He found Faye on Monday before school started. “You’re not going to like our next letter delivery,” he said.
“Because the first one was so fun?”
“This one will be worse … for you, at least,” Wunder said.
“Who is it?” Faye asked.
“Eugenia Simone,” Wunder said. “Also known as Eugenia the Pink Priss.”
Faye pulled her cloak hood over her face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said from inside the velvet and satin.
When they entered the town hall that afternoon, Eugenia was at her desk. This time, she didn’t even pretend to give them a bright pink smile. She glared immediately.
“I cannot believe you two criminals have the audacity to return to the scene of the crime,” she said, rising to her feet and picking up her phone. “I am calling security right this instant. Didn’t your crystal ball tell you that?”
“I would love to have a crystal ball,” Faye said, “but my mother doesn’t approve of things related to the occult.”
“Like her daughter?” Eugenia began to dial.
“We have something for you!” Wunder said quickly. “That’s why we’re here! To deliver this invitation.”
Eugenia’s pink-nailed finger paused. “From whom?”
“From the witch of the DoorWay House,” Faye said. Her expression revealed nothing, but Wunder could tell she was enjoying herself.
“Don’t test me, young lady,” Eugenia snapped. “I know you two broke in here. I know you stole government property. And I had dropped the matter, but I will not hesitate—”
“I’m sorry about your father,” Wunder interrupted her.
Eugenia’s bright pink mouth dropped open. Her eyes went wide. “What about him?” she said.
“I know that he—that he died,” Wunder said. “I also know that he escaped a fire once. Miraculously—well, according to him.”
Eugenia stared at him, uncertain, wary. “How do you know that?”
Wunder set his backpack on the ground. He unzipped it and pulled out The Miraculous. Then he flipped it open to one of the pages he had marked the night before. It was a newspaper clipping.
“I get the paper every week,” he said. “And I’ve also searched through the back issues—well, just the Community News section, actually. I was—I am—I was a miracologist.”
He set The Miraculous on Eugenia’s desk. She kept her eyes on him for a moment more, then pulled the book toward herself and began to read silently:
Miraculous Entry #272
The owner of Simone’s Stationery, Quincy Simone, experienced what he calls “a miracle” on Wednesday night. The lifetime Branch Hill resident says that when he went to bed in the over-store apartment, he set his alarm for 6:00 a.m., as he does every evening.
However, the store owner reports that his alarm went off around 3:20 a.m. Unaware of the time, Simone got ready for work and was heading to the store downstairs when he smelled smoke. He immediately called 911.
Firefighters responded quickly and were able to confine a small electrical fire to a back storeroom. Simone, his wife, and their three children were unharmed. The family home and the majority of the store were undamaged.
Wunder could tell when Eugenia was done reading only because her eyes stopped moving back and forth. She didn’t look up from The Miraculous.
“And I know that you also got a scholarship to college,” he said. His mouth was dry. He had no idea if this was what he was supposed to be doing. He only knew that he had told the witch he would deliver the letter. “There was an article about that too.” He turned to the other page he’d marked, leaving the book in front of her. “You said it was a miracle. Although I think it was probably just because you worked hard.”
Miraculous Entry #465
Congratulations are in order for Eugenia Simone, daughter of Quincy and Rita Simone. The eighteen-year-old Oak Wood High School graduate was recently accepted to Fraxinus College with a full scholarship.
“I’m so happy,” the elated teen told this reporter. “It’s an absolute miracle!”
Well done, Eugenia! The town of Branch Hill wishes you all the best.
“I thought it was a miracle,” Eugenia said, running her finger along the edge of the newspaper clipping, “because I was never very good in school. I didn’t think I’d even get into college, let alone get a scholarship. I wasn’t even going to apply.”
“Two miracles, then,” Wunder said.
Eugenia looked up now, and her eyes were wet and gleaming. “He died while I was in college,” she said. “My senior year.” She grimace-smiled again, but it didn’t seem mean like it had when Wunder first met her. It seemed like she didn’t know what to do next. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” she continued. “That those wonderful things could happen to him, to me. And then that awful, terrible thing, and now he’s gone, gone forever. What am I supposed to do with that?”
Wunder shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know either. But I have this.” He held the letter out.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it.
“And do you have a pair of scissors?”
He cut out both entries for her. Then she watched them walk away, papers pressed to her heart. She didn’t call security. She didn’t say another word.
“Have you noticed anything about these letters?” Wunder asked Faye as they climbed onto their bikes. “I mean, about the people we’re delivering them to?”
“No,” Faye said. She was much more subdued than Wunder had expected her to be after a meeting with Eugenia the Pink Priss.
“They’re all to people who have lost someone,” Wunder said. “And they’ve all experienced a miracle.”
“We’ve only delivered two letters so far though,” Faye replied. “I don’t know if you can draw conclusions from a sample size of two.”
“Rationality does not suit you, Faye,” Wunder said. He smiled, just a small smile. Then he pushed off on his bike. The wind was cool and gusty and lifting.
“But what does the letter say?” Faye asked, catching up to him. “Why don’t we read it?”
“I don’t know,” Wunder said. “Why haven’t we?”
“I thought it might curse us,” Faye said. “Like a magic-booby-trap kind of thing.”
“Do you still think that?”
“I’m not sure,” Faye said.
“They’re not addressed to us,” Wunder pointed out. “And we’re going to get our own eventually.”
“Well, let’s say you’re right,” Faye said. “Let’s say that the witch is handing out letters to the family members of the miraculous dead.” She paused a moment. The wind whistled past Wunder’s ears. “How would she know about all that? She just got here. How does she know all about this town? Have you thought”—she paused again—“have you thought any more about who she is, Wundie? I mean, who she really is?”
Wunder had. He had thought about it a lot.
But if the witch was who Faye was hinting she was, if the witch was who Wunder sometimes almost let himself think she could be, then that would be the biggest miracle of all. And after so much anger and sadness, Wunder knew he wasn’t ready to think about that.
Because if he believed that his sister had come back to life and then it wasn’t true, he didn’t think he would ever, ever recover.
And yet, here he was, delivering letters. Here he was, looking forward to returning to the DoorWay House to tell the witch that he’d done it, to ask her what she wanted him to do next.
“I know what you think,” he said. “But we don’t know anything yet.”
Faye rolled her smudge-rimmed eyes. “Wundie. Come on. We know a lot of things. We know that the witch showed up the day of your sister’s funeral. We know the witch wants you to hand out these crazy miracle-survivor letters. We know she lives in a magic house covered in spinny, spirally circles. Et cetera. That’s a lot of things we know.”
“But it’s not enough,” Wunder replied. “Those things could be coincidences.”
“What about the memorial stone?” Faye said. “You’ve never asked why she did that, why she used your sister’s name.”
“You’re right,” Wunder said. “We should at least ask about that. We will ask about that. Soon.”