Archive of Our Own

Danny dragged Jazz into the living room by the arm, scanning his surroundings as he went. Every wall was decked out with streamers, and the coffee table had been pulled to the side and covered with snacks. Mom was crouching by the TV, fiddling with the plugs on the back. The volume wasn't working, but the screen was set to the correct channel. In the top right corner, Jazz could see the Wisconsin cheese wedge, poised at the edge of the ladder truck and ready to drop. 

"Mom," Danny said.

"There you kids are!" Dad shouted, walking in behind them and shoving a handful of tubes into their arms.

"Hey Dad," Danny said, "I wanted to—"

"It's confetti!" Dad continued, "When the countdown ends, pull the tab at the end, and—"

"Dad, stop!" Danny said, dropping the tubes in his hand, "I need to talk to you guys.” 

The phone rang. Without looking away from the road, Jazz reached over into the passenger seat and dug around in her purse until she found her cell. Flipping it open, she held it to her ear. 

"Hey Jazz," Mom said, "How are you?" 

"Good," Jazz said, pulling the car around a curve on the dark country highway. "Is something the matter?" 

"Yes," Mom said, "I miss you. When are you coming home?" 

"I'm on my way right now," Jazz said, "I took my last final this afternoon. Then I packed for break and headed out as soon as I could." 

"I'm glad," Mom said, "It hasn't been the same without you at home. What have you been up to this semester?"

"School mostly," Jazz said. She'd been taking twice as long as normal on each homework assignment, constantly sidetracking to cross reference the things she was learning with the data she had already gathered about the nature of ghosts. Or else, she was discovering gaps in her knowledge and texting Danny for additional information. Between that and trying to keep tabs on him and his friends from afar, there wasn't a lot of time for anything else.

"I don't do anything exciting," Jazz said, "What about you guys?"

"The usual," Mom said, "We're old and boring." 

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Mom, you and Dad are the least boring people I know." 

The road was empty, and the moon was bright, shining down on the harvested corn fields that spread out all around. The old broken stalks stuck up and caught on the headlights of her car like hooks in the skin of a fish.

"Mom?" Jazz asked, unsettled by the silence, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Do you think Danny likes me?" Mom said. 

"Of course," Jazz said, hand tightening on the wheel, "Why wouldn't he? Did something happen?"

"No," Mom sighed, "No—things are just the same. He's barely at the house. I don't remember the last time we had a real conversation. And I just wish that—"

"You have to give him time," Jazz said, measuring out her breaths, "It's perfectly normal for teenagers to pull away from their families for a little while." 

"That's what I thought!" Mom said, "But it's been years, and—"

"Pushing it won't help anything," Jazz insisted. Scrunching up her shoulder to hold her phone, she quickly wiped the sweat on her palm onto her pants. "Danny likes you. But he needs to understand that you like him no matter what. He might be testing you to see if you'll still support him—even if it looks like he's blowing you off."

"I want to believe that," Mom said, "But it's been so long and—Jazz, I feel like I don't know him anymore. I don't want to nag him, but half the time I don't know where he is. What if something happened to him?"

"He's not unsafe," Jazz said, and it was mostly true, "He texts me fairly often—I usually know where he is, or I know how to find out. If something happened to him, we would know. You would know. He's probably just afraid that you'll nag him about getting home on time." 

"Jazz, how do I ever manage without you?" Mom said, "Talking to you always makes me feel better."

"Same here!" Jazz said. Forcibly, she tensed her muscles for a moment, then let them relax. For some reason the motion didn't settle the rapid beating of her heart.

"Talk to us?" Dad said, glancing over his shoulder at Mom. "Hey Madds—Danny wants to say something!" 

Mom connected a wire, and the sound of a bustling crowd burst through the speakers. She looked up, face open to listen, but Danny didn't say anything. He was staring at Jazz 

"How did you sit down?" Danny said.

Jazz blinked. She was sitting on the couch, a pile of packed confetti tubes in her lap. "What?"

"You were standing," Danny said, "You were just standing. You never sat down." 

"Well obviously I did," Jazz said.

"I didn't see you sit down either," Dad said, voice rising in excitement, "Do you think that a ghost might be—"

"There's no ghost," Jazz said quickly, "You didn't see because you were looking at Mom."

