A/N - ya know my disclaimer by now :)

sorry for the long update wait - i did say it would be a while :s sorry again. i'm working as fast as i can (when not revising or recovering from my eight hour solid exams. hell. just, hell. dont even go there) OMG it's almost midnight. and i have exams tomorrow!!! you see how kind i am to you for not making you wait another day at my own expense!?!?!?!

;) tee hee

btw i wanna say thanks so much to all my reviewers!!! if i dont reply to your review it doesnt mean i dont care!!! it just means i have no time :(

btw2 ive done a front cover for Phantasy. I dont have a scanner so its a manipulated photo but still alright. if you wanna check it out its here; http:// www . deviantart . com / deviation / 55401131/ - remove the spaces. if that doesnt work (cause they never do for me, but i'm a computer retard, so...) my deviantart account is FunkyFish1991. original, no? lol.

chapter nine!!! plot progression + fluff!! does it get any better:D

Nine

"My, this town hasn't changed much in one hundred years," he mused to himself, walking down the crudely paved street, looking from side to side at the neat, yet rustic buildings and stores flanking him. Wooden signs swung nonchalantly in the light wind. Snow had settled on the outskirts of town, but most of it in the center had been melted, and what was left was a grayish slush on either side of the street where neither the carriages nor the pedestrians ventured.

He looked around him, searching for the almost-forgotten tavern from so long ago. Would it even still be standing? Suddenly he saw it in front of him and to the right.

"How fortunate." He grinned, straightening his jacket. He took off in the direction, walking with his back straight and with an elegant flair that could only be achieved from being of a high rank in life.

He had learned a spell in his travels around the world as he researched the curse that allowed him to mask his true features. His black hair had been converted to a silver grey, gathered at the nape of his neck. His red eyes were covered to some extent, leaving only the irises scarlet and giving him a far more human appearance. His ghostly, almost blue-tinged skin was now a normal, if pale, tone, and he had changed into a jacket, trousers, waistcoat and shirt outfit that he had bought abroad.

If he did say so himself, he looked quite the debonair gentleman.

He entered the tavern and immediately scanned for possible morons to manipulate. He needed a mob, and he knew that humans always mobbed when they were a mixture of afraid and angry. He needed someone who he could dupe into believing that the gormless teenager who had been living up on that mountain for nigh on a century would suddenly attack them.

He needed to find a real idiot.

He looked around him. They all looked like stupid country folk to him, but there was one who stood out above the others. He sat in the corner with a group of friends, though he seemed to dominate them. Good – that probably meant he had a certain amount of leverage over these people. He had blond hair, and everything about him, his posture, his facial expressions, his whole demeanour called out that he was spoiled, conceited and above all – moronic.

Perfect.

He walked nearer to the table of young people suavely, almost unnoticeably. He could now hear their conversation.

"I'm telling you, she's just hiding in that house."

"Why would she, I mean – she has the chance to marry me and she'd rather stay in that rickety old house with her creepy old uncle?"

"Well everyone says she's a total freak."

"Yeah, Dash – why do you want to marry her?"

"Because my father's making me."

"Well, say no!"

"Do you have any idea what people would think of me? No, I will marry Samantha Manson, and then I'll ignore her until the day she dies."

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies," he made himself known. The six sets of eyes around the table snapped accusingly to him

"What do you want?"

Vlad dipped his head to mask the fury that shot through his features at the man's bigoted impudence.

"May I ask, what does this girl, Samantha, look like?"

The blond shrugged annoyingly. "Black hair, weird eyes, wears black most of the time we see her. Why?"

Yes, she sounds like the girl with Phantom, he mused. And she is this buffoon's betrothed? This gets better and better.

"I have news of your betrothed."

The young man leapt from his seat and strode the short distance to the older man. He was on level with him, and glared into his face.

"What?"

"She has been kidnapped."

As he wanted, hushed whispers and shocked gasps swept through the people in the tavern who were listening intently to their town's most eligible bachelor's conversation with the richly dressed man they did not recognize. Curiosity was certain to abound.

The buffoon seemed taken aback. "Sh-she what?"

