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flicked the light back on and opened the drawer of his bedside table. There should have been a notebook in there. His mom had bought it for him to use as a travel journal. So far he had used it only to play dots and boxes and to draw pictures of castles, but he could put it to better use now … if he could find it. The drawer was as cluttered as ever, but there was no notebook. Where had he left it?
    He climbed out of bed as quietly as he could and began rummaging. The notebook was nowhere to be found. The backup plan would have to be to go into another book—back to George at Kelmsworth in the Intrepids series, maybe, or to Undergrowth to look for Malcolm—except that he couldn’t find any books either. This was weird. He’d brought a couple of Undergrowth books with him on the trip, and his mom was always bringing new books from the town bookstore. Where were they now?
    It finally dawned on him that the reason he couldn’t find
The Secret in the Library
—the reason he couldn’t find
any
book, and the reason the library was locked—was that Kit knew it was his escape route. Kit was trying to keep him trapped here. His crazy uncle had locked up the library and hidden every scrap of paper in the house. It had taken Norman all day to realize it, but that’s what was going on. The gaming system was supposed to distract him. Kit knew that a book would have done a better job, but he also knew that every book was an escape hatch for Norman.
    It was hard to hate Uncle Kit more. He’d messed up a lot of books before, but to take all the books away … well, that was loweven for him. And to think that he’d believed Norman could be distracted with a gaming system. That was insulting.
    The thought of the gaming system downstairs triggered a memory for Norman, and a triumphant grin began to spread across his face. This contest wasn’t over yet. Uncle Kit hadn’t thought of everything. He had made one mistake.
    Norman didn’t bother about the creaking step as he descended the stairs. Uncle Kit could say what he wanted if he caught him. If Kit wanted to admit that he was keeping them captive here, that was fine. Norman’s mood became more defiant the closer he came to the dining room. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and he knew exactly where to find it. Uncle Kit’s mistake had been to wrap his present.
    The gaming system was sitting exactly where he’d left it, the main unit on the floor, the glove and goggles discarded on the table. The Styrofoam and plastic packing was still there in a pile beside the main unit. But the cardboard box that had held it all was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the brown wrapping paper that he’d shredded so enthusiastically for Kit’s benefit. Did Kit actually clean up? Norman rushed to the kitchen to check the only garbage can he knew of. It was filled with pizza crusts and chocolate eclair leftovers. There wasn’t a single pizza box or scrap of wrapping paper to be seen. He circled the kitchen anxiously and racked his brain. Was there another garbage can, or even a recycling box? He circled the bottom floor, checking the pantry, the bathroom, the front foyer.
    Maybe the sitting room. Why did he think he’d seen a pile of paper there? He padded to the sitting room, moving more quietly now that he wasn’t so sure of his escape. When he saw the magazine rack there, beside the sofa, he realized what pile of paper he must have been thinking of. By the faint, blue-tinged light of the moon, he could tell that it was empty now. He scanned the room, looking for anywhere that Kit might have disposed of the wrapping paper. Nothing. Not a recycle bin or wastepaper basket, not the crumpled ball of brown paper that Norman now desperately needed.
    His eyes tracked back to the fireplace. No one had used it since they arrived here, but now the fire shield had been moved aside andthe grate was open. When he knelt in front he could feel no heat, but he could tell from the smell that there