Jake watched his other, younger self take a step back from the bookshop owner, his eyes widening in surprise. Because his name is Tower, Jake thought. That’s what surprised me. Not because of Roland’s Tower, though — I didn’t know about that yet— but because of the picture I put on the last page of my Final Essay.

He had pasted a photo of the Leaning Tower of Pisa on the last page, then had scribbled all over it with a black Crayola, darkening it as best he could.

Tower asked him his name. Seventy-seven Jake told him and Tower joked around with him a little. It was good joking-around, the kind you got from adults who really didn’t mind kids.

“Good handle, pard,” Tower was saying. “Sounds like the footloose hero in a Western novel—the guy who blows into Black Fork, Arizona, cleans up the town, and then travels on. Something by Wayne D. Overholser, maybe…”

Jake took a step closer to his old self (part of him was thinking what a wonderful sketch all this would make on Saturday Night Live ), and his eyes widened slightly. “Eddie!” He was still whispering, although he knew the people in the bookstore couldn’t—

Except maybe on some level they could. He remembered the lady back on Fifty-fourth Street, twitching her skirt up at the knee so she could step over Oy. And now Calvin Tower’s eyes shifted slightly in his direction before going back to the other version of him.

“Might be good not to attract unnecessary attention,” Eddie muttered in his ear.

“I know,” Jake said, “but look at Charlie the Choo-Choo, Eddie!”

Eddie did, and for a moment saw nothing—except for Charlie himself, of course: Charlie with his headlight eye and not-quite-trustworthy cowcatcher grin. Then Eddie’s eyebrows went up.

“I thought Charlie the Choo-Choo was written by a lady named Beryl Evans,” he whispered.

Jake nodded. “I did, too.”

“Then who’s this—” Eddie took another look. “Who’s this Claudia y Inez Bachman?”

“I have no idea,” Jake said. “I never heard of her in my life.”

Seven

One of the old men at the counter came sauntering toward them. Eddie and Jake drew away. As they stepped back, Eddie’s spine gave a cold little wrench. Jake was very pale, and Oy was giving out a series of low, distressed whines. Something was wrong here, all right. In a way they had lost their shadows. Eddie just didn’t know how.

Kid Seventy-seven had taken out his wallet and was paying for the two books. There was some more talk and good-natured laughter, then he headed for the door. When Eddie started after him, Mid-World Jake grabbed his arm. “No, not yet—I come back in.”

“I don’t care if you alphabetize the whole place,” Eddie said. “Let’s wait out on the sidewalk.”