The humans were going to be useless; he had known that from the first--but then, humans usually were. With an exasperated snort, the huge, green demon sprawled back in his chair and pondered the situation long and carefully. Had it been a mistake to involve humans in the first place? He was used to the female--she had done his bidding for years now, though she had no knowledge of it. She believed that she controlled him, that she had summoned him up, confined him in a pentagram, and now could call him whenever she wished. It had amused him to play along, to give her more and more line, knowing one day she would presume too far and then he would have her completely. Besides, she presented him with a window to the humans' dimension and that was not to be ignored. Demons who passed into that world were just slightly conspicuous--and sometimes they were in jeopardy. He didn't mean to risk himself like that.

The demon gave a snort of rage. Humans! They were at the back of all his problems, at least four certain humans were. He pushed the thought of his soon-to-be prey away and contemplated the male who worked with the female. It was amusing when he thought of it, for the male believed that he was in charge of everything. He had gone to the woman and hired her--but how easy it had been to put her name in his way. She had managed it herself; in fact she was rather subtle and had been useful to the demon, a use he might have continued to manipulate were it not that her appetites got in the way. Sometimes when he wanted her she was so caught up in them that she didn't feel his summons, and that angered him. He could, of course, have controlled her completely, but he had been reluctant to do that yet, not while she might be of benefit to him. Now she was being beneficial, and little did she know that when the task was finished, so would she be. He chortled to himself, sending several lesser nether entities scurrying for cover.

The male was all ego and bluster, motivated by human revenge, a shallow instrument that needed resolution right now. Unlike the more powerful demons who were prepared to wait, to plan and scheme, until the moment was right, this human male had let his obsession push him toward the edge of sanity. Look at him scurrying around gloating down in the dungeons, not even sure where he was. The female didn't know, either. Both of them thought it was a place midway between the demon's realm and their own, a holding area where she could come with the strength of her powers. He snorted with amusement. No human's powers could bring them into this region--but humans had come, uninvited, invaded his territory and taken what was his. That would never happen again. Until his revenge was complete, he was prepared to open the portal for the woman, to allow her to believe she did it on her own, to use her. When she was no longer useful, he would discard her.

"The human female is nearly ready to use the gateway, your Evilness."

He barely spared a glance for the lackey who reported to him, a very minor demon, scarcely worthy to occupy the same room, though he enjoyed the title. 'Your Evilness.' Yes, it suited him. The demon was vain as well as patient and vengeful.

Gesturing at a mirror portal that hung in the air near his throne, he sneered down at the under-demon. "Think you that I do not know that. Nothing happens in my realm without my knowledge." Not strictly true, but he preferred his lackeys to believe his eye was everywhere. Concentrating on his entire realm at once was draining, even for a being of his power, but they needn't know that. He saw trolls and fauns glancing at each other nervously at the edges of the room, considering their little sins, wondering if he knew about them. He let them worry.

"I have monitored the female," he said, eyeing the screen where the fair haired woman in her flowing gown made mystical passes in the air. She blocked the view of what she was doing, but the demon knew. Yes, this was going to be perfect. "I am ready," he said. "When she desires the panel, I shall open it, sending them all back to the human realm--until the next time."

"Yes, your Evilness." The sub-demon bowed away, never turning his back on his superior. Good. Let him cringe. Let them all cringe. Soon his revenge would be complete and that would show them all that no one could cross him with impunity. Soon he would destroy those men whom he hated above all others--The Ghostbusters.

Officer Jerry Zywicki was just finishing his shift with a last run through Central Park when he saw the man asleep on the park bench, curled up like a child trying to keep warm and wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. With a sigh, Jerry pulled over. The odds were that anyone who crashed on a park bench was one of the city's multitude of homeless, one who had been rolled by a fellow bum for the clothes on his back and the remains of a bottle of sterno, but he might have been a more or less law-abiding citizen who had been mugged and dumped here. In either case, Jerry would have to investigate. He got out of the car, putting on his hand and sliding his nightstick into place, and approaching cautiously. Sometimes things like this were a setup.

This time, it was exactly what it looked like. The tangled, too-long hair that hung in the vagrant's face had looked white in the glare from the nearest streetlight but up close it proved to be Nordic blond, tangled and dirty as if it had not seen a comb for several days. Jerry aimed a flashlight at the man's face and hesitated, frowning because he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe there was a want out on him. The resemblance wouldn't come to him, so he bent over the sleeping man, pausing when he observed the technicolor bruise on his forehead just above his left temple. Maybe he was a mugging victim after all.

"Hey, come on, pal, wake up," urged Jerry, prodding him carefully. He didn't think this guy was going to come up swinging but it was better to be prepared just in case.

The sleeping man awoke and stared at Jerry nearsightedly with dazed blue eyes. There was a strange emptiness in the look that warned the officer this could become more complicated than he had thought at first. There was nothing normal in the injured man's expression.

The man on the bench proved it. He sat up clumsily like a person whose motor functions are operating below normal, pulled his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He said in a garbled, childlike voice, "P'licem'n." Instantly his eyes darkened with horror and he struggled to continue, but no words emerged. His eyes glistened with terror and tears.

Jerry's heart sank. Either this guy wasn't running on all cylinders because of the head injury or he was mentally retarded. The slack mouth and the eyes that gazed at him vaguely indicated the latter, and the cop felt a surge of anger that someone would do this to a handicapped person.

"Yes, I'm a policeman," he said in his most reassuring tones. "Would you like me to take you home now?"

The man's eyes flashed, just once, then he nodded vehemently, the blond hair sliding down on his forehead. With an impatient--and awkward--hand he shoved it back, frowning as if it felt wrong. "Home," he said with considerable urgency. The effort to convey his need was palpable and Jerry realized how frightening it must have been for him to be lost in a place as vast and dangerous as Central Park.

"Do you know where you live?" he prodded in the same soft voice, encouraging the man to speak. "Can you give your address?"

The face scrunched up in a perfectly terrible attempt at concentration and after some thought, triumph lit his eyes. "Firehall," he announced with satisfaction.

"Firehall?" echoed Jerry. Well, yeah, kids dream of becoming firemen and what was this if not a great big kid? "You're not really a fireman, are you?" he asked gently.

Scorn etched itself on the dull-eyed face. "Not fireman," he corrected as if Jerry were a fool not to know that. Another paroxysm of thought twisted his features, then he produced the word triumphantly. "Ghost-buster."

"Yeah, right, friend," Jerry began, only to fall silent, frowning. Wait a minute... Wasn't there a missing persons report out on one of the Ghostbusters? Hadn't been seen for three days or something like that? Which one had it been? Spengler, he thought. The blond one. Yeah, right. Take away the glasses he always wore, tangle his hair, and he'd look just like this character.

Oh, shit! Jerry schooled his features to careful neutrality, unwilling to upset the blond man. What could have happened to him to turn him like this? A ghost of some kind? Possession? Or, much worse, was it the result of the head injury that had produced that spectacular bruise? Jerry had always heard Egon Spengler was a genius but this man didn't have the IQ of a five year old.

"Egon?" he ventured, testing his theory.

The man's eyes blazed, but he bobbed his head up and down like an obedient schoolboy. "Me Egon," he admitted, poking one finger against the middle of his chest for confirmation. Then his face twisted with misery and he began to cry. "Want Peter," he whimpered. "Take me to Peter now."

"Well, buddy, I think I'd better take you to the hospital first. You've got a big, bad bump on your head and I bet it hurts. We'll let the nice doctors and nurses fix you up and I'll make sure Peter comes there to meet you, and your other friends too. How does that sound? Will you come with me?"

Egon lifted his eyes and narrowed them as he considered the officer. Then he knuckled away the tears and rose obediently to his feet like a good child, holding out his hand the way a trusting toddler will do to an adult. Shaking his head, Jerry took it and led the man back to the squad car, helping him into the back seat, one hand on the top of his head. Egon climbed in with all the clumsiness of a puppy and curled up on the seat, falling asleep before Jerry's startled eyes. That wasn't good, was it? People with head injuries shouldn't sleep. Of course from the color of the bruise, the injury that had caused it was several days old. It wouldn't hurt him to sleep a little. Jerry put the siren on and set off as fast as he could for the nearest hospital, reaching out for the radio. He'd better call this one in right away.

Peter Venkman slammed his fist into the wall and turned away from it, his feet tracing a path toward the other side of the waiting room. Egon had been gone for three days without word, and now, in the wee hours of the morning, a telephone call had summoned them to the hospital. Ray, who had been sick with worry over Egon's unaccustomed absence, had leaped at the news. A hospital might mean injuries but at least Egon was alive. Peter wasn't as optimistic as Ray, but that was his nature, to play the cynic. Winston came along, prepared to back either of them no matter what the crisis, his face full of concern. At least Egon was found and the four of them could go on from here, whatever it took.

The crisis had started innocently enough. Egon had returned from a physics luncheon at Columbia University with a beautiful woman on his arm. Peter, who had been pestering Janine for the fun of it and fending off Slimer when the little ghost had tried to get into the act, looked up with interest as the pair approached the desk, her hand clutching Egon's arm, his hand resting on hers possessively. The woman in question was petite beside Egon's lanky form, as blonde as he was but with eyes that were unexpectedly dark in such a fair-skinned face. She had a cool, poised air, that of a woman who has long known herself capable of turning heads wherever she went so she no longer had to factor that into the equation unless she chose to do so. Quite a self-possessed young woman, probably somewhere in her late twenties, she stared around the fire house with fascinated interest as if she hoped to see ghosts and goblins by the score. When her eyes lit on Slimer, they narrowed fractionally, her lips pursed, then she shook her head lightly and relaxed, allowing Egon to lead her up to the desk.

Janine had watched their approach with remarkably little enthusiasm. Her mouth had tightened and it stayed that way, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion and veiled hostility toward the stranger. She had long been in love with Egon, and if her interest were not quite returned, at least Egon didn't date very often and had never before been inconsiderate enough to parade another woman before the secretary.

"Egon, my man," Peter greeted his colleague, his face alive with amusement. "Did you have a good lunch? How was the dessert?"

Egon's eyes twinkled responsively. "Everything was fine, thank you, Peter. I'd like you and Janine to meet Cynara Storm. This is Peter Venkman, one of my colleagues, and Janine Melnitz, our receptionist."

Slimer made an irritated throat-clearing sound and Egon added, "And Slimer, too. We use him for research into the properties of ghosts and their varying capabilities." Slimer peered at the woman who stared levelly back then he decided to abandon the subject. He pulled out one of Janine's desk drawers and vanished into it, drawing it shut behind him. Egon's companion seemed pleased to see him go.

"And this, of course, is our headquarters," Egon went on, gesturing expansively at the garage area where Ecto-1 was parked, at Janine's reception desk, and the stairs to one side that led up to the second floor.

"Fascinating, Egon," breathed the blonde in tones that just missed sounding gushy, gazing with interest at the converted hearse before turning to her audience. Egon preened himself under her approval.

Eyes sparkling at the sight of Egon on the brink of falling head over heels in love, Peter edged a step closer to Janine and dropped a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't sure if the gesture was meant as comfort or restraint, and the tension in the muscles beneath his hand didn't help him decide, but either might be necessary. "Did you meet Egon at the physics luncheon?" he asked the blonde woman hastily before the redhead could put her in her two cents worth. Janine's face looked like a storm about to happen.

Cynara nodded. "Yes, though I'm afraid I was there under false pretenses. I'm not a physicist. In fact I went in hopes of meeting Egon. My brother escorted me there and he is a physicist. I'm a research writer for Ghost magazine and I wanted to do an interview with the Ghostbusters."

"Did you say 'interview'?" Peter asked, perking up. He felt Janine's shoulder relax fractionally beneath his hand as if she could deal with reporters more easily than with would-be girlfriends, though Peter suspected this might well be both. "I'm the man for you. I handle all the P.R. for the Ghostbusters. A cover story about us should be just what Ghost needs. Why don't you step into my office and I'll tell you all about me, er, us." He tried to wave her toward the gate and his office that was divided from Janine's by a row of filing cabinets.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Venkman," the woman replied, her eyes passing over and dismissing him as if he barely existed. "But Egon and I have made plans for the afternoon. He wanted to show me Ghostbuster Central before we went out." She turned to Egon. "I'd love to see the containment unit. It must have taken a very brilliant man to conceive of such a plan for disposing of ghosts."

Egon led her to the stairs. "Actually, Ray and I built the containment until together," he said as they started down. "We make an excellent team. I handle the theoretical end and Ray... "

"Reporter my foot," snorted Janine inelegantly once they were out of earshot. "That woman is a groupie if I ever saw one. Gushing all over Egon--and Egon buying it. Men! I don't know what they're good for but common sense has nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, and she's a groupie with bad taste," Peter agreed, unwilling to touch the latter half of Janine's remarks. He knew when to keep quiet and when to stick his nose in, and that was something he wasn't quite ready to risk. "She doesn't know a class act when she sees it."

"Nasty lady," Slimer burbled, emerging from the desk drawer and glancing around nervously to make sure Cynara had really gone.

"Why nasty, Spud?" Peter asked in surprise. She hadn't looked nasty to him--far from it--but sometimes Slimer's ghostly abilities noticed things the guys might miss.

Slimer only shrugged unhelpfully and drifted away upstairs. Probably he'd taken offense because Cynara hadn't seemed to like him. It was hard to tell with the spud.

Egon gave Cynara Storm the grand tour and returned with her half an hour later. Janine had been muttering dark and uncomplimentary things about the blonde under her breath, obviously in complete agreement with Slimer's opinion, but Peter hadn't bought into it until Egon and Cynara came down the stairs together, the two fair heads close together. Peter bounced up off the edge of Janine's desk to meet them.

"We're going out," Egon explained vaguely, a dazed look in his eyes. He'd toppled over the edge into 'true love' as Peter often did, and the psychologist was prepared to rib him unmercifully about it. This was going to be fun. Before he could open his mouth, Cynara's brown eyes stabbed him, making him feel like a butterfly on a pin. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times but there was something in the hard-edged glare she gave him that measured him and found him wanting, something that kept him from speaking. No joking words emerged. Nothing came out at all. Gulping uneasily, Peter suddenly decided Slimer must be more perceptive than he'd thought.

The look in the woman's eyes vanished immediately and Cynara said everything polite and charming as Egon bore her away.

"No better than she ought to be," Janine muttered as the door closed behind them. "I wouldn't trust her with a nickel, let alone with Egon."

"I know what you mean," Peter replied. "But Egon's a big boy now, Janine. He can take care of himself." He only hoped his reassurance didn't sound as much like famous last words as he thought it did. Something about the look in Cynara's eyes had bugged him, but when he started to say so, he caught himself, blinked in surprise, and found he couldn't vocalize it, so he let it go.

That was the last time they'd seen Egon or heard of him, until tonight. As Peter paced, he couldn't help remembering that cold look the woman had given him, wondering if it had been more than a warning not to interfere. They had tried to contact her when Egon had not returned in the morning. At first the absent physicist had been the butt of some ribald humor initiated by Peter and appreciated by Winston. Even Ray grinned at some of Peter's more choice remarks. When the time came for their first scheduled bust of the day and he was still not home, though, they started to worry. Egon might well stay out all night but he wouldn't miss a job that could endanger the other three without him. The guys trooped down to Janine's desk and Peter put through a call to Ghost headquarters to find out if Cynara were absent, too. That was when they first realized something serious was wrong. No one named Cynara Storm worked for the magazine, he was told by the managing editor. No one named Cynara Storm or any similar name had ever worked for the magazine, and when Peter described her with a wealth of detail, he was informed that no one matching her description had ever been seen there.

"I'd remember someone like that," the managing editor replied positively. "She would have started my heart going in the morning even without my coffee. Sorry. It sounds like you ran afoul of a groupie who was using our name to get close to you. But an interview might be a good idea. Any chance of setting up an appointment with one of our real reporters?"

"Let me get back to you on that," Peter said and hung up, turning to convey the conversation to his friends. "I don't know who she is but she isn't a reporter," he announced.

"I knew she was a groupie," Janine grumbled darkly. "When Egon finds out he'll be... " Her voice trailed off. "He should be here right now. He's never missed a bust. You guys have to drag him out when he's caught up in one of his experiments but... "

Peter opened his mouth to suggest Egon might be caught up in a different kind of experiment right now but the redhead flashed him a warning look and he closed his mouth without speaking. Egon had an extremely long attention span. Give him something that interested him and he might not surface for days. "Call if he comes home while we're gone, Janine," Peter instructed as he headed for the car.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Right after I dismember him."

"He wouldn't have missed this bust," insisted Ray as they climbed into Ecto-1. "I know he wouldn't. You don't think that woman was some kind of crook, do you, Peter? Maybe she kidnapped Egon."

"For what, our vast bank account?" Peter replied. "Come on, kiddo, you know we barely make ends meet half the time. She wouldn't get anything out of us." He pulled the door shut behind him.

"Maybe that's not what she wants, Pete," objected Winston as he backed the converted hearse out onto the street. "Maybe she's, well, not a ghost or Egon would have known. He took a P.K.E. reading of her yesterday, just to show her how the equipment worked. I was recharging packs in the lab when they came in. She thought being tested was funny. Egon said she had a sort of psi residue but she claimed it was because her job as a reporter exposed her to ghosts and haunted houses a lot, and there wasn't enough of it to make him doubt her. He agreed it would cause just that kind of reading and let it go."

"But she isn't a reporter," Ray objected worriedly. "If she's only a groupie she shouldn't have given a reading at all. So it's suspicious if there's a residual reading, isn't it, Peter?"

"With a capital 'S'," he admitted. "When we get back from the bust we're gonna track her down. She said she was at that luncheon yesterday with her brother. We can start there."

It proved another dead end. When they returned from the bust to find Egon still wasn't back, Peter headed for Janine's desk and snatched the telephone receiver. A check with Columbia turned up her brother, one Richard Storm, a Columbia alumnus and currently an employee of a private lab in Albany, and talked to him by phone.

"Yes, I took Cynara to the dinner," he admitted. "I hadn't seen her for almost six years when she called three days ago and asked if she could come with me. Jenny, my wife, wasn't be able to go because she's eight months pregnant and isn't feeling well, and I thought it might be nice to see Cynnie again. It wasn't. When she was growing up she used to be a plain little thing, but she pulled in the men even in high school. Once she graduated, she started coming across with the glamour routine. New hair style, make up, the right clothes, all that kind of thing. She went blonde. She was that way for the dinner, all fancied up, hair dyed, the whole bit, not that she wasn't bad enough before. The minute she ran into Dr. Spengler I might not have existed. I felt sorry for him, Dr. Venkman. Cynnie's a black widow spider. She goes through men fast, uses them up, and passes on. If your friend fell for her, he'll wind up dumped before very long."

"The dumping isn't what worries me," Peter explained. "Egon can handle that. What bothers us is that he's missing busts and he never does that."

"He will if he's tied up with Cynnie," Richard replied fatalistically. "She's got some kind of power over men. I never could see it, but I'm her brother and she never bothered with me. Why waste the energy? Sister or not, I never much liked Cynnie. She's a heartless little minx."

"Okay, so she's got Egon wrapped around her little finger and they're getting in some serious nookie somewhere," Peter said, holding up a warning hand to Janine, who looked about to explode. "But we need Egon for the job. Give us her number and we'll try and break the spell long enough to pry him away for a day's work."

"Wish I could, Dr. Venkman, but I have no idea where Cynnie lives. She doesn't give out her address even to the family and her phone's unlisted or something. She doesn't even send Christmas cards. I think she's somewhere over on Central Park West but that's not much help to you."

It wasn't. When Egon still hadn't returned the next morning and the guys debated long and hard about turning in a missing persons report. If he were just indulging in a few days of rapture it didn't seem fair to drag in the police, and Egon was certain to resent it, but Peter had grown uneasy while Richard Storm talked and it didn't take much imagination to stretch 'a power over men' from a cut-rate 'fatal attraction' into an actual physical power that would account for the reaction of the P.K.E. meter and enable her to control men through a factor a lot stronger than sex appeal. Though Storm himself had sounded normal, who was to say his sister didn't dabble in the black arts and her determined set at Egon didn't have an ulterior motive. After all, he was the most brilliant of the Ghostbusters, the one who most often came up with clever, technical solutions to get them out of trouble. Removing him from the equation, even temporarily, gave ghosts a real advantage. Not that Ray wasn't brilliant and inventive; he was. It was just that they needed Egon, too. They could manage for a few days but if it proved longer... Peter frowned as he realized that subconsciously he was afraid of a much longer disappearance, maybe even a permanent one. He didn't mention that to the others but because of it, he didn't hesitate to take the next step.

They notified the police, and while the officer they talked to was inclined to be skeptical when he learned how and when Egon had last been seen, he did put out an APB on the missing physicist. Once that had been achieved, Ray had set one of their P.K.E. meters to Egon's biorhythms and they had headed for Central Park West trying to pick up his readings, cruising up and down streets in that general area, testing the apartment buildings they passed. Nothing emerged. No trace of Egon.

The three men and Janine had spent the third day in a state of barely controlled panic. No matter how involved Egon might have been with Cynara Storm, he would never have stayed out of touch this long of his own volition. Egon might become absent minded, even a little thoughtless, when he was caught up in a new research project but he would never have deliberately worried his friends. He had chided Peter sternly only a month earlier for failing to report in when Peter had last fallen in love and let the job slide a little. He would hardly do the same thing, and not only because it would give Peter an unparalleled opportunity to score against him. He would certainly never upset Ray like this. The anxiety that shadowed the occultist's eyes bothered Peter. If this proved to be no more than a fling, he'd take great pleasure in ramming Egon's teeth down his throat.

Yet he knew it was more than that. He remembered that sudden cold look Cynara had flung at him as if tossing down the gauntlet. Had he decided not to speak or had something in her look made him unable to speak? He tried to talk to Ray about it on the third night of Egon's absence, though he didn't want to worry the occultist any more than he already was. Ray knew a lot more about the powers of the occult than Peter did, though Peter had a pretty good idea what kind of twisted plots the human mind could invent.

"You think she actually controlled you, Peter?" Ray demanded, his eyes widening in excitement. "Wow! This might explain those P.K.E. readings Egon got from her. I wish I'd paid more attention when Egon was running those tests."

"What do you mean, Ray? Explain those readings how?" Winston asked, a frown upon his usually good-humored face. The three men were sitting around the TV screen on the second floor and though a picture flickered there, none of them could have told a questioner what the program was about or even its name.

Peter leaned closer. "Yes, tell us, oh wise one. What kind of a person could do something like that?"

"Well, a spell caster of some kind," Ray replied as if it should be completely obvious.

Before he could expound on his theory the telephone rang and the three men made a concerted dive for it. Peter grabbed the receiver first and cried, "Egon?"

"This is Cynara Storm," said a familiar, if totally unexpected, voice. "I'm looking for Egon. We had a date tonight but he's two hours late. I thought perhaps he had a bust and hadn't had a chance to call me. I hope nothing's happened to him."

Peter's mouth dropped open and he clapped his hand over the mouthpiece. "It's her," he burst out excitedly, if ungrammatically. "Cynara. She says she had a date with Egon tonight and where is he?"

Winston grabbed the phone from Peter. "Miss Storm, Egon's not here tonight. We haven't seen him since the two of you went out together. We thought he was with you." He held the receiver so Peter could lean in and listen too rather than head for the nearest extension.

"But it's been three days," she replied in surprise--or well-feigned surprise. "You mean--staying with me? I'm sorry, but I don't operate that way, certainly not on the first date. No, Egon left around eleven that night. He said he had an early morning bust and couldn't stay longer. I didn't expect to hear from him until tonight but-- Wait a minute!" Alarm filled her voice. Peter's eyes narrowed suspiciously, sure he could hear contrivance and calculation in the worry. "You mean he's missing?"

Peter didn't buy it for one minute. He turned the receiver toward him. "Yes, he's missing, Miss I-work-for-Ghost-magazine. You lied to us about that. Maybe you're lying now. What makes you think we'll buy anything you say?"

"I needn't take your accusations," she said coldly, her voice full of offended dignity. "If I'm lying now, why bother to phone you? I'd just ignore you altogether if Egon were with me, wouldn't I? Did you think of that, Dr. Venkman? Egon knows all about my real work and he wasn't offended with me." The temperature seemed to drop a good twenty degrees as she spat out her defense, such as it was. "I'll call again to find out about Egon." The receiver clicked into place.

"What did she say?" Ray demanded urgently. When they had filled him in the three of them looked at each other with growing suspicion.

"If we hadn't called the magazine, she would have come off smelling like a rose," Peter said through clenched teeth. "She didn't bank on that. She made Egon vanish, then called us, all innocent, to cover her trail, so we wouldn't suspect her. Said if Egon were with her, she wouldn't have called."

"Well, she wouldn't," Ray agreed reasonably. "Maybe she pretended to work for the magazine so Egon would notice her and then she told him the truth later."

"Yeah, fine, if Egon were here, homeboy," Winston reminded him. "No, she's lying. She had it all planned what to say, no matter how we challenged her. She's good. Figured she'd call and pretend she hadn't seen Egon at all, and if we hadn't checked, we'd buy it and run around in a panic and never suspect her."

But I do suspect her," cried Peter, slamming a fist down on the back of the couch in frustration. "She made him disappear. It was all planned in advance, contacting the brother she hadn't talked to in years, singling out Egon at that banquet, the whole schmear. I know a con when I see one and this is. Where is he? Why did she want him?"

"And why did she make the P.K.E. meter register?" asked Ray. "Do you think she's involved with ghosts? Maybe some ghosts wanted to get us, you know, get revenge." His eyes widened in alarm.

"Just on Egon?" Winston asked, shaking his head. "If somebody's got it in for him, they'd have it in for us, too. And who's Cynara? We never did anything to her. I'd remember if we'd got on her case, wouldn't you? So why pick on Egon?"

"Maybe he's just the first," Peter replied. He didn't like that idea either. It could very well be true, and it would explain why Cynara had taken the risk of calling Headquarters, possibly in hopes of luring in a second victim.

"So what do we do now?" Winston asked, turning automatically to Peter.

Peter gestured at the darkened window. "Tomorrow morning first thing we divide up this city between us and go looking for him. Right now we tell the police everything we know about Cynara Storm. Maybe she's pulled this kind of scam before. She probably has a rap sheet as long as my arm." He grabbed the telephone and started punching numbers.

The phone call that finally summoned them to the hospital came in the wee hours of the morning, and the four men tensed as they were startled awake. Phone calls at that time of night were never of the 'you have won a trip to Tahiti' variety. They were usually more in the nature of, 'great uncle Fred just died.' The three of them jerked upright in their beds and stared at each other blurrily before they dove for the telephone. Winston was first. "Hello. Ghostbusters. . . Yes. He is! You do . . ! How is he?" A long silence while the other two clamored at him for information, then he said grimly, "We'll be right there," and hung up.

"What did they say?" cried Ray. "Is it Egon?"

"He's at St. Francis Hospital," Winston replied grimly. "Some cop just found him in Central Park. He's evidently been hit over the head and mugged. They said there was a head injury. We've got to get over there right away."

Peter's stomach settled around the soles of his feet. Head injuries were tricky things. He remembered a college buddy of his who had fallen and bumped his head in the shower and the next thing anybody knew the man was having frequent grand mal seizures. Once he'd studied a test subject in college who'd sustained a head injury and as a result had a memory that lasted no more than a day. This might mean nothing more than that Egon had been temporarily stunned and he hoped so. The three of them flung their clothes on, and pausing only long enough to order Slimer to wait at the fire hall since hospitals were never glad to see him, they hurried to the hospital, Ecto's siren blaring.

Since then it had been a case of hurry up and wait. There was no news. When they arrived a nurse told them Egon was being examined, and someone else took down information about Egon's medical history and insurance. Since then, there had been nothing at all. Outside, the sun was rising but none of the three Ghostbusters greeted it with enthusiasm. They drank endless cups of coffee and avoided conversation because talking about it might mean admitting how bad it could turn out to be.

"I hate this," Ray said abruptly in a small voice. He had withdrawn to a corner, looking paler than usual, and Peter suddenly remembered Ray's parents had died in a car accident and how he must have waited just like this to hear about them. It had been the worst possible news then. Now-- Well, a simple bump on the head shouldn't take this long, should it?

Before Peter or Winston could respond to Ray's misery, a grave-faced doctor appeared and walked into the room. He waved Peter toward a chair but the psychologist stayed defiantly on his feet as if that could alter the bad news he sensed he was about to hear and Winston jumped up to stand beside him.

"I'm Dr. Laughton," the medico introduced himself. He was a portly man in his middle fifties with tufts of grey hair around a gleaming bald dome. His eyes glinted like currants in a pudding as he looked at each of them in turn. "I've been examining your friend Dr. Spengler," he said. "He's sustained a head trauma. From the X-rays and other tests I've run, I'd be inclined to say it was not a serious blow, possibly serious enough to render him temporarily unconscious but no more. There's no concussion, no fractures, no evidence of swelling or pressure to the brain. However, head injuries are peculiar things and often there are unexpected side effects."

Peter didn't like where this was going. "Suppose you just spell it out for us, Doctor," he demanded, tight-lipped. "What's wrong with Egon?"

"We've run a series of tests to determine that there has been no other trauma, no kind of CVA or anything of that type. It's not possible to rule out emotional shock at this stage, either, and perhaps that's most likely in the circumstances. Your friend is conscious, gentlemen. His heart is sound, his blood pressure and temperature are normal. Everything is normal, except for one thing."

"What one thing?" Winston demanded, exasperated with the delay. "You mean amnesia, something like that?"

Laughton shook his head. "No. That could be understood much more easily than this. I've spoken with your friend at length, gentlemen, and it appears he has the mental ability of, perhaps, a three year old child. He knows his name and yours and can recite his address, in much the manner of a child who has been drilled to remember it, but emotionally, intellectually, even in his motor responses, he presents as a very young child."

Ray's face went white. "You mean some kind of--of brain damage, doctor?" he asked, stricken. "But Egon's a genius! You mean he...is it--is it... permanent?"

"I don't even know why it's occurred," Laughton replied. "That's why I suggest the possibility of emotional trauma. Given the nature of your work, perhaps it's even the result of an encounter with a ghost." From the tone of his voice he considered this solution a frivolous one, scarcely worth mentioning. "He wants to see Dr. Venkman," concluded the doctor. "I said he could see all of you and he became very upset and insisted no one be allowed in but Peter."

Peter thought that was probably for the best. If Egon wasn't operating on full thrusters too many of them might confuse and upset him. If this proved an emotional trauma, a shock of that nature, Peter was best equipped to figure it out and help Egon deal with it. The doctor was too stiff to deal with one of his usual quips so Peter grew serious. He said stiffly to the doctor, "One of my doctorates is in psychology. That might be useful if you're speaking of an emotional trauma, possibly a regression to a time well before whatever threatened him took place. If that's the case, I might be able to work with him on it. He trusts me." The effort it took to sound professional was colossal. He wanted to slam his fists against the walls again, harder this time, maybe break something, but that wouldn't do Egon any good and it might make the doctor reluctant to allow his involvement. This couldn't happen, not to Egon, not to the one who valued his intellect the most. What would the rest of them do if it proved to be permanent?

Peter felt the weight of responsibility upon his shoulders as the doctor led him to Egon's room. He was reluctant to cross the threshold and see Egon as he was now. He was most comfortable dealing with crises with a flip response, a smart comeback, something that allowed him to protect himself from pain or the appearance of pain, but he was damned sure it wouldn't work this time.

Egon was sitting up in bed clad in a hospital gown, his hair combed neatly into an unfamiliar style, his hands knotting the sheet over and over. There was a big bruise on his forehead. When he sensed a movement in the doorway he lifted his head and squinted nearsightedly at Peter. He'd lost his glasses and at that distance he couldn't recognize the blurred figure who had entered, yet he must have felt a sense of familiarity, because he faltered in a squeaky little voice, "Peter?"

"Yo, Egon," greeted Peter, trying to sound both casual and reassuring though the words nearly stuck in his throat. "What kind of trouble have you got yourself into this time?"

His question provoked a momentary gleam in Egon's eyes, a flash of appreciation for the words--Peter wanted to think it was appreciation, anyway--but it faded immediately and Egon's bottom lip wobbled. "Peter?" he pleaded like a frightened, desperate child and stretched out his arms as if to seek comfort and protection from the big, bad, scary world. Peter's stomach twisted violently. He could feel the color leave his face.

He crossed the room in one jump, gathering Egon in and holding him tightly against his chest, feeling the slender shoulders quiver beneath his stroking hands as Egon cried. That shook him more than anything that could have happened, that Egon would break down and cry so readily and so openly. Egon was the one who was always in control, who could handle anything, the one the rest of them turned to in a crisis.

It seemed he could handle anything but this. If anything of Egon was left inside, he'd know what he'd lost and it would shake the entire foundation of his existence. Peter soothed him with quiet words and gentle touches, the way he would a scared child, though it took every ounce of willpower he could muster to keep from losing it entirely himself.

Finally Egon's tears eased away to occasional gulping and Peter said quietly, "Egon, I'm gonna let go now. I'm not going away, though. I'm gonna be right here, I promise. I want to talk to you. Okay, buddy?"

"O-okay," Egon muttered. He allowed Peter to slacken his grip, but his fingers encircled Peter's wrist and held on, and Peter reached out with his foot to drag the visitor's chair close enough to sit down without breaking Egon's grip. Only when he was seated did he allow himself to look into Egon's face.

Tears had left tracks down the blond's cheeks and his eyelids were puffy and red, but that was nothing compared to the desolate, lost look in the usually-assured blue eyes. Peter dug into his pocket and produced a handkerchief, offering it to Egon, who looked at it blankly for a minute, then took it and scrubbed at his face and blew his nose. So he understood its purpose. That was a start.

Next Peter took out a spare pair of glasses and gave them to Egon. They had decided that he might have broken his glasses if he'd been attacked and had brought his spare pair just in case. Egon's face brightened and he grabbed them clumsily and tried to open them. His mouth traced a stubborn and frustrated line as he fumbled the attempt and nearly dropped them.

"Here, big guy, let me." Peter settled the glasses on Egon's face and slid them into place with his forefinger. He'd done that a few times when Egon's glasses slipped, enjoying the fact that it had always bugged the hell out of the blond man. This time the gesture hurt. Peter had hoped the glasses would give him a more normal appearance but they didn't. Now, Egon looked like a child who has put on his daddy's glasses. Yet relief flashed briefly in his eyes and he looked directly at Peter.

"Thanks," he managed awkwardly.

"We thought you might need them," Peter said, uncomfortable with the sheer gratitude in the tone.

Egon's brow furrowed with an attempt at thought. "Peter," he managed. "Don't... Don't let Ray... come in here. I... don't want... him to see... " His voice trailed off and he made a clumsy gesture toward himself.

"Nobody comes in here unless you want them, Egon," Peter agreed. "But Ray might be able to help. Don't shut him out. I know he'll want to figure this out and get you back to normal. Did she do this to you? Cynara?"

Egon closed his eyes and turned his head away as if to avoid the question entirely. When he looked back, there were spots of red on each cheek. "Don't want... talk about... " he blurted. One eyebrow quirked so much in the old way that normally Peter would have taken it as a concession that Peter's wider experience in the ways of women might have spared him the trouble Cynara had caused Egon, but in the next moment, any sense of familiarity had vanished. Peter frowned. How much of Egon's memory was intact? How much of his reactions now were mere conditioned response and habit. Even if his mind were affected, he might have a lot of memory intact, though he couldn't process it normally. He might be able to respond to Peter's conversation in a fairly normal way and still be permanently brain damaged. Could he tell them what had happened to him? Could it be a kind of psi interference, since the doctor didn't think it was physical?

"Egon, buddy, I think we need to run some tests on you," he started.

"No, don't wanna... " Egon whined, sounding just like a child who's been instructed to eat his vegetables. "Too many already."

Peter grinned. "Yeah, they do put you through the wringer, don't they?" He had to keep looking and sounding normal for Egon or he would fall apart himself and that would be bad for both of them. "I didn't mean that. I meant P.K.E. readings, the kind of stuff we do."

Again that bright gleam in Egon's eyes, approval for Peter's words, or so it appeared. It was momentary, but Peter narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Maybe Egon could understand him better than he could convey. If so, maybe he could write what he couldn't say.

"We'll run tests," he said. "We'll take you home and run tests." He'd get Egon discharged. Medical science had done all it could. Now it was time for the Ghostbusters to step in. Peter would accept responsibility, though it was one that scared him badly. Taking risks with Egon's life and sanity were not right up there at the top of Venkman's list of fun things to do. First of all, though, he'd try his theory.

Whipping out a notebook from one pocket and a pen from another he held them out to Egon. "Listen to me, pal. If you're yourself in there, maybe you can tell us about it on paper. How about it, buddy? Want to give it a try?"

Egon's eyes brightened and he reached for the pencil and paper. Bending over them industriously he clutched the pencil awkwardly in his fist and started writing, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth with the effort. It came slowly, like rolling a ball uphill, but words came. Then, abruptly, he groaned and flung the notebook at Peter in frustration and disgust. Venkman fielded it in midair and looked at it. In a clumsy scrawl completely unlike Egon's usual neat notes, the words trailed off the edge of the page, the same things over and over. "Help me, help me, help me, help me, help me... "

Peter bit his bottom lip so hard he tasted blood. Shit! This wasn't working, and it didn't prove anything. He lifted his eyes to Egon and saw the physicist watching him anxiously. When he saw Peter's expression he heaved a very adult sigh and moaned, "Wanna go home. Take me home, Peter. Wanna go home!"

"You got it, pal," he said. "We'll take you home." He wasn't sure it was the right decision, not in Egon's current state, but if the trauma were not physical, being at home in familiar surroundings might do the job better than staying here with strangers. Peter knew he was a good psychologist--it had helped them out on the job more than once--but his background was more theoretical than practical and this was a responsibility that frightened him badly. Yet there was Egon pleading to come home. "I have to go talk to the doctor," he said. "Will you be all right if I leave for a few minutes?"

"Don't want Peter to go," Egon insisted, but his head bobbed up and down as if in approval. Peter dropped his hand on Egon's shoulder and squeezed.

"Hang in there, Egon," he soothed. "I'll only be a few minutes. We're not gonna leave you here without us, I promise you that."

"Promise?" insisted Egon desperately.

"Yeah, Egon. You ever know me to break a promise to you?" Peter asked.

Egon considered that then his face broke into a delighted smile. "No," he agreed obediently. "Count on Peter... when the . .. when the chips are down." He produced a triumphant expression at completing the sentence.

Peter's eyes stung but he fought down the tears. "See you remember that," he said with deliberate sternness and went in search of the doctor.

As soon as he was out of Egon's room, his facade crumpled and he turned abruptly the wrong way and went around the corner away from Winston and Ray. He needed a minute to get his act together or he'd scare the shit out of them.

The deserted corridor was welcome. Heaving a sigh that went all the way to his feet, Peter leaned toward the wall, resting his forearm against it and hiding his face in the crook of his arm. His other hand clenched into a fist and rose to pound against the wall with savage fury. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

"Are you all right?"

