Frozen Fire

Chapter Sixteen: Links in the Universe

xXx

For the first time, Sam's booted foot crunched into the nighttime shrouded snow of the Far Frozen.

Within seconds her breath was ripped from her lungs. Frozen claws that dug into her throat and every crevice of her body. Even the slightest brush of wind managed to completely numb her face and freeze her fingers. It was incomparable to anything she had ever felt before.

Instead of taking the usual doors from Frostbite's throne room, Phantom had led her through deep curving passageways that seemed to descend indefinitely until, finally, they'd emerged from a smaller door near the base of the castle stairs. Had she not just used it herself, she would never have known the door was even there. It blended right in with the ice and stone surrounding it.

"Gah," Sam gasped as she braced herself against the wind. "Holy shit it's cold out here. You weren't lying."

There was a fleeting pressure on her shoulder. Sam turned to see Phantom looking at her with a finger at his lips. "Quiet," he whispered.

She frowned at him. "Why?"

His response was to point in some direction behind her.

Sam turned and squinted into the darkness, blinking against the little flurries of snowflakes tossed into the air by wind, and it was then that she finally saw it—the distinguishable amber glow of fire churning against black velvet. Now that she was looking, she could see silhouetted shapes lumbering amidst the swirling white vortex, many crowded together. Behind the crowd, a tall spire protruded into the sky, nearly consumed by snow and dusk.

Sam squinted into the dark. "Is that the market circle?"

"It is, yes," Phantom said in a hushed voice. "They do fires on nights like this."

She looked around, as if expecting to see something other than twirling bits of snow. "Nights like . . . this," she repeated slowly.

"It'll clear up in a little bit," Phantom said. His expression turned sly. "But you know, it would certainly help if we were above the clouds right now, wouldn't it?"

There was an embarrassing amount of time in which Sam stared at him, silent and uncomprehending. What did he mean by above the clouds? It made no sense to her, because neither of them could . . . wait. Sam nearly facepalmed. She'd almost forgotten she was talking to a ghost.

"You can't be serious," she said, crossing her arms.

"Oh, come on, Sam," he said. "Haven't you ever wanted to fly?"

"Not really, no," she lied.

Phantom reached toward her anyway with his palm facing the sky. "C'mon," he said, "I don't bite. I promise."

"Sure, you don't. You'll just feed on my emotions and suck out my soul," she deadpanned, though her words lacked their usual malice.

Phantom grimaced at her. Without missing a beat, he said, "Sorry, I don't like diet humans. Pretty sure feeding on your emotions would be the low carb version of the ghost world."

"Are you calling me emotionless?"

"Well, you are goth, aren't you? What was it you said before? The antitheses of anything bright and happy?"

"Funny." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you always such an ass?"

"Do you always disguise your fear with banter?"

"What did you just say to me?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Who the hell said I was afraid of anything?"

"I did. Considering you have yet to take my hand, I'm left to assume you're either afraid of heights, or me."

"I am so not afraid of you," she snapped. "And for the record I love heights."

"Well then," Phantom said as he waggled his outstretched hand, "what are we waiting for?"

Sam opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, she stood there in the freezing wind with her gaze flicking from Phantom's eyes to his hand, then back again. She shivered as a sudden bout of self-consciousness rippled through her. She wasn't afraid—she wasn't—but it seemed utterly forbidden to place her hand in his, like something cataclysmic would happen if she did.

Phantom was a ghost. She'd be taking the hand of a ghost. She'd be trusting a ghost.

But then, Sam thought as she looked at him, do I even care?

The silence was deafening as they stared at each other. Bits of snow settled in Phantom's hair, peppered his cloak with white. The snowflakes were big and fat, softer than anything she had ever seen in Amity Park. She frowned and brushed them away from her face where they clung to her bangs. Then she was staring at his hand, very much aware how pivotal her decision was. Things were changing. The Resistance had so much to learn. She had so much to learn.

"You can say no if you want," Phantom said after the silence stretched on into what seemed like minutes. His hand dropped a little, and she watched the hesitation draw his features in uncertain lines. "I'd understand. I mean, it must be pretty cold out here for you. I'm unaccustomed to just how inefficient a human's thermoregulation really is."

The silence dragged on even longer. Phantom tilted his head at her with worry now prominent in his eyes. "Sam?"

Just when Phantom started to pull away, Sam surprised them both by placing her hand in his.

xXx

Tucker yawned and scrubbed the bleariness from his eyes with the back of his hands. His half empty coffee, now lukewarm, slid down his throat like toxic sludge. He shuddered as he finished it off.

Seated next to him at one of the long tables in the Fentonworks lab, was Jazz. They both hunched over the table, faces sagging into their hands, a weariness like no other tugging at their eyelids. He asked her, "How much longer is she going to watch that same video?"

"The data suggests . . ." Jazz trailed off, yawning, then managed, "indefinitely."

"It's like being stuck in the twilight zone," Tucker muttered.

"Or Groundhog Day," Jazz added.

They both started as Jack Fenton erupted with the loudest snore that Tucker had ever heard. He gave Jazz a flat look and jerked his thumb at the older Fenton, "At least he's getting some rest."

