Frozen Fire
Chapter Fifteen: A Flicker of Warmth
xXx
Sam spoke of her world numbly at first, with words that dripped sarcasm. She was uncomfortable and irritated as she sat rigidly in the rocking chair. Her fingernails rapped impatiently on the wooden arm. She was expecting the worst. To be subjected to her gloom, to the dark shadows that lurked in her past, where smoke and fire still burned with its acrid stench, and where the heat still blistered old, poorly healed wounds.
She didn't want to be having this conversation.
But then Frostbite surprised her. His questions started as a gentle tug on her guarded heart. And he didn't ask her about the hard things. He asked about the color of the sky, the seasons, the animals. He asked her about her favorite memories and the things that she loved
It sparked something in her. Something old and rusted but with gears that still clanked in a working mechanism. It brought her back to the rustling of grass on rolling green hills, to the glint of moonlight spilling through glass buildings, to the smell of rain dampened earth after a summer storm. It made her remember the little things. The inconsequential things. Things that she didn't know would someday be the ones she would long for the most.
She told him about how her favorite time of year was when summer heat shifted into chilly autumn breezes and drizzling rain. How she loved watching the kaleidoscopic effect of the leaves. All those vibrant colors and the scents and smells. How even as the world around them was crumbling, Amity Park would still do its best to honor seasonal festivities and holidays
Frostbite, mesmerized by her tale and with his ruby eyes shining, asked her, "Sam, would it be acceptable to continue this conversation with some members of my court present? I would like for them to hear this. To have a first-hand account of the Mortal Realm is such a rare opportunity, and from its native dominating species, no less!" His grin was so wide that she could count every one of his teeth.
Begrudgingly, she agreed.
And so, here she was, once again in the extravagant dining room she'd vowed to never return to, surrounded by creatures of an alternate Realm. In her hand was a shining silver chalice—human sized, thankfully—and filled to the brim with the Far Frozen's best sweet wine.
It was a smaller affair than her last disaster here. Frostbreath and Driftwind attended, as well as a portly female yet who introduced herself to Sam as Ymira, the Far Frozen's primary market coordinator. Sleetjaw sat across from them, as did a young male yeti named Aksel, whom Sleetjaw claimed as his apprentice, and that old watery-eyed painter from the market, Windsong. Frostbite sat at the head of the table just as she remembered, but upon their entry of the immense dinning chamber, he'd guided Sam to sit near him on his left side, which also happened to be Phantom's empty seat.
Fidgeting with the decorative filagree embossed into her chalice, Sam took in the room of onlookers. They stared back at her. Not in hostility as they'd once done, but with open curiosity. Had she not known better, she would have thought their gazes full of hunger, and she supposed it was hunger in their gazes, but not for her flesh. The yeti were insatiable for knowledge.
"Go on, Sam," Frostbite told her. "Tell them what you have told me."
Sam cleared her throat, intending to do just that, when a cool breeze swept across her nerve endings. Ice prickled the back of her neck. She tried not to let the shock she felt show on her face as she gaped at the newcomer.
"My daughter!" Frostbite exclaimed. "I am pleased to see you have decided to join."
Elle walked quickly to her seat at Frostbite's other side. When she sat, her unnerving green eyes flicked to Sam, but instead of the derision that Sam was used to seeing in her expression, it was a crafted mask of neutrality that greeted her instead. It made Elle look uncannily like Phantom, like she may as well have been cloned in his image.
"I'm curious," Elle said simply. She leaned back in her chair and raised the large chalice of wine that Aksel offered her to her lips. "I'd like to hear what the human has to say."
The yeti king beamed at his ghost daughter as his tail thumped happily under the table. Then he nodded his great head at Sam, icy horns glinting from the sconces of firelight. "Go on, Sam Manson. You may speak. And we shall listen."
Despite the nervousness twirling in her belly like a restless butterfly, Sam did just that.
She told them what she told Frostbite—and more.
But only the good things. The things that she loved. And nothing too personal, because that was a line she would not cross. She told them about all the things in her world that she marveled at. It surprised her how much there was to tell. Her world was decimated, hanging on by a mere thread as poisoned fingers grappled with what was left of it, and still, she remembered the beauty. The good. The wonderful.
As she spoke, something inside her chest started to flicker. It was a warmth that leached into her very soul, cleaved straight through the shadows of anger and sadness and hopelessness that had held her deep inside herself like an anchor—and then she felt it. The weight shifted. It wasn't gone, but she still felt lighter. Freer.
She eventually reached the topic of an endangered species she'd once written a paper on in school. She told them about a rare purple-back gorilla named Delilah that had once inhabited the Amity Park Zoo. And when she smiled, it was genuine.
.
.
The Following afternoon, Sam walked with Tsuel through the bustling market circle. Beams of sunlight danced, so bright on the drifts of snow that Sam had to shield her view with a hand at her brow. What she wouldn't give for a decent pair of sunglasses. Hell, even some clouds would be nice.
"What's Frostbreath up to today?" Sam asked. A cold lick of wind skittered through her coat. She shivered, tightening the neckline.
Tsuel hummed. Her silky fur and lilac dress rippled in the wind, a delicate basket hanging at the crook of her arm. They halted before a wooden cart brimming with odd-looking fruit while the cart's owner, a pleasant female with kind eyes, grinned warmly at them. Tsuel plucked an oblong fruit from the colorful assortment that was about the size of Sam's fist. She handed it to Sam for her inspection. "He is with Leif."