Peter jerked his head up, slapping control across his face like a mask and blinking furiously to fight the incipient tears. The questioner was a tray-pushing hospital volunteer in a uniform like a candy striper's, a woman with mouse brown hair pulled back tightly from a pinched face and huge round glasses that gave her an owl-like appearance. She looked vaguely familiar but Peter was too shaken to pursue the resemblance or even to wonder if she would be good looking without her glasses.

"Yeah," he snapped, unhappy with the intrusion, "I'm just dandy. Back off, lady. I don't have time for this."

The corners of her mouth twitched but she repressed whatever expression she had meant to display. "I'm sorry I bothered you," she said in a neutral voice and pushed her cart past him toward the end of the corridor. Peter glared after her, outraged that she had dared to disturb him, and frustrated that she had interrupted his raging against fate. He couldn't recall the anger now, and without it he felt limp and weak and lacking in energy, unable to decide what to do next.

He knuckled his eyes fiercely for a minute, then he stiffened his shoulders and straightened his spine. He had a few questions for the doctor, and then it would be time to talk to Ray and Winston.

"You mean he... really is brain damaged?" Ray faltered when Peter finished speaking. Peter had been afraid he would take it badly and he had, his face white, his eyes shadowed. "That's awful." As if he realized the inadequacy of his words, he made a curt gesture with one hand as if to push them away and his teeth caught his bottom lip and gnawed it miserably.

"I don't think so." Peter rested a reassuring hand on Ray's shoulder and squeezed; the muscles under his clutching fingers were tight like wire.

Several times in the course of his conversation with the physicist Peter had felt the old Egon wasn't gone for good, when the psychologist had been able to provoke a flash response, but he'd been unable to bring his wry intelligence to the surface for more than a second or two. Peter hadn't told Ray and Winston the way Egon had clung to him and sobbed. He hated to remember it and he knew that Egon, in his right mind, would prefer that Peter keep it to himself and never mention it again, but the memory of the clinging child that had once been his brilliant friend was a constant pain. "I don't think it's physical damage," he said. "I'm not even sure it's really regression. I had him write for me, and I don't think a child would have written this." He displayed the notebook, regretting it the minute he'd lifted it for them to see because he knew how Ray would react to the frantic plea but knowing he had to do it. If what had happened to Egon was the result of a spell or curse, Ray was best equipped to figure it out. Between the two of them, they could deal with Egon better than the doctors could.

Ray bent his auburn head over the page, then his face whitened and he bit his lip harder than before. "Oh, Peter... " he breathed, breaking off to collect himself. "He's so scared," he whispered. "We've got to help him."

"Yeah," agreed Winston grimly. "This is bad, guys. What do you think, Pete?"

"I told Egon we'd take him home," Peter confessed. "I talked to Dr. Laughton about it just now and he wasn't crazy about the idea. He says Egon isn't competent to make the decision to go home the way he is now. I reminded him that we'd all signed those legal papers so we could handle this kind of stuff." It had mostly been to deal with such unlikely problems as possession that they had made arrangements to grant each other permission to make such decisions in a crisis, and they'd never used it before. "I took the doc back to the room and did a P.K.E reading. It didn't act like it did when there's a ghost around. I don't think he's possessed, though you could tell better than I could, Ray, but the needle fluttered a little. Somebody did something to him; something weird is going on with Egon," Peter insisted. "I want you to check it, Ray. If it's a spell, maybe you can figure out how to lift it. If the spell produced a regression mentally, I can work with it with you. I don't do a lot of that kind of work but I know what to do. Between us we'll bring Egon back." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. What they were about to do was crazy, but the doctor had admitted there was nothing more he could do here except run further tests, and the tests already given had proven inconclusive. There were still results due back, but Egon could be returned to the hospital if necessary and in the meantime he'd be in a safe and familiar environment with his friends around him. It wouldn't do any good to come across too negative at the beginning, though Peter was half-afraid of hoping at all. He knew he was prone to take the darker view while Ray was the optimist. Peter had learned that believing the worst meant that you didn't have to fear as many crushing disappointments; but he owed Egon more than that. He'd have to keep everybody's spirits up while they worked to find the solution to Egon's problem.

"So we can take him out of here?" Winston asked expectantly. His eyes were knowing as he looked at Peter, reading all too well what Peter had just endured.

"Yeah, but we have to bring him in every few days for tests, until further notice and monitor him for any signs of physical trauma," Peter explained. "With a head injury, even a mild one, there can be delayed effects. Egon wasn't unconscious when he was found and his injury is several days old, so that danger is remote, but the doctor still feels his condition could be physical in origin and he wants to test it regularly."

"So we can take Egon home?" Ray asked in a small voice. Peter realized he wasn't looking forward to seeing Egon so changed, and it would be even harder in familiar surroundings. Egon had struggled to express concern about Janine just now when I took the doctor in. He wasn't ready to see her and short of phoning and telling her not to come in to work, or sending her home if she was already at headquarters, there was no way to prevent her seeing him.

"Yeah," Peter agreed, clapping Ray on the shoulder. "We can take him home."

They paused at the door to Egon's room and Ray hung back, looking small and un-bouncy. The doctor had said clothing had been found for Egon--he'd been brought to the hospital in just his underwear--and the nurse emerged from the room as they walked down the hall. "He's dressed and ready for you," she said. She'd probably had to dress him. Egon must have hated that.

As she walked across the hall to fetch the customary wheelchair, Ray stood rigid. "Peter, I can't... " he began, looking miserable. "I don't think I can handle it--and he'd hate that. I...

"Hey, hey, hey," Peter cut in, taking Ray's upper arms in his hands and looking his friend full in the face. "This is for Egon, Ray. If it's this tough for us, it's a thousand times worse for him. We've gotta go in there and play it cool, let him know we're handling it and we're gonna find a way to reverse it. We can't give up before we start. I ought to know what I'm talking about here. I'm a scientist, remember?" He made himself wink at Ray. "Besides I know you can handle this. You handled Gozer, didn't you? You handled being trapped inside Nexa. You handled that little redhead at the Hayden Planetarium last week."

Ray's cheeks flamed. "I just talked to her, Peter," he said uncomfortably, then he pulled himself together and squared his shoulders. "I'm okay. It's for Egon." He walked past Peter into the room.

The hospital had found clothing for Egon that fit relatively well, though the pants were both too baggy and too short so that he looked like he did all his shopping at clothing give-aways for the homeless. He was sitting nervously on the edge of his bed, his face blank and dull, but when they walked in, he looked up, saw them, and he avoided their eyes. "Egon go home now?" he asked in the childlike voice he'd used with Peter.

For one horrified moment, Ray froze, his jaw tightening, his eyes glittering in shock as he realized Peter had not been exaggerating Egon's condition. He looked like he wanted to run away but he didn't. Instead he moved forward so quickly that only Peter who had been looking for it noticed the slight check in his forward momentum, and reached out to clasp both of Egon's hands. Egon clung to him tightly and said Ray's name in a hesitant, broken voice that made Winston flinch. Ray never faltered. His hands tightened around Egon's as he gave a comforting squeeze, then he said in that gentle voice that might even soothe a vicious ghost, "Egon, we've come to take you home."

Peter couldn't remember being prouder of Ray Stantz.

"Wanna go home," Egon agreed, his head bobbing up and down. "Go now."

"Oh, man," breathed Winston under his breath, calling his appalled expression to order, then he stepped forward bracingly. "Egon, my man," he greeted, slapping him gently on the shoulder. "You're the best man I know for getting in weird messes. But Ray and Pete are gonna straighten you out. Count on it."

"Yeah, Egon," agreed Ray. His voice was steady with an effort; to Peter, who knew him well and was looking for it, he appeared deeply shocked, though he was fighting not to show it, and he made himself grin. "We can get out the Big Book of Spells and see if we can find the answer in there. Peter says he took a P.K.E reading, but I want to do it myself when we get home. There are all kinds of things to try, and I can make up a list. Spells and curses and even possessions... " Ray was in full cry now, his enthusiasm creeping back, and Peter wasn't sure if it were the real thing or if Ray had manufactured it and put it on to make Egon feel better. He continued in the same eager tones, "You know how Peter is about anything technical."

"Yeah," Egon agreed in that same childish voice. "Peter silly." He giggled.

Ray pulled the physicist to his feet, casting one unnerved glance in Peter's direction. The expression in his brown eyes said, "Help," in great big letters. So it was a front, after all, partly normal Ray Stantz, partly a facade to make Egon feel more comfortable. This would not be easy.

Once they were in Ecto-1 heading back toward the firehouse, Peter decided it was time to get down to business. Egon had greeted the converted hearse with childlike fascination and had asked for the siren the way a child might. Winston had simply replied, "You got it," and switched it on. At least it cleared their way through traffic.

"Egon," said Peter in a serious voice, distracting the physicist from the clasped hands he'd been twisting uneasily in his lap. "We're gonna have a little game now."

"Egon likes games," the blond announced and Peter felt his stomach twist at the realization that in some ways Egon sounded like Slimer now.

"Yeah, well, you'll like this one even better, pal," he continued, taking a couple of quick deep breaths to try to calm himself for the task. "It's called the truth. I'm gonna ask you some questions and all you have to do is answer them with a yes or a no. You up to it, pal?" He and Egon were sitting in the back seat of Ecto with Winston at the wheel and Ray hanging over the front seat to watch Egon. At Peter's suggestion, he nodded.

"That's a great idea, Peter. I bet you can figure out all kinds of things."

"Yeah, it was rather brilliant," Peter agreed but his voice sounded flat, devoid of his usual cocky humor. Egon lifted one eyebrow at him in much the old way and Peter allowed himself the luxury of hope. They could get Egon back the way he was. They had to.

"Ask questions," Egon managed with some effort. Peter couldn't help wondering if the curse or whatever it was had certain limitations that would prevent him from giving away enough to be helpful.

"Okay, here's the first one," Peter said. "Do you understand what I'm trying to do."

"Uh huh," Egon replied, nodding vigorously. Peter wasn't sure if he did or not but it was a good start.

"I want to find out how much you're retaining," he said. "It's going to be difficult to measure the intellect when you're presenting something entirely different but there are certain complex procedures that will give us the most accurate determination." Ordinarily when spouting a sentence like that he would have glanced at Egon out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction to his showing off, but now he only concluded with, "Does that make sense?"

"Yep," said Egon, gazing at Peter with the blank stare of a half-wit. "Makes sense."

"Do you think it really does, Peter?" Ray asked hopefully.

"We'll go with it anyway," Peter returned. "Egon, do you remember what happened to you?"

The blond chewed on his bottom lip, lowering his eyes. Two spots of red appeared on his cheeks and he mumbled, "Mmhm."

"Was it Cynara?" Peter prompted. If Egon had been normal this part might be fun, but now it was just hard work. "Had her way with you, did she? Her brother says she's got power over men. Is that it, big guy? If Janine finds out, you're gonna be in hot water."

"Peter!" said Egon sharply in such normal tones that all three of them stared at him in dawning hope, but then he continued, "Bad lady mean," in a voice that wobbled toward tears and Peter's lurching heart took up residence in the pit of his stomach.

"Did she hurt you, Egon?" Peter asked much more gently. He thought the teasing had worked, up to a point. Egon had obviously gone off with Cynara and they had been more than friendly, but what had happened then? One word answers weren't going to solve it because they could guess until they were blue in the face and still not hit on the right answer.

He hesitated, maybe trying to figure out how to answer that with yes or no or maybe because he didn't want to remember the events that had taken place since he left with Cynara on his arm. Then his head bobbed up and down. "Hurt Egon," he agreed and touched the bruised place on his forehead. "Bad man hit Egon," he finished, wincing when his finger poked the injury harder than he'd meant to. Tears sprang into his eyes, and Ray whitened and slid around to sit facing forward for a few minutes before he collected himself and turned back.

Peter felt rage steal into his soul. He didn't know who the 'bad man' was but it was even odds that Cynara had set it up, either working for him or bringing him to provide the violence she might not be physically capable of. If Cynara were here right now, he wouldn't answer for the consequences, especially if he had a thrower handy. Okay, so she wasn't a ghost, but nobody hurt his friends and got away with it. He didn't want to continue the questioning because it was obviously distressing Egon, but they had to know. Stomping down his fury, he made his voice calm and soothing, a good psychologist's voice when dealing with an upset and traumatized patient. Peter's psychology was more theoretical than practical but he was a lot better grounded in his field than he let people think. If he scared Egon he wouldn't get very far with him. He chose to believe that the old Egon was still here, intellect impaired, trapped in a superficial shell of confusion that presented itself as if he were a small child. Perhaps Cynara had wanted to prevent a ready solution.

Which led to another question. Why had she done it? Kicks? He didn't remember her; he was certain he hadn't seen her before she'd shown up the other day on Egon's arm, and neither Ray nor Winston had recognized her either. The Ghostbusters had managed to make some enemies in their time but to the best of Peter's knowledge Cynara Storm wasn't one of them. The bad man Egon had mentioned could well have been behind it. He needed more information and needed it quick. If somebody had it in for the Ghostbusters, they wouldn't stop with Egon, but even more important they might know how to reverse the process.

"Egon, listen to me," he said quietly, draping his arm around Egon's quivering shoulders. "It's okay. We're gonna fix everything, and I'm gonna fix her, probably with a thrower, and whoever her nasty pal is, too. Right now we've gotta find out what we're up against. Did she tell you why she was doing whatever it was she did?"

Egon leaned close into the circle of Peter's arm as if he thought he was safe there. He nodded. "Said. . . said--revenge," he announced with considerable triumph as if bringing out the big word proved that there was something of his identity left. "Mad at us. Nasty."

"I thought so," Winston muttered. "Nobody does something like this just for kicks." He corrected himself. "Well, some people do, but this was a setup from the first, her staging a meeting with Egon and luring him off."

"What can you tell us about the bad guy working with her?" Peter asked before he could stop himself and try to phrase it more simply.

Egon opened his mouth to speak and struggled to produce even the simplest sounds. "P-p-p- " he tried, his eyes darkening with frustration as he strove to force the word out.

"Maybe it's really a curse and he can't tell us," Ray said when tears of strain filled Egon's eyes. "Is that it, Egon? Do you know who it was?"

Egon nodded, scrunching his face into a terrible grimace with the effort of trying to speak. The fierce determination of his struggle did more to convince Peter that Egon's intellect was intact, if inaccessible, than anything so far.

"Do we know him?" he prodded gently.

Another nod. His lips pursed in an attempt to come up with the name that started with 'p' but no sound emerged.

"We don't like him, do we, m'man?" Winston asked gently.

A fierce shake of the head nearly sent Egon's glasses flying. They slid down toward the end of his nose and he pushed them into place automatically, the gesture so familiar and so normal that it made Peter think for a minute that everything would be fine.

"P?" he said thoughtfully. "Not Peter. No one named Peter could do anything so terrible. Paul? Patrick? Perry? Percival?" Egon shook his head in exasperation, glaring at them all the way a child would when he considers his parents incredibly stupid for not guessing the obvious. Peter frowned. Maybe it was a ghost he was talking about. "Poltergeist?" he hazarded.

"No!" Egon heard his impatience and hung his head again, helpless in the face of whatever blocked him. It might well be wishful thinking, but Peter was more and more convinced that Egon was all right inside where it mattered. Even so, would it do him any good if whatever had been done to him could not be reversed? How could he bust ghosts in this state? How could he solve the complex problems he alone could understand, solutions which often saved their lives? If they couldn't bring him back, what then? Some would argue for institutionalization but Peter would fight tooth and claw to prevent that, even if it meant taking care of Egon for the rest of his life, and he was sure the others would agree, though Egon's family would have to have a say. They'd have to contact them if this didn't clear up soon, but Peter didn't look forward to it.

"Okay, we'll come back to that later," he said before Egon could become even more upset.

"Home, Peter," Egon insisted in that stubborn voice children use when they're tired and miserable and don't know how to get their way except through sheer persistence.

"We're heading home, remember?" Peter reminded him. "I want to go on with the questions. Do you remember what I said before about seeing what you remember?"

Egon gazed at him blankly, causing Peter's heart to hit his stomach with the force of a blow. "Don't remember," Egon mumbled, sheer panic in his eyes. "Big words?" he hazarded. "Im-important?"

"Nothing we can't come back to," Peter said quickly, exchanging one telling glance with Ray, who gnawed his bottom lip. Even if Egon had moments of lucidity, they might be just that, moments, brief illuminations in the darkness. Just when Peter was convinced Egon was all right inside, he turned around and gave them all reason to doubt it. If their equipment didn't help out, they might never know. They might keep trying over and over and proving nothing.

Egon's bottom lip jutted out. "Wanna go home!" he cried in a near-hysterical shout. "Wanna go HOME!"

"Yeah. I hear you, man," Winston said quickly, hearing, as Peter did, the threat of a tantrum in the frantic voice. "It's okay, big guy. We are home. See?" Winston pulled Ecto to a stop in front of the fire hall as the automatic door opener went into action.

Egon drew a deep breath, one hoarse sob breaking out before he could muffle it. He hung his head and shivered. "Home," he whispered, his hand clutching Peter's arm as if it were his last link with sanity. "Egon home now."

Janine was already at her desk, probably believing the guys had gone on an early bust, but when Ecto pulled in and she saw that there were four men in it, she jumped to her feet and raced forward just as Peter helped Egon out. He wished he'd been able to warn her about Egon but there hadn't really been a chance to do so. This could be awkward and, worse, it would probably upset Egon. Yet there was no real way to shield him from the encounter.

"Egon!" Thrilled to see him apparently safe, Janine flung herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely before he could pull away, planting her lips upon his in a welcoming kiss that was guaranteed to raise the temperature of any normal man. Peter eyed Egon doubtfully, not quite sure how he'd react to such a greeting in his present state and wondering if he should intervene, but to his surprise, Egon's arms closed around the red haired woman and he returned the kiss with far more enthusiasm than Peter had ever seen him display before. When he finally released her, she looked dazed and delighted and her breathing was rapid. "Oh, Egon," she breathed, gazing up into his face.

Even in her stunned euphoria, it didn't take her long to notice that something was wrong. "That's a bad bruise, Egon," she said doubtfully. "What happened to you?" Her voice sank into a near whisper as the confused expression in Egon's blue eyes caught her attention. "Are you all right? What did that tin-plated bitch do to you?"

Egon's jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to say the right thing, but instead he blurted out, "Bad lady hurt Egon," in the most childish voice yet. Despair tightened his mouth and he turned away quickly, averting his eyes before he could see the stark horror that turned Janine's face white.

Ray leaped forward and took Egon by the arm, saying quietly, "Come on, Egon, let's go up to the lab. We've got a lot of work to do. I've made a list of tests to run, and you can help me with them. Would you like that?"

Egon bobbed his head obediently, still avoiding Janine's distress, and let Ray and Winston fall in on either side of him, guiding him toward the stairs, steering his clumsy feet. Janine watched them, her mouth hanging open in appalled disbelief, then, before Peter could turn and follow, she snatched his sleeve with a determined grip.

"Oh no you don't, Dr. Venkman. I want to talk to you," she demanded fiercely.

Realizing it wouldn't be fair to her to walk off without an explanation, Peter gestured at Ray to keep going. "Go on, Ray. This is one lady not even I dare to cross."

"You'd better not if you know what's good for you," Janine replied, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him with a brief show of defiance, then she turned to watch the slow procession up the stairs, her eyes never leaving Egon until he and the others were out of sight. Peter could sense Egon's cringing awareness as if the touch of her gaze prickled all up and down his back.

The minute they vanished, she whirled on Peter and stabbed an accusing finger against the middle of his chest. "All right, Peter, I want an explanation and I want it right now. What's wrong with Egon?"

"We don't know... " Peter began.

She cut him off, shaking her head so fiercely her hair bounced in time with the motion. "Oh no. You're not putting me off like that. Something's wrong with him and they wouldn't let him out of the hospital so soon if it was something they could fix."

"Come and sit down, Janine," Peter said, abruptly so weary he could barely stand. He led her over to her desk and propped himself on the edge of it when she sat down, her hands lying on the blotter, tightly clenched into fists.

"Tell me what's wrong with him," she repeated. "I have a right to know."

"We all have a right to know," he replied. For once, nothing flippant came to him, and he looked at her solemnly, the two of them sharing their concern for the man both of them loved. "The thing is, we don't know what happened to him. The bitch did something to him. It was all a setup from the start. We got that out of him. She and some man. Egon knows who he is but he can't say it. Ray thinks it might be a curse or spell, and there's something on the P.K.E. meter. We're going to run tests on him and find out."

"And put it right?" she insisted. "You can fix it, can't you?"

"We'll fix it or my name's not Peter Venkman." He leaned forward, tipping her face up with a fingertip beneath her chin. "I don't think it's as bad as it looks, Janine. I think he's still the same Egon inside. He just can't let it out." He hoped she wouldn't call him on it and make him admit he didn't really believe anything of the sort. For the rest of them he had to appear to believe it, but inside, Peter's hope was shielded behind high walls. He was afraid they would try everything they could and still fail. Usually able to fend off gloom and despair with a smartass remark, he found nothing to say now. "We'll fix it," he insisted with such force that Janine blinked at him then reached out and patted his arm with unusual sympathy.

"He can let it out a little," she disagreed. "Sure he sounds like a little kid, and looks like he's got some kind of--of brain damage, but nobody who wasn't normal inside could have kissed me like that. When--when Egon's all right again, I'm gonna remind him of it."

Interesting. "Maybe he did it on purpose," Peter said thoughtfully, brightening a little.

"It sure wasn't an accident." Her voice rose in exasperation at his words, anger flooding across her face.

"No, easy, old girl, don't go ballistic on me. I didn't mean that. I meant maybe he was trying to show us that he's still himself. Apparently there's some constraints on him. He can't tell the name of whoever did it to him with the bitch." Peter refused to name her. He wouldn't give her that much importance, though when he found her, she would wish she'd never been born.

Janine's voice softened. "That was some kiss," she admitted. "It didn't feel like--like the way he talked afterwards. It felt... " She closed her lips abruptly over the description. "You better go up there. He needs you."

Peter pushed himself upright again, heaved a vast sigh, and started toward the stairs. "Point me in her direction and she's gonna fry!"

"I'll hand you your thrower and trigger the trap open," Janine agreed. "Nobody messes with Egon and gets away with it."

They separated in perfect agreement.

Peter found Egon in the lab, electrodes already attached to his temples while Ray bounced around making further connections and twiddling dials on a gizmo Peter had never paid much attention to. "What's that thingy?" he asked, dragging up a chair and collapsing into it.

"You never pay attention." Ray's gripe almost sounded normal. Having a task to do probably helped a lot, and Peter wished he knew enough about the techie side of the business to pitch in and help. He gestured for Ray to continue.

It's something I designed to measure Slimer's intelligence," Stantz explained. "Remember when I wanted to set up a computer system that would allow him to communicate more clearly, and type in his answers? I did some modifications and took the bugs out of it, and now it's supposed to register people's thoughts, not word for word but in general. I've tested it on Slimer the other day."

"Yeah, and all he was thinking about was dinner," said Winston with a grin. "Oh yeah, and sliming your pillow, Pete."

"Where is the spud?" asked Peter, glancing around as if he'd overlooked their resident spook. "He better not touch my pillow or he'll be ghost hash and some other ghost can think about having him for dinner."

Egon grinned happily at the exchange, and Peter caught Ray's eye and nodded. It would be a lot easier for Egon if they could behave as naturally as possible instead of letting their fear for him dominate all their conversation.

"I don't know where he is," Ray replied promptly. "Isn't this the time he usually makes the rounds of the neighborhood dumpsters looking for food."

"I thought he did that all the time," Winston replied. "He comes home smelling like it often enough."

"Well, he's not here. That's the first step to making this a better day," said Peter. He leaned forward and checked the leads of Ray's electrodes. "Hey, big guy," he said to Egon. "Wear these often and they'll become the hottest new look. What're you gonna do, Ray? Bring the monster to life?"

"Aw, Peter," Ray began, catching himself and adding quickly, "If you ever studied my reports, you'd know what this was all about."

"Peter? Study?" Winston pretended horror. "Come on, Ray. If he did that, the sky would probably fall."

"Just call me Chicken Little," Peter said with a wry grin, remembering some conversations he'd had with Ray that had probably led to part of his work with the device. "I know exactly what this gizmo is. It's an electrical impulse enhancer." He liked to pretend he didn't understand any of the gadgets Ray and Egon worked on so enthusiastically, but Peter had always been a quick study and he was better than anyone suspected with machines. He'd had to be to keep that old clunker running that he drove in high school. Everybody who was anybody drove a car, and Peter, with his limited funds, couldn't afford something new and glistening, so he settled for picking up a battered classic and turning it into a work of art. The efforts he'd made to do that had taught him a lot of lessons that were useful now, but he didn't advertise it because once he did he'd be put to work when it was so much more fun to lie about on the nearest couch with a bowl of popcorn while the other three applied the elbow grease. The sight of Egon sitting in the middle of one of the experiments, not because he wanted to try it on himself but because he needed it made Peter forget his earlier attempts to get out of work. "It picks up on the brain activity and gives a reading that's sort of like an EEG but instead of reporting there is brain activity, it measures the potential intelligence quotient without resorting to standardized testing. Egon says it's not as accurate as some of the tests out but since it doesn't need to be adjusted for different cultural and background variables, it gives a pretty good general indication if we're dealing with a genius or another Slimer."

All three of them looked at him in blank surprise, then Egon's eyes twinkled and he struggled to speak. The words that came out startled Peter and stung hot warmth into his eyes. "Giving yourself away," Egon said, the effort to convey his message almost palpable.

"No, Egon," he replied automatically. "I'm just putting myself in the running for the Nobel Prize. I'm not stupid."

"Nobody said you were ever stupid, Peter," said Ray quickly, grinning at Peter's mini-lecture and Egon's response to it. "Besides, a Ph.D in psychology ought to mean that this is right up your alley."

"Yeah, and when you patent the thing, don't forget I helped you design it," Peter retorted. "I want those royalties. It might be enough to put down a deposit on that Lamborghini I've been wanting."

"You and what millionaire," joshed Winston. "Does this machine really measure intelligence?"

"It should," Egon said in near normal tones, and when they looked at him in surprise, he gulped into silence and struggled to go on. Unfortunately, after his apparent understanding of the device, his next remark made it sound a fluke. He touched the leads and giggled. "Egon look funny!"

Ray filled in for him quickly. "Mainly I wanted to test the intelligence of ghosts, so there's going to be a variation in the flux when it's used on a human. I tested it on myself and I got a reading that was accurate within five points of my real IQ."

"Higher or lower?" Peter asked promptly.

"Well, higher, but... "

"Test me next," Peter offered with an outrageous grin. "Then I can tell everybody that I'm the gorgeous and brilliant Dr. Venkman, not to mention famous."

"Not to mention egotistical," Winston put in, elbowing Peter in the ribs. "Go on, Ray. Ignore Mr. Ego over here."

Ray smiled at Peter. "Okay. I think it's really neat. Wait until you see it! I tested it on Slimer too."

"If you tell me his IQ is five points higher I'll really start to wonder how good this gizmo is," Peter said. He kept sneaking glances at Egon as they bantered and was relieved to see a faint smile curl the physicist's lips and some of the tension go out of his shoulders. Even if they couldn't do anything for Egon right away, bringing him home had been the right thing to do. He might gradually relax enough to allow Peter and the others to help him.

"Ghosts measure differently, Peter," Ray chided. "It depends on the class, too. Some of your Class 3s and 4s who were real people before would probably register much as they did in life. Some ghosts are very smart."

"And some aren't," concluded Peter. "Especially ones who haunt the neighborhood trash bins."

"Egon," Ray said, leaning forward to be at eye level with the blond. "I'm going to turn it on now. It shouldn't hurt you. You probably won't even notice it's on. I've got your readings from last week here when I tested both of us and I'll run a comparison. There's a ten point margin for error, and we have to take into consideration that you've had a head injury and there may even be some swelling yet that could affect the readings. You understand it well enough to know all about it anyway." He flipped a switch, reaching out with his other hand to rest it on Egon's shoulder. Peter edged his chair forward, looking at the monitor, where measurements were drawn in a bar across the top and down the left side of the screen in a graph pattern.

As they watched, a jiggly line started at the left side, up and down in a series of points and valleys all the way across the screen. Ray fiddled with the dials and the line steadied, evened out, and settled into place midway down the screen. Ray's face lost some of its determined enthusiasm, and Egon's eyes filled with horror and doubt. It seemed he could read the results, even understand them, and he didn't like what he was seeing.

"What's wrong?" Winston demanded, peering at the screen, then turning to stare at Ray, who had drawn back, his mouth open, his eyes full of guilt and misery.

"Those readings," Ray said unhappily. "They would register as very bright--for any three year old who took the test. I mean for an adult with the IQ of a child. Well, you know what I mean."

Egon flinched, then he reached up with a sudden display of violence and ripped the electrodes free. His teeth worked his bottom lip and he struggled not to cry. Impulsive, good-hearted Ray leaned forward without hesitation and put his arms around Egon, but the blond pulled back. "No!" he shouted, sounding for all the world like a toddler who is refusing to eat his vegetables. "Bad machine! Bad!"

"I'll say," Peter agreed. This wasn't working. It might be that it was too soon, or it might mean that Ray's readings were right on target. Afraid that they were, Peter squared his shoulders and said, "Okay, that didn't work. I don't know about you guys but before we try the next bit of fun and games I recommend we eat. How about you, Egon? Are you hungry?"

"Egon want pizza," the physicist insisted as if he'd already forgotten the less than promising test results. That might confirm them but Peter wasn't sure yet. Ray stood straightening the torn-away cables, his face full of distress, and avoided Egon's eye.

Peter leaned his elbow against Ray's shoulder. "Come on, Dr. Stantz, let's go pick up a pizza. How about it, Egon? Anchovies."

Egon grimaced. "Ugh. No anchovies."

"At least he remembers that," Winston said under his breath. "Even if it is awfully early for pizza."

"Hey," said Peter brightly. "It's never too early for pizza. We'll call it pizza brunch." He didn't think memory was the problem but it wouldn't do much good to say so in front of Egon. "Can you hang in here, Winston?" he asked. "We'll just run out to that place down the street and bring back pizza for everybody, even the spud. They're always open." He added to Egon in an aside, "It's the only way we can keep him from eating our share," and was delighted to win a grin of agreement from the blond man. It was such a limited response when he was used to so much more that he grabbed Ray by the wrist and dragged him out of the room in a hurry.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ray said miserably, "I'm sorry, Peter. I know I did the test right. I didn't mean... "

"Not one word of apology, Stantz," Peter said sternly, quick to squelch any blame Ray might have assigned himself. They didn't need that right now. "We've only just started. I thought we oughta haul ass out of there before Egon had a chance to get frustrated. No matter how smart he might be inside, he's stuck with the surface readings right now and your average three year old has the attention span of--"

"Of you when we're cleaning the firehouse?" Ray asked with a tentative grin. "I know, Peter. It just hurts to see him like that. Ordinarily he'd be right on top of everything, teasing you, full of enthusiasm for the test, and now he seems... he seems shrunken somehow, so much less than himself. I hate seeing him like that."

"I know, Ray but don't give up. There are some positive signs here."

"What signs?" asked Ray hopefully, gazing wide-eyed at Peter.

"Well, he knew what the test results meant--and he understood them. Think of that, Ray. He understood them and they made him mad. If the real Egon's stuck in there, he'd be frustrated as hell. There's not a lot of ways he could show it except by getting mad."

"Yeah, but a kid will get mad like that, too," Ray disagreed as they reached the ground floor. "And so do you."

"I guess I know how to take that." Peter grinned, caught Ray in an arm lock and rumpled his hair. "I charge extra when there are insults to my intellect. Remember that."

Ray's eyes had brightened when Peter let him go. He just needed a little encouragement. So did they all.

"How's it going?" asked Janine, looking up from her desk as they approached, her eyes narrowing at their horseplay. "You haven't had time to do anything yet. You're not just giving up, are you?"

"We're gonna get Egon a pizza," Peter said brightly, gesturing in the proper direction as he headed for Ecto.

"Bribing him with food?" the secretary asked, a skeptical frown puckering her brow. "Don't talk down to him, Peter," she insisted. "He'd hate that."

"She's right," Ray agreed. "We can't do that. But we have to take it easy too, Janine. Egon might still be smart inside but he's got the emotional responses of a three year old right now. We have to make sure we don't scare him and we keep him comfortable until we know what we're doing. I've got all kinds of ideas."

"Yeah, a grown man throwing a temper tantrum is not a pretty sight," Peter reminded her as he opened the passenger door.

Janine glared at him. "Don't push it."

"He likes it when I push it," Peter reminded her. His voice grew serious. "If I stop, I'm not sure I can start again, so give me space, Janine." He looked at her seriously, and her eyes fell.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Peter hesitated, then he gathered his wits about him and grinned with false brightness. "Come on, Ray. Forward march. Somewhere out there is a pizza with Egon's name on it. Pizza busters to the rescue."

"Right," agreed Ray and climbed behind the wheel of Ecto.

The pizza seemed to help. As he ate, very messily, Egon relaxed slightly. He must have been very hungry, which made Peter wonder if whoever had held him prisoner had bothered to feed him or whether it was just the natural manners of a toddler. "Nice, Egon," Peter teased as he watched the physicist shove food into his mouth with all the enthusiasm and finesse Slimer displayed when given a treat. "Miss Manners is not going to like you."

Egon stuck his tongue out at Peter. Since he had a mouthful of pepperoni pizza at the time, it was not a pretty sight. Slimer, who had drifted in at the first trace of food, looked at Egon doubtfully, his own pizza temporarily untouched. He glanced from Egon to Peter and back again, confused at the transformation. "Egon different!" he announced in a piercing voice that made the blond man look at him in dismay. His bottom lip quivered and big tears filled his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Ray winced and Peter braced himself against the pain of the sight and nudged Slimer surreptitiously.

"I don't know, Spud," he said. "I never thought Egon's table manners were the best."

Egon's tears stopped and he favored Peter with a completely normal glare. Slimer backed off and applied himself to his meal, but his eyes kept turning in Egon's direction, and he didn't eat with his usual gusto. He knew something was wrong and it frightened him. Peter sighed. He could see he would have to take the little ghost aside later and explain to him what was going on, not that he would understand it. On the other hand, maybe he would. Slimer was a ghost, after all, and you never knew what he might understand when it involved the spirit world. Of course they didn't know if it did involve the spirit world, but there was a chance of it. Cynara didn't really have anything against the Ghostbusters that they knew of. She was in league with someone else, and those most likely to have it in for the Ghostbusters were ghosts. Maybe some ghosts had ganged up on them, using Cynara to implement their plans. After all, she'd had that psi residue. It made a kind of sense, and Peter vowed they'd check it out. First, though, he'd see if Slimer knew anything. Things were pretty bad when he needed the spud's help, but it was for Egon and he meant to leave no stone unturned.

So when the meal was finished, he left Ray heading back to the third floor lab with Egon and Winston to work on another esoteric device, his voice full of eager optimism as he described the planned tests, and started to gather up the glasses and pizza boxes to take them into the kitchen. "Come on, Spud," he urged. "Dishwashing duty."

Slimer babbled something that sounded like, "Do I hafta?"

"Yeah, Spud, you hafta, if you ever want to eat pizza again. You got me?"

That terrible threat made its point with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but that was the kind of reasoning Slimer understood best. The ghost shivered, bobbing his head up and down in ready agreement. "Slimer help Peter," he offered.

When the others were out of sight, Peter piled glasses and flatware in the sink and ran water over them. "Okay, Spud, it's time for the $64,000 question. You're a ghost. Can you sense anything to do with nasty ghosts about Egon?"

Slimer pondered that. Being a great thinker, he did it with a lot of frowns and fists pounding his forehead and sound effects. Then he shivered extravagantly. "Nasty," he informed Peter. "Something nasty."

"Yeah, Slimer, I thought so. What kind of something nasty? A ghost?"

Slimer considered that, then he shook his head. "Not ghost," he decided after much effort. "Something all over Egon."

"You mean like a spell, Spud?" asked Peter.

"Uh huh. Uh huh. Spell over Egon. Nasty spell." Slimer shivered extravagantly, causing green ectoplasm to fly about, some of it hitting Peter. He let out a yell of protest.

"I swear, Slimer, one of these days I'm gonna blast you, just see if I don't."

"Slimer can see something different about Egon?" Ray asked, staring at the little ghost with wide eyes.

"Yeah, a great thinker he ain't." Winston glanced over at Egon. Ray had given him a jigsaw puzzle to try to work, a fairly simple one that he'd bought because it was one of the Ghostbusters ones that Peter had authorized as a money maker, part of a line of Ghostbusters toys. Egon was concentrating on it intently, picking up pieces and tracing the edges with questing fingers. The bright colors seemed to attract him, and a few minutes earlier he had let out an exultant cry and held up a piece with his picture on it. "Egon!" he had announced, pointing, then he had groaned and flung the piece aside. If Egon's mind was intact, he must be thoroughly disgusted with his surface behavior, and the fact that he periodically displayed such disgust was one of the more hopeful signs in the entire mess. Ray seemed to take it as such, and he let it show, which gave Egon a boost and seemed to calm him down when he was on the edge of flying out of control again.

"What do you mean, Peter?" Ray said eagerly now, his eyes bright with expectation. "Not just the way Egon's acting because Slimer would be sure to notice that."

"He says it's something nasty but not really a ghost," Peter explained. "Why don't you have a talk with him. You understand him better than I do when he goes off on one of his spiels. I just thought he might be able to tell if there was anything to do with ghosts."

"He might," Ray agreed. "Wow, this is neat. It means Slimer might be a lot more receptive to psi effects than we ever gave him credit for." He looked at the little ghost who was hovering complacently at Peter's side, a smug look on his face. "Egon and I can... run a lot of tests as soon as he's better. Come on, Slimer, tell me what you can sense about Egon?"

The physicist raised his head at the sound of his name and squinted at them with curiosity. When they approached him, his eyes flashed for a minute, and he put down the puzzle piece he'd been trying to fit into place. Peter noticed that the puzzle was nearly half done. He was doing a good job of it. Proof of his unimpaired intellect? Or simply a sign that the puzzle could be handled by small children?

Slimer drifted over to Egon and flew in small circles around him, sniffing cautiously as if he feared whatever had happened to Egon would happen to him too if he didn't maintain a comfortable distance. Egon watched him warily, revolving to keep him in view, then blinking dizzily. Peter caught his arm. "No, Egon, just stand still and let the expert do his job," he instructed.

"Peter!" Egon chided in a completely normal voice. It always felt odd when he did that, as if he'd accessed a portion of his mind that was blocked away. Teasing him seemed to bring it out more than anything else, but teasing him required more of an effort than Peter was capable of maintaining for any length of time, not when Egon looked so vulnerable. Yet it did work. He concluded now, "Slimer not expert!"

"Oh yeah!" retorted the little ghost. He stuck out his tongue at Egon who retaliated in kind, then caught himself, clapping both hands over his mouth, a crestfallen look on his face. Ray winced at the sight.

