“Thank you.” His anger was gone, dissolved like sugar in his tea.

“You’re welcome.” She slipped away, silently closing the door behind her.

Henry examined the glass, his face a mix of confused curiosity.

His mind buzzed. What just happened?

The next week slugged along like a plow through mud. Every time Henry tried to retrieve his books and wands from the garage, either his mother or Brianna was there to run interference.

Henry, can you please do this? Henry, please play with your sister? Henry, we’re going to the mall now.

The suspense was driving him crazy! He flipped through the remaining three books in the footlocker, which made him even more crazy, knowing he would actually be able to read them if he could get his hands on the ulexite. He kicked himself, not for the first time, for not thinking to take the stone with him.

He paced around the room for hours. He would stare at the tadpole tank, imagining his submerged baseball cleat had become an artificial coral reef (even if it was a freshwater tank). He tried to hide from Brianna with no success. It was as if he had a big bag of birdseed strapped to his back that dropped a trail of sunflower seeds—and Brianna was the lucky bird.

Finally, he caught a break on Saturday. Brianna had caught a cold and was taking a midmorning nap, while his mother used the time to paint in her basement studio. The moment had arrived.

Padding out the door in stocking feet, he sprinted to the garage, set a personal speed record for climbing the pole, and used the crate to lower his entire cache from the loft to the ground. He found it more difficult to sneak back to his room, his load of books weighing him down, but he made it. He flopped breathlessly onto his bed, smiled, and gave himself a high five.

Mission accomplished! Now he could get to work.

“Henry,” Brianna whimpered from the hallway. “My head hurts.”

“Go get Mom. She’s in the basement.”

“She won’t answer me,” she whined.

“Go knock harder. She probably has her earphones on.” She’s probably just ignoring you, hoping you’ll leave her in peace, he thought. I wish I had that choice.

He heard her sit outside his door. When the sniffling started, he gave in. He knew from experience that when Mom got into painting mode, the rest of the world faded away. The books would have to wait—again.

He helped her up. Her hands were warm and clammy. Henry could see she really wasn’t feeling well and led her to the kitchen. He offered her several choices of canned soup, which she turned down with dramatic looks that ranged from disgust to horror. But he eventually found something they could both sink their teeth into.