Julio was terrified to meet Imelda. He'd met her before, of course. In a town as small as Santa Cecilia, it was impossible to not have met her before. Particularly as prominent a figure as she was. But it had only been very briefly, and he had never had the guts to actually speak to her. Then, when he officially started courting Coco, he'd asked his own mother what Imelda was like.

"Such a tragic story," she'd said, her cheeks turning pink with glee. Gabriela was a woman who loved a good story. Even more so when it involved her neighbours. She flapped a piece of fabric over the wooden frame of a simple dining chair and started to hammer it in place as she spoke. "Her husband abandoned her, you know. Left her and the baby all alone. Chose music, you see. You've heard of the Riveras ban on music?"

That shook him. He had not heard of any such thing. Coco had never mentioned it. Not in their dances. Wait, how could she be dancing if there was a ban on music?

"No, Mama, I haven't."

"Oh everyone knows about it," she said with a dismissive flap of her hand. The flap turned into an expert twist as she folded the corner of the cloth and hammered it in place. "Anyway, Imelda never remarried and she started up the shoe store all by herself. Well I suppose her brothers helped a little. And no one can even mention her husband's name!"

Curiosity then, a brief spark that flittered in the back of his mind. "What was his name, Mama?"

"Oh I don't remember. It was years ago, m'ijo."

"Right, of course."

He toyed with the idea of asking Coco, then decided against it. She obviously had some secrets she wasn't willing to share. He thanked his mother for the information, and left, heading to the Rivera hacienda. Wearing his best clothes and carrying a small bunch of daisies; Coco's favourite.

Coco opened the door, took the flowers and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. She took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and led him into the house. Past the workshop where two identical men were arguing about optimal length of shoelace for boots, and into a comfortable living room.

"This is my Mama Imelda," Coco said and pushed him in front of her. Imelda looked at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He smiled and tried not to wish he was a million miles away.

"Ah, Julio. I've heard a lot about you." She held out her hand. He shook it, and blinked at her firm grip, the silver shining at her temple, and the inquisitive gleam in her eyes as she sized him up. "Coco tells me you met at the market."

He glanced over at Coco. Trying (and probably failing) to conceal the surprise widening his eyes. Coco smiled and shrugged, willing him with pleading eyes to not break their cover.

"Yes, that's right." Imelda raised her eyebrows. Realising she was expecting more, he continued. "I was buying cloth for my mother. She makes furniture, you see, and needed some to…uh…upholster an armchair?"

It wasn't a complete lie. After dancing with Coco in Mariachi Plaza they had often spent time in the markets, her looking at leather and him seeking out cloth and wood. He'd enjoyed those simple outings far more than he had any right to. It was part of the reason he had decided to pursue something further with Socorro Rivera. She was someone who made the mundane exciting.

"Furniture?" Imelda asked. She seemed intrigued by this. "Has she taught you any of her trade?"

"Yes." Hesitating now. "Though she won't let me try to find my own designs."

"A shame indeed." She glanced towards Coco, briefly. An unspoken conversation passing between them in the briefest instant. When she looked back at him Imelda smiled. It made her look years younger, but no less imposing. "Would you, perhaps, like to try your hand at shoe making?"

And of course he did. Because making shoes meant being in the workshop, and the workshop was where Coco was. And he would do anything to spend more time with her.


Héctor was still leaning outside the station. Waiting for something that he had given up hope for. Strumming idle, infinite melodies. It took a second for him to realise that he wasn't alone. That there was a girl with wide brown eyes still glimmering with tears, watching his skeletal hands smoothly shifting as he played.

He froze mid-chord. Looked down at this tiny little skeleton, still wearing the pink embroidered nightdress she'd been wearing when she'd died.

The girl wiped at her eyes and blinked innocently up at him. "Why'd you stop playing, señor?" she asked. Her voice was choked with tears that had already been forgotten, so intrigued was she by this new and interesting development.

Overcoming the shock, he bent, crouching down with his guitar in front of his knees, and smiled at her. "Well, I need a song to play, niña, do you have a favourite?"

And she smiled back up at him. So radiant and excited that his spirit cracked just a little bit. She was maybe six? Seven? And it was too easy to imagine Coco in her, what she must have been like at that age.

"Poco Loco!" she cried, bouncing with excitement. Her feet were bare, he noticed, and had a brief, morbid moment of wondering how she'd died. "By de la Cruz!"

He hesitated. The name of it brought back Imelda. His proposal. Their wedding. It was upbeat and exciting. Hopefully that meant Ernesto hadn't changed it too much. In that time an older skeleton, white hair coiled in a twisted braid behind her, came out of the door, puffing and wheezing.

"M'ija, you can't run off like that. This place is huge, we don't want to lose you."

"Abuelita, he's going to play Poco Loco!" The girl looked at him, eyes huge and hopeful, and he glanced at her grandmother. She looked tired. Rounded cheekbones and purple crow's feet. He'd never seen skull marks that mimicked the wrinkles she must have had in life before. She eyed him, suspicious, then nodded.

"Just one song, m'ija, then we have to go find your grandpa and settle you in, okay?"

"Okay!"

Héctor watched this exchange. His soul aching for his girl. Then, with a grin, he started plucking out the tune. The girl laughed and started to dance. Her nightdress twirling around her. She sang along, out of tune and late on the verses, but when the song finished he lowered his guitar and applauded her.

"Good job, niña! You are a wonderful singer!"

She blushed. Green and gold and blue glowing from the delicate swirls and dots beneath her eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, she slipped behind her grandmother and buried her face in the loose purple cloth.

"Thank you," the grandmother mumbled to him as she pressed a churro into his hand. "She was inconsolable until she saw you. Skeletons are…frightening for a child."

Taken aback, he accepted the offering, slipping it into his pocket. Then, crouched again, leaned slightly so he could meet the gaze of the one eye she'd peeked from her grandma's skirt.

"Time to go home for you, niña. Your abuelita will take good care of you, okay?"

"Okay…" A short pause where the older skeleton gathered her skirts and took the girl's hand. "You played it really good, señor. Almost better than de la Cruz."

Then they left. Leaving Héctor both pleased and absolutely shaken by what she'd said. Almost? What did almost mean? With a huff, he leaned back on the wall and started playing the endless cycle of chords again.

And from that day he seemed to draw children. He had no idea why. Playing in the Arts District he'd only ever had audiences of adults. But now, outside the station the newly dead children flocked to him as soon as they were through the doors. Running up and watching with wide, shocked eyes (invariably glimmering with tears already forgotten) as his skeletal hands formed chords and strummed at the strings. And every time he would crouch down, smile. Sometimes offer his hand so that they could touch and feel how the joints shifted. Then ask for their favourite song. If they didn't have one or know one, he'd play Poco Loco, the upbeat chords enough to get them wiggling even if they didn't actually dance.

He even played Remember Me for them. The jaunty, flashy abomination that Ernesto had twisted it into. He played it for these tiny children, with tears in their eyes and a wobble in their voice, because it made them smile. And making kids happy, it seemed, was the only thing that would mend the rifts playing that song in that way would make.