"Come on, Slimer," he said quickly, "What do you see?"

Slimer's brow wrinkled in a parody of deep thought, then he snapped his ectoplasmic fingers and bobbed up and down as if a light bulb had flashed on over his head. "Spell," the ghost announced. "Bad spell."

"I knew it was a spell," Ray exulted. "That's great, Slimer."

"It is?" asked Winston. "Last I heard none of us knew how to take off spells, Ray."

"Yeah, but a spell isn't the same thing as permanent brain damage," Ray insisted, his face alight with relief. "We can find out how to take it off. I've got lots of books on the subject and I've got friends who know a lot about it, too, including a couple of practicing wiccas and a full-blown sorcerer who lives on Long Island. This is kind of like the Benton Harbor manifestation of 1948. There was a man who made some enemies and the next thing everybody knew, he was acting like a chicken."

"Wrong possession, Ray," Peter stepped in. "Egon's been a chicken already. A werechicken anyway."

"Nasty werechicken," Egon agreed, grimacing horribly.

"Well, it's the same type of thing," argued Ray. "Outside influence, I mean. They thought somebody had hypnotized that guy. Hey! Egon! Maybe you've been hypnotized. Peter, can we work on something like that?"

It was a good possibility, but it didn't feel right to Peter. "Yeah, I'll run a few tests," he agreed. "When I really work hard at it, I can hypnotize someone. A lot of it is in the voice and it takes a lot of patience. The only problem is I used to practice on Egon in college and I could never get him to go under. I talked to one of my profs about it and he said some people are a lot more resistant than others. I dragged Egon along next time and the prof couldn't hypnotize him either. Maybe if there was a spell tied into it, somebody might manage it, but I wouldn't put it right up there at the top of our list of possibilities."

It wasn't much help to know it was hypnosis or a spell if they couldn't remove it either, Venkman thought, but he kept the idea to himself, unwilling to rain on Ray's parade. Maybe Ray did know how to take spells off. He knew all kinds of weird things like that and was a lot better at them than he let on, not to mention all the contacts he'd just mentioned. Come to think of it, Janine had taken off that shrinking spell the Ghostmaster's minion had put on them simply by reading another spell out of a book so they might be able to do it themselves. It seemed weird to think that anyone could just open a book and create spells. Maybe if a spell was already in place an amateur could take it off with the right words. If not, Ray's experts just might work. Peter wasn't thrilled with the thought of bringing in outsiders and he knew Egon wouldn't want strangers to see him like this, but if it would cure him Peter would bring in Saddam Hussein. "Okay, Ray," Peter said, "What next? We'll try it on our own first and then go for the outside experts. How many spells do you know? Or do we just open a book and start reading like we did when the Ghostmaster shrank us? We lucked out then. I'm not sure we can be so lucky again."

"We've got five or six spell books in the library," Ray replied. "I try to pick them up when I come across them because you never know when they'll come in useful and I hate to leave them out there where some innocent will find them and get into hot water. Those books are dangerous in the wrong hands. I cross reference some of them into the computer when I've got the time. You never know what we'll find on a bust. Sometimes when it looks like a person is possessed, it could be a spell. I guess our problem will be finding the right spell this time."

"No generic spell removers?" Peter asked hopefully. The two flaws he saw in all of this was the fact that random attempts might do Egon more harm than good, and, even more basic, they were relying on the spud for answers. Slimer might be right, but Peter wouldn't have wanted to trust his own life to the little ghost's suggestion, let alone the life of one of his closest friends. "You sure you know what you'd be doing, Ray?"

"Yeah. I know a lot about it. I won't take unnecessary risks with Egon." He started for the library and soon there were a stack of books on the table with Ray bent over them eagerly, dipping into one book, then another, flipping pages and frowning as he tried to make out esoteric sayings and ancient languages.

"You give that a try. I'm gonna do my thing," Peter replied. "Egon, buddy, while Ray plays wizard, you and me are gonna have a little talk." Peter still wasn't sure it wasn't an emotional trauma that had regressed Egon and he wanted to try working with that before Ray started casting spells or trying to delete them. He might feel around a little and see if he could get a feel for hypnosis, too.

Ray looked up from his books. "What are you gonna do, Peter?"

"A little counselling," Peter said in an aside. "I want to see if I can get anywhere that way. For all we know, Slimer might not understand that kind of thing. How would he react to bipolar disorder, for instance? Some of the possessed people throughout history were probably schizophrenic and the medical skills of the time simply didn't understand it. We all relate to what we know most, and Slimer's a ghost. He's gonna come at it that way. While you see if you can find what you need, I'll play shrink."

"You sure that's smart, Pete?" Winston asked.

"Come on, Winston, I've got a Ph.D. You bet I'm smart." He often mouthed off about his two degrees and was proud of them, though he wasn't above letting people think he'd breezed through college on Egon's coattails. That might have worked up to a point, but Peter defied anyone to get a Ph.D that way. No matter how skilled he was at double-talk, he had to be equally good at convincing people he knew what he was talking about and he'd had to be able to prove it. It wasn't his way to flaunt his intellect but he could use his mind and skills when he had to and this seemed like one of those times. He'd just have to be very careful and recognize his own limitations, willing to stop before he could get in over his head.

So he took Egon down to the TV room and sat with him on the couch, talking to him quietly, monitoring Egon's responses. He wasn't sure he was getting anywhere, but if this was the result of a dramatic emotional trauma, it would take a long time to work to the heart of it. Egon tried to help him, answering questions as long as Peter put them into such simple terms as his present vocabulary would allow. Just when Peter felt they were making progress, though, Egon would revert, either saying something that made Peter suspect he wasn't retaining anything they talked about or whining about demands on his attention span. It felt like one step forward and two steps back. Peter seemed to be getting nowhere fast.

He kept trying, taking time out to distract Egon with various books and TV programs, even music, interspersing it with smartass remarks. Those usually evoked typical-Egon responses, though not at the same level as usual. Egon remembered his normal byplay with Peter. He remembered the equipment and the fire house and all those kind of things. He just didn't seem able to respond to it in an adult way. This was about the worst thing anyone could have done to Egon.

Eventually Ray and Winston came looking for them. Ray cast one bright, hopeful glance in Peter's direction, and the psychologist shook his head minutely. 'Not yet.' Ray's face fell but he forced good cheer into it immediately. "Hey, Egon," he greeted him as if this were simply one more job, interesting and challenging, something they'd all laugh about later. Egon responded to the tone, but Peter was afraid the effort to appear bright and exuberantly normal might be taking a hard toll on the youngest ghostbuster.

"Find spell?" Egon asked eagerly, bouncing to his feet. "Ray find spell?"

"I found a lot of spells, Egon," Ray explained. "I don't want to try them on you, yet, though. I want you to take a look at some of them and see if they sound familiar. Do you think you can do that?" He darted a quick glance sideways at Peter as if to determine if Peter thought he was asking to much.

"Look at spells," Egon agreed and held out his hand to Ray like a child who is willing to be led. Winston, standing behind Ray, bit his bottom lip as Ray clasped the hand and led Egon to the third floor stairs as if the two of them were heading off to the playground for an afternoon on the swings and slides.

"I hate this," Zeddemore muttered in an aside to Peter as Venkman followed the two scientists toward the spiral staircase.

"You think I don't?" Peter heaved a sigh. "What really scares me is what this is gonna do to Ray when it doesn't work."

Winston's hand shot out and caught Peter's wrist. "Whoa! Hold it there, Pete. Did you find out something to make you think it won't work?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing like that. I think it probably is a spell, though. I'm not getting typical responses on anything I try. There's a sort of otherworldly overlay to it all. I can feel it. I'm not sure that isn't something I picked up working with ghosts. I don't think your average psychologist or shrink would pick up on it. Only good thing is it means we did the right thing bringing him home. Besides, the P.K.E. meter gave a reading, remember? This was just a side thing, really, to get Egon out of there so Ray wouldn't feel so pressured while he was looking. Half the time I think Egon's mind is fine inside and the rest of the time I'm scared to death that he's only got enough left to know what he's lost."

"Shit," muttered Zeddemore. "That's about as bad as it can get, isn't it?"

"For Egon? I can't think of anything worse."

Ray worked with Egon most of the afternoon. They told Janine to hold their calls and spent the time poring over the books that Ray had studied, allowing Egon to look at the spells. He became bored with it quickly, pushing the books away. One book fascinated him, a huge tome labeled Mycraft's Directory of Incantations but Peter half suspected it was because of the ornate cover and the fancy lettering. If Egon could read it, he gave no sign of it, though Ray tested him at reading and he spelled out words laboriously. No matter how much he retained of his intellect, if he couldn't read, he couldn't use it, and finally he slammed the nearest book shut, flung another one against the wall and blundered out of the room, heading across the hall to the bedroom.

"Want me to go after him? Ray volunteered quickly, looking worried and guilty.

"No, I think we've pushed him a little too hard," Peter said. "I'd better go, but give him a minute to pull himself together first. We won't try anything more now. It's nearly dinner time anyway. He'll feel better when he's eaten."

Ray and Winston looked doubtful but they gave in, and Peter braced himself and finally ambled after Egon, not hurrying, making as much noise as he could to warn his friend that he was coming.

He found Egon sitting on his bed, struggling hard against the tears that wanted to fall. Peter stood in the doorway, feeling the same pain in his stomach he'd felt whenever he looked at this ruin of his brilliant friend, then he put his hands on his hips and forced a grin. "Were we boring you?" he asked.

Egon's head came up, eyes flaring with annoyance. He struggled for words, then he said, defiantly, "Yes." Everything about the normal Egon flamed to life in that one word, then his shoulders drooped again. "Scared, Peter," he admitted. "Really scared."

"I bet you are, buddy. You're not the only one." Peter sat beside him and slung his arm companionably around the slender shoulders. "You've even got me scared and you know what a brave guy I am. We voted to take a break and have dinner though. Then what do you say to some TV. No pressure, just relaxing. Up for that?"

Egon brightened. The stresses of the day must be wearing at him, especially when it had consisted of failure after failure. Ever since the intelligence test had shown him to have a lesser intellect, Egon had nearly given up. He wouldn't give up entirely, even now, because it wasn't his way, but the fear ate at him and Peter could see it.

"Good," said Peter. "My turn to cook. Let's see. What culinary masterpiece shall I whip up? Something better than those old family recipes of Ray's or your weird experiments."

"Mine taste good," Egon said without hesitation. Peter wondered how much effort it would take the bunch of them to act normal all through dinner.

It took more than anyone was capable of. Occasionally Egon sounded like himself, but his table manners, or lack thereof, reminded them over and over of their loss, their possibly permanent loss. All of them knew it though no one was willing to say it, and the meal ended with half-eaten dishes that only Slimer had the heart to clean up. He swooped around with delight, polishing off each unfinished meal with his big hungry tongue and gobbling it down without chewing it.

"Spud, you win the fancy diner of the year award for that lovely display," Peter complained. "Okay, who's up for dessert. We've got a lot to do yet. We need to keep up our strength."

It wasn't until halfway through the evening that he noticed Ray had vanished, and he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the second floor but didn't find him. Seeing that Egon had settled down in front of an old sitcom and was laughing like a kid over some of the antics of Mork and Mindy, a show he didn't usually deign to watch, Peter got up and went looking for Ray.

He found the auburn haired man sitting alone in Peter's office, one of the spell books spread out before him, a lost expression on his face. His hair stood up in spikes all over his head as if he'd been raking his hands through it in his despair, and he didn't hear Peter's approach. The psychologist stood looking at him a minute, remembering how up he'd managed to appear all day, how eager to plunge into each new attempt to solve Egon's problem. So much of that was Ray's true nature that Peter had only wondered a couple of times if it were a facade to help the youngest Ghostbuster make it through this nasty crisis. Now, looking at his friend, seeing the bleak despair on his face, Peter realized that Ray had been struggling to be as normal as possible. Some of the work would have fascinated him, but the heavy responsibility had finally worn him down.

"Ray?"

Stantz jumped wildly, his head shooting up as he stared at Peter. "Don't do that," he accused, dropping his eyes to the pages before him quickly, but not before Peter had seen the bright glitter of unshed tears in his shadowed eyes.

"Hey, Ray," said Peter gently, coming around the desk and leaning against it facing Ray. "Come on, it's okay. We're gonna get Egon back."

"It's so hard, Peter," Ray admitted in a small voice. "Seeing him like that, hearing him giggle like a little kid, watching him throw a tantrum. It's like someone took Egon away and gave us a second-class replacement."

"You don't suppose they really... " Peter began before he caught himself. Of course they hadn't. That was Egon, just a changed Egon, a scared and diminished Egon.

"No. I checked that," Ray confessed, squaring his shoulders. "I took more P.K.E. readings to make sure, including one set at Egon's biorhythms. It's Egon all right. It just... just isn't... " He heaved a long, shaky sigh. "I don't know what to do," he admitted miserably. I've tried everything I can think of, even things I knew wouldn't work. Part of it's fascinating, or it would be if only it wasn't Egon." He dropped his eyes to the book before him. "Why is this so much harder than the time Egon was turned into a baby? He acted just as weird then? We were all okay with that. Why is this so much tougher?"

Peter had considered that already and hadn't made much sense of it. "Maybe it's because we expect a baby to act like this, but Egon looks like himself. Maybe it's because he was missing first and we found him in the hospital. I don't know, Ray. Maybe it's because Egon's so scared. The other time he wasn't, and he wasn't when he and Slimer were switched, so we weren't picking up on it from him." He caught his breath. "Hey. We're gonna work it out. Between us we're a pair of geniuses. Egon's not the only brilliant Ghostbuster, after all. I seem to remember you picking up a lot of A's back at Columbia. In fact I don't remember you getting anything [but A's. I could have used you when I was taking English lit or Physics 101--or Economics. I was never very good in Economics."

"You did," Ray said with forced brightness. "You were always coming around to Egon or me, asking questions and then pretending it didn't have anything to do with your classes. All you had to do was [study, Peter."

Venkman opened his mouth to claim he'd studied all the time, something that would have convinced neither of them, but Ray went on in a more serious voice, "I just feel like there's something I should be doing! I'm the one who knows all about the occult. I should think of [something to bring Egon back the way he used to be." He rubbed idly at his wrist--Peter remembered he'd taken a thrower burn there right before Egon had vanished with Cynara--and flipped a couple of pages of the spell book.

"I hear you. You won't be penalized if you don't have an answer right this minute," Peter reassured him. "After all, I didn't think of anything either. Me, the brilliant and clever Dr. Peter Venkman, and I don't have an answer. Winston's always reminding us we're a team. Let's solve it as a team, okay?" He dropped a hand on Ray's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

Ray leaned into the touch so immediately that Peter followed it up by gathering Ray close and hugging him tightly. Ray made a faint, blurred sound and clung to him a minute, drawing comfort from the support, then his taut muscles began to ease. "I know, Peter. It's just so hard..."

Peter nodded and let go, leaning back against the desk again. "Yeah, tell me about it. Come on, let's go back up there. Can you hang in a little longer? He's starting to get sleepy, though he's fighting it. Once we put him to bed, we can unwind a little."

Ray struggled to his feet, picking up the book and tucking it under his arm. "I'm okay, Peter. I can do it. It's for Egon." He straightened up, holding himself erect as he accepted the challenge. Peter grinned at him. Ray caught his breath, his eyes widening as he stared back.

"What about you, Peter? You've been handling all this just great, but you look--how are you doing?"

"Hey, I'm cool," Peter insisted automatically but he could tell he hadn't managed to convince Ray. They all knew each other too well to pull the wool over each other's eyes, especially now that Ray was alert and looking for signs of trouble. Peter caught his breath when Ray quirked an eyebrow at him just like Egon always did when he was proving he could read Peter like a book.

"Well," Peter admitted in a quiet voice, avoiding Ray's sympathetic and knowing expression, "I'm very worried about Egon."

Ray bounded to his feet and dropped his hands on Peter's shoulders. "We're gonna do it," he insisted, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "I can tell we're getting close. It's gonna be okay, Peter. Really."

Peter heaved a shaky sigh and submitted to the soothing tone of Ray's words and the strength that came though his grip. Sometimes he forgot how reassuring Ray could be when he tried, but it felt good right now. Bowing his head, he leaned against the younger man for a minute and neither of them spoke, then he collected himself and they smiled at each other. At least neither of them had to face this particular crisis on his own. "Well, come on," Peter said, bracing himself for the task ahead. "We've got a buddy to rescue." He led the way out of the office and they returned to the others.

Egon was still giggling over Mork's antics when they reached the TV room.

Egon went right to sleep, curled up clutching Ray's Stay Puft Marshmallow Man doll that the occultist had offered him. Ray looked like he could have used it himself, but when Egon grabbed it, then hesitated torn between disgust at the idea and the need for comfort, Ray pulled his hands back. "Take care of it for me, Egon," he urged.

Egon sighed, the part of him that was still normal fighting the spell's conditioning. The spell won. With another sigh he pulled the stuffed toy against his chest and held it as if it were a talisman to ward off bad dreams. He climbed into bed and Ray bent to pull the covers over him. The poignancy of the moment caught at Peter and he swallowed fiercely to gain control of himself. At least Egon didn't notice, though Winston did and flashed Peter a sympathetic smile.

Venkman waited until Egon was snoring gently before he climbed into bed himself, and though he made himself sleep lightly, half expecting nightmares, Egon was still recovering from an injury and he slept the sleep of sheer exhaustion. Every now and then Peter awakened and sat up in bed, looking over at Egon, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, hoping the good night's rest would make a difference.

It was sometime in the middle of the night that Peter came abruptly awake, fully alert and uneasy, sensing something was wrong. Egon? He glanced over at his friend in the next bed and saw him curled up in as small a ball as possible, clutching Ray's Marshmallow Man doll as if it were a good luck charm. His eyes were wide open and staring, and even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, Peter could see the glisten of tear tracks down his cheeks.

"Egon?" He pitched his voice low so as not to awaken the others and eased out of bed. Egon tensed when Peter spoke and raised a hasty hand to knuckle at his eyes and conceal the evidence. Under better circumstances Peter would have thought that a good sign--no three year old would make that kind of effort--but some of Egon's responses had to be habitual, learned, and that might be one of them. It didn't prove anything.

Peter eased over to Egon's bed and sat down beside his friend. "Yo, Egon, it's okay. I'm here."

Egon glommed onto him the way he'd done in the hospital, the Stay Puft doll squeezed between them, poking uncomfortably into Peter's armpit, but he ignored it as Egon's arms tightened around his neck. "Scared, Peter," the blond man whispered, clinging like the child he appeared to be. "Scared."

"You're scared?" Peter echoed in as normal and soothing a manner as possible. "You're not the only one, but we're gonna stick with you all the way. It's okay, Egon. It's okay." He would have said more, but right now that reassurance seemed to help. Egon burrowed his face into the side of Peter's neck and held on, his body quivering with reaction to what had happened to him. "Hate this," he muttered, his tones so full of normal, Egon-ish disgust that Peter hugged him tighter as if he could contain the man Egon had been and force him to the surface.

"I know," he soothed in his gentlest voice. "Besides," he added brightly in hopes of winning a laugh or a reproach, "When you see the photos of you curled up with Mr. Stay Puft here, you're gonna really hate it."

A sputter of reluctant laughter broke through the tears and Peter grinned faintly. Even with Egon like this, Peter knew how to evoke a response from him. "Peter!"

"Yeah, Egon. Even when I'm at my worst, I'm at my best."

"Or vice versa." The words came automatically, another reassuring sign--or another example of conditioned behavior. Peter wanted to believe the former, that sometimes the real Egon peeked out from behind whatever sealed him away, but he was afraid to hope too much. Cynics might expect the worst, but they were rarely disappointed, and they often got pleasant surprises.

"Scared," Egon said again after a minute, still clinging. "Don't wanna be like this. Scared, Peter."

"I know you are, big guy. Hey, I've been scared a few times myself. Put me in a room full of cockroaches and I'll freak out like a loony tunes myself. Certain things bug us more than others. She really knew how to push your buttons. Got to know you really well, didn't she?"

Egon gave a groan of disgust at Peter's remarks but he didn't let go.

"We'll get her, Egon," Peter swore, dead serious now. "I promise you that. We'll get her. And we'll turn you back, too. It's gonna be okay. Believe that because we won't let it be any other way. Do you think you can go back to sleep now?"

"Don't go." Anguish filled the voice and the arms tightened.

"Hey, Egon, I'm not going anywhere, unless it's heaven if you keep choking me."

The grip eased fractionally, but not enough for Peter to break free unless he wanted to resort to brute force. He smiled faintly. "Okay, Egon. Come on, lay down again. I'll stay here until you're asleep, okay?"

"Peter promise?" Egon blinked up at him with wide-eyed trust. At this distance he could see Peter clearly enough, even without his glasses.

"Yeah, Peter promises." He stretched out beside Egon on the bed and put his arms around him. "Come on, Egon, go to sleep. Otherwise I'll have to sing you a lullaby or something, and you always complain about my singing."

"Any sensible person would," Egon said. Another normal remark. Yes. Egon had to be all right inside. He just had to be. He spoiled it by clinging tighter, his eyes glittering bright with unshed tears and Peter made himself smile reassuringly and breathe a few soft reassurances.

Egon curled up beside him like a little boy and closed his eyes. Peter waited, listening to his breathing, holding on because Egon needed it, needing it a little himself. Egon's breathing caught every now and then as if he were trying to stifle sobs, and each time he did it, Peter had to steel himself not to flinch. Gradually, though, the breathing evened out and the clutching hands loosened and when Peter breathed his name cautiously, there was no answer.

He eased himself away slowly, alert to any change in Egon's breathing. When Egon only curled up contentedly like a sleeping baby, Peter fumbled about for the Stay Puft doll and settled it against his chest. Egon's arms tightened around it automatically. "Baby Egon," Peter whispered, remembering how Slimer had called him that when the time ghost had reversed Egon and turned him into a baby for real. Egon had denied that entire incident, of course. Peter hoped he'd have the chance to deny this one. "It's time to grow up," he concluded and crept back to his own bed. It took him a long time to fall asleep.

When Egon opened his eyes in the morning as the other three were moving around getting dressed, it was clear there was no improvement.

"Egon hungry," he insisted, then paused and caught himself clutching the doll to his chest. He held it out at arms' length as if disgusted with himself and offered it to Ray. "Take away," he instructed. "Don't need it." He avoided Peter's eyes as if he remembered the nighttime comfort and found it embarrassing. Anyone as self-contained and rational as Egon would hate to admit a breakdown, even with his friends.

"You looked like you had a new buddy to me," Peter teased as normally as possible, delighted when the words won him a scornful, "Peter!" That was what worked best, so he kept up a line of outrageous patter all through breakfast. Watching Egon eat scrambled eggs messily with a spoon nearly put him off his stride, but he hung in there until they repaired once again to the lab.

"Guys go on calls today," Egon insisted as they entered the room. "Egon be okay."

"Think we should?" Ray asked reluctantly. The thought of going off and leaving Egon alone like this didn't rank very high on anyone's list of fun things to do.

"Yes," Egon insisted, his face scrunching up as if he might cry. "Egon not a baby."

"Oh well, we can let Janine baby-sit him," Peter said, making himself grin comically. "After that big smooch yesterday she's probably just waiting for her chance."

Egon stuck out his tongue at him.

"Egon, I'm not impressed," Peter said. "Save it for Janine."

"Peter!" snapped Egon. "Remember I know how to--to... " he struggled with the big words, "reset proton packs."

"Good. Threaten me. I love it." Peter did. This made him feel, more than anything that had passed previously, that Egon was intact inside, even if he couldn't let it show. It was just so hard to tease him when he couldn't fight back.

Grinning widely at the byplay, Ray grabbed a P.K.E. meter from the nearest table and activated it, setting the dials for Egon's normal electrometabolic frequency. Aiming the monitoring device at Egon, he frowned, studied what he was seeing, and made a few more adjustments. "This is interesting, guys," he said, and all three of them turned to stare at him. Slimer, who had followed them into the lab after finishing up the breakfast leftovers, stared, too. "These readings are the same as yesterday, I'm sure of it, but I didn't calibrate it as finely as I might have done."

"That's interesting," said Peter, hanging over Ray's shoulder and frowning at the readings. "Let me see." He pulled the device out of Ray's hands and studied it, poking his tongue about in his cheek as if the action would give him all the answers.

Ray grabbed it back with a reproachful look at Peter, and even Egon leaned closer, a hopeful and anxious expression on his face.

"Wow!" cried Ray as he got a complete look at the slightly altered readings. "This is incredible."

"What's incredible, Ray? The fact that Peter looked like he knew what he was doing?" Winston's quip lacked his usual spirit, but Peter turned his head and stuck out his tongue at him before turning back to Ray.

"Tell us, oh wise one," he urged, leaning his elbow against Ray's shoulder and peering down at the meter's screen while Ray took additional readings.

"Remember when I went home to Morrisville to be the grand marshal in the Winged Puma Parade?" Ray asked surprisingly. All three of them nodded. Egon's memory, at least, seemed intact.

"We remember," Winston replied. "That polyester character with the shoe store did some number on the ghosts, not to mention the number he did on you, homeboy."

"He surrounded the ghosts with negative energy," Ray reminded him. "So when I tried to trap them, I couldn't do it. I couldn't pick up all that negative force because the P.K.E. meter is geared for positive energy. This isn't the same thing--nobody's surrounded Egon with negative energy--but there's a different kind of energy all around him that I've never seen before. It's not quite the same as ectoplasmic energy, and that's what the P.K.E. meter is supposed to monitor. If somebody put a spell on Egon, this is probably how it would manifest. Don't you see? This proves it. It proves it's a spell, not brain damage." His whole face lit up in delight at the confirmation of Slimer's theory, and Egon grinned happily as he heard him. "That's why I adjusted the meter," Ray continued. "I just didn't know if we could detect spells with one of the meters, so I tried to figure out how to do it. If I can learn more about it we might be able to get rid of it even without casting a spell."

"You mean use the throwers on Egon?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"No, we can't do that," Ray replied, twiddling the dials. "We don't know enough about it. I want to do some more research on this when Egon is better. I bet we could prove that spells are caused by a kind of energy that we haven't found a way to detect yet. What I'm picking up now is different from anything I've ever seen before." He held out the meter so Egon could read the grid, and the physicist nodded, his eyes lighting with fascination only to dim with frustration as he realized he wasn't yet ready to work on it.

Ray saw the look. "It's okay, Egon," he said with quick reassurance. "This just proves it's only a spell. I bet there are certain ways to access whatever this energy is. Maybe by certain words--certain tones. Or maybe some people have the ability to do it. It could be a by-product of the parts of the brain we don't really use much. If I could clarify these readings in greater depth, I bet I could put together a gizmo that detects this kind of stuff. Wow. It's exciting." He grinned at Egon. "Isn't it great, Egon? Isn't it great, Peter? This might lead us to a whole new line of research. When Egon's better we can work on it together. I think I can see the way clear to designing some equipment that could be used to take off spells, or at least neutralize them, once I can make the detectors and field-test them. Wow! This is fantastic."

Peter smiled at the explosive burst of enthusiasm from his younger colleague. "If you can contain your inventive genius for a few minutes, Dr. Stantz, I've got a question. Would it affect the IQ test you did yesterday?" he asked hopefully. It sounded like the spell could block out certain readings, if it surrounded Egon, and that the current readings were hard to pick up with their current equipment. That I.Q. test had been bugging Egon ever since they'd given it to him. Peter knew Egon well enough, even like this, to be able to tell.

"It could," Ray agreed avidly. "It could totally mess up the readings. If I'm right about this, we have proof somebody messed with Egon's mind with a spell. Don't you see, guys?" he concluded, his face flushed with fervor. "This is something we can fight."

Egon heaved a huge sigh and tears flowed silently down his face. He put up an irritated and impatient hand to dash them away, color flooding his cheeks. This emotional breakdown was probably almost as hard on him as the inability to communicate like any normal genius, since he was usually so together. Peter touched his arm. "It's okay," he said in the same reassuring tones he sometimes used with Ray when the occultist went off on a guilt trip over some imagined fault. Egon relaxed.

"This is great!" Ray continued. "At least we know where to start. It might even help us find the right spell in those spell books."

"You can do it, you boy genius," Peter told him with a big, happy grin. The thought that they could find a way to bring Egon back went a long way toward restoring his spirits. He settled back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table while Ray headed for the library and grabbed a stack of books, stacking them on the table in a pile that seemed nearly as tall as the one they'd found in the New York Public Library when they went after their first ghost. Leaving them there, the occultist powered up the computer and accessed the Tobin program, and became involved in various files.

"Let's see what we can find," Peter said. "Any normal genius like me ought to be able to solve this in the next five minutes." He was relieved when Egon grimaced in much his normal way. The more normally they treated Egon, the more normally he reacted.

Egon's face twisted with concentration. "Know better than you," he produced, quirking one eyebrow in the familiar manner. Peter grinned at him, but inside he was fuming. Whoever did this to Egon was toast.

The alarm sounded, making Egon jump and glance around uneasily.

"It's just a call," Ray assured him. "It's okay, Egon." He said it so matter of factly that Egon relaxed right away.

"Egon come too."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Peter said, dropping a hand on Egon's shoulder. "We wouldn't want you to blast our client by mistake or anything. Egon, if you're sure, maybe we better take a call or two. We can always use the bucks, and while we're gone, you can look through all these books and see if you can find anything familiar. Or else you can stay here with Janine like we talked about. She's still hyperventilating from that lip lock you planted on her when we got home yesterday. I bet she'll be delighted."

"Peter!" Egon chastised automatically, color rising in his cheeks.

"Go for it, big guy," Peter encouraged him. "She'll be putty in your hands."

It was hard to leave Egon behind, and the guys discussed the possibility of skipping calls for a second day. They had to bring in some money, though, and Peter suspected it might do Ray good to be away from Egon for a little while even though he was so enthusiastic about his discovery that it was buoying his spirits. Ray felt like he was making progress in his search for a cure to the spell now that he'd decided for sure it was a spell. He announced earnestly that maybe Cynara was a witch, "One of the nasty kind," he concluded with relish. "Not like my wicca friends. They'd never hurt anybody."

"Then let's start planning the New York witch trials," Peter had said without hesitation. "Anybody up for burning her at the stake like in Salem."

"They didn't burn witches in Salem, Peter," Ray corrected him. "That's just one of those historical misconceptions. Come on, let's go talk to Janine."

"Don't worry, Dr. V." Janine replied when he asked her to watch out for Egon while they were gone. "I'll keep an eye on him. He'll be okay."

"Egon stay in lab," the physicist insisted, and the guys left him poring over the books Ray had fetched from the shelves. Reading didn't appear to present a problem to him, which Ray claimed confirmed his theory. Hopeful that the real Egon was just repressed and not gone for good, the other three went off to deal with a Class 5 full roaming vapor.

When they were gone, Egon set aside the books and made his way to the computer. His mouth drawn in a line of fierce concentration, he sat down at the keyboard and pushed a couple of buttons to clear the screen. Grinning with triumph at the success of his actions, he sat down, poised his fingers over the keyboard and began to type rapidly--and wildly inaccurately. When a string of gibberish ran across the screen, he growled, "No!", pounded his fists against the table, and cleared the screen again. Laboriously, with one finger, pausing often to backspace and erase mistakes, he started to spell out a message for his friends.

Fear filled him. There was a strange, blurred quality to everything around him, something he didn't understand. He knew he should be able to think and reason past it, but it was hard, as if there were deliberate roadblocks in his way. When Peter was mouthing off the way he usually did, it was easy to field his remarks with normal comebacks but he couldn't take it any further and return the compliment, not without considerable effort. Then Peter had tried to practice psychology on him. Egon knew what he was doing and even understood some of the techniques but the same roadblocks prevented him from reacting the way Peter tried to encourage him to react.

He shivered as he wrested with the computer, afraid that what he was doing wouldn't help, wouldn't make any difference. As he watched the words appear on the screen, his heart sank. It wasn't working right. It wasn't coming across as well as he wanted it to. Angrily he pounded his fists against the table again, then he tried to pull back. The ready anger, the quick emotions, were strange to him and he wasn't sure how to deal with them. Losing it in front of the guys upset him, too.

Suppose Slimer's theory and Ray's testing were wrong. Suppose he never was normal again?

In his mind, he could think intelligently--up to a point. He understood what the guys said to him and he remembered things he'd learned, things he knew. He was sure his mind was still intact, and he was not brain-damaged. He'd heard the guys speculating in whispers and he'd been frightened, even as he realized that he understood things no three year old could. He simply could not access them. But then that was one way brain damage worked. Look at stroke victims who suffered from aphasia. They knew what they wanted to say but the right words didn't come out. Sometimes even the opposite words came instead. Egon was terrified. He wasn't sure he was normal and blocked by a spell as Ray had confirmed, though he remembered a huge book and powerful words and the wild, gloating look in Cynara's eyes as she recited them. He was sure it was one of the books Ray had and was using to try to bring him back. Could a spell cause brain damage or would it only simulate it? Egon tried to reason it out, but the right answers wouldn't come. This was scary. Shivering like a child he struggled against the ready tears that sprang to his eyes. He hated this. His normal control had vanished completely. Breaking down and crying in front of the guys bothered him, no matter how much he trusted them, yet whatever it was that influenced him made him need it. It was as if Cynara had guessed what would disturb him most, losing his intellect and then losing his emotional control, and inflicted them upon him.

Even if it was a spell, the guys couldn't try counterspells on him randomly. Even if they found the right one, could just anybody cast a spell? Did it depend on belief? Did it require practice and skill, years of training? They hadn't done much with this kind of thing before, just a little hit and miss stuff when they'd been reduced in size, though Ray had always wanted to look into it. They'd hesitated because there were risks inherent in it that had made it not quite worthwhile. Now they had to try. Egon could reason out the potential dangers of the practice. The guys might inadvertently do something worse to him or to themselves.

Caught up in his theorizing, Egon felt momentarily normal and he grinned triumphantly, then cold fear ran through him again. It seemed to work best at an unconscious level. When he tried to reason it consciously he ran up against barriers. It was only when his thoughts took over and ran away with him that his mind functioned best. That was why he could respond so well to Peter's most obnoxious behavior, because those responses were normal and conditioned. Deliberate choices were another matter.

My mind is intact, Egon insisted to himself. It's intact. I just can't get at it. The words felt babyishly defiant, like a little boy refusing to go to bed at the usual time.

He made himself go to the books that Ray had piled on the table and study them. It took two tries but finally he found one that looked like the book Cynara had used on him. That didn't necessarily mean it was the same book; it could simply be that she had a different edition of one of Ray's other books; but the more he studied it the surer he was. He remembered the way the lettering had twisted on the cover when she opened it. Struggling to think of something when it had once been effortless was unnerving but at least he could reason it through. Yes, this was the book. He set it proudly in the middle of the table. When the guys came home, he'd show it to them. Now to finish his message. He started typing again, using one finger, watching the wrong words appear, laboriously correcting them as best he could.

Coldness ran through his entire body, making him shiver and quake with fear. Slimer drifted over and hovered beside him. "Egon scared," he observed. "Poor Egon." Flinging his arms around Egon's neck he hugged him hard.

Though Slimer's embraces were cold and nasty and Egon avoided them adroitly as a general rule, he clung to the spud now, desperate for any reassurance, even if it meant accepting it from Slimer. If nothing else, Slimer still loved him, and in a world turned completely upside down, that was worth a lot.

For a long time he let Slimer pat him on the head and murmur, "Poor Egon. Slimer protect you," then, with a heartfelt sigh, he struggled for control again and eased free of the ectoplasmic hug. "Gross," he muttered, then, when Slimer eyed him reproachfully, he added, "Sorry, Slimer."

Communicating with Slimer was almost easier than communicating with the guys but maybe that was because Slimer communicated at a basic level and that was all Egon was capable of now. The thought that he was reduced to Slimer's level horrified him and the coldness that had settled in the pit of his stomach ever since he had awakened on the park bench with the policeman bending over him grew into a huge knot. He had to communicate with the guys. Maybe if he could tell them what had happened to him they could find a way to bring him back.

"Look out, Winston, it's coming your way!" Peter bellowed. The ghost in question had proven to be a nasty bilious green in color and as fast as the Indy 500 winner, ducking the proton streams with insulting ease, pausing irritatingly to fling slime at the Ghostbusters, and vanishing through floors and walls moments before they could pin him in the streams. Finally Ray had suggested they split up, heading to key points in the liquor store, the stockroom, behind the register, down a distant aisle, ready to snag the thing if it came in any direction. Ray was still in the back room, but now Peter saw the slimy green creature dive toward Winston, who ducked down the vodka aisle, blasting away at it.

"I see it," he hollered. "Pin it down."

"On the money," Peter yelled back and fired. With the creature occupied with Winston, it didn't duck the stream and he latched onto it. "I got it! I got it!" he cried excitedly.

"Yahoo!" Winston's proton stream struck the beast and the two between them were able to confine it. "Trap out," he added, snatching it one-handed from his place on his pack and tossing it along the aisle for it to land beneath the entity. "Opening it now!"

Brilliant light shot up to envelop the raging ghost, who squirmed and struggled furiously, determined to break free of the confinement. When the pull of the trap proved too strong for it, it sank down toward its prison, howling like a dog the whole way, its cries echoing through the store. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see two of the salesmen ducking for cover beneath the counter, and a row of heads outside the shattered plate glass window as pedestrians stared in fascination. When the doors snapped shut over the screeching ghost, the spectators began to clap and whistle and stomp their feet in appreciation, and Peter powered down his thrower and, holding it before him in one hand, made a gracious bow. He adored the fame that went with Ghostbusting.

"Appreciation. I love it."

"Hey, we're one man short," Winston noticed, glancing over his shoulder. "You don't think there's another of the nasties in the storeroom, do you?"

Peter looked around abruptly for Ray. Ordinarily he would have led the way to see what mischief the occultist had gotten into but today he was rather more paranoid than usual and Ray's absence, brief though it was, seemed suspicious. With no more than a passing glance at the still-cheering crowd, he pushed past Winston and headed for the back entrance at a dead run.

"Oh, Ra-ay," he called as he pushed open the swinging door that led to the storeroom. "You missed the whole thing. You're not lying down on the job, are you?"

There was no answer. Peter stood in the doorway, his eyes raking the area, then he surged forward and started checking behind the boxes of liquor, as if he thought Ray would be hiding there. The place was empty of ghosts and empty of Ghostbusters, except for himself and Winston. Ray was gone.

"This does not look good," Peter began, only to fall silent when Winston pointed to the alley door, which stood ajar.

"Hey, I bet he circled around out there. You check it out and I'll go through the front and meet you outside." Whether he believed his rationale or not was doubtful because he unshipped his proton rifle and powered up as he started back to the shop area. Peter had never put his away, but he turned it on again and headed for the door, his thumb hovering over the trigger, ready to blast anything that got in his way.

