Gideon dreamt of Mabel.

They were in the forest together. Sunlight streamed through the trees, bouncing off the snow in glittering majesty. The only thing that sparkled more than the snow was Mabel's eyes.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. "Come see."

She wanted to show him something. Gideon doubted there was anything in the forest he hadn't seen, but he decided to humor her. He followed her through the woods, their feet gliding atop the snow as if they were floating.

"It's just up here," Mabel said. "I can't wait for you to see!"

They turned a corner.

Suddenly the light was gone — snuffed out, save for the tiny flickering flames of lamps. The trees were replaced with brick walls, the snow with stone. On the other side of the suddenly enclosed room stood hooded figures, just barely visible in the lamplight.

"See?" Mabel said happily. She spread her hands out as if presenting the room for Gideon to see.

"Mabel," Gideon said, panic starting to creep into his bones, "we have to get out of here."

"Why?" she asked. "I bet there are ghosts. Don't you want to go exploring?"

"Not — not right now." He looked warily at the hooded figures.

They took a step forward.

"Run," Gideon said.

"We can't," Mabel said matter-of-factly. "There's no exit."

The hooded figures took another step. They moved as one body, perfectly in sync.

"Why did you bring her here?" A booming voice swept over the room.

"I — I didn't," Gideon said. "Please — I didn't mean to — don't hurt — "

The hooded figures rushed forward.

Gideon cried out and tried to activate his amulet — but it wasn't there. He threw his arms around Mabel, trying to protect her, but there were too many attackers. They shoved Gideon off her, grabbed her, forced her away from him —

"Gideon? Gideon! What's happening!" Only now did Mabel seem to realize the danger.

"Mabel!" Gideon ran for her, but was shoved to the ground by a robed attacker. An Order member.

"Gideon, help!"

The Order of the Crescent Eye held Mabel up above them, raising her towards the ceiling as she struggled against them. Then her eyes locked onto something on the ceiling and glazed over. She went slack in the Order members' arms.

The ceiling cast a yellow glow onto her.

"No!" Gideon struggled against his captors, struggled towards Mabel — he never should've followed her, never should've let her get involved— "No!"

But it was like moving through molasses — the strong arms around him held him back — someone stepped forward, engulfed in a purple robe, with blacks shadows where a face would be — and something glittering in their hand, glittering like the snow — shining and silver — they raised it up above Mabel's limp form —

Gideon shot upright in bed just as the last red remnants of his dream splattered across his vision.

He gasped for breath as sweat trickled down his nose. The memory of the dream was already fading, the details blurring, but he still clearly remembered the horror, the fear.

Slowly, his heart rate settled. He took a gulp of water from a glass on his nightstand — stale. But it helped get some moisture back into his throat.

Nightmares. He'd been having nightmares ever since Pacifica was announced as Lincoln's apprentice — ever since the ghosts had reappeared — ever since he'd had the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could ask Mabel Pines for help. . .

Mabel. The dream had been about Mabel. Something. . . something bad had happened, something that woke him up in a cold sweat.

He sighed and set his water glass back down, mopping the sweat from his forehead. As he moved his arm back, he caught sight of the clock on the wall.

7:32.

Gideon's eyes widened. He threw his covers back and stood up, shaking off the dizzy feeling. Mabel would be here in half an hour, and he was still in his pajamas!

He stopped. Mabel. . .

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

As he thought it, an image from his dream returned to him. A yellow glow, illuminating Mabel's expressionless face. . .

Gideon grit his teeth as anger swept through him. Of course. He knew what these dreams were.

They were threats.

Somehow this realization only increased Gideon's determination to go through with this. Bill didn't control him. Bill could stick his threats up his triangular —

A knock on his door. Gideon unclenched his fists, which he hadn't realized he'd tightened. That'd be his butler, Marcus, with breakfast.

"Come in," he said, sitting back on the bed. He'd eat, get ready, and be at the gates to greet Mabel in half an hour. Threats or no threats, he was going to push on. He would bring Mabel here; he would show Bill who was in control.

Who are you kidding? asked a tiny voice in the back of his mind. Gideon ignored it.

The weak winter sun peeked timidly over the mountains in the distance. Gideon got ready as it rose and chased away the remnants of distress from his dream. By the time he made it down to the gates of the Northwest Manor, it was more confidently shining down on him, illuminating the gilded wooden gates and glinting off the immaculate ice sculptures that dotted the grounds.

Gideon walked up the path, which had been perfectly cleared of snow, and towards the gates. His heart beat in a strange triplet rhythm against his footsteps, trying to push the tempo of his pace against the will of his sluggish feet. No need to rush. No need to act like he was excited to see Mabel, that he couldn't wait for her to arrive.

Yet he made it to the gates far too soon.

He moved to open the gate, but then he stopped and glanced back at the Manor. Father and Mother were both out, and the servants were all busy getting ready for the gala. Nobody would see if he. . .

