"So, Melnitz," Peter Venkman teased his secretary. "I could have gotten big bucks for you. Just remember that, the next time you complain about your salary."

Janine Melnitz's head came up and she eyed him narrowly before she returned to sipping her Coke. "Just remember what I'm worth, Venkman. I could be living the life of luxury now."

"Gee, Janine, you and three other wives," Ray reminded her. He chuckled faintly. "This is great, but I don't think I'd want to live here." He gestured out from the rooftop café where the Ghostbusters and their secretary sat at twilight, to the vast, exotic sprawl of the bazaar named the Djemaa el Fna, to the silhouette of the Koutoubia Mosque outlined against the Atlas Mountains.

Peter had to admit the view was pretty spectacular. He loved the huge market. It was bursting with life. There were men garbed in djellabas, some with monkeys perched on their shoulders, others leading strings of camels, and women, mysteriously veiled and robed until only their eyes showed. Even weirder, some of those veiled women who looked like they had stepped out of biblical times whipped through the streets mounted on Vespas. Then there was the market itself. Booths held huge vats of dye with strands of yarn strung to dry in multiple colors. Booths sold henna in its native form, and mysterious produce, fruits and vegetables that were unfamiliar to the Ghostbusters. Others sold tourist djellabas--yeah, Peter thought he'd look pretty good in one of those robes, although it would never fly back home. Endless booths displayed leather goods, including the unpleasantly aromatic camel leather, with more booths selling brass items. Exotic trains of camels packed with mysterious merchandise wound in and out between the pedestrians, and made walking hazardous. Circles were set aside here and there for dancing, others for snake charmers who piped away while cobras rose up and danced. Someone said the music hurt them and they danced out of pain, but Peter didn't know if that was true. He did know that they were de-venomed, but even so, he didn't want to get close to them. There had even been a performing bear.

This morning, on the way out to start their tour, Peter had spotted a huge, hairy spider crawling across the lobby of their hotel. A tarantula. Just strolling through. He must have jumped five feet straight backward at the sight, and nearly knocked Egon over in the process. Winston and Janine had convulsed with laughter at Peter's reaction. Ray, of course, had been thrilled.

"Gosh, Peter, a tarantula bite won't kill you."

"Maybe not, but if you want something big and fuzzy like that crawling on you, then you need a shrink."

"It won't hurt you," Ray replied and walked slowly behind the fuzzy thing, watching it until it vanished under a chair. Peter resolved never to sit in the lobby, not if his life depended on it.

Worse, their guide had warned them to shake out their shoes in the morning before putting them on, in case they disturbed a napping scorpion. There were definitely parts of this vacation that Peter didn't like. He had the idea a scorpion's bite could kill him. It was a wonder any tourists came here. You never heard about Moroccan tourists dead from insect bites, but maybe the bureau of tourism, or whatever it was called here, hushed it up. He hadn't been comfortable in the hotel ever since. The guys could laugh, if they wanted to, but Peter knew how things should be, and furry spiders should not be part of hotel lobbies.

The Ghostbusters and Janine were in Morocco because Ray had entered a contest. He was aiming for the grand prize, a week-long trip for four to Copenhagen, where he had heard of a wonderful occult library in a private collection. He was sure he could sneak away from trips to the Tivoli Gardens, the Amelienborg Palace, the Tuborg Brewery, and the Little Mermaid perched on her rock in the harbor to confer with a fellow occult expert. But Ray hadn't won first place. He hadn't even won second, which was a week for four to Lisbon. No, he'd won the trip to Morocco, specifically to Marrakesh, jewel of the desert, once a favorite watering place of Winston Churchill.

None of the Ghostbusters had ever been to North Africa before, or indeed to anywhere on the 'dark' continent. So, since business was slow at the moment, they had all decided a week's break in an exotic locale would do them good. It had been a busy summer, and the ghost population of New York would stir again and start to busy itself by mid-October. But it was only late September, and they needed to get away.

Janine had sulked when she heard about the trip for four, so noticeably and so much in their faces about it that the guys had pooled resources to bring her along. One person's round trip expenses to Morocco cost more than they wanted to pay, but Janine felt she deserved a foreign holiday, too, and chipped in with her vacation savings. They had arrived the previous night.

This morning, they explored Marrakesh with the assistance of a native guide called Abdul. His English was very Oxford, his disposition cheerful--and his relatives legion. Every shop they visited belonged to an uncle or a cousin or a distant in-law, all of whom gave him kickbacks for steering business their way. In Morocco, you were expected to bargain when you shopped, a set-up Peter loved from the word go. He proved expert at it, to the utter disgust of Abdul and his many relatives. Easy-going and generous, Ray couldn't bring himself to bargain ruthlessly and even muttered that Peter was ripping off the salespeople. Peter doubted it. Everything's suggested price had to be very high to start with, and a lot of tourists were probably lousy bargainers.

The buildings of Marrakesh were harmoniously created in a reddish color that gave it its own atmosphere, with many wide avenues. Peter loved it here, if he could ignore the endless beggars and sellers of junk who accosted the foreigners every time they turned around. They had things to sell for "One dollar American" which might have been the sellers' only English. Once you stopped to look, you were mobbed and once you took an item into your hand to look at it, you might as well pay your dollar and shut up because the seller wasn't about to take it back.

Abdul warned them very carefully not to let Janine go about unescorted. "It is not safe," he insisted. "You have read of the white slave trade. It still exists. Young women still vanish into the desert with the tribes. This is not a romantic story but very true. Miss Melnitz, do you not step away from your friends for even a moment. I mean this."

Janine had spent the rest of the day plastered to Egon's side, her arm curled through his, and there was no way old Spengs could object to it. He fussed over her and watched out for her in a way that must have warmed the cockles of her heart, while Peter eased back and enjoyed the spectacle, all the while keeping his eye out for the dreaded White Slave Traders. Even without a thrower, he was ready to fight them off. He'd gotten Janine trained just right; breaking in a new secretary who would put up with him would probably be impossible.

The big sales pitch happened midway through the afternoon while Ray was negotiating for a brass plate to take home because it had a design on it that was shaped vaguely like a ghost. It wasn't really; Arab designs didn't represent 'living' beings. But the shape was similar and Ray had been charmed by it. It was only as he tried hard to bargain that Peter heard Abdul speaking to a man who was dressed in a light-colored western suit that looked foreign in cut. He wore a red fez on his head--a lot of the local men did; there was even a town called Fez in Morocco--and gold rings on beautifully shaped hands. Abdul shook his head and gestured sternly at Egon.

