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Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

Present Day

If Mariano were to rank all the Madrigals by how scary they were, it would go something like this:

12. Dolores. 

Dolores was divine and never inspired him to feel anything except joy and love and variations thereof.

11. Mirabel. 

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. 

5. Félix. 

He wasn't actually scary at all, but the father of one's girlfriend is scary by default. 

4. Alma. 

Alma was the queen of the Encanto. That was good, because that made Dolores a princess. However, it was also intimidating. 

3. Bruno. 

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. 

2. Isabela. 

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. 

1. Pepa. 

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.

Chapter Text

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 guilily 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."

Chapter Text

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 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!”

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.

Chapter Text

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. 

Chapter Text

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 ~ 

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." 

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

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. 

Chapter Text

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 with Mirabel saying what they both knew, 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."

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

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 rather 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 curiousity 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 understood that part. 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.”

Chapter Text

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’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.

The Judgement of God 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."

"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-DeBlanc. 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 respledent 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 entire 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.

Chapter Text

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.