2. Stolen, Day-Old Empanadas

Mirabel remained in her bed for the rest of the afternoon, resigned to blankly staring at the ceiling until she was drawn from her trance by her mother’s call to eat dinner.

Supper passed by in a blur with Mirabel barely able to focus on what her family was saying, much less the food in front of her. Too distracted to eat, and finding herself lacking an appetite, she merely nibbled at the food on her plate. At her mother’s concerned glance, she waved it off with a short “I’m sorry mom, I must have had a big lunch, your food is amazing as always,” which seemed to dispel the look of worry painted on her face, to Mirabel’s secret relief.

As the inky evening dipped into night, Mirabel found herself going to bed early, wishing Antonio a muffled good night as she extinguished the flickering candle on her nightstand and rolled over under the covers, burying herself in the warm embrace of her blankets.

The next day, it rained.

A rainstorm in the Encanto meant one thing. Well actually, it meant two things. For starters, about half the time, it usually was a strong implication that Pepa was having some sort of full-blown mental breakdown somewhere. But, a quick peek downstairs confirmed that for once, this thunderstorm was not Pepa’s doing, as she was currently engaged in a casual conversation with Julieta under the eaves of Casita’s courtyard, the sisters shielded from the heavy torrents of rain pelting down from above.

So that led Mirabel to the second thing that the rain meant.

Antonio’s favorite pastime was frog hunting. However, as he had explained to Mirabel over and over again (who didn’t understand why you couldn’t go frog hunting whenever you felt like it), it was best done in damp, stormy weather, when the frogs had enough moisture in the air to leave the protection of their swamps and ponds and venture out into the surrounding forests. So, early that morning, Antonio had run out of the room with a bucket and lid in one hand and an infectious, beaming smile on his face, bidding Mirabel a quick farewell as he journeyed out into the rain. Distantly, one could hear Pepa call out “Careful, Antonio!” but other than that? The only sound was the rain pattering on the roof overhead and the occasional clap of thunder permeating the soothing cacophony.

Basically, what this all meant was that Mirabel got the whole room to herself.

Humming under her breath, she bent over to reach her supplies nestled beneath her workbench, letting out a soft grunt as she hauled them up and plopped them on the table. Pulling Antonio’s jacket out from a bland, felt bag (normally, Mirabel embroidered everything she could get her hands on, but in this circumstance, she figured that her roommate would be less likely to go through a boring, gray bag than something adorned with bright, threaded images), she spread it out over the surface of her desk. Rubbing her thumb over the partially completed jaguar on the front chest pocket, Mirabel smiled softly to herself, pleased with the progress she had been making. The bumps and ridges of the thread under her fingers reflected her hard, painstaking work, and she felt a sudden surge of determination to finish Antonio’s gift.

Perusing through her sewing kit, she selected an embroidery hoop suitable to the size of the jaguar, her favorite embroidery needle, and then, pawing around the loose supplies, she went to grab….

Huh. Where was her special golden thread?

And just like that, the events from the day prior came crashing down on her in full force, nearly stealing the breath from her lungs at the same moment an enigmatic crack of lightning flashed outside her window. The rain pounded recklessly on the roof as Mirabel slapped a palm to her forehead in disbelief.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! How on earth did you forget to grab the golden thread yesterday?! What were you doing?!

With a dramatic groan, she braced her forearms on the workbench and promptly buried her face in them. “I’ll tell you what I was doing,” she grumbled into her arms, responding to the small voice in her head for no other reason than the fact that she could. Which wasn’t really a good reason at all, but that was beside the point. “I was too busy getting distracted talking to some deranged lunatic who lives with the rats in the walls!”

Sighing, she lifted her head, nudging her glasses back up her face. She pushed herself away from her desk and stood up, cradling her chin contemplatively in her hand as she began to pace the length of her room. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.

On one hand, she had been very content to forget that whole… incident… from yesterday.

But on the other hand, she really needed her golden thread back.

Mirabel groaned, running a hand through her hair, right before grimacing as her fingers got caught in the curls. Disentangling them as she looked toward the door to her room, she bit her bottom lip, knowing what needed to be done, but not feeling particularly inclined to do it.

Do it for Antonio, she told herself, and then like a mantra, repeated that short phrase in her mind as she walked out of her room, down the hall, and through the boring painting on the wall, silently thanking the thunderstorm that had caused most of the Madrigals to retreat to their rooms and stay out of the open courtyard, allowing her to slip behind the walls without any unwanted witnesses.

This time, as she embarked upon her trek through the back passages of the house, she was a little less cautious and on edge. It was still damp, and still musty, but now that she knew that the worst thing back here was a mildly alarming amount of rats and an equally mildly alarming man who lived in a secret tucked-away cove in the house....

