CAMILO

"I say we go right." I point to the eastern path of the dirt fork in front of us.

"Left." Sofia glances from the road to me.

"Right!" I squint at her, asserting more forcefully.

"Left!" She pivots to face me fully.

The two of us glare each other down. Neither of us budging. The heat of the afternoon sun, burning into the top of my head, only making my persistence stronger.

"You know what, I've got a better idea." I relax and hold my chin up high with a broad smirk. "Bruno, why don't you peek into the future and tell us which is the best way to go?"

"What?" Bruno squeaks, perking up. "But . . . that's not how that works."

"It's worth a shot. Or would you rather us continue to guess, blindly?"

Bruno frowns and shifts focus between the two of us. After doing so a few times, he heaves out a conceding sigh. "I don't have any sand . . ." He lowers his head.

"Would this do?" Sofia twirls her hand, lifting dust up from the earth around us to swirl in a blob above her fingers. The particles tan appearance makes them actually look like sand, sort of. It's unlikely, unless inspected closely, that you'd be able to tell the difference.

Bruno eyes the collection and huffs. "I need it in a circle around us," he directs with a reluctant wave of his hand, completely surrendering to the plan now. "And four little piles, at the center. Positioned like cardinal points on a compass."

Sofia does as he describes, quickly enclosing us in a swift circle of a dust while Al and I watch, then creates the little piles. Meanwhile, Bruno walks off to the side of the road and scoops up a handful of dried leaves from underneath a scraggly bush.

Bundling them up in his arms, he carries the heap to the circle's center, dropping them between the mini mounds. He then takes a few pieces and pushes them into their hearts, lighting all of them with a match, followed by a branch.

I watch his actions curiously.

It's the first time I've ever seen him 'summon' a vision. Most of what I imagined already proving false, what with the lack of a black, bubbling cauldron or a thousand rats joining him in some indistinguishable chant.

But does he really have to do all of this?

Or is it more of his superstitions?

"Everyone take a seat and hold on," Bruno sits crisscross and offers out his hands to us.

We all sit opposite him, slowly, Sofia wedged in the middle between Al and me. I grab her hand, then Bruno's, with Sofia and Al following the same looping pattern until our circle's complete. Once we're all secure, Bruno closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath.

An eerie wind sweeps through the area, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

It encloses the road, spinning around us, breaking leaves off the nearby trees to join its wake.

Bruno opens his eyes after it swirls a bit, his pupils now a glowing, bright, haunting green. Identical to what I used to create for my illusions in the past, when teasing Mirabel and the other village kids.

I gulp.

The dust around us rises up, twirling like a miniature, luminescent, emerald tornado along the circle's edge. Sealing off all exit.

My heart races.

Sweat builds in my palms.

The nerves tingle throughout my entire body.

Maybe . . . Maybe this wasn't such a good idea . . .

Bruno stares up at the wall of circling dust.

I follow his line of sight. A green light appears in the cyclone, quickly taking the shape of the fork we're currently stopped at.

"There's the road," Sofia whispers, seeming unfazed by it all. As usual.

The imagery zooms out, moving away from the fork. Back in the direction we came—the fork remaining visible in the distance.

"Wait, why's it-"

"Sh!" Sofia cuts me off, not looking away.

The vision narrows in on a fallen tree on the side of the road. Past it, it reveals a shaded trail, entering into the woods.

"There's another path," Bruno gapes at it, while the vision continues down it.

The vision then shifts.

This time, the light changes into that of a house, flashing for but a moment, before displaying a table covered to the brim with a delectable feast. Barely a space between plates.

There's a bright flash that instant.

The dust overhead tumbles down, forming a thick layer to rest atop my curls. Some pieces stream down, getting into my eyes. I struggle to wipe them out, blinking and rubbing rapidly. When I'm good, for the moment, I notice Bruno holding a new, green, glowing tablet beyond a slight blur. The last image of the feast engraved on it.

"Secret path for the win!" Al jumps high to his feet. He points at me and Sofia with a wide, enthusiastic grin plastered on his face. "Both of you were wrong! Admit it!"

I peek at Sofia, who smiles softly at me.

It's a struggle to not cave in and return it. The contagiousness of it already tugging at the corners of my lips.

