The Magic Thief by Sarah Prineas Page A

one of Benet’s knitting needles from table, said it could be useful to lockpick. Says a little knife is good to have as well, because a lockpick with, as he calls it, QUICK HANDS, can use it to pick easy locks.
    Don’t believe there is any such thing as EASY LOCK.
    Giving it a try, managed to lock myself out of study, boy inside warming himself by fire. Wouldn’t let me in, curse him. Finally picked lock, got in.
    Expect picking pockets more difficult skill to learn.
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CHAPTER 17
    T wenty days left.
    I hadn’t bothered going through the academicos collection of locus stones. As a result, Brumbee was disappointed in me.
    â€œMy locus magicalicus isn’t in there,” I said.
    â€œBut how can you be sure?”Brumbee said. “You haven’t looked carefully.”

    â€œIt just isn’t.”
    He shook his head and sent me away. He couldn’t, he said sadly, spare me any more attention if I wasn’t going to make an effort.
    Â 
    Eighteen days.
    Rowan had told her teachers that I was ready to join the other students in the apprentice class. For some reason, she was in the class, too.
    â€œOrdinarily,” she’d explained, “regular students don’t need to know much about magic. But I’m interested.”
    â€œEven though you’re not an apprentice?” I’d asked.
    â€œEven though, Connwaer.”
    But Rowan wasn’t always in class. When she wasn’t, I missed her.
    The apprentice class was held in a long room with a high ceiling and lots of windows to let in plenty of light. Dust floated in the air, sparklinglike tiny stars in the beams of weak winter sunlight.
    Only five students, plus me, were in the class, and that day we sat in three groups of two, passing a spelltext back and forth, reading the spell out loud in quiet voices. The words must roll smoothly from the tongue, Periwinkle told us—she was our teacher—without hesitation or error, in order to invoke the magic.
    Because I was the worst student, Periwinkle had put me with the best student. Keeston was a bigger boy who was very proud of his locus stone, which was shiny black like Nevery’s, but splintery looking. The patch on his robe had a stone arch embroidered on it. He was also proud of his looks; he was tall and strong, and had wavy fair hair and dark blue eyes. He was Pettivox’s apprentice, and he was proud of that, too.
    He wasn’t happy about working with me. I still couldn’t read very well out loud. I was slowing him down, he said. Keeston sneered everytime I had to stop and put the runes together to make words.
    And then we came to a spell I knew something about. The embero, the spell Nevery had used to turn me into a cat. Keeston had the book, and was reading the embero spell out loud. Then he made a mistake.
    â€œIt’s tark olil,” I said, interrupting him.
    Keeston gave me the eyeball. “It is not, new boy. It’s terk olil. Says so in the book. Can’t you read ?”
    â€œYes, I can,” I said. “The book is wrong. It’s tark olil.”
    Keeston sat back in his seat and gave me a scornful look. “Magister,” he called.
    Periwinkle, her gray hair straggling from its bun, came over. “You have a question, Keeston?”
    â€œNot really, Magister,” Keeston answered. “The new boy thinks the embero spell has the word tarkelel in it.”
    He’d gotten it wrong again. “ Tarkolil ,” I said.
    â€œLook, Magister,” Keeston said, pointing at the book, which lay open on the table. “The new boy is being stupid about this.”
    Periwinkle leaned over to peer at the book. “Ah, yes.” She cast me a silencing glare and straightened. “Keeston, you are correct and Conn is in error.”
    I stared at her. I knew I was right.
    Keeston smirked.
    â€œNow, apprentices,” Periwinkle said to the class. “You may each open your books again and study the