“Even after what the minister said, you still think the witch—the old woman—has something to do with my sister?” he asked. “And … resurrections?”

He looked over at Faye. Her hood was pulled up over her head and she was nodding.

“I do, Wundie,” she said. “I do.”

And Wunder found himself nodding along. Because, he realized, he did too. “We’ll go back, then,” he said.

Chapter 24

They met in the woods on Saturday morning. It was the coldest day that autumn yet, too cold for October. Wunder shivered in his sky-blue jacket; he hadn’t anticipated such low temperatures. Faye seemed toasty in a poufy purple coat covered in sparkly turquoise hearts and her black cloak.

When Wunder arrived, she handed him something small and shiny. It was a flat silver hand. The spread fingers were covered in intricate designs, and a bright blue stone eye punctuated the palm.

“I brought these,” Faye said. She held up one of her own.

“What are they?” Wunder asked, lifting the eye to his own eye.

“Hamsa amulets, otherwise known as Hands of Fatima or Hands of Miriam. They’ll protect us from spells and the evil eye and other witchcraft.”

Wunder lowered his amulet and frowned. “She’s not a witch, remember?”

“I remember that you think she’s not a witch,” Faye said. “You should remember that I still think she might be one, although there are, as we have discussed, other possibilities. When this saves you from all kinds of hexes and jinxes and curses, you’ll thank me.”

The witch was on her porch, as always. She smiled when she saw them. She had, Wunder noticed, perfect teeth, small and white and even.

“You are back,” she said in her faraway voice. “I am glad. Yes, yes, yes. I am glad. Come in.”

When they walked through the house’s door, Wunder felt the stone of his heart begin to rattle the same way it had on the first visit. This time, he wrapped both arms around himself. He was there for answers. He didn’t want to get sidetracked by his heart.

The house looked exactly the same. It didn’t seem like the witch was doing much settling in. There was no new furniture, and the dust was still thick and heavy, blanketing everything like a winter snow, burying everything like earth on a grave. Wunder could see his own footprints from five days ago in it.

“I saw you two pass my trail the other day,” the witch said as they entered the little kitchen. She gestured for them to sit at the table, which was still covered in newspapers. “Leaving the cemetery, I think.”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time among the dead,” Faye told her. “The first time we were both there was for Wundie’s sister’s funeral.” She paused and stared at the witch, hard. The witch stared back until Faye continued, “I was there because of my grandfather. But I think you know that.”

“I know,” the witch said. She turned on the water at the sink to fill the teakettle. “Yes, yes, yes. Almost everyone I see is going to a funeral. That is the sadness of living by a cemetery. The sadness and the beauty.”