22. Chapter 22

Mirabel spent the rest of the afternoon bouncing between the seamstress’s shop and the smithy. Carmella had finally gotten around to a large order of dress fasteners. Due to her status as both sisters’ apprentice, Mirabel got the premium job of carrying over the boxes of assorted fasteners and then indexing and putting their sorted containers on display. It was boring and monotonous, but that was perfect considering why she had shown up. The mundane task of sorting by shape was simple enough for her to be able to get her thoughts in order. And as a bonus, Mel and Ayla were both sympathetic to her current state of mind, which meant that she wouldn’t be forced to discuss it with them. The three of them share a mentality regarding bothering those in pensive moods: If it was something that the person wanted a sounding board for, then they would be talking about it. Therefore, unless pestered into bothering her by spouse or by sibling, they would leave her to her musing and help only if she wanted to talk about it. In this case, Mirabel didn’t. Her Tias seemed very much wrapped up in some scheme that she didn’t wish to get in the middle of if at all possible. Her life was already overcomplicated by her overly dramatic, dysfunctional birth family; she didn’t want to add her overly dramatic, functional found one on top of it.

As it was, she felt like she’d hit a brick wall in her mission to help Candle. Sure, she had reconnected with Luisa, Pepa, and Dolores, but considering that both Luisa and Pepa’s gifts seemed to have weakened? … malfunctioned?... well, whichever it was, Mirabel didn’t think this was working. At this point, she was getting antsy. Sure, it had only been two days, but in those days, there had only been a small indication of healing this morning before it seemed to have severely worsened. When mixed with that lovely reminder of her status in the family courtesy of Camillo, this sharp downwards trend spawned enough anxiety that she was willing to consider more drastic action.

Mirabel wasn’t really in the habit of disregarding her loved ones’ advice. Doing so hadn’t ended well for her on a few prior occasions (If not for Julietta’s cooking, she would have the scars to prove it). So, with some trepidation, she weighed the idea of disregarding Tio Bruno’s warning and finding that shattered vision that he had warned her and Dolores about. Sure the vision he had shown her, with the shifting future, inspired some hope, but something in that discussion niggled at her mind. It had only hit her now what it was that had struck her as off. Bruno had said that the change was caused by someone else’s decisions affecting her future as much as her own would. Only a small handful of people could make such a decision. Considering that most of her family's problems were traced back to a single person, it wasn’t hard to guess whose decisions were equally vital to hers in deciding Casita’s fate. Dona Alma, Abuela Madrigal, Mirabel’s personal boogeywoman, held the lives of her mama and the Madrigal family’s magic in her hands, and the old bat was winding up one hell of a throw.

That realization put a fire under Mirabel to see the vision that Bruno was so terrified of because that vision had been for Alma. It had to clarify what she was doing to the magic. And hey, there would be proof of whatever Alma was knowingly or unknowingly doing to destroy her family. Hopefully, that would be enough for Mirabel to justify to herself that disregarding Bruno’s suggestion was worth it. Regardless, Mirabel couldn’t go on that expedition tonight; there wouldn't be enough time. Plus, she would need Dolores’ help considering that the bridge was out, and Mirabel had next to no understanding of how the rooms worked, having last been in one before Antonio’s upwards of ten years ago.

Since Dona Alma had caught her going into Luisa’s room to visit (post-ceremony) and reamed her for “invading poor Luisa’s privacy,” she had been banned strongly discouraged from entering any of the magic rooms. Upside, it was fewer chores she had to deal with when she was young. The downside was it worsened her estrangement since slumber parties and surprise wakeups or just visiting someone to chat (considering most of the family spent their free time in their magic room) were now a no-go. All Mirabel knew was that the rooms were Candle’s domain, so her Mama couldn’t help her in any of them. And Candle wasn’t really the helping type. He may not have been as vindictive as she first assumed, but that didn’t change the fact that he was very clearly of the opinion that asking for help was a matter of last resort. Honestly, Mirabel wondered if the general mentality of the family affected him since most of the Madrigals also tended to work in the vein that one ought to help more than they are helped. Either way, it would be good to have at least a spotter for whatever shenanigans she needed to pull off in that room.

Mirabel had gotten back just in time to help Felix with dinner. Mirabel didn’t quite know Felix well to begin with, so spending a good portion of the day with him in the kitchen was an enlightening experience. For the longest time, the man was more an extension of Pepa than his own person in the girl’s mind. That thought wasn’t aided by the fact that the man spent most of his day attached to his wife’s hip. He had been relatively quiet while they were cooking breakfast and had seemed unprepared for her method of silent gesturing when preparing lunch. He seemed awkward around her, as though he had no clue how to read her emotions or body language due to her lack of verbal clues. Then halfway through making some soup for dinner, he finally broke his awkward silence to admit that that was pretty much the case. Then, asking her what he had done to make her angry with him, to her utter confusion. She had just shook her head, trying to relay that she wasn’t mad at him, but apparently, that signal was lost in the aether since the confused, slightly pained expression didn’t leave his face. Finally, after a few moments of heavily awkward silence, he just repeated himself and asked why she was angry at him.

Mirabel didn’t say anything, just continuing to stare at him until finally taking pity on him and rolling her hand over itself to ask that he explain himself. And a few moments longer than expected, he picked up the signal this time and did so. Apparently, little pre-ceremony Mirabel was a fan of expressing her displeasure via silent treatment, and that was all he had to go on with this more recent model. This led to Mirabel giving a huff and rejoining shortly, “I’m not angry; I just don’t enjoy talking now, haven't for a while.”

