Beneath the Surface
7
It was, she decided, proceeding beyond expectations. The creature had thought that it would be harder to pierce the veil of the halfa's grief, even with her particular brand of magic. Who would have thought? It made him even more vulnerable, even with the flickers within him that things were not quite right.
She'd seen him trying to fight through it, seen him trying to understand it. The confusion that didn't ever seem to leave him when she exerted herself.
And she'd seen it all slip away as she wrapped him in the power. She had siphoned so very much when he'd kissed her, and he hadn't even noticed. The inevitable release of the spells had been combated by his utter, utter weariness. There wasn't anything extra for him right now beyond that grief and the lust she had finally set to smoldering inside him.
Oh yes. It was coming along quite well. It wouldn't be very much longer until she would possess him completely. And when that happened, she would live forever.
xXx
Everything that Sam Manson had understood to be true about the Ghost Zone was proving incorrect. The longer she was trapped in her tiny corner, the more she wondered if her understanding, and Danny and Tucker's by association, was wrong. Because she wasn't functioning like any of the ghosts they had come up against.
True, none of those ghosts were recent casualties of life. Most of them had been dead for years, and several longer. And some weren't even deceased humans, but other beings that Sam had only read about.
But she was human. She was recently dead. And that was completely incompatible with blood, hunger and cold.
She sighed and laid back down on her rock, doing her best to huddle underneath the scrap of blanket that had appeared once when she'd woken up. Another thing that made her wonder about the recently dead. She'd woken up numerous times to things like that. Supplies of sorts, food, water, the blanket. Her ankle had been treated, though almost haphazardly. As if whomever tended it didn't really give a damn one way or another.
Which only proved her theory that she was recently dead and the care given to her was because of her residual humanity.
But some of it was more clear. After the initial few days had passed, the fear, the depression, the pain and anger, she'd been able to think much more clearly. It made Sam wonder if her new state of mind was because she was progressing into the possessive and obsessive ghost nature. Maybe losing her humanity. But she never thought about if for too long because if she dwelled, her humanity reared its head and sent her into circling it like a dog worrying a bone.
With a sigh that ended on a wispy trail of breath Sam sat up, stood, wrapped her blanket around herself tightly as she paced the rock from end to end, side to side. It was exactly twenty-three steps long, fourteen wide. Hardly bigger than her room was, when she thought about it. Her room had at least had a door that she could come and go through as she willed.
Here, she was trapped.
"God, I wish I knew what was going on." She frowned, pushed a few strands of hair from her face and looked around worriedly. "Well, too bad Desiree isn't around when you can actually use her." A pause. "Of course, she'd probably flub that one up somehow. On purpose, of course."
"I hate this!" she screamed into the silence of the Ghost Zone, hands clenched on the blanket and then let go suddenly, allowing it flutter down to the ground as her hands began to sting with uncontrolled power.
She'd been attracting it, she thought. Residual magic around her, floating through the Ghost Zone. It had been useful to collect it, use it for fires, to create water to clean herself and her worthless bikini, to try and project herself to Danny again. She'd done it twice so far, three if she counted the time just after she died. She'd managed to find him once while he was sleeping. That had been days ago, and she'd only managed to stay for a few seconds before she'd lost it.
She'd spent hours unconscious that time, and it had been nearly as bad the next time she'd tried. She'd found him at the cemetery, she could only assume that he'd been visiting her grave. She'd had almost a minute that time, and he'd looked so startled, almost scared at first. And then so very sad. She had cried for hours when she'd woke up after that try.
It hadn't been worth the effort that time. She'd hurt him, made it worse. And she hadn't even been able to tell him she was in the Ghost Zone, beg him to find her and help from whatever limbo she'd been trapped in. if he could even help her. She smiled a bit. Danny Phantom had always been able to help. He'd always beaten the bad guys.