Jazz shook her head at her dad. Jack was slumped in of the rickety wheeled office chairs, his bulk swallowing the ratty leather backrest. Arms hanging, head thrown back, snores puncturing the evening stillness.

Tucker stretched and leaned back into his own chair. "I can't believe he can sleep like that."

"My mom said he's been able to do that since their college days," Jazz said. "Cramming for finals and all that."

Tucker nodded absently, fighting off the urge to yawn again, and glanced at where Maddie was still camped out at her supercomputer. Her hair was in disarray, the whites of her eyes now red with the lack of sleep. Discarded coffee cups littered her desk as she scribbled furiously into a little notebook. The videos they'd pulled from FENTODRONE #9 played on a continuous loop.

She'd been at this for days now. Watching that damn video, over and over and over again. Tucker's throat thickened as he caught a glimpse of Phantom hurling Sam to the ground and he had to look away. "Finding anything good on there, Mrs. F?"

Maddie's shoulders stiffened at being addressed. She didn't look away from the screen. "What was that, dear?"

"Tucker was just wondering how your research is going," Jazz supplied helpfully.

"As well as it can be with the limited resources," Maddie said.

"Mom, don't you think it's time to give it a rest?" Jazz rose from her chair and went to her mom's side.

"Yeah, Mrs. F," Tucker agreed. He joined them, though he looked everywhere but at her computer screen. His eyes lingered on a photograph framed by yellow and little flowers that sat atop her computer. Feeling guilty, he looked away from it. "I mean, you've been at this for days."

Maddie sighed tiredly. "I suppose you kids are right," she said.

But Tucker's attention had strayed to her notebook where his eyes roamed her elegant scrawl, packed in tight to conserve as much real estate on her notebook page as possible. His brows pinched. "What are you looking for in all this?"

"Ghosts exhibiting corporeality is a rare thing these days," she said. He didn't miss the way her eyes shifted though, down to the pages of her notebook, her hand subtly sliding them out of view.

Uneasiness churned in his gut. Maddie was hiding something. "What are you not telling us?"

Jazz stiffened. "Mom?"

Maddie's mouth pursed into a thin line. "I'm . . . not sure I should say. Not supposed to, anyway."

"Say what, mom?"

"The last time we went down this route there were . . . consequences."

Jazz crossed her arms. "When you and dad lost your clearance." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Maddie sighed. "Among other things."

"What other things?" Tucker asked.

"I really shouldn't be dragging you kids into this."

"Mom, I'm twenty-six." Jazz said dryly. The light of Maddie's computer made the rippled scar tissue on her face especially garish. She gestured between Tucker and herself. "We're not kids. Whatever it is, we can handle it."

"Yeah, Mrs. F," Tucker agreed with a confidence he didn't feel.

Maddie raked a hand through her unkempt copper hair, her face scrunching in thought. She looked at Jazz first, before her eyes shifted to Tucker. Tucker could practically see the gears turning in her head. Then she looked down at her notebook and fiddled with her pen as she silently mulled things over.

It was several moments later when her face hardened with her decision. She rose from her chair and gently jostled Jack's shoulder.

The large man woke with a startled snort and flailing limbs. "Ghost!" he shrieked.

"Not this time, my love," Maddie said with a faint smile.

He yawned and stretched. "Is it time for breakfast yet?"

A soft, breathy laugh escaped her lips. The sound was strange considering how weary she looked. "Not yet."

"Oh, okay," he said. "What's up then, sweet cheeks?"

"We need to tell them."

Jack went rigid. "Are you sure, Madds?"

The purpling under Maddie's eyes was stark against her fair skin. "We can't do this alone, Jack. We can't."

Jack stared at her for a long moment and then nodded once, his face grave yet bristling with determination. He went to the toolbox tucked away in the corner of the lab and pulled out a small electric impact. Metal clanked and rattled as he rifled through the drawer of bits and sockets and attached a long, star shaped bit to the chuck.

Tucker and Jazz watched in silent confusion. But before either of them could ask what the impact was for, Jack had already located an obscure spot on the wall behind the row of computers and began disassembling one of the metal panels that lined the lab.

Behind the panel was a pink wall of polystyrene insulation. Jack moved a section of it aside, revealing a small pocket that had been chipped straight through the compound's structural cinderblock. Inside it was an ancient laptop. The thing was as thick as a textbook and clunky as hell. Jack pulled it from a protective sheath of plastic and gingerly lowered it to one of the few bare tables near Maddie's supercomputer.

"Holy shit, that thing's old," Tucker remarked. He leaned closer to get a better look at it, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Why do you guys have this?"

"We needed a way to stay clear of the compound's servers," Maddie said. "Barbarra scavenged it for us a few years back when our clearance got revoked."

A spike of anxiety summersaulted through Tucker's stomach as Maddie's words and their implication settled on him like little droplets of freezing rain. Whatever the Fentons were hiding, it had to be big. Big enough that whatever they were about to tell them was more than just an act insubordination—it was something worse, like treason. The look of uneasiness that Jazz shot him over her shoulder suggested that she felt the same way.

While Jack worked on booting up the computerized fossil, Maddie returned to her own computer, chair wheels squeaking and groaning against the tile. Again, she pulled up the footage from FENTODRONE #9. The dark, grainy images blossomed onto her screen, right as acid started to burn in the back of Tucker's throat.

