Season 3 oneshot.

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The sounds of late night news filtered from the flickering television set, bathing the man on the couch in a washed out glow. A half-finished cup of chamomile tea sat on the coffee table along with a dozen books and stacks upon stacks of loose papers. Light reflected from his almost shiny bald head and dull, tired eyes. A black tie was tossed haphazardly over a chair and the top buttons of his light blue shirt were undone.

Tired eyes drooped before falling shut. They shot open before drooping again.

"Ahem."

Those bleary eyes looked up toward the sound. The sight jolted him awake and off the couch, landing on the floor in a heap. A ghost, a ghost in his living room! Flaming blue hair, knee high boots, tight black clothing, one long black glove, porcelain white skin, bright green eyes that glowed...

Ember stood in the middle of the living room. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. She didn't have long, not if Phantom was on one of his patrols, the do-gooder scum.

"Um... Oh my."

Ember smirked at the man's inability to find his words. She liked being able to render poets speechless. It made her feel attractive, powerful. "You're a poet, are you not?"

"An English teacher," he corrected. "You're that ghost singer. Ember."

Ember smirked. He knew of her work then. That would make things easier. "I am," she said. "It doesn't matter that you're not paid for your work, you're still a poet. I'm looking for someone like you."

"A poet?"

"A living poet. You see, dead poets are good but all they write about is their deaths or their obsessions. I have that problem, too. I need a songwriter." She pulled out something she knew the man would recognize: one of his own notebooks full of scribbled words, half-formed thoughts, bourbon stains, and tragic epics. "I think you might suit my needs quite nicely."

She watched his expression as it went thought shock, recognition, indignation, betrayal, then suspicion. Yes, this man was a poet. It showed on his face when he realized his words were read without his permission.

"I read some of your work," she said. "I'm a ghost and you still managed to make me cry. The themes of loss are ones I can certainly appreciate. But this mysterious wayward child you write about... It's amazing. You feel so much more for- for strangers than any normal human ever does. It's what makes you a poet, I think."

"You want some of what I've written."

"Of course not, Poet. I don't want what you've written for another, that just wouldn't be right. I want you to write something for me and then I want you to let me turn it into a song. Perhaps, if we like what happens, we might do it again." Ember gave him a winning smile and cocked her hip in an enticing manner. Her hair flamed, displaying her power.

"Call me Lionel. Lionel Lancer."

-00000-

The living and the dead did not work well together. At least not in Amity Park.

"For the last time I have to teach during the day!" Lancer ranted. "Why in the name of Homer can't you come by at night?! I write better at night anyway!"

"Yeah, 'cause you can drink at night," Ember muttered.

Lancer glared at her but had to admit he couldn't really deny it.

"Well I can't be here at night," Ember said, giving a real response to Lancer's rant. "You know as well as I do that I would adore, I would kill to be able to work at night but I can't! Not with Phantom running around all night specifically looking for ghosts like me! I don't even think it matters to him that I'm here on totally legit business! We even have a contract! Ghosts hold contracts sacred and I doubt even that means anything to him!"

"Fine, fine, I get it," Lancer said, cutting off her own rant. "You don't want to get hurt and I understand that. Really, I do. But I can't just not go to work, not without a real reason. And writing for another job is not considered a valid reason, believe me I've tried that one!"

Ember pouted. It was just so unfair! Why is it Phantom and even Plasmius got to run around all day in their human forms...

The pout faded as she looked the poet up and down. He was middle-aged, hairy, and chunky, sure. And bald. But he had an okay voice. And maybe if she could just lurk...

It might work. She gave an evil, plotting grin that creeped Lancer out to no end before jumping at him.

A Wind in the Door! What just happened?! How dare you possess me!

"Oh shut up, Poet," Ember said. But it was Lancer's voice that she used. "I'm not possessing you. I'm overshadowing you. Once we get to your precious day job I'll barely be doing that. You'll be able to put on a video or whatever it is teachers do when hungover and then you and I can work on getting something written and no one will be the wiser!"

This isn't going to work, Ember.

"Of course it will. Now then, you need to get dressed properly. I am not going anywhere dressed like this."

Ember headed back into his bedroom to look through the closet. She smirked as she pulled out a pink sundress.

Don't say a word.

"Wasn't planning on it." She dug through the closet again, pushing aside probably a dozen short sleeved collared shirts, all in various shades of blue. Even his tie rack was boring, mostly dark colors. She threw the doors closed and scowled at the offending closet. "For a poet you have terrible taste. Don't you have anything fun? For, like, when meeting musicians? Don't tell me you show up looking like an English teacher. Or worse, a golfer."