"She has been kidnapped – by a ghost."

He listened, pleased, to the new round of circulating whispers, louder and more worried this time. Humans were such fretful beings.

"K-kidnapped? By a g-ghost?!"

Vlad resisted the urge to grab this infuriatingly dense young man by the lapels and shake some backbone into him.

"Yes, but we can get her back." He turned to the room, playing to the crowd. "We can save her. The ghost that has taken her lives up on the mountain," he lifted his cane to point out of the window, where far in the distance, hazily outlined against the sky, the castle on Amity Mountain could be seen.

Another round of gasps circulated the tavern.

"All we need to do is storm the castle and retrieve the girl."

"Oh, is that all?" One of the men spat across the room at him. "And what about this ghost, huh? What about him?"

"You may leave the ghost to me," Vlad replied, unaware of neither his head dipping slightly nor his voice lowering menacingly. "We have unfinished business."

"But what if it hurts us?"

Vlad's attention snapped angrily back to the ridiculous excuse for a man that stood before him, his whole posture hunched and nervous. Were all boys nowadays this cowardly?

"He-it, won't be–"

"Yeah!" Another person echoed. "What if you can't kill it and it comes after us?"

"Too risky!" Someone yelled.

Negative words began to shoot through the room now, the humans refusing to do his bidding. His plan had – failed? They weren't going to do what he wished? He felt fury building up inside him.

"Very well, then," he whispered to himself, restraining his anger while still in eyesight of practically the whole male population of the town, striding from the tavern and crossing the street to punch into a wall between two buildings. He uncurled his fist and inspected his unblemished knuckles.

"Very well. I shall have to come up with a new plan."

Back in the tavern, sitting at the bar, silently contemplating the handle of his beer mug, a brutish, brown-eyed man had listened to the whole event with a certain interest.

She rubbed her hand back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a repeated motion that for the moment, was dominating her world. The rag she pressed against the floor was periodically dipped in the water bucket, wrung out, and set back to the gleaming tiling.

She finally sat back on her heels and surveyed the room around her. The ballroom had always been the most beautiful room in the whole castle. Gold sconces alighted every wall, ornately wrought and glowing with five or seven candles each. They were not lit, but when they were, their romantic gold light illuminated the entire vast room – aided of course by the enormous chandelier that hung from the ceiling, practically dripping diamonds and majestically overseeing the revelries that had once gone on below.

The walls were gold leaved, but painted with images of a mythical garden, fruit trees and waterfalls and rolling autumn hills making the room feel warm and safe, while grand at the same time.

The floor was tiled with white marble; gold runners skirting the outlines of the room around the walls. It positively gleamed. In fact, thanks to Jazz and her cleaning team, the whole room did.

She had walked in there haplessly two days before and when she had seen the heinous state of the once-glorious room she had actually shrieked. Dust had covered everything, cobwebs stretching impudently over the whole room. Everything was dull and dark.

And so had begun the cleaning. It had been two almost solid days, and she was pretty sure they were now done. Even the ceiling had been cleaned – though for ghosts who could fly, in comparison to humans, who obviously could not, this was not saying much.

She looked around the spotless room proudly. She stood and dusted off her knees, smoothing her dress. One mission down.

The more dangerous one to go.

She phased quickly through the castle, ending up outside the East Wing bedroom. She sighed and raised her hand to knock on the door. She listened to the faint tapping of her own knuckles against the thick, paneled wood.

No reply.

She sighed once more. Sam had become something of a recluse since the events involving her new wardrobe being ruined – and her incorrigible brother's part in those events – of almost five days ago. She came down to eat, but did not talk unless it was completely necessary. She quite often slink down and out to tend her garden, but since none of them but Danny could go outside she was always alone there.

It wouldn't even take a complete idiot long to figure out something was wrong with her. Only she didn't know what it was. And she intended to find out.

She knocked again. She liked the girl. She had liked her spunk – for want of a better word. Her sarcasm was a little much at times, but upon reflection, Jazz had realized that her weird attitude was still positive, and a positive outlook on anything was something this castle had desperately needed. She was good for everyone. And then of course there was the fact that her brother was incredibly fond of her. He liked her. He liked talking to her. He would never admit it, but she knew it was true. And since that incident with the clothes and Sam had stopped showing her face around, Danny had been acting strangely as well.

