The Miraculous Page 6

  “I’m leaving now,” he said. “I’m going home.”

  “You’re leaving the binder here?”

  “We broke into the town hall,” Wunder said. “I don’t think we should keep the evidence.”

  Faye considered this, then nodded. “That makes sense. But what do we do now? We know it’s the witch. But why did she do it? What does she want? What does she have to do with your sister? We have to go see her.”

  Wunder shook his head as he pressed his foot onto the pedal. He had been so sure that finding out who ordered the memorial stone would make him less confused. Instead, he had a whole new set of questions, and he didn’t want to think about any of them, especially Faye’s last one.

  “No, Faye,” he said. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t believe in witches.”

  But his words sounded, even to his own ears, far from convincing.

  * * *

  He had a dream that night.

  He was at the funeral again, listening to the minister yelling on and on. His father was next to him, crying and crying. In front of them was the white coffin.

  Then the lid of the coffin opened.

  And out of it climbed the witch.

  The autumn wind blew, hard and strong. The witch spread her arms out. Her black hair fanned out from her head, and the strips of her white clothing lifted, flapped, like wings. She rose up in the air, and she let out a caw, like a bird.

  But there were words in the caw too.

  “‘Behold! I tell you a miracle’!” she cawed. “A miracle! A miracle!”

  Part Three

  THE WITCH

  Chapter 15

  When Wunder arrived at school on Monday morning, Faye was standing at his locker. She didn’t say Good morning or How was your Sunday? or anything like that. Instead, she said, “We have to go to the DoorWay House. Today.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Wunder said.

  After waking up from his dream on the night of the break-in, Wunder hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. The crib-bar shadows had reached his face, covered his mouth and his eyes, crept up the sides of the wall next to him, and still he had not slept.

  The next morning, his father had knocked on his door. “Time to get up, Wunder,” he had called. “And hurry—we’re going to be late for church.”

  Wunder had gone to his door and opened it. “I’m not going,” he had said, before he had really thought about what it would mean to say this.

  But once he’d said it, he hadn’t changed his mind, even though his father had been confused, then upset, then angry.

  Finally, after his father had said very loudly, “We go together every week, and this week is no different. You have to go with me, and that’s that!” Wunder’s mother had come out of her room and into the hall where they were arguing.

  She had looked exhausted, like she had on the soup night, but Wunder knew it was a good sign that she was coming out of her room. And he knew that she would understand, she would explain to his father that things had changed.

  And she had. “If Wunder doesn’t want to go,” she had said, “then he doesn’t have to.”

  But his father had said, “Yes, he does. Wunder isn’t allowed to give up on everything like you.”

  He had started apologizing almost immediately, but Wunder’s mother had gone back into the room, shut the door, and locked it. Wunder’s father had stood there for a long time, trying to get her to come out again. But she hadn’t.

  Finally, he had left. Alone.

  And standing by his locker now at school, Wunder had realized that there was no reason to go to the DoorWay House, no need to keep asking questions. He had his answers.

  Things were getting worse, not better. Things were falling apart. His house used to be filled with love, but it seemed like that love was being washed away, was being buried, deeper and deeper every day.

  “Listen, Wundie—” Faye began.

  “I don’t want to go!” Wunder cried.

  But, of course, Faye was waiting next to his bicycle that afternoon.

  “I’m just here for another one of our walks,” she said. “Just walking. No witch talk.”

  Wunder sighed. “You’ve said that before.”

  “I mean it this time.”

  “I doubt it,” Wunder said. But he went with her anyway.

  * * *

  It took only a few minutes of walking for Faye to break her promise.

  “I know why you don’t want to go to the DoorWay House,” she said.

  “Just walking,” Wunder reminded her.

  “I lied,” Faye said. “Remember the first meeting of the Unexplainable and Inexplicable Phenomenon Society?”

  Wunder sighed. “Of course I do.” It had been only four weeks ago, although it felt like much, much longer.

  “Remember what you said at the end?” She pasted a huge grin on her face and stuck her hands into the pockets of her pastel-green-and-blue sweater dress. “‘To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle … unspeakably perfect miracles’!”

  “I was quoting Walt Whitman,” Wunder said. “And I don’t smile like that.”

  “Well, not now you don’t,” Faye said. “But that is a very accurate imitation of the way you smiled before.” She took her hands out of her pockets. “Like you really meant it.”

  “I meant it then,” Wunder told her. “But I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  Faye fixed her unblinking stare on him. “You didn’t mean it then,” she said. “You only thought you did because nothing bad had ever happened to you before. And now something bad has happened.”

  Wunder waited to answer her as they passed the town hall. He didn’t see any police officers around, but he felt nervous anyway.

  “I’ve had bad things happen to me before,” he said once they were a safe distance away.

  “Like what?” Faye asked.

  “My grandmother died.”

  “That is sad,” Faye said. “Did you know her well?”

  “No,” Wunder admitted. “She died right after I was born.” He thought for a moment, hands in his pockets. “I broke my arm when I was five. That’s how I met Tomás. In the emergency room. He’d broken his arm too. I thought it was a miracle at the time.” It was in The Miraculous, Entry #97.

