"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea....

                                                                                ....And all should cry, Beware! Beware!...."

                                                                                                                        Kubla Khan

                                                                                                                        Samuel Taylor Coleridge

She was cold, so very cold. That was the first thing she realized as sanity and awareness trickled slowly into her mind. Cold. Alone and cold. And for a long time, she lay there on the cold marble, unable to make sense of anything, unable to care.

It was hard to find the will to open her eyes. But when she did she was alone, and that was what mattered. The thing was gone, the creature, and he was gone too. Good. She didn't want to see him ever again. The remnants of her fierce and pulsing anger made her feel a flicker of hatred, but it was a strange, muted hatred, and she couldn't work up the energy to loathe and despise the one who had brought her to this.

The room was dimly lit with candles in huge banks. They had melted down a lot since he had lit them but most of them were still burning, illuminating her stone prison. With the stunned disinterest of a person who has been through a profound trauma, she turned her head slowly, surveying the vast cavern, letting her eyes brush the unusual and bizarre collection of objects present.

At the foot of the altar stood a huge mirror, turned so she could see herself in it. The glass was darker than normal but it reflected back the light from the banks of candles, revealing her image, pale and forlorn, as she sat curled up naked on the altar, her arms wrapped around her chest, her eyes huge and empty. The mirror was rectangular, its frame bound with layers of dusty, gauzy cloth similar to the material that bound Egyptian mummies, caked with a darker substance like tar. Twin columns supported the mirror between them, each topped with a grotesque stone head, mouth open in twisted grin, horns protruding from the sides of the skull much like those of the...the thing that had bent over her. Below each head, a five pointed star had been attached to the pillars, and each pillar was wrapped with a heavy, metal chain that curved its way from top to bottom in rusty loops.

Beside the mirror to her left stood a giant candle-holder, containing a fat, black candle as big around as her thigh, three wicks blazing brightly. Its holder was a tall post with a taloned foot for a base, a stone gargoyle curled around the top, its mouth wide as if it meant to devour the flames.

Designs and symbols had been carved into the walls that surrounded her, all strange, some vaguely familiar from the books Daniel had shown her before he brought her down here. Daniel....

Oh, god, what had he done? Why? Had it even been his will? She shivered faintly, grateful for the numbness that held her in thrall. Behind the lethargy that gripped her in muffled claws lurked pain, fear, all the worst possible emotions, but they were muted.

And that wasn't right! What had happened to her? Why? And what could she do about it?

At the question, she shook herself and concentrated, forcing her mind to consider. What happened now? If she stayed here like this, the thing would come back. She couldn't face it again. She knew she couldn't.

But she continued to sit, quivering with cold, unable to make the decision to move. Did she have any will any longer? She could think, but not the way she normally could. This was ridiculous.

The faint tatters of anger prodded her, and with a colossal effort she slid down from the marble altar to the floor. Her clothes were gone. It took a moment for her to understand that, then she looked around dazedly, not even surprised. Was that why, to leave her trapped and helpless without her clothes?

She didn't like being helpless. She never had. People believed her pliant, but she wasn't really. She had never needed to fight before. Now she needed it. What was she made of? Was anything of the stubbornness she knew she possessed left or had the beast stolen it all out of her?

Something dark lay huddled on the floor near her feet. She wasn't afraid of it. A person had to have feelings to be afraid. Edging over, she bent and picked it up. It was a black cloak, long and enveloping, cast aside. Had Daniel worn it when he held her for the creature? Had he flung it away in disgust when he was done? She couldn't remember. She didn't care.

She put it on and at once felt marginally better. Not enough to renew her spirits but enough to allow her to think a little.

She had to get away.

Away? Where was there to go?

It would have been easier to sit down on the altar and wait for something to happen, but the stubbornness that had made her father call her his little bulldog when she had wanted something as a child and had fought for her right to it was not entirely gone. Maybe if she started moving the impetus alone would keep her going, like a wind-up toy that ran until it needed further winding, marching along with mechanical steps.

Wrapping her mind around the ludicrous image of a giant key protruding from her back, she 'wound herself up' with every force of the old bulldog willpower she could find in herself. She was conscious of tears on her face, but it seemed her body knew more easily than her mind how heartbroken and petrified she was.

"I'll survive," she said aloud, surprised to hear how dead her voice sounded. "I'll go on. I won't die. And I'll find myself again."

