I didn't think I could feel any worse than I already did, but apparently I was wrong. I had completely forgotten about the MRF, and Ms. Cross's words brought them right back to the forefront on my mind.

“It is possible that their representatives may try to act before the Council comes to a decision, so that they don't risk losing you entirely,” Ms. Cross explains.

“But you said they aren't strong enough to take on the Council, and that if they take me by force, the Council will put all their efforts into crushing them,” I protest.

“At this point, the MRF may view the situation as take you now and risk the Council's reaction, or lose your power forever and give up on a powerful weapon, who is likely to now, more than ever, want to see an end to the Council himself.”

The thought of being essentially kidnapped to be used as a tool by a rebel terrorist group is chilling, but at Ms. Cross's words, I realize that at this moment, I do want to see an end to the Council. Right then, I think that if the MRF take over entirely, I won't be all that fussed to see the Council go. It will solve my problem completely, it will guarantee my safety.

But then I remember what Ms. Cross had said about the ideology of the MRF, about how they want magician-kind to rise up out of hiding and rule over the mundane world.

I lived in the mundane world for fifteen years. I never quite belonged there, but as far as I had been aware, I was a mundane, and in a lot of ways, it's still more my world than the world of magic is. I know for a fact that if a group like the MRF had tried to take over the world I knew before I found out I was a magician, I would be filled with hate and fear and resentment, and I would fight it with every fiber of my being. I wouldn't have wanted to be conquered by a group of magicians who wanted to see me in subservient place, and I know that no other person would ever stand for that either. If the MRF gets their way, it will only lead to suffering, and probably all out war.

In this case, the enemy of my enemy isn't my friend.

No one is my friend here, expect for Ms. Cross, El and her family, and a handful of other teachers and students.

My shoulders sag. “Alright. I'll stay here, and I'll go with Mr. Garcia if I have to.”

“Good,” Ms. Cross says. “I would like you to go either way, even if I do manage to convince the Council to give you another chance, but I'd rather it was a willing choice than a desperate last option.”

She dismisses me, and asks me to send in Mr. and Mrs. Fuentes.

I do, and the minute they disappear into the kitchen, Noemi and Ryan begin bombarding me with questions about what’s going on.

“It's none of your businesses,” El snaps at them, and she pulls me by the arm out of the living room, slamming the door to the hall in her sibling's faces.

She forcibly leads me to her bedroom where we can talk in at least a little privacy, until her parents come looking for us.

I tell El everything that Ms. Cross told me.

“Well I'll start packing right away then too,” she says the moment I finish, leaping to her feet. “I can be packed and ready to go by tonight. The minute Ms. Cross gives the word, I'll be ready to go with you.”

“You can't come to Mexico with me,” I protest, even though what I really want to do is keep my mouth shut and let her do it. “Your parents will never go for it, and if you try to sneak away, they'll just tell Ms. Cross and she'll tell Mr. Garcia, and he'll send you back.”

“I'll be eighteen in March, and then I can do whatever I want,” she tells me, her expression set and determined.

“Yeah, but that's almost five months away. Ms. Cross said that I'll probably be leaving, one way or another, in a couple of weeks. If I'm lucky.”

El considers this, but comes up with a response almost immediately. “Then I'll come to visit you over Christmas break. I'll talk my parents into putting in a little money for a plane ticket to see you, and once I'm down there, I just won't come back.”

“You can't do that,” I gasp.

“I can, and I will,” she says, and her expression is dangerous. “Even if they get police involved or whatever claiming I'm a runaway, it'll take so long for both the American and Mexican legal systems to lurch into action that I'll have already turned eighteen before anyone can track me down and deport me.”

“That's a lot of assumptions you're making.”

“I'll go under an assumed name and cut my hair, no one will even recognize me. I'll blend right in, too.”

