Very sincerely,
Lieutenant Oscar Galloway, 15th Precinct Station-House
Julia glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after three.
“Have the car brought around,” she told the maid. “I must leave as soon as possible—and in full mourning, not half.” Startled, the maid rushed away.
Perhaps, Julia thought, the newspaper-men would grin at the sight of the famed widow parading in her ghoulish finery. But if she was to walk into enemy territory, she wanted her best suit of armor. Let this girl, whoever she was, stare Julia Winston in the eye and explain herself.
* * *
In his alcove, Yossele struggled to watch his master as the day’s events buzzed inside him, refusing to be ignored.
His master had been attacked. She’d nearly called him to defend her, only to be interrupted by the boy on the bicycle. Even now, as Kreindel sat alone in her dormitory room, a part of him was still poised at the end of his tether, listening for that summons. Then there was the fact of Miss Levy’s nature, which thrilled him even as his master’s ignorance of it distressed him; the confusion this caused added its own, distinct ache.
The knowledge that he was a separate being from his master had become a gulf, a resentment. Why didn’t Kreindel know that Miss Levy was a golem? Why couldn’t he tell her? Why had she spent the hours since her return to the Asylum thinking about the boy on the bicycle, the one who’d stolen Yossele’s place? She was thinking about the boy even now. He didn’t want to see. He couldn’t look away.
A sound made him turn his head: a quiet knock, upon the storage room door.
Hope grew inside him as the doorknob turned. Yes; it was she. He’d begun to learn her patterns, her motions. Two steps inside, the door closing behind her. A deep breath at the threshold, even though she didn’t need to breathe. Would she come to where he sat? Would she hold his hand again?
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, from outside the maze. “I can’t come to you. I truly wish I could. I’m only here because I have to rearrange—”
But already his hope had turned to bitter frustration. Why must she come at all, if not to sit with him? He was beset by so many questions! He had no idea what to do with them all, and if this went on for much longer something would happen—he didn’t know what, but he could feel it building—
“Oh, Yossele,” she whispered; and then she was coming toward him, through the maze.
Desks, cots, hat-stand, final corner. She rushed through them as quickly as she could. He was hurting, dangerously so, and she must do what she could to help him.
He sat in the slanting afternoon light from the high window, fidgeting like a man plagued by a swarm of insects. As she approached, he reached out, took her hand, and pulled her to him.
Their connection came roaring back. She felt his mind aching beneath its burden of knowledge. It was all too large for him, it made no sense, he didn’t want any of it—
It’s all right, she told him. I’m here. We can manage it together.
She set to work among the seething tangle of his thoughts, gathering them one by one, holding them carefully in her arms. Some were incomplete, with pieces missing; these she patched with new knowledge and made whole. Kreindel is a young woman now. It’s natural that she should feel this way about a boy. She doesn’t love you any less because of it. I’ll tell Kreindel about myself as soon as I can. We’ll find a way forward, together. Then, once his thoughts had all been calmed, she slowly put them back again, finding neat and orderly places for each part of him, like a well-organized pantry where he could see everything at once. At last she stepped back, examining her work.
There, she said. Is that any better?
Kreindel sat alone upon her cot, knees to her chest.
Toby’s face had haunted her all through the afternoon. She recalled each moment of their walk together, as though deliberately pressing on a bruise: the way her tongue-tied awkwardness had given way to easy conversation; how he’d seemed to fill her field of vision, even though they were walking side by side. The warmth of his hand on her arm, as he’d steadied her. He didn’t know about true orphans. He’d talked to her, even touched her, as though she were an ordinary girl.
She looked up at a creak from the hallway door. It was one of the girls from Dormitory 2, Room 3. The girl darted into the room, running toward her between the cots. A folded note, dropped into Kreindel’s hand—and the girl was gone again, giggling as the door closed behind her.
Kreindel opened the note.
I liked talking to you. I’m in the marching band room. Will you meet me there?—Toby
It was a prank; it had to be. How would he even know about the Marching Band room, or how to find it? Yes, the handwriting looked like a boy’s, with its stick-straight letters. But any girl could write like that, if she wanted to.
Nevertheless, a small, stubborn hope had been kindled. She recalled what he’d said about his uniform, the key that opened every door in the city. He could get inside easily—maybe even through the gate on 136th, which would lead him straight to the basement. The Marching Band room was practically across the hall from