"I think," Danny said, and then he stopped. For just a moment, his breath had fogged. 

Jazz sat at the kitchen table, slumped over its cool surface with her homework and textbooks spread out around her. The lights were off, and the oven light read 3:17 AM, though it was possible that Dad hadn't changed it since daylight savings time ended. Outside, the storm came down thick and wild. She was too tired to really get anything done. 

Danny wasn't home yet.

She had brought her book-light from her room. Ostensibly it was there to let her see her homework, but at the moment she was carefully unfolding a piece of lined paper with her name written on the back. It opened to reveal a neat handwritten note, and she skimmed the contents—vague well wishes, a question about her ghost research, and a phone number. A name. She remembered Jason Burton. She had at least one class with him, and he sat near her in the cafeteria sometimes. He wasn't one of the people who discreetly walked away whenever she mentioned her parents' careers. But she didn't remember him slipping this into her bag. She wasn't sure what to think of it.

The doorknob clicked. Jazz stuffed the note in the crack of an open textbook like a bookmark and closed the pages over it. Then she turned off her book-light and lay her head down on her arms. Lightning flashed, and for a split second Jazz saw the open doorway through her eyelashes, saw the long and thin shadow framed in its center. 

Her breath caught. Thunder shook the house. Jazz closed her eyes. 

She heard Danny shut the door and slot the deadbolt into place. Then his footsteps came across the floor, closer and closer to the chair where she sat pretending to be asleep. The hair on her arms stood up, and something indiscernible sharpened in her gut, but she kept her breathing steady. The air was always just a little colder around her brother, and the liminal feeling that caught in the temperature had grown as familiar as it was unsettling. 

Danny placed his hand on her shoulder, and she barely kept herself from jumping. Then the pins and needles sensation of intangibility spread over, and she lost all sense of her orientation in space. The small piece of panic in the back corner of her brain was screaming at her to open her eyes, to kick and jerk away, but she was too intelligent to heed it. If she distracted Danny now, she could end up phased halfway through the table. 

Her senses returned to her in pieces. The rain was flying against a window, and it was very dark. Warmth enveloped her like a cocoon. Jazz reached out, and her fingers closed over the decorative pillow she made her bed with. It had been pushed aside to make room for her.

Jazz sat up, canisters of confetti falling off of her lap. For some reason she had been laying down on the couch in the living room. 

"I saw that," Mom said, "Jack, did you see her move?"

Dad's eyes narrowed. "There's definitely something ghostly afoot." 

Danny turned invisible. 

Mom gasped, one hand flying to cover her mouth. Dad just stood staring bug-eyed.

"Mom," Jazz said, jumping to her feet. 

Dad caught her arm, "Careful Jazz, there's—a ghost did something to your brother. You should watch out until we can—"

"Wait," Jazz said, grabbing his wrist and looking intently into his eyes, "It's not what you think. I need you to listen to me."

“Danno!” Dad said, footsteps heavy as he ran up the basement stairs. He emerged into the kitchen and looked wildly around.

Jazz put her pen onto the open page of her textbook so she wouldn’t lose her place.

“Hey Jazz,” Dad said, approaching the kitchen table where she had been studying, “Have you seen your brother anywhere? I just remembered that his winter break started today.”

“Did it?” Jazz said, “I haven’t seen him.”

“He’s always so busy,” Dad continued, “But now that he’s not in school I thought we could spend some time together, maybe working on something in the lab.”

“I don’t know Dad,” Jazz said, “It’s not lunchtime yet. He’s probably still sleeping.”

“Hey Dad,” Danny said. He was in the kitchen, wrangling the contents of the fridge door. He definitely had not been there a few seconds ago.

“Danno!” Dad said, face lighting up, “I didn’t see you come in. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, grabbing a can of coke and slamming the fridge door before anything could grab it back.

“So Danny,” Dad said, vibrating with all the excitement of a sled about to tip over a hill, “I was wondering if you wanted to—”

“No way!” Jazz exclaimed, as close to shouting as she thought would be believable. Quickly, she pulled last night’s textbook from her bag and flipped through the pages. By the time Dad had turned around she was holding Jason’s note in her hand. 

“Jazz,” Dad said, blinking in confusion, “What’s going on?”

Jazz walked over to them, unfolding the paper so fast she almost tore it. Then she squealed. “He gave me his number! Dad, I got Jason’s number!”

