Chapter Text
Present Day - New York City
It was a beautiful night for an art gallery opening. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was holding a private fundraiser and gala to celebrate the arrival of a rare painting that would be on exhibit for a limited time only. Monet’s Water Lilies, valued at over $80 million, was the main event. Those lucky/rich enough to get an invitation received a preview of the famous painting before it opened to the public. They rolled out the red carpet as the museum’s supporters and donors walked into the grand entryway. A limo pulled up to the steps. A middle-aged man and woman stepped out. The man wore a black suit and an orange and yellow tie to blend in, but the woman certainly wasn’t trying to blend in. She was wearing a brilliant orange and yellow ombre dress that sparkled when it caught the light just right. The two walked up the stairs, the woman turning heads as she walked arm-in-arm with the man. Her dress and his tie matched perfectly. At the top of the stairs, a man in a suit stopped them.
“Your names and your invitation, please,” the security guard said.
“Cameron and Miranda Montez,” the man said as he produced the invitation for himself and the woman on his arm. The security guard took their invitation and scanned a QR code on the back. His eyebrows knit together, confused.
“I’m sorry. I don’t see your name on the list.”
“That’s odd,” Cameron said. “We have to be on there.”
“Are you members of the Friends of the Met?”
“No, but we made a very generous donation,” Miranda insisted. “We gave this museum a significant amount of money because I wanted to see this painting in an intimate setting.”
“Let me scan the invitation again.” The guard scanned the invitation one more time. The screen on his tablet flickered, then confirmed that the invitation was genuine. His eyes widened when he saw the amount the couple donated to the museum. “My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Montez. Please, go in.”
“Thank you,” Cameron said as he and Miranda walked into the foyer. After passing through a metal detector, both of them took a glass of champagne and started walking around the room.
“Comms check,” a voice said in their ears. “Camilo, Mirabel, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Dolores,” Mirabel muttered under her breath.
“This must be what it’s like to hear everything,” Camilo said quietly.
“Nope,” Mirabel and Dolores said at the same time.
“Mamá and Antonio are on standby in case something goes south,” Dolores said from an unmarked van a block away. She was monitoring security cameras, looking for their mark.
“How is Antonio on standby?” Camilo whispered.
“He found a beehive three blocks away. Go silent. I’ll let you know if I see them. Happy hunting.”
Camilo looked at Mirabel. “I love being older than 21 on missions,” he thought. “I can do this without anyone getting mad.” He took a sip of champagne and smiled.
Mirabel rolled her eyes. “As long as you don’t get drunk, I don’t care,” she silently replied before taking a sip from her own glass. “Wow, the Met knows its champagne.”
“Considering how much money people spent to get in here, it better.”
“Any sign of our guy?”
“Nothing yet, but we’re barely halfway across the room. We haven’t even given you five minutes to get the attention of every man in the building. Whoever's trying to sell this painting will come over eventually.”
“I always did like this dress. If only I could be myself in it for once.”
The two of them walked together for a minute more before a specific song started playing. Camilo smiled. “It’s our song,” he said, holding his hand out to Mirabel. “Would you like to dance?”
“It would be my pleasure.” The two set their drinks down and walked onto the dance floor, which was pretty empty considering it was still the beginning of the event. They walked right into the middle of the floor, making sure that the light hit Mirabel’s dress perfectly. Camilo and Mirabel waltzed around the floor for a few minutes, Mirabel enjoying the turns and twirls that Camilo expertly led her into. They were dazzling the room as Mirabel’s dress sparkled and shone under the lights.
“I’m so glad you learned how to dance,” she thought as she smiled at Camilo.
Camilo returned the smile sadly. “Someone needed to cheer mamí up,” he replied. “Papí always danced with her.”
“Sorry. We can’t go down that road right now.”
“It’s never a bad thing to talk about papí. But right now, we’re coming to the end of the song. I’m gonna twirl you, dip you, and kiss you on the cheek, okay?”
Mirabel’s blink meant she was ready. With only a few measures to go, Camilo perfectly executed the move he told her about. When the song ended, the entire room applauded, both for the band and for Camilo and Mirabel. As they left the floor, a man approached them, three glasses of champagne in his hands.
“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Montez,” he said kindly as he handed them two of the glasses. “I’m Philip Rossiter, the host for this evening. You both are very talented.”
“It’s a lovely party so far, Mr. Rossiter, and thank you,” Mirabel said as she flashed a look at Camilo. This was their guy. “We were just talking about how beautiful this foyer is.”
“The Met takes great pride in both its artwork and architecture, Mrs. Montez. We here at the museum were blown away by your donation, especially considering you aren’t part of the Friends of the Museum. What made you decide to give such a generous gift to the museum?”
“We love Monet.”
“Well, she loves Monet,” Camilo said with a smirk. “I love her, and she asked me for this for her birthday after I dragged her to St. Kitts and Nevis for mine.”
“Saint Kitts and Nevis?” Philip said. “What a wonderful destination. The Caribbean is so beautiful.”
