I never did enlighten Ari that he might be an only child when this was over. He looked nervous enough to puke, or bolt, as it was. Dressed all in white, as per Dr. Gelman’s instructions, he sat on the sofa in our family’s living room, drumming his fingers on the modular coffee table. Both our parents were at the university teaching so I’d commandeered the room. It seemed appropriate given this was where his induction ceremony had gone so wrong the first time.

Outwardly, I was the picture of calm as I poured the dirt and water into separate small clay bowls, but his drumming set my teeth on edge. Luckily, right before I concussed my sibling with the decanter, there was a firm knock on the front door. “That’s the rabbi. Go help him.”

Ari jumped up to answer it.

I ran a critical eye over myself to ensure that I’d properly adhered to the clothing specifications. I wore an ankle-length white cotton skirt and long sleeved white cotton blouse. My feet were bare, my hair was down, and I wore no make-up or jewelry other than my Rasha ring. Gelman had been clear about both the purity of color and fabric for this ceremony. I was to be as natural as possible to ensure nothing could contaminate the ritual. Ari and I being bound was complication enough.

My brother returned a moment later, leading Rabbi Abrams into the room.

“Rabbi, where are all the ritual items?” He’d promised to get me everything on Gelman’s list, insisting they were easy enough for him to procure without raising any suspicion.

With Ari’s help, the rabbi lowered himself into a chair. He sighed in pleasure, rubbing his knee, and looked over toward the hallway. “My helpers.” As if on cue, Kane and Rohan walked into the room, each carrying a box.

I pointed to the ground next to the coffee table. “Set them there, then you can leave.”

Kane put his box down. He flung himself onto the sofa, pulling Ari down next to him by both hands. “Nervous? Excited?”

“This isn’t a spectator event. Invited guests only.” I snapped my fingers at him. “Out. That goes for you too, Mitra.” I rushed Rohan as he sat down, trying to knock him out of the chair he’d reached for. He got comfortable and I barely escaped falling into his lap.

“Rabbi,” I appealed, “I’m nervous enough about performing this ritual correctly without a home audience.”

The rabbi reached into his pocket, pulling out three simple white cloth kippahs, which he distributed to the men. “It’s better to have witnesses for this. They can attest that I performed the Brotherhood’s induction ceremony which, thanks to God, worked properly this time.” I’m glad he believed it would work.

Or was at least faking really well.

He pointed to the box that Kane had put down. “That one contains the Brotherhood ceremony items.”

The Brotherhood’s anal corporate tendencies worked in our favor. Every time a rabbi performed a ritual, he had to request the necessary items through the Brotherhood. In Rabbi Abrams’ case, that meant having Ms. Clara take the candles, wine, and ceremonial cloth from inventoried stock. If anyone checked, they’d see that the rabbi had indeed requested them to re-run Ari’s induction ceremony. The box Kane had brought over was the dummy box full of Brotherhood-mandated ritual props.

For the ceremony that I was going to perform, however, other than the dirt and water that I’d purchased specifically in Prague, it didn’t matter where the other items came from.

Rohan reached into the box at his feet and pulled out a white tablecloth. “Where do you want this?”

I snatched it out of his hands and lay it back in the box. “If you two are going to stay then keep out of the way and don’t touch anything.” I planned to follow Gelman’s instructions to a T, not intending to drop dead because of some minor procedural screw up. “Sit on the sofa, both of you.”

At least they did as they were told.

“Navela.” Rabbi Abrams pulled a small, intricately carved box out of his pocket and held it out. Inside was the same Rasha ring that I wore, a gold band, engraved with a hamsa and dotted with a tiny blue sapphire. If the ceremony worked, the ring would fit itself to my brother’s finger. I had him hold onto it for a bit longer.

I pulled Ari to his feet and positioned him in the center of the room. “Don’t move.”

I’d read and re-read Gelman’s instructions. Could recite them backward and forward and still I wiped damp palms against my skirt in fear that I’d accidentally do something in the wrong order.

