In the early hours of the morning, Lea became conscious. When she opened her eyes she thought she was in a bird’s nest. She had spied the heron out in the orchard. He’d managed to find them. He always did, and that comforted Lea. The casing of clay and honey she had been covered with had fallen away, leaving a gray and yellow powder on the sheets. Now that the light had broken, Ava was stunned to see how the girl had changed. Overnight, her hair had turned white as snow. Such things could happen when mortals saw Azriel yet continued to live, when they had come so close to the World to Come that he had become visible in all of his blinding brilliance.

It was shock that had caused it, Dr. Girard told Ava when he came in to check on Lea’s progress. It was possible for a person’s hair to turn white overnight after a traumatic event, certainly he’d heard of such cases. But it was a small price to pay for what had been accomplished. Another girl would not have survived the bees’ attack. Ava took Lea’s hand in hers. Human lives were like quicksilver; let go and they vanished. But not this time. Not now.

“More rest,” the doctor declared. “That’s all she needs. Together we’ve brought her to life.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

THE MAKER AND THE MADE

ARDèCHE, JULY 1944

SHE MIGHT NOT HAVE RECOGNIZED Ava if not for her father’s boots. Those she would never forget, for the morning after the golem was created the rabbi noticed they were missing from the wardrobe. He had the children search the house, but it was a pointless pursuit and Ettie hadn’t bothered to look. She knew she was leaving that night so she ignored her father’s shouts. Had there been a thief in the house? Had someone borrowed his boots without asking? Ettie had stood in the kitchen and memorized it all, down to the spoons and the forks. She’d memorized his voice and the voices of her brothers and sisters.

“Are you too good to look for your father’s boots?” her mother had said when she found Ettie dreaming in the kitchen. She’d been shocked when in response Ettie threw her arms around her and held her tight. Their family did not do such things. Raw emotion was ignored and love went unspoken, and sometimes unknown.

“I was your worst child,” Ettie said thoughtfully, as if she was already gone.

Her mother could not bring herself to say anything. Whether or not that was true there was one thing that was certain. Ettie was her favorite child.