The Chess

― Ah! ― Pauline dropped the light-colored dress from her hands, to which she had just pinned a delicate blue lace. The last thing she wanted to do was to stain the light fabric with her own blood from the wound and get stuck in her work, wondering how to clean the dirt or, even worse, ruin all work and have to start over when the finished result was so close. A large drop of blood quickly formed at the tip of her finger, dripping under her nail, which looked thin and dirty without gel polish. This wasn't the first time she'd had her hands pricked by needles during the Christmas holidays. She hadn't removed the worn-out band-aids from her thumb and index finger all day. Small threads and pieces of lurex were stuck to them, and the edges were frayed and starting to peel off her skin. Taking a cotton pad and disinfectant from the dressing table, Pauline meticulously cleaned the wound and covered it with a new band-aid. She wanted to complete the task as soon as possible so that she could wear it to school. These thoughts made her feel a bit dizzy and excited, as she had spent a lot of time before Christmas learning how to make simple stitches, small dresses for her dolls, and handle some intricate details. Throughout the holidays, she had been customizing a ready-made pattern from her grandmother's old magazine. Girl stood in front of the mirror, trying to figure out what she should remove or add. The original design was a bit old-fashioned, but it had a certain charm, and the challenge was to accentuate that charm: shorten the length without making it too short, which would disrupt the harmony with the puffed sleeves, add a bit of waistline, and deepen the neckline without making it too revealing. It was her first serious big job, and the only person who helped her was her grandmother. And even then, not always. The old woman could talk for a long time and give advice, but her poor eyesight and rheumatism in her right hand made it difficult for her to demonstrate the correct way to do things. However, it seemed that she enjoyed the process, and whenever Pauline approached her with a project, a pattern, or a new piece of fabric, the woman seemed to regain a decade of youth. She was more enthusiastic about cooking. Pauline went to the wide window-sill, where two black-and-white magpies were sitting, huddled together, having brought her some more feathers today, which she put in a wooden box and hid under her bed. The birds were doing, their shiny red-brown eyes occasionally glancing at her. In a shallow bowl in front of them were nuts, fruit, and some boiled chicken. After a cold day outside, the hungry animals had eaten almost everything, and now they were contentedly basking in the warmth. — Two fluffy balls, — the girl giggled, gently scratching the small head of one of the magpies with her fingertips. The bird squeezed its eyes shut contentedly, exposing its withers for petting. ― We've known each other for so long, but you still don't have any names. The second magpie yawned sleepily, revealing its sharp pink tongue. — But you don't seem to mind, — Pauline said, looking out the window. Large flakes of snow were falling slowly. The decorations had been removed from the houses, and the streets were sad and gray, but the girl was happy to be able to sleep without the eye mask that protected her from the flashing lights outside. — They should have lit candles in front of the windows, not this lights, — she muttered, returning to her work. Picking up the almost-finished dress, she scrutinized the hem to make sure there wasn't a drop of blood on it. She put dress on, zipped it up, and twirled in front of the mirror, appreciating the way the lace lifted gracefully with the hem. The satin fabric shimmered like it was covered in frost. The light shade suited her, accentuating her dark skin and dark hair. No one could enhance her beauty better than herself. — I'll need to add some decorative buttons. Maybe pearl ones was good, — she said to herself, imagining what hairstyle to wear and what jewelry to choose. — Button... — she repeated, looking back at the magpies. — And Pin... I think it suits you.

***

The tea cooled quickly. Everything cooled quickly in his hands. Since the beginning of winter, the Ghost had been on a wild spree, sensing the proximity of his element. Danny didn't feel the cold much outside, and he began to derive an indescribable pleasure from taking an icy shower in the morning, which would drop the temperature in the bathroom well below 20 degrees Celsius. This wouldn't have been a problem if it weren't for the overly sensitive sensors that his parents had installed throughout the house since Samhain. They worked, they reacted to his power, but only sometimes. However, that wasn't the main problem. Danny tried to keep Charlotte's thermos in sight after he locked the little demon inside. Spiders quickly began to appear around it, seeming to gather from all over the neighborhood. They would wrap themselves around the trap, settle nearby, and if you tried to drive them away or, which was a big mistake, kill them, two new ones would take their place. The only way to get rid of the arachnid infestation was to place the thermos as a decoration in a small terrarium with a couple of the largest spiders. The parents didn't ask any questions about the inappropriate use of their equipment, or perhaps they simply didn't notice the changes in his room's decor. The white, thin threads had almost completely covered the thermos, and the insects had created their own burrows at the base of the trap, where they had settled for the winter, seemingly ceasing to emerge around the beginning of the Christmas holidays. They didn't respond to any of the food bugs that were dying in the terrarium due to starvation. Their corpses lay at the bottom, covered in dust. — Charlotte Webster, you love spiders too much, — Danny muttered, setting the open book on the bedside table, the cover facing up. — I'd like to talk to you or take you to a therapist, but you'll probably try to kill him too. Outside the window, large snowflakes were slowly falling. He risked a little by tweaking their graceful flight with telekinesis and forming an infinity sign in the air. But this wasn't enough for the Phantom. More snowflakes began to fall, forming a large snowball that floated in the air. Fearing the loss of control over Ghost, Danny backed away from the window, hearing the snowball crash onto a neighbor's parked car, setting off an alarm. That was the problem. Lately, his powers had been getting out of control, and the fear of freezing everything around him was much stronger than the fear of falling through the floor at the wrong time, back when Danny was still learning to cope with his new self. He could feel his fingertips trembling slightly, and he reached for a cup of tea. Took a sip to calm himself. A thin piece of ice formed on the surface of the tea and cracked on his teeth. "This is bad," — he thought, watching the ice crystals grow on the sides of the glass, turning the tea into ice cream. — "This is very bad." The ice continued to grow, no matter how hard Danny tried to stop it. His heart was beating faster and faster in his chest. Frost was already forming on his fingertips when the anti-ghost alarm in the house went off. — Damn it! — the boy swore, throwing the glass of iced tea onto the bed and covering it with a blanket. He rubbed his hands vigorously on his pants and T-shirt, trying to remove the frost from his fingers before his father burst into the room, gun drawn. — Dann'O! Are you all right? — His father was scanning the room for any potential threats, ignoring the sealed thermos in the terrarium and Danny's hands behind his back. — Did you see anything suspicious? — No, Dad, — the teenager tried to lean against the windowsill as casually as possible, ignoring the awkward position of his arms and the howling car alarm outside. — Nothing suspicious.

