Kreindel held onto Toby’s belt with both hands, and prayed that they wouldn’t be killed.
She was perched upon the seat of his bicycle, her feet held awkwardly to either side of the rear tire. Toby stood on the pedals in front of her, steering them south along Riverside. She was terrified of losing her balance, but he kept them going fast enough that they didn’t wobble, and before long she was leaning into the turns a little, like he did. Automobiles and wagons streamed by on one side, dusky trees and the river on the other—and in the middle was Toby, hunched over the handlebars, the brim of his cap angling to left and right as he watched the cross-streets. Her damp hair fluttered behind her; the breeze cut through her thin coat and stockings. She shivered, and tightened her grip upon his belt.
“You doing okay?” he called over his shoulder.
“I think so,” she called back. She was, in fact, utterly exhilarated. The Asylum was behind her, she’d never go back—and oh, what a way to leave!
The river was dark now, all glimmers of sunlight gone.
The Golem held Yossele’s hand, guiding him onward as he watched Kreindel. He felt her happiness at having left the Asylum at last, her joy at the bicycle ride. The pair on the street was gaining on the pair in the river; soon, Toby and Kreindel would overtake them, and pull ahead. To the Golem’s relief, Yossele felt no rage at Toby’s presence—only a bittersweet regret that the boy could be with his master in the open air while he, Yossele, could not.
They walked south along the shipping channel, the current at their backs, steamboats and barges cutting through the water above. The land held steady to either side of them, guiding them past ferry docks and freight depots, the oblique bend at Chelsea Piers. This is where I first came ashore, she told Yossele, and then showed him the memory: a shining summer day, the steamship coming into dock, her leap from the rail. How she’d pulled herself out of the water, and wandered the incomprehensible city.
And in return, he showed her the weeks he’d spent hiding in the shallows beneath the unfinished bridge, waiting for Kreindel’s call. The thick scents of algae and engine grease, the whistle of the breeze through the cattails. The keening cries of migrating birds, the bite in the air as summer turned to autumn.
I wish I had known, she told him sadly. She pictured it, and he saw it, too: how she would’ve come to his hiding-place in the clay at the river’s edge, how she would’ve sat beside him, sharing in his vigil while he waited—
And suddenly it was all too much for Yossele to bear.
He turned away, struggling against his inner vision. He didn’t want this longing for something that hadn’t happened and never would! What was the point of if only, when there was only the endless now of his watching, his servitude? What was the point of this new mind that she’d given him, if everything it showed him was beyond his reach?
Yossele, she said, don’t—
He pulled his hand away, and the connection broke.
Yossele!
He was a spot of anguish in the dark, moving swiftly away from her. She cut across the current, climbing over oil-barrels and thickets of wire, trying desperately to keep pace—but his size and mass gave him the advantage. He sped away from her, and disappeared.
She stood alone in the debris, trying not to panic. There was little she could do. He might stay here, in the river; he might double back, and return to the Asylum. Now her only connection to him was through Kreindel—and Kreindel was with Toby, on her way to the Amherst.
She could only keep going.
* * *
“Well,” Anna said, her arms folded, looking up at the Amherst’s insides, “it’s certainly big, whatever it is.”
The Jinni sighed, and scooped another bucket of wet ash from the forge. Sayeed had gone to help Maryam close the coffee-house; Anna, however, seemed intent on not letting the Jinni out of her sight. Toby will be here soon, she’d informed him, her clipped tone matter-of-fact—and he’d been momentarily baffled by the speed with which his solitude had crumbled. Was this what it was like, he wondered, to have neighbors, acquaintances? To allow oneself to be talked about and watched over? It felt . . . disconcerting. Sayeed had even left Maryam’s mixing bowl on the worktable nearby, full of kindling, in case you need it. The bowl was glazed in bands of white and yellow, with cheerful lemons painted about its middle; it felt utterly out of place on the scarred and pitted table, like a hack-saw in a bakery case. He wondered, would one of the Faddouls return for it? Or was he supposed to take it back on his own?
Anna watched as he cleaned out the forge. “So. Toby said you nearly died. Was he exaggerating?”
“Not at all. He saved my life.”
“Well. We’re all lucky, then.”
He put down the bucket. “Anna, I had no intention of involving your son in any of this. I didn’t even realize who he was.”
“Oh, I know. He told me everything. He delivered you a cable, and it all went downhill from there.”
“Then is there a specific reason you’re angry at me? Or is it merely on principle?”
She pressed her lips together, looked away stonily. Then she said, “You know, I never told him tales when he was little. No golems, no dybbuks, no old witches in chicken-leg huts. I didn’t want him believing in things that couldn’t exist.”
Confused, offended, he said, “Even though you knew we were real?”
She glared at him. “Let me tell you something, Ahmad. This is a cruel world for a boy like Toby. A good-hearted kid with no father, and a mother who’s never home, with barely two nickels to rub together—a boy like that has to grow up learning certain truths. And one of them is that if someone shows you magic, it’s a trick, and you’re the mark. But you people—you and Chava and God knows who else—look what you can do.” She pointed upward, at the shining steel. “You break all the rules and turn truth on its head, so now he starts to believe in the impossible. So what happens when he goes out into the world? Maybe he gets taken by the first confidence man he meets. And even if he doesn’t, what then? Do you think he’ll be satisfied working at some factory for the rest of his life? Or will he go running off after Mister Ahmad and Missus Chava—the woman I thought was going to—”
Her face tightened. Tears flooded her eyes. She turned away.
He stood there feeling helpless. “Anna. I’m sorry. You were trying to protect him.”
She sniffed angrily, whisked her tears away. “And now he’s uptown looking for a golem. Some job of it I did.”
“Ma?”
They turned. Toby was standing in the doorway. Beside him was a stranger, a startled-looking girl in a shapeless gray coat.
“Ma, Mister Ahmad,” Toby said, “this is Kreindel.”
Kreindel didn’t know where to look first.
She’d never seen a place so big, not even her father’s synagogue. She stared up in fascination at the platforms hanging in midair, the spiraling column, the branching arches in the upper shadows—all of it gigantic yet delicate-looking, like an enormous whirligig that might come to life on a puff of wind.
“Kreindel,” Toby whispered behind her, “tell them about Yossele.”
She tore her gaze from the towering sculpture, took in the woman who stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing Kreindel with suspicion and curiosity. And then the man behind her, who was . . .
“My God,” she whispered. “It’s you.”
It was the man from the tenement fire. Tall and striking, dark eyes, angular features. All this time, and not a day older, exactly the same as she’d dreamt him.
“You probably don’t remember me,” she said, her voice shaking. “But you were there when my building burned down. Your friend ran in after me, you were holding her cloak . . .” Her heart thudded as she realized. “Wait. Your friend. Was it Miss Levy? It was, wasn’t it?”
“You’re the girl from the fire,” the man said, wonder in his voice.
