Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude

It was lucky, Mikey supposed, that he was at the school when it happened—when the ghosts came rushing into the city. He was with Abigail, Nathan, and a few others, staying late at the school for a club. Lucky, he'd considered at first.

And then very, very unlucky.

From inside the classroom, they could hear screams and the sounds of ectoblasts easily—not accompanied by the high whine that signaled an ectogun. These were deadly shots that would melt the skin off anybody they touched if the blasts were strong enough. And they sounded strong enough.

"It's happening," Mikey said, turning to the others. They were frozen where they'd been seated at the desks—well, except for Abigail, who stood up. "The invasion. It's here. People are going to start evacuating to the school." He wondered where Mrs. Vitale had gone—this was her classroom, after all. She'd left a while ago, maybe to go to the staffroom, and had trusted that they wouldn't mess with her things. They hadn't, although Jessica had written some weird tumblr quote on her whiteboard.

"We need to fine Mrs. Vitale, maybe get some first-aid kits ready," Abigail said. "I'll do that. Nathan, Mikey—go make sure the doors are open so people can get in." Mikey nodded and stood, looking out the window behind her. It was hard to tell what might be happening; the green of the shield obscured some things, though Mikey could see figures running and flying around. It wasn't quite opaque, but it certainly wasn't transparent.

"They're attacking a lot faster than what Lieutenant Valdez made it sound like," he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose. He worried, briefly, about his parents, but they were smart; they knew they had to get to the shield. And if they were trapped somehow, the house had reinforcements against ghost attacks. They would be fine. The worry was only a vague one, anyway—Amity had faced invasions before, and everything had worked out. Phantom had always managed to defeat the ghost, in the end.

And knowing now that the half-ghost was one of his classmates didn't deter the faith Mikey had in him. Danny was an expert at being a hero—he wouldn't let anything truly bad happen.

After the press conference revealing the timeline for the invasion, Mikey and his friends had tried to get Sam, Tucker, or Danny alone to speak with one of them about what was happening. He was sure they had more information; they'd been distracted in class, more so than usual, their eyes distant, like they were focusing on something only they could see. He thought, not for the first time, that if he hadn't known what was happening, he would've suspected drugs.

The trio, however, had been evasive. None of them had replied to his texts, and they had managed to weasel out of speaking with him using polite, faraway words. It felt as though Mikey were trying to catch air—though that may've been easier than getting any of them to talk.

It had been frustrating, infuriating; they'd said they'd forgiven him, but they were refusing to even listen to him. Like he was no more important and no more interesting than a speck of lint he'd found on his shirt. He found himself bizarrely hurt by their ostracism of him. This was his hero, and his hero was ignoring him. Blatantly. Yes, Mikey had maybe done something he shouldn't have, but did Danny have to be so—so petty?

The logical part of Mikey said it was possible it wasn't personal—it was possible the trio really didn't have time to talk. He tried to listen to that part of himself and not the ache. Danny had saved all their lives; what did it mean when such a good person thought he was a bad one?

Mikey snapped back to the present as Nathan heaved himself upward, face pale. "Why don't you guys help us?" Mikey said, turning to Jessica and Anthony. "We'll get the front and east doors—you get the back and west. Then we can prop open the emergency exits."

"I—I don't," Anthony stammered. Jessica patted his arm reassuringly.

"It'll be fine. We should help—it will go faster," she said. She, too, seemed pale, but she nodded at Mikey. Abigail turned.

"I'm going to check the staff room," she said. "And I'll write a note explaining what we're doing. If Mrs. Vitale gets back and finds the room empty, she might freak out."

"Good plan," Mikey acknowledged—not that he'd expected anything less. It was Abigail, after all. "Come on, Nathan," he said, prodding at the other boy. While Nathan liked to fantasize about fighting ghosts, in reality he was somewhat terrified of them. Mikey thought he liked the feeling of conquering his fears—of power—when he dreamed about defeating them.

