Some Ofelia and Posada semi-goodness.

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

General Posada's eye level was equal to that of his granddaughter, and he fixed his firmest look on her as he drummed his fingers on his hook. "Ofelia."

The girl stood as straight as she could and smiled as her mother had told her. "Hola, abuelo."

Maria looked at the two of them, trying to smile in a way that would hide her concern. "We should be back the day after tomorrow. Right, Manolo?"

"Of course," he answered, trading sympathetic glances with his daughter.

"If there's anything we forgot, Joaquin has the house key," Maria continued. "Be good for your grandfather, mija. We'll see you on Saturday." She grabbed Manolo by the arm and hauled him towards the door, only pausing to let him say a quick "Adios!" before stepping outside.

The general's smile vanished as soon as they were gone. "Well," he said, turning back to Ofelia, "I suppose it's just you and me. Unless you'd rather run off to find the twins."

Ofelia shook her head, keeping in her mind the reason her parents had sent her here in the first place. "No, abuelo."

He circled her slowly, eyeing her as though she were a strange creature and occasionally poking her with his hook. "You're practically a weed, you've grown so."

"Mama and Papa said I might be tall."

"I don't suppose they said anything about how long you would be this spindly."

She looked down at her shoes. "No…"

Grumbling something under his breath, General Posada began to scuttle up the stairs. "I'll show you to your room."

"Can you show me your library after - "

"Just follow me!"

At least that settled the question of whether or not their encounter during the book club was still fresh in his mind.

Ofelia followed her grandfather to a door at the top of the stairs. Beyond it sat a small, dour bedroom which seemed as though it had not felt a foot on its floorboards in years. A thin layer of dust covered all of the furniture. The lock on the windows had begun to rust, and the dark curtains were drawn shut. A sheer canopy hung over the bed like a spider's web. The gray, striped wallpaper was covered in faded patches the size of posters.

"We'll eat at seven," the general said as Ofelia dragged her suitcase past him. "You can do as you wish afterwards."

She looked around, her eyes growing wide. "Was this Mama's room?"

The old man nodded, not really listening. "I'll be in my study if there's a problem. Only if there's a problem." Turning on his heel, he swept out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Clambering atop the bed, Ofelia lay on her back and looked around. From there she could see where all the posters in the room had been; they radiated out from the head of the bed, spreading across the other walls and onto the ceiling. She sat up and slowly ran her hands along one of the pale rectangles before sliding off the bed and going to part the curtains. A little force caused the old latch to give way, and the windows swung open. She stepped out onto the balcony, gazing at the surrounding buildings and the street below.

There were many pictures back at the Sanchez house of Maria as a girl: happy, blurry ones with Manolo and Joaquin, and solemn ones from the convent where her eyes were downcast as she pretended to smile. Manolo would stare at them fondly from time to time, but she acted as though they were never there. "Those?" she would say when someone pointed them out. "Oh, there isn't much to say…"

Resting her chin on her hands, Ofelia leaned against the balcony railing and let her mind wander. Maybe abuelo can tell me some things.

She watched him throughout the quiet dinner and, as they were finishing, decided to take the risk. "Abuelo?"

General Posada glanced up in the middle of lighting a cigar. "What do you want?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"Only if it's a small one."

Ofelia shifted in her seat. "I don't know if it is yet."

"Well, spit it out and I'll tell you!"

The girl bit her lip, but then cleared her throat and spoke up. "What was Mama like when she was little?"

Posada nearly choked on his cigar smoke. "Qué?"

"I thought there wouldn't be any harm in asking you." She shrugged.

The general frowned. "So she's told you nothing of it."

"No, abuelo."

"Ashamed of herself, most likely." He picked up his wine glass and took another heavy gulp. "As she ought to be! I've hardly gotten a moment's rest since the day she was born! Far too much of her mother in her, you know. She was never quiet the first few years. Always sneaking out from under the servants' noses as soon as she could walk. Kept tearing apart all the models and maps in my study. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your affairs in order with a viper like that running about? Playing with swords, tripping up the men on patrol, breaking the locks on every livestock pen in town…dios mio, it was a wonder I got anything done before I sent her off."

Standing up from the table without a word, Ofelia turned and began to slink away.

"Ay, it was so quiet the day after she left." General Posada paused, staring off into space. "Almost too quiet. I kept expecting her to come running around the corner with those boys, or come barging into the study with something she'd found in the library. She always spent so much time in the library…" His expression turned pensive as he looked at Ofelia, who had stopped to listen to him. "She never came back for the summer. I forgot what she sounded like. And when she did come back, she was…I'm sure you know. It would have been nice to see her grow up." He rubbed his eyes, as though wiping away a tear. "It was necessary to send her to the convent, of course. No denying that."

"Would you send me away?" The words came out too quickly for Ofelia to rein them in, and she froze as she felt them fly from her lips.

Posada looked at her as he took a deep draught from his cigar and blew the smoke into the air. "That," he said after a long silence, "is for your parents to decide."

"But if you could?"

His face grew stern once again. When he spoke, however, his voice had gone soft. "Let's have no more talk of this, nieta."

They said little to one another for the rest of Ofelia's visit. She was outside playing with her friends much of the time, but when she lingered near the house, she caught glimpses of her grandfather watching her from the study window. After dinner, he would let her into the parlor and let her speak of what she was reading. At night, the door to his study stood open and a light was left burning in the hallway.

When Manolo came by on Saturday afternoon, he found his daughter and his father-in-law not at one another's throats, but having a pleasant conversation in the foyer as they waited for him to arrive. He stopped in the doorway, his eyebrows raised as he looked at the scene. "Ofelia?"

She smiled, picked up her suitcase and hurried to his side. "Hola, Papa!"

He hugged her, still in a slight daze, before glancing up at the general. "She wasn't much trouble, was she?"

The old man almost smiled. "Not at all."