Julieta
She watched the steam curl up from Mirabel's untouched drink and worried at her bottom lip.
Something was going on with her children.
The sneaking off, the whispers, the staying up late and discussing things well into the night…it went beyond the normal catching-up type of conversations.
(And, if she was being honest with herself, it reminded her a little too much of when she and Pepa and…and Bruno would sneak into one of their rooms in Casita and just talk and laugh until they fell asleep in a pile, and her heart ached with the comparison. She and Pepa continued their late night conversations after, of course, but it was never the same.)
And Mirabel. Mirabel, Mirabel, Mirabel. She was asking questions, as subtle as un buey en un tejado. Her sister had come to her, exasperated, saying that Mirabel was asking about the Encanto, of all things, while they were setting up at the church, and she had stormed until their Mamá intervened. The whole thing on top of the wedding preparations had Pepa very frazzled, her pent-up electricity making her red hair frizzier than normal.
Julieta had suspected Mirabel was up to something since the beginning. Her youngest had been much too eager to volunteer to close the shop, and she and Agustín had privately speculated that maybe she was avoiding her abuela—it had been a long time since Mirabel had gone back to visit, longer than usual, anyway, so they had thought maybe she was putting off the trip as long as possible to avoid any unwanted attention.
Not that Julieta blamed her. Things between her mamá and her family had been…strained, to put it mildly, for a few years now—something that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. If ever.
But then Mirabel had shown up late, and Mariano mentioned something about a tall, strange man hovering around her after she got off the bus, and now she was sneaking off to Antonio's barn with her sisters and cousins, and exchanging notes at dinner, and now, come to find out she went to the Encanto, alone?
Madre de Dios, mi amada Casita—
But she didn't have time to unpack any feelings about that yet. She had to get to the bottom of this.
She'd start in the barn.
When Julieta pushed open the wooden doors, the animals inside were unaffected by her presence, and there didn't seem to be anyone else in there. Frowning, Julieta turned to go, until she heard a small giggle.
She looked up, to the hayloft, and heard the giggle again. She smiled. Antonio must have some animal friends up there—probably that jaguar, if she had to guess—off in his own world.
"Toñito?" she called. "Are you up there?"
There was a scuffling sound and then Antonio's head popped over the side. "Tía Julieta!" he said, surprised. "What–what are you doing here?"
Julieta shrugged. "It's nearly time for the rehearsal," she said. She gave Antonio an appraising look. "And if you've been in here all afternoon, hombrecito, I'm sure your mamá will want you inside for a bath en un momento."
Antonio made a face. "Ay, no, Tía—!"
"Don't make me come up there…"
Antonio immediately turned to climb down the ladder, and Julieta blinked in surprise. She'd thought she'd have to bribe him a little to get him down.
She squinted up at the hayloft as Antonio joined her. "What were you laughing at up there, Toñito?"
Antonio looked oddly guilty. "No one," he said quickly. "Just—just Parce."
Parce chose, then, to enter through the back door of the barn and growl something to Antonio.
Julieta raised an eyebrow and her sobrino winced. "Parce, huh?" She raised her voice, taking a step toward the hayloft's ladder. "Camilo? Are you up there?"
No answer.
Antonio desperately tugged on her skirt. "Tía, there's no one up there, honest! I'll go take a bath, just don't—"
Julieta put one foot on the ladder, ignoring her nephew. It had to be connected, right? The kids' secrecy, the strange man, the Encanto? What if, what if, what if…
She reached the top of the ladder and startled so badly she nearly fell off, letting out a surprised shriek.
Crouched among the piles of hay was a large creature, rat-like in nature, staring at her with huge eyes behind wild curls. It startled just as badly as she did, falling over itself in its attempt to back away from the ladder—from her.
Before she could do anything, the creature's eyes flashed a familiar shade of bright green, and it clutched its head with both hands.
Julieta sucked in a breath. She recognized that expression, despite the years since she'd seen it—
The creature was muttering, "No, no, no, no, no, not-not now—"
She recoiled, dropping down a step on the ladder. Impossible, she thought. This-this thing isn't—it can't be—he-he's dead—
The green in the creature's eyes faded, and he saw her flinch away. A strangled sound tore itself from his throat and in seconds he had fled out of the window on the other side of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn.
Antonio shouted from somewhere below her; "Tío Bruno, wait!"