At which point the stranger turned to them and said in accented but very fluent English, "Sir, I wish to buy your woman. I am a wealthy man. For her, I give seventy camels."

"This is a very high price," offered Abdul in the background.

Janine's mouth fell open in astonishment and Egon's eyes narrowed. The physicist was steaming.

"Listen, buster," Janine began, and Peter could tell she was working up to one of her truly noble rages. Not a good idea. He caught the arm that wasn't permanently grafted to Egon and pinched lightly. When her eyes lit upon his face, he gave a fractional shake of his head.

"'My' woman is not for sale," Egon said haughtily.

"Seventy camels?" Peter mused. "Hey, how much would that be in dollars? Maybe we ought to think this over. We can always use the bucks."

Janine kicked him. Hard. Right in the shin. Okay, so he deserved it, but better to take a step out of range before she did it again. Could he get away with limping and win some sympathy? No, not a hope in hell.

The man gestured at his short and portly person. "If you do not find me appealing, I have a brother in Paris who is seeking a second wife. He is younger than I, and he also likes the red hair."

"I'm not for sale," Janine exploded.

"She's got a quick temper," Winston offered, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Peter nudged him. "Come on, Zed, that's gonna bring the price down."

"You're dead, Venkman," Janine muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Egon said very firmly to the little man. "She is not for sale."

"Forgiveness, if I have intruded." The man bowed himself away obsequiously like Peter Lorre in Casablanca.

"This does happen," Abdul offered. "Be very careful, good sirs. And you, Mademoiselle, do not go off alone."

"You mean he'd steal me?" Janine demanded, her eyes very wide. She practically glued herself to Egon's arm.

"Such things do happen. But I think they will not, for you have four fine protectors."

"Well, three, anyway," Janine retorted, favoring Peter with a haughty glare. She didn't look entirely sure of Winston, either.

Peter wouldn't have sold Janine, not for anything. But her reaction had been the most fun of the entire day.

Peter ducked away and bargained energetically at a nearby booth for a tooled leather wallet, just to get out from under that baleful glare. It was only when his transaction had been completed and he examined his prize up close and sniffed did he realize it was camel leather.

In Marrakesh, it was the tourist thing to do to come at sunset to this rooftop café that overlooked the teeming bazaar. Coca Cola was big in Morocco. You could see billboards everywhere promoting the familiar soft drink, the big red and white logo topped with a running string of Arabic letters that looked like an emphatic 'Yessssss'. When Peter proudly proclaimed that he could read one Arab word, Egon had grimaced. "You can't read it, Peter. You only know what it means. You recognize the logo design."

"So, you could say the same thing about anything, Spengs baby. You could say that you know what it means when Janine hangs on your arm, but you're just recognizing it, not understanding a woman."

Egon shook his head. He wouldn't want to touch that one.

Janine's toe found Peter's shin under the table, right in the same place as before. Where had she bought such pointy-toed shoes? Lethal, that was for sure. Peter knew his shins were black and blue. That wouldn't look good if he decided to hang out in the hotel pool tomorrow. He curled his feet around his chair legs to be out of range.

"You think that guy is still hanging around lusting after Janine?" Winston craned his neck to study the other customers in the cafe. They were almost entirely tourists, with one or two locals here and there. If the camel guy were hanging around, he was being discreet. Maybe he'd just figured it was a lost cause. Maybe he might not think he could get past the four of them. After all, he hadn't tried to steal Janine. He'd offered up front to buy her. Probably thought he was being all legal and honest.

"I haven't seen him," Egon replied. He'd been looking. Janine realized it and her eyes fell upon him and softened.

Peter decided he'd better break the mood, distract Janine. "Hey, guys, maybe we better take off. We've got that belly dancing show tonight."

Ray and Winston instantly brightened, and so did Egon, although he caught Janine's expression and tried to mask it. "A fascinating study of the effects of training on the movements of the body," he remarked.

"And you wouldn't mind if it was a guy belly dancer?" Janine challenged.

Peter could have told Egon to ignore that one, but Egon didn't. He started to speak of muscle control and a program he'd seen on television, digging himself in deeper with every word. Peter leaned back in his chair, sipped his Coke, and prepared to enjoy the show.

Until Janine's foot caught him again and, with a wild waving of arms, he went crashing over backward.

Of course she pretended regret, but he was sure she'd done it on purpose. If that guy from the Djemaa el Fna were hanging around, he'd probably change his mind about buying her in a heartbeat. Janine was lethal.

The belly dancing performance took place in the hotel dining room, attended by the Ghostbusters and Janine and by the members of an American Express tour of Morocco, traveling in the company of a Spanish guide who had brought them through Spain and would take them next to Portugal. Most of the travelers were senior citizens, but there were a couple of young women traveling together who hadn't wanted to risk Morocco without the support of a group, and Peter had noticed them before the trip to the marketplace and hoped to talk to them again at the performance.

The evening started with dinner; even though one end of the room had been set up as the stage for the performance, tables stood in the rest of the space. On the main wall hung the obligatory photograph of the king, Hassan II. Peter couldn't remember any room he'd seen in Marrakesh that didn't have the king's picture in it. Evidently Hassan was a popular king for, Abdul had explained, he gave his people free bread and salt--or something like that, anyway. He had palaces in every city, Abdul had said. They'd seen the Marrakesh one from a distance; it was impressive.

Aside from the king's photo, decoration was sparse in the room; it was bare and institutional, but the food was good. They were served couscous with chicken in communal pots for each table; the diners were supposed to scoop it out and eat it. Not bad. Then there was the ubiquitous mint tea. It didn't taste like any tea Peter had ever drunk before, for it was thick and syrupy, with sprigs of mint suspended in it, but it was actually refreshing. Made a change from the warm Coke they had to drink everywhere, because it wasn't safe to drink the water, which included ice cubes in drinks. None of them wanted to ruin the trip with an attack of dysentery, so they had all been religious about drinking bottled water and insisting their drinks come without ice.

What with all the warm Coke and mint tea, Peter excused himself after they finished eating and went off to find the little Ghostbusters' room. When he returned, he planned to stroll past the table with the two young women and ogle them a little, see if he could get them away from the old fogeys for the rest of the evening.

He was venturing warily across the hotel lobby, carefully watching out for tarantulas, when he saw a man leaving the hotel. Something about the portly form and the angle of the red fez on his head rang a bell with Peter and he realized it was the man from the Djemaa el Fna, the guy who had wanted to buy Janine. What was he doing here? Following her?

