The graveyard outside the Santa Cecilia church had always been crowded, such as it was on the holiday for honoring and remembering the departed, but there were new visitors, ladies and gentlemen in old-fashioned garb, such as brown tailored suits, billowing skirts, and bowler hats. One of the ladies gasped when something rustled her gown,"Oh!" And a child rolled out, twisting around to look up at her with astonishment. There was a subtle orange glow around her form, a slight translucence reminiscent of the Rivera boy when he'd been cursed a few years back, and the senorita froze. It seemed the others were only just beginning to realize that the child could see them, when she picked herself up and sprinted towards the cempazúchitl bridge.

A murmuring followed, growing in volume.

"Dios mio. Another one?"

"Was that Coco?" Someone whispered, and Rosita started at the sudden appearance of Oscar and Felipe at her sides. Without waiting for her response, the twins exchanged a nod, then took off to catch up to the little living girl before they could lose her in the bridge's foot traffic.

Miguel didn't understand why he could see the cempazúchitl bridge in the sky. It glowed a vibrant sunset orange against the night, phantasmal and radiant as the world that it led to. But it wasn't to be used by living, so when Miguel open his eyes, the first question that occurred to him was not 'Where am I?' as his location did not seem so important in the face of what could be another curse.

There was gravel biting into his limbs that he didn't feel, a sweet floral scent carried on the breeze that he didn't smell, and beside him, though he barely noticed it, a body was being lifted onto a stretcher and into an ambulance, while Alejandro sat on the curb, his head in his hands.

Curious, Miguel tried to angle himself to see who was being loaded into the ambulance. He craned his neck, caught a glimpse of brown bangs peeking out from beneath a white sheet, then was stopped by a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. Frowning, he turned his head to see an elderly man with a long white beard slowly shake his head. "You don't want to see that, mijo."

Realization dawned gradually, shedding light a little at a time until understanding became unavoidable. The fingers on his shoulder, spindly and pale, were bone. And the old man watching him knowingly, had no skin, no organs, no heart.

And neither, Miguel managed to think through the shock, did he.

His vision tilted, swayed, and suddenly he was sitting in the middle of the street again, his legs feeling soggy and deteriorated. A gentle hand lifted him up, guided him to the curb next to Alejandro. Carlos and Esteban appeared to have left, already.

Maybe they'd gone home.

The old man plopped down beside him, stayed with him as the ambulance drove away, and the crowd eventually departed, leaving only the three of them. The moon was high in the sky when he finally helped Miguel to his feet. "Come on," he said with a grunt, after slinging the boy's arm over his shoulder, " I'll take you over the bridge, gordito."

It wasn't until after he had crossed that Miguel remembered there was somewhere he had to be, but by that time, midnight had struck, and the bridge collapsed into a shower of beautiful petals.

"What is this?"

Enrique stared at the envelope the young mariachi standing at his door had passed him in disbelief, while the boy shifted awkwardly, apparently desiring to leave. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rivera. I meant to give you the money sooner, but it took a while to save up."

From behind him, Enrique could hear Luisa ask who was at the door. "Just the mailman, sweetie," he replied, taking some satisfaction in the way Alejandro's face went a shade paler at the lie. "It's his first week on the job and he needs directions." Lifting a lock of brown hair from her eyes, Luisa frowned, but Coco was being fussy with her breakfast, the distraction causing her to soon lose interest, allowing Enrique to discreetly shove the envelope against the boy's chest.

Working to contain the anger threatening to surface, he quietly asked the boy if he thought giving the Rivera family the money he'd earned off of his son's music would somehow help make amends. Swallowing hard, Alejandro shook his head, "But I thought that, maybe, this was what he would want."

Enrique stepped back into the house, leaving him with the cash. "Go home, Alejandro."

He quietly shut the door.

Later, he would find the envelope in his mailbox. And another the following month. Enrique didn't see how throwing the money away would help anyone, and he never saw Alejandro come or go to force him to take it back, so he collected the envelopes in his drawers, where they added up, becoming increasingly difficult to hide over the years.