***

The nighttime streets of Amity Park were covered in snow. From the view windows of the restaurant in the city's oldest hotel, the view of the lights of the buildings fading behind a thick blanket of snow was currently bleak. Perhaps in good weather, the town might have looked nice from the tenth floor, but it was hard for Masters to be surprised by something so trivial. The Amity Park was an ordinary gray place, with its center being a complete architectural mess. There was no system in the narrow streets of the suburbs, or in the layout of the Old Town, where the hotel was located. They also lacked the charm of old European towns, whose narrow streets had a unique charm that varied from country to country. The soft music had long since stopped. After the most customer left, a hotel employee in red trousers and a matching vest over a white shirt methodically cleaned the table. After the employee left, Masters was the only visitor left. The candles on the table provided a slight glow, complementing the dim overhead lights and the crackling fire in the decorative fireplace. — I'd rather not set foot in this hole, — the man muttered under his breath, turning away from the view window as the white haze completely obscured the distant suburbs on the other side of the city. Vlad unconsciously fiddled with his glasses with a thin silver frame. An annoying and uncomfortable backup option for an emergency, which he sincerely never wanted to resort to. Yes, they are more reliable and durable than contact lenses, but this is nothing compared to a ton of disadvantages. The view in them is frankly limited, and the glasses, even the most expensive, were too thick for his vision defect and gave serious distortions closer to the periphery, which is critical in many situations. They also served as a clear visual reminder of the past and a was very noticeable. "The glasses look really good on you." The man sighed heavily and put the accessory back in the pencil case, pushing it to the edge of the table. The memories dulled the momentary impulse to destroy the frame along with the glasses. It had only recently seemed to Vlad that HER words would no longer have the same effect on him as they had in his youth but reality wos opposite. It was difficult to say for certain whether this discovery was more of a confusion or a disappointment. A plate of hot spaghetti with meatballs, a bottle of wine, and a crystal glass were placed on the table. The waiter who brought the order was a middle-aged, bald man in a completely white uniform, which caused Masters to roll his eyes in disappointment. He allowed the man to fill his glass with a red, semi-sweet wine. Typically, people of his status preferred dry wines with minimal sugar and long aging periods. These wines had a richer flavor and showcased their natural beauty. However, Vlad did not particularly enjoy this. He preferred the sweetness of a young blend to the richness of taste, where his heightened senses could clearly sense the life that had been warmed by the hot southern sun. — Since you've decided to play the waiter, would you be so kind as to grate some cheese on the pasta? — Vlad asked politely. Manners and politeness are a man's face. The man in white's hands trembled slightly as he picked up a small piece of cheese and a copper grater. He was clearly resisting, just like everyone else. Or at least he was hesitating. Vlad allowed them to do this at first, just for the sake of a certain kind of pleasure. ― You know, I've already directly informed your management about everything I think they need to know. Moreover, you know that I have no intention of cooperating with your Agency, and neither do my partners, employees, or even my clients. But who could have known that you would be so persistent? The movements of the man in white were monotonous, unhurried, and smooth. The cheese shavings fell onto the hot pasta in a uniform layer and quickly began to melt from the heat of the dish. Vlad picked up a glass of wine by its long, thin stem. Gently stirred the wine, admiring the rich burgundy reflections in the light of the candle and the fireplace. He inhaled the aroma, which was tart and floral, leaving a slight, almost honey-like sweetness on the back of his tongue. It was perfect for a cold evening. ― You know, if I were in charge of your agency, I'd be considering disbanding your incompetent team. You're even bad conspirators. You showed up wearing the Agency's signature color, when all the employees at this hotel wear red. I can't even imagine what you were expecting without any documents, authorization for any serious actions, or even a weapon. The "waiter's" hands stopped. There was almost no cheese left, and his knuckles were dangerously close to the teardrop-shaped grater, which glinted with its sharp edges in the dim light of the restaurant. Beads of sweat appeared on the man's smooth-shaven temples. — Did I say you to stop? — Vlad clarified, giving the man a bored