"Leif?" Sam turned the fruit in her hands, intrigued by its texture. It was fuzzy and prickled her bare hands with little barbs. With a shrug, she plopped it into Tsuel's basket. "Who's Leif?"
"Our cub."
Sam froze. Up until now, Tsuel and Frostbreath had been less than forthcoming regarding their cub. Not that they didn't trust Sam, as they told her often, but because it was frowned upon in their culture to divulge too much to an outsider. She remembered from Frostbite's lectures that offspring were the insurmountable treasures of the Far Frozen, as it was rare for the yeti to have them.
Swallowing the lump that sprang into her throat, Sam said, "I didn't know his name was Leif."
"I would like for you to meet him someday. When the time is right."
"That would be awesome," Sam murmured as she stared down at her snow-covered boots. Then a thought pulled her brows into a furrow. "Can I ask you something random?"
"Anything, dear cub. You know that."
"Why do some of the yeti, like Frostbite and Frostbreath, have names like that, while others . . . don't?" She pursed her lips, not sure how to even ask the question properly. It was something she'd been curious about for a while now.
Tsuel blinked, then chuckled. She steered Sam down the line of market stalls. "Yes, I suppose that would seem peculiar." Her long tail flicked as she walked, disturbing the soft fresh snow that had fallen earlier. "Frostbite and Frostbreath, and even Sleetjaw, Driftwind, and especially Windsong, are much older than the rest of us. Their names are derived from our old language, translated to suit a current era. They are far too superfluous for the younger languages of the Realms, so we have long favored the translated versions."
Sam nodded as she walked. The stall nearest to her was lined with a vivid assortment of scented candles. She paused to sniff one, sighing at the wonderful scent. It reminded her of lavender and vanilla.
Before Sam could protest, Tsuel gingerly placed the candle into her overfilled basket. "For your room. It is about time you start filling it with personal possessions."
Sam smiled even as guilt tugged at her. She didn't have the heart to tell Tsuel that it was pointless to make the room her own when she would only be living there for a few more months.
Further along the circular track of market stalls, Sam could see yet another of her favorite vendors appear in the sprawl, tucked away behind a stall of windchimes and nearly obscured by one of furred hides. Her boots crunched in the fresh snow as she slogged over to it.
Paintings and loosely sketched charcoal drawings fluttered in the wind, while the larger, heavier canvases merely swayed. Sam gaped unabashedly at them, just as she so often did when she and Tsuel would make their rounds. Looking for the new additions was the highlight of her day.
"I see the human has returned," said a raspy voice.
Sam greeted the watery eyed yeti with a jerk of her chin. "What's up, Windsong?"
The old male, Windsong, in his typical impassivity, replied, "The sky, as usual, human child. It is most peculiar that you are in need of confirmation on a daily basis."
"One day you'll realize it's a figure of speech," she told him. "I believe in you."
Windsong stared at her from his stall, his hefty brows low over his eyes. He gestured to his spread of artwork with a single knobby hand, blunt tipped claws splayed wide. "I think you shall be pleased by the new pieces I have added today."
She arched a brow at him. "Oh, will I?"
"Yes," he affirmed. His slender form was rigid on his wooden stool, fur rustling in the wind, and scraggly tail curled around the stool's base. His expression remained impassive, though Sam could still see the keen intelligence burning in his silver eyes. It was like he saw everything and missed nothing.
He was surly and had the outward personality of a rusty fork, but the more time she spent subtly tormenting him at his booth, the more she noticed his eccentricities—and the more she liked him. He was different from the others. She had noticed the wide berth the other yeti kept as they passed him.
"Whatcha got for me today, then?" she asked.
"See for yourself."
She gave him her widest, cheesiest grin, which he frowned at, and turned to his wall of wares. A wooden frame protruded from the tabletop, with twine stretched tight across it. Pinned to the twine, various pieces of artwork trembled in the persistent wind, which she stilled with her fingers as her eyes roamed each and every piece.
His display changed on the daily and depended on his mood. Today the sun shone bright in the cobalt sky, twin moons barely illuminated, with birds squawking and trailing overhead. The trilling song of windchimes kissed her eardrums. If it wasn't for the oppressive chill leaching into her bones, she would've thought such a day indicative of springtime in her own world. His selection today represented such a mood.
Perfect renderings of horses and dogs, loose sketches of little mice with ears that reminded her of sailboats, a giant slender cat with long fangs that jutted far below its lower jaw, and—there it was, the new painting. A whale-like creature with massive butterfly wings trailing through wispy clouds.
She gestured to the whale. "Is this thing real?"
"I have told you that I can only paint from memory, have I not?"
She shook her head, mesmerized by the picture. The whale was giant in comparison to the swathe of clouds, it's tanklike body a stunning silvery blue. The wings were an elaborate matrix of blues, silver, and warmed with pink and violet at its outermost edges. The creature reminded her of sunrise. She couldn't stop staring at it.
"Shall I purchase this for your room as well, cub?" Tsuel said suddenly from behind her.
Sam started, not realizing the female had joined her at the stall. "Uh, no, it's fine. You really don't have to."
Tsuel scoffed and removed the painting from the twine, tucking it under her arm. She handed several coins to Windsong from a little coin purse she kept on a cord around her neck.
Windsong waved the coins off. "Consider it a gift."
Sam gaped at him. "For what?"
