s something I have to do.”
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The hot chocolate didn't cure Bruno. The tres leches cake, freshly made and stickier than Mirabel was used to, didn't either. Or the chicharrones de guayaba, which were less fresh but still just as good, the pastry still crisp and sweet even if it was cold. Those still didn't cure him. Neither did the spoonful of arequipe, the cube of cheese or the espresso shot.
Mirabel was stuffed. She couldn't help it. Her mom really was talented.
Bruno stopped protesting when Julieta poured him a glass of tequila. That made him laugh so hard that Casita had to let him out of the chair so he could double over.
"You're trying to do magic with tequila?!" he wheezed.
"I'm experimenting," she said primly.
"Aren't you gonna put salt on the rim?!"
"It's medicinal."
"Why don't you have some too, Julieta? I shouldn't be the only one getting healthy on a Tuesday night!"
Julieta started laughing at that one too, which made Antonio glance between the two of them in confusion. He looked at Mirabel for help and Mirabel made a helpless gesture.
Julieta mixed honey and cinnamon in water and it didn't do anything, but Antonio insisted he wanted some anyway. Bruno slid over his unfinished cup.
"Is that hygienic?" asked Mirabel.
Bruno waggled his eyebrows. "Shouldn't be a problem. It's just me who's immune to your mom's healing powers, apparently."
"We'll see about that," said Julieta. "I still have ideas."
"When I get a stomach ache later, Juli, you're not gonna be able to help and then you'll be sorry."
"Not as sorry as you. Do you think my powers might not work on you because you're too stubborn?"
"Prove it. Gimme a cinnamon stick."
"No! I spend most of my life guarding them from you! And I hate seeing you eat those things, it's like watching a capybara eat bark!"
"Really? I guess I'll just stay sick forever. Ow!" Julieta threw a stick at him. Mirabel burst into laughter. Antonio, in the way young children did, was getting increasingly giggly the more silly the adults got.
Bruno didn't heal as he crunched the stick in half, but he gave Julieta a gleeful, utterly childish look that Mirabel had never seen before. For a moment, he looked very much like Camilo. Julieta covered her eyes and groaned. "That's enough cinnamon for a whole batch of cakes! You're disgusting."
Antonio held out a mint leaf and said, "Eat this!"
"Antonio," Mirabel reminded him, "You don't have healing powers. You would just be making Tío Bruno eat a leaf for no reason."
"But I wanna help!"
Julieta laughed again. Mirabel had never seen her mother laugh so much before. Nor, come to think of it, her uncle. Julieta swept up Antonio in her arms and said, "I'm sure you've been very helpful already, Toñito. You don't need to do any more. Are you tired? It's past your bedtime."
"No, Tía Julieta! I'm not tired!"
"Even after solving crimes all day?" she tickled him under the chin and he giggled. Bruno slid out his chair and stood (when had the house let him go?), gesturing for Antonio to follow him.
"C'mon, Antonio. If you get ready for bed fast enough, I'll tell you a story."
"Which one?" Antonio lit up. "Can I have the one with the jaguars?"
Bruno tapped the side of his nose. "You'll have to find out."
That was all it took to get Antonio following him out of the kitchen. Mirabel watched the two of them go, and Julieta sat down opposite her, doing the same. When they were out of sight, Julieta - to Mirabel's surprise - let out a sigh.
"Mom?"
"Hm? Oh, don't mind me," Julieta smiled, "I'm just feeling wistful."
Mirabel tilted her head. "About what?"
Julieta began to rearrange the array of plates and cups on the table.
"It's been a long time since I've sat down with Bruno like that," she said, "And you, of course. I do miss it sometimes. We used to be very close friends, you know, not just siblings. But it's different when you have children. Harder to find time."
Mirabel didn't really know a whole bunch about her mom's social life from before Mirabel had turned five. All Mirabel's life, a strict barrier had separated that part of the past from the rest. The cardinal rule, We Don't Talk About Bruno, had rendered much of Julieta's youth off-limits. Until, of course, Bruno had come back. There was a lot Mirabel didn't know.
"Really?" said Mirabel, aching to hear more.
"Oh, yes! Sometimes we would go out, your father and Bruno and I. Your father would ask Bruno all sorts of questions... Not asking for visions, just asking what he thought about the future of this and that... I think he mistook Bruno's gift for wisdom." Julieta laughed. "Did you know, he asked Bruno for my hand in marriage? Not your Abuela. Bruno was so happy he cried. In fact, your father won't admit it to me, but they both cried. I wish I could have seen it."
"Me too," said Mirabel, and meant it.
"Of course," said Julieta, half to herself, "When Dolores and Isabela were born, Bruno was already becoming more withdrawn. I would only see him when he was with them. He's always loved you, no matter how withdrawn he became..." Her eyes were getting sad. "I should have guessed he wouldn't have left without watching you grow up."
Mirabel remembered why exactly Bruno had cut himself off and went quiet.
"But you brought him back," said Julieta, brightening up. "My shining star. Your heart is so good."
"Mom. And anyway, I kinda had to destroy his hiding place first."
"He could have stayed hidden if he wanted to. He's good at hiding." Julieta shook her head. "Ten years! And only Dolores heard! My brother is a strange man."
Mirabel smiled. "Yeah, no kidding."
"I hate to see him feeling poorly, of course," said Julieta, neatly stacking plates, "But it's nice to have an excuse to cook for him and spend some time with him, without so many other things in the way. It's been a very long time since he let me take care of him like this."
Mirabel didn't realise she was putting the pieces together until the last one slotted neatly into place. Her eyes widened.
"You want to take care of him," she said.
"Of course! He's my brother, after all."
"No, no, I mean you want to take care of him!" she snapped her fingers. "You want to be able to spend time with him! That's why!"
Julieta gave Mirabel a puzzled look.
"You never take any time off!" Mirabel explained. "You're the town healer. But you have to spend time with someone if they're sick, right? The only reason you came home early was to check on him. And that's why you made all this stuff too!"
Julieta was staring. Mirabel very rarely saw her mother look surprised - she seemed like she was always a step ahead of everyone else.
"If it had worked, it would have meant you'd have no more excuses to spend time with Bruno and us! That's why your powers aren't working on him! Because you don't want them to!"
Mirabel's tone was loud and triumphant, and she realised too late that her mother was staring at her with her jaw slack. Julieta was utterly speechless.
Oops. Mirabel raised her shoulders in a shrug, tried to smile, and said, "O-o-or maybe not?"
Julieta put her head in her hands. "Ay, díos mio," she sighed, "When you put it like that... It seems very obvious."
"W-well, there's no need to be embarrassed!"
"Mirabel," said Julieta, smiling weakly, "I'm supposed to be a healer. If what you say is true, my brother is still sick because I was feeling selfish."
"That's not true! I mean..." Mirabel floundered. She hadn't quite realised the implications of her words until they'd already left her mouth. She forced her mother to look at her. "Bruno is still sick because you miss him! And you love him! That's not a bad thing, even if it is a little... inconvenient right now."
Julieta gave Mirabel a long look. Then she tilted her head and gave Mirabel a familiar look: pride. "You've... grown up to be very wise, you know that?"
"Not the point, mom," said Mirabel, trying not to smile. "The point is... you don't need to do all this!" She gestured. "You should just... talk to him! Tell him you miss him! Then actually take some time off and spend it with your family! Luisa did it, right?"
Julieta smiled. "That's true."
"So can you! You could take tomorrow off and... and you and dad and Bruno could go out, like you used to! I bet if you did, your healing powers would start working again!"
Julieta laughed lightly. "Ay... yes, that does sound sensible, doesn't it? Although I have to say, I don't know where I'd even start to explain myself to Bruno."
There was a cough at the doorway. Then, because of circumstances, there were a couple more. Bruno hit himself in the chest until he stopped coughing and said, "Sorry. I've been, uh, overhearing a lotta heavy conversations today, huh?"
There was a long, awkward silence. Then Julieta, to Mirabel's surprise, started laughing. It was gentle, and sad, but she was smiling at Bruno when she said, "Maybe that's a good thing."
Bruno chuckled. "Well, maybe. You know, Julieta..."
"Hm?"
"You haven't changed." He looked at her with that expression they both seemed to have mastered; loving, proud, just a little mirthful. Then his eyes moved over to Mirabel, and he raised his eyebrows. "Hey, kid. It's getting late."
She heard the unspoken words there. Should you be leaving soon? She looked at the clock, stood up, and looked between the two of them with a smile.
"I'll give you two some space, I guess," she said, and let her mom pull her close and kiss her on the head.
Bruno met her eyes as she left the kitchen, and he reached over and touched her arm.
"I'll see you later," she said, and smiled. He waved silently as she left, but he didn't need to say anything for her to know what he was thinking.
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Mirabel's heart was racing. She slipped out into the night, terrified that she was going to be caught.
... Not that she had a curfew. In fact, she was pretty sure she was allowed to go wherever, really, her parents weren't strict at all. But the terrifying possibility of explaining herself made her keep to the shadows anyway.
It was easier to walk than think, so she clutched her bag tightly to her chest and took long strides on her way to the bridge. She was nearly out of breath when she approached and Lorenzo was...
... Alone. As far as she could tell. And waiting where he'd said he would. He raised a hand in greeting as she approached. It was hard to see in the darkness, but it looked like he was smiling.
"Mirabel!" he called. "I'm glad you came. I wasn't sure you would."
"Oh! Um..."
Luckily, he didn't wait for a reply. As she approached he bent down and picked something up at his feet, and held it out to her. She reached out, feeling her stomach twisting nervously, and took it.
... Flowers. Just wildflowers, tied together with string. She looked at his face and saw he was smiling, and felt a hot red blush rising in her cheeks. "Um... thank you."
"No problem, Mirabel Madrigal," he said, and held out his hand for her to take. "You look beautiful tonight."
Oh. Um. That seemed a bit much. It all seemed a bit much, really. But admittedly, Mirabel wasn't exactly used to anybody saying that kind of stuff about her. At least, not without it having a punchline afterwards. The attention was... admittedly nice. And Lorenzo's hand was still waiting in the air.
Mirabel panicked, took off her bag, put the strap in his open palm, and said - in a more high-pitched voice than she'd ever heard herself produce - "O-oh, thanks! So, like, uh, where do you wanna walk?! I-it's gotta be close, I have to be home in an hour!!"
Lorenzo, to his credit, took this in stride. He swung the bag onto his shoulder. "We should walk up near my place," he said, smooth and charming. "There's something on the farm I wanna show you."
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It was sheer, dumb luck. Camilo wasn't convinced whether it was real, or whether twelve hours spent solving history's stupidest crime had simply caused him to go mad. But he was sure he caught it on the wind as he approached the Casa Madrigal, somewhere in the dark space at the back of the house.
Stinkbomb.
"Oh, you are so dead," he muttered to himself. "You are so busted, you bunch of brats."
Shapeshifting into a black hooded outfit and muffled shoes he crept around the side of the house, listening carefully. And then he heard it, the sound of high-pitched voices and the scraping metal of a wire cage, and angry tense whispers exchanged between people who really didn't want to be caught. Sucks to be you tonight, losers, Camilo thought.
He risked a peek around the corner and saw three of Lorenzo's dumb little friends, crowded around a small birdcage that Antonio would have identified as a bad place to keep a rat. Each of them was armed with a stinkbomb, and they were having some kind of argument.
Camilo was forming a quick plan. First, he needed to scare the pants off of them - a reliable trick was to turn into Bruno and tell them they had a week to live, which Camilo had retired since Bruno's return but he was sure his uncle would be happy to lend his visage in this circumstance. Once that was done, he could get their names from Luz and tattle on them till they were destined for kid jail. The only reason he stopped to listen was to check where exactly they were taking the rats - the case wouldn't be solved, after all, until the victims had been saved.
So he waited, hidden, and watched as one of them opened the birdcage... and let a rat go free. It shot out of the cage and into the house, and the boy who'd freed it watched it go and gave a scornful snort.
"Dude," said one of the other boys, who was shorter than the rest, "We weren't meant to let any go."
"So what?" snapped back the one with the cage. He seemed, in the absence of Lorenzo, to be the leader. "We can do what we want. And I'm done catching rats, it's messed up."
The third boy had a voice that was softer than the other two. "I heard Bruno Madrigal keeps them as pets."
The Short Kid scoffed. "No he doesn't. He eats them. Live."
"Yeah right," said the Leader Kid.
"It's true. My brother saw him do it once through a window and he said he just bit its head off. We shoulda kept it."
"No way," said the Leader Kid. "I'm done with this. And these pandebonos stink. I never wanna see one again."
"Ugh, we're gonna be in trouble," said the Short Kid.
The Leader Kid kicked the cage. "Who cares? Lorenzo's crazy. And totally creepy. I'm done with him. This thing with the rats? It's too messed up."
"Lorenzo used to be fun," said the Quiet Kid.
"Yeah, before he went totally nuts! He's a freak, man. And all he does is boss us around! I can't believe he made us steal rats!"
"It was funny when we set one on his mom, though," said the Short Kid.
"Yeah, and he went totally ballistic! He's freaky, I'm telling you. He's like a crazy person. I bet he's gonna kidnap that girl tonight. And make her live in a barn."
"Don't say that," said the Quiet Kid, but the other two ignored him. The Leader Kid began to pack away their stuff.
"And he's always telling us what to do," he continued, "Like, what are we, his servants? Ugh, next time we see him, I'm gonna tell him we're ditching him."
"Bet you're too chicken," said the Short Kid.
"Am not!"
"Are too! You cried when he punched your arm."
"Shut up!"
"Quiet," hissed the Quiet Kid, "We're gonna get caught."
But there was nobody to catch them. They were completely alone. Camilo was already running back around the front of the house, his fists clenched in frustration.
"Diplomacy!" he spat, and threw the front door open.
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He called her beautiful four more times while they were walking. And it wasn't a long walk. Mirabel regretted giving away her bag - she really, really needed something to fidget with right now.
She kept a smile on her face and tried not to feel too awkward. This is nice, right? He's totally genuine. He's probably nervous! You're not that smooth when you're nervous either!
"It's just in here," said Lorenzo, leading her into one of the barns. There was a lantern mounted near the doorway, and he took it and lit it as they entered.
It looked... empty. Just hay and stuff. Lorenzo led her up a set of rickety wooden stairs and up to a bit that overlooked the rest of the barn, and gestured to an upturned wooden crate which was presumably for her to sit on. Confused, Mirabel sat.
"Mirabel," he said, "You know, I've always thought you and me fit together."
"Yeah?" she said.
"We're both outcasts." He put the lantern down next to her. "You know, people who get laughed at. Losers."
This small connection made Mirabel... actually smile a little. He was trying to find common ground. And he'd actually been paying attention to her. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"So I wanted to do something for you," he said, "Something special. Something that proves I love you."
"Love me?!"
She squeaked out the words. She couldn't help herself. His face was intense and completely unashamed, and he looked - he looked - he looked smug. Oh no. That wasn't a good look for him to have.
"I'm not like anybody else," he said, eyes blazing. "I'll never laugh at you. Or blame you. So here's what I'm going to do for you. I'm going to help you get revenge."
"What?!"
He reached into a pile of hay and pulled out an ominous metal cage. Mirabel's jaw dropped.
It was filled with rats.
It looked horrible. There were too many of them in the tiny little cage, and their grey bodies squirmed and ran over each other in a way that made her nauseous. She could only stare, horrified, as he placed it in front of her.
"The Madrigals," he sneered, "They think they're so much better than everybody. They treat regular people like we're garbage. And nobody knows that better than you. Remember your cousin's birthday, when your grandma called you wrong in front of everyone?"
Mirabel finally found her voice.
"You've been taking my uncle's rats?!"
"He's the worst of them," snarled Lorenzo, "You have any idea how many lives he's ruined? He told my mom she'd only ever have one kid! And when you weren't magic enough he disappeared! Doesn't that make you mad?!"
"You... you're... you've got the wrong idea!" she was on her feet, raising her voice like that would make it clearer to him. "It's not like that at all! My Abuela has apologised to me! And my uncle doesn't ruin lives! Don't say that about him!"
A quiver of contempt went through Lorenzo's face. "You're brainwashed."
"Wha- no I'm not! Where did you hear this stuff?!"
"Everybody!" Lorenzo made a sweeping gesture. "Everybody knows! C'mon, Mirabel, I did this for you!"
"Well, I'm flattered, but no thanks! Even if my family was that bad, I wouldn't wanna take it out on innocent animals!" Mirabel snatched her bag up from the crate. "I'm leaving! So let my uncle's rats go!"
Lorenzo scoffed. "I should've known you wouldn't understand. Whatever. You can't leave. I did this for you."
"I don't want this! At all!"
"You owe me," he said. And then, to her horror, he gave her a wide smile. "At least a kiss."
No way. Mirabel was totally done here. She'd light the barn on fire if she had to.
"I said I'm leaving!" she repeated, adjusting her glasses in a way she hoped was authoritative. "Forget about it!"
"I dunno," said Lorenzo, baring his teeth as he smiled. "I mean, I can be real careless. What if I... say... threw this cage into the river?"
"Wh- what?!"
"Cause if this night doesn't end well for me," continued Lorenzo, "It's gonna go way worse for them." He kicked the cage. There was an indignant squeaking. Mirabel felt her stomach turn.
"You wouldn't!"
"What, you're gonna let all those innocent little animals die?" he said. "Just cause you were too mean to give me one kiss?"
"You're crazy!" she wailed. "I'm not going to kiss you, you weirdo!"
Mirabel took a step back. Lorenzo took a step forward. Mirabel tensed up, heart racing, remembering the things she'd had to do to save the miracle and making herself be brave, and -
"LORENZO ZACARIAS RAMOS!"
Her mother's voice bounced off the walls of the barn like a warhorn calling an army to battle.
Julieta raced up the steps with a look that Mirabel had never seen in her face: fury. She snatched up the cage in a lightning-fast gesture that made Lorenzo flinch.
"How dare you treat my daughter that way?!" Julieta was seething. "How dare you treat anyone that way?! And to think, I thought you were a nice young man! Your mother would be disgraced if she could see you right now!"
Lorenzo tried to speak and Julieta silenced him with a glare.
"Well, you'll find out, because you and I are waking to your house right now and you're going to tell her every word you told my daughter! First you're going to apologise to Mirabel, then to your Mamá for disappointing her! Do you understand?!"
Lorenzo's face was turning red, but he stayed defiant and angry. He was shaking with rage as he said, "Or what?!"
Lorenzo raised his hand. Perhaps to gesture, perhaps for something worse. It didn't matter; a long, thin hand grabbed his wrist with an iron grip that made him freeze. Lorenzo turned around to stare at his new assailant.
Bruno's eyes glowed emerald in the darkness like a predator in the treeline. Pale, eyes bloodshot, he loomed out of the shadows like the angel of death. Lorenzo's eyes shot wide open.
Bruno leaned in very close to Lorenzo.
"If you... EVER... come near my niece again," he rasped, "I'm going to foresee your death and I'm going to make... you... WATCH."
Julieta whipped around in horror. "BRUNO!"
Lorenzo screamed, tugged his hand free, leapt down to the barn floor and ran . He ran out of the barn, across the farmyard and out of earshot.
Julieta gave a long, scornful sigh. "Bruno! Wasn't that a bit much?"
Bruno walked over to the crate, sank into a sitting position, and groaned. "Maybe," he said tiredly, "But he didn't run until you screamed at me like I was actually gonna murder him. Nice touch."
Julieta rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Mirabel. "Oh, Mirabel, I'm so sorry this had to happen to you! Are you okay?"
"Yeah," said Mirabel shakily. "How did you -"
"Sheesh, Mirabel!" called Camilo from the bottom of the stairs. Mirabel groaned. "You sure know how to pick 'em, huh?"
"Don't even joke about that." She put her hands on her face.
Camilo crossed his arms. "You know you're way out of his league, right? If you wanted to date, you shoulda asked me. I'd never set you up with someone who was that much of a cockroach." Mirabel rolled her eyes.
"Oh... that boy! And his mother is such a nice woman! I'm going to have a strong word with her tomorrow. He's never going to get away with that again! My daughter!" Julieta shook her head. "And our rats too!"
"Tía Julieta, you can't actually be mad about the rats," said Camilo.
"He knew they were Bruno's. That is represensible." Julieta let out an angry huff.
Bruno addressed Mirabel. "Listen," he said, "I don't actually wanna foresee his death. But if you need cheering up I can - "
"Noooo thank you, Tío Bruno." She sighed. "But... thanks for coming."
"I didn't want to tell anyone," he said quickly, "It was just, Camilo told us who the culprit was and - "
"It's okay. I'm glad you're here. All of you." she reached out a hand for him. "C'mon. We have a lot to do."
"Like what?" said Camilo. "Aren't we done for tonight?"
"Not until we get the rats back home," said Mirabel firmly. "And anyway, I think we should go home and eat. One last time. I've got a feeling this time will be different. Plus," she added, giving her mom a pleading look, "I deserve comfort food. Tonight was a total bust."
"Cheer up, Mirabel!" called Camilo. "At least you solved the case."
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There had been a lot of food. Mirabel's stomach did kinda hurt that night, and she wasn't even sorry.
The rats were all physically fine - although Bruno was certain they were deeply traumatised. He let them loose directly into the kitchen, which Julieta scolded him for, but she clearly wasn't that mad about it - she made him eat a stinkbomb in retribution, and when he did, the colour returned to his face in a sudden burst of good health. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and threw the rest of the stinkbomb directly into the trash. "That," he said cheerfully, "Was the worst thing I've ever done."
Mirabel still felt like kind of a loser. And she was pretty sure news would soon spread about what had happened. But Camilo clapped her on the back and said, "Forget about it! I'll just start a rumour that he forced you into agreeing with a ransom note. Besides, who cares what people think?"
Mirabel said, softly, "I do."
"Pfft," Camilo shrugged, "Well, if it's that important, we could always hang out some time. Bring Dolores and Isabela too. Nobody's uncool when their relatives can get them drinks and take 'em to the city. Sound like a plan?"
Mirabel smiled. "...Yeah. Let's do it."
The next day, Mirabel decided it would probably be worth avoiding town for the next few days, at least until things settled down. She came into the kitchen mid-morning to find Julieta, Bruno, and Augustín there, her mother frying arepas as Augustín and Bruno talked.
"You should've joined us last night!" Augustín nudged his brother-in-law. "It was a close game. I only barely came last!"
"Bruno doesn't play cards, amór, he always ends up seeing the cards before people play them," sighed Julieta.
Augustín leaned into Bruno. "Bruno. Be real with me. If we teamed up... do you think we would cancel out and become a normal player?"
"I think," said Bruno cautiously, "We'd be better off with board games."
Augustín brightened up. "That's a great idea! Board games! Tonight! Hey there, Mirabear!" He noticed Mirabel watching. "You're gonna be free tonight, aren't you?"
"I can make time," said Mirabel, grinning. She watched Bruno reach into his ruana and feed an arepa to one of his rats. It was a very welcome sight.
"And you too," added Augustín, addressing his wife. "You should play with us! And I can make the snacks." He puffed out his chest.
"Honey," said Julieta patiently, "Every time you cook, you burn your hands so badly I have to make you something afterwards."
"Tonight could be different!" Augustín waggled a finger. "It's never too late to change!"
Bruno caught Mirabel's eye across the table. He tilted his head to indicate she should join them. Mirabel went to go sit at the table with them, and the floor tiles jostled underfoot. The house seemed to be in fine spirits today, and Mirabel felt good.
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Language: English
Series: Part 3 of Encanto TV episodes from another timeline
Stats: Published: 2022-03-03 Completed: 2022-03-14 Words: 32,166
With the mountain pass open, the outside world is now open to the Encanto. Isabela is wearing women's pants. The Madrigal uncles are starting a college fund. But when a mysterious scientist arrives in the Encanto, claiming to be in search of a rare bird, Mirabel can't shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen.
"It's not bad," said Augustín.
"It's not good either," said Félix. "We need to make more."
"I don't think we can," said Bruno gloomily, "We don't have the metalworking skills. Or the ore."
Mirabel walked into the kitchen and found the three Madrigal men - Tío Bruno, Tío Félix, and her dad Agustín - sitting around the table looking thoughtful. In the middle of the table and currently the subject of debate was a small pile of money.
"Um," said Mirabel, "What are you doing?"
"Oh, hey there, Mirabella!" her dad gestured her closer. "Come here, come here. See this?"
"Um... yes?"
It was quite a heap of cash, although much of it was dusty, as though it had been dug up from the dirtier corners of the house. On closer examination, it looked like some of the money was sandy. Mirabel frowned in confusion.
Her dad nudged her. "You've gone shopping in the city, haven’t you? Does this look like a lot of pesos to you?"
"Um..."
Truth be told, Mirabel wasn't sure. Mirabel had left Encanto with Camilo just once, and the two of them had come to a sudden realisation: they didn't know anything about money. There was always enough food for everyone in Encanto, and because the Madrigals didn't charge for their help, they tended to get most of their stuff as gifts. People spent money in Encanto, of course, just... not really because they needed to. Besides, nobody in town knew how to make new coins or notes, so everything was at least fifty years old. They'd gotten by with their own little system for fifty years by the time the mountain split open, giving them access once again to the real world and its trade system.
Now, Mirabel had been educated, at least. She knew about poverty and commerce and how money was the backbone of society... outside. Mirabel knew about economics only in theory. In practice, when she'd gotten hungry in the next town over, the prices at the market had been so nonsensical that Camilo had stolen her an orange from the market instead of buying it.
She was saved from having to answer by Abuela, who came into the kitchen with exactly the same question Mirabel had asked. "What are you three doing?"
Mirabel noticed Agustín and Félix avert their eyes. Bruno drummed his fingers on the table. She realised none of them wanted to tell Abuela.
Eventually Félix offered, "We're trying to see how much money is in the house."
"Money?" Abuela raised an eyebrow. "What do you need money for?"
"Well, y'see, now that the mountain pass is open," Agustín said, "The kids have been visiting the next town over, and we thought, you know, they ought to have a little spending money..."
"There are a lot of new books and magazines out there," added Félix, "Lots of things you can't get in Encanto..."
Bruno cleared his throat. His expression was blank and careful, which Mirabel recognised as a sign that Bruno was about to disagree with his mother. She quickly checked her exit routes, but didn’t find one in time.
"The mountain pass means that the kids can leave Encanto, if they want to," said Bruno, "We thought it would be good to have some money put aside, just in case."
Abuela didn't react much. Her face grew a little harder. Mirabel recognised that look: Abuela was going into serious business mode. "Mirabel, could you give us a moment?" she said politely.
"She can stay." Bruno didn't give Mirabel time to react. "It's her future we're talking about."
Mirabel began to feel like she was getting a bit more than she'd bargained for just by walking into the kitchen. She looked at Agustín and Félix and saw them both smiling awkwardly, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
Abuela nodded. "That is... a thoughtful plan, Bruno," she said, "But the children have everything provided for them here. What would drive them to leave?"
"That's up to them," Bruno spread his palms, "They've been in the same village their whole lives. It's the twentieth century. What if they want to see the world? Have a career? Go to university?"
Abuela looked doubtful. "University?"
"Why not? The world is open to them now. What if Camilo wanted to study theatre? Or Antonio the natural sciences? We should be able to support them, if that's what they want." Bruno frowned at his pile of money.
"The world is different now," Agustín said, a little hesitantly. "There are so many more opportunities. For men and women! These days, Mirabel could go to university in Bogotá and become a doctor if she wanted to!"
"Me?" Mirabel gave her dad a don't drag me into this look.
"And if the kids find new goals, then we have to find new ways to support them," said Félix. "It'll be good to have a backup plan."
Abuela didn't like this idea. It was written all over her face. But Abuela was also much softer and mellower than she used to be, and instead of giving a firm statement of denial, she simply shook her head in disbelief.
"Well, if you want money, you won't find much of it here," she said, "We have had no need for it."
"Hmm." Bruno crossed his arms. "Anybody... have any marketable talents?"
"They say there's money to be made in fortune telling," grinned Félix, "At carnivals."
Bruno winced. "Yeesh. And people pay for it? How do they stay in business?"
"Lying, I think," said Félix.
"Yup," said Bruno gloomily, "That sounds about right."
"I could ask Isabela,” suggested Mirabel, “She has friends in the city.” She brightened up. “I could sell my embroideries at the market!”
“You don’t need to do that,” said Agustín, “After all, we could just do the jobs we usually do, but over in Eréndira. I could play the piano over there.”
“Speak for yourselves,” said Bruno, putting up his hands, “I see the future. That’s my thing. Outside of the Encanto, I’m just a guy with no skills.”
“That isn’t true!” Félix laughed his big, booming laugh. “Don’t say that, man! You could get out there and become a millionaire. You’ve never tried!”
“You paint those little rat sets, don’t you?” said Agustín, nudging Bruno with his elbow. “Paint some portraits! Become an artist!”
Mirabel was pretty sure Félix and her dad were winding Bruno up, but it was hard to tell. They both looked pretty earnest. Bruno, who could be extremely socially inept sometimes, was looking thoughtful.
Abuela shook her head in disbelief.
“You three really have no idea how lucky you’ve been,” she said, “You really don’t... Ay. It doesn’t matter. Bruno, are you busy this afternoon?”
Bruno’s face immediately went from ‘uncle discussing the financial implications of the future’ to ‘little boy who doesn’t want to wash the dishes’.
“Why?” he said suspiciously.
“Someone wants to meet with us.” She folded her arms. “Someone who arrived from the city to work here. He sent a messenger to the Casita. I thought it would be rude to keep him waiting.”
That interested Mirabel. The existence of the Encanto wasn't a secret - Abuela had considered asking everyone to stay quiet about it, but it had become rapidly clear that the villagers were extremely eager to visit the outside world. It wasn't often, though, that anybody from the outside visited the village. In fact, in the space of a few months, nobody had - at least not anybody who wasn't visiting a friend or relative.
"And I want you to be there when I meet him. I told him to come around at midday." Abuela ignored the look of reluctance on her son's face. Mirabel would have asked why, but Abuela surprised her again by turning to her and saying, "And you, Mirabel."
"Me?"
"If you want to," added Abuela, scoring another point for gently surprising Mirabel. Abuela often met with the townsfolk to discuss small political matters, but before this point, she had always been alone. Mirabel nodded in response.
Satisfied, Abuela gave the pile of money a last baffled look before walking away.
"The joys of it all, eh?" said Félix. Mirabel looked at him, but Félix was talking to Bruno, who was looking rather victimized.
"Ten years! Hasn't she replaced me with one of you?" said Bruno desperately.
"Sorry, Bruno," said Agustín, patting his shoulder, "You're on your own. We'll always remember you."
"Wait," said Mirabel, "What?"
"You wouldn't have known, of course," said Agustín, "But way back when, Bruno was your Abuela's right hand man."
Bruno cleared his throat. "Way back when," he said, "Abuela would have me sit in on her meetings with the townspeople. She says that when you're a woman telling people things they don't want to hear, it helps to have a man in the room."
"Unfortunately, she's probably right," said Félix, "Some people can be real..." He looked cautiously at his niece, "Donkeys."
"I don't know if that's the only reason," said Agustín, "I think she probably wanted you specifically, Bruno. It's a good look to have a guy who sees the future around, helping you make choices."
“It was your Abuela’s intention, a long time ago, that Bruno would take her place some day,” said Félix. Bruno shot him a look. “A long time ago, I said! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”
“I wish ,” sighed Bruno.
“When we were young men, that was what Bruno did. Sat next to your Abuela, being the golden child,” murmured Félix, “That was who you had to face if you had to talk politics at the Casa Madrigal, Alma and Bruno Madrigal. The deadly duo.”
Bruno said, “Félix - “
“Didn’t help your tío’s reputation, you know, being present for every unpopular decision your grandmother ever made and not saying anything,” continued Félix.
“Félix, could you - “
“Like when she refused to clear the cornfield during the drought and we lost half the harvest. Now, Farmer Rodriguez pinned that one right on Bruno. I remember him saying it, when we were teenagers, and then everybody picked it up, ‘the day you die, you’ll see Bruno Madrigal’-”
Bruno, who had sank so far into his chair that he was no longer visible at the table, reached up a hand and knocked on the table, mumbling. “Mirabel,” he said, sounding impressively confident for a man who was sinking onto the floor, “Why don’t you meet me in the sitting room upstairs? I can talk you through what’s happening.”
“Uh, sure, Tío Bruno.”
Mirabel followed her slithering uncle out of the room. Her dad shot her a double thumbs-up. It didn't encourage her. He always did that when something bad was about to happen.
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The more time Mirabel spent with Bruno, the more she got to see the side of him that wasn’t a trembling, stuttering wreck. It was, nonetheless, very easy to get Bruno nervous; in a moment he turned back into the man she’d found hiding in the walls all those months ago, rambling and fidgeting and avoiding her gaze. He knocked his way up the stairs, held his breath along the landing to the sitting room, and sank into one of the chairs with an unhappy sigh.
"Tío Bruno," said Mirabel, "You know if you don't want to meet with this guy, you don't have to, right?"
"I know, I know," sighed Bruno, "I'm fine, Mirabel, I'm not great with people is all. I'm a little nervous."
No kidding. "Then why are you meeting this person? You know Abuela can't make you, right? I can talk to her - "
"No, Mirabel, I wanna be there today. I'm not doing this for her, don't worry."
Mirabel put her hands on her hips. "What, you're doing it for me? I don't need you for moral support just to meet some guy!"
"Mirabel, you are not just meeting some guy," said Bruno, "Your grandmother asked you to sit in for a reason, and I think I know what it is, and if I'm right, then I'm staying in this room with you."
Mirabel knew that her uncle could be a little self-sacrificing when it came to her. Including, but not limited to, locking himself away for ten years to protect her. She frowned at him. "So... what is the reason?"
"Your... " Bruno began, then paused. He reached into his ruana, threw a handful of salt over his shoulder, and continued. "Your Abuela is a very important woman in this community. We don't have a leader and we don't have any security. We have her. And she's not - kn-knock on wood - gonna be around forever."
Mirabel tilted her head, not understanding for a moment.
"Someday somebody is gonna have to take over from her, and ever since the whole... mountain cracking, house falling, me-on-a-horse thing happened... her opinion on you has changed. She thinks you'd be a good successor for her."
"Would I be wrong?" asked Abuela, walking into the room.
Mirabel was definitely, totally fine and not freaked out by any of this stuff, so it surprised her when she went to speak and her voice came out in a squeak. "Abuela?"
"I don't want to push you into anything you don't want, Mirabel. But it's obvious to me who in this family is best suited to leadership," said Abuela, "And who our community would be willing to accept as a leader."
Mirabel felt herself going red. "M-me? Really?"
"The village likes you, Mirabel. They rallied around you when you brought back Bruno and rebuilt this place. That is important." Then, reminding Mirabel of how much things had changed, she smiled kindly. "And even if you do not take a guiding role in the future, I would value your opinion on matters from here. I have many things to learn from you, cariña. I want you to be a part of these meetings from now on. Do you accept?"
Mirabel gulped. "I... wow. Okay. Yes. Thank you, Abuela."
"Thank you, Mirabel." Abuela's smile was proud and loving and made Mirabel feel like she was a little kid. Her? Abuela's successor? Suited for leadership? Years of longing for Abuela's approval were suddenly ramming headfirst into the present. Abuela didn't seem to notice Mirabel's awe, instead turning to her son and saying, "I wish you wouldn't look so nervous, Brunito."
Bruno sighed unhappily. "I wish I wasn't so nervous, Máma, but we play the cards we're dealt, huh? And sheesh, it's not easy listening to you tell Mirabel this stuff. I remember you saying the same thing to me about thirty years ago and look how that turned out."
"I did badly by you, Bruno, and I'm not proud. But it remains true that I value your opinion on these things." Abuela peered at him. "Do you not think Mirabel should be here?"
Bruno sighed deeply. "Ah. No. No, I think you're completely right about Mirabel. She is the best candidate for leader of the Encanto. I'm here, aren't I?"
"Um," said Mirabel, "I don't really get it. Why are you here?"
"Because I don't want you alone under Abuela's influence," he said bluntly.
Abuela didn't seem offended by this. "I tried pushing Bruno into this role," she said, "And I am not proud of that. But my reasoning was that he is, despite everything, very wise. I trust his opinion here. And I would say that you have a lot to learn from him."
"Despite everything?" said Bruno slowly.
"Many of my greatest failings have been because I did not listen to Bruno's opinion," Abuela continued, which cheered Bruno up considerably. "In these matters and many others." The house bounced a chair politely. "Ah. Our guest is here. One moment, I will bring him upstairs."
Abuela left, and Mirabel took a moment to check if she was dreaming. Bruno looked at her, frowning. "You okay?"
"Yeah," said Mirabel. "Wow. Okay. That's a lot."
"Remember, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," he cautioned, "You can always back out. Now and forever. You always come first."
"I know, Tío Bruno. But..." She gave a small smile. "Do you... really think I'm good enough to take over from Abuela?"
"Mirabel, there is nobody else in the world , let alone this family , who I would trust to do a better job than you." He sighed. "Even if I don't like the idea of planning out your future so soon."
"I dunno, I... Well, I don't want to be in charge or anything, but I like the idea of... helping people? Knowing stuff? I... I think it'd be really cool."
He nodded. "As long as that's how you feel. I'll be here if you ever want to talk about it."
"I-I know. Thank you, Tío Bruno."
"Now then," he sank unhappily into his chair, "Let's meet this guy. If you want my advice, which you shouldn't, I usually just sit here and pretend to be invisible until they go away."
"Should I say anything?"
"If you want to," he said, "Don't worry. If your grandmother doesn't approve, I'll kick her under the table. She brought you in here, she oughta listen to you."
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Mirabel hadn't been sure what to expect from their visitor, but it hadn't been the Professor.
The stranger Abuela brought in was a white man with piercing blue eyes and wire-rimmed glasses. He didn't look much older than Mirabel's father, but his hair had turned completely grey, including the well-trimmed mustache on his face. Mirabel had never seen anybody so foreign before, and she had to try not to stare as Abuela gestured towards the two of them, saying, "My son, Bruno, and my granddaughter Mirabel."
The man shook Bruno's hand in a firm handshake, but when Mirabel stood up and held out a hand he held it to his lips and kissed it. "Señorita," he said, "A pleasure to meet you."
His Spanish was perfect, but it was clipped and overly formal, clearly a second language he had been well-educated in. His clothes were Colombian, as was the sunburnt-looking tan on his skin.
"It's nice to meet you." Mirabel said. Then, hoping she wasn't being rude, she asked, "Um... Are you American?"
"English," he said, flashing her a smile. "But I haven't lived in my native England for some years now. Professor Richard Dunnock, from the National University in Bogotá."
"University?" She remembered the conversation from earlier. "What do you study?"
"I'm an ornithologist," he said. Then, seeing her blank expression, he added, "A biologist specializing in the study of birds. Tell me, how old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen. Very good." He smiled to himself, as though this meant something to him. Mirabel found herself shrinking away.
Abuela gestured for him to sit. He adjusted his spectacles as she turned towards Mirabel. (Bruno, with remarkable skill, had faded into the background to the point of invisibility.)
"So," said Abuela, "Professor. What brings you to our community?"
"As I was telling your granddaughter," said Professor Dunnock, "I'm an ornithologist. I've come here in pursuit of a very rare species of bird. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Andean Bird-of-Paradise?"
Abuela shook her head. The professor reached into his satchel and brought out a battered old notebook, which he opened onto a page with a watercolor painting. Mirabel leaned forward to look.
It depicted a bird with shining blue and orange plumage, its wings outstretched as though to take off. Its tail feathers were long and fluffy, almost the same length of its body, and they trailed behind the bird like a large, swooping cape. Mirabel had never seen a bird like it before.
"I'm not familiar with it," said Abuela, "But I know very little about birds. You believe this animal lives somewhere in the region?"
"I am almost positive," said the professor, his eyes glimmering brightly. "This bird is well-documented in oral tradition and local legend, but its existence has yet to be scientifically confirmed. The people in the neighboring city of Eréndira tell me they've seen it flying up these mountains."
"I see," said Abuela. "So you seek to capture it."
"If possible. Documenting a specimen in the wild would also be a worthwhile scientific endeavor. And of course, this region is rather under-studied; I would also be undertaking a brief ecological study of the area. If I find nothing, then I would seek your permission to stay here a month," he said, "Perhaps to return again later, should I find something of value. I might also ask you for a local guide - paid, of course."
Mirabel had forgotten Bruno was there for a moment, but Abuela's eyes very briefly made contact with his.
"I see no issue with either of those," said Abuela evenly, "Do you have somewhere to stay?"
"The local greengrocer has stated she is happy for me to rent one of her rooms for as long as I need."
"Good," said Abuela, "One of my granddaughters often helps the woodcutters in the forest, and is familiar with the area. She would be happy to assist you, I'm sure."
That was Luisa. It was a wise choice by Abuela, Mirabel thought; Luisa wouldn't tire from any amount of walking, and being nearly physically invincible, Luisa was never in any danger in the otherwise quite dangerous forest. Plus, if she got lost, she could simply jump her way back to Encanto. Although if Luisa didn't agree, they'd probably have to get Camilo - or worse, she thought, Mirabel herself.
Professor Dunnock nodded. "It would be my pleasure."
"In that case," said Abuela, "I will have my granddaughter make some coffee, and we can talk about the specific details..."
"There's one more thing."
Abuela paused. The Englishman leaned forward eagerly. There was something intense in his eyes, Mirabel thought, something not unlike hunger.
"Señora Madrigal," he said, "You are the woman who led your people here, are you not?"
Abuela stiffened.
"That is correct."
"Then it's you," he said, eyes shining, "Whose family possesses magical gifts. Is that not true?"
Everyone in the room froze. Dunnock didn't seem bothered. He had a wide smile across his face, like a boy at the window of a sweetshop.
"The daughter who controls the weather," he continued, "And another who heals. And the son," he turned to look directly at Bruno, who shrank back into his chair, "Who sees into the future."
"People talk," said Abuela stiffly.
"I beg your pardon, madam," said Professor Dunnock, "But I have been staying here for two days now, and I have seen things that I know to be impossible, if not for the fact they happen in front of my eyes. The people call it your miracle."
Abuela was still, her face stern and reserved. Mirabel was glad nobody was looking at her. She was sure there was a look of fear crystallized on her face.
"What of it?" asked Abuela.
"Nothing, Señora," said Professor Dunnock, "Only that it fascinates me. I am a man of science, and I find myself facing a question with no scientific answer... No answer yet, I would be inclined to say. Tell me... has anyone ever studied this phenomenon? Scientifically?"
This phenomenon. Mirabel recognised what those words really meant, and she didn't like it: has anyone ever studied your family?
Abuela didn't flinch. She barely reacted. "My people seem to have told you plenty. Tell me, did they tell you how we came to be in possession of our miracle?"
"Not in detail."
"My husband died before my eyes," she said plainly, "I watched him fall into the river you crossed to come here. We were given this home, and my family given gifts, in exchange for his sacrifice. I give thanks every day for what we have received. I do not find it fitting to question it."
Abuela gave the Englishman a piercing look.
"For you to try and study our miracle would be a dishonor to my husband's memory," she said sharply. "Is that clear?"
Dunnock nodded. The smile never left his face.
"Of course," he said. "I am a scientist, but I am not a blasphemer. If this place is an act of God, far be it from me to question it. I will leave the matter alone."
"Good." Abuela nodded her head at Mirabel. "Mirabel. Coffee?"
Mirabel had no desire to take her eyes off of Professor Dunnock. She had a terrible feeling about what he might do if nobody was watching him. But she was unable to disobey her grandmother, not in front of a stranger, and she respectfully stood up to leave without saying a word.
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Even with Casita helping, making coffee took way too long.
"He's so weird," she muttered to the kitchen. "He's like a hungry animal. Brr. Why is he here? What does he really want?"
The house shrugged the kitchen counter at her.
"Is it safe for Luisa to be alone with him? No, that's stupid, of course it is," she said, pacing, as Casita tilted the coffee pot and filled a tray of cups. "But what if he has some kind of science thing that lets him overpower her...? No, he's a bird scientist, that doesn't make any sense..."
The tray on the kitchen counter bounced at her, and Mirabel caught it with a sigh.
"Fine, fine! I'm going! I just have a bad feeling, that's all."
Mirabel carried the tray upstairs and heard the murmuring of deep voices inside the sitting room. She tried to peek, and the door cracked open for her very slightly, letting her see in without betraying her.
Abuela was gone - fetching Luisa, probably. Dunnock was facing directly towards Bruno, his predatory smile beaming at her uncle, who was sitting as far away from Dunnock as his chair would allow with wild frantic eyes.
"...wisdom, certainly," Dunnock was saying, "But you must, pardon the expression, be a forward-thinking man, Mister Madrigal."
He said the phrase Mister Madrigal in English, and Mirabel couldn't tell if he was mocking her uncle or trying to pal up to him. Bruno certainly didn't look appreciative.
"Sure," said Bruno slowly. Mirabel could see his hands twisting up nervously in his lap.
"Think what a man with your talents could achieve in a field like mine," continued the professor, "The people here seem to view you as a curiosity. Have you ever seen yourself as someone with knowledge that could change the world?"
"That's, uh, well, actually," Bruno gulped, "Well, the powers don't actually work outside of the Encanto, so it's not like I could leave..."
"Nor would you have to," said Dunnock, "Imagine what you could do simply by keeping a regular correspondence with the National University."
"That's... hah... Well, you heard what my mother told you, so..."
"Indeed. Nor would I wish to sully the memory of your father. But you are your own man, surely, Mister Madrigal? Don't let me pressure you, by any means," said Dunnock, "But let me give you my card, at least. You will have my address, should you ever want to contact me... about anything."
Bruno's eyes flicked towards the door and saw her there, eavesdropping. They flicked back without reacting, not giving her away. Mirabel considered that her cue to push the door open loudly.
"Ah, Señorita Mirabel," Professor Dunnock smiled at her. (He smiled a lot, Mirabel noted. She didn't like it.) "Thank you. You’re fifteen years old... So you must be the youngest granddaughter, the one without powers.” And then, before she could get offended, he added, “Tell me, señorita, do you go to school?"
"Um... yes. Kind of." She had been to school, but these days Abuela made her and Camilo take lessons from El Padre, who made them learn Latin and Mathematics and English. Lessons which, Mirabel noted, she usually neglected to work much on.
"Do you study the sciences at all?"
"Not... really? A little?"
"Would you like to? I could tutor you, you know. I have books, too, though primarily written in English. Do you speak English?"
Mirabel was saved from the rest of this conversation by Abuela entering the room, with Luisa in tow. "Thank you, Mirabel," said Abuela, "Professor Dunnock, my granddaughter Luisa."
"Charmed." The professor didn't seem surprised or intimidated by Luisa's size. He did add, "I assure you, you'll be quite safe under my supervision, and I have no intention of making you strain yourself," which made Luisa briefly look at Mirabel and make a what the heck? face. He doesn't know, Mirabel realised. He doesn't know what her gift is.
Abuela and Dunnock began talking again, but Mirabel could barely follow the conversation. She looked at her uncle and saw that he was drumming his fingers on the armrest, face dark. He met her gaze, and the two of them frowned at each other, identical expressions of worry on their faces.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I dunno, He seemed normal to me," said Luisa. "In, like... a weird way."
It had been about an hour after the professor had left, and Mirabel was wound up about it.
"I'm telling you, it's like he was offering to buy Tío Bruno!" Mirabel paced up and down Luisa's room. Luisa was idly lifting weights, watching her sister with a curious expression. "And the way he asked about the gifts? It was... predatory!"
"Well... as far as he knows, magic isn't possible," said Luisa, "I'd be pretty curious, too."
"He didn't look curious, I'm telling you! He looked... hungry!"
"I believe you, sis," said Luisa gravely, "But even if he is being weird and greedy about it, there's nothing he can do about it. Abuela won't let him."
"What if he tries..." Mirabel wracked her brains. "... Something?"
"I'll stop him," said Luisa earnestly, "Promise. I won't let him do anything weird, okay?"
Mirabel sat down on one of Luisa's stone benches. "Augh... Okay. I can't believe Abuela just sold you out like that," she added bitterly.
"I dunno," admitted Luisa, "It actually sounds kind of relaxing. Like... just a bunch of hiking in the forest."
Mirabel frowned. "...Okay, fair enough."
"Hey, listen," said Luisa, "If you're really worried about it, why don't you ask Tío Bruno? He could probably look into it for you."
"He's not gonna know any more than I do. He can barely make conversation with someone he doesn't know."
"No, I mean... look into it for you." Luisa raised her eyebrows. "You know."
Ah. Mirabel hadn't asked Bruno for a vision since the very first one with the house collapsing. And he certainly hadn't been happy about that one at the time. But maybe he'd be happier about it now? He knew she wouldn't blame him, after all. And he was fond enough of the house-cracking vision that he kept it framed in his wall, whatever that meant.
Luisa must have seen what she was thinking from her face, because she said, "I don't think he'd mind, if it'd help you worry less."
"Well..."
"You should go ask him," said Luisa, "It can't hurt."
Luisa had gotten a lot better at de-stressing and talking about her feelings in the last few months. She and Mirabel had gotten a lot closer, and they'd talked about a lot of things that they never would have before. Subsequently, though, Luisa was a lot better at seeing through Mirabel than she used to be, and a lot more insistent that Mirabel take care of herself, too. Mirabel couldn't help feeling a twinge of nervousness and she headed to the Rat Den behind the walls, where Bruno...
... Wasn't.
"Huh," said Mirabel.
It took several minutes of searching for Mirabel to remember that, unlike her, Bruno actually had a magical room in the house. Bruno's portrait watched her, a little ominously, as she pushed the door open.
Bruno's tower was very different these days. The stairs were shorter, for a start. But the main difference was the plants. Isabela had rapidly used up every pot in the house with her botany, and the garden was Julieta's domain. Bruno, whose room contained only sand, unflattering statues of himself, and a hammock Mirabel had never seen, had offered for Isabela to use the large bottom floor as a gardening space. Now the space was littered with cacti and desert plants, and Isabela had even persuaded a small tree to take root. Bruno's sign, which had once read Your Future Awaits, was now obscured behind a layer of pots and trailing vines.
Mirabel never saw Bruno in here, let alone having visions, so it was to her great surprise that she jumped through the sand-fall and in the center of the room a small tornado of glowing green sand.
Mirabel stood and stared. The swirling winds grew in intensity before suddenly vanishing, leaving curtains of sand abruptly falling to the ground. Left behind was Bruno, shutting his eyes, and Camilo, spluttering and coughing and saying, "Dang it, dang it, I forgot we were done with the liquid trials!"
Mirabel stood and stared some more. Bruno knelt down and picked up a green vision plate. Unlike the two Mirabel had seen before, this one was small, the size of the palm of her hand.
"It's a chicken carcass," said Bruno. He looked up at Camilo. "That's fun, right?"
"What? No. There are no fun carcasses, Bruno. Nobody wants a picture of a chicken carcass."
Bruno sighed and tossed the vision away. "I guess not."
Mirabel found her voice. "What are you guys doing?"
Both of them turned around. Bruno's expression lit up with the same expression he got while describing a particularly convoluted rat telenovela. Camilo... also looked the way he did when Bruno was describing a convoluted telenovela.
"Mirabel!" said Bruno. "C'mere, c'mere. Look at this."
Mirabel walked over. A small pile of glowing green plates, varying in shade and opacity, lay on a sheet on the sandy ground. Bruno held up a coin-sized vision depicting a broken plate.
"Would you buy this?" he said.
"What? No, I don't wanna buy one of your visions, why?"
"I mean would you buy this at a market? You know, as... decorative art."
“Wh,” Mirabel tried to pick just one of the questions in her mind, “Why’s it so small?”
“Because it’s not that important. What? They’re not the same size every time, you know. I’m not a printer.” He stubbed his toes into the sand. “Theoretically, I’m an artist.”
Mirabel stared at the vision. Then, lost for words, she looked at Camilo.
"It's like watching a very slow, self-aware housefire," said Camilo.
Bruno threw the vision aside and groaned. "There's gotta be some way of getting appealing pictures on these things. C'mon! I did a great one of Isabela and Mirabel once! You could even see them smiling! And I smashed it. Honestly!"
"We tried looking into that," added Camilo, "You and Isabela's relationship in the next week. And look what we got."
He held up a picture of Isabela in the middle of screaming, face frozen in horror.
"Tío Bruno," said Mirabel slowly, "What... what... what? I mean, what? What?"
Bruno flopped down in the sand. Camilo joined him, and Mirabel, trying not to get too much sand on her skirt, sat down too.
"It's the money," explained Bruno. "I don't know how to make or do anything you can sell... Except having visions. So I figured, what if I just had a bunch of totally unimportant visions? Then I'd have a bunch of pretty glass plates, and that'd be worth something, right?"
Mirabel glanced over at the pile of glass plates. One depicted a skull. Another depicted a very detailed spider.
"Problem is..." Bruno groaned.
"Every vision he had is horrible," said Camilo cheerfully. "Seriously, we've tried everything. What's for dinner tonight, what flowers are blooming, the next time someone in the house is gonna laugh... They're all terrible. It's like the worst possible image from any scenario on every plate."
Bruno lay down. "It's not my fault Agustín is gonna help cook tonight."
"I'm telling you, dude, we should try sugar."
"No. The flour visions did not work," said Bruno, now face down in the sand. "Even you couldn't finish the vision cracker."
"The only ingredients were flour and magic. I told you we should've added salt first. It still has potential."
"Tío Bruno..." Mirabel looked concernedly at him, although given that her gaze was directed at the back of his head, it probably didn't mean much to him. "Why is it so important that you start selling visions?"
Bruno flopped out of the sand. With alarming dexterity for a fifty-year-old man, he twisted himself around so he was now propped up on his elbows.
"You heard what I said earlier today about you guys," he said, "Look, Mirabel, I'm your uncle. I don't have any kids of my own. It's only right that I leave something behind for you guys when I'm dead."
The idea of Bruno being dead someday upset Mirabel immensely, and before she could smother the look of sadness in her face, Bruno's eyes widened.
"No, no, I'm sorry! That was dark. I just want to be able to contribute something to your future, that's all. You know the future is important to me. I'm all about the future. Your future..."