"Y-yeah," Nathan said, following Mikey out the door. They walked down the hall, the windows filled with dim, greenish light. He knew it came from the shield outside, and not the ghosts, but it was still eerie. It was made eerier by the empty halls, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and the combat outside. The two walked quickly, not wanting to linger there.

"He'll defeat her, won't he?" Nathan asked, his gaze obviously avoiding the windows. He looked sickly in the gloom. "He's never lost before."

"Yeah, he'll defeat her," Mikey agreed, trying to reassure his friend. He did believe it though; Phantom had gotten rid of Pariah and every other ghost that had made trouble in Amity. He didn't think the half-ghost was about to stop this streak now.

They hurried as they reached the front doors—they could hear people shouting and pounding on the other side. Some of them stopped as they saw the students, stepping back to let the doors swing open as Mikey and Nathan pushed them. They rushed in, the cacophony of battle clearer through the open door. Mikey wasn't quite sure why they were so eager; they were safe once inside the shield, not the building. It was probably psychological.

"Thank you," one woman said. "Thank you." Others thanked them, too, eager to get through. We should've had some kind of system set up before, Mikey thought. Maybe maps or something, to show people where to go. They can't stay here; they'll block the way.

But despite this logic, many were stopping in the spacious lobby, sitting down on the benches or the floor, wrought out from the terrors of the invasion. Mikey heard a few kids crying in the mix, a grating sound. "Keep the doors open," he instructed Nathan. "More are bound to come. I'm going to start leading these guys somewhere else—they can't stay here, not if more people are going to show up. And I'll see if I can't find a doorstop or something." Nathan nodded. He still looked unsteady, though perhaps a little less pale. That's good. He needs to be clear-headed. Mikey's gaze went to those in the lobby—there were somewhere between ten and twenty people.

"If everyone would listen up!" he called. Fortunately, they were grown adults and not high schoolers, so he had their attention pretty quickly—that never would've worked with his peers. "You can't block the doorway here. I'll take you somewhere else. Are any of you injured?" No one raised their hand or spoke up, so Mikey guessed they were healthy enough.

"Where are we going?" one man asked. Mikey thought for a moment.

"The cafeteria," he decided—there would be ample space for them all and then some. Most of the classrooms were locked, though Mrs. Vitale probably had keys. But better to fill other places up first. The administration really should've planned this better.

Mikey led them to the cafeteria, where most sat gratefully at the tables. It was odd seeing adults there in the place of kids. He made sure they seemed alright before addressing them again, "Could a couple of you go back and show others that come through where to go?" They glanced at each other, and finally two people stood up—a youngish woman and an old-ish man.

"I'll do it," the man said.

"Me too," the woman added. Mikey nodded. He glanced around for anything that might be used to prop the door open, but he didn't see anything—there were just the long tables and benches and the counter where they served food. Maybe he should go back to Mrs. Vitale's room to see if he couldn't find a doorstop there.

"Do you remember the way?" he asked, and the woman said she did, so he watched them go (they did, indeed, appear to be going the right way) before heading in the opposite direction.

It was worse without Nathan by his side. Mikey half-expected something to jump through the walls and attack him. It had happened often enough before the shield had gone up, though he knew, logically, there was no way the ghosts outside were getting through the shield. He passed rows and rows of lockers, and he wondered at how normal it seemed even with a ghost invasion happening outside. Like the eye of a storm—this bubble of normality surrounded by chaos.

The door to Mrs. Vitale's room was still open, and Mikey poked around near the door and the corners, looking for a doorstop. He found a couple (one was currently holding the door open). He took them (they seemed big enough), and after checking to make sure the door itself was still unlocked, in case someone needed to get in, he left.

Back at the main doors, Nathan seemed to have gotten ahold of himself. He watched the ghosts outside the shield with interest, following their movements as they tried to break through the shield. Their forms were somewhat distorted, as though Mikey was looking at them through warped glass.

"You're right," Nathan said as he saw Mikey approach. "They did attack crazy-fast." The redhead nodded, bending down to put the doorstop in place. He opened the other door and did the same.