"Mrs. F, no offense, but I can't watch this," Tucker said. He swallowed hard. "Not again."

Maddie glanced up at him with a wild look in her eyes. Strands of her copper hair stuck out of her head in strange angles as if she'd raked her hands through it for days on end. From behind her, the ominous glow of her computer screen glared, casting her with a silver halo. The lines around her mouth seemed to quiver as she said, "It's not what you think."

Tucker wasn't so certain.

But then Maddie's pleading face melted away his unease and he sighed, relenting. "Okay."

A light touch brushed his shoulder. "You don't have to," Jazz said.

"I know," Tucker said. He patted her hand in thanks, then joined Maddie at the supercomputer. Jazz pressed in at Maddie's opposite shoulder. With a tremulous grin, he told Maddie, "The stage is all yours, Mrs. Fenton."

However, instead of playing the video, Maddie said, "What do we know about the behavior of ghosts?"

Tucker frowned at the question, but Jazz leapt right in. "That they're reactive in nature, highly aggressive, and respond to the existing emotional stimuli of the given environment."

Maddie nodded. "How about . . . socially?"

"Socially? Like with each other?" Tucker asked.

Again, Maddie nodded.

"Isn't there usually, like, a horde, or something? And sometimes there's an alpha that controls them?" Tucker said.

"What about their physiology?" Maddie said. "What does a ghost look like?"

Tucker knew all too well. Translucent bodies, a glowing center, sharp teeth and those horrible soulless eyes. He shook his head, unable to put such atrocities to words, and asked instead, "No offense, but what does this have to do with anything?"

"Four years," Maddie said. "It has been four years since we last recorded a corporeal ghost in Amity."

"We know, mom. You've mentioned it before," Jazz said.

Maddie's soft features hardened into something that was both stern and imploring before she turned to face her computer screen. With a couple clicks and several rapid keystrokes, she sped through the second video from the data chip and paused on a grainy image of Phantom, the furred beast, and Sam.

"Look at them," she breathed. "Completely tangible. And they're standing there. Not floating, standing. Look, look."

Tucker was looking. But he wasn't looking at the ghosts. Instead, his attention was on Sam, who was no more than a mere smidge amidst the grainy static. The rushing feeling that started in his chest had exploded into the gap between his ears. Suddenly, the room was way too small. He had to get out. Had to leave. Had to . . .

Something soft brushed his shoulder again. Jazz.

"It's okay, Tuck," Jazz said. "You don't have to do this."

It would be so easy to take her up on that offer. She was right, he didn't have to be here. He could leave. He could push open those saloon style doors and disappear without so much as a second glance behind him.

But that would be the coward's way out. If he'd learned anything from Sam over the years, it was how not to be a coward.

"It's okay," he said, "I'm okay. I can do this. Uh, Mrs. Fenton?"

"Yes, Tucker?"

"Play the video."

Maddie did.

She zoomed in and enhanced it as best as she could, but the image was still pixelated as hell. It made it difficult to pick out the details. Which was probably a good thing, because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stomach seeing his best friend's fatal injuries in high definition.

Even still, Tucker could see the way those two ghosts moved was . . . different. When he finally noticed it, it was all he could see, especially when Maddie replayed it from that initial frozen frame, but this time at a much slower speed.

"Their behavior is abnormal," she said. "It doesn't align with the typical patterns we see in wisps. Here, watch."

Wisps were jerky. They moved swiftly and purposefully, almost as if they followed an algorithm, not unlike the pathfinding route an NPC would use in one of his old video games. He'd always found it strange. Overly technical when it came to the paranormal.

But Phantom and the . . . furry beast? They moved with forethought. Their gazes shifted. They conversed. The way the furry one had cradled Sam to its chest as she lolled in its arms like a ragdoll? If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought the beast compassionate.

"We noticed the anomalies early on," Maddie said. "Ghosts were always such volatile creatures, but their behavior shifted twenty-five years ago."

"What do you mean it shifted?" Jazz asked.

At this, Maddie turned in her chair to look at Jack. Tucker and Jazz followed suit.

Jack had clearly been watching them for some time, an unreadable expression on his face. He nodded his head once and beckoned them to his table.

The laptop was so old that it took a solid ten or so minutes to finish wheezing to life. And when it did, all four of them squeezed in around its little fifteen-inch screen while Jack attached a small external hard drive and started clicking through an absurd amount of files.

Tucker's eyes widened when a familiar ghost appeared onscreen. "Holy shit, is that the Phantom?"

"Well, back then they called him Inviso-Bill, but yes." Maddie said.

"He looks so . . . young," Jazz remarked.

Wide-eyed, Tucker stared at the fuzzy video footage. Indeed, it was a younger version of Phantom that had been recorded, blasting a large globular ghost with its powers. Something in the background caught Tucker's attention. The footage was heavily out of focus, so he leaned in close to get a better look.

He recoiled in shock when he realized what that thing was he saw looming in the background.

"Is that the Eiffel tower?" he gasped.

"Yes," Maddie said. "My contact in France sent me this a few years ago, though the footage itself dates back around ten."