The effort to make her declaration drained her, but she remained 'wound up'. Like a mechanical doll, she would march over to one of those dark tunnels, away from the light, and she would hide until she could find her own way out of this dark maze.

She was nearly to the nearest tunnel when an idea hit her and she retraced her lagging steps, picking up a lighted candle as big around as a Coke bottle. Matches? There had to be matches. Yes, there was a box of them. She should have felt triumphant, but she didn't. She couldn't feel much of anything yet. But she slid the matches into the pocket of her cloak and, holding the candle before her, walked into the tunnel.

"Don't wind down," she muttered to herself. "Keep on going. Don't wind down."

Too numb to admit to fear, she followed the dancing pattern of light into the unknown.

Somewhere in the darkness behind her, the demon laughed.

Peter Venkman had put aside his work and picked up a magazine to read surreptitiously when he heard the clack-clack-clack of high heeled shoes crossing the garage area of Ghostbuster Central and approaching Janine's desk. Quickly he shoved his copy of Baseball Digest out of sight under a pile of research material Egon had dumped there an hour ago with the stern instruction to read it. The top folder contained an article called Demon Evoking, or Spirit Manifestations of a Malicious Nature in the Occult Subculture, a title guaranteed to put Peter asleep in no less than three minutes, even if it hadn't been xeroxed from some musty old publication with crumpled edges. Why did Spengler always want Peter to bore himself with doom and gloom from the 18^th Century or spend hours drilling on the more esoteric readings possible from a P.K.E. meter? The four Ghostbusters were good at their jobs, even without all this dismal research. Egon liked stuff like that, and Ray tended to get off on the occult stuff, too. Stantz had made a study of mysticism ever since he had been a teenager, and knew it inside out, even if his happy nature prevented him from enjoying cabalistic rituals. Peter preferred to think of himself as the group leader, rather like the captain of sports team, whose function was to manage busts, to handle anything related to his psychology background, and to deal with the press. If Egon and Ray wanted to bury their noses in weighty tomes on witchcraft, possession, and demonology, that was fine with Peter, but they should leave him out of it.

But the sound of the approaching footsteps lured him away from such considerations. Clients usually phoned to request the services of the Ghostbusters, although a few hardy souls ventured into Lower Manhattan to call at headquarters. The thought that their new client was a woman interested Peter, who considered himself an expert on the female of the species. So he did a hasty tidy of his desk, sweeping the bag of Doritos into a drawer and the apple core into the wastebasket before he stood up to get an early peek at the approaching woman.

She was possibly forty-ish, but very elegant in what looked like a designer suit in blending shades of purple, green and turquoise that enhanced her fair complexion and the chestnut-colored hair she wore caught up in a sophisticated knot at the nape of her neck. Although she looked as if she might be all business, she was glamorous enough to make the thought of breaking past that controlled, ice-maiden exterior worthy of the challenge. He smiled.

Spotting Peter, she nodded at him, then spoke to Janine. "How do you do? I am Justine Bell of Bell and Perez. I do not have an appointment, but I've just come from City Hall and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I might forego one and speak to the Ghostbusters now."

"Of course you can," Peter said smoothly, coming around to the gate beside Janine's filing cabinets. "I'm Dr. Venkman. Do you want to see all of us? Do you have a haunting?" Bell and Perez was a long-established firm of attorneys, extremely prestigious, very pricy. Working for a firm like that was a certain guarantee of payment for the team, especially when she was a Bell herself. A major big shot.

"I believe I'd like to see all of you if possible, Dr. Venkman."

"Peter, to you," he said with his patented little-boy grin. Janine groaned disgustedly under her breath at his tone.

"Peter. Yes, all of you, please. This is a strange story, and it is entirely possible that it is outside your realm of expertise. But the police won't do anything more, and the investigator I hired has furnished some information that makes it seem like a job for the Ghostbusters."

"Then have a seat and tell us about it," he said, gesturing her into his office. "Janine, call the guys."

Peter performed the introductions with aplomb, watching Ms. Bell's reaction to his friends, imagining them as they would appear to a stranger. Egon, tall and dignified if one missed the spark of dry humor in his blue eyes and ignored the unusual flip of his hair, came downstairs with his characteristic P.K.E. meter in his hand and waved it over their client automatically. When there wasn't so much as a beep or a flicker from the ghost-detection device, he looked mildly disappointed and resigned himself to wait for information.

"What does that do?" their client asked, lifting an eyebrow in surprise at Egon's action.