“Ahmad, what’s she talking about?” said Toby’s mother.
Tears of relief sprang to Kreindel’s eyes. “Oh, thank God. All this time I thought she’d died, that I’d killed her. I dreamt about you so often—”
She remembered, then. A portrait, sewn in golden thread. Give him this, when he wakes. She began to laugh, still crying. “I even dreamt that you’d sewn a picture of me, if you can believe it.”
“But I did,” the man said, puzzled. “I left it at her apartment, I’d forgotten all about it.” He peered at her. “How could you possibly dream that?”
She thought. “Because of Miss Levy,” she said. “And Yossele.”
At the bottom of the river, huddled beneath a rust-cankered gantry crane, Yossele sat listening to his master.
There’s another golem? said the mother of the boy on the bicycle, her tone wary.
He’s not like Miss Levy, Kreindel said. He’s . . . different. My father built him because of the pogroms. We were supposed to go to Lithuania . . . but then the fire happened. It all went wrong.
So he was made to be a weapon, said the man from the fire.
He’s my protector, and my friend, his master said, in uneasy protest. But . . . yes. That, too. He . . . She winced; and in her mind Yossele saw the basement hallway, his own twisted face. Something happened, today. Some girls played a prank on me, and—But he didn’t hurt anyone! she protested, at their dawning alarm. He was going to, but Miss Levy stopped him. And it was my own fault anyway. I was so angry at them, I wanted him to—but I didn’t think—She began to cry again.
Yossele put his head in his hands. She blamed herself for what he’d nearly done!
Kreindel, the man said, how did Miss Levy stop him?
She had a . . . a necklace, Kreindel said. She showed it to him and then ran away, and he ran after her.
Her old locket, Toby’s mother said, looking to the man in surprise.
A newer one, he muttered.
Beside Kreindel, Toby said, What’s so special about it? Did it hypnotize him or something?
It has a command inside it, the man said. It can destroy a golem. He was watching Kreindel as he said it.
It can? Kreindel said, almost a whisper. Shock and relief burst inside her—followed by horror, guilt, and anguish—and suddenly she was sobbing. She turned and pressed her face to the boy’s shoulder. Yossele felt him jump a bit, in surprise; then the boy’s arms went around her, and he held Kreindel while she cried.
They sat Kreindel in a wooden swivel chair belonging to an old, incongruous rolltop desk, hidden beneath the lowest of the platforms. It was, it seemed, the only chair in the building. Toby gave her his pocket handkerchief—she wondered, briefly, if it had come with the uniform—and then went to help the man he’d called Mister Ahmad scoop buckets of murky water out of a long, high trough. Mister Ahmad seemed unsteady on his feet; at one point he stopped and leaned against the edge of the trough, the bucket sloshing in his hands. Seeing this, Toby’s mother went to his side. “You should sit,” she told him. “You won’t feel any better if you spill that all over yourself.”
“I will feel better,” the man said, irritated, “when the forge is relit.”
“Sit down, Ahmad,” Toby’s mother repeated, her voice firm. “Now. Keep Kreindel company. Toby and I will do the rest.” And she took the bucket, not waiting for his assent.
He stood there a moment, clearly perplexed; and then, throwing up his hands, left them to their work and came to where Kreindel sat, just outside the shadow of the platform. She began to stand from the chair, but he shook his head and sat down on the floor beside her, his back against the wooden desk, an elbow on one knee. He was tall enough that they were nearly eye to eye. There was an awkward silence.
“So,” he said after a moment, “when did you meet Toby?”
“This morning.” Could it have only been that morning? How had so much happened in a single day?
The man glanced at her in surprise, as though he, too, thought it improbable. “And . . . Miss Levy?”
“A few days ago. They put me in her cooking class.”
“I see. Is she a good teacher?” He said this with a studied nonchalance.
“I think she must be. Her students all love her.”
A pause; he arched an eyebrow. “Except for you?”
Briefly she considered lying, but then shook her head. “No. But I didn’t give her a chance, either. And I might like her better . . . now that I know.”
He considered this, then nodded.
“Has she always been a teacher?” Kreindel said.
“Chava? No, she was a baker, for years,” he said.
Kreindel frowned. “I thought her name was Charlotte.”
“‘Charlotte’?” She saw him wince, deeply. “That’s . . . new.”
Her hands fidgeted with Toby’s handkerchief. After a moment she said, “May I ask you a question? It might be rude.”
“Go ahead.”
“What are you?”
A wry chuckle. “Must I be something?”
She glanced upward, at the hollow building and its steel creation.
“Well, yes, there is that.” He seemed to debate with himself, and then said, “I am what you would call a jinni.” He glanced across at her. “Here,” he said, and took her hand in both of his. Within moments her skin was almost too warm to bear. He let go, quickly.
“Oh,” she said, rubbing her hand in surprise. Her mind filled with questions; but seeing the look on his face, she bit them all back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been hiding for years,” he said quietly. “And now . . . perhaps I don’t know how not to hide.”
She nodded: that made sense. “I never told anyone about Yossele, until today.”
“He watches you through your eyes?”
“Yes. And he knows what I’m thinking.”
He thought a moment. “Even when it’s about him?”
She nodded.
They fell silent, watching Toby and his mother work. She was aware of being hungry, and deeply tired. What time was it? Past lights-out, certainly. With a start she realized that this was the longest she’d gone in years without hearing the Asylum bell.
The front door opened, making both of them look up. A man and a woman slipped inside, both carrying wooden crates. The woman had large, dark eyes and curly hair streaked with gray. Something about the sight of her made Kreindel feel better at once, as though a kindly nurse had arrived at her bedside. The man closed the door quickly, as though afraid someone might see them.
Next to Kreindel, Mister Ahmad made a sound of minor outrage. “Yes, come in, why not,” he said under his breath. His eyes looked pleased, though.
The pair set down the crates—and then the woman caught sight of the building’s interior for what was clearly the first time. Her eyes widened; her mouth opened in shock.
Mister Ahmad, Kreindel saw, was smiling.
* * *
Sophia woke slowly.
She lay in a crisply made bed. The room was dark and empty save for a table and a chair, and smelled harshly of soap. A hospital, then.
She sat up, carefully. They’d dressed her in a thin cotton gown; her stomach was tightly bandaged. She touched the spot where the bullet had entered her, and felt a row of stitches beneath the fabric. It ached slightly, but not nearly as much as she’d expected.
She pulled the bedclothes aside, swung her legs over the edge. The tile floor was cool beneath her feet. She stood, half expecting a rush of pain, or for the stitches to tear open—but neither happened. She felt . . . alert. Strong. Warm.
A whisper, in her mind. Sophia.
The jinniyeh was nearby. Sophia felt along the connection between them, that thin line of fire, and oriented herself like a compass-needle, turning in place until she was facing the window. She reached out, pulled back the curtain.
On the other side of the window, the jinniyeh floated: a veil of flame, constantly moving, ever-changing.
