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“I don’t think you realize the danger you’re in,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. Cassie and Izzy exchanged a glance.
“Danger?” Cassie asked, moving back slightly.
“Not from me,” the man said, raising a hand to mollify her. “There are other people.”
“Why would we be in danger?” Izzy demanded.
The man sighed; he seemed so tired. “Because of the book,” he said.
The server returned and placed Izzy’s and Cassie’s drinks on the table.
“I don’t suppose you have any whisky, do you?” Drummond asked. The server shook his head.
“Didn’t think so,” Drummond murmured to himself.
“What book?” Cassie asked, as the server retreated to the counter.
Drummond nodded, a gesture of approval. “You’re right to be cautious,” he said. “But I know you have a book, a very special book that lets you do unusual things.”
Cassie held his gaze for as long as she could, but then she glanced at Izzy, and the man read that as an affirmation, responding with a nod of his own. Then he threw a nervous glance at the street door.
“What are you?” Izzy asked. “Irish or something?”
The man smiled at that, and it made his face handsome, as if all of his good looks were tucked away until he was happy. “No, I’m not Irish,” he said. “Look, I am sorry about this, but you have to be serious now.” He glanced back and forth between them. “I can help you, I can protect you, but you have to trust me.”
“What kind of name is Drum and Fox?” Izzy asked.
Cassie could see that Izzy was stalling, trying to avoid committing to anything. Cassie watched the man as he digested the question. She was not scared of him, she realized, this man in his crumpled clothes, with his dark eyes; this man who was handsome when he smiled. She was uncertain of him, but not scared.
“Drummond,” the man said. “Not ‘Drum and.’ It’s Drummond. I’m not Irish, I’m Scottish. It’s a Scottish name.”
“Drummond,” Izzy said, trying the name out in her mouth.
“Since we are doing introductions... ?”
Cassie and Izzy exchanged a glance again, conferring in silence about whether to answer.
“I’m Cassie,” Cassie said.
“Very pleased to meet you, Cassie,” Drummond said, nodding his head slightly.
“I’m Isabella, Izzy for short,” Izzy said, but grudgingly, giving her name only because Cassie had.
“Izzy,” Drummond said. “It’s a pleasure. Now. I’ve seen the book you have. I saw you holding it on the roof terrace at the Library Hotel when you were dressed like you shouldn’t have been there. I saw you using it, I saw the colored light. And then I saw you on the street a couple of days ago and you disappeared into thin air. I think I know what you have.”
“Okay,” Cassie said cautiously.
“How do you know about all of this?” Izzy asked.
“I have some experience with these sorts of books.” He snatched another glance to the street, his eyes flicking back and forth quickly as if searching for something.
“Books?” Cassie asked, catching the plural, her heart skipping a few beats.
“Yes, books,” Drummond said, looking at her. He smiled again, genuine warmth in his eyes. “You didn’t think yours was the only one, did you?”
“I didn’t think about it,” Cassie said, and Izzy shook her head.
“There are books,” he said. “And there are people who want the books, and they will do whatever they can to get hold of them.”
