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Cassie shrugged. The first few months stuck in the past had been hard for her. She had never known despair like it. But after that, in the years that followed, in all the time she had spent with Mr. Webber, she had been happy. She had built a friendship with Mr. Webber, and it had been a special time in her life. She wouldn’t change that now, she wouldn’t sacrifice those memories. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That’s not what I am here for.”

The Bookseller raised her hand and gestured to a man sitting across the café from them. He was a tall white man with pale skin. He walked over and handed a briefcase to Lottie.

“This is Elias,” she explained. “He is my bookkeeper. In the sense of a man who keeps books safe, not an accountant.”

Elias gazed at Cassie without expression. There was something intense about the man’s gaze, and in a different light and without an introduction he would have been creepy.

Lottie put the briefcase on the table, pushing cups and plates aside, and then unlocked it using a key on a chain around her neck.

“I own one book that I will never sell,” she said. “It has been in my family for three generations. It is the book that allows me to live the life I live. It has kept me safe from book hunters and other people over the years. Without this book I am exposed. It is not a risk I take lightly.”

“I will return it to you as soon as I have the Book of Doors,” Cassie said.

“You will give both books to me,” Lottie said.

Cassie nodded reluctantly. “That’s the deal.”

“If you do not,” the Bookseller said, “there is nothing in this world that will stop me from finding you and killing you. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Cassie said.

“Uh-uh.” The Bookseller shook her finger at Cassie, like she was telling her off. “Don’t say it without thinking about it. I am not Hugo Barbary. I am not some stupid man with an ego. I am a professional and people only cross me once.”

“I understand,” Cassie said.

The Bookseller held her gaze for a moment, reiterating the message. Then she turned the briefcase around on the table.

The book inside the case was the same size as the Book of Doors—as all the special books, Cassie assumed—but this book had a pure white cover, like fine porcelain or crisp cotton.

“It’s beautiful,” Cassie said, remembering how wonderful these special books were, despite all the unhappiness they had brought to her. “What does it do?”

“Take it,” the Bookseller said.

Cassie removed the book from the case and held it between her hands. It was so light, like holding a cloud. The surface was very slightly textured, like the rough softness of a bandage.

“This is the Book of Safety,” the Bookseller said, her eyes stuck on the volume between Cassie’s fingers. “If you have it with you, no harm will befall you. No one can hurt you. You cannot be injured.” The Bookseller shrugged. “It will keep you safe.”

Cassie took a breath and then opened the book, remembering the thrill of discovery, the thrill of magic in book form.

She smiled as her eyes scampered over the text in the Book of Safety, because she knew that Hugo Barbary wouldn’t be a problem.

Out on the street, the busker stopped playing his tuba, and sang his words into the thick, dark night.

The Quiet Death of Mr. Webber (2)

Cassie returned to New York, the Book of Safety tucked away within her coat pocket. She stayed in hotels for a few days, keeping out of sight, keeping to herself.

After dark on the third day, with a chill in the air, Cassie left the hotel where she had been staying and she walked the city until she reached Kellner Books. The snow was coming, she could feel it in the air, and she pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck. She stood across the street, in a doorway to the side of the sushi restaurant, and she watched her younger self through the window of Kellner Books. She watched that younger Cassie on the day her life had changed.

She couldn’t see the tables at the coffee bar from the street, but Cassie knew that Mr. Webber was already in there, drinking coffee and readingThe Count of Monte Cristo.

Then she saw the other Cassie leave the counter at the front of the store, a stack of books under her arm. The snow started to fall, and somewhere in the shop she was speaking to Mr. Webber, talking about Dumas and Rome.

Cassie felt something on her cheek, and she thought it was a snowflake, but when she reached up with a finger, she felt tears.

The other Cassie reappeared in the window of the store, gazing out at the night in wonder as the snow started to come down. Somewhere behind her, Mr. Webber was dying quietly.

For the second time she was with Mr. Webber—or near him, at least—at the end of his life. She wished she could have been with him, holding his hand, keeping him company in his final moments. She had wanted the same with her grandfather, but she had been asleep, exhausted from caring for him over many days. The fact that she had missed that moment still burned her in her core.