A great clock tower stood watch over an enormous campus, situated at the north end by the lake. From the shadow of the tower where Danny waited, he could see the rowing club getting ready on the lake's edge. Enormous trees with flat, heart shaped leaves and twisting roots lined the pathway from the campus's northernmost entrance. On the other side, to the south, the great arts building sat opposite the physics department. The arts building was old. Tall and triple storied, with maroon roof tiles and sandy coloured stone, it was an impressive exercise in architectural design. Great arch windows stared out every face. A great staircase led up to the enormous double doors. On either side of the staircase, enormous stone griffins stepped forward to greet incoming students. Their maws were open, frozen in snarls, but they were delightful in their impressiveness.
On the opposing side, the physics building was sleek and new, built in the 90's. A slanted roof was held up by geometric marble sculptures and the front face of the building was almost entirely glass. Inside, Danny could see students with earphones in, studying hard.
As he waited, a beautiful bird cooed overhead and smacked directly into the clockface. It fell. Slapping to the floor, wings askew, it made wretched noises, gasping with a thick tongue lolling out of its beak.
"Ah-Birdie-" Danny dropped his bag and knelt down next to the bird. Its neck was twisted at a sharp angle. "What did you do this to yourself for, birdie?" While he was kneeling, Sam finally arrived.
"Oh," she breathed, all the air whooshing out of her at the sight of an animal in pain. "Hey, little guy…"
"He just flew into the window!"
"His neck is broken. He won't make it." Sam gently stroked the birds feathers as he gasped his finally breaths. "Do not go gentle into that good night." Solemnly, with genuine compassion but also a deep seated flare for drama, she told him, "Rage, little guy."
"I suppose there are a few good occasions left for depressing poetry," Danny commented.
The bird clenched, all at once, then died.
To Danny's surprise, the bird's soul flapped its wings, peeling apart from its body like a banana getting up out of its skin. It hopped up, scratching itself with new ghostly claws. "Oh look, something you said must have struck a chord."
"What do you mean?"
"He just went ghost." Danny's eyes flashed green and he waved to the little bird. "What unfinished business could you have?" The bird squawked at him. Curiously, it had green eyes, just like Danny's. It didn't attack him. Then, another ghost left the bird's fresh corpse. A ghostly centipede with clawed little legs tickled the ground. This ghost was perfectly visible to Sam, who yelled and launched herself back.
Taking his thermos from the pocket of his bag, Danny hissed, "Help me hide this."
Sam leaned back over, careful not to touch the quick, lengthy little bug. She angled her arms to hide as much of the bug and the thermos from view as possible. Danny twisted off the cap and sucked up the centipede ghost. The ghostly bird squawked as its spirit was tugged toward the thermos, but Danny snapped the cap back on before he was captured.
"I'm going to say something and it's going to sound stupid," Danny warned her.
"That'll be familiar to you then."
"I think the bird was possessed."
Sam studied the body. "No. I think you're exactly right."
The ghost of the bird took flight, away from them, to whatever place it was destined to haunt.
Once they'd wrapped up the body in Sam's gym towel and stashed the thermos safely in Danny's bag, they scooted away to a café attached to the university's massive central library. Artwork on the café walls depicted a history of student achievement. A debate team in suits and ties smiled at them from a podium. In black and white photos, students protested with hand painted signs. Football heroes spanning generations carried their team to victory in an array of photos on every wall. The largest photograph was old. Black and white, blown up to large proportions, it was a little grainy to make out. It depicted Notteventure's first ever class, rows upon rows of young men in suits and ties, with smiles on their faces, book-ended by their professors.
"That's unusual," Sam said while they waited on their cappuccinos.
"What?"
"There are women." She reached up, pointing to several students in the photo and one professor. "Notteventure was founded in the 1850s. There weren't many women studying at all. Particularly not teaching. I wonder what they studied."
Their drinks arrived. In hushed tones, they began to talk about the latest and greatest ghostly threat. "I didn't want to do this, Sam. No way. I'm done with ghosts. I don't care how many birds fly into windows, or-or how many dogs turn inside out or pigs grow wings, I've got study to do!"
