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  The lady’s voice stayed calm. “I’m not afraid of dogs.”

  “You would be,” the witchwoman said, “if one bit you.”

  The fear surrounding them shifted and dipped. It became fury, instead, and it pushed away the advancing dogman. The stone wall behind the dogman shimmered again. One at a time, glowing red letters appeared. EXIT. A sign, and beneath it a doorway in the stone. The woman pushed off with both feet, launched herself in a smooth, whirling circle of limbs over his head, and shot through it. She disappeared.

  She’d left him behind.

  He ran out of the shadows, out of the dungeon, out into the world beyond, but he couldn’t find her.

  “I told you,” said the witchwoman and turned to face the boy. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  The dogman snarled and slashed the air with his sharp teeth.

  And no matter how the boy tried, he couldn’t push them hard enough to keep them away.

  Tovah had too many papers to sign. Multiple copies of the same forms, reports, affidavits. Medical release forms, HIPAA information. It was never-ending. Her pen would run out of ink before she was through. Her fingers would fall off. Why couldn’t she just rubber-stamp everything, or better yet, push a button and have it all sucked into outer space?

  But no, this was the waking world, where she had to actually deal with crap like this. She sighed, scribbling on the last set of papers her lawyer had pushed across the desk toward her. Then her pen, indeed, ran out of ink.

  He had another. “Here, use mine.”

  Tovah smiled a little, taking it. “You must go through dozens every week. Well. Not like this one, I guess. This is gorgeous.”

  The pen in her hands was solid, smooth, an expensive Mont Blanc inscribed with his name. Reginald Perry. It probably cost as much as she’d spend on a month’s groceries.

  Mr. Perry’s laugh was as large and solid as his mahogany desk. “If we finally get this settlement, you’ll be able to get one of your own.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d rather spend her money on something more worthwhile than a fancy pen. “I just want all this settled so I can get on with my life. It’s been three years since the accident. More than two since the separation. I’m ready to move on.”

  “Of course. Of course.” His look of sympathy was well practiced and probably mostly sincere.

  Tovah liked Mr. Perry, who knew his work and had made the process of suing the insurance company as easy as possible. She trusted Mr. Perry, but she was ready to be finished with this. It no longer even mattered about the money.

  “It’s a matter of being fair,” she said aloud.

  If Mr. Perry found her comment to be a non sequitur, he didn’t look confused. “Absolutely. That’s what we’re working for here.”

  She nodded and returned his pen, then stood to shake his hand. His grip was firm. She liked that he shook her hand without holding back, even though he was the sort to insist on opening doors and pulling out chairs for women. He was respectful, not condescending.

  “Thank you, Mr. Perry.”

  Mr. Perry smiled. “I believe in being fair.”

  He also believed in vacationing in the tropics, but though the first two lawyers Tovah’d spoken to had urged her to go after the throat of the insurance company and seek blood, Mr. Perry had been reasonable about what damages she should seek. Enough to cover her medical costs and compensate for future medical care. His fee might buy him airfare and a few weeks’ worth of drinks, but he hadn’t made this all about the money. He’d made it about justice.

  “I know you do,” Tovah said. “Thanks again.”

  The appointment had taken less time than she’d expected, but even so she faced rush-hour traffic, and on a Friday. TGIF. Most of the single people she knew would be heading out to the bars and clubs tonight, but Tovah relished Friday nights for the specific reason that she never went anywhere but home.

  It had been easier, during their marriage, to say her own prayers on Fridays and go to the movies or out to dinner, like “the rest of our friends,” as Kevin had said. In December Kevin put up a tree and she lit a menorah. They’d never discussed what would happen when they had kids, though she’d thought about it more frequently as the years passed.

  Now on her own, Tovah had returned to the customs of her childhood. She hadn’t seen the face of God or anything like that, and she didn’t consider herself particularly religious, but she looked forward to Friday nights, the lighting of the candles, the simple traditional words over bread and wine. If she ever regretted staying home, it was because preparing dinner only for herself sometimes seemed a waste of effort when cereal was easier and filled her stomach as well.

  By the time she got home, she was more than ready for a glass of wine and some time alone. Traffic had been horrible, the grocery store crowded. Everyone seemed frantic to be someplace else, and she was even happier to be going home to her dog, a good meal and maybe a funny movie. She’d developed a much lower tolerance for humanity’s rudeness since discovering the Ephemeros, where nothing had to be inconvenient.

  Someone was looking at the house next door. This wasn’t unusual. It had been on the market for a few months, the last occupants moving out to follow the husband’s promotion. The Realtor always had a faintly desperate smile now when she waved at Tovah as she led prospective buyers to the front door.

  Tovah glanced at the small knot of people on the front porch as she shouldered her bag and reached for the paper sack of groceries in her trunk. A man, a woman, a teenage boy and two smaller boys clustered around the Realtor, who seemed to be having trouble with the lockbox. The sound of their voices dismantling the neighborhood, the landscaping, the school system, drifted to her on the late September air. The mother thought the houses were set too close to the street. The children wanted to know if they could bring their jungle gym. The father and the teenager gave each other challenging, sullen glares, broken at last when, with an “eep” of triumph, the Realtor got the key and opened the front door.

  Tovah caught sight of the family a half hour later as she scrubbed the final stubborn feathers from the chicken she intended to cook for Shabbat dinner. They marched out of the sliding glass doors to the back deck, looked around en masse, then trooped away and out of sight to the front of the house. They hadn’t looked excited. Seasoning the chicken and putting it inside a large roasting pan along with a few small red potatoes, Tovah couldn’t blame them, really. The neighborhood was old, the houses not much like the new, fancy developments springing up all over. The houses were inexpensive by comparison to be sure, but you got what you paid for.

  “What do you think, Max? Think they’ll buy it?”

  Max perked up one floppy ear and rolled on his back for a belly scratch. Tovah rubbed his soft tawny fur. The dog grinned, tongue lolling.

  “Me neither. C’mon. Let’s get you dinner.”

  Dinner. Max was all about dinner. He leaped to his feet, tail wagging hard enough to whap Tovah’s legs as she filled his bowl. In his eagerness to get to the food, Max stepped all over her feet, his nails digging in.

  “Ouch, Max!” She limped out of the way, but the damage wasn’t permanent. He hadn’t even scratched her. “Crazy mutt, watch what you’re doing.”

  Tovah couldn’t compete with food. Stepping around the dog, she took from the freezer one of the challahs she baked eight or ten at a time and laid it out to thaw. She was just getting ready to head upstairs for a quick shower when the doorbell rang.

  It was the Realtor from next door. She smiled brightly when Tovah cracked open the door. She looked tired, despite the wide grin. “Ms. Connelly?”

  “Yes?” It shouldn’t be a surprise she knew Tovah’s name. Realtors made it their business to know neighborhoods. Still, Tovah was wary.

  “Beth Richards.” The Realtor held out a hand that Tovah reached to take automatically.

  Max nudged open the door and tried to make an escape, but Tovah grabbed his collar. Max, spotting fr