He gestured to the sign, which when you counted the ivy covering it simply read, '-its'.
"...That's... that's really sweet, Tío Bruno," said Mirabel, "But aren't you pushing it a little hard?"
"Oh come on, Mirabel," said Camilo, "He doesn't have anything else to do. He's unemployed."
"I'm self-employed," said Bruno primly.
"Doing what? Feeding rats? Stealing?"
"Speaking of visions," said Mirabel, sensing a good time to change the subject, "There was... something I wanted to ask you about."
Bruno twisted himself into a sitting position. He gave her a curious look.
She began, "Professor Dunnock - "
"No," he said sharply.
"But I haven't even asked - "
"No!" he repeated. "I wasn't born yesterday, Mirabel, I know what you want! I'm not going to look into the future and see what the professor's deal is."
Camilo looked between Bruno and Mirabel curiously.
“Okay,” said Mirabel meekly. “If you don’t want to. Sorry.”
“No, I don’t.” Bruno crossed his arms. Then, realizing that Mirabel wasn’t actually pushing the matter, a look of guilt flashed across his face. “No, it’s okay, just - look, Mirabel, I don’t do visions to pull up dirt for people, alright? It’s one of the things I don’t do.”
“Tío Bruno,” said Camilo, “You don’t do visions for other people... ever.”
“I still do visions! I just have a no-go list.” Bruno began to count off on his fingers. “I don’t do visions about future wrongdoings, children who haven’t been born yet, animals, the weather, love, any women, wealth, the future of technology or the elderly.”
“You know Bruno doesn’t do visions that aren’t scary, Mirabel, don’t be ridiculous,” said Camilo, holding up a vision plate depicting an eyeball.
“That one wasn’t my fault. I don’t pick the image. Look, the point is,” Bruno put out his palms, “If I showed you a vision, and we saw the Professor doing something wrong, well - what would we do? Punish him? What if he hasn’t started doing it yet? What if he hasn’t even thought of it yet? Is it fair to arrest somebody for a crime they don’t even know about yet?”
“Well, no, but -”
“Call me a hypocrite here, Mirabel, but I don’t believe in people being responsible for bad things before they’ve done them. As far as I’m concerned, the guy becomes a villain when, and I mean when, he does something wrong. Not before.”
“You’re a hypocrite,” said Camilo cheerfully. Bruno looked at him. “Well, you said to call you a hypocrite. But seriously, if you don’t want Mirabel to go blaming this guy for something he hasn’t done yet, why don’t you just... talk to her about the vision after? With your mouth? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s connected to your brain, right?”
Bruno shot him a sour look, which Camilo was completely immune to.
“You’re the one assuming Mirabel will be irresponsible with the info you give her. Maybe you can change the future,” Camilo transformed into Bruno, twisting his uncle’s features into a ominous grin, and wiggled his fingers. “By using the power of your mind to help her interpret what you see.”
Camilo had a point, and Bruno clearly didn’t like it. Camilo turned back into himself and raised an eyebrow. Bruno looked at Mirabel, frowning.
“Of course I don’t want you to have a vision if you’re not comfortable with it,” said Mirabel, “I’m just... worried, that’s all. Luisa’s going to be alone with this guy for, like... days.”
Bruno breathed in deeply, lay back down on his back, and blew a long puff of air. He stared unhappily at the top of his cave for a moment.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine, fine, fine! Alright. Come on. Before I change my mind.”
He sat back up and held out both hands. Mirabel shuffled closer, taking one of them, and she held out her other hand for Camilo to take. Camilo looked at the two of them.
“I don’t see why we have to hold hands.”
“Health and safety,” said Bruno sharply, “I’m either seeing the future or I’m seeing my surroundings. I’m not explaining to either of your mothers why I accidentally slapped you in the face while having a vision, so hold my hand.”
Camilo sighed and took his hand.
With all three of them forming a chain, Bruno inhaled and closed his eyes. His mouth folded nervously, and Mirabel squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Uno, dos, tres, four, five, six... Let’s do it. What is Richard Dunnock doing here?”
When he opened his eyes again, they were ringed with a bright neon green, and Mirabel felt the stomach-churning sensation of magic filling the air as the sand around them began to move. Mirabel felt her palms sweating, and resisted the urge to take them away and wipe them.
The sand formed a swirling green dome around them, the light of the... sun?... blocked out by the howling winds. She watched Bruno’s glowing eyes move around, as though searching for something, then find it; as they did, she saw an image begin to form in the sand.
“What is that?” said Camilo.
“It’s...” Bruno’s eyebrows furrowed. “Outside. A pond. Somewhere.”
The shape began to take. The image appeared of a lake, framed by drooping trees and wilting plants. Then the details began to fill in, like a painting taking form; thick soupy water, a coating of fallen leaves, buzzing insects...
“Fish,” murmured Mirabel. “They’re...floating?”
“Dead,” muttered Bruno. His eyes flicked around, and in the spaces around the lake were images of a riverbed, gravel, pondweed, and floating lifelessly in the water were the bodies of fish, rotting and nauseating. Then the trees, the wilting flowers, the leaves; Bruno sounded like he was in a trance as he murmured, “Dead, dead, dead. They’re all dead.”
“Diablos,” whispered Camilo, looking nervous. “What the heck is this?”
“Dunnock, Dunnock...” Bruno was turning his head as though looking around. “Where are you? Why are you here?”
Mirabel spotted him walking towards the pond, the ethereal shape of Professor Dunnock. They watched him unhook a large machete from his hip, and for a moment dread filled Mirabel’s chest, but he only used to cut away a swathe of dead vegetation and approach the lake; they watched from behind as he walked through the dead grass, his back facing them, and he fell to his knees in front of the water.
The professor reached into the water and scooped up a handful. The water came out thick and slimy, and it coated his palms as it ran through his fingers.
Then, to Mirabel’s alarm, the professor suddenly turned his face and looked behind him, as though something were sneaking up on him, and she couldn’t shake the feeling he was looking directly into her eyes. The professor’s eyes narrowed at whatever he saw, and then he turned the rest of his body around, his face contorting in fury, and he opened his mouth to shout, and Mirabel watched him move towards her and -
Bruno gasped. The image vanished. Mirabel barely had time to squeeze her eyes shut as a thick layer of sand showered them from above, making a rattling sound as it bounced off the glass that Bruno had created.
Lying in the sand in front of them was the image of the dead lake, the figure of the Englishman kneeling ominously in front of it, watching the bodies of fish floating to the surface, water falling through his hand.
Camilo shook the sand out of his hair. His face was pale, and he was clearly a little shaken by what they’d seen; nonetheless, he reached over and picked up the vision, brushing the surface clear and examining it as Mirabel and Bruno both sat there in shocked silence.
“Well,” said Camilo, “At least it’s got scenery. I’ll put it in the maybe pile.”
Neither of them laughed at the joke, but it was enough to snap Mirabel out of her stupor. “What the heck was that?!” she cried.
Bruno sighed. “Something he’s going to do while he’s here. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Is he... is he... going to cause that?!”
“I don’t know,” said Bruno grimly.
“Can’t we stop it?! That lake is somewhere here!”
“No, we can’t,” Bruno brushed down the front of his ruana, “No point trying that. It’ll happen.”
“But...”
Mirabel sank to her hands and knees, staring into the vision as though it would tell her something.
“Can’t you look again?” she said desperately.
Bruno massaged his temples. “No.”
Mirabel hesitated. “A-Are you okay?”
“No.” He sighed. “I mean... No, no, sorry, I’m fine. This is why I don’t do these, Mirabel, they just raise more questions than they answer.”
“That’s not true! I mean...” she stared into the vision, trying to figure out something, anything, that it could mean. “I mean, we know he brought a weapon...”
“This is a jungle, that’s a machete, and he’s a natural scientist,” said Camilo dryly, “It’s not exactly a revelation.”
“And he saw something... or someone... that made him angry?” Mirabel thought of his face, twisted up with anger, and shuddered. “Do you... know what it was?”
“No,” sighed Bruno. “I saw the same thing you did.”
Mirabel picked up the vision and frowned at it. She didn’t recognise the lake at all. The mountains around the Encanto were large and covered in forest that wasn’t safe to travel, in many places; there were plenty of places it could have been, and no way she could see of ruling any out. She tried desperately to think.
“So he’s going to be traveling the forest,” she murmured, “And he’s going to find a lake. He didn’t have his bag, so it’s probably a lake he’s been to before... So he’ll probably find it once, then something will happen, or he’ll do something to it, and then he’ll come back... And Luisa isn’t there, unless that’s her he was looking at... That might be likely...”
“Mirabel,” said Bruno, “You can’t figure it out.”
“I know you didn’t see it either, tío, I’m just trying to think.”
“No,” he said patiently, “You’re looking at it the wrong way.” She looked down at the vision in confusion. “I meant metaphorically, Mirabel, it’s the right way up in your hands. You can’t figure out what’s going to happen because it’s not certain.”
She looked down at the image. “But...”
“Hold on,” said Camilo, “Your visions always come true. You telling us the future still isn’t certain?”
“Yes. Well, no. Okay, sort of,” Bruno sighed, “It’s... okay. Look at the future like this.”
He drew a line in the sand of front of him. Then he drew two more lines, extending towards the first from a single point.
“A pair of pants,” said Camilo.
“No,” said Bruno. “Look at the future like a destination. This vision,” he jabbed a finger at the bottom of his drawing, “It’s static. It doesn’t change. It’s always in the same place, surrounded by the same things, it doesn’t move, it can’t. And this,” he pointed to the top, “Is the present. It’s predetermined. But here,” he waved his hands over the rest of drawing, “This part, it’s not certain at all. This is the path we take from the present to the future.”
“Also the future,” said Camilo.
“You’re not helping,” said Bruno impatiently. “Look, the point is, I can keep looking and looking and tell you as many things about this - ” He pointed at the future. “ - as I can. But no matter what I do, I can’t tell you how you’ll get there. I don’t know how or why that vision will come true because that isn’t certain yet. Maybe the professor will cause this on purpose, maybe by accident, maybe it’ll happen naturally and he’ll stumble across it - we can’t know any of those things. We can prevent some of them, but if we do, all we do is cause another to come true.”
“So...” Mirabel deflated. “This vision doesn’t help us at all?”
She regretted saying this almost instantly. She knew Bruno had a thing about it, and she knew he hadn’t wanted to give her this vision, and she hated saying the exact words that had haunted Bruno from basically every person in his life.
It was Camilo who responded. “Maybe it doesn’t help you two, but it’s not the vision’s fault that you guys have no imagination.”
Both of them turned to stare at him. He stood up, hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow.
“You say the path’s not certain, sure,” said Camilo, “And that anything can happen in the blank space between Bruno’s future-vision and Bruno’s now-vision. So. That thing that the old man is staring at in fury? We get to decide what it is. Am I interpreting that right?”
Mirabel said, “I don’t think - ” and Bruno said, “Not exactly - ” and Camilo ignored both of them.
“Like I said, no imagination!” he said loudly. “Now that you have this vision, you can figure out where it is and how it happened. And once you know that, you can figure out how to to stop it from happening again. Bruno’s visions buy you time. They annoy people because they show them problems they haven’t solved yet. For all we know, the thing that our guy is looking at in that vision is a solution to the problem that you made. You’re going to have to deal with this at some point, so why not get a head start?”
Mirabel stared back down at the vision. It was... a good point. An impressively good point, actually. And, better yet, it seemed to have encouraged Bruno, too.
“So all we have to do is figure out where to start,” she murmured. She smiled. “You’re right, Camilo. We did get a head start. Thanks.”
“Wrong,” said Camilo cheerfully, “ You got a head start. This isn’t my problem.”
“What? You’re not helping?!”
Camilo shrugged. “Why do I care if some fish die and a white guy sees it?”
Mirabel had no retort to that. Camilo gave her an infuriating grin and began to pack up Bruno’s visions.
“Okay, okay...” Mirabel folded her arms. “Well... he said people in Eréndira had seen his bird. That means he was there talking to people before he was here. Maybe they know something about him. And Isabela has friends in Eréndira, so she can probably introduce me to them... Okay! I can do that!” She got to her feet. “Thanks, Tío Bruno!”
“Mirabel, wait!” Bruno said. He scrambled to his feet, dislodging several small showers of sand from his clothes and hair as he did. “Just a sec.”
“What?”
“Just - ” he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Look, try not to jump to any conclusions, okay? You know better than anybody that visions can make things look much worse than they actually are.”
“What do you - oh.” There was, of course, a vision mounted on Bruno’s wall of her destroying the house. A vision that marked both of their lives for over a decade. Yes, things could look pretty bad based on those visions. “I know, Tío Bruno. I’ll try to not to.”
“And be careful,” he added, “Don’t go arresting anybody or, or going to any dead lakes or walking into the forest alone - ”
“I won’t.”
“And for heaven’s sake tell your mother if you’re gonna go investigate - ”
“Okay.”
“You know, Mirabel, are you sure you shouldn’t just leave this to your sister?”
“Tío Bruno.”
“Alright, alright.” he sighed. “Okay, get outta here. And if you find out something about the professor from Isabela, tell me. Don’t run away and do something heroic on your own. I know it’s a habit. And someday it’s gonna get you into trouble.”
“I won’t, Tío Bruno.”
This was, of course, a lie. But Mirabel didn’t know that yet. And anyway, it wouldn’t happen for a while.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They'd all changed a lot in the last few months, but Isabela was practically a whole new person. Especially if you weren't Mirabel. Mirabel was used to the snappier, more irritable side of her sister; she'd been subject to plenty of snapping from it. To everybody else, though, it was like the calm and graceful Isabela had vanished overnight. The new Isabela was sarcastic, adventurous, rebellious. She cultivated plants both magical and mundane and stained all her clothes with pollen and nectar. But the biggest change had been Eréndira.
Everybody found something life-changing in the city of Eréndira. Camilo now collected and played vinyl records on a gramophone he valued with his life; Dolores and Mariano left every Saturday and danced, and Dolores would come back giddy and talking more than Mirabel had ever seen, in awe at how many people existed outside of the little world on Encanto. Even Mirabel had a small battery radio that she and her father would listen to sometimes, her dad explaining the various things Mirabel didn't understand; place names, foreign cities, politicians.
But Isabela had thrown herself into modern living. Isabela was reading books about politics and foreign poetry and society. Mirabel hadn't seen Isabela wear a dress for weeks; she was assembling a wardrobe of slacks and capris and even a bodysuit. Abuela heavily disapproved of Isabela wearing pants and Isabela, who had been sweet and obedient to Abuela all their lives, didn't seem to care. "Why shouldn't women wear trousers?" she'd say. "Why didn't we think of this?" Isabela now had opinions on things Mirabel had barely heard of, like the war (what war?) and gay rights and Buddhism. Compared to her, Mirabel felt like she was still living fifty years in the past.
But at her core, Isabela was the same sister Mirabel had always known; snappy and smart and a little bit prissy, more thorn than rose. She was just, more often than not, on Mirabel's side these days. She arched an eyebrow when Mirabel explained about the professor and the vision and how Dunnock had previously worked in Eréndira.
"Paranoid, much?" she asked.
"Isa, c'mon. That vision meant something. And I don't know where to start asking around."
"I'm just saying, if Bruno told you not to get in over your head, you should probably listen," said Isabela, folding her arms. "It sounds to me like you're paranoid about some scientist from the outside because he's a scientist and he's from the outside. You shouldn't be scared of either of those things."
"It's not that simple, I swear! Look, are you gonna help me or not?"
"Fine," Isabela sighed. "Get Antonio for me."
"Antonio?"
Isabela refused to explain any more, so Mirabel went off and found her primito sitting in his dad's lap, being entertained by Félix and Agustín.
"Just relaxing, huh?" said Mirabel.
"Should we not be?" said Félix.
"Bruno says he's going to try selling glass plates to send us to college."
The two men exchanged looks.
"Well, he's got more ideas than I do," said Félix.
Mirabel took Antonio back to Isabela’s room, where Antonio stuck out his tongue and made a grossed-out noise.
“Your gross boyfriend,” said Antonio.
Isabela rolled her eyes. “Not my boyfriend. Gross, maybe. You love Bubo. You spent hours playing pretend with him."
Mirabel turned to stare at Isabela. “You’ve taken your friends here?”
“It’s a secret, shh.” Isabela began to scribble on a scrap of paper. “Are you ready to go right now?"
“Oh! Yeah, sure. Um, what are you - ”
Isabela handed over the paper. “Thanks, Toñito.”
Antonio put his fingers to his lips and whistled a loud, piercing whistle that called several toucans to the room. He reached out for one, tied the paper to one of their legs, and whispered briefly to it before they flew off.
“What are you doing?” said Mirabel.
“So he knows to meet us,” said Isabela, “Otherwise it’ll take hours to walk to the city.”
She led Mirabel out of her room and to the landing, where she leaned over and shouted, “Mamá! Mirabel and I won’t be here for dinner!”
“Okay, honey,” said the distant voice of Julieta, “Give Simón my regards.”
“Wait,” said Mirabel, “We’re going now? It’s hours away - ”
“Can we do question time after we get there? Anyway, I’ve been doing this for weeks. You should’ve noticed.”
That was fair. Mirabel still stuck out her tongue at Isabela’s back. There was only so much a house falling down and a few heart-to-hearts could do to change a sisterly relationship forged over many years of fighting.
Isabela took Mirabel downstairs and stood just outside the front door, turning to Antonio, who was following the two of them with an eager look on his face. “I wanna go,” he said.
“No, Antonio, not until your mom says yes,” said Isabela. Antonio pouted. Mirabel could never say no to Antonio’s pleading eyes, but Isabela must have been made of stronger stuff, because she made a dismissive gesture and Antonio slunk away. Then Isabela stretched her hands above her head, bent and stretched both trousered legs, and took a deep breath.
“Um, what are we - woah!”
The ground under Mirabel’s feet suddenly shifted. Isabela put a hand around Mirabel’s waist, holding her tightly, and pulled Mirabel with her as she took a step not onto the ground but onto a branch that was suddenly rising from the ground and forming a platform that was rapidly raising into the air.
“Wait, wait, wait, what?!”
“C’mon,” said Isabela, as plants and branches rose from the ground in front of them and began to sweep them forward. Isabela walked as freely and easily as though she were strolling around town, but Mirabel’s eyes were fixed on the ground, which was rapidly getting further away as trees and shrubs began to raise the two of them higher up, growing and bending and fading away with alarming speed and power.
“How long have you been able to do this?!” Mirabel screamed. Isabela was practically flying. Isabela had a wide grin at her sister’s awe; the two of them flew into the treeline and suddenly a dozen vines and leaves were reaching down from overhead to carry them, Isabela with her eyes blazing passionately and her smile fixed onto her face. Isabela was barely moving now, the plants doing all the work; they were growing and stretching faster than Mirabel had ever seen them, passing and tossing the two Madrigal sisters like they were blowing in the wind, the jungle turning into a rushing windy blur.
“This is amazing!” Mirabel had to yell; there was no way she could get her voice any lower. Isabela laughed delightedly, raising her hands as the vines brought them rapidly towards the split in the mountain. “When Bruno said your power would grow, I didn’t think you’d turn into a superhero!”
“Wanna see me fight crime?” grinned Isabela. Mirabel yelled as the plants suddenly tossed her into the air, leaving her behind; while she was still flying through the air, a vine from behind caught her and swung her around, dropping her onto a rising fig tree, which snaked and curved until she fell back onto Isabela’s platform, both of them screaming with laughter and exhilaration, as Isabela called, “What do you think?! I’m saving it for if somebody every attacks us!”
“Attacks us?! You’re practically an army!”
No matter how sour Isabela got, she turned into a playful kid again the moment her gift got involved. Isabela was clearly thrilled to have an audience, and Mirabel didn’t doubt that Isabela was taking a more circuitous route than she had to just to maximize the amount of magical phenomena she could try on Mirabel. Even then, it didn’t feel like long at all until they’d passed through the mountain road and were reaching the river that formed the outer boundary to Encanto.
Isabela lowered the two of them to the ground sooner than Mirabel was expecting. The two of them were panting, and while they caught their breaths at the side of the road, she asked, “Why’d we stop?”
“The boundary,” said Isabela. “This is about as far as I can go before my gift stops working.”
Mirabel turned to stare at her.
“Mirabel,” sighed Isabela, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know our gifts don’t work outside of the Encanto.”
“They don’t?!”
“If they did, I think we’d probably get into trouble with nosy scientists a lot faster.” Isabela shrugged. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to walk that long. Only till the road.”
The two of them began to walk. Mirabel stared in awe as Isabela’s plants began to wither and fade at a rapid pace, leaving behind no trace that they’d ever been there. It reminded her of the dead lake in Bruno’s vision, which made her remember why they were here.
They walked for about five minutes before they reached what seemed like a completely arbitrary point of the path and Isabela stopped. She inhaled sharply, putting her hand to her chest. Mirabel stopped in concern. “It’s fine,” said Isabela, “This is the border. It just feels a little weird to cross.”
Mirabel felt a small pang of jealousy that she’d walked right over this border and felt absolutely nothing. Her body, evidently, didn’t have any magic to lose. She said, “Couldn’t you have taken the plants up to here?”
Isabela gave her a sharp look. “Do you want to get catapulted to the ground when the plants suddenly vanish and you’re ten meters in the air?”
“Fair point.”
Isabela made her stop and stand by the edge of the river and be silent for one minute, in Abuelo’s memory.
“It’s been one minute,” said Mirabel.
“No it hasn’t.”
"Has too."
“Shut up for ten seconds.”
They crossed the river, Mirabel taking off her shoes and lifting her skirt, Isabela walking right through and getting her trouser legs soaked without a care in the world.
“Not long now,” said Isabela. “Bubo meets me a few minutes out from here.”
“Who is Bubo?”
“One of my friends. You’ll see him in a second. Well, you’ll hear him before you see him.”
Ominous, thought Mirabel.
They hadn’t been walking very long when they heard the sound. They both paused, Mirabel tilting her head and trying to make out the exact details.
“What is that?” she said.
“Guess,” said Isabela, grinning.
“It sounds...” It happened again. “It sounds like La Cucaracha being played by a dying elephant.”
Mirabel was quite pleased with herself when that made Isabela laugh.
La Cucaracha was followed by a trundling, puffing, mechanical sound, and eventually, Mirabel saw the car.
It was an open-topped motor-car, the type Mirabel had only seen on TV, which puffed and trundled along the road like it was fighting for its life. Its engine spluttered and coughed, and several of the bits of metal that made it up had clearly come from different places to each other. Mirabel didn’t have to be an expert to know that this car sucked. She liked it as soon as she saw it.
Driving the car was a small young man who looked anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. He was shorter than Mirabel, and had a lopsided pair of thick-rimmed glasses at the end of his large nose. His hair, greasy with spray, was slicked into a pompadour that wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in a historical court painting. He looked, in all honesty, a little ridiculous, and it didn't help that sitting in the back seat were two pretty-looking women the same age as Isabela. Nonetheless, he pulled his screeching car over and opened the door, beaming, without a trace of humility.
"Isa!" he cried. (Since when did Isabela let her friends call her that?) "And your little sister! Hello, hello, hello. Charmed."
It made him sound a little like professor Dunnock, but this guy couldn't have been less intimidating, and Mirabel found herself grinning back at him. "Hi."
"Mirabel, this is Bubo Marquez," said Isabela, gesturing.
"My reputation precedes me," said Bubo, waggling his eyebrows. Then he slapped the hood of his battered old car. "So! Whaddya think of the Cachila? When Isabela saw it, she called it all kinds of things."
Mirabel laughed. "It's the most amazing car I've ever seen!"
"Good answer! I like this sister! She's called the Cachila because when I found her, she was a total wreck. No way she would ever function. Now look at her!"
"You make it sound like you helped fix her," said one of the girls in the back. She was dressed in a collared jacket and had curly hair very much like Mirabel's, but hers was tucked into a straw brimmed hat affixed with a brightly coloured flower. "Hana fixed it. All you do is drive it."
"Not true! I installed the horn."
"Oh, yeah. How could I forget whose idea it was to install La Cucaracha?" The girl gave Mirabel a smile. "Hi, Mirabel. I'm Beatriz. If you don't mind me asking, which superpower do you have?"
"Umm," said Mirabel, glancing at Isabela, "None of them."
"Probably for the best. It's hard enough having one magic friend." Beatriz laughed. "You're like me, then. Bubo has the personality, Hana has the brains, Isa has the looks, and I've got the dad who lets us hang out at his house and that's kind of it."
"Don't say that, Beatriz, we love you!" cried Bubo. Then he pursed his lips and made sloppy kissing sounds. They laughed.
"She's lying," Isabela told Mirabel, "Beatriz is amazing with gardening. Most of what I know, I learned from her." She saw Mirabel's confusion and added, "About normal gardening, Mirabel."
"So, um," Mirabel turned to the third friend, "You just be Hana?"
Hana was a slight-figured woman with a leather jacket and gloves. Her dark hair was tied up with an oil-stained cloth, and when she removed her sunglasses, Mirabel saw that she must not have had any Colombian heritage; she had sharp dark eyes and features that Mirabel barely recognised as being East Asian. Hana responded by raising her glasses in salute and grinning wryly.
"Full name Hana Hikami. Her dad used to work the farms. She doesn't say much, but she's a real genius," said Bubo, "She turned this car from a hunk of junk into the divine chariot you see before you."
"Yes, in other words, a hunk of junk with an engine in it," said Beatriz. "There's only so much she could do for the Cachila. Someday, I'm pretty sure it's going to explode and kill us all. Hopefully not while you're visiting," she added to Mirabel.
Mirabel was honestly agog. She had no idea Isabela had friends like these - in fact she'd barely known anything about what Isabela did in Eréndira. They weren't anything like Isabela’s old friends in Encanto, who she'd fallen out with a while ago; those friends had been sharply dressed girls who giggled and gossiped in only the ways that were socially acceptable. Isabela's new friends were weird, and Mirabel liked them a lot.
"Okay, ladies, we're not here to look pretty," announced Bubo, "We're here to look pretty and party, so let's get moving! Mirabel, you take the front seat, it's your first time. You're gonna love it."
Bubo opened the car door for her and bowed theatrically. Mirabel sat down in the cracked and battered leather, feeling the car juddering underneath her. Isabela hopped in behind her, then reached over Mirabel's shoulder to fasten some kind of strap around her. "Seatbelt," explained Isabela. "Make sure you keep it on."
"Um, okay." Mirabel turned to Bubo, who was hopping in next to her (without fastening his own seatbelt, she noted). "So, um, did Isabela tell you why I'm here? Because - "
Bubo raised a hand. "Sorry, Mirababe, but while we're driving the Cachila does all the talking."
"Wha-"
"The engine is too loud to talk over," said Beatriz, "Bubo, don't call Isa's sister Mirababe, that's the worst thing I've ever heard."
"Alright, buckle up!" said Bubo, notably still unbuckled. "Next stop, Chez Cantor!"
"My house," translated Beatriz. "It's nothing special."
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That had been a lie. The Cantor house was the first non-Encanto house Mirabel had been inside, and it had fascinated her.
Well, not that Mirabel was thinking straight. She’d been to Eréndira once before, a trip which had mainly consisted of her and Camilo wandering around and staring, both of them refusing to admit to each other they were too shy to talk to anybody. This journey had been nothing like that. For a start, Mirabel was nauseous. The journey had been bumpy and simultaneously faster and slower than she’d thought; she’d expected to be too windswept to look at anything, but there was plenty of time to just stare out at the world while the engine roared and spluttered.
Eventually the Cachila coughed its way to a halt in front of a small battered shopfront. “An apothecary,” explained Isabela, “Where they sell medicines made from herbs.”
“I know what an apothecary is!”
“How am I supposed to know what you do and don’t know? You barely pay attention at lessons, do you?”
A small bell jingled as they opened the door and walked into the apothecary, which was a small cramped space that was humid and had a strong medicinal smell. At the counter was a man who was clearly Beatriz’ father; he had the same-shaped face and the same dark brown curls framing his face. He looked up, then his face crinkled into a smile.
“Ah, the three Cachilas,” he said, “And your friend from the mountains. And who’s this?”
“I prefer The Cachila Three, Señor Cantor,” said Bubo.
“You don’t get to choose your nickname, you know. The people in town call you that. The Three Cachilas, causing trouble again.” Beatriz’ father chuckled.
Mirabel gave a small wave. “I’m Mirabel. I’m Isabela’s sister.”
“Welcome to Eréndira, Mirabel. Please, call me Simón.” Simón Cantor reached a hand over the counter and Mirabel shook it. Simón was probably older than her own dad, but he was clearly stronger and in better shape; he was the shape of a man who had spent his whole life working hard. His hands were calloused and rough.
The Cachila Three - or the Three Cachilas, if you preferred - were heading behind the counter and through a back door like it was no big deal, so Mirabel followed, giving Simón an awkward wave as she did; clearly this happened all the time.
Behind the shop was a cramped kitchen and sitting room, crowded end to end with potted plants. It looked a lot like Isabela’s garden, although much more aromatic; Mirabel recognised a handful of her mother’s herbs, but most of the plants were completely alien to her. She looked around in awe as Beatriz explained, “We don’t have much space, so this is where we have to grow most of the stock. I grow the plants and my dad makes the medicine.”
“You grew all these? That’s amazing!”
“Not to mention most of these are non-native,” said Isabela, admiring a pot of bright white flowers that smelled like freshly cut lemons. “They need special care so they don’t die over in our climate. It takes a lot of talent.” Mirabel saw Beatriz flush with pride next to her.
“Psh, never mind the plants,” said Bubo. “Come check out the library!”
Beatriz rolled her eyes. Hana nudged Mirabel’s arm and pointed towards another door off to the side, slightly ajar; Mirabel let Hana guide her into the small doorway and into a tiny, closet-sized study, dominated by a tiny desk and an overflowing bookcase.
“It’s Simón’s, but he lets me use it,” boasted Bubo. “Most of it’s politics, but there’s fiction. Now that’s where it’s happening. Isabela tells me you don’t have any high fantasy over in the Encanto and I’m telling you, you’re missing out...”
Mirabel was examining the rest of the shelves in fascination. The titles were mostly in Spanish, with a scattering of English and German; they were all battered and well-worn, mostly dense-looking books on broad political issues she’d never heard of. Plenty of books about Colombian history, too, a subject which Mirabel had shamefully little familiarity. She recognised Bolívar’s name, of course, and distantly recognised Sun Tzu’s, but she had never heard of Arango or Nietzsche or Engels or any of the others that emblazoned the cracked spines of Simón’s books.
“Ignore them, Mirabel, my dad’s books are mostly weird,” said Beatriz from the kitchen, “You want something to eat?”
“Um, no, I’m okay...”
“Don’t talk to Bubo about fantasy novels, Mirabel, come back here,” said Isabela, “Otherwise you won’t get anything done. Worse, you might agree with him.”
Feeling a little dazed, Mirabel let Hana pull her back out and sat down next to her on a battered wicker sofa against the wall. They had to move plants from the top of it first - Mirabel hoped Beatriz wouldn’t mind. Mirabel saw Hana examining her face, a small quizzical grin on her lips.
“Oh, I think it’s really cool in here,” Mirabel clarified, “It’s just... different. Wow.” Hana shrugged and raised her hands like what can you do? Isabela came to sit on the armrest while Bubo hovered in the doorway of the study - it was clear that this house hadn’t been designed to hold this many people at the same time.
“Anyway, Mirabel, obviously you’re welcome to come hang out whenever you want,” said Beatriz, “But it sounded like you came for a reason, right?”
Mirabel had almost forgotten why she’d gotten Isabela to take her here in the first place, and she had to stop and think for a moment. Isabela rolled her eyes.
“A guy arrived in the Encanto,” she said, “An English scientist named Richard Dunnock. Do you know who he is?”
The three Cachilas exchanged looks.
“The gringo?” said Bubo. “Yeah. He’s in the Encanto? I thought he was going back to Bogotá.”
“You do know him?”
“He was here for a few months,” said Beatriz, “He employed my dad a couple of times. He’s some kind of biologist, I think. Why?”
“What was he doing?” Mirabel leaned forward. “Did he... do anything suspicious?”
Bubo and Hana were exchanging looks that clearly said is this girl crazy? Beatriz, though, tilted her head in concern.
“Not that I know,” said Beatriz, “He had my dad take him to some of the spots out in the forest. He was compiling a list of all the plants and animals in the area, something like that. Papá didn’t like him all that much, but... Well, I don’t know if he did anything wrong, as such.”
That wasn’t very useful to Mirabel, and she felt herself deflating, having come all this way for nothing. Beatriz crossed her arms, deep in thought.
“He spent a lot of time at our lake,” she added, “Papá took him out there at least three times.”
Mirabel perked up at the word lake, and before she realised it she was standing up. “How big a lake?”
Beatriz opened her mouth to respond, but Mirabel, wracking her brains to remember the vision, cut her off.
“A small one? More like a pond? Surrounded by bushes?”
“Um, well... Yes, I suppose so,” Beatriz frowned, “You won’t have been there before, it’s on the other side of town. It’s not actually our lake, it’s just... well, my mom used to visit it a lot before she died, and it’s not easy to get to, so...”
“Can you take me there?!”
Beatriz, a little alarmed, turned to look at Bubo. Bubo, in turn, looked at Isabela.
“Isa, is your sister okay?” he asked in a stage whisper.
“Yeah, she just gets like this sometimes,” said Isabela, making Mirabel burn with embarrassment. Hana raised a reproachful finger at the two of them.
“It’s too far to walk,” said Beatriz. “But if it’s important, Mirabel, I’m sure we could take you there and back before it gets too late.”
“There is no landscape too rough for the Cachila! With the work Hana has done on those tires, that baby can drive up walls. If you need to get there, I can get you there, fast as you can say cock-of-the-rock, no problem.” Bubo snapped his fingers.
Mirabel’s stomach churned at the idea of any more time in the shuddering front seat of the Cachila, but she had to know. She had to know. “I’d really appreciate it. I need to... well... It’s complicated...”
Hana raised her arms in a shrug and slung her jacket back around her shoulders, making to leave. Beatriz nodded in agreement. Bubo patted Mirabel on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Meeb, anything for the little sister of our Isabela. You must have a hard life, being her little sister, huh?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” said Mirabel.
“‘Meeb’ is the worst nickname I’ve ever heard,” said Isabela, “The worst nickname I have ever heard.”
Simón laughed when he saw them re-emerging so soon. “You guys are busy. Beatriz, you coming home for dinner?”
“I’ll try, Papá, I might be late.”
“Mirabel, Isabela, you should eat with us,” Simón said, “I know it takes a long time to get back to your village, even with that old junker of Bubo’s.”
“Thank you,” Mirabel said, suddenly feeling a little shy. She realised, with a jolt, that she’d met more strangers in the last few hours than she had in about ten years. She remembered her mother’s words - give my regards to Simón - and wondered if they knew each other. Even her mom had friends out here - how much had Mirabel missed, spending all her time in the Encanto when there was practically a whole foreign city out here?
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Not even the bouncing of the Cachila as it drove down the battered rural paths could keep Mirabel’s mind off the vision. A ball of dread was growing in her stomach, making her fingers twitch.
The countryside was nothing like that of the Encanto. The Encanto was lush, with only tiny bits of farmland carved into the seemingly endless forest; the landscape on the other side of Eréndira was pockmarked with roads and fences, grasses and plantations. Eventually Bubo pulled over next to a small dirt path, leading into a clump of trees and underbrush that looked more familiar to Mirabel.
Isabela slowed down and allowed the two of them to fall behind a little, leaning closer to Mirabel.
“Mira,” she muttered, “What are you going to do if the lake isn’t the one you saw?”
“I don’t know,” sighed Mirabel, “I’m gonna figure it out when I get there.”
Isabela pressed. “What are you going to do if it is?”
“Something, I guess. Look, it’s a process.”
“What’s a process? Rushing into things and getting yourself into trouble?”
Mirabel snorted. “You sound like Tío Bruno.”
“Tío Bruno can see the future. And he doesn’t need to see the future,” she added, “To have better foresight than you.”
“What is your problem?”
“Actually, Mirabel, I’m saying this because I’m worried about you. If you’re wrong about the professor trying to do something to us, then you’re being paranoid to the point of being totally loco,” Isabela waved away Mirabel’s protests, “And if you’re right, then you’re getting into something way too heavy for you to handle alone.”
“I’m not trying to handle anything on my own! And I’m not totally incapable, either! Abuela told me she wants me to learn how to take her place someday, you know.”
The look of shock on Isabela’s face told Mirabel that this was, in fact, news. “She told you what?”
“I mean, not that like she thinks I’m better than any of you or anything, just that, like - ”
“You know that means you’d have to stay in the Encanto for the rest of your life, right? And you agreed?”
“I didn’t agree to anything! It was just, like... an idea she had this morning, I don’t know!”
“A couple of months ago I watched you yell at Abuela about everything she’d done wrong,” Isabela pinched her brow, “And now you’re totally okay with letting her decide what to do with your entire future?”
“Wha - it’s not like that! You really do sound like Tío Bruno.”
“Tío Bruno, who can see the future, tells you something is a bad idea and you just totally throw yourself into it?”
Mirabel’s retort was at the tip of her tongue when the two of them were interrupted by a scream.
Beatriz had dropped to her knees. The scream had clearly come from her; her hands were pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide. Bubo and Hana, on either side of her, were too shocked to respond. Mirabel and Isabela ran forward, argument forgotten.
The second thing Mirabel noticed was that this was the wrong lake. It was the wrong shape, surrounded by the wrong things; it had a small island in the middle and bits of litter that Mirabel would’ve noticed. Wherever the lake in the vision was, it wasn’t here.
The first thing Mirabel noticed was the slime.
It lay under the surface of the water in spiky swirling shapes, like smoke from a fire had been frozen in time; it choked every plant, coated the shores in a thick slimy layer. It was a sickly purple color, the same shade as a bruise, and the air smelled of compost and rot. The reeds were drooped and wilted, their stems stained; bobbing at the surface of the water were the bodies of fish, rotting and dry, their mouths frozen open like they were choking. Even Mirabel knew that the plants surrounding the lake were dying from the way their leaves were turning brown and dry, and if she hadn’t, she would’ve known from the way Isabela’s eyes widened, filled with horror and then rage.
Bruno’s words came back to her: Dead, dead, dead. They’re all dead.
“What happened?” gasped Beatriz. She turned to Mirabel, and the pleading, desperate look in her eyes made Mirabel feel inexplicably like she’d done something terrible. “What... what happened to my Mamá’s lake, Mirabel?”
Mirabel’s mouth was dry. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s got to be something we can do,” said Isabela, her voice fiery and hard. “Clean the water, replant the trees. How long has it been like this?”
Bubo took off his glasses and polished them thoughtfully. “Less than a couple months. We... we were here in Summer and it was... Well, it wasn’t...” He shook his head.
“Did the professor have something to do with this?!” Isabela’s voice was rising. Her hesitation seemed to have vanished the moment she saw the lake.
“Isa,” said Bubo quietly, “The professor is probably the only person who could explain this. Nobody else in Eréndira knows anything about science.”
Hana, for the first time, spoke. Her voice was soft, and it clearly took a lot of effort for her to force the words past her lips, choked back by a severe stutter. “S-Simón.”
Beatriz looked up at her and gulped. “You’re right,” she said softly, “My dad will probably recognise this. Or my mom’s books will mention it.”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Mirabel, feeling like she was intruding on a moment she didn’t belong in. “I... I promise.”
Beatriz turned to look at Mirabel, and it filled her with guilt when she gave a weak smile and said, “Thank you.”
Beatriz let Hana help her to her feet, and watched numbly as Hana picked through her pockets and emptied out a small flask; Hana removed her leather gloves and carefully scooped the flask through the lakewater, filling it with the strange purple substance.
Mirabel, torn between respectful silence and a burning need to know, leaned into Isabela.
“Isabela,” she whispered, “The purple stuff. Is it a plant? Like a pondweed...?”
“I don’t know,” murmured Isabela, “I can’t tell out here.” She hissed in frustration. “I’m useless.”
Mirabel watched glumly as her three new acquaintances prepared to leave again. I understand that feeling, she thought. This is going to happen again, and it’s something to do with Professor Dunnock being in the Encanto, and I have no idea what.
“I need to figure this out,” she muttered to herself, and didn’t realize she was talking out loud until she felt Isabela’s hand squeeze her shoulder.
“We need to figure this out,” said Isabela through gritted teeth, and Mirabel had never been so glad for her sister’s ferocity.
They turned their backs to the lake, but Mirabel was sure the smell followed them all the way back to the Cachila; rotting, cloying, sickly-sweet.
They didn't eat dinner with Beatriz, in the end. In fact they didn't eat dinner at all. They headed straight back for the Encanto. Mirabel bemoaned this fact as they walked through the mountain pass; Isabela grew a tree with a mango, which was nice, and said, "Now quit whining," which was less nice.
Isabela was in a tense mood. Mirabel could understand that. Seeing the dying lake, and hearing her new friend nearly moved to tears over it, had left Mirabel feeling more convinced than ever that she needed to do something. But what? The next step seemed to be talking to Dunnock himself, demanding an explanation. Bruno's words came back to haunt her - did Dunnock even know what was happening yet? What if talking to him was the thing that caused him the problem in the first place? Sometimes, Mirabel thought bitterly, it was easy to see how Bruno had become as paranoid as he was.
When they finally got home, most of the family had gone to bed. Abuela was waiting in the kitchen for them, drinking tea, and to Mirabel's surprise so was Tía Pepa.
"You are not in trouble, of course," said Abuela. (Mirabel saw Isabela sag with relief.) "But Bruno told me you were investigating something important, and if that is true, I would like to know what you learned."
Mirabel looked at Pepa curiously. Pepa just shrugged. "I'm not really that interested. I just like to stay awake."
Mirabel sat down with Abuela, and Isabela did too, but to Mirabel's surprise Isabela waited for her to do the talking. Had Isabela changed her mind about Mirabel practicing to take Abuela's place? Mirabel certainly felt a little like she was being tested, sitting in front of her grandmother and recounting what she'd been doing to protect the community.
Mirabel explained everything: the bad gut feeling, the vision, the dead lake. Abuela nodded gravely, saying nothing, allowing Mirabel to finish her story and fumble with her words, saying, "And now I don't really know, um, what to do."
Abuela nodded. Mirabel wasn't used to being listened to so intently by her grandmother, not without being cut off or corrected. It made her feel strange, the new respect with which Abuela treated her.
"Mirabel," said Abuela, "Cariño, if you had suspicions about this man, why didn't you tell me?"
Mirabel's face turned red. "I - well, I wasn't sure, and - you already let him in and I, um..."
"I asked you to attend the meeting because I want you to help me, mi amor. You did not need to take responsibility entirely. I will speak with the man tomorrow." Abuela reached over and patted Mirabel's hand.
That was good - great, in fact - and Mirabel had no idea why she was shocked and unhappy.
"But," she began, and Abuela raised her hand in a gesture that quickly silenced her. Abuela might have been softer and kinder than before, but she was still Alma Madrigal, and her opinion was always final.
"You've done well, Mirabel. And you, Isabela, looking out for your sister. I am going to go to bed," Abuela stood, "And you should do the same."
Mirabel bid her grandmother goodnight, feeling weird and hollow. Isabela waited for Abuela to leave before she said, "Tía Pepa?"
Pepa had been standing off to the side with a glass of wine, head tilted.
"It wasn't a plant, was it?" asked Isabela. Pepa shook her head.
"I don't think so," she said, "Especially not if it was soft."
Mirabel was surprised. Her own mother, Julieta, complimented her healing powers with a strong knowledge of medicine and biology, with a bookish interest in medical science. Pepa, on the other hand, had never seemed interested in the science of weather. She seemed to have an innate understanding of wind and rain already. She'd try to explain it to Mirabel, talking about 'hard air' and 'rain circles' and 'pressure gates', only to impatiently give up when Mirabel didn't get it fast enough.
But there was one area where Pepa had had to learn, and that was water. Pepa controlled when the rivers flooded and the lakes dried. She knew about things like underground water and the way rivers joined up. Of course her tía would know something about this.
"It sounds like an algae," said Pepa.
"What's an algae?" asked Mirabel. Isabela shot her a you're an idiot look, but Pepa didn't notice.
"It's like, oh, how do I describe it... a growth of little beings in the water. When there are lots of them, they make a slime. Usually they just sit around being harmless," Pepa shrugged, "But if something happens, like if you fill the water with their food, they can grow very quickly and choke the other things in there with them."
Mirabel's eyes widened. "Like the fish."
"Yes, exactly. But I don't know how the plants around would die," added Pepa, "Algaes don't attack, they choke. Anything that doesn't need to breathe water should be okay. It could be something else."
"They grow when the water gets filled with food," pressed Mirabel, "What do they eat?"
Pepa shrugged. "Chemicals? Dirt? I don't know. They are very small, you've got to understand, too small to see on their own. I've only seen it happen when things spill into the rivers. Fertiliser, that can do it. But the rivers turn green or white, not purple. You would probably have to check a book if you wanted to know the different colours."
"We don't have any books like that," said Mirabel.
Isabela nudged Mirabel. "We don't, but Simón probably does."
Of course! He was an apothecary. He probably knew all kinds of things about nature. "You're right! We could ask."
"I'll write to Beatriz. Tell her to expect us tomorrow."
Mirabel nodded, and was surprised when Pepa said, "Ay, hold on. One more thing."
They looked at her.
"If you're going to go looking around tomorrow," she said, "Take Bruno with you. He's convinced, as usual," she rolled her eyes, "That something bad is going to happen to you."
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"Am I wrong?" was Bruno's defense of this position. "Last time you were doing something important and I decided not to get involved, you made a rope swing at the top of my tower. Then went in my vision cave while it was collapsing . And what did you learn?"
Mirabel muttered, "Where to find you."
"And now I'm here, so show me the lake."
It turned out that going to Eréndira the normal way took way, way longer than the Isabela-Bubo route. Isabela had found it fitting not to submit their middle-aged uncle to the Cachila, nor to fling him around the jungle like a ragdoll, so they were on horseback. Mirabel couldn't ride a horse, which left her sitting behind Bruno, because no matter how bad her uncle was at horse-riding, no way was she spending several hours making sustained physical contact with Isabela.
As they rode down the mountain pass, Bruno yelped and suddenly yanked the reins, bringing the horse to a startled halt. Mirabel felt him convulse and tightened her grip, suddenly afraid he was about to fall off. "Tío Bruno! What's wrong?!"
Bruno was gasping and looking around wildly, then down at himself. Isabela brought her horse to a stop next to them. "It's the barrier, Tío. You just passed through it, that's all. Sorry, I should have warned you."
"Right, right." Bruno gulped. "Sorry, sorry, overreaction. Just the magic leaving my body while I ride out of the Encanto, first time in fifty years, no big deal. No big deal. Uh-huh." Mirabel wondered how it was that Bruno told himself he was a supervising adult.
Isabela led them around the outskirts of Eréndira, mostly around farmland, and Mirabel still had to hug Bruno tightly around the waist out of fear he was going to turn his horse right around and ride home. His gaze was wild and meandering, and he wasn't really guiding his horse so much as it was puzzledly following Isabela’s of its own accord. They dismounted at the forest path, at Isabela’s insistence. "What if the horses try drinking the water?" she said, although Mirabel suspected it was more that Isabela just wanted to delay their arrival as much as she could.
The lake was easier to look at, the second time around. Mirabel had steeled herself. Even then, the breeze disturbed small clumps of purple - algae? - floating on the surface into strange greasy ripples. She felt like it hadn't changed much, which made her feel pretty dumb when Isabela exclaimed, "How could the plants have been affected so much?! It's been less than twenty-four hours!"
Bruno, for his part, stood at the shore of the lake with his face blank and said nothing for a long moment.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he cracked one eye open and looked puzzled. Mirabel looked at him in confusion.
"It won't work," said Isabela.
"Oh. Right. Of course." Bruno cleared his throat. "Duh."
"It feels weird, I know."
"No kidding."
Magic. Mirabel felt a small pang of jealousy that her sister could relate to Bruno on this matter and Mirabel, who considered herself to have a special relationship with her uncle, could not.
Bruno instead dropped to his haunches and peered into the water, frowning. Both sisters made exclamations of disgust as he suddenly stuck his hand directly into the slimy purple water. He brought it back out again, examined it, and frowned. Mirabel, suddenly struck by paranoia, said, "Please don't taste it-"
"I wasn't going to!" There was, however, a hint of guilt in his reaction. "Well, there's only so much I can tell you here."
He stood up and wiped his slime-coated hand absently on his ruana, which was admittedly difficult to watch.
"Definitely a different lake," he said, "Definitely the same stuff, and at about..." he looked around. "...The same stage of growth as the one in the vision."
"You can tell?" said Mirabel.
"Pretty sure. I don't know anything about 'algae', but I know a lot about what I saw." Mirabel was confused. "It's a vision thing. The place I saw was near home. This is going to happen somewhere in the Encanto, I'm sure of it."
"How?!" Bruno jumped as Isabela rounded in on him. "Where?!"
"I don't know! I'm sorry! It was somewhere I've never been!"
"Pepa said this happens if you add something to the water. What was added here? What's going to happen there? Can't you look and see?!"
"Um, no, that's not really possible, no. Why, why, why don't you two go talk to your alchemist friend about it?" Bruno was moving so that Mirabel was positioned between himself and Isabela. Some help protecting me you are! she thought.
"You need to come with us," snapped Isabela, "Anything we learn is information you'll need for your visions."
"Isa, Bruno doesn't have to have any more visions if he doesn't want to -"
"Look at this!" Isabela waved a hand. "And this is going to happen in our home?! Of course he wants to help!"
Mirabel turned around and saw that Bruno was rapidly backing towards the trees. He did not look especially helpful.
"Anyway, there's no point talking about that when neither of you have your gifts. He's right, we should go and talk to Simón." Mirabel pulled her sister's arm.
"And if he says something important," said Bruno from within a bush, "You can just let me know after, cause I have to go, uh..."
There was a small pause as Bruno realised he was trapped in Eréndira while his nieces were still there.
"...Wait in town all by yourself?" suggested Mirabel.
"Caramba." He sounded miserable. "Okay, fine. Introduce me to Simón. And please don't tell him I'm psychic. It doesn't go over well with strangers."
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The apothecary was empty of customers as they walked in; Simón was at a workbench at the back of the shop, and seemed to be in the middle of using some sort of chemical apparatus when they entered. He turned around and nodded when he saw them. "Beatriz has been waiting for you."
Sure enough, Beatriz appeared in the door behind him, and he sent her to close up the shop as he ushered them into their pokey little kitchen.
"This is your father?" said Simón.
"Oh, no. This is our uncle. He..." Mirabel paused. What did Bruno do, besides see the future and worry excessively? "He makes glass plates."
Bruno's eyes shot to Mirabel's with a frantic look of confusion as she said this, but it didn't seem to bother Simón. "Good to meet you. I'm Simón Cantor."
Bruno's nervousness was hardly concealed as he shook Simón's hand. "Uh - Bruno Madrigal."
"If you don't mind my asking," said Simón, "Was Pedro Madrigal your father?"
"Y-yes?"
"I see." Simón gave a sad smile. "Our fathers were friends, I'm told."
"Wh- really?"
"The night the Madrigals led their escape, Story goes that Pedro knocked on that door and urged my father to bring us and leave with him." Simón shook his head. "But he refused. He was a stubborn old goat, I remember. Under different circumstances, I suppose you and I would have grown up together."
"I-I suppose so," stuttered Bruno, "Your dad, is he... around...?"
Simón laughed bitterly. "Killed the same night yours was, I'm afraid, along with most of my family."
"I-I'm sorry to hear that."
Simón shrugged. "Don't be. You and I are just two of the people from Eréndira who lost parents that night. But..." He gave another sad smile. "Let us focus on the present for now. You're not just here on a casual daytrip, I take it."
Beatriz came back in, holding a glass beaker of familiar-looking purple liquid. She placed it on the table gingerly, as though afraid it might try bursting out. Simón picked it up and thoughtfully held it to the light, illuminating the particles in the water.
“Beatriz, the ecological key.” Beatriz passed him a large, battered hardback. "I ran a few tests on this sample last night. I think I've identified your purple slime."
He flipped through the book until he reached a well-annotated point in the middle.
"Noctiluca scariia," he read, "A phytoplankton native to certain arid regions of the Tibetan plateau. Characterized by powerful toxicification events and a distinctive form of dormancy that results in sudden blooms of distinctive purple algae in the presence of high levels of phosphorus."
He shut the book with a snap.
"Nasty stuff, Scariia. Lies dormant for years, then multiplies in huge numbers when conditions are right. Changes the composition of the water so it becomes highly toxic. Capable of ruining entire ecosystems. The only good thing about it is that it's incredibly rare." He gestured to the beaker of stained purple water. "Not naturally found, or adapted to, Colombia."
"So it..." Mirabel frowned. "Isn't meant to grow here?"
"Exactly. In order for it to occur here, its dormant cysts would need to be introduced to the water. Then you'd need to feed in a large amount of phosphorus to trigger a bloom. In other words, basically impossible for it to happen here unless it was introduced on purpose."
"But once you introduce it..." murmured Isabela.
"Then you could poison a lot of water really fast," said Beatriz, who was hovering at her father's shoulder. "We're lucky the lake wasn't connected to any of the wells or rivers, or people would have gotten sick. It's not just poisonous to plants. Just a small amount of it can be lethal to a person."
"Not to mention," said Simón, "Once it's there, it's very difficult to clean. A river infested with Scariia kills off all the surrounding life and stays poisonous for years, even after all the algal cells have died."
Mirabel was feeling a little unwell herself at that idea. "Someone grew that stuff," she said slowly, "On purpose?"
"It's almost certain," said Beatriz grimly. "Even if it was some kind of freak accident, there's no reason why anybody would have the cysts and the phosphorus together if they weren't working in some kind of research lab... or if they'd brought them here specifically to plant them somewhere."
"And it goes without saying that we don't have any sort of biological research facility in Eréndira." Simón laughed bitterly. "Otherwise I'd probably have a job over there."
There was a shocked silence around the table from the three Madrigals. The slime - the Scariia - had been brought there on purpose. If it appeared in the Encanto, that meant someone was putting it there. But why? There was no reason for anyone to target the Encanto's water, unless they were interested in ruining the landscape, or if they were...
