Chapter Text
“Camilo!”
“Dolores!”
The wind fights Dolores with every dirty trick in the book. It pulls at her skirt and pushes against her with all its might, branches bending and leaves flying towards her. Snow is thrown at her as well, small and harsh flakes that bite into her skin and blind her eyes. The wind is trying to drown out any noise, but Dolores keeps going, one hand raised to shield her face.
“Camilo!” she cries, though she doubts he can hear her. She can barely hear anything now. There’s the howling of the wind, her own frantic breaths, but she’d heard it. She’d hear the whimper just before.
Dolores hugs herself tighter and tries to shake off some of the snow from her dress that’d been meant for a warm spring day. Her feet are cold, shoes soaked through. It feels like standing on needles when she comes to a halt, listening, listening …
There. A choked sob.
Dolores is no longer running. She’s too tired and cold and, most of all, focused to do so. She leads with her ear, moving in the direction where she last heard the cries, all while her eyes scan the surrounding areas.
“Camilo!” she calls, and there it is – a sob halted partway through. He heard her, and that means he heard her through the blizzard.
Dolores looks around, and when she kneels, she hears it – a shuffling movement, fabric against the bark. She squints, spotting the hollowed log to the left of her where the six-year-old has taken shelter. Camilo has managed to push himself deep enough within it to stay out of the snow, hugging his own legs to remain as small as possible.
A desperate exhale leaves Dolores as she crawls towards him. “Oh, Camilo, never do that again!” He’s still close enough for her to touch when she reaches out, fingers closing around his wrist. “Ay, you are so cold. We have to get back –“
“No.” Camilo tears his hand out of her grip, squeezing himself further into the log. His Gift gives away how upset he is; his form keeps shivering, facial features changing with every choked hiccup.
For a second, Dolores wants to pull him out by force and yell at him for causing this; her worry, Mamí’s worry, the blizzard, and the cold. But then she realizes she does not have Luisa’s strength, and screaming hurts her ear, and right now, her hermano is nothing but a heartbroken six-year-old.
The snow seeps through her skirt, stinging her knees when she tries to get herself comfortable in front of his hiding place. “See how sad Mami is?” she says and gestures towards the snow that keeps falling from above. “We have to hurry back home, Milo.”
“I’m sad.”
The admission is so quiet, Dolores can barely hear it.
“Why are you sad?” she asks softly, rubbing her arms to keep some warmth in them. She isn’t going anywhere; she is ready to listen.
Except, Camilo isn’t talking. There’s another sniff, then an angry exhale as he wipes his face with a pale-looking fist.
“You can tell me,” Dolores tries. “Then we fix it and go home. The others are very worried.”
“I can’t say.” It’s a whisper, but at least he is talking. “I’m not allowed to say. And I can’t say the bad things because you will hear if I do, and you will tell mamá.”
“I can keep secrets.” If only they knew how true that is. It’s annoying, sometimes, how people keep doubting her. If she was going to tell on everything she hears, she’d never stop talking. No, Dolores knows when to stay silent, when to keep all the town’s secrets at heart. She is still learning when to speak, though. That’s the hardest part. “I swear.”
For a moment, Camilo is wearing her own anxious face. It frowns, hesitating.
“How about I tell you one of mine?” Dolores says, and Camilo’s eyes, now green, peek up at her. “Then it’s fair.”
Dolores has plenty of secrets to spill. She could tell him how Isabela snores (though their prima will deny this if it’s ever brought up), or how Papá sometimes fakes the pain in his shoulder to get extra food from tía (Camilo will love to hear about this, but it’d also give him bad ideas). She could tell him how Abuela speaks to Abuelo Pedro when she thinks no one else can hear.
But none of those secrets are fair. None of them counts.
They are not hers; she just keeps them.
“I –“ Snowflakes are melting against her skin. Her fingers are trembling, and Dolores puts them near her mouth, warming them with her breath. “I say to people that I never listen in on purpose. Because that’s rude. But I do. Because I want to be friends with Sofia and Dana. And sometimes that’s easier when you know what they like about you. Or don’t like about you. So I listen to them and then I lie.”
Camilo’s face has settled by the time she’d done talking, and there’s even a glimpse of mischievousness in his eyes. “I could find out for you,” he offers. “If you don’t want to lie.”
“If you won’t tell,” Dolores suggests instead, “I won’t get in trouble.”
Her hermano shivers – she can hear the teeth clattering – but he locks eyes with her and nods.
“Will you tell me your secret?” When she offers her hand again, Camilo shakes his head, retreating further into the shadows. “Why you are sad? I won’t tell.”
Even if she cannot see his tears, she can hear his shaky breathing, the way his fingers curl into the fabric of his ruana, the angry sniffles.