Peter followed him to the door and peered out. The guy had disappeared into the shadows; he wasn't visible near the illuminated fountain that sparkled and danced in lights of ever-shifting colors. Okay, the last thing Peter meant to do was follow the guy. Instead he hurried back to the dining room and stopped just inside the doorway, eyes turned toward their table.

Janine was gone.

Her chair was pushed back and there was no sign of her.

Peter didn't risk taking the time to call to the guys. Instead, he raced out through the lobby and across the courtyard. Cautiously, he stepped out into the street and looked up and down, searching for the secretary. The guy with the fez had disappeared, but the street was full of life and movement. Feeling like Indiana Jones searching out Marian in Cairo, he bellowed, "Janine!" at the top of his lungs.

No answer.

He didn't have a clue where the guy would have had her taken, and he couldn't find her on his own, so he turned and hurried back across the courtyard.

"You seek someone?"

The voice was female and deliciously accented. Peter stopped dead, not so much at the seductive sound but at the thought that maybe he'd overlooked a witness. "Where are you?" he demanded. He couldn't see anyone anywhere.

"I am here."

He could have sworn the voice came from the fountain itself. Was someone cooling off in the splashing waters? He edged over to the fountain uneasily. This was weird.

The woman rose up out of the waters and stood dripping prettily, long, dark hair already drying as she stood there. Talk about gorgeous. Her curves were scarcely concealed by the flowing wisps of garments that clung in all the right places. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. He stood, gaping at her.

She gaped back, as if she found him as gorgeous as he found her. Of course he had to say there was something a little odd about her; most women didn't hang out in hotel fountains.

"Uh... I'm looking for Janine; she's my secretary, and she's missing."

"You seek a woman?" She made a compelling gesture at herself.

"She's not my girlfriend," said Peter hastily. He wanted that clear from the start. "But I think this guy wanted to buy her and when we wouldn't sell, he jumped in and took her anyway. He just came through here right before I did. Did you see him?"

"Yes." She waved a hand at the street. "He went there, but alone. He did not have your Janine with him."

"No, but I figured he'd pointed her out to the guys he had take her," Peter said.

"Perhaps they did not come this way." She beckoned him closer. "Tell me your name?"

"Uh... Venkman. Peter Venkman."

"I am honored to meet you Venkman-Peter-Venkman. Such a ring to your name. I like it."

He didn't bother to correct her, but said quickly, "You can call me Peter. It's quicker."

She laughed. "It is, indeed. You are very beautiful, Peter."

That was nice and direct, and he couldn't help but smile in response. Why weren't all women so perceptive? She put out her hand to him. "Perhaps I can help you. If your friend is indeed missing, you would benefit from the assistance of someone local, is it not?"

"It sure is," he agreed, enjoying her phrasing, the warmth of her hand as her fingers curled happily in his. "What should we do? I kind of let that guy think I'd take money for Janine, but I never would."

"Of course you would not. You are not such a man. You are light-hearted and quick to tease, perhaps, but you would never betray those you love. I know this. I can tell it from your touch. I am...wise that way, yes indeed."

Something in the touch sent a flicker of alarm racing up and down his spine and, for an instant, the thought of trusting a woman who had popped up from a fountain seemed risky in the extreme. Was she a ghost? Look at her, she wasn't even wet any longer, except her feet, which were still under the water. Then she stepped out of the fountain and shook herself, and her hair fell into flowing curls, and the clothing was dry, although still clinging seductively to her curves. "You must trust me, Peter," she urged, squeezing his hand with both of her own.

Warmth ran through him, warmth and a hint of something else, a power greater than he could resist. He suddenly remembered the encounter with the demon Watt and the way the entity had oozed into his mind and soul and controlled his actions. There was something like that at work here, too. He knew it, and he tried to pull back, but when she let go, obedient to his body language, he panicked and he grabbed for her again. He couldn't let go. She was a lifeline; if he didn't hold onto her, if he didn't go with her, he would drift helplessly into chaos and madness.

"Egon!" he tried to scream, but the word came out in a little puff of sound, inaudible to all but the woman and himself. Of course she wasn't a woman, not really. She was something more powerful--and deadly. He was royally screwed. Shit.

"What are you?" he gasped as she drew him toward the fountain. "What are you going to do? Drown me?"

"I am Qandisa," she purred. The name meant nothing to him, but he had the sudden feeling it wouldn't be quite as obscure to Ray or Egon. "And you are now mine. I am sorry about your Janine, but she is irrelevant. You belong to me now." She stepped into the fountain and pulled him in with her, and even though he knew it would mean drowning if he went with her, he couldn't pull away. Then the water closed over his head and the world faded away.

Janine slid into her seat at Egon's side, and he turned away from the pair of belly dancers who were undulating seductively on the stage to the beat of exotic music that Egon couldn't quite feel a pattern to. "Where were you?" he asked. "I was starting to worry."

Janine's face lit with a smile, then she called it to order. Egon's worry was because of their location, not because of his desire for her company; still, it was better than nothing. "It's okay. I wouldn't have gone outside alone. I met two of the women from the tour in the ladies' room, and they got to telling me about some jewelry they'd bought in the bazaar and they took me up to their room to show it to me. It's gorgeous. I hope I can find the shop tomorrow."

She glanced past Egon to Winston and Ray, who were utterly caught up in the dancing. It was a wonder their tongues weren't hanging out. What was weird was that Doctor Venkman wasn't there with them, drooling all over his chin. "Where's Peter?"

"The bathroom," Egon replied, then he frowned. "Hmmm. He's been gone almost as long as you have. I can't imagine him choosing to miss the dancing. He was remarkably eager for it."

"I'll bet. Maybe he met a woman out there." Janine grinned. "Or maybe he saw the tarantula again and we'll have to go and pry him down from the ceiling."

Egon called his smile to order before it could turn into a chuckle. "Poor Peter. He was not happy. Perhaps I should go rescue him. He would hate it if the tarantula had him backed into a corner. I doubt I could get Winston and Ray's attention."

"Short of detonating a bomb? I don't either."

Egon picked up his P.K.E. meter that he'd laid on the table. He'd been taking readings all day, mildly disappointed when nothing caused the detection device to react.

"Maybe it's a ghost tarantula," said Janine as she fell in at Egon's side. They shared a small laugh.

Just as they stepped into the lobby, which was evidently free of large hairy spiders, the meter went off. Loudly. The antennae shot to attention and the lights blinked so rapidly that they seemed permanently illuminated. Egon blinked in astonishment and gazed at the screen. "Class Seven," he breathed.

"And we don't have packs." Janine glanced around, half expecting a demon to pop up out of nowhere.

The man at the front desk eyed them suspiciously and frowned. Egon plunged over to him. "I'm getting major readings, a Class Seven entity, perhaps a demon."

