Once inside her apartment, Malibu wasted no time kicking off her shoes, flopping down onto her bed, and pulling out the letter Margarita had given her. Without opening it, she knew it was from her father, the letter he mentioned during his recent otherworldly visit. Who else could it be from? She adjusted her pillow so her head was situated just right, used her index finger to slice open the back of the envelope, and pulled a few sheets of paper free. It was yellow, lined, legal-style paper. On the top of the first sheet, her father had drawn a half-dozen or so mushrooms, some with spots, others without. In the middle of the page was a drawing of a dwarf smoking a long, curved pipe. His beard fell to his feet. The text, like the drawings, was written in blue ink. The blocked-lettered handw