Sam closed her eyes and let her mind drift down low enough into her consciousness that she could begin to detach herself from her body. It was an odd thing. One moment she was there, eyes closed, breathing steadily (and how did she breathe if she was a ghost?) and feeling the cold as it seeped into her skin, through her veins and muscles and into her bones. The next she wasn't feeling anything and, in fact, was staring down at her body where it stood, still as death.
She shuddered at the comparison and began to think about Danny. The way he looked, his bright blue eyes, dark, dark hair. The tilt of his jaw when he was stubborn, the way he smiled crookedly when he was trying to get out of trouble. When she'd built him inside her mind she began to let herself remember the things she tried to forget.
His smell, his taste, his touch. The way his voice had sounded when he said her name last, when he'd told her that she was his type, not Charlie. All of the little things that made him Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom, and no one else. It was working much as it had before, and she watched as she began to drift, trying to find some familiar landmark before she was out of the ghost zone altogether.
The astral projection wasn't exactly something she understood, and she was disappointed when she slipped out of the ghost zone not very far away from where she'd been trapped, her body still standing where she'd left it. She felt dizzy by the time she began to form together in the material world, and she blinked rapidly, wondering if she was actually blinking or if it was a figment of her imagination.
A room. Danny's room. And dark outside, too. It was the middle of the night and the lump in Danny's bed was him, sleeping. She sighed, passed a hand across her face in frustration, then realized that it was cruel of her to want him to be awake. If he saw her again it would hurt him, and she didn't want to hurt him. So it was better this way. Much better.
She took hesitant steps toward him, eyes going wide as she realized she was walking several feet above the actual floor, and then realizing that it didn't matter. It really was just a figment. The whole projection was nothing more than an elaborate self image she was supplying her mind as it traveled outside of her body. It was sill tot be frightened at walking on thin air when, in essence, she wasn't really even there.
Sam laughed quietly and reached a hand out to Danny, recalling that his had passed right through her that night at the graveyard. His hand, the rain. Everything physical had gone right through her as if she weren't even there. Because she wasn't. She was dead and she was letting her mind walk among the living.
It went through his shoulder, and she bit her lip, frowning bitterly. She had hoped. She had so hoped. Then she was arching back from the bed in terror as light cut through the darkness, spilled i through /i her. "Jack," she heard from the door and squinted her eyes as she recognized Danny's parents, and his mother crossing the floor and neatly sidestepping the clothes dropped at the foot of his bed.
Maddie scooped up his sheet from where it was tangled at the foot of Danny's bed, tugged it over Danny's body, and pushed hair out of his face. Then Danny moved and Sam moved a little closer, wondering if he'd wake up and see her. But that might not be so good, she realized and began to let herself go a little looser in her consciousness. If he saw her while his parents were around it could cause real problems for Danny, and Sam wouldn't have any part of causing him trouble.
But he didn't wake even as his mother kissed his forehead, and Sam drew more heavily on the power she hadn't used yet to stay with him for a bit longer. She ignored Maddie as she walked to the door, eyes only for Danny as she looked at him in the light. He looked so terrible. Tired, pale.
It broke Sam's heart and she brought herself down a little closer as the door closed firmly. "Oh, Danny," she whispered and tried to touch him again, wanting to cry as her hand slipped back through him. She couldn't touch him at all, and she darted up and away from him, moving her consciousness to the far side of the room so that she wouldn't be tempted to touch him again.
He moved again under the blankets, and this time the flicker her mind gave her was from the pervading weariness that was beginning to slip through her. She was running out of power, using up what she'd gathered far too quickly. But she had to say goodbye. She didn't know when she'd be able to try again. Sam didn't even know if she wanted to.
"Danny," she said as she came closer, hesitant to go too near while he was moving so restlessly. A dream. A nightmare, more likely as she caught a grimace on his face in the dim light from the window. A nightmare that he couldn't escape, and she bent down low to press an intangible kiss to his lips before she let go completely and went back to her prison in the ghost zone.
"Sam," he whispered clearly, and she jerked back, thinking that he could see her. But no, Danny was still asleep.
