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

Valeria Santillian had been nothing more than a madwoman and a witch, the people decided. The wall of fire around the island was no doubt her doing, seeing as it had vanished when she met her end. Señora Mondragon told them about the triangular charm which the old woman had placed on her, and Ofelia Sanchez showed them the burn mark on her bedroom floor (much to the horror of her parents, who immediately forbade her from setting foot in the room until they had thoroughly erased all the remains of what had occurred). An investigation of the church brought forth a weak but lucid Father Domingo, who claimed Valeria had been keeping him prisoner with a drugged brew. Maria spoke of being given something similar and recounted what had been done to her in the basement. After some coaxing, Manolo reluctantly spoke of being trapped inside the bottle: surely that was what had finally done her in, when the holy power had sensed her black heart and imprisoned her instead of its intended targets.

"Where'd your father go, Ofelia?" Maria asked, looking around the churchyard as boxes were unloaded from Valeria's wagon.

The girl pointed towards the other side of the yard. "I saw him going to visit abuelo and abuela."

Manolo was sitting on the ground next to the grave, looking up at the sky. He didn't turn his head as Maria approached, but when she sat down beside him, he relaxed and placed a hand over her own.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she said.

"…I'm wondering about her."

His wife immediately bristled. "I'm not."

"Not even a bit?"

"You weren't exactly worried about her a few hours ago."

"I suppose not. Still, no one deserves to be trapped like that. Not forever."

Maria sighed. "Father Domingo says he's going to try opening it soon. Under very controlled circumstances. Probably best if we aren't there."

Manolo nodded as she spoke, half-stuck in some faraway thought. "She believed in it all. Right to the end. You could see it just before she left." He looked down at his hands. "I can't imagine what she's thinking now."

"I'd still rather be married to a demon than be one of her nuns." She looked up as her husband flinched. "Is something wrong?"

"Did you…" Manolo took a breath. "Did you ever believe her? Just for a second?"

Maria looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You really think I would have turned against you like that."

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you did."

"Why would I?"

"I can understand her," he said. "At least a bit."

Maria touched his arm. "Manolo? Did…did you believe her?"

"No, but…" He hung his head. "I know there's nothing about us that's normal…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He didn't answer.

"Look over there," she said, touching his face and gesturing towards the front of the churchyard. All of Valeria's glass jars had been removed from the wagon and carefully stacked on the ground; now Ofelia was gently picking them up one by one and opening them, smiling as she whispered to the souls inside. Most of them came forth in a light gray mist that floated up into the air before fading away, finally free. Others spewed out of their prisons in dark liquid that congealed into trembling mortals who wept with joy as they struggled to regain control of their limbs.

"Look at your daughter," Maria continued. "Would you tell her what you've been thinking?"

"Of course I wouldn't."

"Then you shouldn't be telling yourself that, either."

"I just don't want you two to get hurt because of me again…and I know she was your friend…"

"I knew her for ten years," Maria said quietly. "I've loved you all my life. Nothing can get rid of that. And if you want someone to blame, blame me. I'm the one who didn't notice when something was wrong."

Manolo smiled. "If you weren't stubborn, you wouldn't be my Maria, now would you?"

She rolled her eyes and gently pushed him. "Just be careful, okay? We don't want to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I've got a pair of angels looking out for me, don't I?"

"Oh, hush."

Manolo laughed and stood up, helping her to her feet, and they walked back towards the wagon.

Nearly all of the jars were empty now - only the little glass vial remained. Taking it out of her pocket, Ofelia began to pull out the cork. "You're okay," she whispered as it opened. "You can go now."

A stream of mist floated out of the vial, making a small cloud that began to slowly rise. It paused a moment, then formed a vaguely human shape: small and frail-looking, with long hair that flowed out behind it. The spirit opened two large eyes and looked around uneasily. "Where am I going?"

"Someplace wonderful," Ofelia answered. "My papa told me about it. You'll like it there."

The girl smiled, then looked down at Manolo and Maria. A faint light flickered in her eyes, as though a lost memory had suddenly been found once again. "Gracias, Ofelia," she said. "And tell your mother I said hello."

A cool wind swept through the churchyard, and then she was gone.

Maria smiled as she watched it all. Manolo took her by the hand, then beckoned to Ofelia. "Let's go home."