Well, not strangely. Just more like the way he acted before the arrival of the girl. Resolved, reclusive and resigned. Just a shadow.

There was still no answer from inside. Her stomach clenched. Had she run away again? Was she half-way home by now? Or was she hurt?

She quickly phased through the door, but halted rapidly with a start of surprise. Sam was sitting in the middle of her bed, curled into a small, protective ball. Her head was bent down over the folded arms resting on her drawn up knees. Jazz thought she was crying.

Her heart swelled and she floated over to the girl with a foreign inflow of affection. It was right then that she realized just how deeply she cared for this girl. How much she needed her.

"Sam?" She asked, brushing some of the black hair from the hidden face in a distinctly motherly gesture.

Her head rose sharply, as if she had not been aware of the other girl's presence in the room. And maybe she hadn't been.

"Jazz?"

She wasn't crying, Jazz realized. She just looked upset. Incredibly upset. The redhead slipped onto the bed before the other girl, her hand comfortingly on her exposed foot.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

"Nothing." She turned away, her voice cracking slightly with her lie. "I, I don't…"

"Relax, Sam." Jazz coaxed her gently.

She took a shuddering breath. Her voice sounded choked. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go. I can't be here anymore. I have to leave."

Jazz was stunned. She had thought that she had been warming up to life here. And now it was completely ruined because her infuriating brother had gone and pulled that ridiculous prank with all her clothes.

No. Wait. Not all of them. Her mind drifted back to the one garment that Star had managed to complete before her idiot brother had interfered.

"Alright."

"Wh-what?" Sam sounded almost as shocked as she looked.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you out of here."

"But, I thought you didn't want me to leave. You get all weird when I go anywhere near a door."

Jazz cringed. "Yes, but I can tell you are suffering here."

Sam started mumbling. Jazz only caught the phrase 'not really suffering', and could pretty much piece together her sentiment from there. It was quite promising.

"But first, you have to attend the ball tomorrow night."

"Ball? What ball?"

"You know? The ball tomorrow night. That we've been planning for ages. For everyone in the castle. We've been planning it for ages. You've been locked in your room for so long. I guess you didn't hear about it."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Um, alright. I guess I can go." She looked away. "Will, will Phantom be there?"

Jazz couldn't figure out from her tone which answer she would prefer to hear. So she decided to just tell the truth. "Yes."

She could have sworn a smile flickered across the girl's face when she heard her reply, but it was gone, and she may have imagined it.

"Alright. But, I don't have anything to wear." She gestured to her black shirt and breeches which looked oddly familiar to Jazz.

She smiled and patted Sam's arm. "Don't worry, I've taken care of that!"

Sam nodded, then returned to her previous position, the hunched ball that she had been in when Jazz had entered. It was an obvious signal that their discussion was over.

Jazz rose and phased out of the door. Downstairs she went – to tell the rest of the inhabitants of the castle about the ball they were going to plan and attend tomorrow night.

The first Danny heard of this ball was when Tucker burst into the West Wing drawing room and announced himself with the news.

"What!?" Danny asked, shocked and angry. What was his ridiculous sister doing now? Couldn't she tell that he was not in the mood for a ball? He wasn't even in the mood to leave his wing.

"Yeah, and Jazz says everyone has to go. Even you." Especially you, he added silently to himself, recalling Jazz's retelling of her plan to him. "And, Jazz wants to talk to you about something."

"No." Danny crossed his arms and scowled. "I refuse to go."

All of the sconces had been lit. Each of the hundreds of candles in the chandelier were glowing, the light shimmering through the diamond chains and sending rainbow light scattering across the enormous room.

It was dark outside – the only light coming from the glowing moon which was at that moment obscured by silver clouds. The visible sky was a silky dark navy, a few stars sparkling through to watch the proceedings below.

All the double glass doors around the sides of the circular room were wide open, letting the unseasonably warm breeze flit in and neutralize the heat of the candles. Spring was just beginning.

