“” he said. “.” And, before Bluma’s very eyes, the three attacking cats, mid-leap, wore thin and, screaming, vanished. She saw the remaining two Lileen trip and stumble, stunned, their eyes wide with anger and fear.

But beyond them, Rokhl continued to run, sliding into a wide intersection, scrambling as she turned.

Bluma couldn’t allow the girl to get away.

Reaching deep within herself now, she found a final well of strength and raced on, past the stunned Lileen and into the crossroads. Ahead, she could see the Rebbe’s granddaughter, fleeing, running, every window she passed on either side bursting forth with sudden, brilliant light.

“Stop!” she called out. “Wait!” But the Rebbe’s granddaughter continued to run, sliding around the next corner.

Bluma followed close behind.

This street was narrow—barely even a street at all—and it was suddenly dark by contrast with the bright street behind. Bluma blinked, trying to acclimate her eyes to the dim.

Was there something up ahead?

The Rebbe was far behind Bluma now, and she was surprised to hear his voice again, as if he spoke from the mouth of every door in Zubinsk.

“” whispered the voice of the Rebbe. “.”

Bluma stopped.

It was as if, by the power of these words, her eyes had changed: still she saw where the darkness lay, but it no longer had the power to hide things from her.

Now she could see, fast approaching in the dim, a small knot of Hasidim dancing along the narrow road, and, in the very center of their circle, a horrible, familiar figure, clapping her hands in time with the dance:

Death was coming down the street.

She was singing, singing a melody to which there were no words, and yet Bluma could not stop herself from hearing a single word, like a shadow of the melody, floating down the alleyway:

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

Something twitched between her fingers, and Bluma looked down.

The spoon. She still held the spoon.

And it was starting—slowly, of its own accord—to spin around its empty basin.

The edges of Bluma’s vision began to blur. She could not catch her breath, could not slow her pounding heart. There was something, something heavy, pressing down on her chest, and she felt as if her mind might simply flee in fear.

She was coming.

The Dark One was coming.

And ahead, oblivious, Rokhl ran toward her.

Now Lilith’s words rose back up in Bluma’s ears:

She will join our Sisterhood, one way or another.

What was Bluma doing? Chasing another girl toward Death?

“Rokhl!” she called out, and far ahead of her, the Rebbe’s granddaughter turned back, breath misting in the chill air.

What could Bluma say to her? Where could they be safe?

Rokhl’s eyes grew wide. “Who are you?” she said.

Bluma shook her head. “I don’t know.” Death was drawing near—there was no time. “It doesn’t matter.”