"This is a P.K.E. meter, Ms. Bell," Egon explained, holding it out to demonstrate. "It measures psycho-kinetic energy. It could tell if you had experienced recent exposure to a ghost. As you can see, it displays nothing of the sort."

"How disappointing for you," she replied, sounding a little amused. "No, I'm not haunted, Dr. Spengler. My problem is much different than that."

"And this is Ray," Peter continued the introductions, gesturing Stantz forward with a grin.

"Hi, Miss Bell, welcome to Ghostbuster Central." Ray's overall optimism and love of life was always evident in the way he met new people; no one was a ever a stranger to Ray but instead a friend he simply hadn't yet met. Even the poised and self-possessed attorney unbent enough to smile at Ray's greeting and let him pump her hand in delight.

"And Winston Zeddemore," Peter continued. The team's purveyor of common sense, Winston assessed her appearance automatically, shook hands, and gave her a quick smile. He cast a sidelong glance at Peter to see if he were smitten in spite of the difference in ages between Venkman and their client, then studied her again thoughtfully but gave away nothing of his reaction to her. Winston was a good judge of character.

Peter gestured his partners into his office and began to dispose them in the various chairs. Soon all four Ghostbusters were seated with Ms. Bell, who had been given the one comfortable chair and furnished with a cup of coffee by Janine who could usually be persuaded to bring it for guests if not the team itself. Sometimes she brought a cup for Egon when he'd been hard at work in the lab, and, slightly more grudgingly, a cup for anyone who was with him, but Pete had never trained her to fetch it for him, and he suspected he never would.

Bell opened a folder she had been carrying under her arm, a leather, designer case as smooth as butter, and removed a stack of papers, laying them tidily on the corner of the desk. She shot a surprised and somewhat disapproving glance at Peter's hula girl lamp, then ignored it and got down to business.

"I fear my friend may be in danger from a demon," Justine Bell said with complete sincerity as if she were announcing a traffic jam in the Holland Tunnel or the threat of an ice storm. There was not a shred of panic on her face, rather a grim determination to deal with the unlikely crisis even if it was outside her realm of expertise. Faced with a threat she couldn't handle--and Peter doubted there would be many--she had assessed the situation and chosen the best external solution she could find. She made no attempt to justify her words.

"Wow, a demon," breathed Ray, accepting what she said completely at face value. "Gosh, that could be nasty. We've busted demons before. We should be able to help."

"Tell us about it, Ms. Bell," Egon urged. "We'll need complete information unless the crisis is so urgent you expect us to leave immediately." He didn't expect it, Peter could tell. She had settled in as if she knew there was time to tell the story or as if she believed any rapid action might be too late.

"A part of me is afraid it has already happened," she confessed, confirming Peter's speculation, and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. Then she collected herself the way she might in the courtroom before her summing up for the jury, straightening in the chair and bracing herself to continue. "I am a corporate attorney working out of Bell and Perez--my grandfather was the founding member of the firm and I have full partnership. I have a staff of six paralegals who work directly under me. The one who has been with me the longest, Caroline Guest, is a personal friend. She has been with me for six years and is twenty-eight years old. About two months ago, Caroline met a man. At first I thought it another casual boyfriend. She hasn't been really serious about anyone since I've known her. For the past year she's been working on her law degree and has been putting all her effort into that, avoiding intense relationships until she finished. But when she met Daniel, that changed. It wasn't long before she started getting starry-eyed."

Peter had the sudden impression that Justine couldn't imagine any such reaction for herself; she was too much of an all-business type to be swept off her feet. Yet she was here, evidently out of concern for Caroline. She had a heart. She was just very focused and romance wasn't in her personal agenda. Under better circumstances he might have enjoyed the challenge but this wasn't the time for it.

"Do you think this Daniel is a demon?" Ray asked. It wasn't an impatient question; impatience with clients wasn't Ray's way. He simply wanted to know. "He didn't hurt her, did he?"

"No--at least I don't know. He's human, of course. But when I realized Caroline was smitten, I ran a discreet credit check on him. Caroline comes of old money, but she's rather an innocent. So I checked him out. The police were unimpressed with my findings when I went to them."

"What did you find?" Winston encouraged her.

"Daniel has a considerable fortune, so presumably he isn't after hers," Justine replied. "But he also has a significant interest in occult science. My investigator suspected a very carefully concealed history of mystical rituals."