Sophia put a hand to the pane. Dima, she said. She could see herself through the jinniyeh’s eyes, like a second sight laid atop her own: a human face behind glass, faintly glimmering with new light.
They gazed at each other for long moments.
I ought to come in there, the jinniyeh said, and tear myself out of you.
For a moment Sophia was afraid that she might—but then she shook her head. You’d still have my knowledge. My words, my memories. You can’t unlearn what you’ve learned.
Stop gloating! the jinniyeh cried.
I’m not, Dima. I’m only saying what’s true.
A hitch in the air, like a sob. You’ve destroyed my life.
I’m sorry. I truly am. But you did this to yourself.
The jinniyeh sagged in the air. She turned, looking west to the river, only a block distant. Then I will end it myself.
Sophia said, Dima—
But already the jinniyeh had flown away.
* * *
The kind-eyed woman had brought supper to the Amherst.
Kreindel watched as she unpacked the crates and set their contents upon the worktable: loaves of flatbread, squares of baked meat mixed with grain and spices, a salad of crisp lettuces and cucumbers, a pot of coffee with cardamom. Kreindel recognized none of it, but it all smelled astonishingly good. Toby seemed to know the woman; he introduced his mother, and they shook hands. Then the woman’s husband joined Toby at the forge, and the two women began to portion out the food onto plates the woman had brought.
Kreindel, meanwhile, sat in her chair in the shadows, not knowing what to do. Beside her, Mister Ahmad looked just as confused.
The kind-eyed woman approached, carrying two plates. “Would you like something to eat?” she said in accented English.
“Yes, thank you,” Kreindel said.
The woman handed her a plate. “I’m Maryam,” she said. “And that’s my husband, Sayeed.” She gestured to the man helping Toby at the forge.
“I’m Kreindel. It’s nice to meet you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. How long had it been since she’d met so many new people at once?
Maryam smiled, and then turned to Mister Ahmad, a polite question on her face.
He looked unsure, uncomfortable; he put up a hand. “No, thank you,” he said. Maryam nodded, unperturbed, and took the plate to Toby instead.
Kreindel murmured the proper blessings and then examined the flatbread. It was raised along its edges and dimpled in the middle, with a golden tinge to the crust. She tore off a corner, bit into it. The bread was still warm from the oven, and the crust yielded to a fragrant middle that tasted richly of yeast and salt. It was, quite possibly, the most delicious thing that Kreindel had ever eaten. Tears sprang to her eyes again, for no reason that she could see. She wiped them on her sleeve, ate more of the bread.
Mister Ahmad was watching her sidelong, his expression one of regret. Without a word, she tore a piece from her flatbread and handed it to him. He took a bite, chewed with interest.
“Is it as good as Miss Levy’s bread?” she asked.
She’d thought it an innocent question—but he stopped chewing, then looked down at the bread in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never tried it.”
“You didn’t?” That was strange, wasn’t it? He’d said she’d been a baker for years . . .
“No,” he said. “I didn’t. And she was known for her challah. But I never tried—” His mouth tightened. Suddenly he stood and walked away, behind the column and out of sight.
Nearby, Toby paused in wolfing down his plate of food and gave Kreindel a quizzical look, then cocked his head in the direction the man had gone. She shook her head, quickly. Better, she thought, to let the man alone. And indeed Mister Ahmad returned only a few minutes later, carrying a bucket of coal. He said nothing, only poured the coal into the newly cleaned forge and went back for more. Toby finished eating, and joined in. So did Toby’s mother, and Sayeed—and soon the forge was filled. Then Mister Ahmad fetched a long-handled rake from a peg upon the wall and began to spread out the pieces to his liking. Intrigued, Kreindel set aside her plate and went to join the others, watching as he arranged the coal with quick strokes. Then he put down the rake and gazed around a moment, searching for something. “Kreindel,” he said, “would you bring me that bowl?”
He pointed to a large, cheerful bowl painted with lemons that sat upon the worktable beside her. Inside the bowl was a handful of broken wooden slats, from a crate of some kind. She carried the bowl to him, and watched as he arranged the wood in a small pyramid atop the coals.
He looked up, then, and Kreindel followed his gaze. Toby and Anna and the Faddouls had gathered around the forge too, all standing a few feet back from its edge—cautious, expectant, not quite certain of what was about to happen. It felt like a held breath, the pause before a blessing.
Mister Ahmad put a hand to the kindling.
At once the wood began to crackle. He held his hand there a moment, then lifted it away and pressed a switch on the wall behind him. A fan began to whir, pulling the flames along the bed of coal. In moments the entire forge had come alive, its heat spreading outward.
Kreindel closed her eyes, and whispered the Havdalah prayers to herself, for the end of the Sabbath. It wasn’t a proper ceremony; she had no spice-box, no braided candle, no cup of wine. But perhaps tonight, just this once, it didn’t matter.
Yossele, she thought, I know you’re out there. I still love you. And for a moment she could feel cold, dark water all around, and an answering pulse of love and sadness—and then the sensation faded.
In the river, Yossele sat beneath the rusted crane, thinking.
He’d never known—because neither had Kreindel—that there could be people like this in the world. Ordinary people, like Toby and Anna and the Faddouls, who might learn her secrets and still accept her, understand her. Who could protect her when necessary, and hold her when she cried.
His master, it seemed, didn’t have to hide anymore. He, Yossele, was separate from his master—and his master no longer required a golem.
It ought to have angered him. Instead, he only felt relief. He could make this decision for her; he could lift this weight from her shoulders.
He left the shelter of the crane, and began to walk south again, toward his master.
* * *
Night fell along the docklands.
In the pier-sheds, watchmen strolled between the stacked boxes, light spilling from their lanterns. Car-floats bumped up against the docks, their boxcars heavy with cargo. Stevedores whose shifts had ended strolled across West Street to the taverns, or took their week’s pay to the back rooms of terminal houses, where men sat upon wooden crates and dealt out hands of rummy.
The Golem surfaced at the end of a freight pier.
She found a ladder nailed to the pilings and climbed upward, pausing at the top to make certain that she was alone. The pier-shed rose before her, a narrow walkway beside it. A pair of barges was tied to the pier, the river lapping at their hulls.
She pulled herself onto the wooden deck, sat and wiped the water from her face. Where was she? She squinted down the pier, and saw the words Baltimore & Ohio Freight painted in white on the terminal house. She must be at Jay Street, then. Only a few blocks from Carlisle, and the Amherst.
She wrung out her jacket, squeezed handfuls of muck from her skirt. Her boots and stockings were ruined, gashed to ribbons by the river’s jetsam. She took them off and set them beside her, then looked out over the water, wondering where Yossele was. She wished she could’ve held on more tightly . . . She’d have to face Kreindel, and tell her what had happened. She and Toby must have reached the Amherst, by now.
