"What?" Danny cried.

"I said, 'No.'" She was smiling now.

"Wha-?" Danny was stunned. "What are you talking about? That's what you do! That's what you've always done?!" Frustration was rising in his voice.

"Not anymore," Desiree replied, crossing her arms.

"Wha?" Danny was stunned. He'd pictured this going so easily. "Since when?!"

The genie chuckled, "Well, actually, it was right after you captured me at Paulina Sanchez's party. You remember, with the meteor shower? Oh, wait, you probably wouldn't."

She laughed. Danny was unchanged.

"Here, maybe this will help." Desiree twirled her hand and a swirl of green magic formed into a portal. Inside it, a playback of past events began.

Danny is shown sucking Desiree into the Thermos. Right before he closes it, Desiree is heard saying, "I have got to stop granting every wish I hear."

Present Desiree nodded to the past statement. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right, I was a compulsive wish granter and it was always biting me in the butt." She sighed. "So, I did what anyone with problems would do: I went to therapy."

Danny quirked an eyebrow. "With who?"

"Penelope Spectra," the genie answered, Spectra's reflection shimmering in the portal's swirling green depths. "Ghost or not, she has a degree."

Suddenly the images coalesced into the scenery of a tidy upscale office, Penelope Spectra seated behind a desk with an outdated computer and a placard flaunting her name. Desiree, meanwhile, took up the chaise lounge, prattling on as Spectra took diligent notes.

She explained, "It took a while, but through practice and persistence, she managed to help me overcome my habit."

"Okay Desiree," Spectra said in the vision. "We've made great progress. Now, it's time for one more test."

Desiree shut her eyes, tension leaving her body along with a prolonged exhale. "Okay, I'm ready."

Spectra cleared her throat. "I wish…my hair was green."

Desiree's body shuddered and wound tight, straining evident on her features. Inhaling deeply, she turned away from Spectra, extending her hand in a stop motion.

"No!" she cried sternly. "I refuse your wish!"

Her eyes shot open, beaming with relief.

"Well done, Desiree." Spectra said, clapping.

"She also helped me with some anger issues."

The two ghost ladies are shown sitting across from each other.

"Breathe in," Spectra instructed, her client doing so. "Breathe out."

Present Desiree swatted at the portal, dissolving it like vapor.

"That woman really is a genius. Thanks to her, I no longer have to grant every single wish I hear." Her smile turned wicked. "And what perfect timing."

Desiree zeroed in on the ghost boy, claret eyes boring into ecto-green.

"I can't think of a more fitting revenge for the two people who always foiled my plans. The little gothic brat who never appreciated her wealthy status–" She grimaced, as if resenting this especially. "–shall forever be a living symbol of it. Meanwhile, the halfa ghost who adored her will now spend the rest of his life pining for her, but never able to acquire her."

She chuckled. "As someone who also lost their heart's desire, I'd say you have my sympathies…but I really don't like you."

Danny was stunned and sobered by this.

All day, his biggest ray of hope for saving Sam had been finding Desiree and using her most obvious weakness against her. A rather easy solution to what had rapidly become an extremely dicey situation.

But here he was learning that said solution was no longer possible.

While he floated in silence, the genie motioned towards the door.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my workout. So please get out."

Danny snapped back to attention. His brow furrowed, his fists blazing green. Reaching forward, he grabbed Desiree by her tail.

"YOU CHANGE HER BACK!" he demanded.

"I said this once," Desiree said, rising several octaves, "and I will say it again: No man may LAY A HAND ON ME UNLESS I WISH IT!"

"And once again, I say—" Danny's fingers curled inwards, nails biting his palms. "HOW ABOUT A FIST?!"

WIth that, he punched Desiree, catapulting her into the wall once again.

Growling like a dragon, she rocketed towards Danny, her whole body blazing with pink energy. Danny responded by charging her, glowing green to match.

And thus the two furious spectors collided.

"Thanks for dinner, Sam!" Paulina said, she and Star hugging their friend at the door. "That was one of the best meals I've ever had."

"And your house is so cool!" Star gushed, "I can't wait for our first sleepover here."

"Aw guys, it's nothing," Sam said, a bit bashful as they parted. "See you tomorrow."

"See you, Sam!" Kwan waved.

"Later!" Dash bid her.

"Hey, I'll talk to Ms. Tetslaff about letting you try out for cheerleading tomorrow," Paulina remarked as they walked off. "She won't say no to me."

