Entonces

"How can you possibly be out of apples?"

Imelda planted her hands on the market table, scowling as she stared at the fruit vendor. Bad enough she'd gotten to market so late after promising her brothers she'd get it taken care of quickly; now she was being denied the one thing they'd both been insistent on.

"I'm sorry, Señorita," the merchant said. He really did look contrite, though whether it was sincere or simply an attempt to placate the scowling girl in front of him was anyone's guess. "There was a large order. They're all gone."

Imelda glared silently for several seconds. Unfortunately, the staredown failed to make any apples materialize; all she got for her trouble was another apology, and she turned away in defeat to march across the market.

It was a small one: no other fruit stalls in sight.

Now what was she going to do?

"Excuse me! Señorita Imelda!"

She glanced over as someone fell into step beside her. Imelda knew the boy by sight: scruffy, scarecrow-lean, and sweet-faced, he and the slightly battered guitar slung across his back were a common fixture in the square.

Imelda could recall his voice clearly, easily envision songs soaring over market crowds, but his name escaped her.

"Yes? What do you want?"

He gave her a slightly lopsided grin, hefting the basket in his arms.

"You were looking for apples. Weren't you? Here, take a few."

Imelda blinked as he awkwardly shuffled the basket until the lid slipped to one side. Sure enough, it was filled with shining apples, and Imelda lifted one out before looking their owner over.

"And what would you say if I told you I need all of them?"

"Well…." He considered. "We'd have to duel for them. If that were the case."

Imelda snorted, tossing the apple in one hand.

"I would crush you."

"You would," he agreed brightly. "But I'd give a very good account of myself."

Imelda laughed outright at that, and the boy - Héctor, she remembered suddenly, his name was Héctor - grinned even more broadly.

"Are you so sure of that, músico?"

"Hm." He looked her over, good-humored features twisting to seriousness. "You do look tough. It might be better to hand over all the apples after all."

"Wise answer." She nodded. "But it so happens I only need six."

"Oh. A strictly theoretical duel." He nodded in return, still serious, though she could see the beginnings of dimples in his cheeks. "But six is still a lot to carry without a basket."

Imelda stopped in her tracks. Héctor was right: she was empty-handed, and could easily picture her basket sitting forgotten by the door back home. Felipe and Óscar would never let her hear the end of it; she envisioned their amusement when she came all the way back with nothing to show for it and swore aloud.

Several people nearby gave her a scandalized look. Héctor looked impressed.

"Ay, no worries," he said after a moment. "I can carry this to your place." He started shuffling the basket again, sliding the lid into place. "And there's room in my basket if you need other things."

"I see." She gave him a skeptical look, one hand poised on her hip as she tossed the apple again. "And what would you ask in return?"

He'd want a kiss, she expected. Always a favor for a kiss with these boys. Héctor tilted his head, scrunching his nose, and she readied her rebuff.

"A song!"

"I should have-" She got half the sentence out before freezing, blinking at his smiling face. "I… what?"

"When I play, in the square - I want you to sing with me."

"What?"

"I play on Saturdays and Sundays, and sometimes evenings during the week," he replied patiently. "So if we're both here - will you sing?" He swayed gently, perhaps reacting to a melody only he heard. "It's just, your voice - it's wonderful, and it must be incredible when you sing."

"I see." She folded her arms, looking Héctor over. "And you would bet a basket of apples on that?"

"The sisters say gambling is a sin, Imelda," he said piously. Then he grinned, rocking from foot to foot. "But yes. I would bet on it."

She snorted again, making her voice as dry as she could.

"Listen to them talk, Héctor, and everything is a sin. But yes - I'll sing with you, the next time I'm in the square when you're playing."

Héctor, impossibly, looks even brighter at this promise.

"A deal then! Come on, Señorita Imelda, let's get the rest of your things!"

Roaming the market with such a cheerful, accommodating companion turned out to be much less of a chore than she'd been anticipating when she left home; with only the slightest encouragement Héctor joined her in endless running commentary, and the walk home was filled with friendly chatter instead of silence broken only by her own footsteps.

Even better, she proved him right about her voice when she finally caught him performing - a duet that turned out to be only the first of many.

Ahora

The sun is well over the horizon, the Riveras are still lurking backstage at the ill-fated Sunset Spectacular with a small band of flustered officers keeping curious audience members at bay, and Héctor is beginning to realize he isn't going to fade away.

It comes slowly. The last he remembers is being unable to distinguish the gold of Miguel's swirl of marigold petals from the gold of the rising sun from the gold rippling and jolting along his own bones, ending in what felt like falling.

He isn't falling anymore, aware of the stones beneath him and a gentle hand on his forehead in a way he wasn't capable of a moment ago, and he opens his eyes to see Imelda hovering over him like a dream.

"He made it back?" Héctor whispers after a moment. Imelda nods, solemn, and he smiles. "He made it. She remembers."

