Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mirabel didn’t have to think. Her legs acted on an urge stronger than any she’d felt before. She had to run — to get as far away from the Encanto as possible. Her parents often told her that she was brave, mama especially; but she’d always known it was nonsense.

She was a coward.

Just the thought of catching the disappointment, terror, and pain in Abuela’s eyes again made her want to shrivel into nonexistence. She didn’t want to be there when her family began to truly process the loss of their gifts. Of the miracle. Of Casita. Her family would blame her, surely; and she had enough intelligence to know that every word they’d say would take away whatever self-esteem she’d held on to.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Branches and bushes tore at her skirt. Her arms stung, as countless tiny scratches were made. It didn’t matter. None of it even verged on the agony of her heart breaking. Her eyes were screwed shut, tears gushing down her cheeks.

Her throat felt tight. Her lungs felt small. Her chest burned.

An unseen tree root toppled her. She cried out and thrust her arms wildly ahead. She rolled weightless down a slope, dried leaves and twigs gathering in her dusty hair. At last, she came to a stop. Pain shot through her side, and her left wrist felt strange.

Stupid!

How many times had Mama told her of the dangers of breaking falls with her hands? All of the Madrigal grandchildren had been taught to roll to avoid injuries. She’d failed at even this.

Pathetic whimpers escaped her. It hurt. Every inch of her ached. Opening her eyes revealed a cracked, cloudy sky. Her glasses were now broken. She wanted her parents with her. She needed to get away.

Mirabel forced herself up and glanced at her surroundings.

Trees, thicker and older than she was used to, stretched on in seemingly every direction. She was in a small clearing. Behind her, up a startlingly steep slope, was a giant tear in the mountain; one which hadn’t been there yesterday. A soft gurgling, as of water, thrummed in the air, mingling with the intermittent screeches and clicks of the wildlife.

This was the jungle Abuela had spoken of.

Her foolishness had deprived the Encanto of its protection from the outside world, she realised. Her legs trembled. She’d put everyone she knew in danger.

Then, without thinking, she set off in a sprint. It didn’t matter where she was going. It didn’t matter what was ahead. It didn’t matter how dangerous it was. She deserved whatever awaited her. She let out a choked sob, as she forced her way through brambles. The ground was uneven, and it was all she could do to not fall again.

Unnoticed by Mirabel was the sudden burst of horse-hooves, not far behind her. She sprinted blindly, not seeing where she was going. The forest floor ahead suddenly vanished. It was a craggy cliff; and far below it was the white churn of swift water.

She tried to stop, but she was carrying too much momentum. Her feet were entangled; and the instinctive response to throw her hands before herself took over once more.

Stomach lurching, she prepared herself for the fall, but it never came. A forceful yank on her blouse stopped all of her movement. The fabric ripped at her shoulder and on her sleeves.

“Easy, girl!”

The speaker’s voice was husky, strangely-coarse.

Mirabel couldn’t move, so powerful was the terror overwhelming her. From here, the view to the river was clear. It wouldn’t have been a direct drop. Her skull would have been torn open by any of the countless sharp rocks lying before the water.

Strong arms lifted her onto the back of a horse with ease. The speaker’s face wasn’t visible. Nor did he immediately speak again. A sturdy frame. Broad shoulders. Very long sable hair, with just the suggestion of curls. Jet black clothes.

“Wh— Wh— Wh…” Mirabel couldn’t think or move. The shivers surging up and down her small body were all she could feel.

“Hold on,” the man said.

Mirabel’s hands encircled his waist, her injured wrist ignored. It was agony, but at the moment, she didn't care. The man’s steady, comforting breaths halted, momentarily. Then — “Good girl.” He lightly tugged on the reins; and at the soft clicks of his tongue, the horse turned round and broke into an easy jog. The beast traversed the rough, bumpy terrain effortlessly, leaping over dense bushes and between trees. They were heading on a gradual, downward course.

Not long afterwards, the horse stopped at a riverbank. It had to be the one into which she’d nearly fallen, Mirabel guessed; but it flowed at a much slower speed here. It was pleasant, but too many emotions swirled in her mind for her to enjoy it.

She dismounted and barely managed to not fall.

The worst of her terror had faded. Now she was in strange place, with a strange man, completely defenceless. No-one in her family really talked about what the outside world was like; most didn’t know after all. All Abuela had told them was that it was dangerous and filled with evil men.

He’d saved her life, it was true; but who was he? And what was he doing here? She should never have allowed him to take her anywhere. She was so foolish…

Hugging her injured wrist, she put as much distance between herself and the stranger as possible. He paid her no mind, at least for the moment. He’d leapt to the ground and was muttering a few words to the dark horse. On the animal’s sides were many bags. He removed the heaviest of them, slung it easily across his shoulder, and let the tired-looking creature wander towards the water.

Black hair almost completely shrouded the man’s face. He sighed and tussled the black muddle, with little success. At least now, Mirabel could see more of his face. “You always get hurt,” he said, sadly.

Mirabel didn’t know how to respond to that. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, kid.” His voice still possessed that strange cracky quality, but it was slowly improving. He walked towards her; but when she moved further away from him, he stopped. “Right. I forgot. I won’t touch you, I promise.”

Standing a comfortable distance away, Mirabel could discern his features more clearly. His skin was tan and unwrinkled. He looked young, probably younger than he truly was. He towered over her and, almost certainly, the rest of her family.

What made Mirabel gasp were his eyes: both were discoloured, though seemingly for different reasons. One was a lush green, with tiny slivers of gold that seemed to spark. The other was almost entirely grey, and across the skin were three faded claw marks. There was a tightness to the skin there; a heaviness. “Who… are you?” she managed.

“A friend of the family.” He smiled at her; and Mirabel was stunned by how open and guileless it was. It reminded her, strangely, of Antonio. Remembering her littlest sobrino sent a pang of guilt and longing into her heart. She missed him already.

