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was Aaron’s fault.
    Aaron pushed some of his blond hair out of his face. The black stone in the band on his wrist, the one that signified that Aaron could work chaos magic, glittered. “I know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t the Makar,” he said, almost as if he knew what Call had been thinking. “Tamara’s parents are nice. Really nice. But I know it wouldn’t be like this if I was just Aaron Stewart from some foster home. It’s good for them, politically, to be close to the Makar. Even if he is only thirteen. They said I could stay as long as I liked.”
    Call felt his resentment starting to trickle away. He wondered how long Aaron had waited to hear that, that he could stay somewhere as long as he liked. He thought it probably had been a long time. “Tamara’s your friend,” he said. “And not because of politics or who you are. She was your friend before anyone knew you were the Makar.”
    Aaron flashed a smile. “And you were, too.”
    “I thought you were okay,” Call conceded, and Aaron smiled again.
    “It’s just that being the Makar at school meant one thing,” he said. “But this summer, it’s been doing tricks and going to parties like this one. Being introduced to lots of people and everyone being really impressed to meet me and treating me like I’m special. It’s … fun.” He swallowed. “I know I really didn’t want to be the Makar when I found out, but I can’t help feeling like my life could be pretty great. I mean, if it wasn’t for the Enemy. Is it bad that I feel that way?” His eyes searched Call’s face. “I can’t ask anyone else but you. No one else would give me a straight answer.”
    And just like that, Call’s resentment dissolved. He remembered Aaron sitting on the couch in their room at school, still white-faced and shocked from being dragged up in front of the whole Magisterium so the Masters could announce that he was the one great hope who would lead them all against the Enemy.
    There was an enemy, Call knew now. It just wasn’t who they thought it was. And there were people who wanted Aaron dead. They wouldn’t stop. Unless the Enemy told them to stop …
    If Call was the Enemy, well, then Aaron was safe, right? If Master Joseph needed Call to mount an attack, then Master Joseph was out of luck. Call would never do anything to hurt his friends. Because he had friends. And that was definitely not something that Evil Overlords had, was it?
    Abruptly, he thought of his father slumped unconscious on the floor. He would never have thought he’d do anything to hurt his father, either.
    “It’s not bad to think being the Makar is fun,” Call said finally. “You should have fun. So long as you don’t forget that ‘if it wasn’t for the Enemy’ is a pretty big if.”
    “I know,” Aaron said softly.
    “And as long as you don’t get conceited. But you don’t have to worry about that, because you’ve got me and Tamara to remind you that you’re still the same loser you were before.”
    Aaron gave a crooked smile. “Thanks.”
    Call wasn’t sure if Aaron was being sarcastic or sincere. He opened his mouth to clarify when Tamara yanked open the door and glowered at them. “Are you guys done? Honestly, Call, how long does it take to get dressed?”
    “We’re ready,” Aaron said, coming away from the window.
    Outside, Call could see magic sparking over the lawn.

C ALL UNDERSTOOD WHY neighbor kids would want to sneak into the party. When he came back through the doors with Aaron, Tamara, and a freshly brushed Havoc on a new leash, he took in the full scope of the event and was amazed.
    Cloth-covered tables were heaped with platters of food — tiny chicken sausages in pastry, fruit cut into the shapes of moons and stars and suns, salads of herbs and pickled tomatoes, blocks of gooey cheese and crackers, popcorn shrimp on tiny skewers, blackened scallops, seared tuna, gelatin molds with chunks of meat suspended in them, and chilled tins of tiny black