"Yes. And now… now, she won't be the last. I'm sure of it." Imelda's voice is as soft as his and strangely thick; he raises a hand to brush against her cheek, but she withdraws, looking up at the rest of the family.

Following her gaze, Héctor is struck - not for the first time - by how he knows absolutely nothing but their names for the most part. Felipe and Óscar he knows well, of course - but the other three are strangers he was only introduced to when Miguel pulled them all together.

It can be fixed. There's time.

"We should go," Victoria says quietly. "I don't want to talk to all these people right now."

"We'll have to eventually," Rosita replies. She sounds uneasy, voice even higher-pitched than usual as she shifts from foot to foot.

"I can do it." Héctor tries to rise and stumbles; Felipe and Óscar are on either side of him before he can fall, hefting him up between them. "I'll handle it."

"Actually, I don't think you can right now," Felipe says.

"We know you like to perform, but there is a limit," Óscar adds. The twins' voices are friendly and teasing but colored with worry and relief in equal measure; Héctor gives them both a small, grateful smile as Imelda claps her hands twice for attention.

"Everyone is right. Except for Héctor." Her voice is brisk, businesslike, but Héctor can detect the worry in her tone and posture and the brief look she gives him.

"Thank you for your confidence, Imelda."

"I am confident that we need to leave. Help him onto Pepita."

With Imelda's brothers to bolster him, Héctor gets onto the alebrije's back fairly easily (settled between the wings rather than clinging to the tail this time, to his depthless gratitude). It's crowded atop the great cat, but Pepita's spirit-guide might carries them easily down from the stage and into the city proper, where they can land out of sight of returning revelers and avoid questions for a little while at least.

Imelda is silent through the flight. Héctor has no great desire to prod her into conversation.

He can feel strength and stability flowing back into his bones, and by the time they land in Plaza de la Cruz he's strong enough to slide from Pepita's back unaided. The stage for the competition is still set up, and Héctor takes a few steps toward it before speaking up.

"We performed together, here."

"You and Miguel?" Óscar asks. Héctor nods, and he smiles as he looks up at the stage. "Hm. I'd have liked to see that." Imelda gives him a sharp look; Óscar only blinks mildly back at her as his brother murmurs agreement.

"Be that as it may," Imelda says after a moment, "it has been a... very long night, and it would be best to go home." She looks at Héctor, indecision flickering in her eyes; at last she takes a deep breath and says, slowly: "Héctor… are you well enough to get home by yourself?"

"Mamá Imelda…" Rosita begins. Imelda doesn't scold her, or even acknowledge her at all, but even so she falls silent, watching Héctor with large, apologetic eyes.

They all are.

"It's… all right," Héctor says quietly. "I can make it. Imelda…."

He pauses, not certain what he wants to say or can say; after a moment Imelda takes a deep breath and steps forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Héctor." Her voice has that curious thickness to it again, and he realizes what it is - it had only taken him time because he's so rarely heard her cry.

Rarely hearing it and often the cause, he thinks helplessly, and he takes his hat in his hands to stave off the urge to pull her close.

"I'm glad you're all right. I am. I'm glad you're here still. But this is… it's so much, Héctor, and I…."

"Need to catch your balance?" he asks softly. Imelda nods, lifting her hand away.

"Yes. And… decide how to deal with…." She gestures broadly. "So… not now, Héctor. Not now. But... later, we'll talk."

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and Imelda turns to go - pausing only when Dante appears to stand in front of her, giving a low whine. Héctor can see her sigh as she runs a hand over the dog's head, and then she steps around him to join the other Riveras clustered nearby.

Pepita is the only one who doesn't follow her out of the plaza.

A soul's moods are reflected in their alebrije, and Pepita is pacing, reluctant to leave, casting uncertain looks toward Héctor. He's rarely seen Pepita anything but angry - fair enough, he'd decided long ago, but it doesn't leave him prepared for the great cat's furtive regard now.

"Pepita." Imelda's voice is soft, coaxing; Pepita tilts an ear toward her but still keeps glancing at Héctor as if trying to reach a decision. "Come along, mi gatita."

Héctor can't quite suppress a snort at that - gatita indeed! He's been on the wrong end of that 'gatita'! - but goes still and silent when the alebrije turns to look at him.

Pepita tilts her head, staring into his face, a rumbling purr vibrating briefly through his bones. Héctor can't look away from her, but he can hear Dante's cheerful whine and wildly thumping tail and abruptly realizes he no longer needs to fear the great cat gazing at him mildly as….

Well, a kitten.

She blinks once, slowly, before turning to follow Imelda. Héctor relaxes all at once, staring after them.

"What... was that all about?" he mutters once all of them - Pepita included - are out of earshot. Dante yips and licks his hand, wagging his tail so hard his whole body wiggles with it, and Héctor smiles as he rubs the dog's ears.

"You know… you're right. It feels like a good thing."

Later, he tells himself, not never - and so he heads back down to Shantytown with hope unfurling in his chest.