“I- I miss tío Bruno,” Camilo mutters, face pressed against his arms. “And I miss Mirabel, and – and I miss you.”
He’s too far away for Dolores to touch. “Mirabel and I aren’t going anywhere,” she says. She doesn’t understand, not truly, but that is not the most important thing – that is to get Camilo to come to her. “And we are both very worried about you and we want you to come home. Get warm. Have dinner.”
A whimper leaves her mouth when Camilo backs further away. She can hardly see him now – just a hint of yellow stands out in the darkness.
“Camilo. Why are you running away from me?”
“Because I’m loud!” he wails. “You say that! Mami says that! Papa and Abuela and Tía all say so!”
“Everyone’s loud to me, Milo,” Dolores says sadly. She shouldn’t have called him that – she knows that, even if it is the truth. “That’s why I go in my room sometimes. It’s not –“
“But I don’t want you to!” he says, loud enough to make her ears act up. “And I don’t want to be loud! I don’t! And I’m not trying to, but I am, and then you go or you tell me to be quiet or Mami tells me or Papá tells me to leave you alone! And I don’t want to! I don’t – And I don’t want Mirabel to stay in the nursery! Because I can’t stay! Even when I want to! And I want – I want to –“
When he runs out of words, he starts to shift, the frustration taking hold of his Gift. He stumbles forward, the log too narrow when he becomes a crying Mirabel, then Mami, then Dolores herself.
“You can’t always get what you want, Camilo.”
“I know that!” Camilo says as Dolores. “But it’s not fair!”
The storm has picked up around them, and a part of Dolores wants to curl up and hide in the log as well. Stay there until it’s all over. Except, this storm isn’t over until she brings Camilo home.
“You are right.”
Another hiccup leaves Camilo’s mouth before a surprised: “I am?”
“Sí.” Dolores lowers her head, staring into the snow that’s gathered in her lap. “It’s not fair. It’s really not fair. And it makes me feel bad too.”
A relieved noise comes from Camilo as he crawls just a bit closer to her, head tilted. Then, with a hiccup, he’s shifted into Agustín and promptly knocks his head against the wood above him. A hysterical giggle escapes Dolores at the sight, and Camilo scowls, glaring, until he too smiles.
“Just like Tío.”
“I didn’t even try to,” Camilo mutters, squinting as he forces himself back into his own body.
“You’re just so good.” That earns Dolores that first small smile from her brother. “I know you practice. And you get better by the day.”
“It’s easy being you. You don’t talk much.”
“I know.” Everything is always so loud, there is no need to add her own voice to the mix without reason. It doesn’t bother her – not when she spends most of her time listening – but Camilo had said he’d missed her, and the ache in Dolores’ chest proves that she is slowly starting to understand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Another tremor goes through Camilo, his teeth giving it away. “I’m sorry I made your ears hurt.”
“It’s not your fault.” Camilo sends her a look, and she winces. “Sometimes it is. But I know you don’t mean to. And I don’t think there are siblings out there who haven’t given each other a headache.”
They both think of Isabela and Mirabel, and Camilo snickers.
“And it feels good, too. I like hearing you laugh and sing and play.” Now Dolores cannot help but smile, because it’s the truth. She has, quite literally, heard all of Camilo’s jokes. She’s laughed at them without him ever knowing she heard. Out of habit, she lowers her voice for her next secret. “Sometimes, the Gifts are just being weird.”
“Like Bruno.”
Habit almost has Dolores correcting him, but out here, Mamá cannot hear. What isn’t heard isn’t known. And Dolores will not tell.
“Yes. Like Bruno.” The name feels weird in her mouth. It’s been a long time. “I miss him too.”
It feels cold inside of her chest whenever she tries to remember Tío Bruno, his face and his whispering. It’s like the snow seeps through her, and it fills the hole the memory of Bruno has left behind inside of her. She can almost imagine it, soft and sad snowflakes falling soundlessly from above – and now she knows how her mami feels.
“Dolores.” A small cold hand has reached out of the log to touch her arm. “You’re not going to leave, right? Because the Gifts are weird. And – and I get loud.”
Their mami carries a sorrow now, one that can never go away no matter how many times Camilo makes her smile and Dolores kisses her forehead. Dolores has lost an uncle, and it hurts, but then she imagines how it must feel to lose an hermano … “Never,” she promises.
Camilo’s sigh of relief doesn’t escape her hearing.
“Do you know what would make me really happy?” Camilo looks up, eyes wide, and Dolores can practically see the thoughts manifest: Smile? Trick for smile? I make smiles. It works like a wonder, every time. There’s a reason Camilo got the Gift he got. “If you could give me a big hug –“
The breath is knocked from her lungs as the toddler lunges for her, and they both fall over, landing in the soft but cold snow.
