The Department of Death had outgrown itself in the last three years. The original offices lay hidden behind layers of slot machines and green velvet tables. Private elevators tucked behind ornate doors lead to tiny pockets of excess. Bars, smoking dens, lounges, and penthouses all waited for their important quests without advertising themselves. It was the upper floors, the newly constructed amphitheater cone atop the D.o.D. tower, that drew up the public and then sprayed them down in a steady trickle to the casino below.

It was where Manny and Héctor wound up, swaggering out of the elevator as if they knew every corridor by heart. Héctor was all flash and bright colors, hips swaying skirt flaring, drawing all the attention away from the pillow-stuffed and toupee-wearing Manny behind him. No one questioned why 'Frida' was so tall or why 'Diego' didn't have much to say. All either of them had to do was look famous, and a throng of clerks and cashiers laid out a path directly to the VIP Lounge. They would have front-row seats to De la Cruz's show within the hour.

Héctor could make such a show out of not drinking a cocktail, and good thing too, because he had been offered at least five by this point. Manny was only just starting to catch how he could slip the glass out of sight and empty it into the nearest ashtray without anyone noticing. With a high, hearty, and slightly inebriated titter, Héctor sighed and dropped back against Manny's chest.

"That's crazy!" giggled 'Frida'. "My love, he's crazy right?"

It was perfect. All Manny had to do was nod.

"You're crazy!" Hidden behind a long inhale and the uproar of laughter from the little crowd, Héctor's voice slipped out of costume and spoke only to Manny. "I don't know how you do this without going crazy."

Manny casually slipped his hand behind Héctor's back to flick his spine. He smirked at the disguised flinch Héctor nearly let slip. "I resent the implication that what I do is an act."

"Maybe we should have put you in the dress."

Manny had so many retorts for that, and said none of them. The Lounge doors slammed open like an explosion had gone off in the hallway, big heavy oaken doors smashing into the walls behind them hard enough to rattle Manny's spine through the stilts.

Right in the doorway, bathed in light, was Domino. He glimmered, dressed in a gold suit so immaculately tailored and pressed it was reflective. His shades sliced through his own glare like a scythe. Behind him, a cluster of women in evening dresses and opera gloves clutched at their drinks and swooned.

"Well!" He shouted to the room. "Now it's a REAL Day of the Dead, isn't it?!"

The room cheered for him. The crowd parted where he walked and trailed after him like ducklings. Domino laughed, and he joked, and Manny heard none of it through the heavy fuzz in his ears. He almost didn't see it, suddenly pulled deep into his own chest in deep, primal panic.

Héctor wrapped an arm around his ribs, squeezed tight. Pulled him back down to Earth.

"Just stay behind me," Héctor whispered. "He hasn't noticed you. We're safe."

Domino wasn't important tonight, not unless he could get them closer to LeMans. Silent, shaking, arm in arm, Manny and Héctor fell into Domino's entourage and entered the concert hall.

Meanwhile, Imelda and Meche made their silent way through the backstage. The male staff took one look at their jawless faces and let them pass without question, receiving pitying stares at best and orders at worst. Passing the thick tangles of heavy ropes and sandbags was like traipsing the jungle, and Imelda (for many reasons) wished she had a machete. In the moment, she wished for a lantern too, for the wild backstage was lonely and dark.

Meche's hand caught her blouse and pulled her back just as she stumbled on a tripwire. Where her leg had been, a sandbag plummeted and hit the concrete floor with a resounding bassy thump. She gasped and reached into her ribs to retrieve her jaw. Meche, behind her, did the same.

"That was a trap!" Imelda whispered. "Do they know we're here?"

"It would explain why we haven't seen anyone else since we came through the door." Meche spoke so low, so naturally, that Imelda could hear her without straining. "But how? We came up with this plan an hour ago!"

Imelda had a dozen theories all at once: spies, double agents, Domino's spying birds, Joaquin being a blabbermouth. They came, and went, in an instant as the ropes surrounding her and Meche snapped to their sides. They crashed together with a clatter of ribs, and both yelped as they were hoisted to the ceiling.

Up in the loft, dozens of glaring women stared at them like so many angry spider monkeys. They hung from hoops and rigging, grasping at ropers and swinging in close to check their faces in the low light. Imelda recognized them, even in the shadows; she had collected some of these women as agents of the L.S.A., or family thereof. The irony of the situation did not escape her.

"It's them," one hissed. "Hurley's girls."

"How dare you!" Imelda lashed her heel out and nearly kicked her. Of all the thigns she had been called over the years, nothing turned her stomach as gravely as that! "I have no association-"

"We," corrected Meche.

"We have no association with that foul man! Anymore," she quickly added.

A smaller woman, dressed in brighter colors with bones dyed purple, swung up with her heel in a noose. "I think that's a lie from your mouth!" She wrapped her free hand into the ropes binding them together. "Big influx of unregistered entertainers with Dom's two main players right in the middle, oh no-no-no-no-no. I can smell that fishy all the way from Rubacava!"

