Frozen Fire

by Roarri

Summary:

In a world where humans are on the losing end of a war with ghosts, Sam Manson is about as cynical as they get. Living in an underground bunker in the ruins of Amity Park tends to have that effect on a person. When a mission to restart a fusion reactor goes haywire, Sam’s life is spared by the infamous ghost called Phantom, and then she inexplicably wakes up in a strange, frozen world.

Chapter 1: Green Skies and Melancholy

Notes:

1/14/25 - Hi, if you're reading this, then you caught this story while I'm cleaning up some of the earlier chapters. Just polishing the wording and fixing typos. I'm also phasing out the words "cadets" and "military," which you will notice as you read further. Nothing major. I just feel like I've improved in my writing over the past few months of writing this story and want the earlier chapters to reflect that. My goal is to get them all up to par within the next few weeks (not my biggest focus because I'm also working on regular updates). Anyway, thanks for reading! I'll delete this note when all earlier chapters are updated. :)

Frozen Fire

- Part I  -

Chapter One: Skies of Green

 

 

xXx

 

Dawn bled into an ashen sky as Sam Manson journeyed through the wasteland that was once Amity Park. Throngs of trash and debris littered the ground where she walked, the wintry air kissing her cheeks as her numbed hands grasped her ectogun, charged and ready should she need it.

“Everything clear out there, Sam?” a voice asked from the communicator in her helmet.

Sam rolled her eyes and flicked the bodycam on her chest. “You can see more than I can, Tuck, you tell me.”

The voice was sheepish when it responded. “Sorry. Standard question. Buzz the comm if something comes up.”

“Will do.”

The environment was saturated with its usual monotony, void of any life and filled with a silence so loud it was deafening. Aside from the occasional touch of frigid air, there was hardly even a breeze. The sound of wind whistling through the decimated city was usually the soundtrack to her patrols, but today, everything was still. To say it unnerved the hell out of her was an understatement.

Leaning skyscrapers woven with ivy and a hodgepodge of rusted automobiles framed her path. In some areas, grisly brown skeletons riddled the ground like gravel, a mere crunch beneath her boots. But Sam paid no mind to any of this. Her finger traced the trigger of her gun. She had a job to do.

With breaths that were kept slow and measured, she counted each step as she walked—One, two. Three, four. One, two. Three, Four.

Before the world went to shit, the sky had been blue. Now it was tinged with the noxious green of ectoplasm. Everywhere she looked, even far out into the distance where the rolling hills should be, a sickly haze filled the sky. Even with the air filtration device in helmet, the contaminated air still managed to leave a bitter taste on her tongue. She licked her lips and grimaced. The taste reminded her of copper and melancholy.

Sam had grown up in a war, and now lived in what was left of it, struggling to survive in a world ravaged by ghosts. There wasn’t much left of anything. Every day she wondered when her last would be. The resources at the compound only went so far. Even their rations were being rationed now . . . she shook the thoughts away from her head.

A sudden screech of groaning metal pierced the silence. In a blur, Sam spun with her safety drawn and ectogun charged.

When she saw the source of it, however, she scoffed and lowered her weapon.

“Damnit, Barbarra, I almost just blew your ass to pieces!” she exclaimed with a glare. The weapon in her hands emitted a whine as the ectoplasmic charge fizzled out.

“Eh, Sorry, Manson,” a man replied, though his voice was far from apologetic.

His attire was a mirror of her own: black aluminum helmet with a communicator and infrared technology built into the flip-down shield, black jumpsuit, combat boots, and an armored vest with the lens of a microcamera gleaming from its center. They were almost identical, except he was missing her touches of personalization, which were the several purple bats and spiders she’d painted by hand a few months back on her helmet and chest plate. Like her, he was armed with various weapons and other gear, all of which were emblazoned with the same “FENTONWORKS” logo.

The screeching continued as he heaved a piece of corrugated sheet metal off the mangled remains of an old sedan.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, exasperated. She sidestepped over piles of rubble to meet him beside the skeletal remains of the automobile. Her eyes skimmed the area before she glanced down to the scanner on her forearm. “I’m in no rush to go back to the compound, either, but Damon only allotted us so much time today to patrol.”

Barbarra ignored her. With the corrugated panel shoved aside, he was free to inspect whatever it was he was after in the sedan. He reached through its shattered window and opened the door from the inside. The driver’s side was in shambles, crushed and filled with the wreckage of what had once been a major roadway in Amity Park, but the passenger side was intact enough for him to brush aside bits of asphalt and rifle between the seat and center console.

He must have found what he was after soon enough, for he jumped out within seconds with a rather loud exclamation of “Hell yeah!”

She craned her neck to peer over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“The best goddamn thing since sliced bread. And not that compound mush, either. Better than real, honest to goodness sliced bread!” Barbarra was jubilant as he turned to wave his prize in her face. 

Sam gave him a flat look. “Cigarettes? Really? That’s what you’re so excited about?” She turned away and squinted at him over her shoulder. “You’re the senior Sweeper here, so shouldn’t you be setting some sort of example or something?”

“They ain’t just any cigarettes, sweetheart. They’re Marlboros, my brand! Expensive as shit back in the day, but oh so worth it.” He shoved one of the unlit cigarettes into his mouth so it lolled in his wide grin. With a shrug, he said, “And I am setting an example for ya, kid. Do your job and then enjoy what you can before you die. It’s all you can do.”

Sam found she had no argument for that.

Dale Barbarra was a man in his early forties, broad in the shoulders, and a bit of a womanizer, but also one of their military’s most efficient unit commanders. He led the Sweepers, who were responsible for the patrols around the city and maintenance of the environmental drones, as well as tactical combat when needed. He had taken Sam under his wing almost ten years ago when she was fourteen after he claimed to have seen an inkling of potential in her.

 “Alright, kiddo,” Barbarra said after a glance at his own scanner. “We’re still clear for the time being. I’ll take Drone Seven on Second Street, and you head over to Central Park and hit up Nine. That way, you’re close enough if something happens, and we can at least get some shit done before Gray reels us back in.”

Her nod of affirmation was punctuated with a two-fingered salute. “Sure thing, Captain Cancer Stick.”

“Uh, that’s Commander Cancer Stick, actually.”

She didn’t have to go far, maybe a half mile or so. Once the paved path she was on came to an end, she smiled when the toe of her combat boot dipped into softer ground. No longer cement, but real earth. Various patches of yellowed grass were stark against the velvety darkness of soil. Bony shrubs reached with claw-like limbs, while vines crawled high over a wrought iron sign. But even through the dense tangle of vines and ivy, Sam could still make out the words: “Amity Park Recreational Area.” It was then that she let her guard drop. Though only a little.

She feared this world, sure, but it was still better than the one beneath her feet.

Sam cradled her hands around a tiny sapling that she noticed was just beginning to make its hopeful ascent above ground. Her eyes followed its leafy gaze toward the sky where it searched in desperate need of sustenance. The sky was its usual green-tinted-grey, slightly hazy, as the morning sun filtered through the film of ectoplasm within the earth's atmosphere.

Her smile fell into an expression twisted with pity. "Hope you can make it, little guy," she said. She knew it wouldn’t. Hardly anything grew anymore. The world was too poisoned.

“Uh, hey, Sam?” Tuck said suddenly through the comm, startling her. “I know you’re pumped to be out there and everything—and before you ask, yes things are still clear on our scanners—but you should probably get cracking on that drone before your time runs out.”

“Yeah, Tuck. I know. Chill,” she replied. She glanced at the countdown on her scanner and winced. He was right. “Getting started on it now.”

“Sweet. See ya in a few. Wanna grab some food when you get back? I’m starving.”

“Sure.”

Barbarra’s voice came sharp over the comm. “Oi, Foley, quit distractin’ my trainee!”

“Heh, sure thing. Sorry, sir.” Tuck’s line crackled as he disconnected.

Sam rolled her eyes. Releasing a sigh that dissipated in small, wispy rivulets, she set to work.

The drone was located near the center of the park. It was a cylindrical device that wasn’t much bigger than her torso. The body itself was a assortment of rolled sheet metal panels riveted together, and a hemispherical head comprised of thick glass that when one looked inside, was filled to the brim with colorful array of circuitry and copper piping. A gleaming nameplate on its body identified it as FENTODRONE #9. The drone was dormant now; the charge having dissipated since the last time she changed its batteries and pulled its data chip.

Humming to herself, she pulled the necessary tools from her belt and set to work on removing the paneling from the side of the drone. Within the drone’s hollow body was a detachable pod with several luminescent cartridges. She detached it and separated the individual cartridges from the pod, then reached into her utility belt and pulled out new ones. They inserted with a satisfying clink. And finally, before she reinserted the battery pod inside its terminal, she removed a small, green and white data chip from a slot in the bottom portion of the drone. Once that was done, she reassembled the unit, her movements quick and practiced.

She stepped back and aimed her scanner at the drone. With a flick of her finger on the touchscreen, it hummed to life. Almost drunkenly, it rose from the ground and hovered to eye level, the light inside its dome blinking mechanically.  

“Hey, Cancer Stick,” she said into her comm. “Drone’s up and ready.”

“Took ya long enough,” Barbarra responded. “Mine’s up too. Looks like it even took some damage but still seems functional. Start heading to the compound. I’m almost back to Main Street.”

She heeded his command and set on her way. They met at a junction between Main Street and Washington, where they caught their breath under a dead stoplight, before they pressed on, further into the heart of the city.

Their steel-toed boots made little sound as they crept across the barren, rubble strewn roads. They were careful to keep each other’s backs covered. Silence settled between them, no words needed, while their breaths trailed from their lips like little ghosts. Quiet. They always had to keep quiet in the city, lest they incite an ambush.  

Not that it really mattered. Ghost activity had been nonexistent in this part of the city as of late. Things had been quiet in this area for weeks. Why that was, Sam didn’t know. Even the Fentons weren’t sure what to make of it.

Sam’s thoughts strayed to the data chip in her pocket. The environmental drones, ones that Sweepers like she and Barbarra maintained, could have the information they were looking for. While the infrared and ectomagnetic scanners in the compound were powerful, the drones were designed to catalog everything at a more in depth, molecular level.

She sighed as their path became lined with barbed wire and the vast fortress that was Amity’s military base rose around them like some large crouching beast. Armed personnel greeted them at the gates of the imposing stronghold and ushered them inside. While most of the compound was located underground, the base acted as a sort of barricade for the compound’s entrance.

The guards were quick in their movements. They scanned Sam’s and Barbarra’s corneas with a small handheld device, asked them a series of questions, then made them walk through a large ectodetector that resembled some space-age doorframe. The machine beeped with a cheerful tune as they passed through it.

“See,” Barbarra said, his voice sarcastic. “Possession free. This shit’s just a waste of time.”

“Triage is standard procedure, Sir,” one of the guards responded, voice muffled by his helmet and gas mask. The man gestured them forward. “You can go.”

With their check in complete, Sam and Barbarra walked with familiar steps through the building until they reached the elevator that would lower them deep into the hellish abyss. Underground. Sealed within impenetrable steel walls and bedrock, was the compound, home of the Resistance, and one of the larger populaces of humans still struggling for survival. It covered almost half the expanse of the city and was over two miles deep.  

Sam ignored the sudden bout of nausea roiling in her stomach as the elevator’s doors closed with a cacophonous groan. There was something tomblike about being in that elevator shaft. She tried not to listen to the sounds it made as it teetered in its descent, cables and gears scraping against metal. She shuddered a bit. From the corner of her eye, she could see Barbarra shift from foot to foot, his arm braced against a rusted handrail and held tight in a white knuckled grip.  

One long rickety ride later and the elevator’s doors reopened with another labored groan. They emerged into a hallway where Tucker Foley was waiting for them, his communicative headset around his neck as he leaned lazily on the adjacent wall, smothering a yawn into his hand. He straightened and grinned at them.

Barbarra groaned. “Oh great. The techie.” He reached into his toolbelt and handed Tucker the data chip. “Here, take it and leave me alone.” Then he turned to Sam and said, “Don’t forget, tomorrow we’re hitting drones four, six, and ten. It’s just going to be you and me again. Gray has the others tied up with maintenance work on the east side.” With that, he sauntered off whistling, his prized pack of cigarettes stuffed with gleeful abandon into the back pocket of his jumpsuit.

Tucker watched Barbarra’s form disappear around the corner. He shook his head. “Where did he find cigarettes? Doesn’t he know they’re against regulation?”

Sam’s eyes went skyward. “He knows. He just doesn’t care.” She couldn’t help but chuckle as she removed her helmet and reached into her own belt. “Anyway, here’s the other chip. Think we’ll get anything useful?”

They walked at a steady pace through the winding halls of the compound. Tucker shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe. Hopefully?” He frowned. “Probably not, to be honest.”

“Your level of optimism is astounding.”

“We haven’t had any breakthroughs in months!” He threw his hands in frustration.

Sam said nothing as they walked. Instead, she glared at the surrounding walls. They were a colorless sort of grey, with cracked tiles that somehow managed to glow a sickly yellow under the fluorescent lights. The monotony of the color scheme was marred only by a series of darkened blotches at the ceiling where water could sometimes be seen trickling along crevices of mortar. Her nose wrinkled at the sight. God, she hated this place.

“So, what do ya say? I’ll drop this stuff off at the lab and then we’ll go and get some grub?” Tucker asked with an animated pat to his stomach. “Like I said earlier, I’m freakin’ starving.”

“Sure, Tuck,” she responded. “I just have to drop my gear off at my locker and then I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“Sounds good to me.” He tipped his hat to her and then was on his way.

xXx

It was late in the evening, a mere day following its battery replacement, when FENTONWORKS FENTODRONE #9 stilled from its aimless wandering and slowed to a hover. It stayed that way for several moments, bobbing slightly, as if to ponder the dismalness of its surroundings. From within its glass dome the sound of mechanical whirring noises could be heard, which started low, but then progressed into a turbulent hum as it processed an abrupt abundance of data.

Then, suddenly, every light within its body lit up an eerie red. FENTODRONES all over the city quickly followed suit, all sensing the same immense spike of ecto-energy.   

As if awakening from a deep slumber, the ruined city of Amity stirred, and the silence was shattered when the sirens started.

 

 

 

Notes:

Well, here we go! The original story used to be called "Epiphantos" on FF. I really hated the whole beginning of it, which is what held me back for years (among some life drama I had going on). So, on a whim, I decided to just completely rewrite the entire thing! I haven't written creatively in a long time but I'm really enjoying getting back into it again after like 10 years. I'm really excited to see where this story goes, and I'm excited to get to know the AO3 community!

If you get the time, I'd love some feedback!

Stay spooky!

Chapter 2: Gray Hues

Frozen Fire

Chapter Two: Gray Hues

xXx

 

Sam’s steps were unhurried but purposeful.

She always found the best way to avoid any unwanted conversation with the other residents was to look like she had somewhere super important to be. Without pleasantries like the weather to talk about, things typically steered towards death and gloom and the shitty food, which was both predictive and depressing.

Around her, people clad in grey jumpsuits blurred, almost amorphous against the greyness of the walls. Aside from curious glances in her direction, they ignored her, which she was grateful for.

The walk from the top-level elevator shaft wasn’t long to where she was going in the combat training sector. As she entered the facility, she was immediately enveloped with the smell of sweat and the sounds of people sparring. The room was large, with multiple corridors for different training specialties. Sam’s personal favorite, outside of traditional sparring, was the virtual shooting range, which she passed on her way to the locker rooms. The ratatat of discharging weapons could be heard as she passed.

A couple of her fellow sweepers were there, as well as some of Damon’s militia members, firing beams of simulated ectoplasmic energy into virtual targets. One of the militia noticed her. He turned and waved as she walked by. “Hey, Manson! Saw you had a patrol today! Glad to see you made it back alive!”

She waved at him over her shoulder. “Same to you, Baxter. Let’s try to do the same tomorrow, yeah?”

“Awe, hell yeah!” Dash Baxter called back.

Sam entered the locker area with a sigh and trudged to her assigned unit. She scanned her card key into its reader and stepped back, waiting for the door to open automatically as it was supposed to. When it didn’t, she groaned and persuaded the locking mechanism to engage with her fist, several times, until it finally released and opened with a shuddering jolt. After she’d removed her gear, she checked herself in the little magnetic mirror she kept inside of the door and finger-combed her dark, shoulder-length hair until it was somewhat presentable.

Her dead violet eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She noted her too sharp cheek bones that highlighted the general gauntness of her face, the bags under her eyes, the lips set in a thin, unhappy line that reminded her of her mother—she slammed the door shut.

Now sans weapons and adorned in her compound issued jumpsuit, she trekked to the lower level  where she was to meet up with Tucker.

Tucker waved her over the moment she appeared in the entrance to the large communal room they used as a cafeteria (and funeral parlor, and informational briefing from the higher ups—and whatever the hell else they needed it for). She slumped onto the bench seat next to him.

With a grin that was far too cheerful, he slid one of the two trays of food that were in front of him in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at its contents, not even sure what it was on her tray, other than it was brown, shapeless, and smelled like a sweaty sock.  She dug into it anyway and chewed.

“Do I even want to know what I’m eating?” she asked between bites.

“Probably not,” Tucker responded with a snort. “Some sort of highly processed protein. I’m not even sure if it’s meat or not.”

Sam shrugged. The food was like sand in her mouth. “Even if it was, I don’t really feel like starving to death.” She sighed. “But I’d kill for a salad.”

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” he joked. “Well lucky for you, I hear the Agricultural Department is close to getting the hydroponic room functional again. Soy and green beans are first on the list.” He shuddered a bit.

Sam poked him with her fork and he laughed.

“So,” he began casually, “how was it up there?”

“Quiet,” she responded with a frown. “I’ll never get used to that. Nothing on your end? Nothing at all?”

Tucker shook his head. “Nothing. We checked every scanner, every working camera, and still saw nothing. The wastelands outside Amity are still hot though.”

Sam chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “Anything major in the wastelands?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Lotta wisps. No major apparitions. Nothing above a four in class.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Sam frowned at the table and pushed her food around her plate in thought. Wisps were small, insignificant ghosts that hardly even registered on their main scanners, and even they were gone from the city. The strangeness of it all was only compounded by the relative calmness in the surrounding wastelands. It was weird. And Sam had learned long ago that any weirdness in their world usually came escorted by danger.    

“I bet they’re just afraid of you. I mean, you’ve probably destroyed thousands of them over the years.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smile that formed in the wake of her friend’s praise. She arched her brow at him and folded her arms across her chest. “Thousands? I’m a good shot Tuck, but I’m not that good.”

Tucker shrugged with laugh. “Fine. That was, perhaps, a bit exaggerated, but I do know that the figures are in the mega shit ton range, at least.”

“Now mega shit ton is a figure I can get behind,” Sam agreed.

They resumed their meal in a thoughtful silence. Above them, a fluorescent light started to flicker in the most annoying way possible. Her left eye twitched.

xXx

With their sad excuse of a breakfast complete, Sam and Tucker made their way to one of the few functioning laboratories in the compound.

Until age fourteen, all residents were required to take mandatory baseline courses to fulfill education requirements. After their graduation of the core program, they could then choose to further their education or go straight to work as laborers. Apprenticeships were offered to those with exceptional talents and skill prerequisites in a variety of fields, usually pertaining directly to the advancement of the Resistance.

Sam and Tucker were among the few from their year group chosen for apprenticeships. Tucker was in the Scientific Research and Development division, and Sam was a sweeper, which was basically the guard dog unit for the researchers. They had been in their respective apprenticeships for ten years now, and both were on active duty during the fall of Amity, back when they still lived above ground.

She stole a glance at her best friend as they walked. Tucker Foley was many things. He wore a goofy red beret that clashed with his warm brown skin, liked bad jokes, and had a passion for anything technological. He was rarely serious, but when he was people listened to him. At one point, before he and Sam had been whisked away into their respective apprenticeships, the Resistance's government had considered him for leadership, but the idea was quickly dismissed. Tucker wore his emotions on one sleeve, and his passions on the other. It had always been rather obvious what he wanted to do with his life, which was far, far away from the governmental podium.

They arrived at a lab labeled “FENTONWORKS” and entered without a knock. The lab belonged to Tucker’s mentors, wife and husband ectoscientist duo, geniuses Jack and Maddie Fenton. They were the resident experts in both ghost physiology and weapons development.

Sam couldn’t help the grin that formed on her face when they raised their heads in unison from their work, startled expressions quickly morphing into the warm, welcoming smiles she was used to seeing on them.

"Welcome! Come on in, dear," Maddie Fenton exclaimed, enveloping Sam in a bone crushing hug. "It's been nearly a week since we last saw you. My, you look so frail, have you been eating enough?"

With a laugh, Sam pulled away from the older woman and gave a reassuring pat to her arm. "Yes, Mrs. Fenton, I'm fine." She looked over Maddie's shoulder curiously. "What are you guys so interested in over there?"

Maddie’s smile was so wide it almost split her face in two. She and Jack loved it when people showed genuine interest in their work. "Why don't you come and see, dear!"

"Yeah, Sam!" Jack Fenton boomed. "You'll love this!"

Sam’s heart swelled, warmed by their welcoming nature. Jack and Maddie were two of the most endearing people she had ever met. Both were eccentric, always bustling around in their well-worn hazmat suits. Their personalities were just as outrageous.

Jack, a large man clad in orange, was a gregarious ghost hunting fanatic who specialized in ectoweaponry and development. Standing before her now and holding a colorful array of wires and other odd technological assortments, the older man regarded Sam with one of his biggest smiles.

Maddie resumed her position next to Jack, her head level at the large man’s shoulder. She wore a jumpsuit like Jack's, though hers was a peaceful blue in comparison to her husband's gaudy orange. Her field of expertise and study was spectral physiology. Over the past several decades, Maddie had revolutionized the paranormal science field through her studies.

Maddie raised her hand and beckoned Sam closer to their workstation. "Well come on, dear," she said. "Don't you want to see what we've been up to all week?"

Grinning, Sam joined them at the table. What greeted her was an asymmetrical pair of dual lensed goggles, complete with flashing lights and lots of protruding wires. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the unusual contraption. "What is it?" she asked.

Tucker sprang into the conversation then. "They're ghost goggles!"

"Ghost . . . goggles?"

"Fenton Ghost Goggles!" Jack corrected zealously. "Give her the mumbo jumbo talk, Maddie!"

Maddie didn’t hesitate. "They're specifically designed to detect a ghost's ectosignature by calculating the frequencies given off of their core. It has some ways to go yet, but our hope is to eventually override a ghost's intangibility. These little receptors at each end," she purposefully fingered the little red blinking lights, "will, upon command, emit electrical signals directly into a spectral core and override a ghost's natural evasiveness, rendering them completely tangible. At least while within range of the receptors."

"That way we can finally rip all those damned spooks apart molecule by molecule!" Jack exclaimed as he made a show of punching the air with his large fist. Despite the gray at his temples which was stark against the salt and pepper mottling the rest of his dark hair, and the lines of sadness etched upon his too-pale face, Jack Fenton remained as optimistic as ever.

Sam couldn’t hide her awe. “That’s amazing!”

Jack’s arm fell heavily over Tucker’s narrow shoulders, almost knocking him over. “Couldn’t have done it without this young man. They were his idea, after all.”

Sam looked at Tucker in surprise. “Really?”

Tucker blushed sheepishly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Eh, it was an idea I threw by them and we ran with it. We’re hoping to eventually make them standard issue for Damon’s militia and the sweepers.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find a way to add them into the helmets.”

She knocked a fist against his arm. “Just make sure I get the first prototype, ‘kay?”

He shook his head in mock offense. “Don’t you even know me at all?”

Sam shoved him playfully before she turned to Maddie. “Hey, I was wondering if you guys got anything off those chips we pulled this morning?”

“Oh yes!” Maddie whirled and headed to one of the large computers along the wall. “The data’s been processing since we got them, but I should be able to check it now.”

Sam watched Maddie work. The woman had launched into a flurry of fingers rapping across her keys. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed as she focused on the screen. Strands of her chin length, silver-streaked hair were huffed away from eyes that speedily read pages upon pages of data. Eventually Jack was behind her, hands on her shoulders where his thumbs traced little affectionate circles.

Rocking on her heels, Sam surveyed the room in thought while she waited. Her eyes eventually landed on the small, framed photograph atop Maddie’s giant supercomputer. She’d seen it before, of course, but always tried not to stare at the tragedy displayed within the happy sunshine yellow frame. It was of three children: A young girl with copper hair like Maddie’s, who looked to be around eight when it was taken, and two black-haired, blue-eyed children no older than five. Sam knew the first girl as Jazz Fenton, one of her closest friends aside from Tucker, and Jack and Maddie’s oldest and only surviving child of the three they once had.

“Anything, Mads?” Jack asked.

Sam quickly looked away from the picture, her cheeks burning with the shame she knew she shouldn’t feel but couldn’t help it. To bring attention to that picture was on the list of things to never do around Jack and Maddie Fenton. It had been nearly two decades since they lost those children to an accident in their lab, and the last thing Sam ever wanted to do was remind them.

"Ectoplasmic contamination remains at a steady influx. From what I can tell, it won't be much longer before there's more ectoplasm than air out there." Maddie enlarged the current tab of interest on her screen. It was a chart representing environmental stability. Fed constantly—or as long as the current drones remained active—with live data, the jagged line encompassing the screen was slow in its impressions, but the line was nonetheless in its leisurely arc upwards. “Keep those helmets on. It’s hazardous out there. Too much exposure and you’ll end up with a nasty case of ecto-contamination sickness.”

"What about the ghosts?" asked Tucker.

"Quiet as ever," Maddie responded. "I get a few readings here and there, but nothing too substantial. Then again, the receptors aren't equipped to overcome such high levels of contaminants. I can barely tell the difference between dirt and spook." Maddie squinted and frowned then, leaned closer to her screen. “Huh.”

“Something wrong, Mads?” Jack asked in concern.

 “No . . .,” she said slowly, “and yes?” She cocked her head at the screen. She then turned to look at Sam. “Did you notice anything . . . strange?”

Sam shrugged. “Other than it was weirdly quiet, nothing.”

“I worked in communications while Sam was out this morning,” Tucker said. “Can confirm scanners were clear.”

“That’s the weird thing. I’m looking at the data from the drones in the city now.” Maddie’s voice was distant. “They’re almost too clear. There should’ve been a wisp, at least.”

“It’s been like this for a few weeks now,” Sam said, and her stomach started to flip at the worry that drew the creases along Maddie’s brows. Perhaps Sam had been right to be worried about it earlier. “Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

 “There are spikes of distant ectoenergies. Sometimes there’s wisps,” she pointed at a small section of text on her screen, “and sometimes there’s other lesser ghosts. But never near the city center, or near the park. Fentodrone nine is the clearest, but . . .” she trailed off, her eyes squinting in focus as she scrolled through the data. She reached a specific spot in the text and pointed. “There.”

Sam wasn’t sure what she was looking at. “I don’t . . .?”

“Holy shit,” Tucker’s voice was a whisper beside her.

“What is it?” Sam asked. Her anxiety climbed as the room tensed.

Maddie’s chair screeched as she turned and looked at her fully. “Sam, what causes lesser ghosts to clear an area? To avoid it completely?”

It was the stern look in her eyes that caused realization to settle like a weight in Sam’s stomach. Sam knew then what she was alluding to. “An alpha ghost.”

“Which one?” Tucker asked with an audible gulp. “I see the patterns in the data. It’s the same ghost causing the spikes, isn’t it?”

Maddie nodded, her face solemn. “Yes, it is. A very powerful one.”

“How can you tell?” Sam’s voice was suddenly very small.

“Because I can’t tell,” Maddie said. “It must be disguising its ectosignature.”

“They can do that?” Tucker was horrified.

“It’s a working theory,” Maddie said. “But if you look here,”—she was pointing again—“and here, the subtleties are similar enough to suggest a masked ectosignature. Our sensors are picking up traces of it, likely when it uses any power.”

“Holy shit,” Tucker exclaimed. “Sam was out there today.” He met Sam’s gaze, his own eyes wide with horror that reflected her own. “What do we do?”

“We give the information to Damon,” Sam said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And hope he listens.”

xXx

Damon Gray was an old, grizzled man with frownlines that went nearly as deep as the scars on his dark-skinned face. Sam had heard that once, long ago, he had been a decent and kind man, but the General who sat before her now was anything but.

Sam’s eyes trailed along his scars, namely the largest one that started from his forehead and trailed down his face in a jagged, puckered line until it disappeared behind an eyepatch. His remaining eye narrowed upon their arrival as they were herded into his office by his guards, and his hands—one of flesh, and the other mechanical—were clasped atop his desk.

“Damon,” Jack’s voice boomed in the small room without preamble, “we have something you need to see.” He nodded to Maddie who stepped forward with a tablet in her arms.

Maddie’s fingertips danced over the touchscreen of her tablet as she accessed the data from their lab. “We believe that—”

“Does this have something to do with the scanners?” Damon asked, disinterest in his tone. He leveled them all with a flat look.

Maddie’s eyes widened. She hesitated, her eyes flicking from her tablet screen, then back to Damon. “Well, yes, but—”

He sighed and rolled his remaining eye. “I already know. I read Barbarra’s report. All clear.”

“But,” Maddie started.

“But what?” Damon snapped. “Did the drones find anything?”

“Not necessarily, but I believe—”

“You believe?” He snorted. “You should know more than anyone that we cannot operate off of beliefs, Maddie.”

Maddie was losing her nerve. Sam could see it in the way the older woman’s frail shoulders slumped. Her own anger building, Sam stepped forward to intervene.

But Jack beat her to it. He slammed a large fist atop Damon’s desk, blue eyes narrowed and steely. “My wife would like to speak,” he snapped, but then the coldness in his gaze thawed a little. “Please, Damon. Listen to her. We are all old friends here, after all.”

Damon’s brows rose at that. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It transformed his features and made him look just as exhausted as the rest of them. “Just be quick about it.”

He listened as Maddie explained what she had found—or rather, what she hadn’t found. His expression remained half lidded and impassive throughout her speech. He looked when she prompted him to, his eye following her finger as she pointed at the data, explained her theory of masked ectosignatures, of a powerful ghost prowling somewhere within the city, and why they needed to call off tomorrow’s mission, at least until they figured out what they were dealing with. She explained, her voice almost pleading, that all she needed was more time.

When she was done, he remained silent. His eye was transfixed on some invisible point on his desk as he digested the information.

Finally, without a word to her, he pushed a button on his desk and said into his personal intercom, “Branson, send for Masters. Now.”

Jack and Maddie stiffened while Sam and Tucker shared a worried look.

Damon frowned at them. “I understand your worry, Maddie, I do,” he said, “but I don’t believe you have enough information to prove your theory.” His eye landed on Sam. “We are close to getting the ectoreactors operational, so we need tomorrow’s mission. If tomorrow is successful, we’re that much closer to raising Amity’s shields, and maybe finding a way out of this hellhole. My militia will do everything in their power to keep the sweepers safe.”

Maddie was aghast. “But the information is clear as day!” she cried, stepping forward, hugging her tablet tight to her chest.

The doors to Damon’s office hissed pneumatically as Vlad Masters entered.  

Jack’s hand was on Maddie’s shoulder in an instant, steering her back to his side where he draped his arm around her. He glared icily at Vlad, his normally cheerful features drawn tight with distaste.

Hands behind his back, Vlad Masters strode into the room in what he probably hoped was some form of regality, but to Sam, it just made him look like he had a giant stick up his ass. Sam crossed her arms and glared a hole into his back as he came to a halt before Damon’s desk.

“You summoned me, sir?” Vlad asked, his tone suggesting he had better things to do.

“The Fentons have a theory. I would like to see if you could corroborate it.” Damon gestured to Maddie’s tablet.

Vlad turned then to look at the Fentons. He hardly spared Jack a glance, but his eyes appraised Maddie heavily, drinking her in, before eventually landing where her tablet was, still pressed to her chest.

Sam’s nose wrinkled. Under her breath, she muttered, “Creep.”

Maddie’s face was tight with fury as she glared at him.

Sam didn’t know much about Vlad Masters. She knew he was a scientist, like Jack and Maddie, who worked in a top-secret lab run by Damon and his military goons, and that he was perpetually ill with some unknown, yet uncurable disease. The man was rail thin and frail, his skin too pale and sheen of sweat always glistening on his brow.

She also knew that at one point, he had been a close friend of the Fentons, until something happened long ago that soured their relationship. Sam wasn’t sure what had happened, as Maddie and Jack never spoke of it, and quite frankly, Sam wasn’t inclined to ask, either. If they didn’t like him, then Sam trusted their judgement enough to stay clear of him herself. She always thought he was a greasy sonofabitch anyway. There was just something so off about him.

Damon’s mechanical fingers rapped impatiently on his desk. He nodded to Maddie’s tablet. “Go on,” he said, gesturing with his metal hand to Vlad. “Show him. It’s an order.”

With a scowl, Maddie obeyed.

Vlad’s gaze swept back and forth as he read, his snow-white brows low over sunken, hollow eyes. He handed the tablet back to her just as quickly. “Everything appears to be clear for tomorrow, how grand,” he purred. “Although I’m a bit perplexed as to why my attention to this matter was required.”

“The Fentons believe a powerful ghost is in the area, disguising its ectosignature,” Damon said, “but I believe that to be unfounded in their concern for the girl.” He gestured to Sam with a jerk of his chin then, an action that had Sam grinding her teeth as she resisted the urge to flip them both off.

A slow smile was on Vlad’s lips, like he was a cat playing chess in a cage of canaries. “Ever the interesting theories you have, my dear,” Vlad said to Maddie who glowered in return. “But alas, I am inclined to agree with Damon on this one. We must remain pragmatic, even when we mix our business with our pleasure.” His gaze drifted between the Fentons, and then Sam and Tucker. “I will be in need of the entirety of the sweepers unit to aide in the repair work on the ectoreactor, as well as extraction of specimens from the wastelands.”

Sam tried not to shudder at the implications of Vlad’s words. The phrase “specimen extraction” had always been a sour pill for her to swallow. She hated ghosts—they all did—but there was something utterly wrong about listening to a creature’s pleas for mercy mingled within its cries of pain and suffering. She never understood why they did that, though. Ghosts couldn't feel pain, as they did not possess nervous systems, musculature, or any of the anatomical requirements to do so. At least that's when she'd always been told.

Damon nodded, metal fingers rapping against his desk once again. “Of course, Vlad. Although Barbarra and Sam have a couple drones they need to service first, per the Fentons.”

Vlad dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief. “I expected nothing less. Miss Gray will undoubtfully make up for their absence. She is league of her own, that one.” A sly glance at Sam had her gritting her teeth to keep from lashing out.

Bastard, Sam thought, her glare deepening as he stared back in smug delight. Vlad knew her history with her former friend, Valerie Gray, as he’d no doubt orchestrated the implosion of their friendship. She didn’t have proof, but she knew.

Damon smiled at the mention of his daughter, which was a sharp contrast to the harsh lines of his face, and then it was gone just as quickly, replaced by his customary scowl. He looked around the room then, to the Fentons, to Sam and Tucker. “You all may leave.”                     

Maddie’s face crumpled. “But—"

“Dismissed, Maddie,” Damon growled. “Don’t make me have you removed.”

“C’mon, Mads,” Jack whispered into his wife’s ear. He tried to pull her along, but the small woman held firm.

“One day, Damon,” Maddie seethed, jabbing her pointer finger at him, “you will learn to listen to me. I have been right about everything. If you and everyone else had listened before the start of this goddamn war, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

Almost shaking in her rage, Maddie spun on her heel and left. Sam and Tucker shared shocked glances with Jack before all three of them trailed after her.

Vlad watched them leave with a satisfied smile.

Notes:

Here we are with chapter 2! I meant to upload this last friday, but ended up having a pretty rough week. So here we are with chapter 2! Please take some time to leave me a review if you get the chance! I always respond and love interacting with the community here. You guys rock!

Stay spooky!

-Roar

Chapter 3: Memories and Shadows

Frozen Fire

Chapter Three: Memories in Shadow

xXx

 

Jazz Fenton was waiting for them in the lab when they returned.

Her sea-green eyes were wide as she took in the unbridled fury on her parents’ faces. She stood from her chair with a haste that sent it screeching behind her.

“What happened?” she demanded. “And where were you guys?”

“Vlad happened,” Tucker muttered. He relayed to her what had transpired in Damon Gray’s office, as well as what Maddie had found in the data from the drones.

Maddie was at her computer again, pouring through the data in an attempt to find something, anything, to support her hypothesis. She’d barely even acknowledged Jazz’s presence, save for a fleeting warm touch on her daughter’s shoulder as she whizzed by. The sounds of her frantic typing filled the room like rainfall. 

Jazz muttered unsavory words under her breath in Vlad’s regard before she turned to Sam, her cool fingers a light touch on Sam’s arm. “And what about you, Sam? Are you okay? How do you feel about going back out there tomorrow?”

Sam sighed. Jazz had an uncanny way of knowing what was in your head before you even thought it yourself.

“I feel fine,” Sam lied. “He won’t cancel it, but I’m sure Damon will deploy a large squad of his militia to help us. We’ll be okay.” She hoped her following smile was convincing enough.

Jazz stared at Sam in that intense way that always made Sam squirm. Her fingers played at the collar of her grey jumpsuit, absentmindedly tracing a few of the scars that puckered along her jawline. It was the kind of look that could laser beam right through even the most impenetrable wall, no matter how dense the bullshit. No secrets were safe Jazz Fenton.

“How was work today, Jazzypants?” Jack asked from his own workstation, an interruption that Sam was grateful for.

Jazz sighed. “People are struggling, Dad. But I’m optimistic with a few of my clients . . . they’ve really come a long way.”

Schooled under her parents’ instruction all through her childhood, Jazz was every bit the Fenton brain her parents were, so it was no surprise to anyone that she was utterly brilliant. With long, auburn hair that fell to her waist and the seaside eyes she shared with her mother, she was also beautiful, a feat that was not mired by the garish scar tissue that distorted the left side of her face and neck.

The scars were the reminder of the lab accident that claimed her siblings all those years ago, a testament to her own survival. If the scars bothered her, however, no one was ever the wiser. Since the moment she’d graduated from the core program, she’d taken it upon herself to become the compound’s only resident psychologist and dedicated her life to helping its broken people.

To say Sam admired her was an understatement.

Jack’s answering grin to his daughter’s words was an echo of Sam’s own thoughts. He was positively beaming at her, and Sam couldn’t say she was surprised to see it; Jazz was his pride and joy, after all.

Jazz shook her head at them. “Enough about me.” Her eyes narrowed at Sam. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do about you.”

Sam shrugged, which made Jazz frown at her. “Nothing really can be done. I have orders.” The last word was a sour lemon on her lips.

Tucker scoffed. “Orders,” he echoed, green eyes rolling. “Since when do you care about orders.”

Since my actions started affecting everyone else around me, Sam thought to herself, but let Tuck’s words slide, because on the other hand, he was right. Damon was known for making questionable decisions in the past.

“Well, what do we know?” Jazz asked, her tone frank, steering them back to the business at hand. She twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. “We know we potentially have a ghost masking its ectosignature, which makes it powerful, right?”

Sam and Tucker nodded.

“What ghosts do we know that could be powerful enough to do that?”

“What about that Wisconsin spook, the one with the fangs?” Jack offered.

“Doubtful, dear,” Maddie said with a shake of her head. “That one has been gone for years now. We watched the Phantom destroy it, remember?”

Sam shuddered at the thought. Territorial disputes between ghosts were rare, but not unheard of, especially between extraordinarily powerful ones like those two were. Courtesy of the Fentons, Sam had seen the video evidence of it, the last footage they had of the Guys in White’s facility in Wisconsin, just five hours west of Amity Park. The cataclysmic battle between the two ghosts had left the facility in ruins. 

“What about the Phantom?” Tucker proposed, though his face paled at his own suggestion. “If it could take down that one, I bet it’s powerful enough.”

“Also doubtful,” Maddie said, “but not impossible, I suppose. We haven’t seen it since the same event that claimed the Wisconsin ghost. For all we know, it perished as well.”

“And a good riddance, too,” Jack boomed.

That was how they spent their evening. Going through all the higher-level ghosts they knew of, comparing profiles, debating abilities and power levels, but none really standing out to them. By the time supper rolled around, they weren’t any closer, and Sam had the beginnings of a headache throbbing at her temples.

She said good evening to the Fentons, and made to leave, when Maddie jumped from her computer and intercepted Sam at the door.

“Be safe out there, dear,” she said, wrapping her arms around Sam.

“Yeah, Sam,” Jack said, his voice more subdued than usual, almost soft. “You need to hurry up and get back here and try out the new gear!” His large arms encompassed Sam and Maddie both, pulled them tight.

“Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Fenton,” Sam said, and it was a struggle to swallow. The parental love she felt emanating from them was almost too much to bear, especially when she’d yearned to feel such a love from her own parents.

She bid the Fentons her farewell and was out the door of the lab, Tucker falling into step at her side.

He nudged her with his elbow as they walked. “You good?”

“Sure am.” She couldn’t quite keep the little edge of sarcasm out of her voice. “Just peachy.”

“I know we all tend to think of worst-case scenarios here, but there is a chance that the drones are just malfunctioning, you know.” Tucker shrugged a single shoulder. “I mean, the tech out there is getting pretty old.”

“Yeah.” Her agreement was halfhearted. Maddie’s words were an echo in her head:

 “I have been right about everything. If you and everyone else had listened before the start of this goddamn war, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

Sam raked a hand through her hair. “I’m just hungry, Tuck. And exhausted.”

Tucker snorted. “I’ll say! These early morning patrol slots are cruel and unusual. On the bright side,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, “because you have a mission scheduled tomorrow, you get extra food in your ration tonight.”

“Lucky me,” Sam deadpanned. “Extra slop.”  

xXx

Vlad Masters regarded the door impassively as it closed behind Jack and Madeline Fenton, as well as the Manson girl and her friend. He’d allowed his gaze to linger on Madeline’s backside as she stormed beyond the threshold and continued to stare at the metal now separating him from his unrequited love.

“Do you have everything you need for tomorrow?” Damon asked, his graveled voice raking like claws through Vlad’s ears.

Vlad pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the beaded sweat on his brow. He was in no hurry to answer the general’s question. It hung in the air unanswered, long enough that he felt the subtle shift as Damon’s impatience began to fester.

“Of course,” Vlad said. He pocketed his handkerchief and then decided to inspect his nails. “If all goes well, the main ectoreactor shall be functional by dinnertime tomorrow.”

“And then how long should it take for the shields to function?”

Vlad sighed, bored with the direction of the conversation. He’d been caught by surprise earlier, when Damon had ordered his dear Madeline to hand her findings over to him for his inspection, but what he’d found had been just so interesting, though he would’ve been a fool to let Damon know that. “That would depend on the severity of the damage.”

He’d worked hard to plant the little seedlings of ideas in Damon’s mind, slowly convinced the surly man of the exact date and time that the impending mission must take place. And he was brimming with anticipation for what lay ahead come evening tomorrow, if only to test his theory.

Thanks to his sweet Madeline, he now knew he was indeed on the right track. Despite the years of soured affection between them since the incident all those years ago, she’d still managed to come through for him, though inadvertently, and had opened a realm of new possibilities for him and his work. An idea struck him then, and he smiled wickedly.

“Perhaps,” Vlad said, letting his words slide as smooth as silk from his lips, “we should lend the sweepers some extra protection tomorrow.”

“I thought you said the Fentons were wrong?” Damon demanded.

Vlad clicked his tongue as he finally turned to face Damon. “You asked me to corroborate it, and I could not,” Vlad said, “but we will be engaging the main ectoreactor tomorrow, and who knows what will be drawn to such a . . . surge of energy.”

Vlad’s face remained firm in his cool, indifferent mask as Damon studied him through a single narrowed eye.

Finally, Damon said, “Very well.”

 

xXx

It turned out that Sam was correct, the extra portion of her ration was indeed an unidentifiable, genetically engineered grain that had the texture of paste, in addition to the same brown blob they had for breakfast. Her lip curled a bit, because when she spooned it up to her mouth, a viscous, oily substance dripped all over the table and down the front of her shirt. She ate it anyway.

“Gross,” she said, mostly to herself, as she spooned up another mouthful.

“I’ll say,” Tucker agreed. “That literally looks like vomit. Sam, you’re eating vomit.”

She shrugged. “It’s not meant to taste good, I guess. Just needs to give us an excess of calories to help us not die when doing mission things.”

“Damn,” Tucker laughed a little, “that’s harsh, dude. And suddenly I’m no longer jealous that you guys all get the extra food.”

“Dinner tonight, and breakfast tomorrow,” Sam said in a flat tone. “I’m literally so excited. Yay me.”

“I bet,” Tucker said. “Try not to sound too excited, though, or the resistance will take that away, too.”

Sam snorted at that, dropping a spoonful of the stuff all over her lap in the process. She glared at her friend when he laughed at her, but they cleaned up the mess together. The remainder of their dinner was spent chatting amicably, jokes peppered in here and there to ease the worry beginning to gnaw at her insides.

Probably sensing her inner turmoil, his goodbye that evening was a simple one, which she was grateful for, because she wasn’t sure if she could’ve handled it otherwise. Tuck knew her better than anyone.

“See ya in the morning, Sam,” he said causally, knocking a fist with hers. “Get some sleep, would ya? Otherwise, the ghosts will start to think you’re one of them.”

She jokingly flipped him off over her shoulder as she turned and walked at an unhurried pace through the winding corridors. Her living quarters were in the lower levels. It wasn’t a long walk, but not a short one, either.

When she reached the door to the residence she shared with her mother, Sam paused, if only to steel herself with a deep, calming breath. With hesitant fingers, she punched the required code into the keypad, her features forced into neutrality as the locking mechanism released with a hiss.

The door opened to reveal a small room. Two twin beds were shoved into opposite corners of the furthest wall. In the room’s center, there was a round, rickety old table, two chairs, and a stained rug that was probably twice as old as she was. At the foot of each bed was a trunk for clothing and any other personal items that one could fit in it—not that anyone ever had much these days. A mismatched pair of end tables divided the beds. Embedded in a dim grey wall was a screen that, save for the rare announcements from Damon, remained dark and lifeless.

Sam’s mother was perched at the wobbly table. She watched Sam enter with dull eyes, her mouth set firm in a permanent frown. “Hello, Sammykins,” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, mom,” Sam returned stiffly.

Her mother’s eyes fell back to the stack of papers she had been flipping through. She said nothing more.

Sam peered over her shoulder and saw that her mom was reading an old article from Amity Park News. Nothing of substance, just one of the trivial advice columns. She wrinkled her nose at it but said nothing, leaving her mother in her silence.

She’d started collecting those old newspapers during her patrols at her mother’s behest. She’d initially scoffed at the request, but eventually caved, because her mom didn’t really ask for much these days. In fact, she barely spoke at all. She hardly engaged with anyone, including Sam, ever since the death of Sam’s father.

Kicking off her shoes, Sam fell to her bed and watched her mother from behind. They were all thin these days, but her mother was dangerously so. Her jumpsuit hung from her bones, and her hair, once a brilliant strawberry blonde, was now thinned and grey, tied into an unwashed knot at the nape of her neck. The skin on her long, bony fingers was almost translucent under the lights as she thumbed through the pages, so frequently, that Sam certain her mom wasn’t even reading them.

“Anything good in there, mom?” Sam asked, her voice gentle, just as Jazz had instructed her to do.

Her mother said nothing. In fact, she gave no indication that she’d heard Sam at all.

“I’ll try to find you another one tomorrow, if you want.”

Still nothing.

Sam chewed on her bottom lip in thought as the reality of her mother’s situation settled like lead in her chest. She would probably have to intervene soon, to get her mom to eat again, even if she had to force the food down her throat as she’d done before.

Pamela Manson had once been a force to be reckoned with. In her prime, she had been a beautiful, sharp-tongued aristocrat, with a family fortune and a strong marriage that solidified her position within the social circle of the Amity Park elites. But then, the war happened. And then Sam’s father died, during the attack that stole Amity from them and sent them underground. The starved woman that sat before Sam now, immersed in her stack of withering old newspapers, was a shell of the woman she had once been.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the beat of her heart and the lack of an ectosignature, Sam would’ve thought her mom was a ghost. It was bad enough that she’d lost her father, but as she’d watched her slowly deteriorate in the years since, Sam had come to the sad realization that she’d lost her mom that day, too.

“Hey, mom,” Sam coaxed in what she hoped was a soft enough voice, “is it okay if I turn out the lights? I gotta be up early to prep for tomorrow’s mission.”

Her mom’s frail shoulders stiffened, but Sam saw her nod. She wordlessly stood from the table and staggered across the room to her own bed, the light glinting off the large jewel encrusted wedding ring that she kept on a cord around her neck, then laid down with her back towards Sam. Sam reached for the remote off an end table between their beds, and with the flick of a switch, she bathed the room in darkness.

Curling into herself under her thin blanket, Sam whispered, “Goodnight, mom.”

And once again, the answer Sam received was a resounding silence.

xXx

Sam realized after a few hours of fitful tossing and turning that she would be unable to sleep that night.

It wasn’t unusual for the blissful nothingness of sleep to evade her, especially in anticipation of a mission, or a patrol. In her daily life, she portrayed a cool facade for her peers and her superiors, but here in the dark, with just her own thoughts and the sounds of her mother’s soft, sleeping cries, her nerves often got the best of her.

So did her memories.

She tried, she really did, not to think about that day that happened four or so years ago now. The day that Amity fell. The day she lost her father, and the day she was forced underground into this grey-walled hell that was supposed to be the Resistance’s salvation. She tried with all her might to stonewall those harrowing memories, to push them back into the deepest recesses of her mind.

But, like clawed fingers in her brain, the darkness behind her eyes raked them forward, drew them out from where she’d buried them.

There were no windows down here, this deep underground; no light to keep the memories away. She couldn’t stop them as they flickered like an old film on the darkened ceiling tiles above her bed.

There is fire everywhere.

The undulating flames are irrepressible, fiery tongues that lick and arc madly. The flames are a bright, ectoplasmic green. People run screaming, many lay dead. Corpses burn, limp and smoking. The air is thick with calamity.

She tried to stop it, she did, but she is unable to remember how.

Ghosts are everywhere. The Fright Night is at her heels. Laughter echoes, dripping with venom, and causes her stomach to roil. Sirens and evacuation orders trill, loudly, amidst the chaos. Her head whips back and forth, weapon poised and blasting. Her terror is poison in her veins.

She finds her house.

Looking—looking for something—looking for someone. The acrid smoke burns her lungs.

She sees her father then.

She screams.

Sam could taste the smoke in her mouth when she shot up from her bed with a gasp. Frantic hands fumbled for the remote and flipped the lights back on, her heart hammering hard in her chest. Her mother didn’t stir, not from the light, not when Sam left the room again with a muttered “screw this.”

She walked with no destination. The compound was dark, mostly. The overhead fluorescent lights were turned down, but the dimmed, temporary lighting that was used at night illuminated the corridors just enough so that she could see. She wandered the halls, one foot in front of the other, and put as much distance as she could between herself and the nightmarish memories that tailed her.

At some point she stumbled upon a darkened alcove within the cross section of two hallways. She sank to the ground there, her arms around her knees, and made every effort to calm her erratic breathing, fought hard to cease the trembles that wracked her body.

“It’s just cold,” she stammered into her knees, “that’s all this is. I’m just cold. C’mon, Sam. Get yourself together.”

The world spun as she fought with all her might to push her memories back—far, far into the deep, shadowy pit that lingered in her mind. It was where she buried all her old and terrible memories, and she feared the day that they spilled over, when she finally lost the strength to hold them back. Perhaps she should take up Jazz’s offer of help. Maybe when she got back, after this mission . . .

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way. Minutes? Hours? Days? She didn’t care. She counted her shallow breaths until the rushing in her head stilled and the trembling stopped. Her lungs filled gratefully with air as she took in the first deep breath she’d had since leaving her room.   

It was in those first precious moments of newfound composure that, amidst the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the faint beginnings of a strange, rhythmic sound pricked at her ears.

Fwack. Fwack. Fwack.

Sam’s head shot up. She looked around madly into the dark.

Fwack. Fwack. Fwack.

The sound was getting . . . louder?

“Hello?” Sam asked the dark.

The sound stopped. Then, “Hello?” a feminine voice, thick with an accent, responded.

The sound continued again, then became louder as it closed in on Sam, who squinted into the darkness until she could just make out the telltale sign of an orange cane and the person who wielded it.

“Jesus, Paulina,” Sam breathed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The girl kept approaching until she poked Sam with her cane. She stopped close enough that Sam could see just how ratty her old tennis shoes had become. “Sorry,” she said, though Sam heard no guilt in her voice. “I am usually alone out here at this hour.”

Sam eyed her strangely. She didn’t know Paulina Sanchez well, though they were friendly enough, she supposed, in the way that acquaintances often were. Paulina was . . . Odd. Most of the other compound residents avoided her, a fact that kind of gave Paulina points in Sam’s favor—which was a pretty shitty thing to admit, even if it was in her head.

“What are you doing out here, chica?” Paulina asked, her sightless green eyes narrowed.

“Existing,” Sam deadpanned. She tapped the spot on the floor next to her. “You can join if you want.”  

After a beat of silence in which she considered Sam’s offer, Paulina then felt for the wall and guided herself down until the two girls sat seated next each other on the cold, tiled floor.

Though Sam would never admit it, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of envy as she studied Paulina under the dim light. Even blind, with scars on her face, and her appearance disheveled from the inability to properly groom herself, the girl was still beautiful, in that effortless sort of way that Sam could never be.

She also couldn’t help but feel a bit surprised in her own actions. She typically avoided people, save for a select few, as she preferred to keep her circle small. It was easier that way, both in terms of keeping those she cared about safe, and the fact that she had less to lose the next time all hell broke loose.

But there was something about the darkness and the fear of her own thoughts that made her welcome the company tonight.

“I heard there is a mission planned for tomorrow,” Paulina hedged.

“There is,” Sam said. “Just typical stuff, though. Gotta fix a couple drones.”

“Well, I also heard the plan is to start one of the ectoreactors. The big one?”

Sam looked up sharply, only to be met with Paulina’s conspirator’s grin. Where had she heard that? Sam had only learned about it herself just this evening. The original plan was maintenance work, until Damon had informed them of the contrary in his office.

Paulina must’ve sensed her surprise because she chuckled softly. “You’d be amazed how much word gets around.” She tapped a delicate finger on one of her crossed arms, her head cocked.  “What I don’t understand, though, is what is bothering you so much?”

“Nothing,” Sam grumbled, toying with the hem of her sleeve. “I’m fine.”

 “I’m blind and even I can see that you are clearly not fine.” Paulina rolled her eyes. “Is it the mission tomorrow?”

Sam shrugged. Then she realized that Paulina couldn’t see shrugs, so she said, “I’m not sure, honestly. The Fentons think something bad might be out there.”

Paulina hummed slightly in response. “By something bad, do you mean a ghost?”

“Yes,” Sam said warily.

“Shouldn’t you be used to ghosts by now?” Paulina arched one of her brows at Sam in question.

Sam thought about what to say for a moment. She wasn’t sure how much she was even allowed to say. But then she decided she didn’t care. “This one could be . . . powerful.” She hated the way her voice wavered. “Like, really, powerful. If it’s even out there.”

Paulina’s face seemed to flicker with an emotion Sam couldn’t place. With her cane, she traced little invisible patterns against the floor.

“I walk these walls at night because it’s quiet,” Paulina said, changing the subject. “Everyone told me that when I was blinded, my hearing would take over”—she pointed at her left ear—“but I am deaf in this ear. From the explosions.” She turned her head in Sam’s direction, glazed eyes staring past her. “Nighttime is a bit easier. It’s quiet. Less noise. I can get around better.”

“I . . . see,” Sam said, not sure what else to say. She knew what explosions Paulina referred to. They were the same ones from her own nightmares. “I’m sorry.”

Paulina scoffed. “No, you’re not. And I don’t want your pity, anyway, chica. It’s not your fault, it’s no one’s, it just is.”

“Okay,” Sam said awkwardly. “I’m just not sure what else to say.”

A small smile was on Paulina’s lips. She pointed to her eyes. “I was not a nice person, before this.”

Sam laughed a little at that, remembering what Paulina had been like when they were much younger, vapid and cruel. “I remember.”

“Truth was, I hated myself. So, I took it out on everyone else. And then I lost my sight.” She tapped the end of her cane against the ground. “Being blind and partially deaf . . . you spend a lot of time alone with your own thoughts.”

Sam squinted at her, unsure where she was going with this. “And?”

“And, chica, I learned—learned to love myself.” Paulina’s face was split into a dazzling smile. “And I know you’re sitting there wondering why I’m telling you this, but I just want you to remember that not everything is always as it seems at first. Everyone is so concerned about staying alive that they forget how to live.”

“Everyone also thinks that you’re nuts, too, Paulina,” Sam joked.

Paulina flicked her thick hair over her shoulder. “So let them. I don’t care. I know who I am. Can they say the same?”

Sam chuckled at that, and she supposed she could like Paulina after all. Maybe they would’ve even been friends, had Sam been inclined to accept it.

“Do you know the rumors about me?” Paulina asked so suddenly that it caused Sam to balk.

Stunned into silence at such a loaded question, Sam could only stare down at her lap as she mulled over what to say. How was she supposed to respond to that? Sam did know of the rumors surrounding Paulina, though she generally tried to avoid the compound’s whispered gossip.

Everyone thought Paulina was insane, that she’d lost her mind in the event that stole her eyesight and had become a bit of a pariah as a result. She was called a lot of names, too: Ghost Sympathizer, Ecto-whore, Ghost Loving Bitch—Sam blanched and swallowed hard.   

“Uh,” Sam said. “I may have heard something.”

"A ghost saved my life," she said. "It sounds crazy, I know, but he did, and I remember." Then, in a voice that drifted much lower so that Sam had to strain herself to hear it, Paulina said, "I remember because he was the last thing I ever saw."                                    

“A lot happened that night,” Sam said, slowly, like she was talking to a child. “You can’t really believe—”

“Don’t patronize me, Goth Girl,” Paulina growled at her. “Despite what those idiotas say, I’m not stupid, just blind.”

Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. “Why are you even telling me this? I’m basically a ghost hunter, remember? I can’t just take my time to play good-ghost, bad-ghost. There’s no time for that.”

“I know, chica,” Paulina sighed, as if Sam was the one being dense. “I just . . .” she paused, as if to find her words. “I just think there’s more to them. I think there’s a lot more we need to learn, that’s not just how to destroy them. Don’t you?”

Not really, no, Sam thought, but kept her thoughts to herself. All she cared about at this point was how to make it to the next day alive and in one piece. Anything else would be signing her own death sentence—which was something she was actively avoiding for the foreseeable future.

The silence between them was a slightly uncomfortable one. Both girls stewed in their own thoughts, each lost in their own terrible world.

Then Paulina sighed, exasperated. “I know most of the ghosts out there are horrible and evil, okay?” Her head turned in Sam’s direction, her face set in a determined frown. “But one of them clearly isn’t, because I’m still alive.” A hand to her chest. “If there’s one, maybe there’s more? Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

Sam peered at her. Sure, Paulina was nuts, but Sam couldn’t help but admire the ferocity in the way that Paulina unabashedly defended her own beliefs, even if they strayed far, far away from popular opinion, led her to be shunned by her peers. She was unapologetically herself in every way, everyone else be damned.

I remember when I used to be like that, Sam realized suddenly, and with that thought came the shame that burned her cheeks red. Who was she to judge Paulina for having an inkling of hope in this world? Sam had been like that once, fueled by the fire of her own convictions. Where had that Sam gone?

Perhaps she was a shell of her former self, too. Just like her mother. The realization was a sobering one—one that Sam didn’t like at all.  

“I’m sorry, Paulina,” Sam said genuinely. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Paulina’s lips twitched into a smirk. “You didn’t. I know how I sound.” There was a mischievous glint in her glazed eyes as she used her cane to pull herself off the ground. She offered Sam a hand and said, “Come on, Goth Girl, you have a world to save.”

Sam snorted at the joke and took Paulina’s offered hand.

xXx

The following morning came and went in a whirlwind of food she barely tasted, of tense conversations, burnt coffee, and a sort of buzzing excitement that had the compound residents thrumming with a liveliness that Sam was unused to seeing in them.

They stared at her as she passed, whispers traded amongst each other, and Sam knew that the rumor mill was indeed rife with the details of the mission that she was a part of today and had spread like wildfire since the previous evening. A few people she only vaguely recognized even clapped her and Tucker on their backs as they walked past them. She tried her best—though she definitely failed once or twice—to keep from glaring at them.

She supposed she couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day that the sweepers were sent to target the ectoreactors, after all. If they could somehow get them working again . . . chills swept down Sam’s spine at the implication of that thought. She almost felt envious of their excitement, and maybe would have felt some of it herself, if it wasn’t for the dread that coiled in her stomach as the Fentons’ warning still rang, clear as day, in her mind.  

She scrubbed the sleepless night she’d had from her eyes and groaned. “The mission isn’t even slotted till later,” she mumbled to Tucker, who matched her stride in step beside her. “I don’t understand why he wanted us up so early.”

Tucker’s answering sulk was one of solidarity. “I’ll say,” he agreed. “I guess there’s a lot of prep, and Damon is going to do a briefing, along with the Fentons and Vlad.”

“Joy,” Sam said in her usual deadpan, not exactly thrilled at the last part.

“This is pretty big,” Tucker said, “I didn’t realize Vlad was this close to getting the ectoreactors operational. I mean, I know he’s an asshole and everything, but what if we got the shields back up?”

Sam bit her lip at the hope she could hear in her friend’s voice. Damn him, hope was the last thing she needed right now. Hope was dangerous. She’d learned long ago that expecting shitty outcomes made things easier for when they inevitably happened, because whenever she’d dared to have hope, she’d be left to mourn that, too, in addition to whatever else she’d lost that day.

“Yeah, that would be cool,” she said lamely.

Tucker looked at her then, really looked at her, and then stopped her with a gentle tug on her arm. They’d just rounded a corner, so Tuck pulled her aside, away from the bustling foot traffic and listening ears. “You okay?”

Sam nodded, unable to meet his worried gaze.

“Sam,” he said, his eyes narrowed on her face, “did you get any sleep last night?”

She shrugged.

He sighed, and opened his mouth to reply, but Sam decided that she didn’t need the pep talk she knew he would give her. She didn’t want the reassurance, or to be softly reprimanded, she just needed this day over with, so she raised her hand as if to bat his words away.

“Listen, Tuck, I know what you’re gonna say. I just . . .” She shook her head, unable to find the right words.

He smiled a soft, sad smile at her, because he knew her well enough to know what she was saying without saying it. “No worries, Sam,” he said, “I’ll be with you every step of the way out there and then I’ll . . . see ya at dinner when you get back.” And with that, he was gone, ambling towards his faction to start his own preparations.

Sam swallowed the lump that was in her throat as she watched him leave. What was wrong with her? Was it the fear of death and danger that loomed several hours in her future? Sam was used to that, had lived with it her entire life. But the ominous, wriggling feeling that she could feel in her bones wouldn’t leave her be, no matter how much she tried to resist it, like every cell in her body was screaming in warning. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but Sam tried her best to ignore it as she threw back her shoulders and continued forward.

The training hall was a swell of chaos, and Sam could only stare in surprise as she strode inside, mouth agape. Yesterday she’d been told it would just be a couple small squads dispatched into the city, but now, large groups of people, cadets and sweepers alike, dashed about in a flurry of activity, squad leaders shouting orders amidst the roar of voices. Sam weaved through them until she reached the locker area.

When she entered, however, her quick steps slowed to a halt as she realized the owner of the locker adjacent to her own was present, with her back facing Sam, and the door opened so wide that it blocked access to Sam’s locker.

Long ringlet curls flung wildly as Valerie Gray shimmied into a red jumpsuit that complemented her dark skin. Unlike Sam’s, and many of the other sweepers, Valerie’s suit, her armor, nor even her gear or weaponry, were designed by the Fentons, but rather Vlad Masters himself. She was pulling her weapons from her locker and holstering them when she finally noticed Sam watching her.

Brows lowered, she nudged her locker door over some so Sam could access her own. “Manson,” she acknowledged tersely, her voice cold.

“Gray,” Sam responded with a similar inflection.

They outfitted themselves in an edged silence, so sharp, that even the ectoranium tipped knife that Sam sheathed at her hip seemed dull in comparison. Sam had to bite her cheek to keep from snapping when Valerie’s elbow knocked her toolbelt off the bench seat in front of their lockers, spilling its contents.

“Oops,” Valerie said, sweetly unapologetic, as she finished up the buckles on her boots.

Sam glared at her, but otherwise said nothing, though she tasted blood.

Things hadn’t always been this way between them. They were both sweepers, chosen from the same year group, and at one point had been close friends—best friends, even. But while Sam had been mentored by Dale Barbarra, Valerie had worked exclusively under Vlad Masters, chosen by him specifically as his prodigy, and then she’d changed, inexplicably.

Sam hadn’t been shy to express her distaste of Vlad over the years, while Valerie borderline worshiped him, and it was with that conflict that their friendship deteriorated into its current state of acid and rivalry. Valerie thought Sam was jealous, but Sam just simply reviled the man. The more she’d tried to warn her friend, the greater the rift that had formed between them became.

Sam was a good sweeper and was often touted as one of the best. But Valerie—Sam eyed the wild-haired girl from her peripheral—she truly was, as Vlad had said, a league of her own. Because while Sam was smart, resourceful, and had exceptional aim in the field, Valerie was on a whole other level and was utterly ruthless. She could take down entire mobs of ghouls and spooks almost single-handedly, as if every ghost in existence was her own personal vendetta.

“Hey, Manson,” Valerie said, now completely outfitted in her gear, fingers drumming on her holstered weapon, as if in impatience.

Sam merely arched a brow at her former friend.

Valerie stalked in her direction, knocking her shoulder into Sam’s as she passed. “Make sure you stay out of my way, got it?”

“Same goes to you,” Sam muttered back. She slammed the door to her own locker shut so hard that it stayed put on the first try.

Valerie paused before the short, narrow hallway that led into training hall, and said over her shoulder in a voice that held the slightest echo of affection, “Make sure you stay alive out there, ‘kay?” And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Sam stared after her in surprise but didn’t have long to ruminate over Valerie’s parting words, because Damon Gray’s voice boomed throughout the compound from the overhead comms.

“ALL PERSONNEL SCHEDULED FOR TODAY’S MISSION, REPORT TO THE COMMON HALL FOR BRIEFING.”  

xXx

Sam’s eyes were on Damon Gray as he stood, statuesque, atop the mezzanine of the great hall, while everyone gathered, crammed in around her so tight, that Sam wasn’t sure where she ended and someone else began. She couldn’t help but wonder how a room could be both too large and too small at the same time. They were organized by trade, with the sweepers on the east side of the room, and the cadets on west, with the “techies,” as Barbarra so warmly referred to them as, somewhere in the center. Sam could tell by the lighting and the cameras positioned about the room that this briefing was a televised one, and would no doubt be playing in every one of the resident quarters tonight.

Sam wondered then if her mom would be watching, wondered if she would even care.

Tucker caught her eye from his spot on the outer edge of his group and gave her a wide grin accented by a cheerful thumbs up. She tried her best to return his enthusiasm, but the weak smile she gave him only prompted his brow to furrow in concern. She turned away from him, her eyes settling once again on Damon.

The excited murmurings around her mingled into a dull roar that made her ears ring, so she was grateful once the room fell into a collective silence when Damon raised a single hand. Behind him, Vlad Masters, followed by Jack and Maddie Fenton, climbed the steps to the mezzanine and took their places on either side of him.

“Welcome, brothers and sisters,” he boomed, “I thank you for coming here tonight, and to everyone watching from your quarters, I thank you as well.” He looked pointedly at one of the cameras for a moment, before returning to face the crowd. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, we intend to accomplish a great feat tonight, and that is to reinstate the main ectoreactor, while ghost activity in the city is at the lowest it has been in years.”

A ripple of hoots and howls and whoops rippled through the crowd, fists thrown into the air, before everyone quieted again, waiting with bated breaths for their leader to continue. Sam’s eyes were on the Fentons, and though she had to squint to see their faces from such a distance, she could see that both of their expressions were schooled into neutrality. But Sam knew them well enough, could see it in the way they stood, stiff and blank, that they were pissed.

Damon continued. “You may wonder why, then, I am sending out so many of you when activity is low, and that is because two of our resident scientists,” he gestured to Jack and Maddie, “believe there to be a powerful ghost haunting the area, though our scanners have not confirmed it.” His metal hand gestured towards the crowd, to their numbers. “We will take no chances tonight.”

Once again, the crowd bellowed, and Sam’s eyes widened. She was stunned that Damon had listened to them and heeded their warning after all, even if it wasn’t the result that Jack and Maddie had originally intended.  

Sam studied them again, and she was surprised to see the incensed, sidelong glance that her two favorite scientists shared between themselves, and her brow furrowed. What was going on?

Vlad stepped forward then. “As you all know, the main ectoreactor is our target. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a detailed plan that will be sent to each of you.” As if on cue, a symphony of beeps resonated as everyone received the data, including Sam, to the little computerized device she had on her forearm. She scrolled through it as Vlad continued. “I cannot stress the importance of this task,” he said, his face set in its usual haughtiness. “The first step in raising our shields is fixing the ectoreactor, as it is the one that contains the fusion core, which is the source of our power.”

The crowd roared again, and Sam felt her stomach flip at Vlad’s words. The compound had been operating off its reserved power for years now. If they succeeded in getting the fusion cells operational . . . Flashes of wonderful things, like hot showers and tossed green salads, flitted across her mind, and she couldn’t quell the damnable bout of excitement that began welling inside of her.

She imagined then, a world where she slept in a windowed room shrouded by stars, of green grass at her feet, of trees and flowers and dirt—a world where she wasn’t perpetually encapsulated by grey walls and resignation. Maybe the drones were, as Tucker had said, just old and broken and had given up, maybe . . .   

“Whatta bunch of bull,” someone said beside her. It was a voice that Sam knew very well.

She turned her head to look at her mentor and friend, Dale Barbarra. She hadn’t realized he’d been standing there. “What do you mean?”

He scoffed. She was surprised to see an unlit cigarette still lolling in the corner of his mouth and idly wondered if it was the same one from yesterday. “That bastard is a snake in a house of mice,” he muttered cryptically. “Wouldn’t trust him to wash my shorts.”

Sam let his words settle as she mulled them over. She looked back to the Fentons again, saw the way they not so subtly glared at Vlad, and hardly registered the remainder of the briefing. She knew that Damon was speaking again, pandering to the crowd and to the cameras, but she couldn’t discern anything he said. She didn’t care. As quickly as she’d felt it, the little flickering flamelight of hope she’d let burn died out, smothered by grim reality.

Damon’s speech must’ve come to an end, and the room was an eruption of applause and cheers. But Sam didn’t cheer, and Barbarra didn’t either.

xXx

Sam stood at attention as Barbarra strode back and forth, his expression calculative, as he appraised their assembled squad. Sam and Barbarra were the only two sweepers present, with the rest of their company being the men issued to them by Damon for backup and extra firepower should they need it. They were familiar faces though, as they’d often worked together on missions throughout the years, and Sam knew and trusted all of them.

She saw a cadet, Dash Baxter, shift nervously, and Kwan Kimura placed a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. Dash and Kwan were from Sam’s year, and both were strong and athletic, so it was no surprise when Damon had whisked them away the moment they’d graduated from the core program.  

The other two men present were old and grizzled, hardened by the years of war, Willie Shoemaker and Dick Belair.

The six of them stood together, forming a small circle, as they waited for their turn to ride the elevator to the surface. Around them, crowds of other sweepers and cadets were sectioned off into their assembled units. From the corner of her eye, Sam caught a flash of red as Valerie Gray sauntered to her own troop.

The tension within their small group was nearly palpable. The older guys—Barbara, Shoemaker, and Belair—seemed to revel in it, grinning at the kids' unease. Willie Shoemaker, a burly man with a scraggly beard was the first to break the silence. "I'm thinkin' the fresh meat looks a li'le scared, eh, Dick?" the man said in a gravelly voice that was just as rough as the rest of him.

Dick Belair laughed boisterously and elbowed Shoemaker in the gut. "I think you're right," Belair said. Where Shoemaker was big, Belair was small. He was the oldest of the three and miniscule in comparison to the other men, but still exceptionally lethal for his sixty-seven years. He coughed out a laugh before turning to Barbara. "You think most of 'em will make it out today?" Sam tried not to laugh as Dash visibly straightened, his eyes widened in obvious alarm.

Barbara grinned at Belair and Shoemaker, but otherwise did not respond to them. He instead directed his attention towards the youngest three of their party. "Ignore them. You all will make it out alive." He paused, long enough to meet the eyes of each of them, lingering on Sam's. "But only if you listen to me, follow your orders, and remember your training."

Though they’d be servicing drones first, Sam knew that the main ectoreactor was no doubt the source of the apprehension. Amity had several reactors, but the largest of them all, the one with the fusion core, was in the wastelands east of Amity, just outside the city’s borders. The city was quiet, sure, but the wastelands would no doubt be teeming with ghosts.

Sam started as their party was called for their turn to enter the elevator shaft.

“Man,” Dash breathed, as the elevator wobbled alarmingly with their combined weight, “I sure won’t miss this piece of shit when they get the fusion power going again.”

“Heh, yeah,” Kwan replied, bracing himself against one of the handrails. “The big one is way better.”

Sam had to agree with them. They hadn’t been able to use the larger elevator since evacuating Amity as it used too much power, so they’d been relegated to the rickety mechanical one that often left its occupants waging war on keeping their meals in their stomachs.

“Pussies,” Dick Belair chuckled, though Sam could see that even his face was pale.

They emerged from the shaft and followed Barbarra as he led them through the maze of Amity’s military base. Sam’s pulse began to quicken, and she could feel the thunder in her chest as they neared the large doors that would lead them to the outside, ghost-riddled world.

“You there, Tuck?” she asked into her comm.

Tucker’s response was instant. “You bet!” The line crackled a bit as he fell silent, as if to find the right words. “Please be careful out there . . . the Fentons are pretty spooked.”

Sam grimaced as Tucker’s words made her group stiffen and look at her.

“Foley,” Barbarra drawled, low and angry, into his own comm, “yer scarin’ the kiddies.”

“My bad, everybody,” Tucker groaned. “Shutting up now.”

Shaking his head, Barbarra paused to unholster his weapon. Sam and the rest of their squad promptly followed suit. He nodded to one of the masked guards, who activated the door’s locking mechanism from a control panel, and then the door was groaning, loudly, as it yawned wide to reveal a hazy green sky.

Sam swallowed. She pushed all her worries, her fear, her memories, deep into that pit in her mind. She forced away her conversation with Paulina, thoughts of smarmy Vlad Masters, her mother, and even the Fentons’ ominous warning until all that was left was Sam the sweeper, who was good and what she did and who had a job that needed to be done. She could do this.

“Playtime’s over, kiddies!” Barbarra said.

And as a group they stepped through the threshold and into the world beyond.

 

 

Notes:

Woot! Things are finally heating up! I struggled with the last half of this chapter, not going to lie. I don't really like writing groups of people, haha. I'm excited for the next few chapters!

As always, thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, bookmark, kudo, and review this ol' story of mine. Y'all are the real heroes, inspiring silly people like me to keep putting words onto screens.

Stay Spooky!

-Roar

Chapter 4: Horde of Teeth

Frozen Fire

Chapter Four: Horde of Teeth

xXx

The hazy green sun was high in the sky, listless smog-like clouds churning lazily in a slight wind. A cloak of eerie quiet enveloped the area, even as booted feet crept across the sparsely graveled path. A barbed fence emerged from the haze, and then the silence was fragmented by the low whines of ectoguns as they blared to life, fingers disengaging safety locks with light touches upon the triggers. Heart beats fluttered, breaths quickening as adrenaline surged like lightning.

One, Two. Three, Four. One, Two. Three, Four, Sam’s mantra was in her head, a calming presence that did little to keep her apprehension at bay.

Dale Barbarra was leading their troop with silent steps, his gun lowered in front of him and ready to fire. Sam walked in the group’s center, with Dash at her left shoulder and Kwan at her right. Willie Shoemaker and Dick Belair flanked their group, their eyes keen and ears pricked.

“How we lookin’, Foley?” Barbarra asked the comm.

“Clear as can be,” Tucker responded. “Nothing in the city, and only a couple of wisps showing in the wastelands.”

Sam could almost feel the relief in her companions. She checked the small scanner on her forearm, as if expecting to see something to the contrary, unable to shake the unease crawling about in her stomach. Nothing. It was clear, just as Tucker had said.

“Man,” Dash drawled to Sam, “I can almost feel the hot shower I’m gonna take once you guys get the fusion power going.”

Kwan nudged her with his shoulder. “Yeah, Sam. It’s so cool what you guys do. Do you really think you’ll be able to fix it?”

Sam was careful to keep her expression blank as she walked. She’d reviewed the schematics of the ectoreactor’s fusion core before leaving for breakfast this morning, and as far as she could tell, it didn’t look terribly complicated. A simple replacement of a few parts and they’d be good to go. “I don’t see why not,” she told them honestly. “Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if the other sweepers already have it up and running before we get there. We have some drones to service first.”

“What I don’t get,” Shoemaker growled from behind them. “Is what took you lot so damn long. If it’s really that simple, why have I been freezin’ my ass off in the showers for four years?”

“Well, we’ve been working on them,” Sam said, shooting the old bastard a dirty look over her shoulder. “They needed a lot of work after Amity fell.”

“Is it really true that we might be able to raise the shields soon?” Kwan asked her.

“I hope so.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes falling to the weapon in her hands, unable to bear the hope and awe she saw as it bloomed in Kwan’s expression.

The wall of barbed fencing came to an end and their path became lined with old and battered cars, stacked into teetering piles that loomed around them like small, misshapen mountains. Sam tried not to look at them as she passed, tried not to remember the day she’d shielded herself behind them. She could still feel the way the ground had quaked as blast after blast of ectoplasmic energy exploded around her. Even now, the shards of glass that had blown from their windows still gleamed like treasure beneath her boots.

They walked the deserted streets without incident, though Sam made sure to keep at least one eye on her scanner. She kept her senses honed, quietly, poised on her toes like a cat, ready to launch into action should she need to. She couldn’t shake her unease, as if some inner voice was warning her, over and over, and yet . . . There was nothing. Nothing on her scanner, nothing that she could see or feel, and Tuck would’ve told them already if he’d seen anything on his end. She figured she was just being paranoid, that was all.

The buildings and storefronts that lined her vision were all in various states of decay, their windows shattered and insides long since exposed to the raging elements. They reminded her of dark, gaping maws when she passed them, stuck in perpetual silent screams of fear and anguish. The road was a mess, and though they were careful to avoid the wreckage wherever possible, they often scrambled over cars and even large chunks of crumbled asphalt.

To her relief, Barbarra soon directed them down a side street—Elm, if she could read the faded sign correctly—that had taken less damage. She was surprised to see that Elm was relatively untouched, the sunlight gleaming cheerily along intact windowpanes as if to greet them. Her eyes swept across what she could see in the buildings they passed, hoping to find what she was looking for.

And then—there! She grinned.

“Hold up,” she told the group and they stopped, watching her in question as she trotted to one of the windowed stores and ducked inside. She reemerged within seconds, stuffing a newspaper into her belt in haste.

“For my mom,” she told them.

Barbarra was glaring at her, nonplussed, so to shut him down she pretended to smoke with her middle finger like it was one of his prized Marlboros and then flipped him off with it. His face cracked, unable to stop the smirk that formed. Wisely, he turned away with a shake of his head and continued down the street. Someone behind her—Shoemaker?—scoffed.  

“How is your mom?” Kwan asked as they walked, genuine worry on his face.

“She’s mom,” Sam deadpanned, not wanting to talk about her mother with anyone, let alone Kwan. She feigned interest in her scanner in the hopes that Kwan wouldn’t ask more questions, and thankfully, he didn’t.

They walked for what seemed like miles upon endless miles, weaved along Amity’s ruins, evaded destroyed roads and infrastructure, until finally, FENTODRONE #4 appeared before them, a lifeless husk casting shadows upon the ground.

Without any words needed between them, Sam and Barbarra pulled their tools from their belts and set to work on it. This one was damaged, and Sam watched as Barbarra pulled the necessary replacement parts from his pack, which he gently laid on the ground in front of them. The rest of their group stood guard, encircling them with their weapons charged and ready.

Thanks to the years they’d spent working together, Sam and Barbarra were up and moving again in a matter of minutes, eyes on their scanners in search of the next drone, which they found a mere two blocks away from the first one.  

The third and final drone was further to the East, which they planned to get while traveling to the ectoreactor. Sam shivered as a cool lick of springtime wind swept over them and seeped through her suit and into her bones. She looked up to glare at the stinking green sky, as if she could scold it for the icy intrusion, her teeth gritted against the cold.

But then, suddenly, the top of her vision appeared to flicker, just above where her view became shrouded by the brow of her helmet. She stopped in her tracks and stared. It had been so faint that she would have missed it had she not been looking. It was almost as if the shades of green that swirled within the atmosphere rippled in a small, imperceptible wave, and then was gone.

The rest of her group had stopped too, their figurative hackles raised as they watched her, then followed her gaze to the sky and stared where she did.

“Foley,” Barbarra hissed, “report.”

“Still clear, guys!” Tucker’s voice was as loud and bright as ever, unaware of their unease. “You guys got through those first two drones fast! And the other sweepers are making quick work of the reactor. They have the first of the six fusion cells replaced. A couple of wisps went after them, but Valerie extracted them with no issues.”  

Sam looked away from the sky then with a shake of her head. “Sorry guys, I thought I saw something, but . . .” She frowned as her stomach roiled again. “It must’ve been nothing.”

Barbarra stared at her with his brows furrowed until Belair joked, “Well, now that you almost gave me a goddamn a heart attack,”—he gestured toward the path ahead with a scarred hand—“shall we?”

Barbarra nodded. “Move out. We have some serious ground to cover before we get to the next drone.”

Sam stared at cracked pavement flecked with yellowed grass while she walked, and she cursed herself for not getting more sleep. Her mind was just playing tricks on her, she convinced herself.

The chill of wind and a light mist of rain greeted them then, though it was sparse enough that the sun remained free of the clouds. Sam’s free hand drifted into a pocket at her hip where she checked that the two data chips she carried remained dry, and she sighed with relief when she determined that they did, indeed, remain so, and almost seemed warm to the touch.

Perhaps everything was going to be okay, after all, she dared herself to believe. And it worked, because the lightness in her chest was the first she’d felt in years. If it wasn’t for her companions, she might’ve even skipped.

The sun was low in the sky when the third and final drone, FENTODRONE #10, in need of service appeared before them. It lay in the middle of an eastbound road, the one that they would use to travel outside of Amity to reach the reactor, as if it had been guarding the city’s entrance before an untimely death consumed it. Its glass dome was cracked, but otherwise remained undamaged.

From where she stood, Sam could see the large, towering structure that stood just beyond the city’s borders. With the sun shining behind it, the shadowy details of the reactor were nearly amorphous, but Sam could still see the forms of the other cadets and sweepers peppered in formation at its base, nearly a half mile away from her own group.

She’d been told that sunsets had once been beautiful, but now it was just a mottled patchwork of sickly green that whirled around a sun that sank lower and lower into the horizon. The eddied rays winked off the drone’s metal body as Sam and Barbarra worked to reinstate it. They’d just finished inserting its power cell when the thing whirred to life, lights blinking in initiation. It shuddered as it calibrated, beeping softly once it was done.

“Alright Tuck,” Sam said into her comm, “this is the last of them.”

“Roger that,” Tucker replied. “Great work, guys!”

“How’s the other crew making out on the reactor?” Barbarra asked through the comm, squinting at it but no doubt struggling to see it in the light of the setting sun.

“Two fusion cells left! And then it’s just a few odds and ends after that. Some photocells, some wiring, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Man, I am so excited,” Dash exclaimed with a whoop, slinging his arm around Kwan’s shoulders and shaking his friend in mirth.

