Page 154 of The Glittering Edge

“You’ve been sleeping early. It’s not like you.”

“I’m tired all the time.”

“From the curse-breaker?”

Alonso nods. Even without his magic, his body has had a hard time recovering from the spell. But it’s also depression. He’s barely been able to get out of bed since his last day of work at the record store a few days ago.

His mom pours hot water over a strainer of tea leaves. “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares.”

“I guess so.” He glances up at her. “You gonna tell me what a shithead I was? Because I already know, so you don’t have to remind me.”

“Actually,” she says, “I was going to say that I admire what you did.”

Alonso’s head snaps in her direction. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“But—but I’m the reason we have to leave Idlewood.”

“I can leave this town behind, but not you. Never you.” She ruffles his hair. “You’re a good man, Alonso.”

His mom has never said that. Not once. She’s hated him for the longest time, hated the talks with principals and guidance counselors, hated the way he refused to go to therapy until he started high school.

But she said that Alonso isgood. Something he’s wanted to be for a long time. And even though it’s an entirely normal thing for a parent to say, Alonso’s vision goes blurry with tears.

He quickly looks away from her. “Good to know,” he manages to say.

“Get some sleep, okay?” She pauses. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Alonso says, his voice small.

When Alonso is alone, he pours himself another cup of tea and goes into the solarium. All their plants are gone now, and the place looks wrong. But for the first time in his whole life, the windows are clean, and Alonso can see into the backyard.

Nimble sidles up to the window and starts yowling like a baby.

“Stop,” he hisses. “I’m not letting you out.”

She looks straight at him and yowls again. The hair is standing straight up along her spine. Alonso frowns and steps closer to the window, looking outside.

“There’s nothing there,” he says, and then his eye catches on something.

There’s a manila envelope on the back porch.

Alonso pushes the door open. “Hello?” he shouts into the dark.

No answer.

Alonso picks up the envelope gingerly, in case there’s poop inside, or a pipe bomb. That feels like the kind of goodbye present Idlewood would give to their least-favorite family. When it doesn’t explode, he opens it.

The first page is a letter in loopy handwriting:

Dear Alonso,

I found this today. It’s a long story, but I wanted to make sure your family had it before you leave.

I also wanted you to know that I’m trying one last time to save my mom. See page two for details! I know you’re probably freaking out. So am I, but I’ve already made up my mind, and you can’t stop me.

I know I have no right to ask for your help anymore. But if you want to be there, come to the football game on Friday.

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