Air whooshed through Tucker's ears. It made him feel lightheaded as he stared hard at the screen. His palms were slick where he had them braced against the table, supporting his weight, as if he could not bear it alone.

And there was more, too.

So many different clips, pieced together from surveillance all over the world. Many were of Phantom.

Phantom—as young looking and fresh faced as any teenager, engaged in an epic battle with a horde of wisps.

A cheery looking ghost with an outrageous brick of cheese for a hat—gently lowering a treed cat to the ground in an old schoolyard.

Phantom—now older, hands glowing with plumes of molten green, dodging a car sent hurtling toward it from a mechanical ghost with green fire for hair.

A small ghost dog—tail wagging, frolicking through a clump of yellowed grass in some dilapidated city. Chicago, perhaps?

Phantom—making an entire building intangible as it collapsed around a mass of fleeing people. And holy shit, that was New York. That one really threw him. And he knew it did Jazz, too, because he heard her sharp intake of breath and saw the way she stiffened from the corner of his eye.

A blue-skinned ghost in pinstriped pajamas—assisting small children out of a frozen lake after they'd clearly fallen through the ice. He didn't even know which country that one was. Only that it was snowy and mountainous, a ghost shield flickering in the background.

Phantom—drifting aimlessly through alleyways and little shadowy alcoves, keeping itself hidden from the humans who passed it by. How it kept its ectosignature undetected like that, he had no idea.

It just didn't make any sense. None of this did.

There was more, of course, but Maddie had stopped clicking through them. She tilted her head enough to get a clear look at Tucker and Jazz. Her reddened eyes gleamed with the glow of the laptop. "Do you see?"

Tucker shook his head, incredulous. "What does this all mean?"

"It means," Jazz said, "that there's a lot we haven't been told."

Maddie and Jack shared a long glance, before Maddie said, "It was . . . strongly recommended that we keep certain discoveries to ourselves."

"But what does this all mean?" Tucker asked again. His head was spinning. He found the nearest chair and fell into it.

"They're not the same kind of ghost as the ones here now, are they?" Jazz asked.

Despite the tension, Maddie's mouth twitched with a small, proud smile. "No. They're not."

"And what do you think, Dad? You've been uncharacteristically quiet."

Jack had again been listening with that unreadable expression on his face, thick arms crossed over his chest, mouth drawn into a firm, grim line. "I think," he said, slowly, "that spooks are spooks. But . . ." He stepped forward and placed one of his large hands on Maddie's shoulder. She grinned up at him and patted his hand in response. "But I trust my wife. Designing weapons and blasting them apart molecule by molecule is my specialty. Understanding them at that molecular level is hers. And she seems to think there's . . . more. That we're missing something."

Maddie nodded. "I do. Twenty-five years ago, ghosts were a nuisance, yes, but they weren't destructive. Not like they are now."

Tucker shook his head. "Does Damon know about this?"

"He does," Jack growled. "It didn't do any damn good, though. When Madds first started noticing the anomalies she brought it right to Damon and the bastard brushed her off."

Maddie nodded along, her face pained. "And when I insisted . . ."

"He revoked your clearance," Tucker finished for her.

He didn't need her sad nod of confirmation to know that his assumption was correct.

"He claimed to have no place in his ranks for," her nose wrinkled, "ghost sympathizers. Not that we were—or are, for the matter. But the science spoke for itself then, and it still does now."

It was all coming together. The jagged, missing pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place, piece by piece, though he knew there was still a shitload of tiles missing. There had to be. It was like they'd just finished the puzzle's perimeter and still had the entire middle section to go.

Maddie's words, spoken months ago now, bounced around in his skull. "I have been right you and everyone else had listened before the start of this goddamn war, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now."

Then, something else occurred to him.

"What about what happened at Vlad's old lab? Phantom destroyed it, right?" he asked.

Maddie nodded again, solemn. "Killed a bunch of scientists there, too."

His guts twisted. "Well, that seems pretty destructive to me," he muttered. He thought again of Sam, of the video evidence they had of her caught in that monster's arms, and shuddered.

"We don't have . . . much footage of that night, I admit," Maddie said, sighing. "Though I believe it was a rescue mission for a ghost that was being researched there. Phantom had a habit of rescuing other corporeal ghosts. My contacts corroborated that based on their own observations at the time."

"Mom, your contacts?" Jazz asked. "What contacts?"

"The other ectologists out there," Maddie said. "There were never a lot of us, especially before the war started, so we made sure to stay in touch as much as we could. Though that got harder and harder as the years went."

"Are they still out there?" Jazz's eyes were wide and hopeful. "Are there other cities out there still standing?"

"We don't know, Jazzypants," Jack said. "After Amity fell, we lost contact with . . . everyone, as you kids know. That at least has been public knowledge."

Maddie sighed again. "The ambient ectoplasm in the air disrupts incoming and outgoing transmissions. Amity was always a hot zone, but now, who knows what cities still stand. For all we know, the Fright Knight went after them, too."

Tucker shuddered at the mention of the Fright Knight. He leaned back into his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes again. His weariness from earlier was nothing compared to what he felt now. It was like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, pressing him down and down.

