Miles dabs his fingers into my tears, a wide grin on his face, as though amused by my fear. I close my eyes a moment and concentrate on the crystal cluster rock in my pocket, on the sachet of thyme, conjuring up all the courage I have. And then I knee him—in the groin, as hard as I can. Miles staggers back a bit, enabling me to lunge for the hammer. My fingers just shy of the handle, he grabs my arm and spins me around, pushes my back up against the wall.
He pulls the hammer from its hook and presses it into my cheek. “Is this what you want?”
I shake my head and lock eyes with him. I need to be brave; I can’t give up now. Just to my right, on the end of one of the shelves, is a fire extinguisher. Miles prods the hammer deeper into my cheek, forcing my bite to part. The inside of my cheek presses against the edges of my teeth—a burning, aching sensation.
“Feel good?” he asks.
I let out a cry.
Miles moves the hammer from my cheek and glances to the side to toss it. At the same moment I reach out, grab the extinguisher from the shelf. I knock it against his head—hard, a loud, cracking sound. Miles takes a couple steps back, moves his hands up toward his head. I aim the nozzle toward him and compress the handle. Nothing happens. Miles goes to grab the extinguisher from me. His fingers wrap around the base; mine are at the top, pulling at the thing with all my might. I feel my fingers slipping, losing grip.
Miles steps forward to gain a better position. That’s when I spot the extinguisher’s pin. I dive into the extinguisher, as though to tackle it, to pounce into the tug of war we’ve got going between us. I twist and go plummeting to the ground; my butt smacks against the cement flooring. But Miles’ grip releases from the extinguisher. I aim it toward him, pull the pin, and compress the handle. A dark yellowish powder shoots out at him, sticks in his eyes.
I throw the extinguisher down and crawl toward the door. But he grips around my calf. I kick at his hand, plunge the heel of my shoe into his knuckles. Miles releases his grip and I go to reach up for the doorknob, but my fingers aren’t quite long enough. I grapple up on my elbows to make it closer, but my fingers just graze the knob. Miles grabs at my ankle and drags me backward. I turn to face him. On his knees now, he holds the hammer high above his head. I hear myself scream. I scoot backward, away from him, but he just grabs at my ankle again and pulls me closer.
He’s blinking his eyes from the extinguisher dust, like it’s irritating him, settling into his eye sockets. I move slightly to the left, toward the buffer machine, wondering if I’d be able to push it at him, click it on with my foot, what that would do. That’s when I spot the extinguisher, just inches from my leg.
The hammer still positioned high above his head, Miles seems almost wobbly on his knees. He moves his hand from my ankle and goes to rub at his eyes. I lean forward, grab the extinguisher and shoot it at him again—a strong and steady stream that knocks him backward.
I scoot back, reach up for the doorknob—this time able to grasp it—but I’m still too far away to turn the knob or push the door open. I look back at Miles, who has regained his balance. Back on his knees, he lunges toward me, swinging the hammer wildly. I plow to the right to avoid it. The hammer plunges into the door. I reach up for the knob again and turn and push. The door cracks open a couple inches. Miles grabs at my ankle to hold me in place just as the door whips open completely.
A pack of police officers bursts in. I feel myself being dragged up, moved to the side, out of the way. It’s Jacob. I hesitate a moment, thinking how only minutes ago I had suspected him. He wraps his arms around me, and, instead of analyzing it, I just go with it. I allow myself to collapse into his embrace, trusting in my heart what I know is true.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
But I’m breathing so hard that I just can’t answer.
A few moments later, the officers, including Mr. Abercrombie & Fitch, emerge from the custodial room with Miles in handcuffs. Miles looks in my direction but his eyes are so covered with dust, I’m not sure what he sees.
“It’s over,” Jacob says.
I press myself against him, like I never want to let go, hoping more than anything that he’s right.
It’s busy in front of the O’Brian building when we get outside. Hanover police cruisers, campus administrators, and curious students collect about the place.
My mother is the first to emerge from the crowd of people. “Thank god you’re okay,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.
I hug her back with everything inside me. It feels so good to hold her this way, so long overdue. “How did you know I was here?”
“I just knew,” she says, kissing the top of my head. She looks over my shoulder. “You must be Jacob.”
Jacob takes a step forward to shake her hand.
“Thank you,” she says, her eyes all black and runny from mascara.
“I didn’t really do much,” he says. “I wanted to do more.”
“You did everything,” she says. “You trusted your senses and you followed through on them. That’s more than a lot of people would have done.”