“If it hadn’t been during hurricane season and we didn’t have to evacuate forty hours into the trip, it would have been lovely,” Mirabel said, flashing Philip a dazzling smile.
“Well, I’d like to thank you for your generosity by giving you a private viewing before we open it to the rest of the group. Typically, we reserve this for the top donor inside the Friends of the Met, but your donation warrants special treatment. We’re going to announce you to be Friends of the Met once everything starts.”
“An honor we did not expect, but we will accept,” Camilo said as he raised his glass for a toast. “To the Met and Monet.”
“Hear, hear.” The three took a sip of their drinks before walking into the gallery where the painting was displayed. “We’ve been trying to get this painting here for years.”
“You must be very excited,” Camilo said before he took another drink. “Having a painting worth $80 million as part of your exhibits will bring in a lot of business.”
“Absolutely. It’s just brilliant. As the curator, I get to see the painting at my pleasure, which is also nice.”
“I’m sure you have extraordinary security here to make sure the painting is safe,” Mirabel noted as she also took a drink.
“Of course. We take great pride in our security measures, especially against those who would try to disrupt the integrity of the museum.” As Philip finished the sentence, Camilo’s vision went blurry for a split second. He blinked a couple of times and grabbed Mirabel’s hand.
“He spiked the champagne,” Camilo thought.
“I’m feeling it, too,” Mirabel replied silently.
The curator led them into the room where the painting should have been hanging. It was an empty room. Camilo’s vision was completely blurry now. “You should not have been so eager to get my attention. You are both excellent dancers. It’s a shame you won’t be giving an encore performance.” Two men appeared behind Camilo and Mirabel, holding guns against their backs. “Walk.”
“What’s happening in there?” Dolores’s voice rang out in Camilo’s ears before the man reached in and yanked the earpiece out. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it, hurting Dolores’s ears terribly. Mirabel received the same treatment.
“Who do you work for?” the curator asked. “If you tell me the truth right now, I’ll make it fast.”
“We’re Friends of the Met,” Camilo mumbled, barely able to stay conscious as he struggled to maintain his shift.
“Please, don’t do this,” Mirabel said. “We have a family.”
“So do I,” the curator said. “And we’re going to have a great life once I sell this painting.”
Camilo and Mirabel fell to the ground, the sedative taking full effect. As they blacked out, both of their bodies changed from a middle-aged couple to a couple of eighteen-year-old twins. Philip Rossiter’s eyes went wide as he looked at the two of them.
“I don’t know how they did that,” he said to his henchmen as he reached into his pocket and pressed a button. “But it doesn’t matter. Get them to the back of the house. We’ll dispose of them later.”
Every screen in the surveillance van went static. Dolores threw off her headphones and put in an earpiece before she sprinted out of the van and onto the street a block away from the museum entrance.
“Antonio, I need you at the service entrance!” Dolores ordered as she ran. “Mamá, they’ve been sedated and are being taken to the back. You have to get in there.”
“Got it,” Pepa said before picking up a tray of champagne glasses. “I’m in position.”
Pepa took a deep breath as she reached into the part of her mind that kept her powers under control. She mentally locked the door that had Félix, Julieta, Bruno, her mamá, and her children behind it and put on her game face. “Heading in.”
Pepa stepped into a room meant for employees only, her server’s uniform being the only thing granting her access. No one gave her a second look as she entered the room with ten people and five security guards.
“Ah, good,” Philip said as he entered the room like he hadn’t just sedated a couple of teenagers. “We can finally have our toast. What took you so long?”
“Lo siento, señor, lo siento,” Pepa said, not meeting his gaze as she passed out the champagne.
“What is your name?”
“Cristina, señor.”
“Well, Cristina, we speak English in this country. If you can’t speak English, I’ll find another server who can.”
Pepa nodded, trying like everything to keep the anger out of her face. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her English purposefully broken. “I try to speak English for you.”
“Thank you. Keep the champagne coming.”
As soon as the tray was empty, Pepa marched out to the kitchen again. “Dolores, if you don’t do something soon, I’m going to kill that man,” she mumbled under her breath as she poured more champagne.
“Don’t lose it, mamá!” Dolores said in her ear. “If you lose it, Camilo and Mirabel are dead.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
Outside, Dolores found Antonio standing at the service entrance. “Anything?”
Antonio shook his head, putting his hand out to stop Dolores. “Careful, I’ve got a bee’s nest surrounding me.”
“Thanks. What did you send in there?”
“A couple of bees. Sending the entire swarm would attract attention.”
“Good boy. What else?”
“They were going to use that van over there to get away.” Antonio pointed to an unmarked white van off in the distance. “A pigeon told me about it. It was really happy when I asked it to pop the tires. I guess pigeons think cars are loud.”
“You’re so good, Toñito.”
Antonio beamed at his oldest sister before his face fell. “Are Cami and Mira going to be okay?”
“They’ll be fine,” Dolores said, half trying to convince her little brother and half trying to convince herself. “They’ll be okay.”