The Sisters of Straygarden Place

go outside,” he said again. “It’s one of the rules.”
“Pavonine’s out there, Tutto. And Winnow. I have to make sure they’re —”
“You are not supposed to go outside!” he screeched.
“Tutto?” said Mayhap. “Are you all right?”
Tutto began to spin again, even quicker, his drawers rattling. His eyes split down the middle like dropped opals. He hummed and quivered.
“Tutto!” said Mayhap. “Tutto?”
She watched in horror as his body came apart in unraveling slices of silver, his drawers sliding out of his torso, the catalog cards flittering around him, until he was only coiled ribbons of metal, and little springs, and four wooden wheels dropped on the floor.
You should have listened to him, someone said within her.
The Mysteriessa.
Mayhap went numb.
She remembered Winnow’s story about Tutto coming to life.
And she knew: the Mysteriessa had given Tutto life.
She had done it so that the hippopotamus could read Pavonine stories, could show the girls small kindnesses. Could nuzzle their hair and tell them everything would be fine.
The Mysteriessa had made him, and now she had destroyed him.
Mayhap screamed, running and kicking at Tutto’s scattered parts.
She scooped Seekatrix under one arm and wrestled the grass away from the door, making an opening.
She leaped into the silver.

The grass twisted its silvery twines around Mayhap’s waist. Next: her ankles, her wrists. It tugged Seekatrix out of her arms.
To her surprise, though, she found it did not seem to want to hurt her or her droomhund. She had thought about screaming, but before she’d been able to, the grass had taken her up so carefully that she’d had nothing to scream about.
So she let the sea of it take her, carrying her into the sky, high and higher, until the roots of the wanderroot trees brushed her forehead like a blessing.
Mayhap kept her eyes open — open for Pavonine’s gray coat, for Winnow’s green one. She hoped the grass was handling them kindly, too. For a few long seconds, Mayhap could not see anything but rolling silver. But then she glimpsed a snatch of dark hair, a spot of emerald beside it.
“Pavonine,” she said, under her breath. “Winnow.”
The grass seemed to swallow them then, and Mayhap’s stomach sank, because she had thought the grass had been peaceful — she had been so sure. But actually, now that she thought about it, it seemed — hungry.
It shimmered around her, smiling in its sly, silvery way. Mayhap knew that it was smiling. And it wasn’t a friendly smile, either. It was the sort of smile you had on your face before you bit into something delicious.
“Pavonine,” Mayhap tried to say, but her mouth was filled with grass, and she choked on it, spluttering.
“Ours, ours, ours,” it hissed.
And it took her into its mouth.


The grass had swallowed Mayhap.
And now the grass spat her out.
She landed on her back. On a surface as hard as marble. She felt her droomhund licking her face.
Pavonine spoke beside her. “Where are we?”
Mayhap wanted to see if Pavonine was all right. She wanted to talk to her.
She sat up, forced her eyes open.
And saw steps leading up to a large door. A grand house leaned over them, like a person inspecting an insect. Its hundreds of windows glimmered with moonlight. Pavonine was sitting, rubbing her elbow. Winnow was lying next to her, whimpering, still so silver.
The grass had brought them back to Straygarden Place — all three of them.
It had given them a chance to begin again.
Mayhap was about to speak when the door before her flew open, and a man and woman appeared, light spilling out with them. Their faces were older — more tired — but Mayhap knew them instantly. Her mother’s wide-brimmed hat, her long skirt, the freckles beneath her right eye, which were so much like Mayhap’s, like specks of splattered coffee. Her father’s tweed, his shiny leather shoes, his thick black lashes. Her parents. Her not-parents. Their droomhunds sat beside them, peering at Mayhap with knowing eyes.
And behind them stood a girl who looked exactly like her — another Mayhap — with a little black dog of her own.


The silver grass toyed at Mayhap’s back, threading its strands through her hair.
“Ours,” it said. “Ours.”
Cygnet and Bellwether Ballastian were kneeling beside Pavonine, only a giant’s hand away. They were speaking softly, cupping Pavonine’s cheeks as she whispered to them. They were taking Winnow’s hands and kissing them. Bellwether had one arm around the other Mayhap.
So here Mayhap was, with everything she had ever wanted. Her parents, arrived back. Her parents — home. But it was as though she had been given a gift and been made to stand on the other side of a pane of glass, looking at it for all eternity.
She would never sit on her mother’s lap. Her mother would never stroke her hair. She would never even have a mother.
Mayhap bit her tongue. She cuddled Seekatrix, burying her face in his scruff.
The Mysteriessa stirred in her chest, where she had always, always been — for seven years she had been living there — and Mayhap felt completely wretched.
She heard the click of shoes. She smelled lavender.
The girl who looked exactly like her — the first Mayhap, the only Mayhap — peered down at her, holding her droomhund.
The droomhund from the photograph, thought Mayhap. The girl from the photograph.
Lit by the moon, the curves of the girl’s face were exactly the same as Mayhap’s — the slope of her narrow, long nose, the deep bow of her lips. To Mayhap’s surprise, the other Mayhap smiled at her. It was an awkward smile but a smile nonetheless. She held out a hand, and Mayhap, still sitting, took it. She said, “Can I tell you a secret?” Mayhap didn’t have time to answer before she whispered, “I have always wanted a sister. Especially a sister who looks just like me.”
Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she would be a part of this family now, and she would have a new