Eleven.

She stared silently as the first sirens sounded, standing invisibly with her hands resting on Hiccup's hunched shoulders as he remained on his knees by the limp shape of Toothless. She watched, almost feeling hollow, as Detectives Mala and Throk arrived and took in the scene, took statements from the witnesses, supervised the CSIs as they tagged and bagged the knife, swabbed the blood from Toothless's mouth for DNA and took a brief statement from Hiccup. The man was pale and drained, emerald eyes dulled and shoulders slumped. His left hand had been badly cut and he needed stitches but he had asked for it to be bandaged first so the hand was wrapped tightly by the concerned EMTs. But at the end, he looked up into the cool eyes of the police officers.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked sarcastically. "Some lunatic tries to kidnap me-and then kill me. He murders my dog..."

"You can't murder a dog," Throk pointed out.

"In this case, you can," Astrid snarked, folding her arms.

"You could have paid him yourself to give you an alibi..." Mala added as Hiccup shared at her incredulously.

"Really? You think I would threaten my own life, injure myself so I may ruin my ability to sculpt which is literally the only thing I have left now and kill Toothless, the only person who has kept me going since Astrid was murdered? Are you that inflexible that you have to stuck to your ridiculous theory that I killed the woman I loved, the woman I was about to propose to rather than chase the real killer who has just threatened my life?" he shouted at them, slowly clambering to his feet. "I've given my statement. So have the witnesses. Now I want to go home. Can I take Toothless to give him a proper burial or are you going to keep him as 'evidence'?" There was such scorn in his expression that Mala had to look away.

"No," she said quietly. "You can take your dog. We'll drive you home..." Hiccup shook his head, leaning down to lift Toothless with a grunt. The EMTs had kindly wrapped the dog in a blanket and the tall potter hugged the limp shape to his body.

"I'll get a cab, thanks," he said stubbornly. "You expend your energies on actually looking for the person who did this." Astrid stared at them as they shared a look, then walked away, letting him walk past the fountain to the main road with his burden, hail and cab and sit woodenly on the back seat during the drive home. Seeing him struggle made her feel more ashamed that she was useless to him, her hand ghosting through his, hoping he knew she was with him...and feeling horrible guilt for Toothless's death. Though a small part of her reminded her that the dog would have defended his master to the death, with or without her prompting.

Once they had arrived back at the house, he shed his coat and headed out into the yard with Toothless and a shovel. And Astrid felt utterly wretched as she watched him dig like a man possessed, sweat dripping from his face as he excavated the grave of this best friend. He didn't look up or slow as a light shower blew through or when the door to the house opened and Stoick and Gobber walked out, equally concerned expressions on both their faces. His father gaped as he saw the young man working.

"HICCUP!" he yelled and for a moment, he looked up, his face colourless and emerald eyes dulled. Swiping his brow with his grimy bandage, he turned away and continued digging as Stoick raced forward, grabbing his wrist gently and stopping him.

"Let me go," Hiccup said through his teeth. "I have to do this." Gobber ambled up and shook his head.

"Let us help, laddie," he offered, eyeing the hole. Toothless was a big dog and he needed a bigger grave. Hiccup shook his head, his bruised face alarming his father and Gobber.

"Gods, will you let me do something myself?" he exploded, glaring at his visitors. "I mean, clearly, there is something wrong for me for them to take Astrid and now Toothless-and there's nothing I can do!"

"Son-what happened?" Stoick asked, his eyes sweeping the younger man's face.

"It was him," Hiccup said wildly. "The man that-that fraud told us about. He's real! He tried to kidnap me-and he killed Toothless when he defended me. Gods, it's me, isn't it? Am I the reason why they were both killed?" Stoick caught his shoulders, seeing his face wild with grief and despair. He wrapped his arms around the tall, lean shape, shaking with grief.

"Son, you have done nothing to cause this," the financier said gravely.

"Neither of us did," Astrid added.

"Dad-how can I go on?" Hiccup groaned, screwing his eyes closed. "Toothless was the only person I had. I've lost Astrid, I've lost my bud..." Stoick stared at him, seeing moisture on his face-and his eyes drifted to the grimy and bloodstained bandage on his left hand. Worried, he grasped the wrist and stared at the injury.

"Son-what happened?" he asked and the young man shook his head.

"It was the man Ruffnut described," he said distractedly. "Buff, carrot red hair, pale green eyes, three blue claw-marks tattooed over his left eye. He tried to kidnap me...wanted to ask you for a ransom. He knew who we both were, Dad! And I fought him...so he tried to kill me and I put my hand up and well, he cut me and they said I need stitches but I had to get him home..." Stoick rested a hand on Hiccup's shoulder and sighed.

