Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Recently deceased with established haunting perimeters often manifest originally in the realm of the living or the Netherworld. Those who manifest in the realm of the living appear within those haunting perimeters. Those who manifest in the Netherworld will either be operating from that location or cannot access their proper haunting perimeters immediately. Case workers can be located in the Netherworld; instructions for moving between the two locations are covered more extensively in the earlier chapter.

Between the human and Netherworld is the ectoplasmically-charged zone that serves as a buffer. The zone is an environment with mutative geography, inhabited by ghosts without proper haunting parameters, ghosts who did not manifest originally in the more typical locations, and ghost-like entities that are not truly deceased. Inhabitants of this buffer zone generally demonstrate higher power and variety of abilities than others, normally reaching a minimum of a Class 5, while also displaying higher levels of aggression and obsession. Access between the zone and the realm of the living is easier to accomplish without the necessity of proper channels due to proximity, though the portals often vary in location, stability, and duration.

Outside of the realm of the living and often accessible as a border to individual haunting perimeters is the Saturnian territory. Due to the high-saturation of sandworms and temporal flux, the deceased are advised against accessing Saturn and to remain within their haunting perimeters.

The ability to move between the realm of the living, the Netherworld, or the zone vary depending on an individual's specific circumstances, the presence of portals, and the conditions of the various locations at the time of attempted access.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

It wasn't quite as bad as an exorcism, but they definitely caused him some real problems. He knew he'd been out for at least a few days. Which wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but it also wasn't that great. If he wasn't as powerful of a ghost, he knew he'd still be curled up in a dark corner somewhere and unable to move. Well, he was still curled up in a dark corner, but he could at least start moving again. They really packed some punch with that little stunt.

Mostly, though, he was all right. What didn't kill you made you stronger, right? Or it would if it wasn't for the whole… already-dead thing… But he was doing better. Granted, he felt kind of wrung out and wobbly, but that would pass. He'd been hit with worse. In fact, he'd been eaten by a sandworm a couple of years ago and he got over it. He'd be all right soon enough. That didn't, however, change how upset he was about it happening in the first place.

Actually, "upset" was a bit of an understatement. He was seriously, violently ticked off. Not only did those idiots mess with him, binding him and trying to get him out of the way, but they messed with her. They took her away and tried to trap him. As bad as it was to mess with him, messing with her was unforgivable. Whenever he got a hold of them, he would make them wish they were dead and Juno's responsibility.

They were smart, stealing his name from her. They used the ring, the ring he gave her during that ill-conceived marriage scheme (not his fault that he was horrible at judging ages among the living after a few centuries of being dead and it wasn't like he intended to stick around for long after the ceremony anyway). He should have made her give it back a long time ago.

Objects of meaning and importance to ghosts could have power, especially if they were a reflection of some type of relationship. Granted, the ring was initially meant for their marriage instead of the odd friendship they ended up with, but friendship was still a relationship. The ring was a mostly-forgotten and ignored symbol of some kind of connection between the ghost and girl. And they used it.

It was clever. They bound the pair, the girl too tangled up with the dead to be completely unaffected. Binding her memory of his name, binding his ability to reach through mirrors from the other side, and doing who knows what else since he'd been a little out of it near the end… They bound it all to the ring.

It was smart. They couldn't remove her memory of him or the Maitlands, but they could take away her ability to summon him. And they ensured he couldn't reach out to her, remind her of his name or even watch her from afar. He would be the first to admit they were very clever with their strategy. He'd even be impressed if it wasn't for the fact they were messing with his best and only friend. Instead, he simply hated them.

With his anger and frustration burning bright, he forced himself upright properly. He knew he was in the Netherworld, which was at least better than the Lost Souls Room. Snagging other ghosts from ending up there was easier than stopping himself from suffering that fate. Yeah, he was at least thankful to avoid an actual exorcism for the moment.

He could spot the huge building where poor idiots sat around in the waiting room for an available case worker, but he was far enough away that none of them would notice him. Not that any of them would care. Some (like Juno, the pain in the neck that never let anything go) might even think he deserved it. But karma wasn't exactly something he put much faith in, so he wrote the whole situation off as just rotten luck.

The architecture of the Netherworld was different than what the living tended to use, but it wasn't particularly hostile or mind-breaking. He'd even snuck her in a couple of times with a little creativity with the whole "summon/banishing by saying the name" thing. If someone figured out he'd done that, he'd be in an insane amount of trouble. But she liked it and he was good at loopholes anyway, so he'd risked it. The point was that, compared to the land of the living, the Netherworld wasn't quite normal. The geometry and geography tended to get a little weird if you over-thought it. But he was used to it enough to figure out sort of where he was.

Basically, he'd landed in what was more-or-less a narrow alleyway in a less frequented corner of the place. In all honesty, he was reasonably close to where he used to stay between bio-exorcism jobs. It was dark, but that was the normal state for the Netherworld. The easiest thing to do would be to just go back to how things were before the Maitlands contacted him. The smart thing to do would be to forget what happened and get on with his afterlife.

And there was no way in the Netherworld he was going to do that. She was his friend and no one was allowed to take his friend away. He couldn't leave her alone with them. He'd find a way back to her. No matter how they tried to bind and trap him, he'd figure out a way. He was an expert at bending rules and finding loopholes, after all. He'd get her back even if he was forced to tear the Netherworld and the land of the living apart in the process.

But with no one around to use his name, getting to the living would be difficult. He was used to not being able to say his own name. He was even used to having issues figuring ways out to get his name out to others so they could summon him. He'd done it for centuries. But after his last stunt where he'd apparently pushed Juno's patience to far, she started having the very first page of the handbook for the newbie ghosts warn against calling on bio-exorcists in general and him specifically. And she did it without even having to print his name, which he considered impressive. The rest of the ghosts, the ones who would already know his name, knew better than to summon him either. And there was a limit to how much he could do to get a human to call his name while he was stuck on the other side.

No one was going to use his name. And no one was going to help him get to her. Especially no one who worked in the nightmarish bureaucracy (like Juno, who seriously needed to lighten up) and would actually have the ability to access the land of the living a little easier than most. It was completely up to him.

That left him with only the longer and more difficult method of brute forcing his way through the zone between the two places. He wasn't even certain those portals would work for him thanks to the way he was bound by the use of his name. But it was the best option at the moment, so he had to at least give it a try.

"Hang on, Babes," he muttered. "I'm coming for you."

With the exception of regular ghost attacks, Fenton Works, and the famous/infamous halfa who was trying to protect his hometown while also maintaining his secret at the same time, Amity Park was a fairly ordinary and boring town. Okay, maybe not that ordinary and boring. But it wasn't that major of a place and certainly didn't attract large numbers of new arrivals. People didn't really move to Amity Park. Away, sure. Regular hauntings encouraged that. But everyone in Danny's school were essentially the same kids he'd seen since elementary school.

So when a black-haired, pale girl in dark clothes that wasn't Sam ended up sitting in his homeroom, it caught his attention. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun of some type and almost everything she wore was black. Black shoes, black leotard-like pants that somehow managed to give the impression of modern and old-fashion at the same time, and a black short-sleeved shirt that looked like something out of the Victorian era over a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that covered the palms of her hands while leaving her fingers exposed. The only hint of color was some red fabric barely visible from where she stuffed it into her backpack. There was no way in the world he'd missed seeing her around the school for years. She stood out way too much for that.

She was just sitting there in one of the back seats, a dark expression on her face as she silently scribbled on a sheet of paper. Very few people were ever happy to be at school, but the boy could see that it was more than that. There was way too much anger, frustration, hopelessness, loss, loneliness, and sorrow all mixed together in her expression as she ignored everyone else in the room. He wasn't Jazz, but Danny could tell that the new girl needed to talk to someone before she snapped the pencil in her grip or decided to start screaming towards the ceiling. And judging by her Goth clothes and off-putting expression, he doubted there would be many making the offer.

"Whoa, I love your outfit," said Sam, rushing past him with a rather enthusiastic expression on her face. The last time he saw that exact look on his friend's face was when she was at Gothapalooza (after it returned to normal). "I can't believe someone around here finally has decent taste in clothes. Everyone else around here dresses like Barbie clones."

The girl jerked abruptly, clearly startled by Sam's excited outburst at having another Goth in class. It was as if she didn't expect to even be noticed. Or as if she didn't notice anyone else. There was some hesitation and suspicion before she risked a weak smile.

"I'm familiar with the breed," she said. "Since my last school was all girls, there were a lot of them to deal with. I think they're everywhere. Like roaches."

Sam nodded with approval at that statement as he friends came up behind her. Danny could already tell the new girl was going to be drafted as Sam's new companion for Goth poetry reading. And neither boy was going to complain about escaping that occasionally. There was only so many times they could handle listening to people trying to rhyme "dark" and "empty" without growing bored.

"Well, it would probably best then for us to stick together to avoid the infestation. My name's Sam, the resident Goth of the school. I can show you where the best bookstores and such are. These are my best friends, Danny and Tucker."

"Nice to meet you," remarked Tucker, the grin on his face clearly demonstrating his thoughts about a pretty girl who hadn't rejected him already joining the class.

"Thanks. And don't even think about it. I have a… not-boyfriend who's kind of scary to deal with and who would probably dunk you in a shark tank if he saw you hitting on me," she replied calmly, clearly noticing the same thing that Danny did about Tucker's behavior.

"A 'not-boyfriend'?" asked Sam, taking a seat next to her. "I feel like there's a story there."

"You could say that. He's… complicated. Our first meeting was scary and then he later tried to move way too fast. I agreed even though I didn't want to because I needed his help, but things got… Well, it ended in chaos and he vanished for a while. And then he figured out exactly how young I was… There was some anger, some yelling and accusations, and then some vague and oddly… I wouldn't call it 'sweet,' but at least 'honest' apologies. After that, he was my best friend in a strange way. But he's still possessive and a little overboard in his reactions. So while he'd never hurt me, others need to be careful."

As the girl spoke, she sounded so wistful and sad. It didn't take a genius to figure out that her "not-boyfriend" was back wherever she used to live and that she missed him. But what really set off Danny's mental alarm was something else. Considering how many secrets and lies he needed to juggle on a daily basis, the halfa knew how to recognize when someone was hiding something. And he could tell it was something important.

"He does sound complicated," Danny said slowly. "What's his name?"

A flash of pure frustration and heart-break crossed her face and her voice was positively pained as she whispered, "I can't tell you."

Before anyone could respond or act further, Mr. Lancer announced from the front of the room, "All right, class, it seems we have a new student joining us. Why don't you stand up and introduce yourself?"

Her eyes rolled as she climbed to her feet and she plastered a bored expression on her face. She then looked around the room, studying the wide assortment of geeks, jocks, popular girls, and various other students.

"Ugh… Just what we needed. Another Sam lurking around and being creepy," someone muttered under their breath.

Her previous mixture of emotions abruptly consolidated into a single feeling that he could practically feel radiating off her: anger. If the pale, black-haired girl had been a ghost instead of human, Danny knew her eyes would have glowed in response to the comment. Instead, she adopted the fakest and scariest grin to ever grace the halls of Casper High. Then she started to address her audience with the most cheerfully sarcastic voice possible.

"My name's Lydia Deetz. I'm from Winter River and I lived in New York City before that. While I'm sure this is a nice little town, the only reason I'm here is because any parental figures I have apparently possess a tendency to experience fatal car accidents. My dad and step-mom have moved on to a better place; I had the experts check just in case. And since I'm not an adult, I ended up with Aunt Melinda. She's my mom's sister and I never saw that side of the family even before Mom died and my dad remarried, so she's pretty much a stranger. She's also an evil, controlling witch who dragged me here while guaranteeing that anything remotely good left in my life is now gone. Oh, and I like photography, Gothic design, sewing, and the color black."

Obviously satisfied by the stunned silence, Lydia retook her chair and went back to scribbling in her notebook. Even with the return of her previous dark expression to her face, it was clear that she was looking for a horrified and uncomfortable reaction from her audience. The look on Mr. Lancer's face was particularly shocked.

"Uh… Well… I hope you'll be happy here at… our school," he said awkwardly.

It was almost a relief when screams of terror and shouts about haunted meatloaf erupted from the hall at the same moment that Danny felt his Ghost Sense activated. A brief attack from the Lunch Lady was the perfect interruption. Already the students were fleeing in a panicked, yet orderly fashion towards a safer location, forgetting all about the new girl.

As Danny and his friends looked for somewhere he could change out of sight, he caught a quick glimpse of Lydia's face. She was surprised and intrigued by the green-skinned ghost terrorizing the school, but she wasn't afraid. She wasn't running in panic; she was staring. He carefully tucked that odd reaction to the back of his mind. For now, he had a job to do.

Compared to how much trouble he had the first time, Sam was mildly impressed at how quickly Danny could deal with the Lunch Lady now. It was a real and tangible sign of progress. A couple of minutes of semi-amusing banter and blasts of ecto-energy, then Tucker managed to snag her with the thermos. By the time Mr. Lancer started counting the students huddled around the front of the school, the ghost and thermos were tucked out of sight and the trio rejoined the crowd. No one noticed.

Actually, on second thought, maybe they weren't completely unnoticed. Standing among the crowd of gossiping students like a silent shadow, a thoughtful expression across her face, was Lydia. And even if she was listening rather intently to the discussions, her attention instantly focused on their arrival. Whether Lydia was merely searching for a familiar and friendly face or if she was curious about the trio's location during the attack and noticed they vanished, she was clearly more observant than most of the students.

"So… ghost lunch lady? And that 'Danny Phantom' guy? This town is just full of surprises," remarked Lydia. "My dad would have already been considering where to invest in a paranormal museum for the place."

The other Goth girl smiled briefly in appreciation of the idea. Then she remembered what she said before. That caused Sam's expression to crumble.

"So you were serious before? About your parents?" Tucker asked.

Lydia nodded before looking away, "I don't like loss, but I'm starting to get far too familiar with it. My mom died when I was seven. My dad remarried when I was eleven. And then not long ago, he and Delia headed back to New York City for an art show while I stayed home with… They never made it back. They were just gone."

"Sorry," murmured Sam.

"That's what everyone said. Even the neighborhood real estate woman, Jane Butterfield, right before offering to sell my home almost before the funeral was over," she said numbly. Lydia then briefly glanced at the trio. "But I think you might actually mean it. Thanks."

"Okay, everyone," remarked Mr. Lancer, "I think it's safe to head back to class now."

There were a few mutters of complaint, but the students began to shuffle their way back through the front door and down the hall. They moved in uneven clumps rather than organized lines like they would have when they were younger. It was completely routine and ordinary by now. Everyone was used to the school day being interrupted by ghost-related chaos. And the new girl was handling it just as naturally.

Falling back slightly, Danny said in a hushed tone, "She's hiding something. Lydia is keeping a huge secret."

"Well, so are we," pointed out Tucker.

"I think we should keep an eye on her. Just in case," he continued.

"You thought the same thing about Gregor," said Sam.

"And I was right."

"Technically, you thought he was involved with the Guys In White," Tucker corrected. "He turned out to just be a huge jerk named 'Elliot' instead."

Sam rolled her eyes, "Fine, I was planning to spend some time with her anyway. I'll watch out for anything weird."

Danny gave her a relieved smile, "Thanks. I could be wrong, but there's just something about her… She doesn't set off my Ghost Sense, but she's also too calm for a regular person facing ghosts. It's like she's either a ghost hunter of some kind or… I don't know what."

Chapter Text

In the event that the deceased is hostile to the living inhabitants within the haunting perimeters, certain actions may be taken to prevent excessive harm. Physical objects of importance or significant meaning from their previous life can be used to affect the hostile deceased. Depending on the severity and level of aggression, meaningful physical objects can be used in conjuncture with proper incantations to summon the deceased in a more observable manner, bind their actions or abilities to varying degrees, banish the deceased from the haunting perimeters either temporarily or permanently, or to exorcise the deceased.

The final option should only be used after all other alternatives have been exhausted, relocation is unavailable, and peaceful cohabitation is no longer possible. Instructions for exorcism are not provided in this book and should be sought elsewhere, such as "Handbook for the Recently Deceased." The other options will be covered in greater detail in the next chapter.

Physical objects of importance or meaning to the deceased can also serve as a connection between the realm of the living and the Netherworld. Specific objects can also be used to extend a haunting perimeter.

The ability to use physical objects of importance or significant meaning to affect the deceased may vary from individual to individual and object to object. Ghosts who originally manifest in the zone rather than the realm of the living or the Netherworld often are less affected than those who have more standard haunting parameters.

-Excerpt from "The Living and the Dead"

Eyes glaring at the sidewalk as she walked, Lydia fought the urge to deviate from her path. She didn't want to return to her aunt's house. She didn't want to go anywhere near that woman and her husband (her lackey). She wanted nothing more than to hitchhike all the way back to Winter River, march through the front door of her home, and let Barbara and Adam hug her tight and say everything would be all right.

She wanted to do it. The house on the hill was still there; Dad and Delia's wills ensured the property was under her name and they even set up a fund to pay any taxes and such until she was older. Delia's sculptures had taken a huge surge in popularity after her "inspiration" struck and started selling like crazy (and even more so after her death). And her dad always made plenty of money with real estate development before he was forced to seek out a more relaxing life. There was definitely a reasonable inheritance and the last two years living with ghosts encouraged the pair to take proactive steps in preparation of death. The only thing that her parents couldn't do was list the Maitlands as the girl's legal guardians after their accident. Apparently listing ghosts as the caregivers for their daughter in case the worst should happen wouldn't exactly be legal or believable.

Lydia knew her home, and the ghostly occupants, remained safe and secure. She desperately wanted to go home… to her godparent ghosts. She wanted it so badly that it hurt. It would be so simple…

But she couldn't do it. Even if she ignored the fact she'd be labeled as a runaway and dragged back to Aunt Melinda by the cops almost instantly, Lydia couldn't risk it. She couldn't risk them. She'd already lost her mom, dad, and step-mom. She nearly lost Barbara and Adam due to Otho's idiotic accidentally exorcism stunt. And then there was what Aunt Melinda was able to do to him… Lydia couldn't risk angering her aunt in case it convinced the woman to go after her ghost godparents. She had to stay. And she hated it.

Still, there was something about the town that might make staying less painful, even if it made her wonder about her aunt's motivations a little. The entire town was haunted. After a strange, green-skinned, crazy, aggressive, lunch lady ghost attacked the school, she found out it was actually a fairly regular occurrence. Everyone talked about it, even to the unusual and creepy new girl.

They were strange ghosts, far more powerful than most she'd encountered and missing clear evidence of their cause of death. And everyone could see them. Lydia remembered reading about ghosts like that, ghosts who dwelled in the zone between the land of the living and the Netherworld, but she couldn't look up any more information since "The Handbook for the Recently Deceased" was back in Connecticut and "The Living and the Dead" was currently in Aunt Melinda's possession. Regardless, there were ghosts and that was a nice distraction from everything she'd lost.

There was also a mystery. When the green-skinned ghost woman attacked and everyone ran away in fear, someone fought back. It was another ghost, a boy with white hair and the ability to fire destructive blasts of light. The other students knew him, chatting about him excitedly to one another. They called him "Danny Phantom." They said he showed up to save people from ghost attacks like a superhero. He even flew around in a black-and-white jumpsuit. All that was missing was a cape.

The odd thing was, even though she didn't get a close look while he was fighting the aggressive ghost lunch lady, he was familiar. Lydia was certain, without even a shadow of a doubt, that she recognized him. What really surprised her was that no one else apparently noticed. A change of clothes, his hair color, and eye color shouldn't be enough to disguise him. The only explanation she could think of was the fact "the living ignore the strange and unusual," even in a town that suffered from regular ghost attacks. Somehow Sam's friend, Danny, was a ghost who could convince the entire population he was normal and completely alive.

Lydia definitely knew she'd have to investigate further. Did Sam know? She seemed like she would be strange and unusual enough to notice too. Did that boy, Tucker, know? Did his parents know he was a ghost? Were they ghosts too? Were there other ghosts in the town who were pretending to still be alive? She knew Barbara and Adam would do it if more people could see them. What was his haunting range or was he more free-roaming? Was he more like a regular ghost, other than the blasts of energy, or was he more similar to the ghosts that dwelled in that zone between life and the afterlife?

…Could he help her?

The girl abruptly stopped walking, surprised by that stray thought. Then she shoved it aside. No, not a chance. She needed to keep Danny Phantom, or whatever his name was, away from Aunt Melinda. She couldn't risk it. He had enough trouble playing hero to the entire population of Amity Park without getting involved in her personal problems. Besides, she didn't want to see what would happen to him if her aunt got involved.

She almost didn't recognize the house before she passed it. The brick-and-mortar structure didn't have the familiarity and charm of her home in Winter River, but she knew it could have been worse. She could have ended up in a trailer or a house painted an obnoxious shade of fluorescent pink. Reluctantly, Lydia dug out her key and opened the door.

The front hall was still filled with boxes, waiting to be unpacked. She wasn't even sure what was in half of them, the labels reading "Important" without actually describing the contents. The girl did know that they weren't her belongings and that she wanted nothing to do with anything her aunt considered to be important.

"Lydia, is that you?" a voice called from the living room.

"No," she muttered under her breath.

Aunt Melinda's poked her head out. Her hair was as dark as Lydia's, just like how she remembered her mother's hair. The woman wore her hair in a neat bun like she was an old-fashion teacher from a few decades ago. She was a lean woman with only a few minimal curves to her figure. There were a few crow's feet around the corners of her eyes, but she still appeared reasonably young regardless. And while Lydia would prefer to drape herself in dark shades with the occasion small touch of color, her aunt was wearing a white business suit. And as usual, the girl found her eyes drawn to the bright red lipstick on the woman's face and the green stone she wore around her neck.

Lydia hated the woman. She hated her like she'd never hated anyone before.

"How was your first day of school, darling? Did you have fun?"

"What do you care?" she said darkly, heading towards the stairs.

In the sweet and nurturing voice that set the girl's teeth on edge, Aunt Melinda said, "There's no reason to be that way. I know you're upset about what happened to Charles and Delia, but I'm here. And so is Roger." She gestured back towards the kitchen where her husband was undoubtedly lurking. "We're here for you, darling. And I just want you to remember that everything I do, I do for your own good."

She couldn't help it. Even with her intentions of not wanting to spark her aunt's anger, Lydia couldn't keep silent. She turned on the stairs and glared down at the woman venomously.

"Reading my journal was for my own good? Taking me away from Barbara and Adam, my family, was for my own good?"

"I'm your family," the woman interrupted. "Me and your Uncle Roger. And if you ever get to meet him, your Uncle Freddy is family. Those things weren't your family."

"They aren't things. They are part of my family. They care about me," she said. "And what about what you did to me and… and him? Was that for my own good too? How could you? How could you do something like that so anyone, let alone your niece?"

"He was a monster," said Aunt Melinda, some of the sweet and nurturing tone slipping from her voice. "All of them are, but he was worse than most. You just couldn't see it."

"Trust me, I've seen him at his worst."

"He enthralled you, tricked you. That's what they do. You can't trust them. What I did, I did to protect you and everyone from a heartless monster who would have turned on you like rabid dog at the first opportunity. People keep making the same mistakes, thinking that they're harmless pets. That they're actual people. That they're amusing ways to entertain the masses, like a carnival show or an amusement park attraction. They aren't. They're treacherous, dangerous, and they don't belong here."

The two of them stared off, neither of them willing to back down yet. They were too stubborn for that.

"I know it can be difficult to understand at your age, especially since your parents didn't know better than to let you get attached. That's why we chose to be lenient on the things. Honestly, it would have better if we went ahead and finished at least him off, but I didn't want to make you watch that until you were more accepting of the truth. And I needed to test exactly how effective it was of something with a little more power. Binding is more challenging than a straightforward exorcism," said the woman, glancing down briefly. "You'll understand someday, darling. I promise. You'll see that this was for your own good."

"I can see why Mom never wanted anything to do with the rest of her family," Lydia remarked dryly.

Not waiting to give the woman the opportunity to respond to her final comment, the girl hurried the rest of the way up the stairs and ran into the room she'd claimed for herself. It was still a dull beige color and filled with boxes, but it at least had a bed that Lydia threw herself on. After a moment, she remembered to get back up and lock the door. The woman probably had a key or something, but the girl wasn't quite ready to start shoving furniture against it yet.

She remained in silence for a little while, her emotions a turbulent storm that she attempted to control. She wasn't going to scream. She wasn't going to cry. And she wasn't going to throw herself off a bridge. She wouldn't give her aunt the pleasure of those sorts of reactions. Instead, she was going to do something practical. She would do her homework.

Lydia pulled out her notebook and opened it. On the first several pages were frantic and desperate scribbles, random letters tossed out in every order she could devise. She'd tried to find the right combination to spark her memory. She wasn't even certain how many letters it was or if she'd even recognize it if she saw it. But that didn't stop her from trying over the course of the numerous sheets of paper. It just didn't work.

She could remember him, what he said or did at various points of the last two years, and all sorts of details about the poltergeist. She just couldn't remember his name.

And it was all Aunt Melinda's fault. She sent him away and she stole his name. How it worked, Lydia wasn't certain, but all memory of the name was gone. Even the memory of him playing charades to teach her his name originally was missing. Not even the privacy of her mind was safe from the woman and her actions.

Frustrated tears began to burn in her eyes against her will, but Lydia blinked them away. Sparing a glance towards the door, the girl reached into her backpack and pulled out something familiar and comforting.

The cloak-like poncho was a warm shade of red with a spider web pattern woven in. She wasn't certain what the fabric actually was or where it came from, but she didn't care. It was a project from a few months ago, a whim that she followed through with. She thought that a cloak might be more interesting than a plain and ordinary jacket, even if she couldn't wear it with her old school uniform.

Delia, enthusiastic about the idea of adding a little color in her wardrobe, helped research the sewing pattern. Barbara helped with the hem and other simpler sections, sewing being one of the skills she wasn't particular experienced with and she didn't want to risk ruining the more complicated sections. And he provided the fabric, without her asking or even considering the idea that he might want to get involved in the project. He just left it, draped across her sketches while he muttered something about the red wedding dress looking good on her, that some broad left it at his place, and she might as well do something with it since he certainly didn't want it. Lydia just accepted it as a minor peace offering and didn't believe his cover story for even a second.

She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, wishing with all her heart that any of them were with her. She wished that Dad and Delia were still alive. Or at least that they'd returned as ghosts. But some people didn't. They didn't end up in the Netherworld, the land of the living, nor the zone in between. They just… went on to whatever lay beyond. And that was what happened to her dad and step-mom.

She remembered that Barbara and Adam offered right after the accident to go talk to Juno, to see if they could find out what happened to them. Lydia remembered panicking in that moment, not wanting to be left alone. Time was strange and difficult to predict in the Netherworld and they could be waiting for weeks or months searching for information. She'd grabbed onto their cold, semi-insubstantial hands and begged them not to go. Then he appeared in the mirror, offering to poke around instead and see if he could track them down. There was a seriousness to his voice at that moment, similar to that brief instant where Lydia told him she planned to kill herself so she could be with the Maitlands. He risked getting in further trouble with Juno and everyone just to find out if her parents were ghosts and she wouldn't have to be alone in the meantime.

She remembered him returning a few hours later (he was better at navigating the shifting speeds of time), shaking his head and carrying a crumbled file he found. It listed Charles Deetz and Delia Deetz, originally Delia Robinson, as "passed on" rather than ghosts.

She remembered all of that and yet she couldn't remember a simple name. And it was all her aunt's fault. She might not have killed her family, but everything else that was wrong was because of that woman.

Lydia ran her fingers back and forth over the poncho, the one that so many helped to create. She was alone for the moment, but she wasn't completely powerless. She'd wait. She'd listen. She'd watch her aunt and her husband for any information she could use against them. She'd learn the strange secrets of Amity Park. She would find allies and friends who could help. She wasn't helpless. She'd figure out a way to fix things. After all, she managed to understand the "Handbook for the Recently Deceased" and deal with high school girls on a daily basis. Aunt Melinda had no idea what she was facing.

Getting into the zone between the life and the afterlife was a little tricky, but it was possible. Getting anywhere specific or even getting out could be even harder. It was meant to be that way, after all. What was the point of a buffer if it was too easy to get through? A dark, ectoplasm-filled place that twisted back on itself… yeah, navigation was a joke. Portals floated in the void, but no one could predict where to find them, where they would lead, when they would lead to, or even how long they would last. Most of the portals just opened to another point in the Ghost Zone, ensuring that it was even easier to go around in circles. There was a reason he never bothered with the place much before this point. It was a continuously changing labyrinth filled with annoying ghosts who obsessed over random things. Definitely not a place worth visiting.

But he didn't have many options to reach the land of the living. Well, he could go skulking around the Maitlands' model town and hope they let him out. It was actually mildly impressive that the two managed to put enough power and focus into the thing to accidentally connect it to the Netherworld, but originally he'd just cared that it provided the perfect location to coax others into saying his name. The couple practically created a town version of a voodoo doll, if only they knew how to manipulate their power just a little (a lot) better.

But the problems with using the model and the Maitlands to get out were two simple ones. First, they still held a grudge and a huge amount of suspicion towards him. Second, they were ghosts too and they would only be able to release him within their haunting perimeters (which was yet another rule that he wasn't particularly fond of). Being stuck in that house in Conneticut wouldn't help much, so he was left with traveling through the Ghost Zone instead.

The bad thing about going through the Ghost Zone was the inhabitants. The ectoplasm-based ghosts were usually annoying, aggressive, and crazy. Unfortunately, they also had a few less redeeming qualities too. They tended to have stronger, albeit limited, powers than most standard ghosts. And while he might claim himself to be the Ghost With The Most and could even be worthy of that title most of the time, he could reluctantly admit that some of the ectoplasm ghosts might give him a challenge in the power department. Or might even stand a chance of beating him in a straight-forward fair fight. Of course, he rarely fought fair. Still, he would try to avoid that time guy and maybe the freak who went around calling himself "King" Pariah, just in case.

Most of them, however, knew better than to get in his way. His (well-earned and highly-impressive) reputation and obvious anger were enough to scare most of them off. The green-and-red-eyed masses fled from him in droves. None of them wanted to test the Ghost With The Most. None of them wanted a conflict they couldn't be certain to win.

That didn't stop him from snagging a couple of weaker ghosts and interrogating them. Mostly they were useless and couldn't give him any answers to what he needed to know, but at least a couple of them had a few crumbs of relevant information. They mentioned a stable, reliable, permanent portal to the land of the living. It opened into the basement of a couple of ghost hunters, a breed he was familiar with. Those ghosts who couldn't handle a haunting on their own and needed the expert advice of a bio-exorcist often turned out to be facing ghosts hunters. They were more dangerous in the past, but the more modern ones tended to be too scientifically-minded to bother non-ectoplasm ghosts like him. So he wasn't worried. He concluded that it was his best option to find her and he chased off his involuntary informants with a few snakes.

He was never one to worry or over-think things, so he purposefully ignored the possible flaw in his plan. He didn't use portals. He was summoned and banished with his name. He ignored that fact because he didn't want to consider the idea that it wouldn't work. Just because some of his past plans didn't work (ranging from various pickup lines to switching the numbers at the waiting room to his ill-conceived and spontaneous wedding attempt) did not mean this would end in disaster. It would work. He would get her back.

With a proper destination in mind, even if he wasn't completely certain which way through the Ghost Zone he would have to go to reach it, he smirked to himself and straightened his striped suit. He could make it work. This would be a snap.

Gossip spreads between ghosts almost as quickly as it did between teenage girls. Those in the Netherworld were realizing that the Ghost With The Most was on the move and probably dangerously ticked off. They alternated between annoyance with his actions, fear of what he was planning, and relief that the poltergeist wasn't after them. And those in the Ghost Zone were noticing his rampaging charge through the place. Most of those ghosts were terrified to catch his attention and preferred to flee to safety. Some were caught and escaped with further information about what he sought, adding fuel to the fire. The rumors, gossip, and stories were enough to ensure that most ghosts were giving him a wide berth.

But at least one, a ghost rather similar to him by the name of Sanduleak, heard the news of the infamous Ghost With The Most searching relentlessly for his missing Mortal Bride and reacted with something beyond fear. He lurked in a dark corner of the Netherworld, a grim smile on his face.

He'd been waiting for a long time. It wasn't easy to find the perfect revenge against the poltergeist; his power was too strong and adaptable to risk a direct confrontation. Not to mention the fact the poltergeist trapped him in an old well for a century after Sanduleak called his haunting skills "second-rate" and tried to overshadow him. As many were happy to repeat, he did not work well with others. And he especially didn't work well with those who tried to upstage him or interfered in his work.

But now he had the perfect opportunity. The Ghost With The Most wanted his missing Mortal Bride, so preventing him from finding her would be the wisest move. Sanduleak knew the stories. The poltergeist couldn't escape permanently without her. No wonder he was so angry and unrelenting. Finding a living female who would even speak to him, let alone agree to marriage, had to be difficult. While Sanduleak wasn't certain why the poltergeist didn't already wed the girl, it didn't really matter. Misplacing his Mortal Bride would put him in a bit of a bind in regards to escaping the Netherworld for good.

And losing her permanently would delay him for decades or even centuries…

Granted, those in power tended to frown on the actions Sanduleak was considering at the moment, but they also hated dealing with that poltergeist and his chaos. They might even look the other way if the result was keeping him out of the living world for a little longer.

Of course, he would have to find her before the Ghost With The Most managed it. He'd have to poke around and see what he could learn about her whereabouts. But it would be worth it if he managed to even slightly inconvenience the smug, annoying poltergeist.

Chapter Text

Based upon studies from the readings gathered through the stable artificial portal, the "Ghost Zone" is composed of ectoplasm and inhabited by entities similarly composed of the substance. Ectoplasm mimics more traditional molecular structures, but tests have proven it to be not composed of any recognizable atoms or atomic particles. Ectoplasm is essentially not matter in the conventional sense. Relatively speaking, the structures and forms created by ectoplasm are stable while remaining malleable.

The ability for the ectoplasm to mimic and interact with objects from the real world is imperfect (i.e. "phasing" through solid objects), but it is effective enough to allow entities from the "Ghost Zone" to exist outside it. The ability for ghosts to enter the real world, be seen by humans, and affect it without being destroyed is due to the relative stability of the ectoplasm they are composed of. Destabilization of the ectoplasm takes extreme measures in most case and will eventually lead to complete collapse of the structure.

The effect of ectoplasm being combined with real world matter beyond basic interactions will require further testing. Long-term effect of ectoplasm on living organism is also unknown currently.

-Excerpt from "Initial Studies of the 'Ghost Zone' Through an Artificial Ghost Portal" by Madeline Fenton

While the accident that gave him powers made his life more complicated, Danny wouldn't give them up for the world. All the fights, the lies, and the numerous times he was forced to listen to his parents discuss their desire to destroy ghosts for science… Being able to fly made it all worth it.

There was just something about the freedom and sensation of it, being able to float or race through the air without any outside help. Gravity still existed, gently tugging at him enough to ensure he could still recognize the difference between up and down. And he knew that if he lost his concentration or was knocked out the sky, he could be sent tumbling wildly or dropping like a stone. His exact fate depended solely on how badly his flight was disrupted. But for the most part, flying was easy and far too enjoyable to imagine going back to the days where he was stuck on the ground.

He flew over his hometown, watching the population go through their nightly routines while keeping on alert for other ghosts. Screams and panic were usually a reliable signal, just like his Ghost Sense. Tonight, however, everything seemed peaceful and calm. From the quiet rumble of the cars below to the pale moonlight shining from the dark sky, nothing was out of place and everything was right with the world.

A terrified shriek shattered the mood. Somehow Danny wasn't surprised that his flight was interrupted. It was just his luck. The white-haired halfa rolled his eyes briefly before diving towards the noise.

As he neared his apparent destination, an alleyway tucked behind a clothing store, the chill of his Ghost Sense struck and a horrified young man in a uniform ran past. His suspicions were quickly confirmed as he spotted a dumpster filled with junk from the store. Specifically, it was full of boxes that were used to ship the clothing to the location.

Groaning in annoyance, Danny said, "Really? Do you have to cause trouble tonight? I swear I'm going to beat your face in, Box Ghost."

"Beware!" the blue-skinned longshoreman ghost yelled, poking his head out of the box-filled dumpster.

"Stop saying that. No one is scared of you," he complained. "Except for that poor retail sales guy taking out the recyclables."

"I didn't mean beware of me," said the Box Ghost, "though I am clearly a terrible and horrifying threat to all who underestimate the power of cardboard containers. I mean beware of him."

Raising an eyebrow at the nervous specter that wasn't bothering to attack yet, Danny asked, "What in the world are you talking about? Beware of who?"

"Him."

"That's not really helping any. Can we try something useful? Like a name for the guy?"

"No," he yelped, bursting out of the dumpster and grabbing the front of Danny's jumpsuit. "No names. You can't use it or he'll get here faster. And no one wants that."

Trying to wrestle the ghost off of him, he said, "Fine, no names. Just get off me."

"He's coming. He's powerful and he's really mad," the Box Ghost continued frantically. "The stories about him… Nope, not going to mess with him. Can't I just hide here until he goes back to the Netherworld?"

"Why is he coming? What's going on?" asked Danny, finally prying him off.

Staring at the halfa with an anxious expression on his face, he said, "The rumors are flying around the Ghost Zone. He left the Netherworld, coming out to our territory, because of her. He's looking for his missing Mortal Bride and he won't stop until he finds her. And if his reputation is right, no one should get in his way."

Questions kept spinning through his mind. He wasn't exactly following everything the Box Ghost was talking about, but he was trying to understand. It was rare that he got much direct useful information about the Ghost Zone and its inhabitants before they tried to kill him. Most of his enemies were more likely to bluster and threaten than share stories and rumors, so Danny tried to pay attention when he managed to hear something relevant to the place. But what he was hearing was pretty vague. Mostly it sounded like something scary was coming for someone. Beyond that, it was essentially gibberish to him.

"You're not going to let me stay, are you?" remarked the Box Ghost, a look of realization spreading across the ghost's face.

They reacted at the exact same moment. The collection of cardboard boxes flew out of the dumpster at the same instant that Danny pulled out the Fenton Thermos. A combination of luck and reflexes honed over numerous fights meant Danny somehow managed to catch the ghost and turn intangible just in time to avoid the hit.

"Somehow I have a feeling this is going to come back to haunt me," muttered Danny. Then he rolled his eyes, "Pun not intended."

With his newly trapped passenger stored away, he continued his flight around the city. But his peaceful mood was gone, his thoughts turning over the strange conversation multiple times. The only good thing was that the nervous Box Ghost was the only disturbance that evening. No other scared ghosts trying to hide out. And no sign of the mysterious him. He finished his usual rounds easily and headed home.

The white-haired halfa crept through his window silently, unsurprised that his sister was already sitting there reading a book and waiting for him. Jazz was still new in regards to helping out directly, but she'd known his secret for a long time. Perhaps not as long as Sam and Tucker, who were present at the exact moment to witness the portal activated and his DNA soaked in ectoplasm, but she'd known for longer than he'd ever expected. Since he learned that she knew the truth, she sometimes waited for him to come home. Her explanation was that she was making sure that their parents didn't notice he wasn't there, but Danny suspected that she worried sometimes and wanted to make sure he got back safely.

"Mom and Dad are working in the lab, so I'd wait about tossing any ghosts back in until morning," she said. "Busy night?"

"Not exactly. It was just the Box Ghost," he said, holding up the thermos. "But he was freaking out about someone coming?"

"Who?"

"No idea. Wouldn't give me a name," shrugged Danny. "In fact, the Box Ghost seemed scared to use his name. A lot of things he said didn't make sense, but apparently this guy is looking for his 'missing Mortal Bride' and is really powerful."

"His 'Mortal Bride'?"

"His words, not mine."

Jazz frowned thoughtfully. She was clearly going over the scarce information, but he doubted the red-haired sixteen year old would be able to figure out any more than her brother. She might be smart, but there just wasn't a lot to work with.

"Should we be worried?" she asked.

"On the one hand, it's the Box Ghost. He isn't exactly the most reliable in regards to what actually counts as dangerous. On the other, he really seemed scared. Apparently the rumors about this guy are pretty impressive. I think we should be careful just in case. And we'll need to figure out who or what the 'Mortal Bride' is," said Danny.

Jazz nodded and headed towards the door, "Sounds like a plan. Try to get some rest and talk to Sam and Tucker about it in the morning."

Her brother nodded and shifted out of his ghost form. Rings of energy shifted along his body, forcing the ectoplasm in his body to go dormant. The jumpsuit vanished while his normal jeans and t-shirt returned. The green glow of his eyes faded away until their usual blue shade appeared. The snow-white hair darkened back to black. All the various changes took only a couple of seconds, leaving him mostly human again.

He wasn't, however, completely human even when he looked it. Danny knew and accepted that fact. His eyes could still glow and he could occasionally phase through solid objects without transforming. He wasn't normal anymore. He would always be a little ghost-like. He accepted it. His friends accepted it. His sister accepted it. And even if he reversed everything with the Reality Gauntlet just to make sure things were safe and to avoid the true fallout of the news, Danny was fairly certain that his parents would be able to accept it. He just wasn't ready for everyone to know.

"Night, Danny," she said, closing the door behind her.

He smiled, "Night, Jazz."

Lydia knew she was dreaming, that she was only seeing an old memory. But she was willing to let events play out. At least in her dreams she could see familiar and friendly faces and pretend everything was as it should be.

She was poking around her closet, trying to find her black shirt with the lacy, oversized sleeves. She knew it was in there. And she was determined to find it. She didn't have anything better to do anyway.

At the moment, she was alone in the house. Dad and Delia were in town. He was picking up a new bird-watching book and Delia was picking up a shipment of art supplies. And the Maitlands were gone because apparently their caseworker, Juno, wanted to do a follow-up on "the incident." It was rare that she was completely alone nowadays. She did smile wryly about the fact she was using the unusual solitude merely as the opportunity to mess around with her wardrobe rather than anything special.

Her wry smile evaporated as her questing fingertips brushed against something in the back of the closet, something that rustled in a way that she recognized. Lydia fought the urge to yank her hand back as if it burned. She forced herself to remain still. It was a dress, a stupid dress. She refused to be scared of a dress.

Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She refused to be afraid of it and everything connected to that dress. Not allowing herself time to think, she grabbed it and yanked the thing out of her closet. Then, with a little more care, she draped it across her bed.

The dress was exactly as she remembered from the interrupted wedding. An intense shade of red and swimming in tulle fabric, it was certainly not what she pictured when it came to normal wedding dresses. And it was certainly nothing she would choose for herself for a theoretical marriage. It was what he chose. She probably should have thrown it away or burned it that night, but she didn't want to deal with it. She hid it in the closet to ignore and forget what nearly happened.

"I got to admit, Babes, it was a good color on you."

She spun around with a sharp shriek, the name already on the tip of her tongue. She would remember that gravely, rough, creepy voice regardless of how much time might pass. But he couldn't be back. She didn't say it. He couldn't be back. And yet she heard it. She heard his voice, so she prepared to banish him again if necessary.

Then she caught a glimpse of color where it shouldn't be and her voice died away in stunned horror. Her mirror was positioned to reflect most of the room, but now there was something else in the reflection. There was someone leering out at her from behind the glass.

It was the face that appeared occasionally in her nightmares and Delia's sculptures. Pale skin with dark circles around his eyes, wild blond hair stained faintly green, and mold growing on his face, he looked like something that crawled out of a grave. Of course, there was certainly a good reason for that since the owner of that face was long dead. He was still wearing his maroon tuxedo, the one that looked like a particularly out-dated prom tux rented at the last minute, that he wore that night. He was now a little coated in sand and the clothes were a little more ragged, but that was to be expected after he was eaten by a giant monstrous sandworm.

Everything about him was easily recognizable and, thankfully, on the other side of the reflection rather than in her room. Unfortunately, he was still far too close for her comfort.

"Get out of here," she said as firmly as possible. "You can't be here. I didn't call you. No one said your name."

"I know no one said it. That's why I've spent a few months in a waiting room waiting for them to call a number longer than the Great Wall of China. Do you know how hard it was to unshrink my head?" he shouted. "I finally got bored with waiting for Juno to yell at me for the millionth time, so here I am." Then in a quieter and meant-to-be charming voice, he said, "So what do you say, my blushing bride? Ready to finish what we started before we were interrupted?"

His supposedly winning smile was met with a look of disgust. She wouldn't let him intimidate her. Lydia wasn't backed into a corner and desperate this time. She didn't have to do anything for the ghost in the mirror.

"Not a chance," she said.

"We had a deal," he growled. "Remember? Save the two blockheads from certain doom and you'd marry me. I held up my end of things, right? The annoying couple upstairs wasn't exorcised." He slammed his hand against the glass hard enough for it to rattle, making her jump. "Don't you dare back out. Don't you even think about it. You already tried cheating your way out of it once."

"I didn't do anything," she shouted, refusing to be intimidated by someone trapped on the other side. "You didn't give me the chance. You tossed me in that tacky dress, borrowed my voice, and dragged me around. Barbara and Adam are the ones who tried to stop the wedding. And you kept trying to get rid of them the whole time, which kind of cancels out the 'saving them' thing."

"Hey, it is easier to survive being shrunk down on a model or taking a trip to Saturn than it is ending up in the Lost Souls Room. They would've been fine. I just wanted them out of the way until we were done. That was no excuse to feed me to a sandworm. Do you have any idea how much that stings? Honestly, that's cruel and unusual punishment. And just because they messed up the ceremony doesn't mean you should turn on me. You agreed, Babes."

"Only because I didn't have any other choice."

"Not my fault you were desperate and easy."

"Trust me, I wouldn't have given you the time of day if you weren't my only chance to save them. You're the creep who almost killed my dad."

He blinked briefly, a mildly confused look flashing across his face, "When did I do that?"

"When you turned into a giant snake and dropped him off the stairs. He could have broken his neck," she yelled.

"Please," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm a professional. Scaring the living to the point of insanity is always more effective than killing them off. Otherwise, not only will Juno and her bosses come down on me like a ton of bricks, but the poor saps who keel over could come back as ghosts themselves and start nagging me. Honestly, it isn't worth the headaches. I'll add exterminations to the sales pitch, but that's just advertisement. Some clients just won't say 'yes' unless they think I'm a full service bio-exorcist. Chuck might've been freaked out, a little battered, but certainly in no danger of joining the deceased."

"Glad to hear you have a few lines you don't cross, even if you don't do it out of practicality instead of the kindness of your shriveled little heart," she snapped. "Now get out of here before I figure out a way to drown you in soapy water, stuff you in that poofy dress you threw on me, and bury you six feet under again."

"Don't be like that, Babes. You just aren't looking on the bright side of this marriage. You get me," said the ghost, gesturing to himself with a smirk. "And I get out. Everyone wins."

"Drop dead."

"Too late."

No matter how much she wanted him gone, Lydia felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response. She knew she'd walked right into that one. But she couldn't let him know that she was briefly amused by what he said. He'd probably take it as encouragement.

"You have a bit more spirit in you now than before," he continued. "Still a little dark, but definitely more fun and less broody. Nice to see you coming out of your gloomy shell. I knew there was something special about you, Babes. There was something about you that I couldn't ignore. I knew you'd get me."

"If by 'get' you, you mean I know you're a disgusting, self-centered, con-artist who loves messing with the living, doesn't really care about anyone else, and hates any kind of limitations, then yes," she said sharply, arms stiff at her side. "I 'get' you."

"See? It's like you can read my mind, isn't it?" smirked the ghost. "We'll be great together. Though I think you should know I am planning to have what they refer to as an 'open marriage.' I don't want anything to cramp my style and that includes a wife."

"Even if I was crazy enough to let you out and continue that wedding, I wouldn't let my husband sneak around on me with other girls. I deserve more respect than that. It took me a while to get people to listen and pay attention to me. I'm not letting that happen again, even in your crazy wedding fantasies."

She snapped her mouth closed. Lydia said more than she intended to, hinting at her past troubles with her parents. Things were better now. Dad and Delia didn't always put their work first. They didn't always laugh off or ignore what she told them. They listened to her opinions now. Apparently it took plunging her family into the paranormal and almost getting married off to a creepy dead guy to do it, but things were better now with her family. But she still remembered how it used to be just a few months ago.

She didn't mean to say it. She didn't mean to spill even a hint of personal information to the ghost in the mirror. But even if she wanted the creep gone, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. Or yell at. It was probably because she didn't care what he thought and because he seemed to be equally blunt whenever he wasn't trying to sweet talk someone.

"Come on, Babes," he urged. "Don't be like that. I'm not leaving until you keep up your end of the bargain. It'll just be easier to do what you promised. Just say my name and we can get the show on the road."

"No," she shouted, turning her back on the mirror. "Besides, not only is it creepy, but it's illegal."

"Not if the minister doesn't add the 'until death do you part' section."

"I mean, I can't get married without my Dad's permission. It isn't legal for me to do it otherwise. It is barely legal even with his permission."

"What happened to all that feminist 'I'm not property and the men in my life don't make the decisions for me' stuff that was going around? I thought women were doing whatever or whoever they want now. Are you really going to let the 'men folk' arrange your life and barter for your hand in marriage while you keep your mouth shut? At least one of us is supposed to be from this century," he taunted.

Frustrated, Lydia spun back around and snapped, "Yeah and in this century people don't marry children, jerk."

She was ready for whatever he might say in response. Whether further taunting, pleading to be released into the land of the living, or further screams that she had to keep her promise, she was ready to face them. Anything he could throw at her, Lydia could take it. He was just a frustrated, trapped ghost who couldn't harm her as long as she didn't use his name. All he could use against her was his words and she could survive them. She was ready for whatever the ghost might say.

But he didn't say anything. The sound of her shout died away, leaving only silence. There was a new expression on the ghost's face. One that she didn't understand and couldn't decipher as she stared at him. He looked confused. Bewildered. Taken back and completely uncertain about something.

"What?" he asked, his voice quieter than she ever remembered hearing it.

"What do you mean 'what'?" she said slowly, nervous about the change.

Frowning while his eyes shifted thoughtfully, he didn't immediately respond. Then there was something, a look of what almost appeared to be dawning horror.

"Babes, exactly… how old are you?"

Now Lydia found herself frowning. Didn't he know? Or couldn't he at least guess? She knew she'd hit puberty a little sooner than some of her classmates, but she didn't look that much older than most of them. She figured he knew sort of how old she was when he asked her. She figured he just didn't care, that a living female was a living female and he'd take any that might be available.

His expression and reactions at the moment, however, suggested that maybe he didn't know. He might not have known exactly how creepy the wedding was. Of course, he had to know that it was a little creepy, but he might have honestly not known her age.

She knew she should answer the question, but she found herself saying something completely different.

"How old were girls getting married when you died?"

There was a slight grimace from the ghost, "That would have been around 1352, so some tended to marry the girls off as soon as they could start having kids practically. Especially the rich ones who were handed over as soon as possible for alliances and heirs. Never thought it was smart, but I never had to deal with them. Those with less money, titles, and nobility tended to wait until around nineteen or a little older. That was a long time ago. I tend to pay a little more attention to modern standards than the one of the past."

He was over six hundred years old. Lydia couldn't help being impressed. He wandered around in a suit and talking like he was from current times. She would have expected a lot more "thee" and "thou" type of conversations from a ghost from that time period. He apparently adapted to the changing times quite effectively.

"How old are you?" he repeated.

For some reason, she didn't want to tell him. She didn't want him to know. But she could see something that resembled regret in his expression and Lydia realized that he had figured it out. And, as surprising as it was for her to imagine, he actually seemed upset by the idea.

Reluctantly, she answered, "Twelve. I'll be thirteen in about a month, but I'm twelve."

He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. She thought she spotted a small roach scurry across his sleeve, but she ignored it. After all the time and energy she spent hating him and dreading the idea of his reappearance, she actually felt bad at the moment for him. He truly and honestly didn't know that he was about to force a child to marry him.

"I just wanted out," he muttered. "But I didn't want that. I'm no saint, but I'm not that bad. There's some lines still… I won't…"

He let his hand drop. She could see him backing away from the mirror, disappearing to wherever he truly was. Lydia found herself taking a step towards it.

"You didn't know."

Even though she didn't intend it as a question, he seemed to treat it as such. His eyes popped open and he stared at her in something that might be horror, might be guilt, and might also be regret.

"No. I wouldn't have asked if I did. Did you really think at the time… Of course, you did. I asked you to. You probably assumed I knew what I was doing. No wonder your folks and the Maitlands freaked out. I mean, they wouldn't be happy about it anyway, but… No, I figured you were older than that. I haven't tried guessing the age of the living in a few centuries and apparently I'm horribly out of practice." His gaze dropped as he said, "My reputation might not be the best, but I never intended to…"

"I believe you," she said quietly.

Pulling further away from the glass of the mirror, he said, "Don't worry about the deal. That's over. You deserve it. I better go back so Juno can start yelling properly."

She saw him disappearing from the reflection. Lydia knew that she was about to be free of his presence. She could also tell, deep down, that he would never bother her again. He would never come near her family and they could all move on with their lives (or afterlives in the case of the Maitlands). It should have been a weight off her mind.

But just as he said there was something special about her that caught his attention, there was something about the ghost that she couldn't just let vanish. The horrible traits that disgusted and freaked everyone out were still there, but Lydia could almost see something else buried underneath. If there wasn't more to him than what was on the mold-covered surface, then she wouldn't have seen that look of guilt and regret over what he'd almost done. And while she doubted that he felt guilt very often in his existence, he definitely seemed to feel it in regards to her.

"Wait," she called out.

When that didn't work and he still disappeared from sight, insanity seemed to strike. She knew what she could be unleashing, but part of her wanted to try. Besides, he seemed off-balanced enough at the moment that she should be a little faster if necessary. Before common sense could intervene, his name was already on her tongue.

Lydia took a deep breath and said…

The annoying blaring of her alarm clock pulled her reluctantly out of slumber. Lydia practically ripped it off the side table in frustration. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Chapter Text

Though further studies are necessary, initial results suggest that the structure of the "Ghost Zone" does not reflect normal forms of geography, geometry, and physics. Instead, it appears to be closer to a Moebius Loop or a Klein bottle, but not quite.

It has been hypothesized, however, that there is something beyond the "Ghost Zone" that is not composed purely of ectoplasm. Certain readings have supported this hypothesis, but nothing definitive has been proven. Locating, let alone accessing and studying, such a hypothetical area will be difficult due to the unusual geography and geometry of the "Ghost Zone." If such a location does exist, predictions about its general traits and the differences that may be present in the inhabitants cannot be made at this time.

-Excerpt from "Initial Studies of the 'Ghost Zone' Through an Artificial Ghost Portal" by Madeline Fenton

"This is pretty nice," remarked Lydia, gazing over the shelves with a small hint of a smile. "We didn't have anything like this in Winter Rivers. The place was too small for it."

"They have Goth poetry readings here fairly often," Sam said, leading her through the maze of books with familiar ease.

Sam was actually pretty happy for an excuse to go to her favorite bookstore. Helping Danny did cut into her free time and she did like looking for new books with someone who appreciated them. Her mom especially didn't, wishing her daughter would read something more happy and cheerful. Even Tucker and Danny held only a limited attention for dark and gloomy literature, preferring to watch horror movies with her instead. And she did like the films as much as they did. But sometimes she wanted Gothic literature instead. And since her friends wanted her to keep an eye on Lydia anyway, Sam dragged her to the Gothic bookstore as soon as class was over.

Besides, it also gave her the chance to pick up some new research material. When Danny arrived at school that morning, he mentioned a particularly odd conversation with the Box Ghost. None of them liked it. There were too many questions, too many mysteries. Sam knew they needed more information and, outside of interrogating another ghost, the best they could hope for was that she could find a book about the "Netherworld" or the "Mortal Bride." Still, there was no reason why she couldn't hunt of useful tomes for research at the same time she was hanging out with the new fellow Goth student.

"Sounds interesting," said Lydia, pulling out a book and reading the back cover. "It might be fun to attend one sometime." She paused briefly before she asked, "How long have ghosts been around here?"

"A while," Sam answered honestly. "They keep popping back up, no matter what anyone tries to do. We're practically the most haunted place on Earth."

"Where are they haunting?"

She frowned, "Wherever they want to or wherever they can find somewhere free. The Lunch Lady, the ghost from yesterday, prefers the lunch room at school or somewhere else with food. Others have their own preferences, but they can show up anywhere."

"So they don't have proper haunting perimeters. And she didn't look right," the girl muttered thoughtfully. "Definitely something different." Noticing Sam's questioning look, Lydia said, "Do you know where they are coming from? It isn't normal for people to see so many ghosts around."

Sam stared at Lydia, all of her focus now on the new girl. Danny was right; there was something strange about her. She was curious about ghosts, but she also acted like she was familiar with them. That paradox between knowledge and ignorance flickered in her mind, leaving her mildly suspicious. The girl was hiding something important about her past and who she was. Sam could feel it. Everyone was entitled to have secrets, but those that involved ghosts tended to cause trouble in Amity Park. Sam knew she needed to figure out what was going on.

Possible methods of uncovering that secret started prowling around the back of her head. Until one solidified, however, Sam chose to continue as normal.

"They come from the Ghost Zone. You'd have to ask Danny's parents if you want to know more about it. They're the resident experts on ghosts."

Sam felt rather experienced at knowing how much information to reveal and when to lie. Keeping Danny's secret ensured she and Tucker mastered that skill. She knew how to figure out what made sense for her to know and what made sense for her say. The Fentons were well-known for their obsession and research in regards to ghosts. They would talk about them with anyone who'd listen. Some of the population of Amity Park would have undoubtedly heard about the portal and the Ghost Zone, so it was logical for Danny's best friends to be aware of it. It would be more suspicious if she didn't mention the Ghost Zone to Lydia when she asked those sorts of questions.

"All of them are coming from the zone? You don't deal with the others?" asked the new girl, a thoughtful expression on her face. "No wonder Danny Phantom has to keep dealing with aggressive and crazy ghosts who run around without any rules. Those are the ones that tend to stay there if I remember right."

She seemed to be distracted, staring off into the distance and talking to herself by that point instead of Sam. It was like Lydia and her thoughts were a million miles away. Sam, however, was completely focused on her fellow Goth. Alarm bells were ringing in her mind. Lydia knew too much and was hinting at knowing even more. It was possible Lydia was making things up to seem more impressive. She'd seen other Goths try it, trying to act knowledgeable about ghosts and such because it added to their darker persona. But Sam knew the difference. This didn't feel like an act. Lydia knew what she was talking about.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn't reveal her own extensive knowledge. She needed to act like she knew some, but no more than any other girl with enthusiasm for darker and scarier things. She couldn't act like someone who knew several of the regular ghosts by face and name. If she obviously knew too much, it would become obvious that she was more closely involved with ghost hunting than a normal teen should be.

"What…?" Sam began awkwardly. "I don't know what…"

"Do his parents know?" she interrupted.

Sam blinked, "What?"

"Danny's parents," said Lydia, the volume of her voice dropping. "You said his parents are experts. Do they know he's a ghost?"

Time might as well have stopped for all she noticed. Sam stared in stunned silence, her mind no longer working for the moment. It was the casual and confident way Lydia said it that really threw her for a loop. Denial and confusion didn't even have a chance to appear. The shock was simply too overwhelming.

Then common sense and her natural reaction to protect his secret kicked in and she started glancing around frantically. While reasonably successful and prosperous for such a place with a specialized stock selection, the bookstore was mostly empty. The clientele tended to prefer shopping later in the evening after the sun set. The cashier was near the entrance and the only other customer in the place was about four aisles away. There was no chance that any of them could have overheard Lydia. Sam allowed herself a brief sigh of relief at that realization before remember that Lydia knew Danny's secret.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, forcing her voice to be as even as possible.

Lydia frowned, "I thought you would have known. Not only is he your friend, but you don't seem as oblivious to what's in front of you as some people. The same name and mostly the same features? He's lucky that most of the living ignore the strange and unusual."

She opened her mouth to argue and persuade Lydia that she was wrong, that she was completely off-track when it came to Danny. But nothing happened when she tried to speak. Lydia was right. Honestly, the fact that no one ever noticed the similarities in name and appearance was a minor miracle. The white hair, the green eyes, the jumpsuit, and the slight glow shouldn't be enough to disguise him. The only explanation why no one else ever noticed was because it was supposedly impossible to be human and a ghost.

Finding her voice finally, Sam whispered weakly, "You can't tell anyone."

"I didn't plan to. I can keep secrets. And I'm used to people not believing me about things outside of normal. If you trust me, I'll try to trust you," she assured. "Though I'd love to know how he changes appearances like that. Most of them can't change their hair color and I only know one who can change his clothes."

Sam latched onto the important part of what she said. It was a piece to the puzzle that was Lydia Deetz, offering a small clue about her behavior so far.

"You know ghosts? From before you moved here?"

"A few. My house in Winter River is haunted," said Lydia. "I've dealt with ghosts before. But they're… different here."

The afternoon was certainly not going how Sam originally envisioned. Next time Danny suspected someone was hiding a pretty big secret, she would definitely believe him. She needed to tell Tucker and Danny what was going on. She needed to let the boys know that Lydia figured out who Phantom was. There was no way she was handling this alone. But it was also something that she didn't want to do over the phone. This was a conversation that should be done in person.

"I think you should come with me," Sam said. "We should talk to Danny. I… yeah, we need to talk about everything." She paused a moment, grabbing a useful-looking book from the shelves. "Want to pay for these books and head over to Fenton Works?"

She'd heard vague mentions of Fenton Works already, but Lydia hadn't really paided attention before. Now she was beginning to realize why it was apparently a note-worthy location. Most of the structure was pretty standard, matching the buildings surrounding it. But then the giant observatory-thing attached to the top and the garish neon sign that ran down the side destroyed any sense of normality. Lydia knew the structure would have given her father an aneurism and Delia would be redecorating already. She had to admit it wasn't exactly subtle, but she'd seen stranger.

"Remember, don't tell his parents anything," Sam whispered right before someone opened the door.

For a moment, Lydia thought she was being confronted by a large orange wall. It was only after she took a second look that she realized she was instead facing a tall, broad, sturdy, orange-jumpsuit-wearing man who was merely built like a brick wall. The man was clearly Danny's father, sharing the teen's black hair (and because of the fact he was in Danny's house). The cheerful smile on his face made him seem particularly friendly and welcoming, which helped combat any intimidation factor his size might provide.

"Sam, I didn't know you were coming over this evening," he remarked. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Lydia Deetz," she answered. "She just moved to Amity Park. I was hoping that Danny could help me show her around. Is he busy?"

Somehow his grin managed to get bigger as he said, "I think he's upstairs working on homework, but you can ask him. Come on in, girls." Lydia found the man placing his hand on her shoulders and steering her into the house. "Maddie, we have company."

"Who is it, Jack?" a woman asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.

Just like she figured out the man was Danny's father, Lydia quickly guessed she was his mother. It was a little harder to tell, though. Her teal jumpsuit had the hood up and goggles covered her eyes, exposing only the smallest hint of her face. The most obvious similarity to her son was the slight, skinny build they both shared.

"Hi, Mrs. Fenton," greeted Sam. "This is Lydia. We were hoping to talk to Danny."

"Lydia? I don't remember meeting her before," the woman said, frowning briefly.

Hoping to take advantage of the resident ghost experts and learn more about the ghosts from the zone, Lydia said, "I just moved here with my aunt and uncle. Danny and his friends have been making me feel welcome. Things are certainly different here with all these ghosts running around…" She spotted the glimmer of interest and excitement appear in their eyes at the word. "People say you two know a lot about them."

"Do we? Of course we do," said Jack Fenton. "You should see our lab."

"That would be interesting," she said.

Maddie suggested, "Sam, why don't you go upstairs and get Danny while we give Lydia the grand tour."

For a moment, it looked like the other black-haired girl would argue against leaving the new girl alone with the pair, but Lydia quickly said, "That would be perfect. Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton."

Sam gave her a warning look, probably still worried about her spilling secrets, but she then turned towards the stairs. Before she could actually start climbing them though, Lydia found herself being cheerfully shuffled down to the basement.

Danny's efforts to divide his attention between finishing Mr. Lancer's assignment since he couldn't afford another horrible grade and looking over his files about ghosts in the hopes of finding a clue about the "Netherworld," the "Mortal Bride," or the mystery specter who freaked out the Box Ghost were abruptly interrupted as his bedroom door was flung open. The shock of the sudden surprise intrusion sent the boy tumbling from his seat to the floor. He considered just lying there for a second, but a pair of hands grabbed his shirt and yanked him upright.

"We have a situation, Danny," said Sam, skipping any form of greeting or explanation for the unexpected interruption. "You need to come downstairs now."

"Sam? What… weren't you at the bookstore with Lydia? What happened?"

"Yeah, we were. And that's the problem. She down in the lab with your parents," she said quickly. "Me, you, and Tucker need to talk to her. You were right. She was hiding something. And now she knows even more."

Not understanding much about what she was talking about, Danny asked, "Could you back up and slow down, Sam? What's going on with Lydia? Why do we need to talk to her? What happened?"

"She knows. Somehow, she knows."

He froze. Danny realized exactly what she meant without Sam saying anything more specific. There was no other reason why the phrase "she knows" would be said so urgently and with a thread of panic. She had to mean that Lydia discovered his secret. Lydia knew the truth.

"How?" he asked numbly.

"She said she saw the resemblance. She also said she would keep it secret, but I really don't want to leave her alone with your parents for long," she said. "So let's grab her, call Tucker, and figure out what we're going to do."

The idea of a near stranger knowing he was part ghost was scary enough. Leaving that near stranger alone with his currently ignorant parents was completely terrifying. Yeah, they needed to get down there before something horrible happened.

They had a portal to the Ghost Zone in their basement.

She could barely believe it. The round metal structure that reminded Lydia of a spaceship door from certain cheesy sci-fi movies sat there innocently on the far side of the basement, the opening to the glowing-green and ectoplasm-filled zone completely and utterly visible to anyone who wanted to poke their head through. She'd seen the unnatural glow before, including under the crack of the attic door the first time Barbara and Adam went to visit their caseworker. Her old home in Winter River also technically contained a portal to the afterlife, so she knew it was possible. The one in the attic, however, was a chalk drawing on some bricks, only usable by ghosts, led to the Netherworld, and spent most of the time closed. This was a gaping hole in reality that anyone could mess with. No wonder so many denizens of the Ghost Zone were showing up in Amity Park. Where some people kept a pool table in their basement, the Fenton family had a welcome mat for any wandering ghosts to use.

Lydia tried to focus on the hilarious notion of the portal casually kept in the basement. It was so strange to realize what they managed to create with science was generally done by other ghosts using chalk or markers. She thought about how her old home's basement held her dark room for photography and this one was turned into a mad scientists' lab. Lydia tried to think of anything else because she truly regretted her decision to accept the offered tour.

They hunted ghosts.

As she fought to contain her growing anger, the jumpsuit-wearing couple cheerfully described their inventions and displayed the weapons they used with horrifying frequency. They spoke of experiments they had planned and the proper techniques to dissect a ghosts should they locate and capture a suitably strong one. They cheerfully talked about ghosts like they were lab rats or germs on a slide.

Lydia tried to ignore their words and think about other things, but her mind didn't want to cooperate. While they discussed the idea of ripping apart ghosts molecule by molecule, she kept remembering the Maitlands crumbling and withering from an accidentally exorcism. She remembered him, completely at her aunt's mercy and unable to escape whatever fate she wanted to make him suffer. Aunt Melinda saw ghosts as "things," unnatural and horrible things that didn't deserve to exist. And the Fentons obviously saw them just as things as well. Lydia's frustration and anger was slowly building regardless of what she tried to do.

"Lydia, are you all right?" asked Maddie Fenton, apparently noticing her distracted state.

"You're just like her," she muttered, staring at the concrete floor.

"I'm sorry? I couldn't hear you."

"Why?" she said, her head snapping up to meet their startled expressions. "How can any of you live with yourselves when you act like this? I just don't get it."

"Lydia?" Danny called as he and Sam hurried down the stairs.

She ignored them. Lydia didn't dare provoke her aunt too much. She couldn't risk the woman retaliating against the Maitlands. But she wanted to let her feelings be known. She wanted to lash out. Everything was just going wrong with her life. Her parents, Barbara and Adam, him… It wasn't fair. Lydia hated being powerless and trapped, but she seemed to keep ending up in that situation. There was too much anger, frustration, and pain for her to contain and hide it forever. Yelling at someone felt like a healthier method of dealing than allowing it to fester, especially since that tended to lead to worse ideas. She needed to vent and rant for once in her life. She needed to strike out and do something. And apparently the Fentons were going to be on the receiving end of her semi-misplaced aggression.

"I understand some of the ghosts are dangerous. Honestly, I do. And I know they sometimes have to be stopped from hurting someone. But that doesn't mean you should treat them like unfeeling objects. You can't just hurt them, experiment on them, torture them, or destroy them simply because you want to see if you can. There are laws to keep people from doing that to animals. Why do you think its right to do it to ghosts?"

There was a short second where the adults seemed stunned silent by her outburst, but they recovered quickly. Maddie stepped forward, a calming and what felt like a patronizing smile on her face. At least it felt patronizing to Lydia at that moment. Any other time, she might like the odd maternal sensation she was noticing from the woman.

"I know Sam is involved in those environmental causes and I'm guessing you might be too," she said, looking at Lydia's similar dress style. "And I know you probably didn't deal with ghosts before you came to Amity Park, but they aren't really like people or animals. They don't have cells or other recognizable biological processes."

"Of course not. They're ghosts. Why should they be exactly the same? The ones you deal with come from another dimension," she snapped, gesturing towards the portal. "It would be stranger if everything was the same. But just because they're ghosts doesn't mean they aren't people too."

"That's a common misconception," stated Jack. "They aren't the souls of the dearly departed coming back to haunt us."

"Well, maybe not all of them," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"They are ectoplasmic manifestation that sometimes resembles post-human consciousness," he continued. "They only look like people occasionally."

"So just because they're made of ectoplasm instead of normal DNA or something and because you don't think they came from dead humans, that makes it okay? That makes it right to treat them like… like a model car you bought from the store that you want to smash with a hammer? Or a lifeless mannequin? Or like a bunch of mold samples under a microscope? No, it isn't right."

"I know this upsets you for some reason," said Maddie carefully, a slight frown starting to form. "But you have to look at this more like a scientist. You can't let yourself get emotional and start anthropomorphizing them. Look at them objectively."

"So ignore the fact that they provide clear demonstrations of emotions, pain responses, critical thinking skills, complicated thought processes, desires, motivations, and self-awareness?" asked Lydia, crossing her arms. "Fine. My grades in science aren't the greatest, but that's more because I didn't want to dissect a frog than because I didn't study. Let's ignore all that evidence that supports the idea that ghosts are sentient beings. Your hypothesis is apparently that ghosts aren't really sentient and deserve to be treated like inanimate objects. If I remember my scientific method correctly, that means you must have tested this hypothesis in a reasonable, repeatable experiment. You did test that hypothesis before your attempts to rip them apart, right?"

She saw it. The look of discomfort. They didn't do it. They just assumed that of course anything so different must be completely inhuman monsters that couldn't feel and didn't deserve any fair treatment. Lydia could see they wanted to end the conversation, but she couldn't let it go.

Just because she couldn't stop her aunt, change her mind, or even have an honest conversation about ghosts without worrying what Aunt Melinda would do to those she loved didn't mean she would let two more people run around with similar mindsets. She couldn't see the Maitlands or him because of people like the Fentons and her aunt. It wasn't fair.

The girl caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Sam and Danny. They were staring at her and the parents with a completely flabbergasted look on their faces. Lydia didn't give them any more attention. She wasn't ready to stop venting her feelings yet.

"You didn't. You just assumed. Other scientists go around testing the intelligence and self-awareness of dolphins, chimps, and even ravens to find out how similar they are to people. They don't assume they couldn't have emotions and have critical thinking just because they live in the ocean, are covered in fur, or have wings. They study and test it in a humane method. But you ignore the possibility just because they're from somewhere else. They talk, think, and display clear emotions, but you ignore it. And then you base all your other experiments and theories and hypothesis off of that basic assumption. That means all your data could be flawed because you have an unproven and possibly incorrect assumption. That's not just cruel and heartless. That's bad science. I can't help wondering how you determined that ghosts aren't dead people. Did you test that or did you automatically assume it too?"

Lydia's temper rarely flared. She was a patient person. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to deal with him. It took a lot of effort and time for her temper to become noticeable. But it occasionally happened. All the stresses and frustrations of her life managed this time to bring it to a sharp flame that sought to burn those within reach. But just like it took a long time for her temper to strike, it tended to burn out quickly. The girl found herself breathing hard as she finished speaking, but the worst of her anger had dissipated for the moment.

Then, realizing exactly how much of a scene she'd made, Lydia glanced around. She found four people staring at her. Some looked stunned and nervous. Others seemed uncomfortable and uncertain. No matter which of them chose to speak, she knew that she wouldn't like the conversation that would follow. For the moment, she could think of only one course of action.

Shoving her way past the two teenagers, Lydia bolted up the stairs and ran out the front door.

Chapter Text

Identifying the variations in ghosts ensures that peaceful co-existence is more manageable. Different subtypes of ghosts require different strategies for interaction and respond to those interactions in different ways.

Most deceased are standard ghosts, displaying traits including but not limited to: evidence of their manner of death, basic powers concerning the manipulation of their immediate surroundings and their forms that may grow more varied with experience, invisibility to most of the living, levitation, and limited haunting perimeters. These are the ghosts most often involved in standard haunted houses and similar locations. These are also the ghosts the living most often attempt to coexist with and are the ones generally described in this book for that reason.

Poltergeists are another type of deceased. The traditional definition, based on the German translation "noisy ghosts," is a type of ghost or other supernatural being supposedly responsible for physical disturbances such as loud noises and objects moved around or destroyed and are traditionally described as troublesome spirits who haunt a particular person instead of a specific location. The definition for poltergeist used by the deceased, and thus the one used here, are members of the deceased who are not provided a definitive haunting perimeter, usually manifest with a greater variety and level of power, and generally display more disruptive behavior towards others. Due to their increased strength, non-limited haunting range, and theoretically more dangerous status, most poltergeists have personalized limits on them to prevent excessive problems. The more powerful and versatile the poltergeist, the more unique and thorough the limitations placed on them.

Ectoplasm-based ghosts have the greatest variety in powers, personalities, behaviors, and basic origins. While some ectoplasm-based ghosts are members of the deceased, others are spontaneous manifestations that gain sentience. All ectoplasm-based ghosts originate from the zone between the world of the living and the Netherworld while other members of the deceased can originally appear in either location. They rarely have haunting perimeters, though they may become obsessed with a location, an object, or a concept. They are also easily seen by the living, making them the most common ghosts encountered. Ectoplasm-based ghosts have a higher ratio of aggressive behavior and varying levels of insanity, making them particularly dangerous for the living to interact with. Furthermore, due to being composed of ectoplasm, many strategies for interacting with the deceased will not work on them and those that affect the ectoplasm-based ghosts may not affect other members of the deceased. Due to these reasons, caution should be taken when dealing with ectoplasm-based ghosts.

-Excerpt from "The Living and the Dead"

Maddie watched the black-outfitted girl flee the basement, unable to find her voice. She, her husband, and the teenagers were too stunned at the moment to respond in any meaningful way. They just stared after her.

Slowly breaking out of shock, Sam said, "We… we should go after her. She just moved here. She could get lost."

"What… right, you're right," muttered Danny, nodding numbly.

They headed up the stairs, though at a far more sedate speed than Lydia used. They were apparently still trying to shake off their reaction to the strange outburst. Maddie knew she was still trying to get her mind around it.

She had already guessed Lydia was similar to Sam based on their wardrobe choices and she knew Sam tended to be vocal and active in the defense of a variety of causes. Endangered animals, plants, and the environment in general were all part of the girl's determined world-saving goal. The idea of someone with similar interests being foolish enough to consider ghosts worthy of such activist tendencies wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility. Too many members of the public, especially outside of Amity Park, were misinformed about ghosts. Some people would defend anything, no matter how crazy or dangerous. Maddie would have written off the entire meltdown as the reaction of an emotional teenage girl with misplaced sympathy for dangerous things.

But then she started using logic. Even in her agitation and unexplained anger, Lydia shifted her rant from an emotional argument to an intellectual one. That was harder for Maddie to ignore. She was a scientist. And the girl was attacking her validity as a scientist in a way that made more sense than the woman wanted to admit.

Maddie remembered back in college, when it was just her, Jack, and Vlad investigating and experimenting with ideas that no one else would even consider, they hypothesized the existence of a parallel world composed of a substance able to interact with and yet would be completely alien to normal matter. Ectoplasm. And just as they considered the idea of the Ghost Zone, they hypothesized the possibility of entities similarly composed of the substance. Of ghosts. Even if their initial attempt at creating a portal backfired spectacularly, the readings from the attempt were enough to prove their hypothesis correct.

They formed a hypothesis. They devised an experiment in the form of the portal. They collected and studied the results. And they drew conclusions based on those results. It was all completely organized, logical, and scientific.

So when did she and Jack stop being quite as methodical? Because Maddie was forced to admit there was a kernel of truth in Lydia's words; they had stopped taking the time to do things perfectly.

Their discoveries sparked off excitement in both of them, the idea of the Ghost Zone and ghosts igniting an overwhelming enthusiasm in the couple. They dismissed the concept of ghosts being the spirits of the dead as being too fanciful, Jack's belief in Santa notwithstanding. Some of their earliest ghosts they managed to find were tiny green wisps that were mindless and barely reacted to outside stimuli. They didn't run into the larger ones properly until later. All of their initial data on ghosts were based on that information and they continued to use it even when faced with evidence that there was a greater variety of intelligence and behavior. They were too excited, too proud, and too confident to consider revising their already established theories based on new evidence. Somehow they found themselves making a fundamental mistake; they were twisting evidence to support the theory rather than adjust the theory to match the evidence.

"Maddie, do you… think she might have a point?" said Jack slowly with a frown. "They're ghosts. But… could we be wrong? It doesn't make sense after all this time… It's crazy. It would be like Vladdy turning out to be a murderous monster. It goes against all logic. But…"

Knowing her husband was making similar realizations about their less-than-ideal scientific scrutiny in recent times, she placed a hand on his shoulder. It halted his disjointed remarks, but the gesture didn't banish the uncertain and worried expression on his face. Maddie suspected he might even be starting to wonder about the full implications of what their actions would be if all of their assumptions were wrong and Lydia's emotional rant was right. She couldn't let him dwell on that possibility just yet.

"I think we should take a step back," she said in a calm and even tone. "We should reevaluate our past results with a more open mind. Maybe devise some models for new tests concerning their levels of intelligence and sentience. Something that won't be biased against organisms that are composed of ectoplasm rather than normal matter and biology. They created the Turing Test to try on theoretical artificial intelligences, so we should be able to devise something. We'll go back to the basics if we have to and make sure our conclusions are solid."

"And if we were wrong?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

He nodded quietly, looking around the lab with the uncertain expression still on his face. She loved Jack, but she knew he needed a distraction. And so did she.

"How about we go upstairs and I'll bake us some cookies," she suggested, pushing the hood of her jumpsuit off. "This can all wait until tomorrow."

"Yeah," said Jack quietly. "I don't feel like being in the lab right now."

They split up. It was the smart thing to do. By the time he and Sam made it outside, Lydia was already gone. Neither of them knew where the new girl would go and the fact that she knew the truth about Phantom meant Danny couldn't just wait until school the next day. They needed to sort everything out. Besides, she was clearly upset. Her (unbelievably intense) reaction towards his parents proved that fact while also being particularly confusing and shocking to her audience. Having her wander around a strange town in that state would be wrong.

Sam was calling Tucker, asking their tech-savvy friend to hack into the school computers again to look up Lydia's address, while Danny took flight. Their working plan was for him to fly around town while looking at the popular locations and she would head towards Lydia's house on foot. If neither of them spotted her, they would start expanding their search. Eventually someone would get lucky.

As Danny flew past the Nasty Burger, he couldn't help wishing that his job was easier. Her dark fashion sense might make it easier to spot Lydia in a crowd, but there was still a lot of ground to cover and that was ignoring the fact she could be inside a building. It was so much harder to find someone without using his Ghost Sense.

Then, once again proving that the universe had an evil sense of timing, Danny felt the chill of his Ghost Sense activate as he drew near the school. The halfa couldn't quite bite back a groan of frustration. Part of him wanted to keep looking for Lydia, arguing that it was late enough that almost everyone would already be gone and thus the ghost could only do so much damage. But Danny also knew he couldn't turn his back on his responsibility. It could quite easily turn out to be the ghost that freaked out the Box Ghost or someone else dangerous. Besides, it would just be his luck that one of the janitors would end up still being inside and run into the specter.

"Hope you can find her, Sam," he muttered to himself before phasing through the room.

Unlike the last time he investigated a ghost in the school, there were no screams or fleeing students. The familiar, locker-lined halls were empty and silent, the shadows adding an element of spookiness to the location that it lacked during daylight hours. Danny's extracurricular activities, however, ensured that it would take more than an empty school after hours to scare him.

"Okay, I'm only going to say this once," he shouted, his voice echoing through the emptiness. "Come out now and I won't hit you too hard before stuffing you into the thermos."

He braced himself for attack. None of the ghosts he fought tended to go quietly just because he asked nicely. But he figured that his words would provoke a response and he'd at least be able to locate his opponent. If it didn't, he would have to start using generic taunts until he could identify the ghost and use more specific taunts.

But instead of a violent attack, he was met with a worried voice saying, "Don't wig out. And don't hit me. I wasn't bugging anyone. Honest."

Recognizing the voice, Danny felt himself relax as the ghost phased his way out of a locker. Unlike many ghosts, this one lacked any color and was pretty monochromatic. He looked like he flew out of an old yearbook photo. Black-and-white, bespectacled, buck-toothed, and dressed exactly like the old-fashion nerd he was, the ghostly teenager floated awkwardly in front of Danny. The first time they encountered each other, a misunderstanding led to them fighting each other. But as long as he wasn't facing a bully picking on a defenseless victim, the ghost was relatively easy-going and nonviolent. And unlike many, he didn't hate Danny.

"What are you doing here, Poindexter?" asked Danny.

"Hiding," he admitted. "I didn't like what I was hearing in the Ghost Zone, so I decided to split. I thought it be safer here."

Feeling this seemed vaguely familiar, he asked, "Does this have anything to do with a ghost searching for his 'missing Mortal Bride'?"

Poindexter's eyes widened behind his glasses, gulped audibly, and nodded nervously. Danny paused, his thoughts racing over the possibilities. He could go back to searching through Amity Park for Lydia. On the other hand, there were only a small handful of ghosts he could have a civil conversation with, possibly knew useful information about the mystery ghost, and could easily be found to ask. This was a rare opportunity, one that he couldn't afford to miss. And Sam said that Lydia intended to keep his secret…

"Can you tell me more about him?" Danny asked. "His powers? What he looks like? Who or what the 'Mortal Bride' is? Or even his name?"

"No," yelped Poindexter. "Not his name."

He held up his hands defensively, "Okay, okay, you don't have to say it. I still don't see why everyone freaks out about his name."

"Because using his name three times summons him," he said. "Everyone who knows about him knows that. No matter where you are, even if he shouldn't be able to hear you, he'll appear. He follows different rules than the ghosts from the Ghost Zone. He's the self-proclaimed 'Ghost With the Most' and the rumors suggest he can live up to that title… figuratively speaking."

"What do you mean he doesn't follow the same rules as the rest of you? Why? How?"

"He's a poltergeist. He's from the Netherworld," said Poindexter as if it explained everything.

When he saw the blank expression on the halfa's face, the ghost grabbed Danny's arm and pulled him into the closest classroom. Poindexter gestured him towards one of the desks while he took a seat of his own. It was clear that he foresaw this conversation lasting a while.

"You've only dealt with those of us who come from the Ghost Zone, right? Those made of ectoplasm," he said. "And those are the ones who appear in Amity Park the most often thanks to the portal and we're easier for people to see. No one ever mentioned the other ghosts, the ones who don't come from the Ghost Zone?"

"Those that come from that 'Netherworld' place? Where is it? What makes them different?"

"It's hard to explain exactly. Uh… Imagine a jelly sandwich, with this place as one slice of bread, the Netherworld as another slice of bread, and the Ghost Zone as the jelly. Or all three of them as those Russian doll things, with the Netherworld in the center and this one on the outside. But they also overlap at the same time, like tangled up spaghetti. Or how the different color threads in a piece of plaid fabric are woven together," said Poindexter, frowning in concentration. "Sorry, I don't know how else to explain it. But the Ghost Zone is between the two as a buffer."

Danny did his best to visualize what Poindexter was describing, though he could feel himself going cross-eyed at the visual image. He knew his parents would love to learn about this. Then again, considering how Lydia yelled at them about their scientific research and their stunned silence afterwards, it might not be smart to make assumptions about their reactions for awhile. Either way, Danny suspected they would have an easier time understanding the concept than he was.

"So what's the difference between ghost from the Ghost Zone and those from the Netherworld?"

Poindexter smiled wryly, "A few things. We're made of ectoplasm, anyone can usually see us, and we can usually go wherever we know how to reach. Them? Not so much. They're a lot more organized as a whole. They have rules, regulations, and caseworkers assigned to help new ghosts. The biggest difference is all of them are dead."

Danny started to speak, but the long-dead teenager held his hand up to keep silent. Poindexter adopted a vaguely sad smile.

"I know what you're thinking. I probably could have ended up in the Netherworld. I even ended up a lot like those ghosts. Mostly only the basic powers, stuck in the same location for a long time, and even learning some tricks with mirrors… But sometimes we slip through the cracks in the bureaucracy and end up in the Ghost Zone instead." He shrugged, "It was probably for the best in my case. Otherwise I'd end up as a civil servant and no one really likes that gig."

While Danny was curious about that last statement, he managed to keep quiet. Somehow it felt like the question he wanted to ask would be too personal.

"Those that appear here or in the Netherworld first are more traditional ghosts, the ones that show up in scary stories you tell around the campfire," continued Poindexter. "All of them are dead people and most of them are stuck haunting somewhere meaningful to them in life. They generally don't have a large variety or very strong powers. But most of the living won't see them, none of them possess a reflections, and you can't photograph them. They also usually don't cause much wide-spread trouble, if only because they're stuck wherever they're haunting."

"That's it. They really need to make a handbook or a pamphlet about all this information that ghosts need to know," muttered Danny.

"They did. Make a handbook, I mean. They just didn't make it for the ghosts from the Ghost Zone like us," Poindexter said apologetically. "But everyone says it's written like a technical manual or something, so I don't know how helpful that would be."

"Figures," he muttered.

"Bureaucracy has its uses. You can't do things by the book if you don't have a book to work with," said the ghost teen, leaning back slightly in his desk. "The Ghost Zone just isn't as organized. We're like that party mix snacks that popular kids have at their swinging get-togethers. We're a random collection of all sorts of things. We're just the leftovers, the misplaced, the misfiled, the mistakes, the strange twists of fate, the spontaneous events, the lost souls, and the freak occurrences all gathered together. Some are dead people, but others were never alive in the first place like Skulker." He shrugged, "The Ghost Zone is the junk drawer of the universe. But at least we usually get better powers. Well, I didn't, but a lot of us do."

"Okay, I think I sort of get it. Netherworld ghosts are all dead people, not made of ectoplasm, and do the haunted house routine. Ghost Zone ghosts are sometimes dead people, stronger, have lots of different powers, and are made of ectoplasm. So if most of the Ghost Zone ones are tougher and have better powers, why is everyone freaking out about the 'Ghost With the Most'?"

"He's a poltergeist. They're ghosts from the Netherworld too, but they're something more. I don't know what causes some of them to be poltergeists rather than just the usual ghosts," Poindexter admitted. "They just end up different. They aren't made of ectoplasm, but their powers are… more impressive. And they aren't stuck to a specific spot."

"So poltergeists are kind of like a mixture between the ghost types," he summarized. "A dead guy not made of ectoplasm, but with more power and no haunted house. I'm guessing this particular poltergeist is on the higher end of the power scale."

"Unfortunately I only have rumors to base it on, but they say he's one of the most powerful poltergeists in existence. He's supposed to be as strong or stronger than most of the Ghost Zone. He also knows every rule, regulation, and limitation that inhibits ghosts from the Netherworld. And he knows how to exploit every single loophole. The only good thing is that he rarely feels motivated to do more than entertain himself. He usually doesn't do much beyond scaring, tricking, and causing trouble for people. Honestly, most of the stories make him sound like a bully or a real shuckster. He calls himself a 'bio-exorcist' and offers to help other ghosts with their haunting, but he can't be trusted. He has the potential to be very dangerous if he ever decides to do more. And now he's angry and motivated."

"Because of this 'missing Mortal Bride'? Why? Who or what is it and why is it so important to the so-called Ghost With the Most?" asked Danny, feeling confused and overwhelmed even in response to more explanations than he could have ever hoped for.

"Supposedly he needs something to become even more dangerous than before, something that no one in the Netherworld wants him to get. He needs to marry someone alive. A couple of years ago, they said he found her. His Mortal Bride. The details are scarce about her or what happened, but it's assumed that it must have been wild. And now she's missing and no one knows where she could be."

"And since he needs to marry her…"

Poindexter nodded, "He's looking for her. And he's mad, motivated, and very scary. He's probably looking for a way out of the Ghost Zone since his Mortal Bride would probably be among the living."

Danny closed his eyes briefly. The Ghost With the Most wanted out. The portal in his parents' lab was the most convenient and stable way out. The poltergeist would almost certainly try using it as an exit, regardless of where in the world the woman crazy enough to marry a ghost might actually be. That meant Danny would have to deal with him.

But maybe he didn't have to deal with him completely without help. Danny opened his eyes while a tiny spark of an idea flickered though his mind. A little warning when the poltergeist got close could help out a lot. And something about Poindexter's earlier description gave him a smidge of hope that it might work.

"I know you're not the toughest ghost out there, but do you think you can help me a little?" he asked carefully. Spotting a look of panic on Poindexter's face, he hurried to explain, "Nothing dangerous. Just… let me know somehow if he gets near the portal and maybe keep an ear open for more rumors on the guy. Please?"

He could see hesitation from the monochromatic ghost. Poindexter, clearly trying to buy time to think, took the opportunity to take off his glasses, clean them, and settle them back in place. Only afterwards did he try to answer.

"Well, some of the stories certainly make him sound like a bully," he said slowly, just as Danny suspected he would. "And I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't help stop a bully. Did you ever get a new mirror for my old locker?"

Having the bad luck to be assigned to the same locker the ghostly teen once used, Danny nodded uncertainly, "Eventually I did. Why?"

"Good. I'll head back to the Ghost Zone and let you know if I learn anything," said Poindexter. "You can count on me."

A slight rattle at the door caused the pair to instantly turn invisible. They didn't immediately move as a janitor entered the classroom, pushing a mop and whistling cheerfully. Instead, they waited a moment to see if he would leave. But the janitor actually started an impromptu dance routine with his mop as he worked his way across the room, leaving the halfa struggling not to chuckle.

Since it was clear that the conversation was officially over now, Danny silently floated towards the ceiling and phased his way out.

Chapter Text

Things are going better than when we first moved to Winter River. Delia's new sculptures are popular, so we're apparently making a lot of money from them. I think getting rid of that jerk agent helped. Dad is a lot less stressed out and no longer trying to turn the town into some kind of tourist trap. And both of them aren't as… I can get along with them better now.

Barbara and Adam are amazing. They're so happy that my parents changed part of the house back for them. And they've really been helping with my studying, so my grades are up. Which means that we get to play with their ghost powers as a reward. And the two of them seem to understand me and I feel so appreciated. Honestly, it's like having two sets of parents.

Outside of the house, things are still a little weird. Making friends at school is kind of harder. They just don't understand. It was hard enough in New York, but that was before I found out about ghosts and everything. No one at school would believe me if I told them about… And that makes it harder.

They're talking about makeup or shopping while I'm trying not to talk about how my house is haunted. They're talking about boys at the other school across town while I was almost married to a dead guy named Beetlejuice. They're talking about how much their parents annoy them while I… Okay, I can kind of relate to that one. But mostly, finding common ground is kind of hard. At least some of them like my photographs.

Things are better than they used to be. I don't think I'll be plummeting off any bridges in the near future. Still, it seems like I get along better with the dead than the living.

That's not how you spell my name, Lyds.

I wrote this over a month ago. Stop reading and scribbling in my journal or else!

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

"You sure this is the right address?" asked Sam, holding her cell phone with one hand as she cautiously knocked with the other.

"Don't insult my hacking skills," Tucker scolded cheerfully, the tapping of computer keys easily heard over the speaker. "The school's firewall isn't that impressive. Anything else I can do to help?"

"Unless you think she'll start a website to spill Danny's secret on the internet, I think we can handle it," she said. "Once we at least check on her, I think she'll keep quiet until at we can talk to her properly tomorrow."

"I hope so," he muttered. "I guess I should go back to 'adjusting' my grades. Be careful. Call me if you or Danny need me. Bye."

Sam managed to hang up right as someone answered the door. The dark-haired woman, dressed in white suit worthy of belonging to the Guys In White, stood there with a welcoming smile. Of course, her rather impressive-looking green-gemmed necklace and lack of sunglasses wouldn't exactly fit in with their strict dress code, so Sam mentally labeled the woman as another "Gregor"-like coincidence. Still, it was almost as sharp a contrast in fashion tastes between the woman and Lydia as it was between Sam and her pastel-loving parents.

"Uh… Mrs. Deetz?" the girl asked cautiously.

"No, that would be my late sister, Catherine. She's been dead for years," said the woman. "You're probably looking for Lydia. I'm Melinda Livingston, her aunt."

Reaching out politely to shake her hand, Sam said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Sam Manson. I go to school with Lydia. Is she here?"

"The darling isn't, I'm afraid. But you're welcome to wait inside if you like," she remarked. "I'm sure she'll be home soon."

Sam nodded and let herself be led into the woman's house. The smell of fresh paint and the piles of boxes lining the halls added evidence about their recent arrival to the city. There was a small foyer that quickly narrowed into a hallway that ran alongside the stairs. A few of the smaller boxes were waiting on the staircase, one that probably led to the bedrooms. There was a room behind a closed door that branched off the hallway, another room on the other side of the hall that probably a living room or study, and yet another room at the end of the hall that Sam guessed was the kitchen. That layout of the house was fairly standard in the neighborhood. The woman brought the teenager to what was apparently the living room and indicated she should take a seat.

It was a nice enough space. Dark green walls with white trim, creamy white couches, and hardwood floors, the room was clearly further along than the rest of the house in regards to moving in. Except for a single box in the corner, everything seemed to be decorated and ready to live in. There were even books on the shelves and photographs on the walls and on side tables.

"I'm so happy that my Lydia darling is making some nice and normal friends at her new school," Melinda said. "I think someone like you will do her a world of good."

Wondering what kind of friends Lydia had prior that would make the Goth girl who showed up unannounced after dark seem like a "normal friend," Sam struggled to come up with something resembling small talk. The sugary, cheerful, bright personality reminded her far too much of her mother. And that made her feel like making a snarky comment, which wasn't exactly the first impression she was hoping for. She needed to avoid being thrown out before Lydia returned.

"Melinda, I didn't know we had company," interrupted a man, peering into the room.

He was a wiry man, approximately the same age as the woman. He wasn't overly tall, but he was reasonably handsome. His light-brown hair was neatly combed and his blue polo shirt was tucked into his khaki pants. The first word that popped into Sam's mind was "dork."

"This is Sam, Roger," said Melinda cheerfully. "She's a friend of Lydia's from school. How about you fetch us some lemonade, sweetie?"

"Whatever makes you happy, dearest," he nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"Um… thanks?" Sam said awkwardly as he vanished towards the kitchen.

