by James Riley
“He’s not my author,” Owen said, far more angrily then he expected. “I’m real.”
“That your author isn’t real,” Fowen finished, then raised an eyebrow. “So wait, you don’t think I’m real?”
Whoops. “Of course you are,” Owen said, glancing at his watch. “That’s not what I meant. I just . . .” He groaned. There was no time for this right now. “Look, you don’t have an author either. You and me, we’re just extras, background characters for important people. No one’s writing stories about us, you know?”
Fowen shook his head. “You’re wrong. Look at you right now. You’re the one saving the supposedly important people. Where’s Kiel? Bumbling around, useless without his magic. Bethany’s captured and needs saving—”
“Actually, I think she’s the one who’s going to save us,” Owen said quietly.
“And you’re the hero of Story Thieves,” Fowen finished. “The book doesn’t make you out to be, but you are. Or you should have been! You’re a bigger hero than either Bethany or Kiel were, for sure. You saved the Magister, Charm, and Kiel, even if they didn’t all deserve it.”
For a moment Owen let himself imagine it was Charm standing next to him instead of his fictional double. “He’s not wrong,” Imaginary Charm told him. “But why are you wasting time with doubting yourself? Bethany needs you.”
“I’m looking for her, but I feel like I’m missing something,” he told Charm in his mind.
“Of course you’re missing something,” Charm said, her robotic eye shining on him. “Why would Doyle put her here, then light it on fire? What happens when something burns down?”
“The fire department comes,” Owen said, glancing at the trucks.
“And what do they do?”
“Put out the fire?”
“With?”
Owen’s eyes flashed to the hoses still spraying water on the various small fires around the building. Most of the library was now soaked down, with excess water running down the sidewalks and into the sewer.
Oh!
Ohhhhhh.
Oh no.
“You’ve got it,” Imaginary Charm said, and gave him a half smile.
“I miss you,” Owen said as she faded out.
“You do?” Fowen said, giving him an odd look.
Owen started to blush, but grabbed Fowen’s hand and pulled him back to where Moira waited. He whistled softly, then waved when Kiel turned back. The boy magician quickly returned too, and Owen gathered them all in a huddle.
“I think I know where Bethany is,” he said. “I—”
And then police sirens sounded down the street, and Owen shook his head. “Just follow me, okay?”
With that, Owen took off, following the flow of excess water from the library.
“Where is she?” Kiel asked. “Owen, we’re almost out of time, and—”
“Doyle burnt down the library with us in it and started the clock when he heard the fire engines,” Owen said, wincing as the sirens got closer. “If the two are related, then Bethany’s danger had something to do with the fire. What if the clock had to do with the fire department putting out the fire?”
“Nothing like a ticking clock to make things more exciting,” Moira said, yawning.
“I’m not following,” Kiel said, as Fowen began nodding vigorously. “What would that have to do with Bethany?”
The water flowed down the sidewalk and into a sewer grate, and from within, Owen could hear a deep splashing. There. “What if it’s not the fire that’s the danger,” he said, “but the water?”
CHAPTER 31
00:04:17
Bethany had never felt so tired in her life. Every muscle in her body ached, and all she wanted to do was slip below the surface of the water for a minute, maybe two, and just . . . relax. Close her eyes and stop kicking, stop treading water. It was just so tempting to let the water hold her up, do all the work. Not for too long . . .
Her lungs began to burn, and her eyes burst open. She was underwater!
Her legs were so tired they refused to respond, so she frantically pumped her barely functioning arms until her face broke the surface, less than a foot from the ceiling now, and rising.
This was it. She’d failed them. Kiel and Owen were going to be trapped in the fictional world, but she just couldn’t hold out any longer.
The guilt felt like a truck parked on her back between her shoulders, but alongside that was a feeling almost like relief. She’d hung on until the very last moment, hadn’t she? She’d almost drowned a few hundred times over the past two hours, and now . . . now she could just let go, and jump back to reality.
. . . Where she’d have explain to Owen’s mother why her son had gone missing, and probably was never coming back.
She forced her dead legs to slowly kick, switching up between her numb, dead limbs as the water rose and her face got closer and closer to the ceiling.
Of course they hadn’t found her. How could they? Doyle had hidden her away somewhere secret, and neither Owen nor Kiel was a detective. Not that Moira would have been a help either, if she’d even shown up. That girl was the opposite of a detective. She should have made Owen find someone better. Or just left them both behind and come alone.
Bethany sank below the water level again, this time letting herself drop deeper until she was suspended weightlessly, her legs and arms crying out in thanks. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the fact that soon there’d be nowhere in the room for her to breathe, and she’d have no choice.
She’d look for them. Of course she would. Every bit as long and hard as she had for her father. And maybe it’d even be easier. After all, she knew they’d have to be in some sort of realistic world. Doyle had crossed into other stories somehow, but they’d all been set in the real world.
Unless he figured out how to do whatever it was she did when she jumped out in a minute. Then he could take them wherever he wanted, and Kiel and Owen were both going to be just as lost as her father. Lost in a book, or worse, lost in an unwritten book, stuck somewhere she could never find them.