Okay, well, when she put it like that, it sounded pretty bad.

Even so, her heart didn’t hammer in her chest, and her palms weren’t that sweaty (at least, they were no more sweaty than they normally were, which truthfully wasn’t saying much), and she was able to maintain her breathing at a calm, steady rate. And when Mirabel finally reached the door, sitting right where she remembered it being and officially confirming that the events of the previous day had not been some crazy, elaborate hallucination, she only needed a brief moment to collect herself before lifting a fist and lightly knocking on its wooden panels.

After waiting a polite stretch of seconds, Mirabel opened the door to the hidden room, bracing herself for… well, she wasn’t exactly sure what, given that Ratón had proven himself to be seemingly harmless, but even with that in mind, she was still prepared for the worst.

The man in question was sitting in the cushiony chair in the center of the room, right where she had left him, his head snapping around as Mirabel warily entered. He shot upright; thankfully, this time he was not holding a mug he could drop to the ground in shock. “Mirabel!” he exclaimed, a confusing mixture of surprise, hope, and something else that she could not quite place coloring his tone. “You came back?!”

Mirabel was quick to hold up a hand, wanting to dispel any displaced notions before they had the chance to spiral out of control. “I’m just here for my golden embroidery thread. I forgot to grab it last night, after one of your pets stole it from me.” She internally cringed at how blunt and harsh her words sounded, but hey, what else was she supposed to do? She didn’t want this weirdo to get the wrong idea!

“Oh right, yes, um… that.” There was an awkward pause as he stared blankly at her, before turning to look around his apartment. Mirabel craned her neck to see what it was he was looking for, but it was evidently nothing, because as he pivoted back to face her, he hit her with a shrug.

“Well?” Mirabel prompted, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything.

There was a beat as Ratón simply stared at her. “Hm?” he said, and then reading Mirabel’s expectant expression, seemed to understand what she was asking. “Oh! Yeah, I have no idea where it is.”

Mirabel let out a huff of disbelief. “You don’t know? How do you not know?”

“I’m not the one that took your string, it was them!” he protested, gesturing toward the rats that crawled along the periphery of the room, the lot of them freezing and giving Mirabel an embarrassed, dare she say guilty look.

“Well, they’re your little rat friends! Go ask them, or something!”

Ratón tilted his head quizzically. “Ask them? Why would I do that? That’s not my—” However, he seemed to realize something, and cut himself off, abruptly turning around.

Mirabel opened her mouth, about to ask him what he had been about to say, but before she had the chance to speak, Ratón brushed by her in a flurry, grabbing one of the chairs from the dining table and dragging it up to her. Coming around to face her, he planted two hands on her shoulders and pushed her down into the seat with a surprising amount of force from someone who’s structure appeared to be so lanky and slight.

“Are you hungry? You look like you’re hungry.”

Mirabel looked up at him with a frown, not really knowing how else to react. “Um… sure?”

It seemed like her response would have been inconsequential, because he had already turned his back to her, walking away so that her words were directed toward his retreating frame.

Rude. And a little (scratch that, very) weird.

Despite her internal grumblings, Mirabel’s stomach growled rather loudly, much to her embarrassment. The previous night, she had been so distracted and on edge at dinner, that she had nearly completely lost her appetite, only picking at the delicious meal her mother had prepared. Maybe food was just what she needed right now… even if it was from the dubious rat man she found herself sharing company with.

“I—I’m not really used to having guests over,” Ratón admitted sheepishly from across the room, bustling around what Mirabel realized was a very makeshift kitchen. A kitchen that lacked a stove, sink, oven… yeah, so maybe it was just a glorified counter. “I would offer you something to drink, but….” He glanced over his shoulder, giving her a light, careless shrug. “I seem to be out of cups to use.”

Mirabel grimaced, feeling a slight pang of guilt. So he hadn’t been kidding when he had said that he had broken his only mug yesterday.

But that wasn’t her fault! How was she supposed to know that the rat thief would lead her to a quirky squatter living in their walls? She didn’t mean to startle him and cause him to drop his mug; heck, she would go so far as to say that she had been more startled than him!

Still. She couldn’t help but feel a little bad.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that,” she said awkwardly, rubbing a self-conscious hand on the back of her neck.

Ratón, his back still to her, absentmindedly waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. It was bound to happen.”

Mirabel blinked. Huh?

However, before she ask him what in the world he meant by that oddly cryptic statement, he turned around, revealing a plate full of—

Empanadas? Now where did he get those from?

The question must have been evident on her face, because he was quick to explain as he walked over. “I live next to the kitchen,” he said through a mouthful of food, taking a bite before sitting down and gesturing to the wall that apparently bordered the kitchen with a hand clutching an empanada. “It has it’s perks… it’s easier to steal food this way.”