Turning her attention back to the woman, the teenager finally found something to use as small talk. Sam reached over and picked up a picture frame from the side table. There were three figures in the photograph, all of them children. All three possessed black hair and were a little on the pale side, though the boy seemed especially pale and sickly. He was the youngest, appearing to be around six or seven, while the girls looked closer to ten or twelve. It was clearly a professional photograph, the children standing carefully posed and polite. The girls were in dresses, one white and one navy, while the boy wore a small dress shirt and pants. The background was outdoors somewhere, right in front of a tree. Sam studied the picture, noticing a few familiar features.

"So the girl in white is you?" she commented casually.

Reaching over to take the photo, Melinda gave it a look and said, "Yes, that's me and my siblings. That's Catherine, Lydia's mother, in the blue dress. And that's our little brother, Freddy." She smiled wistfully, "We were so happy back then. Mother and Father were teaching all of us the family business, though they were a little traditional and focused more on Little Freddy. But all good things come to an end. Freddy grew up to be greedy, became desperate for more attention than what he thought our parents were providing, started taking risks, and ended up in a lot of trouble. And our Cathy… She married Charles and we never heard from her again. She wanted nothing to do with us. I wish we could have reconciled before her death, that she could have stood beside me as sisters as we took on all challengers... But at least I have the chance to build a relationship with her daughter and guide the girl toward the right decisions in life."

"I'm sorry," she said awkwardly. "I guess every family has their problems."

Before someone was forced to start commenting on the weather, Sam heard the front door open. The teen was deeply thankful for that. Melinda clearly also heard the door and sat up a little straighter.

"Lydia, darling, please come to the living room," the woman called.

It took a few moments, long enough for Sam to realize she was moving particularly slow and reluctantly, before Lydia reached the doorway. First she directed a death glare towards her aunt, but then Lydia seemed to notice that Sam was in the room and her expression shifted to one of surprise.

"Darling, your nice friend decided to pay a visit," Melinda greeted cheerfully. "Isn't that nice of her?"

"Hi, Sam," said Lydia quietly, purposefully ignoring her aunt. "I guess you still want to talk?"

"It would be nice," she admitted.

"Come on up to my room, then," she said.

Thankful for the chance to get away from Lydia's sugary sweet aunt, Sam practically bolted from her seat. The teenage girls scurried their way towards the sanctity of the upstairs bedroom. But Sam's hand barely brushed against the banister before a voice tried to interrupt their escape.

"Don't you girls want some lemonade? I made it fresh," said Roger, carrying the large pitcher with him.

"No," Lydia said firmly. "Go see if Aunt Melinda has an original thought for you to use. I think you're overdue."

Before it became clear how the man would respond, Sam found herself being dragged away. Having survived the awkward small talk portion of the evening, she prepared for the next challenge.

Sanduleak wasn't the strongest or most skilled poltergeist to ever skulk around the Netherworld, but he knew who could be bribed, who could be threatened, and who could be tricked. He'd learned that quickly enough. Since he needed information to find the Mortal Bride, the ghost went to the main source of knowledge: paperwork. A veiled threat whispered into the ear of a hanged man and he received a file about the girl. Even if she was among the living, she was tangled up enough with the deceased to warrant those in power recording a little information. The paperwork, describing her connection to the Maitland ghosts and her current status, was updated recently with a new address. And with that knowledge, he knew how to track the Mortal Bride.

Getting to her was the challenge. Sanduleak didn't share the same limitations as the self-proclaimed Ghost With the Most. His name didn't need to be repeated thrice. He wasn't bound to it, unable to cross between without it. Sanduleak wasn't him. He possessed different limitations, slightly less troublesome ones overall.

Still, without a proper haunting territory and no established door to use, he would have some issues getting out. Flying blindly through the Ghost Zone while hoping to find a portal, depending solely on luck, seemed foolish and time consuming. He had a slightly more sensible strategy in mind. Calling on an old favor, he arranged for a lovely lady with a taste for poisonous mushrooms to setup a door connecting to the city. The doors were intended for ghosts moving between the Netherworld and their personal haunting territory, but she agreed to make an exception and to be careful not to be noticed. It would take a day or two to arrange, but it would be faster than other methods.

He'd still need to work around his own limitations, but Sanduleak felt confident he could manage it. He wasn't as hampered and bound as the infamous Ghost With the Most. It would barely slow him down. It would merely mean he'd have to time things properly.

His plan was coming together nicely. There was no possible chance that Sanduleak's fellow poltergeist would have a better one. He would just charge ahead without organizing or considering how to reach her. But Sanduleak fully intended for the Mortal Bride to be gone before the week was over, long before the Ghost With the Most could reach her.

This time, Lydia both locked the door and shoved her boxes over to barricade the entrance. She didn't want to risk an interruption by the relatives. Hopefully Sam wouldn't be upset about being trapped in the room. After Lydia's emotional rant, the other girl probably thought she was crazy and possibly dangerous. Lydia wouldn't blame her if she was nervous about being locked inside with her.

She wasn't particularly comfortable with the situation either. Lydia knew she shouldn't have let her temper run away like that. It felt nice briefly to have an outlet for her emotions, but afterwards… She shouldn't have made a scene like that. She'd always held a flair for the dramatic, but loud and flashier reactions to events were more of his specialty. She just couldn't help herself.

However, there would be time for regrets and concerns about how she behaved later. Right now she needed to relax and address the bigger issue. Lydia reached up and pulled out the ponytail holder, letting her hair down. Just that one little action helped a little of her stress evaporate. Then, once she was as casual as she could manage, she looked towards the other girl with an apologetic expression.

"I shouldn't have yelled at the Fentons and run out like that," she said quietly. "I'm not usually like that. I'm sorry."

She shrugged, "We'll survive. Compared to some of the things that happen in that household, that was pretty dull. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Mostly," she said. After a moment, Lydia continued, "I guess Danny's parents really have no idea. How does he live with them in the same household without his parents, a bunch of ghost hunters, noticing?"

"They aren't great at their job."

"And how does he handle their feelings about ghosts?"

After a brief hesitation, Sam answered, "Some days are easier than others."

Lydia tilted her head slightly and asked, "How exactly does a ghost manage to convince the rest of the town that he's still among the living?"

"He still is alive. Mostly. He's only half ghost."

Her jaw dropped at that particular declaration. She knew that ectoplasm-based ghosts were weird, but this was really pushing it. How was it even possible? Ideas of ghosts and living human marriages, so similar to the one she nearly experienced, flickered through her mind as an absurd explanation. The entire thing sounded insane.

Of course, she had a very different definition of insane than most people. It kind of came with the territory.

"Well," Lydia said slowly, "neither of his parents looked like ghosts, so I have to wonder what they aren't telling him about…"

"No, nothing like that," interrupted Sam, waving her hands in horror. "There was an accident with the portal and it changed him. Now he can switch between being mostly human and being mostly like a ghost."

She nodded, "That makes a lot more sense."

"Great. Now, do you think you can fill in a few blanks for us? We're trusting you with a pretty big secret and we barely know anything about you," Sam said carefully. "You said your old house was haunted and you keep implying that the ghosts around here are different than the ones you've seen before. How so?"

Trying to remember when she read, Lydia explained, "They come from different places, have different abilities, and are made of different things. Your ghosts come from the Ghost Zone, have cooler powers usually, and are made of ectoplasm. My ghosts come from the Netherworld, have fewer and usually weaker powers, and are made of…" She trailed off, trying to think. "I'm not sure what they're made of, actually. Souls? Memory? Psychic energy? I don't know. But whatever it is, the stuff is as different from ectoplasm as ectoplasm is from normal matter." Lydia ran a hand through her hair. "Based on the stuff in the Fenton's basement, the Ghost Zone ghosts are more science-based. Even if the science is different for ectoplasm. My ghosts have rules, limitations, and understandable patterns, but they seem more 'supernatural' or like something from old stories they tell around a campfire."

"That… actually makes a lot of sense," Sam said slowly. "Some of my older books, the ones that are practically ancient and about to fall apart, say things about ghosts that don't match what we've seen in action. Like how only some people can see them, ghosts showing the signs of their demise, and that they are trapped in one place and unable to move on."

"Yeah, that would be the Netherworld ghosts. Adam and Barbara can't set foot outside their home," she said quietly.

Obviously recognizing the wistful tone, Sam asked, "Were they the ghosts who haunted your old house? Adam and Barbara?"

Lydia reached under her bed and pulled out her large hat box. Under the false bottom of the hat box, she pulled out a clipped newspaper article she spent a lot of time hunting down. She didn't want to risk losing the small link to her family back in Connecticut, but she also knew that Aunt Melinda wasn't above invading her privacy and the girl needed to be careful about hiding important mementos.

Taking the offered piece of paper, Sam read it over. Then she looked back towards Lydia with an unreadable expression.

"Their obituary?"

Lydia nodded, "I wanted a picture of them and ghosts don't show up in photographs. Or at least they don't. Adam and Barbara Maitland died in a car accident before my family even moved to Winter River. They had plans. They wanted to fix up their house. Have kids. Dying when their car ran off a bridge wasn't what they had in mind when it came to the future. They weren't happy at first about people messing with their home, especially since Delia and Otho have a very unique style, but we eventually worked everything out." She smiled sadly, "They always liked me. I think it is partially because they never had kids of their own, but they also like me for just being… me. They are practically another set of parents."

"No wonder you didn't want to move away from there," said Sam. "Your aunt probably didn't even have a clue."

Falling back on the pillows of her bed, Lydia glared at the ceiling and muttered, "She knew. She definitely knew. She just didn't care."

"What do you mean?"

"Aunt Melinda knows about ghosts, but she hates them. I don't know why she would even want to move here in the first place. You'd think she'd be miserable in a town with so many ghosts," Lydia said. "I'd keep Danny away from her, just in case."

Leaning over where Lydia was flopped across the bed, Sam commented dryly, "You weren't here a few months ago, but almost everyone hated and feared Danny Phantom for quite a while. Not to mention he deals with his parents trying to catch him regularly. I'm sure he can handle your sickeningly sweet and cheerful aunt."

Lydia gave a bitter laugh and forced herself back upright. She understood why the other girl might believe that. It was pretty much the same reaction Lydia had when she first met the woman.

"She's more dangerous than she looks," she said. "Remember when I told you about my older, complicated, possessive best friend?"

"Your not-boyfriend?"

Smiling weakly at the description she'd used for him, Lydia nodded and said, "What I didn't mention was that he's dead. He's a ghost. The Maitlands tried to get him to help scare my family back near the beginning, but he went overboard. The rest is what I already explained, more or less. He ended up my friend even if Barbara and Adam aren't fond of him and I didn't tell Dad and Delia about him being back because they would have freaked out. He has a lot of faults, but he's got a few virtues buried deep down. My point is that he isn't a heartless monster." Her smile melted away as she continued, "That's why he didn't deserve what happened."

"What happened?" asked Sam quietly.

"With the right knowledge, intent, and words, you can do a lot to the ghosts from the Netherworld," she said. "Sometimes you need certain objects to make it work and the phrases aren't particularly common ones, but you can cause some real trouble. Summoning, binding of their powers and their actions, banishing, and even… exorcisms… There are instructions and warnings about the processes in a few books we used to have around the house. Aunt Melinda found the book, stole my journal for information, and decided to get rid of him."

Lydia glared at the door. She truly hated dealing with that woman downstairs. She was a horrible human being.

"I'm not even completely sure how she managed to pull it off. Maybe she researched it quickly or she already knew how to do it. Either way, she caught him and could have… could have killed him again. She wanted to. She even told me so. She wanted to exorcise him. But, claiming that she was being 'merciful' for my sake, she sent him away to where I can't reach him and vice versa. And somehow she even messed with my head in the process."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam hesitantly.

"He's my best friend, but now I can't even remember his name. She took that from me."

"How?"

"I don't know," Lydia admitted in frustration. "All I know is that any memory of his name is gone. And she kept my journal, which is the only place I might have written it down. And she also kept my family's copy of 'The Living and the Dead', which is the only place I can think of that might have an explanation for how she messed with my mind. So my point is that even if she's painfully sweet and cheerful, she's also devious and dangerous. Keep your friend away from her."

There was a brief silence, but Sam eventually broke it when she asked, "What are you going to do?"

The Goth girl closed her eyes. That was the real question. For all her determinations, her intentions to find her aunt's weakness, and her hopes to gather any potential assets, she didn't have much of an actual plan. As much as she hated to admit it, there wasn't a lot she could do. No matter how vile the woman might be, Aunt Melinda was still related and was still her legal guardian. And he was still gone. How was she supposed to change anything enough to make a difference?

"Look, I'm against oppression in general, which is exactly what your aunt is doing," said Sam slowly. "I'm also very supportive of rebelling against oppressive and cruel authority, so let's make a deal. You keep quiet about Danny's secret and maybe teach us more about ghosts from that Netherworld you mentioned and we'll help you do something about your aunt."

Lydia opened her eyes and stared at the girl. Part of her, the cynical part that lurked in the back of her mind for so long, worried about the offer.

Not that they would betray her. Lydia could tell a lot about a person and everything she'd heard and witnessed since she arrived in Amity Park suggested that Sam and her friends would try to help. Danny flew around the city like a half-ghost superhero, after all. If she kept her end of the bargain, which was very easy to accomplish, then they would honestly do everything in their power to help against her aunt. She was sure of it.

What she wasn't sure, however, was what the fallout would be. That cynical part of her worried that Aunt Melinda would realize the truth and might take action. Whether she chose to do something to the Maitlands or Danny, Lydia wouldn't be able to forgive herself.

But the rest of her, the part that wasn't as cynical and was far more hopeful, knew that she couldn't do it alone. She couldn't handle her Aunt Melinda alone. And if there were more people to help, maybe they could come up with an actual plan to use against the woman. If they were careful, it could work.

"I know I just met you, but I have to ask," said Lydia hesitantly. "Does Danny have one of those hero complex things? Where he's got to go charging in to save the day the moment he knows someone is in trouble?"

"Well, he usually tries to be a little more intelligent than that. Especially when fighting ghosts stronger than him," she said, not meeting the other girl's gaze. "But honestly… he can be a little impulsive sometimes. Usually he'll attack head on, getting knocked back, and then try to out-think the problem. But he is getting better at it."

And that ensured Lydia's decision. With someone like Aunt Melinda around, being impulsive wasn't an option. They needed to have a proper plan in place before they told the guy with ghost powers about her. Otherwise they could end up finding out if exorcisms worked on ectoplasm ghosts too.

"Don't tell him about my aunt or what she can do," Lydia said. "You can mention Adam and Barbara, the Netherworld, or anything else, but don't tell him about her yet."

"Why?" asked Sam, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

She spread her arms, pleading, "I don't want him to get hurt. If he charges in blindly or she even suspects something is wrong, Aunt Melinda could strike back. He could get banished or worse. Or she might try to teach me another lesson about how ghosts aren't people and deserve to be destroyed by doing something to the Maitlands. Don't tell him. At least wait to tell him until after we figure out how we're going to handle her. Please?"

There was a brief silence as the other girl seemed to think over her request. Lydia realized only after she spoke that if this was a movie, it was exactly the sort of thing a traitor would ask right before turning on all her friends and leading them into a trap. And anything that she might say to assure Sam of her honest desire to keep everyone safe would only make her sound more suspicious.

"Look, I'm not happy about the idea of keeping secrets from one of my best friends," Sam said slowly. "I mean, we keep secrets from everyone else, but not each other. But he's got a lot to worry about right now anyway… And we will tell him the minute we figure out a way to deal with your evil aunt."

"Of course," she replied quickly. "The moment we have a plan, we can tell him."

"And we're getting Tucker involved with this as soon as possible," she continued.

"Tucker knows about him too?"

Sam nodded, "And so does Danny's sister, Jazz. But my point is that we can keep this from Danny for a little while, but we aren't keeping everyone out of the loop. We won't tell Danny about your aunt, the fact she banished your ghost not-boyfriend, messed with your head so you can't remember his name, and even the fact she hates ghosts. There isn't much he'd be able to do about it at the moment anyway. But the instant that changes, the second we figure out how your aunt can do all of this and how to stop her, we tell him everything." She paused a moment, leaning forward with a stern look on her face, "But if you do anything to hurt my friends or betray my trust, I'm telling them everything and I'll kick you with my combat boots until you're black and blue. Got it?"

"Agreed," Lydia said without hesitation, understanding the impulse to protect those you care about very well. "And thank you."

She gave Lydia a small smile, "You're welcome. We Goth girls have to stick together. Especially when dealing with creepy cheerful relatives and ghostly friends."

Chapter Text

Mirrors and reflective surfaces do not operate in the same manner for the living and the deceased. The deceased will not be able to view their own reflections in the surface, though they can cause the living to see their presence through the use of reflections. This is possible even for the living that will not see the deceased under normal circumstances, providing a useful skill for haunting. To achieve this effect, the mirrored surface must be illuminated only by a single candle, uncolored and unscented for best results. The presence of electric or natural light will not work.

High-power and experienced deceased may use such surfaces to observe events in the realm of the living while present in the Netherworld or other locations. Similarly, certain deceased can use mirrors to communicate and be viewed by the living over greater range without the use of candles or their presence in the room to be reflected. Further instructions on the use of mirrors during a haunting will be discussed in the chapter covering more advanced techniques.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

Almost the instant that he flew back through his bedroom window, giving up the evening's task of finding Lydia as a failure, Danny's cell phone rang. He recognized the number as Sam's, which made him equally worried that she didn't find Lydia and hopeful that she did.

Shifting back to his human form, the teenager answered desperately, "Please tell me you found her."

"Yes, I found Lydia," she said. "I went to her house and we talked. I explained to her about you properly, making sure she understands. She won't tell anyone."

He felt himself relaxing at her words, breathing a sigh of relief. Danny trusted Sam's judgment. If she said Lydia would keep quiet, then the secret was safe.

"Sorry I wasn't more help," he apologized. "Poindexter was at the school. He was actually very helpful. I finally got some answers about what's going on."

"That's great," said Sam, the excitement in her voice clear through the speaker. "What did he tell you?"

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Danny said, "A lot. I'll go over the information in more detail when we see Tucker tomorrow, but he told me about ghosts from a place called the Netherworld and how they aren't made of ectoplasm. He also told me about the ghost that freaked out the Box Ghost. The Ghost With the Most. Apparently he can be summoned using his name, which is why no one wants to tell me what it is. And the 'Mortal Bride' is a woman, not a ghost, who he is supposed to marry to get more power or something." Running a hand through his hair tiredly, he added, "Poindexter even agreed to keep an eye out for him and to listen for any useful rumors."

"That is one freaky coincidence," she remarked. "Lydia mentioned the Netherworld too. And the ghosts there are different from the ones we deal with. Her previous house, the one in Connecticut, was haunted by a dead couple. They weren't from the Ghost Zone. She was really close to them. She knows all about the Netherworld and the kind of ghosts who come from there. That's why she wasn't scared of the attack at the school and how she was able to figure out your secret. And why she got so mad at your parents. Lydia deals with ghosts on a regular basis, just not our type of ghosts. And she agreed to share what she knows about them as well as keep your ghost half a secret."

"That's awesome," he said, smiling slightly. "Things are finally going our way. Between what she knows and what Poindexter told me, we might have enough information to stay on top of the situation and deal with the Ghost With the Most. For the first time, we might actually have all our problems under control before we get attacked."

"Yeah, all of our problems are under control," she said.

Something in her tone made Danny frown. There was something off about her voice. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, though. It was just enough to spark his concern.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, there's nothing wrong. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed. Between the stress caused by Lydia figuring everything out, listening to her rant against your parents, trying to track her down, and learning about the ghost stuff she deals with, it has been a long day. Not to mention making small talk with her aunt."

Hearing the wince in her voice, he asked, "That bad?"

"Worse than you can guess. She seems to adore cute nicknames and couldn't be any more sickeningly sweet if she was coated in pure sugar. I suggest avoiding Lydia's aunt like the plague."

"I'll take your word for it, Sam." Hoping that the encounter with the woman was the explanation for her previous tone, Danny continued, "I'll give Tucker a call to let him know the Lydia situation is under control and share the basics. We can meet up before school to cover the rest."

"Perfect. I'll talk to you then," said Sam.

"Bye."

With that, Danny hung up the phone and let himself fall back the rest of the way on his bed. He'd call Tucker in a minute. He just wanted to stay perfectly still for a moment. He just wanted to relax and enjoy the sensation of having a little control of the situation. Things were going their way for once. They were making progress on the problem. It was just so nice. He didn't want to move.

But a moment later he was forced to sit back up with a groan. He'd just remembered something important. He couldn't rest yet. He had to finish his homework.

He'd found the portal. After scouring the combination of shadows and green glow for an annoyingly long time, he managed to get through the expansive zone and found the famous stable portal. Honestly, it wasn't as impressive as he expected. As far as he could tell, it was simply a swirling vortex surrounded by the usual floating land chunks and assorted doors. There wasn't even a sign or an arrow pointing towards the thing.

He knew it led to the home of a couple of ghost hunters, but the poltergeist knew he could handle it. What in the world they were doing with a portal in their home, he didn't have a clue. The living could be idiots sometimes. If they didn't want the Ghost With the Most showing up and sending them running for the hills in terror, then they shouldn't live on top of a portal.

A smirk crept across his face at the same moment a centipede did. After several centuries of their annoying rules and limitations trying to stop him, he finally found the perfect loophole for his worst restriction. No summoning. No need to say the name three times. All he had to do was step through. It was so simple. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy that fact while crunching the unfortunate centipede between his teeth.

"One small step for poltergeists," he remarked. "One giant leap for the Ghost With the Most."

Head held high and with all the confidence that someone with his levels of power deserved, he stepped through the portal. One second he was in the ectoplasm-filled zone and the next he was in a dimly-lit, weird-junk-filled basement. He grinned victoriously as he glanced around the room, the only source of light being the green glow from the portal.

But that brief moment of success crumbled as a rarely experienced, yet still very identifiable, sensation hit him with all the force of a speeding sandworm. It sent him stumbling and biting back a colorful and loud outburst that would have definitely brought the resident ghost hunters running. Pain. Sharp, intense pain. Just because ghosts in general and powerful poltergeist specifically were difficult to actually hurt didn't mean they were invulnerable. And he was definitely having problems. It felt like he was being ripped apart, dissolving, and crumbling to pieces at the same time. His entire body was losing integrity, breaking down into nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he focused all his power on the task of keeping his body in one piece. It wasn't much different in theory than twisting himself into a snake or turning his arms into huge hammers, but it was taking far more power than normal. It also didn't stop hurting. While he didn't know for sure what was causing it, he had a pretty good guess. He could keep himself from falling apart for a while, but it took far too much energy and focus to keep it up for long. There was no way he could maintain it long enough to track down his girl.

Muttering and snarling under his non-required breath, the poltergeist reluctantly stumbled his way back through the portal. The instant he crossed back over, the sharp and destructive pain faded to a dull ache. That confirmed his suspicions and only worsened his mood.

His loophole wasn't quite a loophole after all. Rule 1 was still Rule 1. No matter what he tried to do, he couldn't get out without someone saying his name. He just couldn't get around that simple fact. Even going through a portal obviously wasn't going to work. It would just lead to him getting gradually destroyed in the attempt.

He found a floating chunk of land a short distance away. The poltergeist claimed a perch on it and ended up slumping limply. He may have been dead for centuries, but there were still a few fragmented memories of life flapping around the dark corners of his mind like demented bats. The exhaustion and ache that extended down to his semi-insubstantial bones vaguely reminded him of what would happen after extreme amounts of overworking past his body's limits. Trying to cheat on his main limitation clearly had unpleasant consequences. Consequences that he really didn't want to repeat.

He couldn't use the portal to get out. He couldn't get to her. And she couldn't call him. For the moment, there was nothing he could do about it.

As frustrated and furious as he felt by the discovery, the poltergeist forced himself to think rationally. He needed to be patient. He was over six hundred years old; waiting a few days to find another method out wasn't too bad. He could keep an eye out for some brainless loser he could trick, study the best ways to handle them, and find a method to get them to say the magic word. Or he could find a gathering of superstitious astronomers and manipulate them into figuring out his name. It wasn't the end of the world. Given a little time, he'd come up with Plan B. He was the Ghost With the Most, after all.

"I heard there was a ghost of unique skill and power traveling through the Ghost Zone," a voice remarked from behind him. "Even if at least half the stories are certainly exaggerated, you could be rather entertaining to hunt."

Turning this head around far enough for the sounds of cracking neck bones to be audible and to cause most people to start cringing (watching "The Exorcist" so many times had some benefits and presentation was always important), he spotted the source of the interruption. As he expected, it was one of the ectoplasm-based ghosts. Tall, metallic, and covered in spikes and the color black, the ghost looked reasonably tough. His face was skull-like and his hair seemed to consist of green flames. The ghost also seemed to be aiming some type of built-in blaster at the poltergeist.

It was exactly the sort of distraction from the disappointing night that he needed. Besides, the slightly-reflective metal gave him an idea.

The poltergeist turned the rest of the way around, taking care to ensure that his body twisted the opposite direction so that his head completed the 360 degree turn to make a point. He climbed to his feet as a malicious grin spread across his face. Even if his unpleasant trip through the portal left him in less than perfect condition, he was still capable of handling the ghost. Besides, he couldn't let anyone spot any sort of weakness. He had a reputation to maintain.

"I don't believe I caught your name," remarked the poltergeist with all the friendliness of a hungry shark. "There's no reason to ignore good manners."

The ghost seemed to blanch momentarily, but quickly recovered from the reaction with a step forward. The metallic figure even struck a confident pose while aiming the built-in arm weapon.

"I am Skulker, the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter," he boomed.

The poltergeist couldn't help chuckling at the boast. He was certainly not above a little bragging. It tended to help seal a deal. But he could also back up his claims. Something about the ectoplasm ghost suggested he couldn't quite match his belief in his hunting prowess.

"Good for you, tin man. But here's the thing. I've had a rather disappointing night and the last several days have been even worse," he said in a condescending tone. "Now the way I see it, you have two options. You could actually believe those rumors of who exactly you're dealing with and leave without any trouble. Though you will have to give me a chunk of that shiny, reflective arsenal you're carrying because I need it. Or you can continue your little macho trip and I'll have to turn up the juice and see just what shakes loose. And I'll still get that reflective chunk of metal I need, but I'll get to deal with some of my anger issues first in a healthy and constructive way. So, you can probably guess which route I'm hoping for." He cracked his knuckles. "What's it going to be, Mr. Hunter?"

There was some hesitation. Apparently the sales pitch made it through the ego and confidence enough to make Skulker think. But it wasn't enough to convince him, though. The ghost's expression shifted into one of pure determination.

"If I do not surrender to the challenge of facing the Whelp, then I will not back down to someone who probably does not come close to what the rumors claim," announced Skulker. "Your head will look nice mounted on the wall."

Not knowing or caring who in the world or Ghost Zone the "Whelp" might be, the poltergeist grinned predatorily at the ghost. He'd been hoping the metal specter would pick the hard way. Even with the aftermath of his attempted trip through the portal, he couldn't resist the temptation. It was far more fun and a great stress relief method.

"I will admit," he said slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets, "not all those rumors are true. But enough of them are." He gave the ghost's weapon a sharp look. "It seems you have a bit of pest problem."

With the smallest flicker of power, he watched the other ghost's weapon erupt with insects. Beetles, centipedes, and other creepy-crawlies flooded out of the barrel and down the length. By that point, Skulker was flailing wildly at the infestation in surprise and disgust. The poltergeist merely smirked as he decided to move past the parlor games.

Of all the things that someone might expect to encounter in the Ghost Zone, regardless of how unusual and strange a place it might be, a terrified Skulker racing away certainly caused some notice. Pieces of metal were missing from his armor, his right arm was missing, and the most frightened expression possible was plastered across his face. Whatever he was fleeing from must be truly horrifying.

"I really need to find somewhere to hide for a while," muttered the Box Ghost, watching the hunter ghost.

Brushing off his striped sleeves, he felt the familiar satisfaction of a job well done. Whenever he chose to do something and really wanted it, he made sure it was done right. It didn't matter if that meant being the best free-lance bio-exorcist and haunting whoever he was hired to or simply sending the pathetic "Ghost Zone's greatest hunter" running. He took pride in proving he could do anything he wanted. Finding the motivation to work hard on a project sometimes wasn't worth the effort, but it could still be fun. And lately he'd been finding plenty to motivate him.

The satisfaction was slightly diminished as the poltergeist rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly. The ache and tiredness from his trip through the portal weren't completely gone, but he could ignore it. Honestly, the entire thing was annoying. He was out for less than minute. The fact he caused that much damage to himself in such a short span of time was not fair. It was just yet another reason why he hated rules. Trying to break his biggest limitation nearly tore him apart. Granted, he wasn't exactly sure what would have happened if it continued. He could have ended up in the Lost Souls Room, oblivion, whatever awaited those who moved on, or even freaking Wisconsin for all he knew, but he doubted it would be pleasant whatever the result. The portal was essentially useless to him.

But at least he had the start of Plan B. Or at least the start of a method to learn more about what was happening on the other side. So, the start of a start of Plan B.

The poltergeist looked over the chunks of metal he'd managed to snag off the ghost hunter. After a little searching, he found a piece that was particularly shiny and reflective. Even if it was only about the size of a postcard, it would serve his purpose nicely.

There weren't many reflective surfaces in the Netherworld. For the most part, there wasn't any point. The inhabitants didn't have reflections. They didn't just have much use for mirrors.

At least, not the traditional use for mirrors. With enough power and control, they could serve as a connection to the other side. Not a door. More like a window. It wasn't exactly an easy or common trick. But it could certainly be useful for studying chumps for future schemes, talking to her when he was in the Netherworld, and general reconnaissance.

There were limitations, however. In order to find someone or something through the mirrors, it was necessary to know what you were looking for. Random spying didn't work. Familiarity with the target was an essential component for the process, providing a direction to aim for. Another important aspect was that the target needed to be in view of another reflective surface. That was problematic back in the days when mirrors were rare and expensive and metal usually wasn't as shiny, but now a reflective surface could almost always be found.

Of course, that annoying, evil, clever woman made sure he couldn't see her through the mirrors and vice versa. The evil witch didn't want to risk him reaching the girl, reminding her of the right words to say. That woman wanted to keep him at bay. But if there was one thing the poltergeist knew how to do, it was exploit a loophole.

He focused his power on the reflective piece of metal, his mental image of her providing the direction for his search. The poltergeist knew it wouldn't work right; he could feel the resistance from that woman's binding. He knew that no matter what he tried to do, she wouldn't appear. No matter how much control or finesse he might have, it was doomed to failure. But with a little brute force…

An image began to form, wavering and weak. He stared and focused harder, pouring more power into it. It was a bedroom, the space dark and filled with cardboard boxes shoved against the door. From the angle, there was a mirror attached to a dresser and that was where he was spying from. There was a rumpled blanket and partially-squashed pillow on the bed, but he couldn't see anyone in the room.

That didn't, however, mean it was empty. The woman made it so he couldn't see the girl through the mirrors, but that didn't mean he could see everything around her. She was in the room, probably sleeping in the bed. She was simply invisible from his perspective. But that was all right. Even if he couldn't actually see her directly, he could keep an eye on her. It was better than nothing.

"Don't worry, Babes," he muttered. "I'll figure out another way to get to you. That ugly broad won't win."

He let the image fade away. He could check up on her again in a few hours when she woke up and started going places. He would get the chance to see more of her surroundings, get the lay of the land, catch glimpses of other people who might be gullible enough to use, and other useful info.

Until then, he could rest and recover his strength. Stupid portal. Stupid rules.

And he could imagine potential ways to torment that vile woman who interfered with him and his girl. Because that heartless witch wasn't going to get away with it. Not a chance. Just because his girl was related to that woman didn't mean he would pull any punches.

Chapter Text

Caution should be used when dealing with certain members of the living. Increasingly rare, but still possible, some of the living possess the knowledge or tools to affect the deceased. These effects can include, but are not limited to: summoning, binding of power, compulsion, or exorcism. Some of these can be achieved with the correct knowledge of words or phrases while others require the use of physical objects to enhance the effect.

Even rarer are manufactured or otherwise crafted objects able to directly and strongly affect the deceased. Any knowledge of such an object's location should be reported immediately to a caseworker.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

Sanduleak stared as his fellow poltergeist with a certain amount of interest. He knew that the ghost in front of him supposed to be very powerful and skilled. There was even talk about recruiting him to work with the caseworkers, though the discussions never agreed whether they wanted him for his power or they hoped it would let them control him. For now, the powerful and chaotic poltergeist did whatever he wanted. And the recent interest in séances was giving him plenty of opportunities to manipulate the living into saying his name. But Sanduleak currently wanted to try something particularly enjoyable and had an idea of how best to use his powers to make it work.

"You want my help haunting them?" the poltergeist asked suspiciously. "I know you are new at this, but are you that unskilled at the task?"

Sanduleak, keeping an eye on the horizon, explained easily, "There are too many to handle alone. And we all know of your abilities. If I am to ask someone to stand by side as a partner in this haunting, it makes sense to choose a fellow poltergeist who knows how to handle himself."

He shrugged, "I suppose I can help. It might be enjoyable. What do you have in mind?"

"The strong and brave men of the household have learned to fear the fall of night since I arrived, a few choosing to arms themselves to guard against what they are beginning to suspect lurks in the shadows," said Sanduleak, feeling mildly dramatic. "I am certain you can teach them the true meaning of fear. They will be gathered downstairs to keep watch. While you handle the men, I shall herd their women and servants together. The two of us should be enough for everyone."

"So you give me the more challenging task?" he asked with a smirk. "Very well. But if you should find one of those women who might be willing to marry someone dead, let me know. I am not expecting Queen Victoria or anything like that, but I would appreciate it."

Sanduleak laughed slightly as the sun slipped below the horizon. Then he and his companion stepped out of the shadows and entered the rest of the manor. He was actually pretty happy about finding this particular household to torment, so far away from the foggy streets of London and isolated. The family had just returned from their home there for the season and was confident that their wealth and position in society would keep them safe from any form of danger. But then strange noises, shadows, glimpses out of the corner of the eye, chills running down their spines, and the feeling of someone always watching began to prey on their minds. He rather liked watching their fear grow over time, become paranoid and starting to leave their oil lamps lit more often. But now it was time to move on to far more familiar activities.

True, there were certainly plenty of differences. The location was far from his hunting grounds during life, the women were of far better reputation than he usually chose, and he wasn't even sure if there would be the wide-spread speculation and fear as a result afterwards, but he could at least enjoy the fun parts.

He heard shouts, crashes, and breaking glass from downstairs, giving clear evidence to the other poltergeist's efforts. Sanduleak ignored him as he moved to arrange his own entertainment. It didn't take long, though. His appearance in their home made herding them especially easy. A strange man with a knife in his chest who seemed intent on something awful tended to make scared women run.

By the time he was ready to get started, the mother, the two older daughters, and three of the servant girls were locked in one of the larger bedrooms with absolutely no escape. All of them were completely frightened and helpless. And no one would be able to interrupt.

That was perhaps the best part. Usually he was forced to choose between his two preferred methods of fun, never having time for both. Sometimes he didn't even get to finish one of them. He remembered how he barely got to start with Long Liz before he was forced to run off. But now that he was dead, he could play all night long.

Trapping the others in the corner, bound tightly enough not to interfere while ensuring they would have a nice view at what their future would be, he selected one of the pretty daughters and dragged her to the bed. He preferred his victims a little older, but he intended to work his way up. The screams and cries from the women were certainly terrified, but the desperation and horror as they realized what he intended added a different sound to their shrieks than what a mere haunting would produce. Sanduleak considered himself a bit of an expert when it came to fear, pain, and despair.

Pulling out the knife from his chest, he pressed it against his first victim's throat and her struggles ceased. The living feared death enough to do anything to avoid it. Even as she shook and tears continued to fall, she didn't move because she feared his knife more. The others screamed, but her terror was too great now. She just stayed there in her nightgown, unable to do anything as he pinned her in place with his dead body. Perhaps she was hoping her cooperation would keep her alive.

The amusing part was that it wouldn't change anything. Sanduleak fully intended to slash her throat twice, stab and slice her body, and tear out her organs when he was ready. Usually he'd already have started that part, but there was no hurry this time. Unlike the past, killing her was only half the fun. He had all night with her, the other screaming women, and his knife. No one could stop him from doing anything he wanted to all of them.

So absorbed in her lovely terror and the wonderful ideas of what he was just about to do, Sanduleak didn't notice the slight change in the screams until a rather firm hand pulled him and his knife away from his victim. With more strength than he expected, he found himself ripped off the woman and the bed before being abruptly pinned against the wall. It didn't hurt, but it certainly interrupted the mood. Sanduleak found himself looking directly at his fellow poltergeist, a strange and unreadable expression on his face.

"Now, I am the last ghost to say you should not appreciate a nice-looking woman," he said in a casual tone that seemed at odds with the tight grip on Sanduleak's wrist. "A little peek and even an overly-familiar touch, I understand. A fellow can grow lonely and temptation is hard to ignore. But when she must be forced by a sharp blade to lay with you, it might mean you are not as charming as you believe. Why not find someone who is a little more willing to enjoy your company without the threat? I can recommend a few lovely choices."

"Common streetwalkers can grow dull over time. I spent a lot of coin on them when I was alive and was in the mood to pay. Whitechapel is filled with them. I wanted to try something new," he answered, glancing briefly at where his intended victim had jumped off the bed and was huddled back in the corner. "If you want one to marry still, you can have one of them. The others should be enough for me to have fun with. I am not that greedy."

"I would have to disagree on that. You are also not that impressive as a poltergeist and you did not tell me the truth when you asked me here. I did not agree to help you with this. This is a waste of my talents and my time."

Sanduleak scoffed, "You simply do not appreciate my skills. You think that what you did to scare the men downstairs was effective? That was second-rate compared to what I did in life. Just wait to see the terror of the women after I am finished with her. Once I slice open her throat and cut her to pieces, they will scream all the louder once I move on to them."

The other poltergeist released his grip on Sanduleak, but the wallpaper sprang around him and bound him tight. He watched as the older ghost perched himself on the edge of the bed and stared at him with an unreadable expression.

"Do you truly think that murdering the entire household's women is the most effective way to haunt the living? Attracting too much attention can be dangerous. Not to mention they can return as ghosts and want revenge for your actions."

"Do you think I fear them? I am already dead. I am invincible," said Sanduleak. "I can do anything I wish. They say you are a powerful poltergeist, one that no one can control or predict. I am beginning to think they exaggerate. You do not seem like the kind of ghost they describe. You are too timid to be truly great. Already those who live here fear me more than they do you. If I had your power, I would return to Whitechapel and finish what my death interrupted. If they could not catch me in life, why should I worry in death?"

The poltergeist's expression changed. It was no longer unreadable. Sanduleak could definitely tell he was angry. Perhaps taunting the older ghost with the knowledge he was upstaging him was not the wisest. Something warned Sanduleak that he should get rid of him quickly.

"Be—"

"No," he snapped.

The wallpaper abruptly covered Sanduleak's mouth, silencing him. The older and more powerful poltergeist crossed his arms and glared. Then after a moment, a flicker of recognition appeared in his agitated features.

"I assume that you were the one that was causing all that trouble about a decade ago. I suppose you believe that it made you powerful to sneak attack and slice them apart, right? I might be more impressed if they did not use that as part of the justice system in my day. You merely chose to disembowel helpless women instead of men accused of treason. In life or in death, it is not that extraordinary." His voice filled with bored disdain, he continued, "Honestly, trying to scare the living with the exact same methods you used when you were alive is the work of an amateur. And provoking someone more powerful than you is the work of a fool. Perhaps you need a practical lesson in why you should not do anything like this ever again."

The wallpaper moved again, wrapping completely around Sanduleak's face and body. It left him blinded and feeling like he was wearing a strange burial shroud. He felt himself moving and he heard the whimpering from the women fading, but Sanduleak didn't know what was happening. He reached out with his power, trying to do anything about the situation, but he lacked the experience and flexibility to combat the other poltergeist's actions. He was left frustrated and unable to escape.

Finally he came to a stop somewhere. Sanduleak could hear the other ghost whistle in surprise, but couldn't detect anything else.

"Near the edge of the property, half covered by the collapsing rocks, and completely dried up. This should do nicely. No one should bother you for a while," commented the older poltergeist. "I suggest you get comfortable and think carefully about your future decisions when it comes to haunting the living and calling someone like me 'second-rate.' You will have plenty of time to do so since you will not be getting free for quite some time. Especially with your particular issues. Have you been keeping up with the times? That Bram Stoker fellow just wrote a rather hilarious story that sort of reminds me of you."

Sanduleak heard the other poltergeist chuckle slightly and then he was falling. He was falling and he could feel a lot of power being used. Then he landed with an unpleasant crunch that would have hurt a lot if he was still alive. The only good thing was that the wallpaper bindings were finally loosening enough for him to rip his way out with his knife.

"You are not getting out of there without someone's help," the other poltergeist continued, his voice having a slight echo now. "I made sure of that. And thanks to your behavior towards the women of their household, I highly doubt you shall be able to convince any of the living around here to let you out. They might be gullible sometimes, but they are at least intelligent enough to avoid you for a couple of generations. Perhaps more if I scared the others enough before I had to stop to deal with your mess."

Getting his head free, Sanduleak took a look around his new surroundings. The darkness and small space took a moment for him to recognize, but looking up the stone walls towards the narrow opening at the top made him realize that he was at the bottom of a deep well. The other poltergeist was staring down at him from above, a merciless look on his face.

"You will not be getting out of there for a long time, so it is best to get used to your new home. Because unlike you, I am a professional and I know how to do things the right way. When I haunt someone, they are haunted properly. And when I trap a rude amateur at the bottom of a well, he stays trapped in that well. Have fun. Maybe you can learn something from all of this."

The stones at the top of the well shifted, blocking out even that tiny glimpse of the sky and his betrayer. There was power, a lot of power, in every inch of the well and the sealed opening. He could feel it. Nothing could get out.

"I certainly have," snarled Sanduleak before banishing the other poltergeist by yelling the cursed name thrice.

He'd get out someday. He was dead. Time was on his side. And when he did, he would make the older poltergeist suffer. Sanduleak would find a way.

Melinda never expected to be contacted to take guardianship of her niece. It just never occurred to her. Cathy was long dead and she barely knew about Lydia's existence. She never expected to meet the girl, but she intended to be the best guardian possible. She and her husband would make sure Lydia was protected and raised correctly. She would do anything and everything possible. And it would all be the girl's own good.

The first hint that Lydia was being led down a dangerous path was when the woman arrived in Winter River. The heart-broken girl wasn't alone in the house. Melinda pretended not to see them just as most humans wouldn't be able to, biding her time to study them. Two ghosts haunted the house. Two weak and dull ghosts with very limited range. And the darling, naïve child acted like they were real people. Even if they weren't as powerful or aggressive as some, they weren't harmless. She didn't see that their comfort and words were a mockery of true emotion. They were dangerous things.

Cathy died when Lydia was young. She never taught the child about her family and their heritage. The girl never learned all she needed to. She wasn't warned about ghosts until it was too late.

Melinda, wondering how much damage she would have to repair in order to prepare Lydia for what was to come, took steps to study the situation. She sought out the grieving child's secrets while assisting with her packing. In her search, the woman learned of a far more horrifying threat to the girl. Written in her diary, Lydia described a near marriage to a vile creature who sought the freedom to cause true havoc to the world. When the ghost failed the first time, it returned and tried to beguile her with a pathetic farce. It tricked and lied, acting as if they possessed a shred of humanity. Melinda could see the girl falling under its spell, writing about a "friendship" with the dangerous poltergeist.

It was clever. It did everything possible to win the poor, unsuspecting, innocent child's trust. Spending time with her, showing off its powers, and even somehow taking her to the Netherworld... Lydia didn't realize how truly dangerous it was. In fact, Melinda didn't realize what she was facing either until she read enough of the diary and compared it to her family's records.

A powerful poltergeist who could manipulate reality around it to an extent, sought a living bride, and required its name to be spoken three times. There couldn't be more than one such ghost.

The diary told her everything she needed to know. It told Melinda the name to use, the existence of "The Living and the Dead" and of all the knowledge it contained, and where to find the ring that it gave the child. Combined with her portion of her family's inheritance, Melinda knew exactly how to deal with the poltergeist.

She waited until the day before the move. It would be easier that way, giving Lydia the least amount of time to become distressed before starting her new life. The poor darling already suffered enough. She should at least be separated from all the corruptive ghosts in one smooth transition.

The preparations were easy enough to arrange. Roger was competent, obedient, and efficient. If she told him to get everything ready, he would ensure it was perfect. Even when she told him where she wanted him to set it up, he didn't argue or question her decision. That was one of the main reasons she married the man in the first place.

It was near sunset when the car reached the cemetery. The funeral was a few days before and a proper gravestone for the married couple was finished. Cathy, who wished to be cremated and her ashes long since spread to the wind, was at least mentioned on Charles's side of the marker. Melinda's suggestion to leave flowers on the grave before leaving the town in the morning was thankfully accepted without suspicion and Lydia offered no resistance as they stepped out of the vehicle to approach the rest of the way on foot.

They must have made an interesting pair should anyone have been around to witness them. One in complete black, both for mourning and from personal preference. The other in white, a reminder that she must remain pure and uncorrupted in her understanding of the truth. A reminder that she couldn't waver and forget they aren't real people like her parents. Or how Freddy saw them as harmless tools and minions. She and Lydia looked like polar opposites, light and darkness. But they weren't so different. The child was merely misinformed and misguided. She would understand soon enough.

"I doubt Dad would care what flowers ended up on his grave, even if he was around to actually notice them," muttered Lydia. "Delia, on the other hand, would start rolling in her grave if any flower arrangements aren't perfect. They'd probably have to be color-coordinated with her gravestone in order to get her approval."

"Don't worry, darling," Melinda assured, shifting her bundle slightly in her arms. "White goes with everything. These flowers should do nicely."

"I don't see why we waited so late in the evening," she said, frowning slightly. "I mean I don't have a problem wandering around a graveyard in the dark, but most people don't like it."

Leading the girl around a large and rather dead-looking tree, the woman said, "We didn't want anyone to foolishly try to interfere with what needs to happen."

Melinda watched Lydia gain a mildly confused expression at her words, but there was only a moment before the girl caught sight of the preparations and the look intensified. The woman could understand her niece's befuddlement at the scene. It looked like something out of a supernatural horror movie right before everyone began to die horribly from a monster.

Three circles were formed on the ground out of freshly-dug graveyard dirt mixed with salt and oak wood shavings; the figures arranged as an equilateral triangle with a large red candle in the center. White candles lined the area, encircling the entire proceedings and illuminating the space as the sun began to set. There were certainly less complex methods with simpler or fewer necessary materials, but Melinda wanted the most effective ones possible when facing the powerful poltergeist.

"What's going on?" Lydia asked in a tight, stunned voice.

"You've been playing with dangerous forces and you don't even realize it," said Melinda calmly as Roger stepped out of his hiding spot near the tree and grabbed the child.

The woman ignored the startled scream, the shouts of frustration, and the wild thrashing from her niece as she set her bag down on the ground. Melinda tossed away the plastic flowers to pull out her more important materials. She handed her husband the short pieces of rope and the gag, which he obediently started tying on the struggling girl.

"I know you don't understand what you're dealing with, darling," the woman continued as she pulled out the diary, the book with the required information, and the ring from the horrible near-wedding. "No one was there to teach you properly. You were left vulnerable to the manipulations of treacherous creatures. You have fallen into the common misconception of thinking ghosts such as the two in your attic are actual people."

Melinda noticed that the girl stopped moving, a look of shock and a hint of fear staring past the gag. Not that Lydia could move much now that ankles were bound together and her hands were tied behind her back. Roger was very effective at whatever task she asked of him. As Lydia stared at the woman in confused surprise, he carefully dragged their niece towards one of the circles.

"Those things are dangerous, untrustworthy, unnatural creatures that don't belong among the living," said Melinda, taking her place in a second empty circle. "The world is far better off with them gone. The only good thing about the pair in the house is that they are trapped and can be dealt with at our convenience. Until then, you'll be safe in another state. But they are not the only ghosts haunting you. The poltergeist is far more dangerous and can't be ignored, darling. It might follow you."

Lydia's brow furrowed as Roger carried the girl into the circle and held her in place, an arm wrapped around her body while pinning her against his chest. Another child might not understand what her aunt meant, but Melinda could see a glimmer of comprehension and dread in her gaze. She didn't know for certain, but she clearly suspected and feared the woman's intentions. It didn't matter. Someday Lydia would understand her aunt was doing this for her own good.

Simply summoning the poltergeist was easier than summoning most ghosts. Unfortunately, the straight forward method of speaking its name three times would bring it and give it free rein. They needed to do more than summon it; they needed to contain it and keep it from using its powers against them. That was why they were using the more elaborate method that gave far more control over what was summoned.

To have any chance at making it work, Melinda knew she needed three components. She needed the circle meant to contain its arrival and powers, crafted by a mixture of protective materials to ensure they could hold the poltergeist completely. She needed the right words, provided by "The Living and the Dead" while the diary provided the necessary name. She took a moment to double-check, wanting to ensure she didn't forget the name at a key moment. And she needed a physical object of significant or symbolic meaning to the ghost, preferably something from their life or an important event, which was fulfilled by the ring it used when trying to marry Lydia.

There was, however, a fourth component that she'd brought. While Freddy, as the male heir to the family, inherited most of the more interesting artifacts, Melinda did have a few to work with. Reaching into her bag, the woman pulled out her necklace and put it on. The green gem, passed down for generations, wouldn't automatically enthrall all ghosts she might encounter. It wasn't that powerful. But any influence that she might have on a specific ghost, the gem would strengthen it. If she could summon, bind, banish, or exorcise a ghost, the power of the gem would simply make it easier or more effective. When facing an especially powerful poltergeist, Melinda wanted all the precautions and advantages possible.

With the ring in her left hand, the handbook in her right, and the green gem around her neck, the woman took a final glance around the area. All the candles were lit. The circles were intact. Roger was holding onto Lydia tightly. Everything was ready.

While mildly surprised by how short and simple the summoning incantation was, Melinda began to recite faithfully, "Even though I should be wary…"

Startled croaks from a flock of crows taking flight into the night erupted briefly somewhere above. The animals knew what was coming, even if there was nothing to see yet. They could sense the potential starting to build.

"Still I conjure something scary…"

The candles flickered for a moment before the flames strengthened and intensified into a constant glow. The fires burned bright, illuminating the surroundings with an orange light. The stars above were barely visible, clouds rolling in.

"Ghostly hauntings I turn loose…"

Melinda could feel the power she was commanding, the green gem around her neck humming pleasantly against her skin. The potential was present, waiting for the final command of who to summon. Anyone could command such power if they knew the right words and had the will power to match it. The only thing missing now was the name of the ghost being called forth. And, thanks to Lydia's diary, she could say it.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."

The third circle, previous empty and untouched, was abruptly occupied. She'd expected something flashy, like a bolt of lightning, something crawling out of the ground, a puff of smoke, or even just a bright light. But it was far more straightforward and simple than that. One moment the space was empty and the next… there was a poltergeist.

It— no, he. Melinda mentally corrected herself. The creature tried to marry the young girl. The ghost would have undoubtedly stolen the child's innocence once he claimed the title of her husband, uncaring how cruel it would be. He was certainly male-shaped. So it was a he, not an it. That didn't make him a person, however.

He looked like a corpse dressed in a black-and-white striped suit. He was a vile creature that Melinda was revolted to be near. The ghost stood in the middle of the circle, staring at a small black book in his hand and not paying attention to those around him. If she didn't know how dangerous he was already, it would be easy to underestimate him.

"Sorry, but I'm busy with personal business and don't have time for a haunting at the moment," he remarked in a severely distracted manner. "Maybe I can book you an appointment for about three months from now, but you're out of luck if you need something sooner."

Lydia's muffled voice trying to call out in warning resulted in the poltergeist's head snapping up and actually taking notice of the situation. His gaze shifted swiftly between the circles on the ground, the ring in the woman's grip, and finally landing on the girl. His expression darkened significantly as he looked at Lydia, his focus lingering on the gag, the ropes, and Roger's firm grip on her. The ghost slipped the book into his pocket, his body language practically shrieking that he was about to attack someone.

"Nod or shake your head, Lyds. Did they hurt you?" he asked in a low, gravelly, rough, dangerous voice.

As the girl managed a slight shake, Melinda said, "Unlike the ghosts that plague this world, I would never let my niece come to harm. I just want what is best for her."

"Then maybe, I don't know, untie her!" he snarled. "Before I show you why I'm the Ghost With The Most."

Ignoring his bluster, the woman turned briefly towards the tied-up child. She intended to properly educate Lydia anyway. She might as well turn this info into a learning experience.

"I wish it was possible to do this without first summoning the poltergeist, darling," she said. "He is even more disgusting than I feared."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, you ugly old broad," he shouted.

"But it is necessary for him to be in our world," continued Melinda. "It won't work if he's in the Netherworld."

The ghost frowned briefly in confusion at her words, but the woman could tell the moment he realized what she had in mind. If the abrupt outburst of colorful curses and creative threats didn't announce that fact, the increased humming from her necklace as he fought against the power trapping him. He knew what was coming, but the circles, her willpower, and the gem were meant to prevent escape and they were holding so far.

"Hands vermillion," Melinda recited firmly, "start of five."

The humming from the gem intensified, the poltergeist fighting harder to escape. He even tried to physically slip out of the circle, his hands slamming against the air in front of him as if he was striking a glass wall. She could see the fury in his eyes, but there was also a hint of fear. It was rather satisfying to witness.

"Bright cotillion," continued the woman, "raven's dive."

Slightly more distracting was Lydia's reaction. The way her muffled shrieks and struggles intensified once again, demonstrating that the girl recognized an exorcism when she heard it.

"Nightshade's promise, spirit's strive"

The poltergeist's shouts were dying away, though not due to his choice. His mouth continued to move, but the sounds were fading towards silence. The anger remained, but the fear and desperation was growing. He also no longer seemed to be standing on the ground firmly on the ground.

"To the living," stated Melinda, "let now the dead… come alive."

Lydia, on the other hand, was growing louder. She fought against Roger's grip, trying to slam her head against his face hard enough to make him let go. The gag kept her from saying anything, but the frantic noises were clearly meant to be the ghost's name. She wanted to free him in time.

"As sudden thunder," said Melinda solemnly, "pierces the night."

The girl finally managed to hit Roger hard enough to break free of his grip, causing her to fall to the ground. There was obviously no way she would be able to move farther while tied up, but she was still trying. She was screaming past the gag desperately, terrified and in tears as the ghost's struggles slowed.

"As magic wonder," Melinda said, "mad affright."

He was withering away, drying up out like a mummy. His previously focused and angry gaze was growing dull and blank. The humming of her necklace was growing quieter as he lost the strength to fight against what was happening, but he was still trying for the moment. He was stubborn, but it wouldn't be long. Soon the ghost would be gone and the world would be a better place.

"Rives asunder," she continued, "man's delight."

The trapped poltergeist managed to give her a sharp glare, one that suggested he would strangle her the minute he was free. Not that there was a chance he would survive to try it. He also somehow turned his head towards the horrified and sobbing girl and gave Lydia what looked like a reassuring smirk. It was certainly a testament of the ghost's strength, but it only seemed to upset the girl more rather than calm her.

"Our ghost, our corpse, we rise to be."

The woman prepared to say the last third of the long exorcism, but felt herself hesitate momentarily. She knew that the gem was strong enough to help exorcise one poltergeist, but she intended to someday use it for something much bigger. She wasn't sure if the gem was strong enough for what she wanted later on. While she had a powerful ghost ensnared and unable to escape, it might be wise to test the limits a little.

Exorcisms, while longer than some processes, were relatively simple and straightforward. An idiot could perform one to a haunted house on accident if they knew the words. Even the strongest and most stubborn ghosts could fall with just a little human willpower and planning. Binding ghosts was harder. It took more power and stronger intent. Binding the poltergeist would be a better demonstration of the gem's capabilities.

Besides, Lydia had already suffered a difficult few days due to her parents' deaths. And though the ghost didn't deserve her sympathy, it was clearly causing the child distress. Even as Roger pulled her to her feet once more, Lydia was sobbing as the ghost faded in strength before her eyes. He didn't even bother looking up or trying to move at that point. Until she learned and accepted the truth, the child would be heart-broken by the necessary destruction. Perhaps she shouldn't watch this quite yet. After all, the poltergeist did so much to sneakily gain the child's affection, such as the trip listed in her diary…

He took her to the Netherworld. The knowledge sparked an idea, a way to truly test the gem's potential while ensuring the poltergeist would never intrude in her life again. Between the near marriage to the dead creature, with the wedding ring already in Melinda's hand, and her brief time in the one place that the living never set foot, there might be enough influence to affect her and make Lydia safe. She might not like it, but it would be for the girl's own good. It was worth a try.

"I have a better idea," said Melinda, interrupting the exorcism by breaking away from the proper words in time.

The floating poltergeist collapsed on the ground roughly, still contained by the circle. Lydia slumped in Roger's arms, her desperate tears shifting to those of relief. It took a moment for the ghost to recover his strength enough to start moving, muttering curses, and saying something about knowing how the Maitlands felt, but Melinda was already flipping through the book for the proper section.

"Did you know, Lydia darling, that you can bind a ghost, their powers, their actions, or other attributes?" the woman remarked. "You would need a physical object to make it work just as you would need one to summon them or exorcise them. The ring that he gave you, one meant to bind you as husband and wife, serves that role quite effectively."

"You think you can pull it off, you witch?" the ghost growled, stumbling to his feet. 'That's a tougher trick to pull off. And I'm getting my second wind."

He was right. The green gem around her neck was starting to hum again as the poltergeist diverted his returning power towards breaking free. Melinda took that as her signal to proceed.

Binding a ghost, unlike summons and exorcisms, involved more flexible incantations since such methods were intended for more individual purposes. But they all began the same way.

Focusing her attention on the ring in her hand, the woman said, "Grave's silence and dawn's light, mortal will and the living's might, memory echoes from distant past, the dead's chains shall firmly last, with knowledge that is fresh and raw, what is spoken shall now be…law."

The necklace hummed and vibrated, the woman's willpower fighting against the ghost's determination not to be bound. Melinda could tell it was working, though. His frustration as he tried to remain standing was proof of that.

"The poltergeist, Betelgeuse, shall not see Lydia Deetz in a mirror nor in water nor in a reflection of any kind," she said, her words forging metaphorical chains that linked him to the ring. "He shall not be seen nor heard through the reflection by the living."

"You're really getting on my last nerve," he said through gritted teeth, looking less dried out even as he sought to force his power against her gem-enhanced commands. "You can't stop me."

Her focus remained on the ring, but Melinda looked briefly towards her niece. This was the difficult part. She wasn't sure it would work very well, but it was important. She needed this to work to ensure the girl didn't do anything foolish like try to bring him back or free him. The woman needed to do this. It was the key to keeping them apart.

"The girl corrupted by the malicious dead, Lydia Deetz, shall not remember the name 'Betelgeuse' in any manner," said Melinda, the words not flowing as smoothly as the power she commanded struggled to obey. "Neither the sound, the written image, nor any other form of the name shall appear in her memory." Then, recognizing a potential flaw in her plan, she added, "And her memory of the ring's role this night shall also be forgotten."

"No," snarled the poltergeist.

The ghost threw enough stubborn power at breaking free and stopping the woman that Melinda felt the necklace jerk. The effort made him collapse on the ground, panting and even more furious than before.

"Mess with me all you want. I can handle it. I'll get out and I'll make you pay later," he growled in an increasingly exhausted voice. "But leave her alone. She's off limits. Don't you dare mess with Lyds."

"Don't speak her name ever again," ordered the woman, giving him a brief glare before looking towards the girl.

Lydia looked vaguely dazed, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular. It was probably a side effect of either messing with her memories or having a binding intended for ghosts used on her. The poltergeist himself looked rather out of it by now. He appeared like he was losing consciousness even as his powers fought uselessly against Melinda's efforts. Her necklace thrummed loudly like an entire hive of bees.

"He shall not teach others his name by any method," she continued, not knowing or caring if he was awake to hear. The bindings would work regardless. "By neither voice nor writing nor any other technique that is known shall he teach another to say 'Betelgeuse.'"

As the final metaphorical chain latched on, Melinda spoke his name the third time to banish him from the world. The candles instantly extinguished and the green gem grew silent and still around her neck. She couldn't help smiling at the success. The gemstone might be powerful enough for what she wanted after all. It would take time to gather supplies and make preparations for the larger scale attempts, but it suddenly seemed more likely to work.

"Melinda?" Roger called from the darkness. "Did it work?"

"Perfectly," she replied. "We better take Lydia back to the hotel room. Tomorrow we start heading towards Amity Park."

Chapter Text

While there are very few powers that can match the magnitude and flexibility of the Reality Gauntlet, there are a few ghosts with limited reality warping capabilities.

One is the genie-like ghost, Desiree. She is limited to granting any and all wishes that she hears, but often with a darker twist. She is also unable to resist the compulsion to grant a wish. She can occasionally be vindictive with her wishes, especially if she desires some form of revenge. Her last known location was a bottle that she was trapped inside.

Another is Ghost Writer, who can alter reality by writing what he desires to happen. He can even control the thoughts, emotions, and actions of others as long as he continues to write. He can be limited by the style of writing or if he is unable to think of the next word. He rarely interacts with others and prefers his isolation so that he may work. His last known location was in his domain in the Ghost Zone.

The identity of the third and most dangerous ghost capable of warping reality to a reasonable degree is unknown at this time. His name is not spoken due to the fact that speaking it thrice will summon him, though he is occasionally referred to by the title "The Ghost With The Most." He can alter reality in his immediate surroundings by exerting his will on it and wanting it to change. The full extent of his power is uncertain, but he is different than most ghosts that have been dealt with or encountered by the later generations of the Showenhower family. He is not one of the primarily ectoplasm-based ghosts that are easily viewed, but is instead one of the true deceased. Specifically, he is what is referred to as a poltergeist. In addition to the binding to his name, he is limited by his impulsiveness and usual lack of motivation towards large-scale action. He should be avoided at all costs and should certainly never be angered.

-Excerpt from "The Reality Gauntlet and Other Ghostly Myths" by Frederich Isak Showenhower

Breakfast, prepared by Roger with the same enthusiasm that he approached anything that his wife wanted him to do, was already on the table. Lydia debated with herself the same way she did every morning so far. On the one hand, she hated spending time near the woman and her husband. Leaving the household as quickly as possible and simply grabbing food somewhere else was so much easier. On the other, Aunt Melinda insisted on eating at least one meal together "as a family" and it wasn't worth angering her over a minor issue. She could only risk rebelling so much. The fact she could hurry through breakfast by claiming she needed to go to school made Lydia chose it as the "family meal."

The decision once again falling in favor of eating, the girl reluctantly sat down and nibbled on a piece of toast. Lydia avoided their gazes stubbornly. She wasn't foolish enough to upset Aunt Melinda over something as simple as breakfast, but that didn't mean she wanted anything to do with them.

"Darling, I'm afraid Roger and I will be out late this evening," remarked the woman cheerfully. "We should be here for a little while after school unless something extra comes up, but you'll probably be on your own for dinner. We're having some parts shipped in, arranging a meeting with a few experts, and other assorted errands. Hopefully it'll be dealt with reasonably quickly, but I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

"Stay gone all night for all I care," she muttered. "Or all week."

Honestly, Lydia wasn't sure what her aunt and uncle did for a living. They could be anything from librarians to insurance salesmen to mad scientists to bankers to being simply independently wealthy. She didn't know or really care that much. As long as it kept them away occasionally, she was perfectly content.

"Perhaps we can do something nice this weekend," continued the woman casually. "A trip to the park? Or maybe we could watch a movie?"

Biting back her initial response to the idea of spending her free time with that woman, Lydia lied, "I have plans already. I'm going to be busy with Sam and her friends."

"Oh," she said, blinking in surprise. "While that's a little disappointing, I understand. I did want you to make friends."

Ignoring the fact the woman essentially attacked her last friend, Lydia gave a non-committal mumble and pushed herself away from the table. Tossing her backpack on, the girl left the kitchen.

As she hurried towards the front door, Lydia noticed that the study was open. That caught the girl's attention. Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger kept the door closed and locked. Always. Ever since they moved in, the study was kept sealed tightly to the point that Lydia barely knew what it looked like inside. Curiosity prompted her to take a quick look while the adults were busy with breakfast.

There were a lot of boxes, all labeled "important," stacked against the far wall. A desk covered in various papers took up the right side of the room and the left wall was completely covered in built-in shelves. There wasn't enough time for a proper search, but Lydia could see a small safe in the wall with an electronic lock.

Anything that Aunt Melinda might hide in a safe in a locked room was either very good or very bad. She didn't seem like the type of woman who would use the wall safe for normal things like jewels, paperwork, or similar valuables. She'd just get a deposit box at the bank. The woman would hide more important things, objects she wanted to keep safe and close at hand. Lydia suspected it would hold ghost-related items or information since she held such strong opinions on the topic. Regardless of what exactly Aunt Melinda kept hidden, the girl knew she should get it.

She couldn't, however, spare the time to break into the safe by randomly guessing the combination. She only had a few moments before her aunt left the kitchen. Lydia didn't know what Aunt Melinda would do if she found her in the study. It wasn't like she actually forbid the girl from entering, but the constant locked door sent a pretty clear message. This could end very badly. Just thinking about it was giving her a headache.

Not knowing what else to do, the girl started opening the drawers in a likely futile hope that Roger scribbled down a combination. Her frantic, quiet search didn't immediately seem at all productive. But then she found something she realized could be useful. Near the back of one of the drawers was a heavy, dull, metal skeleton key, one that looked like it would match the study door. If she was right, then she would be able to come back later for the safe.

"Thanks for the spare, Uncle Roger," muttered Lydia, slipping the key into her backpack.

Knowing that she was out of time and needed to hurry, the girl scurried out of the study, down the hall, and out the door. A weak smile tried to creep across her face. It was the first productive thing she'd done since moving to Amity Park. She should be happy about her accomplishment. But something held her back, like a warning in the pit of her stomach. Something told her it was going to be a long day.

None of them were particularly early risers by nature, but they quickly learned that ghost attacks could happen at any hour. They learned to deal with late nights and early mornings. Tucker accepted it as part of his life now that his best friend was half-ghost. Saving the town regularly took up a huge amount of time, after all. So when Tucker was called and asked to meet Danny and Sam before school, he wasn't that upset about crawling out of bed early. Actually, considering how the brief phone calls the night before turned out, he was fairly curious for answers.

They met in the park, the location empty at the early hour except for the rare overly-enthusiastic jogger. It was still relatively gray and misty by the time he'd left the house, the first glimmers of sunlight just starting to creep over the horizon. That gave them a little time for what turned out to be a lot of information. By the time he finished listening to Danny's explanation of what Poindexter told him about the Netherworld, the ghosts who lived there, and the infamous Ghost With The Most, it was growing late enough that the trio needed to start worrying about school. They walked towards the building while Sam filled them in on Lydia apparently being roommates with ghosts back in Connecticut, figuring out Danny's secret, and her promise to not tell anyone else while volunteering to share her knowledge about the Netherworld ghosts. Overall, it was a lot to digest first thing in the morning.

An entire alternate group of ghosts from yet another dimension, all of them dead people who weren't made of ectoplasm, were floating around somewhere. They apparently didn't cause much trouble in comparison to the ones that lived in the Ghost Zone since this was the first time they'd heard about it. But Lydia knew about them for years. No wonder she could handle the Lunch Lady so calmly. It also explained how she figured out Danny's secret. When you deal with freaky and weird things on a regular basis, it made it easier to notice other oddities.

By the time they discussed all the new information, the halls were beginning to fill with the normal bustle of students. Those that forgot their homework hurried to complete it while others enjoyed the traditional occupation of gossiping. Even when the newly-discovered information set his head spinning, Tucker was happy to see some parts of life remained constant.

Abruptly, Sam grabbed his arm and pulled his thoughts to the present. Of course, she was also physically pulling him. She dragged him down the hall.

"We'll meet you at class, Danny," she called back towards their mildly-confused friend. "I need a little tech help."

Uncertain about what she wanted, but unwilling to argue once he caught a glimpse of her serious expression, Tucker let himself be pulled along like a kite. After a little weaving among the crowds, Sam practically shoved him into the school library.

"Okay, you can't tell Danny about this yet."

"I really don't like discussions that start out like that," interrupted Tucker. "Should I be worried?"

Grimacing slightly, she said, "Maybe. But Danny needs to focus on that poltergeist, so we're not worrying him until we know more."

"I know we're going to regret this," muttered Tucker. Then, moaning tiredly and rubbing his temple briefly, he said, "Fine, tell me."

"Lydia's aunt knows about ghosts and really doesn't like them," she said bluntly.

"Which also describes Danny's parents. And a large chunk of Amity Park."

"But she also has some tricks that the rest of the townsfolk don't have. According to Lydia, one of her ghost friends was almost destroyed by the woman and some of her memories were messed with."

That left Tucker startled and staring at the teenage girl. That was seriously messed up. Granted, people trying to destroy ghosts was practically a local pastime. Between the Fenton, the Guys In White, and Valerie, there was always someone hunting around. But messing with someone's mind was a little less common. Desiree could do it with her ghost powers, Ember could do it with her music, and Spectra could mess with people with her super negativity. But the only human to do anything similar was Freakshow, though that was mind-controlling ghosts (and half-ghosts) with a weird red crystal staff.

"I told Lydia we'd help her handle her aunt, but we have to proceed carefully," continued Sam. "Not only could the woman do the same thing to Danny, but Lydia is worried about Barbara and Adam suffering if her aunt finds out."

"We should tell Danny," he said, though reluctantly understanding the girl's reasoning even while he spoke.

"We will. After we figure out how to handle her," said Sam. "As long as she doesn't go after Phantom, he doesn't need to worry about the woman and the Ghost With The Most at the same time. We can look into things quietly, find out how she's doing whatever it is she can do. Maybe you can look up some stuff on the family on the internet. I promise Lydia that we'd wait. Once we know more, we can work out something that won't get Lydia's friends hurt and we'll tell Danny."

Tucker took his glasses off, cleaned them, and then put them back on, using the time to think. On the one hand, it felt wrong to keep something important from Danny. Especially something ghost-related or dangerous. On the other, Danny did already have a lot on his plate and it was only for a little while. They were essentially doing some reconnaissance first. It wasn't that bad if he thought about it like that.

"I don't like it, but I guess I can look up some stuff," said Tucker slowly. "But we tell Danny the minute we get the chance."

Sam nodded, 'That's the plan."

"So what's the woman's name? I know Lydia Deetz, but her aunt's name would speed things up."

"Melinda Livingston. And her husband's name is Roger."

Tucker nodded thoughtfully, already mentally going over the ideal method to start the search, when he saw the clock. Blind panic took over as he grabbed Sam's arm and ran. They had less than a minute before the bell rang.

Maddie found herself biting her lower lip as she read over past entries concerning encounters with ghosts, not happy with what she was seeing. There was certainly more bias than what she'd hoped to find. The word choices and phrases weren't neutral or objective. They were all slanted towards a specific conclusion rather than simply reporting exactly what they observed. Assumptions and bias were scattered throughout. She would scoff at that in other scientific journals, so there was no reason to accept it from herself or her husband.

She glanced at Jack as he looked through his own stack of reports. He wore a similar expression of unease. It was frustrating how much of their work was wasted. They might be able to salvage some of the raw data if they were lucky, but some of it and all the conclusions would have to be thrown out. Lydia was right; this was just bad science.

They needed to go back to the basics. Maddie closed the current journal and glanced around the lab with a thoughtful expression shifting across her features. They needed to start from the beginning, establish the true baseline information for ghosts. She and Jack would need a proper sample size, a few specially-designed tests intended for non-carbon-based life-forms specifically, and a more objective viewpoint for their observations. Only then would they be able to determine whether or not any of their previous conclusions were right.

"We have a lot of work ahead of us," she said.

"You can say that again, Maddie," said Jack.

A rather welcome distraction from their current task, the phone began to ring. The pair quickly raced up the stairs, but her husband managed to reach it first.

"Hello, Fenton residence," he answered cheerfully. "Yeah, I remember. We usually don't share our tech with other people, so we certainly remember your call, Mrs. Livingston."

Maddie recognized the name. The Livingstons contacted them a few weeks ago, asking about the Fenton Ghost Shield. The poor woman shared a tragic story of ghosts plaguing her family for generations and remarked about how worried she was about moving to such a haunted town. It was the most recent call, about a week ago, that won Maddie and Jack over. A recently orphaned girl being placed in their care, one that deserved to be protected from ghosts, won over the mother's heart. To reassure the concerned Livingstons that their niece would be safe, they agreed to help.

"We finished up a model for your home," Jack continued. "We've streamlined the design and adjusted the power efficiency. It should work out great for you, but we'd love some feedback on how it functions against ghosts so we can continue to improve."

There was a brief pause as Jack nodded occasionally in response to the woman on the other end of the line. Maddie simply smiled at him rather than mention head gestures don't work over the phone.

"All right, we'll see you later today," he said finally, "and you can get your Fenton Ghost Shield." Jack paused a moment before asking, "You will keep the name, right?"

"Number 9,998,383,750,000? Would Number 9,998,383,750,000 please report to the desk? Number 9,998,383,750,000, you're up."

Feeling better than the night before, he was studying the images he could see through the reflections. Even with several hours of nothing to do except recover his strength and consider his options, he was still trying to come up with a Plan B. He just couldn't see the answer to his problem. He was frustrated by that fact, but he wasn't giving up yet. He was merely gathering information for the time being. And he made up for the fact that he could get out yet by keeping an eye on things.

He still couldn't see her, but he could see the surroundings when he put enough power and effort into it. So he observed what he could about what was happening around her. It wasn't enough, but it was something at least.

The poltergeist could see a classroom, his angle suggesting he was watching from a clock on the wall. There was an empty chair that he hoped was her. Near the chair was another girl in black, a black-haired boy wearing a white shirt, and another boy with glasses and a red beret. They were the only three who looked at the empty chair, looking at her. The other students and the bald teacher were of lesser importance, though he took a moment to memorize their faces just in case. The trio was the ones to focus on.

The new black-haired girl reminded the ghost of his friend. They certainly had similar fashion choices. The stranger wasn't quite as pale, but there were plenty of similarities between the two. At least, on the surface. He was experienced enough to know better than to judge books by their covers and so on.

The boys were more concerning to him. Granted, they weren't particularly large or strong boys in comparison to some. The blond teen in the red and white jacket was certainly more intimidating. But the two were paying attention to her while the blond one wasn't. That made him for more interested in the scrawny teens. The poltergeist knew the kind of thoughts that went through minds of males in the presence of nice-looking females; he'd experienced most of those his thoughts himself over the centuries and would probably have similar thoughts again in the future. But she was off limits to everyone. Especially teenage boys. Any of them that even thought of messing with her would regret it the minute he got out.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention away from the reflective piece of metal in his hands. The poltergeist turned fast enough to catch sight of another ghost trying to duck out of view. Black-and-white, the new arrival looked like a teenage nerd and wore a rather nervous expression. He took a moment to assess and dismiss any potential threat the weaker, ectoplasm-based ghost might pose.

"I'm busy with my version of Eye-Spy," he called out, making the monochromatic ghost flinch. "Now, I could take the time to get rid of you properly, but that would be more effort than I want to bother with right now. So I suggest you run along before you start to annoy me like that hunter ghost did."

With a squawk of surprised fear, the teenage ghost turned and flew back the way he came. The poltergeist watched for a moment to ensure the ectoplasm-based ghost kept going. Then, once he was satisfied, he turned back towards the reflective piece of metal.

Chapter Text

All deceased do not become ghosts just as not all ghosts are the deceased. Some ghosts are random ectoplasmic manifestations. Only some deaths result in ghosts. While the manner of death can influence the result, what happens to the deceased is determined on an individual basis.

Those who die of natural causes (i.e. sickness, old age) rarely become ghosts and generally move on immediately. Those who die from unnatural causes (i.e. accidents, suicides, murders) are more likely to manifest as ghosts.

Those who commit suicides and become ghosts often become civil servants in the Netherworld, working in administration, as caseworkers, and other assorted tasks. Those that do not commit suicide are not barred from the job if they should request to work as a civil servant, however.

Deaths caused by accidents, murders, and other similar causes often are assigned a haunting territory. The geographic and temporal perimeters vary from manifestation to manifestation.

Poltergeists are less common than other ghosts. They are more likely to be deceased who experienced murder, though suicides and accidents are not unheard of.

Ectoplasm-based ghosts can fall under any of these causes of death or have no cause of death at all.

There are exceptions to all cases and this should not be taken as a guarantee as to an individual's fate.

-Excerpt from "The Living and the Dead"

Sam knew in theory that girls sometimes chatted over the sinks in the bathroom, gossiping while they fixed their makeup. What made the situation weird was that this was the first time she was really involved in such a female bathroom meeting. Gossip and general feminine behavior just wasn't her idea of a good time. Not to mention her theory that all the hairspray they used was seeping into their brains, destroying any and all original thought.

But it did offer an ideal place to talk to Lydia without having to make excuses to Danny, which was what Sam needed. And, after taking the time to check the stalls for any eavesdroppers, it was the perfect place to discuss secrets in general.

"So Tucker is looking for stuff about your aunt and your family," she said without preamble. "And I managed to convince him not to tell Danny."

She could see Lydia visibly relax at the news. Her fellow Goth placed her hands on the sink and her shoulders dropped. The girl had far too much tension in her. It was impossible to realize exactly how much until it started to fade a little.

Lydia didn't seem to share Sam's preference for wearing similar outfits all the time. Rather than the interesting combo of old and recent fashions from before, she was wearing a black skirt that flowed down to her knees, a black shirt with three-quarter sleeves, and a gold locket. In Sam's experience, a person's clothing choices served as a reflection of their identity and those with the greatest security with their self-image tended to wear similar outfits daily. She, Tucker, Danny, Paulina, Dash, and several other residents of Amity Park knew who they were and each possessed a preferred look. After the upheaval in her life recently, it wasn't surprising that Lydia wasn't certain of her place in the world anymore and her varying outfits might reflect that uncertainty with herself.

Or perhaps she was over analyzing things. Maybe Lydia simply liked change and variety. It could happen.

"I have news on my end too," said Lydia, staring hard at her reflection. "My aunt's study has a safe with an electronic lock. I'll bet you anything that she has something important in there we can use."

"Like your journal or that 'The Living and the Dead' book you mentioned?" suggested Sam. "Along with anything else ghost-related she might have?"

Still staring into the mirror, the girl gained a thoughtful expression. Then she spun around and grabbed Sam's shoulders.

"That's it," Lydia said excitedly. "If we can get those two books, I can get him back. I can figure out how to undo what Aunt Melinda did. I can fix everything. We have to get into that safe."

Blinking in surprise at her enthusiasm, Sam pried her hands off and said, "Okay, okay, we'll get into the safe. I'm not sure how yet."

"I have a key for the study," she said quickly, pulling out the small piece of metal. "And they're going to be out of the house some this afternoon."

Sam nodded as she considered the possibilities. Normally getting stuff secretly from secure locations would fall under Danny's specialty. Invisibility and intangibility would make stealing back Lydia's belongings mere child's play. But since they were trying to keep him uninvolved until they knew more, that would mean a key and a distracted pair of guardians would actually be necessary. All that left was handling the safe itself and Sam had a plan for that.

"Tucker is an expert with anything technologically-based," she said. "I can almost guarantee he could get past an electronic lock."

"So we get him into the study and let him work his magic?"

"That's the idea. Do you know where your aunt and uncle are going or how long they'll be gone?"

Lydia shook her head, "I didn't ask. Sorry."

"Then we're going to need a lookout. We can't risk them coming home while we're going through her stuff," said Sam. "And it would help if the lookout could double as a distraction if necessary. Do you have a cell phone?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms, "Never needed one back in Winter River and I'm definitely not getting one from Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger."

"Then I'll loan you mine later. Tucker's number is on speed dial. After school, you can follow them and warn us if they start heading back."

Any further planning was interrupted as the door opened. Paulina and Star walked into the restroom, already chatting and laughing. The Goth girls took that as their cue to leave. Sam felt surprisingly relieved to have an excuse to get out. For some reason, she kept having the odd sensation of being watched.

Though mildly confused by Sam and Tucker's odd behavior during the day, Danny was heading towards his final class with nothing major in mind beyond the daily routine. Even with how weird his life was, sometimes he actually managed to have a normal day. So when he opened his locker to drop off some books, he wasn't expecting to be confronted by a ghost face inside.

"Gah!" yelped Danny, dropping his books and jumping back in surprise.

"There's a problem," said Poindexter anxiously.

Trying to slow down his racing heart, the halfa took a closer look inside his locker. The replacement mirror now contained the monochromatic image of Sidney Poindexter. The poor teenage ghost looked frazzled and terrified. And considering what he was supposed to be doing, Danny could guess the cause of Poindexter's upset emotional state.

"You saw him, didn't you?"

Poindexter nodded frantically, "I did. And I think he wigged out on Skulker and won. I saw pieces of his armor and one of Skulker's arms. He must have torn him apart."

Cringing slightly at the idea since he didn't actually want someone to horribly mangle his enemies and hoping that the hunter managed to escape with his life, Danny said, "I'm not surprised that he's encountered Skulker. The Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter probably takes the title 'The Ghost With The Most' as a challenge. Did he try to attack you?"

"N-no, but he did tell me to leave or else," he said. "But he let me go. I don't think he cared what I did, really. He was just sitting there on a floating rock."

"Like he's waiting for something?"

"I don't know," admitted Poindexter. "But that's not the worst part. He's sitting right next to the portal."

Danny felt himself growing pale. The Ghost With The Most, the one that was freaking everyone out, was practically lurking right outside a door to his parents' lab. He could have attacked his family or reigned chaos upon Amity Park. He was right there, waiting. It was creepy and nerve-wracking. Danny knew the longer he was left to his own devices, the greater the chance of something bad happening.

A potentially-horrible and very impulsive plan already forming in his mind, Danny said, "Thanks a lot, Poindexter. You don't know how much I appreciate this."

"You're just going to charge right in before he has a chance to do anything, aren't you?" said Poindexter, obviously realizing his simplistic plan. "Be careful. He's supposed to be a real shuckster."

Grinning reassuringly at the ghost who once attacked him at school and was now a semi-ally, Danny simply said, "I always am."

Closing his locker, the boy ran down the halls until he almost literally bumped into Sam. She, Tucker, and Lydia were clumped together, apparently looking for him. There was still a little awkwardness around the new girl, but it wasn't as bad now that they sort out their various ghost-related knowledge and issues. At the moment, Danny was insanely happy to see them. All three of them could be trusted to help him with the simplest and most-likely-to-end-badly part of his vague plan.

"Guys, Poindexter just contacted me and I have to go handle a problem," he said hurriedly. "Can you cover for me with the teachers?"

"So that one ghost showed up?" asked Tucker, turning Lydia's already confused expression into one even more so. "And you're skipping class? I don't know who's more dangerous: him or Mr. Lancer if he finds out you're playing hooky."

"We'll handle your excuses," Sam reassured. "Call us if you need backup." She glanced over at Lydia briefly and said, "Ghost emergency. We'll explain more later."

As the new girl nodded in understanding, Danny gave his friends a thankful nod and dashed back down the hall. His ghost-fighting experiences ensured that he knew several good hiding spots around the school, so it only took a few seconds to slip into a janitor's closet. Out of sight of his classmates, he transformed and flew through the ceiling.

Roger waited in the car as Melinda stepped out to meet them. The jumpsuit-wearing couple seemed eccentric, but harmless overall. He knew his wife could handle the exchange on her own. He was present simply to drive the vehicle and maybe carry the object. He knew what his role in this was.

Some people might believe that Melinda took advantage of him. They might say that she used him. They might point out that she married him because he always did as she asked. They might claim she saw him as a resource rather than a spouse. He'd heard it all before.

What people didn't understand was he knew their relationship was uneven. He loved Melinda and would do anything for her. And he knew her family didn't give her the attention and devotion that she deserved growing up. She, Cathy, and even little Freddy were secondary to their parents. Roger refused to ever let her feel like that again. She was a treasure. Anything she wanted him to do, he would do it without question or hesitation. He would do it because he loved her.

She had a plan, one that would make most people assume she was crazy. Melinda had it in mind long before Lydia joined their household, ever since she considered the possibilities the green gem from her family's collection truly offered. She'd read her family's records and gathered paranormal research journals, searching for all the information she could. She'd worked out almost all the necessary components to her plan. The Deetz family's copy of "The Living and the Dead" was merely the final piece she needed to research. Her plan was picking up speed as they moved closer to their goal, collecting the Fenton Ghost Shield device and making final preparations. The test with the powerful poltergeist suggested the gem was strong enough for it to work. They were almost ready.

"Roger, can you help me carry this?" Melinda called, her voice carrying through the open car window.

"Of course, my sweet," he answered.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Roger took a moment to look over the invention waiting next to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. It was about the size of a footstool, cylindrical, white with glowing green lights that ran up the sides, a large switch and a red emergency cut-off button near the top, and seemed to have a picture of Mr. Fenton's face next to the controls. He knew they streamlined and adjusted the design compared to what they installed in their home. Of course, he also knew their original version was capable of, on one occasion, extending to cover the entire city. That was what Melinda was hoping their model would be capable of matching someday.

After all, if the barrier could keep ghosts out, then it should be able to keep them trapped inside too.

While heavier than he expected, Roger managed to lift it into their car trunk. Melinda gave him a brief nod of satisfaction, which left him feeling happy that she was pleased with developments. They were one step closer to achieving his wife's plan.

Danny didn't know why his parents weren't in the basement when he phased into his house, but he was extremely glad they weren't there. It was always easier to deal with the portal when there was no one in the lab. Not to mention it meant they weren't in target range if the poltergeist came out swinging.

"Hopefully they aren't at a meeting with Mr. Lancer to discuss my skipping and missing classes," he muttered to himself.

Bracing himself for whatever he might face on the other side, Danny dove through the portal. The instant he was surrounded by strange swirling shadows and green glow, he expected to be attacked. A large number of his enemies preferred to strike with minimal warning, though a few liked to dramatically announce their presence first. He was prepared for either option when it came to the powerful poltergeist.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was nothing. Absolutely nothing happened to him when he entered the Ghost Zone. No screams, no shouts, and no instant attacks. Considering that Poindexter said the ghost was supposedly right outside the portal, Danny expected an instant reaction.

Nervously, Danny looked around for signs of his opponent. He only saw the shadow, green glow, and random floating doors at first. Then he spotted one of the small chunks of rock floating not too far away. And even at a distance, he could make out a shape on the tiny island. The figure didn't move, but Danny knew who it must be.

"Lydia, my darling, welcome home," greeted Melinda as the girl entered the house. "I'm sorry we can't stay long, but Roger and I have to pick up some rather expensive equipment. Some of the experimental batteries from Axion Labs. An old friend of Roger's pulled some strings."

Wondering what in the world they needed high-tech batteries for and adding it to the list of information she'd share with Sam and Tucker later, Lydia shrugged, "Don't let me stop you."

The girl managed to somehow adopt a darker mood than usual, dragging her feet towards the stairs while scowling. Every movement she made was intended to give off the impression of a sullen teenager. Lydia knew exactly how to do it properly. She'd done it plenty before she met the Maitlands. She practically gained a dark cloud over her head as she slowly climbed the stairs.

The moment she hear front door close, however, Lydia discarded the act and sprinted back down the stairs. The girl then pulled out Sam's cell phone and hit the speed dial.

"This is Tucker," chirped the voice over the speakers almost the instant it started ringing.

"Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger just left," she said, opening the door. "I'll leave the key for the front door under the mat. Sam has the other key already."

"Thanks. We're a block away," he said. "We'll get started immediately."

"And I'll follow them. Good luck,' said Lydia right before hanging up and slipping outside.

Taking a second to leave the key behind, the girl grabbed her bike. She hadn't touched it since moving, but she used it all the time in Winter River. She actually had pretty good endurance and speed when she started pedaling. Following after her guardians' vehicle, especially since there would be plenty of traffic lights to slow them down, was certainly within her capabilities.

Danny watched the poltergeist for quite some time, waiting for him to react. But he never did. He just stayed there, sitting still and hunched over something that held his focus. Danny didn't know if he simply didn't notice the halfa's presence or was ignoring it. The Ghost With The Most probably wasn't worried either way about someone trying to bother him.

Knowing he couldn't just float there all night, Danny cautiously started his approach. Even as he flew closer, the teenager remained on edge. At the first hint of trouble, he would be ready to react.

Drawing closer allowed him to get a better view of the mysterious Ghost With The Most. He was completely humanoid, unlike some ghosts Danny faced. Age didn't really work well when it came to ghosts and Danny was horrible at judging ages anyway, but he looked vaguely like he could be in thirties. He was wearing an outfit that looked like a weird hybrid of a striped prison jumpsuit and a fairly nice suit. He also looked a lot like a corpse. His hair was a wispy, frazzled, pale blond with hints of green that almost looked like algae stained it. His skin was an unhealthy pale shade with mold growing across his face and neck. There were dark circles around his eyes, like he was severely low on sleep or someone hit him in the face hard enough to bruise. It didn't seem to bother him though. He just sat there with a pile of metal next to him, staring intently at a shiny chunk of it in his hands.

"I'd suggest taking a picture, but that wouldn't really work," the poltergeist said abruptly, not even bothering to look up. "You're starting to annoy me with the staring though."

Crossing his arms, Danny said, "Why wouldn't I stare at someone with your reputation? Though I honestly expected a more impressive show."

"Well, I'm a little busy with something more important right now," he replied dryly before glancing up finally.

For all he looked like something that crawled out of a coffin, the poltergeist's eyes were animated and lively. They didn't glow like most ghosts, but they did capture a lot personality. He met Danny's gaze with an annoyed expression that quickly shifted to curious confusion. The poltergeist set aside the piece of reflective metal and climbed to his feet, his eyes never leaving Danny.

"What are you?" he asked. "Way too much ectoplasm not to be a ghost, but too solid not to be alive. I've seen a lot of freaky things over the centuries, but you're a new one. Seriously, what are you?"

"I'm both," answered Danny bluntly. "What exactly are you doing here? Other than freaking out the locals?"

"Both? Heh, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that if something like you happened to exist, you'd end up in the Ghost Zone. It's the lint trap of the universe," he muttered. "I guess you're pretty new or else the rumors about you would've reached the Netherworld already."

"I'm not that young," grumbled Danny.

The poltergeist shrugged, "Not your fault. And that doesn't really mean anything. Just because you're a kid doesn't mean you have to be a dumb kid or a weak one." He tilted his head and peered at Danny with a thoughtful expression. "You look familiar. Have we met before? Maybe I did a little bio-exorcism work for you? Or to you?"

The teenager wasn't sure what to make of the ghost. The guy wasn't what Danny expected. He wasn't quite as intimidating as Danny imagined initially. There was something about him that seemed more like a used car salesman than a terrifying ghost. A hint of something untrustworthy, but not overly aggressive. But the ghost boy didn't lower his guard completely. There was still something wrong about the poltergeist, something dangerous lurking below the surface.

Snapping his fingers, the Ghost With The Most said, "I remember now. You had black hair when I saw you."

"When did you see me like that?" asked Danny cautiously.

Brushing off his striped suit and adjusting the tie, the poltergeist commented casually, "I was watching most of the day. Not watching you specifically, but you were there too. In the area." He smirked abruptly, "Actually this could work out perfectly for me. How about I help you out with something and you do me a little favor? I'm sure you have somewhere you'd like properly haunted. Not to brag or anything, but I'm great at scaring just about anyone you can hire me to handle."

"What exactly do you think I'd do for you?" asked Danny, dread starting to creep up his spine. "What do you want?"

Smiling in what was probably meant to be a winning manner, the poltergeist said, "I want what almost all guys want, deep down. I'm looking for a girl. You know how it is. I mean, you've probably done something crazy over someone in a skirt at some point, right?"

Uneasy, the teenager nodded. He remembered the references to the "Mortal Bride." He was looking for her. Supposedly marrying someone alive gave the poltergeist something important, some kind of power. At least, that's what Poindexter made it sound like. He was searching for his missing "Mortal Bride."

And if he saw Danny while looking for her, it might mean he'd met her. A woman that he encountered during the day. Someone new. But that didn't make sense since the only new woman in town Danny was aware of was Lydia's aunt, Melinda. And Danny never actually met the woman. Not to mention she was already married. There was no one who could qualify.

Unless the poltergeist wanted a new Mortal Bride. An unsettling idea crept into Danny's thoughts. If he just needed someone alive to marry and his previous choice was missing, he might decide to pick out a new one. Poindexter didn't mention that there were a lot of requirements, so finding a different future wife might not be too difficult. He'd just have to pick one he'd like and who he could either convince or threaten into accepting. That would mean any woman could have caught his attention. Especially if the poltergeist didn't care about marital status of his Mortal Bride.

Danny desperately hoped he didn't have to deal with another creepy old ghost going after his mom. Vlad was annoying enough.

"What kind of woman are you after?" the teenager asked uneasily.

"A girl, not a woman," said the ghost firmly. "You can't call her a woman yet. She's younger than that. Of course, you know her. You saw her today. She's kind of hard to miss in a crowd." Danny could feel his dread and suspicions rising as the poltergeist continued, "Dresses in black? Black hair she usually puts up? Likes creepy and spooky things, not to mention ghosts? Admittedly rather easy on the eyes?"

The more he talked, the most anger began to bubble up in Danny's chest. He was describing Sam perfectly. It was exactly how anyone else would describe one of his best friends. She was around him most of the day, so that would explain why the ghost spotted Danny while spying on her. The Ghost With The Most was after Sam.

"So you think you can help a guy out?" asked the poltergeist, spreading his hands and giving a half-smile.

Danny responded by throwing a punch towards his face.

Tucker slipped inside the house quietly, following Sam's lead since she'd been there before. He couldn't help worrying that this technically counted as a crime somehow. Yes, Lydia gave them permission and even the keys to get into the house, so it wasn't breaking and entering. And yes, they were taking stuff that at least partially belonged to Lydia and she asked them to pick it up, so it probably wasn't considered theft. But that didn't banish the feeling that this was somehow a crime.

Of course, Tucker was at least a little excited about the situation. How often did someone get the chance to participate in a heist? There weren't any cameras to avoid or a laser alarm system to navigate, but it was still a heist. All that was really missing was some dramatic music, but he wasn't going to pull out one of his gadgets to start playing it.

"This looks like the study," said Sam, looking at the closed door down the hall.

Pulling out a large metal key that looked more old-fashioned than what Tucker normally used around his home, Sam smirked as the door unlocked. The study held a desk, boxes, shelves, and the promised safe. Tucker grinned as he looked at the electronic lock. It wasn't the most recent and most elaborate system on the market, but it wasn't the most ancient version either. It offered just the right level of challenge to make the trip worth it, but not so much that it would take too long.

"Hello, my sweet technology," he grinned. "Let's see what you're hiding."

Prying off the cover of the control panel would have been easier with a flathead screwdriver, but he improvised with a spoon that Sam went to grab from the kitchen. From there, all he needed was some wires and a couple of alligator clamps (which were useful enough to keep stuffed into the bottom of his backpack for emergencies such as Technus encounters) to hook up the system to his PDA. And he didn't have a lot of experience breaking into safes, but now he was essentially just hacking and that he could definitely handle. A few minutes after starting his hacking program, there was a rewarding click.

"And yet another skill to add to the list," he remarked as he popped the control panel back on and opened the safe. "Though probably not one I can brag about much."

"Well, there aren't a lot of legal reasons to break into safes," pointed out Sam.

There wasn't a lot in the safe. The first thing they pulled out was a dark purple journal with various spiders, bats, and spirals sketched across the cover. Sam slipped it quickly into her spider-shaped backpack. The next object was a hardback book with a picture of people on the cover that looked like something from the forties or sixties or some older decade. The image was cheerfully bright while the cover declared "The Living and the Dead" while listing the author as simply being the writer of "The Handbook for the Recently Deceased" rather than using a name. That book was also added to the backpack.