Her lungs began burning again, but she didn’t bother kicking back up to the surface. There was no point. They weren’t going to find her. It was all impossible.
Be more fictional, Kiel had said before she faced the Magister. And she had been. She’d taken the advice, and when his finder spell hadn’t worked, she’d broken her own rules, broken all the rules when she’d hired Doyle.
And for that, she was paying the price. Doyle had won.
Something inside of her screamed in rage and anger at that thought, and in spite of everything, her legs began kicking again. Part of her tried to quiet the screams, just wanting to stay underwater where everything was silent, but the screaming part was too wild, too angry. It forced her to the surface, forced her to push her mouth up just inches from the ceiling, and breathe in, even as the air tasted far too stale and made her light-headed.
She stayed there, windmilling her arms behind her, practically kissing the ceiling for a minute.
Then another.
And another.
And then, finally, her watch blinked 00:00:00 and the water rose above her face.
Everything felt weird and sleepy as she sank back into the water. She’d stopped noticing the cold a long time ago, but her arms and legs began feeling weirdly warm now, like she was floating in a warm bathtub, completely comfortable.
Some part of her was still screaming about her friends, about Kiel and Owen, but that part needed to shush. It was really too loud. And the water was so warm, and everything was just nice and relaxing.
Jump, something in her head said. You need to jump.
But that was the last thing she needed to do. Not when she could just float effortlessly, letting the current of the water do all the work.
Sorry, guys, she thought, but had to struggle to remember what she was apologizing for. Had she done something wrong? And to who?
And why was she holding her mouth close
d? Her lungs were saying they needed air, so why not open her mouth and just breathe in?
She parted her lips, and the cold water hit her tongue, just enough to jolt her back to awareness. JUMP! her mind screamed. JUMP OUT NOW!
Bethany began to jump, pushing her aching, nonresponsive muscles to cross from the fictional world to the nonfictional one before she drowned.
Weirdly, though, instead of pushing up and out of the book, she felt like she was being pulled down instead. Down toward the bottom of the room, where she could hear a roaring even under the water.
Jump! her mind screamed again, and she tried, pushing her arms and legs as hard as she could.
But the water pulled her down toward the roaring, and between the fog in her mind and the ache in her lungs and muscles, she just couldn’t make herself fight it.
Kiel, Owen! she screamed soundlessly. I’m so sorry. I deserve this! I deserve what’s happening! It’s all my fault. I’m so, so sorry.
And then the water pulled her down to the floor, and her eyes closed, her breath completely gone as everything went black.
CHAPTER 32
0:00:00
You’re putting two worlds in danger just by being here,” the stranger behind her said.
“You brought this on yourself,” Doyle Holmes said from behind his mask.
“You promised you wouldn’t go to the fictional world,” Bethany’s mom said. “You’ve broken my heart!”
“You left us behind, Bethany,” Kiel said.
“Just like you did your father,” Owen said.
“Give her mouth to mouth,” said a second Owen.
. . . Wait. Two Owens?
“I’m not sure how!” said the first Owen, just above her.
“Oh, you guys,” said a girl’s voice. “What would you ever do without me?”
Then silence.
Abruptly, Bethany began choking, coughing up water, and her eyes slowly opened.
Moira, criminal genius and great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Professor Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes’s greatest enemy, was bent over her, giving her a disgusted look. “I get that you were almost dead and all,” she said, wiping water off of her face, “but basically you just puked on me. You’re honestly not my favorite person in the world right now.”
“Bethany!” Owen shouted, and pushed Moira out of the way. Bethany weakly let Owen hug her, relief and confusion fighting for dominance in her brain. They’d found her? She hadn’t left them behind? But how had they found her? And were those sirens in the distance?
She looked around over Owen’s shoulder, and saw they were at the bottom of a ladder leading up to a manhole, letting in the only light around them. The smell confirmed what the slippery walls and dank floor hinted at: They were in the sewer.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Owen, her throat raw from coughing. “I waited for you two as long as I could. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s my fault,” Owen whispered back. “I never should have told you about Doyle in the first place.”
“No, she’s right,” said a second Owen, and Bethany’s eyes widened. She hadn’t been imagining it . . . there really were two Owens. What exactly had she missed? “She came to Doyle before you even knew about him, Owen,” the other Owen continued. “She’s the whole reason you’re in this mess.”
The first Owen let her lie back down, and Bethany turned from one Owen to another, having trouble finding the words. Finally, she pointed at the Owen closer to her. “Who?” she said.
Mercifully, Kiel swooped in for a hug at that point and held her close. “The one farther away is the fictional version of Owen,” he whispered in her ear. “We didn’t really have a choice. Turns out he’s met Doyle.” Kiel squeezed her hard then, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe again but didn’t really care. Instead, she just hugged him back and didn’t let go, trying not to worry about anything else.
Then Kiel pulled away, and reality came flooding back. A fictional version of Owen? And they’d gotten him involved? He must know everything by now! What had they been thinking? How could they—
No. She wasn’t going to blame them for breaking the rules, not after she’d done it herself. And it sounded like involving this Owen was her fault too, if Doyle had spoken to him.
