Chapter Thirty: Authority figures—We All Have 'Em and They're Just Like Us
Everything about Danny's new life was terribly, horribly awkward. Perhaps there were other words for it, such as only "terrible" and "horrible," but "awkward" encapsulated everything that was happening in the Foleys' living room. He sat on the rough couch next to Sam and Tucker, trying not to itch at his arms, and Jones sat in the un-reclined La-Z-Boy, one ankle tucked behind the other.
Danny could hear her heartbeat—a steady ba-bump, ba-bump that didn't reveal anything except that she was calm. Mr. and Mrs. Foley lurked in the dining room, close enough to hear the entire conversation. Tucker, at least, seemed to be as intimidated as Danny; Sam was, as ever, immune to social constraints. But Danny supposed she'd been around the super-powerful and super-rich her entire life, and she'd never seemed to find any of it impressive.
"You won't have to worry about powering the shield," Mayor Jones said. "I spoke with your—that is, the Fentons—and they said they would take care of it."
"Everyone here knows, Mayor Jones," Danny said, leaning forward to avoid brushing against the couch more than necessary. "You can call them what they are."
"These are your… friends?" She said the word delicately, like it left a strange taste in her mouth. One superpowered teenager fighting ghosts was normal—but two normal teenagers? That was outrageous.
"Consider them my second-in-command," Danny replied. Was it weird to call them that? He tried not to feel self-conscious about his word choice. Channel Phantom, not Fenton. Confidence. Right. "They've known since the beginning."
"We heard reports of other children fighting the ghosts—I assume that was you two?" Jones asked.
"Yes," Tucker said.
"Yeah." Sam's feet twitched, as though she wanted to kick the slightly dumbstruck look off the mayor's face but was too polite to do so. "Is that going to be an issue, Mayor Jones?"
Jones slicked down the front of her white button-up, which was wrinkled and stained with dust. Also—it stunk. Smelling everyone's terrible BO was probably the worst part of this "growth spurt" thing. "Of course not. And you may call me Sharon—what are your names?"
Sam squinted. "Sam Manson."
Jones gave no indication she recognized the last name as belonging to one of the richest families in Amity, which Danny had to admire about her. She had an excellent poker face.
"Er, I'm Tucker Foley. Nice to meet you."
"So this is your folks' home, is it?" Jones asked. "I got the address from your parents, Danny. I assume Tucker is the friend you mentioned you were staying with?"
"Yes," Danny said. Tucker squirmed and fiddled with his glasses, even reaching up to mess with a beret that wasn't there before tucking his hands beneath his thighs.
"Right—let's get down to business, then. Your parents have taken care of the shield, and they mentioned they were looking into this 'merging' business. We know the Empress did it, but do you have any inkling as to how?"
Danny had to hand it to her: she was straightforward. No double-talk or beating around the bush; maybe it was just the interactions with the previous two mayors that had tainted Danny's overall image of politicians. So far, Jones seemed different.
"There were crystals of some kind… Arranged in a pattern, and they were connected with these weird wires. I think they must have channeled the energy used to merge the worlds. When I first saw them, I thought they were only in Amity. I damaged one of them—I believed that would stop whatever she was doing—but she must have had them set up all over Earth. Destroying just one wasn't enough," Danny explained. "I, er, probably need to tell this to my parents. They might be able to reverse-engineer what she did somehow."
The thought of seeing them again sent a chill up his arms, invisible fingers conjuring goosebumps and raised hairs. Sam's heartbeat grew faster, and Danny knew the idea made her nervous, too. He probably shouldn't have found that comforting, but it meant she at least wouldn't let him face them alone. Neither would Tucker—or Jazz, for that matter—but to know it gave her such a visceral reaction…
Well, maybe it was wrong of him to be comforted by it.
"They didn't hurt you, did they?" Jones said. "They denied it when asked."