Mirabel arched an eyebrow. “And mugs?”

At this, Ratón let out a laugh, a genuine sound that threatened to make a smile break out on Mirabel’s face. However, she was able to fight this urge, schooling her expression to remain as neutral as possible.

(Of course, she couldn’t hide the slight twinkle in her eyes, something that Ratón noted but wisely kept to himself).

“The problem with mugs,” he explained, waving his half-eaten empanada around, “is that they’re permanent objects. Someone is going to notice if their favorite cup gets stolen.”

“And empanadas are fair game?”

“Hey, it’s a big family. People eat! No one is going to think twice if there are a few empanadas missing from a platter.”

Mirabel nodded in concession. It was a fair point. And he was right; the Madrigals were a big family. What was a few missing empanadas?

Gingerly selecting one from the plate, Mirabel turned it cautiously over in her hand, inspecting it from every angle. They didn’t seem to be poisonous, or capable of inducing any unwanted bowel movements for that matter, but where had he gotten them from? Had he made them himself? No, Mirabel found herself doubting that, especially since the empanadas looked to be oddly familiar….

“Wait, are these from last night?”

Ratón, already on his second empanada (apparently he had been more hungry than Mirabel), let out a light scoff. “Well yeah, of course. What, do I look like the kind of person to eat week-old empanadas?”

Mirabel hesitated, her eyes flickering away to glance at his dwelling before settling back onto him. “…No?”

Ratón gave her a nod of approval, finishing off his last bite and then picking up a third from the plate.

“So…” Mirabel said, taking a tentative bite from her empanada. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it was quite good, which made sense seeing that it was her mother that had made it. “You like my mother’s cooking?”

Ratón gave her a hearty nod. “Oh yeah. Julieta is the best cook I know. I’ve always loved her food, I don’t know what I would do without it.”

Mirabel paused; that statement struck her as a little odd. “Always?”

Ratón mirrored her and likewise froze, eyes flitting up to meet hers before darting away. “Always… uh, since I’ve lived here, that is.”

“I see,” Mirabel said, still feeling suspicious, but continuing to eat anyways. That being said, could she blame him? Her mother was renowned all around the Encanto as being one of the best cooks in the region, it made sense that the man who lived in the walls and ate her food everyday would be so passionate about it. It was a sentiment many people shared.

Finishing off her empanada, she folded her hands into her lap. “So about my thread…” she started, not really knowing where she was going with that statement, but not knowing what else to say in the mildly awkward silence that had settled over them.

Ratón sighed, shaking his head in dejection. “Look, kid, I wish I could be more help, but I don’t really know what to tell you,” he said, appearing to be genuinely regretful. “What do you need it so badly for, anyways?”

Mirabel hesitated; was it really a wise idea to divulge her personal reasoning? To share more information about herself, and to bring Antonio into this? However, looking into his eyes, so vulnerable and curious and decidedly not malicious, Mirabel decided that telling him the quick story couldn’t hurt all that much.

“I need it to finish making the gift I’ve been working on for my cousin,” she began slowly, silently gauging Ratón’s reaction as she spoke. He gave her a gentle nod, prompting her to continue. “It’s his birthday next week, and his favorite animal are jaguars, so I was embroidering him one on a jacket I sewed for him. I had been using the gold for accents, and had only been partway done with it before it was stolen." At this, she shot a fierce glare at the rats crawling around the edge of the table, and got a mild sense of satisfaction at watching them shy away. "Without my thread, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to finish his gift." 

Well, she did actually know what she could do. What she would likely end up doing. You see, the gold wasn’t necessarily integral to the jaguar; she could very well just cut the stitching out.

It would be a pain to do so. A long excruciating process, one that would both end up causing her to waste the thread she had used, and one that would overall make the jaguar significantly less special. However, despite not looking forward to doing so, Mirabel had come to the realization that she didn’t really have a choice, not if she didn’t have the thread to complete the project.

Mirabel brushed her hands off on the hem of her skirt, moving to stand up. Well, if the thread wasn’t here, she supposed she would stop moping around and get back to work. Stop bothering the rat-man and retreat to the sad, lonely confines of her room to fix and finish up Antonio’s gift.

“Thanks for the help,” she said as she excused herself and made her way toward the door. “I'll see myself out.”

She had been just about to leave, when she heard Ratón call out from behind her: “Wait!”

Mirabel paused, her hand on the door handle. “What?” she asked, taking a cautious step away from the exit at his frantic plea.

Ratón nearly tripped over himself as he practically sprinted over to where she stood, his eyes wild as he wedged himself between Mirabel and the entryway. “Before you go,” he said conspiratorially, hunching his shoulders as he lifted a finger to accentuate his point. And then, without saying anything else, he turned and abruptly knocked three times on the wooden doorframe.