But the old yeti merely stared at her, his expressed unchanged. "You come here every day to admire my work and bother me. Perhaps a piece of your own shall curb such tendencies.".
She couldn't help the wide grin that overcame her face. "I knew you had a soft spot for me."
"I simply yearn for the peace I once had before you arrived here, child."
"Yeah, sure you do," she drawled. Then her smug grin softened into something warmer. "And thank you, by the way. It's beautiful."
Windsong was quiet as he stared down at her, his claws raking through the longer wisps of fur at his chin. "That is not the only new piece."
Sam's brows rose. She turned back to his display, but before she could begin her search anew, Tsuel gasped.
"Oh, Sam," Tsuel breathed, a claw already pointing to the artwork. "It's beautiful."
Sam followed Tsuel's line of sight and pointer claw, down past rows rife with renderings of the royal family, until she saw what had made Tsuel so surprised.
There, tucked just below a picture of Frostbreath proudly holding a giant fish, and next to one of Phantom and Elle standing passively at the head of court, was a picture of Sam.
She barely recognized herself. Guant cheeks were now full of life, pinched into a slight smile, as her eyes, dark and flinty due to the charcoal, seemed to shine as if lit by the torchlight that surrounded her. She realized he must have drawn this after last night, when she'd been lost in a tide of pleasant memories.
"Oh," she said lamely, "you drew me."
"An astute observation."
"It is wonderful," Tsuel said. "Remarkable work, Windsong. I shall like to purchase it myself."
Sam whirled to face Tsuel. "What, why?"
"I shall place it with the others in my den, or course," she said, already removing the drawing from the twine. This time Windsong accepted the coins she offered him.
"Tsuel is an avid collector of my work," Windsong said.
"It is true." Tsuel nodded. "I have purchased many of the twin cubs, of Frostbite and my mate and I, over the years."
Sam shook her head, uncomfortable for reasons she couldn't place. She tilted her head at Windsong to get his attention. "Why?"
"Why?" he echoed.
"Why would you draw . . . me?"
"Are you bothered?"
"No, I just," she crossed her arms and shrugged, "don't get why you would."
Windsong stared at her silently for a long while, his long ears twitching and his eyes as hard as steel as they bore into her own. He seemed old and frail at first glance, but there was an edge to him that was as sharp as any blade. He studied her in silence for a long moment, then said, "I wish to give you something."
She squinted at him, but before she could ask, he had risen shakily to his feet. Despite his leanness, he still towered above her and Tsuel, his twisted horns brushing the ceiling of the leather canopy of his booth. He rifled through a tilted tower of crates that were stacked precariously behind his stool until he procured a bundle of parchment and a small tin of charcoal nubs. He handed them to her, his expression still blank.
She took them unsurely. "Why are you giving me these?"
"Because I wish for you to have them," he said. He settled back onto his stool with a grunt.
"But . . .?"
Windsong shook his head at her, his muzzle curling with annoyance. "You appear fascinated by art, and I sense you have a keen eye for detail. I wish to see what you will do with it. That is all."
She clutched the pad of parchment to her chest. "Uh, thank you?"
He waved her off, but before she left, Sam was certain she'd seen his muzzle curve slightly, as if in a smile.
xXx
Worry seized Danny as he blazed through cosmic rifts. Hastened by urgency, he was little more than a blur against the swirling green mists of the Outerworlds.
He felt for the pull, for the charged fragments he knew would soon form and allow him passage.
And then . . . he felt it. When the particles bristled and coalesced into a wave of power. He wasted no time, summoned that part of himself that he abhorred and wrenched it forward. And when he felt those particles cling to him, to his very being and everything that he was, he seized their energy and blasted through the hazed veil of the portal.
He burst into Pandora's world with the might of a thunderclap. In his chest, he could feel his core reeling with the surge of raw energy. He barely registered when the blue-green expanse of a hedge maze oozed all around him like a branching fog. It had been years since he'd been here last, but he still knew the way.
The monsters that guarded the maze barely spared him a passing glance as he blew past them. A minotaur even waved. Had circumstances been different, Danny might have stopped to return the wave, but his apprehension pressed him forward until he reached the open skies.
Everything was quiet. A balmy wind rustled waves of blueish grass, stars glimmered overhead in the perpetual twilight, the sky a dusky purple. Danny floated near a twisted tree that was peppered with tiny orange and yellow blossoms. Far off past another jumble of blossoming trees, he could see the rolling hills, and even further still, he spotted Pandora's Acropolis where it rose from a hill's peak in all its glory. The white marble columns stood proud and vibrant against the purple sky.
Floating higher to get a better view of her temple, Danny sighed with relief. A smattering of warm light bled from the windows of the small huts scattered at the base of the temple's hills. Various creatures, all dressed in light colored chitones, milled about. Many glanced up at him in surprise.
As he neared them, a cold awareness brushed through his core and manifested into the chilled breath that wafted from his mouth. He turned to face its source.
"I haven't seen the likes of you in a while," a familiar voice said.
"Can't say I've ever been thrilled to see you," Danny replied dryly, "but I am. It's good to see you, Boxy."
The squat form of the coverall-clad Box Ghost appeared, his mouth twisted with the attempt of a sinister smile. "Beware!" he greeted, thick arms waving manically. He drifted closer until he bobbed before Danny, eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see Pandora. We haven't heard from her in a while."
Box Ghost's blue lips thinned into a grim line. "There was an attack here not long ago."
