Miguel was sweaty.
He had kept his word to the letter. Miguel stayed in the L.S.A. headquarters with Eva, where it was safe. He stayed for fifteen whole minutes in that hot room, not moving even though he was sweaty and wet and his back was itching like crazy. Dante started to squirm, then walk around in circles, then sniff under his hoodie. He didn't have his guitar to block him- he had left it at the End of the Line to keep it safe- and Dante would not get off the chair with him even after he pleaded and begged.
"What's the matter, honey?" Eva asked, not looking up from the radio.
"I think Dante needs to be walked!" he said. "And maybe me…"
"You can go out in the tunnel with Glottis if you need to," she said. "Just stay where you can see us."
They slipped out of a side door into the tunnels outside, and walked out while Glottis was making vroom noises in the Bone Wagon. Dante lost his impatient wiggle, but Miguel still felt too hot and anxious to sit still. He waited until he was sure they were alone before turning to Dante.
"Okay, Dante," he whispered. "You feel it too, right?"
Dante woofed.
"I knew it!" He knew Dante would be on his side! He pulled his zipper up tight. "Come on! Let's find De la Cruz!"
Dante fluttered up into the air and lead the way over to a ladder that opened to the street. Miguel's heart was singing. He knew it! He absolutely knew it- this was already starting to look like another year of his family being in danger, and him getting pushed into a corner to be safe, and then something would happen and he wouldn't get to go home! He wasn't about to let it happen again! He had to do something, and if all the adults were going after Hector LeMans, then he was going to Ernesto de la Cruz! He'd be fine, figured Miguel, as long as he didn't drink anything De la Cruz gave him, right?
He stopped halfway up the ladder, surprised at himself. Maybe he was getting desensitized to all of this.
Oh well, up he went. The ladder opened up to a back street behind the D.o.D. building. He caught a flash of Dante's tail whipping around a fence and through a window, which he dove into headfirst. Miguel scrambled in and dropped into an open trunk filled with fluffy dresses. He lifted his head out of the pile of lace and saw nothing but bright and frilly clothes covering every wall in the tiny space. Dresses on every desk, over every table, filling bunches of boxes so numerous there was hardly room to walk.
"Dante!" Miguel protested, rolling out of the trunk. "You put me in a girl's room- aah!"
He only managed a little yelp when Dante caught him by the hood and pulled him under a table, hiding him under the dangling skirts.
The dressing room's door burst open, and Héctor stumbled onto the floor in a frazzled kind of panic. Miguel sucked in his breath. Dante put a paw over his mouth.
"Okay- okayokayokay- closet!" Héctor threw open the closet. Miguel could just barely see him doing so through a gap in the skirts. "El Santo- no. Cepillín- NO! No never again no- there! Frida y Diego!" Throwing two hangers of clothes over one arm, he crossed the room and dug his other into the trunk Miguel had landed in. He pulled out a pair of metal stilts. "Yes! Okay- Manny! Put these on-!"
And just as fast as he came in, he left, slamming the door behind him. Miguel scooted out of his hiding spot. He could faintly hear Manny and Imelda's voice joining Héctor's voice on the other side.
"Gracias, Dante," Miguel whispered. Dante removed his paw and snuffled through the room. "That was super close, though. What if he saw me?"
Dante pawed at a drawer until it opened up; inside was white and black makeup.
Miguel smooshed Dante's face. "I take it back. You're the smartest spirit guide on Earth!"
Looking proud of himself, Dante wagged his tail a few times before curling around to chew on his wings. Miguel got the hint and immediately dug into the drawers for sponges and brushes. He hadn't done his own makeup since the shore leaves back on the Limbo, before it was even the Lola, but his hands still knew every step by heart. He looked into the mirror and saw his bone-white face, not him but so familiar, and realized that if tonight went well, he would never see this face again.
Well, no, because he could paint his face in the Living World, too. He was just pretty sure he would never want to again.
Dante nipped at his pants leg.
"I'm hurrying! Jeeze!" With a quick coating of white paint, his hands were covered, and Miguel and Dante snuck out into the hall.
Everything in the back halls was such a mess, no one even noticed an unattended kid and his dog. Miguel even gave up sneaking after a few minutes. He just kept a low profile and smiled when people greeted him. One skeleton asked him for directions and Miguel just pointed whichever way Dante's head was facing. There was one close call, where he rounded a corner just as Meche and Mamá Imelda were heading the other way, but neither saw him.