Tucker thought the safe was empty and was about to close it, but Sam reached inside abruptly. He frowned briefly as she showed him what she'd spotted. It was tiny, which was probably why he'd missed it among the books. He just couldn't help wondering why there was a ring in the safe.

Granted, it was a clearly old and pretty piece of jewelry. It was one of the simplest designs, merely a circle of gold with a small gem, but it was definitely a wedding ring. That was normally the sort of thing that would be stored in a safe if it wasn't on someone's finger, but this was a household that hid ghost-related stuff in secure locations rather than jewels. It didn't quite match the rest.

"Should we take it with us? I don't think Lydia mentioned a ring," remarked Tucker.

"It was with the rest of her stuff," Sam pointed out. "We probably won't get another chance to grab things for her, so we should take it just in case."

As she slipped the ring into the pocket of her skirt, Tucker finally closed the safe. He gave the safe a final examination with a smug look. No one would be able to tell anything was wrong until they opened it. That was exactly what he was hoping for.

Abruptly Tucker's PDA started beeping. He quickly pulled up the program he'd left running earlier. He'd set up a search for anything dealing with Lydia Deetz, Melinda Livingston, or anyone related to them. He'd have to do more specialized searches if he wanted more in-depth information later on, but it should give him a starting point.

He quickly read the first few articles on screen. The most recent mentioned the car crash that killed Charles and Delia Deetz. There was another listing their marriage, mention Delia Robinson as the bride. There were other newspaper and magazine articles such as one that discussed Delia's sculptures that occurred a couple of years ago, one about another car crash that killed Catherine Deetz, and the announcement of the birth of Lydia Deetz. He scrolled through the news articles, not spotting anything particularly note-worthy. Then he saw the wedding announcements, two of them, and his jaw dropped.

"What is it?" asked Sam.

He read it a second time, certain that he was wrong. But he came to the same conclusion no matter how he looked at it.

"We need to talk to Lydia. Preferably in person," he said, heading towards the door. "Call her to meet us somewhere."

Not sure what he wanted, but trusting him enough to listen, Sam followed him out of the study. The pair took the time to lock the doors behind them, but they were still moving as quickly as possible.

As Sam accepted Tucker's offered phone and started dialing, he was thinking over what he just discovered. He'd found the wedding announcements for Lydia's parents and her aunt and uncle. The maiden name for Catherine and Melinda was what surprised and worried him.

Before their mutual weddings, the women were Catherine and Melinda Showenhower. As in Frederich Isak Showenhower. As in Freakshow.

Lydia and her family were related to Freakshow.

Chapter Text

Certain levels of interaction with the living are to be expected and tolerated during a typical haunting. Very few members of the living can be haunted without any encounters with the deceased performing the haunting.

Physical evidence of the deceased existence and presence, however, is less tolerated. The living must not receive undeniable proof. The living cannot be allowed to know for certain of existence after death. This only leads to more shared knowledge among the living of the precise methods of causing interference to the deceased in the forms of summoning, bindings, banishing, exorcisms, etc.

The deceased must not allow access of the living to their copy of "Handbook for the Recently Deceased." Penalties for violations may vary from case to case, depending on the exact situation.

The deceased must not cause excessive physical harm to the living. Mental and emotional harm have higher levels of tolerance before it becomes problematic. Any questions concerning specific actions towards the living being haunted that the deceased are uncertain of can be directed towards any caseworker. Penalties for violations may vary from case to case, depending on the exact situation.

The deceased must not cause the demise of the living. Penalties for violations will be among the most severe.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

His punch didn't go exactly as planned. As Danny closed the remaining distance between him and the poltergeist, the boy spotted a split second of surprise before impact. Or at least what should have been impact.

Instead, the poltergeist grabbed his fist in mid-throw and swung the halfa overhead, letting his momentum carry him through the toss. Danny found himself tumbling and flying past the Ghost With The Most. Once he managed to bring himself to a stop and look back, the poltergeist hadn't moved. He just smiled wryly at the angry teenage ghost.

"And we were having such a nice conversation," he commented casually. "But you did say you expected a more impressive show."

Danny's hand started to glow green as he prepared for a second try. He could do this. He could handle the poltergeist and keep him away from Danny's friends. He had to at least try.

"So you double as a flashlight," continued the Ghost With The Most. "Cute Trick. But if you really want to be wowed, I can certainly deliver."

He charged again, blasting ecto-rays towards the poltergeist. His target threw his hand up and all the blasts somehow melted away before they hit. And when Danny was once again in range, he grabbed the teen by the jumpsuit and flung him away again. Danny tumbled through the Ghost Zone wildly, vaguely thankful there were fewer things to crash into than there were in Amity Park.

As he managed to right himself, Danny saw a glint in his opponent's eyes that wasn't present before. He didn't look as harmless as he did when he first saw the ghost.

"All right, pal," said the poltergeist, a dangerous edge to his voice now. "It's showtime."

Sanduleak knew where she was, his door was ready to let him out, and no one suspected a thing. All he was doing now was counting down the time to when sunlight wouldn't be an issue. All poltergeists had their limits. Of course, the modern tall buildings of cities cast long shadows that could let him move around a little sooner. So the moment the girl was in deep enough and dark enough shadows that she wouldn't escape, he would make his move.

And even if she stayed away from the darker corners of the city, sunset wasn't too far away. He'd be meeting her very soon. The Mortal Bride would be gone and that smug poltergeist would have to find a new one if he wanted out. It wasn't easy finding someone alive willing to marry the dead, after all. Especially if he wanted someone semi-pretty to look at.

Actually, she was pretty. Sanduleak knew that from the moment he saw her picture in the file, the fashions of the recent era making it easier to appreciate her figure than the more concealing outfits from when he was alive. She was younger than his preferences and wasn't as full-figured as a more mature woman, but she was attractive enough. Maybe he just liked them young and naïve. There was certainly an appeal to it sometimes.

A tempting idea presented itself to Sanduleak. Maybe if there was time, he could enjoy twice the fun. Slitting her throat would be nice, but she was a pretty thing and probably was never even near a man since she was young and hadn't actually married the Ghost With The Most yet. He could play with her a little first if there was time. The idea certainly could be fun.

All needed to do was count the hours until he could slip out. When darkness fell, Sanduleak would come out to play.

Lydia stared at the building, waiting for her aunt and uncle to drive out again. The fence kept her at a distance from Axion Labs, but she could easily keep an eye on the situation from her bike. The place looked reasonably large and probably held plenty of employees, but she would recognize their car if they tried to leave.

A sharp ringing left her struggling to pull out the unfamiliar cell phone from her backpack. It took several seconds to get a hold of it. Lydia was almost afraid it would stop ringing before she could answer it, but she managed to grab it.

"Hello, you've reached Sam's phone. This is Lydia speaking," she greeted quickly.

"Hey, Lydia. This is Sam. We grabbed the stuff from the safe and we got out," responded Sam over the speaker. "You don't have to keep lookout anymore.

"Great," said Lydia with relief. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that."

"Listen, Tucker says we need to talk in person. Not to mention you probably want your stuff as soon as possible. We need to meet up."

"Well, I'm over at Axion Labs, which seems to be on the edge of town almost. Where do you think we should meet up? You know Amity Park better."

"Head down Elm Street and turn onto Craven Lane. There's an electronics store, a donut shop, and a furniture store. They don't get a lot of business and tend to close early, but they're easy to find and about midway between us at the moment. We can head to the library after we meet up if we need to without much backtracking. It'll just take too long to give you directions there."

"New town. Strange streets. Unfamiliar landmarks. Yeah, let's keep it simple. I'll meet you there."

Lydia hung up the phone and dropped it back into her backpack. She couldn't believe it. They had her journal. Which mean she could find his name. She would have written it down. She could read it and call him back. And once she did that, Aunt Melinda's actions so far would be completely fixable.

Turning her bike around, Lydia started pedaling. As long as she kept an eye on the street signs, it shouldn't be too hard to find the group of stores. Hopefully she could get everything sorted and get her friend back soon. That thought stayed with her as she rode off into the sunset like the main character in a Western.

"Well, this is more fun than when the last ghost crazy enough to attack me tried it, but I think we've wasted enough time for the moment," remarked the poltergeist as he perched on top of his opponent.

Danny would have shot off a witty response if his face wasn't being shoved firmly into the rock surface. The Ghost With The Most was pinning him in place, one hand wrenching Danny's arms back and the other forcing the teenager's head down. So far he didn't seem to be able to break free of the poltergeist's grip, but that didn't stop him from struggling.

"Now, I am a little curious why you decided to go for a sucker punch. Not that it isn't a smart strategy even if you didn't quite land a blow. But I usually have to do something before they start swinging," continued the Ghost With The Most. "Feel like sharing your feelings or should I tie your arms into knots?"

Danny ignored the ghost's words. He needed to break free. He couldn't let the creep win. He couldn't let the poltergeist near Sam.

Desperation gave rise to an insane idea. Ghosts could phase through solid objects in the human world, but were mostly solid within the Ghost Zone since it was their home dimension and made up of ectoplasm. But it could work the other way around too in regards to a human in the Ghost Zone. It took effort to remain solid in that environment. There were just some weird interactions between normal matter and ectoplasm. In the right circumstances, they simply phased through each other.

He wouldn't normally risk such a thing in a fight, but Danny let himself shift back into being human and fell straight through the rock, escaping the poltergeist's startled grasp. The instant he fell out the bottom of the floating island, the teenager changed back and flew up quickly enough to actually land a punch on the shocked ghost's face.

The Ghost With The Most tumbled back a few feet before steadying himself. With a shocked expression still locked in place, the poltergeist reached up to where Danny's punch hit. Then he abruptly threw his head back and laughed.

"EEEEEYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAHAAA!"

It wasn't a normal laugh. It was wild and insane. The sound was enough to send a chill up his spine; the noise definitely felt like one that belonged to a confident mad man.

"That wasn't half bad, kid. It's been a while since someone got the better of me with a sneaky move, outside of the sandworm through the ceiling thing," the poltergeist said as his chuckling slowed. "The switch to human to get loose was smart. I guess being both human and a ghost has advantages. It's a really nice trick."

"I'll pull a rabbit out of a hat for my next one," said Danny before launching himself back towards the ghost.

The teenager threw a flurry of punches at the poltergeist, but he blocked them with far more speed than seemed possible. His arms were just a flash of blurry stripes. Then the Ghost With The Most decided to strike back, the palm of his hand slamming into Danny's chest hard enough to knock him flying.

As Danny struggled to catch his breath, the poltergeist remarked, "If you keep this up, I might have to use something flashier on you. It is getting a little annoying and I have a girl to find a way to reach."

"Stay away from her," snapped Danny, firing a few blasts towards him.

The ecto-rays stopped in midair, collecting together in a glowing green orb. The poltergeist snapped his fingers and it twisted and morphed into something with fangs and wings. It looked like a radioactive bat monster as big as a car.

"Can't do that," the ghost said sharply. "She's mine. I'm not letting her go."

With a screech, the bat monster launched itself at the teenager. Danny managed to barely dodge the first bite, but it was a close one. As it flapped its wings to come around for another attack, he decided to break out the big guns.

Diving under the next bat attack, Danny turned towards the direction now occupied by both the monster and the poltergeist. Both opponents were now in the line of fire, just as he needed them to be. He took a deep breath, bracing himself as best he could. Then he wailed.

His Ghostly Wail was one of his strongest weapons, a powerful sonic attack. The force behind it could just about rip apart anything in front of him. The collateral damage was one of the reasons he didn't use it other than as a last resort.

The wail hit the monster bat hard, knocking it back and even tearing the creature apart into streaks of green goo. He spotted the poltergeist being hit, flying wildly away from the impact. Danny couldn't focus any further on events, though. All his concentration was on maintaining his sonic attack.

He finally ran out of breath and was forced to stop his Ghostly Wail, the second reason he rarely used it kicking in. The reason the attack was so powerful was because it took a lot of the halfa's strength to use it, leaving him drained and barely able to remain in his ghost form. Danny floated limply, trying to keep from reverting to human while looking to make sure it worked.

For just a brief moment, Danny thought it worked. He hoped it worked. But then he caught sight of the black and white stripes and his stomach dropped.

Granted, it at least looked like there was an effect this time. The poltergeist appeared winded, his hair and his suit ruffled, and wore a combination of annoyance and respect across his moldy face.

"Okay, that stung a little," said the poltergeist, massaging his shoulder briefly. "But it doesn't look like you can repeat it. You're running on empty, pal."

"I'll manage," Danny said tiredly, ignoring the fact he didn't have the strength to fight a kitten at the moment. "You're not getting near Sam."

The ghost blinked, "Who?"

"Sam. The girl you're after. I won't let you."

"Who's talking about Sam?" asked the poltergeist, apparently confused. "I'm looking for—"

Something weird happened as the ghost spoke. His mouth was open, but no sound emerged. The Ghost With The Most was clearly still trying to talk, but it wasn't working. He almost looked like he was gagging on the words. Danny could see a flash of rapidly shifting emotions. Surprise, confusion, and then fury. Far more terrifying fury and frustration than he'd seen from the poltergeist during the entire fight. And it didn't seem to be aimed at the halfa.

"That… That witch," snarled the poltergeist, raising his hands in front of him as if he wanted to strangle someone. "How dare she? When I find that woman—"

Danny was then treated to a very colorful and descriptive tirade that would've been censored heavily even to qualify for an R rated film. The Ghost With The Most seemed determined to use every curse in existence in the most creative manner possible. Danny thought he might have stopped speaking modern English at one point and either switched languages or started using something older. Or both. It was actually pretty educational.

When there was a brief pause in the rant, the teenager asked cautiously, "Uh… What exactly is wrong?"

Jerking his head back towards Danny with a look that made him wonder if the poltergeist forgot about his presence, he said, "I'm used to not being able to say my name. Haven't been able to since I died. That would make it too easy to get out, apparently. Annoying, but I can deal with it. But that ugly old broad told me not to say her name and now I can't. That's just beyond petty. As if I don't already have enough reason to hate her. That woman really doesn't know when to stop."

The fight felt like it was over for the moment. Somehow they'd shifted back to the awkward conversation moment. Since it would give Danny some time to recover from his exhaustion a little, he wasn't going to complain. Besides, the situation was turning strange again. It wasn't Sam he was after.

"So you can't say the name of your missing 'Mortal Bride'?" said Danny carefully, trying to straighten out his confused thoughts while recovering his strength.

"I wouldn't call her that. It was a misunderstanding. Marriage is completely off the table," he muttered. "But, yeah, I can't say her name."

"But if you didn't mean Sam," he said slowly, "then who…?"

Danny's eyes widened as he remembered there was another Goth girl who matched the description. A girl who was new to Amity Park and the school. A girl who claimed to have experience with ghosts.

"Give the boy a prize," remarked the poltergeist dryly, clearly spotting his moment of realization. "Now that you know I'm not after your girlfriend, want to try making a deal again?"

"She's not my girlfriend," he snapped automatically.

"Oh, touched a nerve there. I guess you're still at the denial phase, then. Not going to judge. She's all yours."

Trying to steer the quickly-derailing and uncomfortable conversation back towards safe topics, Danny hurriedly asked, "If you've been watching us all day, then why didn't you just sneak out the portal and go after her?"

"Can't," he grimaced. "Tried it. Won't work. Fun fact: I can't get out without someone using my name. Say it once, say it twice, say it thrice, and then I'm good to go," he said, throwing up fingers as he counted. "Otherwise, I'm stuck hanging out with a bunch of dead stiffs."

"And you can't say your name, right?"

"Exactly. The rules won't let me, which is so annoying sometimes. It used to be worse, though. Literacy wasn't really big when I was alive." He reached into his jacket pocket before gaining another look of intense frustrated anger and pulled his hand back out. "So that's how it's going to be. Adding yet another problem to blame that woman for."

"What?"

"Can't give you a card for some reason. Probably can't write my name or even manage charades anymore. That woman might be a vindictive, cold-hearted, foul harpy, but she's thorough. She doesn't want me anywhere near her and covered some of my usual loopholes. Evil old broad…"

"Who?" asked Danny as his confusion mounted.

"Her aunt and uncle, I think. But mostly the woman. I only met them the one time when they were trying to mess with me and her. She's playing with fire and I'll be happy to help her burn," growled the poltergeist. "After I get back to her, though. That witch doesn't deserve to be my first priority. She's not worth it. She's more important than revenge, no matter how much the woman deserves it or how much fun it would be."

While Danny worried about how the woman seemed to be tangled up in everything and obviously on the ghost's bad side, part of him focused on something else. As angry and frustrated as the poltergeist sounded when mentioning the woman who was causing so much trouble for him, his voice notably softened whenever he discussed the girl. And Danny doubted the ghost was a professional actor, so it was likely a real reaction. That told the teenager far more than the rumors.

"You really don't mean her any harm. Even when you sent the Ghost Zone into a panic about the Ghost With The Most searching for his missing 'Mortal Bride,' you weren't planning her any harm," Danny said slowly. "You just miss her. You miss her and maybe you're worried about her."

"I don't worry," he said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

"But you won't hurt her or kidnap her or elope or anything, right?"

"Not a chance," said the poltergeist firmly. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt my girl. No one is allowed to hurt her. I don't have a lot of friends since most of them are too awestruck by me," he said, causing Danny to roll his eyes, "and she's mine. She my friend and I'm getting her back, even if I have to get creative and a little destructive to reach her."

Possessive. Scary to deal with. Overboard with his reactions. He definitely matched a description Danny heard recently and remembered well. It added strength to the ghost's claims. The teenager felt himself reluctantly relaxing, a few answers starting to match up.

"How exactly have you been watching us?" he asked the poltergeist, cautiously accepting the fact that the fight was definitely over.

Grinning broadly, the Ghost With The Most said, "Mirrors and reflections. With practice and power, they make great windows. And I have both."

Remembering how Poindexter communicated using the locker mirrors, Danny nodded thoughtfully, "Is that what you were doing when I arrived?"

Landing back on the floating rock, he confirmed, "If I can't reach her yet, I can at least keep an eye on what's going on around her." Picking up one of the shiny chunks of metal that wasn't lost in the struggle, the poltergeist continued, "She and your friends have been plotting something in their spare time. It's actually pretty entertaining, even if I missed out on some of the details."

Before Danny could begin wondering what he meant, the poltergeist abruptly frowned in apparent confusion as he stared at the piece of metal. He peered closer, eyes narrowing as he focused on the reflective surface in his hands. Then there was an unexpected reaction that the teenager would have never predicted. The ghost's moldy features twisted into one of horrified recognition.

In a harsh, stunned, and desperate voice, he whispered, "No… Not him. Not with her."

Chapter Text

The deceased are resistant to the forms of physical harm that can affect the living. Manipulation of their bodies' appearances to mimic damages that would injury or kill the living are easy to achieve and effective tools for haunting.

The deceased are not invulnerable. Ghosts of all sorts can be harmed, though the manner to do so often varies greatly from the forms of harm that affect the living. While difficult to achieve, it is possible to cause pain, cause damage, or even destroy a member of the deceased though the use of an exorcism or other means.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

Lydia managed to reach the meeting place first, taking the time to tie her bike up in front of the donut shop. The place had a cute bike rack that was painted like a donut. She wasn't certain if Delia would have liked it, but Dad would have certainly chuckled.

She sat down on a bench as the owner of the electronics store closed up for the evening, leaving the girl alone with only a window display of silent and dark televisions sets currently on sale to keep her company. She wasn't upset about the isolation. She actually welcomed a moment of relative silence as evening fell. Even if she once lived in New York City, Lydia missed life in the smaller town of Winter River.

Soon she would have her friend back. With her journal and the book, she could undo most of the trouble Aunt Melinda caused. From there, they could figure out their next move. It might be hard to get him to work with Danny and his friends, but Lydia was reasonably certain she could convince him and it would help to keep some allies around rather than scare them off as they moved forward. They'd make sure that the Maitlands were safe from the woman and then they'd discover a way to stop her from repeating it with anyone else.

One of the streetlamps flickered on nearby as the red sky overhead began to dim to purple. She doubted she would be able to see the stars while in the city, but Lydia knew they would be starting to peek through.

She knew several of the normally visible celestial bodies. Her thoughts drifted casually over the stars and planets she'd seen through her bedroom window. Venus. Polaris. Scorpio. As her mental list moved towards Orion, her thoughts stuttered briefly and her head ached slightly. It was so odd. Lydia couldn't explain it any more than she could explain why she only remembered becoming interested in astronomy a couple of years ago, as if something sparked her curiosity of it abruptly.

"Lydia," called Sam, startling the girl.

Sam and Tucker were jogging down the sidewalk, waving to get her attention. Both looked mildly winded and excited to see her. The boy, however, also seemed vaguely uneasy. Lydia stood up, but didn't immediately start heading towards them.

"You made it," she said. "You found everything?"

"We found both books you mentioned in the safe," acknowledged Sam as they came to a halt as short distance away, "along with a ring."

"A ring?" whispered Lydia, frowning.

She didn't remember a ring. Not really. But there was something nagging at her, her head aching as she tried to figure out why.

"Yeah, a wedding ring," Sam said, patting her pocket. "We're not sure if it's yours or not, but we brought it anyway."

Tucker stepped forward, holding up his PDA, and said, "Sorry, but I've got to interrupt. I was doing a search on your family and came across something. Your mother's maiden name. And your aunt's maiden name. It's Showenhower."

While Sam looked shocked by the news, Lydia couldn't really see what the big deal was. It wasn't a particularly common name, but neither was Deetz.

"Ever heard of Frederich Isak Showenhower?" he asked.

"Uncle Freddy? Yeah, I've heard of him," she said uncertainly. "I've never met the man, but Aunt Melinda mentioned her little brother a few times."

"Freakshow's your uncle?" sputtered Sam. "No wonder your aunt has issues with ghosts. And probably why she was able to mess with your friend. He used to have a staff to mind-control ghosts, knows about other mystical artifacts, and has family-based ghost envy." She shivered from the approaching fog. "What are the chances that she has similar problems and tools?"

"Now I definitely know why Mom never mentioned her family," said Lydia, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to fight off the chill of the mist curling around.

Wait a minute. Something was wrong. Something beyond the headache at the back of her skull was certainly wrong. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The fog wasn't natural. It spread too quickly and the rest of the weather didn't seem right to be producing it. She knew when a paranormal force was at work.

"Which way to the library?" Lydia asked in a quiet voice, wanting to get off the street.

She could tell from the expressions on Sam and Tucker's faces that they were sensing something off too. They glanced around nervously. Because the stores were closed, the only light came from the streetlamp and it only went so far before being swallowed by the fog. Other than the three of them, the street was completely deserted.

And then they weren't so alone. Lydia spotted a shape approaching through the mist from across the street. As the shape drew near, it became clearer that it was a man. A tall man in a charcoal jacket, a white shirt, and a top hat stepped merrily into view. In one hand he held a walking cane, looking exactly like a fancy British gentleman. All he was missing was the monocle. His hair was a light brown that almost looked black when the light hit it wrong. His mustache and beard were neat and trim. He approached the trio with a jaunty stride and unconcerned about the knife buried in his chest.

"That's just creepy," muttered Tucker.

"He's a ghost," said Sam.

"He's a poltergeist," said Lydia. "No way has he been haunting the stores the entire time. Look at his clothes."

Coming to a stop in front of the trio, the ghost took a moment to remove his hat and gave a polite bow. As he straightened, his eyes shifted towards his audience as he grinned broadly. Lydia wasn't certain, but it seemed like his gaze lingered longer on her and Sam than it did on Tucker.

"Well, isn't this a jolly evening for a stroll? I was looking forward to a bit of fun. Perhaps I should introduce myself since we have much to do before we're done for the evening," he greeted, his accent definitely something from across the ocean. "I've had a lovely assortment of names, some of which are quite well-known, but my preference would be for you to call me 'Sanduleak.' I'm sure you'll be able to remember it."

"What do you want?" asked Sam awkwardly.

"Did you know," continued the ghost, "that I'm truly famous? People whispered and stared at my work. Even after my death, they continued to mention my name. Or at least the name they gave me. I didn't even write most of those letters. Just the one with the little surprise near the end. But they remember that name even today and across the ocean from where I had my fun."

He took a step towards them and Lydia instinctively backed away. Not all ghosts were dangerous, but she could tell that there was something off about him. And he was avoiding the question.

"But I may be drifting off topic. Now, I was originally hoping that we could handle our business in private. It would be simpler and neater, but I suppose a little company wouldn't hurt anything," said Sanduleak, the fog billowing around him before encircling the trio more thickly. "Would you like to know why I chose to visit your charming city?"

"Sight-seeing?" Tucker suggested, shuffling behind Sam.

Grinning cheerfully, Sanduleak looked directly at Lydia and said, "I'm afraid not. You see, we have a mutual acquaintance that I'm rather vexed with at the moment. Or rather, I've been angry with him for about a century. So when I heard the news, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to work through some of my issues." Taking another step forward while the girl edged further back, he said, "I came for you, his pretty Mortal Bride."

Lydia scowled momentarily at the title, finding it to be an annoying reminder of the disastrous near-wedding that everyone regretted. She was a little confused about the stunned look on Tucker and Sam's face. It might be an odd and confusing title to call someone, but it wasn't enough to explain their reactions. She tucked that thought aside for the moment, though. She needed to focus on the poltergeist instead.

"So he probably humiliated you at some point and you're too scared to face him directly, so you decide to go for some revenge by proxy," Lydia summarized. "Because you're a coward who can't face anyone who could fight back and possibly beat you."

"Perhaps I thought taking away his chance for freedom would be a far harsher punishment for the Ghost With The Most," he said casually. "He can't marry you and escape if I have things my way."

"Or we could stop you first," said Tucker abruptly, whipping out what looked like a thermos from Sam's backpack. "Thanks for the visit."

Light suddenly came out of the cylinder along with a noise erupting as the boy aimed it towards the ghost. Something about the sound and how the mist reacted made Lydia assume it was supposed to suck the target towards it. What it actually did was absolutely nothing, leaving Tucker and Sam slack-jawed.

"Non-ectoplasm ghost?" asked Sam.

"Non-ectoplasm ghost," Lydia confirmed.

"Figures," said Tucker dryly.

"Such a shame," remarked Sanduleak, twirling his cane. "It was a nice try, though."

An invisible force sent Tucker and Sam flying away from him, the pair vanishing into the fog with a shout of surprise. A second later, another invisible force slammed Lydia against the closest wall. The wind was knocked out of her briefly as she hit the small section of brick between the door and the large glass display window of the electronics store.

As Lydia coughed and tried to catch her breath, Sanduleak stepped closer and remarked, "Do you know what they used to call me during my final days of life? Jack. Such a common name for such an uncommon fellow, even if they picked it up from the fake letters. Of course, it sounds better when you include the entire name the newspapers used." Transferring the cane to his left hand, Sanduleak ripped the knife out of his chest with his right one. "Jack the Ripper. Memorable and provides a lovely description of what to expect, don't you think?"

Sam tumbled across the blacktop, completely out of control. She felt her arms scraping on impact, the sharp stinging contrasting with the dull ache of future bruises. As she finally came to a stop, there was a light tink.

Raising her head slightly, she caught sight of the wedding ring. It apparently fell out of her pocket at some point when she was tumbling. Further away, she could spot one of the books from her backpack. Tucker must have left it open when he pulled out the Fenton Thermos. Beyond that, all she could see was fog.

"Tucker?" she called, climbing to her knees slowly. "Tucker? Lydia?"

The thick mist swallowed her voice, leaving it sounding muffled and quiet before it traveled very far. She doubted anyone could hear her and she certainly couldn't see them. She couldn't even tell which way was back the way she was tossed from. The fog was too thick, she'd been flung wildly, and everything left her feeling disoriented. Only the blacktop beneath her hands and knees suggested she was in the middle of the street rather than the sidewalk from before. Beyond that, she had no clue.

"That's just perfect," muttered Sam, grabbing the ring off the ground. "Can't find my friends or Sanduleak in all this mess."

Reaching for the book, she spotted a shape staggering through the fog. She scrambled to her feet, tensing briefly as she prepared to throw the book at it. Other than her durable combat boots, "The Living and the Dead" was the closest thing she had to a weapon on hand. Before she could react, thankfully, the girl recognized Tucker and his beret stumbling out of the gloom.

"Sam?" he called, blinking owlishly. "What in the world just happened? Lydia's the Mortal Bride? And some other ghost is after her because of he knows the Ghost With The Most?"

"We'll figure it out later," said Sam quickly, ignoring that the same questions were flitting around her mind. "Any idea which way they're hiding?"

"None."

"Stupid fog," she growled. "Danny's not here, so we'll have to protect Lydia. Somehow."

No, not him. After a century of not thinking about the ghost he trapped in a well, the murderous freak showed back up. And even if he couldn't see her, the poltergeist knew she was there. Sanduleak would do exactly what he always did. Serial killers weren't known for change. And unless someone said his name, there was nothing the poltergeist could do.

"What's going on?" asked the boy abruptly, peering over his shoulder.

No time to find any loopholes about his name, but maybe he could do something. The other girl, Sam, was clearly important to the teenage ghost and the boy with glasses was probably a friend, classmate, or at least an acquaintance. And the strange part-ghost boy seemed to have a protective streak, one that might extend to a full-blown dumb hero complex. Even better, the kid could use the portal. He could reach her.

"Do you recognize this place?" asked the poltergeist, shoving the piece of metal into his face.

"Huh? Uh… yeah, I know it," he stammered in surprise. "Who's that?"

"Sanduleak. The guy who likes to murder women and doesn't like me," he said quickly. "He'll kill her. And probably your girl too. But unless I can get out, there's not a thing I can do to stop him at the moment."

The poltergeist expected to make a deal, to offer the boy something to convince him to protect her. It was the only thing he could try. He couldn't do it himself. He couldn't help her, so he could only bribe and bargain in the hopes the boy would agree. Everyone had a price. Anything the teenager wanted in return, the poltergeist would find a way to provide. The cost would be worth it. He just desperately needed the boy to protect her.

But before he could make an offer of any kind, the teenager's eyes narrowed in a stubborn expression. Then the boy gave a short nod and took off like a bullet through the portal.

Danny didn't know much about the Ghost With The Most, but he knew that he obviously cared about at least one person. And he knew that the poltergeist was angry, worried, and even a little scared about what was happening. If he was that upset about someone being around the girls, Danny was going to accept his statement that Sanduleak was bad news.

He flew through the portal, phased through his house, and took to the sky. Thanks to all of his ghost hunting rounds across the city, the halfa recognized the fog-enshrouded section of Craven Lane. The bike rack outside the donut shop with the painted-on pink icing and sprinkles was a distinctive sight. Danny flew as quickly and directly as he could towards his goal, the image of the Ghost With The Most desperate and frustrated expression at his inability to do anything continuing to haunt the boy.

The poltergeist stared after him a moment, honestly surprised by the selflessness. The kid didn't even wait to be asked. He didn't question what was in it for him. He just… went.

He never really appreciated the benefits of bumping into one of the crazy heroic types. Sure, they could be just as gullible and naïve as any other target he might try to con, but they weren't usually worth the effort to trick. But if it saved her, the ghost would have to cut back on his mental and verbal insults towards the stupidly selfless.

Reluctantly, he refocused on the chunk of reflective metal. At the moment, there was nothing else he could do. Sending the boy and waiting was all he could do. He hated it. He hated his limitations normally, but he especially hated them when they left him helpless. He hated that she was in danger and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

She could be hurt. She could be killed. And with his luck, she'd either move on or instantly be snatched up to work in the bureaucracy for some reason. She could be…

She was a child. A teenage girl, but still a child. He didn't realize it when he first met, but he knew now. She was in danger and the only way he could help her was to send another child, a strange ghost boy, to protect her. He could lose her.

And there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

For all the power he possessed and all the knowledge he'd learned since his death, he was absolutely powerless to stop what was happening.

Fear replaced her previous nervousness and annoyance with the poltergeist. She was being haunted by the ghost of the infamous Jack the Ripper. His violent and visceral attacks on the women of Victorian London left Lydia with a pretty good idea of what he had in mind.

Her thoughts kept repeating themselves as she remained in place, stuck between the electronics store and the killer ghost. This was Jack the Ripper. He was going to kill her horribly. He was going to slice her throat, mutilate her body, and leave it there on the sidewalk like trash. It would be painful and bloody. He would do it just like he did to those women a century ago.

Sanduleak looked past her, briefly gaining a look of surprise before his expression shifted to one of pure smugness. He grinned towards his reflection, stepping close enough to the girl that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. Or slash her throat.

"We have an audience," he said slowly, turning his predatory gaze towards the girl once again. "I don't mind. He can't do anything but watch. And if you try saying his name, I'll cut out your tongue on the first syllable."

Afraid to look away from the dangerous poltergeist for long, Lydia tried to catch sight of the reflection in the glass or in the numerous television sets behind it. She hoped to catch sight of him. She knew what he could do with mirrors. But the girl didn't see anything beyond maybe some vibrations across the glass, like someone pounding against the barrier in fury.

Sanduleak's arm abruptly moved, the knife pressing lightly against her throat. Lydia stiffened, the sharp edge hard to ignore. She didn't want to die. Not anymore and not like this.

"It is a shame, though," said Sanduleak, abruptly pressing himself against her in a way that made her skin crawl. The knife, however, didn't even twitch. "A pretty, young bride missing her wedding night? It wouldn't be fair for you to miss out on that experience. But I can take care of that. Perhaps not the wedding, but certainly what comes after. It should be fun. For one of us, at least."

Shivering slightly at the slimy tone and the contact with his dead body, Lydia's mind raced for an escape, but her body seemed frozen in place. Sanduleak set his cane next them against the wall. Then with his newly-freed hand, he ran his fingertips along her side and down to her hip. She was mentally screaming and begging herself to move, but she couldn't make her body react. As horrified as she was during the almost-wedding, this was worse. At least then she could convince herself to at least speak out, but her throat felt locked.

As his hand reached the bottom edge of her skirt, all the glass around her explosively shattered.

"Get away from her," he snarled, his grip tightening on the piece of metal. "You get away from her or I'll kill you again."

Sanduleak knew he was watching. The living couldn't see him in the reflections at the moment, but the ghost still could. The disgusting creature even had to gall to grin at him and comment on the audience. Sanduleak didn't even care. He probably even saw it as a bonus.

Hatred and fury boiled within the older poltergeist. He needed to get out there and destroy that serial killer. But mostly he needed to get that creepy ghost away from her. Even if he couldn't exactly see her, he saw Sanduleak place a knife whre her throat must be and he wanted that freak gone.

And just when he thought he couldn't get any angrier, Sanduleak touched her. He pressed himself against the spot where the girl must be standing, looking at her. Sanduleak spoke to her, discussing her missing her wedding night in a manner that left no doubts what he was planning. She was a child. She was his girl. She was off-limits. There was a knife in the creep's hand and a hungry look in his eye. Sanduleak was touching the girl, running his fingers down her invisible figure. How dare he? How dare he?

"No, no, no, no, no!"

The metal shattered in his hands, his fury causing him to pour far too much power into the mirror trick. It didn't hurt the poltergeist, but he shouted in frustration anyway. He didn't know what was worse; knowing what was happening to her while being helpless to prevent it or not knowing, but imagining what Sanduleak would be doing to her while still helpless to prevent it. Either way, there was nothing he could do and he hated the feeling of being powerless.

No.

He was not losing his friend because of that vile woman in white's meddling and a smug poltergeist with a talent for minor meteorological manipulation looking for revenge. He was the Ghost With The Most. No one would harm her as long as he had any say in it. Sanduleak would pay for even going near her. Even if he had to physically drag the younger poltergeist back to the Netherworld and throw the freak into the Lost Souls Room himself, he would pay.

Fury, worry, desperation, and even more fury burned and boiled through him as stubborn determination gave the emotions a direction, a purposeful goal. No one was going to say his name. Not in time to be of any use. They weren't going to let him out. But he wasn't going to let that stop him. He wouldn't let her be harmed. She was his. There was one other option available that he didn't like and wouldn't be easy, but he couldn't just wait around while she was in danger.

"Hold on, Babes," he said quietly, closing his eyes a moment before racing back through the portal.

Even though he was prepared this time, the poltergeist still hissed through his gritted teeth and nearly stumbled to the ground as the pain hit. Once again, he focused on all the power he possessed on keeping himself together as his body tried to rip itself apart. It hurt, but he forced himself regain his balance and even to step further into the strange basement. No turning back. He couldn't keep it up forever, but he could do it for a little while. He could do it for her.

Sensing other ghosts took practice, but it was a skill any ghost could learn. Usually it worked best for nearby ghosts, but some were easier to locate than others. Ectoplasm ghosts were the easiest to sense. Something about them just made it seem like they were walking around with a giant spotlight shining on them. And while the town had its share of specters lurking around, the partially-alive ghost boy was unique enough that following his trail would be simple. He'd lead the poltergeist straight to her.

Fighting against the painful sensation of everything trying to tear apart and collapse, he focused on where the boy flew off. Once he had the direction, the poltergeist used the tiny shred of power he could spare to follow. Ripping, tearing, burning, melting, collapsing crumbling, fraying, and generally coming apart at the seams with only pure stubbornness and protective fury keeping him in one piece, the Ghost With The Most went after his girl.

She needed him, so he'd get there. Even if it destroyed him.

Chapter Text

The permanent destruction of the deceased, as opposed to simply moving on, is a difficult act to achieve. There are only a small number of possible causes.

The most common method employed, though increasingly less common as the knowledge is lost among the living, is through the process of exorcism. During the process, the deceased will be drawn to a location prepared by the member of the living performing the exorcism. Side effects of the process include loss of voice, floating, gradual loss of strength, degradation of the physical form, and extreme discomfort. Other ghosts are highly encouraged to interrupt or reverse an exorcism on another member of the deceased if they should encounter such an event in progress. When an exorcism is properly implemented and allowed to reach completion, the irreversibly-damaged deceased will be banished to the Lost Souls Room and unable to exist outside the room.

The deceased who are completely exorcised will be left in a completely intangible, translucent state where they gradually lose further strength, physical composition, awareness of surroundings, sense of identity, and existence. During the process, pain and discomfort will remain as long as there is some semblance of a physical body and/or mind present. The process has been comparatively described as "like having your soul sandpapered away until nothing is left." The entire destruction process can take between two and three centuries, but it cannot be stopped or reversed once the exorcism is allowed to reach completion and the deceased are banished to the Lost Souls Room. Any deceased who enter the room shall be unable to leave. It is highly recommended that this outcome be avoided and prevented.

Another method of the permanent destruction of the deceased is to disruption of their physical integrity beyond what can be handled. Exceeding the limitations of the deceased is one way this can occur. A more powerful ghost can also cause enough damage to a weaker ghost to destroy their existence. Certain artifacts can be used by the living to cause significant disruption to a ghost's physical form and can reach levels to threaten their state of being.

All three of these variations essentially involve the disruption of the physical integrity of a ghost in different manners and rarely occur. Pain and discomfort discourages the deceased from exceeding their personal limitations. Mediation and discussion with caseworkers can prevent disagreements between the deceased from escalating to serious fights. Artifacts of power are rare and seldom in the possession of knowledgeable members of the living.

Even so, these are viable methods for the permanent destruction of the deceased, which will invariably lead to extreme pain, discomfort, and cessation of existence. Caution should be taken and these scenarios should be avoided at all costs.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

The window, the numerous television sets, and even the glass globe of the streetlamp shattered for no reason, raining glass shards all over the sidewalk. The noise was deafening and unexpected, she and Sanduleak flinching at the sound and flying fragments. But Lydia, the surprising explosion of glass snapping her out of her paralyzed state, recovered first and brought her knee up sharply against her attacker.

She knew ghosts. They were tougher to cause harm to, possessed a variety of powers, and didn't require the usual necessities of life due to being… well, dead. But they tended to share a few traits with the living. The Maitlands still slept. He still liked to eat, albeit preferring insects. And, when dealing with those who could see them, they tended to be somewhat substantial. So when she hit a man-shaped ghost in the right place, he reacted the same way that a living man-shaped entity would: stumbling backwards in surprised pain, doubling over, and snarling curses.

Shoving the knife-wielding hand away, Lydia flung herself as far from the poltergeist as possible. She scrambled across the sidewalk, glass crunching beneath her feet. She didn't know how to get away from Sanduleak, the mist making it impossible to move quickly or easily, but at least she was moving. She wasn't paralyzed with dread and terror anymore.

"Ugh, another one with spirit," coughed Sanduleak, making the girl look back. The poltergeist straightened back upright, snatching up his cane, and continued, "I hate that. Last time I dealt with a woman with spirit, she managed to turn my own blade against me and had her brother help toss my body in the river afterwards. Sad thing is she didn't mean to or even know she accidentally killed the infamous Jack the Ripper. I doubt you'll be as lucky, though."

Trying to suppress the urge to shiver, Lydia said, "You never know."

Her words made Sanduleak smirk, which in turn made her skin crawl. Twirling his cane in his left hand and the knife still tightly gripped in his right, he stepped across the fragments of glass. The crunch of it cracking underfoot seemed ominous.

"Now that we're past your mandatory escape attempt and the Ghost With The Most's little temper tantrum," he said, kicking a larger piece of glass aside, "why don't we go back to the first half of tonight's fun?"

"How about we skip it?" shouted a voice as a black-and-white blur burst out of the fog and hit the poltergeist.

Sanduleak flew back several feet as the blur landed between the poltergeist and her. Lydia was surprised and relived to recognize the white-haired version of Danny, the ghost version. His fists were glowing green and he looked exactly like a triumphant hero arriving to save the day. All that he was missing was a cape fluttering in the wind.

"Sanduleak, I presume?" Danny continued. "I know you're new here, but this is a 'no creepy murderer' zone. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Blinking owlishly and brushing glass fragments off, the poltergeist muttered, "What are you?"

"Your worst nightmare: the best of both worlds. A human and a ghost," he answered. "Lydia, Sam, and everyone else in my town are off-limits, so don't even think about it. Leave. Now."

Tilting his head, the poltergeist remarked, "Well, you certainly don't see that every day. The glowing fists are a new one too."

Lydia watched as Danny aimed them towards the ghost and said, "If you like that one, wait until you see what else I can do."

Sanduleak barely dodged the sudden blasts of energy, but didn't escape Danny's flying tackle. The pair crashed to the pavement. The boy managed several hits before a solid whack with the cane knocked him aside.

"Not bad," said the teenager, sounding winded, "for an old guy. The last ghost was tougher, though. You're more like a kid wearing a bed sheet and yelling 'boo' at people."

Realizing that Danny trying to keep Sanduleak distracted, Lydia quietly edged her way backwards. Even if she couldn't actually navigate through the mist and the darkness, following the sidewalk beneath her feet should eventually lead her out. Maybe if she could edge her way off the battlefield, she could escape with her life. And hopefully with her gone, Sanduleak would leave too. At least for a little while. The girl kept her steps slow, remembering that fast movement attracted attention.

"Maybe you'd like to see my newest talent, then," Sanduleak said. "I picked it up about a decade ago, but you might find me a little 'tougher' this way."

Danny dove towards the poltergeist, but Sanduleak dissolved into the very fog that surrounded them and the teenager passed harmlessly through the space. While the boy looked bewildered as he hit nothing but pavement, a chilling laugh echoed from everywhere and sent an increasingly-familiar feeling of dread to the pit of Lydia's stomach. The destruction of the streetlamp meant that that there was even less light to see with and the thick fog surrounded them, meaning he could come from any direction. They would never see him coming until it was too late.

"I don't know if it counts as being tougher, but it's certainly more annoying," shouted Danny, glancing around the fog frantically. "Are you done acting like a coward? Because I really don't feel like playing hide-and-seek all night."

"Well, if I don't have time to play first," said the poltergeist, materializing back out of the fog directly in front of Lydia, "then I'll have to skip straight to the main event."

The slash towards her throat was lightning fast, as was to be expected from the infamous serial killer. Lydia couldn't react in time, but someone was already moving. A familiar handbook slammed into the ghost's knife hand right before it made contact with her neck, leaving it to slash empty space instead. Sanduleak didn't get a second try because a blast of green energy knocked him flying back into the swirling fog.

"Danny," said Sam, wielding the handbook as her impromptu weapon. "Welcome to the party. You have great timing."

"The thermos doesn't work on him at all," added Tucker, following her out of the mist. "And did you know Lydia's the—"

"Mortal Bride? Yeah," Danny interrupted. "I figured that much out."

"And how do all of you know that dumb name?" asked Lydia, her eyes scanning the fog for the killer. "None of us ever called me that."

Ignoring the question, Sam said, "We need to get her out of here. He's after her and wants her dead as some kind of revenge."

"Easier said than done," muttered Danny.

He sounded exhausted. Lydia could see it in his posture and the way he was breathing heavily. Whatever ghost emergency he was handling before must have been tough. And now he was facing a psychotic killer ghost who could turn into fog. Sanduleak was also clearly skipping his previous unnerving and creepy plans for her in favor of just straightforward murder, which wasn't much of an improvement. This wasn't good.

The four of them formed a protective circle, back to back. They stared out into the gloom uneasily. He could form from the mist, so Sanduleak could be anywhere. He could appear from any shadowy point. Lydia could feel her head pounding as they tried to figure out a strategy.

He was after her. He might ignore the others if she wasn't around. She needed to escape, but running wouldn't work very well. The only one with effective attack against Sanduleak was clearly at the end of his strength. Physical attacks, like Sam hitting him with the book or even Danny punching him, would only work when he reformed and wasn't expecting it. They needed help and Lydia only knew of one person to call when she was out of options.

"Get my journal out," she whispered.

"Now?" asked Tucker. "I really don't think this is the best time for that."

"I need the name inside it," she answered. "I need to remember."

"You don't remember his name?" said Sanduleak incredulously, materializing in front of her before cackling. "That's just too perfect. His little bride forgot all about him."

Firing a couple of ecto-rays towards the ghost, one actually managing to clip him before he dissolved back into mist, Danny remarked, "This is getting old really fast. Get her journal or whatever she needs."

"It fell out of my backpack," Sam said regretfully, her eyes never leaving the fog and her grip on the handbook never loosening. "I lost it earlier when he tossed us like ragdolls."

"We need to get it back," said Lydia. "We need the name."

"Or we could just let me have my fun instead," declared Sanduleak from the dark depths of the mist.

Once again, Lydia saw all of her companions flung away by an invisible force. The shouts of surprise were swiftly swallowed by the thick fog, making her feel isolated and vulnerable. She hated the unnatural mist that engulfed them so thoroughly. The girl knew they weren't too far away, but the thick and entrapping fog would slow them down. They wouldn't get back in time. And she wouldn't be able to run away fast enough to make a difference. She knew he would kill her this time.

No one would swoop in with a blast of energy, a thick book, or a sandworm right in the nick of time. She was completely on her own. No one would stop him.

Her heart thundering wildly in her chest, but refusing to show her fear, Lydia glared into the gloom defiantly. She saw him reform from the mist and refused to flinch. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And if he got close enough, she'd risk her luck with a punch to his smug face. It wouldn't do much, but it would be worth it.

"I hope I come back as a ghost so I can beat you up for this," she said sharply, thankful that her voice wasn't wavering too much.

If she came back as a ghost, maybe she could talk someone in to letting her haunt her old home with the Maitlands. And if she didn't, maybe she would be with Dad, Delia, and maybe even Mom again. Not even the ghosts knew for sure what lay beyond. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

Chuckling darkly, Sanduleak twirled his knife between his fingers and remarked, "What an imagination you have. As if anyone could truly stand a chance against me."

"How about you reconsider that statement and get away from her?" shouted an unexpected, wonderfully-familiar, and highly-welcomed voice.

The look of blind terror that materialized on Sanduleak's face in response nearly filled Lydia with as much relief and comfort as the gravely, rough, familiar voice itself. Then the majority of the fog dropped to the ground and vanished, leaving behind the bewildered teenagers and two poltergeists.

For the second time in a far too short time period, Sam was thrown by an invisible force and sent tumbling across the blacktop. The addition of glass fragments made it even worse the second time around. She was already scrambling back upright before she actually came to a stop. Her mind was already racing. Sanduleak would kill Lydia.

He wanted to kill Lydia. She was the Mortal Bride. The Ghost With The Most was looking for her. Sanduleak hated the Ghost With The Most. Lydia was missing a ghost friend she couldn't remember the name of anymore. Sanduleak mentioned her forgetting the Ghost With The Most's name. She was friends with the Ghost With The Most, which cast into doubt all the assumptions about his motivation. Her thoughts kept racing and circling as she ran in the direction she guessed was right.

Lydia was the Mortal Bride and Sam was holding a wedding ring. That thought struck her hard, her gut urging her that there was an important connection there.

Any further ideas she might be considering were frozen as the majority of the fog sunk to the ground and dissipated. Sam spotted Tucker climbing up, grimacing at the scratches from the glass fragments. Danny was also getting to his feet unsteadily, no longer in his ghost form. She saw Lydia further away, a strange expression of relief on her face. Sanduleak, far too close to the girl for comfort, looked absolutely terrified. The strange shift from smugness to extreme fear was a little scary. But Sam's attention was quickly drawn to the newcomer.

Walking slowly and deliberately towards Lydia and Sanduleak with the clear intentions of getting between the two, another ghost had stepped onto the battlefield. Frazzled blond hair, a striped suit, and dark circles around his eyes, he seemed like another of the non-ectoplasm ghosts. The stranger was wearing the scariest and angriest death glare she'd ever imagined possible and moved very stiffly. Sanduleak stared at him like the new arrival was the Grim Reaper himself or something.

"You shouldn't have crossed me and you definitely shouldn't have gone after her," said the blond ghost, his voice tight. "I'm not going to be nice this time around. How fast can you run?"

"How?" said the stunned and terrified Sanduleak. "Who summoned you? Who let you out?"

Grinning like a shark, he said, "Does it matter? Why, do you think you can get rid of me before I destroy you completely? Banish me instead of fight or flee?" He took another step, prompting Sanduleak to back away from Lydia a little. "You know the name, so you better be quick this time. Last time you were a little too slow."

Sam saw the killer ghost stumble back a little further, his mouth dangling open in horror and a shocked squeak emerging. But as Sanduleak tried to get any words out, the blond ghost took another step so that he was between the guy with the knife and Lydia. And then he staggered slightly, grimacing.

Sam saw the look of confusion on Sanduleak's face, but she was also noticing the other details about the blond ghost he'd managed to hide before. He was breathing heavily, his teeth gritted tightly, and his body was shuddering slightly. His stiff movements and tight voice were now explained by the fact he was clearly struggling to remain standing upright. The deathly pallor of his skin almost looked like it was wavering continuously, as if constantly on the verge of crumbling to dust, melting into goo, and peeling apart like ancient wallpaper all at the same time. Even an idiot could see that he was in trouble and in pain.

"What did you do?" asked Lydia quietly, reaching towards his arm.

"The portal," said Danny, understanding flashing across his face. "You said it didn't work for you…"

"You're… you weren't let out," remarked Sanduleak with dawning comprehension and a returning grin. "No one said your name. You cheated." He laughed sharply as the other ghost glared venomously. "You know, for someone who claims to be the Ghost With The Most, you don't look so good. I suppose if you bend the rules far enough that they begin to break, you'll break too."

Glancing briefly towards the girl behind him, the blond ghost said quietly, "Sorry, Babes. Tried bluffing, but looks like I'm stuck with the hard way. If you get the chance to run, take it."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him. You can't ask me to do that. Not after what happened to everyone else."

"Didn't ask, Babes."

They were precariously balanced on the edge. Sam could feel it. Their fight or flight instincts were on overdrive. Even with Danny out of energy and the thermos useless, she, Tucker, and Danny weren't ready to give up. Even with the infamous poltergeist looking like he was about to collapse, there was a predatory tension that even his clear pain wasn't enough to conceal. Sanduleak's confidence was returning, his cane and knife twirling comfortably in his grip. The slightest hint of aggression or a strong enough sign of weakness would be enough to send the uneasy stalemate tumbling back into a true fight.

"Why risk it?" asked Sanduleak, confusion briefly crossing his face. "She's useful, I'll admit. Not many living would marry the dead, so it would be a setback to lose her. But destroying yourself like this for her? That's just foolish, throwing away your afterlife for a scrawny half-grown girl rather than just trick another one later." When that only made the blond ghost's expression darken, Sanduleak abruptly gave a harsh laugh of realization. "You deluded, senile, crazy idiot. You actually care about the pretty, young thing. Who would have thought you could be so easily ensnared?"

"The talking thing? I'd stop it if I was you," said the other poltergeist, panting heavily even as he stared down the ghost.

"He's distracting you,' Danny said, clearly wishing he could transform back. "He's stalling for time until you're too weak to fight back."

"I'm not an idiot. I know what he's trying," he muttered. "Unfortunately I can't do much to prevent it since I worked too hard on my big entrance, getting rid of the fog and all."

Sam could have sworn she heard Lydia mumble, "You and your sense of drama."

"Was hoping it would scare him off. Blame your aunt. I'd have more to work with if it wasn't for her meddling."

With a predatory grin, Sanduleak said, "This will turn out to be a far better revenge than I could have possibly imagined. Kill your Mortal Bride and possibly even destroy the most infamous poltergeist of all in the process."

Dashing forward with lightning speed, Sanduleak tried to dart around the blond ghost to reach the girl on the far side. The other poltergeist managed to grab an arm and stop him from touching Lydia, but it looked like it was a near thing. The blond one tried to shove him away from her, but Sanduleak dug his knife into his shoulder and dragged him closer. The murderous ghost stabbed at him rapidly in the chest and stomach, vicious and unrelenting. When one of the stabs to the gut was a hair slower than the rest, the blond ghost managed to snag his wrist and stop him.

"Doesn't work as well on the dead," said the blond ghost, panting heavily.

Before Sanduleak could react, a heavy electronic device hit him hard enough on the side of the head to make him stumble back a step. She barely recognized the ancient and outdated PDA from a few years ago. Sam spotted Tucker already holding another one.

"Even the clunky obsolete models have their uses," shouted the boy. "And you're out-numbered."

"But not out-matched," said the violent poltergeist, making another dive towards Lydia.

Grabbing Sanduleak's arm, the blond ghost threw his weight into knocking him away from the girl. Using their combined momentum, he managed to send the both of them tumbling to the ground and even hit Sanduleak in the face with his own cane.

This wasn't like Danny's usual ghost fights. This involved less flying around and blasting and a lot more desperate struggles to keep a tight hold on his opponent and away from Lydia. This was the actions of someone with no other options and yet refused to give up.

Sanduleak, however, still possessed a few other tricks at his disposal. Tucker yelped as he was thrown by an invisible force towards the struggling poltergeist in an apparent attempt to knock away the blond ghost. Sam couldn't help wincing in sympathy as the teenager hit the ghost hard, sending the pair tumbling.

Tucker sprang to his feet quickly, clearly startled by his time as a blunt weapon, but unharmed. The blond poltergeist wasn't as quick to recover. He wasn't moving from where he landed.

Movement out of the corner of her eye yanked Sam's attention away from the ghosts. Lydia was running. Not away from the fight, but parallel to it with an expression of pure determination that mirrored that of her poltergeist defender. A glimpse of color across the pavement made it clear she was after the journal.

With not even the slightest hesitation, Sam took off running after her. The journal might be important. She could be right, but Sam also knew the wedding ring clutched tightly in her hand was vital. Call it intuition or a gut feeling, but Sam knew getting the ring to Lydia was essential at that moment.

Pain wracked his body, his thoughts and concentration losing all clarity and focus. He'd been out without being properly summoned for far too long, used too much power that he needed to hold himself together. He was so tired and everything hurt. Dying didn't hurt this much, though he'd also been rather drunk at the time. His mind was growing foggy. Regardless of the fact he'd been hit by a thrown boy of all things, he couldn't spare the energy to even think about what just happened. He was struggling to find the energy to move, to stop Sanduleak from harming her.

That thought managed to work its way through his increasingly-sluggish and exhausted mind. He couldn't let that idiotic Sanduleak win and he certainly couldn't let her be harmed by the creep. That was why he risked the portal in the first place. He couldn't fail her. He needed to get up.

Shuddering and gasping in pain, he shoved himself back to his feet. He saw her running, but he also saw Sanduleak swinging his cane towards her head. Without the strength to use his normal tricks, the older poltergeist was forced to rely on more ordinary methods. Lacking anything resembling coordination or style, he tackled Sanduleak.

"Not going to happen," he managed to choke out.

"You can't stop me," said Sanduleak, grabbing his suit and slinging him towards the gutter.

As much as he hated to admit it, the older poltergeist knew he was right. He'd pushed himself to the limits and beyond. His weak grip on maintaining his physical integrity was slipping away. He was unraveling, crumbling, collapsing. He couldn't keep it up, couldn't keep in one piece. He didn't have the strength or mental willpower anymore.

His vision darkened, his entire body grew heavy, and pain pushed all thought away. Sight and sound were replaced by the agonizing sensation of destruction. Everything else was lost.

Get the journal and say the name. Get the journal and say the name. Get the journal and say the name. That simple and straightforward goal repeated in her mind. Lydia needed to reach the journal. She needed to say his name. Or she would lose him.

She needed to summon or banish him now. She could see that existing in the land of the living right now was killing him. Or destroying him. Or whatever the proper term would be. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't lose her best friend simply because she couldn't remember his name.

"Hold still, my pretty," said Sanduleak right before something tackled Lydia out of the way, reintroducing her previous headache.

She looked up in surprise to find that Sam apparently was responsible. Judging by Sanduleak's position, her fellow Goth had obviously knocked her out of the path of another knife slash. Unfortunately, it also knocked her farther away from the journal.

"You just can't make things simple," he snarled. "But it isn't like this is the first time I'll kill two in a single night."

"Going ghost!" shouted Danny as a flash of light engulfed him briefly as he fired off another blast of ecto-energy. "Guess who's catching his second wind a little?"

The teenage boy, still sounded tired, closed the distance and landed a right hook to the murderous poltergeist's jaw. It made the ghost stagger back a few steps, but Sanduleak quickly adapted to the new target by alternating between slashing with his knife and trying to knock him out of the air with his cane.

"I have to get the journal," Lydia said, trying to climb back to her feet.

"Fine, but take this with you," said Sam, helping her up quickly before offering something small in her hand.

Without paying attention, Lydia reached out and took the object. At that moment, her headache intensified. She winced at the sensation. It was like something was trying to break out of her skull. Something trapped and locked away that wanted to escape.

Lydia looked down. It was a wedding ring. A simple, plain wedding ring. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. She had a wedding dress, a red and unusual thing she'd hidden in the back of her closet for so long. Should she not have a ring? Did she just forget about it too?

Not even bothering to think about what she was doing, Lydia slipped the ring on her finger.

Even as he weakened and lost further ground in his struggle to remain in existence, he felt something give.

Invisible, intangible, metaphorical links in a chain snapped as their weakest point was broken.

The ripping, tearing, shredding, crumbling pain of his body didn't stop him from grinning slightly as he realized what happened. Trying to bind the living was a tricky thing to accomplish. Even for those as tangled up in death as much as her tended to be too alive for it to work. It was surprising it lasted as long as it did. Though attempts usually could cause harm to the targets, which he'd been furious about at the time.

But that vile woman tied all her bindings together, linking them together in a metaphorical chain attached to a physical object she used to summon him in the first place. It kept him limited just as she hoped. But she brought her into the arrangement and that created a weak point. And once the weakest link was broken, the entire bindings she crafted were unraveled.

He could say her name. He could see her in reflections. The living would be able to see him in mirrors. He would be able to write his name.

Unfortunately, he still didn't have the strength to use any of it.

The entire world was abruptly rearranged. One moment, she was ignorant of ever having that ring. The next, Lydia remembered the first time she saw it. He pulled it off a bony finger at that almost-wedding, trying to finish the ceremony before Adam or Barbara could interrupt with his name…

His name. She remembered his name.

Any wonder she might have felt at the return of her memories were shoved aside as desperation reminded her of the urgency of the situation. She barely spared a moment to see Sam's questioning expression before turning to face the direction of her best friend.

He wasn't moving, looking more like a vague striped shape than an actual person. She needed to be quick.

"Betelgeuse!"

The name, his name, managed to pierce its way through the pain and sluggish fog of his mind. Someone said it. Someone was trying to summon him. A sliver of hope fed his weakening strength enough to hold off oblivion a little longer.

That's once.

"Get down," shouted Sam, shoving for the second time in just a few seconds.

Lydia hit the ground and rolled as Sanduleak attacked, far more relentless and desperate than before. She saw fury and fear both in his face as he slashed at her as she scrambled away.

Three shapes tackled the murderous poltergeist, two humans and one mostly a ghost. Somehow, Sam, Tucker, and Danny managed to get a tight grip on him and knock him to the ground.

"Betelgeuse!"

This time he was aware enough to recognize the voice. She was calling him. She remembered. Of course. Breaking the bindings on him would break them on her. Of course she would remember now.

That's twice.

She tried to say it again, but Lydia was forced to dive out of the way again. Sanduleak, throwing the trio off like they weighed no more than ragdolls, slashed and swung his cane at her rapidly. She couldn't catch her breath enough to speak. She could barely move fast enough to dodge his strikes.

She had to say it. She was so close. But the violent and almost crazed look on Sanduleak's face terrified her. If she hesitated, she would die. He wasn't toying with her now. He wasn't trying to prolong or torment her first. He was doing his absolute best to kill her before she could speak. His blade flashed and his cane whistled through the air as it moved. If she was wearing a looser shirt, it would already be in tatters based on how close the strikes were coming to her.

Lydia knew she had to risk it. She couldn't keep dodging forever and her friend was almost out of time. Hoping that she could speak fast enough, the girl took a breath.

"Betelgeuse—ahhh!"

Pain erupted as he finally hit his target and darkness swallowed Lydia.

Chapter Text

As the newest caseworker for the deceased, we wish to welcome you to your new job and hope that you enjoy this highly rewarding task. Remember that just because you are dead does not mean that you cannot find fulfillment in your afterlife by assisting other ghosts navigate through the challenges of their hauntings. Your exact duties and responsibilities will be listed below.

In addition, a new recruit has recently joined us and it has been decided that he will serve as your assistant. You are responsible for ensuring his behavior remains professional and helpful. Even with his status as a poltergeist, some complications in regards to his name, and some of his past history in regards to working alongside others, we are confident that you will be able to handle him.

-Excerpt from an in-office note addressed to Juno Daelman

"Ma'am? Number 9,998,383,750,000 doesn't seem to be in the Waiting Room."

She resisted the urge to rub her temple in frustration. Of course he was missing his appointment. He makes a giant mess among the living and dead, she cleans it up and smoothes things over so that the higher ups didn't rain horrible punishments on his insane head, and she even sends someone to drag his sorry hide out of the gullet of a sandworm, but he couldn't even manage to sit still for two years.

She'd hoped sticking him in the Waiting Room would buy her some time before his next disaster, letting her bosses cool down a bit and forget about his latest exploit. She'd hoped it would keep him out of trouble. She'd hoped to at least delay his next stupid stunt for awhile. But that would be far too easy.

He just couldn't stay out of trouble and, as always, it was somehow her job to handle him. At first, it was because she was the newest caseworker and the more senior members didn't want to get near the poltergeist that was somehow recruited. Then later on, it was because she kept him as an assistant for decades when everyone expected an explosive and chaotic fallout after a week. Now, it was because she had experience and, on the rare days he felt like being less troublesome than usual, he sometimes listened to her. It wasn't exactly fair she was continuously responsible for that annoying headache of a ghost, but she'd long since grown accustomed to that. Life wasn't fair, so why should the afterlife be any different?

Twisting the cigarette between her fingers, she blew out a cloud of smoke reluctantly. She'd have to handle this. She couldn't just let him run amuck after his wedding stunt without at least trying to force some sense into his head. And there was no way to predict what kind of chaos he'd caused in the last two years.

"Push back my appointments or move them to another caseworker," she ordered. "Then pull the most recent additions to his file. I better figure out what mess I have to clear up now."

Tucker was really growing to hate Sanduleak. First he decided to throw him across the pavement twice. Then he threw the boy at the other ghost, treating him like an inanimate object. And now, after tackling the creep to stop him from stabbing Lydia, Sanduleak threw him, Danny, and Sam back onto the glass-covered blacktop. Explaining away all the cuts and bruises to his parents later wasn't going to be fun.

Landing on his back hard, Tucker rolled to his side in time to spot Sanduleak trying to slash or clobber Lydia with his weapons. She was barely dodging his strikes, the boy wincing in sympathy with each near miss. She only slowed for a fraction of a second, yelling out a word that the boy could barely understand. And that slight hesitation was all that Sanduleak needed, his cane making contact with the side of her head. The force of impact spun her around and she crumbled to the ground like a sack of stones.

"No!" shouted Danny, blasting the poltergeist as he tried to follow up with the knife.

The quick slash to the throat was barely prevented as Sanduleak was knocked back. Lydia didn't move, lying limply like a ragdoll in a way that made Tucker's chest clench. Danny placed himself between the still figure and the swiftly recovering murderous ghost. The teenager was breathing hard, though Tucker wasn't certain if that was due to exhaustion or anger.

"Stay back," he growled. "I mean it. Just stay away."

"Did I do it? Did I silence her in time?" asked Sanduleak, a desperate and frantic look on his face now.

Too fast to spot in time, a mass of metal slammed into the ghost, wrapping around him like snakes. Only when he spotted the tires still attached did Tucker recognize it as a bike. At least, it used to be a bike. In less than a second, it was coiled tightly around Sanduleak and warped beyond the capability for anyone to ever ride again.

"No," snarled a rough, gravelly, furious voice.

Tucker turned and nearly jumped out of his skin. The other ghost, the one who was previously lying in the gutter like a pile of trash after that last impact, was upright again. Actually, he was more than upright. He was floating a few inches off the ground. His eyes were locked on Lydia's still form before slowly turning towards Sanduleak. And while he was still tired-looking, the hints of pain were gone. All that remain was completely and utter fury.

Before, Tucker had wondered about his title. The Ghost With The Most what? Power? Impressive reputation? Victories? Dates? Visitors to his website?

Now he knew. The Ghost With The Most Terror-Inducing Appearance When Seriously Ticked Off and Who Can Probably Make You Regret Ever Being Born.

"Be—" started Sanduleak before the other ghost crossed the distance instantly to grab his throat, silencing him.

"Two words," the blond ghost snarled, glaring at the terrified poltergeist in his grip as if he wanted to eviscerate him. "Sandworm bait."

He practically hurled Sanduleak away in disgust, the ghost and mangled bike vanishing before he hit the ground. Tucker didn't know where he went or how bad a sandworm might be, but he had a strong feeling that Sanduleak was getting off easy at the moment and would receive a more appropriate retribution later. As angry as the blond poltergeist might be with him at the moment, the murderous ghost was clearly of secondary importance and an unwanted distraction that could be dealt with at another time.

As he turned away from where he tossed Sanduleak, Tucker could see the instant the blond ghost shifted his attention back to the girl. The boy could feel his racing, pounding heart slow as the unbridled fury evaporated, leaving the poltergeist far less terrifying.

Tucker knew he wasn't exactly the guy who watched all those emotional chick flicks that always seemed to end with the audience in tears, but he wasn't a complete idiot when it came to empathy either. The look on the ghost in that instant heart-breaking and flew directly in the face of everything the teenager expected after all the talk about the infamous Ghost With The Most. There was too much dread, worry, and guilt in that expression. The poltergeist wasn't levitating and looming anymore. He was approaching the girl with a mixture of desperation and hesitation, as if he needed to reach her and was scared of what he might see upclose.

"Lyds?" he croaked, crouching beside the girl. "Come on, Babes."

Tucker could understand the trepidation in his voice. She was so still. There was blood from numerous small scratches caused by the broken glass, similar to the injuries that marked the other humans present. The worse was the spot on the side of her head where Sanduleak hit her. It was already a mess, blood matting her hair and making it impossible to see how bad the damage might be.

They should call someone, an ambulance, but Tucker couldn't bring himself to interrupt the ghost and his palpable distress. The poltergeist didn't even seem to notice his witnesses and none of them were prepared to draw his focus. They were practically frozen as he gently reached towards the prone body, but not quite touching her.

"Lyds, don't you dare," he said quietly. "I did not just go through that mess for some sorry excuse for a poltergeist to…"

Even if Tucker ignored the age differences and reminded himself that everyone called her the "Mortal Bride," the ghost still didn't look at her like a potential love interest. He also didn't look at her like she was a damaged prized possession. The expression was more how Jazz looked at Danny when he was hit hard during a fight and didn't immediately fly back into action. Or how Danny looked at his two best friends when things got too dangerous for non-ghost-powered people. The poltergeist truly cared about Lydia. Just not as a bride.

"Lydia, please," the ghost said, a hint of resignation and sorrow creeping into his voice.

As Tucker's throat tightened at the idea that Sanduleak succeeded in his plans for her after all, the poltergeist finally touched her blood-matted head gently and a pained moan renewed the hope in all those gathered. Tucker exchanged looks with Danny and Sam, but the blond ghost's gaze never left the girl. The trio allowed themselves to edge a little closer and spotted the exact moment Lydia returned to proper consciousness.

"Ow…" she groaned, reaching gingerly towards the swelling and bleeding lump on her head. "That hurt." Eyes still closed, she mumbled, "Didn't die, right? Wouldn't hurt this much."

"No, but you're lucky I haven't had a pulse in centuries because that would have certainly stopped it," said the poltergeist, his scolding tone not hiding the intense relief in his voice at all. "Do you really want to end up as a ghost at your age? Stuck in the middle of puberty forever? No, Lyds. You're avoiding that until at least you're ninety and you're definitely going out with more style than getting hit by some smug serial killer ghost with the creativity of a kumquat. Because there's no way I'd associate with someone who gets killed like that. I have a reputation, Babes. You have to have better standards than that."

Her eyes flew open at his rather speedy rant, a smile erupting on her face at the sight of the poltergeist. All the smiles Tucker had seen on her before, which were rare and far apart, were weak things. It was as if she couldn't scrape together enough positive feeling to manage anything better and that a heavy sadness was weighing her down. The loss of her family could account for some of it, but he suspected not all.

This smile, however, wasn't like the others. This was a real, complete, and truly happy smile. Even the blood and forming bruises couldn't disguise the uninhibited joy. And it was apparently caused by the presence of the guy who looked like an animated corpse.

"Beej," she said, looking like she wanted nothing more than to tackle him in a hug if it wasn't for the fact she had a bleeding head injury. "Are you all right?"

"Asked the girl almost murdered by a psycho," interrupted Sam, kneeling next to Lydia to help her sit up slowly. "You scared us to death."

"Speak for yourself," said the poltergeist, trying to draw a flimsy cloak of indifference around himself in a transparent attempt to save some dignity. "I'm already dead."

"I heard you say my full name," Lydia said, seeing through the attempt without any trouble. "You never use my full name. And you said 'please.' You were worried."

Looking oddly vulnerable for a second, he muttered, "Can you blame me? I can do a lot, but I can't fix the living. And I kind of like you keeping a heartbeat for a while longer."

"And I prefer you not hurting yourself. Aunt Melinda caused enough trouble without making things worse on yourself. And don't tell me you were fine because that fight would have been over in five seconds if you were. Not to mention you looked like death warmed over instead of just death."

"Not my fault I didn't have time to find a proper loophole around your crazy aunt's restrictions. Jack the Ripper isn't exactly known for his patience."

"What exactly did you do to get him annoyed with you?" asked Lydia.

"Hey, don't blame me. How is it my fault that he was always a creep and an idiot? He tried to make a deal without sharing all the facts. I didn't like what he was up to and he refused to back down when I told him to knock it off. So I put him in time-out. He just overreacted."

"Considering how much you hate being trapped, you have no room to talk."

While certainly tinged with honest concern for each other, there was also a familiarity to their argument. There was no sharp bite to their words. It reminded Tucker far too much of how he, Danny, and Sam would behave around each other, mixing worry with teasing and fighting as easily as breathing. It was a way of reassuring each other that they were all right. It was the weird paradoxical behavior of best friends.

Cautious about interrupting, Sam said, "We probably should get you to a hospital, Lydia. You're awake and talking, but that hit looked painful and it did knock you out."

The pair gave Sam a rather amusing look, one of pointed disbelief at her suggestion. Lydia even managed to raise an eyebrow without wincing.

"Are you kidding? How are you going to explain all of this to the doctor? Not to mention that going to a hospital will get my aunt involved and I'm not going near her unless I absolutely have to," she said, trying to hide what was a clear hiss of pain.

"And I approve of any plan that includes keeping Lyds away from that ugly hag," added the poltergeist. "So no hospital trip."

Awkwardly, Danny raised his hand as if he was in class, "Uh, I feel like I missed something. Why do we hate Lydia's aunt?"

"Because she's a crazy old woman with a powerful artifact who thought it was a great idea to mess with Lyd's mind and kick me to the curb," growled the ghost, his hand migrating to the girl's shoulder.

"And almost exorcised you," the Goth girl added sternly.

"We'll explain later," Sam told Danny, earning a slight frown.

Hoping to shift topics slightly to something a little safer than the secrets they kept from their best friend, Tucker said, "You know, I don't think we ever had a proper introduction. I'm Tucker, that's Sam, and the one who can fly and blast things with his hands is Danny."

The ghost tilted his head, looking mildly amused. Tucker had to admit that the situation was pretty surreal. A bunch of scratched up and battered teenagers, a halfa, and a poltergeist were all hanging around the middle of a dark street, about to do introductions like they were at some kind of deranged tea party.

"I've already met Danny-boy," said the blond ghost. "We had a slight misunderstanding where he thought I was looking for his girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Danny, telling Tucker everything he needed to know about that misunderstanding.

Rolling his eyes, the poltergeist muttered, "Sure. Whatever story makes you happy, pal." A little louder, he said, "Recently, people call me the Ghost With The Most. It has a nice ring to it, right? Though some of the ladies prefer to call me 'Amazing' or 'Stud'."

"And if they don't mind summoning him and his giant ego, they call him 'Betelgeuse,'" Lydia remarked.

"'Betelgeuse'? Your name is seriously 'Betelgeuse'?" asked Sam

"Gah! Watch it with the B-word," yelped the ghost. "I just got here."

Danny frowned, "Isn't that a star?"

"Betelgeuse," said Tucker, his voice becoming monotone as the leftover effects of his time using the Cramtastic Mark 5 study aid kicked in. "Also known by its Bayer designation Alpha Orionis, it is the ninth-brightest star in the night sky and second-brightest in the constellation of Orion. Distinctly reddish, it is a semiregular variable star whose apparent magnitude varies between 0.2 and 1.2, the widest range of any first-magnitude star. The star is classified as a red supergiant and is one of the largest and most luminous observable stars. Its distance from Earth is at 640 light-years. Less than 10 million years old, it has evolved rapidly because of its high mass. In August Derleth's short story "The Dweller in the Darkness" set in H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos, Betelgeuse is the home of the "benign" Elder Gods. In Jean Louis De Esque's poetic works, Be—"

"Okay, okay, stop with the lesson before you say it again," interrupted the blond ghost, snapping Tucker out of his study trance. "The next guy to say the B-word gets worms in their shoes. And that's if I'm feeling nice about it."

"Just call him 'Beej' like I do," Lydia advised tiredly. "It sounds better than using his initials. It kept reminding me too much of the Bee Gees."

"Only after I told you the right way to spell it. Before that, it probably steered your thoughts in a different direction," he smirked.

"You taught me your name with charades," she muttered. "Don't blame me if I got it wrong."

"It isn't easy to do a specific star in a constellation with charades, Babes. Maybe if I was dealing with an astronomer…"

Tucker had to ask. He didn't want to interrupt and risk poking at what he suspected was a touchy topic, but he wanted to know. He could no more ignore his curiosity on the topic than he could avoid keeping his software upgraded.

"What exactly is going on with the 'Mortal Bride' thing?" he practically exploded.

Both Lydia and Betelgeuse grimaced and the ghost dragged his hand across his face. There was definitely a story involved.

"First, I didn't know she was a child at the time. I was out of practice guessing ages with the living," he grumbled. "Second, it would have been like one of those green card marriages. It was just a way to get out. And third, it was two years ago. We're past that. No weddings in the future. So drop it."

Holding his hands out defensively, Tucker said, "Got it. Sorry."

"Who in the world invented that dumb nickname anyway?" muttered Lydia before wincing again, her hand going back to the lump on her head.

"Okay, that's it. Even if you don't want to go to the hospital, we need to have someone take a look at that," remarked Danny gently. "Not to mention that, with our luck, someone is bound to have noticed the disturbance. And Valerie showing up to investigate and attack us would probably be the perfect way to end our day. So maybe we should get out of here."

"It isn't that bad," she said, touching the injury gingerly before checking her hand. "I even think most of the bleeding has stopped. See?"

For a moment, the dangerous look crossed the poltergeist's face again. Tucker felt a chill go up his spine. The way Betelgeuse stared at the blood sticking to her fingertips and the swelling lump on the girl's head left the boy with no doubts that the ghost wanted nothing more than to strangle Sanduleak with his bare hands. Or whatever the ghost equivalent of horrible violence on someone for nearly killing their friend might be. Then the ghost shook his head slightly and the look was gone, his clear desire for vengeance set aside for more immediate concerns.

"You have a head injury. You kind of need to take those seriously," said Sam, slowly helping the girl to her feet. "And unlike Danny, all those cuts and bruises won't be gone in a few hours or overnight. Downside of being human."

"So if we're not taking her to a hospital and we're not taking her to her aunt, what are we going to do?" asked Danny. "Mom and Dad would ask a lot of questions and probably run a lot tests if they suspect ghosts are involved."

"And my parents would just call an ambulance," said Tucker. "You do look like you were hit by a car and we're not much better."

"My parents would do the same thing," Sam added. "Though it would probably also include some useless comments about how I should get some more appropriate friends who don't get into this kind of trouble."

Danny continued, "Jazz would help if I asked. And she wouldn't need a lot excuses or explanations."

Betelgeuse stood up next to Lydia, though Tucker thought he might have wobbled slightly with the movement. The ghost gave the girl an inspecting look before crossing his arms in front of his chest. The boy was still trying to figure out what was up with the striped suit, but it almost gave the ghost something that might resemble a look of authority if the observer was far-sighted.

"Up to you, Babes," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

Lydia opened her mouth, but didn't immediately answer. Her expression crumbled as she finally allowed her pain and sadness to materialize. She wasn't crying, but her eyes looked a little wet as she closed them. Considering her day, Tucker didn't blame her at all for the delayed reaction. Actually, considering how recent her parents' deaths were, she was definitely entitled to some kind of reaction.

"I want to go home," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly on the last word.

Any movement almost imperceptible, the ghost was suddenly closer to the girl. The sleeve of his strange suit brushed against her scratched up arm, Lydia leaning towards him gratefully.

"I think I can handle that," said Betelgeuse gently.

The ghost offered an arm that Lydia accepted easily, nodding to him and blinking away the earlier hints of moisture from her eyes. The girl grabbed Sam's arm with her free hand while Betelgeuse slung his other arm across Danny's shoulder in an overly-friendly and annoying manner.

"Someone grab the boy in the hat," the poltergeist ordered. "Its field trip time."

Uncertain what was going on, Tucker grabbed Sam's hand and hoped for the best. The poltergeist looked rather smug as he gave Lydia a short nod.

"Knowing that I should be wary," the girl recited, "still I venture someplace scary."

Betelgeuse closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face. Something was about to happen and Tucker was betting it would be impressive.

"Ghostly haunting now turn loose," said Lydia. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."

With those final words, the dark street vanished from sight. Or perhaps the more accurate description was that they were the ones who vanished. Tucker really hoped this was a good idea.

Chapter Text

Talked to Barbara and Adam finally about Betelgeuse showing up in my mirror a little while ago. As I predicted, they weren't exactly happy about him being around. Can't completely blame them for the reaction. They wanted to charge straight to Juno and tell her. It took a little while to talk them down.

After convincing them not to tell their caseworker, I had to explain that I honestly think he's sorry about the almost wedding. That was a little trickier, but I did it. I considered calling him up to help support my story about him not actually knowing my age at the time, but I knew it would probably make things worse and more complicated.

They still weren't happy about him, but they trust my judgment to an extent. Which is part of the reason they're awesome ghost godparents as far as I'm concerned. Talking them into not telling Dad or Delia wasn't quite as tough. I just pointed out that neither of them would react well to the news and Dad would probably give himself a heart attack out of stress. Of course, Delia might just try to turn him into her new muse, which would be scary to imagine in an entirely different way than Betelgeuse seems to prefer.

But anyway, they promised to not tell anyone as long as I promised to tell them the moment he tried to do anything inappropriate (after banishing him if possible). Then they gave me a hug and asked me to be careful.

I'll probably still try to keep him out of the house as much as possible. It wouldn't be good if he managed to freak all of them out with his usual behavior before I have a chance to make sure that my theory is right.

I have no interest in getting shanghaied by your step-mom to be her muse. Granted, she wasn't half-bad looking, though the brunette in the attic is pretty decent in the flower dress too…

Stop writing in my journal, Beej. And stop commenting on Delia and Barbara. That's my step-mom and sort-of godmother. Do you know how creepy that is for me?

I can't help it that both of them are attractive, Babes.

They're married. And stop writing in my journal.

I can be patient. And what theory are you talking about?

Stop writing in my journal.

You keep responding, Lyds, so I got to keep it up. What theory?

The one that you're not as bad as you seem.

…You repeat that idea to anyone and I'll leave your bed on roof next time I visit. I have a reputation to maintain.

Whatever you say, Beej.

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

Sam thought she was growing used to strange surroundings. Her hometown was once dragged into the Ghost Zone, for goodness sake. Weird events were part of her daily life.

That didn't stop her stomach from performing a few somersaults as the poltergeist did something and their surroundings vanished. She felt like she was being pulled along, like the tail of a kite. It lasted for less than a second, not even long enough for her to blink, but the sensation was just so odd that Sam couldn't ignore it. Like going down the steep hill of a rollercoaster.

Then it was over. The world reasserted itself beneath her feet, though Sam could have sworn she spotted Betelgeuse stagger slightly out of the corner of her eye. She blinked and glanced around curiously at where she ended up.

At first, Sam thought they were still standing in the middle of a street. Not the same street, but certainly a street. There were houses, trees, and a few parked cars scattered around. The place was rather quaint, feeling more like a small town than the city of Amity Park. Then she started to notice a few details seemed off about the place.

"Is this Winter River?" asked Tucker hesitantly.

"Not unless the place is made of cardboard and foam," remarked Sam, scuffing her boot against the fake pavement. "Everything here is just a bunch of props and trickery."

The grass was green foam. The cars were toys. The buildings were cleverly-made, painted facsimiles. Everything was fake. Following a hunch, she looked up. Instead of a sky, she saw a distant wooden ceiling with lights dangling from it like makeshift stars. Unless they were in a giant enclosed stadium, Sam suspected they weren't the same size anymore.

"You're not completely wrong. This is Winter River. Or at least a model of it," Lydia said.

Sam started to take a step forward, curious to explore her new surroundings. Even with her life, how often did a person get shrunk down and have the chance to wander around a scale model of a town? But as she tried to move forward, Lydia's grip tightened. When she looked back questioningly, her fellow Goth shook her head. Apparently they needed to stick together.

"Let's see if they're in the attic," muttered the poltergeist. Then, in a louder voice, he called, "Hey, Doll! Are you and the dork still going strong or are you finally available?"

She didn't even have to look to know Lydia was rolling her eyes at his words. There were apparently multiple reasons why he was unpopular.

"Go away," a female voice shouted from somewhere overhead. "Lydia isn't here and we don't want to deal with you tonight."

Sam shook her head briefly. There was something odd about the voice. It was hard to explain. Like she could and couldn't hear it at the same time.

"Actually, she is here," he yelled back. "And unless you want to leave her the size of a toothpick, say the words and let us out."

There was a brief hesitation and an indistinct murmur from somewhere out of sight. There was obviously a discussion going on overhead, likely over whether or not to call him.

Turning her head upwards, Lydia called, "Barbara? Adam? It's me. He brought me and a few friends."

"If you're just copying her voice, you'll regret it," the woman's voice warned. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."

The stomach-flipping, pulling, odd sensation hit again and Sam found herself standing in the middle of an attic. There was a window on the left, just past a large model with intricate details. There were a few odds and ends stashed around, like an ancient television that probably didn't even work anymore, empty picture frames stacked against the walls, and a sheet-covered couch practically shoved in a corner. Glancing behind her, she saw the bricks of a chimney with a chalk line running up it. In front of her, she saw a doorway that probably led to the stairs. She could tell it was probably at least a three story house based on the glimpse she caught out the window.

As she glanced around the room quickly, Sam noticed something strange. Her eyes and her brain seemed to be having trouble agreeing. Part of her insisted they were alone in the attic. The rest of her was certain she saw a curly brunette woman in a floral dress and a bespectacled man wearing a black-and-white checkered shirt and khakis. It was like having double vision as her mind tried to deny their presence.

The moment of confusion didn't make sense, though. Sam knew ghosts were real and that someone was definitely in the room, responding to Betelgeuse and Lydia's remarks. They had to be present. And with that thought, the strange dissonance vanished. She could abruptly see the pair easily. And they wore horrified expressions on their faces.

Danny wasn't certain how the poltergeist was able to transport them apparently all the way to Connecticut. He knew Wulf could slice through the barriers between the different dimensions as a quick shortcut, but this seemed different. And maybe a little more impressive. He just didn't know exactly how it worked.

What he did know, however, was that Betelgeuse was far more tired than he wanted to let on. The arm draped across the teenager's shoulders certainly seemed casual and intended as mocking friendliness. But when they first appeared in the strange model town and then in the attic, Danny felt the ghost lean against him in an attempt to regain his balance. He wasn't even sure that Betelgeuse realized he'd done it. He might be trying to hide it, but there was clearly some residual effects from whatever damage barreling through the portal unsummoned caused him and moving a lot of people probably wasn't helping. If it was Danny, he'd probably have already reverted back to human from lack of energy. But if Betelgeuse wanted to hide any signs of weakness or exhaustion, Danny wasn't going to say a word. He could do that much for the poltergeist.

He was, however, wondering if he should risk getting some distance between him and Betelgeuse. The guy didn't seem to be popular and he didn't want to get caught in the fallout. The two strangers in the attic, the ones who were previously speaking and obviously didn't want the poltergeist around, were staring at the group with matching horrified expressions. And even though they looked completely human and didn't seem to be triggering his Ghost Sense, there was something about them that just announced that they weren't alive. Once again, it seemed he was facing non-Ghost Zone entities.

"Barbara," smiled Lydia in relief, rushing forward to hug the pair. "Adam. I've missed you."

The man was quick to return the embrace, but the woman soon pulled back enough that she could properly see the injuries to the girl. A quick look to the man and abruptly there were death glares directed towards the poltergeist.

"What did you do to her?" snapped Barbara. "We should have told Juno the instant you came back. I don't care how powerful you are—"

"Hey, he didn't do this," interrupted Tucker. "That was the other guy."

"For once, I can honestly say this wasn't my fault. Mostly," Betelgeuse said. "So try turning all that parental anger towards the more productive direction of the guy who actually did it. Or, I don't know, maybe see if you have bandages around here for the bleeding injury to her head before she makes a mess all over your attic."

Adam nodded slowly, "I think they left a first aid kit in the bathroom cabinet. Give me just a minute to find it."

The man hurried down the stairs while the woman gave a final glare at the poltergeist before returning her focus to looking over Lydia's head wound. The girl seemed to be stuck in the awkward state where she was both embarrassed by the way Barbara was fussing and happy with the affection, a state of existence experienced by most teenagers at some point in their lives. Mostly, though, Lydia seemed content and relieved to be near the woman.

"What happened, Lydia?" she whispered.

"There was a jerk of a ghost who got a lucky hit," said the girl. "I'm fine. It looks worse than it actually is."

"You were almost killed by the ghost of Jack the Ripper," exclaimed Tucker. "Dude, you really have a talent for understatement."

Barbara looked appropriately horrified to hear that, hugging Lydia close again. The two Goth girls directed a pair of sharp glares at the boy, ensuring that everyone knew that they didn't appreciate the blunt way he said it. In his defense, Tucker seemed to realize that mentioning near murder to the clearly maternal woman was a mistake.

"See? Mostly not my fault," muttered Betelgeuse. "Sanduleak's fault. And maybe her aunt's. I'm definitely blaming that crazy old bat. I'll blame her for anything I can come up with. I'll even blame her for the economy too. But it wasn't my fault this time."

"He's right," Danny said. "He wasn't even in the human world until near the end, so there's no way he could be the one to blame for this. And even if he freaked out all the other ghosts in the area, he did charge in to rescue her."

Looking a little uncertain still, the woman at least gave the poltergeist a less hostile look. Danny spotted the brief look of surprise before his expression became more confident and smug. Betelgeuse also still had his arm draped across the halfa's shoulders, occasionally steadying himself a little. Danny purposefully didn't mention it and stayed in place. The ghost simply acted like everything was under control, so the boy tried to keep up the illusion.

"I'm sure it comes as a shock to you, but I did try to keep Lyds safe," said the poltergeist tensely. "Even told Danny-boy about the girls being in trouble the moment I figured it out so he could charge in like a classic thick-headed hero type. Though he is cleverer than most of them. He pulled off a few neat tricks, after all."

"Thanks?" Danny said uncertainly.

The man finally returned from downstairs, carrying a small chair with one arm and a plastic first aid kit and a couple of washcloths tucked under the other. The couple quickly shuffled Lydia into the chair before sitting on the covered couch themselves, putting them at a perfect height to focus on the painful-looking lump on the side of the girl's head. From there, they started cleaning away the drying blood gently, the washcloths already making progress on the sticky mess.

Everything about the pair, from the expressions on their faces to the way they interacted with the girl, made them seem like her parents. But Danny heard about the Maitlands, Adam and Barbara, earlier. They weren't technically her parents, but they were important to Lydia. They obviously cared for her like family. So even if they weren't her parents, they were a close enough substitution as far as the boy was concerned.

"Guess it's a good thing they left so many belongings when you left," remarked Adam, grimacing as he pushed back her hair enough to see the damage. "There are a lot of sheets draped over the furniture, some of the clothes were donated, and your room is pretty empty, but your aunt and uncle didn't take much."

"They took plenty," Lydia muttered, wincing as they cleaned the injury.

Trying to obviously distract the girl from their efforts to doctor her, Barbara asked, "So who are your new friends, Lydia? They definitely seem to notice us."

"Well, the boy in the red beret is Tucker. He's good with technology," she explained. "The girl's name is Sam. We kind of have similar fashion tastes. And the boy with the white hair and the superhero jumpsuit is Danny. I met them in Amity Park. They have class with me. Turns out they deal with ghosts regularly too. Just… different types."

"You mean the ones mentioned in the book from that zone place?" asked Barbara, reaching for the antiseptic.

"Right," Lydia said before hissing sharply in pain as they dabbed at her head.

"Nice to meet you," greeted Sam. "We've heard a lot about you, Mr. and Mrs. Maitland."

"And since I haven't mentioned the time you fed me to a sandworm, I'm sure they've heard nothing but good," Betelgeuse said dryly.

"Beej," said Lydia in a warning tone.

Rolling her eyes, Barbara turned towards the other teenagers and said, "Sam? Tucker? There are some scratches on you too. We should probably take care of those."

"We certainly have enough bandages and gauze," added Adam as he began to bind up the lump on the girl's head.

Smiling wryly, Tucker remarked, "Yeah, we do look a little mangled."

"Betelgeuse! You idiotic, infuriating, insane poltergeist! You just couldn't resist. You just couldn't stay put for a little while."

Everyone flinched at the angry explosion from an unknown speaker, the target of the rage nearly stumbling as Danny found himself supporting a lot of his weight for a moment. The boy briefly wondered if they were about to be attacked again and thankful that he was still in his ghost form, though he also knew it would be a short fight.

Stepping into view, though the halfa wasn't certain from where, was a short-haired blond woman in a grayish suit jacket over a white shirt. She wore a necklace of pearls, held a cigarette between her fingers, and gave on the impression that she didn't put up with nonsense from anyone. She looked like someone's grandmother, but walked forward with far too much authority to be underestimated. And once again, Danny knew she was a ghost even without his Ghost Sense going off.

"Juno," said Adam, looking briefly panicked. "I know we should have told you he was still around—"

"Save it," she snapped. "I'm not worried about you two. I'm here about him."

"Hey there, June-bug," greeted Betelgeuse, aiming a winning smile at her. "You're not upset about me leaving the Waiting Room, are you? Because that place was enough to even bore ghosts to death."

"How in the world did you manage to get by on your own for so long? I should have your head for all the trouble you cause, both to my afterlife and in general."

Smirking, he said coyly, "Well, if you really want my head—"

"Shut up," she snapped. "I am not in the mood. I just got done reading your file—"

"All of it?"

"Just the most recent additions. The rest was too long to read in a hurry."

"You don't know what you're missing, June-bug. It should have some great stories."

"Betelgeuse, you'll shut up and listen right now or so help me, I will personally drag your sorry hide back to Saturn and leave you there until the next century rolls around. Am I clear?"

Apparently deciding the older woman was serious and that the threat was bad enough to warrant some cooperation, the poltergeist didn't say a word. He just leaned on Danny in what appeared to be a casual fashion and waited.

With her head freshly bandaged, Lydia stood up and pulled away from her ghostly pseudo-parents. She quickly placed herself between the woman and the poltergeist, her very posture declaring her intent to protect him.

"Juno, I know you're mad at him about the near-wedding. Everyone by this point agrees it was creepy, weird, and wrong. But we didn't get married, we aren't going to get married, and everyone involved knows it was a mistake. And he didn't know I was twelve at the time. That was just a misunderstanding. And if I've forgiven him, then I think everyone else should just get over it and move on by now. And the reason Adam and Barbara didn't tell you is because I asked them not to. I wanted to give Beej a chance and I knew you wouldn't let him stay around if you knew, so blame that part on me. But you can't be mad at him now—"

"Oh, I can be mad at him," interrupted Juno as the Maitlands stood up from the couch and pulled the girl away from the woman. "Ever since I met him in 1919, he's been a giant pain in the neck. And while I'm trying to clean up his last mess, trying to forcibly marry an underage girl against her will—"

"In my defense, she did agree and I kept up my end of the deal," Betelgeuse muttered.

"I said keep quiet," she snapped. "And you know if you're going to do something stupid like marry the living, they have to do it by their own free will. No tricks, no coercing, and no compulsion. And voice mimicry doesn't count. And did I mention the underage part? But while I'm trying to keep my bosses from deciding you've gone too far finally and handling my usual caseload, do you stay in the Waiting Room where you can't cause anymore headaches? No."

Gesturing in frustration at the poltergeist, the woman shook her head briefly and brought her cigarette up to her face. The brief awkward pause in her tirade was rather uncomfortable, practically begging someone to break it.

"Uh, you know smoking is bad for your health, right?" said Tucker hesitantly.

The disbelieving expression on Juno's face in response was actually pretty hysterical. Danny could feel Betelgeuse fighting back the urge to laugh out loud. Of course, he could also feel the poltergeist leaning against him far more regularly than before. Thankfully, he was stronger as a ghost than as a human, so Danny could support his weight without looking like he was actually doing anything.

"I'm fairly certain that I don't need to worry about that," the woman said dryly, blowing out a puff of smoke as a second cloud floated out of a slit in her throat Danny hadn't even noticed previously.

Eyes widening as he spotted the same thing, Tucker mumbled, "I'll just be quiet now."

"You do that," she said, rolling her eyes in a clear statement that she felt like she was surrounded by idiots. Then, turning her attention back to Betelgeuse, she continued ranting, "So you skip out after apparently a couple of months and run right back to the scene of your most recent disaster. Whether for revenge or to complete your nuptials, I don't care. All it would take would be one false move and all my efforts to get you some form of leniency would be wasted. Which would serve you right and would give me a break. But by some miracle, you managed to stay under the radar for two years. You caused some chaos, but nothing large scale."

