Godmother
Chapter Two
…..
I'm half thinking about putting this on Tumblr as well, but not sure I want the hassle as such.
Once again, trigger warnings and content warnings up the wazoo, since we're dealing with some very nasty criminals. I chose not to use the archive's official warnings since they might give part of the plot away, but take it from me you probably want to give this a miss if you're easily disturbed.
…..
Mirabel was lucky enough to have rarely had nightmares; she was a lucid dreamer by nature, anything upsetting or frightening in her dreams she was usually able to walk away from. This lead to a period of sleepwalking when she was younger, sometimes right out of the Casita's windows and halfway across the village. More than once she had woken up, confused, barefoot and very cold, in someone's back yard.
A drug-induced dream was very different. She was lucid enough to know she was dreaming but completely unable to move. She was stuck in an inky black space, the atmosphere heavy and damp, surrounded by thousands of tiny compound eyes. The eyes merged together into one thick blinking mass and broke apart, over and over for what felt like an eternity. She thought she could see stars in the depths of those eyes, galaxies and planets that went on forever.
Eventually, she woke up, groggy and sore.
It was still dark, but a more normal kind of dark. Squinting, she could make out the dim flicker of a candle on the floor but nothing else. As she got the feeling in her muscles back, she reached out to feel what was around her.
Barbs of straw sticking out of a threadbare mattress.
A battered metal cup, half-full of water.
Cold iron bars, inches away from where she was lying.
The soft patchy edge of her own quilt.
A low ceiling, rough and irregular, stone.
And the scrape of a rusty shackle, weighing heavily against her ankle.
She heard the low murmur of men on the other side of the bars, and tried to call out, to ask where she was, but she could only manage a raspy groan. The voices abruptly stopped, and she heard the creak of their leather boots walking away from her.
A few moments later, a different gait approached (lighter, better quality shoes) and the iron door squealed on its rusted hinges as he opened it. It was the same man that had taken her from her bed, she knew that even before he pulled her up to a sitting position supported by his chest.
"Good to see you awake, princesa," he said, picking up the metal cup. "You've been out for a long time, we were starting to think we knocked you out for good."
She tried to pull away from him, tried to tell him get away from me! But she still had no control over her own body.
"Ssh, don't say anything," he cooed, as if to a wounded animal. "Drink something, the effects will wear off."
He put the cup to her mouth and tipped her head back, only pulling away when she choked.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered.
He wiped her face gently with a piece of cloth, surprising from the man who had so recently held a blade to her throat.
"Why am I here?" she just about managed to croak out.
"All in good time," he said, she felt him shrug. "Once you can walk, we'll get you cleaned up before the big man gets back, he'll want to tell you the good news himself."
"I can't see," she blurted out. "I don't have my glasses..."
"Probably better for you that you can't," the man murmured. "He's not much to look at, comprendo?"
…..
Three days after they discovered Mirabel to be missing, the Madrigal family was mired in a state of shock.
The village dropped off food at the door and kept their distance, knowing they couldn't ask anything of them now. A storm cloud hovered over the Casíta, thundering day and night and dropping flurries of snow that had rarely been seen before.
None of their gifts were of any use, and they didn't know how to handle it. Only Antonio's gift had offered up any real idea as to what had happened, but once the horse that carried Mirabel away into a part of the forest that housed more insects than other animals, the trail was as good as dead. Antonio's gift did not extend to the insect kingdom; although he could hear them speak, it was a strange alien whisper-language that he couldn't begin to understand.
All they could do was wait for information from outside the Encanto, and the wait was painful. The younger Madrigals wavered between wanting to storm out and track Mirabel down however they could and realizing that was impossible, back and forth for hours. Felix trailed around after Pepa all day trying to keep the storm cloud from getting any bigger, Alma planted herself right at the front door and held quiet hissed conversations with the villagers. Bruno locked himself in his tower, trying over and over to see something useful in the sand. And Agustin...
