Stealing Magic

by Marianne Malone

  Ruthie always loved to witness people seeing Jack and Lydia’s loft for the first time. It had originally been a factory space, and Lydia redesigned everything for them to live there. They had a great view of the city through really tall windows. The loft was a big L-shaped space; one leg was Lydia’s studio, and the other leg was their living area, in which Jack had his own two-story “house,” with a door and windows looking out to the rest of the loft. He’d painted and decorated it as he pleased. It was fantastic.

  “Show her what it’s like inside,” she prompted Jack. Dora followed Jack as he led a tour of his house, with its downstairs living room and upstairs sleeping loft. When they came back out, Lydia offered Dora some iced tea, and the two of them walked around the corner into Lydia’s studio.

  Jack plopped down at the kitchen table. “I can’t go back in my room. I’ve been in there too long.” A layer cake sat on a cake stand on the table. “Want some?”

  “Sure. I wish my mom baked as much as yours!” Ruthie said.

  Jack sliced two large wedges and placed them on plates.

  “I’ve had such a great time with Dora the past two days. You’ll really like her,” Ruthie said.

  “Really? Why?”

  Ruthie thought it should be obvious to Jack, but then of course he hardly knew Dora at all. As she let the chocolate frosting melt in her mouth she also realized she would have to tell him that she had revealed almost everything to Dora. Her throat tightened a bit.

  “Well, she’s really trustworthy.”

  “I thought she was just teaching you to draw,” he said, taking another bite.

  “Yeah, but we talk. And we have so much in common.”

  Jack looked skeptical. “What could you have in common with her? I mean, she’s nice and all, but look at her!”

  Ruthie was a little insulted, but she had to admit that on the surface, she and Dora did seem very different. “Well, we both love the Thorne Rooms.”

  “Lots of people love them. And how do you know she’s trustworthy?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just … I can tell her stuff.”

  Jack shrugged. “Hey, come look at this.” He hopped out of his chair, and Ruthie followed him into the living room of his house. He opened the lid on his always running laptop and punched a few keys on it; a live overhead shot of the two of them looking at his computer appeared on the monitor.

  “How’d you do that?”

  Jack pointed to a camera smaller than a spool of thread that sat on top of the door frame. It didn’t look like a camera; in fact, it was only the lens and a small transmitter, he explained. “I rigged up my own personal security system. I was so bored this morning, and then I started thinking about that art thief. I already had all the junk I needed to do it.”

  “Cool!” Ruthie mugged for the camera.

  “It’s wireless. I could put it anywhere in the apartment—within a certain range, though.” He pushed a few more keys. “Now it’s recording to a disk.”

  “I’m impressed. Was it hard to do?”

  “Naw. My uncle sent me the camera and software for my last birthday, and I hadn’t gotten around to trying it. I just went online for some technical advice.”

  Jack was the only person she knew who could possibly figure out how to do this all by himself while home sick.

  “Let’s finish the cake. Being sick makes you hungry.” He closed the lid on his laptop.

  Back in the kitchen, Jack shoved another large bite of cake in his mouth. “Milk?” he asked, getting up again.

  Ruthie nodded.

  “Shoot!” he said, scanning the fridge. “We’re all out. I’m gonna tell my mom—she should let me out of the house to go get milk, since it’s just three blocks away.”

  Lydia granted permission, and as they walked to the grocery store, Ruthie felt the weight of guilt bearing down on her. She had to tell Jack what she had done this morning, but she wasn’t sure how to say it. She stared at the sidewalk.

  “I hate being sick; it’s great to be out of the house!” Jack rejoiced. When Ruthie didn’t respond, he commented, “You’re kinda quiet all of a sudden.”

  “I know,” she said tentatively. “Guess where Dora took me today?”

  “I give up. Where?”

  “The corridor.”

  “Anything happen?”

  “Sort of.” A skateboarder careened by, nearly running into Jack, and they both had to dodge.

  “Hey, watch out!” Jack called. Then he turned his attention back to Ruthie. “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “She saw the climbing strip.”

  “So?”

  “I told her.”

  Jack stopped in his tracks. “You told her what?”

  “About the magic.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t be mad. She kinda already knew about the key. She read something about it in the archives. And she’s going to keep it a secret.”

  “So that’s why you said she’s trustworthy?”

  “She is.”

  “I hope so. I can’t believe you did that. And without even talking to me first!”

  “I wish I hadn’t, but it just happened. She could tell I was hiding something, and you know I can’t lie!”

  “Keeping quiet isn’t the same thing as lying!” He walked off in front of her a few paces. He was steaming. She could barely keep up with him as he stomped into the store and down the cereal aisle to the dairy case in the back. He grabbed a gallon of milk.

  “Jack!” she started. He scowled at her and went back to the cereal aisle.

  After a few seconds that seemed like minutes, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly but not saying anything. Ruthie continued, “Look, I’m sorry. But maybe it’s not a bad thing.”

  “Well, whether it is or isn’t, it’s done.” He walked slowly, looking over the cereal choices.

  “I really am sorry I told her without you. And I promise never to do something like that again.”

