Free The Door in the Moon by Catherine Fisher Page A

father and ended up in World War Two—well, you won’t know what that is—and then I did find him, but I lost him again.” He shook his head, stabbed suddenly by the pain of that, his father in the frayed doctor’s robe, the terrible heat of the plague-ridden city. Then, looking up, he stopped, because what did any of that mean to her?
    For her it had been years.
    Moll put her lacy fingers together and said calmly, “I waited, Jake. Waited and waited. And you never came. I was a kid from the slums back then, the lowest dregs of the street. All I knew was cheek and snatching purses and being fast on my feet. And then you came. All big and brave and handsome. You crashed in like a hurricane—you and Venn—and blew my life apart. Little girls have stupid crushes, Jake, luv. Mine was with you. The boy from the future.”
    â€œMoll . . .”
    She ignored him. “I was so sure you’d come back. We’d
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off to some city of glass buildings and magic machines, and there’d be fun and adventures and food and friends. Symmes gave me some clothes and a bag and I kept it all packed ready, for weeks, Jake. Months. Before I started thinking you’d forgotten me.”
    â€œI never forgot you!” He jumped, up, paced. “For God’s sake, it’s only been six months, Moll. I will—”
    She watched him, calm. “It’s been five years.
And you never did come
.”
    That silenced him.
    He said, “How did you get the bracelet?”
    â€œBlimey. That’s a tale. You’ll have to read my diary. I’m going to leave it for you, Jake, somewhere you’ll be sure to find it. Anyway, me and Symmes got hold of it.” She laughed. “And that was too big a temptation, Jake. Once a thief, always a thief. Symmes needed money for the experiments—he got married to this stuck-up piece what hated my guts. So I left, and I took the bracelet with me. Set up on my own.”
    He sat back down. The room was shadowy, but he saw now it was sumptuous; hung with heavy drapes, its tables littered with lamps and precious porcelain, silver dishes and etched glass. A door opened and a manservant came in, powdered and silent in silver livery, and began to lay the table with fresh linen.
    Moll took Jake’s arm and cuddled up close. “Know what you made me, Jake? You made me the best jewel thief in all the world. Because with the mirror I can steal anything, all across time, and
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away and never get caught. Such adventures I’ve had, Jake, such close shaves! The Sultan of Oman’s Yellow Opal, I stole that, and we robbed the Duchess of Lindsey in her carriage on the Dover road, and then there’s the Charing Cross Bank job—ever hear about that one?”
    He sat silent as she detailed amazing and daring exploits, as she jumped up and gleefully acted out how she’d climbed the wall at Chatsworth House, how her gang had tunneled under the vaults of Dublin Castle. And as he watched he saw that maybe he was wrong, maybe she hadn’t changed, hadn’t grown up at all.
    The footman cleared his throat. “Grub’s up, Contessa.”
    â€œThank you, James.” She stood, took Jake’s hand, and led him to the table.
    He said,
“Contessa?”
    â€œGot to have a moniker, Jake, for this con. Like the spread?”
    He sat, surveying the silver teapot, the plates of cakes and scones and sandwiches. For a moment he felt as if he was at a children’s tea party, the chairs too big, the food pink and sweet.
    â€œIt’s all for you Jake? It’s okay, isn’t it?”
    â€œGreat, Moll.”
    â€œGo on, dig in. I know you’ll be starving.”
    He was still hungry, but first he sat back and put both hands on the table and looked at them. Then he raised his head. “Why did you really bring me here?”
    She buttered a scone. “You and me, Jake, we’re going to pull