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“Who?”

“Just a man. I work in a bookstore. He gave it to me as a gift.”

“What man?”

“It doesn’t matter. He died.”

Drummond’s eyes flicked to her again, asking a question that Cassie didn’t answer. He turned his attention back to the book, exploring it silently for a few moments, shaking his head slightly to himself like he was seeing something he couldn’t believe or couldn’t understand.

Then he closed the book and pushed it back across the table towardher. But his eyes didn’t leave it. His eyes remained fixed on the book until it disappeared back into Cassie’s coat.

“So what do we do now?” Izzy asked. “If dangerous people are going to be looking for us, can we go home? I have a job. I have bills I need to pay, I can’t live in France for the rest of my life.”

Drummond thought for a moment in silence, his fingers tapping the tabletop.

“I can help you,” he said finally. “I can put things right for you if you’ll trust me. I can make this all go away. But I need your help in return. I need you to let me do something.”

“What?” Cassie asked.

“I need to destroy the Book of Doors,” he said.

The Book of Memories

“What?” Cassie demanded.

“We could sell it to you. How much would you pay for it?” Izzy asked, and Cassie threw her a sharp look.

“You’re not destroying my book,” Cassie insisted. “And I’m not selling it either.”

Drummond nodded to himself. “I didn’t expect you to just agree to that. It’s a shocking request, I totally understand. The book is precious to you.”

“It was a gift,” Cassie said. “From a friend.”

“I understand,” Drummond said again. “All books are precious; believe me, I know. Particularly these books. But you really don’t understand how dangerous that book is. I don’t mean just to you and Izzy, I mean for everyone.”

“How would you destroy it?” Izzy asked, ignoring Cassie.

“I’d burn it,” Drummond said. “The books burn very easily. Probably because they are old.”

“You’re not destroying it,” Cassie said again, her voice quiet. She once more felt herself trembling, as if the beneficial effects of the croissant were wearing off.

Drummond held her gaze for a moment, as if trying to judge the strength of her feeling. “There are other books,” he said. “Maybethere is something else I could do for you, something I could swap it for?”

“Could you make our dreams come true, Mr. Fox?” Izzy asked, joking. “Could you make me rich and famous? Could you make me a film star?”

“You want to be a film star?” Drummond asked, like it was a possibility he was considering.

“What?” Izzy asked, shocked. “You’re serious?”

“It’s up to Cassie,” he said. “What would your dream be, Cassie?”

The answer was immediate for Cassie, requiring no thought. “I’d like to speak to my grandfather again,” she said.

Drummond tilted his head, not understanding.

“He died,” she said. “Many years ago. But I don’t think you can raise the dead, can you?”

“I’d like to be happy,” Izzy said. “I know it’s childish. If you’d asked me five years ago, I would have said I wanted to be a movie star. But now I think I just want to be happy. With someone I love and children, living somewhere nice. God, listen to me, I’m getting so boring.”