CMC Investigations: The Creature of Canterlot

by AidanofVT

Rating: everyone
Tags: Cutie Mark Crusaders, Adventure, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 11033

The Center for Magical Curiosities (CMC), is a group of three trench-coat-wearing mares who make it their business to investigate Equestria's strangest unsolved mysteries.

The CMC is Ponyville's premier problem-solving organization. Though it consists of only three young mares, they rarely fail and their skills are a valued asset to Princess Twilight Sparkle. When Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom are sent to Canterlot on what seems to be a routine, if high-profile, assignment, an unfounded urban legend will turn out to be a very real (and unique) quarry.

*author's note* I'm still learning the craft, so I'd appreciate any feedback you have!

Published 2015-04-10 19:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-04-10 19:10:02 UTC

Chapter One.

Author's Note

This story is a sequel to Magic Ears. It's a short story, and people tell me it's pretty good, so why not go ahead and read it?

If you read this story without having first read Magic Ears, then you may be confused. If you are confused then you may thumbs-down CMC Investigations, and if you do that then then neither of us will be happy.

Enjoy!

-Aidan

Chapter One.

BEEP-BEEP. BEEP-BEEP. BEEP-BEEP.
Scootaloo groaned, fighting an infuriatingly futile battle to stay asleep. She pulled her pillow over her head and grimaced. Her enemy was purpose-built for victory, but she knew how to beat it: Scootaloo lit her ears and reached out with her magic. She blindly prodded where she guessed her nightstand was; she wasn't quite awake enough to know for sure which way she was facing.

BEEP-BEEP. BE-
Scootaloo had won the battle, but not the war. That said, the snooze-button would always be there, so she was feeling good about tomorrow’s skirmish. What she wasn't feeling good about was the prospect of waking up. As a private detective, Scootaloo was technically self employed, but she felt like a little discipline was good for her. And as her mother had always said: "Pain builds character." Scootaloo wasn't sure what the appeal of character was, but she respected her parents, and a daily wake-up time seemed like a relatively harmless form of pain.

But harmless or not, she still woke up in a sour mood every morning. Scootaloo rolled out of bed and stumbled to her feet. She trudged into the bathroom that abutted her bedroom and mindlessly performed her morning ritual. Piss. Flush. Turn on faucet. Splash face. Splash face again. Faucet off. Towel-dry face. Brush teeth.

Scootaloo couldn't imagine how some ponies were able to spend half an hour beautifying themselves every morning. She was usually so incoherent in the morning that she would worry about putting anything near her eyes for fear of injuring herself, and so hungry that every moment between rolling out of bed and putting food in her mouth felt like a tangible barrier to be surmounted. After a decade of practicing her ritual, increasing its efficiency, and eliminating unnecessary steps like hair-brushing, Scootaloo had trimmed it down to about ninety seconds. She was proud of that. Scootaloo stepped through her small kitchen, opened her front door and picked up the morning paper from her doormat. She levitated milk, cereal, and two bananas towards the table. She poured the milk and cereal, and replaced them in the refrigerator and pantry, respectively. She peeled and diced the bananas, letting the pieces fall into her bowl. The breakfast-pile practically overflowed out of it's bowl, but Scootaloo subconsciously enjoyed the irony of a cold breakfast that still managed to seem excessive. She floated the paper before her and began eating. She gave a cursory glance at the day's stories, looking for anything mysterious enough to possibly benefit from her skills. Finding nothing (she rarely did) she extricated the comics section. This was the real reason she had a newspaper subscription: when she ate her breakfast she had to focus so much attention on guiding her spoon under pieces of banana that she couldn't keep her eyes on a paper long enough to read an actual article.

On her way out the door, Scootaloo grabbed her duster and draped it over her body. As they saying went, the duster was what made a detective more than just a paid stalker. A decade ago, after she, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle had all acquired their cutie marks, their trademark red-and-gold Cutie Mark Crusader capes had started to feel a little juvenile. More recently, when the CMC re-formed as the Center for Magical Curiosities, the color-scheme found a new purpose on their dusters. They may have been pretty desaturated, but the subtle red-on-the-outside, gold-on-the-inside colors of their dusters was what identified the CMC as a team, and of course there would always be the nostalgic significance of the colors that only they were privy to. The garment was made complete by a large patch stitched onto the flank which mimicked her cutie mark: two blue swirls of magic emblazoned around an Eldritch rune which translated, anticlimactically, to 'strange'. By the time Scootaloo stepped out of her building onto the sidewalk, she was starting to actually wake up. The noise of Ponyville's streets and the chill of the morning breeze always helped to open her eyes and ears. The threat of being run-over by a carriage helped too. People always seemed to associate private detectives with rainy cities, but the CMC had decided to stay in Ponyville in order to stay close to their best customer: Twilight Sparkle. She would task them with any mystery that she didn't herself have time to solve. Her cases alone accounted for more than half of their income. Also, ever since the Princess of Friendship had set up shop in Ponyville, the town's downtown had become more of, well, a downtown, so a PI business seemed less out of place every year.

The Acme Building was only a few blocks from Scootaloo's apartment, and her favorite dinner just happened to be along the route. On this morning Scootaloo stopped in for half a dozen doughnuts, and walked out with the box tucked between her wings. A long time ago, there had been a brief period when she thought that using her magic in public was just a fear to be conquered. But after she inadvertently caused two carriage-crashes on the same intersection on the same week, she decided that perhaps that particular fear was rational. Now she carried things on her back or in her mouth when she was among strangers.

Scootaloo walked one more block, turned into the large, red-brick Acme building, and took the elevator to the twelfth floor. She walked until she came to a door with a sign that read: The Center for Magical Curiosities (walk-ins welcome!). She stepped inside to find Sweetie shuffling some paperwork at her desk, and sounds of clanking metal emanating from Apple Bloom's room. As usual, they had beat Scootaloo to the office; she was pretty sure that Apple Bloom sometimes slept here.

"Good morning," greeted Scootaloo, "I brought doughnuts."

"Don't mind if I do," said Sweetie, opening the box and levitating a pastry off of Scootaloo's back and into her own mouth. At some point during her adolescence Sweetie had adopted her older sister's habit of wearing clothes just for the hell of it, and today she was sporting a blue and white scarf.

"'Morning Scootaloo," Apple Bloom yelled from within her room. Scootaloo set the doughnuts on Sweetie's desk, hung her duster beside two similar garments, and moved into Applebloom's doorway. Apple Bloom's "office" was, as usual, a sight to behold. Flammable-liquid storage cabinets lined the walls; chemical apparatuses hung from the ceiling; piles of scrap and filigree covered the floor, powerful magical artifacts undoubtedly mixed among them; on her desk sat two open toolboxes, a soldering iron, and a circuit board which currently held Apple Bloom's attention. Scootaloo tapped on the open door to get Apple Bloom's attention. She looked up from her work.

"Hey," said Scootaloo, "did you make any progress on the Da'vinski case?"

"Oh," said Apple Bloom, "was that the guy who came in here yesterday with the toaster?" Scootaloo nodded. "Yeah I made some progress. He was right: it's demonically possessed."

"Seriously?" questioned Scootaloo.

"Eeyup," affirmed Apple Bloom, "I even managed to communicate with it."