His eyes trailed and landed on Maddie's supercomputer, to that frozen image of Sam, the furred beast, and Phantom. Something in him sparked then. He almost didn't want to admit it, like if he did, that little flame flickering inside his chest would immediately peter out. He hadn't thought he'd ever feel it again when it came to his best friend.

"Do you think she . . . that she was still alive . . . when they took her?" he asked.

The room went dead silent.

"Oh, Tucker," Jazz breathed in that tone that sounded like she was about to deliver bad news.

Before she could continue, he stood, his chair stuttering behind him.

"I should go," he said with a forced cocky grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Ol' Too Fine has a hot date with a twin named mattress and I've kept her waiting long enough. I'll see you guys in the morning."

He didn't wait for them to say anything more. With all the shit they just told him, he was tapped out on insane revelations for the night. Maybe for the next year. Or two.

Due to his racing thoughts, he decided to take the long way back to the shitty little living space he shared with his parents. Despite what he told the Fentons, Mattress wasn't the best date, too curvy in all the wrong places, so even though he was exhausted, he was in no hurry to get back to a bed that made his back ache.

So, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked.

He'd always known that the Fentons had their secrets. But a laptop stashed in the walls of their lab, full of old ghost surveillance? That hadn't been on his radar at all. He always figured they'd botched some big research project for the Resistance, not this. And he was sure there had to be more. In fact, he was certain. Deep down in his bones he knew they'd only scratched the surface.

There was more. So much more. Probably stashed under mountains and mountains of encrypted data on that old dinosaur they called a laptop.

What it all meant, he had no fucking idea.

And then there was that other thing.

It was dumb to feel the way he felt. He knew it was. But he couldn't help it. That thing in his chest was still there, burning and dancing with little marbled embers. And perhaps it would only lead to more heartache for him—and in fact, it absolutely would, but he still felt it all the same.

When he thought of Sam, the crippling despair that had lingered like a dull ache was gone, replaced instead with a lightness in his chest that he knew was as dangerous as it was naïve.

It was hope.

xXx

Phantom's bravado disappeared the moment she placed her hand in his.

His eyes, glowing and green in the darkness, had widened, his face slackening as he stared at their joined hands. She remembered seeing that expression before, just over a week ago when she'd attempted to clean his wounds. It was like he wasn't used to being touched.

And she could sort of understand why. Even with the chill seeping into her bones from a Far Frozen blanketed by the chill of night, she could still feel the alien iciness of his hand through both his glove and her own. The crawling sensation was back in the pit of her stomach, but it didn't manifest fear as it once had. She was cautious of him, naturally, but she wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

The crawling feeling turned into fluttering nerves as she cleared her throat and said, "So, are we just gonna stand here holding hands, or what?"

Phantom blinked, surprised. His grip tightened on her hand, just as a strange energy surged between them. She barely had time to register the bizarreness of it when gravity quite literally melted away from her limbs and she became weightless.

"Whoa," Sam breathed. Her feet kicked freely as they floated a mere few feet above the ground. The feeling was indescribable. A rushing sensation that vaulted through her chest and spiraled through every one of her nerve endings. Her immediate thought was of how lightheaded she felt, no longer able to sense the gravitational pull that kept her body cemented to the physical plane. Around them, Phantom's dark cloak billowed in the wind.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She looked up from where she'd been staring at the ground, and told him honestly, "Tingly."

"I've never done this with a human before."

Unable to stop herself, she snorted and said, "Glad I can be the one to pop that cherry, then."

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"Figure of speech. Don't worry about it."

"All right. Well, whatever you do, don't let go."

"Just don't drop me," she warned.

"I'll try not to."

Then, before she could question her decision further or change her mind, he smirked at her, winked animatedly, and sent them both spiraling into the sky and up the mountain. Her gasp of surprise was left trailing in their wake.

She cried out, laughing manically, as wind ripped through her hair and wrenched tears from her eyes. Her stomach flipped and tumbled but she didn't care. The spray of snow pelted her face like little barbs, so she ducked her head to shield herself from the worst of it, nearly burying her face into Phantom's chest as a result.

It was too soon when they slowed. Spinning gently in the air and with snowflakes twirling around them, he lowered her onto a rocky outcrop on the side of the mountain. It wasn't the peak, but it was high enough that Ec'Nelis in its entirety sprawled before her, a sea of twinkling starlight. The twisted tops of the yetis' homes appeared incandescent with the glint of subtle moonlight.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she raked her numb, stinging hands through her windblown hair. She could barely feel her face. In her chest, her heart jackhammered. She grinned at him where he still floated before her. "Please tell me we're doing that again."

He tilted his head at her, his smile soft. "You surprise me yet again, human. You weren't scared at all."

"I told you I don't think you're scary, didn't I?"

His eyes glowed bright in the darkness. She realized she hadn't seen him in anything other than bright lighting since their first meeting in Amity. His ghostliness was undeniable in the whispering dark, his entire body luminous like night's inverted shadow. It was eerie and disconcerting, but she couldn't deny that there was something oddly beautiful about it, too. About him.