"Hurt me? Not in the way you're thinking of, no. They wanted to—run some tests, I think. My mom—" But Danny found he couldn't finish the sentence. My mom pulled a thermos on me, wanted to trap me, imprison me against my will. And who knows what she might've done afterward?
And it was bizarre—now people knew that when his parents had hurt Phantom, had hunted Phantom, they were really hunting their son. Him. They all knew, and he imagined their eyes on him even in his human form, watching him walk down the street—judging him, judging his entire family. If they'd been considered freaks before, what were they now?
"Do you believe they'll try anything?" Jones asked, her no-nonsense tone cutting through Danny's spiraling thoughts.
"No," he said, remembering his mom's words as he'd teleported away. "No, they won't."
"Alright. I'll see if we can't recruit some engineers or scientists to help them—although some will have to be directed toward fixing our infrastructure…" Jones seemed lost in thought for a moment, thinking about how to deal with various crises. "That brings us to the other matter: ghosts. You want to bring some of them inside the shield?"
"Not any that I think will hurt people," Danny said. "And I know they'll be on their best behavior—none of them will want to be kicked out."
"But some of them… That ghost that appeared—you'd fought him before. The city isn't going to be able to handle anything destructive right now. We're already working at an unprecedented rate to fix everything from the invasion. We don't have the manpower to deal with more," Jones said.
"If we fight, I'll take it outside the shield," Danny said. "Before a punch even gets thrown." He wanted to ask her why she was so hesitant now when she'd been so supportive at city hall. Maybe he'd given her too much credit—maybe she was like the others, using his face and fame to keep everyone calm, even when doubt lurked beneath the façade.
Not that she didn't have a right to doubt him.
"You have to understand, Mayor Jones—Sharon, I mean—ghosts are prone to fighting. That's how they settle a lot of their smaller disputes," Sam said. "Not to promote it or generalize—not all of them solve things through violence. But they aren't going to try and fight any humans unless the humans attack first. I doubt, given the situation, they'll even try to fight Danny. They know he's their best chance at beating the Empress."
"Fine. We can set up some kind of camp for the ghosts that would like shelter inside the city," Jones said. "What will they need? Blankets, food, water…? How many do you plan to bring in?"
Danny thought for a moment. "They consume ectoplasm—ambient or through plants in the Ghost Zone. They don't really sleep or control their body temperature the way humans do, but they might appreciate the gesture of blankets anyway, if you have some to spare. No water, either. As for numbers…" Dora would likely want to get her people inside; even if she didn't mind them being outside, he should give her the option that would give the ghosts the most safety. Ghost Writer, Technus, Skulker, maybe Ember, maybe Kitty… "A hundred max? It's hard to say—more might show up, especially if we let any of them spread the word."
"And we should," Tucker spoke up. "I know you may not like it, but we need to let them tell other ghosts about this place. The Empress destroys ghosts that aren't on her side."
"Would they fight? If the situation arose?" Jones asked. "Or would they flee and abandon us?"
"It depends on the ghost," Danny replied. "Like it does for humans. Dora—that is, the dragon ghost—she has soldiers and knights who would fight. Skulker would, Frostbite's people would. Ember, Kitty would… The others? It's hard to say. Especially if we send ghosts out searching for others. They're likely going to bring back a lot of low-level ghosts not necessarily interested in combat."
"But it would be the right thing to do," Sam said. "I think you've handled this all admirably—don't break that streak now by being stingy."
Jones seemed to think about it—long and hard, a rift deepening between her brows like her skin was cracking under the stress. Danny waited. Maybe it all really had been a lie, back at the hall. A show. Maybe he'd gotten her all wrong.
"It's a plan, then," Jones said. "Send the ghosts out to find refugees, speak with your parents. And let me know if you have any problems—I expect you three to keep me updated, you understand? You're not vigilantes anymore; you work with the government now."
Danny felt strangely relieved, and he knew Sam and Tucker did, too.
Someone with real, proper authority was on their side. That was more than they'd ever had.