The alley was narrow and littered. Trash receptacles lined the narrow roadway, stacked so high with garbage that Peter wondered if he'd overlooked yet another garbage strike. An old rusted out Ford Fairlane sat up on blocks opposite him, the tires gone, and some wooden crates looked like they did double duty as a crash pad for a homeless person. Ray was nowhere in sight, but an old bag lady was rifling through one of the dumpsters, a grocery cart beside her containing her possessions in trash bags. Her hair was grey and wild, tangled about her dirty face. When Peter's eyes brushed past her as he hollered, "Ray? You out here?" she jumped and turned to stare at him.

"You looking for your friend, sonny?" she asked in a screechy voice that creaked with age.

"Yeah. He had an outfit just like mine only sand-colored, and he'd have one of these." He gestured to his thrower and proton pack.

"Too bad," the old lady said, shaking her head. One hand scratched at her stomach as she glanced at the mouth of the alley. "Somebody grabbed him and took him away in a black truck," she said. "Didn't want to go, poor fella. Fought something fierce, but the man had a gun. Gangsters, probably. Reminds me of the old days, yes it does. Gangsters right in my own alley. What's the city coming to?" She shook her head regretfully.

Peter stomped down the urge to grab her and shake her violently in order to obtain information from her more quickly. "Did you get the license number?" he demanded hotly. "What kind of truck?"

"I don't know about cars, sonny," the woman replied. "Never liked 'em, never had one. Just a truck, one of those kind that are all closed in, I know that. Panel truck? Nearly drove over my feet when it peeled on out of here. Bastards." She spat on the ground near Peter's feet.

"Hey!" he protested, jumping back a step. "Okay, forget the truck. What did the guy look like who snatched him?"

"Didn't see him too well," the bag lady confessed, squinting at him. She probably needed glasses. "About your height maybe. Might've had a beard. Red, I think. No, brown. No, I can't remember." She scratched her head vigorously, but Peter didn't think it was so much in thought as in protest at the livestock that probably lived there. "Your friend knew him," she added as an afterthought.

"Did he say anything?" Maybe Ray had given him a message after all. Peter would have bet good money that this tied in with what had happened to Egon.

She hesitated, scratching her head. "Can't say how much I remember," she mumbled, eyeing him expectantly. Peter heaved a sigh. There always had to be a payoff. He dug in his wallet and produced a ten dollar bill. She eyed it doubtfully. "I think I'm starting to remember... "

With a grimace, Peter produced a second ten. The bills vanished into the woman's pocket. "So did he say anything?" Peter repeated.

"Well, he did. He stopped in his tracks, and his mouth kinda hung open, and he said, 'It's you. I should've known you were behind all this.' The other man, the one with the gun, gave him a kind of bow, like he was mocking him, and said, 'Did you like the present I gave you already.' And your friend said a bad word and tried to jump him. Then somebody else got out of the car; it was a woman. She was little--bout my height, I guess." She scratched her left armpit and spat, this time away from Peter. "Yaller hair--out of a bottle, you mark my words it was. Brown eyes, too. That's how I know she had a dye job. She pushed me out of the way. Bitch. Said, 'Get out of my way or you'll be sorry, you old bat.' Your buddy took hold of my arm and steadied me, and then the other two made him get in the truck. He didn't want to go. He started to yell something. Sounded like, 'Tell Peter it was... ' Then the man bopped him on the head with the gun and he didn't finish."

"You mean they knocked him out?" Spotting Winston at the mouth of the alley, he waved his hand. "Yo, Winston. Somebody snatched Ray."

"Say what!" The black man thudded forward, his face taut with worry. "Snatched him."

"Yeah, and get this, Winston. Ray knew who he was. He tried to warn me but they wouldn't let him talk. This lady saw it all."

Winston eyed the bag lady with a combination of pity and gratitude. "Anything we can use?" he asked.

Peter shook his head. He produced $5. "That's for your trouble. If you should remember anything else, get word to us at Ghostbuster Central."

She gloated over the last bill and bobbed her head to concur. Peter supposed she'd spend it in the place they'd just left, and if she thought of anything else, she'd want more.

"So what do we do now?" Winston asked, his mouth taut with anger and worry.

"Collect our pay, then we cruise the neighborhood and see if we can pick up Ray's readings on the P.K.E. meter."

"You know how to set it for that?" Winston asked.

Peter nodded grimly. "I know what to do. You know, Winston," he added as they retraced his steps through the liquor store stockroom, "I think I see a pattern to this. Who do they take out? Our two hard science types. You've got some engineering background and both of us have had our hand in with the other stuff, but if it's big and complicated and technical, who always solves it? Egon or Ray. With both of them down for the count, we could be in major trouble."

"No shit, Sherlock." Winston heaved a sigh. "This is a bad day," he concluded in such an obvious understatement that Peter's mouth quirked up at the corners in appreciation, but none of that could ease the knot in the pit of his stomach. Ray was missing. Ray was in trouble. Ray was also the one who knew best how to get Egon back. Without Ray, could they do it? Without Ray and Egon, could he and Winston deal with whatever could be brewing?

"I hate this," Peter burst out. "Let's get going. We're not doing this alone. We're calling in reinforcements" He headed for the liquor store phone and rang the police. It wasn't long before two uniformed men came and took a statement. Peter reminded them about Egon being found on the park bench two nights before. When the policemen went into the alley to question the bag lady, she had trundled on with her cart and Peter gave himself a mental kick for forgetting to ask her name. In New York, she could vanish completely or she might return to the alley later. The officers promised to check, though they doubted she could give them any more information than she had given the Ghostbusters. Peter and Winston agreed to think about anyone who might have it in for them, then they went in search of Ray as only they could do it.

Though they cruised around the neighborhood of the liquor store in ever widening circles, two P.K.E. meters set to Ray's frequency, they were unable to detect a thing.

Returning home without Ray felt bad to Peter, as if he'd let the side down. How could he explain to Egon that Ray's disappearance at the hand of some unknown enemy just might mean Egon had to stay the way he was for god knows how much longer? It was probably connected to Egon's problem as it was.

Janine and Slimer were at the secretary's desk, the woman trying to type, the ghost hanging over her head pestering her. Slimer spotted Peter and Winston and swooped to meet them, flinging ectoplasmic arms around Venkman's neck and squeezing tight. "Egon all funny," he announced in piercing tones not an inch from the psychologist's ear. "Can't talk. Crying."

Somehow, since Ray's P.K.E. readings that morning, Peter had convinced himself Egon would be fine once they found the right treatment, and he realized he had counted on that completely. Slimer's report disconcerted him. If Egon was dealing with it so badly, how would the news of Ray's disappearance hit him? How could Peter and Winston cope with Egon disabled and Ray gone? The loss of hope hit him like a gut punch and he shivered.

"Where's Ray?" Janine demanded, staring from Peter to Winston and back again, her eyes narrowing as she took in their grim expressions.

"We got trouble, Janine," Winston replied, dropping his hands onto her shoulders and squeezing. "We called the police already but we didn't have a lot to give them. Somebody grabbed him in an alley while Peter and I were tied up with the bust and shuffled him into a black truck. An old bag lady told us about it. Didn't get the license number and didn't know the make or model, of course. She took off before the cops could question her though"

"Convenient," Peter said without really hearing himself. "The cops are looking for him. They already know somebody jumped Egon and they think there might be somebody out to get us. So we need to come up with a list of our enemies. Most of them are ghosts and probably won't have a rap sheet, but we've still gotta do it. Has Egon said anything that might help us out?"

"Slimer says he's working on the computer," Janine admitted. "He didn't want me up there--I think he's embarrassed to be seen like this so I came back down--but he was typing away with one finger like a kid who doesn't know the keyboard layout." She heaved a miserable sigh. "It was keeping him happy and busy so I left him to it."

Peter and Winston exchanged a doubtful look, then, as one, they lunged for the stairs. "Put the ghost away, Janine honey," Peter called over his shoulder. "This could be important."

Egon had finished with the computer when the two men burst into the lab. Instead he was reading one of Ray's esoteric spell books that he'd spread on the table before him, his finger tracing the path of the text as he read it, his lips moving as if to sound out the words. The sight from someone who was the fastest speed reader Peter had ever seen struggling like this was disconcerting until Peter realized how fast the finger was whipping along. Egon might have lost some speed to the outward manifestation of his possession, but he didn't appear to have lost comprehension. There was satisfaction on his face as he read, as if he realized that the ability to read such a complex text proved that a part of him was still normal.

When Peter said quietly, "Egon?" he jerked his head up in surprise. Registering their presence, he leaped to his feet like a clumsy puppy, full of as much boyish enthusiasm as Ray. The reminder was not a happy thought, but Peter suppressed it.

"I did good!" he cried, grabbing Peter's arm and towing him into the room, and it dawned on Peter that referring to himself as 'I' instead of 'Egon' might be a sign of progress. "Come and see." He steered Peter toward the computer and pointed to the screen. Text filled the entire area.

"You read," Egon insisted, pushing Peter into the chair.

"Sure, buddy, whatever you say," Peter agreed, halfway prepared to humor his friend to keep his spirits up. Then he started reading and his heart began pounding faster as he realized what the first words were. Did this mean Egon was gaining ground or had he just been working on it all day to get it right?

"Egon okay," the text read. "Tell what happened. It os only bad lady's spell maks me seem all funny. She did it with ritule from a spell book, the Mycraft Dirrectry of Incantatons. Ray haS ths book. (SOrry about typos--takes to much time to fix). Not knw which spel she used but it was near center of obok on rt hand pag. The prupose of spell was mak yu think brain damag--put me in hspital--and wuld upset you guys. Think it cn be reversed. He askd if it coud and she said yes. She a sorcereess."

Peter looked up from the screen, relief filling his soul. Even allowing for the typing errors that Egon's clumsy surface persona had been unable to avoid or take the time to correct and the occasionally juvenile vocabulary, there was enough of a more mature and normal Egon lurking in the type to convince him that the physicist was not irretrievably damaged, and Peter was grateful for the proof that his friend's intellect had survived, even if it was still trapped. Egon must have reasoned that the computer, which would allow for editing, was his best method of communication. Maybe he could tell them more. Maybe he would know who had taken Ray.

"Force wont let me nam teh one behin all this," Egon had continued. "We know him--tried harm us before. Took Slimr."

"Took Slimer?" Peter burst out, the answer becoming clear to him like a lightning burst and he felt a surge of disgust for not figuring it out from the slight clues they'd already had. "That's it! I know who it is. Walter Peck! That's what you were trying to say yesterday in the car, isn't it? Peck?" The man had been their enemy since before the advent of Gozer and his meddling under the supposed auspices of the Environmental Protection Agency had blown the containment unit right when the Sumerian deity had tried to enter the city. Not satisfied with that, he'd come back later and tried to get at the Ghostbusters by removing Slimer with a slew of legal papers and all but destroying the spud. Remembering their old enemy, Peter felt a surge of rage. He spun from the screen and grasped Egon's forearms. "Isn't it? Nod if you can't speak," he concluded when Egon's mouth moved uselessly, no sound emerging.

Egon struggled to comply and managed to bob his head up and down once. Relief showed on his features as he realized he had been comprehended and that Peter and Winston were ready to establish real communication. Tears of relief glittered in his eyes and he turned his head away. Venkman's mouth twisted into a snarl. When he got his hands on Peck, the slimy little bastard would regret it. He'd dared to bring Egon to this, taken a proud and disciplined man and turned him into an emotional child, at least on the surface.

"Shit," Peter muttered and pulled Egon against him briefly for a reassuring hug. The surface persona might feel better for it and even if not, Egon needed to know that Peter supported him and understood that the lack of control was not his fault. Peter felt the other man's body tremble with a combination of misery and apprehension as he allowed Peter to comfort him and realized that he hadn't told Egon about Ray yet. That was going to be difficult.

Pulling back, he slid Egon into the chair. There was more of the message but it would have to wait a little. "Egon, buddy, we've got another problem," he said, catching Winston's eye and drawing him closer by the strength of his look.

Alarm flashed in the physicist's eyes as Winston joined them. He pushed his glassed into place and looked at Peter expectantly, trust and worry warring in his expression. "Ray?" he hazarded, darting one quick glance around the room.

"Ray," Peter confirmed with a nod. He described the events of the bust and Ray's disappearance, including the bag lady's description of what had happened, concluding positively with, "Peck's got him."

"You sure, Pete? We don't have much of a description," Winston cautioned though he must know it was the obvious solution.

"Oh, come on, Winston, who else could it be? You know he's got it in for us and if he'd trash Egon, he'd trash Ray. Shit. I should have fed him to the containment unit the first time I saw the oily bastard." He erupted to his feet and flung himself back and forth across the room in furious pacing. "What do we do now?" he demanded.

"Try phone book," Egon said, sounding a little more alert than he had. Peter shot him an expectant look. On the whole Egon seemed somewhat better than before they'd left. Was it possible that the spell would simply wear off? Even if it did, they didn't have time to wait.

Winston snatched the nearest telephone directory, the Manhattan white pages, and paged through it, hunting for the name of the man who had become their nemesis. Frustrated, he slapped it shut. "He's not in here."

"Hey," said Peter, unwilling to give up so quickly. "Maybe he lives in New Jersey--or even the Bronx."

"I'll check." Winston hurried out, and Peter turned back to the screen to see what else Egon had written.

"Thhink spell migt wear of," Egon had typed in. "I fear we face a thret serius enough to nneed me helping. Rest of you may be in dangr. The enemey want to hurt you, Peter. he hatse us all, but feels a special animossity to yu. He said would hurt you most by hurtig us. We need a unitd front. I will read the Mycraft until you com home an look fr solutoin."

Peter noticed that Egon had made a point of underlining the title of the book. Typical Egon. That fact alone would have convinced him that Egon's intellect was still operating. He probably had kissed Janine the way he had to convince his friends that he was intact. Someone with the mentality of a toddler wouldn't kiss a woman like that.

"I've gotta hand it to you, Egon," Peter said with a flashing grin, "you've got a real knack for getting into trouble." He reached over and ruffled the blond hair, and Egon made a face at him and tried to settle it into place. "Guess I can't get away with sending you off for your nap with milk and cookies now, can I?"

"No," said Egon simply. He smiled at Peter with an almost normal grin, then something clicked in his brain and he turned to the computer and bent over it, using the one-finger technique. Peter hung back, allowing him to do it himself, unwilling to second guess him and diminish him any further. When the physicist had finished, he gestured Peter forward. The screen said, "Have you considerd th bagt lady isnt what supposed to look like." This came a little more smoothly than the earlier stuff had. At least it proved Egon was thinking.

Peter frowned as a memory struck him, the bag lady's filthy hand snatching the money from him. Yes, her hand had been dirty but it hadn't been old; instead the flesh had been young and supple. Once that clicked he found himself remembering the hospital volunteer who had accosted him outside Egon's room, the woman who had looked familiar, though he'd been too upset at the time to pursue the resemblance. Now he thought about it, he knew exactly where he had seen her, and where he had seen the bag lady. Both women bore a strong resemblance to the blonde woman who had hung on Egon's arm the other day when he'd brought Cynara to headquarters.

"Shit!" growled Peter. "It was Cynara. She was the one I saw at the hospital, too. She's been watching us, making us squirm like a butterfly on a pin. She's gonna be toast when I get my hands on her."

"How did--" Egon struggled to get the words out then returned to the keyboard, finding it easier and quicker than working past the spell. He typed, "How dd she know when to be theer?"

"Good point, Egon. She probably didn't sit in the park waiting for you to be picked up. It's not safe, even for a sorceress. You think the phone might be tapped? That way they'd know when we got a call and could get to the scene of our busts. They wouldn't know if they'd have a chance to grab one of us but they'd take it if they could get it." He glowered at the screen. "This does not look good. They could monitor everything we say. All they'd need is the right equipment parked outside, the way they do in spy movies."

Egon chuckled and moved over to his workbench. Picking up a P.K.E. meter and a screwdriver, he bent over it clumsily, working with such force that Peter didn't dare interrupt him or offer to do it in his stead. He wasn't sure what Egon meant to do but the fact that he was trying and evidently had a purpose for his actions was another good sign. Peter finally believed that inside, Egon was still the same, simply unable to show it.

Egon muttered under his breath as he fought to perform the task he intended to. When Peter took a breath to speak, Egon raised his eyes and looked at him accusingly. "I'm doing it," he insisted in the familiar childlike tones but with fierce determination. He lifted one eyebrow expectantly, and Peter backed down.

"Sorry, Egon. You know me with the equipment anyway. I'd probably set it on automatic detonation."

"Prob'ly," Egon agreed, humor sparkling in his eyes before he returned to his work concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth like a child's.

When he had finished, he lifted triumphant eyes and set the P.K.E. meter on the table. Peter couldn't see anything different about it but Egon looked so self-satisfied that he must have done it right. Peter looked at question at him and he returned to the computer and typed industriously.

"Sound damping field. Remembr at Count Vostok's castel. Dr4ove away villagrs wth sound."

"Yeah, and nearly broke our eardrums in the process," Peter recalled. "I don't feel anything now."

"Above audibl range for humans but affects bugging equipment," Egon typed. He seemed to be getting quicker with practice.

"You mean it fries their tapes or whatever they use? Egon, that's brilliant. Way to go, big guy." He clapped Egon on the shoulder enthusiastically then headed for the window to look out to see if he could spot a monitoring van or any indication that they were being watched. A black panel truck at the far end of the street suddenly pulled into traffic and drove away, but Peter didn't know if it were a coincidence or not. It went the other way so he couldn't pick up the license plate. It looked like a Chevy van, late model, but he couldn't get any further than that. Whether it was the van that had been involved in Ray's disappearance was possible, but it was gone. No matter how fast they raced down and jumped into Ecto, they probably couldn't find it now.

"Shit!" he growled. "We should have checked before we did it. There was a black van out there--could have been our man. We might have scared them away," he admitted.

Winston came back then and Peter explained what had just happened. "I did it backwards," Peter insisted, furious with himself for not thinking it out. No point in blaming Egon for his efforts, not in his present state of mind. "If I'd looked first we could've sent Slimer to get the license plate and we'd have something to go on."

"And maybe not," Winston replied, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, Pete, there's a zillion black Chevy vans in the city. Even if it was Peck, he'd have to be stupid to bring Ray with him."

"Yeah, but... "

Egon nodded. "Not Peter's fault," he agreed with Winston.

Peter spared him a quick, reassuring grin. "Right, Egon. Okay, this is official. No more busts till we're back at full strength. If we'd had everybody, somebody could have been watching Ray's back."

Egon's face fell. "Sorry... " he began.

"Don't you apologize, Egon," Peter told him sternly. "None of this is your fault."

"Told you go on busts," Egon reminded him. "Couldn't come... couldn't give backup."

"Yeah, and if you had, they might've snatched you again," Peter insisted. "Forget it, Egon, this is one load of guilt you're not buying."

Egon looked at him intently and seemed to see the sense of Peter's words. "Find Ray quick," he muttered in that childlike voice that was so unlike him. "Find Peck!" Now that the others knew of Peck's involvement, the constraint against speaking his name had vanished.

Peter turned to Winston. "Well? Anything so far?" he asked.

"No record of Peck that I could get," Zeddemore admitted. "I know he's around here somewhere but he's unlisted or under a fake name. I called the police and told them what Egon had said and they're gonna check it out, too."

"Way to go," Peter praised him. "Now if we could just figure out what they wanted with Ray." He exchanged a worried glance at the other two. Ray was pretty sharp and he could handle himself, but he wasn't expecting a sorceress in conjunction with Peck. He might suspect Cynara was a witch of the nasty variety, but he might not have grasped the ramifications of what sounded like a complex plot to destroy the Ghostbusters. Up against Peck, Peter would give as good as he got, though not at gunpoint. New York was too big a place to search. Instead they'd have to try to free Egon from the spell that held him and let him help them backtrack his movements.

"Now all we have to do is make sense of this book of spells," Peter said. "Come on, guys, let's give it a go. Just better be careful not to turn ourselves into pumpkins."

Mycraft's Directory of Incantations was the huge book that Egon had been trying to read the day before, at least four inches thick, and the sight of it spread out on the table made Peter groan. This job was going to be a big one. It was one of the books that Ray hadn't had a chance to go through in much detail yet, because he'd said their copy was extremely rare and that there probably weren't a lot of others out there. He had decided to start with the more accessible ones in hopes of hitting on the spell that had been used. Now they knew where to look, they could make some real progress.

"Egon, you take a look and we'll read over your shoulders," Venkman suggested. "You probably know what to look for a lot better than we do."

"Ray knows," Egon insisted. Maybe part of the reason Ray had been taken was to prevent him reversing the spell.

"Ray isn't here," Peter said sharply before he could prevent himself. He caught himself and added, "So it's up to us, this time. After all, we're all geniuses. Read on, Egon."

"Is this one of those spells that works for everybody?" Winston asked as they turned pages. "Or is it one of those things that you have to believe in to make work?"

Egon frowned, considering the possibility. After some struggling thought, he shook his head, and admitted, "Don't know."

"Sometimes you have to know what you're doing and sometimes just saying the right words are enough," Peter admitted. "I took a course in primitive magics at Columbia when I was working on my masters' degree. It dealt a lot with African tribal magic. Most of that works because the belief system is strong, sort of like voodoo, but sometimes a spell would be cast and the victim wouldn't know about it, and he'd still die. The professor always hedged on that, but I think there could have been ways to convey it subliminally." He heard himself and added quickly, "Or so I've heard. The point is there's a lot of different ways it could work. Ray says books like this are dangerous because sometimes anybody can buy into them and make the spells work. All it takes is a suspicion of belief."

"So we can do it?" Winston asked eagerly, his face brightening.

"You bet we can do it. We're geniuses too," Peter agreed, hoping he was right.

They pored over the book for hours, pausing when Egon indicated a likely spell. Peter couldn't believe some of the purposes of the spells. Turning people into frogs seemed typical for such a book but inducing cows to give blue milk seemed of limited value and while endowing people with the ability to see through stone walls might be interesting, up to a point, it didn't help them now. Egon paused over one spell that created an illusion around an individual. The means of taking it off was indicated, so Egon nodded at Winston to recite the removal spell. He did it uneasily, uncomfortable with the entire process, but nothing happened. Egon's childlike expression didn't change, and disappointment made his bottom lip quiver as if he might cry. Peter bit his own lip and glared at the book.

"Well, that's not it."

"Try this." Egon pointed to the next page which offered a spell to shrink an object. "See if it works."

"Well, we could try it on Slimer," Peter suggested. The ghost, who had joined them silently, shrieked and started for the ceiling.

"Wait, Slimer," Winston called coaxingly. "We can change you right back. Besides, it might help Egon. You want to help Egon, don't you?"

Slimer hesitated on the verge of popping through the ceiling and looked at them doubtfully, folding his arms across his chest. He babbled something that sounded like, "What's in it for me?"

"Let me put it like this," Peter told the spud. "You come down and let us try and I won't blast you."

Slimer thought that over and decided it was a fair deal. Nervously he floated lower, hovering edgily near Winston. "Okey dokey," he consented, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Peter, half afraid Peter would pull something on him when he wasn't looking.

"He won't blast you, green guy," Winston reassured the ghost. Reciting the words of the spell, he pointed at Slimer, and all of them stared as, with a popping noise, the little ghost shrank down to the size of a man's fist. The miniature Slimer swooped at Peter and splatted against his chest. Slime flew everywhere, all out of proportion to the size of the miniaturized ghost.

"Revenge," Peter said knowingly. "That thrower looks pretty good right about now. Of course I said I wouldn't blast you, but I never said I wouldn't use a trap." Slimer shrieked and ducked behind Winston.

"Why's he so much more messy, Egon?" Peter demanded automatically, trying ineffectually to brush himself off. He was almost sorry he'd asked the question, but this time the physicist didn't disappoint him.

"Con-concentrated slime," explained Egon laboriously.

"Hey, I get it." Winston grinned as Peter scraped disgustedly at the front of his jumpsuit. "He's smaller but he's got the same basic mass, so he's denser and there's more slime per square inch. That it, my man?" he asked Egon, who nodded approvingly.

"I'll put you back now, Slimer," Winston continued and spoke the words of the spell that made Slimer expand and fill out until he was his normal size again.

"Well, at least we know they work," Peter said, eyeing Slimer without enthusiasm. "Maybe we can find one in there to make us all rich." He bent over the book again.

There was no word of Ray the rest of the day, and though the three of them pored over the book for hours, taking time out only to eat and to be run through a series of questions from their old 'friend' Officer Frump, who seemed to enjoy the job, they didn't find the spell that had worked on Egon.

The detective arrived right after the evening meal, braced to suspect them of hanky panky. When Janine issued him into the lab and Egon backed up nervously at the sight of him while Peter and Winston shifted protectively one to either side of him, the policeman looked startled as if he'd been surprised out of his planned script. When Egon bit his bottom lip and eyed him apprehensively, Frump gave him a speculative look as if he felt the Ghostbusters were trying to pull a fast one on him. When an exasperated Peter threatened to shrink him and turn him bright blue to prove his point, the bulky police officer said complacently, "Oh, that's all right, Venkman. I can arrest you just as easily if I'm blue. At least it's the right color for a cop," and Winston had settled for shrinking and enlarging Slimer again to prove what they were up against. The little ghost didn't slime the policeman, even though Peter egged him on to try just that, gesturing him closer surreptitiously. Resisting the direction, Slimer hung back near Winston, who took pity on him and recited the words to return him to himself.

"Interesting," said Frump, turning from Slimer to the physicist and studying Egon again. "I don't know of any law against putting a spell on people."

"That means we can turn you blue," Peter said hopefully. "Janine once turned Slimer into three Slimers by using a book of spells. Naah. The last thing we need is three Frumps."

"What we do need is Ray back," Winston added. "Take a look at Egon, Frump. If they can do this to him, who knows what they're doing to Ray. You've gotta get him back."

"Egon! Peter! Winston!" Janine had stayed late out of concern for Egon and Ray, and now she came running up the stairs to join them, her face pale with alarm. "This just came! It's horrible!" She held out a brown manilla envelope. "It's about Ray."

Peter lunged for it but Frump inserted his considerable bulk between Peter and Janine. "In that case, it might have useful fingerprints. Give it here." He held out a hand as big as a ham and waited expectantly.

"They have to see it," Janine insisted, whipping it out of range and glaring at him. "Besides I've handled it already."

"Then we'll take your fingerprints for purposes of elimination," the detective insisted. Removing the envelope from her hand by one small corner, he carried it over to the table held between two fingers, opened the loosened flap with a pencil, and dumped the contents on the table beside the books of spells. Several Polaroid snapshots spilled out and lay there. Peter leaned closer, tensing as he saw them. They were pictures of Ray.

The missing Ghostbuster's face sported several bruises, including a rapidly swelling eye. He still wore his jumpsuit, but a new article of attire had been added--handcuffs. He was sitting on a rough pallet against a plain stone wall, and his chin was thrust forward with stubborn defiance. The next picture was a full figure shot and which revealed his shackled feet. The third shot was a close up of his bruised face. His bottom lip was puffy and there was pain in his eyes, but he stared earnestly into the camera as if to convey a message to his friends.

"I'm gonna neutronize Peck," Peter exploded. "He's toast!"

"You're gonna do nothing, Venkman," the police officer informed him coolly, folding his arms across his chest. "This is my job. You guys might irritate the hell out of me, but this goes beyond that. If Peck is behind this I want him. He's mine."

"He's ours," Winston objected furiously. "Nobody messes with one of us and gets away with it."

"None of your fancy Ghostbusting stuff. This is a job for the police." He lifted the envelope by the same corner and shook it. A folded piece of paper fell out.

"I didn't see that," Janine confessed. "Just the pictures. We have to get him back, Dr. Venkman."

"We'll get him back, Janine," Peter said through clenched teeth. "Nobody does something like this to my friends. Nobody--not and lives to tell about it."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Frump said more sympathetically than he'd ever sounded before. Using the pencil, he opened the folded note and read it aloud. "'Do you enjoy it, Venkman? I said I'd get you and this is the best way, through your friends.'"

Peter froze. It was as if someone had injected a dose of ice water into his veins. Though the note was unsigned, and Peter didn't know Walter Peck's handwriting, he was certain it was from him. What really hit him hard was the knowledge that Peck had done these things to Egon and Ray to make Peter suffer. He'd managed to alienate Peck, and Peck had returned the favor by hurting his friends. His hands clenched into fists as he stared at the spiteful message.

A big hand descended onto his shoulder and he looked up to see Egon watching him sympathetically. The same torment that Peter felt was in Egon's eyes, but the blond said quickly, "It's not your fault, Peter." He sounded so much more normal that Peter stared at him in disbelief. "Not your fault," Egon continued. "You never did anything to that man to deserve this. He's crazy."

"Egon?" Peter breathed hopefully. "You sound a lot more like yourself." The physicist still didn't look or sound completely normal, but it was easier for him to make is point and there was a lot more maturity and confidence in his tone. "Is it starting to wear off?" Peter demanded.

The physicist shook his head. "Better," he explained, stepping back, his eyes glittering brightly in relief. "I can feel it. Not quite myself, but more so. A-adrenalin hurts the spell. I--I think that's why I could type better when you said Ray was missing." As if to test the theory, he struggled to explain it more thoroughly, in much bigger words. "The body can reject the--the--blast it--a certain energy. I can't say it."

"You're coming on, Egon," Peter said. "I can't say I think much of the therapy but it worked. I bet Peck would chew nails if he knew sending those pictures would make you start improving like this."

"Can we continue it?" Winston asked hopefully, smiling at Egon with relief. "Now that we know it can improve, I mean?"

"Maybe Peck will send more photos," Frump said. Though the words were not very sympathetic in themselves, he regarded Egon much more softly than usual. Considering it was Frump, he still looked tough, but he wasn't coming down on them as hard as he usually did. "I'm gonna take this stuff in," he said, pushing the photos into the envelope again with the pencil and doing the same with the note. "Are your fingerprints on file, Miss Melnitz?"

Janine nodded. "Ours all are. The guys work for the government sometimes, even in classified areas. We've all had to get clearance and they needed fingerprints for that."

"That'll save time. I'll be back." He started out, then turned again, pausing in front of Peter and wagging a thick finger in his face. "I don't want to hear about any vigilante games, Venkman. I know you want revenge for what this creep did to your buddies, and I can even understand it, but if I catch you trying to do my job, I'm gonna haul you in before you can say 'Ghostbusters' and don't think I can't. I've had you in a cell before."

"Yeah, for the major crime of blasting the Mayor's wife's dress," Peter complained. He didn't like Frump's warning and he doubted he'd heed it, except he wouldn't be any good to Ray and Egon in jail. "Peck's toast," he concluded stubbornly.

"Probably," agreed Frump, "but he's my toast."

"Tell about van," Egon urged suddenly, and Peter and Winston exchanged a considering look before the psychologist heaved a sigh and told them the theory that their headquarters might be bugged and that was how Peck had known where to find Ray. Winston explained about the P.K.E. meter Egon had set up to jam any kind of signals and the way the van had taken off immediately afterwards.

"It was probably the same van that snatched Ray," Peter insisted. "Same color and all, and seeing it in both places makes it all the more possible."

"It could be a coincidence. Doesn't prove anything," Frump replied, unimpressed, making Peter struggle to hold back his temper. Decking a cop would be pretty counterproductive right about now. He couldn't stand the man, but Frump might find a clue that would lead them to Ray. Peter doubted it; he was sure that Ray would be found because he and Egon and Winston went looking for him, but for Ray's sake he couldn't pass up any opportunity. As if he sensed Peter's struggle against his rage, Winston grasped his arm just above the elbow.

"Easy, Peter."

Peter frowned at him, but he was grateful for the restraint.

"Maybe it doesn't prove anything, but you can find out what kind of car Peck drives and see if he has a van, or if Cynara does," Winston cut in quickly as if he sensed that Peter's pressure cooker temper hadn't abated. "It's somewhere to look, isn't it? Last I heard the police didn't turn up their noses at possible clues."

"We can do that much," the detective agreed, though without enthusiasm. "Why am I so sure you didn't get a license plate?" When Winston shook his head ruefully, Frump gave a disgusted snort and started for the door. "If you think of anything else, let me know." The implication was that the Ghostbusters were holding out on him on purpose and he'd rather spend his time catching them out than tracking down Walter Peck. Peter's hands clenched into fists. Only Egon's warning hand on his shoulder stopped him from doing something he'd probably regret later, no matter how much he'd enjoy it right now.

Frump cast a knowing eye on Peter, then he smiled contentedly as if he believed he'd won this round and headed out of the lab, the envelope dangling from his fingertips. Janine followed to show him the door.

"That guy bugs the hell out of me," Peter said unnecessarily. "Maybe I should make up another Frump dartboard, or sick Slimer on him." He grinned beatifically at the idea.

"He's trying to help, Peter," Winston chastised him, taking hold of the scruff of Peter's neck and shaking him lightly. "That's the nicest he's ever been to us. Never mind that, let's get back to work. We can rescue Ray a lot easier once Egon's back to normal." He slanted a sideways glance at Egon and muttered, "Oh, man," in dismay.

Peter looked at Egon, who was back at the computer screen. His slightly older persona had summoned up a video game and he was playing it.

"Great, just what we need," Peter muttered. "Oh, Egon! Work first, then play, big guy."

Egon pulled himself up and stared at the screen. With a mutter of embarrassed disgust, he shut it off. "Sorry, Peter," he said, avoiding the psychologist's eyes. "I didn't realize I was doing it."

"Maybe you ought to get some sleep, Egon," offered Winston. "It's late."

"Don't wanna go to bed," Egon insisted, his face taking on a crafty look of a child who is plotting new ways to stay up past bedtime. "I'm hungry."

"Won't work, Egon, I've heard 'em all," Peter said, reaching out and rumpling the blond's hair, happy to see the perfectly normal grimace that crossed Egon's face at the gesture and the way he reached up at once to settle his hair into his normal style. "In fact I've used 'em all. We're gonna put in a little more time turning Slimer all the colors of the rainbow and growing extra noses on him, and then we're gonna go to bed."

Slimer shrieked and muttered something about only needing one nose. Winston shot Peter a dirty look and took a few minutes to soothe him before they went back to work.

Frump telephoned shortly before bedtime to report that Peck hadn't been located and neither had Cynara Storm, but Peck did have a late model black Chevy van. It didn't prove he had been watching Ghostbuster Central and using listening devices to track them or even that he'd used it to snatch Ray but it made it a good possibility and an APB had been issued on the vehicle. Peter made a circuit of all the windows after the detective had hung up, trying to see if the van had returned. He put on the ecto-scopes for better night vision and they worked well though it wasn't their primary function. If the van had returned, it was out of his line of sight, and the thought of going out and looking for it didn't seem like a good idea. Peter would have relished a chance at Peck, but he owed it to Egon and Winston not to be the next kidnapped Ghostbuster. Before he went to bed, he set every alarm in the place and checked all the locks three times.

Even with all those precautions, he awoke in the night with the utter conviction that he was not alone, and he sat bolt upright in bed, half expecting Peck to have tiptoed into the dormitory to reinforce the spell on Egon or to do something nasty to Winston, too. But Zeddemore was snoring away in his bed, and Egon was still there, too. When Peter moved, he caught his breath and rolled over, but Peter knew he was awake again, once more unable to sleep, probably feeling alone and frustrated in the darkness with nothing to distract him from his doubts and fears.

"Egon?" Peter prodded gently in a near whisper.

"What?" Egon's voice was wobbly as if he'd been crying again. Peter had realized from the beginning that the spell had made him more labile than normal--to the tenth power, and the emotions that Egon never had to struggle against because he was usually so together were right on the surface, difficult, if not impossible, for the transformed physicist to control. If he were scared, he couldn't sublimate it in his work or rationalize it away. He'd probably been lying awake for hours, facing the ruins of his life, wondering if, in spite of his improvement, the spell would ever be broken completely. Maybe the improvement allowed him to think about it more easily. He was likely even embarrassed for the facade he was forced to show his friends. Peter had tried to behave as normally to him as possible, especially once he had finally come to believe the real Egon was intact inside, but he couldn't help reacting to the juvenile expressions on the face of the man who was the most subtle of the Ghostbusters. Egon must be speculating on his fate if he was restricted to spelling out complex answers on the keyboard rather than using his lightning brain whenever he wanted to.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Peter asked, though he was sure of the answer before Egon spoke it. Last night had shown his complete vulnerability but a three year old has little control. Tonight Egon was probably fighting it harder, but the fear was still there. "You gonna make a habit of this, or do you just like my bedside manner?"

"Bad dreams," Egon admitted. He drew a long, shuddering breath as if he'd been crying and didn't want it to show, and added, "I keep waking up. What if I always stay like this?"

"You're not gonna stay like this, Egon." Peter whipped away the covers and went to sit on the edge of Egon's bed. Never mind his own sleep had been interrupted two nights in a row, not if Egon needed someone to talk to. "If adrenalin can zap you back to normal, I'll open the containment unit and let a few of our old friends out and send them after you. That'll make the adrenaline flow all right. What do you say to the Bogeyman?"

"Peter!" Egon chided. He wrinkled his brow in an agony of concentration. "It might even work," he conceded. He rolled over to face Peter and sat up, drawing his knees up under his chin and encircling them with his arms. Tonight the Stay Puft doll had fallen to the floor, or he had rejected it, and when one is scared, clutching a pillow doesn't offer much comfort. Without his glasses, he always looked more vulnerable, even slightly confused at times, and now the effect was magnified. Egon must be operating like an eight year old now, a very bright eight year old who could spout bigger words than the average child but who was restricted to an eight year old's emotional displays. Peter remembered the temper tantrum he'd thrown at bedtime. Maybe down the road he could laugh at it and tease Egon about it, though he was sure Egon wouldn't tolerate it when he was normal again, but now, with Ray missing and probably hurt, and Egon not much help, it was hard to imagine anything funny.

"Of course it'll work. It's my idea, and you know what a genius I am."

"Microwave emitters that blow up," Egon began, falling into the old routine more easily than he had in the original format. "I know." He shivered suddenly, the tremors so strong the mattress vibrated beneath them. "It makes me mad," he admitted reluctantly as if he feared Peter would take the confession as a sign of weakness. "I can't stop shaking."

"Sure you can, Egon. Try the old Venkman treatment." He shifted position and put his arms around Egon, pulling him close and running his hands up and down the blond's back. "The ladies always like this."

Egon grimaced. "I'm not a lady," he reminded Peter stiffly.

"No, you sure aren't. They're soft in all the right places and you're too bony. If I have to cuddle somebody, old buddy, you're just the wrong gender."

"True. And the word is slim," Egon replied, comfortable with the teasing, but holding on for all he was worth.

"Yeah, right. The word is skinny, Egon. If you will eat things like sweat sandwiches it isn't any wonder. Come on, Spengs. You're gonna be okay. We'll hit the right spell soon and you'll be fine."

"Ray isn't," Egon breathed against Peter's neck.

"No, Egon, Ray isn't, but a few bruises for effect are probably all Peck will dare. He didn't do anything permanent to you and he isn't gonna do anything permanent to Ray either. We'll get him back."

"He might try this spell on Ray."

Peter hated the thought of that, imagining the wide eyed distress of a three year old superimposed over Ray's normally cheerful face. "Ray's just a big kid anyway," he said, determined to sound positive and to distract Egon from his fears. "How will we tell the difference?"

