We get the call from Ms. Cross while we're at breakfast the next day.

“Samuel Cartwright hasn't been found yet, and honestly, it's beginning to look like he won't be at all,” she says grimly. Adam's cell phone is in the middle of the table, speakerphone turned on but the volume low, and we're all leaning in to listen. “It's suspected that he's returned to the MRF and that they're sheltering him, which would explain why the tracking spells haven't worked. He couldn't possibly have broken every single one on his own, but if he's with other magicians who are protecting him...” She sighs. “Well, I don't think it matters. At least, not for you, Adam. Neither he nor the MRF have made any moves that would indicate they're still interested in you, and most people I've talked to so far agree that the Council isn't likely to seriously ask you to join the Guard. If the MRF or the Independence Movement do their homework as well as I have, then I'm certain they won't feel pressure to get involved with you, Adam. This may still be somewhat premature, but you can't loiter halfway across the state forever. I think it's fine to return home whenever you're ready. However, I will advise all three of you to keep on your guard, just in case. Be smart, and be safe.”

“We will,” Adam assures her, and Ms. Cross hangs up.

“All right,” says Eleanor, leaning back in her chair. “That's good to hear! I was sure everything was about to go to hell in a hand basket when we heard Samuel escaped, but I guess it's all just going to blow over! He and the MRF are probably just going to continue focusing in destabilizing the Council like they have been for the past couple years. Sometimes I forget that you're not the center of the universe, Adam.”

“I feel like I am sometimes,” Adam replies, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “Like everyone wants a piece of me. Thank God that's not the case this time. I don't think I have any more pieces left to take.”

After breakfast we head back to the motel to check out and make sure we're all packed up. We load everything into my car, and then we're on our way, starting the six hour drive back home. Adam insists he's not done investigating about his mom even though we've hit a dead end, and he spends a large portion of the drive throwing out suggestions about what the word “coyote” could have been referencing. Each one is less likely than the last, but Eleanor and I play along, offering our own suggestions. Honestly, it's been bugging me too, but I don't have any better guesses than Adam does as to what it could mean. Unfortunately, I just don't see anyway that we could figure it out based on the scanty information we have now.

Coyote, and a note signed “S”. That isn't enough to go on.

We get back to town at around five-thirty in the afternoon. We head to Eleanor's house first to drop her off, and her mom insists that we all stay for dinner. I haven't seen Eleanor's younger siblings in a while, and I'm shocked by how much bigger they've gotten. Noemi is seventeen now and will be a senior at St. Bosco's. The same age Adam and I were when we started dating. That seems so bizarre; as old as she is compared to when I first met her, Noemi still seems like a kid to me. I understand better now why our parents and Ms. Cross were furious when Adam and I took off for France. Eighteen-year old me wasn't as qualified to be taking Adam's fate in my hands as I had thought I was.

Ryan, the little one, is ten now, and he's a ball of energy. He finishes his dinner in about thirty seconds flat and then he's off again, running out the door and jumping on his bike to meet up with some friends at the nearby park.

Mr. Fuentes asks me how school is going, and whether I've decided to go into mundane law, or to specialize in a magician-based practice.

Eleanor's mom pressures her about her grades, which Eleanor ignores magnificently. She's double majoring in History and Spell Development, and barely scrapes by by the skin of her teeth.

“Cs get degrees!” is her mantra. I'd be inclined to argue, but her ability to craft original spells puts me to shame, so I'm sure she'll do just fine after graduation no matter what her grades are.

Then the conversation steers to Noemi and what she's thinking about doing after leaving St. Bosco's, which results in the declaration that she's going to take a year-long sabbatical and backpack across Europe. Her mother refuses point blank, reminding Noemi that they've had this conversation a hundred times already, and no, she most certainly will not.

There's a brief but passionate argument, that in typical Fuentes fashion blows over quickly without any real damage to anyone's feelings. I notice Adam starting to squirm a little at all this talk about school and our futures, so I steer the conversation away to what the Fuentes's summer plans are.

Adam and I head back to our apartment at around nine o'clock. I hold the door to the lobby open for him, and breath a sigh of relief as the cold, air-conditioned air hits me full in the face. “Merlin, why is it so hot here? I was just getting comfortable with the weather in SoCal.”