Well, nobody would see except Mabel.

The amulet fastened around his neck flared a bright blue, and Gideon leapt up off the ground. Trails of teal light flowed from his feet as his power bore him up and up and over the gate. He hovered there over it for a microsecond, his cape fluttering in the wind, before dropping back down into the snow on the other side. It buckled beneath his glowing feet as he landed firmly on the ground.

He looked up as the glow faded. Mabel Pines stood a few feet away from him, a startled look in her eyes.

Something thrilled through him. Gideon inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. It wasn't like he was showing off — he hadn't known Mabel would already be here. He straightened his coat. "Good morning."

She swallowed. "Um, hi. I'm on time."

Say something smooth, Gideon. "So you are."

Close enough.

"Do you have everything you need?" he continued.

She shrugged her backpack higher up on her shoulders. "Y-yeah. I think so."

Her eyes flicked upwards and met his for a moment. Gideon's breath hitched. As image from his dream — of Mabel, in dim light, hands grabbing her arms and pulling her back — flashed across his mind.

"Gideon?" Mabel asked warily.

He could turn her away right now. He could change his mind.

He mentally scoffed at himself. Or he could have a spine.

"Great," he said to Mabel. "I'm glad to see you're prepared. Let's go, then." He turned back to the gate and took a deep breath. He was doing this.

He palmed the print-recognition pad next to the gate to open it himself. No need to alert the servants he was bringing a guest — not this time.

The gate shuddered and swung inward. Gideon watched Mabel gawk in his periphery as the ornate mansion came into view.