She stood, keeping to the shadows, judging her options. She could go back into the water and walk the rest of the way to Carlisle, counting the piers as she went—but if she overshot she’d end up in the bay, where the currents might be difficult to navigate. Could she risk taking West Street instead? It was nighttime, but the streets weren’t deserted by any means—and she was alone, wet, and bedraggled, not to mention barefoot.
The back of her neck prickled. Something was approaching—a mind, a presence . . .
She turned, and saw a light in the sky.
* * *
The Jinni stood beside the forge, his arms crossed, looking into its depths.
There’d been a brief discussion, verging on argument. Sayeed, they’d decided, would go to the Hotel Earle in the Jinni’s stead, and look for Sophia. When the Jinni had insisted that he was recovered enough to make the trip, they’d reminded him that, according to Kreindel, there were two golems in the river heading toward Little Syria, and it might be best for all involved if he was there when they arrived. It all made very good sense—and yet it left the Jinni stuck in one place, waiting for others, which was exactly what he’d wished to avoid.
It’s my own fault, he thought ruefully. I opened the door, and they came in.
He looked around. Kreindel was dozing in Arbeely’s chair; Toby, sitting beside her on the floor, was likewise asleep, his head against the desk. Maryam was packing away her supper things, with help from Anna. He caught Maryam’s eye; she came over, and he handed her the cream-and-yellow mixing bowl. “Thank you,” he said.
She smiled—as always, it didn’t quite reach her eyes—but then paused at his expression. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not wrong. I only wanted to tell you . . . I’m leaving New York.”
To his surprise, she seemed neither glad nor relieved, only puzzled. “You are? But—where will you go?”
“Back to the desert. I’ve had . . . an offer, I suppose. From one of my kind, another exile. She wants me to come live with her, so that neither of us are alone.”
“Oh. I see.”
His mouth quirked. “Of course, that was before she nearly murdered me. But I don’t think she meant it,” he said to Maryam’s shocked expression, “and I believe her offer still stands. And even if it doesn’t . . . Maryam, I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I never did. Maybe it was just easier to pretend when Arbeely was still alive.” He glanced over to the desk and chair, and their sleeping occupants. “I think Ahmad al-Hadid died too, that night,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t realize it at the time.”
“If this is what you truly want, then I’m glad for you,” she said. “But what will you do there, in the desert?”
He chuckled. “I have no idea. Perhaps I’ll build the Amherst again, where no one can see it.”
She looked slightly appalled. “But—Ahmad, talents such as yours are meant to be shared.”
“I don’t know what else I can do,” he said. “I can’t just wander the earth like an accursed spirit for the next six centuries. I’m only content when I’m making something new—but who’d ever look at the Amherst and believe that I’m human?”
Maryam’s eyes had widened. “Six centuries? Is that how much longer you’ll live?”
“Barring malice, accident, or my own idiocy, yes.”
She began to laugh, one hand to her mouth, all wariness fallen away. “Oh, Ahmad. Forgive me, but—how long have you been here, with us?”
“It’ll be sixteen years, this summer.”
“And how many changes have there been, in those sixteen years? How many inventions, how many new marvels?”
He frowned. “I . . . don’t understand.”
“Do you remember the first automobiles? Or when the subway opened?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “I remember all of it. The telephones. The Woolworth Building.”
“Exactly. All in sixteen years. And you have another six hundred ahead of you. How long will it be, do you think, before we ordinary humans begin to make our own Amhersts? How long before there’s an Amherst on every corner?”
He stared at her, and then looked upward.
“We’re going to catch up to you,” she told him, smiling. “And more quickly than you’d expect. If you’re not careful, we’ll pull ahead. All you have to do is wait.”
* * *
The jinniyeh flew toward the river.
Some say, she told herself, that the iron-bound jinni was last seen crossing into the Ghouta, perhaps to drown himself, and thus end his unhappy life.
The river stretched north and south, its shoreline a sharp edge, the piers lying across it like fallen wheat. Ferries, barges, freight terminals, she thought. She could feel Sophia trying to grab her attention, pleading with her to stop; she ignored the woman and kept going, flying out over the nearest pier, aiming toward the middle of the river. Jersey City, she thought in despair, as she gazed toward the opposite shore. Hoboken. She didn’t want to die—but she didn’t want to live, either. Not like this. She gathered herself, shuddering in fear—
“Wait!” a woman’s voice cried out.
Startled, she halted in the air, turned—and saw the figure at the end of the pier.
In her shock, the Golem could only think of the Jinni’s golden embroidery. Never would she have mistaken it for a jinniyeh if she’d seen this creature first. This was no fire-winged girl, but a living, blazing aurora, a veil of flame that twisted in the air.
The jinniyeh descended and began to circle her slowly, examining her with a curiosity so intense that it was nearly unbearable. Her thoughts assailed the Golem, images and emotions bursting from her mind and vanishing again, too quickly for sense.
—You aren’t human, the jinniyeh said. You are something else. A creature of earth, made by human hands. What are you?
The windblown language, too, was like nothing the Golem had ever heard. The words were brief, yet they held oceans of meaning: a language with depth enough to satisfy centuries of exploration, so one might describe a rock, a sunset, a lover, all to the final detail.
Oh, Ahmad, she thought, amazed. I see what you lost. I understand.
The jinniyeh was still circling her, studying her. Then, suddenly she pulled back.—You’re a wizard’s automaton, she said. The tales of the Cursed City were full of monsters like you. Who controls you?
But the Golem stayed warily silent. She could hardly bear the rush of images, both familiar and strange. A desert valley, littered with fallen ruins. The Washington Square Arch, seen from above. The Amherst’s forge, and the Jinni lying atop it, beneath her—
The Golem flinched.
And in the hospital room, watching it all with that new second sight, Sophia thought in surprise, Chava?
—Chava? the jinniyeh said, incredulous. The baker that the iron-bound one spoke of? His ‘friend?’ But he led me to believe that you were human, not some thrice-damned—
Dima, Sophia thought quickly. Be careful. Don’t make an enemy of her.
“Dima,” the monster said.
The jinniyeh started in surprise.
“That’s what Sophia Winston calls you.”
—How could you know that? she snarled.
“I can see her in your thoughts,” the monster said, her tone puzzled. “Though I don’t know how.”
—Is my mind an open carcass now, to be picked over by passing jackals? Get out—
She broke off, shuddering in pain as the damp night air pressed against her injuries.
And Sophia winced too, one hand to her stomach, feeling Dima’s pain as well as her own.
“You’re hurt,” the monster said. “Both of you.”
—Stop that, the jinniyeh snapped. Why had he lied to her? Was it to protect the creature? But why would he do such a thing? Sophia had known her on sight . . .
The memory came to her, then.
A high-ceilinged dining-room, a roaring fireplace. The tall woman bursting through the door, an unconscious man carried in her arms, her face a mask of desperation, of—love?