  “That must have hurt,” Faye said. “But I bet your mom held your hand and then you got ice cream or something. I bet you’ve never had anything really bad happen to you until now. That’s why you believed in miracles before and now you don’t.”

  Wunder frowned at her. “Well, then, I guess you’ve never had anything bad happen to you, since you believe in all kinds of stuff.”

  “Oh no, I have,” Faye said. “Don’t you remember my grandfather died?” She waved her hand through the air. “And my dad left when I was little. And my mother thinks I’m a weirdo. So does my sister, Grace.”

  In Wunder’s opinion, Faye was kind of a weirdo. But he also knew that some people probably thought he was too. Miracology was not exactly a typical childhood pastime.

  His parents hadn’t seemed to think he was weird though. They had bought him The Miraculous. They had read every entry, searched through old newspapers with him, bought him books, driven him to the sites of local phenomena. Back when he had believed in miracles, he had been sure that his parents would always be there, listening to him and supporting him. Loving him.

  But now everything had changed. If his sister’s death was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, his parents’ grief was a close second. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  “Then why do you believe in that stuff?” he asked Faye. “Witches and werewolves and zombies?”

  Faye stopped midstep to pin her bangs back. Wunder waited for her, although he wished he hadn’t when she finished and stepped very close to him.

  “Because I know enough to know that I don’t know everything,” Faye said, staring into his eyes. “I know you liked your sunshine-and-sparkles miracles, Wundie, the
ones where the bad thing doesn’t happen, where life is always perfect. But sometimes the bad thing does happen. People hurt your feelings and disappoint you. People die.” She was silent for a moment. Wunder thought she would flip up her hood, but then she took a deep breath and continued. “But sometimes the brightest miracles are hidden in the darkest moments.” She nodded, almost to herself. “That’s right. But you have to search for them. You can’t be afraid of the dark.”

  Then she unpinned her bangs and started walking again.

  “I’m not afraid,” Wunder said when he caught up to her. “I just don’t believe in miracles anymore.”

  He was thinking about Faye’s words though, thinking about the light and the dark as they entered the woods where the color was creeping up the green of the leaves, taking them over, bit by bit. Wunder hadn’t even realized they were going that way, but of course they were. And now that they were there, he felt himself speeding up, moving faster. Soon they were at the head of the dirt trail where the live oak and the resurrection fern were as green as ever.

  And there she was. He could see her through the branches, sitting on the porch. The spiraling house rose up behind her, crooked and crumbling. The spiraled chair rocked back and forth, back and forth. The newspaper flutter, fluttered on her lap.

  She saw them right away, almost like she had been waiting for them. She waved.

  And then she stood up and she beckoned.

  “Do you think we should go over there?” Faye asked out of the side of her mouth.

  And Wunder knew what he had said. There was no reason to talk to her. She was just an old woman. Nothing she could say would make anything better.

  But he was also still thinking about what Faye had said. He was thinking about the darkness in his house, the darkness inside of him. And he was wondering if she could possibly be right about the miracles hidden there. Maybe that was why he still had so many questions. Maybe that was why he kept coming here, day after day.

  And so, as he stared at the witch waving them toward her, he found himself saying, “Maybe. I guess. I mean, of course. Of course we should. To ask about the memorial stone. Just about that though. Nothing else.”

  Next to him, Faye pulled her hood over her head. He heard her swinging her cloak around herself, the black material swooshing as it cocooned her completely. “Okay,” she said, her voice muffled by a layer of velvet. “But follow my lead. You don’t know about witches. I do.”

  “She’s not a witch,” Wunder said.

  “Wundie. Listen,” Faye said. “You’re the miracle expert. When someone turns water into wine, I’ll ask your opinion. But I’m a student of the paranormal. When a mysterious ancient woman wearing a robe summons children to a haunted house, you should listen to me. Now let’s go.”

  Chapter 16

  For years, Wunder had passed by the DoorWay House going to and from school. For years, he had peered through the vines and leaves and branches at its towers and windows. For years, he had watched the spirals.

  But in all that time, he had never climbed the DoorWay House’s steps. He had never touched its wood. He had never peeked in its windows. He had always felt it was a place that could not be disturbed, a sacred place.

  Up close for the first time, he found that the house’s wood wasn’t smooth, the way it appeared from a distance. Up close, it was splintered and peeling, rough and unfinished looking.

  And up close, the witch was like the house. She had more wrinkles than Wunder had ever seen. It was as if her skin was a paper bag that had been crumpled into the tiniest possible ball, then spread back out. Her hair, however, was long and thick and pure black.

  As they mounted the steps, Wunder met the witch’s gaze. Her eyes were so dark that he couldn’t even see her pupils, and they reminded him of someone. He looked away, back at the house.

  “DoorWay Tree wood,” the witch said. Her voice was scratchy and very soft. It sounded like it was coming from far away.

  “What?”

  “The house.” She gestured behind her. “It’s made of wood from the Arbor liminis. The DoorWay Tree.”

  She was staring at him, but Wunder focused on the house. He followed the curve of the spiral closest to him with his eyes. It was a perfect, perfect circle. “I saw it spinning once,” he said.

