Chapter Five: Forever Lost

    I didn’t remember how I was able to make my way back to my room. I was still so amazed. The King, the King had offered me a job. How? It was crazy. I didn’t understand why.
    Mom and Dad were waiting for me when I got back to the apartment. Mom seemed nervous, as if unsure what the King had talked to me about, and Dad seemed more excited than afraid.
    “What happened?” Mom asked, nervously tapping her fingers on the table.
    “I was...offered a job.”
    “You...WHAT?” Dad questioned.
    “The King offered me a job. As his assistant.”
    Mom gasped. “But...why?”
    I shrugged. “He said he liked me best of all of the students.” I pulled the papers he had given me out of my bag and handed them to her.
    “What about school?” Dad wondered.
    “No more school if I accept this position.”
    “Well, of course you will!” Ginny said, peeking from behind a chair, “The King offered you a job! You can’t say no!”
    “Ginny!” I groaned. “Please...leave me alone…”
    She grinned at me, then grabbed Owen’s arm and they both ran down the hallway to their rooms. I stared after them for a couple of seconds until I realized Mom and Dad were looking at me for an answer.
    “Ginny’s right,” I sighed, “I can’t say no.”

🕮 💎🕮 

    It was late at night. I wasn’t sure exactly what time, but late enough that I should be in bed. Technically, like food, Readers don’t need sleep, but it’s something most people enjoy doing. It helps us calm down and just rest.
    It can also be used as a punishment for Ginny and Owen, which is why they both went to their rooms right after supper. I mean, that’s kinda what you get after stealing all of your neighbor’s silverware.
    I had been restlessly pacing my room for several hours. Mom and Dad had gone to their room around an hour ago after we had all filled out the paperwork for the King, and yet I had kept pacing. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest.

My mind was racing. I had too much to think about. The King’s offer, The Writers’ Society, schoolwork…
    I had to do something or my mind was going to explode.
    Slowly, I opened my door and crept outside into the hallway. I had slung my bag over my shoulder. It held the book I was currently Reading, Cinder by Marissa Meyer, along with a few various quills, my favorite leather notebook with a silver dragon on the cover, my Jewel, and the book my life source was tied to.
    Each Reader in the Hall has a book that their character comes from and that their life source is tied to. That book appears with them soon after they’re born and if the book is destroyed or if they get too far away from it, they die. Readers don’t need food or sleep or water, but we need our Books. My book was, of course, Story Thieves.
    I clutched the strap of my shoulder bag as I snuck through the apartment. I really hoped nobody saw me leave.
    I sped through the Hall’s on the tips of my feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. I make my way to The Writers’ Society room and open the door.
    Chaos greeted me when I entered the room. Phoebe was curled up on the couch, sobbing. Luna, Aria, and Lili were all sitting next to her, comforting her. I nervously walked up to them, wondering what’s wrong.
    “She’s….gone,” Phoebe whispered, “Leah just...disappeared.”
    “I’m sure she’s fine,” Luna said, wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders, “Don’t worry. She’ll come back soon.”
    “No, she won’t!” Phoebe shoved Luna’s arm off and stood up. “Don’t you understand? My author has abandoned us. I’ll soon disappear with her. We’ll become Lost Stories.”
    Luna looks at the others in shock. She’s changed since I last saw her. She almost seems like an entirely new character, and though not too much about her appearance has changed, something about her has. She seems nervous and less sure of herself. I’m guessing either something awful happened in her book or her author rewrote her.
    Suddenly, something clicks. I glanced around, realizing that Amira, Jaq, Aria were also missing. Neva, Caylay, Raydil, Ben, and Draco were all in various spots around the room.
    “Where is everyone?” I asked Ben. His green eyes look upset. I wonder what’s going on in his books.
    He gazed off into the distance. “Sometimes, our authors just abandon our stories. They move onto something better. They think we’re not good enough and just stop writing our stories, leaving them to get covered in dust. That’s what happened with The Clan War, and that’s what’s happening with The Shadow Master’s Heir. It won’t be long before Phoebe disappears too, and she knows it. It’s scaring her. To be honest, it’s scaring all of us because we could be next.”
    “Do you think your author will abandon your story?”
    He sighed. “I’m not sure, Bethany. She’s trying her best to keep up with the rest of her life and keep writing, but lately, she’s been abandoning us. It’s been a while since I’ve been written.”
    “I’m sorry, Ben.”
    “Don’t be. It’s her fault anyway.” He sounded kinda angry. For a moment, I felt upset with Ben’s author. Didn’t she understand she needed to take care of her characters? Didn’t she understand these were people she needed to take care of? Surely nothing in her life could be more important than them.
    “Maybe...maybe she has stuff going on you don’t know about.”
    He turned to me, his eyes filled with fire. “I don’t care. Whatever it is, it’s not as important. Not to mention she’s been nothing but unkind to me. I wish I had any other author but her. Maybe my story would actually be good then.”
    I open my mouth in horror. “Do you really mean that?”
    “A little.”
    I wanted to say more, but I wasn’t sure what I could say. So I stepped back towards Phoebe.
    She took in one more long, shuddering breath before she disappeared. Behind her, The Shadow Master’s Heir door disappeared as well.
    Caylay screamed and jumped backward. “She’s...she’s gone!”
    Luna gasped and covered her mouth. I could tell she had been expecting it, but it still was still a bit of a surprise. Draco ran over to her and wrapped his arm around her. She buried her face in his chest. I realized after a few moments that maybe they were...dating or something. They sure seemed like it.
    I was in shock as well. She had just...disappeared. Phoebe was gone, gone forever. She’s basically dead. WHAT IS GOING ON?
    Lili stood up, shaking. “First The Clan War characters...now The Shadow Master’s Heir? Who else are we going to lose?”
    “Authors!” Ben yelled, “I hate them all. They don’t care about us. We will fade and die because of them.”
    “Ben!” Luna cried out, “They’re not all awful. Don’t say things like that.”
    “Don’t you understand, Luna?” Ben sighed, “Without warning, one of our authors could stop writing us. They could delete our document and boom, that could be the end. We’re all gone.”
    “Stop it!” Neva commands, “Contain yourselves. Yes, this is quite a tragic thing that happens, but there is absolutely no way that would ever happen-”
“It could happen to any of us, Neva. You’re not kidding yourself,” Ben retorted.
    "Speak more respectfully,” Neva scowled.
    “Yeah? Who are you to tell me what to do?”
    “All of you, knock it off!” Draco yelled, “We should not be fighting like this. This is an awful thing that happened, and instead of fighting, I think we should find out where they went.”
    “They’re gone,” Neva said simply, “There is nowhere to search.”
    Draco took his arm not wrapped around Luna and pointed it towards a new doorway I hadn’t noticed before. “How about we check there?”

