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should’ve been the last to go over.
    The only two things my friends had in common was that they were both very neat. Lisabelle was just the most unsentimental paranormal I’d ever met, so she didn’t keep objects or papers around. Sip kept everything, but was ruthlessly organized about it.
    I c ouldn’t help but think that Lisabelle would be there now if it hadn’t been for me. It nearly choked me to think so, but her insistence on protecting the last elemental, along with Sip’s and Lough’s, had now destroyed us.
    “Bravery is a stupid concept,” Sip announced suddenly, her hands on her hips. “Whoever thought being brave was cool was seriously mistaken. How dare he or she.” She paused. “It was probably a he. Women are never so foolish.”
    “Hey!” Lough cried. “I’m not foolish.”
    “You’ve been in love with our best friend for going on three years and not uttered so much as a peep about it to her,” said Sip, rolling her eyes. “You’re definitely foolish.”
    The werewolf looked around the room and took a shaky breath as her purple eyes filled with tears. Lisabelle’s side felt empty, as if something was missing.
    Something was.
    After she stopped talking, Sip started frantically throwing papers around Lisabelle’s side of the room. For a moment her entire small body was obscured in white parchment.
    “What are you doing?” Lough asked, so surprised he was no longer upset.
    “I’m saving everything she ever wrote,” said Sip frantically.
    “She’s not dead,” said Lough. “And her handwriting was terrible.”
    Sip paused momentarily to glare at the dream giver, then continued her frantic organizing.
    “Maybe we’re different,” I said tiredly. I’d been thinking more and more that I might never graduate from Public. Last semester had been devastating; instead of improving the fight against darkness it had only served to bring us closer to the brink of destruction.
    I pushed myself off of Sip’s desk and went to my friend. She kept throwing papers and crying until I wrapped my arms firmly around her, pinning her own thin arms to her sides. We stood like that for a long time, until Lough came and wrapped his arms around both of us. The three of us stood silent, locked in a sad embrace.
    Finally Lough murmured into Sip’s hair as the werewolf continued to shake. “It’ll be okay,” he said.
    “She did it for me,” Sip cried. The tears had long ago spilled down her cheeks. “Lisabelle did it for me.”
    “She did it for all of us,” I said. “She knew this was the best way.”
    “How is giving over the most powerful darkness mage of the generation TO darkness a good idea?” Lough demanded softly.
    “She just knew she had to,” I said stubbornly. “There was nothing else she could do.”
    “Do you think she’s thinking about us?” Sip asked. “Do you think she wishes she were here now?”
    I gave Sip another hug. “More than anything. But really, she just wanted you safe.”
    Sip nodded and snuffled.
    Lough gently took one of the pieces of paper from Sip’s hands.
    “Listen, Sip,” he said, looking determined. “I know that if you lose someone you love, you want to hang on to them in every way you possibly can. It’s totally natural, and there’s nothing wrong with it. I understand. I had an older brother who died when I was young. . . .” He took a shaky breath and didn’t continue right away; this was the first time I had heard anything of a brother. Judging by Sip’s expression he had never mentioned him to her before, either. When Lough finally collected himself enough to go on he said, “But love isn’t about pieces of paper with silly notes scribbled on them.” He glanced at the paper in his hand: Ten Different Ways to Kill a Demon with a Spoon and Chocolate.
    Under that, in a little scribble was written, “Dark chocolate.”
    Sip sniffed again. “But, see, that’s so Lisabelle.”
    “I know,” said Lough, “and we love Lisabelle because of