Excerpt from An Overview of the Merge, by Jane Graham, 2038:
It was the peninsulas that fared the worst. Coastlines in general were destroyed, but there was nothing left of Florida, Italy, Denmark, North and South Korea, Malaysia, and others. In fact, much of Southeastern Asia was completely decimated, as was Northwestern Europe. Estimates for the death toll due to the initial merging are well over three billion. This toll becomes much higher when considering the subsequent outbreaks of cholera, dysentery, typhoid, and other diseases worsened by poor sanitation.
Idolum herself was directly responsible for murdering hundreds, if not thousands. She often sent out hunting parties to round humans up and kill them, helping them "ascend" to the higher form of ghosthood. While her rhetoric was understandably unpopular with humans, there were some who went willingly. Ghosts were split: many followed the Empress, some out of fear rather than agreement, but many more were simply victims. They too were killed when they refused to join her (see Harold Bennett's Ghostly Politics for more information).
The refugees from Evanston were set up on the football field; they'd been given tents, candles, and blankets. Valerie herself had gone over to deliver a box of old clothes that someone had scrounged up. Now she and El were in the highschool's main lobby, sorting through canned goods and perishables along with a few other volunteers. Some were things allotted to them by Mayor Jones from Amity's stores, but some of the food had been looted from Evanston. Lancer kept track of everything on his clipboard near the front, where light from the windows illuminated what he was doing.
"There are bad humans, too," El said. "And it's not like we let them roam around. We have a government. Sort of a federal system—or a bunch of countries in a pact like the UN or something."
Valerie stuck a can of beans in the non-perishable section and frowned. Did she have to say "we" like she was a part of them? A human became half-ghost—not the other way around. The ghost was the foreign part, not the human bit.
But then again… What right did Valerie have to judge how El thought of herself? By all accounts, she'd spent more time with ghosts than she had with humans.
"I guess," she said. Maybe she should seriously consider that she was wrong about the whole thing—maybe being half-ghost wasn't a disease that could be cured. Maybe full-ghosts weren't as bad as she thought. If she'd been wrong about Phantom, maybe she was wrong about this, too. Maybe she was letting her pride get in the way again.
Valerie couldn't afford to act like a prissy rich girl—judging first and apologizing never. She'd left that life, and that part of her, behind. And with Sam, Tucker, El, and Danny himself thinking she was being stupid, even if they didn't say it like that… Okay—so she needed to know more about the whole situation. Then she could make a decision; that was how it was supposed to be done. Right? "So explain it to me. Danny said the ghosts didn't 'form' right. What does that mean?"
She glanced over to see a shine in El's eyes. Excitement? "Ghosts are created in a few ways. There's the way everyone thinks of—like when someone dies. Their memories and soul get transferred to the Zone, and they 'form' a body out of the ambient ectoplasm."
"They remember who they were?" Valerie asked. All of the Fentons' research suggested ghosts couldn't recall their past lives—not even things as basic as names or ages.
"Yeah. It's a big no-no to ask about it, though," El said. "No one wants to think about how they died or who they left behind. Usually they choose new names for themselves, create the identities they always wanted… Sorry, we've gotten off track. Ghosts can also… Well, they can procreate, like humans do."
Valerie choked. "Ghosts can have sex?" she hissed, making sure to keep her voice low. Not that any of the other volunteers were paying attention.
"Um, yes," El said. Her face and ears were pink. "Anyway—they can also be formed from, like, ideas or something. I don't remember the terms exactly. But there are groups who weren't real people but also weren't 'born,' if you know what I mean. Like Pandora or the yetis of the Far Frozen."
Valerie had no idea what that last part meant, but she figured there would be time to ask more questions later. She took a loaf of bread and stuck it into the "perishable" box, careful not to smash it. "But when do they form wrong?"
