Chapter Text
It was the fifth birthday of Dolores's first child- Alma, named for Abuela- and it was agreed that her birthday shouldn't be muted just because it happed to fall after her namesake's funeral.
The event dragged even the most disaffected members of the family back into daily traffic in the halls, and into necessary logistical conversations. Who will pick up the pan dulce from Señor Ortiz's bakery? Who will coordinate the decoration of Casita? Who will keep Dolores's two younger twins occupied as the village gathered, just before the speeches? The answer to that one was Bruno.
He was crammed with the rest of Dolores's family in Mirabel's room, the back stage of the event since it was perpendicular to where the new door had appeared. A contrivance of Casita's, Bruno suspected.
Bruno liked Mirabel's new room anyway, especially now that he could see it in full light. Just a hair short of tidy, no space free of knick knacks and half finished art projects. Her deep blue bedspread was patterned with the night-shifted symbols of the family; candles, sleeping animals, clouds over the moon. The windows were filled with potted plants and clay figurines, and a suncatcher hung from the top pane. Bruno noticed some familiar green glass had found its way into it, even though he hadn't had a real, tablet-making vision since the last one before Casita fell. Mirabel must have picked it out of the rubble. His favorite touch was the swarm of painted blue butterflies that circled over the ceiling. He could imagine Mirabel standing on a chair with her head craned up, dabbing the light spots on each one.
At this moment, the birthday girl was sitting at Mirabel's vanity table, Mirabel sewing a piece of lace that had come loose on her white dress last minute. Mariano stood at the door waiting for Dolores's signal. Bruno, at Mirabel's request, did his best to occupy Alma's three year-old twin siblings. They played a rather perplexing game with painted wooden animals: Bruno would place and stack them, somehow always incorrectly, and the twins would knock them over.
He watched with much more interest as Alma attempted to inveigle herself into Mirabel's sewing kit and the various unguents she kept at the mirror. Alma had been incredibly impatient for this gift ceremony, and the vanity was the latest distraction on a tightly paced series to keep her occupied. The two were in a feisty discussion about how much makeup was really appropriate for a five year old, Mirabel affirming that none should be necessary.
Bruno was curious about all the little tinctures as well. Old tins of burnishing polish repurposed to hold floral extracts in tallow, a jar of lotion that smelled strongly of chamomile, a bristle brush for the nails.
"What's the spoon for?" He asked.
"Oh that," Mirabel said with some surprise. "It's for eyelashes, you.." she tapped her thumb on the side of the spoon. Bruno was genuinely perplexed by this, and it was apparently very clear even though he tried to nod.
"Show me!" said Alma seizing the opportunity. "On my lashes."
Alma was running circles around the family, and Bruno knew she only got better at it with time. It appeared that the lashes were pressed between the curved edges of the spoon and the pad of one's thumb, causing them to curl upward- so they looked more eyelash-ish? They were superior in a way Bruno could not fathom. He wondered what other little things Mirabel was doing that he hadn't noticed, and decided to pay closer attention.
Dolores appeared at the end of the hall.
"We're up," she said simply, taking Mariano's arm in hers. Alma pranced up to her mother, exclaiming about eyelashes, and took off at a run down the hallway so she could reach the first floor. Bruno ushered his grand niece and nephew off to Dolores, and the family took position at stage right. Easy access to the door in case one of the children started fussing. When Bruno turned, Mirabel was watching their retreating backs with an agonized expression, like she was struggling to view the memory from years in the future. A shadow of tragedy in the happiest moments if you looked for it.
The crowd began to hush, signifying the time for the ceremony. Mirabel was never as fond of them as Abuela, but more and more often, she was tasked with speaking at them. The people loved their speeches. Bruno wished one of the other nieces or nephews had volunteered to take this one, or maybe Pepa? But with Abuela gone, there wasn't really someone as suited to it as Mirabel. She looked out at the crowd, biting her lip.
"Don't think there's much chance of you forgetting the words to this one." Bruno had heard her practicing this whole week, mouthing the sentences over and over as she did chores. The story of Pedro's sacrifice, the candle, the Madrigal family helping to raise the village from the ground. Also new lines- about the fall and rise of Casita. Abuela's death.
"It's not that, it's just..." Mirabel grimaced and averted her eyes. "I'm not ready for this. I wasn't ready…"
She meant assuming the place Abuela has left behind. They shared the crestfallen silence that accompanied any mention of her passing.
"In fifteen minutes it will all be over," Bruno tried to be comforting.
