The Day Before Forever Read Free Page A

back of the crowd. What was he doing there?
    Squinting, I tried to make out if he was talking to someone. No, that wasn’t it.
    Henley was easy to spot, as he was still wearing his Tudor-era nightshirt, as Richard had been on his deathbed only a moment ago. I shook my head at how confusing that sounded. But oddly, no one seemed to pay Henley any heed, as he stood just a few steps behind everyone.
    As the crowd looked forward toward me and their guide, I craned my neck to see what Henley was up to. I knew there hadto be a reason he was there. Maybe he was scoping out the exit?
    As I stood on my toes, I saw Henley move close to a man standing at the edge of the crowd. The man didn’t look particularly different or important in any way; he just had a backpack slung over one of his shoulders. I didn’t know what Henley was doing until I saw his hand flash forward.
    I yelped, and everyone, including the man who stood right in front of Henley, looked up at me. I must have looked a sight still in my Tudor gown, complete with a French hood headpiece.
    The woman shushed me. “My God. Attention-seeking actors . . . The company should have warned me about their new promotions.” The woman in the red scarf mumbled, but she soon continued her lecture.
    Henley had taken something from the man’s backpack. Whatever it was, it was small, and I saw him hide it in his shirt. My shriek had distracted everyone—including Henley’s target—and actually helped him pickpocket the man.
    I watched as Henley moved toward the other side of the room. I couldn’t say anything with so many people around. Luckily, the group started toward the exit, and the woman with the red scarf ushered everyone out.
    I felt a tugging at my skirt. I looked down to see the little girl with the oversized pink fleece coat. She wordlessly thrust something at me.
    Confused, I took it, and before I could see what it was she ran off to join the group. It felt small and cold in my hand.
    â€œPlease remember there’s a step here!” the tour guide barked over her shoulder.
    I looked down to see what the girl had given me. It was acoin. I wondered if her mother had told her to give it to the nice actor in Tudor dress standing mutely in the corner of the room.
    I turned the coin over in my hand. “One pound,” it said. Right, we were still in the UK. Just more in the future.
    I waited for the last of the tour group to trickle out of the room and round the corner before I carefully stepped around the clock I was hiding and walked up to Henley.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” I said through gritted teeth.
    â€œThe little girl was just tipping you for your wonderful performance,” he said.
    â€œYou know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
    Henley dug into his shirt and withdrew a leather wallet. He tossed it to me, and I barely caught it.
    â€œMoney,” he said.
    â€œMoney that’s not ours.”
    â€œI’m quite aware of that,” Henley said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we need some money to get out of here.”
    I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. If there was one thing I learned from living in New York, it was that you needed money to survive. New York was expensive, and I guessed that London was, too. You need money to buy food, find a place to stay, and to even get around. Money was tied to everything really. So I opened the wallet.
    â€œReed Lory Glazen,” I read from the driver’s license. “New Jersey driver’s license, so he’s American.”
    I pulled out his credit card and all the cash he carried in his wallet. A Visa, 238 British pounds, and 10 American dollars.
    Henley held out his hand. I didn’t know if he had pockets, but I handed him the credit card and the cash.
    I looked closely at the driver’s license. The photo looked like it was a mug shot. There was a date of issue and an expiration date. I