He went on, after a moment: “Do you know where we are, Mirabel?”

“How— how do you know my name?”

“How could I forget it? I was there the day you were born.” His eyes became cloudy, and he laughed softly at some distant memory. Then, he seemed to return to the present. “The miracle was born here, fifty years ago.”

With a gasp, Mirabel cast a glance about her surroundings. That this peaceful place could have been the scene of such heartbreak was almost unbelievable. There were no clues of that old bloodshed, no matter how hard she looked. No weapons. She swallowed. No human remains… Yet she believed this man, for some inexplicable reason.

“I ruined everything… I promise I just wanted to help.” Mirabel’s eyes welled again; and she hiccuped, as a thousand words rushed through her throat. “I thought that—”

“You could make the family proud,” the stranger finished.

The depth of sadness in his tone unleashed a torrent of tears from Mirabel’s eyes. Somehow, this stranger understood her, better than her own parents did. Mirabel rubbed her eyes wildly, not caring when her glasses fell into the water. She didn’t want to cry. How useless was she?

“Your family is searching for you, Mirabel,” he said.

“I can’t—” Mirabel started.

“Your Abuela is, too.”

Here, she managed a weak scoff. “She must hate me.”

“She—” He sighed, annoyance slipping into his manner. “She is stubborn, difficult, and sometimes foolish; but she isn’t hateful.”

Defences of her Abuela surfaced in Mirabel’s mind, but she didn’t have the energy to use them. She was tired; so horribly tired. When did she sleep last? “I destroyed the miracle.”

“No. She did.”

Mirabel looked at him, suddenly angry. “How… how dare you—”

He raised his arms conciliatorily. “Even if it was your fault — and it absolutely wasn’t — she won’t blame you for what happened. Pedro, the man whose sacrifice gave our family our gifts, wouldn’t.”

Our family? Mirabel wondered. “How would you know?”

“Because decent people don’t pin the blame on children. And though I didn't know him, I’d like to believe my father was a decent man.” His lips twitched into a sad smile. He offered his hand to her. “Juli is panicking right now. The family is terrified. You’re hurt. Please let me take you to them, Mirabel.”

But none of his words penetrated Mirabel’s shock. All of what the stranger had said replayed in her mind; and in a flash, she understood with complete certainty to whom she was speaking: Bruno Madrigal.

It’d been fifteen years since he disappeared without a trace. Her birthdays had always been tinged with grief. Her mama and tia could never truly celebrate the occasion, though they tried; and even before her disastrous gift ceremony, Abuela had never truly smiled at her on those days. And here he was.

“Hey, kid.”

Chapter Text

Countless questions churned in the forefront of Mirabel’s mind. Bruno seemed to be in a hurry, however; and it was just as well. Once the adrenaline began petering out, the pain throughout her body sharpened considerably. She felt a wetness dribble down her legs. Her forearms were riddled with cuts, mostly shallow ones; but they stung nonetheless. She was not unused to pain. It wasn't unusual for her to return home with a few scrapes and bruises, which she would quietly heal with her mama's food. How embarrassing was it that she — supposedly a Madrigal — couldn't even protect herself?

“I’m not a healer,” Bruno said, as he attached the heavy bag onto his horse. “Besides, with Julieta so near, I don’t want to meddle with your injuries.”

“They aren’t too bad.”

“I can respect a convincing lie, Mirabel. That was just insulting.”

Mirabel was suspicious of him. In her entire life, she’d only encountered the likeness of Bruno in three places: the mural in town; the family tree in the now-ruined dining room; and on the dark, splintered door to Bruno’s room. She would admit she hadn’t paid her missing tio’s image much attention, on purpose. The topic of Abuela’s youngest was off-limits. Not even Camilo was tactless enough to broach it.

The broken vision plate she’d found of herself in his cave hadn’t exactly improved her image of him.

There were hundreds of people in town, though. Invariably, by simply living amongst them, snatches of opinions and rumours were caught by the family. These wild tales were all the Encanto’s youngest generation really had to go on, the Madrigal grandchildren included.

Bruno Madrigal was a brujo, plain and simple. Unlike the gifts of his siblings, his foresight was the work of the devil. Unholy voices whispered in his ear what he should do. He was vindictive, cruel, and unforgiving. Loved ones died untimely deaths. Pregnancies were lost. Wives disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.

Every misfortune imaginable befell those unfortunate enough to attract his attention.

His disappearance, fifteen years ago, was fortunate for the Encanto, in the town’s eyes. Nobody dared to say it out loud, what with Dolores always potentially listening. They didn’t know what Abuela’s feelings toward the seer were. As long as the Madrigals didn’t expect him to be mourned or missed, the people didn’t care.

No person had left the Encanto in fifty years. And if the brujo’s remains hadn’t been found within Casita or elsewhere in the valley, what possible conclusion could one arrive at other than that he was somehow dead?

There had been no funeral for her tio. No wake. No grave.

She’d been surprised by how her family had deprived the man of even the most basic of ceremonies. Whatever he’d been, whatever he’d done, surely he deserved that. Intermittently, another thought had tormented her: if she was to die — as a useless, gift-less, pathetic excuse of a Madrigal — would she be treated the same way? She’d guessed, on really bad days, that her fate would be worse. At least Bruno had had a gift. She was nothing.

Presently, Bruno mounted his steed, turned it to face the split mountain, and helped Mirabel up. She was careful not to use her left hand. She had to pick one question to ask. “What was it like?” she asked, finally. “Out there, I mean.”

“It was a mixed bag, honestly. Every place is different to and the same as every other place.” Bruno shot a wink over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

She whispered, weakly: “I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

“Really?”