Shivering, she drew a slow, shaky breath that was just as rattled as her adrenaline enriched nerves. She watched as he settled onto the outcrop next to her and didn't miss the space he kept between them. The outcrop wasn't large, so it was obvious that he'd scooted to the outermost edge of it, a single leg left dangling. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd done so for her benefit, or his own.

"Humans don't bite either, you know," she told him.

Phantom looked at her sharply. "I don't know what you mean."

She glanced pointedly at the space between them, arching her brow, then shot him a flat look.

"I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close," he admitted, his smile sheepish. "There's not exactly a lot of space up here."

"Oh no," she deadpanned, "we might touch elbows. How scandalous."

He snorted and shifted more comfortably next to her. It made their shoulders brush, though his fur lined cloak still rippled between them in the wind.

It was an effort to not think too hard about the contact. After tightening her hood around her face, she pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the flickering orange light where it blinked in the distance.

She could barely make out the yeti through the snowfall as they began to twirl and spin around the enormous fire in the center of the village. Her brow furrowed when she heard the rumble of drums resonate from the conglomeration. The sound was deep and melodic, almost hypnotizing, and it was all she could do to keep from swaying along to its beat.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

Phantom's glowing eyes peered at her from her peripheral. "They're starting the songs."

"Songs?"

There was a rustling of fabric as Phantom shifted in the snow beside her. Their elbows bumped. "Yeah, it's the kind of a thing they—uh, we—do. Every new moon, during the sky lights, the whole town gathers there and plays their music." He shrugged. "It's been their tradition for as long as I can remember."

"What do you mean by sky lights?" Sam asked him. She turned her gaze away from the yeti, finally looking at Phantom where he leaned against the rocky face of the mountainside. "And new moon? There is clearly moonlight here."

Phantom grinned crookedly and shook his head. "You'll see. Once the snow clears up. Be patient, Sammy."

"I'm not a patient person," she replied. Her nose wrinkled as something else occurred to her. "And don't call me Sammy."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like it," she seethed at him.

There was an infuriating smirk on Phantom's face that made her want nothing more than to punch him, but she didn't.

Instead, she watched his eyes sweep the area around them, his expression guarded, keen senses primed in search of lingering danger in the shadows. She noticed that even when he was sitting, he remained poised like a cat, muscles tensed and nerves spry. A set of knuckles rapping against stone.

"You know somethin'," she began, her eyes fixed on the yeti, even when she felt the return of Phantom's piercing gaze, "they're nothing like I thought they'd be."

"What do you mean?"

"The Yeti. For such scary as hell, badass looking creatures, they seem . . . gentle. Instead of sharpening their weapons or preparing for war, they're over there dancing around a fire." She shook her head and laughed a little. "It's disarming and weird, but I like it."

Instead of smiling like she thought he would, Phantom frowned instead. "War was never part of their culture before now. Not until very recently."

She squinted at him. "Really?"

"Yup. The Yeti, until necessity initiated the change, have always been peaceful beings. They're very cultural. Lovers of art, music, and the freedom of expression." Phantom smiled a little as he added, "Oh, and can't forget the pursuit of knowledge, too. My father would have my head if I forgot that one."

Sam's smile widened. With her gloved fingers she began to create little patterns in the snow between them. "You know, you're not exactly like I thought you'd be, either."

Phantom went rigid. He looked away from her, towards the yeti and the firelight. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

"No, Sam, I really don't."

"Phantom."

Wary green eyes met hers.

She said in a whisper, "What are you?"

He looked away and said nothing. Even in the darkness, she could see his expression harden to stone, illuminated by the glow of his eyes.

"You're not just a ghost," she said. "You can't be. Nothing you are makes sense."

He pretended to ignore her, but she watched the way his hands balled into fists.

"Phantom, I know ghosts. What you are is something different. Something revolutionary." She shook her head. "I don't know what it is about you, but I do know that your father sees it, and I can tell he'll guard those secrets with his life. I can see that—"

He cut her off with words mumbled under his breath.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I said I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"What I am."

"You don't know what you are?"

"No." He glared at her. "I have no clue what I am. No one does. Now can we please stop talking about it?"

"Phantom . . ."

"Sam, just drop it. Please."

"But—"

"I said drop it!"

Sam leaned back in surprise. His eyes were on fire in the twilight, the color amplified by rage and glowing brighter than she'd ever seen them. She realized with a start that this was the most ghostliness she'd seen him exhibit in months.

As if embarrassed by his response, Phantom turned away and shielded his eyes with his palm. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't like talking about it. I've been a freak and an outcast in nearly every Realm and dimension I've ever been in. Elle doesn't get it because she's spent most of her existence here with our father and kin, where she's accepted. Me, though?" He laughed without humor. "Let's just say I've been made very aware how unique I am."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. She stared at him in silent wonder as her thoughts raced a mile a minute.

How, she wondered, could he not know what he was? How could no one know? Then as she thought about it more, the pity settled like a dead weight in her chest. What a sad life it must have been, to have grown up so differently in a world that ostracized uniqueness. In the world they knew now, such exclusivity got you killed, or worse. She realized then how alone he must feel.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice low and sincere. "I can't even imagine what you must have gone through. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"Thank you." Phantom's chilly gaze thawed again. "That actually means a lot."