"Where is she?" Danny asked. His worry returned with a vengeance. "Is she okay?"
"Follow me," Box Ghost said. "I will take you to the Lady."
Danny followed the Box Ghost through the massive pillars of Pandora's temple. White marbled floors shone, polished to perfection, beneath his feet as he landed. He recognized her immediately.
Standing over ten feet tall and blue-skinned, with her gilded helm and plated chest piece gleaming from the nearby sconces of purple torchlight, was Pandora. Her black and gold chiton fluttered in the light wind that slipped through the columns. She turned to face him at his approach.
He grinned widely at her. Both in relief and with genuine warmth. Pandora was more than an ally to him. Over the years of discourse between the Far Frozen and her Acropolis, she'd become an extended member of his family. A sort of motherly figure that had helped guide him and mold him into the ghost he was today.
The red pools of her eyes twinkled in the flickering light. "Well, if it isn't Danny Phantom!" she boomed, enfolding him with three of her four muscular arms. "What a pleasant surprise!"
Danny pulled away from her, still grinning, until he noticed the small, furred form curled into the crook of the arm she'd kept tucked to her side.
"Our little messenger got injured during the last of Dark's attacks," she told him with a frown. Her nose wrinkled with disdain at the mention of the Ghost King.
"That explains the lack of letters," Danny said. He eyed the little poof of white fur, at the tail that flicked lazily, and the bandage wound around one of its little hind legs. "Will he be alright?"
As if realizing it was now the topic of discussion, the tiny foxen in Pandora's arms turned and blinked its owlish blue eyes at him, ears twitching with interest. Its tail thumped enthusiastically against Pandora's breastplate as it recognized him.
She chuckled, scratching between its ears. "He will be. Poor thing got caught between a minotaur and a draugr. He won't be traveling through shadows to pass letters anytime soon, but he will make a full recovery." As if overcome by the little creature's cuteness, Pandora lifted the foxen and nestled it to the side of her face. "You will be just fine. Won't you, my little darling?"
The foxen yipped happily and licked the tip of her nose.
Then, as if she'd only now noticed his presence, Pandora's eyes narrowed on the Box Ghost. "And what are youstill doing in here?"
Danny snorted and arched a brow at Box Ghost, grinning smugly. "Yeah, Boxy, the adults are talking."
Box Ghost looked between them and sputtered, the color of his blue skin purpling with indignation. "I am the Lady's assistant now!" he snapped, a single finger waggling at Danny menacingly. "An assistant of terror and all things square and evil."
"You are the assistant of nothing until you have finished your training for the day," Pandora hissed. "I don't recall dismissing you."
Box Ghost flipped upside down and floated closer, his face anguished. "But Lady," he whined.
"No buts." Pandora jabbed a pointed finger toward the grassy hill beyond her temple, to a small open area at the western side of the little village. "Now quit with the smart talk and get on with your training."
A male minotaur and a female centaur stood waiting in the clearing, weapons in hand, next to several burlap training dummies. Some were mounted to posts, while others appeared maneuverable due to the wooden dowels the centaur was holding in one of her hands. They glowered up at the Box Ghost. The minotaur's foot stomped impatiently, fringed tail flicking.
A loud groan burst from the Box Ghost. "Okay," he drawled. "I will do as you ask."
Pandora sighed and shook her head at the Box Ghost's dour retreat, then turned to Danny, her smile apologetic. "Our mutual friend is quite the work in progress. We're still . . . hammering out the kinks, if you will."
"You're training . . . the box ghost . . . to fight?" Danny said slowly. When the centaur thrust a sword into Box Ghost's clumsy hands, Danny gaped, beyond incredulous.
"Well, you can never be too careful these days," she said. "These are dark times, I'm afraid. Dark times that call for desperate measures."
Danny chuckled humorlessly. "Tell me about it."
"If you're here to see Dora and Genevive, they are with the townsfolk," Pandora said, a knowing smile on her face. "Genevive will be most pleased to see you, I'm sure. How long are you here for?"
Danny winced at the mention of the other ghosts. "Another day," he admitted, "and I'm not here to see them, actually."
"Oh?"
"We were worried about you. My father sends his regards, of course." He patted the leather satchel still strung over his shoulder. "And Tsuel sends hers."
"How marvelous!" Pandora exclaimed, taking the satchel that Danny handed her. She pulled out the small parcel of honey tarts that Tsuel had made and beamed as if she'd just been given some priceless artifact. "You must give them my thanks for me."
"Will do."
They floated in silence for several moments as they watched the Box Ghost's floundering attempts to thrash faceless dummies into submission. Danny had to hand to Boxy, it was impressive how talented he was at missing stationary objects.
It was the fourth time in row that Box Ghost missed even nicking the dummy with his sword that Pandora shrieked, "You're supposed to hit it, not dance with it!?"
Hands behind his head, Danny snorted at the look of utter dismay he saw on Pandora's ghostly features. "Hey, he was actually kind of close to hitting it that time."
She groaned and ran a hand over her face and through the violet fire of her hair.
"You could send him to Elle for some individualized training," he supplied helpfully. "She's always on the hunt for a new punching bag."
Pandora's face softened at the mention of his sister. "How is my girl? It has been so long since I've seen her."
"She's the same. Feisty as ever."
"I would imagine so," Pandora chuckled. "Has her condition improved?"
His face fell. "No, it hasn't. But it hasn't gotten any worse, either."