Belair and Shoemaker both turned to glare at them, but it was Shoemaker who whacked Dash upside his head. “Knock it off, would ya. Yer gonna draw in wasteland spooks if you keep it up. They smell yer emotions, remember!”

Dashed gulped at that, his arm falling limp to his side. Kwan shook his head at his friend, a small smile at his own lips despite Shoemaker’s warning. He turned to Sam. “You almost done?”

Sam nodded as she finished twisting the wingnuts of the drone’s body into place. It continued to whir and blink as she released it into the air where it hovered in front of her. She aimed her scanner at it and, with a tap of her gloved finger on the screen, it hummed in response and began its lazy ascent.

She watched it for a moment, admiring the way the sun gleamed along its glass dome, at the manner in which it climbed higher and higher into the skies, its silver body illuminated by the bright green lights that twinkled from within, the sky behind it a ripple of green and—

Sam frowned, her brows knitting as she stared at a sky that once again became a churning wave of shades of radiant emerald. She couldn’t make sense of it. It seemed to reach a crescendo then, just as the sun dipped into the horizon line, green fire against the distant mountains. Her weapon fell slack at her side as she stared, transfixed, at the molten sky simmering above her.

She could only watch, wild-eyed, as time seemed to slow and three things happened next, concurrent with the ensuing beats of her heart.

First, the light radiating from the drone flickered from green to an angry red.

Second, the scanner at her arm, in time with the ones her companions bore, began to screech in warning, just as Tucker’s panicked voice began shouting, something about an ambush—but Sam could barely hear him, his voice was muffled as if she were underwater.

And third, and perhaps most notably, the whorls of liquid fire above her warped until they became varying sized spheres of shimmering electric green, brighter than the rest of the sky. She barely made sense of the ectoplasmic blast that shot from one of the spheres, a portal, she realized then, and consumed the drone, detonating it in an explosion of white light and sparks.

There was a split second of time in which Sam remained shock still, uncomprehending the world around her, until she was thrown backwards from the aftershock of the blast, her arms swiftly rising to shield her face as the smoking remains of FENTO DRONE #10 plummeted around her.

And then, with the weight of a pile of bricks, her awareness of the world resumed, a mere heartbeat later, as she rolled to her belly and saw a city now bathed in red.

Just as the sirens started.

xXx

Tucker removed his glasses and cleaned them with the sleeve of his shirt as he walked, the dark features of his face drawn tight with worry. He was careful to avoid the flurry of cadets and sweepers bustling past him, which became a more frequent occurrence the closer he got to the upper levels where the communications sector was.

He hadn’t known what to make of Sam’s mood this morning. She’d been quiet as of late, and the look on her face during Damon’s briefing . . . Tucker pursed his lips as he replaced his glasses. She’d seemed resigned, almost, as if she simply couldn’t find it within herself to care anymore—about anything. That weak smile she’d given him earlier still had his stomach in a twisted, uneasy knot.

Truthfully, Tucker had been worried about his friend for a while now. Between the loss of her father and the deterioration of her mother’s mental state, Sam herself had seemed on the verge of her own breakdown. And considering her position as a high-ranking sweeper . . . Tucker shook his head again.  

But he couldn’t worry about that now, he realized, as he had a job to do, and worrying about Sam wasn’t doing her any favors. He’d talk to her later when she returned. Perhaps he’d even try again to encourage her to seek Jazz’s guidance, though Sam was always too proud to admit that she was struggling and had refused Jazz’s help the last time she’d offered.

The only help Sam would accept from the youngest Fenton was advice on how to handle Pamela Manson, her mother. Tucker couldn’t help but ruminate on just how similar the two Manson women were in that regard, not that he would ever tell Sam that.

Tucker whistled as he strolled into the communications sector, hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit. It was a modest setup, the best they’d been able to scrounge together in the chaos of the battle they’d lost Amity in, and the subsequent years of scavenging they’d done since.

The walls were lined with various screens and computers, the tech not nearly as advanced as the ones in the labs, but good enough that Tucker was able to do what he needed to. At the furthest westward wall of the room, a large virtual map of Amity was stark against the grayness of the walls around it. Though each station had its own less advanced version, the large map would show where each of dispatched persons were located via trackers in each of their helmets. It would also show where the ghosts were.

Several of the other data engineers were already at their stations, murmuring into their headsets, their faces illuminated by their screens. A few of them turned and nodded at Tucker as he passed, which he returned with a grin and a wink.

The bulk of his work was done in the labs with the Fentons, but Tucker spent a lot of his time up here, too, aiding the resistance on the upper levels by working in communications. Truthfully, he’d volunteered, having done so since the first day Sam had been sent to the surface, had always made sure to be a part of every one of her missions. He was her guy in the chair, the guiding voice of reason who protected her in the only way he could.

Tucker reached his station and slumped into a rickety wheeled chair, spinning until he was centered before his keyboard. He positioned his monitors to his liking, then typed his passcode into the compound’s database. With a hit of an enter key, the seal of the resistance bloomed to life on his main screen, the other monitors flashing as they initialized.

 He was just putting his headset on when he felt a presence behind him. Curious, he spun his chair and was surprised to see it was Maddie Fenton who’d come to see him. The blueish light of his monitors shimmered in her silver and copper hair, reflected along with the concern in her blue-green eyes.

“Oh hey, Mrs. Fenton,” he said. “Everything okay?”

She shook her head, kept her voice low when she spoke, “Listen to me Tucker, Damon is a fool. A fool.” Her face was pale and contorted into fury as she spat out the words. “The last thing we should be doing is sending out that many people.”

 Tucker’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Maddie said, almost breathless, “whether I’m right or not about a high classed ghost haunting the area, every ghost within a fifty-mile radius will be drawn by so many people.”

He felt his heart slip into his throat at her words, at the terror and the anger that settled in the lines of her face. “Did you tell Damon?” he asked her. He stood up then, almost tripping over his chair as it rolled away from him. “Should we go tell him right now?”

Maddie placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Jack and I tried, before that speech, he . . .” She shook her head again. “He wouldn’t listen.”

“Let me guess, Vlad,” Tucker grumbled. He remembered then, how angry the Fentons had seemed at Damon’s briefing.

Maddie nodded once, a slight dip of her chin. “Just watch out for her.” Her eyes welled but no tears fell, merely glistened in the light of his monitors. “Please.”

“Absolutely,” Tucker said. “Sam is family.”

“We all are.” She smiled softly and drew him into a tight, motherly hug.

A young guard appeared behind them then, his face polite. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said to Maddie, “but we need to clear the room of nonessential personnel.” He gestured towards the door.

Maddie blinked away the mist in her eyes while she nodded quickly. “Of course,” she said to the guard. Her hands drifted to Tucker’s cheek where she gently patted him in farewell. “Bring Sam to the lab later, would you?”

Tucker gave her one of his famous grins, which did well to ease the tension on the older woman’s face, if only a little. “Absolutely, Mrs. Fenton. Sam’ll love that.”

Maddie’s returning smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but she said nothing more as she left.

“Well, that was worrisome,” Tucker murmured to himself as he recovered his chair and returned to his station. The smaller monitors on his right were all live with the various video feeds from the microcameras of Sam and her troop. He could see that they were just entering that shitty elevator that Sam always complained about.

He sighed with relief that they hadn’t surfaced yet and worked quickly to set up the various programs he’d need in the meantime. The ectoscanners, mission logs, data feeds from hotspots in the city, all were up and functioning in a matter of minutes, though he’d found himself cursing several times at the slowness of the tech. He finished, just in time to see that they were approaching the door that would soon open and release them into that hellish world.

Tucker couldn’t help but lean back into his chair and admire his friend then, as he so often did in these precious moments he had to spare before she was dispatched to the surface. Sam was undoubtedly one of the bravest people he had ever met, even if she refused to see it in herself these days.

Whenever he tried to tell her so, she would merely roll her eyes at him and claim the opposite, that she did what she did because she hated the compound, that her time outside was her only source of freedom, which Tucker wholeheartedly believed, but he also knew that was only a fraction of the truth.

Sam did what she did because she wanted to change the world for the better, in the only way that she knew how, and he hoped one day she would come to see herself in that light again. It was why she’d become a sweeper in the first place. Tucker could still remember the joy on her face when Barbarra had selected her for a mentorship all those years ago, and he smiled at the memory.  

His smile, however, became rueful as he watched her videofeed. He would try, he decided then, to help his best friend before it became too late, like it was for her mother, before he lost her in that bottomless pit of despair and self-loathing that he could see her hurdling towards. Tucker’s hand balled into a fist, the determination settling within him. He would do it, starting tonight.  

Sam’s voice trilled into the comms then. “You there, Tuck?”

Tucker did his best to force as much enthusiasm into his voice as he could when he said, “You bet!” And then he paused, his finger still pressed to the button of his headset, his thoughts racing on how to warn her. “Please be careful out there,” he said. He chewed on his words for a moment before adding, “The Fentons are pretty spooked.”

Sam didn’t respond, and Tucker felt himself wince at the silence on their comm-line. He could see from the monitors that Sam’s troop had stopped to look at her.

Then, Barbarra’s voice was drawling on the comms, his tone low and pissed, “Foley, yer scarin’ the kiddies.”

Oops. Another wince and he gritted his teeth a bit. “My bad everybody, shutting up now.”

Fortunately, the remainder of their mission went without a hitch, all things considered, and Tucker found himself sighing in relief. There had been a moment when they’d first started heading East that the six of them had stopped dead in their tracks, and then Barbarra was on the line demanding a report, though Tucker had been unable to see why.

Then they’d resumed onward without incident.  

His eyes continued to scour his screens, finger poised on his mouse like the trigger of a gun, ready to react to the slightest change in data. He watched the ectocontamination needle of Fentongeiger, a small digital gauge at the top of his monitors, noted its position and that it remained unchanging, and surveyed the scanners. The data that Maddie had found had showed a pattern of spikes, too obscure for an untrained eye, but now he knew what he was looking for.

And so far? Blank. Marvelously blank, as if the world was dead—which it was, he realized in dark amusement, but only now it was void of the dead. Oh, the irony. He snorted to himself, relaxing a little as Sam and her party approached the remaining drone. He glanced to the bottom of his screen to check the status of the other sweepers that were dispatched and grinned.

“Alright, Tuck, this is the last of them,” Sam said, and Tucker could see from her microcamera that she was just about done with reassembling the drone.

“Roger that,” Tucker said. “Great work, guys!”

“How’s the other crew making out on the reactor?” Barbarra asked.

“Two fusion cells left! And then it’s just a few odds and ends after that. Some photocells, some wiring, etcetera, etcetera.” Tucker swung his chair back and forth as he spoke. The worry and the fear for his friend were slowly lifting from his shoulders, and he found himself sitting straighter in his chair.

He imagined then, what life would be like when the fusion core was finally operational, and he hummed to himself, low enough not to disturb the other engineers. His stomach seemed to growl in anticipation as he thought about how much better the food would get with adequate power in the compound, not to mention how much more tech they’d be able to use and develop.  

A movement in the corner of his screen startled him then, left him scrambling as he was jerked from his reverie. It was the Fentongeiger, its needle stuttering as it first dropped low to the left, the lowest part of the gauge, and then flung to the highest part of the redzone and shook there.

“What the Fu—” Tucker started to say, and then his eyes widened as the world tilted into chaos.  

Sirens wailed, ectoscensors screaming as hundreds of signatures sprung to life on his screen. “Shitshitshitshitshit,” was all he could say has he checked all his screens, icy terror freezing the blood in his veins. Around him, the frantic beeps of the other stations were a symphony as they sounded with his own, his fellow data engineers all pitched into a state of panic.

Tucker was hollering into his communicator, warning the sweepers about the sudden ambush, just as the door to the communications sector hissed open and Damon Gray stormed inside, his voice booming, “What is going on in here?”

But Tucker barely heard him, because he’d just watched Sam get blasted from a goddamn portal that opened in the sky.

The wailing of the sirens in Amity could be heard, even from where they were underground, and every one of them sent a frozen lance of dread through Tucker’s heart and into his stomach.

“Look!” someone shouted.

They all turned to look at the main screen, at the map of Amity that had every sweeper and cadet pinpointed with their trackers. It was there they saw the hundreds of freshly spawned ectosignatures closing in like a shroud of death. And then the largest of them all surfaced, flickering briefly, only to disappear once more, but it was long enough for Tucker to realize that Maddie Fenton had been right all along.  

“Dear god,” Damon said, “what have I done.”

xXx

The world was a ringing mess in her ears. Was it the sirens? The aftermath of the drone that exploded? She couldn’t tell.

Bits of metal and glass peppered the arms of her suit, cut into her hands, parts of her face. She could feel a particularly deep laceration on her cheek as it began to bleed, the left side of her face now warm and wet.  

Dazed, she realized. She was Dazed.

A voice in her head was screaming at her. She couldn’t tell if it was her own monologue or if it was Tucker hollering warnings and other obscenities into her headset. But she knew she needed to move. Now.

Sam rolled sideways, just as another ectoplasmic blast set where she’d just been aflame with bright green embers. She didn’t hesitate as she pulled the trigger of her weapon and returned her own fire, still on her back, and knew she’d hit her mark when her ghostly assailant shrieked and burst apart in tendrils of coiled green.

Hands appeared under her arms and hoisted her to feet, just as her dazed stupor ebbed and horrific clarity was wrenched forward. She met the stricken looks of Dash and Kwan, as it had been them who had grabbed her.

“Sam!” Tucker shouted, “Behind you!”

Sam whirled and barely saw her target just as yet another ghost was blasted into fragmented bits, her gun smoking as she said, “We need to move.” Her voice was somehow calm, her years of training binding her nerves and her terror so that her composure could then take over.

Dash and Kwan stepped forward to either side of her, their faces grim and determined though their hands still shook, ever so slightly, as they raised their weapons and filled the skies with their own blasts. The three of them formed a line, as Tucker rallied their remaining party to cover their backs, and then it was the six of them in a circle.

The ghosts descended from the skies in a horde of teeth and fury and flashes of red glowing eyes. They were clawed but still somehow shapeless, with blasts of destructive energy surging from their mouths like breaths of fire. There were so many of them that the sky became a blanketed undulating mess of horror. Their wrathful screams were as deafening as the sirens that wailed in Amity, as if the city was a sentient beast brought to face its own demons.

Sam could barely keep her feet planted as her weapon recoiled over and over and ectoplasm rained from the heavens, pelting her in flecks of searing green that burned her skin like acid.

“Keep raining hellfire on these bastards,” Barbarra shouted in command. “We need to cover the reactor.” Then his free hand was at his ear, touching his communicator. “Foley! Where do we stand on the reactor!”  

“One fusion cell left and it’s almost done,” Tucker told them in a shaky but firm voice.

“What kinda fuckery we facing here, boy?” Barbarra growled into the comm.

“All relatively low level, just above wisps in class, but there are a ton of them,” Tucker replied. “They’re coming in mainly from northeast, from where those things in the sky are, but there’s more coming in from the wastes but . . .”

“But what?” Shoemaker’s voice snapped on the comm.

“Spit it out, boy,” Barbarra’s voice now, just as a ghost that had gotten too close was vaporized by his ectogun.

“There’s something else out there, but we think it’s shielded somehow. But there was a spike on the sensors”—Sam felt her dread resurface as Tucker spoke—”and it was huge.”

“What kind of spike?” Barbarra demanded.

“Off the charts,” Tucker said darkly, and Sam’s dread became all-encompassing. “I’ve never seen anything like it, not since . . .” he trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish his train of thought because they all knew.

Because the last time there’d been readings this astronomical, the Fright Night had appeared and obliterated the city—as well as a large chunk of its population.

“Is it back?” Sam breathed into her comm, sidestepping a narrowly avoided blast and retaliating with one of her own. “Tucker, is it back?”

“I don’t think so.” Tucker’s voice was hollow. “I compared the two signatures, and I don’t think they’re the same ghost.”

“There’s more than one of those things?” Dash shrieked, grunting as a flaming lick of ectoenergy burned his shoulder. He fell to a knee, but Sam and Kwan were quick to cover him and annihilate the spook that swept in for the killing blow, its yellowed fangs but a mere inch from Dash’s throat before it disintegrated.

“Guys, you have to get moving. Those ghosts aren’t stopping, and you have more coming in from the wastes one hundred yards out,” Tucker said.

“Shit,” Barbarra cursed, snatching Dash by the neck of his suit and hauling him to his feet. “Move out, all of you! We need to get to the reactor. We ain’t done until it’s operational.”

Sam allowed herself a millisecond in which she spared a glance eastward, to where the towering form of the ectreactor was alight with flashes of green within the plumes of smoke now spiraling around it. It almost resembled an unearthly thundercloud, with the bellows and shouts of the humans and ghosts forming its thunder.

“All together!” Barbarra commanded.

And then they ran.

Well jogged, really, as they still had to maintain their tight circle, leaving no backs unguarded.

Sam could think of nothing else but the task at hand as she moved. Blast, after blast, after blast. Screeches, and howls, and shouts, and curses, all intertwined as her eyes burned from the light and the ectoplasm that rained upon them. She couldn’t allow herself to think, wouldn’t allow herself to think, as there was no time for her to be afraid of what Tucker had informed them of. Best to stop thinking—and keep blasting.

Somehow, her hands remained steady, even as the shouts and yelps of the other sweepers and cadets became louder. She ignored the lifeless lumps that belonged to faces she refused to recognize. Merely stepped over them and kept moving.

It wasn’t until the reactor loomed above them and they became surrounded by the other humans that their circle yawned wide and formed a line. The horde above them seemed to swell as it seethed, hundreds and hundreds of ghosts shaping into a single monstrosity.

“Oh my god,” someone breathed.

“RUN,” Tucker screamed into the comm so loud that their headsets crackled.

But there wasn’t time, not as the horde roared and rippled in a single, collective wave and released a giant column of green fire upon them all.

xXx

Valerie hadn’t known what to expect when she’d first set foot upon the dirt of the hell-frozen world. Her scanner was bare, and the idiot babbling in her ear had nothing useful to tell her, but her father had been uneasy as he and Vlad had followed her troop to the upper levels.

Vlad, ever her voice of reason, had seemed as cool and calculated as ever. He’d even gone as far to smile and ask for as many specimens as possible, which was his usual request of her, but he’d grinned so fiercely when he’d said it that she’d been taken slightly aback.

And then her father, ever the stoic individual, had seemed troubled, and that had troubled her. But Vlad had said she’d be safe, and both she and her father believed him, undoubtedly, because Vlad had yet to steer them wrong. She’d owed so much to him over the years that the last thing she would do was doubt him now. 

She didn’t know her troop at all, didn’t particularly care to. They were just nameless people who would inevitably get in her way. So, she paid them no mind, all but ignored whomever of those damned engineers was squawking in her comm and set forth through the city at a brisk pace. She followed the map on her arm using the coordinates that Vlad had given her, and made the trek to the wastelands, just beyond the reactor that the other sweepers would be working on, and there she would wait.

Vlad hadn’t told her why he’d suspected spooks would appear, though she supposed it had something to do with the reactor, that once its dormant fusion cells flooded with life and power that it would create a beacon. And then they would come.

Valerie felt her fingers tremble in anticipation. Spooks, ghouls, ghosts—no matter the name, they were monsters. Abominations that she would stop at nothing to eradicate from her city, from her planet.

So, it was no surprise that the moment her scanners flared to life and the city itself seemed to scream in terror that Valerie smiled. Not in joy, but in greeting.

They’d been no match for her, the little wispy assholes that darted from some unseen place in the world beyond, hurtling out of that hazy green mist that lingered and poisoned the earth. She obliterated some, while others were sucked into the containment diffusor on her wrist where they would be stored for Vlad to dissect later.

Her grin was feral as she ripped through a flock of them, her squad a mere blur in her peripheral as they struggled to keep pace.

It was when the sky opened wide to reveal the pits of hell that Valerie finally paused, her ringlet hair whipping behind her as she turned to watch a horde of ghosts descend upon the reactor and the people working on it.

Valerie froze, could only watch in a horrified daze as the spooks slaughtered them, her people, until she saw Sam Manson and her troop running brashly towards the madness and tugging Valerie back to her senses. She didn’t think twice when she threw her body into an all-out sprint in their direction, her useless troop a straggling shadow behind her.

Suddenly, Vlad’s voice was in her ear, through her comm, “My dear Valerie,” he crooned in greeting.

Valerie nearly stumbled in shock as she ran. “Mr. Masters?” she rasped between breaths, incredulous. “You’re on the comms?”

“Just your personal channel,” he said, his voice lilted as if fighting back a laugh. “Needed to keep the imbeciles off.”

“As much as I’d love to chat,” she grumbled as she leaped over a heap of rock, “I’m a little busy at the moment, sir.”

“Ah yes, that’s actually what I’m wanting to discuss with you,” he said. “There is an ectosignature that I need to you to track for me, and seize it, if you can. Well, there’s several, actually, but only one has been verified at the moment.”

Valerie’s scanner pinged, and when she looked at the directives her eyes widened. She nearly tripped again.

Her heart rattled in her chest as fear and anger and brutal loathing boiled inside of her, at the profile that appeared on her screen in correlation of its ectosignature, and she pushed her legs harder, her feet falling faster and faster as she sprinted across the earth.

Just as the horde above torched the humans below.

“NO!” Valerie screamed, as she tripped and fell to her knees, her gun blasting any and every ghost she saw as she fell. She tucked and rolled and was on her feet again within a heartbeat, her wide eyes glistening from the smoke, her nose burning even through the filtration device in her helmet.

People rose and staggered about in the smoke, ectoblasts streaking through the sky as all-out war raged on the battlefield in front of her and then . . .

And then there was Sam, racing for the reactor.

Valerie tried to reach her, but the ghosts were relentless in their attack. She forced her way through them, the mingled throngs of humans and spooks, roaring in her rage as she annihilated any ghost that dared get close to her. She tried her best to watch Sam’s back, but her eyes also remained peeled for any signs of her targets.

Suddenly, Sam lurched for a lever and heaved it upward.

The ground quaked and the horde of ghosts burst apart as the fusion core of the reactor surged to life, brilliant blue light cleaving through the sea of green and bathing the battlefield in a wash of cerulean.

“SAM!” Valerie screamed as she watched the ghosts descend on her in an instant.

xXx

There was blood and ectoplasmic fire everywhere.

Sam coughed and winced when her lip stung from a gash that now pierced her flesh. Her arm was badly burned and the hair on the left side of her head was singed and stinking. Her helmet . . .

She coughed again, the coppery tang of ectocontamination as sharp as the smoke in her lungs, and she swore under her breath as she realized that her helmet was indeed broken, as was her communicator.

She surveyed the carnage around her. She had no idea who from her party was alive or dead.

The horde was swelling again, no doubt in preparation to release more fire upon them.

Sam knew she had only one option as she watched a ghost shred the sweeper working on the reactor into pieces. She’d reviewed the schematics earlier, and with only a little bit of wiring remaining in the last of the fusion cells, she knew she could do it. Had to do it.

So she did.

She forced her aching legs into a sprint and made it to the reactor’s control panel within seconds. Quickly, she surveyed the work that had been done, noted that the fusion cells were indeed installed, and with hands that only now had begun to shake, she resumed the last bit of wiring needed to engage the reactor’s core. She tried to ignore how slick the wires were from blood that was not her own.

Her heart lurched into her throat when she heard that telltale shriek again, as the horde drew in to summon their fire, and then Sam jumped, and with all her might she forced the lever upward.

The ground shook and a booming noise swallowed her with a flash of blinding blue light. The horde roared in outrage and splintered apart into separate entities once again, but they immediately homed in on her.

She raised her weapon. But what good would that do? There were hundreds of them, those glowing monsters with their translucent bodies rippling. Mouths hung open as they screamed, and then commenced their ambush with deathly precision.

Sam cried out as she was thrown backwards by a powerful ectoplasmic blast, her head spinning and ringing from a blow to her head.

"SAM!" she heard someone—Valerie?—scream. A flash of red in human form was blasting furiously as the ghosts bombarded her. "SAM! NO!"

Bleary eyed, Sam saw her troop again as some of the smoke cleared, just in time to see Barbarra get struck directly in his side, his arm now hanging limp as he continued to discharge his weapon with his other hand; Shoemaker and Belair were back to back, voices loud as they screamed and fired; Dash cried out in fright as he was thrown to his back; Kwan's eyes were full of terrified tears as he lifted Dash to his feet.

Valerie forced her way through the madness, fingers extending and reaching for Sam's. Her horrified eyes were wide, nostrils flared, raven hair singed and flying. She leapt and reached wildly for Sam, just as Sam groggily sat up and tried to meet her halfway with a hand of her own—

Their fingers brushed and then missed when a gaggle of spooks seized Sam under her arms and dragged her skywards, high into the hazy green fog of the sky. Frozen wind ripped through her hair, buildings flashing past her, the tops of trees a mere greyish-brown blur.

Sam screamed as her senses came back in a rush of cold air on her face. She flailed and kicked until she aimed her weapon blindly above her head and blasted.

There was an intense bout of hissing and then suddenly—

Suddenly, she was falling.

Wind ripped like claws through her lungs and her throat became raw as she screamed. She’d been close enough to the tops of trees that her body automatically began reaching, hands grappling for branches that snapped and imbedded into her hands, but slowed her fall, nonetheless. When that branch snapped, she thought nothing about the pain or the damage to her hands as she reached instinctively for the next.

And the next.

Branches cracked and whipped as they broke from her weight, as well as her collision with those she did not grab. Sam could think of nothing else but survival as she reached and reached, thankful for the generous amount of adrenaline coursing through her system, numbing the agony she would’ve felt otherwise.

When she finally did hit the ground the sound of bone cracking resounded loudly through her ears, temporarily incapacitating her as the wind rushed from her lungs from the impact. Her hands were numb and slick with her blood; her left wrist was throbbing with pain and a bulge protruded from the joint of her elbow. She lay there, gasping for air but miraculously alive.

For now, at least.

She tried to sit up, but struggled, her breaths wheezing and labored. A few feet to her right was her ectogun and she reached for it. Once the weapon was firmly grasped in her less injured hand, she staggered to her feet.

The dizzying world around her seemed to slow and still. She couldn’t place the feeling, but it was like the wind and the trees and, hell, even the buildings took in a single collective breath and held it in. Everything became so quiet that her ears started to ring, an electrifying rush zinging around her in a way that had the hair on her arms standing on end.

And somehow, despite the graveness of her injuries, there was more dread . . . absolute dread was in her stomach. The fear one gets when they turn their back to the darkness and the unknown monsters within. She was terrified, so utterly consumed by the fear that clawed about in the pit of her stomach.

A small voice inside her head told her to run.

But then, she felt it. The prickling along the back of her neck that froze her blood in her veins, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. She was being watched.

She turned, gun held firm despite the shaking of her hands and the slickness of her blood.

A humanoid figure was there, masked by darkness.

“Barbarra,” she croaked through the fire in her lungs, forcing a bravado into her voice that she didn’t at all have. “That you?”

The figure approached, slowly, and Sam squinted trying to see. Her fingers traced the trigger of her weapon, flicking the safety back. She stepped back—once, twice, then staggered a little bit over some rubble.

The figure took shape. The second Sam spotted the glowing green eyes from under the figure’s hood, she fired. Shot after shot, she discharged her firearm again, and again, and again, until a cloud of smoke filled the air and turned it a dusty red from the lights of the drones. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t feel her legs, and didn’t know where to go as the red smoke was disorientating.

She likely wouldn’t have been able to run, anyway, not with the state of her body. Without her adrenaline propelling her onward, she feared she’d be unable to stand at all.

So, she took a deep, painful breath and stood her ground.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, ghost, but I strongly suggest getting the hell outta town before I vaporize you.”

She remained still, slowly panning her weapon side to side as she looked down the barrel, ready for the slightest movement.

And then she saw it, twenty feet to her left. It was the humanoid ghost again, standing eerily still. With the smoke beginning to clear, she could now see it wore a black cloak lined with white, billowing in the wind around itself.

She aimed again and fired.

But the ghost never even bothered to look her way. It raised a hand and caught the charge as if they were playing a casual game of toss between friends. The green undulating energy shone bright within its gloved palm and illuminated the features of its face.

The dread in her stomach pooled and then simmered into pure unrelenting terror as she realized then which ghost she was up against. Her breath hitched. 

It was the Phantom.

Notes:

Holy damn, I didn't anticipate that this chapter would become such a behemoth! I almost divided it in half, but I really want to get the plot moving and figured that wouldn't have been the best idea, so there ya go! There was originally going to be more, but I'm beyond 8k with this hahaha I hope long chapters are okay.

I really had fun writing this one with the different perspectives. It was fun to tie in the different POV pieces so they overlapped, which was a bit of an experiment for me. I hope it came out well for you guys on the reader's end.

I'm disappointed I wasn't able to get this out sooner. My goal is biweekly, but I was moved to a new jobsite that's pretty high profile and has a LOT of overtime (gotta love that construction worker schedule haha). I'm just exhausted constantly these days, but I'll do my best to keep somewhat close to my schedule. I will be on vacation all next week so I'm not sure how much writing I'll get done, but I'll try. I don't think the next chapter will be as long as the last two were, but who knows, these words seem to write themselves sometimes.

As always, thanks so much for reading!

--Roar

Chapter 5: A World Without End

Notes:

Quick disclaimer! Right now Sam refers to Phantom and the other ghosts as "it." Please know that is intentional and is not permanent. Just wanted to get that out there because It annoyed some in the first iteration of this story years ago, and I get why. But it doesn't last long, I promise!

Frozen Fire

Chapter Five: A World Without End

xXx

Holy shit, Sam’s inner voice screeched.

She inhaled a wet, wretched breath as she gasped, ignoring the way the breath of air set her lungs ablaze. Her entire body convulsed in a shudder at the sight of the ethereal creature lurking just twenty feet down the grassy path, the ball of ectoplasmic energy she’d discharged from her weapon still a roiling sphere in its snow-gloved palm. 

With otherworldly speed, the Phantom’s head whipped around to glare at her. Sam’s human eyes barely registered the moment that Phantom materialized before her in a burst of shadows and wispy tendrils of fiery green as the ectoplasmic charge dissipated, winking out into the night. Around them, the sirens continued to wail, the streets still bathed in the red lights of the drones.

She tried to remember then what she knew of this elusive ghost, but the compound’s database of Phantom had been gallingly bare. The only thing in its file had been the shoddy footage retrieved from the facility in Wisconsin, when Phantom had annihilated Vlad Master’s laboratory base in a display of immense power. Had her scanner still been functional, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know the exact reading of its ectosignature.

All she knew for sure was that Phantom was beyond powerful, and she was as good as dead.

She attempted to level the gun between its eyes, but her arm shook from the effort. She could see now in its proximity how closely it resembled a human man, with shaggy white hair that framed a face accentuated by a strong jaw and its luminous eyes. In all her years, of all the ghosts she’d faced and destroyed, she’d never seen one look so . . . human. It was disconcerting, especially as the creeping wrongness that usually accompanied the spooks settled in her very being, urged her to flee.

This was it, she realized. She was going to die.

She flinched as the Phantom reached forward and gently lowered her trembling weapon until it clattered to her feet. It looked away again, transfixed on some point behind her head.

“You need to leave,” it said, its voice deep and commanding, which caused her to start because ghosts aren’t supposed to sound like that. “Worse things are coming. Grab your kin and retreat to your bunker.”

Sam stared uncomprehendingly.  “What?”

The ghost grimaced and then it was in her face, eyes smoldering bright with fury. “Get. Out. Of. Here. Human,” it seethed, lip curled as if in disgust.

Her years of training sang to her then. She swiftly grasped the ectoranium tipped knife from the sheath at her hip and slashed madly at Phantom’s face in response.

Or, at least, she tried. It caught her hand in an iron grip.

“Enough,” Phantom growled.

“Never,” Sam spat, and swung out her leg in a kick.

But the ghost simply dematerialized and let her leg pass right through its torso before it returned tangible again. It yanked hard on the fist still held firm in its grasp, its hand over her mouth now, rage boiling into a visible tremor. It bared its teeth at her.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” it said lowly into her ear.

Sam did everything in her power to free herself. She kicked, she squirmed, she tried to bite—but the ghost ignored her. Its grip on her was vicelike as it held her, barely acknowledging her presence as it began to stare once again into the distant smoky haze beyond her head.

So, this was it, Sam realized. She was really going to die. Here, in the Phantom’s steely embrace.

She wondered if her mom would miss her. Would she even notice? Would she be disappointed by the lack of new newspapers appearing amongst those piled in their little shared room? Would someone be there to care for her now that Sam could not? And Tucker . . . And the Fentons . . . Tears streamed down her face, both from the blossoming pain and the realization of her imminent death. The heaving of her whimpers burned like fire in her lungs

Phantom tensed when it noticed the tears. And to her surprise, it released her, as if they’d burned it. It darted away from her and watched her warily from a safer distance, but close enough that Sam could still see its face from underneath its cloak. Its head was cocked, brows furrowed as it studied her.   

Sam couldn’t help but wonder then just how much of this encounter was reality, or a result of a foggy delirium conjured by a body that was clearly slipping into shock, because she’d never seen a ghost act as Phantom had just then. Never had she conversed with a ghost, fought it, and clearly been overpowered by it, only for it to release her and retreat of its own accord.

A new and terrible thought intercepted her line of thinking then . . . maybe she was already dead, and the ghost had merely recognized her as one of its own? Sam shuddered and squashed that line of thinking immediately. No, she was definitely still alive. Though not for long.

She’d dropped to her knees the moment that Phantom had freed her, but she’d refused to look away, even though the prolonged eye contact unnerved her on levels she didn’t even know she had. She forced in her eyes the strongest glare she could muster. Shakily, she returned to her feet and then spat blood onto the ground in Phantom’s general direction. “Go fuck yourself.”

Something akin to sorrow danced in Phantom’s emerald eyes as it beheld  the state of her body then, its gaze drifting  the length of her before returning to where green mingled with violet. “You are badly injured.”

Sam’s chest rattled wetly. She did her best to sneer, even as her knees shook, and gravity beckoned for her return. Sleep, she really needed to sleep. When had she gotten so tired? When had the world started spinning? And more importantly, why hadn’t the ghost killed her yet? She was as good as dead, anyway. Her wounds were now a tether, one that began gently tugging her towards a sweet and painless abyss. 

“Just do it,” she rasped.

 “Do what, human?”

“Just kill me and let’s be done with this.” She refused to drop the ghost’s stare, even as those furrowed brows rose high into its shaggy hair and its eyes widened. Had circumstances been different, she might’ve laughed at the aghast expression that morphed the ghost’s features.  

Phantom’s response was interrupted by a freezing mist—colder, somehow, than the already chilled air. A tendrilled vapor escaped the ghost’s mouth, and then the burning fury returned to its eyes, burned them brighter and brighter.

She didn't have the energy to resist when Phantom lunged for her with its inhuman speed. She barely registered the blur of its ghostly form as it hurtled towards her—and—

A roar of rage pierced the air behind her, louder than the wailing of the sirens, and then her left shoulder exploded in agony as teeth sank into her flesh, right to her bones.

Sam screamed, just Phantom forced her aside and sent her teetering on weakened legs and into the dirt. The fire of her lungs roared with the blood rushing through her veins and from the gaping wound on her shoulder. The thunder of her heartbeat was deafening, effectively drowning out the ghostly battle that had commenced in the air above her.

Her violet eyes wide, Sam watched in a daze as Phantom tangled midair with a giant beast of teeth and red eyes. No, a dog, she only dimly recognized, when she noticed the short tail and the spiked collar. They writhed together in a violet dance, the ghost dog’s jaws, dark with her blood, snapping relentlessly as Phantom held the beast at bay, then Phantom's hands grasped the beast’s mouth and forced its jaws shut, teeth clacking loudly through its snarls.

"Cujo," Phantom commanded, "Enough."

The ghost dog thrashed against the hold on its jaws, but Phantom’s grip was stronger. Then, Phantom’s hands began to glow a brilliant blue and a muzzle of what looked like ice formed around its face and bloodied snout, binding the canine’s razor-sharp teeth together.  

Sam's vision was swimming, her world disjointed and fragmented. She rolled to her side, choking on her blood and barely able to breathe, but somehow, her numbed hand fumbled for the ectogun that lay nearby. She couldn't feel it in her hand and yet somehow it still felt impossibly heavy. In fact, everything was heavy, the deathlike tether pulling further and further, down and down. When had everything gotten so . . . dense? It felt like her bones were forged in lead.  

With a reserve of determination, she forced her broken body to sit upright. Slowly, her eyes traveled up the large form that now loomed above her, barely made sense of the new monster that eyed her with what could only be predatory delight in its amber eyes. It was another bipedal beast, though less humanoid than Phantom, with white fur and a translucent arm encapsulated in . . .  Was that ice? She frowned blearily as she tried in vain to identify the creature observing her with its six glowing eyes. Or was it four eyes? Two? She squinted as multiple images of the same beast twisted together. 

She raised her weapon. She had just been about to pull the trigger when the amber-eyed monster spoke.

"Please!" it said in a resonant voice, sharp canine teeth flashing red in the light. "Please don't shoot, human girl, I beg you. I do not mean you any harm. I only mean to assist Great One." Its eyes were pleading, large paws—one of fur, the other of ice—splayed wide to indicate its defenselessness.

Sam stared. Her body swayed, unconsciousness creeping closer and closer.

“I know most of the ghosts out there are horrible and evil . . . But one of them clearly isn’t, because I’m still alive. If there’s one, maybe there’s more? Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

Sam felt her finger depress the trigger of her weapon, but a wriggling bout of uncertainty kept her from firing.

“Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

Even in her delirium, Sam could remember that conversation she’d had with the compound’s resident loon, could still see the steely conviction that had blazed in the blind girl’s eyes as she’d spoke. Sam hadn’t believed her then, and certainly didn’t believe her now, but . . . well, it’s not like she was walking away from this fight alive anyway.

“Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

Damn you, Paulina, Sam thought. Her ectogun whirred loudly as it powered down and fell to her feet with an audible fwump. The silence that followed was nearly palpable with disbelief, but Sam didn't notice. Her vision became a clotted mess of thick blood and white stars, a red film that left her blind. She waited there, wondering when the ghost would finally kill her.

But the blow never came.

Instead, she collapsed. And, gratefully, she welcomed the blanket of darkness that enveloped her.

xXx

.

.

.

Her consciousness swirls around her.

Fading in . . .

. . . Fading out.

She is cold, encased in the freezing arms of death as she shivers violently.

Her body is swathed in something soft.

Darkness again.

.

.

.

xXx

.

.

.

Words now, flitting in and out.

" . . . Something has happened. . ."—"What do you mean she . . ."—". . . we are in need of you at . . ."—". . . what happened out th . . ."

Unintelligible murmurs.

Her eyes open and she is greeted by a muddled kaleidoscope of colors and something odd and white that lines her vision.

She blinks, and with the briefest moment of clarity she sees green eyes that are somehow familiar, but she can't remember why. They come closer now, glowing and flecked with the slightest hints of blue.

Then the pain returns and settles heavily along her limbs. She allows herself to succumb to the darkness once again.

.

.

.

xXx

.

.

.

A strange feeling.

Cold.

So much cold.

Infinitely cold.

It numbs the pain, but now she's hurting from the frigidity. It sears her skin like frozen fire.

She feels as if she's in a world that does not end.

So, she closes her eyes.

.

.

.

xXx

Samantha Manson crawls happily along the edge of the glowing green dome. Her pink dress is quickly becoming icky with stains—but she doesn’t care!

The dome is pretty, she thinks. Her small hand digs into the earth where she grasps handfuls of cool mud and heaps of silky green grass. She falls back on her diaper bottom, chubby legs splayed out beneath her as she traces a muddied hand through the air where the glow is at its brightest. She giggles as the dome zings her, sends funny tingles up her arm. It tickles, it tickles, it tickles! Her giggles turn to laughs.

Attracted to her fun and laughs, a cute doggie comes bounding along and Samantha sees the most peculiar sight she ever saw. There, standing before her on the other side of the dome is a funny-looking green puppy. It is see-through and is sniffing the air where Samantha's hand has just been. Its silly teeny-tiny tail wags and Samantha laughs again, amused by just how funny-looking it is.

The puppy pauses, cocking its head to the side as it listens to her laugh. Then it jumps and its paws land against the side of the dome. Its tongue flops out of its mouth as it smiles and yips at her, with the teeny-tiny tail still wig-waggling around.

Why doesn't it fall through? Samantha thinks, perplexed by the sight. Unlike the puppy, when Samantha extends her fist to touch the glowing green wall it passes through like magic! She sticks her hand all the way through, giggling once more at the tingles it sends up her arm. The puppy begins to sniff her hand curiously. That tickles more than anything and Samantha laughs even more loudly than before.

The puppy barks again and then licks her hand. Its tongue is silky and slimy, and Samantha thinks it is the most amazing thing she has ever felt! She claps her hands and crawls beyond the dome and towards the puppy. The puppy makes more happy sounds, bouncing around and wiggling its whole bottom. The two play together then, chasing each other and having fun.

When she stops to catch her breath, she reaches for the puppy. The puppy does a little dance of joy and rolls over onto its back. Samantha gleefully pats  its chubby belly.

Today was the best day ever!

"Sammykins!" Mommy suddenly yells. "Sammykins, where are you?"

Samantha smiles and picks up the strange green puppy in her arms. Mommy will love him too! she thinks cheerfully. Maybe we can keep him!

She is so excited to show Mommy, but when Mommy sees her with the puppy she screams.

"Samantha! Samantha, no! Oh my god! Jeremey! Somebody, somebody help!"

Samantha doesn't understand why she is screaming, but then other people are screaming too! Suddenly she is ripped away from the puppy and it hurts. Mommy grabs her and cries, pulling Samantha tightly to her chest and that hurts too. Why is everybody so sad and scared? Over Mommy's shoulder she sees the puppy get chased away by her father and other angry men with glowing guns, its teeny-tiny tail is tucked between its legs as it runs away yelping.

Samantha truly doesn't understand. Tears begin welling in her eyes.

Why do grown-ups gotta be so mean?

.

.

.

The dream—or was it a memory?—swirled, trancelike, then faded away into the deepest recesses of her mind.

As she woke, her thoughts seemed to regain a semblance of their former clarity. The pain was now a phantom ache spread amongst her entire body, and her breaths came easily, no longer hindered by the fiery pain in her lungs. She lay there, relishing the ease of her breathing and a mind no longer shrouded in confusion. Yet the world was dark, and memories eluded her. Where was she now? What had happened to her troop? The reactor?

Had that encounter with Phantom and the other ghosts actually happened, or had she dreamed that, too? And if it had happened, how the hell was she still alive?

Her fingers twitched, and her breath hitched as she felt something odd and soft beneath her fingertips. She listened, but the world around her was brimming with an unnatural stillness, not the beeps and bustling of the compound infirmary that she’d normally anticipate waking up in. And the texture of the fabric beneath her was much too soft to be her own bedding. And while her body was warm, the air around her was absolutely frigid.

Sam’s heart began to race.

And then she opened her eyes.

Notes:

Sorry for a shorter chapter this time around! I've been super busy with life shenanigans. I also feel like this chapter is way more impactful as is. The next chapters should resume in their standard, longer length. Hope you are all well! How's everyone been?

Thanks so much for the continued support. It means the world to me. Every single time I get a notification of a kudo or a comment, I seriously light up. It makes my entire day. :)

Chapter 6: Ice and Stone

Frozen Fire

Chapter Six: Ice and Stone

 

xXx

 

When Sam opened her eyes, she winced.

Bright.

Everything was so bright.

Too bright. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

It was common knowledge that the compound’s lighting was utterly dismal, even in the Fenton’s lab where the reserve of energy was prioritized, so Sam was certain she wasn’t in the lab, or that hodgepodge mess they called an infirmary. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time that she’d awoken to such brightness.

Her temples throbbed as she blinked against the light, her blurred vision slowly focusing on the strangest light fixture she had ever seen. Her fingers trembled, twining into the silky fabric that swathed her body in a cocoon of warmth. A sphere of blueish-white undulated from within a ring of what looked like polished silver. She stared at it, noticing the arm that fancily twisted away from the ring in an ornate pattern and anchored itself into a wall of . . . stone?

Sam’s eyes widened as her senses returned and she sat up in a rush, bursting from the warmth of her bed and into the cold hard air that was her reality. She trembled, both from the newfound frigidness of the room and the fear that rumbled from her chest.

Easy, Sam, she thought. After she forced herself to take a steadying breath, she cupped her hand to her aching forehead in a weak attempt to shield her eyes from the brunt of the glaring sphere of light and continued to survey the remaining oddities of the room she’d awoken in.

What appeared to be ice caressed a room of stone, crystalline and beautiful. The room—no, the cave?—was complemented by a delicate pale-blue and periwinkle masonry, with smooth, polished stones that gleamed like jewels from within the breaks of ice. Another glow, less intense than the fixture above her bed, emanated from the center of the room, wrapped within winding columns of ice that spiraled from the ground and onto the ceiling. Sam stared at the column, entranced by the way the light cascaded along bits of crystal stalactites, and the small, shimmery rainbows that danced merrily about the room as a result.

Sam’s brows knitted as she noticed something else strange about the frozen cave-like room. Giant, bizarrely shaped computers and other pieces of technology stood proudly against the furthest wall in a juxtaposition of the cave’s natural features, right next to a cylindrical glass chamber filled to the brim with an unidentifiable cyan liquid. The computers themselves were of a metal Sam had never seen before, their screens dark and mirrorlike, though a soft glow still seemed to emit from them somehow.

“Where am I?” she wondered aloud. She was surprised at how raspy her voice sounded, as if it had been some time since she’d used it last.

Shivering, she looked down at herself and was alarmed to notice that her FENTONWORKS armor had been removed, leaving her exposed in the thin and now tattered bodysuit she wore underneath. What she guessed to be bandages and gauze were wrapped around her injured arm and both of her hands, though Sam was perplexed by the strange material. As the hazy cloud of incomprehension continued to lift, she could feel more of the pseudo-gauze that crossed over her left shoulder and tightly enveloped her ribcage in a stiff brace. She began to finger the material, perturbed by the oddity of it. It was nothing like she had ever felt before.

“The hell?” she said. “What is this stuff?”

Otherworldly, her mind seemed to whisper in response. Her heart began to race.

Fragments of images flashed into her mind as she began to remember her last waking memories, bits and pieces flitting in along the edges of the puzzle.

In her mind’s eye she sees the infamous Phantom and feels terror, its haunting green eyes burning like molten steel as it glares and sneers at her. She feels the way its icy grip holds her in a vice of unhuman strength while she fights desperately. She is surprised when it releases her, surprised when it speaks to her. She is surprised when it forces her aside and engages in battle with another ghost.

The pain in her shoulder and the rest of her body is debilitating, but she watches in a daze as Phantom and the ghost dog fight each other brutally. She is barely conscious, barely aware of herself as she meets amber eyes now, and for some reason she can’t find it within herself to shoot it. She knows she’s about to die, so she gives in, hoping that her next world is a better one. She becomes numb and her vision quickly fades to black.

The rumble of fear in Sam’s chest became a dull roar as realization and horror settled in. Her fingers gripped the soft material of her bed so tight that her knuckles turned bone-white. That was when she realized her bed wasn’t a bed at all, but a protrusion of ice that rose from the ground like a cradle, white fur and soft cream-colored woven wool blankets nestled neatly within.

She clambered hastily from the ice cradle, hissing as her bare feet met the frozen ground of the cave. A shockwave of pain echoed along her bones as old, mostly healed injuries cried out in protest from the sudden movement. Sam gritted her teeth, her chest heaving as she braced herself against the icy structure that had been her bed.

Trembling from nerves, she gingerly tested the bend of her arm that, as she’d known last, had been shattered from wrist to elbow. Her heart hammered harder as her arm heeded her command with only the slightest of aches in response. Her fingers again fumbled for the gauze, dipping beneath to feel the skin of what should have been a ruined shoulder. She gasped as she felt only the slightest puckering of scar tissue instead.

Just how long had she been here in this strange, frozen room?

Sam’s mind reeled. She began backtracking further and further into her memories while she waited for the pain in her body to settle, and recalled what she could of that night before she’d encountered Phantom. She remembered Valerie Gray, screaming her name with an outstretched hand as she dove recklessly through a writhing horde of ghosts, reaching for Sam but missing . . .

What had happened to Valerie, and everyone else? After the ghosts seized Sam, the fleeting image of her troop was of their backs as they fired and screamed, disappearing into the bloody and ectoplasmic swell of chaos? Were they even still alive?

Sam shook her head and bit her lip, hard. Don't think like that, she told herself. Of course they're still alive.

Shivering again, Sam cursed quietly and yanked one of the blankets from the cradle, wrapping its bulk around her shoulders and cocooning herself within its warmth. It sliced through the cave’s frigidness like a hot knife through butter, though did nothing for her feet. Her toes were numb as she steeled herself and crept towards an archway of stone that she could see exited into a cavernous hallway. She checked for her weapons—or anything she could remotely use as a weapon—but saw nothing, much to her dismay.

“Hopefully whoever saved me is friendly,” she muttered under her breath, pulling her woolen cloak tighter under her chin. “Otherwise, I’m screwed.”

The cave seemed to yawn as she exited through the arch and into a wide chamber. While the ice and the stone were similar to the space she’d awoken in, she was surprised to see blue torchlight flickering from shiny silver sconces that lined the walls, the flamelight harsh against the ice and cool toned masonry. She could tell the chamber was a winding one as it snaked beyond a bend, shadows dancing along the stones from the torches.

Sam frowned as she considered which direction to take. Left, or right? Both directions curved away into the unknown. She held her breath and strained her ears for any sounds but heard nothing but the rapid beating of her own heart.

Left, it is, she decided.

Wincing at her cold feet, Sam shuffled as quietly as she could through the chamber, her ears pricked for the slightest of sounds, her eyes burning as she frantically looked for any signs of movement. She flinched when her blanket snagged on a rocky outcrop and made a rustling sound that seemed much louder than it should have been. She froze in horror and waited for her hammering heart to settle before she freed herself from the wall and continued.  

Look at me, she thought gloomily to herself, scared of a fucking blanket of all things. Tucker would have a field day. But then a grim and hollow feeling seeped into her chest at the thought of her best friend. Where was he now? Did he even know that she was still alive?

Sam shook the thoughts out of her head. She would worry about Tucker later. She had to figure out her own shit first. And find some goddamn shoes.

As she walked, she noted that her room had not been the only one to occupy this mysterious chamber. She passed several other stone and ice archways, though saw nothing when she peered curiously inside due to the lack of light and decided it would be best to leave them be, at least for the time being.

She’d just gotten to the crest of the bend when she heard it.

Footsteps.

The sound of something dragging against a stone floor.

Voices.

Sam stifled a gasp with her hand, her eyes instantly watering as she choked on air and pressed her back against the wall. She slowly began to retreat, walking backwards around the bend as the voices approached.

" . . . What do you mean you brought a human here, Frostbreath?" a voice demanded, resounding unearthly. "It could spell for us our imminent death! Are you mad?"

Another voice chuckled. "Oh, come now, Icefang. Let us not be melodramatic," it responded. "She was injured. I couldn't just leave her to her death."

The angry voice again. "Why not? Had it not been injured it would have destroyed you without an ounce of hesitation. And now you bring it here to kill all of us? That thing is a monster!"

"Perhaps we can learn from her!"

"Humans are nothing but primitive beasts, that is all there is to learn!"

“She could be The One.”

“Nonsense. The Time Gaurdian is a fool.”

There was a moment of shuffling—something sharp scraping against the floor—and a new, deeper, voice bellowed, "Enough! There are more pressing matters at hand other than the fate of the human girl. I will see to her, but for now I want nothing more to do with the subject. Understood?"

"Yes, Frostbite," the angry voice—Icefang—agreed.

The consenting murmurs were accentuated by irritated growls. The rest of their conversation, however, was drowned out by the impossible racing of Sam's heart. She was horrified, having reached the conclusion that her rescuers—no, her captors—were not human.

She needed to run. Needed to get away. Now, before they found her.

Sam attempted to turn and flee, but what she had not considered was the mass of her heavyweight blanket. Its pleasant warmth was now an oppressive bulk that twisted around her legs and sent her stumbling. She fell to the floor with a yelp.

Terrified, she scrambled out of the fabric desperately, just as one of the voices exclaimed, “IT’S AWAKE.”

She barely had time to get to her feet before the scraping sounds—claws, she realized—were upon her and something large and furry seized her by the throat and lifted her into the air. She flailed uselessly, just as her eyes met the yellowed glare of a monster.

“See!” The beast roared, its large white fangs glinting in the light. “It came to kill us!”

Sam’s lungs burned. She struggled for air and clawed weakly at the beast’s hand as it shook her violently. Pain seared within old injuries and ignited them with a fire that blazed throughout her entire body, the beast’s sharp claws digging into the soft skin of her exposed neck. She tried to fight, but it was futile—she was completely at this monster’s mercy.

Suddenly, another snarling beast appeared in her peripheral. This one was massive. It seized her assailant by the furred scruff of its neck and flung it roughly into the wall. Then a third beast, whom she vaguely recognized for some reason, grappled with her offender in a display of sharp teeth and low rumbling growls until the angry beast submitted, bowing its head, but not without a hateful glance in her direction.  

Winded from her fall after the beast dropped her, Sam lay prone on the icy floor of the chamber, gasping as air returned to her lungs. Her hand was at her neck where she felt small droplets of blood beading along her clavicle from where her assailant’s claws had pierced her skin when it shook her. She trembled as she lay there, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She figured it wouldn’t be long before the monsters were fighting for the last bits of sinewy meat that they scraped from her bones.

The massive of the three beasts stood with its back to her. Its fur was white, a shared attribute amongst the three of them, with one of its arms encased in crystal ice. She was surprised when she realized she could see right through it and to the pearly white of its bones, and stared, unable to look away, even as the deepness of its voice filled the chamber. “I will say this once, Icefang,” the beast—Frostbite, Sam realized upon hearing its voice—said in a tone that was low and threatening. “In fact, let me make something clear to you all right now. Nobody touches the human girl. Nobody.”

The angry one—Icefang—growled and bared its sharp teeth. "We should kill it now!"

"And where would that get us, Icefang?" Frostbite challenged. “This human is defenseless without the weapons we seized upon her arrival."

Sam’s mind was reeling, and her head throbbed. She couldn't bring herself to look up from the freezing floor. She was surprised, however, when one of the clawed hands appeared before her face, as if beckoning her to take it. She flinched away, her eyes meeting the amber-eyed stare of the beast she vaguely recognized from a hazy cloud of delirium.

Her body is numb yet burns. Her arm shakes as her finger slowly depresses the trigger of her weapon. But she doesn’t fire. She chooses not to.

Sam blinked when she realized the beast eyed her, not with bloodlust, but with worry. “Are you okay, human girl?”

Sam stared at it—him? She stared at all of them. At the curved horns of ice that twisted from their heads, at the rows of teeth that gleamed from long, wolflike muzzles. She noted their clothing, which appeared to be blue silk, though Frostbite’s attire was much more regal, as a sash and belt of jewels twinkled from him in the torchlight. She noted that Icefang was the only one amongst the three of them to not have an ice encrusted arm. They were all gargantuan beings, though Frostbite was by far the tallest, his crystalline horns almost scraping against stalactites. They all had long, muscular tails, which Sam realized must’ve been the dragging sound she’d heard earlier.

She stared at the hand, at its blackened claws, and shivered.

The beast, Frostbreath, must’ve sensed her unease, because he retracted his hand and knelt to her level instead. Sam looked up and was surprised to see worry glittering in his eyes. She flinched when he reached for her again, but instead of seizing her by the throat, he pulled the woolen blanket tight around her shoulders. “I wanted to thank you, human girl,” he said. “For your mercy. I can’t say that others of your kind would have done the same.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? She shakily returned to her feet and backed away from the three of them.

“Why . . .?” she croaked.

“Why what, human girl?” Frostbreath asked.

“Why . . . am I here?” Her voice was raw as she spoke. “Why am I . . . alive?”

“Frostbreath,” Frostbite said in a commanding tone, “please escort Icefang to the dining hall. Tell the others that I will be along shortly, as will our guest.” He must’ve noticed the panic in Sam’s eyes, because he added, “If she agrees, that is.”

“Yes, brother,” Frostbreath said, returning to his feet. He gestured down the corridor, indicating for Icefang to proceed first.

Icefang eyed Sam with hate gleaming from his red eyes, but obeyed nonetheless, muttering under his breath.

Once they’d disappeared beyond a bend and into the shadowed depths of . . . wherever the hell this place was, did Frostbite finally look down upon her. "I am truly repentant, human, for the lack of decency expressed by my kin. It was not my intent to see you harmed." The ghost's head bowed. "It will not happen again, I assure you."

Sam didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to respond. She was confused, and cold, and terrified, and in pain, and a conglomeration of so many other things that she simply stared at the beast in return. She wondered then if any of this was even real.

Suddenly, something dark and terrible occurred to her, and she couldn’t help but ask the question as it arose within her. “Am I . . . dead?” 

Frostbite smiled softly. “No, human girl. You are very much alive.”

Sam released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She steadied herself with a hand pressed to the icy wall of the chamber, relief pulling the tension from her shoulders until they slumped and nearly caused her blanket to tumble to the floor.

“I am sure you have questions.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Sam muttered before she could stop herself, then bit her cheek at her own sarcasm. She hadn’t actually meant to say that aloud. With gritted teeth, she looked at the giant beast at her side for his reaction, worried that one wrong word would sever whatever tentative truce they had blooming between them and cause him to go berserk and finally kill her.

She was surprised to see its muzzle spread into a wide, toothy grin, instead, as if she’d merely amused him with her outburst. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Frostbite chuckled a little—actually fucking chuckled. "Come, we will speak once we return to the medical sector. You are yet to be fully healed from your injuries." Another wide smile. "Not to mention, it is peculiar that our leading healer has yet to notice your absence in his care.”

Sam’s brows furrowed at that. She resisted the urge to recoil as the beast approached her and laid a gentle, clawed hand on her shoulder and began guiding her towards the direction she’d initially come from. She calculated the odds of running, but quickly dismissed the idea, because she was certain she’d be unable to escape, given the immense strength Icefang had demonstrated when he’d grabbed her.

Play along, she told herself. Keep it talking and figure out how to escape later. You’re not dead yet. Figure out why.

They’d just rounded the icy bend towards the room she’d initially awoken in when they happened upon another of the white-furred beasts. It froze when it noticed them, its eyes landing on Sam first, then widening on Frostbite.

“I—Frostbite—my liege, I noticed the human was missing—I am sorry, I didn’t know she was with you, I—”

“Peace, Sleetjaw,” Frostbite said with a nod. “I was merely getting acquainted with our guest, though I am, too, surprised to see her awake so suddenly.”

Sleetjaw’s widened eyes flicked between Sam and Frostbite again, but then settled on Sam with its—his—brows furrowing as he studied her. “She metabolized the sedative I gave her much sooner than I anticipated. How intriguing.”

Sam’s heart lurched at the word sedative, just as Frostbite said, “Quite understandable, my friend. It is not everyday that we are given opportunities to treat humans, after all.”

“How are you feeling?” Sleetjaw asked her. “You were in quite a state when Frostbreath first brought you here.”

“Uh . . .,” Sam said dumbly, taken aback by Sleetjaw’s intensity, like she was some medical anomaly that needed to be solved.

“Let us return to the medical sector, first, Sleetjaw,” Frostbite said. “The human girl tires and I am sure her feet are cold.”

Sam was surprised at Frostbite’s tone. It was almost . . . fatherly. She was mildly disconcerted, to say the least.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Sleetjaw said with a slight bow to Frostbite.

They returned to the room she’d recognized. Sleetjaw gestured to the ice cradle. “Please, human girl, take a seat so I may assess you.”

Sam bristled, but she did as she was told. She sat upon the strange protrusion of ice, pulling her knees up under her chin. Her toes were painfully numb, and she sighed in relief once she nestled them within the furs. Her blanket remained a cloak of warmth around her shoulders.

Sleetjaw’s eyes roamed her bandages. “Are you well?”

Sam chewed on her words before she answered. Careful, she had to be careful. Play their game, and stay alive. “Achy,” she admitted honestly. Her eyes drifted to her arm as she flexed her fingers. “How long . . . have I been here?”

“Approximately three day cycles,” Sleetjaw said.

Sam started at that, her violet eyes wide. “Impossible.”

Sleetjaw raised a brow.

She waved her bandaged arm. “I don’t think I could have healed this much in three days.”

“Ah, yes,” Sleetjaw said, as if something trivial had dawned on him. “You were gravely injured when you arrived. Multiple fractures, a punctured lung, deep lacerations and hemorrhaging in your shoulder, so I do apologize for the delay. Human physiology is a bit new to me, I’m afraid, even considering the similarities your kin shares with the yetikind, especially the frost ch—”

Frostbite cleared his throat then. “Sleetjaw, I believe that when the human girl refers to the speed in which you have healed her, she simply means that it was much faster than she is used to.”

Sleetjaw’s brows rose in surprise. “Of—of course.” He bowed his head to her. “I mean no offense. I had forgotten that human technology is still in its primitive state.”

Sam gaped at them. She didn’t even know where to begin unraveling everything she’d just heard. The throbbing in her temples increased and she resisted the urge to rub them. “I don’t understand any of this,” she mumbled.

“Do your injures still bother you, human girl? Do you require more time in the bacta tank?”

“The what?”

Sleetjaw gestured to the tank of shimmering liquid behind him. He must’ve noted the horror on her face because he quickly said, “It is nothing monstrous. Just an accelerant to aid in your rapid healing. You see, it induces the body into a catatonic—”

Again, Frosbite cleared his throat. “Perhaps, it would be best to not overwhelm the human, Sleetjaw.”

“Yes, I agree,” Sleetjaw said with a nervous grin. “Stories for another time, then, when you have fully healed.” He gestured to where her arms were in her blanket-cloak. “May I assess your healing?”

Sam bit her lip. No, she absolutely did not want this giant beast touching her, especially when she was in such a vulnerable state. But she also knew that her options were incredibly limited at the moment. Best not to offend her hosts, she decided. She hoped she didn’t appear as shaky as she felt when she let the blanket slip from her shoulders and expose the bandages to the frigid air.

“Healing you was not the easiest of tasks,” Sleetjaw told her as he gently began removing her bandages. If he noticed her flinch at his touch, he didn’t mention it. His claws were somehow soft as he deftly worked, exposing her fragile, healing skin to the air. Sam could feel the aches return to the areas that he unwrapped, throbbing in unison with the beat of her heart. He sighed, as if in sadness, when he reached her shoulder. “This will scar, I’m afraid. The damage was too severe.”

"Why even bother with this?” Sam asked him. “What’s the point in keeping me alive?” She trembled a little, and she realized she was fearful of their answer. But she had to know.

Frostbite was the one to answer. "My brother, Frostbreath, decided to bring you here," he began. "From what he says, you spared his life when any other human would have destroyed him." His intense gaze was unceasing as he began to approach her. "He sensed in you something most uncommon.” He was at her side now, his enormous frame casting a long shadow over her, eclipsing the light. Sam was surprised to see his muzzle curve into what appeared to be a sly smile. His eyes had a mischievous glint when he added, “And most intriguing.”

Sam's heart leapt, and for once it wasn't fear. "I wanted to destroy him." Why was she telling him this? She didn’t know. Perhaps she, too, yearned to understand her own reasons.

"But you didn't. Why?"

Sam shrugged. She was beginning to wonder if this was all a dream, because her current situation was riddled with impossibilities. She shouldn't be sitting here, injured, surrounded by powerful ghosts, weaponless, and be able to maintain an amicable conversation as she stared into the blazing red eyes of an alpha. From what Maddie had told her, alpha ghosts were incapable of reason, and known for their extreme aggression. They were the dominant ghost within their hoard, maintaining stringent control over the other, lesser spirits. Very few humans unfortunate enough to encounter one returned, and never did they return unscathed. Vlad Masters had been proof of that.

Everything she had ever known about ghosts had been proven wrong within the past ten minutes. It just wasn't possible. She should be dead, her flesh stripped away, and her soul eaten. There was no way she should be alive right now, and it was this thought that unnerved her more than anything. Killing her, she could understand. But keeping her alive . . .? She shuddered at the implications.

She took a moment to still her nerves. Then, she asked, "What are you going to do with me?"

The beast sighed, which caused bluish ringlets of icy air to dance along his muzzle. "We will first continue to monitor your healing. And then, if you are willing, we intend to learn from you."

Her eyes narrowed in mistrust. She got the impression that there was more than what he was telling her. "Learn from me?"

"You are very different from the humans we have encountered in the past."

Sam frowned, annoyed by the ambiguity of his response. "I'm not sure there’s really anything to learn about me. Unless you plan on dissecting me," she deadpanned.

Frostbite let out a roar of laughter that caused both her and Sleetjaw to jump. "I assure you our intentions are not so invasive." The great beast smiled again, moving his icy arm in a way that caused it to shimmer incandescently in the light. "It is my belief that a mutual understanding between us may be . . . advantageous."

Sam narrowed her eyes at him. “Advantageous?”

But Frostbite merely grinned. “All in due time, my dear human girl. You have much to learn. There will be a feast tonight, and now that you are awake it will be held in your honor, though I will not force you to attend. If you do not decide to join, an assortment will be brought to you here so you may dine alone.” Frostbite’s grin widened, revealing a row of sharp, shiny teeth. “I do hope you attend. My son will be around shortly to collect your answer.” And then he was gone.

Sam stared at the stone archway where Frostbite had last been. “Who even is he?” she wondered aloud, not expecting an answer.

Sleetjaw shrugged as he began rewrapping her arm and shoulder. “He is Frostbite, our king.”

Sam blanched. “King?”

“Did he not introduce himself?”

“Not really, no,” Sam muttered.

Sleetjaw snorted. “I cannot say I am surprised. Our king has always been rather enigmatic. But he is a good and fair ruler of the Far Frozen.”

“Far Frozen?”

Sleetjaw coughed awkwardly. “Ah, I see you have yet to be told. I had assumed . . .” The beast shook his head, as if resigned. “No matter. He must have his reasons.”

Sam stared at the furred beast, her mouth opening to retort, when a strange, ominous feeling settled upon the room and into her very core. The hair on her arms stood on end, and her heart began to race of its own accord. Something wrong and something terrible seeped into soul, left terror frothing in its wake.

And then there, behind Sleetjaw, Sam watched the Phantom enter the room through the stone archway.

She gasped, skuttling back into the furs of her bed, her eyes quickly darting around the room for a weapon but finding nothing.

She looked to Sleetjaw, expecting to see the same dread reflected in the beast’s eyes, but was surprised to see nothing but recognition and—to her horror—admiration alight on the beast’s features.

Phantom loomed in the entryway with its green eyes narrowed on her. Its—his—hood was lowered now, the long black and white furred cloak sweeping the ground as he walked toward them. Sam noted the black, silken tunic and the sturdy pants he wore, as well as the leather belt that was bejeweled with what appeared to be tiny sapphires and emeralds.  

Sleetjaw bowed his head at Phantom. “Great one,” he acknowledged, “I was just finishing up.”

Phantom nodded at him. “Take your leave, Sleetjaw. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“As you wish,” Sleetjaw said. He turned to depart, but not before administering a final gentle pat on Sam’s arm. “I hope to see you at dinner, human girl.” And then he was gone, disappearing beyond the threshold.

If I even live that long, Sam thought darkly.

The silence between them was tense as Phantom slowly circled her with his hands behind his back. His acid green eyes assessed her critically, though his expression remained neutral, even as he passed through the bouncing shimmery rainbows that shone from the crystal stalactites. Sam stifled the shudder that threatened to run through her when she realized that he seemed like a cat circling before it pounced on a meek—and in her case, human—mouse. She watched him the entire time, her own arms crossed over her chest. It took every ounce of self-control she had to keep from bolting, though her fingers twitched for the weapon that was lost to her. It was an effort to remind herself that she was kept alive for a reason, and it wouldn’t make sense for Phantom to end her now.

“You look . . . better,” Phantom said at last.

“No thanks to you,” Sam grumbled at him, then winced at her own abrasiveness. Take it easy, Manson, she told herself. Information first, remember? Sam swallowed the lump in her throat, and said, “Why did you bring me here? And where is here?”

Phantom approached her, a single gloved finger raised. “One, I didn’t bring you here, Frostbreath did.” Two fingers now. “And two, you are in the Far Frozen.” 

“Where the hell even is the Far Frozen?” Sam asked.

“It is part of the Infinite Realms.”

“The what?”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say you’re not in the human realm anymore.”

Sam’s heart dropped into her stomach. She felt suddenly hollow as something terrible began to dawn on her—something she hadn’t yet considered. “I’m in the Ghost Zone?”

Now it was Phantom’s turn to appear confused. “The what?”

“The Ghost Zone. Where you live?”

Phantom’s eyes were half-lidded. He stared at her, unamused. “You certainly have a lot to learn.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she snapped. And then she felt herself deflate, the anger seeming to melt away. “I just want to go home.”

The hardness in Phantom’s eyes softened. He looked away from her. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

“Why?”

“Because there are no natural portals to take you there. Not for a while, at least.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Sam snapped. “Nothing is making any sense.”

“I am sorry, human,” Phantom said, much to her shock. “I would take you back if I could, but I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

“Why would you even want to?” She splayed her arms wide, causing her blanket to slip from her shoulders. “You should be trying to kill me. I should be dead right now.”

Phantom nodded slowly, as if in agreement with her. “Should be, but I won’t. And you should be, but you aren’t.”

Sam’s temples were thundering now. She finally let herself rub them, her mouth twisted into a grimace. “This is all some dream, isn’t it? This isn’t real. None of this is real. You’re a fucking ghost.”

Phantom watched her, his hands behind his back again. He kept his distance from her, as if to appear as nonthreatening as possible, but Sam could still feel the danger emanating from him, as if his presence was poison to the air. She could feel it in the very marrow of her bones, the desire to escape, to get away, and it took every bit of her training and willpower to remain cemented to her seat. She wondered then, why she had not felt the same presence from Frostbite and the other beasts from earlier? They were ghosts too, were they not?

A searing green gaze settled on her bandaged shoulder and Sam was shocked to see regret in Phantom’s expression. “I’m sorry that I was unable to stop what happened to you. Sleetjaw said that the injury was . . .” He grimaced. “Extensive.”  

Sam touched her shoulder idly, fidgeting with the bandages. She tried not to think about the teeth that had shredded her flesh only days before. “Was it a territory dispute?”

Phantom blinked. “What?”

“Between you and the other ghost?”

“Ah.”  His eyes flicked away from hers. “Yes and no. Cujo is a friend, it’s just . . . complicated.”

She tried to stop it; she really did. Tried not to give in to her temper. But it was as if every ounce of her self-preservation had melted away, creating space for the deep, ugly rage that bubbled in its place. Play the game and stay alive, be damned. The revulsion in her voice was unbidden when she said, “Were those other ghosts your friends too?”

Phantom frowned at her. “They were not.”

“Your kind—you fucking ghosts have ruined everything.” Her voice cracked. She was shaking now, but not from the cold. She shoved her blanket aside and jumped from the bed, storming towards him. “I don’t even know if my friends are alive, and you say it’s just complicated.” She jabbed a finger in his face. “Well screw you. Screw all of you.”

Phantom’s expression was impassive, but his eyes blazed. He didn’t back away from her. “We saved your life.”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, yeah, thanks for that. Just in time for that room of monsters to rip me apart for dinner, right? Or do they just want to make me their pet? Give me treats and teach me tricks?”

The already frozen temperature of the room seemed to plumet further as something she’d said finally triggered his anger. “That’s enough,” he said darkly, leaning closer to her until a mere breath divided them. “Say want you want about me, but you do not get to bring them into this. They have been nothing but kind to you.”

Her heart lurched to her throat at his closeness. She resisted the urge to recoil and hissed, “Was it kind when one of them had me by the fucking throat earlier?”

“What in the Ancients are you talking about?”

“Icefang,” she said simply.

Eyes widening, Phantom looked at her aghast. “You met Icefang?”

She glared at him. “The big one—Frostbite? He had to pull that asshole off me.” She wrenched the neckline of her jumpsuit low enough so he could see the punctures Icefang’s claws had left on her throat.

Phantom winced at the sight and stepped away from her, relenting. “I hadn’t realized . . . Icefang isn’t fond of humans.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” she replied sarcastically. “He didn’t stop until Frostbite said that I’m off limits.”

The shadowy anger that had consumed the room only moments before had all but dissipated. Phantom sighed. “Well, if it’s any consolation, it won’t happen again. Icefang won’t disobey my father’s command. You really are safe here, I’m sorry that—”

“What did you just say?” Sam squeaked, cutting him off. “Your father?”

Phantom stared at her, perplexed.

Sam backed away to her ice bed and leaned there, needing the support while her world seemed to collapse around her. Frostbite’s earlier remark about having his son collect her had been so offhanded that she hadn’t thought to question it at the time. But now? She found herself reassessing the ghost before her as her mind whirled.

Since when did ghosts have children? She’d never heard of such a thing before. She studied Phantom again, noting his silky white hair, the green eyes, ethereal glow, and a build that was muscular, sure, but a hell of a lot more human than the other ghosts she’d met earlier. And sure, he was tall, towering over her slightness, but he wasn’t gargantuan like Frostbite—who was also his father, apparently.

The ghosts she’d met before could sometimes speak, though they were never eloquent. A lot of them were wispy and amorphous, barely able to hold a corporeal form. Even some of the more powerful ones were less . . . she struggled to think of a word. Detailed? But Phantom, and the others, were seemingly sentient. The Fentons had always described ghosts as impulsive creatures that operated only through primitive, baseline instincts. But here she was alive because a ghost decided to save her goddamn life.

Sam raked a hand through her hair. She realized she was shivering, now that the brunt of her temper had ebbed away and hadn’t bothered to leave even an ember behind to keep her warm. She cursed herself for jumping when Phantom approached her again.

He noticed and abruptly stopped in his advance, opting to leave the distance between them. Then he stared at her, and Sam was floored as she realized that in that moment that he probably felt as awkward as she did.

“I, uh,” he started to say, then shook his head. “Listen, I’m sorry, this conversation hasn’t exactly gone how I thought it would.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and Sam was shocked by how human the mannerism was. Then he reached for a leather satchel Sam hadn’t realized had been draped across his shoulder. “When my father sent me to collect you, he also sent me with these.” He extended the satchel out to her.

Sam stared at it but didn’t budge. “What is it?”

“Clothing,” Phantom said. “You’re shivering.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m fine.”

 “Just take it. You’ll literally freeze to death if you don’t.” He frowned at her. “All that work to keep you alive? What a waste. Sleetjaw would be devastated. Frostbreath, too, actually.”

When she still made no move to take the satchel from him, Phantom sighed exaggeratedly and then tossed it at her so Sam had no choice but to catch it or let it hit her. Despite the lightness of the throw, it still managed to knock the wind out of her.

She glared at him. “Asshole.”

Phantom returned the glare, unamused. “You should get dressed.”

“And you should fuck off,” she snapped.

He sighed again. “Does your temper have an off button?”

“I don’t know, does your existence have a delete button?” She thought about throwing the satchel back at him now that she had something to throw but decided not to. Instead, she tossed it onto the cradle-bed-thing behind her and resumed glaring at him, arms crossed in defiance.

Phantom pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, as if to calm himself. “Alright, human. Here’s the deal. I’m going to leave and give you time to dress. I’ll be waiting in the hall for when you’re ready.”

She arched a brow in challenge. “And if I don’t decide to debase myself by joining you?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll make sure to have someone send some food to you. Whether you believe me or not, you are not a prisoner here, merely a victim of circumstance.”

She scoffed, and glared at him pointedly until he left the room. Once he was gone, she released a breath of relief when the ominous presence that had thickened the air in his company disappeared as well. The presence of a ghost—especially one as powerful as Phantom—was nearly stifling, and her nerves were undoubtedly rattled beyond repair, but at least she could finally breathe again.

After she’d given herself a moment to recompose, Sam’s eyes narrowed on the satchel. She reached inside and pulled out a bundle of fur and fabric that she then straightened on her bed. It was a whitish jacket, long at the sides, so when she pulled it over her head it fell just below her knees but fit her arms well. While the outer shell was comprised of fur, the lining was of the same woven heavyweight material of her blanket, perfectly containing her body heat and warming her up considerably. Upon further inspection of the bag’s contents, she found a pair of woven leggings and a set of fur-lined moccasins.

“Thank fucking god,” Sam breathed as she hastily pulled the moccasins onto her frozen feet. She sighed in relief as the warmth enveloped her numbed toes. With the adrenaline coursing through her veins at Phantom’s presence, she hadn’t realized just how cold she’d truly been.

It was after she’d dressed, however, that Sam realized the dilemma she now faced.

To dine with ghosts, or not to dine with ghosts, that was her problem. She chewed on her lip as she pondered the pros and cons of ditching them.

On the one hand, she was starving. And her stomach rumbled then, as if in affirmation.

But on the other hand, she would be in a room full of ghosts, her sworn enemies. Beasts that had slaughtered thousands upon thousands of humankind and sent her world to the brink of its demise.  

She should reject the offer. Use the time instead to plan her escape.

But then, something else flickered into existence and was in the forefront of her mind before she could snuff it out.

Curiosity.

In the span of her last waking hour, everything she had ever known about ghosts and been obliterated, fragmented shrapnel of truth and reality left spiraling in a vortex of mystery and shadow. She realized then how little she truly knew about the ghosts that plagued her world.

“Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.” Paulina’s voice was a faint echo in her mind.

Sam groaned when she realized her decision had been made.

She stalked to the stone archway, tried not to visibly shudder at the proximity of Phantom and his doomy aura. He was leaning lazily against the icy wall of the chamber just outside of her room and had been staring absently down the tunneled path. He glanced at her in mild surprise at her purposeful approach. His acid eyes roamed her from head to toe as he appraised her in her bulky outfit.

“I see the clothing fits,” he said.

“Should I be worried that you guys even have clothing that fits me in the first place?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“My father commissioned the local seamstress with a rush order so you would have something warm to dress into when you woke,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. She resisted the urge to question him more on the topic, opting instead to file it away for a later time. In its place, she asked the question that had been pressing on her since she’d first seen him. “Was Amity your territory?”

Phantom’s gaze hardened, green eyes boring into her own. He watched her carefully when he said, “Yes.”

“Were you the reason for the lack of ghosts in the city?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she snapped, “Oh come on, we went from ecto-invasion to a literal ghost town in a matter of weeks.”

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I kept them away.”

“Why?”

He didn’t respond, opting to watch her warily instead.

Sam frowned at him. “You disguised your ectosignature.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did.”

“How?”

Silence.

Sam sighed, frustrated. “What happened to Amity being part of your territory? Why did you leave?”

"Things changed," he replied evasively, and then pushed off the wall and stepped towards her. In his closeness, Sam found she had to crane her neck to keep from severing eye contact. “Look, human, I don’t know about you, but I would like to eat in this century.” He gestured down the frozen corridor. “Shall we?”

Sam snorted. "I'm sure whatever it is that ghosts eat isn't exactly on my list of edible foods." Then her brow knitted in confusion. "Since when do ghosts eat in the first place?" She was reflecting upon Maddie's lectures from the Compound, about the physiological eccentrics coupled with anatomical impossibilities. Ghosts didn't—couldn't—eat, as they were not comprised of the essential organs and intestinal tract to do so.

“Your lack of knowledge is truly astounding,” Phantom muttered. “I’m honestly impressed at this point, really.” Then he frowned at her, as if something suddenly occurred to him. “There is one thing you should know about the Yeti.”

“The Yeti?” Sam asked in surprise.

Phantom nodded. “The big furry beings that healed you, remember? There’s no way you missed them.”

Sam sulked and crossed her arms, stepping away from him. “You don’t need to be an ass.”

“Then don’t be dense,” Phantom snapped. “But listen, whatever you do, don’t call them ghosts.”

“What, why?” Sam asked, perplexed.

“Just don’t,” he reiterated.

“Ooookay,” she drawled, glaring at him.

Phantom returned her glare. The firelight flickered from the silver sconces, casting shadows about his face in a way that amplified the glow of his eyes. It took everything within her to keep from looking away as the sight truly unnerved the hell out of her. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

“I do have one other question,” she said finally.

“Of course you do.”

She didn’t know why she needed to make the joke. Perhaps she simply needed a way to ease the edged silence between them, to permeate the layers upon layers of tension they’d somehow created in the span of a few muttered sentences.

Scowling at him, Sam fingered the furred collar of her coat, and, arching a brow, she said, “Does this come in black?”

Notes:

Well this chapter kind of wrote itself. Turned out a bit differently than I anticipated, but I'm here for it, haha. It's always so fun when that happens. I would love to hear what y'all think! Thanks for reading!

*Sleetjaw belongs to CaptainOzone

Chapter 7: A Courtly Dinner

Frozen Fire

Chapter Seven: A Courtly Dinner

xXx

Sam couldn’t help but gawk as she followed Phantom through the maze of ice and stone.

After they’d departed from what Sam had come to recognize as the medical sector, with its sconces of blue flames and peculiar technology, she’d begrudgingly allowed the ghostly asshole to lead her through a winding web of passageways so complex that they’d made her head spin. What she had not anticipated, however, was just how fantastic and beautiful her walk would become.  

The ceilings became arched, beautiful columns of ice ending in elaborate whorls, light cascading in ribbons of color. The floors were so brilliant of a blue that they gleamed like how Sam had always imagined the ocean. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her head felt as if it was on a swivel.

She was so absorbed by the majestic beaty of the place that she almost didn’t notice when Phantom veered suddenly into an intersecting hallway.

She stumbled at the sudden redirection, and nearly jumped out of her skin when a cold, gloved hand seized her elbow to steady her. She ripped her arm away from his grasp on instinct, her body recoiling at the touch. “Don’t,” she hissed.

Phantom’s hand disappeared into his cloak as if she’d burned him. “Apologies,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. She hated the way his presence edged her nerves. It left the composure she’d spent years crafting in tatters.

He nodded once. “Noted.” And then he turned and strode down the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. Sam had to jog to keep up.

She continued to follow him through the maze and was surprised as the hallway became more stone than ice. What was even more surprising was the orange torchlight that flickered from ebony sconces, a stark contrast from the tongues of blue flame she’d seen earlier. She stared at the flames, enchanted by the lambent warmth and the dark shadows that cascaded along greyish stones.

“We’re here,” Phantom remarked.

Sam looked away from the flaming sconces, her brow furrowed. She realized then that they’d stopped before a massive set of wooden doors. Her eyes roamed the intricate fillagree carved into the wood, noted the decorative metalwork of the hinges that glinted in the firelight. She ran her fingers along the etched, swooping patterns in silent wonder.

And then, she realized, voices could be heard from beyond those doors, booming loudly, which had Sam’s heart lurching. She stepped away from the doors on impulse. Her eyes darted frantically to Phantom, only to be met with his unyielding, acid stare.

He leaned on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. He’d clearly been watching her for some time, his expression unreadable. “There are a couple things you should know.”

Sam cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. The last thing she wanted him to see was how scared shitless she was. She tried not to think about the fact that he could probably sense it on her. “Like what?”

“The Yeti are peaceful. No one will hurt you,” he told her.

Sam scoffed, and just as she opened her mouth to retort, Phantom cut her off.

“Icefang was just trying to protect us from you.” His steely eyes narrowed on her. “He won’t disobey my father’s direct command. His honor overshadows his fear.”

“Wait, he wanted to protect you guys from me?” She was stunned. “I don’t know If I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“He is honorable, and he is also scared.”

She couldn’t quite hide her shock. “Scared of me?” she asked in bewilderment. “He’s like ten of me put together. Why would he be afraid of me?”

A small, rueful smile ghosted over Phantom’s face. “Icefang fears humans in general, though your reputation does precede you, to an extent.”

“What does that—?”

He waved a hand, cutting her off. “Later, human.” He was unperturbed by the seething look she gave him for interrupting her. “There is a lot you don’t know. I’m sure my father will explain some things to you tonight, but for the love of everything Ancient,”—his green eyes narrowed sternly on her, the glow amplifying—“behave.”

Sam hated the way her heart jumped at the sight. God damn, he was terrifying. “Is that a threat?”