  Next to him, Faye yanked the hood off her head and turned to him, shocked.

  The witch nodded slowly. “It can look like that,” she said. Then she smiled. “Come inside. Come and have tea with me, Wunder.”

  Now Faye let out a shriek.

  “You too, Faye,” the witch said. Faye shrieked again. “I haven’t had any visitors in this house yet. But I have wanted them.”

  “Tea?” Wunder said. “Maybe. I guess. Sure. Sure, we can have some tea.”

  As soon as the witch turned around, Faye leaned toward him.

  “She knows our names!” she whispered. “Don’t eat or drink anything. That’s how witches capture unsuspecting children. And you never told me you’d seen the spirals spin too!”

  The door swung open. The witch went inside. Faye grabbed Wunder’s hand, and Wunder didn’t try to stop her. They entered the house together.

  As soon as Wunder crossed the threshold, it happened. The stone of his heart—the stone that had only barely warmed since his sister’s death—began to shiver. The stone of his heart began to shake.

  Wunder wrapped the hand not holding Faye’s around the side of his chest. He held on tightly.

  They were standing in a long dimly lit hall. There were doors on either side, doors with tarnished gold knobs and keyholes. Even here, inside the house, the wood was spiraled. The floors, the walls, the ceilings—every visible surface. It gave the place a jumbled-up look, a distorted look, so that Wunder felt like he might topple over if he moved too fast.

  “There are not many DoorWay Trees left in the world,” the witch said. She moved gracefully down the hallway, far more easily than Wunder would have expected for someone her age. She seemed unaffected by the spirals. “And even fewer houses made of them. Houses, of course, are temporary places. But the trees—the trees can last forever. Very deep roots, very high branches.”

  “Are they magical?” Faye asked. Her voice was shrill. “What do they do? Are you magical? What do you do?”

  “Magical? I don’t know about magical.” The witch made a small noise in her throat that might have been a laugh. “But the trees are special. Yes, yes, yes, so special. All around the world, all throughout history, they have been there. There was one here once, in Branch Hill. But no more. There are fewer and fewer. Most of us have forgotten them.”

  “I’ve never seen wood like this anywhere else,” Wunder said. He released his grip on himself long enough to brush his fingers against the spirals on the wall.

  “The closest one is not close enough,” the witch replied. “I believe that every town should have a DoorWay Tree. But, of course, that is not up to me.”

  “Who is it up to?” Faye asked. “The high priestess of your coven?”

  The witch didn’t answer, but she made the maybe-laugh again.

  The hallway opened onto a large parlor. Everything in the room was coated in a thick layer of dust. There was a black piano and a soot-blackened fireplace. The walls were covered in shelves, but the shelves were empty.

  Wunder wanted to ask a thousand questions. He wanted to ask if anyone had ever lived there before and why the spirals spun. He wanted to ask why she was there and if her name was Milagros and if she had ordered the memorial stone. But his thoughts were coming so fast and his heart was shaking so violently that all he could manage to say was, “You just moved in?”

  “Ah, yes, yes, yes,” the witch said. “I arrived very recently. Although I doubt I’ll be able to stay long.”

  Through the parlor they went and then through a dining room filled with a long spiral-wood table. A chandelier topped with melted candles hung above, swinging slightly in an unfelt draft.

  Then they ente
red a small, cluttered kitchen at the very back of the house. Well-worn copper pots and tinted glass jars and what seemed like a hundred teacups littered the counters. The appliances were faded and old-fashioned.

  “Have a seat,” the witch said, gesturing toward a little table in the kitchen’s center. “I will make some tea for us. There is no milk, but there may be sugar.”

  She began opening cabinets. Each one squeaked as if it had not been touched in years. Wunder found a rusty stool and sat down. He couldn’t tell if the kitchen table was made of DoorWay Tree wood because it was completely hidden. Newspapers were spread everywhere.

  Faye sat next to him on a paint-flecked wooden chair.

  “Remember,” she hissed. “Don’t drink anything. Pretend if you have to.”

  “She’s not a witch,” Wunder whispered back.

  But he wasn’t so sure. He was less sure now than ever. He watched as the witch found an iron teakettle and filled it with water from the tap. He watched as she lit the gas stove with a long red-tipped match and then set the kettle on the flames. Her movements were easy and fluid. It was if she were two people at once: the old woman with the wrinkled face, and someone else, someone young with long black hair and strong limbs.

  And with every passing second, it seemed more and more likely that the stone of his heart was going to split wide open. He had let go of Faye’s hand, but he was still clutching his own side so tightly that his fingertips were tingling. Everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus, like a dream.

  “Wunder,” Faye whispered, interrupting his thoughts. “Look down.”

  Wunder looked down at the table.

  And right into his sister’s face.

  Chapter 17

  The newspaper on the table was open to Milagros’s obituary. Wunder’s father had put it in the paper the day before her funeral, although Wunder’s mother had not wanted him to do that either. In the picture, Milagros was wearing the little white knit cap that they had given her at the hospital. She was surrounded by tubes and wires, and she was looking at the camera with serious eyes, black eyes.