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“Nonetheless,” he said. “I am getting something from this. I am using you for company.”

“I think the word you are looking for is ‘friendship,’” Cassie said.

“I cannot let you persist, trapped in this place like this,” he continued,as if he wasn’t really listening to her. “We must find your book. This crazy, wonderful book. I will help you however I can. No expense spared. We start now. Tell me what we should do, and I will do it if I can.”

He beamed at her happily, and in the future Cassie would always remember this moment, sitting on the windowsill with the cup of tea in her hand, surrounded by the sounds of the city and seeing Mr. Webber in his chair, his wall of books the backdrop behind him. It was how she would always think of him, keen to help and beaming with the enthusiasm of a little boy.

“Okay,” she said. “But I don’t think trying to find the book is what will help now.”

“Well, what do you think will help?”

She sighed. Her mind had been going in a different direction recently. “I need to think about what to do when I get back to where I left. Whether we find the book or not, I need to be ready to face what I’ll find there. To help my friends.”

“Okay,” Mr. Webber said, nodding seriously. “And what do you need?”

The figure of Dr. Barbary loomed large in her memories, intimidating and terrifying. What could she possibly do against such a man, with his books and powers? And what about the woman in Drummond’s memories, that terrifying, beautiful figure? If she did get back, she would have to be ready.

And what about Izzy? How could she help Izzy?

And Drummond... why did she keep thinking about him?

“I don’t know,” Cassie admitted. “But I’ll think about it.”

When the answer came to her—a possible answer, rather than a certainty—it came completely out of the blue. Cassie was out for one of her usual walks. It was a cloudy day, several months after her conversation with Mr. Webber, and she had stopped for a coffee in Bryant Park. As she sat there sipping her drink, she remembered the conversation she’d had with Drummond as they’d watched his friends meeting on the day they would die. Cassie found herself thinking through those conversations with Drummond, several years in the past now, and sheremembered a detail she had forgotten, a fact that gave her a jolt of adrenaline and made her sit up straight and spill her coffee.

She examined the fact, and the idea that slowly developed from it, looking for flaws and weaknesses. She saw none. She saw only possibility.

A possible way to meet Dr. Barbary on a more equal footing.

But then it didn’t matter, because Mr. Webber told her that he had found the Book of Doors.

The Book of Doors Discovered

“What?” Cassie asked.

She had just returned from a walk. It was autumn, almost winter, and the days were dark and blustery. She was standing just inside the doorway, pulling off her greatcoat, and Mr. Webber had hurried to meet her, his eyes bright.

“I’ve found the Book of Doors,” he said. He was almost hopping with excitement, barely able to stand still.

“What?” Cassie asked again. All thoughts in her mind had stopped dead, like a car hitting a wall.

“Come, sit,” Mr. Webber urged. He pulled her over to the couch and then explained. “Ever since I saw that other you, the younger you, I’ve been searching. Ever since I really started to believe.”

“Uh-huh,” Cassie said.

“So I sent out emails to all of my contacts, all of my book friends.”

“You have book friends,” Cassie said, a statement, not a question.

“Rare book collectors. People who go to book auctions. I like first editions.” He gestured at the shelves that surrounded them.

“Uh-huh,” Cassie said again. She was trying very hard to feel nothing. To be skeptical.

“I just got an email this morning from my contact Morgenstern. He’s a collector in Toronto.”

“What did you tell them? When you sent out your email?” Cassie’s mind was catching up with the conversation and was ringing alarm bells at the thought of an email going out to lots of people talking about magical books.

“Oh, nothing revealing,” Mr. Webber said. “I just described the book as you described it to me. I said it was sometimes called the Book of Doors. I said it had indecipherable scribbles in it, and sketches.”