“ For you ,” said Mr . Smith . It was a book , large , leather-bound , gilt pages – the whole shebang . “ W-what ?” I stammered . “ No – I mean , this looks really valuable , and I —”
“ It ’ s not a gift ,” Mr . Smith said . “ It ’ s got your name on it . I just delivered it .”
I looked down , and sure enough , there was my name in all its glory , stamped on the front of the book in gold leaf : Ekaterina Sara-Maria Alexander . My stomach tightened and flipped over . I felt my palms begin to prickle with sweat . “ How do you know my name ?” I demanded , hating the shakiness in my voice .
“ The book is meant for you ,” Mr . Smith said . “ And you have the key , so I knew you were meant for the book .” He gestured at the front pocket of my backpack , half unzipped ; the strange key the TSA agent pulled out of my pocket glinted from the inside .
“ This isn ’ t mine ,” I said , bending over to pull it out , turning it in my fingers .
“ It was in your pocket , wasn ’ t it ?” Mr . Smith asked with a smile . “ Well – yes ,” I said , disconcerted . “ How did you know —” Mr . Smith just smiled and waved a gentle hand to silence me .
“ It wasn ’ t a mistake , Kate .” “ But – what is this ?” I asked , flapping my hands at the heavy book . “ What ’ s in it ?”
“ That ’ s the book of you , of your life ,” Mr . Smith said earnestly . “ Your past , your present ,” he raised an eyebrow , “ your future . Everything you ’ ll ever do , every word you ’ ll ever say , every person you ’ ll ever love . It ’ s all recorded in here . All set down , the way it happened . Or will happen .” Another genuine smile . “ You could know it all .”
“ That ’ s insane ,” I said . “ You ’ re insane .” But my voice caught a little . A history book of my life … “ You ’ re crazy .”
“ Oh , I might be , but the book is real ,” he replied . “ It ’ s very real .” “ I don ’ t believe you ,” I retorted . “ You should .” His eyes crinkled with his smile . I ran a finger over the gilded edges of the book ’ s pages . I imagined I could feel them whispering secrets into my skin . The leather of the book ’ s cover was smooth and rich , intricately tooled with flowers and patterns at the corners .
“ Okay ,” I said . “ Well , I ’ ll just open it , and we ’ ll see .” I lifted the front cover – or tried to . A small golden lock was holding the book shut . I frowned ; I hadn ’ t seen that before . It looked like the strange key would fit it perfectly .
“ Once you open it , you can ’ t go back ,” warned Mr . Smith . “ It ’ s not a decision to be taken lightly .”
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