I hug my mother again, feeling completely restored by what she’s saying, like maybe she’s having second thoughts about using our senses to help others.
“I just hope someday you can forgive me for not helping you.” My mother’s once-tiny bird wings wrap around me, so much stronger than before.
I hug her even tighter, a trickle of tears sliding down the creases of my face, and tell her that I do forgive her.
“Hey, Mrs. B.,” PJ says, interrupting us. He and Amber stand just behind us.
“Oh my god, how’s Drea?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” Amber says. “A bit freaked, but fine.”
“But you, on the other hand, Miss Drew . . .” PJ says. “Your phone messages scared the Crayola out of us.”
“Thank you for calling the police,” I say.
“I called them,” my mother says. “I just had a feeling . . . an intuition.”
“Well, thanks to all of you,” I say.
“Are you kidding?” Amber says. “I should thank you. You scored me a date with one of Hillcrest’s finest.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who else but that cutie-patootie police officer from the Hangman the other night.”
Mr. Abercrombie & Fitch.
“Really, Amber,” PJ says, “this trying-to-make-me-jealous routine is getting so old and pasty.” He picks some of the yellow extinguisher dust from my shoulders and sprinkles it over his hair. “Cool color.”
“You’re such a freak show,” Amber says to him.
“Correction,” PJ says. “Freak show are those séance clonies. They got their sorry asses dragged out of here tout de suite. Not to mention immediate expulsion.”
“And Donovan? Where is he?” I shiver just mentioning his name.
“Not here,” PJ says. “Only his voice is. When the clonies got all groupie and went to visit him at the detention center, they recorded his voice and pieced it together to suit their twisted needs. Just ask Miss Donna Tillings over there; she’s scooping it all to the police. When the clone-head ghost groupies got too freakish on her, she bailed on their plans. Maybe she isn’t as dweeboid as I thought.”
“Those guys deserve more than expulsion,” Jacob says.
“So right you are, wise one,” PJ says. “I’m just glad I was sensible enough not to let my bad ass get snagged up in their play.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re sensible,” Amber says.
My mother stands beside me as I talk briefly to the police. It seems Cory and his group didn’t even know I was in the building yet. They were waiting for me, getting all prepared for the séance and testing Donovan’s tape over the loudspeaker until I arrived. It was Miles Parker following me to the O’Brian building from the do
rm. Apparently, he’s been working as a custodian here for a few weeks, which might explain how some of the windows and doors kept getting unlocked.
“But obviously Miles Parker wasn’t involved in the séance or anything,” I say. “He was just using Cory and them to get me here, right?”
The officer nods. “Just like they were using him for the key. Mr. Parker has no interest in contacting spirits.”
“Just creating new ones,” Amber says. She rests her chin on his perfectly bulgy arm and bats her fluorescent orange eyelashes up at him.
In the near distance, I spot Chad and Drea. They’re sitting side by side on one of the benches, Chad’s letterman jacket draped over Drea’s shoulders—like an after-school special come to life. Exactly the way it should be.
Drea sees me as well. She gets up and comes and circles her arms around me. “I was so scared. Are you okay?”
“I will be,” I say. “And you? Did they hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “I’m more embarrassed than anything. I was so totally stupid, Stacey.” She proceeds to tell me how earlier tonight a teary-eyed Emma asked her to take a walk with her around campus. Between sobs and nose-blows, Emma told Drea that Cory had broken up with her tonight; she said she needed to get some air, couldn’t bear to sit still in her room, and thought a little walk around campus might do her some good, take her mind off things. And even though Drea and Emma are hardly the best of friends or even friends for that matter, Drea felt bad for her and didn’t want her to have to go alone. Only, once the two of them got near the O’Brian building, they weren’t alone—Cory and Tobias appeared. They threatened Drea with pepper spray, dragged her into the building, and then locked her up in one of the classrooms.
“I just sort of freaked,” Drea said. “And then, as soon as I heard Donovan’s voice, I started going into panic attack mode; it was like last year all over again.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” I say, hugging her once more.
“Thank you,” she says. “You’re always there when I need you.”
“I’ll always try to be.”
I glance over at Chad. He’s got his hands tucked deep in his pockets, making small talk with Jacob. He looks up at me at the same time. I move toward him and we just sort of stand there, staring at each other.
“You scared me,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says. “I should have believed you. I should have taken everything more seriously. I can be such an ass sometimes.”
I shrug. “Maybe I should have done things differently too.”