Imelda had never been more- well no, everything leading up to this had been very confusing, and tonight was apparently not the night for making sense. Looking to Meche for help did little; Meche's too-close face was twisted into a fearful grimace. The little purple one started some kind of dramatic monologue, and taking the opportunity, Imelda whispered into Meche's ear.

"What do we do?"

"Maybe if we come apart," Meche answered, "We can fall out of the ropes and escape."

"In our bare bones?"

"We're skeletons!" said Meche. "Who's going to look?"

"Probably everybody in the audience," said the purple woman, casually.

Someone in the darkness clapped twice. "It's okay. Let them go."

The women in the rafters parted, leaving only Imelda, Meche, and the purple woman. A catwalk rose from below and came to rest under their feet. The ropes fell away like snakes from a tree, and with a burning bright flash, a single spotlight shined on the end of the catwalk. Imelda had never seen her before.

Meche had.

"Maria!"

"Oh my Meche!" Maria and Meche flew into each other's arms and squeezed each other in a tight hug. "OOH pobrecita lo siento mucho!"

"Maria how- you- you-!"

And then Meche drew back and punched Maria in the ribs. Maria buckled with a whuff of air, and all the other women in the rigging gasped.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Meche towered over the fallen Maria and roared. "I thought you were dead! I thought Joaquin sprouted you!"

"Hey we're still soundproofed, right Lupe?" asked one of the women.

"Don't worry," said the purple woman, Lupe. "They can't hear us unless we're body mic'd."

"And you've been here?! I had to spend two years living with Domino and Joaquin-" Meche nearly choked on her words. "And Joaquin knew, didn't he?!"

Maria, through her straining breathes, started to laugh.

"He did! You bastards! I was distraught!"

"Meche, out of the way," said Imelda. She drew up her sleeves. "I'll get some hits in for you."

"NO nonono-" Maria stood back on her feet, still straining to laugh- or not to laugh- and grinning like an idiot. "It- I never expected Joaquin to keep a secret that long! OH my god he's going to be so mad he missed it-"

"Maria what is wrong with you?!" It was like Meche had ignited into a ball of fire. She scooped up Maria by the collar and shook her. "How can you treat this so casually?! We are- wait- wait."

Imelda wasn't sure what Meche was going to say, but when the pair of red feathered wings unfurled from Maria's back, it all fell into place either way. Only Joaquin and Manolo laughed and joked in the face of uncertain fate like she had, and even now, Maria's beaming smile was casual and assured.

"So, now that we're back together…" Maria wrung her hands together in delight. "Want to help me make Ernesto's life a living hell tonight?"

Up in the eaves, Joaquin replaced his eyepatch and punched the air. "Yes! Better than I thought!"

"What is it, soldier?" Salvador's shoulders twitched. "Is it Hector LeMans?"

"What? Oh, no, just catching up on my dramas." Joaquin leaned back onto his wings. "Yyyep, good conclusion."

"Focus, amigos." Salvador settled further into his spot, hidden high in an empty balcony seat. He had found the front row section with Joaquin's help, and now he had his rifle trained on the empty place where Hector LeMans would seat himself for the Sunrise Spectacular. It was the perfect place, the center seat in the bowl-shaped amphitheater where he could see every inch of the stage and get the full force of the music. The perfect seat… for his final show. All Salvador had to do was wait in the company of his bodyguards, the Living Legends.

"How's everything else out there?" Manolo asked, casually strumming a guitar. "How's Miguel?"

Joaquin lifted his eyepatch again and looked out over the crowd. "He's good. He-"

"OH no wait! Tell me about Héctor! Is anybody hitting on him?"

Joaquin checked again. "You mean like Manny for fake or Chowchilla Charlie for real?"

Salvador was used to many things in his struggle for justice, and dark humor was part of the package. This… wasn't, and it unnerved and distracted him just a bit. Manolo's laughter rang a little too loud, and Joaquin's wandering attention span was… troubling.

"Focus."

"Hey, you get one good shot in on LeMans and today is all over with!" Manolo assured him. "And Joaquin won't let you miss your shot, right? He tells us where everybody is looking, and we shoot at him! Anybody looking at him yet?"

"Nope," Joaquin answered. "Everybody's just looking for De la Cruz."

"Please, the mission," said Salvador.

"It's okay, Sal!" Manolo tuned his guitar. "We've got this."

Joaquin gave another look out- and nearly dropped onto his back in shock. "Oh no."

Salvador, gasping, checked the scope. Manolo's guitar hit the floor.

Above in the loft, Imelda choked on a scream. Maria's smile dropped as Meche and Lupe both squeaked in horror.

Down in the audience, Manny's entire body went cold, and Héctor's jaw hit his chest.

Because up on the stage were Miguel and Dante.