"I know. I'm not sure how exactly they did it—teleportation? Multiple portals? Or just good planning?" he theorized aloud. "Maybe it was something else entirely. I think it's taken a lot of people off-guard—everyone's shaken." He and Nathan moved back inside; it felt safer there, even though it technically wasn't any safer than where they had been. It's definitely psychological.

"We probably won't know until all this is over," Nathan agreed. "Oh man, do you think we'll get to see Phantom in action? Like, seriously fighting?" Mikey wanted to point out that this was their classmate they were talking about—Danny—and it wasn't some kind of show.

But he felt that same thrill of excitement, of anticipation, at seeing his hero defending them rushed through him. They'd only ever seen glimpses of the fights, or watched them on the news or Internet. Seeing one so intense in person… It would be exciting, if also terrifying. He didn't want to see Danny hurt, either. "Maybe," Mikey said.

Sirens in the distance grew louder and louder until Mikey could see the actual police cars pulling up to the school, lights flashing even through the shield. Armed with ectoguns, they began to pick off the ghosts attempting to destroy the shield (not that they'd been having much luck). Nathan whooped, like a fan cheering when his favorite team scored.

"This is so cool," he muttered. Mikey was glad he seemed to have completely gotten over his initial fear, though he knew it wasn't gone entirely. If the shield fell… Well, he doubted it would. While the Fentons may have been considered crackpots three or four years ago, today they were well known for their excellent, reliable technology. It was enough of a turn-around to give anyone whiplash, and Mikey knew for a fact the Fentons were delighted by their odd, citywide fame. Well, they talked about it often enough. Well, Jack talked about it often enough.

"Yeah." Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose, squinting out at the shield. Something strange was happening. "Do you see that?" he asked. The ghosts were moving away from the shield—and the police officers. Like they were running away. Except that didn't make sense: while they hadn't been winning the exchange, they hadn't been losing, either.

"Why are they leaving? Do you think the police scared them off?" Nathan questioned, turning to Mikey. The redhead shook his head.

"That doesn't make sense." He liked it when things made sense, lined up in neat, orderly rows. It was unfortunate most things in real life didn't do that—real life was a messy business, he'd found.

There was something coming through the ghosts—a figure. It—she, Mikey realized—was tall, with long hair and a thin frame. That was all he could really make out through the shield. She seemed to ignore the police firing on her—the redhead watched her raise her hand and grip it into a fist.

The police officers yelled as their cars lifted into the air, the metal squealing as it was bent and broken. Some tried to escape to the shield, realizing that she was far more powerful than the other ghosts they'd been fighting. But the ones who'd been running suddenly stopped. Stopped—and in a flash—they were dead, torn apart. It was all a blur to Mikey—if he hadn't been paying attention, he would've missed it.

Alive one second, dead the next, their heads and limbs separated from their body.

"Oh my God," he breathed, stumbling backward. He grasped at the wall for support. She killed them. "Oh, God. Oh, God." This was real—this was serious. People had died. Right in front of him. Right in front of him. Like they did in natural disasters or wars—but those were distant things, things he saw on TV.

Not things that happened in front of his school.

He heard retching—Nathan was throwing up, though he'd had the foresight to get to one of the trashcans. Mikey staggered away from the door; he didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to wait and watch if Phantom—Danny—showed up. Would he be torn apart, too?

The man and woman came back from taking more people to the cafeteria. The old man took one look at their faces and went outside to see what had happened. The woman approached Nathan, who was breathing heavily over the trashcan.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "What happened?"

"A ghost showed up," Mikey said, his voice nearly a whisper."She…" He couldn't finish it. "I don't know how many more people are going to make it through the shield." Everyone had been told to evacuate to Casper High, but now the school was a deathtrap. He had to tell his parents, contact everyone he could get ahold of.

The woman seemed to understand that something bad had happened without the specifics. She didn't look outside, just patted Nathan's back. The older man came back, face haggard. "We'll stay here," he said. "You boys go find an adult—maybe someone to contact an administrator, and I'll call 911. See if anyone can send out an alert not to go to the school." Mikey nodded. It was a good plan.