"They're right," Mirabel said dryly, "You really can see the future."
Bruno laughed. Mirabel gave him a small unguarded smile, not the fake one she wore like armor, or the one tinged with sadness. Then, she stepped out to take her place at the top of the stairs.
The speech had been beautiful, of course. It was why they kept making Mirabel give them, pobrecita.
And the gift was as flashy and precocious as Alma. As she touched the door knob, a plume of fire shot out and engulfed her. There were shrieks- clamoring and panic- before Alma revealed herself untouched in the flames, giggling and grinning ear to ear grin as sparks flew from her hands. The crowd roared into applause, and no little wonder as the fire lit the courtyard as bright as daylight.
"Ay," lamented Felix who stood with Pepa beside Bruno, "Like giving young Camilo a pack of matches…"
They held the afterparty in the courtyard. The amount of incendiary sources and fire hazards made Alma's room somewhat inhospitable to all but the child herself. Bruno lingered on the second floor outside of his own room, undecided if it was time to leave the festivities
Bruno imagined what would have happened if his room had been similarly celebrated. He could imagine his mother poking her head in, seeing the sandy dunes and stairs, and lightly suggesting that they put up a rope so guests didn't trip and break their necks. But at the time, it was just the four of them- Alma, Pepa, Julieta, and himself.
Bruno saw Julieta sipping a glass of red wine on the second floor of the courtyard across from where he was, overlooking the dancing at the center. The teal of her dress had almost melted into the shadows. Bruno was unable to help himself from taking some worries to her.
"Some gift, huh?" He grumbled as he arrived at the overhang next to her. Bruno placed his elbows on the railing, letting his hands dangle. "I'd start preparing for some extra burns on your rounds."
Julieta's lips twisted as she took a drink, acknowledging his statement with a wry tilt to her head. Little pink sage flowers coiled in her salt and pepper hair- perhaps a touch from Isabella.
"I think Alma will try be careful, you know," she said. "When it comes to something as special as her gift,"
After a moment, she continued. "She is so different from Mama."
It took Bruno a moment to understand. Most of the adults in the family still referred to their mother as Abuela- a habit retained from the years of raising the next generation.
"Well, yes," Bruno wasn't sure what else he could say. The old Alma was about as opposite from a fire eating hoyden as you could imagine. Cold and poised, hard as stone but perhaps even less animate than Casita. Bruno wondered if the two were ever more similar before Pedro's sacrifice. He shook his head, willing away the somber thoughts.
Bruno cleared his throat and clasped his right arm where it was resting on the railing. He'd been contemplating this idea a long time and he wanted to run it by Julieta now that he had another example that wasn't in the far future.
"My guess is, the gifts are less about surviving now. More about bringing us joy and excitement."
Julieta hmphed, a sound Bruno recognized as tentative acceptance of the theory. She was not as interested in the future as Abuela, and never came to him with requests for visions. But she had always been willing to entertain Bruno's "theories" as long as they were presented as such.
A lively salsa erupted from the courtyard, momentarily drawing both Julieta and Bruno's attention with a clap of drumbeats. From above, the flaring dresses and colorful ponchos of the village twirled and weaved like flecks of color in a kaleidoscope. Occasional plumes of fire lit the courtyard and sparks pinwheeled through the air- the usual fireworks later tonight would have some major competition.
Casita strummed the tiles above them. When Bruno looked at Julieta, her eyes were twinkling. Following her gaze, he saw Mirabel among the other dancers. She had on a new dress, something blue-purple-green with her usual rainbow of embroidery flowing up the side.
"Mirabel's influence, the new gifts?" Julieta suggested.
"I think so."
Mirabel extracted herself from her latest partner and seemed to be looking around for something.
"You should go dance with her," Julieta said, and continued to speak over Bruno's immediate protests. "…Obviously looking for you, I don't want to hear it."
Sure enough, Mirabel caught sight of them from the ground floor and waved with both hands. She began to maneuver past the dancers to the staircase.
"You know I can't put a foot down in a salsa without crushing someone's toes" Bruno said, hating how petulant it sounded.
"I'll fix the toes," said Julieta, lightly nudging Bruno's arm before withdrawing.
A clatter of tiles announced Mirabel's arrival.
"Hey!" She called, somewhat breathlessly. She had pinned her hair out of her face, and already had a pretty glow of exertion. Mirabel looked the happiest he'd seen her since Abuela's death. Her eyes had a hopeful, puppyish expression and Bruno hated the thought of ruining it.
