Nicholas and I watch the door warily, neither of us moving. “Your mom needs to learn how to call ahead,” I whisper.

“She called me three times while we were out back,” he admits. “I didn’t answer.”

“Ooooh, someone’s gonna be in trouble.”

He nudges me with his shoulder. I nudge him back.

“Nicholas!” Deborah’s using her I Mean Business voice. “Your father and I are here! Unlock the door.” Harold distantly grumbles. Deborah’s made him get out of his seat for nothing, and he hasn’t had to remain standing for this long in five years.

“What do you think she wants?” I murmur in Nicholas’s ear.

“She needs me to tell Dad he’s not allowed to eat foods that begin with the letter B.”

I cackle, then cover my mouth to quiet the noise. “It’s the dessert you didn’t finish last night. She’s here to spoon-feed you the rest of your cake.”

I notice the tension in his posture, how he tries to make himself invisible as he waits, almost audibly thinking Please go away. Just leave me alone. Stress lines his features and I want to reach out, smooth his problems away with my hands. Deborah is overwhelming even in tiny doses. Nicholas is exposed to her nagging and emotionally draining diatribes nonstop. He gets no downtime to recover.

“They’re not home,” Harold complains. “Let’s go.”

“Nicky’s car is here and all the lights are on. I’m not going anywhere till he opens up. If you want to leave, drive yourself home. Nicky will give me a ride.”

“Why on earth does he live all the way out here in the sticks?” We’re inconsiderate for making him travel a whole ten minutes.

For once, Harold’s made a point he and his wife can agree on. “This property is unacceptable,” she says briskly. (Called it!) “It’s too far from home. The yard’s a mess—we’ll need to get a landscaper out here to cut down all these trees. Nicky mentioned a pond. What does he need a pond for? It’s dangerous for small children. First thing tomorrow, you’re making calls to get a fence built around it. You see those crooked shutters? They’ll need to go, too. Honestly, what was he thinking? He must’ve let Naomi make the decision on this one. No wonder he hasn’t invited us over—he’s ashamed of it.”

When it’s beginning to look like Deborah will never leave, Nicholas sighs and takes one step toward the door. I can’t let him give in. He’s successfully ignored his mother for over fifteen minutes now and I want to keep the momentum going.

“Come on.” I take his hand and hurry toward the stairs, dragging him along after me.

“What are we doing?”

I lead him into the empty middle bedroom upstairs and open the window, which overlooks the front yard. Deborah and Harold hear the groan of the ancient pane and tip their heads back to gape at us. “What’s up?” I call down.

Beside me, Nicholas drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. It’s all I can do not to laugh. “What are you doing?” he cries again in a loud whisper.

“I’m your attack dog,” I tell him. “I’m going to bark at these intruders until they go away.”

Harold’s gaze is fuzzy and perplexed. He squints, pointing at me. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Naomi, you idiot,” his wife snaps, and he just scratches his head. His confusion is understandable. Harold likes to speak directly to my chest when addressing me, and thanks to this lovely window that conceals everything but my head and neck, my identification has been rendered a mystery.

Deborah cups her hands around her mouth. “Where is Nicky?”

I cup my hands around my mouth, too. “Nicholas isn’t available to talk right now, but you can leave him a message!” Being an attack dog is more secretarial than one would think.

“But where is he?” she demands to know.

“Busy!” Jesus, lady. Take a hint.

She props her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you going to let me inside?”

I think of vampires again and shiver. “Afraid not!”

Nicholas makes a strange keening sound. I glance down at him in alarm and wonder of wonders, he’s laughing. It emboldens me to take this a step further. “I can’t tell you what Nicholas is doing because it’s a secret, by the way. A sinister secret. You should go now while you still can.”

“I am not leaving until I see my son!” She pauses, voice dropping to a suspicious tone. “What have you done with him?”

“Nicholas?” I reply questioningly. “I haven’t seen him in days. And that’s the story I’m giving the police.”

I check Nicholas’s reaction and think he might be dead. He is keeled over, forehead on the floor, body shaking with quiet laughter. I can’t believe he’s letting me get away with talking to his mother like this, but after what she said to me yesterday I’ve got no qualms. I’m off my leash and I’ll go as far as he’ll let me. “He’s not here. A spaceship took off a few minutes ago, so if you run you might be able to catch him.”

I’m pretty sure I hear Harold say, “I’m not running even if a spaceship did take him.” He stalks back to the car, but Deborah stays put.

“This isn’t funny. I’ll only tell you one more time to go get my son.”

Nicholas sits up, deliberates for a moment, and then hollers, “I’m not home!”

“Nicky!” Deborah cries, pressing her hands together. He’s alive! “Nicky, is that you?”

He pops up next to me at the window. “No! You have the wrong address.”

“Nicky, I’m serious. Let me in.”

“Nicky is gone forever. A dinosaur ate him.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a changeling.”

“Nicholas Benjamin Rose. I’m losing my patience and do not find this humorous. It’s freezing and I came here to speak to you like adults. I will give you until the count of three—”

“He’s been Raptured.”

“You do not talk to me this way! I am your MOTHER—

” Nicholas has never interrupted his mom before, and he’s making up for it now. “This whole time, he was never real. All along, it was … Shia LaBeouf! Method acting!”