Jasmine said, “I sent him to get something for supper. With this crowd I’ll have to start cooking early.”

Bomanz sighed. Just what he needed, this night of nights. A house full of guests. “You. Put that back where you got it. You. Snoopy? Keep your hands off of stuff.”

Tokar asked, “What’s with you, Bo?”

Bomanz raised one eyebrow, met the man’s gaze, did not answer. “Where’s the driver with the big shoulders?”

“Not with me anymore.” Tokar frowned.

“Thought not. I’ll be upstairs if something critical comes up.” He stamped through the shop, went up, settled in his chair, willed himself to sleep. His dreams were subtle. It seemed he could hear at last, but could not recall what he heard...

Stancil entered the upstairs room. Bomanz asked, “What are we going to do? That crowd is gumming up the works.”

“How long do you need, Pop?”

“This could go all night every night for weeks if it works out.” He was pleased. Stancil had recovered his courage.

“Can’t hardly run them off.”

“And can’t go anywhere else, either.” The Guards were in a hard, bitter mood.

“How noisy will you be, Pop? Could we do it here, on the quiet?”

“Guess we’ll have to try. Going to be crowded. Get the stuff from the shop. I’ll make room.”

Bomanz’s shoulders slumped when Stancil left. He was getting nervous. Not about the thing he would challenge, but about his own foresight. He kept thinking he had forgotten something. But he had reviewed four decades of notes without detecting a flaw in his chosen approach. Any reasonably educated apprentice should be able to follow his formulation. He spat into a corner. “Antiquarian’s cowardice,” he muttered. “Old-fashioned fear of the unknown.”

Stancil returned. “Mom’s got them into a game of Throws.”

“I wondered what Snoopy was yelling about. Got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Go down and kibbitz. I’ll be there after I set up. We’ll do it after they’re in bed.”

“Okay.”

“Stance? Are you ready?”

“I’m okay, Pop. I just had the jitters last night. It’s not every day I see a man killed by ghosts.”

“Better get a feel for that kind of thing. It happens.”

Stancil looked blank.

“You’re sneaking studies on Black Campus, aren’t you?” Black Campus was that hidden side of the university on which wizards learned their trade. Officially, it did not exist. Legally, it was prohibited. But it was there. Bomanz was a laureate graduate.

Stancil gave one sharp nod and left.

“I thought so,” Bomanz whispered, and wondered: How black are you, son?

He pottered around till he had triple-checked everything, till he realized that caution had become an excuse for not socializing. “You’re something,” he mumbled to himself.

One last look. Chart laid out. Candles. Bowl of quicksilver. Silver dagger. Herbs. Censers... He still had that feeling. “What the hell could I have missed?”

Throws was essentially four-player checkers. The board was four times the usual size. Players played from each side. An element of chance was added by throwing a die before each move. If a player’s throw came up six, he could move any combination of pieces six moves. Checkers rules generally applied, except that a jump could be declined.

Snoopy appealed to Bomanz the moment he appeared. “They’re ganging up on me!” She was playing opposite Jasmine. Glory and Tokar were on her flanks. Bomanz watched a few moves. Tokar and the older sister were in cahoots. Conventional elimination tactics.

On impulse Bomanz controlled the fall of the die when it came to Snoopy. She threw a six, squealed, sent men charging all over. Bomanz wondered if he had been that rich in adolescent enthusiasm and optimism. He eyed the girl. How old? Fourteen?

He made Tokar throw a one, let Jasmine and Glory have what fate decreed, then gave Snoopy another six and Tokar another one. After a third time around Tokar grumbled, “This is getting ridiculous.” The balance of the game had shifted. Glory was about to abandon him and side with her sister against Jasmine.

Jasmine gave Bomanz the fish-eye when Snoopy threw yet another six. He winked, let Tokar throw free. A two. Tokar grumbled, “I’m on the comeback trail now.”

Bomanz wandered into the kitchen, poured himself a mug of beer. He returned to find Snoopy on the edge of disaster again. Her play was so frenetic she had to throw fours or better to survive.

Tokar, on the other hand, played a tediously conservative game, advancing in echelon, trying to occupy his flankers’ king rows. A man much like himself, Bomanz reflected. First he plays to make sure he doesn’t lose; then he worries about the win.

He watched Tokar roll a six and send a piece on an extravagant tour in which he took three men from his nominal ally, Glory.

Treacherous, too, Bomanz thought. That’s worth keeping in mind. He asked Stancil, “Where’s Clete?”

Tokar said, “He decided to stay with the teamsters. Thought we were crowding you too much.”

“I see.”

Jasmine won that game, and Tokar the next, whereupon the antique merchant said, “That’s all for me. Take my seat, Bo. See you all in the morning.”

Glory said. “I’m done, too. Can we go for a walk, Stance?”

Stancil glanced at his father. Bomanz nodded. “Don’t go far. The Guards are in a bad mood.”

“We won’t,” Stance said. His father smiled at his eager departure. It had been that way for him and Jasmine, long ago.

Jasmine observed, “A lovely girl. Stance is lucky.”

“Thank you,” Tokar said. “We think she’s lucky, too.”

Snoopy made a sour face. Bomanz allowed himself a wry smile. Somebody had a crush on Stancil. “Three-handed game?” he suggested. “Take turns playing the dummy till somebody is out?”

He let chance have its way with the players’ throws but turned five and sixes for the dummy. Snoopy went out and took the dummy. Jasmine seemed amused. Snoopy squealed delightedly when she won. “Glory, I won!” she enthused when her sister and Stancil returned. “I beat them.”

Stancil looked at the board, at his father. “Pop...”

“I fought all the way. She got the lucky throws.”

Stancil smiled a disbelieving smile.

Glory said, “That’s enough, Snoopy. Bedtime. This isn’t the city. People go to bed early here.”

“Aw...” The girl complained but went. Bomanz sighed. Being sociable was a strain.

His heartbeat quickened as he anticipated the night’s work.

Stancil completed a third reading of his written instructions. “Got it?” Bomanz asked.

“I guess.”

“Timing isn’t important-as long as you’re late, not early. If we were going to conjure some damnfool demon, you’d study your lines for a week.”

“Lines?” Stancil would do nothing but tend candles and observe. He was there to help if his father got into trouble.

Bomanz had spent the past two hours neutralizing spells along the path he intended to follow. The Moondog name had been a gold strike.

“Is it open?” Stancil asked.

“Wide. It almost pulls you. I’ll let you go yourself later in the week.”

Bomanz took a deep breath, exhaled. He surveyed the room. He still had that nagging feeling of having forgotten something. He hadn’t a hint what it might be. “Okay.”

He settled into the chair, closed his eyes. “Dumni,” he murmured. “Um muji dumni. Haikon. Dumni. Um muji dumni.”

Stancil pinched herbs into a diminutive charcoal brazier. Pungent smoke filled the room. Bomanz relaxed, let the lethargy steal over him. He achieved a quick separation, drifted up, hovered beneath the rafters, watched Stancil. The boy showed promise.

Bo checked his ties with his body. Good. Excellent! He could hear with both his spiritual and physical ears. He tested the duality further as he drifted downstairs. Each sound Stance made came through clearly.

He paused in the shop, stared at Glory and Snoopy. He envied them their youth and innocence.