"I'll dig the hole, son-and then we'll take you to get that tended," he decided. "I have to look after you, Hiccup. Gods, I am so sorry." Nodding, the auburn-haired potter pulled away and grabbed the shovel.

"Thanks," he said tonelessly. "But you know I gotta do this, Dad. He was my best friend. I had him from a puppy. He died to save me. I owe him this." Stoick nodded.

"We'll all help," he said decisively. "And then we're taking you to my surgeon-and then home." But Hiccup was already back digging, his eyes trailing over the blanket-swathed shape.

"I'm sorry, bud," he murmured. But behind him, Stoick had pulled out his cell, speed-dialling the familiar number.

"Eret? I have another job for you," he said gruffly. "I need you to find out everything about a suspect in an attack on my son..."

Astrid watched him and then turned away. She was more angry than she had ever been...and a memory reared its head.

"Look after him," she said, turning to the house. "I know what I can do now. They won't get away with this..."

oOo

Fungus's Bar was almost deserted at this time of day as she phased straight through the door and cast around. There was the tinny sound of last night's game playing on the TV in the corner and one drooping drunk halfway alone the bar, nursing a very small soda that was the agreement for the man to practically live in the bar. Astrid glanced over to the barman, who was reading the paper and she finally saw the old, ornery ghost in the corner.

He saw her instantly and leapt to his feet, a growl vibrating in his throat. In daylight, she could see he was a skinny, miserable looking specimen with long whiskers and a floppy, miserable moustache-but he looked angry and he was bristling with power as he approached her.

"I said this were me bar!" he shouted but she raised her hands, backing up a pace.

"Understood!" she said hastily, utilising her skills from a score of negotiations. "Don't worry-I have my own place to go. I am actually here to see you!"

He stopped then, his mean eyes widening slightly as he stared at her.

"Yer what?" he asked suspiciously. "No one ever comes ter see me! Even when I were alive..."

I can believe that, she thought but nodded sympathetically. "That must have been hard," she offered aloud and he gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Not really," he admitted. "Not really a people person."

"Yet you ran a bar," she noted.

"I liked me bar," he told her, leading her back to his corner table. "It were just the patrons I couldn't stand..." Her eyes widened and she tried not to stare-but he began to make a wheezing noise that she belatedly realised was laughter. "They were always so demanding. They wanted credit-which I never offered, they wanted tabs-which I never offered-and they expected me ter be pleasant and accommodating. Which I ain't."

That's for sure.

"I'm Astrid," she said calmly, putting on her best 'dealing with an insane client' face. "What do I call you?" He stared at her for a long minute.

"Mildew," he said. "Coz it's me name." She nodded, her eyes flicking over the bar: it needed a good overhaul, redecoration and new fixtures but she had the strangest feeling that Mildew liked it just the way it was. He stared at her beautiful shape, as if reading her mind. "So why're yer here, Miss Uptown?" She sighed.

"I need your help, Mildew," she said. His face automatically closed.

"I ain't interested," he said automatically. She leaned forward, her hands flat on the table-once she had consciously stopped then from sinking through.

"Mildew," she said, "you are the most powerful ghost I've run into-and the only one who can affect the material world. I want to know how you do that. Please-show me!"

"I ain't interested."

"PLEASE! The man I love is in terrible danger and if I can't do something, he'll be killed!"

"Hardly me problem, is it?" Mildew snapped, scowling.

"I...supposed it isn't," she said, eyeing him up and realising that flattering him wouldn't work...and there was clearly not a single altruistic molecule in his soul. "But I am. And I'm gonna stay here until you help me." He rose, eyes flashing.

"I can throw you out any time I want," he sneered.

"Really?" she asked him. "Way I see it, you're the only thing here I can touch-so you try anything, sunshine, I'm trying it back on."

"AARGH!" Mildew yelled and threw himself at her-but she ducked aside, balled her fists and took all her frustration and anger out on him, executing punch after punch, kick after kick on his scrawny shape. Going down without even landing a blow, Mildew stared up at her, his eyes filled with anger.

"I don't want your bar, I don't want your home, I just want your help!" she snapped, glaring down at him.

"Well, I ain't helping you," Mildew growled, getting up and retreating to his corner. Astrid sighed, staring after him.

"Oh, this is going to take some time," she growled. "You asked for it. One thousand bottles of beer on a wall, one thousand bottles of beer..." Mildew glared at her.

"No singing," Mildew shouted from his corner.