“Are you kidding? I’m completely panicking on the inside. I’m just better at hiding it. Have you ever been throttled by Pepa?”

To her surprise, Mirabel giggled. “No, but I’ve seen tia Pepa furious before. One of the boys at school bullied Camilo for trying makeup, a few years ago. I thought the sky was about to split in two.”

Bruno whistled softly. “Go, Pepa. It would be like that now, if she had her powers. She’ll find a way to blame herself for your going missing.” He sighed.

Mirabel’s grief settled into an unchanging gloominess. Bruno had tried to be nice, to make her feel better. But she couldn’t shake off the idea that their trek into town would only lead to pain. Who would miss her now, other than perhaps her parents and Luisa?

“You can do this, kid. It won’t be as bad as you’re expecting,” Bruno said.

“Is that based on one of your visions?” Mirabel perked up abruptly. “Did you see it before…”

“No. I’m guessing you’re an over-thinker like me. It runs in the family, I think.” Bruno cleared his throat. “Let’s get you back to the family.”

Mirabel laid a steadying hand on Bruno’s strong shoulder and held on as the horse jogged up rough, sloping dirt. Her heart was in her throat. She would accept any of Abuela’s punishments, however severe, so long as her family didn’t hate her. That, she wouldn’t be able to bear.

Juancho seemed to be first to notice Mirabel’s return. She heard an argument break out amongst the three children, but the words jumbled together incomprehensibly. Bruno was urging their horse to fly even faster, as the remains of Casita drew closer.

Her tio had lowered his head, silky black hair curtaining his face.

Mirabel didn’t have time to think about it; for at that moment, she heard the desperate scream of her mama: “Mirabel?” Mirabel’s chest twinged. Her mother’s voice was ragged and dripping with fear. It was early in the morning, but it seemed no-one was asleep. Distant shouts of her name could be heard, now that Mirabel paid attention.

The blurry shape of Julieta rushed out of the ruins of Casita, followed closed by the stumbling blob of Agustin. Her sight was terrible without her glasses. Their beast halted a short distance from Mirabel’s parents — a gap which was crossed in the blink of an eye.

Bruno dismounted the horse, away from his weeping sister.

Mirabel was half-helped, half-dragged down. Arms wrapped her body, so tightly that she couldn’t even squirm. She heard her parents crying uncontrollably. Her papa’s entire body shook. Julieta stumbled over her words, before giving up and just saying: “I was so scared…”

That her disappearance had caused anyone such pain stunned Mirabel. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d—” She bit down the rest of that sentence and allowed her parents’ love to envelope her. Being held and jostled like this was agonising. Her injured wrist felt as if it was on fire. Was it broken? She’d always been proud of how no bone of hers had been broken before. She could never tell them to let go of her, though. It was unlikely she’d ever have this again.

“Her wrist.”

Julieta set her bleary on Mirabel’s companion, for the first time. “Did… you find her, sir? We could never begin to thank—”

“Her wrist is sprained.” Bruno was rummaging through one of the bags the horse carried, his head bent. “And that’s only one of her problems.”

Immediately, Julieta and Agustin released their daughter. The sudden absence of warmth was upsetting, but Mirabel was relieved that the pain gradually faded. Her parents looked guilty. She hated that they were feeling that way. They’d done nothing wrong.

Only now did Mirabel’s parents seemingly notice the state of their daughter: the angry cuts crisscrossing Mirabel’s arms; the dark stains on Mirabel’s blouse and her ripped shoes; the small bruises developing on Mirabel’s face; the way Mirabel gingerly held her wrist. Agustin looked horrified.

Forty-five years of experience as a healer made Julieta take action. With a tight expression, she gave Mirabel a quick once over. Mirabel avoided her eyes.

Loud, recognisable voices erupted from town. “Is that her? Is Mirabel really back? Where is she?” They were increasing in volume, as the speakers made for them.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Mirabel noted that Bruno had drawn his horse to the side, away from the path. The family was rushing towards what had been Casita. It took all of Mirabel’s will power to not run away. She had to face them. Deep breaths. She could do this.

“Gus!” Bruno called.

Agustin turned and fumbled with a small, light package Bruno had thrown to him. He squinted at it, then said: “Elastic bandages?”

“I have more, if you need them,” Bruno said, his face still hidden. “They’re very useful.” The bags on his horses dropped to the ground, one by one. Was he hiding from her mama?

An intense panic was overcoming Mirabel. Too much was happening at once. She could make out her family from the colours of their clothes, if not their faces.

Isabela and Luisa were at the very front. Her relationship with her hermanas had been on the mend, until their home had fallen. Just behind them were tia Pepa and Dolores. Then, a larger group was progressing at a slower pace; Abuela, Antonio, and the rest were likely amongst them. She couldn’t breathe.

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t do this.

“Mi vida, are you alright? Tell me what’s wrong.” Julieta’s worried face emerged in front of Mirabel’s vision.

She was a coward, after all. “Mama,” she whispered; “I, I can’t. I’m too tired; and I—” And it wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t slept in at least forty-eight hours. The realisation made her eyes droop.

Julieta nodded in understanding. “Of course. I need a space to look at you properly in; and you need rest.” She glanced round, clearly unsure of where to go. Her papa looked determined.

“People in town will happily help you. Take my horse.” Bruno handed the reins of the now-unencumbered beast to Agustin, turned round swiftly, and marched over to his bags.

Yep, he was definitely hiding from them, Mirabel thought.

As Julieta helped her upon the cooperating horse, Agustin intercepted the approaching family. He assured them that Mirabel was back but needed care and rest. It was embarrassing to have to be babied by her parents. Her cheeks felt hot. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

Bruno was crouching on the ground, with his back turned towards them. Maybe she’d inherited her cowardice from him. Without her spectacles, Mirabel couldn’t tell for sure; but he seemed to be playing with something small, brown, and fuzzy. A… rat? She shivered in disgust. No, that made no sense. It had to be something else.

