Free White is for Magic by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page A

Just about every scary movie has at least someone getting a knife shoved in their back--most often a clumsy bottle blond with lots of cleavage--but still, it's scary."
    "I do know that I'm scared." I wipe the corner of my eye and look away.
    "I know." She pulls a tissue from the front of her shirt and holds it out as an offering.
    "No, thanks." I take a deep breath and rip the page out of the notebook. I fold it up into a tight little ball--as small as I can get it.
    "What are you doing?" Amber asks.
    "Making the fear more manageable." I grab a piece of cheesecloth, a bottle of dried thyme, and a stick of sandalwood incense from my spell drawer. I drop the paper ball into the center of the cloth and then sprinkle the thyme on it--until I feel my fear retreat, until I feel confident I can overpower it. The green and brown bits of thyme, like the tiniest dried-out twigs, form a heap over the paper ball. I wrap it all up in the cloth and secure it with a rubber band.
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    "It's a courage sachet," I say, holding it up for Amber. "For tonight."
    "Maybe pepper spray would work better," Amber says, stuffing the tissue back into her bra.
    "Very funny." I light the incense and then charge the sachet by passing it three times through the smoke, the sweet woodsy smell helping to ease my nerves even more.
    "Okay," I say, finally. "I'm ready."
    Against Drea's better judgment, Amber and I make our way over to the Hangman by ourselves. It just seems easier this way, rather than getting other people involved. Plus, if whoever sent that email message sees me trudging over with an entourage in tow, campus police included, I can be fairly certain he'll make himself scarce. Who wouldn't?
    And so, the courage sachet in hand, Amber and I schlep our way across campus, walking between buildings to avoid open areas, doing our best to avoid campus police cruisers navigating the area. We even end up taking a detour by the library, making it the longest route possible--
    anything to avoid having to pass by the O'Brian building at night.
    "I can't believe how cold it is tonight," Amber says, breaking the tension. She stuffs her hands into her pockets.
    "We're almost there," I tell her.
    The Onstage Cafe, better known amongst students as "the Hangman," is just ahead of us. A cream-colored houselike building with a pointed roof, it once served as the school theater. But after that girl hung herself, it's become
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    the campus coffee shop study lounge--sort of a bleak thought.< p>
    "Do you think they're still serving hot cocoa?" Amber asks.
    "Not if they're closed," I say.
    "Maybe whoever sent the e-mail works there and can get us in. Maybe he already has some cocoa made up for us."
    I ignore Amber's wishful thinking and continue toward the main glass doors. I can see there are lights on in the back, by the cash register, but it's completely dark in the seating areas, both the elevated stage section and the lower audience part.
    "Should we knock?" Amber whispers.
    "He might not even be inside." I look over my shoulder toward the path where we walked.
    "That would be, like, so completely cruel," Amber says. "Tempting us here with the thought of hot cocoa and biscotti, only to make us rot out in the cold."
    "Are you for real?" I whisper back. "Did you forget why we're here?"
    Amber rolls her eyes. "It's called trying to make the best of the situation." She moves closer to the door and knocks.
     
    "No!" I mouth.
    "Why? I don't have all night to wait for this dork." She continues to pound at the door, the faux-fur body of her leopard-print coat bundled tightly around her.
    "No!" I repeat. "You'll draw attention to us."
    "Look, Stacey," Amber presses the light of her ladybug watch to illuminate the time and holds it out for me to see.
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    "It's after 11:30. Either this geek comes out and gets serious, or I'm outta here. I think my tongue is icing over."
    I'll have to admit, she's right about the weather. I think it's the coldest November we've ever had.
    But