Felix grimaced, “Well, I apologize in advance then, sobrina. “ he belatedly noticed her obvious cringe. “pardon, Mirabel. I’m afraid I’m quite clueless when it comes to body language. I had quite the reputation as a shameless casanova in my youth. This was purely due to my cluelessness at the ladies’ displeasure before the lot of them finally opened their mouths and castigated me about my lack of manners and overly-familiar behavior. It was quite embarrassing once I registered how rudely I’d been acting without realizing it. It took me upwards of a decade before I had cleared my reputation enough that Pepa would give me the time of day, let alone date me. Honestly, I’m spoiled with mi sol. I never need to guess what she’s feeling; the weather tells me all I need to know. It was a godsend when we were dating: it was clear as a stormcloud when I overstepped. But reading my wife’s moods like a book doesn’t make me any better at reading people other than mi Vida. So again, sorry in advance should I make you uncomfortable without noticing.”

Mirabel just nodded with a small smile. She could deal, especially after such a thoughtful explanation. Although during that short talk, Mirabel noticed that the soup Felix had been tending to had bubbled over. She pointed urgently at it, causing a startled yelp from the man as he quickly started stirring the pot to hopefully calm the boiling a bit. This obviously only got soup all over the stove. She then gave that huff endemic to women dealing with men screwing things up and poked at the fire below the stove, knocking a few of the logs away and shrinking the flame. He thanked her but continued stirring as though it was helping anything. Mirabel snorted as she went back to what she had been doing.

Now that the awkwardness bubble had popped, Felix confidently took to the task of filling the silence between them. Mirabel could now attest that Felix was a funny man when he got to talking, and she could see why Pepa kept him around. Sure, the short man was slow to acknowledge when his supposedly funny story fell flat. Still, he was genuinely remorseful once she gave him a little smack on the arm and a purposefully over-the-top hurt look to make it clear that she didn’t appreciate it. He seemed to rejoice in making people around him smile; if he needed to be a chatterbox to do it, he would. No matter what, though, he didn’t expect her to speak and tried his hardest to understand her silent motions. Everyone had their foibles, and apparently, since he had a few of his own, Felix was quick to embrace them in others.

Mirabel felt a bit lighter as she served dinner, a lightness that gained weight considerably when she heard the main topic of discussion was that now THREE people’s gifts were malfunctioning. Apparently, Camillo was having trouble controlling his shifting now. Luisa could only lift things that she could have, had she been a very muscular woman of her age. And now Pepa could only control the weather in about an acre around herself. And even then, it wasn’t helpful since her emotional control had finally shattered. Sure, she could stop herself from crying if she tried, but regardless of her outward emotion, the weather now only showed her inward ones. No more forcing a sunny day, apparently. These changes freaked Mirabel out since, obviously, the clock was ticking a bit faster than even she had thought.

The other change that caused Mirabel to practically kidnap Dolores after dinner was how sluggish Casita was. The house was still responsive, but she seemed tired now. Something that Mirabel wasn’t used to. Usually, her Mama was bursting at the molding with energy, always extremely exuberant in whatever emotion she was currently feeling. Now, every action seemed forced, like all the house wanted to do was sleep. This caused even more warning lights in Mirabel’s head to flash NOT GOOD.

In her room, she laid out her plan to Dolores. First, she needed to figure out what was up with that shattered vision. And to do that, she needed to understand the rooms. Dolores, while hesitant, was willing to help. She had seen what was worrying Mirabel. While Dolores wasn’t as worried about them, she acknowledged that she was somewhat removed from the most worrying symptom of failure. She wasn’t nearly as close to Casita as Mirabel was and mostly just thought of Casita as the house, even if she could acknowledge that Cassie was very much her own person.

So, after ensuring Mirabel promised not to go into the decaying room alone, Dolores filled her in on the few things Mirabel wouldn’t know, having never gotten a door. Specifically, the rooms’ physical properties were malleable, but only by their owner. If the owner wished to change something, it would usually be so immediately, or the time they entered for more extensive changes. However, and she was very clear about this, the magic tended to make its own changes, and those tended to make their rooms reflect them in eerily insightful ways.

When Mirabel had asked about specifics, Dolores thought for a second, then vaguely indicated the tower they were infiltrating tomorrow. Bruno’s vision cave had used to be only a few steps up out of the small sand pit just inside his door. However, as the town had become more hostile towards him due to his gift, the stairs multiplied. She then pointed to Julietta’s room. Mirabel had vague memories of it being walled with bookshelves, a kitchen taking up one corner, and an extensive herb garden with chairs interspersed through it, taking up another. Dolores had nodded and said that over the years since Mirabel’s ceremony, as the woman’s workload had increased, the garden had steadily been overtaken by the kitchen until there were barely a few pots with her most commonly used herbs in them. Dolores posited that the rooms were extensions of their mental states and, considering their uncle’s current one, they should expect a rather dangerous and unstable journey ahead of them.

Either way, Dolores was dedicated to helping Mirabel get that vision. To her mind, it couldn’t hurt, especially with Julietta still out of commission and Isabella locking herself away. Knowing why those two should be avoided was probably for the best, even if the local clairvoyant himself had warned them to stay away from that vision. What was the worst that could happen?