🕮 💎🕮 

    A sign above the door said The Hall of Lost Stories. Draco and Luna walked into the room. He whispered something in Luna’s ear and I could see her smile slightly. Neva had her arms crossed behind them and she looked angry still. I was right behind them.
    When the three of them stepped away, I got to see inside the room.
    It was dusty and looked like it had been around for ages. The floor creaked where we stepped and the paint on the walls was faded and torn in places.
    All around the room were doors, like the ones for Wings of a Dragon and the other books. But these doors were older. Some of them seemed to have been there for years, maybe decades. I only saw a few of the doors, and the ones that I saw said things like A Clock Shop Heiress, Outcast, A Tale of Two Sisters, and The Key. As we got farther along, I saw a door for The Clan War and, most recently, The Shadow Master’s Heir. The newest doors still had a place for my jewel, but the older ones seemed to have had a place for the jewel in their early stages, but now it was rotting and...gone. Those books would never be seen by a Reader like me ever again. I gasped in horror.
    “Just more proof that authors are awful,” Ben grumbled. Luna looked back at him like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.
    “What are all of these stories?” I inquired.
    “Forgotten stories,” Draco said sadly, “They were left uncompleted and lost. They’re stories authors start but never finish. They used to be out in the room with us, but as soon as they’re abandoned, the doors disappear and appear here. It’s quite tragic.”
    Luna ran her hand over the words The Shadow Master’s Heir. I could tell she was trying not to cry. I didn’t realize she was so close to Phoebe and Leah. Draco squeezed her shoulders and she glanced up at him, giving him a grateful smile.
    Suddenly, a thought plagued my mind. How long had I been here? What time was it? I glanced down at the watch on my wrist.
    Oh no. It was almost seven-thirty in the morning. I’m sure the rest of my family is awake, if they slept, and they’re probably eating right now. They’d surely noticed my absence by now.
    I took a deep breath and turned to the characters. “I am very sorry, but I really must depart now. Farewell!”
    Luna waved goodbye and I think Neva might even have said farewell, but it was under her breath so I couldn’t quite tell.
    I raced out the doorway and down the hall. Around fifteen minutes later I’d reached our apartment. I opened the door quickly with my key and raced inside.
    Immediately, everybody looked up at me. I froze.
    “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Mom yelled, “We thought something awful had happened to you...you’ve been gone for hours!”
    “This is not acceptable, young lady,” Dad said, looking stern.
    “I...I went on a walk,” I said feebly. This was true, as I did walk quite a bit while I was gone.
    “And where, exactly, did you walk?” Mom questioned.
    “Around the Hall?”
    Mom looked like an angry dragon that was about to blow fire. I was almost waiting to see smoke come out of her nostrils.
    She opened her mouth to say something (or to blow fire) but just then, a knock sounded on the door. Ginny, master of pranks, quickly ran to the door and opened it.
    The commander of the guards stood there, just like last time. “How do you do?” she asked politely.
    “The King requests Ms. Revere’s presence,” He responded, barely giving her a passing glance.
    I gripped my bag tightly and stepped forward. “He requests my presence...now?”
    “Of course. Come along. You wouldn’t want to say no to him.
    I glanced back at my parents. Mom was fuming still, but Dad waved me onward. We’ll talk about this when you get back, he mouthed.
    I obediently followed the commander up to the presence of the King.