"...should happen to fall, there'd be nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall..."

"Yer think yer can drive me out of me bar?" Mildew sneered. "I'm used to talking and cussing and racket all day and night. So sing along, lass. yer voice ain't that bad..."

"Yet. Nine hundred and ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and ninety-eight bottles of beer..." Astrid continued. Mildew sat back and laced his hands behind his head.

"I can wait all night," he said smugly.

oOo

"Well, I got my axe and I got my mace and I got my wife with the ugly face, I'm a Viking through and through..."

"Yer ain't impressing me, Astrid." Mildew had amused himself for most of the evening by spilling drinks with an ease that the girl had been very envious of...but he had tried to ignore her. But there was no one more stubborn than a Hofferson-and she was doing this for Hiccup. So she trailed him around, singing badly. "Yer've got quite a pleasant voice..."

"Then let's see how you enjoy me talking," she said, following him into the men's restroom. Mildew had hoped she would be squeamish but she had seen Hiccup naked-and the handful of other guys she had slept with before-she she really wasn't bothered. In fact, she started laughing at some of them, which offended Mildew even more.

"Lalalala-I ain't listening!" he moaned and walked through a wall into the women's restroom. Astrid followed, finding a miserable space with a single cubicle, a broken sink and a slots machine against the wall.

"Wow-I can see why this place is isn't exactly the couples' top destination," she commented and Mildew snapped round to growl at her, but Astrid was grinning. "You can always just help me."

"NO!"

oOo

"Fiscal regulation 13729.1 states that companies involved in financial services are required to undertake detailed and regular governances reviews both of internal pathways and processes as well in relation to external drivers, organisations and partners. Fiscal regulation 13729.2 states..."

"How many of these are there?" Mildew groaned. The clock outside struck five. Astrid had been at this for over thirty-six hours and for a moment, the old man wondered if Helheim was really that bad compared to her singing, reciting every poem she had read and every detail about her boyfriend in excruciating detail. But fourteen hours of fiscal regulations had finally proven too much even for him.

"Over twenty thousand and I have photographic memory for regulations," Astrid smirked. "And I love my work so I really read into all the clauses, subclauses and minutiae of the governance..." The old man slammed his head on the table-and the whole thing jumped.

"All right," he growled. "If I help yer with whatever yer wants-as long as yer shut up!" Astrid gave a triumphant grin.

"Then fire away," she said smugly. "How do you have the strength to affect the real world?" Mildew paced through his bar, stopping by a particularly ugly picture of a sheep and almost stroking it affectionately.

"Oh-yer think you have strength?" he asked her snidely. She frowned.

"I've seen you flip tables and people for fun," she reminded him.

"Did I? I can't touch nothing. I'm a ghost!" he snarked back.

"Well, I touched you!" she snapped, balling her fists. Mildew's expression was curiously unsettling as he eyed her with almost admiration.

"Did yer?" he asked her. "I'm a ghost. I can't touch nothing. And neither can yer!"

"I thought I could touch you because we're sort of on the same plane of existence...or something..." she snapped. His smile was incredibly irritating-and his snide tone had turned very patronising.

"Astrid-I can see yer a really feisty lass," he sneered. "And that was why yer could beat me. Yer anger and determination was so great on beating me that you could focus yer energy and tek me down. It won't happen again!" She balled her fists, eyes narrowing as she silently challenged him. He tapped his finger against the side of his forehead. "This is all yer have here, lass. Yer will, yer focus, yer emotions. And its only by focussing those that yer can affect the living world."

"Wait...it's all mental?" she asked. "Then why can't everyone do it?" Mildew gave a smug smile as he flipped a chair over with a casual gesture.

"Anyone can," he pointed out. "But yer need ter concentrate really hard-focus on one purpose, one emotion, right down to a point-and then use that energy to move things." Astrid was shaking her head but Mildew leaned close.

"Oh, now you don't believe me? I thought I was the one with all the answers?" She ran her hands through her blonde hair, shaking her head. "Look, I guess yer've been mad at things since yer died?" She nodded warily. Mildew leaned closer. "Did you notice anything? Any windows rattling, things falling over, lights exploding?"

She paused and made to shake her head...but she recalled the time when the detectives questioned Hiccup, accused Hiccup of her murder and how the windows were shaking, as if there was a hurricane outside...and then she nodded.

"Unfocussed energy," Mildew said. "Yer a girl of strong emotions, Astrid. You would probably have figured it all our fer yerself...if you'd had the time."

"But I don't," she said shortly. "He's in danger." Mildew narrowed his eyes.