Oh ha ha. Spare bedroom.

They headed into the spare bedroom, more of an office than anything. She pulled open the closet doors. A pleased smile spread across her face.

Now this was more like it.

-00000-

Danny was tired but at least he was in class on time today. His ghost sense had been giving him false alarms all week, always in the middle of the night. It was almost as though someone was hanging around but they were allowed to? He knew it sounded preposterous but that's what it felt like. His friends didn't understand it. His sister didn't have the slightest clue. He couldn't go to his parents. Going to Vlad was a suicidal joke. All he could really do was hope it ended soon so he could get some proper sleep.

Oh hell. And there it was again. His friends saw the blue mist seep from his mouth as easily as he felt it. They looked concerned. They looked even more concerned when he just shook his head and put his head down on his desk.

"You're not going to..." Sam asked, trailing off.

Danny shifted so his chin was resting on the desk. "That's the false alarm I was telling you guys about," he said. "I really want to find out what it is so it'll just stop!"

"So just kick their butts back into the Ghost Zone," Tucker said.

Danny shook his head. "I don't think I'm allowed to. I swear, it's like the weirdest thing."

The room went quiet. "No, I think that's the weirdest thing," Tucker said.

Mr. Lancer stood in the doorway to his classroom but something had to be horribly wrong. Maybe he got ambushed by the Skulk and Lurk or something. The black pants were pretty normal. The black boots with silver buckles were a little weird but not too bad. Nothing like the long-sleeved light blue shirt with lace edging. Or the red satin waistcoat that shined in all sorts of weird ways. Especially not the lacy black thing at Lancer's neck, tied in a manner that reminded Danny of Vlad or maybe of an Addams Family movie.

He looked thinner, probably something underneath his shirt that held his stomach in. Or maybe it was just because these clothes fit him better than normal. He looked significantly paler and he was wearing some sort of eye make-up or something to give them deep black shadows. The white gloves didn't help, nor did the black top hat with red velvet band.

Danny's ghost sense was going crazy.

Lancer looked out over at his classroom with an expression of disdain in his glowing green eyes. Those eyes alighted on Danny and his demeanor was shot as Lancer visibly fought not to laugh. "You have Baby Pop in your class?!" he crowed.

Danny went tense. Only one person ever called him that.

Lancer's demeanor shifted. "Ember, stay out of this," he said with a calm, authoritative voice.

The amusement returned immediately. "You never told me you've got him in here! Oh this is rich!" He pointed and laughed, singling out Danny.

The laughter stopped mid-gasp, an eerie abrupt shift that had the whole class disturbed. "Ember! If you can't stop laughing at my students then this isn't going to work!"

"Um... Mr. Lancer, are you okay?" Sam asked.

Lancer looked at her. First he sneered in recognition then went back to his normal teacher expression. "Oh I'm fine, just a little... possessed at the moment."

Danny's hands balled into fists.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Fenton?" Lancer asked.

"Actually, sir, yes there is," Danny growled.

Lancer lost his normal air of seriousness as he sauntered over to Danny's chair. He gave Danny an easy smile. "Well then you'll just have to live with it," he said. "You can't do anything about it. No one can." He looked Danny right in the eye. "Not even Phantom."

"Don't be so sure about that," Danny growled.

"Oh? I'm sure everyone else in the Ghost Zone would love to hear about it. Phantom deciding to take it upon himself to ignore a contract freely signed? How he ruins a perfectly good business proposition? This is a body freely given. The Poet and I have an agreement. He writes songs for me. It's Phantom's fault for forcing me to have to resort to measures like this. If Phantom didn't lord over Plasmius's territory like an annoying spoiled brat then the Poet and I could get our work done at night like normal musicians and you wouldn't have to deal with this little problem of yours."

Lancer stopped mocking Danny directly. He turned and headed back up to the front of the room. "Okay, kids, today you're going to watch a movie." He leaned on the lectern with an easy sprawl that was more befitting of a teenaged girl.

Danny dropped his head onto the desk. He couldn't believe this was happening. Lancer couldn't honestly have agreed to this, could he? He sat back up and raised his hand.

"Mr. Fenton, if you insist on badgering me about this you'll be in detention for a week."

Danny put his hand down. The tone, the words, the glare, that was all Lancer. There wasn't a hint of Ember in that threat. He sat back in his seat and pouted.

Even if this was willing he didn't have to like it.