With care, Yehuda Leib drew the little glass bottle forth, bright and clear in the snowy night, and, clutching it against his chest, he began to cry softly.

He had to get to the Rebbe.

—

The Rebbe stood in the middle of the road, breathing hard.

On all sides of him, the blazing hearths and lamps of the street began to gutter and dim.

The smell of dying candles crept into the air.

Something strange was afoot, and the Rebbe did not understand. Once this wedding was done and put behind them, he resolved to question certain Ministers and Messengers of his acquaintance. He resolved to find out.

For the moment, though, things seemed to have been set right—the dead who walked abroad had been banished or chased away; his granddaughter was unpursued, nearly to the safety of the synagogue. It would not do to abandon his vigilance this night, but for now the Rebbe thought he might again retire to the comfort of his rooms.

And yet something was happening. Something was strange.

Even the wind was behaving oddly: now crouching, taut, still and waiting, now thundering, whipping, tearing by.

As if in flight.

As if afraid.

What did the wind know that he did not?

With a sigh, the Rebbe turned. It had been a long time since he had exerted so much effort in one night, and he was not as young as he once had been. His footsteps faltered lightly as he trudged toward bed.

He really must get some rest.

The snow had begun to thicken, the flakes fatter and more numerous than before, and soon the Rebbe could barely make out the shapes of the houses on either side of the road.

For this reason, he heard before he could see: stamping, shuffling feet coming up from behind, a pair of thin, bony hands clapping along in time, and, high above it all, a single voice, singing a wistful, stumbling melody.

The Rebbe was sure he recognized the tune, but he could not for the life of him say what it was.

He turned now and blinked into the snow.

“Hello?” he said.

Through the thick veil of white, he could see obscure shapes, figures: a clutch of young men dancing in a trudging circle, each of their feet falling in time with the clap of the bony hands.

And Someone—Someone in the midst of the dance.

The Rebbe could not see through the snow.

“Hello?” he said again.

The clapping and dancing continued unabated, but with the sound of sudden sighing, now the song broke off.

“Oh,” said a voice from the center of the circle. “Oh, holy Rebbe, help me. You must help me.”

The Rebbe took a step forward, squinting to see through the snow.

And at just this moment, blue lightning came forking through the sky, and there was a sudden illumination in the street.