First, I positioned four white pillar candles on glass bases in a wide circle around Ari to delineate north, south, east, and west. I’d used an old compass earlier to mark out the correct directions. Moving the coffee table by the north candle, I spread the white tablecloth on it then placed my clay bowls on top of the fabric. Beside them went a shofar, a hollowed-out, carved ram’s horn that I’d blow through to make a kind of trumpeting noise. Shofars were most closely associated with the Jewish new year, Rosh Hashanah, but also with mitzvahs and were part of my instructions now.

From the box I removed two white talleisim; knotted, fringed prayer shawls, which I placed next to the shofar. The ring box was the final item needed. I took it from the rabbi, but instead of placing it on the tablecloth, handed it, lid open, to my brother.

Ari was still fidgeting so I took both his hands in mine best I could with the ring box, looking deep into his eyes. Affirming our connection. He straightened his shoulders and nodded. He was ready.

Was I? I looked at my twin, standing tall and smiling at me, implicit trust in his eyes. I felt his love wash over me and knew, come what may, that I was. Taking a deep breath, I placed one tallis over Ari’s shoulders and the other over mine to signal the beginning of the ritual. A symbolic garment to denote placing ourselves in a space conducive to sacred work.

Reaching into my skirt pocket for a book of wood matches, I lit each candle, starting with the north-most one and turning clockwise from there. Under my breath, I invoked the blessing Gelman had sent, transforming this space from profane to sacred.

I picked up the shofar, running a hand over the smooth, curved surface. Standing tall, shoulders back, I raised the shofar, starting the ceremony. I pursed my lips, keeping the upper one tight and the lower one loose as the rabbi had instructed. Rabbi Abrams had coached me on how to sound it last night. Or attempted to. The noise I’d produced was closer to a constipated moose than the clear sound he’d demonstrated but he’d insisted it was good enough for purposes of the ritual.

Right before I blew into it, I glanced over at Rohan and Kane expecting some snarky look. An eye roll at the very least. But the two of them were treating this ceremony with the solemnity and dignity it deserved. Kane leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, watching me, rapt. Rohan’s gold gaze was more hawk-like but just as captivated.

A single pure note trumpeted out of the horn when I blew into it. Hearing it, my heart soared.

I dipped my fingers into the clay bowl containing the purified well water, flicking three drops over first my head and then over Ari’s. A ritual immersion. Keeping that bowl in my right hand, I picked up the bowl with the virgin soil from a mountain not dug by men and added it to the water. It formed gloopy clumps. I set the empty bowl back on the tablecloth, then stepped in close to Ari.

“Aleph, mem, tav.” I smeared a line of watery dirt across his forehead with my right hand. “Aleph, mem, tav.” Another line down his left cheek. Again and again, I recited the letters. The ones which spelled “emet”–truth in Hebrew–and which, according to legend, had brought the golem to life. I recited them until I’d outlined Ari with the dirt. My brother was the golem, the unformed substance that I prayed this ritual would complete.

I took a moment to center myself. This was the last step. The make or break moment. Quite literally.

Pulling a Swiss army knife out of my skirt pocket, I extracted the blade which I’d previously cleansed in fire. Holding it in my soil-smeared hand, I slashed my other palm in a diagonal line. “Emet.” I flinched against the stab of pain.

A bright line of blood swelled on my skin.

Rabbi Abrams inhaled sharply. Every muscle in Rohan’s body was tense. Kane had half-risen off of the sofa, perched on the arm.

I slashed another line perpendicular to the first. “Met.” The word for death. The second slash burned a million times worse. I pressed my bloody palm to Ari’s heart. “Rasha!”

Ari’s heart beat slow and steady through his shirt. The sound travelled through my palm, up along my arm, vibrating from the heavy thrum. My arm shook, his heartbeat growing in strength as mine grew weaker and more fluttery.

There was a great sucking whoosh inside my head. White spots danced and spiraled in front of my eyes. Ari’s heartbeat was joined by a sparking noise. A clicking sound like a lighter not quite catching.

My chest constricted. I was blinded by the white filling my vision. The clicking morphed into the explosion of a single spark, so loud it deafened, so tangible it snapped my head forward. My magic burst free wrapping my body like barbed wire. A million agonizing bites tore into my flesh.