A solution to the problem struck her. “He saved me. Please, if you have any questions, ask him them.” She raised her voice loud enough that her hermanas would catch it.

Bruno’s head spun round, his long hair whirling. “What?”

“I must thank him later,” Julieta said, determinedly; “for bringing you back to me.”

I have to thank him, too, Mirabel thought. And apologise.

Chapter Text

Señora Valentina was glad to let Mirabel and Julieta use her small, cozy home. With her mama’s help, Mirabel slipped out of her ruined clothes, trying her best to ignore the uncomfortable tugging sensation at her wounds when she moved. It was as if her skin was slowly but surely being pulled apart. Spots danced in her vision, so intense was the pain in her wrist. She swayed, a little.

She avoided looking at the mound of cloth nearby. Weeks and weeks of work lay discarded, just like that. She stood there, in her underclothes, with her body smeared in cuts.

The skin round Julieta’s eyes was tight and crinkled, as she took a better look of her daughter’s wounds. Her fingers twitched, intermittently; and she looked about, as if unsure of what to do. “I need to see what the señora has that I can use. Just stay here, mi vida, please.”

Mirabel nodded, with her eyes fixed down. For the last quarter-hour, her only glimpses of her mama had been nervous, unsure glances she’d stolen. Not once had her mama seemed disappointed in her, even after her failed gift ceremony and pathetic attempts to help out. Maybe if Mirabel never really saw Julieta’s face, she would be spared that pain.

Julieta seemed hesitant to leave Mirabel alone, even in the same house; her feet shuffled. Then, with a gentle squeeze of Mirabel’s shoulder, she left.

Only now did it strike Mirabel that the rest of the family could be injured. Hadn’t Tia Pepa called on her mama, just before she’d run away? She felt great guilt. How selfish was she? She wasn’t in horrible shape — not really. She’d suffered similarly from the multifarious scrapes of her childhood. On some days, she’d had to run far beyond the edge of town to the start of the jungle, before her bullies gave up.

If Dolores had ever heard any of this, then she didn’t make it known to Mirabel. True, Mirabel made sure to not scream for help. It was humiliating to be the only Madrigal who needed protection; and if it was difficult just for her to deal with it, then how embarrassing would it be for Abuela?

Besides, Dolores heard everything; so how hadn’t she heard this? Mirabel had surmised that her prima simply didn’t care; that the family wouldn’t care.

Julieta returned to the room, now carrying clean towels, a fresh nightgown, and what appeared to be a first-aid kit. “We… should go to the bathroom, Mira. I need to clean you up, to prevent an infection. Then you can get some rest.”

Very easy access to instant cures, in the form of her mama’s food, had left Mirabel clueless on what regular healing was like. She’d come across some of Julieta’s medical books, a few times. Aside from her and Camilo’s macabre desire to look at the more grisly illustrations, however, she hadn’t paid them much attention.

Cleaning the wounds in Señora Valentina’s bathroom came first. Most of her injuries weren’t deep, the ones on her torso and legs especially. They’d been shielded from the dirt by her clothes. Her arms were another story. She winced as Julieta gently ran warm water over them, but gradually it became pleasant, even comfortable. She allowed herself to relax.

Then the sight of the tweezers, sterilised with rubbing alcohol, almost made her faint. She let out embarrassing squeals and half-shouts, as stubborn debris was pulled out. She wept, biting back her screams.

“I’m so sorry, Mira,” her mama cooed. “You’re so incredibly brave — do you know that? Almost done. Just one minute.”

Afterwards came the drying. Julieta patted her daughter’s skin dry, very gently, before taking the first-aid kit. It was a large but light box of bright orange, filled with bandages, dressings, and other tools that Mirabel had never seen before.

“What… is all of this?” Julieta asked. She lifted what appeared to be long cylinder, which had numbers on it, a silver-coloured ball at the bottom, and a wire attached to both a blue strap and an air valve. There was also a device with a disc-shaped metal, connected to earpieces by two tubes.

“Where did you get it, Mama?” Mirabel asked.

“Your papa apparently sent it here with some children from town.” Julieta frowned. “I’ve never seen much of this.”

An explanation emerged in Mirabel’s mind: Bruno. He’d been outside of the Encanto, so it stood to reason it was from him. She wondered what was happening at Casita’s remains.

Shaking her head, Julieta examined the clean bandages and dressings, then nodded. “At least I know what these are.” To her voice was an edge that Mirabel hadn’t heard before.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“What for, mi amor?”

Mirabel’s throat was dry. “If I just hadn’t tried so hard and listened to Abuela and Isa and you, then everyone’d still have their—”

“No.” Julieta’s voice was sharp. She seemed shocked at her own outburst, before adding, with feeling: “None of this was your fault, Mirabel. It should have never gotten that far. Never. Going after the candle the way you did, Mira — that was madness! And when you were missing, I thought that I’d lost you the way I lost my brother. That I’d failed you, too…” She lifted Mirabel’s unhurt hand to her lips and gave it a soft kiss. Her chest heaved; her breaths were ragged.

A moment passed, with mother and child quietly holding each other’s hands. Mirabel’s guilt remained, but at least now, she was certain her mama didn’t hate her, even though she knew she deserved it.

First, Mirabel’s wrist was taken care of. The instructions laid out how they were used; and following a painful first attempt, Julieta was able to wrap it round the sprained wrist properly. “Ay, you’re just like your papa,” Julieta admonished, upon hearing Mirabel’s sheepish explanation of how she’d gotten hurt.

The pain in her hand lessened almost immediately.

Mirabel allowed Julieta to begin dressing her wounds, now seated on the comfortable bed. She swung her feet lightly, to calm herself down. A worry had begun weighing on her, over the last few minutes. She just didn’t know how to broach the topic.