For the first few days, Miguel searched everywhere for his Papa Hector. He asked around the streets, and the Forgotten Village, where the fading skeletons seemed happy enough to have him around, though they claimed not to have seen his great-great grandfather. Miguel stared at their markings and features, trying to recall if any of the village's citizens remained from his visit several years prior, but he'd only caught a glimpse of them the first time, so it was hard to be sure.

"Hey, have you seen Hector? He's a tall scarecrow-ish guy with gold teeth and a straw hat? He plays the guitar?" A bearded man with a balding head covered in scraggly white hairs took a puff of his pipe then shook his head.

"Haven't heard of anyone matching that description around these parts. If there was someone like that, they'd be long gone by now." He managed a toothless smile. "Lo siento, chamaco."

And though Miguel had accepted the news without prying further, it didn't mean he'd given up. After all, it was possible that Hector had moved. Or maybe he hadn't visited in a while. Sometimes, elderly people forgot things. It wasn't their fault. It just meant there was still hope. This didn't have to mean he'd failed.

Next, he wandered to Frida's, and was pleased to find she was setting up a routine with her dancers held by wires over a flaming papaya. Naturally.

It looked like she was still taking inspiration from the advice he'd given her when he was twelve, which was fine because this was awesome. Still, was it his imagination or did her dancers look nervous?

When Frida realized he'd let himself into her studio, she clapped her hands, halting the rehearsal for a break. The flames dyed down, causing the dangling dancers to collectively let out a sigh of relief, while Miguel clapped, grinning widely.

"Hola, Senora Frida! Como estas?" Frida became a blur rocketing towards him, a missile of brightly colored fabrics, and Miguel backpedaled, before a primate tripped him, and Frida caught him in an embrace that would have been tight enough to drive the air from his lungs, had he still had any. As it was, it made his ribcage creak. "Uh, Senora?"

Sounding uncharacteristically hoarse, Frida asked, "Why are you here?"

And he tried to brush it off, but she wasn't having it. She stared him down, her arms crossed over her chest while her monkey sat on her shoulder, until Miguel caved. He told her about the concert, about Coco getting sick and the fight with his bandmates. He told her about waking up in the street. "It was an accident."

After what felt like a long period of time where Frida's sternness refused to fade, despite Miguel having nothing left to tell, it eventually eased out of her. Reaching forward to brush a few stray strands of hair from his brow, she muttered thoughtfully, "You are not the first to tell me that, you know."

"It's the truth, Senora Frida," Miguel insisted, because he knew Alejandro and he wasn't a murderer. "Could you tell me where Hector is? After everything that's happened, I'd really like to talk to him."

A chorus of sighs came from the dancers, who all threw their palms over their foreheads dramatically. Frida solemnly shook her head. "They miss him."

And Miguel's throat couldn't go dry. His palms couldn't sweat. His heart couldn't race in his chest. And never was he more aware of that fact then now. "What happened to him," he rasped.

Frida turned from Miguel to chastise her girls for acting silly on their break, before saying with a breezy wave of her hand, "Oh, he moved on some time ago. I miss him, too, though I cannot say the same for his terrible borrowing ha…" The boy, a young man now, really, was nowhere to be seen. A jarring whine of rusted hinges caused her to look up to see the door to her studio swung as though it had been pushed, as the sound of hurried footsteps faded. "Miguel?"

Angela went to her post at Customs knowing it was going to be a hectic day, but had dared to believe that the worst was over, what with the main culprit of her headaches lying injured in her bed, except the afterlife has a way of surprising even the most jaded of denizens, which was the only way she could find to explain the pair of identical adult skeletons juggling what appeared to be a screaming toddler between the pair of them.

"Should we cover her head with a cloth or something?" One asked, apparently serious.

The woman standing with them, a Rivera if she recalled, told him patiently, "Oscar, dear, that's what you do with horses."

The twin not holding the child, his mustache askew, asked, "Then what do you do with children?" Other people were starting to notice the screaming, living girl, who was actually no longer screaming, as she'd taken to kicking – landing a solid hit on Oscar's jaw that caused him to reflexively drop her. After landing on her feet, much to the relief of those who were watching the proceedings play out, she took off, taking advantage of her small size to crawl under the gate and into the city.

