Godmother

Chapter Four

Notes: Self-isolating thanks to possible Covid exposure (double jabbed, masked everywhere and disinfected to hell and back so how I don't know) , so updates to this fic may either happen fairly fast or will stop altogether, it's anyone's guess. Please light a candle for me or something if you're enjoying what you've read so far.

…..

Vargas had kidnapped people for Los Brutales before. In fact, he was Los Brutales' main go-to for a kidnapping job. He just had a knack for it.

This one was different, though.

True, most of the people he'd kidnapped before had been objectively bad people; they owed El Verraco money or drugs and skipped town rather than paid up, or they were rival criminals to be held for ransom, or they were snitches. The Madrigal girl was the first person he kidnapped who genuinely didn't do anything wrong.

Maybe that's why he felt such a strong tug on his conscience. He was trying to drown it out with strong alcohol but it was barely working. Every time he went to her cell and saw her curled up under her quilt he felt a stab of guilt. Every time he had to escort her to El Verraco's quarters for 'inspection' he felt sick. He tempered it with the knowledge that he couldn't feel more pity for her than he did for himself if the old man thought Vargas would turn on him. He'd be skinned alive faster than it would take to finish betraying him.

At least he could assure the girl that she had better living quarters at the new base, and the cell in the cave was only ever meant to be temporary. She had to be bound and gagged and stuffed into a barrel to make the journey though, since the convoy was disguised as a corn shipment. The new base was part of an abandoned plantation, with most of the nice furniture still intact. There were even better clothes to give to the hostage, courtesy of the previous plantation owner having young daughters.

Still, once the crew was settled and he unlocked her new room to bring her food, he saw her aiming a bleak stare at the double bed that occupied most of the room. The ring that her shackle coupled to was fixed to the floor just under the bed. It wasn't hard to tell what she was thinking.

"You actually have a window here, that's nice. Better than where I'm sleeping," he laughed.

She didn't respond. The window had iron bars running across it.

"Anyway, I brought you some empanadas," he told her, putting the tray down on a little table that looked like it used to be child's furniture. "There's even some obleas for dessert, and hot coffee...kitchen is much better here, and Jorge's a decent cook when he can..."

"I'm not hungry," she interrupted quietly.

He suppressed a frustrated groan. She wasn't eating much, and El Verraco had noticed. Hence the 'inspections.'

"I'm not about to force-feed you, but if you don't eat something El Verraco will force-feed my guts to the pigs..." he cajoled. "How about you eat half and I eat the other half?"

"Fine," she sighed, and took the very small seat beside the very small table.

He sat across from her, so low down at his height that his knees were around his ears. It would have been a laughable sight if anyone had felt like laughing. Gingerly, she took an empanada and nibbled on the end of it as if she thought it was poisoned. He wolfed down two with a shot of guaro.

"So," Gilberto began, emboldened by the alcohol. "You had a boyfriend before all this, right? Boyfriends?"

"No," she answered, between tiny bites.

"I find that hard to believe," he chuckled. "Cute girl like you? Did your Daddy scare them all away with a shotgun?"

"You've seen my sisters. And my cousin," she replied. "Do you really think anyone looked past them to get to me?"

He clammed up, not knowing what to say. He was hoping she would tell him she'd rolled in the hay with at least one boy before. It was too horrible to think that her first experience with a man would be with...

That hideous gargoyle.

El Verraco was worse than just an ugly man. Rumors were that he had been handsome in his youth but always chose the most violent way to get what he wanted and destroyed his face in the process. His first wife walked with a permanent limp after being married to him for just a year, the second plucked out every hair on her head and trembled at the slightest noise. They were adult women who willingly married him, knowing what he was.

"I'll be sixteen in two weeks," the Madrigal girl said. "But you knew that."

"Yes, I did," he sighed.

"And you told him."

"Soon as I brought you in, yes."

"Could you ask him something for me?"