🕮 💎🕮 

    He led me to the same sitting room as before, though this time he didn’t protest when I sat down in a chair. The King walked in a few moments after I’d arrived.
    “Ah, Bethany! How good of you to come,” He smiled.
    “Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty.”
    “Oh, it was nothing,” he shrugged, “I just wanted to get to know you better. I have a few questions here for you.”
    He pulled out a scroll. It was quite long, the end tumbled onto the floor. My guess was that it was as tall, if not taller, then I was.
    “Your Majesty,” the commander said, “That is the wrong list. I do believe that’s your list of complaints on stairs. And I think before you start you should probably ask Bethany if she has accepted your offer.”
    The King’s eyes widened. “Oh, I am deeply sorry. Bethany, my dear, have you accepted my offer?”
    I hesitated, then nodded. “I have decided to accept.” I handed him the papers my parents and I had filled out.
    He clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Now, Commander, would you please find my list of questions?”
    The Commander nodded and left.
    I nervously fiddled with my hands while he was gone. The King seemed preoccupied with his thoughts and I think he forgot I was there.
    A few minutes later the Commander walked back and handed the King a much shorter list. He thanked him and opened the scroll.
    “Hmm. Bethany, what is your favorite color?”
    I blinked, surprised. “Um...what?”
    “That’s the first question.”
    “Blue?”
    “Okay. What is your favorite memory?”
    “Your Majesty?” the Commander interrupts, “Don’t you think these questions are a bit...elementary?”
    “Nonsense, I came up with them myself using a book of questions to ask your new friend.
    I barely held back my laughter. “Your Majesty, I think it would be better if maybe I just decided to tell you a bit about myself?”
    He sighed. “Maybe you are right. Well, Bethany, how about you tell me a bit about yourself.”
    “Well...my name is Bethany. My name comes from a book called Story Thieves. I have two siblings, Ginny and Owen. I’m training to be a librarian’s assistant. Um...what else would you like to know?”
    He grinned. “May I see your jewel?”
    I reached into my bag and handed my jewel to him. He studied it with a kind of...longing. I wasn’t sure why, but it scared me a little.
    “Your Majesty? May I have a jewel back? I think it may be time for me to return home.”
    He doesn’t move or take his eyes off the jewel.
    “Your...Majesty?”
    He regretfully looked up. “Yes, Bethany?”
    “Can you return my jewel? I need to be getting home.”
    He nodded and handed it to me, though he hesitated. I quickly threw it in my bag and stood up.
    “It was nice to see you again. Farewell!” I called.
    He waved goodbye as I walked out of the room, questions circling around in my mind.
    Why was he so interested? Why can I read unpublished books with my Jewel? Is it special? If so, how did the King know about it?
    In the end, they all boiled down to one main question.
    If there’s something different about my Jewel, what’s going to happen to me because of it?

Chapter Four: Calling on the King

The King of The Hall was rarely heard of and never seen in public. He seemed to do very little at all in managing the affairs of his people. He was the type that one wondered if he really existed or was just a figure of power fabricated by The Counsel to instill a sense of respect and awe in the Readers. He was not the type that one would expect to call for your audience. 

Which is why I didn’t believe Ginny at first.

“I’m telling you, Bethany, they’re here and you’ve gotta come right now!” Her frazzled appearance combined with her unkempt red hair gave an amusing impression of great urgency.

“Ginny…” I wasn’t even half convinced.  “Given your reputation-”

“I’m not joking, Bethany, this isn’t a prank, I promise!” I cast her a doubtful look. “You better come right now, or you’re gonna get in big trouble.”

“I would believe you, Ginny, I would, but...”

“Bethany?” Mom’s voice called out from somewhere in the apartment. 

“Yes?” I leaned out to project my voice down the hall, ignoring Ginny’s flushed look of frustration.

“Are you coming? Ginny, where are you?”

“Right here,” Ginny called back, shooting me a look of angered triumph. “Bethany won’t come.”

“Bethany…”

“Coming! I’m coming!” I glanced at Ginny in a dawning sense of dread. 

Had she been telling the truth?

I brushed past her, mentally storing a reminder to apologize to her later if it turned out she was right.

But she couldn’t be. It’s absurd, the King would never call for me. If this is about my grades…

I didn’t have time to speculate on it any longer, for the sight of the King’s ironclad Guards posed regally in the entryway demanded my full attention. 

“Bethany Revere?”

“...Yes?”

“Your presence is called for at the King’s Royal Apartment.”