“Is Señora Valentina waiting outside?” she asked. “I don’t want to kick her out of her own bedroom.”

“Even now, you’re worried about others.” Julieta sighed. “Don’t worry about that, mi vida. She wasn’t there when I went out; but I’m sure she’ll be happy to let you rest here for as long as you need.”

Some sort of a commotion was sure to be caused by Bruno’s return, Mirabel knew. That was where the señora — an inveterate gossip, just like Mariano’s grandmother — likely was.

“You mentioned Bruno just now.”

Julieta’s hands froze, before restarting their work at a more gradual pace. “I did?”

Mirabel nodded, swallowing. “Is he dangerous? Will he hurt people? The family?” The question she wished to ask was: had she put her family in danger, again, by allowing Bruno back into town?

“How could you even—” Julieta’s breath hitched. Then she went on in a pained voice: “No, that’s not fair. I can’t blame you for not knowing anything about Bruno. Your tio; that’s what he was to you children.” Her expression was dreamy, but it was tinged with grief. “He would never hurt anyone, Mira; even when they deserved it. You… deserve to know more about him. I’ll change that now. But why do you ask, all of a sudden?”

The grief that had clung to Julieta, for as long as Mirabel could remember, was now more than Mirabel could bear to watch. She could lighten it, maybe; she had to. “It was him!” she blurted. “Bruno brought me back!”

Countless emotions flitted across Julieta’s face. She gave a confused half-smile; and brokenly, she whispered: “What?”

“That large, hairy man on the horse. He said he was Bruno.” Mirabel had been certain of his identity, just moments ago; but the confusion and devastation on her mama’s face were making her second-guess herself. “You don’t believe me…”

Julieta’s eyes bulged, at that. “No, no, Mira! But Bruno — he can’t be here.” Her jaw worked, quietly. “We found his…” There was hope in her voice, all of a sudden. “Are you sure?”

Mirabel nodded, after a moment. Julieta gasped; and in the blink of an eye, she was on her feet and making to open the window. Then, perhaps realising Mirabel’s state of undress, she stopped and dithered. She almost bounced on her feet, her mouth open.

In different circumstances, Mirabel would have found this adorable. “You should go see him, mama,” she said.

That made up Julieta’s mind for her, apparently. “Pepa is with him,” she said, quickly; and she knelt beside Mirabel to continue her work. “Your tio Felix and Papa, too. He, he should be fine. He will be fine. My hermano.” A shiver ran through Julieta. She smiled, though she seemed on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you caught the cracks in Casita, Mira,” she went on, sounding ashamed. “And I’m so, so sorry I didn’t stand up for you in front of Abuela.”

“You listened—”

“No!” Julieta’s lips wobbled. “You don’t understand, Mira. I made a promise, fifteen years ago, when I thought my hermano was gone, that I would never lose anyone again. Do you know how terrified I was when the tower collapsed on you — when you were gone? It felt like I couldn’t breathe. And I knew I had failed.”

Mirabel, horrified at how she’d made Julieta feel, sniffled and stroked her mama’s hair, soothingly. She hadn’t imagined her leaving would cause the entire family such suffering put together, let alone her mama alone. How could Julieta love her so much? Why would anybody?

“Things won’t be the same again, Mirabel, I promise,” Julieta said, desperately. “For you and Bruno. I’ll make sure of it, no matter what it takes. We can stay elsewhere in town, if you need that.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how I have both of you back, but I just can’t bear to lose you again.” Julieta’s head sank into Mirabel’s lap. “It would break me.”

Tucking a strand of Julieta’s hair behind an ear, Mirabel said, weakly: “I won’t, mama. I promise.” And she knew that, even if the rest of the family despised her and never forgave her, she couldn’t leave.

They remained there, unmoving, for what felt like hours. “You’ll give yourself a neck-ache if you stay like that, mama,” Mirabel scolded.

A soft giggle came from Julieta. She straightened, patted her hair back, and glanced at her daughter with nothing short of wonder. “Mi pequeño milagro.”

Although Mirabel felt undeserving of the praise, she couldn’t suppress the rush of blood to her cheeks. “Mama!”

“Tell me what happened, Mira. Don’t miss a detail.”

Mirabel’s account of what happened didn’t take very long. As she spoke, however, a heavy tiredness suffused her body; she’d staved rest off for too long. She didn’t leave out anything, except perhaps just how tall and rocky that cliff had been. The last thing she wanted to do was make her mama more anxious. 


“That was Bruno’s horse? That was him?” Julieta muttered, in clear disbelief. “When we were children, there wasn’t a horse in the valley that didn’t try its hardest to buck him right off.” She noticed Mirabel’s expression. “No, no, I believe you, Mirabel. It’s just… strange.”

“I wasn’t sure it was him, either,” Mirabel admitted. “Is there some sort of joke that everyone else in the family but me knows?”

“What do you mean?”

“In all of the pictures of him — the one in town, the carving on his door, and the one in the dining hall — he’s always small and thin! Smaller and thinner than you and Tia Pepa, I thought!” Mirabel waved her good hand madly through the air. “But he’s tall! And heavy! And muscly!"

Julieta laughed, an easy laugh.

“And no-one thought to include the scars on his face? They’re pretty conspicuous!”

All the mirth dissipated from Julieta. “What scars?”

Mirabel gestured towards her right eye, suddenly uncertain. “The ones over the grey, cloudy eye. It’s as if something clawed at him.” She hadn’t mentioned that, probably because she’d assumed it was merely one of many discrepancies between depictions of Bruno Madrigal and the man himself.

“Clawed? Dios mio.” Julieta looked alarmed. “That… Did he lose an eye? Is my poor hermano blind? What else?”