"Devil worship?" Peter hazarded, feeling his muscles clench. That could be really nasty; the team had seen a bit of it since they founded the business and it was never pretty. He could understand Justine's concern for her friend. He saw his three friends focus more closely upon their client, none of them happy about the route her story was taking. Arcane cults were always tough to deal with.

"That was my first thought but Jason--my investigator--is very thorough. He said from everything he could find it wasn't in Daniel to worship. He was the type who wanted those around him to worship him. The image of an affable playboy was carefully cultivated to cover a single-minded purpose. The rituals, Jason was able to learn, were geared to giving him what he wanted, power, for instance, or knowledge, not to bow down before unlikely entities and worship them."

"We know the type," Ray admitted, sharing a grimace with Egon. "People sometimes get caught up in the occult because they think it's a conduit to personal power. We've known a couple of people like that. The things they did caught up with them eventually, but they did a lot of damage before that happened. Messing around with occult rituals is really dangerous," he concluded sincerely.

"And Ray's our expert in the field," Peter lauded. "All that power doesn't tempt him, so he's a good one to learn about it. He might even know this character."

"I think I do," Ray said, his brow wrinkling in worry. "It's not Daniel Chant, is it? Lives upstate on the Hudson, has a place called Xanadu?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, that's him. He called it a 'stately pleasure-dome,' which I thought a rather annoying bit of snobbery."

"'Where Alph, the sacred river ran...'" Winston quoted, recognizing Chant's description.

Peter grinned as he remembered the quote from a high school English class. He'd had to memorize part of the poem and it had stuck in his head. "Just so we don't have to crawl through any 'caverns measureless to man,'" he threw in, beaming smugly when his three friends stared at him in blank astonishment. Peter's carefully-cultivated self image had never suggested he was particularly literary.

"You read Coleridge, Peter?" Egon asked, lifting an amazed eyebrow. He knew there was more to Peter than met the eye, but he wasn't above teasing.

"Heck, no," he replied, grinning wickedly. "I don't even know who he is."

Ray gave him an amused nudge with his elbow. "Don't mind Peter," he told their client. "He gets that way sometime. We have to put up with him, but we're used to it."

"I presume Chant named his estate himself," Egon said abruptly, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand. "While my knowledge of Coleridge is not wide, I do seem to remember a line in that poem about a woman 'wailing for her demon-lover.'"

"I don't remember anything like that," Peter denied hastily. He could only call to mind the first few lines of Kubla Khan.

"Never mind the poem," cut in Winston, getting down to business. "Ms. Bell, is your friend missing? You spoke of the police...."

"Yes." She gave him a grateful smile. "Caroline went up to Xanadu for a weekend. I got a strange message on my answering machine from her after she'd left. My home answering machine and during the day when I was not likely to be there and take the call. She said she was going to stay away for a few days longer than planned and not to worry about her because she was just fine. She didn't sound fine, gentlemen. She sounded almost hypnotized. And that was more than two weeks ago. When she didn't come back as planned, I called the police. They took it as a voluntary departure. When I...insisted, they contacted Chant. He said Caroline had spent a long weekend at his estate and then returned to the city, and he didn't expect her back for a week and a half. He was very open and cooperative with them, talked about his rituals and such as if they were merely parlor games; fake seances and Ouija boards and the like. He showed a local officer around his estate quite affably. They were satisfied. He even showed them a secret room where he claimed to do ritual...things. He laughed about it with them.

"But I was not satisfied. I watched him lie--I could see it in his eyes. I'm a gifted attorney, and I've come to count on my skill in assessing what I see in a man's eyes. I've trained myself to read emotions and what I read in his eyes was something cold and dangerous I have never felt before, not even from a convicted murderer. I might be in corporate law now, but I paid my dues in criminal law for a time, and I've seen eyes that were entirely empty, cold, hateful eyes, and none of them scared me as much as Daniel Chant's did. I think he's got her up there, a prisoner. And I think he means to sacrifice her to something." She shook her head. "Believe me, I didn't want to accept that it was remotely possible. But Jason said young women involved with him have disappeared before. I gave that information to the police. They investigated it. They said there was nothing to it. They even found two of the women alive. I went to see them."

She fell silent abruptly, swallowing hard, and Peter could see a shaken horror in the back of her eyes.

"Gosh, what happened?" Ray blurted, reaching out to pat her hand.

"The first one was--in a mental institution, Dr. Stantz. She was alive, she was physically unharmed but when I looked into her eyes--"

"There was nobody home?" hazarded Peter.

