On the other side there was a name written in black sprawling script:

Sylvester Dabrowski

Branch Hill was a small town, but it was big enough that the average resident couldn’t possibly know everyone. But Wunder was a former miracologist. He had spent countless hours reading the local newspaper and gathering stories from his neighbors. They had written him letters, agreed to interviews, called him on the phone.

He didn’t know everyone in Branch Hill. But he knew their miracles.

And, of course, he had kept track of them all.

Wunder pulled The Miraculous out of his backpack. The book’s familiar worn cover looked even more worn now. There was dirt caked over the white lettering and the silver edges were crushed in places.

He carried the book to his bed, where he opened to the first page—Entry #1—and began to flip through.

The miracles passed before his eyes. A news story from Colorado of a three-year-old girl found alive in the woods five days after she went missing. A letter from his neighbor Susan Holt telling him about the starling who had sung her to sleep every night since she was a little girl, even following her when she moved across town. An anecdote about the philosopher-poet Rumi silencing some impertinent frogs copied from a book his mother had given him. An entry about Davy’s mother and how the doctors had told her that her tumor was shrinking.

And then there it was—a clipping from his church’s bulletin and then his own words. It read like this:

Miraculous Entry #603

PRAISES THIS WEEK FROM ST. GERARD’S:

Luis Aritza

Florence Dabrowski

Edith Greenwald

Robert Ozols

Every week for a long time Florence Dabrowski has been listed in the Prayer Requests section of the bulletin. And then at church today I saw her name again—but it wasn’t in the Prayer Requests section. It was in the Praises section. She must have gotten better!

It wasn’t Sylvester, but it was something. Florence Dabrowski went to his church.

And she was a miracle.

What did the witch want with Sylvester, the other Dabrowski? Did it have something to do with Florence?

The answer was there, right there in his hands. The answer to those questions and maybe others.

But Wunder didn’t open the envelope.

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to look for the bright in the dark. He would just throw the letter away, along with The Miraculous.

But he didn’t.

He put The Miraculous in his backpack.

And he put the letter on his nightstand.

He had another dream that night.

He was holding the envelope in his hand when the tree on the wax seal began to grow. Its branches spread up and out, through the ceiling. Its roots reached the floor and tunneled down, into the floorboards. The tree grew and grew until it was enormous, wider than his house, taller than the tallest tower of the DoorWay House.

And covering it, round and perfect and bright, were the spirals. It was a DoorWay Tree. And on the very top branch, half-hidden behind white flowers, was the old woman.