“Who’s Jason?” Danny said. There was a weird light in his eyes.

“He’s a boy from my class,” Jazz said, trying not to let panic bleed into her voice. This was the part where Danny was supposed to phase through a wall or slip out the back door.

“You never talked about him,” Danny said, somehow managing to make opening a coke can look menacing. 

“Now Danny,” Dad said, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Jazz is a big girl—a kind and talented young woman! I’m sure we’d get sick of hearing about it if she told us every time a boy was interested in her.”

Danny took a sip of coke. Then he shrugged. “I guess you’re right. As long as he’s not bothering you.”

“He’s not,” Jazz said, gripping the paper tighter. She was losing all traction on this conversation.

“So if Jazz is done,” Dad started, turning to Danny.

“I’m not,” Jazz said, wracking her brain for something else to say, “I feel bad that I never told you about Jason. He always listens seriously when I tell him about ghosts.”

“Really?” Danny said.

Dad pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. “Tell me everything. What did you say to him?”

“There’s a survey project in one of our mutual classes,” Jazz said, “I wanted to use ghosts as my population sample.”

Dad’s face fell right on que. “Jazz,” he said, “We talked about this. You know how dangerous ghosts are. To try and get close enough to talk to them without attacking is—“

“We should go with her,” Danny said.

“With me?” Jazz said, just barely managing to convey mild surprise. The semester was over. She had finished the survey project ages ago. The entire purpose of this conversation was to give Danny the chance to walk away, and he didn’t seem to be picking up on that.

“Yeah,” Danny said, “We can protect you.”

Dad turned to look at him. “I thought you were afraid of ghosts.”

“Nobody in this town believes you guys about ghosts being evil,” Danny said, “But maybe if they got to read psychological research, or whatever Jazz is doing, about stuff that ghosts actually say—I don’t know—maybe the truth will come out then.”

“Hang on,” Dad said, “Are you saying that you want to study ghosts? With me?”

Danny shrugged—smiled. “Sure Dad.”

Jazz stepped back to the table and pulled the pen out of her textbook. It looked like she needed to invent a survey project.

Jazz stumbled. Her hand closed on nothing—she had lost hold of Dad's wrist and wandered out into the middle of the living room. Quickly, she glanced around. Her parents hadn’t moved. They were staring at her. 

Something shifted in the corner of her eye. Jazz looked just in time to see Danny turn visible again. He was hovering near the kitchen, arms wrapped around a writhing tube. As Jazz watched, visibility traveled down the length of the object. For a split second, she saw the whole chaotic mass, fronds spiraling out from the center to grasp at the beams of the house. Then the tendril Danny was holding jerked. Danny lost his grip and went flying toward the television. Instead of slamming into the wall, he phased through it. 

Mom fired her gun. It blasted off the ceiling where the tendril ghost had been, leaving a small black mark. Jazz couldn't see him anymore—he must have turned invisible and flown away as soon as Danny lost his hold. Still there was something, a low growl like the static noise of fluorescent lights in an empty classroom. It didn't sound like Danny. The other ghost hadn't gone far.

"Danny did that," Dad said.

Jazz swallowed, but she kept her voice even. "Dad, I need you to—"

"Madds," Dad said, "Wasn't there that girl—with Dr. Tehl?"

Mom nodded, rotating the tube in her gun’s barrel to ready another blast.

Quietly, Jazz stepped forward and reached for the gun, ready to snatch it when she got a chance.                        

“So just put your name here,” Jazz explained.

“I am the Box Ghost!” the Box Ghost yelled, raising his arms for emphasis. 

“That’s great!” Jazz said, holding out the makeshift survey and a spare pen. “Can you write that down?”

The Box Ghost narrowed his eyes. He was floating several feet above the ground, but he couldn’t quite capture the intimidating presence the same act gave to other ghosts. “The Box Ghost has no need for paperwork!”

"You have to cooperate if you want your reward," Danny said, crossing his arms, "That means actually filling out her form."

Jazz turned to stare at him. "What reward?"

The Box Ghost floated lower, looking genuinely invested in the conversation for the first time. “I get to hit him when I finish.”

“What!” Jazz said.

“Yeah, why would you do that?” Danny said, “Don’t you want to wait until Technus is watching? You gotta choose your moment.”