“...I see.” I replied with feigned calmness. I cast a questioning look to my mom, hoping that she would see the fear beyond my eyes. She flicked her fingers urgently towards the door. “And we are leaving… immediately?” I desperately longed for a negative.  

“Yes. The King is waiting.” 

“Of course. Yes. That is, er, of course... I suppose…” My words became tangled and cluttered the air with nonsense as I groped in the closet for my Bookbag. 

“Is Bethany in some kind of trouble?” Mom inquired calmly. Her outward appearance was the picture of unconcern, yet something beneath the surface of her tone told me that she was far from tranquillity.

“Not at all. The King simply wishes to speak to her.”

“I see.”

“You should consider this an honor, madam,” the guard seemed offended at our reluctance, “for your daughter to be called upon by the King.” Mom forced a small smile to appease the man. 

“I’m sure that I’m quite honored.” 

 🕮💎🕮

The King of The Hall resided at the topmost apartment, so it was thus necessary to make a long climb up the stairway. Stairways were often the essence of a reader’s life. You must climb a stair to get to classes, you must climb a stair to reach your apartment, and you must climb a stair to go nearly anywhere in The Hall. Stairs were so well known to the common Reader, so much, in fact, to the point that everyone possessed a practiced hatred of them. It seemed pointless that there should be more than one floor at all, The Hall stretched out to every direction to no end (or, at least, no end that has been found). Yet, whoever built The Hall (a person much speculated) found it necessary (or perhaps cruelly enjoyable, depending on their character) to include the atrocity of never-ending stairways. 

The stair issue had been brought up to The Elders numerous times, yet it had never seemed to register in their lofty minds, and thus it is assumed was never brought to the King’s attention. The King could not have been aware of this daily tax on the Readers’ lives, for he never set foot outside his royal residence. Everything known about his person (which, to be truthful, was little indeed) was peculiar, to say the least. His name was the strangest thing of all. Every Reader, at birth, has a knowledge of every character in existence and chooses their name after one of them. After that, they look strangely like that character. The King, however, claimed his name was Kyle and, though that was the name of many a character, also claimed he had not chosen his name, nor picked a character to resemble. 

 I was strangely thrilled to be admitted to the presence of a man so mysterious to the Readers of The Hall Of Stories. 

“Here we are.” The guard who looked to be the highest-ranking, due to his absurdly tall hat and spiffy blue uniform, halted at the top step. Before us was a rather grand looking oak door with a fancy golden knocker. My palms suddenly grew cold and damp. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to shake anyone’s hand.

With an unnecessary added flourish, the King’s Guard rapped the door with the knocker. His hand had scarcely left its grip when the door was opened.

I was escorted into a rather plain-looking chamber furnished with the usual sitting places (a couch here and a few chairs there) and a large picture hanging over the fireplace. The picture was rather odd, for it depicted a black expanse with random pinpricks of white splattered across it. It was messily done, for there were splashes of black paint on the frame and obvious spots on the canvas that lacked paint. It seemed to be the work of two minutes at the most.

Modern art, I thought in disgust.

“You will wait here,” The commander stated tersely. He seemed to have lost some of his swagger at my unimpressed state. I moved to sit in the closest chair.

“Ah, ah, ah!” The commander shook his finger at me disapprovingly as he withdrew from the room “They are not for sitting.” With that absurd command, he shut the door, leaving me in a muddle of confusion. 

He couldn’t be serious. 

How can a chair be for anything but sitting?

I took a step back to observe their tranquil state of unuse. 

I suppose they make rather nice contributions to the modern art scheme of the room.

My awed opinion of The Hall’s ruler was slowly, but surely, leaning to the judgemental side at this display of nonsense. I shook my head in disgust. 

What kind of a king do we have?

I found out at that very moment. The door through which the commander had left was thrown open again by him and, with renewed pomp, he entered the room with the King at his heels. For the most part, the King’s eyes were clouded with distraction, as if he had been suddenly drawn away from another undertaking and was attempting to find his way back to the main road of thought. Yet a glimmer of amusement hung about his countenance as if he found his commander’s behavior as amusing as I found it irritating. 

All careless judgments that had run through my head a second earlier were cut off. I felt suddenly quite dizzy.

This is the King.

I’m meeting the King.

After blinking a few times to clear away the muddle of his loose thoughts, he appeared to refocus on the matter at hand.

“How do you do, Miss Revere?” His manner was courteous and quite at ease.  

“Fine…” I mumbled. My eyes found something fascinating to fix themselves on in the plain panels of the floor.

“I have some splendid news for you.” He smiled and clasped his hands behind his back, like a teacher about to announce a pop quiz. It seemed he expected a response. 

“...Yes? That is, yes, Your Majesty?” I inwardly struck myself for forgetting the proper address. 

