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Chapter 275: No More Stalling

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The Jeep shuddered and tiled down, making its occupants grab at handles, seatbelts, and netting to steady themselves. Sam, having done so, leaned to look out the window, trying to figure out what had happened even as the Jeep leveled itself off again and continued flying forward.

She also used the momentary distraction to snag an object from one of the storage compartments built into the side of the Jeep. From its weight… Yes. It was a knife.

"Hm," said Freakshow, fiddling with something in his lap. "Ah ha. There we are."

As he spoke, Sam saw a few more ghosts approaching, breaking free from the clouds surrounding them. She frowned. What had happened? Did the car somehow get too heavy for the ghosts carrying it? Did Freakshow lose control, however temporarily?

None of that seemed to quite fit what had happened, not if he was calling more ghosts to help him. Did they run out of power after being pushed so hard?

Sam bit her lower lip. What would have caused that? Ghosts didn't usually experience that kind of fatigue, at least not like humans did, and under mind control they could go much further. That was what had happened to Danny, when Freakshow had him. Danny had said he didn't think he'd slept for days, but this had only been hours, if that.

Maybe being in the tanks had weakened them? It would explain why Sam and her mother had gotten so much leeway, not to mention the president. Could Sam use that, somehow?

Maybe once they landed, if they landed soon enough, she'd be able to get past the ghosts to Freakshow. Hopefully. She'd be trying, anyway, and a little more confidence, a little greater advantage, was always welcome.

"Hm," said Freakshow again, rotating something in his lap. "How interesting."

Pamela squeezed Sam's hand tighter.

"Aren't you going to ask me what is so interesting, dear Samantha?"

"I don't think I'd be interested in anything you're interested in," said Sam, affecting boredom. "For all your posing, you're sort of… banal."

Freakshow barred his yellowing teeth in something between a snarl and a smile. "Banal? Banal? You didn't think I was so boring when you wandered into my circus that first time. You came to me with wonder and despair in your eyes. And what did you do? How did you thank me for showcasing your mortality?"

"Nothing you do is original," said Sam, examining her rather beaten and bloody fingernails. Actually, her knuckles were beginning to swell rather uncomfortably as well. "You're worse than a generic Disney villain."

Freakshow, for a minute, looked like he might lunge over the back of the seat, and both Sam and Pamela tensed.

"Ha ha, very funny, very funny. I'd hire you as one of my clowns in a minute. Too bad this isn't an interview, hm? Not a job you can refuse, you see."

"I am, in fact, refusing to have anything to do with you, both now and in the future," said Sam, knowing that wasn't really an option at the moment and mostly hoping to make Freakshow angry.

"No, no," snapped Freakshow, pounding something Sam couldn't see with his fist, and suddenly Sam regretted making him angry. His face smoothed out. "No, you see, you can't refuse. Did you know, dear, dear Samantha, that you are quite a bit more, hm, ghostly than you we last time we met?"

Oh. No. No, he couldn't be implying what Sam thought he was implying, because if he could do that, he would have done it already. He wouldn't be taunting her with it.

"Oh, yes, oh, yes. You know what I mean, don't you? I can tell. It'll take a bit of experimentation, to be sure, but if your little friend Danny is susceptible, it follows that you're the same, doesn't it? Just exactly the same. Oh, the woes of someone who isn't unique."

"Sam, what is he talking about?" asked Pamela, voice low, quiet, and scared.

"He seems to think that he can control me," said Sam.

"Oh, too bad for him. You've never been controllable."

Sam looked up at her mother, taken aback. She never made jokes like that. A small laugh escaped Sam despite herself.

If Pamela could make jokes, they weren't out of luck yet.

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"Thank you for coming to talk to me. I know your day has been just as long and harrowing as mine," said the president.

"I suspect you're underselling everything you've been through today," said Jasmine.

"Nevertheless," said the president.

"Well. We can agree that today has been long. What did you want to discuss? Freakshow?"

That was the problem plaguing them both. "Yes and no." That was the main thing, but he had so many other concerns that he felt like he was drowning in them.

Jasmine gazed steadily at the president, neither her posture nor her expression betraying her, even though the president knew she couldn't have slept any more than he had.

"You mentioned magic," said the president. "Back when we were running about."

"Yes? It shouldn't surprise you," said Jasmine. "You knew Freakshow favored 'traditional methods' of 'dealing' with ghosts."

"That's substantially different than magic being real," said the president. "'Traditional methods of dealing with ghosts' sounds as if it's some quality of the ghost or substance that makes them work. Like an allergy, a chemical reaction, or something similar."

"And… forgive me, President Klein, but you just learned about the existence of ghosts, who might as well be magic in and of themselves. I'm not sure why you're so surprised to learn about other supernatural elements. Especially given that Freakshow made use of a number of magical items."

"So. Can anyone learn to do magic?"

"I'm not an expert, but my understanding is that few people can use it in the way I can, and that my facility is largely related to my metaphorical proximity to the throne of the Infinite Realms."

Jasmine, as far as the president could tell, didn't have any tells. He had yet to catch her in anything like a lie, even though he knew she must have lied to him at some point, given that they were both playing politics. He rather thought she might be lying now. It was a gut feeling, but who knew? Given that magic was a thing, gut feelings might be more valid than anyone thought!