Egon chuckled, reacting to the confidence and determination that Peter projected at him with all his strength. "Ray's smart. Maybe he'll figure the whole thing out."

"Yeah, right, Egon. At least he won't be under the influence of a blonde."

Egon made a rude noise. Peter grinned sadly. Egon wasn't shivering any more though he still had a childish tendency to cling. At least he was better than last night. At this rate, he'd probably sleep the night through by the end of the week.

Maybe Ray didn't have until the end of the week.

"Go to sleep, Egon," he instructed, struggling against the chill that tried to run through his own body. "Come on, stretch out. I'll sit here for awhile, until you fall asleep. At this rate I ought to market the official Peter Venkman night lights. We'll work on it in the morning."

Egon lay down obediently, smiling a little, and Peter stayed perched at the foot of his bed until the physicist's breathing slowed with sleep. Overhead, Slimer drifted up and down under his blanket, undisturbed by midnight conversations and Peter tried to avoid looking at Ray's empty bed. Morning wasn't likely to bring any answers, only more problems, but Peter was determined to deal with them. Nobody crossed Peter Venkman and got away with it.

Ray Stantz shivered and curled up on his hard, uncomfortable bed. He was sore and tired but he didn't want to go to sleep, half afraid he'd wake up to something worse. Besides, he had an idea what was going on and he wanted to prove it.

Falling for Peck's trap was just stupid, though short of blasting the man with his thrower Ray wasn't sure what he could have done to avoid being snatched. When he'd come out into the alley behind the liquor store, his mind was on the ghost that inhabited the place and on the readings his P.K.E. meter was producing, wondering why he was suddenly picking up new readings. Another ghost? A victim of the original ghost? He wasn't sure. Paying attention to the meter he saw the bag lady out of the corner of his eye and ran a quick test on her. The needle stirred and he knew he should have recognized the strengthened readings he was detecting. She wasn't a ghost, that was evident, but... Cynara? Hadn't these been the same kind of readings Egon had-- A screech of tires cut across his musing and he turned, meter still running. The black van that had pulled up near her didn't look like it had come to deliver liquor to the store. When the driver's door opened and Walter Peck climbed out, Ray realized what he should have guessed earlier, the identity of Egon's attacker, the man whose name the physicist had been prevented from speaking.

"You!" he cried, glaring at Peck, shoving his P.K.E. meter into his pocket and gripping his thrower more tightly, prepared to defend himself. Peck didn't look entirely sane, and Ray knew he wanted revenge.

"That's right, it's me," Peck returned menacingly, a smug smile running across his face. "You and your pals didn't think you were going to get away with crossing me, did you? I told you I'd pay you back one day."

"Last time you tried, you didn't do such a great job," Ray returned hotly, remembering the former EPA man's attempts to get at the Ghostbusters by making off with Slimer and nearly destroying the little spook. "My friends will find a way to stop you."

"Like Spengler?" Peck asked, his face full of cynical amusement. "The way it is now? I don't think so."

"He's just as brilliant as ever," Ray returned challengingly. "We ran tests and proved it. We'll find a way to get him back, see if we don't."

"You might. I'm not sure about the other two. Venkman might put on airs about being a scientist, but he's hardly in Spengler's league or yours, and Zeddemore doesn't have the training. No, if I take you out of the picture, they won't have a clue."

"How're you gonna do it?" Ray asked, bracing himself challengingly and starting to raise his proton rifle. He couldn't blast Peck at full streams or it would kill him, but he could change the setting and put enough power out to stun him. Even as he reached for the button to make the adjustment, Peck produced a gun from his pocket and leveled it at Ray.

"I'm gonna do it like this," he replied.

"And I'm gonna do this!" Ray pointed his thrower at the other man. "I'd say we have a standoff.

"And I'd say we don't." A woman's voice sounded in his ear just before something hard slammed down on the back of his head and made it all academic.

The next thing Ray new, he was waking up in a strange, dimly lit place, hands cuffed together, his feet shackled. With his head aching fiercely from the blow he'd been struck, he found it hard to think, but he knew he had to do something to get himself out of this mess. If he didn't act quickly, Peck would find a way to pull the same number on him that he'd done on Egon, and Ray would be useless to himself or to his friends in that state. He had to find a way to free himself, and while he might have blasted away the cuffs if he still had his thrower, he could tell that his proton pack was no longer on his back, or even in the small, stone-walled room where he was presently confined.

He squirmed around trying to make himself more comfortable on the narrow cot, but something kept poking him in the chest and after a moment's concentration, he realized it was his P.K.E. meter, still in his pocket. Peck hadn't removed it, but then he probably knew what it was and might not have considered it a weapon. Ray knew there were various adaptations he could make to the meter, given free hands and tools, but working it out of his pocket would be difficult while his hands were clipped together this way, and from the look of the bare cell, nothing useful was provided. The place appeared to have been hewn from the living rock, a castle dungeon rather than a back room in Manhattan. Light filtered into the room from the barred window but it was too high on the grimy wall for him to see anything out the opening except a wedge of sky and too small for a man to squeeze through, even assuming he could free himself from his chains. He didn't know where he was, but it felt incredibly old, as if it were a real dungeon. Maybe he was. There was no light bulb overhead, but a flaming torch was planted in a sconce on the wall near the ribbed door, casting a dim and flickering light through the cell and casting the corners into shadows.

Pushing himself into a sitting position made the shackles clink together, which summoned a guardian from outside; someone had been waiting for him to wake up. He gulped nervously as a key turned in the lock, the heavy door creaked open, revealing a glimpse of a corridor that looked like part of a stone cavern, lit with more torches. Walter Peck entered the room with an abrupt and purposeful stride, his grey business suit out of place in such unlikely surroundings, trailed by a complacent looking Cynara Storm, who was wearing a flowing robe that made her look like something from another century--or another dimension. She spoiled the otherworldly effect by holding up a Polaroid camera.

"It's time for a photo opportunity, Dr. Stantz," she purred. "You'll like this. Maybe you should see yourself first. That will make this so much more fun." She ducked out again and returned with a hand mirror which she raised for Ray to look at.

He stared at his reflection in dismay. No wonder he'd felt sore and bruised--he was sore and bruised. One eye was swollen and puffy, the bruise already darkening, and there were several other bruises and scrapes on his face; he looked like he'd been used for a punching bag. Either Peck had attacked him while he was unconscious or he'd gotten the injuries when he fell, but if the guys saw him like this, they'd come after Peck with blazing throwers. First Peck had trashed Egon, now him, though Egon's condition was far worse than his own. Bruises healed, after all, and spells didn't, not without help. He glared at his captors defiantly while they took several photos, realizing they were being careful to include the chains in the shot. Peter was going to go ballistic when he saw them. It didn't take much imagination to realize that the photos would soon be on their way to Ghostbuster Central.

When they had finished, they left again with no further explanations or comments. They didn't even speak to him when they went out, but Peck was smiling triumphantly, making Ray want to put his fist into the man's smug face. The door clashed shut with a solid thunk that spoke of strength and thickness, the key turned in the lock, and Ray waited just until he heard their footsteps fade away before he worked the P.K.E. meter out of his pocket. He'd been detecting a strange reading in the alley when Peck's van had arrived, but the sight of the man had distracted him from completing his study. Now, as he pulled the meter out, grateful the cuffs had a foot of chain between them to allow him some mobility, he remembered that reading, determined to make sense of it. Peck must have been working with Cynara to harm Egon, and now they had him. The woman in the alley must have been Cynara--those faint readings had been familiar--but they had to mean something. She wasn't a ghost and Peck was human and couldn't account for it either. Curious about the discrepancy, Ray activated the meter and stared in surprise when it went wild, beeping and blinking furiously, reacting much more intently than it had done in the alley. Though those readings had indicated power, they had meant a residue, a leftover effect, from someone who had been exposed to great power. That's probably what he was picking up on Cynara, and with two of them there, the power had intensified. Whatever entity was here, Peck had been exposed to it, too.

Quickly he turned down the sound so his captors wouldn't hear it and come to investigate, then he studied the grid readings and watched the needle. Class 7, he realized, with a lot of residual energy caused by lesser beings creating a clutter effect on the screen. This looked really bad. There were ghosts, demons, and all kinds of lesser nether entities nearby, and even the walls of his prison exuded residual power that spoke of magic use and various unsavory applications of psi force. Either Peck was possessed by a demon or he wasn't working alone. This place had to be a demon's domain. Maybe it was even in the Netherworld; these readings didn't dispute the possibility. If this is where Peck had brought Egon when he'd been taken, no wonder they hadn't been able to track him by his biorhythms in New York.

Shutting down the meter and returning it to his pocket, Ray considered everything he'd discovered and reasoned out. Peck blamed the Ghostbusters for his problems, but really the man had brought them on himself. After they had saved the city from Gozer, Peck had been remembered as the one who had shut down the Ghostbusters' containment unit and when Egon and Peter had discussed the situation with Peck's superior at the Environmental Protection Agency, they learned that he had exceeded his authority in doing what he did without tests and further study. He'd had no actual evidence that there was any kind of contamination at Ghostbuster Central, and his actions, instead of reducing a problem, had created a much greater one. Egon had made a point of bringing in someone from that agency to assess and evaluate the rebuilt containment unit and to measure the residue, if any, left after operating the power grid. They had been given a clean bill of health and Peck's name had fallen from favor. When he became involved in his new job and taken Slimer for experimentation purposes, his obsession with the Ghostbusters had cost him that position, too. Since then, there'd been no word of him. Peter had theorized that he was sleeping on a bench in Bryant Park with the druggies or, worse, strapped into a strait jacket somewhere, watching endless reruns of The Brady Bunch, but Ray realized he'd merely gone underground, literally. This was not Ray's own world. Somehow Peck had found a way to pass through the dimensional barrier, either on his own or with the help of someone with power, probably the Class 7 demon Ray had detected. His fanatical hatred of the Ghostbusters must have pushed him over the edge or he wouldn't have considered such a risky alliance as that. The occultist wasn't sure who Cynara was, but the readings they'd picked up from her could indicate power on her own, such as witchcraft or sorcery. Since the P.K.E. meters were configured to detect ectoplasmic energy, she might stir the needle but wouldn't give an accurate reading. Ray wasn't sure if she had brought Peck here or merely assisted in the transfer but she was probably the one who had put the spell on Egon after first getting him to lower his guard. Realizing how that must have happened, Ray shook his head. Gosh, he thought with a wry grin, Peter will never let Egon live that one down.

Her readings wouldn't account for the power the P.K.E. meter had detected though. Unless she could shield her own power, she had not been working alone to aid Peck but with the demon whose realm this was. Frowning, Ray touched his bruised cheek and winced. There was a powerful entity at the heart of all of this. Peck might want revenge, but he was too incensed to make a rational plan. That didn't mean he wouldn't fall prey to something more powerful who wanted to use his resentment and anger to get back at the Ghostbusters. In their careers, the Ghostbusters had made a lot of enemies, but most of them were safely incarcerated in the containment unit. What powerful demon still free hated the Ghostbusters enough to want to destroy them? How had he found Walter Peck and decided he was a useful front man in a world where its unsavory presence would be noticed and reported instantly? Had Cynara conjured it up or was it using her, too?

Fascinated with his theories, Ray forgot everything but the need to get answers. How could he make the demon show itself, and if he succeeded, how could he relay the information he'd learned to his friends?

Making himself as comfortable as his bruises would permit, he stretched out on the rough pallet and settled down to reason it out and plan his escape.

The huge green demon smiled contentedly to himself as he sat in the throne room of his keep, baring his fangs in a nasty smile that made his minions cringe in terror. They recognized that look as one that meant trouble for its object. Minor demons, slaves, even the powerful trolls and rock demons cringed and tried to become as inconspicuous as possible. Tolay wanted revenge and that look meant he was about to get it. One slave, scuttling out of sight, heard the powerful demon mutter to himself before he was out of earshot, "Two down. Two to go."

"Rise and shine, guys," Peter called, bounding out of bed at sunrise, winning an astonished grumble from Winston, who pulled the blanket over his head and groaned.

"Peter. It's not even morning yet. You're usually sacking in for another couple of hours, even on one of your good days."

"Yeah, but on one of my good days, Walter Peck isn't holding Ray prisoner," Peter reminded him, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He glanced over at Egon who had awakened when Peter had spoken.

Now he huddled down in his blankets and muttered, "Don't wanna go to school today, Mom." He winced as he heard himself and pushed himself upright, grimacing as he reached for his glasses. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Peter grimaced. He'd halfway hoped Egon would wake up normal, but he hadn't. "No school today, buddy," the psychologist said quickly. "Just some more time with the spells, and then I want to canvas this city, looking for Ray."

Egon concentrated. "I'm not sure Ray is in New York any more," he said with considerable effort.

"What're you saying, big guy?" Peter asked.

"Computer," Egon insisted. He was more comfortable typing his answers out with the two finger method than he was trying to speak them, although he was better than he'd been at the beginning.

"Yeah, we'll have a session at the computer. Let's get dressed so we can bomb on out of here when we figure out where Peck's holding Ray."

After a hasty breakfast that they ate on the run they regrouped in the third floor lab. Egon's tone had alarmed Peter and he wasn't sure that he wanted to see what would spell out on the computer screen. Egon sat down there and keyed up the screen with more ease than he had the day before. Well, an eight year old would probably be happy with computers. Some kids were a lot more at home around them than Peter was, but he'd always told himself he could learn them if he simply put his mind to it. Egon, of course, in his right mind, was an expert. Now if they could just keep him away from the computer games.

"No playing Carmen Sandiego, Egon," Peter cautioned.

Egon shot him one very normal look, his mouth twisting into a resigned grimace, then he turned to the keyboard and began to type. This time he used more than two fingers, backspacing more easily to correct his mistakes. Cynara's spell hadn't taken the computer into account.

"I don't remember all of it," the words spelled out on the screen. "But I've been thinking and I realize I may not have been in our universe at all. The cell where I was held looked medieval, and there was a residue of power about the place that I could sense though I had no P.K.E. meter with which to test it. There was also no electricity." His spelling was much better today. The combined shocks of the previous day had done their work well, just not quite well enough.

"Maybe they had a run in with Con Ed," Peter suggested, but the terse description didn't sound particularly likely for Central Park West. He frowned, remembering that Dana Barrett had lived on Central Park West, too, and by the time Gozer was through with it, her place hadn't looked like your average apartment either. "What is it with that part of town?" he demanded.

"Perhaps the coming of Gozer weakened the fabric of the interdimensional continuum there," Egon typed. "It would be fascinating to run some tests there and determine whether or not the likelihood of a trans-dimensional nexus... "

"Cool it, Egon," Peter urged, grabbing the physicist's wrists and lifting them from the keyboard, his eyes twinkling with pleasure at that tongue-twister of a sentence. It was sheer Egon, big words and all. If he could type it, he could think it, and if he could think it, he was himself inside. "Business before pleasure."

"Peter!" reproached Egon, and pulled his hands free. Typing again, he continued, "If Cynara possesses a higher form of psi power she may be able to key open a gateway into the Netherworld or another alternate dimension."

"Not the Netherworld," moaned Winston as he leaned over Egon's shoulder to read the keyboard. "I hate that place. Terror dogs and demons and other nasties. Let's hope it's not the Netherworld, guys."

"You got that right," agreed Peter, yanking over a chair and sitting straddling it backwards, folding his arms across the backrest and resting his chin on them as he read the screen. "Yo, Egon. Did you see any demons or other non-friendly types when you were there, or just Peck and the bitch queen?"

"No entities," Egon keyed in quickly. "Just a cell. Then Cynara did something with her power. I felt another spell taking place and the next thing I knew I was in Central Park and a policeman was talking to me. I couldn't communicate with him, though I knew exactly what I wanted to say." He quivered at the memory, and Peter dropped a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Hang in there, big guy. We're gonna play with the spell book again today. Let's call in the spud. He can be guinea pig again."

Slimer, who had been hovering in the doorway munching the remnants of their breakfast, shrieked and started away, but Peter saw him. "Don't go, spud, or I'll take away your Diner's Club card," he called out, lifting one hand in an admonishing gesture.

The terrible threat stopped Slimer in his tracks and he drifted closer reluctantly, clearly miserable, burbling his unhappiness. "Hang in there, Spud," Winston encouraged him. "We'll put you back together afterwards, won't we, Peter?"

"Aw, do we hafta?"

"Peter!" Egon chided. He'd been able to manage that reproachful tone all along, and it was as effective as usual. Peter stuck out his tongue at him, dismayed when Egon copied the gesture with an obnoxious sound and added, "Nyah, nyah, nyah." Catching himself, the blond clapped a hand over his mouth, pink staining his cheeks. He bent again to the keyboard and typed, "If you ever mention this again when it's over, Peter, remember I know how to rewire your proton pack to disintegrate all your molecules."

"You'd never do that," Peter said quickly.

"What makes you so certain?" asked Egon promptly, holding Peter's eyes and staring him down.

Peter struck a pose. "Because I'm so loveable?" he suggested with a broad grin.

"I don't think that's gonna be enough, Pete," Winston put in. "Anybody for spells?"

Janine appeared in the doorway as they opened the huge tome to the place they'd marked the night before. One quick glance must have been enough to show her that Egon had not recovered since she'd gone home the night before. "Can I help?" she asked.

Egon eyed her warily, and Peter suspected he didn't like Janine seeing him like this, but he heaved a sigh that was all too adult and nodded his permission. Peter beckoned her in. "Maybe we can try the spells on you instead of Slimer," he suggested with a grin.

"Egon!" wailed Janine in protest. "I want you to transplant his brain into Slimer if he keeps talking like that."

Egon giggled at the idea, a response so unlike his normal dry amusement that Janine winced, and the physicist noticed it. He lowered his head like a little boy who's been embarrassed in front of all his friends, and Janine bit her bottom lip apologetically and came up to him. "I'm sorry, Egon," she said. "Soon as we get you back to normal you can do whatever you like."

"And probably will," Peter replied. "Any word from the police yet, big J?"

She shook her head. "Well, not good news anyway. Frump called to say he hadn't found out anything helpful and to make a lot of obnoxious noise about you guys not keeping anything from him that he needs to know. He told me about Walter Peck." She bristled with rage. "You guys should've neutronized him when you had the chance."

"Yeah, right," Winston agreed, bristling at the thought of the big detective's usual attitude toward the Ghostbusters. "He's got no jurisdiction in the Netherworld, last I heard."

"The Netherworld?" Janine burst out. "You're not going back there, are you? What brought that on?"

"Egon thinks he was held prisoner there," Peter told her. "Seems like Peck's got real underworld connections."

"Yeah, like knowing somebody who can mush Egon's brains," Winston muttered, adding hastily, "or at least make it look that way," when Egon glared at him, bottom lip protruding. "Sorry, m'man," he added, "but you know what I mean."

"I thought that--that woman had done it all--but it's just like her to work with a sleazebag like Peck," Janine said defiantly. "I never liked her. I knew she was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her."

"Good point, Janine," replied Peter, grinning at her. "We'll take you on busts from now on and let you point out all the vicious blondes who might endanger Egon. We'll design a 'blonde' meter just for that purpose."

That made Egon smile, and Janine struggled to hold back her irritated response. "So what about getting rid of this spell?" she demanded. "If Walter Peck is using the Netherworld, he's probably got some nasty allies, and he'll start aiming at Peter and Winston next."

"Or you, Janine," Egon pointed out, jumping up and standing defiantly at her side as if he meant to protect her from anything threatening. A blush stained his cheeks--more of the surface behavior he couldn't control, but Peter took careful note of it. There were certain matters that would be fair game when Egon was himself again and just maybe this was one of them.

"Let's get to work." Winston looked down at Mycraft's Directory of Incantations and his eyes widened. "Hey, guys, get a load of this one. 'To conceal within an illusion.' Maybe that's what they did. They hid the real Egon within the image of something else. What do you say? Think this could be it?"

"Might be," Peter agreed, leaning over his shoulder and skimming the Latin words that evoked the spell. "Looks like it to me."

Egon quirked an eyebrow in his old style. "I didn't know you knew Latin, Peter," he commented. Though there was still a sense of playground rivalry to his voice, the words sounded a lot like the old Egon.

"Oh well, I just picked up a few things here and there, you know," Peter replied in an offhand voice.

"Yeah, right," Winston said scornfully. "Caught you, Pete. You know what it says as well as Egon does."

"Yeah, well, keep me away from Sumerian and that kind of crap," Peter replied. "What do you say, Egon? Want to go for it."

"Please." Egon frowned. "I hate this, Peter. Change me back." The little boy plea in that deep voice stabbed at Peter and without hesitation he recited the words to the counter spell.

At first nothing happened.

Some of the spells had created a sense of power in the air; a few had even dimmed the lights of the lab when they were spoken; but this one gave no such immediate indication. Then Slimer emitted a surprised yip, shivered, and glanced around wildly as if he feared something nasty was coming after him. When Peter peered anxiously into Egon's face, the physicist blinked at him, jerked back with a shudder that seemed to shake his entire frame and made him squeeze his eyes tightly shut, frowned, then his eyes flew open and lit up like sunshine. He winked at Peter.

"Did we do it, big fella?" Peter asked anxiously though the confident gleam in the blue eyes spelled out his answer more clearly than words would have. "Come on, tell me we did it?"

"You did it," agreed Egon, straightening up and brushing himself off as if to clean away the last remnants of the spell, tugging at the collar of his shirt to settle it into place and raising a hand to check his hair. His whole demeanor changed. The careless, schoolboy slouch vanished from his posture, and his shoulders were squared with the pride of person that he usually carried so well. Relief shone vividly in his expression, but he didn't say so. Instead he made a great show of straightening his jumpsuit and tidying up the table around the book of spells while he got himself under control. "Thank you, Peter. I'm myself again." His voice wobbled fractionally, and Peter caught it.

"And now we have years of teasing ahead of us," he crowed, flinging his arms around Egon and hugging him with relief. "And I am going to love every minute of it."

As he expected, that snapped Egon's control into place, and his voice steadied remarkably as he cried, "Peter! You wouldn't... "

"He would," chorused Janine and Winston with grins a mile wide.

"Just remember, Peter," Egon said coolly, "that I know how to rewire a ghost trap to pull you in." His eyes twinkled with the old familiar mischief.

"Egon better!" screeched Slimer and planted a big smooch on the blond man's face. Egon groaned and backed away, scrubbing away the green mess without enthusiasm.

Janine took Slimer's place, wrapping her arms around Egon's neck and kissing him enthusiastically. He didn't exactly stage a repeat performance of his homecoming kiss, but he didn't push Janine away either. When she pulled back, she was smiling. "Yes, you're back," she said.

"Precisely," the physicist replied, slightly flustered, turning to the others. "Now it's up to us to rescue Ray. In retrospect, I honestly believe Peck could have held me prisoner in the Netherworld. Certainly it didn't look like a place likely to appear in Manhattan."

"Hey, maybe it was down in the Tunnels," Peter suggested. "You know, some abandoned place under the subway like in Beauty and the Beast. Maybe Peck's teamed up with Vincent."

"Possible, but unlikely, Peter," Egon replied, already displaying evidence of rapid thought and considerable intellect in his expression. He looked so normal that Peter felt certain he could come up with a plan to free Ray. "I'm convinced Peck is not operating alone, or even with just Cynara." He frowned at the woman's name. "She did have skill at sorcery," Egon admitted. "I prefer a more scientific approach but since it obviously worked, there is some validity to the practice, unless she was drawing power from a ghost. The P.K.E. reading I took from her did show a ghostly residue, as if she had been in contact with ectoplasmic beings, but of course her job at Ghost magazine... "

"Was fake," said Peter with satisfaction. "When you didn't come back we checked, once we got past thinking it was just a little nookie, that is."

"Perhaps we should use the counterspell on you, Peter. It might prove beneficial in maturing your behavior," Egon responded, reaching purposefully for the book.

Peter grasped it and pulled it out of his friend's reach. "I'm just telling you what we did," he said with a show of innocence that wouldn't fool anyone who knew him, not even Slimer. "We checked her out and couldn't find where she lived. The lady's unlisted. Her brother is a physicist but I get the feeling except for the dinner he hadn't spent time with her for years. She popped in and started using him. That's what she does, Egon." He scanned the blond's face for signs of regret, but Egon displayed none. At least he wasn't heartbroken at the perfidy of his new girlfriend.

"I could have told you that," muttered Janine, tapping one foot on the floor. "Especially when she made you rub my nose in it, Egon. Next time, I'm just going to tell you when you get in over your head."

"Just like you always do, Janine," Winston said quickly before Peter could make a smart remark or Egon could find a response worthy of the comment. "Come on, guys, whoever had Egon has Ray now. Let's figure out how to get him back."

"And if this is really Peck's revenge, let's make sure what he intends for the rest of us doesn't happen," Egon replied. "Peck didn't talk to me much, Peter, but he holds you chiefly to blame for all his troubles. Of course we know he brought them on himself, but you were rather... "

"Just being myself, Egon," said Peter airily, but a part of him had gone cold inside. Peck wasn't fighting fair. If he had it in for Peter in particular he should have come for Peter and not singled out Peter's friends for his twisted attacks. Probably he had realized that would hit Peter harder than if Peck had attacked him directly. The psychologist knew Peck was to blame, but that didn't make it any easier for him to face what had been done to his friends in his name. He hadn't liked Peck's manner so he'd responded in kind, which had irritated the man beyond belief. At the time, Peter had enjoyed himself, but now, after what he'd done to Egon and Ray, Peter wanted to kick himself for being so self-indulgent.

"No matter what Peter did, he doesn't deserve this, Egon," Winston remarked quickly, gesturing around the lab to encompass what had been done to the physicist and Ray's absence.

"Yes, you're right, of course," replied Egon. "Peck's behavior is abnormal, Peter. You are not responsible for any of this."

"I'm a psychologist, Egon. I didn't see abnormal when he first showed up here. I saw a petty bureaucrat throwing his weight around and I put him in his place. Maybe I should have... " What would have happened if he hadn't done it? Would Peck have run tests that would have cleared them of creating an environmental nuisance or would the same thing have happened. Peck's behavior was clearly obsessive, but Peter had just considered him a jerk. After their last bout, he'd rethought the issue and wondered if Peck would try anything else. Anybody that obsessed with revenge could be dangerous. When several years had passed with no trace of him, Peter had forgotten about him, until he appeared on the scene again, causing them new trouble, this time at an entirely different level. Peck had obviously gone over the edge.

"Come on, Pete, this isn't your fault," Winston consoled him. "Peck's behind it all. Nothing you could have done. Now we've just got to find out where he is? Getting Ray back is more important than fighting about who's at fault."

Peter knew that was right, but he still wondered if he should have done something different along the way. Heaving a sigh, he turned to Egon. "Come on, big guy," he said. "What can you tell us?"

"I've been considering it. If I could pinpoint my location in the Netherworld, we could use Ray's device and go there to rescue him, the way the rest of you rescued me when Tolay had me."

"You don't suppose it's Tolay who has Ray?" Winston theorized, his mouth dropping open in surprise as he considered this possibility. "After all, he's bound to have it in for us after we zapped his brother and then rescued Egon from his realm?"

"Hmm." Egon took off his glasses and polished them, his face full of concentration. "I didn't recognize my prison as part of Tolay's realm. It didn't occur to me at the time."

"Maybe you had a few other things on your mind, buddy," Peter told him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Think about it now. Anything you can remember that could make sense of this?"

Egon nodded obediently and concentrated on his memories of his incarceration. "It was not the same cell where I was held last time, I do know that. This one had a heavy, ribbed door instead of just bars hewn from the living rock. I never saw anyone but Peck and Cynara, either, and certainly no entities that would have made me question my location. I doubt I could have remembered it at all if the spell hadn't been reversed. Though my mind was intact and I could think, it was hard to think past the fear that I would never... " His voice trailed off.

"Yeah, but you beat it," Peter reminded him brightly, leaning his elbow against Egon's shoulder and grinning at him. "They didn't count on Brains 'R Us. I bet they never thought you could use the computer the way you did. We wouldn't have had a clue how to reverse you if you hadn't told us about the right book of spells. You'd still be going ga-ga and wanting to sleep with Ray's Marshmallow Man doll if not for that."

Egon grimaced and started to respond but heavy footsteps plodding up the circular stairs drew their attention before he could speak and they turned to see Officer Frump in the doorway. "Up to your little games, are you?" the detective asked.

"Any word on Ray?" Winston asked quickly before Peter could make the smart remark that was trembling on his lips.

"Nothing," replied Frump, eyeing them all dubiously as if he found Winston's evident compliance suspicious. I have found a little information on Cynara Storm, though. She's been involved in several missing persons cases. We haven't figured out what her game is but people tend to vanish around her. Most of them have never been heard of again. Nobody ever proved anything against her. There was never enough for an arrest. She's said she can't help it if men take it hard when their relationship ends and leave town. There's no damn proof," he concluded angrily, well aware that the woman was pulling something and getting away with it. He wouldn't like that.

"Oh, great," said Peter, starting to get angry. "She makes a habit of this? When I get my hands on her... "

"You'll do nothing, Venkman," Frump interrupted coolly, Egon dropped a restraining hand on Peter's arm before the psychologist could erupt with an unwise remark. The detective eyed him skeptically before continuing, "That's my job, and I don't need you three with your hot-shot equipment messing in it. I stopped by to see if you had anything that might help me out."

Winston quickly gave the police officer Cynara's brother's name and address, but Frump didn't look appeased by the offering, one he'd probably managed to track down on his own. Egon frowned.

"We've theorized that Peck has access to the Netherworld," he confessed. Peter knew he was trying to ease the situation but Frump wouldn't go away until he was good and ready. Egon didn't much like Frump either, Peter knew, and information of this type was bound to irritate him. With luck, he might not stay to listen to it.

Frump's eyes widened and he studied Egon as he realized the physicist sounded normal today. "Looks like you straightened out your act, Spengler," he observed. "Don't let it go to your head. It's still my job to retrieve Stantz, not yours, no matter where he is.

"I think the Netherworld's a little outside your jurisdiction," Peter put in, still fuming over the police officer's put-down, and quite prepared to rub the big man's nose in it. "I don't think you want to strap on a proton pack and face a herd of demons and other assorted nasties beside us."

"Don't bet on it, Venkman. I might do just that." One thing you could say about the big cop was he never gave ground. He also backed off when he knew he was wrong, but in those rare instances he hadn't been precisely free with apologies to the Ghostbusters for misinterpreting their motives, and he'd once taken great pleasure in putting them in jail. Peter wondered why he always managed to irritate people who had a high (and probably false) opinion of their own self-importance. Maybe it was because Peter had a high (and probably true) opinion of himself. At least he thought so.

"Well, don't blame me when a demon like Tolay starts breathing down your neck," Peter concluded, watching the man head for the stairs again. "Janine," he concluded, "why don't you show our guest out." He made it sound like he had meant to say 'throw our pest out' and Janine nodded and hurried after the departing detective, prepared to enforce the spirit of Peter's words, if necessary. Winston followed them as far as the top of the stairs before drifting back into the lab.

"I thought he'd never leave," Peter grumbled when the sound of their footsteps had faded. "So what now, Egon? Time to head for the Netherworld?"

"Not quite yet," Egon replied. "We're only theorizing that's where I was. It could have been any of a hundred parallel dimensions, and even if it was the Netherworld and not caves under someone's Long Island estate, for example, the Netherworld is huge. There's no guarantee we'd go to the right place, unless... " His voice trailed off thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling with dawning enthusiasm.

"Unless what, Egon?" urged Winston, strolling over to join them.

"You've got a plan, don't you?" Peter asked, delighted to see such enthusiasm in Egon's face, relieved to know the spell had done no lasting harm to his intellect. "Tell me you've got a plan, big guy." It was easier to focus on all these little things, like baiting Frump, which was second nature, and teasing Egon, than it was to think about those pictures of Ray. Peter had crammed the memory of them into the back recesses of his mind just to get him through the morning, but he was so steamed at Peck and worried about Ray that they kept popping out again. The idea that Egon had a plan was a relief. Egon's plans usually worked.

"Of course I have a plan, Peter," Egon replied. "Cynara might suspect something of the sort, but Peck won't. Mush-for-brains has no idea of our full capabilities. What I want to do is reconfigure the molecular phase amplifier to respond to certain resonances in the space-time continuum. I'll attune it to my own biorhythms as nearly as possible so that when we activate the phase amplifier, it can sweep us into the same area where I was last held. It will be able to focus on the energy residue from my last transfer and home in on my prison but this time, there will be three of us, and we'll be armed both with our throwers and with the atomic destabilizer. That way, if Ray is being held where I was, we should go right to him."

"I must be losing my touch," Peter said, grinning broadly. "I understood all of that. Only thing I can't figure is why we don't just set on Ray to begin with."

"Because Ray has only gone one way, at least to the best of my knowledge," Egon replied. "The threads that tie me to the other dimension are much clearer, and, if I were really in the Netherworld, there are twin passages there, coming and going."

"Does that mean we have to go and set up in Central Park?" asked Winston, frowning.

"Nothing of the sort. We don't know I was directly returned there. There could even be a transfer portal in Cynara's apartment. I neglected to take P.K.E. readings while I was there."

"Too busy making the most of the situation, Egon?" Peter teased.

Egon didn't deign to respond to that beyond the lifting of one eyebrow. "Remember, Peter," he said calmly, as if discussing the weather, "I will set the controls on the bracelets that will enable us to return."

"I didn't say a word, Egon," Peter said, spreading out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Did you hear me say anything, Winston?"

"I only heard him say we were gonna get Ray back," responded Winston, slapping Egon on the back. "Come on, my man. Tell us what we can do to help. The longer Ray's over there, the less I like it."

"That goes for all of us, Winston," Egon replied as he ruthlessly erased columns of once-important equations from the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. "That goes for all of us."

Ray was sleeping when Cynara returned, only awakening when he heard the creak of the door swinging open, but he scrambled to his feet in one smooth motion, braced and ready to attack whoever had entered the cell, even if it meant using the chains that still bound him. When he saw the blonde woman with the hard face was backed by two humanoid creatures with swords he caught himself and aborted his attack just in time to keep from being skewered.

Cynara swept out a hand in the direction of her creatures. "Enough," she said. "Leave us." She was wearing a long gown cut in a medieval style that made her resemble a refugee from a SCA event, in a rich purple. Her eyes gleamed like points of dark fire in her controlled face. Her wrists were banded in heavy leather guards. One booted toe tapped impatiently as she waited for the creatures to obey her.

"He will harm you, mistress," one of the entities said in a singsong voice.

"No, he won't." Walter Peck breezed into the room. He hadn't gone native. He wore another business suit, which made him look even more out of place here than ever. Ray wondered which of them was using the other, or if it were even worse than that. Maybe both of them were as much victims as he was.

Peck smiled nastily. "I'm told you saw Spengler when we returned him to you," the man said, his lips curling into a sneer. "We won't do that to you."

"No, but I bet you've got something just as good," Ray returned sourly with a gesture at the huge book that Cynara held under one arm. It was so heavy it almost pulled her off balance and he could see her stance shifting to compensate. Ray shifted his own position, ready to break free if he saw the slightest opportunity, though he had no idea what was outside the door beyond the two characters with swords.

"Don't try anything, Stantz," Peck said with a broad smile. "I'm going to like this very much. Cynara? Are you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready." She swept the untouched bowl of gruel, or something even less appealing, that had been intended for Ray's dinner, onto the floor with a careless gesture, and lay the book in its place. Ray craned his neck and saw that it was the Mycraft book, the same edition as they had at home. The guys would have a head start when he returned home.

The words Cynara intoned were not in Latin or Greek or any language that Ray could recognize, though Egon, with his fascination in ancient languages, probably could have told him what it was, at least when he was in his right mind. This was a powerful spell, one that made the air quiver in the cell and dust motes start up off every surface and hang in the air, creating a misty effect. Ray felt nothing at first then, horribly, it was as if every bone and muscle in his body was folding in upon itself. There was pain, shocking, blinding pain grinding through his entire body, pain that shook him into crying out just once before he clamped his mouth shut in stubborn refusal to perform for them. Then even that faded and there was nothing.

"I'm finished," Egon said as he tightened a last connection on the molecular phase amplifier. "We're ready now. Janine, we'll need you to press this switch. When we've found Ray, we'll be able to hit this button." He displayed the modified bracelet on his wrist. "We have no guarantees we can find Ray within a set time frame, so it was necessary to allow us all the time we needed. Can you do it, Janine?"

"I remember, Egon. It's what I did last time. Are you sure this will take you to Ray?" She looked at him uneasily.

"No, I'm not sure of that at all," Egon replied.

Winston felt a surge of unease as he looked from Peter, whose face wore nothing but grim determination to go where Egon led as long as it took them to Ray, then to Janine, who was watching Egon with anxious eyes, and finally to Egon, who stood braced and determined. "Not sure?" he echoed. "You're not sure, Egon?"

"I'm sure the device will work as specified," Egon replied, his face solemn. "If I was held in another dimension, such as the Netherworld, this machine will take us there. If I was held in our world, there will be no effect. I meant I was uncertain we'd be taken to Ray because we have no guarantee that Ray is being held in the same place I was."

"Sure he is, Egon," Peter said in the tones of one who is trying hard to persuade himself of that fact. "You think Peck is smart enough to have two hideouts?"

"I don't think Peck is in complete control," Egon responded. "Cynara mentioned someone she called 'him' more than once. Peck didn't seem that impressed, but she was. I rather suspect if the Netherworld is involved, Peck is in over his head and doesn't realize it."

"Maybe, but we're not," Peter replied, bracing himself defiantly. "I've got old Betsy here." He patted his thrower as if it were a talisman against Evil. "We'll go in loaded for bear, and anybody who gets in our way gets zapped. Think we need more traps, guys?"

"Traps?" Egon echoed. "If we're indeed going to the Netherworld, it's likely that Cynara is in cahoots with a demon. She may be able to perform simple spells (and the one she put on me was simple because we were able to remove it without training or even belief) but she is human, and as such, incapable of opening a door to the Netherworld. If she had enough power to do that, she would have registered on the P.K.E. meter as something other than residual energy."

"Unless she could shield it," Winston volunteered.

Egon shook his head. "Not possible. Either she could shield it, in which case she would be powerful enough to use a spell we couldn't break, or she couldn't shield it, in which case she needs help to get in and out of the Netherworld, which means a demon."

"Oh, great, Egon," Peter complained, his fingers tightening around the handle of his thrower. "Now you're saying we have to fight demons?" Before Egon could reply, he went on quickly, "Not that it's gonna stop me. To get Ray back, I'll fight demons. I'd even fight Gozer."

"Fortunately that won't be necessary, Peter." Egon armed himself too and gestured for Winston to do the same. "Go ahead, Janine. There's no point in delaying any longer." He looked grim, and Winston realized he was remembering the pictures of the bruised, chained Ray Stantz, just as Winston was. Anybody who got in their way was going to regret it.

"Hit it, Janine," Peter urged, and the redhead pressed the button. Energy waves shot out at the three of them in a conic projection, enveloping them, and suddenly they were somewhere else.