“None of that, now. You may call me Kyle.” I smiled politely, vowing inside that I would never take to liberty to do that. It would be ridiculous to call the King anything but a title of authority. “Now, take a seat.” He motioned to the very chair I had attempted to sit in not a minute earlier. A sudden spark of wit (with perhaps a healthy dose of madness) rushed its way through my lips without even consulting my common sense.

“I was strictly instructed not to sit in them. However, I admire Your Majesty’s high taste in art. The chairs give it just the right touch.”

The King’s smile vanished in the confusion that washed over his face.

The commander’s complexion bloomed into a vibrant shade of red.

And I smiled.

...What on earth am I doing? 

An uncomfortable moment passed in a silence that mocked my blunder. Then a sound filled the air that took me a moment to comprehend.

Laughter. Of all things… laughter.

The King was laughing.

“Mr. Banks, what a delightful assistant you have brought to me!” The jovial King turned to address the commander. Mr. Banks forced a small, rather sick looking smile. As soon as the King turned away from him, the smile dissipated and in place was a rather reprimanding scowl towards me. “Now, Miss Revere, you have already demonstrated to me your exceedingly good humor. If you will take a seat, I will get straight to the point.” 

I followed his instruction and seated myself on the formerly forbidden chair. 

“I am a busy man, as you can imagine. There are many papers piled upon my desk and many half-finished projects scattered throughout The Hall. I have not the time to deal with them as they ought to be dealt with. I find myself in much want of an assistant. Not a servant, mind you, but someone who… I can discuss matters with. Almost like a secretary at some times. My work has become quite trying in the past months. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly.” 

“Wonderful. Then you will?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You will be my assistant.”

“I will?”

“I’m asking you.”

I blinked a few times before his meaning fully dawned on me.

“You… want me to be your assistant?”

“Yes. I suppose I should give more of an explanation, you see, I have been pouring over student records for the past… how long would you say, George?”

“You only just told me yest-”

“That’s right, that’s right, about two months. The point is, I found your records to be the finest in The Hall.”

He must be joking.

“Your grades, your work, your overall responsibility,”

This isn’t happening.

“I have found you to be exactly what I’m looking for.”

If you’re looking for a math failure, you’ve got her right here.

“I don’t expect you to decide right away, of course, you likely wish to consult your parents. Is there anything you’d like to say?”

“...Yes. First, what exactly would I be doing?” 

Let’s hope not any algebra...

“You would write what I dictate, arrange my files and such, and, in short, provide any assistance that I am lacking.”

“How often?”

“Every day, from morning to mid-afternoon--or evening depending on the workload.”

“What about my schooling?”

“You would be exempt from any schooling.”

My mind scrambled to arrange the details.

This can’t be happening. 

“If you find yourself inclined to consent, I can send home the paperwork with you.”

“I… I’m not sure…”

“I would advise you to take the paperwork, it would give you the opportunity to consider it at home. You may always return it if you should… not accept.” His eyes seemed to sharpen at the idea. 

“Yes… that would be best.” A flick of the King’s fingers sent Mr. Banks scurrying from the room to collect the paperwork. I collected myself as I felt the visit draw to an end. “I do thank Your Majesty for such a grand opportunity.” 

“Yes.” A shadow passed over the King’s smile. “And, Bethany?

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

 “I do hope you accept.”

Chapter Three: Pranks and Classes

Chapter 3: Pranks and Classes

By Maddy Kleinman

     I looked up as Ginny entered the room, followed quickly by Owen. Owen had chosen his name after the Story Thieves series, and Ginny was named after the Harry Potter series. The two always seemed to be in one quarrel or another - when they weren’t finding trouble to get into together.
     “BETHANY!!” Ginny shouted as she marched in.
     “Yesss…?” I asked, more than a little annoyed that they had interrupted my thoughts concerning The Writers’ Society.
     “Owen won’t help me with the prank we want to pull on-” she caught herself. “Nevermind.”
     “Please, go on,” I said, trying to sound bored. “I’m dying to know.”
     Ginny, even at her nine years of age, was accustomed to hearing - and dishing out - sarcasm. “I’m going to tell you anyway,” she said snarkily. “We’re pulling a prank on Ms. Poppins next door. But Owen won’t help.”
     I rolled my eyes. “I think Owen is learning from his past mistakes.”
     Ginny and Ms. Poppins have been rivals since Ginny was born. Ginny has made it her personal goal to prank Ms. Poppins ever since she could walk, and Ms. Poppins has made it her personal goal to teach my enthusiastic sister some manners.
     “What do you mean?” she raised her eyebrows.
     “Every single time you guys prank her she finds out or avoids it. Don’t you remember the last time you were caught?”
     Ginny tapped her chin, made a disgusted face, and hurriedly said, “We won’t fail this time. But I need Owen’s help.”
     “Ginny, listen-”
     “Unless… you want to help?”
     “OWEN!” I shouted.
     His head peeked around the door frame almost instantly, allowing me to assume that he had been listening to the conversation. “Yes?”
     “Please, Owen. Either help Ginny or tell her you don’t want to.”
     He folded his arms. “I’m not helping.”
     “You heard him, Ginny.”
     Her cheeks flared as red as her hair. “Fine.” She flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
     Owen gave me a questioning look.
     “Don’t look at me,” I said, “She’s your twin.”