The president wasn't sure, but he might just be losing his mind. Every part of that was insane. It didn't make sense. Except it did.

"Because you're Prince Phantom's adopted sister?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"So… your aunt?"

"I don't believe so," said Jasmine.

"Right," said the president. "And Freakshow?"

"I don't know everything about him," said Jasmine. "In fact, I know very little about him. It isn't like we've made much small talk with one another."

"Can you… What do you know about Showenhower's magic?"

"Not much," said Jasmine. "His specialty is magical objects and control over ghosts, but, again, I'm not an expert. You'd have to talk to an older ghost, someone who's made a study of magic."

The president resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. "Ghosts can do magic, too?"

"Why wouldn't they?" asked Jasmine. "I've met a number of ghosts that can do various things with magic. Although they don't always distinguish magic from their other abilities."

"And can they counter Showenhower?"

"Trust me, they've been working on it."

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"So, do intend to let us intervene at all?" asked Jazz, once it seemed as if the president's questions had tapered out. "The window for us to actually do something and find Freakshow is closing. Weeds grow if they aren't pulled out."

Jazz didn't know how much Clockwork and Sojourn would be able help Danny track Freakshow, but she did know that as long as Freakshow didn't get too far from the original facility, Danny would be able to hunt him down and find him. Assuming Dan didn't find him first, but given there hadn't been any further communication from Danny or Dan since the last time Wulf popped through, Jazz was starting to get a bad feeling.

The president gave her a very close, narrow look.

"The GIW agents your government is holding prisoner."

"What about them?" asked Jazz. She was, frankly, tired of everything coming back to them. They had tried to destroy the universe in general and Amity Park in particular. Perhaps it betrayed a personal flaw on her part, a lack of empathy, but they were the ones who had stepped into the world of ghosts, the ones who had trespassed in matters of life and death, and Jazz didn't have any objection to them facing ghost justice.

"They were being held for a prisoner exchange, right? That was the loophole?"

"I don't know if I would call it a loophole," said Jazz, "as it was entirely intentional." She stifled a yawn. Earlier, the Chef had offered her, and the rest of the embassy, a small vial of concentrated ectoplasm as a 'pick me up,' but she'd refused, being uncertain how, exactly, she would react to something like that. Especially given that Danny tended to react to such things like a drug.

Which was the purpose here as well, Jazz supposed. Except the intention was to use it as a stimulant rather than anything recreational or… Or whatever it was she should call it when Danny was accidentally drugged by something that should have been innocuous.

"But," she continued, finally, "yes. Keeping them alive for a potential prisoner exchange was what had been agreed upon as a stay for their sentences."

"A—Wait. A stay? Not a pardon?"

"A stay. At least, that's my understanding."

"So, what, they'd have been expected to go back?"

"Well, they would have been expected to die eventually, Mr. President. Although it's more than likely none of them would have become ghosts, we don't want that kind of person running free through the Realms with no recourse… But I'm unsure why this is relevant. Have you found a solution?"

She was also unsure where all this was coming from. She'd read up on, well, everything she could before joining the diplomatic party, and she liked to think she was the kind of person who was eloquent, self-assured, and knowledgeable in all things, she usually wasn't, not this much, not when under this kind of stress.

Was this a ghost thing?

"And there's absolutely no way to trade them for, say, us officially allowing Prince Phantom to apprehend Showenhower and extract your citizens?"

"Not unless you have prisoners you can add to the exchange as well. Tell me, why are you so resistant to getting help? You don't have the resources to deal with this kind of problem on your own, not unless you get extremely lucky. All we are offering is our aid, and all we want from you is to be allowed to give it. You don't need to complicate it like this. I don't understand why you're drawing it out."

"Drawing it out? It's only been a…" The president trailed off, staring blankly at a nearby clock.

"If it's having 'foreign forces' on American soil that you're worried about, we can draft up some kind of limitation, but we need to do it quickly, without any more stalling."

The president's eyes snapped back to her. "Does it have to be prisoners I have?"

"Excuse me?"

"Does it have to be prisoners we, the United States, currently have in custody? What if it was in exchange for being able to rescue prisoners? At this point, the Mansons must have been taken prisoner, so if we traded the GIW agents for Prince Phantom being able to come and rescue the Mansons, would that be sufficient?"

Jazz was too tired for this. "Maybe. I have no idea," she said. She thought back to the exact wording of the Initial Committee's resolution. "I'd have to send such a proposal back, for review by Libra and the Regency council." The diplomatic party was no authorized to make decisions for Libra, and, even if it had been, Jazz wouldn't have felt comfortable making the decision unilaterally, without Sojourn or one of the older ghosts there to advise her, or, well, more accurately, make the decision in her stead.

"It's still a prisoner exchange," said the president.

"It's a stretch of that definition," replied Jazz. "But we do, on occasion, thrive on wordplays. I couldn't say if Libra or the Regency Council will be in a mood to humor it." She stood. "If that's all, I need to go send a message."

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Danny, Damien, and Fright Knight found themselves in front of Lydia again. Danny slapped the rough sketches of Freakshow's plans down in front of her, alongside their best guesses as to what they actually were supposed to be.

"You will tell us the purposes of these designs," demanded Fright Knight.

Lydia glared up at them, then down at the sheets, then up at them again.

Finally, she picked up a pencil.