“You think you're suffering?” Adam snorts as he heads for the elevator. “I run about five degree hotter than everyone else. Every single day between mid-April to November is a living hell for me.”

The elevator dings and we step into it. Adam mashes the button for our floor about six times, as if that's going to get us there any faster. He does the same thing with the buttons at crosswalks.

“I'm exhausted,” I complain, rubbing the crick in my neck. “All we've done is eat and drive. How am I so worn out?”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. We lug our bags down the hall to the door of our apartment. I fumble one-handed with my keys and unlock it, letting Adam in first. He dumps his duffle bag on the couch and heads straight for the kitchen, though how he can still possibly be hungry, I have no idea. I grab his bag and take it into the bedroom with mine. I briefly consider unpacking right now, which I know I should do, but I'm too tired. I'll just leave it for tomorrow.

I head back out into the living, and find Adam passed out on the couch, an unopened box of crackers on the coffee table in front of him. I stifle a snort of laughter, and go to sit next to him. I could wake him up, but that feels mean. Let him sleep. I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. I know I'll regret this tomorrow when I wake up sore all over. But I don't have time to worry about it for long before I fall asleep too.

                                                             *   *   *

I wake up to the siren smell of fresh coffee, and am surprised to find myself in bed.

I head into the living room, and find Adam making breakfast burritos in the kitchenette.

“How did I get into the bedroom?” I ask as I stifle a yawn with my fist.

“I carried you, didn't I?” he replies, glancing up from the slightly smoking tortillas at me. “And I'm not doing it again. How much do you weigh, man? I almost threw my damn back out.”

“It's all muscle,” I tell him, patting a bicep that unfortunately isn't actually all that impressive. I make a mental note to start going to the gym more.

Adam rolls his eyes. “Sure, okay. You keep telling yourself that. Here.” He makes a vague motion with his hand, and the coffee pot sails through the air, landing on the counter in front of me just as I sit down. Another wave of the hand, and a mug flies out of a cupboard. His attention is on not burning the tortillas, so he's not paying much attention to the mug and it almost whirls right past my head. I just barely catch it with the tips of my fingers, and pour myself a cup of strong, black coffee.

I'm sipping on it, starting to feel marginally more alive, when I notice something on the floor by the front door.

“What's that?” I say, setting my mug down and crossing the room to check it out.

“What's what?” Adam responds vaguely, still in the middle of cooking.

I bend down and pick it up, turning it over in my hands. “It's a letter. Someone slipped a letter under our door.”

Now Adam half turns to look at me with a flicker of interest. “Really? That weird. Why wouldn't they have just put it in our box downstairs?”

“It's addressed to you.”

Adam freezes. “...R-really?” he says after a long moment.

I walk into the kitchen, holding it out. “Look, there's your name. Nothing else, no stamp, no return address. Just your name.”

“Who'd be slipping me a letter under my door?” he asks, setting down the spatula in his hand and turning off the stove burner. Then he takes the envelope from me and inspects it.

“Do you recognize the hand writing?”

He shakes his head. “Grab me a knife?”

I take one from the butcher's block and pass it to him. He slices the envelop open, and pulls out a folded piece of paper. I come around to stand beside him so I can read it too.

Adam:
If you want to know the identity of your biological father, come to the cafe on 5th street by eleven o'clock. Come alone, this information is for your ears only.

I gape at the letter.

“What the...?” Adam mutters, staring down at it as if he's struggling to understand what's written there.

“No,” I say, my voice hard as steel. “No way. No fucking way. You're not going.”

“Wait a minute, what does this even mean?” Adam asks, looking up at me in bewilderment. “Who could have wrote this?”

“No one could have written this,” I reply, taking it out of his hand. “No one but you, me, Eleanor, and Ms. Cross know that we've been searching for your biological family.”

“And the social worker,” Adam reminds me. “And all the nurses we talked to, and the woman from the cemetery.”

