"Thanks," I said when Robbie shuffled to a halt and handed me a paper and wax cup.

"Good God it's cold out here," he said, setting his cup beside me on the planter and jamming his mittened hands into his armpits.

I scooted closer to him, jostled by some guy. "You've been gone too long. Wimp."

"Brat."

A man in an orange security vest drifted past, the way opening for him like magic. I busied myself with my drink, not looking at him as the warm milk and chocolate slid down. The bottle of potion felt heavy in my pocket, like a guilty secret. "I forgot tapping into the communal will was illegal," I whispered.

Robbie guffawed, taking the top off his drink and eyeing me with his bird-bright eyes brilliant green in the strong electric lights that made the square bright as noon. "You want to go home?" he taunted. "Come to Portland with me right now? It's freaking warmer."

He was getting me in trouble, but that's what he did. He usually got me out of it, too. Usually. "I want to talk to Dad," I said, wiggling my toes to feel how cold they were.

"All right then." He sipped his drink, turning to shield me from a gust of snow and wind that sent the crowd into loud exclamations. "Are you ready?"

I eyed him in surprise. "I thought we'd find a nearby alley or something."

"The closer, the better. The more energy you can suck in, the longer the magic will last."

There was that, but a noise of disbelief came from me. "You really think no one's going to notice a ghost taking shape?" It suddenly hit me I was stirring a white charm in a banned area to get into the I.S. This will look really good on my employment essay.