“Danny!” Jazz insisted, exasperated. She glanced over his shoulder—back at the GAV idling in the distance. Her parents were waiting there, probably watching with their hands on loaded weapons. Danny had convinced them that no ghosts would appear if they came out. She could call them over now to put an end to this, but it would probably just make everything worse.

Danny pulled the paper and pencil out of her hands and set them on the muddy ground. "Have those finished when we get back," he told the Box Ghost. Then he grabbed Jazz's arm and started dragging her farther into the woods. 

"You shouldn't—I don't need this survey," Jazz said. It didn't sound very convincing, even to her. How could she explain that this wasn't even a real assignment?

"This isn't about the survey," Danny explained, looking over his shoulder to check that the Box Ghost hadn't followed, "I need there to be rules."

Jazz stuck her hands in her coat pocket, fishing for her gloves. "I don't understand." 

"It starts with this sort of honor system metaphorical mind coupon," Danny said, gesturing vaguely. "Any ghost who does your psycho-survey thingy gets to hit me one time for free. And I'll honor it. And then once everybody gets that this kind of thing can work in their favor, I start establishing other ground rules—time out systems and illegal moves and forbidden situations and anything else I end up needing.”

"You're really thinking ahead," Jazz said.

Danny grinned. "I got sick of being interrupted during exams.”

Jazz smiled too, and a strange sensation came over her—like a brilliant sunset blooming over a dingy alley. It was as comforting as it was unexpected.

"Danielle," Mom said.      

Jazz was standing by the window—too far away to grab Mom's gun before she slipped past into the laundry room. It wouldn't have mattered. Jazz was temporarily frozen, trying to parse through the word she had just distinctly heard come out of her Mother's mouth.

"Yes, her!" Dad said, hurrying to catch up with Mom. "Couldn't she do those things—fly and turn invisible and phase through walls?"

"Wait!" Jazz said, finally chasing after them. She rounded the corner and came into the laundry room—to the other side of the wall Danny had phased through.

In her other hand, Mom was holding a small machine that Jazz didn't recognize. It cast a faint light around them, but it wasn't making any noises. There was nothing in here. The ghost fight must have moved through the ceiling already.

"Oh, Jazz," Dad said, holding out an arm, "Don't get too close, it might not be safe."

"Whatever you're thinking," Jazz said, "It's probably not—just don't do anything. Promise me that you'll think through this carefully so that you don't mess everything up.”

Dad furrowed his brow. "Jazz—there's not any time for that. A ghost is attacking your brother right now."

“But you don’t understand,” Jazz insisted.

Mom glanced up from her device and met Jazz’ eyes, her face cold with certainty. “I think I do.”

Danny stumbled into the living room, yawning. The afternoon light came at just the right angle to strike the tinsel on the tree and scatter silver against the wall. Underneath it a pile of presents stood unopened.

“Jazz?” Danny said, glancing around until he found her sitting on the couch.

Jazz closed the computer on her lap and set it on the coffee table. She had given up on productivity ages ago, but she had needed to hold something to catch her focus. There was a lot she had been trying not to think about.

“What happened?” Danny asked, rubbing his eyes, “Why is the sun up? What day is this?”

“Christmas,” Jazz said.

Danny covered his face with one hand. “Oh. Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jazz said, “I know you were busy. What happened to the Christmas truce?”

“No,” Danny said, “There wasn’t a fight. I was at Clockwork’s Christmas Eve party in the ghost zone—they don’t really have outer space there—no moon or stars or anything. I lost track of time. What did Mom and Dad do?"

Jazz shrugged. “Not much. We decided to wait for you—they worked in the lab for a while. Mom's taking a nap now, and Dad went out to get pizza for dinner."

"So they're upset." Danny said.

"Probably," Jazz admitted, "But I don't think you're going to get in trouble."

Walking past her, Danny collapsed face first into the couch she had been sitting on. “I’m such an idiot,” he said, “I can’t believe I missed Christmas!”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Jazz said, “And Christmas isn’t over—we’ll open presents later tonight.”

“Oh yeah—speaking of,” Danny said. Without moving from the couch, he held up his arm. For the first time, Jazz noticed the slim folder he was holding. 

“What’s that?” Jazz said.

“Just open it,” Danny said, voice muffled by the couch cushion.

