Seconds ticked by like soldiers on parade. Wylder could hear them at the back of his mind—tick-tock, tick-tock—while he lined up all the things he had to do. He’d grabbed the wrong girl, which meant that Addy—the right girl—was still inside the comic. He had to go and find her and bring her back. And he had to do it fast.
Tick-tock.
Forget about Mom. She’d be going crazy, and he’d be in deep trouble when he got back, but he could not—simply would not—walk away from Addy. He had no choice, especially since it was his fault that she was still there. Nothing brave about it—just a thing he had to do, like breathing or swallowing.
He couldn’t wait for Uncle Vim. Who knew how long he might be talking to this Magnus Snayle guy? Wylder had to find Addy now and trade her for Nelly.
Nelly stood by the window of the artists’ lounge, peering down at Front Street, hands and forehead pressed against the glass. “Horseless carriages by the hundred!” she said. “Voosh! Voosh! But where are the ServiDudes? I haven’t seen a one.”
“We don’t have ServiDudes.” Wylder bent over the table, paging through the comic.
“Most of the girls are wearing pantaloons,” said Nelly. “Like your Addy.”
“She’s not my Addy.”
What if that stupid bird dropped her and she crashed to the ground? Could a real person die inside a comic book?
Stop it.
He riffled the pages, scanning quickly.
There was Isadora hauling Flynn down a ladder on the outside of the train. There was Professor Lickpenny on the roof of a different train car, one that chugged on ahead. He shook his fists, lab coat flapping, and his comb-over wasn’t over anymore.
There, weirdly, was Nevins pausing in the train corridor to pick his nose.
And then whoa!
Wylder was pretty sure that none of this was in Uncle Vim’s original comic. The characters were acting on their own. Saving Flynn was what Isadora wanted to do—not what Uncle Vim made her do. Which was amazingly cool, but scary to think where it could lead. If Vim wasn’t in charge, wouldn’t things get way out of control? What if Lickpenny succeeded? What if Flynn died? What if Addy …
Stop it!
Wylder had a lightbulb moment of his own. Addy didn’t have a copy of the comic, so she couldn’t move too far away from where he’d left her. Right? He skipped ahead a bit, pausing to see her mouthing off to Lickpenny even while she was trapped.
That Addy!
What next?
He jumped ahead another couple of pages.
Would Wylder Wallace please come to the information booth for an important message?
“That’s you he’s calling, isn’t it?” Nelly stood next to him. “Someone wants you something frantic. Is that part of your game?”
“What?”
“You have some game going on,” said Nelly. “I can tell. I won’t give you away. I’ll even come in with you. But there has to be something in it for me too. I want half.”
“Half of what?”
“I worked on my own until Aunt Isadora took me in. Mostly I’ve been a proper lady since then. But fair’s fair. You want my help, we share the winnings.”
Wylder tried to imagine what Nelly thought the winnings might be. The prize he was after was named Addy. And there she was again, on the page in front of him.
Yikes!
Wylder heaved a sigh of relief. He knew where to look—or close to it, anyway—if he could find the dang portal.
He began to sweat as his feet went into action.
“You can have half of what I make,” he told Nelly. “I’m going to write Uncle Vim a note, and then we’re outta here!”
He found a pen on the table and thought for a second.
Hurrying along the wide hall of the convention center, Wylder swiveled his head, on the lookout for his mom. Nelly struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing.
“This place is strange!” she said. “I haven’t been feeling myself since I got here.”
“No kidding,” said Wylder.
“Why are people waving at me?” she asked.
“They think you’re part of the show,” said Wylder. “One of the actors. Wave back.” He was looking for the dimly lit hall with the ladies’ bathroom where he’d found Addy and gone into the comic.
Nelly had bumped into an older man in a navy blue suit. She giggled like a silly girl—not like herself at all—and scampered after Wylder. “Hurry,” she whispered.
“What?” But Wylder quickened his pace.
“Hey!” the man called after them. “The brat stole my wallet! Security! Thief! That girl picked my pocket!”
Wylder gasped. “Nelly!”
But she had zoomed ahead. He looked back to see the man pointing at him. A security guard in a turban was steaming through the crowd.
“That boy in the orange shirt is part of the gang!”
Wylder flat-out ran, catching up to Nelly around the corner, where she was leaning against a wall, gasping for breath.
