The Hidden Palace (The Golem and the Jinni, #2)

by Helene Wecker

They go to Central Park, said one boy who had a habit of waking early to search the rooftops for lost jacks and marbles, and so had seen the pair more often than most. The others frowned at this answer, given with the air of common knowledge. How d’you know? The boy shrugged. Because when they come back, he said, their boots are all muddy.

“Maybe I’m just a woman he can’t hurt.”

In the meantime she wanted no markets, no ruins, and nothing more taxing than a novel to read, something frivolous and French.

They spoke little of it, among themselves. It was too difficult to talk about, too weighted with guilt and worry and helplessness.

They have so many boxes that they must number them to keep track.

“You’ve denied yourself so much pleasure, all because of a single unhappy experience. Have you always been so . . . severe?”

The man took this in, then chuckled. “Gotten . . . older.” “Yeah, I know. It’s a trick I play on people.”

The Jinni shrugged, uncomfortable. “Arbeely was dead,” he said. “And Chava was gone. Who else was there to show it to?”