Egon frowned slightly at his frivolous description, but the attorney nodded. "Exactly. All I could see was the distant memory of something so horrible that anything was better than remembering it. She talked. She answered questions. But it was as if nothing mattered, and she wouldn't tell what had happened to her. When I mentioned Daniel, she closed away altogether and wouldn't say another word."

"You said they found two of them?" Winston reminded her.

"Yes, I tracked down the second one, too. She'd been a teacher. When I found her, she was also institutionalized but she'd been hooking on 42^nd Street. I tried to talk to her. She didn't care about anything. I think she had been taking drugs. She said nothing mattered to her, nothing unless it could make her forget. So you see, I have to find Caroline before whatever happened to them happens to her. And time is running out. Whatever he did to those two women took away their souls."

"Maybe literally," breathed Ray. "It can happen. It's like the first lady you saw, usually diagnosed as mental illness."

"Ray's right," Peter said, growing serious. "I've seen a case or two myself. I'm a psychologist, Ms. Bell. Once in awhile I'll run against something that could be possession or interference at a psi level. Sometimes we can help in a case like that." He didn't add that sometimes the damage was permanent. They didn't know what they'd find and he didn't want to alarm her before they knew more.

"Sometimes?" she echoed. "Possession? I thought that was a medieval attempt to diagnose mental illness because they didn't know any better."

"Most of the time it was," Peter replied. "They never heard of Freud back then. They thought the earth was flat, for Pete's sake. But what we forget today is that some of those cases really were possession or something else supernatural. Rushing off to a shrink is trendy today. We use mental illness as the catchall, just like they used to use possession. And people don't want to believe in what we do, so sometimes it slips past." He had Justine's attention; she was listening, her mind open to what he said.

"Then I've come to the right place. I'm glad. You'll do what you can, won't you?"

"Gosh. Guys, we've got to find Caroline," Ray agreed with ready distress. "This could be nasty. She sounds like she's really in trouble."

"We don't know she's in trouble, Ray," Peter objected. "Okay, so I don't like the sound of this guy or what happened to those other two women, but what do we do, show up at his door and ask for her back? He'll fob us off like he did the cops. He sure won't let us come in and take readings."

Ray frowned, then his face lit up and he gestured for attention. "Yeah, the last thing he'd want would be for us to snoop around up there, but I've got an idea."

"An idea, Ray?" Egon pondered the still inactive meter in his hand then stared at Ray. "What idea?"

"Well, I don't really know Chant very well; I met him once over at that occult shop on West 3^rd Street, and Max, the owner, introduced us. I think he'd remember me--he's pretty sharp, and besides, we're on TV a lot. So we couldn't fake him out. But he has these big open house weekends, you know, Winston, like in a 30's murder mystery from those books you enjoy, with a lot of weird and interesting people showing up for the weekend and strange goings on. I know enough people in occult circles that I think I could get us invited up there this weekend without much trouble. If he's trying to pull something off, he'd probably love the challenge. They say he gives a good weekend party. He's one of those guys who thinks he knows everything and he likes to rub it in by taking on the rest of the world."

"Like Peter," Winston teased, winning an affronted frown from Peter. The psychologist considered sticking out his tongue at Zeddemore, but he couldn't do that in front of Justine Bell.

"No," said Ray hastily. "Because Peter's nice." He caught himself, slightly embarrassed at the inadvertent compliment. "Well, compared to Chant, anyway, if he's really hurt these women. Peter doesn't go around hurting people just because he knows he can, and I think Chant does even if he was kind of quiet the last time I saw him."

"Nice," Peter told Winston, preening himself.

"Chant sounds a dangerous man, Ray," Egon replied, ignoring Peter. "If there is something paranormal at his home, we could be walking into a very dangerous situation. But we can't let an occult and nasty situation continue. Unless he's simply a cruel user who breaks the spirits of women he discards, we could be getting into danger on his home turf. Ray, you know a great deal about the occult, but you don't practice it. Remember the danger we faced when we confronted Derek Valerian ⁽¹⁾?"

"Yeah, but we stopped Valerian and his pet demon, Egon," Peter reminded him. "And this guy can't be that bad."

"Why not? Who says he can't?" Winston asked. "We should probably check out the woman in the mental institution, see if there's any psi traces on her."