look. He was breathing heavily, trying to regain his will. He was honestly putting all the effort of his limited human brain into this action. A red haze was slowly covering his brown eyes, taking away their vibrant sparkle and any remaining sanity. There was no need for Vlad to rush. There was no one else in the restaurant. — More, — Vlad demanded in a slightly more commanding tone. The fake "waiter's" hand slid across the grater again, and the piece of cheese crumbled under his fingers, while the tiny blades sliced off the top layer of skin from his knuckles. Slowly, as he reached the end of the greater, his hand returned to the beginning, still clenched as if he were holding something. The first drops of blood fell onto the melted cheese, quickly coagulating due to the high temperature. The aroma of pasta, meatballs in tomato sauce, and wine was complemented by a deeper and more intense scent of a truly satisfying meal. ― If it weren't for the policies of your organization, which I simply cannot agree with based on my personal ethical principles, we might even be able to cooperate to some extent. However, this is not possible under the conditions you have set for Plasmids Genetics. I fear that your leadership has overestimated its own importance. The "waiter's" hand moved down the grater again. Blood and pieces of flesh from his fingers splattered onto the plate. The man didn't scream. His eyes remained blank and dull, like those of a weak-willed animal, ready to do whatever his master commanded. In his youth, Masters referred to this obedience as "dog-like," but as time passed, he realized that this comparison was an insult to dogs. ― This is completely unacceptable, especially given your appalling incompetence. If you weren't part of the government, you'd be bankrupt by now. Instead, you continue to exist in a useless manner and waste the money of honest taxpayers. Including my own, I might add. The man in white's hand began to move downwards again, across the tiny blades. Vlad winced at the unpleasant sound of bone scraping against metal. ― That's enough. You can't even grate cheese without getting hurt or damaging someone else's property. The cheese grater fell from his weakened fingers, clattering to the marble floor. Large drops of scarlet blood now stained not only the pasta plate, but also the red tablecloth. They soaked the sleeve of his white shirt, while his clouded eyes stared blankly at his injured limb. The man in white opened and closed his mouth like a fish that had been pulled out of an aquarium by a mischievous child. — You're free, — Vlad said carelessly, sipping his wine. — Go do something more productive. Staggering, the obedient doll slowly began to walk away from the restaurant, leaving a trail of blood on the light marble floor. An empty man whose will was no stronger than a thin, dry straw, which was easy to break. These dolls obeyed without question, and within a few hours, they would collapse in a ditch on the street, completely unaware of what had happened to them. Even a few lines of poetry did not have the same effect as Masters's small ability. Of course, the man in white wasn't an "ordinary person," and he probably had some kind of gadget with him, but none of the existing equipment was able to capture what people would call "mimetic" or "mental" effects. — It's nice to get back to work, — Vlad said, moving a bloodstained plate closer and spearing a turkey meatball with a fork. — Especially after such a long recovery. Vlad licked his lips with pleasure. The blood of a living person was much more rich than its cloned counterpart. Of course, the product produced by his company was good, but its main problem was that it was cold, or unusable if it was kept at room temperature for too long or if the protein coagulation process was artificially stopped. — There's still work to be done, — Vlad concluded to himself, twirling a forkful of spaghetti with stringy melted cheese, flavorful blood, and bits of human flesh. The hope that the annoying, incompetent agent would fall into the snow somewhere on the street and meet his inglorious end was minimal, but the man had no plans to kill anyone. At least not yet. If the Agency's employees had visited the Amity Park, but only for show (or even against the wishes of their superiors), there were limited reasons for doing so. The first step was to ensure that the local black-and-white Phantom was not one of them. An elderly man with an almost completely gray head covered with sparse hair materialized in the air. His old-fashioned red three-piece suit and the bullet hole in place of his left eye revealed him to be a former hotel employee who had died during a gang war in the 1960s. However, he maintained a dignified demeanor as he approached Vlad, who was dining. — Please clean up after this incompetent man, — Masters asked the ghost, wiping his lips with a napkin. — There's no need to scare the living guests with the sight of his blood.