"Okay, so ghosts usually feed off of ectoplasm in the Zone—it's in the air, the water, the plants… We get it everywhere. But sometimes ghosts get messed up when they form, like their digestive system wasn't made right. Instead of feeding on the energy from the Zone, they feed on emotions—fear and pain, usually. And these ghosts aren't welcome among the regular ghosts, so they're sent away from everyone else. Hence the name 'Banished Lands.' You follow?"
"Oh. But who does the banishing? Like who decides?"
El stuck a can of beans in the non-perishables. "Depends. The Zone's split up among a few major players, and then there are smaller ones with their own lairs. If the ghost shows up and starts causing trouble for Dora, for example, Dora's strong enough to kick them out herself. If it shows up in some low-level ghost's home, though, they usually go to the Observants. The Observants are like… The UN, a judicial system, and a legislative system rolled into one. They even have taxes."
Wow—this was more than Valerie had ever expected. There were whole countries within the Zone? The first—and last—time she'd been there, it had seemed like pure chaos. But then, she hadn't really left Skulker's area, had she? "How do you know all this, anway? I thought you were living with the… yetis?"
El made a face, and Valerie couldn't help but think of the one Danny made whenever homework was mentioned. "They made me learn about human government. And history. And technology. But I think their info is from like the eighties, 'cause no one uses walkmans anymore, and I kept hearing about them."
"They make you go to school?" Valerie asked, bewildered. She was grateful for it; she hadn't been entirely sure about leaving El on her own, even with the kid's assurances. But it seemed she had been taken care of—in fact, she made it sound like there were a whole bunch of ghosts raising her.
And it sounded like they weren't raising her so bad.
"Listen," Valerie said, feeling suddenly guilty. It was a molten pool of metal, bubbling hot in her stomach, hardening into steel. "At Evanston… Sam rubs me the wrong way, and I was partially only doing it to annoy her… But I shouldn't make excuses, should I?" She took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is—I don't think of you as an it, El. Not Danny, either. Or the ghosts who've been looking after you. I haven't been a very good friend to you, especially when it comes to your ghost half. I'm sorry."
El stared up at her, blue eyes quivering, and Valerie was afraid she might start crying. "Oh, I can't stay mad at you," El said. She threw her hands around Valerie's shoulders, and Valerie froze. "But I do expect better from you, got it? You've gotta be on your best behavior, even if Sam is being a jerk. And I like Sam."
"She's okay," Valerie said grudgingly. El pulled back and elbowed her.
"She's badass. You're badass too, though, so don't worry."
"I'm not worried. At least I have a cool name," Valerie muttered.
"Don't be jealous," El said, laughing. "Between you and me, I like you better, okay?"
And for some reason, that lit Valerie's chest up with warmth, right next to her heart.
Sam only stopped by her own house to do a few things: pick up her own clothes, make sure her parents hadn't died, and hug her grandmother. The house had survived the merging well, which was to be expected—her father had dumped thousands into strengthening the foundation, walls, and roof in the event there was a ghost attack. Usually, Sam disapproved of wild expenses, but she hadn't said a single word of protest about it.
That, along with their nuclear bunker, meant her family was doing fine, huddled all together and reading or organizing their food. They had left a few times to meet with everyone at central hall—but for the most part, they stayed safely inside.
Sam was about ten feet from the front door when her mother's voice stopped her.
"Are we ever going to discuss this, Samantha?" Pamela asked. "It's been weeks. We know that boy is Phantom—we know you fight ghosts. Are you going to ignore us forever?"
Sam pulled her backpack closer. She'd packed some clothes, a notebook, pens—she was considering starting up a journal, just to keep the madness confined between blue lines, within black ink. "I'm not ignoring you, Mom. But you never say anything different."
"They saw you out there!" her mother cried. "Fighting those—those—things, and then you left Amity, with that boy! And you won't even explain yourself."
"'Those things'? 'That boy'? They have names. Ghosts. Danny. You know, my best friend since forever," Sam snapped. It wasn't that she hated her mom, but it was like they saw a completely different world. Like Sam had human vision, and her mom had birds' eyes, sharp and piercing and examining colors that weren't even there.
