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valuable seconds releasing it before making his escape), and climbed out.
    â€œUh…hello? Anybody home? Goodmans? Rhea?”
    He moved closer to the front porch, then heard a sound to his left and turned in the direction of the barn. “Mr. and Mrs. Goodman? Rhea? Anybody up for a rematch?”
    The attack came without warning; he hadn’t heard a thing. But a sturdy weight smacked him in the middle of the back, and he went facedown onto the gravel driveway.
    â€œKill the witch!” a familiar voice shouted. “Pschow, pschow!”
    â€œKid,” he said into the driveway, “get off me. Seriously.”
    â€œDie, evil fiend, die!”
    â€œKid.”
    â€œPschow!”
    â€œKid. I’m serious.” He tried to move, to gently shift her off his back, but she clung like a lamprey. “I know it’s not cool to smack children, especially not your own, but if you don’t get off me—”
    â€œKill the witch!”
    â€œWhat are they feeding you guys? You’re, what? Seven? And you’re already obsessed with witch-hunting? Jesus wept.”
    â€œI’m eight, not seven, stupidhead.”
    â€œThank God. I can’t for the life of me think of what rhymes with seven.
    â€œGreat, great,
    Hate, hate,
    Off my back
    Child of eight.”
    It was one of his worst rhymes ever (he felt like jumping rope to it), but it had the desired effect; he felt the weight disappear from his back and climbed to his feet. He dusted off his clothes and looked around for the kid.
    She was scowling at him from on the other side of the rental car. “No fair. You cheater.”
    â€œYou’re one to talk—er, what’s your name?”
    â€œViolet Goodman.”
    â€œOf course. Anyway, who ambushed who? You Goodmans. Bloodthirsty savages.”
    â€œYou wait ’til Rhea finds out what you—”
    â€œDID YOU JUST USE MAGIC ON MY BABY SISTER?”
    â€œUh-oh,” Violet said, looking, to her credit, worried for him. Then she added in a much lower voice, “I wasn’t really going to tell. You’re a good witch, I know.”
    â€œThanks for that.” He turned in time to see Rhea come storming down the front steps, headed for him like a flame toward kindling. “Listen, Rhea, Violet jumped me. All I did was pull into your driveway.”
    â€œYou used magic on my sister .”
    â€œI didn’t hurt her. And before you go running into the arsenal-slash-barn, I warn you that I’m armed with tons of gun-and-arrow rhymes.” He patted his pockets, fairly bulging with Post-Its, for emphasis.
    She wasn’t heading for the barn. She was steaming straight for him, pale face flushed to the eyebrows with rage. He wasn’t sure if he was aroused or scared. Or both.
    â€œSo don’t do anything crazy,” he added, standing his ground. “I come in peace, like a benevolent alien. I mean you no harm—ow!”
    She’d dropped into a crouch at the last second and swept his legs out from under him with a lunge. Then she was on him, her small hands grasping his neck, squeezing.
    â€œI don’t know—if you know—but I can’t breathe—when you do that,” he gurgled.
    â€œIf you can talk,” she said grimly, tightening her grip, “you can breathe. How dare you? How dare you come back to my home, threaten my baby sister?” She started to slam his head up and down. Gravel bounced and flew around his ears.
    â€œHe didn’t threaten me,” Violet quickly spoke up. “We were playing.”
    â€œViolet. Go in the house.”
    â€œBut Mom and Dad said you had to play with me when you were watching me, and all you’ve done is work out in the—”
    â€œViolet. House.”
    â€œI don’t think you need to choke him,” the girl retorted, then reluctantly left.
    â€œI agree,” he gasped. The only thing that was saving him was his upper body