"Hey, I still pulled off some bio-exorcist jobs," the poltergeist muttered, sounding almost like he was sulking.

"Did I give you permission to talk?" asked Juno sharply. "You avoided large scale chaos, but you still ended up in trouble. Your most recent file entries make that quite clear. How in the world do you end up in these situations, you impulsive ghost?"

Gesturing towards his chest with the hand not supporting himself, Betelgeuse asked, "Trouble? Me? And here I thought I'd been displaying some pretty good behavior recently. What exactly did I do since the almost-wedding that has you so worked up, June-bug?

"We'll ignore the fact you've been moving the living into and through the Netherworld for the moment. That's a headache for another day. Let's review what's happened in the last week or so, shall we? First, you nearly get yourself exorcised."

"It wasn't the first time people tried it on me. I'm just usually able to break out and stop them before it gets too far," he muttered. "My power trumps most people's will power. She just had a secret advantage other people lacked. Evil witch and her freaky necklace…"

"So you barely escape an exorcism and end up getting bound by the living for your troubles. And instead of doing the smart thing and taking some time to recover from that misadventure, you decide to go charging through the Ghost Zone like you don't have a shred of common sense and scaring the locals," she said, actually stepping closer to poke him in the chest. "Then, because apparently normal insanity just wasn't enough for the Ghost With The Most, you go lurking around that stupid portal. Actually, you did more than just lurk."

"What did you expect me to do?" he snapped, though his voice lacked some of his early force. "A serial killer ghost was trying to kill Lyds. That wasn't going to happen, June-bug. And you and your bosses certainly wouldn't approve of the dead killing the living, so you're not allowed to complain about me stopping Sanduleak. Of course, if you bothered to deal with him years ago—"

"That was before my time and you know it," she said. "Blame the previous civil servants. And he was locked up, so no one was worried about him anyway."

"Well, obviously he got out finally. And it isn't my job to deal with Jack the Ripper for you," muttered Betelgeuse. "I haven't worked for you in quite some time, June-bug. Remember?"

There were definitely hints of the poltergeist reaching the end of his strength. Even a few of the others in the room were starting to notice something off about him, Lydia especially giving him a look of concern. His voice was less energetic than before, the ghost no longer able to mask it with his tone. His eyes looked less animated, his eyelids drooping down. And the arm draped across Danny's shoulders no longer appeared as casual.

"I'm quite aware you don't work for me and we will track down Mr. Sanduleak for proper punishment," she said curtly. "That doesn't erase the fact that you were idiotic enough to go through that portal. You are not some freshly-dead spirit who doesn't understand his limitations. You cannot get out unless someone says your name."

"Well, it wasn't easy or fun," he mumbled.

"Of course not, you idiot. It could have destroyed you, regardless of how powerful and stubborn you think you are," shouted Juno. "You managed to get by for almost six hundred years without me babysitting your sorry hide, so you must have something resembling a survival instinct. And yet you do something completely insane and almost ended up with a fate worse than entrapment in the Lost Souls Room. Is that what you want? The Ghost With The Most suffering oblivion because he lacked the sense to remember his limitations? I did not go through all the trouble of dealing with you as an assistant for decades and then still cleaning up your messes afterwards for you to just throw away your afterlife because you decided to be impulsive and stupid."

The woman's anger abruptly made far more sense to Danny. It wasn't just fury and frustration. The ghost was worried about the poltergeist. As much as she was clearly annoyed by Betelgeuse, she obviously didn't want him dead or destroyed or whatever the correct term would be. She was ranting and yelling at him because she felt upset he almost got himself killed.

"Oblivion?" asked Barbara quietly, looking between Juno and Betelgeuse uneasily.

"She's exaggerating," claimed the poltergeist even as Danny subtly moved his arm to steady the ghost's slight wobbling. "Believe it or not, June-bug can act like a real mother hen sometimes. I think she forgets I'm actually older than her."

"You act more like a rebellious child, so I have to treat you like one," said Juno. "And I'm not exaggerating. You never gave yourself a chance to rest after one brush with disaster before diving straight into another. Then you nearly rip yourself apart. How much power did it take to avoid it? Because I'm guessing it was enough that you can't bounce back instantly like you're trying to pretend."

"And why would you say that?" he mumbled, trying to adopt a stubborn look.

"Because if you weren't obviously out of energy, you wouldn't have stood there listened to me this entire time without trying to create some type of disruptive distraction," she said, pausing momentarily to release another cloud of smoke. Then, in a slightly gentler tone, Juno continued, "You can fight it all you want, but you're exhausted. Considering you should be gone after that stunt you pulled, I'd call that a reasonable state to be in at the moment. You need to get some rest before you fall over."

"I think he'd have fallen over already if I wasn't holding him up," Danny admitted.

Through his increasingly bleary eyes, the poltergeist managed a slight glare at the halfa and mumbled, "Traitor."

"Come on, Beej," Lydia said gently, taking his other arm and leading him forward. "I'm safe. You're safe. Everyone is safe. Except Sanduleak. He's gone. No one is going to bother us here. Surely you can risk a short nap while I visit with Barbara and Adam, right?"

"I guess a short nap wouldn't hurt," he mumbled as she and Danny shuffled him towards the couch. Pausing briefly, he glanced in Juno's direction, "Take a look at Danny-boy while you're here. He's a paradox. That should give your paperwork some trouble."

"I don't deal with ectoplasm ghosts," she said dryly, "so I don't care what's going on with him."

Betelgeuse snorted, his eyes already closed, "Too bad. Wanted to see your reaction. Thought it'd be funnier."

"Sorry to disappoint," said the woman, sounding completely unapologetic.

By this point, Danny was trying to lower the poltergeist onto the couch only to discover that Betelgeuse seemed to have already slipped into unconsciousness. He wasn't sure if it was the dark circles under his eyes, but he looked painfully exhausted now that he wasn't pretending to be fine. Danny had a feeling that nothing short of a direct attack against the poltergeist would wake him up now.

…Or a direct attack against Lydia.

"Idiotic, impulsive, insane poltergeist," muttered Juno, shaking her head at the sight. "It would be so much easier to deal with him if he matched that reputation he works so hard to maintain. It would be easier because I could hate him and let him destroy his afterlife. But no, he's got to go and do something halfway decent every now and then." She glanced towards Lydia and said, "I don't know how you do it, but you're bringing out that tiny spark of goodness buried under all that scum. Practically had him playing hero today. Doesn't change the fact he essentially needs a babysitter to keep him out of trouble."

"Or a friend," the girl replied, looking towards him with the sort of exasperated fondness that seemed perfectly natural.

Chapter Text

Regardless of what popular opinion and the media might suggest, the idea of magic did not always cause a reaction of panic and hysteria. Even during the Middle Ages, there were points where certain types of magical practices were accepted rather than leading immediately to attempts to hang or burn the witches. A lot of the people in power, even within the church, actually believed that people couldn't have magical powers anyway and that there was no harm if some chose to pretend they did. Granted, there were some who believed that all magic was connected to the devil and that thought-process grew over time, but that belief didn't have complete dominance within the culture until later.

Two "types" of magic were said to be practiced during the Middle Ages. One was considered to be the more inappropriate type that was later used as the example of how witches were pure evil while the other was considered more harmless.

Black Magic was the "bad" type of magic. Black Magic had more of an association with the devil and satanic worship. If someone fell ill of unknown causes, this was often said to be caused by witches who practiced black magic. Other harms caused to society, such as accidents, deaths, or bad luck, were also said to be caused by Black Magic.

The basis of White Magic was in Christian symbolism, and it focused on nature and herbs. It was the "good" type of magic, something intended to help. White Magic was used for good luck, love spells, wealth and spells for good health. Astrology was another major part of White Magic. Alchemy, which is the practice of making potions, was a part of White Magic as well. All these aspects were also referred to as "folk magic" and, in certain areas, it would be considered useful to have someone like that around.

In fact, prior to the 13 or 14th Century, witchcraft had come to mean a collection of beliefs and practices including healing through spells, ointments and concoctions, dabbling in the supernatural, and forecasting the future through divining and clairvoyance. In England, the provision of curative magic was the job of a "witch doctor" (a term used in England long before it came to be associated with Africa), also known as a "cunning man", "white witch" or "wiseman". "Toad doctors" were also credited with the ability to undo evil witchcraft. Although they did not refer to themselves as witches, these cunning-folk were generally considered valuable members of the community.

For a while, practitioners of folk magic were left alone by the authorities. Witches weren't really prosecuted and hunted until around the time that they published the " Malleus Maleficarum." The "Malleus Maleficarum" (The Hammer of the Witches) is a witch-hunting manual written in 1486 by Heinrich Kramer, an Inquisitor of the Catholic Church, and first published in Germany, where it is known as " Der Hexenhammer ," in 1487.

In the Catholic Church, the prevalent view since AD 900 was that witchcraft was not real, that practitioners who were in the Church were instead heretics deluded by the Devil into believing they manifested arcane powers. Most punishments, pre-" Malleus" were light, either penances of a sort usually given in Confession for most sins, a spell in the city stocks, or at worst excommunication. In the 1350s, the opinion was still in the middle of shifting from "only malicious magic users who makes deals with the devil for power are dangerous, but some use magic for good works" to "all magic users are evil and made a deal with the devil."

-Excerpt from 9th Grade History Assignment "Magic, Witches, and the Middle Ages: What Happened Before People Started Hanging and Burning Them at the Stake" by Sam Manson

Elinor gasped as the latest pain faded, knowing that the end was near and hoping for a better outcome than before. The other women, and Sibylla specifically, whispered calming and soothing words in her ears, smoothing back her loosened hair, and helped her remain balanced on the horseshoe-shaped stool. She breathed heavily, the scent of the ointment smeared on her filled the air. She'd experienced this before, but it always ended in tragedy. The woman prayed this time her child would be born alive.

She'd been walking through the village, returning from the communal oven with the bread for her husband, when the first pangs of labor struck. No longer living within the village, she'd known the journey home would take too long and she would be unable to locate the neighbor women in time. Instead, she was taken to Sibylla's home while someone else in the village took news to Remfrey in the fields.

Sibylla was a wisewoman, one who moved to the town when she was younger and came with an understanding of many ointments, potions, and remedies that often helped more than those used in the past. The room was covered in the evidence of her knowledge, jars of sweet smelling contents and valuable parchments arranged on the shelves and table. She was also a skilled midwife. If there was any hope for Elinor's child surviving, Sibylla would ensure it.

Pain struck again, coming far faster than before. Seeking any distraction from the last stages of labor, Elinor's gaze searched the room. Every chest, window, and cabinet was unlocked and opened, a tradition meant to ensure an easy birth. Cloth, water, and other items awaited their use upon the child. The fire flickered, the heat making it even harder to focus on anything beyond her discomfort.

Her eyes finally fell upon a parchment resting on the table. Stars and constellations were carefully drawn and their movements across the night sky mapped. She recognized some of the shapes they formed. Sibylla's status as a wisewoman, one who knew the methods of examining the night sky to learn a child's future and what ills they might face, would need to know where the stars appeared upon their birth. Such a map would be useful for that knowledge, to help divine what the future might hold. But as a midwife, any spell she might know would not be used during the child's birth. Only afterwards, when the baby was safely delivered, might she be willing to look to the night sky to see what answers might be revealed. Anything else would risk accusations of witchcraft, though everyone in the village knew she always used her skills to help and never to harm.

Such beautiful stars, though.

"You are nearly finished," assured the midwife. "Your child is almost here."

Another woman brushed back Elinor's hair. She was so tired. She'd already suffered such hardship, debt and ruin pushing her and her husband to the edge. They had so little now. After all of this, she didn't want to be left burying another child who never drew breath. Her heart would break to lose another. She wanted a baby to hold in her arms.

This time, a short cry was torn from her throat as it struck. The other women crowded close, her hands gripping desperately the sleeves of those closest. It hurt. It hurts so much. And as the last of the pain faded again and Elinor felt her body relax, she heard something that brought tears to her eyes.

A baby crying.

The next few moments passed in a blur as the midwife and the other women scurried around her. She caught glimpses as the child was bathed, throat and mouth cleared of mucus, ears pressed back, and the limbs carefully swaddled. With the skill and experience of the various women in the room, Elinor knew the swaddling would be done correctly. It was important, after all, that the infant was properly bound tightly with the strips of cloth to ensure the limbs would grow straight and without any deformity. And it would ensure the child did not become misshapen from improper or excessive handling. After losing so many babies before they were born, she would not let anything harm this one.

Holding the crying child in her arms, Sibylla said gently, "You have a son."

Tired and sore from the day's events, Elinor reached out to finally touch her baby. She was quick to pull him close, whispering soft and kind words. She had a son. He was alive, his crying loud and strong. Even with the swaddling, she could catch a glimpse of light-colored hair so similar to her own. He was a miraculous gift, one she'd hoped and prayed for. Even with all the hardships in recent times, there was one shining glimmer of light in her life.

"Have you and your husband discussed names?" asked one of the women, reaching for some honey to place in his mouth.

"It seemed too hopeful when all the others were lost before they were born," she said quietly. "I feared that I was simply not meant to bear a child. At least not one who would live."

Another woman, one a little older and less optimistic, reminded, "He may seem healthy now, but he could easily share his siblings' fate. That is no reason not to give him a name."

"He won't die," assured Sibylla. "Not yet."

Part of her feared asking and possibly inviting the potential for witchcraft to be used against her family, but Elinor looked towards the wisewoman with hope. She'd always been a kind soul and her children were respectful of the church. Any powers that she might have or knowledge she may use to glimpse what future a baby might have, it was not the work of evil. It was a gift from above. She would not bring harm upon the child or his soul.

"What do the stars reveal to you?" she asked. "What shall become of him?"

Reaching for the star chart, Sibylla ran her finger along the lines to trace where the correct point would be for the day and time of his birth. Elinor could not hope to understand the more complicated parts of the image, but she knew that a skilled person could determine each star's location at any point in the year using the map. That would let Sibylla know what the child's future might bring.

"Your son will be far more clever than most would suspect, his will stronger than most would believe, and proud of what he can accomplish," she recited solemnly. "Love will not be easily found for him and his loyalty hard to earn, but both shall be unwavering from him if gained. His ambition will not often drive him to action. But if he chooses a goal or agrees to a deal, nothing in this life or after will stop him from completing it." Sibylla paused briefly, glancing at the baby still whimpering a little in his mother's arms, and said, "He may not be well-known outside of this village or gain much power in life, but his name shall be remembered greatly in death. So you may wish to choose one carefully."

Uncertain what to make of the prediction of her son's future, Elinor looked down at him. He was starting to settle down, the baby almost as tired as his mother. He was so precious. If nothing else, he would be remembered and treasured for simply being her child. He was a hopeful light in the world, like a little star shining down on her life.

That thought gave her an idea. Perhaps her precious little star should share a name with one in the sky, the same stars that promised he would be remembered and would grow to be a clever, determined, and confident man. It seemed fitting to the woman.

"Goodwife Sibylla," she said respectfully, "I would like you to choose a star from your charts. One that you believe would make a suitable name for my son."

If the midwife was surprised by the request, she did not show it. Instead, she merely glanced down at her parchment with a thoughtful look on her face. Her finger traced across the various drawings until she paused on one. Elinor tried to look more closely without disturbing her child. Even those who could not determine a child's fate from the stars knew at least enough to recognize them in the sky. The shape of the constellation looked familiar to her. She finally recognized it as Orion the Hunter.

"This one is a bright and unique star in the night sky," said Sibylla thoughtfully. "It is called Betelgeuse."

The famine wouldn't be nearly as bad for them if his father didn't try to cheat the lord of the manor. Lord Gilbert was usually a reasonable man, taking care of those who worked his land and trying not to burden them too harshly when times were hard by lowering their dues until a more prosperous time. But the boy knew his father just couldn't resist the urge to steal from those in power, trying to hold back their dues, and now they were expected to pay the same amount of produce during the famine as punishment. That left them with practically nothing and constant pangs of hunger in Betelgeuse's stomach.

Father was working Lord Gilbert's lands today, so he was on his own for the moment. He'd finished everything he could at home, straightening up and trying to coax some life into their garden. He even fed the skinny goat with what little plant life wasn't withered away. Now he was searching for something to eat, poking around the dark and boggy forest that grew around their home. They couldn't hunt what little game might hide in the damp and marshy terrain, but there were other options. Especially if someone was hungry enough not to be choosy.

He knew it wasn't always like this for his family, though he didn't remember any other life. Mother used to tell stories of how she and Father were once freemen who came from reasonably successful families. Father was once a thatcher in addition to his farming while mother came from a family of coopers. They had a nice house in the village and worked the better stretches of land. They were prosperous once. The thin gold ring that Father gave Mother when they married, the one passed down from his mother, was proof of that. Betelgeuse now wore that ring on a leather thong around his neck and hidden beneath his clothes, keeping it out of sight so Father wouldn't sell it and waste the money. It was the last hint of the better days of the past and of his mother.

Clambering over a fallen tree, the boy couldn't help thinking that everything was Father's fault. His actions brought the family into the debt that required him to take an oath of bondage, turning them from freemen into serfs before Betelgeuse was even born and binding them to the land. And because Father could not manage to be respectful even when completely at Lord Gilbert's mercy, he was given possession of the worst land on the fief rather than the original area they once had. The marshy, boggy area surrounded their house and they could only grow crops on the most infertile fields. Then, after Mother and the sibling he never got to meet died, Betelgeuse watched Father try to keep back a portion of their crops to sell later. His attempts to cheat on their dues earned further anger from Lord Gilbert and ensured no relief would come in times of trouble. It was foolish to anger those in power when you have none and they were paying the price with his hunger.

Finding a rotten log of a size that he could easily roll, the boy pushed hard. The moist ground underneath proved to have what he was hoping to find. Hunger and desperation made any source of food seem appealing. Hoping to ease the pangs of his stomach, he grabbed the skittering beetle and took a bite. The twitching legs and the crunch of the shell were strange, but the taste was not as unpleasant as he dreaded. He grabbed a second before it could escape and swallowed it as well.

"Are you all right? What are you doing?" a voice called, startling Betelgeuse enough to scurry away from the rotting log.

Looking up, he saw an older boy looking at him curiously. He looked about ten while Betelgeuse was only six. Wearing a cloth shirt tied with a leather belt, a thick woolen mantle that reached from his shoulders to halfway down his legs, short wool trousers, and practical shoes, he was dressed similarly enough to Betelgeuse that he was certain the older boy was either another serf or a freeman who wasn't from a particularly well-off family. The condition of his clothes, however, was better than Betelgeuse's outfit. Obviously his parents were at least wealthy enough to provide well-made clothes for their son, suggesting that being a freeman was more likely. Attached to his belt was a sheath for a small knife and a leather pouch large enough to hold three eggs easily. He held a pile of sticks in his arms, explaining what he was doing in the marshy wooded area. Unlike Betelgeuse's blond hair, the older boy possessed brown hair and an expression of pity that he didn't like.

"I'm fine," said Betelgeuse quietly, not wanting to admit what he was doing.

"You're Remfrey's son," he said, recognition dawning on his face. "I heard Father talking about him. He said the famine hasn't been good for him. He said that he tried to cheat Lord Gilbert so he'd have more money to spend on the drink and now he's paying the price."

Refusing to admit it, though more out of pride than out of defense of his father, Betelgeuse crossed his arms and remarked, "We're doing just fine. We can handle a little famine without any trouble. We're probably doing better than you are."

The older boy didn't immediately respond. He just stared at him with a thoughtful expression. Betelgeuse hoped that he believed him and left soon. The two small beetles just weren't enough to completely silence his hunger and he hoped to find something else to eat before Father returned from the fields.

"You probably are," said the older boy slowly. "Perhaps then we can make a deal. I need to collect wood for my family, but it is hard to carry enough without walking back and forth far too many times. Another set of arms would make the work go faster. And Mother packed me a little Maslin bread that I would be happy to share if you would help me carry some wood back to my home."

Hunger won out over pride, if only barely. Father always hated the idea of charity, claiming that it made them no better than vagabonds and beggars wandering the countryside. But if he helped collect and carry wood, then it wasn't charity. It was simply a trade.

"I suppose I could help," he said carefully. "It seems like a fair deal. What's your name?"

"Galeren," said the boy, starting to walk. "And my father is Henry. We live closer to the village than you. What's your name?"

"Betelgeuse," he answered as he started picking up pieces of wood. "My name is Betelgeuse."

After a very long day of trying to do the work of two, Betelgeuse walked tiredly towards the village. Early in the day, he'd received help in the fields, feeding the animals, setting the pottage to simmer so they could have something to eat that evening, and all the other chores that needed to be performed. But Father wandered off at one point and left the eleven year old alone. Betelgeuse expected it to happen, he was stronger than he looked, and knew how to handle the tasks necessary, but they weren't easy for him to do completely alone. And because Father left, Betelgeuse always had to drag him back home from the village. At least he knew where to look.

Anyone who was even half successful at growing rye, barley, and oats knew how to brew beer. It was practically a requirement unless someone wanted to risk sickness from the water or drink milk like a child. Betelgeuse was reasonably successful so far at creating a decent brew just like he learned to cook after Mother's death. But some people were far better at it and Cole's family was particularly skilled at brewing beer. They tended to brew stronger variations that were more likely to get a man drunk in a reasonable amount of time. They even produced enough to sell at their inn. Locals and travelers alike would go to their place to spend a few coins or trade other produce and goods for a cup. Even when they could not afford such things…

As he neared his destination, a voice called out to him and made the boy pause.

"Betelgeuse, what are you doing here?" asked Galeren.

The older boy, a young man by this point, was carrying a large sack of flour on his back from a recent trip to the mill. His family's fields tended to grow wheat well enough that, during good years, they would have enough left over from what little they paid as taxes to Lord Gilbert that they could keep some for themselves. Other families made due with simpler crops for the household, such as rye and barley. And because they weren't serfs, they only needed to work their own fields instead of working both theirs and those of the lord of the manor. This allowed them to produce better crops most of the time.

But they were good people. Sometimes, when Betelgeuse was hungry and wasn't too tired, he could work out a deal of various chores around their property in exchange for a little food. Of course, on the days he was exhausted from doing the work of two and too hungry to go on any longer, he would go back into the marshy woods to catch a few bugs. Hunting the game was reserved for nobility, but no one cared about the bugs. Some of them were pretty good and he couldn't impose on the generosity of Galeren's family when the boy had nothing to offer. He wasn't a beggar. Still, Betelgeuse appreciated the food during the harder times and he rather liked Galeren in general.

"Your father visiting Cole's inn?" asked the older boy gently when Betelgeuse didn't respond.

Reluctantly, Betelgeuse nodded. There was no reason why he should bother concealing the truth. By this point, everyone knew that Remfrey was fond of beer to the extent he wouldn't stop until all his coins were gone. And when he didn't spend their meager funds on stronger beer, he would turn to the cards or the dice and lose it against other players. It was why their family ended up in debt years ago in the first place. And while Father managed to work as a thatcher for a while even after becoming a serf and earning some coins that way, he'd stopped after Mother's death and now barely did the minimal work necessary to get by.

Everyone knew he was drinking and gambling his life away. It was for that very reason that Remfrey never remarried; he couldn't afford to give any woman a decent life, even if there was one who could catch the man's attention through the haze of drunkenness.

Smiling sympathetically, Galeren asked, "Do you need any help getting him home?"

"No, I can take care of him. Did you manage to see Agnes on your way to the mill?"

"Yes, I saw her," he said, adapting to the change of topic easily. "I did not have time to speak to her for long, but she seemed to like the ribbon I brought her last time," he said, a slight smile and distant expression taking over his face.

Ever since Galeren started speaking to Agnes, the black-haired daughter of William who lived at the other end of the village, it became clear that he was fond of her. And she seemed fond of the young man in return. In a few years, Galeren would almost certainly ask William for permission to marry her. All they needed to do was to wait until he could properly support a wife, which would take some time.

Betelgeuse had to admit that Agnes was pretty and rather sweet, which was probably why Galeren liked her. Actually, Betelgeuse was noticing girls far more often than in the past. There was just something about their faces, their hair, and their figures that seemed far more interesting than when he was a small child.

"I'm happy she liked it," said Betelgeuse before looking towards his destination. "I guess I better get Father. Maybe he hasn't traded away too much yet."

"Betelgeuse, how about I at least come with you inside?" Galeren. "I have a spare moment and I'd feel better if I come."

"It's getting late. You don't have to."

"Please let me do this much at least, Betelgeuse."

Not wanting to argue further and knowing he was stubborn enough to keep it up all evening, the boy nodded and headed inside. Cole and his wife owned a small inn that they ran with their children, though more people came to drink than stay in a room for the night. And though both helped make the beer, everyone knew Joan was the one who knew the tricks to making the most potent brews. All of this meant that the dark room was filled with the shouts of men, the occasional song, and the smell of ancient beer soaked into the very dirt. Waiting a moment as his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the fireplace, Betelgeuse heard something that left him horrified and angry.

"Well, Remfrey, you've lost. I'll be by your house tomorrow with a wagon to pick up the crops you owe me."

"Bu' Aye need 'em fo' my lord," argued Remfrey, his loud and slurring voice carrying across the room. "Ca't do dis. Mus' 'ave 'em fo' Lord 'ilbert."

"Should have thought of that before you made the wager."

Betelgeuse spotted his father finally near the back, sitting next to a table covered in cards. Wearing threadbare, badly-repaired, worn out clothes, the light-haired man held a clay cup in his hands while staring blearily at his companions in vague panic. Wobbling even while sitting in place, he looked far smaller and frailer than he did out in the field.

Sitting with him was Ysembert, Peter, and Hamund. All three were broad men, build like oxen and proud members of the village. Peter was a half-decent carpenter while Ysembert was a thatcher, replacing Remfrey as the best in the village. Hamund was the one who spoke before, claiming the win.

He was going to take the crops meant for Lord Gilbert, meaning they'd have to make up the loss with anything they had left. Either Betelgeuse and his father would completely starve with nothing left to plant in the Spring or they would be cast out as homeless vagabonds and highwaymen. They couldn't afford this loss.

A desperate idea blossomed just as a worried Galeren placed a hand on his shoulder. So much could go wrong, but there was a slight chance to fix the problem. He could win the crops back from Hamund before he could properly claimed them.

"Can you go find two boards or two logs for me? About as long as I am tall?" Betelgeuse asked his friend. "If you can find and bring them here quickly, I think I can get my family's crops back from him."

Galeren nodded without question before hurrying out, his bag of flour still slung across his back. Betelgeuse turned back towards the table, trying to work up the courage for his plan. This would only work once. They would be too smart to fall for it a second time. But they wouldn't expect something this foolish yet. It might just work.

"One more wager, Goodman Hamund," said Betelgeuse as he stepped forward and captured the attention of the men.

"Go away, child. This is no game for you," scoffed Hamund.

"Scared to lose to me?" he asked, his tone taunting. "Surely you are not so poor at betting that you fear an inexperienced child winning, do you? Perhaps you worry that I shall prove a stronger challenge than a drunk man."

Just as Betelgeuse suspected, poking his pride worked. He couldn't look bad in front of his companions. That led Hamund to seek a different excuse, one that might let him save face without accepting.

"What wager, boy? You have nothing to bet," he said. "Your drunken father is broke."

Not giving himself time to reconsider, Betelgeuse pulled Mother's ring into view. The gleam of gold caught all four men's attention, Father looking just as greedy as the others.

"This ring for everything Father lost today," said Betelgeuse, trying to keep his voice sounding confident. "Winner take all."

Leaning forward, Ysembert asked, "Do you even know how to play cards?"

"No, but I have a bet I'm sure you will accept," he admitted. "I bet that I can move one of the full barrels of beer from the ground to the top of your table."

Hamund laughed, "A scrawny, half-grown thing like you?"

"And I'll do it with one hand behind my back," added Betelgeuse. "Do you accept the wager, Goodman Hamund? My ring for my Father's losses?"

"Accept it," urged Peter. "If the boy wants to make a fool of himself, then let him."

"Fine. I'll take that bet. You're going to regret it and have no one else to blame,' Hamund said before turning towards the gathering crowd. "Master Brewer, a barrel of your beer. We have need of it."

Cole looked hesitant about the entire situation, but he rolled one out without a word. Betelgeuse looked at the wooden object, filled to the brim with liquid, and knew without a single doubt it would be heavy. He was tired from a long day out in the fields, but he didn't have a lot of options. He was completely aware that he couldn't pick up the barrel and place it on the table with both hands, let alone one.

And that was the point. They wouldn't have accepted the wager if they thought he stood a chance of winning. The men thought that he was being foolish and decided to let him try because it amused them and because they were greedy. The problem was that they didn't pay attention to the details. He chose his words very carefully when he made the deal and made sure to leave a loophole.

Galeren managed to shove his way through the gathered crowd, the requested boards balanced on his shoulder. There was a look of confusion on his face, but Betelgeuse gave him a quick reassuring smile. The young boy had the situation under control

Taking care to ensure that everyone saw him tuck his left arm behind his back, Betelgeuse reached for one of the boards from Galeren's shoulder and moved it so that it was leaning against the table. Then he grabbed the second one and did the exact same thing. At this point, Betelgeuse could hear some muttering from the crowds as the smarter people realized what he was doing. Rather than being intimidated by that fact, he just grinned wider.

Still keeping his left hand behind his back, Betelgeuse tilted the barrel until it was lying on its side. He then rolled it across the ground until it was in position at the end of the boards. At that point, Hamund began to curse while Peter and Ysembert laughed.

Using the boards as a ramp, Betelgeuse began to roll the barrel up. It was still hard to do since it was heavy and wanted to roll back down, but he could manage it as long as he braced himself. Slowly it moved up the improvised ramp until the barrel made it to the top of the table. And never once did he bring his left arm out from behind his back.

"That's not fair," said Hamund. "You didn't lift the barrel."

"I never said I would," he reminded, grinning wildly. "You just thought I would. Everyone here heard exactly what I agreed to. I moved the barrel from the ground to the table with one hand behind my back. A deal is a deal. Everything my father lost tonight is mine. The crops and any coin he might have wagered."

"The boy is right," Ysembert said. "And you can't go back on your word when so many heard you take his bet."

With a reluctant look on his face, Hamund pulled out a few coins and tossed them onto the table. Betelgeuse grabbed them before his father had a chance to touch them. Ignoring the laughs, jokes, and impressed comments from the gathered audience, the boy reached for Remfrey's arm and pulled him to his unsteady feet.

"Come on," muttered Betelgeuse. "Let's get you home."

Maneuvering the drunken man through the crowd was initially difficult, but Galeren abruptly grabbed the other arm and helped him through. By the time they reached outside, it was already dark. The noise of the excited and entertained people was still audible even as they walked Remfrey in the direction of home.

"That was pretty clever, Betelgeuse," said Galeren. "How did you know it would work?"

"People pay too much attention to what they think someone says rather than what they actually say. If you listen closely and think about what their words mean exactly, sometimes you can see a way around it. And if you find a way to get around what is actually said, you can do a lot of things people never consider," he said. "I just made sure that I left myself a way out while making it sounds like I was trapping myself."

His friend laughed lightly, "As if you would ever trap yourself. Nothing can ever keep you stuck for long."

Chapter Text

The peasants and working classes tended to marry into their own age and status demographic, preferring to choose healthy women who would bear children well and be fit enough to work alongside him if needed, as well as manage the domestic household. The Lord's permission needed to be sought before a marriage could take place and if marrying outside of his holdings, a fine or merchet may be exacted. Meaning that she had to be bought from the other lord of the manor, the money making up for the fact she was moving to another fief to live with her new husband.

The bride's family was responsible for the dowry which, in the case of the wealthy, was usually money and land holdings. Commoner's dowry would most likely include household utensils, tools, furniture, clothing, and livestock. The marriage contract entailed issues of the dowry paid by the bride as she enters the union, and the bride-price contribution made by groom as he takes away the bride. Proving once again that, in this time period, women were essentially traded for cash.

Wedding rings have been worn for hundreds of years, and the medieval period was no different. The plain wedding band can be traced back to the 11th century where it was worn on the third finger of the right hand. Only in the 16th century was the ring changed to the left. Rings were exchanged amongst the wealthy just like rings are exchanged in weddings today. Among peasants, who couldn't afford them, often the groom would instead break a coin in half keeping one side for himself and giving the other to his bride.

Excerpt from the 9th Grade History Assignment "Life for Women in the Middle Ages: Why We Should Be Grateful To Not Live Back Then" by Sam Manson

Winter was never a pleasant time of year. It was a cold, wet, and miserable time when they were stuck close to the house. They were left with only the food stored from the harvest, unable to catch fish in the streams, the occasional squirrel, or even the crawling beetles. If they weren't careful about rationing their stores, if the winter lasted longer than expected, or wolves managed to snag one of their valuable pigs or their goat, then things could get very difficult for them. The only time either of them left their house at all in the cold, bitter weather was to grab food for the animals. Or, in the case of Remfrey, rising early in the morning to make the long trek to the village to buy Cole's stronger beer.

"How much did you waste this time?" snapped Betelgeuse as the man finally stumbled through the door. "I hid most of our coins."

Remfrey's threadbare clothes couldn't be offering him much protection from the cold, snow coating his shoulders and the hat covering his head. The man shouldn't be traveling long distances, but he just couldn't resist his desire to get drunk. The weather and distance simply wasn't enough of a deterrent to keep him at home.

"Didn't need it. Traded some salt for it," the man mumbled before breaking into a coughing fit.

"Why would you even think that would be a good idea?" he asked sharply. "Salt is expensive and we need it. Unless you want what little meat we have to rot. Do you remember how hard it was to afford enough in the first place? It was a miracle I talked him into a deal."

"Didn't trade all o' it," Remfrey complained, slurring slightly. "Jus' some. We don't need all of it."

"Yes, we do. You can't keep doing this. From now on, if you even think of going near the village without me, I'll throw you out of this house and make you sleep in the hay shed."

"You can't speak to me like that. I'm your father. You will respect and obey me," he shouted before hacking and coughing.

Shoving the man closer to the fire and yanking his soaked hat off his shoulders, Betelgeuse said, "You might be my father, but I am finished obeying you. I obeyed you for fifteen years and that hasn't done us a lot of good. And I haven't respected you for a long time. Listening to the man in charge doesn't work when I apparently have more sense than him. Now we're going to try things my way."

Still coughing, he managed to give his son a stern look. Betelgeuse couldn't care less. He was tired of Father's drinking and gambling always making their lives harder than necessary. No matter what those from the church might say about obeying and honoring parents, it wasn't worth the effort.

Besides, there were more things to worry about at the moment. With Lord Gilbert's death and his son, Lord Bayard, taking control of the fief, they needed to be cautious until they knew more. They needed to keep an eye on the young man to see if he was incompetent or ill-tempered. A violent and foolish lord of the manor could cause a lot of problems for serfs and freemen alike. Thieves, bandits, and soldiers from other properties could destroy their livelihood if their lord of the manor couldn't take care of his property and people. And if it turned out to be the case for Lord Bayard, things could go very badly for them. Betelgeuse knew they wouldn't survive such a lord of the manor if Father kept squandering their resources. They barely managed with a competent and reasonable one.

"Ungrateful boy," muttered the man when the coughing slowed. "Elinor would be ashamed of such disrespect."

"I am quite sure Mother would be more ashamed of you if she could see you now," he said quietly, grabbing one of their woolen blankets and draping it across his father's shoulders. "Now, sit by the fire until you're dry. You're no good to anyone if you're drunk and shivering."

The man looked like he was about to say something else, but broke into another hacking fit. His son frowned slightly. By that point, Betelgeuse knew it wasn't merely the trip through the cold that was causing problems. It was clearly the start of sickness. That was always a risk in winter. And while it might pass, it could also grow serious enough to kill. Disease was deadly and dangerous.

Perhaps it would pass. Perhaps his father would recover without trouble. Perhaps it would turn out to be a passing ailment. There was at least a chance.

Morning came and Remfrey was no longer drunk. He was, however, worse than the night before. His hacking and coughing shook him, never pausing longer than a moment at a time to draw breath. Chills wracked his body as fever swallowed him up. Sickness truly held the man enthralled.

Betelgeuse tried to get him to drink something while debating what to do. He was frustrated with Father, but he wouldn't wish this on him. There were only a few options of what he could do for his stricken father.

He could seek out help from the village. Anyone from the church would claim that this disease was punishment for his sins and that begging forgiveness would be the solution, but they hadn't liked Remfrey or his son since the day the man drunkenly complained about the tithe and accused them of being useless to save anyone. Needless to say, there had been some avoidance involved since then from both parties. With that in mind, Betelgeuse thought it would better to seek out Sibylla and her children's council. The wisewoman, her son, and her daughter seemed more likely to have advice that would help. She knew herbs, astronomy, and might have a more proactive solution than prayer.

The problem with going to her for help, however, was that it was still a long walk to the village and back. The snow and wind, which were getting worse, would slow him down further. Betelgeuse knew that if he went to get help, he would be leaving his father alone for a long time and he wasn't in the best condition for that. His father needed someone to stay with him.

So the question was, did he run the risks of leaving his father alone in order to find someone to help him or did he stay to care for him and hope it would be enough for him to recover?

As more coughs racked the man's body, Betelgeuse pulled the blanket over him more firmly. He couldn't leave him alone. The fire would go out and the cold would set in. The sickness might kill him, but the cold along with the sickness certainly would. That meant he didn't really have a choice after all. He'd have to stay and watch over his father, hoping that it would pass.

"Father, don't you dare," he muttered. "I didn't go through all that mess of keeping us from starving for you to just give up."

Most of the spring planting was almost done, the pigs and the goat were getting rounder from eating the fresh growths, and he might even be able to afford a couple of sheep this year. There was even tentative talk among the people that this would turn out to be a bountiful harvest in the autumn. It was like the world was trying to make up for the harsh and unforgiving winter and all the suffering that came with it.

That didn't change the fact that Remfrey was now in the ground alongside his wife.

Betelgeuse tried to convince himself that it was for the best. Father was never the same since Mother passed, falling ever deeper into drink and gambling. He'd been handling almost all the required chores for years, so the young man knew he could deal with the property alone. And it might even be easier with only one mouth to feed and no one wasting money and such on the stronger brews of beer. He might not be forced to scrounge for bugs for food anymore, though he was admittedly growing fond of the taste. And no matter how much Father and the church may have hated each other, Betelgeuse made the trip through the cold to drag someone down to say words over his father's grave. Hopefully the drunken old man was with Mother now. Or in one of those heathen afterlives that involved a lot of drinking.

He tried to convince himself that it was for the best. And during the moments he was uncertain, Betelgeuse found ways to distract himself. And one of the distractions he was quickly learning to appreciate was ladies.

There were a reasonable number of women who lived in and around the village, especially if he was unconcerned about them being older than him or being married. They were pretty in a variety of enticing ways, with different features that combined in rather lovely ways. Light, dark, or reddish hair, skinny, short, curvy, tall, with or without freckles, or any eye color, he could appreciate how any of them looked. Even better was how they reacted when Betelgeuse tried to charm them. Some scoffed, some looked repulsed, some laughed, some looked shocked, some blushed, some tried to hide their pleasure while their fathers and brothers glared, and some looked intrigued. There was an entertaining variety to it. He could never predict how they would react.

All right, he could predict a little. Due to his and his father's reputations as the sneaky, tricky, young man who could talk his way into anything he wanted while making fools of those who bargained with him and as the hopeless, worthless, useless drunk who squandered everything he owned respectively, none of the ladies within the village were particularly interested. Those who came from farther away on market days were more likely to respond favorably to him than the locals. Some actually responded in a very friendly manner.

Of course, regardless of how nicely they might respond to his advances, there was a limit on how far it could go. Unless things changed drastically, there was no wife in his future. Even if by some miracle he ever saved up enough money for whatever the bride-price might be and the merchet since it would almost certainly be a woman from a different fief, he would also have to earn enough good will with the new lord of the manor. Lord Bayard would have to give permission and the man might decide to reject the requested marriage due to the reputation of Remfrey casting a shadow across his son from beyond the grave. The sins of the father continued to reflect on the son.

And Betelgeuse would have to also get the woman's father to give permission for such a marriage. Again, that would be difficult for anyone from the village since they knew both what he was like and what his father was like. And anyone from outside the village would quickly be informed by the local gossips, ruining any chance he might have of convincing them to let the wedding happen. It just wouldn't work. It would require more money than he would ever be able to afford and earning the good will of far too many people. It would be easier and far more believable for the young man to fly like a bird. So even if he should ever find a woman he wished to marry, it would never come to pass.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the wide and varied selection of women he could encounter in the area. Heading back with a batch of Maslin bread, dried beans added to the dough to add some substance until the first crops of rye and barley were ready, Betelgeuse used the opportunity to see which lovely ladies were moving around the village that day. He'd already flirted with those who were trying to bake their bread at the same time as him, though a couple had actually turned around and left at his arrival. The young man didn't allow it to discourage him at all and continued on his way.

His search for an entertaining and attractive young woman to approach was interrupted as he spotted a welcome face among the crowds. Out of all the people who saw him merely as a tricky and mildly manipulative son of the former local drunk, there was at least one who didn't see him as scum and who Betelgeuse actually liked. And he'd heard a recent rumor he wanted to confirm.

"Galeren," called Betelgeuse, shifting his grip on the basket of rough bread. "I heard some interesting news about you and Agnes. Old William gave you his blessing and Lord Bayard said it was all right. Is it true or have the old gossips been waggling their tongues for no reason?"

Smiling, he said, "Yes, we're getting married in a few weeks. They announced it at the church the other day."

"I'm sure no one was surprised to hear that. You've been in love with her for years. Though I'm certain that the other available ladies will be disappointed," said Betelgeuse. "I suppose I'll have to console them."

"You have been trying your luck with them quite often in the past year," Galeren said. "Though you've been particularly enthusiastic about it this spring." He hesitated a moment, giving the younger man a brief pitying look that Betelgeuse hated, but Galeren quickly replaced it with a more cheerful expression. "That one girl from the last market day seemed particularly happy with the attention you were giving her."

That made Betelgeuse smile in amusement. That particular girl, someone from another village who was traveling with her father and brothers to sell their lambs in the hopes of getting better prices somewhere with fewer flocks, was pretty. Blond hair tied with a blue ribbon and a coy smile on her face, she certainly knew how to attract attention. In a reversal of the usual situation, she pursued Betelgeuse the moment she saw him and did her best to keep his focus solely on her. Her behavior was certainly a fun change and he enjoyed himself initially. He'd appreciated the distraction from the events of winter.

But then it became even more entertaining and unusual. The girl, Ermyntrude, decided within in a day of meeting him that she was in love with him. She begged him to speak to her father, to request permission to marry her. She smiled brightly at him, shifting her dress so that the neckline appeared lower and whispering about what a lovely dowry she possessed. It was hilarious. Even if he could afford the bride-price and the merchet to marry someone outside the fief, Betelgeuse had no intention of marrying someone he'd just met. The girl just seemed so odd and overly obsessed with wedding the first available young man she encountered.

And just when he didn't think it could get any more amusing, Betelgeuse turned her down and was proven completely wrong. She could get more amusing. Her reaction to his decision was rather strong. It was enough to make him smile and chuckle even now.

"She may have been happy when I tried to charm her, but she could not handle rejection," chuckled Betelgeuse. "Do you remember how she started shouting? Didn't care that half the village was watching and listening and barely noticed when her brothers tried to drag her away. Ermyntrude just kept yelling."

"What exactly did she say? I can't recall precisely what she shouted that day, even though she was quite the spectacle," Galeren said, smiling slightly as he tried to remember.

Still chuckling at the memory, he said, "She yelled a lot of things. She accused me of leading her on, of being a heartless monster, and of not deserving her and her dowry. At one point, she tried to accuse me of being a demon who sought to lead virtuous women astray. Then she decided to risk a bit more by trying to curse me with misery. She was ranting like a madwoman, saying that I shall be 'cursed to lose any love I might seek in life, to never have the happiness of marriage, and to be trapped by my wretched nature in misery and solitude.' It was surprisingly creative, if pointless."

"She is lucky that no one took her seriously. Others might have taken her words as an admittance of witchcraft," Galeren said. "I've heard tales of the fates that befall wisewomen and wisemen in some places when accused by their neighbors."

"If she tried to curse anyone else, they might have been more upset by her words. As long as it was me that she was yelling at, they were satisfied simply dunking Ermyntrude as a public nuisance and letting her father take her home dripping." Betelgeuse smirked, "Hopefully your bride won't cause as many issues as Ermyntrude did."

Galeren gave him a scowl that didn't completely disguise the way he was fighting against laughter. After all this time, the young man knew Betelgeuse didn't mean anything negative about the black-haired young woman. He was merely teasing. It was nice speaking with someone who understood.

"Betelgeuse," a voice called. "Galeren. It is so nice to see you this fine evening."

Waving at the pair, Sibylla approached them with two of her children. Her third and eldest daughter had left the village a few years ago after marriage. The woman, even with the wrinkles and graying hair, was still attractive. Not that he would flirt with her too much since she was married and, as she seemed to enjoy reminding on regular occasions, she was there when he was born. Of course, she'd been present for a large number of births. As the best midwife and wisewoman in the village, she made it her business to be there for as many as possible to ensure that both mother and child had the best chance to survive. Perhaps things would have been different if she wasn't out of the village the day that his mother… Well, dwelling on the past never helped anything. Regardless, Sibylla was a lovely woman and a welcome sight within the village.

Her daughter, about four years younger that Betelgeuse, showed signs of matching her mother's looks someday. Avelyn's hair was a lovely chestnut shade, her eyes were a grayish-blue, and she always seemed to have a pleasant smile for everyone. She was learning her mother's skills already and would undoubtedly become a similarly skilled midwife someday. Holding her basket with one hand, she freed up the other to wave.

Her son, Derrick, was less happy to see them. The boy, who was only a year younger than Betelgeuse, was scowling. His hair was a darker shade than his sister while his eyes were a murky green shade that seemed intent of staring down the serf. He used his basket to keep his distant, keeping the woven container filled with herbs between him and Betelgeuse.

"It is good to see you as well, Goodwoman Sibylla," said Galeren. "How have you been of late?"

Smiling, she said, "Quite well, thank you. Even with my body growing a little slower and a little stiffer, I'm still managing fine. My children and I just returned from collecting some herbs that just don't seem to grow as well in my garden as they do in the forest." She paused briefly, glancing at Betelgeuse, and said, "Not the forest where you live. The less marshy, boggy one that is closer to the manor."

"Though I'm sure there are some nice plants near your house," added Avelyn, clearly afraid he would be offended otherwise.

Betelgeuse shrugged, "You're welcome to look around my property if you want, but I doubt you'll find anything useful for your herb lore. If you do venture into the marshy forest, be careful not to get lost or stuck. It is far too easy to get turned around or trapped in the muck."

"Sounds like a foul and vile place," muttered Derrick. "You must feel right at home."

Sibylla glared at her son harshly, but Betelgeuse didn't care. He'd heard worse directed towards him and his father all the time. It was just the way it was. Why bother caring about what everyone thought when he knew they were just spiteful and foolish? If the young man wanted to hate him and assume the worst, Betelgeuse didn't care. It didn't change anything.

Shifting his load of bread, Betelgeuse said, "I must be heading back home, I'm afraid. There is still much to do before I can retire for the evening."

"Of course," nodded Sibylla. "Take care, Betelgeuse."

"Let me know if you need any help, Betelgeuse," added Galeren. "I'm sure we can work out a deal if necessary."

"Good bye, Goodman Betelgeuse," Avelyn said, waving as he turned to leave.

Heading out of the village, he couldn't help thinking about the strangest thing. He turned the thought over and over in his head. Actually, it was two separate thoughts that just somehow felt connected.

The first was that he was now the age that Galeren was when he first began to gain feelings for Agnes. The second and far stranger thought was that, someday in the not-so-distant future, Avelyn would be a very pretty young lady.

Chapter Text

The Bubonic Plague, also known as the "Black Death," was not known as such when it first occurred and was only given a proper name afterwards. Originally, it was referred to as the "Great Mortality" or the "Great Plague." The outbreak was also the reason that the word "plague" gained use as a medical term . While the exact numbers vary between accounts on how many people were killed by the Bubonic Plague, it is generally agreed that between 75 and 200 million people in Europe were killed between 1346 and 1353. England did not encounter the disease until 1348, during which it killed half the population before dying down in 1349.

Due to the fact that England was still a predominantly rural and agrarian society, most of the population was still rural during the time of the plague with the main export being wool. Among the most immediate consequences of the Black Death in England was a shortage of farm labor and a corresponding rise in wages. With so many deaths, there were fewer people to run the farms and raise animals and crops necessary. Those that remained were more valuable due the scarcity, which led to them desiring higher compensation for their work. The medieval world-view was unable to interpret these changes in terms of socio-economic development and it became common to blame degrading morals instead.

However, as the church itself had given the cause of the Black Death to be the impropriety of the behavior of men, the higher death rate among the clergy led the people to lose faith in the Church as an institution. Since it had proved as ineffectual against the horror of Y. Pestis as every other medieval institution, it made it more difficult for the average person to believe in them. The corruption within the Catholic priesthood also angered the English people. Many priests abandoned the terrified people, hoping to escape the plague and seeding further doubt.

-Excerpt from 11th Grade European History Assignment "The Black Death's Effects on England" by Jasmine Fenton

Katelin carried her small basket of beans back to the house. Mama asked her to collect some so they could shell them later. She was already working on dinner, so her daughter was being helpful. She was still too small to do everything, but Katelin was learning as much as possible. Her big brother did the same thing with Papa, Henry picking up rocks from the fields and shooing away birds from going after the plants. The only way to learn was by practicing and helping their parents with the daily chores.

As she dodged around the pecking chickens, Katelin scurried inside. Mama was just finishing stirring her delicious pottage, the cauldron hanging on the iron pot-hanger over the fire. Since their house had been in Papa's family for several generations and they had plenty of time to keep making it better, their family had an actual chimney for the smoke along with a tripod, a shovel, large fire-irons, and a meat-hook to make it easier to cook and keep the fire burning. The warm and delicious scent filled the entire house. Katelin was certain that it could probably be smelled on the other side of the wall in the byre where the animals slept.

Trying to decide where the best place to place her basket would be, the little girl looked around. The cheese cupboard certainly wouldn't work and she wasn't allowed to touch Mama's loom until she was a little older. She could place it on one of the stools, but she was afraid it would get knocked over. That left only the chest in the corner that Papa made a year ago or the plank table. Making a decision, Katelin climbed on top of the closest stool so she could reach the table, the wood worn smooth by the years. It should be high and out of the way enough that no one would accidentally spill her load of beans. With her task complete, she hopped down and hurried to tug on her mother's dress.

"Mama? I picked the beans," she said. "Can I help more, Mama?"

Turning away from the fireside, she picked up her daughter and kissed her on top of her head. Katelin smiled and hugged her back. Mama always had time to show her how much she loved her daughter. She was never too busy for that, no matter how much work she had to do during the day.

Setting her back down, her mother said, "Thank you, Katelin. That was very helpful. We might have some of your beans for supper tomorrow." Stepping away briefly to grab something from the other end of the table, she suggested, "Why don't you take this basket outside and wait for your father. He is supposed to deliver it this evening."

Katelin nodded eagerly as her mother handed her the larger basket, the one she usually took when she went to the village. Inside was one of the loaves of bread that Mama would bring back from the oven. The only time Katelin saw the oven that everyone used to bake their bread was on the days her mother took the old plow horse, Mary. It was too far for the young girl to walk, even if they weren't as far from the village as some people. She did enjoy the trips when she could ride on top of Mary or in the cart. She loved the smell of fresh bread and listening to Mama talk with the other women who were baking. The aroma was almost as delicious as Mama's pottage.

Carrying the larger basket of bread, Katelin scurried back outside and found a nice spot to watch the path away from her house. It was summer instead of the busier autumn season, so Papa and Henry would be home before dark. Until then, she would wait patiently like a good girl. She knew it wouldn't be long.

As she expected, Katelin only had to sit on the grass for a few minutes waiting while listening to the clucks of chickens. Then she heard the distant sounds of her brother and father's voice. With a smile, the young girl ran down the dirt path to meet them.

She spotted her father first since he was taller. Katelin always thought he was the biggest and strongest man in the world, even if Henry said that Thibaud the smith was even taller. He was leading the old plow horse as it pulled the cart. Standing on top of the cart was Henry. Both boy and parent possessed brown hair while Katelin looked more like her mother with black hair. Both seemed a little tired from their day, though Henry seemed to have enough energy left to keep his balance on the moving cart.

Waving towards his approaching daughter, her father said, "Katelin. Did you decide to come meet us, my little starling?"

"Mama sent me," she said, nodding and holding the basket a little higher as she slowed down since she didn't want to scare the horse. "She said to give you this."

"That's right," he said with a look of remembrance. He stopped the plow horse as she drew near and continued, "I need to take that over to Betelgeuse this evening."

Katelin recognized that name, though she'd never seen the man that she could remember. When the whole family rode to the village on Sundays, sometimes she heard the other adults talking about all sorts of things. And sometimes they mentioned Betelgeuse. They all said different things. Some talked about how he never attended church, calling him a "heathen." Katelin didn't know what it meant, but it didn't sound nice. Others talked about his "blatant pursuit of women" and how much time he spent with "women with no morals," whatever that meant. Honestly, Katelin didn't understand a lot of what the other people in the village were talking about, but they certainly didn't seem to like Betelgeuse.

But Papa did. He liked Betelgeuse. She knew he was Papa's friend. Everyone said so. And even if Mama didn't seem to like him as much as Papa did, she didn't say mean things about Betelgeuse like other people and sometimes even seemed thankful for something he did. Like how Papa brought home a load of firewood the other day that he said Betelgeuse collected for him and left in the cart. So if Mama and Papa didn't think he was a bad person, then Katelin didn't either. Even if she hadn't met him yet, she was certain he couldn't be bad because her parents were always right.

"Do either of you want to go with me to drop this off?" her father asked after a moment, taking the offered basket from her. "Or do you want to help your mother finish supper?"

Henry frowned and shook his head. He was wearing an annoyed look on his face as he crossed his arms and tried to stand as tall as possible for a seven year old. He shared his name with Grandfather, though Katelin didn't get to meet Grandfather before he died. But she knew her older brother met him when he was very small. Henry did his best to live up to Grandfather's and Papa's examples of what a man should be like. And that meant being tall and strong.

"I don't want to visit him, Papa. Nobody likes him. Haven't you heard what everyone says about him?"

"Don't believe everything you hear about him in the village, Henry," their father scolded gently. "He has some rough edges and his father's legacy casts a shadow that never truly left him, but he's a good man who has lived a difficult life and always dealt with our family fairly."

"Well, I still don't want to go," grumbled Henry, his tone just shy of rebellious.

Taking a step closer, Katelin said, "I do. I want to meet him. Can I come with you, Papa?"

Smiling at his little girl, her father picked her up with one arm and placed her in the cart they used for everything from carrying away the weeds they pulled from around the smallest sprouts in spring to transporting the mature crops in autumn. Once she was comfortably settled on the cart, he helped Henry climb down.

"If you don't want to come with Katelin and me, you don't have to. I'm sure that you can help your mother in the meantime. Be good for her, Henry. We should be back soon."

"Be careful," Henry called, running back down the path towards home while their father turned the horse and cart back around.

Katelin sat patiently as the cart bounced and jolted across the countryside. Eventually they turned towards a less distinctive path, one that led in the opposite direction of the village. She watched curiously as they passed the green and lush fields, the colorful wildflowers, and the occasional tree rustling in the breeze. The birds continued to sing as they flitted overhead and insects buzzed somewhere in the grass. She loved watching the scenery passing by, seeing all the new sights. It was beautiful, even as they gradually headed down towards a forest filled with twisted and semi-stunted trees growing out of the increasingly boggy ground.

"He lives in there?" asked Katelin, peering towards the shadowy place the faint path seemed to head towards.

"He does," he said. "He works the fields around the forest as best he can, even with the marshy ground making it harder. He keeps a few goats and pigs closer to his house. He even has a pair of sheep. Betelgeuse might not have the best land, but he's probably the only man alive who could make it works as well as he does." Giving her a brief warning look, he added, "You have to be careful and stay on the path, though. It is easy to get lost or stuck in the muck. I used to come here for firewood even when I was a boy, but I never strayed too deeply."

The girl nodded her understanding as her father led the cart into the boggy forest. It didn't take long for it to grow dark, the trees blocking out the evening light quite effectively. Occasionally a few glimmers reached the twisting path, but it was mostly dim and confusing. She couldn't even see where the sun was, ensuring she couldn't figure out which direction she was facing. Katelin could see how easy it would be to stray off the drier section of the marshy place and become trapped in the mud or completely turned around.

After several minutes of traveling through the shadows, it finally began to lighten again. The reason for the change became clearer as they drew near. They'd reached a clearing in the woods, a section where the trees had been cut away and the sunlight could come through. The lord of the manor must have given permission to cut them down so the house could be built.

There were the normal three buildings that Katelin expected; the first for the grain, the second for the hay and straw, the third for Betelgeuse to live in. The house was about 20 feet wide and 80 feet in length, just like her home. It even had an attached "byre" to house the animals at night and for storage. There were three small windows along the wall, the thick shutters open at the moment to let in fresh air. It didn't have a chimney, though. There was a smoke hole in the thatch roof above, so would probably have an open fire pit instead.

But even with all the wood around them, no one could cut trees without Lord Bayard's permission. So only the frame of the house was made of wood, with some stone blocks for support to keep it from rotting away as fast in the boggy area. The spaces in the walls were filled with branches and twigs, caked together with mud, and the whole surface was then coated with a limestone wash to render them waterproof. Papa called it "wattle and daub" and said that almost everyone who wasn't nobility used it. She remembered him explaining it to Henry when they were doing repairs that spring. He said the wall was a frame with small vertical posts woven with smaller, flexible sticks to form a base for the daub. The woven frame was the wattle. The daub was then plastered on the wattle, inside and out. He also said that some people in other villages used "cob" instead on the walls, which was three parts chalk and one part clay mixed with straw.

Katelin didn't know what she expected of a house in the middle of a boggy forest that belonged to someone that lots of people didn't like, but she thought it would look different than the other houses. This one looked like a lot of the houses that were around the village, though. There was even a small vegetable garden like the one she picked beans from at home.

Bringing the plow horse and the cart to a stop, Papa carefully helped her down and head towards the door. Katelin kept close, curious to meet his friend. Maybe she would get to see why not many people in the village liked him.

Papa knocked on the door and she heard some kind of heavy thump inside, like something was accidentally kicked over. Then she heard a voice snarling something indistinctive and then swift rustling as someone hurried across the straw that would be scattered across the floor. Finally, the door opened and Katelin caught her first glimpse of Betelgeuse.

His hair was a lot lighter than anyone in her family. She'd seen a few people in the village with blond hair, but not as many as those with different shades of brown. He also looked kind of scruffy. His clothes were definitely old and wearing out. She could see places where the fabric was growing thin or where crooked stitches held together ragged holes. Mama would have replaced any clothes that looked like that already, but she remembered that he didn't have a mother or a wife to make and repair his clothing. He would have to buy and trade for the fabric and maybe even the sewing. It made Katelin feel a little sad that he didn't have someone to help take care of him.

"Galeren," he greeted her father, blinking in surprise. "I was just about to have supper. What brings you all the way out here?"

"My wife was baking yesterday and made an extra loaf of bread," said Papa. "And since you sent us that load of firewood last week, we thought you might like it."

"You and Agnes know I have enough rye to bake my own bread. I would have made it out there in a few days."

"We know, but she was already baking our bread anyway and we appreciated not having to gather that wood. This isn't charity because we think you can't earn your own way," he assured. "It is a trade for your help. You know it's a fair deal, Betelgeuse."

Katelin could see the man relax a little and nod. He even smiled a little.

"Your wife does have a talent at baking. And she's rather nice to look at."

"That's part of the reason I fell in love with her," Papa said, giving him a mischievous smile. "And speaking on the topic of lovely and wonderful women in our lives, have you seen Avelyn of late?"

Giving him a pained look, Betelgeuse said, "You know that nothing will come of it, so why do you ask?"

"Because someday you may choose to stop chasing every woman who crosses your path and actually pursue the only one you truly want. You've had your eye on any and every woman you encounter for years, like a ram in a field with an entire flock of ewes. I will not deny it. But time and time again, you speak to her differently than most. You continue to return your gaze towards Avelyn with a look that you do not use for anyone else."

"And what look would that be, Galeren?" he asked challengingly, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"It is the same look that I would see in my reflection when I was around Agnes," said Papa. "The one that you used to tease me about before I asked her father for permission to marry her."

Katelin watched the man's expressions change. At first, he looked amused and dismissive of Papa's words. Then they shifted to acknowledgement and frustration. Then he looked resigned and a little regretful.

"We both know that what you have in mind will never happen," Betelgeuse said. "Even now, I can only support myself some years. I cannot ask her."

"Betelgeuse, we have been friends for years. You know that I would help you with this if marrying Avelyn is what you truly want."

"No," he snapped. "No charity, Galeren. Not even from you. No matter how little I had at times, I've always been able to avoid that. The church may call it a sin, but I have some pride that I refuse to sacrifice. What I have, I've earned through my actions and my wits."

Sighing with regret, Papa said, "I understand. I wish that you would let me help you with this, but I do understand."

"Besides," he continued, "even if I should ever manage to gain enough to support and care for a wife properly, it would not work. With her father dead, I would have to ask Derrick's permission and he would not trust the sincerity of my offer. He would not let his sister marry someone like me. No man would."

"Why not, Goodman Betelgeuse?" asked Katelin, knowing she shouldn't interrupt and yet unable to stop herself. "You seem nice. I don't know why everyone says mean things about you."

Looking down at her in surprise, Betelgeuse remarked, "That's your daughter, Galeren? I didn't know she was already this big. How old is she now?"

"I'm four," she said proudly. "I'll be five this winter."

"She's been growing like a weed," said Papa. "She wanted to come with me this evening and meet you."

"She's a little on the pale side, Galeren. Has she been sick?" asked Betelgeuse, looking her over carefully.

"No, nothing like that. Katelin is just that way."

Betelgeuse nodded thoughtfully before kneeling down to her level and looking her in the eye. Katelin liked that. It was always easier to talk to people when she didn't have to stare all the way up at them. And it made it easier to know if they were listening to her.

"People don't like me for a lot of reasons, Lin," he said, shortening her name in a way that no one else did. "Some make sense. Other reasons are just pure nonsense. But I don't particularly care what most of the village thinks. Most of them have fewer brains than sheep. I'm not going to change their minds, so I won't bother. And I'm certainly not going to act different in an attempt to try. They don't have to like me."

"But you're nice and Papa likes you," she said. "And Papa said you want to marry Goodwoman Avelyn, but you said you can't because her brother doesn't like you. That's not fair."

"Life isn't always fair. And Derrick not liking me is only one of the reasons I can't marry her or anyone."

"So you'll never have a wife who'll marry you and cook and make clothes and take care of you?" she asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, Betelgeuse stood back up and said, "It seems to be that way, Lin. That doesn't mean I can't find company among women and enjoy their presence. I just can't afford to take care of a wife."

Katelin frowned at that. She carefully thought about the entire situation as Papa handed over the bread to Betelgeuse after a few more moments of conversation. It just seemed so sad to her. She liked Betelgeuse so far and thought he deserved a nice wife. But she couldn't help him marry Avelyn. She couldn't do much to help him at all. And she wished she could.

Staring at the man that almost everyone disliked, dressed in ragged clothes and living alone in a boggy forest, the little girl tried to think of even the smallest idea of how to make things better for him.

Agnes watched as her daughter worked patiently at the loom, Katelin completely focused on her work. She'd wanted to do it. She'd wanted to make it from start to finish and it was certainly skills she would need to learn anyway. And for the most part, Katelin was doing well for her first time. For the last several days, she'd worked at it. She was following her mother's directions and trying very hard to get everything right. Agnes just hoped her daughter wouldn't be disappointed in herself when it was finished.

Taking the raw wool and spinning it into yarn went fairly well, though there was a few sections that were a little lumpy or thicker the rest of the length. And weaving the yarn into cloth on the loom was going fairly well. It was mostly just following a simple pattern and Agnes could easily point out when she forgot or made a mistake so that Katelin could fix it. It was merely the step in the middle that didn't turn out exactly as she wanted.

She'd wanted to dye the yarn using woad, the flowering plant generally producing a nice shade of blue or indigo. But somehow during the process of dyeing and adding the mordant, the colors darkened and came out uneven. Agnes wasn't even certain how Katelin managed it. But by the time the yarn was finished dyeing, it varied randomly from the palest gray shade to an intense black all along the length. First attempts at any skill rarely turned out perfectly, but the woman didn't expect that particular result.

But Katelin didn't seem upset about it. After being surprised for a moment to see her chaotic dyeing job, she'd simply asked to learn how to weave it. Even when Agnes warned that it would probably look pretty messy when she was finished because of how the colors kept changing along the length at random, she wanted to proceed. And they couldn't simply waste the material anyway, so they continued forward with her project.

Still, Agnes couldn't help feeling curious about her child's abrupt determination to learn the skills to make clothing. The abruptness of her decision and how she'd stubbornly pursued it over time until her mother could teach her all the way through the lengthy process made the woman curious. Watching Katelin cautiously work the loom under her supervision, curiosity finally compelled her to ask about it.

"Katelin, my little starling, what is it you intend to make when you're done weaving?"

Pausing, she turned away from the loom and said, "A present, Mama. His clothes are all worn out and he doesn't have anyone to make him new ones. So I thought I could make him some."

He shouldn't care. It was bound to happen eventually. There was no reason to drag Lovell behind a building and beat his face to a bloody pulp, no matter how much he wanted to. It wasn't even as if he'd asked permission to marry Avelyn yet. They were just spending more time together and he bought her a little trinket from one of the traveling merchants. That didn't mean they were engaged. Besides, she liked the tailor, her brother and his wife liked the tailor, and her mother liked the tailor. Practically everyone in the village liked the tailor. And Lovell would be a good husband and a good provider to Avelyn if he ever decided to marry her. It was probably the best prospect she could ever hope for. Betelgeuse knew he should be happy for her. At least one of them should be able to get married someday.

Betelgeuse tried his best to put the news out of his mind and focused on his task. One of his sheep had wandered off. Unlike the goats and pigs, they couldn't wander around near the forest eating whatever random thorny and leafy plant they found. Sheep prefer grass, so he had to turn them loose further away during the day. And occasionally that meant they moved out of sight by the time he was ready to herd them back in the evening. He didn't have a lot of animals to spare, so he had to find it before some wild animal or greedy neighbor decided to snag it.

This particular sheep was either dumber or smarter than the others. She'd apparently traveled quite a distance in search of the perfect grazing ground, forcing Betelgeuse to walk further and further in search. In truth, it was fairly annoying. If the creature's wool wasn't so necessary for him to earn enough coins to make it through the upcoming winter, she would probably be facing a future as mutton far sooner than expected.

"Goodman Betelgeuse," a young voice called abruptly.

"That was probably not the sheep I'm looking for," he muttered to himself, glancing around in search of the source of the voice.

He quickly spotted the small, black-haired, and pale girl running towards him with something in her arms. He hadn't realized his search had brought him so near Galeren's home, but he recognized his daughter as she hurried towards him. Betelgeuse didn't, however, know what the child wanted.

"Goodman Betelgeuse," she repeated as she drew near and came to a stop. "I saw you when I was feeding the chickens for Mama. I was afraid you'd leave before I got here."

"Apparently I'm not that fast, Lin," said Betelgeuse. "Have you seen a sheep around here? I'm looking for one of mine."

The girl shook her head and looked rather apologetic. He wasn't exactly sure why since it wasn't her fault the animal got the idea in her fool head to wander off.

Then Katelin asked, "Do you want me to help you look?"

While mildly surprised by the offer, Betelgeuse answered gently, "No, your mother and father would probably get worried if you disappeared on them without a word. I can find her myself."

She nodded in understanding and he thought that might be the end of the conversation. But then she apparently decided to address whatever issue it was that prompted her to come running across the countryside after him.

"I made you a present, Goodman Betelgeuse," she said, thrusting her burden up towards him eagerly.

He was startled enough by her actions to grab the object before it fell to the ground without even thinking. Only after he already had it in his hands did he actually look at what she brought.

It was a thick woolen mantle, but certainly different than the thread-worn and fraying one that he owned already. The stitches were clumsy and uneven things while the coloration was startling. Rather than a solid color, the weaving varied from a deep black to shades of gray that could almost be mistaken for white. And even if there was no predictable and coherent pattern to when and where the colors shifted, the way the cloth was woven almost made it looked like stripes that ran across it. They weren't symmetrical or uniform stripes, but it at least made the piece of clothing a little less chaotic.

This was not the work of a skilled and practiced hand. The girl clearly made it. And considering her age, this was probably her first effort at making clothing. She'd made the thick woolen mantle and chose to give it to him for some reason.

"Are you sure that you want me to have this?" he asked slowly. "Not your father?"

She nodded and said, "Mama makes clothes for Papa, Henry, and me. You don't have wife to make them and I won't have a husband until I'm older, so I thought I could make it for you. It's a present."

He didn't take charity. He didn't need to accept the scraps of others in order to survive. He could take care of himself. He'd done it his whole life.

But she didn't intend for it to be charity and it seemed to be fairly sturdy, even if the appearance was a little strange. And just because she was offering it with no thoughts of anything in return did not mean he couldn't turn it into a deal regardless.

Kneeling down to her level, Betelgeuse said, "I'll make a bargain with you, Lin. Anything that you might make while learning the crafts of being a woman, whether that might be weaving or cooking or any other skill, and if you do not wish to keep or give them to your family, you may give them to me. Anything you make that you do not want you can give to me. And in return, when you grow older and start searching for a husband, I will make certain that any boy who approaches you is respectful and considerate. And if you don't like him, I'll scare him off before your father has to do it. Boys can be trouble for pretty young ladies when they forget to listen. If they do not understand the word 'no,' I'll remind them of the meaning. Does that seem fair?"

She looked mildly confused by his offer. Betelgeuse didn't blame her. It would take her some time to learn that not all young men were happy about the ideas of boundaries. And no matter what some of the villagers might think about his enjoyment of the company of various women, he never went too far unless she agreed. Some men didn't and the poor young girls were often treated as if they were the ones to blame. Galeren and probably her brother would help ensure Katelin avoided such a fate as she grew up, but it never hurt to have another pair of eyes keeping watch. And Betelgeuse would know better who to be cautious of when the time came.

"So does that mean you like it?" asked Katelin finally.

To answer her question, Betelgeuse stood back up and slipped off his old and worn-out woolen mantle. Then he handed the girl the old one so he could put on the one she made him. True, it still looked a little strange to wear the striped piece of clothing. He'd likely get a few stares the next time he went to the village. But since when did he care what anyone thought about him?

Disease was sweeping across the land like a fire, burning away anyone it encountered. No one could stop it. Prayers against the sickness were uttered in churches until fewer and fewer people attended. The crops remain untended in the fields as more and more people fell beneath the sway of the illness. Neighbors, families, and friends were cut down, leaving entire households and even entire villages practically deserted.

It was worse in the larger towns and cities where it was so easy to see so many bodies being carried out in carts. He'd heard the stories from the fleeing travelers, hoping to get ahead of the disease that was killing so many. There were tales of bodies left in their homes, unburied and their souls not prayed for, simply because there were not enough people left alive or the few survivors were too frightened to return for their loved ones. The air often stank with the smell of sickness, death, and rot. Fear gripped the people as tightly as the disease itself. There were whispers and even shouts that this was the end of days.

The illness was so swift and so deadly. It came with dark buboes, fever, and vomiting of blood. Those who were struck by the disease were often dead within a week, followed quickly by the others of the household. It was horrifying and frightening to behold. From the poorest serf to the nobility hidden behind stone walls, no one was truly safe.

And now it had ensnared Agnes.

Galeren knew what was coming the moment she fell ill, the same sickness that was raging through the village like an inferno. He just didn't want to admit that his beautiful wife was already lost. And he would not be like some of those cowardly spouses who fled in the hope of escaping the same fate. He'd promised to stand by her side, through all of life's challenges. If that meant taking care of her while hoping the pestilence did not kill her and risking the disease himself, then so be it.

But he could not risk his ten year old son and seven year old daughter suffering the same fate. If they remained in the household with their ill mother, he feared they would become equally stricken by the disease. So regretting having to leave Agnes' side for even a moment, he'd gathered his children and hurried them out the door. Galeren took them far from their home and away from the village filled with the sickness. He took them to the one person he trusted above all others.

"Betelgeuse," he called desperately, banging on the door with his fist. "Betelgeuse. Betelgeuse."

The door flung open, the man stumbling out with a look of surprise and concern. Obviously Galeren's voice betrayed the severity of the situation well enough.

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Betelgeuse, looking from the man to the children and back.

"Agnes has fallen victim to the pestilence," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "I know this is a lot to ask—"

"Whatever it is, you can have it," interrupted Betelgeuse.

"I cannot leave her. She is my wife and I will not leave her alone to face this sickness. But I need my children to be safe. Please, I know what I am asking is more than you owe me, but can you take care of my children?"

Galeren's pleading expression was met with a look of sad understanding. He knew perfectly well what the man was asking. He knew that the hope that so many clung to was a fraying and fragile thing. He understood that Galeren was not truly asking him to watch over the children for a few days or a week.

Betelgeuse nodded solemnly and said, "I'll do it. I'll take care of them. I'll protect them. I won't let anything happen to your children. You have my word."

The man felt a brief wave of relief wash over him. Betelgeuse may have many flaws, but he always kept his word. He always kept his deals and he always kept his promises. No matter what else might happen, Henry and Katelin would be safe and cared for. That was all Galeren could hope for now.

"I don't want to stay with him, Father," said Henry, looking up at him stubbornly. "I want to stay with you and Mother."

"You can't," he said, kneeling down to look his boy in the eye. Holding his shoulders firmly, Galeren said, "You and your sister need to stay here and be good. Do what Betelgeuse tells you to do, just as you would for me or your mother. And take care of your sister."

"We'll be good, Father," said Katelin, walking over to Betelgeuse obediently with only the smallest worried frown on face.

She'd always seemed to like the man more than her brother. He'd listened to too many stories from around the village and let that color his judgment. But she'd seemed to have decided that since Betelgeuse had no one to look after him, she would do so. The man even still wore the striped mantle she made him when first learning how to make clothing. She would be just fine. And maybe she could help her brother adapt to what Galeren feared the future held.

"You'll come back for us soon, right?" asked Henry.

He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to lie to them, but he also didn't want to say his fears aloud.

Saving him from having to make a decision, Betelgeuse said, "He'll be back when your mother is well again. Until then, we'll find a way to manage on our own. I'm certain we can make it work."

Giving his friend a grateful smile, Galeren quickly reached for his children and gave them a tight hug. His son seemed surprised by the abrupt action, but Katelin returned the embrace instantly. She was always an observant girl. She saw things others tended to miss. If either of his children had their suspicions, it would be her.

Standing up, Galeren hurriedly hugged his friend and whispered, "Thank you."

"I'll keep them safe," Betelgeuse promised as he finally pulled away.

Knowing that he needed to return to Agnes, he turned and hurried down the path while blinking back tears. He still held the smallest ember of hope, but it wasn't enough to completely banish his fears. His chest tightened painfully as he walked away. Galeren knew he would probably never see any of them again.

Chapter Text

After watching the more thick-headed girls at my school sigh and giggle about the idea of marrying their current crushes, I started thinking about marriage. I mean, I have plenty of reason to think about it after the almost-wedding. But there are just so many different types of marriages.

Half the girls at my school either have divorced parents or should have them. There are some couples who are staying together "for the children," but are only making everyone miserable, including the children themselves. Some marriages can be salvaged, but some are beyond saving and the best thing is to go their separate ways before the couple gives into the urge to murder their spouse and ends up haunted by the upset and nagging ghost.

My dad's marriages were never like that. Mom and dad always seemed happy together. Except for minor arguments, I don't remember them fighting. Of course, I was a lot younger then and might have missed signs of discontent. But Dad still loves mom, even though she's gone. And Dad and Delia might have issues with each other occasionally, especially when she's in her artistic mood or Dad is stressed out, but they're still in love with each other and make it work. Just like they're trying to make things work with me now.

Barbara and Adam are the perfect couple. They love each other, support each other, are loyal to each other, and manage to work things out before they can reach the stage of an actual fight. If anyone ever wants an example of a great marriage, that would be Barbara and Adam.

And if I consider theoretical marriages for a moment, I can't even imagine what my marriage would have been like if the wedding had worked. Beyond creepy, I mean. We all agree it would have been really weird and creepy. I don't want to imagine it because… I hated him then and now he's… Beej. And I just can't picture how we'd end up if the wedding happened.

Of course, since I know you're going to read this anyway, were you ever married before? What was it like?

Nope, never managed to snag myself a proper bride. Sorry, Lyds.

What about that skeletal finger the ring was on during the wedding? She wasn't a past wife?

Afraid not. It was kind of an embarrassing story. She needed some help with her brother. It was a huge mess. Possession, goats, torches, an angry mob, near certain doom, a scullery maid, a river, freaky trees, and something about a cursed coin. Anyway, I made a deal to help her brother for her hand in marriage. Unfortunately she was even worse than you about following through.

What happened?

She was superstitious and worried that she was actually selling her soul or something rather than just marrying a dead guy. But she wanted her brother to be saved, so she agreed. So I did my usual impressive work and got ready to walk her down the aisle. What I didn't know was that she poisoned herself first. She expired just as I was slipping the ring on her finger, before we were properly declared man and wife.

That's terrible.

What's really terrible is that she popped back up as a ghost and wouldn't stop talking about how she outwitted the "evil spirit" that tried to doom her. She would not stop bringing it up to everyone she encountered. It took some time to fix my reputation after that. Of course, this was all before my time as Juno's assistant, so almost everyone has forgotten about it. And those who bring it up tend to regret it.

So you didn't even get married when you were alive?

…

Beej?

No.

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

By the time the pestilence finally moved on, the damage was done. Far too many faces were gone from the village. Men, women, and children were dead. Entire families were lost, their bodies only discovered by neighbors long afterwards. Even Sibylla died from the sickness while offering what little help she could. Lovell, who was engaged to Avelyn right before the sickness swept across the countryside, died at some point early on. The local smith and two of his sons were lost along with Cole's entire family. Lord Bayard's daughter and a variety of people working within the manor became ill, but at least a couple of them survived. So many houses were now empty and there was a variety of livestock wandering unclaimed across the countryside even months later. But the loss of Galeren and Agnes was what affected Betelgeuse the most.

It wasn't just the fact that his friend and his wife were gone, buried properly even though Betelgeuse had to literally drag the hiding people out of the church to get it done. He was left with Katelin and Henry. That changed things more than what he'd ever expected to deal with.

Once some of the chaos from the sickness began to die down, he started making arrangements for them. Paying the heriot for their parents' deaths and a further tax necessary for Henry to be allowed to keep control of the land his father farmed took the majority of his meager funds. And then he had to find ways to feed two more mouths. Betelgeuse was forced to adopt a few strategies from the days when Remfrey was around in order to scrounge enough food. But even when struck by sorrow and heartache from the loss, the children were far more help than the old man ever was.

He never expected to care for children. He'd never imagined the possibility since he wouldn't be able to afford such a life. He liked Katelin even before Galeren asked Betelgeuse to take care of them, but that didn't make it easier to take responsibility for her. And her brother didn't even bother hiding his disdain for the man, which did make it a bit more difficult to convince Henry to follow any instructions. How was he supposed to be responsible for these children when he'd only ever needed to be responsible for his own life and that of a drunken old man? And he'd failed at keeping Remfrey alive and whole…

So with those thoughts rattling around his head like dice in a wooden cup, Betelgeuse led Galeren's old plow horse towards the village. The cart was loaded up with several barrels of the stronger brews of beer he intended to sell. He never drank the stronger stuff to the extent that Remfrey did, reveling in his drunkenness. But his brews were rather potent and better quality than most of the neighbors managed. And with Cole and his family gone, there was a greater demand for barrels of stronger beer. Regardless of the reputation of the one who made it. And the money could certainly help him.

"Goodman Betelgeuse," called out a familiar voice as he reached the first building on the edge of the village.

Bringing the horse and cart to a halt, he turned. Carrying her basket of herbs and dressed in drab clothes that did little to conceal her beauty was Avelyn. The chestnut-haired young lady was giving him a friendly and welcoming look that he rarely received, though there was certainly a hint of sadness. With all the deaths, there was plenty of sadness to spread around.

"Hello, Avelyn," he said. "I haven't seen you in some time."

"You would see me more often if you came to church with everyone on Sunday," she said shyly. "You send Henry and Katelin each week."

"Just because everyone in the entire fief calls me a heathen is no reason for Katelin to be treated similarly. And Henry probably deserves better as well," said Betelgeuse with a slight smirk near the end.

Avelyn gave him a smile before glancing down briefly towards her basket, trying to hide her mirth. It probably wasn't the best joke in the world, but the boy's lack of approval of his new guardian was well known. Henry was not a subtle boy. But even if the child did not respect Betelgeuse did not mean he would doom Henry to becoming the next village outcast if he could help it. She knew that and seemed to take the jest as it was meant. Avelyn gradually looked back up at him through her eyelashes, the young woman being nearly a head shorter than him.

"It was a kind thing to do, taking the children in like that," she said. "Not everyone would do such a thing."

Shrugging awkwardly, he muttered, "I made a promise. What else was I supposed to do?"

Her fingers twisted at the end of one of her sleeves as she spoke, Avelyn said, "It is still a kind and generous act. Even if no one else in the village will admit it, you are a good man. If you ever need help caring for them, I offer what little I can do to make that burden easier."

He wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that. He just stood there quietly as she tugged at her sleeve with her free hand and glanced between him and her basket. Normally he would fill the silence with a comment or suggestion towards whichever young lady he was facing at that moment, but not Avelyn. Galeren was right. He just couldn't treat her like any other woman he dealt with.

After the moment of silence stretched on for too long, he coughed and said, "I'm sorry about your mother. I haven't seen you since the pestilence, so I never got to tell you that. Sibylla was a good woman. And… and I'm sorry about Lovell. You were going to marry him, right?"

"Yes, I was. He was a decent man, one that my family approved of and I could see as a good husband," said Avelyn sadly, looking away. "And I miss Mother. She taught me everything she knew in regards to being a wisewoman and she ensured that even after Father died, my brother and I would never want for anything. Disease took many good people. The seasons may change, but their absence still hurts. It'll take time for those wounds to heal."

He may have ended the silence, but Betelgeuse immediately felt bad about causing her mood to darken. He never wanted to see her suffering. Barely noticing the action, he took a step towards her.

"Their loss will grow easier to bear," he assured. "It is a small comfort now, but it does grow easier."

Any further discussion between them was ended by an abrupt and harsh voice saying, "Avelyn."

Startled, the pair sprang apart. Standing not too far away was Derrick and his wife, Evette. While the women looked uncertain and uncomfortable, Derrick glared at them. No, not them. He was just glaring at Betelgeuse.

"Derrick," said Avelyn, a tenseness to her voice. "I finished gathering herbs and was simply greeting a neighbor. It is the polite thing to do and we are in public where no one can claim that we are acting indecently. So do not claim he or I have done anything wrong, brother."

Eyes never leaving Betelgeuse, he said, "Sister, you should hurry home before the plants begin to wilt. Perhaps Evette can help you prepare them properly."

Betelgeuse knew that Derrick was just trying to get rid of her. She knew he was just trying to get rid of her. Avelyn wasn't a fool. He could see the look of frustration in her eyes for a moment. But between the fact that Derrick was the man in the family and that he did have a point about her herbs, there wasn't much that she could do. She could either make a scene that would have the entire village quickly watching or she could go along with the blatant attempt to force her away from the man of ill-repute. Betelgeuse didn't blame her at all when she gave him an apologetic smile and turned away with her sister-in-law.

That left the men alone, glaring at each other. As annoyed as he was by Derrick and regardless of how easy it would be to provoke him into a fight, Betelgeuse knew better. They would be on relatively equal footing one-on-one, though he suspected that he could probably beat Derrick if he managed to get the first hit. But they were in the village and there were people who would notice. And there were those who would interfere in such a fight. Unfortunately, they would only be helping one of them. Any fight would quickly result in Betelgeuse facing several men at the same time, some of them with grudges due to sisters and daughters of their own.

So he waited patiently. Derrick had remained behind for a reason. Betelgeuse knew he should hear him out so that he could properly ignore the man's words later.

"Stay away from my sister," said Derrick, completely predictable and unsurprising.

"If you had arrived sooner, you would have seen that she called out and approached me. And I have been nothing but respectful towards her."

"You?" he spat venomously. "The man who has stared, touched, courted, chased, and slept with every woman who crosses his path? The man who won't set foot in a church and whose soul is probably black as soot? The son of the useless drunk who everyone knows gambled and wasted away everything he owned and then managed to anger the Lord of the Manor enough to be forced to live in the boggy forest with the worst farmland on the entire fief? You wouldn't understand the meaning of being respectful or honest or good. You're a curse upon this village, corrupting and tormenting the women while ignoring and annoying the men."

"You give me far too much credit," said Betelgeuse, smirking at him. "If I really wanted to be a curse on the village, I would be far more impressive about it."

"I know what you have in mind. You want to tempt her to your bed and then break her heart. And then everyone will know that you managed to get another innocent girl to fall for your vile actions. You want to corrupt her and ruin her life. I won't let you do that to my sister."

"Hey, the last thing I want to do is break her heart," he said. "And any 'innocent girl' who ever followed me knew exactly what they were getting into and literally asked for it. If they said 'no,' then I either waited for them to change their minds or I moved on."

"Lies," snarled Derrick. "I know what kind of man you are. I know what kind of foul and twisted serpent you are, lurking in the shadows and tempting innocent maidens with your forked tongue."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're just jealous. Maybe you should have waited and checked out some other girls before marrying Goodwoman Evette."

Stepping closer in an attempt to look intimidating, Derrick said, "You will stay away from Avelyn. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve anyone. You couldn't be worthy of her even if you tried."

Betelgeuse met his gaze without flinching, but his thoughts were already in motion. He'd spent years with the acceptance that he could never be in a position to marry. He knew that he and Avelyn would never have a chance and he'd accepted that truth. She deserved a better life than what he could provide her. It wasn't easy, but he had long since accepted it.

But now Derrick was flat out stating he couldn't marry her even if he tried. He said that that Betelgeuse couldn't do it. And even if he already thought that, Betelgeuse couldn't just let Derrick's words go. His mind was already seeing Derrick's statement as a challenge. He was essentially challenging Betelgeuse to prove him wrong. Even Galeren's support and encouragement wasn't enough to motivate him to take a chance and try, but Derrick boldly saying he couldn't do it…

He wanted to prove Derrick wrong. And he really wanted to marry Avelyn.

Honestly, he'd wanted to marry her for a long time. He just couldn't let himself admit it because it was easier to accept the impossibility if he acted as if he didn't want marriage. But for the first time, he wanted to take the risk and try.

The rest of Derrick's threats and insults were ignored. They weren't anything new anyway. Betelgeuse had more important things on his mind. He would have to work hard. He would have to stabilize everything in regards to taking care of Katelin and Henry. And he would have to earn enough money to both support another person in the household and pay the costs necessary to marry her. But given enough time, he might be able to make it work. And if he could convince Avelyn when it was ready, she might be able to help convince Derrick to agree to the marriage.

All right, that last part would be the real challenge. Hopefully enough paid for the bride-price and some begging from Avelyn would be enough. Otherwise it could get very complicated. But he could figure that part out later. The rest would take plenty of time and energy to accomplish.

He'd find a way. She was worth it.

There was no one at the door even though Avelyn heard someone knocking. There wasn't even someone walking away from her home. Whoever caused the sound was nowhere in sight.

Only when she was about to head back inside did she spot it. A splash of color curled on the ground in front of her door. Hesitantly, the young woman picked it up.

A ribbon, a red ribbon the perfect length to tie in her hair, had been left on her doorstep. Red was her favorite color, but managing to dye that vibrant shade was difficult. The more wealthy people could manage entire outfits of intense colors, but even the bright ribbon was a lovely token that would cost some money unless you were particularly skilled at bargaining. Someone knew it was her favorite color, went to the trouble to obtain the ribbon, and left it for her without taking credit for the generous action.

Avelyn smiled to herself as she coiled the ribbon between her fingers playfully. It was a beautiful accessory. It was always nice to see a little kindness in the world, especially after seeing so much horror and heartache. If she ever discovered the provider of the gift, she would certainly have to thank them.

She waited patiently for the spider to crawl across the edge of her dress before lifting it up and hurrying for the door. Katelin knew that several girls and women expressed disgust with the creeping creatures, but she didn't really mind them. They were interesting to watch, spinning and weaving their webs. They didn't even require as many tools to craft their thread and create something amazing as people did. Besides, all life had a purpose in the world. Even little spiders. But Katelin also knew that the spider would be safer outside the house and she didn't want any more cobwebs to clean away.

Once she'd released the crawly creature, Katelin turned back towards the sturdy house. In the last four years, she was surprised how much it felt like home. To the left was the door to the byre, where the animals lived. The wall between where the people and the animals dwelt was sturdy and well-built. Inside was an open fire pit with a smokehole in the roof above, ensuring that it was always warm. To the far right was a small loft in the rafters where she and her brother slept while Betelgeuse stayed below.

Around the fire was an iron pot-hanger, a tripod, a shovel, large fire-irons, a cauldron and a meat-hook, all of which she knew how to use. At eleven, she did a lot of the cooking for the household. Mother taught her before she died and Betelgeuse knew quite a bit about it too from years of being alone, so Katelin had learned a lot about preparing meals and maintaining the household while everyone else was in the fields. Taking up the rest of the space was a plank table on trestles, a bench, a few stools, a chest, a small cabinet, and Mother's old loom they'd brought over so Katelin could work on weaving cloth. In the chest, they stored a mallet, a mortar, some nails, some gimlets, fishing lines, hooks, baskets, and other assorted useful items. They kept a jug on the table and a few barrels stacked in the corner. Since Betelgeuse had been selling his stronger brews of beer for the last few years and no one had been able to match his quality yet, he liked to keep the barrels in the house in case someone started having ideas.

Everything had their place, giving the house a familiar and comfortable feel to her. Katelin liked living there. She missed her parents and probably always would, but she was happy with Betelgeuse. He was nice and funny sometimes. And he always made sure they were all right. Even during the winter, he always made sure she and Henry had something to eat.

Thinking about Henry made her frown a little. She loved her brother, but he was so suspicious. He never trusted Betelgeuse. She'd tried to talk to him several times, but Henry just didn't like him. And some of the things Henry said was just plain foolish.

He claimed that the only reason Betelgeuse let them stay was because he wanted Father's land. Yes, Father's fields were still being planted and farmed, but it was mostly by Henry with what little help he would accept from Betelgeuse. And they were all eating the food, at least what didn't go to the manor and the church, so what did it matter where it grew?

But that was how it was with Henry. Any good thing that Betelgeuse said or did was somehow a bad thing. She didn't even try to understand her brother anymore. Boys were just strange. Though Derrick's son, Nicholas, was a little younger than her and acted normal. He was nice, even if his father didn't like Betelgeuse. Maybe only some boys were odd.

Katelin had to admit that her thoughts were flitting around like butterflies. She was actually fairly excited. Henry didn't know it, but something important was happening that evening. She knew because she paid attention and because Betelgeuse liked her. He told her more because she wasn't rude and disobedient.

She hadn't baked bread that day. She was overdue for a trip to town to use the oven, but she didn't do it because Betelgeuse asked her not to. He instead asked someone else to go as a favor. And that someone was Avelyn.

That was why she was excited. She'd known for almost forever that he liked the woman. She knew he wanted to marry Avelyn and not even Father could talk him into trying. But she paid attention. She'd watched and listened. And she knew he'd been working hard the last few years to make everything better, to make it good enough for more people to live with him without going hungry. And she knew who the red ribbon he bought years ago was for. He'd been working his way towards a specific goal and she knew it was almost time. She could feel it. Especially with how on edge he'd seemed recently. Not upset; just tense and uncertain. It was definitely unusual for Betelgeuse and she took it as a sign that he was ready to take a chance.

As she finished straightening up the rest of the house, they arrived. Betelgeuse was the first through the door, looking rather tired and yet satisfied from his day. Henry was right behind him, the fourteen year old scowling until he caught sight of his sister and allowed his expression to soften. They'd been working separate fields, Henry caring for Father's while Betelgeuse dealt with the poorer land that he was responsible for. At least there wasn't too much to do at that point in the year, especially in comparison to the workload during the harvest. During that time, even she was in the fields trying to help get everything finished. But currently they would finish before sunset and make it home at a reasonable time.

She gave the pair a stern look, making them shift direction towards the waiting jug of water and the waiting bowl on the table. They tended to ignore it most of the time, but Katelin suspected what Betelgeuse had in mind for the evening. So she needed to silently remind them to at least wash off the worst of the sweat and dirt from their faces and arms. The man needed to make the best impression possible.

"Henry, could you check to make sure the goats are secure? I can't remember if I tied them well enough," said Katelin as the worst of the mess was cleaned up.

He would have argued if Betelgeuse asked. She knew her brother well enough to be certain of that. But for his sister, he would do it. Henry gave a nod and picked up the bowl to toss out the now-muddy water on his way out.

As soon as the boy was outside, Betelgeuse said, "You know, don't you?"

"Avelyn is coming over here this evening and you've been acting strangely," she said. "You're ready to do it, just like Father said you should have a long time ago."

"I couldn't before. I could barely take care of myself."

"And now you can take care of me, Henry, and anyone else who might want to live here. You re-thatched the roof last year and added a layer to the walls to make them thicker the year before. You managed to raise a few more pigs, goats, and a small flock of sheep that keep trying to wander off. We had mutton to eat last year. And some of the people in the village, when they don't think anyone is listening, have suggested that your brews are better than what Cole's family used to make. They might not like you for some reason that seems even stranger than before, but everyone knows you're doing better these last few years. There is no reason why someone else can't live here happily. You've done it, Betelgeuse. You made it work."

He looked at the girl, still wearing the striped mantle she made years ago. The colors had faded from the weather and use, but the stripes were still visible. It was a clumsy and childish effort at creating clothing, but Katelin still felt proud that he wore it even after she learned to make something better. He wore it because he cared about the silly gift of a little girl. He wore it because he cared about her.

She made it because she wanted him to be happy. And she still wanted him to be happy. Katelin knew that the best way to make him happy now was to help him make the evening perfect.

"Do you know what you're going to say?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment before admitting with a chuckle, "Not even a little."

"Just tell her the truth. Tell her how you feel, all the good things you've done to get ready to ask her, why she's the one you want to ask, and that you think she'll be happy with us. Don't think too much. All you need to say is how you feel about her. That's what Father told Mother after he spoke to Grandfather."

"Asking Agnes's father was probably easier than asking Derrick," he muttered.

Crossing her arms, Katelin said, "Well, you don't want to marry Goodman Derrick. You want to marry Avelyn. So ask her first if she wants to and then figure out how to talk to her brother later. I don't know why some people do it the other way around."

"Because some people care more about the dowry than the woman's feelings on the matter," he muttered, running a hand through his blond hair and making it stand up wildly.

"Don't do that. It makes you look wild and unruly," scolded Katelin jokingly, climbing on the bench so she could flatten his hair back down. "You want her to take you seriously. Not like all the other women who you teased and bothered."

"Now that I think about it, why am I taking advice from you, Lin? The only boy you've ever talked to is Henry," he grumbled while trying to hide his grin. "And maybe that Nicholas. Should I have a talk with him yet or do we have some time before he comes over to start asking for permission for his own wedding?"

