Chapter Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
For the next few days, Faye was weirdly quiet. Greg tried not to take it personally, but all the words they once shared, all the beautiful language that had once been the foundation of their relationship, dissipated.
Instead, they became mired in their own thoughts, each keeping to themselves, two travelers on the same path, but neither one acknowledging the other. Until one night, after yet another dinner that they had each taken separately, Faye emerged from her locked bedroom. Greg looked up from the book he was reading.
“Hi,” he said, surprised to see her.
“Hey,” she said, stepping forward. “How are you doing?”
He put his book down. “Good.”
“I was wondering—” she ran one hand through her hair “—if you’d like to play Scrabble?”
“Scrabble?” He was surprised by the offer, surprised that they were suddenly and just like that back to normal. “Yeah,” he said. “Scrabble would be great.”
“Great.”
Faye set up the board. Greg pulled out the letter A from the blue velvet bag, denoting that he would go first. He tossed it back into the bag, pulling out seven letters, laying them on the wooden tile holder, before sliding around combinations, trying to find the best word. He was just about to lay one down when Faye stopped him, putting her hand on his.
“I have a better idea,” Faye said.
“You do?” He swallowed. He could only imagine what better idea was in store.
“I’m getting a little bored of regular Scrabble.” She beamed wider. There was mischief in her eyes that made him think of romance. “Have you ever played eight-letter Scrabble?”
“Eight-letter Scrabble?” he asked curiously.
“It’s one of my favorite ways to play.”
There was something about how she was smiling at him, all wide-eyed and bordering on hysterical, that felt off-putting. Still, he tried to look on the bright side. He was happy that Faye had finally decided to speak with him. He had missed their long conversations together, talking life, Jewitch magic, and books.
“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together. “How do we play eight-letter Scrabble?”
“Well, how we play this game is...you have to make an eight-letter word.”
Greg angled his chin. “I’m confused.”
“You have to use all your letters, making an eight-letter word.”
“But I only have seven letters.”
“Right.”
She kept right on smiling. In truth, it was creepy as all hell. Greg dragged one hand down his face. “Faye,” he said, trying to explain his logic to her, “there is no way to make an eight-letter word with seven letters.”
“Yes, there is.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Well, that’s the only way I know how to play eight-letter Scrabble.”
“Then I don’t want to play eight-letter Scrabble.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms against her chest, defiant. “Then we can play ten-letter Scrabble.”
“Do I want to venture a guess here?”
“It’s very similar to eight-letter Scrabble,” she admitted, pointing to the board. “Except you have to make a ten-letter word.”
“How about we just play regular Scrabble?” he asked. “Like always.”
“I don’t think so.”
Greg huffed his resignation. It made no sense. She made no sense. What the heck was going on with her? “Are you messing with me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she quipped back.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Faye was the epitome of calm. “Because I want to play eight-letter Scrabble.”
“That’s not how you play Scrabble.” He was getting frustrated. Losing his cool. He touched his forehead, where a migraine was quickly beginning to develop, and tried to regroup. “I feel like I’ve entered some parallel universe.”
“Please,” she said almost desperately, before pointing down at the board. “I just... I really need you to try, Greg.”
He stared down at the board. Because he wanted to please her, to make her happy. But the task she had given him was impossible, and he didn’t particularly like the feeling of being set up to fail. Tired of the game—both hers and the one on the board—Greg glanced down at his watch before rising from his seat.
“Where are you going?” Faye asked.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Just out,” he said, attempting to avoid the question.
Faye followed him. “Well, what about our game of eight-letter Scrabble?”
He twisted in his spot, meeting her eyes. Was she being serious right now? And then, without her permission—without bothering to sneak off or offer up an explanation—Greg made his way outside and began the long walk towards Jumbos.
Faye stared down at the Scrabble board in front of her. Freaking AI. Useless AI. She should have known better than to trust one empty vessel to help her get rid of another. But seeing Greg through the window walking towards Goddess knew where in the late evening hours, she realized what was happening. She understood it fully now.
Faye was losing control of her Gregolem.
He was becoming destructive, going berserk, disobeying direct orders . She had no more time left to mess about with new technology. What Faye needed was an expert. Someone with old-world wisdom, who could read ancient texts in their original languages. Someone who had spent their life studying the Jewish supernatural.
Obviously, that person wasn’t Shulamit...but, as these things tended to go in the Jewish professional world, she figured her friend might know someone. Picking up her phone, she bypassed Miranda and dialed Shully’s cell phone directly.
“Hey,” Shulamit said, picking up on the first ring, “Miranda isn’t here right now.”
“No, it’s not that...” Faye did her best to sound sane. Totally normal. “Believe it or not, I have a question for you, actually.”
“Oh,” Shulamit sounded surprised, “okay. Hit me.”
“Well,” Faye said, the tension rising in her belly with every syllable, “I’m thinking of starting a new pottery series, and I’d like to get some real research done before I begin. I’ve consulted Google and an AI, of course...but I’m just not finding what I need—the good stuff, you know, the meaty stuff you would only find on the most esoteric pages of the Talmud. Anyway, I was wondering if you happen to know any experts on...well, on golems?”