And so, after thoroughly examining the entire Journal of Curious Letters with his dad, Tick felt ready to go.

Tomorrow night, in the cemetery close to downtown, at nine o’clock, he’d show up, alone, in warm clothing, say the words “Master George” with his eyes closed, hands in pockets, then stomp the ground with his right foot ten times.

After that, who knew what might happen.

~

Tick went downstairs to check his e-mail before bed, realizing this might be the last chance he had to see if his friends had sent anything. It was already approaching early morning on Monday for Sofia because of the time difference, and Paul was probably already in bed.

What would happen to the others between their turns and his? If they were being taken somewhere, would they just wait around all day until he arrived? Was the staggered time difference on purpose—so Master George wouldn’t have to do . . . whatever he was going to do to everyone all at once?

There I go again, Tick thought. Asking a billion questions even though he knew the answer was out of his reach for now. One more day. Twenty-four hours. Then, hopefully, he’d know everything at last.

He logged in to his e-mail and was excited to see messages from both Sofia and Paul. He opened Sofia’s, who’d sent hers hours before Paul.

Tick and Paul,

Not much to say now, huh? Don’t think Sofia Pacini is in love with two American boys, but I really hope I see you both tomorrow. I’m sure somehow they’re going to bring us magically together. Right?

Good luck. I wish we knew what to expect.

Ciao,

Sofia

For some reason, Tick felt a pang of sadness in his heart, realizing the possibility he might never hear from Sofia again. What if something terrible happened tomorrow? What if only some of the people who performed the ritual made it to wherever they were going? Tick told himself to shut up and clicked on Paul’s e-mail.

My little buddies,

Hot diggity dog, tomorrow’s the day. Let’s don’t jinx anything.

Hope you’re right about us meeting. If so, see ya tomorrow.

Out.

Paul

Tick hit REPLY TO ALL and typed a quick message, knowing his friends might not see it anyway.

Paul and Sofia,

Good luck tomorrow. See you soon. I hope.

Tick

He turned off the computer and stood up, looking over at the fireplace. He thought back to the two events that had happened in the last few months related to the pile of stacked brick, now cold and dark. First, the commitment he’d made to not burn the first letter, to stay in the game—made while kneeling before a fire that could’ve ended it all. And then the bizarre incident with Kayla and the letter—something that either proved miracles really did happen or Tick had serious mental issues.