AUTHOR'S NOTE: Great. Now I'm forgetting to post chapters. Getting old stinks. Anyhow, the last of the ghosts, with just the aftermath after this. A tip of the hat to Rogue, who gave me the idea for the Ghost of Christmas Future. And a big bow to all of you who have reviewed my stories over the years, because this chapter is especially for you.

The reference to the perky Goth, by the way, is Gilly from Dork Tower. That was originally who the Ghost was going to be, but I got a better idea.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS, THANK MOTHER GAIA

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near her, Kat resisted the urge to wet her jammies and managed to stay her ground, for the way this spirit moved, it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing visible save one outstretched hand, which was that of a skeleton's. Kat knew no more, for the spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"You're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, right?" Kat asked. "Ghost of the future! You're scarier than the others I've seen—but as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to be less a bitch than what I was, I am prepared to bear you company and gladly so." The spirit remained silent, so Kat swallowed and said, "Will you not speak to me?"

"No," the spirit replied. The hand remained pointed straight before them.

"Oh. Well, lead on, then—waaait a minute," Kat stopped. "You just spoke."

"No, I didn't," the spirit replied.

"Yes, you did." Kat detected a femininty to the voice. "So who are you? My offspring? Yvonne's?" Kat rolled her eyes. "Or perhaps Victor and Omi's?"

"Nope." The specter stood a little closer to the waning moonlight—close enough that Kat could see that the face was not bony and skeletal, but that of a teenage girl, with long black hair framing a fairly attractive, though very pale face.

"Oh, NO!" Kat screamed. "The future is horrible! It's Abby from NCIS!"

The spirit smacked her with the bony hand. "Dammit! I'm no Goth, perky or otherwise. I'm Allegra."

"You're who?"

"I'm a temp. This guy Devlin Stone was supposed to be your Ghost of Christmas Future, but he took off and nobody knows where he is, so I got called in. On Christmas Eve, too. I'm one of the author's creations from…from another game system, let's just put it at that." Allegra threw the fake hand over her shoulder. "Now come on, let's look at your future. I don't got all night."

"Very well," Kat huffed. "Lead on." I'm following a not-so-perky goth refugee from some other game system, she thought. Talk about serving penance. Next thing you know, someone's going to show up in a red plugsuit or something.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city, for it seemed to spring up around them. Yet they were in the heart of Tharkad City, of that there was no doubt, in the mercantile quarter. They stopped beside one little knot of people. Allegra motioned to the men, and Kat advanced to eavesdrop on them.

"No," said a man dressed in quasi-military fatigues, with an older pattern helmet on his head. "I don't know about it either way."

"Mmrf rmf fe fie?" inquired another.

The first man tore off the black hood the man wore. "Must you always wear those ninja jammies, Wylder? You look like Shirt Ninja or something."

"Bite me, Rogue. When did the old bat die?"

"Last night, I think."

"What was the matter with her? I thought she'd never die."

"Who knows?" said Wylder with a yawn.

"What has she done with her money?" asked a tall gentleman with a beard.

"I haven't heard, Mosin," said Wylder. "Company, maybe. She didn't leave it to me. That's all I know."

Kat was at first inclined to be surprised that the spirit should attach importance to conversation apparently so trivial, temp or not, but decided that it must have some hidden purpose. She wondered what it was; it could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Ryan Steiner, for that twas the Past, and this Ghost's province was the Future, twasn't it. She looked for a picture of herself in the customary area where the Archon's portrait usually hung, but there was nothing there. Kat wondered if that was good or bad.

They went to a shop that bore the title Iron Wind Metals. Hunks of lead, pewter, ralidium, and old scrap iron were lying about.

A woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. She had scarcely entered when a man, dressed in red and similarly laden, came in too, closely followed by another. After a short period of blank astonishment of staring at each other, all four of them burst into laughter.

"Let me be first!" cried she who had entered first. "SulliMike can be second, and Noveltigger third! Look here, old Wylder, here's a chance at some loot! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!"

"You couldn't have met in a better place, Commander Arla-Vlata," Wylder replied. "What have you got to sell? What have you got to sell?"

"Hold on to your britches a minute, Wylder, and I'll show you." Sheila Arla-Vlata opened her pack and showed its contents to the assembled men.

Kat could not see in the bag.

"That's hot stuff," SulliMike said. "A mint Battledroids Behemoth! Won't they miss that?"

"Nah," Arla-Vlata replied. "Every person has a right to take care of themselves. She always did! Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not some dead chick, I suppose. If she wanted to keep 'em after she was dead, the wicked old bitch, why wasn't she good in her lifetime? If she had been, she'd have somebody to look after her when she was struck down, instead of lying gasping out her last there, alone by herself. Not even a royal no more."

"Truer words were never spoke," said Noveltigger. "It's a judgement on her."

"Yeah, well—I wish it was a little heavier of a judgement. It damn well should have been. Dig through that, old Wylder, and let me know what let's worth, and be straight up about it. I'm not afraid to be first, nor afraid for these other thieves to see it."

Wylder went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening the bundle, and dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark fabric.

"What's this? Bed curtains?"

"Sailor Moon bed curtains," Arla-Vlata smirked.

"And her blankets?"

"Who else would have access to the ancient lore of the Powerpuff Girls? Anyway, she isn't likely to get a cold without 'em." She slapped Baron's hand. "Hey, hands off, Rogue. That's a girl's blouse."

"Well, duh," Baron snapped back. "I was getting it for my characters!"