"Yeah, well," she said with flourish, "don't get used to it. And don't go around telling people I'm being all sincere and shit. I have a reputation to uphold, ya know."

He chuckled at that, then turned away from her and leaned back with his hands crossed behind his head. "Whatever you say, Sam. Hey, do me a favor?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Look up."

"Look up?" she asked, turning to face the sky. "Look up at wha—oh. Oh."

The snow had finally subsided, clouds drawn way to reveal the dark sea hidden behind them. Unlike a new moon in her own Realm, the celestial moons were still present, though they glowed faintly in the inky sky, mere blotches of color against the darkness.

Her jaw had dropped. But not at the sight of the moons or even the panoramic view of the stars. She stared transfixed at a sky that was woven with a tapestry of dancing neon lights.

She'd never seen them in person. Read about them, sure. Hell, a couple years ago Tucker had even scrounged up some old videos and photos he'd found buried deep within the compound's archives. It was almost a crime how much injustice those old files did to the real thing, however, because the cascading ribbons of color she was watching now were unlike anything she had seen before.

"Oh my god," Sam gasped. "The northern lights! But . . . how? Why? How is this even possible?"

"My father believes this to be what links our realm to yours," Phantom said. "The Far Frozen is the closest quantum link to your world in the chain of our universe. His theory is that since the yeti are the most biologically similar to humans, and both worlds experience the same phenomenon, that the aurora borealis we perceive is that magnetic pull between our worlds."

Sam's eyes were as wide as saucers. She leaned in close to him, unable to contain her excitement. "Wait a minute," she said in a voice that jumped an octave, "so you're saying that this is also happening right now at home?!"

"Well, if by home you mean in your Realm, then yes." He gave her a crooked grin. "Though they're typically more prominent in the northern hemisphere."

"It's one thing to see an ice map of the universe, but . . ." she trailed off, shaking her head. Her eyes returned to the weaving colors, to a band of neon green snaking through a wash of pink. "Holy shit, this is amazing."

"Now," he said, pointing towards the yeti conglomeration, "watch them."

Sam peered into the distance where the yeti continued in their arc around the fire. She listened to the beat of their drums, the melodic, almost sensual rhythm that caressed the wind as soft and as smooth as silk, and this time she didn't stop herself when she started to sway along in tandem. It really was a brilliant sound. Even from the distance, she felt every drumbeat reverberating throughout her body like a heartbeat.

The yeti spun together, dancing merrily, while small cubs and dogs jumped about their feet. Above them, the colors of the aurora borealis seemed to reach a brilliant climax, the ribbons swirling in fantastic patterns. The column in the center of the village, the one peaked by the glittering blue orb, started to glow until the light exploded and bathed the entire village with the color palette of the aurora. She watched, mesmerized, as the twirled tops of huts refracted the colors even more, so thousands of tiny, iridescent rainbows shimmered along every frozen surface.

The sight took Sam's breath away. She didn't know where to look—the sky with its astonishing array of color, the village that was glowing, or the yeti as even more of them joined in on the dance. The drums continued to fill the night, but what astounded her even more was when a lovely female voice began to sing in a language Sam didn't recognize.

"What language is that?" she asked in a whisper, not wanting to miss a single word of the song.

"The language of forgotten times," Phantom whispered back distantly.

Something in his voice made her turn to face him. She was surprised to find him watching her again. A blush rose to her cheeks at the gravity of his stare. She'd seen him lethal, teeming with a level of danger that, no matter how brave she claimed to be, could freeze her veins with dread quicker than she cared to admit. She'd seen him awkward and bumbling, too, especially when it came to communicating with her on a human level, as if he didn't know how to interact with someone else his age.

Now, though, his gaze was one she didn't recognize. His expression was unreadable, and yet he seemed to be reading her, calculating her just as she'd seen his father often do. It was the authoritative stare of someone wise beyond his years. She wondered then, and not for the first time, who exactly this enigma was.

"You don't know what you are either," he finally said in an echo of her own thoughts, not at all perturbed that she'd caught him watching her.

"No," she agreed, unsure of where the sudden shyness was coming from. "I thought I did, but I was . . ." she trailed off and swallowed hard. "I was wrong."

He didn't respond, but there was an imperceptible furrow of his brow that seemed to harden his eyes. Sam crossed her arms over her chest and angled her head towards the village. "This," she said in a soft voice, "is absolutely amazing, Phantom."

The frost of their breath swirled between them. When did they get so close? She wondered, lost in the greenness of his eyes. She could practically count his lashes with how close they were. It was as if they were finally seeing each other for the first time, and Sam found that she couldn't look away, even as her stomach began to flip in the strangest way.

"It's called polar attraction," he murmured.

She leaned back in shock, her blush deepening. "I'm sorry, what?"

With the realization of what he said and how it sounded, Phantom's eyes widened in surprise. He looked away with a cough. "Uh, our worlds. The quantum link. It's the polar attraction of water molecules and the charged magnetic field that bonds the aroura borealis together so they project the same image." His words tumbled out unintelligible. He shrugged. "Same with the aroura australis in the southern hemisphere. You know, negatives and positives. It's, uh, you know, science."

"So, the answer is science, then?"