The glow lessened as he blinked it away. “It’s not. But the Yeti are good beings. They don’t deserve your ridicule.”

Sam felt the bravado in her deflate a little at that. “Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. “I’ll play nice.”

He stared at her for a moment longer before he nodded once. “Good.”

Sam huffed a strand of hair out of her face and looked away, as if distracted by the artwork on the wooden doors. Really, she just wanted an escape from the weight that his gaze cast on her. It was heavy like lead and full of calculative intent.

And if she was being honest, the fact that she was standing here conversing calmly with a ghost—let alone one as infamous as Phantom—was still a hard pill for her to swallow. It was surreal. Beyond surreal, actually. It was like being in a dream that she couldn’t wake from.

She pretended to marvel at a particularly intricate portion of the carved filagree. “For the record, I don’t trust you. Like, at all,” she told him.

“Nor I you,” he countered.

“Wow, something we finally agree on,” she deadpanned.

He laughed without humor. “A mutual mistrusting, then. Agreed.” He stood up and away from the wall, his taller frame looming over her as he reached for one of the great wooden doors.

Sam felt her veins freeze as the distance between them shrank. “I can get it myself,” she snapped, wincing at the way her voice hitched in panic.

Phantom backed away and made a grandiose gesture towards the doors and smirked. “Be my guest, human.”

Sam scoffed. She resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him, that infuriating asshole of a ghost, and instead settled for a fleeting glare that she shot him over her shoulder as she stormed toward a door to push it open.

And then promptly collided with it. The wind rushed from her lungs in an audible “Oof.”

What she hadn’t anticipated was how damn heavy it would be. It stopped her short without budging at all, her face nearly becoming embedded into the beautifully carved surface. She felt her cheeks burn when she heard the poorly contained snort of amusement from behind her.  

She glared at Phantom again, hating that widening smirk on his stupid face. Then she returned to face the door, squared her shoulders, and pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

And . . . nothing. Neither a creak nor a groan. She may as well have been pushing against a brick fucking wall.

“Is this actually a door, Asshole, or are you punking me?” she ground out through her teeth, beyond frustrated, the entirety of her bodyweight leveraged and getting her absolutely nowhere.

“Yes, decorative fake doors are a staple in the Far Frozen, didn’t you know? I had this one made specifically for you, actually,” Phantom intoned dryly. He sighed. “As amusing as this is, human, we are now rather late and I am actually hungry, so if you don’t mind . . .?”

Again, Sam felt her veins freeze. She felt the sheer wrongness, that innate reflex that bubbled from her very being, urging her to run, as the powerful ghost approached. But this time she held her ground, even as his arm snaked past her to press against the wood.

“There is one other thing I should probably warn you about,” Phantom said.

Sam craned her neck to look at him and immediately balked at how close they were. She couldn’t stop herself from stepping away. “And what is that?”

“When it comes to hosting guests . . . the Yeti can be a bit . . .” With a single arm he pushed open one of the giant doors as if it were made of air. “Extreme.”

“Extre . . .?” The questioned died in her throat the moment that the great door groaned wide and revealed the room within.

It was like opening a door to one of her old fantasy novels. If her jaw dropped, she didn’t care.

Warm torchlight danced from more of the ebony sconces, bathing the entire room with the coziest of ambiences. Gone were the icy webs of snaking passageways and strange glowing lights. This was a room carved masterfully from stone. The ceiling was vaulted like a cathedral, with a wonderous chandelier comprised of crystals and gemstones swinging above a long, wooden table. Wooden pillars, etched with the same filagree as the door, jutted along the walls, adorned with artfully woven tapestries.

And the voices she’d heard from behind the door were hushed now, as every one of the room’s occupants had turned to stare from their seats at the long table.  

Countless beasts—no, Yeti—watched her with wary eyes. There had to be a dozen of them, at least. Some, she recognized from earlier, while others were new to her. Sam noticed immediately where Frostbite was, as his mass made him hard to miss. He sat in an oversized chair at the head of the table, a large metal challis of a red liquid in his claws. Two tall chairs were on opposite sides of the table closest to him, one of them empty, and the other . . .

Sam nearly gasped.

A ghost with a strong resemblance to Phantom sat rigidly with her acid green eyes blazing at Frostbite’s left shoulder. Her hair was long, the whiteness of it stark and ethereal in the torchlight. Her cloak was white and lined with fur, cascading behind her shoulders so it revealed the pale blue tunic she wore beneath, fastened at her throat by a glittering azure gemstone. She glared at Sam with an unbridled hatred, her fingers clutched tight around the stem of her goblet.

There are two of them? Sam thought in panic. She resisted the urge to do a doubletake between Phantom and the angry female ghost that looked like him. Was she powerful too, as he was? Yep, Sam realized, she was screwed.

Royally, epically, screwed.

She opted to look away from the female ghost’s furious glare and instead eyed the liquid in Frostbite’s colossal challis. She wondered if it was blood. And if it was, perhaps it was her own that would be next to be spilled and fill their cups. Her heart hammered harder, the weight of all those stares suddenly too much to bear.

There was no way she could do this. No fucking way.

She nearly jumped when Phantom cleared his throat behind her, breaking the silence. “The human has decided to accept your invitation, father.”

“Wonderful!” Frostbite raised his goblet and grinned. “My son and our guest have arrived!” He stood from his chair, and Sam was shocked when the entirety of the room quickly followed suit, their own glasses raised. “May we welcome her with the utmost grace and hospitality of our court.” He gestured to an open seat near Frostbreath, a little further down the table from his own chair. “Come, human girl. Sit and dine with us. We have much to speak of.”

Sam very much did not want to do any of those things. She didn’t want to sit in their midst, didn’t want to eat their food (though her stomach rumbled in protest to that thought), didn’t want to talk. Instead, she stood frozen, her knees threatening to buckle even as she held her chin high. She refused to let them see just how unnerved and frightened she truly was.

Phantom was at her shoulder. In a low voice, he told her, “They won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say, Your word?

He nodded once, and then strode past her toward his own seat at the open tall chair near Frostbite. The ball was truly in her court now, she supposed, as she stood alone before a court of monsters.

You got this, Manson, she told herself. Remember, play the game and stay alive. That’s your only chance of getting out of here.

Stiffly, she walked toward that empty seat near the grinning Frostbreath. Chin high and shoulders back, she did her best to project the façade of indifference, though she was certain it did little to mask the scent of fear that permeated the air around her.

It was only when she quietly seated herself in a chair that was too low before a table that was too tall that the rest of the room returned to their own seats.

Unfortunately for her, they continued to stare in silence. It was almost as if they were waiting for her to sprout a second head or something equally ridiculous. She met all their stares, even Icefang’s vile glare from across the table, to whom she allowed herself to smile at a little, though smugly, and was pleased when his teeth gnashed in response.  

A slightly framed, yellow-eyed and hornless Yeti eyed her curiously from the seat just beyond Frostbreath. When Sam looked at—her?—the dainty beast smiled slightly, nodding her head once in greeting. Sam felt her smug grin falter at the gesture and returned the nod, suddenly shy.  

“I am glad that you have decided to accept my offer of your attendance here tonight,” Frostbite said, his booming voice filling the entire chamber. “It is most exciting for all of us. Now please, human girl, may we learn what you are called?”

Sam’s hands were shaking in her lap, which she hid within her sleeves. You can do this, Manson. She cleared the lump in her throat. “Sam,” she told them. “It’s Sam . . . Manson.”  Did she imagine the hushed murmurs she heard then in response?

“Sam Manson.” Frostbite repeated and raised his challis again. “Well, Sam Manson, may we welcome you to our humble kingdom of the Far Frozen. As you know, I am Frostbite, the ruler of this realm.” He gestured to Phantom’s female replica. “You have met my son, Danny, already, but this is my daughter, Elle.”

The ghost named Elle didn’t even spare Sam a glance at the mention of her name. Instead, she seemed to be having a wordless conversation across the table with Phantom, her green eyes narrowed while Phantom countered with an arched brow, sipping from his own challis. Sam stared at them, when something suddenly dawned on her.

Danny? Who the hell was Danny?

Frostbite continued, unaware of her confusion. “One of my children shall someday succeed me in the ruling of the Far Frozen. It is my hope”—Sam didn’t miss the pointed glances he gave each of them—“that they are kind and hospitable during your stay here.”

Elle stiffened and crossed her arms, while Phantom raised his own glass in Sam’s direction. “Indeed, Sam Manson,” he drawled. Sam frowned at how strange it was to hear his voice say her name. She gritted her teeth when he smirked crookedly at her. “Now that the human has joined us, I think it is time to start the feast.”

“I concur!” Frostbreath announced loudly from his place beside Sam, startling her. “Let us celebrate the presence of the human girl, as well as the return of our Great One!”

“I could not agree more, brother,” Frostbite responded jovially. His gaze met Sam’s. "May you find the food appropriate for your palette, Sam Manson. I am not sure what a human diet consists of, so I made sure to have our servers prepare a variety of selections for you to choose from."

It was then that Sam realized that she’d had yet to even look at the food. She surveyed the many colorful trays and bowls and cups spread in an elaborate arrangement before her. The large table was rife with unidentifiable fruits, meats, and other odd-looking edibles that she had never seen before, and all were lavish in their presentation. Shining plates of stained glass were laid neatly before each place setting, with long, duel pronged forks and curving serrated knives adorned around them. She eyed what looked to be a purple apple the size of her head and frowned at it.

Frostbite was watching her, smiling wide enough to reveal every one of his sharp teeth. When the silence continued and the stares became slightly impatient, did a new and terrible realization settle upon her.

Shit.

They were waiting for her.

Waiting for her to make the first selection.

Suddenly, she was horrified.  

Extreme, my ass.

She shot a glare in Phantom’s direction, to which he shrugged in response, as if to say I told you so. Then he rolled his eyes and subtly pointed at the table, clearly annoyed she’d had yet to make a selection.

What the hell was she supposed to do? They had clearly orchestrated much of this feast in her honor, but she had no idea what anything was, let alone if it was even safe for her to eat. For all she knew, their food was poisonous to humans.

The silence dragged on. Her anxiety climbing, Sam grabbed the safest thing she could think of, which was a leaf of green from the nearest platter within arm's reach. She seized it, fumbling slightly at its bulk, and dropped it unceremoniously onto her plate. She could feel her ears burning, hyperaware that an entire room of beasts was scrutinizing her every move.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the giant leaf and took her first tentative bite.

Crunch.

The sound of the leaf between her teeth was so painfully, awkwardly loud that every one of the spooks jumped. But Sam didn't care, for a new dilemma had begun to unfold. She was trying her best to keep from retching as the leaf’s bitter taste exploded in her mouth.

The tension lifted as Frostbite roared with laughter. He slammed one of his fists onto the table so hard that numerous cups and dishes in his vicinity leaped and spilled. "Our guest has taken the first of bites," he roared. "Now let the feast begin!"

Well, so much for ghosts not being able to eat, Sam thought to herself as she watched the entire conglomeration of Yeti dive ruthlessly into the food. Where did it all come from, anyway? She found herself cringing as Frostbreath reached for a large pinkish slab of meat, plopped it onto his tray, and began carving it with one of the knife-like utensils. Sleetjaw's selection was less disturbing as he grasped one of the purple apples; it crunched loudly as he took a bite of it. Phantom and Elle were arguing quietly with each other as they filled their plates, despite Frostbite’s multiple attempts to subtly hush them.  

Tears sprung from her eyes as the bitter taste of the leaf seemed to invade every one of her precious taste buds. She attempted in vain to swallow the bite she’d taken, but was unable to do so, and a new kind of panic began ebbing within her.

Water.

She needed water.

But the table was much too tall for her to easily find what she needed, and those challises were far too heavy for her to grab. Not to mention, she still had no idea what the hell was even in them.

The tears were now trailing down her cheeks. She coughed once, spraying flecks of green down the front of her new white-furred jacket. And then in a moment of uncalculated desperation, she reached for the nearest thing she could see, which was a small bowl of a gleaming amber liquid and drank from it.

It was immediately evident that she’d made a huge mistake.

The taste of the liquid was far, far worse than that of the leaf. Now Sam wasn’t just choking, she was fucking gagging. Loudly. She forced herself to swallow the hellish concoction she’d created, though some of the liquid and bits of leaf dribbled from her mouth and down her chin.

Well, she thought as she wiped her face with her sleeve, at least I'm not choking anymore.

At first, she’d just been grateful to have survived the near-death experience, but as Sam's eyes lifted upwards, she immediately decided that choking to death was the much better alternative.

Because every single gaze in the room was once again fixated on her.

Her cheeks blazed as the Yeti stared at her, frozen into place, some of them even mid bite, their faces all reflecting the same variations of shock, horror, and some in plain disgust. Mortified, she pushed away her bowl of bile-juice and began the process of wiping leafy spew from her coat.

Shaking his head at her from across the table, ice horns glinting in the light, Icefang muttered, "Humans are barbaric."

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen,” Sam heard a female voice say. She looked over and realized it was Elle who had spoken. The ghost girl pushed her plate away and sighed. "Goodbye, appetite."

Frostbite was fascinated. "Is this a typical dining habit of your kind?"

The redness in Sam's cheeks deepened. "Uh, no . . ."

Frostbite's brow furrowed in confusion. He tilted his head sideways and then asked, "Then why, Sam Manson, did you drink the fish oil?"

She blanched. What? What did he say? Fish oil?  Her stomach churned and she was coughing again, wiping her tongue with the sleeve of her jacket.

"Great Ancients, human girl, are you alright?" Frostbreath asked her with a worried frown. He handed her the challis from her place setting. “Perhaps you should drink?”

“Too . . .,” Sam muttered between her coughs. “. . . heavy.”

Realization dawned in Frostbreath’s amber eyes. “Of course, please forgive our ignorance!” And then Sam’s jaw dropped when a bright cold energy formed in his clawed palm, an undulating sphere that quickly took the shape of a much smaller, much icier challis. He transferred some of the liquid from the larger challis into it and handed it to her.

“What is this?” she croaked. The challis was freezing cold against her hands, but she brought it to her lips anyway. She didn’t even have it in her to question the power Frostbreath had so casually demonstrated. She’d heard that ghosts could have unique abilities, but to see such a thing in person was a whole other level of strange.

“Wine,” Frostbreath told her, smiling kindly.

Sam had had wine only once before. She’d shared a bottle with Barbarra and their squad of sweepers during an excursion a couple years prior, after her mentor had found it safely tucked beneath a chunk of rubble. She hadn’t cared for it then, deeming it a suitable fine, and never bothered to try it again.

But the wine she sipped from that frozen challis was beyond anything she’d ever tasted before. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and utterly delicious. It was all she could do to keep from guzzling it. She forced herself to take a few measured sips. “Thank you,” she said to Frostbreath. “You probably just saved my life. Again.”

Frostbreath grinned at her. “It is my pleasure, Sam Manson,” he told her. “May I assist you in the fixing of your plate?”

More than a little embarrassed, Sam sighed. “That’s a probably good idea. I don’t know what anything it is.” She wrinkled her nose at the leaf on her plate. “Definitely not more of that.”

Frostbreath’s smile was slightly pained, though amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Ah yes, I can imagine that was an unpleasant experience. You see, human girl, that leaf is simply a garnish.”

Sam’s brows knitted. “Garnish?”

“Yes, it is decorative only. Quite terrible to the taste.”

“You don’t say,” Sam said dryly, which caused Frostbreath to snort in amusement.

He gestured to a platter of meat. “Would you like some of the yakk? It is most delicious, seasoned and cooked to perfection.”

Sam paled a little, not wanting to offend the beast. “I don’t like eating meat,” she said. “Fruits and vegetables are great, though.”

“You do not eat meat?” Frostbite asked curiously. “Is that common for your kind?”

Sam shrugged. “No, not really. I just don’t like to eat anything that had a face, if I can avoid it. But we don’t have a lot back home, so mostly we just eat whatever we can.”

Sleetjaw nodded at her from his seat across the table near Icefang. “That is corroborative of what I saw on your scans while you were in my care, Sam Manson. You are quite malnourished.”

Sam blushed again. She shrugged without much else to say. Truthfully, she was overwhelmed. The sights and the smells and the selection of food was almost too much for her to comprehend. After years of eating whatever she could to survive, it was strange to suddenly have so many . . . options. In fact, when was the last time she’d been free to choose the food she ate?

Years, she realized. It had been years.

She stared at the plate that Frostbreath gently placed in front of her. Sipping her wine, she picked up a small slice of purple apple and sampled the corner of it. It was all she could do to keep from moaning at the taste. Sweet and crisp, it was probably the best thing she’d ever tasted in her lifetime.

A small slice of warm, crusty bread was also on her plate, spread with a fruity jam. Also delicious.

Steamed root vegetables, seasoned with spices and tossed with a vinaigrette. Amazing.

It wasn’t long before she’d inhaled the entire plate of food and begun helping herself to more, her own inhibitions of where she was and with whom she dined with be damned. Anything she could grab within her reach that wasn’t meat, she ate. A dish that resembled mashed potatoes, tiny star-shaped berries that crunched between her teeth like candy, small cakes and other pastries, more of the bread—she was in heaven.

“Careful, Sam Manson,” Sleetjaw said gently, a hint of sadness in his tone. “You must be careful not to overwhelm your body with so much food. There will be plenty for you to eat while you stay here. You do not need to gorge.”

Sam froze, bread in her mouth, suddenly very aware just how full she was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full belly. The feeling was alien. Slowly, she lowered the bread and pushed her plate away, staring sheepishly at her hands.

“We can work on developing a dish for you that is protein rich but has no meat,” Sleetjaw said, grinning at her as he sipped his own wine. “Do you have any other diet restrictions?”

Sam shrugged again. “I’d prefer no meat and no animal byproducts, if possible. I mean I’ll eat whatever at this point, but . . . that would be nice.”

“How intriguing,” Frostbite said. “Is there a name for what your palette is called, Sam Manson? I admit that our knowledge on humans is minimal and most outdated.”

“Vegan, maybe?” Sam said, wracking her brain. “I’m not really sure, honestly.” Something else occurred to her then. “Oh, and it’s Sam. Just Sam. You don’t need to include the Manson every time.”

Frostbite smiled widely. “Sam,” he repeated, raising his glass once more. “Sam of the Very Vegan, destroyer of ghosts!”  Sam froze, while the room around her erupted with chuckles of amusement. The other Yeti raised their glasses to Frostbite in unison and sipped.

What had he meant about that last part, ‘the destroyer of ghosts?’ What did it mean that they laughed? Shouldn’t it be problematic for them? She frowned down at her plate.

Was it intentional that they fed her all this food and now sought to get the root of her occupation? Is this when they ripped her apart and devoured her? The food in her stomach was suddenly roiling.

“Icefang fears humans in general,” Phantom had told her earlier, “though your reputation does proceed you, to an extent.”

What exactly had he meant by that? What was going on? Clearly, there was much they’d had yet to disclose to her.

She glanced at Phantom then, who was leaning languidly in his chair, chin in his hand, as he swirled the wine in his challis. His eyes flicked to meet her own as if he’d sensed her watching him, and his eyebrows rose in question.

“Sam,” Frostbite said, startling her. She looked away from Phantom to meet Frostbite’s sobering gaze. The Yeti king was watching her intently, though there seemed to be a mischievous glint in his ruby eyes. “Do you know where you are?”

“The Infinite Realms?” she said, reflecting on her earlier conversation with Phantom and his dissonance of her calling it the ‘Ghost Zone.’

Frostbite grinned and nodded. “Do you know what that is?”

The room had once again grown quiet, all ears pricked to hear her response. For whatever reason, this answer was important to them. She tried to ignore the weight of their stares when she said, “Where the ghosts live?”

The Yeti around her murmured at that, though Frostbite nodded again, his eyes glittering. “While that is true, I am curious to learn what else it is you know. It is necessary if we are to learn from each other.”

Sam frowned. She felt like she had been presented with a test that she hadn’t been able to study for. He was clearly looking for specific answers, but she sincerely had no idea what he wanted from her.

“I . . .” She pursed her lips. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

“I am simply curious what it is you know of the Infinite Realms, Sam. I am not trying to trick you. I merely wish to understand where the humans stand in this war we all face.”

This war we all face.

The war between humans and ghosts.

Her mind whirled.

They wanted to know where she stood? Where the humans stood? Against them? Or was there more she had yet to learn? She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a major discovery and about to plummet, as if her already fucked up world was once again about to be turned on end. She was missing something. Something big.

She mentally catalogued all she had learned from their behavior. They were strange creatures and nothing like the malevolent spooks she had spent her life destroying and fearing back in Amity. Phantom wasn’t either, not really, though his ghostly attributes were much more prominent than that of the Yeti. She could sense him from across the room, and Elle too, their combined presence a film of poison in the air.  

But the Yeti?

She reflected then on her conversation with Phantom back in the medical sector. He’d warned her before they left not to call them ghosts. Why?

Sam twirled her fingers in the fur of her coat. She shouldn’t ask. She should shut her mouth and feign ignorance. But she couldn’t stop the question as burst forth from where she’d tried to wall it in behind her better judgement. “Are you a ghost?”

The silence in the room became deafening. It was so still that the only sound to be heard was the crackling of the flaming sconces. Her heart raced at the tension.             

It wouldn’t last long, however, for it was Icefang who broke it as he jumped to his feet, moving the table a couple inches in the process. He leaned over it and snarled at her. "Have you no respect?!" he hissed through his bared, yellowish teeth, the hair on his body bristling.

"Peace, Icefang," Frostbite admonished while shooting the seething brute an authoritative glare. "We cannot condemn her for what she has not yet learned. The Mortal Realm has been out of reach for centuries now. She is merely ignorant. "

"Ignorant, father?" It was Elle’s voice that rang shrilly now. She, too, soared to her feet, her white cloak and her hair a waterfall of white around her. She slammed her fists onto the table so hard that the entire thing rattled. "She's human."

"Elle . . .," Frostbite warned darkly.

"No, father," she hissed. "I'm trying. I'm trying, okay? But—this—I can't. This is wrong." She glared pointedly at Sam, her emerald eyes glowing and molten, before she turned on her heel in a flourish of white and stormed for the doors, threw them open, and disappeared beyond the threshold.

Phantom rose to follow her, but Frostbite stilled him with a large hand to his shoulder. "Leave her be, my son,” Frostbite told him. "She needs to calm and find her peace on her own.”

Conflicting emotions flickered across Phantom's face. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, and he looked for moment as if he would pursue Elle anyway, but he heeded Frostbite's command and fell to his seat with a huff. Slumped indignantly, he began pushing a small portion of food across his plate, glaring daggers at it as he did so. Sam realized she was staring again when he abruptly looked up at her with narrowed eyes. She tore her gaze away, embarrassed.

"I am sorry for my daughter. Humans were a cause of great pain for her in the past." His red eyes were sorrowful as he shook his head. "A past she has yet to overcome, unfortunately."

"A shame it is," Frostbreath murmured in agreement, and just as Sam was about to question the past events that they were referring to, he quickly added, "I believe you have a question to answer for Sam, brother?"

"Yes, indeed.” Frostbite said. "You would like to know if I am a ghost, correct?"

Sam recognized a redirection when she heard one. She chose not to question Elle’s history further, quickly surmising it was a delicate subject. She nodded.

"Frostbite . . .," Icefang warned. "Remember what you are talking to. Giving our secrets to."

“I agree with Icefang, My Liege,” a spectacled Yeti with crooked horns who Sam didn’t recognize said. “We do not know this human’s intent, nor do we know her history, save for that she is a trained killer.”

Frostbite waved away their warnings. "I understand there is apprehension, but for relations to be established between our kind and the humans, it is imperative that we first begin building our foundation." As he spoke, his eyes had come to land on Sam. He then reached for a knife and began twirling it delicately. "It is my belief that Sam shall be our bridge and our catalyst. She may be The One we have been waiting for.”

The room erupted with a collective gasp and then broke out into murmurs. Chairs squeaked, dishes and utensils clattered. But Sam could only stare at the knife, twirling between Frostbite’s claws and glinting in the light.

A portly female yeti without horns spoke next. “Have you spoken to the Time Guardian, Frostbite?”

“The Time Guardian spews nonsense,” a Yeti further down the table shouted.

“It is no nonsense for it is what is Written!” another rebuked.

“What is perceived to be Written is merely an interpretation!”

“It is not!”

“Have you no respect for the Writings?”

“You all speak nonsense!”

Sam couldn’t keep track of the voices around her any longer. The room had erupted into chaos, sounds and words and growls and claws raking against wood—all of it a roaring madness in her ears, but she paid no mind to any of it. She continued to stare at the knife in Frostbite’s hand, her violet eyes wide, her stomach twisted into tangled knots.

Then Phantom stood, and the room quieted. His face was a mask of neutral indifference, though his eyes were hard as he stared down the table. That dangerous presence she sometimes felt from him now shrouded the entirety of the room, daring anyone to stand up and challenge him.

No one did.

Then he returned to his seat, and the strange feeling that coiled with the dread in the pit of her stomach ebbed away, though not completely. He leaned back into his chair and snatched a pastry from a nearby platter, his expression bored, as if he hadn’t just intimidated an entire room of powerful beasts and this was the most goddamn normal dinner he’d ever been to.

“Sam,” Frostbite said suddenly. He raised the knife to the light as if to inspect it. “It is my belief that you are here for reasons far greater than you realize.”

Her fingernails dug into the wooden arms of her chair. This was it. This is when they killed her—spilled her blood and drank it. Perhaps they’d fashion decorative artwork from her bones after they’d stripped her clean of her flesh. She was foolish to have believed otherwise. Her heartbeat was like thunder in her chest, so loud that she could hear nothing else.

Phantom cleared his throat. “I think you’re giving her the wrong idea.”

“The human girl trembles in fear, brother!” Frostbreath exclaimed. “Think of the image you present to her now!”

“It is true, she has paled considerably. Given her already fair complexion, I would not have thought such a thing possible,” she heard Sleetjaw say. “Human physiology is truly remarkable.”

“Frostbite, you old bumbling bear, stop taunting the poor cub with your theatrics and get one with it!” a female voice chided from the other side of Frostbreath. Sam realized then it was the yellow-eyed Yeti who had given her the friendly smile and nodded at her earlier.   

Frostbite’s eyes widened. “My apologies, Sam, I do not mean frighten you. We mean you no harm, you have my word.” And then with a speed that surprised her, he dragged the serrated edge of the knife across his own palm, deep enough to bleed. Congealing in blots, the stuff leaked from his palm and trailed down into the fur of his wrist, staining the whiteness of it.

Not green, but a deep, dark purple that discolored his fur almost pink.

Her carefully constructed world came to an earth-shattering standstill as Frostbite calmly told her: "The Yeti are not ghosts."

Notes:

It's 1am here. I have to be up again in four hours. I've collectively had maybe nine hours of sleep in the past two days. This chapter fought me till the bitter end and if I don't post it now I never will. I just couldn't seem to make it how I wanted it. Oh well. Enjoy my sleep deprived nonsense. :)

*Sleetjaw belongs to Captain Ozone

Chapter 8: Ain't Dead Yet

Frozen Fire

Chapter Eight – Ain’t Dead Yet

xXx

Three days earlier .

Hollow.

Tucker was hollow.

He stared and stared at the screen, jaw agape, hardly aware of the position of his glasses where they’d slid down the bridge of his nose. His knuckles were white from how hard he gripped the edge of his desk. This couldn’t be real, he thought. This wasn’t happening. No, no, no.

But it did happen. He’d watched it.

Sam.

Tucker’s eyes welled and a lone tear slipped down his cheek. The room around him was still in chaos. In the distance, the wailing sirens of Amity Park could still be heard, shrill and damning—but Tucker barely noticed any of it.

Not when he’d just watched his best friend get blasted into oblivion.

He’d been monitoring her feed through her microcamera as she’d been hit by the initial blast. Then he’d watched her scramble for the reactor and miraculously initiate it. The resulting shockwave that had rumbled across the entire city had been so intense that he’d felt it thrumming in his bones.

And then, just like that, Sam was gone. Or at least her tech was.

Tucker’s hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

He had watched them take her. And hadn’t been able to look away, even with Damon Gray’s frantic commands roaring amid the hysteria from somewhere behind him. He’d simply frozen. Rooted to his chair, watching through the live feed of Dale Barbarra and as those wretched spooks seized Sam under her arms and hurtled her into the skies.

Gone, gone.

Gone.

Tucker felt weightless. His fingers became tethering claws that dug into the flimsy particle board desk.

“My god,” a woman whose name he couldn’t quite remember cried out. “The girl has done it! The reactor!”

Distantly, he realized the woman had begun sobbing with joy.

Joy.

A scowl morphed the features of Tucker’s normally cheerful face into something ugly. His lip curled, and he pounded his fist—hard—into the table, then turned to face the perpetrator of such a heinous sound and glowered at her. He was just about to berate her when his headset crackled with static.

“Foley!” Dale Barbarra shouted through the comm in a hoarse, angry voice. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Tucker’s body began to tremble. In his grief, he’d almost forgotten about the surviving members of Sam’s troop. He felt his shame trickle through his veins. Drawing a long, shaky breath, he used the heel of his hand to scrub the trailing tears from his face.

“It’s bad,” he said with a woeful glance to the monitors. A lump formed in his throat when he realized just how outnumbered they truly were. And the number of spectral entities was still growing.

Barbarra’s live feed wasn’t promising, either. In fact, Tucker was amazed that the old sweeper had survived as long as he had—or any that any of them had, for the matter. The screen flashed over and over with the bright ectoplasmic charges of weapons and ghosts alike, detonating spook after spook after spook. But they kept coming.

“Well I can fuckin’ see that with my own eyes,” Barbarra snapped. “Manson got the reactor going. Have that asshole Gray send out some heavy artillery and save our asses, damnit! We ain’t dead yet!”

But Sam probably is, Tucker almost said. He had to grind his teeth, hard.

“Foley!” Dash shrieked suddenly though the line. “I’m sorry for all the names I called you when were kids! And I’m sorry for all the times I shoved you into broom closets! I didn’t mean it, man! Please save us!”

“Please do something, Tucker!” Kwan’s voice next, pitched with desperation.

The slight tremors that wracked his body only moments before had become violent. He wasn’t sure if it was his fear, or the energy that surged from the reactor, but he could barely see—could barely breathe.

“Foley,” Barbarra said in a somber tone. It took Tucker a moment to realize that Barbarra had switched to his personal channel to talk to him privately. “Do you still have a read on her?”

“No,” Tucker replied, not caring at all how noticeably his voice shook. “She’s gone.”

“Don’t mean she’s dead, kid. That blast took her down, but she was still fightin’ em good when they dragged her back into Amity.”

Tucker nodded numbly, then realized too late that Barbarra couldn’t see that. But Barbarra didn’t wait long for a response.

“Now you listen to me, kid,” Barbarra said firmly. “Shit’s a little rocky right now. Yer friend is MIA, but we are still here. Whether she’s alive or not doesn’t matter if these spooks kill all of us. You still got a fuckin’ job to do and we need you.”

Tucker winced but knew that Sam’s mentor was right. He did have a job to fucking do. And though he doubted it, if Sam had somehow survived being dragged into the sky, then she would need all of them to rescue her. Shit, she’d be giving him absolute hell right now if she was here.

He would do this. Keep going. For her.

He had to.

Tucker calmed himself with a breath that reached through his belly and into his very being. The violent trembling of his body stilled, and his sweaty hands uncurled from the clenched, white-knuckled fists he hadn’t realized they’d been in.

In the chaos around him, he could just make out the graveled barks of Damon Gray relaying commands through the other data engineers. Tucker spun his chair to see his peers were all in a similar state of buzzing panic, their frantic murmurs a muddled hum, barely intelligible through the muffled wails of the sirens.

Meanwhile, the very walls seemed to teem with the climbing power of the reactor, filling the compound’s energy reserves and then some. Lights that had once emitted a dull, flickering glow now blazed brighter than he’d ever seen them. A low drone filled his ears, which reverberated through the floor so it seemed to quake beneath his feet. Tucker focused on that sound, then on the way the vibrations made his teeth dance in his skull.

An idea formed then.

A crazy one—but it was something.

“Sir!” Tucker shouted, scrambling to his feet so chaotically that he only just missed a collision with Damon who was pacing several feet behind him.  “I know what we need to do!”

But Damon barely acknowledged him, save for a reproachful look that would have sent Tucker scurrying on any normal day.

Instead, Tucker stepped directly in the general’s path and held his ground.

“I know what we need to do,” he repeated.

“Not now, Foley,” Damon ground out through clenched teeth. “Go back to your station. That is an order.”

Tucker felt a vein throb in his forehead. “You already ignored Mrs. Fenton and look where that got us.”

At last, his words seemed to resonate with the old, gnarled general. Damon looked at him sharply, a single eye narrowed. “What is it?”

“The tanks,” Tucker said. He could feel his heart beating so fast that it threatened to leap from his chest. “With the fusion cells back online, we can power the tanks. We can save them, sir.”

“They take too long to refuel. They won’t be ready.”

Tucker pursed his lips at that, thinking. Damon was right. Even with the amount of raw energy that surged from the reactor, it would still take too long to power the army’s heaviest artillery. Tucker couldn’t refute him on that.

But—

But they only needed one to make the difference.

“The Fentons’ weapons use the same ecotoplasma-fusion tech!” Tucker exclaimed as the idea struck him. If we use the reserves from their lab in conjunction with the refuel cells on just one of the tanks— “

“Then we can preemptively jumpstart the refuel process!” Damon finished for him. “Goddamn, son, that is genius!” Tucker stumbled as he was nearly thrown from his feet when the older man slapped him hard across the back. “Branson! Find the Fentons! Update them on the situation and bring them to the armory on level zero!”

“Let me go with them! I can help them!” Tucker pleaded. He was ready to sprint for the doors when a large hand grabbed his shoulder, stilling him.

“Later, son. Barbarra’s troop still needs you.”

“But—!”

“You are still needed here.”

Tucker was about to argue, but the conversation with Barbarra replayed in his mind in an echo of Damon’s words.

“You still got a fuckin’ job to do and we need you.”

Tucker bit back the retort bubbling in his throat and nodded.

When he returned to his station, he wasted no time and logged right back into the call, just as Barbarra’s breathless, heated voice growled, “We’re out here getting our asses handed to us and you go on a fuckin’ sabbatical? What, did you need to go to the fuckin’ potty or something?”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I had to take care of some things. But good news is that you’re getting your heavy artillery that you wanted.”

Barbarra didn’t respond, but Tucker could understand why. The battle had somehow intensified. Through the livestreams of their microcameras he could see the hues of green and red that stained the battlefield like a canvas of carnage. He had to swallow the bile rose to his throat at the sight. If it was this bad from a room miles away, he could only imagine how horrible it was to see in person.

You can do this, Foley, he told himself with a steely conviction. Whether she’s alive or not, you can do this. She would want you to save them.

And then, with a crack of his knuckles and moment to orientate himself within the data, he launched into action.

“Dash!” he shouted. “Entity, level 3 on your left, ten o’clock!”

xXx

Puh-plink, plink, plinkplinkplink.

Jack Fenton tinkered idly with one of his scrapped inventions (a microwave that ran on ectoplamsa alone), though he hardly paid it any attention. His eyes remained fixated on his wife where she paced the length of their lab, her lovely face drawn tight with worry. She’d been this way for some time now, ever since the sirens had started and the tech in their lab began flickering ominously.

“Madds,” Jack said gently, patting one of the rickety diner stools nearest to him. “Come take a seat. Please.”

Maddie shook her head. “I can’t, dear. I just can’t. Not until I know she’s safe.”

“Mom, Dad is right,” Jazz said then as she breezed into the room. She was flipping through some pages of a notebook that were full of her delicate scrawl. Probably some notes from one of her patients, he surmised.

Again, Maddie shook her head.

Jack sighed. He dropped the small soldering iron he’d been using so it plinked louder than before and rolled across the scratched stainless-steel tabletop. The sound startled Maddie enough that she spun on her heels and narrowed her eyes on him.

“Jack!” she said, aghast. “Careful with that!”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a cheap wood burning iron, Madds. A toy.”

“It’s all we have!”

Jack shrugged again. Then he crossed his arms and arched a brow at his wife, his eyes flicking between her and the stool beside him.

Maddie puffed another sigh, but this time in defeat.

When she joined him at the table, he immediately threw his arm over her shoulders and drew her into his bulk and his warmth. In her older age, his once formidable black belt of a wife had become frail, her frame now wispy and slight. He felt her sag against him, molding herself into that crook in his arm that she always found so comforting.

“Oh, Jack,” she gasped, “what if she doesn’t come back?”

“Mom, you can’t think like that,” Jazz said. She, too, pulled up one of the diner stools on her mother’s other side and draped her arms around Maddie’s neck. Maddie’s hand grasped one of Jazz’s scarred ones and held tight.

“I knew something wasn’t right—I knew it. Why didn’t he—didn’t they listen?” Maddie swiped the tears from her eyes. “The readings weren’t normal—something was wrong—the emissivity readings were all over the place and the thermal—“

“Madds.”

“Oh god, Jack. What if—“

Jack attempted to silence her with a forceful shake of her shoulders. “Maddie.”

“I can’t lose another one!” Maddie wailed finally.

A horrible, wretched sound lurched form her throat then, and Jack summoned every bit of his own steel will to keep from breaking down right with her. Even after all these years, the deaths of their young children still haunted them.

Jack was certain that his poor, sweet wife was currently reliving every harrowing detail of that night, just as he was. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer.

“Mom, we don’t know the details. They could be sounding the alarms as a precaution,” Jazz said softly.

“Our girl is right, Madds,” Jack murmured into his wife’s temple. “Sam’s a smart girl. Whatever is happening up there, we know she’s givin’ ‘em hell, ripping them apart molecule by molecule, just like we taught her.”

Maddie shuddered in his arms and nodded through her tears. Jack shared a commiserating look with his daughter, who began running her fingers through her mother’s hair to help soothe her.

They all jumped when the lights in their lab became suddenly, blindingly bright.

Then the screens to every computer, every gauge cluster and readout flashed, as the hum of raw ectoplasma-fusion energy rushed into the dwindled power supplies of their lab, and everything started beeping at once.

Maddie jerked her head from where she’d had her face buried in her hands and turned to face him, wide-eyed.

“The reactor,” Jack said in amazement. “Great buckets of fudge, they actually did it.”

He watched her turn to look at the embedded television screen in the North wall of the lab, as if expecting to see an announcement from Damon Gray. The shining seal of the Resistance continued to play on an uninterrupted loop.

“No news yet,” Jazz grumbled. She flicked the cap of her pen with her thumb in thought.  “Which means whatever is happening to cause the sirens is still happening.”

Jack nodded solemnly, while Maddie rose from her seat to begin the long, redundant process of resetting all the computers and alarms. He noticed her long pause near the supercomputer that had the framed photograph of their three children atop it but chose not to comment, though his own heart ached.

Just as he stood to assist her, the doors to their lab were thrown open in haste and Charlie Branson, Damon’s assistant, appeared before them, breathing heavily.

“Your presence is required in the armory, level zero,” Branson told them between breaths.

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “That’s practically the surface. We don’t have that kind of clearance anymore.”

“It’s a critical situation, sir.”

“What do you mean critical?” Maddie questioned. “Is Sam okay? Where is she? What’s going on?”

Branson’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I’m afraid I can’t say. I was given specific orders to retrieve you both and bring you to level zero, along with your fusion cell reserves.”

Jack narrowed his eyes on the mousy, bespectacled man before him. “Why do you need our fusion cells?”

“That is classified at the moment.”

With a frustrated growl, Jack stepped closer to Branson so he loomed above the smaller man. “How am I supposed to know what tools to bring or how many power cells are needed if you can’t even tell me what I’m doing?” He tried not to let the satisfaction show on his face when Branson visibly shrunk in alarm.

“Mr. Gray would like to use them to jumpstart one of the tanks,” Branson squeaked.

Jack felt his jaw drop, just as Maddie gasped in alarm.

“It’s that bad out there?” Maddie asked, her eyes welling and glassy under the bright fluorescent lights. “Oh my god. Sam!”

Branson looked like he swallowed something sour. “We don’t have much time. My orders were clear that I was to immediately extract you both to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack snapped, waving Branson off. He and Maddie had launched into a practiced, efficient unit of assembling the required tools and machinery onto a rolling cart they’d repurposed from an old hospital. Even Jazz was quick to help load the cart, her movements just as familiar to the lab as theirs.

“Jazzypants,” Jack called to his daughter. “Grab the gurney. Load that up with as many blasters and bazookas as you can fit.”

Jazz’s brows knitted. “Why the weapons?” She was already heeding his command despite her query, tossing everything she found onto the gurney, tools and weapons clattering together.

“We can cut the fusion cells out of them,” Jack replied as he haphazardly hurled all manners of wrenches and sockets and even his trusty little wood burning soldering iron into a sturdy canvas bag. He snagged a Sawzall and gave the trigger a test pull, grinning at the way it jolted to life in his hands.

“Quit being so dramatic, dad.”

“Nonsense, Jazzy-bazzy, it’s been too long since us Fentons got some real action. Those ghosts are just lucky they’re not dealing with us!”

Branson was scowling now. “We really are pressed for ti—“

“We’re ready,” Maddie announced fiercely, brushing past Branson to the now heaping cart of supplies. “Care to grab the door for us?”

Branson frowned but complied. “I was only supposed to bring the two of you.”

Jack let his grin widen into something wicked and was delighted at the way Branson’s shoulders hunched at the sight. He hoisted the large fusion cell from its pod near the mechanical supply corner at the entrance of the lab and lugged it across his shoulders. Branson flinched.

“Fentons stick together,” Jack told him definitively.

The three Fentons left him behind as they barreled together through the double doors and down the corridor.

xXx

“Okay, Madds, three more wires and we should be ready to synchronize.”

“Dad, where did you say the impact is? And it’s a ten-millimeter socket, right?”

“Yes, Jazzerincess, ten-millimeter, and the impact is near the fentoblaster housing.”

“Found the impact, but I still can’t find the socket. Are you sure you grabbed it?”

Maddie swallowed in an attempt ease the roiling in her stomach. Her hands shook, making the delicate job of wiring the control panel to the gigantic, armored vehicle she was currently straddling even more difficult.

The air here was chilled and slightly damp. She shivered, unused to how being so close to the surface felt after years of being underground. Her breath wafted from her mouth in small, wispy rivulets.

All she could think about was Sam.

In the distance, the sirens still wailed. It was so much louder here at the surface than it had been in her lab. It was almost as if the city was itself was screaming—screaming to her—warning her over and over.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Maddie gritted her teeth to keep her hands from shaking worse than they already were.

“Madds,” her husband called from somewhere below her. “Are you about ready?”

“Just about,” Maddie replied as she finished her last connection. “How are you two doing?”

“Good, mom!” Jazz called. “Dad and I removed all the fusion cores, and Dad is setting up the synchronizer now.”

Maddie cast a glance down toward them. Indeed, her husband and daughter were like a well-oiled machine, which ordinarily would have made her smile, if not for the crowd of military personnel hovering just outside the little bubble of floorspace they’d created in a sea of scavenged tech.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!  

Tooo laaate!

Her hand slipped with her small ratcheting socket wrench, and she hissed in pain as her knuckles collided with the cool, steel surface of the tank. She shoved the wrench into her coat pocket and felt with her foot for the rungs of the tank’s ladder to begin her descent. Her old knees protested, but she persevered anyway.

When she was low enough, she felt the warmth of her husband’s hands wrap around her shoulders and gently guide her the rest of the way down.

“Ready, Madds?”

Maddie had to force herself to ignore their audience as they closed in on them in anticipation. The energy in the air was both grim and electrifying. They were clearly waiting with bated breath. Whatever was happening out there, she knew it had to be dire.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

She swallowed once, twice, then nodded.

“Alright, engaging the synchronizer,” Jack shouted as he ran to his station. He pulled the goggles of his HAZMAT suit over his eyes. “Everyone watch out, things are about to get mighty sparkly.”

The surrounding crowd of military bystanders shieled their eyes, just as Jazz and Maddie curled inwards toward each other, their hands entwined.

The reaction was immediate.

Bright light that should be blue but was nearly white enveloped the room. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, Maddie flinched away from the intensity of it.  

“Holy crap,” Jazz breathed. “I’m going to be seeing those spots for a while.”

The loud, mechanical whirring of the tank happened next. One by one, old and long depleted fuel cells began to emit the telltale cyan glow of fusion energy. It groaned and stuttered to life, the deep chugging from within its motor filling the room and dulling the piercing shrill of the sirens.

But Maddie could still hear them. No matter how much she tried to tune them out.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

One of the men waiting along the perimeter wasted no time and bounded toward her husband and slapped him on the back. “Thanks Mr. Fenton. We’ll take things from here.”

Jack stared longingly at the tank. “Of course. Just doing our part.”

“Are the shields on it functional?”

“They should be,” Jack said.

The man nodded, and gestured for his peers to join him, which they did in a chaotic scramble.

They weren’t even granted the time needed collect their belongings before they were ushered out of the armory and into the cold, musty hallway just outside of it. Maddie had to brace herself as she felt through the floor and the walls as the tank rolled up the ramp leading to the surface.

“What do we do now?” Jazz asked. “Do we go back to the lab, or . . .?”

“Naw,” Jack said, draping his arm over both Jazz’s and Maddie’s shoulders. “They didn’t bother to boot us out of here, so I say we wait. We’ll be able to watch for Sam when they start bringin’ everyone back in. She’ll be so happy to see us!”

Maddie felt her insides twist.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

BOOM.

They jumped when the telltale sound of the tank’s ectocannons sounded.

“Was that . . . ?” Jazz asked in a voice that shook.

“It was,” Maddie affirmed sadly.

Tooo laaate!

They could hear every detonation.

Over, and over, and over, and over.

Tooo laaate!

Then, silence.

Tooo laaate!

So they waited.

Tooo laaate!

And waited.

Tooo laaate!

It was so much colder here, away from the underground depths of the other sectors. They shivered and huddled as close as possible, with Jack drawing them as tight as he could to his larger frame. They waited for what seemed like ages.

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laaate!

Tooo laa—

“The sirens—they stopped!” Jazz gasped.

“Madds!” Jack shook Maddie’s shoulders and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “Our girl is coming home!”

Maddie bit her lip. She didn’t know why she knew, but she felt in her very bones that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Suddenly, the echoes of frantic shouts filled the passageways and people began pouring in from the surface level.

Maddie’s heart sunk into her stomach at the sight.

Blood. So much blood.

And bodies.

They came in waves, so many people darting in in so many different directions that no one noticed the wayward trio of Fentons tucked away in a damp corner.

Maddie started shaking.

"I told them,” She gasped. She swiped tears away from her eyes as if they burned. "The readings were abnormal . . . I—I would know—I—"

Jack silenced her with a forceful shake to her shoulders. "Madds, stop."

"Oh god, Jack, what if—what if they didn't . . . Sam—"

"Maddie," Jack said again.

"I can't go through this again,” Maddie sobbed.

"I know, Madds, I know.”

“Where is she Jack? Where is our girl?”

“She’s coming Madds. She’s coming. We just gotta wait.”

“Sam is one of the best, Mom,” Jazz said, though tears of her own streaked along the scars on her face. Her bottom lip was trembling.

They waited and watched the horrors, the carnage, unfurl from the ectoplasmic pit of hell they’d emerged from. So many of them were injured, so many of them gone, carried or dragged in by their friends, their family. The floor became stained with blood, and even ectoplasm as so many were covered in it.

And then, like phantoms in the wind, Sam’s troop floated through the hall—

Maddie jolted to her feet and then gasped in horror when she realized they carried a body.

“It’s not Sam,” Jack proclaimed.

He was right. As Sam’s troop hobbled closer, Maddie could see it was Dick Belair they carried. Bloodied and sightless eyes staring right through her as they passed with him. Maddie watched them, frozen to her spot, unable to move as she counted them.

Over and over, she counted them.

Dale Barbara clutched a shredded arm and walked with a limp; Willie Shoemaker was coughing; a beaten-up Dash Baxter and an equally bruised Kwan Kimura supported the body of Belair.

Even Valerie Gray was there, crying, with patches of hair missing and angry red marks running up the length of her arm where her suit had been shorn . . . but, no, this couldn't make sense. Where was Sam?

Maddie shook herself free of her husband’s grasp, ignoring his pleas to stay with him, and chased after Valerie. Surely, one of Sam’s friends, even a former one, would know of her whereabouts, right?

Valerie flinched when Maddie gently grasped the girl’s arm. She turned at looked at Maddie, wide-eyed.

“Where is she?” Maddie pleaded. “Please tell me where she is.”

Valerie’s reddened eyes seemed to wobble as fresh tears began to spill along the dark planes of her face. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fenton. I am so sorry. I tried to save her but—but—”

"No," Maddie said. Then she screamed. "NO!"

xXx

Present.

Sam stared at stone ceiling above her bed, her mind still reeling from the night’s festivities. If it wasn’t for the alien feeling of fullness lingering in her belly, she might have thought it all a dream.

“The Yeti are not ghosts,” Frostbite had told her, purple blood pooling in his palm so the droplets cascaded in streaks along the fur of his wrist. His intelligent gaze had been keen on her, clearly monitoring her reaction closely. And she was sure she didn’t disappoint, as she’d dropped her icy challis, shards of ice and droplets of wine sent catapulting around her.

“Wh-what . . .” she’d murmured, not even trying to hide her shock.

“We are not mortal either,” the great Yeti king had amended. “Not in ways that you humans are. We are spirits, to an extent. We are beings that never were.”

And that had been the end of their talk, as Frostbite had commanded the dinner to its end and sent his incensed patrons on their way, though not before he’d promised Sam a more in-depth conversation later. She’d barely managed a faint nod before Frostbreath whisked her through the doors and deeper into the system of passageways to where she would be staying going forward. The friendly Yeti had prattled on and on—about what, she didn’t know as she’d barely listened—until they appeared before what would now be her personal quarters.

Currently, Sam was frowning at her darkened surroundings. She could have done without the dramatic wall of ice that Frostbreath had used to seal her in this room. “For your own good,” he’d said with a somewhat rueful grin that showed a row of his sharp teeth. “You will come to understand in due time, human girl, I promise you.”

Not a prisoner here, my ass, Sam thought grimly.

With a scoff, Sam rolled in her bed and stared at the flickering flames within an iron lantern that hung from a hook on the nearest wall, observing the shadows that waltzed along planes of rock.

She supposed she should be grateful that the Yeti had brought her here, away from the ice and searing cold. She’d been brought deeper into the network of snaking passageways where a natural warmth seemed to emanate, though the room could be made warmer still by the stone fireplace that had been carved to form a cavernous maw across the room. Smoldering embers seemed to churn within its depth, glowing dimly in the darkness.

Sam sighed. “I guess sleeping is out of the question tonight,” she muttered as she rolled out of bed.

Her feet were bare but warm, protected from the chilled stone floor by the large woven rug that covered much of the room. She paced along the room’s perimeter, her eyes scouring every nook and cranny of it, if only to distract her mind from the night’s events, and other terrible thoughts that loomed somewhere behind them.

Like thoughts of home, for instance.

Sam gritted her teeth against the mist that sprung to her eyes and then shook those thoughts away.

She needed to keep her mind in the present. Worry about Tucker and the Fentons and her mom and her troop later, when it was safe to do so. Focused, she needed to stay focused. She was a trained sweeper, after all, and one of the best for a reason.

And though she’d already evaluated every square inch of her room the moment that Frostbreath had deposited her within it, Sam allowed her tired eyes to scour it once again.

It was on the smaller side and rather barren, but not without its own series of oddities sprinkled about for her to find like clues to a puzzle.  The room was lit solely with iron-barred lanterns from each of the walls, and aside every lantern was a bunched blue-grey fabric that reminded her of a curtain, which was a strange sight, as no windows could be found. The same fabric hung from metal rings on a track that was mounted to the mantle of the fireplace, pulled away and tied with silver rope to form an ornate knot.

Sam frowned as she came to stand before the fireplace where she watched orange embers smolder within a pile of shiny black stones but never erupt in flame. She’d noticed earlier that no wood could be found, so how there were even embers in the first place was beyond her. She chalked it up to yet another odd thing in this freakshow of a world and it left at that.

The bed she’d chosen was one of two twin-sized beds that occupied the room, each one adorned with plush furs, silken sheets, and the softest pillows she had ever had the privilege of resting her head upon. The furs themselves were varying shades of cream, grey, and blue, with a patchwork of stripes and spots mottled about them. She wondered what kind of animal they had come from, but then winced at the thought. Something about sleeping in another living creature’s skin sent shivers down her spine but she knew she had no other real alternative.  

She wandered to her right where the room dipped into an alcove, pushing past the intricate tapestry that hung there. She’d been there already, but she reappraised the small additional room with critical eyes. It was rather nondescript, yet another space carved from stone, but a small protrusion of glass and metal had been built from the wall and had an uncanny resemblance to something familiar from her own world.

Frostbreath’s amicable chattering that she’d very nearly tuned out earlier became suddenly clear as she stared at the object. He’d spoken of strange things, like scientifically engineered bacteria and self-composting lavatories, among other things she’d barely been able to discern then in her shell-shocked state.

“Oh, well that makes a bit more sense,” she said to no one, stepping out from the small room and returning the tapestry to its former position. She supposed it saved her from the mortification of figuring out how to relieve herself in a cave, and grateful that it was at least human-sized.     

Returning to the center of the room, Sam eyed the furthest wall, which was rather bare, save for one of the barred lanterns, though the space between the wall and the colorful rug was large enough that she wondered if something had maybe once been there to occupy it. She rested her hand against the stones there, surprised that though the stones were slightly chilled, they were dry. Considering the cave-like qualities of the room, she’d expected some dampness, especially considering the amount of ice she’d seen in this strange world so far.

She wondered then, her lips pursing so her face creased into a grimace, if she was underground again.

Wouldn’t that just be her goddamn luck?

That she’d end up dragged by a powerful ghost and his family of weird abominable snowmen into an alternate dimension in what was probably a frozen wasteland and still end up in some underground hellhole of a pit? Would she ever see the skies and the twinkling stars she yearned for again?

Sighing, Sam felt her body sway as exhaustion settled heavily on her shoulders. She sank to the ground before the fireplace, once again drawn to watch the orange marbling of cinders swirl amongst the inky black stones within.

And despite her efforts to keep them away, the things she’d refused to think about began trickling in and what had once been a light mist turned to rain as Sam curled herself around her knees and wept.

xXx

A warm fire crackled from the depths of a large stone fireplace, its mantle and hearth a carved masterpiece of ornate whorls embedded with precious stones. The flames were tall and hot, causing tongues of warmth to lap over Danny’s exposed forearms from where he sat with the sleeves of his tunic rolled to his elbows, slouched in a wooden rocking chair.

There weren’t many hearths in the Far Frozen that produced a warming fire, but his father’s study was fortunately one of them. The cold never bothered him, but he welcomed the warmth, nonetheless.  It did wonders to ease the tension that constantly left knots in his shoulders.

“It is wonderful to see you again, my son. It has been much too long,” his father said from where he sat beside Danny in his own, much larger chair. “I trust your most recent journey yielded your intended result?”

Danny sighed heavily. “It did. We finally found Cujo.” He frowned down at the flames and crossed his arms, his eyes hard.

“I sense you have more to say?” Frostbite implored, and Danny looked up to see his father arch a brow at him.

“I already told you everything the night Frostbreath and I returned with the human,” Danny grumbled.

“Ah yes, the human. Such a creature, she is,” Frostbite said with a chuckle. “I am sure there will be much difficulty to be had from her in the future.”

Danny scowled at his father. “You don’t sound too disappointed by that. You know she hates all of us, right?”

“Hate is a strong word, my son,” his father said, with ruby eyes that grew distant as he too turned to watch the flames. “Her mind is clouded by her prejudice, but I sense an inquisitive and righteous nature in her that is most promising.”

Rolling his eyes, Danny found he had no response to that and resumed his previous sulk, his chin coming to rest on his knuckles as he brooded. Truthfully, he hadn’t known what to make of that scrawny, angry, and mortally wounded human that had challenged him in the dilapidated city. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about her being here in his home, considering how violent she’d proven to be, surrounded by his family and those he cared about.

Which was silly, really, because she was powerless here without her weapons, and her frail body was much too weak to do any damage at all. Danny could still see how small she’d seemed, merely three nights ago, when Frostbreath had scooped her up in his massive arms, unperturbed by the blood that stained his fur as a result. He’d demanded she be brought with them at once, even going as far to bare his teeth at Danny as he’d demanded it.  

No, Danny realized, it wasn’t that her presence was a physical threat to any of them. It was her hatred. And her anger.

He winced as he recalled the taste of those bitter emotions that rippled in the air about her like a venomous silhouette. He knew for a fact that she truly reviled him. Not that he could blame her, really. What bothered him was feeling it directed towards his kin, especially his sister.

But then, that wasn’t all he’d felt emanating from her, was it? Because he’d also felt her terror.

He’d sensed it in periodic bursts over the course of the night. Her terror and her despair mingled together with undertones of frustration and loss. He’d seen right through that façade of haughty indifference from the beginning, always keenly aware of the roiling pit of emotion she’d done well to keep from showing on her face.

Danny had tried his best to help her in little ways. Coming to her aide when he sensed her horror upon entering the dining chamber, nudging her through the interactions with his kin, calling out his father when the Yeti king had bumbled disastrously with that knife.

He’d also done his best to keep a respectful distance from her. There was no denying that his proximity brought forth some of that frothing, innate terror that resided within her. He tried not to let it bother him. It wasn’t her fault; it was simply a biological response to his presence. Ancients, even his kin had once shared such sentiments, so he was no stranger to the reaction.

He sighed again. Sam Manson’s emotions were a token reminder of the ones he’d felt lurking in the ruined mortal realm itself, especially in the city that had once been known as Amity Park. Even though the humans were buried, he’d still sensed them. They were like a hive of misery and every moment he’d spent in that city waiting for the portals to form had felt like a lifetime.

“Something on your mind, Danny?” his father said. “Your eyes glow bright when you are lost in unpleasant thoughts.”

Danny forced himself to relax then. It always frustrated him how obvious his emotions could sometimes be unless he was intentionally working to quell them. “Just thinking.”

“About the human girl?”

“About the humans in general,” Danny admitted. “Their world is in ruins.”

Frostbite’s chair creaked as he rocked quietly in thought. “And it bothers you.”

Danny pursed his lips. Truthfully, he hadn’t spent much time around humans—well, closely anyway—even in his years of traveling about their devastated realm. They were volatile and full of the kind of emotions he shied away from, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt some level of empathy for their situation.

Unable to put his thoughts to words, his response to his father was a simple, noncommittal shrug.

“I do believe the human girl is the key,” Frostbite said pensively.

“You said as much at dinner,” Danny responded with a chuckle. “No pressure on her at all, right?”

At Danny’s sarcasm, his father’s grin became sheepish. “Perhaps some more tact would have been preferable,” he said, and Danny snorted. “But I do believe it to be true, and I do not regret having said it. I believe in the Writings, as do I believe in your mentor.”

The popping and crackling of the fire were the only sounds to fill the room as Danny mulled over his father’s words. He hadn’t believed in those Writings for a long time, but his father did, and perhaps he would humor him for the time being. What was done was done, the human was here whether he liked it or not (and he certainly did not), so Danny figured it would be best to let things happen as they may. The human would continue to reel within her hate and terror of them—of him—until the portals of her realm reopened and he could send her back.

Back to that miserable, broken world.

Danny frowned again. The thought of such a small, fragile creature in that ruined dimension wasn’t something he liked to think about, either. Just because she was human didn’t mean that the thought of her returning to a world she would suffer in was a pleasant one.  

Soft footsteps echoed from the outside corridor, startling Danny out of his broody reverie.

He and Frostbite turned in unison, their chairs creaking, just in time to see Elle as she padded shyly into the study with her shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. She flopped sideways onto the third chair on Frostbite’s opposite side, running her fingers through her long white hair as her legs dangled from the chair’s wooden arm.

Frostbite welcomed her with one his warmest smiles. “Feeling better, daughter?”

“Wonderful,” she muttered. “Absolutely wonderful.” Then she looked up through her lashes and the loose pieces of white fringe hanging in her eyes to meet both Frostbite’s and Danny’s gazes respectively. “Sorry about . . . Dinner.”

Chuckling softly, Frostbite reached toward her with one of his long, curved claws and pushed the fringe out of her eyes. “It is quite all right, my daughter. You cannot help how you feel, but I do hope you can manage yourself better next time. The human shall be here for some time, and I do not wish these outbursts to become a regular occurrence.”

“Yeah, Elle, one volatile creature is enough,” Danny joked with a pointed look at his sister.

Elle sat up straighter and glared at him, her eyes glowing bright in the dimness of the room.  “Careful, Danny Phantom, or I’ll give you volatile.”

“Oh, the horror.”

Despite his taunting, Elle giggled and slumped back into the arm of her chair, letting her legs kick freely. She looked at Danny upside down. “So, brother dearest, now that you’re back are you ready to help kick some butt?”

Danny frowned again, sobered by the direction of the conversation. “How bad has it been?”

Elle snorted, just as Frostbite said, “The dimensional raids have been becoming more consistent, I’m afraid.” His face became grave, the firelight reflected in the deep red irises of his eyes and cast his features in an ominous light. “Though the damage to our kingdom has been minimal thus far, which I am most grateful for, thank the Ancients.”

“The Ancients have nothing to do with it, father,” Elle snapped, summoning with her cryokinesis a small tendril of polar energy that swirled through the air in a languid arc around her finger. “We’ve kept them from taking the Far Frozen—and we’ll keep doing it,” she finished with a growl.

Frostbite narrowed his eyes on Elle. “Your sister still has yet to accept her own limits.”

“Sounds about right,” Danny deadpanned, though he too gave his twin sister a narrowed look of his own.

“Oh great, the first thing you do when you get back is side with father?” Elle snapped at Danny in exasperation. “As if one overprotective bear wasn’t enough, I now have two.”

“Did you forget about Uncle Frostbreath?” Danny joked, arching a brow.

“Fine. Three overprotective bears. Happy?”

“Mildly.” Danny smirked, crossing his arms. “But what of Sleetjaw and Icefang? Can’t forget them.”

His sister’s face scrunched into a grimace. “You’re intolerable.” Then she directed the same look at Frostbite. “You both are. I am strong enough to take care of myself.”  

“My daughter,” Frostbite said in a sigh, “we are merely concerned for your health with your core as unstable as it is. You cannot keep doing what you have been alone. It is obvious that it has come to wear on you.”

“But I do fine on my own, father,” she rebuked. But then seemed to relent a little because she followed that with, “I could maybe use some help though. It’s been . . . Getting harder.”

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat at his sister’s admission. He tried not to let the guilt that began ebbing within him show on his face.

“The past few raids have been close,” Frostbite said then, only compounding Danny’s fears more. “Too close. I fear what this pattern signifies.”

Danny nodded, his eyes drifting back to the curling orange flames. Raids had been intermittent before he left to drift amongst the Infinite Realms. But Elle had proven herself more than capable as a defender, despite her degenerative condition, so he’d had no qualms about leaving her the Far Frozen to defend on her own with the other Yeti. He hadn’t realized they’d gotten so much worse.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

“Danny,” Elle said firmly. “We’re okay. Don’t forget, I am a good sword wielder. Better than you, remember?”

He smiled at that. It was true, while too much ectoplasmic power utilized in a small amount of time was detrimental to her, Elle was more than capable at physical combat alone. She’d always excelled at it. It also helped that she still had full use of her cryokinetic abilities.

Even still, if things were truly becoming more intense, Danny was glad he was around to help her now.

Elle was watching his expression curiously. Her dark eyebrows were arched high over her eyes. "What was it like?" she asked suddenly with a hushed, secretive voice. When Danny frowned at her in confusion, she quickly amended, "The human realm. What . . . what was it like? What are they like?"

Danny’s brows rose, despite his best efforts to not let his surprise show. He’d regaled her with his many tales of the varying realms in the Infinite chain over the years, but she’d had yet to ask about the human realm. Perhaps the sudden presence of their peculiar guest had spurred her interest, so Danny thought long about how best to respond.

“They’re . . . Quiet,” he murmured.

He then described bits of his experiences over the past few years. How humans were infrequent, sectioned off in small communities about their world, some even buried underground, like Amity Park. He mentioned their cities, their landscapes, and the art they’d made even in the thick of desolation. He’d seen so many signs that a beautiful civilization lurked within the rubble, that plants and trees and sheer life had once bloomed around every corner.

Throughout the tale, Elle's eyes became as wide as saucers. She rose from her slump and tucked her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them in a childlike wonder. Frostbite remained silent and grim, though his eyes sparkled with fondness as he regarded them both. Danny told them everything he had learned about the realm, which surprisingly wasn't much. Sam was one of the few humans he’d ever made direct contact with, while other instances had been mere observation.

He was careful to leave out the absolute brutality he'd witnessed from the humans. Such as the devastation he'd observed in the beginning of Amity’s fall, when the city had yet to be completely evacuated. At the brink of their extinction, the humans had been cruel, both to the ghosts and each other. How many benevolent ghosts had he not been able to save because of humans and their need to capture and destroy?

Granted, most ghosts were under the control of the Ghost King, but the aftertaste of their dismemberment was still bitter in his mouth. Danny stifled the shudder that nearly ran through him. These were things he would tell his father when Elle was not around, so for now he told his revised version.

With the conclusion of his amended tale, Frostbite met Danny's eye. "And what state is the material world in now?"

Danny's mouth opened to respond, but he could only shake his head. His father's expression darkened as he turned his head away, working his massive jaw so canines flashed in the firelight. Silence fell once more over the small room, brimming with tension and the grimmest of thoughts.

Frostbite reached forward to stoke the fire. "I fear things are more dire than I originally anticipated. I was hoping to give her more time to recover, but I now realize that I must start the human girl’s training at once," he said, and both Danny and Elle looked at him with furrowed brows and obvious skepticism, which caused his father to sigh.

"She's human, dad." Elle's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something unpleasant. "Humans are too primitive to understand anything outside their realm. Not to mention they're so stupid. She didn't even have table manners.”

Danny rolled his eyes at his sister, nonplussed by her attitude. "She's not that bad."

"I beg to differ!"

"Alright, enough!" Frostbite admonished. "Humans are a young race, but that does not mean they are anything less than what we are. We cannot win this war alone. With Sam on our side, she may be able to rally her kin in our favor."

"She hates us, even though she knows nothing about us. Not to mention she's a killer!" Elle leaned forward in emphasis, her eyes blazing brighter than the orange flames. "Nothing can change that!"

Frostbite's eyes narrowed. "She is ignorant. If she is truly what you say she is, she would not have let your uncle live." When he saw that his daughter had no argument for that, his gaze softened. "I believe that with time she may come to trust us, but first we must begin by trusting her. We cannot blame her or any of the humans for their ignorance. They only believe what they see in their world, and right now their world is on its path to destruction due to Ghost King’s army and plagued by his ghosts."

"Whatever," Elle grumbled, burying her face in her knees. "Just keep her the hell away from me."

Danny chuckled at her behavior. When a green eye peeked over her knee to glare at him, he couldn’t stop the wide grin that resulted. It was often hard for him to comprehend how lethal she truly was, especially with how childish she could sometimes act. Free of the prying eyes of the court, his sister was an utter brat.

But then, he could say the same for himself, couldn’t he? As Frostbite's children, they had both been raised to wield several masks. Outside their home, they were the dignified destined rulers, unblinking and stoic—Daniel and Danielle. Throughout the Infinite Realms, Danny had been Phantom, ruthless and heroic.

But here, warmed by the roaring fire in their father’s study, they could be Danny and Elle, the laughing and mischievous ghost twins.

xXx

Frostbite's smile was as warm as it was wide as he continued to watch his children quip playfully with each other. He couldn't help but snort when Elle, fed up with her brother's teasing, leapt from her chair and punched Danny hard in the gut. The twins began to grapple with each other, spitting insults and other various threats until they both succumbed to a collective fit of pealing laughter.

It did wonders for his soul to have their small family reunited after several years of separation and infrequent visits from his son. He had truly missed these moments.

Looking away from them to stare once more at the fire, his cheerful expression began to drift into thoughtfulness once again. He mulled over the upcoming gathering he would have to hold for his Kingdom and the surrounding tribes and all the tension and excitement it would cause its denizens. Danny's return, coupled with the arrival of the human girl, Sam, was bound to be interesting. Perhaps even revolutionary.

He also knew that a crucial call to the Time Guardian needed to be made, as he realized he still needed to have his suspicions confirmed. Now that the human girl was conscious, he supposed that Clockwork would very much like to meet her. Knowing him, he was probably aware of her already, and it was only a matter of time before the Time Guardian graced them all with his presence.

Frostbite grinned.

Yes, tomorrow, the fun would start.

Notes:

Yeesh. This one took forever to write. Sorry about that. I'm still not a big fan of it, but I'm sick of staring at it and obsessing over it, so here ya go.

I think I would like to write a real novel someday. And I mean someday, I mean waaaaay in the future because I still have A LOT of practice needed before I get to that point. So my writing has the tendency to be a little experimental and I'm really going to start working to improve the craft. We'll see though. I really enjoy it as a creative outlet and hobby haha. I know I struggle with being a little too wordy sometimes and maybe not being clear, but I'm working on that. Hopefully it's noticeable!

I also did something really crazy and finally sat down and made a rough outline. I've had the general direction of where I want things to go in my head for years, but having it plotted out in text is super inspiring. That said, I think it will end up around 45 chapters.

Also, if anyone wants to chat more outside of here, I did just recently make a TUMBLR account, same username as here. Come hang out if ya want!

Stay spooky!

Chapter 9: A Timely Visit

Frozen Fire

Chapter Nine: A Timely Visit

xXx

 

When Sam woke, she was shivering.

She sat up from where she’d fallen asleep curled up on the floor before the fireplace. Her eyes were swollen from a night spent in tears and a dull ache thudded in her temples. She felt like absolute shit.

With a groan, Sam raked a hand through her greasy, unkempt hair. She’d drifted off in her food-stained clothing and even her shoes, yet still managed to wake up freezing. She gave the fireplace a withering glare, annoyed by the slightly warm embers still smoldering within.

“This place sucks,” she grumbled to herself.

Years spent living underground had primed her biological clock to function well enough that she knew it had to be late morning, or somewhat close to it. She glared at the iced over doorway, as if expecting it to melt under her heated stare.

Her stomach rumbled then. An added layer of suck to and already shitty morning. Sam’s frown turned into a scowl as she stormed over to her bed and yanked the blankets over her shoulders.

Just as the icy wall began to glow and dissipate.

Sam’s breath hitched into a yelp. She backed rapidly into the corner of her room, gaping as the ice dematerialized before her eyes and the wooden door within opened, revealing the golden-eyed female yeti she had met at last night’s awkward as hell dinner party.

She’d had yet to interact with a female yeti but there was no denying the creature's femininity as she stood before Sam with wide, glittering eyes. Much like the males, her fur was white accented with blue, and a muzzle full of gleaming teeth. Her fur seemed softer, her features more elegant, and her frame was slighter. She was dressed in a shimmery dress the color of lilacs.

And though she lacked the same mass and large, curling horns of her male counterparts, Sam was certain she could be just as lethal. She would need to proceed with caution.

Sam watched warily as the female yeti stepped into the room, just past the doorway and smiled at her. It was the same soft smile she’d given Sam at dinner last night.

“Greetings, human girl Sam Manson,” the yeti said with a nod of her great head. “My name is Tsuel. I work in this castle for the Royal Family and have come to retrieve you.”

Castle? Royal Family? Sam thought, but decided to file those questions away for later. She made no move forward, her grip tightening on her blanket. “Retrieve me for what?”

“I intend to bring you to the bathing springs, and then once you are clean, to the dining chamber so you may eat your breakfast,” The Yeti said. “After you have dined, you are to meet with Frostbite and begin your training.”

Sam was quiet while she digested Tsuel’s words. She had questions. So many questions. But instead, she asked, “Bathing springs?”

Tsuel’s small smile widened. “Come with me, dear cub.”

When the yeti turned and disappeared through the doorway, Sam followed her through, only to be faced with a new bout of conflict. With Tsuel’s back to her, she realized she now had a chance to escape. Her eyes flicked between Tsuel’s back and the surrounding passageways, noting how each direction wound away from sight.

She was fast, she knew she could run. But then what? How long would it be before one of the others hunted her down, or would Tsuel be the one to catch her?

What if it was Phantom who found her? Sam shuddered at that thought.

"Sam?"

Sam jumped at her name, her widened eyes meeting Tsuel's in a moment of alarm. The yeti's brows were pinched, her head cocked slightly and her ears perked. She seemed to know exactly what Sam had been thinking but made no move to intervene. She didn't seem angry, either, which surprised Sam. If anything, she just seemed curious.

With a final longing glance at a tunnel to her left, Sam said, "I'm coming."

They walked in silence, while Sam made as many mental notes about her surroundings as she could manage. Every twist, every turn, every strange light and stone and rock—she filed away. Though the vastness of the place—of the castle, apparently—was enough to make her head spin.

They seemed to descend for a bit, walking through spiraling passages until the air became hot and damp. After being exposed to freezing temperatures for so long, Sam was too warm almost immediately. She fidgeted with the neckline of her jacket to pull it away from her skin.

“Why is it so warm here?” she asked.

Tsuel grinned at her over her shoulder. “There are hot springs in the lower levels. Perfect for bathing.”

They stopped before one of several large stone doors. Tsuel hoisted it open with little effort. “Knock when you are done, and I will let you out.” She handed Sam a small package of clothing that had been tucked into a leather satchel strung across her shoulder.

“Uh, thanks,” Sam said awkwardly. 

“It is no problem at all, dear cub.”

“Uhm, what about—what about the bandages?” Sam asked.

“I spoke with Sleetjaw just this morning and he has told me that you are free to remove them yourself. But be gentle.”

Sam nodded and then shuffled gracelessly into the room.

However, as soon as she entered, she gasped.

Would she ever stop being amazed by the wonderfully strange beauty of this place?

The room was a gleaming cavern of cerulean pools. The surrounding stones were varying shades of grey and blue, but the water itself was nearly incandescent under the glowing overhead lamps. Tendrils of steam wafted from the water and shrouded the room, kissing her skin with a damp warmth.

Sam noted the several pieces of wooden furniture near the entrance, though they were much too large to be of any use to her. She shrugged out of her fur coat, tossing it onto a bench that was practically up to her chest, and stripped until she was nude. With gritted teeth, she slowly peeled the bandages away from her aching skin until the rippled flesh of her shoulder became visible.

She gave the water a curious glance before she approached it.  

Her reflection rippled back at her, nearly clear as a mirror. She stared at herself in mounting horror.

She’d always been thin, but a haunted shadow now lingered under her eyes and in the hallows of her cheeks. There were bruises mottling her skin in various places, most notably around her throat where she’d been grabbed by Icefang. Her hair was shorter than it had been before, scorched from the ectoplasmic fires in Amity, and now stuck out in awkward angles.

God, not only did she feel like absolute shit, but she looked like it too.

Irritated, she crouched and hastily disturbed the water with her fingers to rid herself of her image.

“Holy shit,” she breathed when she felt the water.  

It was hot. But not too hot. She slowly submerged the rest of her body and sighed in contentment. When was the last time she’d felt such heat on her skin? In the compound, they were allowed lukewarm water for three minutes, pressed by the need to conserve both the water and the energy used to heat it.

With a contented sigh, Sam rested her head against the smooth stone wall behind her. She jumped away from it when she realized it wasn’t stone at all.

“How the hell is there ice in here?” she asked aloud, gaping at the wall of ice dividing the pool and the room in a straight line.

She supposed it was to separate this bathing chamber from the others, but ice, really? Sam rolled her eyes at the ice wall. “I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but it does. Like, why?”

She scoffed and approached the little pile of toiletries that Tsuel had given her along with her bundle of clothes, sniffing at a bar of floral scented soap. It must have been broken off a much larger, yeti-sized bar by the way it was shaped, and Sam chuckled at that, amused by the thought of one of the giant beasts breaking apart pieces of soap for her.

When she returned to the water, she scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

Layers upon layers of grime that she’d accumulated. Which was impressive, considering she’d been submerged in the bacta tank-thing for most of the last three days. She had so much dried dirt and blood caked into every crevice of her body that she wasn’t sure she’d every be fully clean again.

Her hair was a different story. Matted to her head in different places, it took longer than she would have liked to separate the strands into something manageable enough to comb. Which, fortunately, Tsuel had provide her a small, bone-white comb that she lathered with soap and raked through her hair until no knots remained.

Satisfied with her hygiene, Sam regretfully pulled her still-aching body from the water and began to dress. The attire given to her by Tsuel was identical to the set she’d worn for dinner; except this time, she was provided with underclothes.

Damp and blissfully warm, Sam rapped her knuckles against the door.

Tsuel opened it on the first knock. “Hello, dear cub. Did you enjoy your bath?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Sam said. She gestured to her pile of soiled clothing. “What do I do with these?”

The yeti waved a clawed hand. “Leave it. The foxen will take care of it.”

Sam’s brows knitted. “The foxen?”

As if on cue, a furry creature the size of a small dog darted from behind Tsuel and into the room, gathering her clothing in a single, efficient swoop. Sam yelped and stepped away from it, just as it noticed her presence and froze.  

Its fur was white, and though it ran in on all fours it now stood bipedal, its large blue-green eyes watching her owlishly. Its snout was long and thin with a small nose that twitched rapidly. Sam marveled and its long white whiskers, the bushy tail, and the little paws that clutched her clothing.

“It looks like a fox,” Sam murmured, cocking her head curiously at it. She asked it, “Do you have a name?”

The foxen blinked at her in response.

Tsuel chuckled fondly. “The foxen do not speak, but this one does appear to be taken with you. It is a good sign.”

“It is?”

“Yes. It means the Far Frozen has begun to accept your presence here.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that and shifted uncomfortably. Fortunately, the little foxen seemed to have concluded its assessment of her because it stuffed her clothing into a leather pack it wore on its back and hurried off on all four legs. She watched the fluffy tail flounce away until it reached a spot in a wall and disappeared into a tiny tunnel that she hadn’t noticed before.

“You can expect your clothing to be returned to you later,” Tsuel told her. “Come, dear cub, you must be famished.”

As she walked, she paid more attention to the floor than she had before, to the little openings in rock and stone that peppered the walls. At one point, she even noticed a small set of eyes peering at her from one of the openings, refracting the light so they subtly glowed. How had she not noticed them before?

Tsuel led her to the upper levels where the air chilled considerably. She recognized many of these passageways from last night, especially the large ornate set of doors that she knew led to the chamber she’d dined in. They walked past those doors and around a corner before they entered an equally large room that Sam could immediately tell was the kitchen.  

The kitchen, though cold, was still somehow cozy. Lit by flaming sconces, the room was stone mingled with touches of wood. Stone walls and wooden columns, stone floors and wooden cabinetry, arched stone ceilings and wooden joists jutting across it.  

She was also surprised to see several of the foxen scampering about the room, each one dutifully performing a specific task. She gawked at the one balancing on a large wooden rolling pin, seemingly running in place so it rolled across what appeared to be dough on a marble-topped island. Another was stirring a pot of something steaming and that smelled sweet and delicious.

Sam continued to watch them in a frozen silence, and then asked, “So do they just work here?”

“In a manner, I suppose,” Tsuel said, walking to the kitchen island. “The foxen are welcome to whatever they need. They forage as they cook, and never take too much. They are very balanced creatures.” She grinned at the one trotting along the rolling pin. “They help us, and we provide for them. It is a fair exchange.”

“Oh, I see,” Sam said, unmoved from her spot in the kitchen’s entrance. She hadn’t been able to stop watching the foxen, mesmerized by their proficiency.

“Take a seat at the table, dear cub. We should have something prepared for you in just a moment.”

Almost regretfully, Sam complied and turned to the circular table in the corner of the kitchen. It was much smaller than the one she’d dined at last night, but still large enough for numerous yeti to be seated. Sam was surprised to see several human-sized chairs in the mix of larger ones.

“Frostbite and the twins typically dine here when there are no formal meals planned,” Tsuel said from across the kitchen. She’d probably noticed Sam’s pause and questioning stare. “They were in here just this morning for breakfast, actually. It is a shame that you were unable to attend.”

Oh yeah, such a shame. Bet we all would have loved that, Sam thought cynically while she eyed a vase of shimmery roses atop the wooden table. She was mesmerized by the way the color shifted as she moved. They appeared white from a distance, but as she approached and found her seat they seemed to shift to violet, and then to indigo when she viewed them from a different angle.  

“Whoa, these are wild,” Sam said, tilting her head in the opposite direction so the color shifted again, this time to red. “What are they?”

“They are pandora roses,” Tsuel said casually as she assisted the foxen stirring the pot. “Danny knows how I adore unique flowers, so he makes sure to bring me some from his travels when he is able to.”

“Danny?” Sam asked. She’d heard the name last night too.

“Yes, you have met him. He and Frostbreath were the ones to bring you here.”

Sam blanched and felt her face heat in embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t realize his name wasn’t Phantom.”

Tsuel chuckled, adding a sprinkle of something from a small bowl into the pot. “It is no fault of your own. He tends to go by his surname outside of the Far Frozen.”

“Surname,” Sam repeated with a shake of her head. She muttered to herself, “When does everything stop being one big fever dream?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “Just . . .  Trying to wrap my head around—well, everything.”

“I see,” said Tsuel as she ladled a heap of the steaming food from the pot and into a bowl. “Well, dear cub, the food is ready. I spoke with Sleetjaw about your dietary needs and hope this is suitable for your palette. Please do let me know what changes I should make in the future should any need to be made.”

When Tsuel set the bowl down on the table in front of her, Sam stared at it, dubiously at first, until she leaned forward and smelled it.

“Oh my god,” Sam gasped. “This smells amazing.”

Barely unable to restrain herself, Sam stirred her spoon into the bowl, relishing the steam the sprung forth and kissed her cheeks. With a contented sigh, she clasped her hands around it to soak up some of the warmth. The bowl was almost too warm—scalding, even—but she made no move to remove her hands, enjoying the way the heat seeped into her fingers.  

She didn’t even try to resist her smile as she inhaled the scent again. It smelled sweet, like maple and apples, with a color and consistency that resembled porridge.

The taste of it was incredible, even before Tsuel offered her a cup of a syrupy liquid that tasted surprisingly close to sugar. It had been a long time since she’d had oatmeal, but she supposed this was a close enough substitute. She groaned happily as she ate a big mouthful of it.

Across the table, Tsuel was chuckling. "I am glad you enjoy my cooking. I was unsure at first, when Frostbite first told me I would be serving a human, what you would eat." She shook her head, her smile wide. "I went a bit overboard last night with the choices. But I am glad things seemed to work out for you."

Sam almost dropped her spoon in disbelief. "Wait, you cooked everything last night?"

"I did, yes. Is there a problem?"

"Well, no. I just . . . there was a lot there . . ."

"Oh!" Tsuel was laughing again, deeply. "Yes, I am quite used to that. Dinners are held here often in the castle, so the addition of a single human was hardly an imposition. The foxen are an immense help. My, Frostbite and the twins alone can eat enough to feed an army! As I said, I am just glad we could find something you would like."

Sam nodded and went quiet as she unceremoniously wolfed down the remainder of the bowl’s contents. Tusel filled her bowl again, and Sam was quick to annihilate that one, too. It was the third bowl that Sam finally slowed, her stomach nearly bursting with satisfaction.  

From a chair across the table, Tsuel’s head was cocked, her ears pricked forward with interest. “I must say, I am impressed with your appetite. You rival the twin cubs.”

Sam felt her cheeks heat. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“No need to be sorry!” the yeti assured. “You may eat more if you need to.”

“Um,” Sam said, “I think I’m full, actually.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Tsuel stood and gestured to the kitchen island where the foxen continued to work. “I must return to prepping lunch. You may sit and relax, or you may join in the preparations. The choice is yours.”

Sam watched as Tsuel rejoined the foxen with seamless efficiency. The diminutive creatures adapted to her presence instantly, their deft paws a blur of whitened grey, the silence of the kitchen punctuated by their short communicative yips to each other. Oddly fascinated, Sam rose from her chair and shuffled closer to see them better.