“I don’t know, Mama.”

“The other eye — of what colour is it?”

“Green, with little gold spots, I think,” Mirabel said. It’d been quite pretty.

Julieta’s shoulders unwound, a little. “What else, Mira? Was he hurt elsewhere? How didn’t I recognise him when he was right in front of me?”

“In your defence, he was definitely avoiding you.” When Julieta looked heartbroken, Mirabel cursed herself and went on: “He was scared of Tia Pepa! Actually, I think he was scared of everyone.”

A fond smile curved Julieta’s lips. “Ay, Brunito. That sounds right.”

“He’s just not what I expected…” Mirabel said, fighting back a yawn.

The man she’d talked to didn’t seem capable of what everyone accused him of. Mirabel was aware that looks meant nothing with regard to someone’s character; but now with her mama’s endorsement of him, she found herself unable to shake off a thought: Bruno seemed, in many respects, like a child.

Julieta’s eyes darkened. “He was the happiest child in the world, for a long, long time. Then the gifts took their toll on us. Him, Pepa, and me; but he suffered the most. Whatever he told people wasn’t right. Abuela… thought he wasn’t trying hard enough; that, with enough effort, he could will away the pain and heartbreak that he saw. We begged him to stop giving people visions. Abuela told him to give more.”

Mirabel leaned in. “And?”

“He did his duty, as always. And Abuela didn’t understand.” Julieta arose, with a sigh. “But things will change now. I promise you that, mi amor. Do you believe me?”

Too tired to think, Mirabel nodded and let Julieta help her into the borrowed nightgown.

Not only was Señora Valentina taller than Mirabel, but she was at least eighty pounds heavier than the girl, too. It didn’t so much clothe Mirabel as float somewhere around her. But it was clean and warm; and the looseness did prevent it from rubbing against her bandages.

Julieta eased Mirabel into bed, kissed her daughter’s forehead, and stood up, looking uncertain.

“I’m fine, mama,” Mirabel assured her, yawning. “Go see your brother.”

Julieta’s smile was one of hope. “Thank you, Mirabel.”

Chapter Text

It seemed just moments had passed before Mirabel next opened her eyes.

She knew something was wrong. Her body felt weightless and was… translucent? She yelped and staggered back, her borrowed nightgown wafting round her. Her bare feet seemed to be planted firmly on the ground, though she couldn’t feel the ground beneath it. It made her feel unbalanced, unstable, slightly dizzy.

Most strange of all, however, was her location. She recognised it immediately. The problem, she knew, was that it didn’t exist anymore. She’d seen to that yesterday, hadn’t she?

The kitchen in Casita.

Lightning cracked across the cloudy sky, followed soon by the heavy drums of thunder. A strong, cool breeze drifted through the open window. Tia Pepa was apparently very anxious.

An old table had been set up in the middle. Three squat chairs, set up on stacks of old books, were around it. Isabela, Dolores, and Luisa occupied them. Mirabel’s mouth dropped. The girls were too small, too young, and far too adorable.

Isabela had her hair in pigtails and, already, the manner of a princess. Dolores’s usual red bow was missing from her head; instead, her pretty, curly hair fanned out round her head, like a lion’s mane. Based on her many perusals of the family’s photo albums, Mirabel guessed they were about seven or eight.

Luisa’s appearance confirmed this. Stubby legs dangled off of her seat. They were nowhere near the tiled floor. This was definitely before her gift ceremony.

Mirabel squealed, unable to control herself. No-one noticed her; not even Dolores heard her. She waved a hand in front of Isabela’s face, frowning; but her eldest sister gazed through it, without snapping at her.

Was this a dream? Mirabel wondered, absently wagging her bandaged hand. She stared at it, suddenly. It didn’t hurt to move it.

Luisa was blowing raspberries, looking bored; then she tipped her chair back.

“Hrngh!”

Unnoticed by Mirabel was Bruno, who’d been at the counter. He scrambled for Luisa, just as the stack of books underneath her slipped. Luisa let out an excited cry. Bruno dove behind her and managed to catch the seat, just in time. A joyous laugh bubbled out of Luisa.

“Casita would have caught her, Tio,” Dolores said. “Right, Casita?”

In answer, Casita flapped the tiles under Bruno’s feet, nudging him forwards.

Bruno awkwardly got up and set Luisa on her feet. “Right, right.” Both of his eyes were that beautiful green, and golden flecks flashed each time he blinked.

Mirabel glared at him with some suspicion. He wasn’t exactly intimidating. Sure, he was large and hefty, obviously a strong man; but he was wearing a green apron. Mirabel found it hard to imagine anyone in an apron being capable of evil.

“I would have caught her, too,” Isabela said, proudly. Vines crawled up Bruno’s legs, eliciting a yelp from him. They receded.

“I… right. You would have, eh?” Bruno clutched at his arms, looking sheepish. Then he seemed to remember who the adult in the room was. Standing upright, he put his hands on his hips and said, in the utter mocker of a stern voice: “Luisa, what did I tell you about moving very much?”

Luisa’s face scrunched up. “To do it?”

“No, that doesn’t sound like me at all.” Bruno knelt down to the collapsed stack of books. “These aren’t very stable, you know. I had to, pfft, use whatever I could find. Pepa’s erot— romance books. Juli’s old — ancient, really — medical books. Just look at the binding on these! Horrible! And my journals; ah, forget I said that. I'm just rambling, as Ma— as your Abuela always says.” His cheeks flushed. "Ignore whatever I say; it's not important. Unless it's me warning you that something is dangerous. Then, er, you should listen to me. Definitely."

Isabela, Dolores, and Luisa stared at him. Mirabel wondered if he was drunk, so choppy was his speech. It hadn't been like this when he'd spoken to her. Dolores said: “If you keep doing it, Luisa, Tio Bruno will get very angry with you.”