Agustin had his hands full with an inconsolable Julieta.
Julieta's reaction to the kidnapping was an added layer of horror to the whole sorry mess; she had always been steady, calm, a source of quiet strength even as a child. Now she was unravelling. She spent all day, every day in the kitchen, grinding cornmeal or pounding dough or making basket after basket of arepas, obleas, empanadas or pan de yuca until she was exhausted enough to be carried to bed. She spoke maybe one or two words in a day and didn't respond to anyone trying to talk to her, even her husband or daughters. She never broke down sobbing as might have been expected, but half of the food she made was inedible due to the quiet tears falling into the dough.
Agustin collected the ingredients, washed the dishes and kept his eyes on her at all times, took her to bed at night and dealt with his own grief and worry privately. He bit his nails down until they bled, but otherwise seemed to be holding it together. He couldn't afford to fall apart himself.
Antonio had taken to carrying around Mirabel's glasses in his hand at all times, even when sleeping. When asked, he insisted she would need them when she came home.
Mid-morning on the fourth day, Mariano hustled into the courtyard pulling a stranger with him. He'd left the Encanto to canvass for information from connections he had in the city, and seemingly had found something. He sat the man down at the table, and slowly (and hopefully) the family gathered.
"Tell them what you told me," Mariano instructed the man. He was out of breath from rushing them both through the village.
The man fidgeted in his seat, smoothed back his hair. He looked to be of an age with Mariano, but he was scrawnier, more untidy. His beard was cut through by a long thin scar. The family stared back at him.
"I'm sorry for your trouble," he began. "But you know, these things...they happen to all sorts of people...they all do it, you know? 'Cos they get desperate...they're all trying to get ahead, you know?"
"Who is this man?" Alma cut across him. "Why have you brought him here?"
"Diego is someone I used to know when I went to college in the city," Mariano explained. "He did some work for the revolucionarias...
"Did! I don't do that stuff no more..." Diego interrupted. "But I still hear some things..."
"Just tell them what you told me!" Mariano demanded, shoving Diego's shoulder.
"Okay, okay! There's been some talk around that the boss of Los Brutales has lost his mind, been dabbling in magic...he's been on the lookout for some magic blood. Pulling every bruja he can find off the streets, out of the fields, no idea what he's doing with them...he was offering serious cash to anyone who could bring him a girl with magic in her blood..."
"Why?" Isabela managed to ask.
"Beats me," Diego shrugged. "El Verraco, he was always crazy. He's even more crazy now, they say. His son died in a shootout, they say he's worried about his legacy..."
"Everything I found points to El Verraco," Mariano told them. "Mirabel wouldn't be the first girl he's taken, he has form for this."
"So that's it, we go find this Verraco guy and get her back?" Luisa asked, flexing lightly.
"I wish," Diego chuckled drily. "Los Brutales never stay in one place, that's why they've been around so long. And even if you found them it wouldn't do you any good. Men have chosen jail over facing El Verraco. Hell, men have chosen death over facing El Verraco!"
"We have money," Julieta piped up, her voice scratchy from disuse and lack of sleep. "We can pay him to give her back..."
"He won't take your money, senora," Diego told her quietly. "He doesn't need it."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" Alma asked him. "Tell us what we should do. We will do it, as long as we get Mirabel back unharmed."
"Unharmed is a big ask," Diego shrugged, instantly regretting it when everyone in the room deflated just a little bit more. "People don't walk away from Los Brutales unharmed, you know? Best you could hope for is pay one of their rivals to start a turf war...or find someone on the inside to smuggle her back out...there won't be too many volunteers for a job like that...hell, I'm risking my skin just telling you all this!"
"That's not all," Mariano said. "The man who was speaking to Mirabel at the party? He was using a false name, we think his real name is Gilberto Vargas."
"He was vetted!" Pepa yelled. "How did this happen? Old 'Nando said he knew him for years!"
"El Verraco is known to have a number of deep cover agents," said Mariano. "He has them in the prisons, in the military...he's been doing this a long time."