Katelin scowled at Betelgeuse while ignoring how her cheeks felt a bit warmer. She was probably just too close to the fire.

"He's just a friend. Be nice."

"All right, Lin. I'll leave him alone," he chuckled. Apparently realizing that they would soon be out of time, he asked, "Is there any possible way you can think of that you can get your brother out of here for a little while? I don't want him to mess this up, either on accident or intentionally. And I'd rather not have too many witnesses regardless."

She didn't think Henry would try to ruin it on purpose, but she also knew that it would be best not to take any chances. Betelgeuse had been waiting a long time to ask Avelyn. She wanted him to be happy, so she would help in any way that she could. Katelin nodded just as Henry walked back in the door.

"All the goats are taken care of," he confirmed. "Anything else, Katelin?"

"I had an idea," said the girl as she walked towards her brother with an enthusiastic smile. "We haven't seen Goodman Thibaud and his wife in recent days. Perhaps we could take some of the sweet preservatives I made last year and visit them this evening? I'm certain that they would enjoy our company."

Thibaud was another friend of Father, but not a friend of Betelgeuse. He and his wife did not find out about the children's fate until almost a month after their parents' deaths. Though they remained with Betelgeuse, they'd stated quite clearly and often repeated that the children were welcome to come to their home whenever they wished. Whether for a meal or to spend the evening, they were always welcome within their household. Katelin knew it was because they, like almost everyone in the village, worried what would happen to them since they were living with Betelgeuse. She knew it was a foolish thing to worry about, but a visit to their house was an excuse that Henry would happily accept. He liked them far more than he did their actual guardian.

"Would that be all right, Betelgeuse?" she asked, giving the man a pleading expression as if she wasn't just fulfilling his request for privacy for the evening.

With false reluctance, he said dryly, "I suppose you should see them and let the old fools know I haven't managed to kill you yet. You would think that after four years, they'd start to trust me with the two of you."

"I think they have every right to be concerned," muttered Henry before taking Katelin's hand. "Come along, sister. We should hurry if we want to get there before they eat."

Giving Betelgeuse a quick supportive smile, she let her brother lead her out the door. Katelin hoped the evening would go smoothly. She had done everything she could.

Avelyn liked to believe that she had the ability to see more than most people. Her mother always said it was an important skill, looking beyond the surface and seeing what others might miss. It would help her be a great wisewoman, able to see the differences in a variety of sicknesses and hurts, the restless spirits that sometimes lingered after death, and the true state of a man's heart. Her family had always placed an emphasis on those skills and generally became wisemen and wisewomen of wherever they lived. It extended all the way back to her great-great-grandmother, who was brought to England by her great-great-grandfather from abroad when he served as a common soldier during one of the Crusades and he fell in love with her. Regardless of anything else, Avelyn tried to see the truth rather than the obvious.

So she knew Betelgeuse was a good man even when everyone else scorned him. The type of person the rest of the village saw just didn't make sense. She knew he had his flaws, but he also took in two orphaned children, wore a badly-dyed mantle made by the girl as a gift, never broke a deal, and worked hard the last few years to make his meager stretch of land productive enough to properly live off it. And regardless of what wagging tongues might imply, he wasn't seeking out a variety of female companionship anymore. Though that might be due to a lack of time with everything else he was trying to accomplish. Even if no one else could see it, he was trying to build a life for the children and himself.

That was part of the reason why she ignored Derrick's warnings and continued to seek Betelgeuse out. She spoke to him whenever he was in the village, sometimes offering a container of blackberry preservatives or something in exchange for firewood or herbs from the boggy forest he called home. He visited her more often than in the past, almost taking pleasure at the challenge of finding her when her brother was absent. And in a way, Avelyn also enjoyed annoying Derrick a little. She liked Betelgeuse. He was a good friend. There was no reason why she should avoid him just because Derrick didn't like him.

This meant that when Betelgeuse asked for a favor, she was happy to help. While Katelin normally could take care of baking bread, he'd asked the woman to do it and bring the loaves to his house. It was easy enough to accomplish. She simply took his flour and hers to the oven and baked them at the same time. She could handle the favor for him.

She knew where he lived and knew vaguely how to get there. Avelyn did wish she'd managed to head to his home earlier in the day, though. The red tint of the late evening sky and the deep stretching shadows made it hard to see the faint trail that wound through the boggy forest. She was afraid it would be dark before she could make it back to her house. But this was the soonest she could make the trip. And the path to Betelgeuse's home was the only one through the marshy place, so she shouldn't get lost if she was careful.

It took some time to travel the increasingly dark path, but she eventually spotted the house. She shifted her grip on her favorite basket, the one she wound her favorite red ribbon around the handle when she wasn't wearing it, and smiled. This wasn't too difficult to accomplish. Derrick worried far too much. Avelyn hurried to cover the rest of the distance. Almost as soon as she knocked, the door was practically flung open.

"Avelyn," said Betelgeuse. "Thank you for coming over. Would you come in?"

She fought the urge to frown in response to his words. Something was wrong. There was something off about his tone and posture. She knew him well enough to recognize that he wasn't acting normal. He seemed… nervous. Turning that idea over in her mind, Avelyn slowly stepped into the room and set her basket of bread on the table.

"Where are Henry and Katelin?" she asked, looking around the room and even towards the small loft on the right side of the room.

"I asked them to leave us alone this evening. I was hoping to speak with you without anyone else present," said Betelgeuse.

"What would you like to discuss?"

Betelgeuse ran a hand through his hair briefly, making it stand up wildly, before he started to pace the room. He was definitely worked up over whatever he was planning to say. Part of her wanted to urge him to sit down and relax a little. It wasn't normal for him.

"I've known you for a long time and you have always seemed smarter than most of the people in the village. You certainly don't believe everything you hear without actually thinking," he said, walking passed the fire. His shadow stretched and flickered across the room. "You have always been a nice and good-hearted person towards everyone, even those who don't deserve it."

There was something familiar about the speech. It wasn't the exact words that were tickling her memory, but the tone. Avelyn couldn't quite place it. And yet she knew she'd been in the same position before.

Reaching up and fiddling with the leather thong around his neck, Betelgeuse continued, "Out of all the people I've met, I'm not afraid to admit I like you the most. And maybe you might like me back, at least a little."

"Of course I like you," said Avelyn, a little stunned he would doubt it.

He relaxed a little at her words. Not a lot, the tension still clear in his posture. But he did have some of his old confidence back.

"Good. That's the important part. Derrick can hate me all he wants. Just as long as you don't," he said, slowing his pacing. "A lot has changed in the last few years. Some bad, but some of it not. And what once seemed impossible might have a chance." He slowly walked back in her direction. "I've tried to turn my life around. I've worked and saved until we're not always on the brink of starvation. We'd never live like nobles in a manor, but we'd be comfortable here. There's a little money, livestock, and grain. A warm fire, sturdy walls, and a dry roof. And there's someone who cares for you with all his heart and would die to keep you safe and happy."

She knew. It hit her hard, the absolute and overwhelming shock that flooded her body. She figured it out when he started talking about "we." Avelyn remembered why this felt familiar. Lovell once did something similar after speaking to Derrick. Her heart was racing and a lump formed in her throat. She never expected this. For all her insight and ability to see what others missed, Avelyn never saw this coming from Betelgeuse.

"You seem to like the children and they seem to like you in return. Even Henry doesn't hate you," he continued awkwardly, still working his way to what she knew was coming. "Talking your brother into agreeing would be the hard part, so I was hoping you'd do that while I bribe him with several barrels of my strongest brews." There was a weak smile from him at that, but she couldn't bring herself to respond to his jest. "I'm probably making no sense. I'm usually better at talking people into something, but not you. You've always been special. Not to mention I don't have much experience at this particular speech."

She knew what he wanted to ask. Any other young lady would be horrified at the idea, especially with his history. Dozens and dozens of women had encountered his advances. And even if she tried to see the best in him, she knew at least some of those meetings ended in intimate situations. He would never deny it. He would even brag about it. But those actions did little encourage someone when face with the ultimate question.

And even if she could live with it as she did when she viewed him as a friend, others would not accept such a thing from a potential… from someone who…

There was a numb disconnect between her body and her mind. And between most of her thoughts and the knowledge of what he wanted to say. That was the best description for her. Numb and disconnected.

"I suppose I should just say it before I lose my nerve to take a chance. It took years to find it in the first place," said Betelgeuse, taking her gently in his calloused one and kneeling in front of her. "I love you, Avelyn. I have for a long time. But I never had any sort of life to offer you before and I knew you deserved better. Now I've done everything I can to change that. I made a life you, Katelin, and even Henry might be happy with."

He loved her. Avelyn felt her chest tighten painfully and her eyes began to burn. Betelgeuse loved her? He just said it and she believed him. He wouldn't lie. Not about this. He actually loved her. She'd never known, never even suspected. She wasn't observant at all. She was blind and oblivious.

Did she love him? Could she love him back?

She searched her feelings, her memories and thoughts churning and boiling wildly. He was certainly a friend and she held a certain level of affection towards him. She always smiled when she saw him. He made her laugh sometimes. She trusted him, even when all logic and everyone she knew argued against it. The thought of him stopping by to help filled her stomach with a fluttering sensation, one she'd ignored or brushed off so often in the past. She felt safe in his presence. She knew she could count on him. He always left her feeling warm and happy.

And, as she surprisingly realized, she did love him. And somehow that made the shock enveloping her more intense.

With his free hand, he pulled the leather thong into view. Dangling from it was a small gold ring, a simple and beautiful band. Avelyn wasn't certain where he got it, but it must be truly precious. She knew it had to be the most valuable object he owned.

Offering the ring towards her, Betelgeuse said, "I know it is a lot to ask, but would you consider being my wife?"

It was a lot to ask. She knew her answer would change her life forever. She knew the life he was describing could be wonderful. Even the knowledge that her brother and most of the village would disapprove of the match, Avelyn knew that she could be happy with them. She could be happy with him. That didn't lessen the tightness in her chest, the tears forming in her eyes, and the way her body shook as she tried to summon her voice to answer him.

"Betelgeuse, I…" she said in an unsteady voice. "No. I can't."

This was too much. She couldn't face it. Not yet. Not now. It was too much for her to think about now. The shock of the entire situation felt so overwhelming. She couldn't handle the question, the potential future, or the expression that was quickly overtaking his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she backed away, tears rolling down her face.

She hated the look he was giving her, like everything was crumbling, but she couldn't… She wasn't ready to deal with this. She felt trapped, suffocated, weighed down by everything…

Unable to think, Avelyn numbly repeated, "I'm sorry."

Shock, panic, and frantic confusion consumed her, leaving no room to consider anything. Everything was just overwhelming her. Avelyn stumbled out the door and ran. She didn't even stop to get her basket or even look where she was going. She just fled the question, the possibilities, and her feelings.

Tears rolling down her face, she ran blindly into the darkness. Away from the proposal. Away from the realization of the truth that she never noticed. Away from the sounds of breaking and destruction that erupted from the house as she fled into the night.

Chapter Text

Whether by birth, by adoption, or by marriage, every member of this family has been taught about ghosts and the mysteries that surround them. Our knowledge and the artifacts gathered through the generations for centuries have been shared among father, mother, husband, wife, son, and daughter. This is what allowed our family to have a deep understanding of the spirits that linger and the powers that can be used. And one such power that we learned of is the Reality Gauntlet.

-Excerpt from "The Reality Gauntlet and Other Ghostly Myths" by Frederich Isak Showenhower

He shouldn't have thrown it. He wasn't even sure what he'd thrown across the room, but he shouldn't break his belongings. Betelgeuse just couldn't bring himself to care. What did it matter if he destroyed everything? It didn't mean anything anymore. He grabbed another object, a carved spoon, and hurled it hard enough to crack it apart when it hit the far wall. The noise and broken fragment barely registered. He threw the bench next and flipped the table, but they were sturdy enough to survive the action.

How could he have even considered it? How could he be that naïve? He knew better. He knew he didn't have a chance. It was a mistake he should have stopped years ago.

He was smashing and throwing anything within reach. He ignored the damage it did to his hands as he lashed out at the furniture, the walls, and even the valuable loom in the corner. For the moment, it didn't matter to him. Physical pain wasn't important. The anger and frustration with himself was a far better distraction. It kept the hurt away, at least to an extent.

She was right to leave him. Even with everything he tried to accomplish, he was still the same man as before. The son of a useless drunk. The tricky and sneaky heathen. The foul little man scrambling in the dirt for bugs for food. The lecherous fool who chased every woman in sight. The untrustworthy scoundrel. He didn't care what others thought of him, but she would always deserve better than that. She would always deserve better than him.

Betelgeuse found himself without something in reach to break. With no further chance to numb himself with destructive violence, the true emotional fallout of what happened started to hit him. The painful, aching tightness in his chest as he struggled to control his uneven breathing hurt. Not sobs, but something that might easily evolve into them. He needed to deal with it before he felt worse. There had to be a way to handle the increasingly intense misery, heartbreak, and fury with himself.

Staring around the disheveled room, his eyes landed on the barrels and Betelgeuse decided to do something he'd promised himself never to do. He was going to do what his father would. He intended to follow Remfrey's example, as pathetic as it might be.

The first thing he did was shove the table against the door, barricading it closed. He knew that some people could turn violent when drunk and he would never forgive himself if the children wandered in on that. Perhaps they would stay the night with Thibaud and his wife. The pair would certainly make the offer. But if they came home, it would better for them to spend the night in the byre. It was warm, dry, and safe. He wouldn't let them possibly get hurt because he was foolish and miserable.

Stumbling over the pieces of the loom he would certainly regret breaking later, Betelgeuse pulled out the first barrel of his stronger brews of beer. Since his proposal proved to be the worst decision of his life, he might as well add another foolish choice to finish out the day. Time to find out if he inherited his father's skill at drowning all pain and misery with his supply of beer.

Katelin felt divided. Goodman Thibaud and his wife wanted them to stay the night, insisting that traveling back in the dark would be far too dangerous. Henry certainly wanted to accept the offer. Of course, he just wished to stay away from Betelgeuse like always. And she knew it would be wise to stay both because of the reasons the couple stated and because she didn't know how long it would take Betelgeuse to speak to Avelyn. Staying the night should give them all the privacy they could need. So the girl agreed with her brother to remain at least until morning.

And yet for some reason that she couldn't explain, Katelin felt uneasy about her decision. She felt like she should return home, that she was needed there. She felt as if something was wrong.

But surely everything would be all right. Betelgeuse didn't need her. What was the worst that could happen if she stayed?

He'd gone too far. Derrick knew the man was a vile person who shouldn't be allowed near his sister, but Avelyn never listened. She saw good present in the man that simply didn't exist. She refused to see Betelgeuse as he truly was, treating him as a respectful neighbor and even performing favors. Sweet Avelyn did not see that to the foul man she was merely a conquest to be exploited. She did not see the threat. And now Derrick feared Betelgeuse may have gone too far.

Avelyn took a basket of bread out to the foul man's house. That was hours ago. Night had long since fallen and there was still no sign of her. She should have returned long ago. Such a delivery should not have taken long. The only reason Avelyn would've not returned home would be if something kept her. If someone trapped her and wouldn't let her go, using her as he did all women he ensnared. Derrick refused to believe she would do such a thing willingly, so Avelyn needed help. Betelgeuse needed to be stopped.

Derrick told his wife and son to stay in the house as he went out in search of her. Then he sought out Adam and Roger, two very loyal friends. One was a blacksmith and the other was simply built like an ox. Just as Derrick suspected, they agreed to join him once explained his fears. Betelgeuse wouldn't be able to stand against all three of them. He'd be beaten within an inch of his life if he tried. It was long overdue. And if he was doing what Derrick feared, he deserved such a beating and more. Because if he touched Avelyn…

So with fury and hate boiling in his heart, Derrick marched with his friends through the darkness towards the boggy forest. Before the dawn, Betelgeuse would pay for his years of lecherous and disgraceful behavior and for whatever he was doing to poor Avelyn.

It turned out that Betelgeuse wasn't a violent drunk. He wasn't an angry drunk. He also wasn't a friendly or happy drunk. He was a sad drunk, somehow becoming more miserable rather than numb as he drank his stronger beer.

That pretty much matched his usual luck.

He didn't normally drink his stronger brews, so it was hitting him hard. That didn't slow him down. He just kept drinking. There wasn't anything else for him to do. What was the point of restraint? What was the point of trying anything? He couldn't make anything work, at least not for long. Why shouldn't he just keep drinking and forget about his miserable life?

Sitting there among the broken belongings, Betelgeuse couldn't help wondering what he actually had that could be considered good. Normally he didn't care that all the village idiots hated him. But he felt miserable and couldn't help noticing that he kept losing the few people who didn't hate him, one way or another. His parents were dead. Galeren was dead. Avelyn ran away from him in tears at the idea of being with him. At this rate, Katelin would end up dead and Henry would have a real reason to hate him. No matter what he did, he would lose anything of worth. So what was the point?

His thoughts were sluggish, heavy, and scattered. Nausea was starting to hit him as the world seemed to wobble and swirl around him a little. There was something wrong, but he didn't care. He wouldn't stop drinking until he passed out or ran out. And he had several barrels. So he kept drinking as quickly as he could manage.

There was nothing else for him. Betelgeuse felt like he was sinking into a dark abyss of misery, hurt, and loss. No matter how much he drank, Avelyn's rejection hurt. All his fragile hopes were shattered when she ran out the door. There was no point left. Just pain, misery, and eventual death. And that last was beginning to sound almost comforting and a relief from how he felt.

So why wait?

Stumbling and wobbling, Betelgeuse managed to get passed his lack of coordination and fragmented thoughts enough to pursue his drunken decision. After several attempts, he miraculously found himself on his feet. Half-walking and half-falling, he somehow managed to make it across the room. He certainly couldn't remember how he actually accomplished that feat. He needed to keep a hand on the wall to stay upright, but he reached the peg on the wall he kept a few coils of rope.

He didn't have the coordination or focus for the more complicated movements needed for making a noose. A slipknot, however, was simpler. He could do it in his sleep. Which meant there was actually a small chance of managing it while drunk beyond all reason. And what was the difference in the end? A knot was a knot, especially since both could tighten. It still took a few tries, but Betelgeuse finally managed. From there, he nearly fell over in an attempt to throw the length over the rafters above.

Thinking was a challenge. He kept forgetting what he was doing, but his clumsy attempts to secure the rope in place eventually worked. He was left with a loop dangling above his head and only a vague idea why. Swaying on his feet, he shoved the miraculously-intact stool underneath it.

Miserable and drunk, Betelgeuse did the one thing that no one should do in that condition: he made a life-affecting decision that he would never consider while sober. Wobbling, swaying, and struggling to retain consciousness, he somehow managed to step on top of the stool and poke his head through the loop.

He didn't so much jump or kick away the stool as he simply lost his balance finally. The knot instantly tightened and the problem with a slipknot versus a noose instantly became obvious. There was no chance of a quick death by breaking his neck. Kicking his legs uselessly in the air while uncoordinated hands instinctively tried to grasp at the rope, he was slowly and painfully suffocating. No matter how wretched and drunk he might be, there was still a part of his muddled mind that panicked at the pain and pressure around his neck and the lack of air. Even when everything else was confused and uncomprehending, the impulse to survive remained.

But even when spurred into action by the instinctive fear of death, the body could not escape the effects of so much alcohol and the loss of air. Frantic and uncoordinated movements slowed while darkness swallowed his vision. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as awareness tried to slip away. Or perhaps something else caused the hammering sound.

"Betelgeuse, I know my sister is here!" shouted Derrick, pounding his fist. "Open up!"

When no one responded to his call, the man ran out of patience. Avelyn was in trouble. Derrick slammed his shoulder against the door, the impact only knocking it open a few inches. Seeing that it was clearly barricaded and that their friend was desperate, Adam and Roger added their strength to the second try. While it was enough to stop one man, all three was more than the table could handle and the door was flung open.

As he stumbled into the room, Derrick didn't immediately comprehend the scene the fire illuminated in front of him. But the instant he realized what the shape dangling from the rafters truly was, he cursed and reacted without thought.

"Grab him," he ordered, diving towards the rope strangling the man.

Between the three men, they managed to wrestle Betelgeuse out of the rope and the obvious attempt to hang himself. Derrick was absolutely shocked at the idea. He never expected to see the blond man trying to kill himself like that. The pale and clammy skin as the set him back on the ground was a little unnerving, as if he was already partially dead. But regardless of the quickly swelling bruises around his neck and the strong scent of beer that clung to him, Betelgeuse was somehow drawing weak, ragged breaths.

"Derrick," said Adam uneasily. "Avelyn isn't here."

He jerked his head up, the reminder of why they were there shoving aside the shock of walking in on that scene. A quick glance around the room proved that Avelyn wasn't waiting for a rescue. That realization somehow made him feel worse. It was, however, clear something bad happened before the near death of the man. The room was a mess, as if there was a struggle. Something certainly broke the furniture and belongings. Then Derrick spotted something that left him cold.

Lying on the floor, surrounded by half-crushed loaves of bread, was Avelyn's basket. Derrick would recognize it anywhere. She always kept the ribbon tied to it when it wasn't in her hair. And she adored her red ribbon too much to leave it behind without reason.

Signs of violence in the room. His sister's basket was present, but not Avelyn. And something caused Betelgeuse to nearly hang himself. Derrick's mind could only come up with very few possibilities to explain such a thing.

"Adam. Roger. I think you should leave," he said tensely. "I don't think you will want to be involved with what happens next. I can handle this on my own."

"Are you certain?" asked Roger uneasily, glancing between Derrick and the wheezing, semi-conscious man on the floor.

He nodded, "Thank you for coming to help me, but you can go home. I know what I'm doing."

They hesitated, but Derrick could see that they trusted him. He waited as they left the house. He waited, giving his friends time to head back along the faint and twisting path. He waited as his fury and hatred built higher and higher. Once he was reasonably sure that they wouldn't come back, Derrick grabbed Betelgeuse by the shoulders, hauled him semi-upright, and slammed him against the wall.

"Where is she?" Derrick snarled desperately. "What did you do with Avelyn?"

Eyes unfocused and struggling to breathe through the swelling damage to his throat, the man wheezed in a rough voice, "Gone… Shouldn't have…"

His gravelly and rough voice trailed off as his weak grasp on awareness slipped away, his eyes closing and leaving Derrick staring in horrified fury. No… That foul, evil, loathsome man… Derrick could see it so clearly now. He knew what must have happened.

Betelgeuse must have tried to do something to her, something he wanted and Avelyn refused. He must have attacked her, trying to force her. There was a struggle. And now she was gone… He must have killed her on accident and hid the body. And then in some tiny corner of his shriveled black heart, he felt guilty about his actions. Or more likely feared what true justice would be like for him when the rest of the village learned of his crime. He tried to hang himself, either because he felt bad for harming her or fear of a worse death.

It explained everything. But it also meant that his sweet sister, Avelyn was dead. Betelgeuse killed her.

He let go of the clearly-drunk, half-dead, vile excuse for a man. Betelgeuse had gone too far. Derrick was happy they stopped his suicide attempt, but not for the same reason as before. Death by strangulation was too good for him.

He punched the unconscious man in the face, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand as he broke the murderer's nose. If the man had been awake, he would have been in pain at the impact and bruises started to form from the damage. But it wasn't enough. He knew his fists wouldn't be enough to satisfy his need for revenge. Blinking back tears of fury, Derrick looked around the room for something better.

He searched through the broken fragment and wretched open the chest, searching for something better. He didn't know exactly what he needed, but Derrick kept looking. Then he found it.

Grabbing the man's hammer, Derrick gave a few practice swings. It was a strong and solid tool. He could tell it served its purpose well, building and repairing. It couldn't fix this, however. It couldn't bring Avelyn back. But it could help him make the man pay for what happened. He could send the evil serpent where he belonged.

"This is for my sister, you heartless monster," he said sharply, swinging the hammer as hard as he could into the man's stomach.

The impact caused the unconscious figure to expel the vast amounts of alcoholic liquid, gasping and choking past the painful hit, the vomited beer, and the damaged throat. Derrick, thinking about how he would never see Avelyn again, didn't care. He kicked the man sharply before taking another swing.

Again and again, he swung the hammer. He didn't think of it like he was brutally and viciously beating someone. He approached it like he was chopping wood, digging a hole, or working in the field. It was simply a series of repetitive and forceful motions that needed to be performed. He swung the hammer, striking at the chest and stomach. Derrick didn't flinch at the soft, wet sounds of the man's weakening gasps that were partially choked with blood nor the cracking sensation he felt through his arms as his strikes broke ribs. He just kept thinking about his sister.

Finally, Derrick stopped and stared at the pitiful, dying creature on the ground. Dying, but not yet dead. Between the damage to this throat from the attempted hanging and the blood he was too weak to proper cough out of his mouth, the venomous reptile could barely draw breath. But the man was still stubbornly clinging to life. He never did know when he wasn't wanted around.

Grabbing the battered and beaten figure, Derrick wrestled him onto his back and shoulders until he could support the limp weight. He could have finished him off with another strike of the hammer, specifically to the head, but Derrick wouldn't give it to him. If the wretched man was going to die, it would be slow and without ever having a proper burial. For what he did to Avelyn, he deserved to be forgotten and ignored. Who would mourn him anyway?

Using a torch from the fire to light his way, Derrick carried the heavy burden deeper and deeper into the boggy forest. He wandered further and further into the marshy and dark depths, unable to even catch a glimpse of the stars above. He ignored the slow, pained, choking wheezing of the man on his back and the blood dripping from his mouth. Derrick needed to concentrate on the muck that was swiftly reaching up to his knees. The mud became diluted by boggy and algae-filled water, indicating he'd reached the lowest-resting and deepest part of the marshy forest.

"I hope you die slowly," said Derrick, addressing the unconscious man on his back as he sloshed through the murky liquid. "I hope you suffer for all eternity for what you've done. I hope you never find forgiveness for your sins, even in death. I hope you remain trapped and lost, wandering aimlessly with the burden of your evil."

He knew it was possible. His family knew that not all souls went where they should and some lingered long after they perished. It was part of his family's tradition of being wisemen and wisewomen, along with herb lore and astrology. His mother ensured he knew of such things before her demise, giving her children the knowledge and tools to handle such lost spirits. So when Derrick hoped the cruel and heartless man would wander the world with no chance to find relief or mercy in death, he truly meant it.

Once he was certain that he was far enough that no one would ever find the venomous serpent, Derrick shrugged his burden off. The unconscious man did not immediately sink out of sight into the thick, murky, marshy water. It was a slower and gradual process, one that would take time. Enough of the man floated above the surface that he would not immediately drown. Derrick didn't mind. He would either slip beneath the water eventually or die from what had already been done. Regardless, he would not survive.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse," he said mockingly, practically spitting on the dying man. "You thought you could always escape from the consequences of your actions. But for what happened to Avelyn, you will not. Be gone from our lives. May you rot alone, forgotten, and unwanted."

He then turned and began to make his way towards home, not even thinking about looking back. He wasn't going to spare any sympathy for the monster.

Barely able to breathe through the swelling of a partial hanging and the blood of severe internal injuries to so many organs, he floated in the dark and algae-stained water. Betelgeuse did not stir, he did not move, and he did not wake. The damage was already done.

Far too much alcohol flowed through his veins, poisoning him. Far too cold water swallowed his injured body, weakening him. Far too many broken bones and battered organs suffered, drowning him in blood. Far too much swelling remained from a rope after the knot was removed, choking him. He did not feel the pain of what he was tormented with, but it did not prevent him from succumbing.

In the shadows and boggy forest, without another living soul to comfort or bear witness, the inevitable occurred. The ragged, labored, wheezing of a dying man grew silent and a broken heart grew still. And so the life of Betelgeuse came to an end.

Though there was little way to tell if the cause should be called suicide, murder, accident, or all of them. Even the dead could not say for certain.

He was in the forest and he wasn't sure how. He didn't remember leaving his house. He had scattered memories of rejection, misery and heartache, a rope, someone shouting questions at him, and pain beyond description, but he wasn't certain what it meant. But aside from his confusion on how he ended up in the forest, his mind felt clear and he felt no pain. A slight chill, but no pain.

And he certainly didn't feel drunk anymore.

As soon as he took a step, he felt his foot hit something. A quick glance demonstrated that the situation was even more peculiar than he originally believed. Bound books were rare and expensive, so how could he find one in the boggy forest? He couldn't read, but he knew the value of such an object. He reached for the book.

"I am not certain why they even bother providing a copy to those who cannot read," a voice said abruptly, startling him. "They have to instruct them aloud anyway, so there is no proper reason to provide a book of the same rules."

He turned, spotting the speaker. A brunette woman in a fine and expensive gown, dyed a brilliant shade of purple, was standing in the shadows. She was certainly rich and probably titled, cloth of such a tint far too expensive for anyone of lesser standing. She was a sickly pale color with dark stains around her mouth. She held a few sheets of parchment in her hands that she was clearly reading with only a slight amount of interest.

"Who are you? What is a woman of your standing doing in such a place?" he asked suspiciously.

"You may call me 'Elizabeth'," said the woman. "You are quite fortunate that even your records are uncertain if your attempt at suicide is what killed you. If not, you would be working alongside me. Poison was far more efficient and obvious in my situation, so I did not have any choice."

He frowned at her words. Part of him wanted to deny or accuse her of lying. But another part of him realized she was right. He could feel it, the sense that something was wrong. There was something different about him deep inside and that the rest of the world felt slightly off now in comparison. There was a silence and stillness that seemed unnatural that prompted him to briefly touch his chest, confirming that the steady beat of his heart was gone. But there was something else, something that felt powerful... Still, he couldn't deny the truth.

He died. He was dead and rather than the promised eternal suffering or eternal reward, he ended up in the forest that surrounded his home with a strange woman of wealth. Unless this was an unusual form of judgment, it was nothing close to what he expected from death.

He didn't know where to start. The idea that he was dead and yet he was still standing around somehow didn't seem possible. So many thoughts raced through his mind. He had questions, far more than he knew how to handle.

On the other hand, there was a beautiful woman in front of him and he did know how to handle that. Besides, he needed a distraction from… everything. His life, his death, what would happen to Galeren's children now, what would happen to him now, Avelyn… He briefly touched the ring around his neck. No, a distraction would be good. Focus on the woman. He could handle that much.

"Well, Elizabeth, I'm not certain that working alongside you would be so unfortunate," he said with a smirk. "I am—"

He stopped, struggling to speak as he gagged on the word. He tried again and again, growing more confused and frustrated with each attempt. But he couldn't do it. He could not say it, regardless of how hard he tried. His tongue, his throat, and his voice just locked up and choked him.

He couldn't say his name.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his voice and throat relaxing the moment he tried something else. "Why can't I say my name anymore? Why can't I say—?"

Elizabeth frowned as he struggled against the gagging sensation of his voice rebelling against him. She looked at her sheets of parchment again, her expression growing more serious and grim the further she read.

"Oh dear," said the woman. "I did not expect to be dealing with a poltergeist. And from what I'm reading about your limitations, you are a particularly powerful one. In fact, I do not know if we have records of anyone matching your levels of… Oh dear, this could certainly be a problem. Why would they ask me to speak with you? Could someone else have provided a proper orientation? Someone more experienced?"

"What does that mean?"

Looking back up at him, she said, "It means that I have to take extreme care to ensure that you understand the rules. Otherwise you could cause everyone a great many problems out of ignorance of both the rules and what you are capable of. I believe that you should come with me back for a proper discussion. There are a great many rules you need to be made aware of and I need to look over your unique restrictions in more detail." She looked back at the parchment with her nervous and serious expression. "Oh dear, how am I supposed to handle a poltergeist of this magnitude? I cannot wait to move on in a century. It would be far less upsetting for me to deal with."

He still did not understand much about what was happening, but he had heard a few key phrases that were important. She was supposed to teach him some rules, which were probably what the strange book was about. One of the rules might have to deal with the reason why he could not say his name. But if there were rules, there were almost certainly ways around them. Loopholes, exceptions, and other tricks around the restrictions had to exist. And if he knew what the rules were exactly, he could start finding ways to use them. He could find ways to make things work for him.

He didn't know what to expect in the future, but he knew the importance of finding ways around problems to get what he needed. It was something familiar. And among all the strangeness, he needed something familiar. He wouldn't let being dead slow him down for long. By the time he was finished, all their rules would be working to his advantage.

"Very well, Elizabeth," he said, drawing her out of her upset muttering. "Where are we going?"

"First, there is a room where you can wait until I can discuss this with someone higher up," said the woman. "It should not take too long, relatively speaking."

By the time Derrick made it back to the village, some of the enormity of what happened began to dawn on him. Avelyn was dead. His sister was dead and he was coated in the muck from the boggy forest that surrounded Betelgeuse's house. There would be no hiding this news. How would he explain this to Evette? His wife adored Avelyn, treating her like a sister herself. He'd failed his duties as the man of the family so badly.

With a heavy heart, he pushed open the door to his home. He opened his mouth to deliver the devastating news, but his voice died away as he looked at who awaited him.

Sitting by the fire, her dress stained by the same type of mud that clung to him, was Avelyn. Alive and whole, his sister was talking with Evette before glancing in his direction. She looked at him questioningly, but did not rise from her seat.

Shock hit him first. Pure and utter shock engulfed him. Then joy flooded his body, making Derrick smile without realizing it. His sister was alive. She was safe and alive. He crossed the distance between them, hugging the young woman tightly.

"Avelyn, you're all right," he said with intense relief.

"Of course I am," said Avelyn. "I didn't mean to worry you. I am so sorry."

Relaxing his hold just enough to look her in the eye, he said, "What happened to you? I feared the worst."

"It was foolish. I didn't pay attention to where I was going and strayed off the path in the dark. I became a little lost in that marshy forest and actual became stuck in the mud at one point." She gestured towards her dress. "I finally got free and found my way back out. I suppose you were out looking for me, judging by the state of your clothes. I truly did not mean to worry everyone."

"I'm just glad you're safe," said Derrick. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

"She didn't tell you the more surprising news yet," Evette said. "I still think that she shouldn't do it."

Shaking her head at her sister-in-law, Avelyn said, "Please don't be like that. If he accepts my apology tomorrow, you will need to learn to get along with him."

"What are you talking about?" asked Derrick.

"Betelgeuse," she said.

The joy and relief at his sister's return abruptly gave way to horror. Avelyn was alive. She was alive and unharmed. All his fears and assumptions were false. Betelgeuse didn't kill her. He didn't hurt her. The man didn't do anything to her.

Mistaking the cause of his expression, she continued with a look of regret, "I know you don't like him, Derrick. But I need to go apologize to him tomorrow morning. He asked me something this evening, something that surprised me. And I reacted badly. That's why I didn't pay attention and became lost in the forest on the way home. But I've had time to calm down and think about his question since then. He's a good man and he's always made me happy. And I know you want me to be happy and taken care of, Derrick."

"He asked Avelyn if she would consider marrying him," Evette said.

"I panicked at first and I regret that," said Avelyn. "So if he will accept my apology tomorrow and still wishes it, I believe that I would like to accept his proposal. And if you love me, you will give him permission."

Derrick couldn't respond. He was struggling to keep the horror and guilt from his expression. Betelgeuse didn't kill Avelyn. He proposed to her. And tried to hang himself when she didn't accept. Derrick hadn't killed a murderer in an act of justice and revenge for his sister. He'd murdered an innocent man. He never liked Betelgeuse and no one else in the village did, but that was not a reason to kill him. Except that was exactly what Derrick had done, as cruel and brutally as possible.

He murdered Betelgeuse for no reason and left him to rot.

"Derrick?" said Avelyn.

Regardless of his crimes, he could not tell anyone. He could not let them know what he did. There was no way to change his actions, so he would simply have to make certain that no one would ever learn the truth.

Adopting an expression of reluctance, he said, "If this is what you truly wish, who am I to stand in the way of your happiness? We will go together tomorrow to speak with him. If he can prove himself worthy of being your husband, I will give him permission to marry you."

Smiling at her brother, Avelyn hugged him and thanked him for the decision. And with that particular piece of news shared, the family prepared to finally join young Nicholas in sleep. Though Derrick wondered how much sleep he would be able to gain with the horror and guilt of what he done.

In the morning, two groups of siblings returned to the empty house in the boggy forest. Katelin, Henry, and Avelyn were confused by the absence of Betelgeuse while Derrick feigned such a reaction. Hours passed and word spread, even those who generally ignored the man's existence growing curious about the disappearance. By nightfall, no one could deny that he was missing.

No one ever found Betelgeuse. Most assumed that he simply abandoned the house, heading out into the world in search of a better life in the city. It would fit with the generally-low opinion most held for him. Henry especially did not seem surprised that the man who promised to protect the children of Galeren would abandon that responsibility without hesitation or warning. And Avelyn blamed herself, wondering if her rejection drove him to flee in return. When he remained gone for a year and a day, everyone knew the serf would have gained his freedom from the lord of the manor and did not owe a thing to anyone. They knew he would never return.

Roger and Adam knew that Derrick was the last person to see the suicidal Betelgeuse before he "disappeared." And they certainly held some doubts in the back of their mind. But between their loyalty to Derrick, their faith that their friend could never cross the line to murder, the general distrust and dislike of Betelgeuse, the lack of a body ever being found, and a large dose of stubborn denial, they managed to mostly convince themselves that either Betelgeuse managed to slip away and finish what he started with the rope or Derrick chased him away from the fief to keep him away from Avelyn. Anytime that Roger or Adam started wondering "what if" in regards to a more sinister possible fate, they just reminded themselves that Derrick wouldn't actually kill anyone. Not even Betelgeuse.

To ease the guilt of the senseless murder, Derrick insisted that Katelin and Henry remain in his household and under their care. Henry accepted the offer happily, but his sister held reservations. She was suspicious of the man, having faith in Betelgeuse when most others did not. A deep fear remained with her for the rest of her days that Derrick was responsible for the disappearance. But she still stayed in the household, preferring Avelyn's company and growing close to Nicholas. It was not the boy's fault she did not trust his father.

Katelin learned the arts of being a wisewoman, of the herbs that could heal and hurt, of the spirits of the dead that could linger to bother the living, and of the strange objects from distant lands that Avelyn's ancestors brought that were kept locked away. And when she grew older and married Nicholas, truly becoming a member of the family, she still had faith that Betelgeuse did not abandon her intentionally. She knew he was lost to her, but she knew that someone else took him.

The poltergeist lost time in the Netherworld, learning the rules and loopholes that bound ghosts. He learned his restrictions and the ways around such things. He began to learn to read and write, providing other methods to share his name among at least those who were educated. And then he learned too late that time flowed differently between the land of the living and that of the dead, finally returning to the village after three years had slipped away.

The great pestilence that once claimed so many lives made it easier for those who survived to move to other places, to seek out new fiefs and towns rather than remain bound to a single stretch of land for their entire lives. The poltergeist returned too late and the children he promised to watch over had moved on with their new guardians, his murderer unable to remain any longer. And, though he searched, he could not find them. With nothing else to hold him, the Ghost With The Most became a free spirit that sought only to do whatever pleased him with no further responsibilities or hesitation.

The family continued to collect knowledge and objects. Throughout the generations, they gathered and learned all they could. They grew less concerned with herb lore and astrology, but they remembered and recorded all they could about the dead who lingered behind, about ghosts of all types. And when it became more usual for a family to share a surname, they became known as the Showenhower family. Some became entertainers and some became criminals.

And one child of the long bloodline eventually encountered a pair of spirits named Adam and Barbara Maitland in a haunted house, befriended a poltergeist that everyone feared, and met a boy who was half-ghost.

Chapter Text

Even rarer are manufactured or otherwise crafted objects able to directly and strongly affect the deceased. Any knowledge of such an object's location should be reported immediately to a caseworker.

Currently identified artifacts with such qualities include, but are not limited to the following:

The Seal of Solomon : Though misidentified by the living to target demons or djinns, it is a signet ring constructed of brass and iron that can compel any member of the deceased to follow the wearer's commands as long as they are within range. The original is accounted for and copies have little effect.

Adder Stones : Naturally-formed stones with holes through them caused by water erosion combined with power, adder stones can be used by the living to more easily see the deceased. There is no limit to the number of possible adder stones in existence and no way to locate all of them.

The Gem of Osiris : A green gem stone that can amplify the power the living can wield over the deceased. This allows their will to exert greater effects during summoning, bindings, exorcism, etc. The current location of the object is unknown.

The Ghost Scepter : Topped with a red orb, the scepter can mesmerize and compel obedience out of any ectoplasm-based ghost that catches a glimpse of it and will remain under its power until released. The effect on non-ectoplasm ghosts is weaker and short-lived. The current location of the object is unknown.

Twin-sided Blade of the Trapped Dead: A dual-edged knife with symbols marking the sides as "free" and "destroy" respectively, one sharp edge can destroy a ghost while the other can sever bindings. The current location of the object is unknown.

-Excerpt from "The Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

He didn't quite wake up. He was too tired for that; he felt completely exhausted and everything ached. Diving through that portal was definitely one of the dumbest moments of his long existence, but Betelgeuse didn't regret it. Not really. He just couldn't summon up even a small flicker of energy at the moment. He didn't really wake up, but he did drift a little bit out of complete unconsciousness.

His thoughts were hazy, but he remembered a few scattered dreams. An older boy helping him drag a drunk man home. A small girl offering a striped mantle. A beautiful young woman running out the door in tears. Ancient memories of a life that ended so long ago, faded and worn by his centuries as a poltergeist since then and rarely remembered. And as he usually did when his mind brought up those long-lost times, he gently pushed them to the back of his mind and out of the way. He didn't generally feel like reflecting on those days, even when he wasn't barely conscious.

Stirring slightly on the couch, he vaguely remembered where he was and the semi-conscious poltergeist felt a flicker of concern. There was no one else in the attic. It was too quiet. He was alone. She was gone again.

Unfortunately, he'd used up all his stubborn willpower for the day. He couldn't find the strength to move or even think beyond the vague concept to find her. He was still mostly unconscious, but that didn't completely stop him.

He reached out to feel the metaphysical surroundings. There was the voodoo doll-like town model the Maitland couple managed to create, bending and overlapping reality until it was both part of the land of the living and the Netherworld at the same time. It was very close, distinct, and clear without him needing to concentrate. Stretching his focus a little further, he tiredly felt what he was looking for a few floors down. Four ghosts and three humans. Two were obviously the resident specters, he'd recognize Juno anywhere, and the strange ectoplasm-based and half-alive boy was very unique and practically glowed like a neon sign. The human auras were pale and weak things compared to ghosts', almost impossible to distinguish from each other. But the three he felt were a little brighter than most, hinting that they were more involved with things that go bump in the night than most people. The boy's hero complex and Juno's continued presence reassured him. Lydia would be downstairs with them and protected, not missing.

Lydia was safe. No Sanduleak. No crazy evil aunt. He had time before anyone started messing with him or his girl. He had time before he needed to start enacting revenge.

And he would be working on revenge the moment he recovered from his trip through the portal. He couldn't let people start thinking they could get away with messing with the Ghost With The Most. When he got through with those two, no one would even think of bothering him or Lydia again.

But he had time. He could rest for now. Betelgeuse let himself relax and slipped back into complete unconsciousness.

The first thing the teenagers did as they slipped out of the attic, leaving the exhausted poltergeist snoring (he didn't even need to breathe and he still snored…) and drooling on the couch, was call their families. Lydia was a little impressed by how easily they crafted explanations and excuses for their absences. Danny was at Tucker's house. Tucker was at Danny's house. Sam was dragging both boys to a Goth poetry reading session with a special appearance by Alastair Ravencroft for a midnight reading of his newest work. And thanks to their cell phones, no one would see an area code revealing they were in Connecticut. By the time Lydia left a message for her aunt, she'd prepared her cover story of spending the night with Sam and could say it convincingly. It was semi-true though. She had no intention of returning to that woman's house anytime soon and that might involve hiding at her friend's home at some point.

How strange to realize that she already considered the trio to be her friends. Obviously attacks by ghost serial killers were great bonding experiences.

Once they made it downstairs, the group tried to settle in the living room. It had been redecorated to how the Maitlands originally wanted their home, though the furniture was covered in sheets since the living residents had left. Even with the covering, it was easy to sit everyone on the couch or one of the chairs she dragged from the kitchen.

Sam, Tucker, and Danny looked around curiously at her home, but didn't say much at that point. And Adam and Barbara definitely looked confused about the entire situation, giving Danny a lot of very inquisitive looks, but they didn't say anything yet either. No one could deny that this was a particularly strange day.

Once they were around the fireplace and comfortable, Juno gave them all a no-nonsense look. The caseworker seemed particularly interested in Lydia.

"I know at least some of the recent events from reading the poltergeist's file, but there are a few gaps that I want to be cleared up," said Juno, blowing out another cloud of smoke. "Ms. Deetz, could you explain how someone alive managed to nearly exorcise and successfully bound his powers, even temporarily? He is too powerful and experienced to get trapped that easily. People have tried it in the past and he's always managed to overwhelm them and break loose before they could succeed. So how did they do it this time?"

"It was my aunt. She knew things about ghosts and how to affect them," she said, not even bothering to hide her hatred. Looking towards her confused ghostly godparents, Lydia said, "She knew about you. She didn't reveal that she knew about anything until the night we left. I couldn't tell you or warn you. I'm sorry. She dragged me across state lines and made it pretty clear that she'd do something to the two of you if I didn't behave. And after what I saw her do to Beej, I knew she could pull it off. I hate her."

Giving her a worried look, Barbara said, "Oh Lydia, you shouldn't have to be going through any of this." Reaching out to brush the girl's hair out of her face while taking care not to touch the bandaged injury, she continued, "I wish we could have kept you ourselves."

"Unfortunately, we're ghosts," said Adam. "They won't give guardianship to someone without a pulse."

"I know," Lydia nodded before turning back towards Juno. "My aunt went through my stuff. Even the things I tried to hide. She found our copy of 'The Living and the Dead.' She read my journal, which talks all about Beej and even has his name. And she found this."

She held up her hand, letting everyone see the ring. She wasn't wearing it on the left hand. It might be a wedding ring, but it was now more a symbol of friendship and forgiveness for the almost-wedding than it was a symbol of matrimony. Lydia was perfectly happy wearing it on a different finger and pretending it wasn't nearly used to bind her in marriage. Adam and Barbara still didn't look happy about its existence, though.

"I still don't understand what's so important about the ring," said Tucker.

Looking at him with an expression of resigned annoyance that seemed permanent, Juno said, "This is why I don't deal with ectoplasm ghosts. They and their friends just don't have a clue about anything."

"That's because no one will talk to us without attacking," complained Danny.

Rolling her eyes briefly, she continued, "If the living want to have a chance at messing with the deceased, a personal belonging helps. The more meaningful, the more effective. And if it was important during their life, that makes it even better for summoning, binding, and exorcism. That makes it more dangerous for new ghosts because they're more likely to have personal and meaningful objects still lying around whatever house they're haunting, but there are plenty of older ghosts that don't let go of the past either. And apparently not only did that poltergeist decide to leave the ring in Ms. Deetz' possession even after the attempted marriage fell apart, but he actually gave her something from when he was alive in the first place."

She glanced towards Lydia's hand again. The gathered audience did the same, looking at the very ordinary ring with a new curiosity. Juno nodded with a look of certainty.

"He's changed it over the centuries with his powers. I recognize his work well enough from his time as my assistant. But it is definitely an object of significant meaning from his life."

Juno gestured towards her with her cigarette. Lydia saw the ring on her hand shift briefly. It wasn't a true physical change like Betelgeuse could manage. The caseworker was good, but she wasn't as powerful as the Ghost With The Most. It was simply an illusion. But she saw the traditional wedding ring reveal an older and simpler design. No stone setting, thin, and worn from age, it was still beautiful in its own way. But the glimpse of the ring's original appearance lasted only a moment before the more familiar one returned.

"Six hundred years and a completely different continent," remarked Juno, shaking her head ruefully. "Through all of that and he still kept it. Who would have thought he would have a scrap of sentimentality?" Taking another puff from her cigarette, she said, "The ring would have made it easier, but I still have my doubts that it alone would be enough to hold him."

"Aunt Melinda was prepared. She set everything up before trying to call him. Candles, circles, and everything. It looked like she was doing things by the book, throwing in every precaution listed. And there's something about her necklace that seemed to give her a boost," Lydia said.

"Figures," said Tucker. "Freakshow had a ghost-controlling scepter until Danny broke it. I guess we shouldn't be surprised his evil sister would have more weird ghost tools."

"Wait, Lydia's aunt is Freakshow's sister?" interrupted Danny. "When did we find that out?"

Looking a little guilty, Sam admitted, "Right before Sanduleak attacked, after breaking into her safe for Lydia's stuff and Tucker's search on the internet was finished. All right, we should have told you sooner that Lydia's aunt was up to something, but we were just gathering information first. When we found out who she was, we were going to tell you as soon as we got the chance."

"I asked them to keep quiet earlier," said Lydia. "I didn't want you provoking her accidentally. I didn't know if exorcisms would work on a half ghost, but I knew she could hurt Barbara and Adam."

"Half ghost?" asked Adam.

"Back on topic," Juno ordered. "You said her necklace was helping her, giving her enough power to handle him? Did it look like a green gemstone?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes slightly at the long-dead woman. The pearl necklace around her slit throat was pretty, but nothing spectacular. So the girl doubted she was asking out of a particular interest in fashion. She knew something about Aunt Melinda's jewelry.

"Yes," she said. "That's exactly what it looks like. How did you know?"

Juno cursed quietly before turning her attention back to her cigarette. The smoke curled around her head, billowing out of her mouth and slit neck. Lydia could smell the smoke, but there was something about it that wasn't normal. It was like how the Maitlands were technically solid to her while still feeling insubstantial. She doubted she would have to worry about second-hand smoke actually affecting her.

"Nothing can ever be simple," muttered Juno before finally turning back to her audience. "It sounds like your aunt somehow managed to get her hands on the Gem of Osiris. We lost track of the thing about a century ago and no one heard a word about it since. And then your aunt apparently shows up with it. Between that and your effect on him, your family certainly makes my afterlife complicated."

"Sorry," she said. "I'm not a fan of that side of the family either, if that makes any difference."

"Osiris? Ancient Egyptian God of the Dead?" asked Sam.

"I didn't name the thing," said Juno. "It's far too old for that. It's been tossed around, sold, misplaced, stolen, traded, and shuffled around for over a thousand years. The thing is old enough that very few ghosts have ever encountered it and the reports about it are a little vague. But the name certainly hints at what its purpose is. And, judging by the fact it worked on him, we now have a decent estimate of how much power it has."

"And if she's anything like Freakshow, she could have more toys. After all, like Tucker said, he had the mind-control scepter until I broke it and then he wound up with Reality Gauntlet. Freaky ghost objects is sort of his specialty," Danny said.

"I have a feeling we're going to be doing another burglary," remarked Tucker.

Looking between the teenagers, Adam said, "I don't think we need to go that far. Surely there are caseworkers or someone who are responsible for these kinds of problems. We don't need to involve children in this."

"While we do have a few people that we send on errands, it would actually be safer to have the living get the gem," said Juno reluctantly.

"So the woman doesn't do the same thing she tried on the Ghost With The Most?" Sam asked.

"Because it would be dangerous for a ghost to gain possession of the gem," she corrected. "For everyone."

Paul rolled his eyes as best he could when one was dangling out of its socket. Between the broken limbs and the visibly-cracked skull, he looked like someone who was dumb enough to jump off a building. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what happened to him and why he was stuck as a civil servant in the Netherworld. The only thing he liked about the situation was that he managed to find a task with the least amount of paperwork.

Clearing out Saturn of strays.

There was always some poor lost ghost who decided to wander outside their haunting perimeters. And someone would have to go drag them out of the sand dunes and the gullets of sandworms whenever they managed to get stuck. It was easier than dealing with the headaches of being a caseworker. Still, there were days where he wondered if the survival instinct vanished with their heartbeats. Far too many spirits just couldn't understand that wandering out to where sandworms roamed was a bad idea.

So at the end of a strange and twisted hallway that defied any attempt to understand it, he stared tiredly at the large door. It was constructed of dark wood and covered in carvings that seemed to shift and change the longer someone looked at it. To the right was a vast dial with markings that were likely part of some dead language, if you didn't mind the pun. He'd long since stopped being impressed by the structure.

Taking a last look at the current list of misplaced ghosts and their locations, Paul reached for the dial and twisted. Once he had the settings correct, he opened the door.

A sandy landscape filled with twisted rock formations lay beyond the door. Above was a strange and alien sky, one that showed odd planets that were never seen by the living. And beneath the dunes lurked the serpentine and predatory sandworms. Saturn was not a hospitable place.

Paul peered through the door cautiously. He should be near where the wayward ghost was, but sometimes he needed to look around a little.

"Please don't be stuck in a sandworm," he muttered under his non-existent breath. "I don't want to drag another one out if they were eaten."

Leaning forward a little and worrying that the poor ghost was in the belly of a temperamental sandworm, Paul was startled when a hand grabbed the door frame. The hand then pulled the rest of the ghost through, revealing a well-dressed gentleman with a cane, a dark expression, and a knife in his chest. He stepped into the hallway without giving Paul a second look.

"So that plan didn't work right," he said quietly. "I wonder if the girl made it. I hope so. If she did, I could try again. A hit to the head just isn't enough for me."

Falling back on protocol, Paul said, "Sir, you'll need to head to the front desk and fill out some paperwork."

"I should lay low for a while, but when have I missed out on the fun? Not to mention he actually cares. That half-grown child means something to him. It'll hurt him more than I could have ever hoped. I have to see if she survived. I'll bide my time. If she lived, she'll be alone again eventually. And I'll take care of her voice before she has the chance to interrupt. Then I'll take my time. Do things exactly how I want to. I'll have all the fun I want with his precious Mortal Bride. And when I'm finished, I'll make sure he gets a good look at what's left of her before I disappear."

"Sir?" Paul repeated, growing uneasy by his rambling.

The well-dressed ghost finally responded to his presence, though he immediately wished the stranger hadn't. He abruptly shoved Paul through the open door. Paul tumbled wildly across the sand before finally coming to a stop. Then he heard a click, Paul looking up to see the door close. And then it vanished, someone turning the dial to change locations to another part of Saturn.

Groaning in frustration, Paul dropped his head back onto the sand and muttered, "I need a vacation."

Danny stared at the older woman as she made that ominous statement. She looked so serious that he halfway expected for the room to gain dramatic lighting to accompany her words. Actually, now that Danny paid attention, the lighting had changed. There was a red tint to the room, not coming from any obvious source. Sam, Tucker, Barbara, and Adam glanced uneasily at the unnatural light that practically painted the room a foreboding shade. Lydia just rolled her eyes.

"What is it with ghosts and dramatics?" she muttered. "Even I'm not that bad."

Ignoring the comment, Juno explained, "The gem was meant to be used by the living, strengthening the power of their will enough to overcome that of a ghost they wish to summon, bind, banish, or exorcise. It is a tool meant only for the living, not the dead. Bad things happen when ghosts get a hold of it."

"How bad?" asked Danny.

"The last report we had on the Gem of Osiris was when a rather weak and timid ghost found it. He made the Maitlands look powerful and violent," said Juno, gesturing towards the pair on the couch. "Perhaps you've heard of the Tunguska Event?"

"Big mysterious explosion about a century ago?" Tucker asked.

"That's the one," she nodded. "Turns out that the gem, in the hands of a ghost rather than someone alive, will significantly boost their power. Which makes sense considering that strength of will makes up a significant portion of our power, along with other factors like creativity, emotions, and strength of spirit." Another cloud of smoke drifted around the woman's face briefly as she shook her head. "But it isn't good for us. We can only control and maintain so much power, specifically the amount of power we have. No more than that. Adam and Barbara wouldn't be able to handle my level of power and I certainly couldn't handle the power level of the poltergeist upstairs."

Danny prompted, "So when you overcharge them with the gem…"

"It overwhelms them. It messes with their heads; destroying inhibitions, increases aggression, distorts their thought processes, and sometimes ruins their ability to focus. They lash out with their power, unable to contain it. The stronger they are normally, the more intense and worse the gem's effects will be. And if they keep a hold of the gem for too long, they burn themselves out. Some quite literally. But until that happens, they're dangerous to themselves and those around them. And the reports we've collected on the thing indicate that only weaker ghosts have ever messed with it. I'd hate to see what would happen if a poltergeist of any level of power was unfortunate enough to come into contact with the gem."

"Does it have that effect on all ghosts or just the ones from the Netherworld?" asked Sam, glancing towards Danny meaningfully.

Juno nodded in approval of the girl's question. He had a feeling the woman rarely approved of anyone.

"Clever," she said. "Like I said, the records are vague and it has been a little while since I read them. I have no idea how it'll affect an ectoplasm-based ghost, let alone one that is still alive. But I suspect it'll at least be far less effective than on other ghosts."

"I'm beginning to wonder why no one destroyed that thing a long time ago," said Adam.

"The living want the power it provides or see it just as a valuable gem, depending on their knowledge. And the dead that know about it try to avoid the thing like the plague," Juno explained. "And even though it is generally wise to never trust the living, it is the safer option this time. I can't order you to steal the Gem of Osiris, but I would like to ask you to do so. That woman must not be allowed to keep it."

"She won't," said Danny and Lydia in unison, both surprised by the other's immediate and determined response.

"Good," she nodded before turning towards Lydia specifically. "Ms. Deetz, I suppose the next immediate issue of importance we should address is Sanduleak. Obviously the troublemaker upstairs felt the situation was serious. I'm sorry to ask, but do you agree that Sanduleak intended to kill the living?"

Shuddering slightly at the memory, causing the Maitlands to wrap their arms around her, Lydia said, "Jack the Ripper? He made his intentions very clear." She gestured towards the bandages around her head. "He wanted to kill me, but not immediately. He… He had other ideas first."

"What other ideas?" asked Barbara, a dangerous edge to her voice suggesting she had a few suspicions.

"Let's put it this way. Even at his worst, Beej only wanted to marry me. And as much as he might annoy you with how he acts, Beej will take 'no' for an answer," she said.

There was a moment of silence as the girl's words sank in. Danny had wondered, the dark and twisted thought lurking in the back of his mind. Between Sanduleak preferring to target women and a few odd remarks he managed to overhear, he'd wondered. He was the ghost of a serial killer, so it was natural he was worse than a lot of the ghosts Danny dealt with on a regular basis. They had some type of warped sense of boundaries. But now those barely considered fears about what Sanduleak was capable of were confirmed.

Then the moment of stunned silence passed and the temperature of the room dropped several degrees instantly.

"I'll kill him," snarled Barbara as several objects exploded off the mantle. "I don't care he's dead; he's not getting away with this."

"Think we can trap him in the model? It'll make it easier to handle him," Adam suggested, apparently unconcerned with the rocking chair going wild or the light flickering overhead.

Reaching towards her dead pseudo-parents' hands, Lydia said, "I'm fine. Honest. Other than a lucky hit to the head, he didn't get the chance to do much damage. So please calm down." Then, smiling weakly in an attempt to distract them, she said, "You know, if your haunting skills were this good a couple of years ago, you would have been a lot scarier. You probably wouldn't have even needed those designer sheets."

Unfortunately, her words didn't seem to completely reassure the pair, though the random haunting around the room stopped. And through it all, Juno didn't even flinch.

"If it makes you feel any better," said Tucker hesitantly, "Beej said something about sandworms when he got rid of Sanduleak."

"He sent him to Saturn? Good. That should make things easier," Juno said. Rising from her chair, she remarked, "I'll go find his file to see if he's tried this sort of stunt before and deal with him. Waiting might not be the wisest move in regards to Sanduleak. He doesn't need the chance to try again and he honestly should have been handled a long time ago."

With that particular declaration, she walked away. Danny had a feeling she went a lot further than the kitchen. She probably disappeared out of sight the same way that she appeared in the attic.

Of course, he then realized an important fact. Until Betelgeuse recovered enough to repeat his transportation trick, they were pretty much stuck there. In Connecticut. With no real way home.

"Oh, and Lydia?" added Tucker awkwardly. "I think Beej might have turned your bike into a metal pretzel to restrain Sanduleak… and sent it to Saturn with him."

Chapter Text

Worked on the Specter Speeder today. Don't know why it keeps acting up. It isn't like we ever get to take it on a test drive in the Ghost Zone. Unfortunately.

Maddie made some fudge and a new cookie recipe. They were delicious.

Danny's been acting secretive lately. And twitchy. He doesn't even want to listen to me about the proper way to dissect a ghost. Probably has to do with puberty. Maybe I should have the Talk with him again. Just in case.

Or I should get some more fudge.

-Excerpt from "Jack Fenton's 'Fenton Diary'"

Lydia knew that in the near future, she would have to figure out a way to separate Aunt Melinda from her necklace. Not only would it make everyone safer, but it would also make Juno happy. Lydia wasn't as devious and conniving as Betelgeuse, but even she could understand the benefits of the caseworker owing them a favor. He was bound to get into trouble again. A favor might keep him from the worst of it.

But for the most part, her thoughts weren't focused on the challenges of stealing the Gem of Osiris, of how it would make things better, or anything to do with the gem, Aunt Melinda, or Juno. Instead, she was enjoying the cool embrace of semi-insubstantial arms. She was home, safe with Adam and Barbara. She was with her family. And her best friend was back, snoring upstairs and safe. For the first time in about a week, everything was all right.

She sat on the couch with the Maitlands, their arms wrapped around her. Their protective anger simmered down at some point, but they weren't letting go of her just yet. After everything that happened recently, Lydia appreciated the contact. She needed this. She needed to feel like at least something in the world was right again. So she sat there, listening as Sam and Tucker explained everything to Danny about what happened. Tucker especially enjoyed describing how he broke into a safe. Lydia just listened to them while her ghostly family comforted her with their presence.

"Okay, I can understand why you didn't tell me. I would have probably charged in without thinking. It would have been nice to have known about the presence of another ghost hunter in town, but I understand why you kept quiet," said Danny. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Yeah," Tucker said, flipping through the book the Maitlands loaned him temporarily after Juno left. "Apparently these ghosts have about a million strangely-specific rules, restrictions, and requirements for a variety of circumstances. I mean, seriously… This reads like old stereo instructions."

"Stereo? Really?" smirked Sam. "That's what you're going with? Not instructions for laptops, PDAs, or something?"

"No. The instructions for those are simpler for me to understand," he said with a glare. "Not to mention the newer technologies on the market are supposed to be user-friendly and fairly intuitive. A stereo is old enough that the instructions are complicated and boring. This is practically lawyer-speak."

"Don't worry. We've had the book for a couple of years and we still can't completely understand it," admitted Barbara.

Lydia shrugged and said, "They mostly just ask me when they have questions. I spent about three months reading 'The Handbook for the Recently Deceased' and I have a pretty good understanding on how it works."

"Juno wasn't happy with us back then about leaving it where someone alive could find it," added Adam. "But everything worked out."

"Great," Tucker said, slamming the book closed. "As long as you know this stuff, I won't have to read it."

Danny laughed, "Too bad we can't use that logic for homework."

"Hold on," said Adam, peering over his glasses at her. "All of this hasn't affected your grades, right Lydia? Even with everything you aunt was doing, have you still been studying?"

Even as Barbara gave him a stern look for his timing, Lydia assured, "My grades are fine. From what I heard, my grades are better than yours ever were."

Barbara tried to hide the way she chuckled while Adam coughed and looked mildly embarrassed. Lydia wrapped him in a hug to ensure that he knew there was no insult meant and that she was only teasing. The cool and semi-insubstantial ghost returned the embrace. The chill actually felt nice against her aching head.

"So any ideas on how to separate Lydia's aunt from the necklace?" asked Sam, reluctantly bringing them back to the more important topic. "Because I'm going to guess it'll be tougher than getting the books and ring back. Especially if she checks the safe and figures out someone is working against her."

"It would probably be too much to hope I can just turn invisible and grab it off her," Danny said.

"Probably," said Tucker dryly.

Looking a little uncertain, Barbara asked, "Danny, I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering…"

"About the both a ghost and alive thing?" he smiled sympathetically. "My parents are scientists and ghost hunters. I poked around the 'non-working' portal they built and accidentally activated it from the inside. One zap later and I have ghost powers. But I'm not actually dead. I'm half human and half ghost at the same time."

"How is that even possible?" Adam asked.

"Ectoplasm ghosts are weird," said Lydia.

"Come on, that's not fair," grumbled Tucker, crossing his arms as he jokingly sulked.

Danny, however, laughed at her words. He didn't seem eager to argue against her statement. His friends gave him a questioning look.

"Dude, there's a Box Ghost. She's completely right."

"I swear all poltergeists exist to make my afterlife more difficult," grumbled Juno, abruptly appearing out of nowhere and startling everyone. "Sanduleak works faster than I expected. He's already escaped from Saturn and vanished. Now he'll need to be tracked down before he can be dealt with."

With a mixture of worry and fury, Barbara stood up and asked, "Is he going to come after Lydia again?"

"The wisest move would be for him to lay low and stay away. But I have very low hope that Sanduleak would suddenly gain any common sense," said Juno. "I wouldn't put it past him to try something foolish."

"I'll be fine," assured Lydia, glancing between her ghostly godparents. "He caught me by surprise the first time. That won't happen again."

"She can stay at my house," Danny said. "Jazz wouldn't mind the roommate, especially if I tell her what's going on. Between me and my ghost-hunting parents, it should deter him at least a little."

Juno nodded approvingly, "You'll be safe during the day. Sunlight doesn't really agree with Sanduleak. All poltergeists have their limits."

"Great. Now we just need to get from Winter River to Amity Park," Sam said. "Any ideas or should we start looking for a bus?"

Lydia gave the caseworker a hopeful look. Juno rolled her eyes and blew out another cloud of smoke.

"You people are going to drive me back into the grave. Fine, I'll arrange something."

"Thanks," the girl said. Then she turned towards the Maitlands and asked carefully, "Would it be all right if I leave Beej here for a little while? I don't want to try waking him right now and I really don't think he should be moving yet anyway."

There was some hesitation at her request. They weren't fond of the poltergeist. First impressions were hard to forget and he always left a strong impression. But they knew he tried to protect her. Even if no one had explained the entire sequence of events of Sanduleak's attack to Adam and Barbara, they'd heard enough to figure out most of it. So Lydia knew what their answer would be. She knew her ghostly godparents well.

"The moment he tries to make a comment or feel me up, we're kicking him out," Barbara promised.

"Completely fair," said Lydia with a nod.

Tucker stood up and pulled out yet another technological device from his infinite supply of them. She wasn't even sure where they all came from. He seemed to practically sprout technology, like a plant would flowers or fruit. The ease with which he pulled them out reminded Lydia far too much of the bottomless pockets of Betelgeuse's jacket.

"I don't know how good you are with tech and I know your types of ghosts have weird issues," he said, handing Adam the device and the Handbook. "But I set everything up for you already. Whenever your guest wakes up, you can text us and let us know."

Turning it back and forth with a dubious expression on his face, he said, "Thanks. I hope it'll work for us."

"It should," said Lydia, standing up. "Mirrors, photographs, and such might not work, but this is just physically pushing buttons. It should work."

Barbara and Adam stood up from the couch and gave her a final tight hug. They knew it might be a while before they saw her again. They couldn't let her go without a final embrace. All she could hope was that they remained safe until the problems with Aunt Melinda were solved.

"Be careful," said Barbara quietly.

"Stay safe," her husband whispered.

Reluctant to let go, Lydia softly reassured, "I will. And once he gets his strength back, I'll have Beej with me. I know you don't like him, but he'll help me. He's my friend."

"I… I know," said Barbara as the hug ended.

"Everyone with a pulse stand together," Juno ordered, interrupting the good-byes. "This is hard enough without having the four of you scattered around." As the teenagers moved to obey her instructions, she continued, "Unlike the over-powered and rule-breaking poltergeist, I can't and won't move so many living people to the Netherworld just to serve as a shortcut. Using the zone between the two, however, is far less of a problem. Easier to get in and far less paperwork for me to deal with. And from what I know, you have an easy way out."

As Sam and Tucker exchanged looks, Juno took another breath from her cigarette. Then she released a cloud of smoke that swirled around them, engulfing them until Lydia couldn't see a thing except the thick smoke. The girl wasn't even slightly surprised that her surroundings were different by the time it dissipated.

They were standing on a tiny chunk of land floating in midair, though there was something about it that made Lydia think she could pass right through the stone beneath her feet with a little effort. It wasn't quite the same as hugging the semi-insubstantial Maitlands, but it was similar enough that she had her doubts about how solid the ground was. The sky and the endless void below seemed to be a chaotic mixture of darkness and glowing green something. Ectoplasm, she realized. Lydia could spot floating doors throughout the strange and interesting place, completely without rhyme or reason for their existence. She was extremely curious how everything would look in photographs. Light, shadows, shape… Her fingers were itching for her camera.

"So this is the infamous Ghost Zone," she remarked as she turned around.

She saw Danny, Tucker, and Sam looking around in confusion at the abrupt shift in location, but Lydia's attention was drawn towards the swirling circle of weirdness right next to them. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was looking at the other side of the portal to the land of the living.

"Huh," said Danny slowly. "The floating island things aren't usually this close to the portal."

"Just be grateful. Otherwise you'd have to carry all of us while flying," said Tucker.

"I can't imagine that going well," Sam said. "Anyone have a clue what time it is? We keep jumping across time zones."

Danny shrugged, "Not sure, but I think it's pretty late. Let's just get out of here before someone shows up looking for a fight. I'm not exactly popular in the Ghost Zone."

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," said Tucker before straightening his beret. Then he turned towards the portal, got a short running start, and jumped through while shouting, "Geronimo!"

Shaking her head slightly at his antics, Sam proceeded to do the same without the shout. Danny turned towards Lydia and offered a hand. Though her head still ached and she was tired, she smiled and silently declined the assistance. There was no way she'd miss out on the chance to jump through a portal like that. Even though she still thought the Fentons were crazy to keep the thing in the basement.

Lydia dove through the swirling portal, Danny following right behind. She was almost disappointed it didn't feel stranger to cross the barrier between life and (ectoplasm-based) death (and other assorted entities). But she didn't get to reflect on those feelings for long before she landed roughly on the concrete floor of the basement lab.

"Ow," Sam complained. "Not the smoothest method of travel if you can't float."

"Haven't I earned enough bruises today?" groaned Tucker dramatically.

"You'll be fine,' Danny assured as he landed gently beside them. "Though I'm exhausted. Today's been way too long. I wonder if I can sleep for a week?" A ring of light appeared around him and spread, the ghost boy taking on his more alive appearance. "Let's see if we can sneak up to—"

"Danny?" a non-teenager voice interrupted from across the room, making all four of them freeze. "Is that you?"

The black-haired boy looking impossibly pale and stunned, Danny rapidly searched for the source as he whispered nervously, "Dad?"

They'd been in the lab later than usual, still trying to see if they could keep any of their data and simultaneously trying to devise a new set of experiments to establish a more accurate baseline. They needed to start over with their work. Maddie and Jack knew that. But they hoped to salvage at least something. In their past examinations of their work, they'd already eliminated plenty of their past data. But there had to be something.

So Maddie was with her husband in the far corner of the basement when something tumbled out of the portal. Pure surprise and astonishment at the occurrence kept the pair silent and unmoving as Tucker landed on the concrete floor. And they remained silent as Sam quickly followed out of the portal. And then Lydia.

Maddie tried to find her voice, to say something about the sheer mind-boggling strangeness of the children diving out of the Ghost Zone, but that effort collapsed as a fourth figure came through. White hair, black jumpsuit, and floating above the ground before easily landing beside them, she recognized the ghost. Warring instincts paralyzed her and Jack for a split second: a long-established habit of attack ghosts on sight and the new revelations about not understanding ghosts nearly as much as they always believed. And with that hesitation, he had time to talk casually with Tucker in a manner that indicated familiarity and trust. Then, while Maddie tried to wrap her head around this newest shock, Phantom was briefly engulfed in light and she felt her heart stop as Jack stiffened beside her.

Black hair replaced white, blue eyes replaced glowing green, t-shirt and jeans replaced a jumpsuit, and human replaced ghost. Maddie could scarcely believe it was possible, something that went against everything they'd ever assumed about the way humans, ghosts, and ectoplasm worked. Could her eyes be deceiving her this badly? Did a ghost turn into an actual human?

Did Phantom turn into her son?

Jack, her dear and wonderful husband, managed to finally shake off their stunned paralysis first. And he asked what Maddie was desperately wanting to know.

"Danny? Is that you?"

All the teenagers froze at his voice, clearly unaware they weren't alone. But it was the pale and nervous face that frantically looked around the lab for them that really made her heart clench. He then spotted the pair in the corner and his expression got worse.

"Dad?" he whispered nervously.

Jack nodded, "Yeah. Your mom and I were working on something down here."

"Any chance you didn't see anything?" asked Tucker as he and Sam edged closer to their best friend.

Questions fluttered around her head, but she could barely think. Coincidences, random events, odd comments and behaviors, and a million other things she'd hardly noticed began to… not necessary make complete sense, but at least have a connection she'd missed before. This wasn't something new. She wasn't completely certain what exactly it was, but it was something. Phantom had been flying around for a while. And if Phantom turned into her son…

"They saw," said Lydia, drawing Maddie's attention briefly to the fact that three of them were bandaged to varying degrees. "And they're smart enough to understand. I might not approve of their methods, but they aren't complete idiots."

"I think we need to talk," said Maddie. "No more secrets, Danny. No more lies."

She could accept the guilt and discomfort that crossed his face in response. He'd clearly been hiding something for a while, after all. What truly broke her heart was the hint of fear. Their son was afraid of them. And the worst part was Maddie knew why. Whatever was happening to Danny was related to ghosts and he tried to hide it. They made him afraid to be honest because of everything they'd ever said about ghosts.

Did he truly believe they would want to rip him apart molecule by molecule in the name of science?

…Maybe he did.

Danny tried to fight back the panic threatening to overwhelm him. This was not how he imagined his day ending. His parents saw him change from Phantom to Fenton. There would be no talking his way out of this one. And there was almost no chance that time or reality would reset itself and he wouldn't be able to erase their memories. They were going to continue to know and remember what they saw. His secret was exposed.

He tried to reassure himself that it wasn't too bad. They'd found out before and handled it pretty well. They'd loved him, accepted him, and supported him when they learned the truth right before resetting reality. Hopefully this would be the same sort of thing. But it didn't stop him from feeling a little scared and very uneasy about being exposed like this. Even with Tucker and Sam edging next to him as if they intended to protect him from harm didn't completely ease his muddled emotions.

Jack looked at him with an unreadable expression and asked, "How?"

"How what?" he said quietly. "How long? How it happened? How I kept this a secret? How it works?"

"Well, I mostly meant the last one, but any of those questions would be good."

Trying to shove all the doubts and fears out of his mind, Danny said, "Remember us telling you about the 'accident' the day the portal properly activated for the first time? We might have left out a few details."

"Like the fact Danny was inside when it activated," said Sam, her hand resting on his arm. "One zap and lots of ectoplasm from standing in the middle of tearing a hole between dimensions later… and his DNA was altered with stuff not native to our dimension."

"We know. We borrowed your equipment to look," Tucker added, slinging his arm across his friend's shoulder. "Though we might want to discuss some of your safety features later. Buttons shouldn't be inside machines. You put them on the outside to avoid accidents."

Danny watched his parents grow pale and horrified at their explanation. And guilt. He saw lots of guilt.

"He didn't die from it, obviously," said Lydia, walking over to claim a chair from next to the desk. "The experts all agree he's alive. He's just considered a ghost because of all the ectoplasm in his system that lets him use his powers. He's alive and a ghost at the same time."

"A halfa. Those from the Ghost Zone call me a halfa," Danny said. "And it wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

Looking far too sad for his comfort, his mother asked, "Sweetie, why didn't you tell us? We could have done something. Helped you or fixed this or reversed it or… anything other than try to hunt down Phantom." Her hand went to her mouth in horror. "Oh my… We attacked you. We tried to hurt you. What kind of parents can't recognize their own son?"

"To be fair, the living tend to ignore the strange and unusual," said Lydia. "Almost no one around here made the connection."

"And I don't blame you," Danny assured. "You didn't know. I didn't tell you at the beginning because it was just too strange, confusing, and new. I didn't know how you'd react because I was still trying to figure out how to react myself." Now came the hard part. Danny took a deep breath and plowed ahead. "And now, I don't think I'd want to turn back even if I could."

He didn't wait to see how they would react to that statement. He had to keep going. And with his best friends beside him, he was certain he could do it.

"I like my ghost half. I like flying, turning invisible, and moving through solid objects. I like being able to help people and make a difference. I like knowing that I can handle things. And someone has to protect Amity Park. I have the power, so that makes it my responsibility. I'm Danny Fenton, the average teenager, but I'm also Danny Phantom, the ghost who protects this city. I'm half a ghost and half a normal human. All I can hope is that you can accept me, all of me, for who I truly am."

With his miniature speech complete, Danny braced himself. This could end really well or really badly. And even if he knew his parents and trusted them, the stakes involved left at least some doubt.

His concerns were immediately addressed by his parents engulfing him in a group hug. And when his father hugged someone, it was always at least partially a bear hug. It was the only possibility for a man his size. But even if it made breathing a little difficult, Danny didn't mind.

"Of course we accept you," said Jack. "You're our son. Human, ghost, neither, or both, we still love you."

"And we're sorry we ever made you think otherwise," added Maddie.

Feeling like an incredible weight had lifted, Danny smiled and said quietly, "Thanks."

When the hug ended, they were all blinking a little faster. But they didn't actually have tears on their faces, so Danny managed to keep some dignity.

Nodding in approval, Sam said, "I'm glad that went so smoothly. This should make things simpler."

"Or more complicated," Tucker added.

"So," Maddie said, rubbing her arm awkwardly, "who else exactly knows about you being… Danny Phantom?"

"Tucker and Sam know, obviously. They were there when it happened," said Danny. "They've known from the start and helped more than I could have possibly imagined. I don't know what I would have done without them."

"I figured it out the first time I saw Phantom, more or less," Lydia added from her spot by the desk. "Sam had to clarify a few details, but I knew Phantom was also Danny. But I'm used to strange stuff, so I'm better at this sort of thing."

With a thoughtful expression overtaking her face, Maddie asked, "Is that why you were upset with us about ghost hunting and our experiments, Lydia? Because you knew about Danny?"

"It was partially that, partially because I have other ghosts I care about, and partially because I was having a really bad week and taking it out on you," she admitted, looking mildly regretful for her past outburst. Spotting their confusion, she explained, "Not all ghosts are like the ones you've seen and the Ghost Zone is not the only place they come from. But I'll talk about it more later. This is a family-and-best-friends moment. This is more important."

"Uh… All right," said Jack slowly. "I think we were discussing who else knew about this."

Danny nodded, "Right. That… Um… Well, all the ghosts I fight know. More or less. At least the Ghost Zone ones do. I don't know if all of them know the name 'Danny Fenton,' but they seem to figure out I'm a halfa pretty quickly."

He considered mentioning Vlad. He knew Danny's secret. But that would involve a lot explanations that would not be fun. He'd have to explain he wasn't the first halfa and that they accidentally created one in college. He'd have to explain that Vlad Masters was also Vlad Plasmius. He'd have to explain that Vlad was in love with Mom and that he wanted to kill Dad for "stealing her away." He'd have to explain that even if Dad thought Vlad was his best friend, it was all a lie. He'd have to explain that Vlad kept trying to convince Danny to join him as a pseudo-son and only their mutual secrets kept them in a semi-stalemate. He'd have to destroy Mom and Dad's view of the man complete and reveal Vlad to be a hateful, manipulative, and dangerous individual.

Danny ultimately decided to wait. His parents were already dealing with the fact their son was part ghost and that they'd tried to attack him multiple times. He didn't want to make things more difficult yet. It would be better to let them wrap their minds around the current situation and address the issue of Vlad another day.

"I think that covers most of the people who know about my ghost half," he said slowly. "The only one left would be—"

"Hello? Is anyone still down here?" a cautious voice asked as someone came down the stairs.

Everyone in the basement spun around towards the stairs, giving the red-haired teenager quite an audience. Jazz blinked in confusion at the gathering. Danny couldn't help chuckling and waving his sister closer.

"Welcome, Jazz. I was just about to mention you," he said. "Mom? Dad? Yeah, Jazz figured it out a while back. She didn't say anything, so I didn't even know she knew. But she managed to find out all on her own."

"Find what out?" asked Jazz uneasily, glancing around at the crowd and noticing the bandages on some of them. "What's going on down here?"

"Mom and Dad were curious who else knew I'm Danny Phantom," he said simply.

"…Oh," said Jazz quietly, looking very startled. "Okay. They're handling it all right?"

"So far, so good."

"Should I ask why you decided to tell them in the middle of the night?"

"Because we just came through the Ghost Portal after an impromptu trip to Connecticut, which was after a fight with the ghost of Jack the Ripper, and they saw me transform back. There wasn't much else I could do except tell them the truth or beg Clockwork to reverse time. And I don't think he'd agree to that."

"What?" asked Jazz and their parents in unison.

"It's a bit of a long story," said Tucker.

Chapter Text

Today is the day where my entire life changes. I have met the man of my dreams. He's unbelievably handsome, smart, and nice. He's perfect.

It started like any first day in a new town. We set everything up, my siblings and I worked on our school work, and then we had some free time while Mother and Father focused on the new ideas for acts with the ghosts. And while they were busy ignoring us like usual, we did some exploring around town.

Cathy and Little Freddy were spending time with the daughter of the newest acrobatics. They seemed to really like Lydia, after all. So I ended up by myself at one point and that's when I found him.

Edward.

I was surprised when I first spoke to him, though I think he was more surprised. But the longer we spoke, the more it seemed like we belonged together. He's older than me and he's certainly different than what I originally pictured when I envisioned the idea of my true love, but there are no doubts in my mind. There is no one else in the world who understands me as easily as he does. And I doubt anyone else could be more perfect for him than me. It's like a dream come true. Or a fairy tale.

And even with our differences, we belong together forever.

-Excerpt from "Melinda Showenhower's Journal: Age 15"

Melinda wasn't exactly thrilled that Lydia decided to spend the night at a friend's house without asking first, but the girl was hanging around the living and that was something she wanted to encourage. She needed to forget about the ghosts she'd foolishly gotten attached to. So when she found Lydia's message on the answering machine, she tried to be positive about the situation and continue with preparations.

The shield generator from the Fentons was combined with the more powerful battery from Axion Labs. With the increased power, the thing should have an impressive range. And a large circle should work for what she needed, regardless of whether it was created by drawing it on the ground or with a ghost-proof force field. Perfect for summoning, binding, banishing, or exorcising any and all ghosts inside.

But she wouldn't be able to pull off her ambitious plan without some rest first. If she wanted to succeed, Melinda needed a good night's sleep. So the woman crawled into bed, the necklace around her throat and dreams of days gone by fluttering through her head.

Melinda watched her twelve-year old brother staring at what was clearly his first crush even though he was supposed to be working on his school work. It was actually pretty adorable, the two of them sitting at a different picnic table from the older girl and focused almost completely on each other. Yes, the girl in question had some rather unusual fashion choices. But Little Freddy and Lydia seemed to enjoy spending time with each other. Even Cathy got along with Lydia. Between the girl and her parents joining the circus, it was nice to have some new faces.

The Showenhower's Family Circus was a rather unique one and Melinda knew it. Sure, there were some clowns, acrobats, and other standard acts. Even Cathy and Melinda knew some juggling tricks and how to pull off a few flips just in case they needed to fill in for someone. But her parents also had another set of acts that astonished and astounded the audience, leaving them wondering how it was humanly possible. Of course, that was because the main acts in the circus weren't human.

Their family knew about ghosts for generations. Some were trapped in one place, mostly invisible to normal people, and were the spirits of the dead. Others were more mobile, almost always visible, and made of ectoplasm, making them better for use in the circus. Knowledge and artifacts were passed down over the years and used in a variety of ways. This generation thought the best option was to use them for entertainment. Tricks, illusions, and shows for the masses were all performed by the collection of ectoplasm ghosts. Their parents were always working on how to best make use of the ghosts in the show.

And that was why Melinda was watching Freddy as he and Lydia did their school work. Mother and Father were busy with their collection of ghosts, leaving the sisters to handle more and more of the homeschooling for each other. The parents were happy to teach about ghosts, the artifacts, and the history of their family. But if the topic wasn't related to ghosts somehow, they weren't that enthusiastic or patient. She'd heard Freddy complain that they liked ghosts more than their own children, but Melinda refused to believe such a thing.

"Hey, Melinda, I'm back," called Cathy as she walked over, claiming a spot at the second picnic table with her. "How are Freddy and Lydia doing on their homework?"

"Other than distracting each other, they're doing fine," she said. "And they're absolutely adorable."

The younger boy groaned in complaint and glared at the teenage girl. Melinda just smiled.

"Do you have to say things like that? I'm not five anymore," grumbled Freddy. "Do you just live to embarrass me?"

Cathy smirked and rubbed his head, saying proudly, "One of the perks of being an older sister. And Lydia doesn't mind, right?"

The younger girl shrugged casually as Freddy dropped his head to the table with an annoyed groan. Of course Lydia didn't mind. Someone with so many piercings and tattoos at such a young age didn't get embarrassed easily or care what others thought.

Laughing slightly, Cathy said, "That's why you're my new favorite. See if you can help Freddy with his math homework and keep him on track. I don't think Melinda and I can handle him on our own. Two girls just aren't enough."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, but eventually gave a nod. In response, Freddy grumbled and Cathy chuckled. Then Cathy turned towards her sister.

"Why don't you go out and enjoy the town again, Melinda? I'll watch them for a while."

"I don't need a babysitter," grumbled Freddy, raising his head from the table while everyone essentially ignored his complaint

Melinda didn't even hesitate. She'd explored the place when they first arrived and met someone that really captured her attention. And she was eager to see him again. The teenager abandoned the picnic tables and hurried towards town. The streets weren't the most crowded and were fairly easy to navigate, so she made great time.

She ended up following the sidewalk towards an older neighborhood with older houses. Some were even a century old. They were nice structures with elaborate architectural details that were rarely included in modern houses, like columns, uniquely-shaped windows, and the occasional curved wall. None of these were the cloned suburban homes that would fill certain neighborhoods and were impossible to tell apart. These buildings had history. Melinda and Cathy shared a fascination with such houses, compelling them to seek out the more interesting buildings whenever they arrived in a new town. It was the entire reason she'd encountered him in the first place.

He was sitting on the porch, just like the first time she saw him. Dressed in a rather nice, though out-of-date, suit that was streaked in ash and soot, he stared out as the world passed him by. He'd been so surprised to have someone see him after decades of invisibility. But with his light brown hair and eyes, his apparently twenty-ish body, and his charming smile, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Dead or alive.

"Edward, I'm back," she said.

He smiled, taking her hand gently and bowing politely. Melinda struggled not to blush. No one treated her like that in her fifteen years of life. She rather liked the feeling.

"Miss Melinda, it is wonderful to see you again," he said. "It is so rare that I get to enjoy such pleasant company. With no one alive dwelling here and most of the living unable to see me anyway, it can be so lonely at times."

"That's too bad," she said. "I don't mind keep you company for a while."

Melinda sat down next to the ghost. They sat there, talking about the world outside the old house. She told him about the different towns she'd seen, the circus, her siblings, her parents and how she wished they'd spend more time with the family, and any other topic she could devise.

And Edward listened patiently. He was so nice, polite, and attentive, giving her his complete focus and being so understanding. Her parents certainly didn't pay her nearly as much attention as him. He was just so sweet and handsome. Even if he was long dead, he was the perfect man. And the longer she spoke to him, the more she liked him.

No, it was more than that. She was certain of it. Melinda loved Edward. The nice and handsome young man was completely perfect. Melinda knew they would be great together. Edward didn't even seem to mind her age, not saying she was just a child or acting as if she was too young to understand the world; she would reach his age eventually, after all. And the only thing standing in the way of their happiness was the fact he was stuck in his house and the circus would move on.

That was something she would not allow to separate them. She would not lose her precious Edward so soon. She would fix it. And because of all her time listening to her parents lovingly describe ghosts and the various artifacts their family collected over the generations, she was certain she could make it work.

"Edward, you know I mentioned how my parents collect objects of power?" she said finally.

"I recall," the ghost nodded.

"Well, it might be possible to find something that will let you leave this house. You could see the world. It would be fun."

"Truly? You believe you can do such a thing?" He lightly kissed her hand before adding, "You are indeed a treasure, Miss Melinda. Even if you do not achieve this goal, the offer is a kind one. Thank you."

Blushing while her heart raced at the sweet gesture, Melinda ducked her head and smiled. This was so perfect. She could see it now. She'd free him from the bounds of the haunted house and he'd fall in love in return. Then he would travel with the circus, allowing the two of them to see the world together. Melinda would spend the rest of her life with her perfect man, even if he was already dead. Nothing would interfere with her happiness.

It took a long time and plenty of searching, but she found it in one of her parents' trunks. Someday it would be Freddy's, but not yet. Melinda pulled out the dusty knife. She looked it over carefully, certain that Mother and Father would be busy with the ghosts of the circus for a few more hours. There was plenty of time to take it, use it, and bring it back before they noticed.

It was fairly ordinary-looking dual-edged knife, the type that looked vaguely like a tiny sword. Both sides of the blade were sharp, but were marked with different symbols. She couldn't actually read the language, but she knew they said "free" and "destroy" respectively. The knife was called something complicated that supposedly translated into "Twin-sided Blade of the Trapped Dead." The original version of the name was probably more poetic-sounding. But the important part was how it worked. While one edge could destroy a ghost, using the other sharp edge could sever bindings such as the one that kept Edward trapped in his house. It was exactly what she needed.

Slipping the knife into her purse, Melinda crept out. With years of experience navigating the chaos of the circus, she made it most of the way off the grounds before being spotted. Even then, she was almost to the street before being interrupted.

"Melinda, are you leaving?" asked Cathy, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Turning to face her sister, she said, "Just for a little while. I'll be back before our parents notice."

"All right, but where are you going?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Then a knowing expression crossed Cathy's face and she smiled. "You're going to see your boyfriend, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've had the same love-struck expression as Freddy around Lydia since we arrived in this town. You definitely have a crush on someone."

"It's more than a crush. I love Edward. We're absolutely perfect together," Melinda declared defensively.

Cathy smirked, "Whatever you say. Just be careful. We'll be leaving soon, so don't let your heart get broken."

"I know. Don't worry. I plan to make sure that won't be a problem," she said before hurrying away.

She practically ran along the streets of the town towards her destination. She was so excited. Melinda knew he would be so happy to hear the wonderful news. She could free him from the haunted house and they could be together. It would be perfect.

Edward wasn't on the porch, but Melinda wasn't concerned. He couldn't go anywhere, so he had to be waiting inside. She practically skipped up the steps. She tried the door and gleefully discovered it was unlocked.

With a smile on her face, Melinda called, "Edward? It's me. I have great news."

Glancing around the dark and dusty interior, she searched the foyer for any sign of the ghost. She knew he'd be lurking somewhere. She started to contemplate the elaborate staircase just as someone walked through a doorway. But it wasn't her precious Edward.

Dressed in a lovely leaf green gown, she was a gorgeous brunette woman. Like Edward, she was streaked with ash and soot. The hem of her old-fashioned dress was even singed a little. But she wasn't burned. It was clear they both died from smoke inhalation rather than the fire itself.

"Who are you?" Melinda asked.

"You can see me?" asked the young woman.

"Oh, Miss Melinda," said Edward as he walked in. "You have returned." He turned towards the woman and said, "This is the girl I told you about."

The young woman nodded thoughtfully as Melinda's heart crumbled. The way he said "girl" made it sound more like "child." He saw her as just a little kid. And then there was the beautiful and well-figured woman…

"Miss Melinda, this is my fiancée, Isabella. We both died together when a fire broke out in her family's home during a party. Bella, this is Melinda. She's the one who said she would find a way to let us leave this house," he continued. "Did you succeed?"

"Yes," she said, struggling to speak past the lump in her throat.

Fiancée. Edward was engaged before his death. He didn't love her; he loved Bella. All her dreams for the future were shattering.

"I am sorry I missed you before," said Bella. "There was an appointment with our caseworker and those always take longer than expected."

Melinda nodded silently as her heart broke and she blinked back tears. Then the pain and sorrow transformed into fury. How dare he? How dare he lead her on like that? He was so patient, understanding, and nice. He was so perfect. And she loved him. But Edward had his Bella. He should have been Melinda's soul mate. It wasn't fair.

"But I am glad to properly meet you," continued Bella with a friendly smile. "And we appreciate how you are helping us."

He must have done this on purpose. He must have tricked her on purpose so she would free him and Bella from the house. Or maybe they just liked hurting her feelings for amusement. Either way, it was cruel and vicious. It didn't matter that Melinda came up with the idea first or that she made the offer. It was his fault. He and his precious Bella. They were to blame. They were the ones who deserved to suffer.

"We are indeed, Miss Melinda. Thank you," Edward said. "What must we do for your plan to free us from this house?"

Melinda pulled the knife out of her purse and showed it to the pair. They stared at the blade with the strange writing.

"Using one side of this knife, I can cut the bonds that keep you trapped here," she said quietly.

They were cruel, evil, uncaring monsters. They weren't even worthy of being considered people. They were just heartless things. They were ghosts. Her heartbreak and shattered dreams were their fault. She hated Edward for doing such a thing to her. And he would pay. It would pay. It would pay for what happened.

She twisted the blade in her grip, adjusting so it would be easier to use the opposite edge. Then she smiled, her expression nearly as sharp as the knife. Melinda stared at the two ghosts with no mercy in her eyes.

"Miss Melinda? Are you all right?" asked Edward, noticing that something was off about her.

"Perfectly fine, my precious," she said flatly.

Then she moved. Years of learning the tricks of the circus made Melinda faster than she looked. Before either of the ghosts could react, she slashed the throat of Bella. And because she used the side marked "destroy," the ghost crumbled into dust without any time to scream.

Edward stared in horror at where Bella once stood. It almost looked like it cared. But the heartless and selfish thing wasn't capable of such emotions. Not really. It wasn't human. It was simply a pale shadow of one.

"Bella?" it whispered. Then, turning towards Melinda, Edward asked, "What have you done?"

"I got rid of a problem," she said. "And I'm not finished."

Still looking shocked by her actions, Edward managed to dodge her fist strike. But Melinda was faster than the ghost expected and her next swing connected. She slashed its throat and Edward crumbled to dust, the brief expression of betrayal of no concern to her. Breathing hard, Melinda was left alone in the old and empty foyer.

Tears started rolling down her face. Tears of heartache. Tears of broken dreams. Tears of frustration. Tears of fury and hate.

Stupid, vile, cruel, evil, manipulative ghosts. How dare they toy with her emotions? Why did she trust Edward? She let the ghost trick her into loving it. How could she have even considered treating Edward like a person? It was so clear now. Ghosts were just heartless things that didn't deserve to exist.

Destroying Bella and Edward wasn't enough. All of them. All of them would have to pay. All of them should be gone from the world. They didn't belong. And they caused nothing except pain and suffering. They hurt her, breaking her heart for their own purposes and amusement. She hated all of them.

Melinda rubbed away the tears and tossed the knife back in her purse. She wouldn't forget this. She would never forget. With only a quick look back, the teenage girl marched out the door.

"You can't leave," said Melinda, holding her sister's shoulders to keep her from continuing her escape. "You can't."

"I have to," Cathy said gently, keeping her voice down to avoid awakening someone else. "I can't stay here any longer."

She shook her head regretfully while Melinda tried to understand. Technically Cathy was an adult, but she never imagined her leaving. She was family.

"Why? Why are you running away like this?" Melinda laughed sadly, "Most people try to run to a circus, not from."

Cathy said quietly, "I have to get out of here before it's too late. I love you, Freddy, and our parents, but it isn't enough. This family is only destroying itself. Look at us."

She gestured around her and their immediate surroundings. She looked so regretful.