But I need to call my parents, first. He tugged on Nathan's arm. "Come on. I'll call Abigail, see if she's found Mrs. Vitale yet." The other boy was shivering, but he followed Mikey obligingly. The redhead got out his phone, fumbling with it briefly in his haste and his terror. He couldn't stop seeing those police officers dying. It played in his mind's eye like a scene in an action movie. Except those had been real people. He found his mom's contact and pressed it, holding his phone up to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Mikey cursed—something he rarely did—and left a voice mail. "Hey, Mom. Don't come to the school, okay? There's a ghost outside it, stopping people from getting in. You and Dad should just stay at home." His words were shaky. He ended the call and sent them a text. By that time, he and Nathan had made it back to Mrs. Vitale's room. This time, though, Abigail was there, seated at one of the desks. She looked up at them.

"Hey. I thought you were supposed to be manning the doors," she said. Nathan collapsed into the seat next to her, his head in his hands. Mikey didn't know how to reply, fiddling with his phone. "What's wrong?" she asked, looking at them both. "Did something happen? I found Mrs. Vitale—she's setting up the nurse's station, making sure everything is ready."

"There's some insanely powerful ghost outside the shield," Mikey muttered, slipping into the other seat next to her. "She's not letting anyone in." He couldn't just come out and say the words—we watched her kill some police officers. He didn't know who else had died on their way back to the classroom—how many had died.

"Oh." Abigail frowned, looking out the windows. "The school is large—I'm sure a few people could come around the back—"

"Something tells me that's not going to be an obstacle," Mikey interrupted. "She—she tore off their heads."

"Oh," Abigail repeated, voice soft.

In his pocket, Mikey's phone buzzed. Normally, he would've ignored it, but what if it was his parents? He pulled it out and set it on the desk—his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly see the screen. But it wasn't his parents. It was—what?

He opened it; he was curious, and he needed a distraction. Desperately. Ignoring Abigail's, "What are you doing?" he checked social media—maybe it said something about the attack, people coming to help.

Instead he saw something far more chilling.

"Holy Jesus fuck," Mikey cursed. The words felt foreign but appropriate, especially as he watched ghosts come alive on his screen—ghosts most definitely in Germany and not Amity Park. "It's happening everywhere."

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked. She leaned over to see his screen, and her eyes widened minutely as she took in scenes of "strange, spirit-like beings" pouring through portals across Europe and Asia and Latin America and Africa. "Oh, no," she breathed.

"He doesn't know," Mikey said, pulling away from his phone. "He warned the city about the invasion two weeks in advanced." The connections came so quickly he could hardly say them as quickly as he thought them. "Danny would've warned the world about the invasion if he'd known the ghosts would attack there, too. This is bigger than we thought—this is bigger than he thought. We have to tell him. This is a disaster."

"'We'?" Abigail said. "What do you mean 'we'? Nathan looks like he can't even stand, you said yourself there's a homicidal ghost outside the shield—" Mikey flinched, but she plowed forward—"And we have no way to really contact him or find him." Nathan sat up at the mention of his name, wiping tears out of his eyes and spittle off his mouth.

"We could call 911, like that man did. Let them know it's happening around the world. Maybe they can get to Phantom. Or the mayor or something," Nathan suggested. "And it's not like we don't have Danny's number. Or Sam and Tucker's."

Abigail drummed her fingers on the desk, her mouth a thin line. Mikey could almost see her brain processing it all, working as fast as any computer. "That's true, but they're fighting right now—how likely is it that they're actually checking their phones? Or that they even have them?" Two very good points, though the redhead thought Nathan's idea of calling 911 wasn't a bad one. If they could get a dispatcher to listen to them and notify the police, surely someone would tell Phantom? Or at least be able to do something? Everywhere else in the world was far more vulnerable to ghosts than Amity was.

"I'll text Sam, Tucker, and Danny," Mikey said. "Abigail, you call the police." She nodded, pulling out her phone. The redhead sent a quick message to each of the trio, something along the lines of, The ghosts are attacking the whole world, not just Amity. Their plan is bigger than you thought. He hoped it was succinct and informative enough to get across what it needed to.

