Chapter 8: The Perils of Fandom

Fame, it turns out, is a weird and terrifying thing, especially when it's built on a foundation of lies, ectoplasm, and a decapitation-as-performance-art incident. The Phantom Idols' disastrously successful debut at Fright-Fest went viral. A shaky phone recording titled "INSANE Japanese Band with HOLLYWOOD-LEVEL Special Effects!!" racked up millions of views overnight.

Joshua was insufferable. He walked around the mansion with his phone held out, reading comments aloud.

"'OMG, how did they do the floating thing? Are they magicians?!' They're not magicians, dear 'StarlightDreamer7', they're idols!" he'd announce to the room.

"'The lead singer's voice gives me chills. It's like he's singing from another world.' You have no idea, 'MusicManMike'!"

"'I'm officially a Phantom-atic!' We have a fandom name, Amy! A FANDOM NAME!"

"That's wonderful, Joshua," I said, not looking up from the ancient text I was studying. I was trying to research a more permanent solution than my forehead-stickers. I was looking for something along the lines of a 'Long-Term Corporeal Anchor' charm, but all I could find were warnings about binding spirits to the mortal plane, which usually ended in curses, hauntings, and general unpleasantness. So, business as usual, then.

My peace was shattered by the doorbell. It wasn't the normal chime. It was a frantic, repeated ringing, like a swarm of angry, metallic bees.

Joshua and I exchanged a look. The Phantoms, who were in the middle of a "media training" session (which consisted of Joshua teaching them how to answer interview questions with vague, mysterious answers), all froze.

I crept to the window and peeked through the blinds. My blood ran cold. There was a crowd outside. A small but intensely energetic crowd of about twenty people. They were holding handmade signs. 'REN, HAUNT ME FOREVER!' said one. 'KAITO, YOU CAN HAVE MY BOOTY!' said another. One particularly artistic sign had a lovingly drawn, anatomically incorrect diagram of how they thought the 'headless trick' worked.

"They found us," I whispered in horror. "The fans. They're here."

Joshua, naturally, saw this as a victory. "Our first pilgrims! The devout have made their way to the holy land!" He started for the door.

I grabbed the back of his tracksuit. "Are you insane?! You can't let them in! The Phantoms are literally see-through sometimes! What if Kaito gets excited and phases through the welcome mat?"

"We'll be discreet!" he insisted.

But it was too late. One of the fans, a girl with bright pink pigtails and an aura of terrifying determination, spotted my face in the window. "IT'S HER!" she shrieked, pointing. "THE MYSTERIOUS MAGE-PRODUCER!"

"Mage-Producer?!" I yelped, stumbling back from the window.

"I might have embellished a little when I set up their official website," Joshua admitted sheepishly.

The doorbell-bees started their frantic buzzing again. We were under siege.

"Okay, new plan," I said, my mind racing. "Phantoms, upstairs. Living room. Now. Do not make a sound, do not touch anything, do not even breathe ectoplasmically. Joshua, you are going to go out there and disperse them."

"But-"

"Disperse them!" I commanded, shoving him towards the back door. "Tell them they're rehearsing in a secret underground location! Tell them anything! Just get rid of them!"

While Joshua went to deal with the flock, I stayed behind to manage the shepherds. I found the Phantoms huddled in the living room, peeking out the windows at their adoring fans with a mixture of pride and confusion.

"Are those mortals truly here for us?" Ren asked, a hand to his heart. "Oh, glorious day!"

"That one has a plushie of me head," Dullahan observed, pointing with a detached-looking finger. Indeed, a fan was holding a stuffed, smiling head on a stick.

"This is not glorious, this is a security breach!" I said, pulling the curtains shut. "You can't be seen!"

My biggest problem, however, arrived a few hours later, after Joshua had successfully dispersed the crowd with a convoluted story about the band recording their new album on a spiritually-cleansed submarine. He came back holding a single, crisp envelope.

"This is from their de-facto fan club president," he announced. "She wants a formal meeting. With the 'Mage-Producer'."

My name wasn't on the envelope. It was addressed to 'Amy Chen, 100th Generation Talisman Prodigy'.

I snatched it from his hand. The wax seal was a stylized ghost winking. How did she know my name? My full family title? I broke the seal and read the letter. It was polite, well-written, and utterly terrifying. The fan club president, a Miss Yui Tanaka, requested a private meeting at a local cafe to discuss a 'mutually beneficial partnership'. She also mentioned that her family had been in the 'supernatural sanitation' business for generations.

She wasn't just a fan. She was a professional. A ghost hunter.

"No," I said immediately. "Absolutely not. This is a trap. She's going to show up with a proton pack and a ghost trap."

"Or," Joshua countered, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, dangerous light, "she's a potential ally! A fan who understands the business! We need someone to run the street team!"

"She's a ghost hunter, Joshua! Her 'street team' is probably an exorcism squad!"

The argument raged for an hour. I was firm in my refusal. It was too risky. It was monumentally stupid. It was professional suicide. He, of course, wore me down with his usual blend of illogical optimism and by having Lily come in and ask if the nice fan lady could be her friend.

I hated my life.

The next day, I found myself sitting in a booth at 'The Daily Grind Cafe', my heart pounding a rhythm that was far from caffeinated. I had three different types of protection talismans stuck to the inside of my jacket. I felt less like a Mage-Producer and more like a lamb heading to the slaughter.

A girl with bright pink pigtails slid into the booth opposite me. It was the girl from the crowd. Yui Tanaka. She smiled, a sweet, disarming smile that did nothing to calm my nerves.

"Amy Chen," she said, her voice chipper. "It's an honor. My family has followed the work of the Chen clan for centuries. Your great-great-grandmother's 'Poltergeist Pacification' seal is still the industry standard."

"You-you're a hunter," I stammered.

"Oh, 'hunter' is such an aggressive term," she waved a dismissive hand. "We prefer 'Paranormal Relocation Specialist'. But yes. I know what you're doing. And I have to say," she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with manic energy, "it's the most brilliant, insane, and revolutionary approach to residual spiritual management I have ever seen."

I stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Turning ghosts into pop idols to resolve their earthly regrets through fame and fan adoration?" she continued, practically vibrating with excitement. "It's genius! Instead of costly and messy exorcisms, you're providing them with therapy and a career path! Do you have any idea the kind of grant money a program like this could attract?"

This was not the conversation I was expecting.

"So… you're not going to try and banish them?" I asked cautiously.

Yui laughed, a sound like tiny bells and impending paperwork. "Banish them? Honey, I want to represent them. I've already drafted a preliminary marketing plan and a five-year strategy for their merchandise line. The Dullahan headless plushies are going to sell like hotcakes."

I had walked into this cafe expecting an exorcist. Instead, I found a supernatural talent agent. Joshua's insanity, it seemed, was contagious. And I was trapped right in the middle of the outbreak.