San Angel had gained a strange little reputation as a very, very safe city, but Joaquín had excused himself from the cemetery for an impromptu patrol through town anyway. Manolo had offered to accompany him, but...

They all had the same thought burning in their hearts and minds - it had been a year. Would they be afforded the same 'leeway' as the previous year? Would the dead walk among them and would...?

Joaquín shook his head, trying to clear his mind in the still evening air. Everything was quiet away from the festivity of the church and cemetery, which suited him just fine. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd done a lot of thinking over the last year. He could tell Manolo had, too, though he was pretty sure Maria had her hand in all of it. She'd certainly helped him realize...

There was a warm breeze and the sudden faint smell of melted wax.

"There you are," a familiar voice called through the dark.

"We'll help you with any bandits tonight," came as accompaniment as Joaquín turned. He was stuck for words for a second as he stared at the Adelitas, taking in decorated white skulls and candlefire eyes. And he could imagine what would have been lower, though he didn't mind their bones.

"No bandits tonight, ladies," Joaquín finally managed as they slipped to his sides, one twin slithering under each arm and pressing herself close.

"That's no fun," one remarked.

"We'll have to think up something else to do," the other replied.

Joaquín was fairly sure this wasn't how his life was supposed to be playing out, but, as bony fingers started walking down his chest and pulling at his jacket, well, he didn't think he'd have it any other way.