Hi again!
We passed the 100 review mark! Wow! Thank you so much for all your feedback!
MsFrizzle: Thank for taking the time to give me so much feedback. Some of your questions will (hopefully!) be answered in the story. But for short answers: Danny isn't telling his parents because, as much as he loves them, he's scared of them. He also doesn't have any proof. He's worried that it'll wreck his credibility if he says something so outrageous without proof, and then he'll loose even the tenuous control of the situation that he has. With the overshadowing/mind control/possession thing, that's kind of the point. Danny sees the difference, but he's half ghost. From a human perspective, the big difference would be degree of lasting mental damage.
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Chapter 32:
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Echo had no need to walk. He could fly. He could fade into the moon-silvered walls of the lair, sink into them like so much water, merge with them, simply appear at his destination, and skip this whole 'traveling' nonsense altogether.
But there was a rhythm to walking, poetry, a heartbeat. His thick boots tapped and clicked against the stone floor. It was new. Novel. An experience for a person who had a dearth of experiences.
Novel. Heh.
That was an appropriate turn of phrase, considering his destination. He reached a wall, and walked up it, then walked along the wall's gentle curve to a descending staircase. He reached a platform, then walked along the platform to a walkway that corkscrewed up around a waterfall. Up farther, and farther, and farther. He trailed his hand along a banister twined with stone roses and real morning glories, and licked drops of water from his lips.
There were other paths, and he knew them. Not that he had ever walked them. Not like he was walking this one.
Briefly, he leaned over the railing, looking down into the heart of the lair, with all its staircases, twisted pathways, and hidden rooms. He gazed at the windows, the starlight, and the flowers.
He might resent Jack and Madeline Fenton, might even hate them, but he was enjoying existing. He was enjoying seeing this from the outside.
(He wondered if Danny was dreaming through his eyes.)
He continued on, walking up, and up and up, the path growing steeper, and steeper, before it suddenly flattened out, and turned into a spiraling staircase. There weren't too many stairs before they let out on another balcony.
The balcony, in turn, became a large, airy room, lined with pillars. Moonlight cast bright trapezoids on the floor. He reached the back wall, and passed through an archway into a larger, much better-lit room.
Bookshelves of wood and stone morphed into dark trees that reached up to the dark and diamond sky. The floor was carpeted in moss, grass, and pin-head sized star-shaped flowers. Ladders leaned against the shelves. Desks and armchairs were illuminated by balls of ghost fire. A library.
It was nothing so grand as Ghost Writer's library. Not that Echo had ever seen Ghost Writers library, and not like he ever would, but he had Danny's memories of the place, Danny's impressions.
Jazz would like it anyway, he hoped.
A mewling sound from up ahead made Echo's ears twitch. He picked up his pace. He reached the end of a shelf, and turned to face the armchair at the end.
Curled in the armchair was a inky, liquid shadow. It twitched and rippled. Echo sat in the chair set against the opposite bookshelf, bringing his feet up in front of him, and resting his chin on his knees. He watched avidly, fascinated by the process.
If Danny was here, he would be beside himself (figuratively, more than literally, as Echo was), trying to help. But Echo wasn't Danny, not entirely, and this wasn't so much akin watching another person in pain, as it was watching a video of himself getting a bone reset.
It was strange, knowing what that felt like when he had only had bones for, eh, call it ten hours. Certainly not more than that, and for at least one of those hours his 'bones' had likely had more in common with cartilage than anything else.
The shadow in the chair shivered and moaned again. A deeper darkness spread out from its center, rendering the larger part of it opaque.
This was going to take awhile.
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When Tucker woke up, Echo was gone. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but, well, he wasn't exactly surprised. Tucker stretched, rubbing his eyes, and went to sit up, but came up short. Danny had part of Tucker's shirt clenched in his fist.
Tucker settled back down on the bed, and gazed at his friend blearily. Danny was frowning, his brow furrowed, lips parted slightly. He'd somehow wound up half on top of the sheets, face down, turned slightly towards Tucker, one leg thrown over Sam's. Dozens of faintly pulsing wisps cuddled against him, which was a very odd effect.
Tucker groaned. He had to use the bathroom. But he didn't want to wake up Danny. Heck, considering how hard he had fallen asleep earlier, he wasn't sure he could wake up Danny. Maybe he could take off his shirt...
He was attempting to retract his arm into the armhole of his shirt when Danny opened his eyes. Tucker froze. "Hey, dude," said Tucker. "How're you doing?"
Danny blinked, managing to convey an infinite weariness without using words. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to get out without waking you up," said Tucker. "But, uh, I guess you're awake now."
"Huh?"
"You're kinda holding on to me, dude."
"Oh. I'm sorry," said Danny, releasing Tucker.
"It's fine, I just kinda have to go."
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Danny struggled to sit up. He was stiff. Sore. Bruised. He managed to get up on his knees, but had to blink static from his eyes, and swallow to control his nausea.
He raised a trembling hand to his chest, prodding his core with a mental finger. He hissed at the sudden pain. This wasn't good, even if he had half expected it. He'd hoped, though, that his core might have healed at least enough to access basic powers, as it had been before that thing that had made the shadow.
The... Echo.