"Mother and Father love ghosts more than anything. They barely talk to us, but they spend hours with the ghosts and the dusty records of our ancestors," Cathy described. "They might mean well, but they haven't been good parents for a long time. And Freddy has been acting out, trying to get their attention. He's been messing with the artifacts and I think he might be stealing. He's going to end up in trouble one of these days and there's nothing that's going to change that except feeling superior to ghosts. And with our parents, he'll never feel that way."

She reached out and touched Melinda's shoulder sadly. Even in the darkness, her face was easy to read. She wasn't happy, but she was determined.

"And the last few years have changed you. You avoid ghosts and practically snarl at them when you have get near them. And you might hide it from Mother and Father, but everyone else around here knows how you feel. You've become hateful and spiteful, Melinda. You blame them for anything and everything, even if it doesn't make sense. You keep talking about how you won't be happy as long as ghosts remain in this world."

"Of course not," she snapped. "They don't belong around humans. Those things bring nothing except torment and misery. Treating them like people is foolish."

"This isn't healthy, Melinda," said Cathy firmly.

"I'm fine."

"No, our family is obsessed. In one way or another, our entire family is obsessed with ghosts and it isn't healthy. This entire circus isn't good for us. The closest person to normal around here is Lydia and while I love her like a little sister, I think she's helping Freddy with his thefts. She loves him, but she's also enabling him. I'm afraid that if I don't get out of here while I still can, I'll end up like the rest of the family."

"We're not that bad, Cathy. And where will you go?"

Taking a step back so Melinda could no long hold onto her, Cathy said, "I met someone last time the circus was in this town. His name is Charles Deetz. We've been exchanging letters when we could and he even drove to a few other towns to catch the show and see me. He is perfectly normal and doesn't have anything to do with ghosts." She smiled slightly. "And he doesn't mind me approaching things in a less traditional method."

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.

Cathy rubbed her arms while smiling thoughtfully. She look so happy that Melinda couldn't help feeling mildly jealous. But only mildly. Even if she was sneaking out in the middle of the night, she wanted Cathy to be happy. She loved her sister.

"I asked Charles to marry me," said Cathy. "And he said he would. That's where I'm going. I'm going with him, Melinda. I'm going to build a life without the shadow of the Showenhower family name defining it."

Melinda was hit with conflicting emotions. She loved her sister and hated to lose her. But Cathy would be away from the harm ghosts could cause. Those things wouldn't ruin her life, wouldn't manipulate or trick her, and wouldn't hurt her physically, mentally, or emotionally. She'd be safe and happy.

"If this is what you want, I won't try to stop you," Melinda said finally.

Cathy smiled and said, "Thanks. I hope someday you let go of your hatred and find happiness. Bye, Sis."

With that last farewell, her sister slipped out into the night. Melinda stared long after Cathy vanished from sight. Her sister was gone, fleeing the ghosts that practically plagued their family. It was their fault. The ghosts were the reason Cathy left. Ghosts ruined everything, directly or indirectly. Those things were to blame. Melinda hated all of them.

Someday, Melinda would make all of them pay. She would make them pay for being heartless creatures and for ruining everything. They didn't deserve to exist. And she would find a way to make sure they suffered.

Chapter Text

Earth, the Ghost Zone, the Netherworld, and Saturn all exist simultaneously in the same location.

Like how all those different wavelengths of light can occupy the same spot, but you can only see the visible spectrum. If you imagine the different dimensions as different wavelengths of light, the human world would be like the visible light spectrum, the Ghost Zone would be the ultraviolet rays, and the Netherworld would be like the X-rays. In the opposite direction, Saturn would be infrared waves.

Moving between two or more of the different dimensions is the tricky part. Portals and doors are the easiest way to do it, though ghosts can move a little easier between the Ghost Zone and the Netherworld than they can between any other. And when they leave their physical haunting perimeters, they slip from the land of the living to Saturn. Essentially moving from the visible light spectrum to the infrared waves.

-Excerpt from "A Simpler Guide on the Basics for Death, the Netherworld, and Everything: The Handbook is Complicated, So I Summarized Things for the Maitlands and Anyone Else in This Notebook" by Lydia Deetz

"So there are two types of ghosts?" asked Jack.

Lydia nodded, taking care not to jostle her aching head too much. She'd decided to handle this particular part of the explanations as much as possible. Danny looked a little overwhelmed by recent events and seemed particularly content to just stand with his friends off to the side, no longer the center of focus. He deserved a break.

"Yes," she said. "The Ghost Zone ones and the Netherworld ones. Only half of ghosts are made of ectoplasm and are easy to see. Those are the ones you've been facing. The hole you tore in reality makes a handy way in and out. Those ghosts are a weird mixture of lost or misplaced spirits, random personifications of ideas and emotions, and anything else that might spontaneously form from the ectoplasm. They're strong and vary a lot. The Netherworld ghosts are all spirits of the dead who haven't moved on."

Maddie actually chuckled slightly as she said, "We already told you. Ghosts aren't actually dead people. That's just a myth."

"No, not all ghosts are dead people," corrected Sam. "Some definitely are. We've met them."

"The Lunch Lady used to work at Casper High. Now she shows up occasionally to complain violently about any change to the menu," Tucker said. "Not to mention we ran into Jack the Ripper tonight."

"And everyone at our school knows about Sidney Poindexter," added Jazz, looking very curious about the mentioned misadventure.

"You're scientists, right?" Lydia said, closing her eyes briefly. "You know about those different laws of the universe? Conservation of Matter? Conservation of Energy? They say matter or energy can't be created or destroyed, but it can be changed. It can change forms. It can be transferred somewhere else. Why is it so hard to believe that something like that happens with people? That part of them could become something different or move on to somewhere else? Not all people become ghosts and not all ghosts were originally alive. But don't dismiss something as a myth or impossible just because it seems silly to you." Opening her eyes again and staring at the adults, she added, "After all, you just learned quite effectively that you don't know as much about ghosts as you think you do. Your son is half ghost. So maybe you could try trusting me when I tell you about the Netherworld and the ghosts that come from there, please?"

The spouses exchanged looks, but hesitantly nodded with apologetic smiles. They certainly seemed overwhelmed by everything they were learning, but were accepting it as best as possible. Lydia was mildly impressed. Their entire world-view gets destroyed abruptly and instead of denial, they were trying to adapt. Dad and Delia weren't as accepting initially when faced with something strange and unusual, not listening to her until almost too late…

No, she wasn't going to think about them. She wasn't going to think about the days her father and step-mother didn't even try to understand her. She wasn't going to think about the better days of the last couple of years when they finally made an effort to accept and support her. And she wasn't going to think about how she would never see Dad or Delia again. She was happy to still have the Maitlands and she loved them, but it still hurt to know her father and even her step-mother were gone. Just like her mother. Lydia knew following that train of thought about loss wouldn't help her. It would only lead to heartache, withdrawing from the world, and thinking about bridges in a way that was far from healthy and could result in a future of bureaucracy. Right now it was important to focus on more immediate problems. She could mourn her losses later, when she had time and support to handle it. Until then, all those thoughts could wait.

Shaking her head gently to clear it, Lydia said, "I've dealt with Netherworld ghosts more than the ones from the Ghost Zone. They were all once alive. They have rules, bureaucracy, and even caseworkers to give advice and assistance when necessary. I shared a home with Barbara and Adam Maitland, who've been practically second parents to me for the last few years. They died in a car crash before we met and can't leave their house in Connecticut. I also know a poltergeist who lived through the Black Death. And tonight, another poltergeist named Sanduleak tried to kill me."

"Jack the Ripper," Tucker added. "We tackled Jack the Ripper. Literally."

"Right," said Lydia, turning towards him and his friends briefly. "And have I said thanks yet? Because I'm very thankful. Without your help, Sanduleak would have killed me before Beej could stop him. And even if he never says it properly, Beej is certainly thankful too."

"All of you seem rather calm about someone trying to kill Lydia," Jack said awkwardly.

"It was a few hours ago. And we fight ghosts pretty regularly," Tucker said with a shrug.

With a small wry smile, Danny said, "Skulker repeatedly tells me that he's going to kill me and keep my hide at the foot of his bed. As long as everyone survived, we can handle anything that happens."

"And I just visited my ghostly godparents, courtesy of Beej," said Lydia as she tried to sound calm while simultaneously banishing memories of Sanduleak pressing so close to her, a knife to her throat and a predatory look in his eye. She added honestly, "Seeing Barbara and Adam helped a lot."

"Exactly who is Beej?" Maddie asked, curious and confused in equal measures.

"Lydia's protective, scary, and powerful not-boyfriend poltergeist," described Tucker. "His name is—"

"No names," Lydia interrupted quickly. "I don't want to risk waking him up, let alone calling him here. Let him sleep. He's earned it."

"His name is a summons," Sam clarified for the confused parties. "Using it three times calls and banishes him. Apparently poltergeists have personalized rules and more power than other Netherworld ghosts."

Tucker added, "And weird names. Between him and Sanduleak, they are rather freaky."

"Well, if one is from about six hundred years ago and the other from at a century ago, it makes sense they might have names that aren't as common now," said Jazz.

Lydia nodded carefully as she struggled against a yawn. She was tired and her head still hurt. Honestly, she wanted to go find a bed or a couch she could claim for the night. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to rest finally. Lydia did wonder briefly if it was a good idea; weren't you supposed to stay awake after a head injury in case of a concussion? Should she be concerned? After a moment, she decided she wasn't too worried. Regardless of anything else, she was tired.

"Oh dear, what time is it?' asked Maddie, noticing the half-smothered yawn. "We should either send all of you home or at least call your parents. They must be worried sick."

"No, we already made up excuses," Tucker said cheerfully, adjusting his glasses. "We're good at them by now."

Ignoring the reactions Tucker's confession produced from the Fentons, Lydia said, "And I'm not going back to my aunt's house."

Her venomous tone was apparently enough to catch the attention of the parents and older sister. They stared at her, confused and deeply concerned. Danny, Sam, and Tucker gave her more sympathetic expressions, understanding her behavior a little better.

"I'm sensing some hostility," Jazz said cautiously.

"You think?" muttered Sam.

"Could you explain why your relationship with your aunt is so tense?" she continued.

"Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger became my guardians recently after my parents died. I've known them for less than two weeks. Let's count the ways they've tried to destroy everything I care about, shall we?" said Lydia, sounding tired and numb rather than properly furious. She couldn't muster anymore energy. "They decide to drag me several states away from anything and anyone familiar. They bound and banished my best friend after almost destroying him with an exorcism. They made it clear they'd be perfectly happy to finish exorcising him or the Maitlands, my family, if I gave them a reason. She messed with my head, locking away memories."

"And she stole your journal," added Tucker.

"Furthermore, I almost got killed or worse because I couldn't call Beej, which was their fault. And now I found out that Aunt Melinda owns a powerful necklace that could control, banish, or destroy untold numbers of ghosts." Lydia looked straight towards the Fentons with a stubbornness that would have seemed foreign to her a few years ago. "Not all ghosts are nice. Sanduleak proves that. But not all of them are monsters either and I won't let my aunt attempt cold-blooded murder or destruction of whatever poor souls she catches. Even if Juno didn't already ask, I would certainly get the Gem of Osiris away from her anyway. She's already caused enough damage." Fighting back another yawn, Lydia continued, "As I said, I'm not going back to her house."

"Right," said Jack awkwardly. "Would you like to spend the night then? You could certainly stay on our couch."

"Or you could stay with me in my room," Jazz said. "It wouldn't be any trouble."

Trying to hide how relieved she felt by the offer, Lydia smiled and said, "That would be perfect. Thanks."

"Wait a moment," said Maddie, frowning in thought. "Would your aunt and uncle's names be Melinda and Roger Livingston?"

"Yeah," she said slowly. "They're my maternal aunt and uncle. They have a different last name than me."

Danny, looking rather suspicious, asked firmly, "Mom? Dad? What did you do?"

His parents exchanged looks again. Then, with an expression that somehow managed to grow even guiltier than the one they'd been wearing through most of the conversation, his mother rubbed her arm and turned towards her son.

"We gave them a Ghost Shield."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"Because they asked and because they talked about protecting their recently-orphaned niece. They sounded like they were really concerned. It convinced us to share."

Tucker rubbed the back of his head and asked, "Why would they want the Ghost Shield? I mean, it would be useful for protection, but I got the feeling the woman preferred a more aggressive approach. And what about their stop at Axion Labs this evening? Remember, Lydia? You followed them there when we were getting your journal and the ring? Could they be connected?"

They were all good questions. Plus, she should really ask what a Ghost Shield was (though the name did sound pretty self-explanatory). But Lydia couldn't bring herself to think about it. She might not have been the one who tore out of the Ghost Zone and nearly unraveled by fighting the rules to a dangerous degree, but Lydia needed sleep almost as much as Betelgeuse did. It had been a long day and she was tired. Anything that might have to do with her aunt, the necklace, the Ghost Shield, or whatever Aunt Melinda's plan might be could wait until morning.

"We can try to figure it out tomorrow. For now, I'd honestly like to sleep and pretend there isn't a lot of chaos on the horizon," said Lydia, standing up finally. "We've all had a rough night with some tough revelations. How about we sleep on it? Everything will be easier to handle in the morning."

Nodding, Jazz said, "Sure thing. I'll show you to my room."

"And speaking of Ghost Shields," said Sam as the other girls headed towards the stairs, "we might want to put the one around the house up. Sanduleak is still free and he might try attacking again."

So far, his escape from Saturn and back to the human world was going relatively well. He'd slipped back to Amity Park, keeping out of sight of the living and dead. Sanduleak knew someone would come looking eventually. Betelgeuse wasn't one to let things go and the caseworkers would at least be upset about their co-worker being tossed to the sandworms. Stealth would be important if he wanted to stay ahead of them.

He wasn't sure if the Mortal Bride survived, but he suspected she did. And if she did survive, she would come back to the city and her house. And due to checking her records earlier, Sanduleak knew where she lived. He just needed to watch and wait. He would watch the house and her relatives closely. If she lived, she would show up eventually. And he would have her.

The thought made him grin. She was younger and scrawnier than he preferred, but she would still be fun to play with. Just the knowledge that she was innocent and untouched added a little enticement to the idea. And the fact that harming her would pain the older poltergeist made it so much sweeter. It would definitely be fun to toy with the pretty thing for as long as he wanted. And once Sanduleak was finished using the inexperienced and helpless girl however he desired, he would rip her body apart until it was just barely recognizable and leave it for Betelgeuse.

It would be beautiful, almost like his glory days in London. Who would have thought the infamous Ghost With The Most would be foolish enough to actually care about such a fragile and vulnerable girl. All Betelgeuse had done was create a weakness far more painful and tempting than his name issue. And Sanduleak would be happy to exploit it to the fullest extent of his abilities. Revenge could be so fun.

Glancing at the sky briefly, he knew dawn would arrive in a few hours. Then sunlight would be an issue. All poltergeists had their limits and daylight was his. He'd find a way to avoid it while still keeping a close watch on everything. It would be tricky, but Sanduleak felt confident.

Maddie nursed her cup of coffee in silence. She was the only one in the household awake so far. Or rather, she was still awake from the night before. The woman honestly tried to sleep. She'd lain in bed for hours, trying to get some rest. For a while her husband shared her state of insomnia, but he eventually slipped into an uneasy doze not long before she gave up entirely. Sleep just wasn't an option for her. Not after everything that happened the night before.

It was just too much to absorb. She was trying and failing to understand so many shocking revelations in such a short span of time. She and Jack barely managed to adjust to the idea that their assumptions about ghosts might be wrong and that it was coloring their observations. Now she had to face several far more difficult discoveries.

Taking a short sip from the mug, she stared numbly at her kitchen and tried to organize her chaotic thoughts. The easiest to accept was the idea of a second type of ghosts from a different reality than the Ghost Zone. If it was possible to have on alternate dimension filled with ghosts, another one wasn't too farfetched. And since the Ghost Zone and the inhabitants were strictly composed of ectoplasm, then a different reality with a different composition would logically have ghosts that exhibit different traits. It was all very logical and easy to accept.

The idea of ghosts, even if not all ghosts, actually being dead people was harder. It wasn't that she was so scientifically-minded that she couldn't believe in the idea of a soul. Logic and reason wasn't mutually exclusive towards faith. No one had proven the existence of a soul yet with science, but they hadn't disproven it either. So she figured it was only a matter of time.

No, that wasn't her problem. Maddie just didn't know how to adapt to the idea that at least some of those people stayed around in the forms of ghosts rather than reaching paradise, punishment, purgatory, reincarnation, oblivion, or whatever the true final fate of the dead was intended to be. It sounded too much like a fairy tale; someone who died didn't actually have to leave and might remain in some fashion. It was like Jack's continued belief in Santa Claus; it could only lead to dashed hopes and heartache. That sort of thinking would undoubtedly prolong the grieving process.

And it raised even more uncomfortable questions about their treatment of ghosts. Rather than dangerous, non-sentient monsters from another dimension, they could have been experimenting on people who died and ended up in the Ghost Zone. No wonder Lydia reacted badly to the lab and the ghost-hunting discussion.

Maddie drank a little more of the cooling coffee. The bitter flavor reminded her yet again that she'd neglected to add the sugar and milk to the cup. And just like earlier, she didn't bother to get up and correct it.

She was avoiding the biggest shock of the night. She knew it. She'd been trying to avoid thinking about it since everyone went to bed. Her insomnia proved she was failing badly. Maddie knew it would be better to go ahead and face the tangle of issues. She wasn't a coward; she could face her failures and regrettable actions.

Danny was a ghost. Or at least half-ghost. That was the crux of the matter.

There was nothing fundamentally wrong with him being part ghost. She wasn't so shallow, hateful, or cruel as to condemn her son for being who and what he was. Besides, it was quickly becoming clear to her that humans and ghosts were far more similar than she could have ever imagined. This did not change her feelings towards Danny in the slightest.

But it certainly changed her feelings towards herself. Maddie Fenton, the supposed ghost expert and ghost-hunter, couldn't even recognize the truth right in front of her. She didn't see that something was going on with Danny and didn't realize that Phantom wasn't just an ordinary ghost. How could she not recognize her son? He said he didn't blame them for their actions or their ignorance, but Maddie just couldn't forgive herself. They attacked Phantom repeatedly, threatened him, discussed how they intended to dissect him in earshot of their son, and performed other various acts that no parent should attempt against their child. How could Danny have spent so much time under the same roof as ghost-hunters without fearing and hating them? It horrified her to revisit those memories with her new knowledge.

What if they'd actually succeed in one of their attempts to attack Phantom? What if they'd hurt him during a fight? What if they'd captured Phantom and actually tried some of their experiments on him? It could have been so easy and that scared her. She despised how she and Jack could have harmed their son out of ignorance and only luck prevented such a thing.

And then there was the fact Danny's current status as part ghost, a halfa, was their fault. Yes, he seemed perfectly comfortable with ectoplasm combined with his body, but that didn't change the fact he didn't originally chose it. The drastic change happened because of his parents. They created the Ghost Portal, the source of their son's powers. They inadvertently turned Danny part ghost because of their obsession. No matter how much they were intrigued by ghosts, Maddie and Jack never intended for it to harm their children.

And even if Danny seemed relatively fine, it would have so easy for the accident to seriously injure or kill him instead of transforming him. Maddie knew the damage it could have caused. This wasn't even the first time a problem with creating a Ghost Portal affected someone. In college, Vlad Masters was exposed to an intense dose of ectoplasm from the prototype. He was stuck in a hospital for quite some time afterwards with a condition the doctors unoriginally named "ecto-acne." That should have warned them to be more careful the next time they tried, but they didn't and Danny ended up suffering an involuntary transformation for their actions.

Maddie frowned briefly in thought. Danny was saturated with ectoplasm by standing in the middle of an activating portal and ended up half ghost. So when Vlad was struck with concentrated (albeit impure) ectoplasm to the face from an imperfect portal, it was theoretically possible that…

"Couldn't sleep either?" asked Danny quietly as he stepped into the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts.

Shrugging slightly, she said, "I'm afraid not. There's a lot on our minds. Even your father had trouble falling asleep and usually he's out before his head hits the pillow."

"Tucker's still camped out in my room, dead to the world. And Sam's still napping on the couch," he said, gesturing back the way he came. "No idea about Jazz and Lydia, though."

"Judging from how tired she looked, I'd guess Lydia is still asleep," said Maddie.

Silence settled briefly upon them. There was definitely awkwardness present, a tension between mother and child that she wished was gone. They needed to talk, but it was hard to start the conversation when they were both so cautious about broaching the uncomfortable topics.

Looking down at the mug in her hands, Maddie said carefully, "She's had a rough time recently, in more ways than one. That bandage on her head doesn't hide all the damage."

"Yeah, Sanduleak managed to land a hit on her before Beej got rid of him temporarily," Danny said. "Tucker and Sam were a little scratched up too, but Lydia was his main target. It was some type of revenge-by-proxy thing."

"They ended up hurt, but not you?" said Maddie, trying to prompt him gently.

Glancing down at the kitchen table as he sat across from her, he said, "Well, I'm a lot stronger and tougher when I'm in my ghost form. Some of that durability sticks around even when I'm human, but it is more noticeable when I'm a ghost. And I heal faster now. That's part of the reason you never noticed before. Bruises, scratches, and cuts heal in a few hours. A day at most. Otherwise all those fights with ghosts would have definitely caught your attention sooner."

"That's good," she said with a slow nod. Turning the mug gently in her hands, Maddie asked, "Danny, did you… did you ever… Were you ever afraid of me or your father at any point? Of what we might do?"

Maddie forced herself to look up as soon as she choked out the question. She wasn't certain she wanted to know the answer, but she needed to ask. It was important.

He looked a little surprised at her question, but he didn't instantly start denying the very idea of such a thing. Instead, he looked thoughtful and considerate of the question. She appreciated Danny taking her concerns seriously. But she had to admit it also made her guts knot up to know that her son had to actually think about whether or not he'd ever been afraid of his parents.

"In general, I was fairly confident that I could avoid you and Dad when it came to ghost-hunting. Half your inventions don't work and you're not exactly subtle when it comes to your fighting. And you were usually willing to go after all ghosts in the area, so sometimes your attacks on other ghosts were even helpful to me. The biggest danger would me getting caught in the crossfire or catching your attention abruptly. As long as I wasn't completely ignoring you, I didn't worry too much about the two of you," he said slowly. "But that's not exactly what you meant, right? You're wondering if I was afraid of what you and Dad would do to me. If I was afraid of how you would react if you found out the truth?"

She didn't trust her voice at the moment, so Maddie just nodded. Danny gave her a slight smile in return.

"I won't lie, I did have a few nightmares of you catching me and not knowing who I was. Not a lot, but a few at the beginning. And since this was a pretty big secret, there were definitely some doubts and concerns I couldn't completely banish about how it would turn out. But…" He rubbed the back of his head and said, "The idea of you and Dad knowing who and what I am and still attacking me anyway? No, I was never afraid of that. Getting mad, freaking out, thinking I'm possessed, or going into denial, I could imagine that. But I know you. You and Dad wouldn't hurt me knowingly. I wasn't afraid of you, Mom."

She released a breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding at his reply. Danny reached across the table and patted her arm reassuringly.

"Believe it or not, I've seen you and Dad handle this news before. Once was in an alternate timeline and the other was just before reality was rewritten," he said with far more casualness than those explanations deserved. Smiling slightly, he continued, "Both times, the world was reset so that you didn't remember. But I do. And I saw that you and Dad didn't hate me for what I am, didn't want to harm me, and still saw me as your son. I've known for a little while you could deal with the knowledge that I'm part ghost. It was just hard and overwhelming to consider sharing such a huge and complicated part of my life."

She couldn't help chuckling as she nodded and said, "It is pretty complicated, Danny. But I know we can adapt. We love each other too much not to. And I'm glad that you weren't afraid of us. You're our son and I'd rather die than hurt you. And I am sorry if we ever gave you even the slightest reason to doubt it."

"I know, Mom."

Dropping her eyes briefly as she sipped on the nearly-cold coffee, Maddie felt intensely relieved. The conversation might not have been the most comfortable one, but it certainly helped. She felt lighter than before.

Hoping to find a less intense topic, Maddie asked, "So what can you tell me about some of the ghosts you've encountered? You must have some interesting stories."

"Well," he said slowly, a grin starting to overtake his face, "have you ever heard of someone called the Box Ghost?"

Chapter Text

Well, it was bound to happen eventually. Betelgeuse and the Maitlands ended up in the same room as the same time. It went about as smoothly as I expected. At least Dad and Delia weren't home at the time.

I don't think they'll ever be comfortable with each other. I love Adam and Barbara. They're wonderful people. But first impressions are hard to shake sometimes and Beej really knows how to make an impression. Between the snake thing, dropping Dad over the railing, sending Dad's old boss and his wife through the ceiling (who blamed the memories after the "freak accident" on head injuries), nearly marrying me, and the fact his personality has a lot of rough edges, Beej did a great job making them hate and fear him.

So I really didn't have much hope of a peaceful encounter. And I was right. Beej hit on Barbara again (which is still really weird for me to watch), insulted Adam, and complained about the sandworm incident again before I managed to separate everyone.

But at least no one attacked each other. Or tried to attack each other. We all know Beej is too strong to actually be beaten by Barbara and Adam directly, but no one tried in the two minutes they were around each other. I consider that a success.

Still, I think I'm going to keep them away from each other as much as possible.

Come on, Babes. It wasn't completely my fault.

You were trying to provoke them.

Just a little. They're fun to rile up.

And did you have to try and touch my sort of godmother?

I was trying to see what kind of figure she has under that shapeless dress. It completely hides anything interesting.

Please stop talking about this, Beej. I really don't want to hear you talk about her like that. It is so weird and creepy. And she's married. Remember that little detail?

We don't have to tell her dork husband anything.

Yeah, you're definitely not getting near them again. Just stick to mirrors in the house. We'll hang out somewhere else. Like in town. Or the graveyard. Or anywhere that doesn't involve you commenting on Barbara's appearance or trying to start a fight.

You really have to take all the fun out of this, don't you?

I'll make it up for you. The pet store in the next town over has some crickets they sell for people who keep lizards. I'll pick you up some next time I go.

You're the greatest, Lyds.

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

Awareness crept back slowly as he gradually began to awaken. The inescapable exhaustion and shredding sensation of imminent destruction were gone. His strength and power were recovering nicely. As expected, a chance to rest worked miracles. That didn't change the fact it was hard for Betelgeuse to shrug off sleep completely. There was just a heaviness that made it hard to open his eyes, let alone wake up. Sleeping like the dead was a phrase for a reason, after all.

But he eventually began to stir. The couch was relatively comfortable, but the ghost forced himself awake. He knew too much time had passed since he'd succumbed to exhaustion. Lyds and her little flock of weirdness probably already either flew the coop or were about to. She might not care about her evil witch of an aunt, but the other children would have parents to deal with that might not be happy about the crossing state lines. Maybe he should have left them behind and just took Lyds to see the Maitlands. Oh well, they could probably take a bus back. Or a taxi. Or a train. Or something. There were options.

Sitting up reluctantly and slowly, Betelgeuse discovered everything had dulled down to a constant and vague ache. The pounding headaches and throbbing pain of living people didn't happen without a heartbeat, but a more constant and steady form was certainly possible. But the sharpness and intensity were long gone and he could easily ignore the remaining pain easily. He suspected it would wear off when he started using his power again, like working the stiffness out of a sore muscle.

Not bad for a guy who almost destroyed himself the night before.

"Memo to self," he mumbled under his unnecessary breath, rubbing his neck and shoulder with only the slightest wincing. "Don't use the portal again. Breaking the rules, nearly tearing myself apart, and trying to keep together anyway really stings. When I get a hold of Sanduleak again, he's going to have the worst sunburn ever."

"Imagine that," a voice said abruptly, startling Betelgeuse into opening his eyes finally. "He's awake for two minutes and already plotting violent revenge."

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, the two resident ghosts were sitting not too far away and watching him. Neither of the Maitlands looked like they wanted to murder him again, which Betelgeuse considered to be progress. There was the usual suspicion present in their expressions, but there was a slight softness that he rarely saw directed towards him. It was like they didn't completely hate and fear him. That idea was a little unnerving.

On the other hand, even if her floral dress wasn't as tight and revealing as some current fashions, Barbara's figure was still as attractive and intriguing to him as ever. Having the chance to run his eyes up and down her body first thing in the morning was pretty nice. And if he was careful, he might snag a chance to do a little more than look. The possibility made him grin.

"What can I say? I'm a ghost with simple desires," he said, giving the brunette woman a meaningful look.

She didn't rise to the bait nor did she throw herself at the Ghost With The Most while forsaking her rather dull husband. Honestly, he would have been happy with either option. Instead of reacting in an entertaining fashion, Barbara and Adam just stared at him with unreadable expressions.

"Okay, the two of you are acting really odd. What's the matter? Do I have something on my face?" asked Betelgeuse, scratching at a patch of mold. When he didn't get a proper response, he asked in a slightly more serious tone, "How's Lyds?"

"She's fine. She stayed with us for a little while, but Juno eventually took her and the others with her when she left. It sounded like Lydia would be staying with one of them," said Barbara. "But whatever the plan, she was fairly adamant about not going back to stay with her aunt."

"Good," he said shortly.

So they went back to Amity Park. Juno took care of the issue. She was an annoying pain in the neck, but she was useful sometimes. And Lydia was smart enough to avoid the crazy witch woman. He intended to deal with the psycho at the first opportunity, but it was wise for Lyds to stay out of range until then just in case she tried to mess with the girl's head again. No reason to make the same mistakes twice.

"She talked about what happened recently," said Adam slowly. "Her aunt. Sanduleak. You. Everything."

Raising an eyebrow curiously, Betelgeuse said, "Really? You had a busy night."

"But there are a few things we want to ask you. Why did Sanduleak attack Lydia in the first place? Why was he after her?" asked Barbara, something in her voice suggesting she already knew or suspected the answer.

Briefly he wracked his brains for what exactly he said the night before. He remembered arguing with Juno, but the exact details were a little foggy. Near destruction and utter exhaustion while pretending to be fine apparently left his memories a bit vague. The point was that he wasn't sure what he'd already mentioned or if he'd made anything up. Not to mention he didn't know what Lydia, Danny-boy, and the others might have said. Without any idea of what information they already possessed, he could either be completely honest or he could bluff wildly.

Bluffing, even if it meant bluffing blindly, sounded like the better option. The Maitlands already hated him. And the truth wouldn't help that opinion. Besides, cons and bluffing were second nature to him. That would be the most comfortable way to proceed. He should make something up.

Maybe he was just tired still, but Betelgeuse found him reluctantly shifting his decision towards honesty. Or maybe it was a sliver of guilt.

He was going to blame fatigue.

"He was after Lyds because he was too much of a coward to go against me directly," Betelgeuse admitted, his voice a rough growl. "That twisted, murderous, idiotic freak hates me for trapping him in a well for a century, but didn't feel brave enough to face me directly. He knows I'm stronger than him. So his bright idea of revenge was going against someone he could overpower." His hands clenched briefly at the thought, some of his anger at Sanduleak and himself leaking into his voice. "He went after Lyds because of what I did a century ago. Which is why he's made the very top of my revenge list. I'm going to make him beg for me to toss him in the Lost Souls' Room by the time I'm finished."

"I see," said Barbara in a neutral voice. "It was your fault that she was involved. And why did you trap him in the first place? That was before your time as Juno's assistant. So why did you trap him in a well? Why would you bother?"

He said sharply, "Because that cowardly creep not only thought it was a proper haunting technique to force himself on unwilling women and murdering them, but he tried to involve me in that mess without explaining what he was up to. No one tries to trick and use me. An extended stay in the bottom of the well was intended to make my displeasure clear and discourage him from repeating that mistake." Narrowing his eyes, he growled, "Apparently Jack the Ripper is a slow learner. I should have killed him. Again. None of this would have happened if I did. Lyds would've been safe. Or at least safer."

"So you lock up a serial killer ghost, even though it wasn't your job," said Adam. "And when he decided to attack an innocent girl yesterday, you protected her."

"Tell us about the portal," Barbara said. "The one you used to get to her."

Betelgeuse nearly flinched, but managed to hide the reaction by dusting off the sleeves of his jacket. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it too much. That portal was not fun. But avoiding this topic completely would only make them more curious. But just because he'd obviously woken in a fairly honest state of mind didn't mean he couldn't be a little vague about it.

"What can I say? Some insane ghost hunters tore a hole in their basement that now leads to the Ghost Zone. Now anyone with half a brain can cross between the two whenever they want. I knew Lyds was in trouble and I didn't know if Danny-boy would be enough. And I don't like just standing around, twiddling my thumbs. Thanks to that evil aunt messing with Lyds' head to make her forget my name temporarily, no one was going to call me. So I used the portal to get out and got Sanduleak away from her."

"You're not allowed out without someone using your name," she reminded.

"I've never been a fan of following the rules."

"Judging by the fact you practically collapsed last night, there was clearly a cost. And we're not idiots," Barbara said.

Trying to deflect the conversation towards safer topics, he said, "Well, I might be willing to accept the possibility of you having a brain, I still have my doubts about your husband."

Adam glared through his glasses, but he didn't say a word. It looked like the Maitlands weren't going to be easily distracted. Maybe they weren't the dumb saps he'd hoped.

He considered the idea of sending them to the model to break the conversation off, but quickly discarded it. Lyds would be agitated if he messed with the Maitlands too much. And between recently becoming an orphan, having her aunt messing with her mind, and everything to do with Sanduleak, he wouldn't want to make things worse by bothering her adopted ghost parents.

"According to Juno, you nearly destroyed yourself going through that portal," said Adam.

"June-bug talks too much. And she worries more than she should about stuff that doesn't involve her," he muttered.

Barbara said cautiously, "You knew or at least suspected what would happen when you went through that portal. You knew the risk and did it anyway. For Lydia."

Betelgeuse glanced away briefly. Yeah, Lyds was the reason he did it. Yeah, he nearly destroyed himself in the process. But hearing them describe point blank what he'd done made it sound far too noble and idiotic for the reputation of the Ghost With The Most. He really didn't like thinking about things from that perspective and he definitely didn't want others doing so either.

Now he was starting to figure out why their expressions had been so weird since he'd woken up. Everything was getting all tangled in emotions and sympathy, which he really didn't want to explore deeply.

"Lyds is mine. No one gets to hurt her. I'll never let that happen. And I'm not afraid of a few risks," said Betelgeuse, his gravelly voice shifting towards a possessive growl. "I won't let anyone or anything take Lyds away from me. And nothing has the power to stop me. That includes the risk of ripping myself apart. And don't underestimate me. I'm the Ghost With The Most, remember?"

There, that sounded better. Framing it with selfish motivations made more sense. He was self-centered and possessive. He wasn't stupidly heroic. It just wasn't who he was.

Of course that didn't change the fact he would make the same painful and nearly suicidal choice again if it meant protecting Lydia. She was his, but it wasn't just that. From the moment he first saw the girl, he'd known she was special. She was more important than anyone else in that house. She'd captured his attention and, after they worked past the mistake of the almost-wedding, she became his best friend. There was just something about the girl he could never explain. She was someone he wanted happy, safe, and protected. And he'd realized he'd do anything for her, including die again.

But he just couldn't truly explain why he felt that way towards the child and he didn't feel like spreading it around too much. Lyds probably wouldn't like that last part about being willing to die again for her either.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why she trusts you, why she likes you even after everything you did," said Barbara, giving him a knowing look. "Even Juno can see it a little. When it comes down to it, you're not nearly as bad as everyone believes. Including yourself." She glanced down briefly, before adding quietly, "So thank you. Thank you for saving Lydia. Thank you for caring about her enough to risk everything to protect her."

"We love her and would do anything for her," Adam said. "We just can't do much to help her from here. Thank you for doing what we can't."

"And whenever you see Sanduleak again, see if you can feed him to a sandworm for us," added Barbara with a flicker of fury in her gaze.

This was definitely heading into a very uncomfortable direction. People didn't thank him unless they were impressed by a particularly good bio-exorcism job. It just didn't happen. Apparently it was time to forcibly derail this conversation.

He would prefer to leave, but until they banished him, there was a limit to where he could go. The ghosts let him out, so he was stuck within their haunting boundaries. So until they kicked him out, he couldn't really escape the conversation. That meant his best option was to provoke them a little.

"Don't worry, Sanduleak will be dealt with properly," he said with a feral grin. "But before that…"

His expression shifted to a smirk as he turned his attention towards Barbara with a twist of power. Her outfit morphed under his influence, changing her floral dress into something much more flattering. She stared down at the sparkly red dress with a very low neckline, exposed shoulders, a slit up the side of the floor-length fabric that showed an impressive amount of leg, and a delightfully close fit that left very little of the woman's figure to the imagination. The long purple gloves and high-heels were just the perfect finishing touches to a very lovely ensemble. Barbara looked shocked and affronted by the wardrobe change while Adam stared in slack-jawed, stunned awe at his wife's appearance.

"There, that's better," Betelgeuse said smugly. "I knew you were hiding a good-looking body under that frumpy dress, Doll."

"You… you…," sputtered Barbara, a bit of fury edging into her expression as her gloved hands clenched.

His eyes practically bulging out of his head (though not literally like some ghosts might try), Adam said, "Barbara? You… you look…Wow."

"Yeah," said Betelgeuse. "She's way out of your league. How did you manage to get her in the first place? And do have any tips on how I could?"

"Betelgeuse," Barbara managed to snarl finally. "What did you do to my clothes?"

"I changed them to something better," he said. "Of course if you preferred that I get rid of your clothes, all you need to do is ask."

Glaring at his smirk, she said, "You really can't help yourself. You really can't resist, can you? You've obviously recovered from your experience enough to cause trouble again, Betelgeuse."

"Say it again and I'll be out of your hair. Or I could stay to enjoy the view. Your dork husband certainly is."

Adam actually seemed embarrassed and looked towards the floor. Betelgeuse couldn't help cackling. The dork really was too easy to mess with. The poor guy looked like his brain fried from her outfit. Plus, this entire situation was a lot more comfortable that dealing with emotional and serious stuff. He definitely preferred this.

"We'll let Lydia handle you. Though you're still not as bad as everyone thinks, Betelgeuse," Barbara said.

As he vanished, the poltergeist managed a quick flash of power to shift her outfit back. Adam might be disappointed, but Barbara might be a little less furious. And that would mean less complaining from Lyds later.

"The morning is evil," groaned Sam before taking a bit of toast.

"Not as evil as the fact we have school," Tucker said, piling more bacon on his plate.

"I told you," said Maddie, barely able to fit around the crowded kitchen table, "only your parents can call the school to excuse an absence. And the school would call your parents if you don't show up without explanation. You can't skip."

"Lydia isn't going," he pointed out.

"She has a head injury, an evil aunt, and a protective poltergeist that could wake up at any time and I really don't want to imagine what he'd do to Casper High," Danny reminded. "I don't think a day off it too much to ask, even if the principal tries to call someone about it."

"Says the guy whose parents did call to excuse his absence," complained Tucker jokingly.

Lydia sat at the table, practically pinned between Jazz and Sam, as she listened to the flow of conversation. It was nice and relaxing. This was certainly better than breakfast with Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger. Even with all the scrapes and bruises, everyone was relatively happy and there was no hatred between them. She felt content to just sit there silently.

She was also glad that, by some miracle, she'd managed to keep a hold of her backpack through all the insanity. There were a few small cuts in the fabric from where Sanduleak's blade slashed a little too close, but she'd kept it on her back through the attack, the trip to Connecticut, and back to Amity Park. So even if she didn't have a clean change of clothes over at the Fenton's house, she could still pull her red poncho out of the bag and wear it. Now that things were going right again, it felt right to have it back on again.

"We're going to need a bigger table," said Jack, trying to scoot a little in search of elbow room.

Jazz said, "We need a bigger kitchen. It isn't exactly made to hold seven people at once."

"It could be worse," Danny shrugged. "I'm pretty sure the thermos is more confining than this. Could someone pass the milk?"

Lydia shoved the carton across the table and he added it to the bowl of cereal. There was a lot of variety to the food they were eating. There wasn't enough of any particular item to feed everyone, so they were working with a mix of cereal, toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, a little bit of fruit they were surprised to discover in the fridge, and a few day-old donuts that were mostly claimed by Jack. And coffee. Lots of coffee that Maddie quickly claimed for her mug.

As Lydia reached for another slice of toast, an electronic alert chirped and she froze. With her arm still outstretched, her eyes scanned the table for the source, though it was rather obvious. Tucker pulled out one of his countless technological devices and looked at the screen with an expectant expression. Then he gave a nod of satisfaction and smiled.

"The Maitlands have now discovered the wonders of texting," he said. "They say your friend woke up, seemed fine, and they apparently sent him away. Something about changing Barbara's dress."

Lydia couldn't help chuckling a little. The fact Betelgeuse was making a few moves on Barbara, no matter how weird and annoying it was, was a good sign. He was acting like his normal self. He was fine.

"I guess I better get him before he causes trouble for the Ghost Zone or Netherworld again," said Lydia before glancing apologetically towards the Fentons. "I'm sorry, but things are about to get crazy around here."

They exchanged looks, but Jack and Maddie didn't seem to understand exactly how much chaos was about to be unleashed. No one could really prepare for their first encounter with the poltergeist. He probably wouldn't turn into a giant snake though. That was something at least.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse," she called.

After a brief moment of silence, a gravelly voice remarked, "You know, I don't mind an audience, Babes. But I prefer a bit more wiggle room than this."

Between the surprised looks pointed in her direction and from where the voice came from, Lydia knew what she'd see when she turned her head. Directly behind her, perched on the edge of the countertop with a completely relaxed posture, was her favorite poltergeist. He'd changed clothes at some point, wearing a more casual brown jacket, red shirt, and a grey cap said guide on it. He just liked mixing things up sometimes. As long as he didn't bring back the maroon tux, she wasn't going to complain.

"You look better, Beej," she said with a smile. "Have a nice nap?"

"Slept like the dead."

"Going for the obvious joke. I expected more from you."

"You've got to respect the classics, Lyds," said Betelgeuse. "So who's the rest of the peanut gallery?"

Lydia turned back to face the rest of the kitchen. Danny and his friends looked rather amused by the exchange. The Fenton couple looked like they were resisting the urge to go for their ghost weaponry, one day not nearly enough time to completely banish their normal reactions to ghosts. But they were resisting, which was progress. Though there was a chance that Beej would pick up on their barely-contained reactions and take it as a challenge. Jazz looked a little curious about the situation, like she was mentally filing away the interactions and wondering what else would be revealed.

"This is Danny's family. His mom, dad, and his older sister, Jazz," Lydia said. "This is their house with a portal to the Ghost Zone in the basement. Best behavior, please."

"Babes, I'm always on my best behavior."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He cackled before hopping off the counter. And thanks to the limited floor space available, that left him leaning over Lydia. He even rested his arm on her head like she was a piece of furniture, making Lydia roll her eyes.

"Very nice to meet you… ah, sir," greeted Jazz, clearly uncertain how to politely address someone who could be summoned and banished with his name.

"Yes, it is," Betelgesuse said, Lydia not even having to look to know he was leering at the older girl. His voice made it clear enough. "Of course, you don't have to call me 'sir.' Unless that's what you're into, Red."

"She's underage, Beej," said Lydia dryly as everyone else around the table looked either uncomfortable or outraged.

"Seriously?" he groaned in annoyance.

"Afraid so. Older than me, but still underaged. Keep working on it."

"Fine. The woman in the curve-hugging jumpsuit looks like more fun anyway."

"She's my wife," snapped Jack, looking almost as furious as Maddie.

"Doesn't change how good she looks. And I'd show her a good time," Betelgeuse said casually. "So, want the Ghost With The Most to show you the benefits of centuries of experience?"

Groaning and dropping his head on the table, Danny said, "Not another one. Plasmius is bad enough. Not another dead guy after my mom."

"Betelgeuse," snapped Lydia, the use of his full name ensuring that he understood her seriousness. "Stop hitting on everyone in this room for five minutes. And stop antagonizing the ghost hunters. We have to work together because Aunt Melinda is up to something, has something called the Gem of Osiris, and needs to be stopped. But until she's stopped, you can't have everyone wanting to banish you every couple of minutes. You need to treat this as seriously as you would a deal. I know you can't completely help yourself, but try to be enough of a professional that we can work together." She closed her eyes briefly even though he couldn't see her face from his position. "We can't risk doing it alone, Beej. She almost exorcised you. I watched her almost kill you again. We're not risking it a second time because she won't stop it again. You'll be gone. And I won't let that happen. Understand, Beej?"

In a mildly calmer voice, he said, "All right, Lyds. I'll cut back a little on the provoking. We can try the teamwork thing." Then, regaining a little of his usual mania, he said, "But while I look forward to getting close and personal with all my new pals, this might be a little too close. Hold on just a second."

She never really understood how he did it, but she could recognize his work easily. The room stretched and warped, expanding outwards uneven amounts until the walls and counters adopted crooked and strange proportions. The chairs crept back on mobile legs as the table stretched like taffy. By the time everything stopped moving and changing, the room was filled with unusual angles and mismatched dimensions. But there was also a lot more space for everyone.

While everyone else responded in surprise, confusion, fear, and astonishment, Lydia calmly said, "You took some extra space from the living room over there, didn't you?"

"No one was using it right now," he said, leaving his position behind her chair to perch on the weirdly-shaped table.

"Make sure you put it back when you're done," said Lydia. "Reality isn't a toy, even if you act like it sometimes."

"Exactly how strong is he?" asked Jazz, glancing around the morphed kitchen in concern.

He grinned at the teenager and said, "Very."

"You know, school is starting to sound like a much better idea," Tucker said.

Chapter Text

Designing a circle to assist in summoning or entrapping the deceased, the required components are the shape itself physically existing, at least one candle, and greater willpower than the deceased in question. Certain materials can make the process easier, more efficient, and more effective overall.

In regards to setup, a secondary circle for the protection of the living performing the process may be employed. A third circle for spectators or other members of the party may also be created. Arranging the circles in stable and even geometric formations will increase stability. Equilateral triangles and straight lines on smooth surfaces are particularly efficient.

The circles can be formed in a variety of methods. The most common is drawing the circle. This is generally accomplished but is not limited to using chalk, paint, ink, blood, graphite, colored wax, carving into the surface, and metal casting. Another common method is pouring or laying a material on the surface to form the lines rather than drawing them.

Some materials prove more effective at summoning and containing the power of the deceased. Such materials include but are not limited to: fresh grave dirt, salt, oak wood branches or shavings, rowan wood branches or shavings, forged iron, and silver.

In regards to candles, only a single candle is necessary, but multiple candles can be used to enhance the effect. White or red candles are ideal, but any color or size will suffice.

-Excerpt from "The Living and the Dead"

"Shouldn't Danny be doing this? It's his locker," complained Tucker as he tried to remember his friend's combination.

"Don't complain. It'll take five minutes. Six if you take too long opening that thing," Sam said, leaning on the neighboring locker casually. "You broke into a safe yesterday. Danny's locker shouldn't be this hard for you."

"Lydia's aunt had a high-tech lock on her safe. This involves spinning a dial. Completely different skill set."

"Whatever. Just stop complaining and hurry up. Lunch doesn't last forever and I still want a chance to eat."

Tucker started to respond, but the combination lock finally gave with a click. Grinning, he opened the door and peered inside Danny's locker. Past the stack of books, a couple of pencils, and what looked like a crumbled test paper from a few weeks back was a mirror. And the mirror was the reason they were breaking into Danny's locker in the first place.

"Hello?" called Tucker awkwardly. "Anyone there?" Not knowing what else to try, he reached over and knocked on the glass surface. "Hello? Earth calling the Ghost Zone. Someone home?"

Nothing. Only silence responded to his efforts. Feeling embarrassed at his attempt, Tucker glanced at Sam.

"Hello?"

Tucker would later deny it, but his yelp of surprise was fairly high-pitched and girly. When he was done flailing his arms defensively, Sam rolled her eyes and pointed back towards the mirror. Trying to sheepishly regain his lost dignity, Tucker looked back into the locker to find a monochromatic face peering out of the reflection.

"There you are, Poindexter," said Tucker. "We thought we should let you know what's happening since you were nice enough to tell Danny about the whole Ghost With The Most situation."

"Oh. That's nice of you. Wait, what happened? Did he win? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. We're all fine," he assured the nerdy ghost, briefly rubbing at the bandages covering where he scraped his arm on the road. "Danny met Beej." Poindexter flinched slightly, but Tucker continued hurriedly, "And he really isn't as bad as everyone thought. Or at least not currently trying to attack everyone. He was looking for his friend, Lydia. Friend, not bride."

Sam added, "He listens to Lydia, so she'll keep him from causing too much trouble. Which means you guys don't need to panic."

"Though you might want to stay away from Amity Park for the next few days," said Tucker quickly. "Lydia's aunt is evil and has a freaky magic necklace of doom and a Ghost Shield, so that could be really bad news for ghosts until we fix things. And the ghost of Jack the Ripper is still running around."

The ghost in the reflection blinked in surprise and said, "Jeepers, you people are complicated. I just talked to you yesterday. You sure the Ghost With The Most isn't dangerous?"

"Oh, he's definitely dangerous and scary," said Tucker. "He just isn't on a rampage against the Ghost Zone. I think I've figured him out a little. It's a little like those games with the dice and inventing characters for your quest, Castles and Creatures. He isn't evil. He's mostly chaotic neutral, but with some chaotic good tendencies tossed in when Lydia is around."

"I guess that's all right then," Poindexter said uneasily.

"But we do appreciate your help," said Sam. "That's why we're warning you about staying out of Amity Park until Lydia's aunt is dealt with. We don't want you to get caught in the crossfire. We don't want you getting hurt."

Poindexter looked momentarily surprised by her words, but he nodded and said quietly, "I understand. I'm not used to people worrying about what happens to me, so thank you." He gave a weak smile before adding, "If you need help with bullies in the future, just get on the horn and give me a call."

"Uh… Okay," said Tucker.

The ghostly victim of untold amounts of bullying in life, Poindexter smiled at them. Then the black-and-white face vanished from the mirror and left Tucker staring at his own reflection. He waited a moment to see for certain that Poindexter had truly left, but Tucker eventually closed the locker and turned back towards Sam.

"Now what?"

"Now we grab lunch, try to get through the rest of the day of school, and hope they have a plan by the time we get back to Danny's house," she said. "Though I have a feeling tonight is going to be even crazier than last night."

"I really hope you're wrong. Last night we were nearly murdered by a serial killer ghost, teleported to another state, and had to explain the truth to the Fentons. Not to mention almost no sleep. A crazier night than that would be a nightmare."

"Look on the bright side," Sam said. "We have a poltergeist and a couple of ghost hunters on our side this time. We outnumber that woman with her necklace and Sanduleak. That's got to be worth something, right? We might be able to handle the craziness."

Lydia ran the edge of her red cloak through her fingers, smiling to herself as she read. She felt more like herself than she had since arriving in Amity Park. Even sitting in a dark basement with the sickly green glow of the portal helping to illuminate the room, it felt closer to normal than anything to do with Aunt Melinda and Uncle Roger. With her spider-web cloak back on her shoulders, the ring back on her hand (not the ring finger), and an insane poltergeist back in her life, Lydia was no longer afraid of her aunt. She wasn't worried about angering or provoking the woman. And she wasn't completely terrified of Sanduleak. She was confident and felt like she was in control of her life again.

Of course, she wasn't alone in the basement lab. Maddie Fenton held a notebook as she scribbled down information. Jack was over at his work station tinkering with one of their numerous inventions or weapons, but he was definitely paying attention to the rest of them. In his human form, Danny sat on the stairs and occasionally explained something related to himself or the Ghost Zone. But as he always did when offered the opportunity, Betelgeuse took center stage and commanded all attention.

He rarely stopped moving for long. Sometimes he was pacing around the basement. Sometimes he started poking at the various pieces of ghost-hunting equipment. Sometimes he would grab a creepy and crawly creature from the dark corners that he would munch on, earning grimaces from his audience. Sometimes he would sling an arm around Danny's shoulders and mess with his hair, clearly wanting to annoy him at least a little. And occasionally he would start getting too close to Maddie, staring at her form-fitting outfit, until someone reminded him to back off. The only place in the basement he didn't wander too close to was the portal itself. He kept a reasonable distance from the thing.

At the moment, Betelgeuse was draped across the desk right beside Lydia, staring at the ceiling and occasionally tossing a small knife in the air and catching it. He'd pulled out the same blade from one of his pockets earlier to scrape out the ancient dirt from under his fingernails, but he'd clearly grown bored of that quickly. So he'd turned to the more dangerous activity instead. But it wasn't like he would get hurt if he missed and he wouldn't miss, so Lydia didn't complain. A bored Betelgeuse was far more dangerous than one who chose to entertain himself with sharp objects. And he was honestly trying to be on his best behavior, so she stayed quiet.

Mostly, he talked. She'd learned a while back that Betelgeuse enjoyed talking. Give him a chance to show off and a willing audience, he would happily talk for quite some time. And the Fentons were very eager to learn what he knew. Maddie was recording any relevant information she could in the notebook as the talked. It would do them some good to learn what they could about a few topics and it might even help eventually if they had to deal with Sanduleak before Juno found him.

So while he told the Fentons more about the Netherworld, ghosts, and so on than she could easily answer, Lydia looked through her recovered copy of "The Living and the Dead" for any ideas about what Aunt Melinda might have in mind. It was the best strategy she could come up with. Her only other idea was to go back to the woman and ask, but that wasn't going to happen.

"So in regards to the organization of the Neitherworld leadership…," said Maddie.

"Netherworld," Betelgeuse corrected. "And it is more a bureaucracy than the normal leadership stuff. No kings, emperors, presidents, or fast-food restaurant managers running things. But lots of red tape."

"Okay, so what is the setup for the bureaucracy? What sort of organizational structure is in place?" asked the woman.

"Well, there's the poor working saps. Like the receptionists, the janitors, the pencil pushers, and other grunt work. They're the bottom of the ladder of suicides," he described, still tossing and catching the blade. "Next are the assistants to the caseworkers. Still a boring job, but a little better. Then there are the caseworkers like our grumpy June-bug. From there, things get a little fuzzier. She's got a boss and they have a boss and then they have a boss and so on. The farther up the chain you go, the less anyone knows about them. Only their immediate underlings who report to the guy might know about them. Go high enough and no one can tell you a thing about them. Some of the more imaginative rumors about the guys near the top suggest they aren't normal ghosts anymore or were something completely different originally. Me? I figure they're exaggerating since no one knows much anyway. All anyone knows about the main boss and their immediate underlings is that they're powerful and probably did something about creation of the Handbook and the rules. Including my name thing."

"More powerful than you, Beej?" Lydia asked with a smirk. "Perish the thought."

Chuckling briefly, he said, "Honestly, I've got no clue. Like I said, no one really knows much about those ultimately in charge of the bureaucracy. Not even me, Lyds. They really don't socialize much. But it would take something impressive to be stronger than the Ghost With The Most."

"I pretty sure Clockwork and King Pariah are stronger than you," said Danny.

"Those of ectoplasm ghosts. They don't count," he said quickly.

Flipping through her notebook to a different page, Maddie asked, "So exactly how strong are you? I know you explained that you are a poltergeist and what that means a little, but you weren't clear on the exact limits and capabilities of your powers."

"Well, he's got the whole name issue, but he has the usual tricks like telekinesis to move objects, possession, voice control and mimicry, the ability to manipulate and warp his appearance to an extent, resistance to physical damage and pain, and so on," said Lydia. "But he's also stronger than he looks, can float under his own power when he wants to, can use mirrors for communication or spying, is surprisingly fast with great reflexes, and centuries of experience at making the rules work in his favor or getting around them." She saw Betelgeuse preen as she talked about his powers, clearly enjoying the attention. She continued, "His biggest advantage, however, is his minor reality warping ability."

"Minor?!" shouted Betelgeuse mid-toss, shoving himself off the desk and looking annoyed. This resulted in the knife falling and embedding itself in the wooden surface about where his chest used to be. "Who are you calling 'minor'? That's just insulting, Lyds."

Lydia responded to his childish complaint by sticking her tongue out at him. He retaliated with a gruesome face of his own. And when a ghost attempts a gruesome face, they could really cause some nightmares. So she quickly reached out, snagged the hat from his head, and lightly smacked him with it.

"Cut it out, Drama King," she scolded gently. "You know you're the strongest and scariest poltergeist around. I'm just telling Mrs. Fenton what you can sort of do."

"But 'minor' sounds so… pathetic," grumbled Betelgeuse, crossing his arms.

"Fine, moderate reality warping abilities. Beej, you can do almost anything," Lydia said, trying so sooth his bruised ego enough to keep him from sulking. "You're practically the opposite of pathetic. Everyone knows it. You just have a bit of a limit when it comes to distance. It is an impressive range, but we both know it exists. As long as you're working relatively close to yourself, you can do whatever pops into your overly-dramatic imagination."

"Almost anything," admitted the poltergeist somberly, a cool hand briefly touching the bandages on Lydia's head gently. "Can't fix the living. Mess with them, yes. Fix them, no."

Lydia gave her friend a brief smile, hoping he understood she didn't blame Betelgeuse for anything that happened the night before. Saying it out-loud would only make things awkward. She knew that it was better to approach embarrassing situations with a bit more subtlety. As long as he got the message that it wasn't his fault she got hurt, what did it matter if she said it directly or not?

Danny, obviously and thankfully realizing it would be a good time to distract them, stood up from his place on the stairs and said, "So you were really holding back on me before, weren't you?"

Betelgeuse grinned at the boy while Lydia turned back towards her book. A vague idea began to form in the back of her mind. She turned to the pages concerning the requirements for summoning and entrapment circles.

"Of course I went easy on you, Danny-boy. It was more fun that way. But I did gradually turn up the juice as you kept up with me," said the poltergeist. He glanced towards the confused and increasingly concerned parents and said, "Your boy is tougher than he looks and can pull off some rather clever tricks. Surprisingly, I had to actually focus on the fight and try a little. That sonic thing packed a punch. But it was all a misunderstanding. Danny-boy thought I was after his girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Danny shouted, making Lydia and Betelgeuse smirk.

"Whatever you say," said Betelgeuse far too innocently before turning vaguely serious for a moment. "Want my advice? Tell that girl how you feel and try seeing what she'll say back. And remember her answer might change. Don't waste all your time, Danny-boy. Take it from a dead guy. Enjoy your life while you're still mostly alive."

"Considering he tried to flirt with my daughter and wife, I'd be careful with his advice," Jack said, briefly looking up from his work. "But I will admit that last part does sound reasonable."

"He's crazy, but not stupid," said Lydia absently, running her fingers across the page as she read. "And ghosts understand better than most not to squander or throw away your life. Death doesn't make things better or easier and life's too short."

Maddie nodded thoughtfully and glanced back towards her notebook. She flipped through her pages for a moment before settling back on some of her scribbled notes.

"So you have a particular range of effectiveness," she said. "About how far would that be?"

Settling back on the desk and returning the knife to his bottomless pockets, Betelgeuse said, "Let's see. Since I'm usually working in a haunted house or somewhere similar, I don't usually have to worry about distances. I can just tell when it'll be too far to bother and either get closer or do something else. So I usually don't think about it too much. But I guess I can use my powers about a distance of about ninety feet. Maybe a hundred if I actually concentrate."

"And you can just do whatever you want within that range? Almost anything? You're like a localized version of the Reality Gauntlet," said Danny.

"I think I've got it," Lydia said abruptly, slamming the book shut.

Leaning forward a little, Betelgeuse asked, "Got what, Lyds?"

"What Aunt Melinda is up to. The necklace, the Gem of Osiris, would let her more easily summon, bind, banish, and exorcise ghosts. How effective it'll be on ectoplasm ghosts, I don't know."

"You can exorcism them," interrupted Betelgeuse. "It isn't quite as easy or effective, though. The exorcism has a harder time getting a grip or something on them. She'd have a slightly better shot with the ones who used to be alive, but it'll still work a little on those who just formed randomly from ectoplasm."

She nodded briefly in thanks before continuing, "Regardless, if she wants to ensure the ghosts don't get loose and definitely get properly ensnared, she'll use a circle. That's what she did with Beej. You can make it work without a circle, but it is more likely to fail that way."

"So she'll try to make a circle for whatever ghost she's after," said Jack, stepping away from the work desk.

"Ghosts, plural," Danny corrected, clearly following Lydia's train of thought a little. "She moved to the most haunted city possible. She doesn't plan on stopping at one. She'll want as many as possible."

Maddie, frowning in thought, asked carefully, "What kind of limits are there for creating one of the circles you're talking about? Are there particular steps or materials necessary?"

"There are some materials that work better than others, but it mostly depends on the mindset and stubbornness of the one doing it. I could do it with crayons, cheap birthday candles, and some determination," said Lydia quickly. "But a stronger ghost might still break out if I cheap out on the circle. But she's got access to something that ghosts literally can't go through."

"The Ghost Shield," Danny said. "It projects a huge sphere of energy, all the way through the ground and out of sight. And a sphere is just a three dimensional circle.

Lydia nodded and continued, "Now, Axion Labs is full of high-tech equipment. I'll bet you anything that she's working on a way to make the Ghost Shield even bigger, letting her catch more ghosts."

"Mom and Dad expanded it once to cover the whole town. That could include a lot of ghosts, some who are just trying to hide from the Ghost With The Most," he said.

"Considering how much she hates ghosts, she'll try to exorcise all of them she can. Netherworld ghosts? Ghost Zone ghosts? It won't matter to her. She'll go after all of them in Amity Park."

"Babes, it gets worse than that," said Betelgeuse uneasily before gesturing towards the portal. "Remember what these geniuses did over there? Their back door leads right to the Ghost Zone, which could end up inside the giant entrapment circle. Not to mention that it might include doors to the Netherworld if someone is visiting their caseworker at the wrong time. The thing would be big enough and there are bound to be at least a few normal ghosts around here." He shook his head briefly at the thought. "So that would mean it could include the Netherworld and Ghost Zone. Almost all ghosts could be considered inside that Ghost Shield thing when she starts her exorcism."

Lydia grew pale as she imagined it. The Maitlands would be safe, but almost no one else would be. Juno would certainly be vulnerable. And other innocent ghosts in the Waiting Room. Almost everyone would be at her aunt's nonexistent mercy. All the ghosts in Amity Park, the Ghost Zone, and the Netherworld would be at risk. It would essentially be genocide. That was terrifying.

"What would happen if Aunt Melinda tried to perform an exorcism with that many ghosts at once?" she asked anxiously. "At least, what would happen while she has the Gem of Osiris to help?"

Shoving himself off the desk once more, Betelgeuse said, "That's a little hard to judge for sure. No one's ever tried it. Best guess, Babes? It'll knock out your crazy hag of an aunt. Or if she's stubborn enough, give herself a stroke or a heart attack. Unfortunately she'll probably exorcise a lot of weaker ghosts before she drops. Maybe even a few tougher ones. That necklace has a lot of punch and exorcisms don't require a too much power per ghost. Look at how easy it was for that Otho guy to accidentally pull it off."

"So not all ghosts, but still a big chunk," Lydia said. "Okay, even if I hadn't already told Juno we'd get that necklace, we'd still need to keep that from happening."

Grimacing briefly, Betelgeuse said, "I don't know. Letting your aunt fry herself sounds pretty good to me, Lyds. Not to mention I don't work for Juno anymore."

Danny crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, saying dryly, "Okay, ignoring the fact we're talking about the destruction of untold ghosts in the process, you're currently standing at ground zero for the mass exorcism thing. You might be able to survive it. But based on your condition last night, do you really want to take the chance that you're recovered enough?"

Lydia watched Betelgeuse grumble and complain quietly, but she was paying far more attention to his body language and subtle expression. She knew he wasn't quite as resistant to the idea of stopping Aunt Melinda as he was acting. He'd just been acting too cooperative for the last few hours. The poltergeist had a reputation to uphold, so occasionally he said or did something to remind people of who they were dealing with. And that meant acting like he wasn't concerned about anyone else in the world. Like all that mattered was himself and what he wanted. He wasn't heartless. Not really. He just preferred pretending that there wasn't any humanity or the rare heroic tendencies buried deep, deep, deep down. With Betelgeuse, Lydia knew how to read between the lines and spot the truth.

"Well, now that Beej has made his obligatory heartless comment and complaint about common decency, let's get past the dramatics and figure out how to stop my aunt," said Lydia. "Aunt Melinda will need to be outside the circle in order to do the exorcism."

"The Ghost Shield would be projected from the inside," Jack added. "It was designed to keep ghosts out, after all."

"So she'll need someone inside to activate it while she's outside," said Danny.

"I guess we know what Uncle Roger will be doing," Lydia said.

Betelgeuse dusted off the sleeve of his jacket and said, "Danny-boy and I need to be outside her circle when it goes up. Otherwise there's not much we'll be able to do."

"Jack and I will focus on stopping the Ghost Shield," said Maddie, setting aside her notebook. "We built the thing, so we should handle it."

"Take Jazz with you," suggested Danny. "It wouldn't hurt to have some extra help. She's got a mean swing with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick."

Lydia nodded and said, "Great. Sam, Tucker, and I will help stop my aunt. Between us, Beej, and Danny, we should be able to get the necklace from her." She paused briefly before adding, "Danny, I know Juno wasn't certain how it would affect you, but let's not take any chances. No grabbing the Gem of Osiris directly. Let the non-ghosts do that instead."

He held his hands up defensively and said, "Fine. No touching the evil jewelry. I don't need the bling anyway."

"Now that we know the who, the what, and the how, we really need to figure out the where and when," Betelgeuse said. "Where will the Ghost Shield activate from? Where will that witch be hiding outside it? And when will they get the show on the road?"

"Freakshow, you have a visitor," announced one of his captors over the intercom system.

That statement sparked Freakshow's curiosity. Ever since he ended up in the strict captivity of the Guys In White, he hadn't enjoyed that much company. A few loyal fans of Circus Gothica visited during his short stay in a more traditional prison for his thefts. But once his knowledge and manipulation of ghosts and powerful artifacts gave the Guys In White priority in regards to jurisdiction, there were far fewer people able to gain access to him. Even his dear ghostly Lydia, dependable and loyal to him even after death, could not easily reach him.

So the question was simple. Who would they allow to visit him? Friends and fans certainly wouldn't be let in. And ghosts certainly wouldn't. His parents were dead and gone, their legacy passed to him. And from a message a few years ago, he knew Cathy was dead. That left only one possible person in his life.

Standing up from his perch on the edge of his cot and straightening his clothes, the pale and bald man calmly approached the front of his cell. One of the nice benefits of serving his sentence in the Guys In White's version of a detention center rather than a more typical jail was that he could wear his preferred outfits rather than an orange or striped jumpsuit. No one actually looked good in those things anyway.

It only took a few moments for one of the agents to lead her down the grey hallway. She was dressed in enough white to rival the entire organization. Her black hair was pulled into a practical bun and she was a little on the pale side, though not nearly as pale as Freakshow. The biggest splash of color was the green gemstone around her neck that he would recognize anywhere.

"Melinda, my dear sister," he greeted cheerfully through the Plexiglas of his cell. "Welcome to my new humble abode. Not quite like Hannibal Lecter's place, but close."

"Hello, Little Freddy," said Melinda stiffly.

Grimacing at the childhood nickname, he asked, "Do you have to call me that? Can't you call me 'Freakshow' like everyone else?" He shook his head tiredly before asking, "So what's new in your life?"

"Cathy's daughter is living with me and Roger now. She's named Lydia Deetz."

"Cathy always did get along with my girl," he said, briefly smiling fondly at the memories. "I'm glad she remembered all of us even after she left."

The woman scowled sharply at Freakshow before turning towards the Guy In White and asked, "Can I have a moment of privacy with my brother? I really think we should discuss a few recent life choices."

"I don't know. I'd have to double-check regulations," the agent said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Please don't make my older sister scold me like an ill-behaved child in front of witnesses. It will be humiliating enough as it is. Allow me some dignity," said Freakshow, rolling his eyes. "Just wait down the hall out of earshot."

Shrugging, the agent said, "Well, I guess that will be all right. Not like she can break you out without the pass-code anyway and she'll never guess it."

Freakshow waited a few moments for the man to step out of range before commenting dryly, "I'll bet you tomorrow's meatloaf that part of the pass-code is 'white.'" Straightening his jacket slightly and adjusting his bowler hat a little, he said, "Walking in here with the Gem of Osiris around your neck? What a bold move, Sister. And here I thought I was the theatrical one in the family. The Guys In White would love get their hands on such a thing. They were pretty eager for my portion of the inheritance, after all."

"Shortly they will be obsolete," she said, dropping her previously disapproving expression. "What purpose would the Guys In White serve when there are no ghosts?"

"Do you truly believe you can do such a thing? There will always be ghosts in the world. They have more power than humans can ever imagine. Why destroy them when you can control them? Use them? I never understood why you would rather waste such potential. Mother and Father squandered what they had, but you wanted to destroy them."

"Ghosts aren't toys or tools. They are dangerous, deceitful things and everyone would be better off without them. And I intend to make that happen."

A momentary flicker of concern for a tattooed and loyal companion, one that he once declared that he loved when they were both young and he had no reason to envy her, made Freakshow frown. He didn't know how exactly Melinda intended to go forth with her plan or anything beyond her insane goal, but a part of him worried.

"And what about my Lydia? You were friendly towards her when she was alive. Would you destroy her too? I lost her once, though only briefly. Do you plan to take her again?" he asked.

Without a hint of hesitation or doubt, Melinda said calmly, "Your girlfriend was lost a long time ago. There is nothing left except a thing with her face. Your Lydia doesn't exist anymore."

He stared at her a moment before shaking his head. His sister wouldn't succeed. What was the chances of Melinda doing much damage? And his Lydia was smart, strong, and dependable. She would be fine. She would be fine and loyally awaiting his eventual escape.

"Why are you here, Melinda?" he asked finally. " Did you come to gloat?"

"No. I just wanted you to know that things will be different soon. They'll be better. All of our family's problems were because of ghosts. Our parents, Cathy leaving, your transformation into… this criminal in front of me," she said, gesturing towards him. "Those things shaped and ruined our lives for far too long. Now we will be free of ghosts and can finally control our lives properly."

"Dear sister, remember my scepter? Part of my inheritance? Long, red orb on the end, kind of glow-y? That let me control ghosts. Not the other way around. Perhaps you might be a little obsessed with them. The occasional psyche evaluation they try on me certainly suggest I might be, but at least I don't blame all my problems on them. The cops, that Goth girl from the train, and the Guys In White deserve some credit too."

"You'll see, Little Freddy," she said as she turned to walk away. "Someday everyone will understand that I was right."

Rolling his eyes, Freakshow remarked sarcastically under his breath, "Nice visit, Sis. Good luck with your crazy idea. I'll ask them to reserve you a cell next door."

The city of Amity Park shared its name with a very nice park that stood relatively close to the center. It was fairly pretty. There were trees, grass, flowers, and curving sidewalks that wound through the place. The entire park was picturesque and perfect for a picnic. It would serve as an ideal spot to start making the world a better place.

Melinda watched as her husband set up their updated version of the Fenton's Ghost Shield generator device. They'd chosen a place slightly away from the main foot traffic through the park to minimize witnesses who might grow curious. From her calculations, this particular spot would let them engulf the majority of the town. A few buildings on the outskirts would be outside the formed circle, but that was it. Houses, apartments, the schools, businesses, and even the popular fast-food restaurant with the unappealing name would be inside. And every ghost would be destroyed.

She was confident it would work. All the ghosts in Amity Park would be destroyed. She would succeed. And she could do it again and again in other towns. In time, those things would be gone from the world. All the problems she'd ever faced were because of ghosts and now there would be no more ghosts. Everything would be perfect.

"Do you know what Lydia plans to do after school, my dearest?" asked Roger as he worked. "She stayed with her friend, Sam, last night. Will she go back this evening or do you believe she will return home first?"

"I left a note for the darling at home so she won't worry about us, but it shouldn't matter either way," she said. "She won't be harmed being inside the circle. And she won't naively try to prevent it like she tried with the poltergeist. Our darling Lydia will be perfectly safe."

Reluctantly and quietly, Roger said, "She may be safe, but she won't be happy. Melinda, my precious, I don't believe she has shown any happiness since we met her. She may not see this as a kindness."

"Of course the darling doesn't seem happy. Her father and step-mother just died, she's a teenager and they are naturally moody, and of course all those ghosts have completely warped her mind with lies and tricks," she scoffed lightly. "Trust me, my cupcake. With a little time and no more ghosts to twist her thinking, she'll improve. That poltergeist is to blame. He poisoned her mind and tried to use her for his foul desires. But we banished it already, so our Lydia will improve. Someday she will thank us for this. You'll see."

And as always happened when he expressed his rare doubts, Melinda's words reassured Roger's worries. His expression relaxed in the face of her certainty and he nodded in agreement. Melinda knew everything would be better without ghosts. It was a clear and simple truth that could not be denied.

"Finish setting everything up, my sweet. You don't want to still be working on it when it gets dark," she instructed. "I'll go on ahead to get ready on my end. Call me if you have any trouble. Otherwise I'll simply begin the mass exorcism when I see the Ghost Shield in place."

He nodded in acknowledgement as Melinda started heading out of the park. She briefly touched her necklace with a smile as she walked. Her ancestors gathered knowledge and artifacts for generations. But none of them realized the potential they possessed to change the world. But with a combination of a powerful necklace, information, and science, she would make ghosts a forgotten issue.

Right outside the park waited the white windowless van they'd rented specifically to carry all their supplies for this particular day. Honestly, Melinda wasn't certain she knew the exact contents anymore. She'd added anything and everything they could possibly require for the plan. It was better to be prepared for all eventualities, but it left the van rather crowded and chaotic in the back.

She climbed into the driver's seat and the engine started with a rumble. The woman shifted into gear and started the vehicle forward. It was almost over. She was so close.

Chapter Text

Bored. Bored, bored, bored. No ghosts to hunt today, already finished the latest invention, and nothing interesting on TV.

Only thing I did today was offer Danny a ride to the mall. I figured it would be at least interesting to get out of the house. But when I offered to give him a ride in the RV, he got a little pale and said "no."

Maybe he's at the age that teenagers don't want to be seen with their parents. Or maybe it's just a puberty thing. I don't know, but he definitely didn't want a ride.

Still bored. Maybe I should get a snack.

-Excerpt from "Jack Fenton's 'Fenton Diary'"

Jazz reached home at almost the exact same moment that Sam and Tucker did, the pair already reaching for the door as she hurried down the sidewalk. It had been a very long day. Concentrating on the various advanced classes she was taking, mentally going over the possible issues that might arise from her parents' new knowledge and how she could prevent or handle them, and scribbling down a few psychological notes on what little she knew about Melinda, Betelgeuse, and Lydia so far kept her very busy at school. But now they were home and would hopefully have some idea what to do.

"Hey, guys," she called, tossing Sam the keys since she was closer. "Ready for what's ahead?"

"Hope so," said Sam.

Tucker said, "Come on, guys. Danny beat Pariah Dark and deals with Vlad regularly. How bad could it be?"

Jazz didn't even have to be superstitious to know his words would tempt the universe far too much. Thus, she wasn't even slightly surprised when Sam opened the front door and frustrated shouting exploded from inside.

"Would you stop staring at my mom like that? She's married, she's my mom, and she hunts ghosts! So lay off."

"Move the eyes up! My face is not down there."

"That's it. Where's the Jack-o-nine tails?"

Sam grimaced at the voices while Jazz fought the urge to roll her eyes and Tucker flinched at the volume. It definitely sounded like they were at the end of their patience with each other. Considering how breakfast went, it only made sense for things to end in disaster. They should probably hurry in there and help Lydia referee. One person definitely shouldn't have to handle it alone.

Though if Betelgeuse tried to flirt with her again, Jazz wasn't afraid to psychoanalyze him to pieces.

The trio hurried towards the basement, practically stumbling down the stairs. The scene was pretty close to what she was imaging. The Fenton family was all on one side of the lab, glaring at varying levels of intensity. Dad's hand scrambled through a drawer for a weapon. Danny looked frustrated enough to start yanking his hair our while Mom looked murderous.

On the other side of the room, away from the portal and upset ghost hunters, Lydia was dragging the poltergeist away. She seemed mildly annoyed and vaguely resigned as she pulled and shoved him towards the corner, keeping between the ghost and Fentons like a shield. Betelgeuse, for his part, did have a slightly sheepish expression as the girl scolded him.

"Really, Beej? Really? We gave you plenty of warnings. I mean, about six or seven hours of minimal problems is a bit of a record and you did try, but your restraint still needs some work."

"Not my fault that jumpsuit leaves nothing to the imagination," he muttered. "I'm not blind and oblivious, Babes. It would be a crime to ignore a good-looking woman. And she definitely has a figure to die for."

"This is not the time for puns. Angry ghost hunters and half-ghost, remember? Stop antagonizing the teammates."

"The wait was driving me insane. Boredom doesn't work for me, Lyds."

"Then I guess it is a good thing we're back," said Sam, thoroughly distracting everyone from the current argument. "Do we have a plan?"

Running a hand through his hair, Danny said, "Right, back on topic. We figured that Melinda is probably planning to try to exorcise all the ghosts in Amity Park. That means she'll need to set up the Ghost Shield from the inside, likely in the middle of the city if possible."

"Give me a minute and I'll have a probable location," Tucker said, pulling out his PDA to search.

He gave a thankful nod and continued, "But that's not everything. While that will be activated in one place, Lydia's aunt will need to be somewhere else outside the circle. Somewhere outside the Ghost Shield. We'll have to split up. Mom, Dad, and Jazz can handle the Ghost Shield itself."

"You got it," Jazz nodded, walking across the lab to grab the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick (which was essentially a baseball bat with her dad's face on it).

She wasn't the only one who was apparently making some last minute preparations. Sam made a beeline for one of the counters covered in random stuff and started tossing in objects from the surface into her backpack. Hopefully she would find something useful.

Sam paused briefly before turning towards Jazz. She handed the older girl something small from her supplies before heading back across the basement. Jazz took a moment to recognize the object, but it was easy to realize Sam's reasoning once she did. It paid to be prepared.

"Meanwhile, me, Lyds, Danny-boy, and the rest of the teen hero squad will hunt down the hag with the jewelry and make her wish she'd never existed," said Betelgeuse, leaning out from behind Lydia in order to grin maliciously.

"And since we still don't know exactly where she might be, I guess I'll have to fly up and see what I can find," said Danny before vanishing through the ceiling.

"What's the time frame we're working with?" Jazz asked, actually starting to feel a little excited for the mission.

"No idea. It could be any moment now," said Lydia.

"Well, at least I have a likely location for where they'll activate the Ghost Shield," Tucker said, looking up from the PDA. "The closest location to about the center of the city that will still allow her some privacy and would cover the most ground would be in the park. Probably closer to the western entrance, but not too close."

Holding up a finger declaratively, Jazz said, "Then let's get a move on. Quick, to the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle! I mean the RV."

Danny's first move was to fly straight up. He wasn't completely sure what he was looking for, but he knew it would be on the outskirts of town. Melinda would need to be a good distance away in order to stay out of the Ghost Shield circle. And the only way he knew to find something useful was to get high enough to see everything possible. There was a lot of ground to cover.

There would need to be enough space for whatever it took for the process. It might be a few feet or yards, but she would almost needs some room and relative privacy from curious onlookers. The only real question was whether or not he would be able to see anything from above. It was late in the year, so they only had limited amount of time before the sun vanished over the horizon and darkness made it even harder to spot anything of use.

Catching sight of the family RV as it swiftly peeled out of the driveway, Danny began to wonder if his first impulse was the best. He wasn't used to looking for a human enemy. It wasn't like the woman would activate his Ghost Sense. He knew it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. There had to be a better way.

"Any luck, Danny-boy?"

The abrupt question, far too close and unexpected a few hundred feet up, surprised Danny enough that he lost a little altitude before he could recover. Then he looked over at the poltergeist casually floating next to me. While still mildly annoyed with him about how he kept checking out the boy's mother, Danny shoved that emotion away. It was still better than dealing with Vlad. At least Betelgeuse didn't want to adopt Danny and murder his father. He was just annoying.

At some point before joining him above the city, Betelgeuse obviously decided to switch back to his earlier outfit. Apparently fond of his striped suit, the blond ghost looked rather calm and collected about the entire situation. And Danny really couldn't tell where the line between it just being an act and it being real confidence powered by ego might lie. Crazy, evil, murderous women with cursed jewelry might honestly be less scary for the Ghost With The Most than everyone else.

"I don't know what to even look for," Danny admitted. "I just know I won't be able to see enough from ground level."

"Looking everywhere will take too long. But between what that witch is cooking up and the necklace itself, there's definitely going to be some serious mumbo-jumbo around here. And even with all the ectoplasm ghosts in this town acting like distracting spotlights, I should be able to pick up something will a little concentration," said Betelgeuse, looking at the skyline thoughtfully. "There's too much power in that thing to ignore completely, especially at this range and since I'm that good."

With a slight nod, Danny waited quietly. He didn't understand exactly how the poltergeist planned to do it, but he could understand sort of what he was trying to do. It was apparently something similar to Danny's Ghost Sense. But while Danny could only pick up ghosts when they were close and, from what he'd discovered in the last few days, were from the Ghost Zone, Betelgeuse could clearly detect something else and a greater range. The halfa didn't have to understand the mechanics of what Betelgeuse was trying to sense. He didn't even know for sure how his own Ghost Sense worked. But he got the gist of it, so he was willing to let Betelgeuse do his thing.

After a few moments of silence, the poltergeist turned his head and smirked. He gestured towards the direction he was now facing.

"That way. There's definitely something with a lot of juice," he said. "What are the chances of two objects with that much power in the area?"

"Well, with my luck, pretty decent actually. But that's still our best bet," said Danny. "And there's some outlet store that way, just past the city limits. It went out of business about a month ago and has a huge parking lot. It just couldn't handle the regular ghost appearances in the area."

"So, lots of room and deserted. That should work for her. Let's grab the girls and the kid in the hat and get moving, Danny-boy," he said with a nod. "I've got an evil hag to deal with."

And there was the evil grin again. Danny suppressed the urge to shudder. Betelgeuse could be a little scary whenever Danny remembered he was more than Lydia's quirky and protective friend who kept trying to put the moves on his mom. He was the Ghost With The Most, who terrified a lot of other ghosts by just showing up and beat Danny while barely trying. And he definitely wanted revenge. It was only a question of whether Melinda or Sanduleak would eventually suffer worse when he got a hold of them.

"You aren't going to kill her, right?" asked Danny uneasily.

"Are you kidding? Not only would June-bug nag at me, but then there's the risk of ending up with a crazy ghost version of her. Not to mention that's boring and far too easy. Oh and Lyds has a thing about almost killing people and morality stuff. So she'll live. She just won't be happy about it, Danny-boy," Betelgeuse assured before dropping out of the sky.

For a family of ghost hunters, people would think hunting and fighting various ghosts would be the scariest and most dangerous part of their lives. As far as Jazz was concerned, that wasn't even close to true. No, it wasn't ghosts that she feared at that moment. It wasn't a ghost that she suspected would kill her.

It was her dad's driving.

Jazz clenched her eyes a little tighter as the RV turned left sharply enough that the vehicle tilted onto two wheels and squealed loudly. The orchestra of car horns and angry shouts made it clear that their fellow drivers on the road were no happier about the man's wild driving than she was. Her fingers dug into the chair desperately. She clung tightly as momentum tried to toss her around the RV. On a normal trip, her dad's driving was only a little unnerving. But if there were ghosts involved or apparently Danny needing help to stop someone, he started ignoring almost all existing traffic and safety laws. And possibly the laws of physics.

Another abrupt, squealing, and scary sharp turn nearly threw her against the window even with the protection of the seatbelt. She was startled into briefly opening her eyes, causing her to see a lot of car headlights ahead of them. The RV was weaving around them wildly, but there was no end to the flood of traffic.

"Dad, this is a one-way street," Jazz yelped.

"I'm only going one way," he called back, somehow still dodging the other cars even while turning to look at her.

Staring at a map, her mom said, "Jack, turn right."

Jazz bit back a scream as he spun the wheel; the RV lurched and jerked as it went over the curve and drove along the sidewalk for almost a minute before returning to the road. She really regretted not going with the others now. The teenager forced her eyes back shut, hoping to block out the worst of the insane driving and her fear for her safety.

But even without sight, Jazz could tell the trip was terrifying. The screech and squeal of tires filled the air. The RV tilted and jerked around turns and over obstacles. She was even fairly certain they were airborne a couple of times.

"We'll have to find somewhere outside the park to leave the RV. Any ideas?" asked Jazz, trying to distract herself from the sounds of pure chaos.

"Why outside the park?" her father said, sounding rather surprised.

"Because there are no roads through park."

"So?"

The parking lot was empty except for her white van, so she had plenty of room to work. She considered using grave dirt and oak shavings similar to how she did when dealing with the poltergeist, but Melinda ultimately decided it wasn't worth the effort and materials. The Ghost Shield would be enough for containment and security. Her smaller circle for herself was merely a back-up. So she decided to stick with a simpler method.

With a thick chunk of chalk, Melinda quickly sketched out a huge circle across the ancient blacktop. She took the time to make the thing large enough to encompass both her and the van. That would ensure that she would have the entire content of the vehicle at hand if necessary rather than having to risk breaking the circle if she needed something. It paid to be prepared.

As soon as she was finished with the chalk, she pulled out a bag of candles from the back of the van. They were short, stout, white, and very difficult to extinguish. They were essentially versions of the trick birthday candles, the type that couldn't be blown out and required water to actually extinguish them. With some sturdy candle holders to protect the flames further, Melinda quickly lit and placed the candles along the inside edge of the chalk line.

Once she positioned the final one, she glanced towards the gradually darkening sky. There was still no sign of the glowing green Ghost Shield. Roger clearly wasn't finished yet, so she had some time to spare.

If there was one lesson she took to heart, that was it never hurt to be prepared. Melinda opened the back of the van again. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows of the interior. It was like a tendril of smoke or mist. But when she actually looked properly, she didn't see anything except her various supplies and tools. In fact, she spotted exactly what she was looking for.

While originally part of Little Freddy's inheritance, she'd managed to "borrow' a few artifacts that no one recognized as dangerous enough to actually confiscate when they arrested him. As his closest living relative, it was fairly easy to gain possession of his personal belongings.

The knife was almost exactly the same as when she used it as a teenager, but there was one key difference she'd taken steps to ensure. The Twin-sided Blade of the Trapped Dead no longer could be used to free ghosts. Melinda purposefully dulled that edge over time until it was too blunt to cut anything. Only the destructive side remained usable, razor sharp and deadly. In the highly unlikely event something went wrong and the power of the necklace wasn't enough to keep a threat at bay, she would have a backup plan. With nowhere else to properly keep it until then, she slipped the knife into her purse so it would be easy to grab in an emergency.

With no other major preparations to make and no other alternate strategies she could setup, Melinda once again turned her eyes towards the sky. Soon, Amity Park would be covered by the Ghost Shield, serving as a circle to trap and contain the ghosts. Soon, she would be wielding the power of the gem and her will against untold numbers of ghosts. And Melinda was confident that with the necklace to strengthen her power, her resolve would be enough to win. Soon, her dream would come true.

She briefly touched the green jewel around her neck. She could do it. She could exorcise the ghosts. Not a single one of those heartless, cruel, manipulative things would remain. Any moment now Roger would activate the Ghost Shield and she would begin.

It was the beginning of the end of ghosts.

Traveling with Betelgeuse was always an experience. Even without using the Netherworld as a shortcut, he could certainly speed things up. Lydia, Sam, and Tucker were on bikes as their chosen mode of transportation (with Lydia using Danny's since hers was gone). When the poltergeist and Danny came back down, Betelgeuse abruptly threw his power at the bicycles and things became far more interesting. Even with the stakes so high, Lydia couldn't help smiling as their bikes rose about a foot off the ground and flew at high speed down the streets. High enough off the ground to ignore friction and the need to pedal, but low enough to not attract a lot of attention.

Of course, having Danny fly beside them and Betelgeuse perching on the front of the bike like a hood ornament wasn't exactly subtle, but they were moving too fast for anyone to get a close look anyway. The very few people on the sidewalks would only see vague shapes speeding by, nothing identifiable or specific. The fading light further ensured no one saw exactly who was blazing through the streets.

"Okay, this is almost as cool as a rollercoaster of something, except without the loops. Though still not quite as fun as flying with Danny," said Tucker, his shouts barely audible over the wind.

"This is nothing. If we weren't in a hurry, I'd show you some real acrobatics," Betelgeuse cackled.

Lydia leaned forward a little, unconcerned by how the ground raced below at a dangerous speed and said, "Make sure to set us down before we get there, Beej. Don't let her see you or Danny. Let the rest of us try and handle things first."

"And why would I do that, Babes?"

"Because she can get rid of you with your name, has an evil necklace, and she's in an exorcising mood," she said. "That won't work on humans. Plus, that'll leave you and Danny as a secret weapon."

For a moment, all she could hear was the rushing wind as their bikes continued the wild trip across town. Finally Lydia saw him reluctantly nod from his perch on the handlebars.

"Fine," said Betelgeuse. "But if she tries anything or you take too long or I get really bored, I'm not staying on the sidelines. I don't like leaving you with only the members of the teen hero squad for backup."

Knowing that was the best she was going to get and feeling it was fairly reasonable, Lydia leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the crazy bike ride. She couldn't actually steer and pedaling was pointless since they were being moved by Betelgeuse, so there wasn't much she could do anyway. She just watched the darkening streets fly by.

But eventually they began to slow from the possibly highway speed they'd been using to something that was more believable for a human to achieve. Then the bikes lowered to the ground until the tires were practically skimming the street. Lydia took it as a signal and started pedaling at that point just in case he turned back over control to the riders.

"We're here," said Danny and Betelgeuse in unison as the bicycles finally came to a stop.

Lydia took a chance to glance around the outskirts of Amity Park. Betelgeuse had parked them next to a large billboard announcing that the site would someday be an all-you-can-eat buffet. But for now it seemed that, once she peered around the billboard, there was a dark and semi-abandoned building that once contained clothes. There was also a very extensive parking lot that stretched between them and the former store.

The biggest point of interest, however, was the white van in the middle of the parking lot currently illuminated by dozens of candles that surrounded it. With the stretching shadows of twilight ensuring that flickering sources of light stood out more, it didn't take a genius to figure out where Aunt Melinda was lurking.

Looking a little harder, Lydia spotted the woman in white near the van. She slipped back behind the billboard so that her aunt wouldn't be able to see in her in return. They'd definitely found Aunt Melinda. Now they just needed to stop her.

"So, do we just walk over and politely ask her to hand over the necklace?" asked Tucker, glancing briefly around the billboard himself.

"We can try talking sense into her, but I doubt that will work," Lydia said, pulling her red poncho around herself more tightly.

Pulling out a roll of duct tape from her backpack, Sam said, "Good thing I have a Plan B. If she can't talk and can't move, she won't be able to exorcise anyone or stop us from getting the Gem of Osiris."

"Seriously? We're upgrading from breaking and entering and burglary all the way to essentially kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment?" asked Tucker.

"We aren't really kidnapping or holding her hostage or anything. We're just stopping her. It can't be worse than sticking ghosts in the thermos. Anyway, she's prepared for ghosts attacking her, not a girl with duct tape. We tackle her when we get close, slap some tape on her mouth, cocoon her wrists and ankles, and get the necklace off."

"Okay, Danny-boy, I'm really liking your girlfriend right now," said Betelgeuse.

"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Danny at the same instant that Sam declared the same thing.

Lydia rolled her eyes briefly and quickly noticed that Tucker mirrored her reaction perfectly. Yeah, she was definitely detecting some long-term denial right now if even their best friend was getting tired of it. No wonder Betelgeuse kept poking at them. Teasing them regularly must be entertaining. Of course that particular topic could wait for another day.

"Whatever makes you happy," smirked Betelgeuse. "And is there a Plan C where I get to wring the witch's neck? Because I would love to hear that plan."

"One of us would need to break the protective circle she's set up," Lydia said. "Otherwise you're not going to able to reach her without using a lot of unnecessary power. Let me, Sam, or Tucker go first and maybe gag her with the duct tape. Once she and the gem are no longer a threat, she's all yours for a while."

The predatory grin would have scared her a few years ago, but now she actually felt reassured by it. She trusted him too much to be afraid. And she was relatively sure he wouldn't actually kill Aunt Melinda, regardless of how malicious he looked.

Though she didn't want to admit it, Lydia was aware that a dark, hurt, and angry part of herself wouldn't be immediately upset if something fatal happened to the woman. Yes, there would be guilt later, but that didn't change the fact she wouldn't mourn her aunt. She wouldn't mourn her death like she did the rest of her family. She still hated Aunt Melinda for what she did, for what she tried to do, and what she intended to do that night. Lydia wasn't perfect. Everyone had their dark side. She wouldn't wish death on the woman, but part of her wouldn't be upset about it either.

But Lydia knew Betelgeuse was too experienced to accidentally kill the woman and likely wouldn't do it on purpose. She also knew he was creative enough to figure out something far worse than mere death. That would be enough. That would satisfy her.

"One last thing," said Sam, digging through her backpack again. "Just in case we need to get in contact with Jazz or something happens that they need to get in contact with us."

She pulled out about four green and white objects that looked like Bluetooth earpieces, a small headphone with a short microphone attached. Sam quickly passed them out to Lydia, Tucker, and Danny before placing one in her own ear.

"Fenton Phones," she said, noticing Lydia's confused look. "I'll keep everyone in contact. I didn't have enough for everyone and since we weren't sure that non-ectoplasm ghosts could be heard over electronics…"

Shrugging, Betelgeuse said, "That's fine. I don't need one of them anyway. If someone really needs to get my attention, there are easier ways."

"Thanks, Sam," said Danny, placing his own Fenton Phone in his ear. "You guys want me to come along invisibly or to hang back?"

"I'd say keep your distance. For all we know, Aunt Melinda has a ghost-presence detecting device," Lydia said. "Just pay attention in case we yell for backup."

She gave Betelgeuse a final quick look of reassurance that she would be fine before turning to face her fellow humans. This was it. Tucker and Sam nodded briefly at her. Then the trio stepped out from behind the billboard and started the march across the parking lot.

Time to try Plan A.

Chapter Text

Exorcisms require at least two out of three main components in order to work. Using all three strengthens the effectiveness of the process, but it can still be accomplished with only two.

The three components for an exorcism are a candle, a physical belonging of significant meaning to the deceased, and a circle. Physical belongings are the most common component to be left out due to the passage of time making it more difficult for the living to track down personal effects of the deceased. The second most common component to exclude is the circle, either out of ignorance or lack of time. A candle is rarely the excluded component.

If the living are collecting these components during a haunting, the deceased are advised to take steps to disrupt and remove as many items as possible. It is easier to disrupt an exorcism before it begins than it is to disrupt during the process. It is also easier to disrupt an exorcism targeting another member of the deceased than it is one directed toward yourself.

-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"

Her attention was so strongly focused on watching the sky for the signal to begin that Melinda almost missed them. She wasn't expecting that she would need to watch out for a trio of teenagers marching out of the falling darkness. Out of all the possible variables she'd taken into account in regards to the night's plan, this wasn't one she'd considered. It was simply too absurd.

The African-American boy in the red beret was a complete stranger, but she remembered Sam. She blended into the stretching shadows with her Goth clothes, but Melinda spotted her now that she was looking for them. The third, wrapped in a red poncho with a spider web pattern, was the most familiar to her. The clothes were wrong, but she certainly recognized Lydia.

"Aunt Melinda," said her niece. "We need to talk."

"In a moment, Lydia, my darling," she said. "I'm busy with something important."

