The Sisters of Straygarden Place

don’t know what you’re talking about, May.”
“Why do you think we can’t sleep?”
“It’s a thing our family has, like brown eyes and dark hair.”
“But what if I told you it wasn’t something we were born with? That the grass stole sleep from us?”
“I would say that doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with Winnow being sick.”
Pavonine sat down again, beside Mayhap. She put her hand on Mayhap’s hand. “We should focus on looking after Winn,” said Pavonine. “On finding Evenflee —”
“She won’t let me near her, Pav,” said Mayhap. “And Evenflee is gone. I haven’t seen him anywhere. For all we know, the grass could have taken him.”
“Don’t say that!”
“But it could be true!”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know that yet. We have to keep trying.”
Mayhap pulled her hand away from Pavonine’s. “Maybe you like that she hates me. That you get to look after her. You get to have her all to yourself.”
Pavonine looked hurt. She stood up and walked away. Distantly, a door clicked closed.
Mayhap kicked the marble book. Her big toe stung. She rubbed her eyes and resisted the urge to scream into the carpet.
“That’s what happens when you remove a reference book from the library,” said a voice. “It’s one of the house’s rules.”
Mayhap had goosebumps all the way up her neck as she turned around to face the Mysteriessa.
The girl looked smaller — or maybe Mayhap was only seeing her clearer. Her eyes were as white and waterless as pebbles.
“I wasn’t going to tell her about you — I promise,” said Mayhap. “I only wanted her to know about the grass. About it taking things. I thought it might help —”
“I’ve told you, Mayhap,” said the Mysteriessa, her voice edging toward impatience. “The only thing you can do is keep Winnow away from the grass and let her rest.”
“Please,” said Mayhap. “Tell me something that will actually help. Tell me how to —”
“I have already told you, Mayhap.”
“No,” said Mayhap. “No.” She stood and moved toward the Mysteriessa. The girl stepped back, as though she were afraid. “Tell me your name,” said Mayhap. “At least tell me your actual name. How am I supposed to believe a word you’re saying?”
“You’re to believe me, Mayhap, because I have lived here for all your life, for all my life, and for all the lives of those who have come and gone.” The Mysteriessa looked at the rectangle of marble that had once been The Book of Records. “Now, I’ll take that,” she said. She lifted it as though it were as light as a folded cardigan and began to walk away.
Mayhap watched her get smaller and smaller.
Down the hall, she could hear Winnow crying.
She covered her ears. “Please,” she said. “Tell me what to do.” She didn’t know if she was talking to herself, to Seekatrix, or to the house. Her whispered words sounded like wind in her ears.
She curled up on the mulberry carpet, and it grew thicker around her.
Maybe she only needed to sleep darkly for a little while. Maybe she would feel better then. But she was too frightened — too upset.
Seekatrix licked her face.
“I love you, Seeka,” said Mayhap, holding him close.
The droomhund wriggled, and Mayhap’s sleeve rustled. She sat up and undid the ribbon that tightened it around her wrist. Her parents’ note, in all its ripped shreds, fell out.
Mayhap spread the pieces out on the carpet, arranging them so that she could read the note. It had always comforted her that the words on this piece of paper — now pieces of paper — had been inked by one of her parents’ hands. But she found it too painful to look at the words now. She flipped the torn pieces over.
That’s when she noticed the other words.
They were stamped on the back in pale-blue ink.
All contractual disputes should be referred to the Office of Residents’ Concerns.
She looked down the long hallway.
The house was under no obligation to respond — but she could try.
“Um,” she said, “could you please direct me to the, um, Office of Residents’ Concerns?”
Mayhap sat in silence, Seekatrix blinking on her lap.
And then the carpet began to move.

The carpet, it seemed, knew the way to the Office of Residents’ Concerns.
Mayhap sat, petrified, clutching Seekatrix, as it drew her along the hallway. It undulated and slid. It jostled and skidded. Her stomach flipped, and she closed her eyes, but not for too long — not so long that she would see that burning whiteness behind her eyelids that was every Ballastian’s curse.
The carpet bore Mayhap to a door that was as black and shiny as Italian vinegar. It had a silver plaque on it. The plaque said: OFFICE OF RESIDENTS’ CONCERNS.
The carpet bucked like a pony, nudging Mayhap to her feet, then once again became an unmoving softness beneath her slippers.
Seekatrix wriggled to get free. She put him down, and he stood beside her, staring at the door.
Mayhap prided herself on knowing every inch of Straygarden Place — every corner and crook, every window and whisper — and yet she had never seen this door. It didn’t look like any of the other doors in the house, either, which were all smoothly varnished mahogany.
Seekatrix growled in a strange, scared way — the same way he had growled when he’d woken her up. Her heart blattered in her chest, but she took a deep breath and opened the door with a click.
The Office of Residents’ Concerns was neatly ordered. It was a square room with wallpapered walls. A desk sat against the grass-swamped windows. Two armchairs had been placed in front of it. The armchairs were covered in haircloth as wiry as a droomhund’s eyelashes.
Mayhap sat down in one of them, and Seekatrix jumped nimbly onto her lap.
The desk, up until this point, had been clear. But when Mayhap sat down, a wad of papers appeared before her. The stack was tied with a black grosgrain ribbon. Mayhap sat forward, watching as the ribbon untied itself. She