"The line is busy," Abigail said. "I'm on hold." They waited one minute… Two minutes… Nothing. Finally, Abigail hung up. "I guess they're getting too many calls." She sounded frustrated, upset.

"We have to go and find him ourselves," Nathan said. "We're bound to find someone if we leave—a police officer, the Huntress, the Fentons—or Danny himself."

That's crazy, Mikey thought immediately. "Nathan, we'll also be finding a lot of ghosts trying to hurt us. And that ghost is just outside the shield. She'll—she'll—" No. It made more sense to stay inside the shield, where they—and this information—were safe. It made more sense to tell Mrs. Vitale, or even that old man, what they'd found out. Surely an adult would know what to do. And even if they didn't, what were the three of them going to do? They were kids.

Sam, Danny, and Tucker are just kids, another side of him argued.

"Listen." For once, Nathan didn't seem naïve or flustered at all. He was as serious and determined as Mikey had ever seen him. "If we all go at once, through different sides of the school, she might only be able to get one of us—the other two will make it through."

"But what if Danny shows up here?" Abigail said. "To fight the ghost?" It was another good point.

"Can we take that chance?" Nathan pressed, leaning forward. Sweat beaded his brow.

"Can we take the chance that we'll die?" Mikey demanded. "This is a stupid plan, Nathan."

"I'll go by myself, then," the other boy snarled, standing. Mikey stood with him. There was no way this would work—no way it could work. The ghosts outside the shield would hurt them before they ever had a chance to find anyone, much less get this information to Phantom.

"No, you're not!" Mikey said. Abigail stood, too, watching the exchange with quiet eyes.

"You just don't want to admit I'm right!" Nathan shouted. "You two think you're so much smarter than me! Well, you're not!" Was that what this was about? Nathan being insecure? How could he be so ridiculous, at a time like this? Mikey almost couldn't process it. Nathan had just watched people die, and he thought their issue with his plan was that it had come from him?

"We don't think that," Abigail said, raising her hands. Her tone was soothing, as though she were talking to a scared animal. "We know you're smart. But you're not thinking right—we don't have any weapons, any anything. We wouldn't last two seconds out there."

"Don't placate me!" Nathan yelled, brushing her hands off him. "When I wanted to help Phantom, everyone brushed me off. But when you had an idea, well, that was different! Even though you ended up completely alienating him!"

"I seem to recall you were on board with that plan as much as I was," Mikey said stiffly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Has he really been hiding these feelings this whole time? "And I'm sorry that you feel like we've been brushing you off, but is now really the time you want to have this conversation? There's a ghost invasion happening right outside." Logic had always worked for him in the past, and he knew Nathan was a logical guy. Mikey just had to help him see that logic. Maybe he's more messed up from seeing those people die than I thought.

"You're not listening to me!" Nathan cried. He looked like he was one shove from tumbling off a cliff. His eyes were wild, his face bleached of color. "I don't need you! I'll do this without you!"

And he bolted out the door.

"Nathan, wait!" Mikey said, shooting after him, Abigail only a step behind. "Just think about this!" His friend didn't answer. He's going to get himself killed, and he's going to make me watch, Mikey thought in a panic. None of them were particularly athletic, but Nathan seemed to pull some speed out of nowhere, out-pacing both Mikey and Abigail. All three were huffing and puffing, and if this had been anywhere else, at any other time, Mikey would've already given up the chase. Their footsteps pounded on the linoleum.

The redhead's glasses slipped down his nose, and his shirt was un-tucked, but he didn't bother fixing either—he had stop his friend from hurting himself, from dying… Nathan went flying out one of the emergency exits, the door smacking against the outer wall with a bang. Mikey and Abigail raced through after him, the girl one step ahead. It seemed fortune was on their side; Nathan stumbled on an uneven patch of ground. Both Abigail and Mikey had the same thought—they seized their chance, sprinting forward and catching their friend by each of his arms.

"Let go of me!" Nathan shrieked. "Let go!" He outweighed both Abigail and Mikey, but together they were enough to stop him from going farther. The shield was perhaps fifteen, twenty feet away. They had only just made it in time. Nathan thrashed like a fish caught on a hook.