This could be perfect, thought Miguel. De la Cruz could just apologize, like Imelda had done, and that would be another huge chunk of the problem completely gone! A hundred-or-whatever years was more than enough time to feel bad for a murder, right? Miguel was starting to feel bad about sneaking off now, and it hadn't even been… he didn't have a watch. But it couldn't have been that long.
Dante brought him to a door. It was plain and hidden in a back corner, normal and dark and boring, but it's where Dante stopped and sat down.
"Here?" Miguel asked. Dante pawed at it. "Okay." And he knocked.
And then Ernesto de la Cruz just… opened the door, and there he was. And it was incredible, and it wasn't. It was everything that little Miguel, living Miguel, ever hoped for and wanted all at the same time. It was him and his hero together. It was real, and it was happening, and Ernesto de la Cruz was… just a guy. Just a skeleton, not even as tall as Papá Héctor or Salvador, dressed in a beautiful suit. Everything about him should not have been normal… and it was.
"Wow…" Miguel said aloud. "You are real…"
"… Sí?" De la Cruz, looking just as taken aback as Miguel felt, was slow to speak. "Are… you with Hector?"
Miguel felt the words strike him, but lightly, just a tap. "Sí? How did you know?"
It didn't occur to him until he spoke- De la Cruz hadn't said Héctor. Hector, the weird way, Hector as in LeMans, was what he had said, and the horror washed over De la Cruz's face like white paint.
Miguel backpedaled hard. "No no no, not like that! I'm not here to hurt you! I just-" and the lies, all the wonderful ideas for lies, flowed out of him like water. "-am here because he's watching me tonight! Me and my dog, Dante! Say hola, Dante!"
Dante barked, but his tail didn't wag. Miguel hoped De la Cruz wouldn't notice. He tried to talk over it. "I named him after your horse in El Camino a Casa-"
"Hector has a…?" De la Cruz stalled, clearly confused.
Taking the opportunity, Miguel strolled right through the door with Dante on his heels. This must have been De la Cruz's dressing room, because it too was small and littered with boxes full of clothes. "A great-great-grandson! My parents aren't dead yet, so I'm staying with him. And it's kinda okay? Like, he's my family and he's great, but there's no other kids, and I can't go outside because of all the uh-" He nearly tripped over himself. "The L.S.A. guys, or something? And they're always talking when they think you're asleep-"
Flustered, De la Cruz stumbled after him, locking the dressing room door behind him. "That's- er, all very nice, I'm sure, but why are you here?"
"… because you're Ernesto de la Cruz?" Miguel spoke plainly. "You're like the best musician ever! How could I note come talk to you? Even Héctor-" He slipped again. He talked through it. "He thinks you're great!"
All the dread left De la Cruz's face in a flash, replaced by bare-faced relief. "He really likes me?"
"Oh yeah! Has he been mean to you?" Miguel bounced over to De la Cruz to whisper. "He does that to everybody. Don't take it personally. But he thinks you're pretty great. And I do, so if I think you're great…"
"Oh! Oh of course!" De la Cruz laughed a little too high and a little too sharp to really sound 'happy', but still, Miguel was in the clear. He ushered the two of them further into the dressing room. "Oh it is so good to know how Mr. LeMans feels about me! He can be such an intimidating man! And ever since the move, I've been struggling- here, take a pan de muertos for yourself."
Miguel didn't really hear much after that. He couldn't see past everything.
De la Cruz's "dressing room" was not the crowded little wing he'd walked into. That crowded little space opened up into a mansion, bigger than the kitty track and the Lola- maybe bigger than Domino's island hideout, and it was filled to the ceiling with things. De la Cruz had piles of food, more food than Miguel had ever seen in his life. Clothes hung from the multi-story ceiling like papel picado, every color under the sun. Under Miguel's feet, the floor was crunchy with layers of unopened letters and unread postcards. Miguel reached without thinking and ran his hand along a wall of little tokens and totems, all handmade with love, all signed and addressed to him.
Dante yelped as little alebrijes, chihuahuas, darted out from the stacks of food and raced across the room.
"This is all yours?"
De la Cruz groaned, annoyed. "This is what your abuelo leaves me after he takes his cut. Look at this! This isn't a quarter of what I'm really worth!" He picked up a plate- just whatever one he first touched- and passed it to Miguel. It was loaded high with cake and cookies and concha breads, all warm, and Miguel's gut twisted with hunger. "Eugh, if it weren't for this L.S.A. nonsense I would still be making real money out there…"
Miguel's mouth watered. He held the plate out to Dante… just to check. To be absolutely sure…
Dante sniffed carefully and took a concha for himself.