Eyes wide and posture rigid, Phantom said in horror, "Please, in the name of everything Ancient and sacred, don't tell my father I answered a scientifically fueled question with science."

Unable to contain herself, Sam threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard and so long that tears streamed down her face and her belly began to ache.

It was an eternity or so later that she finally gasped for breath between relentless peals of laughter and wiped the tears from her eyes before she could look at him again.

His expression was half-lidded and unamused. "Oh, come on," he drawled, arms crossed over his chest with a huff. "It wasn't that funny."

"It really was," Sam disagreed with a chuckle.

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes, but not before his mouth twitched with amusement. "Although I may have to revoke your goth card. You went from low carb diet human to a full-blown artery clogging heart attack, full of processed sugary emotions."

Sam leaned back, her hands on her cheeks in mock terror. "Oh no, please don't say you've changed your mind about eating my soul!"

Playing along, Phantom planted his hand on the stone behind her head and leaned forward so his nose was inches from her neck. He inhaled deeply, which caused the most damnable spell of goosebumps to prickle at her skin. He promptly shied away, however, as if her scent burned him and rolled his eyes again. With a wave of his hand and feigned disgust, he sniffed and said, "No thanks. You smell like one big stomachache. I think I'll stick to low carb humans after all."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, to which she met his gaze. It wasn't long before they both burst out laughing.

"Alright," Phantom said when the laughter died down once more. "Enough of this. I should probably get you back before you freeze to death." He stood and brushed the snow from his cloak, then offered her his hand, which she took this time without hesitation.

"I wish we could stay out here," she said, wistful.

Again, that weightless feeling overcame her. She stared up at him, wide eyed. Moonlight bathed his luminous silhouette as if his very presence called to it. The glow of his eyes dusted his cheeks, his hair soft and white, tousled by wind. In that moment, he looked less like a ghost and more like a creature borne from starlight itself. How had she never noticed it before?

Something in her chest stirred. She didn't want to think too hard about what it was.

He gave her a lopsided grin as he slowly brought them back towards the base of the mountain. "The funny thing about the moons is that they set and then rise again. There will be other nights."

Sam grinned.

The walk back to her room was kissed by a thoughtful silence. For the first time since being in the bizarre, beautiful world of the Far Frozen, Sam was utterly content as she strode beside Phantom. The air felt charged by his presence, curious little tugs on her awareness, but the fear that had once thrashed around in her gut was absent. And she knew now, for certain, that he was not her enemy.

His cloak brushed her side as they walked. She stole a glance to where he strolled easily beside her. Was he dangerous? Yes, she concluded, and rightfully so. But not to her. The realization twisted something deep inside her soul.

Paulina had been right.

There was so much more to the ghosts. To this world. Everything she had ever known was wrong.

A leaden ball of guilt started to churn in the pit of her stomach before she gritted her teeth and stopped it. No, guilt would get her nowhere. She would not let herself feel guilty for something she had no control over. Guilt wouldn't win this war, nor would it help reunite her world with the rest of the Infinite Realms.

But change would.

She didn't know how she would do it, but Sam decided then that she would be that change. She would find a way. To be the catalyst their worlds so desperately needed.

She had to.

As they neared her room, Phantom's smile was one of regret when he raised his hand, a blue sphere of polar energy already glowing in his palm. "Thanks for everything tonight. It was nice to just hang out with someone that isn't a yeti or my sister."

She grinned softly in return. "I should be the one thanking you."

"You helped make cookies and humored me with puns. I think that makes us even," he laughed. His hand lifted, the undulating sphere brightening. "Goodnight, human."

Just as he was about to seal her inside, she surprised him and herself by lunging forward and grabbing his wrist.

The energy in his palm, so close to her face as she stood with his hand grasped between both of hers, was blinding and freezing cold. She looked right into his eyes as she said, "I was wrong about you, Phantom. I'm . . . sorry I didn't see it sooner." Her breath frosted between them from the proximity of the frozen energy.

His green eyes were wide as he glanced between their hands and her face. "We were both wrong, Sam," he said in a low voice. "And my name is Danny, by the way. You can call me that—I mean, if you want."

Her smile returned, genuine and full of warmth. It was the kind of smile she never thought she'd be capable of again. With slow, hesitant steps, she backed into her room.

Then, loud enough for him to hear and just before the last tendril of ice divided them, she said . . .

"Goodnight . . . Danny."

A/N: Well, here we go!

Can I just say how amazing it is to finally be here. I started the first iteration of this silly little story in April of 2014, before eventually giving up on it because I didn't like how I was writing it. And while so much of the plot and pacing has changed since then, much of this chapter was written for the update that never came in the first iteration. I had to add quite a bit (The Fentons and Tucker arc was not present the first time, for example), but it is just so surreal for me to finally be here posting this. I could cry.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been here cheering me on through this. You have no idea what it means to me. I write this story for myself, first and foremost, but it's your encouragement that keeps giving me the motivation to keep going. And I love you all for it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

That said, we're about to reach a major tipping point and a lot plot movement is about to start happening. Hope y'all are ready for it. I know I am.

Thanks again and see you guys soon! If you would like any updates regarding the story or have any questions at all, please feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr Roarri, or follow the #frozenfirefanfic tag.