Tsuel had just opened the metal door to what looked like an oven, tongues of flame leaping from within, and placed a small rack of balled-up dough inside, when Sam asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Tsuel’s muzzle curled into a grin, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Would you like to help?”

Sam halted in her steps. She bit her lip, scuffing the toe of her shoe into the stone floor. She was so far out of her fucking element that it was actually insane. She could feel Tsuel’s eyes on her, waiting for an answer.

“I want to do something,” Sam said at last. “But . . .”

“But what, dear cub?”

“I don’t really know how to help.” Sam wound her arms around her waist, still unable to meet Tsuel’s eye. “We don’t really have . . . stuff like this back home.”

“Stuff like this?”

“Food,” Sam said, laughing awkwardly. “Most of what we eat is overly processed garbage. I’m not even sure how they make it, honestly. Not sure I wanna know either.”

Tsuel was quiet, and when Sam tentatively glanced up at her she was mortified to see pity shimmering in the yeti’s golden eyes. The familiar defensiveness sparked within her and she scowled.  “It’s not a big deal,” she snapped.

She’d just turned to retreat to her seat at the table when Tsuel said, “Come here, young cub. I will show you.”

Sam spun on her heel. “Show me what?”

Tsuel merely gestured to the floured dough she was folding, grinning patiently.

Sam hesitated. Playing the game needed to survive was one thing, but somehow, she felt like she might be going a bit too far. Tsuel was nice. Too nice. The warmth of her personality seemed to overshadow Sam’s instincts, pushing her resolve and grit onto the backburner. The yeti’s friendliness was disarming enough that Sam wasn’t sure how to react.

Was it all a ruse? She wasn’t sure.

Her cheeks still tinged with red, Sam made her decision and joined the yeti at the kitchen island. She tried not to gawk at Tsuel as she’d gotten closer, but it was hard not to marvel at the sheer size of the delicate beast that waited for her. Though she was not on the same scale as Frostbite and the others, she was still massive, towering over Sam. Her long tail flicked and curled away from her so Sam would have enough room at her side.

She directed Sam through the process of folding the dough, and then how to section it off into the smaller pieces. Under Tsuel’s watchful eye and subtle corrections, it wasn’t long before Sam had become proficient enough to be on her own. They formed an assembly line between the two of them and the foxen, and soon enough were rewarded for their efforts when Tsuel removed the first batch of steaming rolls from the oven and set them on the counter to cool.

Tsuel nodded at her approvingly, and then drifted to the other side of the island where she began slicing a purple apple into large quarters.

“So, dear cub, how did you sleep? Were you comfortable?”

“I was fine,” Sam lied. She didn’t look up from the dough, her chilled fingers working diligently. “Perfectly comfortable.”

Tsuel cast her a sideways look, her yellow eyes doubtful. “Are you sure? Because it appeared to me that you were shivering.”

Sam froze. She thought for a moment about how best to respond, unsure how honest to be, because the last thing she wanted to do was upset her hosts. But with the way that Tsuel was looking at her, she knew that lying to her now would be moot. “I was a little chilly.”

“Chilly? Did you not make a fire?”

Sam shrugged. “There wasn’t any wood.”

Tsuel stared at her with furrowed brows, confusion on her face. Sam stared back, uncertain. “Wood? Why would you need wood for the firestones?”

“Firestones?”

Tsuel sighed in exasperation. “Those bumbling fools,” she growled. Her knife clattered forcefully onto the marble. “Did no one teach you how to use your fireplace?”

Sam felt her ears burn. “No . . .?”

Tsuel bared her teeth with a growl. “I will be having a talk with those bears later. Sam, dear cub, the firestones are activated by agitation. There should be an agitator rod hanging on the wall. Use that to rustle the stones some and they will ignite.”

Sam scowled at the dough beneath her hands. “That would have been nice to know last night.”

“I dare say I agree,” Tsuel said, sending her a nonplussed look of her own in commiseration. Then, she scoffed and added, “Males. Bumbling fools, the lot of them.”

At that, Sam snorted in genuine amusement. She was surprised how at home and welcomed she felt here in the little castle kitchen. The vibe she had with Tsuel was drastically different than it had been with any of the other yeti. She didn’t feel like a monster, or something to be studied, or an enemy, or an asset—she just felt like a guest.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the fur and the mouthful of razor-sharp teeth and the, well, abominable-ness, Tsuel kind of reminded her of Maddie Fenton, in a way.

Sam didn’t have long to ruminate on the comparison, and what it meant that she’d even thought it in the first place, because the room’s temperature began to plummet. A sudden wrongness that she was all too familiar with creeped into her veins, clawed at her from somewhere deep inside her belly, leaching away all the warmth her meal had given her. She froze in place, her heart racing.

Just as Phantom sauntered into the room.

“Good afternoon, Danny,” Tsuel greeted him cheerfully, her smile widening so all her teeth were displayed. “There are several options to choose from for lunch. How has your day been so far, dear cub?”

“Busy,” Phantom grumbled. “Elle and I are about to head out on a patrol.” He absently stroked a tuft of fur between the ears of one of the little foxen. Several others flocked to him, their tails wagging.

“Well, I am sure Elle will appreciate the company,” Tsuel said. “Though I must confess, I miss when you would spend your days here. The kitchen is much quieter without your jokes.”

He chuckled at that. “I’m sorry, Tsuel. I’ll try to stop in and help you with the cookies one of these days.”

“Nonsense.” Tsuel rolled her eyes. “Your presence, while welcomed, would leave me with no cookies to present to the others. Your father and sister would be most unpleased.”

“You’re not wrong.” He gave Tsuel a lopsided grin. “Still, let me know if you ever need the help and I’ll be here.”

“That is much appreciated.” Her eyes flicked past Phantom, meeting Sam’s alarmed ones, and a sly grin slipped across her muzzle. Sam felt her insides twist, wishing more than ever that she could shrink into the shadows before he acknowledged her. “But unnecessary. Sam has been a great help preparing today’s lunch.”

Phantom’s good humor evaporated at the mention of her name, his features stiffening. He spared Sam a passing glance but then did a double take when he finally looked at her. “You look . . . Different.”

Sam gripped the dough so hard that it oozed from her trembling fingers. “And you still look like an asshole.”

His eyes narrowed. He snatched a roll from a breadbasket and smeared it with a jam that Tsuel had prepared. “As much as I’d love to engage in some witty banter with you, Sam, I’m afraid I am needed elsewhere today.”

Tsuel was looking between them with an amused expression on her face. She quietly sipped a cup of steaming liquid as she watched, with several of the foxen ambling over to join her.

“I can’t tell you how sad that makes me, really,” Sam quipped with a roll of her eyes. “Got any other helpless humans you need to kidnap?”

Phantom snorted. “Are you implying that you’re helpless?”

“No,” Sam hissed in embarrassment. Then something occurred to her, and she smiled wolfishly. “Are you implying that you’re actually going to kidnap someone else?”

“Touché.” He gave her a sour look, then said, “We’re off to a bad start. Good afternoon, Sam.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He continued to stare at her, the unnerving acidic glint of his gaze bothering the absolute hell out of her, before he relented with a sigh and turned to Tsuel instead. “I will see you both later, I suppose.”

“We will see you for dinner,” Tsuel agreed. She wrapped up some of the rolls and pieces of fruit into a square of fabric and handed it to Phantom, grinning fondly at him. “Make sure Ellie eats something, would you, dear cub? She gets so engaged in her duties that she often forgets to sustain herself.”

“Of course, Tsuel,” Phantom said gratefully. “You know how she loves your rolls.”

Tsuel laughed. “That I do.”

Danny grinned back at her, but his eyes flicked to Sam again, the churning ectoplasmic green quickly freezing to ice as he eyed her suspiciously. Sam gritted her teeth but refused to look at him, her shoulders tensing and rising to her ears.

Without another word, Phantom left.

Sam released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, free of that uncanny feeling that always seemed to settle within her in his presence. She frowned at her hands where she’d absolutely pulverized a lump of dough.   

“You will get used to it,” Tsuel said then.

“Used to what?”

“That feeling that follows the twins. And all ghosts, really.” Tsuel’s expression was thoughtful as she stared at the doorway Phantom had disappeared through. “It takes time, but the fear resides. I am surprised that you are so affected by it, though. Humans are not normally so aware of spiritual auras.”

“Spiritual . . . Auras?” Sam frowned as something else occurred to her. “And what do you mean when you say humans aren’t normally aware? I thought you guys haven’t been around any?”

The dishes that Tsuel had started on clattered suddenly as she fumbled and dropped some. Sam could see her large, furred shoulders hike to her ears. “Frostbite would not like me talking to you about this, dear cub,” she murmured, “so pardon my lapse. I tend to be a bit exuberant.”

Sam tried to ignore the whispering chill that crept up her spine. She knew then that there had to be history between the yeti and the humans. But why would Frostbite want her kept in the dark? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, not with the way that Tsuel seemed to become incredibly nervous.

Something else occurred to her then. Tsuel was a lot less guarded than the other yeti, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she lacked the same court training as the others. Where everyone else was a game of chess, Tsuel was an open book. 

Perhaps she could use that to her advantage. Sam bit her lip to stifle her smirk.   

"So, are you, like, a servant for Frostbite, or something?" she asked.

"Hardly," Tsuel said with a snort. "I just cook for him and the cubs. I was a caretaker for the children when they were growing up. But because they liked my cooking so much, Frostbite decided to keep me with them. I would have stayed longer last night to meet you after dinner, but I was required elsewhere."

"The children? You mean—?"

"Danny and Ellie, yes."

Sam felt the world fall away from her feet. She had to brace herself with a steadying hand on the counter as she digested this newest piece of information. How could ghosts be children? Maddie had never once mentioned such a possibility, not in all the lectures she’d given Sam on ectobiology over the years. It just didn’t make any sense. What did they grow up from? Puddles of unformed ectoplasm?

As much as she appreciated Tsuel’s openness, Sam was beginning to wonder if the constant truth bombs were becoming a hazard for her health. She wasn’t sure her heart could take much more of them.

“Greetings, Frostbite!” Tsuel said so suddenly that Sam jolted from the counter in alarm.

Sam whipped around, just as Frostbite lumbered into the room, ducking a little to avoid catching his horns on the wooden frame of the entryway.

“Greetings, Tsuel. Sam,” Frostbite said. “It was a shame, Sam, that you were unable to attend breakfast this morning with the children and I.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, a shame,” she deadpanned.

“I trust you slept well?”

“Yup.”

Tsuel scoffed then. “She most certainly did not,” she admonished, much to Sam’s horror. She dropped the pan she’d been washing into the basin and crossed her furred arms, her golden eyes full of fire. “I have a bone to pick with you, Frostbite.”

Frostbite’s eyes widened, but he appeared bemused. “Oh?”

“Why did no one bother to teach Sam how to properly use her firestones? The poor dear was shivering wreck when I called upon her this morning.” Tsuel sniffed and rapped her claws against the metal basin. “Shame on you.”

“I did not realize that she was not informed.” He turned to Sam then. “Did Frostbreath not show you?”

Sam felt her face heat under the weight of their gazes. She shrugged. “He might have told me, honestly, I didn’t quite catch everything in the info dump. The guy really likes to talk.”

Tsuel scoffed again. “Someone should have showed her, Frostbite. Did you learn nothing from when the twins were little? If you recall, they struggled with thermoregulation for years before—“

“You are quite right, Tsuel,” Frostbite said in a forceful tone that had an edge to it. Tsuel, to her credit, heeded his subtle command and nodded, though her tail still flicked angrily. “Sam, I am sorry that your first night was unpleasant. I trust Tsuel has since informed you on how the firestones function?”

“I—yes,” Sam said, glancing between the two yetis. “Poke them with the stick.”

“Indeed,” Frostbite said. His earlier mirth had vanished. He looked between Sam and Tsuel somewhat warily. “Sam, I confess that I have actually come to retrieve you.”

Sam hid her grimace with a downward glance at her hands. So much for her peaceful day. “Okay. What about the kitchen?”

“Tsuel will handle it well, I am sure.”

“Indeed, dear cub,” Tsuel said a little too brightly. “It is no trouble for the foxen and I to finish up. I am much obliged for the help at all.”

Sam sighed in resignation. “Lead the way, Mr. Snowman.”

She followed Frostbite through a new set of passageways she’d had yet to travel. They seemed to ascend in elevation, higher and higher until a rounded wooden door with gleaming silver filagree appeared at the crest of an icy bend.

The first thing that Sam noted upon entering was the fireplace. She was beginning to recognize the sweeping whorled carvings peppered with shimmery gemstones that must be customary of the Far Frozen. A bright, roaring fire crackled from within, the stones that fueled it cherry red instead of ebony like they’d been in her own fireplace.

The room was elliptical in shape, lined with icy shelves that were packed with hundreds upon hundreds of thick leather-bound tomes and scrolls. Sam gaped at them openly, her eyes roaming the titles but not recognizing any of the languages that she saw in swooping letters on their spines. Other oddities in the form of artifacts and ancient relics could be seen on some of the higher shelves.

Sam stepped further into the room, eyeing the three rocking chairs that formed a semicircle around the fireplace.

Frostbite gestured to one of the smaller chairs. “You may sit.”

Sam did, tucking her legs so she sat cross-legged in the chair. She splayed her fingers to the fire and sighed happily as the warmth lapped at her hands.

“I see you have made a friend,” Frostbite stated.  

“You could say that.” Sam replied stiffly. She didn’t like the suspicion she heard in his voice. Fucking asshole. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

Frostbite studied her, his ruby irises bright with the light of the flames, though his face remained in shadow. “Hm.”

Sam gaped at him, incredulous. “What do you want from me, dude?”

He arched a brow. “I beg your pardon, human child?”

“I mean,” Sam ground out through clenched teeth. “I spent all morning with her. I was good. I played your little game and guess what, you win, she is nice. So fucking nice. I don’t know if you guys are playing tricks on me or not, but I don’t have a single problem with her.”

Frostbite leaned back in his chair and steepled his claws. “I am not sure what I have done to upset you, Sam, but it is not my intention to incite your ire. Tsuel is nice because you are our guest.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that,” Sam snapped.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m about to, oh I don’t know, go on a murdering rampage.” Sam glared at him. “Isn’t that Phantom’s job?”

“My son’s?” Frostbite was bewildered. “What has he done besides assist in the saving of your life?”

“You really don’t know?” Sam almost laughed. “He destroyed the largest ghost research facility left. Not that I’m normally a fan of government agencies, but it was something—something to help fight them.”

The dark shadows on Frostbite’s face seemed to flicker and darken. Her fingers dug into the wooden arms of her chair as his lip curled to reveal several of his sharp fangs. “And do you know, human girl, what kind of research was being done in those labs?”

“Well, no, but—”

Frostbite raised a clawed hand to silence her.

She didn’t know what reaction she expected from the giant creature, but the slow, creaking rock of his chair was not it. He stared pensively at her, his brows furrowing as the long, drawn out groans of his chair filled the silence between them.

“There is much you do not know,” Frostbite said at last. “And I must admit, I am hesitant to see you learn too much too fast. Especially when we have yet to confirm that you are  truly The One.”

There it was again. Sam frowned, irritated by the cryptic runaround. “Why do you guys keep calling me that? What does it mean?”

“It means that something long prophesied in the Ancient Writings will soon come to pass.”

“Thanks, that really cleared things up,” Sam deadpanned. “Care to elaborate?”

Frostbite stared at her in silence. Sam stared back, her temper beginning to flare again. The room had become so obscenely silent that Sam could literally hear herself breathing. Even the pops and crackles of fire churning within the hearth seemed to ebb, coinciding with the blanket of eerie coldness that began to settle upon the room. Her eyes flicked past Frostbite and to the fire, wondering why the warmth had dissipated so suddenly.

Her breath hitched.

Flames that had once curled and twisted in a rhythmic dance of heat and light were now frozen into place, unmoving.

“What the hell,” Sam gasped, bolting upright.   

She eyed Frostbite in alarm. He remained silent, and just as motionless as the hearth of frozen fire in the gleaming jewel encrusted hearth.

The orange glow of firelight still bathed the room, though the light no longer flickered. She shivered in the absence of warmth.

And then, like an eerie whisper of the wind, a voice called out her name.

“Samantha Manson.”

Sam jumped from her seat, her head whipping around for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, became a muddled mess of color and distorted shapes that she could no longer make sense of. She scrubbed at her eyes frantically. But it was no use. Everything was blurred and unrecognizable.

She reached blindly, only for her fingers to brush against the wooden back of her chair. And even then, the polished wood at her fingertips felt . . . Wrong. Like it was too far away. Muffled somehow, like trying to hear through a wall.

The voice spoke again. “Hello, Samantha.”

Her head turned to where she thought she heard the voice, and she squinted.

Her eyes widened.

As if from a dream, a figure began to materialize from the bright orange light of the unmoving fire. It started first as light condensing into a solid form. Then, the sunset orange darkened and bled into purple, cascading to the floor to form a cloak and jolted upwards into a staff. Sam began blinking rapidly, and the figure only seemed to become more and more clear until she wasn’t exactly sure when or how it happened but she could see it now, fully.

Simmering red eyes gleamed from beneath a cloaked hood, though Sam could still see the pale blueness of its skin, a frightening contrast to the warm light of the fire. Its features remained obscure. No matter how hard she stared, she couldn’t make sense of it. Or the glittering gold and silver grandfather clock encased in a prism within its chest. A smaller clock adorned its glowing staff, ornate and beautiful.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“I am Clockwork,” the creature—was it a ghost? She wasn’t sure—said in a deep, timeless voice. “The Guardian of Time.”

Sam felt herself start. She’d heard that title referenced before. Several times, actually. First, in that icy chamber outside of the medical sector where Icefang had been out for her blood, calling the Time Guardian a fool. And second, at dinner, when Frostbite’s subjects had argued amongst themselves in her regard.

“What do you want, Clockwork?” she snapped, backing away as the being floated—fucking floated—towards her. That’s when she realized that instead of legs, the creature had a long, wispy tail that seemed to undulate like the flame of a candle.

Clockwork was now hovering so close that she could see herself reflected in the depthless red pools of its eyes. Her eyebrows rose as it flickered then, and suddenly a long, white beard flowed down its chest and obscured the grandfather clock ticking from within the prism. And now, the creature was ancient. Aged, somehow, within a blink of her eye.

She blinked again. Now the face of a child, rounded with youth, peered down at her from beneath the hood of a too large cloak.

“I am merely here to see if the step stones of the time stream are beginning to align,” Clockwork said in its eerie voice.

“Great. You’re just as vague as the other guy,” Sam said with a groan.

 Clockwork, who had somehow aged again and reverted to its original form, smiled. “It is nice to finally meet you, Sam.”

“What—?” she started to say.

Clockwork cut her off when it slammed its staff onto the ground, causing the small clock adorned at its peak to chime with an otherworldly melody that she felt thrumming through every one of her nerve endings. The sound cleaved the silent world and everything resumed all at once.

The fire crackled again with the return of its warmth.

Frostbite’s chair resumed its creaking rock but stopped short as the yeti’s eyes homed in on Clockwork, a single brow raised.

The Time Guardian was already beginning to dissipate. Its  features were quickly becoming more and more obscure, fading away into translucence, but not before the strange ethereal creature turned to Frostbite and gave the yeti king a single, definitive nod. And then was gone.

 “What the hell was that?!” Sam demanded. She stared wildly at the spot that Clockwork had been only seconds ago.

Frostbite was watching her again, but this time in wonder. His eyes were wide and his breath hitched within his great chest. “Ancients,” he breathed, “I was right.” The ice of his arm glinted in the firelight as he brushed a clawed hand through the fur at the base of his horns. “It really is you. You are The One.”

Sam felt her temper rise once again. It flared hotter than the tall flames winking at her in the fireplace. “Do you ever stop speaking in riddles? What the hell is going on? What does that mean?” She gestured to the spot that Clockwork had just dematerialized from. “And who—or what—was that?”

“Please sit, human girl, we have much to discuss.”

Sam shook her head and grumbled under her breath but did as he asked. Once seated with one leg crossed over the other so a single foot could tap angrily on the floor, she narrowed her eyes at him.

“There is a prophecy,” Frostbite began, just as Sam groaned, “that in its time of need, the Infinite Realms will become united against a common adversary. In doing so, all the wrongs of the universe shall become righted, and thus the very fabric of time and matter will be healed.”

“Okay,” Sam drawled, annoyed, “and what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“I am afraid it is not for me to say, human girl.”

Sam threw her hands. “Are you kidding me, dude?”

Frostbite grinned ruefully. “When you are ready, I will take you to the Cave of Writings, and it is there that you will see for yourself what your destiny is. It is not my place to tell you. The Writings you will be shown may be different than those I have seen for myself.”

She felt her eye twitch at his cryptic nonsense. Raking a hand through her hair, she growled, “So where is this Cave of Bullshit located?”

“Cave of Writings,” Frostbite corrected. “It is located at the summit of Cinomrah.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam said. “Hold up. Summit? So, like, a mountain?”

Frostbite blinked. “Yes. A mountain.”

“There are mountains here?”

“Indeed, there are.” With a metal rod, Frostbite stoked the blackening stones inside the fireplace. The waning embers seemed to bristle as a result, burning hotter and brighter. “Cinomrah is the tallest of the ones that surround this kingdom, and the last one before the Frozen Sea.”

“There’s a sea?” Her voice jumped an octave, practically hysterical.  

Frostbite eyed her in concern. “Sam, are you alright? Must I call for Sleetjaw?”

Sam shook her head rapidly. “Nonono, I’m good, I’m just . . .” She struggled to find the right word. “Overwhelmed, I guess.”

Frostbite nodded. “It is quite alright. I can see why this would be daunting for you.”

“Now that’s an understatement,” Sam sighed, leaning back into her chair. It couldn’t be later than midday but she was utterly exhausted. “So what happens now?”

“As I said, Sam, you have much to learn, and I have much to teach you. While I cannot speak on the details of the path you must walk, I can say that it is a great honor to be a part of your journey.” The light in Frostbite’s eyes danced. “I am truly humbled. The Fates have favored us all.”

A wrinkle formed between Sam’s brows. “And should I even bother asking what that means?”

Frostbite laughed jovially. “Probably not.”

“Yep,” Sam nodded with a sigh. “That tracks.”

Frostbite stood then. His gargantuan form towered above her, eclipsing the light and casting her in shadow. He extended his furred hand towards her. “I had originally intended for our lessons to start today, but perhaps it would be best for you to see the kingdom first. Now that I know you are indeed who I thought you were, I believe it is a good time to introduce you to my subjects.”

Sam swallowed her climbing unease. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“Nonsense,” Frostbite said brightly. “My people will be delighted to meet you.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Sam muttered, but followed him anyway as he led her through the castle.

She about fell to her knees with joy when she spotted the windows.

They were tall and arched with twisted frames of decorative ice curled around them. And there were so, so many of them. They lined her vison, expanding far and wide in a marvelous splendor.  Sam’s heart swelled and leapt excitedly as her eyes traced the colorful patterns in the glass. Bright rays of sunlight streamed through them, bathing her in a rainbowed wash of color. So consumed by the sight of the sun and hints of blue sky peaking at her from the clear pieces of glass, she barely noticed the majestic beaty of the parlor Frostbite had led her through.

And when Frostbite pushed open one of the giant frozen doors and it groaned wide, she felt her breath of surprise catch in her throat and bubble down into her chest where her heart thundered. Cold wind rushed across her face, made the little flyaway strands of her hair tickle her nose. But she didn’t care.

Last night she’d believed she’d been dragged into a frozen wasteland, forced to spend her days shrouded in cold and darkness.

She’d been wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Frostbite grinned at her shocked expression, his ruby eyes vibrant in the intense sunlight.

Then he told her, “Welcome to Ec’Nelis.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Ooooooo things are about to really pick up now. I am so excited.

Please leave some feedback if you have the time. It always makes my day and inspires me to write faster. Y'all are the best.

Chapter 10: Kingdom of Ice

Frozen Fire

Chapter Ten: Kingdom of Ice

xXx

For the first time in what felt like years, Sam took her first shaking steps from an encasement of ice and stone and fear.

Her booted feet crunched onto snowy earth. She had to nestle deep within the warm bulk of her coat as a bitter wind ripped through her clothes like wildfire. Inhaling a breath of the crisp, cold air, she savored the freshness of it.

She’d never realized how sickly and green her own world was until she stepped into another that was anything but.

A sky bluer than any Sam had seen before greeted her as she exited the castle behind Frostbite. She nearly stumbled under the blinding rays of sunlight, brightened further by the sparkling dunes of white snow that sprawled in every direction. It was a complete shock to her system, after living the last few years of her life in near darkness, that she was left squinting through watery eyes as she walked, her hand a shield at her brow.

However, even with the sun’s intense glow and subsequent tears pooling in her eyes, she would need to be blind to miss the pair of giant celestial moons hovering overhead like planets.

Sam stopped in her tracks to gape at them. She marveled at their periwinkle and lavender coloring, at the faint way in which they glowed in the sunlit sky. They weren’t fully visible, mere shadows of shape and color that loomed above, but they still left her utterly spellbound. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see them at night.  

Her eyes flicked lower then, to Frostbite, whose fur and icy features gleamed in the sunshine. He stood patiently, waiting for her at what she realized was a staircase that led down beyond where she could see. Not from where she stood, at least. Her hand still shading her eyes, she walked until she stood beside him.

“Wow,” she breathed in awe.

“Indeed,” Frostbite agreed, a grin in his voice. “The capital of the Far Frozen is a remarkable place, is it not?”

Sam could only blink.

Where the staircase ended, pathways carved from snow and ice curved onwards, weaving throughout a frozen kingdom fringed by large, swooping mountains. Buildings rose from the ground in twining spires, each one its own unique work of art. The ice itself was varied. In some areas, it was as transparent as glass, and others, it was opaque and nearly as blue as the sky.

The hulking forms of yeti milled about, too, she noticed. She could see them on the pathways, at the entrances of buildings, and even at the small carts in what looked like a market within a large open area at the base of the castle stairs. A few of them had already taken notice of them, a small crowd beginning to form near one of the booths.

Sam swallowed.

Frostbite noticed where her eyes lingered and must have read the worry on her face, because he said, “All will be well, Sam.” He gestured toward the growing crowd with a clawed hand. “Come.”

She followed him down the stairs, trying not to stumble on steps that were awkward in length. It was an effort to ignore the gnawing of her nerves.

And with good reason, too, she quickly realized. Because the moment her feet landed on the snowy path, angry voices lanced at her from every direction.

“So it’s true,” she heard one of them hiss, “there is a human here.”

“I thought it was all a rumor,” another said.

“Hide the cubs!” a female gasped frantically.

“What a shame!”

“Disgrace.”

“Perhaps the Writings were true?”

“What a small wisp of a creature.”

“This is abhorrent!”

The word “human,” hissed between many sets of sharp, gnashed teeth, was an echo trailing in her wake as she walked. Her shoulders rose, her fingernails biting into the palms of her clenched fists. She kept her gaze forward, on Frostbite’s back, dutifully following him through the swell of the wary crowd.

He, too, ignored the hazing of the other beasts.

But Sam felt them as they moved in on her. As more and more of the yeti took notice of her. Large imposing figures began walling her in, filling the void that was left behind her after she and Frostbite parted them, great shadows eclipsing that beautiful sunlight that she’d been so excited to see.

Her palms itched. One foot after another, she began repeating a familiar mantra, over and over.

One, two. Three, Four. One, two. Three, four. One, two. Three—

Sam tried her best to ignore them, their whispers, and keep her eyes trained forward. But then a strange sight at the edge of her vision caught her attention. She couldn’t stop herself from gawking when she noticed a small form clutched to a leg of one of the females. A child, she realized with a start, peeked shyly at her, its small face buried in its mother’s fur. It smiled at her.

The mother yeti noticed the direction of Sam's eyes on her grinning child and began to growl. The surrounding males converged then, concealing the child from Sam's view, their fangs bared and eyes narrowed with mistrust.

Another yeti, a male, stepped into her line of sight. It was slight enough that Frostbite hadn’t seemed to notice. “Human wretch,” he hissed at her.

Sam gave the beast a glare as she passed him. Fortunately, the male made no move forward, though the deep rumble of his growl trailed after her for some time.

And while many of the yeti were watching her, sure, many more seemed to be looking to Frostbite, their king.

“Frostbite, my liege!”

“It is good to see you, my king.”

“Quite the frosty morning, Frostbite. It is most pleasant!”

Frostbite, to her surprise, responded to every greeting, acknowledged every utterance of his name in some way, even if it was with a mere grunt or a nod. His icy arm was prism of light and bone as he waved to his subjects, the sunlight directing a dance of blueish skeletal shadows about the snow-packed ground.

Sam followed him until they reached a new set of stairs, and the yeti king halted, stepping aside. He grinned at her expectantly.

She frowned at him.

He seemed to pick up on her confusion, because he said, “Please, Sam, take the lead.” He gestured for her to move forward, to what lay ahead at the peak of the glittering stairs.

The crowd around them had grown considerably. Sam knew just by the way the back of her neck prickled, as so many sets of eyes landed on her, burned holes through her back. She could hear them muttering, too, though their words were indistinguishable, a dull roar that she was almost glad she couldn’t hear.

Sam hesitated. Panic roiled in her gut.

You got this, Manson, she told herself. Just keep playing their game. If they wanted you dead, you’d be dead.

She climbed as slowly as she’d descended from the castle, half-scrambling over the too tall steps. She was panting by the time she reached the top, and when she did, she resisted every instinct that screamed at her to turn on her heel and clamber right back down them.

Because Frostbite had brought her to a goddamn stage.

xXx

The steaming water sputtered from the corroded shower head. Even though the temperature was warmer now than it had been in years, the pressure had scarcely been enough to saturate her hair, let alone cleanse the ever-present filth that continued to make her skin crawl, no matter how hard she tried to scrub it away.

Her teeth gritted, Valerie shoved the rusted handle of the shower door until it jolted open, just as the timer signaling the end of her shower chimed, and the water gurgled to a stop. The shower stall was unpleasantly cold, and yet she hardly shivered as she dressed into her grey jumpsuit. She was still too numb.

It has been four days since her last mission.

Four days since the ambush at the fusion reactor, in which the Resistance had suffered a substantial loss to their numbers.

Four days since they’d lost Sam.

Valerie’s bottom lip trembled as she shoved her way past the doors of the compound’s communal bathrooms, and through the group of people milling in the hallways beyond. Many spared her pitied glances as she passed, some even murmuring their condolences in that hushed way that she hated. She ignored them.

It was rare for the hallways to be this full so early in the morning. Valerie had hoped that she’d gotten up early enough to avoid the crowds, but wasn’t exactly surprised, either, considering what this day would entail.

Today the Resistance would be holding a ceremony, led by her father, in which they would honor those lost in the ambush.

Her steps through the compound’s upper levels were familiar from the years and years she’d spent wandering them. She could probably walk them blindfolded, should the need ever arise. She supposed that could be a cool party trick, if not for the fact that parties didn’t exist anymore. Funerals did though. How that was fair, she wasn’t sure.

Valerie was raking her hands through her damp mass of ringlets as she entered her father’s office.

Her father and Vlad Masters both turned to her as she entered, her father’s brows rising as he took her in, probably sensing just how brittle she still was. “How are you doing, baby girl,” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she growled, her eyes narrowing on Vlad who stood at her father’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Vlad, to his credit, did not seem perturbed by her venom. “Good morning, my dear,” he greeted. “I’m glad to see you feeling better. Your father and I were just going over the schematics for the other reactors.”

“What? Already?” She was horrified. “The funeral is today.”

“Ah, yes, there is that,” Vlad agreed.

Valerie gave her father a beseeching look. “You promised we’d talk before working with him again.”

Her father’s expression was blank. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” he said. “But now that the fusion reactor has filled the bulk of our energy reserves, we can finally work to get the other reactors working.” He tapped the illuminated screen of the tablet at his desk. “Maybe even get the shields in the city working again.”

“Did you forget that he sent our people out into a goddamned ambush?” Valerie snapped at her father, who flinched at the fury in her words. “One that even the Fentons knew about? Warned you about?”

Her father flinched again, a muscle in his clenched jaw twitching. “The Foley boy told you.” It wasn’t a question.

Valerie raised her chin. Her father hadn’t wanted to her know that last tidbit. And likely would never have told her himself had Tucker Foley not filled her in after Valerie’s run-in with Maddie Fenton in the upper levels four days ago. She shuddered then, remembering the distraught horror on Maddie’s face when the older woman had learned Sam’s fate.

Sam.

Valerie’s hands became fists.

She could still see her old friend, shrouded by that writhing horde of spectral monsters, reaching for her, desperation in her violet eyes. Valerie had been so close. So fucking close. She’d had her. Could still feel the way her fingers had brushed Sam’s, so close to grabbing her before those horrible spooks took her.

And yet . . . she’d failed.

Her father’s single eye widened as Valerie drew a trembling breath, glared at him with her eyes gleaming. Then she directed an even more scathing glare at Vlad. “You did this.”

Vlad, who had been watching her quietly, said, “If you would let me explain—”

She jabbed a pointed finger in his face. “Explain nothing. This is your fault.” She jabbed again.  “Your fault, you pompous bastard.”

The air in the room seemed to chill considerably as Vlad sighed. Calmly, he lowered her finger from his face, then dabbed at his brow with his stark white handkerchief that he pulled from the chest pocket of his jumpsuit. His skin appeared even more sickly than normal—green, even—under the bright fluorescent lights. “My condolences for the loss of your friend,” he told her. “But we still have more work to do, you and I.”

“Is that so?” Valerie’s hands were on her hips, her teeth bared in a smile. “We’ll see about that. I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

“What I did?” Vlad drawled, bemused. He arched a brow at her. “Had you not missed your target, things may have ended differently, my dear girl.”

Valerie felt herself become hollow. “What do you mean? Phantom was way too powerful and only there for like five minutes. And I didn’t see any of the others from your list.” She crossed her arms, digging her fingernails into the creases of her elbows. She added weakly, “There was nothing I could do.”

But even as she said it, doubt settled in, oily and viscous as it seeped past her resolve. Had she not been so focused on the horde attacking Sam, would she have been able to stop the ambush entirely? How different would things have been had she apprehended Phantom the moment it appeared on her scanners? By the time her scanner had pinged with its whereabouts, it had been too late. Both Sam and her target—gone. The shame of her failure lingered like the acid in the churning pit that was her stomach.

Vlad sighed again, glancing at her father who continued to sit at his desk, watching them blankly.

“I understand you are grieving, my dear,” Vlad said. “But I have done nothing wrong. It was a minor miscalculation on my part, and I do apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you.”

Valerie sputtered with indignation. “Inconvenience? People died.” Her voice cracked. “Sam died.”

“An unfortunate accident, I’m afraid,” Vlad crooned. “And a slight setback. The research I’ve conducted in the days since, however, will be sure to atone for that.”

“What do you mean?” Valerie questioned warily. She shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to be a part of anything that involves you anymore.”

Vlad’s lips curled into an arrogant sort of smile, one that was both cold and welcoming. His hand brushed her father’s shoulder.

As if lurching from a stupor, her father shifted in his seat and steepled his fingers. “It’s alright, Valerie,” he said. “Vlad already told me that the specimens you retrieved were enough for him to move forward on one of his other projects.”

“Other . . . projects?” Valerie took an uneasy step towards them. “What other projects?”

Now it was Vlad who tapped the screen of the tablet. “Come read for yourself, if you feel so inclined.”

With a withering glare directed at Vlad but unable to suppress her curiosity, Valerie approached her father’s desk and peered over his shoulder, to where the tablet screen still lay, its screen bright and beckoning. Her brows furrowed, she watched as Vlad flicked the screen with the reactor’s schematics aside, opening a different tab that required his thumbprint to engage. Then another screen of encryption appeared, and he typed in a fifteen-digit code. He handed it to her.

Valerie frowned at the screen as she read the first page. Then she scrolled down, read some more, and breathed, “What the hell is this?”

As Vlad’s leading sweeper, having been assigned to his unit since his arrival at the compound, she had always been the first to know of his projects over the years. Even before he presented them to her father.

But she hadn’t known about this.

“I can make you powerful,” his voice, as smooth as silk, crooned into her ear. And then his hand touched her shoulder too, as he’d done with her father, his cool fingers chilled enough that she felt them through the starchy fabric of her jumpsuit.

She read the screen again, contemplative, her anger and her revulsion melting away the more she read.

And then, slowly, a smile slinked across her face. “Tell me more about Project Ectom.”

xXx

Tucker wanted nothing more than for this day to be over.

The feeling in the room was grim and brimming with melancholy, palpable enough that he felt as if it was a physical force hellbent on smothering him. Or perhaps that was due to the masses of people crammed against him, as the twelve hundred or so residents packed together into the cafeteria until they spilled out into hallways, their eyes trained to the mezzanine where Damon Gray and his group of cronies stood with postures as stiff as the material of Tucker’s jumpsuit.  

The old general had just given some shitty speech, in which he’d urged everyone gathered to pray with him as he honored those lost four days ago in the ambush. And now he was in the process of returning their remains to their loved ones.

Tucker had to force his breath to remain steady as, one by one, families climbed the steps of the mezzanine.  Children, partners, brothers, sisters—all shaking with grief as Damon thanked them for their unwavering support of the cause, their sacrifice, and then one of Damon’s goons would hand over the sealed plastic boxes.  Boxes that contained the cremated remains of their loved ones. Behind them on the surrounding screens, an image of the deceased would appear, their name, and a small blurb about who they were or what they meant to the Resistance.

Then they would leave, and the next family would make the climb.

Considering that they’d lost over fifty people and had only just started the ceremony, Tucker knew that the day would be long and filled with mourning.

Around him, red-eyed people sniffled. Some wept. Others wailed.  

Tucker swallowed thickly. He shifted from foot to foot and tugged at the collar of his jumpsuit, too hot in the overcrowded room. 

God, he hated funerals. Always had.

He’d been to many over the years. It was one of the many unpleasant side effects of living through an apocalypse. One that he could very much do without.

Especially this one in particular, because . . . because . . .

Tucker’s burning throat tightened. He shifted again.

He saw his mother glance at him from his peripheral, and then her arm was around his shoulders, pulling him tight. “I am so sorry, my son,” she whispered into his ear. “You know your father and I are proud of you, right?”

From his other side, his father’s voice rumbled, “Your mother’s right, you know.”

Tucker nodded back dumbly. But he couldn’t speak. Not when the words would just get stuck in his throat. Instead, he kept his eyes trained forward, to the screens, though he could barely see them anymore as they’d begun to blur.

Because the image of Dick Belair’s haggard unsmiling face stared at him from the grainy screen behind Damon. With no family left to claim his remains, it was Dale Barbarra who’d climbed the steps to the mezzanine, accepted the little box with a jerked nod and a grimace.

Tucker observed Sam’s mentor, noting the hollowness in his eyes, the arm set in a large cast, and the way he walked, limping.

“That man is the last person who should be on his feet,” his mother said, shaking her head.

Tucker agreed. Though he secretly admired the surly man for being there anyway, bound by honor and seemingly propelled by it. Barbarra’s steps down the mezzanine’s long staircase were slow and awkward, but he persevered, and when he reached the end of it, he yanked an unlit cigarette from his pocket and shoved it into a corner of his mouth, the blue box containing what was left of Belair tucked in the crook of his casted arm.

Barbarra caught Tucker’s eye. The older man nodded once, his face grave, and then disappeared into crowd.  

The ceremony continued. Tucker barely listened. Too lost in his own troubled thoughts, he drifted somewhere far, far away.

Until they got to Sam.

It took every ounce of his self-control to hold himself together as her face appeared on the large overhead screens. It was a picture that she’d recently had taken, one that he’d relentlessly picked on her about since the first time he’d seen it, the scowling yet smiling face of her sweeper badge. He’d affectionately called it her scowl-smile, much to her dismay.

The wasted, rawboned husk of Pamela Manson stood trembling at the top of the mezzanine; her glazed eyes hardly aware of the world around her as the little pink box that Tucker knew did not contain Sam’s ashes was placed into her shaking hands. It was a standard protocol, that even when no remains could be retrieved, the family would still receive the same box as the others.

Tucker had once thought it morbid. Until Jazz explained that it was to give families a sense of closure, to help ease the pain of having no body to bury.

Families could then travel lower, to the damp catacombs beneath the bunker and bury their boxes there should they choose to, little capsules of ash and bone. Or they could keep them in their rooms.

Most chose the first option.

He wondered which option Sam’s mom would choose.

Tucker’s glasses fogged from his unshed tears. He yanked them from his face and wiped them clean with the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

His mother’s hand gripped his wrist then, halting him.

“Tucker,” she chided, “you’ll scratch your glasses by doing that.”

Tucker merely shrugged in response. But he didn’t object as his mother snatched the glasses from him and polished them with a small microfiber cloth that she pulled from the chest pocket of her own jumpsuit. He did offer her a mumbled “thanks” when she handed them back to him. They were the first words he’d spoken all morning, his voice hoarse and graveled.

“My poor boy,” his mom sighed. She pressed her lips to his left temple. “You were such a good friend to that girl. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tucker swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks, mom,” he croaked. “She was a good friend to me, too.”

“You know your father and I are always here for you, right?”

“That’s right, son,” his father agreed, slinging his arm around them both. “We’re so proud of you.”

The burning feeling in Tucker’s throat was beginning to choke him. He had to look away from his mom, his dad—away from the warmth and pity and love he saw in their faces.

His eyes drifted then, to where the three Fentons stood huddled together near the steps of the mezzanine. They looked as grief stricken as he felt, their faces no doubt a mirrored image of his own. They seemed to be watching the mezzanine steps expectantly. A moment later, he realized with a start that they were waiting for Sam’s mom to scramble back down them.   

The moment Pamela’s ratty old shoes brushed the cold tiled floor, Maddie was on her, arms wrapping around the smaller woman’s shoulders in a tight embrace. With how frail she seemed, Tucker wasn’t sure how Pamela’s bones didn’t crumble under the force of such a hug.

Jack was next. However, despite his size, his embrace appeared much gentler than Maddie’s had been, which he then followed with a ruffle to the collar of Pamela’s threadbare jumpsuit. His large hand nearly enveloped the entire bony protrusion that was her shoulder. Tucker could see his lips moving, blue eyes swimming with tears.

Jazz did not encroach Pamela’s space. Her eyes, though sad and her cheeks tearstained, seemed to blaze with an inner fire that Tucker swore he could feel, even from where he stood a hundred or so feet away from them. She began murmuring to Pamela as well.

If their actions or their words had resonated with her at all, Sam’s mom did not show it. She’d accepted their embraces though hadn’t returned them, and her eyes had been distant and glazed. As if she hadn’t heard them at all. There was no spark, no flicker of emotion or recognition—nothing. Her pale fingers gripped the little box, its bright pink coloring a juxtaposition to the tattered gray of Pamela’s clothing, and even Sam herself, as she’d always preferred blacks and dusky purples over brights and pinks.

Sam would hate it that a pink box had been chosen for her.  

A lurching wave of emotion slammed through Tucker’s chest then. He had to look away. Had to leave the room. Had to be anywhere else but here in this stifling sea of sadness and grief.

He rasped a quick apology to his parents and shoved his way through the crowds, the rest of the funeral be damned. He didn’t care. Not when the remains of his best friend rotted in the broken world above him, and he was supposed to play pretend and mourn a pink box instead.

Well, fuck that.

He wouldn’t do it.

He’d just crossed the threshold of the cafeteria and begun pushing his way through the onlookers in hallway beyond when a voice called his name, stopping him dead. He turned just in time to see Valerie Gray weave and shove her way through the crowd behind him. She must have seen him leave and decided to follow.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he echoed. He didn’t bother trying to appear pleasant. Sam’s former friend was the last person he wanted to talk to.

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged.

“Got a minute?”

He shrugged again.

Her teal eyes were as cold as ever. “Okay, well, mind if we talk somewhere less . . .” Her nose wrinkled as she glanced at the people surrounding them. ‘’. . . peopley?”

Tucker sighed, frustrated. He didn’t know what she could possibly want from him. If she wanted his sympathy for never mending her relationship with Sam before she’d died, that was on her and her alone and she could go fuck herself. He needed to handle his own shit first—which was unraveling more and more by the second.

“Fine,” Tucker sighed. He started walking down the brightly lit hallway (brighter than he’d ever seen thanks to the power now coursing from the fusion reactor), and she followed, quickly falling into step beside him.

Once they rounded into an intersection of barren corridors, Valerie said, “I need any camera footage you can get from Amity four days ago.”

Tucker’s feet scudded to a stop so fast that his shoes squeaked on the tile. “Seriously, Valerie? You want to talk shop now?”

“I also need you to get me the data from the Fentons’ environmental drones, weapons schematics, and anything else they have on ectobiology.” She lifted her chin, authority rippling from her in waves.  

“I thought you wanted to talk about Sam!” Tucker exclaimed. His rage and his grief mingled together, became one with each other as he glared at her.

Valerie’s face remained indifferent, though something in her eyes flickered. “Sam’s dead. Talking about her isn’t gonna change that.”

“Today is the funeral,” he spat.

She observed him coolly, looked him up and down. “And?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Hand on her hip, her expression melted into exasperation, and she rolled her eyes. “Just get the data, Foley. I need it.”

He bristled at her tone. “What do you even need it for?”

“That’s confidential,” she said in silky voice while she feigned examining her nails. “You don’t have the clearance.”

Tucker scoffed at her, the revulsion in his face unbidden. He’d known Valerie was a piece of work, as Sam had told him countless times over the years, but this . . . His nose wrinkled at her in disgust. Vlad’s star pupil, indeed. They were cut from the same awful cloth.

He’d just turned away from her when her hand caught his shoulder.

“Because I’m going to kill the ghost responsible.” Her voice shook. He was surprised to see that the teal in her eyes blazed with cold fire. “I’m gong to find Phantom, find its stupid dog, and I’m going to obliterate them.”

Tucker stared at her for a long while. Then he sighed. “No.”

She sputtered, her eyes wide with disbelief and fury. “Excuse me? No?”

“No,” he repeated. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He made to sidestep around her, but she stepped with him, blocking him

“You are making a huge mistake,” she ground out through her teeth. The dark ringlets of her wild hair resembled a thundercloud, curling around her shoulders, her beautiful face a portrait of rage and contempt. She demanded, “Why?”

Tucker stood tall as he looked down his nose at her. “Because of who your boss is.”

And then he strode past her, leaving her seething in his wake.

xXx

Sam felt herself shrink under the stares currently blanketing her as she stood atop the icy platform.

Had circumstances been different, she might have marveled at the intricacy in which the icy columns supporting the stage wove together, enveloping its outermost edges with twisted vines of crystal-clear ice. The stage itself was round and rather large, and in its center another elaborate column protruded, peaked by a glittering blue orb that she wasn’t sure was ice or something different as it shone beneath the sunny sky.

It was an effort to keep her spine straight, to not duck her chin into the soft furs warming her neckline, as more and more yeti and other creatures she didn’t recognize appeared within the growing crowd.

And then, adding to her confusion as well as her impending horror, Frostbite walked to the column at the stage’s center and plunged his now glowing claws into the ice, imbuing it with a bright cold power.

The column began to illuminate with the same pale blue as Frostbite’s energy, became more and more intense, until it was suddenly so bright that Sam had to look away from it. The energy coursing through its spire reached a crescendo, pooling within the orb, and then, like a jolt of lighting, the power shot from the orb and blasted into the sky.

Alarmed, Sam jumped away from it.  But she couldn’t stop herself from gaping at the pillar of polar energy now radiating skyward.

Frostbite merely laughed. “All is well, Sam,” he shouted merrily over the loud hum of thrumming energy, his face illuminated with bright blue light, “I am merely calling my people to gather.”

Sam’s stomach dropped to her feet.

Oh no.

Her eyes darted to the crowd, and indeed, Frostbite’s stupid light pillar had an instantaneous effect on the crowd. It grew considerably in a short amount of time. And continued to grow, even after he removed his claws which caused the light to fizzle out.

Sam shifted, her cheeks heating as what seemed like thousands upon thousands of alien eyes landed on her and the yeti king. From where she stood, she saw even more of the yeti emerge from the castle—which she hadn’t even noticed until now was carved out of a fucking mountain—and came to join the crowd at her feet.

She spotted Tsuel then, an apron still covering her lilac dress, at the base of the castle stairs, several foxen around her and one of them even perched delicately on her furred shoulder. It was hard to tell with the distance between them, but Sam was certain she saw the female nod at her in greeting.

Several other yeti who she recognized had pushed their way to the front of the crowd.

“What is the meaning of this, Frostbite?” one of them demanded. His horns were crooked, glass spectacles gleaming in the light. Sam recognized him from last night’s dinner and remembered that he’d been less than thrilled with her presence there, of what Frostbite had intended to share with her. She was also surprised by how much smaller the male yeti was compared to the others. They all seemed to tower over him, females included.

“Peace, Driftwind,” Frostbite told him. “I am merely calling our people to gather so I may make an announcement.”

Driftwind sputtered, his grey eyes wide. “But, my liege, I am your advisor. Any announcements should be channeled through me first, so we may come up with a proper—”

“Bah.” Frostbite waved his advisor’s words off. “I have no need for court protocol.”

“But—!”

But Frostbite had already turned away from Driftwind. Sam couldn’t stop the pang of pity she felt at the look of gloomy resignation that bloomed on the smaller male’s face at being dismissed so blatantly.

Instead, the yeti king had turned to watch the skies, his normally cheerful features tightened with irritation.  

Sam followed his line of sight, to where he glanced at the sunlit horizon, where distant snow-capped mountains rose to touch the billowing white clouds that floated there. She squinted, trying to discern what he could be looking for.

Just as thunder cracked, loud enough to shatter the sound barrier. Sam smothered a flinch as two figures plummeted from the sky above her head.

They were nothing more than blurred silhouettes of black and white, careening across the brilliant blue sky, but Sam knew who they were by the spread of unease that wound in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry at the demonstration of such raw power. She had to take a step to steady herself on the platform when Phantom and Elle landed so hard that the whole thing tremored.

Frostbite’s red glare was unamused. “Your response time is lacking, children,” he said in low voice.

The ghost girl winced. “Sorry, father,” she whispered back. “Blame Danny.”

Phantom rolled his eyes and gave Frostbite a pointed look that bespoke the contrary.

Sam observed Phantom then with a sidelong glance. He stood tall and straight, broad shoulders squared, with his hands clasped loosely behind his back as his black cloak billowed in the cold wind around him. The epitome of someone raised at court, she surmised. Calm, cool, and collected.

He must have sensed her stare, because before she could look away, his chilled gaze collided with her own, his irreverence for her blatant despite the neutral expression.

Not wanting to seem like she’d been caught staring, Sam used his attention to subtly flip him off.

Phantom’s expression remained blank, though she filled with smug delight at the annoyance she saw simmering in his acid green eyes.

“What’s going on?” Elle demanded. Her long white hair was a halo of glowing white in the sunlight. She jerked her chin at Sam, green eyes still narrowed on Frostbite. “And why Is the human here?”

“Yeah, quite the show you’re putting on here,” Phantom agreed. “We thought there was an actual emergency.”

“Did the human do something already?” Elle said with venom, though she still pointedly ignored Sam, refusing to look her way, even as Sam glared at her in response.  

Frostbite’s eyes twinkled, a grin on his wide muzzle. “Peace, my children,” he scolded them gently. “I merely wish to make an announcement.”

Elle’s brows pinched. “An announcement?” she drawled.

“Indeed,” Frostbite responded cheerfully. “And I wish for Sam to see Ec’Nelis, now that she is healed enough to do so.”

Elle and Phantom shared an incredulous look with each other, before directing it unanimously at their father.

“You pulled us off a patrol for this?” Elle asked in a voice lilted with irritation.

“It is an announcement of most importance,” Frostbite said.

“And what importance would that be?” Phantom queried.

“Patience, my son,” Frostbite said, his clawed hand falling to Sam’s shoulder, urging her forward with him so they walked to the front of the stage. He stopped her short of the leading edge, however, and stepped ahead of her.

Sam heard Elle’s voice mutter from behind her, “I swear, if this has something to do with the Writings, I’m going to vomit.”

Phantom coughed to disguise his laugh. “It’s father we’re talking about,” he whispered. “Ten silver pieces that he mentions the Writings in the first two minutes.”

Elle snorted. “You’re so on. I’m betting that he mentions them in four. I have a feeling he has a long-winded speech planned that will lead into it.”

Phantom laugh-coughed again.

Sam glanced at the twin Phantoms over her shoulder, which caused all visible traces of their mirth to vanish in an instant. They observed her coolly in response.

“Turn back around, human,” Elle snapped.

“Elle,” Phantom warned. “Leave her alone.”

Sam scowled at them both but kept her mouth shut. She hated having her back to them. Hated the way they subtly flanked either side of her, their combined presence sending constant lances of dread snaking up her spine, caused cold sweat to bead at the nape of her neck. She tried not to think about the fact that it would take only one blast of their power and she’d be dead.

“I don’t get why he’s doing this,” Elle grumbled to Phantom. “Why can’t we just keep it locked up until its portal reopens and send it back to the hellhole it came from. I mean, why go through all this?”

“How altruistic of you, Elle.”

“Well, this is just stupid. I mean look at it. It looks absolutely ridiculous in those clothes. And is there not any food where it comes from, because look how skinny—”

It was then Sam realized that by ‘it,’ Elle had meant her.

Before she could stop herself, her head whipped back over her shoulder and she snapped, “the human can hear you, assholes.”

Elle’s eyes blazed, finally meeting hers. “Excuse me?” She took a single step toward Sam, blue light crackling at her fingers.

But Phantom halted her with an arm across Elle’s chest. Sam was shocked when she realized the anger on his face was directed, not at her, but at his sister. “That’s enough,” he growled. “You’re better than this, Elle.”

Sam was about to retort, but Frostbite’s voice boomed, somehow filling the entire village circle as the hundreds of yeti and other small creatures looked on.

“Greetings, citizens of Ec’Nelis,” Frostbite began. “I bet you are all wondering why I have called you here today.” A glance at Sam. “I bet you ponder over a human’s presence in our midst, and what that means for our future.”

The crowd murmured. Sam caught a glimpse of Icefang, who had come to join Driftwind and the other members of Frostbite’s court at the crowd’s leading edge, his eyes mere slits as he glared at her. A friendlier face in the form of a grinning Frostbreath stood at his other side. He raised his icy arm to her in greeting when their eyes met

Frostbite continued, “Have patience, because we shall get to that.” Sam heard Phantom groan and Elle stifling a laugh behind her. “I would first like to begin with the acknowledgement of my son’s return to our realm.”

Excited murmurs punctuated by the title “Great One,” could be heard rippling throughout the crowd.

“It has been many moons since my son has resided among us, after spending his time assisting the Infinite Realms in the Great War, as well as offering aide to unhindered spirits in the Mortal Realm.” Frostbite turned to glance at Phantom, pride radiating from his gleaming red eyes. “These past few moons have been difficult for the Far Frozen, but we have stood strong and true, and I am sure my son’s return will ease the fear many of you have felt in the wake of Pariah Dark’s raids.”

Through the cheers and hoots and hollers that followed Frostbite’s words, Sam’s mind reeled. She had so many questions. Shifting from foot to foot as a particularly cold lick of wind raced down the back of her neck, she stifled the urge to gape at the yeti king. She remained still, hoping to whatever god that existed in this realm that she didn’t look as lost as she felt.

“Three days ago, my son and my brother, Frostbreath, returned from the Mortal Realm after Dark opened a rift large enough to unleash a horde upon a settlement of humans stationed there. When they returned, our guest, Sam Manson, was with them.”

The murmurings increased tenfold then, so loud that Sam knew that even Frostbite would be unable to speak above them. Her brows knitted as she heard them whisper her name to each other, surprised when many pairs of eyes lit up with something akin to recognition.     

“Icefang fears humans in general,” Phantom had told her just last night. “Though your reputation does precede you, to an extent.”                     

Sam felt like there was a large piece to this puzzle that she was missing. One that appeared glaringly obvious to everyone else, apparently. She shifted again, brushing away the little flurries of snowflakes that were tossed into the air by the wind as they clung to her eyelashes.

Frostbite raised his icy arm to silence them, though they merely quieted. Sam could still hear them murmuring to each other. His voice both low and loud, he said, “I have come to tell you all I have met with the Time Guardian.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Suddenly, the entire kingdom that was Ec’Nelis had fallen so silent that Sam could hear the faint rustling of the wind as it whispered through the surrounding buildings. In her peripheral, she saw the Phantom twins stiffen.

“I have come to tell you that the Writings have spoken true.”

No one spoke. No one breathed. Even the wind had ceased, the kingdom so silent that Sam was sure that every beast in her vicinity could hear the racing of her heart. Many stared at their king, many at her, and the rest seemed to flick their gazes between them, uncertain.

Frostbite turned then, his clawed hand outstretched, his eyes meeting hers. He waited.

Sam stared back at him. Her feet remained unmoving, as frozen as the ground beneath her. She didn’t know what to do.

“He wants you to join him.” Phantom’s voice was a low whisper. She hadn’t realized he’d stepped to her side and was now so close that their shoulders nearly touched. His cloak brushed her side, its fur lining soft against the exposed skin of her neck.

“What?” she hissed back. But her head snapped back to Frostbite, where he stood patiently waiting for her, and she balked.

Oh no, absolutely not, her thoughts hissed. Walk up there, to the front of the stage, where an entire civilization of otherworldly creatures (many who clearly hated her) stood waiting? No thanks. Noooo fucking thanks.

But then Phantom said, “It’s okay, Sam. They won’t hurt you.” His eyes flickered. “I won’t let them.”

She glanced up at him, so close that she could see the ectomplasmic green swirling in his eyes. And . . . she believed him?

The peculiar niggling of curiosity, similar to what she’d felt last night when she’d debated accepting the yeti king’s dinner invite, eddied within her. She couldn’t deny her intrigue. Of what lay ahead should she decide to embrace whatever cosmic path had been suddenly forged for her to walk.

She took a single step forward. And then another.

She walked until Frostbite’s large, furred arm draped itself across her shoulders.

“Our Writings speak of The One Who is Whole, and The One Who is Half,” Frostbite’s voice boomed again, as loud as thunder in the quiet madness that had befallen his kingdom. “And it has been confirmed that Sam Manson of the Very Vegan, a human who has felled many of Pariah Dark’s ghostly disciples, is indeed The One we have been waiting for.”

There was an abrupt and collective gasp from the crowd. Sam allowed her eyes to drift to the wide-eyed yeti who stood before her. Somehow, she met the gaze of Tsuel, who was now as close to the platform as she could get. Snuggled into the fur of her arms and chest was an infant. Tsuel smiled at Sam, and then gently, she lifted the paw of her sleeping cub and proceeded to make it wave at her.

Frostbite said, “She is The One Who is Whole.”

 It was then that the shocked silence of the crowd shattered.

At first, Sam couldn’t comprehend what it was that she was hearing. The whooping, the hollering, the whistling—it was enough to send her senses into overdrive. She stood frozen, her eyes wide and as panicked as a deer in headlights. She had expected anger and resentment, but this? This couldn't be right.

The yeti were cheering.

Notes:

Wooohoo! Finally! Not sure how I feel about this chapter but happy to have it done! I have the next few days off work so Immah get as much writing done as I can. I am also thinking of looking for a beta reader soon if anyone is interested, or know how I can go about founding one?

As always, your feedback is appreciated and gives me wings. Thanks so much for reading. :)

Chapter 11: Symbiotic

Frozen Fire

Chapter Eleven: Symbiotic

xXx

Sam stared at her plate. She poked at the pile of star shaped berries with her fork, pushed them around until they rolled into the fluffy pastry that Tsuel and her team of foxen had just made for her.

Tsuel, who was seated next to her at the small kitchen table, was exchanging pleasantries with an equally cheerful Frostbite, where he relaxed across from them. Mugs of something steaming and aromatic were raised to both their muzzles.  

“It was delightfully snowy this morning on my walk in,” Tsuel said in a pleasant tone. “Though a bit too warm, if you ask me.”

“Ah, yes. The thaw appears as if it may start early this year,” Frostbite mused amicably. “Perhaps we will have a good yield of fish this year because of it.”  

Tsuel chuckled. “The foxen would appreciate that.”

“Indeed, they would,” Frostbite agreed. “As would my brother.”

Tsuel chuckled and sipped her tea, the soft fur of her arm brushing against Sam’s shoulder with the movement. “Yesterday seemed to have gone well.”

“I concur with that sentiment,” Frostbite said. He tilted his head to glance at Sam.  “While there is still some suspicion, the majority of our people appear most curious about our human guest.”

“A good sign indeed,” Tsuel agreed. She nudged Sam with her elbow. “Is the food to your liking, dear cub? Your appetite appears less zealous this morning.”

Sam froze, just as her fork pierced one of the little berries. “The food is great. Delicious, actually,” she said too fast.

Tsuel’s golden eyes narrowed. “Dear cub, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Totally fine,” she lied.

She was totally not fine.

Because this table was small. Too small. Its setting was a lot more intimate than the grand monstrosity she’d dined at with Frostbite’s court a mere two nights ago. Because it was Phantom who was seated across from her, while his sister sat at their father’s opposite side, as far from Sam as she could get.

Her stomach was a roiling mess.

Phantom appeared unbothered by her presence. He ate the food provided, strips of smoked meat and steaming eggs, without sparing her a second glance. His dark cloak was a stark contrast to the ethereal glow of his ghostly aura.

Sam’s fingers shook as she looped them through the handle of her own mug. She took a long sip, and nearly groaned with delight as a rich black tea warmed her from the inside out.

Phantom said something to her then, and she jumped, choking on her tea.

Sputtering and coughing, she wiped her chin with her sleeve. “What?”

He looked at her as if she’d just grown two heads. “Do you want some syrup for your tea?” He raised a small, spouted pewter dish for clarification.

“Uh,” Sam said awkwardly. Her eyes shifted around the table, her cheeks burning as she realized the other three seated there were watching their interaction in sly amusement. “Sure,” she drawled.

Her hand raised, and she froze again, her own awkwardness creeping in. Was he going to pour it for her, or was he merely handing her the dish? Her eyes flicked between his hand and her cup in uncertainty.

Whether he sensed her inner dilemma or not, he didn’t show it, but he did set the dish down on the wooden table and slid it until was within her reach.

“Uh, thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” he replied.

A heavy blanket of awkward silence enveloped the room.

Stiffly, Sam reached for the syrup and poured it into her tea, her movements nearly robotic. When she set the dish back down, the sound of metal clanking onto wood pierced the silence, too loud in the quiet tension.

After another pause in which Sam fiddled with the spoon in her mug, Phantom sighed heavily. “Can we just acknowledge the yakk in the room here, already?” he said.

She froze when she realized he was addressing her.

Her brows furrowed at him. She felt her stomach drop when their eyes met. The luminous green was unnerving to look at, and having his full attention on her felt like a one-way ticket to Uncanny Valley. She used whatever bravado she had left in her to school her features into a calmness she didn’t have.

He stared at her for a moment, his expression bored. “This is weird.” He gestured between them. “I think we all can agree on that.”

“You don’t say,” Sam deadpanned, leaning back into her chair to cross her arms.

He nodded once. “I have no interest in harvesting your soul or whatever it is that you think that ghosts do to humans,” Phantom intoned wryly, just as Elle snorted from her end of the table.

Sam rolled her eyes. “And I suppose I won’t be ripping you apart molecule by molecule anytime soon.” Like she could. She knew Phantom could end her in seconds if he wanted to. She was powerless against him without her weapons, and barely stood a chance against him with them, if at all.

Was she imagining when his mouth curved at a corner, as if in amusement?

He asked, “So, truce?”

“Truce . . .?” she echoed in confusion.

“I’ll refrain from giving into my big bad ghostly instincts and you’ll spare all of us from the untold horrors of your human prowess?”

Sam gaped at him and had to smother her shock. Was that . . . Sarcasm? Was he actually joking with her? She felt a twitch at the corners of her own mouth and smothered the smile before it formed.  “I guess,” she sighed, as if it had been a tough decision.

His slight smirk widened into a lopsided grin. One that Sam found she couldn’t look away from. It was just so strange.

Phantom was a ghost of untold power and infamy. He was literally on the same level as the Fright Night, so powerful that he could level entire cities if he deigned to. And he had done just that, when he vaporized the GIW facility several years ago. He was a dangerous being.

And here she was having fucking breakfast with him. Joking with him.

She sipped her tea again, if only for something to do.

Then she heard Elle mutter, “Thank the Ancients. I can actually eat now.”

Phantom smugly raised his mug to his sister, as if in cheers.

Sam glanced between them, just as mortification welled inside of her. “You guys can sense what I’m feeling, can’t you?”

“Sure can,” Phantom said cheerfully. “It’s actually one of the few things you humans have gotten right about us.”  At her horrified expression, his own became slightly wicked. “I could tell how uncomfortable I’ve made you all morning.”

“You could cut the tension with a knife,” Elle grumbled, sawing into a slab of meat on her plate. “It was ridiculously off putting.”

“Cubs,” Tsuel scolded them, “do not tease her.”

Sam’s cheeks stained pink as she took her first bite of the fluffy pastry. It was delicious. Sweet and still warm somehow, considering she’d been pushing it around her plate for a while now. “We were always taught that ghosts feed on emotions,” she mused aloud.

“We do.” It was Elle who spoke. Her eyes glinted mischievously at Sam, as if she were a predator assessing her prey. The smile she bore was not a friendly one. “If we want to. It depends on how tasty you are.”

“Danielle!” Tsuel gasped, just as Frostbite chuckled. Even Phantom smirked at her dark humor.

Sam looked to Phantom for clarification.

He shrugged. “She’s technically not wrong.” At the alarm on her face, he added, “Don’t worry, terrified human isn’t really our cup of tea.”

Sam frowned at him. “I’m not terrified,” she snapped.

His half-lidded expression and the tilt of his head seemed to say, Yeah right, I can sense your emotions, remember?

She scoffed and returned her attention to her meal. “You guys suck,” she muttered under her breath, ignoring Phantom’s light chuckle by continuing to glare at her plate as she ate.

“So, cubs,” Tsuel said. “What do you have planned for the day?”

“Danny and I are going to patrol and then father wants us to appear at court,” Elle said. She glanced at Sam, her eyes cold.  “Apparently the human has ruffled some fur.”

Tsuel nodded and looked to Sam next. “And you, Sam?”

“Sam will be with me,” Frostbite answered instead, his teeth gleaming from his wide grin.

Sam jerked her chin at him. “What he said,” she said dryly. She wished she could spend the rest of the day with Tsuel, as far away from the yeti king and his courtly bullshit as she could get, but she knew that was not an option. That, and she couldn’t deny that she was, perhaps, a little curious. Because today, she would be getting some answers. Finally.

“I see,” Tsuel said enthusiastically. “Well, I suppose I will return for dinner, then. Lunch is already prepped. Thank you for the help again this morning, Sam.”

“It’s really no problem.” Sam shrugged. Then something occurred to her, and she glanced around the table. “Hey, where is Frostbreath? Is he okay?”

“He is well, dear cub, and will be most pleased to hear that you have inquired of him.” Tsuel’s eyes glittered at her with fondness. “He is merely home with our cub. He does not typically come to the castle until my duties here are complete.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Wait, you and Frostbreath?”

“Mated for over a century now.” Tsuel laughed at Sam’s shocked expression. “I apologize, dear cub, that information did not seem relevant before.”

“Oh, uh, it’s fine,” she said. Her brows pinched in confusion. “If you and Frostbreath are together, why don’t you guys live here?” she asked, then glanced at Frostbite. “Aren’t you brothers or something?”

“Indeed, we are,” Frostbite said. “But Frostbreath and Tsuel prefer a smaller den.”

Tsuel sniffed. “It was my den prior to our courtship. I simply told him he was to move in if were to proceed.” She winked at Sam as she popped a berry into her mouth. “Never let a male think they have too much power, cub.”

“Noted,” Sam deadpanned.

Then, one of the small foxen leapt onto the table next to her plate, startling her, and nudged her hand with its snout until she relented and stroked the silky fur between its ears. She didn’t fail to notice that Phantom unsubtly tracked the movement of her hand the entire time.

Tsuel said to Frostbite, “Do you intend to hold a ball soon in honor of Sam?”

Sam inhaled sharply, her shoulders tensing as she glanced between the two yeti. A fucking what?

“In a couple moons, perhaps,” Frostbite replied, and Sam visibly deflated with relief. “I would like to spend some time training her first.”

She tensed again. Oh, great.

Tsuel nodded and returned to her meal. Meanwhile, Sam picked at her food some more, still doing her best to ignore the commanding, roiling presence still skulking across the table. The remainder of their breakfast had been quiet after that.

It was sometime later when Sam sat in one of the rocking chairs in Frostbite’s study, warming her hands over the fire.

Frostbite’s chair creaked as he rocked and stared pensively into the flames. Tsuel had brought them a large metal carafe, tendrils of steam wafting from within, and set it up on a small round table between Sam and the yeti king before she left. Sam used the silence to pour herself a cup of tea, relishing the warmth from it.

Finally, Frostbite said, “You may ask your questions now, human child.”

“So, what is so special about the Writings?” she asked, while she sipped her delicious tea. An herbal one this time.

 “They are the framework that shapes the Infinite Realms,” Frostbite said. “Forged more than a millennia ago. The Far Frozen has guarded the ancient Writings since the beginning, and we have been most honored to have been chosen by the fates to do so.”

“But what are they?” Sam asked. She glanced around the room, eyeing the aged texts lining the shelves of his study. “Books? Scrolls? Post It notes?”

“Better!” Frostbite grinned. “They are illustrations and runes carved into the stone itself.”

Sam stared at him for moment, letting his words sink in. “So . . . you’re telling me that you guys base your entire existence off of pictures carved into a freaking cave?” She shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, but that just sounds like vandalism that some fanatic happened to find first, dude.”

“The caves of Cinomrah are a most peculiar place, human girl. Those carvings are special because they do not present themselves in the same way to every inquirer. They are ever changing, linked to all our worlds on a quantum scale. It is why it is proper etiquette to only discuss the Writings with those of us who have already traveled and toured the caves ourselves.”

 “So, there’s no chance of getting around the ‘no spoiler’ policy?” she asked, jokingly but also with a tad of hopefulness sprinkled in.

“I do not know what that means.”

 “Figure of speech. Don’t worry about it,” she said with a snort, waving him off.  “But you still can’t tell me what it means when you say I’m The One, or whatever?”

“I am afraid I cannot.” His great head tilted so the firelight gleamed along his large, curling horns. “I can tell you that you are of great importance, however.”

Sam blew an errant strand of hair out of her face in annoyance. “And here we go again with cryptic non-answers. Great.”

Frostbite sighed. It was strange to see such a normally cheerful creature so somber. “Sam, you have much to learn. I can see that you have grown quite frustrated, but—”

“Now that’s an understatement,” Sam muttered, rolling her eyes and sinking into her seat, arms crossed in petulance.

Frostbite’s eyes flashed with paternal ire. “But, you have yet to begin understanding my people and this realm. Which is where you must begin.”

She arched a brow, urging him to continue.

“The yeti put great value on the pursuit of knowledge. It is a rite of passage for my kind.” He stoked the fire with the metal agitator rod. “It goes against my very existence to willingly give you the answers that you crave, for it is my belief that you must learn them for yourself so you may formulate your own conclusions.”

“Well, that’s annoying,” Sam sighed.  

Frostbite’s ruby eyes twinkled. “My cubs would agree with you. I have been having this very conversation with them for nearly two decades now.”

Sam chewed on that little piece of information and tucked it away to ponder later. Instead, she mused, “That actually sounds like something the Fentons would say.”

She didn’t know why, but the great horned beast stiffened at her words. The creaking of his chair halted abruptly, while the long claws of his icy hand dug into the wooden arm of his rocking chair. His gaze on her became razor sharp.  

“Who are these . . . Fentons  . . . as you call them?” His voice was low, nearly a growl.

“Uh,” Sam said, surprise etching her features, “they’re scientists. Back home. They also believe in the pursuit of knowledge.” She punctuated the last bit with exaggerated finger quotes.

Frostbite’s red eyes gleamed with sinister fire. Sam was taken aback, unused to seeing such malice in him. So much so that she abruptly straightened in her chair.

“How do you know them?” he asked.

“They’re practically family to me,” Sam said, her brows furrowing at Frostbite. “Why, do you know them, or something?”

“In name only,” Frostbite said. “Your weapons and armor were emblazoned with their name as well.”

“Oh,” Sam said, unsure of what else to say. Her heart galloped in her chest. She hadn’t even been trying to piss him off. And now that she had, she was left reeling as she struggled to think of a way to diffuse him.

“I will make something clear to you now,” he growled in a voice edged sharper than the claws digging into his chair. “You do not speak that name outside of this study, understand? That is an order.”

Sam understood the subliminal message buried in his words immediately. It hadn’t just been an order, but a threat, too. She nodded once. “Yeah, sure, dude. You’re the boss.”

The shadows ebbed away from his face, along with the flickering embers of his anger. “Good,” he said. And then his smile returned, his features softening back into his usual jolliness, though she still shifted uncomfortably at his gleaming white teeth. “Glad we came to an understanding.”

She took a moment to sip at her tea, hating the way her hand shook. Again, she glanced around the room, her eyes grazing over the thick leather tomes and gleaming artifacts, her mind grasping desperately for anything she could think of to change the subject.  

“How do you speak my language so well?” she asked as her eyes roved the spine of a tome with a word scrawled on it in an unfamiliar language. Hell, even the lettering was strange. A different alphabet entirely. She was genuinely curious.

“The yeti speak every language known to the realms.” Frostbite’s gaze followed to where hers still lingered on the ornate tome. “We are a realm of scholars and artisans. One may never learn too much in the long existence our kind has.”

Sam nodded, but another question had already formed, fueled by his words and an offhand remark Tsuel had made earlier. “What did you mean the other day when you said that the yeti are spirits that never were? What does that mean?” Before he could respond she added, “Tsuel said that she and Frostbreath have been together a century.” She shook her head, bewildered. “Does that make you guys, like, immortal?”

Frostbite was silent for a moment as he reached for the shining silver carafe and poured himself a cup of tea. “We are not ghosts, because we were never mortal beings. We did not pass on to an afterlife to become what we are. We simply exist as we have always been. We are spirits. But here on our realm, we are living.” He sipped his tea. “And though we are very long lived, we are not quite immortal, as you say. A century is but a fleeting moment for us.”

Sam was quiet as she ruminated on what he’d told her. Her mind swam with so many more questions, and yet, she had no idea how to ask them. Wasn’t sure she was ready to ask them—or that he’d even be willing to answer her. Not yet. She knew they were still in that delicate dance of figuring out how to trust each other, with neither of them yielding more than an inch.

For example, if they were a realm of benevolent spirits, what the hell were they doing with two overpowered ghosts living among them? Why did they keep implying that they’d raised the ghost twins? What did that mean?

And why—why were the twins so different from the other ghosts she’d seen in Amity?

Her thoughts drifted then to her first encounter with Phantom, of how he’d flashed with both rage and power, terrifying her—and then saved her goddamn life. Aided Frostbreath in bringing here. Fucking joked with her earlier at breakfast as if he was just some dude her age chilling at the cafeteria, just as Tucker normally would.

Sam swallowed past the tightening of her throat, pushing thoughts of Tucker down, down, and the fuck away. That was too dangerous of a place for her to be mentally. Especially when she needed to remain as focused as possible.

Finally, after she’d cleared her throat and recomposed herself, she said, “So what else can you tell me?”

“What would you like to know? Beyond the Writings?”

Sam chewed on her bottom lip. “Who is Pariah Dark?”

The yeti king’s grin faltered. She stiffened again, worried she’d said something wrong, but was relieved when his ire did not seem directed at her this time. “He is the Ghost King, and the one who started the war against the Realms.”

“The Great War?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “Indeed.”

Sam stewed in silence on the question before she asked, “What’s the deal with ghosts, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Frostbite responded. She was relieved when she observed that no venom laced his words, and his expression was open, curious even.

Her fingers clenched around the handle of her mug. “They destroyed my world,” she said, though her voice came out a mere whisper.

And here you are harboring two of them, she didn’t say.

But Frostbite, being the intelligent being that he was, seemed to glean what she hadn’t said, what she was too afraid to ask. He leaned back into his chair, ruby eyes distant as he observed the flames again.

“My cubs are different,” he said. “They, too, have been long prophesied, as you have been. It is destiny, woven by the universe itself, that has brought you all here to this realm.”

“You realize that you just answered nothing again, right?” Sam deadpanned.

To her surprise, Frostbite chuckled. “Much of this is hard to explain when you have yet to grasp the basics.” He shook his head. “There is much to learn. About this realm, your realm, the war, the ghosts, the—”

“About the ghosts?” Sam interjected. “I get that there’s something special about Spooky and Spookier the twins, but aren’t ghosts all, like, evil?” Then immediately winced at her own words. Perhaps she would be three for three in pissing him off tonight.

But instead, his ruby eyes grew distant once again, as if he’d drifted somewhere far away from where he sat with her in his study. Firelight danced within them, along the planes of his face. “I once agreed with you.”

She didn’t know why, but something in her chest hitched, and she felt as if she were suddenly teetering at the edge of a chasm. Like she was about to plummet to the depths of some earth-shattering discovery.

“Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

The words threatened to catch in her throat, but she managed to force them out when she said, “What changed?”

An expression she had yet to see on the yeti’s face dominated his features. Sam found herself stricken by it, her mug of tea growing cold in her hands as ice snaked through her veins.

Grief. Loss. Pain—Emotions she knew and understood all too well shone within his ruby eyes, at the tense set of his jaw, the way his teeth seemed to gnash together. She realized in a bout of horrific clarity that was wrenched from somewhere deep within her own heart, that Frostbite had lost someone. Someone important to him.

“Perhaps,” Frostbite said slowly, his voice cleaving the tense silence that had befallen them, “We should start at the beginning. I have no doubt that you will learn all you need to with time, but I feel that we have jumped headlong into a story without first having read its preface.”

Sam nodded down at her lap. Something like shame spiraled within her, and she fidgeted in her chair. “I’m . . . sorry.”

“You have done nothing wrong, human child.” A fond grin pulled at his muzzle, but Sam could still see the sadness in his eyes. “I admire your inquisitive nature. Perhaps you have more in common with my people than you realize.”

“That’s the nicest way someone has ever told me that I’m a pain in the ass,” she joked. She smiled softly at Frostbite and was relieved when his own grin widened in return, amused by her.

“I assure you, Sam Manson, that you are not a pain in the . . .” His brows furrowed. “Ass, was it? Such a strange word. Ass.”

She couldn’t help it when she burst out laughing so loud and so suddenly that cold tea lapped from her mug and splashed down the front of her coat.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she set the mug down on the table next to her.

Frostbite eyed the stain marring the white fur of her coat. “Perhaps I should request a more liquid repelling hide to be used for your next set of clothing,” he said. “You appear to spill and drop things often.”

Sam blushed in embarrassment but said nothing. Instead, she stared at the fur lining of her moccasins as she swung her legs, contemplating what to ask him next. So far, their conversation had been an absolute roller coaster, and she wanted to avoid pissing him off again. Since she was going to be stuck here for . . .

It occurred to her then that she had yet to ask a very important question.

“How long?” she asked. And at his look of confusion, she clarified, “How long . . . am I stuck here?”

“Ah.” He grimaced as he stared at the fire. “It is impossible to say for certain. The veil shrouding the Mortal Realm is near impenetrable. And though we do have ways of predicting when it will thin enough to allow a rift, I am afraid it will be several moons before it is even possible.”

“I can’t tell if this is another of your non-answers or not,” Sam said. “I just want to know when I can go home.”

A claw drifted through the white fur of Frostbite’s chin. “I would say, six moons at the very least. The rift Dark opened was large. It will take some time for another to form naturally.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam said, her face paling. “Six moons, as in six months—and at the very least? Are you serious?”

Frostbite’s nod was solemn. “I am afraid so.”

Sam drew her knees to her chest while her fingers clawed into her hair. “They probably think I’m dead,” she rasped into her knees, the words burning from her throat as she said them. A small part of her, the part of her borne by years of training and discipline, was enraged at the display of such vulnerability in the presence of a potential adversary.

But the rest of her—the larger part—was tired. And frankly, no longer gave a shit.

“I am sorry, Sam,” Frostbite told her, his voice soft.

Sam shook her head. “I need a minute. This is . . . a lot to take in.”

“I understand,” Frostbite said. “Take all the time you need. This is why I have not been in a rush to explain everything to you. We have plenty of time, and you have much to learn.”

After some time, in which she attempted to tame the ragged hitches bursting from her chest, she finally uncurled herself from her knees. Her head rested against the back of her chair, suddenly exhausted as her eyes watched the fire still writhing from the glowing pit of stones in the fireplace.

With a long breath, she reached for the agitator rod that Frostbite had left leaning against the side of the jeweled mantle and stoked the stones until they bristled hotter, burning so bright that she had to squint, the heat a sharp bite against her numb fingers.

“If I do everything you ask of me,” she began in a voice that was too soft, hardly sounding like her own, “will you tell me everything?”

Frostbite’s ruby eyes glittered. “No,” he said. “But you will learn everything. The knowledge you seek is available for you to grasp. It is a journey you have been long prophesied to go on, human child, as it has been Written since the Dawn of Infinity.”

She didn’t have it in her to argue anymore. So, she nodded instead.

It was sometime later when Frostbite led her through a large extravagant room lined with windows. The floor was incandescent, seeming to shimmer beneath them as they walked. She grinned when she saw Tsuel appear around a corner, tucked away at the peak of a grand staircase.

“Human cub!” Tsuel grinned happily at their approach, and then turned Frostbite. “Good evening, Frostbite.”

“Good evening, Tsuel,” Frostbite returned easily. “I was just finishing up with Sam for the day and was returning her to you for any evening work you may have for her.”

Tsuel’s smile was one of genuine warmth when her eyes met Sam’s. “I am afraid I am not in need of any help as dinner is already prepped, but I would gladly welcome her company.”  

Sam grinned back at the female yeti. She truly liked Tsuel.

“How are my cubs doing?” Frostbite asked. “This is the first time they have held court together since Danny left for the Infinite Realms.”

Tsuel chuckled softly. “As you can imagine, Ellie has done most of the talking.”

“As I figured,” Frostbite said, amusement in his voice.

Sam reached where they stood and peered down the long shimmering staircase. She felt her jaw slacken at the view.

She’d been here only yesterday, when Frostbite had led her through those enormous twin doors and into the kingdom beyond, but she’d been so enamored by the wall of beautifully crafted windows that she’d completely missed the details of the parlor. Or was it a throne room?

The stained-glass windows and gigantic set of frozen doors wrapped the room from the outside in, though now that she stood atop a tall balcony, she could see smaller windows above the colorful glass. They were clear and offered a panoramic view of the snowcapped mountain range that bordered the kingdom, the warm glow of sunset now a distant gilded fire warming horizon.

Her eyes followed the streams of sunlight filtering through rainbowed glass, tracing the colorful array of shadows and rainbows that bathed the entire icy room in a kaleidoscope of waltzing pastels. The incandescent floor seemed to be lit from within, constantly shifting between soft shades of pinks, blues, and purples. Elegant columns and a sloped cathedral ceiling rose higher and higher above her head, even from where she stood atop a great balcony, and ended in a five-tiered crystal chandelier that could dwarf even Frostbite.

And there, atop a gleaming dais at the far end of the room opposite the doors, were the Phantom twins.

They stood flanking either side of a large empty throne, their backs straight and their hands clasped behind them. On the floor near the dais, Sam could make out the various members of Frostbite’s court peppered amidst the swell of the other yeti standing there. They seemed to be in a deep discussion, with Elle responding often. Phantom, however, did not speak, and if anything, he seemed bored to be there.

Sam studied them both. The way Phantom’s dark cloak contrasted Elle’s glowing white one, as if they were light and shadow incarnate. So similar and yet so different.