It took Winston a minute to get his bearings, and in that minute he heard a wordless, outraged cry from Peter, fury filling his voice because it was safer than alarm. After all these years, Winston knew all the nuances of Venkman's outbursts and at the base of this one was sheer panic. Winston blinked and looked around hastily.

They were in a cell, the walls hewn from the living rock, a heavily ribbed metal door fitted into one wall. The only window was high up on one wall and it revealed a night sky with a glitter of stars. Rough and unfinished, the cell held only two pieces of furniture, a wooden table that looked handmade and a rough pallet or bed where the sprawled form of Ray Stantz lay.

"Well, all right," Winston breathed. "You did it, man. You brought us to the right... " His voice trailed off uneasily. The sense of wrongness about the room was palpable. Ray hadn't stirred since their arrival, and in the light from a flickering torch that cast ominous shadows into the room's corners and turned them into places of mystery and threat, Ray's face wore an unnatural color under the bruises that had darkened there. He was too quiet, too still.

Peter knew it. For one stunned moment he froze into total immobility as if he didn't even breathe, his eyes growing huge in a face that was suddenly parchment-pale. Slamming his thrower home to get it out of the way, he flung himself to his knees at Ray's side, Egon just behind him, and grasped Ray's arm, shaking it urgently. "Yo, Ray, wake up. The cavalry's here. We're gonna take you... home... " The last word trailed away into stunned soundlessness and he freed the jumpsuited arm and stretched his fingers toward Ray's face as if he were pushing them through a force field, as if he knew what he would feel when he touched the lax flesh and wanted to postpone the moment as long as possible. "Ray?" he faltered, his face paling still further until it wore much the same sick lack of color as Ray's did. Gently his fingertips brushed the bruised cheek, then he yanked them away as if he'd touched fire and burned himself. "Oh, god," he moaned in a voice so quiet the sound was almost subliminal. "Egon?" he pleaded desperately. "Egon, tell me it isn't so."

Egon bent past him and rested his fingertips against Ray's neck in quest of a pulse, his glasses sliding down his nose unnoticed. He changed the position of his touch twice, three times, then he picked up Ray's wrist. Winston could tell from the way his mouth drew a hard line across his face that he wasn't finding what he sought, that the flesh beneath his hand was already growing cold, that no breath flickered past the lips of the still form. They had found Ray, but they had come too late.

He was dead.

Peter stared into Egon's face as if the physicist could pull a miracle out of his hat, then, when Egon only stared back at him dully, as shell-shocked as Peter, Venkman spun around and threw himself to his feet. His mouth burst open in a yell of protest without words, compounded of deep despair and incredible fury. He slammed his fists against the cell wall over and over as if he could assuage his feelings by hurting something worse than he was hurt himself. "NO!" he bellowed. Turning again before Egon and Winston could move to stop his assault on the stone wall, he went down beside Ray and gathered the unresponsive form into his arms, pulling him close. Winston realized rigor mortis must be beginning to set in, and he shuddered as he saw Venkman notice. Peter rested his cheek against the auburn hair, his stunned green eyes lifting to Egon and Winston as if seeking reassurance this was only a nightmare. "Egon... " he groaned desperately, then he lowered his eyes to the body he held. His lips moved without sound and he blinked violently and tried again. "I couldn't get here any faster," he breathed, not as if to justify his failure to save Ray but in a futile protest against the indifference of fate. "I... I couldn't. God, Ray, I'm sorry. I... " Tears spilled over soundlessly, dampening Ray's hair, the effect worse than if he had sobbed aloud

"Peter, no," whispered Egon, no trace of control in a voice that sounded like a stranger's, flinching as if he'd been stabbed in the chest. "There was nothing any of us could have done. This isn't your fault."

That made Peter look up, his eyes full of misery. "It doesn't matter," he said in a voice that held no strength or energy or even emotion. "I couldn't get here any faster." He looked as if he were in shock.

Face devoid of color Egon knelt carefully beside Venkman and the lax form he held and encircled them both with his arms as if the three of them could complete a magic circle and reverse the process, as if the strength of their bond of friendship could even defeat death. Winston realized he'd always halfway believed it could. He shook his head as Peter leaned desperately into the warmth of Egon's hold without loosening his grip on Ray, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Ray's hair again. Wet drops continued to gather there and Winston sucked in his breath sharply at the sight of them, one hand pressed against his stomach as if he could prevent the anguish that dug talons in his guts both at Ray's death and the sight of his friends' misery. Egon's face was full of anguish as he held Peter and Ray's body, and Winston felt powerless to aid them as he stared down at them in silent despair.

This was final. Even if Egon could work a miracle, it was already too late. There would be no happy ending this time, no last minute heroics to save the day. Instead there was nothing left but stopping the people who had trashed Egon, who had killed Ray.

He dropped a hand on Peter's shoulder, feeling the utter rigidity of the muscles there. Peter lifted eyes that glittered with tears, then he erupted into violent motion, pushing free of Egon and lying Ray back against the pallet in one furious move that somehow managed to shift Ray's form with aching gentleness in spite of his misery.

"Where is he?" he demanded with such rage and fury that it nearly masked the despair that motivated it. "Where's Peck? I'm going after him and I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him with my bare hands if that's what it takes." He started for the cell door, drawing his thrower and powering up in one smooth motion, ready to blast his way out of their prison and take on anyone who got in his way, even if it meant he died in the process.

Egon leaped after him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "No, Peter, wait."

"You can wait, Egon," Peter spat coldly, the icy fury not really directed at Egon but striking him as it would have struck anything that got in the way of Peter's frantic anger and the need to do something, anything, to keep him from thinking about Ray's death. "Ray can't wait, and I won't. Peck did this, Peck and Cynara, and I'm gonna pay them back, in spades." He patted his thrower. "I'm talking full streams here," he ground out.

"Damn it, Peter, listen to me." The blond man snapped. Egon didn't talk like that, his voice so hot and angry, but Winston realized it would take something so unusual to break through the tangle of misery and rage that was Peter Venkman. The blond grabbed Peter's shoulders and shook him. "Listen to me. We're not just dealing with Peck and Cynara. There's a demon here." He freed one hand to pull out his P.K.E. meter. "Let me take readings. If we start blasting away we'll be caught before we can do anything. We need to think."

"You think, Egon," Peter snarled furiously. "I'm gonna get revenge."

"Winston," urged Egon, and the black man responded by coming up behind Peter and grabbing him.

"Wait, Pete," he said, shocked at how shaken his voice sounded. "It isn't gonna do Ray any good if you go off half cocked and get us all captured or killed."

"Long as we take out who did it, it doesn't matter," Peter spat and Winston knew he meant it. He'd buy his revenge with his own life if necessary, but that wouldn't help Ray, and they'd have to make sure he knew that. "Let me go, Winston," he snarled, struggling in the black man's grip.

"No." Winston was stronger than Peter but the fury that motivated the psychologist was so intense that it enabled him to yank himself free as if he were batting through wet paper. He spun around, dropping the thrower, hands curling into fists.

"You gonna hit me, Pete?" Winston asked in as level a voice as he could manage, refusing lower his eyes from Peter's. "We've got to stand together now, not fight among ourselves." He'd lost a few buddies in Nam and he knew the only thing that really helped was the presence and support of friends.

Peter stared abruptly down at his clenched fists, then he raised his eyes to Winston's face. He looked past him to Egon, moving more slowly now, like an automaton, and he fixed his gaze on the physicist as if all the world's answers were etched upon his face. "Egon?" he breathed in a stunned, helpless voice. "Egon?" It was a desperate cry, a plea for reason in a world gone mad, a demand for reassurance when there was nothing reassuring left to say. Venkman sagged, color going out of his face and tension draining from his body. "Oh god, Egon, Ray's dead," he whispered, so much pain in his voice that it stabbed Winston to the heart and made Egon flinch.

"Yes, Peter." Egon looked as shell-shocked as Peter did and his voice sounded as if his lips had gone numb, making it difficult for him to enunciate. "Ray's dead." He jumped for Peter, grabbing him and pulling him into a hug, offering and accepting comfort in the touch of one friend who was still alive, and Peter clung to him, bewildered and momentarily helpless.

"Yes, Peter," Egon repeated, holding on as if he needed the comfort as much as Peter did, his eyes hollow, empty pools, magnified behind his glasses. "But we're going to stop the people who did it. We won't kill them out of hand, but I promise you they'll pay."

Peter's shoulders quivered and one hoarse, helpless sound that was almost a sob broke free but as Egon's face twisted in shared misery, the psychologist controlled himself. The time to break down wasn't when one was in the middle of the enemy's citadel, and it wasn't when there was work to do. He drew a shaky breath and tried to collect himself, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes to clear them. When he spoke, his voice was cold and empty. "So, Egon," he said, sounding like a stranger, a very dangerous stranger, "What's your plan?"

"First," said Egon, as if he were a stranger himself, though he didn't let go of Peter until he had to, "we get out of this cell."

Ray shuddered under the onslaught of Cynara's spell, knowing he couldn't fight it, even though he knew more about spells and curses and the like than the other Ghostbusters did, even Egon. Maybe he could try a shield of the type he'd seen in the Mycraft when they were attempting to remove the spell from Egon. Before he could remember the words to a rudimentary protection field or broadcast his defiance at the woman in an attempt to reflect the spell back upon her, he felt the pain and sensation fade, and suddenly he was falling, sprawled uncomfortably upon the cold stone floor. With a clatter, the chains fell away but the removal of the binding offered him no sense of freedom. Before he could understand the changes he felt spreading through his body, there was a flapping of wings and he was struggling, bound up in his uniform that was suddenly too far too voluminous, trapping his arms as he struggled to free himself. Arms? They felt like--like wings? Wow! What had happened to him?

"There, my pretty bird," Cynara said, bending down to pull the uniform away. For a stunned instant, Ray struggled modestly against her, then, horrified, he watched the uniform fall away easily as if it were miles too big for him. He looked down at himself and saw a black, feathered chest, taloned feet. She'd turned him into a bird!

Before he could fly she slipped jesses around his feet and pulled him down to the leather guard on her left wrist, her other hand momentarily stroking his feathered head. "For now, my blackbird, you may watch while I complete the spell," she said, cool and poised, though with a hint of fatigue in her voice as if casting it had drained her.

"Will you do it now?" Peck asked eagerly, leaning forward to peer at Ray in his new shape, stretching out a curious hand to investigate.

Ray lunged automatically with his beak and Peck gave a squawk of fear and annoyance and jumped back, putting his bitten finger to his mouth and sucking it, hatred flashing in his eyes. He looked like he was ready to come after Ray with an axe, but Cynara put her hand on his arm and his temper pulled itself within him, still there, but banked for now, and just as dangerous.

"Serves you right," Ray tried to say, but words didn't come, only bird noises, harsh and strident. Naturally Cynara would never have transformed him into a bird that could talk.

"Leave him alone, Walter, dear," Cynara said with cloying, artificial sweetness. "I must do it now while the remnants of his essence linger in the clothing. Later will be too late and all to no purpose. Stand aside." She gathered up Ray's abandoned clothing and arranged it on the bed, careful to line it up, underwear and street clothes inside the jumpsuit, the boots positioned at the ends of the pant legs, the wristwatch at the end of the left sleeve.

"Hurry up," Peck grumbled, still sucking his finger. "I don't like this place. I want to get back to Manhattan. Will you transport it when you're done?"

"Not until tomorrow. It takes too much out of me, and you know He won't open the portal for that. I have to use my own spells to do it. He won't act until we are finished and the Ghostbusters are thoroughly demoralized. The brilliant one trapped in the guise of a child, the one who is their heart dead, the... " She stopped and looked at Ray. "But this one still has ears. I won't reveal any more of the plan while he's listening. He can watch this, then I hood him."

Bending over the book, she flipped several pages to find her place then she began to speak again, striking a pose and raising her right hand, palm turned outward. Ray glanced at his abandoned clothes, sure they had a part in this, and he was right. Horrified he watched the clothing fill out as something began to occupy it. Gradually her hand made a wide circle as if to encompass the energy of the room, encircling Ray within it, draining him. He felt limp and fatigued as she pulled strength from him and fed it into the form that filled the clothing. As the body grew, it took on familiar characteristics, very familiar characteristics. The shape and posture were right, the auburn hair and the round, normally-cheerful face made Ray almost feel he was gazing into a mirror. The bruises that must have adorned his face grew there, too, and the only difference between Ray and the simulacrum on the pallet was that it created the impression of death. Its eyes were wide and glazed and no breath stirred its chest. Ray realized with devastating shock that Cynara meant to send this replica back to New York for his friends to find. They were to be made to believe him dead! Horrified, he squawked a futile protest that made Cynara smile as she waved her hand over the body one final time and spoke the words of completion.

Before he could protest further or try to fly, Cynara pulled a cloth hood over his eyes. Light filtered through the loosely woven fabric but he wasn't able to see through it. He could sense her fatigue and was grateful she wouldn't return this thing in his place immediately, but she would return it eventually, and she had talked about his essence lingering. Egon had said as much once, that they left a kind of psychic residue on everything they touched. Their old uniforms had 'come to life' shortly after their battle with Gozer and nearly destroyed them, but this was different. Would there be enough solidity to the illusion to convince them it was really Ray? Could Egon take P.K.E. readings to prove it wasn't--or would he even try? If he did, would enough of Ray's essence register to convince the rest of them he was really dead. The spell might prevent Egon from doing so, no matter how much intellect he retained. Could he convince Peter to do that when Peter would be too shocked to think clearly in the first place. Ray felt thoroughly sick. He didn't want his friends to see the false Ray, but, bound and blinded as he was, unable to speak in a human voice, how could he warn them? How could he even free himself to try?

For now, there was nothing he could do, but the minute Cynara left, he meant to use every bit of wit and cunning and the powers of the bird she had made of him to break loose. Then, somehow, he'd find a way to warn the guys.

She carried him from the room, balanced on her arm, calling over her shoulder to Walter Peck that she would return, "... when I've dealt with our feathered friend." Ray tried to sense the directions she took after leaving the cell but he was disoriented enough from his transformation to lose track of her turns quickly. It wasn't more than five minutes later that she paused, turned abruptly and walked a few more steps, transferring him from her wrist to a perch that felt as if it were made of stone. He curled his talons around it awkwardly, his wings fanning for balance. Cynara chuckled and ran a stroking finger down his back.

"Wait for me here, my pretty. Later, when I have given your friends their present, I will come and turn you back. Perhaps we will have much fun together. Your friend Egon was a delight--until I enspelled him. We shall compare your skills." Her voice purred, soft and compelling, but Ray was too angry at her actions and too embarrassed at the thought that she would demand sexual favors from him that he felt no compulsion to respond to her. She stroked his feathered chest in a sensuous manner then, with a chuckle, lifted her hand away. "Wait for me, my sweet," she breathed, pausing only long enough to tie the jesses to the perch, then she walked away. He heard her footsteps fade, leaving him alone.

He wasn't sure where he was, for she had left the hood in place, but he couldn't sense her any more. He listened, holding his breath, but there were only faint and distant noises, little rustlings as if mice were playing in a straw-littered floor. He wrapped his claws around the stone perch and clung, not yet comfortably balanced in this new form. He couldn't hear anyone breathing, just those annoying rustling sounds.

Bending his head he tried to peck away at the jesses through the hood that completely covered his head. This was weird. If it weren't for the time bomb waiting for his friends in the cell, Ray might have even enjoyed the experience. Surely not even Cynara would leave him a bird forever, would she? When she turned him back, he might be able to get away from her. She couldn't have meant what she'd said earlier. Not even she could believe he'd be attracted to her after everything she'd done. Maybe the spell would wear off eventually. Some spells degraded with time, he knew, and others were worn down by other things such as hunger, fear, strong emotions. This one lacked an emotional trigger or he might have reverted when he realized what she meant to do with the simulacrum, but maybe something else would do it. Immersion in water? He'd heard of a spell that faded with water, another that faded if someone prayed in the vicinity. Closing his eyes, Ray tried that one, mentally reciting the Lord's Prayer, but it didn't work. Maybe the words must be spoken aloud, but that was beyond him right now.

The skittering sound in the straw grew louder, and over it, came slowly and hesitantly the faint scratch of a shod foot brushing across stone floor, repeated again, then again. Someone was here, watching him, coming closer, trying to approach him undetected. Ray froze into immobility, half afraid of who it might be. For all he knew it was Peck, who just might have a sick taste for baked bird, or it could be a demon or nether entity. Struggling against panic, Ray nearly jumped out of his skin when a calloused hand came down on his back and stroked him gently. After a wild flutter of panic, he relaxed, settling his wings again, trying to think. There was not one shred of malice in the touch. It was so different from the flesh-crawling sensation created by Cynara's caressing fingers that Ray closed his eyes in sheer relief. Whoever this was, it was an ally.

"Who are you, my pretty friend?" The voice was tantalizingly familiar, but Ray couldn't remember where he had heard it before. "Or should I but ask, 'who were you?' Nay, for you could not tell me, e'en should I ask. That woman's spells are all evil, and I'll not leave another suffering soul in such torment, not when I am able to help. Hold quiet now, my friend, and we shall see if we can free you from both this stone prison and the one in which prisons your spirit. Know ye that I am the alchemist Hieronymous, and when I can, I free prisoners from Tolay's keep in memory of the four men who once aided me."

Hieronymous! Ray felt a quiver of excitement flood through his body. This was Tolay's keep? Were Cynara and Peck working with Tolay? That would explain a lot. Cynara had power, Ray could tell, but he couldn't believe she had enough power to transport people to and from the Netherworld. She must draw her power from Tolay. Imagining herself a sorceress, Cynara may have tried to conjure a demon and gotten more than she had bargained for. What little he knew of Tolay convinced Ray that the demon was not terribly subtle, but he could probably manage enough subtlety to deceive someone as full of her own worth as the blonde woman. Whose plan was this really? Cynara would have had nothing against the Ghostbusters on her own. Had Peck found and hired her, or had Tolay recruited both her and Peck for his own revenge. Ray wouldn't solve that now but it gave him something to think about.

"Easy, my feathered friend," Tolay soothed, removing the hood from Ray's eyes. "We must make plans. I can free you but we must create the illusion that you freed yourself. Here." He gestured to the leather bands that tied Ray to the post. "Strike it with your beak."

Ray understood instantly. If Cynara and Peck believed he had freed himself they would not know or guess that someone else had passed through this place and they would not cause a full-blown investigation. He struck at the leathers again and again with his beak, realizing that to do so confirmed for Hieronymous the certainty that Ray was in reality a transformed human, someone who could understand his speech. As he worked, Hieronymous held the leather tight to aid Ray's work, smiling when the strands weakened and finally parted.

"Now, my friend, we will deal with this hood." He turned it inside out and positioned it for Ray to peck it to pieces. When he'd made enough holes in it that he could have worked it off on his own, Hieronymous dropped it to the floor to be found by Cynara and helped Ray to settle upon his shoulder against a leather strap there. Ray blinked down at it, realizing that the old alchemist still wore the proton pack Winston had given him last time. Was it drained of power after so long or had Hieronymous learned to use it sparingly? Maybe he'd even found a way to recharge it. He must have some powers of his own, surely, or he could not have survived here so long.

Hieronymous removed his proton pack and, carrying it by the straps, darted quickly to a narrow gap in the wall and, turning sideways, worked his way in, gesturing for Ray to follow. He tried his wings, then found it easier to walk, flapping the wings anyway to accustom himself to the different balance and center of gravity. A taller, broader man would not have fit, but Hieronymous was smaller than any of the Ghostbusters. "Strewth, my friend, I nearly did not come here today, but the entire keep is alive with Tolay's plans and schemes, and I knew there could be danger for someone. Since I was given this powerful mage tool, I have fought to aid the helpless." He straightened up when the narrow slit widened out into a sizeable tunnel, narrower than the ones the old alchemist had led them through before when they were seeking Egon, and donned the proton pack once more, gesturing at Ray to alight upon his shoulder again. Down twisting passages he took them, roaming labyrinthine ways that went deeper and deeper, far below the deepest dungeons in the keep, and there, at last, he pushed aside a balanced rock doorway that looked inconspicuous until he shoved it just so. It rolled aside exposing a short tunnel that led into a darkened chamber hollowed out from the rock, a natural cave. As soon as the boulder had rolled into place again, blocking the doorway, the old alchemist struck a light from a tinderbox, using it to ignite several torches that rested in wall sconces on either side of the main entrance. The flickering glow revealed a homey little shelter with handmade furniture, a rack of bottles and retorts full of neon-colored potions, skulls of entities Ray had never imagined before, and jars that no doubt contained herbs and other useful materials.

"This is my home," the alchemist informed Ray, lowering him to the table, where Ray balanced himself carefully between an apple, the remains of a meat pie, what looked like a hand-made astrolabe and several scrolls, partially unrolled. "This is the one place I have shielded to keep it safe from Tolay. He knows there are caverns beneath the keep but has never bothered to explore them." He cupped his hand around his flame and touched it to an oil lamp, setting it on the topmost scrolled paper to give them light close at hand. For a moment he busied himself with the wick, adjusting it to his satisfaction with a fussy precision, then he lifted his head and smiled at Ray. "Now we shall take a look at you, my feathered companion. Do I know you? Have we met?"

Deprived of true speech, Ray bobbed his head up and down. He wasn't sure at first how to convey who he was, then an idea came to him. Fluttering his wings, he rose into the air, lit on the proton pack, tapped it twice with his beak, and returned to the table.

Hieronymous was no slouch; he figured it out instantly. "Oh dear, oh dear. So you are one of my fine magician friends from the future. To think you would come to this. It is the woman, is it not? The future woman with the eyes as hard and cold as stone. Seen her have I, and made great care that she would not see me, though not even she could fear poor old Hieronymous." Secure in his hideout, he took off the proton pack and laid it on the table, wriggling his shoulders to ease the strain of carrying it for so long.

Ray shook his head hastily. The old man didn't dare assume that, because Cynara was dangerous. Ray had felt the power of her spell and knew it was a power that would have registered on the P.K.E. meter. He had been right, she was working with a major demon, and since they were here in Tolay's Keep, it had to be Tolay himself. Tolay may even be boosting her powers for his own purposes, and right now that purpose must be the destruction of the Ghostbusters.

"What foul plot is afoot here?" Hieronymous asked. "What must we do to thwart it? And how must I transform you back to a man once more? Strewth, this will be a test more than worthy of my limited powers. Let me see now." He made his way to a small bookshelf and drew down several thick volumes. "I have a formidable task before me. If you can assist me, my friend, please do so. Come. Examine my manuscripts. Study my magical charms, my esoteric tools. We must change you back before much time passes."

Ray nodded eagerly. Fluttering his wings, he risked a short flight to the top of the bookshelf. The sensation was incredible. Caught up in it, he swooped around the room several times, enjoying himself. Wow, this was great! Wait until he told the guys he'd been able to fly!

The thought of his friends recalled him to the problems ahead, the worst being the simulacrum left for them to find, but the problem of Egon's mental state was almost equally worrying. He flapped back to the bookshelf and looked over the texts there, hoping to find something familiar. At least, like Egon, he hadn't lost the ability to read.

"A fascinating experience, the gift of wings," Hieronymous commented, stroking Ray's feathered head sympathetically with one finger. "But hold, my friend, for we have a serious task before us."

Ray nodded then bent to examine Hieronymous' library.

Cynara Storm stood waiting, arms folded across her chest, her head bowed, while Tolay paced across the room, pausing from time to time to consider her. "My needs are many, and you are slow," he growled at her in his harsh, rumbling voice. "Yes, you have hurt the Ghostbusters. But it is not enough. I want them dead. You and your pitiful human ally think with small minds. Petty revenge. Watching them suffer. It is not enough. I want them dead. Alive, those who survive may yet harm me. Dead, the threat is removed and no one will stop me when I enter their headquarters and destroy my brother's prison, freeing him and the rest of the ghosts who are incarcerated there. What is your next plan, pitiful human?"

"I want to send the body back. We have already immobilized the most intelligent of them. With this supposed death, their resistance will crumble. You may go to their headquarters and crush them. They will not fight you. But leave me the one I have now to play with before you destroy him, my master?"

"You have served me well," Tolay purred. "You have recruited an ally who has not been without use. Very well. For a short time. Humans are always so insatiable. You already had the first one as a toy. Now you wish another. It is a good thing I am a tolerant being."

Cynara eyed him coldly. One day this demon would realize she had more power than she had let on. She had allowed him to boost her to suit her purposes, to make him believe herself a victim, weaker than she really was. This realm was not New York, but she meant to control it one day. It would be hers, once Tolay, in his mad quest for revenge, overstepped himself. Cynara never bothered with revenge. She used those who fell victim to it, but she never worried about it. If something went wrong, she turned her back on it and went on. Tolay let his ego run away from him, believing himself invulnerable. Little did he know that she had been studying, learning, seeking out the way to destroy him. When she had first summoned him, back when she was learning her powers, he had seemed all-powerful, intimidating, even frightening. Cynara enjoyed being afraid. It made her strong. Ever since then, she had bided her time, pretending to cower before the demon while she developed her skills. She drew power from him slowly, hoarding it. Now she thought she had the strength to transfer from the Netherworld and back again, though she was not such a fool as to use it. Let Tolay believe her dependent and she could use him. Eventually, when she was ready, she would surprise him.

It was she who had found Walter Peck for the demon when the huge nether entity had expressed a need for revenge. She knew of Peck already and suggested him to the demon. When Tolay agreed that the vengeful human might be used, she approached him in such a way that she made it seem Peck's own idea. Even now, he believed that Cynara had summoned Tolay first and used him, which, of course, was true. Cynara allowed Tolay to sneer at Peck's so-called misconception. He was useful enough. She'd been working with Tolay for years and could appreciate his contempt for Peck. When she'd suggested bringing the other human into Tolay's scheme, she had assumed that between herself and Tolay they could control him.

She found the whole Ghostbusters scheme a delicious irony. Peck, Tolay, herself, each with their own motivations, none of them honest with each other. It was remarkable the plan had worked so well until now. Of course Cynara had less to lose than the other two. She felt no urge for revenge. Her motives were her usual ones: greed, lust, power. She had enjoyed enmeshing Spengler in the plot. She even enjoyed toying with Peck. The idea of transforming Stantz back to a man again and enspelling him to her charms amused her. It would be difficult, she knew, but not, she was certain, beyond her powers.

Suddenly, while Tolay ranted and raved and paced his throne room, Cynara tensed momentarily. She had felt a flicker of new power, something different, something strange, not unlike the opening of a gateway. Tolay, in full rant, failed to notice it. He was really rather stupid, she thought smugly. He didn't even realize that, somehow, his enemies had found a way to breach the boundaries of his keep. Without a doubt, she knew that the Ghostbusters had arrived.

Pleading weariness as an aftereffect of creating the simulacrum, she excused herself. Tolay liked her to admit weakness before him. Smug. He was stupid and smug. Waving a scornful hand, he dismissed her and she walked away, allowing her shoulders to slump as if with fatigue. His eyes followed her all the way to the entrance.

"We could blast it," Winston said with a gesture at the door. "We can melt that lock."

Peter leveled his thrower at it, but Egon stepped between him and the doorway. "Wait, Peter. I want to take a reading first. It won't help us to break out if we run into a troop of stone demons just outside."

Peter would have enjoyed the opportunity to blast away at an enemy, any enemy, but he knew Egon was right. What good would it do them to be caught before they found Cynara and Peck? This was the Netherworld. It might well be Tolay's keep. There were bound to be a lot of enemies out there just waiting to snatch them.

He glanced over his shoulder at Ray's inert form, then he nodded abruptly and put his thrower away again. Dragging himself back to the cot, he knelt beside Ray and reached out to close the staring eyes. It seemed so distressingly little to do for him but until they ran Peck and Cynara to earth, it was the only thing he could do, and he read reproach in the blank, sightless eyes. "Okay, Egon," he said in a hoarse voice as he pushed himself to his feet again. "Take your readings. Then I'm gonna blow us out of here."

Egon, his face very white, freed the arms of his P.K.E. meter and activated it. Pursing his lips, he first turned the device on Ray's body, which made Peter's eyes narrow. Maybe the meter could tell them how Ray had died. Now that he thought of it, Peter didn't see any blood or obvious wounds. It must be the result of something magical, something based on psi power. If Egon could figure it out, it might tell them who had killed Ray--and then whoever it was would pay.

"Yeah, Egon," Peter said sourly. "Will that tell us how he... died?"

Egon bent his head over the device, eyes narrowed as he squinted at the readings. Suddenly he drew a sharp breath and twisted several dials, making new adjustments in a great hurry. His mouth dropped open and he went down on one knee beside the bed and snatched up Ray's wrist, turning it in his hand in blank surprise.

"What, Egon?" Peter asked. This wasn't the reaction he had expected; though Egon had a tendency to become caught up in his work, Peter hadn't expected it to happen in the middle of such a horrible crisis. He could barely look at Ray's silent form, but Egon was examining him as if he meant to conduct a postmortem on the spot. When Egon's breathing quickened and he ran an investigative finger up Ray's wrist, pushing at the watchband, both Peter and Winston stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"Come on, Egon, let him rest in peace," Winston breathed.

"Peter!" Egon's voice was sharp. "Remember when we trapped that recalcitrant Class 5 in Times Square last week?"

"Yeah?" Peter said doubtfully. "What about it?" This was crazy. Ray was dead and Egon was asking stupid questions. "Come on, Spengs, drop it. We've gotta find Peck and... "

"Remember when Ray tripped and fell into Winston's proton stream and burned his wrist?" Egon persisted. "That was a nasty burn, wasn't it?"

Peter felt a flutter of something in his stomach that he couldn't really identify. It couldn't be hope, not with Ray's body before him, but when Egon unfastened Ray's watch and held up the bare wrist, there was no reddened burn mark. Peter remembered noticing it when he and Ray had talked in his office the night before last. It couldn't have healed so quickly, could it?

"So what are you saying, big guy?" he asked his voice quivering with tension and the struggle to hold back his hope until he was sure it was safe to risk it. He couldn't let himself believe that, incredible as it seemed, this might not be Ray's body, not until he heard it from Egon's lips, along with one hell of a good reason for the deception. "Come on, give."

"You mean it isn't Ray?" Winston ventured as if he hated to offer such a suggestion for fear it would be shot down.

"We can find out." Egon held up his P.K.E. meter. "I haven't taken readings of--of dead bodies before, but my research leads me to believe that the readings shouldn't change so dramatically such a short time after death. There is hardly any residue of Ray here at all, in fact I'd theorize no more than I'd pick up from his clothing had he abandoned it. More, there's an additional reading, the kind you guys got when you were testing me when you brought me home from the hospital."

"As if a spell had been at work?" Peter asked. "What are you saying, that this is a fake and that Ray is running around alive without his clothes?" Damn it, he'd said it after all, but how could he help it when he wanted it so much? He leaned forward and grasped Egon's wrists. "Tell me that's what you're saying, Spengs," he pleaded.

"A copy wouldn't need complete detail," Egon said steadily, taking it one step at a time as if only the scientific method could reassure him completely. "The burn isn't here. What about that little scar on the back of his neck that he got when he fell out of the barn loft when he was a kid? Help me lift him up."

Peter complied readily. No scar. These marks were small things, elements that were far from obvious, easily overlooked. If someone wanted to create a replica of Ray, they wouldn't expect people to check for tiny wounds and scars in the middle of their shock and unhappiness. "What about his appendix scar, Egon?" demanded Peter eagerly, beginning to believe in spite of his resistance to hope. Every moment made the risk feel safer.

"Hey, yeah," agreed Winston. "Check it out, my man. We're being scammed here."

The body had no appendix scar. Other than that, it appeared completely natural, fully human. If this was meant to pass for Ray, it would need to. Had Cynara or Tolay or whoever was behind this intended the body to be returned to New York? Wouldn't an autopsy reveal differences? Would the spell-caster have checked the fillings in Ray's teeth?

She hadn't. There were no fillings. "How did they think they could get away with this?" demanded Winston hotly, ignoring the fact that, without a P.K.E. meter, they might well have done just that.

"Normally they wouldn't have to," Egon replied, running other tests with the P.K.E. meter. "If they'd returned the body to New York the way they did with me, they'd count on a visual identification when we were at our most upset. They wouldn't expect us to take P.K.E. readings. They'd probably picture us going to a morgue to make an identification. One of us would have said, 'Yes, it's Ray,' and that would probably have meant no need for dental records to prove his identity. If the body is normal otherwise, an autopsy might not have shown anything, though she couldn't have been certain of that. We might have taken readings, of course, but not right away. The only reason we did it here was because we need to break out of this cell. By coming here, we jumped the gun. On the other hand," he concluded, his fascination with the process gaining the upper hand now he knew Ray wasn't lying dead before them, "what we are seeing may be entirely illusion, created to look and feel as real as she could make it. Part of the result would then be our own expectations and part the spell itself. Such an illusion would not stand up to closer scrutiny, however, such as an autopsy, but perhaps the plan was never to make us permanently believe Ray had died but to distract and upset us long enough for something else to happen, such as the demon's attempt to break into the containment unit. We have to get back, quickly, before that happens."

Peter grabbed Egon's arm both to demand answers and to shut off his monologue. "So let me get this straight, Egon," Peter said, his voice shaky with relief. Dawning joy twisted inside his stomach. "You mean Ray's alive?" He could hardly speak the words. "What is this, Resurrections 'R Us?"

"All I know is this is not Ray," Egon replied, meeting Peter's eyes, his own relief and speculation vivid in his face. "I suspect they used his clothing because there was enough of a psi residue there to delude a hasty P.K.E. scan. Ray might well be in another cell nearby."

"Or?" asked Winston, eyes narrowing. "Come on, big guy. What do you think happened?"

"I think they created this simulacrum to deceive us and cause us despair," Egon replied. "If I were still controlled and you found Ray's body, they would have had us in a bad spot. Of course Peck would enjoy your reactions, Peter. This is his revenge. He's obviously a sick man."

"We know all that, Egon," Peter replied impatiently. "So what would he do with Ray--the real Ray?"

"He's probably in another cell, right?" Winston suggested hopefully, starting for the door.

Peter moved past him, drawing his thrower and firing at the lock in one rapid motion. "What it means is they've still got him, guys. We're gonna find him and take him out of here and we're not gonna wait another minute, got it?" He kicked the door open furiously, bursting with adrenalin, ready to find Ray no matter how many demons he took out in the process. "Peck's dead meat! He's gonna pay for making us think Ray was dead," he concluded as he stormed into the corridor.

Fortunately it was deserted. Egon and Winston plunged after him as he started down the corridor, peering into the cells they passed. None of them were as secure as the one they'd just left and none of them were occupied by Ray. This section of the cells seemed to be deserted. They found a room with a perch for a falcon, broken jesses still bound to the stone, but it was empty too except for rustling in the straw that might have been mice or ectoplasmic pests, nether-mice. Egon took constant P.K.E. readings, and he paused here, stepping into the room and scanning the room with the meter. "Ray was here," he announced.

"Ray?" Peter called, raising his voice slightly. "Yo, Ray. You here? Come out and stop hiding from your buddies."

Egon frowned, shaking his head. "These readings are very strange, Peter. They match Ray's biorhythms, up to a point. It's as if there's a strange form of energy masking him."

"Hey, Egon, that's what Ray said happened with you when there was a spell on you," Winston remembered. "Suppose they put a spell on Ray to keep him from escaping?"

"If they did, it didn't work," Peter said positively, glancing around the room as if to make sure he hadn't overlooked the occultist. "He's gone. Think he got out on his own?"

"Possibly." Egon frowned, the meter guiding him to a narrow slit in the wall.

"Come on, Egon, Ray couldn't have fit down there," Peter said, eyeing the gap with disfavor, "not unless he shrank a little." He frowned. "You don't think she shrank him, do you?"

"He passed through here," Egon remarked. "I'm not sure we can fit. It's tall enough for us but not quite wide enough."

"So we take off our packs and go sideways, Egon," Peter replied. "Never mind if we lose a few layers of skin. If it takes us to Ray, we're going through." He didn't like the narrow passage. It didn't look quite big enough for a normal-sized adult to fit sideways and Ray, who was stockier than the others, would have had a hard time of it. Yet a desperate and determined man can do a lot. Maybe the passage widened out further along. He took the small flashlight from his belt and played it down the tunnel, squinting to see what lay ahead. He couldn't be certain but it looked like the narrow section widened out just ahead. If they could fit through this first small part, they could go on. He hoped.

"Ray?" called Peter in a loud whisper, poking his head into the opening. "Are you in there?" He didn't want to yell too loudly because he didn't know who might hear him, but if Ray was hiding nearby he might hear Peter's call. He waited, holding his breath, then repeated the hail slightly louder.

Nothing. No response at all.

"Wait!" breathed Winston from the doorway, where he was standing guard. "Heads up, guys! Somebody's coming!"

"Get back," urged Peter, gesturing for them to flatten themselves against the walls on either side of the door. Throwers in hand and powered up, they froze there, waiting.

"Are you still here, my pretty bird," breathed a seductive female voice that made Egon stiffen, his cheeks paling, then reddening, as he evidently recognized the speaker. He caught Peter's eye and mouthed, "Cynara."

"Soon, my pet, we will be together."

Peter was pretty sure from her tone that he knew what kind of togetherness she meant, but the bird bit and the perch made him wonder what was going on. She couldn't have turned Ray into a bird, could she? That was crazy, but it would sure explain how the missing man could have escaped down the narrow tunnel.

"Everything is ready for the two of us to be together and--" the woman's voice broke off abruptly as she stepped into the cell, clad in a flowing gown that seemed more appropriate to the Netherworld than her New York street clothes would have, and stared at the empty perch, her eyes narrowing in anger. For a moment her fury was so great that she didn't see the three of them, then when Peter stuck his thrower in her face she backed up a step, her eyes narrowing in consideration and not very much surprise. Had she been expecting them? He didn't like that.

"Okay, lady, you're toast," he snarled, prodding her with the tip of the weapon. "You lead us to Ray and I just might let you live--as long as he's all right and... "

"Your friend is dead," the woman replied, cool in the face of a threat that would have daunted most people. "Shall I show you his body?"

"I think not," Egon replied, his mouth drawn in a taut line, his face more coldly furious than Peter had ever seen it before. He, too, had his weapon leveled at Cynara, while Winston guarded the door in case she hadn't come here alone. Peter could always count on Winston to remember things like that.

"We've seen the body," continued Egon as if he were talking through clenched teeth. "You did a shoddy job, Cynara. Missing scars, no fillings in his teeth... " he began to enumerate her mistakes, checking off the list on his fingers, the thrower bobbing with each movement but never moving far enough out of line that he'd miss if he fired at her. Peter saw her realize it and begin to make furious calculations in her mind. Her face might have smoothed into docility, but her eyes were shrewd and wary.

"Egon, my precious," Cynara purred in her most seductive tones. On a good day, a voice like that would have made Peter's hormones sit up and beg but not today. Today this woman was the enemy and Peter meant to grant her not one iota of leeway.