"Okay, bye!" Sam waved them off before closing the door.

"Honey, your new friends are amazing," Pam gushed to her daughter. "I've been saying it for years, haven't I, Jeremy? These are the people she should be associating with. Not that silly riff-raff or those hooligan goths."

"Yep," he replied.

Sam skipped over to her parents.

"I'm glad you like them," Sam said, hugging them. "And I love my new room SO much!"

"Oh honey, it's the least we can do," Jeremy said.

"You've earned it, really," Pam added. "For turning over this new leaf and making something of your life." The two parents exchanged glances. "We couldn't be prouder."

Jeremy nodded in affirmation. "We knew you could do it."

"I'm sorry it took so long." Genuine guilt tinged her tone; Ida would have sputtered hearing it. Sam, contrite for expressing her true nature? "I promise to be the best Manson possible."

"Oh honey." Pam's eyes twinkled as she tilted her head at her brainwashed daughter. "You already are."

Giggling, Sam kissed her parents on the cheeks. "I love you, Mommy. You too, Daddy. Good night."

She skipped off to the stairs.

"Good night, Grandma!" She called down to the living room, where her grandmother currently sat.

The old lady was lost in pensive silence, trying to decipher everything that had happened over the course of this day.

First, her granddaughter had woken up with a complete 180 in personality, even going as far as to readily consume meat. Then, she'd allowed her folks to dress and doll her up like a little Pam (not to mention, casually discard her whole collection of gothic merchandise). Then she'd come home with a gaggle of popular kids for friends and sang a merry song over dinner about how happy she was with her miraculous transformation?!

And not only that, but her new company of friends were bizarre as well. While Ida tried not to judge, these kids had proven over the last two hours to be just as incredibly boastful and arrogant as one would expect from the "popular" privileged crowd: obsessed with their own looks and achievements, boastful of their talents, and (as the song had pointed out), disdainful towards those of lower status. Heck, the boys had outright admitted to being bullies!

The Sam Ida knew would never have touched meat, nor tolerated or even enthusiastically accepted being a dress-up doll, nor associate with (much less, endorse) the preppy, popular crowd that had shared a meal with them that night. Not the Sam that Ida had comforted after the girl had vented her frustration over her parents' pressure on her to conform. Not the Sam whose face she'd wiped tears off of and assured that she was loved as the person she was.

What had happened to that girl? Why the sudden change? What could have possibly transpired in those precious hours between their talk and breakfast?

She heard Pam and Jeremy head upstairs, both chatting happily about their new daughter. Her hand tightened into a wrinkly fist.

She had a growing suspicion that they were somehow behind this. Both had immediately accepted their daughter's new personality without showing any signs of concern or confusion as she had (and would have been expected of parents). Immediately after dropping Sam off at school, they proceeded to strip her room of everything gothic and dark, tossing it all into the garbage (not even donating it to Goodwill like Sam would've pressed for!) Granted, Ida knew they'd always been planning on reinventing Sam once she'd finally submitted to their rule, but to accept this complete 180 turn with any hiccup? It was awfully suspicious, like they'd known it was going to happen. As if they'd been insider trading, so to speak.

Of course, Ida didn't have any proof. Nor did she have the faintest idea as to how her son and daughter-in-law could have even pulled something like that off.

But she wasn't about to let it go or chalk it all up to paranoia.

Sam was far too worth it.

"Sammy?"

Once again, Ida knocked on her granddaughter's door. It opened, revealing Sam, who had donned a pair of pink, flower-printed, pajamas.

"Oh, hi Granny," she cheerfully greeted her. "What brings you here?"

Ida paused a moment to take in the sight of the girl in front of her, struggling to process that this could somehow be her granddaughter.

"Can I come in?"

Sam issued a happy squeal, almost piercing in its volume. "Sure."

Ida rolled into Sam's room. Like its owner, the room had become unrecognizable. Instead of black walls adorned with posters of rock bands and gothic art, there were now bright pastel walls covered with pictures of ponies. Candles and earthy incense had been overtaken by fancy perfume. Her closet was overfilled with frilly, lacy, vividly bright dresses, flouncy skirts, and high heels instead of black tops, plaid skirts, and boots. Where her desk and record player had been sat an elaborate makeup table flanked by mirrors. Plushies littered the floor around the cushy, pink-trimmed bed with lace-edged sheets and a heart-shaped frame.

