The Stolen Chapters (25 page)

And with that, he took Doyle's unconscious body and closed the door behind him, locking it. Owen tried to call out Fowen's name, but an enormous pain hit him in the face like a hammer.

What, a flashback? Now?! NO, this was the
worst
—

Yesterday . . .

J
ust because Doyle let us in, doesn't mean we should trust him,” Owen whispered to Bethany and Kiel as an enormous guard with an English accent led them down the full hallways of the Baker Street School for Irregular Children. Everywhere he looked, kids walked quickly to class, their eyes shifting nervously at the slightest sound.

“I don't like how scared they are,” Kiel said. He stopped near one and stuck out his hand. “Hello,” he said, grinning widely.

The boy, an enormous fourteen-year-old with more muscles in his arms than Owen had in his entire body, gave Kiel a terrified look, then sidestepped the magician and hurried away, not looking back.

Kiel frowned, his eyes going up to the moving cameras above them.

“Please don't speak to the children,” the guard in front of them said. “It interferes with their rehabilitation efforts.”

The guard turned around, and Kiel stuck out his tongue at him, which caused a nearby student to snort. The student immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. Something beeped, and a teacher stepped out of the nearest classroom, beckoning the student in. The girl dropped her head and followed, and the teacher, flashing a suspicious look at Kiel, Bethany, and Owen, quietly closed the door behind her.

“How exactly are they rehabilitated?” Bethany asked the guard.

“Very carefully,” the guard said, then smiled. “Shouldn't keep Mr. Holmes waiting.”

During the rest of the walk, Owen made sure not to even look at the students, for fear of getting them in trouble. Sure, these were all criminals of one kind or another, but still, he wasn't comfortable with any of it. None of this had been in the book.

And it didn't explain how Doyle was crossing over into other stories, either.

“Remember the plan,” Owen whispered to the other two as they approached the double doors at the end of the hall, doors that said
HEADMASTER'S OFFICE
. “We grab him and jump out. No messing around. We'll deal with whatever he's done from the real world.”

“Nonfictional world,” Kiel murmured.

“Shh, both of you,” Bethany said, shifting from foot to foot. “And forget the plan. Don't do anything until I say so, okay? I'll handle this.”

Huh? Owen glanced over at her, but Bethany's eyes were focused on the door. This was odd. She had barely said a word when they were discussing how to handle Doyle—had just nodded along. And now she wanted to take care of things?

And why were her hands shaking?

The guard knocked lightly on the door, then opened it and waved for them to go in. All three stepped into the headmaster's office, and the guard closed the door gently behind them.

And then the lock clicked.
That
wasn't a great sign.

“Come in,” said a voice from the far end of the room, and Owen turned his attention to the enormous wooden desk and a high-backed chair that was turned away from the door.

“Mr. Holmes?” Bethany said, stepping forward. “We'd like to speak to you about some of your latest . . . cases.”

“I know why you're here, Bethany Sanderson.”

Owen gasped at her name, but Bethany looked more . . .
guilty
than anything.

“Mr. Holmes,” she whispered, “
please
tell me you found my father.”

Owen's eyes widened. What had she done?

“
What
did you say?” Kiel asked, giving her a shocked look.

She didn't answer, her eyes fixed on the chair. “Tell me what you found, Mr. Holmes,” she said, her voice wavering, her hands shaking even worse. “Everything else can wait.”

Was
that
what this was all about? Doyle had crossed stories. Why would he do that if not looking for someone lost throughout the fictional world? Bethany had hired him to look for her father and caused this whole mess to begin with. Maybe her showing up here in the first place had done it. Doyle Holmes could probably tell she was half-fictional just by looking at her!

“I do have information for you,” Doyle said, and he swiveled around in the chair, a boy wearing a question-mark mask, a Sherlock Holmes hat and coat. The books made it sound almost like a superhero costume, but in person it felt like something out of a horror movie. “But first, let's discuss the matter of my payment.”

Payment? Not only had she broken
all
of her own rules, she'd promised to pay the guy?