Miguel stuffed the entire slice of cake into his mouth. He wanted to cry. He hadn't had anything sweet in so long, much less a cake. It was just so hard to find out there…
De la Cruz was still talking, and mindlessly handing things he thought Miguel would like over to him. Miguel took every cake, and candy, and bottle of Coca-Cola that he could while De la Cruz went on and on. "But that's how death goes once you're in the entertainment business! It's a constant back and forth with your managers and your public, and sometimes you get the bad end of a contract. But it's what I love! I still love my public, and my concerts, and my living fans. It's just- this thing! This L.S.A. thing- You understand, right?"
Miguel washed down a mouthful of sugar with more sugar, burping before he spoke. "Yeah yeah! L.S.A., all over everywhere, it's the worst!"
"And then here I am having to take the brunt of it! I mean look at this!" De la Cruz popped open a Coke with his hip bone and threw himself into a chair. "How am I supposed to fit two lifetime's worth of things into somewhere this small?"
Miguel staggered. "Your old place was bigger than THIS?!"
"Easily four times bigger! I had property on the ground!" he bragged. "Waterside property on the ground! Do you know how hard it is to find waterside property that isn't swarming with olvidados?"
Miguel's heart froze over.
"Exactly!" said De la Cruz assuredly. "You're so lucky you died young. Save yourself the trouble of falling into oblivion like all those other palurdos outside."
"But… they're not bad people…"
"Oh of course not!" De la Cruz waved the thought away. "They're just nobodies."
Miguel wasn't going to get an apology out of him. He needed to get out of here.
Someone screamed, from somewhere Miguel couldn't see. "Why is this door locked?! CRUZ!"
De la Cruz yelped and jumped to his feet. "Hector! Your grandfather-"
"I-I'm not supposed to be in here!" Miguel lied with the truth. He caught up Dante by grabbing his wing and running. "I've gotta hide!"
"Don't leave me in here with him!" De la Cruz pleaded.
Miguel ran and dove behind a rack of guitars. Dante jumped into his lap, and Miguel hissed while he could "What are we supposed to do now?!"
He couldn't see any of it, but he could picture it… almost. He could hear De la Cruz whimpering, and the big heavy footsteps of someone approaching him. He saw the shadows they cast on the floor, and how Hector LeMans was almost twice De la Cruz's size.
"Why is there no set list, Cruz? Why is there no one backstage?! I give you nearly a year to write one song, and I arrive to the back rooms in chaos, three L.S.A. agents rifling through my office, and no programs to hand out to the guests?!"
"It- those- it's not my department!"
LeMans swiped his hand, and one of the pillars of things crashed to the floor in a slow, rumbling blast. Miguel and Dante cowered in their hiding place. One thing in the massive pile shined out like a jewel in the dirt: De la Cruz's guitar, Héctor's old guitar, carelessly lying among the gifts.
"ALL of it is your department! I have businesses to run, Cruz! I do not have time to micromanage your life the way that horrid Maria woman did! I gave you money, I gave you protection, I gave you more women than you could ever hope for, and all you've done is hide in your rooms for the last seven months! I've given you more than you will EVER deserve, and you don't even have a single new song to show for it!"
Miguel swallowed hard. He couldn't panic. Here was Hector LeMans, here was Ernesto de la Cruz, and it was just him and Dante. If anybody L.S.A. was going to shoot him- either of them, he realized with horror- then they would have to leave this room. Hector LeMans wanted new songs, but De la Cruz didn't write songs, Héctor did-
Miguel gasped.
He did.
"Come on, Dante," he whispered, and he ran.
"But your grandson!" said De la Cruz. "He said-"
"What are you talking about?! I don't have-"
Miguel scooped up the guitar and sprinted forward, only moving when Dante flew ahead of him and lead him away. He vaguely heard a shout, and the crunch of feet stepping into garbage, but within seconds Miguel and Dante were out of their sight and through another door, out into the backstage area once again. He could feel music ringing up from the orchestra, the prelude to the live show, and a sliver of bright stage lights shined out through the wings. He had Dante. He had his family's guitar. He had music inside him, in a way De la Cruz never did! He didn't need-
A hand grasped his shoulder and pinched at his collar. "Body mic!" said a lady's voice.
When Miguel turned around, there was no one there, but something was hanging off his hoodie. He touched it, and out on the stage, he heard a pop like a microphone behind poked.
"Let's go, De la Cruzito!" said the voice again, in his other ear. He spun around, and again, there was no one, but he knew that voice. He knew it! But… faintly.
He wasn't sure… but the stage was calling him.
He stepped out into the light.