The witch nodded slowly through this pause-filled discourse. The teakettle began to whistle, and she rose gracefully to her feet. “There are many ways to think about death,” she repeated as she took the kettle from the stove. “I prefer the ways that remember the dead, like your grandfather’s, like so many beautiful celebrations and rituals and rites from around the world and throughout history. I prefer the ways that do not forget the great powers of memory and love.”

While the witch prepared the tea, Wunder tried to focus on what he wanted to ask her, but instead he found himself thinking about his sister again, his sister and memory and love. He remembered her—of course he did. He thought about her every day. And he had loved her. He had loved her more in her eight days of life than he would have thought possible.

But he had not wanted to go to her funeral. He had not wanted to do the celebrations and rituals and rites. He had not wanted anyone to do them. He had not thought they would help.

Because in the end, death was still death. Wasn’t it?

“It is good that you should come here to share these things with me,” the witch said, bringing Wunder out of his thoughts. She set two steaming cups in front of them. “Because it has everything to do with what I want to share with you. There is something that I need, something to do with the DoorWay Tree. Let us have some tea, and I will tell you about it. Yes, yes, yes. I feel that you two may be the ones who can help me.”

“What is it?” Wunder asked. He reached for his cup, eager to hear what the witch would say next.

“Stop!”

Faye had shrieked this word. Her hands were out of her pockets and she was gripping her amulet in plain sight.

“Faye—” Wunder started.

“No!” Faye used her other hand to pry his fingers from his teacup and moved it to the other side of her. “No tea! No weird, witchy favors!”

The witch seemed startled, but she held her hands up. “I understand,” she said. “You are not ready. I can wait. Not for long, but I can wait. But tell me”—she smiled, her perfect teeth shining white in her wrinkled face—“what makes you think I am a witch?”

“I don’t think you’re a witch,” Wunder said quickly.

Faye frowned at him and then at the witch. “Really?” she asked her. “Have you seen yourself? Have you seen this place?”

“I don’t know much about witches,” the witch admitted. “But I suppose I can see why you might think such a thing.” She sat back down across from them, still smiling. “The invitations though. Perhaps you will not do any new favors for me, but I have more letters. Many more…” She trailed off, a question in her silence.

“We can deliver more letters,” Wunder said. “If that’s what you want.”