"The demon?" asked Scootaloo, "Really? What did it have to say?"

"Well, it said that it's purpose in life is to burn toast," said Apple Bloom, shrugging her shoulders, "so we’re at a bit of an impasse."

"Why didn't you just purge it?" asked Scootaloo.

"The demon said it had a lawyer," said Apple Bloom, "so I thought I'd wait to talk to you guys. Can demons have lawyers?"

Scootaloo scoffed: "Lawyers? No. Apparently they can have a sense of humor though."

Sweetie spoke up from around the corner: "What about Loose Interpretation, that lawyer we dealt with last year? She turned out to be a demon."

"Eh," said Scootaloo, "I don't think-" she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Scootaloo rushed behind her desk, which faced the door, and leaned back in her chair, trying to adopt a hard-boiled posture.
When it looked like Scootaloo had finished adjusting her squint, Sweetie Belle shouted to their visitor: "Come in!" The door swung open, and Twilight Sparkle walked through. Scootaloo sat up and let a slight smile appear on her face.

"Good morning, girls," said Twilight.

"Hey Twilight," said Scootaloo, "You don't have to knock, you know." Twilight opened her mouth so speak, but stopped when she realized she didn't have a response.

"Scootaloo, she's just being courteous," said Sweetie.

"Whatever," said Scootaloo, "I'm just sayin'; it's not like we have anything to hide. Want a doughnut, Twilight?"

"I don't mind if I do," said Twilight, spotting the box and levitating a doughnut into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure. When Twilight had become an alicorn she had quickly figured out that, at least after her initial growth-spurt, she couldn't gain weight. She had taken full advantage of that blessing ever since. "What are you guys up to?" she asked through a chewing jaw.

"Slow day," said Scootaloo, "Apple Bloom's working on her jetpack, I think, and I'm about to exorcise a toaster."

"Still with the jetpack, huh?" said Twilight. She walked over to Apple Bloom's doorway. "How's it going here, 'Bloom?" she asked.

"Fine," responded Apple Bloom.

"Any progress?" asked Twilight.

"Sort of."

"Yeah, 'sort of'," said Scootaloo.

"Hey!" said Apple Bloom. She looked up from her work and pointed a screwdriver past Twilight at Scootaloo. "Someday I'll finish it."

"'Bloom," said Scootaloo, "if and when someday comes, you know I'll be first in line to buy your thing, but I'm not gonna hold my breath until then, if you know what I mean."

"Sooo," Sweetie said before the strife could escalate, "Got anything for us, Princess?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," said Twilight. She squeezed into a chair. "I don't know if I told you, but Kibitz has tasked me with overseeing Canterlot Castle's annual budget." Twilight grinned at the thought.

"Yeah, you told us," said Sweetie with a subtle roll of her eyes.

"Well,” continued Twilight, "I started as soon as I could, of course, and I noticed a slight... abnormality in the records. The castle spends two-hundred-thousand bits a year on ingredients for pastries."

"So?" asked Scootaloo.

"So that's way more then should be budgeted, even for a kitchen of that size." responded Twilight.

"Twilight," said Apple Bloom, "We're not auditors."

"Okay, I know," said Twilight, "just listen to this: I sent a letter to the head chef asking about it, and he responded with this note." A small scrap of paper appeared before her, and she levitated it over to Scootaloo. Scootaloo held the piece an examined it. The scrap had been torn from a larger piece of paper, judging by the two clean edges and one ragged third side. It had been stained with at least two different liquids. On one side was scrawled a few words of shorthand. Scootaloo squinted, trying to decipher the barely legible script.

"The ghost eats it," she read. She floated it over to Sweetie, who nodded, agreeing with Scootaloo’s interpretation.

"Okay, now I'm interested," she said.

"Sounds like money-laundering to me," said Apple Bloom.

"It could be," said Twilight, "or it could be something a little more fun. I'm busy with the budget, and this sounded right up you guys' alley, so I thought you might be interested." Apple Bloom stepped into the room. She traded appraising glances with her compadres.

"We'll look into it," said Scootaloo, "We'll do it for... fifteen percent of whatever the castle saves in the first year. If we solve it, of course."

"Well," said Twilight, rubbing her chin in thought, "it wouldn't be me paying you, but I could talk to Celestia about it. I certainly sounds reasonable."

"Okay," said Scootaloo, "we'll get on it right away." She stood and levitated her duster from it's peg.

"Yeah, I need a break," said Apple Bloom. She walked back to her desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out her patented Insta-Vape 2000. It was rare for a case to turn violent, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Apple Bloom worked alongside two magic-users, and she hated the thought of being a liability when things got dangerous.

"Can you give us a lift?" asked Sweetie, also donning her duster.

"Sure, when you're all ready," said Twilight.

Apple Bloom walked out of her office on her back legs, using her front hooves to fasten her holster around her barrel. She grabbed her duster and threw it over her shoulders, then fell back onto all fours. "I'm ready," she said.

"Alright," said Twilight, "One teleport, coming right up." Her horn began to glow. "Good luck," she said just before whisking away the three mares in a flash of electricity.

Chapter Two.

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Three.

The Swig’s thin wooden door swung wide with a soft creek and the three mares strode in, wearing their most nonchalant faces. At mid-day the place was mostly empty, and they had no competition for seats at the bar. At the sound of the door opening the large, earth-pony bartender raised his gaze from the newspaper he had been reading and turned to them, apparently slightly surprised. “Hello there,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting any… new customers.” He was clearly flustered.

“Well,” replied Sweetie Belle , “Hopefully it’s not too much of a shock.”

“Hey,” said Scootaloo, “You don’t have to worry about us,”

The stallion maintained his look of suspicion for a moment more before seeming to make up his mind and allowing his complexion to relax. “Well then ladies, what’ll it be?”

Sweetie piped up first: “Whatever your favorite thing for under ten bits is.”

“Well,” said the bartender, “for a nice lass like you we’ll make it fifteen, ay?”

Sweetie blushed subtly. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Hey, I don’t often get new customers, so when I do I like to keep ‘em.” He turned his attention to Apple Bloom.

“Whiskey.”

“Alright.”

Scootaloo hesitated before making her request: “Could I just get some seltzer with one of those little umbrellas?”

The bartender rolled his eyes slightly as he turned away from them. “To each their own,” he muttered.

After a minute he returned with their drinks. Sweetie received a softly glowing drink which smelled like evergreens. She took a sip, and found that it tasted just as it smelled. ”Oh, I like that,” she said. Sweetie decided to take the opportunity to make an inquiry: “So, we heard we might find a pony by the name of Shady here.” The bartender froze. “We’re not cops.” That didn’t seem to relax him much; instead of answering he just nodded to their left. They turned, leaning forward to see past one another, and found, sitting just inches away from Sweetie, a pony who had somehow escaped their notice until now. It was easy to see why: she was of a boring grey color, with a boring, slightly-darker-grey mane and tail. She was easy to overlook, but once she was noticed she was, ironically, quite striking in her plainness.

She spoke to them in a quiet voice, but did not turn to look at them, instead staring at a point somewhere past the inner edge of the bar: “Well, if you’re not cops, who are you?”

