“Let me see,” she said, propping her bike against the wall.

“We can’t stop now,” Wunder said. He could still hear the sound of the alarm from there. “They might find us. What about discretion?”

But he got off his bike too and sat on the ground. He pulled his flashlight from his backpack.

He opened to the first page of the binder. The entries turned out to be in chronological order, but the most recent one was more than three months old. There were some loose papers though, in the front folder of the binder. Wunder pulled out the first one.

The paper was creased in thirds. When Wunder unfolded it, he saw that it was a form stamped with the oak leaf seal of the town of Branch Hill. Across the top, it read MEMORIAL OTHER THAN GRAVESTONE.

“What did you find?” Faye peered over his shoulder. Her cloak fell across the paper.

“I’m looking,” Wunder said. “Back up a little, would you?”

She moved back about two inches.

INSCRIPTION, the form read. And then, in sprawling black script: “Behold! I tell you a miracle. We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed.” Let us, then, change together. With great love, Milagros.

Faye reached for the binder. “Let me see. You’re taking forever.”

Wunder tightened his grip. “I’m. Looking. Hold. On.”

DEDICATOR, the form read. And beneath that, in the same rambling lettering, there were three words. Not a name. Just: The DoorWay House.

Wunder stared at the words lit up by his flashlight. He could imagine the hand that had written those words, the same hand that had waved to him on the day of his sister’s funeral.

“It says ‘The DoorWay House,’” he told Faye very, very quietly.

“‘The DoorWay House’?” She leaned over to see the paper. “‘The DoorWay House’? What do you mean ‘The DoorWay House’?”

“That’s who ordered the stone,” Wunder said. “The DoorWay House.”

Faye pressed her hands against her cheeks. “The witch,” she breathed.

The alarm suddenly stopped.

“The witch,” Wunder said. He put the form back in the binder. Then he set the binder on the ground and got onto his bicycle.

“I’m leaving now,” he said. “I’m going home.”

“You’re leaving the binder here?”

“We broke into the town hall,” Wunder said. “I don’t think we should keep the evidence.”

Faye considered this, then nodded. “That makes sense. But what do we do now? We know it’s the witch. But why did she do it? What does she want? What does she have to do with your sister? We have to go see her.”

Wunder shook his head as he pressed his foot onto the pedal. He had been so sure that finding out who ordered the memorial stone would make him less confused. Instead, he had a whole new set of questions, and he didn’t want to think about any of them, especially Faye’s last one.

“No, Faye,” he said. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t believe in witches.”