The room was already quite crowded. All the inhabitants of the castle had paired up to go to the ball, and all their best clothing had been produced. The poorer servants with no dresses were wearing some of Jazz's old ones from before. The men were all in dress clothes also, and they all cut strange figures – all these ghosts wearing one hundred year-outdated occasion wear and dancing to a band consisting of the old quartet. And though they had not performed in so many years, the musicians had regained their skills quickly and were playing beautiful dances for the reveling ghosts to twirl to.

In the hallway outside, Jazz, Tucker and Valerie awaited the arrival of the unofficial guests of honor. Jazz wore an elegant gown with a sky blue bodice and a deep blue skirt. White lace spread across her shoulders and chest, becoming loose sleeves over her arms, and a delicate detail on the bodice of the gown. Two long earrings framed her face, the blue gems peeking out from under her piled hair, tendrils bobbing around her face gently.

Valerie's gown was obviously of less quality, a deep crimson with red detailing. It was modest and lovely, her cream elbow gloves complimenting it perfectly. Jazz had insisted that she borrow her pearl earrings. Her hair was mostly down, with one long tendril from the front curled up and pinned back with Jazz's pearl slide.

Tucker was wearing brown, though it was a dark, rich color, and his shirt was a bright white. He had forgone his flat red cap, allowing the others a view of his tightly curled, dark brown hair.

Jazz was worried Sam would not appear, while Valerie was more concerned about Danny remaining in his room. Tucker just did not want to enter by himself. It was an unwritten rule that none may enter the ballroom alone.

Suddenly there was a tap on the stairs. All three heads snapped towards the sound, Jazz's a little more slowly; conscious of her hair. It was Danny. Though he was still wearing all black, he had forgone the cape. He wore black coattails with a black shirt and thick necktie, black trousers and boots to finish off the outfit.

"Danny," Valerie smiled. "You look very handsome."

"You think so?" he asked nervously.

Jazz grinned and floated over to kiss his cheek. "You do."

Then there was a silence. They could hear the noise coming from the ballroom – the laughing and the music and the chatter.

Danny presently coughed. "Why are we standing out here?"

"You can't go in alone." Jazz said, rolling her eyes.

He looked at them. "I see two guys and two girls. How does this not work out?"

"You have to go in with your love!"

Danny gave Tucker a strange look. "My wh–"

And it was right then that they all heard a second tapping coming from the staircase, and all eyes turned to it once more.

Sam walked gracefully down the steps, holding her dress up and her back proudly. Her hair was partially gathered at the back of her head, purple slides holding it in place elegantly. Her dress cut squarely across her chest, exposing her shoulders and throat. A small silver pendant hung around her neck.

Her dress was floor length, black, but with purple stitching and detail. A purple silk belt was wrapped around her waist, two long strips of extra fabric falling down the front of her dress. The sleeves were tight from her upper arms to half way down her forearms, where the fabric split and fell far past her hands, almost to her knees.

She wore some sort of darkener around her eyes and a dark red rouge on her lips. It contrasted with the pale hue of her skin, and made her glow almost as truly as all the others in the castle did.

Tucker whistled appreciatively, Jazz clapped her hands together, and Valerie nodded approvingly. Though Danny's face revealed nothing, his gazing, adoring eyes spoke worlds.

She reached the bottom of the steps and walked over. It was then that their carefully timed, yet wonderfully simple plan swept into action. Tucker stuck out both arms, the two original ladies taking them, and the trio marched into the ballroom before Danny and Sam even realized they were moving – and the smile on Tucker's face as he entered the ball with one beautiful lady on each arm was priceless.

When Sam moved over there and realized that the other three had mysteriously disappeared, she was incredibly close to turning on her heel and stalking right back up to her bedroom.

Until she saw Phantom. Without the cloak he looked less frightening, less domineering. His impromptu haircut strangely suited him well, though it looked as though he had not bothered to brush it for the occasion. He still looked pale, but she noticed that much of the gauntness that he been in his face when she had arrived had gone, though she knew he hadn't eaten anything.

Strange.