—Six directions, the jinniyeh whispered. You were—but he said, after Sophia, he swore—Ah. ‘Never another human.’ I failed to see the exception. He must have been lonely indeed, to have lowered himself so.
Anger flared in the monster’s eyes, was carefully tamped down. Good, the jinniyeh thought: she greatly preferred it to the concern and pity she’d seen there a moment ago. Why, she wondered, had the monster called out when she’d seen her? Why not simply let her drown herself?
“Because you were in pain,” the monster said. “And this isn’t a battlefield. We aren’t enemies, even if you think we are.”
—Of course we’re enemies, said the jinniyeh. How could we possibly be anything else?
“We can simply choose not to be. I can help you, Dima. Whatever’s happened to you and Sophia—we can navigate it together. You don’t have to be alone.”
Dima, please, Sophia thought. Neither of us wanted this. But maybe she’s right, and there’s a way forward.
What was Sophia saying? That they should all become allies? Friends?
I know, thought Sophia. Jinn don’t have friends. But perhaps, just this once, you could change that.
But—she doesn’t know what I’ve done, thought the jinniyeh.
The monster went still. “What did you do? What’s happened?”
The jinniyeh hesitated—
—but in an overwhelming flash of her memory, the Golem saw it all: the battle, the broken pipe, the flooded forge. The Jinni, lying in the water.
The Golem staggered. “Ahmad,” she whispered; then turned, and ran for the shore.
—Stop! the jinniyeh called—but the monster was already halfway down the pier, her bare feet shaking the boards.
Rage and shame overwhelmed the jinniyeh. She’d lost far too much—and the worst of it was that, for a moment, she’d allowed herself to weaken, and believe as they did. To become just a little bit human.
Enough of this. She’d decided to extinguish herself—and she would die like a jinniyeh. She’d make this pier into a battlefield, whether the monster wished it or not.
She flew higher, and gathered the winds.
A breeze began.
The hanging signs on the Jay Street establishments began to sway. Pedestrians clutched at their hats; dust and gravel skittered across the bricks.
The Golem stood motionless upon the pier, straining against the whirlwind that had trapped her.
* * *
The wind spread outward.
The tenement windows facing West Street began to rattle, the trash to stir in the gutters. Men up and down the docklands rushed to tie down stacks of cargo as the barges knocked against the pilings.
A dozen blocks south, on a car-float tied to a pier at the end of Carlisle Street, Yossele slipped between the boxcars.
He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, steadying himself as the float rocked on the waves. Soon he was crouched at the bow. It would be an easy leap to the wharf, but conspicuous; and then there was the wide expanse of West Street to cross, an open space overlooked by hundreds of tenement windows.
He thought a moment—and then turned back to the boxcars. All were empty; some stood open. In the second one he checked, he found a stack of gray canvas tarpaulins.
For the first time in his life, Yossele smiled.
Master, he thought, I’m coming.
In the Amherst, Kreindel stirred in her chair and sat up. “He’s here,” she said.
* * *
The waves on the river had turned to whitecaps. Out in the shipping channel, the buoys clanged like a carillon. Signs on the storefronts tore themselves from their hangers, and were sent whipping down the piers.
The Golem clenched her teeth and placed one foot in front of the other. One step. Good. Now another step. Keep moving. Spray flew about her face; the pier vibrated beneath her like a tuning-fork. The jinniyeh was far above, directing the gale—and so the Golem felt none of her opponent’s anger and hatred, only the indifferent wind.
Another step. Shingles blew past from the pier-sheds. A billboard came loose from a rooftop and flew into the air like a kite. Again. Again. But it was growing more difficult. She stood now at the center of a hurricane, the boards slick beneath her bare feet. She slipped backward, fell to one knee.
The winds pressed down, crushing her.
The pain in Sophia’s stomach was growing worse.
She braced herself against it and watched from the window as a cart overturned on West Street. All the pedestrians were gone, fled indoors.
Dima, she thought desperately. Don’t.
But the jinniyeh ignored her, intent on the winds that threatened to rip her apart, pouring every last part of herself into the battle—
Including the part that was inside Sophia.
The woman doubled over in agony as the flame that sustained her began to waver. Dima! she thought, her teeth chattering with cold. You’ll kill me!
Sophia!
The jinniyeh spasmed with Sophia’s pain. A chill swept over her, worse than any mountain wind. Six directions, the woman wouldn’t survive this—
It doesn’t matter, the jinniyeh told herself. She was just a human! One among thousands, millions—
And yet suddenly she mattered greatly.
Sophia must have cried out, for women in white now gathered around her, talking in stern voices. They carried her to the bed, affixed tight straps to her arms and legs. Sophia tried to struggle against them, but she had no strength. Her vision dimmed.
Dima, please, she thought—
And with a cry of despair the jinniyeh let go.
The howling winds relented; the dreadful weight began to lift.
The Golem staggered to her feet in the quiet. The jinniyeh hung above her, torn, her light guttering. She wavered in the air, fell—
“Dima!” the Golem shouted—
Let her help you, thought Sophia weakly—
—and at the last moment twisted into human form and collapsed upon the deck.
The Golem scooped her up, and raced down the pier.
* * *
The Jinni opened the alley door and went out into the night, Kreindel following close behind.
The wind had picked up considerably; the streets seemed deserted. Kreindel wrapped her thin coat tightly around herself, shivering. Together they stood at the alley entrance, staring down Carlisle toward the river.
“Will I know him when I see him?” the Jinni murmured.
Just then a vast dark shape sped across West Street, moving from shadow to shadow. The Jinni felt a series of distant thrums beneath his feet. Six directions, were those footsteps?
“That’s him,” Kreindel whispered.
A moment later the shape was moving up Carlisle, draped in a voluminous cloak—no, a tarpaulin, the sort the dockworkers used. The shape drew nearer; it grew and grew, became an enormous human figure—
Kreindel sobbed once, and ran the last few steps to him.
The golem knelt, and took her in his arms. For a horrible moment the Jinni was certain the girl would be crushed; but Yossele only held her as she cried on his shoulder. Something in the Jinni twisted uneasily as he watched. This was the creature he was supposed to destroy? And—where was Chava?
“Kreindel,” he whispered, “we must get back to the alley.”
At once Yossele carried his master into the alley entrance and set her down by the door. The Jinni surveyed the street once, then followed.
“Yossele,” Kreindel whispered, “this is Ahmad.”
The Jinni stared up into a broad, lumpish face half hidden by the tarpaulin’s folds. The glass eyes peered at him—and then Yossele seemed to start in surprise. He looked to Kreindel, and then to the Jinni again. The massive hands lifted—
The Jinni tensed—
—only to flutter in the air between them, the blunt fingers waving.
“Yossele?” Kreindel said, unsure.
“It’s my face,” the Jinni said, realizing. “He sees the flames. Chava—Miss Levy—can see them, too, when she looks at me. But others can’t.”
“Really?” said Kreindel.
The gigantic head nodded.
“I thought Miss Levy would be with you,” the Jinni said.
