But last night, the cemetery had been all he could think about. The cemetery and The Miraculous, discarded so hastily, so unceremoniously.

The cemetery, The Miraculous, and other things. Other things that he was trying his best not to think about.

He could go back, he finally decided, but only to put The Miraculous in a final resting place. He could go back once more, then never again.

He was about to head that way when Faye came meandering over.

“Wundie,” she said. She wore pressed white pants and a magenta sweater. Her black cloak fluttered behind her. “We need to talk.”

“It’s Wunder,” Wunder said. “Never Wundie.”

“Wundie. Listen. I’m going to stop you right there,” Faye said. Her cloak was slipping off her shoulder, and she paused to adjust it. It took a long time. “We have more important things to discuss. I think you know what I mean.”

“I don’t want to go to the DoorWay House,” Wunder said firmly, hoping that would end the conversation.

Faye’s smudgy eyes widened. “Why not, Wundie?”

“It’s Wun—never mind,” Wunder said with a sigh. “Because I don’t. There isn’t—there’s no witch.”

Wunder said this, but when he thought of the woman sitting on her porch, it was now the word witch that popped into his head. That was what he was calling her to himself, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“How can you say that, Wundie?” Faye’s dreamy voice was starting to wake up. “After everything we’ve witnessed?” Her voice was growing louder, sharper. “The priest’s incantation! The killer bird! Et cetera! How can you refuse to investigate these inexplicable and unexplainable phenomena?”

“He wasn’t a priest,” Wunder replied. “He was a Minister of Consolation. And the other stuff is—it’s ordinary stuff. Just a bird. Just an old lady living in an old house. That’s all.”

Faye glared at him. “An old lady living in the DoorWay House. That’s not ordinary, Wundie. I hardly ever see anyone there!”

Wunder was so surprised that he almost gasped. Other than the shadow in the window and now the witch, he had never seen anyone in the DoorWay House—or heard of anyone who had. He started to ask, What do you mean hardly ever?

Then he remembered. He didn’t believe in miracles, even the ones that had happened when he was five. He didn’t want to know anything about the DoorWay House.

“Not hardly ever,” he said, shaking his head. “Never. No one has ever lived there.”

“I’ve seen things,” Faye insisted.

Wunder shook his head again, this time harder. “You probably imagined whatever you think you saw,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

“Don’t tell me what I have and have not seen, Wundie!” Faye shrieked.

“Shh!” Kids were staring at them. He wanted to leave, but he was pretty sure she would follow him. She wasn’t going to give up. “Fine.” He sighed. “What is it you think you’ve seen?”

Faye gripped the sides of her cloak and leaned toward him. “Shadows crossing the windows,” she said, her voice soft again, like they were telling secrets. “And my grandfather—” She stopped suddenly and threw the hood of her cloak over her head. She was silent, dead silent, for almost a minute. Wunder wondered if he should say something, do something. Then she flipped the hood off. “My grandfather said he saw those spirals moving once, spinning around.” She gave a nod of victory. “What about that?”