The first week back in the newly-rebuilt Casita was bliss, and the second was too. Bruno sat in the middle of the row, squeezed between Pepa and Julieta, and let the chatter wash over him. After years of old, stale rolls and little morsels of cold leftovers, fresh hot food was a delight. Bruno stuffed himself silly, and the Casita obligingly tipped more and more food onto his plate until he was satisfied.

Around the third week was when the uneasiness crept in. One day, the table around him felt just a little loud, just a touch crowded. A few days later, Pepa's voice was pounding in his ear. His animated sister had words for everyone. Why did she always have so much to say?

They were too much alike, Bruno and Pepa: emotions escaping in bursts like little fireworks, words overflowing, tumbling over each other. There wasn't room for both, crammed side by side at the table. All those years, trapped behind the wall and yearning—only now, Bruno was discovering that the wall that isolated him had shielded him too.

And as for Julieta, the triplet who was his opposite: calm, soothing Julieta whose kind words healed as much as her cooking—Julieta's gift grated on him like no other. She was the perfect one of their generation. She was restoration, and he was destruction. Never was the contrast more clear than when he stood at her side.

It was with mixed bitterness and relief when after dinner one night, he slipped away behind the portrait and found himself back in his secret room within the walls. Alone again among the dust and quiet. As the minutes passed, his rats poked their heads out, then scampered over to be pet. "I can fix things too, you know," Bruno sighed, running a finger over each furry head. "At least I'm not a disappointment to you fellas." He ground his teeth and set to work mixing spackle in a bucket, and felt—not quite happy, but calm.


The next evening, Mirabel was waiting in the room, a rat on each shoulder and one in her palm.

"Eeeaagghh!" Bruno shrieked, and the rats scattered.

"What are you doing?" Mirabel asked, surveying the spackle and tools with confusion.

"Um. Nothing!" Bruno squeaked. He sprinted into the room, threw the tools into a drawer and slid the bucket out of sight with his foot. "You didn't see anything," he declared.

Mirabel folded her arms and raised one eyebrow.

"I don't know," Bruno sighed. He slumped into a tattered chair and dragged a hand over his face.

Mirabel crept closer. "Can you tell me?" she asked gently.

". . . When you make that face, what choice do I have?" Bruno huffed. "Well, I'm no good with words, but I'll try. It's like this—"

Bruno waved a hand at the cardboard telenovela set, and the rats immediately understood. One climbed onto the stage, a scrap of fuchsia cloth bunched around her waist in a rough imitation of Alma. Four others laid out a row of small objects, which Mirabel recognized as a makeshift guitar, xylophone, ocarina, and drum set. With a twitch of their noses, the rats struck up a tune, and a haunting melody filled the room.

Bruno began to sing in an imitation of Alma, while the pink-frilled rat gestured on the stage.

"You're not like them, you know. You need to learn control. Your powers may frighten as much as enlighten, so see that you watch what you show!"

Up on the makeshift stage, the rat waved a finger sharply, conveying the command. Two others jumped onto the stage, one in yellow and one in teal, miming an argument passing back and forth. "I shall not play with him! We must help Bruno fit in!"

Bruno shook his head in agitation, dropping the voices and singing as himself. "Why am I their brother if I'm such a bother? It's eating me under my skin!"

More rats were crowding onto the stage, surrounding Bruno and climbing over his arms. Their squeaking and chattering jumbled together, sounding to Mirabel almost like whispers: He's Bruno, he's Bruno, he's Bruno. . . .

Together, they raised their heads and squeaked as he continued, raising his arms for emphasis. "I'm disaster that sweeps like a whirlwind! A stormcloud that darkens the sky! Calamity, enmity, monstrous profanity, ill portents raining from high!"

"That's not—" Mirabel tried to say, but Bruno was already into the second verse.

"I fill your heart with gloom. I speak about your doom. You beg me for answers; why ask what will happen when fear is all that you gain? I search, I see, I name. You cry, you plead, you blame. What good does it do you when my eyes see through you? There's nothing I can change!"

The whispers were closing in again: He's Bruno, he's Bruno! Mirabel watched helplessly as Bruno and his backup singers broke into the frenzied chorus, whirling around the little room. Calamity, enmity, monstrous profanity—

"STOP!" Mirabel yelled, and the dancers froze in their tracks, Bruno staring at her in alarm with a rat peeking out of his hair. "This isn't right! Bruno, you know you're not causing any of it. . . and, and Abuela knows it too!"

"That doesn't matter," Bruno scoffed.

"It does matter! Look, no one's going to blame you!"

"Mirabel. They'll always feel something when they see me. Fear, or worry, or responsibility. I don't belong. They're better off without me."

"No. . . ."

"Here in the dark is where I'm meant. . . to. . . be," Bruno finished sadly.

When the song finished, even the rats were quiet, neatly tucking away their accessories and their instruments. They moved around the room seamlessly, setting Bruno's table. Mirabel looked at them thoughtfully.

"It's too much all at once, isn't it?" she pondered.

"No. Maybe."

"You're right, Tía Pepa is loud. But. . . maybe you can sit by someone else!"

"Kid," Bruno sighed, "I don't know anyone else. You were all little kids when I left."

Mirabel was undaunted. "Everyone's a stranger to begin with! Let's start over and meet your family, one by one." Her eyes took on a determined glint. "Starting with Dolores."


They sat across the table looking at each other, holding perfectly still, the clock ticking while Mirabel looked back and forth.