🕮💎🕮

     It was an hour later when Mom and Dad finally got home. I was on my bed Reading a book.
     Mom flung open the door, her face red. “Bethany. We. Need. To. Talk.”
     I looked up, and, noticing her tone and flushed features, decided that I should pay attention. “Yeah?”
     “What have I told you about Ginny and Owen?”
     “That I need to watch then while you are working,” I said, knowing exactly where this conversation was going.
     “And…”
     “And that I should keep them from playing pranks on the neighbors.”
     “And…”
     “And that if I know that they are going to play a prank on someone, I need to notify you immediately.”
     “Then, might I ask, why didn’t you?” She was clenching her teeth, trying not to yell.
     “I… forgot?”
     If anyone has ever had a conversation with their parents, you will know that “I forgot” is an absolutely unacceptable answer and will only lengthen the conversation.
     “You forgot. You FORGOT? Bethany? What do you mean you forgot?”
     “I, well, I was Reading and I forgot?” It came out more like a question.
     “So you’re telling me that you knew Ginny, Owen, and Watson hid all of Ms. Poppin’s silverware. ALL OF IT BETHANY. ALL. OF. IT.”
     “No… all I knew was that Ginny was planning something. But that was it. I didn’t know she’d get the neighbor kids involved.” I whispered, terrified of the previous outburst and knowing the one that was coming next would be ten times worse.
     She ran her fingers through her hair, preparing for the next eruption. But all of the steam that seemed to have been building up moments ago was gone. She sat down on the bed next to me.
     “I don’t know why you kids do things sometimes.”
     Out of all the emotions, exasperation was one of the ones that I was not expecting.
     “I don’t think we know half the time either.”
     She looked at me and smiled. “And this is why you are Throne Warden, not Ginny.”
     I smiled at the term of endearment. “Throne Warden” was a term from the book where Mom’s name - Nia - came from. It referred to the eldest child being the protector of their younger siblings who would someday rule, at least in that story’s world, and she frequently used it as a nickname of sorts for me.
     “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” I admitted, “Especially when I have to bow to every whim of Ginny and Owen.”
     “They are young…”
     “They’re nine, Mom. Nine. They should know how to take care of themselves by now. They’ll be taking classes next year. And they should know not to prank people.”
     She sighed. “I’ll try to get them under control. I’m sorry for putting so much responsibility on you.”
     “Thanks for the apology.”
     Mom got up and walked out of the room, and I went back to my Reading. I was reading a book that reminded me of Luna’s story, and soon I was too distracted by the thoughts of the unpublished books and rooms full of characters to finish.
     I decided then and there that I would return to The Writer’s Society room once again the next day - after classes.