I snort and stand up as well. "I didn't hear you offering any suggestions." I pat my pants clean.

"No need," Al retorts with a cross of his arms. "You two have got enough opinions for all of us. And you never listen."

Sofia snickers at that.

This time, I can't resist the grin, seeing hers.

"Let's just go already," I scoff with a roll of my eyes, dismissing Al's continued taunting, as we proceed back down the road to the path that'll lead us into the forest.

"Bruno, how much longer until you think we get to the feast?" Al asks, dragging his feet.

We've been walking down this 'path' of ours for at least a couple hours now, since the wagon was just too bumpy from all the potholes to be comfortable. And although it's mostly shaded, a blessing amongst the earlier scorching sun, there's no sign of it leading anywhere. Other than to increased foot pain, weariness, and impatience.

"No clue." Bruno shrugs and wipes some sweat from his brow, tugging the donkey's reins alongside him.

"Your visions don't have a timestamp or anything?" Al throws his head back with an agitated groan.

Something I'm very tempted to mimic, knowing the answer's no.

My stomach growls, and my mouth waters at the idea of a feast again. Our so-called prophecy.

I recall all the food scattered across the phantomesque table. The sancocho stew—piping hot, amber broth packed full of meat, plantains, potatoes, corn, and cut up pieces of yucca. The bowls for bandeja paisa, overflowing with steamy, white rice, chorizo, and sliced avocado. And of course, the arepas! The beautiful, golden, cheese-filled—

Another rumble rips through my gut.

I press into it, closing my eyes, trying to dismiss the memory from mind, while my feet continue down the path with the others.

"House," Sofia whispers in the shuffling.

I perk up.

"There's a house!" she announces louder this time, pointing straight ahead.

I squint forward. And sure enough, I see the bottom of a brick wall, barely visible past some low hanging tree branches, further down the road.

Al and Sofia take off for it in a sprint.

I follow right afterward, ignoring Bruno's shouts, asking us to slow down or wait up.

My pulse flutters, excitement filling me to the brim. Beckoning my pumping arms and feet to propel me forward faster.

Gracias a Dios.

Food.

Finally, we can rest and have food!

That's all that occupies my thoughts as the house comes more into view.

A middle-aged woman with tied-back brown curls and almond colored skin, rounds its nearby corner, carrying a bucket of water. At that same time, a burly, light-skinned man with a thick mustache walks out of a neighboring barn, pushing a wheelbarrow stacked with hay.

Both stop to look at us at almost the exact same time.

We halt and stare back, panting. Realization hitting me that we're not alone. This house has occupants.

The woman's jaw drops.

"Sofia? Alejandro? Is that . . . you?" She tilts her head.

I cock my head at her.

"Mama! Papa!" Sofia cries out.

The twins both rush up to the woman, wrapping her up in a tight, three-way hug, that she quickly gives back, dropping her bucket. "It really is you." She cradles the back of their heads in her hands.

The two pull back.

"What are you doing here? How did you-"

"Coincidence." Al huffs. "We were traveling nearby and well . . . "

My brain struggles to catch up.

I watch the woman—no, Sofia and Al's mother—smile at the siblings and caress their cheeks.

She glimpses up at me and Bruno, who walks up with the cart and freezes by my side, eyes wide and fixated on the sight. "And who might these two be?" she asks, as Sofia rushes to give the man, who I presume to be her father, his own hug.

"Ah, it's a long story." She steps away after with a shy smile. "But Mami, Papi, this is Bruno and Camilo. My boyfriend and his tio."

Her mom's mouth parts.

Both parents focus on me. The father's 'stare' verging more on a scowl.

My eyes almost bulge out of my head.

I gulp and go rigid in place. Reality slowly catches up.

Her parents.

These . . . are her parents.

And I'm . . .

She's . . .

The world spins.

I fail to find words. To muster the will or energy to move.

Sofia grins at me, then at her parents. "Their family looked out for us for a few months when we visited their hometown and helped train one of their family members in magic," she explains, using the words I can't seem to summon.

"Magic? Then they . . . ?" Her mother covers her lips. "Oh, how wonderful." She beams. "Please, please. Come in. Both of you! Please!" She waves for us to enter their abode.

The family moves to enter through the front door. I just stand there, still fixed in place, until Bruno taps me on the back.