While Elle seemed to thrive in whatever courtly bullshitting session they were having down there, Phantom appeared to merely tolerate it, though he scanned the crowd, as if in search of any lurking threats he may find in the shadows. Sam recognized the subtle shifts, the way he seemed to be looking at nothing and seeing everything—just as she’d been trained to do.

“How have the yetifolk responded so far?” Frostbite asked Tsuel.

“It has gone as expected,” Tsuel sighed. “Though many are optimistic.”

Sam heard the smile in Frostbite’s voice when he said, “Good.”

“You know I have no mind for court eloquence so please forgive me if I speak ignorantly,” Tsuel said, “but I am proud of them. You have raised your cubs well, Frostbite. They are greatly respected and revered here, by this kingdom, and the Far Frozen as a whole.” When Sam looked up at her, Tsuel’s golden eyes shined with warmth as she stared down the dais, to the two ghosts lurking there. “If fills me with so much hope for this world.”

And then Sam felt those golden eyes land on her. Tsuel’s soft fur caressed the back of her neck when the female laid a gentle arm across her shoulders.

Tsuel said, “And fills me with hope to have you here, too, human cub.”

Sam swallowed back a thick lump of emotion. She didn’t know why she was so moved by Tsuel’s words, but she was. All that hope and admiration thawed something deep within her, as if her very soul warmed at the words. As if she believed them.

In his scope of the crowds, Phantom eventually gazed up at her, his expression unreadable. And she stared back at him.

It was . . . strange.

With so much space between them, she found herself unaffected by that ominous veil that always wound itself into her nerves in his presence. She could observe him freely here, and for a moment, glowing aura aside, he almost looked human standing there at the dais, which was a curious observation in itself because ghosts typically always floated.

Imperceptibly, she saw his eyes narrow on her.

Sam stifled the petty urge to flip him off.

And perhaps it had something to do with Tsuel’s words, and the hope in them, but Sam decided to wave at him instead. The motion was awkward, as if her hand and her brain operated on two separate wavelengths entirely.

Phantom stared at her a moment longer, then nodded once in response.

Truce, indeed.

xXx

The weeks that followed Sam’s introduction to the frozen kingdom passed by in a whirlwind of snow and fire.

Much of her time was spent in Frostbite’s study, where she tried her best to remain attentive as the yeti king rambled on about the interwoven structure that was yeti sociology. The early hours following breakfast were spent with him, and Sam would warm her hands over crackling flames as he lectured her on things that were beyond her understanding.

"So, let me get this straight," Sam said to him one morning as she nursed a mug of hot tea, "you're telling me that the Far Frozen is actually one of several dimensions to a single multiverse, and we're somehow quantum mechanically linked together, and that each world has its own alternative history and laws of nature and relativity . . .?"

"That is a bit of a crude translation, but you have the right idea, I suppose."

Sam scoffed and shook her head. "I think my brain is melting."

"I am merely trying to explain to you how this realm functions so you may understand how it connects with your own."

"Quantum mechanically, right?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Frostbite sighed. "Of any of the existing realms, the yeti are the most similar to humans, both biologically and socially." He idly rapped a single claw against the rim of his steaming mug. "We are a result of convergent evolution. Two unrelated species that have acquired similar traits because of adaptation to an analogous environment, and because we both maintain a similar niche in our ecosystems."

"And this is relevant, why?"

"Because information is essential to understanding the paradox of our universe!"

Sam's eye twitched and she groaned. It was like being in a Fenton lecture all over again.

.

.

Her late afternoons were less intellectually taxing, spent with Tsuel as the two of them strolled about the large frozen village of Ec'Nelis.

Tsuel would lead her on long ambling walks through the pathways, while Sam openly gaped at the artful twists and vibrant coloring of the homes and structures built by the yeti. She found herself marveling at every intricate detail imbued into their work, all of them so different and stylistic, not unlike the snowflakes themselves as they cascaded from the skies in regular intervals.

Sam had been fascinated the first time she’d seen snowfall. While it did snow in Amity Park, the snow here was different. Fluffier and softer as it landed like a gentle frozen kiss into her cupped hands. She’d stared at the little flakes, watching as they slowly melted into the palms of her hands, the resulting droplets beginning to freeze against her skin almost immediately.

Several weeks later, and she still marveled at the flurried snow.

They visited various shops and interacted with townsfolk, too. And Sam found that despite the cheers she’d garnered upon her introduction as some fated cosmic vestige, or whatever that hell she was to them, the yetis’ enthusiasm for her presence had quickly evaporated until all that was left was wary toleration of her. They never spoke directly to her, only to Tsuel, and when she looked at them, they often turned away and avoided her like the plague.

Children were banned from coming near her. If they so much crossed her path, their mothers would scold them, ushering them to their homes in haste. Sam learned quickly to look down at her feet whenever they happened to be near, lest she incite any unwanted wrath on herself.

Even Tsuel did not bring her child around.

"It is not meant as a slight on you, dear cub," Tsuel had said by way of explanation one morning as they prepped breakfast together. "I personally believe you to be harmless. But the yeti are especially protective of offspring. Not many females are able to conceive, so to us, cubs are a treasured rarity. Many mated pairs hope their entire lives for the honor of raising cubs, and most do not succeed.” Tsuel paused, as if mulling over her words. “The others would not appreciate my bringing him around you quite yet."

Sam had nodded solemnly at that.

Even though they avoided her, Sam still found herself studying the yeti as they mulled about the village and was oddly fascinated by them. They were thoughtful and humble creatures, many of whom shared a passion for knowledge and other forms of intellectual stimuli. Frostbite had told her that they were a civilization of artisans, and she could see why.   

In the large market that sprawled in the wide-open expanse at the base of the castle stairs, Sam eyed the stalls as she and Tsuel strolled past them. Pastries, attire, hides, art, fruit, meats, metalworking, a stall of candles with colorful flames—and that was just to name a few of them.

She paused at a stall that had paintings rendered with lifelike precision. Many of which were of the Far Frozen’s royal family. Her eyes swooped over the various depictions of Frostbite, the twins standing together with their faces impassive, one of Frostbreath grinning madly and holding a giant silver fish, Elle poised with twin swords and fury in her eyes, until they landed on one of Phantom, and her eyes widened.

It was an image of what looked like a younger version of him floating in the sky against the celestial moons and glowing just as bright in the velvety night. His dusky tattered cloak spanned across the canvas like wings of darkness. A ball of green fire was in his palm, rendered so realistically that she swore she could actually see it glowing. The same green fire burned in his eyes. Pure rage dominated his features, and Sam hated the way her stomach hollowed out the longer she stared at it.

“I remember this,” Tsuel said softly from behind her, and Sam jumped.

“Wait, this actually happened?” Sam asked, horror in her voice. Not only at just how fucking scary he looked in it, but that he looked younger, as if he could age.

“It did,” a voice rasped.

Sam gaped at the gangly old male that stared at her from his stool just beyond the table. His watery grey eyes were impassive as he watched her. She was shocked he’d spoken to her at all.

Her eyes trailed lower still. This time to an image of Phantom and Elle, blue energy coursing from their hands in a wall of frozen light. They both looked like hell. Battered and with green stains marring their clothing.

“And this . . .?” Sam asked.

“I can only paint what I have seen,” that old voice rasped again. A thin bony hand with blunt tipped claws shook as he gestured to his wares. “All of my paintings are from memory.”

The next image in the row was another depiction of the twins. It had clearly been referenced from the same day as the previous painting, with the same tattered clothing and spattering of acid green marring their clothing, their faces.

Sam felt a roaring in her ears. They were definitely younger here. Mere teenagers. Phantom, with his face rounded with youth, looked absolutely ragged as his arm slung protectively over his sister. Or was he holding her up, as if she was unable to stand on her own? Elle was looking up at Phantom, smiling widely at him, her hair split between two loose braids that trailed down her shoulders. They both looked exhausted, as if they’d just won some great battle.

Those images lingered in her mind, long after she and Tsuel had bid the old male farewell and continued down path of market stalls.

.

.

Between her lessons with Frostbite and her walks about the village, Sam spent much of her time utterly mesmerized by the abundance of creatures that existed in this realm, outside of the yeti and foxen.

“The Far Frozen has a diverse ecosystem,” Frostbite told her during one of his lectures. “Similar to the way your own world functions. With many symbiotic relationships that aide in a most harmonious existence here.”

Sam could see it. And was often amazed into stunned silence by it.

White-furred doglike creatures with hooked faces and talon claws ran about the town freely, chasing laughing yeti children and often being treated to morsels of scraps tossed into pathways by various food vendors.

She noticed one day with glee that there were birds, too. They flew amongst the cerulean sunlit skies with grace, their wingspans so wide that they often eclipsed the sun as they flew overhead. Many of them were darkened grey with the faintest hints of blue at their wingtips and tailfeathers, and their beaks were long and curved.

There were more, she was told, in the wilds outside the kingdom. At the coast and in the mountains. What she had once thought to be a frozen wasteland teemed with life and beauty instead.

Of all the creatures she’d seen, what amazed her most were the horses.

They were monstrous—big enough to support a yeti—and six legged. Their tails were long and sinuous, with course fringe dusting the ends. Two large curving horns led into a wide, flat head, supported by a long and muscular neck. Big chests, along with thick legs and cleft hooves, made them excellent for navigating icy and mountainous terrain at a brisk place. Or at least, that’s what Frostbite had told her one day when she’d asked about them, awe in her voice

The colors and patterns of their fur varied, but mostly consisted of varying hues of grey, accented with faint blue markings. It was reminiscent of the color scheme of a typical yeti. From what both Frostbite and Tsuel told her, they were used for transportation, and hunting the yakk, the yeti's main food source.

Sam had always had an affinity for environmentalism, so everything she learned about this new world fascinated her. She found that she enjoyed learning about it. The lessons, coupled with her time spent working and wandering with Tsuel, did well to distract her from the troubling thoughts that often slipped like an oil slick into her mind.

She could almost stop thinking about home.

Almost.

.

.

At night she was always locked away.

As soon as the sun began to dip into the horizon, illuminating the otherworldly moons, Sam would be led back to her room without preamble. There, she would spend the remaining hours of wakefulness curled before the stonelit fireplace in her room, wondering to herself about the fate of her friends, her family.

In truth, part of her preferred the lonely bits of isolation. Because the more time she spent with Tsuel and in the town, the more attached she became. Her morals, her principles—everything that ever had defined her as a sweeper and a member of the Resistance—were slipping away, bit by bit, and it was leaving her more confused than ever.

And it scared her.

.

.

Sometimes, she would wake to the rumbling of explosions.

The first time it had happened, she panicked.

She jolted from her bed, her feet skittering across the floor in a tumbling flurry of blankets and pillows. Thoughts of being buried alive and suffocation flooded her mind. She went utterly rabid as she clawed at the divider of ice separating her from freedom.

"Let me out of here!" she screamed! "Let me out!"

No one came, and she screamed until her voice was raw and hoarse. She hugged her knees with her face pressed to the freezing barrier, tears streaking down her cheeks, and eventually fell asleep there.

The next day, the town was in shambles.

By the time she emerged from the mountain castle with Tsuel, the yeti were already working to restore it, unified and efficient. Many of them were wounded. No one answered her questions, not even Tsuel, and it was the first day she'd spent in the Far Frozen that she didn't see a single smile, nor hear the pealing of laughter.

It was easier to handle the second time it happened, and even more so by the third. By the fifth time, her sixth week there, she'd simply stayed in her bed and listened.

.

.

And then there was Phantom.  

He was an enigma she couldn't solve.

They dined together almost every day. Of course, it was always in the presence of Frostbite and Elle, as well as a rotation of Tsuel or Frostbreath at dinnertime, and yet they’d hardly spoken in the weeks that followed Phantom calling for a truce between them. He would talk if spoken to, otherwise he would quietly eat his meal and vanish beyond the kitchen’s threshold, barely sparing her a passing glance.  

During her afternoon walks with Tsuel, she would often see him about the town, sometimes in the company of Elle, and other times alone. Sometimes she would catch him glancing at her, and other times he would be the one to catch her, but never would they interact beyond that.

When she saw him in the town, he was thin-lipped smiles, nods of acknowledgment, and a posture rigid as the ice weaving throughout the kingdom. He hardly spoke, but when he did it was equally polite and authoritative. Strictly politics. He didn't laugh, and he didn't mingle. Not like the yeti did, anyway. It irritated Sam that she couldn't make sense of who—or what, rather—he was.

Tsuel grimaced when she mentioned it one afternoon. They’d been diligently at work in the castle's kitchen, preparing lunch for themselves as well as prepping for dinner. Tsuel worked with the meats, while Sam prepared the fruit and vegetable platters.

"Yes, if I know anything about that boy is that he can be a bit stiff," she said. Her claws clattered against the marble countertops as she bustled about.

"Why is he like that with the yeti though? Frostbite isn't like that?" Sam asked as she worked, jumping to avoid Tsuel's swinging tail. Despite the enormity of the castle, the kitchen was rather cramped. She and Tsuel had quickly developed a system to avoid collision.

Tsuel sighed. "His relationship with the other yeti is complicated. They adore and respect him, as I am sure you have noticed, but when so much weight is placed on the shoulders of a boy as young as him, well, it tends to make interactions a bit tricky."

Sam's brows pinched. "Why?"

Another sigh. "Sam, dear cub, I do not know if you have noticed, but the townsfolk have placed Danny—and Ellie, too, really—on a pedestal. They expect so much from him." She paused to meet Sam's gaze, and her eyes gleamed with sadness. "It is hard for me to see him this way. So grown up and aloof. But once you get to know him, he truly has a heart of gold. I should know, seeing as I have practically raised him. When he was a cub, he was nothing but smiles and laughs . . . " She trailed off and her fangs bit at her lip. White-furred knuckles fisted themselves into the fabric of her apron.

Again, the strange feeling regarding the phantom twins growing—being raised—returned, niggling at her, almost as if she was missing something momentous. It made no sense to her. Even if the yeti were not, Phantom and his sister were definitely ghosts.

Sam fidgeted with the long knife she’d been chopping fruit with, idly slicing a fuzzy blue fruit into too small pieces. Finally, she asked, "How old is he, anyway?"

Tsuel dropped the cup of seasoning she’d been using on the meat. It clattered as it hit the floor, rolling and spilling its contents, before coming to rest at the toe of Sam's boot.

"I apologize, dear cub,” Tsuel said quickly, "what was that again?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I asked you how old he—they are. You said you raised them. From what, a child? A pile of unformed ectoplasm? I mean, they are ghosts, right?"

After a few moments of stunned silence in which the female hadn’t even so much as glanced her way, Tsuel whispered, "Frostbite would not like me talking about this."

Sam heaved a sigh and bent to pick up the small dish that a foxen had retrieved and was helpfully handing it up to her.

If it was one thing Sam knew about Tsuel, it was that the warmhearted yeti often spoke without thinking, and inadvertently gave away more information than was probably acceptable. It was one of the things Sam loved about her. But that didn’t mean that she wanted Tsuel to get in trouble because of her prying.  

"Listen, I'm sorry," Sam said. "I don't mean to weird you out so much by asking questions. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble with Mr. Snowman. I'm just trying to make sense of all"—she gestured around the room, as if the gesture alone could explain the vastness of her woes—"this, y'know?"

"Yes, yes. I know, dear cub. I know," Tsuel huffed. She turned to face Sam, leaning her haunches against the counter, her long tail swooshing. "And I would love nothing more than to tell you all I know about him. About them. But even I do not know much. I do not know where they came from. All I truly know is that Frostbite loved them unconditionally from the moment that they were brought here. And well, so did I."

Sam began to roll the cup around in her hands, watching carefully as Tsuel's muzzle curved into a faint, reminiscent smile. She mirrored Tsuel’s movement and leaned her own back against the counter. Her finger tapped at the crook of her crossed arms.

"Everything is so weird here. All I've ever known is Amity Park, and war, and destroying ghosts—" Realizing what she said, she winced.

Fortunately, Tsuel merely appeared thoughtful. "Ghosts have only recently been accepted here into our society as well," she said, much to Sam's astonishment. "It was quite the phenomenon for us, too, I assure you. For so long now, the Far Frozen, as well as many of the other realms, have been at war with them. Like you, we never thought they could be anything . . . more."

Sam's incredulity lit her widened eyes with violet fire. "What changed?" she breathed.

But when Tsuel’s emotion laden eyes met hers, Sam knew. Tsuel didn’t even need to say it.

“It was them, wasn’t it?” Sam asked. That strange feeling of looming at the tipping point of a chasm returned, and her feet were now swinging as she teetered above it.

"It was."

Pushing away from her leaning position on the counter, Sam returned to her menial task of pulverizing oversized fruits and veggies into smaller bits. She tried her best to focus on the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the knife in her hands, but it seemed too loud now as it pierced into the heavy silence. Tsuel was never this quiet. There was tension thick enough that Sam wished she could cut it away with her knife. She almost regretted asking questions in the first place.  

"He is twenty-four.”

Sam started, fumbling with the knife. "W-what?"

"The human categorization of time would make him to be twenty-four years old."

Sam took a moment to steady herself before she began chopping again, nodding silently in response. She pretended as if everything was fine, that the world continued to spin on its axis, and that Tsuel hadn't just dropped the biggest bombshell yet.

There was no way any ghost could be as powerful as Phantom after only twenty years of existence. At least, not without disregarding the theory of ecto-molecular expansion and radiation, developed by Maddie Fenton. What that meant, Sam wasn't sure, but she did know that whatever it was, it was big.

Behind her, Sam heard the clacking of Tsuel's claws as the yeti resumed her task of preparing food.

Conversation had been sparse after that.

.

.

There weren’t many mirrors or reflective surfaces in the Far Frozen. Not that she particularly cared that much. But Sam would take a moment to study her rippled reflection as she bathed in the hot springs every morning, intrigued by the changes she saw in herself with every passing day.   

By her seventh week in the Far Frozen, her violet eyes shone, free of the dark soulless pits they’d once been, no longer bleak and sunken into her skull. Her cheeks became fuller, her hair softer, the burnt strands slowly regrowing. Hipbones that had once protruded jaggedly were now softened. As were her ribs.

They were slow changes. Stuble and curious, but Sam marveled at them all the same. She’d always thought herself lanky and shapeless, but the more she ate and the more she slept, she could see the soft curves beginning to form, the sallowness receding from her skin, and for the first time in her life, she thought that maybe she wasn’t so terrible to look at, after all.

Even Tsuel had noticed it.

On one morning in particular, while Sam sat on an icy stool in the medical sector as Sleetjaw examined her, the female yeti raked a gentle claw through Sam’s ebony locks. “We should have your fur trimmed soon, dear cub,” she said in that warm motherly tone that she so often used with Sam now. “Even everything out a bit. I can do it for you, if you wish.”

Before Sam could respond to Tsuel, Sleetjaw said, “I must say, I do admire human resilience. You certainly could use some more weight on your bones, but you are looking much better than when you first arrived here.”

Sam nodded, pretending to care. Her feet swung in impatience. “Thanks, doc,” she quipped.

“How is your shoulder doing?” Sleetjaw asked.

“It’s fine. Aches sometimes, but nothing terrible.”

Sleetjaw grimaced. “I do apologize. I had wished for it to heal completely.”

Sam shrugged. “I mean I was pretty wrecked when I first got here, so you definitely got the worst of everything.”

“I suppose so.” His claws clacked against the keyless screen that was his keyboard as he typed. “Let me know if gets any worse, human girl. I will continue with my research of fully healing you in the meantime.”

Sam nodded, and then Sleetjaw had sent her and Tsuel on their merry way.

And later that day, after Tsuel had badgered Sam enough about cutting her hair, Sam relented with an exaggerated sigh. And in a flourish of white fur and her light blue dress, the female yeti had a small station set up at the kitchen table before Sam could so much as blink.

She was pleasantly surprised when it ended up looking . . . good.

Her fingers twined through the silky strands of hair that now ended just above her shoulders, no longer singed and uneven. Tsuel had procured a small round mirror from the little kit of sharp blades that she’d trimmed Sam’s hair with, which Sam now used to gape at her reflection, stunned by the differences she saw, not just with her hair, but with herself overall. It was like night and day.

With good humor, Tsuel scoffed at Sam’s amazed expression. “I do not understand why you are so surprised, cub,” she said, crossing her arms. “I am predominantly comprised of fur. That small tuft on your head is nothing.”

Sam snorted. “Touche,” she drawled.  “I guess I’m just surprised that you’re this good at cutting a human’s hair—fur—whatever you wanna call it.”

“I have been cutting the twin cubs’ fur for many years now,” Tsuel laughed. “Elle has more than she knows what to do with.” She winked. “So, I have had much practice.”

Sam grinned as she watched the foxen gather her discarded tresses in a little pile and then run off with them, its tail wagging excitedly.

She had just stood from her seat at the kitchen table when a voice said, “What have you been practicing on me?”

With a start, Sam glanced at the kitchen’s entryway.

To where Elle Phantom stood, glaring at her.

 

Notes:

Lol I'm trying to fight through a writing block right now so bear with me. I couldn't make myself like this chapter for some reason. It's okay. I give up. Hope it doesn't suck.

Your feedback is always so appreciated! Hope y'all are well!

*Sleejaw belongs to the lovely CaptainOzone!

Chapter 12: Threads That Unravel

Frozen Fire

Chapter Twelve: Threads That Unravel

xXx

Sam recovered from her surprise quickly. She returned Elle’s glare with a bored expression of her own.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the ghost girl beelined for the basket of fresh rolls that Tsuel had just pulled from the oven. She glanced at Sam again, her electric green eyes cold and disinterested, and snatched two rolls from the basket, stuffing a third into her mouth.   

“Good afternoon, sweet cub,” Tsuel greeted Elle. The female yeti was in the middle of returning the small kit of blades that she’d just cut Sam’s hair with to a drawer on the far side of the kitchen, her long tail flicking as she rustled through a cabinet. “There is fresh jam if you would like.”

Elle grinned. “You know me so well.”

“Sam, would you mind?” Tsuel asked, her head still buried in the cabinet.

“No problem,” Sam said uncomfortably. She ignored Elle’s blazing glare on her as she rooted through a lower shelf in the kitchen island, jars clinking as she looked for the fresh batch they’d made this morning.

The ghost girl was one of the few Far Frozenites she knew of who truly, openly hated her. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it came from the same place that her own innate hatred of ghosts originated from. It went both ways, however, as Sam didn’t particularly care for her, either.

Sam slid the jar she’d found onto the marble counter.

Elle nodded once in silent acknowledgement of Sam’s efforts. She opened the jar and dumped an immeasurable amount of the stuff onto rolls that she chaotically tore in half with her hands. So much so, that globs of it fell to the floor at her feet. The foxen were quick to clean it, almost too prepared. Perhaps they were used to it.  

“Ellie, my dear little disaster, how you do not get that all over yourself is beyond me.” Tsuel chuckled as she joined Elle and Sam at the island.

Elle shrugged. And between mouthfuls, she said, “Iffss called talent.”

Tsuel rolled her golden eyes. “And where are you off to this afternoon?”

“Sword training with Icefang,” Elle sighed, while Sam stiffened at the male yeti’s name. “Not that I need it. But father requires that I stay in top form, or whatever. Danny’s the one who needs to refreshers, not me.”

Sam eyed the ghost girl from her peripheral. It always amazed her how similar she and Phantom looked. Sure, they were twins, but Phantom and Elle were basically gender swapped carbon copies of each other, though Elle lacked his height. She was perhaps an inch or two taller than Sam. The cerulean jewel that clasped the cloak at her throat gleamed in the kitchen’s sconced torchlight.

Tsuel nodded, chuckling. “You should be the one training Danny.”

Elle’s grin became wicked, her eyes brightening as the ectoplasm in them swirled. “He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Why do I get the impression that I’m being talked about in here?”

Sam froze and then screamed internally as Phantom strode into the room. He, too, dug into the basket of rolls and smothered them with jam. He didn’t so much as glance at Sam as he entered, which she was fine with. Grateful for, even.

While Elle’s presence was grating, Phantom’s literally drove her insane. She frowned down at her hands, fidgeting with a tuft of grey fur that spouted from the sleeve of her coat.

“Because you are being talked about,” Elle stated brightly. “About how I can kick your butt in a swordfight.” Then she poked his shoulder. “Rusty.”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “Swords are archaic and unnecessary everywhere else but here. I haven’t needed to keep up on the training.”

“Tell that to Icefang,” Elle said, smirking.

“Well, I can’t anyway,” Phantom sighed.

Elle’s face fell. “Why not?”

“I need to head out for the day,” he said evasively. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Oh, to Stoneheim?” Tsuel blurted. “Frostbreath mentioned you would be heading there soon.”

Phantom and Elle gaped at her, then their gazes flicked to Sam.

“Uh, yeah,” Phantom said. His eyes narrowed on Sam, now that he had finally looked at her. “Why do you look different?”

Before she could answer, Tsuel, as helpful as ever, said, “Sam let me cut her fur today. She looks darling, does she not?”

Sam’s heart lurched as Phantom studied her for a moment. He chewed the roll slowly, his eyes critical as he seemed to scan her from head to toe. Like a predator assessing his goddamn lunch. Even separated by the massive, marbled island, she still felt like he was too close. Like they were too close. Because Elle was looking at her now, too.

The ghost girl looked her up and down as well, unimpressed. “Still looks like a human,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and turned her back on Sam with a flourish of her cloak.

“What’s a Stoneheim?” Sam asked. She knew from Frostbite’s lectures that there were several other villages peppered about the Far Frozen’s vast landscapes, particularly surrounding the coasts. What was curious to her, however, was their uneasiness around Tsuel’s mention of this one in particular.

Phantom’s green eyes were like a cat’s as he stared at her, unblinking. His mouth quirked at a corner when he said, “It’s a ghost town. Abandoned a long time ago.”

Sam’s brows pinched and she crossed her arms. “And you need to go there for the day, because . . .?”

“It has particularly high levels of spectral energy.” He seemed to be fighting a grin entirely now.

“Nice.” She frowned at him. “I thought cryptic non-answers were Frostbite’s area of expertise?”

At this, even Elle snorted. “Try being raised by him.”

Phantom gave his sister a wry look. “Remember when you asked him what the cave spiders eat?”

“And he gave me a long spiel about the intricacies of ecological succession over the Far Frozen’s long history?” Elle sighed. She glanced at Sam. “Plot twist. They eat ice. If you were wondering.”

“They eat . . .  ice . . .?” Sam said slowly.

“They eat the microorganisms in the ice,” Tsuel corrected with a chuckle, ruffling Elle’s long hair.

Elle shrugged. “They still eat the ice with them, though. And that’s an afternoon of my existence I’ll never get back.” Her head tilted at Phantom. “Remember when you asked him about the stars?”

“That one became a lot more philosophical than I expected,” Phantom laughed. “At least he actually answered you.”

“In the most roundabout way ever,” Elle grumbled.

Sam narrowed her eyes at Phantom. “Well, that’s ironic, considering you still haven’t answered my question.”

He gave her a snarky grin. “Still not going to.”

“Why not?” Sam crossed her arms.

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

She shrugged. “Maybe because you’re being weird about it?”

“Awe, gonna miss me, Sammy?”

Sam blinked at him for a moment, caught off guard. Then something in her snapped and her face scrunched with anger. “Don’t call me that.” She stalked to the kitchen table, glaring at the color-shifting roses still perched in their elegant vase. “Whatever. I give up. Have fun.”

She’d just snatched her chair from the table, when she felt Phantom’s presence close in behind her. She whirled to face him, but didn’t retreat an inch. Even though he stopped several feet from her, she still had to crane her neck to meet his eye.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you,” he said. “I have a sister so it’s kind of second nature.”

“I resent that!” Elle called from behind him.

Sam shrugged. “I’m used to not getting straight answers at this point.”

Her brows rose when he seemed to wince at that. “Stoneheim has a lot of history here. And I’m sure my father will fill you in on it all when he thinks you’re ready.”

She caught his meaning immediately. “You’re not allowed to tell me anything, are you?”

He smiled ruefully. “No. I’m not. That was top of the list of things we’re not supposed to talk about around the human.” He shot a narrowed look at Tsuel, though there seemed to be no true malice behind it.  

Tsuel arched her brow at him from where she still stood next to Elle at the kitchen island, her tail flicking irritably. “I admit no wrongdoings. Your father knows I disagree with his ambiguity on such topics.”

Phantom shook his head at her, fondly, then looked back at Sam. “I have some business there I need to handle. And then I’ll be back.”

Sam studied the roses. Blue, now, from where she stood. “Congratulations.”

The silence between them tensed and became weird, and Sam wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it. They’d barely spoken more than a few words in weeks. Having his full attention again made her stomach crawl. She shifted her feet, pulling strands of hair behind her ear, and risked glancing up at him.

Adopted or not, Phantom bore the same calculative stare that she so often saw on Frostbite. He looked at her as if there was something he was trying to piece together, or that she herself was an enigma that he had yet to solve. It was equal parts wise and disconcerting, and enough to make her very, very uncomfortable.

But just as quickly as it had started to bother her, he blinked, and the look was gone. His eyes flicked away from hers, his hand at the back of his neck, as if embarrassed. “Well, I should get going. See you around, human.”

Sam stared after him as he snatched Elle, who was grinning wolfishly at him, by the hood of her cloak and tugged her out of the room with him, but not before she’d lurched and grabbed another roll from the basket.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sam heard Elle mutter to him, before the sounds of their retreat disappeared altogether.

Sam peered around the corner. “That was fast.”

Tsuel heaved an exasperated sigh. “They have probably gone intangible and phased out of the castle entirely.”

“Oh, right,” Sam deadpanned. “Ghost powers.”

“Indeed,” Tsuel said. “It is how those two have gotten into so much trouble over the years. There is simply no containing them.”

After a beat of silence, Sam said, “I won’t say anything.”

“About what, cub?”

“About Stoneheim,” Sam said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Tsuel barked a laugh at that. “If Frostbite truly had qualms with you knowing things, he would not have you with me every day.” Her eyes twinkled as she peered at Sam, her furred hand scratching the chin of a foxen. “He works in mysterious ways. Do not think for a second that he is unaware. His cunning is truly remarkable.”

Sam stewed on that while she toyed with her sleeve. “So, he does want me asking you questions?”

“He does not.”

“That literally makes no sense.”

“Receiving an answer to a question you have asked is different than when you glean a truth for yourself, dear cub.” Tsuel said. “He does not want you to ask. He wants you to learn.”

“Well then what happens if I go about everything the wrong way,” Sam said, scowling now. “What if I misinterpret everything and I’m wrong?”

“That is part of your journey.” Tsuel ambled over to where Sam still stood by the kitchen table, and with a gentle claw, she raked it across the petals of one of the roses. The now yellow rose shimmered as a result, waves of violet shimmying from the point at which her claw met the petal. “Frostbite will discuss your opinions and findings with you, but he first wants you to discover this world on your own.”

Sam watched the rose, transfixed on the way color and light itself seemed to ripple around its edges. She couldn’t help but reach for one, plucking it from the glass vase. The rose shifted through a wide spectrum of color as she turned it in her hand, and when she touched a petal, she realized the colors that eddied forth from the point of contact were complementary to the rose itself. Blue rippled with orange, red with green, and so on.

And then her eyes drifted above the rose, to meet Tsuel’s golden ones. The yeti was beaming at her, eyes glassy. Sam was taken aback and frowned at her. “What?”

Tsuel shook her head. “Only ones chosen by the fates themselves may fully handle a pandora rose, dear cub,” she said. “They are highly dangerous to touch.” At the horror blooming on Sam’s face, she laughed and added, “Do not fret. The thorns do not seem inclined to prick you. You are safe.”

Sam’s hand trembled as she glanced back at the rose, noted the black spiney thorns that jutted down the length of its stem. And Tsuel was right—they didn’t prick her. She hadn’t even noticed they were there in the first place. In fact, a pleasant warmth seemed to emanate from the rose, as if it was happy.

“Gah,” Sam gasped as she quickly shoved it back into its glass housing. She glowered at Tsuel. “Thanks for the heads up on that, by the way.”

“I did not know you would grab it so recklessly. Their stems are incased for a reason, dear cub,” Tsuel said. “I did not think to warn you.”

Sam shook her head with a sigh. “I was overdue for a near death experience, anyway,” she deadpanned. “Note to self, not all plants I see are friends.”

Tsuel’s ears pricked as she tilted her head, mystified by Sam’s humor. “Dear cub, are you alright?”

“Peachy.”

Tsuel stared at her blankly.

Sam snorted. “I’m alright. Just . . . warn me next time when there’s something around that might kill me, ‘kay?”

Tsuel still seemed a bit perplexed, but she nodded anyway. “As you wish.”

xXx

Tucker’s thoughts were troubled as he walked briskly through an intersection of hallways adjacent to the compound’s cafeteria.

“Yo, Foley! Hold up!”

Tucker spun on his heel and paused, lunch tray in hand, frowning as Dash Baxter jogged over to him. The burly blonde appeared to be holding something in his fist, if how he was waving it around manically was any indication.

Dash reached him, then frowned at the tray of food in his hands. “Umm, you know the cafeteria is behind you, right?”

Tucker shrugged. He was too tired for sarcasm. And he didn’t feel like telling Dash that in the weeks that followed Sam’s death, he hadn’t been able to eat in the cafeteria since. Not with the way her usual seat at one of the long tables remained vacant, a glaring empty spot in a sea of scattered grey. He couldn’t stomach so much as looking at it. Knowing that she would never again sit across from him.

“I have too much work to do,” Tucker lied.

“Damn, they make you work while you eat now?” Dash said, his blue eyes wide. “That’s crazy, man. The Fentons are wild.”

Tucker sighed. “Did you need something, Dash?”

“Oh right.” Dash extended his bear paw of a fist and dropped a small, firm object into Tucker’s hands, bundled within strips of an old cotton tee shirt. “Barbarra found this when he serviced a drone this morning. Said to bring it to you or the Fentons and no one else.”

Tucker’s brows furrowed at the parcel. “Why? What is it?”

“Beats me.” Dash shrugged.

“Well thanks,” Tucker said, balancing the tray precariously in one hand as he stuffed the little bundle into his pocket. He turned away from Dash, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Sam,” Dash said sadly. “She was a cool chick. Saved all our asses that day, too. We all miss her.”

Unable to look at him, Tucker stared hard at his sneakers. “Yeah, she was.”

“You kicked ass that day, too, man,” Dash said. “I don’t think any of us would have gotten out alive without you.”

Tucker swallowed hard. He nodded, unable to speak.

“If you ever wanna come back to communications, I’m sure Barbarra would—”

“Stopping you right there, dude,” Tucker said. “I don’t have time to work in the communications sector anymore. Not with all the new tech we’re working on now that the power is back on.”

It was a lie, but a convincing enough one, he supposed.

Truth was, he wanted nothing to do with communications anymore now that Sam was gone. He was her Guy in the Chair—and he’d failed her. He was supposed to keep her alive. He couldn’t bear the thought of being in that room again. Not when he’d watched her die there.

Dash nodded. “I get it. Just thought I’d give it a try. Mikey’s doing alright for us, anyway.”

Tucker’s answering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Glad to hear it. See ya around, man.”

“Likewise, nerd,” Dash said fondly, thumping Tucker on the shoulder as he passed and disappeared around a bend.

Tucker finished the remaining leg of his trek to Fentonworks unbothered. He sighed with relief as he reached those familiar dented saloon style doors and nudged one of them open with the toe of his sneaker.

He deposited the coffees he carried onto one of the stainless tables as well as the stack of breakfast sandwiches he’d brought for them all.

“Brought the goods,” he announced as he grabbed one for himself.

Egg and cheese on a hard roll. Just under two months later, and the compound’s food was already leaps and bounds better than what it had been the last few years. It didn’t matter, though. Every bite still tasted like ash to him.

A bleary-eyed Jack Fenton grinned at him. “Thanks, my boy.” He brought one of the steaming coffees to Maddie, where she slumped at the giant supercomputer with her face buried in her hands. Her slender shoulders rose and fell, her copper hair dull and wispy under the lights.

She stirred at Jack’s approach and took the offered cup. A weary smile and a nod of thanks greeted Tucker then.

Tucker glanced around the room. “Where’s Jazz today?”

“She’s working with a client,” Maddie said, waving her hand as she sipped her drink. “With . . . oh what’s her name . . . the blind one?”

“Paulina?” Tucker asked. He sipped his own coffee and winced at the bitter taste. The coffee still sucked as it always did.

Maddie nodded. “And then she was going to stop in and check on Pamela.”

Tucker stiffened at the mention of Sam’s mom. Jazz had told him after the funeral that she’d intended to start working with the elder Manson, now that Sam wasn’t around to take care of her.

“She didn’t get very far with her the last time she tried,” Tucker muttered.

Maddie smiled ruefully. “Jazz is particularly invested this time around. Now that . . . “ Maddie trailed off, her lips pursing. Jack’s hand was on her shoulder, and Maddie leaned into his touch.

Tucker knew what she hadn’t been able to say. “Well . . . if anyone can get through to Mrs. Manson, it’s Jazz. Sam would’ve . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “Sam would’ve wanted that.”

The silence in the lab had been deafening after that.  

Tucker turned his gaze to the colorful spread of ectoweaponry lining every surface and sighed at the overwhelming multitude of it all. Now that the compound’s reserve of power had been filled, it had become expected of them to increase their production tenfold.

He fidgeted with the nearest quarter inch drive impact that he plucked from a table, his fingers tightening on the tool’s trigger until it whirred to life.

With a defeated sigh, he eyed the mess that was dispersed and overlapping on the tables, and muttered to himself, “To hell with that.” He slumped at the table that he’d nabbed the impact from, fiddling with a half-dead ballpoint pen instead.  

It was sometime later when Tucker frowned as he flicked his pen back and forth across the stainless-steel tabletop. The chilled air of the Fentonworks lab seeped through the rolled sleeves of his jumpsuit, but he made no move to roll them back down from his elbows. He continued to watch his pen in its leisurely arc across the table.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Maddie exclaimed in frustration.

“They’re ghosts, Madds,” Jack said. Tucker heard the rumbling sound of chair wheels squeaking across a tiled floor and knew that Jack had rolled to join his wife at her supercomputer. “Ghosts don’t make sense.”

“Jack, honey, this is science. Everything has an answer. We just need to find it.” Tucker heard her chair creak, as if she leaned back into it. “Why, after all these years, did these two ghosts in particular show up on our scanners? We haven’t seen a ghost with a corporeal form here in years?”

The rolling pen stilled on the table as Tucker listened to them speak. It had been such a shock to the Resistance when the ectosignatures of both Phantom and a large ghost dog had appeared on their scanners. The last time they’d seen either of them was when Phantom obliterated the GIW facility years ago.

But why here? Why then, all of a sudden?

And then they’d disappeared without a trace. No one had so much as seen them in person. They’d been far away from the battle at the reactor, and not even the large, armored tank had passed them on its route from the compound.

Tucker’s thoughts strayed to his bizarre encounter with Dash earlier, or the parcel he’d handed him . . .

“Oh shit,” Tucker gasped, reaching into his pocket. “Dash gave me this earlier.”

Both Fentons peered at him from the supercomputer.

“Gave you what, son?” Jack asked.

Tucker shook his head, fumbling with the cotton. “I dunno. He said he got it from Barbarra.” Something small, green and white plinked onto the metal tabletop, and Tucker stared at it in confusion. “A data chip?”

He continued to unwind the larger item from its cotton binding, his heartrate beginning to quicken the closer he got to whatever was inside. And when he fully unfurled it, he gasped, and the thing fell to the table next to the data chip.

There, gleaming like an emerald jewel under the bright florescent lights, was Sam’s knife.

xXx

Sam was quiet where she sat on the bottom steps of the mountain castle’s long shining staircase.

Ec’Nelis was a bustling tide of activity. Dogs trotted between market booths. Children—or cubs, was the correct term—scurried at the heels of several yeti, dodging long sweeping tails with expert precision. The steaming breath of a horse wafted near the icy stage at the market’s center, and from the wooden cart hitched to its harness, she could see an older yeti passing out expertly decorated pastries to anyone who passed him by. Music chimed through the air, a festiveness and liveliness that she’d felt long removed from—or at least, since Amity’s fall.

She could remember a time when music caressed her own city. On the winds and through the winding, dilapidated buildings. She could remember what it had been like as a child, kicking a ball against the green swirling ghost shield that had once enveloped Amity Park. Tucker had sucked at kicking it back to her after it ricochet to him . . . but they’d had so much fun together. Had been so carefree.

What would Tucker think of this world? So unscathed from the ravages of war.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

Sam knew that the Far Frozen faced frequent attacks. Those rumblings that she so often awoken to were testament of that. She’d seen the aftermath, even, in the relatively mild damages that scathed the village’s buildings. But they’d always been so quick to rebuild—erasing any trace of whatever battles plagued their realm.

“You look troubled, human girl.”

Sam started, and her eyes flicked from where she’d been staring absently at the horse to meet Frostbreath’s amber gaze. “Just thinking,” she told him honestly.

Frostbreath grinned softly, nodding his great head. He lumbered over to her and sank next to her on the stairs. His tail twitched at her feet. “If you would like to talk, I am here.”

Sam shook her head. “Just wondering what my best friend would think of this place.”

Frostbreath hummed in response. She watched his eyes land on Tsuel and their cub across the market. Tsuel was bouncing the tiny creature at her chest as she wandered between the stalls, pointing out colorful and shiny things that the cub blinked at.

“What will you do when you see your friend again?” Frostbreath asked.

She squinted at him. “What do you mean?”

“What will you want him to know about this world?”

“That it’s beautiful,” she said. “But he’d probably say it’s too cold.”

“Cold!” Frostbreath erupted with a boisterous laugh. “These are the warmer months, human girl. You should see it in winter if you think this is cold.”

Sam snorted. “Well, it’s a good thing I should be home by then, right?”

Silence settled like a heavy weight between them. Sam wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. But that was the goal, wasn’t it? Return home . . . and then what? She realized then that she wasn’t sure what she was even supposed to do with all the information that they’d been giving her. Of what relevance it even had to their cause.

“You should talk to him more,” Frostbreath said then.

“Frostbite?” She rolled her eyes. “All he does is talk.”

A knowing look that she didn’t at all like settled in the amber of Frostbreath’s gaze. “Not my brother.”

Sam gaped at him. She wondered if Frostbreath had lost his damn mind. “Why?”

“Because there is much for you both to learn from each other.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not like he ever talks to me.”

Frostbreath sighed. “He has become rather reclusive over the years. And Frostbite and I have both encouraged him to interact with you more, but as you are, he is stubborn and does not fully believe in the Writings.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do the Writings have to do with this?”

“Everything, human girl,” Frostbreath said. “They have everything to do with this. Whether you believe them or not, your fates have been woven together since the forging of the Writings.”

“That’s somehow creepy and cryptically annoying,” Sam muttered. “He’s a ghost, and I’m a human. What could we possibly have to learn from each other?”

But then, those familiar words—words that she’d tried and failed to ignore—whispered to her, in that secretive, conspirative voice, “Maybe we’re wrong about a lot of things.”

Sam didn’t know how she felt about anything, anymore. Her world and all that she had known and believed her entire life was in disarray. The threads of truth were a knotted mess, unwound from their spools and jumbled together, and she had yet to begin unraveling them, too afraid to follow where even a single loose thread might lead her.  

The giant yeti paused, then abruptly beamed at her. “Tsuel and I have been waiting nearly two moons now for you two to speak, and I must say I have grown most impatient, so please take this as the kind and proverbial shove that it is.”

Sam was suddenly wary as she studied him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”

But she had her answer, when that curling dread overcame her, and that familiar cracking of thunder cleaved the musical merriment of the market circle. She didn’t need to look to see who’d returned to Ec’Nelis, because she knew.

“Don’t you dare,” Sam hissed at Frostbreath.

But the yeti ignored her. He raised his arm, sunlight glinting along planes of ice and bone. “Danny! Welcome home!” he shouted merrily. “The human girl and I are most pleased to see you have returned!”

Wincing and with her teeth gritted, Sam risked a glance where she knew Phantom had just landed. A small crowd had already formed around him, multiple yeti shouting to him their welcome. A small cub snagged the edge of his cloak and was bouncing excitedly.

“Is that so,” Phantom said dryly as he parted the crowd and stopped several feet before the stairs where Sam and Frostbreath still sat together.

“Indeed!” Frostbreath said merrily. He launched to his feet, snagging Sam by the scruff of her jacket so she stood with him. He ignored the glare she gave him. “The human girl has been most concerned for your absence.”

Sam rolled her eyes harder than she’d ever rolled them before. “Yep, he’s right,” she drawled. “This is my super concerned face.”

“See! I am right!” Frostbreath was absolutely jubilant, missing her sarcasm completely.

Phantom’s mouth twitched as he glanced between them. “I can see that.”

Frostbreath smiled as if he’d just uncovered some great mystery and now teemed with smugness. He patted Sam on her head. “I believe I shall spend the remainder of my day with my cub and mate, human girl.”

Phantom gave her a dry, commiserating look but turned to watch him lumber away. When he had joined a wide-eyed Tsuel where she still stood with their cub at a booth of tinkling crystal windchimes, did Phantom finally turn and look at her again. He brought his hand to his mouth and mock whispered, “Quick, run before he turns around.”

Sam furrowed her brows. “What?”

“The yeti torture their victims in strange, horrible ways. Forced social interaction is definitely one of them.”

Her stomach churned in his presence. She hated the way her nerves trembled, her body poising of its own accord to run and escape the threat looming before her. It was completely involuntary. She swallowed, stifling the urge as much as she could manage.  

Phantom, having probably sensed her turmoil, sighed then, “I’ll see ya around, Sam,” he said. He turned, his cloak billowing in the wind and tossing a flurry of snowflakes into the air.

“What did Frostbreath mean when he said our fates are woven together?” Sam blurted.

Phantom whirled, his acid green eyes widened with surprise. “He told you that?”

“Is it true?” Sam asked. She ignored every screaming instinct and took a step toward him. Anger simmered within her. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed the crowd around them, intently watching their very public conversation.

Phantom’s eyes darted around them, noting their onlookers, and then he sighed. “Depends on your interpretation of true.”

She took another step, fuming now. “Why can’t anyone just give me a straight answer on anything?”

Phantom reached for her elbow, but hesitated, and then his hand fell back to his side. “Come on, let’s get out of the market circle, and we’ll talk, alright?”

Ignoring her better judgement, she said, “Fine.” And fell into step beside him, but not before she sent a withering glare in Frostbreath’s general direction.

Frostbreath merely waved. Though Tsuel, bless her, watched after them in a combination of surprise and worry.

They didn’t get far, before a portly male yeti jumped into their path, grinning manically. “Great one! I am so glad that you have returned!” He handed Phantom a strand of gleaming jewels. “Here, please take this as a token of my gratitude for such a prompt return!”

Sam blinked at the awe on the yeti’s face. She was even more surprised when Phantom, his expression schooled with practiced neutrality, said, “Thank you, kind citizen,” and accepted the gift.

The yeti bowed his head and grinned after them as they passed.

It happened a lot. Between the attempted gifts, the shouts, the pleas of excitement. The yeti absolutely swarmed him. He was calm and gracious through most of it, and when they dipped into a shadowed alley just outside the market circle did he finally seem to relax, rolling his shoulders. He offered her the band of gemstones. “Here.”

She wrinkled her nose at them. “Why would I want those?”

“Because my only other option is to give them to my sister, and she has enough of these already.”

Sam rolled her eyes and took the offered bracelet. The gemstones were kind of neat. Sapphires and emeralds and black obsidian gleamed, even under the watery grey light of a clouded sky. She stuffed it into her coat pocket.

“Why do they call you Great One, anyway?” Sam wondered.

“Elle and I won a big battle here a few years ago,” he said, shrugging.

“But they don’t call her Great One?” Sam frowned at him.

“Elle and I have different skillsets,” Phantom said. His lips pursed, and she noted that he seemed uncomfortable with the topic. “Mine are . . . more explosive.”

Sam’s mind flashed with images of Phantom’s grainy form hovering before the smoking remains of the GIW base, bright light emanating from his palms, and she frowned at him, her wariness heightened. “You don’t say.”

He gave her another dry look, aware of her shift in mood. “You really don’t need to go along with Frostbreath’s goading, you know.” 

“Oh, I know,” she said. “But I want answers.”

He grimaced. “Answers. Right.”

She halted in a pathway, her arms crossed. “So?” she drawled.

“So,” he echoed, mirroring her stance. She was surprised when he seemed to shift uncomfortably under her stare. Such a powerful creature he was, and here he was intimidated by her. It was almost comical.

“What’s the deal with you and me and the writings,” she snapped.

Phantom’s eyes went skyward. “Many of the yeti believe that you and I are the ones in their weird prophecy,” he said dryly. “I’m not convinced.”

“And what’s the prophecy, exactly?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

She glowered at him but decided to change tactics. “Why don’t you believe them?”

He was quiet for a moment, his head tilting as he studied her. “Because I’d like to think that I’m meant to find my own path. Not walk something that was decided by destiny, or whatever.”

She blinked at that, and her anger banked. “Oh, that’s fair,” she said. She raked her hand through her silky hair, blowing out a breath as her eyes flicked to one of the spiraled tops of a nearby building.

“Tsuel did a nice job on your hair, by the way,” Phantom murmured then.

Sam sputtered and gaped at him.

“You look a lot different than when you first got here,” he added. He was studying her with that keen acid gaze of his that always managed to unnerve the shit out of her.

“Uh, thanks?” Sam said. “I think?”

 “I’m making you uncomfortable again,” he observed.

She wanted to argue, but knew it was irrefutable when he could literally sense her emotions. So she said instead, “It’s like you said once”—she gestured between them—“this is weird.”

His mouth twitched with a small grin. “I concur.”

She eyed him then, even though it felt like there was a bird fluttering against her ribcage, as every muscle fiber twitched for her to retreat, but she held her ground. She knew she could leave. Could walk away and tell him not to follow and that he would listen. He’d done as much already. Had avoided her as much as possible and had given her an out as quickly as he’d been able to earlier when Frostbreath had all but forced them to conversate.

“What happened at the Guys in White facility four years ago?” she asked him. It wasn’t exactly four years ago—but it was close enough. It had happened in the months following Amity’s fall, another fuckery cast into the shitstorm of their first year underground.  

He stiffened, his calm demeanor ebbing away. “What do you mean?”

“You destroyed it,” she said. “Why?”

A prickly silence befell them, and Sam watched Phantom’s hands curl into fists at his sides. His eyes seemed to brighten, a dangerous, terrible energy now charging the air. It was like electricity, zapping every one of her nerve endings.

She took a step back.

Phantom had already looked away from her. “Not all ghosts are bad, Sam, despite what you’ve been led to believe. But that place?”  He laughed without humor. “Those humans were bad. They deserved what happened to them.”

Sam stared at him, resisting every instinct that said to run. “I’m not saying I agree with them. I don’t even know what they were studying there,” she said. “But the only records we have of you are what you did . . .” She swallowed. “What happened there.”

His eyes flashed with venom, and that feral snarl was one she recognized from a distant memory. She had been delirious during their first encounter back in Amity, but even then, she’d recognized him for the apex predator that he was. Vicious. Terrifying. Unhuman.

“They experimented on ghosts,” he said in near growl. “Ripped them apart. Piece by piece. I had friends there.”

The rattling in Sam’s chest was nearly unbearable. A powerful, harrowing feeling enveloped her, as if his very aura flared. Was she imagining the small jolts of white electricity she saw flicking around his hands? She took another step back, her eyes wide.

And then, just like that, the feeling dimmed. He blinked, and the angry glow of his eyes lessened considerably. “I’m scaring you,” he murmured shamefully.   

She feigned composure. “I’m not scared.” But her voice cracked. And she knew that he was aware of exactly what she was feeling.

He watched her for a moment, quietly noting the distance she’d put between them in the narrow alley.  He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?” she said breathlessly.

“Would you believe talking to pretty girls?”

She glared at him, and he barked out a soft laugh.

“I’m not good at . . . “ He sighed again, then gestured to her. “This.”

She crossed her arms. “Did you just seriously gesture to all of me?”

“Humans,” Phantom said. “I’m not good at being around humans. Talking to humans. Or talking to anyone in general, really.” He shifted, his cloak flowing around his broad form. “Elle does most of the talking. I do most of the—”

“Fighting?” she finished for him, arching a brow. She refused to appear as intimidated as she felt.

“I was going to say brooding. But yeah, sure, that too.” He didn’t seem pleased to admit it, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Though my sister is no pushover. Her talents are just . . . different than mine.”

Sam studied him, as if seeing him for the first time. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that she could see it, she realized it had been there the entire time. In the quiet pauses, in the way he withdrew from those around him—even his family. She could see it in his tensed shoulders. In that blank way in which he composed himself. Phantom was teeming with self-loathing.

“There are bad ghosts, too,” he said.

Sam snorted at that. “Oh, I’m aware.”

He shook his head. “Most of the ghosts in your realm are different,” he said. “Unnatural. But true ghosts, the ones like Elle and me, can be bad, too.”

Sam was baffled by what he’d just told her. “Unnatural?”

Phantom nodded. “Your realm is poisoned. Many the ghosts that plague it are not natural entities.”

She shook her head. “And there’s more ghosts like you?”

His mouth pursed. “Kind of.”

“Where are they?”

“Around. Many went into hiding when the war broke out.”

“Against their own king?”

Phantom glowered, but it wasn’t directed at her. His eyes blazed again. “Pariah Dark is no friend of the ghosts,” he muttered.

“What does he want?”

“Infinite domination,” he said darkly.

Sam shuddered at that, wrapping her arms around herself. She opened her mouth to ask him more, when his eyes flicked past hers and to some unseen spot from behind her.

She turned, just in time to see three juvenile yeti gaping at them from where they’d just rounded into the alley. Two male and one female from the looks of it. They were short with spindly limbs, the horns of the males short and budding from the puff of the soft white fur on their heads. They were young, but not like Tsuel and Frostbreath’s tiny infant, and Sam wondered if perhaps they were something akin to human tweens.

“It’s Danny Phantom!” the smaller male on the left hissed excitedly to the other two, who glared in return, as if to say, “yeah we know, dumbass.”

The tallest one in the middle, the other male, smiled widely. “You are so cool!”

Phantom gave them a forced smile in return. He was clearly uncomfortable. Whether it was the attention or the adoration with which they gazed at him, she wasn’t sure, though she suspected it was probably both. “Thanks.”

The yeti cubs glanced at her next. Sam winced, expecting the worst. But they simply stared at her, eyes wide with open curiosity.  

“My father says you’re a monster,” the taller one said. It wasn’t an accusation, but a statement of fact.

Sam shrugged. “At least that makes me sound cooler than I am.”

She was surprised when all three of them snickered at that.  

“Well, my mom says you’re going to save us all,” the smallest one, the female, said softly in a voice that reminded her of windchimes. “I think you’re cool, too.”

Sam swallowed at that, taken aback. Phantom stepped up to her side, close enough that his cloak brushed against her. She watched in amazement as a blue undulating sphere of polar energy formed in his palm. “Well, your mother is on the right track, Freyja,” he said, “because my friend here certainly isn’t a monster.”

The blue sphere seemed to solidify into a diamond of pure, clear ice that he handed her. She grinned bashfully as she took it from him.

“What! She gets some of your ice! No way!” The smaller of the two males groaned.

“That is so not fair!” the taller male agreed. He stared longingly at the shimmering icy jewel in Freyja’s claws.

Phantom grinned at them in amusement and made each of the two males their own little diamonds that they took excitedly. All three yeti cubs beamed at each other, as if they couldn’t believe their luck.

“When are you and Elle going to teach us how to make swords and stuff,” the taller male asked.

“When you’re older, Finn,” Phantom said, bemused. “And when you have Icefang’s approval.”

“But he’s so mean,” the smaller male whined. “You guys weren’t much older than us when you closed the rift and beat the Fright Night.”

Sam started at that, her head whipping to Phantom.

“Just remember what I always tell you guys,” Phantom said, straightening to his full height with a serious expression on his face. If he noticed the shocked look that she gawked at him with, he didn’t acknowledge it.

The three cubs mirrored his pose, standing to attention. “Try very hard not to be overconfident, because when you get overconfident, that's when something snaps up and bites you,” they said in unison.

“Correct,” he approved with a nod. “How about you guys just work on those ice powers first, and then we’ll talk, alright?”

The taller male sulked at that. “Mine haven’t come in yet,” he said. “None of ours have.”

Phantom ruffled the tuft of hair sprouting between the little knobs that were the small yeti’s horns. “You’ll get there,” he said. “But until then, save the battling for the adults, ‘kay?” Then he gestured to Sam. “And you guys are being rude. You haven’t even introduced yourselves to my friend.”

“I’m Freyja,” the female said, waving shyly at her.

“Finn,” the tall one said with a nod.

“Dagfinnr,” the smaller male said, and actually stepped up to her and extended a clawed hand. “It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, m’lady.”

“Uh, I’m Sam,” she replied lamely, taking the offered hand. Though the young yeti was roughly her height, his hand still swallowed hers.

Dagfinnr grinned and shook her hand with gusto.

“Sam,” Dagfinnr repeated, “A beautiful name for a beautiful female.”

Sam blushed in embarrassment, just as Finn snorted from behind his friend. “Don’t mind him, he’ll flirt with anyone.”

But it was the tiny Freyja who leapt forward and dragged her friend back by his scruff. “Knock it off, Dag, you’re embarrassing us in front of Danny.”

Phantom was smirking wildly at the interaction, at the flush on Sam’s cheeks.  “Alright, you delinquents. Time to scram before your parents catch you breaking the rules.”

Finn’s yellow eyes widened. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“Ghost’s honor,” Phantom said with mock seriousness.

They grinned at him, then cast wordless glances at each other, before spinning on their heels and scurrying into the direction they’d come from initially. But not before Dagfinnr had turned and given Sam a final parting wink.

Sam stared after them. “Wow.”

“I know right,” Phantom deadpanned.

“That was . . .”

“Weird yet wholesome?” He snorted. “Tell me about it. But they mean well.”

Sam crossed her arms when his cloak brushed against her again in the wind. This was the closest he’d stood near her in weeks, and she struggled with the urge to step away from him. “What did they mean about you and the Fright Night?”

Phantom stiffened. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze still lingering at the narrow crook between buildings where the three young yeti disappeared through. “There was a really bad attack here a few years ago,” he murmured.  “I stopped it. Sent that waste of ectoplasm back through the hellhole he crawled out of.”

She shuddered at the quiet danger in his voice and was grateful that it wasn’t directed at her this time. Lowly, she said, “He annihilated the city I grew up in.” She shook her head, her voice breaking as she added, “And killed a lot of people.”

“I know.” There was a rustling of fabric and snow as he shifted beside her, his searing green eyes boring into her. “And I’m sorry.”

Something brittle and poorly healed in her seemed to shatter at that, at the genuine empathy that laced his words.  “Why do you even care?”

He was studying her again. From her peripheral, she recognized that pensive tilt of his head that he so often used when he was trying to figure something out.  “Who did you lose?” His voice was soft, as if that fragile thing inside her was a delicate piece of glass.

Her spine went rigid, and her head whipped sideways to glare at him.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Understanding shone in that simmering green of his. And she hated it. Hated that the very emotions she hid from the world were on such display for him. She couldn’t retreat and hide it from him like she did everyone else in her life.

He seemed to read that in her. From whatever he gleaned from her stupid human emotions. Because he nodded, as if she’d spoken. “I won’t pry.”

Anger. Rage. Grief. The emotions were poison, seeping through her veins. Her fingers, numb from the chilled air, curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her innate fear forgotten, she seethed at Phantom, and in that moment, she hated him. “How about you just stay out of my fucking head.”

She stormed away. Where she was going, she didn’t know. Didn’t fucking care, either. She just wanted to be alone—and as far away from him as she could get. So, she just walked.

Snow crunched beneath her boots. The normally blue skies of the Far Frozen was a sheet of grey overhead, shrouded by clouds and the billowy snowflakes that swirled around her. The narrow spaces between buildings in this part of Ec’Nelis felt like a wind tunnel, and she gritted her teeth against the chilled wind that clawed at her like icy fingers.

She recoiled when Phantom suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of her.

His face was neutral, that crafted mask of blankness that he saved for the public. But his eyes were green fire. He pointed in the direction behind her. “The castle is that way.”

Her lip curled. “So?”

“So,” he drawled. “This way leads out of town. To the wilds.”

She arched a brow at him, hands on her hips. “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner here.”

“You aren’t.”

“But let me guess,” she said sarcastically, “this way is off limits.”

“As of now, yes.”

“What are you going to do. Stop me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Temperatures plummet once the sun goes down, and I have no desire to explain to my father, or Tsuel, why I let the human freeze to death.”

Sam paused at that, but for only a moment. Her anger spiking, she stormed up to him, closing the gap so they were separated by a mere breath. His brows rose at the proximity, but he didn’t back down or recede an inch. Her insides twisted as their eyes met in a battle of wills, that acid green searing deep into her soul where her primal fear dwelled—and she ignored it. Shoved it somewhere far and deep because she was beyond sick of being afraid of him.

“I can’t help it, you know.”

He’d said it so softly that she almost didn’t hear him.

“What?” she demanded.

He heaved a long, resigned breath and looked away from her, his face unreadable. “Telling a ghost to get out of your head is like telling someone to stop seeing colors.”

She blinked at him, her anger banking.

He continued. “Trust me. I would love to not know everything that you’re feeling all the time. Humans are . . .” He grimaced. “Expressive. Vivid. When you feel something, it’s like you’re always screaming it.” He finally backed away from her, as if he was the who needed the space this time. “I can usually tune it out. But . . .”

“But what?” she asked, her voice small.

He seemed to be struggling for words, clearly uncomfortable. “You in particular, Sam, you feel a lot. Your anger and your . . .  hate is very potent.”

Sam deflated completely at that. She raked her hand through her hair. “I don’t know if I hate you or not,” she told him honestly, crossing her arms protectively around herself while her shoulders hiked to her ears. “I just . . . I’m just so . . . angry. At everything. I miss the Fen—my friends, back home. I miss Tucker. I—”

“Tucker?” Phantom asked, head tilting. “You’ve never spoken of your kin.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“Is Tucker your mate?”

Sam sputtered and gaped at him, utterly horrified. “No!” she gasped. “He’s my friend. My best friend. He was connected to my headset when those ghosts at the reactor got me.” She shook her head. “He definitely thinks I’m dead . . . and that kills me.”

Something akin to a somber empathy danced in his acid green eyes. It was a startling shift from the anger and malice that had been simmering there only moments ago. “You don’t mention missing your parents.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam bit her lip, stifling the kneejerk reaction to bristle and snap at him. “I don’t want to talk about them,” she all but whispered.

Phantom nodded. “Alright.”

They stood in an uncomfortable silence with each other. Phantom studied the banister arching off the nearest building, while Sam stared at her snow dusted boots. It was an awkward silence, but not a hostile one.

Finally, Phantom said, “It’s getting late. We should probably get you back to the castle.” He glanced at the sky, as if he could somehow see the sun setting behind the wall of grey clouds and snowfall.

She nodded back silently.

Curious stares and whispers trailed after them as they strode together through the bustling market, and Sam was surprised when not a single yeti bothered to approach Phantom this time around. If anything, the crowds seemed to part in their path.   

At least, until they reached the base of the stairs, and Tsuel appeared. “Dear cubs!” she exclaimed, glancing between them anxiously.

Phantom nodded to her, his face still blank though there was warmth in his voice when he said, “Tsuel.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Sam, her brows so high they nearly touched the ears atop her head. “I am just about to head up to the castle for the evening if you would like to join me, dear cub.”

“I would love to,” Sam said, a little too fast.

Sam didn’t wait a moment longer before she scurried up the steps ahead of Tsuel, intent on putting as much distance between herself and the ghost as possible. She didn’t stop or slow until she reached those beautiful twin doors, and then waited patiently for the female yeti to open them for her, striding inside without so much as a single glance behind her.

Tsuel was quiet, thoughtful even, for a long time as they walked together.  Which Sam was fine with. Her nerves were rattled and a weariness like no other loomed behind her eyes. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t care.

They walked through that enchanting throne room and up the sparkling stairs, before Tsuel spoke. “I am sorry for my mate.”

Sam stuffed her hands into the fur lined pockets of her coat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I did not know he would force you two to communicate so haphazardly.”

“It’s not like Phantom did anything bad,” Sam said.

“Of course not. He is our protector,” Tsuel said, her voice firm. “But your relationship with each other is tenuous.” Sam noted the questioning lilt to her voice as the female glanced sideways at her. “I had wanted you two to speak on terms that were your own.”

“Or not at all,” Sam grumbled.

Tsuel sighed. “Cub, may I give you some advice?”

“Is it optional?” Sam asked.

“It is not. My request was merely a formality.”

Sam frowned at her as the yeti brought them to a halt in a vacant winding passageway. Crystalized stalactites glimmered overhead. She scuffed her shoe on the shiny floor, her shoulders tensed.

“My mate is not a patient male,” Tsuel said, her voice resigned. “But his hearts are large and full. When he sees you and Danny, he thinks only of his love for you both.”

“I’m not going to hold a grudge against Frostbreath if that’s what you’re getting at,” Sam said.

“That is not what I am . . .” Tsuel frowned, her large jaw tensing as she seemed to fumble with the words. “Getting at. What I am saying is that while you and Danny may come from two different worlds, you both harbor much of the same turmoil. While I do believe some more tact should have been employed, this was a conversation I have intended to have with you myself soon anyway.”

Sam felt her stomach drop, hating the authority she so rarely heard from Tsuel so blatant in her tone. The female was usually a source of warmth and comfort for Sam, but right now she just felt . . . scolded? Like a mother expressing disappointment in a child’s actions. It made her ears hot, her defensiveness bristling.

“Why does it matter if I talk to him or not, anyway?” Sam snapped, crossing her arms petulantly. “Just a few more months and I’m out of here. And I’ll never have to see or talk to him again.”

The hard look that Tsuel was giving her, however, belied that sentiment.

“I am going home, right?” Sam asked, slowly, her voice quavering.

“Yes,” Tsuel said simply. “But to what end, cub?”

“What do you mean?”

“You return to the Mortal Realm, and then what?”

Sam shrugged. “Go back to trying not to die, I guess?”

Her thoughts became a churning sea of grey walls and starchy jumpsuits. Shitty food and ice-cold showers. Poisoned skies and a city comprised of rubble and defeat. The thought of returning to that world, to the normalcy of what she’d left behind, did something to her then. It awakened a part of her that she had long thought dormant.

She’d once been so righteous. So adamant that a better world could be had through grit and compassion alone. In her younger years, her resolve had been unfaltering—an unmovable object in the face of so many unstoppable forces. She’d believed, not only in the betterment of the world, but in herself, too—had prided herself on that.

Until the Fright Night fractured that part of her, ripping her heart out right along with the shrapnel of all that she was.

The Fright Night . . . who’d been defeated by Phantom. Allegedly.  

Sam swallowed hard. Tsuel hadn’t spoken, letting Sam guide herself through her own thoughts. The female’s golden eyes blazed as she studied her.

“You want me to figure out how to live,” Sam said, quietly.

Tsuel’s wide muzzle split into a warm, toothy grin. “Yes, dear cub. You and Danny both.”

Confusion knitted her brows together. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

“You both bear scars of the past,” she said, guiding Sam to continue walking with her through the icy passageway. “Neither of you may reach your full potential until you have confronted them.”

Sam’s thoughts strayed to the paintings she’d seen at an old yeti’s booth in the market circle. At the war-torn Ec’Nelis and the renderings of both Phantoms depicted in battle. Of Phantom, thrumming with power and rage, illuminated by his own unearthly glow and amplified further by the celestial moons at his back.

Was there a connection? She shook her head to herself as she pondered every possibility. “I don’t promise anything, but I’ll try,” she said, nearly grumbling it.

“I am glad to hear it,” Tsuel said. “And though I have already had this very conversation with Danny time and time again, I will be sure to remind him myself when I see him next.” She glanced at Sam wearily. “Though he is just as stubborn as you are.”

Sam couldn’t help the snort of amusement at that. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

Tsuel sighed “He does not like being intensely disliked. He also does not believe in forcing you to interact with him. That cub is very . . . “Tsuel trailed off, her voice wavering as if a dark thought struck her. Finally, just as they reached the kitchen, she added, “He is very hard on himself.”

Sam refrained from making any of the snarky remarks bubbling just below the surface. Instead, she froze in the entryway of the kitchen, gaping at the elaborate spread of food strewn out atop the marbled island. A small grey-furred foxen was hurriedly adding garnish—those dreaded fucking leaves from hell—to many of the platters.

“What’s all this?” Sam asked.

“Frostbite is holding a court dinner tonight,” Tsuel replied, bustling through the kitchen to aid the frantic garnish-wielding creature. “You may join if you like.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks but no thanks,” Sam said. “I’m good on those for a while. And by a while, I mean forever.”

Court dinners had been rather infrequent events so far in the two months she’d been in the Far Frozen. She’d made sure to steadfastly avoid them all. She had no desire to be a part of that mortifying catastrophe again, especially after what happened last time.

Tsuel nodded. “Very well then. At least make a plate for yourself, and then I will bring you to your room for the night.”

Sam nodded and began piling her plate with heaping amounts of food from the dishes. Her mouth watered at the sight of it all.

And then she felt it. That cold presence.

“I can take her, Tsuel,” Phantom said. “To give you a break.”

Tsuel and Sam both turned to face him where he stood in the kitchen’s entryway. Sam gave him an incredulous look, while Tsuel seemed to gape at him in surprise.

“Only if Sam is agreeable, cub,” Tsuel said. She glanced between them both, her brow high. “I do not mind taking her myself. She is never a bother.”

Sam was frozen to the spot, her mountain of food clutched in white-knuckled hands, her heart thrumming.

He stood looming as he always did, his face blank, that dusky cloak a pit of darkness against the bright shining stones of the corridor behind him. He was studying her, like a cat to a mouse, a single brow arched like he expected her to immediately decline the offer. What he could want from her so soon after their rather awkward conversation, she didn’t know.

But she was stubborn. And slightly curious.

Sam frowned. “Fine.”

Tsuel didn’t seem convinced, but she said, “Very well. Good night, my dear cub.”

“G’night, Tsuel,” Sam muttered. She followed the flourish of Phantom’s cloak as he turned and walked. At least the walk wasn’t a far one. The castle’s kitchen and large dining chambers were near the part of the mountain where the natural warmth emanated, so she knew they would be to her room soon enough.

He’d slowed until she fell into step at his side.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I wanted to show you something.”

“Show me something? Like what.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirking lightly. “You’ll see.”

They walked in a silence that was both tense and awkward, until they reached her room.

“Well, this is me,” Sam quipped, nudging open the only door in the whole castle that was small enough for her to do so with her hip. “Thanks for the silent escort, I guess.”

She had hoped he would leave, but knew he still lurked at the entryway. She could feel him there, looming like a dark shadow, and her stomach twisted as she set her mountainous tray of food down on the little end table by her fireplace.

She immediately set to work on the fire, poking the flames with her iron rod until they burst into twisting spires of light and heat.

“Can I help you with something?” she snapped at him, annoyed by his silent hovering. “I am perfectly capable of making a fire without supervision.”

His eyes flicked to hers from where he’d been glancing about the room with an unreadable expression.

"So . . .," he began in a conversational voice, "do you like the room?"

Sam blinked at him. Then turned back to poking at her fire.

"It's probably better than the medical sector was, right? Less icy, and stuff."

Silence.

"Did Tsuel tell you that this is the room that Elle and I grew up in?"

This . . . caused Sam to pause. She looked over her shoulder, watching Phantom's ethereal eyes as they traced unseen patterns along the masonry of her ceiling.

"She may have mentioned it," Sam responded, assuming nonchalance. She shrugged her shoulders. "Why?"

Phantom shook his head. He pointed high, toward the arched center of her ceiling. Sam's eyes followed the direction of his hand, and she frowned in confusion. Her room was stone, not ice, so it was lit with lanterns instead of those weird energy orbs. There was nothing that she could see where he was pointing.

"Sometime, if you're ever up to it," Phantom said, "warm the room with fire and then draw the fire skins. The absence of light may surprise you."

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Fire skins?"

“The drapes that surround the fireplace and your lanterns. They are flame resistant so they won’t burn and will still allow the fire to warm your room.”

Sam glanced at that bunched blue-grey fabric that she’d noted as peculiar on her first night in this room. Without much to go on, she’d assumed they were merely decorative. “Why close them?”

His mouth turned up at a single corner. “You’ll see.”

She sighed. “Cryptic as always. Typical.”

“This one isn’t a secret, it’s a surprise.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means it’s a peace offering,” he said, stepping back from her doorway, icy blue energy already an undulating sphere in his palm. “And . . . I hope it helps you feel better. It certainly helped me.” 

And then, he was gone, and her doorway was now a gleaming wall of ice.

Sam blew out an annoyed breath, rolling her eyes at the gaudy ice wall, and kicked off her boots. She sank to the floor with her tray of food, her numb toes wriggling before the wonderous heat radiating from the flames.

It was long after Phantom had left her and she had sufficiently warmed the room with fire, that she eyed the ceiling inquisitively. She was curious, like a cat to a closed door. As much as she wanted to ignore Phantom's suggestion, she found that the urge to know was quickly overcoming her petulance.

"Damn it," Sam muttered to herself. She lurched from her spot on the floor and reached for one of the soft drapes framing her fireplace. The fabric was velvety beneath her fingers as she deftly removed the silver cord binding it together. "If this thing catches on fire and burns me, I will destroy him."

She immediately followed suit on the second drape. And then the ones around her lanterns.

She wasn't too surprised when the skins remained intact. Of the things he had to lie about, that one seemed a bit dull. No, what was surprising was the change that overcame her room once the last remnants of light faded away and was overcome by sheer darkness.

They appeared, one by one, from her memory.

There were thousands of them. Sam couldn't believe it. When was the last time she had seen them? When she was a child? Must've been, because that was before the once-blue sky of her human world had been completely overcome by the ectoplasmic infiltration. Seeing them now in such a way was surreal. Her jaw dropped as she spun, her eyes never once leaving the vast sea of twinkling stars above her head.

There were constellations—the big dipper, the belt of Orion, Gemini, and more—along with the bigger, brighter spheres of light that must represent the solar system. It was amazing, and even though she knew that they weren't real, she couldn't help but recall the lazy nights she'd spent under those very stars when she was little. The memories came flooding from somewhere deep and long forgotten in her mind, and she fell to her knees, unable to stop the tears that streaked down her cheeks.

The nighttime sky of the Mortal Realm glimmered above her for the rest of the night.

Notes:

God Damn. This chapter did not want to end haha. But I enjoyed writing it. I have this story loosely outlined with plot targets for each chapter, but they still manage to surprise me every time I write them. Fun fact, that quote that Danny makes the cubs recite is in fact a real quote if anyone recognizes it.

And I'm curious. This story is a writing experiment for me, and I like to play around with different ideas and writing elements. I think the POV shifts back to the Mortal Realm are necessary, but do you guys like when they shift more than that, like to Danny or Frostbite? Or do you like minimal POV shifts and prefer the extra mystery? I ask because I'm torn on whether to occasionally shift to Danny and get more of his perspective or not. Let me know! The story will still predominately follow Sam, whether I include his POV or not. Danny actually will have the main POV when I eventually write the sequel.

Thank you so much to those of you who leave all the lovely comments and kudos here. I'm finishing this story regardless if I get feedback or not, but it definitely helps with my motivation. Y'all make my day every time and I ride that high the rest of the day haha.

Chapter 13: Grim Discoveries

Frozen Fire

Chapter Thirteen: Grim Discoveries

xXx

Tucker stared at the knife.

At Sam’s knife.

It glared like a beacon in the lab’s bright fluorescent lighting. He almost couldn’t make sense of it, his mind a churning tide of grief and confusion.

“Is that. . .?” Maddie breathed. Her chair released a cacophonous screech as she rose from her seat at the supercomputer and joined Tucker at the table. Jack followed her, his large form an encroaching shadow that eclipsed some of the bright glaring light.

Tucker nodded numbly, even as Jack bent and lifted the knife from the table. “It is,” Tucker murmured. He barely recognized his own voice. He watched Jack slowly examine the jade tinted blade with an expert’s eye. “She had it on her when she left that day.”

Maddie’s eyes became glassy. “But if they found her knife . . .” She trailed off and gave Tucker a beseeching look. He knew what she was asking him.

He shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything about any of the teams finding . . . her.”

He hadn’t been able to say that poisonous word that lurked at the tip of his tongue—avoiding it with all his might. Sam would never just be “remains” to him. He couldn’t bring himself to think of her in that way. Like acknowledging it would make it true. It was a truth he still shied away from, even two months later.

Maddie was quiet as she studied the shining blade in Jack’s hands. She wrung her fingers and took a steadying breath, before her eyes flicked to the additional item that had fallen from the bundle of cloth. “He sent a data chip too?”

Tucker retrieved it from the cool table and handed it to her.

She wasted no time as she hurried back to her computer and slotted it into the reader that she and Tucker had designed early on in his apprenticeship.  It had taken some work to get it to function with the older technology of the compound’s equipment, but they’d managed.

Maddie’s brow furrowed when her computer chimed as it recognized the chip.

“What is it, Madds?” Jack asked.

“It’s from drone number nine,” she said slowly, her head tilting.

“The one from the park?”

She nodded, her expression still puzzled.

Even Tucker was confused. “But Sam had just changed out that chipset and replaced its battery pack. It should still have been fine for another month. Another two, even.”

“I know,” Maddie agreed. “I guess we won’t know why Dale pulled the chip early until the data finishes syncing,”

Tucker groaned. “But that could take hours.”

“Maybe it’s because he found her knife,” Jack said then, and both Maddie and Tucker looked at him incredulously. Up until now, he’d been quiet, his grim face impassive as he studied Sam’s knife, tilted it this way and that.

Maddie’s lips pursed in thought. “Maybe he thinks we’ll get something useful from the drone’s data.”

“Like what?” Tucker asked.

Maddie’s thin shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know. Multiple reports already stated that Sam was taken by the horde near the reactor.”

“But if Dale Barbarra found her knife in the park . . .?” Jack said, his dark brows low over his eyes. “I know our girl, she wouldn’t have just left this knife laying around.”

“Which means she was alive after those ghosts took her,” Maddie gasped.

“And if it was near the drone, then maybe it picked up on something,” Tucker added. His heart jackhammered in his chest, even as a knot twisted somewhere deep in his stomach. A large part of him wasn’t ready for this—to learn what exactly had ended his best friend. Hell, he hadn’t even begun unraveling the tangled mess that was his grief, his aching sorrow. But he knew he needed to uncover whatever truth was hidden, to avenge her in any way he could. It was all he could do for her now.

His fingers rapped rhythmically against the etched stainless-steel surface of the table while his thoughts drifted. The FENTODRONES were good for environmental analysis, but were also programmed to collect video feeds of any noteworthy ectosignatures they picked up on. Perhaps they would find something.

They waited impatiently for the data to synchronize. Maddie paced while Jack tinkered with one of his contraptions, this time a giant dart gun that utilized vials of an electric green compound he’d synthesized recently. Tucker had meant to ask him about it, but his mind was too muddled. Instead, he played a game of Snake on an old PDA he’d had since he was a kid.

With no windows to signal the passing of time, he wasn’t sure how long it took the computer to finalize, but jumped as Maddie inhaled a sharp breath through her teeth. “It’s done.” Her voice shook.

Tucker and Jack crowded around Maddie at her supercomputer. Her hand trembled on her computer mouse as she clicked through various pages of encrypted data until she reached a simple folder that was labeled “video surveillance.”

Tucker swallowed hard when he noticed the folder contained several gigabytes of data. It meant that a noteworthy ectonsignature had been detected and recorded.  And when she opened them and the videos played, he felt his thunderous heart launch into his throat.

The images were grainy. It was obvious that the drone had been far away when it had first picked up on the disturbance. Red smoke clouded the screen. But even through the dusty red haze that billowed across the drone’s viewfinder, he could see it.

“It’s a ghost dog,” Maddie observed in surprise.

“The one that our scanners picked up on?” Jack asked

Maddie’s short hair swayed as she nodded. “Yes.” Tucker couldn’t see her face, but he saw her lean closer to her screen. “Its behavior is . . .  odd.”

Tucker’s wide eyes studied the screen. He watched the massive bulldog of a creature as it staggered, almost drunkenly, through the air. Its movements were confused and nonsensical, like it was rabid. Even in the grainy images, he could see the glistening lower teeth from its massive underbite and shuddered. “That thing is terrifying.”

“And strange,” Maddie murmured absently. Tucker shot her a strange look, only to be taken aback by the sheer wonder he saw on her face. “So out of place without those formless wisps we’ve been getting.” 

Suddenly, the creature froze, its floppy ears pricked at something unseen in the distance. It bounded out of frame and the video ceased.

“That’s it?” Jack said.

“There’s one more,” Maddie said as she clicked to the next video.

The drones were programmed to follow an ectosignature as long as it stayed within its jurisdiction. FENTODRONE #9 had done just that. It had tracked the ghostly creature deeper into Amity’s wooded park, traversing through the sickly forest. What had once been lush and green was now dark and grey, the trees rotting as they leaned across the frame. They resembled clawed fingers, reaching for them through the drone’s camera, like terrible beasts waiting in the shadows.

Then the camera panned as the drone burst through a cage of branches. Its wide angled viewfinder narrowed in on its target.  

This time all three of them gasped.  

“It’s Sam!” Tucker cried, his knees wobbling.

“Oh my god,” Maddie breathed.

“And the Phantom,” Jack growled.

The drone focused just as the ghost dog launched for the humanoid ghost that had Sam in its grasp. In a blur, Phantom hurled Sam away, before it propelled itself at the ghost dog. The ensuing battle was brief but brutal, with Phantom using what looked like an ice power to freeze the ghost dog’s large snout, binding its jaws.

Tucker’s eyes flicked between the two ghosts and the dark lump that was his friend, tears streaking down his cheeks. The image was so grainy that he couldn’t see the details, but he could see enough to know that she was horrifically injured. Acid burned in the back of his throat. What had Phantom been doing to her?

He couldn’t watch this. He needed to look away. Needed to hurl up the contents of his roiling stomach.

But he couldn’t look away, either.

Then another figure appeared, lumbering from somewhere off screen. “What the hell is that?” he asked, horrified.

“I’m not sure,” Maddie replied.

The figure was large, much bigger than Phantom, but smaller than the ghost dog. It had white fur, a long pluming tail, and large blue horns that curled and gleamed under the red light. The creature turned slightly, and he also noticed an arm that was comprised of the same substance as its horns. He couldn’t be sure, but Tucker was certain he could see the paleness of bones winking through the blue. Its body was large and rounded, short necked, and though it was hard to make out its face due to the image quality, he could see the wide muzzle that kind of reminded him of a bear’s.

The . . . thing approached Sam, slowly, its arms splayed wide as Sam dragged her broken body to her feet, teetering as she tried to remain standing, her charged weapon poised in the creature’s face.

“Get it Sam!” Jack shouted at the screen. “That’s our girl! Destroy that spook!”

But Sam didn’t. Instead, she dropped her weapon. Tucker watched in horror as his best friend sank to her knees and then toppled limply to her side.

Maddie unleashed a strangled noise that kind of sounded like a wounded animal. Jack’s breath hitched, his gloved fingers curling against the desk of the supercomputer as he sagged with grief and horror. Then the large man jerked and thrust his large arm around Maddie’s quivering shoulders, drew her close to his bulk.  

Wide-eyed, Tucker couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop watching. His body was trembling, and he wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so close to the screen, but he was a mere five inches away now, the image distorted due to the well of tears burning in his eyes. He cursed and wiped them away with the back of his hand.

The large creature seemed to study Sam’s body. Then it kneeled to her side and pressed its large hand to her cheek. Even from the distance and the rough pixelization, Tucker recognized the ruddy color staining the creature’s fur. Blood. Sam’s blood.

The drone drifted slightly, its little mechanical eye shifting and focusing, until it caught a shot of Phantom as it yanked the ghost dog to the ground next to Sam and the white-furred creature. The dog struggled mercilessly against its binds, though Phantom seemed to have no trouble holding it at bay despite its much larger size.