"Poisoning people," murmured Mirabel. "That's why you'd put Scariia in the water. So people would drink it."
Simón and Beatriz looked at each other. They seemed to be silently communicating something, and eventually Beatriz spoke up.
"Mirabel," she said gently, "How did you know something had happened at Mamá's lake yesterday?"
Mirabel went cold, all of a sudden. Did they think she'd...? And what else could she say? Did they think she'd done it? Or failed to prevent it? Had she?
Bruno coughed. "How much do you two know about... uh... the Encanto?"
Beatriz looked at Isabela. "That your family has magic."
"And that when I was six years old," Simón smiled grimly, "I watched a mountain rise up from the ground that hadn't existed before."
Bruno nodded nervously. "Right," he said. "Mirabel knew something would happen to a lake nearby because I, I, I showed her. I'm a, uh, I'm - " He clearly wasn't used to having to explain himself here. "Well, you could say that I see the future?"
Simón and Beatriz both stared at him.
"The future?" said Simón. "So you know what's going to...?"
"Couldn't you..." Beatriz began.
"No no no! No, nothing, barely, nothing useful, never much," Mirabel could see her uncle starting to panic, waving his arms to stave off the urge to run. "Visions, they're visions, tiny glimpses, pretty vague, cause a lotta trouble and it's not usually pretty, I don't know the future, not all of it, just ask Mirabel!"
With no other way to comfort him, Mirabel reached under the table and put her hand on his knee. It was Isabela who spoke up.
"My uncle can only foresee very specific things," she said, "When Professor Dunnock arrived at our home, he looked into the future of the professor's visit and saw a lake infested with Scariia."
Simón said, clearly a little unnerved, "Do you usually... look into people's...?"
"No! No! It was - hahh - " Bruno's terror was palpable.
"I made him do it," said Mirabel quickly. "He didn't want to. But I was... paranoid. The professor scared me. Tío Bruno said no and I... I pushed..."
Beatriz whispered something in her father's ear. Mirabel suddenly felt scared herself. She'd forgotten that this was the outside world - there was no magic here, no gifts, no Familia Madrigal. The explanation was probably terrifying. They were probably really freaked out.
But neither Beatriz nor Simón looked scared when their conversation was finished.
"I'm sorry," said Simón, "That seems a heavy burden to bear. You seem to be in a very troubling situation."
"We can't do much to help you," added Beatriz, "But we'll try."
"What do you know about the professor?" asked Simón.
Bruno seemed to have been drained entirely of his energy. He reached down to hold Mirabel's hand under the table. His palms were sweaty and nervous. So were hers. Only Isabela seemed calm, unsurprised by the Cantor's support.
"Almost nothing," she said, "He's an ornithologist from Bogotá, he came looking for a rare bird, and at some point he's going to stumble across a lake in the Encanto that's been infested."
"I'm afraid I don't know much more about the man than you do," said Simón, "He's currently an ornithologist at the National University, but his expertise goes very far beyond that. He hired me to guide him around and help prepare samples, and in that time I noticed that he's extremely proficient in several other areas - biochemistry, for example. His previous work, it seems, has been more general work in the area of ecology surveying. Ornithology is a recent interest of his."
Mirabel looked at Bruno. He looked back at her. They were the only two people in the room who weren't entirely sure what any of that stuff really meant. Mirabel wished, not for the first time, that she had inherited her brains from somebody else.
"...The point is," continued Simón, "He seemed like a shockingly intelligent man. Despite his obnoxious personality." Simón scowled. "Certainly he would be more than capable of recognising a Scariia bloom."
"And probably getting his hands on the materials to cause one," muttered Beatriz.
“What did he do while he was here?” asked Mirabel.
“Quantitative studies on Tunki, mainly. It was a lot of grunt-work, catching and tagging birds.” Simón must have noticed the emptiness behind Bruno and Mirabel’s gazes, because he explained, “He was counting how many birds of a certain type live in the area.”
Mirabel might not have been that smart, but at least she remembered the long-tailed bird that Dunnock had shown them a picture of. “He told us he was looking for a species called the Andean Bird-of-Paradise.”
Simón looked confused. Mirabel saw his lips mouth the words silently, as though translating them. Then he narrowed his eyes.
“The Azabache?!” he said. “That’s why he went to the Encanto?”
“The... the what?” said Mirabel.
“The Golden Azabache,” said Simón. “The bird that they say grants wishes. My grandmother swears she saw one flying over a rainbow, you know.” He gave a laugh of disbelief. “Dunnock told me he believed the Azabache was real. I thought he was joking.”
“The - he - it’s not real?!”
Simón scoffed. “Not unless you have magic birds in the Encanto too.”
“He told us he was staying a month!”
“That seems like a very long time to spend looking for the Azabache.” Simon laughed bitterly. “Are the university paying him for that? He seems to have plenty of money to throw around for a man who does very little. If I could get away with it, I’d - ”
“Papá,” said Beatriz, “Please not in front of Isabela’s family.”
Simón waved a hand dismissively. “Look,” he said, “If you want my opinion, I have no idea why the gringo would be interested in planting Scariia in the Encanto, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise me if he was doing something nefarious.”
Mirabel didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping Bruno’s hand until he tapped her on the arm. Her knuckles were turning white.
“The Scariia,” said Mirabel, “How can you stop it growing?”
“Don’t plant it in the first place,” said Simón grimly, “Besides that, building a very strong, watertight dam to separate the infected water from the clean.”
“If - “ Bruno swallowed, “Hypothetically. A lake in the Encanto was going to get infested, and definitely, that was gonna happen, no negotiation...”
“Then you’d want to find out which streams ran out of the lake, and whether or not any of them went underground, and if they did, whether they connect to the well-water,” said Simón.
“And if they did?” said Bruno.
“Use a different well.”
Mirabel heard a crack in her uncle’s voice. “What if there wasn’t a different well?”
Simón piled his book, his notes, and the bottle of water together and cleared them away from the table. His response was blunt. “Evacuate.”
None of the Madrigals really had anything to say to that. What could you say to that?
Simón walked towards his small study, putting the purple-tainted water where it couldn’t be seen. When he came back out, he had a long wrapped bundle in his arms.
Beatriz said, “Papá-”
“It’s alright, Beatriz,” said Simón softly, and Beatriz went quiet.
Simón sat back down at the table. He looked around at his three guests, his eyes tired and sad. It was strange; Simón was big and sturdy, well-spoken, and nothing at all like any of the Madrigal men. But he looked, in that moment, very much like Bruno did. He looked haunted.
“I don’t have magic powers,” said Simón, “And I don’t know what the professor’s involvement is, not really. I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you. Whatever happens in the Encanto, I hope you figure it out fast.”
He lay the bundle on the table and began to unwrap it. He pulled away a swathe of moth-eaten cloth.
“If you need my help, Isabela sends us letters - I’m sure I can arrive quickly. But in the meantime, please accept a gift from me. This belonged to my father. I still maintain it in his memory.”
There was the distinctive shink sound of scraping metal as Simón drew a long, curved blade, dull with time but bright and silvery at the freshly-sharpened edges. A sword.
He turned the blade around and offered the handle to Bruno.
Bruno stared at it.
“It is my hope,” said Simón, “That you never need use it.”
Several months ago, Bruno had held a broom upside-down in front of Mirabel and closed his eyes because he was scared of her. He’d come running and caught her because she was about to fall down a hole the depth of a swimming pool. She had once seen Bruno tear up over a particularly sad plot twist in a television show that existed entirely within his imagination. He was not, and would never be, the kind of person who would ever wield a sword.
Bruno seemed to be in a daze as he put his hand on the hilt.
Then, very abruptly, he stood up, knocking his chair backwards and making Mirabel and Isabela jump. “No!” His voice was high and cracking. “I mean, no, no, no thank you! This is clearly a very important sword to you, thank you, I wouldn’t, nope! If I needed someone m-m-murdered I would just ask my mother, now if looks could kill you wouldn’t need to poison anything at all, hahahaha! Well it was so nice to meet you and we’ve really got to be going, I think I’ve got to talk to my family, about what to do and what we’ve learned, don’t you think?!”
Bruno grabbed the back of Mirabel’s shirt and dragged her physically out of the room before she could stop him. Mirabel caught Isabela apologetically saying something that involved the word troubled as Bruno pulled her out of the kitchen and then out of the shop and then out onto the street without giving her the chance to say her goodbyes.
Mirabel sort of knew where this was going. She let Bruno keep pulling her until he eventually found a wooden sign, let go of the breath he was holding, and knocked on the sign six times, his mouth pulled into a silent grimace. At that point he finally untensed a little, and she said, “Tío Bruno, it’s okay, please don’t panic -”
“I’m not panicking. Who’s panicking?” Bruno made a small noise at the back of his throat that he tried to cover up by coughing. “It’s getting late, they don’t know any more, and I’ve never seen the point of wasting time hanging out making small talk after the important stuff’s outta the way, so...”
Mirabel didn’t really know what else to do, so she linked her arm with his and drew closer to him, trying to remind him she was there without stopping him from using his hands to do whatever weird stuff he needed to do to feel better. It made her feel better if they looked like two people walking arm in arm doing weird stuff down the street together, and not one person having a panic attack while the other hung around being unhelpful.
“Do you... want to talk about what Simón told us?”
“Fffffft,” Bruno waved a hand, “Well, personally, if you ask me, I think it was a bit indecent to say those things around three sensitive young women like that when he should have taken me aside and said it man to man.”
That was a no, which was unfortunate, because Mirabel really, really did. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“You’re right,” she said, “It was really hard hearing all that when I am so sensitive, young and womanly. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m feeling scared and overwhelmed and like I should maybe open up about that instead of putting on any fake shows of being strong and okay when I’m clearly not?”
He was apparently feeling good enough to narrow his eyes at Mirabel, which she took as a victory. He gently pushed her off, muttering, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Mirabel.” He added bitterly, “And I wish you were a little more scared, to be honest.”
“That’s... ominous.”
“Look, we need to talk to your Abuela about this,” said Bruno, “Especially if she’s talking to him today, we need to compare notes. We need info, we need time, we don’t need to think about, about, about - ”
Isabela cleared her throat from behind them. She was striding towards them down the street, looking just as composed and determined as she had in the kitchen with the Cantors.
“Using force,” she said.
“Exactly,” said Bruno. Isabela and Mirabel watched him start to lead them back towards the horses, pause, look at a leaf on the ground, and walk in a circle around it, continuing to mutter as he did. “No, we need a couple of plans and a couple more and none of them ought to involve to jumping to conclusions or thinking about last-resort stuff that we’re not really equipped to deal with - ”
"You know, if I had to, it would be very easy for me to kill him," said Isabela.
Bruno whipped around and raised his voice at Isabela for the very first time. "Isa!" he snapped. Mirabel had never heard him call her that.
"It's true," she said primly.
Bruno reached vengefully into his ruana and pulled out a set of rosary beads.
Isabela said, in a tone of exasperation Mirabel was used to her using on their mom, "I'm twenty-two, you cannot make me do that anymore."
Bruno shoved them towards her and Isabela rolled her eyes and took them anyway.
She continued, "It sounds like we need to find the lake you saw in your vision and seal it off, in case it's connected to any other streams. Simón taught me some plants that can help filter the water."
"And we really need to talk to the professor," said Mirabel grimly, "Cause unless it turns out he came here on a secret mission to stop a scientist poison bandit, he's got a lot to answer for."
"And you two," sighed Bruno, "Need to go home and check in with everyone before you do any of those. I mean, sheesh. I'm glad he offered me the sword. I'm worried one of you two might've taken it."
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It was dark by the time they arrived back in the Encanto. It wasn't that late, but Mirabel found herself fighting the urge to fall asleep on her uncle's shoulder. She might have tried, but luckily his abysmal horse-riding skills rendered that impossible.
When they got back, there were three bowls of ajiaco in the kitchen waiting for them, along with Luisa and Abuela. Bruno wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, and he expressed this by sitting down and shoveling food into his mouth with alarming speed and voracity so he didn't have to talk.
"It's a poisonous algae called Scariia," said Mirabel, stirring her soup around. She found she didn't have the appetite to eat any. "It's super dangerous and really rare and basically impossible to grow here without access to some really exclusive materials that you could only get if you were a scientist."
Abuela nodded.
"I know," she said, "Professor Dunnock told me the same thing."
Mirabel looked up sharply. She’d completely forgotten that her grandmother was supposed to meet the professor today. “He did?!”
“He seemed extremely concerned by the information that it had appeared in Eréndira,” she said, “And he promised to do everything he could to find the source of it here in the Encanto.”
“And you believed him?!”
“I did not say that.” Abuela arched an eyebrow at Mirabel. “It is good to have the information he gave me corroborated by another source.”
Mirabel puzzled over this. Surely if the professor was responsible for the Scariia, he wouldn't have answered Abuela's questions about it... Unless he was bluffing, knowing that they'd find out eventually? And if he wasn't bluffing, and he was innocent, could he help protect them? But there wasn't anyone else with the kind of expertise he had in the area, unless they were hiding... And if he wanted to avoid suspicion, what better way than offering to help investigate?
"Are you going to let him stay?" asked Mirabel.
Abuela was silent for a long moment. "I have no adequate reason to stop him."
Isabela was clearly trying to eat dinner in a calm, dignified manner, but Mirabel could see that her hair was growing brambles.
"Simón told us the Bird-of-Paradise is a myth," said Isabela, "That it's just folklore and he was studying something else in Eréndira."
"Exactly!" said Mirabel. "Why did he give us such a weird reason for coming here?"
"I don't know," said Abuela. "It isn't something I've discussed with him. But..."
She looked at Luisa expectantly. Luisa had been sitting silently the whole time, hands folded in her lap. She looked nervously between her two sisters.
"I'll be watching him," she said cautiously, "And... I... I don't think he's lying."
Mirabel stared. "You don't?"
"He's, um... well, I don't know if I understood everything today, but all day I'm pretty sure we are just doing normal stuff. The work seems... really normal. And there's a lot of it. And..."
Luisa fidgeted nervously.
"He seems nice to me," she admitted, "Antonio found us and asked him to explain and he did. And he gave him a jar for catching bugs."
Isabela said, "Antonio can talk to animals. He's an animal scientist. I bet the professor wants to be his friend."
"It wasn't like that! I mean, yeah, the professor asked Antonio some questions about his gift, but, uh, not... like... weird ones. And Antonio likes him, he asked if he could come help us tomorrow."
"Did you say yes?!" Mirabel was suddenly alarmed.
"Well... yeah? He wanted to."
"Are you crazy?!" cried Isabela.
"I didn't know about any of this! And I'll be there! And..." Luisa gulped as she worked up the courage to stand up for herself. "And I'm the one who knows best. I'm the only one who knows the professor. I think we need his help to figure this out. You guys should trust me."
Isabela turned to stare around the table indignantly, looking for support.
"Bruno, do you have an opinion here?" asked Abuela.
Bruno glanced up tiredly. "Mirabel, eat your dinner."
Mirabel looked down at her untouched ajiaco.
"Isabela, Luisa," said Abuela, "Both of you, calm down. You both have good reasons for your concerns. Luisa, I am trusting you to stay close to the professor. You and Antonio are to do everything you can to help him while keeping him under close supervision."
"Yes, Abuela."
"Isabela," said Abuela, "We need to know where in the Encanto is vulnerable to the Scariia and make sure we are ready. Any areas connected to the well are important for us to know about."
Isabela nodded.
"What about me?" said Mirabel.
Abuela gave her a kind smile. Mirabel's stomach fluttered. No matter how much time passed, she would never get used to that smile. "Keep doing what you are doing. Find information and listen to your sisters."
"Okay," said Mirabel. "I can do that."
"Bruno," said Abuela.
Bruno looked up with his mouth full and a palpable look of exhaustion on his face.
"Slow down," she sighed, "You are like a pig. Your sobrinas are right there."
"Whhgvvhvrr," said Bruno through a mouthful of chicken.
"Tío Bruno," said Isabela, "We need to figure out what's going to happen and who causes it. Why can't you look into the future and tell us?"
"Isabela, shut up," said Mirabel.
Isabela glared. "It was just a question!"
Bruno swallowed unhappily.
"Because I don't wanna look and see something we can't change," he sighed. "Set it in stone."
"I don't think you make bad things happen, Tío Bruno," said Luisa gently.
"Me neither," he said grimly, "But we need all the luck we can get." And he picked up the salt shaker and shook it over his left shoulder.
"I am confident that we can figure this out without needing... anything else," murmured Abuela. Mirabel thought of how things had gone last time Abuela had begged Bruno for a vision. Then she thought of Camilo, telling Bruno not to make assumptions...
Mirabel wondered if this was the right thing to do. Surely Bruno was the expert on whether or not his visions would help, right? She could trust his judgement. Except... could she? Could she trust that his sense of reason was better than his fear of messing things up? No, she thought, That doesn't matter. It's his choice no matter the stakes.
"Mirabel," said Bruno.
"Huh?"
"Are you gonna eat that or what?"
She glanced down at her nearly-full bowl. "No. I'm not hungry."
"If you're sure." He sighed. "Give it here, then. I need the sustenance. I have a lotta stressing out to do tomorrow."
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Isabela and Mirabel got up early to find that Luisa had beaten both of them in the race of skipping breakfast to fulfil her duties. Mirabel was impressed Luisa had managed to get Antonio up that early. Sure enough, there was no sign of either of them.
"I hope Luisa is right about the professor," sighed Mirabel, "I mean... I trust her judgment, but... it's way too convenient that the only person who could've caused the Scariia is the only person we can trust to start scientifically investigating it."
Isabela folded her arms indignantly. "Hmph! And if some other mysterious person had arrived in the Encanto one of us would have noticed! If they were hiding in the woods then Antonio would have noticed! Like heck do I trust that guy, no matter what Luisa thinks."
No, Mirabel thought, she didn't trust him much either. He was definitely up to something, even if it wasn't anything to do with the water.
"Okay," said Isabela, flexing her fingers. "Where do we start? We need to chart all the rivers in the area and how they connect up to the lakes. I can grow pondweed along all the streams and see where they go - "
"Whoa, slow down," said Mirabel, "We've been living here for fifty years. The person we need right now is a cartographer. Someone has gotta have checked already."
It took a while of asking around before they wound up at Old Man Gabriel's, who had been called that for even all of Isabela’s memory. He beamed and brought out a whole folder of yellowing parchment, saying, "Oh, yes. That was the first thing we did, my father and I, when we arrived. It was very difficult."
The parchment maps might have been made of solid gold. They showed a whole network of rivers and lakes on the map, along with all the different mountain peaks and a whole bunch of landscape features Mirabel hadn't even known existed.
"Yes, you're the second group of people to ask me about these," beamed Gabriel, "The white man who's staying in town has a copy already." That soured their achievement considerably.
They sat at one of the benches in town and poured over one of the maps that the old man had given them. There were, all things considered, a heck of a lot of lakes in the Encanto, most of which were pretty far away from each other and on top of the mountain slopes; most of them fed into a big river that formed a big lake at the bottom of one slope. Mirabel knew that lake; it was where she'd learned to swim.
"But I thought all rivers went to the sea," said Mirabel.
"They do," Isabela rolled her eyes, "The river goes underground at this point. We're surrounded by mountains, if there was a river leading out of the Encanto on land then we would have had an easy way out of the valley the whole time."
"All the lakes look the same," said Mirabel, "Any of them could be the one in Bruno's vision."
"What's more important is which ones connect to the well," said Isabela, stabbing the paper at a marked point in town. "I don't think this well draws from the lake at the bottom, so it must come from somewhere before that point."
"It's not connected to any streams on this map. How are we supposed to know which lakes connect to it? We can't go underground and look."
Isabela flexed her fingers.
"We can't," she said.
They walked to the opening of the well in town. Isabela put her hands on the lip and closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and a vine sprung from the ground and began to grow downwards, into the water.
"That one better not be poisonous," noted Mirabel.
"Quiet."
Isabela kept her eyes shut, and the vine disappeared from view. Mirabel found herself standing around, watching her sister concentrate and not doing anything. She began to fidget.
"Are we - "
"Sh."
Mirabel bitterly wondered why she was here. Eventually Isabela opened her eyes again and began to stride.
"C'mon. Let's follow it."
"What? Where are we going? Hey, can't you... pick us up and carry us like last time?"
"No, I'm concentrating. You have two legs, don't you? Use them."
Isabela stumbled as they left town and entered the forest. She kept trying to walk with her eyes shut. Mirabel grabbed her arm and led her through the trees, Isabela meandering up the slopes seemingly at random, occasionally pausing to mutter something about turns or squeezes. She explicitly blamed Mirabel any time she stumbled. Magic sister, thought Mirabel grouchily. Of course Luisa gets to go help the normal guy.
With Isabela hanging from her, Mirabel couldn’t check their progress with the map until they finally came across a little swampy pond of wet plants that had a prominent, pink-flowered vine sticking out of it and a big gentle waterfall feeding it.
“Here,” said Isabela, “This is the middle one.”
“The middle one?”
“Show me the map.”
Mirabel unrolled the map onto the dryest bit of the ground she could find and Isabela leaned over her, making Mirabel hold the paper flat so she could see it.
“Here,” said Isabela, pointing to a small point. “We’re here. This and this lake feed here,” she pointed out two more, “And one more stream comes from... here.”
She traced a line over a dry section of the map. Another underground stream, thought Mirabel bleakly.
“Do you have a pencil?” asked Mirabel. Isabela rolled her eyes, grew a plant with bright colourful pollen, and dipped a finger in it; she traced two blue circles around both over-ground lakes. “And this last stream must come from...”
But there were a couple of little spots in the mountains it could have come from. “We’ll come back here,” said Isabela, marking that part of the map too. “Let me do something about these three spots first.”
“Do something?”
Isabela waved her hands and a spiky, thorny bush began to sprout at her feet; it curled and rippled outwards into a huge, brambly thing, beginning to circle around the edges of the pond. “Stand back,” said Isabela. Mirabel took a step. “Further.”
Isabela didn’t continue until Mirabel was a few meters away. She curved her large, thorny plant so it formed a protective dome over the entire pond; then she flexed her wrists and strange, funky-looking flowers burst into bloom all over it, the size of curled-up cats.
“Carnivorous,” panted Isabela, “They shouldn’t hurt anyone. Too badly.” Mirabel wondered what Bruno would have said. “Let’s do the next two lakes.”
Mirabel was terrified that one of those two lakes would be the one from the vision, but neither was. Isabela covered both of them with a barrier of plants. Each one seemed to take more energy than the last; by the third barrier, Isabela was out of breath. Mirabel asked her if they should keep going. “I’m fine,” snapped Isabela. Mirabel sighed. “There’s one more. The underground river comes from somewhere.”
Admittedly, Mirabel was exhausted too, and she hadn’t been doing any magic. Mirabel’s nerves were keeping her upright. She was mindful that Isabela and her were in the bad part of the forest, the part that very easily and deceptively swallowed up anybody who wasn’t paying attention; a misstep here would lead you into miles of jungle with no way out and no rescue for days and days . At least Isabela knows whether or not she’s in the boundary of the Encanto, she thought tiredly. And if we have to she can just throw me all the way home.
As they got higher, the trees began to thin out, and they started getting to the rockier, barer parts. Mirabel had to make Isabela stop and let her catch her breath, and while they were staying still Mirabel double-checked the map to find that they’d walked right out of its boundary. Apparently Gabriel and his dad hadn’t thought it was that important to note anything on top of the mountains. Well, she couldn’t blame him; it sure was empty up here.
“Are you sure there’s a lake somewhere up here?” asked Mirabel.
“Where do you think the water came from?” snapped Isabela. “The ground? A volcano? All rivers have to start from rain. There’s gotta be something.”
“What if there’s not?”
“Then our Scariia criminal won’t be able to get there unless he’s got a pet mole,” growled Isabela, “Now let me concentrate.”
Mirabel saw the last lake before Isabela did. It was bigger than she’d expected, a big shallow mountain spring of clear pure water. There were reeds and things growing around its edges, but no trees. Not the lake in the vision either. Mirabel was flooded with relief. “It’s there, Isa, you can let go.”
Isabela sighed with relief as she let her vine finally dissipate. “Oh my god. Okay. Let’s cover this one and go home.”
Mirabel and Isabela walked towards the mountain spring. Mirabel thought: If this is where the well-water comes from, this water must be safe to drink, right? Boy, I’m thirsty. She was so deep in that thought that she didn’t notice Isabela freezing mid-step as they approached the spring.
She glanced back. “Isabela?”
Isabela paused for a moment. Then she took a step back. She flexed her hands and grew a vine at her feet and reached it towards the spring...
...And it withered away to nothing as soon as it got a hand-span away from her.
“What?” said Mirabel. Then, “Oh. Oh. I see.”
It was the barrier of the Encanto. It must have ended just before the spring started. It looked like Isabela couldn’t grow anything over this one.
“Dang it,” said Mirabel, “We’ll have to leave this one vulnerable. Still, though, it’s pretty far out. And there’s no obvious connection between it and the well, right? It’s connected underground.”
“Right,” murmured Isabela, “If someone wanted to come poison us, they wouldn’t aim for this one.”
Mirabel, feeling a debt to Old Man Gabriel and a little bit of guilt for getting pollen all over his map, did her best to scratch a little map on the back showing the area they’d just found. It was harder than it looked to get the details right. When Isabela and Mirabel tried drinking the water from the mountain spring, it was clean and sweet and perfect.
“At least he marked the path home,” said Mirabel tiredly. They’d taken a really, really long and twisty path to get here, and she didn’t fancy walking on untrodden ground a second time. She’d take the easy-to-walk beaten trail over any saving-the-Encanto at this point.
Mirabel was sure that the hardest part of the day was over and they’d ensured, at the very least, that the well would stay safe. She wasn’t thinking much of anything, and wasn’t really paying too much attention to the map. It came to a surprise to both of them, then, when they finally stumbled across the lake from the vision.
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The sun was setting, and Mirabel was so tired she didn’t realize she recognized the smell until Isabela stopped and stared at a tree whose leaves were turning brown at the edges. Isabela suddenly changed direction, waving her hands and forcing the underbrush aside with sheer force of magical will. Mirabel knew what they would find before they got there, and it was hard to wait for Isabela to clear the path.
There was the spot that Dunnock had knelt - would kneel, maybe - in front of the purple-choken lake. There were the bodies of fish, partway through drying and rotting. There were the buzzing flies, the shimmering air, the dying wilting plants.
“This is it,” she muttered to Isabela. Isabela pointed.
A large brown tent had been mounted near the shore of the lake. They crept closer, but there was no sign that anyone was in there. They didn’t even need to discuss breaking in there first; it was the obvious next step.
Inside there was no camping equipment; instead there was a folding-desk covered in notes, a pile of books, a propped-open suitcase full of tags and beakers and scientific equipment. Mirabel tried not to disturb anything as she scanned the notes carefully, understanding practically nothing. “These are in English.”
“So are the books.” Isabela was crouched in front of the pile. “Definitely the professor’s.”
“Here!” Mirabel, without thinking, seized a handful of notes from the table. Oh well. “Look! He’s written the word Scariia here! And... here! These papers here, they’re all about it!”
Isabela leapt up and looked over Mirabel’s shoulder. The two of them did their best to scan the text, written in English as it was.
“This is a lot of notes,” murmured Mirabel, “Could he have written this much in one day?”
“That says river and this says mountain,” Isabela sounded frustrated. “This word looks like latin... And it says here I am going to... To what?! Ugh! His handwriting sucks!”
“This could be important,” sighed Mirabel, “But we’d have to find someone to translate it.”
“And then not tell him about it,” growled Isabela. “Anybody in town who speaks English has probably already buddied up with him.”
“Camilo might be able to, he’s read Shakespeare in English,” said Mirabel, “But these sciencey words... he probably won’t know those...”
Isabela snapped her fingers.
“Simón!” she cried. “He has a whole bunch of books written in English. And he’s an apothecary, he’ll know words to do with plants and biology too.”
“Good thinking,” said Mirabel, “Should we... copy out the notes?”
“Give them here,” said Isabela, and before Mirabel could stop her, she snatched them out of Mirabel's grasp.
"Are you sure we should take these?"
"He can make more!" Isabela snapped. "Okay, Mirabel, we need to split up."
"Split up?!"
"I need to get to Eréndira and talk to Simón," she said, "Get him to translate these notes. I'm tired of being outmaneuvered by the professor. Or whoever," she added, when Mirabel gave her a look. "You go home, talk to Luisa and find out what she knows."
"Do you have time to get there?" asked Mirabel.
Isabela shrugged. "With my gift, I can probably get there faster than you can get home.”
Mirabel resented that. “Okay, fine. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Oh, and Mirabel?”
“Yes?”
“Stay on the path. If you get lost and die, I will kill you.”
Mirabel rolled her eyes. She wished she had a set of rosary beads to shove at Isabela. “I won’t get lost, I’m not a kid.”
“Prove it!” Isabela flexed a hand. A vine dropped down from the trees, and Isabela grabbed it; in an instant she was gone, whisked away into the treeline.
Mirabel hadn’t realised Isabela was walking so slowly just for her benefit. Mirabel felt very unmagical as she plodded home, trying to gather her thoughts.
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Oh boy her feet hurt. Mirabel’s shoes had not been designed for hiking, nor had Mirabel’s body been designed for it either. By the time she stumbled out of the trees she was panting, her hair was ragged and sweaty and she probably looked like a piece of unwashed laundry. It was dark, probably past dinner time, and people were looking at her funny as she stumbled through town and up to the Casita.
As soon as she stepped through the archway, the floor tiles slid and carried her into the kitchen, delivering her into one of the dining chairs, which she collapsed into gratefully. “Thanks, Casita.”
She put her head on the table and wondered if she could go to her bedroom and take a nap before Luisa got back. Isabela would definitely throw a slipper at her if Mirabel was asleep when she got back, though. It was a risky prospect.
There was a rhythmic knocking on the table next to her. She didn’t look up. “Hey, Tío Bruno.”
“Hey,” he said. He’d managed to walk into the room completely silently, which wasn’t unusual for him. “You alright?”
“Shyeah,” she said, cushioning her head with her hands. “Just tired. Isabela went all the way back to Eréndira. Tio Bruno, does having a gift give you unnatural physical health or what?”
She heard Bruno make an awkward humming sound. It occurred to her that he was an unusually spry fifty-year-old. Maybe it really did. Just another cool thing Mirabel didn’t have.
“Ugh, never mind.” She propped herself up to watch him. He wandered over to the kitchen counter, where he was squinting suspiciously at an egg from the pantry. Satisfied, it took it over to the stove and started frying it.
“What did you spend all day doing?” he asked.
“Visiting a bunch of lakes. Isabela covered the important ones with, like, giant death plants? So nobody can get to the well-water. Oh, and we found the lake from your vision. It looks like Dunnock was already there, so I guess it came true already.”
Bruno nodded, but said nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows at a leftover pan of rice, then put that on the heat too.
“Did Luisa come back?” said Mirabel.
“No, not yet. Did you know you were supposed to have lessons today?”
“I was?”
“Camilo wasn’t happy you left him on his own.”
“Camilo’s never happy with anyone.”
Bruno chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“I didn’t even think of El Padre,” said Mirabel, “We found some notes in English. Isabela was going to have Simón translate them.”
“Ri-ight,” he said slowly, “And by ‘found’, you mean...”
“Um...” she blushed. “I didn’t want to steal them. Isabela did.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s true!” she insisted. “Anyway, it might be important. If this all blows over and Dunnock is totally innocent I’ll apologize.”
Bruno twitched and rapped on the wooden windowframe. “Here’s hoping.”
“I dunno,” said Mirabel, “If Dunnock is innocent, then someone else isn’t. I hope it’s not someone in the village.”
"Hmm," said Bruno. Apparently he wasn't feeling any more helpful or insightful than that. Mirabel yawned and decided to compromise her options by falling asleep at the table while waiting for Luisa. She was happily on her way towards dreaming when she was interrupted by a tapping at the table.
She looked up blearily and saw Bruno putting a bowl in front of her. He gave her a worried look.
"Mirabel," he said, "You didn't eat breakfast this morning. Or anything last night."
"Huh?"
He tapped the table. "You've been so caught up with stuff you've been forgetting to eat. It's not good for you."
Mirabel thought this was rich coming from Bruno, whose eating and sleeping habits were more like a rodent's than a person's. "I'm fine, you don’t need to worry," she said lightly, looked down at the bowl of rice and eggs, and realised her stomach was growling. "Actually, wait, no I'm not, I'm starving. Wow. Now that I'm looking at this it looks delicious.”
He snorted. Mirabel began to shovel food into her mouth and thought, yeah, now that he mentioned it she had barely eaten. No wonder Isabela was running loops around her while they were climbing.
She was halfway through the bowl wondering, wow, where had Bruno learned how to fry eggs in a way that made them the best fried eggs she had ever had, when she looked up and saw him still looking at her, mouth twisted up with worry.
“Okay, so, this is really good,” she said through a mouthful of rice. She swallowed. “So thank you, but, um, you’re looking at me like you’re about to start fussing over me and I kind of don’t need that right now?”
“Well, sue me,” he sighed, “You’re fifteen years old and you’ve spent three days doing a job that the policía should be handling.”
Mirabel laughed. “I want to help. And it’s going fine so far! You sound like my parents.”
“I spoke to your father,” said Bruno, massaging his temples, “He told me you’re going through an independent phase and I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“Maybe he has a point?”
“Then he told me he used to get into near-death situations all the time at your age,” he continued, “Which explains a lot, frankly, cause you don’t get it from our side.”
“I’m not gonna die just ‘cause I didn’t eat my ajiaco last night, you know.”
“I’m not talking about your ajiaco,” he said bitterly, “I’m talking about the thing with the poison. I wish your grandmother hadn’t let you get so involved. I wish I hadn’t let you get so involved. Can’t I talk you into leaving the Dunnock thing alone?”
Mirabel scraped the bottom of the bowl for remaining grains of rice. She frowned at Bruno.
“What are you saying?”
“Mirabel,” he said, and sighed heavily, “You know... If someone is doing this - if someone is trying to poison a well on purpose - what would a person like that do to you if they realised you were sticking your nose in?”
She stared at him. She gently pushed her empty bowl away.
“‘Sticking my nose in’?” she repeated.
“We’re past the point of ‘weird natural phenomenon’,” he muttered, “You’re not just trying to figure out some weird plant or something. You’re getting involved in something dangerous.”
“Tío Bruno,” she said, frowning, “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?” he said, gesturing at the table. She ignored that.
“I know you want to keep me safe,” she said, “And I’m flattered, really! But I’m not as young or naive as you think, and I can make my own choices, okay?”
“I know,” he sighed, “I know! You’re almost an adult, you can make your own choices, sure. But I don’t think you really understand what you might be getting into, here. You’re young and you think you’re invincible -”
“I don’t think that! That’s not fair!”
He waved it off. “Okay, sorry. I just think you need to reflect on the implications a bit - ”
“I’ve done plenty of reflecting, Tío Bruno.” Mirabel felt herself getting defensive. Her uncle wasn’t usually one to give Mirabel unwelcome comments about her life. There were plenty of people in the world who treated Mirabel like she was less intelligent than she actually was, but Bruno wasn’t usually one of them, and she found herself feeling hurt for stupid reasons. “Do you think I’m too irresponsible to...?”
“No! Of course not! I mean, not for your age,” he began to fidget, “Just that you’re young, and, you know, comparatively speaking, maybe you don’t have quite the same, you know, sense of responsibility or scale, and maybe if you were out of your depth you wouldn’t quite, uhh - ”
“My sisters are both involved and they’re not that much older than I am! You’re involved!”
“Mirabel,” he said, exasperated, “You’re not like us.”
Mirabel stared at him. She watched his face go from frustration to realization, then to regret, and then she decided she didn’t really want to sit through whatever weak explanation he had to give for how he hadn’t actually meant that, even though he had.
“Whatever,” she said quietly, slipping out of her chair.
“No, wait, Mirabel, please don’t - ”
She heard him trying to push stand and being held back by the table and chair. She opened the kitchen door and was about to start storming upstairs to shut herself into her room when she bumped right into Luisa. This being Luisa, Mirabel bounced right out of the way while Luisa barely even noticed she was there, which Mirabel would’ve been offended about if Luisa hadn’t been running and crying.
Wait, running and crying?
Luisa barrelled into the kitchen and directly into Bruno’s arms. Bruno, with two nieces in two different states of distraught, was looking a little like he regretted getting out of bed that morning.
“Tío Bruno!” she wailed, “I lost them!”
Bruno, who was barely visible when Luisa was hugging him, was mumbling, “I-i-it’s alright, Luisa, you’re okay - ah - you what? Who? What?”
“Luisa!” Mirabel was rushing back in. “What happened? Are you okay?!”
“Antonio and the professor!” she sniffed, her lip trembling. “W-we were going through the forest and I just turned around for a second and then they were gone and I can’t find them! And he didn’t bring Antonio back and I heard weird sounds in the jungle and I didn’t know what to do and I came back here because I was scared to look and I’m the w-w- worst!!!”
Mirabel and Bruno exchanged wide-eyed looks, argument forgotten.
“Luisa,” said Mirabel urgently, “It’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out. Do you know where they went?”
Luisa sniffled. “No,” she mumbled, “Dunnock had a field lab but when I went back there it had moved... he m-must have taken it down! I don’t know why! Why didn’t he tell me where he was going?!”
Mirabel’s palms were starting to sweat. A ball was forming in her stomach.
Antonio.
“His field lab,” she said,. “Is it a tent with a desk and some books?”
“Y-yeah,” she sniffed, “Why?”
“I know where it is,” said Mirabel, heart in her mouth. “I can take you there.”
“R-really?”
“Yeah.” Mirabel felt like a liar. “Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Luisa,” said Bruno, who Luisa was holding to her chest like a well-loved teddy bear, “Uh... You said you heard noises. What did you hear?”
Luisa shuddered.
“I don’t know,” she said, “But it sounded like people yelling?”
“Okay,” said Bruno, “Well that... could mean... anything. At all.” He gulped. “Mirabel?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you show us where to go?”
“Sure I can,” she said, feeling dazed. “You even know it already. It’s next to a lake.”
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Mirabel felt like she was in a dream. She was too afraid to think. When Casita was falling and Mirabel had run for the candle, and the tower had come loose and started falling towards, there had been a split second where she’d simply looked up and stared, looking her doom in the face, before the house had saved her; and she felt that way now, the quiet calm before the storm, staring something terrible in the face and unable to feel anything but calm.
Mirabel didn’t know what Dunnock had done with Antonio, but she was sure it wasn’t good. She was sure he was doing something in the Encanto he wasn’t telling them. She was sure that they’d been on the right track.
Luisa gave a cry of recognition as they saw the green tent. She didn’t even notice the purple rot in the lake, although Bruno certainly did; he looked from the lake to the tent and back again with wide eyes. It was dark inside the tent, the same one that Mirabel and Isabela had broken into and found empty earlier, but she still ripped the tent-flap open anyway, certain that she would find something inside.
And she did find something inside. It just wasn’t what she was expecting.
Professor Dunnock was curled up against the tent wall. His hands were pressed to his side, shaking, over a bleeding wound that Mirabel knew was serious. He was pale and shaking, and his face flooded with fear, then relief, when he saw the door opening.
“Professor!” screamed Luisa.
She dropped to his side immediately. Mirabel and Bruno stared. Mirabel didn’t know much about her mother’s craft, but she could put the pieces together quickly; Dunnock was bleeding badly. Badly enough that he needed help now.
“Luisa,” wheezed the professor, “Are you... alright?”
“I’m f-f-fine!” Luisa sobbed. Dunnock was wheezing and gasping with pain, but he still managed a weak smile of relief. Mirabel realised it then; she’d been wrong. She’d been so wrong about the professor.
Luisa tried to help him sit up. “Wh-what happened to you?! And A-Antonio...”
“...Safe,” managed the professor, and gave a gasp of pain. “Held ‘em... off... He ran... into the woods... the animals...”
“Luisa,” said Bruno. Mirabel was shocked to hear his voice was firm and steady. “Put your hands on that wound and hold it closed as best as you can. I’m gonna look for some bandages or something. We need to get him to your mother fast.”
Luisa nodded, shaking. Bruno began to tear through the professor’s things with ruthless efficiency. The professor’s eyes were turning glassy and unfocused. Mirabel didn’t think she was going to get much of a chance to speak to him before he fainted.
She knelt down.
“I’m... so sorry,” the professor whispered, turning his pale face to look at her. “...Tried to... stop him...”
“Who?” she said softly. “Who did this to you?”
Dunnock struggled to steady himself enough to speak. Mirabel put her ear to his lips. He coughed and gasped, but he didn’t let her down; he managed to splutter out the name between convulsions, barely a whisper.
“Cantor,” he wheezed.
And Mirabel found that she wasn’t surprised. There was nobody else. Simón Cantor had the knowledge; he had the connections to get the supplies; he lived close to the Encanto but not in it; she knew he could use a sword.
And Isabela had went straight to him.
“He’s falling asleep!” wailed Luisa.
“We still have time.” Bruno was striding back, unfolding a swathe of white fabric. “Hold him upright.”
Mirabel stood up and let Bruno take her place. She walked further into the tent, lightheaded.
Isabela had walked straight to Simón Cantor and if Simón kept his head straight, he could trick the location of the last lake right out of her.
“Okay,” Bruno was saying, “Hold him like this - that’s good - okay. Let’s go, we gotta hurry.”
“I have to stay,” Mirabel blurted.
Bruno looked at her. His voice might have been firm and steady, but she could see panic and fear in his eyes; they were wide and petrified.
“It’s not safe - ” he said.
“Antonio might be nearby. I need to look around. Just ten minutes. Please. I’ll be right behind you.
Bruno didn’t have time to argue the point with her and they both knew it. He relented. “Ten minutes. Okay. Luisa, let’s go.”
He put his arm around Luisa and guided her out, casting a worried look back at Mirabel. They didn’t linger; they were rushing back through the trees, back down to the Encanto.
That left Mirabel on her own. That was good. She knew that Bruno would never let her do this part.
She knew Antonio was safe. He was safe as soon as he was in the wilderness; every jaguar, scorpion and snake in those woods was his friend. Wherever he was, he wasn’t in danger. If he wasn’t here, it was because he’d chosen not to be; if he needed to go home, the animals would take him there.
But she was looking for something, because she knew Dunnock had brought it here. She found it leaning against his desk.
The machete.
“You were right about me, Tío Bruno,” she said softly, “I am irresponsible.”
Isabela’s powers didn’t work at the mountain spring. Simón could get there without even passing the barrier. Outside the Encanto, Simón was bigger, stronger, and smarter than them; all she had the element of surprise. And she had to use it. If he arrived at the mountain spring tonight and nobody was there to stop him, it could have meant the end for the Encanto.
But he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be empty. Mirabel would be there. Come what may.
She fastened the machete around her waist and opened the door-flap.
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It was a long walk.
She could hear Tío Bruno's voice. Don’t run away and do something heroic on your own. I know it’s a habit. And someday it’s gonna get you into trouble.
What’s a process? Rushing into things and getting yourself into trouble? said the Isabela of Mirabel's imagination.
If someone is doing this - if someone is trying to poison a well on purpose - what would a person like that do to you? asked Bruno.
Bruno had been right about Mirabel in some ways. She was in over her head. She wasn't like her sisters. She hadn't thought hard enough.
But he'd been wrong, too; Mirabel didn't think she was invincible. All she'd been through, she'd never pretended to herself like she hadn't been in danger. She knew it could hurt; she knew her luck might run out someday; she knew it would all be for nothing if she failed.
But some things were bigger than Mirabel. Some things mattered more. The family. The village. The world. And Mirabel knew, then, why Abuela had chosen her to someday lead the Encanto. Because Mirabel would risk her life - would fling herself over the chasm and dive through the falling Casita and go to the mountain spring alone - would die as many times as the Encanto asked.
Mirabel tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife.
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It was like Simón was waiting for her.
Sneaking up to the mountain spring wasn't easy; even if it was dark, there were no trees to hide behind, and the moon was full and bright tonight.
Mirabel crept towards the edge of the spring and saw Isabela, lying on the ground with her wrists and ankles bound together with rope. Simón had gagged her, but she was glaring daggers at him through the silence, eyes wide with fury.
Simón had a duffel bag on the ground, which he was rooting through. He had his back to her. At his hip, he had fastened his father's sword, the one he had offered Bruno - an offer which, Mirabel realised, was perhaps intended to trick them into attacking Dunnock on his behalf. That blade had already hurt one person today; if she wasn't careful, Mirabel would be the second.
Her mind was racing. If Simón caught her, she wouldn't be able to hold her own for very long. The only way she'd ever beat him in combat was if she surprised him and then immediately knocked him out, which was pretty unlikely.
But... Mirabel knew the barrier of the Encanto was just next to the spring. If Isabela could just move a couple of meters, she'd be able to wipe the floor with Simón, no problem. Only problem was, she had to get there first.
Mirabel crept closer.
The sound of running water disguised her footsteps enough for her to sneak up next to Isabela. Simón was still looking away.
Isabela looked up at her. Her eyes bulged. Mirabel pressed the machete to the gag tied around Isabela’s face. It was harder to cut than she'd been expecting, especially without accidentally hurting Isabela; she had to sort of saw it away Mirabel moved to start freeing Isabela’s hands.
"Mirabel," said Simón.
He was standing, staring, at the two of them. He was walking towards them, hand on the hilt of his sword. Uh oh. Mirabel definitely couldn't free Isabela in time...
The barrier was just a few paces behind to the side. She and Isabela both knew it. Mirabel quickly recalculated... if she could just get Simón to focus on her for a few seconds, Isabela could move herself enough...
Mirabel backed away, moving herself so Simón had to look away from Isabela in order to watch her. Mirabel watched realization enter Isabela’s eyes, and Isabela turned to look at the barrier, at the spot where her gift would return to her.
"Simón," said Mirabel, voice trembling. He'd stopped advancing. She held the machete in two hands, trying to feel strong. "How could you?"
Simón didn't look that different. The set of his face was still sensible and kind; he still looked at Mirabel with a calm paternal manner. How could this be the man who was trying to kill them all?
"Go home, Mirabel," said Simón. "You don't need to be involved."
"What did you do to my sister?" Mirabel's voice trembled. She fought to keep herself steady.
"Nothing so terrible. I need her to stay out of the Encanto. I don't need some magic ruining my work."
"Your work?!" Mirabel gripped her sword. "You're a murderer!"
"You wouldn't understand," he murmured. He rubbed his palms on his shirt. Was he nervous? "You're just a child. You're from there."
"Then tell me," she pleaded, "There's gotta be another way. Is something wrong? We could help you!"
Simón's hands were trembling.
"Is something wrong?" he repeated. "My daughter brings home the grandchild of the dead Madrigals and tells me she can do magic. Is something WRONG?!"
His voice suddenly warped into a scream. Mirabel winced. In that moment it was clear; whatever he said, however calm he looked, Simón had lost his mind. There would be no reasoning with him.
Isabela was struggling to cut her ropes against the rocks.
"But why the poison?" she pressed. "Why would you do this to us?"
"Not to you," he said. "You did what anybody would do. You did what I did. The night my father died. The night everyone died. Knelt down and prayed for a miracle."
He threw back his head and laughed a booming humourless laugh. His eyes were frantic and wild. How had he seemed so normal before?
"I begged!" He bellowed. "I begged the land for help. I was six years old! I watched my entire family cut down! And what happened?! A mountain rose from the ground in the distance, and we suffered. Eréndira suffered, Mirabel, while you were safe and secure in your paradise."
He drew his sword with a sickening metallic sound. Mirabel gulped. Her mouth was dry.
"That wasn't our fault," she said, "Why punish us for something we didn't do?!"
"Not your fault," he said, licking his lips. "No, it wasn't your fault. Poor, sweet Mirabel, it wasn't your fault. You should never have been born. You're living on borrowed time. But that's not your fault, no."
She didn't like the way he said that. "Then why?"
"Your land," he said, eyes wild, "Your Encanto. It ruined me. It ruined all of us. Eréndira was hell. So I'm going to return the favor. Nothing will ever grow here, thrive here, ever again. I'm going to leave this place to suffer and die the way it left me."
"But there are people living here!" pleaded Mirabel. "Can't you leave them in peace?"
Isabela had abandoned the ropes. She was instead trying her best to wriggle her way over the barrier instead, trying not to roll off target.
"Peace?!" bellowed Simón. "None of us had peace! Innocent people suffer, Mirabel! And your people will learn that!"
"You're crazy," said Mirabel, taking a few steps back. She realised she needed to get him behind the barrier, too, if she wanted him in Isabela’s zone of influence. She was going to have to goad him towards her. "I won't let you do this."
"I'll let you live," he said, "You and your sister. I'd hate to hurt two of Beatriz's friends. But if you want that to happen... you'll have to step aside. If you don't..."
He pointed his sword towards Isabela. Isabela froze. He didn't seem to notice she'd moved, or that she was no longer gagged.
Dang it. She needed to take his attention away from Isabela. She needed to get him closer.
"What about your wife's lake?" Mirabel pressed. "Why there?"
Simón scowled. "Beatriz wouldn't have understood. But my wife would have. I had to make sure it worked."
"I bet she would've been furious!" shot back Mirabel. "You made your daughter cry!"
"It was the right thing to do," he growled, "I had to know. If I'd only found the right damn lake in time, I could've done this without any bloodshed. Mirabel, step aside if you want your sister to live."
Oh no. He was staying focused. But his eyes were angry and hazy; surely she could distract him easily if she just made him mad enough, made him lose his composure...
"Maybe," said Mirabel, voice trembling, "Your family was killed for a reason."
His eyes swiveled back to her. His sword was curved and gleaming. Isabela's eyes widened, and she started struggling, not trying to be quiet any more, to get closer to the barrier.
Mirabel tried to sound brave. She tried to sound defiant. She said, "Maybe you were left behind because you deserved it. "
Mirabel barely had time to react as Simón came barrelling towards her. She swung the machete up frantically as Simón's sword came crashing down over her head and there was a terrible clang that sent a jolt of pain searing through Mirabel's shoulders. She was barely strong enough to block him, and as he swung his sword back around for another swipe she barely managed to catch it. This time he scraped his blade up hers, tilting it, and she realised too late he'd outmaneuvered her.
He slashed along her hand as it gripped the hilt and she screamed. The machete fell from her grip and clattered to the ground. She jumped backwards as he came in for another swipe.
"MIRABEL!" screamed Isabela.
Mirabel managed to get out of his range, but the movement cost her too much and she stumbled, tried to back away before regaining her balance. She had to throw herself to the ground to get away from his next slash. She cried out as she hit the ground.
Isabela was trying, but she was perilously far away and Simón was closing in fast, his face red and his eyes wide and violent, raising his sword above his head as Mirabel could do nothing but raise her bleeding hands and cower.
They both heard the sound. It made them both freeze. It was warped and uncertain in the night, and difficult to parse, but the melody could be picked out from somewhere in the rumbling and roaring. It sounded...
It sounded like La Cucaracha being played by a dying elephant.
Simón barely had time to throw himself out of the way as the Cachila came screeching towards him and screamed to a stop as Bubo, like an ancient warrior on a golden chariot, brought the Cachila to a halt and stood up in the front seat, holding a longsword that was absolutely, definitely made of plastic. Hana was more fittingly armed with a crowbar and she ran towards Isabela, and in the back seat were Beatriz and...
"Antonio?!" she yelled, and her little cousin gave her a sheepish smile. He climbed out to run to her side; Beatriz followed him, stood in front of Mirabel, and before Mirabel could say anything, turned around so her back was to the two Madrigals. She put herself between her father and Mirabel, back straight, hands outstretched.
"Dad," cried Beatriz, "This has to stop!"
"Get out of my way," snarled Simón. His shoulders were shaking.
"No!" Beatriz didn't sound afraid. She sounded angry. "I'm not letting you do this, Dad! You'll have cut me down first!"
Simón looked furious, but his hands were shaking as he gripped his sword, and he wasn't moving a muscle. Hana was bending to try untying Isabela, but Isabela was screaming, "Leave it! Take me that way! Throw me! Now!"
Hana grabbed Isabela and pulled her over the barrier.
The earth exploded. Every inch of it erupted with green and white and yellow as plants burst from the ground and seized Simón from every angle. Vines wrapped around him, brambles tore his sword from his grip, and roots grew and pulled him to the ground. He was buried in a mass of plants and bushes, his bottom half rapidly being covered by a growing tree, and his screaming was turned slurred and then silent as a flower grew and puffed a cloud of pollen in his face that made his eyelids droop. His head slumped and he fell asleep, harmless.
Another set of roots were picking up Mirabel. A plant with wide flat leaves pulled her hand and began to wind around it, forming a fresh green bandage that soothed the stinging.
Hana pulled the last rope free and Isabela leapt to her feet and ran to Mirabel's side.
"Mira, you IDIOT!"
"Uhh, you're welcome," said Mirabel, a shaky grin on her face. Isabela pulled her into a vicious hug. Then she shook Mirabel's shoulders.
"That was so dumb! You stupid, selfish, mindless little BRAT! I can't believe you! You could have DIED!"
"I love you too, Isa," said Mirabel, cradling her leaf-bound hand.
Hana walked over and patted Mirabel on the back, as though Mirabel had won an important sporting match rather than survived a harrowing encounter. Bubo scoffed and put his plastic sword back in his car.
"I could have taken him," said Bubo.
"Literally get lost," snapped Isabela.
"I've studied the blade extensively in only the finest works of literature. He was a brute, I am an artist. He would have wept."
"If you delayed literally one second because you were getting that sword I'm going to feed you to a pitcher plant, you twerp !"
"Antonio, are you alright?" said Beatriz, helping Antonio out of the Cachila.
"I'm okay," said Antonio, "What about your dad?"
"He's..." Beatriz kept her voice steady. "He's going to be fine. I'm going to make sure he gets put away somewhere and gets some help."
"Antonio..." Mirabel was amazed. "You brought them here?"
"Uh-huh," said Antonio, "The animals said it would be faster to bring help from the other side. And I have to send letters for Isabela all the time, so I know where Beatriz lives!"
