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“Yes!” Cassie said. “Yes! I need help, please... the Book of Doors. I need to use it, just once.”

Mr. Webber nodded slowly. He threw a glance sideways, to the bustle and noise of Second Avenue. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is. But you look like you could use a hot meal and a drink, is that right?”

Cassie hesitated, not sure where this turn in the conversation was leading.

She watched as Mr. Webber pulled a few notes from his pocket and passed them over to her, pressing them into her hand.

“Get yourself some food and a drink. There is a women’s shelter in Midtown, I think. They will get you some help. I’m sorry but I can’t do any more.”

Cassie watched as Mr. Webber hurried away, as he threw one worried glance over his shoulder to see if the madwoman was following him or not.

Cassie stood there dumbly for a few minutes, the notes crumpled in her hand, the uncaring city churning around her.

The Fabulous Tale of Cassie Andrews

Cassie did the only thing she could think of doing: She went somewhere familiar, somewhere she could think. She went to Kellner Books. After the hot, sticky city streets, stepping through the door into the bookstore was a relief. The store looked the same, even if the books were different and she didn’t recognize any of the staff. It was somewhere safe, somewhere comforting. Cassie found the old armchair in the back corner of the room and sat down, a random book in her hand as if she were reading, just trying to wrestle her racing mind into submission.

She sat there for a while, her mind slowing but her despair stubbornly present, listing her personal failings.

Why had she gone back to the apartment?

Why had she not seen Hugo Barbary in the living area? Was she stupid or blind?

Why had she left Izzy behind when she had gone with Drummond?

“Oh no,” she muttered, her stomach dropping as she remembered the blood on the floor. Where was Izzy?

Someone at a nearby bookshelf glanced over at the sound of her despair, and Cassie tried to smile away their concern. She couldn’t stay there forever, she knew. It would be dark soon, and she had nowhere to go. The thought of spending another night in Times Square by herself was bleak. Was this what her life would be?

She thought of the shelter Mr. Webber had mentioned. Should she go there? There might be a bed at least. Food.

Then she remembered the notes he had pressed into her hand, and she was suddenly aware of her rumbling, empty stomach. She had walked miles in the course of the day, just trying to keep calm, and she hadn’t eaten since the diner with Drummond, when she had met her grandfather. She needed food. She smiled weakly as she remembered Drummond saying the same thing to her in Lyon, and she realized she missed him. She had known him for only a day, and she missed him.

She forced herself to her feet. She put the book back on the shelf and headed through the store to the coffee bar at the front. She bought a large chocolate muffin and a large coffee and then sat at one of the empty tables, suddenly self-conscious that she might smell after her night on the streets of the city, hoping the other customers wouldn’t notice.

She picked at the muffin, trying to linger over it, savoring every mouthful like it was her last meal. With her stomach full, and coffee in her veins, she started to feel more rational again, able to strengthen the walls of her mind against her raging emotions.

She sat there, gazing out to the front of the shop and the street beyond, not trying to solve all of her problems, not trying to fix the impossible. She just sat and was calm and quiet.

And then the door to the street opened, and Mr. Webber walked into Kellner Books.

He didn’t notice her, not at first, and she didn’t draw his attention. He went to the counter as he always did and ordered his coffee. Cassie noticed that he had a book under his arm now, a book he hadn’t been carrying earlier on the street.

She watched Mr. Webber take his seat, three tables away, and she knew that his appearance in Kellner Books was her last chance. He was the route to the Book of Doors. She had to make him believe.

She watched him read and sip his coffee for a few minutes, trying to think about the best approach, trying to think about how to make him believe her at least enough to have a conversation.

Then she got up, carrying her drink with her, and walked over to sitdown opposite him. When he looked up from his book his expression cycled through several emotions: surprise, shock, wariness.

“Thank you for the money, Mr. Webber,” she said. “That was very kind.”

That disarmed him, she saw. The wariness subsided.

“I got a drink and some food, and I really needed that.” She smiled. “I think I was a bit hyper when I spoke to you earlier. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He shook his head, starting to end the conversation politely before Cassie had said what she wanted.

“Let me say one thing,” she said. “And then, if you want me to, I’ll leave you alone, I promise. One thing only.”