There was a pause as the monstrous ghosts appeared to converse with each other, heads turning, hands gesturing to Sam’s lifeless form. Tucker couldn’t be sure, but it looked like they were arguing. Phantom’s eyes glowed an eerie electric green in the dim light. That sight alone caused a fresh bout of terror to clench within his gut. His poor friend. Alone with those monsters.

The white-furred creature turned then, and with a gentleness Tucker didn’t expect, it scooped Sam into its arms and cradled her to its giant barreled chest. He could see the dark mop of Sam’s helmetless head lolling to the side, her disfigured arm dangling.

“What are they doing to her?” Tucker asked, horrified.

“I’m not sure,” Maddie said in a wavering voice.

“Damn spooks,” Jack hissed. He pounded large fists onto Maddie’s desk so hard that her mouse and keyboard lurched. Veins strained in his thick neck. “Leave her alone!”

Phantom watched the white-furred beast, its head shaking, as if in resignation. It started to turn, then halted as its eyes caught on Sam’s ectogun that still lay at the white-furred beast’s feet. Phantom snatched the weapon, turning it in its hand as if to observe it under the dim light, before it plopped it unceremoniously onto Sam’s stomach. Then Phantom gestured with its free hand to the furred beast, as if waiting for something.

Tucking Sam into a single arm, the furred creature reached into a satchel that was slung across its shoulder and pulled out a glowing object that resembled a scroll. They observed it briefly, before the furred creature pointed to somewhere in the distance.

Phantom nodded. In a burst of speed and power it seized the furred creature under its arm and then suddenly all of them, the ghost dog and Sam included, seemed to wink out of existence all together.

The ensuing silence in the lab seemed to howl as a result.

They all stared at the screen, even as the grainy footage ended and was abruptly replaced with the white file management screen, the video now reverted to a small thumbnail and a label.

“What . . . the hell . . . just happened,” Tucker said hoarsely. He stumbled backwards, bracing his weight against the table behind him.

“Phantom took her,” Jack hissed. Tucker winced as Jack seized the nearest object, a Fenton Bazooka, and sent it careening across the lab until it collided with the nearest wall with a loud CRACK.

Maddie was shaking her head, eyes wide.

“What kind of ghost was that other thing?” Tucker demanded. “And what the hell was the Phantom doing with Sam?”

“I don’t know.” Maddie’s voice was hollow, defeated. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen corporeal ghosts in Amity . . .” She shook her head again. “Oh, Sam. Sam.”

“Madds,” Jack said. He crouched at her side and slung his arm around her like he could ward away all her pain. 

Acid continued to scorch the back of Tucker’s throat. He swallowed it back, though his eyes burned as hot tears streaked down his cheeks. “Barbarra must have found her knife, saw the drone, and figured it would have answers.”

Maddie’s eyes shone, but her expression hardened. “I need to watch it again.”

 “Mrs. Fenton, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tucker asked.

“It is.” Her voice held a strength that surprised him. He looked at her then. Really looked at her. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but her jaw was set, her shoulders squared. “Their behavior is all over the place. It’s an anomaly and I need to study it.” Then her sea green eyes turned to steel as they bored into his. “Tell no one about this.”

His brows rose. “Shouldn’t Damon  . . .?”

“No.” Maddie’s voice was firm. Hard, even. It surprised Tucker so much that he jumped from where he still leaned against the table behind her supercomputer. “This stays in this lab. No one knows but us.”

Jack was studying his wife with an intensity that Tucker was unused to seeing in him. “Madds, are we sure we wanna do this again. After what happened last time . . .?”

Tucker looked between them in alarm. “After what happened last time? What happened? What are you guys talking about?”

“Yes, Jack,” she affirmed, resolute. “The appearance of ectocorporeality means something. I know it does.”

“Ectocoporeality?” Tucker asked. He’d known the Fentons had once been involved in a secret division of ectoscience, but he’d never been told the details. It was heavily classified. But over the years of working with them, he’d gleaned that whatever information the Fentons had uncovered during their stint in the higher ranks had been what caused their untimely relegation.  They never brought it up, and he never felt that it was his place to ask.

They didn’t answer him. Instead, Maddie simply met Jack’s gaze, and a silent conversation seemed to pass between them. Then Jack nodded.

Tucker turned away when she clicked on the second video again and replayed it.

xXx

Sam woke with a jolt.

The mountain castle trembled and groaned, no doubt from whatever had just exploded at the surface. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the furry covers up to her chin and stared hard at the sea of twinkling stars above her bed. She tried to ignore it when a particularly powerful blast caused the stars at her ceiling to peter out momentarily.

Inhale. Exhale.  Pretend that her heart wasn’t currently slamming into her ribcage.  

The castle quaked again. Sam swore and squeezed her eyes shut, even as terror clawed at her insides like some feral creature.

It was getting easier to handle. Each and every time her world rocked, and the incessant echoing of war pounded in her ears, she’d make a point to stay in her bed. Wait it out and listen. Distract herself with the illusion of twinkling stars at her ceiling. Ignore when they flickered into transparency as a powerful blast hit the mountain castle. She knew it was pathetic. Sweepers were supposed to be fearless. She was supposed to be fearless.

But she wasn’t. She knew that now.  

It was nearly an hour later when the rumbling ceased and settled into an eerie silence. It was several more before the telltale glow of cryokinetic energy began disintegrating the icy barricade that kept her door frozen into place. She scrambled out of her bed, already dressed, as she’d already decided to forgo the hot springs today. She was beyond anxious to see Tsuel.  

Only to freeze when she realized it was not Tsuel who was waiting for her.  

She gaped at the bespectacled Driftwind, who shifted nervously on the other side of her doorway.

“Uh,” Sam drawled. “Hi?” 

“Greetings, human girl,” Driftwind said, sighing. He spun on his heel, a clawed hand beckoning for her as he rushed away. “Come, come. I don’t have all day.”

Sam chased after him. “Where is Tsuel?” Alarm bells chimed in her head. “Is she okay?”

“She is well,” Driftwind said without looking at her. “She is simply busy. She did instruct me to inform you that she intends to arrive to the castle as soon as she is able to.”

Relief surged through her.

She had to jog to keep pace with Driftwind as he ambled through the network of passageways. He never once checked to make sure she was still following him.

“How is everything out there?” Sam asked him.

Driftwind didn’t so much as glance down at her. “Things are as well as they can be, I suppose.”

“I’m surprised they sent you to get me,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever really talked to you before.”

Driftwind sniffed, his expression sour. His spectacles glinted as they passed under a glowing energy orb. “I am a court advisor. Such errands should be below me.” He sighed. “But alas, I cannot deny a request made by our king.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the familiar arched entryway that she had become so acquainted with the past few months. Driftwind gave her a hard look. “I have duties to attend to. Do not leave until Tsuel arrives. She should be here shortly.”

Sam’s stomach growled. It was already hours passed when she usually ate her breakfast. She waved a hand at him. “No worries, Dexter, I have a hot date with a bowl of oatmeal, anyway.”

Driftwind’s brows furrowed as he looked at her strangely, no doubt perplexed by her choice of words. “Very well.” Without another word, he turned and powerwalked away, his tale swishing behind him.

Sam chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she entered the kitchen.

She realized too late that she wasn’t alone.

His usual dusky cloak was missing, the dark navy fabric of his tunic shorn to shreds in places. He stood beyond the marbled island near the wash basin, a metal challis filled to the brim with water that lapped over the cup’s edges. His arm was stained green, a myriad gashes dripping with glowing ectoplasm. It pooled on the counter beneath his bare forearm, coagulating as it seeped along the counter, to the edge, and dripped to the floor. She could see how tensed his jaw was from the gritting of his teeth.

Phantom glanced up at her in surprise to where she stood frozen in the entryway. His eyes were haunted.

She couldn’t stop looking at his arm. “What happened to you?”

 “It looks worse than it is. Not all of it is mine.” Phantom shrugged. He looked away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. “Not that you care.”

Sam felt her temper spike at his attitude. “Excuse me for giving a shit,” she snapped.

His mouth pursed into a thin line. “Go somewhere else, human. Or I can leave. Whichever works best for you. I’m not in the mood to be ridiculed by you.”

She was appalled. “Who says I’m here to ridicule you?”  

His eyes flashed an unsettling vibrant green that she glimpsed before he turned away from her.  He muttered, “Oh, I don’t know, past experience, maybe?”

She stifled her gasp of surprise at the sight of his back now that she could see it. The back of his tunic was shredded, the oily sheen of ectoplasm glistening under the flickering torchlight. Her stomach churned at the sight. Apprehension barreled through her.

Her feet remained frozen in place, a single hand grasping the arched wooden frame of the kitchen’s entryway. Her body screamed in revulsion for her to leave, to get as far away from this apex predator as she could get. But another part of her, the part of her she’d thought long gone in the aftermath of Amity’s fall, wriggled free from somewhere deep inside her chest. She felt it, her compassion, blossoming the longer she watched him.

He wasn’t just a ghost to her now, but a wounded creature in need of help.  

He still wouldn’t look at her. His green eyes were trained on the basin, the metal challis trembling in his grip, like he struggled for control over his own emotions. He didn’t seem affected by his wounds so much as he seemed lost within his own self.

“Just . . . go, Sam,” he said, almost brokenly. “Please.”

Determination flared within her then.

She thought nothing of his ghostliness as she stormed toward him and snatched one of the clean washrags hanging near the basin. Then, without pausing to second guess herself, she grabbed his arm and dabbed hastily at every open wound she could find. His arm was cold and thrummed with a sort of electrifying energy beneath her fingers, though she also felt the hardened muscle that lay hidden beneath.

With a light touch, her fingers trailed along those lines of sinewy muscle in survey of his injuries, wiping away an alarming amount of ectoplasmic green. His skin was cold and pliable beneath her fingertips, and he didn’t resist as she turned his arm this way and that to better attend to his wounds. Everywhere she looked, she saw what appeared to be bite wounds; they peppered his arm and tore angrily at his flesh.

When she realized what was happening—what she was doing—her fingers froze, her eyes shifting sharply until they met his widened ones. His normally composed mask of neutrality was now openly shocked as he gaped at her.

She was touching him. Willingly touching him.

They stared at each other in stunned silence. She still grasped his arm with both of her hands, and he made no move to pull away from her, both of them frozen in shock.

“Uh . . . “ Phantom drawled, his expression puzzled. “Why did—?”

“Great stars and Ancients above!” Tsuel shrieked so suddenly that they both jumped.

Sam dropped his arm as if it burned her and staggered away from him, her cheeks heated with mortification. She tossed him the stained rag that he caught without looking at her, too focused on the great furred beast barreling toward him.  

“Danny, what in the name of all things Ancient are you doing in here?! I thought I instructed you to see Sleetjaw right away!” Her clawed hands fluttered, afraid to touch him. She settled for looping her thick arm around his shoulders and pulled him roughly to her side.

Phantom’s voice was muffled by Tsuel’s fur as he mumbled, “Mff-fine, Tsuel, jus’ ffirsty.”

Tsuel growled. “Come, we are going to Sleetjaw post haste!” She dragged him hastily out the door. The challis Phantom had been holding fell from his hand and clattered as it hit the floor.

Sam, with her back pressed against the adjacent counter, had watched the chaos incredulously.

She shook her head after they disappeared through the doorway and bent to retrieve the spilled challis from the floor. A foxen had already beaten her to it and proudly presented her with the cup like it was some prized artifact. She smiled at the little creature and scratched between its ears. “Thanks, lil dude.”

The creature chuffed in response, its fluffy tail wagging excitedly. Several other foxen were already working to clean the mess of ectoplasm Phantom had left behind. Sam watched them thoughtfully, her fingers tightening on the cool metallic shape of the challis in her hands. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she struggled to make sense of them.

Why had she touched Phantom like that? She felt her stomach twist as she realized how close they’d been, at what it had felt like to touch his bare skin—which felt a helluva lot more human than she expected. Too cold and thrumming with energy, sure, but she still hadn’t felt like she was touching a ghost. It was disconcerting and beyond weird and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Sam chewed on her bottom lip while she watched the foxen work. Then her eyes drifted to the challis, to her warped reflection gleaming at her from its metal surface.

She didn’t give herself long to think about what she intended to do next. She simply launched into action. She strode toward the metal basin and refilled the challis with the hand pump that protruded from the wall behind it.

With her world in a constant state of progressive fuckery, she knew she needed to start getting some answers, lest she lose her damn mind. Consequences be damned. Lectures and strange intellectual rituals be damned. She would get some answers. Today.

She stormed for the entryway and didn’t stop until she reached her intended destination.

Sam paused when she reached the medical sector. She watched the shadows that danced along with rainbows from an entryway further down. Muffled, argumentative voices drifted out into the hall. They abruptly ceased as she approached.

All was quiet, then Sam heard Frostbite’s baritone voice say, “Sam? Is that you?”

Metal challis in hand, grasped so tightly that cold water sloshed over her numbed fingers as she walked, Sam entered the room and blanched.

She barely noticed the glares searing at her from Icefang and Elle, or Tsuel and Frostbreath and their widened gazes, or Frostbite and Driftwind with their quiet pauses as they assessed the situation. No, her mind had utterly blanked.

Because where in the hell was Phantom’s shirt?

His expression was bored, irritated even, as he patiently waited for Sleetjaw to finish his ministrations on his back. Sam noted the broad chest, the muscled arms, the leanness to him that was both wiry and brimming with corded muscle.

She also noticed the scars.

They began at his right hand, twisted up his arm in an intricate matrix of curves and spirals. The tendrils of discoloration branched off from the larger sections, until they ended abruptly at his chest. It was almost beautiful, the way the patterns mottled his bare skin, like a tattoo forged from nature itself.

“Uh,” Sam said dumbly. She tore her eyes away when she realized the silence was beginning to turn awkward. “I—uh—here.” She closed the remaining distance between them and handed him the challis.

“Thanks?” He took It from her, and even from her peripheral she could see the odd look he was giving her. Then he winced at something Sleetjaw did to his back. “Ow.”

“I am sorry, Great One,” Sleetjaw said. “I do not mean to cause you pain.”

Sam’s brows rose at the mention of pain, and at Phantom’s display of discomfort. She’d always thought that ghosts couldn’t feel pain. Maddie Fenton had told her once that given a ghost’s physiological anomalies and lack of proper nervous system, that it was impossible for them to feel such things. Instead, they merely recognized danger and reacted to that. A show of pain was a façade.

She wasn’t so sure now.

Oddly fascinated, she watched Sleetjaw work. He wielded a strange metal tool. It was oblong in shape, almost pencil-like, and metallurgical. With a turbulent hum, it welded together the massive wounds crisscrossing over Phantom’s muscular back, fusing the skin and leaving behind faint white marks that faded almost instantly. Sleetjaw skillfully maneuvered the thing with a single clawed hand, while his other dampened and cleaned residual ectoplasm away from the wounded areas. 

 “I thought you guys had healing powers?” Sam couldn’t help but ask.

“Why would you assume that?” Sleetjaw responded absently.

Sam’s memories flashed. Pain, and a frigid coldness that numbs her . . . vision swimming with darkness. Her body is lost in a sea of pain, her lungs full of fire. She is so cold and yet she burns. With a shake of her head at the memory, her mouth thinned into a frown as she recalled the feeling of cold energy in her chest, the numbness of her limbs. “Then what did you do to me?”

Sleetjaw’s eyes remained unfixed from hers. “As I told you before, you spent several days in the bacta tank. It is a solution of bacteria and microbiotics that promotes the regeneration of organic compounds. Your injuries were severe, and you would not have survived without such intervention.”

“The yeti are known for our scientific achievements, especially in the medical field. We are merely cryokinetic and humble collectors of knowledge, not healers, Sam,” Frostbite said tiredly.

Sam shook her head as she observed the healed skin of Phantom’s formerly ravaged back. Even his arm that she’d dabbed at so futilely with her little wash rag was healed. His bored expression remained fixed on the floor, his chin resting in the hand he had braced on his knee, sulking.

“This all would’ve healed on its own,” Phantom stated gloomily. Had circumstances been different, she might have smirked at his petulance. Seeing him out of his element for once was kind of refreshing. She could tell he absolutely hated the attention from all of them.

“Yes,” Sleetjaw said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But the poisons would cause you great pain should any of it remain in your system.”

“Wait, what about poison?” Sam blurted. She looked around the room wildly. “What the hell is attacking you guys?”

Her answer was silence. From all of them. Fucking crickets—or whatever the hell was equivalent to crickets in the Far Frozen.

She used their silence to finally observe them all. Frostbite and Elle slouched together on an icy bench across the room, while Tsuel, Frostbreath, and Driftwind hovered around them. Icefang loomed menacingly in the room’s opposite corner like a guard dog, his eyes spearing through her as if he could make her spontaneously combust with his glare alone. They all looked ragged as hell, their clothes shorn and kaleidoscopic due to the green and purple stains mottling them.

Frostbite, whose claws were drifting rhythmically through the hair atop Elle’s head, lifted his chin. “You are not ready, Sam.”

“Oh, come on!” She threw her hands in frustration. “I just want to know what’s out there. Especially if there’s something powerful enough to get the drop on him.” She gestured wildly to Phantom who was still perched on the medical table in the room’s center. “I think I have the right to know what it is.”

“They caught me by surprise,” Phantom muttered.

“No,” Elle snapped, “you hesitated.”

“There was a horde of them,” he fired right back, “or did you miss that?”

Sam balked at the word horde. Her stomach churned. “Like what attacked me at Amity?”

Phantom’s eyes met hers. He straightened, his expression grim. “Worse.”

Sam paled and staggered a bit in her shock. “Wh—what do you mean, worse?”

“You should probably leave, human,” Elle said, her narrowed eyes glowing with barely restrained rage. “You really don’t belong here.”

Sam felt that primal fear in her wriggle as she met Elle’s glare with a cool stare of her own. She would not be cowed by her. By any of them. She was done—done being afraid. Ghosts and spirits, undead or not, she would not let them get to her. Not anymore. She lifted her chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Elle’s brows rose in surprise.

“Mind your place, insolent brat!” Icefang hissed. A jagged wall of razer-sharp teeth gleamed at her from his curled lip and wrinkled muzzle. He stalked out of his corner of the room and scowled at her.  

Driftwind seemed uncomfortable. He shrunk away from the much larger, seething male that had suddenly appeared beside him. With an alarmed glance between Icefang and Sam, he stammered, “Ch—child, perhaps it would be best—”

“Not a chance.” Sam crossed her arms in defiance. She was so much smaller than all of them, even Driftwind, but she straightened to her full height. She directed her glare at Elle. “If I’m so important to your stupid prophecy, then I deserve to be here.”

Elle said nothing as she stared Sam down.

“Deserve?” Icefang’s bared teeth morphed into a vicious smile. “You deserve nothing. You are lucky we have let you live it all.”

“Peace, Icefang,” Frostbite warned. Sam sensed the yeti king’s hulking presence slowly approach from behind her. “Do not make me remove you.”

The rainbows dancing merrily about the room were ironic considering the palpable tension currently stifling its occupants. Sam’s heart was a wild animal struggling to free itself from her ribcage, but she didn’t care. She was beyond tired of the cryptic runaround, of the whispered secrets, of being so damn afraid all the time. To hell with playing games, both theirs and her own. She was done. Done.

Her eyes flicked and met Phantom’s then. His expression was unreadable, though his mouth seemed to twitch, as if amused by her. Like she was entertaining him. Her, the puny, weak little human—mere fodder for his amusement. Disgust rippled through her, and she gave him a scathing look.  

“You. Do not. Belong here,” Icefang growled again. A rumbling sound erupted from somewhere deep inside his chest. It was a terrible, harrowing sound. One that probably would have caused her to be a trembling wreck a mere two months ago. It did nothing to her now.

Sam spun and gave him an unimpressed look. “Oh, stuff it, asshole.”

She didn’t have time to react when he lunged for her.

Before she could so much as flinch, Tsuel appeared between them, an incensed wall of white. She forcefully shoved Sam backwards, her hackles raised like bony spines, and snarled right back at the much larger Icefang, even as he towered over her menacingly. Frostbreath was quick to join her, his bulk on par with Icefang’s, though Icefang was broader.

 “Are you mad?” Icefang hissed at them, ears pinned flat to his head. “This human has poisoned your minds.”

Frostbreath growled in return. “You are incorrect. Sam is innocent.”

“No human is innocent,” Icefang barked. “They are all leeches and cubkillers. Parasites to this realm.”

“That is enough,” Frostbite boomed, while Sam felt herself start at the word cubkiller. He shoved a muscular arm into Icefang’s chest, forcing the brute backwards and to his knees. He stared Icefang down with a domineering glower until the latter shamefully averted his gaze.

“What is he talking about?” Sam asked the room, willing anyone to answer her. No one did. The room’s deafening silence roared in her ears. Her anger bristled again. “What is going on?”

His back still to her, voice strained, Frostbite said, “I understand why you want to be involved in our affairs, Sam, but now is not the ti—”

“Just tell her,” Phantom said suddenly, surprising everyone. Elle gaped at him like he’d grown two heads.

Frostbite’s large head whipped in Phantom’s direction. His long tail twitched, inadvertently thumping into Sam’s legs so hard that she would have toppled over had Tsuel not snagged her by the scruff of her jacket to steady her. Then he said, “She is not ready.”

Phantom’s expression remained bored as he met his father’s eyes. “If she’s living here, she should know. It’s not like it’s really that big of a secret.”

“I agree with Danny, Frostbite,” Tsuel said with a soft, conciliatory voice. “Sam is as big a part of this now as we are. Maybe even more so. She needs to know what threatens both our worlds.”

There was an intense bout of silence as all eyes remained focused on Frostbite. Wisps of frozen air trailed along his muzzle as he sighed in thought, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, before settling on Sam’s. Sam met the yeti kings bloodred stare with as much intensity and strength as she could muster until his brows lifted, and acquiescence softened his somber gaze.

“You cannot be serious, Frostbite,” Icefang growled. “She is not one of us. She is a human wretch!”  

Sam leaned around Frostbite and gave Icefang an exasperated look. “What is your problem with me, dude? I’ve done nothing to you?!”

“Nothing?” Icefang bristled, rising again to his feet to tower above her. His claws flexed and his tail whipped around him in fury. “Nothing?!” he repeated, roaring the word. “It is because of humans that I have lost everything.”

Sam blinked, taken aback. For the first time, she could see through the veil of Icefang’s hatred for her. Until now, she’d always viewed him as a one-dimensional, angry creature whose hatred for her burned unwarranted, but something in the way his eyes guttered and his body trembled, at the way grief seemed to emanate from him, caused her to pause. She stared at him, and the word cubkiller whispered from the back of her mind. Icy shame trickled through her.

Icefang’s glassy-eyed gaze landed on Sam with the weight of a bag of bricks as he rasped, “I have lost everything I ever loved because of humans.” Then he turned and directed a cutting glare at Frostbite. “And you,” he spat, spittle flying through his bared fangs. “Have you forgotten what humans have done to your own daughter?”

Tension as thick as smog settled over the room. Elle recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Tsuel reacted immediately, enveloping the ghost girl in her arms while her eyes glared golden daggers at Icefang.

“I think it would be best if you took the rest of the day off,” Frostbite said with a deadly calmness. “You know more than anyone why we do not bring that up.”

“Why not? If you tell the human one of your secrets, you may as well tell it all of th—!”

“GET OUT!” Frostbite charged with his jaws snapping. Power stifled the room, tendrils of ice freezing into deathly spires on the ground. He chased Icefang out of the room and then stood with hackles raised at the entryway until the other beast was long gone from the corridor. 

Elle’s already fair complexion was bone-white, drained of all color. Sam watched Tsuel rub consoling circles onto her back as she whispered gentle nothings into her hair.

Sam stood frozen to her spot. She fought back the urge to sag as her adrenaline banked and then dumped. It left her feeling exhausted beyond all measure. “I didn’t know he lost a family,” she said sadly to Frostbite’s back.  

“Icefang is a good yeti,” Frostbite said without turning around. “But he has experienced great pain, as have many of us.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression grim. With a flash of his icy arm, he beckoned her forward. “Come, I will tell you what you have asked of me, but I do not wish to have this conversation here.”

With one last look at Tsuel and Elle, as well as an acknowledging nod to Frostbtreath, Sam followed Frostbite out of the room.

“Hold on,” a voice behind her said. Sam looked over her shoulder to see Phantom sliding off the medical table. He slipped a fresh tunic that a foxen had brought over his head. “I’m coming too.”

xXx

Frostbite’s study was cold as they entered. Sam shivered, her eyes homing in on the darkened bejeweled maw yawning in the room’s center, intent on rectifying the chill as quickly as possible. Her eyes flicked, in search of the agitator rod for the firestones, when a sudden blast of green fire erupted from somewhere on her right.

With a startled yelp, she jumped away from its source and scowled at him.

“Asshole,” Sam hissed at Phantom.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

Her heart still thundering, she rolled her eyes and plopped into her favorite rocking chair that would put her on Frostbite’s left side. It gave her the best unobstructed view of the room and kept her back away from the door. She also liked the freedom to marvel at his expansive collection of tomes and artifacts that lined the floor to ceiling shelves bordering the room.

“My son does enjoy the dramatics on occasion,” Frostbite said with fond resignation as he lowered his mass into his own chair.

Phantom shrugged. “It’s quicker than using the rod.”

He was right, the effect was instantaneous. Fire leapt from the pile of ebony stones and roared to life within a blink of her eye. Glorious heat lapped at her from the crackling flames. She couldn’t stop herself from basking in it, sighing in relief as it restored feeling to her chilled skin, her numbed fingers.

Across from her on Frostbite’s other side, Phantom sank into the remaining chair. She was surprised when he, too, seemed to relax in the fire’s warming glow. She hadn’t thought about it before, but she wondered now if temperature did have an effect on him, after all. He never seemed bothered by the cold but seemed to welcome the presence of warmth.

She studied him, her head cocked as she wiggled feeling back into her fingers. Dark shadows danced along the planes of his cheeks, the light of the bright orange and yellow flames intermingled with his snow-white hair. His ghostly aura, which glowed bright in the shadows, appeared subdued in contrast to the radiant fire. It made him seem more . . . human. She realized with a start that he looked good in firelight.  

Even when he was sulking. Which he was currently doing. He slouched, green eyes glaring tired daggers into the flames as if they’d personally offended him. His chin rested in a hand that he braced against the arm on his chair.

Without looking at her, he said, “Something on your mind, human?”

Sam sputtered, embarrassed that she’d been caught. She tore her eyes away from him, opting to join him in his battle in glaring at the fire into submission. “Just wondering what you’re sulking about over there,” she deadpanned.

“I don’t sulk.”

She had to bite back her wicked grin. “Whatever you say. Sulker.”

“Why does everyone always say that I sulk?” he muttered. “I’m not sulking. I’m thinking.” 

“I hate to break it to you, dude, but sulking is basically just thinking with a frown. Which you’re currently doing. You’re literally frowning so hard.”

“At least call it brooding,” he said. “It makes it sound cooler.”

“Nah,” she drawled. “You’re sulking.”

He shot her an unimpressed look. “You’re hilarious.”   

“I am. You’re right,” she said dryly, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you here, again?” 

He returned the look with an exasperated expression of his own. “To translate my father’s vague answers for you.”

Frostbite, who’d been glancing between them in bewilderment, frowned. “I am not vague. I always respond with the knowledge I have garnered from my years of research, and when I am not bound to remain clandestine by a rite of knowledge.”

Phantom jerked his thumb at the yeti king. “See, case in point. Even that was somehow vague.”

Sam sighed in defeat. “Fine. I see your point.”

He blinked at her. “Did we actually just agree on something?”

“Only this time,” she replied in her usual monotone. “Because we share a common adversary for once.”

Phantom arched a brow and leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Ah, the ol’ enemy of my enemy makes you my friend schtick, then. Is that it?”

Sam’s brows shot into her hairline in surprise, taken aback at the human phrase. “Uh, yeah, sure,” she replied lamely. “I guess it does. But only for this probably long and most likely really redundant conversation. Then we can go back to hating each other.”

“To you hating me, you mean,” he said. “I have never hated you.”

She arched her brow at him.

“Strong dislike isn’t the same as hate,” he added.   

She snorted as a memory from her first night in the Far Frozen flashed through her mind. Of what he’d said to her outside the extravagant dining chamber. “Mutual mistrusting, right?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Frostbite loudly cleared his throat. His look of bewilderment was now narrowed suspicion as his ruby eyes shifted between them. “Why do I feel as if I am being insulted?”

Sam’s cheeks heated. “You’re not. We’re just . . .”

“Bonding,” Phantom supplied helpfully. And with dripping sarcasm, he added, “Just like you wanted.”

Frostbite released a long-suffering sigh. “Ancients give me peace,” he muttered under his breath.

Sam used the resounding silence that followed Frostbite’s plea to whatever deity the Ancients were to curl her knees to her chest. Her body had warmed significantly, and she closed her eyes in contentment, relishing the foreign warmth rushing through her veins. Phantom’s burst of ectoplasmic fire had essentially supercharged the firestones and the result was heavenly.

Eyes closed, her thoughts wandered, a muddled array of partial truths and fragmental discovery. She had so many questions, as she always did, but she also knew tact would be needed to receive even a crumb of sensical information from the enigmatic yeti king. Half the shit he told her didn’t make any damn sense at all.  

She thought again of Icefang, and her most recent disastrous encounter with the brute. Sadness wormed its way through her chest. She had felt his grief, rolling off him in waves. It had been so potent that she hadn’t needed ghost powers to see it. What she had once thought to be a vast well of needless wrath was instead so much more than that.

“What happened to Icefang’s family?” Sam asked quietly, only for Frostbite and Phantom to share a troubled look.

Frostbite said, “It is not my place to speak on his—”

“It has something to do with humans, doesn’t it?” A sinking feeling plummeted into her stomach as she asked the question. She thought back on an earlier conversation she’d had with Tsuel, which felt so long ago now. She remembered Tsuel’s unease at her questioning the history between humans and the yeti. Even then she’d known something dark and foreboding dwelled, buried deep in grim shadows—and Frostbite had not wanted her to know.

Frostbite’s long silence was answer enough.

Sam’s eyes burned. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I just thought he was an asshole.”

“What do you know?” Frostbite asked carefully. His expression was unreadable though his eyes were critical as he studied her. 

She shook her head. “Not much. I’ve just . . . picked up on some things here and there. But I’m not stupid. I knew there was something that happened between your kind and mine. I just don’t know what it is.”

Frostbite released a long breath. He shifted in his large rocking chair, claws rapping against a well-worn wooden arm. “You are correct.”

Though she’d already had strong suspicion, hearing it confirmed made that sinking feeling in her stomach roil with both guilt and trepidation. Her voice was brittle as she asked, “What happened?”

“There was once a settlement of humans in this realm,” Frostbite said, “It has been many, many moons since they have lived here.”

“How long is many?” she asked.

“By your standard of time, it would have been just over twelve centuries ago now.”

Sam stiffened in her chair. “Wait, that’s like twelve hundred years!”

“It is not like twelve hundred years, human girl,” Frostbite said, “it is twelve hundred years. Beyond that, even.”

Sam gaped at the yeti king, shaking her head. “That’s insane. I didn’t realize when you said that you guys are long lived that you mean that long.”

Frostbite nodded. “Spirits do not age as mortal creatures do. We are not bound by the same laws of liminality that govern your realm. To us, such passing of time is inconsequential. The perishing of Icefang’s family is very much still fresh in his hearts.”

“What happened?” Sam asked softly.

“There was . . . an altercation.” Frostbite’s face was grave. “Between our kind and the human settlement.”

“An altercation?” Uneasiness welled within her. “What kind of altercation?”

“You will have to ask him that yourself, child.”

“The dude just tried to rip my throat out,” she said, aghast. “I’m not asking him anything!”

Frostbite’s black lips thinned into a rueful smile. “Icefang is not so single-minded to ignore a command that I have given him in favor of seeing your demise. His earlier charge was a mere bluff. He will not disobey me and harm you, I assure you.”

Sam stared at him in bewilderment. “But then why did you guys intervene?”

“Because while there was no true threat in his charge, it was still an inacceptable slight of aggression, and one I do not condone. The yeti have long ascended beyond our baser instincts.” Frostbite said. “But, at times, we are all prone to our own outbursts. You are not just our guest, but a very integral part of our future. My wish is to see him respect you as such.”

“My father is right,” Phantom sighed. “Icefang had no intention to attack you. I would have known. And I would have stopped him myself if it came to it.”

Sam narrowed her eyes at the ghost, but she couldn’t refute what he’d told her. Phantom, despite her grievances with him, had been true to his word in not letting any harm come to her in this realm. She’d at first thought them mere coincidences, the few times he’d intervened on her behalf, but she was beginning to realize that he always jumped to her aide when she needed it most. The realization was jarring as it speared awkwardly through her. She looked away from his acid green gaze uncomfortably and shifted her attention back to Frostbite.

 “Did humans start the war, too? With the ghosts?” she asked.

Frostbite’s brows rose in surprise. “No,” he said, “all of the Infinite Realms, the Mortal Realm included, are to blame for that.”

Sam’s brows pinched. “Meaning?”

“I did not wish to have this conversation so prematurely, as you have much to learn yet about the way our world functions,” he said. He frowned at Sam, his face cast in shadow by his furrowed brow. He raked a claw absently through the longer fur at his jawline.

“We need to tell her,” Phantom said. The ghost and the yeti king shared a long look with each other, their eyes hard. Then Phantom added, “We don’t really have the time to fill her in on a millennium of history, father. Sam’s interest is genuine. I don’t sense any malice in her at all.”

Sam blushed at the intrusion into the minefield of her emotions and narrowed her eyes at the ghost. He shot her an apologetic look.

But Phantom’s words had seemed to resonate with the yeti king, because after a beat of silence in which he mulled them over, Frostbite said, “Very well.”

The room exploded with blinding blue light.

Sam gasped, her eyes wide with wonder on the conjured sphere of cold blue energy that undulated at the tips of Frostbite’s icy claws. Even after two months spent in the Far Frozen, she was still stunned by the effortless display of elemental power that the yeti so casually demonstrated. It was like magic.

Frostbite said, “Our world is a matrix of alternate dimensions and realities, each more strange and different than the last. We share a quan—”

“A quantum mechanical link that influences the evolution of the Multiverse,” Sam stated, her voice monotone. She’d heard this already in one of his many lectures. “Yeah, yeah, I get that. But what does that mean?”

“Ah, so you do listen.” Frostbite smiled.

The rippling sphere in Frostbite’s hand swelled. Cerulean tendrils curled away from the center, twisted high to form intricate shapes that branched off in various directions. The energy crawled in ascent until it formed a full circle around the glowing center, then solidified into ice. The whole thing remained suspended midair around Frostbite’s hand due to the raw energy still surging within its center, almost like a beating heart.

It was beautiful. A work of art, really. Sam’s fingers twitched in her lap. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch the gleaming arcs of ice. Even Phantom seemed intrigued by his father’s demonstration. Their eyes flicked, drawn together for a mere instant, before flitting away.

“It’s a bit rudimentary, but this diagram is reminiscent of the Multiverse,” Frostbite said. He lifted his clawed hand higher so light from the center of the undulating sphere refracted each icy tendril. The entire room danced with pools of white and blue. With his hand, he pointed to the bright blue-white center. “This, Sam, is your realm. It is what stabilizes the entire Multiverse and assists our dynamic equilibrium. Essentially, the Infinite Realms is the flipside to the Mortal Realm.”

He pointed to little glowing spheres that orbited the Mortal Realm, spinning like tiny planets around a sun. “And these are the Realms.”

“Like the Far Frozen?” Sam asked.

“Indeed.” Frostbite said. “They are infinite and ever changing. Particles of reality, strewn into the entirety of space, time, matter, and energy.”

Then Frostbite’s pointer claw drifted to the outermost layer and the gaps in between Realms, a thick band of swirls and shapes. Sam noticed then that it was this layer that lacked any sort of conformity. It was the most random. Chaotic, almost, in contrast to the elegance and uniformity of the others. It was also the largest. “And this,” Frostbite continued, “is the realm of the deceased, the—”

“Ghosts,” Sam finished, her voice a mere whisper.

“Yes, ghosts,” Frostbite agreed. “Energy is constantly being recycled back and forth between each of our realms, and the Outerworlds, where the ghosts live.”

Sam stared hard at the diagram, unable to fully grasp the enormity of what he was telling her. It was making her head spin. In all her years, she’d believed there to be two worlds. Her own, and the Ghost Zone . . . but this? It was incomprehensible. She shook her head. “I think my brain is melting again.”

“Don’t overcomplicate it,” Phantom said, shrugging. “These worlds exist, and they don’t. Some are more stable, like the Far Frozen, which is the closest link in the quantum chain to your world, and some are just . . . nothing.”

She arched her brow at him. “Worlds of nothing?”

He shrugged again.

“And you’ve been to them?”

“Some of them, sure,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of traveling.”

“Traveling.” The world rolled off her tongue like it was foreign. “For what?”

“Stuff.” His face had lapsed into its blank neutrality that she was beginning to loathe.

“That’s helpful, thank you,” she deadpanned. Then she turned her gaze once again to the luminous diagram of worlds within worlds within worlds—and stared at it. She marveled again at the intricate network of spheres and tiny glowing particles, and at the webs and helixes interspersed around them. “So, this is like super cool and all . . . but what does this have to do with anything?”

Frostbite frowned at her as his diagram disintegrated in a burst of sparkling snowflakes. “You remind me of my children,” he grumbled, though he placed an arm fondly around Phantom’s shoulders. “Always wanting to know the answers, never the information between.”

Phantom grimaced and shrugged the yeti’s arm free. “Would you stop,” he groaned. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the human.”

The yeti’s characteristic mirth returned as he released a boisterous laugh, revealing a wall of shiny white teeth.

“My father enjoys reveling in the emotional distress of others, didn’t you know?” Phantom said dryly to her, his expression unamused. “Apparently it’s funny.”

“It is when it’s you,” Sam said without thinking, which caused Frostbite to bark with laughter once again.

“I see how it is. Gaining up the ghost kid. Real mature.”

“Hah,” Sam laughed, “as if you’re a kid.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Sam realized it the moment that the damning words sailed from her lips. Images of his broad muscled and shirtless form flashed behind her eyes, and it was all she could do to keep from burying her face in her hands. Her face grew hot as she blushed furiously.

Phantom was gaping at her in confusion, his brows raised.

Frostbite looked between Sam and Phantom as if he could not understand what had just transpired.  “I believe we may have strayed from our initial topic,” he said. “Shall we resume?”

“Yes!” Her response was too quick and much too loud to be casual. She blushed harder at their surprised expressions and tried again. “Uh, yeah, that would be great.”

Frostbite nodded. Then he finally told her the truth.

They were called phantasms, a lethal subspecies of ghosts formed and controlled by The Ghost King. They seemed unimposing at first glance, but what they lacked in corporeality, they made up for in numbers and strength. Faint and translucent, their rippling bodies shared a subdivided core that constantly pulsated with the frequencies of their alpha, Pariah Dark. Right now, they prowled the material world as well as several other dimensions, lurking in formless shadows and targeting their prey.

Next were the draugrs. Forcefully reanimated with their gnarled and twisted bones, they bore the crest of the Ghost King on their shining plated armor. They were awful, demented creatures, which could inspire fear in even the most seasoned of warriors. Attacks from them were rare, as they required large rifts to form in the fabric of whatever dimension they targeted.

And even stronger still were the behemoths.

“They are the monsters of all monsters,” Frostbite murmured in a voice that sent chills storming down Sam’s spine. “Very rare, as they require great energy to form and control, but they are deadly. Their breaths bleed poison. Some are as big as mountains. They are the remains of beings from both past and present, from worlds far beyond our own.”

Sam was thankful for her empty stomach because she doubted food would withstand the churning.

“Are they all poisonous?” she asked, her thoughts straying to Phantom’s ruined arm, to Sleetjaw’s worry and pressing need to heal it.

Phantom and Frostbite shared an uneasy glance, but it was Phantom who said. “Kind of.”

She furrowed her brow at him, urging him to continue.

“The ghosts in your realm—in all of Dark’s army, really—aren’t natural. They’re forcefully reanimated. He raised the draugrs from somewhere else, but the phantasms are from the Mortal Realm.”

Sam blanched. “What?”

Phantom’s blank expression betrayed nothing, though his eyes danced with firelight as they stared intently into her own, unblinking. “We don’t know how, but Dark terraformed your world to suit the development of phantasms. They aren’t naturally forming so they’re not the same as regular ghosts. They’re not sapient like we are. They’re . . . wrong.”

Frostbite nodded. “We have conducted studies here in our labs on the samples that my son has brought us and have found your world to be severely contaminated. It is a world of breeding poison.”

Sam’s ears roared with crackling fire and her own descent into shock and anguish. Frostbite and Phantom were quiet as she stared down at her knees, letting her absorb the information for as long as she needed to. When she looked up, they were both studying her with the same intense, calculative expressions.

“What . . .” She shook her head. “What did you mean when you said that all of the Infinite Realms are to blame for the war?”

“For as long as I can remember, ghosts have always been misunderstood beings,” Frostbite said. “Our balance and spirituality have been long compromised. There was once a time when travel between worlds was possible, when the flow of energy was languid and unhindered, free amidst the Infinite Chain.”

“Okay?” Sam drawled. “And that means what, exactly?”

“It means, human girl, that we have lost sight of what it means to be a ghost. Ghosts are, by definition, manifestations of life and reminiscence. Artifacts, if you will.” Frostbite’s jaw tensed. “Unfortunately, they have been long viewed by many as . . . lesser beings. Monsters, even.”

Sam stiffened, shame trickling through her. She had thought that too, once. And sure, she still didn’t know where she stood on her opinion of ghosts, but she finally recognized that there was a lot more to learn than she’d initially anticipated. Perhaps . . .

Perhaps Paulina had been on to something, after all.

Sam shook her head as an intense bout of emotion roiled through her. Unease, grief, shame, anger, at even the faintest inkling of hope—all of it an intermingled mess of bullshit that twisted like a knife through her insides. She cleared her throat, and said, “That doesn’t really explain how the war started.”

“Pariah Dark’s story will be told to you by Great Elder, who resides in the Cave of Writings, at the peak of Cinomrah. That is where you shall learn the rest of this tale, human girl,” Frostbite said. “It is also where you shall learn of your destiny.”

“Awesome,” she drawled in her usual monotone. “When do we leave?”

“When you are ready.”

Sam gave him a flat look. “Figured you’d say that,” she deadpanned. “So, what happens during the raids? You guys just get wrecked by phantasms every blue moon or something?”

“Our twin moons are not blue now nor are they ever, but you are correct that it is often the phantasms that breach our world, though this morning’s attack was from draugrs. They are much, much worse to face in battle,” Frostbite said.

“But you won, I take it?”

“Indeed. They yeti are a formidable people,” Frostbite replied. His usually cheerful face was drawn taut with the grimmest of lines. “They come in massive numbers and swarm us, straight through the rifts in the fabric of our dimension. We have yet to cover the structure a realm, so I apologize if this is somewhat confusing. I have always prided the Far Frozen being something of a stronghold, but the phantasms are growing more and more powerful. The draugrs, too. We have trouble keeping them at bay at times.”

“I’ll say,” Phantom muttered in agreement.

Frostbite’s eyes seemed to lose themselves in the flickering orange flames that raged like an inferno in his study’s fireplace. She could see his undiluted grief—grief she had witnessed only distant remnants of once before—resurface like a tidal wave. Firelight lit his furred profile and became warped in the details of his curled icy horns.

She fidgeted with a strand of her soft hair as she studied the yeti king. “You lost someone, too,” she observed, her tone cautious but gentle.

“We have all paid dearly for this war, Sam,” Frostbite murmured.  

“Even you?”

“Even me.” He looked down at his clawed hands. She watched the pale bones in his frozen arm shift as he grasped a locket attached to a chain around his thick neck. Due to his tousled white fur, she hadn’t noticed it before. His claws fidgeted with the mechanism until the locket snapped open. Inside, was a crystal. “It was long ago when I lost her.”

“Her. . .?” Sam inquired softly. She resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his furred arm, her heart aching for this pained creature.

“Yes.” His voice hoarsened. “My mate . . .  Noraljus.”

“Was it one of the draugrs?” she asked. Empathy lanced through her. She could see it, his pain, just as she could feel her own. So much loss in this world—in these worlds, rather. The knuckles of her hand turned white as she gripped the silky strands of hair with which she’d been fidgeting.

“It was not a draugr. She died long before the war.”  

Sam’s brows furrowed. “Then how did she . . .?”

Frostbite’s voice was as cold as ice when he said, “Ghosts. She was murdered by ghosts.”

Notes:

I was SO CLOSE to having this chapter done last Sunday, which would have continued my streak of biweekly update (my goal). But I just couldn’t get it. Then I was so busy all week that I never got the chance to sit down and work on it until tonight. Ugh. Pushing out continuous updates on a longfic with a hectic life/work schedule is intense, man.

I really want to improve my writing and clean up my style a bit. I’m trying not to be too superfluous and avoid the dreaded purple prose. If things still seem overly wordy, don’t be afraid to let me know, haha. I just love descriptive imagery, but I can also understand that it can become redundant if it’s overdone.

All that said, I do apologize for all the angst in this chapter. Don’t worry, some wholesome content is coming, I promise! We’re actually at a really exciting point right now. This is a rewrite of a very old story that I never finished years and years ago. The content in this chapter is about where the first iteration left off, so going forward will be 100% fresh content. Though this was heavily rewritten since its predecessor and is mostly fresh anyway, it is just so exciting for me to finally get to areas of the story I had never been able to reach the first time. Chapter sixteen, which would have been eleven in the first version, is one I have had written for like five or six years now. I can’t freaking wait to post it.

Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with me so far! You guys are the best!

*Sleetjaw belongs to CaptainOzone

Chapter 14: A Shift

Notes:

I would love a collection of "weird things writers google" when writing a story.
For instance, mine was "medieval spikey ball on a string" for this chapter.

It's called a flail, and Valerie has one in her head. You're welcome. ;)

Frozen Fire

Chapter Fourteen: A Shift

xXx

Danny looked at his twin and sighed.

A swathe of billowy clouds, tinged with shades of violet and golden yellow in the light of the setting sun, rolled below them in every direction. The snowcapped spires of mountain tops jutted through the rolling mists like fingers trailing through smoke. In the gentle wind, their cloaks swayed, the fading sunlight lighting Elle’s hair with gilded fire.

Danny knew Elle wasn’t happy with him. Her face was closed off, but he could sense her disappointment emanating from her. They sat side by side on a rocky outcrop, just above the blanketed clouds, but low enough that they could still admire the peak of Mount Cinomrah where it loomed like a noble guardian in the distance.

“Do you really have to leave?” Elle asked him.

Danny pursed his lips. They’d been sitting together in silence for some time under the ruse of having gone for a patrol, much to their father’s chagrin. Frostbite had a thing about them missing meals together and hadn’t been happy when they left. But Danny needed this time alone with his sister, and he knew she needed it, too.

“It won’t be as long this time,” Danny said.

 “You said that last time and you were gone for years.” 

“Hey, I visited, didn’t I?” At the narrowed, sideways look she gave him, he raised his hands in conciliation. “Two days tops this time. I promise.”

Elle blew out a breath that ruffled the long white fringe hanging in her eyes. “Sure.”  

“C’mon, Dani,” he whined, using her old nickname from when they were kids. When they were little and similar in height, they had looked identical. Running amok through Ec’Nelis and introducing themselves to its denizens with the same name had been one of their favorite pastimes.   

Her eyes glowed with annoyance. “What?”

“I need to make sure Pandora is okay. You know that.”

“I do know.”

Danny leaned back and studied her. Elle still wasn’t looking at him. Her feet kicked in the open air, just above the soft plumes of colorful clouds crawling below them.

“I just . . .” She shook her head. “I just feel like so much is going to change.”

He arched a brow at her. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s an I don’t know thing,” Elle said. “Everything has been getting worse and worse for so long, and now with the human here, I . . . I don’t know.” She turned to face him, shifting in the snow, her green eyes wide and earnest. “What if you leave and you don’t come back?”

“That won’t happen.”

“It will,” she said. “Eventually. Won’t it?”

Danny didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never said it aloud, but Elle knew him better than anyone. She belonged here in the Far Frozen, surrounded by the yeti and revered by them like the Frost Princess that she was, but Danny? He didn’t know where he belonged. While Elle had embraced that part of herself and thrived in it, Danny had always felt like an outsider.

“I will be back,” he said, his voice resolute. “There’s too much at stake not to.”

Elle snorted. “Oh, I bet there is.” At his blank look, she rolled her eyes and added, “The human?”

“What about her?”

Her head tilted as she leered at him. “I’ve seen the way you look at it.”  

Danny gaped at her in bewilderment. “I do not look at her in any way.”

Elle shrugged. “I get it, I do. It—she—doesn’t have horns or fur and now that she’s not all feral looking, I guess she’s not terrible to look at. I’m not judging you. Even if she is . . .” she wrinkled her nose, “human.”

“Please stop talking,” Danny grumbled. “I am not interested in a human.”

But then, he felt them—his intrusive and damnable thoughts as they niggled at him from some shadowy alcove in his mind. Creeping through his reason before he had the chance to snuff them out. He was suddenly transported to the memory of Sam’s warm fingers as they blazed down his arm, hastily cleaning the ectoplasm from his wounds. The room was heady with her concern for him, so potent that the innate fear that always wrenched in his presence was held at bay. He had frozen under her touch, too shocked to do anything else but gape at her, utterly overwhelmed by her abrupt proximity. 

Her emotions were always so powerful, like a searing blast of fire over his frigid, writhing core. He shuddered at the memory, still unsure how he felt about it. Or what it had meant.

That had been two days ago. They’d been studiously avoiding each other since.

Elle chuckled to herself. With her power, she conjured a small snowball in her hand and lobbed it at him. It hit his shoulder and burst apart in a poof of sparkling white snow. He gave her a dry look in response.

“I’m just teasing you,” she said. “Stop being so sensitive.”

“I’m not.” He glowered at her.

“And stop sulking while you’re at it,” she said. “It really brings me down.”

With a roll of his eyes, Danny sighed and leaned heavily into the rocky wall at his back. “What is with you guys and saying I sulk? Sam said the same thing the other day.”

At the mention of the human’s name, the mischievous glint returned to his sister’s eyes. “Oh, did she?”

 “Don’t start,” he warned.

“Not saying a thing, brother dearest.”

“Have I ever told you that you are an absolute menace?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Elle said with feigned innocence. “Though I gotta say, if she wasn’t human, Sam and I would probably get along super well.” She snorted. “She’s got some spunk. I’ll give her that.”

“I don’t want to imagine a world with you two teamed up.”  Danny shook his head. “The horror.”

Elle snickered. The wind stirred her hair into her eyes, which she hastily swatted away. With a long sigh, she joined him in leaning back into the rocky ridge behind them, arms crossed behind her head as she stared toward Mount Cinomrah.  “She’s really not that bad.”

Surprise drew his eyebrows high. “The human?”

“I’ve never been around them. Not since . . . well, you know.” A pained expression flitted across her face. “I don’t even remember what happened, only what father told me, but . . . then Sam shows up, and her emotions just suck, and—”

Danny nudged Elle’s shoulder with his elbow. “No one expects you to just magically accept her, you know. It’s not like she’s been thrilled to be around us, either.”

“I know,” Elle drawled. “But Tsuel loves her. So does Frostbreath. Even father likes her.” Her mouth twisted as she considered her words carefully. “All I really know about humans is what happened to me, and what Icefang told me they did to his family.”

Danny was silent for a long moment. “Humans are . . . difficult.”

“I’ll say,” Elle muttered.

“But they can be good, too,” he admitted. “It takes a while to get used to being around them, true, but it really is amazing how much they can feel.” Danny followed her gaze, his eyes tracing the drifts of snow, tinted slightly blue with distance, and roved along the rocky ridges. “It’s nothing like the creatures of the Infinite Realms.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A sigh bubbled from his chest. This was a conversation he’d put off having for a while, but he figured now was as good a time as any. “You could try being nicer to her, you know.”

Elle stiffened, her nose wrinkling. “What?”

 “She’s been through a lot.”               

 “Haven’t we all?”

“Her entire world has been flipped upside down, Dani.” He was growing increasingly frustrated with his sister’s attitude. She was sheltered, and perhaps a bit spoiled, but he knew she was better than this. “Her knowledge of ghosts is based off Dark’s brood of phantasms. We haven’t exactly gone out of our way to prove her wrong. She’s alone and she’s scared.”

“I know,” Elle hissed. Her head whipped to meet his gaze, and he was taken aback by the wide vulnerability he saw shining in her eyes. “I feel her fear, Danny. Every day. Even when she tries to hide it.” She shifted in the snow, adjusting her cloak. “I don’t like the way she makes me feel. Like it’s me who’s the monster.”

“To her, we are the monsters,” Danny murmured, careful to keep his tone even and unaccusatory. He always tried to keep the dark and malevolent truths about their reality as far from Elle as he could manage. Protecting his sister had always been his number one priority. But she had to understand that not everything was so black and white. “You should see the world she comes from.”

Elle scoffed. She brushed back an errant strand of hair irritably. Hurt in her voice, she said, “I would see. If you would let me.”

Danny winced. “You know why I can’t do that.”

“Because I would just hold you back, is that it?”

“Of course not!” He was appalled. “And you know I don’t think that. Don’t bite my head off because I’m making you have a tough conversation.” He glared at her now, his core bristling.

“Your angry eyes don’t work on me, idiot.”

“Danielle,” he hissed.

She sighed exasperatedly and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right,” she admitted. “The human—Sam, I mean—just makes me so uncomfortable. I just feel like she had her mind made up about us before she even got to know us. And her emotions are . . . hard to deal with, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” he murmured, then snorted with laughter. “Sam and I have dubbed this phenomenon the mutual mistrusting.”

She shook her head with a wry smile. “Sounds about right. So, who gives first?”

“I have no idea,” he said with tired resignation. “Her primal fear doesn’t help.”  

Another snort of laughter. “I bet it doesn’t. Nothing says friendship like innate terror.”

“Well, it would certainly be the start of something boo-tiful, right?”

Elle’s answering scowl promised retribution. “I hate you.”

The lightness Danny felt in his chest as he threw back his head and laughed was the first he’d felt in a long while. Oh, how he’d missed this. Spending time with his sister, teasing her with his jokes—it had been far, far too long.

Despite her dismissal of his not-at-all-terrible joke, Elle couldn’t stop the smile that bit her cheeks. She shook her head at him and rolled her eyes. She was quiet for a while after that, staring reflectively at the plumes of gentle clouds ascending around them, her face contorted with thought. He was content to let her work through whatever was in her head. In the silence, wind whispered between them, tousling the fresh loose snow and pelting their cloaks and hair with little flecks of white.

“Her emotions are . . . so intense,” she said finally. “Like the yeti times one hundred.”

“Humans are like that,” Danny said with a nod. He didn’t tell her that Sam’s were different. More vibrant than a typical human’s, like she felt everything with the force of a sledgehammer. He’d heard in his travels that humans could sometimes be abnormally empathetic, hyperaware of the emotions of others, and sometimes sensitive enough to sense spectral auras. He’d often wondered if it was true and if Sam was one of them.

Elle stared at him in shock.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Elle shook her head. “How do you stand being around them at all, then? Especially in the Mortal Realm where there’s a ton of them?”

“Not all of their emotions are negative,” Danny said. “But as ghosts, we don’t usually incite the more positive ones they have.”

She frowned down at her hands. “I guess that’s fair.”

Elle went quiet again as her eyes lifted and returned to the distant mountain, the towering frost giant that dwarfed all those around it, as if her very attention was drawn there with a mesmeric force. The sun was starting to dip into its horizon, the golden rays now lessened into a dark, velvety blue. The sun had faded and now the moons slowly awakened. It made the flurried snow appear luminescent in the brightening moonlight.

Elle sighed once, then pushed herself from the outcrop and leapt with feline grace into the air. Danny followed suit. The movement and the slip into weightlessness was as natural to him as breathing.

They floated together, their feet skimming clouds, stars glimmering overhead and all around them. The twinned celestial moons shone bright in the encroaching dusk, and the glow cast them both with an ethereal light.

Danny gently grasped Elle’s shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Dani. I promise.”

Elle was quiet for a long moment while she studied him. “Do you think Pandora is okay? Father said he hasn’t received any letters from her recently.”

“I hope so,” Danny murmured.  

Elle nodded, then gave him a mischievous grin. “I’ll keep the human safe for you in the meantime. She can be your collateral.”

Danny sputtered, taken aback. “I don’t—that’s not—It’s really not like that!”

Elle smirked at him. “Whatever you say.” Then her gaze shifted behind him, to the distant North where Ec’Nelis was. “We should probably head back before one of father’s hearts explodes.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled about us taking a patrol tonight.”

 “Tell me about it,” she deadpanned. “If looks could kill, we’d both be dead. Again.”

“Death by parental ire,” Danny laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“Could be worse,” Elle said, “his glares could incite spontaneous combustion.”

“Ah, exploded to death,” Danny responded dryly as he followed her through the skies. “Even better.”

xXx

Valerie shuddered. Her face twisted with disgust as she strode purposefully through the dimly lit room.

She loathed being in this area of Vlad’s lab.

She never understood why he kept the lighting in here so dismal. He’d told her once that it was to keep the ghosts from becoming too agitated, as they despised artificial light, but then she wondered why he would care about that at all. Let those spooks suffer. If the light bothered them, then good. They deserved it.

The lab itself was on the uppermost level of the compound. Due to its proximity to the surface, the air was chilly, even as the heat pumps above her head in the drop ceiling rattled with overuse. She could barely feel them warming her gooseflesh. She attempted and failed to rub warmth back into her arms as she walked. She supposed she could roll down her sleeves, but she hated to do that. The jumpsuits were far too itchy.

Around her, wretched creatures caged in glass cylinders jeered and howled. Some were whole, their ectoplasmic bodies rippling, while others were in various stages of degeneration. In some of the capsules, all that remained was soupy ectoplasm that seemed to pulsate under the light.

“Ew,” Valerie said to herself.

She kept her eyes trained forward. It was a failed attempt to disregard the hideous spooks watching her with their baleful gazes on either side of her. They lined her vision in their mismatched vessels. Some rasped wordlessly at her—but she ignored them, her teeth gritted.  

She didn’t stop walking until she reached the vicinity of Vlad’s stainless-steel worktable. He looked up at her, pushing the goggles he was wearing onto his forehead. His thin mouth was curled into a pleasant grin as he took her in, no doubt noting her discomfort.

“Ah, Valerie,” he greeted in his silk-smooth voice, “how nice of you to join me.” The sickly sheen of his forehead glistened under the light. He pulled his handkerchief from his chest pocket and dabbed furtively.

“Uh, you called me here,” she reminded him, arching a brow. “Sir.”

“Yes, yes, I did indeed,” he said. “Come here and take a look at my work.”

She felt her heart leap in her chest. “Is it Project Ectom?”

“Clever girl,” he crooned. “It is, yes. Come and see.”

Valerie’s foot lifted, intending to take the step forward, but then something stopped her. Something primal, buried deep inside her belly had clenched, and her mind howled at her to stay put. To turn around, even. To leave this room. She realized she couldn’t do it—couldn’t make herself take another step forward.

“Come on now, don’t keep a sick old man waiting,” Vlad chided softly. His grin still wide, she couldn’t help but think that it looked more like the baring of sharp teeth.

Valerie’s eyes flicked around the room with unease. She took in his workstation in the room’s center, the single strip of fluorescent lighting that bathed the table like a spotlight. In the distance, various monitors and other strange looking pieces of lab equipment glowed faintly, but the strongest light source, save for the ballast above his worktable, came from the cylinders of ectoplasm and captive ghosts. So much ectoplasm. The glow of it was unmistakable, a wash of menacing green that made her insides twist like a pretzel.

She hesitated for a moment longer before she cursed her stupid mind for playing tricks on her. This was Vlad Masters she was talking about. She had known him for years now. Their contact had been remote at first, sure, until that Phantom jerk destroyed his lab in Wisconsin, but she had seen him in person almost every day for the last four years. There was nothing about him to be worried about—he was harmless.

It was the ghosts freaking her out, that was all.

Valerie crushed her discomfort with the swing of a mental flail and joined him at the table. She blinked in the sudden harsh light.

Vlad was quiet as he waited patiently for her, but his grin had waned somewhat. He gently grasped her elbow and steered her closer to his side so she could better see his work. His hand was cold and clammy on her exposed forearm.

With a shaking finger, Vlad pointed to what he had been working on.

Valerie frowned at the substance churning in the dish on the table. She felt so much more at ease now that she was here, though confusion still pulled her brows into a furrow. “Uh,” she drawled, “what is it?”

“It is a start,” Vlad said. “The first step is getting the solution to stabilize so I can add in the nanotech.”

She frowned at him. “Nanotech?” Searching her mind, she added, “like little computer bugs?”

Vlad chuckled. “Silly girl, no, not like little computer bugs. When I say nanotech, I mean more like particles. Ectomagnetic particles, to be exact.” He gestured again to the solution. “Thanks to your wonderful talent in collecting specimens, I have been able to work nonstop to formulate this initial batch. It has some work to go yet, I admit, but our goals creep ever closer, my dear.”

Her answering smile came easily now that her brain had ceased with its false alarm. “That’s really cool and all, sir, but what does any of this have to do with my new suit?”

Vlad’s teeth flashed as his grin resurfaced. “It has everything to do with your new suit, girl.”

She leaned forward to study the nacreous substance roiling in the Erlenmeyer flask, wondered at the pearly viscosity of it, and the way it marbled with different shades of green. Science was never her strongest subject, so she knew this was way above her head. And probably above her pay grade had that still been a thing. 

“Okay,” she said, “well, when will it be ready?”

“Soon.” His flinty eyes shone as they shifted back to the substance on his table. “I’m sorry for calling you in here on such short notice, and with not much to show for my efforts, but,” he patted her elbow again fondly, “can you blame an old man for being a wee bit lonely?”

She grinned again, not at all bothered. If anything, the thought of his loneliness pulled at her heartstrings, and she realized it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to visit him more often. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his company. He really was such a good friend to her. “Not at all,” she told him. Her brow wrinkled. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Masters?”

Vlad beamed at her. “Now that you mention it, there is a silly little task that I require of you. If you don’t mind. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you.”

“You are never a burden,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

Vlad grinned.

xXx

When Danny and Elle returned to Ec’Nelis, Danny was surprised to see Sam lounging on one of the steps in his father’s grand throne room, while Tsuel talked quietly with Frostbreath and his father near the dais. She looked ridiculous as she always did, bundled in her enormous fluffy white coat, the hood pulled up over her head and drawn so tight that it made tufts of dark hair stick past the sides of her face like spikes.

He wasn’t surprised when he noticed her jolt and visibly tense in their presence. She sat up straight, her head searching for him until she spotted him across the room. He felt her eyes narrow on him.

With an inward sigh, he raised his hand in greeting. He saw her hooded head bob as she nodded in return.

Well, that was an improvement, he supposed. At least she wasn’t giving him anymore of those absurd hand gestures. Danny turned to his father instead.

But then the human did something that shocked him.  

She jumped from where she lounged on the stairs and darted for him. He let her approach and kept his posture as casual as he could manage. Humans didn’t like how overly still ghosts could be.

“Hey,” she said.

“Uh, hey, Sam.” He cursed himself for his lame response.

Sam’s face was tilted toward the moonlight cascading from the crystal chandelier. It made her violet eyes dance with light and color in a way that Danny found he couldn’t look away from. She studied him in that unflinching way she always did, even as he sensed the apprehension in her like a rolling wave. Her face didn’t betray a shred of it.

“You’re leaving,” she stated.

Danny nodded. “For a few days, yes.”

“Why?”

“I need to check on a friend.”

 “Another ghost?”

Danny was quiet as he thought how best to describe Pandora. “Kind of.”

He sensed the human’s indignation when it bristled like torchlight. Her brows pinched and she lifted her chin a bit in that defiant way he was starting to admire. “That’s not an answer.”

He winced. She was right. “Yeah, she’s a ghost,” he said. “But she’s also an otherworldly being from another dimension, too. The lines sometimes blur a bit when it comes to the interdimensional.”

Sam blinked. He could see the gears turning in her head as she digested what he’d told her. He could sense her surprise, too. Unlike his father, or any of the yeti, Danny didn’t feel the desire to hide what he knew. He always tried his best to answer her whenever she had a question, unless it went against his father’s direct wishes. And even then, he wasn’t afraid to push the line. He’d always believed his homerealm to be archaic in how it guarded its secrets.

“You know I have so many questions, right?” she deadpanned, her mouth twitching like she wanted to smile.

He crossed his arms and gave her a lazy grin. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She did smile then. It was small. So faint that had he not been studying her so closely he would have missed it. He found himself floored by it and utterly speechless. There was something else, too. A small detail he couldn’t place, both in her expression and the way her emotions skittered around her.

 Something about her was . . . different.

Humans were prone to change. Over time and with the right environmental stimuli, their emotions and their very identities could unravel and reweave themselves—whether for better, or worse. In Sam’s case, he couldn’t be certain which one it was. He always marveled at how her tough exterior did well to contain the turbulence he could sense roiling inside of her.

Danny studied her for a moment longer, then realized he should probably blink. He knew his stillness unsettled her at times.

Her smile dropped. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He straightened at the apprehension he sensed from her, at the little ‘v’ that formed between her brows as they knitted disdainfully. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way.”

“Yes, you are,” she snapped. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to read my mind or fighting the urge to leach the soul from my body, but the staring is getting fucking old, dude.”

He winced—for several reasons. She was a lot more perceptive than he realized. Shame leached through his thrumming core as he finally let his gaze flick away from hers. He’d forgotten that humans were creatures who abstained from prolonged eye contact. It made them edgy.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “I’m really not used to being around humans.” He chuckled humorlessly, raking his hand through his hair and hoped the action would ease the tension. “I don’t mean to keep making you uncomfortable.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he could sense when her anxiety eased, the acrid taste of it lessening into something lighter, something like curiosity. When his eyes returned to hers, he was surprised that she had been watching him intently.

Her posture was loose, arms still crossed, but for warmth as she nestled into her furred jacket. He resisted the urge to overtly stare at her hand when it started to fidget with the ends of her hair. His thoughts trailed again, recalling how just two days ago, that hand had so softly caressed his arm with its human warmth.  

Clearing his throat, he said, “I . . .  should go.”

But before he could turn or, ancients, retreat into the welcoming embrace of his intangibility, she said, “What about me bothers you so much?”

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

She looked at him flatly.  “You always make a face like you’re sucking on a sour lemon when you’re around me too long.”

He blinked at her. Had he really been that obvious? Ancients, above. “Uh,” he started lamely, “It’s just that . . .”

She arched a brow at him.

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Your emotions are . . . difficult.”

“Oh?”

“Well, they’re not exactly the most positive ones.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a goth. We’re like that.”

“A . . .  goth?”  

She nodded, gesturing to herself. “Basically, the antitheses of anything bright and happy,” she said dryly. “Creature of the night, and all that.”

Danny stared at her, not sure if she was kidding or not. 

Smirking, Sam added, “Don’t let the outfit fool you. I love all things dark and dreary. The spookier the better, really.” To his further confusion, she blanched suddenly, her cheeks tinting red, just as he sensed the embarrassment that rushed through her. She turned away from him in one quick movement and pulled her hood tighter around her face.  “Why am I still talking? I am such a spaz.”

Without another word to him, Sam retreated to Tsuel’s side. Danny turned to watch her, and was annoyed to see the three yeti and his sister had been watching their interaction curiously. Frostbreath even shot him a wide grin, a clawed thumb raised in a congratulatory gesture. Danny frowned at them all and shook his head.

“Do you have everything you need for your impending travels, my son?” Frostbite asked him.

Danny nodded, just as Tsuel exclaimed, “He does now!” She launched forward and handed him the leather satchel that had been strung around her shoulder. “Give Pandora our best. I made sure to prepare some of her favorite pastries.”

“Indeed,” Frostbite agreed. “On behalf of the Far Frozen, may she be praised by the Ancients and Observed with vitality.

“Isn’t she technically one of the Ancients?” Elle quipped, laughter in her voice. “What is she supposed to do, pray to herself?” Her gaze shifted to Danny next and regarded him with confusion. “And don’t you need the Infi-Map?”

Danny shook his head. “Not anymore. Once I know when they’ll happen, I can find the portals on my own now,” he said.

Her face slackened with surprise. “Really? That’s handy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

Danny shrugged, smiling ruefully. “Sorry, sis.”  he ruffled her long hair, “just slipped my mind,” he lied.

He didn’t like telling his sister about his growing arsenal of powers. Not when her own remained so stunted by her degenerative core. She could use her powers, to an extent, but the result would leave her in a weakened state. Too much use, and she risked destabilization—which for a ghost, was essentially a death beyond death itself. Her cryokinesis was safe, likely due to her having been raised in the realm that the power originated from, but her ghost abilities, and especially her most powerful gift, remained dormant.

The past few weeks, he had spent hours upon hours analyzing the Infi-Map, in search of imminent shifts in the fabric that separated worlds. His father had helped, and together they’d analyzed the rifting patterns until they found one that would allow Danny passage to Pandora’s realm. Once, he had needed the map to find the naturally formed portals, but with his powers, he realized he could sense them.

“Oh, Danny,” Tsuel said, “I do have a request.”

Danny raised his brows at the female yeti.

“In your travels to Pandora’s realm, be sure to bring one of her roses back for our dear Sam, would you? She is always so taken with them.”  

Sam turned to and shot her an imploring look. “That’s really not necessary,” she said, palms raised. The redness that flared across her cheeks was stark on her pale complexion.

Elle frowned. “But Tsuel, Pandora’s roses are poisonous.”

“They do not affect her,” Tsuel said.

Danny pitied the mortification he felt rolling off of Sam in waves as everyone in the room turned to gape at her incredulously. Had he not sensed the flaring of her discomfort, he might have joined them, consumed by his own shock at the news.

“Marvelous, human girl!” Frostbreath exclaimed. He seized Sam by her shoulders and twirled her around in the air, her squeak of surprise trailing after her. “You truly are blessed by the Ancients!” She looked hilariously disgruntled, her hair a mess and hood askew, when Frostbreath returned her to her feet.

Even Elle stared at Sam with stunned disbelief. “Is that true?”

Sam scowled under the weight of all their stares. Danny was surprised when she didn’t shrink away from them like she once would have, though he could feel fragments of her anger, her trepidation, her confusion—all of it in a mingled haze around her.

“It’s just a flower,” Sam bit out. She yanked her hood back over her head and crossed her arms petulantly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal—?” His father started to say, but Danny decided now was his time to intervene, lest they kill the human by embarrassing her to death.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Danny said, his tone harder than he’d meant it. He ignored the look that Elle gave him.

Frostbite nodded and grinned. “Of course.”

Elle launched herself at him then with a forcefulness that sent him stumbling backwards a couple steps.  “Be careful,” she said. “I wish I could go with you.”

He patted her head stiffly. “I’m just going to be gone for a couple days.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she muttered, hugging him tighter.

Danny swallowed back the guilt he felt eating at him then. She would never forgive him for leaving as he had four years ago, not really. But she hadn’t understood then—just as she wouldn’t understand now—why he had to do it. Why he would never belong here.

They could never know what he was.

He felt Elle stiffen in his arms at whatever emotion she felt rippling through him. When she pulled away from him, her green eyes were soft with sadness and worry. He was relieved when she didn’t pry, though her fingers tightened on the crook of his arm in a gentle, empathetic squeeze.

He forced himself to grin crookedly at her. “I promise. “

His sister returned his grin with her own. “You better,” she said, “or I’m finding you and kicking your butt.”

He snorted. “You can try.”

Her grin became wicked, her eyes flaring bright green. “Don’t forget, you still owe me a sparring session.”

“How could I forget,” he sighed fondly.

Elle stepped away from him. He turned and shifted his gaze to his father, and from there to Tsuel and Frostbreath. Then he reached Sam, and his gaze halted, taken aback by the worry he saw lingering there in those depthless violets. He might not have believed it, had he not felt the emotion itself as it pooled in the air.  And that curious thing, that newness in the way her emotions reacted, flared again, and once again he couldn’t place it.

He gave her a slight nod. One that she returned.

Then he let his core unfurl within him, let those icy tendrils rake through his very being as weightlessness overcame his corporeal form, as he disappeared into the welcoming throes of his intangibility.

When he zipped past them, he saw Sam’s head turn in his peripheral, as if to watch him leave. Could she still see him? No, there was no way. Perhaps she sensed his skulking, supernatural presence as it slipped through the fringes of heightened awareness. Was his hypothesis correct, after all?

He would have to worry about that later. Right now, his priority was getting to Pandora’s realm.

Zooming through the skies of the Far Frozen, far above the twinkling sprawl of Ec’Nelis, he let his core expand, let the electrical current in him free, like a shockwave of power, until he felt it—that slight disturbance in the fabric of reality. He could feel the charged particles as they formed and resisted each other. It was like a magnetic field. One that both drew him in and resisted him.

He followed that feeling until the world shifted, everything around him tilting and spinning, until the starlit skies bled into swirling masses of green and the grounds fizzled out into oblivion. Snowcapped mountains faded away, and were replaced by a world completely different from the one he’d grown up in.

xXx

The following afternoon, Sam lounged in her rocking chair in the yeti king’s fire-warmed study, legs tucked underneath her, as she stared thoughtfully into the crackling flames.

Frostbite was quiet as well.  

In recent weeks, his lectures had tapered off from a broad onslaught of information, to more of a gurgling brook. Most days, they sat in silence while he waited for her to ask questions or share something that she observed, and he would either answer her or prod her with leading questions of his own, until they conversed openly on whatever subject they settled upon. She found the method unconventional but rather effective, as the info seemed to root itself into her brain easier than the bitch slap of word vomit he’d started her with.  

She was quiet today. And so was he. She could feel his hulking presence beside her, his demeaner calm and thoughtful as he nursed a giant mug of steaming tea that Tsuel had brought them earlier.

It was when the great yeti king shifted and reached for something on one of his shelves, that Sam found her attention drawn to him finally.

Her brows rose at the glowing scroll he unfurled and read like he was reading the Sunday newspaper. It was elegant, like something out of a fantasy novel, with handles forged from the purest gold. From where she sat, she couldn’t quite make out what was scrawled on its yellowed parchment, but she started when she craned her neck and noticed a trace of glimmering movement instead.

Her curiosity piqued, she asked him, “Whatcha got there?”

He glanced at her over his steaming mug. “A cup of tea.”

She resisted the urge to facepalm. “No, I mean what’s with the spooky paper?”

“Oh this?” he said, shifting the scroll slightly so she could see it better. “It is the Infi-Map. One of my most prized possessions.”

Oh shit, she’d heard Phantom and Elle mention it just yesterday. She felt her intrigue intensify.  “What is it?”

“It is a map of the Infinite Realms,” Frostbite responded. “It shows all natural portals as they form.”

He lowered the map somewhat so she could see it better. She couldn’t suppress the awe that surged through her at the sight of it.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed.

While the outside of the scroll was that old, yellowed parchment she had noted originally, the canvas that stretched before her now was a green so dark that it was almost black. A kaleidoscopic spattering of electric green whorls blossomed everywhere, streaking in some places like bolts of electricity.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised at the raw energy she felt coursing from the scroll. It unsettled her, but she didn’t recoil, her eyes narrowing instead on the little pricks of color she saw floating in its swirling green mists. Specs of blue, purple, orange, yellow, and many more floated everywhere, fading in and out, not unlike the way the stars twinkled in the night sky.

“How does it work?” she asked.

“It reacts to your innermost desires,” he said, grinning at the way her eyes bulged. “Once, when the energy coursed freely between worlds, it could even transport whomever wielded it to their intended location. Now it is merely helpful for tracking the natural portals that form across the Infinite Realms. It is how the Far Frozen has maintained its integrity for so long.” His grin widened. “For we are always ready.”  

Just then, the eerie green that oozed across the scroll’s parchment shifted and was replaced by the sprawling whiteness of snow, clouds, and a blurred rocky ridge.

“Is that the Far Frozen?” Sam asked. She felt her heart rattle in her chest at the sight of the frigid landscape. It was slightly hazy, as if peering through a dust-covered lens, but the ridgelines and the swooping drifts of snow were unmistakable.

“It is indeed,” Frostbite said. “And this is a natural portal that would have formed had the veil not been in place. It shall disintegrate momentarily. Watch closely.”  

Sam did, and gasped when the Infi-Map shifted again, but this time it was choppy oceanwater that greeted her.

She shook her head. “This thing is wild.”

“Would you like to try?”

She swallowed the tremulous lump in her throat. “To do what?”

“To see.”

“Oh, uh, sure. I guess,” Sam said.

Pleased, Frostbite settled the scroll into her hands. The thing was massive. It dwarfed her entire torso, and she struggled with its awkward bulk. But the second Frostbite released it, all traces of color and anything recognizable evaporated, and suddenly, she found herself staring at a blank sheet of ancient parchment.

“I think I broke it,” she said, frowning at it.

The yeti king chuckled. “Nonsense, Sam. It has simply gone dormant. It can be a bit unwieldy for someone who is untrained. Perhaps if you try speaking to it, it shall—”

“Speaking to it?”

“Yes. Tell it what you want to see, and it shall abide.”

Her heart lurched into her throat as the reality of what he was telling her dawned on her. “Show me . . .” She swallowed hard. “Show me Amity Park.”

Her fingers trembled as the images swirled and shifted. Ectoplasmic green exploded, softened into white, then blossomed again into the hazy, sickly green of her nightmares, along with a scattered line of darkened smudges. She squinted and leaned closer, realizing with a start that the dark blotches she’d noticed initially weren’t blotches after all.

Tears welled in her eyes. “The Amity Park skyline,” she breathed. The Infi-Map trembled in her quaking fingers. She steadied herself with a deep breath. “But . . . how? Why does it look like that?”

“Because there is a near impenetrable veil around your realm,” Frostbite said. “It makes it inaccessible, but the portal that would have formed provides us with a window through which we may peer through. It is also why your realm has not experienced more than phantasms in recent moons.”

“But there were portals . . .” Her voice was ragged as it burst from her chest, her mind jolting with memory. Churning skies of rippling green. Spherical portals yawned wide, fanged creatures darting from them, just as a collective plume of ectoplasmic fire rains down on them all. “The day I cam here. There were portals that the gho—the phantasms—came out of.” She shook her head. “And Frostbreath was there, too.”

“There are times when even impenetrability can be compromised. Instances when the veils shift and thin, and the quantum rifts become jumbled. The balance of energy was always precarious, even when the flow of it was unhindered.” The yeti king’s lips pursed. “Now they are lost in chaos. Your realm likely suffered from an acute convergence, when all energy settles upon a given area in a single moment.”

“So, the energy basically blasted a hole through the veil,” Sam surmised, “which allowed all those assholes passage.”

“Precisely.”

Sam nodded through her tears. She had been unable to look away from the map since Frostbite had placed it in her hands. It was like trying to see details through stained glass, or a fog kissed window, but the bones of her ruined city were there, hidden behind the veil.

She stared hard at the map for a long while. And in that time, Frostbite said nothing. He merely rocked in his chair, his long tail flicking absently as the chair creaked from the repetitive motion.

“I want to help,” Sam said suddenly, her voice raw with emotion.

“Help with what, human girl?”

“Fighting them,” Sam said, her voice resolute. She handed the Infi-Map back to him. “No more locking me away. I want to help.”

“However admirable of a sentiment,” Frostbite said, “I am afraid I cannot accept such an offer.”

“Why not?” Sam hissed. She wiped away her unshed tears with the back of her hand. White hot anger flared within her.

“Because you are not—”

“I am ready,” she retorted. “I have been ready. I’ve been fighting them for years now. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I am well aware of who you are,” Frostbite warned. “Tales of the human shade and the red huntress have followed you well into this realm and beyond.”

Sam’s anger plummeted. “What?”

“There were ghosts evacuated from the Mortal Realm who told tales of your exploits. Yours, and the human in red,” Frostbite said. “Your abilities have never been in question.”

Sam was having trouble processing such an abrupt turn of conversation. Your reputation does precede you, to an extent, Phantom had told her once.  And the human in red? Had he meant Valerie?

 “Human shade?” she asked, her nose wrinkling. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Frostbite’s wide muzzle curved with an amused grin.  “It appears that for such a small creature, you cast quite a formidable shadow. The ghosts that fled Dark’s reign and the onslaught of the phantasms also fled from you.”

Sam threw up her hands in frustration. “Then you should want my help?”

“In due time.”

“Why not now?”

“Because your body is still healing,” Frostbite said patiently. “I have awaited Sleetjaw’s approval before we begin your physical conditioning. I will gladly accept assistance from you, Sam, but not at the expense of your health.”  

“That’s not your decision to make.”

Frostbite’s gaze softened. “You are correct. And I apologize for removing your autonomy on the matter. But you are far too important to risk.” And then, so softly that she almost didn’t hear him, he added, “We have grown quite fond of you. I will not risk losing you.”

“Fond of me?” Sam repeated quietly to herself with a laugh that belied any humor. “That’s rich.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“All I feel like here is a goddamn monster,” she snapped. Her anger bristled hotter and brighter than the flames thrashing in the fireplace. “Every day is about how wrong humans are. How behind we are. How awful we are.” Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair, her bottom lip trembling. “I get it. I was wrong. Humans are the worst.”

Frostbite was quiet for a long time. Long enough for the boiling fury in her to settle into scathed defeat. Firelight danced along his shiny white fur, his ruby eyes and icy features, as he studied her with an unreadable expression. Sam didn’t care what he thought. She was suddenly so, so tired. So done with the haughty bullshit. She was done letting them treat her like some primitive, lesser being.

“I . . . apologize,” the yeti king said with his deep rumbling baritone full of shame. “I have not realized you have been made to feel this way.”

Sam sniffed and looked anywhere but at him. She stared at the curling flames instead. “It’s whatever.”

“That is not what I believe, Sam. I wish for you to know that.”

She shrugged.

“Humans are a young race, and you live short, mortal lives. Perhaps we appear insensitive, but the yeti have a millennium of knowledge and history with which we reference. I do not mean to infer that humans are any less than we ourselves are. We have simply been around for longer. Much longer.”

She sent him a scathing, sideways glance. “I don’t know how you managed it, dude, but even your apology is condescending.”  

Frostbite winced. “You are correct, and I apologize for that as well. I admit . . . I admit that I am a bit out of my element when it comes to such conversations.”

“Maybe because you don’t know as much as you think you do,” she quipped, glaring at him.

To her surprise, Frostbite threw back his head and laughed, deeply. “You are correct, yet again, human child. I myself have much to learn, that is as true as the snow that settles upon this kingdom.”

She could feel her anger wane further, but she kept her face twisted into a scowl, anyway. Fuck Frostbite and his arrogance. Let him stew on her seething anger a while longer.

However, much to her annoyance, the jolly yeti king did not appear fazed whatsoever. “I have always wished for our meetings to be a transaction of information, so we may learn from each other. I have not wanted to pry, as of yet, but if you would be agreeable to it, I would be most interested to learn of your realm as well.”

“You want to know more about . . . the humans?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

“Indeed,” Frostbite said. “It has been many years since the yeti have had such an opportunity.”

The remnants of her anger fizzled out completely as she took in the genuine eagerness on his furred face. She leaned her head back into her chair and laughed quietly to herself. “Okay. I guess . . .  I guess I can do that. I can try, at least.”

Frostbite beamed so widely that she could almost count every one of his pointed teeth. She was startled when even his tail seemed to thump with glee. “Wonderful!”

She blinked at his exuberance. In a deadpan, she said, “Boy, you guys really do drink the Kool-Aide here, don’t you?”  

“I do not know what that means.”

“Didn’t think you would,” she sighed. Under her breath, she muttered, “Which reminds me, pop culture references and sarcasm are top of the list.” She shook her head and raked her hand through her hair. “I think it’s the only way I’m going to survive this.”  