The guy cringed. "Demon? A demon here? You are one of the Ghost-busters? Even here, we have heard of you. We have had no demons here before." He took a step backward to an open door, ready to bolt if something huge and scaly materialized. Tarantulas may have held no terrors for him, but demons were another matter.

There would be no help from him. Egon heaved a sigh then he stiffened his shoulders and marched out the front door with Janine at his heels, only to stop so abruptly she nearly slammed into his back. One quick step sideways gave her the same view he had, the one that had made his shoulders rigid.

The illuminated fountain dominated the courtyard, and in it, a female figure in diaphanous robes was engaged in pulling Peter Venkman down into the sparkling water. It was the woman who had set the meter off; she must be a demon because she radiated power, and her eyes glowed yellow. Peter, a fatuous expression on his face and a panicked look in his eyes, simply let her draw him down into the water.

"No!" Egon's long legs had never moved so fast. Even as the water closed over Peter's head, he reached him, grabbed his arm, and yanked him out with all his strength.

The woman let go. She didn't flee; she just hovered in the water, her face amused and complacent. "He must come to me," she said.

Peter was soaking wet and sputtering; he'd swallowed a little water, anyway, even if he wasn't drowned. "I hafta," he agreed. "Let go, Egon, I have to go with her."

"No, you don't," Egon said furiously. "Peter Venkman, listen to me. She was trying to drown you."

"I was not," the demon woman disagreed. "He would not have died. He would have come with me to my realm. He is very decorative, and I like him. I have chosen him."

"She chose me," Peter echoed. "Egon, let go. I've gotta go with her."

"No." Egon dragged Peter away from the fountain, but Peter fought him, desperate to get back. Janine eyed him uneasily. She could see the panic in the depths of his eyes and she realized she'd seen it before, when Watt had invaded his body.

"Egon, he's possessed."

Peter shook his head. "No. It's not the same. I want to go with her. I need her, Egon."

"Like you needed Shanna, the banshee? Think, Peter. She's controlling your mind."

"Qandisa wouldn't do that. I have to be with her, Egon. Let go." He gazed soulfully at Egon, desperation in his eyes. "Let me go. I have to... I can't live without her."

"Possession," Egon insisted. "Janine, run very quickly and bring Raymond and Winston. I need them instantly." He tightened his grip around Peter, and Janine thought it would take ten demons to break his grip. What was really scary was that the demon didn't seem to care.

Janine cast an agonized glance at them, then she fled back to the hotel.

"Peter," said Egon slowly and distinctly, "this woman is Qandisa. She is a demon who can shape-shift. She lures in young men she finds attractive. If you go with her, you will be driven mad and never be able to escape. You must leave her now, before it's too late."

"Oh, but it is already too late, is it not?" Qandisa was utterly complacent. "You know I have him now. My power is too strong; it cannot be broken. Once I have chosen, he must come with me, or he will die raving in madness. There is no hope for him with you; his only survival is with me."

Peter nodded along with everything she said. "I have to go with her," he parroted her words. "I don't have any choice." His lips curled into a smile, but Egon saw panic flash in the green of his eyes. He knew what had happened, maybe he even understood it, and he saw the looming specter of madness hovering over him--and he was afraid.

Egon cast about in his mind for everything he could remember of the demoness Qandisa. Actually he knew very little and most of that from what Ray had researched before the trip; checking out Moroccan legends, spooks and specters. They hadn't been allowed to bring their proton packs through Customs--the only way that ever worked was if the country to which they had been summoned wanted them badly enough to pull strings for them, so they hadn't tried. Egon's meter had passed; he had heard one of the Customs agents talking about video games, and he had said nothing to correct them. The one ghost trap they had with them had made its way here in Ray's suitcase and Ray had explained its use to the Customs man with such sincerity and solemnity that the man had called over his supervisor and they had conferred at great length. Finally Ray was permitted to bring it in after displaying that it was not harmful to human beings in a light show that had drawn a huge and interested crowd. There had been a large fee to be paid, but Ray paid it willingly. Maybe that trap would help now, although most Class Sevens were too powerful to be captured by a trap alone. Still, Egon hoped Ray would bring it.

As for Qandisa, she was a female demon or djinn and existed as part of Moroccan folklore. Egon had understood that she inhabited springs and rivers, and it seemed unlikely a fountain in a hotel lobby would qualify but maybe she had been bored and sought a more populated area or maybe, like some demons the team had met, she had chosen to move with the times.

The worst of the legend was that those ensnared by Qandisa never regained their senses; Peter thought he had to go with her to avoid madness, but those she seduced were destined for madness with or without her. Peter's bizarre insistence that he had to go with her, even down under the water, was a sign that she had lost none of her powers over the centuries.

There had to be a way to break the spell. There had to be.

Egon must make sure none of the rest of them were lured in. He felt no temptation, but then the djinn had touched Peter. Maybe it took a touch to assert her domination.

"Peter, you can't want to go with her," Egon tried, stalling for time.

Peter nodded vigorously, but his eyes screamed, 'No.'

"What were you doing out here anyway?" Egon asked, mostly to stall for time. Qandisa perched on the fountain's railing and folded her arms across her ample bosom. Peter's eyes tracked the movement automatically, then he looked back at Egon.

"I saw that guy, the one who wanted to buy Janine, walking out of here, and when I looked in the dining room, she was gone, so I came out to follow him." He blinked. "She was just here...." he muttered vaguely.

"She was talking to two of the people from the tour, Peter. She was never missing."

"Oh. Guess I screwed up." It was doubtful Peter had fully understood Egon's explanation. He tugged yearningly at Egon's grip. "Let go. I have to go with her."

"You do not have to go with her, Peter; indeed, I will not allow you to go."

Peter struggled furiously. "Hafta," he groaned. "Egon, I'm going nuts here. I can feel it. I have to go with her."

"She can wait," Egon said coldly, "for I will not let go."

Qandisa chuckled richly. "Forever? Eventually you must release your grip and then he will be mine. He is mine already, and I desire him, but I will wait because I can afford to. You cannot stop me, for you are only mortals, and I am more powerful than you can imagine."

"I don't know, I can imagine quite a lot."

Peter's eyes flashed at that; Egon didn't know why. He continued, "I'm a Ghostbuster, and your kind are prey to us. We've stopped far more powerful entities than you before."

"I am so very frightened." She pretended to shiver. "This I know from Peter. I have touched his mind."

That didn't sound good. Egon barely had time to register the fact that their enemy might understand every threat they could bring against her, and also know the fact that it might be impossible to trap her without the proton packs and throwers when he heard the thud of running feet.