“You stole that man’s wallet!” He tugged her arm.
“It should have been easy pickings,” she said. “His coat was hanging open. But I bungled it. It’s this place. I’m not myself.”
“They think I’m guilty too!”
They were at the LARPing arena. The hall with the ladies’ bathroom portal must be up ahead on his left. Had to be, right?
“Give me the wallet, Nelly.”
“No.”
“I get half, remember? That was the deal.” He looked back, saw the top of a turban and dragged Nelly around the next turn. The corridor opened up to the main exhibition hall. Many of the convention vendors were closing for the night, but a few booths and displays were still open.
Time ticked by. Addy was stuck at the bottom of the page, with no future unless Wylder saved her. And now he had to worry about security guards as well as trying to find the portal. Drat, Nelly! What if he didn’t get there?
What if—
Wylder Wallace! Please come to the lobby right away.
The lobby? Wait a minute! Wasn’t the lobby right there, five steps away? Uh-oh. Wylder steered Nelly into an about-turn, but too late. He heard a familiar voice.
“Wylder? Wylder!”
Mom! Wylder’s heart jumped into his throat. He almost choked on it. Part of him wanted to run over and hug her. But there wasn’t enough time—not in the entire future of the world—for him to explain what he was doing and why he had to do it now. He had to save Addy. Funny how a girl you met at lunch—and didn’t even like right away—could be the most important person in your life by dinnertime.
With his mother’s voice echoing after them, Wylder nudged Nelly past a booth of pink-haired trolls lined up around a troll castle.
“Who’s the dame?” she panted.
He didn’t answer. Now they were headed straight back toward the security guy. They were trapped! He saw himself and Nelly in handcuffs in a police station, going into juvenile detention for petty theft, getting visited by his weeping mother. And meanwhile, Addy would be …
“Twain!”
A high-pitched voice.
A little kid was pulling at his dad’s hand. “Me wanna go on twain!”
He meant “train.”
“Not now, Roger,” said the dad.
“Pweeeease!” The kid pointed with a plastic light-saber. His face crumpled as his dad picked him up and carried him away.
Wylder dragged Nelly onward. Sure enough, standing beside a pair of double doors marked WIGMORE was the Flynn Goster display—the big cardboard engine with portraits of the characters decorating the side. The repair guy must have fixed it and moved it here. TAKE A RIDE ON THE GOLD RUSH EXPRESS! A sign next to it announced tomorrow’s lineup of convention speakers in the Wigmore Room. First on the list was “Viminy Crowe 9:00 a.m.”
“Ow!” Nelly put up her hand to shield her eyes. “Too bright!” A light had suddenly beamed from the train engine. It shone directly at her before blinking off a second later.
Wylder stood completely still, the pieces clicking in his mind—nearly, but not quite, fitting together. The big cardboard engine had been right outside the bathroom this morning. The maintenance guy had been fixing the light. And here next to it is where they’d landed an hour ago. Maybe the portal always had something to do with the train display.
Take a ride, he thought.
“Aunt Isadora!” said Nelly. “However did her photograph find its way to this place? And the yellow-toothed professor? Who would want his likeness?” She ran her finger over the pictures on the side of the engine. “Whatever next?” she said. “That’s me!”
Wylder grasped Nelly’s arm. No way was he going into the comic without her. He tapped the silvery cardboard as if he were knocking on a door. Nothing. He stepped inside to turn the steering wheel. Still nothing.
“Why do I look so silly in the picture? My hair isn’t like that. Is it?” Nelly patted her hair and then seemed to remember the wallet in her other hand. She began to riffle through it.
“Give me that.” Wylder took it from her a bit roughly. He turned his back to check inside and read the name on the gas company credit card. Nelly danced around him, trying to snatch the wallet back, but he easily held it away from her. She wasn’t as strong as Addy.
The security guard would be coming soon. Maybe Mom too. He had to buy some time.
“Hey, Norris Bowden!” Wylder yelled. “We found your wallet!”
He flung it down the hall, keeping a firm hand on Nelly’s wrist so she couldn’t lunge after it. The light on the train display flashed on again, illuminating the entrance to the Wigmore Room.
“What demon light is chasing us?” cried Nelly. She backed away, bumping Wylder against the double doors. He heard the click, felt the doors swing open and tumbled through them, still holding Nelly’s arm.