  “Okay, okay.” He reached for a box of cereal. “Here, you hold the milk.” He handed it off to her. The lines were long at the checkout, and it gave Jack more time to mellow before they had to return to his house.

  Back out on the sidewalk, Ruthie decided to refocus his attention by telling him about Mrs. McVittie’s clothing collection. “So we could both have the right clothes to wear when we go back to find Louisa,” she finished after telling him about the two perfect period outfits.

  “When do you want to go?” he asked, almost completely over his angry storm. “I don’t think my mom will let me go tomorrow. Better try Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, that’ll be good for me. I wish we could go right now to warn her. I’m so worried that we’re not going to be able to find her.”

  They had reached Jack’s building. He was resisting going inside again, so they sat on the front steps for a few minutes. “You know this means we have to put her on the list,” Jack said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We know Dora has access to the rooms.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Jack interrupted her. “I’ve been thinking. Now that Mrs. McVittie and Dora know, maybe you’re right about talking to Dr. Bell.”

  Ruthie was glad he had been the one to bring this up. “I think it’s a good idea. I got the feeling when we met her at the opening that she wants to know more,” she said. “We can see if she’ll meet with us before we go to the museum on Tuesday.”

  Jack looked up at the blue sky. “I don’t want to go back inside. It’s so nice out. I guess it’s not that bad not going on some swanky island vacation for spring break. At least we get to go to Paris!”

  “And do something important, like save someone’s life,” Ruthie added with a big grin.

  “DR. CAROLINE BELL, MD,” JACK read on the office door. “This is the place.”

  The receptionist ushered them into an office filled with medical books, Dr. Bell’s diplomas and some photos of her with her father. Ruthie also notice
d a beautiful one of Dr. Bell as a baby in her mother’s arms. She recognized it as one of the photos they had rediscovered.

  “Hello, Ruthie. Hello, Jack,” Dr. Bell said, entering the office and shaking hands. She sat down at her desk. “It’s so nice to see you both again. Please have a seat.” Ruthie felt the warmth from her smile. “So what did you want to see me about?”

  Ruthie began, “At the opening of your dad’s exhibition you said you thought we had more to talk about.”

  “What do you think?” Dr. Bell asked.

  “I think you want to know more about how we found your backpack,” Ruthie suggested, hoping Dr. Bell would get the hint. She must have memories, Ruthie thought, just like Mrs. McVittie’s, about going into the rooms as a child, memories that she had a hard time believing. Finding Dr. Bell’s belongings—the backpack filled with her schoolbooks and her father’s photo album—hidden all those years in the tiny cabinet of room E17 had given Ruthie and Jack the proof that she had experienced the magic.

  Dr. Bell studied their faces for a moment. “Let me show you something,” she said. She swiveled her desk chair and took something from the bookshelves behind her. It was a small silver box, about three inches square, with intricate decorations carved into the lid. She handed it to Ruthie, who turned it over in her hand like an antiques expert. Looking at the markings on the bottom, she saw some letters and a lion.

  “It’s from England,” Ruthie said confidently. When Dr. Bell looked surprised, Ruthie added, “Mrs. McVittie taught me how to read the markings. Where did you get it?”

  “I’m not sure; I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, though.” She looked at it thoughtfully. “I once had a dream about it being from a dollhouse and growing in the palm of my hand.”

  “That was no dream, Dr. Bell,” Jack put in.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that it probably did grow in your hand. And that the stories you told your dad when you were a little girl—about shrinking and going into the Thorne Rooms—all that really happened.”

  “This little box is probably from one of the rooms,” Ruthie concluded.

  Again the room was quiet. Dr. Bell’s gaze was directed at the box in her hand, although her focus was far away.

  “I was just a little girl with an active imagination.” After a few moments she looked at them, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m a doctor—a scientist. I shouldn’t believe this.”

  “We couldn’t believe it either,” Ruthie said gently, “but it happened to us. We shrank and went into the rooms.”

  “That’s where we—Ruthie, actually—found your backpack,” Jack said.

  “In a cabinet in one of the bedrooms with a canopy bed,” Ruthie added.

  Dr. Bell gave a small chuckle. “I was obsessed with that bed.” She thought some more. “But I still can’t believe all this is true. How can it be?”

  “There was a magic key that a duchess named Christina of Milan had made centuries ago,” Jack explained.

  Dr. Bell’s expression registered a memory. “Yes! I remember a beautiful shining key!”

  “Christina had the key created so she could make herself almost invisible. We read about it in a book she wrote that’s in one of the rooms,” Jack continued.

  “But it’s all so impossible!”

  “Why do you think you kept this little box all these years? Deep down you must have known your memories were real,” Ruthie said.

  Dr. Bell smiled. “You’re very insightful, aren’t you?”

  Ruthie shrugged. “It happened to our friend Mrs. McVittie too, a long time ago.”

  “The rooms—and, I suppose, the magic—helped me get through those difficult times when my mother died.” Dr. Bell sighed heavily. “Now I’ve got to pull myself together and get back to work. I wish I had more time to talk. I have a lot to think about.” She stood up and walked around to the door. “I want to thank you both so much for everything you’ve done, for me and my father. He’s never been happier since he’s gotten back to his photography.”