All three did a slight double-take, but Sweetie quickly responded with a practiced greeting: “The Center for Magical Curiosities, at you service.”

“The CMC, huh?” she replied, now slowly turning to face them. They could now see that ever her irises were unprovocative: a dull beige. “‘Sounds like something I would have heard of.”

“We… keep a low profile,” said Sweetie.

She was clearly unconvinced: “Right. So, what does the… Center for Magical Curiosities want with me?”

“We just have a few questions for you.”

“Heh, a lot of people have questions for me.”

“Really? Why is that?”

Shady stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not she was hearing sarcasm or witty-banter. Her face relaxed into a pitying expression. “Wow,” she said, “you guys really aren’t cops, are you?” Behind Sweetie’s shoulder she could see Scootaloo slowly shaking her head in a confused no. “Okay. Who told you told me about me, and what did they say?”

“Your boss, Pastry,” said Sweetie, “and he wouldn’t say anything, actually. He just seemed to imply that you knew things.”

“Yeah I know things. So here’s my question: what’s the Center for Magical Curiosities doing with Pastry?”

“We’re in Canterlot investigating some reports of paranormal activity.”

“Well yeah, I’d expect so.” She said, turning her gaze downward and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “But Pastry?” she muttered, “Paranormal activity…” suddenly she clapped her hoof down on the bar and fixed them with a mirthful expression: “Ha! You’re here for his ghost story, aren’t you?!”

“Yes, actually. We’re trying to determine if it is just a story after all. Your boss seems pretty convinced it’s true.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say that managing a royal kitchen is not exactly conducive to mental well-being.”

“So you think it’s complete fiction?”

“You really want to know about the ghost? I’ll tell you all about the ghost, but first you gotta tell me something. Normally I’d set the price low for… civilians, but I bet that the Center for Magical Curiosities has some really juicy scraps.”

“Wait a minute,” said Apple Bloom, speaking up for the first time, “Are you an information broker?”

“Well… yeah; if we’re speaking frankly,” said Shady, “What did you think?”

Apple Bloom simply shrugged in response.

“So,” said Sweetie Belle, “we tell you a secret, and you tell us what you know about the ghost?” She turned and gave her friends an appraising look, then turned back to Shady. “Like what?”

“Well,” said Shady, “some secrets are secrets because they’re obscure; some are secrets because nopony cares… but that’s not really what I’m all about. The best kind of secrets are the ones that are secret because somepony doesn’t want them revealed. That’s really what I’m looking for.”

“Well, we’ve been through a thing or two. I’m sure we’ve got a ton of secrets,” said Sweetie, “I mean, you might have to excuse us for a minute while we pick one, but-”

“Wait,” interrupted Scootaloo, “how about this: I’ll show you the most amazing magic trick you’ve ever seen, and in exchange you tell us what you know.”

Shady smirked: “Hey, what do you take me for? A going-concern’s gotta have some product, right? Can you imagine if my product consisted of stories about that time I saw this-or-that party trick? I wouldn’t be sitting here, that’s for sure.

Scootaloo leaned forward, peaking her head around Sweetie. It looked like she was taking charge of the negotiations: “You seemed to be implying that you would be giving us common knowledge, so it seems like a fair trade to me.”

“It’s a really good magic trick, too,” Sweetie added.

“Oh, the best,” said Apple Bloom with a knowing, half-sarcastic tone.

Shady took a beat to appraise their offer, then the smirk re-appeared. “Okay,” she said, “you’ve got a deal. If you can really impress me, I’ll tell you about the ghost.”

Scootaloo didn’t hesitate for a moment. She lit her ears and pulled a pencil and notepad out of one of her duster’s interior pockets. She thrust them before Shady and let them clatter on the bar. “Your turn.”

Shady’s expression didn’t shift a bit, as though she wasn’t quite ready to comprehend what she had seen. “Do it again,” she requested.

“What?” said Scootaloo.

“Do it again. I didn’t see it.”

With an air of exasperation Scootaloo again levitated the objects. Using the pencil, she scrawled the word magic onto the notepad and held the message next to her face like a label. “See?”

For a full ten seconds Shady squinted at Scootaloo, trying to spot the trick. She looked at her for a solid ten seconds, trying to spot the trick, before turning her attention towards Sweetie Belle, who was the obvious accomplice. Failing to discover any visible deception, she leaned back in her posture and cracked a smile. “Well,” she said, “I can imagine how you did it, but the execution is spot-on, so I guess I’ll give it to you.”

Scootaloo set down her props. “Wait a minute, I’m curious: how did I do it?”

“Well it’s obviously some kind of illusion,” said Shady, “Most tricks are. Either it’s actually a unicorn under an illusionist’s disguise, OR...” and here she directed a wide eyed, accusatory stare at Sweetie Belle, “...the actual magician is a unicorn nearby. So which was it?”

“A good performer never reveals their technique,” responded Scootaloo. Shady gave a dismissive wave.

“Whatever,” she said.

“So then, how about that ghost?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Fine,” said Shady, “Everypony knows it’s Celestia.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Sweetie.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” said Shady, “but who else could it be?”

“Who or what,” responded Sweetie, “Besides, they’re her cakes anyway. Why would she steal from herself?”

“Pride. She has an image to maintain. After that stint… (Fifteen? Twenty years ago now?) the only way she can appear sufficiently regal is to hide her gluttonous habits. You don’t keep a personality for thousands of years and then just change it overnight.”

“So you’re saying that Princess Celestia eats twenty cakes a night, and she’s created the myth of a horrific ghost to scare ponies away so that she can commit the act in secret?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.” scoffed Sweetie. The look on Shady’s face made it very evident that she did not appreciate being scoffed at.

Apple Bloom intervened with a question: “You know that if you’re right, that would mean that Celestia scared one of her own staff out of the job?”

“More like payed-off. Once the story got started it took off on it’s own, but it needed something to catalyze it first,” said Shady, “That’s my theory, at least. Some ponies do think she actually did do something to scare the mare half to death, but I don’t think it’s in her nature.”

“Her name was Floral Flourish, right?” asked Scootaloo.

“Yeah, it was. And no, I don’t know where she is. She was before my time. All I know is that she split town.”

“Okay, well, thanks for the info, I guess,” said Scootaloo. She chugged down the rest of her seltzer in preparation to leave, but then remembered that her companions wouldn’t be able to finish so quickly. Shady was throwing off a strong vibe: their conversation was over. Scootaloo spent a couple awkward minutes twirling her cocktail umbrella between her hooves, waiting for Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom to finish. To their credit, they wrapped up as fast as they could. The trio paid the bill and rushed outside to debrief.

“Well, what did you guys think?” asked Sweetie.

“I think she’s patronizing us,” responded Apple Bloom.

“Really? I thought she was telling the truth. I mean, she does tell the truth for a living,” said Sweetie.

“I don’t know if she tells the truth to ponies like us,” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo jumped in: “Regardless of whether she was taking us for a ride with her story, she did make a good point: if the ghost started appearing before she worked in the kitchen, she’s probably not involved.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Apple Bloom, “but let’s not rule her out.”

“That’s true,” said Scootaloo, “she could have gotten involved later on.”