“We could have a snowball fight,” Camilo says, brain oblivious to the cold at the possibility of a game.
“Or we can go home? I’ll carry you.” By the time Dolores has pushed herself from the snow-covered ground, Camilo is already clinging to her back, his small hands clutching her shoulders. The freezing cold has made her limbs stiff, and Dolores almost stumbles when she straightens her back, taking the first step forward. The added weight, though she appreciates the warmth, doesn’t help. “This was easier when you were younger – Oh.”
She can feel Camilo shrink in her grip, and when she looks over her shoulder, she sees that he’s turned himself a couple of years younger. Their mami would weep at the sight. Despite his loudness, Camilo has always managed to carry a degree of cuteness to get him out of trouble.
A second later, his ruana has grown as well, shielding her back like a cloak all the way down to her ankles.
“Vamo,” Dolores says, mostly to herself. She knows it’s dark by now, but it’s hard to tell. The snow has long since covered the tracks she made on her way here. It’s just white and cold, and Dolores longs for warm weather, for the sun, and for Mami’s smile. A blanket and Tía’s soup. Casita. Home.
They are probably going to need Tía’s soup either way after this, Dolores decides. She won’t voice her concern in front of Camilo, but no one had expected a blizzard. Their mami’s worry, though it comes from love, is not being kind to them at the moment. The most important thing is to get home, but it won’t surprise Dolores if they both bring back a cold as well.
“Can you hear the way home?” Camilo asks her mid-yawn. While her exhaustion does not agree with the extra weight to carry, there’s a comfort in the way he’s pressed against her back like a heavy shawl. “It all looks the same.”
“Of course, I can.” Dolores is not a liar. It’s hard with the screaming wind, but there is no other option than to bring home her hermano, and so she pushes her Gift to its limits. The yelling has been reduced to mere whispers of their names, and they are spread all over the place. Instead, she searches for the town and its familiar noises – the donkeys chewing on hay in the stables, the playful water in the fountain, the ringing of the church bell. “I can always find the Casita. And I can always find you. Whenever you need me.”
“I know,” Camilo sighs into her neck. “But sometimes I don’t want you to find me. Especially when I’m in trouble.”
“Then I think you should stay out of trouble.”
Her feet are numb. It’s better than when they stung, but now she fears falling over. Tightening her grip on Camilo, Dolores marches towards the bell ringing in the distance, calling her home.
This is how to make her Gift useful. She’s found her hermano, and she is going to bring him home safe. The purpose and the weight of it can warm her for now.
She’d wondered, sometimes, why she’d been given what they call a Gift. Camilo isn’t the only one questioning the fairness of it all. It’d made him break today, and Dolores is thankful that he, at least, is young and brave enough to ask the questions out loud.
“Dolores?”
“Sí.”
“I still wish Mirabel was my sister,” Camilo tells her. “But like, you’re my sister too? Then you could be the best big sister and she could be the small one. And we could share my room.”
Dolores doesn’t stop moving forward. She thinks, in some ways, that she understands. They are a familia. Tía has watched over them just as much as their own mami, and Dolores grew up next to Isabela, sharing every step even if Dolores was always one inch behind.
The truth is, when upset, should she even dare to speak, Dolores would feel closer to Isabela than her small hermano. How is she to blame him for favoring Mirabel? She remembers sharing the nursery with Isabela, she remembers being an only child and having no one but her primas.
Dolores is too old to play the games Camilo and Mirabel share together. Camilo is too young to understand the burdens Dolores is beginning to feel. She grew up, and so did he, and through it all, he’s been told to keep it down and to be less noisy and to spare her poor ears. Keep his distance. But she’s the one who closed the door to feel the relief of solitude. Of course, Camilo will run to Mirabel, even though – even though that’s changing as well.
It's time to remember to leave her door open every now and then.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” Camilo’s cold fingers squeeze her. “Well, I did. Back then. But that was just because I was mad because – I don’t want you to feel bad now.”
“So you are not mad now?”
“No.” There’s a second where he thinks about his answer. “I’m hungry.”
Dolores laughs, though it goes unheard by the wind.
“Why did you feel mad?”
“I don’t know. I just think it’s stupid. Tío and your ears and Mirabel not getting a door. It’s so stupid, it made my stomach hurt.”
“Tía can make some extra dinner just for you to fix that.” It wouldn’t. Despite the magic, it could never heal hurt like this. But it doesn’t make Tía’s food less great, and it’d make them feel warm and full, and food is the fastest way to cheer up Camilo either way.
Camilo nods into her neck. “I won’t say Bruno again,” he promises. “Or the other things.”