Jazz took the folder. It was cold, and it sent a shudder up her arm, the way that all objects from the ghost zone did. Inside were a stack of her surveys, filled out with names she didn’t recognize.

“Wait—Jazz,” Danny said, sitting up quickly. “I might need you to cover for me on New Years.”

“Okay,” Jazz said, trying to think how she might pull that off. Nothing came to mind—she was distracted by the papers in her hands. The survey had been a front, but she planned to become a real scientist. She knew relevant data when she saw it.

"Let me know anything you tell Mom and Dad," Danny continued, "That way I won't undermine you by accident."

"Where will you be?" Jazz said, pulling out a stack of the surveys so that she could see the bottom halves. "Do you have another party?"

"I might not leave at all," Danny said, "But Clockwork was warning me about a ghost that might appear next week. New ghosts tend to cause problems."

Jazz sat down at the coffee table and started sorting the papers into piles. She didn't recognize any of these names, so for now she'd categorize them by the coherency of their answers. "Does Clockwork normally warn you about incoming ghosts?" she said absently.

"Not really," Danny said, stifling a yawn again, "But this one has something to do with the new year—he's time based enough to be on Clockwork's radar. I think he's supposed to eat people's faces."

Jazz looked up. "That's kind of terrifying." 

"Wait no," Danny said, "It was fears. He eats people's fears."

"Like the abstract concept?" Jazz asked, "Or is he strengthened in the presence of strong emotions? What happens to the person whose fear gets eaten—do they become more or less afraid?"

Danny shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. It just leaves you hollow." 

"Huh," Jazz said, unsure how to continue. Pressing for details wouldn't suddenly make Danny more articulate. If she could think of more specific questions later, he might be able to answer yes or no. 

“Anyway, I’m taking a nap,” Danny said, flopping back down on the couch. He grabbed one of the cushions and flipped it down over his head.

Jazz went back to looking at the surveys, feeling vaguely unsettled. The lack of knowledge wasn't what bothered her. Danny normally handled ghosts without any prior information about their nature. Maybe it was this whole notion of fear-eating that she couldn't wrap her mind around—maybe it was Danny's casual admission that he understood—but something was sending shivers up the back of her neck. 

Stumbling out into the living room, Jazz took off running. She had seen her mother's face. Whatever conclusions she had come to, there would be no reasoning with her until this was over.

Jazz couldn't afford that. 

“Where are you going?” Dad called after her.

She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t afford to waste time—Dad was faster than her when he wanted to be. 

On the other side of the living room, embedded in the wall near the kitchen, was a metal control panel. Jazz barely stopped in time to keep from slamming into it. The latch on the cover opened for her fingerprint. 

“Jazz!” Dad yelled.

Tearing away the cover, Jazz grabbed the power switch and pulled it down. The lights went out. The vents stopped blowing. The TV shut off—but someone was still narrating the lead up to the Wisconsin cheese drop. Dad must have set up a radio. It was amazing how often his insane backup plans came into effect.

“What’s going on?” Mom yelled, voice echoing from the laundry room.

Jazz smiled. Unlike humans, ghosts could see in the dark.

Jazz slammed the folder shut.

Startling, Mom looked up at her. She was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the survey results. “Was I not supposed to—“

“Sorry,” Jazz said, pulling the folder away and trying not to tower over her mother, “It’s—client confidentiality.”

“Right,” Mom said. There was something in her expression that Jazz couldn't parse.

Jazz clutched the closed folder in one hand and closed the other into a fist. Her palms were cold. “Sorry,” she said again, “This is—I really respect your work, and—“

“It’s okay Jazz,” Mom said, standing up. “I know you don’t appreciate a lot of my views on—“

“I really respect your work!” Jazz insisted, “And it’s because of that—it makes me embarrassed to show you my project before it’s finished. You can see it after it’s written up nicely!”

Mom blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” Jazz said. She could make sure she filtered out anything that might incriminate Danny from the final version. And she was having trouble coming up with anything else to say. She could feel something in her hands—cold, like a bar of metal—but when she glanced down there was nothing. Just the folder.

“Your research is solid,” Mom said, “With the right prose, you could publish an article.”