Ida grimaced, knowing her granddaughter's former feelings towards stuff like this. Wheeling her scooter around (and over) plushies, she followed Sam to her bed. The girl sat down, picking back up a file to resume buffing her nails.

"Why the long face, Granny?"

Ida looked into the face of the girl in front of her, still a stranger in her eyes.

"Sam," she said, "I need to ask you something and I want you to be 100% serious with me, please."

"Of course."

Ida leaned in close, asking her conspiratorially, "Are they making you do this?"

Sam responded with an obnoxious chuckle. "Is who making me do what, Granny?"

Ida was thrown a little. Sam was never one to act obtuse; she made a point of speaking objective truths.

Fueled by a spark of frustration, Ida continued prying: "Are your parents making you put on this preppy, privileged socialite act? Did they force you to make those new friends? Just tell me and I'll put a stop to them."

Sam let out a long, loud, shrill laugh. "Oh, Granny, you are hilarious! Nobody is making me do this. Nobody but me, of course."

"But why?"

"Well," Sam replied innocently, "because I want to represent and uphold our family name and status."

Ida almost lost her false teeth as her jaw dropped to the ground.

"Sammy, I've watched you grow up," she said once her jaw had realigned. "Trust me when I say, you have never shown even the slightest bit of interest in your parent's high-class lifestyle. Now, all of a sudden, you're wearing it as a badge of honor?! I…" She paused, trying to find her words, "I don't even know why I'm reminding you of all this. We were talking about it JUST last night, remember?"

"Yes, Granny," Sam replied, "but that was before I realized what I was missing. What I was holding myself back from." She started counting off her fingers. "Popularity, privilege, prestige-"

"You never valued any of that," the old woman argued.

"And I was the lesser for it," Sam argued, though unflappable in her jubilance. "Like I said in my song, I was in a gothic haze; I was confused, lost, convinced of all those ridiculous notions about death and darkness and alternative lifestyles." She mirrored her mom's jazz hands with those last two words. "I was on the road to becoming a hooligan, a delinquent, a loser—" She threw her head back. "—until I finally wised up and realized that this is where I needed to be. In a proper environment, with proper people."

"You mean, rich and entitled snobs?" Her granny said accusingly.

"Granny!" Sam looked offended and hurt, "How dare you! Mom and Dad are-"

"Cardboard characters starring in a 1950's sitcom?" Ida parroted her words from the night before, "Phonies? Know-It-Alls? You said-"

"WELL, I WAS WRONG!" Sam practically shouted, her chipper demeanor dissolving in the wake of her frustration. "Why can't you see that?!"

Ida was silent. Never, in her whole life, had her granddaughter ever raised her voice at her, at least not directly. Shock drained whatever energy the old lady still retained in her aching bones.

"Because I know you," she pressed on, her voice frail and dripping with hurt. "And all of this—" she gestured to the room around her. "—isn't you. This isn't anything like you."

"Well, it is now." Sam folded her arms. "And I like it. If you can't accept that, then that's your fault." She turned her head away in a pout, looking precisely identical to her mother when she didn't get her way.

Silence fell as the old lady stared in horror up at the girl giving her the silent treatment. She waited for a break, a crack, a sign of regret to appear on her face, but there was nothing but stoic, petty stubbornness.

With a weak and tremulous grip, Ida backed her scooter away from the bed, crushing the plushies flat, and turned to face the door. Opening it, she took one more hopeful glance at her granddaughter, but she'd already gone back to filing her nails.

Wrinkled cheeks holding back tears, Ida drove out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Alone in the hall, she dabbed her eyes on the collar of her night shirt.

"That is not my bubbala."

"She's beauty, she's grace," Pam quietly sang as she flipped through her book, "wrapped up in expensive lace."

"Head to toe prim and proper," Jeremy chimed in, off-beat but making a valiant attempt, "as far as the eye can see."

The two chuckled.

Knock. Knock.

"Pam, Jeremy?"

The two looked up from their books to see Ida open the door and roll into their room.

"Evening, Mom," Jeremy greeted her, his smile dropping at the contempt etched in her features.

"Is something wrong?" Pam asked, innocuous as ever. Or so it appeared.

Their elder starred the two down intensely before speaking.

"What did you do to Sam?" she asked, or more like demanded.