Angela gaped, taking in the panicking family with a mix of disbelief and some growing panic of her own. What did protocol dictate? Did she chase after the child or call it in?

"Coco!" The men cried out, turning to her with pleading eyes. It was up to her to let them in, but they had to be cleared. Their identities double-checked. She couldn't just allow them to waltz in without following-

Her fist slammed down on the button for unlocking the gate, and they piled inside, frantically calling for the little girl with braids. Before they could squeeze through, however, she cried, "Wait!" And knowing that wouldn't keep them for long, continued in a rush, "Are you related to Miguel Rivera?"

They froze, their eyes widening comically while they tried to process this new information. "Yes?" The woman said cautiously. "He's our great-grandnephew."

"I know someone who can help you find Coco."

Not waiting for a response, she pulled out a phone.

Coco didn't want to admit that the skeletons had scared her, so she rubbed her tears away with her elbow, set her lips in a stubborn, flat line, and tried not to flinch whenever she accidentally bumped into one.

Those skeletons that had tried to catch her seemed familiar, somehow, but she didn't let herself think about it too long, and was soon distracted by the colorful stacks of houses and animals with vibrant coats, all of which seemed to sniff her curiously when she passed. It took all of her self-control not to pet every single one of them. Instead, she pulled out the photo of Miguel she'd taken from the ofrenda, and asked their owners if they'd seen her brother. Surprisingly, it seemed like there wasn't anyone who wanted to speak to her. She kept trying, though. Crossing roads she wasn't supposed to cross unless someone was holding her hand, passing bakery shops with treats like strawberry cakes and powdered sugar donuts that made her stomach growl, and ducking into alleys when she could have sworn she heard people shouting her name.

She didn't want to be found, not until she found Miguel.

Eventually, though, her feet hurt began to hurt. Feeling a strange tingling spreading up her arm from her fingers, she looked down to see the tips had become bone, her skin translucent. Her breath catching on a frightened sob, Coco called for Miguel, loudly at first, and then quietly. From the town center, a guitar could be hurt playing a chipper tune, something easy to dance to. The crowd cheered, singing along and laughing.

Curling up under a table covered in produce, Coco reached up to snatch what turned out to be an apple, but before she could retrieve it, a bony hand grabbed her wrist.

From above her, a familiar voice said with mild amusement, "You know, stealing from the dead is a capital offense." There was a short pause. "Why don't you come on out so you can apologize to the store owner when he gets back?" Coco bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. There was a tired sigh, then a hiss that sounded a little like the man was in pain. "Look, if you want the apple that bad, I'll pay for it, but I'm kind of in a hurry, so if you don't mind…?" With a shout, Coco kicked off her shoe, hoping that it would somehow make him let her go.

There was a dull thud, followed by a flat, "Ow."

Coco bowed her head, humbled by the understanding that her shoe's sacrifice had been for naught. Finally, she crawled out from under the table, though her mind had conjured up at least a dozen more escape plans, three of which had real chance for success. She waited for the skeleton man to scold her, or drag her off to jail, but the instant she stood up, or maybe even before, he got strangely quiet. Like all the words in him had all been swallowed up.

Peeking through her fringe, she could see that the skeleton wasn't as old as she'd thought, though it was hard to tell without skin. He wore a torn mariachi uniform, and he was missing his sombrero. "Coco?"

She frowned at him, disliking that he knew her name, but shrugged. "Do you know where Miguel is?"

The skeleton blinked owlishly at her, "…Que?"

More slowly, she tried again, "I am looking for mi hermano. Do you know where he is?"

He shook his head. "No, I-" Then he remembered her hands, which now looked exactly like his. Coco stared in them in wonder, too tired to be afraid, when he suddenly stood, his gaze searching, and grabbed her hand. "I need to get you home."

"I'm not going anywhere without Miguel." Coco tore her hand out of his grip, shouting at the stranger, "And you can't make me!"

For a moment, something in his eyes seemed to flare, but he quickly tamped it down. Kneeling down to her level, he continued in a softer tone, "Coco, listen to me, I'm – I'm willing to help you look for him. But if we don't find your brother by sunrise, you're going home. No fights. No arguments." She pouted, feeling mutinous. Sensing this, the skeleton arced a brow, "Comprende?"