Danny pinched the bridge of his nose to ward of the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. Echo echo echo. Was there an echo in here?
His mother had tried to kill him.
Again.
A knife, descending.
But... Had this happened? He couldn't...
When a sound of distress rose in his throat, he swallowed it. He didn't want to wake Sam. Sam didn't do mornings. Regardless of whether or not this counted as a morning, disturbing Sam would be a mistake.
He crawled out of the bed and laid on the floor. The relative coolness of the floor felt good. Wisps floated down to join him, their touch icy. Did he have a fever? It wouldn't surprise him. He felt awful. He sat up again.
Where were his shoes? He didn't remember taking them off. Heck, he barely remembered hitting the bed. Looking back, he had basically collapsed after giving what must have been the most threadbare explanation of ghost law possible. He hadn't even gotten to enforcement, and the courts, and the Observants... Although, he hoped that no one asked about those now. He didn't want to give any more long explanations. He didn't want to give any explanations. Mr Lancer had already seen through his story, he didn't want to give anyone else more hints. Despite appearances, his classmates weren't stupid. Most of them, anyway.
Nor were his parents, if it came to that. No matter how hard they tried at it. They were scientists and inventors, and they lived off of their patents. They were just... He didn't know how to describe it. Willfully ignorant?
(Incredibly bigoted?)
(Racist?)
(Were they the enemy now?)
He didn't want to think about it. It made his head hurt. (Not to mention his core. But that hurt anyway.)
Where were his shoes? He really wanted his shoes back.
Actually... Maybe he should go use that bathroom first. Change his clothes, too. If there were any clothes to change into. There was a dresser. He pulled out one of the stone drawers. It was heavy, but slid smoothly. As if it was resting on wet ice. Or robust rollers. The latter was more likely.
There were clothes in the drawer. Nice. Nothing he'd seen before. He wondered at the logistics of a full dresser of human clothing in the Ghost Zone. If it was just socks and underwear, he would understand that, but shirts and jeans were a bit larger. It was harder for them to fall through the small intermittent portals that formed in washing machines, the backs of drawers, and other out of the way places.
He blinked slowly, dully, at the clean clothes. Maybe he should take a shower first. He felt disgusting. Sweaty and gritty.
Yes, a shower sounded like just the thing. He made sure that Sam was still all tucked in before leaving the room.
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The shivering shadow in the armchair had skin now, smooth, pale, paper-white flesh that did not flake and smoke when it brushed against the fabric of the chair. It had arms and legs, hands and feet, and fingers and toes. It likely had more than that, but curled in on itself as it was, it was hard to tell. Right now, it was working on growing hair.
Echo didn't remember having this much trouble when his body was forming, but he supposed that he had already existed as an idea, a point of view, if you would, before he had tried to exist as a physical (if ectoplasmic) construct. The thought crossed his mind that, perhaps, Danny had taken all the strain of his creation. It wasn't a thought that Echo liked.
He preferred to think about how to mess with the Fentons. And Valerie. Why did Valerie have to go and do something like that, anyway?
Wondering what the other shadow would look like when it was fully formed was also a good distraction. Like Danny, probably. Like Echo. Its face was well hidden, though, behind its arms and those of the chair, so Echo couldn't tell for sure.
He watched the hair grow in, soft and snowy. It grew longer than Danny's. Longer than Echo's. It was cut differently, too, square and even on the bottom, with bangs. Echo stood up, and stepped towards the other chair. He frowned as he realized that the cut wasn't all that different from Maddie's. He leaned down, to rub a few strands between his fingers. Almost immediately, he was distracted by how soft and silky it was. He ran a hand through his own hair, in comparison. It wasn't quite the same. He buried his hand in the other shadow's hair, smiling. It wasn't quite like Danny's either, but this was nice. Very nice. He hummed.
Then the shadow stirred. It wasn't a shiver. Echo withdrew his hand and stepped back, giving the other shadow some space. After a couple of minutes, the new shadow managed to wrench itself into a sitting position, breathing heavily, trying to get used to the whole 'having lungs' thing, its eyes still screwed shut.
"Hello," said the new shadow.
"Hi," said Echo. The connection they shared through the lair wasn't perfect. Some communication was necessary. "How is it?"
Very slowly, the other shadow opened his eyes. They were ice blue from lid to lid, with a slightly darker area in the center suggesting iris and pupil. He blinked, and one eye dripped, a thick, pastel tear running down the side of his face. He reached one hand up to touch the tear, smearing his cheek with the color. He squinted at it, his eyes luminous slits.
"There appear to be some flaws," said the shadow, finally. He smiled up at Echo, eyes still narrow. "Not bad for a first time, though, hm?"
"Practice makes perfect," agreed Echo. "We should get you clothes. Also, a name."
"It will be the first thing they ask," said the shadow, standing. He blinked, and another bit of eye oozed out over his lower lashes.
"I think there are some glasses around. Somewhere."
"That might help."
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Hi there! Welcome to the second note!
So, I have a bit of a confession to make: I suck at naming things. I've got a name for this new shadow, but I'm planning on adding a few more in future chapters, and I have no idea what to call them If you guys have any ideas, post them in a review!
(Disclaimer: I do write without a set plan, so I also might not add any more shadows.)