"Maybe we can help her," Ray volunteered quickly. "And if there is any evidence a ghost or demon did anything to her, then we have to go out there and see--maybe it isn't too late to help Caroline. We don't know what's wrong there, but I think it's probably nasty. That's what Chant's like. Oh, he's smooth on the surface, but I got a really bad feeling from him when I first met him. Well, sorta from him, like there was something nasty hanging over him." He got up and went over to lean against the railing, face thoughtful as he recalled his first encounter with the dark practitioner.

Peter frowned. "You, Ray? Come on, everybody's your buddy. If this guy put you off, he really must be bad."

"Well, he has an ego," Ray said quickly. "The whole world revolves around him, but what's worse is that he knows it, and he can fake being nice. I know a lot of people in the occult community and most of them are just as nice as anybody. All my wiccan friends are great. And I know a few genuine psychics and stuff like that. But there's always the devil worshiper types." He paused, grimacing. "Some of them are into it because it's like a game; they can feel pleasantly wicked, if that makes any sense. They don't do any harm; they go through rituals and get all psyched up and nobody gets hurt. They don't even do sacrifices except ritual ones. About the worst they might ever do is sacrifice a chicken. I don't like that kind of stuff, but it's not that common. And then you get into the ones who really mean it. It stops being a parlor game. They don't sacrifice people or even large animals, but they genuinely believe, and their problem is that they can draw people in--like cults, you know."

"Sounds really nasty," Winston muttered, shifting restlessly in his chair. It wouldn't be his nature to approve of that kind of thing. When they'd first met Winston he'd been reluctant to believe in anything paranormal he couldn't detect with his five senses--until Ray passed him a full ghost trap. "I hate stuff like that."

"You think that's what Daniel Chant does?" Justine asked. She crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt. "I never dreamed it could lead to anything like this until I started investigating." Her cool eyes held dismay at what she'd been hearing. Peter suddenly realized a part of her had hoped the Ghostbusters would scoff at her concern and tell her everything was fine.

"I think Chant's a step beyond the cult thing," Ray said. "Unless he manages it, controls it, you know. I can't see him getting caught up in the emotion; he'd be the one in charge, the one wielding the knife if there really was a sacrifice. The word is out he can go in pretty deep, even that he went too deep and got in over his head." Justine paled at his words and Ray, noticing her reaction, looked sorry but he couldn't take back the truth.

"And you want us to go to his place for a nice weekend getaway?" Peter squawked. "Listen, Ray, I don't like the idea of being a ritual sacrifice. I'm too young and gorgeous to die." He slanted a quick glance at Justine. At his words, she had given him a dirty look, only momentarily distracted, but she was still tense, and there was nothing they could do to ease it, unless they could bring Caroline back safe and sound.

Ray pushed himself away from the railing and came over to stand at the desk, his palms flat on the teak surface. "No, Peter, I want us to go and find out what he's doing that he's making young women crazy, if he's really stealing souls."

"Can you do that?" Justine asked, lifting an elegantly plucked eyebrow in disbelief.

"Stop him? Or steal souls?" Egon asked. "Hopefully the former. But yes, there are things in the world and outside the normal boundaries of conventional reality that can suck the souls out of people. It's not common, but it does exist. We've seen things that would once have astonished me, and I have known since I was a child that there were dark forces just beyond the borders of conventional belief."

"I think I liked the world better before you said that. You're making me very uncomfortable." Nervously Justine shuffled her papers, avoiding their eyes.

Peter reached out and patted her hand with a sympathy that had nothing to do with her attractiveness and everything to do with her distress."We don't mean to. But you knew something was wrong or you wouldn't have come to us. We're not the occult police, but when there's a problem like this, there's no one else to go to for help." Actually he rather liked the sound of 'occult police' but this wasn't the time to mention putting those words on their business cards to the guys. "Where is the institution where you saw the woman?"

"Queens. It's a private facility. I talked to the director before I came here, and I talked to her parents. I have written permission for you to visit her and take your readings." She gestured at the meter Egon played with absently. "I thought you might need run tests before confronting Daniel. I had you investigated before I came here, and your references were all extremely acceptable. The police and the mayor's office will vouch for you, and several open-minded scientists I talked to speak highly of your strict controls and scientific method."

Egon beamed. Nothing pleased him more than being praised scientifically. While he would be a Ghostbuster if all his academic peers shunned him, as they had in the beginning, the knowledge he was gradually winning over his fellow scientists had to make him feel good.