"Fine. You left Amity with Danny. And Tucker—who is not a suitable boyfriend—"
"Oh my God!" Sam flung her backpack to the floor, and it landed with a thump. She flexed her hand, resisting the urge to punch something. Control, Sam. "I have never, not once, had sex with Tucker! Or kissed him, or—or whatever. Not that it would be your business if I had, because Tucker would make an excellent boyfriend! So just stop. Christ."
"He's snuck into your room multiple times; he checked up on us after the invasion. You're defending him right now! Do you really expect me to believe he's only a friend?" Pamela cocked her hip. Even in the apocalypse, she wore a sleek powder-blue dress, her hair pulled into a perfect bun.
Sam inhaled, exhaled. Why was she getting so worked up? This was how her mom always was. She imagined her blood cooling in her veins, circulating slowly. Drifting. I am not angry. "If we sit down to talk, will you listen? And not contradict?"
Her mother smiled, but it was like a wolf snarling—bright, feral. "Of course, dear. Let me call your father over."
So Sam found herself in the living room, across from her perfectly-dressed parents. Sam sat in their old, antique chair: vintage, owned originally by her great-great-great-great grandfather. Or something. It smelled like mint candy and elderly musk. Her parents sat on their couch—modern, done in an older style to match.
"Okay. So. Danny turned his parents' portal on from the inside and became Phantom. Tucker and I were with him, and now we all hunt ghosts together. A mass-murderer ghost who wants to rule everything invaded the world and merged the Earth with the Ghost Zone. We're trying to figure out how to fix it," Sam said. "Any questions?"
Her father squinted. "And you're not dating either of these boys?"
"For fuck's sake—"
"You can't use that sort of language in this house!" Pamela interrupted. She put a hand on her husband's arm. "More to the point—won't you stay home, Samantha? I'm sure the Fentons are handling everything. There's no need for you to go out anymore and risk your life—"
"There's every need. You think there are ghost hunters out there better than me? Than us? We're a team, and I won't stop. You can try and make me quit, but I'll leave. You have no authority over this part of me, okay? I've spoken with the mayor—"
"What?" her father asked. Alright, so maybe that was stretching the truth… But the world needed her. Danny needed her. She couldn't let them down. And her parents only listened when their image was on the line.
"We're planning operations to rescue more people from other nearby towns. Starting tomorrow. Then, we need to figure out how to stop the Empress, how to un-merge everything… There's a lot of shit to do, and not a lot of people capable of doing it. And I have to go. I'll keep checking in." Sam stood and picked her bag up. So what if she didn't want to explain more than that? They had the gist. They were adults; they could put two and two together. She didn't need to give them a play-by-play. And if she stayed… she was afraid of what she might say. What she might do.
"But what if you get hurt?" her mother pressed. "It's a matter of safety—"
"It's a matter of practicality, Mom."
"You're not leaving this house!" her father finally said, rising from the couch. Sam saw anger in his eyes, reflecting her own, but it was gentler than hers. Unrefined. "We've had enough, Samantha. We are still your parents. We've heard you out, and this is—it's absurd! You are being ridiculous, and we've indulged you long enough."
"Indulged me?" Sam asked. "All you ever do is tell me what not to do! Don't wear that, don't listen to that, don't go there, don't hang out with those boys—you can't even say their names half the time. They've been my best friends for years! You don't even pretend to care about the things I care about, even after I went to your stupid parties and wore your dumb dresses—so I just stopped trying! And I won't try again. Do you understand? I don't care about what you say or what you think because you don't give a shit about what I say or what I think!"
She stood there panting. She wondered if they could see her rage dripping from her fingers and onto the floor like sweat, stifling and salty.
"You're not leaving," her father said again. He reached out to grab her arm, and she danced backward.
"I'd like to see you try and make me stay," Sam snarled.