"Mirabel, I'm so sorry," began Beatriz, and Mirabel shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry. Your dad..."
"I didn't think he was... I thought he was still... It's not important," sighed Beatriz. "I shouldn't have let it get this far. Let's get rid of the Scariia."
Mirabel had nearly forgotten. She watched as Beatriz unpacked the duffel back, extracting two ominous-looking packages; she shut one of them in the Cachila's trunk, while Isabela fed the other to a vicious-looking Venus Flytrap. Isabela and Beatriz looked at each other, and then Isabela put out her arms and they hugged; Bubo immediately jogged towards them and joined in, and Hana sauntered up and patted the three of them like a big collective dog.
"Antonio," said Mirabel, reaching towards him. "You saved me."
"It was no problem," he said, giving her a big smile.
"Did the professor send you?"
"It was really scary," said Antonio solemnly, "We were looking for Luisa when this big guy came running towards us. The professor told me to run and get help and they had this big fight. Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he is," said Mirabel, ruffling Antonio's hair. "You were really brave, Antonio... I hope you weren't too scared."
"I'm okay. The animals can be pretty scary sometimes too."
Antonio was way too little to be caught up in this, Mirabel thought, even if he is brave. Then she thought: Dang it. That's exactly how Bruno feels about me.
"How did you get separated from Luisa?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said, screwing up his face, "The professor said that if we get separated from him, we should stay still. But when we looked, she wasn't anywhere. So he said we would meet her at the house instead."
"Speaking of... How did you find me here?"
"Oh, we were studying all the water!" Antonio brightened up. "It's called hydrology. It's really interesting! The professor said this was the most important place because Isabela hadn't done magic to it yet. Did you know the professor believes in magic?"
"Antonio," she said, stifling a laugh, "You're magic."
"Not like our gifts, like magic animals! He said there's a magic bird that lives here and it's his dream to find it!"
Mirabel laughed. "That checks out. Gee... I think after all this, I owe Professor Dunnock an apology. I really didn't like him."
"I didn't at first because he puts little bracelets on the birds," said Antonio, "But he said that if I knew their names he didn't have to. Is your hand okay?"
"Oh..." She looked at the leaf-bandages. She could barely curl her fingers. She was going to have to get her mom to heal her soon, and even with magic she was sure to have a scar afterwards. "It's okay. I'll be fine."
"You looked really cool with your sword," said Antonio earnestly.
Mirabel gave him a small smile. "You know... I've decided I actually don't think swords are cool. They're pretty lame. Let's not use them, okay?"
"Oh! Okay!"
In the distance there was the sound of hoofbeats. Mirabel gulped. It was the sound of a horse being ridden by someone who wasn’t very good at it, and she was pretty sure she knew who.
Bruno on horseback burst into view, charged towards the mountain spring, and then yelled and fell off when he passed over the barrier. Mirabel winced. Luckily for him (and perhaps unluckily for her) he seemed completely unbothered as he pulled himself to his feet and flung out his hands to point at her accusingly.
"Do you know," he yelled, " How many times I've STOLEN THIS HORSE to come look for you?!"
"Um," said Mirabel, "Twice."
"TWICE!" he bellowed. "Which isn't that many times, but it's still MORE THAN IT SHOULD BE!"
He stormed towards her, saw her bandaged hand, and hesitated. He reached out, and she let him take her wrist and turn her hand over, eyebrows furrowing. She didn’t say anything. The fact he’d come here meant he’d already figured out what was going on, and what he didn’t know, he was clearly gathering from context.
He met her eyes, gave her a desperately sad look, and then hugged her hard enough to pull her feet off the ground.
"And you told me not to worry about you," he said, and she heard his voice crack. He sniffled.
"I'm sorry, Tío."
"You better be sorry!" He pulled her head into his chest. She felt him muffle a sob into her hair. "You are - hic! - you are in so much trouble."
"Sure, Tío Bruno," she said, wrapping her arms around him.
"I'm serious!" he said, his voice a whimper. "You're grounded! I'm docking your allowance! When this hug ends I'm - hhhh! - I'm gonna be extremely mad!"
"Okay, Tío Bruno." She didn’t even have an allowance.
"You better start running," he muffled another sob, "Wh-when we're done here I'm g-g-going to take off one of these sandals and th-throw it at you."
"Okay." She chuckled. He wasn't going to do that and they both knew it.
Bruno pulled away. He dragged his sleeve across his tearstained face and sniffed, and no matter what he said he didn't look mad at all. He looked tired and sad and terribly, horribly stressed. She felt a guilty pit form in her stomach as he brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, gripping her tightly like he was afraid she was about to run away again if he let her go.
"You dumb kid," he said, "I didn't spend ten years behind the walls protecting you just to lose you as soon as I came back, you know that?"
Isabela saw that Bruno had arrived and Bruno looked up at her, about to (presumably) tell her he was glad she was alright, but she wiped the concerned look off his face immediately by whacking him in the arm.
"You took your sweet time!" she yelled. "What is the point of seeing the future if you're still going to be late?!"
Mirabel stifled laughter. "Isabela, leave Tío Bruno alone!"
"Don't even talk to me," snapped Isabela, "You need a babysitter. A punctual one."
"Well, you got kidnapped," Mirabel pointed out.
"I escaped."
"Because of me."
"Because of you nearly getting yourself killed!"
"You kids are about to give me a heart attack," mumbled Bruno.
The Three Cachilas, Antonio in tow, were gathering around. Bubo picked up Mirabel's (well, Dunnock's) machete and used it to point at the unconscious Simón.
"So," he said, "What are we gonna do with him?"
"Gimme that, kid." Bruno held out a hand for the machete. Bubo handed it over.
Bruno hurled it into the mountain spring.
"If I see anyone using one of these ever again I'm gonna scream," he said calmly, "We're taking this guy to see my mother.”
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Abuela handled things with terrifying calm. Mirabel didn’t know if, before that point, they’d ever had to arrest somebody in the Encanto. But Abeula acted like it was all a part of the day’s work, barely batting an eyelid at their recollection of the story. The only time she seemed moved was when she learned Simón’s name.
“Gabito Cantor’s son,” she said quietly, and was silent for a long time. Then she turned to Beatriz.
Beatriz flinched, perhaps afraid that Abuela would question Beatriz’s loyalty considering who her father was. Or perhaps she was just afraid of Abuela because she was a scary woman; that was fair enough, too. But Abuela extended a hand towards Beatriz, her voice warm.
“And you are Gabito’s granddaughter,” she said, “My husband would have welcomed you into our home. Beatriz, if you have nowhere else to go, the Encanto is open to you. If you wanted to find a home and work here, it could be easily arranged.”
Beatriz blushed. “Thank you. I’ll... think about it.” Mirabel wondered what she would have done, faced with the same offer.
“And you, of course,” she said, addressing the other two Cachilas. “Please, stay the night in our home. We owe you a great debt. If you need anything, we will do our best to help you.”
“If I asked you for Isabela’s hand in marriage, would that give me magic powers?” said Bubo. Hana turned around and punched him in the arm hard enough to make him scream.
“Tomorrow, I will speak to Professor Dunnock,” said Abuela, “He will, I am sure, know more what can be done about... our guest.”
(The Casa Madrigal had produced a small room with a bed. It didn’t look like a jail cell. But you didn’t need cell bars when the room was alive.)
“For now, you should get some rest,” she told their other three, less murderous guests.
“Dibs Isabela’s bed,” said Bubo.
“I am going to make you sleep in thorns,” announced Isabela.
Beatriz didn’t say anything. But she reached over and took Isabela’s hand as they walked upstairs.
“And Antonio,” said Abuela, looking down at him, “Are you alright? Were you frightened?”
“I’m okay,” said Antonio, “Can I still learn about science from the Professor?”
Abuela chuckled.
“I think the Professor needs to go home soon,” she said, “But perhaps, when your uncles have saved up a little bit of money, we can pay for you to have lessons in the city. Would you like that?”
“Yeah!”
Things change, Mirabel thought in a daze. Things really do change.
Abuela bent down and kissed her grandson goodnight; Antonio, seemingly without a care in the world, skipped upstairs like it was an ordinary school night. That left Mirabel, Abuela, and Bruno sitting around the kitchen table. Bruno cleared his throat.
"I think we need to talk, Mirabel," he said sternly.
Oh boy.
"Yes, Tío Bruno," she said meekly.
"When you figured out what was going on," continued Bruno, "You lied to me so you could go confront Simón by yourself. That was not okay."
It was difficult to hold his gaze. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I just... didn't know what else to do. I thought you'd stop me, and I knew we were running out of time, and..."
"I understand, Mirabel," said Bruno, "But listen. Abuela and I trust you, but that doesn't mean we're happy for you to just charge into danger by yourself and handle things on your own."
Bruno gestured towards his mother.
He continued, "And we're really not happy with how much danger you put yourself in tonight. Are we?"
Abuela reached out and held Mirabel's good hand tightly in her own.
"Mirabel, I am so proud of you," she said.
"Por el amor de díos, Mamá!"
"Oh, be quiet," she said serenely. "Mirabel, if you hadn't been so brave and so quick to think, things could have gone terribly for our home. Your grandfather would have done exactly the same thing in your place. And if he was here, he would be so, so proud of you."
"Really?" said Mirabel quietly.
"You are so much like him," said Abuela, "You are brave and good-hearted and, yes, very stubborn."
Bruno gave a huff of exasperation. "Don't encourage her!"
"You should listen to your uncle," she smiled, her eyes crinkling warmly. "He has your best interests at heart. And you," she addressed Bruno, "Should have more faith in your sobrina."
"I've got plenty of faith," he grumbled, "But that doesn't mean I think Mirabel should keep getting herself into trouble."
Abuela's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Mirabel has never gotten herself into a troubling situation that you, mi amor, couldn't help her out of. You have a gift for finding Mirabel when she needs you. I am confident that the two of you, together, could save this community from anything."
Bruno pursed his lips. Mirabel grinned. Abuela stood up and walked to Mirabel's chair, kissing her head.
"Stay safe, Mirabel. This family loves you very much. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Abuela."
She squeezed Mirabel's shoulder before walking away and towards her bedroom upstairs, leaving Bruno and Mirabel alone.
" Honestly , Mirabel! I cannot believe she let that slide," said Bruno indignantly.
"It's not 'Mirabel' any more," she responded.
He gave her a look of confusion.
"I think you'll find it's actually 'Scott'," said Mirabel, wiggling her eyebrows. "Scott free."
"I'm going to eat this table," groaned Bruno, putting his head in his hands. "You're gonna give me a heart attack someday."
"It's okay. You can always dock my allowance."
"You deserve it!" He sighed deeply. "Augh! Mirabel! Do you have any idea... when I realised you were gone and the last thing I'd done was upset you... "
Oh. Oh yeah. Mirabel had practically forgotten. Well... could she really be mad at him for accusing her of recklessness? Or making bad judgement calls?
"I'm sorry, Tío Bruno. You were right about me. I'm... kind of an idiot."
"Oh... that's not what I think, Mirabel." He sighed. "Well not - exactly. That's not the word I would use. The words I would use are probably teenage and maybe, eh, out of control. Which, if that's anyone's fault, it's mine. And... for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what I said."
She could handle being teenage and out of control. That kind of checked out. Bruno was wringing his hands, looking sorrowful.
She leaned against his shoulder. "Well... I hope you want me around, even if I messed things up."
He put his arm around her. "Of course I want you around. Heart attacks and all. I wouldn't trade you for anything, you dumb, reckless kid. Just make it a little easier for me to chase you into danger next time, alright? I'm not as young as I used to be."
"I'll try." She hugged him. "No more lies. I promise."
"That's good enough for me." He squeezed her tightly. "I was right about you, Mirabel, you're not like us. You're not like anybody in the world. Just don't let anything happen to you, kid, I love you more than I can say."
"I love you too, Tío Bruno."
"Now go to bed," he said, patting her back. "And please, for the love of all that is good... Just stay there not doing anything exciting for at least six hours so I can finally get a good night's sleep. You are killing me, Mirabel. I don't know how I do it."
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Julieta was just as worried as Bruno, but Agustín didn't seem bothered at all.
"That was a very serious cut," said Julieta as they watched it fade, "Ay, díos mio, why didn't you wake me up? If Bruno had any common sense he would have taken me with him. Oh, my poor baby!"
Agustín just laughed as his wife showered their daughter in kisses.
"Mirabel and Isabela had each other's backs, they don't need us old fogeys breathing down their necks. You're like your old man, Mira, you've got an adventurous spirit!" Agustín winked at her. (Later that day he would sit on an anthill and Mirabel would wonder if she'd maybe drawn a short straw when it came to spirits.)
Dunnock volunteered to take Simón back to Eréndira, along with the Three Cachilas. "I've got plenty of contacts," he said, "I'll find a way to have him dealt with that doesn't betray anything about the Encanto, don't you worry. And..." He looked at Beatriz. "I'll make sure he's treated kindly and gets the help he needs."
As they prepared to leave the Encanto, Mirabel went to go meet the professor outside, tailed by Isabela and Bruno. Professor Dunnock took her hand and shook it for an uncomfortably long time.
"I owe you a great debt, Mirabel Madrigal, and my humblest apologies for failing to stop Simón Cantor when I had the chance," said Dunnock. "I have no doubt that you are capable of great things."
He smiled at her. His smile was exactly as ominous and hungry as it had been before.
"Thanks, Professor," she said politely, "I'm really sorry I didn't trust you at the start. Um... I don't mean to be rude, but... Has anyone told you that you're kind of scary when you smile?"
He looked crestfallen. "You know," he said, embarrassed, "The undergraduates are always saying the same thing."
He shook Bruno's hand too, and handed him another card.
"The offer still stands, you know, that if you wrote me of any scientific predictions I might be able to make something of them," said Dunnock.
"No can do, Professor, sorry. It's a principle of mine." Bruno was firm.
Dunnock beamed. "Ah, well. Then you'll have to write to me about the present rather than the future, then. You'll keep me updated as to the wellbeing of your family, won't you?"
"I, uh..." Bruno realised, very slowly, that he was being befriended. "Gee, yeah, I mean... Yes, of course, uh... Antonio and Luisa love you, they'll wanna know how you are."
"Grand! And please, Mister Madrigal, should you ever need anything from me, I am at your family's service. If the children ever desire to leave the Encanto, and you find yourself in need of a friend on the outside, do let me know. I have no family of my own to support, I'm afraid, but I do have plenty of resources to give," he patted Bruno's arm, "And should they ever wish to study, I have quite a bit of sway within the university. Everything could be arranged. It's the least I can do, it being that you saved my life."
Bruno, maybe for the first time, didn't look nervous at all as he grinned. "You know, Professor, that'd be swell."
Isabela, in a rare display of sentimentality, hugged all three of her friends. Even Bubo, though she made sure to wear an expression of distaste while she did.
"Thanks for coming," she said, "If you hadn't... I guess it would have been pretty inconvenient."
Hana punched her in the arm. She laughed.
"And that was all pretty intense," Isabela continued, "If you... wanted to stay away from the Encanto and I..." She held her head high and dignified. "I would understand."
"Isabela?" said Beatriz.
"Yes?"
"Don't be silly." Beatriz smiled. "Come hang out next week, okay? I'll try and find a radio set or something so we don't need to keep using Antonio."
Isabela looked uncharacteristically taken off-guard. "Are you sure? I mean, your dad..."
"Isa, I want as much of my normal life as I can get. And... I want you in my normal life, too. Don't worry about it."
Isabela said, with her voice high, "Who said I was worried about it?"
Abuela came to see them off, eventually; the Madrigals waved as the outsiders from Eréndira left.
"We should build a road," mused Abuela.
Mirabel lit up. "I was thinking, we could start a bus service! We could all pool our resources to get one for the village!"
"And who would drive it?"
"I dunno, whoever wanted to. Maybe Bubo wants a job. Or..." She looked at Bruno. "Maybe you do?"
"Horses are bad enough and they have their own brains," muttered Bruno, "I'll learn to drive when the village gets destroyed. And not any sooner."
"Perhaps we can talk about that together," said Abuela, "If you have ideas."
Mirabel smiled. "Tons," she said, and Abuela reached down and squeezed her hand, eyes warm and full of pride.
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It was one of Luisa's days off. That was a new thing for her. She wasn't allowed to do anything helpful or important and she had to spend the time having fun. She was getting slowly better at it.
Isabela, Luisa and Mirabel were in Bruno's-cave-slash-Isabela's-garden, repotting her baby kalanchoe plants.
"You're training to take over the Encanto?" asked Luisa. "That's a lot of pressure. Is that why you got so intense about the lakes?"
"Um, kind of," admitted Mirabel, "But I don't really mind. The more I think about it, the more I think I'd actually be really happy doing what Abuela does."
"I wouldn't," said Isabela, carefully arranging the soil around her plant. "Don't you wanna see the world? Get out of here?"
"Maybe for a little," said Mirabel, "But I think I'd wanna come back here, at the end of it all. The outside world... don't you think it's a little scary?" I mean, she didn't say, look at Simón.
Isabela snorted. "The outside world is real," she said, "This will always be a small little village and we'll always just be the Madrigals. Out there, I could become someone. See how far I can go."
"Just the Madrigals?" said Mirabel.
"Ugh, you know what I mean."
"What about you, Luisa?" said Mirabel. "Would you ever leave?"
Luisa made a thoughtful sound.
"You know," she said, "While I was out working with the Professor, he asked me what I did. And I said that I help out in town using my strength and stuff. And he said... is that what you want? And I didn't really know what to say."
"Is it what you want?" asked Mirabel.
"Dunno," said Luisa, "But when I told him that, he said that if I wanted to try something else he could find me somewhere to live and I could spend a few years in Bogotá studying. He said, umm, he said that travel broadens the mind, and what if there was more to me than just carrying stuff around?" She sounded embarrassed. "Nobody's ever really said that about me."
"Well... of course there's more," said Mirabel, "You don't need to go away to figure that out."
"But if you did," said Isabela, "I bet it'd be great."
"Are you gonna do it?" asked Mirabel.
"I'm... not sure yet. I'd miss home. And it'd be scary not having my gift. But I'd regret not being there, too..."
Mirabel wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her round the neck.
"If you left and didn't come back, I'd miss you!" she said.
"But it'd be very impressive and cool," added Isabela, "And we'd get to visit you wherever you went."
"No matter what you do," said Mirabel, "We'll have your back!"
"No matter what any of us do," said Isabela. She shot Mirabel a look. "Mostly."
"Aw, sis, you know I've got your back too," said Luisa, smiling.
"We'll figure it out," said Mirabel, "The whole future thing. Together."
"Together, no matter where we are." Luisa ruffled her sister's hair. "La Familia Madrigal, taking the world by storm!"
"Starting with the Encanto, ending with the world," said Mirabel, "We're gonna be amazing!"
Isabela rolled her eyes, setting down her plant pot.
"Well, before you get to taking the world by storm you can start by planting my succulents properly."
"Okay, okay."
Mirabel returned her focus to the little baby plant, surrounded by loose soil. "They've got their whole futures ahead of them too, huh?"
"Don't overthink it, Mirabel," sighed Isabela.
"I'm not!"
She packed the soil loosely around it the way Isabela had shown her. The little plant looked too small for the pot, but it'd grow into it. As long as it has its fellow plants around, thought Mirabel. Then she thought: Wow, I am overthinking it.
She carried the pot over to the hand-shaped sign in the sand. Your future awaits, it had once read, before it had become a living space for an array of plants. That was true enough. It was like Tío Bruno had said, really; it was about the journey.
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Language: English
Series: Part 4 of Encanto TV episodes from another timeline
Stats: Published: 2022-10-28 Completed: 2023-01-20 Words: 20,858
Camilo wants to throw a Halloween party, but his plans are hampered by a new threat to the Encanto: the arrival of an American corporation, invited by a greedy landowner. It's down to him and Mirabel to prevent the Encanto being marked on the maps and exploited for profit.
...But more importantly... Could it really be true that ghosts are rising from the Encanto graveyard...?
To the esteemed Sra. Madrigal,
It has come to our attention that, as the private community representative of the undocumented farming region known colloquially as the Encanto, your consent is a necessary and desired part of a working business relationship between the farmers of the region and any sales transactions taking place with the American Banana Collective.
Your wishes and the welfare of the community are extremely high priorities for us, and we are happy to discuss any concerns or reservations you might have, as well as further extrapolate upon our development plans for the region. We would therefore like to invite you to our upcoming Stakeholder's Meeting, to be held on Saturday October 31st, at the Ciénega Hotel, Eréndira.
Most of all, we hope that the American Banana Collective will be a source of employment and development for the community, and would like to extend our services as investors and supporters for any future endeavours.
We look forward to meeting you and warmly wish you the best.
Kind regards,
Próspero Cutrale-Safra
ABC Regional Manager
Mirabel felt like her head was full of letters and numbers, all in leaking black-and-white ink bleeding together into one blob. She tried to keep her attention on her notebook, carefully transcribing what was happening in front of her.
Months ago, the Casa Madrigal had collapsed, and took with it Mirabel’s old routine of wandering through town trying to be helpful. Abuela had taken Mirabel on as a sort of apprentice, which meant a lot of attending meetings and taking notes and listening to people. Alma Madrigal, it turned out, was a bit like the queen of the Encanto, except without any of the wealth or the worship. And being princess of the Encanto meant learning a lot more about farming systems and road-building than Mirabel had planned for. They’d spent all week reading letters from some fruit company from America, who wanted to buy a field from the Patrizios. Sometimes it all made her head spin.
"Please, Jacobo, no amount of money can be worth the location of our home," Alma pleaded.
"I'm sorry, Señora, but I've made up my mind," said Jacobo Patrizio. "It's my land, and I'm entitled to do what I like with it, including telling interested buyers where it is. If you have concerns, then you can come to the meeting like the rest of us."
Jacobo Patrizio had, up until now, been a faceless background character of Mirabel's life. He was a small, well-dressed man, uptight and proper, and very pious in a self-important sort of way. He had been just another villager until last year, when his huge terrifying mother died and he'd immediately married a much-younger woman. His new wife had inherited property, and he'd been a constant thorn in Alma's side since, insisting that it was his new 'business venture'.
“I understand the temptation of profit here, Señor, but I really must urge you to reconsider,” said Abuela. “These are outsiders seeking to make a profit from our home - a home which could be very, very tempting to certain people, and who care more about money than about us. It cannot lead to anything good.”
“Yes, Doña Alma, but the amount of money they’re offering is life-changing. Plenty of us have started doing business outside. Do I not have a right to make deals with whoever I like?”
“Certainly, sir, but what about your community? Do you not also have a duty to think of us?”
“I think this company - the ABC - could do a lot for many of us. Some of us would like to have a legacy to pass down, get forward in life. Not all of us have quite as large an... inheritance... as the Madrigals do.” Señor Patrizio wasn’t even trying not to sound bitter. “The ABC are the biggest exporter of bananas in the continent. If we could start selling to the Americans, we could be rich! And these people can help us! Doesn’t the community deserve that?”
Mirabel brightened up. “If it’s the American market that you want, why don’t we set up our own company, and find an American buyer ourselves, without their help? That way, we’d be totally in control!”
Both adults in the room paused. Mirabel realised she had made a mistake by speaking up. Both Abuela and Señor Patrizio were smiling politely, the distinct look of adults explaining something to a dumb teenager.
“That is a nice idea, Mirabel, but I do not think it is quite plausible,” said Abuela, “We do not have the experience we would need.”
“Maybe someday,” said Señor Patrizio kindly. Mirabel quickly went back to her notebook.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” said Abuela, “While I would certainly welcome certain investments from outside, there are some core things that must go unchanged if we are to stay safe in our home here...”
Around and around they went, like horses on a merry-go-round. Mirabel stared gloomily at her notes.
It had been Abuela’s idea to start training Mirabel as her successor. She said Mirabel had a talent for leadership, if the collapse and rebuilding of the Casa Madrigal had proven anything. She said that if she was the head of the family, Mirabel was its heart. This family needs you. This community wants you. I see you. They had been words Mirabel had been longing to hear her whole life. The feeling was indescribable.
...But what being the head of the Madrigals actually meant was a lot of meetings, and reading letters, and taking notes. The whole village ticked around the family’s Gifts like a well-oiled machine, taking what supernatural fortune they had and spreading it around until it made everybody just a little luckier. Mirabel was starting to see why Abuela had gotten quite so obsessed with them. Luisa’s Gift alone halved the workload of every construction company. Without Isabela the entire farming system would have to be re-worked. Abuela had a set of five-year-plans for after Pepa’s death. She’d started planning for Pepa’s death when Pepa was seven years old. The closer you looked, the more the village seemed to work like a precarious set of dominoes; every system and rule was balanced on another, which was old, or half-forgotten, or reliant on the existence of magic.
At least Mirabel wouldn’t have to explain magic to the ABC trading company. Unless Abuela asked. Mirabel doodled a banana tree on her notes.
Not that Mirabel wasn’t living the life of her dreams. Or that this was everything she could have asked for. But... happily ever after sure was dry sometimes.
"American companies like this cannot be trusted," Alma was saying, "This plantation deal will only be the beginning. Once they see how much profit can be made from our land, they will try and take it from us. That's how they do things."
"You're deluded, Doña. Próspero is an honest man. I've met him. And besides," he added pointedly, "Surely the Madrigals, with their magical gifts, would protect the community if such a thing happened?"
"My family is not an army, Señor Patrizio. This is a peaceful community."
"Then perhaps I could be left to make my own business dealings in peace, then?"
Abuela was clearly disgusted by his disrespect, but it didn't seem to bother him. He stood up, brushing down his suit jacket as though sitting inside the Casa Madrigal had somehow made it dirty.
"Anyway, Señora, I'd better be going. Mass will begin soon, and I'll need to be there early to light a candle for Mother. I'll see you at the meeting on Saturday, I'm sure?"
"If need be," said Alma coldly.
They watched him go silently. The house, in an act of quiet rebellion, made him stand on his tiptoes to retrieve his hat.
Mirabel waited for the front door to close before saying, "Slimeball."
"Mirabel," said Alma, "As community leaders, we owe it to our community to treat them with respect and compassion, even if they do not return it. I disagree heavily with Jacobo's opinions, but he has reasons for holding them. We unravel them respectfully. That's our job."
She hesitated.
“Even if they are...” she cracked a small smile. “Slimy.”
Mirabel leaned into her grandmother. “So slimy! Come on! His wife is like twenty years younger than he is!”
They laughed. The upside of Mirabel's work - even if it was boring sometimes - was seeing Abuela in another light.
“We had better get ready too,” said Abuela, “Your mother will be wanting to start packing early today. They’re very anxious to get to the city.”
Julieta and Pepa were absolutely ecstatic to be going away for a week with their husbands, having never been away on vacation in their lives. Of course, what ‘absolutely ecstatic’ looked like on this side of the vacation was that they were both totally frantic, had absolutely no idea what to bring, and were packing enormously overfilled suitcases while their husbands laughed. Mirabel was sure her father would still forget something.
The fact that they were going on vacation was just one of the many huge changes that had come around since the bus service to the city had started. Isabela’s friend Bubo would pull up twice a day in a battered old truck repurposed with benches (“I’m sure nobody will ask,” he shrugged) and take prospective travellers out of the Encanto, taking the long way around the river and dropping them off in the enchanting outside world. Maybe Jacobo was right, thought Mirabel. Maybe it really was time for them to embrace modern commerce.
“I suppose I will have to travel to the city as well, if I’m to attend this meeting that the ABC are holding,” mused Abuela, “If this Próspero Cutrale-Safra really is a good man, perhaps he will listen when we tell him not to go ahead.”
“If Jacobo likes him,” said Mirabel gloomily, “I doubt it.”
Abuela shook her head. “Perhaps we can change his mind yet,” she said. “Come along, let’s make sure your cousins are ready. If we miss mass, Jacobo Patrizio will surely hold it against us. He’s just the type.”
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"Benedixit, fregit, deditque discipulis suis, dicens.... Accipite et manducate ex hoc omnes," said Padre José. "Hoc est anim corpus meum."
A bell rang. Those who were interested leaned forward to watch the sacrament, which meant nobody leaned forward at all, because it was a hot Sunday morning and everybody already knew that Padre José didn’t stretch his arms enough during the adoration. Mirabel, like most of the church’s occupants, was staring idly at the floor tiles and thinking about life.
Mirabel’s life certainly had changed. Still, some things never changed, and that included going to mass and looking as pious as possible every Sunday morning.
Padre José continued, in his familiar monotone drone, “Simili modo postquam coenatum est accipiens et hunc praeclarum Calicem..”
"Mirabel," whispered Camilo.
Mirabel looked over at Camilo, trying not to turn her head too obviously. The church was silent, except for the familiar drone of Sunday mass, and she didn't want anyone to think she wasn't watching. Abuela would never let her hear the end of it.
"What," she whispered back.
"You know how our parents are gonna be in the city on vacation," he whispered.
"Yeah?" she tried to talk out of the corner of her mouth.
“And Abuela told me she’s gotta be in the city for a meeting next week,” whispered Camilo.
Mirabel gave Camilo the smallest, most subtle shrug of confusion she could and returned her attention to mass.
“...in sanctas ac venerabiles manus suas... Item tibi gratias agens...”
Padre José had a particular talent for giving mass like even he didn’t speak Latin and wasn’t especially paying attention.
Camilo tilted his head to indicate that he had more to say. "So you know what that means," he whispered.
"No?" she said.
"Well, it'll - "
Behind them, Pepa cleared her throat pointedly. They both quickly turned back to the priest.
"Benedixit, deditque discipulis suis, dicens..." Padré José continued.
Mirabel glanced down at her hands.
She drummed her fingers on her lap, wandering if she should paint her nails next sunday.
Camilo held his head stiff and stared at the priest.
Mirabel caved and whispered, “What does it mean?”
"It'll just be the kids and Bruno in the house," whispered Camilo, "So we can do whatever we want."
"Okay?" whispered Mirabel.
"Like we basically have a free house."
"There's, like, seven of us - "
Mirabel felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to look at her mother. "Mirabel," said Julieta, "Basta." Mirabel turned back around guiltily and made herself stare at the priest.
“Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei, novi et aterni testamenti: mysterium fidei,” said the priest, “Qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum.”
As Padré José blessed the wine into the blood of Christ, Mirabel glanced sideways and saw Camilo waiting for another chance to speak.
The ministers at their front began to shuffle forward.
"So we could totally throw a Halloween party," whispered Camilo.
Mirabel glanced around and saw that everyone's attention was elsewhere.
"We'd get busted," she whispered back.
"We wouldn't."
"We'd so get busted."
"Nobody knew about it last time."
Mirabel scoffed. "There was no last time."
"That's what you think, which is proof we can - "
"Would you kids put a sock in it," whispered Bruno, leaning over them, "We're in the middle of mass."
They both hushed.
“Haec quotiescumque feceritis, in mei memoriam facietis,” said el Padre.
Mirabel chewed her lip as the village's more pious volunteers finished taking communion and began positioning themselves to start handing out wafers. Mirabel wasn't, despite the amount of festivities that took place in the Casa Madrigal, the hugest fan of parties. But she highly doubted that she could talk Camilo out of it. And anyway, at least he'd invited her.
The churchgoers began to shuffle out of their seats for communion.
As Camilo slipped out of the pew and passed by Bruno, he leaned over and murmured, "Would you - "
"No," said Bruno immediately.
"I haven't even - "
"Definitely not."
Mirabel tried to look innocent as she passed them, ignoring Bruno's what-are-you-two-playing-at-now expression, and tried to look like Abuela: head high, back straight, and definitely like her family weren’t planning ragers directly behind her back.
Camilo sidled into line behind her.
“We’ll talk later,” he whispered.
Mirabel tried to shrug as though she didn’t care. But Mirabel, try as she might, was not very good at looking like she didn’t care. The world was simply too full of things to worry about.
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It is much, much easier to throw a house party when your house literally loves parties. This was a trick that Camilo had used often. Casita would hide bottles, tidy spills, and restock pantries just to have a good time, especially if you played My Little Bimbo Down on the Bamboo Isle at some point during the night. The only thing Camilo had to worry about were decorations (the house, after all, deserved to dress up a little once in a while), and before that, permission.
He’d have to not mention Halloween. Camilo had found out, unsurprisingly, that Bruno had learned about Halloween and immediately gone off the deep end with it. Bruno’s fear of bad luck, black cats, witches, and teenagers were all in overdrive this week, especially with his sisters going on vacation without him. (They’d invited him. He’d refused on the grounds of ‘ghouls’.)
Camilo was expecting Bruno to be too distracted to think too hard about his request, but he was having no such luck.
“Nope,” said Bruno. “No. No way. As they say in English, no! I already told you, I am not letting you wreck our house. It’s already collapsed once.”
“That wasn’t my fault!” protested Camilo. “C’mon, Tío Bruno, help me out here. You’re the cool uncle. Be cool.”
Camilo could see that this had wobbled Bruno’s resolve, but not enough to down him. “I-I'm not anybody's cool uncle. I'm an uncool, rule-abiding, safe uncle. And the last thing we need in this house is any more teenagers. Two of you is enough."
Camilo had been camping out in the kitchen, waiting for Bruno to appear. He'd been expecting Bruno to cave, admittedly. But the old man was getting better at saying no to Camilo, possibly because he was learning tricks from the rest of the family when it came to inconveniencing Camilo. Camilo saw that he had a coffee pot's worth of time to change Bruno's mind and decided to strike Bruno at his weak point.
"Tío Bruno," said Camilo, "I'm a dumb teen who likes parties. But that's not the only reason I wanna do this. There's something else."
Bruno cocked an eyebrow. Camilo snapped his fingers and shifted his outfit into Mirabel's neat, unembroidered Sunday clothes, which were looking more and more like Abuela's every day.
"I haven't seen Mirabel spend time with someone her own age since forever. She spends all her time with Abuela doing important community saving stuff. She barely draws or sews any more. She definitely doesn't dance. This way, I can actually try and make her relax. Just cause she's the next guardian of the miracle or whatever doesn't mean she's not fifteen."
Bruno had paused with his hand halfway to the stove. He had a sad, twitchy frown on his face that told Camilo he'd hit the mark.
“Isn’t there some other way of getting her to have fun?” Bruno asked, rubbing his beard uncomfortably.
“If you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.”
"Why can't you invite her to a party somewhere else?" he pleaded. "You bring a buncha strangers over here, I'm gonna have to go back in the walls for the evening. I don't do parties."
"She'd say she was busy. Can't skip out if the party is at her house. Please, Tío Bruno, it's one night."
Bruno gave a long, frustrated sigh. He reached out a bony hand and knocked on the kitchen table. Then he groaned, "Alright. Fine. You're right, it is a good idea. Just please get everybody out of the house before it gets too late. And don't scratch any of my records."
"You're letting me play your records?"
"You were right," said Bruno unhappily, "I am the cool uncle."
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They were holding a family meeting. Some people might have called it ‘lunch’, but Isabela could tense tension when it was on the horizon. Camilo was hanging around with the languid manner he got when he was up to something. He’d invited Mariano over, which meant he was trying to butter up Dolores. It meant nothing good. When he brought up the party, he’d grandly swept Mirabel’s notes off the table for emphasis, possibly to butter Isabela up. Isabela was wise to his tricks.
“Why,” drawled Isabela, “Would we want to let you fill our house with your dweeby teenage friends?”
“Uh, because you care about our personal development? Come on, when else are me and Mirabel gonna be able to do this?”
“Any other time?” snapped Isabela.
“And you can’t even do it this time,” said Luisa, “Mirabel won’t be there.”
Isabela had to give Camilo some credit, actually - he looked genuinely upset, not angry. Either he was getting even better at acting or he’d actually been planning on hanging out with her. Perhaps her annoying primito was finally growing up.
“Why not?” he addressed this question to Mirabel.
“I wanna go to the meeting with Abuela,” said Mirabel, primly holding her notes against her chest. “They’re making some important decisions and I want to be there, especially if things aren’t set in stone.”
“What? What’s more important than Halloween?!” Camilo huffed. “You can make an outfit. Several outfits! You’re not gonna be here?”
“The ABC is,” said Mirabel primly, “Jacobo Patrizio wants to sell his land to the American Banana Collective.”
That got a reaction out of both Isabela and Dolores; Isabela cried, “The ABC?!” as Dolores said, “Jacobo Patrizio?”
“Mirabel, you can’t let him do that!” Isabela felt small thorns sprouting under her hair. “The ABC?! Do you have any idea what those people are capable of?! It’s all my friends in the city talk about! Any good newspaper is full of stories about them abusing workers and bribing politicians!”
“Jacobo Patrizio’s mother is back from the dead,” said Dolores.
That put an immediate halt on the conversation.
They all turned around to stare at her. She sat at the head of the table, eyes big; only Mariano seemed completely unfazed by this statement.
“She’s,” said Camilo, “What?”
“Back from the dead,” said Dolores calmy. “People have been talking about it all week. And I hear screaming and groaning from the graveyard at night.”
“And the scratching at her grave,” added Mariano helpfully.
“That too.”
“Sorry,” said Mirabel, “You’re saying Thea Patrizio is back from the dead?”
Thea Patrizio had been one of the village’s resident menace, a figure of fear for many small children in the Encanto. She’d been dead for five years, but Mirabel remembered that even the old woman’s funeral had had an air of terror and awe, as thought they were all afraid Thea was about to burst out of her coffin.
When she’d been alive, Thea had been a menace. Tall, thick-armed, sour-faced, she’d been one of the most terrifying figures in the village. She never went out except to sit in the front row of the church, her thin lips drawn into an angry frown; she’d scream at anybody, children and adult alike, who dared to tread on her flowers or do anything similarly un-Christian in front of her. At Camilo’s Gift ceremony, Thea had said Camilo was an “affront to God” because he could make himself different genders. Abuela said that love was a gift and that the Encanto was a haven to all who seeked peace, but Thea had never accepted that there were same-sex couples in the Encanto, and would complain at length about it. Every day, at 5pm, Thea would take her little terrier for a walk, and every evening, at 5pm, every resident of the Encanto would shut their doors and avoid the streets, for fear of running into her and her dog. Adelelmus had been a demon among terriers. He’d gone missing the day she died, presumably because nobody else was powerful enough to contain him.
They’d been an electrifying pair. Even Jacobo, her only son, had visibly relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief when she died.
“Her least favourite people have been waking up in the middle of the night and hearing screaming,” continued Dolores calmly, “And the soil at her grave gets messed up every night. Oh, and people have been hearing her curse them and predict their deaths.” She tilted her head. “That part might not be true.”
“My mom said that she saw Thea standing in the crowd at the market,” continued Mariano, “And Thea’s hands were covered in blood.”
“Your mom’s short-sighed, Mariano,” snapped Isabela. “It was probably just somebody holding some tomatoes!”
“Can we talk about something else?” piped up Luisa. Her eyelid was twitching. “Talking about ghosts and stuff, it m-m-makes... I mean... I mean if Tío Bruno heard us he’d be really scared.”
Thea had always maintained that Bruno was an agent of Satan. Adelelmus would attack Bruno on sight. If he heard she might be back, he’d certainly move back into the walls.
“Good point,” said Camilo, “Anyway, ghosts aren’t real.”
“Neither is magic,” said Mirabel pointedly.
Camilo dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Anyway! More importantly! Do you really need to go to some meeting? They’re not gonna listen to you anyway.”
“I have to try,” said Mirabel, “I can’t sit by and do nothing while Jacobo sells the farm.”
Camilo raised an eyebrow. “What if he wasn’t gonna? Would that fix the problem?”
Mirabel gave him an inquisitive look. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I want you to come have fun with me!” Camilo threw an arm around her. “C’mon! What if we cracked the Jacobo case before Halloween? If we convince him not to sell the farm, no need for the meeting, party time central. Right?”
“I don’t know...” began Mirabel.
“Thea Patrizio would probably be against it,” said Dolores helpfully, “She said America was the cursed land of protestants. If she’s really come back.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think Thea Patrizio is gonna be a whole heap of help to us here,” said Camilo. “But I could! C’mon, Mirabel, you’re not the only Madrigal apprentice, right? I could help butter him up. We could put together a presentation. Mirabel and Camilo, teenage twins! We could save the Encanto and then party all night. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Well...” Mirabel bit her lip.
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Luisa, “Mirabel, when was the last time you hung out with somebody your own age?”
Mirabel turned from Camilo to Luisa, a blush rising in her cheeks. “Uh... I mean, I’ve been really busy...”
“If I asked my friend Hana to lend me some music records, she’d do it,” added Isabela. “I mean, if you wanted.”
“Oh... Um...”
“And Bruno doesn’t want you to go the meeting,” said Dolores, “He’s afraid that supernatural beings will emerge on Halloween and the city isn’t safe for you.”
Mirabel paused.
“That’s a secret,” added Dolores.
“Besides, you’re right, this is important,” said Camilo, “Let me help! I live here too, y’know. I don’t want to let Jacobo or his weird dead mom wreck it! Abuela is used to using her authority. She’s not a facts type of woman. She can’t even read. You and me, we’ll put together an airtight case. All the evidence that it’s a bad idea and they’ll cheat him in the end, plus a little spoonful of blackmail if we need it, and wrap it up with a ribbon on top before Saturday!”
“Tell him if he does it, I’ll ruin him,” said Isabela cheerfully. Luisa gave her a look.
“There’s not much you can blackmail Jacobo with,” said Dolores, “Except that he was terrified of his mother. But that’s not much of a secret. Oh, and he - well, maybe you don’t want to know.”
“If you want to put together some evidence, all you have to do is go to Eréndira library and look at the newspaper archive,” said Isabela, “I’ll ask Beatriz for a list of dates for you to check out. I can give you books too. Those guys have a paper trail a mile long.”
Camilo nudged Mirabel. “Then we should be able to do it! Right?”
Mirabel looked around at everyone, all staring at her with expectant faces.
“Well...” she took a breath. “It’s gotta be worth a shot. Maybe he will listen. And the more we do, the better. Right?”
“Right!” Camilo gave her a big grin, and she gave him a small smile in return. “C’mon! We should start asking around!”
“Huh? What?”
Camilo immediately pulled Mirabel out of her seat, which made her give a small laugh. “Wait, wait, let me get my stuff!”
Isabela watched Camilo drag her out of the kitchen.
“They forgot to eat lunch,” said Luisa reproachfully.
“Camilo will find food, trust me,” said Isabela dryly. “He has money. Bruno backpays him for taking the blame for all the theft.”
“Do you really think Jacobo will change his mind?” said Mariano. “He’s a nice guy and all, but...”
Mariano trailed off. Mariano never said anything mean about anybody, which meant he had very little to say about Jacobo.
“I don’t think we should take the risk,” huffed Isabela. “If the ABC learn where we are, then I’ll cover the whole mountain in giant pitcher plants myself.”
“You know...”
Dolores began to speak, very quietly, but cut herself off. It was a habit of hers that Isabela had only recently noticed. She turned around to look at Dolores expectantly, and Dolores blushed.
“...Well, it’s just...” Dolores looked away. “...I really do think Thea Patrizio would stop him. Maybe we could ask her.”
Isabela stared. Luisa stared too. Mariano scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“Have you ever heard of a spirit board?” he asked.
“No,” said Isabela. “What’s that?”
“My mom has one,” he said, “It’s, like, a board with all these letters and a little planchette, and if you get a bunch of people at midnight and put your finger on the planchette, ghosts spell out words and talk to you.”
Luisa said, tremulously, “Ghosts?”
“Yeah! It’s definitely real. My mom says she uses it to talk to her great-aunt all the time.”
Isabela crossed her arms. “And you wanna use that to talk to her? Seriously? Can’t we just, I dunno... Break into Jacobo’s house? Something normal like that?”
Luisa put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what’s worse,” she said, muffled.
“Why not?” said Dolores, raising her eyebrows. “Even if it doesn’t work... Wouldn’t it be fun?”
Isabela was silent for a moment. She was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever heard Dolores say that something might be fun. Dolores was so quiet, she barely ever said what she wanted to do. Even when they were kids, Isabela always picked their games and made their plans.
“While our parents are gone, we could always open a bottle of wine and...” Isabela grinned. “...Have an evening in with Thea Patrizio.”
“Oh my god,” mumbled Luisa.
“It’s a win-win! If she’s there, she can stop Jacobo for us. And if she’s not,” Mariano paused to think, “Well, at least she’s dead.”
Dolores nodded in agreement. Isabela, standing at the head of the table, grinned.
“Midnight, huh?” she said. “We can wait until Abuela goes to bed, go to my room, camp out for a while... And then see if Thea and Adelelmus are around.”
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“Where are you two going?” said Bruno suspiciously.
He was watching them from behind his painting, Mirabel hurriedly packing her mochila as Camilo waited with his hands in his pockets.
“The city,” said Camilo. “We’re going to the library.”
“The city?” Bruno frowned. “That’s... Hm... When will you back?”
“I dunno, the library probably closes at five or something. Why?”
Camilo immediately regretted asking. Bruno climbed out of his passageway, eyes wide and intense, and grabbed Camilo’s shoulders with an intensity that usually meant Bruno was about to say something absolutely demented.
“You shouldn’t be out after dark these days,” said Bruno urgently.
“Tío.”
“The Pagans call it Samhain,” said Bruno. “It’s not all good. Not just the ghosts of loved ones passed. There are things out there too - ”
“Please do not involve me,” said Camilo, “In your weird pathological fear of Halloween.”
“And if something bad is gonna happen it’ll be this week, and we’re definitely safe here- ”
“Tío Bruno, please. I’m not afraid of some weird hocus pocus ghost stuff, okay?” Camilo brushed Bruno’s hands off his shoulders. “If I meet a ghost out there, I’ll just shapeshift into you and use your face as a repellant. It’ll be fine.”
Bruno gave an unhappy squeak. Camilo gave a harsh sigh.
“We’ll be back before dark, promise,” he said, “You can even look into the future about it. And we’ll be fine. It’s the library, not an ancient burial ground.”
“Sorry,” said Bruno, “I mean I’m not sorry. No, I’m sorry. Sorry. I just - sorry. Y’know, just, Julieta and Pepa are already gonna be gone and they can take care of themselves, but you two-”
“Are small, pathetic, and five years old, I know, I know,” sighed Camilo, “We’ll try not to summon the devil while we’re at the newspaper archive. Relax, man.”
“You could come with us!” piped up Mirabel, coming down the hall with her bag packed. “We could all get the bus-”
“I’m not riding those giant mechanical carriages,” said Bruno unhappily. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s totally safe!” said Mirabel.
“It’s a lot less safe than it will be in fifty years.”
“You’ll probably be dead in fifty years!” Camilo protested.
Bruno rubbed his arms nervously. Mirabel, trying to comfort Bruno by pretending he wasn’t being really weird, hugged him and kissed his cheek, saying, “We’ll be back soon! Look after Antonio! Do you need anything from the city?”
Bruno mumbled no, remembering to act a little normal as they set out towards the front door.
“Poor Tío Bruno,” said Mirabel sympathetically, “It’s a bad week for him.”
“It’s gonna be a bad week for everybody if we don’t get that slimeball under our thumb,” said Camilo, stretching out his hands.
For the first time, Mirabel gave a genuine grin.
“Y’know,” she said, “I’m actually glad you’re helping me out. This might be fun for a change.”
“Yeah, well, don’t count on it. When we get this thing in the bag, you better come dance with me. I need somebody clumsy to make me look good.”
Mirabel scoffed. “Uh, yeah right. I think you’ll find that I am, actually, a dancing queen.”
“Prove it!” said Camilo. “After we take Jacobo down.”
They set out the door and down the path.
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On the other side of town, down at the graveyard, the shadows darkened as a cloud passed over the sun.
Behind the grave of Thea Patrizio, deep in the shadows, a figure slipped into the trees and out of sight. It was hard to pick out the exact shape.
But one thing was sure - it was followed along by a long-haired, shaggy, vicious-looking hound with glowering red eyes.
It was hard to say exactly in the shadows. But it sure looked like a terrier.
The last time Luisa had been the lookout for Isabela and Dolores, they had been stealing chunks of quartz down at the quarry and throwing them into the pool to make bubbles come out. Luisa had been nine years old, Isabela and Dolores eleven. They'd made her hide next to the cabin and watch for approaching grown-ups. Luisa was now nineteen, and unhappily watching the kitchen archway to make sure Tío Bruno didn't walk in on them raising the dead.
Well, actually, she was trying to prevent him from walking in on them raising the dead while they were polishing off the last of his Shiraz. Without their parents or Abuela around, Isabela had apparently been feeling even more wild and expressive than usual, which meant she was not only helping Dolores contact the dead but also getting drunk in the process. They'd had a 'preparatory meeting’ where they composed a list of questions while simultaneously emptying the liquor cabinet. Isabela said it was the responsible thing to do. Because, apparently, 'as the adults we have to steal the alcohol before Camilo does'.
During the planning phase, they quickly came to the conclusion that you couldn't do a seánce in Isabela’s room. The floor wasn't flat enough. Isabela couldn't make a hard, flat table without killing a tree, which Isabela wouldn't allow on principle. That meant they had to use the kitchen table, which meant Luisa was now not only committing heresy, but also running a high risk of stopping her uncle's heart. (Not to mention hers. Luisa didn't think the spirit board would work, but that did absolutely nothing at all to stop her imagining how awful it would be if it did.)
Luisa would have protested, only...
...Only Dolores was so giggly. She was clearly excited, and after a glass of wine she was even draped happily over Mariano's arm, rambling about the day's gossip. Luisa didn't see Dolores laugh very often, or talk a lot, and she totally deserved to have a fun night with them, even if they all got sent directly to hell as a consequence.
Oh, Luisa was nervous. She shouldn't have taken the tequila shot. It had been peer pressure.
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," said Dolores.
"We can explain things to Tío Bruno," said Isabela.
She shook her head in silent terror. Luisa refused to take that risk. Isabela, left to her own devices, might actually tell Bruno the truth about what they were doing, and then it was all over.
The kitchen was lit by a single flickering candle. Luisa twiddled her fingers and quietly reminded herself, without success, that ghosts weren't real. Isabela, Dolores, and Mariano watched as Mariano brought out the spirit board.
"So," said Mariano, "My mom said we all have to put one finger on the planchette."
Okay. Luisa was doing this. Luisa was going through a wild rebellious self-discovery phase like Isabela and Dolores, nothing to worry about, just one finger there, no problem.
She watched Isabela and Dolores lightly touch the planchette.
"Luisa," whispered Isabela.
"I can't," whimpered Luisa, "I'll break it. I'm too strong."
Isabela hesitated, then shrugged. She looked at Mariano expectantly.
Mariano's voice took on an awed hush. "Alright," he murmured. "Move it in a circle on purpose."
Luisa watched as the planchette moved in a slow, wavering circle. Was it just her imagination, or was it getting colder in the room?
Mariano called, in a low voice, "Are there any spirits here tonight?"
They watched with silent, tense awe as the planchette stood waveringly still on the board.
"It's moving," whispered Dolores. Was it? Luisa gulped. Yes, gently, it was... But both Isabela and Dolores looked surprised at the movement. It was drifting up the board...
"It's saying something," murmured Mariano.
The planchette formed a circle around the word Yes.
The candle flickered, as though moving in an invisible breeze. Luisa shuddered. Why was it so cold?
"We need to speak with the spirit of a woman," intoned Mariano, "Named Thea Patrizio. Is she there?"
No movement from the board. And then...
The candle flickered again. It wasn't Luisa's imagination. A faint cold breeze was blowing. Not enough for her to really tell it was real, except the smoke from the candle was definitely moving, swirling in an unnatural pattern through the air.
The others gasped. The planchette was moving again.
"It's stopping on a letter," breathed Dolores. Luisa couldn't watch. Her eyes were transfixed on the candle-smoke forming an impossible spiral in the centre of the table.
Mariano said, in a low, awed voice, "It stopped on L."
Luisa felt her heart go cold.
The candle's flame had dimmed to a cold white flicker. The windows were closed, but Luisa's hair was moving in the breeze. She held her breath as the planchette moved, not to spell her name, but something else...
"I," said Isabela.
"B," said Dolores.
Mariano said, "I think it's stopping on R-"
The lights came on as someone turned the gaslights up in the kitchen. A puff of cold unnatural wind snuffed the candle. Bruno stood in the doorway, looking puzzled.
"What are you guys doing in here?" said Bruno.
Isabela stood up immediately. Mariano screamed, perhaps because of ghosts and perhaps because of Isabela. Dolores, far too slowly to actually block any sound, very gently raised her hands to her ears. Luisa snatched the board off the table, hoping he hadn't had time to see it, and balled it up in her hands with a series of loud crunching sounds.
None of them responded.
Luisa had to say something. Dolores was bad at lying, Mariano was worse, and Isabela was so good at lying she had gone all the way around and started refusing to do it anymore, but Luisa's tongue was completely tied.
Dolores said, "We drank your wine."
Bruno's eyes moved to the kitchen counter, where the evidence of their evening's activities were sitting. He scratched his head.
"...In the dark?" he said, confused.
Luisa's nerve broke. "There was wind!" she wailed. "Coming from nowhere! The light started fading!"
Actually, now that she was looking at the smoke from the candle was still forming a lazy spiral. Bruno clicked his tongue.
"Oh, sorry," he said, "I musta got lost in my imagination. Heh, I have a lot to think about this week. Here, lemme just..."
He smacked himself lightly in the temple. The wind suddenly stopped. The lights abruptly brightened and got warmer, Bruno's eyes becoming slightly less green.
"Anyway, you're all adults, y'know, your parents are away, I don't mind if you get a little wild," he continued, "You don't hafta hide, if you want wine you can just take it. Just lemme know what you want and I can get it for you, don't worry about it."
Luisa couldn't speak.
"Thank you," said Dolores faintly.
"Anyway, you kids have fun," said Bruno, shuffling off again.
They all sat in silence for a moment.
Luisa opened her palms. She'd been clenching her hands so tightly, all that tipped out onto the table was a pile of wooden splinters and sawdust.
They all looked at it.
"Now how is my mom supposed to talk to her aunt?" said Mariano sadly.
"It didn't work." Isabela huffed. "All the unnatural stuff was just Bruno getting nervous in the next room. And 'libr' doesn't spell anything that makes sense, because we just asked if Thea was there."
"Maybe not," said Dolores, who seemed completely unbothered by the whole thing.