Gilberto blinked.

"Depends what it is..." he said with hesitation.

"Since I'm going to be married, I should have a wedding dress, right?"

"I suppose so..."

"I'd like to make a wedding dress for myself," she said.

"Hey, El Verraco has money, he would probably buy you a very nice..."

"I want to make it myself. I always thought that my mother would make my wedding dress, and..." she broke off for a moment, swallowing, before continuing, "since she or the rest of my family can't be there, I'd like to make my own dress that has a little of them in the stitches. Please."

Such an innocent request, it reminded him yet again that she was a child. He swallowed, and nodded.

El Verraco laughed when he brought the request in, and he gave Gilberto a hefty allowance to buy fabric and sewing supplies.

"Nothing cheap," he instructed. "Get her the good stuff."

If there was any compassion left in El Verraco's husk of a heart, the Madrigal girl had managed to find it.

…..

"Sneaking around the kitchen at night, Brunito?" Alma sighed. "I thought we were past that..."

Bruno's rats scurried away to hide in the dark corners of the kitchen, but Bruno himself sighed and put his plate down on the table.

"Old habits die hard, Mama," he said. "And someone has to eat all this food Julieta keeps making."

Bruno, at least, was making a dent in the food stores. Having lived so long scraping whatever leftovers he could get out of the kitchen when everyone else was in bed, these days he ate until he felt sick, and stashed food in his pockets just in case. Not to mention he was using up a lot of energy, casting prophecy after prophecy all day to see if one would be different.

"You could use a break," Alma told him, putting the kettle on for coffee. "I don't suppose there's anything new in your visions anyway..."

"Nothing, Mama. It's the same every time," he said. "I would have expected something to change by now but..."

"We will have to accept that she is gone," Alma sighed, sinking into her chair. "I don't think Julieta ever will, though..."

"That's just it, Mama, I don't think Mirabel is gone! Every vision shows her walking away, not being taken away! Nothing holding onto her, nobody else in sight, just her walking away. By choice."

"That makes no sense, Brunito. That would mean she will come back, only to go again of her own free will?"

"Well, you remember what happened back when she..."

"Don't!"

Alma was on her feet, staring him down with anger (fear?) glimmering in her eyes.

"We don't talk about that, Bruno," she warned him.

"Maybe we should," he glared back. "Something is interfering with my vision. I should be able to see more than I'm seeing, but I'm not."

"Stop! No more of this! We promised Julieta..."

"Julieta got what she wanted! She got her back! If the magic of the Encanto is useless to help Mirabel now, then whatever it was that brought her back before..."

"Enough, please!" Alma begged, dissolving into tears.

Bruno stopped. He had never seen his mother cry before. Even during the hardest of times, she had held herself together.

"I am not strong enough to do this again, Bruno," she sobbed. "It nearly broke us all."

"We are doing it again, Mama," he told her quietly. "What else can we do?"

…..

On the night that Mirabel received the fabric for her wedding dress, Mariano finally returned to the Encanto with news.

He had found a rival gang, Los Calaveras, that were willing to launch an attack on Los Brutales in exchange for a hefty sum of money (already paid by Mariano himself) and a promise of Julieta's magical food shipped to them for at least a year to heal them after turf wars. Los Calaveras were made up of men who had disbanded from Los Brutales, as well as a number of ex-military who had personal grudges against El Verraco. They were severely outgunned, but the magical healing food would help to even the odds, so they claimed.

The family were never introduced to this gang, Mariano let the men believe that the girl they were holding was a niece of his that his own family wanted back. Once it was all done, he wanted to cut all ties with any criminals he knew for good. He felt dirty even resorting to paying a mob for their help.

What Mariano didn't know (and should probably have guessed) is that Dolores heard every word exchanged between him and the gang's leader on the outskirts of the Encanto, and she, along with her brother and cousins, trailed after them. They kept a mile's worth of distance between themselves and the gang, with Dolores listening in to every word to keep track of where they were going. Isabela and Luisa disguised themselves as men; three women travelling such a distance together would be suspicious.