In response Yossele bent and took Kreindel’s hand, and then slowly let go. He looked up at the Jinni, to see if he understood.
The Jinni nodded, growing worried. Was she still in the water? Was she trapped somewhere?
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Kreindel said, though her voice sounded less than certain.
“You should go inside,” the Jinni told them. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
Yossele had to duck and angle sideways to fit through the alley door. On the other side, still out of sight of the others, Kreindel said, “Yossele, wait.”
He looked down at her quizzically, head cocked, as though to say, What is it? She couldn’t remember him ever being so expressive. Was it Miss Levy’s influence? He still held the tarpaulin around himself; she pulled it from his shoulders. “That’s better,” she said. “You don’t have to hide, here.”
He looked past her, to where the others were.
“They might be scared of you at first,” she said. “That’s only natural. My father built you to be frightening. But he hoped that you’d be gentle, too.” She cleared her throat, nervous. In truth she wasn’t nearly so calm. What if something went wrong, what if she thought the wrong thing and made him attack—No, don’t think about it, don’t remember how he looked in the hallway, don’t! Her chin wavered; her tired, reddened eyes filled again.
He stood sadly, watching her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head, and put a hand to his chest. No. I am.
She smiled through her tears. “Did Miss Levy teach you to do that?”
He nodded.
“I’m glad.” She wiped her eyes with Toby’s handkerchief and said, “Let’s introduce you to the others.”
“Toby?”
The boy looked up from the workbench, where he’d been poking through a tool-box. Kreindel stood a few feet away—and behind her was the biggest creature Toby had ever seen.
“Toby, this is Yossele,” Kreindel said.
Holy smokes, Toby thought.
Her golem stared at him with marble eyes. Toby stared back, terrified. His mother was nearby, with Maryam; her face had gone utterly white. She looked ready to attack Yossele herself, to grab Toby and run.
It’s all right, Toby thought, pushing back his fright. He’s calm now. Kreindel’s in control of him. “Yossele,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Toby.” And he stuck out a hand.
Behind him, Anna stifled a gasp.
Yossele stared down at Toby’s hand. Then, very carefully, he closed his own around it, lifted once, twice, and let go.
“Huh,” Toby said, startled.
Beside Yossele, Kreindel glowed like a proud mother.
Maryam squeezed Anna’s arm in reassurance, then came to where Toby stood. “Hello, Yossele,” she said, smiling up at the massive gray head. “I’m Maryam.” And she, too, shook his hand.
Toby turned to look at his mother. She stood unmoving, her eyes hard with fear.
Yossele put up a hand: It’s all right. Then, slowly, he bowed his head to Anna.
Please, Ma, Toby thought.
After a moment Anna nodded back, a small, stiff motion.
Toby cast her a look of fervent gratitude. The glare that she gave him in return promised him the worst tongue-lashing of his life.
* * *
The Jinni stood in the alley entrance on Carlisle, thinking.
An Amherst on every corner. Was Maryam right? Did he merely need to be patient and wait for humanity to catch up to him? He had to admit, it was an intriguing thought. His own hidden abilities turned commonplace. Ordinary. What would it be like, to be ordinary again?
The night air felt harsher than usual against his skin. He knew he ought to return to the forge before his injuries caught up with him—but he wanted to spend a few more minutes by himself, away from the unlikely community inside. After so long in solitude, he felt overwhelmed, exposed. He wondered what he’d regret having said aloud, when all of this was over.
Distantly, through the dying wind, came the sound of someone running.
He stepped out onto Carlisle, looked up and down the street. No one. But the footsteps were coming closer, and quickly.
He walked down the block to West Street and peered north. A figure was running toward him down the empty street. A woman, tall and fast, carrying someone.
He went still.
He was alive. Alive, and standing in the middle of West Street as though he’d been waiting there all this time.
In her relief she nearly careened into him, but then remembered the jinniyeh. She slowed, holding tight to her passenger—and saw him realize who it was that she carried.
She stopped a few feet away, his lover in her arms.
Chava, he nearly said; but his voice caught on the name.
She looked down at the jinniyeh, then came toward him. “She’s badly hurt. She needs a fire.”
Numbly he took the jinniyeh from her. Her features were far too dim, her eyes barely open. He wondered how all of this had come to pass, then put it aside for later. The Golem stood nervous, hesitant—as though unsure of her welcome now that she’d delivered her burden.
“You should come inside,” he told her. “Yossele is here.”
He saw her flinch—at his words, or Yossele’s presence, or all of it, perhaps. “Kreindel, too?”
“And Toby, and Anna, and the Faddouls.”
That surprised her. She peered at him, bemused—and he could sense the questions she would ask, the conversations that would surely follow, their shared ways and habits waiting to be donned like old, familiar garments. But then she said only, “Is the forge lit?”
He nodded, unable to speak.
“Then let’s get her out of the cold.”
Inside, there was a quick knock at the front door.
It was Sayeed, returned from the Hotel Earle. Maryam hurried to his side, murmured quickly; and Toby watched as Sayeed looked past her to Yossele, sitting on the floor beside Kreindel. Yossele saw the newcomer, and stood. Sayeed took several deep and steadying breaths before nodding hello. Yossele nodded back.
“Was there anything at the hotel?” Anna asked.
“Perhaps,” Sayeed said, tearing his gaze from Yossele with difficulty. “The manager was in a state, he threatened to have me thrown out of the lobby—but I heard one of the guests say that—”
He broke off at the sound of the alley door opening, and a commotion of quick footsteps. From around the central column the Jinni appeared, along with the Golem, and—
“What on earth?” Anna murmured, staring at the naked woman in the Jinni’s arms. She looked to Toby, wondering if she ought to make him close his eyes—but he was already at the Jinni’s side, peering at the woman as though he knew her. “What happened?” said Toby. “Will she be okay?”
“I don’t know,” the Jinni muttered.
Carefully he placed the jinniyeh atop the burning coals. She lay there unmoving, surrounded by flames, a fairy-princess in her enchanted bower. Maryam crossed herself at the sight.
Behind them all, the Golem had stopped in the middle of the room, and now stared up at the Amherst in amazement. She turned to look for its creator—and saw him at the forge, surrounded by the others, all watching the woman on the coals. She hesitated, then walked to the other side of the forge and stood there, alone.
Something in her pained expression made Anna soften. It was the face of every Waverly Laundry girl who’d watched a former suitor stroll past the window with his new love, and who now had to work among her peers as though nothing had happened. Anna caught the Golem’s eye, then looked to the Jinni, whose own face was dark with worry. The Golem nodded slightly. Anna sighed, and shook her head in disbelief.
Yossele, too, had noticed Miss Levy’s sadness, and how she stood far away from the others. Kreindel, next to him, squeezed his hand. It’s all right, she told him. You can go to her.
He looked down at her upturned face, and then let go of her hand and went to where Miss Levy stood. She glanced up at his approach—
Just as, in the coals, the jinniyeh stirred.