***

They had spoken to Vlad on Christmas, at Jack's initiative, although Maddy had been against it, remembering that Masters didn't celebrate Christmas, preferring the more pagan New Year, or Yule, as he called it. Masters' voice sounded weak and tired as he accepted the greetings. He brushed off any questions, saying he was just a little tired. It didn't sound very convincing, but Jack believed him. After that call, Maddy began to remember her college days. The past seemed pleasant, soothing, and always had bright colors that contrasted sharply with the gray reality. Jack was the life of the party in college. He was always the first to jump into any competition or activity. Was the center of attention at parties. He was the leader of all projects and the source of endless creative ideas. Like a locomotive, pulling everyone along with him. Had the energy of a nuclear reactor. He was inspiring and vibrant. Vlad was overshadowed by his friend, as he was a cold-blooded and calculating individual. These were not the traits one would appreciate when one was young and had a fiery heart that craved action. He never did anything without being certain that the endeavor was worth the effort, and it seemed to be the only thing that kept him committed to the portal project. Initially, Maddie found this man's ability to charm and flatter others to achieve his own goals repulsive. How could someone be so sycophantic? How could one be so dishonest just to get others to do what you want?! Her memory still vividly recalled the moment when Vlad blatantly lied, looking straight into the dean's eyes, that their experiments would not require a lot of electricity or toxic chemicals, not yet knowing that he was signing his own warrant with this lie. She remembered the strange glint in the depths of his dark blue eyes when he was particularly eager to win over his interlocutor. Vlad was definitely interested in her, but he didn't show the same level of attention as Jack, who was ready to present her with a giant bouquet of flowers that would wither by the end of the date. With his slender and graceful appearance, he sometimes seemed too feminine and pampered in his well-tailored trousers and shirts. He was too calm, predictable, and normal, which made him seem boring, especially when he was playing with his beloved cats. After all, what normal man would choose a cat over an active and loyal dog as their favorite pet? — You look like a cat, — he once told her as he sat on a bench in front of the men's dormitory, applying a foul-smelling ointment to the eye of a small and vicious white kitten that was staring at the world with its single, healthy, bright blue eye. The animal was hissing at everyone it saw, and Vlad was keeping it in the dormitory in violation of all existing rules. It would have been worth complaining about him, but it wouldn't have made any difference. He would have come up with a plausible excuse or bribed the administration. It was because of his slippery nature that she disliked him in college. — Not at all! — she said indignantly. — I'm very tactile, unlike your cats. — Everyone like it, — he replied, stroking the mischievous kitten with its bandaged hind legs. What set it apart from the other white cats were two dark spots above its eyes, which served as comical eyebrows, as if painted by an inept stylist. ― Not the cats, — Maddie distinctly remembered how she tried to put one of the street cats on her lap, which surrounded Vlad every time he went outside to sit outdoors in the shade of trees with a good book in his hands or a textbook on anatomy. The cat hissed angrily, threatening to bite and scratch. She had to let go of the animal, saying something like, — You see! — It's not a caress, — he smiled back. — It's a demand for attention. Who likes to be pulled away from their work just to be petted like a toy? It wasn't until she was an adult that Maddy realized what her then-boyfriend's slippery friend had meant. It wasn't until Jack, after a Christmas and Samhain spent arguing, came up behind her to hug her or pulled her close in bed that she understood what the cat she had so persistently wanted to pet against its will had felt. In the morning, Maddy would prepare breakfast for the children and, at the same time, lunch for Danny to take to school. Despite its unappealing appearance, which made both Jess and Jack cringe, Danny was particularly fond of warm, spiced meat. Jack put his arm around her waist from behind, kissed her sensually on the temple, and reached for her lips. But she was still hurt by the argument they had had right after Christmas, when she had wanted to visit her sister for a family tradition that her husband had called pagan nonsense. She was still angry about the scar on her eyebrow, which he had caused when he was under the influence of a small, evil ghost. She was still angry about the argument they had had on their wedding anniversary, when he had left their children alone for the sake of "going after his beloved," regardless of her desire to be alone. — Not now, Jack, — she said impatiently, pushing her husband away with her elbow, trying to keep her temper in check. It was too much of a luxury to lose her temper and give in to her emotions. — Why don't you explain why the siren went off in Danny's room last night? Didn't we agree not to interfere with the children's privacy? — Her voice was too cold. She knew it, but she couldn't bring herself to be affectionate and sweet when it came to her children. —'Not in his room, but in the corridor opposite his room, — Jack clarified, sitting down on the chair so abruptly and heavily that the iron legs creaked on the tiled floor of the kitchen. — To be honest, I thought you'd ask about the alarm a bit differently. — Jack, the alarm's been going off for no reason lately, — Maddy sighed as she packed the lunch containers into thermal bags. — The equipment's clearly malfunctioning after the Samhain incident. I think you're focusing on the wrong thing. She could feel her husband's gaze on the back of her head. It was disapproving and offended by her mistrust. It was emotional, compared to Vlad's gaze from their university days, which made her feel like prey being watched from behind by a hungry beast looking for her weak spot in such difficult situations. However, he could still back down or change his tactics, trusting his own cold reasoning if she showed a little more firmness. — I think we need to dismantle the alarm system and do some minor repairs today, — Maddy said as she finished signing the lunches with her favorite pink marker. — It's not as exciting as what we had planned, but it's necessary. Otherwise, we'll make so many mistakes in our calculations and data that I'll be ashamed to present my report at the Dalv Spring Conference. — What the hell are you doing in the bathroom already! — Jess's indignant shout came from the second floor. — Your are first third day in a row! — He hasn't given Jass a chance lately, — the woman smirked as she began setting the table. — It would be more fun if the bathroom didn't feel like a freezer after him, dear. It's too cold for me, — Jack said, looking at her from under his thick eyebrows. — Don't you find that strange? — No, — she replied curtly, rolling her eyes. — Danny's probably just getting into the idea of hardening himself. There's nothing wrong with that, and I'll only get involved if I actually see him harming himself with this new habit. ― It seems strange to me that the sensors went off yesterday right next to his room... — I've already told you, the sensors have been going off all over the house lately, — Maddy interrupted her husband rudely. — But for some reason, you only notice when they start going off on the second floor and you associate it with our children. Honestly, Jack, you're being a bit paranoid. — Good morning? — Danny cautiously peeked into the kitchen. His dark hair was still wet and ruffled. A drop of cold water fell from the tip of his bangs and landed on his face. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. — Good morning, Dann'O! — Jack exclaimed in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone. — Have you been bothered by ghosts since yesterday? — They've never bothered me, — the boy said as he sat down at the table and began to eat his breakfast. He had a small omelette and as much bacon as he could eat. It was amazing how he managed to stay so thin with such a high-protein diet. But perhaps he had just grown a little taller. ― We're going to do repairs today, Sunshine, — Maddy tried to make her voice as soft as possible in conversation with her son, who stubbornly did not look up from his plate and hurriedly devoured breakfast. ― A couple of days and the alarm will stop going off for no reason and wake everyone up in the middle of the night.

