Creatures of Charm and Hunger (The Diabolist's Library #1) - Molly Tanzer Page 0,19

sympathy weighed on her as much as any tangible burden. Maybe she wouldn’t be so opposed to being social if people saw her, and not some girl-shaped bag of tragedies.

Edith talked a bit more, but Miriam wasn’t really listening. She had been so certain about the thrust of her Practical, but now it all seemed so unimportant. What really mattered was—

“All right?”

“Hmm?” Miriam realized she had completely lost the thread of their conversation.

Edith peered at her. “The higher-ups at the Société didn’t want me to tell you. They were afraid you were at a delicate stage in your education, one where it was possible to make some serious mistakes out of anger. But I vouched for your temper and your character. You’ve always taken everything in stride.”

“I know, I thank you,” said Miriam. “I owe you a great debt.”

Edith sighed. “Does that mean you won’t do anything foolish?”

“I won’t,” said Miriam. After all, foolish was in the eye of the beholder.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Edith. “I know you’ve had a long day, and I’m sorry to have made it longer. I just didn’t think it was right to keep it from you.”

“I appreciate it,” said Miriam.

Edith still seemed uneasy, and Miriam wondered what she needed to do to get her aunt out of her room.

She tried a smile. That seemed to work.

“Thank you,” she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “It’s not what I wanted to hear, but it’s something.”

This reply seemed to satisfy Edith.

“I’m on your side, Miriam,” said Edith. “Just know that. I love you, and I love both your parents. I won’t be sitting idly by. Now, I know it doesn’t make up for all my bad news, but I did bring you something—a present of sorts. I know how private you are, so I saved it until now, when we were alone.”

Miriam was startled by this courtesy—she hadn’t known Edith was capable of such sensitivity. She was doubly startled when Edith withdrew a small grease-stained paper box from her purse.

“I saw them in a bakery,” said Edith, “and I thought perhaps they’d be a treat for you—a taste of home.”

Miriam was completely mystified until she opened the lid to see two perfect hamantashen, the three-cornered pastry traditionally eaten by Jews at Purim. From the look of them, one was poppyseed-filled; the other, prune. The fragrance brought back memories of her childhood—but also a sense of shame. When, she wondered, was the last time she’d thought about Purim? Her family had never fully embraced the rhythms of a Jewish household, what with them being mixed-faith and diabolists, but they’d always given a passing nod to the holidays. Now, away from her community, her aunts and uncles and family friends who came by to remind her father, Egon, of his duty, she’d forgotten everything so entirely that she’d even forgotten to miss it . . . Miriam once again felt the terrifying absurdity of it all: her exile, the possible death of her parents, the actual death of no one knew how many more Jews, the war itself. She had relatively little relationship with the faith that had made her and her family a target for unspeakable violence. And she was only a Jew according to the Nazis! Miriam’s mother had not converted. But that didn’t matter.

Not that proper Jews deserved what they had received. Of course they did not. No one did. It was simply the Nazi way to force the mind to have that conversation with itself about who was what—and what that “meant.” Their philosophy was death, and because of it, no matter who she was, here she was—and there her parents were. Forces more powerful than any diablerie had torn her family asunder, forever it seemed.

“Do you like them?” asked Edith, and Miriam realized she’d been staring at the cookies for a long time without speaking.

“So thoughtful,” she managed to say, and Edith smiled in relief. “Really, thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Edith.

Then Edith gave Miriam an even better gift than the hamantashen by saying good night. After she’d gone, Miriam set the pastries aside without tasting them. She waited in her room for a bit, pacing, and then peeked out into the hallway. All was dark, except for lights under everyone’s bedroom doors, including Nancy’s.

Miriam took extra care to make no sound as she tiptoed down the hallway. Edith was right; it had been a long day—and Miriam didn’t want to answer any questions