“I brought what you asked for,” Bethany said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a tiny black device. She laid it on the desk, while Doyle stared at her with his fingers steepled before reaching out and taking it.

“Before we continue, I'll need to confirm this is what you say it is,” Doyle said, plugging the device into his desk.

Behind Doyle a bank of monitors had been showing classrooms full of kids. Now, though, the monitors began displaying book covers,
real
books, switching so fast that Owen could barely keep up. There were so many . . . what had Bethany given him?!

“It's a copy of every e-book that the library had,” she said, sounding miserable, and Owen gasped loudly. She'd given a fictional character real books? But why? What use could he have for them? This was insane!

“Bethany, jump him out now!” Owen shouted, then moved to grab Doyle.

“I wouldn't,” the detective said, raising a hand to stop him. “Not if Bethany wants to know what happened to her father.”

The room went silent, and Owen slowly turned toward Bethany, who had grabbed his arm and was pulling him away from Doyle.

“Please,” she said. “I need to know. I shouldn't have done this,
I know
I shouldn't have, but I
had
to. Don't you get it?”

Owen just stared at her. “No. I don't.”

She looked away as Doyle stood up. “Payment accepted,” he said. “However, I regret to inform you that I won't be handing over my findings.”

“What?” Bethany said, pushing past Owen. “But I paid you! I did exactly what you asked!”

Doyle hit a button on his desk, and the door opened behind them. Guards flooded into the room, one grabbing Kiel and another grabbing Owen. Bethany, though, they left free.

“That you did,” Doyle said. “But you're a
thief
, Bethany Sanderson. You steal from books, you trespass in stories that aren't your own, and you just paid me in stolen property. I can't encourage that, now, can I?”

“Let them go!” Bethany shouted, moving toward Doyle. Was she going to jump him out and leave the two of them behind? Owen tried to free himself, but he couldn't even budge in the guard's strong grip.

“Ah-ah,” Doyle said to Bethany, and the guards holding Owen and Kiel began squeezing. Owen shouted in pain, while Kiel gritted his teeth. “Touch me, and your friends suffer. Now, let's discuss your punishment for your crimes.”

“Punish me, but let them go,” Bethany said, practically begging the detective. “They didn't do anything wrong!”

“Of course they did,” Doyle snapped. “Owen stole Kiel's story. And Kiel was a thief for half of his life.
All of you
will be punished.”

What? How did Doyle know all about them?

“Jump out, Bethany!” Kiel shouted. “Don't worry about us!”

“Worry about us a
little
!” Owen said. If she left them behind, Doyle might hide them somewhere. They might be stuck in the book forever!

Bethany turned to look at them and shook her head sadly. “I did this. This is my fault. I'm not going to just leave you two to pay for it.”

“Remove her,” Doyle told the guards, and they stepped forward to grab Bethany by her shoulders. Kiel struggled again, but the guard just held him tight enough to make the magician groan in pain.

“I'm not leaving without you two,” Bethany said as she passed between them, her eyes watering. “I
promise
.”

And then she was gone, the doors slamming behind her.

“And now, Kiel,” Doyle said, “you're going to do a little magic.”

Magic? What was Doyle talking about?

“Gladly,” Kiel said. “Let me go and I'll be happy to turn you into a toad and squish you.”

Doyle sighed. “How charming. No, you're going to use your magic on yourself and Owen. You're going to wipe your memories, all the way back to when you first moved to the nonfictional world, Kiel. All of those memories were made by breaking the rules, and I don't intend to let you keep stolen property.”

Owen gasped. He couldn't be serious. Their memories? “And why exactly would I do such a thing?” Kiel asked.

Doyle nodded at the guard holding Owen, and the guard squeezed until Owen almost burst. “And worse will happen to Bethany,” Doyle said.

Pain filled Owen's head and he screamed, so he barely heard Kiel yell for Doyle to stop. “I'll do it!” Kiel shouted. “Let him go!”

