“Great, we made it,” Faye said. “Now what?”

“Now,” Wunder replied, “we have to get the branch from the tree.”

“Obviously,” Faye said. “So where is it?”

Wunder shrugged, absolutely undeterred. “Let’s start looking.”

“Hey, Wunder?” Davy said.

Faye stared at Wunder. “What do you mean”—she grinned goofily and shrugged her cloak-covered shoulders—“‘let’s start looking’! You don’t know?”

“How could I know?” Wunder asked, a little less cheerfully. “I’ve never been here before; have you? Maybe I should have called the mayor of Benedict and asked? Or come yesterday and scoped things out for us?”

“Wunder? Faye?” Davy said.

Faye swung her cloak back and stuck her finger in Wunder’s direction. “This is a town, Wundie,” she said. “A whole town. And we’re looking for one little tree.”

“It’s not little,” Davy said.

“How would you know, David?” Faye demanded, whirling toward him.

“Because,” he squeaked, hunching into himself. Keeping his arms tucked by his sides, he pointed one finger. “Look.”

Davy was pointing past the town hall, past the shops, at the very end of the main street. There was a small white building there—a church, Wunder realized, with a white bell tower and black doors. And just behind it—and above it—was something he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen right away.

A DoorWay Tree.

Davy was right; it wasn’t little, not at all. It was tall—toweringly, sky-scrapingly tall. And its wood was black, as black as the woods on a moonless night, as black as the witch’s hair, as black as death. It didn’t have leaves, not one. But what it had were thousands and thousands of bright white blossoms.

Wunder started toward the tree, pulling the wagon behind him.

But he had gone only a few steps when the doors of the church swung open and people began streaming out.

“Oh, perfect,” Faye said. “There are a million people here. What are we supposed to do? Lumberjack it up in front of a live audience?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Wunder told her. “It’s going to be fine.”

Faye frowned at him. “I’m really glad you’ve found your can-do attitude again, Wundie, but this is a serious problem.”

“As soon as everyone leaves the church,” Wunder said, “this whole place will be emptied out and we can get to work.”

Davy trembled. Faye waved her gloved hand in irritated dismissal.

They found an out-of-the-way bench on the side of the library. They could see the church from there. And they could see the tree. Wunder was too excited to get out The Miraculous again, and Faye was too grumpy and Davy too tense to listen anyway. So they sat and watched and ate the peanut butter sandwiches and apples that Wunder had packed.

The afternoon ticked away, and temperatures began to drop. Faye and Davy took turns warming up in the library, but Wunder stayed on the bench. He didn’t want to miss their chance. A steady stream of people continued coming and going—to get groceries, to visit the shops that sold things like ice cream and used books and handmade art. Benedict, it seemed, was a livelier place than Branch Hill.