"Si, Senor Esqueleto."

Seemingly satisfied that she wouldn't run, lest she get lost again, he stared off into the distance to decide on a course of action. Coco rolled the apple on her palms. She wasn't going to take a bite of it, except she did, and if she'd already taken a bite then there really wasn't any point to saving the rest.

When she was finished, the skeleton fished a couple coins out of his pocket with a sigh and placed them on the table.

They walked together for a time, him guiding her through the streets like he'd designed the city himself, which was nice, because being lost had been a terrible feeling that Coco never wanted to experience again. Sometimes, they stopped to show Miguel's photo to passerby, who sometimes looked oddly at her companion but usually claimed not to recognize the boy in the photo. Finally, they reached a casa on a hill, a home illuminated by magenta lighting from the bushes and decorated with multi-colored streamers from the roof. And on that roof, was perched the largest cat that she'd ever seen. There were blue, green, and yellow markings on its fur, and it rumbled curiously at their approach. Her skeleton waved. "Easy, Pepita, it's me." A wry smirk twisted his mouth, though he didn't seem very happy. "Don't tell me you don't recognize me?"

Coco let out a startled scream when the giant cat leapt down to pin him against the ground with a paw. Her skeleton man didn't move.

And then the cat started licking his face, and he laughed.

People started streaming out of the house, including the identical mustached men from before, and the pretty lady with the rose crown, and a new, stern-looking bespectacled woman that Coco hadn't seen before. Rushing out behind them was a female skeleton with lavender markers around her upper sockets like eyelashes, and a bun sprinkled with white hairs. And beside her, a skeleton who looked a lot like her skeleton, only older, taller, and a little more narrow.

Looking nervously at the gathering crowd, her skeleton gently pushed Pepita off of him, dusted off his pants, then turned to her to introduce them. "Coco, this is your Tio Oscar and Felipe," the men in the bowler hats waved, "Tia Rosita and Victoria," the woman with the flowers from earlier smiled kindly, and the bespectacled lady mouthed a hello, "your Mama Imelda," she appeared to be at a loss, so Coco waved instead, "and Papa Hector." At the last, her skeleton's voice cracked with emotion. Coco turned to see that he was desperately trying not to cry. Papa Hector stepped forward, his arms outstretched, but her skeleton shook her head repeatedly as he backed away. "I'm so sorry-" Hector's arms closed around him, making his eyes go wide, before the tension bled out of him, and he fiercely returned the embrace, "I thought… I asked everyone where you were and nobody seemed to know. They said you were gone or that you'd moved on…"

"Si, I moved in with Imelda. And we've been so worried about you, Miguel. Why didn't you come to us?"

"Weren't you listening?" Miguel demanded. "They told me you were gone. And it was my fault! I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't… If only I hadn't dropped that photo, then-"

"Miguel, I'm fine. Look at me, gordito." Hector cracked a grin, showing off his golden teeth. "Muy guapo, eh?" Miguel gave a wet chuckle. Hector's smile softened, turning tender, "You don't have to worry about me."

Imelda took her chance to scold the pair of them when it was her turn, though she kept it light, since Coco seemed oddly subdued for a child her age, and Miguel had punished himself more than he'd deserved, already. Still, she couldn't understand how he could have ever believed that they would blame him for Hector's final death. The thought of it alone brought her pain. But she ushered them inside, right after wordlessly sending Oscar and Felipe to fetch a cempazúchitl petal for Bebe Coco. Although there was still time until dawn, and Julio and her daughter would have liked to meet their grandchild, waiting wasn't worth the risk. Imelda was sure they would understand.

Grumbling under her breath, Victoria massaged the bridge of her nose.

"There really should be an age requirement on these curses."

Too tired to sit up, Coco crawled onto the couch the moment she stepped into the casa and curled up on her side. Dead to the world almost as soon as she closed her eyes.

Miguel watched her breath evenly in her sleep. The curse had reached her shoulders now, and started up her legs. Was that an otherworldly sheen around her collarbone? It was happening so fast. They needed to send her back.