"So you want to protect him?" he guessed. "Well, that may be enough, I s'pose...though negative emotions are much stronger. Love just don't seem to be able to do it...which is why there's only a few of us who are strong. Never loved anything worth putting myself out for..."

"So anger and hate are best?" Astrid asked, considering. Heather and Dagur. The pair of them could probably provoke enough anger and hatred to power what needed to be done-and save the man she loved, who had never deserved any of the heartache that he was experiencing. She nodded. "Okay-show me!"

Mildew stood, narrowed his eyes slightly and gestured at an ash tray. It flipped and bounced across the floor.

"Now you try?" he sneered. So she crouched down and glared at the ashtray. It rocked slightly but remained stubbornly motionless. She scowled, glared at it and balled her fists.

"Move damn you!" she growled, sweat standing out on her forehead.

"Talking ain't gonna get it to move!" Mildew sneered. "Oooh, this may get ugly. Stop thinking like a living person..." Astrid glared at the ashtray. She leaned closer and glared at it, trying to imagine it was Heather.

"Move, you bitch!" she snapped.

The ashtray wobbled very slightly.

"Oh, very good," the old man snarked, swatting aside a few chairs. "Hmm, at this rate, yer'll be ready in a few years..."

"Aargh! Why is this so hard?" Astrid snapped. "I mean, I know what I have to do. And you..."

"Well, I've bin doing this more'n forty years," Mildew snarked. "I've had more than enough practice..." He sat back. "I haven't had this good a laugh since I died..."

Astrid felt a surge of anger and humiliation at his words: she was a Hofferson and she never failed. A Hofferson was fearless. A Hofferson was steadfast. A Hofferson did not fail. And a Hofferson never, under any circumstance, allowed a mealy-mouthed old ghost to mock her. She felt the anger flow her like fire, felt herself compress it into a fine needle that she jabbed hard into the ashtray.

It flipped a foot into the air and then landed with a clatter. There was a very sarcastic round of applause from the ghost as Astrid sat back.

"Wow-my head is exploding," she mouthed and he gave a knowing nod.

"Tired?" he sneered. "If you try something too big, you temporarily weaken yourself. You can't die but you can make yourself helpless and unable to do anything..." Azure eyes flicked up.

"What do you mean by 'too big'?" she asked. Mildew gave a shrug.

"Moving something huge?" he suggested, gesturing and she gaped as the entire bar rose by an inch before it was dropped down with a thud that shook the entire bar. "Possessing a body?" She blinked.

"What?" she gasped. Mildew leered.

"Sometimes a very determined ghost can take over a body-especially of someone who is sensitive to the spirit world," he revealed. "If they are willing, it may not drain you too much-but if not and you take them over against their will, you can be left helpless when they consciously eject yer." He grinned. "Yer may wanna avoid that one!"

Astrid sat back on her heels, imagined Dagur sitting on a chair-and smacked it aside.

"Now yer getting it!" the old man said triumphantly. "So you can finally leave me alone." She nodded and slowly got up. The focus was hard-but it was a skill to be learned and perfected, just like her abilities to read a balance sheet and memorise complex financial regulations. And honestly, she didn't want to spend any more time in the company of the appalling old man when she was missing Hiccup like mad.

"Thanks," she said and smiled at him. But as she turned to the door, she paused. "Can I ask you one thing?" She shrugged. "How did you die?"

He was instantly on his feet, his face twisted in rage.

"Some sneaky bastard tried ter rob me bar-just because I wouldn't let his mangy mutt in," he yelled. "He came back at closing time and shot me four times! I never liked dogs-I'm a sheep person. So I followed him around and scared him and his mutt to death. And then I came back to me bar!" He lunged at her and this time, taken off-guard, she felt the impact and flew through the door and landed on the street. "AND STAY OUT!" But she looked up and smiled, inspecting her hands and rising, then glaring at an empty can on the street, flicking a finger, imagining it was Heather's face. The can jumped in the air and bounced a couple of yards along.

"It was worth it," she murmured with a smile, then headed down the street and round the corner to a familiar location. "Now all I need is a partner in crime..."

oOo

Ruffnut's parlour was packed, not with humans but with ghosts as Astrid phased through the wall and stared at the throng. It seemed that word had gone around that the female twin was the real deal and everyone was keen to contact their dearly not-departed. A line of three elderly women, all in their Sunday best, elaborate hats and dreadful makeup, were sitting, hoping their relatives were present. Ruffnut rolled her eyes.