“How did you find me?” she whispered, her throat still raw.
“Owen figured it out,” Kiel said, and Bethany caught a slight bit of disappointment in his voice. “After Doyle set his mother’s library on fire—”
“WHAT?”
“The fictional version of her library,” Owen said quickly.
“He’s a monster,” said the other Owen, the fictional version. The one who’s mother’s library had just burned down. “You need to take him down, or who knows what he’ll do next!”
“What did Doyle want with you?” the real Owen asked her.
She gave him a confused look. “You were there when he took us.”
Kiel and regular Owen looked at each other. “We, uh, haven’t really remembered everything,” Owen said.
“Doyle made me use the forget spell on the two of us,” Kiel said, looking embarrassed now. “I modified it when I cast it so we’d gradually get our memories back, but it’s taking longer than I’d like. I was never that great at changing spells, honestly.”
“So?” Fictional Owen said. “What did Doyle want?”
“Books,” Bethany whispered. “He wanted books.”
“That’s it?” Kiel said, raising an eyebrow. “All of this over a few books?”
“Not a few books,” Bethany said. “Every book. He wanted me to bring him an electronic copy of every book in the library. Our library. All the fiction books it had.”
Owen gasped, but Kiel looked confused. “Why would he want those?”
“He’d have known every secret in the fictional world,” Owen said quietly. “He’d know what people were thinking, what they planned on doing, and when. What more could a detective want? He could solve every mystery before it even started.”
Moira waved a hand at Bethany. “I love this craziness, I really do, but I kinda need to get home soon. Don’t want my father finding out I’ve been gone. Want to pay me now, or . . .”
“I’m still not seeing why the books thing is so bad,” Kiel said. “Granted, he’s evil, but solving mysteries isn’t the worst thing.”
“It is if you see everyone as a criminal,” Fictional Owen said. “Look what he did to you two, and you’re not exactly hardened criminals.”
“Wait, hold up,” Moira said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this, now, about hardened criminals? Tell me you didn’t give Doyle this information.”
Bethany looked away, not saying anything.
There was silence for a moment, other than the sound of people shouting above them somewhere.
“So that’s it, then,” Fictional Owen said finally. “You’ve unleashed a monster on us. Great job, Bethany.”
“It’s not her fault,” Kiel said, stepping between Bethany and the fictional Owen.
“We’ll fix this, don’t worry,” regular Owen said. “She just needs a chance to rest.”
“So what, we just sit here while Doyle begins his reign of terror?” Fictional Owen said. “You guys can do that if you want. I’m not going to let this happen, though.”
“Hey, just wait for a second,” regular Owen said to, well, himself. “We’ll figure something out, and—”
“He’s right,” Bethany said, then went silent as the sirens stopped and red and blue lights flashed down through the manhole. That couldn’t be good.
She started to get to her feet, and Kiel moved to help, but she pushed him away gently. “Look at what Doyle’s done,” she said. “And that was just to punish us. We can’t let him have those books. We need to fix this. I need to fix this.”
“Even if we get the books back, he’ll still know all about you, about the real world,” Owen whispered to her.
“Nonfictional world,” Fictional Ow
en said.
“Then we use Kiel’s forget spell on him,” Bethany said.
“Small problem with that,” Kiel said, pointing at his waist. “Doyle has my wands and spell book.”
“Then we get you replacements first,” she said, getting irritated. “Not like we haven’t visited the Magister once already.”
“The wands I can re-create,” Kiel said. “But that was my last spell book. The only other one would be my master’s, and that’s the one Owen ended up using. We can’t take that away from him, he’ll die.”
“Then we get your spell book back from Doyle,” Bethany shouted, not sure why everyone had to argue. “I’m sure it’s in that school of his!”
“That school is the most heavily guarded place on earth,” Fictional Owen told her. “And ignoring the surveillance cameras, the guards, and the electrified fences and doors, Doyle is there. He knows what you’ll do before you do it. You’d need a miracle to even get close to him.”
“We’ve got her,” Bethany said, nodding at Moira.
Moira laughed. “Do you? You already owe me more gold than you can possibly pay. Oh, don’t worry, that’s just an expression, you’ll totally find a way to pay it. But after that, I’m done. This has been a hugely fun time for me, but I can’t be caught doing this. My father finds out, I’m done for.”
“Really?” Bethany said. “A chance to steal something from the descendant of Sherlock Holmes, right out from under his nose? You don’t want in?”
Moira snorted. “You’d think I’d care about that, wouldn’t you! But that’s my mom’s thing, not mine.”
“Then it’d be the kind of thing she might notice,” Bethany said quietly, feeling terrible for even mentioning it.
Moira went silent, just staring at her. Finally, she sighed. “I’m in.” There was no excitement or joy in her voice, just resignation.
“I hear voices!” someone shouted from above. “Inspector Brown, I think they’re in the sewers!”
They all looked up, but Fictional Owen was the first to move. “Go,” he hissed. “I’ll distract the police.”
“What?” Owen said. “You can’t, they’ll think you’re me and throw you in jail!”
