A bomb exploded. The bean stalk shook. A clear violation of fairy tale neutrality. Reaching a hand through the palace window and grabbing a Russian MIG, the giant nearly ate the pilot, but there was no salt.
The poor man shivered.
The giantess finished an aleph in her sampler. “Young idiot, you could have hit the Golden Goose.”
“That’s a fairy tale,” said the pilot.
“Poor deluded man. Hermie, call that nice rabbi in Moscow. We need a golem.”
A light broke in the pilot’s face. “Because first we came for the Ukrainians?”
Zelda smiled, though it was more complicated.