"Right-shut up you lot," she announced peremptorily. "I don't want you all talking among yourselves-it's very distracting! Answer only when called and I'll tell you what to do..." There were mutters among the ghosts and then Ruffnut sighed. "Do we have a Dorias Yasadi, Jorgen Knutsson or Anders Breiberg?"

"Me! Me! I'm Jorgen!" A pudgy man in an unflattering grey cardigan and work boots put his hand up and waved happily.

"We have Jorgen amongst us!" the spiritualist announced and the elderly woman with a pink rinse sitting to the left of the trio sudden grinned.

"My Chief!" she squeaked. "Honey, are you okay?" The man glared at her.

"Am I okay? Is she kidding? I'm dead! And I died in agony because she fed me undercooked chops because she was too busy talking to her friends on the phone..."

"He says he's fine," Ruffnut said diplomatically. The man huffed at her.

"Are you for real? That's not what I said..."

"It's called diplomacy," Ruffnut growled through the side of her mouth.

"Is he upset about the chops?" Mrs Knutsson asked worriedly. "I told him they weren't done but he insisted he was home so the dinner had to be ready for him-so he ate them anyway!" Jorgen glared.

"If you had been doing your job properly, Mavis, I wouldn't be here now!" he growled. Ruff tugged on her thick braids and looked perplexed.

"Okay, he's a bit moany," she admitted as the man glared at her again and leapt at her, his form merging with hers. Astrid gaped, recalling what Mildew had told her. Ruff instantly rose to her feet and tabbed a finger at the hapless woman. Her voice was growling and low with a thick Berkian accent-almost exactly the voice of the ghost.

"I am not 'moany'! I expected my dinner on the table when I arrived home from earning the money to put said food on the table!" she growled. "And instead you were gossiping with Mrs Arvidsson about her daughter Freda's worthless boyfriend and you fed me undercooked chops-and then refused to wake up when I was dying of food poisoning..."

"You know I have sleeping tablets!" Mavis Knutsson protested. "I tend to be dead to the world until morning!"

"When I was dead, period!" Jorgen protested. "Look, all I want is an apology..."

"An apology? Jorgen-you came in late every night of our marriage, you moaned if your dinner was a couple of minutes late-even when I had no clue when you were coming in-and you still moaned if your dinner wasn't waiting-or wasn't warm..." Mavis replied hotly. "I..."

Ruffnut shivered from head to toe and Astrid saw the ghost of Jorgen Knutsson ejected from her body. She slumped into her chair and sighed, breathing hard as the ghost collapsed to the ground. "Get out of me," she muttered. "Thor, I never want to feel that again! That was...gross. Ewww!"

"Jorgen?"

"That was just...nasty!" Ruff continued, pulling a face. "That's enough for the day. All of you-scoot!" She paused. "GO. AWAY!" she added to make sure they got the message. Mrs Knutsson and her friends rose and left and the ghosts drifted away, leaving just Astrid and the female twin.

"Hello, Ruff," she said. The woman's grey-blue eyes snapped open and she looked around wildly.

"Not YOU again!" she protested. "I am NOT doing anything again. All I got last time was a disturbed night and a visit from the cops for attempting to pervert the course of justice! You've had your shot, missis, and you blew it!" Astrid smiled and then concentrated, pulled a chair back and then made sure she dented the cushion.

"I'm not going anywhere and I've been practising my singing," she said smugly. "Look-the man who killed me is the brother of my best friend. She set me up. And now, because my boyfriend is poking around because the cops think he killed me, she's set her murderous brother after Hiccup!" Ruff poked her fingers in her ears.

"Lalalaalalalaa! I am not listening! Even if he is a hottie!" Ruff announced. Astrid leaned forward, her tone stern.

"You know you're going to do this. I know you're going to do this. So why not save yourself some horrible singing and just say yes!"

"I am not saying yes!" Ruff shouted.

"Yes to what?" Tuff asked, hearing her from the waiting room. She looked up plaintively.

"She's back!" she whined.

"What-oh, Astrid Hofferson?" he guessed. She gaped.

"What? Loki-you remember her name?" she huffed. "You hardly remember MY name!" Tuff shrugged.

"My job as your twin," he admitted, idly tidying up the room and wrestling the door through to their personal apartment open. "Beer?"

"Three!" Ruff said urgently and then she slumped back in the seat. "Okay-so assuming I want to get involved in your tragedy and try to get myself killed, what will this involve?" Astrid sat up with a smile on her face.

"Nothing much," she said cheerfully. "Just stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from the woman who murdered me for them!" Then was a pause and Ruffnut sat bolt upright.

"I'm in," she said.