"So it's hopeless," Isabela snapped. "That's what you're telling us, it's hopeless."
Antonio began to sniffle and crawled onto his mother's lap. They'd forgotten he was listening the whole time.
"I'll see what I can do with my other contacts," Mariano promised. "We might be able to work something out."
It was a hollow promise, they all knew it.
…..
When he thought she was strong enough to stand up, the tall man unshackled Mirabel and lead her out of her cell to a small, crude bathroom (and he was at least decent enough not to watch her while she got cleaned up) and passed her in a sort-of clean set of clothes. They were well-worn and far too big for her, she had to tie knots in the skirt and blouse to keep them on her. She shuddered to think where the previous owner might have been.
The tall man held her by the arm as he escorted her through the hideout, warning her when they came across a dip or crag in the floor; evidently they were in a cave of some sort. There were rough wooden structures and straw scattered all around, poorly lit by a couple of torches hung on the wall. Also scattered around were men, smoking and muttering to each other as she passed them.
"Word of advice, princesa," the man whispered to her before he opened a big wooden door. "Don't talk back to the boss. Just nod and smile and you'll be okay, understand?"
Still light-headed, Mirabel nodded.
"Good girl."
He brought her to a bench in front of a huge oak table and sat her down, then propped himself up against the wall. After a few moments of cold silence, the door swung open again and a huge lurching shadow sat across from her.
"This is the girl?" the shadow asked. "Better reaction than most."
"She can't see you, senor," the tall man told him. "Left her glasses behind."
The shadow hummed. In the dim light all she could see of his face was a floating white square with two dark holes punched into it.
"You are one of the Madrigal family, yes?" the shadow asked her.
"Y-yes..."
"And your family are gifted with magic, is that right?"
"The rest of the family is, I'm not," she replied.
She heard the tall man suck in a breath through his teeth. The floating face turned on him.
"Explain yourself, Gilberto," the shadow demanded, his voice smooth with a hint of underlying danger.
"The gifted ones would have been impossible to move," the tall man explained, chuckling nervously. "They are very powerful, Capítan. But this one was unprotected...and she's the youngest... is better for your plan, yes? And you can have her tested..."
The shadow hummed again. She couldn't make out the look on his face, but what she could see of his body language didn't look pleased.
"Why am I here?" Mirabel asked.
"We're going to be married," the shadow told her, casually, as if he was telling her what was for dinner. "And you're going to give me children with your family's magic."
Mirabel dug her fingers into the wood of the bench to keep from screaming. The light-headedness she'd been fighting off since she woke up came back full force.
"You'll have time to get used to the idea," the shadow continued. "I am told you are not of age yet, I am not some animal that takes a child into my bed. We will be joined properly in the eyes of God."
"I never... got my gift..." she said, stumbling over her words between hastily sucked-in breaths. "The magic didn't work on me...I don't know if..."
"It doesn't matter," the shadow told her sternly. "If you have magic in your blood, we will find out. My father was a pig farmer who never hurt a man in his life, sometimes things skip a generation."
"And...if I refuse?"
It seemed like the very air around them turned thick with menace. The shadow slowly stood, rounded the table and knelt in front of her. He took her hand with his own enormous paw and placed it against his face.
"I can make this as easy or hard on you as you choose..."
His face was a map of scar tissue, smooth burn scars and deep valleys that spoke of a long and violent history. His mouth was full of broken teeth she could just about see as he spoke, and there was a hole where his left eye should have been.
"...but believe me, I will get what I want."
Mutely, and not knowing what else she could do, she nodded. He laughed a little, and stroked her face gently. His fingers were so rough against her skin it felt like rug burn.
"Pretty little thing, aren't you?" he said quietly. "I wasn't expecting that..."
With that, he drew away and told the tall man to take her back to her cell. Mirabel held her composure right to the cell door before she fell into a dead faint, caught by the tall man just before she hit the floor.