His face scrunched up again and he curled over onto his side, the blanket kicked away again, and this time she could see his face clearly as a cloud moved from in front of the mostly full moon, letting a glowing white late filter in. his cheeks were wet, he was frowning, furrows etched into his forehead. "Sam," he said again. "I'm sorry."
Whatever had made her walk two feet above the floor abruptly died and she collapsed against it like she was real, her hand touching the bed and her eyes flying open widely as she realized she was touching it. She was touching it, and nothing else mattered. Until she heard Danny's voice again, much softer than before, and her eyes flew to his face to see it scrunched up painfully, almost like he was trying not to cry.
"Please, Sam, I love you," he said quietly, and the shock was enough to break her control on the now tenuous thread of power that was allowing her to stay by his side.
She was thrown back into her body, knocked physically to the ground from the backlash of the out of control magic. And through it all his voice was echoing in her head. Sam, I love you. It was still there as the last of her energy failed her and she slipped into unconsciousness.
xXx
Danny woke to repeated thumping against the side of his bed and the annoyingly regular feeling of being thumped into his headboard. He cracked his eyes, glaring at the intruder as he identified Jazz. "Go away," he mumbled as he pulled his pillow back over his head. "Trying to sleep."
"Danny, it's two in the afternoon."
He jerked upright. "Two?" He flew out of his bed, grabbing at clothes and growling in frustration when he realized they were the ones he'd worn yesterday, then digging into his bags—he still hadn't unpacked them—for clean clothes. Those in hand he began hunting for his towel, rushing around Jazz as she stared at him, a smile on her face and obviously wanting to laugh.
"It's not funny," he muttered as he looked under his bed for the towel he knew he'd had the day before.
"Sure it is. You come home and immediately start keeping nocturnal hours." She pointed to the hook on the back of his door, and he snatched the towel off of it.
"I went to sleep before nine," he said, smirking at her surprised stare as he ducked out of the room and into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes, all of the hot water, and a bar of soap later he emerged feeling more human. Maybe not completely rested, or even totally awake, but human. At least as human as he could be since he was, technically, half dead. He was still rubbing his hair when he heard knocking on the front door, ignoring it as he finger combed his messy black locks and poked at the circles under his eyes.
"Should not be there," he said with a frown and sighed when he realized he'd put his shirt on backwards. He'd just finished turning it around when he heard more knocking, this time at his door, and glanced back to see Tucker standing in the doorway, a large book under one arm.
"Hey Tuck, what's up?"
Tucker walked in quietly, staring at Danny curiously. "You look like hell, Danny. Problems last night?"
Danny frowned again that Tucker had noticed how tired he still felt. And looked, he admitted with a final glance back at the mirror. Wasn't like he could hide it. Or maybe he could, and Danny popped a knuckle while he thought about it. Jazz had all of her makeup in the bathroom, and their skin was pretty much the same color, wasn't it? Maybe a little foundation…
He nearly laughed when he realized he was contemplating putting makeup on to hide the circles, and he shook his head at Tucker. "Nothing more than normal," he temporized, neither admitting nor denying.
Tucker pulled Danny's computer chair out, rolling it over to the window before leaning back into it as Danny straightened his bed up without explaining what exactly normal was. It didn't escape Tucker's eyes that the sheet had been kicked straight onto the floor, the blanket nowhere to be found since it was summer. And before Danny flicked the bottom sheet smooth Tucker saw the telltale wrinkles that showed Danny hadn't slept well.
When Danny was done and finally sitting back on the bed, Tucker finally held up the book he'd brought. The scrap book Sam had put together, had used to show Danny and him that they were friends when she'd wished their first year of high school that she had never met Danny. It'd been useful then, and might be useful now.
Tucker didn't need it, he didn't even want it. He had all sorts of files on his PDA, saved pictures of various blushy moments, ghost fighting and the general fun they'd had as kids. No, he didn't need the scrap book. Not like he thought Danny might need it, and he laid it on his lap so that Danny could get a better look at it.