The guard stopped squeezing, and Owen would have collapsed to the ground if the enormous man hadn't still been holding him. “Perfect,” Doyle said, then paused. “I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't gloat. It's not becoming. But I can't help it. You have to know. And besides, you won't remember any of this.”

He gestured, and the guards holding Kiel and Owen both let go, then left the room. Owen, barely holding his feet, looked at Kiel. Should they attack?

Kiel barely shook his head. He was right. Doyle still had Bethany, and who knew what he'd do to her.

“You won't appreciate this right now,” the detective said, his hands on his mask. “But trust me, I'm enjoying it enough for all of us.”

And with that, he pulled his mask off, and Owen found himself looking in a mirror.

What? Was that . . . him? Was this some kind of evil weird future time travel thing? “Please tell me you're not my future self,” Owen said, practically begging.

“Oh, I'm you,” his other self said. “Just your fictional self. Impressed?”

Impressed? Owen could barely breathe! What was happening?

“How is this possible?” Kiel said, sounding as shocked as Owen felt.

“Life's a mystery, I suppose,” Owen/Doyle said, putting his mask back on. “Now it's time for you two to forget.” He held up a small button on a thin box. “If you say any spell other than the forget spell, or aim your wands at anyone besides yourself and Owen, then I push this button. You don't want me to push this button.
Bethany
doesn't want me to push this button.”

Kiel gritted his teeth. “I'll find her. Her
and
you. And I'll make you pay for this.”

Owen/Doyle shook his head. “No, actually, I don't believe you will. You're not the hero anymore, Kiel. Not this time. This story is
mine
, from start to finish. But you won't have to worry about that, not anymore.”

Kiel gave Owen/Doyle a look of pure hatred, then turned to Owen, his wand in his hand. “We'll find her, Owen,” he said quietly. “And we'll figure this all out. Trust me.” And then he winked.

The wink was the last thing Owen remembered before the spell hit. The magic filled Owen's brain, and for some reason he lost control of his body, dropping to the floor. A familiar face leaned over him.

“Your story is
mine
now,” his other self said.

“No!” Owen screamed, but his clone's hands reached for him, and then everything turned into a weird dreamlike fog.

The Amazing (But True!) Adventures of Owen Conners, the Unknown Chosen One

N
ever wear a mask. That was the lesson of all of this.

“Put him right there, in the chair at the desk,” Owen said, trying to suck in air through the stupid question-mark mask. The guards carried Doyle's limp body over to the chair and carefully arranged him in it so he didn't slide off.

“Perfect,” Owen said, the mask changing his voice into the deeper, scarier version that he loved. Okay, so that part was awesome. “Now turn off the extra security. I'm going to have some visitors, and I want you to let them right in.”

“Mr. Holmes, are you sure?” one of the guards said.

Did he just question a direct order? Owen slowly turned around, doing his best Doyle impression, and stared in the guard's general direction, not sure which had actually spoken. All four guards stared at the floor, silent. “Have I ever been unsure?” Owen said.

“Apologies, Mr. Holmes,” one of the guards said, and all four bowed, then left quickly, closing the office door behind them.

Owen quickly pulled the stupid mask off and sucked in air. He hadn't been able to do that downstairs, while explaining everything to his nonfictional self, which had been annoying. But who else would appreciate his grand, complicated, amazing plan if not himself?

Well, he'd appreciate it after he'd calmed down a bit. When he realized how truly for the best it was.

Nowen (as Owen liked to call the nonfictional Owen in his head) couldn't do anything right! Before seeing him fail all over town, Owen had been convinced Nowen would be able to find Bethany instantly.
By the book.
They were in a
library 
! What more of a clue did his other self need? Eventually he practically had to slap Nowen in the face with the clue.

Honestly. Other selves could just be such a letdown.

A noise from the desk chair made Owen turn. Doyle was stirring, moaning in pain.

Let's see how
he
liked his mask back.

Owen untied Doyle's gag as the detective tried to lift his head up, looking around in a daze. “Don't worry,” Owen told him, sliding the mask down over his face. “In a minute, this is all going to be just a bad memory.”