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416 pages, Hardcover
First published September 15, 2015
There would be no dressing up as a maid. No cyanide slipped into his crystal glass of mineral water. The Fuhrer’s death was to be a loud, screaming thing. A broadcast of blood over the Reichssender.
He hadn’t stood a chance really, but that was the power of hope, the utter cruelty of it.
According to the stories, when the führer first announced his vision of an occupied Africa and Europe to his generals, some of them had laughed. “Impossible,” they’d said. “It can’t be done.” But the word impossible held no sway over a man like Hitler.
Yael had many faces. Many names. Many sets of papers. Because the chemicals the Angel of Death had crammed into Yael’s veins had changed her.
Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them-made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same.
This book, at its heart, is about identity. Not only in how we see ourselves, but also about how we see others. What makes people who they are? The color of their skin? The blood in their veins? The uniforms they wear?

"Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them -- made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same. Her story begins on a train."

“Once upon a different time, there was a girl who lived in a kingdom of death. Wolves howled up her arm. A whole pack of them--made of tattoo ink and pain, memory and loss. It was the only thing about her that ever stayed the same.
Her story begins on a train.”
Babushka—the one who gave her purpose.
Mama—the one who gave her life.
Miriam—the one who gave her freedom.
Aaron-Klaus—the one who gave her a mission.
Vlad—the one who gave her pain.
These were the names she whispered in the dark.
These were the pieces she brought back into place.
These were the wolves she rode to war.
“Her self-reflection was no reflection at all. It was a shattered mirror. Something she had to piece together, over and over again. Memory by memory. Loss by loss. Wolf by wolf.”
