Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 28

Milton Avenue Synagogue in Fredericks Park didn't look like a synagogue—at least not to me. The carved Star of David on the limestone facade probably should have given it away, but my mental image of a house of worship was a little more traditional, and definitely did not include Art Deco. This, however, was where Emery said we should meet. I saw the nun who escorted her waiting in the vestibule as I squirmed my way through the people there for Friday evening Shabbat. I was feeling unbearably self-conscious, and not just because I was dressed for a party.

I think it's fair to say I wasn't in touch with my Jewish heritage. Mom was one of those people who liked to speak on behalf of "our people" during Sunday school bible studies, but I don't think she'd been to synagogue since she was a little girl, if at all. Her mother had converted to Roman Catholicism when she married my grandfather, and if my bubbe taught mom any Yiddish, she didn't pass it on. I rounded down my quarter Jewish heritage to "a little Jewish" whenever someone brought it up.

And my complicated relationship with my mom naturally made things... let's stick with "complicated."

All that to say I felt very out of place in a synagogue—even one that didn't conform at all to my expectations. I'd seen the word "Conservative" somewhere on a a sign outside, and not realizing the word's somewhat different connotations in a Jewish context, I kept trying to pull my short black dress a little further down my knees. I was terrified that someone would speak to me in Yiddish or ask if I was lost and expose me as an interloper. Had I been less preoccupied with being an imposter, I might have noticed that everyone was friendly and welcoming and no one seemed to be validating anyone else's Jewish card. 

Good old internalized antisemitism, I guess.

I stepped into the sanctuary—that's probably not the right word, is it?—resolving to find Emery as quickly as possible and get the heck out of there, but I was stopped in my tracks by the unexpected beauty all around me. Tall stained glass windows showing scenes from the Torah in a modern, abstract style lined both walls. Rows of hand-carved wooden pews faced the Torah ark at the far end of the hall, and both the ark and the ner tamid overhead were in the same modern style as the building, which made the place feel almost like the lobby of a skyscraper in the Deco District instead of a place of worship. But it was still... holy. Whatever that means. It was a strange feeling. 

I wasn't sure what to make of it.

The family that pushed past me on their way to their seats reminded me why I was there, and I scanned the nearby pews in search of my armorer. She said she'd be in the back, and sure enough, I spotted her dark, bobbed hair in the second-to-last row on the right. She looked... different. Instead of the plain outfit I'd seen her wearing at the orphanage, Emery wore a stylish red peacoat over a black dress that fell almost to her ankles. Her dark glasses reflected the warm light filtering in through the stained glass windows, and her chic leather boots—also black, of course—made me jealous. She didn't turn her head as I pushed by way to her pew, but she knew I was there.

"I supposed this is the first time you've ever come to synagogue," she said as I took the open seat beside her.

"Can we skip the persecution this time?" I said wearily. "Have you got it?"

A superior smirk spread over Emery's pointed face.

"It wasn't too difficult. That sample you gave me of Psychosis's armor turned out to be unnecessary. Here you go."

She reached into her handbag and passed me a heavy black bundle, which I immediately stuffed into my backpack. At the front of the congregation, the cantor was taking his place in preparation for the opening prayer.

"So it's bulletproof now?" I whispered.

"Oh, it's close enough," said Emery. "Unless you let yourself get shot at point blank range or something completely foolish like that."

Emery never ceased to impress me with her complete lack of tact, but Simon was right: she was good. I'd made her wait before upgrading Nightwrath's armor because I wanted her to at least look at what Simon—or Psychosis—would have done, but she'd come through with her own design anyways. It figured. Much as I hated to admit it, Emery was better than Simon—at least at some things.

All around us, people were starting to stand. I reluctantly got to my feet to continue my conversation with Emery, who seemed to be relishing my obvious discomfort.

"What about the masks?" I asked quietly.

"My stars, such persistence. I examined the fragment you brought. It's custom-made glass reinforced with a quite unique treatment, so it must have taken quite a hit to shatter. Certainly not bulletproof, however."

She was being smug about her own work, but I guess she had a right. The fragment she mentioned had broken off of Iris Baker's mask when she had that little spat with her left hand. I had borrowed it from the police evidence locker with Corrigan's help.

"Can I have it back?" I asked. "They'll miss it if it's gone much longer."

"It's in there," said Emery, tilting her head ever so slightly towards my backpack, which I was holding pressed to my chest. I felt the folded bundle cautiously and found the sliver of glass tucked safely away in an envelope. The cantor was starting to chant.

"So any idea who made them?"

I leaned closer to Emery as the voices of people around us swelled to join the cantor's song.

"Other than that they're an artist, no. It's certainly not industrial work. If I may, let me suggest looking up glassblowers. There can't be that many in Marbrose City."

Our conversation paused as Emery joined in the singing. I was too busy plotting my escape to realize she'd given me a pretty solid clue.

"How's the grapple gun working?" she asked as the cantor returned to chanting alone.

"Fine," I said irritably. "And I can't stay. I'm on my way to... something."

I almost said "a party," but I didn't want to give Emery any more opportunities to judge me. Emery sniffed as though she saw right through me.

"Oh, I'm sure it's very important," she said. "Much more important than your soul."

"Last I checked, my soul is fine," I said, slinging my backpack back over my shoulder. "Am I allowed to just leave, or..."

The cantor had finished the opening prayer and the rabbi was approaching the lectern. My chances of making my escape unnoticed were getting slimmer by the second.

"Please extend my best wishes to Josie and Mallory the next time you see them," said Emery. "And yes, you may leave."

My face was flushed as I pushed my way down the pew and out towards the exit. I was actually starting to like Emery—or at least tolerate her—but she had a unique talent for getting under my skin. I didn't want to think about Simon, or Josie. Not tonight. Tonight, I was going to have fun.

Because that usually works out when you're a superhero.