🕮💎🕮

     I threw my book into my Bookbag, hoping that I might be able to Read it later. Paper, pencils, and my Jewel also went into the Bookbag with a certain recklessness. I had slept in and was going to be late to my classes.
     Every child, when they reach the age of ten, is mandated by the King to start taking classes to learn their family’s trade. My family so happened to be Librarians’ Assistants, and so when I turned ten I started taking classes. I was to graduate from the program in a little less than a year, when I turned fifteen.
     There are three different classes that a Librarian’s Assistant has to take. A class on the different book categories, - of which there were thousands - a class on authors, and a class on the History of the books. If a Librarian couldn’t find a book, they reported it to the Investigators, who then made a gigantic mess while thoroughly searching for the lost book, and then we - as Librarians’ Assistants - would clean up after them.
     Cleaning up such chaos was part of our grade, and I was glad that I had remembered to organize one of the shelves the day before. I walked out of our apartment-like home, and into the busy hallways of the complex.
     All Readers lived together in a singular complex on the north side of the Hall. It overlooked the vast amounts of bookshelves. The bottom floor was where Readers were trained, and where I was headed today.
     My first class, Author Tendencies, was taught by Ms. Poppins herself. I knew that Owen and Ginny's prank yesterday would not help Ms. Poppin’s attitude towards me, and the fact that I was now going to be late would make it ten times worse.
     I slipped into my assigned seat not ten seconds after the final bell, but late was late and Ms. Poppins was not one to bend the rules.
     "Late, again, Bethany," she said, shaking her head, "That's the second time this month. The Schoolmaster will hear about this."
     The Schoolmaster was the head of the school, some stories would call him a Principal. He was not ruthless in his punishments… just strict. My guess was as good as anyone's, but rumors claimed that Ms. Poppins was his favorite teacher… for obvious reasons.
     I had never been subject to any of these punishments, but tales were enough to make me shiver in my seat.
     "Yes, Ms. Poppins," I muttered.
     She nodded, condemning me to a day of anxiety. "Today we'll be learning about science fiction authors and their tendencies."
     A collective sigh escaped the lips and the class. Most of us relaxed, knowing today would be easier than others. Most of us read science fiction and knew enough about it to slack in class during the sci-fi unit.
     "Or we could do historical fiction," Ms. Poppins suggested.
     Everyone sat up a bit straighter, knowing that this was our one chance to get an easy week of homework, and not one of us wanted to blow it.
     Author Tendencies and Backstory of Characters and Their History class flew by. Lunch passed with little to no excitement, and then it was off to Book Categories. All three classes were an hour and a half long, with lunch being half an hour.
     Mr. Tumnus, my Book Categories teacher, was one of the teachers who didn't really care how we got our work done as long as we got it done. He was friendly, much like his namesake, and I always left the class with a smile and a story to tell at the dinner table.
     Today was no different.
     It started with an innocent question.
     "If both American and British authors write in English, why are they different categories?" asked Leslie. Her name came from The Bridge to Terabithia and she was the type of kid who was always asking questions. Yet she was always using words that made her seem like she knew what she was talking about.
     Mr. Tumnus scratched his goatee. "I have never thought about that before," he said, "I'll do some research and get back to you. Now, as I was saying-"
     He got no further.
     "Dontcha know that the Americans kicked the British's rumps? Haven't you paid attention in Backstory and History? They had a whole war! The least the Americans could do for the British was let them have their own category!” Leo said excitedly, bouncing up and down and up again in his seat. “Besides, the Americans wanted to be separate from the British! That’s why they had the war in the first place!”
     Leo got his name from Heroes of Olympus series. He was very much like his character in the fact that he couldn’t sit still unless he was fidgeting with something. He was also a jokester, which was a plus because it usually added an element of hilarity to the conversations in Mr. Tumnus’ class.
     Mr. Tumnus tried to hide his smile. “That’s a very viable theory, Leo. Stop your bouncing, please, I need to finish this lecture.”
     Leo came down with a hard THUMP and proceeded to tap his pencil on his desktop. Snickers came from multiple desks around him.
     “Now, as I was saying, History is an important category. Even if it is boring.” He swept his gaze across the class. “A philosopher once said, ‘Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it.’ I’d like all of you to go home and Read one book in the history category, it cannot be historical fiction. Look for the specific features that make this book part of the History category and take notes. We will be having a discussion later this week.”
     The bell rang and everyone rushed out of the class, eager to get home now that the day was done. The halls were full to a claustrophobic breaking point. I went to my cabinet in the hall, one of the many rows for the Librarians’ Assistants, and pulled out my Bookbag. I melted into the flood of students, hoping against hope that Ms. Poppins wouldn’t see me.
     Or The Schoolmaster.
     I also hoped that Mom wouldn’t have found out that I was late to classes. I didn’t need her yelling at me two days in a row.