"It is truly a shame. Such a talented girl with a remarkable gift. Imagine the good she could do with it if her core was to stabilize."
"It is," he agreed grimly. "My father and Sleetjaw have been trying for years to stabilize her." He shook his head as the words tightened something in his chest. "Nothing works. And if they can't figure it out . . ."
Pandora shifted so she was facing him. The chill of her fingers touched his shoulder, squeezing gently. "They will figure it out in time. I know they will. The yeti are a tenacious species. They will never give up."
"I know." Danny sighed. His shoulders slumped. "But Elle's even less patient than I am. She . . . wanted to come, you know. She always wants to go with me when I leave but it's just not worth the risk."
"Can she truly not use her ghost abilities at all?"
"She can use her powers, to an extent," Danny said, crossing his arms. "Her cryokinesis isn't an issue. But all her other powers are technically possible if she has a source to draw from."
"Such as?"
"Other ghosts," he said. At the alarmed gleam he saw in Pandora's eyes he quickly added, "But only willingly. The energy must be offered. And she's still exhausted after, but it keeps her from . . . well, you know, turning into a puddle."
"And what of your gift, child?"
Unease roiled in his chest. He immediately wanted out of this conversation. "I don't use it."
"Young Phantom," Pandora admonished.
"I won't use it," he corrected. "Not after what happened."
"What didn't happen, you mean."
"But it almost did," he snapped. Even four years later, those wretched memories stirred with perfect clarity in his mind. He could recall everything. The color of the sky, the pungent scent of fire, the screams—and that wasn't even the only time he'd lost control. "That kind of power is wrong."
She studied him, frowning. "You will have to learn to control it eventually."
Memories whirled. He shook his head to clear them, only for new ones to take their place.
The white walls are sterile, but they drip with acid green. He sees matted dark fur and claws that reach for him in desperation. A voice cries out, "Savu min! Savu min!" Humans surround Danny in their white lab coats and their goggles. It gives them a ghoulish appearance. They press closer, robotically, their mouths mere slashes of red and stretched into hideous grins. His eyes lower to the stains on their latex gloves, to the tools in their hands . . .
Danny swallowed hard. In his chest he could feel his core bristle.
He thought again of the draugrs' most recent attack on his home, at their insidious presence and the words they hissed under their rancid breaths. They had known him by his Written name. How, he didn't know. But if they knew, then their king certainly did.
It was only a matter of time before everyone else knew, too. Dread curdled his insides at the thought. He shook his head to clear it. He didn't want anyone to know. If no one knew, then it would be easier for him to pretend that that part of him didn't exist.
Box Ghost had apparently given up on the sword and was now buffeting the dummies with clumsy blasts of ecto-energy. Some landed, but most careened past and exploded into the grass. The centaur appeared as if she was close to kicking him with frustration.
Dany leapt at the chance to redirect their conversation. "You don't have to keep him here, you know. I can always take him to the others."
Pandora sighed. "While I appreciate the sentiment, he is an exceptionally good worker that I don't wish to lose." She gestured to the cluster of rose bushes that twisted off the base of her temple. "See? My roses have never looked so good!"
"Speaking of your roses," Danny said, "I need a favor."
She arched a brow at him.
"I kind of need another one. Just one. For a friend."
"Oh, for a friend, is it?"
There was nothing in her tone that suggested anything more than genuine curiosity, but Danny still flushed. "Yeah."
"Does your friend know of the threat they pose? I made an exception for Tsuel, as you know, but—"
"They don't affect her."
Pandora's eyes widened. "Pardon me?"
"They, uh, don't affect her," he repeated. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, unable to meet Pandora's eye. Why was he so flustered?
"Which one of your ghost friends is this?"
"She's . . . not a ghost?"
"One of the yeti, then?"
"No," he sighed. "She's human, actually."
Pandora stiffened. She turned and looked at him fully. "Explain."
Danny told her everything he knew. How he encountered Sam, broken and bleeding in her realm, and brought her back to the Far Frozen. Clockwork's appearance and subsequent announcement that Sam was the missing piece to an ancient prophecy. When he was done, Pandora's red eyes were shining.
"It has begun, then," she said, her voice wavering. "Finally."
He groaned. "Not you too."
"Why are you so hesitant to accept your destiny, child?"
Scowling, he looked away from her, his arms crossed. "It doesn't matter."
A strong hand touched his arm. "I will give you the rose," she said, "but on one condition."
Danny sighed in defeat. "Name your price."
"When the time is right, I expect you both to pay a visit here. I feel I must meet this Sam Manson."
xXx
"Dear cub," Tsuel said as she bustled past the island to where Sam sat at the quaint kitchen table, "I must return to my den for the evening. Would you like for me to escort you to your quarters now, or shall I send Frostbite for you after he is done with his tasks? The choice is yours."
Sam looked up from her charcoal drawing of the rose centerpiece and shrugged. "Eh, make Mr. Snowman do some work for once. I'm good here."
With a smile, Tsuel rustled the hair on Sam's head. "As you wish. Please help yourself to anything in the meantime."
"Sure thing," Sam replied.
She sketched for a time longer before hunger speared through her. Not in that desperate, clawing way as it once had, but in a I-want-every-snack-in-sight way.
She yawned and stretched, before clambering to the island and helped herself to some of the fresh bread she'd made with Tsuel that morning, as well as a generous spread of jam. She popped several of the star berries into her mouth as she leaned casually with her back pressed against the counter.