I flinch and meet his soft gaze.

He gives me a kind, almost bemused smile. The reassurance clear for me to see.

I inhale a deep breath and march stiffly into the house.

Right.

This is no time to get distracted. I have to make a good impression—these are her parents, her family—and standing around gawking isn't going to do that.

"Mama, Papa, we have some magical guests," Sofia's mother calls with a sing-song tone inside the foyer.

I step in behind them and now my jaw drops. There are brooms sweeping, towels wiping, and feather dusters dusting, all on their own, everywhere. Not to mention floating laundry baskets and buckets holding mops traversing through the rooms past us.

"Guests?" An old woman with pulled-back grey curls suddenly appears in the neighboring doorway, giving me a jolt. She glimpses around at us all, stopping with a widening grin, upon noting Al and Sofia. "Ah! Mis amores! You've returned!" She gives them both a big hug.

"We missed you, Abuela," Al says, as she kisses him on the cheek.

I smile at their warm reunion.

It must be nice. I imagine Mami, Tia, and Abuela will greet me the same way, next time we stop over.

Someone pokes my left shoulder, interrupting the imagery.

I look over to find a near bald, old man, hunched forward to where his head is about my height. He holds a rock up for me to see. Its surface is almost as dull and gray as his last few remaining hair strands are. But then, the color shifts. It glimmers a bright gold, shining in a beam of sunlight. I gape at it as he hands it over to me.

My breath escapes in an awed huff.

Before I can ask or comment on anything in the surprise, he smiles. A dozen copies of himself manifest behind him out of thin air, with a puff of smoke, surrounding me like a mini army.

"Ah!" I jump back, almost dropping the gold rock in the process.

"Papa, don't scare them!" Sofia's mom scolds with a glare.

The old man shrugs and his copies vanish with a chuckle and another poof.

"Please don't mind him. He loves to pull little pranks," the grandmother explains as Sofia giggles.

"Too much if you ask me." Sofia's mother rolls her eyes. "Come. Come! Let's sit down. There's much for us to catch up on." She waves us into the next room.

We all follow after her into the kitchen. All the while, I'm still finding it hard to wrap my head around the thrill of first seeing the grandpa turn a rock into gold, then creating a bunch of clones, to seeing so many cleaning instruments and things moving about on their own, across several different rooms.

It's just so much to take in.

Something completely new.

Even the way some cups float out of a nearby cupboard by the stove, to set themselves on a nearby table for us, numbs me into an amazed stupor.

Because I mean, sure, Casita can move. But . . . that's Casita. How are they doing this here? Is it their magic? Or is their house alive, too? Like ours?

Is this Casita number 2?

"Do either of you want some coffee? Or a snack?" Sofia's mother asks, as a steaming pot of coffee and a plate of arepas floats up beside her.

"Yes, gracias," Bruno says, as we all nod and sit down—Al being quick to snatch an arepa off the lowering plate before it can even land on the table.

Their mother pours us the magic-infused, hovering coffee with a wave of her fingers, then takes her seat in one of the chairs across from us, joining her scowling husband and the grandparents.

"Now. Where to begin?" she says with a faint, cheerful smile.

And if I wasn't tense before?

Meeting eye contact with both of Sofia's watchful parents, who are clearly fixated on me and me alone, with contrasting, awaiting expressions, I certainly turn statuesque now.

SOFIA

"You're daydreaming again." Mom peeks over at me, mid-wash of one of our coffee cups, while I help wipe down another clean one to her left.

"Mamaaaa," I groan and roll my eyes at her.

"Not that I blame you." She giggles, refocusing back on her task.

She stares out the window in front of us. Camilo's running about outside, hauling two full water buckets behind Papa. One of the many chores he's been helping with since Al and I regaled everyone with our adventures, and we learned how they setup their new home all the way out here, away from the city, after that dreadful night we got separated so long ago.

"He seems a good boy. Hardworking and eager, that's for sure."

"He is," I whisper and smile as Camilo almost stumbles in his hurry, his brown curls bouncing with every step.

Mama hums in the ensuing silence.

She finishes her next cup, sets it down with a clink, then pivots toward me.

