“Last A,” I said, writing. “Act.”

“That seems obvious,” Ilyana said.

“Sure,” I said. “But it’s where everything gets decided. And it’s always a gamble. You’re betting that you’ve seen everything clearly, that you know everything that’s going on.”

“Yes,” Ilyana said, her tone somewhat exasperated. “That is the purpose of the first three ahs.”

“Ays,” McKenzie corrected her absently. “Eh?”

Ilyana speared him with an icy gaze. “Whatever. Already we are discovering what is happening. That was the point of the methodology.”

“Ah,” I said, lifting a finger. “But do you know everything? Are you so sure you know exactly what’s happening? Especially when you’re about to put the safety of yourself or others on the line?”

Ilyana looked confused. “Why would I not be sure?”

I smiled faintly.

The next evening, the children went to bed at nine. They stopped asking for drinks, searching for the next day’s clothing, waving glow-in-the-dark light sabers in the air, and otherwise acting like children by nine-thirty. They were all sleeping by nine thirty-five.

Megan, a surly Yardly, and I immediately got ready to ambush the boogeyman.

While Megan collected clipped hairs from her childrens’ heads, Yardly and I cleared off enough carpet for me to take a container of salt and pour it out into a circle on the carpet. You can use just about anything to make a magic circle, but salt is often the most practical. It’s a symbol of the earth, and of purity, and it doesn’t draw ants.

You only use sugar to make a circle on the carpet once. Let me tell you.

Meg returned and I nodded toward the circle. “In there.”

She went over to the circle, being careful not to disturb it, and dropped the locks of hair from her children, bound together by long strands of her own coppery curls, into the center of the circle.

“Right,” I said. “Meg, stand in the circle with them.”