Pam chuckled. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

Ida pointed out the door. "That girl down the hall was not the girl I spoke to last night. People don't just change everything on a dime. What did you do to her?"

The two exchanged glances, furthering her suspicions.

"Mom, we didn't do anything," Pam said. "We were just as stunned by her new leaf as y-"

"Uh-huh," Ida interrupted, "so stunned that you had her room stripped to the bone in less than an hour?"

"On, come on, Mom," Pam shot back, "You know we've been dreaming of this for years."

"Just because we were prepared for it doesn't mean we knew it was going to happen," Jeremy added, though his gaze shifted uncomfortably like he'd been lying; an obvious tell that Pam would've never shown.

Ida rolled her eyes, realizing this may be a fruitless endeavor.

"Regardless," she said, "I've been around long enough to know that people generally don't make such dramatic life changes on a dime, not unless they're characters in a movie. Sam has always been set in her ways, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I've always admired her for that." Ignoring the look of disapproval from Pam, she went on, "So, forgive me for questioning why my granddaughter, all of a sudden, and with seemingly no motivation, has suddenly thrown away her entire personality for conveniently the one you two have been trying to force onto her for years."

The two Mansons were silent, exchanging subtle looks that only stoked her suspicions.

At last, Pam broke the silence.

"Okay, so maybe it is a bit of an odd coincidence," she said, "but how on Earth could we have possibly had anything to do with it?" She added as an afterthought, "Unless you're suggesting we, oh, I don't know, waved a magic wand and zapped her into this new mindset." The couple chucked in unison, tinged with their signature snootiness.

"She's right, Mom," Jeremy said. "Besides, look at the good that can come from this. Now, Sam will be a perfect heir to our company."

Ida leveled him with a critical glare.

"Dad's."

"Pardon?" Pam asked, a bit disturbed.

"Dad's company," Ida stated.

"Mom, Grandpa's been dead for-"

"Doesn't change the fact," the old woman interrupted, "that Manson Incorporated was his invention. You only received it through inheritance."

"Well-," Jeremy started.

"And as his daughter," Ida's glare went sharper, "I have the authority to decide who gets to inherit his fortune."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Pam said, now a little irritated, "Mom, are you seriously going to cut us off all because of a hunch that you think we had something to do with Sam's change?" She folded her arms.

Silence lapsed. Her old eyes turned from either Manson in front of her.

"No," she finally replied. "But I'm not going to just sit around and watch my granddaughter be paraded around like some perky, preppy puppet." With that, she reversed her scooter out of their room, her eyes glaring at them both as she did so, before shutting the door and steering herself to her own room.

She'd find out the truth. Ida didn't know how, but one way or another, she was going to help her bubbala.

After the sound of her scooter vanished from their ears, the two elder Mansons looked to each other.

"Pam?"

"Oh, relax, Jeremy," his wife said, trying to maintain calming reassurance. Despite her tone, Jeremy could see sparks of doubt in her eyes. A few seconds later, her smile faded.

Scooping up her phone, she rapidly punched in a certain number.

"Please don't go to message, please don't go to message," she begged, listening to the ring on the other side.

Rinnnnnnng!

"Hello, Vlad Masters speaking."

"Vlad, It's Pam."

The mayor smiled, his tone projecting it through the speaker. "Oh, hello. So, how did it go? Did you find Desiree?"

"Oh, we found her and it worked like a charm," Pam replied on the other end. "Pardon the pun. However, we may have a bit of a problem."

Vlad's smirk wobbled a little. "A problem?"

"I think our mother might be onto us," Pam explained, sounding a touch embarrassed.

"Ah yes, Ida," Vlad said, thinking back to their first meeting. While the younger Mansons had been honored to not be visited by their mayor, much less be offered an opportunity to work with him, the elder had been somewhat less than thrilled. In fact, even when shaking hands with her for the first time, Vlad could sense a feeling of distrust in the old lady's eyes, as if she were somehow aware of his true, secretive nature. Up until now, despite this alleged mistrust, she'd done nothing to interfere with his plans to infiltrate and take control of the family. Nor had the Mansons regarded her as an obstacle. "Hmm, what does she know?"

"Well, nothing, really," Pam explained, "but she doesn't buy Sam's transformation and she's convinced that we had something to do with it."

Vlad rolled his eyes, recalling their lunch meeting the other day, where the couple revealed that Ida was on Sam's side and had prevented them from disowning her. He probably should have seen this coming. "Does she know about the merge?"