"Why don't you take him a snack?" She waves her fingers, and a plate of leftover arepas floats over to us. I glimpse at her and then the arepas. "All that running around for your father, gift or no gift, he's bound to be getting tired." She grins, gesturing with her eyes outside the window.

I beam at her, my chest warming with a flutter. "Gracias, Mama." I hug her.

She pats me on the back, and I grab the plate of arepas, hurrying out of the kitchen's back door, eager to give my poor boyfriend a break.

I speed-walk to the barn, where I suspect Papa's dragged him to next.

Sure enough, I find Camilo inside, panting, hands on his bent knees beside now empty water pales, wiping sweat from his brow.

"You alright there?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

He jumps. "Whoa!" He eyes me widely, grasping at his tilted ruana. One sleeve just about to fall off his left shoulder. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that, hermosa. My heart can only take so much." He says the last bit with his typical tease and smirk.

I huff and glance away from him with a smile. "Hungry?" I offer the plate of arepas out to him.

Camilo's eyes light up. The joy and ease in them something I haven't really seen since we first got here, since he's been so wired up adorably from nerves. He picks up one of the arepas and takes a bite. His eyes flutter, and his shoulders slump with a sigh. After swallowing, he looks at me. He smirks again.

"Worried about me, were you?" he wiggles his eyebrows at me and waves the remainder of his arepa my way with the question.

"Don't be silly." I turn away.

"Aw, come on. You can admit it, you know?" He wraps his arms around me from behind, stopping me from leaving.

My cheeks flush feeling his close breath on my ear.

"Camilo, stop-" I try to push his face off, over my shoulder.

"Boy!"

We both flinch.

That's Papa's voice. Undoubtedly. Shouting from somewhere outside.

"Boy, where are you?" he calls again.

"Here! I'm here!" Camilo scrambles away from me to leave the barn. He skids to a halt by its gate, scurrying back to grab another arepa and to kiss me on the side of my cheek, before shoving the pastry into his mouth.

I wave him off with a giggle, one hand resting against the cheek he kissed. The soft warmth of his touch still lingers. Swirling with the happiness at my being here, at our being here, and his eagerness to please and prove himself. For us. For me.

That bubbly feeling fills me to the brim, and I'm all the more content to let it envelop me a little while longer, and to support his clambering efforts anyway I can.

"So, this is where you ran off to," I remark upon climbing the last step up to the barn's loft.

Camilo's sitting with his back against a lofty stack of hay, his tiple cradled in his arms. He peeks up at me from his thick veil of curls, hazel eyes wide and full of surprise, but quickly welcoming.

His fingers strum quietly at the chords as he tries to tune them.

I plop down next to him, eager to rest after another long day full of chores with Mama. Pieces of hay scratch at my skirt and exposed ankles. A sensation I definitely didn't miss from when I used to help out with the farm chores at home, with Al and Papa.

When I put my hand down to touch the floor, it bumps the edge of some paper. I glance down at it, noting several distinct rows of lines with scribbled words underneath it.

"What's this?" I pick it up.

Camilo peeks over. His eyes almost bulge out of his head. "Nothing!" He rips it away from me so fast, I barely blink before it's there and gone. He holds it far off, out of reach, with an awkward smile and chuckle.

I squint and raise an eyebrow at him.

He chuckles again, sets it down on his other side, and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with me now.

"Just . . . a song I'm working on," he mutters, attempting to sound and look nonchalant again.

I smirk at him. "Oh. A song, huh?"

"Yep."

He goes back to tuning his tiple. Still not looking at me.

I huff and roll my eyes.

Fine. If he doesn't want to share it with me yet, so be it.

I rest my head back against the hay and close my eyes. A weary heaviness weighs across the top of my eyelids, urging me to sleep, if only to ease the soreness in my aching arms.

Camilo starts to play. The tiple's soft, rhythmic acoustics resonates throughout the barn. Its peaceful melody threatens to drift me off further, further, like a tempting lullaby, encouraging me to descend into a peaceful dream.

"Hijos, dinner's ready!" Mama's voice calls outside.

Camilo stops. I flicker open my eyes, a bit unwillingly.

I glance at him and he at me.

"Come on. Let's go." He stands up with a smile and offers me his hand.

I nod and take it, relishing in its calloused warmth.