"Is that…?" Danny started, and Tucker nodded, then glared as a faint tapping came from the still open door.
Charlie. And despite his many encouraging attempts to get Sam to accept the girl, or at least be civil to her, Tucker was ready to happily throw her out the window as she walked right in with a smile for Danny. He was ready to toss Danny out along with her when Danny's attention promptly zeroed in on Charlie, a stupid grin on his face and a well remembered lovesick look that made Tucker frown and narrow his eyes.
This is not right, he thought for a moment before clearing his throat.
"Danny?" he said, holding the book up as Danny's head swiveled back to him. "I thought you might want this. Maybe we could look through it?"
Danny shrugged, tossing another stupid smile at Charlie and making Tucker want to chew on his beret. "Maybe later, okay? I was going to take Charlie out, show her some more of the town."
Dismissed, just like that. Tucker fumed as he stood, tucking the book angrily under his arm and stomping past Danny to the door. He glanced back one more time, and the anger melted away at the smug smile Charlie was turning Danny, completely oblivious to Tucker watching as she leaned forward and kissed him.
And he let her.
The anger welled back up and the door slammed behind Tucker as he moved out of the house like a man possessed, leaving Danny to Charlie and her kisses and touches and every other damnable thing that Danny shouldn't have been doing with her. He'd played oblivious so well with Sam, maybe that was all he was good for.
And oblivious was exactly what Danny was, never noticing slamming doors, angry footsteps, and suddenly absent best friends as his attention completely refocused on Charlie the moment she entered the room. It was like he'd been swimming through mud trying to function until she appeared, and immediately he felt more awake, more alive as she sat down next to him.
Danny couldn't take his eyes off of her, and when she kissed him he felt like the world was maybe exploding around him. The colors were brighter, the blue of her yes, the red of her lips, the gold of her hair. So soft, too, and Danny sank his fingers into it as he pulled her closer, firmly ignoring any protests that were trying to rear up inside him.
There wasn't anything wrong with kissing Charlie, with touching her. With making her sigh and whimper as his fingers danced nimbly across her skin. Danny closed his eyes as she clambered on top of his lap, pushing him back on the bed and then pressing her mouth to his, lip gloss making his lips slick as she kissed him.
There absolutely wasn't anything wrong with this, he told himself as he let his hands come up and hold her slender waist.
Then why does it feel so wrong?
Danny pushed it away, trying to concentrate on the girl who was currently straddling him, not trying to figure out why he suddenly wasn't into it at all. He was nineteen, for heaven's sake. He was a ball of raging hormones, he should want nothing more than to have a beautiful girl on him, under him, wherever he could get her.
Then why do you feel like what you're doing isn't right?
Stubbornly he pushed back at the voice, willing it to shut up and was rewarded by the beginnings of a stabbing headache right behind his eyes. He winced, blinked a few times as he tried to concentrate on Charlie, on her lips, her legs, the way her skin felt beneath his hands— And it refused to stay silent, making his head throb in time with his pulse as he determinedly closed his eyes and threaded his hands through her short hair, pulling her down and kissing her.
And murmuring, "Sam," as he saw vivid amethyst blazing behind his closed lids.
His entire body went terribly still as he realized what he said, realized who was on top of him, kissing him, and he gently pushed her back with an apologetic stare. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I can't do this."
She smiled at him gently, sliding off of him, off of the bed, and nodding as she walked to the door as if nothing were wrong. "It's alright, Danny. I understand."
Danny's headache became infinitely worse as she smiled at him, and he was reminded of an animal baring its teeth in warning, in threat. He shook his head, buried it in his hands as the door closed. His temples were tender as he pressed careful fingers to them and rubbed slowly, gently, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
He sighed when the headache didn't even begin to abate, then got up, dug in the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. Thumbing the lid off he shook four into his palm, dry swallowing them with a grimace at the taste but not wanting to leave the confines of his room for even a quick mouthful of water from the bathroom sink.