I couldn’t pull away. Ari’s heart pounded in my skull drowning out all other sound, throbbing through my teeth as my magic tightened around me. I smelled blood.

The magic wire outside my body tightened and tightened; the magic knot within threatened to rip me in half as it fought its unraveling. I sagged, unable to breathe, unable to support myself. Propped up solely by the magic killing me.

“Met.” A chorus of women’s voices chanted in my head. Death and death and death.

The world went dark. Gelman hadn’t prepared me for this but it was beautiful. Nothingness and totality. Peace at last.

Compelling, but it wasn’t my choice.

“Chai,” I whispered. Life.

My eyes snapped open. I gasped and surged to my feet from where I’d been crumpled on the floor.

The ring flew from the box to fit itself onto Ari’s ring finger on his right hand. The silence in the room was absolute. My brother held up his hand, looking from it to me in wonder. “You did it.”

He crushed me into his arms.

“Told you so.” I buried my head against his chest, holding him tightly.

Kane whooped, breaking the spell. He bounded over to us, joining in the hug.

“Exiting now.” I ached all over and the boys’ adoration, while appreciated, hurt.

Rabbi Abrams patted Ari on the back in congratulations. Rohan was busy welcoming my twin into the fold as well.

“This calls for a celebration,” Kane said.

Ari and I exchanged grins. “Balls inside,” he said.

I picked my tallis up off the floor where it had fallen, folding it carefully. “It’s always about the balls inside with you.”

“Is this rabbi appropriate?” Rohan asked.

“I enjoy the balls inside myself,” Rabbi Abrams said, winking at us. I snorted. Go, Rabbi.

Rohan’s and Kane’s double take was a thing of beauty.

Snickering, Ari explained to the poor gobsmacked men. “St. Honoré cakes? The ones with the little cream balls on top? Our baker makes one with the balls both on top and inside, instead of just sponge cake inside.”

“Ari requests it for every occasion.” One of the best things my parents ever did was to let Ari and me each choose our favorite cake on our joint birthday. That meant I didn’t have to give up my more-chocolate-per-square-inch extravaganza to enjoy balls inside.

“Very delicious,” Rabbi Abrams pronounced. “Nava, may I have some water?”

“Of course.” I escorted him to get a drink, leaving Kane taking bets on what Ari’s magic power would be.

My parents hadn’t known about the ceremony today so the kitchen wasn’t in the pristine state my mom normally demanded for rabbi visits. A couple of dirty mugs in the sink, magazines on the counter, and the miscellaneous cork board a disaster of notes, flyers, and postcards. They were going to freak out that they’d missed Ari’s induction, and even better, since they’d believe that Rabbi Abrams ran it, I was in the clear.

I sat down at the table with the rabbi as he drank.

“Mazel tov. I’m very proud of you,” he said.

“Thank you.” I debated telling him about the gogota, letting him know what the Brotherhood was up to because I’d be willing to bet he had no idea. But I didn’t. Today was about celebration. Plenty of time to fight again tomorrow.

Placing one hand on the table, he pushed to his feet. “I’m going to speak with Ari and then update the Brotherhood.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “So glad I correctly performed the induction with your brother in the proper frame of mind this time.” Movements slow but full of dignity, he left.

I lay my head on the table, exhausted. All the terror I’d held in both before and during the ceremony kicked in, leaving me shaky. It wasn’t that I could have died but that I could have screwed up and hurt Ari somehow. There were so many ways this could have gone wrong, and the fact that it went right kind of overwhelmed me.

I’d done it. Me. I’d stuck to my convictions and Ari was now Rasha. Once more on track for his destiny. I couldn’t believe that I’d be getting my brother back down the hall from me, fighting with me and I couldn’t wait to see what magic power he manifested. Like all Rasha, it would be tied to some aspect of his personality. I stood, wondering if I’d learn some deep dark secret about my twin when it did.

“That was incredible,” Rohan said.