“I really don’t think so,” retorted Sweetie Belle, “Shady seems like a profit-oriented kind of gal, and gobbling up cakes isn’t profitable for anyone.”

“Unless you’re selling baking ingredients to the castle.”

“I mean… I guess that could be happening, but it’s just seems really out-there, ya know?”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Two hundred thousand bits isn’t chump change. It would be a pretty weird way to make a bit, but it could work.”

“Sooo,” began Apple Bloom, “should we go find Princess Celestia and ask her if she’s secretly a specter with a penchant for cakes?”

“I don’t know if she’d tell us, even if she was,” said Sweetie, “And anyway, isn’t it like, illegal to be mean to the princesses?”

“Well, I doubt the law is worded that way,” said Scootaloo, “But I see where you’re coming from.”

“We should probably just take a nap,” said Apple Bloom.

“Take a nap?” questioned Sweetie.

“We’re gonna be up all night, right?”

“Oh, right.”

“It’s probably a good idea, but how should we do that?” asked Scootaloo, “I mean, it would be pretty weird to check into a motel just for the afternoon.”

“There’s gotta be a park close by,” said Sweetie, “I don’t think it would be too strange if we just lay down on a lawn and closed our eyes.”

“When are we supposed to be there?”

“I don’t think Pastry gave a time. He said ‘tonight, so I guess we should probably show up at sun-down.”

“How will we know when to wake up?” asked Apple Bloom, “I don’t have an alarm-clock on me.”

“We could… try not to oversleep?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They overslept. Sure enough, nopony seemed to question the three pairs of legs sticking out from beneath sturdy dusters on a gentle slope in the middle of the eleventh-avenue park. Their sun-warmed bodies fell asleep, and stayed asleep, all too readily. Apple Bloom was briefly awakened by the four-o-clock chiming of a nearby clock tower, but only really became lucid when she snapped awake several hours later and saw a dark sky and an empty park. She turned and shook Scootaloo. Scootaloo pulled the edges of her coat under her like a blanket, fortifying herself against the chill of the night.

“Guh...” she mumbled, eyes closed.

“Are you cold?” said Apple Bloom, “In August? What kind of pegasus are you?”

“Mhh. What time is it?”

“Late enough for me not to be able to see the clocktower.” Scootaloo sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Give Sweetie a shake.”

“I’m awake,” mumbled Sweetie Belle from underneath her coat.

“We’d better get going,” said Apple Bloom.

“What time are we supposed to be there?” asked Sweetie, rousing herself from recumbency. Apple Bloom shrugged in response, but Sweetie couldn’t see it through a squinting yawn.

“I don’t think he gave a time,” said Scootaloo.

“Right, right.”

“Even if he did, as I said, we can’t tell the time.”

Apple Bloom stared at the unlit structure in question. “Yeah, you’d think there’d be a light on that thing. I wonder if I could patent that…”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, it seems like the kind of thing where if somepony had thought of it, everypony would be doing it by now.”

Sweetie stretched to her feet and began stumbling in the direction of the castle. “C’mon girls,” she said, “We make money by finding ghosts, not by lighting giant clocks.” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo jumped into a trot behind her.

“Well, what I’m saying is, maybe we could make money by lighting giant clocks.”

“Even if you are the first one to think of this, you’d have to enforce the patent pretty well, because I’m pretty sure there are some pegasi who would out-compete you in a day if you gave them the chance.”

“Yet another use for a jet-pack,” retorted Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo laughed at the image: “Hah! Would you set up a storefront? Your motto could be: For all your Giant-Clock Illuminating Needs!”

“I guess I see what you mean,” said Apple Bloom, “Most towns only have one clock-tower. There wouldn’t be much business.”

“On the contrary,” said Scootaloo, “Every time the town clock’s bulb burned out, you’d have a repeat customer!” Apple Bloom decided to let herself be entertained by Scootaloo’s farse. She giggled. Scootaloo guffawed.

“Shhhh,” hissed Sweetie Belle from a pace in front of them, “Ponies are probably sleeping.”

Scootaloo retained a thin smile for another minute, but they spent the rest of their short walk in silence. When they entered the Castle through the staff entrance, they found that the security desk was now occupied by a short mare, who sat with her head tilted back, staring at the ceiling in boredom. It seemed to take her a couple moments to break her stupor and turn her attention to the ponies before her. Apparently, the super-proffesionalist attitude of the guard upstairs was not present here. Scootaloo took a peek at her nametag. Drifter, it said.

"Are you guys the, uh..." she levitated a note from under the counter and scrutinized it, "Curious Magic Center?"

"... Yes," said Scootaloo.

"Okay, well, there's a few things here for you. This looks like directions to... maybe the kitchens?"

"Thanks," said Scootaloo, taking the page from Drifter's levitation. They were, in fact, directions. So many directions that they spilled over onto the back of the page. At the top there was a small message:

Good luck.

- Pastry

Scootaloo nodded past Drifter: "So do we just.."

"Yup, just go on ahead."

"If you don't mind me asking," said Apple Bloom, "what happened to all the tight-security stuff?"

"I guess you guys were here earlier? Somepony a couple shifts ago sent a message to princess Twilight for verification, and she said that an orange mare, a white mare, and a beige mare were here on her behalf. So, all the doors are open for you guys now."

"Great," said Apple Bloom.

"Oh! But you'll need to take these." She levitated three sheets of stationary across the desk, passing them into Sweetie Belle's aura.

"From the desk of Princess Twilight Sparkle," Sweetie read, "They're copies of the same letter." It was hard to read the legalese, but they appeared to be a sort of letter of recommendation. She passed them to Scootaloo, who passed them to Apple Bloom, not bothering to look up from her examination of Pastry's directions.

"Yup," confirmed Drifter, "Those should get you wherever you need to go."

"Yeah, thanks for your help," said Scootaloo. She led her friends around the desk, considering the first of many instructions on the page before her. She lit her ears and levitated the page so that she could walk more easily. Without somepony to guide them it took even longer to navigate the maze, but the directions were clear enough and they managed to stay on course. Somewhere near the bottom of the first page they passed a staff cafeteria and decided to stop in for some coffee. They were well-slept for now, but they would need the caffeine later. Soon afterwards, they found themselves at a familiar pair of polished metal swing-doors. Through the round windows of the doors, they could see that the main kitchen was still lit.

"Somepony must be working late," said Sweetie Belle.

"Or waiting for us," added Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo tucked their written directions into a pocket and pushed through the doors. "Hello? Anypony there?" she said loudly. There was no response. "Maybe Pastry just left the lights on for us."

"Well then, we should probably turn them off," said Apple Bloom, "it might scare away the ghost."

"Right," said Sweetie. She quickly glanced around for a light switch, and found ten of them immediately to her left. She lit her horn and shoved all of them down into the off position, briefly smiling at the sound of many clicks combining into one satisfying chunk. With the lights of the main kitchen off, they could see light coming from under the door to the bakery; those lights had been left on as well.

"Hold on," said Scootaloo, "if the ceiling lights scare away the ghost, then our job is done!"

"Right," said Sweetie, reaching again for the switches. This time she would push them in sequence; perhaps she could create a buzz or something. She bit her tongue in concentration.