Notes:

OMG so not only did I actually make my biweekly update goal, but we have officially crossed the threshold of 100k words. This is the most I have ever written for a single work. The first iteration of this story only made it to around 66k before I gave up. Phew. What a huge accomplishment. And we're still going strong because, holy shit, I already have 2k into the NEXT chapter. I'm working a shit ton of overtime and doing night school right now, finishing up this chapter at 2am with next to no sleep for the entire week but IT'S FINE I'M FINE WE'RE ALL FINE HERE.

I actually had a lot of fun writing this and am super proud of how it turned out. I love adding in Easter eggs and smol details that will turn out into bigger things later. This chapter has quite a bit of foreshadowing in it. Little hints and clues sprinkled everywhere. Also memes. There are two memes in this one. My tired brain thought it was hilarious and had to add them.

I dedicate this chapter to Geekgirles. Your feedback and wonderful words heavily inspired this one. Hope you like it. :)

Chapter 15: A Flicker of Warmth

Notes:

Hey, heads up, I've slowly been cleaning up older chapters. Fixing typos and whatnot, as well as polishing the wording a bit. Nothing major is changing in the story. Just making older chapters reflect my current writing style. At the time of this note, only the first three are edited.

Frozen Fire

Chapter Fifteen: A Flicker of Warmth

xXx

Sam spoke of her world numbly at first, with words that dripped sarcasm. She was uncomfortable and irritated as she sat rigidly in the rocking chair. Her fingernails rapped impatiently on the wooden arm. She was expecting the worst. To be subjected to her gloom, to the dark shadows that lurked in her past, where smoke and fire still burned with its acrid stench, and where the heat still blistered old, poorly healed wounds.

She didn’t want to be having this conversation.

But then Frostbite surprised her. His questions started as a gentle tug on her guarded heart. And he didn’t ask her about the hard things. He asked about the color of the sky, the seasons, the animals. He asked her about her favorite memories and the things that she loved

It sparked something in her. Something old and rusted but with gears that still clanked in a working mechanism. It brought her back to the rustling of grass on rolling green hills, to the glint of moonlight spilling through glass buildings, to the smell of rain dampened earth after a summer storm. It made her remember the little things. The inconsequential things. Things that she didn’t know would someday be the ones she would long for the most.  

She told him about how her favorite time of year was when summer heat shifted into chilly autumn breezes and drizzling rain. How she loved watching the kaleidoscopic effect of the leaves. All those vibrant colors and the scents and smells. How even as the world around them was crumbling, Amity Park would still do its best to honor seasonal festivities and holidays

Frostbite, mesmerized by her tale and with his ruby eyes shining, asked her, “Sam, would it be acceptable to continue this conversation with some members of my court present? I would like for them to hear this. To have a first-hand account of the Mortal Realm is such a rare opportunity, and from its native dominating species, no less!” His grin was so wide that she could count every one of his teeth.

Begrudgingly, she agreed.

And so, here she was, once again in the extravagant dining room she’d vowed to never return to, surrounded by creatures of an alternate Realm. In her hand was a shining silver chalice—human sized, thankfully—and filled to the brim with the Far Frozen’s best sweet wine.

It was a smaller affair than her last disaster here. Frostbreath and Driftwind attended, as well as a portly female yet who introduced herself to Sam as Ymira, the Far Frozen’s primary market coordinator. Sleetjaw sat across from them, as did a young male yeti named Aksel, whom Sleetjaw claimed as his apprentice, and that old watery-eyed painter from the market, Windsong. Frostbite sat at the head of the table just as she remembered, but upon their entry of the immense dinning chamber, he’d guided Sam to sit near him on his left side, which also happened to be Phantom’s empty seat.   

Fidgeting with the decorative filagree embossed into her chalice, Sam took in the room of onlookers. They stared back at her. Not in hostility as they’d once done, but with open curiosity. Had she not known better, she would have thought their gazes full of hunger, and she supposed it was hunger in their gazes, but not for her flesh. The yeti were insatiable for knowledge.  

“Go on, Sam,” Frostbite told her. “Tell them what you have told me.”

Sam cleared her throat, intending to do just that, when a cool breeze swept across her nerve endings. Ice prickled the back of her neck. She tried not to let the shock she felt show on her face as she gaped at the newcomer.

“My daughter!” Frostbite exclaimed. “I am pleased to see you have decided to join.”

Elle walked quickly to her seat at Frostbite’s other side. When she sat, her unnerving green eyes flicked to Sam, but instead of the derision that Sam was used to seeing in her expression, it was a crafted mask of neutrality that greeted her instead. It made Elle look uncannily like Phantom, like she may as well have been cloned in his image.

“I’m curious,” Elle said simply. She leaned back in her chair and raised the large chalice of wine that Aksel offered her to her lips. “I’d like to hear what the human has to say.”

The yeti king beamed at his ghost daughter as his tail thumped happily under the table. Then he nodded his great head at Sam, icy horns glinting from the sconces of firelight. “Go on, Sam Manson. You may speak. And we shall listen.”

Despite the nervousness twirling in her belly like a restless butterfly, Sam did just that.

She told them what she told Frostbite—and more.

But only the good things. The things that she loved. And nothing too personal, because that was a line she would not cross. She told them about all the things in her world that she marveled at. It surprised her how much there was to tell. Her world was decimated, hanging on by a mere thread as poisoned fingers grappled with what was left of it, and still, she remembered the beauty. The good. The wonderful.

As she spoke, something inside her chest started to flicker. It was a warmth that leached into her very soul, cleaved straight through the shadows of anger and sadness and hopelessness that had held her deep inside herself like an anchor—and then she felt it. The weight shifted. It wasn’t gone, but she still felt lighter. Freer.

She eventually reached the topic of an endangered species she’d once written a paper on in school. She told them about a rare purple-back gorilla named Delilah that had once inhabited the Amity Park Zoo. And when she smiled, it was genuine.  

.

.

The Following afternoon, Sam walked with Tsuel through the bustling market circle. Beams of sunlight danced, so bright on the drifts of snow that Sam had to shield her view with a hand at her brow. What she wouldn’t give for a decent pair of sunglasses. Hell, even some clouds would be nice.

“What’s Frostbreath up to today?” Sam asked. A cold lick of wind skittered through her coat. She shivered, tightening the neckline.

Tsuel hummed. Her silky fur and lilac dress rippled in the wind, a delicate basket hanging at the crook of her arm. They halted before a wooden cart brimming with odd-looking fruit while the cart’s owner, a pleasant female with kind eyes, grinned warmly at them. Tsuel plucked an oblong fruit from the colorful assortment that was about the size of Sam’s fist. She handed it to Sam for her inspection. “He is with Leif.”

“Leif?” Sam turned the fruit in her hands, intrigued by its texture. It was fuzzy and prickled her bare hands with little barbs. With a shrug, she plopped it into Tsuel’s basket. “Who’s Leif?”

“Our cub.”

Sam froze. Up until now, Tsuel and Frostbreath had been less than forthcoming regarding their cub. Not that they didn’t trust Sam, as they told her often, but because it was frowned upon in their culture to divulge too much to an outsider. She remembered from Frostbite’s lectures that offspring were the insurmountable treasures of the Far Frozen, as it was rare for the yeti to have them.

Swallowing the lump that sprang into her throat, Sam said, “I didn’t know his name was Leif.”

“I would like for you to meet him someday. When the time is right.”

“That would be awesome,” Sam murmured as she stared down at her snow-covered boots. Then a thought pulled her brows into a furrow. “Can I ask you something random?”

“Anything, dear cub. You know that.”

“Why do some of the yeti, like Frostbite and Frostbreath, have names like that, while others . . . don’t?” She pursed her lips, not sure how to even ask the question properly. It was something she’d been curious about for a while now.

Tsuel blinked, then chuckled. She steered Sam down the line of market stalls. “Yes, I suppose that would seem peculiar.” Her long tail flicked as she walked, disturbing the soft fresh snow that had fallen earlier. “Frostbite and Frostbreath, and even Sleetjaw, Driftwind, and especially Windsong, are much older than the rest of us. Their names are derived from our old language, translated to suit a current era. They are far too superfluous for the younger languages of the Realms, so we have long favored the translated versions.”

Sam nodded as she walked. The stall nearest to her was lined with a vivid assortment of scented candles. She paused to sniff one, sighing at the wonderful scent. It reminded her of lavender and vanilla.

Before Sam could protest, Tsuel gingerly placed the candle into her overfilled basket.  “For your room. It is about time you start filling it with personal possessions.”  

Sam smiled even as guilt tugged at her. She didn’t have the heart to tell Tsuel that it was pointless to make the room her own when she would only be living there for a few more months.

Further along the circular track of market stalls, Sam could see yet another of her favorite vendors appear in the sprawl, tucked away behind a stall of windchimes and nearly obscured by one of furred hides. Her boots crunched in the fresh snow as she slogged over to it.

Paintings and loosely sketched charcoal drawings fluttered in the wind, while the larger, heavier canvases merely swayed. Sam gaped unabashedly at them, just as she so often did when she and Tsuel would make their rounds. Looking for the new additions was the highlight of her day.

“I see the human has returned,” said a raspy voice.

Sam greeted the watery eyed yeti with a jerk of her chin. “What’s up, Windsong?”

The old male, Windsong, in his typical impassivity, replied, “The sky, as usual, human child. It is most peculiar that you are in need of confirmation on a daily basis.”

“One day you’ll realize it’s a figure of speech,” she told him. “I believe in you.”

Windsong stared at her from his stall, his hefty brows low over his eyes. He gestured to his spread of artwork with a single knobby hand, blunt tipped claws splayed wide. “I think you shall be pleased by the new pieces I have added today.”

She arched a brow at him. “Oh, will I?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. His slender form was rigid on his wooden stool, fur rustling in the wind, and scraggly tail curled around the stool’s base. His expression remained impassive, though Sam could still see the keen intelligence burning in his silver eyes. It was like he saw everything and missed nothing.

He was surly and had the outward personality of a rusty fork, but the more time she spent subtly tormenting him at his booth, the more she noticed his eccentricities—and the more she liked him. He was different from the others. She had noticed the wide berth the other yeti kept as they passed him.

“Whatcha got for me today, then?” she asked.

“See for yourself.”

She gave him her widest, cheesiest grin, which he frowned at, and turned to his wall of wares. A wooden frame protruded from the tabletop, with twine stretched tight across it. Pinned to the twine, various pieces of artwork trembled in the persistent wind, which she stilled with her fingers as her eyes roamed each and every piece.

His display changed on the daily and depended on his mood. Today the sun shone bright in the cobalt sky, twin moons barely illuminated, with birds squawking and trailing overhead. The trilling song of windchimes kissed her eardrums. If it wasn’t for the oppressive chill leaching into her bones, she would’ve thought such a day indicative of springtime in her own world. His selection today represented such a mood.

Perfect renderings of horses and dogs, loose sketches of little mice with ears that reminded her of sailboats, a giant slender cat with long fangs that jutted far below its lower jaw, and—there it was, the new painting. A whale-like creature with massive butterfly wings trailing through wispy clouds.

She gestured to the whale. “Is this thing real?”

“I have told you that I can only paint from memory, have I not?”

She shook her head, mesmerized by the picture. The whale was giant in comparison to the swathe of clouds, its tanklike body a stunning silvery blue. The wings were an elaborate matrix of blues, silver, and warmed with pink and violet at its outermost edges. The creature reminded her of sunrise. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Shall I purchase this for your room as well, cub?” Tsuel said suddenly from behind her.

Sam started, not realizing the female had joined her at the stall. “Uh, no, it’s fine. You really don’t have to.”

Tsuel scoffed and removed the painting from the twine, tucking it under her arm. She handed several coins to Windsong from a little coin purse she kept on a cord around her neck.

Windsong waved the coins off. “Consider it a gift.”

Sam gaped at him. “For what?”

But the old yeti merely stared at her, his expressed unchanged. “You come here every day to admire my work and bother me. Perhaps a piece of your own shall curb such tendencies.”. 

She couldn’t help the wide grin that overcame her face. “I knew you had a soft spot for me.”

“I simply yearn for the peace I once had before you arrived here, child.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” she drawled. Then her smug grin softened into something warmer. “And thank you, by the way. It’s beautiful.”

Windsong was quiet as he stared down at her, his claws raking through the longer wisps of fur at his chin. “That is not the only new piece.”

Sam’s brows rose. She turned back to his display, but before she could begin her search anew, Tsuel gasped.

“Oh, Sam,” Tsuel breathed, a claw already pointing to the artwork. “It’s beautiful.”

Sam followed Tsuel’s line of sight and pointer claw, down past rows rife with renderings of the royal family, until she saw what had made Tsuel so surprised.

There, tucked just below a picture of Frostbreath proudly holding a giant fish, and next to one of Phantom and Elle standing passively at the head of court, was a picture of Sam.

She barely recognized herself. Guant cheeks were now full of life, pinched into a slight smile, as her eyes, dark and flinty due to the charcoal, seemed to shine as if lit by the torchlight that surrounded her. She realized he must have drawn this after last night, when she’d been lost in a tide of pleasant memories.

“Oh,” she said lamely, “you drew me.”

“An astute observation.”

“It is wonderful,” Tsuel said. “Remarkable work, Windsong. I shall like to purchase it myself.”

Sam whirled to face Tsuel. “What, why?”

“I shall place it with the others in my den, or course,” she said, already removing the drawing from the twine. This time Windsong accepted the coins she offered him.

“Tsuel is an avid collector of my work,” Windsong said.

“It is true.” Tsuel nodded. “I have purchased many of the twin cubs, of Frostbite and my mate and I, over the years.”

Sam shook her head, uncomfortable for reasons she couldn’t place. She tilted her head at Windsong to get his attention. “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed.

“Why would you draw . . . me?”

“Are you bothered?”

“No, I just,” she crossed her arms and shrugged, “don’t get why you would.”

Windsong stared at her silently for a long while, his long ears twitching and his eyes as hard as steel as they bore into her own. He seemed old and frail at first glance, but there was an edge to him that was as sharp as any blade. He studied her in silence for a long moment, then said, “I wish to give you something.”

She squinted at him, but before she could ask, he had risen shakily to his feet. Despite his leanness, he still towered above her and Tsuel, his twisted horns brushing the ceiling of the leather canopy of his booth. He rifled through a tilted tower of crates that were stacked precariously behind his stool until he procured a bundle of parchment and a small tin of charcoal nubs. He handed them to her, his expression still blank.   

She took them unsurely. “Why are you giving me these?”

“Because I wish for you to have them,” he said. He settled back onto his stool with a grunt.

“But . . .?”

Windsong shook his head at her, his muzzle curling with annoyance. “You appear fascinated by art, and I sense you have a keen eye for detail. I wish to see what you will do with it. That is all.”

She clutched the pad of parchment to her chest. “Uh, thank you?”

He waved her off, but before she left, Sam was certain she’d seen his muzzle curve slightly, as if in a smile.

xXx

Worry seized Danny as he blazed through cosmic rifts. Hastened by urgency, he was little more than a blur against the swirling green mists of the Outerworlds.

He felt for the pull, for the charged fragments he knew would soon form and allow him passage.  

And then . . . he felt it. When the particles bristled and coalesced into a wave of power. He wasted no time, summoned that part of himself that he abhorred and wrenched it forward. And when he felt those particles cling to him, to his very being and everything that he was, he seized their energy and blasted through the hazed veil of the portal.

He burst into Pandora’s world with the might of a thunderclap. In his chest, he could feel his core reeling with the surge of raw energy. He barely registered when the blue-green expanse of a hedge maze oozed all around him like a branching fog. It had been years since he’d been here last, but he still knew the way.  

The monsters that guarded the maze barely spared him a passing glance as he blew past them. A minotaur even waved. Had circumstances been different, Danny might have stopped to return the wave, but his apprehension pressed him forward until he reached the open skies.

Everything was quiet. A balmy wind rustled waves of blueish grass, stars glimmered overhead in the perpetual twilight, the sky a dusky purple. Danny floated near a twisted tree that was peppered with tiny orange and yellow blossoms. Far off past another jumble of blossoming trees, he could see the rolling hills, and even further still, he spotted Pandora’s Acropolis where it rose from a hill’s peak in all its glory. The white marble columns stood proud and vibrant against the purple sky.

Floating higher to get a better view of her temple, Danny sighed with relief. A smattering of warm light bled from the windows of the small huts scattered at the base of the temple’s hills. Various creatures, all dressed in light colored chitones, milled about. Many glanced up at him in surprise.  

As he neared them, a cold awareness brushed through his core and manifested into the chilled breath that wafted from his mouth. He turned to face its source.

“I haven’t seen the likes of you in a while,” a familiar voice said.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been thrilled to see you,” Danny replied dryly, “but I am. It’s good to see you, Boxy.”

The squat form of the coverall-clad Box Ghost appeared, his mouth twisted with the attempt of a sinister smile. “Beware!” he greeted, thick arms waving manically. He drifted closer until he bobbed before Danny, eyes narrowed.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Pandora. We haven’t heard from her in a while.”

Box Ghost’s blue lips thinned into a grim line. “There was an attack here not long ago.”

“Where is she?” Danny asked. His worry returned with a vengeance. “Is she okay?”

“Follow me,” Box Ghost said. “I will take you to the Lady.”

Danny followed the Box Ghost through the massive pillars of Pandora’s temple. White marbled floors shone, polished to perfection, beneath his feet as he landed. He recognized her immediately.

Standing over ten feet tall and blue-skinned, with her gilded helm and plated chest piece gleaming from the nearby sconces of purple torchlight, was Pandora. Her black and gold chiton fluttered in the light wind that slipped through the columns. She turned to face him at his approach.

He grinned widely at her. Both in relief and with genuine warmth. Pandora was more than an ally to him. Over the years of discourse between the Far Frozen and her Acropolis, she’d become an extended member of his family. A sort of motherly figure that had helped guide him and mold him into the ghost he was today.

The red pools of her eyes twinkled in the flickering light.  “Well, if it isn’t Danny Phantom!” she boomed, enfolding him with three of her four muscular arms. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Danny pulled away from her, still grinning, until he noticed the small, furred form curled into the crook of the arm she’d kept tucked to her side.  

“Our little messenger got injured during the last of Dark’s attacks,” she told him with a frown. Her nose wrinkled with disdain at the mention of the Ghost King.

“That explains the lack of letters,” Danny said. He eyed the little poof of white fur, at the tail that flicked lazily, and the bandage wound around one of its little hind legs. “Will he be alright?”

As if realizing it was now the topic of discussion, the tiny foxen in Pandora’s arms turned and blinked its owlish blue eyes at him, ears twitching with interest. Its tail thumped enthusiastically against Pandora’s breastplate as it recognized him.

She chuckled, scratching between its ears. “He will be. Poor thing got caught between a minotaur and a draugr. He won’t be traveling through shadows to pass letters anytime soon, but he will make a full recovery.” As if overcome by the little creature’s cuteness, Pandora lifted the foxen and nestled it to the side of her face. “You will be just fine. Won’t you, my little darling?”

The foxen yipped happily and licked the tip of her nose.                                                                                                       

Then, as if she’d only now noticed his presence, Pandora’s eyes narrowed on the Box Ghost. “And what are youstill doing in here?”

Danny snorted and arched a brow at Box Ghost, grinning smugly. “Yeah, Boxy, the adults are talking.”

Box Ghost looked between them and sputtered, the color of his blue skin purpling with indignation. “I am the Lady’s assistant now!” he snapped, a single finger waggling at Danny menacingly. “An assistant of terror and all things square and evil.”

“You are the assistant of nothing until you have finished your training for the day,” Pandora hissed. “I don’t recall dismissing you.”

Box Ghost flipped upside down and floated closer, his face anguished. “But Lady,” he whined.

“No buts.” Pandora jabbed a pointed finger toward the grassy hill beyond her temple, to a small open area at the western side of the little village. “Now quit with the smart talk and get on with your training.”

A male minotaur and a female centaur stood waiting in the clearing, weapons in hand, next to several burlap training dummies. Some were mounted to posts, while others appeared maneuverable due to the wooden dowels the centaur was holding in one of her hands. They glowered up at the Box Ghost. The minotaur’s foot stomped impatiently, fringed tail flicking.    

A loud groan burst from the Box Ghost. “Okay,” he drawled. “I will do as you ask.”

Pandora sighed and shook her head at the Box Ghost’s dour retreat, then turned to Danny, her smile apologetic. “Our mutual friend is quite the work in progress. We’re still . . .  hammering out the kinks, if you will.”

“You’re training . . . the box ghost . . . to fight?” Danny said slowly. When the centaur thrust a sword into Box Ghost’s clumsy hands, Danny gaped, beyond incredulous.

“Well, you can never be too careful these days,” she said. “These are dark times, I’m afraid. Dark times that call for desperate measures.”

Danny chuckled humorlessly.  “Tell me about it.”

“If you’re here to see Dora and Genevive, they are with the townsfolk,” Pandora said, a knowing smile on her face. “Genevive will be most pleased to see you, I’m sure. How long are you here for?”

Danny winced at the mention of the other ghosts. “Another day,” he admitted, “and I’m not here to see them, actually.” 

“Oh?”

“We were worried about you. My father sends his regards, of course.” He patted the leather satchel still strung over his shoulder. “And Tsuel sends hers.”

“How marvelous!” Pandora exclaimed, taking the satchel that Danny handed her. She pulled out the small parcel of honey tarts that Tsuel had made and beamed as if she’d just been given some priceless artifact. “You must give them my thanks for me.”

“Will do.”

They floated in silence for several moments as they watched the Box Ghost’s floundering attempts to thrash faceless dummies into submission. Danny had to hand to Boxy, it was impressive how talented he was at missing stationary objects.

It was the fourth time in row that Box Ghost missed even nicking the dummy with his sword that Pandora shrieked, “You’re supposed to hit it, not dance with it!?”

Hands behind his head, Danny snorted at the look of utter dismay he saw on Pandora’s ghostly features. “Hey, he was actually kind of close to hitting it that time.”

She groaned and ran a hand over her face and through the violet fire of her hair.

“You could send him to Elle for some individualized training,” he supplied helpfully. “She’s always on the hunt for a new punching bag.”

Pandora’s face softened at the mention of his sister. “How is my girl? It has been so long since I’ve seen her.”

“She’s the same. Feisty as ever.”

“I would imagine so,” Pandora chuckled. “Has her condition improved?”

His face fell. “No, it hasn’t. But it hasn’t gotten any worse, either.”

“It is truly a shame. Such a talented girl with a remarkable gift. Imagine the good she could do with it if her core was to stabilize.”

“It is,” he agreed grimly. “My father and Sleetjaw have been trying for years to stabilize her.” He shook his head as the words tightened something in his chest. “Nothing works. And if they can’t figure it out . . .”

Pandora shifted so she was facing him. The chill of her fingers touched his shoulder, squeezing gently. “They will figure it out in time. I know they will. The yeti are a tenacious species. They will never give up.”

“I know.” Danny sighed. His shoulders slumped. “But Elle’s even less patient than I am. She . . . wanted to come, you know. She always wants to go with me when I leave but it’s just not worth the risk.”

“Can she truly not use her ghost abilities at all?”

“She can use her powers, to an extent,” Danny said, crossing his arms. “Her cryokinesis isn’t an issue. But all her other powers are technically possible if she has a source to draw from.”

“Such as?”

“Other ghosts,” he said. At the alarmed gleam he saw in Pandora’s eyes he quickly added, “But only willingly. The energy must be offered. And she’s still exhausted after, but it keeps her from . . . well, you know, turning into a puddle.”

“And what of your gift, child?”

Unease roiled in his chest. He immediately wanted out of this conversation. “I don’t use it.”

“Young Phantom,” Pandora admonished.

“I won’t use it,” he corrected. “Not after what happened.”

“What didn’t happen, you mean.”

“But it almost did,” he snapped. Even four years later, those wretched memories stirred with perfect clarity in his mind. He could recall everything. The color of the sky, the pungent scent of fire, the screams—and that wasn’t even the only time he’d lost control. “That kind of power is wrong.”

She studied him, frowning. “You will have to learn to control it eventually.”

Memories whirled. He shook his head to clear them, only for new ones to take their place.

The white walls are sterile, but they drip with acid green. He sees matted dark fur and claws that reach for him in desperation. A voice cries out, “Savu min! Savu min!” Humans surround Danny in their white lab coats and their goggles. It gives them a ghoulish appearance. They press closer, robotically, their mouths mere slashes of red and stretched into hideous grins. His eyes lower to the stains on their latex gloves, to the tools in their hands . . .

Danny swallowed hard. In his chest he could feel his core bristle.

He thought again of the draugrs’ most recent attack on his home, at their insidious presence and the words they hissed under their rancid breaths. They had known him by his Written name. How, he didn’t know. But if they knew, then their king certainly did.

It was only a matter of time before everyone else knew, too. Dread curdled his insides at the thought. He shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want anyone to know. If no one knew, then it would be easier for him to pretend that that part of him didn’t exist.

Box Ghost had apparently given up on the sword and was now buffeting the dummies with clumsy blasts of ecto-energy. Some landed, but most careened past and exploded into the grass. The centaur appeared as if she was close to kicking him with frustration.

Dany leapt at the chance to redirect their conversation. “You don’t have to keep him here, you know. I can always take him to the others.”

Pandora sighed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, he is an exceptionally good worker that I don’t wish to lose.” She gestured to the cluster of rose bushes that twisted off the base of her temple. “See? My roses have never looked so good!”

“Speaking of your roses,” Danny said, “I need a favor.”

She arched a brow at him.

“I kind of need another one. Just one. For a friend.”

“Oh, for a friend, is it?”

There was nothing in her tone that suggested anything more than genuine curiosity, but Danny still flushed. “Yeah.”

“Does your friend know of the threat they pose? I made an exception for Tsuel, as you know, but—”

“They don’t affect her.”

Pandora’s eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

“They, uh, don’t affect her,” he repeated. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, unable to meet Pandora’s eye. Why was he so flustered?  

“Which one of your ghost friends is this?”

“She’s . . . not a ghost?”

“One of the yeti, then?”

“No,” he sighed. “She’s human, actually.”

Pandora stiffened. She turned and looked at him fully. “Explain.”

Danny told her everything he knew. How he encountered Sam, broken and bleeding in her realm, and brought her back to the Far Frozen. Clockwork’s appearance and subsequent announcement that Sam was the missing piece to an ancient prophecy. When he was done, Pandora’s red eyes were shining.

“It has begun, then,” she said, her voice wavering. “Finally.”

He groaned. “Not you too.”

“Why are you so hesitant to accept your destiny, child?”

Scowling, he looked away from her, his arms crossed. “It doesn’t matter.”

A strong hand touched his arm. “I will give you the rose,” she said, “but on one condition.”

Danny sighed in defeat. “Name your price.”

“When the time is right, I expect you both to pay a visit here. I feel I must meet this Sam Manson.”

xXx

“Dear cub,” Tsuel said as she bustled past the island to where Sam sat at the quaint kitchen table, “I must return to my den for the evening. Would you like for me to escort you to your quarters now, or shall I send Frostbite for you after he is done with his tasks? The choice is yours.”

Sam looked up from her charcoal drawing of the rose centerpiece and shrugged. “Eh, make Mr. Snowman do some work for once. I’m good here.”

With a smile, Tsuel rustled the hair on Sam’s head. “As you wish. Please help yourself to anything in the meantime.”

“Sure thing,” Sam replied.

She sketched for a time longer before hunger speared through her. Not in that desperate, clawing way as it once had, but in a I-want-every-snack-in-sight way.

She yawned and stretched, before clambering to the island and helped herself to some of the fresh bread she’d made with Tsuel that morning, as well as a generous spread of jam. She popped several of the star berries into her mouth as she leaned casually with her back pressed against the counter.

She felt his presence before she saw him.

He materialized out of thin air, appearing across the room on the other side of the island. The chill of his presence stirred the room’s ambient warmth like the first burst of frost in early winter. His broad form and fluttering cloak made even the largest room feel too small, but she didn’t flinch, though her heart did flutter a bit in surprise.

When he noticed her, he balked, green eyes wide. “S-Sam?”

She merely regarded him calmly as she chewed. It was amusing seeing him ruffled when he was usually so composed. “You’re back.”

“I’m sorry, if I had known you were here, I would have used the door instead of . . .” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but at her, “not using it.”

She shrugged. “How was your ghost friend?”

“She’s good. Great, actually. All clear,” he replied. “It was, thankfully, a false alarm.”

“That’s good.”

“Uh, yeah. It is.”

Their eyes flicked, meeting each other’s gazes, and then quickly flitted away. Sam scratched between a foxen’s ears as a distraction from the awkward tension. The creature gaped up at her with its large opal eyes, as if to say, “hey, don’t bring me into this!”

Sam cleared her throat. “There’s a bunch of leftovers. Tsuel would probably want me to . . . get them out for you, right?”

To her surprise, Phantom snorted. “Hardly.”

Caught off guard, she glanced up at him, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? I’m her helper. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

Phantom tilted his head. “Sam, you are not obligated to do anything in the kitchen if you don’t want to. It’s not your job. Tsuel just likes having you around.”

“So, you’ll just make your own food, then?”

He frowned at her, shrugging. “Why is that such a surprise to you?”

She paused. Why was it such a surprise to her? Perhaps because there was something so domestic about preparing food, and picturing a ghost doing it, let alone one of royalty like Phantom was, was just . . . weird. She couldn’t even fathom it.

In fact, this whole conversation had been weird. Where was the animosity? The guardedness? And the . . . something else was missing, too, but she couldn’t place it. She bit her lip as she stewed on her thoughts in silence.

And when she glanced up at him from under her lashes, the silence having stretched well past an awkward lull, she realized he was looking at her strangely. Just as he had before he left for wherever the hell Pandora’s Realm was.

“What?” she hissed.

“You don’t  . . . seem bothered by me,” he murmured.

She froze, considering. He was right. She could sense him a mile away. Could still feel that cold wrap of something dark and looming in her very soul . . . but she didn’t react to it. The innate fear no longer responded to his presence. It hit her like a freight train that her primal fear was the thing that was missing. Now she just felt . . . cautious.

She hid her revelation in a shrug. “Guess I just don’t think you’re scary anymore.”

“So, you did think I was scary,” he joked.

Sam rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. “Oh, fuck off.”

She heard him chuckle from behind her. When the sound of pans rustling trilled, she whirled and gaped at him. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking,” he said flatly as he grasped a sheet pan.

“Tsuel said there are plenty of leftovers.”

“Yeah, and?”

Sam stared at him. He stared back.

Then he sighed. “I want cookies.”

“Cookies,” she drawled.

He gave her a flat look. “Why are you making this weird?”

“Because you’re being weird?”

They continued to stare at each other. The silence was deafening between them. They watched each other warily, like they were two wild animals about to cross paths.  

Phantom grimaced. “This isn’t really panning out, is it?”

Sam blinked at him. Her eyes flicked between his blank expression, then to the sheet pan he still held in his hands. Disbelief rattled her. “Did you just . . .?”

His face cracked into a wicked grin.

“You did!” Sam gasped. “That was a fucking pun!”

He laughed, spinning the sheet pan midair with a burst of icy wind. “You have no idea how refreshing it is that someone actually gets that joke.” 

Sam sighed dramatically and picked up one of several baking utensils. “It was pretty whisk-y, I’ll give you that.”

Now it was Phantom who blinked, wide green eyes flicking from her face to the giant, yeti-sized whisk she clutched in her hand. Then his expression morphed. It broadened into the widest, most shit-eating grin she’d ever seen. “That joke was the yeast of your problems.”

She arched her brow and crossed her arms. “You’re gonna have to batter than that, dude.”

The sheet pan clattered to the marble top of the island as he turned and rooted through a pantry cabinet. She remained fixed to her spot as she watched him curiously. He returned moments later, and presented her with the jar.

Her face scrunched with confusion. She didn’t take the jar. “Why are you handing me that?”

“Don’t human girls like flours?”

Sam snorted and pushed the jar away. “Stop. That’s too jarring.”

He grinned at her, before he settled the jar of flour onto the island and snagged a large egg from a basket that Tsuel kept on one of the wooden shelves. He opened his mouth, but Sam waved him off before he could speak.

“Don’t even start with the egg puns,” she groaned. “There’s way too many. We’ll be here all night.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. He gingerly placed the egg next to the pan and the jar of flour. “They’re far too eggstreme.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away to hide her smile. She’d never realized how similar their humor was. It was . . . odd. But also refreshing. After nearly three months of dealing with the literality of the yeti, she was starved for some humor and sarcasm. Though she never figured the infamous Phantom would be the one to give it to her.

Back home, they literally cowed in fear at the mere mention of his name, and even she had been unable to tamp her instincts, but now . . .? She peered at him over her shoulder. He had already gathered the necessary ingredients and worked it into a thick dough. A foxen wagged its tail and watched, its dark brown eyes darting with movement as it tracked Phantom’s large wooden spoon in the bowl.

He glanced up at her from his work. “Not to make this whole interaction even more awkward than it already is, but I did bring one of Pandora’s roses back for you. She sends her regards.”

Sam felt her cheeks heat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her feet shuffled awkwardly as she rapped her nails on the marble island. “Want some help?”

“Uh, sure,” he spun the bowl to the center of the island so it separated them, and placed two sheet pans on either side of it. “You take one pan and I’ll take the other?”

She nodded. One by one, they removed lumps of dough from the bowl and placed them on their respective pans. A foxen snatched one of them and skittered off with it before Sam could so much as blink.  

While the cookies baked, and the warm scent of them slowly filled the kitchen, Sam asked, “I’ve been curious . . .?” Her voice trailed off with uncertainty.

Phantom’s back was to her as he worked to clean their mess, but she noticed when his shoulders tensed. He turned and peered at her over his shoulder. “About?”

“Pandora,” she said. She joined him on his side of the island to fill a glass at the hand pump near the wash basin.

The tense set of his shoulders relaxed a little. “Oh. What about her?”

“Is she like . . . the Pandora?”

“The Pandora?”

“Yeah, like,” Sam’s lips pursed in thought, her cheeks heating again as his eyes pierced hers, “the one from the books?”

From his blank look, she knew he didn’t understand, and she sighed with frustration. “Back in Amity, there was an abandoned bookstore, the Skulk and Lurk, and there was a book there that mentioned Pandora. I was just curious if there was a connection.”

“What does the book say?”

“That she was the first mortal woman on earth, created by Hephaestus after he was commissioned by Zeus. They gave her a box full of the world’s evils and sent her to earth with it. She was . . . in the book, at least, humanity’s punishment after Prometheus stole fire for them.”

Phantom was quiet. Thoughtful, even, as he stared at her with that eerie stillness of his. “You know, I don’t actually know the answer to that. Pandora is an Ancient being from the Godsworld, but I’ve never . . .” he glanced down at the counter, his brows low. “I’ve never asked her about what she was before she came to the Infinite Realms.”

Her brow scrunched. “Really?”

An odd look flickered through his eyes and then guttered out just as fast. “It’s . . . impolite to ask a ghost about their Before. Even when one ghost asks another.”

“Gotcha,” Sam said, trying not to sound disappointed. A foxen sidled up to the arms she had braced against the island, nestled itself into the fur of her jacket. She scratched under its chin until its little hind foot thumped against the marble. “So, are you and Pandora . . .?” She couldn’t even finish the question, her cheeks blazing. It was none of her damn business what Pandora was to him, Ancient or not.

Phantom titled his head at her again. He seemed confused. Whether it was by her unfinished question, or the flustered emotions he sensed emanating from her, she wasn’t sure. “Are we . . . what?”

She made a motion of crossing her index and middle fingers. “Together.” She felt ridiculous for even asking. She knew the yeti paired off, but she realized she had no idea if ghosts did as well. But she was just so damn curious. Now that she wasn’t being stifled by fear at the mere sight of him, she realized there was a lot she didn’t know.

Phantom’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh, uh, no, it’s not like that,” he said, suddenly just as flustered. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. “Pandora is a mentor. I’ve known her . . . for a long time.”

“A mentor?”

“Yeah. She and Clockwork. They helped me out a lot when I was . . . dealing with some things.” His face darkened as he turned his back to her to check the cookies. “Oh hey, cookies are done.”

Suddenly Sam didn’t feel like eating cookies. Her stomach had flipped at the mention of the Time Guardian. “Wait. You were mentored by Clockwork?”

He turned and glanced at her oddly. “Yeah?”

She shuddered as she remembered how time had slithered to a halt, how frozen fire had shone unmoving in the bejeweled fireplace, and how life itself had ceased, as if the world no longer mattered. That terrible, halting feeling of everything on pause . . . chills raced down her spine. “I’ve met him.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Phantom said. He pulled the sheet pans of cookies from the fiery maw of the oven and placed them onto the marble. The sweet smell of baked goodness intensified, filling her nose with its heavenly aroma. He smirked devilishly and added, “Very punctual.”

Unable to stop herself, Sam snorted at the punctual comment. “He is a bit unnerving though.”

“Most ghosts are, Sam.”

Sam glanced up sharply to the resigned look that settled in Phantom’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” he sighed. His hand glowed subtly blue as he waved polar energy across the cookies to cool them.

“So, Clockwork is a ghost, then?”

“Not necessarily. He wasn’t a mortal creature who perished. He’s always been what he is.” Phantom’s brow furrowed with thought. “Honestly, even I don’t understand the enormity of his existence. But he’s like the most ancient of the Ancients. He’s existed in every facet of the timestream, in every universe and every reality. He and the eyeballs.”

“The . . . eyeballs?”

Phantom grimaced. “The Observants,” he corrected. “They’re part of the Council. They govern the Realms and keep tabs on Clockwork.”

Sam’s head was spinning. The Foxen under her hand stiffened and yipped at her, and Sam jumped, not realizing she’d stopped petting the needy little creature. She sent the foxen a reproachful look and resumed scratching. “If there’s an entire council out there, why the hell is there a war? Do they support Pariah Dark or something?”

Phantom grunted, his face twisted with distaste. “No, they don’t support him. They want him gone too, trust me. But they won’t intervene.” He nabbed a cookie from the pan and seemed to weigh it in his hand thoughtfully. “Their job is to observe, not intervene. Basically, they just sit there and complain while doing nothing.”

Sam snorted. She reached for a cookie as well. “Sounds about as effective as the politics in my world.” Breaking the cookie into pieces, she frowned. “Well, back when we still had a functioning government, I mean.”

They used the next bout of silence to enjoy the cookies they made. Sam smiled with delight at the taste. They were delicious, just as all food here seemed to be. She’d stuffed about three more into her mouth and washed them down with cold glass of water before she spoke again. “So did these eyeball dudes mentor you too?”

He barked out a laugh at that. “No, they don’t like me. It’s fine though. The feeling is mutual.”

She smirked at him, a single brow arched. “What did you do to piss them off?”

“Bold of you to assume that it was me who did the . . . pissing off,” he said, struggling with the curse word.

“Something tells me that you have that effect on people.”

His eyes widened with mock outrage. “And here I was thinking we were past the insults.”

“Bold of you to assume to that I’ve depleted my insult arsenal.” She waggled a half-eaten cookie in his face. “I have plenty more incoming.”

His eyes narrowed on the cookie, but then he looked past it and grinned at her wryly. “I believe you.”

A short, snorted laugh erupted from her, and then she finished off the cookie with a shake of her head. She brushed her hands free of any lingering crumbs on her coat.

They both leaned with their backs pressed against the counter, arms crossed, a short distance from each other. If Sam wanted, she was close enough to reach out and touch him. An odd silence settled between them. Not quite as awkward as earlier, but not a comfortable one, either. It felt like he had something he wanted to ask her but was hesitant.

She was about to call him out on it, when Frostbite’s bulk appeared in the entryway.

He glanced between Sam and Phantom in surprise. “My son,” he acknowledged, “I had heard that you returned. Is all well with Pandora?”

“Yeah, everything is as good as it can be,” Phantom said. “Apparently our messenger has been recovering from an injury. I’ll tell you more tomorrow before court.”

Frostbite nodded, then turned his ruby gaze to Sam. “Sam, Tsuel informed me she would be out for the evening, so I admit that I have come to return you to your quarters for the evening.”

Sam sighed, pushing herself off the island. She started to gather her things from the dining table. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, “I’m coming, Frosty.”

“I can take her,” Phantom offered.

Sam whirled and gaped at him, just as Frostbite’s brows rose in surprise.  

Phantom gestured to the pans on the island. “We just made cookies.”

“Yes, I scented them far down the corridor,” Frostbite said. For the first time, he seemed at a loss for words, his ruby eyes once again flicking between Sam and Phantom, as if he could not understand the sudden shift in their dynamic. He fully entered the kitchen and snatched a stack of cookies from the nearest pan. His gazed leveled on Sam. “Is that agreeable to you, human girl?”

Sam shrugged. “Sure, why not.” She tossed her heap of parchment and the tin of charcoal back onto the table.  “I’m in no rush.”

“Very well then,” Frostbite said. “My son, shall I see you tonight at the pyre?”

Phantom grimaced. “Probably not.”

Frostbite nodded, but Sam glimpsed a flash of disappointment in his eyes. He bowed his head at them both so the sconced torchlight gleamed along his curled icy horns. “I shall see you both on the morrow, then?”

“Absolutely,” Phantom said.

Once Frostbite was gone, Sam narrowed her eyes at Phantom. “What the hell was that about?”

Phantom was still leaning lazily against counter, his brows low, a conspirer’s grin a gentle arc across his handsome face. His arms were crossed, a single leg crossed over the other as he leaned and appraised her, his head tilted to the side.

“What?” she hissed, nose wrinkling.

He shrugged. “Want to see something cool?”

“Something cool?” She frowned. “Like what?”

“It involves going outside.”

“Sounds cold.”

“It will be.”

“You’re not really making a good case for yourself here.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“You told me the other day that temperatures plummet at night.”

“I did and they do.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “So, what is there worth seeing when I could potentially freeze to death in minutes?”

He shrugged again. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

She scowled at his evasiveness, but he didn’t budge. He stared back at her, so smug and self-satisfied that it made her want to deck him.

She shook her head at him, fingers still drumming along her forearm. She should say no, tell him off, then hightail to her bed where sleep awaited her. She should walk away right now. Walk away because Phantom was a ghost and ghosts were evil. She should also punch him right in the face, or his core because . . . because . . .

She asked him, “Would Frostbite approve?”

“Definitely not.”

Sam grinned mischievously. “Let’s go.”

Notes:

Hiiiii! Sorry this is a week late, but I had a final exam and have been steadily working six day weeks so, as usual, I'm a bit ded. At the rate I'm going, I'm practically a halfa now. Just waiting for the ghost powers to develop. lol

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed a reprieve from the heaviness of the previous chapters. This one was the most lighthearted one yet! And I really enjoyed writing it. It made me so happy. Especially that pun battle at the end there. I was cackling like a fool while writing it. The next chapter is mostly written (I've had it on my PC for literal years), I just need to polish it up and add a few things to fit the rewrite, and perhaps squeeze in a scene or two for the other character arcs. ;)

In other news, I'm thinking of joining Invisobang this year! It shouldn't hold me up from writing FF too much as the story I'd like to write for it won't be a long one, but just thought y'all might like to know. I'm excited! I've never participated in a writing event before.

Please be sure to let me know what you think of this chapter! Your feedback really helps give me the motivation to keep writing. You guys are wonderful.:) Thanks so much for reading and sticking around!

Until next time!

Chapter 16: Links in the Universe

Frozen Fire

Chapter Sixteen: Links in the Universe

xXx

For the first time, Sam’s booted foot crunched into the nighttime shrouded snow of the Far Frozen.

Within seconds her breath was ripped from her lungs. Frozen claws that dug into her throat and every crevice of her body. Even the slightest brush of wind managed to completely numb her face and freeze her fingers. It was incomparable to anything she had ever felt before.

Instead of taking the usual doors from Frostbite’s throne room, Phantom had led her through deep curving passageways that seemed to descend indefinitely until, finally, they’d emerged from a smaller door near the base of the castle stairs. Had she not just used it herself, she would never have known the door was even there. It blended right in with the ice and stone surrounding it.

“Gah,” Sam gasped as she braced herself against the wind. “Holy shit it’s cold out here. You weren’t lying.”

There was a fleeting pressure on her shoulder. Sam turned to see Phantom looking at her with a finger at his lips. “Quiet,” he whispered.

She frowned at him. “Why?”

His response was to point in some direction behind her.

Sam turned and squinted into the darkness, blinking against the little flurries of snowflakes tossed into the air by wind, and it was then that she finally saw it—the distinguishable amber glow of fire churning against black velvet. Now that she was looking, she could see silhouetted shapes lumbering amidst the swirling white vortex, many crowded together. Behind the crowd, a tall spire protruded into the sky, nearly consumed by snow and dusk.

Sam squinted into the dark. “Is that the market circle?”

“It is, yes,” Phantom said in a hushed voice. “They do fires on nights like this.”

She looked around, as if expecting to see something other than twirling bits of snow. “Nights like . . . this,” she repeated slowly.

“It’ll clear up in a little bit,” Phantom said. His expression turned sly. “But you know, it would certainly help if we were above the clouds right now, wouldn’t it?”

There was an embarrassing amount of time in which Sam stared at him, silent and uncomprehending. What did he mean by above the clouds? It made no sense to her, because neither of them could . . . wait. Sam nearly facepalmed. She’d almost forgotten she was talking to a ghost.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” he said. “Haven’t you ever wanted to fly?”

“Not really, no,” she lied.

Phantom reached toward her anyway with his palm facing the sky. “C’mon,” he said, “I don’t bite. I promise.”

“Sure, you don’t. You’ll just feed on my emotions and suck out my soul,” she deadpanned, though her words lacked their usual malice.

Phantom grimaced at her. Without missing a beat, he said, “Sorry, I don’t like diet humans. Pretty sure feeding on your emotions would be the low carb version of the ghost world.”

“Are you calling me emotionless?”

“Well, you are goth, aren’t you? What was it you said before? The antitheses of anything bright and happy?”

“Funny.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you always such an ass?”

“Do you always disguise your fear with banter?”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Who the hell said I was afraid of anything?”

“I did. Considering you have yet to take my hand, I’m left to assume you’re either afraid of heights, or me.”

“I am so not afraid of you,” she snapped. “And for the record I love heights.”

“Well then,” Phantom said as he waggled his outstretched hand, “what are we waiting for?”

Sam opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, she stood there in the freezing wind with her gaze flicking from Phantom’s eyes to his hand, then back again. She shivered as a sudden bout of self-consciousness rippled through her. She wasn’t afraid—she wasn’t—but it seemed utterly forbidden to place her hand in his, like something cataclysmic would happen if she did. 

Phantom was a ghost. She’d be taking the hand of a ghost. She’d be trusting a ghost.

But then, Sam thought as she looked at him, do I even care?

The silence was deafening as they stared at each other. Bits of snow settled in Phantom’s hair, peppered his cloak with white. The snowflakes were big and fat, softer than anything she had ever seen in Amity Park. She frowned and brushed them away from her face where they clung to her bangs. Then she was staring at his hand, very much aware how pivotal her decision was. Things were changing. The Resistance had so much to learn. She had so much to learn.

“You can say no if you want,” Phantom said after the silence stretched on into what seemed like minutes. His hand dropped a little, and she watched the hesitation draw his features in uncertain lines. “I’d understand. I mean, it must be pretty cold out here for you. I’m unaccustomed to just how inefficient a human’s thermoregulation really is.”

The silence dragged on even longer. Phantom tilted his head at her with worry now prominent in his eyes. “Sam?”

Just when Phantom started to pull away, Sam surprised them both by placing her hand in his.

xXx

Tucker yawned and scrubbed the bleariness from his eyes with the back of his hands. His half empty coffee, now lukewarm, slid down his throat like toxic sludge. He shuddered as he finished it off.

Seated next to him at one of the long tables in the Fentonworks lab, was Jazz. They both hunched over the table, faces sagging into their hands, a weariness like no other tugging at their eyelids. He asked her, “How much longer is she going to watch that same video?”

“The data suggests . . .” Jazz trailed off, yawning, then managed, “indefinitely.”

“It’s like being stuck in the twilight zone,” Tucker muttered.

“Or Groundhog Day,” Jazz added.

They both started as Jack Fenton erupted with the loudest snore that Tucker had ever heard. He gave Jazz a flat look and jerked his thumb at the older Fenton, “At least he’s getting some rest.”

Jazz shook her head at her dad. Jack was slumped in of the rickety wheeled office chairs, his bulk swallowing the ratty leather backrest. Arms hanging, head thrown back, snores puncturing the evening stillness.

Tucker stretched and leaned back into his own chair. “I can’t believe he can sleep like that.”

“My mom said he’s been able to do that since their college days,” Jazz said. “Cramming for finals and all that.”

Tucker nodded absently, fighting off the urge to yawn again, and glanced at where Maddie was still camped out at her supercomputer. Her hair was in disarray, the whites of her eyes now red with the lack of sleep. Discarded coffee cups littered her desk as she scribbled furiously into a little notebook. The videos they’d pulled from FENTODRONE #9 played on a continuous loop.

She’d been at this for days now. Watching that damn video, over and over and over again. Tucker’s throat thickened as he caught a glimpse of Phantom hurling Sam to the ground and he had to look away. “Finding anything good on there, Mrs. F?”

Maddie’s shoulders stiffened at being addressed. She didn’t look away from the screen. “What was that, dear?”

“Tucker was just wondering how your research is going,” Jazz supplied helpfully.

“As well as it can be with the limited resources,” Maddie said.

“Mom, don’t you think it’s time to give it a rest?” Jazz rose from her chair and went to her mom’s side.

“Yeah, Mrs. F,” Tucker agreed. He joined them, though he looked everywhere but at her computer screen. His eyes lingered on a photograph framed by yellow and little flowers that sat atop her computer. Feeling guilty, he looked away from it. “I mean, you’ve been at this for days.”

Maddie sighed tiredly. “I suppose you kids are right,” she said.

But Tucker’s attention had strayed to her notebook where his eyes roamed her elegant scrawl, packed in tight to conserve as much real estate on her notebook page as possible. His brows pinched. “What are you looking for in all this?”

“Ghosts exhibiting corporeality is a rare thing these days,” she said. He didn’t miss the way her eyes shifted though, down to the pages of her notebook, her hand subtly sliding them out of view.

Uneasiness churned in his gut. Maddie was hiding something. “What are you not telling us?”

Jazz stiffened. “Mom?”

Maddie’s mouth pursed into a thin line. “I’m . . . not sure I should say. Not supposed to, anyway.”

“Say what, mom?”

“The last time we went down this route there were . . . consequences.”

Jazz crossed her arms. “When you and dad lost your clearance.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Maddie sighed. “Among other things.”

“What other things?” Tucker asked.

“I really shouldn’t be dragging you kids into this.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-six.” Jazz said dryly. The light of Maddie’s computer made the rippled scar tissue on her face especially garish. She gestured between Tucker and herself. “We’re not kids. Whatever it is, we can handle it.”

“Yeah, Mrs. F,” Tucker agreed with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Maddie raked a hand through her unkempt copper hair, her face scrunching in thought. She looked at Jazz first, before her eyes shifted to Tucker. Tucker could practically see the gears turning in her head. Then she looked down at her notebook and fiddled with her pen as she silently mulled things over.

It was several moments later when her face hardened with her decision. She rose from her chair and gently jostled Jack’s shoulder.

The large man woke with a startled snort and flailing limbs. “Ghost!” he shrieked.

“Not this time, my love,” Maddie said with a faint smile.

He yawned and stretched. “Is it time for breakfast yet?”

A soft, breathy laugh escaped her lips. The sound was strange considering how weary she looked. “Not yet.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “What’s up then, sweet cheeks?”

“We need to tell them.”

Jack went rigid. “Are you sure, Madds?”

The purpling under Maddie’s eyes was stark against her fair skin. “We can’t do this alone, Jack. We can’t.”

Jack stared at her for a long moment and then nodded once, his face grave yet bristling with determination. He went to the toolbox tucked away in the corner of the lab and pulled out a small electric impact. Metal clanked and rattled as he rifled through the drawer of bits and sockets and attached a long, star shaped bit to the chuck.

Tucker and Jazz watched in silent confusion. But before either of them could ask what the impact was for, Jack had already located an obscure spot on the wall behind the row of computers and began disassembling one of the metal panels that lined the lab.

Behind the panel was a pink wall of polystyrene insulation. Jack moved a section of it aside, revealing a small pocket that had been chipped straight through the compound’s structural cinderblock. Inside it was an ancient laptop. The thing was as thick as a textbook and clunky as hell. Jack pulled it from a protective sheath of plastic and gingerly lowered it to one of the few bare tables near Maddie’s supercomputer.

“Holy shit, that thing’s old,” Tucker remarked. He leaned closer to get a better look at it, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why do you guys have this?”

“We needed a way to stay clear of the compound’s servers,” Maddie said. “Barbarra scavenged it for us a few years back when our clearance got revoked.”

A spike of anxiety summersaulted through Tucker’s stomach as Maddie’s words and their implication settled on him like little droplets of freezing rain. Whatever the Fentons were hiding, it had to be big. Big enough that whatever they were about to tell them was more than just an act insubordination—it was something worse, like treason. The look of uneasiness that Jazz shot him over her shoulder suggested that she felt the same way.

While Jack worked on booting up the computerized fossil, Maddie returned to her own computer, chair wheels squeaking and groaning against the tile. Again, she pulled up the footage from FENTODRONE #9. The dark, grainy images blossomed onto her screen, right as acid started to burn in the back of Tucker’s throat.

“Mrs. F, no offense, but I can’t watch this,” Tucker said. He swallowed hard. “Not again.”

Maddie glanced up at him with a wild look in her eyes. Strands of her copper hair stuck out of her head in strange angles as if she’d raked her hands through it for days on end. From behind her, the ominous glow of her computer screen glared, casting her with a silver halo. The lines around her mouth seemed to quiver as she said, “It’s not what you think.”

Tucker wasn’t so certain.

But then Maddie’s pleading face melted away his unease and he sighed, relenting. “Okay.”

A light touch brushed his shoulder. “You don’t have to,” Jazz said.

“I know,” Tucker said. He patted her hand in thanks, then joined Maddie at the supercomputer. Jazz pressed in at Maddie’s opposite shoulder. With a tremulous grin, he told Maddie, “The stage is all yours, Mrs. Fenton.”

However, instead of playing the video, Maddie said, “What do we know about the behavior of ghosts?”

Tucker frowned at the question, but Jazz leapt right in. “That they’re reactive in nature, highly aggressive, and respond to the existing emotional stimuli of the given environment.”

Maddie nodded. “How about . . . socially?”

“Socially? Like with each other?” Tucker asked.

Again, Maddie nodded.

“Isn’t there usually, like, a horde, or something? And sometimes there’s an alpha that controls them?” Tucker said.

“What about their physiology?” Maddie said. “What does a ghost look like?”

Tucker knew all too well. Translucent bodies, a glowing center, sharp teeth and those horrible soulless eyes. He shook his head, unable to put such atrocities to words, and asked instead, “No offense, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“Four years,” Maddie said. “It has been four years since we last recorded a corporeal ghost in Amity.”

“We know, mom. You’ve mentioned it before,” Jazz said.

Maddie’s soft features hardened into something that was both stern and imploring before she turned to face her computer screen. With a couple clicks and several rapid keystrokes, she sped through the second video from the data chip and paused on a grainy image of Phantom, the furred beast, and Sam.

“Look at them,” she breathed. “Completely tangible. And they’re standing there. Not floating, standing. Look, look.”

Tucker was looking. But he wasn’t looking at the ghosts. Instead, his attention was on Sam, who was no more than a mere smidge amidst the grainy static. The rushing feeling that started in his chest had exploded into the gap between his ears. Suddenly, the room was way too small. He had to get out. Had to leave. Had to . . .

Something soft brushed his shoulder again. Jazz.

“It’s okay, Tuck,” Jazz said. “You don’t have to do this.”

It would be so easy to take her up on that offer. She was right, he didn’t have to be here. He could leave. He could push open those saloon style doors and disappear without so much as a second glance behind him. 

But that would be the coward’s way out. If he’d learned anything from Sam over the years, it was how not to be a coward.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’m okay. I can do this. Uh, Mrs. Fenton?”

“Yes, Tucker?”

“Play the video.”

Maddie did.

She zoomed in and enhanced it as best as she could, but the image was still pixelated as hell. It made it difficult to pick out the details. Which was probably a good thing, because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach seeing his best friend’s fatal injuries in high definition.

Even still, Tucker could see the way those two ghosts moved was . . . different. When he finally noticed it, it was all he could see, especially when Maddie replayed it from that initial frozen frame, but this time at a much slower speed.

“Their behavior is abnormal,” she said. “It doesn’t align with the typical patterns we see in wisps. Here, watch.”

Wisps were jerky. They moved swiftly and purposefully, almost as if they followed an algorithm, not unlike the pathfinding route an NPC would use in one of his old video games. He’d always found it strange. Overly technical when it came to the paranormal.

But Phantom and the . . . furry beast? They moved with forethought. Their gazes shifted. They conversed. The way the furry one had cradled Sam to its chest as she lolled in its arms like a ragdoll? If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the beast compassionate. 

“We noticed the anomalies early on,” Maddie said. “Ghosts were always such volatile creatures, but their behavior shifted twenty-five years ago.”

“What do you mean it shifted?” Jazz asked.

At this, Maddie turned in her chair to look at Jack. Tucker and Jazz followed suit.

Jack had clearly been watching them for some time, an unreadable expression on his face. He nodded his head once and beckoned them to his table.

The laptop was so old that it took a solid ten or so minutes to finish wheezing to life. And when it did, all four of them squeezed in around its little fifteen-inch screen while Jack attached a small external hard drive and started clicking through an absurd amount of files. 

Tucker’s eyes widened when a familiar ghost appeared onscreen. “Holy shit, is that the Phantom?”

“Well, back then they called him Inviso-Bill, but yes.” Maddie said.

“He looks so . . . young,” Jazz remarked.

Wide-eyed, Tucker stared at the fuzzy video footage. Indeed, it was a younger version of Phantom that had been recorded, blasting a large globular ghost with its powers. Something in the background caught Tucker’s attention. The footage was heavily out of focus, so he leaned in close to get a better look.

He recoiled in shock when he realized what that thing was he saw looming in the background.

“Is that the Eiffel tower?” he gasped.

“Yes,” Maddie said. “My contact in France sent me this a few years ago, though the footage itself dates back around ten.”

Air whooshed through Tucker’s ears. It made him feel lightheaded as he stared hard at the screen. His palms were slick where he had them braced against the table, supporting his weight, as if he could not bear it alone.

And there was more, too.

So many different clips, pieced together from surveillance all over the world. Many were of Phantom.

Phantom—as young looking and fresh faced as any teenager, engaged in an epic battle with a horde of wisps.

A cheery looking ghost with an outrageous brick of cheese for a hat—gently lowering a treed cat to the ground in an old schoolyard.

Phantom—now older, hands glowing with plumes of molten green, dodging a car sent hurtling toward it from a mechanical ghost with green fire for hair.

A small ghost dog—tail wagging, frolicking through a clump of yellowed grass in some dilapidated city. Chicago, perhaps?

Phantom—making an entire building intangible as it collapsed around a mass of fleeing people. And holy shit, that was New York. That one really threw him. And he knew it did Jazz, too, because he heard her sharp intake of breath and saw the way she stiffened from the corner of his eye.

A blue-skinned ghost in pinstriped pajamas—assisting small children out of a frozen lake after they’d clearly fallen through the ice. He didn’t even know which country that one was. Only that it was snowy and mountainous, a ghost shield flickering in the background.

Phantom—drifting aimlessly through alleyways and little shadowy alcoves, keeping itself hidden from the humans who passed it by. How it kept its ectosignature undetected like that, he had no idea.

It just didn’t make any sense. None of this did.

There was more, of course, but Maddie had stopped clicking through them. She tilted her head enough to get a clear look at Tucker and Jazz. Her reddened eyes gleamed with the glow of the laptop. “Do you see?”

Tucker shook his head, incredulous. “What does this all mean?”

“It means,” Jazz said, “that there’s a lot we haven’t been told.”

Maddie and Jack shared a long glance, before Maddie said, “It was . . . strongly recommended that we keep certain discoveries to ourselves.”

“But what does this all mean?” Tucker asked again. His head was spinning. He found the nearest chair and fell into it.

“They’re not the same kind of ghost as the ones here now, are they?” Jazz asked.

Despite the tension, Maddie’s mouth twitched with a small, proud smile. “No. They’re not.”

“And what do you think, Dad? You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet.”

Jack had again been listening with that unreadable expression on his face, thick arms crossed over his chest, mouth drawn into a firm, grim line. “I think,” he said, slowly, “that spooks are spooks. But . . .” He stepped forward and placed one of his large hands on Maddie’s shoulder. She grinned up at him and patted his hand in response. “But I trust my wife. Designing weapons and blasting them apart molecule by molecule is my specialty. Understanding them at that molecular level is hers. And she seems to think there’s . . . more. That we’re missing something.”

Maddie nodded. “I do. Twenty-five years ago, ghosts were a nuisance, yes, but they weren’t destructive. Not like they are now.”

Tucker shook his head. “Does Damon know about this?”

“He does,” Jack growled. “It didn’t do any damn good, though. When Madds first started noticing the anomalies she brought it right to Damon and the bastard brushed her off.”

Maddie nodded along, her face pained. “And when I insisted . . .”

“He revoked your clearance,” Tucker finished for her.

He didn’t need her sad nod of confirmation to know that his assumption was correct.

“He claimed to have no place in his ranks for,” her nose wrinkled, “ghost sympathizers. Not that we were—or are, for the matter. But the science spoke for itself then, and it still does now.”

It was all coming together. The jagged, missing pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place, piece by piece, though he knew there was still a shitload of tiles missing. There had to be. It was like they’d just finished the puzzle’s perimeter and still had the entire middle section to go.

Maddie’s words, spoken months ago now, bounced around in his skull. “I have been right about everything. If you and everyone else had listened before the start of this goddamn war, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

Then, something else occurred to him.

“What about what happened at Vlad’s old lab? Phantom destroyed it, right?” he asked.

Maddie nodded again, solemn. “Killed a bunch of scientists there, too.”

His guts twisted. “Well, that seems pretty destructive to me,” he muttered. He thought again of Sam, of the video evidence they had of her caught in that monster’s arms, and shuddered. 

“We don’t have . . . much footage of that night, I admit,” Maddie said, sighing. “Though I believe it was a rescue mission for a ghost that was being researched there. Phantom had a habit of rescuing other corporeal ghosts. My contacts corroborated that based on their own observations at the time.”

“Mom, your contacts?” Jazz asked. “What contacts?”

“The other ectologists out there,” Maddie said. “There were never a lot of us, especially before the war started, so we made sure to stay in touch as much as we could. Though that got harder and harder as the years went.”

“Are they still out there?” Jazz’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “Are there other cities out there still standing?”

“We don’t know, Jazzypants,” Jack said. “After Amity fell, we lost contact with . . . everyone, as you kids know. That at least has been public knowledge.”

Maddie sighed again. “The ambient ectoplasm in the air disrupts incoming and outgoing transmissions. Amity was always a hot zone, but now, who knows what cities still stand. For all we know, the Fright Knight went after them, too.”

Tucker shuddered at the mention of the Fright Knight. He leaned back into his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes again. His weariness from earlier was nothing compared to what he felt now. It was like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, pressing him down and down.

His eyes trailed and landed on Maddie’s supercomputer, to that frozen image of Sam, the furred beast, and Phantom. Something in him sparked then. He almost didn’t want to admit it, like if he did, that little flame flickering inside his chest would immediately peter out. He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel it again when it came to his best friend.

“Do you think she . . . that she was still alive . . . when they took her?” he asked.

The room went dead silent.

“Oh, Tucker,” Jazz breathed in that tone that sounded like she was about to deliver bad news.

Before she could continue, he stood, his chair stuttering behind him.

“I should go,” he said with a forced cocky grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ol’ Too Fine has a hot date with a twin named mattress and I’ve kept her waiting long enough. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

He didn’t wait for them to say anything more. With all the shit they just told him, he was tapped out on insane revelations for the night. Maybe for the next year. Or two.

Due to his racing thoughts, he decided to take the long way back to the shitty little living space he shared with his parents. Despite what he told the Fentons, Mattress wasn’t the best date, too curvy in all the wrong places, so even though he was exhausted, he was in no hurry to get back to a bed that made his back ache.

So, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked.

He’d always known that the Fentons had their secrets. But a laptop stashed in the walls of their lab, full of old ghost surveillance? That hadn’t been on his radar at all. He always figured they’d botched some big research project for the Resistance, not this. And he was sure there had to be more. In fact, he was certain. Deep down in his bones he knew they’d only scratched the surface.

There was more. So much more. Probably stashed under mountains and mountains of encrypted data on that old dinosaur they called a laptop.

What it all meant, he had no fucking idea.   

And then there was that other thing.

It was dumb to feel the way he felt. He knew it was. But he couldn’t help it. That thing in his chest was still there, burning and dancing with little marbled embers. And perhaps it would only lead to more heartache for him—and in fact, it absolutely would, but he still felt it all the same.

When he thought of Sam, the crippling despair that had lingered like a dull ache was gone, replaced instead with a lightness in his chest that he knew was as dangerous as it was naïve.

It was hope.

xXx

Phantom’s bravado disappeared the moment she placed her hand in his.

His eyes, glowing and green in the darkness, had widened, his face slackening as he stared at their joined hands. She remembered seeing that expression before, just over a week ago when she’d attempted to clean his wounds. It was like he wasn’t used to being touched.

And she could sort of understand why. Even with the chill seeping into her bones from a Far Frozen blanketed by the chill of night, she could still feel the alien iciness of his hand through both his glove and her own. The crawling sensation was back in the pit of her stomach, but it didn’t manifest fear as it once had. She was cautious of him, naturally, but she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

The crawling feeling turned into fluttering nerves as she cleared her throat and said, “So, are we just gonna stand here holding hands, or what?”

Phantom blinked, surprised. His grip tightened on her hand, just as a strange energy surged between them. She barely had time to register the bizarreness of it when gravity quite literally melted away from her limbs and she became weightless.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed. Her feet kicked freely as they floated a mere few feet above the ground. The feeling was indescribable. A rushing sensation that vaulted through her chest and spiraled through every one of her nerve endings. Her immediate thought was of how lightheaded she felt, no longer able to sense the gravitational pull that kept her body cemented to the physical plane. Around them, Phantom’s dark cloak billowed in the wind.

“You okay?” he asked her.

She looked up from where she’d been staring at the ground, and told him honestly, “Tingly.”

“I’ve never done this with a human before.”

Unable to stop herself, she snorted and said, “Glad I can be the one to pop that cherry, then.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“Figure of speech. Don’t worry about it.”

“All right. Well, whatever you do, don’t let go.”

“Just don’t drop me,” she warned.

“I’ll try not to.”

Then, before she could question her decision further or change her mind, he smirked at her, winked animatedly, and sent them both spiraling into the sky and up the mountain. Her gasp of surprise was left trailing in their wake.

She cried out, laughing manically, as wind ripped through her hair and wrenched tears from her eyes. Her stomach flipped and tumbled but she didn’t care. The spray of snow pelted her face like little barbs, so she ducked her head to shield herself from the worst of it, nearly burying her face into Phantom’s chest as a result.  

It was too soon when they slowed. Spinning gently in the air and with snowflakes twirling around them, he lowered her onto a rocky outcrop on the side of the mountain. It wasn’t the peak, but it was high enough that Ec’Nelis in its entirety sprawled before her, a sea of twinkling starlight. The twisted tops of the yetis’ homes appeared incandescent with the glint of subtle moonlight.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she raked her numb, stinging hands through her windblown hair. She could barely feel her face. In her chest, her heart jackhammered. She grinned at him where he still floated before her. “Please tell me we’re doing that again.”

He tilted his head at her, his smile soft. “You surprise me yet again, human. You weren’t scared at all.”

“I told you I don’t think you’re scary, didn’t I?”

His eyes glowed bright in the darkness. She realized she hadn’t seen him in anything other than bright lighting since their first meeting in Amity. His ghostliness was undeniable in the whispering dark, his entire body luminous like night’s inverted shadow. It was eerie and disconcerting, but she couldn’t deny that there was something oddly beautiful about it, too. About him.

Shivering, she drew a slow, shaky breath that was just as rattled as her adrenaline enriched nerves. She watched as he settled onto the outcrop next to her and didn’t miss the space he kept between them. The outcrop wasn’t large, so it was obvious that he’d scooted to the outermost edge of it, a single leg left dangling. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done so for her benefit, or his own.

“Humans don’t bite either, you know,” she told him.

Phantom looked at her sharply. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She glanced pointedly at the space between them, arching her brow, then shot him a flat look.

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close,” he admitted, his smile sheepish. “There’s not exactly a lot of space up here.”

“Oh no,” she deadpanned, “we might touch elbows. How scandalous.”

He snorted and shifted more comfortably next to her. It made their shoulders brush, though his fur lined cloak still rippled between them in the wind.

It was an effort to not think too hard about the contact. After tightening her hood around her face, she pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the flickering orange light where it blinked in the distance.

She could barely make out the yeti through the snowfall as they began to twirl and spin around the enormous fire in the center of the village. Her brow furrowed when she heard the rumble of drums resonate from the conglomeration. The sound was deep and melodic, almost hypnotizing, and it was all she could do to keep from swaying along to its beat.  

“What are they doing?” she asked.

Phantom’s glowing eyes peered at her from her peripheral. “They’re starting the songs.”

“Songs?”

There was a rustling of fabric as Phantom shifted in the snow beside her. Their elbows bumped. “Yeah, it’s the kind of a thing they—uh, we—do. Every new moon, during the sky lights, the whole town gathers there and plays their music.” He shrugged. “It’s been their tradition for as long as I can remember.”

“What do you mean by sky lights?” Sam asked him. She turned her gaze away from the yeti, finally looking at Phantom where he leaned against the rocky face of the mountainside. “And new moon? There is clearly moonlight here.”

Phantom grinned crookedly and shook his head. “You’ll see. Once the snow clears up. Be patient, Sammy.”

“I’m not a patient person,” she replied. Her nose wrinkled as something else occurred to her. “And don’t call me Sammy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it,” she seethed at him.

There was an infuriating smirk on Phantom’s face that made her want nothing more than to punch him, but she didn’t.

Instead, she watched his eyes sweep the area around them, his expression guarded, keen senses primed in search of lingering danger in the shadows. She noticed that even when he was sitting, he remained poised like a cat, muscles tensed and nerves spry. A set of knuckles rapping against stone.

“You know somethin’,” she began, her eyes fixed on the yeti, even when she felt the return of Phantom’s piercing gaze, “they’re nothing like I thought they’d be.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Yeti. For such scary as hell, badass looking creatures, they seem . . . gentle. Instead of sharpening their weapons or preparing for war, they’re over there dancing around a fire.” She shook her head and laughed a little. “It’s disarming and weird, but I like it.”

Instead of smiling like she thought he would, Phantom frowned instead. “War was never part of their culture before now. Not until very recently.”

She squinted at him. “Really?”

“Yup. The Yeti, until necessity initiated the change, have always been peaceful beings. They’re very cultural. Lovers of art, music, and the freedom of expression.” Phantom smiled a little as he added, “Oh, and can’t forget the pursuit of knowledge, too. My father would have my head if I forgot that one.”

Sam’s smile widened. With her gloved fingers she began to create little patterns in the snow between them. “You know, you’re not exactly like I thought you’d be, either.”

Phantom went rigid. He looked away from her, towards the yeti and the firelight. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“No, Sam, I really don’t.”

“Phantom.”

Wary green eyes met hers.

She said in a whisper, “What are you?”

He looked away and said nothing. Even in the darkness, she could see his expression harden to stone, illuminated by the glow of his eyes.

“You’re not just a ghost,” she said. “You can’t be. Nothing you are makes sense.”

He pretended to ignore her, but she watched the way his hands balled into fists.

“Phantom, I know ghosts. What you are is something different. Something revolutionary.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I do know that your father sees it, and I can tell he’ll guard those secrets with his life. I can see that—”

He cut her off with words mumbled under his breath.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I said I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“What I am.”

“You don’t know what you are?”

“No.” He glared at her. “I have no clue what I am. No one does. Now can we please stop talking about it?”

“Phantom . . .”

“Sam, just drop it. Please.”

“But—”

“I said drop it!”

Sam leaned back in surprise. His eyes were on fire in the twilight, the color amplified by rage and glowing brighter than she’d ever seen them. She realized with a start that this was the most ghostliness she’d seen him exhibit in months.

As if embarrassed by his response, Phantom turned away and shielded his eyes with his palm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like talking about it. I’ve been a freak and an outcast in nearly every Realm and dimension I’ve ever been in. Elle doesn’t get it because she’s spent most of her existence here with our father and kin, where she’s accepted. Me, though?” He laughed without humor. “Let’s just say I’ve been made very aware how unique I am.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that. She stared at him in silent wonder as her thoughts raced a mile a minute.

How, she wondered, could he not know what he was? How could no one know? Then as she thought about it more, the pity settled like a dead weight in her chest. What a sad life it must have been, to have grown up so differently in a world that ostracized uniqueness. In the world they knew now, such exclusivity got you killed, or worse. She realized then how alone he must feel.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Thank you.” Phantom’s chilly gaze thawed again. “That actually means a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” she said with flourish, “don’t get used to it. And don’t go around telling people I’m being all sincere and shit. I have a reputation to uphold, ya know.”

He chuckled at that, then turned away from her and leaned back with his hands crossed behind his head. “Whatever you say, Sam. Hey, do me a favor?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Look up.”

“Look up?” she asked, turning to face the sky. “Look up at wha—oh. Oh.”

The snow had finally subsided, clouds drawn way to reveal the dark sea hidden behind them. Unlike a new moon in her own Realm, the celestial moons were still present, though they glowed faintly in the inky sky, mere blotches of color against the darkness.

Her jaw had dropped. But not at the sight of the moons or even the panoramic view of the stars. She stared transfixed at a sky that was woven with a tapestry of dancing neon lights.

She’d never seen them in person. Read about them, sure. Hell, a couple years ago Tucker had even scrounged up some old videos and photos he’d found buried deep within the compound’s archives. It was almost a crime how much injustice those old files did to the real thing, however, because the cascading ribbons of color she was watching now were unlike anything she had seen before.

“Oh my god,” Sam gasped. “The northern lights! But . . . how? Why? How is this even possible?”

“My father believes this to be what links our realm to yours,” Phantom said. “The Far Frozen is the closest quantum link to your world in the chain of our universe. His theory is that since the yeti are the most biologically similar to humans, and both worlds experience the same phenomenon, that the aurora borealis we perceive is that magnetic pull between our worlds.”

Sam’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She leaned in close to him, unable to contain her excitement. “Wait a minute,” she said in a voice that jumped an octave, “so you’re saying that this is also happening right now at home?!”

“Well, if by home you mean in your Realm, then yes.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Though they’re typically more prominent in the northern hemisphere.”

“It’s one thing to see an ice map of the universe, but . . .” she trailed off, shaking her head. Her eyes returned to the weaving colors, to a band of neon green snaking through a wash of pink. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

“Now,” he said, pointing towards the yeti conglomeration, “watch them.”

Sam peered into the distance where the yeti continued in their arc around the fire. She listened to the beat of their drums, the melodic, almost sensual rhythm that caressed the wind as soft and as smooth as silk, and this time she didn’t stop herself when she started to sway along in tandem. It really was a brilliant sound. Even from the distance, she felt every drumbeat reverberating throughout her body like a heartbeat.

The yeti spun together, dancing merrily, while small cubs and dogs jumped about their feet. Above them, the colors of the aurora borealis seemed to reach a brilliant climax, the ribbons swirling in fantastic patterns. The column in the center of the village, the one peaked by the glittering blue orb, started to glow until the light exploded and bathed the entire village with the color palette of the aurora. She watched, mesmerized, as the twirled tops of huts refracted the colors even more, so thousands of tiny, iridescent rainbows shimmered along every frozen surface.

The sight took Sam’s breath away. She didn’t know where to look—the sky with its astonishing array of color, the village that was glowing, or the yeti as even more of them joined in on the dance. The drums continued to fill the night, but what astounded her even more was when a lovely female voice began to sing in a language Sam didn’t recognize.

“What language is that?” she asked in a whisper, not wanting to miss a single word of the song.

“The language of forgotten times,” Phantom whispered back distantly.

Something in his voice made her turn to face him. She was surprised to find him watching her again. A blush rose to her cheeks at the gravity of his stare. She’d seen him lethal, teeming with a level of danger that, no matter how brave she claimed to be, could freeze her veins with dread quicker than she cared to admit. She’d seen him awkward and bumbling, too, especially when it came to communicating with her on a human level, as if he didn’t know how to interact with someone else his age.

Now, though, his gaze was one she didn’t recognize. His expression was unreadable, and yet he seemed to be reading her, calculating her just as she’d seen his father often do. It was the authoritative stare of someone wise beyond his years. She wondered then, and not for the first time, who exactly this enigma was.

“You don’t know what you are either,” he finally said in an echo of her own thoughts, not at all perturbed that she’d caught him watching her.

“No,” she agreed, unsure of where the sudden shyness was coming from. “I thought I did, but I was . . .” she trailed off and swallowed hard. “I was wrong.”

He didn’t respond, but there was an imperceptible furrow of his brow that seemed to harden his eyes. Sam crossed her arms over her chest and angled her head towards the village. “This,” she said in a soft voice, “is absolutely amazing, Phantom.”

The frost of their breath swirled between them. When did they get so close? She wondered, lost in the greenness of his eyes. She could practically count his lashes with how close they were. It was as if they were finally seeing each other for the first time, and Sam found that she couldn’t look away, even as her stomach began to flip in the strangest way.

“It’s called polar attraction,” he murmured.

She leaned back in shock, her blush deepening. “I’m sorry, what?”

With the realization of what he said and how it sounded, Phantom’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked away with a cough. “Uh, our worlds. The quantum link. It’s the polar attraction of water molecules and the charged magnetic field that bonds the aroura borealis together so they project the same image.” His words tumbled out unintelligible. He shrugged. “Same with the aroura australis in the southern hemisphere. You know, negatives and positives. It’s, uh, you know, science.”

“So, the answer is science, then?”

Eyes wide and posture rigid, Phantom said in horror, “Please, in the name of everything Ancient and sacred, don’t tell my father I answered a scientifically fueled question with science.”

Unable to contain herself, Sam threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard and so long that tears streamed down her face and her belly began to ache.

It was an eternity or so later that she finally gasped for breath between relentless peals of laughter and wiped the tears from her eyes before she could look at him again.

His expression was half-lidded and unamused. “Oh, come on,” he drawled, arms crossed over his chest with a huff. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“It really was,” Sam disagreed with a chuckle.                                                                                                                             

"Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, but not before his mouth twitched with amusement. “Although I may have to revoke your goth card. You went from low carb diet human to a full-blown artery clogging heart attack, full of processed sugary emotions.”

Sam leaned back, her hands on her cheeks in mock terror. “Oh no, please don’t say you’ve changed your mind about eating my soul!”

Playing along, Phantom planted his hand on the stone behind her head and leaned forward so his nose was inches from her neck. He inhaled deeply, which caused the most damnable spell of goosebumps to prickle at her skin. He promptly shied away, however, as if her scent burned him and rolled his eyes again. With a wave of his hand and feigned disgust, he sniffed and said, “No thanks. You smell like one big stomachache. I think I’ll stick to low carb humans after all.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, to which she met his gaze. It wasn’t long before they both burst out laughing.

“Alright,” Phantom said when the laughter died down once more. “Enough of this. I should probably get you back before you freeze to death.” He stood and brushed the snow from his cloak, then offered her his hand, which she took this time without hesitation.

“I wish we could stay out here,” she said, wistful.  

Again, that weightless feeling overcame her. She stared up at him, wide eyed. Moonlight bathed his luminous silhouette as if his very presence called to it. The glow of his eyes dusted his cheeks, his hair soft and white, tousled by wind. In that moment, he looked less like a ghost and more like a creature borne from starlight itself. How had she never noticed it before?

Something in her chest stirred. She didn’t want to think too hard about what it was.   

He gave her a lopsided grin as he slowly brought them back towards the base of the mountain. “The funny thing about the moons is that they set and then rise again. There will be other nights.”

Sam grinned.

The walk back to her room was kissed by a thoughtful silence. For the first time since being in the bizarre, beautiful world of the Far Frozen, Sam was utterly content as she strode beside Phantom. The air felt charged by his presence, curious little tugs on her awareness, but the fear that had once thrashed around in her gut was absent. And she knew now, for certain, that he was not her enemy.

His cloak brushed her side as they walked. She stole a glance to where he strolled easily beside her. Was he dangerous? Yes, she concluded, and rightfully so. But not to her. The realization twisted something deep inside her soul.

Paulina had been right.

There was so much more to the ghosts. To this world. Everything she had ever known was wrong. 

A leaden ball of guilt started to churn in the pit of her stomach before she gritted her teeth and stopped it. No, guilt would get her nowhere. She would not let herself feel guilty for something she had no control over. Guilt wouldn’t win this war, nor would it help reunite her world with the rest of the Infinite Realms.

But change would.

She didn’t know how she would do it, but Sam decided then that she would be that change. She would find a way. To be the catalyst their worlds so desperately needed.

She had to.

As they neared her room, Phantom’s smile was one of regret when he raised his hand, a blue sphere of polar energy already glowing in his palm. “Thanks for everything tonight. It was nice to just hang out with someone that isn’t a yeti or my sister.”

She grinned softly in return. “I should be the one thanking you.”

“You helped make cookies and humored me with puns. I think that makes us even,” he laughed. His hand lifted, the undulating sphere brightening. “Goodnight, human.”

Just as he was about to seal her inside, she surprised him and herself by lunging forward and grabbing his wrist.

The energy in his palm, so close to her face as she stood with his hand grasped between both of hers, was blinding and freezing cold. She looked right into his eyes as she said, “I was wrong about you, Phantom. I’m . . . sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” Her breath frosted between them from the proximity of the frozen energy.

His green eyes were wide as he glanced between their hands and her face. “We were both wrong, Sam,” he said in a low voice. “And my name is Danny, by the way. You can call me that—I mean, if you want.”

Her smile returned, genuine and full of warmth. It was the kind of smile she never thought she’d be capable of again. With slow, hesitant steps, she backed into her room.

Then, loud enough for him to hear and just before the last tendril of ice divided them, she said . . .

 “Goodnight . . . Danny.”

Notes:

Well, here we go!

Can I just say how amazing it is to finally be here. I started the first iteration of this silly little story in April of 2014, before eventually giving up on it because I didn't like how I was writing it. And while so much of the plot and pacing has changed since then, much of this chapter was written for the update that never came in the first iteration. I had to add quite a bit (The Fentons and Tucker arc was not present the first time, for example), but it is just so surreal for me to finally be here posting this. I could cry.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been here cheering me on through this. You have no idea what it means to me. I write this story for myself, first and foremost, but it's your encouragement that keeps giving me the motivation to keep going. And I love you all for it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

That said, we're about to reach a major tipping point and a lot plot movement is about to start happening. Hope y'all are ready for it. I know I am.

Thanks again and see you guys soon! If you would like any updates regarding the story or have any questions at all, please feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr @Roarri, or follow the #frozenfirefanfic tag.

Chapter 17: Never Again

Frozen Fire

Chapter Seventeen: Never Again

xXx

His sister was the first to notice the change.

Danny had missed breakfast that morning, thanks to an urgent request from his father, so it wasn’t until the sky was inked with night and dappled with stars that he returned to the mountain castle. And as he entered his father’s study with a storm cloud brewing in his core, the last person he expected to see there was Sam, tucked into Danny’s chair beside the Yeti King, and with his sister occupying the third and final rocking chair.

In his shock, he hadn’t thought to mask his features, so he was unprepared for Sam’s unhindered smile she sent him over the chalice of wine in her hands. He blinked at her, at the warmth he felt emanating from her, and although part of him was overjoyed to feel it after months of discontent between them, the other, more rational part, winced as the second ghost in the room no doubt took notice as well.

He could practically feel Elle’s leer boring into the side of his head like an ectoblast.

“My son!” Frostbite greeted with surprised delight, “Good evening! I did not expect you to return so soon.”