***

The day didn't start out well. First, her parents once again criticized her appearance, spending the entire breakfast lecturing her on what they believed a "real girl" should look like and behave like. They claimed that only unhealthy individuals obsessed with death and potential suicides wore skull-shaped jewelry. They also believed that gothic fashion was a destructive movement associated with Satanists. They insisted that she was old enough to outgrow her silly teenage interests and finally become a normal girl. She was not worthy of her parents, apparently, although they never said so out loud, limiting themselves to passive aggression. Then the school bus was delayed, leaving her freezing outside. To be fair, she had a choice between a snow-covered street devoid of festive Christmas decorations and another fifteen minutes in a warm home with her parents. She decided that it was better to risk frostbite on her toes than to listen to their endless stream of stereotypes for another minute. At break, a permanently dead friend who had lost control of his new abilities froze her hot coffee, which she had bought from a vending machine to keep warm. No, not just chilled it, but actually turned it into a coffee popsicle that was frozen solid to her reusable eco-friendly cup, which she had to warm up under a stream of hot water in the bathroom sink in order to pour herself another cup. He apologized, and it was probably not intentional, but the damage was done. And then the president of the sewing club, Camilla, who was also a good friend of hers from the gothic poetry club organized by the owners of an authentic themed bookstore, started talking to Pauline during lunch. Pauline! The pink and blue marshmallow, whose brain was filled with nothing but fashion, jewelry, makeup, and other pop-culture trinkets. Not only did she speak, but she also rudely interrupted their conversation about meeting at the book club in order to, for the record, invite this doll to her club! It was because of some stupid cheerleader dress that she supposedly made herself. And she even believed that blatant lie! And Sam genuinely had a better opinion of Camille. — Danny, stop drooling over my salad, — and the worst part was that it was impossible to distract yourself from the problem of Pauline even at lunch. And how could she when the one who made her teeth ache was the object of interest of best friend, who was at the peak of his own hormonal instability? — I'm not doing anything like that, — the teenager rolled his eyes, spearing a piece of bloody meat with his fork, whose iron-like smell couldn't be overpowered even by the generous amount of spices sprinkled on the steak. Sam was still a little nauseous at the sight of that dead flesh. And he and Tucker were still talking about her food preferences? — Tell me, — Tucker chuckled, nudging his friend in the ribs. — You've been staring at the local queen all morning. But I don't judge. She must have asked Santa for a magical glow. As if to confirm Tucker's words, Pauline stepped away from her usual company, turning on her heels so that the delicate lace on her hem fluttered into the air, revealing her knees, and the spiderwebs of rhinestones in her black curls sparkled in the bright artificial light of the dining room's lamps. It was undoubtedly the image of a delicate princess in high heels that Sam's parents, or perhaps even her friends, had envisioned for her. Sanchez sat down at the same table as Camilla, apparently to discuss the details of joining the club, or just to play a trick on the naive and kind-hearted Goth girl in the baggy black hoodie. — Appearances can be deceiving, — Sam muttered, pulling a bowl of salad closer. — That's right, — Danny suddenly agreed. — But you're judging Pauline based on her appearance, which you find unpleasant, aren't you? You don't know her at all. — You're right, I don't know her. Just like you don't know her, but for some reason you still adore her for her pretty face, — Sam usually didn't leave her lunch uneaten. It was too un-eco-friendly. — I think I'll go. I don't have an appetite anyway. Manson left the cafeteria while her friends just watched her go in silence. No one stopped her or tried to detain her. It was for the best, because she really wanted to be alone. To process the whole stupid day. To calm her nerves, which were frayed by her parents and their desire to impose their ideal of a good girl and daughter on her, an ideal that was constantly in her face during her studies and that her almost-dead friend looked at with such adoration. "Maybe I'm really fixated on death and the dead." — Miss Manson, — the voice of the English teacher came from behind, sounding deafeningly loud in the silence of the school corridor. — Do me a favor and give our new exchange student a little tour.

