“Go!” he yells, already running for the doors and dragging Hannah along behind him. I don’t need to be told twice. All the younger kids are inside. A few teachers and seniors remain in the courtyard trying to contain the creature with bouts of fire, bursts of icy air, and slabs of earth. Cludd attempts a water spell using laguz and only manages to soak himself and the girl standing beside him, dousing the flames in her hands.

“Out of the way the lot of you bairns!” A voice full of gravel barks the order.

The squash of bodies at the doors separates as Elspeth MacCrone and Fiona come running out of the building. Despite her squat legs, Fiona is fast. MacCrone isn’t too bad herself, surprisingly spry for an almost septuagenarian. Turns out, it’s a good thing MacCrone maintains her combat readiness.

Fiona’s armored scales ripple over impressive muscles as she darts about the courtyard doing lizard parkour after the creature. MacCrone wields something resembling a butterfly catcher, only this one is made of iron netting and its wooden handle is littered with runes.

We watch, awestruck, as MacCrone and Fiona chase the screaming creature. Emmi follows in their wake, hands raised at the ready.

“Ah, ya wee bogle. You’ll not get the better of us.” MacCrone evades an attack. A bogle! Of course. I should’ve recognized it, but I’m a little rusty when it comes to Scottish folklore.

Emmi carves a sigil in the air using the tiwaz fire rune and something else I don’t recognize as the bogle darts toward her. The sigil blocks the bogle’s flight with a curtain of fire, but the creature slashes its tail through the flames and splits open Emmi’s sleeve. Blood gushes and we all take several steps back, Hannah tucked behind Morgan.

“Stay back, Emmi! We’ve got this,” MacCrone orders Emmi out of the way.

Emmi obliges, clutching at her arm.

Not Even Thaumaturgists Can Avoid Injury—not the most inspiring title.

Blomqvist Bungling Results in a Bogling—that’s a bit catchier.

“Are you all right?” I shout over at Emmi.

“I’m fine. Worry about yourself, please.” Emmi ushers us into the school.

We turn and press our faces against the closed doors.

The bogle dashes toward MacCrone and, at the last moment, when I’m sure MacCrone is about to earn some fresh facial scars, Fiona leaps, catching the bogle by the tail. She flings it to the ground and MacCrone deftly slams the net over it. With practiced precision, MacCrone transfers the squealing, squirming bogle from the net into a small containment jar she produces from her utility belt.

Like that, it’s over, and it took under five minutes.