🕮💎🕮

     I got home, avoiding the twins, who were planning another prank. If they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t try to play it on me. I grabbed a snack - even though us Readers don’t have to eat, it’s still fun to. Besides, I’d have missed out on trail mix if I didn’t eat.
     And that would be an absolute tragedy.
     I left Ginny and Owen to their plotting and headed to The Writers’ Society. I brought my homework, though knowing what awaited me, I probably wouldn’t get anything done. But it was a noble thought.
     Many stairs and ink-stained shoes later, I found myself in the hallway. I pushed open the door to The Writers’ Society. It looked the same as it had yesterday, with one minor difference.
     The characters were gone.
     My stomach sank. I knew it was too good to be true.
     Things lay awkwardly around the room, like hair ribbons, probably belonging to the little girl… What was her name? Penelope? Phoenix? Pho- Phoebe!
     A dagger lay on the table, and a whetstone next to it, like its owner had been in the process of sharpening it. Books were scattered around the room, and a couple looked suspiciously like journals.
     Too good to be true, I thought again, and this time disappointment welled up in me, threatening to drown my dreams of friendship with characters that were now gone.
     All of the sudden, Phoebe appeared right in the middle of the room.
     “You’re- You’re here?!” I asked, thoroughly confused.
     She threw off a black cape, looking at it in disgust. “I thought we established the fact that this is where I’d be today?” she said. There was nothing condescending about her tone, she just seemed to have something on her mind.
     Gloves came off next. She pulled her sleeve over something on her wrist.
     “Yes, I guess we did, but… where is everyone else?”
     “They are all being written currently. Our authors got together and decided to write at the same time.”
     “But what about you?”
     She pulled off her boots, battered and broken as they were, and replaced them with slippers from under one of the beds.
     “She’s writing a scene that I’m not in, I guess.”
     “Oh, okay. Does… that happen often?”
     “More than I would like,” Phoebe grumbled.
     “I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time, I can leave if you want me to.”
     She sighed. “No, don’t. I need someone to talk to if you don’t mind. It gets pretty boring up here all alone.”
     “Yeah.”
     She pulled a blanket off one of the beds and sat down near the fireplace. “I hate being the villain,” she mumbled into the blankets.
     I sat down next to her. “The villain? You seem pretty nice to me.”
     “Doesn’t keep my author from making me the villain. Stupid curse.”
     All of this was said to the blankets with a controlled fury that was scarier than any yelling or screaming. I didn’t know how to reply. I pulled my Bookbag off and set it down next to me. My Jewel slipped out and I made a move to put it back in my Bookbag.
     “What’s that?” Curiosity replaced the anger.
     “My Jewel.” I picked it up and handed it to her.
     “This is the thing that you put in Luna’s door, isn’t it?”
     The firelight reflected through the Jewel, throwing beams of flickering light onto the floorboards. “Yeah, it is.”
     “What else can it do?” She twisted it around in her fingers, changing the patterns on the floor.
     “Here, let me show you.”
     She handed it back to me with a wistful look.
     I pulled out a History book that I had grabbed on the way. I slipped it into the groove inside the cover and the book flickered to life. An animated voice began to read the book, while the characters played out what the narrator said.
     Phoebe looked confused. “Books in my story are not this boring.”
     I laughed. “This one is a History book that I have to read for my classes. I’ve got a better one in here.”
     I rummaged around in my Bookbag, finding things that I had lost. My favorite pen, a homework assignment. At the bottom of the bag I found the book I had been looking for. A recent read, Little Women. Louisa May Alcott was becoming a favorite of mine very quickly.
     I removed the Jewel from the History book and placed it in the cover of Little Women. Phoebe watched with fascination as the first chapter began to play out.
     “You- You do this all the time?” she asked. “You’re so lucky.”
     “Most of the time, I mean, I’m not that lucky-”
     “Bethany,” she interrupted. “You are very lucky. Be glad you aren’t a character.”
     I looked over at Phoebe. She didn’t look more than twelve, maybe thirteen. She looked like she’d been fighting a hard battle over the past couple of chapters.
     “Come here.” Phoebe stood up and walked over to the door labeled The Shadow Master’s Heir. “Put your Jewel in.”
     I hesitated. “But I thought-”
     “I’m giving you permission.”
     I nodded and pulled my Jewel out of Little Women.
     “Before you do…” Phoebe said, stopping me. “Can you fast-forward? Like skip past certain parts?”
     “Yeah, by turning the pages."
     “I’ll find the part I want to show you.”
     I put the jewel in and Phoebe swiped her hand, like she was turning a page. In a normal book, I would have just turned the page, but there weren’t any physical pages for me to turn. I was glad Phoebe decided to take over.
     “Here,” she whispered.
     A scene unfolded before me, a man and a girl, both in a boxing ring. A quick look showed a roaring crowd. The man and the girl circled each other for a few seconds. The man lunged forward and pulled the girl’s hair. She was knocked over, and he was on her seconds later. She made a futile attempt to draw a dagger.
     She hesitated, and for a moment I couldn’t tell what was going to happen. The man stumbled back, obviously scared by something I couldn’t see. The girl stood up as the man collapsed, a… Shadow?... hovering over him. Another man, this one nicely dressed, walked into the ring and held up the girl’s hand, proclaiming her winner.
     The scene stopped. Phoebe pulled out the jewel, looking ashamed of herself.
     “The girl, that was me,” she whispered. “And the worst part? Part of me enjoyed it.”

🕮💎🕮

     “Edmund, Edmund, Edmund.” Cress sighed. “Why haven’t you given me another report?”
     “It’s not safe, Cress. We’ve been having a visitor.”
     “A VISITOR?!” Cress screeched.
     Edmund nodded.
     “WHO? WHY ARE THEY HERE? DO THEY KNOW?”
     “A young Reader, she seems to be browsing shelves near the door to our lodging. She has not found about our existence yet.”
     “AND WHY HASN’T AIDEN DONE ANYTHING? DID HE NOT MAKE RULES FORBIDDING READERS TO VENTURE UP HERE?”
     Cress’s voice rose in pitch with every word until she was screaming.
     “Cress, my dear sister, please. You must calm down. Aiden has done everything he can. He cannot control every Reader.”
     “But he should.” Cress retorted. It was a miracle that she did not destroy her voice going from a screech to dangerously low levels in a matter of seconds.
     “He cannot. He is not a tyrant. If he was, the Readers would have rebelled long ago.”
     “We must teach this young Reader a lesson. Keep her from coming back. Our very existence is secret, Edmund. We must keep it that way.”
     “What do you have in mind, Cress?”
     “Send out the droid, like you did two days ago.”
     “It needs to be oiled, the noise is horrible.”
     “That’s what we need, Edmund. Something to scare her.
     “And if she keeps coming back?”
     “She may have an accident. A horrible accident.”