***

Outside the city, the temperature was much lower. The wind was constantly creating small snow whirls in the air, blowing light snowflakes off the bare branches of the trees and the wide paws of the small fir trees. It was a mesmerizing and even meditative sight, perfect for the lesson that Vlad had organized for the teenager, listening to him and offering a little help as usual. However, the snow crystal in Danny's palm refused to be controlled, growing to the size of a football and then falling back into the snow. The good news was that the teenager was at least able to stop himself from freezing his arm in ice. Fortunately, after his first unsuccessful attempt, Vlad somehow managed to calm Phantom down and prevent him from covering the small clearing with a thick layer of ice. It's difficult to explain exactly how he did it. It seemed as if he simply placed his hands on Ghost's shoulders and said the most common platitudes that adults often use when their students are visibly nervous. Something like "breathe deeper" or "don't push yourself so hard." It wasn't much, but the Ghost seemed to be listening. He was obviously doing something else, something that felt similar to what Charlotte had done in the mirror forest, but much more graceful. In Vlad's own style. — It's not working, — Danny sighed in frustration as a new snowball crashed down. Danny sank to the ground, his knees sinking into the soft snow. — Why do you think so? — Masters pulled his warm cloak with a high collar of white fur closer around him. He sank lower, but continued to float in the air, with only the hem of his clothes touching the snow. — You're getting better at this. You're stopping the ice from growing. — Yes, that's a big improvement, — the teenager chuckled nervously, glancing at his frost-covered hands, which were bare of gloves. His nails were black and blue, slightly pointed, resembling those of frozen corpses in movies. His thin, baggy overalls were covered in glittering snowflakes, which were floating due to the low temperature of the Phantom. — I would like to help with more specific advice, but unfortunately, my species does not possess such abilities, — Vlad said, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. A pleasant warmth spread through the teenager's body, reminiscent of the first time he went camping with his mother, when she would reassure him when he was a child and got upset over minor things like not being able to start a fire on his own. Vlad was a vampire. He had obviously been one even before the incident that changed him. The man had a clear understanding of what he was and what he could become with his newfound powers. No matter how solitary he seemed, Danny knew that this man had others in his immediate circle whom he could call "like-minded." A clan, as Masters himself referred to it. All the teenager had was a father who was a hereditary undead hunter and a mother with a murky family tree that included ancestors whose existence was ignored and whose identities were deliberately not registered. He was a goddamn nobody from nowhere. And his altered body and ghostly powers made him an even greater unknown anomaly. — Daniel? — Masters' concerned voice, with a slight otherworldly echo, brought the boy out of his thoughts. — I was just thinking, — he began, awkwardly rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. — It would be easier if we knew what we were. — I think everyone searches for the answer to this question throughout their lives, — Masters said with a slight smile. His bluish skin, covered with dark veins that extended from his neck beneath his warm collar, emitted a subtle, ghostly glow and a faint aroma of bitter herbs in the cold. — Although I must admit that it would have made the task easier for you, but not too much. Individual abilities can manifest themselves even within the same species, otherwise the descriptions of various evil spirits in folklore and legends would be more systematic. But in any case, the control of our abilities is very similar and depends more on our emotional state. The more stable our emotions are, the easier it is to control our powers. I think you noticed this when you were learning telekinesis. Danny nodded and tried again to create an ice crystal in his palm. He inhaled. He exhaled. Snowflakes swirled over his open palm, swarming like a dense cloud of white gnats. They grouped together, tighter and tighter, until they formed a small snowball that fell into his hand. This time, it didn't form a crust of ice. It didn't grow uncontrollably. The perfectly round, smooth ball lay calmly in the teenager's hand. His head was slightly dizzy from the sudden feeling of lightness. — You see, it's not that difficult, — Masters said, crouching slightly as he floated in the air to be on the same level as the teenager. The long, fur-lined cloak spread out on the white snow, reminding Danny of the wings of a ray. — If I need a stable emotional state to fully control my powers, then I'll be freezing things into ice from time to time for the rest of my life. And with my parents' obsession with spirits, which intensified after meeting Charlotte, my life might end before I even reach adulthood, — Danny chuckled sadly at his own dark joke, throwing a perfect snowball at a nearby tree. — Is it that bad? — the man asked cautiously. ― Objectively, not yet. But Charlotte has attracted so many spiders to the trap that I've had to build a terrarium for them. I don't know what to do with her, and I don't know what to do with us. — I noticed that you separate yourself from the Phantom, — Masters said. — Sometimes, — Danny hesitated for a moment before continuing, he taking time, pulling