One

Eleanor Barton had just asked her aunt to pass the marshmallows when a fairy tale walked across the back lawn.

Eleanor froze, staring out the kitchen window at the tall, dark-haired woman as she lifted her hands, motes of light drifting around her like stars. There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then she began to weave the moonlight around her in a flowing dance.

This was, Eleanor thought, extremely inconvenient.

“Something wrong?” Eleanor’s aunt, Jenny, asked with a troubled little frown, mini marshmallow bag still extended.

Jenny and her husband, Ben, were not exactly aware that for the past several days a woman out of a fairy tale had been staying in their house. Not just any woman: the girl with backward hands, heroine of a number of the stories in Thirteen Tales of the Gray. Her name was Wander, which was all she’d managed to tell Eleanor and her friends before she declared herself “weary” and fell asleep.

For four solid days.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Eleanor said quickly. Luckily, Aunt Jenny and Uncle Ben were sitting with their backs to the kitchen window, but Naomi, Eleanor’s seven-month-old cousin, giggled madly, pudgy hands stretched toward the window.

At least this meant Wander was awake.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Ben said. “I realize we’re totally uncool adults, but we’re pretty smart.”

Jenny and Ben had been trying to turn Hot Cocoa Night into Tell Us Your Problems Night for months, but Eleanor couldn’t exactly break it to them that her problems were less “homework is hard” and more “immortal bad guys are trying to capture me and my friends so they can get home to their freaky evil world.”

“Everything is fine,” Eleanor assured them, just as Jack, her father, strode across the lawn. He gestured frantically at Wander.

Wander dropped her hands, and the moonlight trailed to the ground with a sound like a violin bow sighing across the strings. Jenny started to turn to see what had made the noise.

In a second Jenny was going to see Wander. And while most people couldn’t see magical things properly, or remember them once they had, that forgetfulness came at a price. Just this past spring, mud monsters had attacked the house and kidnapped Ben. Afterward, Jenny had migraines for over a month, and Ben still woke up with nightmares—even though they didn’t remember any of it.

Eleanor thought frantically. She needed to distract them. “How do you know if you like someone?” she blurted out.

Jenny’s head whipped back around. “Do you have a crush, Ellie-Belly?” she asked.

“You haven’t called me that since I was four,” Eleanor complained, cheeks turning red-hot. “And no. Or maybe? I don’t know.” It had just been the first thing she could think of. She didn’t have time for crushes. For feelings of any kind, really, other than dread and anticipation over what the People Who Look Away would try next to snatch up her and her friends.

“Who is he? Or she? They?” Ben asked. His eyes narrowed. “What are their future prospects, career-wise? Can they pass a background check? Can they change a tire?”

“Uncle Ben, I’m thirteen. No one my age can change a tire,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. “And there aren’t any criminal masterminds at my school.”

Jack was herding the reluctant Wander away from the house. They were almost out of sight. Naomi gabbled and waved. Eleanor popped a cheesy puff into her hand, and Naomi shrieked in delight, momentarily distracted.

“Is it that kid who was helping you with that language arts project—what was his name—Andy?” Jenny asked as Naomi slammed the cheesy puff enthusiastically against the table. “He was super sweet. And cute, too, if I’m not mistaken.”

Andy Park was sweet and cute, it was true. And he had sort of asked Eleanor to the spring dance, though she’d turned him down because she and Otto were spending the evening experimenting with a spell for locating lost objects. (They weren’t sure if it had worked, since it had led them to an expired membership card for something called Blockbuster under the back seat of Ben’s truck, which, while certainly lost, was not precisely missed.)

“What about what’s-her-face who always waves when I pick you up?” Jenny asked. “Mabel, wasn’t it? She’s very pretty.”

“She’s not just pretty, she’s also super smart,” Eleanor put in quickly, because people always assumed Mabel’s qualities ended at her expert use of lip gloss. Jenny and Ben gave each other knowing looks, and Eleanor dropped her head into her hands, groaning. This had been a terrible idea. Now they were going to think she had a crush on Mabel. Or Andy. And she didn’t have a crush at all. Because she didn’t have time for crushes, and she was probably completely doomed and wasn’t going to live to see fourteen anyway, so what was even the point?

As Jenny and Ben debated the relative strengths of her “suitors,” as Ben instantly dubbed them, Jack appeared at the kitchen door, looking out of breath.

“Hey, Jack!” Eleanor chirped. “How’s it going?”