We climb back down the barn ladder and enter the house together. Inside the kitchen is a scene I haven't seen in a long time. Pots and pans, of every shape and size, full of different kinds of food, float over counters then zip over to land on the table. Mom inspects each beforehand, adding final spices here and there, or heating them up with one final flash of flame, depending on the dish.

Meanwhile, Abuela suddenly teleports from one end of the table to another, setting some formal silverware, while Abuelo and his many clones offer their additional assistance. Papa and Al walk in the kitchen from the back door a second later, chuckling about something that's got Al grinning from ear to ear.

I glimpse over at Camilo, who's gaping at the sight in front of him. A widening smile turns up the corner of his lips. Whether it be from all the food or the magic I don't know. He could easily be thrilled by both. I giggle and elbow him in the side, jolting him out of his daze. He looks to me, and I tilt my head towards the filling table in a way to gesture us forward.

He follows, taking his usual seat beside me, that we've kept the past few days.

"I just wanted to thank you all for your help around the house this weekend," Mama says as she wipes her hands on the flower-embroidered apron I made for her and sits in her usual seat beside Papa. "It's been much appreciated. The best Mother's day gift I could've asked for! Isn't that right, amor?"

She smiles at Papa, who merely frowns.

"Hm." He hums.

He scowls up at Camilo after a minute.

"You may not be particularly strong, boy, but," he sits up straighter, "you know how to carry your weight."

My spirit soars at the compliment, and from Camilo's relieved intake of breath and beaming smile, as well as relaxing posture, I can tell his does, too.

"Still spend too much time in the bathroom, though," Papa mutters with a disbelieving shake of his head.

We all chuckle at that because it's true. Out of everyone, he always takes the longest, regardless of if he's merely obsessively fixing every stray strand of hair in the mirror, or full on belting out in song as if he's at a concert during a bath. It's guaranteed he'll take at least double the time of anyone else. A quirk I always tease him on, and I'm a bit happy my parents noticed as well.

"It's been our pleasure to be here and to be of some help to you all," Bruno offers with a kind smile.

"And it's been our pleasure to get to know you," Abuela replies. "Both of you."

She aims the second half at Camilo, and Abuelo also nods.

Camilo and Bruno both smile softly, the tenderness and appreciation in their gazes clear.

"Now," Mama clasps her hands together in front of her, "I know we agreed you would continue your journeys tomorrow. So eat up!" She fixates on Camilo and Al with a tender, joking smile. "I don't expect to have to tell you two twice."

"Oh, it's far too soon, mis queridos." Mama wraps Al and I up into a tight, warm hug outside the door. The morning sun beams softly down on us, a light gold, full of freshness and an aura of purity. "Promise you'll write."

"Of course, Mama." I hug her back as tight as I can, doing my best to engrave it in my mind to always remember. "We'll try to come back for Father's day, too."

Mama pulls away, looks at us, and sighs. Papa steps up beside her, a soft and uncharacteristic smile on his face as well.

"It's been great to get to know you two." Mama directs at Bruno and Camilo. She then focuses on the latter, and Papa puts a hand on her shoulder. "Please continue to take good care of our dear Sofia. Won't you?"

Camilo grins. "Of course." He nods swiftly.

"And here I thought I'm the one always taking care of you," I scoff and roll my eyes, giving him a teasing side glance.

"Hey! Who turned out to be right about picking which way at the fork?" His broad, haughty smirk from the earlier reveal returns.

"Who's saved your hide more times than we can count?" I rebuttal, standing my ground and crossing my arms.

"Wha-? Name one time besides the first town!"

"Oh, you want to me write you a list then?"

"Ugh." Al groans, throwing his head back. "Back to square one. Alright. I'm out." He turns to walk down the forested path ahead of us—Bruno bowing his head once to the rest of our family before following and tugging at our donkey cart.

Mama giggles behind us.

I look to her, then to Camilo, who does the same as well. We both chuckle and smile at each other. The 'tension' of our bickering dissolving. Then, with one final bow of our heads to my family, we walk side by side down the path, together. Onward to another journey.

Authors Note: Thank you everyone for all your patience and support! It means so much! This was a particularly difficult chapter for me to write. I just couldn't really get my head in the place I wanted it to be, but it's decent enough. Updates will resume every two weeks now (focusing more on the romance again from this point forward). See you then! :)