They tested their powers every day and night for weaknesses. None of them had ever been so far from the Encanto before.

…..

Mirabel was given a magnifying glass along with her sewing supplies so that she could embroider properly, and she was busy adding a vivid red soundwave to the hem of the wedding skirt when the witch unlocked the door and walked in. Mirabel could see her through the glass, just about. A long, jagged cut ran across her forehead and down her nose. She was carrying a cup of something.

"He wants you to drink this," she said, holding out the cup.

"What is it?" Mirabel asked, cautiously.

"It's my own concoction. For fertility."

Even the thought of swallowing it made Mirabel feel sick.

"I suppose if I tell you the sooner he gets you pregnant the sooner he leaves you alone won't make you drink it any faster?"

Mirabel shook her head.

"I don't have to tell you I don't approve of what he's doing," the bruja continued. "But there is nothing you or I can do to stop it."

"You don't approve because of the magic," Mirabel said. "You really found magic in me?"

"I did."

"What kind of magic?"

"I don't know."

"How is that possible?"

The bruja sighed, and sat beside her on the bed.

"I will tell you what I do know if you drink the potion. And any other potion I bring you. Agreed?"

Wincing, Mirabel took the cup and tossed it back as fast as she could. It tasted like oddly spicy dirt mixed with sour milk. She gagged a little, but kept it down.

"There are many kinds of magic on this earth," the bruja began. She took a small notebook out of her robes and flipped the pages. "This continent has many different kinds, because it has been home to many different kinds of people, and they have all brought their own gods with them. Magic, you see, clings to people, whether they can use it or not."

"Why?"

"Magic cannot reproduce," the bruja continued. "It can change shape, it can grow and shrink, it can carve itself into pieces, it can die. But it cannot make more of itself, it always remains itself. That is why it is drawn to humans, humans can make more of themselves and so they are an endless source of energy. Energy is what keeps magic alive."

The pages of the notebook were full of scribbled writing, little diagrams, runes and scripture. The witch settled on a page with a candle very similar to the one in pride of place at Casíta, but instead of a flame it radiated elaborate swirls and circles.

"This is what we call Magia Blanca. It was brought to this continent, it is transformative and is usually brought into the world through a sacrifice. The transference of a human soul."

Abuelo Pedro.

The witch flipped through the pages, listing off other kinds of magic and their rituals.

Vudou.

Scapulamancy.

Divination.

Magia Negra.

Enchantment.

On the last filled-in page of the notebook, there was a drawing of the golden circle that had injured the witch, both as a circle and as the defensive spikes it had turned into. There were some notes, but very few.

"And then we come to what I pulled out of you," the witch sighed. "I can only guess at what it is, I'm not learned enough to know for certain."

"What's your guess, then?"

"I do know it's very old magic," she continued. "I could feel that when it attacked me. It's very hostile to humans. It was probably walking the earth before humans existed."

"Then...how did I get it? Is that why I never got a gift?"

"Possibly," the witch shrugged. "Some forms of magic don't play nice with others. It may have overpowered the magic in your Encanto, at least when it came to you...as to how you got it, I have no idea. It seems like it's a part of you, it hasn't just latched onto you...I just don't know."

It was staggering to think about. All this time thinking there was something wrong with her, that she had done something to anger the Miracle...and it might have been because she was possessed by a different kind of magic? She felt dizzy.

"This is your wedding dress, yes? It's coming along nicely," the witch said, swiftly taking the empty cup and making her exit.

Mirabel put her fabric and embroidery hoop away and flopped across the bed, her mind spinning in circles.

If it is a different kind of magic...why have I never seen it before? And why couldn't it protect me?

At the window, a handful of small white moths gathered, flitting around the iron bars. The flutterring of their papery wings sounded like tiny whispers.