“Thanks,” I mugged. I carried Rabbi Abram’s glass over to the sink. “I was pretty fucking glorious if I do say so myself.”

That got the requisite smile as Rohan walked over to me. “Agreed.” He shifted. “Nava.” Ah man, that was the reluctant solemn tone that signaled the start of “we need to talk.” I knew I should have officially broken things off. I’d stupidly assumed he’d do the gentlemanly thing after his talk with Lily and go away so I never had to see him again.

Bring it, Snowflake. “Yes?”

“I’m not doing this anymore.”

Join the club. “It was a good ride while it lasted.” What was this brutal disappointment coursing through me? We only love what we don’t fully possess. Maybe that was it. Not love, obviously, but we’d both possessed and been possessed. There was nothing left to want. We had an expiration date, and this was it.

“A good ride,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” I said. “Our hook-up was the ultimate in escapism. This admittedly amazing–” I decided to soften the blow to his ego because he was staring at me incredulously, “orgasmic drug I’d been using to keep myself happy in the face of my life turning upside down.”

My words hit me with the force of an epiphany. Wow. I really and truly didn’t need Rohan to help me escape my reality anymore. No matter what the future held, demons, misogynistic rabbis, I’d face it head on. Maybe it would be lonely, maybe not, but I wouldn’t be alone in the dark. I’d have me. If only all of Samson’s victims had realized the same thing about themselves. He’d never have been able to peddle his lifestyle as the only game in town, never have been able to feed off the envy and misery he inspired.

I’d told myself a million times that it was over between Rohan and myself, but I’d been saying it for all the wrong reasons. Lily’s presence in his life was irrelevant. I’d miss it, miss him in that way, but I didn’t need him to fill some void or fear. “I don’t need this anymore.”

“No, you don’t.” Rohan’s lips curved up in a small smile. “But this isn’t about need.”

“Then what is it about?”

He braced his hands on the cabinets behind me, one on either side of my head, trapping me.

I flattened myself against the bamboo wood. No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He did.

Rohan kissed me. My body stiffened with the first touch of his lips. Alarm bells clanged in my head.

He knew the rules.

And I knew what I did when people broke the rules: run away very fast. But I couldn’t move. Not because he was forcing me, though I’d have been very happy to blame my inaction on some kind of paralytic in his lips. No, I could have easily broken off the kiss, but I was powerless to do so.

Rohan didn’t touch any other part of me, making me focus on the sensation of his mouth on mine. He kissed me leisurely, like we had all the time in the world and not like the merest brush of his lips had lit me up like a pinball machine on full tilt.

The kiss was uncomplicated and all the more shocking because of it.

I tentatively relaxed, kissing him back. His hand cupping the back of my neck, Rohan kissed me like I was precious. I was a dry river bed flooded by a giddy rush. The sensation tore mercilessly through me, ripping through all my defenses leaving them broken dams.

I leaned into him, gripping his shoulders.

Rohan groaned, his hand on my hip, jerking me to him. He boldly thrust his tongue into my mouth, demanding complete control, tasting of candied fennel seeds and raw need.

The kiss turned reckless, as seductively dark as it was exhilaratingly bright. It slowed and lingered before once more turning feverish. A river of whirling eddies and slow, lazy drifts.

Rohan kissed me harder and rougher, absolutely presumptuous, his hands fisting in my hair. I pressed my palms against the small of his back, drawing him even closer. I wanted no delineation between where he stopped and I started.

I was delirious, lost in a live-wire crackle. My blood was rocket fuel, my heart lifting off under this hot breathlessness. Nothing had ever prepared me for this kiss. It demanded everything. Gave everything.

Rohan planted a lingering kiss beneath my jaw before pulling away. I reached out blindly for him, my fingers closing on air. Opening my eyes, I found him watching me. He didn’t give me a smug smile like I expected. In fact, he looked troubled, like maybe he’d gotten more than he expected and wished he could take it back.

I placed my fingers against my swollen lips, my heart hammering in my ears.

Any qualms of his vanished between one blink and the next, as with the arch of an eyebrow, Rohan tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his arrogance back in full form. “Any questions?”