"No, no, no," said Apple Bloom, "One variable at a time. Suppose that we leave the lights on, and the ghost doesn't come tonight. We wouldn't know if it was the lights that scared it away, or us. Or, alternatively, that there is no ghost."

"Fair enough," said Scootaloo. Sweetie removed her aura from the panel.

They progressed into the bakery and took a moment to examine the scene. Everything had been cleaned to a chrome-like polish. Although it was, in some respects, a room dedicated to comestibles, only two examples of food (or anything else organic, for that matter) could be found. The first was a plate on a counter near the door, piled high with sugar-cookies, with a note signed by Pastry bidding them to "Enjoy!" ("Aw, that's so nice of him," said Sweetie.) The second was the cake rack, now loaded with dozens of cakes.

"Well, there's our ward," said Scootaloo.

Sweetie hit the lights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours passed in the dark, occasionally punctuated by swathes of light as they magically illuminated the rack for periodic inspections. The cakes remained whole and undisturbed. There was only one chair (the one Pastry had been sitting in earlier) so they sat on the hard floor. It wasn't very comfortable, but equine anatomy lends itself to sitting on hard surfaces, so it wasn't particularly uncomfortable either. It was certainly made easier by the cookies that had been left for them. Soon after they started, they realized that they ought to have a clock with them, so as to record the time of the ghost's appearance, if it did appear. This was the second time that night that they had found themselves in need of time. Scootaloo resolved to buy a watch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know," whispered Sweetie Belle, "We could probably just eat one of those cakes; 'say it was the ghost."

Apple Bloom finished off her cold coffee with a large swig. "Probably," she replied. She crushed the foam cup between her hooves and tucked it into her coat, resolving to trash it later.

"Really, guys?" said Scootaloo, "That half-ton of cookies wasn't enough for you?"

Sweetie looked up at the rack from the floor, where she lay, having some time ago surrendered her head to gravity and sleepiness. "I'm looking at that short white one on the top self. I bet that one has a real good frosting-to-cake ratio."

"I can't see anything. It's too dark," said Apple Bloom.

"I can't either, I'm just remembering it," said Sweetie. "Here," she lit her horn and directed a beam of light towards the top of the rack. The cake in question floated off the rack.

"No, Sweetie, Scootaloo's right: we really shouldn't," said Apple Bloom, turning to see that Sweetie had lifted her head and was staring, eyes bulging, at the cake.

"I'm not doing that," Sweetie whispered.

The trio stared in silence as the cake first floated off the rack, then appeared to be devoured by an invisible mouth; chunks disappearing into nothingness. When none of the cake remained, the plate was set back on the rack, and the process was repeated with a larger, cherry-topped chocolate cake immediately to the right.

"Are you seeing this?!" hissed Sweetie.

"I... think so?" replied Apple Bloom.

"What should we do?" whispered Sweetie.

"Watch, I guess," said Scootaloo, "It doesn't seem scared of us."

"I mean, I've seen some top-shelf paranormal stuff," said Sweetie, "but this is just bizarre. A hungry ghost?"

"Very hungry," added Sweetie as the second cake's demise was completed. The plate was replaced and a chunk disappeared from a third cake, this time still on the rack.

"I wish we knew what time it was," said Scootaloo, "I feel very unprofessional; showing up to document an event and not having the tools to document it."

"It feels like about three o'clock to me," said Sweetie.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," responded Scootaloo.

"We could try the lights," said Apple Bloom.

"We're already shining lights on it, and we're not whispering,” said Sweetie Belle, “I doubt the ceiling lights would make a difference." She reached towards the switches with her magic, intending to demonstrate her point. The instant she turned on the lights, the plate floating in their midst fell to the floor with a nerve-rattling CRASH!

"Or not?"

The room was filled with a quiet rumbling, and then a louder moaning. The ceiling lights flickered, then one of them exploded with a blinding flash and the room went dark. Their ears were assaulted with a cacophony of screams and screeches. Sweetie grabbed Scootaloo. "I can't see anything," she whimpered.

"Just stay calm, it can't hurt us," said Scootaloo, trying to sound confident.

As though in response, the cake rack was suddenly brought violently back into their vision, it's form erupting in crimson flame. From this conflagration blossomed an even more shocking sight: a shadowy maw, filled with teeth and lightning, roared into existence. It was easily large enough to engulf a pony whole. Sweetie Belle clutched Scootaloo, and Scootaloo held on to Sweetie much harder than would a pony who was modeling calm and self control. Somehow Apple Bloom wound up entangled in the arrangement. The roaring, groaning noise that filled the room was deafening. Everything seemed to bend towards the anomaly. The ponies couldn't tell whether the hole lunged at them, or whether they were pulled towards it, but somehow the distance between them and the horror abruptly closed until all they could perceive was blackness and the sensation of each other limbs, and then nothing at all.

Chapter Four.

An extremely tired Pastry Chef wandered into the main kitchen, a cup of coffee magically held to his lips. He didn't sip it, or pause between gulps, instead holding it at a constant angle and letting it flow down his throat: fueling up for another exhausting day. Two more steaming cups floated between his ears in reserve. In the early morning he could never stop himself from wanting intensely to quit this job and take up something less physically demanding, like salt-mining or lumberjacking. Today, as usual, those thoughts of job-loathing were front and center in his mind, but even he knew that they would be gone an hour from now, banished by the distractions of hectic work and a love of his craft.

After he passed through the second pair of doors into the bakery, he was confronted by a strange sight: a pile of three mares, slumped against each other, fast asleep. He jumped in surprise: somehow he had completely forgotten that the Center for Magical Curiosities had spent the night in his kitchen. Their posture was strange. He couldn't imagine how anypony could fall asleep like that. It looked very uncomfortable, and a bit unnatural. As he stared at them, letting the coffee flow, he started to feel a little cheated: here he had been given a chance at vindication, and these "professionals" had fallen asleep on the job, apparently not bothering to give due diligence to his claims.

"I gotta say, I expected more professionalism from you three," he said, loudly. They didn't stir. Sweetie emitted a loud snore. Pastry walked over and gave her a nudge. She toppled away from her companions. The sensation of falling caused her to spasm into wakefulness, though not fast enough to stop her head from colliding painfully with the floor. With the first leg of the pony-tripod removed, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were placed in a similar predicament, slumping to the floor with comic lethargy. A chorus of quiet groans soon reached Pastry's ears.

"Turn off... the light," muttered Scootaloo.

"Am I... alive?" said Sweetie, sounding surprised.

"You are now," Pastry deadpanned.

"I really thought I was dead there," Sweetie groggily said.

Something clicked for Pastry. The strange posture; Sweetie’s ‘I thought I was dead’. Maybe things hadn't gone as poorly as they appeared. Pastry offered a hoof, helping them to their legs. They swayed unsteadily. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Right," said Sweetie, "Well, uh... what did happen?" She directed a confused look at her friends.

"The cakes," said Apple Bloom.

"The... cakes..." muttered Sweetie as the gears of her mind began to grind. Suddenly it all snapped into place: "Ah! Right: the cakes. We watched them for hours, but nothing happened until we were just about to fall asleep. I don't really know what time it was; we kinda forgot to bring a clock. Anyway, all of the sudden, this cake starts to float off the rack. I think it was that one," she pointed at the racks of cake-debris. It took her a moment to notice that the cake in question, by nature of being relevant, was no longer present. "Oh yeah. Anyway, chunks start disappearing from it, like it's being eaten by an invisible mouth!"

