Mayhap took the pages in her hands and flipped through them. On the last page, her parents’ names were printed. Their signatures hung above the letters like squashed insects.
“Mamma and Pappa,” said Mayhap to Seekatrix. “They signed this. But all the other pages are blank.”
The desk quavered on its feet as though in disagreement. The pages sifted out of her hands.
“Wait,” said Mayhap. She tried to grasp them, but the edges nicked her skin, and she let go, rubbing at the paper cuts they left behind.
She watched as the pages moved apart, spreading out on the desk, turning to images. Moving images — pale colors with swabs of black and gray and silver.
She watched as her parents, Cygnet and Bellwether Ballastian, arrived at a gate — an enormous wrought iron gate with the words STRAYGARDEN PLACE worked into it. She watched as her mother soothed the baby in her arms — Pavonine, it must have been Pavonine — and as two small girls played on the path behind her.
That’s me, Mayhap thought. And Winnow.
Her mother’s face lit up like a lamp when she caught a glimpse of the floating wanderroot trees through the silver grass. “Look, Bell,” she said. “There they are.”
Bellwether gasped at the bats dancing over their heads.
Her parents seemed to be waiting for something. They shuffled their feet on the cobbles.
Pavonine was sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms — her face a pink rose — and the silver grass, tall as the sky, swayed beyond the iron spires of the gate. Her mother could’ve touched the grass with her fingertips if she’d reached through the gate. But she didn’t.
Mayhap wanted to say Don’t go inside; don’t do it.
But she couldn’t speak to her parents, or to her sisters, or to her past self. She could only observe.
They all looked strange without their droomhunds at their sides, as though they were missing their shadows.
And then something was moving through the grass. Something was coming toward them. Someone. A girl.
The Mysteriessa.
Seekatrix cried on Mayhap’s lap as she leaned closer to the desk, wanting to see everything — every detail.
The Mysteriessa, walking up to the gate, her dress like metallic rain, her eyes as white as fresh snow.
“What brings you to Straygarden Place?” she asked Mayhap’s parents.
It was Mayhap’s mother who spoke. “My name is Cygnet Ballastian,” she said, “and this is my husband, Bellwether. And our daughters: Winnow, Mayhap, and Pavonine.”
“Tell me why you are here,” said the Mysteriessa.
“I’m a botanist,” said Cygnet. She peered through the iron gate at the silver grass. “I’ve heard about the incredible plant life you have here. I don’t think there’s anything like it in the world.” She straightened, bouncing a fussing Pavonine in her arms, and then handed the baby to Bellwether, who took her and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “I want to study the grass — and the trees,” said Cygnet, turning back toward the Mysteriessa.
“You want to prove something,” the Mysteriessa said, as though the fact were written plainly on Cygnet’s forehead.
Cygnet stared right back. “Yes,” she said, “I do.”
Mayhap shuddered. The Mysteriessa had a talent for knowing what other people wanted, deep down. But what did she want herself? Mayhap couldn’t tell.
The contract showed the wind ringing through the grass’s stiff strands.
Mayhap’s mother said, “My husband studies bats. He’s a chiropterologist. A zoologist, really, but he specializes in bats.” Her words were questions, rising notes. A crescendo was coming. “When we learned of this place, it sounded as though it had been . . . made for us.”
Mayhap’s father now stepped forward. “The Academy hasn’t taken kindly to our hypotheses about magic and the natural world. If we could work from here, if we could conduct experiments —” Desperation pinched his vocal cords.
“Yes,” said the Mysteriessa, “I understand.” She looked from Cygnet to Bellwether to Pavonine, then let her eyes fall to where Mayhap and Winnow were standing in their white shoes and stockings, a little way behind their parents.
And with that, she opened the gate, and she let the family in.
The images began to move more quickly: Cygnet, stepping through the gate with Bellwether behind her, Mayhap and Winnow following. The Mysteriessa leading them to the house, the grass moving out of the way. The door closing behind all of them. Her family inside the considerate house, the silver grass pressing against the windows in the enormous entrance hall.
Then the piece of paper blurred like running watercolors, and the picture dissolved.
Another scene formed: the Office of Residents’ Concerns. It looked exactly like it did now. Mayhap’s mother sat in one chair, and her father sat in the other. Mayhap and Winnow played a clapping game on the rug, chanting softly. Pavonine was still in Bellwether’s arms. The Mysteriessa pointed to a pile of papers that appeared on the desk, the words upon the pages scrawled in black swooping ink. Bellwether riffled through the contract, balancing Pavonine, who was tucked into the crook of his elbow.
“What will we have to give up?” asked Cygnet.
“You don’t get to choose,” said the Mysteriessa. “It’s not like going into a sweet shop. Once you’ve signed the contract, something will be taken from you. I will choose.”
Mayhap’s mother looked wistfully out the windows as a wanderroot tree drifted past. “We’ve come this far,” she said. “We have to stay. We have to sign it. Bell?”
Mayhap’s father smiled, but he was frowning at the same time.
Cygnet touched his hand. “Everything is going to be fine, Bell.” She looked over at Mayhap and Winnow. “We’re doing this for them,” she whispered. “Right?”
The Mysteriessa said, “Have you made up your minds?”
Hope filled Cygnet’s and Bellwether’s eyes. Hope that she wouldn’t take too much from them.
A pen appeared on the desk, and Mayhap’s mother took it in her hand. She printed her name, signed the contract, and slid it over to Mayhap’s father, who