Luisa put her head in her hands.
"Was Thea Patrizio even literate?" said Isabela.
"She could spell," said Dolores.
"Well, that's-"
"Her name."
"Ugh, this was a bust," said Isabela. "Now what? How are we supposed to talk to her like this?"
Luisa didn't want to talk to Thea Patrizio. Ever. She could only see one way out of this situation that would prevent any more ghost hunting, and maybe make her a little less stressed too.
"Bruno said we could have his wine," she said.
Dolores brightened up. "We could play a game?"
"What kind of game?" said Mariano.
"A drinking game?"
"Sounds like a great idea," said Luisa, keeping the squeak out of her voice.
"Sheesh," said Isabela, "Yeah, alright. I guess. Maybe we'll try again on Halloween."
"Please let's not," said Luisa quietly.
"Hm?"
"Nothing," squeaked Luisa. "I'll go get the wine."
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It was dark by the time the bus rattled back to the village, and Mirabel was practically falling asleep despite the constant shaking of the bus seats.
It turned out that going to the library and finding evidence of crimes was actually really hard. There were a lot more newspapers than Mirabel had expected. And some of them even supported Jacobo's claims. And even the ones that didn't were really long and full of stuff that had nothing to do with the ABC. Mirabel had read so many issues of El Spectador that she could barely remember what month it was anymore.
Still, there had been plenty to read. When they found the article they needed, the library clerk had just shrugged and said they could take the whole paper. It sat folded in a small packet of notes in Mirabel's mochila, which she held protectively on her lap.
ABC Bureaucrat Stands Accused of Corruption, Bribery, and Abuse
Próspero Cutrale-Safra, National PR Director of the American Banana Collective, is to stand trial tomorrow for extensive corruption in the management of the La Playa plantation, Atenas, Magdalena.
Five hundred words, all of them absolutely damning towards Próspero. It was their ticket to swaying Jacobo. Jacobo had put a lot of faith in Próspero Cutrale-Safra - more, evidently, than he deserved. If they needed evidence to discredit him, it didn't get much better than that.
Camilo, who had been more useful than Mirabel had expected, didn't seem phased at all by the day's work. As they got off the bus and started walking home, he shape-shifted into Jacobo and began striking poses down the path.
"Ooh, Próspero, how could you lie to me?" he lisped. "You're telling me all those unrealistic promises of fame and fortune weren't true?"
"Cut it out, Camilo, someone might hear," said Mirabel, trying not to giggle.
"A spectre is haunting the Encanto," continued Camilo, now taking the form of Thea Patrizio. "The spectre of bananas."
Mirabel really did have to giggle at that. "Camilo! She's dead!"
"Doesn't stop her."
Too tired not to laugh, Mirabel was giddy and light-headed by the time they got back home. Camilo, thankfully, remembered to shed the form of the Patrizios before Bruno saw him.
"Sorry, bus was late," Camilo drawled as they got in the door, holding his palms up defensively. Mirabel winced. Bruno was staring at them from the stairs, sitting in a way that suggested he'd been waiting there for a while.
"I know," muttered Bruno, getting up to join them. "Did you find what you needed?"
"I think so," said Mirabel, "We brought a newspaper. We just need to talk to Dolores-"
Bruno was examining Camilo closely, as though checking him for bugs. Camilo scowled at him, which Bruno didn't seem to notice. "And that's definitely all you brought?" said Bruno.
"Well, that and the cursed tome," droned Camilo, transforming into his iconic form of Nightmare Bruno. "The one with the ghooosts."
"Sorry, sorry," groaned Bruno, "House feels too empty, it has me on edge."
"When are you ever off edge, dude?" said Camilo, brushing Bruno's hand off his shoulder as he transformed back into himself. Bruno's shoulders sagged.
"Where are the others?" said Mirabel.
"Oh, well, your Abuela's asleep. And your sisters are in the middle of getting drunk in the kitchen," said Bruno, "I stuck my head in a couple of times. Last time I looked, they were taping Mariano to the wall."
"What?"
"I wanna see," said Camilo.
"No drinking," Bruno told him.
"No booze, no ghosts, I can't do anything in this house," complained Camilo, loping off to the kitchen.
Mirabel could see Bruno giving her a nervous one-over. She gave him the least haunted smile she could muster.
"It's going well," she said.
"That's good," he mumbled, fretting with his hands. "And you're really just looking at papers? No harebrained schemes, no campaign of violence..."
"Just papers," promised Mirabel. "C'mon, I'm an adult. I can keep things low-key sometimes. I'll keep these with the rest of my notes."
That didn't seem to make Bruno any more reassured. He rubbed his chin uncertainly.
"And you'll hand those over to Abuela...?"
"Camilo and I were going to talk to Jacobo ourselves. Take the diplomatic route."
Bruno was pensive for a moment. "You two are growing up fast."
Mirabel laughed. "Maybe it's your influence. A lot of stuff has changed since you came back."
"All good things, I hope..." Bruno gave a weak, uncertain chuckle. "I feel like not so long ago I wouldn't have trusted you two not to go do something crazy on your own. Now you're giving data presentations."
"Harsh! Anyway, Camilo's only helping because he wants to throw some big Halloween party."
Bruno's face softened. "Maybe you two deserve to have some fun."
"Pfft, I already have plenty of fun," said Mirabel, patting her mochila. "Sometimes, for a lil' bit of spice in my life, I draw pictures on my business notes."
Bruno didn't get the joke, apparently, because he just gave her a frown in response.
"Besides, when has Camilo ever needed help having fun?" said Mirabel.
As if on cue, there was a loud slapping sound and a burst of laughter from the kitchen.
"Ooh boy," sighed Bruno, "We'd better go sort that out."
"As the two adults in the house." Mirabel winked at him.
Bruno didn't reply, but he reached over and lightly tussled Mirabel's hair, a soft grin tugging his lips. "Sure," he said, clearly not believing her, and Mirabel rolled her eyes. Bruno was just like her mom sometimes.
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It was midday by the time everyone was awake and they could start planning their assault.
'Awake' being a relative term. Mirabel and Camilo were fully awake, at least, and that was the important part. Luisa was lying face-down on the sofa, with Isabela sitting under her legs, staring distantly at the ceiling. Dolores looked as awake as ever, but Dolores did have the ability to sleep with her eyes open.
"I went to church this morning and asked Señor Patrizio to come over," said Mirabel, pacing up and down the living room. "He should be here sometime in the afternoon. I told him it was, like, an insider thing. Behind Abuela's back. Butter him up."
"It is behind Abuela's back," Camilo pointed out.
"I'm gonna tell Abuela! I just haven't had the chance yet."
"Yes you have. She just left the house."
"We can tell her after this works," said Mirabel primly.
Camilo gave a languid shrug. "Whatever you say, boss. Give me the pitch."
Mirabel clapped her hands together, inhaled sharply, and turned towards an invisible Jacobo.
"Señor Patrizio," she said, "I know you've been promised a lot in return for this deal, and my grandmother doesn't really appreciate what that means for you. I'm not here to change your mind. I just found some information I think you need to know."
"But you are there to change his mind," said Dolores.
"Abuela says the way to get people to do what you want is to convince them that it was their idea," said Mirabel.
"That explains a lot," muttered Isabela, behind closed eyelids.
"This is a list of all the times the American Banana Collective have been formally accused of worker's rights violations and criminal activities in the last year," continued Mirabel, flourishing an imaginary piece of paper. "Along with the names of the books and newspapers that reported them."
"Ooh, but Mirabel, Próspero isn't like that," said Camilo, transforming into a swooning Jacobo. "He's an honest man."
"He might seem honest, but take a look at this," continued Mirabel, holding up an imaginary piece of paper, "Is an article we found from early last year. It says right here that Próspero Cutrale-Safra stood trial for illegal land seizure, blackmail, and political bribery while working as the Regional Director of this very area!"
"But Miss Mirabel, he was acquitted, those accusations could be false!" trilled Camilo in his Jacobo-style falsetto.
"Ah, but look who did the acquitting - Marco Ramirez, now debarred for accepting bribes from high-ranking officials! It was a huge scandal that he got off, and he still got demoted for it!"
"That sure does sound risky, Señorita Madrigal, but it's too late! I already agreed to the sale!" Camilo-as-Jacobo made an exaggerated face of despair. "If they're really as bad as you say, they'll probably just come over here anyway!"
"But they can't do that until you give them the official contract on Saturday," said Mirabel triumphantly, "Because until then, this landscape officially doesn't exist!"
"Gosh, gee, Mirabel ol' buddy, that sounds great," simpered Jacobo-Camilo, "I better go slap my incredibly young wife on her little butt now! Say, are you single?"
Mirabel gagged. Camilo laughed himself back into his normal form as Isabela briefly opened her eyes to glare at him.
"Still," Camilo conceded, "If something is gonna change his mind, it doesn't get much better than what we got. Here's hoping he keeps an open mind."
Isabela lay her head back down. "Should've gone with blackmail," she muttered.
"I heard Próspero poisoned someone," said Dolores, "And his boss covered it up. And his boss is scared of the sea."
Mirabel and Camilo were silent for a moment.
"Anyway," said Mirabel, "We don't have long. Abuela says that everyone has a grain of goodness! And that once they feel listened to, they usually listen back. It'll be fine. It'll be fine."
Luisa let out a singular loud snore.
"But just in case," Mirabel flushed, "Let's run through it again. I want it totally down when he comes. He'll definitely have to agree."
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"I'm sorry," said Jacobo, knocking back the last of his coffee, "But I don't agree."
Casita had conceded to the 'butter up Jacobo' plan, but was clearly disgusted about it. Jacobo was sitting in a chair that didn't use to creak before he sat on it, his cup chipped despite the immaculate condition of all their crockery.
"What?" said Mirabel. "You... What don't you agree with?"
"I understand your grandmother has some fears that she's passed down onto you," Jacobo sighed heavily, as though he were explaining something very simple, "But in the modern world, you cannot believe everything that is written down in one of these communist rags."
He waved a hand at the paper.
"But why would anyone lie about this?" protested Mirabel. "Look, there's even photographs! And interviews! Even if it's a little, y'know, exaggerated, don't you think there could be a tiny bit of truth - "
"I think this is a conversation you can have with your parents," Jacobo pinched his brow, "Or maybe your teacher. Someone who can explain better than I can how these things work."
Mirabel felt anger bubble up in her chest, and she had to force her face to stay calm at the way Jacobo talked to her. Why had they put in all that effort? For him?
"What if you take the deal and it turns out to be true?" asked Camilo. "What'll you do then?"
Jacobo stiffened. There was a hesitant pause before he said, "I'm sure that won't happen."
Camilo tilted his head. Mirabel heard the slightest antagonistic edge to his voice. "How sure?"
"Very." Jacobo huffed.
"You gone to the library and hit the books like we have?" said Camilo.
Mirabel was glad she had Camilo by her side. When she talked, Jacobo just nodded and rolled his eyes; Camilo, on the other hand, seemed to make Jacobo a little wary. Jacobo scowled at them.
"I make decisions based on my personal wisdom," said Jacobo, "I don't believe everything I read in books."
"Mm-hmm," said Camilo, "I'm sure you're very wise."
Mirabel was hating Jacobo more and more by the second, and she relished the way his ears were turning pink.
Camilo kept his eyes on Jacobo.
"After all, you don't really believe Próspero won't turn on us, do you?" Camilo smirked. "You just don't care as long as you get your payout."
Jacobo spluttered.
"All you talked about with Abuela was profit," murmured Mirabel, staring at Jacobo. She saw him squirm under their gaze. It suddenly seemed very obvious. "You don't care about what the ABC does. You'd just do anything to get your hands on the money."
"That's- "
"I bet you got a handout already," continued Camilo, leaning back in his chair and sneering. "That's why you've been talking up the ABC so much, isn't it? They told you to get us on your side."
Jacobo was turning beet red in a way that said very clearly that they'd hit the mark. Mirabel was suddenly furious. Proof of the ABC's actions? They should have been looking into Jacobo himself! Isabela had been right when she said they should break into his house!
"You did," she growled, watching him redden. "You don't need proof the ABC are corrupt. You are one of the people being corrupted! You're being bribed to let them in, just like that judge was bribed to let Próspero go!"
"These are ridiculous accusations!" spluttered Jacobo. "You can't prove - all of this is completely unfounded, there's - there's no evidence- "
"You can tell yourself that, Jacobo, my dude, if it makes you feel better," Camilo stood up, his mocking smirk making Jacobo practically squeal with anger. "But you know who you can't lie to?"
Jacobo cringed as Camilo shape-shifted into Padré José, the priest's face twisted into an ominous grin.
"Saint Peter," said Camilo, "When he closes those pearly gates right in your face."
Jacobo was practically screaming with indignation. "You can't talk to me like that!"
"If you think that's bad," said Mirabel, relishing the way Jacobo was crumbling under their assault, "Imagine what your mom would say. Or maybe her ghost has already come back to punish you? I hear Adelemus has been hanging around the graveyard. If you're really certain you wanna go through with the sale... have you tried visiting her grave?"
Jacobo was frozen in silent, abject horror. Mirabel and Camilo were both looming over him, their joint verbal assault bringing tears to his eyes. Tears of anger, tears of shame, Mirabel didn't care either way. The creep! The slimeball! If he was going to sell them out and ruin their Encanto then he deserved to feel bad, dang it, worse than bad, he deserved to suffer, and that thought was crystallised in her face right up until she noticed Abuela standing in the doorway.
Abuela had heard everything. Or, if not everything, then she'd definitely heard the part about Jacobo's dead mom. Mirabel knew she'd heard it from the look of dead-set shock on her face.
"Mirabel, Camilo," said Abuela, her voice the temperature of mountain ice, "What are you doing?"
Camilo began to point accusingly at Jacobo and speak; Mirabel reached towards her notes on the table; Abuela stopped both of them with a single curt gesture, one that oozed anger and disappointment.
"Children," she said sharply, "Please leave the kitchen. I will speak to Jacobo. And he will tell me exactly what you have done."
Mirabel said, weakly, "But-"
"Now," snapped Abuela, her authority absolute; Camilo and Mirabel, just like when they were little kids, could do nothing but slink away and leave them there, hot and angry with shame.
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"I am not angry," said Abuela, sitting in one of the sitting-room armchairs opposite them.
That was a lie. Like, obviously a lie. Camilo had sparked his grandmother's ire enough times to know when she was mad, and boy, was she mad right now. In fact, the fact she wasn't turning them both inside-out was freaking him out a little.
Next to him, Mirabel was fidgeting with her skirt, eyes downcast.
"I don't fault you for hating Jacobo," continued Abuela, "In a way, I'm proud you took a stand against him. However."
That 'however' weighed a million tons. Mirabel flinched like she'd been walloped.
"Losing your temper and insulting him has done nothing to change his mind," she shook her head, "And to hear you speak ill of the dead just to upset him... I am, I have to admit, extremely disappointed."
Mirabel, without looking up, mumbled a small, "Sorry."
Abuela sighed. "You have been given a lot of responsibility, Mirabel, and perhaps put under a lot of pressure too," she said. "Perhaps it is my fault. I expected you to handle yourself, and others, like an adult. But if this has made anything clear to me, it is that you are still a child."
Mirabel opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
"Take a step away from this situation with the ABC, and let me handle the meeting and negotiations," said Abuela. "Jacobo is... a troublesome character. I should not have included you in dealing with him."
Camilo was working very hard to keep the triumph off his face. He'd thought they were going to be flayed. Abuela realising her granddaughter was fifteen and letting her off the hook was a win-win! He should insult Jacobo more often.
He was almost feeling reassured when Abuela's stern gaze turned to him.
"As for you," she said coldly, "I don't believe for a single second that this whole thing was Mirabel's idea."
Bang. Busted. The hammer had completely hit the nail and shot it right back out the other side. Camilo gulped. "Sorry."
"Both of you," Abuela intoned, "Leave Jacobo Patrizio alone. Keep yourselves out of the ABC business. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Abuela," muttered Camilo.
"Yes, Abuela," mumbled Mirabel.
Abuela drifted towards the doorway, planning to leave them stewing in their own shame for a little while.
"I need to get ready for the meeting in the city tomorrow," she murmured, "And I will remind you that I am attending alone."
She walked through the door, her hand drifting towards her chest - trying, Camilo noted, to flick away a black shawl that wasn't there.
When her footsteps receded away, Camilo flopped back into his chair and sighed heavily.
"Whoof!" he puffed. "That could've gone a lot worse. Could've gone better, but..."
Mirabel nodded mutely. She was a little frozen in place. It had probably been years, Camilo realised, since Mirabel had been chastised like that - especially since Abuela had promoted Mirabel from 'worst grandchild' to 'star heiress'. She was probably a little traumatised. Not to mention Jacobo's unswayed determination to sign the land deal.
"Hey," said Camilo, nudging her, "Abuela's old. And she's been in charge since forever. Just cause she didn't like us ragging on Jacobo doesn't mean it was wrong."
"What about the meeting?" asked Mirabel quietly.
"Abuela probably has a plan that she's not telling us about. And if Jacobo really does sell us out? We're a magic family. Some big American corpo isn't gonna bring us down. It'll work out for us in the end, you'll see. This was just the first assault the Madrigals are gonna launch against Jacobo Patrizio, don't worry."
The ghost of a smile appeared on Mirabel's lips.
Camilo grinned. "Besides, we mighta scared him off. Did you see the look on his face when you mentioned his mom? He's definitely heard the rumours."
Mirabel gave a weak chuckle. "Guess so."
"C'mon, we'll figure it out," he said. "More importantly, if we've been banned from getting involved... You know what that means, right?"
"What?"
Camilo, who had seen photographs of the Halloween parade in Bogotá, cracked his knuckles. Conjuring up the most dramatic vampire costume he remembered, he passed a hand over his face and shape-shifted himself into white face-paint with stark red lips and eyeshadow, two sharp fangs jutting out from his lips.
"It means," he said, trying not to lisp, "That we have no choice but to go wild on Halloween night."
Mirabel stared at him for a moment in startled disbelief. Then she let out a bark of laughter.
"Yeah," she said. "Yeah! You're right! I can't do anything except go to your... big, wild Halloween party! Yup! No responsibilities for me."
"Uhh, Mirabel?"
She gave him a slightly guarded look, but he swept his cloaked arm around her and gave her a wide, vampiric grin.
"I think you mean our big, wild Halloween party," he said, and this time, the smile she gave him was genuine.
"Our party," she repeated. "We'll make it one to remember."
"Bet on it!" gratified to see her cheering up, he shape-shifted back into himself. "I mean, saving the town is just one half of our duties as Madrigals. The other half? Throwing the world's best parties. Forget about Jacobo! Start thinking about spooks! We only have one day to turn this place festive."
She nodded, and he could've sworn there was a flicker of the old Mirabel there, the one who loved to decorate.
Victory! Or at least he'd chalk it up that way. The invasion of the Encanto by the ABC was a problem for later, when October ended and November began.
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Isabela was carefully making an outfit out of leaves. She was weaving vines and creating pockets out of seed-pods, occasionally pausing to wrap them around her. When she was eventually finished, there were leaves resting on each of her shoulders; a bandolier of pollen-heavy anthers across her chest; a vine firmly attached a kitchen knife to her hip. Silhouetted against the bright pinks of her bedroom’s flowers, the outfit had the effect of making her look like some kind of druidic warrior.
"How do I look?" She addressed the group. Mariano gave her a thumbs up.
"Terrifying," he said.
Satisfied, she began growing two more sets of what she was calling arbor-armor. (Luisa, being indestructible, had declined to take a set.)
Dolores was as quiet as ever, but with a wide, bright smile on her face. Her obvious delight was the only thing stopping Luisa from turning tail and snitching on them to Abuela.
"Dolores," ventured Luisa, as Mariano began experimentally lobbing pollen-bombs, "Aren't you scared of going to the graveyard tomorrow?"
Luisa sure was. She was certain Dolores could hear her eye twitching. Dolores looked up at Luisa, her eyes big, and gave a smile that was probably meant to reassure her.
"No," said Dolores, "I'm sure if something happened, we'd be safe. And I love ghost stories. I like mysteries."
Luisa gulped. "Do you really think ghosts are real?"
Dolores' smiles widened.
"I hope so," she said, "I hear them all the time."
This was the least reassuring thing Luisa had ever heard. She turned back to Isabela, who was outfitting three topiary models with sets of green organic armour.
"If Thea Patrizio crawls out of that grave tomorrow," Isabela declared, "She's gonna regret it."
"Is everything ready?" asked Mariano.
Thea Patrizio’s not the only one, Luisa thought faintly.
A part of her brain urged her to stay home. Chaperone the party, it said. Help Bruno with Antonio. But another part of her brain said: what if something happens and you're not there to protect Isabela and Dolores?
Another part of her, one that frightened her a little, said: Don't you want to see the ghost?
"Everything's ready," said Luisa, her heart in her mouth. "We're all set to go ghost-hunting tomorrow."
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Viviana Quinteros was not a God-fearing woman. For a start, their local priest was full of nonsense, and had been ever since he'd taken over the role twenty years ago. For another, she didn't see what God had to do with her everyday life. It was her opinion that she'd hash things out with Him the day they met, and until then she'd simply mind her own business.
She had a peaceful life. It had been made considerably more peaceful since the death of Thea Patrizio, a woman who had hated Viviana with a passion. She'd called the younger Viviana a heathen, a harlot, and a thug, accusations probably drawing from the fact that her son Jacobo had called Viviana's best friend at school an abomination and she had beaten him up in the yard. She said that Viviana, with her loud voice and male friends, was the emblem of everything wrong with modern women and God had put her on Earth as a warning to others. It had been a very melodramatic description, and Viviana was very fond of it.
It had been a long time since either Patrizio had bothered Viviana, and when she stepped outside in the morning to feed the horses it was the last thing on her mind.
When she approached the stables, her eyebrows shot up. The outside wall had a message scrawled on it in large red slashes, the writing messy and frantic, the paint (if it was paint) dried in drips against the wood.
Written in crimson was the word
REPENT
and a drawing of a cross.
Viviana put her hands on her hips. She examined the message, no trace left behind of who had written it.
"Halloween," she said eventually, shaking her head, and headed inside to feed the horses.
On the borders of the ranch, where the fields melded into trees, a pair of red canine eyes stared at her.
Then the terrier-shaped figure loped away into the shadows, leaving nothing behind.
It was the afternoon of the 31st, and Mirabel's outfit was awful.
"You can't be serious," said Camilo.
Mirabel looked down at herself. "What?" she said. "It's, y'know... spooky."
"It's creeping me out, that's for sure! Who are you? Where's the embroidery? The colours? The costume?"
Mirabel's skirt was dark ash. Her blouse was night sky. Her shawl was mourning-pitch. A lesser man would have called this an 'all black' outfit, but Camilo recognised it for what it was: a tragedy.
"I painted my nails," said Mirabel, waving her black-polished fingernails at him. "It's called minimalism."
"Since when do you do minimalism?!"
"Since I'm trying not to look like a weirdo tonight," she said pointedly, "I thought I'd wear something a little low-key. Besides, I don't have any embroidery that's Halloween-themed! I didn't have time to make something."
Camilo shook his head in disbelief. With that black shawl around her shoulders, her outfit simply assembled out of the darkest clothes she owned, Mirabel was looking unnervingly like Abuela. But what could he say? Hey, sis, are you mourning your dead magic husband or what?
"I thought you'd have a fun costume ready... I dunno, just cause," he said. "It seems like you."
Mirabel shrugged. She'd been acting pretty tense all day. Was it social anxiety, or remorse at missing the ABC meeting? Probably both. But he was determined to make up fifteen years of dedicated loser-dom up to her. He was an older, more charitable primo now, and the least he could do for his lovable dweeb cousin was show her a good time with the cool kids.
"Well, at least the house looks good," said Camilo, putting his hands on his hips. The place was decked out in orange and black, the food bowls shaping up well despite the lack of input from Julieta. Casita, at least, was in a good mood. It shook the garlands appreciatively.
"You're not dressed up," Mirabel pointed out.
"Please, Mirabel." He shape-shifted into her, shawl and everything. "I'm always in costume."
Mirabel rolled her eyes. She was about to leave, probably to go skulk in her room, but Camilo reached out and grabbed her sleeve.
She protested, "I was just gonna go check on Antonio - "
"Can't you help me make the sabajón first?" whined Camilo, who had more than one motive for roping in Mirabel.
Mirabel frowned. "I thought Isa emptied out our drinks cabinet."
Camilo waggled his eyebrows. "Not before I got in there first."
Mirabel was silent for a moment. Then she sighed.
"Fine," she said, "At least the others aren't around to give us grief, anyway. Where did they go?"
"I dunno," said Camilo, "Probably went to another party. Or Mariano's house. I mean, they're all like twenty, they probably have stuff to be doing on Halloween night."
"Guess so," said Mirabel. "They probably won't be back until late. When does the party end?"
Camilo shrugged. "Whenever we want?"
"When does it start?"
Camilo gave her a shoulder-shimmy. "When I walk in."
Mirabel scoffed. Still, she seemed something like content now. Camilo Madrigal, carrying the world on his shoulders like Atlas; what else was new? At least the others were taking care of themselves for tonight.
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"Goodbye," called Mariano.
"I don't see why you have to say goodbye to a ghost," said Isabela.
"It's the rules," said Mariano.
"But she's already walking around town messing things up," Isabela pointed out, "So she's already breaking the rules."
"You gotta say goodbye to a ghost," Mariano insisted, "That's just how it works."
"You've said goodbye like seven times on the way here!"
"We don't know if she's listening."
"It's not like she listened to us while she was alive," muttered Isabela. "Anyway, if she couldn't read, why would she care if we hit 'goodbye' on the board? She wouldn't even have known which one to look for."
"Goodbye," called Mariano to the air.
"Shut up!"
Luisa rubbed her arms as they approached the cemetery, the sun dropping as they did. The familiar gates - open and waiting for the All Saints' Day visitors the next morning - took on an eerie shape in the gloom, as though they were leering at her. Tempting fate, Luisa? they asked. Disturbing the dead?
"I am on a rebellious adventure and I'm not scared of you!" She whispered to the iron bars.
Dolores bobbed at her elbow. "Good attitude," she said. "Don't worry. I wouldn't have brought us here if I didn't think it was a good idea."
Luisa wasn't sure she could trust anybody else, ever, when it came to what constituted a 'good idea'. Still, she tried to borrow strength from Dolores' confidence. No amount of supernatural musculature could make her feel strong enough for this.
The gates creaked gently in the wind as they passed through. It was late sunset, getting to dark, and the graves were stark silhouettes against the sky. Names she knew but couldn't see were surrounding her, leering out at her... No, come on, Luisa, nobody liked Thea Patrizio. Surely the ghosts would help them out with this one.
"Give me the holy water," whispered Isabela.
They hadn't been whispering before, but it seemed right to now, with the darkness approaching. Mariano handed over a bottle (he bought it, he said proudly, from a city street vendor, who Luisa hadn't thought were qualified to perform sacrament, but what did she know?) and Isabela sprinkled it around Thea Patrizio's grave.
"Now what?" whispered Luisa.
Isabela's approach to problem-solving had become considerably less exact. The older Isabela would have meticulously planned the evening out in advance.
The new Isabela cracked her knuckles, her pollen-bombs strapped along her chest.
"We wait until something happens," said Isabela, "And we find some ghosts."
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Camilo could throw a great party. If Mirabel hadn't known that before, it was fully on display now. He'd managed to get permission to use the record player (somehow) and breezed around like he owned the place. There were at least thirty people, but Camilo talked like he was close friends with all of them. Mirabel clutched her glass of sabajón like it was going to help her.
Whatever about Camilo; Mirabel wasn't feeling breezy in the slightest. On a better day, she would've tried to put herself out there, maybe try and look a little less nerdy by having fun on the dancefloor. Tonight, though, Mirabel wanted to do nothing except sit in her room and mope. Camilo wouldn't notice, right? He sure seemed distracted. Maybe she could just slip away.
Her drink stared at her. She put it down. Where was Bruno? Hiding away, no doubt. She couldn't blame him. She found herself suddenly longing to see him; Tío Bruno had a gift for making her feel less lonely. And boy, for a girl in the middle of a party, she sure was lonely.
Casita didn't do anything to acknowledge her as she climbed the stairs and made her way up the landing. The house was probably too busy partying. At least it was having fun.
She was puzzled to see Antonio’s door hanging ajar at the top of the stairs.
Mirabel hadn't seen much of Antonio in the last while. She'd been kind of distracted. She peeked around the door and called, "Antonio?", but found the jungle expanse empty.
The dark upstairs was putting her a little on edge. Bruno had been right; the house was too quiet.
"Tío Bruno?" she ventured, but wherever Antonio was, Bruno must have been with him. Mirabel hoped.
Bruno's room was empty too, and on examination, so was Isabela’s.
"Hello?" she called, but the house was... well, not silent, with the music and conversation floating in from upstairs. But it was silent in some other different way, like it was less alive.
A small bubble of nervousness rose in Mirabel's chest, and she did her best to ignore it. She headed back towards the party, casting a glance behind her; the doors were silent in response, their portraits glowing in the dimness, and Mirabel felt terribly alone.
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It was dark in the graveyard, now that the sun had fully set. The moon was full, and high, illuminating the graves in a ghostly light, and giving Isabela ample light with which to grow white rose petals and flick them at Mariano's head. His armour had fallen off, and he was sitting on a bench humming with Dolores leaning on his shoulder. Only Luisa was pacing around like they were going to battle.
Isabela sighed.
"I have to admit," she said, "I was expecting more."
"A ghost," suggested Dolores.
"Well," said Isabela, "At least one. I thought the graveyard on Halloween would be more...Halloween-y."
"Well," said Mariano helpfully, "A lot of the people are dead."
"That's not new," grumbled Isabela, "I wanted to be doing some killing."
Luisa made a high-pitched noise.
"Anyway, Dolores loves ghost stories," said Mariano, "But why did you come here, Isabela?"
"Huh?" Isabela arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that obvious?"
"No," said Mariano.
Isabela stared at his sincere face and remembered why she had baulked at the idea of marrying him.
"Because her ghost might be here?" said Isabela slowly. "And I'm not... totally dead inside?"
"Well, no," said Mariano, "But I thought you were taking a break from living to help other people."
"Wh- this is totally not the same, Mariano!"
"Right, right," nodded Mariano. "Makes sense. Kind of. Except I don't get how."
Isabela scoffed. "It's- I'm- Dealing with Patrizio is the right thing to do! It's not just some party decorations we're talking about here."
"Well, yeah," said Mariano, and paused. "But, uh... I mean..."
He paused to think.
"Well, just, you remember on our second date, before we broke up, and we were down at my house-"
"Gross, don't remind me-"
"And you said ghosts weren't real?"
Isabela glanced at the variety of floral bombs and poisons she had strapped to her chest.
"I might've said something like that," said Isabela primly.
"So..."
"Well, if Thea isn't back from the dead, then at least Dolores got to have fun," said Isabela, "It was her idea. I mean, maybe it's just a game, but..."
Isabela shrugged.
"If it's not, I'd love to exorcise Thea Patrizio. She was a monster. I want her opinions gone from this town for good."
"...Which opinions?"
"You know which opinions," snapped Isabela. "She's the reason I was scared to-"
There was a high-pitched scream from the darkness.
Isabela immediately raised her hand, summoning a thick armful of vines, ready to strike. Mariano, who had discarded most of his weapons, raised his fists. Dolores tilted her head.
"It's Luisa," Dolores whispered.
Isabela and Mariano crept towards the source of the noise, Isabela’s face hard with protective fury. They crept towards the back of the graveyard, where they could see Luisa sprawled with her back against the wall, trembling and pointing.
Her shaking finger pointed towards the grave of Thea Patrizio.
"I-I-I-it's all true!" wailed Luisa. "It's him!"
In the shadows cast by the grave, a dark ragged shape moved, and a sound emerged: a low, dangerous growl of a dog. Isabela gasped as Adelelmus emerged from the darkness.
His eyes were a dried-blood crimson. His fur was matted and stained with earth, his bones stark under the shaggy, patchy mass. Yellow teeth were bared angrily as his bushy overgrown tail thrashed with violent intend, long claws scraping as he stepped forward. He looked like he'd been freshly dug out of the ground, like a hound from hell itself. The dead leaves swirled around his feet in an otherworldly breeze, the shadows growing deeper and colder around him. It was unmistakably him: the rotten, half-dead spectre of Thea's terrifying terrier.
Isabela raised her vines, ready to strike the moment the hell-beast came near her little sister. She heard Mariano gasp in shock and horror at the sight of Adelelmus. The terrier, one-and-a-half feet of death incarnate, crouched as though to pounce.
"Adelelmus!" cried a small, familiar voice. "Adelelmus, no!"
Antonio rushed out from behind Thea's grave and picked him up.
Right in his hands. Apparently Adelelmus wasn't ghostly enough not to be picked up, or dead enough not to yap and wag his tail as Antonio held the dirty thing to his chest and looked apologetically at Luisa.
"Sorry," said Antonio, "He gets antsy at night."
Isabela was absolutely speechless. Her jaw was hanging open. Beside her, Mariano said, "Buhhh?"
"Antonio! I told you, don't let people see you at night- oh, it's you guys." Bruno was hopping the stone wall of the cemetery, his eyes a nervous glow in the moonlight. "Ah, sheesh. I was hoping you wouldn't notice we were here. I've been trying to think of how the heck to explain this all week and, well, I haven't done it."
Luisa was still pointing.
"What... is... that?" she stuttered.
"Oh, this is Adelelmus," said Antonio cheerfully, "He's just ugly 'cause he's old."
Adelelmus licked Antonio's cheek.
Bruno slipped off the wall and joined them, carrying a lantern that properly illuminated the scene. Antonio wasn't wrong: Adelelmus was extremely ugly. His curly fur had become overgrown and matted, and it was dirty with earth and leaves. He looked thin, unwashed, and decrepit. He was also extremely alive.
The unnatural breeze and ghostly green light grew as Bruno got closer, massaging his temples.
"Don't." Isabela gritted her teeth. "Tell me. The ghost. Of Thea Patrizio. Was her missing dog. AND MY UNCLE?!"
"It wasn't my idea!" cried Bruno. "I just couldn't let Antonio out there by himself! I mean, what if some real monster found him?"
"Wait, wait, wait..." Mariano raised his hand. "What's going on? Are you saying the creepy writing and the disturbed grave..."
"It's this stupid mutt," groaned Bruno, rubbing his forehead. "Blame him for all that."
Luisa finally picked herself up and stared at Antonio and Adelelmus, her expression unreadable.
"That dog," said Isabela, her tone poisonous, "Is illiterate."
"Well, I had to do the writing for him," admitted Antonio, "And Tío Bruno helped with the spelling."
"Antonio," said Dolores, "What have you been doing?"
Antonio looked down at Adelelmus sadly.
"See, Adelelmus was living in the jungle. He ran away 'cause his owner died and he had nobody else who wanted him. I found him and I wanted to help, but he says all he cares about is making sure his owner's work gets done."
"...Her work?" repeated Isabela.
"Mm-hmm. His owner was a real religious lady, and she had to teach a bunch of people in town about God. So I told Adelelmus if he let me feed him and take him away from the forest, I'd help him do all her stuff so he could move on."
Isabela pulled her hair.
"You wrote repent on Viviana Quinteros' barn!"
"That's a religious word," explained Antonio.
"And Adelelmus appeared in the window of Nico Diaz!"
"I wrote him a prayer," said Antonio, "He said he liked it."
"And the cross on the Pinheiros' door?!"
"It's for good luck," explained Antonio.
"What about the scratching at the grave?" asked Mariano.
"Oh, he just really misses Thea," explained Antonio, "So sometimes he tries to dig up her bones."
Isabela turned to glare at Bruno.
"How - the HECK - did you let this happen?!"
"You want me to say no to that thing?" said Bruno, aghast. "I mean, that dog is evil."
"You got pressganged into harassing innocent people by a five-year-old and a freaking terrier!" Isabela threw her hands out.
Bruno raised his palms. "I'm not good at setting boundaries, okay?!"
Luisa finally moved. She bent down, resting her hands on her knees, threw back her head, and let out a howl of laughter.
Isabela had never seen anything like it. Luisa laughed a great, booming, tree-shaking laugh. She doubled over, her face going red and her eyes watering, unable to speak because she was laughing so hard. She had tears running down her face by the time she could finally let out a whoop, slap her knee, and then bend down to scratch Adelelmus behind the ears.
"Oh, come on, Isa," Luisa chuckled, "It wasn't so bad. They didn't do anything really scary."
Isabela, mouth open in disbelief, turned around to stare at Dolores.
"Did you know about this?" she squealed.
Dolores tilted her head.
"I just really like ghost stories," said Dolores. Her lips formed into a sweet, joyful smile.
"Isabela?" said Antonio.
Isabela looked down at him. His eyes were big and innocent, and he held the dog protectively, like it was an innocent puppy and not a geriatric hellhound.
"Yes?" said Isabela.
"Please don't be mad at him," said Antonio earnestly, "Thea was the only person who ever loved him, and he misses her so much. He just wanted to be a good dog."
Isabela pinched her brow.
"Antonio?" she said.
"Mm-hm?"
"Is the dog Catholic?"
Antonio paused to consult with Adelelmus.
"He has no idea what that means," said Antonio, "He just wanted to do things that would make Thea happy."
"Good enough," sighed Isabela. "You can take him with us. Just don't let him touch me until he's had a bath."
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Mirabel knew a good night when she saw one happening utterly without her, and it was happening now. Somebody had gotten to the record player, put on Luis Aránguiz and started to dance, and Casita had delightedly opened the courtyard to swarms of dancing partygoers, the floor-tiles rattling to the beat. Fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds were now inventing new, increasingly controversial types of salsa on the front porch, laughing and cheering and not noticing her at all.
Mirabel sat, staring at the people she'd gone to school with, the same ones who would soon begin marrying and taking over their parents' businesses, and thought: These are the people I have to lead someday, like Abuela says.
Another voice in her head, sounding very like Camilo's, said: You're not very good at having fun, are you?
Mirabel sat in a corner and made unhappy swirls in her glass of orange juice, the continued absence of the family still playing on her mind. The others - Camilo's friends, not hers - ignored her, too busy laughing and dancing together.
"Didn't think you were a teen angst type of girl."
Camilo was standing over her, his costume making him taller and striking. He grinned at her with his vampire teeth.
"I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly. "I just... don't really know anyone here very well."
"You're not gonna get to know anybody sitting in the corner like that," Camilo remarked, raising his eyebrows at her. "And besides, you know me."
He held out a hand.
Mirabel said, "Uh..."
"C'mon, Mirabel, you said you'd dance with me." He smiled. It was a comforting smile, even behind all the makeup. "Don't leave me hanging."
Mirabel stared at the hand for a moment before taking it, letting Camilo pull her to her feet; he immediately twisted her into a waltz pose, laughing when she yelped in surprise, and began to dance her towards the center of the room.
Boy, Camilo was a lot like Félix when he danced, including the fact he was way better than she was. She could barely keep her steps in time with his, and she was sure she kicked him a few times as she tried to match his movements, but it didn’t seem to matter to him; he managed to make messing up the moves look good.
People whooped. At him, not her. He was a lot better than her at this. And a lot more popular. This was his thing, his area, not hers, and if things had gone as planned then they would have been in their separate worlds doing separate -
Mirabel suddenly broke away from him. “I have to-” she said, didn’t finish, and quickly began to walk away.
Camilo caught her wrist and yanked her again, making her yell as he twirled towards her and caught her, elegant as ever. He grinned.
“Not getting away that easy,” he said, as the crowd laughed and whooped. “This is our party, Mirabel, let’s show them who’s boss!”
Mirabel felt herself going red. He saw the discomfort in her face, and to her disgust, he rolled his eyes and let her go, sending her stumbling a little. She brushed herself off, feeling people jostle past her as they filled the space in dancefloor they’d left, like she was suddenly invisible.
“This isn’t my party,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow. “C’mon, Mira, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to have fun here. You should try it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” She hated how much more smooth he was at talking than she was. “I’m... going for a walk.”
“Are you still hung up about Abuela? Come on, who cares what she thinks? This-”
“I care!”
Mirabel hadn’t realised how much anger she had bubbling in her until she opened her mouth and it was all spilling out, unwelcome and toxic, making her eyes sting and her face red.
Camilo gave a sigh of exasperation. Her chest ached. She gripped her shawl with her fists.
“I care! A lot! You can just blow it off like it’s nothing, good for you! You can just go back to throwing parties and having fun! Sorry for having problems!”
Camilo put his hands on his hips. People were turning to look. A wave of humiliation washed over her, and regret immediately washed away the anger, the room suddenly too bright and full of staring eyes. Camilo’s face was twisting into a unfamiliar sneer of cruel amusement that made her stomach turn.
“Alright, gee, I'm sorry for trying to help, I guess,” he drawled.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t help!” She felt horribly hot and horribly shaky. “We screwed everything up!”
Genuine hurt flashed across Camilo’s face, but it was gone in an instant. Mirabel realised she was making a terrible mistake. She blinked, trying to search for something to say to de-escalate her words now that they’d come out of her, but twin trains of anxiety and anger were crashing in her mind and rendering her mute.
“Alright, alright, I’ll get outta your hair. I’ll just go screw something else instead.” He glanced at somebody in the crowd and winked, and there was a swell of laughter and a whistle.
“I - ”
“You know you could have just said if you were bad at salsa.” He shapeshifted into her, wearing a ruffled cancan dress and a puffy pantaloons. “We could’ve changed the music!”
Still shapeshifted as her, he threw up his leg and posed, sending another wave of laughter across the room. Somebody pushed his shoulder and he laughed loudly as he stumbled and somebody else caught him, adding to the chorus of laughing and whooping across the room.
"Jerk," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.
"Whatever, sis! Try not to cause any cracks this time!"
The laughter was loud and scandalised, a couple of oohs ringing out across the room. Mirabel realised she was standing in the middle of a crowd of people who were laughing at her.
She couldn't say anything.
The space was filling in; the music was returning back to dominance, conversations resuming, still ripples of laughter as Camilo turned his back, still looking like her in that stupid outfit, and people were looking at her and smiling, smiles that were in no way kind, grins and sideway glances at her, the way her face was going red, the way she was the only person there not happy, the way she couldn’t move and she was rooted to the spot, her face hot and her eyes growing wet, unable to think of what to do and wishing the house would open a hole and swallow her up for any other way out.
There was a loud distorted noise. The record needle scratched to a halt as someone forcibly stopped the music.
Silence filled the courtyard.
Standing at the record player, Bruno stared through the crowd, his eyes piercing right through to where Mirabel and Camilo were.
"Everybody out," said Bruno.
There was a confused silence. Teens glanced at their cups, their discarded stuff, the bottles. They seemed nervous to start packing up, intrigued by the mysterious Bruno and the fact he’d appeared in public, no less chiding his sobrinos in front of a crowd. The possibility of drama sat tantalising next to the possibility of being hexed, and it made everybody pause.
People glanced at Camilo, wondering if he would protest. He didn’t.
Nobody spoke.
"I said," repeated Bruno, raising his voice into an uncharacteristic roar, "EVERYBODY OUT!"
The effect was electric. The people nearest the front doors practically ran away as the unlucky ones close to the record shuffled back in quiet terror, avoiding the furious emerald gaze of Bruno Madrigal. Coats and hats were hastily picked up, glasses abandoned, whispering about alternative plans only starting on the outside of the porch. The house didn't move at all, except to dim the lights in shame.
Not that Mirabel noticed. She ducked her head, trying to hide the tears, and slipped upstairs before anybody could stop her.
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Camilo's ego wasn't so big that he didn't know when he'd messed up. His goose was completely cooked. The partygoers left him alone and defenceless with astonishing speed.
Bruno stared at Camilo. Camilo stared at Bruno. Camilo transformed out of his Halloween form and Bruno went limp and sagged onto the record player.
"Camilo," said Bruno, sounding exhausted, "How many kids do I have?"
Camilo was confused. "Uh... none?"
"None!" cried Bruno. "So how do you keep putting me in these situations?"
With that, Bruno loped up the stairs after Mirabel, leaving Camilo alone. The house was pretty empty, after all, so maybe Camilo could just turn around and let things cool off before fixing everything, as long as he got it done before -
"Hey," said Isabela, standing in the front doorway.
She had her hands on her hips and her mouth drawn into a tight angry line. Dolores hovered behind her, her head tilted and her eyes wide as she listened to the people leaving and to the sounds of Mirabel upstairs; when Camilo caught her eye her lips twitched, betraying a hint of scorn.
"He-e-y," said Camilo slowly, backing towards the safety of his room. "How'd the ghost hunt go...?"
Isabela pointed a finger at him so sharply she could've sliced him in half. Her eyes were blazing with terrifying fury. "We need," she said, "To talk."
Camilo took another step back and bumped right off of Luisa. He turned around to find her blocking his path, sturdy as a brick wall, with her arms crossed and her face drawn into a stern, disappointed mask.
"Yeah," said Luisa, "We do need to talk."
Dolores, without looking to see if the house was empty of stragglers, closed the front door with a regal flick of her hips. The three Madrigal ladies began to close in around him.
"Uy," he gulped.
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Mirabel was supposed to be Abuela's apprentice. She was supposed to be the Madrigal who saved the miracle. She was supposed to be finding her place in the world.
But she'd been supposed to get a Gift at five years old, and that hadn't happened either, so what could she say?
She sat on her bed, trying to get her thoughts straight. Her chest ached with hurt and anger, her heart feeling leaden and horrible. Come on, Mirabel, get it together. You've got bigger things to worry about. It doesn't matter if some dumb teens laugh at you.
Again.
Her bedroom door opened gently, and Bruno poked his head in and looked at her, eyes big with worry, moving very slowly like he was worried he might disturb her. Mirabel didn't want him to see her upset over this. She didn't want any of them to see her. She wanted her mom, like she was a little girl again, longing for her mother to come and sort everything out and make it all okay, because then she could just break down and be a baby and nobody would have to see.
But her mom wasn’t here. Mirabel didn’t know what else to do, so she got up, closed the door in Bruno’s face, and then sat against it.
“Um,” said Bruno.
“Go away,” groaned Mirabel, sinking her head into her hands.
“Okay.” His voice was quiet and apologetic. She could hear the worry in his voice and the way he was shuffling his feet, and it impossibly made her feel worse.
Mirabel curled up like maybe she could hide from the situation she’d created, and the world would forget about her and leave her alone.
She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.
“Can I get you anything?”
Bruno’s voice was now coming from the crack in her closed door in a way that suggested he was pressing his face against the gap.
“Tío Bruno, leave me alone.”
“Okay.” She heard him give a soft sigh. “Okay. I’m going.”
She sniffed and rubbed her face. There was a long silence on the other side of the door.
Mirabel hugged her knees.
“You’re still there,” she said.
There was a small, guilty pause. “Yep,” said Bruno.
“Are you going to leave?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
Mirabel sighed, stood up, opened the door, turned back around, and went over to bed, which she flopped onto face-first. She heard him shuffling across the room towards her, his steps reluctant and slow. God, he probably didn’t want to be dealing with her like this. It was probably the last thing he needed.
He sat on the edge of the bed. He barely weighed anything.
“It’s fine,” she mumbled into her pillow, blocking her face, “I’m just being melodramatic.”
She felt Bruno rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze lightly. “Come outta there,” he said softly.
“I’ve said enough stuff tonight.”
“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Done enough. Tonight. But let’s talk anyway.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Mirabel,” he murmured, brushing a hand through her hair, “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
“You don’t understand!”
The force of emotion running through her made her suddenly sit up, twisting towards him with desperate, angry energy.
“I’m not good at helping this town,” She gulped back a sob, “I’m not good at helping Abuela, and you know what, Tío Bruno?! I’m not even good at being a kid! I can’t do anything!”
“Mirabel-”
“You think I like being a part of all this?! Running everything? Taking notes? It’s just - I thought there was something I could do to be useful! Just once! I already screwed up at being magic, nobody at school likes me, I’m not good at having fun or causing trouble like Camilo is, so I thought maybe there’d be one thing in this stupid town I could do!” She choked, tears running down her face.
She hated seeing Bruno’s expression crease in pity and worry. She hated that she seemed to do nothing but need propping up by him, and she hated that when he extended his arms towards her she still threw herself into them and sobbed, because she couldn’t even control herself enough not to do that.
Bruno rubbed her back and tucked her hair behind her ears like she wasn’t the stupidest kid in the world.
“You’re wrong,” said Dolores.
Both Bruno and Mirabel jumped, Bruno immediately going limp as Mirabel immediately tightened her grip, which had the effect of making him squeak like a rubber toy.
“How long have you been standing there?” spluttered Mirabel.
Dolores glanced around. She was standing in the doorway of Mirabel’s room, perfectly still. “Sorry,” said Dolores, “I didn’t know how else to be supportive.”
She crossed the room and sat next to Bruno and Mirabel, her hands in her lap, as though she wasn’t quite sure where to put them or how to arrange herself. Mirabel found herself suddenly too startled to keep being upset.
“Did you... hear what happened...?" said Mirabel stupidly. As though Dolores could possibly have missed it.
"Yes," said Dolores, staring at the opposite wall. "Camilo can be cruel when he's feeling defensive. It's okay. Luisa and Isabela are straightening him out."
Mirabel bit her lip. She wasn't sure if she wanted Luisa and Isabela fighting her battles for her... but it sure was nice to have them on her side, rather than everyone else's.
"I liked what you said to Jacobo," added Dolores, "The ABC management have done terrible things. They can't prove it. But I know. I've heard a lot."
Mirabel looked at her hands. "Well... Abuela didn't like it. At all."
"Abuela's not always right," said Dolores softly.
Beside her, Bruno snorted.
"You're wrong about being useless," said Dolores.
Dolores had probably heard Mirabel being told, many times, that she was special like the rest of the family. That she wasn't that useless or unwanted. It was a conversation Mirabel had had plenty of times, usually with her mom and sometimes with Abuela and more recently with Bruno.
"We tried to help too," continued Dolores, "And we did a terrible job. Like... really bad. We tried contacting a ghost. We didn't. Turned out the ghost was Antonio."
Mirabel didn’t know how to respond to that, but somehow found herself guffawing loudly. She rubbed her face, cheeks still damp, and stared at Dolores.
"I think it would probably have been more sensible to go to the library or something," Dolores concluded. "It's probably a good thing you're in charge."
Mirabel smiled weakly.
“So it didn’t work,” said Dolores, “But I had a lot of fun. Isabela made bombs and threw them at Mariano. Luisa drank a bottle of wine and laughed so hard she cried. It was the first time we ever tried to help out the town without our gifts. We didn’t do a good job.”
Dolores’ wide eyes caught Mirabel’s, and she tilted her head very slightly.
“We’re all so different because of you,” said Dolores.
Mirabel said, “Huh?”
“Imagine last year,” continued Dolores, “If Isabela had made a suit of armour. Or Luisa snuck out on an adventure.” A grin tugged her lips. “Or if I did something silly and fun for no reason. It would never have happened. You changed things.”
Mirabel rubbed her face. “Well...”
“You don’t have to do any more than that,” said Dolores simply, “You changed our lives.”
Mirabel blinked. On her other side, she felt Bruno take her hands and squeeze them.
“Right,” he said softly, “I don’t hafta tell you how much you’ve done for me, Mirabel.”
“Abuela doesn’t want you as her apprentice because she thinks you’re good at it,” said Dolores, “She wants you close because you bring out the best in her. You bring out the best in everyone.”
Mirabel remembered how it felt to see the door appear before her, a warm dizzy wave rushing through her and then out into the world, filling the air with magic and light.
“Except Camilo,” said Dolores.
They all burst into laughter at that. Mirabel felt the ache in her chest fading, the weight lightening on her shoulders.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess I’m just... Yeah. I’m sorry for being...”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Bruno firmly, putting an arm around her. “You had a bad night. What the heck did Camilo do to you? Do I need to talk to that boy?”
Mirabel laughed quietly. “It’s fine. We just... got heated, I guess. It was my fault.”
“Hmm.” Bruno sounded doubtful.
“Really.” She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes. “We can work it out.”
There was a trio of knocks on her bedroom door. Camilo, flanked by Luisa and Isabela, was escorted into the room.
They looked... they looked okay, actually. They looked cheerful, almost. Camilo didn’t look sheepish or cowed at all. Mirabel guessed it was too much to expect of him to look ashamed.
“Hey,” said Camilo. “Room for three more?”
There was very much not room for three more people on Mirabel’s bed. It didn’t seem to bother Camilo as he swanned across and sat on Bruno in such a way that knocked him entirely out of the conversation, with Camilo somehow looking comfortable next to Mirabel.
"Hey," said Mirabel.
"Okay, first of all, I was a jerk, and I owe you an apology," said Camilo, "Also, I'm legally required to tell you I'm a slimeball and a jerkwad and I literally don't deserve you as a cousin."
"And a pig," muttered Isabela.
"That too," agreed Camilo, "So I take it back. Most of it. Except the parts where I kinda had a point-"
"Camilo," intoned Luisa.
Mirabel shook her head. "No, it's... it's fine. I'm sorry for yelling at you in front of your friends. You didn't screw anything up any more than I did..."
"Eh, I'm a pretty bad influence," shrugged Camilo. "Anyway. You're stressed, I get it. And also, yeah, I kinda did all that stuff cause I wanted to throw this party, so I was kinda hoping you would get grounded."
"Knew it," muttered Isabela, "Jerk."
"I mean, I heard that part about you bringing out the best in everybody, and Dolores kinda has a point," said Camilo, "You don't do that to me. I'm pretty sure I bring out the worst in you."
Mirabel smiled. "That isn't true."
"No, it's totally true." Camilo raised his eyebrows. "I convince you to do stupid, childish things that Abuela disapproves of. Aaand that's totally why I'm here to talk to you."
Camilo was mean. Mirabel knew that. He cared about his reputation more than anything, and he thought he was always right, and he acted like he was way smarter than everybody else. But she couldn't help it; he flashed her a grin and she had to flash one back. It was contagious.
"I thought you were here to apologise," laughed Mirabel.
Camilo's face softened slightly. To her surprise, he looked - not in a magical way - a little like Bruno. When his eyebrows softened in concern, with his smile a little lopsided, he really did resemble his uncle.