“He will?” Luisa sounded horrified. “You will?”

Dolores and Isabela gave Bruno meaningful nods. Mirabel grimaced; this wouldn’t end well.

“Oh? Yes, yes! Very, very angry with you, sobrina,” Bruno said, nodding vigorously.

Mirabel had witnessed many of Luisa’s outbursts, especially over the last few days. They came suddenly and in full force.

Young Luisa’s lower lip wobbled. The next moment, she was wailing and apologising, in an almost-incomprehensible jumble of words. Bruno’s resolve seemingly vanished. He scooped her up and rocked her back and forth, repeatedly muttering: “Sana sana colita de rana. Lo siento, princesa. I’m not angry.”

Mirabel shot a glance at Isabela and Dolores, who at least had the decency to look guilty.

After Luisa’s sobs weakened into a low sniffling, Bruno let her down. He wiped the tears off of her cheeks with his sleeves. “Um. It was my fault, really. I just couldn’t find a shorter table. Or taller chairs — that would’ve worked, too. Actually…” He hummed, lowly. “Can you stay here, sobrina, for a minute?”

Luisa nodded.

A blindingly bright smile curved Bruno’s lips. “Watch over her,” he told Isabela and Dolores, then stopped. “No, wait, you two are seven. That’s… not good. Casita, make sure they don’t, you know…” He rushed out of the kitchen, with a curious Mirabel chasing him.

But just as Mirabel stepped out into the dining room, her surroundings whirled; and her body felt as if it was being yanked up. She blinked, only to find herself in a completely different part of the house: Bruno’s vision chamber. It was better maintained than the one she’d destroyed. There weren’t as many cracks, cobwebs, or rats. She wondered, as she glanced round, if she could puke in this state.

“And today’s my Miguel’s birthday,” a heavily pregnant woman was saying. “I’d like to tell him he’s having a boy, you know. It’d make him so, so happy.” Heavy, dark bags were under her eyes. She seemed nervous, almost afraid.

At first, Mirabel didn’t recognise the short boy, dressed in an overlarge green ruana, pouring sand in a circle. Why was he in Bruno’s vision chamber? A flash of gold and green. Mirabel gasped.

“Did Elena enjoy her party, Señora?” Bruno asked and diligently set his pouch of sand down. He must have been eight, maybe nine

“Oh, yes, she did!” the woman said, happily. “She couldn’t have more than a nibble of the cake, but as you told me: she definitely enjoyed it! Her first birthday! Why didn’t you come, Bruno?”

Bruno scratched his head sheepishly. “Lo siento. Mama told me I had to study, Señora. I gave visions the whole day!” He took a seat facing the woman, clearly proud of himself.

“Ay, you’re only eight! You know, I can’t catch my daughters for a second to have them do their chores; and my oldest is thirteen! You should have more fun! All three of you kids!”

“Maybe,” was all Bruno said. “Mama says I’m allowed to give visions alone now. She has to spend her time with Pepa in the fields, and I promised her I could do it.” A pile of dried leaves was at the centre of four smaller islands of sand and leaves. He lit the leaves afire, stretched his arms, then offered his hands to the woman, who immediately grasped them.

“A boy, please. Show me a boy.” The woman’s voice was filled with hope, maybe desperation.

Bruno hesitated. “I— I’ll try my best!”

Mirabel realised what was happening, far later than she should’ve: Bruno was about to have a vision.

Bruno’s irises burst with an iridescent green glow. Mirabel and the señora breathed in sharply, as a large dome of sand encompassed them. It was a frightening display, especially from someone so young. Inscrutable images flitted across the sand dome, before clearer images began to materialise. Mirabel squinted, leaning forwards.

Suddenly, Bruno emitted a loud scream, kicked the pile of smouldering leaves away, and let go of the woman’s hands. A glowing, green plate dropped to the ground with a soft thud.

The sight of that plate made Mirabel’s blood boil. She couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly request a vision from the brujo.

“What’s wrong?” the señora asked, wide-eyed. “Bruno?”

Bruno hugged his knees to his chest, his gaze dead. Trembles coursed through his little body.

“Is it another girl?” the señora asked; and Mirabel didn’t know why such fear was in her voice. “It’s alright. I’m not getting younger, but — but, you know, there’s always next time.” She reached for the vision plate.

But Bruno leapt upon the plate and balled himself up. He was crying quietly now. Pity spiked in Mirabel; he was just a boy, a few years older than Antonio. She couldn’t help but pity him.

“Bruno?” the señora whispered.

No sand flowed in the chamber. Mirabel couldn’t breathe. When the young seer remained motionless, the señora thrust her hand through the gaps between his limbs, with increasing force and despair.

“No, no, no, please,” Bruno said. “Don’t make me show you this. Don’t make me—”

A rumbling of thunder was followed by Luisa’s high voice: “But that’s yours, Tio!”

The dining room was back, along with the younger versions of Luisa, Isabela, and Dolores. Mirabel didn’t know if she wanted to witness the rest of the event; her stomach heaved.

The cause of it was wearing a green apron and panting heavily, at the entrance. Beside Bruno was a slightly-ratty red armchair. “Nothing - in this - house - is mine!” he managed, between gasps. He looked delighted with himself, which only made Mirabel angrier. “Oh, I - should have - taken - a break, somewhere on - my stairs, just - once. Sálvame, papá.”

“Your heart is going: pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter…” Dolores continued doing so, while bobbing her head and rippling her fingers on the table. Mirabel hadn’t seen her prima do this before. It was quite endearing.

Casita flung open two kitchen drawers, in admonishment. Bruno waved his hands dismissively, lifted the weighty armchair once more, and placed it at the table. “There! Perfect- height. Dios mio. So… tired.” He placed Luisa on it; and very maturely, she wagged her tongue at Dolores and Isabela.