“I’m glad you told me. It makes things easier, sometimes, when you tell. And you can tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets. And very good at listening.”
“Mhmm.”
“Don’t you fall asleep,” she says, more alarmed than she’d like to sound. “It’s not fair when I have to do all the work.”
“I help,” he insists. “I’m small.”
“Can you stay that way? It’s hard for Mami to stay mad when you look like that.”
It’s a horrible trick to teach him, and Camilo will definitely misuse it in the future, but it might save Dolores today.
There, between the palms, she can see the snow-covered town. It’s a beautiful and rare sight, and through the snow-filled wind, there are lights. Lanterns dance around like stars on the night sky.
“We’re here!” she calls and hopes they can hear her. It’s easy being too silent when you hear better than the rest of the world.
Then:
“Dolores!”
“Camilo!”
“Mamá!” Dolores starts to run and winces when Camilo grabs a hold of her hair to keep his balance. “Mamá! I found him!”
The snow stops falling.
As the white blanket is removed, Dolores finds herself surrounded by her parents that look as ragged as herself; dripping wet by melted snow and panting from their latest sprint.
“Oh! Oh, mis niños.” Mami takes Camilo and presses him against her chest. The sudden lack of weight has Dolores’ legs buckling, but then papá is there, holding on to her and dragging her into a warm embrace.
“Let’s get you inside,” he says, and she can feel the rumble from his voice in her bones. His hands begin to rub her arms. “Get some warmth in you.”
“It’s my fault,” Camilo says as they are rushed into the Casita. He yawns, already comfortable in his mami’s arms. “I was being stupid, and then I ran off because I became even more stupid.”
“Ay, Milo.”
While Mami begins to get Camilo out of his wet clothes, urging him to shift back to his slightly bigger self, Isabela joins the scene with her arms full of blankets. She hands one to Dolores who shakes her head before Isabela can scold Camilo. Her glare is telling enough, and besides, the adults will be sure to lecture him later when he’s properly awake.
Casita lets the fireplace burn warmer than ever before and they are both placed in front of it. Camilo’s head peeks up from a bundle of blankets. “Lores said you had soup,” he says to their tía and yawns again.
“Camilo,” Mami sighs and continues her attempt to dry Dolores’ hair.
Camilo is just about to grin when he is cut off by his own sneeze. Stunned, they all watch as his face changes into Dolores’, then Mirabel’s, then Tía’s. It’s not a pretty sight.
“I’m making soup,” Julieta declares, already lifting the pot.
“Can I have some?” Mirabel asks, joined by Luisa as they check up on their cousins.
“Me too.”
Camilo falls asleep halfway through his bowl. Papá pushes a pillow under his head as he rests in front of the fireplace while Mami has taken place on the floor next to Dolores.
“Never do that again,” she says, kissing her forehead as Dolores leans against her. It’s impossible to feel cold in Mami’s embrace. “Ay, what would I do without you? My storm, and you two out there.” Shaking her head, Mami watches Camilo curl into a ball in his sleep. “The boy will be the end of me.”
“He won’t do it again,” Dolores tells her. Needless to say, Camilo will be the cause of other trouble in the future, but today – today is not something that will be repeated. Today was special. And despite the hurt and the cold and the yelling, it had been necessary as well.
“What did happen?”
“He was upset. I cannot tell you why.” Mami’s gaze is soft, but Dolores just smiles. “It’s a sibling secret. But he is feeling better now.”
“And how about you, mija?”
Dolores hums. She’s home, she’s warm. She found her hermano and heard him in a way she’d never done before. Maybe she hadn’t been listening in the right way. Maybe he hadn’t been just loud enough. Either way, they found each other.
“Remember when he learned to walk, and you said we might have to put bells on him?”
“He’s a handful.” Mami mirrors her smile as she rocks her hija back and forth, kissing her hair again. “Gracias. For helping your old mamá.”
“I’ve had enough blizzards for a while.” Mami freezes behind her, and Dolores can feel the fog starting to gather in the air. “But snow’s fun!” she quickly adds, turning to send her mamá a calming smile. “I promised to play with him tomorrow. Don’t you think it counts as cheating if he turns into Luisa?”
“He’ll do it if we tell him it’s not allowed,” Mami mutters dryly, tightening her embrace. In front of them, Camilo sleeps soundly.
“Yeah. I know.”
There’s a rustling behind the wall. A noise that only Dolores can hear.
She doesn’t tell.
Instead, she squeezes mami’s hand and sends Tío Bruno a quiet thought.
Sometimes, hermanos go missing.
Sometimes, they come back to you. Sometimes, you need to go search for them.
After all, siblinghood can be complicated.