Chapter 296: The Final Disposition of a Really Ugly Vase
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Alicia couldn't wait to be back home in Spitoon.
The government didn't care what she wanted. But at least they were giving her an apartment where she wasn't guarded and watched twenty-four seven, now, even if she still wasn't allowed to leave DC.
(She and her lawyer were both convinced that saying she had to stay in DC until she was arraigned regarding the armed march on the GIW headquarters was a violation of her rights, especially considering that her crime had happened in a completely different state, but what could they do? Tell the police and the FBI and who knew who else would hunt her down that what they were doing was illegal? Like that ever worked. Screw the government. She was never paying taxes again.)
The apartment was small, but downtown. Easy to commute from. All the amenities of home and more, if she was being honest. She'd never lived anywhere with an internet connection.
She could have done without that, though. If the devil existed, email was surely one of his works.
On the other hand… It was useful, to see what was going on. And, hopefully, it would let her make progress on a problem that had been plaguing her since Jazz had come through the portal as part of the ghosts' diplomatic team.
What had happened to Danny?
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Alicia wasn't alone.
Despite the distraction of the worldwide existential crisis caused by contacting an afterlife and the drama of a princess rescuing the president, people did remember what had started everything: a bunch of children disappearing into a portal to another universe. People remembered, and they wanted to know what happened.
Sure, they knew what happened to some of the kids, to Jasmine Fenton and Samantha Manson, but that was only two of them. Paulina Sanchez, Dashiel Baxter, Star Thunder, Elliot Greer, Kwan Ishiyama, Ashley Nowak, Michael Snow, Nathan Spengler, Lester Spengler, Rebecca, Mia Battaglia, Hannah Weston, Dale Gordon, Sarah McAllister, Tiffanie Jones, Richard Marsh, Valerie Gray, and Daniel Fenton were still unaccounted for. Oh, and William Lancer, too. The teacher was a bit of an afterthought, but no one had seen him, either.
Along with the population of Amity Park.
And people – especially people who had family and friends in Amity Park – wanted to know what happened.
Or at least proof of life.
They'd been waiting for so long, so long for news, for contact, for anything. They'd waited and asked, and been told to wait, and now they were getting louder, asking had become demanding, because to most of them, it wasn't a want, it was a need.
Reasonable, really. But it did cause problems.
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Sam was the one sitting in front of the camera because although Jazz had been sucked through the portal at the assembly as well, Sam was representing Amity Park, not the Ghost Zone. There was a fine line there, but as outsiders were still drawing a distinction, they were going to use it.
"Good morning," she said to the camera. "We've been receiving a lot of messages recently, and seeing a number of public demonstrations, as well, from people who want to know what is going on in Amity Park, and, specifically, what happened to the other students who were transported to the Ghost Zone during the Casper High School Safety Assembly." She paused. "We would like to get you that information. You will recall the official videos we published shortly after arriving. You want to be put in direct contact with your loved ones inside the shield. Again, we would like to do this. Our technical experts are trying to find a way to do so as we speak. We are also aware of the growing movement demanding proof of life for every resident of Amity Park, Elmerton, and the unincorporated areas under the Amity Park shield known to the US government."
Here came the part that would upset everyone.
"Above and beyond the time it would take to get something like that, even if all we did was take a ten-second video of each person, it isn't possible to do. I know that it was largely glossed over, but the GIW killed people. Even if the missile never hit, they had enough guns and other weapons to ensure that. People died, and so, for them, there can be no proof of life. We have refrained from announcing who died, so they have time to adjust to their new circumstances." She paused again, this time more for breathing than for drama. "As one might expect, we also have humans in the Ghost Zone, fulfilling various political roles. For example, Mr. Lancer is working as part of the Regency Council, and my friend Tucker Foley has been asked by an Egyptian Realm to be their pharaoh due to being the reincarnation of their previous pharaoh." Sam smiled. "Again, this complicates getting in touch with them for 'proof of life' documentation. Thank you for your understanding as we make this transition."
"Right," said Pamela, "now, let's try again, but with less, hm…"
"Needling?" suggested the Chef with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, that. You wrote more than one version, right, dear?"
Sam sighed. Yes, she'd had a bonding experience with her mother, but some things never changed.
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"Well," said the president, pausing the video seconds before the end. "That was. Something. But we already knew most of that, didn't we? There was that boy with them, before. Burns. And they've been working with the ghosts the whole time. It isn't that strange that they might have liasons."
"That's true, sir, but knowing the information is different from having it all presented to the public like that."
"It is, isn't it? But that bit about the Foleys having relatives in 'one of the Egypts?' What does that even mean?"
"I suppose it means there is more than one place in the Ghost Zone named Egypt."
