The Stolen Chapters by James Riley

Author:James Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

CHAPTER 26

00:35:12

Are you sure meeting yourself is a good idea?” Kiel asked for the fourth time as they hid in the bushes outside of the fictional Owen’s house.

“Nope,” Owen said. “But if Doyle spoke to this Owen, then he’s involved somehow. His mom’s library just got burned down, and he and I are being blamed. If Inspector Brown is right, Doyle even got our fingerprints on the gas cans. Doyle must have put us in the library for a reason. Maybe it was just to throw us off and make us think we were in the nonfictional world, but maybe not. Either way, right now this is the only clue we have.”

“I just feel like we’re losing time and are no closer to finding Bethany,” Kiel said, shifting from foot to foot. Owen glanced at him, not sure how well the magician was holding up. His books had always given Kiel a clear goal, with the Magister telling him what to do, and then Charm helping him get there. Now, though, everything was so nebulous, and nothing was certain. That and not having his magic must be making the magician crazy.

At least Kiel had power when he had his wands and spells. The best Owen could do was let a criminal genius get the clues for him, and then question a version of himself.

Like he didn’t question himself enough already.

“What do you think?” Owen whispered to Moira.

“I love this plan, Sad Panda!” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I suggest we hang this kid outside his window by his ankles until he talks. If that’s uncomfortable for you, I’m happy to do it.”

Very helpful, as always.

“Follow me,” Owen said, and crept toward the back door. His . . . fictional Owen’s mother should be down at the police station by now, but who knew when she’d be back. For all he knew, there’d be police cars on their way to the house, too.

Fortunately, there was no need to break in, as Owen had a key. Assuming his nonfictional key worked in the fictional lock.

He pulled his keys out quietly and began to slip the key into the door, before Moira excitedly shoved him out of the way and unlocked it herself, then pushed the door open.

“Sorry, I love picking locks,” she said, grinning at him. “There’s just something so satisfying about it.”

Owen stared at her for a moment, desperately missing Charm, then slipped inside a very familiar-looking kitchen.

Everything looked exactly the same as the house he’d left just . . . well, who knew how many hours earlier. The same stove, the same report cards and photos up on the refrigerator, the same nicks in the countertop where he’d learned to slice potatoes years ago. How could it all be so similar, but so different? How connected were these worlds?

“I should be upstairs,” Owen whispered, then grabbed Moira’s arm and yanked her backward before she could take the lead. After the ankle comment, there was no way he was letting her take charge, not with his fictional self.

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