“Oh,” Jazz said, barely keeping track of the conversation. She had remembered what she was holding. Her hands were still resting on the power switch. She was still standing a few feet away, at the edge of the living room, a few days from now. So what pocket of time and space was this? 

“I could connect you with some of my colleagues,” Mom continued, “That way you don’t have to—you could collaborate with someone besides me.”

“There are other ectobiologists?” Jazz asked. The words came without thought. It was what she had said three days ago, when this had happened.

“The field is expanding,” Mom said, pushing her chair back into place, “Dr. Tehl in particular has been working with—how do I put this—she has something of an insider’s perspective.”

Danielle, Jazz thought, but she couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t have known to ask until tonight. “That’s alright,” she said instead, “I’m still a freshman—I don’t think I’m ready for something that serious yet.”

Mom nodded. “Maybe some other time.”

Something grabbed Jazz by the waist. She lost her grip on the power switch as she was yanked off the ground. 

Quickly, she reached for the lipstick taser in her pocket. The tendril was wrapped over it, and she had to wedge her hand under its edge. It writhed like a living thing at her touch, but with none of the warmth. 

Her parents might have been shouting. She couldn't hear—there was some kind of blanket in the air around her, like the dampening of snow, like loud fat sizzling on a pan. 

The creature shifted. Jazz got her hand around the taser. For a split second she saw his eyes, red and blinking, like an afterimage against her eyelids.

Danny set her down on the roof of the Ops Center. Jazz crouched to touch the smooth metal beneath her, steadying herself. Intangibility had a disorienting effect.

"Okay," Danny demanded, "You're going to tell me what's going on."

Regaining her balance, Jazz stood and crossed her arms. It was cold outside, and she hadn't been warned to grab a jacket. "What's going on?"

"Quit lying to me," Danny spat, "I know what fear tastes like. Is it something at school?"

"I don't understand," Jazz's mouth said, but she was starting to. Clockwork had warned Danny about a dangerous ghost. It was scheduled to appear tonight. 

"Do you even like ghost psychology?" Danny continued. He was taller than he should be. He might be hovering. He might have grown. "Or did you just see a pattern in this family and think you had to walk in step with it?"

"I want to study ghosts," Jazz said, and meant it. Everything had turned right again in the world when her parents made the portal, when their research was verified, when they proved to the world they were worth everything she believed they were.

"Is it that boy then?" Danny asked, "Listen, I know Dad sometimes gets too excited to see things, and Mom doesn't seem intimidating at first. But I can make him go away."

"He's not a problem," Jazz said, and that was true too. If anything, she didn't have a real opinion about Jason. She had only brought him up to protect Danny. And that was the crux of it really. Just when she had thought she couldn’t be more proud of her family, she had seen Danny transform, and a whole new world had opened up. Some days Jazz caught a glimmering feeling rising up in her throat. She was so lucky. She could barely stand the thrill of her privilege—she had such an amazing family. Of course she wanted to participate in their work!

"Say something!" Danny shouted, towering over her.

Instinctively, Jazz took a step back. Her foot slipped on the smooth metal, and she stumbled. 

Before she could fall off of the building, Danny caught her arm. He was human still, but his eyes had lost their definition. Behind his eyelids was flat green.

Jazz didn't want to answer. She remembered what had happened. She could feel the unliving limb restraining her. But there was no way to restrain herself. The past was immutable. 

"It's you," she said.

Instantly, the rush of intangibility came over her again. For a few disorienting seconds, Jazz clipped through the edges of the house. Then her limbs came tingling back to her. She was standing in her room.

Danny stepped back, away from her. "You're scared—of me?"

Jazz grabbed up, pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him. Then she sealed her fate. "What if something happened to you?"

The New Year's ghost was supposed to eat fear. Jazz had caught herself wondering if it might have a positive effect, if the victims might find their crippling anxieties and phobias had vanished. The thought wasn't comforting anymore. 

Danny wriggled in her grip. He could phase away from her, and they both knew it. He didn't. 

Her movements in each memory had transferred over to the present, but each time she returned, everyone else had stood the same. She had seen the ghost's eyes. Was she embracing him now? Would it eat her, now that it had found the right memory, now that she had revealed herself? 

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Danny said. 

Jazz shook her head. "Things happen to you all the time. Who knows what else is in the ghost zone?"

"I have a lot more allies now," Danny explained, "I can ask for help. They can warn me about things."