  “We were just lucky,” Ruthie said.

  “Before you go …” Dr. Bell went back to her desk and picked up the beautiful box, cradling it in her hand for a moment. “I think I remember which room this came from now. It was a grand dining room. I think the walls were pale green, with lots of white decorations.” She paused, her memories seeming to become clearer. “And I remember a funny white statue of a lady with a bow and arrow.”

  “I know which room that is,” Ruthie said.

  “Perhaps you’ll do me the favor of returning it? To put it back where it belongs?”

  “No problem,” Jack answered.

  Ruthie and Jack left her office. Out in the hallway Jack said, “We can rule her out. She didn’t write the note, for sure.”

  “And I don’t think she can help us figure out who did,” Ruthie replied.

  “I can’t believe I forgot the key!” Jack griped as they were getting off the bus near his building.

  “We had to come back this way anyway,” Ruthie said. One block later they were at his door. “I’m glad we talked to her.”

  “Yeah. She seemed relieved to know what really happened to her when she was a kid. Just like Mrs. McVittie.”

  The elevator brought them up to Jack’s floor. Lydia had left a note for Jack on the kitchen table, saying she had an appointment and would be back by dinner. “I’ll just get the key and then we can go to the museum,” he said.

  Ruthie had the clothes they were going to change into stuffed into her canvas bag, along with the climbing ladder. She double-checked to make sure she had everything while she waited for Jack, who seemed to be taking an extra couple of minutes to retrieve the key. He appeared from his room, his face ashen.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruthie asked.

  “I can’t find it! It’s not where I put it!”

  “What do you mean?” She charged into his room. “Let me look.”

  They went through the shoe box again, pulling every item out; it wasn’t there. They looked through every drawer, under his bed, even in it. The key was nowhere!

  “Think—when did you last see it?”

  “When we used it last Tuesday. I put it back; I’m sure I did!”

  “Does your mom have a new cleaning person or anything like that?”

  “No,” Jack answered, thoroughly perplexed. They were quiet for a long moment, minds racing. “There’s one other possibility. My mom took some stuff to the dry cleaner the other day, including the jacket I was wearing on Tuesday. I’m sure I put the key in the box, but maybe … maybe I didn’t.”

  “Which dry cleaner?”

  “She always uses the one around the corner.”

  “Let’s go!” Ruthie sprinted for the elevator, and Jack was right behind her. They sped out to the street and around the block, swinging open the door of the cleaner’s. Jack rang the service bell on the counter several times. While they waited, Ruthie noticed a sign next to the cash register. In red lettering it stated, Not Responsible for Valuables Left in Pockets.

  “Coming, coming!” A man’s voice sounded from behind the curtain of plastic garment bags hanging on the conveyor.

  Jack called out, “My mom brought some clothes here the other day. I think I might have left something in the pocket.”

  Finally the clothing parted and the man appeared. He had a large wrench in his hand and didn’t look too happy. “Darn thing broke down again!”

  “Please,” Jack began. “I need to look in the pocket of my jacket.”

  “You got your ticket?”

  “No. But this is an emergency.”

  “He lost something important,” Ruthie chimed in.

  “I can’t help you without the ticket.”

  “Please!” they said simultaneously.

  The man sighed. “What’d ya lose?”

  “A key,” Jack said.

  “House? Car?” the man asked.

  “Uh, neither. It’s an antique key
.”

  The man didn’t respond but disappeared into the back. He returned carrying a box, about triple the size of a shoe box. He set it heavily on the counter.

  “We got keys. You’re welcome to look through them. We always check pockets. Keys go in this box. I can’t promise it’s in there.” He disappeared again through the plastic-covered clothes. They heard the clanking of metal.

  “There are hundreds in here!” Ruthie felt discouraged.

  “Start digging. If our key is in here, it will stand out.” Jack plunged his hand into the pile.

  Ruthie had never known there were so many different sizes and shapes of keys. They all blurred together after a while. Soon it became evident to both of them that their key was not in this box.

  “Sir,” Jack called, “could I please take a look at my jacket pocket? The key isn’t here.”

  The man came back to the counter and leaned forward. “I got big problems today. If you think I can find your jacket without your ticket, I got news for you. We got hundreds of items here.”

  “Could we look?” Ruthie asked.

  “No clients behind the counter.” He softened somewhat when he saw the look of desperation on Ruthie’s face. “Look, I’m sorry. We got strict rules. My workers always check pockets. Though I hate to say it, sometimes valuables don’t end up in the box. Some people don’t respect personal property as much as they should.”

  “Finders keepers,” Jack sighed.

  “That’s what the sign’s for.” He gestured with the wrench to the red-lettered sign. “Now I gotta get this thing fixed.” He left for good this time.

  “This is horrible!” Ruthie choked back the lump forming in her throat.

  “Really, I’m pretty sure I didn’t leave it in the pocket.” Jack sounded like he was trying to convince both Ruthie and himself. They returned to the sidewalk and trudged back to the loft.

  In the elevator Ruthie said, “I could get used to never being able to shrink again, I guess. But I can’t stand the idea of not warning Louisa to get out of Paris. Her life is at stake!”