Bluma skittered back, out of reach of its long arms, and she watched with horror as the demon began to realize its situation:

It was caught halfway through.

Stiff with terror, the demon looked down in the direction of its feet.

But there were no feet to be seen. The demon simply stopped, as if cut in half by the threshold of the cemetery.

For a long moment, tense with fright, the demon barely moved. Bluma could hear its rasping breath echoing out through the dim of the night.

And then, with a light so bright Bluma had to look away, the demon began to burn, yelling, screaming so loud that curtains drew back in nearby bedroom windows.

But it was not the threat of discovery that made Bluma fly, sprinting, down the cobbled lane.

It was the screaming.

She couldn’t stand the screaming.

On and on Bluma ran, deeper and deeper into sleeping Zubinsk, the scream ebbing away behind. Zubinsk was much larger than Tupik, all high brick row houses and glassy-eyed storefronts, and in no time at all, Bluma had thoroughly lost her bearings.

Soon the screaming was subsumed in snowy silence. Bluma slowed to a trot, and then to a walk.

The streets were hushed all around her, cushioned with accumulated snow, and the wind grumbled softly, as if it wanted to go home.

Gradually, Bluma’s walk slowed to a creep. It seemed wrong to disturb the heavy silence of the night, and she found herself fighting to hush her panting breath.

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

The sound was anything but certain—hidden behind the moaning wind like frozen earth beneath the snow.

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

Without meaning it, Bluma began to quicken the pace of her steps once more.

She was not running. She didn’t need to. There was nothing behind her.

Nothing.

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

As if to throw the sound off her track, Bluma turned sharply down the first road she saw—a broad, cobbled shopping street—and with a stumble, she came immediately back. A stranger was blinking at her from every polished windowpane: an obscure, faceless girl.

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

There was no question. Something was calling her name. And no matter where she went, it grew louder.

She could no longer run—she no longer had the strength. Her legs were weak, wavering atop her ankles with each step.

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa, sang the wind.

And then she saw, far down a dim and narrow alleyway, the unmistakable form of a woman in white:

Lilith.

Chapter Eight: Great Souls

The Rebbe’s granddaughter could not sleep.

Tomorrow, her wedding day, was to be the most important of her life, and people had come from far and wide—many, many, many of them—to see her married.

She was sure she would disappoint them.

What if she tripped? What if she said the wrong thing?

Everyone would whisper to their neighbor: Ah. I always knew.

She rolled over in bed.