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 entered 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.