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As Lund had watched, Azaki had gripped the book. And then there had been lights, a haze of bright colors dancing and swirling around the edges of the book. Lund had felt his mouth drop open, the first moment in his life in which he had felt genuine amazement.
“Look,” Azaki had said, nodding at Lund’s empty plate, now loaded with food again.
Lund had reached out to touch the food. It felt real. It looked real.
“I can smell it,” he had said.
“It’s all illusion,” Azaki had said, and Lund had seen that he was smiling proudly.
Then Azaki had visibly relaxed, placing the book on the table, and the haze of lights had disappeared as if someone had flicked a switch, and Lund’s plate had been empty once again.
“And look at this,” Azaki had said, opening the book. He flicked through pages until he found what he was looking for. Then he turned the book around and showed it to Lund—a rough, scribbled drawing of the plate of food he had just seen and touched and smelled.
“Fucking unbelievable, right?” Azaki had said.
Lund had simply nodded, because it was exactly that: fucking unbelievable.
He didn’t know why Azaki had told him his secret, but he assumed Azaki had decided that Lund was simple in some way. It wasn’t unusual. People saw Lund’s size, and if they spent any time with him, they noticed how he didn’t say much and therefore assumed he was stupid. Lund was happy to be underestimated, and as much as he liked Azaki and his easy company, he had no plans to disabuse the man of the notion that he was a bit slow.
When they made it back to the hotel on the edge of the port in Antofagasta, Azaki said that he was going for a drink in the bar, alone. Lund got the message and went straight to the top-floor suite. He took a beer from the minibar and stood at the window for a while. Lund could see the port, and he liked the view. He liked to see the activity, the people at work.
Lund sipped his beer and thought about Azaki. Beneath it all he was a soft man, a kind man. Lund didn’t see that as a failing; it was a big part of what had kept him traveling with him for so long.
Azaki returned to the suite earlier than Lund had expected, a little over an hour later. He took a beer from the minibar and joined Lund on the couches.
“I think we’ll go back to the US,” Azaki said. “I feel like we should go to New York.”
Azaki had a faraway look in his eye. He got that way sometimes when he was sad, or drinking, or sad and drinking.
“Okay,” Lund said. He didn’t mind. He had been to New York only once before when he’d been much younger. He would enjoy a return trip.
After a few beers, and while they were both slumped on the couches in different corners of the room, Lund said, “Do the thing.”
Azaki sighed theatrically, but Lund knew he liked to show off his skills.
“Okay,” Azaki said. He pulled out the Book of Illusion and held it in his hand, closing his eyes briefly. The book glowed in many colors, and then similar colors lit up the room as a whole, a waterfall of rainbow sparks showering down upon them from the ceiling. Lund relaxed back into the sofa and enjoyed the illusion, feeling himself easing down into sleep.
“Enjoy it,” Azaki said. “Tomorrow a new adventure starts.”
Lund lifted his bottle to reciprocate and turned his eyes back to the lights.
He didn’t imagine they’d find anything the next day; they hadn’t found anything in the nine months he had been traveling with Azaki, but he was happy to go along for the ride, happy to learn all about the hidden world of magic books.
Mr. Webber’s Apartment and Izzy’s Investigations
The next morning, after a night of little sleep and lots of excitement, Cassie went in search of answers, and she took the Book of Doors with her.
Her first stop was Mr. Webber’s building on East Ninety-Fourth Street, a four-story redbrick building with a black fire escape zigzagging down the front that was covered in a fat layer of snow. The door to the building was locked—she tried it, but it rattled securely. Cassie thought for a moment, and then reached for the Book of Doors in her pocket, imagining opening the door and stepping straight into the hallway beyond, but when she pulled the handle, the door remained stubbornly shut.
“What?” she asked the day, the word a swirl of breath coughed into the air.
She glanced around, making sure she was still alone on the street, and removed the book from her pocket. She tried again, checking to make sure the Book of Doors was surrounded by its haze of rainbow light as she pulled the handle, but the door to Mr. Webber’s building still didn’t budge.
“Why doesn’t it work?”
She stood motionless for a moment, thinking about the puzzle. The journeys she had made the previous evening had all started from doorsthat were unlocked—the door in her apartment, the door on the hotel roof terrace. The only difference that she could think of was that the door to Mr. Webber’s building was locked—she couldn’t walk through itwithoutusing the Book of Doors, so why should she be able to walk through it using the book?
“Can’t unlock locked doors,” she said to herself. The Book of Doors could transform one doorway into another, but only if the first door was already unlocked.