"Mirabel," he said sincerely, "I'm sorry. You didn't need me to throw you some big house party. You don't need me to decide what's right for you."
Mirabel would've hugged him right there, but he was still mid-speech. The smug look reappeared on his face, and he raised his eyebrows at her mischievously.
"But you do need me to get you into trouble," he said, "So here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna crash that meeting and stop Jacobo."
"What?!"
Mirabel and Bruno spoke as one. Camilo raised a finger for silence. He looked like he knew exactly what was going on, and like he definitely knew more than them about what to do. He looked like he was planning something, and it was more than a little evil.
"Abuela said we were immature, irresponsible, and over-emotional," said Camilo, "And that we're still kids. So we're gonna handle this, and we're gonna handle it like two kids on Halloween night."
He pulled the shawl off Mirabel's shoulders with a theatrical flourish, and struck a pose as he swung it around himself.
"Me and Isabela got talking, and we know exactly what we're gonna do," he grinned, "And it’s not sit around being good lil’ girls while Jacobo wrecks everything."
He leaned towards them on the bed, a conspiratorial grin on his face.
"You really think we can stop him?" asked Mirabel."
"Mirabel," said Camilo, holding out his fist for a fist-bump, "You and me, we cause trouble and make cracks. So that's exactly what we're gonna do to the ABC."
His eyes flashed.
"C'mon," he grinned, "The real party hasn't even started."
The audience in the Eréndira Hotel was quiet. For most of them, it was their first public meeting of this kind, at least the first one not spearheaded by Alma Madrigal. Alma reflected that she'd been involved in organising every meeting she'd ever attended, since the age of about twenty. It wasn't a happy thought.
The room they were sitting in was plush and modern, with cloth-lined chairs for the attendees. At the head of the room was Jacobo Patrizio, looking uncomfortable and out-of-place in his decidedly old-fashioned business clothes; he sat at a long table with three other men, who were oozing with political charm. A very handsome man in a well-cut suit smiled and nodded politely. A white man, likely an American representative, was taking notes. Standing and addressing the room was Próspero Cutrale-Safra, Jacobo's contact.
It was easy to see how Jacobo had been taken in. Próspero was a soft-faced, earnest-sounding man, with wire-frame glasses and a kind smile. The sheer hypocrisy made Alma quietly disgusted. And, more pressingly, it made her concerned. Her people were not used to doubting what they were told, unaccustomed to how the world's wolves often looked so much like sheep. She had felt certain, sitting at home in her Casita and surrounded by magic, that the meeting would be hindered if she simply said so. It seemed like a naïve hope now.
"We cannot thank you enough for your interest and attendance," Próspero said, adjusting his spectacles, "On behalf of the ABC, you have my sincerest thanks. I know that the prospect of commerce is a new and uncertain one for many of you, and that attending here wasn't necessarily an easy choice."
No, it had not been. But Alma's attention was focused on the long table where the speakers sat, where a set of papers lay spread out; among them a map, the map that laid bare the location of the Encanto. Too late for it not to be drawn up; all Jacobo had to do was sign it to ensure that the ABC now owned part of it.
"Let me introduce myself," said Próspero, "I am the Regional Manager for this area, Próspero Cutrale-Safra, and I'm a father of two. My father was a banana farmer all his life, and I took up his mantle... in a slightly different way." There were chuckles. "Joining me are Dominico Musa, the Regional Executive Officer, and our Director of Exports, Cavendish Fyffe."
The handsome Regional Officer nodded politely. The white Director of Exports smiled at the crowd.
"We'll be talking more about the potential opportunities for you and anyone in the town seeking work or trade," said Próspero, "But first, I'd like to invite your local landowner Señor Patrizio to talk about our new business contract, which we will be signing into effect tonight."
There was polite, stilted applause as Jacobo stood. But, still; they'd applauded nonetheless.
"Thank you," said Jacobo, wiping his hands on his trousers. He looked nervous. "The ABC have been... extremely generous... with their help. This contract, it's... it's for the best."
It wasn't a good speech, and it was winning him no favours with the crowd. Alma examined him with disgust. She'd reprimanded Camilo and Mirabel for their words just days ago, but that had been to teach them diplomacy, not because they'd been wrong. Alma's only weapons were the respect she commanded, the support of the people around her, and her reputation as a truthful, discerning leader. Mirabel especially would have to learn to wield them someday.
Although Alma now suspected she might not win this battle. She was used to bumbling villagers with petty concerns, who saw her as an authority and expert in everything. To the ABC, she was simply an uneducated rural woman, and she had none of the sway she was used to. Not to mention they probably had more experience than her.
Próspero was taking the floor back from Jacobo, and he was doing - annoyingly - a good job.
"As a company that is constantly expanding, we try to give as much as we can to our collaborators. We provide opportunities for further training and travel. We are also happy to take apprentices and train young people. We really want to be a company that provides a future - if any of you are looking to expand your horizons and try a new business venture with us."
He continued in that vein for a while. The underlying meaning of his words was clear to Alma; we are offering a great deal of money for any land you have to sell. Not only that, but he made it sound wonderful. Promises of further employment and support. A gateway into the modern world.
Alma crossed her arms calmly.
"But, of course, change is hard," said Próspero, with a polite smile."And that is our purpose here. We want this to be a conversation with the community, to really move forward together on this further development."
The implicit assumption that construction would be happening didn't slip past Alma. She set her jaw in frustration.
"And so, to that end," said Próspero, spreading his palms, "I would like to open the floor to comments and questions from the audience."
The lights went out.
It was like an explosion of darkness. The abruptness with which the electric lights could be cut off and plunge a room into shadows unnerved Alma. There were gasps and murmurs.
Alma felt a breeze on the back of her neck. The scene began to illuminate, very slightly, in a strange ghostly light she couldn't quite place the source of. A smell floated through the room; something strange and rotting, like an unnatural flower, or perhaps an odd cut of meat.
There was a flash, a crack, and a burst of sickly green light at the head of the room. People screamed. Catching the light in strange cold waves was some sort of vapour, drifting across the floor in slow clouds the way Isabela's pollen sometimes did. Standing at the head of the room now in a swirl of fog - towering, ghastly, and as striking in death as she was in life - was Thea Patrizio.
Her clothing was ragged and dirty. Her face was pale and red-eyed. With her skirts swaying in the unnatural wind, she sent a terrible silence rolling through the crowd.
She raised a rotten finger and pointed it towards the crowd. Her voice, which Alma had not heard in ten far-too-short years, boomed with the exact same poisonous cadence it had when Thea had been terrorising the streets.
“WHO AMONG YOU DARES,” she boomed, “TO TREAT OUR GOD-GIVEN HOME AS YOUR PLAYTHING?”
Thea raised a fist and brought it slamming onto the conference table, breaking the spell of stillness that had settled over the room.
People screamed. Alma was suddenly forced back into her seat as people rushed past her. Nobody could see, and there were crashes and screeches as the audience began to scramble out of the room as quickly as they could, pouring for the safety of the glowing outlines of doors to the hotel lobby. Thea watched them go with a cold, regal glare, head high.
“SELLING THE LORD’S GIFTS AS TRINKETS TO THE PAGANS AND PROTESTANTS?” Thea snarled. “HERESY! BLASPHEMY! THE FLAMES AWAIT THOSE SINNERS THAT SUBMIT TO GREED!”
The lobby doors slammed open. The villagers were practically falling over each other to get out. It was impossible to miss her last words.
“TO ANYONE WHO DARES REVEAL THE SECRETS OF THE ENCANTO,” roared Thea, “A THOUSAND DEATHS! BEGONE, YOU RATS! OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
Not everyone had been lucky enough to get an escape route. Pinned at the head of the room, the three ABC managers - and Jacobo - were staring in horror, trying to slink away from the horrible apparition in front of them. They all froze as Thea whipped around and pointed at the four men, starting with Próspero Cutrale-Safra, his spectacles hanging off his face in sheer shock.
“YOU,” snarled Thea, “YOU ESCAPED PUNISHMENT IN THIS LIFE, PRÓSPERO CUTRALE-SAFRA. BUT HERE IN THIS LIFE? VALERIA IS WAITING FOR YOU...AND SHE REMEMBERS WHAT YOU DID TO HER COFFEE.”
Próspero fell on his knees, whimpering, and began to crawl away, heading for the safety of the darkness.
“AND SHE REMEMBERS YOU, DOMINICO MUSA,” continued Thea, “THE MAN WHO LIED TO HER HUSBAND. THEY ALL REMEMBER YOU. THEY ALL REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID.”
The Regional Officer stared, wide-eyed, before fainting away into a dead faint.
“AND YOU,” said Thea, rounding on the American Director. “I SEE YOUR NIGHTMARES. I KNOW ABOUT THE BOAT. I KNOW ABOUT THE OCEAN.”
The American Director burst into a scream and took off sprinting away from Thea. But Thea’s attention wasn’t on him; it was on the last man standing, his knees wobbling and his eyes wide but his face stubborn and angry.
“JACOBO,” growled Thea. “YOU WOULD WORK WITH THESE GODLESS, SINFUL AMERICANS? TAKE THEIR TAINTED MONEY?!”
Jacobo’s voice trembled with fright. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re not my mother! I - I know what you can do! It’s... it’s just a magical trick, by one of the M-Madrigal children!”
Thea inhaled, furious. She whipped out a huge arm, gesturing wildly at her shaking son.
“PUNISH HIM!” Thea screamed.
There was a distinctive sound in the darkness, the low mournful call of a dog howling: Awroo-oo-oo!
Jacobo paled. He sagged. He whispered, pathetically, “No.”
From the darkness, Adelelmus shot out and onto the table like a missile, sending Jacobo screaming as he backwards. Adelemus grabbed Jacobo’s contract from the table, bit it, and shook it wildly, growing all the while. When it had been sufficiently torn to pieces, Adelelmus began to close in on Jacobo.
“You’re not real,” squeaked Jacobo, pointing at the dog. “You’re not real!”
Adelelmus looked at the proffered finger, howled, and sank his teeth into Jacobo’s hand. Jacobo let out a scream and began running, with Adelelmus barking like mad, his bedraggled fur only just showing his red sunken eyes as he chased Jacobo through the room. Alma listened as Jacobo sprinted past her, found the doors, and burst out of them, screaming and whimpering like a madman.
Alma’s eyes were getting used to the darkness. It seemed, now, that she was the only person still standing in the room, watching the ghost.
Thea Patrizio turned towards her, and their eyes met. Thea’s expression was motionless, and her face was exactly the same as Alma imagined it would be; the same, except dead, waxy, and bony.
Thea Patrizio didn’t say anything.
“You know,” said Alma eventually, “When I left my grandson unsupervised in the house this weekend, I had imagined he would do something irresponsible and selfish, like throw a house-party.”
The ghost of Thea Patrizio tilted her head. Her voice had the same tight, firm tone of condescension that it had always had after Sunday Mass. “Children grow up.”
Alma nodded in concession. Thea Patrizio turned away, and the unnatural green light faded, leaving the shape of the ghost fading into the darkness, then into invisibility.
Alma sat back down in her chair. The lights, she imagined, would turn on shortly after they stopped working. Once the chaos settled down, the villagers would begin to look for the four men, investigate the ghost’s claims, and find the evidence of their crimes. They would feel afraid, lost, and confused, and they would look for someone calm to turn to, who could rationally explain what had just happened.
It was just a matter of time. So she folded her hands in her lap and waited. Alma was always stern, calm, and mature, after all. She was always the decisive one, the woman who spoke up when nobody else wanted to. And if she said she believed in ghosts - well - she was the kind of person who they’d listen to.
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Julieta and Pepa had come back from vacation with even more stuff than they’d brought. Mirabel didn’t know how they fitted them all. The lunch that Julieta cooked had included more new ingredients than Mirabel had seen in the last five years. It was a riot.
Félix opened the liquor cabinets and exclaimed, “Hey, when did we run out of everything?” Bruno gave him a helpless shrug and said he’d replace them. Agustín got back in front of the piano, apparently itching to play after spending days without one, and made Casita’s tiles jump with joy as he began to plink away one of its favourites.
They were all full and happy after the food, and Antonio got up to dance on the tiles; he squealed with laughter as Casita spun the mosaics around, gently tossing Antonio in a circle. He pulled on his dad’s hands, and Félix got up to dance with him, the two of them laughing and stumbling as the floor moved beneath them. Agustín switched into one of his new modern pieces, one of Pérez Prado’s mambos.
Pepa joined the two of them, and reached out to Dolores, smiling as Antonio giggled until he was practically falling over. Agustín switched from No. 8 to No. 5, and Félix made Antonio laugh even more when he switched into one of his silly jigs and lifted Antonio into his arms.
Mirabel smiled as she watched them, and Camilo nudged her with his hip.
“What,” she said, suppressing a grin.
“I’m pretty sure you owe me a dance,” Camilo said smugly, “Since you did promise.”
Mirabel made a show of rolling her eyes, but she let Camilo take her wrist and tug her gently towards the dancefloor (such as it was).
“That’s not exactly the behaviour of a co-conspirator,” pouted Camilo, as she smirked at him. “Aren’t you trying to keep a secret?”
“What was that?” said Julieta, cupping a hand around her ear. “My children, organise a party behind my back? Such a thing could not be possible. Not my Mirabel.”
“Must’ve been that Thea Patrizio,” chimed in Agustín, “Don’t you know her ghost has been all over town? Whatever trouble they’re talking about, must’ve been her.”
Alma shook her head in disbelief. She watched Camilo and Mirabel fall into a rhythm, Mirabel laughing and keeping pace as Camilo tried as many new fancy Salsa Caleña moves as he could. Dolores and Mariano joined them, ignoring both the other dancers and the beat of the music entirely, locked into a perpetual waltz because that was the only dance Mariano was good at. Félix and Pepa held hands; Antonio, partnerless, went pulling his Tío Bruno into the middle of the room, spinning him a circle and planting his little feet on top of Bruno’s.
Alma rose up to sit next to the piano as Julieta’s children convinced her to join them. Agustín’s eyes were mainly on the keys; he gave her a small smile as she transitioned effortlessly into another verse, without stopping to let the dancing abide.
“Agustín,” remarked Alma, watching her children and grandchildren at play, “Am I not childish enough?”
Agustín responded with a good-natured shrug; but she saw from the grin that played across his face that she was right.
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The weather on All Saints’ Day was cloudy and dismal, and the evening sunlight streamed through layers of low clouds and mist. The graveyard in the Encanto had an especially solemn air, despite the freshly laid candles, flowers, and decorations that lined the graves. The graveyard’s gates were thrown upon, and families strolled in and out, all paying their respective visits for the occasion.
The family were there to visit Abuelo Pedro. Mirabel had a detour to make today, though. She held a single rose and waited for a quiet moment before she began to talk to the grave.
“Y’know, I know you and me wouldn’t have agreed on a lot,” She told the grave of Thea Patrizio. “But I’m glad we could agree on this one. You helped us out a whole lot.”
She laid the rose gently at the base of her grave. It was otherwise undecorated.
“So,” continued Mirabel, “You might be happy to hear that the ABC have completely withdrawn their offers for the Encanto. Próspero’s American boss even resigned and took a plane back to Kansas. And apparently Jacobo has been in Church since he got back. El Padre had to tell him to stop confessing for a few hours so he could get some sleep.”
Mirabel paused. Maybe Thea didn’t want to hear about the suffering that had been caused to her son. Well...maybe she did? Thea Patrizio had been a very punitive mother.
“Oh, and Adelelmus is doing good too,” added Mirabel, “After we gave him a bath and trimmed his fur, he looks totally different. My mom even healed his eyes, so they’re not red anymore. I, uh, I don’t know if we’ll be keeping him. Tío Bruno really doesn’t want to, but Antonio keeps asking. I guess he’ll need a different name... You know, you might not have been kind to everybody, but I’m glad you were kind to your dog.”
She paused, looking at the single rose on the mossy grave. The grave looked a little untended, as though it hadn’t been visited for at least ten years by anybody except a dog. Mirabel’s rose looked odd and out-of-place.
“I mean, everybody’s got some good in them,” Mirabel mused, “Even you and Jacobo. You had this dog that you loved, and Jacobo... well, in his own weird way, he wants to make you proud.”
Back with the Madrigals, a little, clean, short-haired dog yapped.
“Oh, speaking of which,” said Mirabel, “I’d better get going... We stop by here every All Saint’s Day, though.. I’ll... try to come by next year. I guess it’s the least I owe you.”
The grave was silent, the way graves usually are. Mirabel joined the rest of her family, leaving the grave in peaceful stillness.
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-04-13 Completed: 2022-07-01 Words: 29,233
Chapters: 13/13
Everything is perfect between Mariano and Dolores. There's just one thing: every time their
relationship comes up, it starts to rain. Why doesn't Pepa Madrigal seem to approve of her
new future son-in-law?
Fortunately, Mariano is determined to earn her trust. And he's found just the solution.
There's definitely no way that this can go wrong.
Fifteen Years Ago
At school, Dolores and Isabela traded a jar of toffees, a shiny blue stone and two old bottle-caps for a set of fortune-telling cards from Josefina. They were vexed by how difficult it was to use them. It was Isabela who suggested Tío Bruno. Isabela always had the ideas back then. She said she was older, so she was in charge, especially right now because for two weeks she was eight and Dolores was only seven and three quarters.
"But I'm more than three quarters," said Dolores.
"There's nothing bigger than three quarters."
They went and knocked on the door of Tío Bruno's tower.
"Is he out?" said Isabela.
"No, he's there," said Dolores.
"Why is he taking so long?"
"He's coming down the stairs."
"Why is he going so slow?"
"He's not. There are more stairs. Abuela said so."
That was a secret. Dolores heard her whisper it to Abuelo at night. He gets further away, mi amor, even his tower has more stairs.
He eventually appeared, looking surprised to see them there.
They never saw Tío Bruno in those days. He wouldn't come to dinner for days on end, and sometimes he would walk out into the forest and fall asleep under the trees, getting bit by mosquitoes and sighing to himself. He would slip away from the room when nobody was watching, and Abuela would whisper, ay, Bruno. Sometimes Dolores would hear him open doors that didn't exist.
"Tío Bruno," commanded Isabela, "You have to help us with our cards. Look. They're fortune telling cards. You have to teach us to tell fortunes with them."
Bruno bent down to examine them in Isabela's hands. He smiled. Tío Bruno didn't smile very often - he only smiled when there were no grown-ups around.
Isabela took his hand and pulled him back into his room - they weren't allowed up the stairs, but they were allowed to play in the sand pit at the bottom if he said they could, or at least Tía Julieta said so. She pointed at a spot on the floor for him to sit. Then she pushed the cards into his hands expectantly.
"Okay," he said, "First you shuffle them. That's important. Then you ask a question. And we'll draw a card to see the answer."
"Show us!" demanded Isabela. "Ask a question!"
Dolores, wanting to see the way he flipped and folded the cards as he shuffled them, leaned over his shoulders and put her arms around his neck. He split the deck in half and elegantly flipped them against his thumbs to mix the two halves together, then joined them again.
"Do you have a question?" he asked her. She knew he was talking to her because his voice was a whisper. He liked to whisper to her. It meant only they knew what he'd said, the two of them, and it was a secret.
She hid her face in his shoulders.
"Dolores is scared," said Isabela.
"I'm not!"
"You are."
"I'm not scared!"
"Dolores is being very brave," said Bruno, to Isabela. Then to Dolores: "You can whisper it to me."
Dolores whispered in his ear: "I wanna know about my true love. What's he going to be like?"
"I heard that!" shrieked Isabela. "She's asking about a boy!"
"Shhh!" hissed Dolores.
"I'm going to tell Tía Pepa! You asked about a boy!"
"Oh, but Isabela," said Bruno, and put his finger to his lips. "We're fortune telling. The question is a secret. That's very important; you've gotta keep it a secret if someone asks you something. You're a good fortune teller, right?"
"Yeah," said Isabela, even though she hadn't even done any yet. "Hmm... fine. I'll keep it secret."
"So, cards, who is the man of Dolores' dreams?" said Bruno. He whipped a card from the top of the deck, but he held it high in the air before Dolores could see it. "Ah! Wait for me to put it down. Here, sit in front of me."
She did, and he put it face down, then flipped it over.
"The sun," read Isabela, "That doesn't make any sense, the sun's not a person."
"What does it mean?" begged Dolores, her eyes wide. Bruno stroked his beard thoughtfully, as though he were pausing to consult the spirits.
"The sun means warmth and joy," said Bruno, "He's a happy, warm person, and he's very popular."
"Oh!" Dolores was going red. "Is... is he a good husband?"
"Let's ask the cards," grinned Bruno, and drew another. He flipped it.
Isabela pointed at it, shocked. "That's a dirty picture!"
"It's art," said Bruno.
"They don't have any clothes!"
"They're Adam and Eve," said Bruno, "They're the Lovers. They represent romance and love. He's a very good husband. He sounds nice, sí?"
"When will I meet him?" begged Dolores.
He flipped another card.
"He's dead!" screamed Isabela. The card was a picture of the Grim Reaper. It said Death.
"That's not what it means," said Bruno, "Knock on wood. Death means something ending, a change. Maybe you'll meet him after you start something new, or after you've finished something big. That's kind of exciting, huh?"
"Oh, but when?" begged Dolores. Bruno chuckled.
"When it's time. The cards aren't that specific."
"They're boring!" declared Isabela. "We don't even know who he is! It could be anyone!"
"No it couldn't," said Dolores defensively, "He's special!"
"Tío Bruno," said Isabela, lying across his lap, "The cards are stupid."
"Why's that?" he asked patiently.
"They can't answer questions properly, they're stupid answers. I bet you could show us."
Tío Bruno hesitated. His face didn't change, but Dolores heard his heart get a little faster, buh-BUP, buh-BUP. "Oh, no, I couldn't..."
"I bet you could," she said, "You could do a real fortune, this stuff is fake. It'd be cool."
"Oh, haha, no, I dunno about that," said Bruno nervously, "They're not that cool, no, these cards? Way cooler. Visions, pfft, they're lame."
Dolores had heard Bruno give visions. She'd heard people talk afterwards. They said he saw bad things and they came true, and he cursed you. But that was silly, because Tío Bruno was nice, and if he could curse people he wouldn't curse them.
"I'll show you my gift," insisted Isabela. "Then you should show me yours."
"Y-yes, you should show me your gift! Yes! Show me what kind of flowers you can grow, go on!" Bruno pointed at the sand and Isabela leapt to her feet. She loved showing off.
Isabela screwed up her face and concentrated. A stem poked out of the sand. Then it got bigger and began to make some leaves, then finally it made a white flower.
"An orchid!" said Bruno. "That's neat, huh? But, hmm," he shrugged, "I guess you can only make one, huh?"
"No, I can make more! Watch!" Isabela stamped her feet.
Dolores was smarter than Isabela, though. She knew Tío Bruno was distracting Isabela so she'd forget about the vision. But Dolores would keep it a secret. It made her feel grown-up, keeping secrets.
"Look what Dolores and I are practicing!" cried Isabela. She reached up and a vine trailed from the stone stairs and down into her hand.
Isabela made the vine into a swing, sat down, and held her breath. The vine began to lift her into the air.
"Wow, that's amazing, Isabela! You could make all kinds of - where are you going?!"
Isabela was making her vine grow higher than Bruno's head.
"She's flying," explained Dolores.
"Whoa, whoa, no flying up there! That's too high! You might fall!"
"I won't," insisted Isabela. "Look, I can stand up!"
"No no no! I don't wanna see you stand up! Come back down, why don't you grow another orchid?!"
"That's boring," said Isabela.
The vine was nearly halfway up the tower. She stood up, holding out her hands for balance. She began to grow another vine to jump down onto.
"Isabela, don't do that!" Bruno's heartbeat was fast again, the sound bursting out of his chest like a warning siren. It was scary to listen to.
Dolores didn't hear what Isabela said in response. She could only listen to one thing at a time. Sometimes Papi would have to wave his hand in front of her face to get her attention, because she was listening to the sound of the river or the music from the Garcias' record player and she hadn't noticed him calling.
Whatever she had said, it wasn't going well for Tío Bruno, who had his hands over his eyes.
"No, Isabela, come back down!" Bruno wailed. He wasn't very good at telling kids what to do.
"I can do it!" insisted Isabela.
"Uh, ah, well," Bruno wrung his hands together with a swsshhh noise. Dolores could see him trying to think. Dolores understood. It was very difficult to think of what to say; she didn't know how Isabela did it, sometimes. "Y-you've gotta come down so I can do a vision!"
Immediately her vine lowered her a little. Her eyes were wide and shiny. "You will?"
"Sure I will, promise, just come back down here real carefully or I won't do it, alright?!"
Isabela held obediently onto her vine and lowered herself down, letting Tío Bruno lift her under the arms and carry her the last bit of the way. Isabela was smiling brightly. She loved magic, and neither of them had actually seen Bruno have a vision, only the emerald glass he made when he did.
"Do it, do it, do it!" squealed Isabela.
Bruno wasn’t happy. "Ah, uh -"
"You promised so that means you really will! You have to have a vision! I want, I want, I want to see if my powers will grow!"
Isabela sat down in the sand. She folded her legs and looked good and perfect like she did at school. Bruno sighed, and she heard the muscles in his throat say that one can't hurt without the words leaving his lips.
"I'm only gonna do a small one," he cautioned her.
"That's okay," said Isabela, pretending to behave. Dolores sat down next to her in the sand.
Dolores had listened to Tío Bruno do visions. First, someone would ask a question. Then there would be the shhhh of sand, a match, a crackle, flames. Then wind, rushing and swirling, like one of Mami's storms. There would be gasps and screams, and Bruno would murmur in a scary voice, and Dolores usually stopped listening at that point because she was frightened.
But nothing scary happened. Actually, nothing happened that Dolores recognised. Instead, Bruno scooped up a handful of sand. They both leaned forward to look, and when he saw them both craning their heads to watch he smiled.
"Now, you've gotta stay sitting down while I'm doing it, okay?" he said.
They nodded, and he brought his hands to his lips and blew.
But the sand didn't just blow away; it began to swirl and billow in his hands. Dolores and Isabela gasped as it formed a small, spiraling cloud, like a tornado, and through it Bruno’s eyes were visible, glowing bright emerald green, and when he saw them gawping he grinned in a way that Dolores had never seen. He parted his hands - there was no sand left in them - and he said, in a voice that was different and a little frightening, “There you are.”
They both squinted into the sand. The picture was tiny, the figures the sizes of little toy soldiers, but they both saw her; the figure of a woman, a grown-up, skipping along the ground. She danced, and when her feet touched the floor, flowers sprung up around her, huge and covering everything. She bounced, and the flowers vanished, and when she landed again they flew into the air around her; the figure reached out a hand and vines dropped from above her, and carried her away effortlessly.
Dolores could hear a tremble in Bruno’s arms as he held them out. His breath was fast and shallow, like he was in pain; she couldn’t see his face behind the picture, but she could hear one of his eyes slam shut and then open again. He swallowed hard, and Dolores realised he was doing the same thing Luisa did when they played Musical Statues; he was struggling to keep control. She suddenly wondered in the vision was going to explode.
But it didn’t. Instead she heard him let out a long breath, and the sand suddenly lost its swirling green glow. The sand grains were all sucked into the middle of the group with a fwsshpp! and vanished; in their place was a tiny little green marble, which fell softly into the sand.
Isabela dived for the marble and held it up to the light. In the glass was the teeny-tiny figure of a grown woman in a dress, and flowers flying around her. Isabela’s eyes were round and awestruck. Dolores looked at Bruno, and he was panting but there was a big playful grin on his face.
“Whaddya think of that, then?” he asked. “That was you. You’re going to grow up into a beautiful lady and you’re gonna be so powerful.”
“That was amazing!” Isabela cried, and she threw herself onto him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Bruno chuckled as Isabela hugged him and kissed his cheek like she would when they were told to say goodnight to him. Dolores stared at the marble in Isabela’s hands, the tiny green figure of the woman, and wondered...
“I’m going to show Mamá!” cried Isabela, and she ran out of the room without even waiting for Dolores, which meant she really was excited because Isabela always bossed Dolores around. Bruno, still grinning, tidied up the cards and put the deck aside.
“Tío Bruno,” whispered Dolores. He paused, and he leaned forward to listen to her. “Will you do one for me too?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhh, well, I would, kiddo, but... I can only see into the future and we can’t see your gift, so it probably wouldn’t work...”
“Not for me,” she whispered. “For... for my true love.” She blushed. “Just a little one. Can I see him?”
Bruno swallowed. He looked sadly at her, a sorry Dolores but you can’t have more dessert look, and said, “Well, I dunno, Dolores, don’t you want it to be a surprise when you meet him?”
“It will,” she promised, “We can only look a little. Just to check?”
“I, ehh...” She heard his fingers rubbing the back of his neck again, and she crawled across the sand and took his other hand, lying across his lap.
“I’m really worried,” she confessed, “Mamá and Papá are super happy and true loves and I’m worried that won’t happen to me. I heard Luisa Ramirez in town saying that her boyfriend ignores her and she has sex with someone else.”
She heard Bruno gasp at that.
“I don’t want to know about sex,” she said sadly, “But I have to because I hear people talk about it all the time. And then she cried. And Valentina screams at her husband and says she doesn’t wanna be married.”
“But that’s...” He stopped himself finishing the sentence out loud, but his throat muscles said terrible, what? “...That...must be really scary, huh? You shouldn’t worry about it. We looked at the cards, remember? Your husband isn’t gonna be like that at all. He’s gonna be real sweet, you’re gonna be real happy. I just know it.”
Dolores knew he was just saying that to make her feel better. She played with his fingers. She heard him tilt his head and change the pattern of his breathing, thinking.
“...The cards...” he repeated thoughtfully. “ Did say that, so... I guess... Hm... Well, maybe we could just take a tiny look, huh? Just enough to see what’s happening?”
She looked up at him, blushing. “Really?”
“Just between us.” He winked. Dolores squealed. She sat up so she was sitting in his lap, and he put his arms around her to reach into the sand and take another handful.
She felt his chin brush her hair as he leaned over and blew into the sand, and another swirling cloud formed in front of them.
The glowing green light was clearer from this side. She watched the sand moving around in dreamy swirling patterns, and Bruno’s hands separated and cupped the cloud on either side. He took in a deep breath and the sand began to move into shapes.
She watched the teeny-tiny figure of a man form. She leaned forward, eager to see the details, but there was nothing about him she recognised. He reached into his pocket and brought out a box, and she watched him kneel down.
“See?” said Bruno. His voice was strained. Dolores was suddenly distracted. She could hear his breath whistling in and out of his chest, the muscles in his body all tense and spasming, and as they did, she saw the glow brighten and dim again. “H-he’s proposing, that’s good, wh-wh-why don’t we end it th-th-there - nrghhh! ”
Dolores cried out as the glow suddenly brightened, and suddenly it was darker and colder in the cave than it had been, and the image was bigger in front of her. She stared. She could see the man’s face, his hair, the cut of his shirt. She stared as he opened a ring box and offered it up to someone.
The woman had long straight hair. Her nose was sharp and pointy. The figure was familiar, but Dolores wasn’t sure from where.
It wasn’t her.
Bruno made a strangled noise and the light vanished. Sand showered from above them and covered them. There was a thump and a flat glass plate landed in front of them, showing the man and his fiancée.
It wasn’t her. Dolores wasn’t marrying the man of her dreams. Dolores wasn’t going to marry her true love. Dolores wasn’t going to laugh and dance the way her parents did. She wasn’t going to have children and a family. Her love was going to marry someone else.
Dolores didn’t like to cry. She couldn’t control the sound, and there were too many things to do with her hands. But she couldn’t help it. She put her hands over her ears and started to wail.
She could hear him speaking through her hands, his voice a whisper, “I-it’s okay, it’s probably not what it looks like, there might be-”
He put his hands on her shoulders and she was suddenly terrified that he was going to show her something else. Dolores did not want to hear Bruno talk in his scary voice or tell her things about the future. Dolores wanted her Mamá.
She scrambled to her feet and ran away through the sand, crying. She heard his footsteps in the sand go after her, falter, then stop, then stay still as she burst through the door and shut it behind her and wailed, “Mamá! Mamá!”
Dolores was distantly aware that at some point, her mother was there, and picking her up in her familiar warm embrace. But Dolores couldn’t hear anything her mother was saying. Her focus was stuck in Bruno’s tower, the sand falling, the heartbeat like a siren: buh-BUP, buh-BUP, buh-BUP.
It took a long time for Dolores to explain what happened to her mother, and when she did, Mamá kissed her on the forehead and cuddled her on her lap.
“It’s okay, my baby, it’s okay,” cooed Mamá, “I’ll always be here, you’ll always have me. You can stay with us and we’ll look after you and you’ll have everything you want. It’ll be okay.”
That promise finally stopped Dolores crying. Her mother repeated it, soothing and soft; You can stay with me. I’ll look after you. You won’t be lonely. Stay with me.
Present Day
If Mariano were to rank all the Madrigals by how scary they were, it would go something like this:
Dolores was divine and never inspired him to feel anything except joy and love and variations thereof.
Mirabel had once said sorry to him for messing up his proposal. He said, "Messing it up? Not at all, all that stuff wasn't your fault. It actually really helped when you gave me that thumbs up." He then asked her for a list of all the things Dolores liked. She wrote it on coloured paper folded in a ribbon, inside which read, You! Just be yourself! And a smiley face. Mirabel was his stalwart ally.
10-6. Antonio, Camilo, Luisa, Julieta Augustín.
They all tied because Mariano barely knew them. His courtship of Isabela had consisted mainly of conversations between Alma Madrigal and Mariano's mom. The times he'd spent with Isabela had been strictly chaperoned, usually by Alma.
He wasn't actually scary at all, but the father of one's girlfriend is scary by default.
Alma was the queen of the Encanto. That was good, because that made Dolores a princess. However, it was also intimidating.
Bruno seemed like a very kind man, if not somewhat shy. However, at the age of seven, Ricardo Henriques told Mariano that Bruno captured and ate live children at night and Mariano had had nightmares about it for days. He had not forgotten them.
Isabela had become one of Mariano's close friends since she'd broken up with him so hard the Casa Madrigal collapsed. He wasn't bitter about his nose. He was simply aware of how it felt to be attacked by Isabela while she was holding back, and it was still incredibly painful. Just because he wasn't afraid of her didn't mean she wasn't scary.
The evening Dolores agreed to tell her parents they were dating, the temperature had suddenly dropped. Unexpected rain clouds had blown up out of nowhere and his Mom had looked up and said, "Huh! Looks like Pepa Madrigal just got some bad news!"
"Uh-huh," Mariano had responded faintly, wondering if Pepa could aim thunderbolts.
Mariano didn't know how to handle it if Pepa didn't like him. He wasn't good at being disliked. It didn't usually happen to him.
He'd asked Dolores about why he didn't really have any enemies and she'd responded candidly with the explanation, "It's because you're perfect. People who dislike you don't show it. They know they'd be judged."
She said this very matter-of-factly. Dolores always sounded that way. She was intelligent - the most intelligent person Mariano knew, in fact, and Mariano's mom said she had a degree from the University of Life. Mariano couldn't imagine what it was like being Dolores - hearing so many things, and magically blessed with a mind powerful enough to process them all. She had insights into everything. She was psychic without being psychic. She knew so many things she had difficulty describing them. The only thing Dolores didn't have very much experience with was talking, so she wasn't always good at conveying all the things she had in her mind. Mariano had to admit he didn't really understand her explanation, so he turned to his other confidant, Isabela.
"Why would someone dislike me?" he asked. "I thought everybody liked me."
"Okay, for a start, who says I like you," she said, "Secondly... There doesn't have to be anything wrong with you for someone to dislike you. You never do anything wrong," (She rolled her eyes), "So if someone dislikes you, it's usually a problem with them that they're taking out on you."
"How am I supposed to deal with that?" said Mariano.
Isabela shrugged. "I wouldn't bother. If it's really important, you could ask Bruno if it works out."
Mariano tried, but when he approached Bruno in town and asked if he could have a vision about Pepa, Bruno immediately turned around, climbed a tree, leapt from that tree to another tree and vanished before Mariano could stop him. Mariano was on his own.
That night, Félix had sought him out and bought him a beer. He patted Mariano on the arm and said, "Did Augustín ever talk to you one-on-one?"
"Umm, no," said Mariano.
"Well, now that you've switched future father-in-law, I have some advice."
"Yes?"
"You don't just date one Madrigal," said Félix, "You date the whole Familia Madrigal. It's a package deal."
This worried Mariano. He'd only dated two of them so far. He loved Dolores more than he'd ever loved anybody else, but before he could marry her, he'd have to break up with her and date all four of the other ones too? Wasn't Antonio a bit young? Did he have to date Bruno too? And he didn’t think Dolores would forgive him if he broke Mirabel’s heart. This was all much more complicated than he’d imagined.
He voiced his concerns to Félix, who was silent for a long moment. Then he patted Mariano's shoulder. "You know what, son, never mind," said Félix. "Don't worry about it. You wanna come round for dinner tonight?"
Mariano recognised an olive branch when he saw one. "I'd love to!"
But despite Félix's instructions, Mariano was worried about it. He was much, much more worried about it than he had been with Isabela. The thing was... the whole marriage then had been arranged. So Mariano couldn't mess it up. They'd be married before he had the chance, and once they were married... Well... he hadn't really thought about that part. He now suspected it would've been complicated, if dating Dolores was anything to go by.
Anyway, he didn't have an arranged marriage with Dolores and she didn't want one, which meant that in order for things to work she had to be happy with him. Dolores loved her family with all her heart, and by extension, Mariano did too. He had to impress Pepa Madrigal.
So he wore his second-best shirt, having worn his best one the last time one of the Madrigals dumped him and not wanting to get unlucky. He combed his hair and didn't invite his mother (in honour of Taking It Slow). He tried to make his legs move normally as he walked up the path to the Casa Madrigal at five in the evening, because Félix hadn't told him when to come.
He looked at the glowing image of Mirabel. She smiled out at him. He tried to imagine that she was giving him a vote of confidence.
"You're right, Magic Door Mirabel," he said, "I love Dolores and that's what matters. I just gotta follow my heart and it'll work out."
Magic Door Mirabel looked at Mariano in a way that said, Did you know if Dolores had to choose between you and her family then it would ruin her life and she’d be miserable and it would be your fault?
“Magic Door Mirabel, that’s not helping,” he sighed. “I’m gonna make a great impression. Mom said so. And I already know the Madrigals.”
Psshh, yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy, said Magic Door Mirabel.
“The real Mirabel isn’t this discouraging,” he said sadly. “This conversation is over.”
He knocked.
Camilo Madrigal opened the door and said, "Hey, Dolores' new boyfriend! Don't I know you from somewhere? I could have sworn there was a guy who looked just like you proposing to my cousin just a couple months ago."
Dolores slapped Camilo on the arm, but Mariano gave her a sorrowful look. "No, he's right," he explained, "That was me."
“Mariano?” said Dolores patiently.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Oh! I love you too, Lola.”
Camilo made loud retching noises as Dolores reached up and kissed Mariano’s cheek. Dolores had bright, clever eyes, and when she smiled Mariano’s heart fluttered. She smiled a lot, but that didn’t make it better. It just made Mariano’s heart especially fluttery these days.
"Dinner's not for a while," said Dolores, "Come upstairs with me."
Camilo made a noise. "Alone? That's not allowed, pretty sure."
"Othello," said Dolores. Mariano had no idea what that meant, but Camilo turned pale and left.
Dolores gave him a wink and gestured him upstairs. Blackmail, thought Mariano. He admired her resourcefulness. Dolores could do anything to get time alone with him.
She led him to the upstairs sitting room, sat him down, and, at length, kissed him.
Then she pulled away and said, "Please don't worry about it."
They both knew what she was talking about.
"Hey," he said, and gave her his most dazzling smile. "I love you. We’ll find a way to make it work. Tonight’s gonna be great.”
“You promise?”
“Of course I do.”
And they kissed again. They had no way, fortunately, of knowing how catastrophically wrong things would go.
It would start with the hurricane, and it would end with the gun.
Four Months Ago
Dolores had never been on a date. She'd never seen the point. She’d met Mariano at fourteen and, God help her, recognised him. And then what could she do? There was nothing to make you fall in love with a guy like telling yourself not to listen to him, to ignore him practicing guitar, pretend like the words he mutters to himself as he writes aren’t sweet and captivating and you feel like you’ve known him all your life. Oops! Sorry, José from class, I can’t go on this date with you. I’m madly in love with someone else and I always will be.
Dolores, who had never been on a date and had lived her entire life up to this moment quietly resigned to a future of loneliness, walked around the edge of town arm in arm with Mariano and felt like she was going to throw up.
Her Casita was a ruin. Her door was just a piece of lumber lying somewhere in the scrap heap. Dolores couldn’t hear a thing, and she’d never felt more vulnerable or more stupid, more locked in the moment with her own thoughts and feelings.
“You look nervous,” said Mariano.
She tried to give him a smile. It wobbled.
“I’ve never been on a date,” she said.
“Really? Why not?”
Dolores hadn’t prepared for this question. She panicked. Unable to tell the volume different between her voice and her thoughts any more, she said, “I didn’t wanna date anyone who wasn’t you.”
Dolores couldn’t hear the movement of blood or the pump of Mariano’s heart, but she knew from the look on his face that, yes, she had said that out loud and he had understood it.
“Really?” said Mariano, his face red.
“Uhh,” said Dolores.
They stared at each other in silence. Boy, silence for normal people was silent. Like, really silent. It was like being asleep.
“Do you really like my poetry?” he blurted.
“Um,” she said, “Yes. A lot. Actually. Sometimes I listen - I listened - I listened to it to fall asleep. Um. Is that weird?”
“No,” he said, still blushing, “Well... yeah, kinda. But I don’t think it’s weird. It just is weird.”
“Thanks,” said Dolores, wishing she was dead.
“I’m nervous too, actually,” he said, and laughed. Then he stopped. “Not because you’re scary! You’re not scary. I think you’re nice. Actually, I don’t know if you’re nice. That’s, uh, that’s the scary part, actually, because you know so many things about me, and I don’t know anything about you.”
“Oh,” said Dolores.
Dolores had indulged guiltily in many idle daydreams about what a date with Mariano would be like. They hadn’t really gone like this.
“But I’d like to,” Mariano said.
“What?”
“I’d like to know things about you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “If you... wanted to tell me.”
“What kinds of things?” said Dolores.
“Um,” he said, “I guess... everything?”
She stared at him. What was it like, she wondered, to be someone who didn’t know what other people thought and felt? What they said when you couldn’t see them? It had been such a long time since Dolores had wondered about what was going on in someone’s mind. Usually it was so clear - if she couldn’t hear it, then she’d heard enough already that she could guess. What must it like to be Mariano, who had only ever heard silence from her till this point? It must have been terrifying. Dolores certainly remembered how scary the world was when she was four. And the world sure was scary right now.
“I don’t know where to start,” said Dolores softly, “I... spend so much time listening, I’m not that great at talking.”
Mariano looked at her face carefully. She felt her face getting warmer.
“It must have been hard. What’s it like, not having super hearing any more?” he asked.
“Scary,” she said.
“Why?”
“I hate... guessing,” she said, “I... hate not knowing what people are thinking. Like...I don’t know what you’re thinking at all right now.”
He smiled.
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said, “You just ask.”
She stared at him.
“Try it,” he said.
“Um,” she said, “Okay. What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m imagining what it’s like to be able to hear everything and then lose that power,” he said, “And I’m really impressed that you’re speaking at such a normal volume.”
Dolores laughed. She didn’t mean to laugh. She wanted to, at best, giggle. But she spluttered out a belly laugh and then clapped her hands over her mouth.
She looked at him nervously. His mouth was twitching like he wanted to laugh too.
“What are you thinking right now?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about how much more Isabela had it together than me when she was with you,” blurted Dolores. “I’m being weird. Wh- what are you thinking?”
"I'm thinking it's really nice that you actually, uh, want to impress me, and you're not just pretending to like me for your grandma," he said.
"I'm remembering Isabela dated you and now I'm nervous about what she thinks of me," said Dolores.
"I'm thinking the same thing, now that you mention it. I hope she doesn't hate me."
"I hope so too. I don't get why she didn't like you. There's nothing about you not to like. It's kind of scary."
"Oh, um," he said, "Well, my voice is pretty loud, like you said. And I spend a lot of time with my mom. And my grades at school were really bad. And my friends say I'm not funny. Oh, and I'm bad at dancing."
"I think I like those things. I like that you told me that. I can't believe you're actually talking to me. You're Mariano."
"I like talking to you," he said.
"Really?"
"I like listening to you talk too," he said. "I like hearing what's on your mind."
"What's on my mind," she said, "Is that you're beautiful and I want to kiss your face. Is that weird?"
"No," he said, "I think you're beautiful too. I'd love it if you kissed my face."
Dolores had never kissed anyone. Dolores had never told anyone they were beautiful.
But there were a lot of firsts that day. For example: Dolores had never told anyone she was terrified of lightning, not thunder. Or that she sometimes danced by herself listening to the radio on the other side of town. Or about the dream she had when she was seven about the crab that pinched off her toes. Dolores had never told anyone her third favourite fruit (bananas) or her opinion on the smell of baking (neutral) or whether she knew how to use a scythe (no).
Dolores had never lain in the grass and just talked, talked, talked, talked about everything and nothing, talked about funny things and sad things, and had someone sit next to her, smiling, commenting, listening, listening.
When the sun was setting she rolled over and gazed into his eyes for a long moment.
"I can't believe this is real," she said quietly.
He cupped her cheek in his hand. He was gentle, but his touch was clumsy and uncertain, and it was clear he didn't quite know what he was doing. His smile was wide and graceless. Her heart felt like a hammer.
"Me neither," he said, and pressed his forehead against hers. It was harder and less natural than she'd imagined; then, when he nuzzled her with his nose, softer and better; Dolores felt like her whole heart was smiling.
"My uncle told me you were the man of my dreams," she said softly.
His eyes crinkled with warm, gentle amusement.
"That's amazing," he said, "Considering I was only twelve when he died."
Dolores looked carefully into Mariano's eyes and determined that he was being genuine.
"Bruno's not dead," she said.
"Really?" his expression brightened. "That's great news."
"You're not very smart," she blurted.
"No, I'm not. Is that okay?"
"I think I'm in love with you."
"I think I'm in love with you too."
When Dolores arrived back to work on the house thirty minutes late, flushed and smiling like a dork, Mirabel looked at her and raised her eyebrows. Dolores took Mirabel by the shoulder and walked her behind a pillar, leaned in, and tried to remember how to whisper.
"Don't tell Mami about Mariano," said Dolores urgently.
Mirabel's expression furrowed in worry and confusion. "What? Why?"
"Because I'm gonna marry him someday," said Dolores, "And she's not gonna like it."
Present Day
The Madrigals lived in their own little world. This was a truth very evident to Mariano, who was never quite sure what was happening in their household.
It wasn’t the magic. That part made perfect sense to him. After all, lots of people had unusual talents. Like Ricardo, who could fit his entire fist in his mouth. Or Rosana from town, who could carry ten wine glasses simultaneously. No, it was the jostle of it.
Mariano had always wanted a big family. His father had died before he was born, an accident that nobody wanted to talk about. It was just him and Mom in a quiet little house, Mariano listening to stories of a childhood home full of brothers and sisters, of how kind and loving his own father had been. For years it had just been him and Mom against the world; what might it have been like, growing up with all these cousins and siblings, a family member for every turn? Mariano couldn’t imagine being lonely under those circumstances, but it seemed to him that Dolores was one of the loneliest people in the world; she heard so much, and said so little, and she let the family live around her without comment...
...Anyway, the Madrigals had a complicated home life, far more complicated than Mariano could grasp. It wasn’t really that surprising when Dolores sat up, tilted her head to the side, and said, “You should go stand on the landing, next to the portrait of the boot.”
“Why?”
“There’s a conversation I’d like you to overhear.”
That seemed like a reasonable request, so he got up and scanned the walls until he found a painting of a boot with a bouquet of flowers poking out of it. Hearing voices around the corner, he peeked around and saw Mirabel, leaning against a door emblazoned with an imposing, grimacing figure labeled Bruno.
"C'mon, Tío Bruno!" she begged, "It'll be fun."
"You'll have fun," came the muffled response, "I will have at least one, maybe more types of panic attack, thank you."
Mariano had never actually heard Bruno speak so many words in a row. He wondered if this was Dolores’ way of getting him to know her uncle. After all, Dolores overheard conversations all the time. Maybe they’d become closer, therefore, if he kept eavesdropping on her family, like she did.
"You don't know that!" pressed Mirabel.
"Don't try that line on me, kid, I can see the future."
"You know they have a fortune teller," she said, "Wouldn't you wanna try having someone else tell you your future?"
Bruno’s door opened. It was very strange to see the glowing visage of the looming man be replaced by the real Bruno, was small and wide-eyed, with a perpetual look of someone who was badly pretending to know what to do.
"Why," he said slowly, "Would I want that? Ever?"
She beamed. "For fun?"
He stared at Mirabel for a moment longer.
"When you were four," he said eventually, sounding a little rueful, "You liked going to the park. And the forest. Sometimes, if you were feeling rebellious, the river."
She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "And we could go to those places some time."
"Now you're fifteen and you wanna go to a carnival in the city," he sighed, "I think you've, uh, outgrown my services a little here, Mirabel."
"Tío Bruno, to be fair, Antonio also really wants to go and he’s five.”
"Ask somebody else."
"Buhhh," she groaned, "There is nobody else, trust me! I've totally exhausted my list of chaperones, nobody else is free this weekend and Mamá says I can't go by myself!"
"Why don't you just sneak there by yourself?" asked Bruno.
She gave him a look. "You... think I should?"
"Hm? Oh, no. No, that's a terrible idea. If you do it I will lose my mind. But it just seemed like, you know, the obvious solution."
Mirabel sighed deeply. "Can you blame me for being desperate? Nobody else in the house is free that weekend who’s an adult! I've only ever read about them in books, I can't believe everyone is just okay with the fact there's a real carnival the next town over and we're not there!"
"Yes," said Bruno.
"What?"
"Yes, I can blame you for being desperate," he clarified. "It's pretty inconvenient for me."
“I know!” cried Mariano.
Mariano had entirely forgotten that he was hidden until they both jumped, Mirabel spinning around and Bruno shrinking behind his door.
“Oh. Sorry. I was just... passing by... And I heard you talking about the carnival? The next town over?”
Bruno’s head poked out cautiously. Mirabel, eyes lighting up in excitement, immediately forgot her uncle and rushed over to Mariano. “Were you thinking of taking Dolores?”
“I don’t think Dolores likes the idea of that carnival,” admitted Mariano, “It’s too loud. But I could take you and Antonio anyway! It wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Really?!” Mirabel’s smile was huge and very gratifying. "Aw, Mariano, you’re the best! I owe you one, seriously!”
Mariano was sure he’d gained some of Bruno’s approval by this point, because Bruno’s entire upper half had emerged from behind the door and he’d even put his hood back down. He silently congratulated himself for gaining Madrigal brownie points.
Then a lightbulb lit up in his mind. That was why Dolores had sent him to overhear this conversation! And more importantly...
“There is one thing you can do for me,” said Mariano.
“Sure! Anything!”
Mariano tried to lower his voice. It wasn’t easy. It didn’t really come that easily to him. “Well... it’s about your aunt.”
“What about her?”
There was a distant rumble of thunder.
“Oh,” said Mirabel.
“Yeah.” Mariano tugged his collar. “Maybe you could... like... put in a good word for me? You know... Tell her about how I was really... uh... manly and fatherly. Stuff like that.”
Mirabel reached up and put her arm around Mariano’s shoulders. “Mariano, bud, you don’t even have to ask. I totally got you. I am gonna talk you up so much, she’s gonna think you’re a Greek god.”
She gave him a wink. For a kid, she sure was sharp. He felt a glow of satisfaction.
“Deal!” he beamed. “I can see why Dolores wanted me to overhear this conversation.”
Before he could elaborate, he felt a hand grab his wrist and pull him back around the corner. Dolores, smiling with the slightly frantic look she got when things got out of her control, pulled him down the corridor before he could respond to Mirabel, who was saying What???? in the distance as she pulled him back onto the sofa.
"Did I do something wrong?" asked Mariano.
"No," said Dolores, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "You did everything perfectly. Mirabel really wanted to go. She's been talking about it all week."
"She's a good kid," said Mariano wistfully. He wished he'd had younger cousins to spoil, like Dolores did.
"I wish I knew her more," said Dolores. "To be honest... I wish I could go."
"Why don't you?" He put his arm around her. "We could make it a date."
"Oh, I don't wanna go anywhere near that calliope." She shuddered. "Maybe I don't really wish I could go. But..."
She lapsed into silence.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I kinda wish it was me taking Mirabel and Antonio somewhere nice," she said.
"Do you..." He crinkled his eyebrows. "Do you not do that, sometimes?"
"They've never asked," she said. "And... I've never said."
There were lots of things Dolores had never said. More things, Mariano thought, than could ever be said out loud.
"Why not?" said Mariano.
Dolores was silent for a long moment.
"It's complicated," she said, eventually.
Mariano waited for her to say more, but she didn't, and he could tell she was thinking about it, listening carefully to all the sounds and memories in her mind. She got very quiet when she was like that, and most of the time she simply got sadder rather than wiser.
"Tell you what," he said, nudging her. "When I get back, I'll tell Mirabel to take Antonio and hang out with us. Right here in the Encanto, somewhere nice and quiet. And we'll have all the time in the world to say whatever we want. What do you think?"
Dolores looked at him and smiled, the sweet loving smile that made his heart melt, but before he could lean and kiss her there was a knock on the door.
"Time for dinner!" called Camilo. "Whatever you're doing in there, better cover your traces before somebody sees!"
Dolores rolled her eyes.
Mariano said, hesitantly, “Should we tidy up—”
“No,” said Dolores, “Let’s go eat.”
The evening started very promisingly. The family laughed warmly when Mariano complimented the food. Alma Madrigal smiled when he held out her chair for her. Bruno even looked at Mariano and nodded, which was an extremely warm reception.
But it wouldn't stop raining. At all.