“Tio…” Isabela sounded sad.

“Well, you — you two can easily fit in it, too!” Bruno apparently reconsidered. “OK. Maybe not easily. And, really, it depends on what we mean by ‘fit’.” Undeterred, he set both older girls in the armchair.

It didn’t look very comfortable to Mirabel, but the three girls had jubilant smiles. Isabela tickled Luisa.

Bruno ruffled Luisa’s hair. “Better?” he asked.

Luisa flew forwards and wrapped her arms round his waist. Isabela and Dolores joined her, in an instant. Bruno’s breaths stilled, as Mirabel had perceived earlier. Gently, he patted their heads and glanced out of the window.

The dark clouds were dispersing, in just moments. Bright beams of daylight broke through the dimness. “It’s over, I think,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “She’s alright.”

The girls drew apart from him, with Luisa being last. Dolores said: “Really? Can we go and see Tia Julieta?”

“Not yet, sobrina.” Bruno made to go to the counter. “Now, er, you three just have some fresh fruit and chocolate con queso. You might ask: why those two? Simple. It’s all I know to make; that’s sad, huh? I’m thirty-five.”

“Did you know that Mama would be OK, Tio?” Isabela asked, with a frown. “Did you see it?” Mirabel’s eyes widened.

Bruno whirled round. “No! I, I, I would never do that to Juli! Never! This is a good day. Don’t ever think of me like that. OK, Isa?”

Though Isabel seemed confused and startled, she nodded. Mirabel was relieved, for her part. The last thing she wanted was for her poor mama to be in any of Bruno’s visions.

Bruno’s legs buckled, as he turned away. His eyes flashed with green. He bent down low and grunted in pain. Mirabel recoiled in fear. Another vision? But Bruno wasn’t in his vision chamber and hadn’t completed his ritual of burning leaves.

“Tio?” Dolores asked, softly.

“Hey, hey! Who’s excited to meet—” Agustin halted, at the entrance. His hair was less grey here. Mirabel only caught a glimpse of him, before Luisa, Dolores, and Isabela were clinging to his legs.

It’d happened far too quickly.

Confused, Mirabel turned round. The armchair was now empty. Bruno was crouching deeper in the kitchen, away from where the children had been, his body still shaking. Her surroundings flickered unnaturally. The ceiling and walls bulged and contracted, with Casita nervously rustling.

“Casita, what’s wrong?” Mirabel asked, panicking. Was Casita falling? No-one else seemed to notice what was happening. She was growing used to this; and she really didn’t like it. It had to be a nightmare; that was all.

“Bruno? What’s wrong, cuñado?” Agustin didn’t move, despite the obvious pain Bruno was enduring and the groans of Casita.

A wall surged forwards, with Mirabel passing right through it. She let out a cry; but as soon as it’d happened, the kitchen returned to its original state. Was Bruno doing this? she wondered.

“Tio, your heart…” Dolores began to cry.

Bruno yanked at his hair so violently that Mirabel winced. The green seeping through his shut eyelids faded, before lighting up with increased strength. Agustin gasped and pulled the children further away.

“Fine. Go, just go,” the seer grunted, at last. Agustin opened his mouth, but Bruno cut him off: “Please. Just — just take the kids to see Mirabel. Close the door.”

A section of the roof collapsed feet away from Mirabel, making her jump.

“Mira— How did you know…” Agustin screwed his mouth shut. “Right… Eat something, cuñado. Come up soon, alright? I’ll check on you if you don’t.” He took the children away, gently instructing them not to tell the rest of the family what they’d seen. Somewhere in the house was a newborn version of Mirabel. She didn’t want to dwell on it, lest she have a mental breakdown.

Across the kitchen counter travelled a jar filled with arepas. Julieta always restocked it twice a week, in case of emergencies. Bruno struggled to his feet. His neck was veiny. The pained grunts he emitted made Mirabel’s heart twist.

Why wasn’t he eating the food, if he was sick? Maybe he was incapable of it, physically. She thrust her hand to the plate, only to have it pass through it. She jerked forwards; and her body, waist-down, vanished into the counter. She leapt back and searched for another way to help. Bruno leaned heavily against his armchair.

“Casita, why isn’t he doing anything?” she asked.

The question on the tip of her tongue was: why aren’t you doing anything? During her childhood, the house had forced bits of Julieta’s food in her mouth, when she was injured and didn’t want her mama’s efforts wasted on her.

The windows snapped shut. Then Casita became unusually silent, even as it continued disintegrating and reintegrating before Mirabel’s eyes. The house seemed mournful.

Distantly, a door was shut.

Bruno sat on his knees and slammed his fist into the side of his head with terrifying force. Mirabel’s heart flip-flopped, as Bruno collapsed to the ground. He didn’t stir. She had to get help. Unthinkingly, she turned and rushed out of the entrance; and once more, the sensation of being pulled upwards came.

This time, however, it came with a voice that was becoming familiar to her. “Mirabel!” Bruno shouted, his voice muffled.

Mirabel awoke abruptly to a searing pain in her wrist. Wincing, she sat up and held it. She guessed she’d accidentally turned over on it. The pain’s intensity was fading, which allowed her to feel the infuriating itching and burning sensations in the cuts all over her body. Some of the dressings were slightly red. She felt woozy. Was that supposed to happen?

She sighed, glancing round. Her mama hadn’t returned; and judging by how tired she still felt, she guessed she hadn’t rested for long.

Her recollection of what she’d seen was crystal-clear. It’d also been too vivid, too real to be a product of her imagination. That had, somehow, been real. Bruno’s voice echoed in her mind, loud and fearful and distressed.

The candle was gone. The house was gone. The miracle was gone.

Her family didn’t have its gifts.

She was so, so tired.

What was happening?