She stopped right before him. Neither said anything, but Phantom almost immediately bowed low before her and held out his arm. She held her dress with one hand and hovered the other gently over his, as close as she could get without her hand passing through him and freaking her out again. They entered the ballroom, and silence settled over all the people in the room. Everyone stared.

And then the string quartet on the slightly raised stage began playing a slow melody, and everyone seemed to move away from the center of the room. Phantom led her over, and then they stood in the starting position – her hand hovering just over his shoulder, his left taking her other, and his free hand coming around her waist.

And then they started moving. He led her skillfully, and even though it was a very old dance she did not know, she moved as fluidly as he. He pushed her away from him and she swirled out gracefully, her newly freed arm flying elegantly out to the side, her skirts echoing the motion. Then he pulled her back in to his chest and they began moving together again. He turned her before him, her dress swirling majestically around her legs as a small smile passed across her lips.

Far too soon, the music stopped. They came to a standstill. She was slightly out of breath, but he just gazed down at her.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered. She nodded. He slipped his hand into hers, turning and leading her out of one of the double doors and onto the stone balcony outside. The couple was unaware of everyone else in the room not dancing – eagerly watching them depart together.

He led her to the edge of the balcony; where towering stone holders let multicolored, timidly blooming flowers drape down before them. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, his left hand coming across her stomach to clasp her opposite hand. He lifted them both, and they soared over the edge of the balcony towards her gardens.

He flew them over the maze, and they landed gently in the center, where a white stone fountain trickling with crystal water rested, surrounded on three sides by white stone benches. Tall hedges encircled them, and the castle could not be seen over them.

They were alone with the stars.

Phantom took her over to the bench, and they both sat. She shivered slightly when the cool of the stone seeped through the material of her dress, but Phantom didn't even notice it.

"You aren't happy here?"

He sounded so vulnerable. And in that split second, with that simple question, Sam had to analyze herself further than she had ever had to before. And what she found surprised her mind – but not her heart.

"I am. I am happy. I just…I miss seeing you. You're always in your room now, and I'm, I guess I'm bored without you."

That was not the answer he had been expecting.

"But, I-I thought you hated me."

"Why?"

"Because you act like I repulse you every time I touch you. Like you hate being around me, touching me."

"I don't hate touching you, Phantom. I can't. And it frustrates me. At first…whenever our skin made any kind of contact you, you hurt me. And I don't understand how. It was like all your hate, and anger turned into energy and shot into me. When you caught me in your room that first time – i-it felt like I was going to die."

He hadn't expected that either.

"I…I'm sorry."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It isn't your fault. It's the curse's."

"What curse?"

"Oh, not you too. I'm not stupid, Phantom."

"Danny."

She fell silent.

"What?"

He looked into her amethyst eyes heatedly. "My name is Danny."

She sounded strangely strangled.

"Oh."

He had a name. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Suddenly it made him seem more human to her. Everyone knows that as soon as you name something you become attached. And she was already attached. She didn't want to think about how she felt about the ghost now.

He's a ghost. He's a ghost! You shouldn't feel like this for a dead guy – it's just weird! It's creepy! But… he's just so unlike any living man I've ever met. He actually listens to me, and he treats me like a person instead of like a 'woman', and he doesn't mind that I prefer to wear men's clothes, and he knows how it feels to have people see you as a freak and…

He's so handsome. Oh I know I shouldn't be thinking it! It's so wrong…but…. Her eyes were fixed on his face, tracing every curve, every line; every inch that she was so familiar with. It may have been unnerving – had he not been doing the same thing.

And suddenly he leaned down. She closed her eyes, and the sensation tingled through every fiber of her body as his lips touched hers. She could distantly feel his emotions; his nervousness; his longing; his affection. But was affection really the right word for the burning feeling he was sending into her?

His lips brushed tenderly across hers, and she found herself leaning up against him. And her hands came up. She had forgotten that she couldn't touch him. Incapable of thought, she lifted them up before her unconsciously. And pressed them against his chest. And caught in the moment, she didn't register that she was actually feeling his cool body underneath her trembling fingers. It felt too right for her to think it was strange.