He takes me into his arms and kisses by my ear. “I love you, you know that? No matter what happens between us.”
“No matter what happens?”
“Exactly,” he says.
I nod and kiss his cheek, knowing full well what he means. “I love you, too,” I say. And I mean it. I do love Chad. I love him enough to know that he and Drea belong together. “Friends?” I say.
“Always.” He hugs me one last time before joining Drea back on the bench.
“So,” my mother says, standing by my side again. She’s shaking—a mix of fear and nervousness maybe—like I’ve never seen in her before. Her mouth is quivering and her eyes are completely filled. She sniffles a couple times to try and gain composure. “Shall we make some plans for tomorrow? I could call you—”
“You’re crying,” I say, noting how even the bravest of smiles cannot hide the way she really feels.
“I’m just so relieved that you’re okay,” she says, swiping at her tears. “And I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, I’m pretty proud of you, too.” I wrap my arms around her once more. “Thank you for everything.”
“No,” she says. “Thank you.” She grips me extra tight. “I love you. I want you to know that.”
“I do know it,” I say. “And I love you, too.”
“So sweet,” Amber sings, interrupting us. “Like a Hallmark card. When you care enough to squeeze the very best.”
“Very cute,” I say.
“Stace, you must be super-starving after upchucking so much chow this past week. So, does this mean you won’t have to worry about any more heinous side effects?”
“For now, anyway.”
“So how about we celebrate your barflessness with a little Denny’s run. I could so go for a Lumberjack Slam.”
“Is that supposed to sound appetizing?”
“You’re welcome to come, too, Mrs. B,” Amber adds.
“I’m a little tired,” my mother says. “But thanks anyway.” She waves goodbye before getting in her car and driving away.
“I’m tired, too,” I say, peeking over at Jacob; he’s waiting for me on the sidelines.
“Oh, yeah, I get it,” Amber says, giving me an exaggerated wink. “Just do me a fave and hang a garter or something on the doorknob if you’re a little preoccupado.”
“A garter?”
She rolls her eyes. “Leave it to you to not own one stitch of chic. My dresser: top drawer on the left. But the leopard-print one with the tassels is totally off-limits.”
“You’re crazy,” I say. “Jacob and I are just going to talk.”
“Knowing you,” she sighs, “you’re probably right.”
While Amber, PJ, Chad, and Drea head off to Denny’s, I join Jacob on a walk back to the dorms. It’s absolutely frigid and well past midnight. Jacob removes his coat and blankets it over my shoulders.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll survive. I may never walk straight again, but at least I’ll survive.”
“I just wish I had trusted you.”
“Well, I hope you can trust me now.” He stops and I look up at him—into his pale blue eyes and at the strong set of his jaw—and feel my cheeks turn warm and pink.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.
“I just knew,” he says, wiping a stray strand of hair from my face. “I dreamt it, remember?”
I swallow hard and look down, my palms all sweaty from nerves. “Why are we stopping?”
He nods toward my dorm. “Because we’re here.”
“Oh yeah,” I say, just noticing it. “Well, thank you. For everything. Maybe you’ll stick around. I mean, I know you’ve done what you came to do, and I know it must have been hard for you to just drop everything and move here. You must have a lot of friends back in Colorado.”
Jacob smiles and takes a step closer, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “How could I leave?” he asks.
I look back up at him and my heart starts strumming inside my chest even harder than before. “I guess you can’t.”
We find ourselves back in my room, sitting on the floor with the chunky white candle my grandmother gave me between us. I unscrew the cap off my bottle of rose oil and pour a few droplets onto my fingers. The lush scent fills the air around us, reminding me of balmy beach nights, of hot passion fruit tea with dripping honey.
I sweep my oily fingers down the length of the candle to consecrate it. “As above,” I say.
Jacob dabs his fingers with the oil and then runs them down the opposite side of the candle. “So below.”
We continue taking turns, moistening around the circumference of the candle until it’s fully anointed. Then I light a couple starter candles, one for each of us, and together Jacob and I use them to ignite the white candle.
“Blessed be,” I say, looking up at Jacob as he extinguishes our starter candles with a snuffer.
“Blessed be,” he repeats.
We sit there, our eyes locked on one another, for several seconds. I know in my heart we’re both thinking the same thing. Jacob leans forward over the candle, the s
hadow of the flame dancing against his bottom lip. I lean forward to meet him as well. It’s a kiss full of promise, of trust, and of all that is magic.
THE END
Laurie Faria Stolarz, White Is for Magic
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