Pastry should have been happy to hear this, but instead he just felt a great lack of surprise. In fact, he was a little skeptical. They had fallen asleep on the job, and their story was one which could have been fabricated with no effort at all. They had told him exactly what he had been expecting to hear.

"So anyway," continued Sweetie Belle, "After this thing has gone through three or four cakes, we switch on the lights-"

"I left the lights on for you."

"We shut them off. We thought there was a chance it would scare the ghost."

"A ghost scared of light?"

"How many ghosts have you heard of that appear in the day?"

"Fair enough."

"Anyway, we turn on the lights, and everything goes nuts. We... It... I actually don't remember anything after that."

"I think I do," said Apple Bloom, "We turned the lights on, but then they shut themselves off. The cake dropped to the ground; I think the rack caught on fire?" she glanced at the cake rack, "or at least it appeared to. There was this horrible... black thing. We got pulled into it. It felt like dying. You know how sleep is kinda like death, because you can't remember falling asleep afterward, so it's like your consciousness ends? But it doesn't feel like dying as you fall asleep because your thoughts turn into dreams? This wasn't like that. It felt like my thoughts were muffled and then silenced, like I was just fading away." She grimaced. "It was awful."

Scootaloo and Sweetie slowly nodded. If they had previously forgotten, they were reminded now of at least enough to make them shudder. They were silent for a minute, then Pastry spoke: "So… Can you get rid of it?"

"Um," began Scootaloo, "you know, for a minute there I actually forgot about that part. Yeah, we probably can get rid of it. We've dealt with ghosts before, though I admit that this one is a little different. 'Bloom, can you make that alchemical snare like you did last summer?"

"Yeah, but it might not be necessary," said Apple Bloom, "The ceiling lights really seemed to affect it. Maybe the ghost would stay away if they were left on at night."

"I'm sure that at some point somepony's left the lights on before," said Scootaloo, "So if that theory were true, Pastry here would probably have figured it out by now."

"I don't remember ever finding the lights on in the morning," commented Pastry, "I'm pretty meticulous."

"Well..." began Sweetie, "Floral Flourish probably had the lights on when she stayed. She was trying to catch a vagrant, not a ghost."

"Actually, judging by what we can infer about her experience, she probably did exactly what we did," said Scootaloo, "Anyway, 'Bloom, your snare? What do you need for it?"

"A lot of stuff," said Apple Bloom, "Basically, I need my office. Barring that, though, I can try to make do with a good arcana shop and a pile of Bits. Pastry, 'know where I can find one?"

"Nope, sorry," said Pastry, "I've never really needed one."

"Okay, I'll ask around," said Apple Bloom, "and for a bank, too. I'll need a little cash."

"Sounds good,” said Scootaloo, “I'll see if I can wave my copy of Twilight's letter at somepony and get into the royal library. There might be some spells in there that could help."

"I'll come with you," said Sweetie.

"Great," said Scootaloo, "'Sounds like we've got a plan. Pastry, talk to the guard and get them to let us in again tonight."

"I'll find some time for it," he confirmed.

"Don't worry, Pastry," said Sweetie, "after tonight, that ghost won't bother you or your cakes anymore."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There you are," said Sweetie Belle as Apple Bloom strode into the bakery. A long length of thin rope was coiled around her neck, and the pockets of her duster bulged. A coffee cup was precariously balanced on her rump. "It's already nine o'clock," continued Sweetie.

"We got a watch," explained Scootaloo, "And we got you some coffee. I guess we forgot how self-reliant you are."

"Yeah, I just keep you guys around for the occasional freebie," responded Apple Bloom, "This one's almost empty anyway." She demonstrated her point by taking a final swig from the cup and placing it on a nearby surface. She took the cup offered to her by Scootaloo and immediately began work on it.

"Where's the net?" asked Sweetie.

"You're gonna make it." replied Apple Bloom.

"What?"

"I said you guys are going to make it. You didn't think I was planning on tying hundreds of little knots with my teeth did you?"

"How did you make it last time?" asked Scootaloo.

"It took weeks."

"Why didn't you ask us for help then?"

"Because.... I'm so self reliant?" Apple Bloom sheepishly replied.

Scootaloo levitated the rope off of Apple Bloom's shoulders and placed it on a nearby table. "'Bloom, your ego is going to be the death of you,". Apple Bloom scowled.

"I've already prepped the rope, so here's all you gotta do:" she stepped over to the table that the rope rested on and spilled out her pockets. Hundreds of deep-red coins crashed onto the metal surface. Scootaloo and Sweetie each levitated one and examined it. They were blood-red, and exactly the size of a Bit. On each was a simple rune: staep: peace.

"Redgard tokens," observed Sweetie, "you found a shop that stocked these?"

"Not exactly," said Apple Bloom, "I had to buy out the stock of four different stores before I had enough."

"Canterlot has four arcana stores?" asked Sweetie.

"More," replied Apple Bloom, "I got directions to a place called the arcana district. There's like a dozen shops on one block, so it was pretty easy once I got there. Anyway, I couldn't find any staep tokens, so I bought a bunch of miscellaneous ones and used the royal mint to press the right faces onto them."

"Wait, what?" asked Scootaloo, "So what, you just walked in and asked them nicely?"

"Pretty much," responded Apple Bloom, "They were pretty cool about it. I'm sure Twilight's letter helped a lot."

"We didn't have any trouble getting into the library, either," said Scootaloo, "Ya know, I'm starting to think that the security here is getting a little lax. As a taxpayer, I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"Twilight and Co. solve all their problems for them now," hypothesized Apple Bloom, "The enemies come with overwhelming force and then are inevitably defeated. The guard's figured out it doesn't matter if they give an effort."

"Still..." Scootaloo trailed off.

"Anyway," continued Apple Bloom, "all you've gotta do is tie together a net, and between every knot thread the rope through one of these tokens."

"These tokens don't have holes in them," said Sweetie.

"And I don't know how to tie a net," added Scootaloo.

"Well," said Apple Bloom, "I was counting on you lasering some holes, or something." Scootaloo scowled; Apple Bloom had a habit of simplifying magical terminology just to irritate her.

Sweetie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think I might have a way to do that," she said, "I hope you bought a few extra; I'll need them to experiment with."

"We can probably spare a few," responded Apple Bloom, "As for the net, it's easy. It's just a bunch of sheet-bends." Two quizzical expressions stared at her. "Here, I'll show you." It was not easy for her to show them. There was a reason she was having them perform this task, and it was tragicomic to see her trying to explain the knots to her friends while simultaneously trying to tie them using the same orifice. Eventually though, Sweetie and Scootaloo were managing them solo, and Apple Bloom only had to make the occasionally correction.

"Did you guys find anything useful in the library?" asked Apple Bloom as they untied the practice knots, readying the rope for the real-deal.

"Yes we did," said Scootaloo, "We found a new version of Otiluke's Confinement-"

"New and improved" added Sweetie.