But, to Julieta, the whole world stopped. Her heart pounded, too loud in her ears. She could barely see, and when she touched her cheek it was wet. When her feet hit the ground she sank down, hugging herself.
Her-her brother. Somehow…somehow he was alive—and she had already lost him again.
Mariano
It honestly wasn't the magic that bothered him the most.
Far from it. In fact, several odd incidents—usually involving Camilo, he noticed with a twinge of amusement, but occasionally another member of the family, and filed away for later examination over the years—suddenly made perfect sense. So perfect, Mariano wondered how he'd never noticed before.
Of course, Dolores could hear things miles away. Of course she could. It was such a Dolores thing to be able to do, in retrospect.
No, what was truly bothering him was that Dolores obviously didn't trust him. Apparently, none of them had trusted him enough to tell him months, no, years, ago. He'd known the family his whole life—had gone to school with Isabela and Dolores, had helped keep an eye on the younger kids, had lended a hand come harvest season. He'd weaved his way in and out of their lives and still, not once had he ever suspected the family was withholding something like this. Something so integral to themselves. Something so integral to Dolores.
When she'd stood there before him, (so beautiful, the love of his life, his muse, his cariño, his vida, his—) and wrung her hands, more distressed than he'd ever seen her, he'd thought for a split second that she had gotten cold feet, that she no longer wanted him—but then she'd opened her mouth and spoken so terribly quietly…
"Long ago, there was a Miracle given to our family…"
And the whole truth spilled out.
Mariano listened until she was finished and then, to his great shame, he stood, shaking off Dolores' hand, and left the room without a word. He hadn't needed magically enhanced hearing to catch the sob that ripped from Dolores as she watched him go.
He walked aimlessly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his head down, lost in thought. At first, he was angry. Then, he'd done what he did often while writing—put himself in someone else's place and tried to understand their perspective.
And after a while, he thought he did understand. Dolores had wanted to tell him, she'd said as much, but to tell him was to risk ruining everything they had.
And when was it ever a good time to ruin everything?
So now he had to decide…had it?
Mariano was pulled from his thoughts very abruptly as someone sprinted up out of nowhere, smacking into him and sending him sprawling into the dirt. He spluttered, indignant, but whoever hit him didn't stop, and his angry words died in his throat before he could give them life.
Something decidedly not human—too tall, too animalistic, moving too fast—was sprinting away from the Castillo's barn and into the jungle, a ragged ruana whipping behind it. He thought he recognized the figure for a split second before it was already gone, disappearing into the thick treeline.
Mariano carefully picked himself up, shivering. Something was terribly wrong here, he could feel it, like some kind of evil encanto had taken root, burrowing itself deep into the earth.
He walked toward the barn, but something sick twisted in his gut and built and built until he broke into a run, bursting through the barn's double doors.
The horses inside were frantic, but he paid them no mind, zeroing in instead on Julieta kneeling on the floor near the hayloft's ladder. He knelt beside her, looking her over for any signs of injury.
"Señora," Mariano said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Julieta looked up at him with a tear-streaked face and shook her head. "I…I lost him," she whispered, raising up a hand to wipe her face.
"Who, Señora?" Mariano asked, his heart pounding. Antonio spent a lot of time here, he knew, but surely the boy was with his mother today…surely the horrible dread pooling in his stomach wasn't because of—
"Toñito," Julieta said, looking around the barn. "Where-where did he—he was just—"
Mariano's heart lurched. Dios mío, he hadn't wanted to be right—
"I'll get help," Mariano croaked, scrambling to his feet. "I'll go to town—we'll find him, Señora, I swear it. The monster won't get away with this."
Without waiting for a response from Julieta, he sprinted from the barn toward the house, already yelling for Félix.
He hadn't even made it to the front door before Félix and Pepa were on the porch.
"What is it, Mariano?" Félix demanded.
"Something has taken Antonio," Mariano managed to gasp out first.
Pepa let out a cry and the wind around them picked up. To Mariano's surprise, a small cloud popped into existence above her head and let out a clap of thunder.
Huh. Okay.
Félix was quick to reach for his wife's hand. "What took him?" His eyes narrowed. "It wasn't a jaguar, was it?"
"No, it—"
"Where's Julieta?" Agustín appeared in the doorway. "Have you seen her?"
"Sí," Mariano said. "She was in the barn—"
Agustín didn't wait for more information and took off running, tripping a little over his own feet.
