As soon as Wunder stepped over the threshold of the DoorWay House, the stone of his heart grew not just warm but hot, began not just to shiver, but to crack.
Like it wasn’t a stone at all. Like there was something inside that wanted to come out.
The witch carried a single candlestick as she led them through the house. The flame illumined only the space right around her. Outside of its glow, it was dark, dark, darker than dark. Wunder followed behind her, watching as the wall lit up one piece at a time, the bright white spirals seeming to blossom out of nothingness. He listened to the witch’s footsteps, which seemed strangely slow, labored, not like the quick, graceful movements he was used to from her.
In the kitchen, the witch sat across from Wunder, Faye, and Davy. She set the candle on the table, and the flame danced up at her, lighting up the crags and cracks of her skin, making it look as though she were wearing a mask.
“This house,” she said. “Do you remember what I told you this house is made of?”
“DoorWay Tree,” Wunder replied. “But what we want to know—”
“DoorWay Tree,” the witch continued. “And do you remember what I told you about that tree?”
“You said every town should have one. You said they can last forever. But Davy says that you—”
“That is right,” the witch said, cutting him off again. “That is right. And I have been thinking, Wunder.” She bowed her head forward, farther into the light. “This town … this town needs a DoorWay Tree. Your family needs a DoorWay Tree. So does yours, Faye. And yours, Davy. And so do I. Yes, yes, yes, so do I.” The witch’s black eyes met each of theirs in turn, then came back to Wunder’s. “Will you get one for us?”
No one spoke. The flame flickered. This wasn’t what Wunder had expected, this talk of trees. What did it have to do with the letters? What did it have to do with his sister?
“Why?” Faye finally asked. “Why do we need it? What does it do? Is it magical? Are you magical?”
“I believe,” the witch said, “you asked that once before.”
“And you never answered me,” Faye said. “And you still haven’t.”
The witch leaned back, her face shadowed again, hidden. “I told you the trees are special. Their roots go down deep. Their branches reach up high. They are trees of life and trees of death, connecting worlds, connecting souls, in many ways, many mysterious ways.” She nodded, as if to herself. “Yes, yes, yes, it would be good for this town to have a DoorWay Tree again. A DoorWay Tree is a marvelous thing indeed.”
And suddenly the witch’s request made sense to Wunder. This house, the DoorWay House, this was where it had all begun for him. This was where he had seen his first miracle, where he had become a miracologist. And this was where the witch, whoever she was, had appeared. If the house was so special, how much more powerful must the source of the house be, the DoorWay Tree?
“We’ll do it,” he said. “We’ll get a DoorWay Tree.” He could feel Faye giving him the evil eye. He could hear Davy making little noises of dissent. But he didn’t care.
Time after time, he had been drawn to this house and to the witch, even when he didn’t want to believe, even when he was trying to stay away. After these weeks of delivering letters, of reading The Miraculous, of feeling his heart telling him what his head didn’t want to hear, Wunder knew he couldn’t deny anymore that something was happening here, something that was too great, too overwhelming to be a coincidence.
And now the witch had promised a miracle. She had promised it in writing in a letter delivered all over Branch Hill. And Wunder believed her.
He believed in miracles again.
And if the witch needed a DoorWay Tree to do one, then he would get her a DoorWay Tree.
“We’ll do it,” he said again. “But how?”
The witch nodded her approval. “We are not gods,” she said. “We cannot create something from nothing. We must use what exists already, change it to something new.”
“So we need … a seed?” Wunder guessed.
The witch shook her head. “DoorWay Trees cross-pollinate, you see. That means they need each other to create seeds. But there are so few of them now, too few. Until there are more, there is only one way left to grow a new DoorWay Tree. You must plant a piece of the tree itself—a piece that connects to the trunk. A branch.”
“But how can we get that?” Wunder asked. “If there are hardly any left.”
“There is one I know of,” the witch said. “In the town of Benedict. That is where you must go.”
Faye, her wig askew, her white clothing unraveling, spoke up. “These trees,” she said. “They sound pretty powerful. Pretty … paranormal. Who planted them?”
The witch lifted her white-cloth-wrapped shoulders once. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have not been so far. I know more than you, I am sure, but still very little.”
“But are we allowed to plant another one?”
The witch smiled. Her perfect teeth were tiny points of brightness gleaming in the candlelight. “So much is left up to us. More than we realize, often more than we want. There was a DoorWay Tree here once, long ago. And now there will be one again. For this town. For them.” She waved in the direction of the cemetery. “For me. But I am getting to be an old woman. I need help. You three, you are my help. You are my miracles. Yes, yes, yes. You are my miracles.”