"Heh, yeah. Anyway, we should be able to do something with the ghost once we catch it. All we need is some kind of container."

Apple Bloom indicated her empty coffee cup. "Will this work?" she asked

Sweetie shrugged. “Sure.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was simple, repetitive work, so they had no trouble with it. Scootaloo burned holes into the coins with searing rays from her ears. She tried to minimise the damage to the floor by holding the targets close the ground, and succeeded in carbonizing only a small spot. After cooling for a few minutes on a baking sheet (which, by the end of the project, had been completely totaled by drops of molten metal), Sweetie would incorporate each one into the growing snare. She had inherited some of the magical dexterity that her sister was so well known for, and took full advantage of it, quickly weaving the lengths into a sturdy net. Apple Bloom watched. It always made her smile when Scootaloo used destructive magic. The sight of deadly energy blasting forth from such fragile lobes of fur, skin, and cartilage was humorously ironic.

It was hard to stay awake for as long as was needed to complete the project; the meditative work had a sedating effect, and the heat radiating off the medallions eventually brought the room to a sauna-like temperature. But the CMC was a professional organization, and they managed to keep themselves upright by force of will. Until, that is, about two o'clock, when they had a new excitement to keep them awake.

The trio jumped at the sound of a plate clattering onto the cake rack. Three faces swerved towards it. Scootaloo's beams slashed across the room, setting alight a box of tissues before she frantically batted her ears into submission. One of the plates on the rack held only crumbs, and another was now levitating up off the surface.

"Do we have enough net?" queried Sweetie Belle. She proffered their work so far: a ten-foot-by-seven-foot net, with knots tied four inches apart.

"Hopefully," responded Apple Bloom, "it depends how big the ghost is. But, if it's pony-sized, we should be good."

"I wonder if we could just keep working," posited Sweetie Belle. She waved towards the disappearing cake. "I mean, it seems practically nonsensing. Or unsensing? Senseless? You know what I mean. Nothing we do seems so scare it, and it'll probably be here for a while. Maybe we could finish a few more rows."

"You're probably right," said Apple Bloom, "but I wouldn't take the risk. Scootaloo? What do you think?"

"I think, uh," Scootaloo panted, "I think I'm all lasered-out. I don't know if I can cast the spell."

"Can you try?" asked Apple Bloom.

"Maybe, but... *sigh* I doubt it."

"Well," said Sweetie, "I hope we can make this work with just one caster." She finished the knot that she had been working on and levitated the metal-weighted net. She levitated the coffee cup which they hoped would become the ghost's phylactery. "Hey, will the ghost be able to get through the net into the cup?"

"Probably not," said Apple Bloom, "you'd better throw it first."

"Let me do it," said Scootaloo.

"Why?" asked Sweetie.

"I wanna do something."

"Be my guest," said Sweetie, releasing the cup into Scootaloo's purple aura. The cup floated over to the base of the rack and was gently placed on the floor. A few crumbs from the ongoing cake demolition fell into it. "That wasn't a throw," observed Apple Bloom.

"It worked," rebutted Scootaloo.

"Fine."

"Everypony ready?" asked Sweetie Belle, "we could be going for a bit of a ride." Scootaloo and Apple Bloom nodded. Sweetie hefted the net, considering the throw. Then she tossed the it: the net arced high. It descended upon the floating cake, and it loudly crashed onto the floor. It fell unimpeded. In that moment, it appeared that they had missed the ghost; or perhaps the net had passed through it. But it was soon obvious that there was more than air under their net. The center bulged upward, draped over an invisible object. The three mares glanced at each other. Sweetie closed her eyes began weaving the spell. She felt out, and immediately detected a presence under the net. "I think we got it."

"Not until it's between sturdy styrofoam walls," said Scootaloo. Sweetie progressed to the next phase of the spell. She increased her energy output by two orders of magnitude, pulling apart a void in the cup and trying to drag the ghost into it. Then things got interesting. Those remnants of the cake that had wound up under the net exploded, and then it seemed that everything exploded. The rack was pulled down onto the net and flames gushed out from under it; sounds of every variety bombarded the ponies' ears; from the net flew tar and bile and bats and puppies; gales assaulted them from every side. Sweetie could feel the entity fighting back. Hard.

"Scootaloo, you've got to help me!" she yelled, hoping she could be heard over the bedlam.

"Okay!" responded Scootaloo. She knew that there was no way she could fabricate a spell of her own, so instead she lent her remaining power to Sweetie. Sweetie felt it, and redoubled her efforts. Tendrils of her adversary were wrenched into the coffee cup. The creature writhed and flamed, but Apple Bloom's net held steady as a brick wall.

"We're close!" announced Sweetie, "Apple Bloom, do you think you could..."

"What?!"

"I don't know, shoot it or something!"

"Alright!" Apple Bloom eagerly unholstered her patented Insta-Vape 2000 and twisted the Property Damage dial as far clockwise as it would go. She trained it on the epicenter of the chaos and started firing like it didn't cost her eighty bits per power cell to use the thing. The noise began to lessen, as did the light and wind. A dark shape began to materialize beneath the net.

"It's not working!" shouted Sweetie, "It's... changing." She glanced at Scootaloo to find her slumped on the floor, eyes closed; face expressionless. Still, she could feel a trickle of magic flowing from her; she might sleep for a few days, but she'd be okay. The larger problem was that with Scootaloo out of commission, their collective effort would only get weaker, and the ghost appeared to be adapting to their strategy, which scared her. Apple Bloom heard the panic in Sweetie's voice, and fired even more rapidly, trying to compensate.

She was surprised when this resulted in the ghost unexpectedly yelling out in a pained, female voice: "Oh! Ow! Uncle! Uncle! I surrender! You win." The ghost had a familiar accent. Apple Bloom ceased fire and Sweetie let her spell unravel. The form beneath the rack continued to grow. The rack toppled over and the net fell to the floor, revealing a cake-covered, but familiar, form. A horned form. A winged form. “My goodness!" said Princess Luna with a pained smiled, "It's like fighting two and a half Twilight Sparkles."

"Princess Luna?!" exclaimed Sweetie and Apple Bloom with comic unity.

"What-"

"Why-"

"How-"

"You're the ghost?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," said Luna.

"But why?!" asked Sweetie Belle. Luna rubbed her chin, carefully considering her answer.

"To live a gluttonous lifestyle whilst maintaining a regal reputation," she eventually said.

"What?" said Apple Bloom.

"Well, when one is an alicorn, the only consequence of a voluminous diet is possible damage to your image. Not your physical image; your... reputation. Some years ago, a publication called the Foal Free Press exposed this trait in Celestia. Now she openly consumes upwards of eight cakes every day. It makes her happy, but people see her that much less regally. And that's a good thing! But I'm supposed to be the other sister. The strong arm of the throne. The... the hardass," She looked down shamefully, "Not some sweet-fixated foal. But I like sweets just as much as Celestia: a lot. I get them in this manner so that it remains secret; so that I receive the fullest of respect from ponies."

"Huh..." Sweetie trailed off.

"But, why the ghost?" asked Apple Bloom.