Ray and Winston pelted up to join them. Janine wasn't with them. Had they made her stay away?

Ray screeched to a stop and took one measuring look at Qandisa, who looked more otherworldly than before. She could shape-shift, Egon knew. That could be very dangerous.

"It's Qandisa, Raymond," Egon told her. "She's bewitched Peter."

"Oh, gosh." Ray's eyes widened. "That's terrible. Peter, can you talk to us?"

"I have to go with her, Ray," Peter begged pathetically. "Egon won't let me. Tell him I have to go."

"No." Ray's voice was stern and commanding, even though worry flashed in his eyes. "You don't have to go, Peter. She only makes you think you do."

"I'll go crazy, Ray. I can feel it. I've gotta go with her."

"You don't want to go." Ray made it a statement. Beside him, Winston rolled his eyes at Egon and nodded back at the hotel to convey a message he evidently didn't want to speak aloud for fear of tipping off the demon. Something about Janine, probably.

"I don't want to go," Peter parroted. Egon couldn't tell if he believed it or not. Somewhere inside, the essential Peter was fighting, but probably part of Qandisa's power was the ability to make her prey believe her wishes and theirs were the same.

"Then you can't go." Ray spoke very distinctly. "Peter, listen to me. She's done a number on your head. You think you'll go crazy if you don't go, but going or not won't matter. It will happen either way, so you have to fight it and let us find a way to break the spell. Going with her won't help you. Do you understand me?"

Winston made an abortive gesture of protest and even Egon stretched out a hand to stop Ray from speaking, only to draw it back. It would be unfair to Peter to lie to him, to withhold the truth from him. If he knew, he would be more inclined to fight, to hope that he wouldn't go the same way as her previous victims, since he had the other Ghostbusters in his corner.

"Yes, Peter," Egon agreed. "You would go mad if you went with her; there would be no appreciable difference. But, if you stay, you allow us a way to break the spell. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

Peter, the thinking Peter, tried to peer out past the glamor Qandisa had laid over him. He frowned and shook his head, but he didn't stop tugging at Egon to break free. Egon firmed up his grip and refused to let go.

"I have to go with her, Egon." Peter enunciated very clearly. He tried to lean closer to Qandisa, his whole face filled with longing.

Ray edged up to the demon. "You can't have him," he insisted belligerently.

The entity shifted shape slightly, not into a huge, towering monster but into a caricature of herself; slightly larger, slightly harder, infinitely more menacing. She was no longer just beauty and bait, she was danger. Peter quivered slightly in Egon's grip, but the bond that had been forged with the demoness didn't break. In spite of the revulsion in his expression, he was still bound. What did she do, Peter? How did she forge the link?

"I already have him," she purred. "Nothing you can do or say can change that. If you stand and hold him a year, he will still be mine. My bond is unbreakable. But I grow impatient. Since you are certain to lose, you have no reason to go on fighting. Free him now and end this before I grow angry. You know what I am. You know I am powerful. I need not hurt only you. There are others, those Peter would consider innocent, whom I could destroy, if you do not cease to thwart me." She flexed her fingers and fire sparkled there. Almost absently, she cast a spark of it and it struck the paving stones of the courtyard and sizzled. They all knew that if it had hit a person's chest, that person would now be dead. Egon couldn't hold back the shiver of unease that passed through his frame.

Peter felt it. "Let me go, Egon," he pleaded. "I don't want her to hurt one of you guys, not when I'm already fried." At the impact on the pavement, he sounded more alert. Was that significant? A moment later, the alertness faded again and he tugged at Egon once more.

"You aren't fried, Peter," Ray insisted. "She's done a number on your mind and you think you're stuck, but you're not, not really. Spells are made to be broken. How did she lure you in, anyway? Can you tell me?" He turned a pugnacious stare upon Qandisa. "You owe us that, anyway. If you think you're gonna take our friend away, you can at least tell us what you did to him."

Qandisa looked amused. "I touched him. That was enough."

"Gee, Peter, why did you touch her? Did she trick you?" Ray took one step backward, not out of fear--Ray was one of the most fearless men Egon knew--but because there was no reason to compound the problem.

"She was gonna help me rescue Janine," Peter said clearly.

"But Janine is all right," Egon reminded him. "You saw her with me just now."

Peter processed that and Egon realized he had simply not made the connection. "I saw that guy, Egon, the one from the market. He was walking away--and Janine wasn't with you guys. What was I supposed to think? I thought he'd sent somebody in and snatched her."

Approaching footsteps slowed. Egon turned his head and saw Janine standing there, something wrapped in a towel tucked under her arm and a book in her other hand, a look of astonishment and gratification on her face as she realized Peter had endangered himself for her sake. Of course he hadn't known he was endangering himself, but he'd just proven that he cared about Janine, and she looked stunned and touched--and determined not to show it.

"No, he didn't," Egon said. "Do you think we'd have allowed that?"

"Egon," said Peter sternly, for a second almost sounding like himself again, "she wasn't there. What the heck was I supposed to think?"

Qandisa stretched out a lazy hand in Peter's direction, and Egon whirled him around to keep him out of reach. After a pause, Peter stiffened up again and tried to pull free--but for a few moments, the pull had lessened. Interesting. How could that be put to use?

"Janine, I'm glad you're here," said Ray and lunged to meet her. He took the towel-wrapped shape from her and tucked it under his arm, and then he opened the book she'd been carrying. It was an old one, battered and scarred, and Egon didn't know if he'd purchased it here or brought it with him. He flipped urgently through the pages, and Egon thought it better to say nothing about it. Qandisa had been remarkably patient with them, but her patience would not last forever, and her powers were too strong. Without their proton packs, they didn't have a hope of stopping her. Perhaps Ray knew of a spell to try, although the team were not spell-casters and Egon distrusted that type of solution, since he did not find it scientific. With Peter's life at stake, he was prepared to accept any solution, even one that seemed utter mumbo jumbo.

Peter tugged yearningly at Egon's arm. "Come on, Spengs, let me go," he pleaded.

"You know I cannot do that," Egon said firmly. He tightened his hold. "Peter. I will not surrender you to a demon. You know I can't."

Venkman struggled suddenly in a perfect paroxysm of desperation, but his eyes warmed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But I've gotta. Egon, I've gotta."

Ray opened his mouth and rattled off something in a language Egon didn't know. He thought it was a mage's language. Ray knew several of them through his occult studies. The words amused Qandisa rather than threatening her, though, and she folded her arms against her chest and leaned back against the central column of the fountain, prepared to be diverted.