Cynara moved slowly, hands spread wide as if to prove her harmlessness, circling around Egon, who turned with her, defeating her purpose. Peter was afraid she'd try something when Egon was between her and Peter, but she didn't. Instead she looked Egon up and down and began to smile. "You're yourself again. Much more attractive that way." She lifted a finger, pressed it against her lips then touched it to Egon's mouth. He backed up, an expression of sheer disgust twisting his face.

"After all we've been to each other, too," she breathed, trailing the hand down to his chest and resting it there, the palm flat against him, stroking gently.

Peter didn't like the look of that; for all he knew, she could recall the spell against him if she touched him; so he growled out a wordless protest and used the tip of his thrower to knock her hand away. "Don't let her touch you, Egon," he cautioned.

"I realize that." Egon stepped quickly backwards, a hint of desperation in his eyes though he showed no sign of falling victim to the lady's charms this time. A hint of red touched his cheekbones and he backed up one more pace as if distance would complete the cure. When he was beyond arms' length, he relaxed slightly, though he didn't lower his guard.

"You're too late for that," Cynara breathed, letting warm promise creep into her silky tones. "We've been very close to each other."

"Past history, lady," Winston growled. "You don't have any power over Egon. Does she, Egon?" he asked anxiously, darting a quick glance at the blond man as if checking him for signs of possession.

"Of course not," Egon snapped. His thrower leveled at the middle of her chest, he said in an icy voice, "Where is Ray?" Mention of their missing friend appeared to ward him more thoroughly against Cynara and the look he leveled at her held only cold disgust.

She laughed, an artificial trill of sound that raised the hairs on the back of Peter's neck. "Dead, of course. That copy you saw was an attempt to create an illusion of his death to fool you. When I saw how flawed it was, I realized nothing but the real thing would do the trick, so I killed him. I've just come from sending him back to New York so you could find him. You surprised me, coming here so quickly, though I should have expected it, had I realized Egon had defeated the spell." Leaning closer to the physicist, she smiled at him enticingly. "Had I known you were so skilled I might have considered you a more likely ally, Egon, my pet. Our time together was very sweet. I hated to end it. Think about it. Ally yourself with me and we will always be together, and with our joint powers we can do anything we like."

"Don't listen to her, Egon," Peter growled. "I know a con when I hear one and this one isn't even that good."

"I realize that, Peter. I'm not tempted. Whatever power she might have had over me is gone."

"What's in it for you, lady?" Peter demanded hotly. "You've got nothing against us that I know of, yet you stand there calmly telling us you've killed Ray. What's the big deal for you? Is it because you can do it? For kicks? Not that I believe you, of course. Ray's too smart for you. You came here looking for him just like we did, and he fooled you, didn't he?

"For now," Cynara snapped. "I could control you with a wave of my hand. I could make you my slave; it would even amuse me, though not quite as much as having my way with Ray would." Her eyes lingered lazily on Peter's face. "Why do I do it?" she echoed the psychologist's question. "That's easy. Because I can. Because I can and you can't."

"For power," Egon said with disgust.

"No, Egon," Peter corrected, his eyes still locked with the sorceress's. "She does it to prove she can do it. She hasn't figured out that if you have to prove it to yourself it means you don't have the confidence you need. It's not for power. It's just to prove she's good enough."

"You're wrong," spat Cynara, drawing back, her eyes shooting sparks that were almost as real as the magical kind. "You're a fool. You, petty humans, you know nothing of true power. I would show you--"

"Wait, Peter," Egon said sharply when Peter's thumb dropped against the trigger of his ion rifle, prepared to defend himself whatever she tried.

"Easy, homeboy," Winston warned at the same time. "Don't piss her off too badly. We need to find Ray, and we can't do that if she's dead--or if you are."

"I've offered to take you to his body." Furious calculation was spelled upon Cynara's face. Even now, under their weapons, outnumbered three to one, she still believed she could pull it off, escape them, curse them, crush them with psi power. Maybe she could, thought Peter uneasily. Maybe he should be more careful when his mouth started flapping. Making her mad wouldn't gain them anything.

"Sure, after you put in the scars and fillings," said Winston knowingly. "Forget it, lady. Our detectors can tell the difference. We'll give you one more chance. Tell us where Ray is before we blast you."

"So you'd murder me, Zeddemore?" she demanded, drawing herself up haughtily. "I'm not a ghost, I'm human, alive. Blasting me with your equipment is tantamount to murder. Can you do it?"

Winston hesitated a moment as he realized the truth of her words, but Peter leaned forward, smiling menacingly. "If he can't, I can. You put Egon through hell and you hurt Ray. You just talked calmly about killing him. I don't have any qualms about blasting you, so talk fast or die."

She must have believed him because she said sulkily, "I left him here. I don't know where he is."

"You can do better than that," Egon told her.

"It's true, damn you. He's escaped. See?" She waved her hand at the stone perch, casting an annoyed and resentful glare at Peter. "Look, he's pecked his way through the jesses. Here's the hood on the floor."

"You're saying you turned Ray into a bird?" Egon asked, half-skeptical, half-fascinated, his gaze shifting from the perch and the shredded jesses to the woman and back again. Cynara had entered speaking to Ray as if she expected to find him here--well, speaking to someone, and from all appearances, it looked like it had been Ray. Peter had held that as a hope from the moment she appeared, no matter what lies she had tried to foist on them afterwards.

"Yes." She folded her arms across her chest and glared at them. "It was easier to control him that way while I sent the simulacrum to New York."

"Why are you really doing all this?" demanded Winston hotly. "Forget power and proving you can. What did we ever do to you, lady?"

"Nothing at all. Walter wanted it. Fool that he is, he thinks he recruited me, but it was really Tolay. He wanted someone to use in your world to enable us to draw you here, and Walter hated you, so I allowed him to discover me and think he could use me. Tolay wants revenge, too, and someone like Walter, who can move freely in New York, is a benefit, even if he is such a bore. Fanatics always are."

"Yeah, I'm getting more bored by the minute," Peter retorted, pretending to suppress a yawn.

Her eyes flashed temper at him and she lifted her hands, long sleeves trailing as she moved. Eyes narrowing, she pointed one slender finger at him. Peter gulped uneasily, his thumb finding the trigger switch, ready to press it if she went any further.

Before he could fire, Egon made a hasty adjustment with his thrower and blasted her. She gave a choked cry then slumped to the stone floor where she lay unmoving.

Peter gaped at the sprawled figure in astonishment then raised his head and eyed Egon doubtfully. "Okay, Egon, did you neutronize the lady?" he asked suspiciously, leaning forward to stare at the prone woman. He prodded her outflung arm cautiously with the toe of his boot, half afraid she would reach out suddenly and grab his ankle.

"She was about to put a spell on you, Peter," explained Egon in rational tones. "I recognized the signs and I had to prevent that at all costs."

"Yeah, mouthing off to a crazy woman who can cast spells isn't the brightest thing you've ever done, Pete," agreed Winston, shaking his head chastisingly at Peter. "Next time just keep that mouth of yours shut!"

"Is she dead?" Peter asked, looking up at Egon again. "Did you kill her, big guy?"

"Of course not. I merely reconfigured the thrower to deliver a stun charge. It affects the brain in much the same way a mild electrical charge would do and renders her unconscious for no more than fifteen minutes. I suggest you bind her with her hands behind her back before she wakes up."

Winston glanced around automatically for a rope, but Peter draped his arm around Egon's shoulders. "Egon, you boy genius you, are you telling me you can use the throwers to stun people? Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

"Because I was afraid you would use it on all the wrong people and get us into trouble," Egon said seriously. "I foresaw endless lawsuits."

"So what made you spring it now?" he asked.

"She was about to put a spell on you," Egon repeated impatiently. "I recognized her gestures and, not knowing what she intended, I felt it prudent to stop her first and ask questions later."

"A spell?" Peter demanded, finally getting the message. "Like the one she put on you?" His eyes widened in alarm at the thought of his near miss and he felt a hollow uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. "I don't like spells, Egon."

"Yes, a spell, like the one she put on me. Or worse," Egon replied. "That spell she used on me was fairly generic, Peter? I believe it was calculated to surround me with an illusion of what I feared most, losing my intellect. It might have surrounded you with your own worst fear, which would have been entirely different from mine."

"Egon, buddy." Peter grinned brightly. "Remind me I owe you big." He wasn't sure what the spell would have done to him. There were a few things he wasn't keen on trying, like being surrounded by giant bugs, or worse, being made to believe his friends were dead and he was alone. He had a good idea just how that would feel after finding the body in the other cell, and it was about as bad as it could get. He pushed the thought away quickly. Even though Cynara was unconscious, it was possible she might pick up on his thoughts and find a way to use them against him.

"Bind her eyes and gag her," Egon instructed Winston. "If she can't see us or speak aloud, she may not be able to act."

"I hear you," agreed Winston, acting on Egon's advice.

"You couldn't double up on the dose, could you, Egon?" Peter asked hopefully. "Give her a second blast and leave her unconscious longer? She's not my favorite person."

"Further use of the throwers might kill her, and while I have no fondness for her either, I don't believe we should do that. She may yet be useful."

Peter grumbled but he knew Egon was probably right. Still, it was too bad. He started making a list of people he'd have to try the stun blast on, once he wormed the settings out of Egon, then a memory hit him. "Egon, wait. She said she turned Ray into a bird? Was she kidding us or do we have a feathered ghostbuster now?" He eyed the narrow passage they'd examined before and almost rejected because it didn't seem likely Ray could have squeezed through even with the psi traces to indicate his passage. "A bird might fit through there. Do you suppose that's how Ray got through?"

"It's possible," Egon replied as Winston secured Cynara's wrists behind her back, his actions none too gentle. "The readings I got were Ray's but there were minute differences that could best be accounted for by the casting of a spell."

"If he's a bird, do you suppose he--well, knows who he is?" Peter asked anxiously as a whole new realm of problems opened up before him.

Egon pondered that. "We don't have sufficient evidence to hazard a guess, not that I would guess in any circumstances," he said tightly. "But think of this, Peter. I knew who I was when I was enspelled, and Cynara cast both spells. I think it would be likely Ray would know his identity, too."

"You hope," Peter replied. He remembered the movie Ladyhawke, in which Michelle Pfeiffer was turned into a hawk during the daylight hours by an evil curse. She hadn't remembered her human existence during her periods of transformation. If Ray didn't know who he was, he might get into a lot of trouble. He might even escape the keep and fly away, and then the guys would never find him. Peter grimaced but kept his speculation to himself. They had enough to worry about already without considering that, too.

"So what do we do now?" Winston asked. "Leave her here and try to squeeze down the tunnel to look for Ray, or go after Walter Peck?"

"He might be back in New York," Egon replied. "We must find Ray before we do anything else, but Tolay will be alert. If Cynara doesn't return, Tolay may come looking for us."

"You had to say that, didn't you? So which way? Down the tunnel or back the way we came?"

"Finding Ray is our main priority," Egon decided, and Peter nodded.

"You got that right, Spengs. We find him first and if he's a bird we turn him back somehow, and then we can take on Tolay or whatever else this place has to throw at us. This is not a choice vacation spot. I bet you can even get reservations at peak season." He tightened his mouth in grim determination. No one was going to keep him from rescuing Ray. He couldn't go through losing him a second time.

Egon nodded agreement as if he understood exactly what Peter was thinking, and began to unfasten his proton pack. "If we get down on our hands and knees, I think we can crawl through the passage. It's wider there and it seems to open out ahead. Let's go."

"Yeah, and let's do it quick," Winston urged, gesturing at the cell door. "I think I hear somebody coming and whoever it is will sure be mad when he finds Cynara." Removing his pack he waved Peter toward the tunnel in Egon's wake. "Move it!"

"Right behind you, Dr. Spengler," Peter said and shoved his proton pack into the tunnel before him as he dropped to his hands and knees.

"Now let me see," Hieronymous mused as he flipped through the pages of a heavy tome he had dragged down to his table, the one Ray had indicated. It was a different version of the Mycraft but it might work. "Once we have transformed you, we can plan our next step. We must hide you from Tolay's minions, since they seek you feathered. Once human, we will disguise you until your friends come for you."

His friends. Yeah. Ray wasn't sure the guys knew he was in the Netherworld or not, but once they found out, they'd be after him in a minute. Of course Egon probably couldn't come, but Janine could watch him until the guys got back. Ray had been thinking of the various spells that might have been used on him, and since he'd seen which book she'd used and it looked like the same edition he had back at headquarters. It was pretty likely she'd used that on Egon, too. Once Ray was home, he was pretty sure he could bring Egon back to himself, but first he had to return to his own form. He nodded encouragingly at Hieronymous. The old alchemist needed to remove the bird spell on Ray so he could get to the guys before they saw the body Cynara had created in his image. The last thing he wanted was for them to find it and believe him dead.

"Did she do this to you?" Hieronymous asked, pointing at Ray's new form. "Did she use a spell to change you? She has oft used her powers since her arrival here. But I gravely fear Tolay controls her, and his power is very great. He has raged and raged since last you and your friends visited me, and has tried to capture me on many occasions. With the gift of your magical device, I have eluded capture, but I soon learned that I must use it carefully, sparingly. Its magic was limited and its use alerted Tolay to my whereabouts."

Ray walked around the end of the proton pack and cocked his head, checking the reading there. The device had only half a charge, which wouldn't last long in a serious fight. For brief bursts against terror dogs, he could spin it out for weeks, but the pack would be scant help to Ray if he had to fight Tolay.

"You understand the esoteric markings of your device," the alchemist observed. "You tell me what I have learned, that its powers are weakening. Of late, I have used it sparingly. But hark. We must transform you." He paged through the book. "I am no real mage, but know I simple spells which protect me here. Through the years I have learned to guard myself. Tolay and his minions oft cast spells that affect all they touch. I have learned words of power to protect me, words that deflect the demon's power. Some are within." He touched the book. "I will try this one." He began to recite. The words were Latin, but of a more archaic variety than Ray was accustomed to. He leaned toward Hieronymous hopefully, waiting to feel the transformation hit, but nothing happened.

"Alas, my friend, this is not the way," Hieronymous said, flipping more pages. "I will try again." He read out new words, this time what might have been ancient Greek. Again Ray remained feathered, nothing changing.

"Hmm," mused the alchemist, stroking his chin, his face thoughtful. "Perhaps I have begun with a spell that is too esoteric. Let me try something more simple." Raising his hands, he clapped them together and spoke slowly. "Spell begone!"

Ray didn't expect that to work either--it was too easy--but it did. Suddenly his body seemed to turn itself inside out, as if he were bursting through his skin, his arms and legs elongating, his body stretching, his head pounding as it changed shape. For a moment he came close to blacking out with the pain and sudden shock, then, with a groan, he raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it wearily, relieved to feel his own hair beneath his fingers. Elated, he traced his features with exploring fingers, then held his arms out to study his hands and fingers. He was intact.

He was also cold. He'd left his clothes back in the cell and it was chilly so deep in the earth. Hieronymous was a lot smaller than he was and his simple tunics would be too tight and too short for Ray. Confronting Tolay naked didn't rank very high on his list of enjoyable things to do.

"Welcome back, my friend," Hieronymous greeted him, smiling broadly and patting him on the shoulder, his face abeam with delight at the success of his stratagem. "The simple magics are oft best. Come, we must find you appropriate garb. It is necessary for you to become inconspicuous." He led the way across the chamber into a side passage where several cloaks and tunics hung on stone pegs. "This should fit you, Take this, too." He held out a brown, homespun tunic that Ray pulled over his head. Sleeveless, it came to just below his knees and he was grateful the alchemist didn't have a mirror because he was sure he looked silly in it. The second garment was a long black cloak. Ray hesitated, realizing it would conceal him but it would also offer new problems.

"I can't use the proton pack with that on, if I wear the pack under it, and if I wear it over it, it'll defeat the purpose."

"No, but it offers you concealment."

He had a good point. Ray accepted a pair of sandals from Hieronymous and bent to put them on. They were slightly too short but with sandals it wasn't as bad as it would have been with boots. Wiggling his toes, he picked up the proton pack. "Is it okay if I borrow this, Hieronymous? I'll feel a lot better in this place if I'm armed."

"It is yours, my friend."

Ray was just settling it on his back when he heard a scraping sound coming from the passage that led to Hieronymous' chamber. The alchemist heard it too and his face paled. "Hark!" he breathed. "Someone has found my stone door! My friend, you must hide. Perhaps I can conceal your presence. I will go... "

"No way, Hieronymous. I won't run from them. I've got a proton pack now, and I can face anything."

"At least conceal your identity until we know who has invaded my sanctum," the old man urged anxiously, offering the cloak again. Ray drew his thrower before he put it on, then, the proton rifle hidden beneath the enveloping fabric, he pulled the hood up over his head to conceal his features. He was ready, whoever it was. They wouldn't be expecting a Ghostbuster!

Carefully he and Hieronymous crept back into the anteroom's shadows, waiting for the enemy to approach. He heard a low murmur of voices, cautious and wary as if expecting danger, and his heart sank--they had been found!--then a sudden, familiar beeping sound echoed through the stone hall. A P.K.E. meter? Ray's heart began to thud more quickly with excitement and relief, and he dared a look, tightening his hand around the thrower in case their enemies had managed to acquire a meter, edging forward to look past the edge of the bookshelf, trying to stay in the shadows until he was sure. He wouldn't risk Hieronymous on the off chance he was wrong.

"What kind of place is this?" Peter Venkman complained, glancing around warily as he came into Ray's line of sight. He had his thrower in hand, and his face was wary, his mouth drawn in a grim line. He was trying to sound light and frivolous the way he often did when he was upset about something or in over his head and didn't want anyone to realize it but there was a dark and unfamiliar glitter in his eyes that worried Ray and made him hesitate an instant, staring at him in shock. "Looks like the original sorcerer's den," continued Peter. "If this is where Cynara hangs out... " There was murder in his voice. Ray wouldn't have liked to be the blonde woman right now, not while Peter sounded so menacing.

Winston followed Peter, both of them wearing their proton packs, and Ray was about to jump out of concealment and gleefully announce his presence when he realized Egon was bringing up the rear. Ray froze, staring at the physicist in surprise and astonishment. While he hesitated, watching him hopefully for traces of recovery, Egon studied the readings of his P.K.E. meter as if he were fully in control of himself and his surroundings, stepping forward with his usual confident stride, unlike the awkward movements of his transformed state. Peter and Winston wouldn't have brought him along if the spell were still intact, would they? It would be much too dangerous to expose the enspelled physicist to the Netherworld. Besides, Egon looked like he was himself again, ready for action, able to protect himself. This was great!

"Hardly likely, Peter," Egon replied, sounding completely normal. The guys must have finally found a way to reverse the spell! Egon's usual assured manner was overshadowed by a certain grim twist to his mouth, but when he continued speaking Ray had no doubt that he was recovered. "I've tracked Ray's readings here and suddenly they've strengthened, matching their usual patterns. That overlay we detected earlier that implied a spell has vanished. Perhaps he's found an ally who could transform him."

"You better hope he has. Just so it's really Ray and not--" Peter began, stopping abruptly when Ray, who could restrain his enthusiasm no longer, lunged toward his friends in eager delight, forgetting his cloaked and hooded state in his elation at their reunion.

"Oops," warned the psychologist, tensing and raising his proton rifle at what must look like a sudden attack. Only the angle prevented him from firing and Ray realized he was still disguised and unrecognizable. "Heads up. Somebody's coming, guys and he looks like Darth Vader. Heat 'em up!"

His thumb hovered on the trigger but before he could fire Ray yelled, "Wait, Peter, it's okay! It's me," shoving back the hood of his cloak so they would recognize him. Ray was so relieved to see Egon well again that he skidded to a stop in front of the physicist, grabbed his arm and squeezed excitedly. "Wow, Egon, you're okay again," he burst out in sheer delight. "This is great!"

To his total astonishment, Egon's face lit up like the sun and with a grin a mile wide he flung his arms around Ray's neck and hugged him hard, tangling both of them in the voluminous cloak. Ray gasped as the breath was nearly driven out of him and his arms closed around Egon automatically, astonished at this blatant display of emotion from Spengler, who wasn't prone to waving his feelings around for all to see.

Over Egon's shoulder Ray got a clearer look at Peter and saw lines of strain around his mouth and darker shadows in his eyes. At the sight of Ray and the sound of his voice, his mouth had dropped open and he froze, the hand holding his thrower sagging until its barrel touched the stone floor. He looked stunned speechless, which was as far from Peter's normal state as Egon's reaction was from his.

A dead silence followed Ray's exuberant outburst for all of ten seconds while the Ghostbusters realized what they'd just heard, the familiar sound of Ray Stantz at his ebullient best, then all three of them cried, "Ray!" in chorus. Peter slammed his thrower into its place, the tension easing out of him with such force that he nearly staggered, then he caught himself and began to smile, his eyes glittering too brightly, though he didn't allow any tears to fall. Ray was astonished and gratified at his friends' reaction at finding him. Egon clung to him with a possessive strength so different from the physicist's normal calm detachment and Peter looked so much like he was going to jump up and down with relief that Ray reached the uneasy conclusion they must have found the simulacrum after all. Oh, no. That's terrible. No wonder they looked so upset when they came in here. But they must know better or they couldn't have tracked me here.

"Ray? Is it really you? We're not seeing a clone or replica, are we?" Peter's voice quivered with reaction, then he drew Ray away from Egon and shoved the hood away completely, careful fingers brushing the bruises on Ray's cheek and chin and around his eye, gazing at Ray as if seeking proof his friend was alive and well. He even grabbed Ray's wrist and studied the fading burn there as if he needed it for additional verification. There was a remnant of that grim look in his eyes but his face was full of happiness. "You're alive!" His voice squeaked and almost broke on the final word. "You're not a bird, either." With a elated yell, he threw his arms around Ray and held on even more tightly than Egon had, leaning his head against Ray's neck as if he didn't want to let go. His body quivered as he struggling against relieved tears. "What do you mean hiding out in a vampire cloak like that and jumping out at us? We could have fried you before we found out it was you. We thought you were dead. It's not nice to scare Uncle Peter like that. Talk to me, guy. Come on, is it really you? Are you okay?"

Instinctively Ray wrapped his arms around Peter, one hand stroking the back of his neck in a gesture of reassurance. What had happened to the glib and flippant Peter Venkman who had a smartass comeback in any crisis? Had Cynara done something to him, too, or was it the encounter with the simulacrum? If Ray had found Peter's dead body, he'd probably be just as shocked and upset as the guys seemed to be right now. Ray regretted even the seconds he'd held back to make sure Egon was okay.

"It's all right, Peter," he said quietly, humbled by his friends' relief but anxious to reassure them. "I'm okay. I'm fine. It wasn't me you found. They just wanted you to think it was."

"You better be okay, homeboy," Winston chimed in. "You scared us silly. Then Cynara said you'd spouted feathers," he added, pounding Ray on the shoulder. His voice was a little shaky, too. "We saw that body, man, and it looked just like you!" he concluded half-accusingly.

"I'm sorry, guys," cried Ray quickly, grasping Peter's shoulders and squeezing reassuringly. "I didn't mean it. It wasn't me. It was only a simulacrum she made using my uniform and the residual energy it contained. She was gonna send it back to New York for you guys to find, but Hieronymous rescued me and changed me back, and we were just ready to go destroy it before you could find it. I'm really sorry we were too late. It's my fault... " Peter's arms tightened at the words as if he would deny them, but his breath caught and for a moment he couldn't speak. Ray caught his own breath with some difficulty because Peter was still clinging to him like a limpet and Egon and Winston hadn't moved away either. They were each gripping a shoulder as if only tactile proof of his survival could reassure them. "I didn't want you to see that body," Ray concluded ruefully, "but you got here so fast. Egon, you really are okay, aren't you? I was worried... "

"I'm fine, Raymond," the physicist reassured him, tightening his grip for a minute. "We figured out what book to use to break the spell and it restored me to myself. Not before time, either, I might add. It's hardly your fault we found the body, either. Forget that kind of self-recriminations. Let him breathe, Peter," Egon concluded in a gentle voice, smiling at them both, but Peter squeezed harder for another minute before he finally eased his grip and backed off far enough to peel away the cloak and fling it aside, looking Ray up and down for traces of injuries. His eyes widened at the homespun tunic Ray wore, and faintly, amusement began to sparkle on his face. Ray saw it and was glad of it. Egon lifted his P.K.E. meter and ran another check while Peter waited, still gripping Ray by the arms.

"He's the real Ray," Egon reported, his face lighting in a dazzling smile. "The readings are exact, not like the distorted ones we followed here or the muted ones we took of the simulacrum. Ray, were you transformed?"

"I was a bird," Ray burst out, still excited by the memory. He wouldn't have wanted to stay in that state, but in a way it had been fun. "You should have seen me, guys! I could even fly! It was fantastic!"

"Yep, that's Ray all right," Peter said with a big, sloppy grin, rumpling Ray's hair with open affection. "Only you would enjoy being turned into a bird. You liked it, didn't you, kiddo?" He stretched out a hand and rumpled Ray's hair.

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "It was fun, Peter. I guess I wouldn't want to stay that way, but just for a little while... " He broke off when Peter started shaking his head sententiously.

"Forget it, Ray," the psychologist said. "It's hard enough to get good dates when you're in your normal state, and a lot of girls get uneasy when their dates start chirping and flapping their wings. You had fun with it, though, didn't you?" When Ray nodded enthusiastically, Peter's mischievous grin broadened still further and he said in his most outrageous tones, "I've gotta tell you, buddy, I can't say I think much of your tailor."

"Yeah, nice legs, man," Winston added with a chuckle, elbowing Peter in the ribs. Peter elbowed back, grinning like an idiot.

"Aw, come on, guys," Ray groaned with an embarrassed glance at the rough, homespun tunic he wore, then his borrowed garb reminded him of the alchemist, and he wiggled out of his friends' grip to pull the old man forward with an eager hand. Hieronymous had waited with a smile during their reunion, but now he nodded a greeting to the rest of the Ghostbusters. "I couldn't have done any of it if it weren't for Hieronymous," Ray announced excitedly. "He rescued me from the cell where Cynara left me and changed me back to myself again."

"Then we owe Hieronymous a big vote of thanks," Winston said with a bright grin, clapping the alchemist on the back. "Good to see you, my man. How's that proton pack holding out for you?"

"Your magical device has saved Hieronymous many times," the old man said gratefully. "E'en now as its power begins to fade, the sight of it is still enough to frighten away all but the most powerful and tenacious of Tolay's minions."

"We'll give him a different one when we go, won't we?" Ray asked. "If it weren't for Hieronymous, I don't know what would have happened to me. Cynara said she wanted--" He fell silent abruptly, his cheeks warming.

"What, Ray?" Peter asked all too knowingly, humor lighting his face. "Were you Egon's designated replacement? Too bad, Egon, she must have been bored with you."

"I assure you, Peter, she could never... " Egon began, then realized what he was defending and fell silent, looking acutely uncomfortable and avoiding their curious and amused stares. His glasses slid down toward the end of his nose and he plucked them off and began to polish them on the front of his jumpsuit. Peter snickered and Winston bit back a laugh.

"That woman is dangerous," Hieronymous began, but before he could speak there was a thunderous clap of sound and the wall to the left of the chamber burst apart in a clatter of falling rocks and rubble that made them scramble hastily out of range, raising their hands to cover their heads until the crash and rumble passed. When they looked up again, Tolay himself stood in the opening, huge and green and menacing, arms still outstretched from smashing his way through the wall. Hovering behind him, smug and nasty, Walter Peck saw the Ghostbusters and with a cry of triumph strode forward to confront them, confident enough with a demon at his back.

"I knew if you had enough rope you'd hang yourself, Venkman," the man chortled in delight. "'Watch them,' I told Tolay. 'See where they go. Unearth the traitor in your midst and allow them to lower their guard all at once. Then you'll have all of them.'" He bared his teeth in a nasty smile, and Ray gaped at him in dismay. He had completely forgotten Peck. In his excitement at Egon's recovery and their reunion he had even forgotten Tolay, but now the confrontation they had expected was here, before they were ready. Last time, they had run, knowing the bracelets would draw them back to their world. This time Ray was without a bracelet, and even if he had one, he couldn't leave Hieronymous alone in the demon's realm. Besides, with Peck and Cynara, Tolay had a toehold in New York. Running away wouldn't solve anything.

"Think you that I overlooked your arrival in my realm?" the demon sneered. "The energy it takes to open a gate so close to the seat of my power is too much for me to overlook. Had you come from a distance as you did before, I might have overlooked you for a time. But no, you came arrogantly into my own keep, and you arrogantly left the body of the woman for me to find."

"Body?" Ray whispered in an undertone to Peter.

"Egon blasted her," Peter whispered back. "Did you know we could use the throwers to knock people out?" he continued in mild outrage as if he felt he'd been kept in the dark deliberately. "When we get back, I'm gonna... "

"You will not get back," the demon interrupted, amusement spelled out clearly on his vicious face. "I found the woman and she told me her latest plan had failed. I think her use to me is over. I repudiate her. Too long has she believed she controlled me. Now she will see that she does not. I have cast her into the darkness. Forget her."

"I told you you couldn't trust her," Peck said ingratiatingly, grinning up at the demon. "A selfish woman, out for her own interests from the beginning."

Tolay peered down at him and shook his head. "And you are not? Your own use may be limited, now that my enemies are delivered here, to my own realm. What need have I of a human to aid me when my own powers are great enough to destroy them all with one blow."

"Is he lying about that, Egon?" Peter asked, cupping a hand around his mouth as if he believed it would prevent Tolay from overhearing him. "Come on, you kidder, tell me we can blast him."

"Of course we can blast him, Peter," Egon replied so quietly that they had to strain to hear him. "I have my atomic destabilizer with me."

"Not that thing," Peter groaned. "It turned you into a ghost that other time."

"And it's worked successfully against the Bogeyman. Calm down, Peter. I know what I'm doing."

"Oh yeah." Peck jumped forward before anyone realized what he intended. "I know what I'm doing too. Venkman's mine. You promised me Venkman," he reminded the demon.

"Oh, very well. Play your games while you can. My patience is fast running out."

Egon bent over the atomic destabilizer that was attached to the modified pack he wore, checking settings and comparing them to the readings he had taken from the demon. "This will be difficult," he began as Peck lunged at Peter.

Venkman cried out in protest and raised his fists as Walter Peck took a swing at him, blocking Peck's blow with his left hand and jabbing at the enemy's jaw with his right.

"Peter!" chided Egon without looking up from his equipment, "we don't have time for fist fights. We must blast the demon."

"Hieronymous," Ray breathed, grabbing the alchemist by the arm and pulling him closer. Whispering into the little man's ear, he asked an urgent question.

"You are wise, my friend," Hieronymous replied, clapping Ray on the shoulder in delight. "I believe the term is, 'cover me!'"

"You got it. Go!" Ray edged sideways to stand between Hieronymous and the demon, to mask the old man's movements. It wasn't entirely necessary because the demon was leaning complacently against the wall watching Peck circle Peter, his fists up as he threw punch after punch. Peter grinned happily as he ducked and dodged the blows, getting in a few solid licks every time the man's guard dropped, which was each time his temper took over and he forgot to keep his defenses in place. Once, Peck got in a solid blow to Peter's jaw and the brown haired Ghostbuster reeled back, but he recovered himself and plunged into the fray once more with a gleeful yell, ignoring the demon who observed the fight, ignoring Egon's work with the destabilizer and Winston's yells of encouragement. Peter had been scared badly when he found what he thought was Ray's body. He probably blamed Peck as much as he blamed the demon and he must be delighted to have a chance to take it out on somebody, even at a time like this. That was Peter. He might complain that Ray rushed in without thinking, but sometimes, Ray knew, Peter could be even worse.

The fight was becoming down and dirty as the two men traded blows. They'd probably wanted to do this from the moment they met, but civilized behavior had made them resort to sarcasm and a little name calling, which had satisfied neither of them. Peter had shucked it off, content with his triumph over Peck in the Mayor's office when Gozer had arrived, but Peck had brooded about it in secret and plotted revenge. His attempt to destroy Slimer had endeared him to no one, and not even Egon was prepared to stop Peter from pounding Peck into the floor, not unless Tolay intervened.

The fight was a good distraction, though. Egon took readings, checking them and comparing them, while, in the background, Hieronymous scurried about amid the ruins of his esoteric supplies, gathering this and that, pouncing with delight upon a new treasure, finally turning away and bending over a bowl into which he mixed the ingredients of the vials he had found. Hurry, hurry, hurry, thought Ray as he watched Hieronymous out of the corner of his eye, yet never losing touch with Peter's fist fight in case he should need rescuing. He knew Peter wouldn't thank him for interfering but he didn't mean to let Peck gain control if he could help it, even if Peter was mad later.

Once again Peck connected with a solid wallop and Peter crashed backwards, landing against the wooden table that had stood formerly in the middle of the room. It splintered like the breakaway furniture in a movie Western bar fight, spilling Peter to the floor where he lay awkwardly against his proton pack like an upended turtle. He groaned as he lay amid the rubble, blood flowing from his nose. Peck advanced menacingly, his face bloodied, one eye already starting to swell shut, his business suit in tatters.

"Yo, Egon," Winston called urgently, ready to jump in and help Peter out though he probably wouldn't be thanked for it. "How does that stun number with the throwers go?"

"Stay out of this, Winston," Peter called warningly, his voice muffled as he tried to check his nosebleed against the sleeve of his jumpsuit. "This is my fight."

"No," thundered Tolay, amusement in his tone. "This is my indulgence. Play if you must but never doubt you will die as soon as I am ready."

"Peter," Egon called, stepping forward. "We don't have any more time for this foolishness. Finish it up quickly and get over here."

"Oh, come on, Egon, this is great!" Peter replied enthusiastically, but, as Peck approached, grabbing up one of the splintered table legs and raising it aloft to bring it down upon Peter's unprotected head, the Ghostbuster drew his knees to his chest and lashed out suddenly with both feet, catching Peck hard in the stomach. It wasn't where he was aiming, but Peck moved at the last minute, and it worked anyway. The man's breath went out of him in an astonished woof and his face turned vivid green. Clutching at his midsection, he blundered away, turned a little aside from them then bent over and threw up.

Peter jerked himself out of range, and boosted himself up awkwardly, pushing himself to his knees with his left hand. His nose was barely bleeding now and he wore his scrapes and bruises proudly as if they were badges of honor. "Okay, Egon," he said with a grin that pulled at his split lip and made him wince as he staggered to his feet and settled his proton pack into a more comfortable spot on his back. "Can we blast the monster now? I'm ready to go home."

"I think not," Tolay snarled. "You are mine. You have always been mine. This one," and he gestured at the groaning, wheezing Peck who had doubled up against the broken wall next to the demon, "has outlived his usefulness. I will not concern myself with him any longer!"

Ray felt something touch his wrist and he glanced around to see Winston sealing a bracelet there, one of the ones Ray had designed a long time ago when they had first come into the Netherworld to rescue Egon from this very place. "What about Hieronymous?" he asked in a sharp undertone. "We can't leave him here with Tolay."

"He won't need it when we're done with Tolay," Winston said hopefully as if he had to say it aloud to make himself believe it. "This demon is toast. Look out! He's gonna charge!"

Tolay gathered himself, drawing up to his full height, his power making the air hum and rumble with its force. Like most demons, he was Class 7, about as powerful as a demon could get and not become a Class 8, probably more powerful than his brother Arzun whom the Ghostbusters had trapped successfully with only three proton rifles. In preparation for his attack, Tolay raised his arms, his long, clawed fingers curling as he started to fling fire at the Ghostbusters.

"Now!" cried Ray and Egon in complete unison. The physicist's destabilizer beam went low, avoiding the trajectory of Tolay's blast. Even as it struck the demon in the middle of his chest and Tolay's first, furious blare of power made all four Ghostbusters dive wide to the sides to avoid being fried, the alchemist darted forward, the bowl clutched in both hands.

"No!" cried the alchemist and flung the contents of his bowl at Tolay's feet.

Smoke billowed up in vast, roiling clouds of heavy grey, obscuring the small chamber and making everyone's eyes water. Peck uttered a choked groan and began to cough and wheeze, and Peter gasped and shifted closer to Ray as if he felt the urge to keep at least one of his comrades in sight. Even at a distance of three feet, the heavy fumes made it hard to see. Ray's eyes stung at the acrid tang in the air.

Big as he was, Tolay loomed out of the thick, billowing cloud, parts of him visible to everyone, even as the much smaller humans were able to conceal themselves in the haze and keep firing.

"Don't stop! Keep moving," Ray cried in hasty warning. "He can't see us now. He'll only hit us by accident if we stand still. Yow!" he jumped sideways rapidly as the demon flung fire at the sound of his voice.

The Ghostbusters shifted position, and Peter called out of the cloud, "Okay, Ray?" in a voice that didn't disguise his worry. Ordinarily Peter was a lot cooler in a crisis, but most times he hadn't come to the battle directly from what he'd thought was the body of one of his closest friends.

"Fine, Peter." He danced backwards and sideways at the same time and missed the demon's next bolts. "I'm okay. Look out for yourself," he concluded, still moving, changing position abruptly as he fell silent.

The thrum of the atomic destabilizer had a slightly different pitch than the normal drone of the throwers and Ray used it to pinpoint Egon's ever-shifting position as he tried to maintain the force of his blast and keep it leveled on Tolay. "We have to stop him quickly," the physicist called out, "before he summons his allies. Try to hit him where I do." His voice shifted, sometimes closer, sometimes further away as he darted back and forth in a broken pattern.

"Rock demons?" Winston asked unhappily, suddenly right next to Ray, who blinked his stinging eyes as Zeddemore loomed temporarily out of the mist and vanished again.

"Terror dogs," Peter added. He still sounded as if the fight's momentum was buoying him up, though he'd probably be stiff and sore afterwards and complain about it for days. "Let's get him, guys. I've had fun before, and it wasn't anything like this." His proton stream lashed out at the demon, who squawked in alarm and roared with renewed fury.

"Careful, Egon," called Peter. "Don't let him jam your destabilizer."

"I hadn't planned on it," panted Egon. The pack for the destabilizer was heavier than the normal particle accelerators and Egon wasn't entirely used to it. "Zero in on me, guys," he called.

"I will zero in on you!" Tolay roared. The clouds were beginning to thin out as Hieronymous' potion started to lose its effectiveness.

"Get him!" Peter bawled over the demon's angry roar. "Yahoo!" Suddenly a second stream hit the same place as Egon's and the demon's bellow went up an entire octave in his shock. Seeing the target clearly before them, Ray keyed his depleted thrower and joined its stream to that of his friends. With a joyous cry, Winston copied it.

Writhing in the streams, Tolay tried one final struggle to break free. Lightning soared from his fingers, and stabbed out at Peter, who was closest to the demon. As the clouds faded away, revealing more and more of the chamber, Peter gave a choked cry and reeled forward toward the lightning bolt, propelled into the glowing light by Walter Peck, who had dragged himself upright, his mouth pulled tight in fury. Peter gave a screech of pain and collapsed backwards, his thrower deactivating and Peck, who had been driven too far in his revenge, collapsed too, caught in the same energy burst that had taken Venkman down. At least he didn't disintegrate as Egon had seemed to when Arzun had turned his firing back upon him.