The president sighed. "Are we at least ready to send over Showenhower's anchor?"
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"Okay," said Danny, "that's an evil vase. Jug? Urn?"
"It's evil," said Dmitri. "If only I could project such an aura of malice."
"You will, someday!" said Fright Knight. "Under my tutelage, your aura will be invincible! Like this!"
Danny sighed and mentally batted away the feeling of malaise. "So, what are we going to do with it?" he asked. "Is this the kind of thing we have to throw in a vault or immolate in a volcano or what?"
"If we have to throw that in a volcano to get rid of it," said Moneta, "human pottery has come a long way since I was last over here. It looks like we can just smash it with a hammer."
"Yeah, but is it safe to smash it with a hammer, or will it, I don't know, explode? Or, you know, hurt the people still connected to it?" That was a pretty important consideration.
Everyone looked a Desiree.
"Why are you looking at me?"
"You are the Court Magician," said Danny. "Magic stuff is sort of your job."
"Curses," she muttered. "Responsibility. Why must it always come with power?"
Danny blinked slowly. "Remind me to show her some Spider-Man comics at some point."
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"It should be fine to just smash it with a hammer," said Desiree.
"I really don't like the sound of that should."
One of the ravens laughed.
"Yes, yes, I know you guys like carnage."
"Perhaps I could hunt it."
"Skulker, it's a vase."
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"Give me the hammer!"
"No! You always get to smash things!"
"Like what?"
"Like the table for the Council of Ancients!"
"Clockwork is the one that smashes that! As the one who is familiar with evil-containing boxes, vases, and, most importantly pithos—"
"If that abomination is a pithos, I'll eat Fright Knight's sword!"
"Stay away from Soulshredder, witch!"
"Ah, going with the G-rated swears today, I see!"
"Of course I am, there are children present!"
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Mr. Lancer stood up from where he was taking shelter under the table, made a high-pitched yodeling sound, and threw a book at the vase. It flew with surprising accuracy, smacking the vase off the table and onto the stone floor, where it shattered.
The book itself, deflected by its impact, skidded to a halt in front of Danny.
Its title was Counseling Kings for Deadheads.
Danny looked up. "How do you keep finding these 'For Dummies' rip-offs?"
"It's a talent," said Mr. Lancer, breathlessly.
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If only smashing the thing had snapped all the ghosts affected out of their fugue. That it didn't suggested the theory that Freakshow had another anchor for his spell was correct. But they couldn't do much about that other than keep looking for it.
There was a general order out for cameras and film. Sam would try to find the anchor with a picture again once they had enough film to be worth the trip.
On the upside…
Being inside Walker's prison (garishly pink as ever) was as stressful for Danny as ever, and seeing ghosts packed into cells, staring at nothing with flat eyes was worse. Ghosts in white coats, scrubs and other, older medical gear were walking down the halls, trundling carts full of vials back and forth. Inside the cells they visited, the ghosts were beginning to stir. Danny could see the signs. Little twitches, looks of confusion, a faint susurrus of whispers.
The aglaophotis substitutes were working. The anchor was still a threat, but the ghosts Freakshow had used wouldn't be prisoners for much longer.
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Compared to the chaos of the Regency Council and the busy hum of Walker's prison (overlaid on the shouts and curses of more traditional prisoner – he'd have to do something about that, soon), Danny's rooms were almost oppressively peaceful. Even if Nocturne had somehow gotten to them before Danny so he could hog the bed.
Seriously. Did he have bed-to-bed teleportation powers or something?
Wait, no. He had actual teleportation powers. Danny had seen him use them when he'd first fought him. It seemed so long ago, now, and permanently-sleepy Nocturne felt like a completely different person from the ghost that had put all of Amity Park to sleep.
It was fine. Still weird to think about, but fine. He'd gotten over the whole 'testing' thing ages ago. Mostly.
Deliberately, Danny laid down so he was half-sitting on Nocturne's pillow pile and removed the jar containing the last of his clone-siblings from its special pocket. Carefully, he unscrewed the lid.
"So…" he said, holding the little jar over him. "You're the only one left."
There were certainly more loose threads from this whole thing, this series of events starting from that so-called 'safety assembly,' like hammering out the details of Amity Park's legal status, but considering that the president was negotiating with them… This thread still felt heaviest to Danny.
His sigh fogged the glass. "Why won't you wake up?"
He, not to mention his clone-siblings and the Ancients, had been filling the sleeping core with ectoplasm and energy for so long. Danny was beginning to wonder if something else wasn't wrong.
"Wake up?" asked Nocturne, stirring from his pile of overstuffed cushions. "I can help with that." The Ancient reached out, long arm arching over Danny, and prodded the core.
There was a flash of light. A body fell on Danny.