“Everything is under control for the time being,” he said, his voice layered with meaning. He probably thought he was being subtle. Subtle was not Jack’s strong suit. It wasn’t really his fault—for the past forty years he’d been kind of a fairy tale himself. He even looked a lot like a fairy tale, though he’d traded his fantasy-world clothes and sword for T-shirts and jeans. He had wavy blond hair that fell around his shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard, and since the Story had left him, his eyes had turned from slate gray to a startling bright blue.

“I left your cocoa on the stove,” Jenny said, standing. He waved her back to her seat.

“Please don’t trouble yourself. Actually, I am afraid I must miss out on Hot Cocoa Night, and steal my daughter away as well. There is something we need to discuss.”

Jenny and Ben gave each other a look—the kind that’s really a whole conversation. They were still Eleanor’s legal guardians, partly because Jack wasn’t legally real at all, and partly because Eleanor had only known him for a few months. Before she and Pip had rescued him this spring, he’d spent her entire life submerged in mud in a magical coma.

Their relationship was somewhat complicated.

“All right,” Jenny said at last. “We’ll catch up on cocoa later. Don’t stay up too late, Elle.”

“I won’t,” Eleanor promised.

She left her cocoa on the counter before following Jack into the hall and then the Great Room, where he paused. “I apologize for interrupting your time with your family,” he said. Your family, as if he didn’t fit that definition. Eleanor knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be family. They hadn’t had time yet to figure out who they were to each other.

Eleanor shrugged. “I was kind of glad to escape,” she admitted. “So Wander is awake?”

“Indeed. She’s outside, though I managed to convince her to avoid standing directly outside the window. She wishes to speak to you and the others. She declined to tell me why; she says she will wait for ‘the real Jack.’ ”

That meant Pip. The magical Story that had possessed Jack for decades—that had made him forget his real name and his real life—was in Pip now. She hadn’t lost her memories yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Once they were gone, the memories—and Pip—would be gone for good. Even months after the Story left him, Jack didn’t remember anything about his life before. Eleanor pushed that thought away. Thinking about what was happening to Pip made her feel sick to her stomach.

“It’s past curfew, but maybe Pip can come over tomorrow,” Eleanor suggested, forcing herself to focus on the present.

Jack looked uneasy. “I wish I knew exactly what it is that Wander wants,” he said.

“You don’t trust her?” Eleanor asked, surprised. In all the tales she’d heard, they’d been fast friends.

He sighed. “Wander has always been a kind and loyal ally, but the world-walker is . . .” He waved a hand. “She sees things no one else can, and sometimes that leaves her disconnected from what is right in front of her. And she has very little sense of danger or common sense.”

“Didn’t you intentionally get eaten by a dragon once so you could fight it from the inside out?” Eleanor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was a dread wyrm. But I see your point,” Jack said.

They made their way to the front door so they could slip outside unnoticed, and Jack led her around the house toward the overgrown orchard out back. The apple trees were gnarled. They seemed to clutch at the young, pale fruits jealously.

Wander knelt among the tree roots at the edge of the orchard. Her eyes were closed, and gleaming shards floated around her like a cloud of tiny stars. She had pooled the moonlight beside her on the grass and was twisting one end of it with her long, elegant fingers, spinning it into silver thread. She hummed to herself as she worked, and the sound made goose bumps prickle along Eleanor’s arms.

“Wander?” Eleanor said. The woman looked up but didn’t pause in her work. She had to turn her arms out to wrap the thread properly, since her hands were backward, palms facing the opposite way from how they should.

“Hello, dear child,” Wander said in a voice that hummed like a tuning fork. She finished spinning the thread, holding it looped around one hand, and rose. “Come help me with this, will you?”

Eleanor glanced at Jack, who gave her an encouraging nod. She stepped forward, uncertain what kind of help Wander could mean. The woman handed her the skein of moonlight-thread. It was cool and slippery, and Eleanor fumbled to get a good hold on it.

Wander reached into the pocket of her gown, the color of dusk, and drew out a little leather case that held a long wooden needle. She threaded the end of the moonlight through it and motioned to Eleanor to follow her, five steps out from the orchard. Humming once again, she started to move the needle back and forth, as if sewing fabric. The thread followed, stitches appearing in the air where the needle passed, though there was nothing to hold them up. Eleanor watched in wordless wonder.

“Traveling through the Wending’s roads is a delicate business,” Wander said. When she had appeared four days ago, it had been at the end of a road that appeared out of nowhere, running straight through Pip’s house. “It sometimes leaves a tear. And if you don’t mend it quickly, you’re likely to incur the anger of the Wending’s guardians.”

“Guardians?” Eleanor asked, alarmed. “What kind of guardians?”

“Those ones,” Wander said calmly, gesturing, as a low growl sounded to the left.

Eleanor turned with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.