Wunder’s own church, St. Gerard’s, was big and bright. There were high ceilings and stained-glass windows and polished pews that gleamed. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about going to services in a basement.

“Not everyone needs somewhere fancy to pray,” Faye told him. “My grandfather used to say he felt most spiritual walking in the woods. And I meditate in my room every morning.”

“You do?”

“I do, Wundie,” Faye said, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself. “My grandfather taught me that too. And it gives me serenity throughout my whole day. Don’t I seem serene?”

She stared at him, eyes unblinking, face impassive. Wunder wasn’t sure if it was a serene look necessarily.

“I guess,” he said. “Maybe. Except when you scream.”

“I’m only human, Wundie,” Faye said. “Sometimes you have to scream.”

They went through the double doors of the town hall. Inside, on the far wall, there was a mural of a long-limbed, green-leafed tree, and in front of it was a huge desk surrounded by rows of cabinets.

There was only one person at the desk. It was a woman who was wearing a shiny, bright pink shirt and glaring fiercely at her computer screen. Her gold name tag read EUGENIA. When she noticed them, Eugenia’s bright pink mouth turned up in a sort of grimace-grin.

Wunder paused at the sight of that very unwelcoming expression, but Faye wandered right up to the desk.

That left Wunder no choice. Faye could not be trusted to talk to Eugenia alone.

“Hello, ma’am,” he said, hurrying up to the desk. “I’m Wunder Ellis, and my friend and I had a question about a stone we found in the cemetery—not a grave marker, more like a memorial? Where would we find out about something like that?”

Eugenia had directed her grimace-grin at him while he spoke, but as soon as he was done, she focused her attention back on Faye. Faye stared right back, her face expressionless, her arms crossed under her black cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Eugenia said, not sounding the least bit sorry, “but I really have work to do. Please see your little selves right out.”

“Eugenia,” Faye began. “Listen.”

“I’m sure you’re really busy!” Wunder hurried to cut her off. “We just want to know who bought the stone. Or asked the town to buy it, or however it’s done.”

Eugenia had already turned back to her computer screen. Her bright pink fingernails tap, tap, tapped sharply on the keyboard, dismissing them. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said, “but I can’t give out that kind of information. Good-bye now.”

“Why not, Eugenia? It’s a public record, isn’t it?” Faye asked, and Wunder noticed with some alarm that the sharpness had already started to creep into her voice.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s public per se,” Eugenia replied, “but I do know that it certainly is not public to two little children, especially when one of them is dressed like some kind of Frankenstein bat creature.”