She felt his presence before she saw him.
He materialized out of thin air, appearing across the room on the other side of the island. The chill of his presence stirred the room's ambient warmth like the first burst of frost in early winter. His broad form and fluttering cloak made even the largest room feel too small, but she didn't flinch, though her heart did flutter a bit in surprise.
When he noticed her, he balked, green eyes wide. "S-Sam?"
She merely regarded him calmly as she chewed. It was amusing seeing him ruffled when he was usually so composed. "You're back."
"I'm sorry, if I had known you were here, I would have used the door instead of . . ." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but at her, "not using it."
She shrugged. "How was your ghost friend?"
"She's good. Great, actually. All clear," he replied. "It was, thankfully, a false alarm."
"That's good."
"Uh, yeah. It is."
Their eyes flicked, meeting each other's gazes, and then quickly flitted away. Sam scratched between a foxen's ears as a distraction from the awkward tension. The creature gaped up at her with its large opal eyes, as if to say, "hey, don't bring me into this!"
Sam cleared her throat. "There's a bunch of leftovers. Tsuel would probably want me to . . . get them out for you, right?"
To her surprise, Phantom snorted. "Hardly."
Caught off guard, she glanced up at him, brows furrowed. "What do you mean? I'm her helper. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"
Phantom tilted his head. "Sam, you are not obligated to do anything in the kitchen if you don't want to. It's not your job. Tsuel just likes having you around."
"So, you'll just make your own food, then?"
He frowned at her, shrugging. "Why is that such a surprise to you?"
She paused. Why was it such a surprise to her? Perhaps because there was something so domestic about preparing food, and picturing a ghost doing it, let alone one of royalty like Phantom was, was just . . . weird. She couldn't even fathom it.
In fact, this whole conversation had been weird. Where was the animosity? The guardedness? And the . . . something else was missing, too, but she couldn't place it. She bit her lip as she stewed on her thoughts in silence.
And when she glanced up at him from under her lashes, the silence having stretched well past an awkward lull, she realized he was looking at her strangely. Just as he had before he left for wherever the hell Pandora's Realm was.
"What?" she hissed.
"You don't . . . seem bothered by me," he murmured.
She froze, considering. He was right. She could sense him a mile away. Could still feel that cold wrap of something dark and looming in her very soul . . . but she didn't react to it. The innate fear no longer responded to his presence. It hit her like a freight train that her primal fear was the thing that was missing. Now she just felt . . . cautious.
She hid her revelation in a shrug. "Guess I just don't think you're scary anymore."
"So, you did think I was scary," he joked.
Sam rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. "Oh, fuck off."
She heard him chuckle from behind her. When the sound of pans rustling trilled, she whirled and gaped at him. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking," he said flatly as he grasped a sheet pan.
"Tsuel said there are plenty of leftovers."
"Yeah, and?"
Sam stared at him. He stared back.
Then he sighed. "I want cookies."
"Cookies," she drawled.
He gave her a flat look. "Why are you making this weird?"
"Because you're being weird?"
They continued to stare at each other. The silence was deafening between them. They watched each other warily, like they were two wild animals about to cross paths.
Phantom grimaced. "This isn't really panning out, is it?"
Sam blinked at him. Her eyes flicked between his blank expression, then to the sheet pan he still held in his hands. Disbelief rattled her. "Did you just . . .?"
His face cracked into a wicked grin.
"You did!" Sam gasped. "That was a fucking pun!"
He laughed, spinning the sheet pan midair with a burst of icy wind. "You have no idea how refreshing it is that someone actually gets that joke."
Sam sighed dramatically and picked up one of several baking utensils. "It was pretty whisk-y, I'll give you that."
Now it was Phantom who blinked, wide green eyes flicking from her face to the giant, yeti-sized whisk she clutched in her hand. Then his expression morphed. It broadened into the widest, most shit-eating grin she'd ever seen. "That joke was the yeast of your problems."
She arched her brow and crossed her arms. "You're gonna have to batter than that, dude."
The sheet pan clattered to the marble top of the island as he turned and rooted through a pantry cabinet. She remained fixed to her spot as she watched him curiously. He returned moments later, and presented her with the jar.
Her face scrunched with confusion. She didn't take the jar. "Why are you handing me that?"
"Don't human girls like flours?"
Sam snorted and pushed the jar away. "Stop. That's too jarring."
He grinned at her, before he settled the jar of flour onto the island and snagged a large egg from a basket that Tsuel kept on one of the wooden shelves. He opened his mouth, but Sam waved him off before he could speak.
"Don't even start with the egg puns," she groaned. "There's way too many. We'll be here all night."
"That's true," he agreed. He gingerly placed the egg next to the pan and the jar of flour. "They're far too eggstreme."
She rolled her eyes and turned away to hide her smile. She'd never realized how similar their humor was. It was . . . odd. But also refreshing. After nearly three months of dealing with the literality of the yeti, she was starved for some humor and sarcasm. Though she never figured the infamous Phantom would be the one to give it to her.
Back home, they literally cowed in fear at the mere mention of his name, and even she had been unable to tamp her instincts, but now . . .? She peered at him over her shoulder. He had already gathered the necessary ingredients and worked it into a thick dough. A foxen wagged its tail and watched, its dark brown eyes darting with movement as it tracked Phantom's large wooden spoon in the bowl.