"Samantha, please," her mother said, "you're our only child. We can't—"
"Don't pull that bullshit on me," Sam said, jabbing her finger. "You only care about your image—the daughter you imagine I should be. Not the person I am. Well, guess what? There's no better image than having a daughter who saves the world. So you lucked out."
"You're talking crazy," her father said. He came closer, Pamela standing behind him. Sam didn't let him touch her. Her hand itched for a weapon, muscles in her arm gripping bone—threat, threat. But this was her dad, not her enemy.
"You only think that because you never listen," Sam said. Weeks of arguing, of fighting—for what? They never heard her. They never cared. Whatever genes she'd gotten had skipped a generation; she had more in common with her grandma than she did with either of her parents.
At least they weren't trying to cure her like Danny's parents. At least she knew they wouldn't hurt her—accidentally or on purpose. Small mercies, she supposed.
Sam should be grateful for what she had. It was what she always told herself: be grateful that you live in such a nice home, that there's always food to eat, that you never have to worry about clothes. Be grateful that you have so much money. Be grateful that your parents love you, even if they're bad at it. Be grateful you even have friends because you know what it's like to be lonely.
"Samantha, you can't leave," her mother said.
"I've been gone a long time, Mom," she said. "Up here, at least." She tapped her temple, and before either of them could do anything, she slammed the door and left. She had people who loved her, people who listened. People who needed her. What more was there for her here? Her grandmother, perhaps—her things—so she'd return.
But not for her parents.
Danny tried to keep his head down as they walked toward the newly set-up ghost camp, cutting across deserted streets. Tucker's jacket was too short in the arms and tugged at his shoulders whenever he twisted wrong, but at least the hunching helped hide his frame.
He, Sam, and Tucker had spent the previous day ferrying ghosts across the shield using thermoses, which the ghosts had been less than pleased about. The worst part was that a few of their thermoses were full of the Empress's goons, which none of them knew what to do about (currently they were hidden in Tucker's wall). Danny would have told the mayor, but what was she going to do about it?
Despite his assurances to Jones, Danny was anxious about the ghost camp. What if it did go badly? What if one of the ghosts did try to fight him? Or worse—what if they attacked a human? His palms began to sweat imagining it, the chaos that would follow. Imagining people's faces when they realized he'd hurt them again. That he'd failed them again. But he couldn't abandon the ghosts. They needed him as much as Amity did, and it wasn't fair to leave them because of what they were.
At least the city was looking better: the streets were nearly clear, and Danny couldn't smell corpses anymore. He tried not to think about it.
About sixty of Dora's citizens had wanted to come inside the shield. The others, along with Dora's soldiers, hadn't been keen on being trapped in a dome with a bunch of hostile humans. Skulker had elected to come inside—based solely, perhaps, on a desire to sow pandemonium. Danny had been reluctant to let him, but it would've been worse to deny him. They had to work together—Danny couldn't afford to hold grudges, even against those who'd hurt him. The yetis and Ghostwriter had of course come, too.
While he wasn't going so far as to post guards around the camp, Danny had decided he—or Sam or Tucker—would do regular "check-ups." Just in case.
As they rounded the corner, Danny saw, to his confusion, a few people with signs outside the camp. The camp itself was little more than a covered area outside one of the restaurants close to the school. The tent's fabric was red-and-white striped, which Danny found funny. It was the end of the world, and they looked like they were setting up for a carnival.
"Looks like a protest," Sam muttered. "No shouting, though. That's good."
"Yeah, 'cause you're not there," Tucker said. Sam punched his shoulder, but not hard enough to hurt.
"I don't think any of this can be classified as good," Danny said. The signs read things like Ghosts Not Welcome Here! and Go Back Outside! "We have to see if we can get them to stop."
"It is their right," Sam said. "Not that we have to like it. But we shouldn't use public order as an excuse to silence people."
