Stealing Magic Read Online Free Page B

where she was sure no viewers could spy her, she looked out over a spectacular panorama of a wide boulevard and the Eiffel Tower beyond. She could see lots of people down in the street and a bustling city park. In fact, there seemed to be some sort of festival going on, with flags from different countries waving and music competing with the sounds of laughter and shouting.
    Ruthie inhaled deeply one more time before leaving the balcony. She was so tempted to walk down that spiral staircase and into Paris! But her five minutes were up—the gallery tour must have moved on by now. Not letting herself forget the urgent errand she was on, she left the room and raced back to E31.
    She heard the muffled voices of people in the exhibition but could tell that the docent was no longer speaking right in front of E31. Two voices in particular, though, were becoming more distinct: Jack’s and the voice of a woman, not her mother or Mrs. McVittie. She peeked around thecorner, into the room, and through the viewing window. She saw Jack’s head in profile as he spoke.
    “What are you sketching?” Ruthie heard Jack ask. She couldn’t see whom he was talking to, but she listened carefully.
    “This Chinese room. I’m studying all of the rooms,” a woman’s voice answered. “What do you think?”
    “Pretty good,” Jack said approvingly. “You really got the details.”
    The Chinese room was right next to the Japanese room. Ruthie realized Jack was keeping this woman away from the window by talking about her drawing. This way, he blocked anyone else from looking into the room while Ruthie got the job done.
    Ruthie crept into the room, walked over to the low lacquered table and opened the bento box. The letter was still there, folded just as they’d left it. She breathed a sigh of relief and put it in her pocket. Then she let herself take one more look into the Zen garden adjoining the room on the right. Something felt wrong. She stepped in. Surprisingly, the garden seemed extremely quiet, with no rustling of trees or sounds of birds chirping; the air felt stale. The plants looked fake, and she could even see some chipped paint in the corner of the sky.
    Ruthie worried that the magic was weakening, that perhaps standing on that Parisian balcony had used too much power. Or maybe it was simply that this room was not a portal to the past like the other rooms. Her curiosityballooned inside her, but exploring would have to wait. Her mother and Mrs. McVittie would return from the restroom any minute. It had been at least ten minutes since she climbed the ladder; she had to hustle.
    Ruthie turned to leave the garden, but as soon as she did, she caught sight of the blond head of the woman who was talking to Jack. Ruthie jumped back, unsure whether she had been seen. Finally she heard Jack ask which room was the woman’s favorite, and they moved away. Ruthie scrambled across the tatami floor mats, swiftly picking up the bento box on her way to the small hall and then back out to the corridor.
    She ran as fast as she could along the narrow ledge. Once at the ladder, she decided it would be too difficult—not to mention slow—to climb down the ladder while holding the bento box. Clutching it, she leapt off the ledge, letting the key fall to the floor. Ruthie and the key landed in tandem, now full-sized. She detached the ladder from the ledge. Then she picked up the key and shrank again.
    Ruthie reached the door and looked under; no one was there. She shoved the tiny bento box under the door (it would be too big to carry around in her pocket at full size, and her mother would most certainly ask where it had come from) and then squeezed under just far enough to look about the gallery. Jack was nowhere in sight. She watched as shoes, their soles as thick as mattresses, passed by in a steady stream. It seemed like a long wait until shewas able to come all the way out and place the key at the base of the door for Jack to retrieve. In seconds she