Zoe slid toward the window with her back pressed against the wall. As she reached the end of the bed, one of her boots came down on some broken glass, crunching loudly. The shadow looked up and lunged across the bed for her.
The flash on the old Polaroid blinded him, but in the millisecond before she dropped the camera and ran for the window, Zoe got a good look at him. The white glare of the flash lit up Ammut’s cobra head in stark relief. His face was more monstrous than ever. When the young snakes had smelled his living blood back in the café, they must have gone wild. Most of Ammut’s face had been torn off, exposing the bones and taut muscles around his mouth. His black tongue darted out, tasting the air, but Zoe was already climbing out the window. Ammut lunged for her, but she got her foot out just in time and he tore his arm on the shards of glass rimming the window frame.
Zoe banged up the fire escape, trying to keep her head clear and not to panic. As she put her foot down on the top step, the old metal gave way, and the step collapsed under her. She fell on her face, and when she rolled over, Ammut was almost on top of her. She kicked at his injured face with her boot and he howled in pain. As he fell back he slashed the air with his knife, catching the side of her injured ankle. The cut hurt, but not enough to stop her. She hopped the last couple of steps to the roof and looked back. Ammut wasn’t there. Zoe turned in frantic circles trying to find him. She didn’t see anything. There was a scrabbling sound behind her and she turned just in time to see Ammut leap at her from the drainpipe he’d climbed.
He landed on her hard and they rolled over and over across the roof, coming to a stop with Ammut on top. Zoe could smell the thick snake blood trickling from the wound she’d opened up when she kicked him. His tongue darted out, tasting the air. Trying to taste my fear, she thought. Ammut grabbed Zoe’s throat, digging his dirty human nails into her skin, and raised the knife over his head.
“For Mother,” he hissed.
Zoe took her hand from her coat pocket and threw a handful of the dry laundry soap into Ammut’s eyes. He screamed, this time more in fury than pain, and swung the knife down in a shimmering arc at Zoe’s head. She bit his wrist and twisted her head. The knife slammed into the roof, burying itself up to the hilt, close enough to tear away strands of Zoe’s hair. She dug her teeth into Ammut’s wrist and threw the rest of the soap. Ammut let go of her throat and she squirmed out from between his legs while he rubbed the soap from his eyes with one hand and twisted the knife from the roof with the other.
Zoe got up and limped to the far side of the roof as quietly as she could. A few seconds later, Ammut managed to pry the knife loose from the roof and he stood up. Zoe held her breath. He still rubbed his eyes, squinting and cursing, trying to get the last of the soap out. He knelt down on his haunches and blinked. What looked like an extra, transparent eyelid came down, clearing the soap to the bottom of his eye, where he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Zoe knew she didn’t have much time. Ammut was already turning his head this way and that, scanning the roof for her body heat.
The cool San Francisco night was touched with fog, and there was a slight breeze that carried the smell of car exhaust and pizza from the joint around the corner.
Zoe took the vodka from her back pocket and poured it on the T-shirt she’d left to air out days before. The smell caught Ammut’s attention. His tongue darted out, trying to find the source of the smell. Zoe’s pounding heart felt as if it was going to crack her ribs. This was it.
She unbuttoned her heavy winter coat and let it fall to the ground. Ammut’s head immediately snapped in her direction. He charged forward, his jaws wide and distended, as if he wanted to swallow her in one gulp. Zoe took a step back so that her heels were hanging off the edge of the roof. She waited until he was halfway to her.
As Ammut reached out to grab her, Zoe flicked the plastic lighter once, twice, and held it to the vodka-soaked shirt. She threw herself down hard as she tossed the burning shirt high into the air behind her. With her eyes closed and blood pounding in her ears, she heard Ammut run past her and off the roof.
Zoe’s heart wouldn’t slow down. She was paralyzed where she lay, afraid to open her eyes, afraid to move, imagining Ammut standing over her, his jaws gaping wide. But nothing happened.
Finally, she forced her eyes open and looked around. She’d heard right. Ammut wasn’t there. She was alone under the stars. Too out of breath to stand, she crawled the few feet to the roof’s edge and looked down. The shirt was still burning faintly in the alley five floors below, but there was no body. A pillar of gray ash eddied and danced in the crosscurrents as the night breeze swirled in the narrow alley. A few minutes later the ashes were gone, drifting into the street, waiting for the first rain to wash them down the sewer all the way back to Iphigene.
She limped back down the stairs to her room. Her bleeding ankle was hurting, and she’d jammed her shoulder when she’d hit the roof. Inside, Zoe’s mother was standing in the middle of the wrecked bedroom looking lost, one hand clamped over her mouth. As Zoe climbed through the window, her mother asked uncertainly, “Zoe?”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s me.” Zoe limped over and dropped onto the edge of her broken bed. Her mother came and knelt beside her, moving her hands over Zoe’s face, her arms and legs, checking to see that she was still intact. Zoe winced when her mother touched her shoulder. Her mother drew her hand back.
“We should get you to a doctor,” she said.
“And pay for it with what?” Zoe asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” said her mother. “I’ve got a job now.”
“Listen, Mom,” Zoe said, feeling down beside the bed. Every part of her hurt, but there was something left to do. “Everyone in the building probably just heard that window break and someone’s already called the cops.”
“Good,” her mother said. “Let the cops do something useful for a change.”
“When they get here, I’m going to tell them it was a crackhead who followed me home from school the other day. But that’s a lie, okay?” She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw growing fear and suspicion. “The other night when I told you about seeing Dad and Valentine in Iphigene, and Queen Hecate and Emmett, you said you believed me, but you didn’t really, did you?”
Her mother rubbed Zoe’s back in small circles. It was a comforting feeling, something she’d done when Zoe was a little girl and sick. “I do believe you. Mostly. I want to believe it.”
Zoe nodded. “It’s okay. I know how crazy it all sounds,” she said. “But it wasn’t a crackhead who broke in here tonight.” She handed her mother the Polaroid photo she’d picked up off the floor. “It was Emmett,” she said.
When the police arrived, Zoe told them the story about the crackhead. By the time he’d escaped to the roof, the crackhead must have panicked and disappeared. She told the police that he’d made all kinds of disgusting sexual remarks and threats the day before. She told them everything she knew they wanted to hear. The cops nodded and took notes without seeming particularly interested in any of it. Before they left, they gave Zoe’s mother a little card with a case number on it. The one thing the cops did that made Zoe grateful was shoo away the other tenants who’d clustered outside the apartment door, gawking and trying to get a look at the crack girl.
When everyone was gone and she’d locked the apartment door, Zoe’s mother took the photo of Ammut from the pocket of her robe and stared at it as if trying to force a rational answer out of the flat, overly lighted image. Finally, she dropped it onto the living room table and shook her head. “I believe,” she said. Then she turned to Zoe and asked, “Did you throw all my cigarettes away?”