Pepa Madrigal was flanked on one side by Mariano. Mariano was developing a plan of attack, and judging by the way Mirabel was winking at him, so was she.
"Tía Pepa," said Mirabel loudly, "Did you know that Mariano made his own guitar?"
Pepa smiled. She looked polite and pleasant. The rain continued to fall.
"Really," she said.
"Oh, uh, just the wood," he said, "My mom did the stringing, I'm not perfect at it yet. I'm better with lutes. And tiples."
"How is the family business, Mariano?" asked Alma.
"It's great! La Maestra just asked us for a set of guitars for her new class." Mariano honed back in on Pepa. "Antonio might end up learning with one! If he likes it, I could even make him a personal one."
That got a genuine smile out of Pepa. "Really?"
"Mariano does wood patterning and staining," said Mirabel, "He did the carvings on the new church organ!"
"I could carve some patterns into Antonio's guitar. Maybe some jaguars. The jaguar, he's amazing, isn't he?"
"He thinks you smell good," said Antonio, from next to Dolores.
"Aw, he likes me!"
"He says you have a lot of meat."
"That's true," nodded Mariano, "That's very observant."
Pepa laughed. Mariano felt a flush of satisfaction.
He managed to keep this conversation going all the way through his first bowl of ajiaco. (His last dinner here hadn't gone great, but heck, he was glad he got to try Julieta's ajiaco again.) He was convinced he was making a great start into befriending Pepa. Had the rain eased off into a drizzle? Maybe it was! Things were going real smooth.
Right up until he tried beaching the romantic topic of weddings.
"Dolores told me that you had only been with Félix for a year when you got married," said Mariano.
Mariano loved wedding stories. He couldn't help it. Most people brightened up when you asked about their weddings. He adored the way everyone had their stories, similar but unique, and they all got misty and joyful at the memory.
“Oh, yeah, we knew from the start that it was meant to be,” said Félix cheerfully, “Right, Pepita?”
“Yes,” said Pepa slowly.
Was that a gust of wind? Surely not. Surely it had just been his imagination.
“It’s like, when you know, you know. People said we were crazy, but, you know, here we are, almost thirty years later!” Félix gave his wife a big, loving smile, and Mariano sighed wistfully.
“Oh, that’s great,” he said dreamily, “It must’ve been a great day.”
A flash of lightning. Dolores squeaked. Mariano’s attention was immediately diverted, but Félix, apparently not noticing, responded as normal.
“Oh, it was great! The cake, the dancing... Right, Pepi? ...Pepi?”
“Great,” said Pepa, a bit dazedly.
Mariano tried to get things back on track. Weddings. He was great with weddings. It was a great conversation piece. Maybe Pepa was just getting overwhelmed by the attention, the way Dolores sometimes did.
“You must have been so proud, Doña Alma,” he offered, and Alma smiled and nodded.
“Oh, it was so exciting. The first of my babies to get married. And Pepa was so happy. Weren’t you, Pepa?”
“Mmmmm,” said Pepa.
“They were so in love,” said Alma, “Just like you and Dolores.”
Krak-OOOOOOM! The thunderclap, as promised by the earlier flash of lightning. Dolores gently covered her ears. Focus, Mariano! Eyes on the ball!
“Oh, well, you know! It’s going great. B-but we’re not getting married yet. We’re taking it slow. Because that’s what Dolores wants. And me. I mean I want whatever Dolores wants. If she wanted to go faster I would. But she doesn’t -” Mariano paused, feeling a drop of water on his head, and tried to ignore it. Everyone was sitting around very calmly - very calmly, in fact, there was hardly a sound in the room - and he tried to act as normal as possible. “So, uh, you know, neither do I.”
Plink. Plink. There were definitely drops of water falling on Mariano’s head. He looked up, saw a small cloud forming over the table, and looked down again as politely as he could. Mariano began scrambling over his words, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
“But we will get married,” he added soothingly, “Uh, when Dolores wants. If Dolores wants. When we want. We respect each other. We respect each other, right?”
“Definitely,” said Dolores faintly.
“It’s going great,” he said, trying not to sound desperate. “Hey, this food was really good!”
A flash. A booooom! of thunder, almost immediately afterwards. Alma Madrigal cleared her throat.
“Um,” she said, “Pepa...”
It was like a piston going off. Pepa whipped around with such speed and force that Mirabel nearly jumped out of her chair. “What, Mamá?!” she cried, practically screaming.
“Maybe we could...” Alma gestured. “...Go and get some more wine from the cellar?”
“We don’t need. More wine. Everything. Is fine!” Pepa took a vengeful gulp of water.
Mariano glanced around the table. Camilo had leaned over to whisper something to Luisa, who was nodding nervously. Dolores was staring distantly at her food in a way that suggested she was trying to be somewhere else. He made eye contact with Isabela and she mouthed Great job, asshole, which didn’t help.
It was now definitely raining on the table. Mariano watched sadly as raindrops diluted his second bowl of soup.
“Um, Pepa, maybe you could...” Alma cleared her throat politely. “Move... the cloud...?”
Pepa slammed both hands on the table.
“What cloud?! I don’t know why that cloud is there! Everything is fine!”
“Pepi,” said Félix.
“What?!”
“It would, um, be okay, if everything wasn’t,” Mirabel began.
“Be quiet, Mirabel!” A bolt of lightning struck the central serving platter. There was a sizzling sound. Then she added, very tensely, “I am very sorry for snapping, mija, I’m just embarrassed! About my cloud! Embarrassed and nothing else!”
“Okay,” squeaked Mirabel.
There was a very long, very awkward silence. There was a gentle pitter-patter of raindrops in soup. Nobody was eating.
“Um,” said Mariano.
There was the distinctive crunching sound of the wind knocking down a tree outside.
“Never mind,” said Mariano.
Next to him, he heard Mirabel lean over to Bruno.
“Can you do something?” she whispered.
Bruno cleared his throat. He leaned out into the table, catching Pepa’s attention. They stared at each other.
Bruno said, politely, “Some weather, huh?”
Pepa stood up immediately. Bruno fell out of his chair. There was a clattering noise.
“Nnagh,” said Bruno.
“I should have absorbed you in the womb!”
“Children!” barked Alma.
Pepa began taking off her slipper.
“Wait, no!”
“Pepa!” shouted Julieta.
Mariano felt a tug on his sleeve. Mirabel pulled on his arm until he stood up.
Mariano allowed Mirabel to lead him out of the kitchen, leaving behind distant thumping sounds. She led him politely through the courtyard, through the front door, and out to the front of the Casa Madrigal.
There was another crack of thunder. It was really starting to howl now, shaping up into a hurricane.
“That didn’t go well,” said Mariano faintly.
“No,” agreed Mirabel, “No it did not.”
A spoon flew out of the kitchen window. The house, politely, closed the window.
“So, um,” said Mariano, “Saturday for the carnival?”
“Sure,” said Mirabel.
“You’re gonna have to bring Antonio to my house, I think I should probably... Keep my distance...”
“Mm-hm,” said Mirabel.
The rain intensified. Mariano instinctively moved in front of Mirabel, putting himself between her and the wind.
The door cracked open behind them. Dolores poked her head out, a little cowed by the raging storm outside.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” said Mirabel.
“Thanks for trying,” said Dolores, presumably to both of them. Then, to him: “You should leave.”
“O-oh, um. Okay.”
Her head popped back in the door. Then, after a moment, she reappeared.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.”
She left again.
Mariano, suddenly a little overwhelmed, turned to Mirabel. “Am I doing something wrong?” he asked desperately.
“No.” She frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what the problem is, with the...”
She gestured at the air in general.
“But hey,” she said.
“Huh?”
She rapped on the front door. Her own glowing portrait, smiling warmly, gazed out at the two of them.
“I’ll try and figure it out,” she said, and gave him a look of determination. “Promise! There’s gotta be something we can do. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Mariano. “Hey, um... Thanks.”
“No problem!” she said, and then winced as the sound of something smashing came from behind her. “I gotta go back in there. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
And she vanished back into the Casa Madrigal.
Mariano took a moment to stand in the rain, wondering what his mom was going to say about him ruining another shirt in one of Pepa’s storms.
“There’s gotta be something,” he repeated, “But what is it?”
But the sky didn’t answer; so Mariano, feeling more than a little dejected, wandered home.
Twenty-eight Years Ago
Pepa Madrigal stared at herself in the mirror and didn't cry.
She didn't cry. She didn't need to cry, nor was there any reason to cry, because this was the happiest day of her life so far. There was nothing about that to cry about, no reason to be anything but joyful and sweet and excited.
She breathed in deeply. She breathed out deeply. Then she picked up her hairbrush from her desk and flung it across the room, suppressing a scream.
Engaged. She was engaged. By this time next year, she would be a married woman, and Félix would be her husband. It was all she'd ever wanted, everything she'd ever dared dream.
But none of that could do anything to get rid of the curling, festering tension underneath her skin. It clung to her. If she didn't get rid of it soon, it would start to rain, and then Mamá would be on her case and that was a complication she really didn't need.
She jumped when there was a knock on her door.
"Pepa?" Bruno called, voice muffled as he tried to look through the keyhole. "Everything okay?"
She hurried to retrieve her hairbrush from across the room. "Fine! Thank you!"
There was not the sound of Bruno getting up and leaving. Instead there was a thoughtful silence.
"Just excited," tried Pepa, which apparently failed to convince him so much he opened the door and slunk through the gap, making himself small as though that would help keep her calm.
It didn't help keep her calm. Bruno stood there, chewing his lip and looking around, and she tried not to burst as she waited for the question to come.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She threw herself onto her bed. Pepa hated being angry, hated the heat and the embarrassment of losing her temper when both her siblings had the patience of saints. Hated the way they both shrank away and tried to pacify her, hated the way their mother never listened... But anger was safer than despair, so she let a wave of annoyance wash over her. She felt the air pressure change outside. Hopefully nobody noticed but her.
"Is..." Bruno inched his way closer to the bed. "Is it the engagement...?"
"Yes, genius, it's the engagement!" she snapped. He winced, and the wind left her; the air outside quieted. "Ah. Sorry."
"It's okay," he said softly, sitting on her bed.
She rolled around so she was sitting up facing him, propping herself up by the elbows.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"No," she said, "I can't wait to marry him, I told you. It's just a lot to do. Dress, hair, cake... It's got to be perfect, you know? It's got to be perfect. I can only marry him once. I want it to be special."
Bruno nodded. "Makes sense."
To her distress, he didn't say more, and she felt the clouds rolling over her.
"What else is there?" he asked.
"What else? Isn't that enough?"
"It doesn't seem like everything." He gestured to the window.
"Don't! Use the weather to read my mind! I hate that!"
He shrugged. "It just doesn't look like the kind of weather for being excited about a wedding."
She hated how good he was at reading her.
"Leave me alone, Bruno," she said desperately.
"If you want," he responded, his voice soft, and she ground her teeth.
"It won't help."
"What won't help?"
"Talking about it! All that'll happen is that the weather will get worse and Mamá will come in here and tell me to shut up."
Bruno shrugged. He looked out of the window, his face unreadable.
"So?" he said. "It's more important that you feel better."
That piece of blunt, blank-faced kindness made her sink her face into her blankets and groan.
Bruno was excellent at repressing his emotions. Sometimes he could do weeks of empty words and calm composure before he eventually broke down about something. Pepa had never been lucky enough to pick her moments; her issues could be hidden from the world, maybe, but her own mind wasn't easily convinced to forget them. It took very little to open those floodgates, no matter how hard she tried to keep them closed.
"You know why I want to get married?" she blurted, pushing herself up from the bed. She maneuvered herself around so she was sitting next to him. "Because I want my own family. Something new. Something not under Mamá's control."
He smirked. "She's not gonna like that."
"She's not going to know it! I want to get out of here, Bruno. Not this place, just this -" she gestured vaguely. "This! All of this! I want my own life. I want to be who I am with Félix."
"Sure," said Bruno. "I get it."
"Once we're married," Pepa continued, linking her hands together, "Then that's my new priority. I'm not Mamá's daughter above everything. I'm Félix's wife. I'll be free."
"Free-ish," noted Bruno.
"Whatever!" she sighed. "That's what's on my mind."
"Leaving your old life behind," said Bruno, "Does it bother you?"
"No!" But she'd said it too forcefully to be convincing. She sighed. "Well... no, not in theory."
"But in practice?"
"I -"
There was a frantic knocking on the door. They both jumped.
"Pepa!" shouted Mamá. "Pepa, what's going on in there? Look at the wind!"
Pepa had barely noticed the window-shutters rattling with the gale. The door flew open. Mamá saw the two of them sitting side by side, and her eyes narrowed at Bruno, who shrank away guiltily.
"What are you doing? What are you saying to her?!"
"He didn't do anything, Mamá!" cried Pepa. "We... we were just talking..."
"Well, stop doing it! And you!" Pepa gritted her teeth as her mother's scornful gaze turned towards her. "Get a hold of yourself or you're going to knock down the tree in the center of town. I told you we can't afford to spend any of this week cleaning up your mess!"
Pepa felt herself flushing hot. "That's not fair -"
"Don't be a child, Pepa." Mamá gave her a glare, one that strongly suggested that this conversation was over.
Pepa looked at her brother and saw him sitting statue-still, hands in his lap, eyes downcast. Bruno, who had caused this whole thing in the first place, who said it didn't matter if the weather turned. He made no effort to stand up for her - for either of them - and she, in that moment, alone between him and their mother, hated him for it.
"Fine," said Pepa bitterly, and breathed in deeply, easing the wind to die down. Mamá nodded tersely and left, leaving the door open, clearly for Bruno to exit through.
"Pepa -" began Bruno.
"You should leave," said Pepa, folding her hands neatly together. She was imagining a clear blue sky, the depth of the colour when there were no clouds, the haze of a summer day.
Bruno gulped, any illusions of wisdom or aloofness vanishing when faced with their mother. "But -"
"You should leave," she said again, as sweetly as possible, and this time he looked away from her and stood up, slinking towards the door.
He glanced back and gave her a pitying look, and for a moment she felt herself going cold, like a cloud had passed over the sun; and then he turned away and left, and she turned back towards the mirror, breathing deeply, feeling calm.
Present Day
Even the beat of carnival music and the taste of spun sugar couldn't take Mariano's mind off things.
"Maybe I'm not enough like Félix?" he suggested to Mirabel.
Mirabel thoughtfully sucked candy floss off her fingers. "It can't be that."
They were both waiting for Antonio to finish riding the World's First Mechanical Horse, whose company he was greatly enjoying even if he couldn't speak to it. It looked more to Mariano like a battered old rocking horse with a motor attached to it. But then again, it was the first in the world, so obviously it wasn't gonna be perfect.
Mirabel said, "You're a lot like Tío Félix, actually. I kinda thought she'd want someone like you for Dolores."
"Maybe it's my looks," he suggested, "I look nothing like Félix."
"I don't think it's that. You look like a telenovela star!"
"Huh, really? I don't see it."
The Strongest Man Ever Born lifted a hammer that looked a little bit non-metallic. Mariano figured that Luisa, being the strongest woman, was meeting different standards. Antonio didn't score much on the Test Your Strength meter, but he did win a lollipop for having 'guts'.
"Anyway," Mirabel continued, playing with the paper cone that had once contained cotton candy, "I think it's probably more about Dolores than you."
"What, like... she's scared of losing Dolores?"
"Maybe! Although..." Mirabel frowned. "She's not usually that fussy, so... I don't know. Isn't your mom jealous?" She suddenly turned to him. "There's just the two of you, right?"
"Oh, Mom wants me to get married faster, actually," said Mariano, "She says she can't wait to be a part of a big family."
The memory of it made him smile. His mother had been delighted with the idea of arranging a marriage with the Madrigals. She'd cried, "So many sisters and cousins! Wouldn't that be wonderful?" And spent the evening talking dreamily about godparents.
Antonio and Mirabel rode the Helter-skelter a whole three times before the man taking Mariano's coins laughingly told them to try something else.
"Dolores doesn't seem that close to her mom," noted Mariano, as Antonio swapped the tickets he'd won at Whack-a-mole for a toy bear.
"I don't think she is," admitted Mirabel, "I think she gets along better with Tío Félix. But it's hard to tell. She's really, um... private."
The three of them had to throw balls at coconuts that looked, on close examination, like they might have been nailed to their stands.
"I remember when I was little," mused Mirabel, preparing another overarm through, "Tía Pepa would, like, try and tell her to be less quiet. But that was a long time ago. I guess she gave up? I hear Tía Pepa talking to Dolores, but I never hear Dolores saying much back. Oh, sometimes they gossip about stuff in town, I think."
Antonio said his bear was tired, so Mariano allowed it to go to sleep in the collar of his shirt.
"If you asked Pepa about me," said Mariano, "What do you think she'd say?"
"She'd say there was nothing wrong with you," said Mirabel, "Then the weather would change...and she'd totally be in denial about it... it wouldn't go well."
"Having a magic family seems complicated," noted Mariano.
"You have no idea what you're in for," said Mirabel grimly.
"I think I'm starting to learn."
"Hey, Mariano..."
"Huh?"
"Why doesn't Dolores talk to Tía Pepa about it?"
Before Mariano could answer, Antonio gasped and tugged at Mirabel's arm, leading them to a painted sign.
ANIMAL SHOW! it read proudly. HORSES, LIONS, AND MORE! A large painted tent contained a roaring lion, behind which horses galloped and frolicked. A man in a brightly coloured suit stood behind all of them, proudly opening his hands as though coordinating them.
"You wanna go?" asked Mirabel, nudging Antonio, and he looked up at her with big, round eyes full of longing. "Well, juuust for you..."
Mariano stopped listening. He'd been scanning the tents when a different sign caught his eye, and he had to read over it a couple of times to make sure.
CARTOMANCIEN ~ SPELLS, RITUALS AND CURIOS ~ FOR THE MAGICALLY INCLINED ~ FORTUNES TOLD!
The tent was small and unassuming, nestled near the edge of the carnival between two larger storage-y tents. Mariano found himself mulling over the words.
"You guys go ahead," he told them, "I wanna go pick up something over there. I'll meet you there."
With Antonio entrusted to Mirabel, Mariano made his way towards the magic tent.
Mariano passed through a bead curtain and was hit by a bewitching smell of incense. The tent was dim, lit only by a handful of candles, and empty but for a single table, at which sat a mysterious man, who was smiling at Mariano knowingly.
"O-oh," said Mariano, who hadn't known what to expect. "Sorry, um..."
"Mais non. Please," said the man, gesturing to a chair opposite him, "Sit down. We have much to discuss."
Worrying he was being mistaken for someone else, and equally worried he might be expected to understand French, Mariano nervously sat down. Up close, the man was thin and long-fingered, with sharp eyes and a curled mustache. He noticed Mariano's uncertainty, and gave him a smile that was definitely a little mischievous. The light cast strange, warping shadows on the man's face, and Mariano, to whom shyness was a foreign concept, found himself suddenly feeling nervous.
"Forgive me, my young friend, I get ahead of myself sometimes. Please, call me Monsieur Loyal. I do many things here, but primarily I am a voyant. I can perceive many things about you, Mariano."
That was a lot of words, some of them not even in languages Mariano spoke. It took him a moment to pick up on the fact he'd been addressed by name. "How did you...?"
Monsieur Loyal smiled, saying nothing. Mariano felt foolish. He'd grown up completely surrounded by magic; he already knew psychics existed because his future uncle-in-law was one.
Monsieur Loyal consulted his cards.
“You have a problem that brings you here, monsieur, one of a delicate matter. Is that not true?"
"Umm, well... Sorta."
As Mariano sat down and stared, Monsieur Loyal flicked his wrist and produced from somewhere a pack of cards. He split the deck in half in one deft motion, then flicked the cards from one hand into the other. The cards moved in his hands like they were made of liquid. It was fascinating to watch.
"Romance," said Monsieur Loyal, spinning the cards into a fan. He spread the deck along the table, face down, in an elegant crescent. "Family. These things play on your mind, n'est-ce pas?"
Mariano gulped. "Kinda..."
"But your relationship..." Monsieur Loyal flipped one of the cards, revealing a faded old picture, captioned L'Amoureux. "It goes well. Not her, then. Then who?"
Mariano found himself awed into silence as Monsieur Loyal thoughtfully flipped the next card. L'Impératrice , read the card, showing a battered image of a queen in a throne.
"Ah, let me guess," grinned Monsieur Loyal. "Her mother? Or yours?"
Mariano blinked in astonishment. "Hers," he managed.
"Ah, the fondness of a mother for her daughter! So complicated. So fierce. And in you..."
La Maison Dieu, said the next card.
"She finds destruction, it seems. Hmm. A strange reading. But the cards never lie."
With a sweep of his hand, Monsieur Loyal cleared the cards off of the table. The deck vanished again.
"I must admit," said Monsieur Loyal, "I'm intrigued. And I can help you."
"You..." Mariano frowned. "You can help me?"
"Oui, biensûr! I have been all over the world, my young friend, I have collected many things. One of them could fix your problem, I am sure."
Mariano was conflicted. A solution to the problem... it sure would be nice. But magically making someone like you? Was that right? Was it even possible?
"How much...?" asked Mariano cautiously.
Monsieur Loyal pulled the end of his moustache thoughtfully.
"For my services, I will not charge. I sense something about you... Many years in this job have taught me to develop a good sense of the uncanny... There seems to be something of magic about you."
Mariano laughed nervously. "Oh, me? I'm not magic. Just my home. Maybe it's the food."
"Ah, the magic village over the mountain." Monsieur Loyal's eyes twinkled. "I've heard many things."
"Oh, it's nothing special, really, mainly just a lot of good weather. Um, my girlfriend's mom controls the weather. And her aunt has healing powers. The whole family, uh, do magic, it's... pretty good..."
"A family of sorcerers, you say?" mused Monsieur Loyal.
"Oh, well, we don't call them that. I don't think they'd like it. Isabela probably would, she grows flowers. Oh, and her sister had super strength. And my girlfriend has super hearing. She can probably hear me now, actually...I hope she doesn't mind me gossiping about her cousins... She really likes them but she never talks to them. It's weird. "
Something shifted in Monsieur Loyal's face. It was a look of mildly puzzled sympathy. The mysterious fortune-teller suddenly looked much more human.
"People can be complicated, non?" said Monsieur Loyal kindly.
"Oh, man, you have no idea," sighed Mariano, feeling himself relax a little. "And if I have kids they'll be magic too, but her uncle won't look into the future about it so I have to figure it out myself, and her mom just does not like me for some reason, but she won't tell me why? And it's like, I don't know how to do this, I only have one family member, she's my mom..."
"Slow down a little, my friend," Monsieur Loyal held up a placating hand. “Ah, if only the brand of magic had been invented that could make us understand the minds of our in-laws! There is only so much help I can give you.”
“Sorry,” said Mariano, “It’s on my mind.”
“For you, I have two things,” said Monsieur Loyal, “The first a gift, the second an offer. The first, it is here. Wait here a moment.”
Monsieur Loyal vanished into an opening at the back of his tent, apparently leading into some kind of store-room. When he returned, he was holding a box made of polished dark wood, decorated with golden patterns at the corners. Mariano peered at it.
“A music box,” said Monsieur Loyal, “Crafted by a witch of my acquaintance, but without magic, excepting, of course, the magic of a beautiful melody... Don’t you agree?”
“What’s this for?” asked Mariano, confused.
“Ah, simple,” said the fortune-teller, “A gift for your petite-amie. You could not return empty-handed from a fair like this without a gift, no? It is the best gift I have for a woman with magical hearing.”
“Oh, um, thank you...”
“And the second,” said Monsieur Loyal, as Mariano packed away the music box and wondered why it was so heavy, “Is a more serious proposition. Think carefully before you answer me, Mariano Guzmán. Look here.”
From the folds of his clothes he brought out a small vial, filled with a clear, slightly syrupy-looking liquid. Mariano frowned.
“A philter,” said Monsieur Loyal, “One I do not offer to many. In the wrong hands, it could be used for very dark acts. But you, I will let you consider it. It is a potion, you see, of forgiveness."
"Forgiveness?"
"The sweetest of tinctures." Monsieur Loyal raised his eyebrows. "A drink of this, shared between two people, will make sweet all bitterness. Of course, it could be used for terrible things... a criminal, for example, might use this to escape punishment. Before I let you have it, you must promise to never let it out of your sight."
Mariano looked at the vial and swallowed.
"How am I supposed to get her to drink it...?"
"Perhaps disguise it with something. Make coffee with it, if you like. But do me one favour, monsieur, and keep its existence secret. I would hate for that information to get into the wrong hands, yes?"
Mariano wasn't sure. He knew perfectly well that having people drink things without their consent was wrong, and he was sure that it applied to magic potions as much as alcohol - maybe even more. And he wasn't sure, either, that a magical solution was quite the best way of smoothing things over with Pepa Madrigal. It wasn't exactly holistic, was it? But maybe Pepa would appreciate a solution like that. She was magic.
"Will you take it?" asked Monsieur Loyal.
Before Mariano could respond, there was a frantic yelling from outside. Mirabel burst through the bead curtain, out-of-breath, and didn't even acknowledge the mysterious fortune-teller.
"Mariano!" she wailed. "Mariano, you've gotta come! You've gotta talk to them, they won't listen to me!"
All thoughts of magic philters were forgotten in an instant. Mariano burst from his seat, and Mirabel ran out of the tent; he cast back a frantic glance at Monsieur Loyal, and the fortune-teller gave him a carefree wave and a bemused grin.
"What's happening?" panted Mariano, as he jogged after Mirabel towards the animal tent. Then he paused.
A lion, with patchy fur and an unhealthy-looking swollen belly, sprinted past the two of them, jumped the fence, and vanished into the jungle.
Two skinny horses came barrelling after it. Despite the fact they looked badly-groomed and emaciated, they still managed to knock the fence down.
Mariano looked back and saw a flock of doves leaving the animal tent.
Mirabel had also stopped. Mariano looked at her.
"Mirabel," said Mariano slowly, "Where's Antonio?"
Mirabel pointed.
"Over there, with the police," she said miserably. "I think we're under arrest."
Eleven Years Ago
“Dolores, go and get the others,” said Abuela, “Lunch is ready.”
Dolores always had to go and get the others because she always knew where they were. Over the last few years her responsibilities had become more and more, but that one simple job of hers stayed the same, at least. It didn’t involve answering any questions.
Dolores hated questions. Most questions, anyway. Dolores, find Ricardo’s lost son - Dolores, where is my wife? - Dolores, is my shop doing worse than Ortiz’s? - Dolores, do people like me? She was only eleven years old, but she was already better than anybody else in the family at trickery, because nobody - not even Abuela - knew exactly what Dolores could and couldn’t hear. Ditzy, forgetful, wise, all-knowing, knowing nothing Dolores Madrigal. She had mastered the art of the meaningful look, raised eyebrows, innocent eyes, mix of fact and fiction. Dolores, did you hear that happen, or did someone just tell you? She’d purse her lips innocently. “Who can say?” she’d respond, and squeak like Mami did when she was gossiping with the ladies from town.
Luisa and Mirabel and Camilo didn’t ask her questions like that, at least. They asked her things like, Why is the sky blue? and didn’t really listen to what she said in response.
Right now they were drawing pictures in the upstairs sitting room. Except for Isabela, of course; Isabela was standing next to Tía Julieta, obediently placing a perfect white flower in the buttonhole of every healed patient. “Thank you for coming,” she’d say, very sweetly. Isabela hadn’t played with Dolores for months; she said it was ‘for babies’. Dolores had to spend her time with Luisa instead, but Luisa was still kind of little, and she was always being called away to go help with some problem or project in town, leaving Dolores alone with the babies. Camilo and Mirabel were cute, but they were too small to be friends with Dolores, really. And they were way too loud sometimes.
Tío Augustín and Papi were meant to check on them, of course, but they were busy a lot of the time, too. Your mother asks more of us than one family can give, Papi had said once, his words striking Dolores as she crept through the house for a glass of water. We shouldn’t be working like this, we have kids, you know?
Dolores watched Camilo and Mirabel crowding near a big piece of paper, covered in crayon scrawls, giggling together. Luisa stood behind them, hands on her hips. Luisa didn’t like to be seen playing; she wanted to be grown-up and responsible, so she wouldn’t use her toys or draw pictures unless she was alone with the babies. It was a secret. Just another one of Dolores’ secrets. Sometimes Dolores worried Luisa was more grown-up than her.
“Lunch is ready,” said Dolores, and Luisa looked up and gave her a nod. Then Luisa looked back down at the little ones.
“Guys, you’ve gotta finish it now,” she said, “We have to have lunch. Let’s go give it to Tío Bruno, okay?”
“I have to finish the stars!” protested Mirabel.
“I can help,” insisted Camilo.
“No! I’m doing the stars!”
“You have to finish in... one minute,” said Luisa, “Okay?”
Dolores’ head had tilted at the mention of their uncle. “What are they making?”
“Oh, it’s a card for Tío Bruno,” said Luisa, “I did the writing, and they’re doing the drawing, and we’re gonna go give it to him before lunch. He’s sick.”
No he wasn’t. That was a lie Tía Julieta had told them because he’d woken up that morning and wanted to die. He’d woken up at about five in the morning, screamed, lay down in the sand, said, “die, die, die, die, die, die,” repeatedly for a couple of minutes, screamed again, and then passed out. His voice had been thick and hoarse with magic, and the sand rose and fell around him like the rise and fall of a breathing chest, shhhh, shhhhh, and eventually Tía Julieta went into his room, saw him lying there, and said, quietly and despairingly, “Again?”
Then she’d gone downstairs and told the kids he was sick so as not to worry them. But Dolores was never really spared any worry where Bruno was concerned. The things she heard from his tower terrified her sometimes, or made her heart ache with pity, and sometimes it was easier just not to think about him.
We love you Tío Bruno! Get well soon! said the card.
“I’ll sign it too,” said Dolores. She and Luisa helped the babies fold the card, and Mirabel carried it as they walked across the landing to Bruno’s door.
“It was my idea,” Mirabel told Dolores.
“It was a good idea,” said Dolores.
“I helped,” said Camilo.
“That was a good idea too,” said Dolores.
Camilo went to open the door, but Luisa held up a commanding hand and stopped him. “No, Camilo, he’s sick. He should rest. We’ll put it under the door.”
“But I want to talk to Tío Bruno,” protested Camilo, “He’s funny.”
“We can talk to Tío Bruno another day, okay?”
Mirabel sat down obediently and slipped the paper under the door. Luisa took Camilo’s hand, and Camilo began to swing it around rhythmically, chanting, “I - am - hungry. I - am - hungry.”
Dolores tapped Mirabel on the shoulder. “We have to go and eat now,” she said. Mirabel was just standing there, staring thoughtfully at Bruno’s portrait.
“Will he like the card?” said Mirabel.
Dolores didn’t like that question very much. “It’s a nice card,” she said.
Dolores walked Mirabel downstairs and to the dining table. She tried not to listen to the shuffling, stumbling footsteps walking a handful of paces to the door, the ffffwp of rough paper, a crumple, a groan. She tried not to listen to the sound of paper pressed against fabric as Bruno rolled over and held the paper to his chest and then, for reasons Dolores did not want to know, started to cry.
Dolores did not want to hear any of these things. She stared at her lunch.
Mami sat down opposite her and gave her a big, energetic smile.
“How was your day, mija?” she said brightly.
“Good,” said Dolores quietly, and for the rest of the meal said no more.
Present Day
The police, all things considered, were very nice about the whole thing.
'The whole thing' being that Mariano, Mirabel, and Antonio had been in a holding cell for about eight hours. Apparently things were complicated by the fact that they had no real address, neither Mirabel nor Antonio's parents were there, and they had no way of contacting home whatsoever.
"Señor policía, can't you just hold me and let the kids go?" pleaded Mariano.
The officer who'd arrested them took a long drag of his cigar and sighed. "Look, if it was up to me, I'd send all three of you home," he said, "But la Jefa says he needs a legal relative to file the incident report, so I'm trapped in here with you for the time being. Call me Paulo. You play cards?"
Antonio slept peacefully as they played gloomy rounds of Go Fish. The little boy had taken things remarkably well, all things considered; the police, who didn't seem to do much, seemed cheerful enough about the prospect of entertaining Antonio and allowing Mariano to do most of the 'getting arrested' stuff.
"I told the animals to meet me at home," Antonio said cheerfully. "I thought the ponies could go live at Señora Quinteros’ ranch, with the horses."
"What about the lion?" asked Mirabel.
Antonio shuffled his feet. "I was hoping Papi would let me keep him."
As midnight came and passed, Mariano began to worry what would happen if nobody came for them. As luck would have it, though, the previously clear skies began to suddenly cloud over with dark, threatening rainclouds, forming an ominous swirl over the mountain.
"Well," said Mariano grimly, "I think your family noticed."
Mirabel sighed. "I'm so dead."
The sun was coming up by the time the cell door unlocked and Félix Madrigal walked in with their new friend Agente Paulo, Félix with his eyebrow raised in disapproval.
"You got lucky," said Paulo, "No charges. Carnival couldn't actually scrounge together the papers to prove they had any animals and animal control can't find jack. Shady bunch, if you ask me. Tell your son to start a movement next time."
"Trust me, there's not gonna be a 'next time'," grunted Félix, "It took me way too long to get here."
"You spend long searching?"
"My brother-in-law told me they were here."
"He live in town?"
Félix hesitated for only a moment. "Someone must’ve told him."
"You got phones over in the mountains? Fax?"
"None. No lines."
"Sheesh. Lemme give you one of our radios," said Paulo, "In case you ever have an emergency."
Félix didn't say a word to them until they were standing outside with all their papers signed and their stuff intact, a police radio tucked under his arm.
Then he looked down at Antonio and said, "Antonio, man, I can't believe you let them catch you."
"Sorry," said Antonio cheerfully.
"You're not mad?" said Mirabel cautiously.
"Sure I am! You should've taken Antonio and ran before the police arrived. That's what your dad and I would've done." Félix winked. "Just don't tell Pepa I said that."
"Papi, can I keep the lion?"
"Ask your mother."
"Wait, wait,” said Mirabel, holding up her hands, “Um... Are we in trouble? Is the Encanto gonna get fined or something?”
“Don’t think so,” Félix scratched the back of his head, “Maybe just tell Abuela that I really chewed you out and it was so traumatizing, and you don’t need any more scolding, yeah? I promise I’d shame you so hard you’d totally never misbehave again.”
“Ooookay,” said Mirabel, then cleared her throat. “I mean... yeah, okay, sure. Yeah! Okay! Thanks, Tío Félix!”
“No worries. I’m keeping this as payment,” said Félix, reaching into his pockets. He brought out a plate made of a bright emerald glass, which depicted, in pale green shapes and shadows...The three of them behind bars. Félix lowered his voice. “Your Abuela really wasn’t happy, so me and your dad stepped into another room to discuss it as men and let me tell you, mija, I haven’t laughed that hard in my life.”
“Does that mean Tío Bruno isn’t mad at me?” said Mirabel hopefully.
“Hah! Sorry, Mira, you’re not getting away that easy.”
“Nuts,” sighed Mirabel.
“Umm,” said Mariano, who’d been feeling a bit tongue-tied so far. Félix looked up at him and raised his eyebrows. “Sorry about... uh... you know... your son getting sent to jail.”
Félix patted Mariano on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t think I could have stopped him in time either.”
“You said I should have taken him and ran!” protested Mirabel.
“You should’ve. I bet Mariano would never have made it.”
“I had a lot of fun,” said Antonio brightly. “I don’t think Mariano should be in trouble.”
“Me neither,” said Félix.
There was a distant rumble. Mariano looked up at the mountain. The ring of dark clouds was still there, looming ominously.
“I think,” said Mariano gloomily, “That I still might be in trouble.”
Félix patted him on the back and didn’t say anything, which might as well have been a confirmation of Mariano’s death sentence.
“I forgot my magic potion at the carnival,” mumbled Mariano.
Mirabel and Félix exchanged glances.
“You’re right,” said Mirabel, “The police would have caught him.”
Mariano felt like a man walking to the gallows on the journey back to the Encanto.
A potion of forgiveness, thought Mariano. Could a thing like that really exist? He was glad, in some ways, that he'd left Monsieur Loyal's tent before he could think about taking it. If he'd had it now, he'd have been sorely tempted to use it.
Pepa Madrigal was waiting at the door of the Casa Madrigal, pacing, and she rushed towards Antonio as soon as she saw him.
"Oh, my baby!" she cried. "Are you alright? You're not hurt?"
He nodded and smiled. Antonio's sunny disposition was doing wonders for Pepa's mood, because a gust was blowing away the clouds even as she spoke.
"And Mirabel, was everything okay? They didn't mistreat you, did they? Were you scared?"
Mariano was heartened to see Pepa's growing joy at seeing Antonio and Mirabel returned home safely. He was almost about to smile when Pepa turned around and gave him a glare so piercing it could have been used as a novel fishing technique.
"Um," began Mariano.
Pepa put one hand on her son, another on her niece, turned around sharply, and walked into the house. The door closed behind her.
"Bye," said Mariano weakly.
Félix gave Mariano a sympathetic look.
"Don't... take it personally, alright?" Félix patted him on the arm. Félix could probably have given Mariano some great advice... maybe advice that Mariano's own father would have given, if he was still alive. Mariano felt his stomach twist and decided to change the subject.
"I have a present for Dolores," said Mariano, "Could you give it to her for me?"
"Of course," said Félix, and Mariano rummaged around his things until he found the music box. He handed to Félix, who raised his eyebrows at the weight of it but didn't say any more.
"You'd better let your mother you're okay," said Félix, which Mariano took as his cue to leave.
Mariano's mom was quite unbothered by the whole thing.
"Freeing animals from cages," she said dreamily, "What a nice reason to go to jail. Are you hungry, dear?"
Mariano wished all people were as easy to understand as his mom.
The afternoon before the gunshot
Bruno massaged his temples.
"I can't believe you did it," he said. "You made me regret not going to that carnival with you. I didn't think anyone could, but you did it."
When Mirabel had knocked on his door he'd been sitting there waiting like a disappointed headmaster. Her usually fidgety uncle was sitting very stiffly, arms crossed, and didn’t so much as twitch a finger as she entered - a sure sign he was focusing all his energy into being grumpy. She didn’t see what he had to be so grumpy about. She had barely been arrested.
"You would have hated it," she assured him.
"Well, maybe, but for what it's worth, I also hate - no offense - looking into the future and seeing you in jail. You know? I didn't think I'd have to have an opinion on that, but now I do, and I've gotta say I did not like it."
"My dad laughed so hard he cried," said Mirabel gloomily. "My mom's not even home."
"I didn't think it was that funny," said Bruno bitterly.
"Tío Félix said you looked like you'd wet yourself."
“You know I was waiting up all night?”
“Tío Bruno, you go to bed... maybe once every forty-eight hours?”
“Not the point!” He raised his fingers. “What the heck happened? Why do we have a lion now?!”
“It wasn’t my idea!” she protested. “Antonio was the one who opened all the animal cages! I just didn’t catch him in time to escape the police!”
Bruno sighed heavily. Mirabel realised this wasn’t the best summary of the situation she could’ve given, at least not to Bruno.
“Okay, okay, there was animal abuse, he’s five and magic, it kind of just happened. I would’ve tried to stop him. Well, not stop him. I would’ve tried to maybe plan the escape a little better - ”
“Santísimo!” groaned Bruno, who was massaging his temples again.
“Sorry! I promise we’re both fine now, okay? It all turned out for the best.”
“Tell that to my heart rate,” he said tiredly, “You keep this up and I’m gonna go completely grey.”
Mirabel, seeing by the set of his face that he really had been worried, bit her lip guiltily.
"Sorry,” she repeated. “Thanks for... checking in. We might've been stuck there if you hadn't used your gift to find us."
Bruno’s face softened. "You know, the one thing this gift is good for is being able to find you guys when you need it."
"That's not true," she grinned, "I know you use it to watch TV."
"Maybe that too," he conceded, "And it's good if I ever get too curious about something."
She was too surprised to respond. He raised his eyebrows.
"Hm? You don't think I sometimes wanna peek at things?"
"I thought you'd be more... ooh, the future is inevitable, also what if I see something bad... about it."
"Yowch." He didn't seem that offended by her impression, though. "It's not the little visions that go wrong, usually. It's the big ones."
“What counts as a ‘little vision’?” Mirabel’s eyes brightened. “Future books? Older Antonio? Can I see my next embroidery project?”
“Uh-uh, nope, I don’t do requests. I’m retired.”
“How about suggestions?”
“I’m very picky.”
A smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. Bruno was capable of being very grumpy when he wanted to be, but luckily for Mirabel it didn’t take very much to soften up her uncle.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “What about the himbo?”
There was a pregnant silence.
“The what?” said Mirabel.
“You know, the big guy with the little brain. What’s his name? Mario?”
“Mariano! You don’t know his name?”
He raised his palms defensively. “Ten years is a long time to spend not having to remember anyone’s name, you know.”
“Oh man. He’s fine, I think. Legally, at least. I think he's a little traumatised."
"By being arrested?"
"No, by getting us arrested when he's trying to impress Tía Pepa."
Bruno made a sympathetic noise. "Bad look."
"I'm surprised you're not mad at him."
"Eh. I can't keep you in line and I'm psychic, I don't expect him to do it."
"You aren't psychic!"
"Not psychic enough," grumbled Bruno.
Mirabel saw that Bruno apparently wasn't going to elaborate on that one, no matter how much she pressed, so she didn't bother.
"What's with Tía Pepa?" she asked. "Why does she get so mad around him?"
Bruno frowned at that, and paused to scratch his beard thoughtfully. "W-well, uh... She's a complicated person. And easy to rile up sometimes. And that guy, he seems nice, but he sure is... you know, handsome..."
He wasn't avoiding the question very well. He looked hopefully at her face and saw she was still waiting for a real answer.
Eventually he murmured, "Look. It can be hard - and I'd know this - watching a kid grow up."
Mirabel leaned forward, intrigued.
"She's sad about losing Dolores?"
"I think it's more complicated than that," said Bruno, and then, "And... not really something for you to worry about, Mirabel."
"But Mariano's really worried. And Dolores probably is too! I want to help!"
"Well, uh, maybe you should start with her and not me," said Bruno.
"I guess so," murmured Mirabel. "Could I... ask her to join us?"
Bruno winced, the same way he winced when Mirabel got too close to the topics of his long absence or his reputation around town. She was getting close to some painful topic. But this seemed, she felt, too important to drop.
"Is there something," she gestured, "Going on? Between you guys?"
Bruno flushed. "Ahh - not - not as such."
"Not as such?"
Bruno fidgeted, his eyes scanning the room as though hopefully looking for an escape. Then he sighed, defeated.
"Just - uh - Dolores and I have never been. Close. You might say."
"What do you mean?"
"Well - I mean, I love Dolores. I love all of you! You know that," Bruno fretted with his hands, "But Dolores hasn't... spoken to me much. Since she was a kid. And, uh..."
Mirabel was taking a moment to add things up in her head.
"...You told her the man of her dreams would be betrothed to someone else?"
"That was," Bruno sighed, "The start of a lot of reasons why Dolores might not... really want to spend a whole heap of time with me."
Mirabel frowned. "Why not?"
Bruno rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes, as they so easily got, were full of sadness.
"With gifts like - ours - you end up... knowing things. About people. Things they don't tell you. Don't want to tell you. That you don't want to know."
Mirabel frowned.
"Dolores has heard... Well. Everything. Her magic is... stronger than she lets people think. And I can see why that would... make it hard. For her to spend time with me. Because when you know so much about people, it, it," He waved his hand next to his temple, "It gets between you, y'know? Makes it easier to keep your distance. Easier not to say. I'd know. I'd really know. And I understand. And I'm not gonna make Dolores confront that."
"I don't think she should confront anything," said Mirabel gently. And then: "You needed to stop shutting people out."
Bruno, uncomfortable, said nothing.
"I think it sounds like you two... actually have a lot to talk about," said Mirabel. "Doesn't Dolores deserve somebody who understands?"
"Of course," said Bruno softly.
"So... don't you think there's something we can do?"
"Maybe there is, but..." He shook his head. "She's the one who decides when she's ready for that, not us. And we can't decide when she'll want to talk."
Bruno's door slammed open with unexpected force. They jumped.
Dolores was there.
"Now," she said calmly.
There was a pause.
"What?" said Mirabel.
"Now," said Dolores. "Is when I want to talk. It's now. Because I need your help. Mariano left."
The morning before the gunshot
Mariano got a whole two hours of sleep before Isabela opened his window.
They lived on the top floor on the shop, so that was pretty high up, but Isabela’s aim with the vines was getting better by the day and she managed to grow enough liverwort to cover most of his face before he stumbled to the window and looked out at her.
“Hey,” said Isabela.
“Hey,” said Mariano.
“Dolores likes your music box,” she reported.
“That’s good.”
“It’s been raining for about eleven hours?” added Isabela, clearly trying her best to be conciliatory. She must’ve been worried about him.
“I noticed.”
“Tía Pepa is out at the fields today,” said Isabela, “If you’re going to sneak into our house and talk to Dolores, do it now. Go around to the back and you’ll see that an easy-to-climb vine, for some mysterious reason, sprouted overnight has grown up to her bedroom window.”
“Right,” said Mariano, nodding. “Thanks, Isabela.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Did the vine really sprout overnight?”
Isabela flicked her wrist and the plants snaking around Mariano’s bedroom withered and vanished. “If we’re really going to be sharing a house when you marry Dolores,” she said, “I’m definitely going to rebreak your nose. Don’t dawdle.”
That was more like Isabela. “O-okay.”
Mariano’s mom wouldn’t let him leave without at least having a bread roll for breakfast, but she also told him to put it in his mouth and start running.
“She’s going to be waiting for you to romantically arrive at her windowsill!” she chastened him. “You can’t dilly-dally!”
Mariano, who was having difficulty making his legs move normally again, jogged to the Casa Madrigal.
He didn't have to climb to the window because Agustín spotted him walking up the hill.
"Hey-ho, public enemy number one," said Agustín cheerfully. "You here to visit Dolores?"
Mariano, unsure whether or not he should lie, said, "Nuuhss," which he figured could go either way.
It didn't seem to bother Agustín. "See if you can give Félix a hand in the kitchen," he suggested.
When Mariano checked the kitchen he saw Félix fiddling with his police radio, frowning.
"Can't get the dang thing to work," he complained, "It keeps picking up some weird signal and making noises. You going upstairs? Wait, come here a moment."
Mariano obeyed. Félix held up a finger for silence, listening to the sounds of someone crossing the courtyard.
"Okay, the grandma's gone," said Félix. "Don't worry if she catches you on the way out, it's the entrance you gotta nail."
Félix winked, and Mariano, feeling a bit like he'd committed several crimes by this point, ascended the stairs to Dolores' bedroom.
She was waiting for him. He'd been worried she'd be upset, but she was smiling her sweet smile and the world was alright again.
"You came through the door," she said, "I was curious if you'd use the vine. You don't need it. Isabela is very protective."
"It's good to have options," grinned Mariano. "Your family's being a lot nicer than I thought!"
She led him into her bedroom, where a very romantic rose was growing in through her window. Isabela, for all her bark, was an excellent wingman.
“Nobody is unhappy with you except my mom. And maybe Abuela.” Her head tilted. “And maybe Tío Bruno. He’s a hard read.”
“That could be worse,” said Mariano weakly, and then: “Did you like the box?”
Dolores brought him to the music box, eyes bright and eager, and gently wound the handle. A gentle, tinkling melody began to play, richer and sweeter than any music box they’d ever crafted in the Encanto. He didn’t recognise the song, but it was deep and layered, as though the box contained an entire piano. The song was slow, waltz-time, and utterly romantic. It was perfect.
“I love it,” she whispered, “When it plays, I can hear all the parts moving. There are parts of the song that are so quiet, I have to put my ear to the box. I could listen to it for hours.”
In an instant, the visit to the carnival went from a regrettable disaster to the best thing that Mariano had ever done. He beamed.
“Really?”
“Will you dance with me?”
With the box gently tinkling its melody, Mariano took Dolores’ hand and let her lean into him. He wasn’t good at dancing, but she didn’t seem to mind; she seemed happy to put her head on his shoulder, half-hugging him and half positioned to dance, and sway gently to the music until it came to a stop, and the handle came to a gentle halt.
Dolores gave a happy sigh and Mariano decided that he would go to prison every day for the rest of life for this.
“Where did you get it?” she asked.
“What?”
“The box.”
“Oh. Um...” He’d almost forgotten about Monsieur Loyal. “A, uh, magic man. He had a deck of tarot cards.”
By the way she smiled and giggled, she didn’t seem to find that strange. “A magic man? Is the box magic?”
“No, but it was made by a witch. Only the potion was magic. The potion, uh, there was a potion. For making your mom like me?”
Dolores’ eyebrows shot up her forehead.
“Oh, I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody about that! Oh, well... uh... I guess you might’ve known already. It was...” He frowned. “...Philter... of forgiveness for making two people forgive each other?”
Dolores’ mouth was twitching in a way that suggested he’d said something strange here.
“Magic potion?” she said.
“Well, I, I got arrested before I could take it,” he admitted, “B-but that’s probably good! I don’t wanna, you know, slip your mom a potion without her permission, I mean... that’d be weird...”
“Maybe,” she said, “We have enough magic in here already, I think.”
“Hah, yeah,” he laughed nervously, “I figured, uh... maybe we should try a solution that was less, you know... magic.”
She nodded.
“I want to ask Bruno,” she said.
Mariano hesitated.
“What?” he said.
“Tío Bruno. To look into the future. To see if it works.”
Mariano blinked. “Wh... what?”
“Because either way,” she explained, “We’ll know. And you can stop worrying. And it won’t matter.”
Mariano stared.
“Of course it matters,” he said.
“Well, yes,” said Dolores. “But... we won’t need to do anything.”
“Is that...” Mariano scratched the back of his head. “How it works?”
“It worked on us,” said Dolores, “He said you were the man of my dreams.” Her lips twitched with a smile. Mariano’s heart was almost too worried to flutter.
“Um,” said Mariano. “I asked him, but...”
“He’ll do it for me. He’s afraid of me. I know too much.”
“Well, sure, but...”
“Once we know, then it’ll happen if it we just do nothing,” continued Dolores, “Or it’ll show us the right way forward.”
“Dolores,” said Mariano, “What’s wrong? Why don’t you talk to her?”
Dolores’ eyes widened. Her face froze. Mariano gulped, seeing the torrent of emotion under the twitching and lilting in her voice, pressed.
“You haven’t, have you? Said anything to her about it? Or asked? Why... why not?”
“I don’t need to do that,” said Dolores quietly, eyes wide with anxiety.
“N-not if you don’t want to,” he said hastily, “Of course. But... um... shouldn’t you? Isn’t it important?”
Dolores was silent.
“To you?” he added.
Her head moved, very slightly, to indicate yes.
“Are you scared?” he asked softly. “It’s okay. I’ve got your back.”
Her eyes moved very slightly, flicking across his face.
“Confused?” he prompted.
She didn’t move at all. He gazed into her eyes, tried to give her a reassuring smile.
“You can tell me,” he said.
“Why should you care?” she blurted. “If she doesn’t like you? She doesn’t like me.”
Mariano stared.
Dolores rarely saw the point of words. There were far more sounds in the world, far more subtleties, than could ever be captured accurately; with her ear to the pulse of the universe, it seemed pointless, sometimes, to try and convey the things that she knew to the people that didn’t.
She still hated answering questions.
Dolores stared back at Mariano.
Mariano began, “She doesn-”
“She never has. She has to try to keep clouds back. She talks to Papi about how she doesn’t get me. She asks me questions and I don’t answer and she says What am I doing wrong I would have given anything to have what she has so what am I doing Félix, am I turning into Mamá? She makes me feel like a stranger. She never says a word to me and I try and try! What’s -”
Dolores realised she had her hands over her ears and was mouthing the words from her memory. She hadn’t been speaking out loud. Her lips were moving silently, the sounds only audible to her. She had no idea where the words were coming from, but they were swirling inside her like - well - like a storm, if she could’ve controlled the weather.
Mariano reached out to touch her shoulder. He cupped her face gently in his other hand, tilted her to look at him. He held her for a long moment, and she matched her breathing with his, and she began to feel calm returning to her. His eyes were worried and full of love, and they made her feel present, seen, heard. His smile was patient and warm.
“Dolores,” he said gently, “You need to talk to her.”
Which was really not what Dolores wanted to hear in that moment.
“And then what?!” she cried. “What could she say? What could she say that I haven’t heard? That I don’t know? I know! I know! I know everything!”
“Dolores,” he said softly, trying to ground her again, but she suddenly couldn’t stop the torrent.
“She could change her mind, she could say anything at all, it wouldn’t matter! I won’t forget! I never forget!” She had her hands back over her ears, as though if she muffled the sound there, maybe it would calm her voice; but when she continued she could feel it catching and lilting against her will.
“It’s okay,” he was saying, “Breathe. You can calm down.”
She could not calm down.
“Every day, all the time! The wind! The thunder! I know how it is! I already know what she would say! I’ve heard it all, everything, everything there is to hear!"
Mariano gulped, holding his hands up uncertainly like he didn't know whether to hug her or block her ears. She wanted both. Instead he spread them in a placating gesture.
"I know it must be hard. And you've heard things that hurt. But you can reach out to her. Make it different." He reached towards her pleadingly. "She loves you. She's your mom."
Dolores stared blankly at the outstretched hand reaching towards her, offering her support. She didn't take it.
"This isn't supposed to be about me," protested Dolores.
Mariano said, gently, "Things won't work between us unless this gets better."
The words were soft, but they still pierced Dolores in the chest.
"What?" she said.
"This is important," he said, "Like... really important. It goes deep. For both of us. Me being around... it's making things worse for you. For your family." He sighed. "That... can't keep happening."
"But," began Dolores. She realised that her barrage of words had left her, and she had no idea what to say again, no idea what to tell him.
"We've been together for less than a year. You need to be a part of your family," he said. "Right now, I think... you need that more than you need me."
She stared at him. She listened to the sound of his chest, the blinking of his eyes. He sounded perfectly calm.
"You really can't work things out with her?" he said.
She was too paralysed to respond.