"Not until you stop acting like a fucking lunatic!" Abigail screamed back. Her grip was vice-like, and Mikey did his best to mimic her on the other side. He saw movement outside the shield, in the corner of his eye, but he was so preoccupied he didn't pay attention to it at first.

"I'm not a lunatic! I'm not!" Nathan sounded hysterical, as though he was somewhere else, in some other reality, not this one. "Don't call me that! I'm finding Phantom!" And then Mikey saw her.

She was watching them from the outside of the shield, as close as she could get without touching. Her smile was wide, revealing teeth sharpened to points, like rows upon rows of miniature spears had been stuck in her mouth. She can't do anything—she's on the other side of the shield.

"Guys," he muttered, but that was all he could say before she raised her hand, and from the outside, a car—a white Toyota Sequoia, if he wasn't mistaken—came hurtling at them—through the shield, Mikey lurched to the side, but he was too slow—he screamed—

And then, nothing.

The ghost approached the ruined keep cautiously, drifting slowly through the air. Even crumbling, it was grand: its towers seemed to touch the green sky, and most of its walls stood tall, despite their cracks. This sight was familiar, however, and didn't explain the disturbance he'd felt—nothing, upon first glance, appeared to be changed. What was unfamiliar was the fact that the doors to the palace were wide open. He gasped. Who has opened them? How did they find the crown?

He flew quickly now, eager. The abandoned castle had once been his home, and he hadn't been inside in centuries—not to mention… Don't become hopeful. Even She may not have been able to survive so long in isolation. He could feel Her signature inside, but he'd always been able to—it saturated the examined the doors, and sure enough, among the scenes of the coronation was the crown. It was magnificent, even old and tarnished. He reached a hand up to brush its surface, tears pooling in his eyes. How long had it been since he'd been able to touch the palace's wondrous walls? Pariah had been thorough when he'd set up protections; they had prohibited even the lightest brush against the castle.

The ghost left the doors, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of his longing to go in. He didn't fly; he wanted to feel the floor beneath his feet. The entrance hall was dusty, and the rich rugs and paintings that had once decorated it had faded with time. The statue in the corner—that he had long admired—was cracked and broken. It was almost too much for him to bear; he had spent long years wishing desperately to enter the keep, and once he'd finally been able to, he found his home in ruins. The pain of seeing it like this was nearly worse than not seeing it at all.

He paused as he heard a noise coming from the throne room. Vermin? he thought, but the protections would've stopped anything from coming through. It was impossible that something had made its home here already. He crept across the hall to the archway of the throne room, peering inside. The throne itself was in better condition than most other things, as though its aura of power and strength had shielded it from the whims of time. Some of the stone steps leading up to it had broken, tumbling down to land on the floor.

Then his eyes landed on something he had not dared to wish to see, even though he'd been wishing to see Her for eternities upon eternities. He couldn't believe it—was it a vision? Only instead of the future, was he being shown the past? Except, She didn't look as he remembered: Her hair was more brittle, Her body thinner. But Her eyes were the same—they were sharper than any bird's, crueler than any snake's.

And still, She was more beautiful than he had recalled.

"…Mistress?" he said, almost a whimper. He fell to his knees before Her—how was it that She still existed here? Without any direct ectoplasm to ingest for centuries, She should have perished long, long ago. It was a miracle She was here. And yet… He could believe it.

"Aevum," She greeted, and Her voice was the same—rough like gravel rubbing together. It was a powerful voice, a voice he had followed all his life and death—all the time he had served Her. "I am told I have slept a long while."

"Centuries, my Queen." He dared not look up. If he did, She would disappear like a mirage, like a thirsty man seeking an oasis that was never there. He had been living without proper contact for a long while now, forced to reside miserably in the Banished Lands. Perhaps he had gone mad. "How is it… The prince locked you here—we could not find a way to break his protections…"

"Peace, Aevum," She said. He could hear the sounds of Her walking closer, the fabric swishing on the floor—why didn't She fly? Were Her energy reserves so low that She could not even do what She had long considered child's play? She laid a hand on his trembling head, stroking his hair lightly. "I know you did not betray me—Pariah confessed, in those final moments, how difficult it had been to draw you away, dupe you, in order to get to me."