"So," Hector sat down in an armchair across from him, "do you think you're up to telling me what happened?"

And because Miguel had spent the last three years coming to terms with his untimely demise, he offered up a cliffnotes version. All the highlights.

In truth, though, there wasn't much to tell. How could there have been? He was only sixteen when he'd died. But Hector listened without interrupting, even smiling when he talked about his music, and messing around with his friends. Then Miguel told him about Coco's fever, how worried he'd been about her ever since he'd died.

Hector wasn't smiling, anymore.

When he mentioned Alejandro, though, that was the only time he'd truly looked furious. "Did he do it on purpose?" He'd gritted out through a clenched jaw, and Miguel hastily shook his head. Hector watched him closely, before continuing, "Your friend in Customs let you know about Coco, right?" Not sure where this was going Miguel cautiously nodded. "She let me know something, too." And he pulled out a drawer from the table to reveal a folder labeled with Ernesto De La Cruz. Hector looked grim. "There aren't many ofrendas left for Ernesto, not after news got out of what he did, but…" Not waiting for him to finish, Miguel snatched the folder and pulled it open, scanning the list on the first page for what he knew would be there.

Since it was alphabetical, Alejandro's name was near the top.

Miguel choked on air. "T-this doesn't mean…"

"It doesn't," Hector agreed. "But it doesn't look good."

It took a few minutes for Miguel to get himself back under control. He had always wondered if maybe… Alejandro had hated him. But had never allowed his thoughts to drift down that path for long. And a relation was no solid proof. Still…

It didn't look good.

Imelda strode in soon after with a petal between her fingers, glancing between the pair of them when Miguel scrubbed furiously to erase any trace of tears and Hector hunched his shoulders, looking as miserable as she'd ever seen him. Silently, he promised to tell her later, which she would hold him to, but first there was a tired child that needed to go home. She passed the petal to Miguel, since it was likely his curse that Socorro had wrought, as possession of the guitar had passed to him.

The markings on his cheekbones, she noted when he bent to consider the petal, were scarlet chrysanthemums, arranged in a pattern similar to her husband's.

As though he were praying, Miguel held the petal to his forehead, "Coco, I give you my blessing." And it glowed, imbued with mystical power. But when he tried to lay it on the child's back, she started and swatted it away, making him drop it. Coco scrambled off the couch on all fours, leapt off, and made a beeline for the door.

Imelda was faster.

She hooked the runaway child by her neckline, lifted her up, and gave her a look that could quell lions. "I think not."

Frustrated, Miguel swept the petal off the tile, which luckily still seemed to carry its blessing. "Are you insane, Coco? Have you looked at yourself?"

Though the girl's lower lip trembled, she far less afraid of Miguel than Imelda. "I just want to find my brother."

Temper rising, Miguel stared at her in disbelief. "Yeah? Do you think your brother would want you risking your life like this?"

Coco shook her head, making her braids swing wildly. "Miguel told me he went to the land of the dead before." Imelda set her down, looking warily at her great great grandson. "I have to bring him back!"

Miguel gave a harsh laugh. "And did he also tell you how close he came to dying?" Imelda narrowed her eyes in warning, but he wasn't listening, anymore. Not to her. Not over the blare of sirens in his ears, the lingering echoes of an argument long ended. "Coco, if you don't leave this place, you will never see your mama or papa ever again. Is that what you want?" It all stopped when he saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to keep up a brave face, until finally the façade crumbled, and she balled her hands into fists to rub against her eyes as the sobs burst forth.

Immediately regretting what he'd done, Miguel ducked his head, unable to bear the weight of judgment from Imelda or his Papa Hector. Shoving the petal into his pocket, he announced, "I'm going for a walk," and sidestepped Imelda's intimidating form to slip outside. He didn't go far, however. He could still hear the crying when Hector dropped beside him on the stoop. For a time, he didn't say anything, then Miguel muttered without inflection, as though recalling a particularly embarrassing memory, "I hate this family. I don't care if I'm on the stupid ofrenda." Hector listened."I said that once, shortly before I met you. Well, it turns out I really do care. I know it's only been a few years – and what's a few years to a dead guy, right? – but I miss them." Hector wrapped an arm around him, allowing Miguel to slump against his side. "I'd give anything to see my family again."