"Can we, you know-" she started, flushing even further as the words fell out of her mouth in an untidy jumble. She smelled like tres leches cake and firecrackers, the chamomile lotion Bruno recognized from her vanity. "Would you want to, um, dance?"
How could he say no to such a simple request? It's just that when he danced, he had to keep his elbows rigid and watch his feet to make sure he didn't step on toes. If he really tried to dance, he looked ridiculous like an escaped green table cloth flapping in the wind. He was liable to fling an elbow directly into someone's face or knock a vase off a mantle.
"Not much of a dancer," Bruno said, dread rising in him as he searched Mirabel's expression for the sign that he let her down. Instead, an understanding flickered across her face.
"You don't need to be," she said. And then: "What if we danced right here?"
Bruno looked about them in the hall of doors overhanging the courtyard. With Julieta absent and the party dancing in the courtyard, the only company they had were the moths flapping around the lanterns. Maybe it would be okay.
"Sure?" He offered, and he was instantly sold on the decision when Mirabel's face broke into a genuine smile. Far from the unguarded one from before- a real sunshiney gleefulness untouched by the darkness of the past months. Bruno didn't understand it, but he felt he could get addicted if he wasn't careful.
"I don't know how I-" Bruno put his hands up in front of him and tried not to look defensive. It was a bit strange actually, dancing here instead of the 'proper' way where partners mingled in a crowd of dancers, but Mirabel simply grabbed his hands and put them where they needed to be for a salsa. It was the first steps you learn with your hands clasped in front of you. Even Bruno remembered this from before he'd sworn off dancing somewhere in his twenties.
Not that it was easy.
Bruno stumbled, feet tripping over themselves and his movements awkward and uncoordinated. He felt every year of his age, and maybe some additional as a handicap for inherent lack of coordination.
"Stop looking at the ground, or I'll spin you!' Mirabel laughed.
Bruno glanced up at her expression and was startled at how giddy she seemed with his truly horrible dancing. Mirabel guided him through a slightly more complicated series of steps, somehow able to make up for the ones Bruno missed. And despite what she said before, she braced a hand on Bruno's shoulder and pushed him through a single spin.
"Hey!" Bruno raised his eyebrows, certain he shouldn't let that slide. But it was hard to chasten someone entirely unashamed.
As the song continued, he realized he felt lighter, more agile. He was, amazingly, actually dancing. Mirabel's hands- warm in his and just a bit sweaty- must have some magic in them. The music from below was just quiet enough that he could hear her quietly humming along with the lyrics of the song. A single curl had escaped from where Mirabel had pinned it up and Bruno secretly wanted to tuck it behind her ear.
Finally, the musicians exhaled on the last phrase of the music. A beat of silence elapsed, everyone still enrapt in the spell of the song, and then the hubbub of the crowd below began to swell again. Mirabel squeezed his hands once, and then dropped them. Bruno sagged against the balcony railing which came up to meet him, trying not to look as winded as he felt. Water, he thought.
"Thank you," Mirabel said, a note of finality in the phrase. Bruno watched her joy recede again, a small sadness creeping into the invisible lines tension around her eyes.
"I mean, thank you?" Bruno was unsure what happened.
"You're the miracle worker. Last time I danced, I knocked over a platter of pan dulce,"
Mirabel smiled at his confession, but averted her face. She twirled her finger in the curl that had escaped and smoothed it back into place. Hiding something.
"I think would be happy," she said, quieter this time, "If we could dance at every one of the fifth birthdays, and maybe mine? That would be like thirty, forty times- that's a lot, right?"
Bruno's heart sank. Another one of Mirabel's musical equations of death and suffering. He'd heard a lot of them. She had so much contention with the future- Bruno's domain.
And then, the thought almost absurd, he realized could actually fix this one.
"I'll dance with you whenever you want," he promised. Perhaps he was being too brash, falsely emboldened by the success before. But if he could help for once in his life? Anything.
Mirabel looked so shocked that Bruno felt compelled to babble.
"I mean, probably not if I had just broken a leg or something, you know, before Julieta could get to me,"
Mirabel smiled and the dawn broke through again. The musicians had started playing too, another lively number. She immediately grabbed his hands.
"Now?" Bruno said weakly.
"Just half a song more," Mirabel laughed.
Bruno let himself be pulled into dancing. He inwardly celebrated, still amazed that it had worked. He decided to find all of the equations he was a part of, and solve them.