All the teachers in Borderlands Elementary are trained in basic quasidemon defense, but Mr. Rosenthal makes it a point of pride. Claws rake off his lesson planner; he blasts back with light from the overhead projector. Quasiflesh explodes with a smell like dust and Kool-Aid. Tamiquah and Billiam huddle with the other kids, ducked and covered, peeking out to watch.

“Kids!” shrieks the last remaining beast. “There’s only one book you really need to–”

“We’re going to have to clean this up again, aren’t we?” sighs Tamiquah, dodging a gurgle of ichor, as Mr. Rosenthal demonstrates how safety scissors aren’t.