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Izzy looked at Cassie. “I am so sorry, Cass, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Cassie reached out a hand to touch Izzy’s arm. “Don’t worry.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Izzy asked. “You keep saying ‘they.’”

“Different groups,” Drummond said. “Book hunters and collectors. Governments.”

“Governments know about this?” Izzy asked.

“Some.” Drummond nodded. “Some people in some governments. But it’s mostly private individuals.”

“What sort of people?” Cassie asked. “Do I even want to know?”

“Terrorists. Warlords. Art collectors. Some of them are awful people, some of them benign. These books are like weapons and power: it’s always the wrong people who end up possessing them. And they will want your book, Cassie. It’s an incredibly valuable item, a book that people have been trying to find for over a century. Imagine what people could do with the Book of Doors.” He dropped his eyes to his plate, the last few crumbs of croissant, as if wishing he could have another. “There’s always someone happy to use a book for the wrong reasons.”

“Like that man in the deli?” Izzy asked.

Drummond nodded. “He wasn’t looking for you. He didn’t find you because you searched the internet. I’m so sorry, it’s my fault he was there. He was following me.”

“How was he doing that stuff?” Izzy asked. “Throwing those bodies around?”

“He has a book,” Drummond said. “More than one, probably, but he definitely has the Book of Control. That’s what he was holding. It lets you control objects, move them around, throw them. Hugo Barbary is very good at using books, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean he’s good at using books?” Izzy asked. “Like, some people aren’t?”

Drummond shook his head. “In principle everyone can use the books, but some people find it harder. Some people find using some books really easy, but they struggle with others. Some people, maybe like Hugo Barbary, are just naturally good with the books and seem to be able to use most books almost immediately.”

“Why is that?” Cassie asked.

Drummond shrugged. “Who knows? Why do some people have perfect pitch? Why can some people draw, and other people can’t? Everyone can try to play a musical instrument but not everyone can be a concert pianist. It’s just humans, isn’t it? But the point is, now that Hugo knows you have the Book of Doors he will almost certainly come after you. And where he goes, others will follow. Your lives are now in danger.”

Cassie nodded slowly, responsibility and implications settling on her like a heavy duvet on a hot day, something she wanted to crawl free from.

“But who are you?” Izzy asked. “You’ve mentioned all these people, but we don’t know who you are.”

Drummond nodded. “Yes, I know. My story is a long one, and we don’t have time to tell it now. I just need you to trust me. I am not like that man you saw.”

“Well, that’s a vague and entirely unsatisfactory answer,” Izzy said, sitting back and folding her arms.

Drummond nodded, as if he agreed, but he didn’t offer anything more. Instead his eyes flicked over to Cassie, and he asked, “Can I see it? Your book?”

Cassie said nothing, unsure how to respond, unsure of the risk.

“I’m not going to steal it,” Drummond said. “I promise.”

Izzy barked a laugh of skepticism.

Cassie met Drummond’s eyes and held his gaze, trying to judge him and his intentions. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the book, Izzy watching her. She laid it on the table and pushed it over to him.

“It had a note on it when I got it,” Cassie said, as Drummond examined the book. “A message from the person who gave it to me.”

Drummond nodded, looking at the book with a frown. “Writing doesn’t last in the books. It disappears after a time. Other than the writing that’s in the book itself.”

“Why?”

“Who knows?” Drummond said, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement as he looked at the Book of Doors. “Someone gave this to you?”

Cassie nodded.