on the white gloves that have been tucked into his belt, trying to gather thoughts. It's a habit he developed during therapy sessions to avoid saying something he shouldn't. — It just happens. Like something inside me is different from my emotions and way of thinking. ― And you decided that it wasn't you, but someone else? A dark something that clung to you along with your abilities? ― Vlad described the feeling quite accurately, which seemed strange. ― Tell me, how would you describe your "companion"? — Like a hungry and wild one, — Danny said quietly, lowering his eyes. If his dead body could blush, it would have blushed. — At first, I thought it was like the inner voice you get when you read a book about yourself. But then I realized it wasn't quite like that. It's hard to understand with your head, and you can't hear it. It communicates through emotions, smells, and sensations. And sometimes it makes strange thoughts appear in my head. ― Like what? Danny sniffed slightly. A slight, cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt it especially acutely at the time when Sam began the active stage of her reforms in the food system last fall. Right after he had spent almost all his strength in the Ghost Zone to restore his burned body. At those moments when his empty stomach was desperately demanding food. When he was being turned inside out by the forced vegan diet. When Sam was sitting right next to him. So close that he still remembered the sound of her blood pulsing in her body. To admit something like that, to say it out loud, was a certain point of no return. But who, if not a vampire, could understand this feeling? — Sometimes people started to seem... edible to us, — his own voice sounded strange. — It's a frightening discovery for someone who has always been confident in their own humanity, — Masters said, gently draping a warm cloak over the boy's shoulders. The fur lining tickled the teenager's cheek. — It's easy to attribute such feelings to anyone but oneself. It's comforting to believe that these desires are not your own, but rather the influence of a dark companion within you. However, I would not consider this approach safe, Daniel. — With him, you risk getting lost in imaginary identities and eventually losing control of yourself and your abilities. — You sound like a psychiatrist, — Danny said, feeling warm and comfortable under his cloak. The cold and wind in the forest clearing began to feel more intense. — I don't have enough knowledge or practice for this profession. Consider this a little advice from a more experienced mentor, — Nosferatu's scarlet eyes lacked pupils or irises. They glowed evenly, reflecting the glimpses of the sun that occasionally peeked through the heavy gray clouds. — Thank you, — Danny guessed that Masters didn't like hugs. Or any other form of physical contact for that matter, but he allowed himself a small and overly childish display by wrapping himself in the folds of his mentor's warm cloak before reverting to his human form with a slight chuckle. — Um... Mr. Masters? — Danny hesitated slightly as he emerged from the man's cloak. He didn't know how to ask the question he was interested in without coming across as rude or insensitive. ― Yes, Daniel? ― Vlad wrapped himself in his warm cloak again, moving through the air towards a path that wasn't covered in as much snow. He clearly didn't want to get his feet wet. Unlike the boy, the cold seemed to be causing him significant discomfort. — You're feeling well? — Danny remembered the tremor in the man's voice when his father called to wish him a Merry Christmas. The Ghost was highly attuned to the nuances of emotions, even over the phone, and at that moment, he effortlessly conjured up a hauntingly dark image of Vlad in their shared mind. — Of course. Why do you ask? — Masters ducked slightly to pass under a low-hanging spruce branch, which bent under the weight of the snow on it. — Well... when my father called to wish me a Merry Christmas, you didn't sound very good, — Danny said as he followed his mentor's lead and used his mind to shake the snow off a fir tree branch, trying once again to create a perfectly shaped snowball in his palm to reinforce the results of today's lesson. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the controlled outcome. — Like not very healthy, I mean. — I didn't think it was that noticeable, — Nosferatu said as he disappeared into a cloud of black smoke. Vlad stepped onto the narrow path leading to the road where Masters' car was parked, exhaling a cloud of steam. His human form looked little better than his ghostly appearance. Dark shadows lay beneath his deep blue eyes, and his pale skin was slightly livelier due to the redness of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. This was the only indication that blood was still flowing beneath his skin. ― Dad didn't notice, but Mom and I did. ― Danny stopped for a second to use telekinesis to brush the snow off his pants. ― You sounded like you couldn't breathe. I didn't think someone like us could get seriously sick. — Unfortunately, it can, — Vlad said, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck and raising the collar of his coat. Inside the car, they were warm and had a thermos of hot tea. — Do you remember when we first met, I told you about some of the 'side effects' of being a ghost? Well, this was one of them. — Can you tell me more about it? — Danny tried to keep up with Vlad, but not too close. The ghost inside him still wanted to play with the cold, and it was transmitting that desire to Danny in the form of an annoying thought: to make a few more snowballs, or maybe even a whole snowman. — If it's possible.