"You might as well then," Arla-Vlata sighed. "You won't find a hole in it, nor even a threadbare place. It's the best one she had, and fine silk too, all the way from Sian. They'd have wasted it by dressing her up in it, if it hadn't been for me."

Kat's face had taken on a look of horror. She looked to Allegra. "Who died?"

Allegra shrugged. "Beats me. I just go where the plot pulls me."

"Oh, wait, I see," Kat said. "The case of this unhappy woman might be my own—yes, that's what they think of me in the lower classes, now. Point taken. Can we move on?"

Allegra pulled out a scroll, and pondered it. "Sure." And she conducted Kat to her brother Victor's house, the dwelling Kat had visited not more than an hour before, and found Peter Steiner-Davion seated near the fire, a middle-aged woman with graying black hair sitting beside him. It was quite a contrast with before—all were very quiet. Peter had a book before him, and was reading it. "'And there was great rejoicing.'"

The woman had been knitting, and suddenly set her work upon the small table, brushing at her eyes. "Not tonight, Peter. This color hurts my eyes." She reached over and put on a pair of reading glasses. "That's better." For the first time, Kat noticed that her younger brother looked older than before, and that this woman was not Omi Kurita. "My eyes are weak in this dim light, and I wouldn't show dim eyes to my husband when he comes home. It must be near time."

"Past time, Isis," Peter answered, shutting the book. "I think he's walked a little slower than he used to."

"He used to walk fast, even with—" The woman hesitated. "Even with Yvonne."

"Me too," Peter said sadly. "Often enough."

"But she was light--" The woman stood suddenly. "Oh, there's Victor."

"Isis?" Kat asked Allegra. "Isis Marik? Damn, my brother does get around. It is Isis, isn't it?"

"How should I know?" Allegra shrugged. "This isn't even my game world."

Isis had hurried out, and Victor soon came into the room, wearing Yvonne's comforter. His tea was ready for him on the stove, and they all tried to help him get to it first. Victor was looking more like their father, Kat noted. He was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly, but Kat suspected it was forced cheer. He praised the industry and speed of Isis—it would be done long before Sunday, he said.

"Sunday!" Isis exclaimed. "You went today then, Victor?"

"Yes," Victor replied. "I wish you could have gone. It's a beautiful place—all green. Well, I guess—I guess you'll see it often enough. I promised her that I would walk there on a Sunday." He suddenly broke down and began sobbing. "My little sister, my poor little sister!"

Kat sniffled. "Not Yvonne? Oh, no, not Yvonne! What have I done!" She wiped at her eyes. "I must become someone less bitchy in the future, right? There must have been something I could have done!" Allegra only shrugged again. "Allegra," Kat said, "something tells me our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how."

"Roc page limit," Allegra replied.

"Please, show me my sister's grave, and tell me who it was that the other men were discussing—the men in the mercantile district and those at IWM."

"You got it," Allegra said, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (Temp) conveyed her to a dismal, wretched, ruinous churchyard, under a sky lit by a blood red moon. "This doesn't look green," Kat said. "This doesn't even look like Tharkad."

"It isn't," Allegra answered, standing among the graves, and pointed down to one. Its headstone was of a 'Mech, broken and weathered with age and pitted with disuse.

"Before I look, answer me one question," Kat asked.

"Make it quick. I'm hungry."

"Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or the shadows of the things that may be?"

Allegra shrugged once more. Kat was gathering that she wasn't much of a conversationalist. She just continued pointing at the 'Mech headstone.
Kat crept towards it, trembling as she went, and, following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave her own name: HERE LIES KATHERINE STEINER-DAVION. LONG MAY SHE ROT.

"No…" Kat exclaimed. "No! It can't be! It's not possible!"

"Search your feelings," Allegra snarled. "You know it to be true." She spread her arms wide. The whistle of the wind billowed her cloak outwards, blowing away the snow. Her fingers grew clawlike, and Kat's eyes widened to see the flash of fangs as the specter grinned horribly. The claws once more pointed down. Kat, almost petrified with fear, looked down as a reddish black fog seemed to close in around them.

They and the grave now rested on a polished black circle, with white numbers and symbols burned into it, glowing hellishly in the dim light. Kat staggered back, her mouth opened in a soundless scream, only to stumble over a raised portion of the disk. She fell and looked down at the dial that lay before her. "Oh, no! No, spirit! Oh no, no! Not…CLICK TECH!"

She whirled to face Allegra, who was laughing uproariously, her fangs shining in the red light. "Please, spirit! I am not the woman I was! I will not be the woman I must have been but for this! Why show me this, if we are past all hope? Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life!" She clasped her hands to the specter in supplication. "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I'll live in the Past, the Present, and the Future! I won't complain about Dark Ages anymore! I won't even gripe about munchy Clantech! The spirits of all three Ghosts shall strive within me—I've learned my lesson, really! Tell me, Allegra, that I may erase the writing on this headstone!"

Allegra only grinned evilly. "Like I care what you do. White Wolf's my temp agency, not Catalyst." She licked her bloodless lips. "And like I said, I'm hungry." She stepped forward and seized Kat by the front of the shirt. "Get ready to take twenty clicks of damage, Katherine Steiner-Davion!"
Kat screamed and beat futilely against the girl who held her fast. But no sharp pain of fangs in her throat came. Instead, Allegra's hood and dress seemed to shrink, collapse, and dwindle down into a pillow.

Kat found herself hitting Pikachu—her Pikachu pillow. The bed was her own as well, as was the room. Best of all, the time before her was her own, to make amends in.