Hector gave him a minute. "Well, in that case, I'd say your sister is a good start." He winked. "Shall we, mijo?" And Miguel nodded, too tired to speak.

When they went back inside, Imelda was rubbing soothing circles into Socorro's back, calming her down. Faced with that, Miguel found it harder than he'd anticipated not to walk outside again. Though he longed to apologize, he knew it wouldn't do any good when Coco didn't trust him, so when Hector handed him a guitar, a stunning spiritual version of the one Miguel had stolen when he was twelve, he accepted it gladly.

Imelda set Coco onto the couch, even sitting beside her so she wouldn't run, and Miguel strummed the first chord. It sounded perfectly tuned and cared for, a guitar played regularly and often. It would play what he strummed, make the sounds that he wanted, which meant it was up to Miguel to do the rest. The pressure ate him, settling into his limbs like a winter's chill, until he looked up at Coco, his number one fan, "Remember me." The words rasped against his bones, his skeletal fingers and joints stumbled over the notes, and yet her brown eyes widened, her lips parting in a quiet gasp. He kept playing. "Though I have to say goodbye. Remember me." The last time he'd played this song to her came to him, all the worry he'd felt, never truly knowing if she was okay. "D-don't let it make you cry." Music was never meant to bring her sadness. And neither was his memory. "For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart. I sing a secret-"

"Miguel!"

She pushed off the cushion, leaping off of the couch, giving him barely had enough time to get the guitar out of the way before she was in his arms, and he held her tightly, cradling her head and pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She still carried the smells of home - leather and oil from the shop, a sweet floral scent from their mother's perfume. The yearning Miguel felt for them was like a physical ache beneath his ribcage, but he knew that though he would have to wait to see them again, he would see them again.

Warmth seeped through his bones when Coco fussily wiped his tears away. Grinning at the serious expression she was wearing, Miguel returned the favor. It felt normal – right, even – to be with her again. Except it wasn't. Not when it wasn't her time.

With a heavy sigh, Miguel put her down, and tried to explain to her, as carefully as he could, that he couldn't go home with her. "I live here now, Coco. Do you understand?"

She nodded dutifully. "Then I'll live here, too."

"No, that's not-" When Hector chuckled, Miguel paused to throw a half-hearted glare his way. "Mama and Papa would miss you so much if you stayed. But if you put my photo up on the ofrenda, then I swear I will visit you."

"And Mama and Papa? And Mama Elena? And Rosa? And Dante? And-"

"Everyone," Miguel reiterated with greater emphasis. "But you'll have to take care of them while I'm gone, okay? Can I count on you to do that, Coco?"

She lifted her chin high, sticking out her chest. "Si, Miguel."

And Miguel smiled. "I know I can." Then he ruffled her hair, messing up her braids one last time, watched quietly as she said her goodbyes to Hector and Imelda, who loved her and looked forward to meeting her again, though not too soon, and to her aunts, who gathered her up in hugs and fondly kissed her head, and finally, her uncles. They'd seen Coco at her feistiest, and so told her with full confidence that she was going to be just as scary as Imelda, someday.

Imelda gathered her in her arms one last time, whispered in her ear as she stroked her hair, "But don't hurry to grow up, and don't hurry to come back, mija. You will find your way back to us in your own time."

Hector put his arm around Imelda, and while she surreptitiously wiped her eyes, Coco was transferred to Miguel, who carried her weight in his arms, memorizing it, then pressed one last kiss on his sleepy sister's brow, "Don't forget, okay?" as he slipped the petal into her palm, "I love you, Coco."

And the weight in his arms vanished, but not for long, because he soon found himself being crushed in half a dozen other embraces.

A short time after, Miguel would learn that Alejandro had made an ofrenda for him that year, and that soon after it was registered in the system, another Ernesto ofrenda had mysteriously disappeared. After mulling the matter over for a while, Miguel decided to stick with the belief that Alejandro truly hadn't meant to hurt him, and even resolved to tell him when he arrived.

Many, many years later.