“Except you speak almost no Spanish. I can't ask you to do any of that for me,” I protest, shaking my head. “You have a life here, a real one, a family and other friends and a future as a magician, or as whatever you want to be. I've always known that my future would end up weird or screwed up. No matter where I go or what world I'm in—magical or mundane—I don't fit in. I just have to accept that and keep trying my best to at least become functional so I'm not a danger to the rest of the world. If you put your life on hold just to keep me company in Mexico, it would mess up your future too. I can't let you do that.”

“You can't let me?” El repeats, narrowing her eyes at me. “It seems to me like you're under the mistaken impression that you have some say in the matter. I'm going to do whatever I want to do, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

I don't reply. There are things I could do to stop her. Tell her parents. Tell Ms. Cross. Put a spell on her the day I leave so she oversleeps, and once I'm on a plane she'll have no idea exactly where I'll be and she won't be able to come after me.

But I don't want to argue with her anymore. I'm tired. I'm just... tired.

                                                              *   *   *

I hardly move from the couch for the next three days.

El's parents seem concerned, but I'm grateful that they seem to decide just to leave me alone. Maybe they think I'll come out of my funk on my own with time.

I have no plans of doing that, but I'm not going to tell them that either.

Everyone gets really quiet whenever they come into the living room and see me there, and Noemi and Ryan have taken to running through the room as fast as they can whenever they need to pass through into the kitchen.

I get up to eat meals and piss, but other than that, I just lay on the couch and feel sorry for myself, not even bothering to turn on the TV.

El's tries to convince me to get up and do something, anything at first, but I remind her that I'm essentially under house arrest. I'm not even supposed to go out into the backyard, in case anyone is watching the house.

My miserable mood seems to infect her too eventually, and she stops trying.

I'm laying facedown when someone comes to the door the day after Thanksgiving, which was an unusually morose affair. Mrs. Fuentes is at work, and Ryan and Noemi are out at friend's houses, leaving just Mr. Fuentes, El, and me at the house. Her dad's in his study though, working, and can't hear the door bell from there, so it's El who hurries into the living room to check the door while I pull a blanket over my legs in a pathetic, and apathetic, attempt to conceal my presence.

She doesn't open the door right away, instead peering through the peephole to try to get a look at whoever is on the other side. Everyone has been doing that since I came to stay, peering suspiciously through peepholes and window curtains, expecting every visit from the mailman or Amazon delivery driver to be the Council or the MRF banging down the door to haul me away.

But this time El gives a cry of surprise, and for the first time in nearly eight hours I sit up.

It do it so abruptly that all the blood rushes from my head and for several seconds I'm seeing black spots dancing in front of my eyes, while I frantically ask, “What? What, who is it? Who's there?”

I try to stand up, but my legs get wrapped in the blanket and I fall, landing painfully on my knees.

“It's... it's Felix!” El gasps, her face still pressed to the door. “Felix Roth! What the hell is he doing here?”

“Is he alone?” I ask as I wrench the blanket away from my legs. “Are his parents with him? The rest of the Council? Any kind of angry mob?”

“...No, no he's alone,” El says after a moment.

The apparently Felix starts to grow impatient, because another knock comes at the door, louder and more demanding this time.

“I know you're in there, I can hear you talking!” comes his voice, muffled through the door.

El and I look at eachother, both silently asking the other what to do.

“What do you think he wants?” she whispers.

“How should I know? Do we just... ignore him until he goes away?”

“I'm not going anywhere until you open this door!” Felix calls, as if he had read our minds, since he couldn't hear our whispers. “I'll stand here all night if I have to!” and he starts banging again, long and loud and continuous.

“Well... there's two of us, plus your dad,” I say hesitantly. “We could see what he wants, and if he's up to something, we can just jump him.”

“I've never jumped anyone before,” El says doubtfully.

“With magic, obviously. Or, at least you'll use magic. I'll just jump him the mundane way, I guess. Better than risking blowing his head off, even if he might deserve it.”

El takes a deep breath, and nods. “Okay. Get ready.”

I stand with my feet a little apart, as if expecting Felix to come charging through the door or something. I can feel my magic tingling under my skin as my emotions spike for the first time in days.

El opens the door.