—Stop! the jinniyeh called—but the monster was already halfway down the pier, her bare feet shaking the boards.
Rage and shame overwhelmed the jinniyeh. She’d lost far too much—and the worst of it was that, for a moment, she’d allowed herself to weaken, and believe as they did. To become just a little bit human.
Enough of this. She’d decided to extinguish herself—and she would die like a jinniyeh. She’d make this pier into a battlefield, whether the monster wished it or not.
She flew higher, and gathered the winds.
A breeze began.
The hanging signs on the Jay Street establishments began to sway. Pedestrians clutched at their hats; dust and gravel skittered across the bricks.
The Golem stood motionless upon the pier, straining against the whirlwind that had trapped her.
* * *
The wind spread outward.
The tenement windows facing West Street began to rattle, the trash to stir in the gutters. Men up and down the docklands rushed to tie down stacks of cargo as the barges knocked against the pilings.
A dozen blocks south, on a car-float tied to a pier at the end of Carlisle Street, Yossele slipped between the boxcars.
He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, steadying himself as the float rocked on the waves. Soon he was crouched at the bow. It would be an easy leap to the wharf, but conspicuous; and then there was the wide expanse of West Street to cross, an open space overlooked by hundreds of tenement windows.
He thought a moment—and then turned back to the boxcars. All were empty; some stood open. In the second one he checked, he found a stack of gray canvas tarpaulins.
For the first time in his life, Yossele smiled.
Master, he thought, I’m coming.
In the Amherst, Kreindel stirred in her chair and sat up. “He’s here,” she said.
* * *
The waves on the river had turned to whitecaps. Out in the shipping channel, the buoys clanged like a carillon. Signs on the storefronts tore themselves from their hangers, and were sent whipping down the piers.
The Golem clenched her teeth and placed one foot in front of the other. One step. Good. Now another step. Keep moving. Spray flew about her face; the pier vibrated beneath her like a tuning-fork. The jinniyeh was far above, directing the gale—and so the Golem felt none of her opponent’s anger and hatred, only the indifferent wind.
Another step. Shingles blew past from the pier-sheds. A billboard came loose from a rooftop and flew into the air like a kite. Again. Again. But it was growing more difficult. She stood now at the center of a hurricane, the boards slick beneath her bare feet. She slipped backward, fell to one knee.
The winds pressed down, crushing her.
The pain in Sophia’s stomach was growing worse.
She braced herself against it and watched from the window as a cart overturned on West Street. All the pedestrians were gone, fled indoors.
Dima, she thought desperately. Don’t.
But the jinniyeh ignored her, intent on the winds that threatened to rip her apart, pouring every last part of herself into the battle—
Including the part that was inside Sophia.
The woman doubled over in agony as the flame that sustained her began to waver. Dima! she thought, her teeth chattering with cold. You’ll kill me!
Sophia!
The jinniyeh spasmed with Sophia’s pain. A chill swept over her, worse than any mountain wind. Six directions, the woman wouldn’t survive this—
It doesn’t matter, the jinniyeh told herself. She was just a human! One among thousands, millions—
And yet suddenly she mattered greatly.
Sophia must have cried out, for women in white now gathered around her, talking in stern voices. They carried her to the bed, affixed tight straps to her arms and legs. Sophia tried to struggle against them, but she had no strength. Her vision dimmed.
Dima, please, she thought—
And with a cry of despair the jinniyeh let go.
The howling winds relented; the dreadful weight began to lift.
The Golem staggered to her feet in the quiet. The jinniyeh hung above her, torn, her light guttering. She wavered in the air, fell—
“Dima!” the Golem shouted—
Let her help you, thought Sophia weakly—
—and at the last moment twisted into human form and collapsed upon the deck.
The Golem scooped her up, and raced down the pier.
* * *
The Jinni opened the alley door and went out into the night, Kreindel following close behind.
The wind had picked up considerably; the streets seemed deserted. Kreindel wrapped her thin coat tightly around herself, shivering. Together they stood at the alley entrance, staring down Carlisle toward the river.
“Will I know him when I see him?” the Jinni murmured.
Just then a vast dark shape sped across West Street, moving from shadow to shadow. The Jinni felt a series of distant thrums beneath his feet. Six directions, were those footsteps?
“That’s him,” Kreindel whispered.
A moment later the shape was moving up Carlisle, draped in a voluminous cloak—no, a tarpaulin, the sort the dockworkers used. The shape drew nearer; it grew and grew, became an enormous human figure—
Kreindel sobbed once, and ran the last few steps to him.
The golem knelt, and took her in his arms. For a horrible moment the Jinni was certain the girl would be crushed; but Yossele only held her as she cried on his shoulder. Something in the Jinni twisted uneasily as he watched. This was the creature he was supposed to destroy? And—where was Chava?
“Kreindel,” he whispered, “we must get back to the alley.”
At once Yossele carried his master into the alley entrance and set her down by the door. The Jinni surveyed the street once, then followed.
“Yossele,” Kreindel whispered, “this is Ahmad.”
The Jinni stared up into a broad, lumpish face half hidden by the tarpaulin’s folds. The glass eyes peered at him—and then Yossele seemed to start in surprise. He looked to Kreindel, and then to the Jinni again. The massive hands lifted—
The Jinni tensed—
—only to flutter in the air between them, the blunt fingers waving.
“Yossele?” Kreindel said, unsure.
“It’s my face,” the Jinni said, realizing. “He sees the flames. Chava—Miss Levy—can see them, too, when she looks at me. But others can’t.”
“Really?” said Kreindel.
The gigantic