With a frown, Danny poured himself a glass of sweet wine from the decanter on the small table near their chairs. The mingled scents of honey and frostberry filled his nose as he raised the glass to his lips, sipped, and definitely did not sulk as he leaned with feigned nonchalance agianst the icy shelving bordering his father’s study.

“It’s evening, alright,” Danny muttered. “Don’t’ know what’s good about it, though.”

“Oof, you’re cheerful tonight,” Elle quipped.  

“You would be cheerful too if you spent the entire day observing trade negotiations between the Frost Glades and Neverest,” Danny muttered.

Elle snorted into her own wine. “That’s rough. What did you do to deserve that punishment?”

Before Danny could answer, Frostbite said, “It was no punishment. Danny was not present at last night’s pyre, so I assumed he would be the most equipped to handle an early start.”

At this, it took all of Danny’s restraint to keep from glancing in Sam’s direction. Especially when he felt the air shift as she flushed, and the room filled with her embarrassment. His father wouldn’t notice, thank the Ancients, but Elle on the other hand . . .?

“What were you doing last night, brother?” Elle asked far too innocently. Her eyebrows were raised, and she was smiling so wide it was practically diabolical. Gods, his sister had the tact of a bumbling yakk.

He gave her his flattest look and said nothing.

Instead, it was Sam who answered, “Danny and I made cookies.”

Danny sputtered into his wine. He gaped at her triumphant smile, the way she confidently leaned back into her chair with her arms crossed, a single eyebrow arched. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more. Her haughty confidence, or the fact that she’d said his name so readily after months of calling him Phantom.

“That is true,” Frostbite said, “and they were quite delicious.”

Elle blinked at Sam, then slowly angled her head to Danny, her face a picture of betrayal. “And you didn’t save me any? How could you?”

He shrugged as he swirled the wine his chalice. “Sorry, sis. Sam helped, you didn’t.”

“What about father? Did he help?”

“Peace, daughter,” Frostbite chuckled as he patted the top of Elle’s head. “I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

Eyes narrowed into little green slits, Elle said, “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

Danny returned her glare with the smuggest grin he could muster.

“So are the Frost Glades and Neverest other towns here?” Sam asked.

“They are, indeed!” Frostbite said with a wide grin. “What an astute observation, human girl!”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Patronizing comment aside, why would trade need to be observed between them? I thought the yeti are peaceful?”

“They are,” Danny said, “but the citizens of the Frost Glades and Neverest don’t really get along, so a royal mediator is usually requested for renegotiation after the new moon. Usually Elle does it, but since she was at the pyre and I . . . wasn’t, it became my unfortunate responsibility.”

Sam’s mouth quirked sideways into a wry smile. “Sounds like someone spent the day babysitting.”

“You have no idea,” he deadpanned. “Imagine the most boring think you can think of, and it’s worse than that.”

“Gotta love the disputes between the highlands and the lowlands, am I right?” Elle drawled. “Tell me, did Hailclaw lose his flakes like he did last time?”

“Doesn’t he always?” Danny said. “I don’t know what it is about the highland yeti that makes them so angry, but they seriously need to learn how to relax.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Elle said, raising her chalice.

Sam laughed a little at their back and forth, then stiffened abruptly and asked him, “This is your seat, isn’t it? I can move.” She started to unwind her legs from their crossed position when he waved her off.

“It’s fine, Sam, I don’t mind standing.” He tilted his head at her. “What are you guys all doing in here, anyway?”

“Sam was regaling us with more tales of her world,” Frostbite stated brightly.

Danny arched a brow. “Is that so?”

Sam’s hood was down, the dark tresses of her hair shining from the light of the fire roaring in the hearth, and her skin, which appeared flushed from the heat, was bright and full of life. The creature that sat before him now in his father’s study was nothing like the broken and snarling thing that had bared her bloodied teeth at him in a feral sneer all those months ago.

Seeing her here, at ease, and enjoying a leisure evening with his family did something to him then, he realized. It made him . . . happy.

Under his gaze, her cheeks turned rosy, her emotions fluttering in a way that he didn’t quite understand, but he knew enough to grasp that they weren’t unpleasant. In her own way, she seemed happy, too. And he liked that. It was a lot better than her tolerating them all—or worse, being terrified of them  

He also realized he was staring at her again . . . and that they had an audience.

Fortunately, it was Sam who broke the silence. Clearing her throat, she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “We were talking about holiday traditions, actually.”

“Yes, and it has been quite fascinating!’ Frostbite said.

Sam jerked her chin at the Yeti King. “Frosty over here was super into the idea of Halloween, which surprised the hell out of me.”

Danny chuckled a little. “I take it you were expecting one of the winter holidays?”

“Wait, you know about human holidays?” Sam asked.

“I did spend several years in and out of the Mortal Realm, so yes, Sam, I do know of your holidays.’

A dark shadow flitted across Sam’s face as her mouth pursed and unease roiled in the haze of her emotions. But just as quickly as it formed, the shadow dissipated, and her features cleared. She wasn’t smiling at him anymore. Instead, she stared down into her wine and chewed on her bottom lip.

Danny winced internally. There was still a lot of unaddressed tension between them, which he was certain had to do with his past appearances in her realm. He could only imagine what the humans knew about him. It was nothing good, he knew. Not with the way she’d reacted to him on that fateful day he found her in her ruined city. They would have to address it at some point. He liked Sam, and if he wanted to keep the tentative kinship they’d formed, he knew she deserved truth.

Or, at least, as much as he could tell her.

“I like the idea of Halloween, too,” Elle said. “Something about wearing a mask and pretending to be someone else for a while sounds super cool. Like having a secret identity.”

“What an interesting thought, daughter,” Frostbite said. An odd look had furrowed his brow, which Danny couldn’t place, nor did he understand the faint flicker of discomfort he felt from him.

Elle noticed it too. She glanced at Danny with an eyebrow arched, to which he responded with a shrug, and she nodded. Sometimes, their father was just weird.

“No offense, but what do you guys know about secret identities?” Sam asked. “That term seems a bit . . . out of place here.”

Danny stiffened and glared warningly at his sister, but before he could stop her, Elle said, “Oh, Danny has a huge comic book collection his room.” She grinned wickedly. “The superhero ones are his favorite.”

Sam’s face slackened with shock as she met Danny’s unamused expression. Her hand went to her mouth, shielding her laughter. “No fucking way,” she said.

“So what?” he said, frowning. “All the books in the Far Frozen’s archives are boring compendiums of research. Comics from the Mortal Realm help combat the tedium.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” Sam said. “I’m just surprised is all. God, if only Tucker was here, he’d lose his sh—” She stopped suddenly, then frowned down at her lap, just as an intense bout of aching sadness seeped from her.

Ever the opportunist, Frostbite asked, “Tucker?”

“My best friend,” Sam said. “We’ve been friends since we were little. I . . .” Her hand tightened around the stem of her chalice, knuckles whitening. “I miss him.”

Frostbite reached out and stroked the top of Sam’s head. “You will see him again, child. I am certain of it. Your time here is nearly half gone.”

To Danny’s surprise, Sam’s violet eyes flicked from her lap and met his then. Her expression seemed pained, as did her emotions, and the fingers of her free hand twisted into the furred cuff of her jacket. The firelight played with the shadows on her face, accentuating the curve of her jaw, that sloped tip of her nose, and unwarranted, a single thought intruded his entire line of thinking. He realized then that she looked . . . beautiful. He nearly dropped his chalice.

Elle disguised an abrupt laugh by stifling it into a cough. He ignored her.

“They are never going to believe me,” Sam murmured then as she stared into her wine.

“Believe what, human girl?” Frostbite asked.

She gestured around the room. “This. You guys. All the stuff I’m learning here. They are never going to believe that this is all . . . possible.”

“You will find a way, child, I am certain,” Frostbite said. “It is Written that you do.”

She gave the Yeti King a flat look. “Of course it is.”

Elle stood then, her cloak a flourish of white that settled around her like soft snow. “Welp, once father starts talking about Writings is my cue to leave.” She nodded at them all. “I bid you all goodnight.”

“I should probably turn in, too,” Danny sighed. He returned his chalice to the silver platter with the decanter and made to follow his sister out of the room.

“Good night, children,” Frostbite said.

“G’night,” Danny replied, then tilted his head to Sam and smiled at her.

She returned it with a soft one of her own.

Once they were clear of the study, Elle held her hand out to Danny expectantly, which he took, just as he phased them both through the ceiling of the rocky corridor, and settled them in the long hallway that their chambers were located in. Elle was smirking at him as they rematerialized, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“So,” she drawled, “cookies, huh?”

He glowered at her and snapped, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Elle said, still smirking, “just seems odd to me that you bailed on yet another pyre but leapt at the chance to spend quality time with the human.” At the flaring of Danny’s ire, she raised her hands in supplication. “Again, no judgement. I just . . . couldn’t help but notice that she’s not really affected by us anymore, either.”

Danny shrugged. “Humans adapt, Dani, like I told you before.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Though, I was surprised to see you there. I was just stopping by to check in with father. I didn’t realize you’d all be there.”

“Sam has nice stories,” Elle said, her voice softening, almost wistful. She twirled a strand of hair around her fingers. “Someday, when this is all over, I wanna travel all these worlds I keep hearing about.”

Danny’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And you will, sis.”

“And you should bring Sam to the next one.”

His brows furrowed. “The next what?”

“Pyre,” Elle said. “The other yeti won’t mind. I asked them. As long as she stays away from the cubs.”

Danny stared at his sister in shock. “You want Sam to go? Why?”

“I want you to go, Danny. I figured bringing Sam would be good incentive for you.” She grinned again, and this one was her wickedest yet. “Or maybe I’ll just ask her myself.”

He bristled at that. Elle had always been competitive with him, especially when they were younger, and normally he didn’t mind, so it was strange how much it bothered him now as it pertained to Sam. His very core seemed to revile the idea of it. He scowled at his twin. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that,” Elle said in a laugh. She turned for her room, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Danny?”

“Yeah?” he asked, arms crossed.

“The next time you sneak Sam to the outcrop, you might not what to be so obvious about it.”

 

   

xXx

Valerie squinted through the dimness of the Fentonworks lab. Her fingers trailed along the cool metal tables that lined the long room, and as she walked, she eyed the hodgepodge of disassembled electronics with mild interest, namely the weaponry. She smirked to herself as she crept on silent feet towards the wall of computers.

Further down and along the same row as the giant computer, she spotted an illuminated cooler tucked into an intersection of assorted lab equipment, brimming with multicolored vials. Perfect. It was just where Vlad said it would be.

Waiting for the Fentons to leave had proven rather annoying. She’d been casing them for days now, often staking out late into the night as they worked fervently on their newest project. Whatever the hell that was. Tucker, too, had been here, and so had their daughter, Jazz.

She didn’t even want to know what time it probably was. Three in the morning? Four? No matter. She’d just fill her day with coffee. She couldn’t bear to face anymore of her mentor’s disappointment if she returned to him again empty-handed. He was counting on her.

She did wonder, though, why she had to sneak into the Fentons’ lab in the dead of night like a criminal instead of having her father put in a formal request for the sample.

When she’d questioned him about it, Vlad told her it was because the Fentons had never forgiven him for taking over as the Resistance’s primary ectologist and that they would undoubtedly resist aiding him. Perhaps even destroy the sample out of spite. She still hadn’t liked the idea of stealing it, but with a reassuring pat to her shoulder from her mentor, she did what was asked of her.

Her mouth twisted with disdain as she thought about the Fentons and how shitty it was of them to be gatekeeping such important research. Didn’t they realize that Vlad was only trying to help with the war?

Which was, in her opinion, a hell of a lot more important than pride and petty squabbles.

Blowing out an annoyed breath that tousled a lock of dark ringlets, Valerie pulled open the door of the cooler. Frigid air brushed her face, and her eyes narrowed as she read the various labels, until—there!

“ED001, there you are,” she said aloud, grinning. Her brow furrowed as she noticed something. “Huh, kind of strange that it’s on the side labeled unsuccessful.” Then she shrugged. “Whatever, not my problem.”

Slowly, just as Vlad had instructed her to do, she removed the vial from its stand, opened its cap, and used a small tool that kind of looked like an eyedropper to remove a small portion of the green liquid. When the eyedropper was full to the line Vlad had drawn on it, she returned the original vial back to its place and shut the door to the fridge.

She took a moment to marvel at the liquid through the glass of the eyedropper. It looked like watered down ectoplasm, though it didn’t glow, nor did she feel the weird thrumming from it she normally felt in the presence of that hellish gunk.

Satisfied, she pulled an empty vial from her pocket and dispensed the liquid into it. Through her nerves and past the racing of her heart, she felt almost giddy as the successful completion of her mission neared. She couldn’t wait to see Vlad’s face when he realized she’d accomplished his task.  

She slipped out of the lab with the quietness of a shadow, her movements slow and careful. Casting a final glance over her shoulder, she grinned triumphantly.

Only to collide shoulder first with something—no, someone.

Valerie stumbled, grasping the wall with her fingers. “Watch it,” she snapped.

Scrambling for her cane, Paulina drew herself back to her full height, which was close to Valerie’s, and frowned. Her sightless eyes even managed to narrow on Valerie. “That’s a bit insensitive, isn’t it, chica?”

“Get out of my way, you ghost loving bitch,” Valerie growled. “What are you even doing out here anyway?”

Paulina smiled. “I could be asking you the same thing. What are you doing near the Fentons’ lab at this hour? Some sort of top-secret mission?”

“That’s none of your business,” Valerie snapped. “And how do you even know where you are? Didn’t that ghost you love so much blind you?”

Unperturbed with her venom, Paulina tapped her temple idly. “I’m blind, chica. Not stupid. The lab is cold, and the lights hum loudest here. Not to mention it smells like chemicals.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose. “Whatever. Just get out of my way.”

She shouldered past Paulina and tried to ignore the way her heart leapt in her chest. Her palms were itching, too, as unease slithered through her nerves. It shouldn’t matter that Paulina noticed her. Everyone thought she was insane, anyway. If she told anyone, Valerie could always play it off like she’d just been passing through and the blind bitch was only trying to start something with her out of jealously.

When she returned to Vlad’s lab, she was sort of relieved that he wasn’t there. The old man kept odd hours, so she never knew when she might find him in there outside of his scheduled working times.

She rushed through the maze of equipment and didn’t spare the ghosts watching her with a single passing glance as she did so. It wasn’t until she reached the designated table that she slowed, her shoes skidding on the tile, and slammed her hand onto a button recessed into the metal. With a turbulent whir, a chilling chamber rose from a hidden compartment along with tendrilled vapor that spilled out into the room like fog. She removed the vial from her pocket and placed it into the little rack that Vlad had preemptively labeled “Project Ectom Synthesizing Agent 01.”

With a sigh of relief, she hit the same button again and watched as the chamber slowly sunk back into place.

“Glad that’s over with,” she muttered to herself. Then she yawned. “Maybe I’ll get some sleep tonight after all.”

But when she turned, she froze.

Most of the ghosts she’d collected for Vlad’s research over the years were hardly sapient. They howled and jeered and paced their vessels, grated voices warbling under the lights of the lab, before they eventually settled into a state of inactivity.

But this one?

Its green skin was stretched taught over cheekbones that appeared overly sharp in the harsh fluorescent light. In the deep socketed blackness of its eyes, it seemed to watch her, pleadingly. Vlad had long since sewn its mouth shut with his homebrew of ectothread, but its scratchy voice still managed to trickle through the treaded remains as it reached for her, humanoid fingers splayed wide and shaking. Its form flickered constantly, droplets of ectoplasm beading along its brow, its white hair stained with it.

She glared at it with her nose wrinkled, hating the way its proximity made her stomach crawl. She rolled her shoulders, squared them, and stared down the ghoulish monster through its glass prison. She didn’t know why she bothered speaking to it, as she usually ignored Vlad’s labrats, but this was the only one that seemed to understand her. She said to it, “You’re getting what you deserve, spook.”

The ghost responded with a muffled cry that sounded like grating bones. Its entire form flickered in a way that reminded her of television static, then it shrieked as its vessel became charged with an electrical current that lit up the room like a jolt of lightning. The ghost went limp in its ectoranium infused shackles and groaned, head lolling as it hung there.

Valerie smirked at its hapless state. Her eyes lowered to the label taped to the bottom of it, scrawled with Vlad’s delicate hand. She laughed. “Not so scary now, are you, Technus?”

She left the ghost there and decided to forgo rest and head to the compound’s cafeteria for breakfast. Coffee sounded good, after all.

xXx

“I want to help,” Sam announced one morning at breakfast.

The breakfast table had gone silent.

Frostbite frowned at her, a steaming mug raised to his muzzle, while Tsuel turned to face her with brows raised in mild surprise. Elle didn’t say anything, though she, too, stared at Sam, albeit through narrowed eyes. Meanwhile, Phantom—no, Danny—simply arched a brow at her, smiling faintly, as if already amused by whatever bullshit he assumed she was about to spew at them. In the week that had followed their little moonlit tryst, he’d taken to simply smirking at her when she talked at breakfast, which she was certain he did just to irritate her.

Sam met every one of their stares, her face set and determined.

“Help with what, Sam?” Frostbite asked.

“Defending the Far Frozen during the raids,” she said. “I want to help fight.”

Frostbite sighed wearily and set his mug down on the table. “You know I cannot condone that.”

“Sleetjaw cleared me for physical training yesterday,” she said, undeterred as she’d been expecting his pushback. Arms still crossed, she jerked her chin at Tsuel. “Ask her, she was there.”

Before Tuel could respond, Frostbite said, “I am well aware of what Sleetjaw has told you, human girl, but that does mean I can in good conscience send you to fight. You are still untrained.”

She gave him her best are-you-stupid look. “Untrained? I’ve been fighting these fuckers for years.”

“She does have a point there, father,” Danny said. He winked at her shocked expression. “She is quite renowned in her world for her talents.”

Elle snorted quietly into her breakfast at that, to which Danny responded with a warning look. Unperturbed, Elle smirked right back at him.

Frostbite glanced between all three of them in irritation. “Yes, a formidable human she is, but she has not fought draugrs.”

“Listen to Frostbite, Sam,” Tsuel said. “You do not yet know what you are up against.”

“Then show me,” she snapped. “Or train me, then. I’m not going to learn otherwise.”

Again, the breakfast table fell silent. This time, however, the silence was riddled with tension as the ghosts and yeti shared uneasy glances with each other.

“What is it?” Sam asked in a drawling monotone.

“It is just . . .” Tsuel started and trailed off, shaking her head.

“Those of us who wish to engage in the fighting are trained by Icefang,” Frostbite said.

“And me,” Elle said. Sam expected the ghost girl to be glaring at her, but she wasn’t. She was instead watching Sam carefully, her head tilted in a way that reminded Sam of her twin, and her expression was pensive.

“Yes, and my daughter,” Frostbite agreed. “You may not believe me, but I am not opposed to your learning, especially now that you are now healed enough to do so. But I understand that there is . . .” his muzzled twisted into a grimace, “tension, between you and he.”

“I’d train you myself, human, but I can’t do it without Icefang’s permission,” Elle said, “or I would dishonor what he’s taught me.”

Sam gaped at Elle. “Wait, you would?”

Elle’s face cracked into a wicked grin. “I’m always looking for new sparring partners.”

“Because a human with a sword against a ghost with super strength is a fair matchup,” Sam replied dryly.

Elle’s brows rose. “There’s more to swordplay than strength alone,” she said with a sincerity that, yet again, surprised Sam. “It’s very technical. Like dancing.”

Danny sighed heavily into his tea and said, “Sam has a gun, she doesn’t need a sword.”

“Says the loser who can’t beat his sister in a duel without his powers,” Elle snapped back.

He shrugged. “I don’t know how many times I can say the words archaic and unnecessary before you get them.”

“Maybe because not all of us can use our powers,” Elle said. Then she gestured across the table towards Sam. “Or even have powers, for the matter.”

Sam wanted to ask about Elle’s inability to use her ghost powers, and just as she opened her mouth to voice the question aloud, she decided against it. She was certain it wouldn’t go over well.

Perhaps she’d ask Danny about it the next time she caught him alone. Which was, unfortunately for her nosiness, a rare occurrence.

“Not only is it tradition, but it would be wise for Sam to learn our ways first,” Frostbite said. A strange expression had befallen his features, his icy claws rapping against the wooden top of the table. “It would be impractical to ignore such traditions in favor of clever inventions.”

Danny rolled his eyes and glanced at Sam with a look that said, ‘can you believe this guy?’

“Okay, well, then I guess that leaves us at an impasse then, huh?” Sam said.

“Not necessarily,” Danny said. “I could always take you to Pandora’s realm. She would be thrilled to teach you.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Elle said. “Pandora taught me a lot of what I know.”

Sam was shocked. “You mean, like go to another Realm?”

He nodded and grinned at her. “She wants to meet you anyway. What’s that expression you humans use? Two stones and a bird, or something?”

“It’s killing two birds with one stone,” Sam corrected.

“Well, that’s morbid.” Elle snickered. “I like it.”

“Why the hell does Pandora want to meet me?” Sam asked with an incredulous shake of her head. To say she gobsmacked was a colossal understatement.

At this, Danny’s eyes widened, and he looked away from her, his hand at the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. Sam didn’t miss the sly look that Elle shot him. “Oh, you know, something about the prophetical human who can touch the roses of her realm, and all that.”

“And we circle back to the Writings again,” Sam droned, “great.”

“The Writings are important,” Tsuel admonished, gently elbowing Sam’s side, “do not speak of them as if they are nothing.”

“Tsuel is right,” Frostbite said, “and that is also why Sam must learn our ways first. The Writings foretell of it.”

“Of course they do,” Sam drawled. “It would be too convenient for the plot otherwise.”

“Sam,” Tsuel chided again, “please do not be difficult. We get enough of such antics from the twin cubs.”

Elle raised her mug of tea in Sam’s direction, grinning. “Here, here!”

“Ignore my sister,” Danny said to Sam, “she’s a menace.”

Sam sighed wearily as she raked a hand through her hair. “Icefang hates me.” She ruminated on the feeling of his grip on her throat and the way he’d thrashed her about like a ragdoll and shuddered. “And I’m not his biggest fan either. Fuck that guy.”

“Icefang will teach you if I command it,” Frostbite said, “but I do not wish for it to come to that.”

“Dear cub,” Tsuel said, placing a gentle clawed hand on Sam’s shoulder, “perhaps you should talk to him.”

Sam looked at Tsuel like she’d just sprouted two heads. “Talk to Icefang?”

“Yes. I believe there is much you both may learn, and that it is imperative that you do so.”

Sam shook her head. Unconsciously, her fingers trailed along her neck with the shadow of memory. “So, he can finish killing me? Nooo thank you.”

“Thant won’t happen,” Danny muttered darkly as he stared at her hand. Did she imagine the way his eyes glowed a bit brighter, as if in anger?

“Icefang is a creature of honor,” Frostbite said. “My son is correct that such a thing will not happen.”

Sam leveled the Yeti King with an unimpressed look. “You sure put a lot of faith in honor.”

Suddenly, a rapid pattering of heavy footsteps sounded from the outside corridor, like something—or someone—was running, and a breathless Driftwind appeared in the kitchen’s entryway.

Frostbite stood so fast that his long tail sent his chair tilting and tumbling to the floor. “What is the meaning of this, Driftwind?” he demanded.

“My liege,” Driftwind sputtered through his gasps, claws braced against the wooden frame, “we . . . we are . . . well we—”

“Cease your ramblings and spit it out,” Frostbite growled.

Wild eyed, Driftwind glanced between them all, his large barrel chest rising and falling as he gasped desperately for air. Just how fast had he been running? Sam wondered. A sense of foreboding started to uncoil in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did, as if the imminence ran bone deep and was laced through every one of her muscle fibers. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew that something was wrong. Horribly, terribly, wrong.

Their answer came when the entire castle rumbled. Dust fell from stone ceiling, landing like snowfall amidst the spread of breakfast platters. Dishes tumbled. Foxen scattered in a frenzy.

Just as Driftwind shouted, “We are being attacked!”

Everything that happened next came in quick succession.

Tsuel cried out and scrambled to her feet, racing for the door with Driftwind close behind her. Elle’s face hardened as she disappeared in a blur of power. Frostbite’s face darkened as he, too, dashed for the door, but before he disappeared through it, he turned to Danny and said, “Take Sam to her room at once!”

“No!” Sam shouted. “Let me help you guys! I can help!”

“No, Sam, you cannot,” Frostbite said. “They will kill you.”

She watched as Frostbite’s claws began to glow. The energy blossomed and then promptly coalesced into a long, frozen sword that dwarfed Sam in size. His red eyes were hard as he looked at her over his shoulder, long tail flicking and teeth bared, but not at her, she knew. This was a Yeti King ready for war.

“Stay here,” he commanded.

And then he was gone.

Sam immediately whirled to face Danny. “I’m not going to my room.”

He didn’t look happy about it, but said, “Okay.”

She thrust out her hand. “Take me with you. I can help. You know I can.”

“Sam, no. My father is right. You don’t have to go to your room, you can stay here, but—”

“No,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

“Sam, please. I need to go help them.”

He started to float, and she knew he was seconds away from going intangible and disappearing through the ceiling. Without thinking, she grasped his cloak and yanked on it, which didn’t do jack shit to a ghost as strong as he was, though it did keep him from disappearing, his face pained.

With a sigh, he drifted closer and grasped her shoulders, which surprised her, even in her fury. Despite them being on much friendlier terms, Danny still shied away from physical contact as much as possible. She stared up at him through frustrated tears.

“Draugrs don’t attack during the day,” he said. “Daylight is lethal to them. This is an extremely calculated attack, Sam. This is when the market is at its busiest.”

The reality of his words tumbled straight into her heart, making it heavy. “Then I should be out there helping them. Please, Ph—Danny. Please.”

She could tell how much saying his name aloud affected him by the way his grip tightened on her shoulders. He sighed again, laughing a little. “You are probably one of the bravest creatures I have ever met, but my father is right, you aren’t ready for this. Someday, sure. But not now.”

“Brave?” she said with an incredulous laugh. “How can I be brave if I’m in here hiding.”

“You are brave,” Danny countered fiercely. “I remember the fatally injured human who challenged a ghost she was certain was about to kill her.”

“Doesn’t count.That ghost had no intention of killing her or she’d be dead.”

“And that same ghost very much wants her not to die today, too.”

“Kind of a letdown, if you ask me. All that build up and it turns out the ghost that everyone is afraid of is a big softy.”

Before he could retort, the castle shook again, which made more dust fall. Danny shielded them from it with a burst of energy that formed a spiraling green dome above their heads. She couldn’t help but stare at it. Aside from Amity, she’d never seen him use ectoenergy in front of her.

“Sam, I have to go,” he said, his voice booming. She turned her attention back to him and blinked at the way his eyes glowed a bright acidic green. The room chilled considerably as his power eddied. In a voice brimming with that same power, he said, “Stay here.”

She watched with fascination as his entire form bristled with energy and went intangible. She felt the cold, deathlike chill of him brush past her, to the wall, before disappearing completely.

She was now alone.

The moments dragged on as the castle rumbled for the third time. Dishes on the table rattled, some falling to the floor and shattering, and she watched as the vase of Pandorian roses tilted and started to plummet as well.

Sam dove and caught the vase before it hit the ground. A nearby foxen whirled and watched her with wild eyes, its plumed tail spiked with alarm.  

“That was a close one, huh?” she asked it.

Its little nose twitched in response, before it turned and dashed for the nearest gap in stone, right behind the rest of the fleeing little creatures.

Sam stared at the green flowers in her hands. They shifted to a brilliant violet as she moved them, and then plunged into a deep, velvety black by the time she returned them to their place at the center of the table. She stared at them for a while, imagining the dark sky they now reminded her of—of the stars and moons and waltzing neons, and of the beautiful world all those things belonged to.

A beautiful world that was now under attack.

This wasn’t some alien world to her anymore, full of wretched creatures and ghosts that wanted to kill her, no, her friends lived here. Tsuel and Frostbreath and their little cub, Leif, lived here. And she cared about them.

All of them.

She thought of Danny. Of the state he’d been it when she found him here in this very kitchen, leaking rivers of ectoplasm, his face clouded and stormy. It had bothered her, seeing him like that. And where had she been? Trapped in her room like some scared little kid?

Smoke fills her lungs and it burns like the fire that rages across the city. Her heart trembles in her throat as she runs, feet pounding against crumbling cement. Screams and the wicked jeers of the Fright Knight fill the poisoned air. The city screams with sirens. Fright Knight’s hellish steed, an oily black ghost horse with a mouthful of razor teeth, brays as it sails overhead, leathery wings flapping.

Sam ignores the beast. She runs faster.

A wisp tears after her and she blasts it with her gun, launches to the ground when it plummets, rolls, and takes off running again, even as her back burns as she’s pelted with the acidic rainfall of ecotoplasm.

Tears streak from her cheeks but she doesn’t care. Her only thoughts are reaching her house in time.

Just as she rounds the corner to her street, she sees it.  

Her house had been hit and half of it now lies in scattered ruins, like some great giant had stomped it into pieces. What is left of the mansion’s front door hangs limply from his hinges.

She enters to the sounds of her mother’s wails.

And her father . . .

Sam falls to her knees, her ears filled with a roaring like she’s never known, ectogun falling from her hands and tumbling to the floor. She crawls over to where her mother has collapsed, just before the remnants of the once grand staircase, and stares at her father’s sightless eyes, reaches out, and brushes his eyelids closed.

She screws her eyes shut and tilts her face to the sky.

Sky, because her house now lacks a roof. The staircase leads to a gaping chasm of green and misery. To death-streaked skies, and the howls of the dead and dying.

Even with her eyelids closed, she can still see when the sky brightens with an intense flash of white light, like a nuclear bomb has gone off. This flash has no sound. But the silence that follows is far louder than the cacophony that precedes it. It’s like every sound is swallowed into a vacuum. Her ears are ringing from it.

It lasts for a few seconds—that silence, that cataclysmic calm, before the world resumes and explodes and the horror of what’s left of her home and her family returns.  

Sam coughed as the memory settled. She could steel feel the burn of the smoke in her lungs, still taste the death on her tongue, and swiped away unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

She felt helpless then.

She would be damned to feel that way again. She’d vowed then, as she held her father’s limp head in her hands, staring through bleary eyes at what was left of his mangled body while her mother sobbed into her neck, to never let it come to that again.

Never. Again.

Sam made her decision then.

She ran.  

She tore from the castle kitchen and sprinted down the corridor. Down, and down she went.

She had no armor. No weapons. And hell, no common sense, either, because part of her knew damn well that what she was about to do was beyond reckless and stupid. But that didn’t stop her from trying anyway.

From doing something—anything—to help them. Her friends.

After several months of wandering the castle and its grounds with Tsuel, she’d long remembered the way, and thanks to Danny, she now knew the perfect passageway to emerge from the mountain undetected. She wasn’t sure who was left in the castle to stop her, but those enormous doors at the crest of the long staircase would stop her if a yeti didn’t.

Even though the door that Danny had led her through just a week prior was much smaller than most doors in the castle, it still took some serious effort to shoulder it open. She wheezed, still winded from her run, and nearly collapsed through it when it finally released and jolted open.  

The world that greeted her was one of storybook horror.

Nightmarish monsters that could only be draugrs marched through the streets, staggering skeletal creatures with armor that gleamed in the bright sunlight. She caught sight of one up close when it plunged a glowing jade sword into the shoulder of a male yeti.

A gaping jaw hung from a skull shrouded by what looked like green fire. No, she realized with creeping revulsion, its entire body was encapsulated by those harrowing flames. The clothing beneath its armor, which was emblazoned with the crest of a red-eyed skull on its chest piece, was tattered, the paleness of its bones winking through the mottled holes. And the stench—that godawful, putrid rankness that filled her nose, was everywhere. A whispering wrongness seemed to leach from the contaminated air and down her spine, freezing it with ice.  

The male yeti, whom she didn’t recognize, howled as the draugr wrenched the blade from his shoulder and the wound spilled a river of deep purple. Then the howl turned into an incensed roar as frozen energy bloomed in his clawed hands and he blasted the draugr, the ghost’s bones exploding like shrapnel all around him.

He turned then, his eyes meeting Sam’s, and a combination of surprise and horror flooded his expression.

She stood frozen, her entire body trembling at the sight of the pooling blood and the remnants of his shoulder, at the ectoplasm sizzling in the snow and the smoking bone fragments littering the ground like cobblestones.                            

The yeti’s mouth opened like he was about to shout something to her, when six more draugrs appeared. One of them blasted him with a burst of powerful ectoenergy that sent him flying backwards. Then two more joined, and the maelstrom of their energy made the ground rumble beneath her feet.

She stumbled backwards and fell to a single knee but was back on her feet in an instant. Her heart was frantic, beating in her chest and clawing at her throat, as if it, too, was about to flee. She swallowed it back and ran. Not away, but deeper into the bloodied heart of the melee.

The roars and keening of the yeti rang in her ears. As did the monstrous screams of the draugrs. All around her, chaos and carnage reigned, yeti and draugrs alike engaged in battle. The snow beneath her feet was drenched with a culmination of green and purple.

A green blast exploded above her head. Sam ducked down, shielding her head, but when she risked the glanced upwards, it was Danny she saw rocketing through the cobalt skies, power and energy surging from him as he sent an entire group of those grotesque bastards flying. Had she not been worried for her life, she might have marveled at the display of such raw, calamitous power. But the infamous Danny Phantom and his insane power levels were not her priority.

Gore and ruin fringed her vision as she tore through the streets. She jumped and she dodged and she ran with all her heart—pushing so hard that her breath strained, and a stitch in her side bloomed and ached. She didn’t stop. She didn’t think. She just fucking ran.

She remembered where Tsuel had pointed out her house one day on one of their strolls, and tears of relief stung Sam’s cheeks as it appeared within the frozen throng of buildings.

But before she could get there, an explosion to her right sent her careening forward. She landed hard, her cheek skimming ice and splinters of wood as she tumbled, her hands catching the brunt of the fall as a dull ache stormed up her wrists.

Hissing in pain, she looked up, only to be met with empty eye sockets brimmed with green fire as a draugr stared down at her, a spear poised and ready to gore her. Its jaw sagged wide as a guttural noise came gurgling from somewhere deep inside it. Sam bared her teeth in a feral smile, and hurtled sideways, just as its spear slashed madly where her head had once been.

She teetered on her feet as the draugr twisted to face her again, and as it moved, Sam noticed the surrounding bloodshed, of the yeti battling valiantly against the ghostly invaders.

She stumbled backwards, tripping over fragments of wood.

Horrible screeches. Squelching. The sounds of bones grinding, the roars of yeti, and wordless shrieks of horror—all of it a sharp, overwhelming cacophony in her ears. Draugrs were everywhere. Their stinking, rotten breaths permeated the air with a sickening putridity. Sam stared in horror, just as the draugr before her lurched, its metal armor glinting in the sunlight. The spear it carried seemed to shriek through the air as it hurtled toward her once more.

She ducked. The spear embedded itself into the icy wall at her back. She made to grab it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Damn it,” Sam cried out in frustration. She dropped to her knees when the creature lurched for her again, then propelled herself forward, feet slipping, unable to find purchase on the slick snowpack. Its boney fingers whizzed past her head so close and fast that she felt the wind of it in her hair.  

The draugr screeched in rage as it turned and attempted to jerk the spear from the wall behind her.

There it was—an opening. Finally.

She was about to skirt underneath it and run when she noticed something that froze the blood in her veins.   

There, crouched behind the remnants of a wooden cart, was a little yeti cub. Her arms were at her ears, tail wound along her tiny legs, her entire body quivering. Through her padded fingers, her blue eyes met Sam’s and widened.

With mounting horror, Sam realized she recognized this cub.

It was Freyja.

Sam didn’t think. She didn’t have time to think.

A blast, and the building nearest to her exploded. Snow and ice pelted her, sent her twisting sideways. She crashed into a set of ruined stairs and gasped as pain detonated in her ribcage. The snow was cold beneath her fingers as she struggled through the building’s ruins and forced herself to her feet, even as a thunderstrike of pain raged behind her eyes and her vision blurred.

A deep rumbling battle cry from a male yeti sounded in her ears. Then, before she could react, a giant furred form tumbled into the alleyway and fell to his back, his limbs sprawling. The massive ice sword he carried was hurled away from him and landed onto the remains of the cart. Freyja scrambled away from it, cowering.

Sam recognized him instantly.

Icefang’s horns were wet with ectoplasm, teeth stained green as his jaws snapped at the three draugrs attempting to impale him through the soft of his belly with their swords. When he fought them off, two more emerged and seized him by both his legs.

“Unhand me, you unblessed scum!” he roared.

He thrashed, madly, turning in their grip to sink his claws into the ground. And as he did so, he finally looked up. His wild eyes noticed Freyja first, then settled on Sam and narrowed.

His muzzle wrinkled at the sight of her, peeling back to reveal his stained fangs. “You!” he hissed!

But before he could do anything else, the draugrs dragged him from the alleyway, leaving behind a trail of jagged claw marks in their wake.

Sam didn’t have time to worry about his fate because another draugr had appeared within their little hellhole.

This one was heavily wounded. One of its legs was twisted at an odd angle, so as it approached them, it staggered slowly, dragging its mangled limb. The flail it carried shone in the bright midmorning sun, which was, to her horror, painted with the deep purple of yeti blood.

Ignoring her own pain, she scrambled over to Freyja and tried with all her might to pick up the giant sword from the wood it was angled on. Tears streaked her cheeks when she could barely move it and she cursed herself for her weakness, her inability to do fucking anything to help Freyja. The sword fell from her hands and landed onto the destroyed cart and teetered there, pivoting atop the axel like a fulcrum.

Sam watched it for a split second, then whirled, her eyes wide and searching for an escape route that wasn’t there. They couldn’t run—there was nowhere to go. Everywhere she looked, chunks of ice and rubble barred their path.

Freyja seemed to realize this, too, because she whimpered, her little ears flat against her head. Her snow-white fur was matted and disheveled, the blue dress she wore now in tatters. She jumped then, towards Sam, and buried her little tear-stained face into Sam’s stomach.

Sam wrapped her arms around her without even the slightest hesitation.

“It’s okay,” Sam murmured into the top of her head. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Freyja.”

Breath hitching, Freyja sobbed, “I can’t find my mom!”

“We’ll find her,” Sam promised, her voice thick. She glanced around frantically for a weapon.

Having finally freed its spear, the first draugr reeled and hissed. It bathed them both with its horrid breath, ectoplasmic spittle pelting Sam’s face, her hair, and Sam clambered backward, shoving Freyja behind her as she did so.

This was it. There was nothing she could do.

“Stay behind me, Freyja!” Sam shouted. She splayed her arms wide, shielding the little yeti cub as much as she could.

She could accept her own death. It was inevitable in the world he she knew. But little Freyja? A mingled concoction of anger and defiance boiled inside her chest as she sneered at the draugr, made herself meet the empty, firelit sockets there were its eyes.  

Suddenly, the fear was gone. Evaporated by her concern for Freyja, her anger, her just resolution.

She bent and grasped the nearest shard of ice she could find, unbothered when its sharp edges lanced into her flesh and caused little pinpricks of blood to cascade down her wrist.

If this fucker was about to kill her, she was taking it down with her.

She would not let it get to Freyja.

Sam thought nothing of her own safety as she planted her feet and shielded Freyja’s little body with her own. She could feel the cub’s trembling arms encircling her waist, and a soft plumed tail that curled around them both.

In the harsh sunlight, snow and ice and the gleam of the tilted frozen sword were blindingly sharp in her peripheral.

An idea struck her then.

She stared the draugrs down in challenge. Ready. Waiting.

Both of them, because the limping one was closing in on them, too.

“Come get me, fuckers,” she hissed.

The first one with the spear screeched, its jaw opening wide—

And then it launched itself at them.

Notes:

Holy shiiiiiiit.

So I cut this chapter pretty much in half. It was just too long, and this way I have a buffer chapter because the next one is mostly written. I'd say I'm sorry for the cliffhanger buuuuuuuuuut I'm not. Action is hard to write, gawd damn. Been a minute haha.

Hope it came out okay! Some big things are gonna be happening in the upcoming chapters. Hope y'all are ready!

I'm just thrilled to be ahead a bit for the next update for once instead of scrambling. Gives me time to work on my other secret WIP.

See y'all on the next one!!!! Please leave a comment if ya get the chance. I appreciate you all!

Chapter 18: Fulcrum

Frozen Fire

Chapter Eighteen: Fulcrum

xXx

The stink of death and a churning sea of carnage drenched the village of Ec’Nelis.

Dragurs roared below, while the skies teemed with a horde of phantasms. Thankfully for Danny, the horde was small this time, no doubt due to the immense mob of skeletal monsters lurching about the streets like a hemorrhaging wound. He winced as the phantasms tore at his cloak and yanked. Their frenzied cries rang loud and piercing like a siren.  He blitzed them with a charged beam of his power, then descended onto the streets, just past the Spire in the Market Circle. As he landed, a group of draugrs reeled from the three yeti they’d been engaged with to face him. One of the draugr’s jaw sagged, as if in a grin, its empty eye sockets glittering with green fire.

Like the promise of a storm riding the wind, it hissed his name. Not the name he went by, or any of the others he’d been given over the years. It was the name Written into the stones of a cave at the peak of Mount Cinomrah. The name he abhorred with every hellish fiber of his being.

And then they said, “Ourrrr kiiiiiinnng awaitssssss youuuuuu.”

His face contorted, eyes glowing bright, as he blasted the draugr with his power. The discharge of ecto-energy lit up the battlefield and the draugr exploded. “Nice try, bone bag,” he said, “but that won’t work this time.”

They’d taken him by surprise last time. It wouldn’t happen again.

The yeti—Ymira, Aksel, and Timberfrost—raised their swords in thanks, just as Timberfrost shouted, “All hail our Great One!”

Danny dipped his chin to them, before he launched back into the sky, whirled, and vaporized a swarm of draugrs that had two females and their howling cubs cornered. A pressure started to build in his chest as his core bristled, as that inner voice inside him whispered over and over and over again: Protect. Destroy. Kill.

Protect. Destroy. Kill.

Danny thought nothing of decorum. His rage became fire as something primal in him reacted to the keening wails of the yeti—of his family. And that name. He could still hear it. It didn’t matter how loud the battlefield became; he could still hear it everywhere—that godsdamned name.

Protect. Destroy. Kill.

The power in him thundered like a storm cloud. Waves of it churned, congregating in his clenched fists, and he fought it off with his teeth gritted. He used his ice power instead, blasting those monsters into pieces.

Protect. Destroy. Kill.

The battle of Ec’Nelis was nothing compared to the war that raged inside him. He fought it off with all his strength as he ripped draugrs apart, bone by bone, until their fire petered out and their bodies disintegrated into ectoplasmic waste.

He would bring the death, but he wouldn’t become it. He refused.

Something launched at him from behind, grappling at his cloak. He spun with his teeth bared, ectoplasma charged and roiling in his palm.

“Danny!” Dagfinnr cried.

The charge dissipated. Behind the cub he spotted a wild-eyed Finn. He grabbed them both by the scruffs of their necks and hauled them into the sky, just as the spiked end of a Morningstar whizzed past their heads. The cubs cried out as several crossbow bolts hurtled towards them. With a burst of energy, Danny turned them all intangible, and the bolts passed through them instead, though Finn still shrieked with his hands covering his eyes. He dropped the terrified cubs onto a truss of ice where two rooftops joined.

“Stay here,” he commanded. But then, as he surveyed them, realization curdled, and his insides went hollow. “Where’s Freyja?”

Dag and Finn shared a glance, their eyes wide and stricken with panic as they turned back to Danny, and Dag cried, “We got separated!”

“We—she—the draugr! It was after us! We thought . . .we thought she was right behind us!” said Finn, tears clumping the fur around his eyes. He wiped at his snotty nose and clutched at Danny’s cloak again. “We gotta find her!”

Deep seated rage boiled in Danny’s chest. The insidiousness of his power churned just below the surface of his control, waiting for him to give in; to unleash its might upon his enemies. The very air around him shimmered and the snow brightened as his aura flared.

Dag and Finn both stumbled away from him, their faces stricken.

“Where is she?” he demanded in a voice that did not sound like his own.

“W-we last saw her in the alley off the Market and Southbend,” Dag stammered.

“At the freezepop cart!” Finn added frantically.

Danny whirled midair. His hands clenched into fists that flickered with power as he scanned the streets. Bloodshed and destruction reigned, but the yeti fought valiantly, their war cries a deafening roar accentuated by the sharp clash of metal and ice and bone. Suddenly, a blur of white and the glint of twinned swords caught his attention. He squinted at the alley of Southbend where Tsuel and Frostbreath lived.

His core and the teeming well of power in him bristled with instinct. Protect. Protect them. Fight, destroy, kill. Annihilate.

And when he spotted the draugrs his vision went white.

xXx

Tucker yawned into his hand as he waited in line at the cafeteria. He was running late this morning. Jack and Maddie had technically given him the day off, so, considering the time, he was certain they’d already eaten, and wouldn’t be expecting him. Part of him was inclined to skip the lab today. But then what? His best friend was gone, and it wasn’t like there was anything else to do in this shithole besides work, so he supposed he may as well head into Fentonworks and try and get something done. Never mind that he was up to his eyeballs in projects.

He thanked the teenage girl working the handout counter after she presented him with a hot breakfast sandwich and a mug of black coffee. Stuffing the sandwich into his mouth, he gnawed on it while he walked to the lab. The other residents nodded to him as he passed, with some even murmuring halfhearted pleasantries, but otherwise ignored him, which he appreciated. He’d hated all the pitying looks and condolences that had followed in the wake of Sam’s disappearance. At least now he was back to blending in with the melancholy.

As he walked, his thoughts strayed. Damon Gray had expressed interest in integrating Tucker’s goggle prototype into the Militia’s gear, much to Tucker’s surprise. It was to the point now that Gray sent his subordinate, Branson-or-whatever-his-name-was, down to the lab for updates almost daily. That, coupled with the brain-breaking shit the Fentons had sprung on him a week ago, was keeping him more than busy as of late.

Which was good. Busy was good. It kept him from thinking too long about the hard shit.

Though, he supposed he could argue that the research the Fentons kept hidden on that laptop in their wall very much counted as hard shit too, but at least it was less personal hard shit. He’d take toeing the line of treason over dealing with his grief any day.

Still . . . Tucker sighed as he washed the crusty bread and egg sandwich down with a suffering sip of his coffee. He had no idea what to think anymore. His mind reeled with images of Phantom turning an entire building intangible, saving the hundreds of people fleeing it as it crumbled to the ground, while in a surveillance feed two years later, he’d decimated the entire GIW facility and killed everyone inside it. It didn’t make any sense.

No matter. Today, he decided he wouldn’t think. He’d simply waltz into the lab, greet the Fentons, and set to work on soldering some electrical receptors with his favorite Humpty Dumpty songs blasting in his ears. Numb his mind with some sick guitar riffs and tune out the world. Tune out all the hard shit, too. Try and forget it all. At least . . . for a little while.

Already humming the tune to his favorite song, Tucker didn’t notice her at first, waiting in one of the little alcoves where the Northeast-Southwest hallways intersected. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she grabbed him by the loose fabric of his jumpsuit and yanked. Hot coffee spilled down the front of his shirt and all over his hand.

“Tucker?” Paulina asked. “Please tell me that’s you. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s me?” Tucker said, willing his racing heart to chill the fuck out, because holy shit she’d scared the crap out of him. He hissed through his teeth as he tried in vain to shake the pain from his burned hand. “What the hell, Paulina?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I make you spill your coffee?” she asked. She didn’t sound sorry at all, though. She tilted her head at him, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips. The orange cane she always carried dangled from one of her hands.

“You kinda did,” Tucker said. “It’s fine, though, only a third-degree burn. I’ll just live the rest of my life in agony. Don’t worry about it.”

Her lips curled. “I wasn’t worried. I’m sure you’re fine.”

“You could always make it up to me?” Tucker hedged, waggling his eyebrows at her. Then realized how stupid he was, because she was blind and couldn’t see it.

Paulina wrinkled her nose and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Nice try, Geek Boy, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Just his luck. Even the resident crazy chick wasn’t interested. Tucker shrugged and stuffed his throbbing hand into his pocket. The other still held his half-empty coffee, which he took a long sip of. “So, what can I do you for, gorgeous?”

“Valerie was here last night. I’m pretty sure she was snooping in the lab. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Tucker straightened at that. “How do you know?”

“Because she ran into me. Literally. It sounded like she was walking fast from the direction of the lab. Seemed, like, super sketchy about it, too.”

“What were you doing here, Paulie? Keeping an eye out for ol’ Too Fine?” he joked, though he couldn’t keep the accusing tone out of his voice. His eyes narrowed as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Paulina scowled at him. “I like going for walks at night.” She tapped her cane onto the ground. “It’s easier for me when there’s less foot traffic.”

Oh. That did make sense. Tucker winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Fair point. Well, did you see what Valerie was doing?”

By the time he realized his mistake, Paulina was already smirking at him. She arched a brow. “Would you like to try that one again?”

Another wince. “Uhhh, do you happen to know what she was doing here?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But anyone snooping around at night is probably doing it for the wrong reasons. Just thought you and the whacky weirdo Fentons might like to know.”

She was right; they absolutely would like to know that. Tucker’s heart galloped at the information hidden in that lab, and what it could mean that Valerie was potentially snooping. Was there a correlation? Or was it all some big coincidence? His mind raced, and apprehension roiled in the pit of his stomach. A cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck. He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

“Something is wrong with her,” Paulina said.

“Wrong with who?”

“Valerie.”

“Something’s wrong with Valerie?” His face darkened as he thought again of Sam, and how Valerie had treated her. He remembered how Valerie had acted at the funeral. All demanding and haughty and teeming with her shitty attitude. “Other than she’s a bitch?”

Agitation flickered across Paulina’s face. “She never used to be like that. Something is wrong with her. She’s not . . .” Her mouth twisted as she struggled for the words. “She’s not right. I don’t know how else to say it.”

Tucker studied Paulina then. Ever since the accident that robbed her of her sight, the gorgeous Latina had all but faded into the shadows, wandering the compound’s winding hallways and hardly speaking to anyone. The other residents avoided her like the plague. Not because of her disability, but because, despite having been blinded by one, Paulina was very vocal about her belief that not all ghosts were evil. That everything they knew was likely wrong.  As a result, they’d all called her crazy. A ghost sympathizer. The poster child for Stockholm Syndrome. And a myriad of other terrible things that Tucker was too ashamed to admit. Because now, after that shit he’d seen in the lab, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

So much for tuning out the world and all the hard stuff. He sighed again.

“What makes you think there’s something wrong with Valerie?” he asked.

Paulina’s brows rose. It was clear she hadn’t been expecting him to believe her, which made him feel like total shit. “It’s hard to explain. She’s always so . . . on edge. Jumpy.” She crossed her arms and rapped her fingers along the crook of her arm. “Her dad, too. They fidget a lot, like there’s a war going on inside them.”

“So?”

“So, Val never used to be like that. And Mr. Gray never used to be so . . . mean. Something isn’t right.”

Tucker was silent as he mulled over Paulina’s words. He thought again of how Valerie was at the funeral. But then, he also remembered Maddie Fenton telling him how Val had practically sobbed when she’d told her about Sam. He remembered how close Sam and Val had been when they were younger, until out of nowhere, Sam said that Val just . . . changed. Like a switch being flipped. It never made sense to Sam, and Tucker knew his best friend had agonized over it in the years that followed, though she’d never admitted it.

Paulina must’ve mistaken Tucker’s thoughtful silence for something else, because she shifted her feet and glared at him with her cloudy eyes. “I’m not crazy, Geek Boy.”

Tucker raised his hands but then dropped them to his sides as he realized, yet again, that she wouldn’t see it. “Didn’t say you were, Paulie.”

She raised her chin and ran her fingers through her long silky hair. “Wouldn’t care if you did. Just like to remind everyone once in a while.” She laughed a little under her breath. “Not that it does any good. And yes, I know it’s ironic coming from me with how I treated you and Goth Girl in our middle years.”

Tucker’s chest tightened at the reference to Sam. “Uh, it’s fine. Not even worried about it.”

“It really is a shame,” Paulina said. “What happened to her, I mean. She was one of the few people around here who didn’t completely suck.” She twirled her hair around her fingers so tight that the tips of them reddened. A shadow swept across her face. “I saw her. That night before . . . well, you know.”

His stomach was suddenly in his shoes. Sam hadn’t told him that. “Y-you did?”

Paulina nodded. “She couldn’t sleep. She was . . . worried. About the mission. And I . . . I think I gave her some bad advice.”

“What do you mean you gave her bad advice?”

“Just the usual. You know, all the things everyone taunts me for.”

Tucker let out a single humorless laugh, though his heart leapt as Sam’s decision to drop her ectogun suddenly seemed clearer. Not that he could tell Paulina that. “It’s not your fault. Sam’s kinda stubborn. You wouldn’t have been able to just convince her of something. Not unless she already believed it herself on some level. What happened to her was just a . . .” He swallowed hard. “A freak accident.”

“What did happen to her? I heard it was the wisps.” 

“It was,” he lied. And hated himself for it. But he’d promised the Fentons he would keep FENTODRONE #9’s surveillance footage clandestine for the time being.

Paulina blinked away the sudden glassiness from her eyes. She took a deep breath and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I still stand by what I believe. There are good ghosts out there.”

“Didn’t a ghost blind you?”

“Not on purpose. He saved me. If it wasn’t for him the Fright Knight would have killed me. He’s a hero.”

“But he blinded you, Paulina. That doesn’t seem very heroic to me.”

Paulina shrugged. “I’m alive and I wouldn’t have been. I’d rather be blind than dead, believe it or not.”

“Which ghost even was it?” Tucker asked.

“I don’t know. I never got his name. But he was really powerful.”

“Hey, that really narrows it down.”

Paulina scowled at him. “He had white hair like snow and green eyes that glowed like fire. I remember his face because he looked so human. Sorry I can’t paint you a picture, Geek Boy. Would if I could.”

“Heh, sorry. I don’t mean to seem like I’m mocking you,” Tucker said. “It’s just a lot to take in, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know. It’s really not that complicated. There’s a lot we don’t know. And this place,” she gestured around the corridor, “is keeping us in the dark about a lot of it. There’s an entire war happening out there, and I think it’s a lot bigger than we realize.”  She scoffed, hand falling to her hip as she rolled her eyes.  “And everyone says I’m the crazy one.”

He didn’t know why, but something in her words struck him down to his core, and that feeling lingered long after he bid Paulina farewell and resumed the last leg of his journey to the Fentons’ lab. Paulina was supposed to be nuts. So why did Tucker feel like she was the only one in this godforsaken place who seemed lucid? Why did he kind of believe her? Sure, there were the videos that Maddie showed him, and yeah, he’d watched the way that giant furred creature had cradled Sam to its chest, but that didn’t mean that ghosts weren’t inherently evil . . . right?

And then there was that shit with Valerie. Now that Paulina pointed it out, he had to agree that Val had seemed off at the funeral. He’d been so blind with his own grief and rage at the time that he hadn’t even noticed it. But now that he was thinking about it? His stomach churned again. He needed to get to the lab. And he needed to start getting some answers. 

xXx

Sam readied herself for the draugr’s attack.

Feet planted wide, arms loose at her sides, and ice shard clenched in a white knuckled fist, she waited. The draugr, with its gaping mouth from which a terrible noise bellowed, advanced towards her. She let out a breath as her attention focused on the sharp point of the spear, aimed to gore her through her chest. Freyja trembled and whimpered into her back.

In a blur of rot, the draugr lunged for them.

Time seemed to slow.

In the last moment, right before the monster reached them, Sam slammed her heel onto the hilt of the giant sword that laid tilted, blade down, against the cart’s axel.  With the axel acting as a fulcrum, the force of Sam’s kick caused the blade to pivot, just high enough, so that when the draugr descended it impaled itself on the blade.

Right through its goddamned core.

With a wail of rage, the draugr imploded.

The acidic rainfall of ectoplasm pelted her, and she shielded her eyes as much as possible. It felt like liquid fire on her exposed skin—but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was Freyja’s safety.

Any relief she was about to feel was short lived. The second draugr was closing in. It started to swing its spiked flail as it neared, the sound of it a dull whoop, whoop, whoop—a mere blur against the clear blue sky.

At the mouth of the alley, three more draugrs stumbled in, shrieking, their weapons poised.

Sam faced them all. Her grip tightened on the ice shard. Eyes burning and teeth gritted, she thought only of Freyja. She would lay down her life if it meant that Freyja walked out of here unharmed.

She waited for the blows to come.

But they never did.

Instead, the flail-wielding draugr burst apart in fragments of bone and tendrils of fiery green, just as a frozen sword was lanced through its body. In her shock, Sam stumbled backwards and into Freya, which sent them both sprawling into the snow.

Sam stared at the sky, wide-eyed, to where Elle Phantom floated, two icy blades poised in either hand. She descended and helped Sam to her feet, then glanced between Sam and the trembling Freyja, who pressed her little muzzle into Sam’s side.

“You are probably the dumbest creature I have ever met,” Elle said to Sam, though her words lacked her usual disdain. Her hand was still on Sam’s upper arm; it tightened in a gentle squeeze as the ghost girl’s eyes twinkled. “But you just might be the bravest.”

Sam didn’t have time to respond before the three draugrs lunged for them. Elle spun, blades whistling as she plunged them through their cores. She glanced at Sam over her shoulder, her eyes flicking to the large blade Sam had impaled the first draugr with. “Do you know how to use that?”

“I can’t pick it up,” Sam replied with prickling shame.

Unfazed, Elle merely nodded once. “Just keep Freyja with you.”

Sam set her jaw and squared her shoulders. She hauled Freyja to her chest, hugging the cub tight. In response, Freyja wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and buried her muzzle into the furred ruff of Sam’s coat. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”

Surprise flitted in Elle’s expression. And when she whirled, white hair fanning out like fog, Sam could only watch in amazement as Elle wielded her twin blades with expert precision and unleashed a volley of deliberate strikes against the advancing draugrs.   

In Sam’s arms, the cub’s little body shook with wracking sobs. Her tears were wet against Sam’s neck, which only made her hug the cub tighter. She pressed her chin into the fluff between Freyja’s ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothed, stroking the back of Freyja’s head.

Eventually, Elle sank one of her blades into a nearby snow dune, and with her power, she made one that was smaller than her own, its blade like that of a giant needle. She handed it to Sam.

“They’re much weaker in the daylight,” Elle said. “Stay out of the shadows and engage only if they get too close.”

Sam took the blade. “It would be my pleasure.”

Elle gave her a conspiring grin before she spun so her back was facing Sam. And Sam, even with one arm still wrapped tight around the yeti cub, raised her needle blade in a defensive position. She bent her knees and kept her center of gravity low, ready for whatever was about to come.  

And come they did. Spilling in through the gaping mouth of the alley, the draugrs continued to storm the alcove. They careened through the wreckage as the world filled with their hellish cries and hurled themselves at the ghost girl. But not once did Elle balk. She was a phantom blur of shining blades and the white of her cloak, twirling amidst the melee like a choreographed waltz. The ground beneath her feet became drenched with steaming ectoplasm—and yet, none of it was hers. 

Even though Elle took up most of the offense, Sam was able to nab one of the ghoulish bastards that succeeded in getting too close. She was nowhere near Elle’s level in swordplay, certainly, but she managed. A stab was a stab. She sunk her blade straight through the bastard as it neared, the honed ice piercing its armor like butter. It didn’t destabilize as the first one had, but she incapacitated it enough for Elle to finish it off with a blast of polar energy.

With that same energy, Elle whirled and blasted an entire group of them. Gleaming shards plunged through the green fire of their bodies, and then her blades sang, like wind through the mountains. She cut off their wretched gurgling with two precise swipes, twirled like a ballerina on a single leg, and used that momentum to spin into three more and cut them in half, her swords glowing with her power and her eyes blazing blue instead of green.

She was powerful, Sam realized, but in a way that was different from her twin. Danny exuded raw power, while Elle showed it with the way she moved and the expert manor with which she used her swords. A newfound respect bloomed in Sam’s chest as she watched Elle in action.

Finally, the ghost girl slammed her fist onto the ground and sent a wave of ice hurtling toward a swarm of draugrs, freezing them into place, and then she finished them off with a swipe of one of her blades.

The alley was calm for a single tense moment before two more draugrs hobbled in. But before Elle could so much as raise a blade towards them, a powerful green blast detonated from somewhere in the sky, and they blew apart in fragmented bits.

Sam tensed and turned just in time to shield Freyja from the blast. She gritted her teeth against the resulting barrage of bone shards that pelted her back.

A strange energy surged and she tasted metal on her tongue. Her nose filled with the distinct scent of ozone, like a summery afternoon before the first strike of lightning. Clutching the whimpering Freyja tight, Sam raised her blade in anticipation of the new threat, ready for the fight, but then lowered her arm immediately.

Because there, floating above her with eyes that glowed bright with rage, was Danny. With his proximity, a familiar bout of ice raked through her veins as his wrath settled upon them like a dark cloud about to eclipse the sun. His aura was charged and bright and almost as glaring as the sunlight that lit his silhouette with a gilded halo. He looked menacing as hell.

“Took you long enough,” Elle quipped.

When he saw Sam, his eyes widened, and he landed so hard that the ground rumbled and sent snow spraying in every direction. Sam didn’t so much as flinch as the very air she breathed became charged with what felt like an electrical current and her ears crackled.  Even her hair seemed to stand on end in places, which only grew stronger as he approached. She held her ground and stared him down.

“You were supposed to stay in the castle,” he growled. His voice sounded strange, like it was far away.

Before Sam could retort, Elle stepped between them. “Hey, lay off her. She saved Freyja’s life.”

The lingering rage ebbed from Danny’s expression, and with it, the stifling static that had arrived with him. As if noticing her for the first time, his eyes landed on Freyja.

“You did?” he asked, bewildered.

Sam shot him a dry look but otherwise ignored him. She stroked Freyja’s trembling back with long movements meant to soothe her and whispered to the cub, “Heyyyyy, shhhhh, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

But the cub wouldn’t release her. Freyja’s arms remained tight around Sam’s neck, her face still pressed under Sam’s chin and buried in her hair. It was then that Sam realized her own knees were shaking. She stumbled a bit, and Danny caught her by the elbow.

Around them, yeti had started to gather, crowding them. A whispering faceless sea that Sam could barely make sense of. She felt removed from herself, with senses that were dull and a body that felt sluggish, as if she were trapped underwater or in a dream. She knew the yeti were talking about her, but she couldn’t make sense of their words. It all sounded strange and jumbled together.  

Until a small female burst frantically from the crowd, her blue eyes wild. “FREYJA!” she screeched.

The cub in Sam’s arms squirmed and cried out, “Mother!”

Sam lowered the wriggling Freyja to the ground and watched as the little cub ran into her mother’s outstretched arms.

“Oh my Gods!” the female sobbed into the small tuft of fur between Freyja’s ears. “Great Gods and Ancients. Mercy, mercy.” Her tear-filled eyes landed on Sam, the fur of her face matted and stained with flecks of green and purple. She had gouges on her arms and her claws were stained green as they clutched the fabric of Freyja’s tattered dress. “Praise you, human girl. Praise you.”

The crowd murmured again, but Sam could barely hear them. Her vision was warped, the world now tilted and nonsensical. She stumbled again as her adrenaline high banked and left her filled with boundless exhaustion. God, she was so fucking tired. And her head . . . her head ached.

Two hands seized her under both of her arms to steady her. Danny grabbed her left, while Elle had her right. With a breathy laugh, Elle released her, and Danny swung her into his arms to cradle her to his chest. She wanted to object—tried to object—but the words were heavy on her tongue. The shapes around her condensed as they closed in, and then everything was swept away by a sea of darkness.

.

.

.

When Sam woke again, her brain was muddled and foggy. She instantly recognized the swaddle of soft fur that fringed her vision, and the little rainbows that danced around the crystal stalactites on the ceiling. She was in the medical sector.

And she wasn’t alone.

“Ah, she wakes,” a voice said.

Sam’s swimming vision focused on the grinning face of Sleetjaw. She scowled at him, annoyed to be in the cradle, which made him chuckle as he gave her room to sit up some.

“How long was I out?” she croaked.

“Take it easy, young one,” Sleetjaw said, “you sustained several minor injuries that are still in the process of settling. My prompt intervention has saved you from lasting damage, but the injuries may still ache some. And you have been out for only a few hours.”

“You don’t say,” Sam said dryly. “I feel like a million bucks, actually.”

“A million what?”

Ignoring him, Sam scrubbed the bleariness from her eyes. But when her vision cleared, she blinked at all the faces staring back at her.

Just behind Sleetjaw, she spotted Danny, and next to him was Elle. Their cloaks were tattered and stained, but they appeared otherwise unharmed. Frostbite’s bulk loomed close behind them, and to their left was Frostbreath and Tsuel, and in Tsuel’s arms was . . . was . . .

Tears filled Sam’s eyes at the sight of the little squirming cub Tsuel had tucked to her chest. She sat up straighter, suddenly frantic as a horrible thought settled like frost. “Freyja?”

“Is safe,” Frostbreath said. “Alive. Because of you.”

“Oh, Sam,” Tsuel said, “you poor dear, brave, cub!”

The female darted forward then, between the males, and nearly shoulder checked Danny in her haste to get to Sam. The fur of her cheeks was matted and wet. She brushed one of her giant clawed hands along Sam’s face, cupping her jaw, and pressed her brow to Sam’s for a moment. When she pulled away, her eyes glittered with emotion. Sam stared at Tsuel, bewildered, before her attention turned to the cub that stirred in Tsuel’s arms. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat when she realized that Leif’s wide set eyes were just as golden as his mother’s.   

Where Freyja had been as big as a border collie, Leif was about the size of a large cat. His ears were oversized and rounded, perched atop his little fluffy head, with fur streaked with faint traces of blue. He reached for Sam, the little clawless nubs of his fingers splayed wide. He made a little noise that sounded like a cross between a chirp and a squeak as he gave her a wide toothless smile.

Sam couldn’t take her eyes off him. “He’s beautiful, Tsuel,” she managed to choke out. 

“You may hold him,” Tsuel offered gently, “if you like.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Really?” She glanced at the cub again, uncertain. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

But then, the cub squeaked again and reached for her, and Sam’s arms seemed to move of their own accord as she allowed Tsuel to settle the little creature onto her chest.

She about died right then and there from the sheer cuteness.

“He’s so . . . soft,” she said, her voice hoarse. Leif cooed softly and nuzzled deeper into her chest. And though she’d been fighting them off with valiant effort, the tears that burned her eyes started to spill down her cheeks unbidden. With all she’d learned about yeti society in recent months, she knew this was a profound moment, so she reveled in it, at the feeling of complete acceptance she felt emanating from the room. She’d crossed a line today, sure, but she didn’t think it was a bad one. 

Then she noticed her arm.

A thick white band of puckered scar tissue zigzagged up her forearm. She snorted. “That’s new.”

“Humans do heal a bit differently, I am afraid. The scarring will settle in a day’s time, but it may always be visible,” Sleetjaw said. “You are very lucky to be alive, human girl.”

“Indeed,” Frostbite said. “You disobeyed my direct order to stay inside the castle.”

Sam glared right back at him. “And I’d do it again.”

“You almost died, child.”

“So what?” Sam snapped. “If I wasn’t there that thing—that draugr—would have killed Freyja!”

Tsuel whirled to glare at Frostbite. “Perhaps this is a conversation that can be had when Sam is not holding my cub,” she snapped. “Sam has done a wonderful thing. Freyja is still alive because of her. That is what is important.”

Frostbite’s eyes still burned with fire, but he sighed and pinched the bridge of his wide muzzle between his claws. “You are correct, Tsuel. Forgive me. I just do not wish to encourage defiance in my subjects.”

“Good thing I’m not one of your subjects then, huh?” Sam quipped.

“She’s got you there, father,” Danny said. “She’s not a yeti, so she’s not bound by the same governance that we are. You can’t hold her actions against her.”

“I agree with Danny. We should be celebrating her bravery not chastising her like a cub,” Elle said. She met Sam’s shocked gaze and nodded once, smirking lightly, before she nudged Danny with her elbow. 

Up until now, he’d been quiet. Sam noted his crossed arms and the subdued manner that he stood off to the side with his sister. Despite the battle’s end, his face was still clouded and troubled. She gave him a thankful smile, which he returned tremulously, and finally approached her. Tsuel shuffled over to Sam’s other side to give him space.

“Are you okay, Sam?” he asked. He stopped an arm’s length away, and Sam knew the distance was intentional. “Sleetjaw said you took a pretty hard hit to the head.”

Shrugging as she patted Leif’s back, Sam said, “I mean, I feel like I got hit by a truck, but I think I’m doing alright all things considered.” She smirked. “Good thing I’m kind of hardheaded, right?”

The clouds on his face cleared some. He blew out the slightest laugh. “I was just about to say that but you beat me to it.”

“What kind of creature is a truck?” Sleetjaw asked.

Sam snickered a little. “Trucks aren’t creatures, they’re vehicles.” Her nose wrinkled as she added, “And impractical ones, at that.”

“Vee-hickle?” Sleetjaw tilted his giant head, ears pricked. “What is such a thing?”

“Humans use them for transportation,” Danny said. “Kind of like how we use horses and carriages here, only mechanical.”

“A mechanical horse and carriage? How very interesting!”

Tsuel disappeared and was replaced with the great wall of fluff that was Frostbreath. Sam blinked and sputtered as two giant clawed hands grasped either side of her face, and a cold wet tongue licked her from chin to forehead in a single gross swipe.

“Oh, Sam!” he exclaimed. “I am so delighted that you have prevailed! You do not know how lucky you are! It is a true miracle of the Ancients!”

“Good to see you too, buddy,” Sam said as she patted his hand. It took all her self-control to keep from wiping the film of slobber off the side of her face. Which she couldn’t really do, anyway. Not with the little cub still curled in her arms and snoozing lightly.

She sighed and leveled Frostbite with a resigned look. Time to face the music. “Soooo, what happens now?”

The Yeti King’s Brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Am I, like, in trouble? Will I go to yeti jail for disobeying you?”

 “I am not happy with you, Sam, that is true, but my son is right. You are not a yeti, so you are not bound by our code of honor, but . . .” He smiled a little, his gaze drifting to Leif, then returning to her. “You have done something most wonderful. You had no weapons, and yet you still ran into danger without any concern for yourself, and with nothing to gain from it. I speak for all my people when I say that we will never forget such bravery.”

“Indeed, songs shall be sung in your honor!” Frostbreath added. “Even if it is I who must compose them. All the Far Frozen shall know what you have done here today.” Just as Tsuel had done, Frostbreath leaned towards her and briefly pressed his brow to hers before he pulled away, grinning.

“Furthermore,” Frostbite continued, “I shall train you in the ways of battle myself, as is my right as the King of this Realm.”

“No,” a guttural voice growled. One that Sam knew all too well.

She hadn’t noticed him until now. Surrounded by her friends and still partially consumed by the soft furs of the ice cradle, she had missed Icefang’s hulking presence near the entrance, where he loomed in all his angry glory. A large gash leaked purple from his brow, just past the base of his horns, and crawled to the peak of his left cheekbone. His long tail flicked as he scowled at Sam. He ran his tongue along his fangs as Sam met his glare with one of her own.

A heavy tension settled about the room. Tsuel’s hackles rose, and Sam tried not to take it too personally when Tsuel whisked the sleeping Leif out of her arms. Danny stepped forward between Sam and Icefang, his cold rage piercing the tension as if it was nothing. She couldn’t see his face, but she was certain his eyes were glowing bright with the same fire he’d obliterated the draugrs with earlier. She could feel it in the frost that nibbled at her exposed flesh. She shivered, resisting the urge to pull the furs up to her chin.

Icefang paid him no mind. His brow was heavy, shrouding his furred face with shadow as he stepped forward, entering the room. He didn’t look away from Sam for even a moment. “Peace, young prince,” he growled. “I have no interest in severing honor today, nor will I ever.” 

Danny didn’t relent at all. A sound that wasn’t at all human seemed to be rumbling from his chest. Not quite a growl, but more like a deep humming noise. The temperature of the room plummeted significantly.

Elle touched his shoulder. “Easy, Danny, before you freeze the human.”

“Aye, I will not hurt your human,” Icefang said. His glare shifted to Frostbite. “And you shall not train her in battle. That is not our way.”

“But Icefang, she must learn,” Frostbreath said. “Surely you can see that?”

Despite still being trapped in the stupid cradle, Sam squared her shoulders and held her chin high, refusing to look away from Icefang. She had once feared him, desperately, but those days were long gone. She returned his stare with every roaring flame of her inner fire. Fire that burned cold, with embers that stirred and flickered and turned into searing ice. She would not balk. Nor would she yield. Not to him, or to anyone else.

Icefang’s bright white fangs gleamed in the light as his muzzle curled into something that resembled a grin. A savage one, sure, but a grin, nonetheless. “Because it is I who she shall learn from,” he announced.

“Only if she agrees to it,” Danny snapped. He turned to face Sam, and she was surprised that his eyes were, indeed, glowing bright with anger. He looked fucking pissed. “You don’t have to agree. He about strangled you a few months ago.”

Icefang shrugged. “I do not apologize for doing what I thought was best at the time, frost child.”

Sam narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Fine. But I want something else now, too.”

“And what is that, dear cub?” Tsuel asked.

“I’m done with all the secret bullshit around here. I want to know everything. No more secrets.” She looked directly at Frostbite. “I want to see the Cave of Writings.”

She expected his rebuttal; had prepared for it with her retort at the ready. But instead, Frostbite sighed again, his expression weary, and said, “I agree that it is time for you to meet your destiny. I shall take you.”

Her brows rose into her hairline. “Really? When?” Before he could respond, she added, “And if you say ‘when you are ready’ one more time I might actually explode.”

“Soon, Sam, I assure you,” Frostbite said, giving her a strange look. “But first I must attend to some pressing matters.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I must learn how the draugrs made it here without our knowledge and attacked my kingdom in broad daylight, for one. And I must consult the other tribes.”

“They attacked from the East, father,” Elle said. “Timberfrost was on a hunt when he saw them crawl in from the sea.”

“Oh, Ancients,” Tsuel breathed, “I hope the coastal towns remain unscathed.”

“Danny and I can fly over and check them out,” Elle said. “We can be back by the time the cryocrystals are answered.”

Frostbite nodded. “That is good thinking, daughter.”

Beyond sick of sitting in the cradle, Sam started to swing her legs free when Danny offered her his hand. She gave him a flat look but allowed him to ease her to the floor. She was still dressed aside from her giant furred jacket, but the absence of her outermost layer had her shivering, until Danny retrieved it from Sleetjaw and handed it to her, which she took from him gratefully. Too sore to dress herself, she merely draped it over her shoulders, tightening the arms around her neck. She stretched, smothering the urge to wince as her muscles groaned in protest.

Icefang, despite the ghoulish grin he’d given her moments ago, had reverted to glaring again. She asked him in her most charming monotone, “So, when do we start?”

His muzzle wrinkled slightly. “Immediately, if it pleases you, human.”

“Sam, you have only just woken! Give yourself the night, at least!” Tsuel gasped.

“The dead don’t sleep,” Sam said without thinking, then winced when she remembered there were, in fact, ghosts present.

They didn’t seem bothered. Elle snorted, while Danny said, “They do. Sort of. But draugrs aren’t just ghosts, they’re something else. And you’re right, Sam, they don’t sleep. They’ll be back.”

Sam nodded as if she’d been expecting that. “That’s why I have to be ready for when they do.”

“Your dedication is commendable, human girl,” Frostbite said, “but I must insist that you start your training on the morrow. I have need for Icefang presently, just as you have need for rest. You may start then.”

Sam rolled her eyes and sighed . “Killjoy.”

Frostbite rumbled with laughter. Then one of his ears flicked, as if in thought, and he turned and appraised Sam with an unreadable expression.  

“What is it now?” Sam asked in a sigh.

“Perhaps your rest shall wait, after all.”

She gave him a look of feigned boredom. “Oh?”

“I am about to consult the cryocrystals,” Frostbite said. “I would like for you to join. If that is agreeable to you, that is.”

“The hell is a cryocrystal?” she deadpanned.

“It is a device used by my kind to communicate,” Frostbite said. “It is how I stay in contact with the chieftains of the other villages here.” 

Her bored expression cracked as she was unable to contain her shock. “And you want me to go?”

Frostbite nodded. “I have kept you from the truth long enough. You have proven more than worthy of my trust.”

She often forgot how much larger Frostbite was in comparison to the other yeti. He towered above them all. Sam had to crane her neck to hold his gaze as he approached her, and with the knuckles of his icy hand, he trailed them gently down her cheek, not unlike she’d seen him do for Elle. She was so taken aback by the gesture that she nearly recoiled from his reach.

“What you have done is greatly commendable,” Frostbite said. “As you are an outsider here, you have yet to truly grasp the significance, but I assure you that it is nothing short of extraordinary.” His gaze drifted, settling somewhere behind her. “A cub’s life is precious. We treasure them more than anything else.”

She wasn’t crying—she wasn’t—but her throat tightened as she ran the sleeve of her woolen shirt over her burning cheeks. “Someone had to save her.”

“And you would do it again,” Frostbite said.

It wasn’t a question, she knew, but she still nodded anyway. “Of course I would.”

“You would have given your life to save hers.”

“I—” Sam started, but the words caught in her throat. Suddenly, she couldn’t meet any of their gazes anymore. She stared at her feet instead. “Yes . . . I would. She’s just a kid. She didn’t deserve to die.”

A single frozen claw brushed under Sam’s chin, tilting her face to meet the eyes of the Yeti King.

“My brother is correct,” Frostbite said. “We shall never forget what you have done. Freyja and her mother, Glacia, shall never forget what you have done. But know this.” His eyes hardened, boring into hers. “Do not be so flippant with your own life, human girl, for yours is precious, too.”

She didn’t understand the feeling that burned her ears red. It had been a long, long time since she’d been chastised like some rebellious teen. She stepped out of his grasp and scoffed a little. “Yeah, yeah, your precious Writings, I know. I get it. Can’t fuck with the prophecy, right?”

“This is not about the Writings, child,” Frostbite said, almost warningly. “This is about those of us who have grown to care for you.”

Sam swallowed the lump in her throat as she glanced around the room then. Frostbreath and Tsuel smiled softly at her, while Leif wriggled in his mother’s arms. Sleetjaw dipped his chin fondly as her gaze swept over him. Icefang regarded her stone-faced, his thick arms crossed, but he didn’t appear hostile for once, though he still seemed to be glaring at her. Elle was now sitting on the lip of the ice cradle, legs swinging, as she, too, offered Sam a tentative grin. And Danny . . .

Oh, Danny was pissed.

When their gazes met, his eyes narrowed on her, and the green of them flared ever so slightly. He stayed quiet, but she had a feeling he’d be ripping her a new one the next time they were alone. Whatever. Let him be angry with her. She wouldn’t apologize for doing what she thought was right.

Perhaps she and Icefang had something in common, after all. Two unapologetic assholes.

Not wanting to dwell on that thought for too long, Sam cleared her throat. “I’m . . . uh, sorry, if I made you guys worry. I didn’t think . . .”

“That we’d care?” Danny deadpanned.

Shit, if that wasn’t hitting the nail right on the head. She gave him a withered look but found she couldn’t refute it. Her silence was deafening.

“Oh, dear cub,” Tsuel said as she rocked Leif in her arms. “You mean more to us than you will ever know.”

“I concur!” Frostbreath agreed.

“And I as well,” Frostbite said. “You may not be a daughter of the ice, but you are still a daughter of the Realms,” his smile turned soft, “and therefore, you are a daughter of ours. We all think of you as our own.”

Damn them. Her cheeks flushed and she wanted nothing more than for this conversation to be over. Her eyes fell to the floor and stayed there. She wiped at her face again.

“Eeesh,” Elle drawled, “Can’t you guys see this big emotional conversation is making her uncomfortable?” With an exaggerated shudder, she jumped from the ice cradle and strode across the room, rainbows dancing along her cloak and hair as she passed beneath them, until she reached Sam’s side and nudged her with her elbow. “How about we go back to the easy things, like winning this war, eh? The hall of cryocrystals is pretty neat. And you get to hear all the bickering the chieftains do, which is prime entertainment, if you ask me.”

“Entertainment?” Danny asked his twin from Sam’s other side.

“We live in a frozen wasteland, Danny, what in the Ancients do you expect me to find entertainment in if it’s not Hailclaw and his bemoaning?”

“I’d rather listen to Hailclaw complain about trading pelts than to Freezera’s constant remarks about the weather,” Danny said. He arched an eyebrow at Sam. “Did you know it snows here?”

Elle snorted, and in a nasally voice that was probably mocking the aforementioned Freezera, she said, “The snow flies every hour while the wind arrives steadily from the West. The sun shines brightly on the morrow. The snowflakes today are softer than those of the previous moon.” She rolled her eyes. “She does know we get the same weather, right?”

Sam knew what the ghost twins were doing, and she was grateful for them. She let herself smile a little.

“Cubs,” Frostbite admonished, though he appeared to be stifling laughter. He sobered quickly, his features turning grave. “I fear I must end our conversation here. There is much to be done. It is most imperative that we learn how the other villages have fared, and we must prepare for Sam’s journey to the Cave of Writings.”

Sam felt her heart summersault in her chest. As much as she loathed the idea of some alien prophecy set to determine her fate or destiny or whatever, she couldn’t deny there was a large part of her that was curious, too. After being teased with crumbs of information over the past few months, she was starved for some goddamned answers.

“We should probably head out too, Danny,” Elle said. “Do a quick flyover so we can be back in time for the cryocrystals.”

Danny nodded. “We should start with Stonethrow and work our way out. It shouldn’t take long to check the coast.”

Elle grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Frostbite turned to Sam then. He offered her his warmest grin and gestured towards the entryway. “Shall you be joining us today, child?”

Three months ago, as she’d wandered the dilapidated ruins of Amity Park, Sam would never have believed the turns her life would soon take. How, in a bizarre twist of fate, she’d end up whisked to an alien world of ice and frozen beasts. A world of secrets and ambiguity, but also of beauty and wonder, too. That things like prophecies, royalty, and hope existed. That it wasn’t all just some elaborate lie fabricated by her dreams due to a reality had become too harrowing.

She remembered her hopelessness. Like that little sapling in the park, struggling to reach the sky as it gasped for a single stray beam of sunlight. Her mother, withering away into bones and dust. The swirl of grey as the compound residents drifted through the halls, nothing more than ghosts themselves. Food that was barely food, but they still choked it down, because it was something to stave off the clawing in their stomachs. The fear of death, and the putrid stink of misery.

But it hadn’t all been bad. How many times had she laughed with Tucker at that long table in the cafeteria? How many late nights had she spent in the Fentonworks lab, chatting over cups of steaming—albeit shitty—coffee? Jack and Maddie and their warmth. Jazz, and her endearing nosiness. Barbarra and his dark humor. Dash and Kwan and their camaraderie, despite them being the dumbest jocks she’d ever met. Those few times that Sam would find a particularly interesting newspaper and she’d see the faintest flicker in her mom’s eyes.

It all meant something to her. The good and the bad. Because the world was what she made of it.

Sam nodded to the Yeti King. “Lead the way, Frosty.”

end of part I

Notes:

Hi, remember when I said I was ahead of the next update? Life said, "LOL, Bitch, hold my drama." But hey, we're here. Better late than never, right?

Can I just say how crazy it is to be here? Like, this is so wild. We are at THE tipping point for the plot. FINALLY. I am so freaking excited, you guys.

Buuuuuuuuuut. I have news. Because this is the end of Part One, I think I'm going to go a hiatus for a bit. Not a long one, as I am very anxious to get the next chapters out, but I think I need it. I need my life to settle down and I think my brain just needs the break. But who knows, I may just keep posting out of excitement. We'll see. Just wanted you guys to have a heads up so you're not worried about the lack of updates if it does happen.

But I'm DYING to know what y'all think?? Let me know! As always, thanks again for everyone who reads here. It means SO MUCH.

Until the next one!