"On the top ten lists of things I never thought I'd hear Danny Fenton say… Look, Danny, I know you just want to focus, but there's a bigger problem here you're not seeing."
"No, no, stop right there. I don't want to see it. For the purposes of this conversation, I'm legally blind. Eligible for the paralympics. If you want to make me see something that doesn't involve getting my student I.D., going to my physics class or being a normal, functioning student, you'll need-you'll need-an optometrist."
"That metaphor really ran out of steam, didn't it Danny?"
"Yeah. Well. You get the point. No seeing for me."
Sam raised an eyebrow. She crooked her black lips into a little grimace. "Even if it involves the death of innocent people?"
Danny sighed. "Alright. Hit me."
"What motive does the ghost of a centipede have for possessing a bird? What motive does the ghost of any animal have for possession?"
"Latent dreams of the miracle of flight."
"Danny, be serious!" Sam's voice dropped into the lecturing tones of a woman peeved. "Moreover… Animal ghosts rarely act on their own. What happens if this isn't a fluke? What happens if a kamikaze centipede decides to possess a human being, Danny?"
"There's one less person to compete with in the lunch rush?"
"Danny!"
"I get it!" He groaned. "People are in trouble. Ghosts are involved. Ergo, no tertiary education for me."
"You don't have to do anything… Just keep your eyes open, is all. Hopefully nothing comes of it. Hopefully, it was a stray bug ghost on a weird journey who didn't know how to fly."
"And if it isn't…" Danny's eyes flashed green. "I've got to take care of it."
Sam's fingers drilled on the table. She shrugged. "Roughly, yeah."
They finished their drinks and parted ways. Danny went to the guild office to get his I.D. while Sam made her way into the library. Inside, the bottom floor was noisy. An eatery was just inside the door, serving giant spring rolls, salads and huge platefuls of lasagna. A sign advertised tomorrows main meal as being katsu chicken bao buns, with a vegan meat substitute alternative. Sam smiled.
Nobody looked at her strangely. As she took the stairs to the second floor, another Goth passed her and brushed her hand, saying, "Gorgeous liner, girl." She grinned, white teeth flashing between black lips. Sam gushed, they traded makeup brands and continued on their way.
Under her pale makeup, Sam's cheeks were flushed with happiness (and, partly, the exertion it took to get up the many, many stairs). Finally, Sam was in a place she belonged, a place where a meeting of minds didn't result in hers bleeding out of her ears. If she wanted to, there was an elevator, but the steps were an old, well worn stone, with a carved wooden banister. She couldn't resist the old school beauty of it.
Up and up and up, beyond the study floors and into the upper levels where the books lived. Only the top four floors held books. Everything on the first three was study space and computers. On the fourth floor landing, a huge archway let Sam into a dimly lit world of books. A reading lamp glowed on each desk and yellow downlights illuminated the walkways between the stacks.
It was quiet. A boy flipped through pages at a desk. Two girls drifted out of the stacks, chatting quietly, seemingly here for the privacy rather than the learning.
Sam perused the stacks, passing geography, history, mythology and art. She stopped in the media section, flicking through fashion design books. Women with painted red lips in black net veils pouted at her from the pages. Dresses adorned in everything from silk to newspaper clippings defined style, trends and beauty for the women in their age. Sam considered mixing up her style with classical elements. Slipping the books back into their place, she continued onto the literature and poetry section.
In the stacks, she stopped. A woman with long, dark hair was turned away from her, facing the books. She was clad in a white cotton dress that hung to her ankles and a brown knitted shawl.
She was standing in the poetry section. At first, Sam ignored, her, perusing the weathered spines to the side of her. Delighting in the willful American style of Longfellow, Sam read about nights devoid of ease and deep, poetic faith, as well as epics depicting moments in history. But the light was low. She planned to take the books with her and leave, but the strangeness of the woman struck her.
The woman hadn't moved. She stood still, arms by her sides, facing away into the stacks.
Brave and cautious, Sam said, "Hello?"
The woman turned. Her eyes gleamed red, the evil red of ghosts. "Are you a witch-child?" The woman asked her, in a low voice and soft accent. "No," she decided, looking Sam up and down, "Just a strangeling." The woman raised her hand and said, "Forget."