"Yeah, we know what you're planning, Mrs. Livingston," said the boy, crossing his arms. "That's kind of what we need to talk about. A mass exorcism of Amity Park? Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

Melinda couldn't help being surprised and mildly impressed that they actually figured out her end goal. How in the world did Lydia and her friends manage to piece it together was the real question. Apparently all the complaints about the younger generation not paying attention or actually thinking were completely off-base. These teenagers were bright. They were clever enough to unravel how she intended to deal with the ghost problem.

Unfortunately, she suspected all of them were under the same foolish delusion as the girl.

"And you think it would be better to leave all the ghost to roam the world free, wreaking havoc and chaos? Trust me, I know what's best," she said.

Lydia's eyes narrowed as she spat venomously, "You know what's best? What's for our own good? Like it was for my own good to mess with my mind and take away my best friend? Because that almost got me killed, so I don't think it was really for my 'own good'."

She gestured briefly towards her head, drawing Melinda's attention to the fact that there was a thick bandage around it. The other teenager had sections of their arms similarly wrapped. It added some credibility to her claims about almost being killed, but Melinda figured it was an exaggeration. The bandages might even be just a ploy to win sympathy. Lydia was too soft-hearted and naïve when it came to ghosts. She just didn't want to see the truth.

"Darling, it was for the best. It was never your friend. Things like that don't have the capacity," she said.

"Seriously?" asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. "Ghosts aren't capable of feelings and friendship? No wonder Lydia freaked out on Danny's parents."

"I am sorry about that," Lydia said, looking towards her friend as she tried to calm down a little.

"Look, Mrs. Livingston, how about you put down the necklace, keep the Ghost Shield down, call off the exorcism, and we all talk like civilized and reasonable people?" suggested the boy.

They were still getting closer. The trio had slowed down since the conversation started, but they were still edging closer to her gradually. Melinda couldn't help wondering what they were up to. Her nerves began to prickle uneasily. They knew too much and were clearly intent on something. They wanted her to stop. What was their plan to stop her? She knew they must have a plan beyond merely asking. The children were misguided, not stupid.

"I don't believe I shall," she said. "Destroying all these ghosts will make the world a better place. Wouldn't you rather live in a peaceful, safe, and perfect town? Go home. I'll be finished soon."

Sam took a step forward and said, "You honestly want to kill potentially hundreds of ghosts? Just because you can? Don't you have any human decency?"

"Of course not," said Lydia in a resigned tone. "She just doesn't get it. Living or dead, people are still people. You can have dangerous ghosts and living serial killers just like you can have decent ones. There are always a few horrible individuals in any group. That doesn't give someone the excuse to attempt genocide."

"Genocide doesn't apply to those things," Melinda said firmly. "And don't take another step forward." She pulled the knife out of her purse to serve as a visual warning. "You may be my niece, my darling Lydia, but I won't let you stop me."

She didn't want to hurt Lydia or the other children, but this was important. Even if the worst case scenario happened, Melinda was confident she wouldn't have to go too far. For the living, the Twin-sided Blade of the Trapped dead was merely a sharp knife. A few shallow cuts if they got into range would discourage the teenagers if the warning threat wasn't enough. But she doubted it would come to violence. She could handle it before the situation reached that point.

While the other teenagers looked surprised by the threat, Lydia crossed her arms and glared stubbornly back. The candlelight briefly glistened off something, drawing the woman's attention to the girl's hand. Melinda paled as she recognized the ring she'd purposefully locked away in her safe. Somehow it was now on the naïve child's right hand. She shouldn't even remember it, let alone have it back in her possession. What else might not being going according to plan?

"Where did you get that ring?" she snapped.

Lydia actually smirked at the question briefly before regaining her more serious demeanor. She met her aunt's gaze firmly.

"You mean the ring you took from me at the same time as my friend? Hand over the necklace and I'll tell you all about it."

Melinda grabbed the gemstone protectively with her free hand. There was no possible way she'd agree to the idea, but she couldn't help noticing their focus on her necklace. They certainly understood the importance of the Gem of Osiris to her plan. If they got close enough, she suspected one would try to snatch it.

She stole a briefly glance towards the sky before returning her gaze towards the children. What was taking Roger so long?

"Lydia Deetz, you and your friends will stay out of my way or I swear the next step in my plan after this will be to deal with those two ghosts in Winter River. This does not concern you," she said sharply. "Children should not interfere in the affairs of adults, especially when they clearly don't understand."

"Well, it is my business and I certainly understand. And by the way, threatening and trying to blackmail my Lyds? Not a smart move, witch."

Melinda jerked back in surprise as another shape stepped out of the darkness, a figure she'd thought was gone. From the striped suit to the foul features, the poltergeist was back and looming behind Lydia. She should have exorcised the thing when she had the chance. Her desire to test the gem's limits and a minor reluctance to further traumatize the girl compelled her to spare the poltergeist for later, but now Melinda was facing the consequences. And Lydia was likely paying the price. Foolish, naïve child.

"Be—"

"Don't bother," another voice interrupted, a sharp edge to his tone. "We all know his name, so we can just call him right back. It is more annoying than useful for you to get rid of him. Unfortunately, it does look like Plan A is a complete bust."

Another figure materialized, this one appearing closer to Sam and the boy in the red beret. It looked like a teenage boy with green eyes of an unnatural and nearly glowing shade, inexplicably floating in midair with a wispy tail instead of legs. Dressed in a black jumpsuit with an odd symbol, she'd heard stories of the white-haired ghost. Stories of the local "hero ghost" spread quickly. Melinda scowled at the tricky and dangerous Danny Phantom, the one capable of manipulating the entire town into foolishly trusting him. He looked no happier about seeing her.

"Another one," said Melinda. "Do you never learn, Lydia? First the disgusting poltergeist who uses you and sought an innocent child as his bride and now the fake protector clearly biding his time to strike? You just can't see the truth."

"The almost-wedding was a mistake, so would everyone just let it drop?" the poltergeist shouted. "Forget. About. That wedding! And considering the hero complex he's got, Danny-boy's definitely no fake. He likes protecting helpless saps. Me? I just want revenge."

Before she or anyone else could react to the outburst, a green glow appeared on the horizon and shot straight up. Everyone turned towards it, watching the glowing dome lower around the nearby city. Melinda smiled. Roger finally came through for her. The Ghost Shield was up.

Rewiring the Ghost Shield generator to the experimental battery turned out to be more problematic than he'd originally envisioned. The Fentons might be geniuses when it came to creating anti-ghost tools and weaponry, but their engineering decisions were unconventional. If it wasn't for the fact the things actually worked, Roger would have thought they were complete idiots. And trying to make the unusual and crazy construction of their invention work with the new energy source was more trouble than what he let Melinda know.

But after all his manipulations and adjustments, he finally had it ready. It was perfectly hooked up. His wife's plan was nearly complete. She would be so happy soon. Roger wanted nothing more than to make Melinda happy, no matter the cost.

Once Roger attached the last wire in place, he closed the panel and reached for the switch. The moment he flipped it on, an intense green beam of light and energy shot skywards. He watched it shoot upwards a rather impressive distance before umbrella-ing out, spreading across the sky. It stretched outwards like a green glowing dome that swiftly settled over the city. He listened to the machine hum with power as he smiled with satisfaction.

The peaceful moment was shattered by the roar of an engine. Roger spun around to see a large RV practically hurtling over the shrubbery like it was launched from a catapult. The vehicle hit the ground roughly, kicking up grass and dirt as it veered to the left and came to a halt. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the RV as someone threw open the door and raced out.

While Roger certainly didn't know who he expected to be inside, he definitely knew the Fentons weren't on his list of possible choices. The mountainous Jack Fenton, the thinner Maddie Fento with the hood and goggles hiding her face, and a stumbling teenage red-head he didn't recognize with a bat climbed out of the vehicle. The adults appeared rather grim while the teenage girl looked thankful to be out of the RV.

"Mr. Livingston, I presume?" said the girl. "My name is Jazz Fenton. I believe you've met my parents already."

Confused, Roger nodded. Jack and Maddie waved awkwardly. The teenager smiled briefly.

"Now, we're all civilized people," she continued. "So could we ask you to turn the Ghost Shield off?"

"What? Why would I do that? We need it on for the plan. I just spent a few hours working on it. If I turn it off, we can't destroy the ghosts of your town. You must understand."

Maddie's eyes narrowed while Jazz's grip on the bat tightened. Even surprised and confused by the recent string of events, Roger began to worry what they would do in the face of his refusal. From the Fenton's reputation, he would have thought they would approve of the idea of the destruction of the ghosts. But from their expressions, they might actually be upset about it. Why? And what would they do about it? Roger picked up the wrench he'd been using earlier, uncertain if he would need to defend himself somehow.

"Look, I know it seems like ghosts are nothing but trouble, but the problematic ones just get the most attention. There are plenty of peaceful ghosts out there and even some heroic ones," Jazz said.

"And if you don't turn it off, we'll do it and see how you like the Fenton Foamer we have in the back of our RV," added Jack.

Glancing over, the girl said, "Dad, let me handle this." She then turned back towards Roger and continued, "This isn't going to help anyone in the long run and it'll definitely do a lot of damage."

"It will help. It'll help Melinda, my dearest. Ghosts have made her miserable her entire life, even as a child who just wanted her parents' attention. I love my wife too much to deny her what she needs."

"Hey, if anyone understands the challenges of ghost-obsessed parents, it's me," she said, producing brief looks of guilt from her family. "But it is not an excuse to attempt mass murder."

Uncertainty churned in his stomach again. Any moment of doubt he ever experienced was easily dealt with by either his wife's words or his sheer confidence in her. But those moments where he wondered if they were right did occur. And the teenage girl was feeding into those buried doubts. He didn't really like it.

"A part of you has to know this is wrong," she continued. "You know destroying untold numbers for the crime of simply existing is wrong. You know Lydia, your niece, will never forgive you for this. And you know it won't solve your wife's underlying problems."

"She doesn't have problems," defended Roger quietly.

The girl smiled gently, saying softly, "You know that isn't true. This isn't the plan of a stable and mentally healthy woman. This is the work of someone with high levels of hatred and anger, the type that festers and is never properly dealt with. It is the type that is eventually all-consuming. She focuses solely on a target, often a scapegoat of some form. She might have even chose an external source for her hatred because she refuses to accept that the cause was actually from herself or someone she refuses to blame. But this type of hatred often leads to ignoring many other aspects of her life. It isn't healthy for her or you."

Quietly, trying to ignore most of her words and failing, he asked, "What are you talking about? We're fine."

"Mr. Livingston, you clearly love your wife and would do anything for her. But does she love you back?"

He would have flung himself out there to try strangling the evil old hag for pulling out that knife, protective circle or no protective circle, but Betelgeuse found a teenage half-ghost grabbing him in a desperate bear hug to prevent it. The kid was definitely crazy. And possibly suicidal when it came to dumb hero moves like trying to stop the poltergeist.

He could have easily ripped free, but Danny hurriedly hissed that they would be fine and that they were out of range of the weapon. Lydia was safe. Danny's words were enough to remind him to be careful and not act rash in regard to the woman. She'd already out-maneuvered him once. She was clever and the necklace was powerful, so he couldn't risk being impulsive. He still hated the hag, but he controlled himself enough not to fling himself at the woman hiding behind her circle. Her arms weren't long enough to reach Lydia, so there was a limit to how much harm she could cause.

That didn't stop him from moving more slowly towards the group, trusting that the candles would destroy her night vision and she wouldn't see him until it was too late. And after Betelgeuse quietly assured the teenager that he still wouldn't kill the witch, Danny followed. Honestly, he didn't look much happier about the crazy woman with a knife relatively close to this girlfriend. Betelgeuse suspected Danny would be perfectly comfortable punching Melinda in the face at the slightest move towards Sam.

Then he got to enjoy the look of shock on her face when she realized he was back. And Danny even pointed out the futility of trying to banish him, which meant no one using his name three times. It was a bit of a standoff for the moment, but it was still going better than he expected.

But all their aggressive posturing and barely-veiled threats were interrupted by a green glow on the horizon, one that felt like a lot of ecto-energy even at a distance. There was a lot of interesting metaphysical stuff going on at the moment, almost more than he could properly identify. But it paid to keep aware of what elements were in play, so he tried. There was the Ghost Shield swallowing the city, the spotlight-like intensity and unique signature of the half-ghost teenager, and the rather solidly-formed protective circle. Picking up details inside the circle itself was trickier, but he could definitely notice the power radiating from the necklace. Honestly, Betelgeuse couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the thing the first time he encountered the woman. The amount of power coming from the Gem of Osiris was unnerving and a little enticing. But there was at least one other oddity in there, nearly hidden by the woman's circle and overshadowed by the necklace. He would definitely have to keep an eye open for surprises.

"Not good," said Sam. "The Ghost Shield's up."

"Finally," Melinda said.

"If you start reciting the lines, I'm running over to break the circle and let Beej handle you. I'm not afraid to take the risk with the knife," said Lydia sharply.

Betelgeuse grinned cruelly as he glared at the woman, making sure she knew it wouldn't be a fun experience. Of course, it would be even worse if she managed to even nick Lydia with the blade. Amusingly, Tucker flinched at his expression.

"Okay, that's creepy. You know you look a little like the guy from 'The Shining' right now? After he went crazy and started chasing people with an ax," said Tucker uneasily.

"A cute movie, but I've seen better," he said distractedly. "Though the ax chopping through the door scene was fun." He glanced back towards the woman and said, "Now, if you were smart, do you know what you would say right now?"

"I have nothing to say to a disgusting and foul thing like you," she snarled, tightening her grip on the necklace.

"No," said Betelgeuse before slipping into a perfect mimicry of Melinda's voice. "How could I have ever thought this was a good idea? I was an idiot and I want to surrender to the handsome, strong, and awe-inspiring Ghost With The Most. Here's the necklace and I give up on the exorcism plan." Falling back to his normal voice, he finished, "That's what you should be saying, but you're too crazy to realize it."

"Not a chance," she said, holding the knife in front of her. "My family collects many things. The necklace isn't the only object of power in my possession. Leave now, all of you. Let me finish what I started. Otherwise I'll use this blade to destroy the poltergeist and the ghost fake hero and then I'll perform the exorcism anyway."

Blinking in surprise, Tucker said, "She's threatening ghosts with a knife? Who does that? She can't do that. Can she do that?"

"Beej?" asked Lydia, her body tense and never taking her eyes off her aunt.

It was certainly an interesting question. There was definitely a lot of power present. Focusing on what was behind the circle was trickier, but Betelgeuse was good. The power radiating from the Gem of Osiris nearly hid it by overshadowing everything in comparison, but there was definitely a decent amount of weirdness coming from the knife. He couldn't identify what exactly it was meant to do. But the metaphysical junk he was picking up couldn't be denied. And it was safer to assume the worst when it came to items like that.

"Don't know if it can do what she says, but there is definitely some mumbo-jumbo in that blade," he said.

"I've destroyed ghosts with it before," said Melinda, glaring at him with something approaching a manic expression. "A single cut and they were gone. It was certainly faster than a simple exorcism. Do you want to test me?"

"I'd certainly love to try it," a familiar and rage-inducing voice said.

Melinda spun in surprise at the voice behind her, something that should be impossible. She caught sight of a figure forming out mist just as it wrenched the knife out of her hand. She managed a glimpse of fancy clothes and a plainer knife buried in his chest. But the brief view, her shock, and her confusion were all disrupted as the stranger wrapped an arm around her body to pin her limbs in place, pulled her close until her back rested against his stabbed chest, and the Twin-sided Blade of the Trapped Dead pressed against her throat.

"Oh yes, this is going quite nicely," the dangerous entity chuckled in her ear. "And here I was thinking that hiding in your van would simply give me another chance to have fun with that scrawny girl, but a blade to kill ghosts? That's just what I need for him. Thank you, my dear. Though you really should have paid more attention to what lurked in the back of your vehicle, even if I was mist at the time. Women, alone and vulnerable, should always be on guard. You can never tell what might happen."

Her skin felt like it was crawling at his touch and not just because he was clearly a ghost too. The way he spoke, it almost seemed like a physical substance, oily and foul. As much as she loathed the poltergeist in front of her, the ghost holding onto at knife's edge seemed somehow worse. He reminded her of stories of dark alleys, hungry gazes across a bar, and the monsters that can hide in the forms of ordinary-looking men. He was dangerous in a different way than the ghost who haunted Lydia.

But he was also clearly not an ally to anyone present. Most of the teenagers responded with various levels of anger and fear to his arrival, Lydia showing the greatest amounts of both. Danny's hands began to glow the same shade of green as the distant Ghost Shield and his posture shifted towards one more aggressive. Betelgeuse, however, plunged straight into pure bloodthirsty rage.

"Sanduleak," the poltergeist snarled, hands moving towards Lydia's shoulders as he loomed behind her. "I was hoping to get my hands on you before Juno did. Did you enjoy your nice little visit to Saturn? It wasn't much, but I was busy last time and couldn't focus on you properly. This time, you have my full and complete attention."

"Now, don't be like that, Betelgeuse," he said, the name producing a little more frustrated fury from his audience. "Right now, you can't reach me unless one of the living humans breaks the circle. And you've gone too soft for to risk that."

Melinda ignored the taunts between the specters as her mind raced. The entire plan was spiraling out of control. All her provisions and preparations did not take into account this type of standoff. The knife to her throat was the greatest concern. The ghost holding her hostage, Sanduleak, could kill her in an instant. Even with the power of the Gem of Osiris to help, she couldn't just exorcise him. She would be dead before it could take effect. It would be the same if she tried to banish or bind him. There was almost nothing she could do.

Ghosts ruin everything. Even her attempts at ridding the world of ghosts. It was clearly a universal truth.

"Me? Soft? Just wait until I get a proper grip on you. I'll show you 'soft,' creep," growled Betelgeuse, still focused on the other ghost.

"With this knife, something meant to kill ghosts with a single cut? I figure it'll do some grave damage even to you. It'll certainly even the playing field between us a little," he said, a smirk clear in his voice. "For once, someone might have a chance at destroying the infamous Ghost With The Most. Which might even be better than what I originally had in mind. Taking your Mortal Bride, doing whatever I wished to her for however long I desired, and leaving her mangled and lifeless body for you to find afterwards? Fun, but not nearly as satisfying as actually taking you out. But I could always take care of the scrawny girl later anyway."

Throughout the description, Betelgeuse grew more and more visibly furious. Which was honestly a little impressive considering how angry the poltergeist already looked. If she didn't know better, she would have though from how he reacted to the threats against Lydia that the heartless ghost actually cared about the girl. But ghosts weren't capable of that. It was always just a trick.

"So, he can't get out of the circle to attack us unless someone disrupts or breaks the thing," said Danny, his fists still glowing brightly. "But we can't get to him either to break the circle or attack him without getting into stabbing range the instant he's freed. What do we do?"

Betelgeuse, glaring murderously, suggested sharply, "How about we just sit back and let the hag and Sanduleak fight it out? We let them have their little cage-match and then we only have to handle the survivor."

The reactions of his companions to his idea seemed to be a mixture of surprise, disbelief, mild disgust, and a hint of vindictive agreement. Melinda suspected the teenagers didn't truly want to see her killed by the ghost, but the idea at least brought them pleasure. Did none of them understand that what she was after was for the best? Why did they see her as the enemy? Couldn't they understand it was the ghosts to blame? Ghosts like the ones they were allying themselves with?

"Well, if you want to discuss your brilliant strategies, I certainly don't mind," said Sanduleak. "I'll be perfectly happy to wait in here with this lovely lady and her interesting ghost-destroying tools. The knife is such a nice and useful blade, so I have to wonder what else is available for my new collection." There was a pause and Melinda felt the ghost shift his grip on her. "Perhaps I could find a use for the necklace, the one that even a fool could notice the amount of power coming from it."

Instantly the various voices shouted out in desperate horror as she felt the necklace rip from her neck, the breaking chain stinging sharply. Melinda heard a gasp of surprise and intense pleasure, the grip on her loosening. She pulled free, turning enough to face Sanduleak. The irises of his eyes were glowing an intense and bright shade of green, matching the color of the gem in his grip. She was certain his eyes weren't like that before. Then Sanduleak grinned and threw her back.

She hit the ground hard, rolling slightly. Melinda realized with horror that she'd scraped away the chalk lines of the circle and knocked over a few candles. She bit back the type of language that shouldn't be used in front of children. No circle meant there was nothing to keep any of the trio of ghosts trapped or blocked away. No necklace or knife meant she was depending on her willpower in order to do anything against them. She'd lost complete and utter control of the situation.

"Now this is a rush," said Sanduleak, sounding more unhinged than before. He laughed briefly before adding, "Let's try slicing open every single one of you."

Chapter Text

To: Caseworker Juno Daelman

From: Upper Management

About: The Gem of Osiris and the Poltergeist

We would like to speak to you upstairs immediately. There has been a development.

-Excerpt from an in-office note addressed to Juno Daelman

Lydia and everyone's frantic shouts not to touch the Gem of Osiris fell on deaf ears as Sanduleak snatched the necklace from Melinda's throat. She could see the moment the power hit him, a brief noise she didn't even want to describe coming from him. The iris of his eyes began to glow green while his expression shifted towards something more manic than before. Lydia remembered Juno's description. A significant power boost, destroys inhibitions, increases aggression, distorts thought processes, and sometimes destroys the ability to focus. And that's what they know happens with weak ghosts. The stronger the ghost, the worse the effects.

So a murderous poltergeist with a vendetta against Betelgeuse and apparently her was now stronger and crazier. Definitely not good.

Then he shoved Melinda to the ground, breaking the circle. Sanduleak was smiling at the same moment that Lydia felt Betelgeuse's hands tighten on her shoulders, tensing for whatever happened next. The psycho's grin was terrifying even to someone who liked the creepy and macabre. She knew he was dangerous and she could tell that even Betelgeuse was on edge. The situation was far more deadly than just facing her aunt.

Sanduleak reacted like he felt equal amounts of pain and pleasure from the power flowing through him, shuddering briefly as his eyes brightened further. Madness filled his expression as he tightened his grip on the knife in one hand and the cane in the other.

"Now this is a rush," said Sanduleak. He then released an unhinged laugh and added, "Let's try slicing open every single one of you."

He launched himself, magic knife stabbing forward. Lydia didn't have time to react before she hit the ground, shoved by Betelgeuse as he dove over her to intersect Sanduleak. He managed to avoid the sharp edge, snagging his opponent's wrist and twisting it to the side. Blasts of green energy hit Sanduleak as Danny opened fire. Unfortunately, it barely knocked him back a step. And if that wasn't bad enough, Sanduleak dissolved into mist and slipped out of the other poltergeist's grasp. The fog moved against all logic, shooting skywards.

Betelgeuse cursed angrily before adding, "So now he can turn the crazy woman's knife and necklace to mist too? Sure. Why not? That's completely fair."

Thunder crackled over head, causing Lydia to look up. Clouds formed unnaturally fast as the wind began to blow wildly. The sudden change was as unsettling as the fog the night before.

"Weather control. Perfect," muttered Danny. "Anyone know how to keep him solid?"

"Yes," Betelgeuse said shortly, glaring at the clouds. "Not easy to directly affect other ghosts and keep them from pulling off their assortment of tricks, but I've done it before a couple of times. I just need to get close."

Climbing to her feet and noticing that Sam and Tucker also apparently hit the ground at some point, Lydia asked, "Close enough to be stabbed by his new magic knife? Because we really don't need to test your resistance to it."

"Got a feeling that I don't have much choice, Babes," he said over the roaring wind of the building storm. "But I think I can avoid him poking holes in me if I actually try." Glancing towards Danny with a thoughtful expression, he said, "You're good at flying, right? Go up there, blast some of your ecto-energy around until he tries to kill you, and lead him back to ground level. Then I'll do my thing."

"You're using him as bait?" snapped Sam, digging into her backpack for something.

"I've seen him. He's faster and more agile at flying. And ground level give me an edge, gives me more to work with. Luring him down is better than waiting for him to choose when to attack or facing him in the middle of a storm," he said. "But don't bring him straight here. This is too open and with too many people with a pulse with no cover. Pick a different spot. I'll follow."

Danny nodded shortly before flying skywards. Betelgeuse gave a small smirk, one she interpreted as him enjoying the idea of a proper challenge before filleting Sanduleak.

"And what about us?" asked Tucker. "Do we just wait for him to kill us?"

"Steal the hag's van and try to keep up. And maybe find a better plan because I'm making this up as I go."

Then he was gone. Not vanished like he'd been banished back to the Netherworld. More like he raced off into the darkness. So none of them had a chance to remind the poltergeist that none of them could actually drive. Then, to add another element of unpleasantness to the disaster of the evening, the storm finally hit them with a downpour.

"Can things get any worse?" asked Tucker as they were almost instantly soaked.

"You!" snarled Aunt Melinda, abruptly reminding everyone of her presence and pouncing on Lydia, her hands wrapping around the girl's throat as she knocked her down. "You and your ghosts ruined everything."

Gasping and struggling for breath as her aunt aggressively strangled her, Lydia fought to pull the woman's hands away. They shouldn't have turned their backs on her. Her fingers pried at Aunt Melinda's vise-like grip. The woman's face was twisted into a look of insane rage. She saw Tucker trying to help, but Aunt Melinda was stronger than she looked.

Lydia's head pounded and her vision darkened. Air. She needed air. But she wasn't going to let go. This was a murder attempt. She was killing the girl. Fear and desperations gripped Lydia.

"If you care for ghosts so much, I'll make you one. Then you can share their fate," shrieked the woman, barely audible over the pounding in Lydia's head.

Lydia's weakening struggles to survive were abruptly aided as a flash of light hit the woman hard enough to dislodge her. The girl instantly gasped for precious air. She'd never appreciated how good it felt to breathe freely. Coughs hit her hard, but she was strangling anymore. She could cough, which meant she could breathe. She had air.

Tucker pulled her upright, giving Lydia a glimpse of her aunt lying unconscious on the ground. She didn't look seriously hurt, but Lydia honestly couldn't care less. The psycho woman deserved a little suffering. What really caught her attention, though, was the sci-fi-looking, raygun-ish object strapped to Sam's wrist.

"You all right, Lydia?"

Her first attempt to answer resulted in more coughing, so Lydia settled for nodding. Her hair and poncho were soaked, her throat ached, and she felt more than a little shaken. But she wasn't dead. She definitely wasn't telling Betelgeuse about this, though.

"You brought along the Fenton Wrist Rays? We weren't planning on facing ghosts this evening," Tucker said in a stunned voice. "And you used it on her aunt?"

"It was a glancing low-level shot of ecto-energy. She'll be fine," said Sam dismissively, pulling back out the duct tape. "And now that Sanduleak is here, I'm happy I brought it. Help me wrap up her hands and feet fast. We've got to move."

"I tried to make her happy. I did everything she wanted, never complaining and never asking for anything in return. Even when her decisions didn't seem very wise, I did as she asked of me. I wanted her to be happy. Why was it never enough? What was I doing wrong? Why was my love never enough for her?"

"It has nothing to do with your actions," Jazz assured Roger Livingston, who was now sitting on the grass since they lacked a sofa for him to lie on. "From what I've learned about your wife so far, there is absolutely nothing in the world that could make her feel content. She's convinced herself that accomplishing her goal will solve all of her problems to make the world perfect and when it doesn't, she'll either decide she didn't go far enough or she sink into a depression as she decides that absolutely nothing can make her life better. The healthiest option would be for her to realize that nothing is perfect and the world is not made of pure absolutes. But we're here to talk about you. Who are you when you are not defined strictly by your wife's existence? Who are you other than 'Melinda Livingston's husband'?"

"What did you do to our invention?" shouted her father from where he and his wife were trying to shut down the Ghost Shield. "You rewired half of it and reconfigured another good chunk. It won't switch off."

"We're going to have to turn it off the hard way," Maddie said. "This might take a little while."

"Hold on just a moment," said Jazz before turning away from her patient. Yelling towards her parents, she said, "I'll let Danny and the others know. You keep working on it."

Then, ignoring everything that the weathermen predicted for the evening, rain started to pour.

Rain soaked him as Danny flew straight into the storm. Lightning flashed and the wind roared, putting him on edge and making it hard to fly. This was definitely a step up from summoning fog. Danny hoped the vague plan worked. Otherwise he might end up fighting a living tornado or something all on his own.

Once he was just below the cloud line, Danny fired a few blasts. The green energy went straight through, but he knew hitting Sanduleak in his current state was impossible. Blasting the poltergeist out of the sky wasn't the point. Provoking him was.

"Guys, we talked down Mr. Livingston," Jazz's voice announced over the Fenton Phones. "But we're having trouble turning it off thanks to his alterations. Any luck with the wife?"

"Melinda isn't the problem anymore. We have a serial killer ghost with a necklace that makes him stronger and crazier," he said hurriedly.

"Anything we can do?"

Before he could respond, a lightning bolt barely missed striking him. Danny moved quickly and randomly, hoping to be unpredictable. Dodging a bolt of electricity was a bit outside his normal skillset, so he would just have to hope the one firing missed the target. His timing was perfect because the lightning only increased in frequency. He'd definitely gotten Sanduleak's attention. Now he'd just have to survive it.

"Sorry, can't talk now, dodging lightning, bye Jazz," he said frantically, barely managing to avoid another strike.

"Die," shouted Sanduleak's voice from somewhere within the roaring storm. "You will die."

Shaking some of the rain from his face, Danny fired randomly into the clouds and yelled, "Your banter needs work. You seemed chattier before."

"Die," he repeated as more lightning flashed.

"If you want that so badly, you'll have to come down and face me directly," taunted Danny, firing a final shot before diving. With a smug look as he saw a tendril of fog splitting off from the clouds, he muttered, "Tag, you're it."

He flew fast, aiming for a street with some tall buildings and other obstacles to hide him from sight. He didn't know how long it would take Betelgeuse to reach them and it would be best to have something to dodge and hide behind. Whether or not the magic knife worked on ectoplasm-based half-ghosts, Danny really didn't want to get stabbed.

"Hold still and die," shouted Sanduleak, giving just enough warning to roll mid-flight and dodge the now-solid blade.

As Danny spun around, fists glowing brightly with power as he prepared to form a shield for protection, but things turned strange. The brick wall of the apartment building shifted and bent like clay, reaching out in the shape of a hand to grab at Sanduleak. The poltergeist twisted out of the way of the first, but other arms sprouted from the wall. He was forced to dodge and weave around the grasping shapes.

"Need a hand?" remarked Betelgeuse, standing on the street smugly.

"You die," Sanduleak snarled, diving towards the older poltergeist. Swinging the knife wildly, he said, "You will die."

"Too late," said Betelgeuse, dodging the slashes with ease like he did in the fight against Danny.

Knife in one hand and cane in the other, Sanduleak seemed completely focused on getting the other poltergeist, apparently forgetting that they weren't alone. Danny took advantage of that fact to deliver a surprise tackle, flying in at full force. The impact was enough to rattle the halfa, but only slightly budged Sanduleak. Danny barely twisted out of the way of his retaliation, the knife close enough that he could hear it whistling through the air. But someone took advantage of his actions anyway. Betelgeuse hit the other poltergeist while he was off-balance and followed through by gesturing sharply, causing a lamppost to twist and spear Sanduleak.

"He was easier to tackle the first time," said Danny as the aggressive ghost started pulling himself free. "At least when he was solid."

"And he's hard to keep from turning into fog again," Betelgeuse said, sounding slightly distracted. "He's strong. If he isn't close enough, it won't work. Even for me."

The universe apparently took this as a cue to increase the challenge. Ripping free of the lamppost, Sanduleak started dissolving. Betelgeuse cursed sharply before diving forward. The aggressive poltergeist grew solid again just as sections of the concrete and asphalt rose up like serpents and wrapped around Sanduleak's legs. Hoping it would hold him in place for a little while, Danny started blasting ecto-rays at his face.

"Where's the necklace?" shouted Danny.

"Probably in his jacket pocket," Betelgeuse yelled back as he pulled a rope from his own suit. "Only place it could be."

"Getting it without going crazy or getting stabbed is impossible then. How do we stop him?"

Swiftly tying the rope into a noose, he said, "No idea, Danny-boy. But let me know if you think of something."

"Slice you to shreds," shrieked the mad poltergeist as tore loose.

Danny, taking a risk, dove under the knife slash and grabbed the cane. The grip was tighter than expected, but Betelgeuse looped the noose over Sanduleak's neck and yanked at the same moment. Ripping the cane free, Danny swung hard. The hit rang out with a sharp crack and knocked the unbalanced Sanduleak down.

"Homerun," muttered Danny.

Unfortunately, he recovered almost instantly. Not letting the loss of one weapon slow him down, Sanduleak bolted up and stabbed violently at the closest target. The blade easily sliced through striped cloth, but Betelgeuse miraculously jerked back enough to avoid any real damage.

"Whoa," he yelped in surprise. "Cutting it a little close." He managed to knock the next slash aside and dodged the one after that. "And this was my favorite suit too."

Not knowing what else to do with the thing, Danny decided to improvise with the cane. Waiting until the next time Sanduleak turned his back, he slammed the cane through the poltergeist's back like a spear while blasting as much ecto-energy as possible. He had no clue what would happen or what his actions might accomplish long term. All his high school-level brain could come up with was lightning rod.

It at least had an immediate effect. Like a small explosion, it sent Danny flying backwards until he hit the altered brick wall. Shaking his head to clear it, he saw that Sanduleak was also down momentarily. The cane appeared missing, but Danny didn't worry about that. One less weapon for the enemy, albeit he'd removed the less dangerous one.

"Okay, that was pretty good, Danny-boy," said Betelgeuse, looking slightly disheveled by his proximity to the event.

"Thanks," he said. "I have no idea how I did that."

Launching himself up again without warning, Sanduleak shouted, "I'll kill you all. Humans and ghosts. All dead."

Throwing his hands up to create a concrete wall from the sidewalk to block a vicious slash, Betelgeuse said, "I know I make this look easy, but I don't want to keep this up all night. Any ideas?"

"Not yet— Watch out!"

Danny blasted at Sanduleak as he tried to turn back into mist again. Betelgeuse snarled another quick curse before doing something that forced the poltergeist solid again.

"I didn't want to do this, but I'm probably going to have to be even closer to keep him solid. He's too strong otherwise."

"How much closer can you possibly get?" asked Danny as the older ghost barely deflected another slash.

"Danny, Lydia has a plan," Sam's voice announced over the Fenton Phone.

Lydia tried to hold on tight as the van turned, the forces at work nearly throwing her against the side of the vehicle. After binding Aunt Melinda's unconscious body with duct tape, they'd tossed her in back and decided to let Tucker drive. Unfortunately, due to the torrential rainfall and his main driving experience coming from playing video games, it wasn't exactly the smoothest ride. She tried not to think about the crazy driving. She needed to think of how they could stop Sanduleak.

"Attention, citizens of Amity Park, this is a special news alert," announced the radio. "There are aggressive ghosts fighting near the corner of Burton Road and Hartman Road, just outside the main city limits. Everyone is advised to avoid the area for their safety. Remember, ghost fights are dangerous. Thank you. We now return you to your classic rock."

"At least we know where they are now," Sam said. "Now we need an idea how to help. They can't just grab the necklace."

"How about—" Tucker's words cut off abruptly as the van swerved and he hit the horn hard. "Hey, out of the way! This is my lane. And use your turn signal next time."

They couldn't have Danny or Betelgeuse grab the necklace from Sanduleak. Lydia knew that. Separating the poltergeist from the Gem of Osiris would be dangerous for anyone alive. He was already psychotic and murderous before adding the power boost. The idea of stopping him by depowering the poltergeist just wouldn't work. They needed a more drastic method.

They needed a way to get rid of the evil ghost for good. And that sparked a plan, prompting Lydia to start digging through her aunt's junk in the van.

"I know how to stop Sanduleak," said Lydia, her voice still rough from the near strangulation. "I just need a couple of things."

As the van hit another curve, she heard Sam's voice over the Fenton Phone, "Danny, Lydia has a plan."

"Great," his voice replied, sounding winded. "We're starting to run out of ideas. He shrugs off everything we try."

"I can stop him, but I need something from you and Beej," said Lydia over the Fenton Phone.

"Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?" he asked.

Smiling with success as she found a white candle and a lighter in the chaos of the van, Lydia said over the line, "I need you to grab something from Sanduleak and get it to me. The knife, his old one in his chest, would be best."

"Can't make things easy, can you? Fine. We'll try not to get stabbed in the process," he said.

Taking his eyes unnervingly off the road briefly to look at her, Tucker said, "You really know how to stop him?"

"He's a super-powered, crazy, killer poltergeist," said Lydia firmly, "but he's still a ghost."

Honestly, this was the most problems he'd ever dealt with in a short span of time. Near exorcism, binding of his abilities, nearly ripping himself apart, and now a very strong and stab-happy ghost just refused to stay down. Betelgeuse might be the Ghost With The Most, but as Lydia pointed out not that long ago, even he had his limits. And a big chunk of his power was devoted to keeping his opponent from turning into mist, using telekinesis, summoning tornados or lightning bolts to hit them, or any other sneaky trick the psycho might attempt. He stuck to manipulating and changing objects in his surroundings rather than the more energy-costly creation of stuff, but Sanduealk kept going without any sign of wearing down.

But now it was clear he wasn't putting enough power into keeping Sanduleak solid. He'd either have to use less power trying to utterly destroy the vicious little poltergeist that went after his Lydia or get even closer to the scum. Neither option was appealing, but he intended to make Sanduleak pay. So he was picking the second one.

"Beej, Lydia has a plan," announced Danny, blasting yet another beam of ecto-energy towards their opponent's face.

Using a quick twist of power to turn concrete sidewalk underfoot into spikes to skewer Sanduleak, Betelgeuse said, "Great. Always knew she was smart. What is it?"

"Still don't know all the details," said Danny, flinching as the psycho poltergeist ripped himself free rather graphically. Throwing a few hard right punches to Sanduleak before jerking back out of knife range, he added, "She just said she needs something."

Blocking Sanduleak's rapid flurry of violent slashes, Betelgeuse said, "What?"

"She needs the knife. The one stuck in his chest."

It only took a moment for him to realize what Lydia had in mind, causing Betelgeuse to cackle briefly. She could be pretty ruthless when given the proper motivation and lack of other options. Betelgeuse definitely approved of her plan, though he would need to make sure it worked.

"Fine. I'll get you the knife and you get it to Lyds," he said. "And you protect her in case something goes wrong because Sanduleak will try to stop her once she starts."

Throwing up a brief shield of ecto-energy to block a particularly close stab, Danny asked, "You seriously want me to leave you fighting alone?"

"I'll kill you," snarled Sanduleak, slashing at the closest throat. "Hold still and die."

Waiting until a frantic slash brought the empowered blade to the right position so Sanduleak couldn't bring it against him immediately, Betelgeuse moved. Tendrils of concrete struck, grabbing Sanduleak's limbs and holding them in place momentarily. Betelgeuse used that brief instant to reach out and snag the more mundane knife from his chest, barely dodging Sanduleak's retaliation swing as he tore free. A bit closer than he wanted, but no harm.

"Mine. That's mine. I'll kill you for that," shrieked Sanduleak, his glowing eyes looking even more insane.

Taking a page from the half-ghost's book, Betelgeuse threw a quick punch to the violent poltergeist's jaw. Annoyingly, it barely fazed him. The murderous ghost seemed to have far too much endurance and resistance. But the punch distracted Sanduleak long enough for Betelgesues to toss the less dangerous knife to Danny, who clumsily caught it.

"I can take care of myself, Danny-boy," he said. "Just get that knife to Lyds fast."

"We're getting close," said Tucker as Lydia tried to light the candle in her hand.

"Good," she said, wincing at the screech coming from the van's engine from all the rough driving. "I can start as soon as we get his knife."

Luck was on their side for once. As soon as the words left her mouth, Danny phased through the roof of the van and landed right beside her. Sam smiled briefly as Danny handed over the weapon.

"Thanks. That is perfect," Lydia said, leaning forward to see.

He glanced at the tied-up and unconscious woman in back with slight confusion. Then he looked at Lydia's throat with a slightly worried expression. Maybe the roughness of her voice helped give away what happened. Or maybe he was just really good at guessing why they would tie up and toss her aunt in a vehicle.

She shrugged off his concern. They need to hurry. She knew how dangerous and vile Sanduleak could be. He needed to be stopped before he killed someone else. The Gem of Osiris would only make it worse.

Lydia took the knife from Sam with a brief nod of thanks. The blade was old; it had a history. It was the weapon of Jack the Ripper. It was the weapon he used to kill. It was the weapon that killed the murderous man who became the murderous poltergeist. If any object held significant meaning for Sanduleak, this would be it.

She knew in theory how it worked, even if she never tried it herself. It was easier than some tricks she could try, like summoning or binding. But she knew she would have to be focused and possess stronger willpower to overcome pure supernatural power. She would have to be stronger than the gem-enhanced poltergeist. Otherwise he'd break free and probably try harder to kill her.

So no pressure.

Candle lit, knife present, and all her courage and stubbornness gathered, Lydia closed her eyes. She knew the words; she could never forget them. She ignored the sounds and swerving of Tucker's driving. It didn't matter. All that mattered was what came next.

"You can do this. Otho managed it by accident," she reassured herself. Then, firm and determined, Lydia recited, "Hands vermillion, start of five."

He saw Sanduleak falter, even the fraying state of his mind not enough to keep him from realizing something was wrong. Betelgeuse couldn't help grinning at his confusion even as the sound of screeching tires filled the air. His Lydia was good.

But he also knew a strong ghost could break free of an exorcism if they were fast enough and wasn't facing a crazy-prepared woman with a dangerous necklace. Betelgeuse did it a few times himself in the past. It was hard, but not impossible. And if Sanduleak had any sense left, he'd break himself free of the exorcism and stop the person performing it. That was not going to happen.

So when some of the brief confusion evaporated from Sanduleak's crazed expression and he turned toward the approaching van, Betelgeuse reacted. He slipped behind the younger poltergeist, wrapping his arms around Sanduleak to pin his arms against his sides. It kept the knife out of play. But more importantly, he wrapped Sanduleak's enhanced power in a cocoon of his own power. With as much power as he could summon, Betelgeuse forced him to stay ensnared by Lydia's exorcism. He kept Sanduleak from doing anything. He would not escape. He would not break free.

Betelgeuse would make sure that Sanduleak was dragged to the Lost Souls Room, one way or another.

"Bright cotillion, raven's dive," Lydia recited, refusing to break focus even as the van screeched to a halt. "Nightshade's promise, spirit's strive."

Leaning her head out the window, Sam said, "There they are. Wait, what happened to the wall and sidewalk?"

"To the living."

"Beej happened," said Danny.

"Let now the dead..."

The van doors started opening. Lydia, her head aching slightly, refused to let it distract her.

"Come alive."

Betelgeuse grimaced as Sanduleak's power fought him, fought Lydia's exorcism. He should have been weakening by now. The stupid Gem of Osiris was a serious annoyance. But as long as he was wasting power fighting Betelgeuse, he had less to fight the exorcism with.

"Just give up already," he growled. "You hurt my Lyds. You tried to do worse. You're not getting out of this."

"As sudden thunder, pierces the night."

With the first section finished Lydia allowed her friends to pull her out of the van. She kept the candle and knife in hand, careful not to lose focus. Though it was nice that it was no longer raining.

"As magic wonder, mad affright," she recited. "Rives asunder, man's delight."

She could see that most of the street was now covered in spikes, tendrils, and weird hands that grew out of the various materials without rhyme or reason. It was definitely Betelgeuse's work.

"Our ghost, our corpse and we rise to be."

He could finally tell that the exorcism was having an effect. Sanduleak might have resisted for a while, but now it was hitting fast and hard. Betelgeuse could feel the poltergeist crumbling in his grip and growing a little less substantial. It would be over soon.

It was a cruel and painful fate. And he couldn't think of a ghost who deserved it more.

"As flies the lizard, serpent fell."

So close. Lydia was almost done. As long as she could finish this and he didn't break free at the last moment, Sanduleak would be gone.

"As goblin wizard at the spell."

She tried not to look at him. It would remind her of what nearly happened to the Maitlands and would weaken her resolve. She couldn't risk it.

He was a murderous monster. She knew Juno would send him to the same destination if she'd found him first. If anyone deserved the Lost Souls Room, it would be Sanduleak.

"The buried dead and slain rise again."

Betelgeuse's bear-like grip on the crumbling Sanduleak unexpectedly ended, the suddenness of him finally vanishing to the Lost Souls Room surprising him. The abrupt absence of the body in his grasp left him stumbling for balance. There was a clang as the knife hit the ground and something else brushed against him as it fell, Betelgeuse catching it in his hand instinctively.

Only after it was too late to stop himself did he realize that it must be the necklace hidden in Sanduleak's jacket pocket.

It hit him hard and fast, the indescribable amount of power. It flooded him, burning and intense. So much power, more than he could bear. He didn't think he could contain it, bright and burning under his skin until he felt like bursting. It hurt, burning too hot and with so much pressure. And even as the power hurt, it felt good.

The overwhelming, inescapable, uncontrollable, intense flood of power was intoxicating. It overwhelmed his senses and his thoughts, burning too bright for anything except the power to remain. He couldn't control it. He couldn't contain it. And he didn't want to.

He wanted to release it, use it. Let the power escape. Let it all out. There was so much he could do, so much he was capable of if he just let it go. Let the power consume him, burning bright and intense.

Restrain, control, caution, rules, memory, and identity were all burned away by the addictive, painful, pleasurable power that flooded his body. They didn't matter anymore. The power that threatened to destroy him and everything else was all that mattered.

He opened his eyes. Everything was so bright, too bright and blurry to see more than vague shapes. Shapes he could manipulate and destroy, just like everything else. Release chaos and destruction; the power burned too hot and bright for anything else. He could do more than ever, unleash the power he could barely contain.

Yes, he should do that. He should do it now. Use his power on everything.

"EEEEEYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAHAAA!"

Chapter Text

Today was the most amazing day of my life. There is absolutely no other way to describe it. I'm not even sure where to begin, but it was more amazing than I could have ever believed.

Apparently all my questions about the Netherworld and what it was like, even when Betelgeuse kept complaining it wasn't that great, finally got to him. Apparently his solution for making me stop asking a million questions about it was to simply show me the place. Honestly, I think he planned it ahead of time rather than having it a spur of the moment decision like he acted like it was. I also have a feeling he bent or broke a dozen rules by taking someone alive to the Netherworld, but he did it.

The Netherworld is hard to describe. He didn't take me to the Waiting Room, which is the only place Adam and Barbara ever really visited. He took me somewhere else. It was dark and twisted. Nothing was perfectly straight, flat, symmetrical, and standard. There were odd angles, twists and spirals, and strange proportions that just don't seem to add up. There were places that seemed too big or too small. There were places that seemed to overlap each other, like hallways and streets that looped back on themselves and appeared to occupy the exact same spot as something else. Everything I ever learned about "two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time" and the laws of physics obviously don't apply in the Netherworld. All Beej said was that maps were almost impossible to make for the place and that I shouldn't think about it too hard if I don't want my brain to melt. I think he was kidding about that last part, but it is probably best to take his advice on that.

I saw a few other ghosts there, but I didn't get to talk to them for long. Betelgeuse kept close to me, saying something about camouflaging the fact I'm still alive, and I think that discouraged at least some of them. But I got a good look at a few of them. Some of their manners of death were pretty messy and obvious. The ones I did get the chance to speak to briefly seemed nice. They're apparently the ghosts who didn't end up lucky enough to have somewhere to haunt and are waiting for one to become available or lost their haunting perimeters (like from the demolition of the old building or something similar). I guess Adam and Barbara are lucky to still have a home to stay in. I think one or two might have been some pretty weak poltergeists, but they seemed particularly uneasy getting close to Beej. I think that even if they didn't recognize him, they could tell how powerful he is.

I wish I'd brought my camera, but I'm not even sure it would have worked right. I know ghosts don't show up in pictures, so the entire Netherworld might be like that. But it would be nice to photograph the strange, dark, amazing place.

We spent hours there. And the most interesting part is that, when we came home, only fifteen minutes had passed. I knew that time passed differently between the two, but I figured it just went faster in the Netherworld. Turns out it is unpredictable for most people. Sometimes it is faster here, sometimes it is faster there. And you can only tell the difference when you go between the land of the living and the Netherworld. That makes it confusing for ghosts, but apparently Betelgeuse is able to figure out how to deal with the chaotic time flow.

And since you'll definitely read this entry the moment I turn my back, thank you so much for this. I can't even tell you how much I appreciated you taking me to the Netherworld. It might be boring for you, but it was better than I could have ever imagined. Thank you, Beej.

You're easily amused, Lyds. That place gets dull after a couple of centuries.

Well, I'm not that old yet and I'm not dead. For me, it was amazing. I can't even imagine getting bored with the place. I loved getting to see and explore the Netherworld.

Yeah, well, no diving off a bridge or anything to get in faster, Babes. You wouldn't get to see much of the sights if you get stuck as a caseworker.

I'm not going to. Promise. I'm not the same as I was when we first talked in the attic. You know that.

Good. And if you get me some of those crickets from the pet store again, I might be willing to sneak you back in next time I'm sure you won't end up missing a week at home because of the time difference.

Deal!

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

The thrill of victory was overwhelming them as Sanduleak finally vanished, prompting Tucker to start exchanging high-fives with his friends. They'd stopped Melinda, stopped Sanduleak, and didn't die in the process. The adrenaline of driving for the first time hadn't quite worn off either. Tucker simply felt excited and pumped at the moment, ready to celebrate.

"You took out Jack the Ripper," he cackled, grabbing Lydia and spinning her around. "You beat Jack the Ripper."

Laughing slightly, Danny said, "What about me? I'm the one who was blasting him. I think we all deserve some credit."

"Fine. We all beat him," Tucker corrected.

Even in the midst of the excitement of the success, he noticed when things started to go wrong. Tucker saw the look of confusion briefly cross Lydia's face. He turned, following her gaze.

He hadn't really noticed that Betelgeuse wasn't joining in on the celebrations. Now Tucker did. The poltergeist still stood exactly where he'd been when Sanduleak vanished. Head bowed, eyes closed, and fist clenched, he didn't seem to be paying attention to them. Lying at his feet was the knife, the one Melinda owned that could theoretically kill ghosts. Maybe it was the remaining adrenaline rush, but Tucker could feel his skin prickle and a shiver ran up his spine.

"Guys?" said Lydia, her voice still a little rough. Her tone interrupted the excited hug between Sam and Danny, making the pair turn serious again. "Where's the Gem of Osiris?"

Tucker shivered, the feeling that something was wrong growing. The knife remained, but not the necklace. Did it go with Sanduleak wherever he was banished to? He hoped so. He desperately hoped so.

Then Betelgeuse's eyes popped open and confirmed Tucker's worst fears. Where only Sanduleak's pupils glowed, Betelgeuse's entire eyes were a solid intense green shade that made him look possessed. Possessed and completely deranged. He lifted his head, the vacant and glowing stare not really focusing on anyone or anything. It absolutely terrified Tucker.

"No," whispered Lydia, her hand going to her mouth in horror.

An insane, manic, and terrifying grin overtook the poltergeist's face. And then it got even scarier.

"EEEEEYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAHAAA!"

The sound was like something from an insane asylum, the sort of thing that belonged in nightmares. Horror movies paled in comparison. The laugh seemed unhinged and dangerously psychotic.

"Easy now," said Danny quietly, his tone that of someone facing an aggressive dog. Stepping forward slightly, he said, "Look, just put down the necklace."

The poltergeist's hands lashed out and the air wavered like a heat mirage. The ground rippled around Betelgeuse, acting like water when someone tossed a stone in. It sent the knife skidding away, but Tucker's attention was on the poltergeist and how physics were becoming more fluid. Asphalt, concrete, brick, and even rain puddles began to shift and morph before his eyes into new shapes and materials. Buildings on either side reformed like clay into strange shapes with stripes or giant spirals. Cars parked in the street twisted into large beetle shapes. The very air around them felt different. And it was spreading fast.

Tucker bit back some words his mother would strongly disapprove of before saying, "Okay, we're all doomed. Any ideas?"

"Rush him and hope we can get the necklace before he reacts?" suggested Danny, eyeing the morphing chaos uneasily. "He doesn't look completely aware of us right now. We might get lucky."

"Because we've been so lucky so far," Sam muttered, but she still nodded in agreement.

Lydia stared at Betelgeuse in silent horror as the other three prepared for the insane idea. It wasn't easy seeing your best friend under the influence of some weird necklace that clearly messed with his head. Not to mention reality was stretching and twisting like a piece of taffy as far as the eye could see. She was allowed to be worried. Tucker would personally stick with pure terror himself.

"On three," said Danny in a quiet and calm tone, visibly tensing in preparation. "One… Two… Three!"

They ran towards the crazed poltergeist. Or at least, they tried. The ground underfoot shifted and moved too much to get any real speed and traction. Sometimes it felt solid, but other times it became soft or sticky. Sometimes the surface was smooth, but became uneven and rough by the next step. Really, the only one capable of moving quickly was Danny due to flying. Everyone else stumbled more than they actually ran.

Unsurprisingly, Danny reached Betelgeuse first. Tucker saw him go for the clenched fist, either hoping to knock the gem out of his grip or willing to risk grabbing it and hoping it wouldn't work on a halfa. Whatever he intended, it didn't work. It did manage to snap the poltergeist out of his manic indifference towards them, though. The glowing, empty, crazy eyes became a lot more angry and aggressive, Betelgeuse actually freezing Danny in midair with a sharp gesture.

There should have been a smirk. Everything about Betelgeuse's personality said there should be a smirk. There was no smirk. Only insanity, aggression, and fury.

"Danny," shouted Sam, shocked by how easily he was stopped.

Then Betelgeuse gestured again and everything exploded up and out. A force grabbed Tucker, ripping him off his feet. It flung him off the ground hard, hard enough to disorient him as chunks of the amorphous ground flew around and past him. He didn't immediately realize what was happening until he saw the shifting buildings and a huge crater far below. With flailing arms and terrified screams, Tucker panicked as he hurtled far too high and fast through the air.

And what goes up… must come down.

"Finally," said Jack, startling Jazz as the huge Ghost Shield went down. "That was a mess. But at least that problem is over."

"And the rain stopped," Maddie said, glancing at the sky. "But it does look odd…"

Shaking some of the rainwater from her hair, Jazz said, "Perfect. Now let's track down Danny. It sounds like something is going on with the others."

"That's an understatement."

Jazz yelped in surprise at the unknown voice, everyone spinning around. An older woman with a cigarette and a clear no-nonsense attitude now stood next to the RV. There was something about her, an odd quality Jazz couldn't describe. It seemed like the woman did and did not exist at the same time. But when Jazz actually thought about the paradox, things straightened out enough that she knew the woman was real. She was, however, strangely dry for someone who should have been hit by the surprise downpour.

"Who are you?" asked Maddie with an edge in her voice making it clear she would start firing soon if necessary.

"Juno, the caseworker who is apparently in charge of everything complicated and troublesome," the woman said dryly. "This is certainly outside my job description, but my superiors aren't giving me much choice. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? Ms. Fenton? And Mr. Livingston?"

"Yes?" Jazz said hesitantly.

"Good," she said with a short nod. "That saves some time. Do you have a way to contact Ms. Deetz and her companions?"

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Jack asked, "Why?"

"What do you want with my niece?" added Roger.

"Your wife and Sanduleak made a mess of things," she said sharply. "Neither could resist causing trouble and now we must face the consequences. Specifically, him getting that idiotic necklace. He's not the most stable on the best of days, but now the poltergeist is more powerful than you can possibly imagine and completely out of his mind. So I need to contact the only people in a position, however unlikely, to do something about him having the Gem of Osiris."

"I… I have almost no idea what you're talking about except something really bad is going on," admitted Jack.

Sighing with exasperation, Juno pointed up. Jazz turned to look. The sky still appeared dark and cloud-covered. But it looked wrong, unnatural and boiling like a freaky soup. It reminded her of the time Amity Park was briefly pulled into the Ghost Zone, but not quite. There was just something wrong that seemed to be quickly spreading.

"Okay, I'll see if I can get a hold of them," Jazz said.

Whatever blurry figures tried to take the burning, painful, pleasurable, bright source of power that tried to shatter him, they were gone. Destroyed or just gone, it didn't matter. He didn't really think about it. Thinking didn't really work with all the power, the sheer amount flooding him and drowning away almost everything else. He just acted. Instinctive reactions, impulse, and nearly-buried subconscious were all he had.

He didn't want to let go. It burned and hurt to contain the bright power. But he also wanted it. He needed it. He couldn't let the blurry shapes take the source of overwhelming power from him. No, he wouldn't let them.

He directed a portion of the power he was pouring into the surroundings back towards his fist. A broken chain repaired with a fleeting thought. Moving it to around his neck, he then lost track of all thoughts about it.

Not really seeing beyond the bright, burning, intense power that still threatened to shatter him even as he poured it out, he began to move. He didn't know what the power was doing to his surroundings. There was change, but he wasn't consciously directing it. He couldn't consciously direct anything.

It burned. So bright and so hot. There was too much. It filled him beyond what he could hold, trying to burst him apart. Even pouring the power out as quickly as possible couldn't relieve the pressure. It hurt and felt intoxicatingly good.

Even as he moved among the chaos, it burned too bright. Everything burned. He was burning from the inside out, the bright intensity destroying him. Nothing would stop it until there was nothing left.

Sam coughed, trying to recover from having the wind knocked out of her. She felt like one giant bruise. Of course, she should be dead. She and her friends were tossed across the city and fell hundreds of feet towards the ground. She should be a greasy smear on the sidewalk instead of just being sore and disoriented.

But physics were clearly being as affected as everything else by Betelgeuse's power. Right before she went splat, the falling girl abruptly slowed down. She hit the ground hard, but not fatally so. Rather than die, she simply added more bruises to her growing collection.

"Ow," she moaned.

She honestly just wanted to lie there, not moving for a while. The ground felt strange under her hands and her cheek. It wasn't dirt, stone, concrete, or anything she would expect. It felt cool and goopy, like something between rubber and maple syrup without the stickiness. It didn't cling to her, but it shifted and morphed under the pressure of her body. As Sam reluctantly forced herself to start getting up, she watched the dark surface pour into the imprint of her body to fill in the gap. A solid that moved like a liquid. Yeah, it was pretty weird.

Once she's crawled to her hands and knees, Sam actually started looking around. Shadows and darkness seemed to engulf everything. There were no stars in the sky. The only light she could make out was a green glow with no obvious source. There weren't any familiar buildings or buildings at all, so Sam couldn't guess where she'd landed. It didn't look like any recognizable part of Amity Park.

Strange spirals of varying sizes sprouted across the rolling hills of the landscape. Monoliths that might be stone were scattered like the missing buildings. Twisted, leafless trees sprang from the ground as she watched. Then there were the winding paths that ran along the hills and through the air with equal measure. Giant insects, snakes, and spiders scuttled across the alien landscape while ravens and bats flew. The colors were all dark and muted, though bold stripe patterns were fairly common. Honestly, Sam rather liked the style and wished she could decorate her room like that.

Something was off about the dimensions of the place, like the famous picture of the impossible staircases where people climbed them at every angle. Sam suspected over-thinking the way the physics were being twisted into a pretzel wouldn't be wise.

"Sam? Tucker? Lydia?" shouted Danny's voice over the Fenton Phone, sounding horrified and panicked.

"I'm fine," she answered quickly. "I'm not hurt. You?"

"I don't know where I am, but I'm not hurt and I can move again," he assured, a little relief edging into his voice. "Tucker? Lydia? What about you guys?"

With a slightly muffled voice over the connection, Tucker said, "I'm not dead. Wherever I am is freaky, though."

"This isn't really him. He's remaking the world and he doesn't even realize it," Lydia's voice said quietly, not really answering the question about her condition. "Part of this matches his haunting style, but the rest looks like a less urban corner of the Netherworld."

"According to someone named Juno, that's probably because the ghost is actually somehow affecting both Amity Park and the Netherworld at the same time."

"Jazz?" asked Danny over the crackling connection.

"Juno is here?" Lydia asked, a spark of hope returning to her voice.

"The slightly scary woman with the pearl necklace and a smoking problem? Yeah. And she's not happy. Apparently your friend has the gem thing that hinders and alters his mental faculties while empowering him enough to theoretically distort and destroy everything. Earth, the Ghost Zone, and the Netherworld. And she wants you to fix it."

"Of course she does," muttered Sam. "This is like Freakshow and the Reality Gauntlet again. He's too strong and can do anything, so directly facing him is insane."

"And tricking him like with Freakshow won't work. I saw his eyes. There's not much going on in there," Danny added. "And even if we could fight him, I wouldn't want to. This isn't his fault. He's not himself, like with me and Freakshow's staff."

"And if he continues to use his power like this? You remember what Juno said about the necklace. He'll either destroy the world or burn himself out. Or both," said Sam as she climbed to her feet.

"Sorry, guys. We're about to get in the RV and active our built-in Ghost Shield," Jazz said quickly. "Give me a few minutes."

Quietly, Tucker said, "Uh… I might have a back-up plan that no one will like. When he tossed me to somewhere with an upside-down waterfall, something else landed here with me."

"What?" asked Lydia.

"Melinda's knife. The one for ghosts…"

Silence fell across the line. No one immediately responded. Who would want to address that possible solution? No one even wanted to consider it. But they needed to at least think about it.

Sam took the opportunity to try taking a few steps across the amorphous material currently replacing the ground. Her feet sank several inches into the goopy substance, but she could manage.

"I don't think it should be the first choice," Tucker continued uneasily, "but if we run out of other options, we might have to try it."

"There are plenty of extreme measures we could try," said Lydia, her voice a little unsteady. "The knife. Or… something I could do to him. But we need to try separating him from the gem first. We need to help him."

"We will. We'll do our best to help him," Danny assured.

"We'll have to find him first," Tucker pointed out. "And considering that I'm currently staring at stone arches that are acting like teleporting portals to the new local wildlife, I have no idea which way to look for the guy."

"Good thing I can fly then," he said smugly.

Sam smiled briefly to herself, already imagining Danny flying through the air of the weird, twisted landscape. If anyone could navigate the chaos and figure out a nonfatal method of stopping Betelgeuse, it would be Danny. She believed in him.

He'd been confused by the weird alterations to Amity Park before. Once he'd been released from whatever paralyzing hold Betelgeuse placed on him and made sure his friends were alive, Danny climbed out of the crater and stared at the dead forest instead of a town. It had been so weird. But once he was in the air again, he'd only grown more confused and unnerved. There were no familiar landmarks. It looked like the inside of Sam's brain, all dark and Gothic.

Or, considering who was causing all the chaos, it was a glimpse into the crazy-version of Betelgeuse's mind.

He couldn't believe what was happening to his home. Amity Park was gone. The dark, twisted, strange surroundings extended as far as the eye could see. Hills, cliffs, spirals, structures of indefinable purpose, places where gravity appeared to be reversed as water ran up, arches, skeletal plants, and indescribable shapes were everywhere. There was nothing left that wasn't changed.

Where were the people? Men, women, and children just weren't around anymore. What happened to the population of Amity Park? Were they teleported away somewhere? Where they transformed into the giant creepy-crawlies that were now scurrying around? Were they even alive anymore?

And what about him, Sam, Tucker, and Lydia? Why were they still around and alive? Betelgeuse tossed them like unwanted toys rather than making them vanish like everyone else. Why? They were helpless against his reality warping powers, but he didn't destroy them. What was going on in that insane poltergeist's head?

From his position far above the chaos, Danny spotted the subtle ripples of change moving out from a central source. It didn't take a genius to realize that the source was Betelgeuse, which meant he'd found the guy. Now he just needed to figure out how to get the gem from Betelgeuse without being casually tossed aside again.

"Okay, how does this sound? I get close and say his name three times," Danny said. "He'll be banished back to the Netherworld. If we're lucky, he'll be sent away and the necklace will be left behind."

"And if not, he'll turn his insane rampage against the Netherworld," Lydia's voice pointed out over the Fenton Phones.

"It'll at least buy us some time to come up with something better. And ghosts will be able to defend themselves against his changes better than humans can."

Sam said, "I can't think of anything else we could try first, at least not something that won't hurt someone. I guess it'll have to be our Plan A."

"No, Plan A was all of us running towards him and trying to grab the necklace," said Tucker. "Actually, I think Plan A was the one meant to handle Melinda by talking to her. We've moved down the alphabet a bit since then."

"Fine, we'll call it Plan Raven," Lydia said. "Just watch out. He's been fast at muting someone in the past when they try to say his name. You'll have to be faster."

"Got it," said Danny before diving towards the ground.

He came up behind Betelgeuse at a reasonable distance, the poltergeist either not noticing Danny's arrival or ignoring him. He was shuffling along, moving more like a movie zombie. There was even a slouch to his posture. His hands dangled by his sides limply, occasionally lashing out as his power flared up throughout the area. There was no obvious goal or destination. Betelgeuse just kept moving forward.

"Well, you don't seem to worry about me as long as I don't get too close," said Danny quietly.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quiet enough. At the sound of his voice, Betelgeuse spun around to face him. The Gem of Osiris now hung around the poltergeist's neck. His expression was mildly curious and confused, but was mostly manic and wild. Some of the sluggishness to his movements and posture had vanished now that there was someone around as a possible target. His eyes also seemed brighter than before.

"I'm really sorry about this," Danny said quickly. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!"

The poltergeist reacted to the name, jerking sharply as fury overtook his face again. What he didn't do, however, was disappear. That left Danny facing an over-powered and furious ghost that he really didn't want to fight. He couldn't' even beat Betelgeuse before the crazy power boost.

Desperately hoping not to get killed, Danny muted the Fenton Phone and wailed. He put as much power as he could into his Ghostly Wail, the only thing that even slightly affected the poltergeist before. The ground tore free and large spirals collapsed from the force of the sound waves hitting them. But even as the piercing noise ripped a path of destruction through everything in front of Danny, he could see that the furious Betelgeuse remained standing. In fact, he was walking towards Danny.

His voice and strength gave out at the same time, leaving Danny falling silent as he lost his grip on his ghost form. Stumbling back, the human teenager un-muted the Fenton Phone and watched the approaching ghost with increasing dread.

"It didn't work. He's still here," he whispered frantically.

"What?" shouted Lydia, her voice practically ringing over the line.

Tripping, Danny hit the now-metal-like ground. He didn't let it slow him down. He crawled backwards along the smooth surface and away from the aggressive ghost with an unhinged snarl on his face.

"Danny, what's happening?" asked Jazz.

"He can't banish Beej with his name," Lydia said, sounding stunned.

"Get out of there, Danny," shouted Sam.

Betelgeuse shot a hand out and grabbed the boy's shirt, lifting him off the ground. Danny fought against the iron grip. He might've been able to slip out of his shirt to escape, but the other hand abruptly dug into Danny's shoulder before he got the chance.

"Juno says he must have actually combined our world with the Netherworld by now, at least for Amity Park," Jazz's voice reported. "He can't be summoned or banished because there's nowhere left for him to really go."

With a flash of frustration and fear at the news, Danny stared back into the glowing eyes of insanity. He really wished he'd known that sooner. Now he was about to be killed. And there was almost nothing he could do about it.

Well, there was one thing he could try. Danny gritted his teeth and took a risk. With as much speed as possible, he took advantage of being held up by the poltergeist and lunged for the necklace. He nearly touched the gem before Betelgeuse reacted strongly to the attempt, flinging him back.

He wasn't thrown up this time. The force simply hurtled him away. Darkness and shadows rose up and swallowed Danny, pulling him somewhere else. From there the teenage human found himself no longer moving sideways, but falling instead. Gravity really needed to choose a direction.

Then he hit with a splash.

Chapter Text

A danger of using reality warping tools or powers is that they require an incredible amount focus or control. The creation, alteration, or destruction of anything involves thinking about the required result. At times, it is possible for subconscious thoughts, fears, fleeting fancies, memories, dreams, or other unwanted ideas to manifest themselves along with more conscious decisions. Without focus and control, reality might be warped in ways you did not intend or expect. You may create something without meaning to do so.

-Excerpt from "The Reality Gauntlet and Other Ghostly Myths" by Frederich Isak Showenhower

Maddie didn't really know what to make of the wild, unpredictable changes to the park around them. She, her husband, and Roger were hiding within the RV alongside Jazz and the ghost woman. Jazz and Juno were in communication with Danny and the others using the Fenton Phone in the teenager's ear. The installed Ghost Shield on the vehicle wasn't as large as the Livingston's cobbled together monstrosity of a machine, but it covered the RV and a little bit of the surroundings at least. It kept most of the strange effects at bay. Most, but not all. Maddie could see the grass outside shifting into different colors and textures, the effect getting closer to the vehicle slowly.

There was a lot about the current situation that she didn't know, but Maddie had determined that this was the result of Betelgeuse's moderate reality warping abilities being affected by the artifact they were talking about earlier. It was the simplest explanation and Juno and Jazz's conversations were confirming that. What really concerned Maddie was that what little she overheard from the discussion was that Danny was in trouble. Even only half the conversation was enough to realize it. And there was almost nothing Maddie could do about it.

"Everything that's happening out there," said Roger slowly, "is because of my dearest Melinda, isn't it? The necklace she wore is somehow causing this."

"From what the ghost said, it is partially responsible," Maddie said with a nod.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this is happening."

Jack said, "You're not responsible for her choices. And you're not responsible for what is happening now."

"Doesn't change the fact I wish I could have done something to prevent this. I never imagined that trying to help her destroy ghosts could lead to something so terrible."

Thinking about how their own ghost-hunting brought them repeatedly into conflict against their own child, she said, "You'd be surprised."

As Juno muttered something that sounded like a curse before quickly passing on a message to Jazz, Roger turned towards Jack and asked, "Now that you took apart the modified version, how long do you think this Ghost Shield will last?"

"Normally, I would say an hour and a half," said Jack. "We've been working on it for a while."

"But it isn't completely stopping the effects," Maddie continued. "The changes are still getting through slowly. And the energy consumption isn't consistent. We might have more time or we might have less. The bigger question is if the changes outside will start affecting us before the Ghost Shield falls or not."

He hated the vague, blurry figure. It said something, a distant and barely audible sound he couldn't make out properly. Just as his surrounds were too bright, his ears were filled with the roar of the power that burned so intensely. He just knew the sounds the shape made grabbed his attention like nothing else and infuriated him. And then it tried to take the intense, burning, overwhelming source of power from around his neck. Fury burned and boiled. He hated the blurry figure. He should destroy it. Get rid of it and it'll stop. No more. Destroy it.

…no…

He lashed out with his power, sending the blurry figure somewhere else. He didn't really pay attention where. He just sent the figure away. It didn't lessen his fury. His anger burned nearly as hot as the power that he tried to control. He hated the blurry figure. He hated it and wanted it destroyed, but he sent it away instead.

…something…

It didn't matter. The annoying, blurry, troublesome figure was gone. The vague distraction was gone. He didn't need to think about. He couldn't think about it. The sheer power burned it away. Even as it filled him with energy, the power exhausted him. It hurt so much. He couldn't hold the power, as bright and hot as a raging inferno. He couldn't hold the power and he couldn't get rid of it fast enough.

…wrong…

The pressure and burning inside him hurt. Too much, far too much. The pain kept getting worse, but the addicting rush of pleasure it brought meant he couldn't stop. He couldn't let it go. He wanted the power that flooded him beyond his capacity to contain. He just burned as he tried not to shatter.

Destroy. Destroying him. Destroying everything around him.

Destroying would take up some of the power. Destroying would leave less power to contain. There would be less to burn him from the inside out. Less pressure trying to burst and shatter his skin open. Destruction, creation, transformation, and illusions. Anything and everything. Just keep using the power. Just keeping going.

…help…

Even when all the power overwhelmed and buried almost every aspect of his identity and his mind, a small spark of subconscious reached out with a piece of the limitless power. And that tiny fragment of who he used to be did something within the chaos and insanity before being swept away further.

Lydia spared her surroundings only the slightest attention. The dark and twisted place reminded her of the Netherworld, unusual and strangely beautiful in a physics-breaking way. She couldn't appreciate the endless staircases, the asymmetrical structures, and the way shadows fell across the place even when there was no source. Her mind was filled with thoughts of her best friend while panicked voices filled her ears.

"Danny? Answer me, Danny," Sam's voice shouted over the Fenton Phones. "I swear, you better be all right."

"Blech," he coughed. "Ugh, why is there a swamp? Why am I in a swamp?"

Tucker, sounding very relieved to hear his voice, said, "Dude, don't question it. Just be grateful he didn't kill you."

She shivered, both from her still-damp clothes and the idea. Tucker was right. Betelgeuse could kill them. He had enough power to do it easily and his normal morals (however limited) were not in place. She didn't want to consider it, but her best friend wasn't really around at the moment. And she might never get him back.

Lydia knew the others didn't want to say it, especially to her, but Betelgeuse might not make it. They may have already lost him. And in order to save everyone else, they might have to do something permanent.

Tucker had the knife, but that wasn't the only way they could… stop Betelgeuse. She still had the candle and more matches, currently tucked away in her pocket and out of sight. And his ring was on her hand. They couldn't let him burn himself out, destroying everything along with himself. But would it be kinder to end him with a cursed knife or an exorcism?

If it came to it, Lydia would do it. She knew it would hurt. She'd lost so many important people from her life already and her heart would shatter if she lost another. But he was her friend; he was her responsibility. No one else should bear the guilt. If anyone needed to make that decision, she would do it. She would do it as quick as possible and with as little pain as she could manage. She would deal with that and the rest of the emotional fallout of the last couple weeks when it everything was over.

But even if Lydia was reluctantly willing to make the hard choice when the time came, she didn't want to. She hoped they would find another way. She didn't want to kill her best friend.

"What do we do now?" asked Tucker, his voice quiet over the line. "I don't know what we can do. I don't even know where anything is."

Movement from the corner of her eye compelled Lydia to turn. She expected one of the giant bugs or snakes. The place was crawling with them. But what she saw turned out to be far more unusual.

Lydia stared at the translucent figure, standing among the shadows and chaos calmly. She looked old-fashioned, wearing wool garments of hand-woven cloth. She also looked young, like eleven or twelve. In addition to her dark hair and pale skin, Lydia noticed some rather familiar facial features. Not a mirror image or anything, but she could easily pass as a younger sister or cousin.

A quiet thought murmured at the back of her mind. She looked like she was the same age that Lydia was when she met Betelgeuse.

Whatever the girl might be, she wasn't a ghost. Not really. Lydia knew ghosts. The black-haired figure was too translucent, everything easy to see through her. She seemed more like the ghost of a ghost. She was a shadow. An illusion on the chaotic landscape. A memory. An echo of the past. And she knew who the likely source of the figure must be, though Lydia didn't know why Betelgeuse would create her even in his insanity or who the girl might be.

The translucent figure gestured for Lydia to follow her. Her mouth and her hand moved, but there was no sound. The girl still looked friendly and encouraging. Lydia found herself wanting to trust her.

"Uh, guys? I'm looking at someone in really old clothes that I don't recognize," said Danny.

Tired, stuck as a human for the moment, and standing knee-deep in muck, Danny stared at yet another strange sight. Of course, his life seemed to be a series of strange and weird events. He wasn't even certain what counted as normal anymore. It took a lot to completely shock him. And compared to the chaotic landscape around him, she was only slightly strange. But it was odd enough to mention to the others.

The blond woman wore very old clothes, her dress made of handspun wool and worn to a near threadbare state. She might be in her late twenties or so. She seemed tired, but still possessed a friendly smile. There was a certain maternal quality to her that reminded Danny of his own mother. And on top of everything else, the figure was translucent.

"What do you mean? Who is it?" Sam asked, her confusion clear over the Fenton Phones.

"No idea," said Danny. "I honestly don't know her."

Lydia asked, "Is she see-through?"

Blinking in surprise, he said, "Yeah, she is."

"Is she trying to lead you somewhere?"

Danny glanced back at the woman. She nodded and gestured towards him. Even with all the shadows, he saw light briefly reflect off a simple ring on her hand. He didn't see much detail about it, but it seemed vaguely familiar. She also stood on the muck rather than sinking into it, which seemed extremely unfair to the boy stuck in it up to his knees.

"Yeah?" he said uneasily. "How did you know?"

"Because there's a girl in front of me who also has old-fashioned clothes, is translucent, and wants me to go somewhere," said Lydia.

"Are they ghosts?" Sam asked.

"No," said Danny and Lydia in unison.

He wasn't sure how the girl knew, but the woman didn't activate his Ghost Sense and he didn't feel like the Netherworld ghosts he'd encountered. There was just something about the woman that didn't seem like she was a ghost. Call it instinct or whatever, but Danny just knew she wasn't an actual ghost.

Quietly, Sam said, "And now I see one too."

Sam wasn't surprised by the translucent figure since Danny and Lydia were already seeing them. The outdated clothes looked like something from the middle ages. Not the fancy elaborate gowns of the royalty. This was something that the peasantry would wear. She would predict the others might be from a similar time period.

The young woman appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties, though Sam could be wrong. She was rather pretty, with her blue eyes and chestnut hair. Her hair was tied up with a red ribbon, the color rather intense even with the translucency. She seemed sad and regretful, but nice. With a short gesture, the figure indicated for Sam to follow.

"If they aren't ghosts, who are these women?" she asked.

"Illusions," said Lydia. "They're… I think they're more like memories than actual ghosts. A reflection of someone who once existed, but not really them."

"Wait, you guys are seeing people?" asked Jazz abruptly.

"Translucent women who want us to go somewhere," Sam confirmed.

"But not ghosts?"

"No," said Lydia. "The one I'm looking at isn't a ghost. She's an illusion, probably based on a memory of someone real. Illusions are easy."

There as a moment of silence before Jazz's voice came back over the line, saying uncertainly, "According to Juno, that would definitely be within his capabilities. And she doesn't think he's in the right state of mind for anything creative, so he'll be making stuff that's familiar enough that he wouldn't have to think about. Stuff his subconscious could handle easily."

"Well, if they're from his head, that explains why we keep spotting women," Sam muttered.

"Not mine. She's a kid," said Lydia. "She's younger than me."

"Gah!" Tucker yelped over the line. "Now I found one. I've got my see-through person now. But it isn't a woman."

Tucker held a hand to his chest as he tried to slow his racing, pounding heart. Having the silent, translucent, and tall figure appear out of nowhere was bound to scare a guy. And why did he end up with a man when everyone else was stalked by females?

He wore really old clothes, from at least a few hundred years ago. The tall, strong, brown-haired man appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties. His face seemed friendly, but he was also big enough to toss Tucker over the freaky upside-down waterfall if he wanted. The translucent man smiled encouragingly at the teenager as he gestured for him to follow.

"So we all have an illusionary tour guide now," said Danny. "Should we consider that a good thing or bad?"

"They aren't attacking us," Lydia said. "They're just trying to lead us somewhere."

Sam asked, "Should we? Do we trust the Ghosts of Betelgeuse's Past?"

"If they're the work of his subconscious, maybe," she said.

Tucker looked at the stranger uneasily. He might be translucent and silent, but he acted more helpful and friendly than he did scary. Honestly, he seemed nice. Once Tucker got past the heart attack of his abrupt arrival, he couldn't bring himself to fear the man.

"Look, none of us really know where we are or where he is at the moment," said Tucker. "We have no better options. Let's take a chance and follow them."

"Sure, why not? It'll give me time to muster up enough of a second wind to go ghost again," Danny said.

Tucker nodded and the translucent man returned the gesture. He started walking. And Tucker followed, walking over the forever shifting landscape.

Too much. Too hot and bright. Blinding, deafening, and overwhelming. If filled him. Consumed him. The power was breaking him apart. He could feel himself cracking under the pressure. The burning, bright, intense, unrelenting pressure.

…can't…

He couldn't keep moving forward anymore. It took too much effort, too much focus. He just kept forcing the power out, pouring it out into the environment. It wasn't enough to relieve the pressure and burning from the power. There was just too much.

The power that burned, the fury with no outlet, and the destruction and chaos he unleashed… That was all he could comprehend. Nothing else could make it through.

…hurt…

Pain. Pleasure and pain; he couldn't escape it. The heat under his skin felt white-hot, making him want to scream and claw at his flesh to get away from it. His skin was cracking under the pressure and baking heat. It hurt so much, but the power was intoxicating him enough and tiring him enough that he didn't even try to scream or move.

He hurt so much. He was burning and breaking apart. He couldn't give up the source of power that flooded him, but he couldn't last much longer either. He shuddered slightly, the reaction to the sensations and the effects on his body involuntary. His power was destroying everything around him and himself. There was just too much.

The ground had shifted from the soft and squishy materials to something firmer, the surface feeling like wood floors under her boots. Sam followed her translucent tour guide as she led the teenager through the chaotic landscape. The woman with the red ribbon in her hair took her around leafless trees, across a twisting stone bridge that involved walking upside-down in a way that ignored gravity, and past an empty building with a sign that declared it was supposed to be inhabited by "girls, girls, girls." She also walked towards a solid cliff that rose up ahead of them, but it turned out to be an optical illusion that masked the start of a giant maze where the openings blended in with the walls. But the woman led Sam confidently and silently without any hint of hesitation.

"Okay, other than the fun trip through a deserted town with no right angles and buildings that are bigger on the inside than the outside, anyone know where exactly they're taking us yet?" asked Tucker.

"Hopefully towards our poltergeist," Lydia said.

"And are we sure yet that these guys are trust-worthy? If they're from his subconscious, will they really want to help us? Because he didn't seem to recognize friend from foe right now," said Sam.

Quietly, Danny said, "I don't know, but I want to trust them. They're acting like they want to help."

"So who are these people supposed to be, Lydia?" asked Sam.

"I don't know."

"He's your friend," said Tucker. "Shouldn't you at least have an idea?"

"He's been a ghost for over six hundred years," Lydia said tiredly over the line. "That's a lot of time and he's probably met a lot of people. And he doesn't always tell me specifics about his past."

"Well, these people are from a long time ago. Based on their clothes, I'd guess they're from medieval times and definitely from the poorer end of society," said Sam.

She gave the translucent woman another look. She gave Sam a brief smile and waved encouragingly towards her as the girl studied the woman's appearance again. Sam felt her assumptions were accurate. Friendly, but definitely from the distant past and poor.

"Could they be from when he was alive?" Jazz suggested. "I would think people from his life would have an important place in his subconscious memories."

"They're certainly from the right era," said Sam.

"The one I'm following is wearing a wedding ring. Maybe she's supposed to be his wife before he died," Danny said.

"No," said Lydia shortly. "He never married."

Tucker said, "Then maybe these were friends, family, or even a girlfriend. He must have known people in his life that were close to him." He paused briefly before adding, "Though he isn't that great at social interactions."

"A pretty young woman with chestnut hair tied in a red ribbon? Yeah, I can picture my guide catching his attention," said Sam.

The translucent figure turned a corner in the maze, briefly disappearing from sight. When Sam hurried to follow, she almost bumped into Tucker. They were out of the weird wooden cliff maze. She hadn't expected to find one of her friends so quickly. Apparently their guides were proving to be effective at their task.

She saw the other translucent person, the man who was leading Tucker around. He stood next to Sam's guide, giving her a respectful nod. The woman returned the greeting with a polite curtsy.

"Hey, I just found Lydia," said Danny. "And her see-through kid. She looks a little like Lydia too."

"Maybe a little," she admitted.

"Well, Tucker and I found each other too," said Sam. "How much you want to bet that if we follow them long enough, we'll all meet up?"

"Sounds reasonable," Danny said. "Hopefully we'll find each other before we have to face him again. We need to figure out a better plan than last time." He was quiet for a moment before he continued quietly, "I might have an idea, but it would be dangerous and a little crazy. But we might be able to get the necklace from him."

"A plan that could save him instead of destroying him? I'll risk it," said Lydia.

Chapter Text

Well, this week was boring beyond belief. The only thing remotely interesting was when we got back our creative writing piece on Wednesday. Apparently Mrs. Newberry found it to be "interesting, creative, and charming in a dark way that I've grown to expect from you." The ironic thing is that, while I changed enough details to keep it a work of fiction, the short story was based on my life. But who would believe the idea of a powerful ghost haunting a young woman because he can only be free if he was married? I changed the ages, some of the events leading up to it, and the ending to make it less creepy and weird, but it was about time that near-marriage did something positive. Getting an A minus in English almost makes the whole thing worth it.

But other than getting a good grade, there's not much to talk about this week. This weekend, however, I have plans. Dad and Delia are heading back to New York this weekend for some kind of art show or something. Otho and her new agent will both be there. I know she's missed Otho since he won't even come near our house anymore. But the point is that the two of them will be gone while I'll be here with Adam and Barbara.

So far our plans include a movie marathon of some classic horror films, the ones with the simplest special effects and sometimes cheesy acting. They aren't the scariest or goriest, but they can build suspense sometimes and that's almost as good. Later on, I might head out for some nighttime photos at the cemetery. I'll bring Beej along for that. From there, we'll just see what the two of us can come up with. I'm sure he can spice up my weekend.

Sure thing, Babes. I'm sure I can find something for us to do that'll have you screaming for more. We haven't watched "The Exorcist" recently, right? Watching it with a dead guy makes it a real riot. We'll definitely have fun while Chuck and the Missus are gone.

…

Oh, Lyds…They weren't " gone " gone when I wrote that. This isn't what I meant.

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' Journal"

There were plenty of challenges when it came to her job as a caseworker. And most of them weren't covered in her introductory pamphlets when she was handed the job. The paperwork involved, while occasionally excessive, was actually the easiest part. A large number of the ghosts she took on as cases were stressed, too lazy to read the Handbook, confused, scared, angry, useless at handling problems on their own, argumentative, uncooperative, in denial, depressed, or some random combination of those traits. And Juno was forced to work around their various issues before she could even address their particular cases. She was always overworked with far too many cases to juggle and so many of them just didn't understand the concept of making an appointment. And that was merely her regular work helping other ghosts handle being dead. Juno also ended up being the one who dealt with Betelgeuse whenever he caused problems and filing the occasional report of possible supernatural threats to the dead.

But this was completely outside her job description. There was nothing about being a caseworker that said she needed to go to the world of the living in order to pass on information to a group of teenagers about what might be going on with the current chaos. Even with her decades as a caseworker, she was not experienced enough to deal with a reality-warping poltergeist getting a hold of the Gem of Osiris and going out of his mind with the power. She should have known Betelgeuse would be the source of her biggest headache yet. But when her superiors in the bureaucracy told her to do something, Juno didn't have much choice.

Blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke, she watched the red-haired teenager frown at what she was hearing over her strange phone and let her thoughts briefly drift back to that meeting. Honestly, Juno never expected to meet someone that high in the bureaucracy. They weren't the ultimate boss at the top, but she could tell they were close. Her guess would be that they were practically second-in-command or something. Refusing wasn't an option.

"Do you really have to smoke in here?"

Leveling a dry look at the woman, Juno said, "Mrs. Fenton, even if we did not have far greater concerns such as what is happening outside, the smoke won't hurt the living. And you really don't want to deny me my nicotine right now."

She'd seen the files on the Fenton parents right before arriving. She wasn't a fan. They might limit their hunting to the inhabitants of the Ghost Zone, but it didn't mean she liked their profession. There was a reason why she said never trust the living. Ghost hunters and crazy people like that Melinda Livingston woman made being dead so much more difficult.

"Okay," said Jazz with a nod before turning towards the ghost. "Juno? They have a plan of how to get the necklace away from him. It sounds like it could work, but…" She trailed off as she looked towards her parents, appearing even more uneasy. "I think it could work, but it also sounds very dangerous."

"They're dealing with a crazier than normal version of that poltergeist. Of course it'll be dangerous," Juno said. "What's their idea?"

Lydia was relieved when they ran into Tucker and Sam before they did Betelgeuse. Danny's dangerous plan worked better with all of them. It made them slightly safer. And made it more likely she wouldn't have to depend on her backup plan.

Spotting the other two translucent figures, she instantly started noticing some similarities. The child that led Lydia around had a similar smile and facial features to the man, who she instantly hurried to join. The expressions on their faces confirmed her theory that the two figures were father and daughter. And both shared some similarities to Lydia, which she really couldn't explain. A bit more surprising was what she'd been ignoring since she'd run into Danny. The blond woman possessed the exact same eyes as her best friend. She couldn't deny it. The only one who didn't seem to be related to anyone else was the pretty young woman with the red ribbon in her hair.

Lydia eventually turned her attention away from the translucent figures and back towards her friends. A bright ring of light moved over Danny, changing him from a black-haired human to a white-haired ghost. Sam straightened the weapon strapped to her wrist. Hopefully she wouldn't need to fire it, but it might be able to keep her alive if she ended up in trouble. The blast might be enough to distract him.

And that was the biggest part of the plan. Distraction. He wasn't the most focused now based upon Danny's description. Anytime that he focused on someone too much, someone else would distract him. Never give him a chance to attack them. Just keep him too busy and unfocused. If they kept him from going directly after anyone in particular, keeping him off-balanced, one of them might be able to get close enough to grab the necklace. And they certainly had a reliable way to hold his attention.

There was a ray of hope and she clung to it desperately. But she still needed to be ready in case things went wrong. Things could easily go wrong even with their distractions keeping his attention shifting. Even crazier and more powerful than ever, Betelgeuse wouldn't be easy to handle. It made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

She didn't want anyone else to get hurt. She wouldn't let him kill someone in that state. But she also wouldn't let someone hurt him before they ran out of options. Lydia wouldn't use desperate measures if she didn't have to, but she had to make sure no one else tried it.

Stepping over to where Tucker stood uneasily, Lydia said, "Give me the knife."

"What?" he asked, blinking in surprise.

"My aunt's knife. Give it to me, please."

He stared at her in shock and confusion as she held out her hand expectantly. Tucker clearly didn't know what to make of the request. But she couldn't let her resolve waver. She didn't want him to use it if he got scared. She didn't want to use it either, but she was the better choice to hold on to it.

"He's my best friend. He's my responsibility. If we run out of time or things go wrong, I'll take care of him. I won't make anyone else do it."

"You don't have to do that," said Danny, clearly overhearing the quiet conversation. "We don't have to kill him or whatever. We don't want to do that."

"Of course I don't want to do that," she said. Shoving her emotions to the back of her mind to deal with later, she continued, "I hope it won't come to that. I'm just preparing for the worst. Life doesn't always go the way we want and is rarely fair. Something could go wrong and we won't have any other choice. But I won't force anyone else to make that decision. All of this is my fault anyway. Or at least my stupid family's fault."

"How is this your fault?" asked Sam.

"None of you would be here and involved in this mess if it wasn't for me, my aunt, and our general drama. I shouldn't have dragged you into this, but I did. I can at least take responsibility for some of what is going on."

Tucker chuckled briefly and said, "If you remember right, we kind of chased after you. And once we figured out how much you're tangled up with ghosts, there's no way we wouldn't get involved. You wouldn't be able to stop us. It's what we do."

She wasn't sure if that made her feel much better. It might lessen the guilt in regard to getting the three of them involved in a dangerous situation, but that was only a fraction of the tangled knot of unpleasant emotions Lydia wanted to ignore. Her desperate hope that everything would work out and her best friend would be all right wasn't enough to out-weigh her fear of failure, fear of further loss, guilt for what she was prepared to do if necessary, sorrow at the idea of losing someone else, and her sad resignation to do whatever she needed to do. But she shoved that tangle aside. She could handle it later. She knew such attitudes weren't healthy for her mentally, but it was the best she could do for now. There were more immediate concerns.

"Please give me the knife, Tucker," she repeated softly. "I just…"

Danny nodded and said, "Okay. Give her the knife. She'll need something anyway to protect herself in case things go wrong."

"And how about protecting me?" complained Tucker. He glanced towards Sam and asked, "Do you have anything in your backpack of supplies? Something other than duct tape I can use?"

"Sorry. You'll be fine. We have more ghost fighting experience," Sam said. "Just talk fast and dodge."

Movement caught Lydia's attention abruptly. The four translucent figures who'd previously been silently waiting for them, were now gesturing frantically for them to hurry while their expression looked grave. They also seemed to be fading out of sight, growing fuzzy and indistinct even as they tried to get the group's attention.

And now that she thought about it, the chaos seemed worse. Streaks of color and shadows swirled around, the air above them a whirling storm of insanity. And the eye of the storm was close.

Grabbing the knife from Tucker's grip, Lydia slipped her hand and the blade under her poncho. Then she broke into a run, the others following close. Time was up, so they headed straight into the eye of the storm.

Burning agony. Blinding bright. Unrelenting surging power. Raging fury.

Then movement of vague figures. Blurry sounds that captured attention and fanned his anger. Exhaustion banished by the arrival of targets. Tapping into intense burning power, he summoned the energy to act.

Destroy. Fury and aggression. Destroy. Chaotic power against them. Destroy.

Burning. Bright. Rage. Pain.

Destruction.

It looked like a forest or a swamp. Or at least, it once. And it still looked like one around the edges. Closer to the center was a completely different story. There were blackened, shriveled, twisted patches where things were destroyed at some point. The wind, or whatever chaotic force that felt like the wind, whirled around them. Areas of muck and murky water were dried or crumbling apart like ancient pottery. The ground cracked into fragments beneath Danny's feet. Everything in the chaotic landscape was strange, but this particular section was showing clear signs of destruction.

And standing in the middle of it, streaks of especially-extreme destructive damage radiating out from him, was Betelgeuse. His hands were by his sides, palms toward the ground. The rest of his body declared exhaustion and maybe even pain. His head bowed, shoulders slumped, and an occasional shudder wracked his body, it was clear Betelgeuse wasn't doing that great. But even if he looked out of it, Danny was certain he would react the second someone went for the necklace.

Silently, Danny gestured for the others to spread out. Quickly and quietly, everyone scrambled across the breaking and blackening remnants of a swamp. Only Lydia hesitated slightly. Within a few seconds, the four teenagers surrounded the poltergeist. He met everyone's gazes, ensuring that they were ready. They nodded to him and Danny took the first step in their insane plan.

Clearly and deliberately, he said, "Betelgeuse."

Though they knew it wouldn't banish him, the name did what they'd expected and hoped. It captured his attention. The poltergeist's head snapped up, his posture instantly shifting towards enraged. And Danny bit back a sharp curse as he finally saw his face clearly.

The glowing green of his eyes was far brighter than before, but that wasn't what worried Danny. There were cracks in Betelgeuse's face, jagged lines radiating out from his eyes. Down his cheeks and up his forehead were deep breaks in his skin. It looked like cracking porcelain. And through the radiating and deep cracks in his face, Danny could see the same bright unnatural light shining through.

"Betelgeuse?" he repeated, a little less certain.

He barely saw the poltergeist move, but Betelgeuse was suddenly in front of Danny. The teenager managed to duck under the grasping hand while taking a chance to grab at the necklace. Danny barely missed the Gem of Osiris, his hand brushing briefly against Betelgeuse's necktie. Unfortunately, the poltergeist didn't miss the teenager the second time.

A hand gripped his collar, leaving Danny choking and struggling against a burning sensation near his neck. His skin felt like it was crawling, maybe even literally.

"Betelgeuse," shouted Sam.

The poltergeist jerked at the name, his grip loosening as his head turned towards the running girl. Danny took advantage of the distraction to reach towards the necklace again. Unfortunately, even distracted, Betelgeuse wasn't making it easy. He off-handedly flung Danny straight into the ground, his face hitting hard. Ouch…

Scrambling out of the crater, Danny noticed that a section of his jumpsuit was gone. The material around edges seemed burnt and melted from the contact. Like it was scorched or vaporized.

The sounds of blasts demonstrated that Sam was trying to hold off the poltergeist and propelled Danny into flight. She fired fast and accurately, hitting the racing figure hard. It didn't even slow Betelgeuse down. Even when Danny rammed into the poltergeist right before he could touch Sam, it barely even caught his attention. He simply back-handed Danny away.

"Betelgeuse," Tucker shouted.

Again, the poltergeist turned at his name. Sam and Danny both dove for the Gem of Osiris desperately. Maintaining the same insane speed as before, he hit Danny hard enough to knock him into Sam and send them tumbling to the ground.

