A deep yawn bubbled up inside Bluma. She was terribly, terribly tired, more tired than any single night’s sleep could ever wash away. Of all things in the world, she wanted most just to go home—home, where the air was fragrant with the warmth of baking, where she could rest in a bed that knew her shape.

But it was not safe in her bed. It wasn’t even safe beneath it.

That was where Death had found her.

And as hard as she ran, she was beginning to understand, Death would always follow.

She always came back.

Bluma’s fingers began to tremble, her breathing growing shallow.

She didn’t want to see the Dark Lady ever again.

Ever.

She had taken a good first step in doing away with her face, but it was not enough. Still the Dark Lady came, calling out her name:

Bluuuuuuumaaaaaaa…

But Lilith had mentioned someone in the Far Country who might be able to help.

Who had it been?

With a start, Bluma realized: the sun had risen above the rooftops, but the synagogue was completely empty. And, today of all days, it should’ve been packed with worshippers at their morning prayers.

Where was everyone?

Softly, as if loath to disturb the thick silence of the sanctuary, Bluma crept out the front door.

There were people everywhere, and it was early still—on a regular day, only a small number would have been abroad at this hour, aside from those at prayer.

At first Bluma thought it must’ve been the wedding that was causing the excitement, but before long, it became clear that this was not the case.

Something had happened in the night.

Something bad.

From all corners of the city, feet seemed to rush toward one central spot like bathwater to the drain, and soon Bluma was caught up and carried in the flow. By the time they spilled out into the wide, crowded road to which they were headed, she’d heard words like Rebbe and fell and very serious spoken in enough voices to have a guess at what had happened.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for the scene that met her eyes.

The street was packed, shoulder to shoulder, the press of people filling the road, passing through the Rebbe’s front door, cramming the sanctuary in the front room, climbing the stairs, extending all the way up to the very threshold of the bedroom where he lay. Everywhere, there were Hasidim, swaying back and forth, cycling manically through the Book of Psalms, praying for a full and speedy recovery; everywhere, long beards were wet with tears.

Bluma began to shove and shimmy her way through the crowd, and once she managed to make her way past the Rebbe’s door, she had become so used to everyone facing in one direction—toward the Rebbe’s house—that she spotted him immediately.