Miraculous Entry #465

Congratulations are in order for Eugenia Simone, daughter of Quincy and Rita Simone. The eighteen-year-old Oak Wood High School graduate was recently accepted to Fraxinus College with a full scholarship.

“I’m so happy,” the elated teen told this reporter. “It’s an absolute miracle!”

Well done, Eugenia! The town of Branch Hill wishes you all the best.

“I thought it was a miracle,” Eugenia said, running her finger along the edge of the newspaper clipping, “because I was never very good in school. I didn’t think I’d even get into college, let alone get a scholarship. I wasn’t even going to apply.”

“Two miracles, then,” Wunder said.

Eugenia looked up now, and her eyes were wet and gleaming. “He died while I was in college,” she said. “My senior year.” She grimace-smiled again, but it didn’t seem mean like it had when Wunder first met her. It seemed like she didn’t know what to do next. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” she continued. “That those wonderful things could happen to him, to me. And then that awful, terrible thing, and now he’s gone, gone forever. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Wunder shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know either. But I have this.” He held the letter out.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it.

“And do you have a pair of scissors?”

He cut out both entries for her. Then she watched them walk away, papers pressed to her heart. She didn’t call security. She didn’t say another word.

“Have you noticed anything about these letters?” Wunder asked Faye as they climbed onto their bikes. “I mean, about the people we’re delivering them to?”

“No,” Faye said. She was much more subdued than Wunder had expected her to be after a meeting with Eugenia the Pink Priss.

“They’re all to people who have lost someone,” Wunder said. “And they’ve all experienced a miracle.”

“We’ve only delivered two letters so far though,” Faye replied. “I don’t know if you can draw conclusions from a sample size of two.”

“Rationality does not suit you, Faye,” Wunder said. He smiled, just a small smile. Then he pushed off on his bike. The wind was cool and gusty and lifting.

“But what does the letter say?” Faye asked, catching up to him. “Why don’t we read it?”

“I don’t know,” Wunder said. “Why haven’t we?”

“I thought it might curse us,” Faye said. “Like a magic-booby-trap kind of thing.”

“Do you still think that?”

“I’m not sure,” Faye said.

“They’re not addressed to us,” Wunder pointed out. “And we’re going to get our own eventually.”

“Well, let’s say you’re right,” Faye said. “Let’s say that the witch is handing out letters to the family members of the miraculous dead.” She paused a moment. The wind whistled past Wunder’s ears. “How would she know about all that? She just got here. How does she know all about this town? Have you thought”—she paused again—“have you thought any more about who she is, Wundie? I mean, who she really is?”