***

The newcomer introduced himself as Gregor and didn't want to elaborate on where he came from in their relatively progressive town, opting for a brief, vague, and somewhat enigmatic "From far away," delivered with a peculiar accent that emphasized the pronunciation of voiced consonants. All Sam could say for certain was that there was a certain charm and uniqueness to his speech that made it stand out and be remembered. At first, she was reluctant to give Gregor a tour, seeing little point in even remembering the name of someone who would be leaving in a few weeks. The conversation started by chance, after they had retrieved the temporary newcomer's textbooks from the library. It was prompted by a casual question from the boy: "Do you have anything more gothic for extracurricular reading?" Of course, the school library didn't have anything like that. It was all very proper and sterile. It was all about teenagers growing up and becoming worthy members of society, and not filling their heads with overly dark and uncomfortable ideas that would lead them to ask questions that adults couldn't answer. But Sam knew where she could find such literature, read it, buy it, and even discuss it with someone. As they walked to the Goth writer's favorite bookstore, they started talking and stopped for a cup of black coffee and a quick read. ― When you're so focused on reading, your eyes seem to darken. They almost turn purple. She's not used to hearing compliments from anyone. It's the empty-headed dolls in the cheerleading squad who are praised for their looks. They're praised for their behavior in accordance with the unspoken rules of society. But not people like her. ― Thank you, ― she didn't smile. As always, the praise warmed her heart, but compromising her principles or habits for a guy she'd only known for a day felt... repulsive. — I'm sorry for being so corny. You probably get told that a lot, — Gregor smiled modestly, looking down at his book. He was just a regular guy trying to be polite. In a way, Sam felt sorry for him. Even Danny didn't blabber like that to Pauline when he asked her to dance last year. And he was the epitome of awkwardness when it came to the opposite sex. — So be it, this time I forgive you, — Sam tried to smile, trying to reduce the degree of her own sarcasm. It turned out to be frankly bad, but she honestly tried not to scare off the newcomer. Especially since it was even nice in his company: not lonely and quite possible to pass the time while Tucker in the computer club tested some "bot" programmed to pass a video game, and Danny went to another training. Although she approved of the latter this time, she still remembered her friend's frozen coffee from earlier. Let her practice self-control and meditate in the woods like a witch, but don't let her touch the holy drink, which is as black as her outlook on life. ― Sam, would you mind if we had lunch together tomorrow? ― the newcomer's offer could be considered overly intrusive. However, Sam decided not to be too quick to judge and not to pass judgment on someone after just an hour of conversation. — Okay, — she replied, maintaining eye contact. Mrs. Fenton had once told her that it was impolite to do so. She trusted this woman's knowledge of proper manners more than her own mother's. — I usually have lunch with friends, but I think there's room for you, — she said with a friendly smile that made her cheeks ache. Tucker and Danny would bombard her with questions. Perhaps they would even tease her. But she wouldn't hide from them the fact that she felt sorry for this handsome young man.

***

This city had its own dark secrets and urban legends, in addition to the popular tales that children used to scare each other with on the internet. It was for one such legend that the Agency had sent them here, providing them with a sparse dossier and a single blurry photo of a humanoid creature with long, dystrophic limbs hidden beneath baggy black clothing. In the photo, the creature appeared to have almost no facial features, except for its large, bright green eyes. Even his nose was barely visible against his pale, shadowless skin. Although all the other details in the frame could be seen in full detail, down to the tiny cockroach on the wall of the alley where the camera captured it. It was like a joke about a damn Yeti or a UFO that couldn't be clearly seen on any camera. The case was almost a lost cause from the start. The local ghost was so inconspicuous and quiet that the Agency would never have known about its existence if it hadn't been for the so-called "incident" at the local high school's stadium last year, which occurred during a dance. As usual, there were no witnesses or suspects involved in the destruction of a portion of the football field's stands. All that remained was an indistinct footprint resembling a dinosaur's and a tiny, barely visible drop of greenish ectoplasm, which couldn't even be properly analyzed. The unstable ghostly substance evaporated as soon as it was placed under an electron microscope. — Damn, — the man cursed, accidentally touching a fresh wound on his knuckles as he put on his jacket. — I told you not to try to play a waiter, K, — said a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a light scar from a car accident. He was busy filling out electronic reports, reporting on the unstable spikes throughout Amity Park, which occurred so frequently that the city itself seemed like a giant anomaly. — You've never even cooked. — I'm telling you, it's definitely HIS doing, O, — he snorted back at his partner. — None of the devices registered anything. All you have is a recorded monologue from this arrogant asshole, in which he repeats almost word for word what he already told superiors for five minutes, — O turned to his partner, adjusting his myopic glasses that had slipped to the tip of his nose. — Fortunately, I managed to cover your ass with the management. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if they found out that you violated the regulations and the direct prohibition against contacting the target. — Since he's here, it would be wise to take advantage of the situation and make some inquiries, — the injured partner said as he sat down on the bed in a cheap hotel room in the eastern part of the city, the most unattractive area of the Park World. — There must be a reason why the work of the Plasmius Genetics branch in this particular city is the least publicized. — I think we can arrange that, — O smiled.