“No one here knows; and none of those people would have any reason to be slipping anonymous notes under our door, if they could even figure out where we lived. I don't know who could have written this letter, but it's shady as fuck, and you're not going. In fact, you're not even leaving this apartment. Whoever this was knows where you live, and they walked right up here while we were sleeping. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't like it. I'm calling... someone. Ms. Cross. My dad. I don't know, someone.” I start towards the cordless phone hanging on the wall, but Adam grabs me by the wrist.

“Wait a second,” he says, and he takes the letter back with his other hand. He jumps back out of my reach before I can snatch it back and he reads it again, his lips moving as he silently mouths the words. “The cafe on 5th street... that's not far from here. By eleven? What time is it now?”

He looks over at the clock on the oven, and I take the chance to leap at him and yank the letter out of his grasp.

“Hey!” he protests angrily.

“Adam!” I snap, “don't you see how fucking wrong this is? We just got home last night. We only left for SoCal a couple of days ago, and we did it on the spur of the moment, without any warning, without telling anyone, for a reason that nobody but us knows about. And then, the morning after we get back, we find this letter left for you? Adam, someone is playing you. I don't know who and I don't know why, but this can't be real. Someone figured out you're looking for your mom, and they decided to use that to lure you to cafe.”

“And do what?” he demands. “I know that cafe, it's in the middle of a busy street downtown! It's always packed, no one would dare try anything there. And what if it isn't some trick? What if it's real?” he makes a swipe for the letter, but I hold it out of his reach.

“You think it's just some crazy coincidence that someone decided to come forward with information about your family seemingly at random, right after you started looking into it yourself?”

“Maybe someone told someone who told someone who knows something,” he replies heatedly, grabbing me by the arm to hold me still so he can take the letter back. His arms are longer than mine, and I can't keep it from him without swallowing the damn thing. “El's parents could have mentioned it to a friend, or your mom might have; or even Ms. Cross after we told her yesterday.”

“And why wouldn't this hypothetical person have mentioned that they know who your father is, oh, I don't know; six years ago when you first showed up in the magical world?” I demand to know.

“Maybe they didn't know they knew something until recently! I don't know, do I? But if I go here, I can figure out.” He heads towards the bed room, the letter still clenched in his hand, pulling off his t-shirt as he goes.

I run after him. “Adam, this is the stupidest thing you've ever done! Listen to me, damn it! This isn't right, this can't be real! There's something very wrong here!”

He stops in the open doorway and rounds on me. “And what if it is real, huh? What if there really is someone waiting there with information about my father? How can I not go, Felix?”

He's not going to change his mind. I can see it in his eyes. I could shout until I'm blue in the face, and I'd never convince him that he's walking right into someone's hands. My mind races as I try to think of an alternative. I'd push him into the bedroom and spell the door locked until I'd called Ms. Cross or the police or something, if I didn't know that he could overpower any spell of mine without even breaking a sweat.

“...Okay, okay fine,” I relent after a moment of frantic thinking. “We'll go to the cafe. But I'm going with you.” I push past him into the room and head to the closet, searching for a shirt and pants.

“You can't come,” Adam says firmly, following me in. He yanks open the bureau drawer and grabs a clean t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Too bad, I'm coming,” I snap back.

“The letter specifically says to come alone.”

“That's part of their fucking plan! To get you alone, without backup! I'm coming.”

“And if—IF—” Adam says, yanking on a pair of jeans, “this person really is after me or something, then I don't want you getting messed up in this! You already got kidnapped because of me once before, I'm not letting anything like that happen again.”

“If you really think I'm just going to sit here and let you go alone—” I begin, turning to glare at Adam. But my words die in my throat when I see the way he's looking at me.

“Sorry, Felix. Crus Cincinno.”

My legs seize up and I tip over, hitting the ground hand.

“Fuck! Adam, undo this spell right now!” I shout, struggling to sit up.

“I'll be fine,” he assures me. His expression is twisted, guilty; but he doesn't break the hex. “I won't let anything happen. I'm just going to check. I have to check.” He stoops to grab his shoes from the side of the bed, and with one last ashamed glance back at me, he darts out of the room. I hear the front door slam shut a moment later, and I'm left alone in the apartment, dragging myself across the floor so I can get to my wand, which I've left in the living room.