Egon glanced around. Outside the courtyard gates, people passed in an unending flow, but none had stopped to investigate the woman in the fountain. Maybe they simply didn't notice, or maybe the hotel didn't interest them. The residents were probably all attending the belly dancing display. Egon hoped no one disturbed them. He didn't plan to let Peter go, but he was positive the demon would use a chance passer-by as threat to make them surrender the psychologist to her. Egon wouldn't give Peter up; none of them would. But neither could they let her hurt an innocent.

He shifted position so that he was standing between Janine and the djinn. She noted the movement and understood it, and amusement filled her eyes. Egon didn't like the sight of that, and it was clear that Winston didn't either, because he planted himself next to Egon, creating a firmer barrier between Janine and Qandisa. He also took hold of Peter's other arm.

Ray abandoned that particular text and shuffled desperately through the book's crumpling pages. Egon tightened his grip on Peter's arm, his eyes on his oldest friend's face. He could see the real Peter in the green eyes, but the spark that was his friend, his sane, fighting friend, appeared dimmed. The arm tugged against his grip, and Egon was glad of Winston's back-up.

Ray started another spell, this one in Latin, and Qandisa arched an eyebrow. "Ah, better. That one is not wholly contemptible. It will not work, of course, but it proves that you are not a fool. Perhaps I should have had more fun with you, but this one is so decorative. I like him. I will enjoy him greatly before his mind trickles away."

Pure panic ran through Peter's eyes. Whether it was the thought of losing his mind or of being a demon's play toy Egon wasn't sure. Peter hated not to be in control. He must be desperate, even if he kept on pulling at Egon's and Winston's grip to go to her. Egon was sure the minute she stopped finding the situation amusing she would wave her hand and fry them and take Peter away, and then Peter would go down into darkness believing he had caused his friends' death.

Yet for an instant there, Peter had seemed to come back. No, twice. He had reacted to her display of power, too. What had caused it? Worry that she would cast fire at the guys? Janine? Concern for her safety? Could fear for the rest of them break the spell?

Egon frowned and pondered that. If he were to endanger himself, would Peter snap out of it? Would emotions or even adrenaline that rose in response be enough to snap him out of it? Was that how it had worked before? And if it worked, if it freed Peter, there was still the demoness to defeat.

Abruptly, Peter's eyes widened and a measure of sanity filtered through the desperation and confusion. What was causing it? Her spell could not have weakened. Had he guessed what Egon was thinking?

"Peter?" Egon said doubtfully under the cover of a new spell from Ray.

Peter blinked as if awakening from a long sleep, and then he erupted from their grip with a vicious lunge that nearly had his two restrainers over on their heads. Had Qandisa caused it, given him strength to fight them off; had her compulsion deepened?

But Peter didn't go to her. He shoved between Egon and Winston and yelled frantically, a wordless, furious shout, and went plunging across the courtyard to the street.

It was the last thing any of them expected. Ray jerked his head up from the pages of the book and almost dropped the item tucked under his arm. Winston caught his balance right away and started to lunge after Peter. Qandisa gave a savage howl of rage and swarmed up into an eight-foot-tall monster, hulking and ominous, with teeth as long as Egon's hand. She started after Peter and Ray cried, "No!" and garbled out a desperate phrase in Sumerian. Egon knew that it wasn't possible to know exactly how Sumerian or Akkadian had been pronounced any more than it was ancient Egyptian, but he and Ray had worked out a pronunciation guide to enable them to read some of the ancient texts aloud. As Ray spoke, Egon translated it in his mind and recognized an old charm against demons from the Necronomicon.

"Arise! Arise! Go far away!

"Be shamed! Flee!

"Thy wickedness may rise to heaven like unto smoke.

"Arise and leave his body."

Qandisa quivered. She might not know Sumerian but the words of the banishment ritual had power, and it was a force that was strong enough to daunt her. Egon felt a surge of relief as she shrank back into her original form.

"Keep going, Ray," Egon urged and Ray plunged on, his voice soaring as he chanted the ritual from the pages. Even mispronunciation didn't affect the power of the spell. Qandisa shriveled back, unable to resist, and Egon turned to see what had happened to Peter.

That was when he heard a screech of outrage and desperation from Janine.

Peter had been looking past the team, and Janine had been behind them. In the heat of the moment, the man with the fez had come into the courtyard with two henchmen in djellabas and turbans, and they had grabbed Janine. They bore her toward the street, while she struggled and cursed and tried to stomp on their sandaled feet with her spike heels.

Peter barreled into the little group and exploded it outward into its separate components. Janine wrenched herself away from one of the men and threw a punch that caught him right on the point of the chin while Peter slugged the other one so hard the man went over backward, landed hard, and didn't move. The little man in the fez reached for Janine but she ducked away from his grasp. Peter whirled from his triumph and went for the leader, howling with rage.

Winston arrived on the scene and grabbed for the man Janine had punched. He lashed out at Winston with a kick that proved he'd studied karate at some time in his unsavory past, but Winston was ready for it. He got a hand under the foot and heaved, and the unprepared thug went down hard in a spectacular flip.

The second he landed, Janine plopped down on his chest to keep him from getting up again, and folded her arms across her chest. They all heard the little puff of expelled breath at the force of her landing.

Egon hadn't dared leave Ray's side; he couldn't allow him to face down Qandisa on his own. Seeing Janine free and Peter acting on his own initiative, evidently rid of the spell, made his heart pump with relief.

"Get the trap, Egon," Ray said hastily out of the corner of his mouth.

Egon grabbed the towel-draped shape and whipped off the covering. He let the trigger fall to the ground at his feet as Ray's spell reached a crescendo. Ray yelled the final words. "Be commanded by Marduk, the Great Magician of the gods. Be commanded by the God of Fire, your destroyer. May you be held back from his body."

Even as Egon's foot lifted to stomp on the trigger, Qandisa cried out in bitterness and defeat and shrank down to a tiny speck of glimmering light. As they watched, it sank down into the water and vanished without a trace.

"Well done, Raymond," Egon lauded him as he lifted his foot from the unused trigger. "Did that finish her?" To answer his own question, he snatched his P.K.E. meter and checked the readings. It registered nothing but fading residuals. "She's gone."

"We didn't destroy her," Ray admitted. "We just banished her. She can't try for Peter now. She's still out there, somewhere; I think she'll follow the water system and go far away. Wow, wasn't it great? I bet, if she could read Peter's mind, she'd know that we know Marduk personally. She'd think we could summon him if necessary. I wonder if we could...." He looked thoughtful. "It'd be so great!"

