The mystery begins to come to light.


Light
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria


Chapter 11: Libraries

Jazz and Sam


Jazz dropped into a chair in the Ghost Writer's library with a snarl. I'm getting nowhere with this! For a moment, she stared around the room. The thousands of books, stacked nearly three stories high in places, were daunting. An impossible task. She opened up the latest book – a large, forest green tome – and started to peruse the first few pages in silence.

"There isn't anything in there," a quiet voice said behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the spectral author. "How can you be so sure?"

He smiled, drifting over to pick up the book she had been holding. "This is my library. A compendium of every book published in the Ghost Zone. I am the caretaker of the books." He carefully closed the book, sliding it back on the shelf. "That means I am the caretaker of all this knowledge."

"You know what's in all these books?"

"Every one," he agreed. "It's rather elementary for me, dear Watson, as it's my entire existence. And I know there's nothing in that book that would help you."

Jazz's blue eyes flashed as she got to her feet, striding over to the shelf and removing a new book. She stared down at the gilded letters for a moment before turning away and beginning to flip idly through the pages. A chill feeling crept up her back as the ghost peered over her shoulder.

"There's nothing in that one either," he muttered.

She barely repressed a childish eye roll. Well, why don't you just help me then? Instead of retorting, she merely closed the book and returned it, taking the next book down the line.

"Or that one."

"Would you have a suggestion for a book to look in, then?" she said, fighting to keep the frustration out of her voice. "Or are you just going to float there and tell me where not to look?"

The Ghost Writer looked almost sheepish as he picked a book off the shelf and paged through it. "All I can say to that is that when you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever is left – no matter how improbable – must be what you are searching for." He floated across the room, apparently engrossed in the words.

"Fine," Jazz murmured, leaning against the bookshelf with her arms crossed. "Then why don't you leave me alone to look in peace?"

"As you wish," the ghost said softly, setting the book down on a small table next to him and drifting off through the far wall. "Just remember, there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."

Jazz closed her eyes and sighed. What's with all the Doyle references? Oh, forget it. I've got to think about this logically. There has got to be some kind of system if this is a library. Maybe they are sorted by subject? Author? Title?

With a groan, she grabbed another book and settled back down on the cold floor to read.


Hours later, Sam stuck her head into the room Jazz was looking through. Jazz was wandering disconsolately around the room, trailing her fingers over the hundreds and hundreds of books that were within her reach. Unwilling to completely give up, she would pick up a random book, glance at the title, and then stick it back onto the shelf.

"Jazz?" Sam whispered after a moment. "Are you getting anywhere?"

"No. How about you?"

The Goth shook her head, walking the rest of the way into the room and shutting the door behind her. "There have to be millions of books in each room, and I stopped counting rooms an hour ago. How are we supposed to get through them all?"

"I don't think we are," Jazz replied, an odd tone to her voice. "This was a good idea, Sam, but I think it's a dead end."

Sam was silent, staring around the room. "There has got to be something…"

"There might be, but without help we won't ever find it!"

Sam looked up at the fuming redhead, blinking in surprise. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay," Jazz snarled, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Why would I not be okay?"

"You sound… frustrated."

Sighing, the older girl snatched another book off the shelf and paged through it. "There's got to be some kind of system to this," she muttered, "if only I could find it. I've just got to think logically. I've just got to…"

Sam let her eyes slide over the titles of the books. Spectral Snakes. How to Fly Widdershins Around a Haunt. 101 Ways to Fry an Egg. The Biography of Pariah Dark. The Compleat Atlas to the Lost Portal City of Atlantis…

They have nothing to do with each other. They're just randomly placed on the shelves. She glanced around the room at the rainbow of colors that adorned each bookcase. "How do you think the Ghost Writer finds anything in here?"

"He knows where everything is." Jazz sounded distracted, four books piled in her arms. "He doesn't need to search."

Wrinkling her forehead, Sam continued to look around the room, a thought germinating in her mind. "Then how does he expect us to find what we're looking for?"

Jazz grabbed another book from the shelves before carrying all five books to one of the small, empty tables scattered around the room. "I don't think he does. He probably doesn't care."

"But he promised to help."

"No," Jazz shook her head, "he promised to let us into his library to look, not to help us search."

Sam chewed on her lip as the other girl scanned the first of her books. "But… he must know we're not going to leave until we find what we're looking for."

No answer.

She's ignoring me. Sam blew a bit of hair out of her eyes and walked across the room, studying the area carefully. There's got to be something. The Ghost Writer doesn't want us here. He had to give us some sort of clue… some sort of hint…

She let her fingers glide over the dust-free surface of one of the tables, then lightly skimmed the bookshelves. Empty table, bookshelf, empty table, bookshelf, empty table, bookshelf…

Oh this is stupid. "We're not in some kind of Sherlock Holmes story," she whispered.

"What?" Jazz asked.

"Nothing." Don't be an idiot. The ghost isn't helping us. He's not leaving us 'clues' to find. Empty table, bookshelf, empty table, bookshelf, empty… Wait. A book? "Why'd you leave this book out?"

"I didn't," Jazz said distractedly. "Ghost Writer did."

Sam snorted. "Right. You should have seen him when he came in to talk to me. I'd just been piling the books up after I went through them – he blew a gasket. Threatened to lock me in a story until I learned to respect books…" She trailed off, picking the book up. So, why did he leave this out?

"Maybe that's the one he's reading," Jazz murmured. "Is it Sherlock Holmes?"

Sam shot her a glance. "What?"

"He was making silly Arthur Conan Doyle references earlier. I figured he was reading the Holmes mysteries."

"No, it's not that." She trailed her fingers over the silver letters, sharp and shiny against the midnight blue cover. A Complete Compendium, by… Hippocrates? Where did I hear that name before? "Jazz? Who was Hippocrates?"

"The Hippocratic Oath."

Sam jumped when Jazz suddenly appeared over her shoulder. Grinning, the redhead snatched the book out of Sam's fingers and started to eagerly flip through it. "The what?" Sam asked.

"The Hippocratic Oath. That's the oath doctor's take… Hippocrates was supposedly the father of medicine…" She wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, engrossed in the book. Gasping, she looked up, a huge grin on her face. "This is all about healing ghosts. This is exactly what I've been looking for! Where did you find it?"

"It was on the table." Sam took a few wary steps away from the excited teenager. "Why?"

"He was giving us a hint! Holmes was famous for his powers of observation. He wanted me to look around the room!" Jazz's grin looked like it was about to split her face in two as she continued to scan the pages excitedly. "This has got to be it."

Tucker slunk into the room, his glasses pushed low on his nose, an annoyed expression his face. "Idiot ghost won't even digitize his library," the boy muttered darkly as he walked over to them, "do you have any idea how much easier this would be if we could just enter some terms into a search bot?"

Sam elbowed him, "Jazz thinks we found something."

"Really?"

Jazz nodded. "Ghost doctor… wrote a book…" Closing the book, she looked around. "Let's get out of here." She headed for the door, book under her arm, Sam and Tucker glancing at each other.

"You think Ghost Writer will let us out with one of his books?" Tucker grinned.

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "I doubt it, but I think he really wants us out of his library. He's the one that left it out on the table for us. Maybe if we promise to bring it back?"

Laughing, Tucker headed for the door. "Either way, lets stay well back from Jazz as she tries to carry the thing out the door… just in case."

To be continued...