"No," Pam answered.

"Well, that's good," Vlad looked into the bathroom mirror ahead of him, his burly, brunet, mustached face staring back at him.

Or rather, that of the shareholder whose body he was currently overshadowing.

"See if you can keep her at bay until the end of the week. I should have all our shareholders back on our side by then."

"Really?" Pam chirped in surprise. "That soon?"

"Like I said, I have a gift with people," Vlad said, smirking. "Once I'm back in town, I'll help you sort out this little issue."

"Okay, thank you," Pam replied, relief coloring her tone.

"Oh, by the way, I already have some ideas for the big merge celebration. I'll send you the details and we can discuss them later."

"Sounds great," a significantly more relaxed Pam responded. "And Vlad, thank you again, for everything. It's only been a single day and, already, our family feels so much more whole and complete now."

"Well, it was my honor," the millionaire mayor smirked through the line. "Good night."

He hung up, studying his possessed body in the mirror with a wicked grin.

"Ahhhhhh!"

Danny screamed as he was slammed through the wall…again. Pulling himself free, he floated up to face Desiree. A weary breath escaped, sweat dripping down his face.

The battle had gone on for several minutes, nearly resulting in the total destruction of the genie's bedroom. Smashed furniture littered the floor, a debris of varnished wood and crumbled knick-knacks scattered throughout. Holes peppered the walls and ceiling where ecto-rays had singed. Desiree and Danny both bore cuts, bruises, and other marks from receiving numerous blows. For Danny, still seething over her refusal to change Sam back, this was quickly becoming one of his longest and most grueling fights, at least concerning his typical rogue gallery members.

His theory had been on the mark: Desiree had gotten stronger. Either that or he'd simply never got to witness the full extent of her powers in their previous, comparatively petty squabbles. After all, both had been rather short. During their first fight, Danny had been but a fledgling, and in the second, he'd only recently acquired his powers after losing them and his memory due to Sam. On both occasions, Desiree gained the upper hand and a wish had been required to defeat her; the first to force her inside the thermos and the second to return Danny's memories.

With this trick rendered null and void, however, it seemed as though Danny was finally experiencing her true potential.

And he had to admit, it was impressive. Every blast he'd landed, she'd bounce back with her own. Whenever he managed to freeze her, she'd melted herself free with an ecto-charged inferno. Every punch he'd nailed, she returned tenfold with one of her enlarged fists.

Stil, though, he wouldn't give up. As beads of sweat rained down his face, he straightened up (despite the ache in his chest from taking a number of hits) and raised his fists, glowing them for another attack.

"My, my, you're tenacious," Desiree smirked, sweat dripping off her as well. "You really do miss your Gothy Longstocking."

He snorted. "Cute." Danny fired another ghost ray, but she dodged it, the beam striking one of the few wall decorations that had survived up until now.

"Change…her…back!" Danny fired a continuous green ray, Desiree countering with a pink one of her own. They clashed, each blast fighting for dominance. "Do it, you—" His overtired mind scrambled for insults. "—floozy!"

At that word, Desiree's grin collapsed into shock.

"What," she cried, volume rising in her rage, "did you CALL ME?!" Her eyes blazed red and Danny's look of fury turned to shock.

She had only been called that once–by the sultan's wife who had thrown her out. When she thought her claws were sunk in, only for the dowdy wife to take over at the last minute.

With a snarl, she overtook his blast, launching him back into the wall. Danny peeked out from his hole, craning his neck back as she grew into a massive, fiery form.

"Oh boy," he groaned.

Giving a roar, the giant genie grabbed him with a third hand formed from her tail, squeezing him in a crushing grip as she held him up to face her.

"DON'T," she spat, "CALL! ME! A! FLOOZY!"

With every word, she thrashed Danny around the room, smashing him into the wall, floor, and any solid surface. Over and over, until the ghost boy was barely conscious.

"Now…" Desiree recoiled her form. "Get…OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!"

She swung him like a baseball. He went flying through the bedroom doors, followed by the atrium doors. Finally he collided with the grand hall doors, before clearing the palace grounds in a matter of seconds. He flew further and further back until he finally came to a rest, marking a Danny-shaped hole into a massive, floating rock formation.

In the remains of her room, Desiree shrank back down to her original form, breathing heavily.