"You're certain it wasn't a jaguar?" Félix was saying. "Or a bear?"
"It was a monster!" Mariano burst out, shaking his head. "It was huge, with these-these teeth and, and wearing an old ruana—?"
"Ay, Dios mío," Pepa murmured, clutching her husband's arm as her cloud began to snow. "Félix—el monstruo del Encanto—"
Félix shook his head. "Mi amor, it can't be the same one—"
Pepa shivered under her cloud. "No, it's…Mirabel—the-the bus—the stranger—"
Mariano frowned, confused. What did Mirabel and that strange man from the bus have to do with anything? Unless…
His blood ran cold.
Félix clasped Mariano's shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. "I need you to tell me exactly what you saw." His face was grim. "If Pepa's right…we're going to need more help."
Bruno
It's better this way it's better this way it's better this way it's better this way it's better this way it's better—
He ran from the barn without a backward glance, like el diablo himself was after him. He didn't look to see if Antonio was following him. He didn't stop when he ran into Dolores' intended, knocking the poor man over. He didn't stop at the tree line. He ran headlong into the jungle and didn't stop until his legs and lungs gave out and he collapsed on the ground with a whimper and pulled his knees to his chest and pressed his face into the dirt.
It's better this way it's better this way it's better this way it's—
He couldn't go back. He'd seen this, that first disastrous night here. He'd known—well, not entirely, his visions weren't always complete, but he'd suspected—in his secret heart of hearts he'd known it wouldn't be that simple.
Things never were, with him.
But seeing Julieta, his hermana mayor, his triplet—mere inches away, after only seeing her as flecks of emerald sand for so long—stare at him with horror in her eyes and flinch at the sight of him—
It's better this way it's better this way it's better—
With Pepa it had been different. Then, it had been dark, he hadn't known it was her, and he had been actively trying to scare her off.
But this time…Julieta saw him. Saw him have a flash, put the pieces together. She knew; she knew and she hated him, hated what he'd become, just like he always knew she would—
It's better this way it's better it's better—
He'd lied, before, when he told Mirabel he never Looked into his own future. He had, of course he had, for years and years and years and years and years—
He started after he'd found the Encanto again, after escaping the witch, after being driven out of village after village. He'd thought, then, if I can just make it home, to Casita and the Encanto, my family will be there, and they'll know what to do, Mamá always knows what to do…
But the Encanto had been deserted. Casita, in ruins. No one had ever come back.
So, he forced himself to do visions again; he'd pushed and kept pushing, even as the visions grew more and more nonsensical. But he'd kept going, searching for any sign of his family, of where they were living now…and finding none. Only vague, unhelpful images—a barn, an orchard, a shop, things that could be anywhere.
He'd saved some of them; tried to keep enough to have an image of each member of the family. He'd trace their faces, imagining their personalities, their likes and dislikes. He liked seeing his sisters grown up, and tried to imagine what he'd look like now, if things were different.
Any time he dared to Look for himself the only vision that would appear was of his youngest sobrina, the girl with the glasses, standing in front of Casita. Broken, then repaired, then broken again. And he did not understand.
But then…then Mirabel had come. And when she walked into Casita and cornered him, her knife glinting in the dim light, he thought he'd finally stumbled upon the answer. Made his peace with it.
But then she'd dropped the knife. But then she'd held out her hand—and when she'd taken his hand, claws and all, and looked up at him with brown eyes exactly like his sister's and announced that she would bring him home—well. He'd been willing to try, after that. For her sake.
He was a fool.
It's better this way it's better this way it's—
Something prickled behind his eyes, and he felt the familiar pressure of the future demanding his attention. He shoved it back, shuddering, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyelids, but the future had never much cared what he wanted.
His eyes opened as green, green, green flooded his vision, and he caught a glimpse of a small boy lying on the jungle floor, clutching his leg, his mouth open in a silent cry.
He only saw it for a moment, but the image left him gasping, stumbling backward in the dirt.
It's better it's—
"Antonio," Bruno breathed.
His muscles screaming in protest, he picked himself up and ran back the way he had come.
Translations:
1. Un buey en un tejado - An ox on a roof, a similar phrase to "a bull in a china shop"
2. Madre de Dios, mi amada Casita - Mother of God, my beloved Casita
3. Cariño - sweetheart
4. El monstruo del Encanto - the monster from the Encanto
5. El diablo - the devil
6. Hermana mayor - older sister
