The sound came from everywhere and nowhere—from the ground beneath my feet, from the trees overhead, from inside my own skull. A howling that rattled my bones and made my teeth ache, rage and agony and hunger all twisted together into something that shouldn’t exist in the natural world.
I clapped my hands over my ears, but it didn’t help. The sound wasn’t outside me.
It was inside.
And it wasfuriouswith outrage.
Pressure closed around my lungs, crushing inward, making it impossible to breathe. The temperature dropped so fast that frost formed on the grass at my feet, spreading outward in crystalline fingers.
Mordechai remained in the center of the small courtyard, shofar still raised to his lips, and his eyes were on me, bright with fire. Not metaphorical bolts of strength or power, butactualflames, golden and terrible, burning away everything false to leave only truth behind.
Shadows peeled away from the gravestones like living things—twisting and ripping up from the earth. They lunged atMordechai with too many angles and edges, converging on him, swallowing him whole.
“Go, Delia!” His voice came out wrong—so wrong—layered and harmonized, like a dozen voices speaking in unison. The flames in his eyes blazed brighter. “Run! Get as far away as you can—gonow!”
I didn’t think. I didn’t question.
I fled.
Arms churning, mouth agape and gasping for air, I stumbled out of the cemetery almost wildly, sure the cops were on their way. There was so much screaming! So much fire, pain, and fury!
I ran the whole way back from Holy Angels cemetery, my mind blanked with terror. Smoke clogged my nose, and explosions jarred my ears, a terrible, racking pain clutching my throat like a vise. I fell down more than once, the last time on the sidewalk leading up to my house. One of the Soos saw me through the window, but no one came outside. Just as well. I gagged and retched on my own front steps, reeking so strongly of burning sulfur I kept checking myself for scorch marks.
Eventually, I dragged myself inside and shut the door.
Steve was asleep on the couch again, dead to the world, but messy, human, and real.
Real.
Everything got quiet after that. No voices shouted anywhere. No people, no smoke. I tiptoed through the house, dumped my smoky clothes in the laundry, then retreated to my freshly sterilized room. I opened the door, the smell of the dried white paint calming and familiar, then dragged myself toward my bed.
I passedout before I reached it.
The TV came on downstairs,blaring at top volume.
“What the fuck?!”
Steve’s protest was so freaked out that I practically vibrated off the floor of my bedroom, jerking upright and half-stumbling against the bed. I bolted for my bedroom door and yanked it open. “Steve?”
“What thefuck!”
I clattered down the stairs, my steps in time to Steve’s staccato fury as he crashed around the living room, apparently looking for the remote. He found it and stabbed at it as I bolted into the room, but I caught enough of what was on screen that I screeched “Back on!” as it winked out of sight.
“Fucking soloud, man,” Steve groused, but he turned the TV back on, scrolling the sound all the way down as I stared in disbelief.
On the screen was an outdated picture of Rabbi Mordechai, grinning self-consciously at the camera, juxtaposed over a live feed of Holy Angels Cemetery—only it was now cordoned off with police tape.
Steve stooped his long, lean body forward, squinting. “Hey, isn’t that?—”
“Shut it.”
Together we stood and watched the smoothly perfect news anchor of the local TV station explain that Rabbi Mordechai Schneider had been discovered at the Holy Angels Cemetery after a loud commotion had drawn the attention of neighboring residents. Nine-one-one had been called, and he’d been rushed to the nearest hospital, only to be pronounced dead at the?—
I didn’t realize I’d backed up until I smacked against the wall of the living room, the sheer solidity of it the only thing that told me this wasn’t a dream. “Dead?” I rasped through parched lips, a swollen tongue. “But—how? Who?”
Steve shook his head, then swung his face toward me. I stared at him, shocked by the empathy, the real emotion in his deep brown eyes. Something skittering and nervous curled in my belly. He looked—weirdly sober. “Shit, Delia. I’m so sorry.”
He might have tried to step toward me, I didn’t know. I stiffened up against the wall, wanting more than anything to crawl inside it like Mrs. Klein’s sister had done. To get away, just get away.