Slowly the world came into focus. She was in human form, lying atop a fire. An ominous steel moon floated above her. The Amherst, she realized, and shuddered. She’d fought the automaton, had nearly torn herself apart in the process, but then—
Sophia. Had the woman survived?
I’m still here, Dima, came the answer, weak but clear.
The jinniyeh sat up in the coals. A host of faces stared back at her. Her lover was among them, his expression wary but hopeful. The rest were humans, young and old. Dimly she recognized one as the boy from the hotel room, standing beside a girl of similar age. But where was the automaton? The jinniyeh wouldn’t be comfortable until she knew . . .
Suddenly her lover said, “Wait. Don’t turn around. You should know, there’s someone—”
The jinniyeh turned around—and shrieked.
My God, Sophia cried in her mind, what is that?
The monster was gigantic, hideous, a demon risen from the depths of every terrifying story she’d ever heard. The jinniyeh scrabbled backwards in fright, then loosed her form and flew toward her lover, who stood with the children—
And Yossele roared.
It was an eruption, an avalanche of sound, as though years of fury had come unstuck from his throat all at once. The others scattered in fright as he strode toward them, his face dark with anger, his gaze fixed upon the glowing veil of flame that had come so dangerously close to his master.
The jinniyeh fled backward, towards the central column and its staircase. Yossele followed her, fists swinging.
“Yossele, wait!” Miss Levy cried behind him. “She’s a jinniyeh, she’s like Ahmad!”
But even with the faculties Miss Levy had given him, Yossele had no way to comprehend this. The fire was alive, it floated through the air; he could see it, but his master couldn’t. It could only be a menace.
“Kreindel!” the Jinni shouted. “Stop him! You can’t see her, but he can!”
“Yossele!” Kreindel cried. “Whatever it is, stop!”
It was no use. The jinniyeh had retreated between two of the steel platforms; he lunged toward her, landing a blow upon the lower one and denting it deeply. He grabbed its edge and pulled himself up, following her—and the stem that connected the platform to the column bent at once beneath his weight. He slid, recovered, ran up the now-tilting surface, and hurled himself at the jinniyeh.
His fist passed through her. Unbalanced, he crashed through the staircase and struck the central column with his shoulder.
There was a sound like the tolling of an enormous bell. The Amherst roof shook. Dust floated down from the arches.
“Get everybody out!” the Jinni shouted to Maryam.
Kreindel was on the floor, sobbing, her face in her hands. Toby ran to her, but Sayeed was quicker; he lifted the girl into his arms and sped toward the alley door, Maryam and Toby and Anna behind him.
The jinniyeh flew upward, out of Yossele’s reach. Yossele followed, hauling himself up the broken staircase and jumping onto the next platform, which bent just as its sibling had, like a flower with a broken stem.
The Jinni watched, his mind racing.
It isn’t strong enough, he thought. It can’t withstand the weight. I never accounted for the weight of others, of people. Of anything that wasn’t itself. That’s what was missing.
He looked up at the beautiful secret he’d built, and remembered the neighbors, ready to come knocking. The children, who’d surely love to play upon such a creation.
He ran to the alley door, where Maryam was quickly ushering the others out. “Maryam,” he said, “the Amherst—it’s dangerous, and I never realized. It has to come down. Can you keep everyone away?”
Her eyes went wide with fright, but then she nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
He shut the door behind them, ran back. The Golem was desperately calling for Yossele to stop, and for a moment his head turned toward her, as though he might listen . . .
But by now the jinniyeh’s terror had subsided. The monster was powerful, but he couldn’t hurt her, so long as she remained formless. She looked to her lover, and the creatures he’d aligned himself with; and then at the building she so hated, its bent and dented platforms.
Let it become another ruin, she thought.
She flew closer to Yossele and then darted backwards, taunting him. Again he chased after her.
“Stop!” the Golem shouted again, despairing.
“No, wait,” said the Jinni, at her side. “Let them, Chava.”
“Let them?” she said, bewildered.
“Maryam is warning the neighbors. It comes down tonight.”
“But—” She looked up at the building she’d barely had a chance to see. This took him years, she thought. “Ahmad, are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’m sure.”
She turned to him, a host of questions upon her lips—and then Yossele struck the column again.
Glass fell from the arches in a hail of blue shards as the jinniyeh dodged another fist. Yossele hurled himself at her—and this time, when he collided with the column, something shifted.
There was a screech of rending metal. The central column leaned to one side, dragging the arches with it, twisting them out of their alignment. With an ear-splitting shriek, the topmost section of the column broke free.
The arches gave way—and the roof collapsed.
Bricks and girders, tar-paper and cigarette butts all tumbled around them. The Jinni grabbed the Golem and brought her beneath the shelter of the column, which stood like a broken redwood, its branches bent. The night sky appeared above, moonlight shining through the dust.
With a slow, strange grandeur, one of the upper platforms crashed edge-first into the forge.
Coals scattered to the outer walls. The metal crumpled like tissue and began to melt. Flames climbed the window-paper, the showroom curtains. Beneath the column, the Golem and the Jinni held each other in the wreckage as, above them, Yossele and the jinniyeh kept on fighting: no longer out of fear or self-defense, but in matched exhilaration, a dark and destructive joy.
Another shudder; and the hole in the roof grew. A round-sided structure came into view, listing toward them—
The Jinni said, “Is that—”
The Golem grabbed him and ran out from beneath the column’s shadow as the water tower toppled from its platform and burst apart.
A vast flood of water poured down the column. It missed the jinniyeh by inches—she screamed and flew to safer air—and struck Yossele like a battering ram. He tumbled backward, fell three stories, and crashed to the ground. The deluge covered him in an instant, a wave spreading outward. It reached the Golem, who picked up the Jinni and threw him onto the forge as the water knocked her off her feet. He landed in the coals, which hissed and spat as the wave broke around the forge’s housing. The wave struck the outer wall, rebounded, rippled, stilled.
Silence.
The jinniyeh hung in the air.
Below her was a shallow sea full of broken, twisted metal. The two monsters lay in the water, submerged. Her lover stood atop the forge, gazing around at the wreckage. He looked up to her; his face was grim.
The woman-creature stood from the water, wiped her hair back from her face. She, too, looked around with chagrin, and saw her hideous counterpart trapped beneath one of the fallen girders. She went to him, lifted the girder away. He sat up, his anger apparently spent—but he wouldn’t look at any of them, only sat there in the water.
Already the flood was receding, carried away by the drains in the floor. Gingerly her lover stepped down from the forge, and went to the woman. A quick murmur between them, words of concern. Are you all right. I think so, and you.
Watching, listening, the jinniyeh felt as though she was back at Washington Square Park, gazing through cold panes of glass into lives that she’d never comprehend. She had no place here; nor did she want one.