His hand came behind her hair and curved around the slope of her neck, his thumb tracing across her throat. Her own hand slid up so her arms could wrap themselves around his neck.

Eventually he pulled back, staring down at her, his heart beating for the first time in almost one hundred years. His eyes suddenly caught on the necklace hanging across her chest. His hand came up to touch it, and he lifted the silver weight so that it rested on the tips of his forefingers.

"Wh-where did you get this?" He asked her.

She let her hands trail down his upper arms to hold his forearms. "It was found among my mother's possessions. Why?"

"My mother had a necklace just like this." His voice was almost a whisper. He moved his fingers so that he could pry it open. But it was stuck.

"We couldn't get it open," she informed him quietly, watching his face.

"No. It never did."

He let the necklace fall back down onto her skin, and traced his finger up the chain to the side of her neck. "I'm glad you're happy here, Sam."

"I am." Her heart caught as she lied to him. "Only…"

"Only, what?"

"My father. I didn't get to say goodbye – and I miss him. I want to see him, even if it is just one more time."

He looked at her, though her gaze was on the flowerbed behind the bench. "I can show him to you."

Her eyes met his once more. "You can?"

He nodded. He lifted his hands in front of him. They began to glow a very pale green, almost white, and the glow finally detached itself from them. It swirled into the air in front of him, moving and twisting and becoming more substantial. The gentle mist finally cleared and a small, glimmering crystal floated in the space between his fingers.

He grabbed it in his right hand and let it rest on his palm. Her eyes were fixed, wide, on the crystal he held. He offered it to her, and her hand tentatively came out to touch it. He rolled it onto her palm.

"It will show you anything – anything you want to see."

She cleared her throat, feeling a little stupid to be talking to an inanimate object. "Please, show me my father?"

A glow appeared in the center of the crystal, and a beam of light shot out of the top a few inches into the air. It fanned out and became an image.

And Sam's heart stopped.

Her father was lying in the basement – the basement she knew so well. His hands and feet were tied, and he was blindfolded. His cheeks were hollow, and he was filthy in the dark pit. He suddenly started hacking agonizingly. Each rasp of his throat cut into her stomach like a blade.

"Father!" She gasped. "My uncle – he's put him in there! He could have been there for days! I have to help him!"

Danny turned away from her broken face, his chest wrenching. He couldn't let her go. He needed her. How could he watch her leave after realizing that she was the reason he needed to carry on? That she was the one who would save everyone he cared about from the curse's ultimatum? That she had given him back what he was before, and so much more than that?

That he loved her.

"You must go to him."

She looked up from the crystal, her beautiful eyes wide. "Wh-what?"

"Help him – he needs you."

Her teeth moved over her bottom lip. "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you so much!"

She rose, him following, and enveloped him in a feverish embrace. He leaned into her, his arms wrapping as far around her tiny frame as they could go. His face was buried into her hair, somehow knowing that this was the last time he would ever see her.

When she pulled away he felt colder even than he had been for the past ninety-nine years and ten months. It seemed like such a short time – and the few weeks that Sam had been there felt shorter still. They were over.

He watched her running through the maze, unable to follow her.

She was leaving him.

He couldn't hear her footsteps anymore.

She was going back.

He couldn't watch her go. But if he didn't – how could he believe it was true? He suddenly rocketed up into the air, soaring up and through the walls of his cursed castle, landing on the balcony of the tall tower that was his room. Her horse, with her astride it, was thundering down the mountainside, the gate shut behind them.

She was gone.

An unearthly howl pierced the night, echoing down the mountains, ricocheting through the valleys, slicing through the trees. Everyone down in the ballroom froze. Far down the mountain, the sound cut through the chest of a black-clothed girl on a galloping horse, but she did not turn towards the castle she left.

If she did, how could she ever turn back?

And past her, down in the village, two lone men in opposite ends of the town looked up – their cruel brown and red eyes glittering with interest at the pain the wail carried.

aw. poor danneh. please review!!!!!!! i need happiness after a full day of solid exams :'(

(lol notice the incredibly subtle sympathy ploy?)

FunkyFish1991 xXx