He shook his head. "Then I can't be here. Not until you forgive her. I'm sorry, Dolores, I have to go."
She tried, really tried, to find the words to stop him. She tried desperately to form her feelings into thoughts and her thoughts into speech, but she couldn't; she had no way to describe the way her heart was hammering and filling the air with sound, the way she could hear her sweat glands working, hear the tightening of muscles and bones.
She could only manage silence, and she didn't say a word as Mariano left and gently closed the door behind him.
"Now," said Dolores. "Is when I want to talk. It's now. Because I need your help. Mariano left."
Dolores hadn't been in here since Bruno returned. Bruno’s battered old furniture was arranged around a crate repurposed as a table, the chairs moved around in such a way that it was clear the most amount of people usually in here was two. From the way Mirabel and Bruno had spoken, and the way they’d been perched comfortably in their respective places, it was clear who those two people were. Dolores might have worried she didn’t belong here, but Mirabel was much more interested in Dolores’ words than Bruno’s.
"He left?!" cried Mirabel. "Wh- where is he?!"
"On his way away from here."
"Wh-" Mirabel leapt to her feet. "Are you serious?! He can't leave! I'm going to talk to him! Right now! I'll be right back!"
"W-" Bruno began, but the words died on his lips as Mirabel raced out of the room. Dolores winced as the heavy door closed behind her. She'd spent so long never hearing Bruno's door creak.
She looked at him.
Dolores hadn't really been alone with Bruno since she was a child, when she'd started actively avoiding him. He frightened her still, the figure of so many rumours and arguments made real; uncomfortable truths and terrible lies broiled and rolled in her mind, a plethora of words she could never forget, and underneath them the memory of being seven and crying her eyes out at the future.
Bruno looked back at her.
"Will you tell me if it works out?" she whispered. "Please."
His disappointment and sadness poured out in one tremulous sigh.
"You know I can't do that, Dolores."
"I don't know what to do," she said. "I don't know. Please."
Dolores, as she'd expected, heard the quickening heartbeat and sharper breath. She knew Bruno was nervous around her. She didn't expect him to resist, but the rising confidence he'd gained from his friendship with Mirabel and the others must have kept him steadfast; he shook his head.
“I think,” he said, a little awkwardly, “That we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way, where you tell me about how you’re feeling, and we figure out what to do together.”
Dolores felt the urgency that had been holding her upright leave her. She looked at the battered couch that Mirabel had left behind and sat down on it, not knowing what else to do.
Bruno held out his hands, awkwardly offering an embrace that Dolores didn’t want; when he saw her not moving he switched to holding his arm, blood swirling to his face in embarrassment. She didn’t look at him, but she heard his eyes move around the room and then back to where they’d started, staring right at her.
“Sorry,” he said.
She didn’t say anything in return.
He cleared his throat. She heard his back straighten, his muscles tighten a little.
“Wish Mirabel was here,” he mumbled.
She heard him blink hard.
“Not because I don’t want to talk,” he added quickly, “I mean - I want to! Well, I don’t really want to. I mean, I want to, just not like this, some other, you know...”
She heard his heartbeat quicken, and for a moment remembered being little and sitting in the sand of his old tower, losing herself in the sound.
“Sheesh,” he muttered to himself, then tried again. “I mean, I wish Mirabel was here, because she makes it look easy.”
Dolores gripped the fabric of her skirt in her fists.
“Makes what look easy?” she said.
Bruno gestured vaguely. “Eh... y’know... the, uh... the feelings part. Doesn’t she? It comes outta her mouth and you realise it was true all along and you didn’t know it.”
He chuckled to himself, not seeming too bothered by the fact Dolores wasn’t reacting at all. She heard him shuffle forward in his chair, the fabric of his sleeves making contact with the edge of his ruana as he rested his head on his hands.
“What happened?” he said.
“He wanted me to talk to Mami.”
“And?”
“I didn’t want to. He said it wouldn’t work out. He left.”
The scrape of stubble against skin told Dolores that he’d tilted his head. Dolores felt her fingers start to twitch. Walking in here had seemed like a good idea in the moment. Mirabel did it all the time. Dolores heard her. She’d sit down and tell Bruno what was wrong, and Bruno would nod and watch her, and then he’d tell her something, softly and reassuringly, that put her mind to rest. Dolores found now that she had absolutely no idea how Mirabel did any of it. The languid comfort and loving concern that Bruno radiated for Mirabel was absent; he was nervous, saddened, as awkward and uncertain as she was.
“Dolores,” said Bruno gently, “You can say it.”
“No I can’t,” she said, staring at her hands. “Even if I wanted to. I have no idea how. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I can’t do any of this,” Her voice cracked, “And now he’s gone.”
She buried her face in her hands, so she couldn’t see Bruno any more; she heard the shuffling fabric sound as he stood, crossed over, and sat next to her on the couch. The cushions had been well-worn for too many years; they barely had enough tension left to creak in response.
She could feel him waiting for her to speak.
"You were right about my gift," she said. "It is easier not to talk to people."
"I know," he said gently.
"The hardest part isn't being able to hear things," she said, which she could hear surprised him, by the way he twitched his neck muscles. "It's that I never forget. I remember everything that anyone's ever said about me. All those words, all trapped in my head... it's torture. I don't see how letting anyone else hear them would help."
He reached over to take her hand, and she knew he was thinking of himself, his own visions, the words that had made people hate him.
"What could Mami say that would make that better, Tío Bruno? What can you say? What can anyone say?"
“Doesn’t matter what she says,” Bruno murmured. “It matters what you say.”
“What should I say?”
“The truth,” he squeezed her hand, “For better or worse.”
“What if it doesn’t change?”
“Maybe it won’t,” he said, “But it doesn’t matter. You deserve to be heard, Dolores. Let me tell you something."
He tapped her temple, gently, with an affectionate prod.
"Everything trapped in there," he said, "The only way to get those thoughts out is by saying them. And if Pepa doesn't listen? Her loss. You're worth listening to. Promise."
Dolores felt tears pricking her eyes, and this time when Bruno opened an arm and offered an embrace she hugged him tightly. Now that she was an adult he was so much smaller than he had been, but the sounds were exactly the same; the same soft voice, shuffling movements, the buh-BUP, buh-BUP of a nervous heart.
He didn’t stop holding her until she pulled away, and when he spoke again, she recognised the tone of voice from a long time ago, from when she and Isabela were little kids and Bruno was the uncle who let them take extra dessert and played with them when nobody else was around.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
She wiped her eyes. “You were right. Mirabel makes this sound easy.”
He chuckled. “Gets easier with practice.”
He leaned back in his seat, and she felt good enough to look at his face and see that he was smiling.
“What are you gonna do?” he asked.
“Mariano was right,” she said, “And so are you. I need to talk. Really talk.”
Bruno nodded. She closed her eyes and opened herself back up to the sounds of the outside world; she could hear the airy breeze and clacking heels of her mother downstairs, back from the day’s work.
“However it goes,” said Bruno, “Will you tell me about it?”
“I’d like that.”
He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing very slightly, the smallest of happy sighs escaping as he smiled.
Dolores heard the sound of Mirabel - and Mirabel by herself - hesitantly crossing the courtyard, pausing at the steps, and dawdling before she began to head towards the tower, like she had had awkward news.
Dolores looked at the door expectantly just before Mirabel opened it.
“Heya,” said Mirabel, her voice turned especially soft and kind with worry. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” said Dolores. “Kinda. Um... I can catch you up.”
“Great!” Mirabel nodded a little too hard. Her eyes swivelled across the room for a moment. Dolores began to worry.
“Um... did you talk to Mariano?”
“You didn’t hear?”
“I was distracted,” admitted Dolores.
“Uhh, well,” Mirabel rubbed her arm. “He’s... left the Encanto.”
They stared at her.
“To go back to the carnival,” she continued, “Apparently there’s some kind of... magic potion... that he wants to get for you?”
They stared at her some more.
“Magic potion?” said Dolores.
“Yeah, it’s... So, like... He said it sounded like you just wanted a fresh start but you couldn’t find a way, and he couldn’t help you by talking, so, uhhh,” Mirabel was clearly a little embarrassed to be the messager of this information, “He wants to... go buy you a philter that will make you and Tía Pepa forgive each other? Magically?”
There was another moment of silence.
“They sell those?” said Bruno. “I could use a bottle or two.”
Dolores, before she could stop herself, let out a cackle of belly laughter that made Bruno jump. She clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Sorry,” she said. “So Mariano... he’s coming back?”
“Probably tonight?”
“And he’s gonna come back to me?”
“He said he’d be using the vine,” said Mirabel, frowning, “Whatever that means.”
Dolores, despite the fact she had her hands over her mouth, laughed.
“Oh, that’s...” Dolores gulped back a cry of happiness. “That’s really dumb.”
“I think,” said Mirabel grimly, “That he’s probably going to come back with a little vial of vodka, at best.”
“That boy,” said Bruno, and shook his head. “Well. Maybe we can find out later, cause we don’t need any magic potion to do this part.”
“Tío Bruno, Mirabel,” said Dolores. They snapped to attention, eager to help. Dolores remembered the wreck of the fallen Casa Madrigal, the way everybody had lightened up and talked a little more, got a little more sentimental... How had she missed the sound of twitching lips, vibrant heartbeats, back then? “I’m going to go talk to Mami. I... I want you to wait here. So I know that no matter what, I can come back here. And you’ll listen to what happened. Can you do that?”
Bruno, his voice low with pride and relief, said, “Of course.”
“Always!” said Mirabel dutifully, and she gave Dolores her most determined grin.
Dolores looked from Bruno to Mirabel, smoothing down the front of her skirt.
“You can do this, Dolores!” said Mirabel brightly. “We’re right behind you!”
Dolores drew in a sharp breath. “Okay,” she said. “I can do this. Bye. I love you.”
It was the first time she’d said it to either of them. It would, hopefully, get easier with practice.
She turned on her heel and left the room.
Mirabel and Bruno watched her go with gentle awe.
“Wow,” said Mirabel. “I hope it goes okay.”
Bruno gave a wry smile. “You know, I think it will. Pepa would do anything for her. She just needs a little help knowing what she needs.”
“I guess we’ll find out!” said Mirabel.
“Although there’s one thing I am curious about,” said Bruno, “And that’s what the heck the boy-toy is about to get himself into, leaving the Encanto for a potion like that.”
Mirabel leaned forward, eyes bright.
“How curious?” she grinned.
He couldn’t resist smiling back. “Only enough for a tiny look.”
He let her lead him to the bottom floor of his tower, where she sat cross-legged, like an excited child, as he extended his hands towards her; they held hands as the sand swirled around them, forming into a scene illustrated in glowing emerald green, showing them what was about to happen to Mariano.
They watched the vision.
It formed into a plate.
It dropped into the sand.
They looked at each other.
And then, by unspoken agreement, they both stood up and began to sprint out of the house.
When Dolores was eleven, shortly after Mirabel had turned five (and Tío Bruno had vanished, and the ghostly footsteps and murmurings had started), her mother had taken her out shopping.
It was for earrings. Dolores distinctly remembered that, because at the time she'd had a pair of studs she adored, and she refused to wear anything else. She was younger then, and in those days the jingle, jingle of elaborate earrings had been too much to listen to, her awareness less sharp than it would later become. Her studs were old and coming loose from their pins, and Dolores loved the miniscule rattle they sometimes produced, inaudible to everyone but her.
Anyway, she hadn't wanted any of the earrings at the market. Mami had been doing her best. She was smiling and refusing to show any impatience. "What about these, aren't they beautiful?" She would offer, pointing out a pair of gold hoops. Or: "I have ones like these, we could match?"
But Dolores kept shaking her head. It was cloudy that day, and cold - it was cold for at least a month after Mirabel turned five. After a day of searching for Bruno, they hadn't found any trace of him, and it started to snow; it snowed for at least three days, and Abuela had been furious. Pepa was killing the crops, she said, she was hurting the elderly. Pull yourself together, Pepa, he's not coming back. Bruno's not coming back. We don't need to speak of him. Or think of him. He's gone.
They were trying not to tell the children about it, so nobody asked Dolores where he was. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that there were no secrets from Dolores. But nobody asked, so she didn't tell.
(Dolores was terribly afraid that Bruno had died and turned into a ghost. She was terrified that she might peek through a crack in the wall but see nothing because he was an invisible ghost, and then she'd be the only one who could hear him and then what could she do? So she never looked.)
Mami wasn't having a good day, and she was trying to be patient but the air was getting colder and colder. Dolores was scared, but she was also tired of secrets, and of nodding and saying yes when she meant no, and today she didn't want new earrings and she wasn't going to get them and it didn't matter if Tío Bruno was missing and never coming back.
"I don't like them," she muttered. "I don't want any."
"Dolores, mija, your Abuela says you need new ones for mass next week..."
"I don't care."
It took half an hour of shopping for the flash of lightning in the sky to appear, filling Dolores with terror, but by the time the lightning started it was too late.
Pepa ran her hands through her hair, tense and angry. Her eyes were wide, her face lined with lack of sleep. She drew in a sharp breath and Dolores, heart hammering with dread, flinched.
"Let's go home," was all Pepa said. She smiled, even though the weather was miserably bad. "We'll shop later."
They went home, and Dolores listened to her mother walk upstairs, shut the door, and scream into a pillow. It did nothing to muffle the sound to Dolores' ears; Dolores heard every note of hatred and anger, heard the tears falling, listened to every shred of pain she'd caused her mother.
Dolores wished she had just taken the earrings.
It didn't rain, but the thunder and lightning continued, and when Dolores heard the townspeople complaining she knew it had been her fault. Dolores hated saying things wrong; she hated listening to the consequences bouncing around her like an echo, echo, echo.
She decided, then: It was easier to say nothing. Nothing at all.
The evening before the gunshot
The carnival was clearly packing up to leave. Most of the stuff had been packed away into a variety of caravans and trailers, some horse-drawn, others powered by motor-powered vehicles, the type that Mariano had only seen in books. Carnival workers glanced up at Mariano as he walked by, murmuring to each other in a variety of languages that he didn’t recognise. The place was far less welcoming without the music or the decorations; there were suspicious glances and hostile mutterings, made worse by the rumbling of thunder in the distance. Well, thought Mariano, I hope that thunder isn’t about me.
Monsieur Loyal’s tent was still there, and as Mariano had expected, the man was sitting there waiting for him, his fingers steepled as though nothing in the world could surprise him.
“Monsieur Guzmán,” he smiled, “I was beginning to think you’d never come back.”
“I - I didn’t realise you were leaving,” stuttered Mariano, who’d almost forgotten how intimidating the strange fortune-teller had been.
“Unexpected circumstances. The show is to leave earlier than planned.”
“I need the philter,” blurted Mariano. “The - the potion. My girlfriend, I, I don’t know if she’ll ever stop worrying without it and...”
Monsieur Loyal held up a placating hand.
“A woman who hears everything struggles, consequently, to speak,” he murmured, “I know. I can sense a great suffering, a heavy burden. Not the use of the philter that I intended, but a better one, I think, than I could have imagined.”
“You’ll give it to me?”
Monsieur Loyal gave a wide smile.
“I told you, I have a sense of something valuable about you.”
He reached into a jacket pocket.
Behind Mariano, the tent-flap flew open. Dimming sunlight flooded the little space.
“STOP!” bellowed the voice of Mirabel Madrigal, full of righteous anger. “Mariano, don’t take anything from that guy!”
Mariano spun around. Mirabel stood behind him, standing furiously in the doorway, Dolores’ music box in hand. Behind her Bruno was struggling to dismount a small, aggrieved-looking horse.
“Ah,” said Monsieur Loyal calmly, “I see you were kind enough to return one of ponies you stole from my carnival.”
“Oh no, buster, we’re not giving anything back to you!” fumed Mirabel. “Except maybe this hunk of junk!”
“Mirabel!” Mariano was baffled. “What’s happening? Why are you here? Wh-what’s wrong with Monsieur Loyal?”
“I’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong with that guy!” she cried, raised the music box over her head, and threw it onto the ground, where it shattered.
The wooden shell broke open to reveal messes of wire and lights, intricately-detailed metal parts that Mariano faintly recognised as electronic components.
“Wh...” began Mariano.
“This isn’t just a music box,” said Mirabel viciously, “It’s bugged! It’s a device that the ringmaster was using to spy on us!”
Mariano turned to stare at Monsieur Loyal. Monsieur Loyal, wide grin barely faltering, raised his hands innocently.
“He’s not a fortune teller! And this isn’t a carnival!” Mirabel reached into her mochila, eyes fiery. “He’s a criminal!”
“Because!” cried Bruno, who had managed to make his way to Mirabel’s side, “When I looked into the future, we saw - uhh - “
He was patting himself down frantically, and eventually he managed to whip out a glowing emerald plate. Framed inside, Mariano could faintly see the shape of... cages. Crates. And inside one of the cages... him.
“A lotta things!” Bruno had a defiant look on his face, but he also appeared to be shaking and twitching in a way that suggested he was feeling a lot less brave than his niece was. “That the police would love to hear about! Actually!”
“He’s a smuggler! This carnival is a front! The reason he gave you that thing was so he could find our family’s magic!” Mirabel took the plate and thrust it towards Mariano, who stared at it, baffled. “Well, too bad, Monsieur! We’re leaving. And we’re onto you! The moment we get outta here, you’re busted! And if you ever come near the Encanto, I guarantee we’ll be ready for you, and you’re not gonna like it! Right, Tío Bruno?!”
“Right!”
“C’mon, Mariano!” Mirabel put her hands on her hips. “We’re getting out of here!”
Mariano found himself rooted in place out of sheer surprise. He stared at himself in the vision, his green face full of fear and despair, and then turned around to stare at Monsieur Loyal in horror. To his displeasure, Monsieur Loyal’s expression hadn’t changed at all. The man was grinning widely, his eyes full of cold amusement, and he stayed sitting comfortably in his chair with his hand halfway to his jacket pocket.
His eyes weren’t looking at Mariano. They weren’t looking at Mirabel. They were fixed on Bruno Madrigal, with a cold, amused hunger.
“You saw the future,” said Monsieur Loyal, teeth bared into a smile.
Bruno’s eyes looked wildly at Mirabel.
“None of your business!” said Mirabel hotly. "We're leaving!"
“Ah,” Monsieur Loyal chuckled, “Such a fiery little girl! No, mademoiselle, I don’t think you are.”
“There’s three of us!” Bruno stuttered. “And one! Of you! So... so... so yes, actually, we are leaving, we’re taking the boy with us, and you should listen to my niece when she tells you - ¡JESÚCRISTO!"
Because he had his back to Monsieur Loyal, Mariano only heard the click of the thing that made Mirabel and Bruno both freeze in place.
Mariano turned around, very slowly, to see that Monsieur Loyal was pointing a gun at him.
“Ah,” said Mariano weakly.
“I understand that you’ve had a sheltered upbringing, so you may be unfamiliar with this process,” said Monsieur Loyal, “But it’s traditional to put your hands up.”
Mariano, automatically looking for the oldest person in the room, turned to Bruno. Bruno, who was slowly positioning himself in front of Mirabel, raised his palms. Mariano put the vision in his shirt pocket, feeling like he might be doing something wrong if he was still holding it while raising his hands.
“Let me explain things. I would like you to walk through this doorway behind me here, inside which I will open a cage, and you will get into it.” Monsieur Loyal gestured meaningfully with his pistol, which made them all jump. “All things going well, I can happily assure you that nobody needs to die, and this gun need not be fired at all. Cause any trouble, and, sadly, I may not be able to keep this promise. Do we understand each other?”
They nodded.
“Excellent!” Monsieur Loyal gestured them towards the storeroom. “Please, go ahead. Ah, don’t look so distraught, please. I’ll be sure to treat you well. An ability like yours is very valuable to me. I would, after all, hate to damage the goods before they’ve sold.”
There was nothing Mariano could do but walk.
Dolores had been so good at keeping her mother at arm’s length, she hadn’t actually felt nervous about talking to her in years. But as she crept towards the kitchen, listening to Pepa humming the clouds away, she felt scared. Papi was still fiddling with his radio as she passed, and he barely looked up, not sensing anything amiss. Why would he? Dolores was always quiet, and always nervous, too.
Despite the fact that she was walking into her own kitchen, Dolores felt the need to knock.
“Yes?” said Pepa, and Dolores took a deep breath.
“Mami,” she said, “We need to talk.”
That put Pepa on guard immediately; Dolores heard the air pressure shift as the slightest of pops. Pepa tilted her head and smiled concernedly. It made Dolores’ head hurt, to see her mother making a face that said one thing as her body, her gift, said something else; Dolores had to shut the world away, stop listening to the static of the radio and the chatter of the house, and confine her attention to the sounds of the kitchen. The stove flickered and rumbled, heating up a kettle of water.
“Of course,” said Pepa, and two of the kitchen chairs popped themselves out, offering two seats facing each other. The wall-tiles rattled ever-so-slightly, a declaration of support from the house.
Dolores gulped. She put her hands in her lap.
Refusing to listen the rest of the world left Dolores alone with her brain. Words were knocking around her brain like a murmuring crowd.
My daughter is a stranger to me. - Is it me, Félix? - Sometimes I feel like a failure.
It wasn’t the world that was too loud, thought Dolores; it was the sounds inside her head.
Pepa didn’t seem confused by her silence. She crossed her arms thoughtful, the lines of her face going soft. Outside, the clouds began to darken.
“Is it about Mariano?” said Pepa softly, and there was a rumble: krak-OOOM, the sound of an approaching storm.
Just like in the vision, there was more than just crates in the storeroom. Monsieur Loyal gestured towards a rusty, thickly barred metal cage, the right size to hold... a lion, probably. Mariano’s fleeting hope that the other carnival workers might be able to help them was dashed when Monsieur Loyal whistled and a handful of them appeared, rope in hand and knives at their belts. They acted as though, Mariano realised with horror, they were used to kidnapping people.
It wasn’t until they were all bound and behind bars, completely helpless, that Monsieur Loyal put his gun away, regarding the three of them with something like fondness.
“I’ll do it,” said Bruno hoarsely, “See the future. Anything you want. I won’t fight. Just take me and let the kids go. Please.”
“And leave you all alone? I would hate to separate a family. Your niece seems such a passionate girl; I worry you might miss her.” Monsieur Loyal gave Bruno a cheerful grin. “You can have a comfortable life here with her. She’ll be taken care of. As long as, of course, you do as you’re told.”
“You’re making a mistake!” cried Mirabel. “The gifts don’t work away from the Encanto! You won’t be able to make any money!”
“I would like to test that theory myself. If it is true, well, you have my sincere apologies,” Monsieur Loyal gave a friendly shrug, “Should it turn out that you are worthless, of course, it is likely that I will simply kill you. Well, maybe not all of you.” He reached through the bars to tidy a strand of Mirabel’s hair, which made Mirabel flinch. “You’re a pretty young thing. I’m sure we can find some use for you.”
Mariano knew that being obedient was their best chance, but he couldn’t stop himself speaking up. “Stay away from her!”
Monsieur Loyal laughed cruelly.
“Ah, my romantic young friend,” he said, “Perhaps if that is what you wanted, then you should not have come here in the first place.”
Mariano winced. Monsieur Loyal walked towards the storeroom’s exit. “You must excuse me; the work of a ringmaster is never done. I’ll be back to check on you shortly, don’t worry. Attempt to escape and my friends here are at full liberty to hurt you. Bonsoir!”
He turned and barked a few words of French to two burly-looking carnival workers, who nodded. With that done, he gave them a cheerful wave and left.
They waited until the two carnival workers had stopped staring at them before they started talking. (Actually, thought Mariano, they were probably less carnival workers and more henchpeople.)
“Mariano?” said Mirabel.
“Uh-huh?”
“Can Dolores... hear this carnival?”
Mariano was pretty sure she couldn’t. “Maybe?” he lied.
“Still,” she said, and lowered her voice. “She knew you were on your way here. And she’ll figure out pretty fast where we are. I’m sure she’ll notice and come looking.”
Mariano brightened up hopefully. “You’re right,” said Mariano, “And... no way she’ll get caught by surprise, either. She’ll know what to do. I’m sure of it!”
Bruno stopped what he was doing, which was banging his head repeatedly against the metal bars of the cage.
“You,” he said.
Mariano, immediately flush with shame, gulped. “Yes?”
“You know Dolores thought you dumped her?” snapped Bruno.
“Huh? What?”
“She was very upset!”
“I - I didn’t dump her! I just said I had to leave!”
“You should’ve been more specific! I mean, geez, I’m not a romance expert,” spat Bruno, “But even I know that if you like a girl, you don’t let her think you’re breaking up with her!”
Mirabel, with more curiosity than was necessarily appropriate for a conversation taking place within a human trafficking ring, said, “Have you ever liked a girl?”
“Mirabel, this is a man-to-man conversation that doesn’t involve you.”
“I’m literally tied to both of you!”
“Not to mention,” added Bruno, ignoring her, “That we promised Dolores that we’d be there for her after she spoke to her mother, and thanks to you we failed.”
Mariano perked up. “She’s really gonna go talk to her mom?”
“Seems like it. "
"That's great! Guess I didn't need to come here at all!" Mariano hesitated. "... Well, I'm starting to think maybe coming here wasn't a great idea in the first place."
Bruno seemed to be softening up. He gave a long sigh. "Eh. You believed in a magic potion, we believed we could confront a criminal and it would be fine. We all made some bad judgments here."
"I'm so proud of her. She really finds it hard to open up." Mariano was getting starry-eyed. "And she asked you for help, too? That's great. She loves you guys. We were just talking about taking you and Antonio somewhere nice the other day..."
Mirabel was charmed. "Aww, you guys!"
There was a bark from one of the two henchmen guarding the tent. "Ta gueule!" he snapped. "Pourquoi vous sourissez comme ça, hein? Foutus colombiens."
They all stared blankly.
The other guy looked at his partner, then at them, unimpressed. "Silence," he said slowly.
They all understood that. Mariano glanced at Mirabel and Bruno, sharing worried looks; then, with nothing better to do, they waited for rescue in silence.
Dolores didn’t actually known what to say at all. Pepa and Bruno looked very similar to each other in this situation, actually; they both sat stiffly, with calculated stillness, and watched with careful expressions of patience. The difference here was the sound, the rushing of approaching winds, the distant pitter-patter; the confirmation to Dolores’ ears that whatever patience Pepa showed, it was a lie.
Pepa took Dolores’ silence as a cue to start talking.
“Do you remember,” she said, “When you were a little girl, and Bruno showed you that vision, of your soulmate marrying someone else?”
Lost for words, Dolores nodded.
“You cried so much,” said Pepa, with a sad smile. “I couldn’t cheer you up for days. But to tell you the truth...”
Pepa looked up. Over her head, wisps of grey were starting to gather. She gave a brief sigh of exasperation.
“To tell you the truth,” she continued, “I was so relieved. If you never married, that meant you’d stay with me, and I would always have my little girl. It was such a selfish thing to think, and I hated it, but - ay, I loved you, Dolores, and I couldn’t imagine you growing up and leaving. Do you understand?”
Another miniscule nod.
“I thought I could protect you from the worst of heartbreak,” said Pepa. Her expression darkened. “I thought a lot of things in those days.”
Another flash. Another, closer boom. Rain began to fall on the stove, and the flame hissed unhappily.
“Things did not turn out how I thought they would,” said Pepa, “Nothing about being a mother was how I imagined. But I wanted you to stay because I loved you, Dolores. I love you.”
“Stop talking.”
Dolores felt these words slip out of her lips entirely without passing by her mind first. Her eyes were wide and staring.
So were Pepa’s.
Dolores opened her mouth with the intention of, perhaps, saying sorry, and her lips said, “You’re angry. You’re bitter. You don’t like talking to me. You don’t like spending time with me. Don’t lie to me. I can hear it.”
Pepa’s mouth dropped open, then closed again. She swallowed. Her breathing grew heavier, and with it, the wind intensified; her hair was being tossed around by a spiral of misty rains, the cloud over them growing.
“And that’s fine,” said Dolores, even though it wasn’t. “It’s fine. I’m not the daughter you wanted. So let me go. Let me be happy.”
The rain had been falling outside, but now it began to fall inside too; Dolores felt the raindrops, cold, nearing on sleet; a sure sign of her mother’s ire.
“Be angry,” begged Dolores. “Please. I can already hear it. Tell me the truth.”
Pepa drew in a sharp breath. Behind her, the water reached a crescendo of bubbling; the kettle began to whistle, and Dolores, who was concentrating too hard on the space around her, had to cover her ears. Pepa stood up in a swift, angry motion, snatched the stove’s knob, and extinguished it. She stood with her back to Dolores, her shoulders set in frustration, and was silent.
“No,” said Pepa.
“What?”
“No,” she repeated, and turned around. She brushed a strand of wet hair out of her face, her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth twitching. “No, I won’t. I won’t fight you. Dolores, do you know what your Abuela did, when I got angry with me, like you are now?”
Dolores was perplexed into silence.
“Never listened.” Pepa re-adjusted her headscarf. She gulped. “You want me to tell you the truth? Fine! I’m glad you’re getting angry. You have so much to be angry about, and you never said a word.”
Dolores stared at the black cloud above their heads. It didn’t look glad, or compassionate, at all; Pepa must’ve seen that in her expression.
“It isn’t easy to hear these things,” sighed Pepa, “But - fuck! - sorry.”
She sniffed.
“I promised myself, when I was pregnant with you, I would never make you quiet, the way my mother made me quiet. Well, it didn’t work, did it? You went quiet anyway.” Pepa gave her a watery smile. “And I didn’t listen. You always think, when you have a child...”
She lapsed into silence.
“I heard everything,” whispered Dolores, “All the times you weren’t happy. All the times you didn’t understand.”
Pepa rubbed her eyes.
“Oh, corazón, there are so many things in the world you must have heard... So many words I wish I could take back, but... You know, when the Casa fell down and your Abuela came back and apologised to me, I thought... I thought it would be different. That she had a second chance, and I did too. It would be different. I would be a different mother to you, one you didn’t feel like you had to hide from. I thought I had time.”
Dolores realised she was crying.
“And then...” Pepa’s expression cracked. “You fell in love. Didn’t you? You fell in love. You’re not mine anymore. You’re his. And he makes you happy, and I make you sad. And that...”
Pepa took in a deep breath. Dolores watched her mother take her braid in her hands and brush her hands through it, closing her eyes. The thunder didn’t abate outside, nor did the cloud over her head fade, but her expression calmed a little.
“Of course I’m yours,” said Dolores, in a small voice, “I’m your daughter.”
Pepa put out her arms, and Dolores stood up and hugged her mother, feeling like a little girl again, burying her face in Pepa’s dress.
“Dolores, cariño,” whispered Pepa, “I know you can hear the thunder. And the anger. And later, you will probably hear me talking about feeling bad, feeling bitter... But I want you to know that I love you. And I want to give you the world. And that’s stronger than any storm, okay? Any storm in the world.”
Dolores started to sob.
“All those things you heard, I’m sorry,” she continued, “People have so many feelings. And not all of them are good. But I love you, I want you to be happy, I want you as my daughter... It doesn’t matter what you hear. Alright? It doesn’t matter.”
Dolores cried into her mother’s arms, reducing herself to the sound of Pepa’s voice, the rain, the thunder; the murmuring, I’m here, baby, it’s alright. I’m here. I love you, it’s alright. Her thoughts felt empty and stupid, and her heart felt raw, and she felt better, too, somehow, in some impossible way.
She cried until the thunder settled down, and the rain eased into a constant pitter-patter, her mother’s love and pity falling in gentle drops around them.
She cried until she felt empty of tears.
“You really don’t hate me?” she said.
“Never.” Pepa held her close. “You might hear things that make you think that. Or think them. But you just need to ask, mi amor, you just have to ask. I’ll tell you a thousand times.”
You just need to ask. She added, quietly, “Or Mariano?”
Pepa smiled. “No. He makes you happy.”
She cupped Dolores’ cheek in her hand.
“And,” she added, “He has a very hot body.”
Dolores clapped her hands over her mouth and suppressed a scream of laughter.
“Mami!”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I can look at the goods without buying, right? He looks like an oil painting.”
They both giggled.
“He is very pretty,” said Dolores, “He doesn’t even know it.”
“Dolores, light of my life,” smiled Pepa, “Your boyfriend is so stupid.”
“He’s at the carnival right now buying me a magic potion from a fortune teller.”
They laughed again.
“When your Tía brought home Agustín-” began Pepa. Dolores was already bursting into laughter. Pepa pressed on, giggling. “When she brought home Tío Agustín I thought - for sure - that was the dumbest man who would ever marry a Madrigal. But Mariano - ”
“Mami - ” Dolores could barely breathe.
“He’s like a horse - ”
That was as much as Dolores could take. She doubled over and laughed, and her mother threw an arm around her and laughed with her. Dolores’ stomach hurt with the combined force of sobbing and laughter, but the final nail of he’s like a horse was too much for her to handle and they held each other and just laughed like lunatics.
She was so distracted, she didn’t even hear Félix come in until he cleared his throat politely.
“Papi?” she said, wondering if he’d overheard their conversation. He sure looked like he regretted intruding.
“Ah,” he said. He looked between the two of them, reading their faces, pursing his lips awkwardly. “Hm.”
“Félix?” asked Pepa.
Félix twiddled his fingers.
“First of all,” he began, “I want you to know that you are the two most important women in my life, and I love you more than anything, and I’m really glad you two had this talk...”
“Ye-e-es?” said Pepa.
He scratched the back of his neck.
“I got the radio working,” he said slowly.
“Yes?” said Pepa.
“And I got a call from Paulo at the police station.” He sucked in air through his teeth. “Uh... Dolores... did you just say that Mariano... went back to the carnival?”
Dolores didn’t like that question.
“Yes,” she said.
“Ri-i-ight,” said Félix, “Because there’s something about that carnival I should probably tell you.”
Right before the gunshot
"...And it's, like, I want to live up to Dad's image, obviously," said Mariano, "But it feels so unfair that other people knew him and I didn't, when it should have been that I knew him better than they do."
"Listen, when I was growing up, and everybody was talking about Pedro Madrigal," said Bruno, "I eventually realised people always think they know more than they do. You gotta realise, nobody knows your dad the way you do, even if it sounds like it. It's the traces left -"
"I still think we should be trying to escape," interrupted Mirabel bitterly. “There’s a crowbar right there.”
"In a sec, Mirabel. The traces he leaves on the people close to you are more profound than any story people tell you. That's the trick. And you gotta decide exactly what that means for you - "
Mirabel leaned back against the bars and sighed.
Dolores, now in her twenties, felt sometimes like the weight of knowledge had made her grow up fast. It had been a long time since she had felt like a child - at least in a way that was positive.
But in that moment, she'd never been more glad to let her parents take over. She watched them scrambling to make a plan and felt endlessly grateful she wasn't expecting to help.
"A criminal?!" Pepa was aghast. "But... but he wouldn't..."
"With connections to a couple of missing people," said Félix grimly, "A smuggler and a kidnapper. Sounds like they came to Colombia to hide for a while."
"A kidnapper..." Pepa was in disbelief.
"I went to go talk to Bruno," said Félix unhappily, "And he's vanished. Mirabel too. It looks like he had a vision in there -"
"They knew!" blurted Dolores. "They knew where Mariano was going, they must have looked, and..." Hadn't she heard, at the back of her mind, the sound of a vision? Why now? Why her Mariano?
"I think we'd better get moving fast, ladies," said Félix, rolling up his sleeves, "And stop them before they get there."
Pepa put her hands on Dolores' shoulders.
"And if we're too late for that," she said, "Then we'll get them out safe. And anyone who tries to stop us, they'll have to answer to me!"
The thunder rumbled decisively, and Pepa squeezed Dolores' shoulders protectively. Like a child, Dolores felt like her parents were the most powerful people in the world. It would be alright. She knew it.
Jean Lavigne-DuBlanc wasn't a carnival worker. He was a henchman. Either way, Jean Lavigne-DuBlanc’s mother did not approve of his career choices.
The Loyal wasn’t a bad boss. Sure, he was crazy, but that was part of the package. He had schemes and had a weird obsession with the carnival, and you had to live with a bunch of carnies as part of it, but, really, that was a benefit, if it was anything. You didn’t ask too many questions and you did what you were told. The Monsieur Loyal was a screw short of a full machine but he paid well and kept his word, and what more could you ask for?
His mother had never approved. She’d said, Jean, someday, God will judge you for your choices, believe me. But she’d died poor and penniless, and he would die with a nice egg’s nest and a bit of security, and there wasn’t much more you could ask for, was there? So he wore the revolver at his belt, pretended to be “security” when he had to, and played along with the ringmaster’s schemes. Whatever. It hadn’t been the hugest of deals when the Monsieur had started talking about magique and selling some sort of fortune-teller as a slave; he’d said crazier things, and Jean had ignored them every time. You didn’t get far in this business if you weren’t good at ignoring things.
Jean’s mother had been a god-fearing, catholic woman. Jean wasn’t especially religious. He was an atheist up until the point that God kicked open the tent flap and shot lightning out of her fingers.
The Judgement of God was a slim Colombian woman with red hair and eyes that blazed with the fire of a thousand suns. Above her head swirled a black cloud the colour of a terrible storm, and when she walked into the storeroom, the sound of thunder - krak-KOOOOM!!! - rattled the walls, and Jean Lavigne-DuBlanc, for the first time since he was a boy, felt fully the fear of God settle deeply into his bones.
She yelled, in Spanish, “Give me back my three idiots, you slimy, no-good little scrap of pig-feed!”
The Boss looked over and gave Jean the command to subdue her.
Jean Lavigne-DuBlanc made a snap decision. He’d loved his mother. He’d been operating the foolish assumption that she’d been naive. He had been long aware of her voice at the back of his mind, disapproving of his lifestyle.
He nodded once, sagely, unholstered the revolver at his belt, and dropped it on the ground. Then he crossed himself, turned around, and left the storeroom, leaving Monsieur Loyal to deal with the consequences of his actions on his own.
Mariano knew that Pepa had probably come to rescue him, not murder him. But he still couldn't quell the primal fear that came from seeing her burst into the tent surrounded by swirling clouds of fog and lightning.
Monsieur Loyal had his back to Mariano, standing between the cage and their rescuers.
"Señora Madrigal," said Monsieur Loyal, although he didn't sound pleased to see her.
"You!" She barked, her face turning red with anger. "Whoever you are! I don't know! And I don't care! I am going to kill you!"
Behind her, Félix rolled up his sleeves. His face, though calmer than his wife's, said the same thing.
Monsieur Loyal raised his pistol.
"You're welcome to try, madame," said Monsieur Loyal, "But come any closer and I will happily shoot. Why don't we talk to each other instead, hm? Nobody needs to get hurt."
Pepa threw up her hands in exasperation. "I don't care if nobody needs to get hurt! I want to hurt you!"
"Madame - "
Mariano yelped, reeling from an ear-splitting, terrifying BANG! He would learn later that this was the noise a miniature bolt of lightning made when it struck a grown man directly in the hand. He would be told that Monsieur Loyal dropped his gun, which fired uselessly into the ground, and the frenchman collapsed and started convulsing.
All Mariano knew at that moment was people were running and shouting, and Mirabel was struggling to get free next to him, and that Bruno was howling, "Metal cage, Pep, metal cage, metal cage!" Through that fog of noise came the sweet, sweet sound of Dolores' voice: "Mariano!"
Suddenly there were far more important things happening than Mariano being kidnapped, because Dolores was here and Dolores was maybe in danger and Dolores might have been scared and Mariano wasn't with her.
Mariano, fuelled maybe by terror and maybe by love, looked at where Monsieur Loyal was struggling to get to his feet and get his pistol back and immediately threw himself at the bars, hoping vaguely to break through them through sheer willpower. What actually happened was that he knocked the cage over, throwing both Bruno and Mirabel screaming as they rotated a neat ninety degrees and landed on top of the struggling ringmaster.
Mariano understood very little of what happened after that.
There was definitely the sound of someone screaming. There was definitely the buzzing hot pain of electricity as lightning struck them, metal cage, frenchman and all, and definitely at some point somebody took a crowbar to the cage door and pried it open; Mariano wasn't sure, but he thought he heard, through the jostling of Monsieur Loyal trying to free himself and the shouting of panicking voices, the distinct sound of Bruno Madrigal sighing tiredly.
Nothing really made sense until a pair of hands pulled Mariano's bonds loose and then pulled him out of the mess he'd made. Mariano found himself climbing out of a sideways cage and coming face to face with Dolores, her eyes filled with tears.
Distantly, Mariano was aware of Félix pinning Monsieur Loyal's arms behind his back, and of Pepa Madrigal untying her brother while calling him stupid in a colourful variety of ways, and Mirabel gingerly picking up Loyal's gun, looking around, and uncertainly placing it in her mochila. But more intently he was aware of Dolores holding his hands, her face tired and tearstained and worried in ways he dearly wished he hadn't caused.
"Lola," he said softly, and kissed her, and that was the whole world, for a moment.
He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too." he whispered back. Then, remembering advice from his future uncle, he added: "I would never break up with you and haven't considered it, like, ever."
"Thanks," she said.
"Except to think about it theoretically, as a bad thing that would make me upset," he continued.
"It would make me upset too."
He added, "Will you marry me?"
"Too soon," she said.
"Just thought I'd ask."
They glanced over to where, like a pair of children, Pepa was holding Bruno's hands and using them to make him hit himself repeatedly.
"You should've stopped Dolores' boyfriend being kidnapped!"
"I got kidnapped too!" he whined.
"And then you drag my niece into danger!"
"She's my niece too!"
Mariano began to walk over to Félix, thinking maybe he could use a break from arresting Loyal. Mariano didn't rush. It all seemed very safe and under control.
Which was why he wasn't in time to help as Monsieur Loyal suddenly broke out of Félix's grasp, twisted him over, and smashed him in the face with an elbow.
There was a strangled cry of surprise from Félix as Monsieur Loyal knocked him backwards and dived away, rolled, and picked up a discarded revolver that had once belonged to a henchman named Jean Lavigne-DuBlanc. Mariano wasn't there in time to stop that, either.
He didn't have time to stop Monsieur Loyal as he pointed the revolver at Félix Madrigal and fired.
There was only one thing Mariano had time to do, and that was jump forward and throw himself in front of Félix.
And then there was a
BANG
and the world went white.
Dolores screamed.
For a critical moment she blind to the world; the gunshot rang in her ears and blocked out the rest of the sounds, meaning she couldn't make out where exactly the bullet had struck Mariano. But wherever it was, she heard it force the breath out of him in an unhealthy broken wheeze; he crumpled to the ground, and she heard strange ripped sounds she'd only heard from Tía Julieta's patients, the sounds of cracked bones and skin.
Her father, who in childish naïveté she had felt to be invincible, seemed to have frozen in shock. The wind and clouds were still; she could hear her mother behind her, holding her breath, and the sound of her uncle’s already rabbit-fast heartbeat speeding up. Dolores could only watch as a small bloodstain began to appear on the white fabric of Mariano’s shirt.
The only person who responded was Mirabel, who had a curiously blank expression on her face as she appeared quietly behind Monsieur Loyal, raised a crowbar, and hit him in the head hard enough to knock him to the floor completely unconscious.
Dolores was almost too afraid to move, but she was struck, irrevocably, with the urge to see Mariano’s face, see his eyes and lips move, maybe for the last time; that terrible thought brought her running, suddenly, and throwing herself to his side, and grabbing his hand as he lay there.
She tried to say his name, but the word caught in her throat and she choked, tears filling her eyes. Every other tear she’d shed that day seemed suddenly so unimportant, so trivial.
Mariano winced in pain as he wheezed out another breath.
“...’oke it...” he gasped.
Dolores squeezed his hand. “Wh-what?”
“...Broke...”
Mariano coughed.
Then he reached into his chest pocket and brought out a handful of slightly stained emerald shards, among which was a perfectly intact metal bullet.
“It broke,” he wheezed.
Dolores stared at him. Then she stared more closely at Mariano’s chest, which now had several rather painful-looking shards of green in it, but no gaping bullet wound. As though a bullet had been explosively shot into a thick plate of emerald, not a person.
“The bullet,” she said, “It... didn’t hit you.”
“Definitely hit me,” he wheezed.
“It didn’t go through you.”
Mariano said, unhappily, “It still hurt.”
Dolores pressed her lips to his and kissed him, tearfully and desperately and more passionately than she had ever kissed anyone. Mariano, perfect resplendent stupid Mariano, had enough life in him to kiss her back.
She felt a hand on her back, and her father’s voice, urgently, saying, “Dolores -”
She looked up at him and saw that his face, bruised and black-eyed though it was, was compassionate and calm; resolute and strong and her dad.
“Dolores, corazón, his ribs are probably broken,” said Félix. “Don’t squeeze him like that.”
“‘S’ okay,” wheezed Mariano. He sat up. Then he sank back down again. “Ooogh, that looks easier on TV.”
Dolores jumped as Bruno very suddenly screamed.
“AAAAAAAAARGHHH!”
“Mierda!” spat Pepa, “What’s wrong?!”
“Nothing,” said Bruno weakly, “Just been holding that one back for a while now. Sorry.”
Mirabel peered over the unconscious form of the ringmaster.
“He’s not dead,” she said cautiously.
“Probably concussed,” said Félix, “He-”
“I could hit him again?”
“No!”
Dolores looked down at Mariano, who had apparently gotten his breath back, and was wincing as he extracted a shard of emerald from a bleeding cut.
“You fell very dramatically,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said, “I got winded. I didn’t think bullets hit that hard. They’re so small.”
“You’re dumb,” she said.
“Sorry-”
“I’m going to marry you someday,” she said, “And it’s going to be the best decision of my life.”
He, despite everything, smiled.
“I’ll talk to you later,” she said, tilting her head.
“Later...?”
“The police are about to arrive,” she said.
The sound of carefully-measured footsteps stopped at the tent flap, and there was a heavily-dressed, shuffling sound of a uniformed policíá poking his head curiously into it.
The policeman solemnly removed a cigar from his mouth.
“What the hell is going on here?” he said.
Félix looked up, rather guiltily, from the unconscious body of Monsieur Loyal.
“Paulo!” he said, not uncheerfully. “What a coincidence! We, uh... there’s actually a really funny story about this.”
Paulo looked blankly at the small cloud floating over Pepa’s head. Pepa tried to look innocent.
Paulo put his cigar back into his mouth.
Félix said, in a stage whisper directed at nobody in particular, “Is magic illegal?”
Paulo lit his cigar.
“La jefa doesn’t pay me enough for this,” he said, “I’m gonna walk away, and in five minutes I’m gonna walk in here and see this storeroom for the first time in my damned life. Five minutes.”
He vanished.
“Mirabel,” said Félix urgently.
“Yes?”
“Take the idiot,” he said, pointing at Mariano, “And get the horse. We’ll run.”
It was late into the night by the time they were home. They woke up Tía Julieta, who, stony-faced, fried two arepas and stared sternly as Mariano’s ribs and Félix’s face returned to their normal shapes. Then she stared at Mirabel and Dolores, one face to another, and gave a long, exasperated sigh.
“Oh, my girls, you silly, brave little things,” she said, and held out her arms to hug them. Dolores felt Tía Julieta kiss her cheek, then Mirabel’s, then hold them both deeply for a long moment.
Then Tía Julieta pulled away and turned to stare at both of her siblings, who were lingering close to the doorway like they were hoping to leave the room.
“Come here,” said Julieta.
They walked over, noticeably slowly.
“You went to this kidnapper,” she said, crossing her arms, “On your own.”
Neither Pepa nor Bruno looked her in the eyes.
“Mm,” said one of them, in an indistinguishable murmur.
“Both of you,” she added, “One after the other.”
“Hm,” said the other one.
“And you left behind,” said Julieta, counting off on her fingers, “Your niece with super strength. And your sister with healing powers. And a menagerie of dangerous animals. And the rest of your family. And your radio that contacts the police.”
“We got Mariano back?” said Bruno, sounding hopeful.
In a rapid flash motion Julieta had each of them by the ear, one in each hand, and was tugging on both of them with a viciously well-practised technique that had both of them screaming.
“Juli!”
“Not the vice -”
“SAY YOU’RE SORRY!”
Félix planted his arms around Dolores and Mirabel. “Girls,” he said cheerfully, “Let’s step outside.”
He shepherded them out of the kitchen, leaving behind Mariano as he gave him a blank, helpless stare, and Dolores was so tired she didn’t even object as he swept them into the courtyard.
“Dolores, corazón, I am so, so proud of you,” he said, “Every day. I love you so much. I want you to know that.”
“Thanks, Papi.”
“Mirabel,” he continued, looking at her.
“Yes, Tío Félix?”
“Give me that gun.”
Mirabel guiltily reached into her mochila and handed over Monsieur Loyal’s pistol.
“You’re grounded,” he said cheerfully. “Love you.”
Mirabel sighed, resigned, and began to trudge up the stairs.
Dolores, feeling so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, put a hand on her father’s arm.
“I want to talk to Mariano.”
“He’ll come up and see you,” he said, “Spend the night. Promise. Go up and wait for him, okay? Get some rest.”
She kissed him, sleepily, on the cheek; then, her bones aching under the strain of the longest day in the world, she followed her cousin up the stairs.
Mariano sat on the bottom step of the Casa Madrigal and sighed. Distantly the sound of arguing and squealing came from the kitchen, mainly concerning whether or not anyone would be telling Alma Madrigal what had happened. The bannister squeaked at him in a way that he hoped was sympathetic.
“I’m waiting,” he clarified, “There’s one last conversation I gotta have.”
A hat-stand hopped over to keep him company as he waited.
Eventually - Mariano wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep waiting or not - he heard Pepa Madrigal’s heels clicking as she crossed the courtyard, regarding him with an unreadable expression.
He looked up, feeling his legs go a little weak, and said, “Señora - um - Doña? Pepa? I, um...”
To his surprise she didn’t want for him to stand but sat next to him on the step, folding her skirt elegantly under her.
“Hi,” he said weakly.
“Mariano,” she said, “You went to go and get some kind of fake, stupid potion because you thought it would, what, make me forgive you?”
He gulped.
“Mmf?” he offered.
She looked at him with a smile that reminded him a little of his own mother.
“I hope you can forgive me,” she said, “For everything. Thank you for making my daughter happy.”
He looked into her eyes and saw a resemblance there, between Pepa and her daughter.
“No potion needed,” he said.
She smiled weakly.
“Go on,” she said, “Go upstairs. Go to her. You have so much to talk about. And she needs you.”
Mariano, not needing any more telling than that, got to his feet. She gave him a smile, and he heard, puzzlingly, the sound of rain outside; soft and gentle, like a lullaby.
Dolores was in bed when he opened the door, and for a moment he thought she was asleep; but she opened her eyes and watched him, sleepily, as he sat on the side of the bed, and her sweet lovely smile appeared on her face.
“You must be exhausted,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.
She traced a thumb over his palm.
“Not too tired to talk,” she said.
He lay back next to her, smiling back.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said, and he did; and despite everything it was a long time before they finally went quiet and slept.
Dolores opened Bruno's door and slipped through.
She didn't knock, because she already knew where he was and what he was doing. He looked up from his rats mid-whisper, the lines of his face rustling a dry stubble sound as they crinkled into a smile.
“Hey, Dolores,” he said, barely raising his voice. “I was hoping you’d come by, actually.”
“I know,” she said, “I heard you mutter it.”
He winced. “Didn’t realise I did that out loud.”
“It’s usually out loud,” she said, “How are you?”
“Well, I’ve been less... traumatised, personally, but, hey, look at you,” he gestured, “Happy and healthy. What else matters?”
Lots of things, Dolores knew, but she looked at the lopsided smile on his face and focused on that instead.
“Anyway, I had something I wanted to tell you - well, that, and something I wanted to give you, too, two things, I guess,” he stood up and began to rustle around one of his various piles of clutter. “One sec.”
She crept up to peer over his shoulder. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh.” He paused. He glanced at her, then away again. “Hah, well, I guess first thing of all was that - I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” she said, perplexed. “What for?”
“The Mariano thing. Sorry, not yesterday,” he clarified, “I mean, yes, I acknowledge that I could have handled myself differently in that situation, so, sorry about that, too, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about. I mean, when you were little and you asked me for that vision. You remember?”
Dolores’ lips twitched. “I think so.”
“Well, now that I’m, uh, out of hiding, and you and Mariano... It’s only a matter of time till you’re married, isn’t it?” He paused to give her, albeit softly and nervously, a nudge on the shoulder. “So now I guess I can finally say, with all authority, that I gave you the wrong idea.”
Dolores suppressed a giggle.
“I appreciate it,” she said.
“And, well, my visions, they haven’t done so much for you, have they?” he returned to his rummaging. “Except for one, which I stand by. So this is for you. Little reminder. That it all works out in the end.”
He finally found what he was looking for, and she had to cover the smile on her face.
An old set of cards, faded with time, sandy and battered. Tarot cards. Fortune-telling cards.
“You kept them?” she managed.
“Had to give ‘em back someday,” he said, and held them out to her.
She reached out to take them, and he folded her hands around them.
“You’re wrong,” she said softly.
“Huh?”
“About your visions!” she clarified quickly. “About them not doing anything for me. I mean maybe the vision when I was small was a little, um... life-altering...”
He winced.
“But yesterday,” she said, and put her hand to her chest, “If you hadn’t had a vision, if you hadn’t given it to Mariano... he’d be dead. So your visions saved his life.”
Bruno scratched his head. “Well, when you put it like that...”
“And, anyway,” she said, “You were right. The cards were right. I just had to wait.”
She flipped through the deck.
“A reminder that it all works out,” she said, “Yeah. I could use that. Thank you.”
“It was either this, or a wedding present,” he said. “But I didn’t wanna wait.”
She looked into the cards.
“It’ll be a while,” she said, “I want... Well, I don’t know.... I just want a little more time. With all of you.”
“As long as you want,” he said, and, in a long-forgotten gesture of affection gently pinched her cheek. “And maybe a little after too.”
She didn’t feel quite confident enough, not yet, to throw her arms around him like she wanted to. She thought of being much smaller, of him being much taller and bigger, and putting her little arms around his neck and peering over his shoulders. She had known how to do it once; she could figure it out again. She had time.
“Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then let fall
Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ -William Shakespeare, King Lear