She didn’t want to ruin it.
Mrs. Larsen dabbed at her nose. “You’re right… and I’m sorry. I know I often put my writing and my deadlines first.… Well, usually the deadlines arrive and then the writing follows… at least lately.… I’m having a hard time cracking my main character’s motivation, you see.… Oh my, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? The point is… I need to find a better balance.”
“Those things are important to you.”
“Yes, but so are you. I want you to know that.”
Ridley thought of what she’d been through with her friends over the past few months. She thought of the arguments. Of wanting to be right all the time. She had so much more she wished to tell her mother.
That they shared the same kind of anger.
That she’d learned when to fight and when to concede.
What she said was, “You’re important to me too, Mom.”
Because change can happen when you don’t force it.
Because sometimes, love is that simple.
Later, after Ridley’s exercises and her bath and her breakfast, she asked her mother if she would join her in the lab.
“What are we doing in here?” asked Mrs. Larsen.
“You’re going to help me rebuild the project I took to the inventors’ fair,” said Ridley. “The one that got smashed.”
“I’d like that,” her mother answered, wiping her hands on her freshly ironed pants. “I never got to see the first version.” Ridley retrieved the toolbox from the shelf and placed it onto the workbench. “Say,” Mrs. Larsen added. “After we’re done here, why don’t you invite your magical friends over? I feel like we haven’t seen them in a while.”
Ridley smiled and said, “I’d like that too.”
OUR GRAND FINALE
Well, friends, it’s just about that time.
What time, you might be asking?
Time for our story to come to an end.
As all stories do.
But first, my final confession.
Have you been wondering exactly who has been sharing these tales of the Magic Misfits with you? Are you willing to guess?
Because I’m willing to bet that your guess is right.
We are all much older now.
What happened to us happened a long time ago.
Like I said, all stories end. We’ve decided to share our stories with you in the hopes that you will have your own stories to tell. Stories are often just one giant Circle. There are beginnings in endings. And that is what we would like to end this story with. An invitation to begin again.
Mr. Vernon’s Magic Circle needs new members to keep it going. We believe that you are worthy. You’ve got tricks up your sleeve, after all.
I mentioned at the beginning that I’d hoped you’ve been practicing all the magic I’ve taught you thus far. (Even if you haven’t been, it’s never too late to start.)
Join us, won’t you? The world will always need a little more magic.
In fact, here’s your official invitation (and one final peek into our pasts, before we all move into the future together):
You are cordially invited
to attend the grand opening of
Vernon’s Magic Mansion.
Tonight.
Just after sunset.
Take my hand.
We make our way from the Grand Oak Resort, where you’ve been staying, up the road, away from town and into the woods. Though you’re tired from hiking and swimming and horseback riding classes, you still manage to clean up nicely. You’re wearing your finest. Maybe it’s a tuxedo or maybe a gown. Perhaps it’s a glittering green toga. Whatever it is, you’ve made sure that it sparkles as we pass underneath the streetlights.
The sky is growing dim—that beautiful violet blue that soaks the world in anticipation. The woods are quiet, as if whatever hides in the shadows heard us approaching.
At the end of the driveway, we glance up and see the mansion. Every window glows, beaming amber light across the hilltop. Cars are parked in every available spot. We approach the front door. It’s been painted since the last time we were here—bright copper with glossy black trim. The rest of the mansion is an unobtrusive gray, but the door? Someone wanted us to notice this door. It opens as if by itself.
We enter the foyer. The floor shines. A chandelier throws soft glitter across dark wallpaper. Looking closer, you notice the pattern hints subtly at the suits of a deck of cards. From down the hall, we hear murmuring voices. We follow them to a grand room, a place that once might have held spectacular gatherings and that hopes to do so again. It’s certainly ready to. These floors have been painted black. The walls and ceiling crimson.