"My way of playing it safe," responded Luna. There was nothing to hide now: "I used to perform the deed with darkness as my only disguise, but then our pastry chef at the time, a mare named Flourish, I believe, got curious. Actually, it was more like frustration at having her work demolished. I don't blame her. Anyway, one day she told me that she was going to stay after hours and catch the vandal, that being me. I came up with the idea of the ghost, and that was the end of that."

"So you did scare her away?" asked Sweetie Belle.

"I admit: it was a bit cruel, but I love pastries so." Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle stared at her with gaping mouths. "Do not forget that what's good for your princess is good for you," snapped Luna.

"Is this really good for you?" asked Sweetie.

"It is not bad for me."

"Really?"

"Oh, you are right. I cannot go on like this, but I do not know what to do!" Luna burst.

"Well," said Apple Bloom, "I would suggest that you work something out with Pastry."

"Absolutely not!" said Luna, "Once I start telling ponies, where will it end? I will be just like Celestia."

"I'm not saying you have to tell ponies," said Apple Bloom, "just that you should tell a pony." Luna wore a stubborn expression. "Look, it's not my job, but I really think that this would be the path of least resistance."

"I do not know if we can trust him," said Luna.

"You trust him to make your food," observed Sweetie, "You probably know him better than we do, but it seems to me like he avoids trouble if he can."

"I will consider it," said Luna with finality. She noticed Scootaloo for the first time: "My goodness! Is she alright?"

"Yeah," said Sweetie, "She pretty drained, though."

"I did not mean to hurt anypony," said Luna.

"She'll be fine. Really," said Sweetie. An awkward silence ensued.

“Well, that was easy,” said Apple Bloom.

“What were you expecting?” asked the Princess.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you,” said Apple Bloom, “But what I meant was that after we did see you, I never would have expected you to just spit it all out.”

Luna frowned. “What else could I have done?” she asked, “say ‘pay no attention to the mare beneath the net’ and skip away?” Nopony responded.

"So... what now?" asked Sweetie.

"Well, we appear to have made quite a mess," observed Luna, kicking cake off her hooves.

"You made quite a mess," corrected Apple Bloom.

"Fair enough," said Luna, "I know where we can get some rags... would you care to help?"

"We, I gotta say, after that little encounter, I'm completely awake," said Apple Bloom, "so I could manage it."

"Yeah, I'll help," said Sweetie.

"Excellent," said Luna, "why don't you start by dealing with that." She indicated the glowing ashes of a former tissue box. "I didn't do that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luna stepped out for a few minutes to retrieve rags for them to use. While she was gone, Apple Bloom found a large trash can in the main kitchen, and Sweetie used her magic to scoop cake-bits into it. She had finished with most of the pile that had fallen off the rack by the time Luna returned, but that wasn't nearly the end of it. The event had spewn particles to the far corners of the room. Apple Bloom took a cloth offered by Luna, wet it with warm water, and started scrubbing sugar-residue off the the surfaces Sweetie had cleaned. Luna roamed around, hunting for stray debris.

"So, Princess Luna," began Apple Bloom.

"Yes?"

"If you wanted to scare ponies away, then why didn't you do anything until we threw a net over you?"

"Or turned the lights on," added Sweetie Belle.

"I..." Luna trailed off for a few moments, "I met you upstairs yesterday, so I knew you would be here..."

"So why did you still come?"

"I thought I would have some fun with you," Luna confessed, "I believe the modern phrase is 'mess with'." She moved her rag over to the trash can, and used it's rim to scrape red-velvet chunks off the rag.

"What?" Sweetie queried.

"I thought it would be fun to confuse you. To scare you. I thought that maybe if I acted in a nonsensical manner it might lead you away from any conclusions involving sentient offenders," said Luna, "And, of course, to add credence to the story of the ghost. If some professionals saw it, then people would be forced to believe the story, and there would be no chance of anypony ever being wrongfully accused of the vandalism."

"But you knew that we weren't just here to watch," said Apple Bloom, "We stood there for a full minute talking about how we were going to net you."

"I thought that I could overpower you," said Luna, "Do not doubt that I could, but that weapon is extremely painful." She frowned at the thing holstered under Apple Bloom's barrel.

"Thanks?" said Apple Bloom, "I'm sorry about that, I wouldn't have shot you if-"

"Do not be sorry," commanded Luna, "I quite willfully brought it upon myself."

"Well," said Apple Bloom, "It would've killed a normal pony thirty times over, so I'm not surprised it hurt. I'm glad all that all it did to you was... pain."

As they say, many hooves make light work, and in this case they had two horns to boot, so they finished quickly. After fifteen minutes they were washing rags and replacing the trash can in the main kitchen.

"Well," said Sweetie Belle, "I guess you've got an in with Pastry tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" asked Luna.

Sweetie emulated Pastry Chef's hard-boiled voice: "What happened to this baking sheet?!"

"And all the cakes?!" added Apple Bloom.

"And the floor?!" added Sweetie.

"And why are there two hundred pounds of cake in this garbage bag?!"

Luna smiled sheepishly. "Well," she said, "It is a funny story, about that." They all smiled, and then they all laughed, and then they laughed louder. The two smaller mares were very tired and over-caffeinated.

When they had calmed down, Apple Bloom observed: "It's late."

"Would you like to go home?" asked Luna.

"We live in Ponyville," said Sweetie, "We'll find a motel."

"Nonsense," said Luna. With a sweep of her horn, a silver crescent of magic peeled opened a soft-blue portal in the center of the room. She levitated Scootaloo's sleeping form onto her back. The pegasus' limp limbs and wings hung off of Luna. "Are you certain she will be alright?"

"Yeah, fairly certain," said Sweetie, "it's happened before. Does this go to Ponyville?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," said Sweetie.

"It is my pleasure. You have helped me a lot tonight," said Luna, "Come on now." She stepped towards the blue oval and was pulled into it. The air behind the portal distorted for a moment. Sweetie bit her lip, hesitated,and jumped through. Apple Bloom walked across the room and picked up the mostly-finished net. It had held up pretty well considering what it had gone through, and she would never consider leaving such a valuable investment behind. She folded it a couple times, draped it over herself, and stepped into the portal. She felt intense vertigo, but only for a moment, before finding herself in the middle of Mane-Street, in Ponyville.

"Get out of the street!" Sweetie loudly commanded her from the sidewalk. Apple Bloom stepped towards them. There was no traffic, so she didn't rush.

"Don't yell," she said, "Ponies are sleeping."

"Where does Scootaloo live?" asked Luna.

"Right there, in the green building," replied Apple Bloom, pointing one block over. The walked in silence to the building, fished around Scootaloo's pockets until they found her door key, let themselves inside, took the elevator to the third floor, silently walked to her room, found the door unlocked, trotted through the apartment and tucked Scootaloo into her bed.

"There," said Luna, "Now, if you have no more need of me, I have other matters I must attend to." The two mares shook their heads. "Well, it was nice meeting you. Again." She looked at them for a moment. She nodded, then stepped to the window, opened it and awkwardly (and amazingly) squeezed herself through, swooping away into the night. They stood in silence for a minute, watching her figure shrink to a speck as she ascended towards Canterlot.

"We forgot to ask her about our fee," said Sweetie Belle.

Apple Bloom muttered a reply: "Somehow, I don't think we'll be getting our full asking-price for this one,"