"Welcome," Gideon said with a wave of his hand, "to Northwest Manor."

~~~~~

What am I doing here?

This was the first coherent thought that flashed through Mabel's mind as she stepped into the Northwest Manor. She gazed at the vaulted ceilings, the smooth staircases, the shining floors — and shuddered at their beauty. The manor was beautiful, yes. But it was a cold, calculated beauty, a beauty that made Mabel feel small and out of place.

Gideon led her to what seemed to be a ballroom. Immediately, Mabel felt a strange sense of vertigo. The ballroom was bright and big and open, with walls plastered with mirrors. Gilded mirrors of all sizes, everywhere Mabel turned, making the room feel infinite. And yet, the pillars that lined the outer edges and stretched up to the ceilings felt like bars. Mirrors and bars. An infinite prison.

Mabel found herself glancing at Gideon, wondering if he felt the same.

If he did, he didn't show it. "This way." They walked across the ballroom.

The mirrors watched Mabel as she passed them. They reflected her own image back at her, framed in their beauty, as if they were sneering at her common appearance, mocking her for being less beautiful than they.

It was a blatant reminder that Mabel didn't belong in this beautiful, frightening place.

She tried to keep her eyes on the back of Gideon's head, but that didn't help either. It only made her wonder, once again, what he was thinking. Why he would bring her here. Why she dared leave the house after her recent experiences with the supernatural. Why she somehow, despite everything, trusted Gideon, just a little.

She really, really didn't want to trust him.

They passed out of the ballroom through one of the many entrances and into a long, carpeted hallway. Mabel blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and hurried after Gideon, whose gait had gotten noticeably faster.

He slowed when they reached an imposing black door after a few minutes of walking down hall after hall. Mabel had lost all sense of direction by now and had trouble breathing the deeper they went into the maze. What if she got lost? What if someone trapped her in here?

She took an unconscious step closer to Gideon.

Gideon opened the door, pressing his black gloved hand against the black metal knob. It swung open silently to reveal a dark room. "This is where the haunting is the worst," he said, stepping inside.

Mabel looked into the darkness, then at Gideon. "Is there a light?"

"Of course." He hit a light switch.

Only then would Mabel follow him in.

Electric candles on large chandeliers flickered to life as she stepped into the room. It was a long room, almost like its own wide hallway. On Mabel's right, the entire wall was dedicated to the Northwest family tree. Black veins of paint stretched across the wall, splitting off into branches with delicate script written at their tips. On the left were large portraits, each bearing a stately man or woman who stared piercingly out of his or her frame. Golden plaques beneath the paintings bore fancy names — all of which ended in Northwest.

Mabel spent a moment surveying the room. Then she turned to Gideon. "The hauntings are based in this room?"

He nodded.

"Wow," Mabel said softly, looking at the family tree. "They must really hate your family." She glanced sideways at Gideon. "Do you know why?"

He looked vaguely uncomfortable. "My family has. . . wronged many people, in their view. These ghosts could be any number of unhappy groups. I don't know their identity."

Mabel bit her lip in thought. She felt better now that she had a substantial mystery to explore. "Alright," she said, and she walked purposefully to the center of the room. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and started rummaging through it, pulling out candles, a long piece of chalk, and a few pages from the Journal she had photocopied. Setting the pages aside, she started setting out candles.

"What are you doing?" Gideon demanded, coming up behind her.

She looked back at him, then held the chalk out to him. "Setting up a séance. Are you good with drawing circles?"

"No," he said abruptly. "Don't do that."

"Why not? The chalk will wash off the floor, I promise. And anyway, we need to talk to them to see what they — "

"I've already tried that." Gideon took the chalk out of her hand. "They — they won't talk. All they'll say is that they want us dead."

Mabel shot him an annoyed glance. I can understand that, she almost said, but she stopped herself. She didn't hate Gideon that much.

"Maybe if a non-Northwest talks to them — "

"No."

Mabel got to her feet and turned to face Gideon head-on. "I'm sorry, but I thought you wanted my help."

"I do. But — no séances. Talking to these ghosts isn't going to help."

"That's the first step for these kinds of things!"

"Well, I already did it, and it's not going to help."

They glared at each other for a moment.

"Fine," Mabel said, breaking his gaze. She bent down to pick up the Journal pages. "If you're so against diplomacy, I guess we'll go straight to force." She sat down cross-legged on the floor and started rifling through the pages of the Journal in stony silence.

Stony soon gave way to awkward as Gideon just watched her. Mabel pretended not to notice, pretended her face wasn't growing red, pretended to focus on what she was reading. After a few minutes, she managed to calm down and focus enough to find something.

"Okay," she said, getting to her feet once again. "You said yesterday the ghosts were flickering lights and writing on mirrors, right?"

"Yes. They also. . . nearly blew my mother's bathrobe off of her."

"Unnatural gusts of wind," Mabel muttered, scanning the page. "Yep. Looks like you're dealing with a Category Five, maybe Six, according to Ford's hierarchy. A simple exorcism should — "

"You don't think I haven't tried that too?" Gideon asked in exasperation. "I've performed many, many exorcisms, Pines. Probably more than you have. It didn't work."

Mabel closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe evenly. "What did you use?"

"My amulet."

Mabel's eyes flew open. "You can do exorcisms with your amulet?"

"Yes, and séances."

She stared at him for a moment. Just how much could those amulets do?

That amulet, Mabel. The other one is gone. And this one. . . well, Gideon can hopefully be trusted with it.

"Well," she said, "maybe that's your problem. You're using your amulet. If we tried a séance — "

"No séances."

"If we tried an exorcism with the supplies I brought, it might work." She grabbed her backpack. "I've got smudging sticks, salt, holy water. . . we can try a couple things."

Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I knew you were just going to suggest rudimentary, basic solutions. . ."

Mabel eyes widened. "Well, excuse me!" she said, offended. "You asked for my help, and I'm giving it! Besides, you have to start somewhere — "

"I told you, I've already tried — "

"No you haven't, you've tried tricks with your amulet! This isn't just the basic stuff, it's the foundational stuff, and we gotta try it before we can figure out what else to — "

"Just how many ghosts have you actually worked with, Pines?"

"Enough to know what I'm doing!" she shot back. "Great Galileo's Ghost, if I knew you were going to be so rude about my suggestions, maybe I wouldn't have come!"

Mabel's voice rang through the room. Gideon didn't respond. She opened her mouth to continue, but he held up a hand.

"What?" she demanded.

The lights flickered.

Mabel jumped a little. When the lights came back on, she noticed Gideon's expression: grim, as he stared at something behind and to her right.

Dreading what she would see, Mabel turned around.

The Northwests in the portraits no longer stared imperiously out at her. Their eyes were invisible, covered by thick black ink that welled up and spilled down their cheeks like tears. More ink spilled from their mouths, running down the canvases and dripping onto the floor.

"Oh," Mabel whispered.

She stuffed the Journal pages into her backpack and swung it over her shoulder, watching the paintings all the while. "Where are you?" she called softly. The light had dimmed considerably, making fuzzy shadows in the corners of the room.

"Let's go," Gideon said.

Mabel shushed him.

A small fire of white light suddenly appeared in mid-air a few feet away from them. It bobbed up and down, and Mabel got the feeling it was watching them.

"Hello," she said. "You're kind of a cute little guy, aren't you?"

Another white light appeared.

"Yes, you can all come out," Mabel said, trying to keep her voice calm.

Another light appeared. Then another. Then another. Little lights popped up all over the room, illuminating the pools of ink still cascading from the portraits.

"Mabel." Gideon grabbed her shoulder.

"Let's talk about this," Mabel tried.

The white lights stopped multiplying.

"Is that all of you?" Mabel asked.

The lights started converging, dimming as they collided, building up and out until they formed one huge, ghostly figure with fiery red pits for eyes.

"Oh," Mabel said again.

The ghost stared Mabel down. The ink from the portraits poured out faster. The frames started to rattle violently.

Gideon's hand was suddenly clasping Mabel's firmly. She tore her gaze from the ghost and looked into his fierce eyes.

"Run," he said.

So they did.