He had filled his mittens in Tupik, a lifetime ago—before his fight with Issur, before he met his father—in order to replenish the saltcellar at home. That explained why he was wearing them in the first place. He must’ve remembered just in time.

Yehuda Leib swerved wildly to drive the wheelchair over another protruding cobble, and, just as he’d hoped, a second nail broke—this time in his left mitten.

The salt was eating away at his magically grown nails.

“Careful, boy!”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” muttered Yehuda Leib through a wide grin.

Far above, behind the snow and the clouds, an arc of blue lightning split the sky.

“My,” said Mammon. “What a night.”

And then, as if in anticipation of the thunder, the sound of a deep, obscure voice called out through the streets below.

They could not hear the words, but its tone was clear: commanding, dire, almost frightened.

Mammon turned his head sharply, and before he even spoke, Yehuda Leib knew.

“That,” said the demon, “is the Rebbe.”

Thunder rolled through the sky, low and round, as if in echo.

“Go,” said Mammon. “Go!”

—

Bluma burst from the alleyway, her legs pounding, and just when she thought she had exhausted her reserves of strength, she was bolstered by the Lileen leaping and bounding all around her.

It was as if their strength were hers.

It was thrilling.

Far ahead she could see Rokhl, the Rebbe’s granddaughter, slipping on the wet snow as she ran. There was no question: they would catch her.

Bluma’s heart swelled with dark pride.

And then, behind her, like deep thunder, she heard his voice roll out.

She could not help but turn around. The Rebbe was there, robed in white. His eyes were obscured from Bluma’s view beneath the cowl of his prayer shawl, but still, she could feel them fixing on her, flipping her open like an old book.

The Rebbe’s hand was raised, and he was speaking.

“” intoned the Rebbe. “.”

The Rebbe had spoken to each candle, lamp, and hearth in the street, and as the final word escaped his lips, he dropped his hand, and they heard and obeyed: from every window, blazing light spilled forth into the road.

The Lileen had outpaced Bluma when she turned around, and ahead of her now, they yowled and spat, swerving, leaping, corralled into the shadows at the center of the street by the sudden flood of light.

Something had happened: there were only five cats now, instead of six. One of them had been caught, banished in the illumination like a shadow in the sun.

Hissing madly, three of the remaining Sisters wheeled about and sped back past Bluma toward the Rebbe, their claws unsheathed, their coats bushy and tall, and Bluma heard the Rebbe speak again.