He glanced up at her from his work. "Not to make this whole interaction even more awkward than it already is, but I did bring one of Pandora's roses back for you. She sends her regards."
Sam felt her cheeks heat. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
She didn't know what to say. Her feet shuffled awkwardly as she rapped her nails on the marble island. "Want some help?"
"Uh, sure," he spun the bowl to the center of the island so it separated them, and placed two sheet pans on either side of it. "You take one pan and I'll take the other?"
She nodded. One by one, they removed lumps of dough from the bowl and placed them on their respective pans. A foxen snatched one of them and skittered off with it before Sam could so much as blink.
While the cookies baked, and the warm scent of them slowly filled the kitchen, Sam asked, "I've been curious . . .?" Her voice trailed off with uncertainty.
Phantom's back was to her as he worked to clean their mess, but she noticed when his shoulders tensed. He turned and peered at her over his shoulder. "About?"
"Pandora," she said. She joined him on his side of the island to fill a glass at the hand pump near the wash basin.
The tense set of his shoulders relaxed a little. "Oh. What about her?"
"Is she like . . . the Pandora?"
"The Pandora?"
"Yeah, like," Sam's lips pursed in thought, her cheeks heating again as his eyes pierced hers, "the one from the books?"
From his blank look, she knew he didn't understand, and she sighed with frustration. "Back in Amity, there was an abandoned bookstore, the Skulk and Lurk, and there was a book there that mentioned Pandora. I was just curious if there was a connection."
"What does the book say?"
"That she was the first mortal woman on earth, created by Hephaestus after he was commissioned by Zeus. They gave her a box full of the world's evils and sent her to earth with it. She was . . . in the book, at least, humanity's punishment after Prometheus stole fire for them."
Phantom was quiet. Thoughtful, even, as he stared at her with that eerie stillness of his. "You know, I don't actually know the answer to that. Pandora is an Ancient being from the Godsworld, but I've never . . ." he glanced down at the counter, his brows low. "I've never asked her about what she was before she came to the Infinite Realms."
Her brow scrunched. "Really?"
An odd look flickered through his eyes and then guttered out just as fast. "It's . . . impolite to ask a ghost about their Before. Even when one ghost asks another."
"Gotcha," Sam said, trying not to sound disappointed. A foxen sidled up to the arms she had braced against the island, nestled itself into the fur of her jacket. She scratched under its chin until its little hind foot thumped against the marble. "So, are you and Pandora . . .?" She couldn't even finish the question, her cheeks blazing. It was none of her damn business what Pandora was to him, Ancient or not.
Phantom titled his head at her again. He seemed confused. Whether it was by her unfinished question, or the flustered emotions he sensed emanating from her, she wasn't sure. "Are we . . . what?"
She made a motion of crossing her index and middle fingers. "Together." She felt ridiculous for even asking. She knew the yeti paired off, but she realized she had no idea if ghosts did as well. But she was just so damn curious. Now that she wasn't being stifled by fear at the mere sight of him, she realized there was a lot she didn't know.
Phantom's eyes widened with realization. "Oh, uh, no, it's not like that," he said, suddenly just as flustered. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. "Pandora is a mentor. I've known her . . . for a long time."
"A mentor?"
"Yeah. She and Clockwork. They helped me out a lot when I was . . . dealing with some things." His face darkened as he turned his back to her to check the cookies. "Oh hey, cookies are done."
Suddenly Sam didn't feel like eating cookies. Her stomach had flipped at the mention of the Time Guardian. "Wait. You were mentored by Clockwork?"
He turned and glanced at her oddly. "Yeah?"
She shuddered as she remembered how time had slithered to a halt, how frozen fire had shone unmoving in the bejeweled fireplace, and how life itself had ceased, as if the world no longer mattered. That terrible, halting feeling of everything on pause . . . chills raced down her spine. "I've met him."
"Yeah, he's a good guy," Phantom said. He pulled the sheet pans of cookies from the fiery maw of the oven and placed them onto the marble. The sweet smell of baked goodness intensified, filling her nose with its heavenly aroma. He smirked devilishly and added, "Very punctual."
Unable to stop herself, Sam snorted at the punctual comment. "He is a bit unnerving though."
"Most ghosts are, Sam."
Sam glanced up sharply to the resigned look that settled in Phantom's eyes. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," he sighed. His hand glowed subtly blue as he waved polar energy across the cookies to cool them.
"So, Clockwork is a ghost, then?"
"Not necessarily. He wasn't a mortal creature who perished. He's always been what he is." Phantom's brow furrowed with thought. "Honestly, even I don't understand the enormity of his existence. But he's like the most ancient of the Ancients. He's existed in every facet of the timestream, in every universe and every reality. He and the eyeballs."
"The . . . eyeballs?"
Phantom grimaced. "The Observants," he corrected. "They're part of the Council. They govern the Realms and keep tabs on Clockwork."
Sam's head was spinning. The Foxen under her hand stiffened and yipped at her, and Sam jumped, not realizing she'd stopped petting the needy little creature. She sent the foxen a reproachful look and resumed scratching. "If there's an entire council out there, why the hell is there a war? Do they support Pariah Dark or something?"
Phantom grunted, his face twisted with distaste. "No, they don't support him. They want him gone too, trust me. But they won't intervene." He nabbed a cookie from the pan and seemed to weigh it in his hand thoughtfully. "Their job is to observe, not intervene. Basically, they just sit there and complain while doing nothing."