He set the book on the fountain railing and turned to investigate the ruckus behind them. "Oh, gosh. That's the guy who wanted to buy Janine."

"Yeah, and he must have figured it would be a lot cheaper just to snatch her," Winston called. "Ray, go have the guy at the front desk call the police. These guys are going down."

Ray snatched up his book again and darted off. Egon picked up the trap and hurried over to the others. "Janine, are you hurt?"

"No. Doctor V was there in a second." She let her eyes linger on Peter with admiration that she masked the second he turned his head in her direction.

"Well done, Peter," Egon said, grasping Venkman's hand and pumping it. "I wondered if adrenaline triggered a release from Qandisa's spell. It weakened when Janine was jeopardized before and when you thought Qandisa meant to zap us."

Peter's face blazed with triumph, but at the mention of Qandisa, it trickled away again and panic filled his eyes. "Egon, where is she? I have to go with her." He started for the fountain.

Egon's heart plummeted into his gut. "Peter, no. She's gone. She's banished. She can't possess you any longer."

Peter quivered. "Gone? She can't be gone. Egon, I've gotta find her. Where is she?"

The adrenaline rush was fading, and the banishment had only driven her away. Egon realized with a sickening sense of dread that it hadn't severed the tie Qandisa had formed. Peter couldn't exist in a permanent high from adrenaline. His body couldn't take the strain of it. Qandisa drove men mad. Once the link was formed, compelling her away was not enough to end it.

Spengler grasped Peter by the upper arms as a group of hotel employees came running out in Ray's wake to gather around Janine's would-be abductors. She got up off the one man's stomach and snorted at him scornfully. "You're in trouble now, buster." But her eyes sought Egon's and she gazed at Peter in realization.

Peter pulled out of Egon's grip and charged over to the fountain. He was still wet from his last immersion, but he jumped in again.

Leaving the kidnappers to the hotel staff, Winston and Ray rushed over to help Egon pull him out and restrain him, and Janine hovered nearby, one hand pressed against her mouth. "Now what?" she asked. "Without throwers...."

"Maybe we don't need throwers." Egon still held the ghost trap, its trigger pedal trailing. He fumbled for it, stomped on it, and, at the same time, pressed the trap against Peter's chest. "Close your eyes, Peter," he commanded as the brilliant white light washed out and bathed the struggling psychologist.

Peter scrunched them tight, and Egon wasn't sure if it were an automatic reaction or a response to Egon's command. His hands curled into fists, then, suddenly, he gave a cry of anguish and pain and doubled over on top of the trap. "No! No! No!" he screeched.

Light flowed out of Peter in a gush like water and zipped into the trap, and the doors snapped shut over it. Peter gasped, went as limp as a wet towel, and pitched over backward into the fountain for the third time that night.

The other three Ghostbusters dragged him out of the water and held him steady. They allowed him to sit on the fountain railing, but they didn't loosen their grip for an instant. "Peter?" Egon demanded urgently. "Peter, can you hear me?"

For an eternity of a minute, he didn't answer, then his face scrunched up and he said in a voice that quivered with weakness but that flared with his own spirit, "I'd hafta be deaf not to hear you, Spengs. I'd bet seventy camels they could hear you in Casablanca." At that, he blinked, gasped, and opened his eyes very wide. "It's gone!" he blurted. "I don't have to go with her." And then, very softly, "I'm not going crazy." His eyes glittered with relieved brightness, and for a second, he heaved upward and wrapped his arms around Egon tightly enough to endanger his breathing--and to saturate the front of his shirt and pants.

Egon barely had time to get the arm that wasn't holding the trap around Peter's shoulders before his friend had collected himself. He stood back and straightened up. "That wasn't fun. I think I liked our hairy friend in the lobby better than this. And you thought it would be nice to go to Morocco, Ray?"

"Well, gee, Peter, it wasn't my fault," Ray said automatically. "Are you okay now?" he fussed.

"The one, the only, unpossessed Venkman. Egon, you've gotta figure out a way to put a door in my brain so it doesn't keep getting rented out. Watt was bad enough, but in a way this was worse. I could feel myself going quietly nuts."

"Not so quietly," Winston corrected hastily, and Peter flashed him a grin of relief before he raised his voice in response.

"Come on, Zed, you'd yell too if some lady wanted you face down in a fountain. Last I heard, I wasn't a water lily."

"You sure don't look like a water lily, Peter," Ray kidded him, and they were all relieved when Peter grinned brilliantly and reached out to ruffle Ray's hair.

The police arrived on the scene then, and Peter collected himself and dripped his way over to meet them. "Hey, guys. Come to round up the usual suspects?"

Several of the officers groaned, proving they'd seen the movie Casablanca, but the leader introduced himself as Kamal El Moulay and started asking curt questions. Janine jumped in and told him exactly what had happened in a sharp, insistent voice, and the poor man backed up a step at her fury. Maybe he wasn't used to Western females, unveiled, unrobed, and feisty. Egon realized he much preferred women like Janine, able to stand up for themselves.

Leaving the police to Janine and Winston, he pulled Peter aside and proceeded to take thorough biorhythm and standard meter readings of him to make certain the trap had done his work.

Peter stood there quietly and let him, almost without complaint. When Egon had finished, Peter said quickly, "Well, Spengs? Am I going gaga? Loopy? Loony?" The forced frivolity of his tone worried Egon.

"You're fine, Peter. No evidence of ectoplasmic residue or Class Seven contamination. If Qandisa had not been effectively banished by Ray's spell, she might have been able to renew it, but she was gone and she won't be back. She can't."

"You sure about that?"

"I am absolutely certain. I saw the expression on her face when Ray was speaking. She is a powerful djinn, but she is not powerful enough to withstand entities greater than she is." He tucked the meter under his arm and gripped Peter's shoulder. "You're fine. You're not possessed."

"No, just a great big target for any entity that wants to play in my mind," said Peter with sudden bitterness.

"It isn't you, Peter. It's the entity, or the timing."

"In other words, I've got a great knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Same difference."

"No, Peter. You were here because of concern for Janine, an entirely laudable reason. Watt could have taken any of us. It isn't that you are more vulnerable. It's just the way it happened."

"Oh yeah, right, Egon, and that makes me feel just ducky."

"Peter." Egon tightened his grip. "Listen to me. Perhaps you couldn't overcome Watt, but you came very close to ousting Qandisa on your own. You were able to override the control and save Janine's life, and I'm sure that, to her, you were a tower of strength when she needed it. In spite of the influence and extremely unpleasant side effects of the possession, you saved Janine from a fate worse than death."