He couldn't face Charlie right now. Not after what had happened.
God, he thought as he turned to stare at himself in the mirror, the circles looking even darker than they had before. How can I even face myself?
He scrubbed a hand over his face and changed to ghost, shooting up through the ceiling and hanging above the op-center for a long moment weightless. What he needed was a distraction. What he needed was a fight. He flew off to find a ghost who'd made it out of the Ghost Zone.
xXx
Charlie stared at red crescents embedded in her palms, bloody wounds where her nails had dug in and pierced her flesh as she glared at the wall. Behind it was Daniel Fenton, the biggest raging hormone she had ever met, and the most stubborn male. He was resisting the spells, the magic. He was still using free will when she was exerting herself to seduce him.
That wasn't right.
She kicked out at the side of the bed and cursed as she bruised a toe, then dropped down on the mattress, swiping a pink tongue across the wounds and smiling as they disappeared with the blood. Then frowned.
He should be under her complete control. That was the point of the mission. To have the halfa under her control, to do with him as she wished. To successfully seduce him and drink away his power. Until he was dead. Fully dead, and not this half ghost abomination that he was. So young, so naïve. So very powerful.
It certainly didn't hurt that he was than passably attractive, and despite his current resistance he was easily manipulated.
"Stupid, foolish, child!" she spat as she reached out to him with careful magic. It was designed to steal his energy, his power. To make her stronger, give her more.
And she cursed again when she realized he wasn't in his room. He wasn't even in the damned house. Thrice damned creature, she thought viciously as she reached further, trying to pinpoint where he was, trying to steal a little more of him so that he would be easier to seduce the next time. After all the trouble she'd gone through she certainly wasn't about to let him walk away because he'd fought back.
She laughed, even as she realized he was too far away for her to find him with her current low level connection. He'd fought back, yes. But he didn't even know what he was fighting against, much less who. It was pitiful, really. The brains of the outfit were defiantly not Danny Phantom. No, the brains of the outfit were dead or alienated.
It was good practice to exploit the enemies weaknesses. Or in this case, the victim.
She closed her eyes, calmed herself, then found her small carry on and dug through it producing a slim book that looked centuries old. She opened it, leafed carefully to a brittle, yellowing page more than halfway through, and skimmed a finger down the foreign script. Charlie pursed her lips as she read, brow furrowing before she smoothed it with a conscious reminder never to scowl again.
It created unsightly wrinkles, and she intended to keep her flawless skin for as long as she could. Longer if at all possible.
She closed the book carefully, replacing it in the bag and zipping it closed before tucked the bag back behind her larger suitcase. It certainly wouldn't do for anyone to come in with the well meant intention of straightening up and have them stumble across that little gem. Especially since it wasn't even written in a human language. She smirked. Not even in a humanoid language, like elvish or mermish.
No, this was written in a completely different language, just as the book wasn't actually made from leather and wood pulp paper. Oh, no. it was bound in leather, yes. But the pages were carefully pressed sheets most closely resembling papyrus, made from the hair of a woman who had defied God himself so that she might go her own way and not be a slave to any man.
Lilith. The mother of demons.
Seduction was bound into the very core of that book, and it could tell her what she needed to know.
She sighed happily as she laid back. Oh yes, and the mother of demons knew exactly how to sway a man's charms to a woman. "And for that I shall need to create more bounds between us," Charlie said softly to the ceiling.
Not many, she decided. Two, maybe three, and all at a deeper level than the lonely one between them was currently at. Deep enough that she could steal his power, his life. Deep enough that he couldn't function with her close to him without her say so. Deep enough that he wouldn't dare call her by another name.
Deep enough that he wouldn't ever call her 'Sam' again.
Just a little later, she decided, and closed her eyes with a silent laugh. And once she had it done, there was nothing stopping her from taking everything that she wanted from that idiot boy. Not his power, not his life. And perhaps, not even his heart. Soon, it would all be hers if she so desired.
