Story Thieves by James Riley

back myself. Give me your hand! You can’t be here, this is so, so bad!”
    â€œSit down, if you would,” the Magister told her, gesturing back to her chair.
    â€œNo, I can’t!” she yelled. “You have no idea how awful this is! It’s impossible, it is ! NO. You’re going back, right—” And then she stopped, something horrible occurring to her. “Where is he? Where’s Jonathan Porterhouse?”
    The Magister just stared at her until she sat back down. Finally, he spoke. “Owen told me that your father comes from my world. Is that true?”
    Did Owen just give away everything ? And speaking of, where was he? “What did you do with Owen?” Bethany asked, feeling sick to her stomach.
    â€œHe waits outside of time for my return just as Dr. Verity does,” the Magister said. “He will be completely comfortable until I free him, and no harm shall befall him.”
    â€œI’d be more worried about the harm he’d cause, actually,” Bethany said, but at least Owen was safe. Safe, in a nowhere prison beyond time and space, only able to be freed by a fictional character. So maybe “safe” wasn’t the best word so much as “trapped.”
    â€œBe that as it may. Answer my question, please.”
    â€œWe’re not doing this,” Bethany said, shaking her head. “Whatever you know, it’s way too much. Just let me bring you back. You’ll be so much better off. I found a forget spell in your spell book. I can use that on you, and none of this will ever matter again. You can free Owen, and we’ll all go back to our lives!”
    â€œIs that true ? About your father?” the Magister repeated.
    â€œIt is and it isn’t, okay? He’s . . . he’s from a world like yours, but not yours. And beyond that, I don’t know much more than you.”
    The Magister nodded. “How is it done? How do these writers, in this world, chronicle the stories of worlds like mine?”
    â€œThey use these things called computers,” Bethany said, just trying to hold herself together. “I know you don’t know science, but—”
    â€œTHAT IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO KNOW  !” the Magister roared, and the lights in the room dimmed as his entire presence grew. He seemed to gather ahold of himself, though, and everything lit back up to normal a moment later. His voice was once again measured as he continued. “I want to know how they know what they write. Can this man see into my world?”
    Bethany stared at him. “I don’t honestly know,” she said in a quiet voice.
    The Magister’s eyes grew hard. “Because if he cannot see into my world, but instead my world sprang from his head in some way, that would mean my entire life, as well as the lives of everyone and everything I hold dear, have all been a lie. Made up. A fiction .”
    Bethany swallowed hard again, but didn’t say anything.
    â€œI can remember back thousands of years, Bethany,” the Magister said. “I remember my childhood, when the original magic-users first built the great cities of Magisteria. I remember the first time I met Sylvia, the love of my life. I remember centuries upon centuries of magical study. And my children. I watched them grow and age and have children of their own. I remember the school I once taught in, before the Quanterians destroyed it and put my planet under martial law, outlawing allmagic. I remember those whom a mad doctor has imprisoned just for living their lives the way they wished, with magic.” He leaned forward. “My power kept me alive for all this time while others, dear friends and loved ones, passed away. It did so because I knew I had purpose, a reason to keep living in spite of time. So you might imagine how it would feel if, in reality, my entire existence amounts to nothing more than six adventure books for children