"Stupid boy," she muttered, her mind still fuming at that insult. She'd been labeled so many epithets by peasants and royals during her time as an entertainer, but nothing truly had hurt as much as "floozy." The word that had cursed her ears as she'd run sobbing from the palace, delivered in a shrill shriek by the sultan's dung beetle of a wife. Oh yes, that was her boiling point.

Releasing another breath, she quelled her temper. "Relax. Desiree; he's gone, you won." Perking up with a smirk, she placed her hands on her hips. "And he's never going to see his gothic sweetheart ever again." She laughed, only to be interrupted by the sound of creaking above her. She looked up, just in time to see the roof collapse onto her.

Groaning in pain, Danny heaved himself up onto the top of the rock platform, before falling back onto his stomach.

He realized he had egregiously underestimated her. Without her automatic wish-granting, Desiree was too formidable of an opponent. Despite how his heart and mind urged him to bounce back and continue demanding once again for the wish to be reverted, his body protested otherwise.

'Spend the rest of his life pining for her, but never able to acquire her.' He took this to mean that Desiree prevented Sam from ratting him out to her new clique. Apparently to Desiree, a peaceful life of lost love was worse than a chaotic life with it.

What did that mean? That she wouldn't spill his secret? She simply preferred to torture him by widening the gap, sharing a secret with her but never to be friends again? …Or more? According to Desiree, was a peaceful life of lost love–similar to her heartbreak when the sultan's wife exiled her, perhaps?–more hurtful than a chaotic life without it?
He mustered the energy to kneel, bruised fingers scraping the soil and tracing grooves. What would he do without Sam? Desiree had altered his life once, undoing their first meeting and preventing his ghost powers from ever occurring. While it had been a hefty responsibility, along with a massive inconvenience–not to mention, the accident itself haunted him, a brush with death via excruciating electrocution–Danny admittedly never wanted to take it back. Not when it afforded him this newfound confidence, allowing him to dodge bullies with intangibility and invisibility, enabling him to sabotage, even, with no one ever suspecting him. Well, until Sam put a stop to it, that is, chiding him like a pecking hen. Without her moralizing, he might've descended into Poindexter territory, a hypocritical bully. Sam had a significant impact on him from the beginning, he realized, celebrating his uniqueness, dismissing the shallow 'need' for popularity.

How will he fare without her? How will she fare without him? Would she even miss him, like Babazita had suggested, that piece of Sam who harbored unknown feelings about him? Friendly feelings, right? Danny swallowed, throat closing up with the pressure of oncoming tears. Was she okay? Was she still even in there? Or…

No. She had to be and there had to be a way of freeing her. Or else this would be like accepting Sam's death.

Danny retrieved the Infi-Map from his pocket, hands trembling.

"T-take me home." He muttered the command, map crinkling in his grip as he took off at hyperspeed. Within mere minutes, he arrived back at the Fenton lab, collapsing onto the floor.

"Danny? We're home!" Above him, he heard his mom, followed by approaching footsteps. Quickly as he could with his aching body, Danny punched the locking code into the portal computer, causing it to slam and re-lock. Straining, he went intangible and flew up, out of the lab, just as his dad entered the lab. Flying up into his room, Danny turned back into his human self and flopping onto his bed. Later he'd return the map to Frostbite. As for his homework…eh, he'd just take the F.
(And again, he longed for Sam to help him with his grades.)

"Danny?" Tucker entered his room, a Reinger's bag under his arm and a triumphant grin on his face. Sighting the injuries, however, his glossy pink smile deflated. "Danny!" Dropping the bag, he ran over to the bed. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you find Desiree and fix Sam?"

Danny sat up, wincing at the pain. He relayed everything, almost passing out in the midst of it, affected by leftover vertigo. By the end, Tucker looked at him bug-eyed and agape.

"So if we can't wish Sam back to normal," he asked, "then…what? What can we do?"

Danny rubbed his forehead, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Babazita," he groaned. "She said that Sam might still be in there, in her own head."

"Like you were when Freakshow had you under his spell?" Tucker asked.

"Yeah." Danny nodded. "Maybe, if we reintroduce Sam to a lot of her old goth stuff, it'll bring her out."

"You really think that'll work?"

Danny cast his solemn gaze out the window, a festering hole in his chest, a metaphysical injury worse than any of the physical ones he sustained. "It's the best shot we have."