That was… not what she had been expecting.

“Um, thanks?” Mirabel said, feeling more confused than thankful.

“It’ll ward off bad luck,” Ratón explained, opening the door for her and holding an open palm out in an invitational gesture for her to leave. “I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you, not if I can prevent it.”

Mirabel looked between him and the doorframe, bewildered. Okay…?

Forcing a tight smile on her face (and trying her very best to not betray the fact that her inner monologue was currently screaming crazy! This guy is absolutely, undeniably, nuts!), Mirabel let out a terse, awkward laugh and walked through the door.

“Well,” she said, the smile still stuck on her face. “Thanks for the food, I’m sorry if I bothered you… I promise it won’t happen again.” That, at least was the truth; Mirabel had no plans whatsoever of coming back. At all! Ever! The first time was a mistake, and this second time was derived purely out of necessity of her needing her thread back. And she hadn’t even succeeded in fulfilling that objective! So this second visit was shaping up to be a thorough waste of her time!

As she gave Ratón a weak wave as he closed the door behind her, she let out a defeated sigh. At least she had gotten some day-old empanadas out of it.

The next morning, when she woke up, a flash of gold from across the room caught her eye. Groaning as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, she realized that it was not her groggy mind playing tricks on her, and that there was actually something unfamiliar twinkling at her in the pale morning light. Fumbling for her glasses as she sat up in bed, she gasped in shock as her restored vision revealed what was sitting on her workbench.

Loosely coiled around itself with a neat little bow tied out of the ends was a spiral of strands that looked suspiciously like her lost golden embroidery thread.

Nearly falling out of bed in excitement, Mirabel stumbled across the room, fighting to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible to avoid waking Antonio up, who still slept soundly a few paces away.

There was no mistaking it. Here it was, her golden thread, all wrapped up and sitting right in front of her! Unable to prevent a gleeful smile from lighting up her face, Mirabel delicately picked up her precious possession to confirm its realness and, upon doing so, noticed a small note written on a scrap of paper sitting beneath where the thread had been resting.

With a slight frown of confusion, she picked the note up, squinting and adjusting her glasses as she struggled to read the scratchy, scraggly handwriting.

               I found your string. I’m sorry it’s a little frayed around the edges, I hope you can forgive me. The mice were feeling playful.

               Thank you for your visit, your company is always a pleasure.

               -R  

The frown was gone and the smile was back on her face, though this time it was a little softer, a little fonder. Despite everything telling her that she should just shred it up and throw it away, she couldn’t prevent the warm feeling that blossomed in her chest at the words on the note as she reread it once, and then again.

“What are you smiling at, Mirabel?”

Mirabel let out a sharp gasp, whirling around to see that Antonio was sitting up in bed, his brows knit in confusion and his messy bedhead causing his curls to stick out in odd directions. Apparently, she hadn’t been quite as silent as she had hoped.

“I—uh, what? Nothing!” she stammered out, hoping that her little cousin wouldn’t be able to pick up on the panicked edge to her voice.

Of course, that didn’t work out nearly as well as she had hoped, for Antonio frowned, cocking his head in an attempt to look past Mirabel. “What’s that behind you?”

Mirabel angled her body so that she was fully blocking the golden embroidery thread (she couldn’t let him see and find out about her secret gift for him!) and folded her hand around the note so that it was concealed from view, the paper crumpling within her tight grasp. “Nothing is behind me! I’m just, you know, standing here! Normally!”

Antonio’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Mirabel was quick to interject, not wanting to risk having to respond to whatever it was he had to say.

“Now get dressed, we’re going to be late for breakfast if you don’t hurry!”

Antonio’s face brightened, his earlier questions and probing forgotten at the mention of food. Ripping the covers off his bed, he was on his feet and dressed before Mirabel even had the chance to blink, tearing out of the room at a speed that only a hungry child could travel.

“Race you down there!” he called over his shoulder, already out in the hallway.

Mirabel merely smiled, moving to follow him, but then stopped herself as she realized that she was still holding Ratón’s note. Looking down at the paper, she felt a severe, splitting feeling of indecision, two warring sides pulling her in opposite directions.

She should toss it.

Moving toward the small trash can in the corner of her room, Mirabel prepared to tear up the note and throw its scraps into the bin, but she hesitated, glancing between the paper and where she intended to dispose of it.  

“Mirabel!” Antonio’s voice called from downstairs, echoing throughout Casita. “Where are you? We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” Mirabel yelled back, making the quick, split-second decision to shove the crumpled note under her pillow, hastily smoothing out the blankets as she did so.

What’s the harm in keeping it? she reasoned with herself as she jogged out of the room and down the main staircase, catching up with Antonio as the two of them made their way to the patio for breakfast.

Who has to know?