"Gah!" yelped Danny, his arm exploding in pain.

Rolling away from Sam, he tried to ignore how much it hurt. He'd taken the brunt of the impact, which was lucky since Danny was more durable than Sam at the moment and he managed to avoid a broken bone. It just hurt a lot. So battered and bruised, he took to the air again as the poltergeist neared the terrified Tucker.

"Betelgeuse," yelled Danny, making him turn just in time for ecto-blasts to hit the poltergeist in the face.

Continuing the trend so far, Betelgeuse didn't even flinch. He instead threw up a hand and Danny dropped like a stone, gravity instantly increasing to a level that it felt like his skull was collapsing under its own weight and breathing was impossible. Then he was grabbed and ripped from the ground, pure destructive power dissolving the material further on contact and the bordering skin feel like it was burning.

"Betelgeuse," Tucker yelled as he tried to tackle the poltergeist from behind, prompting him to fling Danny straight into his friend.

Both boys yelped, the wind thoroughly knocked out of them on impact. Struggling to recover, Danny couldn't make himself move immediately. Sam dove for Betelgeuse while he was still focused on Tucker. Not even looking, the poltergeist shrugged her off casually. Even without much power behind the gesture, he still sent her flying a dangerous distance.

Fear and frustration in equal measure gripped Danny as he threw up an ecto-shield between the aggressive poltergeist and the battered teenagers. This wasn't working. They couldn't get the necklace. Betelgeuse couldn't be stopped.

The shield melted away as the poltergeist lunged towards them. Before he could reach Tucker, Danny saw a blur of red and black that inserted itself in the path.

Lydia wanted to do what was right. The fate of the world was at stake, after all. She wanted to have the strength to do whatever was necessary to fix things, regardless of whether that meant facing a crazy Betelgeuse to get the necklace or stopping him permanently. She was stubbornly determined to take responsibility. When action and hard decisions were necessary, she made them. It was why she agreed years ago to marry him to save the Maitlands. Needs of the many outweighing the needs of a single person and all that. She was certain she could make the hard choice again and deal with the emotional fallout later.

But when she saw Betelgeuse's face, Lydia froze. Even with fury twisting his features into something as frightening as the snake she first met years ago, she felt a sharp pang of horror, worry, and heartache. His face was cracking like porcelain, the effect of the Gem of Osiris literally breaking him apart. Her friend was being destroyed right in front of her eyes. It was destroying him and she was thinking of how to speed it up…

In that instant, Lydia knew the plan wasn't going to work. She saw the others go after him, calling his name and trying to grab then necklace. She saw them surround him even as Betelgeuse moved like lightning, zeroing in on whoever said his name most recently. And he shrugged off anything they tried. The plan was doomed from the start. She should have known there was no real hope.

She should act. Lydia could see they were out of options. She knew there was no other choice, that there never was another choice. An exorcism would be dangerous, giving him a chance to break free. She would need to use the knife if she wanted to stop him, if she wanted to save the world from her insane friend's power. Just run up behind him while he was distracted and strike. It would be over quickly. There were no other options available and no time left.

The knife dropped to the ground with a dull thump. Faced with the moment of truth, she couldn't do it. She wasn't ruthless enough to literally stab her best friend in the back, even to prevent further destruction. Even though she couldn't see a hint of her friend in his wild expression, she couldn't hurt him. Her tangled emotions threatened to choke her at the very idea. Her willpower simply crumbled to dust.

She didn't know what else to do. She couldn't fix this. There was nothing else she could try.

No, that's not true.

Impulse and instinct combined with pure desperation and prompted her to run, finally shrugging off the paralysis. Lydia ran the short distance to the struggling figures. And then she did the stupidest thing she'd done in her entire life. Lydia flung herself in front of the furious and crazy poltergeist like a human shield, ensuring that she caught his attention and became his new target. She didn't move even as he swung at her.

"Beej, stop!"

So many blurry figures. So much noise. Can't focus.

He lashed out at them, fury burning and power glowing. Destroy. Must destroy them. He needed to destroy the figures.

Pain. Burning. Rage.

Smash them. Toss them. Slap them aside.

Must destroy. Too much power. Must use the power. Destroy with the power.

Bright, burning, intense power. Loud, distracting, blurry figures.

The same noise, the same word, kept repeating. Rage and aggression burned hotter.

Another figure appeared in the way, right in front of him. He started to back-hand it out of the way, but it made a sound that managed to pierce through the flood of power.

"Beej, stop!"

No. Not her.

Hold back the movement, rage, and unrelenting power. Everything stops.

The pain of impact never came. Lydia opened her eyes nervously to find the poltergeist right in front of her, his hand stopping close enough to almost brush against her cheek. She could also feel heat radiating from him, which surprised and concerned her since he wasn't meant to be warm. His hand was shaking slightly as if restraining himself at the last moment in mid-attack was a huge effort. But he'd stopped.

His face was close enough now that she couldn't ignore the cracks as they visibly widened and spread as she watched. He was growing worse with each passing second. His eyes, though… They still glowed intensely, showing a solid green with no signs of pupils or irises. But the fury and insanity were pushed back. She saw instead confusion, his expression somehow giving the impression of staring from a long distance away. Like he was trying to see through a thick fog or intense glare towards something so far away from him.

"Come on, Beej," she said, renewed hope tinting her voice. "I know you're in there."

Don't go for the necklace. Lydia banished the idea from her mind the instant it appeared. He barely stopped before. They were balanced on a knife's edge. Anything could send the situation tumbling back into violence and chaos. And at this range and with his power, he might inadvertently kill her if that happened.

Lydia briefly wondered if dying in this situation, deliberately placing herself right in front of an unstable and overpowered ghost, would qualify her to work as a caseworker.

She saw Danny and Tucker climbing to their feet out of the corner of her eye. Subtly, she waved them off with one hand while never turning away from the poltergeist. Lydia hoped they wouldn't try for the necklace. She hoped they could trust her. This might be her only chance to save him.

"You're the Ghost With The Most. You're my crazy, possessive, and unpredictable best friend. You don't want to hurt me," she continued. "Fight it. Don't let a cheap piece of jewelry beat you. You know me."

Further away, she caught a glimpse of Sam stumbling upright. That meant everyone was accounted for and alive. Good. Lydia diverted the rest of her attention back to the poltergeist who was slowly lowering his arm.

"Come back to me, Beej," she pleaded. "I lost Dad and Delia. I can't lose you. Please."

Something in his expression shifted slightly. There was still confusion, but now with a hint of hesitant uncertainty. Lydia held her breath, not certain if it was a positive sign or if he was slipping further away.

Quiet and so indistinct she almost missed it, he croaked hesitantly, "Lin?" Then a small spark of distant recognition flickered and with far more confidence, Betelgeuse said, "Lyds."

Fighting back both a laugh and tears of relief, she nodded frantically as she smiled at him. He was in there. His expression still seemed confused, distant, and uncertain for the most part, but she could see a thin thread of awareness that stretched through the power and insanity to where Betelgeuse was buried deep down. The fragile connection could easily snap. He might fall back under the power completely. But for the moment she had him and she had a chance.

The way he looked, trying to focus through the fog of whatever was clouding his mind, made it clear how tenuous his grasp on sanity truly was. It vaguely reminded her of someone who was drunk or drugged into a near stupor. But Lydia dealt with Delia a few times when she was groggy from Valium and needed to be moved towards her bedroom. This was the same concept. Keeping her voice calm and steady, keeping her words simple and clear, and keeping her focus solely on him might just be enough to coax Betelgeuse through this.

"Beej, listen carefully. The necklace is hurting you. It'll destroy you if we don't get it off."

She saw anger flare back up at the idea, but Lydia couldn't let that tiny spark of him slip away again. With her eyes locked on his solid glowing green ones, she grabbed the edges of his striped jacket in the hopes it would help keep him grounded. The heat radiating from Betelgeuse surprised her. She could feel it, like an ill person in the grip of a high fever. Ghosts were normally cooler to the touch compared to the living. Betelgeuse felt far too hot, regardless of whether he was dead or alive. But Lydia pushed that concern away and kept talking, clinging to the weak thread of his awareness.

"You have to get the necklace off. You need to do this for me. Just do what I tell you and everything will be fine."

She heard Jazz's voice over the Fenton Phones, asking what was happening. She caught glimpses of the others, everyone standing around uneasily as they watched and whispered. They were clearly doing their best not to distract either of them. Good. They understood how dangerously stupid she was being. A distraction right now might spark off his insanity and anger again, leaving her unable to escape his reaction. Her focus remained on him, the poltergeist struggling and trying to pay attention and understand through whatever the Gem of Osiris was doing to his mind.

"You can do it, Beej. Just pull the necklace over your head. Nice and easy. You don't even have to let go yet. Just take it off."

With slow, uncertain movements, his arm began to reach for the green gemstone around his neck. Lydia kept her hands tight on his jacket. She couldn't let him think she was trying to take it away. Not yet. That sort of thing had made him react badly before. She couldn't risk it. Especially since the trickiest part was still to come.

The moment the necklace was pulled over his head, she said, "That's perfect, Beej. That's right. Now, you're not going to like this part. But you have to help fix this. You have to put everything back."

He frowned slightly at her words, but he didn't look more confused. Lydia was fairly certain that he understood what she was saying, more or less. She was thankful for small favors. Trying to get a Valium-addled Delia to do something complicated wasn't something that usually worked well. And what could get more complicated than changing reality back to normal?

But he had to do it. And he had to do it while he still had the power boost from the Gem of Osiris. She didn't know how far he'd managed to warp everything. The entire city? The entire state? The entire country? The entire world? Further? She didn't know, but Lydia felt certain it was too much for him to fix normally. She had to talk him into fixing it before he released the necklace and that power. Otherwise they'd be stuck with this chaos forever. They'd be stuck with some strange and insane combination of the world of the living and the Netherworld all tangled together with whatever insanity lurked within her friend's mind. Lydia knew he had to fix things before she could save him.

"All that power you used? You need to pull it back. Pull it back and turn reality back to normal," she said firmly. "You can't leave it like this, Beej. I know it is hard. You've changed a lot of the world. But you have to turn it back. All of it."

At first, she didn't think it was working. He looked like he was losing focus on her, his expression growing more distant. Then he gave the tiniest of nods as he closed his eyes.

Betelgeuse was adrift in a sea of pain, power, brightness, burning, aggressive impulses, and chaotic forces that tore away at his thoughts. But he knew who he was again, at least to an extent. Someone managed to throw his consciousness a rescue line and pulled him towards the surface. It wasn't perfect, his thoughts sluggish and cloudy, but he clung to the familiar outside element. His memories were muddled, but he knew her.

Even when he lost everything else, he couldn't hurt her. And he couldn't ignore her. She managed to break through the disorientation and he latched onto her voice, letting the words flow over him. And whenever he managed to understand, he tried to do what she asked. It was the only guidance he had.

Take back the power. Change everything back.

The power already inside him was too much to contain. He couldn't hold it. But she needed him to do it. He would do anything to help her, even at the risk of oblivion. And part of him knew she was right. He needed to reverse what he'd done and he needed to get rid of the necklace.

He closed his eyes against the bright and blurriness of his surroundings. He ignored the pressure, the burning, and the pain as best he could. It would only get worse. But he didn't think about it. He didn't think much at all. For the moment, he focused solely on her voice and the power he'd poured out into the world.

When it came to warping reality, there was a certain elasticity to it. Part of it wanted to return back to normal and only needed a little push to snap back, no real concentration or focus required. But there was so much to reverse, so much power to pull back…

He pulled back the power from impossible distances, shifting the world back. He untangled and straightened out reality. And he struggled not to lose his fragile grasp on everything.

It hurt. He found a whole new level of agony. More than he could bear. The burning and pressure kept increasing. He couldn't contain the power he already held and now he was reclaiming even more. It was like pouring lava into his veins, white-hot agony and forceful strain that threatened to rip him open. Every instinct warned him to stop, to get rid of the power and pain. He felt it destroying him. But her voice remained constant, so he kept going. He would do anything for her. So he would do this too.

Chapter Text

Most deceased will only remain within their haunting boundaries for the length of their assigned time frame. Any point after that, they are allowed to apply to move on from their status as a ghost. The paperwork is available from their caseworker.

There is no obligation to move on by a specific point and the deceased are welcome to remain within their haunting boundaries for as long afterward as they prefer. Most, however, choose to move on shortly after they are offered the option. This is due to the fact that sufficient time will have passed that most of the living they once knew would have already died and being forced to observe from a limited location for an excessive amount of time often discourages the deceased from wishing to remain trapped longer. Thus, the loss of familiarity combined with a desire to move beyond the haunting boundaries encourages the deceased to move on when provided the opportunity.

Poltergeists, not being limited to a single location, are more likely to remain past their required time frame. The higher geographical freedom and opportunities to observe the changes among the living help poltergeists from feeling trapped or limited. But even poltergeists eventually begin to feel out of place as the living continue to change and evolve with each passing year.

The majority of the deceased, with slight variations depending on the length of their haunting time frame, move on within one or two centuries of their demise. Very few remain past three centuries.

-Excerpt from "The Living and the Dead"

"Adding yet more bruises to my collection," Sam muttered under her breath as she moved towards her friends. "Should we do something about them?"

His voice equally soft, Danny said, "Lydia barely stopped him. I really don't want to accidentally set him off again."

"How did she do it anyway?" asked Tucker quietly, eyeing the girl and poltergeist uneasily. "That's some mystical, freaky, mind-warping mumbo-jumbo. And all she did was get in front of him and tell him to stop."

Shrugging, Danny said, "Sam broke through to me a little when Freakshow used his scepter on me. We know it is at least possible."

"So we're just supposed to stand around quietly and wait?" Sam asked.

"Unless something else happens, that looks like the safest option," he said. "Because if he lashes out again, Lydia won't be able to get away from him in time. We can't distract them and risk it."

The grass outside looked weird and the walls of the RV were warping slightly, buckling and wobbling. The Ghost Shield was barely holding back any of the chaos now. Jack stared out at it all, wishing there was something he could do.

Then he noticed that effects were slowing down. And then reversing. He could see the vehicle smoothing back out and the grass started to look more like plants again. The man found himself smiling at how the world was clearly returning to normal.

"Looks like they're making progress," he said. "Never doubted you for a second, Danny."

"Apparently Lydia's doing something," reported Jazz. "Danny says Beej is listening to her. Barely."

The old woman ghost nodded firmly and said, "As soon as the park is back to normal, drop your shield. I need to go deal with the fallout of this mess."

"Just a little longer. You're almost done. I know you can finish this," Lydia said, wishing she didn't have to make him keep going.

The effects on the surroundings were clear. The world was returning to normal, concrete reforming and buildings rising from the ground. She could even tell that they were in front of the high school, standing where the front lawn should be. Reality was being restored to how it was meant to be.

The effect it was having on Betelgeuse was even clearer and far less pleasant. The cracks were worsening faster, widening and spreading. They covered his face, creeping under his hairline and down his neck until they vanished under his clothes. She spotted a few lines even on his hands, suggesting his whole body was breaking under the strain. The light glowing through the cracks and his eyes was so intense and bright that the green shade looked almost white. And she could feel the unnatural heat rolling off him in waves. The gem was destroying him.

But she needed to keep him going until the damage was repaired. And she hated herself for making him suffer further. It wasn't fair. And the longer she made him hold onto the gem and the more power he was forced to contain, the more damage he experienced and the greater the chance he would finally burn out completely. Which would happen first? Would he change everything back in time or would he be destroyed? Regardless of what happened, it would be her fault.

Lydia saw the grass that was supposed to be in front of the school growing back, the plants sprouting under her feet as she watched. The sky was filled with stars, the chaos and even the storm that Sanduleak summoned nothing more than a memory. She didn't see or hear a lot of traffic on the nearby road, but that didn't change the fact it almost looked like the world was back to normal. He was either finished or almost finished.

Whether because of bruises from her aunt's murder attempt or her emotions, Lydia's voice sounded a little rough and raw. But she managed to keep it calm and she avoided tears.

"All right, Beej. It looks like you fixed things. I know you're doing the best you can to handle this, but now you need to let go. You need to let go of the necklace."

Anger flared back up at the suggestion, his expression twisting into a snarl even as it cracked his face further. His grip tightened on the gem while his other hand grabbed her poncho. Lydia did her best not to flinch as he managed to lift her off the ground and brought her to face level. Behind her, the other teenagers scrambled into action. They were ready to attack if necessary to rescue her. But they weren't striking yet; they were holding off until they had no choice.

"Beej, calm down," she coaxed. "You need to put me and the necklace down. You have to do it. The necklace is hurting you. It'll destroy you. Just listen and do what I say. It'll be all right. Trust me, Beej."

Her calm and firm voice seemed to strengthen the fragile thread of sanity back, letting the fury fade away. Lydia smiled in relief as he set her back on her feet. But he didn't loosen his grip on her poncho or on the necklace.

"Let it go. Let the necklace go," Lydia said, feeling a little desperate because the cracks were spreading faster and she wasn't sure how much time they had left. "We can't take it from you. I know you won't let us try. You'll have to do it. Just let go of the necklace. It is very easy, Beej. Just open your hand and drop it."

He shuddered briefly, some of his confusion replaced by a spark of understanding and faint worry. Betelgeuse turned his eyes towards his clenched fist. But he didn't release his grip. Not yet.

"Please, Betelgeuse," she said quietly. "Don't do this to me. You need to let the necklace go. Please? Can you do this one thing for me? Open your hand and let the necklace go."

Because she was watching closely, Lydia spotted it. His fingers twitched. Slowly, gradually, and reluctantly, his grip loosened. More cracks spread along his hands like glowing spider webs, but he was doing it. Lydia held her breath in anticipation. It was working.

The Gem of Osiris finally slipped through his fingers and it was like someone cut the strings of a marionette. Lydia abruptly found herself catching the limp poltergeist as he collapsed, all his excess power gone. The teenage girl struggled to support the tall and heavy figure she suddenly had in her arms. She still managed to kick the necklace away though.

Danny almost instantly appeared at her side and helped her bear the weight long enough to lower Betelgeuse to the ground. He ended up sprawled limply on the grass, but they managed to lean his head against her as Lydia kneeled protectively next to her best friend.

"That was both scary and awesome," said Tucker as the others carefully drew closer. "But it worked."

Pulling back out her roll of duct tape, Sam said, "And let's make sure no one else messes with the gem and starts up another round."

As Sam started to cocoon the necklace in layers of duct tape, Lydia took a closer at Betelgeuse now that he was lying limply on the ground with his eyes shut. The cracks and the green glow were gone. And the unnatural heat had cooled.

Actually, he'd gone beyond his normal coolness into something that felt flat-out cold. And while he usually seemed rather solid for a ghost, he now seemed even less substantial than the Maitlands. Lydia actually had to focus to hold onto him. He usually looked like a corpse that dug itself out of the ground, but he somehow managed to appear paler and grayer than normal. He looked worn and washed out. Faded. In some ways, he appeared worse than when he was crazy enough to go through the Ghost Portal without being summoned.

There was unfortunately very little she could do to see how much damage he'd experienced. She couldn't check the pulse of a dead guy and he didn't need to breathe. But he wasn't cracking apart, crumbling to dust, or glowing a sickly green. That was the best she could use as a yardstick for his health.

Tiredly, Betelgeuse opened his eyes. While a little duller than normal for the animated and energetic poltergeist she knew, his eyes were no longer solid green glowing shapes with no hint of his true self. He met her gaze firmly and even managed a weak smile.

"I… need a… vacation," he mumbled.

"You've earned one, Beej," said Lydia, smiling in relief. "Nice to have you back."

"Stupid… necklace…"

Sam said, "Don't worry. I put enough duct tape on the piece of junk that it'll never see the light of day again."

"Danny? Guys? Talk to me," Jazz's voice called over the Fenton Phones.

"We're fine," reassured Danny. "We're all fine. And the world is back to normal. We stopped the chaos and saved Earth. Tell Mom and Dad to stop worrying."

"I doubt they'll relax until they actually see you, but I'll tell them." Jazz paused briefly before adding in a confused voice, "And Juno just vanished."

Tracking them down once the Fentons deactivated their Ghost Shield was simple. All Juno needed to do was trace the various chaotic alterations and restorations to the environment. Also, the ectoplasm-based half-ghost shone like a beacon that any half-decent specter could track. Juno barely even had to try.

She found the group of teenagers huddled around the front yard of the local high school. The Fenton boy was still in his ghost form, but she barely spared any attention to him. Other than a brief moment to note the location of the Gem of Osiris, her focus was on her former assistant who was currently sprawled on the grass, his head resting against Lydia Deetz.

She couldn't see much from across the street. But she could sense plenty. She could detect the bright beacon from Danny and the duller auras of the humans. She could sense the unnerving and alluring power of the necklace. And she could sense that there was something seriously wrong with the Ghost With The Most.

After knowing and working alongside him for decades, Juno knew what his power and aura should feel like. Normally it was solid, bright, and intense, serving as a clear reflection of his strength as a powerful poltergeist. The last couple of encounters were different. After his insane attempt to use the Ghost Portal, she didn't even have to try very hard to realize that his casual demeanor was an act. His aura was shredded by his actions and barely stitched back together by power and stubbornness. The expended power would recover faster than his aura. That sort of damage took time repair, even for the strongest ghosts. So she expected to still sense the recovering tears in his aura since it was only a day later. What really concerned her was the new damage from Betelgeuse coming in contact with the Gem of Osiris.

She actually needed to focus quite closely to even sense his aura, which was beyond worrying. He felt dimmer than the living, severely scorched away and almost completely absent. It reminded her, if she wanted to use a metaphor, of a huge bonfire that eventually ran out of fuel and died down to a few fading embers among the ash. There was clearly a reason why there were no real records of ghosts surviving possession of the Gem of Osiris.

Juno cursed quietly. Idiotic, crazy poltergeist. He should never have touched that thing, even inadvertently. Frustration and anger with his actions, however pointless, was better than pity and regret about what happened to him. He'd finally got into trouble that neither of them could get him out of.

But she'd done her assigned tasks. She provided information to help navigate through the disaster. Reality was saved. And she'd located the necklace itself. Now she had one final instruction.

She called in upper management.

Betelgeuse could think again, the insane and blinding amount of power gone. He knew who he was and could remember what was happening. He would have expected to feel very relieved or at least sore after all the previous pain that wracked his body. But other than a little relief that Lydia seemed to be all right, he mostly felt numb. Physically and emotionally, he felt numb. Moving didn't seem like a good idea and he just couldn't motivate himself to do anything. He was just numb and tired. Not the inescapable and overwhelming exhaustion from the night before that forcibly pulled him under; just a desire to simply fall fast asleep and get some rest. So other than a few words to reassure Lydia that he was himself again, he was content to remain quiet and still. He vaguely listened to their voices talk around him, but nothing more.

He almost gently dozed off, embracing the numbness and tiredness he felt like he'd been wrapped in. It would be easy. But then several presences appeared out of nowhere and panic sparked through the numbness. Betelgeuse managed to push himself up a few inches in response to the arrivals, but that was all he could do.

There were three of them, figures so bright they looked like pure light and impossible to stare at directly for long. He doubted the teenagers could make out anything except the light and even he could only make out the vaguest of shapes in the center. Not that what he caught glimpses of made sense or were even accurate: wings, a humanoid body, multiple heads and faces, pieces of animals, a wheel of fire covered in eyes. Yeah, his eyes simply couldn't agree of what was hidden beneath the blinding figures wrapped in light. It really wasn't worth the effort to try peering through the glow.

But he could feel them. And they were powerful and ancient. More powerful than anything he'd ever encountered. Stronger than him on his best day. Betelgeuse couldn't even remember the last time he'd encountered someone more powerful than him. The trio of lights could easily destroy all of them and he didn't have anywhere close to enough energy to do a thing about it.

"Gah, very bright," yelped Tucker.

Leaning protectively over the poltergeist, Lydia glared at the trio of bright shapes and asked sharply, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"We have come to collect items no longer needed in the hands of man," said the one in the center.

The voice sounded strange. It was impossible to judge the gender and there was a musical quality to it. And there was some kind of echoing wave to the sound.

The center figure of light continued, "It has long since served its purpose in the world and has caused undesired harm in the time since."

"If you mean the necklace, then 'undesired harm' is a bit of an understatement," Danny said, moving between the two groups defensively. "And you still haven't said who you are."

"Who we are is a complicated matter. The most relevant at the moment and simplest to understand description is that we are part of the afterlife bureaucracy," said the bright figure on the right, the voice nearly identical to the first. "We are part of the upper management, though we are not in charge overall."

"So you're Juno's bosses?" said Lydia.

"She rarely answers to us directly, but that is essentially correct," the one on the left replied, moving a little closer to them.

Part of Betelgeuse wondered if he should be worried about why they were there since no one ever saw the higher members of the bureaucracy. It just didn't happen. But the numbness had returned to the forefront and the desire for sleep left him unable to get worked up about the situation. He could barely keep awake and focused on the situation.

"So after we did all the work at get the necklace away from the crazy woman, Sanduleak, and Beej, you just waltz in and grab the thing? That's not fair," complained Tucker.

"We could not retrieve these objects until they were in the possession of someone who would surrender the objects willingly," the center figure explained solemnly. "Free will is important and something we cannot infringe upon."

"Wait, objects?" asked Sam suspiciously, glancing briefly at the wad of duct tape the size of an apple. "You mean more than just this?"

"We also intend to collect the blade warped until it only fulfills half its original purpose," the one on the right said. "It would be safer stored away and unable to harm innocent souls further."

Betelgeuse started to nod in agreement to the idea of locking away the evil necklace and creepy knife. But he only made it halfway through the gesture before his body gave up. His head slipped back down tiredly and his eyes began to slide closed. He caught a glimpse of a bright shape drawing even closer, but then his eyes were shut completely.

Peace and calmness settled on him like a blanket. Then, after a moment of nothing beyond his own thoughts, he saw something. Betelgeuse knew it was only in his head and he was still lying on the grass with his head propped against Lydia, but it looked like he was standing in an empty white room with one of the bright figures for company. But just because it was mental didn't mean it wasn't real. He was experienced enough to recognize that somehow the figure of light actually followed him into his mind and knew better than to waste time wondering how. He just accepted it as a fact and moved on. And because it was all in his head, finding the energy to talk and move was far easier.

"Why are you in my head?" asked Betelgeuse.

The figure of light came closer and somehow gave the impression of giving Betelgeuse a sympathetic look without having a visible head, let alone a face. And somehow it didn't bother him.

"Poor child," said the bright shape. "You have suffered so much for so long. Both in life and death, you have suffered more than you deserved."

It had been a long time since someone called him a child, at least not as an insult or a comment on this general maturity. The stranger actually viewed the poltergeist as a child even when he was over six hundred years old. Betelgeuse could feel the age on the figure of light, thousands of years hidden behind the glow. With the age and power of the bright stranger, he would not argue with the ancient being calling him a child. By their standards, he was. Besides, it sounded nice. There was kindness in the words that felt comforting to the tired poltergeist.

"We used you, poor child. Though every choice you've made has been your own and you could have strayed from our plan whenever you desired, your entire existence has been closely observed in the hope you would serve our purpose. We knew the Gem of Osiris needed to leave the hands of mortals long ago, so we searched for the perfect set of circumstances. The perfect series of coincidences. A strong-willed soul with unwavering loyalty to a select few that would cause disruption and yet still held personal morals, someone who did not back down even when faced with unimaginable challenges and limitations. A family tangled in the supernatural through the generations, seeking out objects of power and potential danger so that they might hoard and use them however they wished. A child full of forgiveness, patience, and compassion for those living and dead who could see the good in those who inspired fear and hatred and who truly believes in second chances. All of them tied together across time and space, weaving in and out of each others' existences until everything lined up perfectly. The living and the dead made all of their choices freely. All we did was predict what paths would be chosen by those involved and ensured your return as a poltergeist included the power you needed to succeed."

He should have been angry. He should have been mad about someone using him as a tool for their plan, that his life and death were all part of a very long gambit to get the necklace. He should have been frustrated and furious that his entire existence apparently only had one purpose: to eventually grab the evil jewelry by accident.

But he wasn't. He just felt numb, tired, and empty. He felt washed out and faded. He felt the weight of every single day of his centuries of roaming the Earth dragging him down and just wanted to rest in peace. Getting worked up about the situation just wasn't worth the effort.

"You always had a choice, child. Never forget that. You could have rejected Galeren's offer of friendship. You could have cast his children out of your home, leaving Katelin and Henry to survive or die on their own. You could have let Sanduleak harm those women and roam free. You could have chosen different ghosts than Adam and Barbara Maitland to tempt into a releasing you to haunt their house. You could have ignored Lydia Deetz, descendant of Galeren, Derrick, Katelin, Nicholas, and countless others."

Katelin. Something in Betelgeuse's mind finally snapped into place and a lot of subconscious decisions abruptly made sense. But the glowing figure continued speaking without hesitation, so he couldn't dwell on it.

"You could have chosen not to strike a deal to save Adam and Barbara Maitland from the effects of an exorcism. You could have rejected Lydia Deetz's offers of forgiveness and friendship. You could have given up when Melinda Livingston banished you away. You could have decided never to risk the dangers of the Ghost Portal. You could have ignored the words of Lydia Deetz when she called to you through chaos, power, and madness and begged you to fix what changes you had wrought. There were thousands of choices you could have made that would have led you down a different path, just as everyone else could have chosen differently. We simply saw the most likely end result."

The bright light extended slightly towards him, like the figure was reaching out a hand, paw, tentacle, or some kind of limb. It brushed against his head gently, reminding him of how his mother performed the same gesture when he was small as she set him off to sleep. And Betelgeuse felt very tired.

"You have done what we hoped you would, but this path has led you to suffer and wander alone for far longer than any poor soul should need to. And now you have destroyed more than your power can heal. For that pain and damage that you have experienced in order to achieve our plan, we are sorry. But we no longer need your presence to achieve our goals and you deserve better. We no longer need your stubborn refusal to leave, which kept you here longer than most and long enough to serve our plan. Instead, we wish to reward you for what you have done and ensure you need not suffer oblivion for your actions." The bright figure said with an even kinder and gentler tone than before, "It is time to do what you were free to choose centuries ago. You have been lost, adrift, and alone long enough, poor child. You must be weary. Come home, Betelgeuse. You may have performed actions kind and cruel during both your life and afterlife, but what awaits you is nothing unpleasant. It is a far better fate than your final destruction or eternal suffering. Come home and end your wanderings, child. Come home and finally rest."

He knew what he was being offered, more or less. The figure of light wanted him to move on, just like everyone eventually did. Betelgeuse never really considered it, perfectly content to keep haunting the world, enjoying himself, and doing whatever he wanted. Leaving just never appealed to him.

But now, feeling numb, empty, and tired… The idea of rest sounded so nice. He was just so tired and couldn't ignore the offer. The centuries weighed heavily on him. In the face of oblivion, which was what he'd apparently suffer soon otherwise, it would be best to accept the proposal for something better.

For the first time he could properly remember, Betelgeuse could actually consider the idea of finally moving on. Perhaps it was past time to accept the inevitable. The idea simply felt right. It was time to stop.

The bright figure brushed back his hair gently again, like a parent settling their child into bed for the night. It seemed so peaceful. Comforting. True rest would be nice. He was just so tired. So very, very tired...

But as he succumbed to his weariness and started to embrace the idea of moving on, a single thought drifted through his numb mind. And he realized he couldn't give up. He couldn't take the easy way. The figures of light may no longer need him, but a person far more important did.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass," he said. "Someone needs me to stick around a little longer."

"You will not survive how you are now, child. The damage is too great. You are fading even now."

He certainly felt like he was fading away, just slipping deeper into numbness, tiredness, and emptiness. But he'd always been good at bluffing. He could even trick himself a little. He couldn't give up now. He needed to resist it at least a little. Otherwise there would soon be nothing left.

"I could still manage somehow. I have to at least try. I have to try for Lyds. Leaving her like this? After what happened with her folks? I can't do that to the kid." He smiled wryly and added, "Besides, I promised to take care of Galeren's children. And I don't plan to break my word now."

He still couldn't make out anything resembling a proper face through the intense glow, but Betelgeuse almost felt like he received a look of approval from the figure of light. He was honestly too tired and numb to consider why that might be. Most people were more upset when their generous offer was soundly rejected. But Betelgeuse couldn't really bring himself to care about the ancient stranger's odd reactions. He just wanted to get some rest.

"We cannot force you to move on. We cannot infringe on anyone's free will, even a poor soul who barely exists anymore. You always had the power to choose who you are and what you wish to do with the time have in existence. And you have chosen destruction and oblivion over a more peaceful and pleasant fate, one in which you would never suffer or want for anything ever again. But your decision is based on taking care of another. Even if you could only remain with Lydia Deetz a few extra seconds with this choice, you refuse to leave her. Generosity, loyalty, compassion, sacrifice for others. For all your vices, you also possess several virtues."

The figure of light moved the contact from Betelgeuse's head down to his chest. He honestly didn't have a clue what was happening anymore. It probably didn't matter much anyway. Only a few extra seconds to exist and all that...

Sorry, Lyds. Didn't want to leave you... Tried to stay...

"You do not consider our offer a reward because you feel it would cause harm to one you care about. We knew it was a possibility. We have observed you for far too long for your decision to be a complete surprise. You will come home one day. All souls seek to move on eventually. But for now, we will apologize for using you and reward your actions in a different manner."

Some of numbness was gently brushed away by a sensation of warmth, comfort, and light. The feeling spread from his chest where the bright figure touched. The sensation filled his body, soft and gradual. Betelgeuse didn't know what the ancient stranger was exactly doing, but it felt nice. Whatever it was, he craved the way the bright and soothing feeling pushed back the empty numbness. He hadn't truly realized how badly it was affecting him.

"Betelgeuse, son of Remfrey and Elinor," said the figure of light calmly. "Heal. This is your reward. Remain with the child you wish to watch over, who claimed you in friendship when so few would. Your strength will return in time, but let the damage that would destroy you be repaired. This is our gift to you for all that you have done and all you have suffered."

The emptiness and numbness completely left him. But as the bright figure pulled away, the tiredness hit at full force. He needed rest, but not the same sort of rest as before. There was no denying it by this point. Sleep was definitely not optional.

"Rest now, child. All danger has passed. Rest and recover from the challenges you have faced. You have done well."

He couldn't have disobeyed the order if he wanted. So Betelgeuse didn't even try.

Chapter Text

Last night's events are still not completely clear. While many people saw a Ghost Shield cover the city for a short period of time and there was certainly a ghost fight outside of the structure at one point, there is less information to explain the wide spread reports of the population falling unconscious with no memories of the cause. No one can remember or explain what exactly occurred and we are still trying to determine the extent of the effect. People far outside the city limits of Amity Park are reporting similar experiences. The current working theory is that ghosts were the cause. Furthermore, the Fentons have not claimed responsibility for the activation of the Ghost Shield that temporarily stretched over the town. We will provide more information as it becomes available.

-Except from "The Amity Park Gazette"

Danny wasn't exactly sure what the figures of intense light were supposed to be. They didn't activate his Ghost Sense, so they weren't ghosts from the Ghost Zone. They weren't ectoplasm-based. Beyond that, Danny didn't have much to work with. They were bright, mysterious, and after the weird knife and necklace. He honestly couldn't tell if the trio of glowing figures was on their side or enemies.

What Danny knew for certain was that when the one on the left moved close enough to loom over the silent and still poltergeist, it sparked an angry and protective reaction from the dark-haired girl. Lydia leaned over Betelgeuse further and glared venomously, not even flinching in the face of the intense glow.

"Leave him alone," snapped Lydia. "I won't let you hurt Beej."

The center figure of light said gently, "We do not intend to harm the ghost nor anyone who is present. That is not why we are here, young child."

The glowing shape on the right added, "There is little we could do to harm him further even if we sought to accomplish such an action. The damage is already in place and cannot be truly worsened. And he cannot repair what he has suffered. His time is limited."

That response was enough to turn Lydia's glare from the figure next to Betelgeuse to the one speaking. And fear edged back into her expression. Considering what they were saying, Danny didn't blame her. It sounded like the glowing figures were stating that it was too late and Betelgeuse was doomed. They were saying the attempts to save him from the necklace failed and he was beyond help. Danny barely knew the poltergeist and he felt awful about it. The boy couldn't even imagine how it felt for Lydia.

"Then…," said Lydia, her voice cracking and wavering. Swallowing hard, she continued, "Then what are you doing? What are you doing to him?"

"We are simply offering a choice to a lost soul," answered the center figure.

"I didn't hear anything," Tucker said suspiciously, grabbing the dropped knife from the ground.

"He hears what he needs to within his mind. Nothing would be accomplished by this point by speaking aloud and you do not need to know the choice he faces. It is his choice alone," said the right figure of intense light.

Holding the duct tape-wrapped necklace close, Sam asked, "Is there anything we can do to save him? Or can you do help him? Maybe we can trade the necklace and knife to you guys to help fix him?"

"Can you save Beej?" asked Lydia, the other girl's questions fanning a few embers of hope. "I'll do whatever you want. Please?"

"We can help him to avoid his current fate of the complete destruction of his existence. Whether or not the help takes the form you wish is more uncertain. If and how we may help him depends upon his choice. We cannot infringe on anyone's free will. We may decide how much power a soul might wield upon their death, whether they should originate in the Netherworld or the Ghost Zone, and even if they should spent time as a ghost at all. Those are tasks we regularly perform, though we are not the only ones. But we never hinder or influence their free will. He always has a choice."

Danny felt like when he talked to Clockwork. He was facing a group who were ancient, very knowledgeable, and unable to act directly in most cases. Not to mention that they tend to focus mostly on long-term consequences. And the important thing to remember was that vague and cryptic statements could have different meanings and that such beings weren't always what they seem. What they called "help" for Betelgeuse may or may not be what other people would consider helpful.

Briefly, Danny wondered if they had anything to do with deciding that he became half ghost. If they were at least partially responsible for deciding who became a ghost and how strong of one, it might be possible. Most people would probably be killed in that type of lab accident rather than gaining ghost powers. Could they be involved in that? Did they ensure he'd survive? Or maybe Clockwork did something or asked them to do something. There were too many complicated and powerful beings in his life and these kinds of questions were giving Danny a headache. This was not the sort of stuff most teenagers needed to think about regularly.

"What exactly is the choice in question?" he asked, trying to turn his focus back towards the more important topic. "What are you offering him?"

The glowing figure kneeling over the motionless poltergeist finally spoke again, breaking the silence it adopted since drawing near Betelgeuse. The voice sounded mildly impressed and pleased.

"He has made his choice. He rejects what we offered."

"What? What do you mean he doesn't want help?" asked Tucker. "Is he crazy?"

"Beej…," Lydia said quietly.

The figure of light abruptly moved, a limb reaching out to touch Betelgeuse's chest. Lydia flinched at the sudden movement towards the ghost she was protecting. Danny saw her try swatting the bright shape away, but her arm froze before she could touch the ancient being.

"He did not choose to move on to a better place and finally end his wandering. He chose differently," continued the figure of light. "Betelgeuse, son of Remfrey and Elinor. Heal."

While the figures of light were bright before, the one near the poltergeist became blinding. Danny staggered back as more light flared up, centered on the ghost. When his vision began to clear, he saw Lydia rubbing her eyes desperately with one hand while the other held tightly to the striped jacket.

"He chose to stay. At the risk of oblivion, he chose to stay. So we ensured he will survive and stay. His strength will return with rest, but the damage has been repaired," said the bright figure, pulling away to rejoin the others.

Lydia choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, staring down at the poltergeist. Even Danny could see a visible improvement to Betelgeuse's appearance from a moment before. While still unconscious, he looked back to what he normally did. He seemed less faded and worn away. He looked more solid and less… empty. Danny could believe that they'd actually fixed the damage the necklace caused.

"Thank you," whispered Lydia, placing her other hand gently on Betelgeuse's shoulder. "Thank you." Glancing towards Sam and Tucker, she said, "I think we should give them the knife and the Gem of Osiris. We don't need the things, they helped Beej, and it would be better to get rid of them. It's better than letting Aunt Melinda get them back."

Neither immediately moved, looking towards Danny for his support. He hesitated a moment before nodding. Sam then tossed the duct tape wad towards the closest bright figure. Tucker was more cautious. He stretched out his arm, holding the blade toward them while cringing. One of the figures of light calmly took it from the teenage boy, making him stumble back out of reach the instant he was done.

"You guys might be helping a little, but you're still a bunch of creepy glowing guys," said Tucker apologetically. "And as a normal and powerless human, you kind of make me nervous."

"We understand your unease, but do not be afraid. Our purpose here is complete," said the figure not holding anything. "We are grateful for your actions and decisions to ensure events proceeded in positive direction."

The light that surrounded and engulfed the figures flared up, nearly blinding in its intensity. It left dots across his vision for several moments. By the time Danny could see again, the trio were gone without a trace. He wished that this was the weirdest thing he'd ever experienced, but it didn't even make the top ten list.

"Good. They're gone."

Danny jumped a little at the unexpected voice of another arrival. He'd had a rough night, he felt pretty battered from his rather one-sided fight against Betelgeuse, and he was still a little on edge. Some caution was natural.

But when he recognized her as Juno, he allowed himself to relax again. She wasn't a threat. Grumpy, but not dangerous. Though he did wonder how long she'd been watching.

The ghost woman looked over the group critically, her expression softening a fraction as her eyes paused briefly on the unconscious poltergeist. Once she seemed mildly satisfied with what she saw, she gave them a short nod.

"They rarely get involved directly in anything and I really prefer them staying that way, but the upper management does an impressive job when they decide to lend a hand," said Juno. "Looks like they patched the idiot back together properly."

Danny could see Lydia's relief at the confirmation that Betelgeuse would be all right. She'd clearly had at least a few doubts that the strangers were truthful, but she trusted the ghost woman to be honest. Her friend would survive.

Juno continued, "I should have known he'd end up in trouble, but everything apparently worked out with no one alive getting killed and everyone dead staying that way. Except for Sanduleak. But he would have ended up in the Lost Souls Room regardless. And the Gem of Osiris is gone, out of the hands of the living and the dead. So it clearly wasn't a complete disaster."

"But where is everyone?" Sam asked. "I know it's the middle of the night, but there should be at least a little traffic. But there's nothing."

She shrugged, "Transformations can be rough on the living and he was throwing around a lot of power at them. Give them a little time to sleep off the effects and they'll wake up with a headache and only vague memories they'll blame on dreams."

"That's convenient. Amity Park's already dealt with enough weirdness. They don't need to worry about more," said Tucker.

"How cute. You think it was only your little town. But regardless, it makes my job easier," Juno said, twisting her cigarette between her fingers. "Now, I suppose I better get out of here before those ghost-hunting parents show up in that oversized RV."

Cringing slightly at the mental image of his family spending time with Juno, Danny said, "Sorry about them."

"I've dealt with far worse." She turned towards where Lydia still leaned protectively over Betelgeuse and said gently, "Ms. Deetz, while I know you've been keeping an eye on the immature child of a poltergeist, I have a feeling you're going to be busy for the foreseeable future with everything. There's a couch back in my office I can drop him on and let him sleep while recovering. I can keep watch over him until he's back to his old, troublesome self."

Briefly, Lydia looked divided. From the way her fingers were still clutching his striped jacket like she was afraid he would disappear, she didn't want her best friend out of her sight. On the other, she also appeared exhausted both physically and emotionally.

But it didn't take more than a moment or two for relief to take precedent. Danny held no doubts that the girl would do a great job of taking care of Betelgeuse if necessary, but Juno was right. Considering that her aunt started this entire mess and probably put those new bruises on Lydia's throat, the girl's immediate future would complicated and stressful. Having Juno take responsibility for Betelgeuse for a while would give Lydia one less issue to worry about.

"Thanks, Juno," said Lydia. "You'll let me know when he wakes up, right?"

"After I explain to him why he's not supposed to touch objects he's specifically told not to," she said. "And maybe some general scolding like the idiotic, childish, crazy poltergeist deserves. We still haven't properly discussed the issue of him dragging the living through the Netherworld like it's his own personal theme park. Not to mention leaving the Waiting Room after I told him to stay. And I still haven't talked to him about the entire forced marriage to an underaged member of the living that started everything, though I might keep that discussion brief given the current circumstances."

Smiling slightly, she said, "You're welcome to lecture him if you want to try it. Just don't expect him to listen."

"I've known him for decades. I won't get my hopes up." Juno took another deep inhalation from her cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke, saying dryly, "I really don't get paid enough for this. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."

By the time cloud of smoke dissipated, both the ghost woman and the poltergeist were unsurprisingly gone. Lydia's entire posture slumped instantly. It was easy to see how the weight of the entire evening and probably the events of the last few days affected her. She deserved a break.

Danny felt pretty drained himself, letting his body shift back to human. He rolled his neck and shoulders stiffly. His battered body still felt rather bruised and beaten, even his faster healing not enough to make the damage instantly vanish. He'd probably be sore until the morning at a minimum. Maybe they could all sleep in and avoid school. For a week. Convincing his parents to let him skip again might be tricky, but he was willing to try.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the RV came screeching up the road and skidded to halt by the curb in front of the school. Danny's parents piled out of the vehicle almost before it completely stopped and hurried to wrap their son in a tight hug.

Laughing slightly, Danny asked, "Are you going to do this every time I fight a ghost?"

Climbing out of the RV a little slower, Jazz said, "Probably. You better get used to it."

"Lydia, cupcake?" said a man that Danny didn't recognize, also stepping out of the vehicle.

Danny saw her grow tense at the voice. She climbed quickly to her feet, looking like she was about to take off running. Danny wiggled his way out of his family's group hug while Tucker and Sam edged closer to her. They'd helped her with her crazy aunt; they wouldn't abandon the girl now.

"Uncle Roger," Lydia said, her voice annoyed and a little sharp. "What do you want?"

The man's gaze moved over the Goth teenager, pausing briefly on her red spider web-patterned poncho, the forming bruises around her throat, and the bandages around her head. His expression looked very regretful and guilt-stricken.

"Did my dearest Melinda do that to you?" he asked quietly.

Lydia's eyebrows rose in response, clearly surprised by the question. She shifted awkwardly, rubbing her arms as she glanced towards the ground momentarily.

"The head injury isn't directly her fault," she said carefully. "But she did try to strangle me to death because I wouldn't let her commit genocide."

Roger's expression became horrified and Danny's parents looked similarly distraught. And his parents also seemed a little murderous at the idea of trying to harm a family member. The man shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, sweet Lydia. I let my love for her blind me. I should have seen what was happening to her. I should have found a way to help her before she lost her way so badly."

"I told you," said Jazz. 'You're not responsible for the decisions your wife makes. You're only responsible for yourself."

"Then I suppose it is time to make the right and responsible choice," he said.

Waking up with a splitting headache, Melinda quickly discovered she couldn't move. Her memories of how she ended up in that situation were a little fuzzy. Her face was buried in a pile of her family's various artifacts, which suggested she was in the van. Her hands and feet, however, were tightly bound. The woman started struggling and wiggling, but she couldn't notice much progress.

Melinda wasn't certain how long she was alone in the van, fighting to break free. Eventually she heard someone moving around outside. They started messing with the back door. She realized with a flicker of relief that someone was coming to rescue her.

Good. Once she was freed, she could get back on track to completing her previous plan. Or at least trying to salvage what she could in order to try again.

The door opened and a man's voice said, "Melinda Livingston?"

"Yes," she said in relief. "Please help me get loose."

Strong hands pulled her into a sitting position and she saw that her rescuers were a pair of police officers. Melinda could also see that her wrists and ankles were tightly wrapped in duct tape. No wonder she couldn't wiggle out of the bindings.

"Mrs. Livingston, your husband asked us to come get you," said one of the police officers, his hair darker than his partner. He reached down to start freeing her ankles and continued, "He seemed concerned about you."

"I'm fine. I just need to get back to the task at hand."

"Yes, he said you were the one who wanted to put that Ghost Shield up over the town, right? The one that looks like the Fentons' invention?"

She nodded and said, "That's correct. I needed it to make everything better. I would have already finished, but that traitor just couldn't stay out of it."

Melinda's voice shifted from her usual sweet tone to something more vicious as she thought about Lydia. She couldn't help it. The girl kept choosing ghosts. She refused to accept the truth. The girl wouldn't do what Melinda wanted. She was as bad as the ghosts and Lydia should share their destruction. It would serve the traitor right. Cathy's daughter was practically a ghost already.

"And by traitor, do you mean your niece, Lydia Deetz?" asked the second officer, his hair a light shade of blond.

"Yes, her," she snapped. "She just won't stay out of the way and let me fix everything."

Moving on to the duct tape on her wrists, the dark-haired cop said neutrally, "We heard. She tried to talk to you while you were busy with a 'magic ritual using an ancient necklace' meant to 'destroy all ghosts,' correct?"

"Exactly. The world will be perfect once they're gone," Melinda said, happy someone finally understood. "That's what I want. But she tried to stop me. She just wouldn't listen to me."

"So you tried to strangle your niece?" said the blond police officer casually.

"She made her choice, so I had to get rid of her. And I would have succeeded and finished off the ghosts too, but something interrupted."

Melinda still wasn't sure what stopped her. Her best guess was the other teenagers, but she couldn't figure out what they hit her with. But it didn't matter. Next time, she would be prepared for them. Once she got her necklace and knife back from wherever that one ghost took them, Melinda would start over again. She'd figure out a better way to deal with those interruptions the next time around. She could do it. She would get rid of the ghosts.

"I see," said the dark-haired police officer as the last of the duct tape came off.

Melinda accepted the offered help to climb out of the back of the van. What she didn't expect was for the two men to then force her arms behind her back and attach a pair of handcuffs.

"Melinda Livingston, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of your niece, Lydia Deetz," said the dark-haired cop.

The blond police officer continued, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"I understand what you're saying, but I don't see why you're so upset with me," she said, honestly confused. Shouldn't the population of a city as haunted as Amity Park realize how important her actions were? "I had to try and kill her. She wouldn't listen to me. It was for the greater good. Besides, she's practically a ghost already."

"Mrs. Livingston, you might want to exercise that right to remain silent," said the dark-haired cop.

She shook her head in frustration, but stopped talking. It was just a misunderstanding. She was certain she and Roger would be able to sort out the entire mess in no time.

Talking to the police and giving her (mildly abbreviated) statement concerning Aunt Melinda's murder attempt took the rest of the night. She still couldn't believe Uncle Roger took her side and helped put the woman behind bars. She didn't think the man had the spine or brain power for such a thing. But that didn't mean Lydia wanted to go home with him. She still remembered him holding her back as his wife tried to exorcise Betelgeuse. And even though they mentioned contacting social services and "finding somewhere for the poor child to stay," she managed to more or less convince the authorities she was old enough to take care of herself and that she had somewhere to stay. She knew things would be chaotic for the next few days, but Lydia was thankful to finally crawl her way back to the Fenton household just as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Maddie and Jack Fenton did their best to welcome and cheer her up when she arrived, but Lydia didn't really want to deal with people. She was tired and done. As soon as she could politely get away from them, she headed up to Jazz's room. Everyone else managed to get some sleep since they didn't spend hours at the police station, so the other teenagers were forced to head to school. That mean she had the room to herself for a while. She was alone.

Lydia sat on the edge of the older girl's bed. She finally had a little time and privacy, so she let the events of the last couple of weeks wash over her. With the door closed and the teenager curling up into a ball, Lydia broke into quiet sobs.

She cried for the deaths of her father and step-mother, the losses making her chest ache. She cried over the separation from her ghost godparents, missing their comforting presences. She cried from the fury and hatred for her aunt, the fear from almost dying multiple times in the last few days, and the stress from everything. She cried with relief that her best friend would be all right after almost losing him. And she cried over how awful, frustrated, and tired she felt.

Lydia cried for several minutes straight, keeping her sobs as quiet as possible. But before long, she ran out of tears and slowly shuddered to a stop. She felt a lot calmer than before, the crying actually feeling rather cleansing. It certainly helped with the knot of emotions she'd been trying to keep at bay for so long. It wasn't quite as good as having Adam and Barbara with her, but it would have to do for the moment.

Sniffling a little, Lydia rubbed the fabric of her poncho between her fingers while she held the ring tightly in her other hand. Everything was all right. She would be sad for while, but she would get through this. She wasn't alone. Not really. She would heal and get through this. She could handle it.

Finally worn out completely, she crawled her way over to the pillow. Kicking off her shoes, Lydia let sleep swallow her up.

Danny felt like a zombie by the time he made it home. Even after snagging a few hours of sleep after Lydia headed towards the police station with her uncle, he barely survived his classes. But it wasn't like he could keep skipping school apparently. His parents didn't want his grades to suffer more than usual. At least Mr. Lance was used to him nodding off at his desk.

He did, however, have something on his mind. Now that the current crisis had passed, Danny didn't have any real excuses left. He needed to talk to his parents. He needed to tell them the rest of the story. No more secrets. No more lies. They wouldn't be happy with what he needed to tell them, but it would be for the best.

At least that's what he told himself as he shuffled through the front door.

"Mom?" he called. "Dad?"

"We're in the kitchen, Danny," his mother called back. "Try to keep it down. I think Lydia is still trying to sleep a little."

He remembered that she didn't actually make it back from the police station until he was heading out the door for school. No one made her go to class that day. He didn't begrudge her, though. Rumors of her aunt being hauled in by the police were already sweeping through the halls. Some of the students were trying to guess why, but no one was even close so far.

"Hey, I have something to tell you," he said as he entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. "And I need you to listen to me all the way through before you start asking questions or anything."

He saw his parents exchange looks. They were probably trying to figure out what new, mind-shattering news he intended to share now. After all, he'd already sprung a lot of surprises on them. Hopefully they could survive one more.

"What is it?" asked his father.

Shifting a little nervously in his chair, Danny began carefully, "Well, you guys remember Vlad Masters, right?"

Chapter Text

It is a miracle that I got this back. I thought it was lost forever when it got knocked out of Sam's backpack when we ran into Sanduleak. But I guess someone found it. I'm not sure if one of them picked it up in the confusing aftermath before we left or they went back later to find it, but somehow my journal ended up back in my possession. I just came in and found it sitting on my backpack. I'll have to figure out who to properly thank later. For now, I'm just happy to have it.

The last couple of weeks have been insane. I don't even know where to properly start. Dad and Delia died in a car accident. Normally, that would be the focus of several entries as I try to come to terms with that. And while it does still hurt and I do miss them, things just kept getting worse and I have a lot more to deal with.

Aunt Melinda, my mom's sister, was absolutely insane. She hated ghosts to an intense level that no one could believe and tried to use a magic necklace to perform a mass exorcism on an entire town. And this is after going after Beej, separating me from anyone that I know, and dragging me to the most haunted town in the world (though Amity Park isn't too bad overall).

I almost got murdered multiple times, mostly by another poltergeist named Sanduleak. He's more commonly known as Jack the Ripper. Apparently he had a grudge against Beej at some point in Victorian England and decided to take it out on me. Then he got a power boost from the magic necklace, which drives ghosts crazier when they use it and would eventually destroy them. I had to exorcise Sanduleak to stop him. And if anyone deserved it, a crazy serial killer ghost definitely did.

Then Betelgeuse accidentally grabbed the necklace of doom. He seriously messed up the world and the Netherworld while under the influence. And did I mention the power boost would destroy the ghosts using it? Because it was definitely destroying him to hold on to that much power. And even when we managed to get him to turn things back and let go, it almost looked like it did too much damage. I could have lost him too…

But he'll be fine. He'll be fine . Some weird and mysterious people made of light showed up and did something. And Juno said he would be all right when she took him back to her office. He'll be fine. Beej will be fine.

On a different note, I made some new friends. Sam is really nice. She's got great taste in fashion, decorating, and everything. She loves dark and creepy stuff. She sees the beauty in things not traditionally considered pretty. And Tucker is obsessed with technology. I don't think it is possible for him to go anywhere without keeping a dozen electronic devices with him. And thanks to him, we've learned that ghosts can send text messages. So now I have a way to communicate with Barbara and Adam even when I'm not home.

Then there's Danny and his family. They've been really nice and I've been staying with them since that night. His sister's offered to talk if I ever need it, but I haven't taken her up on that offer yet. But his parents have been supportive and helping me with all the legal mess and stuff. And Danny tried to cheer me up a little by suggesting he could show me the Ghost Zone a little, though he did admit it was a little dangerous even with a half-ghost bodyguard. But I declined. It just isn't the same.

Nothing is the same. It'll never be the same again. Dad and Delia will still be dead. And no matter how this legal mess turns out, I can't just stay with the Maitlands all the time. If legal things go wrong, I'll end up in some kind of foster home that'll probably be in yet another strange town. Or I'll be bounced around constantly since no one wants a teenager, especially one who doesn't fit in. And even if Juno said he'll be all right, I keep worrying that she was wrong or lying to make me feel better or something. I know it's only been a couple of days and time doesn't move at a constant rate between here and the Netherworld, but I keep having nightmares and worrying about why I haven't heard anything yet.

It would be so easy to end up completely alone. I don't want to be alone. My entire family is either dead or I hate them. It feels like everything is falling apart and now I can't even distract myself by focusing on more important things anymore. The world is saved, Sanduleak is gone, my aunt is locked up, and I don't know what I'm going to do now. I just don't know what I'm going to do. It's just too much to handle alone.

…

…

Come on, Babes. You've got to have a bit more faith in me than that. You think I'd ever leave my Lyds alone?

-Excerpt from "Lydia Deetz' journal"

Betelgeuse slept deeply, unable to stir even if he wanted. Something gently and firmly held him under and he didn't have the desire or strength to resist. Time had no meaning. He slept peacefully, undisturbed even by dreams or memories. Betelgeuse drifted through unconsciousness without a thought or concern. He simply slept, oblivious to the world.

Eventually the hold began to weaken enough that he heard a distant, annoyed, familiar voice, pulling him slightly towards awareness. By the time he recognized the lecturing words as the usual caseworker garbage meant for new ghosts, he figured out he was on that scruffy old couch in Juno's office she normally kept tucked into the wall. He remembered fixing it up in the first place, even making it fit in a space that normally wouldn't have room. He did it because he preferred lounging on the thing rather than sitting on the chairs, especially whenever she felt particularly lecture-y.

Apparently Juno tossed him in a corner and continued her work as a caseworker. Figuring out how he ended up in that situation to begin with, however, took more effort than he wanted to try.

He heard her explaining something that even the Maitlands should have understood without help, her voice annoyed and droning. The noise bored him already. Betelgeuse could barely stand her lecturing when it was directly aimed at him. Listening to her lecture some random specter was far worse. Even if he wasn't already tired, her reciting rules and regulations would certainly bore him back to slumber.

Someone started asking a question and Betelgeuse felt his boredom increase to an annoying level. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable. The voices instantly silenced at his movement, making it clear that he'd become the center of attention. Then he felt someone exerting their power on him, pushing him gently back towards slumber. Betelgeuse considered resisting, but he recognized Juno's power. Besides, he still felt tired and bored. And he certainly didn't feel like trying to figure out what was going on. Sleep sounded like a better option. He let go and slipped back under.

After spending another timeless period in peaceful rest, Betelgeuse finally began to drift towards proper consciousness. This time, there were no voices. He just heard the quick scratching sounds of a pen writing across a page. He started trying to untangle the memories that led to him sleeping on the couch. Unfortunately, he wasn't having much luck. Eventually, he managed to drag up something. His last memories involved Lydia and a bunch of glowing guys, which still didn't explain his presence in Juno's office.

"I know you're awake," Juno said finally, the pen pausing. "Keeping you asleep was easy at the start, but you've been recovering your strength and there's a limit to what I can do to you. I can't force you to stay asleep by this point. So I suppose it is time we talk."

"Be quiet," he mumbled. "Still sleeping."

"You've been sleeping on my couch for over a week. You can listen to me for a few minutes and then go back to lying there unconscious." She paused briefly and added, "And just in case you're wondering, less time is currently passing for the living. You haven't been gone more than a few days for Ms. Deetz. Though I'm sure she'll be happy to get back her pseudo older brother, crazy honorary uncle, or however you describe your relationship to the girl."

"Best friend," he corrected, managing to push his face a little off the couch and peer blearily at the caseworker. "So why have I been napping on your couch, June-bug?"

"Because you desperately needed the rest and I could make you actually take the time to do it. At least for a little while," said Juno. "You wouldn't sleep if I didn't keep you that way."

"For a week?"

Lighting a cigarette, she said, "Let's look at what you did the week before. I know we discussed some of these issues earlier, but I'm in a reminiscing mood. First was the near exorcism and having someone bind a portion of your power. Then there was your trip through the Ghost Portal, which involved almost tearing yourself apart and using most of your power to stay together. And I believe I made it quite clear that you were an idiot for trying. That was the sort of action that dooms the living to a future doing my paperwork. Not to mention you were trying to fight another poltergeist during that stunt."

"Yeah, I know," he muttered. "You don't approve of my choices. That's pretty standard, June-bug."

He rather enjoyed the look of frustration that briefly overtook her face. He'd always enjoyed pushing Juno's buttons. He could do it practically in his sleep. And since he'd apparently spent over a week sleeping on her couch, Betelgeuse needed to make up for some lost time. Messing with Juno while he was mentally trying to straighten out what he did under the influence of that stupid necklace seemed like a great idea. It was certainly safer than trying to steal her cigarettes, which was his usual go-to method of annoying her.

"And of course near destruction by tearing yourself apart and using up almost your power just wasn't enough. You apparently needed to test out the other end of the spectrum by nearly destroying yourself with too much power. How could you be dumb enough to touch that necklace?"

"Didn't mean to do it," he muttered.

"I hope you realize how lucky you are. I don't even mean the fact that those teenagers managed to prevent untold destruction of their world, the Netherworld, and probably the Ghost Zone. That was pure luck and suicidal risks on their part. I'm talking about more personal consequences for grabbing the Gem of Osiris. Do you know how close you were to ending the infamous legend of the Ghost With The Most, disappearing forever on the front lawn of a high school?"

"Your glowing bosses made that pretty clear," he said, sitting up the rest of the way on the sofa. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he asked, "Do you know how to do their completely hidden by light trick too? Or is that something they only teach when you get further up the bureaucratic ladder?"

Glaring at him sharply, Juno said in a tone he didn't want to identify, "You don't get to joke about this, Betelgeuse. You don't. I saw you afterwards. That much power scorched and burned away your aura until there was almost nothing left. That Deetz girl of yours had more of a supernatural presence than you did. You were seconds away from being nothing more than a memory and there was nothing that either of us could have done to save you."

"Careful, June-bug," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Someone might accidentally think you care."

She responded with an annoyed look, but Betelgeuse knew that she was right about one thing. There had been more close calls in the last couple weeks than he'd experienced over the last couple of centuries. Betelgeuse didn't like thinking about that too much.

And he definitely didn't want to think about how much Lydia was endangered in that same time frame. His girl almost got killed by Sanduleak and could have got hurt while Sanduleak held the Gem of Osiris. And Betelgeuse was almost afraid to consider what he might have done while overwhelmed with power and out of his mind. He didn't kill her obviously. He remembered seeing her immediately after he dropped the stupid thing. But he couldn't remember his actions very clearly while holding the necklace.

"I'm just pointing out that I have good reason to make sure you slept as long as possible. You did a serious number on yourself and even with the worst of the damage fixed, it takes time to recover. Time that you certainly wouldn't give yourself," she said before shrugging and blowing another cloud of smoke. "Besides, can you imagine how much paperwork it would cause me if you destroyed yourself right after all that chaos you caused? I'm making you do that paperwork."

Yawning briefly, he said, "Do you really think I'd help with your files? You've known me for decades, June-bug."

"Yes, I have. And I suggest you get some sleep while you still can. Once you're completely back to your old self and finished the paperwork I tell you to do, I'll have your Deetz girl informed and you can go back to causing everyone headaches."

He rolled his eyes briefly. Paperwork was so boring. He didn't even bother with it most of the time back when he actually worked for Juno. Now he didn't have any reason to pretend to be interested in it. But there was no way to guess how long it would take for someone to call him on their own and Juno definitely wouldn't let him out of her sight long enough to scare up a mirror to contact anyone. For the moment, he was stuck. So he might just be napping and doing that paperwork after all. That certainly annoyed him.

Betelgeuse contemplated going back to sleep to escape the possibility of boredom. It certainly seemed more appealing than listening to Juno with her angry and concerned tone. And it would let him ignore the future paperwork for a little longer. That fact combined with a remaining tiredness made further rest sound like a great idea.

He started to lean back on the couch, but a familiar and distant sound rang in the back of his mind and forced him to pay attention. After six centuries, he recognized the signs of someone calling him from far away. Though he couldn't recognize voices from across the different dimensions since he wasn't actually "hearing" it by any normal means, he knew it was his name. Someone was trying to summon him.

"What is it?" asked Juno, noticing his abruptly distracted state.

There it was again. His name spoken by someone among the living. Not called frantically in a single and desperate breath, but still relatively quick. Someone definitely wanted his attention.

Shrugging casually, Betelgeuse said, "Sorry, June-bug. As much fun as it would be to hang around with you and a million forms waiting to be filled out, I'll have to take a rain-check."

As her look of confusion shifted to one of realization, his name was spoken a third time and Betelgeuse let himself be pulled out of her office. The familiar sensation of being summoned back to Earth always cheered him up. Even if he still felt tired, he looked forward to getting back to somewhere more lively.

His immediate thought upon arriving was how dark it was. Betelgeuse blinked at the difference in an attempt to adjust his vision and realized he was in someone's bedroom. He could make out the vague shape of a bed and he was standing right next to the closet. And then he heard voices in the darkness. Voices he recognized.

"Calm down, calm down," whispered Jazz. "It's just a dream. Wake up."

"…no… please… Be… sorry… don't…"

The other voice was far softer, indistinct, distressed, and seemed fairly incoherent. But it pulled him across the room before he could think. Jazz Fenton was crouched over a sleeping bag, trying to awaken the occupant trapped in a nightmare. She was so distracted that she didn't even notice the new arrival, barely suppressing a shriek of surprise when he appeared beside her. While the red-head struggled to calmly and quietly recover from shock, Betelgeuse focused on his girl.

She slept, but not easily. Lydia's expression twisted occasionally with fear and sorrow while her head jerked back and forth. Whatever visions danced through her head, Betelgeuse sincerely doubted they were sugarplums. And she kept muttering. It didn't take a genius to figure out who called him. Trapped in a nightmare, she said his name. Maybe she wanted him to save her from whatever was tormenting her or maybe her nightmares involved him in a dangerous situation. Regardless, he didn't like seeing his girl like this.

"…please don't… stop it… Dad… Del… come back… Barb… no… Adam… please… Beej…"

Emotional stuff and comforting weren't among his usual skill set, but his Lyds needed him to try. And he would do anything for her. Ignoring the questioning look from Jazz, he pulled his girl out of the sleeping bag with the same ease he would a smaller and younger child. The instant he had her in his arms, Lydia began to quiet and tried to snuggle closer to him desperately. Even asleep, she recognized the way a ghost felt and she was probably the only person alive who felt better with a dead guy around.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Jazz, apparently getting over the shock of his arrival.

He sat on the edge of the bed, Betelgeuse doing his best to rearrange Lydia into a more comfortable position while she kept trying to snuggle into his chest. He wasn't sure if the sleeping girl realized it was him or if she thought it was one of her ghostly godparents, but at least she seemed calmer as she curled against the chilly figure. She wasn't quite as small as she was a couple of years ago, but she was still a child. He hadn't done something like this in centuries, but part of him remembered. So he held her in his arms like the child she was and hoped it would be enough to banish whatever was haunting her dreams.

"Lyds called me," he said quietly, finally answering the teenager's question. "How long?"

Glancing at the younger girl, Jazz whispered, "She's had nightmares the last couple of nights, but this is the first time she ended up sleep-talking. Mom and Dad don't know, but Danny might have guessed. She won't tell me much, but I know she was worried about you. And with everything else, I'm not surprised she's having nightmares."

He nodded briefly towards the red-head. Of course she worried. She was one of the few people who would care, with the other one being a certain caseworker who tossed him on a couch to keep an eye on him. At least the time difference meant that his girl wasn't having nightmares for over a week.

"Sorry to worry you, Babes," he said softly to the sleeping figure in his arms. "But I'm too tough and stubborn for you to get rid of me quite yet." A small and rather fond smile crept onto his face as he briefly brushed her black hair back and said, "You're pretty tough yourself, Lyds. You'll be all right."

Shifting awkwardly as if she felt like she was intruding, Jazz said, "I guess I'll go sleep on the couch downstairs. I can figure out how to explain to my parents why there's a creepy, strange, dead man in my bedroom later."

"Call me when you're older, Red," he said quietly as she slipped out the door. "The pajamas are nice, but I can wait a few years."

His words earned a brief eye roll, but she didn't say another word. Once Jazz had left the room completely, Betelgeuse turned his attention back to his girl. And more specifically, his thoughts turned to some rather recent information.

His Lyds was related to Katelin. He couldn't believe he never made that connection before. They weren't identical and six hundred years was a long time, but the resemblance was there when he knew where to look. He just never considered the possibility of encountering anyone connected to his brief time alive. Six hundred years, a different continent, and several billion people on the planet made the odds nearly impossible. And yet he was cradling the evidence that the impossible could happen, reminding him vaguely of a few times Katelin suffered nightmares after her parents' deaths.

Part of him wondered if this was meant to be a second chance. He met Lyds when she was about the same age Lin was when he died. Was he supposed to use this as a chance to make up for missing Galeren's daughter grow up and protecting Lin like he promised? Did the glowing figures arrange it somehow or was it blind chance? Was he meant to see things that way, like it was fate or history somehow repeating?

After thinking about it for a moment, Betelgeuse rejected that entire train of thought as stupid. Lydia and Katelin might have similarities, but they weren't the same person. And Lydia wasn't just a replacement for a child from centuries ago. Lydia was his. She was his girl and he cared about her long before he learned about her heritage. She deserved to be her own person rather than being stuck in the shadow of a memory. She was special, unique, and precious. His fondness and desire to protect her was solely for Lydia's sake. He adored her simply because she was his Lyds.

Everyone needed a purpose in their life eventually. Or in their afterlife.

She shifted slightly in his arms and he got a better look at her face. The bandages on her head were gone and he could see that the injuries Sanduleak caused were healing nicely. But he frowned as he caught sight of her throat. Healing bruises were fading, but not gone. They looked exactly like the type of marks that would be left by hands trying to squeeze the life out of someone. He knew those weren't from the encounter with Sanduleak. He would have seen those bruises before.

Dread coiled around in his chest. Betelgeuse closed his eyes and felt his grip on her loosen, his arms pulling away as if he didn't deserve to hold her anymore. What if he did it? He was out of his mind while holding that necklace. He couldn't remember what exactly he did in that state. He could have done anything. He might be responsible. He certainly had the potential to strangle someone if he chose. He might have hurt his Lydia without realizing it. Based on how far along in healing the bruises were, the timing was right for that theory.

Lydia tried to curl closer to him again, the movement making him open his eyes back. The frown had returned to her face. Regardless of whether or not he caused those bruises, he refused to let guilt cause her any further grief. Betelgeuse pulled her close again.

"I'm sorry, Lyds," he whispered, uncertain if he was apologizing for something specific or for everything that happened.

He shuffled further onto the bed, settling them comfortably on the pile of pillows that Jazz apparently owned. The sleeping girl didn't make a sound as he set her down, but she did instantly curl back against him. Her head ended up his chest while the rest of her practically buried into his side. Moving away from her wasn't an option, so he just pulled off his striped jacket and draped it over them.

If it was anyone else, he would probably make a comment about them sleeping together. But this was Lydia. Between her age, the disaster of the almost-wedding, and the fact it was his Lyds, he couldn't bring himself to make the joke. Besides, he was still tired and she wasn't suffering from nightmares now. Getting a little more sleep was far more important than worrying about propriety. Of course, he never worried about what was considered appropriate behavior before and he certainly didn't plan to start now.

His girl snuggled closer to him, actually smiling a little in her sleep. Betelgeuse found himself wrapping an arm around her to hug her gently. She was close enough that he could feel her body heat and her heartbeat, slowed to the nice and relaxed pace of someone at rest. Both were traits he'd lacked for a long time, but there was something soothing about them. They were proof she was alive and relatively unharmed. His Lyds was safe. She was safe and nothing alive or dead would tear them apart. He wouldn't let that happen. That thought combined with the steady rhythm of her heart beat was as effective as a lullaby, coaxing him back to sleep.

She was lying against someone semi-insubstantial, mildly cool to the touch, and snoring softly. That thought greeted her as Lydia woke from the first restful night's sleep she'd experienced in a while. She didn't open her eyes or move just yet, but that didn't mean she couldn't figure out a little about what was going on.

Whoever had their arms wrapped around her like she was a teddy bear was a ghost. Nothing else in the world felt like being hugged by a ghost. But even if it reminded her of Adam and Barbara, Lydia knew it wasn't them. The arms, the chest, and even the shirt under her head felt different than her ghostly godparents. Besides, the smell was wrong. They smelled like clean laundry, craft paint, and the river. This was cigarette smoke, mold, and dank places where bugs crawled around.

Relief flooded Lydia's body as her sleepy mind recognized the poltergeist holding onto as she rested her head against his chest. Betelgeuse. Her best friend was back, snoring quietly beside her. He was back and safe. She didn't even question how he got back to her. Lydia was just thankful to have her friend. She moved slightly, but he tightened his hug around her instinctively. Possessive and overprotective. Yep, definitely Beej.

Finally opening her eyes, Lydia noticed that his favorite striped jacket was currently serving as a blanket. She could also see Jazz standing over them with a bemused expression.

"Morning. I think Sam took a picture of Danny and Tucker like this once," whispered Jazz. "It's kind of sweet though. I get it now. He's like your weird and crazy older brother who'd do anything for you."

Keeping her voice equally quiet, she said, "Sometimes he acts more like a little brother, but Beej is… Beej. And don't bother with a camera. He won't show up in pictures."

"Well, I came up for a change of clothes," whispered Jazz, holding up some folded jeans and a shirt. "It's Monday, but there's no school today. So you have some time before anyone else starts wondering where you are. I'll try to keep them from coming up here, but you might want to talk to him sooner rather than later."

With that piece of wisdom now delivered, Jazz slipped out of the room silently. Lydia waited a few moments, perfectly content to enjoy the peace and calm. She needed this chance to relax. But the older girl was right. She couldn't stay on Jazz's bed forever.

Lydia tried to sit up, but the arms around her tightened their grip. And when she tried to pry his hands free of her dark pajamas, there was a quiet groan of protest. She couldn't help smiling at the still drowsing poltergeist. Jazz was right. He was oddly sweet when he was sleeping.

"Beej," she called gently. "Wake up, Beej."

The closest thing to a response she got was a slightly louder snore. Managing to pry one arm loose, Lydia graduated her efforts to shaking him.

"Mmm-what?" he mumbled before opening his eyes blearily. The instant he looked at her, he became wide awake and said gratefully, "Lyds."

Pulling him abruptly upright into a sitting position, Lydia wrapped her arms around him for a proper hug. And while he seemed momentarily surprised by the sudden movement, he returned the gesture fairly quickly.

"Don't you ever do that again," she said when she finally released her friend. "Are you all right?"

"Unfortunately, I appear to be dead," said Betelgeuse wryly. "But other than that, I'm fine." His expression briefly turned grim as he asked, "And you, Babes? The marks around your neck are new…"

Lydia's hand briefly went to her throat. She almost forgot about the bruises. They were photographed, documented, and examined by a doctor when they were collecting evidence against her aunt, but they weren't bothering her now. They were healing. But apparently the damage was still visible.

"They look worse than they are. They don't even hurt," assured Lydia.

Glancing down and fumbling with his jacket uneasily, he asked, "Did… While I was… When I had the necklace… Did I do…?"

"What? No," said the girl firmly once it became clear where his train of thought was leading.

She hadn't wanted to mention Aunt Melinda's murder attempt. She knew he would react badly to such a thing. And even if he wasn't normally the type to kill someone, she suspected this would push his self-restraint too far. But if the other option was to let him believe he caused the bruises, she'd sell out that crazy woman in a heartbeat.

"You didn't do this," she reassured. "You would never hurt me. Not even when you had the Gem of Osiris. I'll tell you the full story later. Promise. But I swear, you didn't hurt me."

He still looked a little uncertain and he was definitely unhappy about the bruises, but he nodded and relaxed somewhat. Lydia kept staring at him, searching him for any hint of problems. He looked like his old self again. And he definitely looked better than when Juno took him with her. That made her feel better. She needed that reassurance. She needed to be sure he was all right so that she could properly bury those fears and doubts.

"So you're staying with Danny-boy's family?" he said finally, pulling his striped jacket back on. "That seems smart. They're definitely a better choice than the psycho aunt that I still need to pay a visit to."

"She's in jail right now." At his questioning look, Lydia said vaguely, "She did something crazy and violent. And she admitted it, left clear evidence, and there were witnesses. So they locked her up. Uncle Roger is actually testifying against her too."

"Really? He can talk? I thought he was just hired muscle."

"Yeah, he figured out she was insane and dangerous. But even if he's trying to do the right thing now, I'm not ready to forgive him." She frowned as she thought about the messy situation again. "I can't live with that man, Beej. I just can't do it."

"Then don't," he said simply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "And if anyone tries to make you do something you don't want to, I'll make them regret it. Just say the words and I'll get you out of here. I'd like to see those living folks try to keep up."

She smiled at the offer. He was right. If the worst should happen, they could escape. Child Protective Services and lawyers couldn't chase her to the Netherworld. She could vanish to Winter River without any warning for them. Betelgeuse couldn't be stopped by bureaucracy, especially when the bureaucracy didn't include Juno.

"I talked about it with Mr. and Mrs. Fenton," she said quietly. "I'm going to try and get myself declared an emancipated minor. Then I wouldn't need a legal guardian. I'll need a job so that I can prove that I can take care of myself, but it could work. And if I can't, my other plan is for the Fentons to try and adopt me. They said they'll help any way that they can. And if I live with them, at least I know they aren't evil."

"Not to mention the mom of the family looks pretty good for having two kids," said Betelgeuse. When she shoved him playfully, he chuckled. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, "Hey, Lyds? My memories from when I had the Gem of Osiris are pretty fuzzy. But from what I do remember… I wasn't really myself and probably very dangerous. Thanks for stopping me."

Remembering the knife she couldn't bring herself to wield and the trust she'd held that the supposedly-undependable poltergeist might still remain even in his madness, Lydia said, "You're my best friend. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Come to your senses and give up on me?"

Most of his tone sounded like he was joking. Most people would assume he was just being funny. But she knew him. She heard the faint undertone in his voice, as if some small corner of his mind thought it was a real possibility someday. Six centuries was a long time and he was not a popular ghost. Even he was bound to have some buried doubts. Lydia asked herself occasionally what about her compelled him to stay.

"Never," she said. "I don't give up on my friends. And not even evil relatives, cursed jewelry, dead serial killers, or every ghost in the Netherworld and Ghost Zone combined will ever change that."

"They wouldn't stand a chance against you anyway," said Betelgeuse, a small smile crossing his face.

Lydia started thinking about breakfast and how she was going to maintain the peace in the household. She certainly wasn't getting rid of Beej when she just got him back, but she also knew he couldn't help being disruptive. It was simply part of who he was.

But that train of thought was derailed by a question. She'd kept the question in the back of her mind for the last few days, the current events distracting enough already. But now the curiosity was back and part of her felt compelled to ask. She just didn't like prying too much into personal parts of his past. And Lydia felt deep down that her question was among the most personal topics she could ever ask.

"Beej," she said carefully, "when we were trying to get to you when you were wearing that necklace, we saw these people. Illusions. There were four of them, all dressed in very old-fashioned clothes from the Middle Ages. One was a young woman with a red ribbon in her hair, very pretty. There was another woman, blonde, who looked a little like you. And there was a man and a little girl. They seemed like they were related to each other and… she looked a little bit like me." She hadn't actually asked yet, but the question dangled there unspoken and obvious. And when he didn't immediately respond, Lydia added quietly, "And when you saw me, for a moment, you called me 'Lin.'"

He didn't say anything. He just had a distant expression on his face. Lydia wondered if she should just change the subject and let the issue drop. She didn't need the mystery solved that badly. It was just momentary curiosity. She started to stand up.

"Katelin," he said, startling her. "The little girl? Her name was Katelin. I called her 'Lin.' I'm guessing the man would have been her father, Galeren. That's the only person it could be."

Sitting back down, Lydia asked softly, "Who was she?"

"Someone I knew a long time ago, Lyds. I think you would have liked her."

"Do you want to tell me about her?"

He was quiet for a moment, but he nodded slowly and said, "Sure."

A few months later…

She sent a quick text to Adam as she hurried down the stairs, promising to take some more pictures of Winter River and pick up the requested art supplies during the upcoming Spring Break. Lydia was thankful every single day that ghosts could send text messages. She didn't know how she would survive without being able to communicate with her ghostly godparents regularly. Adam still sometimes had trouble with the autocorrect feature, but it was getting better. And Lydia was insanely thankful that Sam's family was apparently rich and her friend was helping to cover the costs for the phones. Even with her new income as the Fentons' official "expert non-ectoplasmic research assistant," having one less bill was nice.

"Lydia, the waffles are ready," called Maddie from the kitchen right before the girl stepped in.

The rest of the household was already waiting. Maddie was finishing up with the waffle iron and grabbed a plate of bacon to carry to the table. Jack seemed engrossed in the newspaper. Somehow managing to fill out college forms and take a drink of orange juice at the same time, Jazz gave Lydia a brief wave. Danny just shoveled food into his mouth as fast as any teenage boy with ghost powers would.

"Thanks, Mrs. Fenton," she said, taking her seat. "Anything major planned for this weekend?"

"We have a few more experiments planned, but nothing major," Jack said, taking a large bite of his breakfast. "Planning to head to Connecticut?"

Lydia nodded and said, "If he's not too busy to give me a lift. I miss them, but I'll survive if I have to wait for Spring Break."

"Isn't there a dance this Friday at your school?" asked Maddie. "I remember Danny mentioning it. We could look for a nice dress for you. I'm sure that there are some nice options at the mall. Or maybe Jazz has something left in her closet that's your size." She glanced at her son and asked, "Did you ask Sam to go yet?"

As he nearly choked on his waffles, coughed, blushed deeply, and finally started to stammer what sounded like excuses and denial, Lydia rolled her eyes. Yes, there was a school dance. All the other students were discussing it and seeking out the perfect date. It was like watching animals hunt on the savanna.

"Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Fenton, but I'm probably not going," she said. "I mean, it might be a little fun to watch Paulina, Star, and the other popular kids act crazy and cause a lot of drama. As long as they stay away from me, that is. But who in the world would I go with?"

"Go with Tucker," suggested Jazz, shrugging briefly. "You can go as friends instead of as dates. And Beej won't think he's up to something."

"Of course not. Tucker is too scared of him to try anything, even if he was interested in me."

"Which is why he's the perfect person to go with," said Jazz. "Though we really need address his overprotection and possessiveness issues someday."

Taking a few quick bites of her waffle, Lydia said, "I was attacked and almost killed by the ghost of Jack the Ripper. And almost killed by my aunt. I don't think those issues are going away anytime soon."

"Some people get fathers who wait at home with a baseball bat to scare off potential boyfriends. You get a poltergeist," said Danny, finally looking less embarrassed.

Jack, taking a bite of his bacon, muttered, "That delinquent on the motorcycle turned out to be a ghost, remember?"

"And he was trying to use me to free his girlfriend," added Jazz. "Johnny isn't really the best example to use."

Lydia shrugged and said, "I'm fine not dating for now. Though if I get a boyfriend before you and Sam start dating properly, then I'll let Beej go ahead and tie the two of you together until you admit your feelings."

Feeling a little smug as he devolved back into frustrated and embarrassed sputtering, Lydia got up from the table and hurried to grab her backpack. She might miss living with the Maitlands, but the Fenton household was a pretty nice place. They'd converted a spare bedroom that was previously filled with boxes of ghost-hunting gear that failed to work even slightly into a cozy space for her. Most of her stuff ended up back in Connecticut since there wasn't room, but she had a nice bed, a place to store her clothes, a wall she quickly covered in photographs, and a large mirror that provided a nice view of the room. It wasn't quite home, but it was close.

She was very thankful to the Fentons for everything they'd done. Without their help and giving her a paying "job" in assisting them in all matters regarding non-ectoplasm ghosts, there was no possible way she could have managed to have herself declared an emancipated minor. But with a steady source of income and clear evidence that her previous living situation wasn't healthy for her (since Aunt Melinda tried to murder her and everything), they managed to get the petition to the courts and they ruled in her favor. And then there was the entire trial for her Aunt Melinda, she and Uncle Roger testifying the woman's actions while trying not to commit perjury by avoiding the topics of poltergeists and magic necklaces. Danny, Jazz, and their parents were there to support her through that mess. After all, she couldn't let Betelgeuse near it because he could not be trusted to leave the woman unharmed.

Not everything was fixed, but the worst was behind her. She could handle things. She could go home on some of the weekends when there was nothing major happening and stay with the Maitlands on all the holidays. Juno sometimes still complained about Betelgeuse using the Netherworld as a shortcut, but not too much. Lydia's theory was that her general silence about the issue is partially a thanks for getting the Gem of Osiris away from humanity, partially a thanks for keeping Betelgeuse distracted from causing too much trouble, and partially an apology for that necklace almost getting Beej destroyed. But whatever the reason for Juno letting it go, it made it a lot easy to see her ghostly family regularly and she texted Barbara and Adam the rest of the time.

And Amity Park was pretty nice. She had friends who were actually alive, people didn't think she was crazy when she mentioned ghosts, and it was interesting to see the various specters that haunted the place. Most of them were smart enough not to attack her directly. Betelgeuse didn't usually hinder or help the ectoplasm ghosts who tried to stir up trouble for Danny, but the news had quickly spread that the girl in the spider-web poncho was off-limits. Occasionally Lydia used that to her advantage by standing near groups of terrified people too dumb to run away, which meant the ghosts didn't dare to risk attacking in case they accidentally caught her in the crossfire. After the stunt where he twisted reality into a pretzel and nearly destroyed everything, even fewer specters dared to mess with the Ghost With The Most.

Lydia made sure that her homework was finished and in her backpack before she slipped it on. Some of the teachers were pretty forgiving and understanding about her late assignments for a while because of what happened with her aunt and all the trial and legal stuff that happened, but she didn't want to fall behind and have her grades start slipping. Barbara and Adam might be in a different state, but they made sure to always ask about her schoolwork.

"Hurry up and change into a clean shirt or you'll be late for school," Maddie's voice shouted.

"I'll just fly," Danny yelled back, rushing by Lydia in his quest for clean clothes.

"That doesn't give you an excuse not to be ready. You've had all morning."

"It's just a shirt," he complained.

"I just finished a load of laundry yesterday. You should have plenty of clothes."

Ignoring the brief squabble, Lydia smiled and straightened out her poncho. There was nothing like a little morning chaos to start off the day right. And speaking of chaos, she had a little free time before school. They would of course hang out after class, but she could never spend enough time with her best friend. And based off of what he said last night, he shouldn't have any bio-exorcist jobs lined up for that morning nor any dates.

Slipping out the front door before something could delay or distract her, Lydia said, "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse."

Melinda glared at around her cell for the millionth time that day, frustrated and annoyed. They'd transferred her out of the normal women's prison. They thought her knowledge of ghosts and ancient artifacts would be useful. And she was originally happy about the idea of continuing to work towards the destruction of those monsters, even behind bars. But they were just too useless at achieving their goals. The Guys In White just didn't have what it took to destroy them once and for all. And they'd stopped talking to her very much after the first week.

The main good thing about being imprisoned in their private facility was that it was ghost-proof. No ghost could enter and none would risk trying it. Melinda was at least thankful for that fact. She knew it was the only reason she was safe.

That last night in the other prison, the normal women's prison with nothing to prevent ghosts from entering, made that perfectly clear. That poltergeist came to see her. She remembered its face, contorted into a horrifying mask of hatred and loathing. She still had nightmares of that creature. Nightmares that left her screaming. Melinda remembered the way he looked at her as he snarled over what she nearly did to Lydia, the phrase "almost murdered her" uttered as a dangerous growl like that of a wolf hungry for blood. What happened next, she did her best to forget because the terror never seemed to diminished. He left her unharmed and untouched physically, but the guards found her in tears while trying to hide in the corner.

But he couldn't reach her here. It couldn't haunt her while locked away by the Guys In White. She was safely away from that nightmarish monster. But it wasn't over. He still lurked out there, along with all the other ghosts. They needed to be stopped. They needed to be destroyed. The ghosts had corrupted everyone, polluting their minds and turning them against her.

Lydia. Her husband, Roger. They were tainted by the ghosts. That's why they tried to have the police arrest her. And that judge and those members of the jury, they were corrupted by the ghosts too. Or maybe possessed by them, trying to lock her away so she wouldn't succeed. It was all because of the ghosts. Especially that horrible, terrifying, evil poltergeist.

She should have killed them all. Turned them into ghosts too so she could get rid of them. Destroy all the ghosts and all those corrupted by them. Then everything would be all right. The world would be perfect then. All the problems would be gone.

She would get rid of them all and everything would be right again. Then she wouldn't need the white jacket they gave her. It was a nice jacket. Very warm and white, uncorrupted and untainted by the evil of ghosts. But it was just so hard to move while wearing it. But she wouldn't need her white jacket with the long sleeves once all the ghosts were destroyed.

And she would destroy them. She would get the necklace back. She would get the knife back. She would get her books, her tools, and her family heirlooms back. She would work out a new plan, one that would guarantee success. She could do it. She could make it work.

But until she got her chance, she was stuck in her cell. She was stuck with nothing to do except occasionally talk to the doctors who kept trying to psychoanalyze her. But they didn't understand. She wasn't crazy, delusional, and mistaken. She was the only one who seemed to realize how important it was to destroy the ghosts before they could retaliate again. She needed to destroy them all.

Especially that poltergeist. He was the worst of them. She knew his name. She could summon him if she wanted, but she couldn't control him and she couldn't yet destroy him. But she would someday. She would destroy him and the nightmares would stop. She would find a way to make the memory of him disappear. There had to be a way to make the nightmares about him stop. She needed to get him out of her mind.

Melinda knew he couldn't reach her, but she worried sometimes. What if he found a way past all the defenses? What if he found a way to reach her? What if he chose to come back for her, the horrors that still plagued her nightmares returning in reality?

And if he did find a way back to her, would it be because she tried to kill her niece? Or because cruelty and viciousness was in his nature? Or would it matter why he would come for her in the night, dark and terrible in his fury? The result would be the same. The poltergeist would finish what he started if given the chance. She needed to destroy the ghosts before he could find her again.

She hated them. She hated ghosts. They ruined everything. They corrupted and polluted everyone around her. They were all out to get her. But she wouldn't let them. She would destroy them first. She would find a way. They would all pay.

"Would someone sedate my sister again?" shouted Freakshow from the cell next to hers. "The dosage wore off and she won't shut up."

He hadn't been to Amity Park in a while. Between a few issues he needed to address with his companies and some strange event a few months ago that he still didn't have any definite explanations for, Vlad had simply been too busy to give the place the attention it deserved. But now that he'd sorted out all those other distraction, he could return to his favorite activities: destroying Jack Fenton, converting Danny to his side, and winning Maddie's love.

His first course of action upon entering the city limits was a little bit of surveillance. The information he'd received about what was happening in Amity Park recently was just too conflicting, strange, and unreliable. This was why hired help wasn't always the best option. Sometimes a man had to take care of things himself.

But once he caught sight of Danny flying over the city, looking rather serious and clearly looking for something, Vlad couldn't help falling to temptation. If he wanted to keep making progress at wearing Danny down to his point of view, he shouldn't let months go by without talking to him. And if he wanted to talk to Danny, that would mean a fight. The boy was too stubborn still to listen and accept what Vlad told him. He refused to accept that Jack was an idiot, Maddie should have married Vlad instead, and that Danny should just be the perfect son for Vlad. They could have the perfect family if Danny just stopped being so stubborn. And if he would just let Vlad murder Jack.

Deciding he could always spy on the Fenton household later, Vlad chose to start with a sneak attack and tackle Danny out of the sky. The teenage halfa hit the ground hard, leaving cracks in the road. Vlad loomed over the boy, grinning.

"Daniel, my boy," he greeted cheerfully, pushing back his cape. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been? And how is your mother?"

Rather than looking angry, Danny smiled back smugly. He pushed himself off the ground and crossed his arms. He just floated a few inches off the road, clearly unconcerned with the arrival of the older and more experienced halfa.

"We're all fine. I was starting to think I wouldn't be able to call in my favor. But he told me another half ghost showed up today and I knew you'd finally come back to visit," said Danny. "I was just looking for you, Vlad. You've missed a few recent developments."

"Like your parents getting a divorce?" he asked, half as a jest and half hoping it was true.

"Sorry, but no," said the boy as the sounds of squealing tires filled the air.

Vlad glanced behind him as a familiar RV turned the corner and came to a halt. Out of the vehicle came Maddie and Jack Fenton, heavily armed with their ghost-hunting arsenal. He didn't worry about Jack, but Maddie could actually aim. He'd have to keep an eye on her.

He expected Danny to move their fight away from his parents. It was the smart thing to do. He didn't want his idiot father to be harmed and neither of them wanted to be shot in the head while they focused on fighting with ghost powers. But Danny didn't even twitch. He just stood there, looking smug.

"Is this your new strategy? Hope they shoot me before aiming at you? I expected better from you, Daniel," Vlad remarked, his hands beginning to glow.

"Vlad Masters, step away from our son," snarled Jack venomously.

He froze. There was so much wrong with that sentence that Vlad didn't even know where to start. How could they know? How? It wasn't like Vlad Plasmius looked much like Vlad Masters. As a ghost, his hair was black, his eyes were red, and his skin was a shade of blue. He even wore a cape. There wasn't that much of a resemblance. There was no possible way that idiot Jack could make the connection.

And Danny. They knew who Danny was. They knew Danny Phantom was Danny Fenton. Somehow, they knew.

The boy would never tell them any of this. There was a stalemate. Vlad didn't reveal Danny's secret and he wouldn't reveal Vlad's. But that stalemate was gone. Jack knew. Maddie knew. How? How could this have happened?

"Yeah, your plan to kill Dad, marry Mom, and get me as your son?" said Danny casually. "That's not going to happen. Ever."

This was his fault. Vlad's shock began to fade into anger. Danny did this. He ruined any chance he had at happiness. Fine. If that's the way things were going to be, Vlad was going to ruin his life too.

Floating back a little, Danny added, "And before you go into a complete rage like a psychotic fruit-loop, I thought I'd let you know that I'm not the one fighting you today."

"So you're letting your parents give it a try?" said Vlad sharply, debating how to best destroy the boy and all he held dear.

"Not quite. You see, after I helped stop the ghost of Jack the Ripper from attacking Lydia, he decided he owed me a favor. He doesn't really help out with ghost fighting. He's not usually motivated enough and I can take care of Amity Park," Danny explained, confusing his opponent. "But I figured that if anyone deserves to experience an encounter with him, it would be you."

"And if that's not enough, we can still shoot you," shouted Jack. "I still can't believe you lied to me, Vladdy. We were friends."

Ignoring the ramblings of an idiot, the older halfa asked, "Who are you talking about? There's no one else here."

"No one else here? I'm heart-broken," said a new voice.

Vlad turned his head slightly and spotted a strangely-dressed figure. Who in the world thought a striped suit like that was a reasonable fashion choice? But the blond man was smiling in a way that made him uneasy. There was something off about the stranger.

"And who are you?" he asked, bracing himself to start attacking.

He spread his hands in front of him and said, "I'm the Ghost With The Most, pal. And we're going to have some fun."

"Try not to do too much damage, Beej," said Danny. "He's still part human."

"Which makes this a partial bio-exorcism job," he said before cackling insanely. "It's showtime!"