DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

"'The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, as glad to waft him from his native home. And fast the white rocks faded from his'…are you okay?"

"Hmm."

Maria sighed softly as she closed the book. "I'll take that as a no, then."

They had staggered in a daze out of the castle, to the shock of the waiting gods. The other La Muerte had instantly all back to her palace, where she insisted that they rest awhile. A brief attempt had been made to pull Maria from the group for an inspection, but she had her arms wrapped around one of Manolo's and gripped it until her knuckles were white. There was no apparent harm done to her body, the goddess declared after looking her over, nor to the child. Perhaps they should stay another day or so, just to make sure everything was alright? The others had thanked her for the offer and for her help, but they'd already been away from home too long.

"Of course," she said. "Farewell. And good luck with things," she added, giving Xibalba a warm smile.

The Candle Maker took out the second jar of thin, glowing wax he had prepared and poured its contents on the floor. Light shot up from the puddle, swirling around them as they shielded their eyes. The bright colors of the palace faded away, mellowing into shades of tan and brown. Slowly but surely, the ruined but still-standing Sanchez parlor appeared around them.

"Now that," Xibalba said, "is something you'll have to fix on your own."

And so they did. General Posada seemed the one most determined to forget the whole affair, as he threw himself into drills and meetings with his soldiers and made his visits to the house less frequent. When he spoke to his son-in-law, however, it was with sullen respect. Chuy growled at nearly everyone who dared to come near Maria. Joaquin practically moved into the house for several days, keeping a constant eye on his best friend and often staying up late alongside Ixa "just in case." Maria told them there was nothing to worry about. Her husband had other ideas.

"I could leave for a few days if you want," he said to Maria that first evening. "I'd understand. I wouldn't want to look at me, either."

"You're staying right here," she answered, taking him by the hands. "It'll do us both good."

"Are you sure?"

"Just hold me."

So he did, and he had hardly stopped a week later.

Placing the book on her bedside table, Maria slung one arm across his chest and reached up with the other to lightly run her fingers through his hair. "Tell me what you're thinking about."

Manolo stared up listlessly at the ceiling as he lay beside her. "I can't stop thinking about him."

"Even if he was still there, he wouldn't come after me again."

"That's not really what I meant…"

"Then what did you mean?"

He took a breath and slowly let it out. "I reached for the sword first. I almost ended up like him."

"You wouldn't have done what he did."

"We don't know that."

She frowned. "Manolo, who gave you this idea?"

"No one," he lied. Telling her what her father had said would only bring more trouble. "It's just…everything he did to you…"

"You might not know," she said, "but I do." Taking his hand, she placed it on her belly. "They can hear you, you know. They know your voice, and they knew it even while he was around. They knew he wasn't you. They believe in you, and that's enough for me."

Manolo stared at the unborn child in wonder, a faint light coming back into his eyes. He slowly sat up, his hand remaining where Maria had placed it. "Do you think she's really okay…?"

That was when a short, sharp jab came from within the womb and reverberated through both of them.

Maria gasped and let her head fall back onto her pillow, wincing from the force of the kick. Manolo pulled his hand away, his jaw dropping before he grinned and laughed in delighted amazement.

"Great," Maria muttered. "Just great." But as she felt Manolo trailing light kisses up and down her abdomen while whispering sweet words to the baby, she couldn't help but smile. Yeah, she's okay.

They would all be.

"And so it was that those who survived these strange events lived out their days in peace," Xibalba said. "For a while, anyway."

The children let out a breath they had been holding in unison, as though released from a tension.

"Look at them, Balby," La Muerte said, frowning. "See what you've done?"

"You helped!"

"I tried to tell you it was a - "

"I thought it was a good story," Sasha said.

The gods both turned their heads and stared down at her. "You did?"

"Yeah!" Goth Boy added. "It was cool! Kind of creepy. But still cool."

"And it's a good lesson," Jane said.

"Lesson in what?"

"You shouldn't take the choices you make for granted. And you should think about what's best for others, not just what you want."

Xibalba raised his eyebrows. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it." He smiled victoriously at his wife. "Guess there was a use for this story after all, mi amor."

"Perhaps you're right…"

"Of course I am!" He turned back to the children. "You'd best run along. Don't want that snow to melt before you've gotten at it, right?"

They fidgeted in their seats. "There'll be more snow next week…"

"Don't tell me you want to hear another one."

"I was hoping we could look around the library," Joao said. "Can we? Please?"

A small smile crossed La Muerte's face. "I'm not sure…"

"We promise not to tell anyone the secrets of the universe or whatever!" Goth Boy told her.

She laughed. "Oh, why not?"

Shrieking with glee, the children immediately leapt off the sofas and scattered across the room, pulling books off shelves.

"They really are unpredictable," the goddess mused. "Aren't they, Balby?"

Xibalba had picked up the pitcher of eggnog they had brought with them. "There's still some left. I doubt they'd mind much. Want a sip?" He snapped his fingers, summoning two glasses in front of them and a sprig of mistletoe to hover over them. "I think we need a little cheer in this place."

La Muerte smirked, then plucked the plant out of the air. "Nice try."