"What if you can't figure out school and you don't get into NASA?" Jazz said. Her family couldn't help her now. They would be frozen as long as she watched the past. There had to be something she could do.

Danny rolled his eyes. "That probably wouldn't have happened anyway. Also I can fly and I don't need to breathe. I’ve already been to space."

"Mom and Dad could catch you," Jazz said, clenching her fists. Her right hand closed around the lipstick taser. 

"They aren't a problem," Danny said, "Honestly, they've kind of chilled out."

"You're lying," Jazz said. She couldn't see her hand move, but she could feel the pressure as she pressed the taser up to Danny's head. "You would have told them already if you meant that. It would make your life so much easier."

Danny stared at her. She didn't pull the trigger. She couldn't pull the trigger.

"Kids!" Dad yelled from downstairs, "It's almost the new year! Come get confetti!"

"Okay," Danny said. He grabbed Jazz's arm.

Jazz fired the taser. 

The new ghost screamed as Jazz's taser hit it in the face.

"TEN!" The radio announced.

A faint light glowed behind the ghost, illuminating his outline. 

"NINE!"

The ghost yelped as an ectogun hit him in the back of the head.

"EIGHT!"

Mom was standing near the laundry room door, her weapon casting a faint purple glow on her face. 

"SEVEN!"

Large hands grabbed Jazz under the armpits and yanked her away from the ghost. 

"SIX!"

The lights came back on. Dad had his hand on the lever, the other on Jazz' shoulder.

"FIVE!"

The ghost reared his limbs, ready to strike. Behind him, the TV screen flicked back on. The sound wasn't working again.

"FOUR!"

Danny came down through the ceiling in his ghost form. He grabbed one of the tentacles. Ice shot down its surface. 

"THREE!"

Mom fired at the ghost again. He screamed and flailed—but one by one, the ice reached his limbs, holding them in place.

"TWO!"

With a colossal effort, the ghost broke out of the ice casing. Danny calmly caught it in the beam of his thermos. 

"ONE!"

Landing on the ground, Danny picked up one of the confetti launchers Jazz had discarded. In front of everyone, he transformed back into a human. 

"HAPPY NEW YEARS!"

Grinning, Danny set off the confetti. It exploded out of the tube, ricocheting off of the opposite wall. Mom had to shut her mouth to keep from swallowing any.

For a moment, nobody said anything. On the radio, an anonymous crowd cheered and crackled. 

"Danny," Dad finally managed, "Was there something you wanted to tell us?"

Danny looked down at himself, then up at the thermos still in his hand. "Did I not already?"

Mom grabbed him from behind. Danny jumped, but she was only hugging him.

"I thought you would never tell me," Mom said. 

"Madds," Dad said, and Jazz would have pitied his confusion if she wasn't so startled herself.

"I kinda wondered," Danny said. Sitting down, he grabbed a bowl of pretzels from the overturned coffee table and popped one in his mouth. "Danielle calls me once a week or so,” he continued, chewing with his mouth open. “After she made friends with a scientist, it was really just a matter of time. You guys aren't stupid." 

“You knew about Danielle?” Jazz asked. 

“Close your mouth while you’re eating,” Mom said.

“Why are we talking about Danielle?” Dad exclaimed, “Danny is half ghost! He’s Phantom!”

Danny swallowed his pretzel. “Sorry to break it to you Dad, but I think you’re the only one who didn’t know that.”

“Jazz,” Mom said. The glare was back in her eyes. “Did you—”

“Oh totally,” Danny said, “She’s known for years.”

“I saw him transform,” Jazz said, heart racing.

Danny stood up and brushed the crumbs off of his jeans. “So are we good? Because Jazz has been super stressed about this.”

“Hang on,” Dad said, grabbing a handful of pretzels from the bowl, “This is why you disappear all the time! And our inventions always target you!”

“You guys hate ghosts,” Jazz said.

“That was before,” Mom said, looking somber.

“You have to start with some kind of hypothesis,” Dad said, shoving the pretzels into his mouth, “Even a wrong one will do, so long as you change it when you encounter contradicting data. And we’ve had about two years of that now.”

Danny shrugged, “I told you. They chilled out. Anyway, Mom even knew already. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Alright,” Jazz said, and for the first time in a good while, she believed him.