"Hola," Dolores finally said, barely above a whisper.

"Hi," Bruno returned.

"Soooo!" Mirabel chimed in, her voice awkwardly loud. "Dolores you already know Bruno—or at least know of him. Bruno, this is Dolores, and she has really good hearing! Wait, you already know that. The point is. She talks really softly, and you like the quiet. Maybe you'll get along!"

They both looked at her.

"I'll just. . . stop talking now," Mirabel said awkwardly.

"Thank you for watching over la Casita," Dolores offered.

"Thanks for not snitching on me," Bruno replied.

- O -

It got easier after that. Though Luisa was strong and Bruno was. . . not, she was direct. After the first hour, Bruno stopped reading into her words for hidden meanings. What Luisa said, she meant, and what she meant wasn't often complicated. Bruno released the breath he always seemed to be holding, and he allowed himself to relax.

When he voiced his relief, Luisa simply shrugged. "People ask me to lift things," she said simply. "You can't really complicate that. I'm glad my gift is simple. People are complicated, but lifting is easy."

And in that, Bruno found that he and Luisa were a lot alike.

- O -

Next was Camilo, who had a special talent of putting people simultaneously at ease and on edge.

Friendly, easygoing Camilo was full of smiles and jokes. He would put anyone at ease, Mirabel mused. But seeing Bruno leaned against the wall clutching his chest, with Camilo towering threateningly over him, Mirabel had to roll her eyes.

"Camilo, this is your first time seeing Uncle Bruno in years, and you really had to greet him as a seven-foot-tall version of himself?"

"With rats along my back!" Camilo added happily.

"It's, huff, alright!" Bruno gasped as he slowly recovered. He glared at his rats all perched along Camilo's arms. "Stop looking so pleased with yourselves, you traitors," he grumbled at them.

- O -

Returning to Antonio's jungle was the simplest of all. Antonio played with the animals and chatted easily with them. He loved the rats, he understood them, and he stopped the jaguar from eating them. Bruno settled down to pet an indifferent capybara, watching Antonio scamper around.

"You know, I'm happy for him," Mirabel said, watching Antonio hover supported by dozens of hummingbirds on each arm.

Something in her voice made Bruno pause. "You're not envious?" he asked.

"No," Mirabel answered too quickly. "Well. Of course I am," she sighed.

Together, they watched Antonio frolic. "But you wanted to be that carefree, happy child too," Bruno said in understanding.

Mirabel nodded. "So did you."

Suddenly, the jaguar burst out of the underbrush with Antonio on its back and scooped up Bruno from behind. Away they went, Bruno shrieking and Antonio laughing.

Mirabel smiled watching them. "But it's not too late to start now."

- O -

They approached Isabela's room with some trepidation. "We're better now," Mirabel said. "I know what she's really like now, and we're more alike than I ever imagined." She chuckled. "We feel the same way about that blockhead Mariano. Who would've thought? I can't believe she was willing to marry him. She's really tough."

Bruno walked quietly, listening to Mirabel's ramble. "Go on," he prompted.

Mirabel sighed. "I'm not mad. It was just hard growing up next to her. You know?"

Bruno thought of gentle, helpful, effortlessly-good Julieta who'd never accidentally summoned a tornado or predicted the death of someone's goldfish. "I know," he said.

- O -

"I envy Tía Julieta," Isabela said, surprising them. She smiled at their expressions. "Don't look so surprised. They were the first in the family to receive gifts from La Casita. It was so unexpected. Abuela was grateful, and so, so glad they were all alive and safe. And now gifted besides? It was more than she'd ever hoped for." Isabela smiled wistfully. "They both married for love, you know," she added.

Mirabel looked up, startled. In all that Mariano business, she'd forgotten to ever ask—

"What kind of person would you. . . want to marry?" She asked, feeling a little odd.

Isabela froze, her eyes wide.

"Ah no never mind! Awkward! Forget I asked!" Mirabel tried to backtrack.

"No no! I'm just so. . . ." Isabela beamed even as her eyes teared up. "I never thought I'd be my little sister's big sister this way," she sighed happily. "Well, I always thought I wanted to marry someone handsome, and have lots of kids. Abuela would be so proud. But now. . . I have no idea. I'm still figuring out what kind of guy I'd want to be with, and spend a lot of time with. What about you?" she asked teasingly. "Anyone you have your eye on?"

"Me? Ick!" Mirabel sputtered. "Maybe one day."

Together, they turned to look Bruno. "How about you, Tío Bruno?" Isabela asked softly. "How come you never married?"

"I guess I'm the same way," he replied. "Being perfect or being a misfit. . . it doesn't leave a lot of room for romance, does it? I couldn't even figure out how to be a good brother."

Isabela looked down at her multicolored dress in explosive purples and yellows. "Don't try to be good," she said. "Just be true."


When dinner rolled around again, Bruno sat among the girls, chatting animatedly with Isabela and Dolores. From the sappy expression on Dolores's face and the disgust on Isabela's, Mirabel was sure they were talking about Mariano.

From across the table, Pepa and Julieta watched him fondly.

"I told you he'd find his way," Pepa crowed.

"You mean you told me how annoyed you were all the time," Julieta said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, but I also said you didn't have to figure it out for him!" Pepa retorted.

Together, they watched Bruno glare down the jaguar and send it on its way with a gaggle of rats on its back, their expressions a mixture of affection and pride.

- O -

"It seems our family is healed after all," Alma murmured to the candle that night. "Thank you, Casita."