Sam snorted. She reached for a cookie as well. "Sounds about as effective as the politics in my world." Breaking the cookie into pieces, she frowned. "Well, back when we still had a functioning government, I mean."
They used the next bout of silence to enjoy the cookies they made. Sam smiled with delight at the taste. They were delicious, just as all food here seemed to be. She'd stuffed about three more into her mouth and washed them down with cold glass of water before she spoke again. "So did these eyeball dudes mentor you too?"
He barked out a laugh at that. "No, they don't like me. It's fine though. The feeling is mutual."
She smirked at him, a single brow arched. "What did you do to piss them off?"
"Bold of you to assume that it was me who did the . . . pissing off," he said, struggling with the curse word.
"Something tells me that you have that effect on people."
His eyes widened with mock outrage. "And here I was thinking we were past the insults."
"Bold of you to assume to that I've depleted my insult arsenal." She waggled a half-eaten cookie in his face. "I have plenty more incoming."
His eyes narrowed on the cookie, but then he looked past it and grinned at her wryly. "I believe you."
A short, snorted laugh erupted from her, and then she finished off the cookie with a shake of her head. She brushed her hands free of any lingering crumbs on her coat.
They both leaned with their backs pressed against the counter, arms crossed, a short distance from each other. If Sam wanted, she was close enough to reach out and touch him. An odd silence settled between them. Not quite as awkward as earlier, but not a comfortable one, either. It felt like he had something he wanted to ask her but was hesitant.
She was about to call him out on it, when Frostbite's bulk appeared in the entryway.
He glanced between Sam and Phantom in surprise. "My son," he acknowledged, "I had heard that you returned. Is all well with Pandora?"
"Yeah, everything is as good as it can be," Phantom said. "Apparently our messenger has been recovering from an injury. I'll tell you more tomorrow before court."
Frostbite nodded, then turned his ruby gaze to Sam. "Sam, Tsuel informed me she would be out for the evening, so I admit that I have come to return you to your quarters for the evening."
Sam sighed, pushing herself off the island. She started to gather her things from the dining table. "Yeah, yeah," she said, "I'm coming, Frosty."
"I can take her," Phantom offered.
Sam whirled and gaped at him, just as Frostbite's brows rose in surprise.
Phantom gestured to the pans on the island. "We just made cookies."
"Yes, I scented them far down the corridor," Frostbite said. For the first time, he seemed at a loss for words, his ruby eyes once again flicking between Sam and Phantom, as if he could not understand the sudden shift in their dynamic. He fully entered the kitchen and snatched a stack of cookies from the nearest pan. His gazed leveled on Sam. "Is that agreeable to you, human girl?"
Sam shrugged. "Sure, why not." She tossed her heap of parchment and the tin of charcoal back onto the table. "I'm in no rush."
"Very well then," Frostbite said. "My son, shall I see you tonight at the pyre?"
Phantom grimaced. "Probably not."
Frostbite nodded, but Sam glimpsed a flash of disappointment in his eyes. He bowed his head at them both so the sconced torchlight gleamed along his curled icy horns. "I shall see you both on the morrow, then?"
"Absolutely," Phantom said.
Once Frostbite was gone, Sam narrowed her eyes at Phantom. "What the hell was that about?"
Phantom was still leaning lazily against counter, his brows low, a conspirer's grin a gentle arc across his handsome face. His arms were crossed, a single leg crossed over the other as he leaned and appraised her, his head tilted to the side.
"What?" she hissed, nose wrinkling.
He shrugged. "Want to see something cool?"
"Something cool?" She frowned. "Like what?"
"It involves going outside."
"Sounds cold."
"It will be."
"You're not really making a good case for yourself here."
"It'll be worth it."
"You told me the other day that temperatures plummet at night."
"I did and they do."
She shot him an exasperated look. "So, what is there worth seeing when I could potentially freeze to death in minutes?"
He shrugged again. "Guess you'll have to find out."
She scowled at his evasiveness, but he didn't budge. He stared back at her, so smug and self-satisfied that it made her want to deck him.
She shook her head at him, fingers still drumming along her forearm. She should say no, tell him off, then hightail to her bed where sleep awaited her. She should walk away right now. Walk away because Phantom was a ghost and ghosts were evil. She should also punch him right in the face, or his core because . . . because . . .
She asked him, "Would Frostbite approve?"
"Definitely not."
Sam grinned mischievously. "Let's go."
A/N: Hiiiii! Sorry this is a week late, but I had a final exam and have been steadily working six day weeks so, as usual, I'm a bit ded. At the rate I'm going, I'm practically a halfa now. Just waiting for the ghost powers to develop. lol
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed a reprieve from the heaviness of the previous chapters. This one was the most lighthearted one yet! And I really enjoyed writing it. It made me so happy. Especially that pun battle at the end there. I was cackling like a fool while writing it. The next chapter is mostly written (I've had it on my PC for literal years), I just need to polish it up and add a few things to fit the rewrite, and perhaps squeeze in a scene or two for the other character arcs. ;)
In other news, I'm thinking of joining Invisobang this year! It shouldn't hold me up from writing FF too much as the story I'd like to write for it won't be a long one, but just thought y'all might like to know. I'm excited! I've never participated in a writing event before.
Please be sure to let me know what you think of this chapter! Your feedback really helps give me the motivation to keep writing. You guys are wonderful.:) Thanks so much for reading and sticking around!
Until next time!