She looked up at the hole in the roof, the sky beyond. She would return to the desert, she decided. She could manage it herself, now. The sailing schedules in the newspapers. The ticket offices in the docklands. She’d use her accursed knowledge to go back—and then she’d find a way to cut the humanity out of herself, even if it took the rest of her life to do it.
Dima, Sophia pleaded—
“Dima,” the Golem called—
Dima? the Jinni thought in confusion—
But the jinniyeh was already gone.
Below, the pair stood together, numb and unsure. Voices came from outside: a crowd murmuring, and Maryam telling them to wake their neighbors, to make certain that everyone was out—
“What do we do now?” the Golem said in dismay.
The Jinni looked around. Even now, the Amherst’s wreckage had a certain splendor, as though it were the toppled city of some unimaginable race. Yossele and the jinniyeh had done much of the work for them—but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
He looked to the burning forge, and the wooden remains of the water tower, arranged conveniently around the column. He thought of the bucket of powdered magnesium in the workshop cabinet; he’d bought it long ago on a whim, meaning to experiment with alloys. The wood was damp, but the magnesium would help.
“We melt it down,” he told her. “As much of it as we can.”
The onlookers crowded Washington Street, all of them drawn outside by the news that something strange was happening inside the Amherst. They milled about, whispering and speculating, many in pajamas beneath their overcoats and slippers upon their feet. No one knew quite what was going on, only that the most horrible noises had been heard inside the building: crashes, shouts, inhuman shrieks. Maryam and Sayeed had recruited a handful of men to keep everyone back, away from the sidewalk. Murmurs ran through the crowd: ought they to knock? Break down the door? Could the Bedouin still be in there?
Suddenly, flames leapt behind the papered windows.
People cried out, pushed back. The flames were a strange, blinding white; they traveled through the building, floating between the floors, igniting whatever lay in their path. Before long it seemed that the entire interior was ablaze.
The crowd stood silent in shock, and not a little satisfaction. This was no accidental tenement fire. The outer walls refused to burn; no flames leapt from the roof, to endanger others. Later, it would be whispered that the Faddouls had been seen earlier that evening going into and out of the building, carrying something in a box. Whatever was inside the Amherst, whatever menace it had contained, it had been dealt with.
By the time the firemen arrived, there was little left for them to do. The fire had burned itself out. Inside, they found only a hollow shell littered with melted, twisted wreckage, its roof open to the stars. And no one saw Sayeed Faddoul slip around the corner onto Carlisle and then usher three figures—one enormous, and covered in a tarpaulin—out of the alley and down onto West Street, away from the commotion.
The storage room of the Faddouls’ coffee-shop was small and dark, with barely enough room for the three people inside it. The Blumbergs sat together, dozing, their backs against the burlap sacks of roasted beans. Kreindel sat across from them, awake despite her fatigue. She could still feel Yossele’s rage in some distant part of her mind. It had felt horribly right to him, and thus to her as well: an avenging anger, its very existence its own justification.
The back door opened; footsteps, in the hallway. It was the Faddouls, followed by the three fugitives from the Amherst. Anna and Toby started awake to see the Jinni standing in the doorway, dressed in little more than singed rags. Anna’s eyes widened. “Is it done? Was anyone hurt?”
“It’s done,” the Jinni said. “And no one was hurt.”
“Thank God,” Anna sighed. And then, guardedly: “Where is . . . the other one? Your friend?”
Not his friend, Toby thought.
“She’s gone,” the Jinni said quietly.
“Oh,” said Anna.
Without another word the Jinni withdrew. More footsteps—and then Yossele was there, his glass eyes glinting beneath the tarpaulin.
The Blumbergs stiffened.
Yossele glanced at the doorway: too small for him, the room too tight. Everyone inside that room feared him, for good reason. He walked past, into the coffee-house.
Kreindel went out into the darkened hallway, and found Miss Levy. Soot covered her clothing and streaked her face, giving her a hollow-eyed look.
Kreindel had thought herself too exhausted for tears, but they filled her eyes again. “Miss Levy,” she said, “I don’t know how . . . I can’t. I can’t even think it, or . . .”
The Golem nodded. “I know, Kreindel. It’s all right. I’ll do it.”
In the main room of the coffee-house, Yossele sat between the tables, his head in his hands.
The others had discussed what was about to happen. Sayeed and Maryam stood near the front door, Toby and Anna near the back hallway. All could run, escape, if they needed to. But it felt wrong to simply turn their backs and leave.
Kreindel stood beside the Jinni, trying to keep her mind steady. She pictured the maze, the alcove. Hands, reaching for each other in the dark.
Next to her, the Jinni watched, tense, as the Golem approached Yossele. The locket was in her hand. She looked to the Jinni—his face was unreadable—and put her thumb to the latch.
The locket sprang open. The paper inside was dry and undamaged; it fell into her hand, a tightly folded square. Her mind clamored at her: He is the only other of your kind. Your time together was far too brief. There can be so much more. With effort she pushed it all aside. This was her responsibility. She would put an end to the danger that Yossele had become, just as she would put an end to herself if she thought it necessary.
She opened the first fold of the square—and there on the paper, just before it opened completely, the Jinni had written:
But you deserve life.
She dropped the paper, put a hand to her mouth. A sound like a sob escaped her throat. Blindly she turned away—and he came to her and gathered her tightly in his arms. She closed her eyes, buried her face in his shoulder.
A giant hand plucked the paper from the floor.
For a moment, Kreindel thought Yossele would tear it to shreds. But he merely cupped the paper in his palm, like something precious: a blossom, an egg. He reached out, offered it to Kreindel.
“No, Yossele,” she whispered. “Not me.”
In the Jinni’s arms, the Golem trembled as Yossele fought against his master’s wishes. Slowly the giant, grave head nodded. Yes. You.
The girl wiped the tears from her face. She looked around the room: at Toby and his mother, at the Faddouls. People whom she barely knew, but who’d shown her more kindness in the last few hours than anyone had in years. And now, they were trusting her to make the right choice.
The girl lifted the paper from Yossele’s hand. She opened the first fold, and then the second. She read the Hebrew letters there, the words that the Jinni remembered writing as though they’d been dragged from his soul. The Golem’s face was still pressed to his shoulder—but he knew that she’d feel it all. She had no choice. She couldn’t turn away from that weight. And so he decided that he wouldn’t turn away, either. He’d learn to bear what he could.
Kreindel folded the paper again, slipped it into her pocket. Tears still dotted her lashes, but now her expression was composed, steady. All the sadness, it seemed, belonged to Yossele, who sat with his rough head bowed, staring at the floor. She stepped closer and embraced him, her arms around his shoulders. Her lips went to his ear; he tilted his head, as though listening to a secret.
With a sound like skittering leaves, Yossele came apart. Each piece of him crumbled bit by bit, dissolving into what it once had been. Within moments, there was only a mound of earth, rich and fragrant with spring.
Kreindel stood alone, weeping.