The place is for you to determine and can be in your hometown. I only ask that the name of the place begin with a letter coming after A and before Z but nowhere in between. You are allowed to have people there with you, as many as you like, as long as they are dead by the time you say the magic words. But, by the Wand, make sure that you are not dead, of course. That would truly throw a wrinkle into our plans.

Tick closed his eyes and thought.

It really came down to two hints: the letter the place begins with and the thing about dead people. The word that kept popping into his mind when he thought about the latter was cemetery. It matched the clue perfectly—a lot of people would be there and they’d all be dead. The way M.G. worded it made it sound like Tick would have to kill people or something, but he obviously didn’t mean that, it was just a clever twist of language. The place where he was supposed to go on May sixth had to be a cemetery.

And yet, what about the letter it begins with? After A and before Z, but nowhere in between . . .

“Son?”

Tick snapped back to reality and turned to see his dad standing in the doorway. “Hi, Dad.” He stood from his desk chair and went over to sit on the bed, in the same position as last night. A surge of anxiety swelled in his chest, hope and fear battling over his emotions as he awaited the verdict.

His dad joined him, a somber look on his face, his eyes staring at the Journal of Curious Letters gripped in both of his hands. “Tick, I’ve read through this a million times and thought about it all day.” He finally looked at his son.

“And you think I’m psycho.” Tick was amazed that at the same time he could both want and not want his dad to tell him what he thought of everything.

“No, not at all. I believe it. All of it.”

Tick couldn’t suppress the huge grin that shot across his face. “Really?”

His dad nodded. “There’s something I didn’t tell you last night. I, uh, saw you talking to the little man you called Rutger. I saw for myself he was real. And the whole thing about those gnats. I can’t get that out of my mind. Then there’s the letter from Alaska. I know you don’t know anyone up there.” He shook his head. “It’s a lot of evidence, son. A lot.”

“So you—”

His dad held up a hand, cutting off Tick. “But that’s not why I’m convinced.”

“It’s not?”