"Peter!" screeched Ray, unable to stop firing even to check and make certain he was alive. Egon's cry echoed his.

"Get him now!" called Winston, yanking a trap from his pack and flinging it out beneath the demon with a savage fury. His foot slammed down on the trigger and his grip on his thrower never faltered as Tolay roared in desperate fury, struggling wildly to break free of the trap's pull. The destabilizer and the other two streams helped to contain him, though, and he zipped into the trap, growling in fury all the way.

Even as the doors closed over him, the other three ran to Peter.

"Oh, no, Peter," gasped Ray, dropping to his knees beside his fallen companion. Egon was right beside Ray. He grasped Peter's wrist, his fingers curling around it, seeking out the pulse point. Ray bent over their fallen comrade in alarm while Winston took a position at Peter's other side, glancing sideways at Peck to make sure the man wasn't a threat. Ray didn't even spare him a glance.

"Wake up, Peter," he pleaded, gazing anxiously at his friend's face. Peck's blows had left a few scraped places and though his nose wasn't bleeding any more, the remnants of the blood he'd tried to wipe away gave him a bizarre appearance. His bottom lip was split and swollen and Ray suspected he was going to have a black eye. If there was nothing worse...

For a breathless second, nothing happened, then Peter blinked a couple of times and opened his eyes. He gazed up blurrily, not yet focusing, then his gaze sharpened and he ran his eyes around the group as if to tally them and make sure they were all there.

"Hey," he said in a voice so close to normal that Ray let out a giant, "Whew!"

"Peter, are you all right?" Egon asked.

Venkman's hand shot out and grasped Egon's arm, using it to pull himself into a sitting position. "Is Tolay trapped?" he demanded, glancing over his shoulder as if he half-feared the demon was lurking there waiting to strike.

"We got him, homeboy," Winston assured him, clapping him on the shoulder.

Peter spread a delighted grin between his friends. "Then I'm great. I feel like I've been hit by lightning but I'm fine." He made a few ineffectual brushing motions at the front of his jumpsuit. Dust rose in clouds from the fabric, making him sneeze. The grin spread and his eyes began to twinkle. "Can we go home now?"

There was still too much to do to activate the recall bracelets and return to the fire house. Egon shot a hasty look around the room before he pulled out his P.K.E. meter and took readings, first of Peter to make sure the near miss with the demon's lightning bolt hadn't done anything they needed to worry about, but Peter's biorhythm reading was normal. Next he checked the passage Tolay had blasted in the wall of Hieronymous' chamber. If reinforcements were coming, they weren't in range yet.

"I think, Hieronymous," Egon said to the alchemist as he, Ray and Winston pulled Peter to his feet and dusted him off, "you should vacate the premises, at least for now. If anything is too valuable to risk, bring it with you. Later, when everything calms down, you can return for the rest of your possessions. I wouldn't put it past Tolay's minions to come for him, and come quickly."

"What about jerkface over here?" Peter asked as Hieronymous started rooting in the chaos that had once been a tidy living room and laboratory. Settling his relatively dust-free jumpsuit and wiggling his shoulders, Peter pointing down at Walter Peck who lay curled into a near-fetal position on the stone floor, shivering. "Take him back and give him to Frump all nicely gift wrapped?"

Peck looked up at that. His face was colorfully marred from his fight with Peter; he'd clearly taken the worst of the battle for one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut, and a cut in that eyebrow had trailed blood down into the eye. His breathing sounded wheezy and his eyes were not completely focused. He'd probably need a doctor once he got to jail.

"You asked for everything you got," Winston told him with grim satisfaction. "Yeah, we could give him to Frump or we could even leave him here. It's just what he deserves."

"Cynara would bring him back, wouldn't she?" Ray asked. He still remembered the nasty, predatory look the blonde woman had given him when she had promised to come back for him. They had to trap her before they went home, too, didn't they?

Peck began to laugh, the wheezing sound truly unpleasant. "She can't," he spat out, pausing to prod a tooth with his tongue as if he feared it had been loosened in the fight. "She thinks she can," he continued, laughing harder. "Can't. Tolay let her think that. Without him, she's stuck here. All along," he continued, "Miss High and Mighty Bitch looked down on me, but now she's no better. Might be able to turn me into an animal, but she can't get home."

"Maybe we should leave them both here," Peter said with a satisfied smile. "They deserve each other."

"Tolay said he had cast her into the darkness," Egon reminded them, glancing at Hieronymous who was straightening up carrying a sack of his belongings. "That could mean anything, from stranding her between dimensions to returning her to Manhattan."

"Manhattan?" Peter asked uneasily. He didn't seem to care for the idea of running into Cynara back in the City. "Can he do that?"

"Of course he can, Venkman," snarled Peck. "I hope he has. If nothing else, she might finish you out of spite."

"Sure, without most of her power, if Tolay's been feeding her energy," Ray scoffed. The woman's abilities made a lot more sense now. He could imagine it, Cynara egotistical enough to believe herself exceptionally talented, trying to conjure up a demon, conjuring Tolay, who had been amused enough to use her and let her believe the reverse was true. He'd probably been playing a cat and mouse game with her, giving her just enough rope to hang herself, and now, with Tolay gone, all the years she might have put in honing her skills had been wasted. She might have limited powers, but Ray doubted she could do very much to hurt the Ghostbusters.

"Well, we better take Peck out of here just so he won't bother Hieronymous," Winston suggested. "I'd feel better with him in jail."

"Hey, yeah," Peter agreed. "Wait till we tell the judge that Dickless here was working with a demon. That'll go over well."

"We can prove it, Peter," Egon said reasonably as they started down the original passage out of Hieronymous' chamber before any rock demons or other nasty creatures could come to investigate their master's disappearance. Peter grabbed Peck by the arm and levered him up, pulling him along with them, and the former EPA man came reluctantly, squawking impotent protests.

"Yeah, we can prove it, but it sounds crazy," Winston said. "I never believed in all this stuff before I joined up. How's a jury gonna take it?"

"Well, he kidnapped Ray and sent us a nasty note along with those Polaroid shots," Peter reminded them, glaring at Peck. "They can prove it's his handwriting and his fingerprints are probably on the pictures. We've got him. I say take him back and let him get used to prison food. Besides," he concluded earnestly, "it'll keep him from bothering Hieronymous."

"Maybe we should take Hieronymous back with us," Ray suggested. "What do you say, Hieronymous? This is a dangerous place. If you stay we can give you another proton pack, but it's gonna be pretty chaotic with Tolay gone." He hefted the full trap. "Other demons might try to come in and take over."

"This is my home, friend Ray," Hieronymous said with a smile. "Now that Tolay is gone, it is far safer for me here. Your world is far too strange to think of going there. Too many things for Hieronymous to learn. Strewth, I am better here."

"I knew you'd say that, but we'll miss you," Ray told him. "You've been a good friend to us. We'll take this character out of your hair, and if we find Cynara, we'll take her, too. After awhile, when everything calms down, you should be able to go back to your place and get the rest of your things."

"I will do so. I do not fear the woman, for I understand how to break her spells." He smiled complacently. "I shall miss you too, all of you. If ever you should return, please to visit me. You will always be welcome."

When the Ghostbusters and Walter Peck returned to the cell where they had left Cynara bound, gagged and blindfolded, she was gone. The bindings were gone, too, which implied that, wherever Tolay had cast her, he had cast her fettered. Peter grinned at the very idea.

They had brought several spare bracelets in case of accidents, and now Peter fastened one around Peck's wrist. "Okay, Egon," he said, "we're ready to go home."

They materialized in Egon's lab in the firehall to find Janine waiting for them as if she'd never left. It seemed as if they had spent days on the other side but the sunlight at the window indicated it was no later than late afternoon. They hadn't even been gone half a day.

Behind Janine sat the imposing figure of Officer Frump, an impatient look on his face. As they materialized, his eyes narrowed and he focused on them in disbelief. "Magic tricks, is it now?" he asked sourly, levering himself up to confront them. His eyes traced over Peter's battered face and settled on Peck's even more damaged one. "Walter Peck?"

"Officer Frump," Peter greeted the detective with a broad grin, probably the first time in recorded history that he was ever glad to see the man. "That's him," Peter agreed, his fingers still curled around the man's arm to prevent a runaway. "He's yours. He kidnapped Ray. Knocked him out. All that nasty stuff. You can throw the book at him."

"Yeah, we can prove that," Frump said complacently. "We tested the handwriting on the note and it matches his. His fingerprints are all over those photos, too, and so are Cynara Storm's. We ran down his truck this morning and found some state of the art listening equipment in the back, and one of your proton pack thingies. Peck's fingerprints were all over it, so unless you're missing more than the one Stantz was wearing, I'd say we might be able to prove that Peck had it in his possession when he shouldn't have. Looks like you managed your own rescue," he continued sourly. He'd probably wanted to handle it himself so he could be one up on them. "I don't know where you were just now and I don't think I wanna ask why he's all bunged up like that." He stabbed a finger in Peck's direction, his eyes tracking back and forth from him to Peter as if comparing their injuries. It didn't take a real genius to guess what had happened.

"These men attacked me, officer," Peck complained in a whining voice, pointing at Peter and the other Ghostbusters.

"He jumped Peter," Ray explained reasonably. "Peter just fought him off. We're all witnesses."

"I'm sure he hated every moment of it," Frump responded dryly, an actual twinkle in his eyes. "Okay, Peck, you're out of here. You have the right to remain silent... " He broke off the Miranda to eye Peter and his friends. "I want you down at the station tomorrow first thing to give us your sworn statements about all of this. All of you. And now you." He turned back to Peck. "Let's start that again, shall we, buddy? You have the right to remain silent... " Still reciting, he handcuffed Peck and led him to the stairs.

"At last. He's gone," Peter said with delight.

Janine had watched the arrest in silence, but now she and Slimer bore down on the Ghostbusters. "Ray! You're all right!" She hugged Ray enthusiastically, then turned and bestowed an exuberant hug on Egon, too, who seemed to enjoy it. She would have kissed him if Peter hadn't edged closer and stood waiting expectantly, a grin on his face.

"I suppose you think I'm going to hug you, Dr. Venkman?" Janine said, eyes narrowing at the sight of his marred face. "I wouldn't count on it, if I were you? Though you'd better put something on that before... "

"Slimer hug you," the little ghost announced in a piercing voice and tried to fling his ectoplasmic arms around Peter's neck.

The psychologist groaned and fended him off. "Back off, Spud," he threatened. "I know a trap with your name on it."

Slimer stuck out his tongue at Peter and threw himself on Ray instead, who welcomed the embrace a little more enthusiastically than Peter did, though not much. "Hi, Slimer, it's good to be home," he said, patting the spud on the head and trying to wiggle out of the hug without giving offense.

"Now Janine, honey," Peter said with a crooked grin to keep from hurting his split lip as he turned back to the secretary, "I knew you wouldn't hug me. Only kind, motherly women and those who are madly in love with me are allowed to hug me. I was just waiting to watch a repeat of that world-class kiss of the other day. Even I am willing to learn new techniques."

"Egon, can I kill him now?" Janine snapped, glaring at Peter.

"Not yet, Janine," Egon told her. "Business before pleasure. We don't know where Cynara is. Tolay said he cast her into the darkness and we'd better make sure he didn't send her back to New York."

"Yeah, and we've got Tolay to put away," Ray reminded them, taking up the trap that he'd deposited on the desk when Janine had hugged him. "Suppose he and Arzun will have a nice family reunion?"

"I want to see him go in," Peter remarked. "It won't be too soon for me."

"Yeah," agreed Winston and they fell into step, united in their purpose, once more a complete team.

Peter awakened once in the middle of the night and lay there listening to the silence. His last two nights had been disturbed, but this time nothing broke the quiet peace but the comfortably familiar sound of his friends' breathing. Egon was snoring softly, and when Peter rolled over and looked at him he saw the physicist wrapped neatly in his blanket, his face full of relaxed contentment. Peter grinned, then he sat up in bed and crawled down to the foot of the four poster to look over at Ray.

The occultist was sprawled all over the bed, arms and legs outflung. He was comfortably sleeping, too, no distress marring his features as he slept, his Stay Puft doll beside him on his pillow.

Winston's deep breathing added to the reassuring symphony, and at the sound of it, Peter glanced around the room a final time and lay down again. So long as they didn't have to confront a vengeful Cynara, everything was fine. Of course there'd be a trial with Walter Peck, but with the way the court system was in New York, that was some time off. Peter grinned. Finally they had something on the man that they could do something about. He rather liked the idea of Peck in jail. Served him right. He should have been there after Gozer, or at least after he'd tried to turn Slimer into a bowl of slime jelly, but his time had come at last. Peter grinned.

He wasn't grinning when he woke up in the morning. Every bone and muscle ached and his face and body felt like someone had used him as a punching bag. Oh yeah, that was right, someone had. Groaning piteously, Peter sat up, poking experimentally at his chin and cheekbones, touching the puffy skin around his left eye. This was terrible. He hated to think what he must look like.

"Sleeping beauty awakes," said a deep voice beside him, and he glanced over to see Egon stretching comfortably and putting on his glasses. "You look dreadful, Peter."

Venkman moaned. "I was afraid you were going to say that, Egon. Come on, level with me. Is it as bad as it feels?"

"Much worse. If you must brawl, Peter, you should be prepared to take the consequences."

Peter flung his pillow at his friend. "I think I liked you better when you were three years old," he said mischievously.

Egon fended off the pillow easily. "Whereas with you, we wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Wheee! Pillow fight!" squeaked Slimer and dove for Peter with entirely too much enthusiasm for that hour of the morning, whatever hour it happened to be. Peter threw up his hands to prevent an ectoplasmic hug.

"Aw, Pete, he's just getting into the spirit of things," said Ray, popping up and grinning. His bruises were vivid, too, but Peter had an idea his own were worse, which was confirmed by the shocked look on Ray's face. "Oh, gosh, Peter, you look horrible," he gasped.

"He's got a point, homeboy," agreed Winston, getting up and coming over to stare down at Peter consideringly. "You look lousy."

"Oh, thanks. My best friends and they can't even lie a little. How about, 'it's not so bad, Peter.' or 'You'll be fine, Peter.' But noooo. I get lecture number 97 from Egon and the rest of you look at me as if I'm wearing monster make up. This does not look good." He bounded out of bed, pausing to groan as his aching muscles reminded him he had stiffened up overnight. Only Ray looked sympathetic, but that was because Ray tended that way. Ray's bruises were still vividly colored, too. Clients were going to eye them doubtfully on all their busts until the colors faded, wondering if they'd been fighting with each other.

Ignoring the others for the moment, Peter went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror over the sink. His heart sank into his stomach at the sight that greeted him. He did have a black eye, and there were scrapes and bruises on cheek and chin. His bottom lip was split and swollen. Prodding it with his tongue made him wince. Carefully he peeled back his lips to make sure his teeth were all in place. Bad enough to have the famous Venkman looks damaged like this temporarily. He didn't want anything permanent. Yep, he looked worse than Ray did.

As if to prove it, Ray's features joined his in the mirror. Ray had a couple of vivid bruises but he didn't look as bad as Peter did. That didn't stop Peter from turning around to inspect his friend's face. "You okay, Ray?" he asked. "Or should I go down to the cells and finish what I started?"

"You didn't start it, Peter. He did," Ray reminded him. "Besides, you enjoyed it."

Peter began to smile and he didn't stop even when his bottom lip protested. Ray was right, he had enjoyed it. He'd wanted to do that for a long time.

"Hey, Egon," Ray burst out at breakfast. "I just thought of something. We'd better check it out and see if Cynara is back in New York."

"Hey, Ray, we don't know where she lives," Winston reminded him, pausing with his cup of coffee midway to his mouth.

"Yeah we do," burst out Peter, dropping his bagel and grinning at Egon. "The great lover knows, don't you, Egon? You were there. You can take us there right after breakfast and we can haul her off to Frump."

"And take her spell books away from her," Ray cried. "Yeah, Egon, we better go over there right away. There's not a moment to lose."

Egon grimaced. "It's not a place I care to remember," he said, looking ever so slightly embarrassed. Peter grinned, realizing Egon must be remembering how Cynara had conned him. She'd probably had some kind of spell on him from the first, come to think of it, something powerful enough to make Egon fall for her the way he had. A love spell. Peter's grin broadened.

"You won't fall for her again, will you, Egon?" he asked, waving his bagel at the physicist.

"Certainly not. I never 'fell for her,' Peter. I must have been controlled from the very beginning."

"Tell me another one, Egon. I saw her, too. She never put any spells on me, and even without it, my hormones went into overdrive."

"What a surprise," Egon replied with a dry smile. "But I was controlled from the beginning."

Peter made a face at him.

"Hey, man, what Pete's saying is, how much danger could she be to us if we go over there?" Winston asked, finishing his last piece of bacon and picking up his coffee cup again. "She gonna put a spell on us and make us into birds or toads or three year olds or anything nasty like that?"

"She might try," Ray replied seriously, "but I don't know how much damage she can do. Tolay boosted her in a lot of her spells after all. She might be able to do some on her own if she has the book right there, but maybe not. For all I know 'casting her into the darkness' might mean taking her powers away."

Peter began to smile. "Now there's an idea. I kinda like that one, Ray. Any chance you could be right?"

"Sure," returned Ray. "Who's the expert here, Peter? Me or you?"

"That's obvious," Egon replied.

"Don't push me, Egon," Peter said brightly. "I've got photos of you cuddling Mr. Stay Puft and I think I could be persuaded to show them to Janine right after breakfast."

Egon glowered at him, and Ray, grinning brightly, said, "Don't worry, Egon, he doesn't have any pictures. And besides, we know how to take the spells off if she puts any on. Let's go. I want to see if there's anything we can do about her. We can't leave her running around loose. She could cause a lot of trouble, even without her powers."

"She's not gonna run around loose," Peter said flatly. "When we're done with her, we can hand her over to Frump. She's going to jail for a long, long time." His mouth curved into a very satisfied grin. "Yeah," he said triumphantly. "She's gonna pay."

Egon was not looking forward to this. When Ecto-1 pulled up in front of Cynara's Central Park West apartment, he braced himself for the coming ordeal, remembering all too vividly his experiences in this place. From the first moment he saw her, Cynara had drawn him to her, made him lower his guard and his inhibitions. He had been unable to resist her introduction, her suggestion they go to Ghostbuster Central, her plans for the afternoon, the arrival at her apartment, the lovemaking that had followed, all too abruptly turning into something diabolical as she opened the book that sat open on a table beside her bed. He should have noticed the heavy tome when they entered the room, but he had been caught up in a different kind of spell at the time and had paid no attention. If the circumstances became known he could imagine Peter chiding him, 'Be sure to check the light reading women keep lying around, Egon. You might learn something.'

She had spoken the words of the spell before he realized what she intended to do before he had done more than turn his head and smile at her. Now he could not hold back his embarrassment at those memories, and at her scorn afterwards as she explained how she had manipulated him and how she meant to destroy him. Unable to fight the spell she cast, he could only blurt out one shocked and wordless protest before his thoughts fuzzed around him and he found himself trapped inside his mind, unable to communicate normally, unable to think clearly. He realized she had taken him to the Netherworld then; he remembered the cell where he had been left alone to wait, a cold place with a rough cot and table, the cell where they had discovered the simulacrum of Ray. He had shivered in his underwear, remembering that she had smiled as she had all but dressed him while he had struggled clumsily to do it himself, unwilling to feel the cold betrayal of her touch. He remembered a smug-faced Walter Peck coming to visit him and gloating, explaining his plans to destroy the Ghostbusters. Egon had been helpless and that had frightened him but not as much as the loss of his intellect had. Then there had been the return to Central Park, his fear and confusion, curling up on a park bench to wait for the morning, the arrival of the policeman, the trip to the hospital. By the time Peter had arrived in his hospital room, he was at the end of his rope.

Cynara was responsible for all that, even if it were at Tolay's bidding and manipulation. Peter might hold Peck to blame for everything and Ray would, reasonably, insist that Tolay had run the show, but Egon's anger was directed at Cynara and nothing the others could say would change that. She had used him and humiliated him and he resented her with a fierce burning anger. He didn't want to go to her apartment. The memories there would be too vivid.

"We came by here twice when we were looking for you," Ray said as he shut off Ecto and looked up at the building. "We were about to the point of stopping everywhere along Central Park West and checking with the doormen, but then the police found you and we didn't have to."

Peter climbed out of the car and studied the building with narrowed eyes, turning to glance over his shoulder at the Park. "What is it with Central Park West?" he asked. "First Dana Barrett, Louis Tully, and Gozer and that poltergeist we chased last Halloween, and wasn't there a whole horde of Class 2s in the next block a few months ago? I don't think I like this part of town." He took his pack from Winston, who was hauling them out of the back of the converted hearse, and put it on. Egon had insisted they go armed and no one had disagreed with him.

"I don't like this building," Egon said tightly, raising his eyes in an attempt to spot Cynara's windows.

"You don't have to come, Egon," Ray said hastily, studying Egon worriedly. "If it were me, I bet I wouldn't want to come back, either."

"I would," said Peter with a predatory grin. "For revenge. Egon, this lady needs to be stopped. Besides, she might not even be here. We don't know where Tolay sent her, and if everybody's right, she probably can't get back on her own. Returning her to New York isn't exactly the same as casting her into darkness after all."

"Some people might think so." Winston grinned. "Just so Frump doesn't find out we're here," he concluded as he fastened his pack into place and checked the setting on his thrower. "For all we know he probably has somebody watching the place and the next thing you know we'll be in the cell next to Peck for interfering with a police investigation."

"Tough," said Peter implacably. "She messed with Egon and Ray. We're going." He stalked over to the building's doorman, a round little man with a shaggy bush of bright red curls, who had been watching them with fascination ever since they'd pulled up. "Cynara Storm," Peter said. "We're here to see her."

"Not sure she's in," the man replied. "You're back, are you?" he asked Egon, grinning knowledgeably. Egon felt his cheeks warm at the look in the man's eyes. "Usually once they leave they're gone. Course most of the others weren't Ghostbusters." He winked at Egon. "Go on up. I hope she's got a ghost or something. Snippy little bitch causes trouble all the time."

"You gonna get in trouble letting us in?" Winston asked.

"I doubt it. Who'd want to keep the Ghostbusters out? Go on up. Penthouse B." He pulled open the door and stood back to allow them to pass. "Good luck."

They rode up in the elevator in near silence, Ray speculating once on whether Cynara was home and Peter grinning with that same predatory look as before. When the elevator opened at the top floor, Egon gathered his strength and stalked out in the lead. "This way."

"Yo, Egon." Peter caught his arm, looking at him with some concern. "You gonna be okay with this?" he asked with a touch of sympathy. "You didn't--love her?"

Egon shook his head. "No, Peter. Love had nothing to do with it. I think it was a spell from the beginning."

"Yeah, her brother said she had power over men. Some kind of control, anyway. That's what Janine said, too. She'll be rooting for you to trash her, and so will I."

It was Ray who pushed the door buzzer, his thrower already in his other hand. As soon as he rang, he took the weapon in a two-handed grip, squared his shoulders for the threat and waited. Egon tensed, bracing himself.

After a minute they heard footsteps approaching the door and when it was thrown open, all four proton rifles pointed dead center at the woman who stood there, a short, brown-haired woman with a plain face and the bruised, groggy look of someone who's just awakened after a two week binge. Huge dark shadows hung beneath her eyes, and her mouth had the kind of twist that indicated she might have just lost her breakfast. She wore an old pink chenille robe, pulled crookedly closed and tied with a rough knot, and her hair was scraped away from a face devoid of make up. She lifted blurred hazel eyes to study her callers, then they narrowed warily.

"Oh," she said in a weary voice that held only the faintest edge of familiarity. "It's you. I should have expected you. Come to view the wreck, have you?" She stood back, pulling the door open wider. "You may as well come in."

Egon's eyes narrowed and he pushed his glasses firmly into place to take a second look. Gone was the gleaming blonde hair and the rich brown of her eyes that had probably been enhanced with contact lenses. In their place stood the natural Cynara, unaided by magic, spells, or chemicals. Yet even in her plain, worn out form, there lingered a faint touch of the magic that had overtaken him at the dinner and made him want her. He hated her, but that pull lingered, though considerably diminished.

It wasn't strong enough to overrule his good sense, though. Relieved, he said, "Cynara?" though he did not doubt her identity for an instant.

Peter was eyeing her with heavy suspicion as if he, too, had sensed the magic she still possessed, the power over men her brother had spoken of, something that didn't necessarily require conventional beauty. Peter's guard hadn't dropped. Of course he'd seen her in other forms, Egon remembered: as the filthy old bag lady and the mousy candy striper at the hospital. He knew her appearance was subject to change without notice, and if that was so, the blonde siren need not be her real appearance either. Of all of them, Peter looked the least surprised by this transformation.

Ray's mouth fell open in astonishment. "That's not Cynara," he cried, then he gulped and stared more closely. "Oh, gosh, it is! That's terrible. What happened to you? Did Tolay do it?" Ray almost sounded sympathetic, but not quite.

"Don't speak to me of Tolay," she spat, rage enlivening her pallid features. "He used me. He used me from the beginning, tricked me. Made me believe I ran it all when really he concealed his own powers. I'd kill him if I could." Her fingers curled into a semblance of claws, and for an instant, Egon thought he saw the ghostly overlay of talons at their tips. Her power wasn't gone completely, but perhaps it was merely what it had always really been, the power of illusion. She could create a spell to make a man believe she was what he wanted more than anything in the world, or to deceive another man into overlooking her while she watched and spied and learned his weaknesses.

Winston closed the door behind them and looked at her through narrowed eyes. "So Tolay got tired of you and your need for power and your using people, even thinking you used him?" he asked. "What did he do, throw you back here stripped of your power?"

"I am not stripped of power," she snapped, gaining slightly in stature as she faced the four men defiantly. "This is nothing but a setback. You think I am powerless. What of you, my Egon? Don't you remember how it was with us, how good it was, better than anything, you told me. It can be that way again." She stretched out a hand, now bare of claws, and touched his cheek. Something in the pit of his stomach fluttered at the touch, remembering, wanting to recapture those moments of rapture, but it wasn't strong enough to overwhelm him and he caught her wrist and forced her hand down.

"No, it can't," he told her. "Peck is in jail and you'll be there as soon as the police arrive. You conspired to kidnap Ray and that can be proven. Peck told them everything."

"You think they would believe that whining little worm over me?" she demanded hotly.

"Maybe not, though I wouldn't bet on it," Peter said coldly. "But they will believe Ray. Besides, your fingerprints are on those pictures. That wasn't smart."

"You wouldn't turn me in to the police?" she asked Peter, shifting her stance subtly, assuming a seductive expression that held the promise of even better things to come. Peter's eyes gleamed in appreciation for a minute--Egon would have been surprised if Peter hadn't reacted--but then he took a quick step backwards.

"You bet I'll go to the police. You hurt Egon and Ray. I've got nothing going for you after that, lady. You're lucky I don't neutronize you on the spot."

She must have realized the power she had left wouldn't cut through the bond of friendship that made the Ghostbusters a team. Her shoulders slumping a little, she cast one last, piteous glance around the room in a futile attempt to garner sympathy, lingering longest over Ray as if she sensed he was the most sympathetic of the four. Ray frowned, resisting her, clearly remembering what she had done to Egon, and what she had tried to do to him. Realizing she'd lost any possibility of support, her eyes hardened, glittering like pebbles in her furious face.

"This isn't the end, you know," she spat at them. "Never the end. I'll curse you. I still know how. See?" Raising her hand, she waved it at a lamp on an end table and the lamp lifted into the air and darted at them like a savage bird.

Ray jerked up his hands, clapped them together, and cried out, "Spell begone!" without having to think about it. The lamp halted in mid-trajectory and crashed to the floor, the base shattering into a dozen pieces. "Hieronymous taught me that," the occultist said, beaming with delight. "He said it worked for the kind of spells that transform things, the kind she uses. I think what he was trying to say was that she had the power to initiate a spell and then momentum kept it going. That's why Egon's reactions to hearing about me could affect the one she put on him. It messed with the momentum. Unless Tolay jumped in and boosted her, she never was very strong."

"You mean it would have been that simple... " Egon began, remembering the traumatic days of the spell, how he'd been unable to sleep at night without someone to comfort him, how he'd struggled to control his emotions, and all for this woman who wasn't even powerful in her own right. He felt the rage surge up in him, almost potent enough to make him grab her throat and squeeze. He couldn't remember ever being so angry before, not even when Walter Peck had forced them to shut down the containment unit.

"Chill, Egon," Peter said in his ear, leaning one elbow against his shoulder and grinning at him. "She's not worth it. She's lost it all anyway. She can't go popping in and out of the Netherworld any more. She'll probably use up most of her power just to look good when she's trying to influence her jury. She's kind of pathetic, really. Anybody with one shred of self-confidence wouldn't have needed spells to make her feel important. She had enough going for her to make it without it but she never tried."

"What do you know about it?" snapped Cynara, hate twisting her features as she glared at Peter.

"I know you've gotta be yourself if you're ever gonna be happy," Peter told her. "All this fake stuff doesn't give you confidence. It just builds walls around you. You think it makes you safe, and maybe it does for awhile, but it never allows you to believe in yourself, not really. Egon went through hell with what you did to him and I'm gonna see you pay for that, but you're the one I feel sorry for. Egon's got a life, friends, confidence in himself, a brain he's not afraid to use. What have you got? I'll tell you what you've got? Nothing. Nothing about you is real. If somebody likes you, it's nothing to do with the real you. It's like buying friends. They only stay bought while the money flows. I told the guys once that when we caught you it was time for the New York witch trials. I was wrong. The worst thing I can do to you is let you be yourself." He turned away from her, brushing his hands together as if to flick away the nasty feel he got from her very presence.

Fury twisted her face, but Egon saw, for one unguarded second, the fear deep in the back of her eyes, the fear that Peter was right. Once she'd considered that possibility, once she knew it existed, she would always doubt, always wonder if anything in her life was real. Once such fear is conceptualized, allowed out past the barricades the mind wraps around it, nothing is ever the same. Egon looked at her with sudden pity. He was still angry, but it was fading. In the end, he had everything, his life back, his friends' support and affection, the wisdom he had gained from the experience. She had nothing.

Of course, knowing her fierce determination, she would probably manage to convince the judge and jury she had been used and was an innocent victim. Then, if she was the type who was incapable of learning anything from her mistakes, she would start up all over again, probably convincing herself she had been set up and Tolay had blocked her powers. The only hope Egon had for her was that one moment of awareness that had bled out of her eyes. If she thought about it again, she might begin to realize there was more to life than she had ever guessed.

The door buzzer sounded, making them all jump. Warily, thrower in hand, Winston went over and pulled it open.

"I should have known I'd find you here," said Officer Frump, two uniformed police officers behind him, one of them a woman. "What did I tell you creeps about meddling in police business?"

"We weren't," Peter said, grinning engagingly. "We weren't arresting her. We came to see if she was here, and then we were going to call you."

Under normal circumstances Frump wouldn't have let him get away with that for a minute, but perhaps he remembered Egon's transformation and the pictures of the bruised and battered Ray, because his mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something foul, and he snarled, "Yeah, right. Okay, get outa here. I'm taking this lady in." He stopped, studied her in some surprise. "What happened to you?"

"I got bored," she snapped at him. "I let myself go." Turning her head she allowed her eyes to linger on Egon, who shifted uncomfortably under the knowing gaze. "It wasn't... all fake," she said wryly, as if the words surprised her, too. Then she turned back to the police. "I suppose you're going to take me in wearing my bathrobe? I should have known better than to expect the police to be gentlemen."

"Sergeant Evans will go with you while you change," Frump said, nodding at the female officer. "You, Ghostbusters. Get outa here before I forget about my good nature and take you in."

Peter growled, "Good nature?" under his breath, and Winston elbowed him in the side as if to warn him not to press his luck. He and Egon grabbed Peter by the arms and pulled him toward the door.

"If she gives you any trouble," Ray began, hanging back a minute to offer the warning, "and it looks like she's gonna put a spell on you, clap your hands together and say, 'Spell begone.' It sounds silly, but it really works."

"I'll remember that," Frump said facetiously. "Get the hell out of here, you characters, or next thing you know, you'll be sharing a cell with Peck."

At this dire threat, Peter grabbed the doorknob and propelled them out of the apartment as fast as he could.

In the elevator on the way down to the ground, Peter turned to Egon, his face more serious than usual. "Hey, Egon, one question before we're out of here?"

"Must you?" Egon responded, eyeing Peter with some alarm.

"Yeah, I must. She really had you coming and going when you first met her. Even looking like she's been doing the town for a solid month without sleep, she still had something. What I want to know is, are you over her? Are you okay?"

Egon opened his mouth to blast Peter for such a question, then he fell silent, considering the subject seriously. There was a thread of concern in Peter's voice. He really wanted to know if the spell was at an end. "I could still feel her power, Peter," Egon said seriously, deliberately avoiding eye contact with any of the other Ghostbusters, "but the difference is that I no longer feel any compulsion to act upon it. The actual spell she put on me at the dinner was gone, and all that remained is what any man would feel. I, of course, am completely in control of my actions and was not tempted. Does that make sense to you?" he asked, looking up abruptly. "Am I likely to--to backslide?"

"I don't think so," Peter said with a broad and knowing grin. "What you feel, good buddy, isn't anything to do with spells. It's just that old bugaboo, sex appeal. Even looking like that she's bursting with it. It isn't a spell that's making you react to her. It's pure hormones. I bet she even got to Ray, didn't she, Ray?"

Ray's face flamed vivid red. "Well, uh, I... " he began, staring at his feet as if he'd never seen his boots before. "That's none of your business, Peter."

"See," said Peter, unabashed. "Even Ray could feel it."

"When I was a bird," Ray mumbled, "She told me she was... gonna come back and we'd, uh, have fun," he concluded, even the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Sounds like Hieronymous rescued you too soon," Peter grinned teasingly at his embarrassed colleague. "Think what you missed."

"Better he never knows." Egon's voice was level but it sounded like he was grinding his teeth.

"Wanted to keep her all to yourself, did you?" Peter asked with a cheeky smile.

"Peter." Egon's voice held a real edge, but there was a note of humor buried in it that only someone who knew him well would be able to hear. The other three all qualified. "Do you know how to rewire a trap to draw in a living human being?"

Venkman shook his head, obviously enjoying the banter. It was clear to all that Egon was over his infatuation with Cynara, Ray had only suffered mild embarrassment as a result of her power, and Winston... Well, he didn't seem attracted either.

"No, Egon," Peter replied in a patient voice. "I don't know how to rewire a trap."

"Just remember, I do."

"Threats, buddy? When you think of all the secrets I know about you too." Peter shook his finger chidingly at Egon. Both of them knew the secrets were safe. "What about you, Winston? Do we have to deprogram you too?"

"You mean from Cynara? Not a hope. I never trusted her. She made my skin crawl. I've gotta admit she came across seductive enough and she's pretty, but I've got enough problems in my life without one like her. It would be like dating a time bomb. No thanks."

"The voice of reason," Peter said as the elevator doors opened and deposited them on the ground floor. Laughing and jostling each other, they headed for the front door. The doorman who had let them go up grinned at them as they approached and whipped open the door for them smartly with a salute.

"So, is everything under control up there?" he asked.

"It's great," Ray replied. "The police are about to arrest her."

The doorman's eyebrows shot up toward his hat brim. "Not too bad for a day's work, eh, guys? I'll keep you in mind next time I've got a problem with my girlfriend."

Egon's cheeks reddened slightly as he hurried through the door.

"So, Egon," continued Peter with a grin as they left Cynara's building behind, all of them feeling free and relaxed for the first time in days. "Even if the spell's gone, you and I have to have a long talk about the birds and the bees one of these days, and I wouldn't leave it too long, if I were you."

Winston's head came up and he started to grin, sharing a knowing wink with Ray, whose eyes were twinkling.

"I'm not entirely certain I want to hear this, Peter," Egon returned as he took off his proton pack and put it into its place in the rack in the back of Ecto. "You've gotten above himself and I'm quite prepared to start rewiring the first trap I find."

"But it's for your own good." Peter slung his arm around Egon's shoulders and guided him around to the passenger side of the car, away from the temptation of any spare traps. "Next time you meet a hot number like Cynara, come to me for advice first. After all, I am the team's voice of authority when it comes to women. If you'd asked me, I could have saved you a whole lot of trouble."

"Hey, Pete," objected Winston, pausing beside them and shaking his head as if he sensed Peter was talking himself into a deeper and deeper hole by the minute. "I thought she put some kind of juju on you so you couldn't tell him anything. If he'd come to you, you'd have been no help at all. Just about like usual."

"Well, yeah, but that's just this time. I mean next time. Come to think of it," he added hastily, bubbling with amusement, "you've still got Janine to deal with. Ever since that smooch, she's been breathing heavy whenever you're around. That's the trouble with women, Egon old buddy."

"I don't think I even want to ask," Egon replied, feeling lighthearted and unburdened for the first time since the physics luncheon. The runaway roller coaster that his life had become had finally stopped to allow him off and Peter's outrageous behavior was busy anchoring his feet to solid ground. Knowing Peter, that was probably exactly as he meant it. You could never tell with him. Sometimes the smart mouth masked a very clever brain that was working at top speed. Other times, of course, he was simply blowing off steam. The trick was telling the difference.

"I know I wouldn't," Ray agreed. "Peter's advice about women is suspect anyway. Look how often he breaks up with them."

Peter eyed Ray coolly, though it didn't mask his affection for his restored friend. "I'm going to give that snide remark all the response it merits," he said haughtily, then, eyes glowing with delight, he stuck his tongue out at the youngest Ghostbuster. "I don't dare call you a 'birdbrain' do I?"

Ray groaned. "Not unless you want me to help Egon rewire the trap. Somebody should have changed you into something, anything, as long as it couldn't talk," he cried delightedly.

The group's high spirits had created a force more powerful than anything Cynara might have thrown against them. Peter raised his hands for a high five and the others reached in to complete the gesture, slapping each other's hands with great enthusiasm. They leaned against each other, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing and free, then Peter caught Egon's eye and said, "No matter what, Janine's waiting. With women, at a time like this, Egon, it's out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"Yeah, Egon," agreed Winston, circling around Ecto to climb into the driver's seat, pausing half in and half out of the vehicle to grin at the blond. "Think how much fun it's all going to be."

"I am thinking of it," Egon said sourly, though not without some curiosity. Peter half shoved him into the back seat and scrambled in after him as Winston slammed the driver's door shut.

"Yeah," cried Ray, sliding into the 'shotgun' seat and hanging one arm over the seatback as he grinned at the two in the back. "I've got a great idea, before Peter can say it. Can we go home now?"

Peter leaned forward and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and squeezed lightly. "You're on. So who wants to get into the dating pool? How soon will Janine ask Egon out? Any takers? Five bucks says it's within a week." He freed Ray and dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet to make good on the bet.

"Peter," groaned Egon in resigned tones as Winston guided the car into traffic.