"What about public safety? If they agitate one of the ghosts, like Skulker… They can protest all they like, but they should do it at city hall, not here," Danny said. "It's just a bad idea."
"Fair point," Sam said. "Maybe we can redirect their energy."
"Yeah, we'll just move the protesters from the thing they're angry at. That's never backfired," Tucker said.
"We should try anyway." Danny marched forward, debating removing the too-small jacket so he looked less ridiculous. Being incognito wasn't going to help if he was confronting these people. But he probably had bigger concerns than his wardrobe.
"At least I don't see my parents here," Sam murmured. Danny himself didn't recognize many of the protesters, except for two at the front—one of the women from city hall, and her son. Dash.
There were only twenty or thirty people in all; Danny imagined most of Amity's citizens didn't have the time or energy to do something like this. It was the apocalypse, and they were holding up signs. Danny almost laughed at the absurdity of it all—how had his life come to this?
"Er, do you all think you might be able to move this toward city hall?" Danny asked, raising his voice to be heard over their chatter. Under the cover of the tent, he couldn't hear anything to indicate that the ghosts were upset, which was good. While he didn't think any of them were inherently violent—except maybe Skulker—they'd been through a lot over the past few weeks.
"Fenton?" Dash asked. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here, Dash?" Sam demanded. "It's a public street."
"Don't be rude, Dash," Mrs. Baxter said. "You all go to Casper? It's nice to meet you; I'm Daphne, Dash's mom. Have you come to join us? It's been hard getting the word out without the Internet."
Now that they were standing side by side, Danny could tell for certain that Mrs. Baxter was in fact Mrs. Baxter—she and Dash shared similar builds, similar noses. Someone behind Mrs. Baxter cleared their throat.
"Daphne, I think that's Pha—"
Skulker burst from the tent's candy-cane-colored roof, landing with a thud between Danny and the protesters. Daphne flinched, edging backwards and gripping Dash's arm. "Ghost child!" the hunter said. "I was wondering when you would come."
"Skulker," Danny said, trying to keep his tone neutral. He could feel his eyelid twitch as everyone's face turned to watch him. His skin crawled with their gazes. As Phantom, he'd been able to tolerate it—they weren't really looking at him, after all, just a persona. A hero. But now they could really see him, and he couldn't bear it.
But he didn't have a choice. "How is everyone settling in?"
Skulker shrugged—with his massive, metal shoulders, it created a horrible clanking sound. "How am I supposed to know?"
"Do you have eyes or don't you?" Sam asked.
"Don't get angry with me, girl," Skulker said. "I came to tell you we don't like these people shouting. The yetis thought about coming over to speak with them, but I told them we had better wait for the ghost child to resolve it." He paused, as if he was waiting for Danny to thank him.
Danny ignored him and turned to the group of protesters. "See? They don't like it—you're basically protesting outside their new home. If you have a problem with it, you can take it up with the mayor. Or me."
"You—you're—" Daphne stammered, eyes wide.
Dash moved out from behind her. "Fenton! You're Phantom?"
Tucker coughed into his fist, words too low for anyone but Danny to hear. "Bet he feels bad now."
"What's it to you, Dash? What the hell are you people even doing out here? Don't you have better things to do?" Sam demanded. Danny blinked; where was her sudden anger coming from? She'd been calm only a moment before. "I respect a good protest—I really do—but you're deliberately creating animosity between us and the people we have to live with—ghosts who have powers, need I remind you. And they're not fucking going any where, no matter how much you chant, because they'll die out there. Okay? So go yell at city hall."
"You don't get to order us around, Manson," Dash growled. "Just because you're friends with Phantom—"
"And what are you to him?" Sam yelled. "Go home, Dash. Nobody gives a shit." Danny opened his mouth; this was escalating too quickly. They were supposed to be keeping the peace, not disrupting it.
"You can't talk to me—"
"Dash!" Daphne interrupted. "I'm sorry. We… You're Phantom, Mr. Fenton?"
