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The rain began once the shock wore off: when the frightened questions rose and Mirabel, freshly five, started to sob. A town’s worth of guests departed early, damp and nervous. Casita’s shut her doors gingerly behind them as if she, too, felt uncertain, and the warmth of the party gave way to chill quiet.
Mamá asked Bruno to help her understand what it meant. She begged him to see if they were in danger. Her hands, wrapped around the candle, shook.
---
His tower remained dry. When he realized what he needed to do, the bridge to his vision cave burned well.
Light faded behind him. Heart in his throat, he turned in time to see his own door go dark. Unfamiliar shadows filled the stairwell, creeping over the pictures and paintings hanging on the wall.
On impulse, he took one photo. The morning of his and his hermanas’ fortieth birthday, before anyone from town arrived and he retreated to the solitude of his tower. Something to remember everyone by, when he was gone. He held it tight and mouthed a final, silent goodbye.
Then the slick tiles beneath his feet jolted, and Casita flung him through a hole in her wall.
---
Casita’s hidden passageways—the unfinished spaces in between her walls that Bruno had never imagined before, rough and dusty in a way he had never seen her—were not like the bedrooms, despite being magically large. Cool air pressed damp and heavy against his skin, and everywhere echoed with the patter of raindrops.
A small light caught his eye as he wandered, and he followed it through an empty doorway into an equally vacant room. In a daze, he walked toward a slit in the wall, lit golden from the other side, and peered through it.
The dining table spread out before him, still covered in food for the party that hadn’t been brought out yet. Bruno’s breath caught in his throat. He was standing behind Mamá’s chair. Behind the family tree that she repainted each year on her and Papá’s anniversary.
Abruptly, Bruno’s knees didn’t want to hold him upright. He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting, arms hugging himself, legs drawn close to his body.
What was he thinking? Just... leave and never talk to his family again? Who did that? Who even thought of that? There had to be a better solution. A dozen of them. If he could figure out a way to fix things-
But he never had, had he? No matter how hard he tried.
Bruno twisted his hands into his hair and stayed where he was, the family photograph indistinct in the shadows beside him.
He didn’t know who realized he was gone first, or how long he sat there waiting, but he knew the moment Pepa found out.
Thunder boomed, near and loud enough that Bruno’s heart skipped a beat. The steady rain exploded into a deluge, coming down thick and fast enough that it sounded less like water than like a thousand drummers packed into Casita’s halls, racing against each other. Wind shrieked. The light above him flickered and dimmed.
It was loud enough to drown out his own pulse in his ears, sounded like it could drown the world.
It wasn’t so loud that Bruno couldn’t hear when people came into the other room.
For a moment, the light went out entirely: the onslaught extinguishing the remaining lamp flames as Pepa approached. Then another replaced it, faint and flickering as it slid across the opposite wall. A lantern, part of Bruno thought, well-sheltered from the wind and wet. Voices came with it.
“Roberto is organizing a search of town, but he is concerned about falling branches.” Mamá sounded stressed and urgent, half-shouting over the noise. “No one will be able to find him in this. Pepa-”
“I know, Mamá! I’m trying! I’m-” Something shattered. Pepa’s curse transformed into thunder, and a flash of light that left afterimages on Bruno’s retinas.
“I’ll make the tea,” Julieta said, barely audible. “Just- why don’t you sit down? Eat... something. I made- some of that.”
“C’mere, Pepi,” Félix soothed. The lantern moved closer. “It hasn’t been that long yet. Casita said he’s fine. We’ll find him soon, figure out what’s going on, and everything will be alright.”
“Not if he’s- if he gets hurt in the storm,” Mamá snapped.
The temperature plunged in an instant, like the whole world had fallen into deep water, even as the rain died with the speed of something slamming shut. Bruno’s sinuses stung. His next exhale turned to mist in the golden lantern light. For several seconds, there was only the sound of the wind and the remaining water sluicing off the roof. Then there was only the wind.
“Pepa!”
“I know, I know! I don’t want to hurt him! What if he’s been hit by a branch? He could be dying, and no one will know unless they trip over him, because I-”
“Ay, amor-”
“Bruno is not dying!” Mamá shouted. “You will not say that!”
No one spoke.
At a normal volume, she continued, “I will check on the search team. With the snow, there will be footprints. Julieta, make something for cold exposure.”
“Yes, Mamá.”
There was a pause. Quieter still, Mamá added, “Ensure it does not need to be chewed.” Then: footsteps.
At length, Pepa asked, “Julieta, do you have something stronger than chamomile?”
“I do.”
“Please, I can’t-”
“Of course.”
“We’ll find him, mi vida. He’ll be okay.”
Bruno unfolded from where he sat. If he spoke, told them to look through the family tree, they could call off the search. They would know he was fine. He opened his mouth, trying to find the words.
But how much worse would it be, if he reappeared with a vision of Casita breaking to pieces? Of the mountains breaking? If it wasn’t only him they were uncertain of, but their home, the safety of their valley, the protection of the miracle itself?
Separated by a few steps and a single layer of wall, Bruno listened to Félix’s promises, until whatever Julieta made kicked in. The biting cold eased, somewhat, and the wind finally quieted, enough to hear Félix’s continued reassurances fading into the distance as he helped Pepa upstairs to rest.
Julieta lit more lamps as they left. From the scents, she had several different pots to watch. Agustín’s continued absence probably meant the kids needed him. Needed more than him, but all the other adults were busy.
Bruno’s ears stopped aching with cold and his breath didn’t cloud in front of his face, but he didn’t feel any warmer.