"I do not know why the vision never came," Aevum confessed, almost tearfully. He finally looked up at Her—his benevolent Mistress. Her face was as kind as it ever became. It had not a softer look—he had never seen it hold one—but rather a less hardened one. "He cast us out, after you were gone. I wanted to end him, and I tried, but I was not strong enough. Please, forgive me." The hand didn't leave his head, simply continuing to pet him.

"I do forgive you—you, who have always served me loyally," She said. Aevum sobbed. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever heard Her say those words; he adored his Queen, more than he could ever say, but he knew She was unrelenting. The most he could've hoped for was a prolonged, painful existence, only kept because She needed his visions. He would've endured it gratefully, gladly, if it had meant that he would see Her again.

"Thank you, Mistress," he murmured fervently, kissing the hem of Her long dress. "Thank you." He knew he deserved worse—he deserved agony for what he had allowed happen to Her—but She had forgiven him. In all these years, he could not have anticipated ever seeing Her again, much less Her forgiveness; he had despaired of locating the crown long ago. "But I still don't understand. How…"

"Up," She ordered, withdrawing Her hand. The intimate moment between them had vanished. She was no longer his closest friend; She was his Queen, the one he had devoted himself to, wholly and entirely. "We have much to discuss. I shall tell you our good fortune, and you shall tell me of all that has occurred while I've been trapped here."

Aevum rose to his feet, looking up at Her—his Mistress towered over him, over everyone, as it should be. "Of course," he replied reverentially, dipping his head. She climbed the steps to ascend to Her throne, where She sat, watching him languidly. For the first time, Aevum noticed the crumpled, bloodied body in the corner of the room. Strangely, it had a human skin tone—one of the lighter ones, whitish like the bones inside. He recalled with disgust a time when he'd had such skin as that. He was privileged to have been elevated to a higher standing. "A human, Mistress?" he asked.

"Not quite," She answered. "Examine it more closely." Aevum was helpless to do anything but comply, though confusion wrinkled his brow. He stepped closer—he dare not fly in his Mistress's presence, for She had always made it clear he was to ask permission for most any action when he was with Her. The human had light gray hair and a beard—a man, then. Its eyes were closed, and it appeared bruised, but its torso moved faintly, indicating it was still alive. It had been injured: blood pooled underneath it, and one of its legs was twisted unnaturally. But beneath its skin, Aevum could detect… A pulse. A vibration.

An ecto-signature.

"Impossible," he muttered, looking back to his Mistress. "How can it have a signature? That only comes with a core."

"Indeed. And yet, it was the one that freed me, though it was surprised to find me here. It didn't look like this, then—it appeared far more… ghostly. It called itself 'Plasmius.'" She drummed Her fingers on the armrest. "It has both a core and a heart; I believe it to be some human-ghost hybrid, with the ability to switch between forms. It is the only thing that makes sense." Aevum was filled with revulsion. A human and a ghost? To mix something so inferior with its superior counterpart... His core thrummed in response to his anxiety.

"Yes, it's disgusting, I know," She said. "Unnatural, for it to be both alive and dead—for it to have access to the powers of a spirit even as it is forced to survive within the limitations of the flesh."

"Will you kill it?" Aevum asked, turning away from the sickening specimen. His Queen shook Her head.

"No. It is unique—I should like to keep it for a pet, I think. Besides, I wish to know where it came by my crown, and how it obtained its powers. I am an expert on both human and ghostly pain; it will be fascinating to see how it reacts to each." Aevum nodded, moving away from the thing. His Mistress had always been smarter than he, understanding the value of information intuitively. "I would've thought that Pariah would've destroyed the crown after trapping me and taking my throne." Her tone was bitter, angry, and Her gaze could've burned through the thickest of metal.