Somehow that was the right thing to say. A faint smile began, and then Peter's taut muscles eased slightly. "And she's gonna hate it soooo much," he said with pure delight. "Grateful to me? I'm gonna milk this for all it's worth."

Egon hid a smile of his own. Janine would never let Peter get away with that, at least not for more than a very short while. The sooner those two resumed their 'normal' relationship, the better it would be for both of them. Tough and feisty as Janine was, she had to be experiencing reaction for her own near miss.

"Yeah, and come to think of it," Peter plunged on, "that guy in the fez owes me big time. Because of me, he only has to go to jail. Imagine if he'd had to live with Janine."

"He'd be the luckiest guy in Morocco," said Janine haughtily from right behind Egon. Peter must have said that on purpose.

"Oh yeah," Peter agreed. "He might; until he found out how tough you are, Melnitz. You'd start a harem riot, crusading for more pay and shorter hours. You'd have driven the guy nuts."

For an instant, darkness flashed in his eyes at the last word, then he shrugged it away and eyed Janine expectantly.

"Like I do you?" she asked very sweetly. "And enjoy every second of it, Venkman." She didn't ask if he were okay; it wouldn't have been within the rules. But she did stretch out a hand and pat him on the arm. "You're missing the belly dancing, Doctor V."

It was an enlightened remark, and Egon silently blessed her for it. Peter let out an anguished cry. "I'm missing the belly dancing? Egon, there's no justice in the universe." He turned toward the hotel and stopped dead at the sight of most of the tour group and several of the belly dancers standing just outside the door, rubbernecking like crazy. "No, it's okay," he said with exaggerated relief. "Once I'm ready, they can start up again. This is gonna be soooo great."

He let Ray bear him off to speak to the police officers and Egon smiled warmly at Janine and then stepped aside to speak to the people who ran the performance to explain what had happened and to ensure for Peter a chance to see the dancing after all, once he'd changed into dry clothes. It was the best thing for him at the moment--and if it came to that, Egon was looking forward to it himself.

"And that's what happened," Peter concluded instructively. "Nothing you could have done about it, Hairy. Anyway, I'm me again. Well, mostly, or I wouldn't be sitting down here telling you my life story."

The tarantula took it all without blinking. Could tarantulas blink? He'd have to ask Egon about it.

The hotel lobby was deserted and the bar was even closed. Geez, they rolled up the streets here awfully early--although he could tell there was probably still life out there, probably still dancing circles and cobras and camels in the Djemaa el Fna. But even though Peter was too restless to sleep, he didn't quite fancy heading out there at three a.m. It'd be like wearing a sign that read 'mug me'.

"Who's your friend?"

It wasn't Egon, whom he'd halfway expected to wake up and notice he was gone. It was Janine. She was dressed but her hair was only sketchily combed and her eyes were dark with shadows. Oops. Peter had been so caught up in the memory of nearly losing his marbles that he hadn't really thought about Janine's near miss.

He nodded at the tarantula which chose that moment to scuttle away under a table. Probably didn't like crowds; must be a one-on-one type of bug. "Oh, that's Hairy. We're pals now." Okay, so he would have beat a hasty enough retreat if Hairy had decided to cozy up to him, but as long as it maintained a respectful distance, he could live with it. It was a lot better than living with Qandisa at the bottom of a fountain.

"I'd have thought you'd scream the place down," she said, but there was no malice or unkindness in the comment.

Peter grinned. "But not you," he said. "You don't mind tarantulas at all."

Suddenly her smile was very human and confiding. "If it came at me, I'd probably jump, too."

"Heck, anybody with sense would. If old Egon doesn't, just proves he's off in some other galaxy. Maybe I should take it with me and drop it in his bed."

They shared an amused smile at the picture. Even the phlegmatic physicist would react with shock to the discovery of a hairy arachnid in his bed. What was it he'd called it? Some Latin term. Aphonopelma something or other. He might be fascinated--at a distance. But up close and personal, he'd hate it, too.

Up close and personal, a lot of things weren't fun.

"Pull up a chair, Melnitz," Peter told her. "Wanna compare nightmares?"

She shuddered, but she dropped down next to him on the couch. "Abdul kept saying things like that happened," she admitted. "I didn't really believe it. I thought it was part of the Exotic East routine they peddle. When those guys grabbed me and the others were fussing over Qandisa, I knew I was gonna wind up with a Berber tribe in the Atlas Mountains and never see Egon again."

"You kidding, Big J? Egon might be your absent-minded scientist, but he'd have torn Morocco apart to get you back." He draped an arm around her shoulders, and she didn't pull away. He felt very companionable toward her. Come to think of it, they'd both come close to a 'fate worse than death'.

"He would, wouldn't he?" They both knew Egon might not have found her in time, but neither one of them said so. She was silent a moment, leaning against his side, then she said, "Thank you, Peter. I don't know exactly how bad it was, what you were going through, but you fought it off and saved me. I'll never forget that."

The fact that she had said it made Peter feel better than he had since Qandisa had taken hold of his hand. Egon's reassurance had helped, but now, as he sat here with Janine, very conscious of the brother-and-sister bond they shared, even when they fought and insulted each other, he knew that her words were what he needed. It wasn't his fault he'd been possessed, other than the fact that Qandisa had been gorgeous enough to stop him in his tracks. And, when the chips were down, he'd regained enough control to do what needed doing. Maybe it would be tough to live with it, but the worst hadn't quite happened, any more than it had when Watt had him or when Shanna had done her banshee number on him. What mattered was that he wasn't going nuts and that he'd been strong enough to save Janine.

But he couldn't leave Janine hanging out to dry like this. So he grinned and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Oh yeah, Melnitz. I'm the greatest. Go ahead, you can say it."

She glowered at him. "In your dreams, Venkman," she said with a snort and jumped to her feet.

She looked steamed, but both of them knew she wasn't, not really. Her eyes flashed. Boy, you had to wonder what was wrong with Egon, not to get with the program here. If he ever did, he'd be a lucky guy. Janine had style.

She stalked off toward the elevator, reveling in the status quo, and Peter found himself smiling, relaxed and normal, and himself again.

And something fuzzy was crawling up his leg.

"Janine!" Peter screeched, erupting to his feet and brushing wildly at 'Hairy'. "Get it off me. Egon! Winston! Ray! I'm being attacked. Guys! Help!"

As Hairy scuttled across the lobby in considerable panic, a man appeared at the desk and frowned at Peter as if he were as bad as the fez guy.

And Janine, grateful Janine who owed him her life--or at least her virtue--leaned against the wall and laughed until tears ran down her face.