Sam kept her mouth shut, her cheeks flushed. Danny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "In the flesh. You can call me Danny, though. Or Phantom."
"Ah, so you've finally revealed yourself to the humans, ghost child!" Skulker said, clapping a hard hand on his back. Danny resisted the urge to plant a foot into his flaming skull. "Our hunts will be far more entertaining in the future, wouldn't you say? No more holding back to hide!"
"You're not helping, dude," Tucker said. "Please, Mrs. Baxter. We have enough going on without you making trouble here."
"They shouldn't be allowed in the city in the first place!" Daphne said. "This is a terrible idea. That one just admitted to wanting to hunt you!" She pointed at Skulker, who nodded.
"I do," he said.
God fucking bless my half-life, Danny thought. A darker part of him knew this was what he deserved, after causing it all—but most of him just wanted it to be over. How was he supposed to deal with this? He couldn't even talk himself out of trouble most days, and now he was basically an ambassador between two species?
"What exactly are you all concerned about?" Danny asked the crowd. "I understand that ghosts have been… violent in the past. But they've been displaced by this whole mess, too. They have families, like we do. Amity is the only safe place." Except for the Far Frozen. But that would be too much to explain right now. "The alternative is that we kick them out to be destroyed by the Empress. What she did to us—she's already done it to them, weeks before we even knew she was coming here."
Daphne grimaced. She seemed to be the ringleader of the entire operation. Danny wondered if she'd always been involved in local politics; she seemed the type. She'd also been more than comfortable speaking up at city hall.
"But how did you even—"
"Be quiet, Dashie," his mother scolded. "I'm not unsympathetic, Danny. But this ghost has already admitted he'd like to fight you—" Skulker nodded again "—and I worry. I want to be safe here, like you said. You've—you've protected us, but you're busy. How can we know that you'll be around if something goes wrong?"
"He's not the only hunter in Amity," Tucker said. "Listen, Mrs. Baxter—Daphne—I think you're right to be scared. It's scary being a human and knowing there are beings out there who could crush you like a bug." Not helping, Danny thought. Daphne paled, and Tucker rushed on. "But you're the safest place you can be, even with the ghosts. Do you think they'll sit back if the Empress attacks again? Most of them have already fought, one way or another. And there will always be the, uh, the Fentons, if something goes wrong. The Red Huntress. Plus, the other ghosts know they have a good thing going. They're not going to let the others ruin it."
"The boy is, unfortunately, very smart," Skulker added. Danny thought he must have been remembering the gorilla incident. "Ghost Writer told me if I were to go out and harm you, he would write me into another of his poems." The ghost shuddered. "Besides, Phantom is very possessive of his humans."
Danny felt his cheeks heat and tried not to bury his face in his hands. "Right. See? They'll keep each other in check. You have nothing to worry about."
"You can make that promise?" Daphne asked. Everyone was watching behind her. Blue eyes, brown eyes, black eyes—all staring at him. Danny wanted to vanish. He didn't want this to be his problem. He didn't want to have caused all these problems.
The guilt strangled his words, a snake wrapping around his throat and squeezing, but he managed to get them out anyway: "Yes, I promise. You'll be safe."
And he prayed he wasn't lying, not again, and that he would be strong enough this time to see it through.
AN: I have been busy... I am sorry... If you notice any strange redundancies or inconsistencies, feel free to let me know. I made a lot of writing ***choices*** early in this fic, which I am trying to ignore so I can carry on and FINALLY finish this thing.
Also, why the heck did I call "city hall" "central hall" in an earlier chapter? Are central halls a thing? Yes, I might go back and change it. Or I might not.
What was your favorite section? Is Valerie's growth realistic? What about Sam's descent? Danny's awkwardness?
PS - Sorry if the merge destroyed your home. RIP to the coastlines.
PPS - Thank you to my editor for looking this over
PPPS - If I don't respond to your review, feel free to pm me. I try to respond but I'm not always great at it.