"He may have usurped you, my Queen, but you were still his sister. I don't think he could bear to destroy the only thing that might free you, even though he wanted you trapped here. Instead, he hid it away, and Althea wiped the minds of the Zone, now and forevermore, of your presence. There was no need to destroy any physical evidence of you, because whenever someone discovered clues to your existence, they forgot it immediately," Aevum explained. "It is fortunate I had already fled when she did so—I was out of her power's range."

"Althea." His Queen sighed. "Worthless traitor. She was always too greedy for her own good. What did Pariah offer her? Riches? A place by his side? I hope he destroyed her afterward."

"Something to that effect, but he didn't destroy her—he imprisoned her. Her power would not have lasted had he not done so. I searched for her, too, to end her miserable existence, but I—I failed in that too, my Queen." He almost wanted Her to punish him, want Her to absolve him of his failures, hurt him so the guilt eating away at his core would go away.

"I do not hold you to your mistakes, Aevum, grievous though they may be. I—" She was cut off as Aevum fell to the ground, clutching his head. A vision. This power had been with him all his ghost-hood, but he still had not found a way to make them less painful.

A scene flashed before his eyes—it was the ghost Clockwork. He was watching the Queen and Aevum on his time screens, his face impassive. He stopped Her from raising Her beasts and alerted someone else—a human? It was a boy, only it changed into a ghost, and Aevum watched in horror as it managed to defeat his Mistress before She ever even had a chance to build Her army, before She even had a chance to recover from Her time spent trapped here.

When he recovered, he was on his hands and knees, shaking, his Mistress looming above him. Without a word, She helped him rise, knowing that he would tell Her what he'd seen once he'd gotten his bearings.

"I have seen your end, Mistress," he said. Her mouth twisted into something hateful, the idea of Her being destroyed after She had just been freed unacceptable. "We must act quickly if we are to prevent it. A ghost—Clockwork—he shall See us soon. His powers and mine are alike, though I will admit his control is better. But I can block his Sight—at least for a time. He resides in a tower, and we must find some way to keep him there." His Queen took the news in stride. She was adaptable, intelligent, ruthless. She always had been.

"Very well. You will do so at once—we cannot afford any set backs, not when we have just tasted the tiniest bit of victory. Perhaps we can use some of the very things Pariah used to trap me here against this 'Clockwork.'" Her mind worked rapidly, he knew, more rapidly than even those considered geniuses.

"There was something else I Saw," Aevum said. "There was another who placed a key role in your defeat—a half-human, half-ghost. It had two forms. We must find some way to kill it or stop it. It lives in the human realm." She regarded him carefully with Her crimson eyes.

"Clockwork first," She instructed. "Someone with powers exceeding your own can be nothing less than dangerous. Then, we shall worry about this other 'half-ghost.' Such abominations, scurrying about like rats. Someone certainly should have killed them by now."

"And then, my Queen?" Aevum questioned, unable to contain his anticipation. It burned in his core like an ectoblast, building and building till he thought it might burst. "Shall we awaken your beasts? Re-conquer the Zone?" She smiled at him, as though his question was amusing. Her needle-like teeth gleamed in the light of their auras.

"No, Aevum—that is no longer my goal. The Zone is only the first step. I will have the human realm, to purge humanity's insipid existence and swell my ranks. And I shall never again be called 'Queen Idolum'—the name is not suitable for my ambitions. I am not going to merely rule a kingdom—I am going to take all the lands that rightfully belong to me. And that makes me not a queen; that makes me the Empress."

AN: I feel really bad because this chapter has nothing to do with the last chapter's cliffhanger, but at least you know some things now. Also, the capitalization of the Empress's pronouns isn't meant to be offensive (I know it has religious connotations), but instead show how highly regarded she is in Aevum's mind and how she's viewed as almost god-like among those who follow her. However, feel free to let me know if you were offended by it. Thank you all so much for the reviews, favs, and follows. Questions: Did you like Nathan, Mikey, and Abigail's characterizations? Should they all have waited some more to see if a dispatcher would've eventually picked up? What did you think of the Empress and Aevum's interaction?