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“How have you been?” Cassie asked, although she didn’t care. In the Bookseller’s time it was just over two months since the auction. Cassie had traveled back in time.

“I’ve been peachy,” the Bookseller said. “Considering my auction turned into a mass murderer’s wet dream. Considering that animal Barbary killed my only real friend. Considering I didn’t even sell the fucking Book of Pain. All in all, it’s been a good few months.”

Cassie listened without comment.

“What do you want?” the Bookseller asked.

“Well, I want three things,” Cassie said. “First, I want a coffee and a beignet, because someone once told me they were good, and she was right. Second, I want the Book of Pain. And third, I want your help.”

The Bookseller’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, but she waited until a waitress came and took Cassie’s order before saying, “You want my help? You’ve got some nerve to ask for my help.”

Cassie blinked, not understanding. “Why do I have some nerve, exactly?”

“You still have my Book of Safety. You never returned it to me. Or the Book of Doors.”

“Ah well,” Cassie said. “I couldn’t give you the Book of Safety, could I? Because you ran away before I had the chance.”

The Bookseller’s mouth formed a tight line of annoyance.

“And I’m not going to give you the Book of Doors, because you didn’t deliver on your side of the deal. You wouldn’t have seen it, because you ran away, but Izzy got a bullet in her brain from some man when he was trying to fight off that woman.”

The Bookseller looked away, her eyes flicking back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. The waitress returned and Cassie took the coffee and the plate of beignets.

“Relax,” Cassie said. “She didn’t die. But you wouldn’t have known, because you ran away.”

“All right,” the Bookseller snapped. “You made your point. I ran away. I did what I had to do to survive. And if I hadn’t run away that woman would have gotten another book for her collection.”

Cassie took a bite out of a beignet. It was as good as she remembered.

“Not that she needs any more books,” the Bookseller said, speaking more to herself now. “The things she did. The speed. The ferocity. Did you see what she did to Okoro? I mean, that man didn’t take a breathin his life that didn’t ruin someone’s day, but nobody deserves to die like that.”

“He wasn’t the only person who died,” Cassie said. “At your auction.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” the Bookseller snapped bitterly. “I’ve thought of nothing else. I was trying to get out of the business, and I just invited disaster down on my own head. Well, no more. I am having nothing more to do with those damnable books.”

“Found religion?” Cassie asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Your question presupposes I ever lost it. Don’t sit there in judgment on me, young lady. You know nothing about me, nothing about my life. I am not apologizing for anything I’ve done.”

“I didn’t come for apologies,” Cassie said. She took a sip of coffee. It was dark and bitter, a perfect dance partner for the sweet and buttery beignet.

“Yes, you said. Coffee and beignets and help. What help do you think I can give you?”

“Where is the Book of Pain?” Cassie asked.

“It’s somewhere safe,” the Bookseller said. “I’ll give it back when I receive the Book of Safety.”

Cassie nodded to herself. The offer wasn’t a surprise. She waited while a group of loud young men wandered past, singing some sports song, leering at Cassie and the Bookseller briefly before moving on.

“Fucking tourists,” the Bookseller muttered. “Destroying this town. The Book of Safety is mine. You have no right to keep it.”

Cassie smiled to herself as she took another sip of coffee, thinking she had every right and that the Book of Safety was more hers than it had ever been the Bookseller’s.

“I have no wish to keep it from you,” Cassie said. “But if you want it, you need to help me.”

“Help you what?”

“I am going to stop the woman.”