"Tell us a little about Caroline," Peter prompted sympathetically. "Is she particularly gullible? Is she intelligent? Imaginative?"

"All of those things, Dr. Venkman. Is that bad?"

"No, course not. She sounds like a nice girl. But sometimes intelligent people can get caught up in things anyone with common sense would run from at top speed. You said she was an innocent. She doesn't have much experience with men like Chant."

"Hopefully few of us do," Justine said. "He didn't move me, but I can understand how he might appeal. He is good-looking, and smooth. But my inner alarms go off when I run into 'smooth'. I've known a few fast talkers, serious ones, in my time, and while it's rather fun if you simply don't care and want a good time, it takes someone more experienced than Caroline to fend off a man of that type. Someone like you, Dr. Venkman, who likes to play smooth with the ladies, would be better for her, because you essentially have a kind heart."

Peter was embarrassed at being found out, and cast a sideways look at his friends to discover that their expressions registered agreement. "You had me checked out?" he asked uncomfortably.

"All of you. I don't propose to put out good money and get no results, and it was important to know not only whether your business was legitimate but also whether you four, as individuals, were trustworthy."

"They are," said Janine from the gate. "Even Dr. Venkman here. I've worked for them from the start, and I'm not like Caroline. I've been around the block a few times. You can trust them." She favored Egon with a particularly approving smile and retreated to her desk.

"That was what I'd learned," Justine agreed. "I have some excellent testimonials from satisfied clients. So, shall we establish rates?" She passed over a folder to Peter, whose ears had perked up at the mention of payment. "Permission to visit Donna Moreau in the institution. I understand you charge $1500 for a standard entrapment, but since this will take you several days and may have a high risk factor, I'm prepared to pay $15,000, plus expenses incurred--and I will expect an itemized list."

"Done," said Peter hastily before any of the guys could talk it down. The danger rating when they messed with the occult always shot through the roof, and they weren't a philanthropic organization here. "Do you have a picture of Caroline?"

She handed that to him next. Peter looked down at the face in the photograph, probably taken several years earlier. Caroline was fair, her hair was a rich, golden shade that enhanced the vivid blue of her widely-set eyes. She wasn't conventionally beautiful or even pretty in the Hollywood sense, for her cheekbones were rather prominent and her face was a little too long to be a pure oval but it was an appealing face, one Peter might pass on the street but one which he'd find more interesting with a second look. He passed the photograph to Ray, who was still standing at the desk.

"She looks nice." Ray returned to his chair, staring at the photograph. "She doesn't look like the type that could stand up to Daniel Chant, though. We've gotta help her."

Peter didn't say what he was sure Egon and Winston were already thinking, that Caroline Guest might already be beyond their help. Two weeks was a long time to be stranded in Chant's control. She might be as bad as the woman in the institution already. She might even be dead.

Egon took the picture and pondered it. "The one thing that may be to our advantage," he said thoughtfully, "is that it's nearly a week until the full moon. Sometimes major rituals need to be performed at the full moon--or so cult members believe." He held out the picture to Winston.

"Or the dark of the moon," argued Ray. His face fell as he realized Caroline had been with Chant at that time.

"Either way, she hasn't turned up yet," Peter said quickly. "Those other women did. There might still be a chance."

"And if there isn't," Justine said, her face suddenly hard with purpose, "then I want you to finish him. Stop his occult business. Bring him to justice."

"If he's using the occult to hurt defenseless women, or anyone, then we must stop him," Egon replied, rising to the occasion. Show Egon a dragon to slay and he was ready to march forward into the fire even if it meant he and the whole team might die in the process. Peter thought highly of Egon's dedication even though the thought of dying bravely totally lacked appeal. "I think the first thing on the agenda is to divide our forces," the blond physicist continued. "Ray, I want you to go through your contacts and do as you said, arrange for us to be invited to Xanadu this weekend. Chant will have no idea why we are coming; he might think we have an interest in the occult or suspect him of something, but he won't know we're searching for Caroline. If he refuses to allow us to come, we'll know something is wrong and will go up there surreptitiously."

"Surreptitiously?" Peter teased, unwilling to let Egon get away with a five syllable word. It was the principle of the thing. "If you mean sneaky, say sneaky, Spengs."

"I meant surreptitiously," Egon replied, his eyes twinkling. He grew serious. "Winston, would you go through the material Ms. Bell brought us and see if you can find any clues that will help us?" Zeddemore nodded in agreement, and Egon continued, "Peter, you and I will go to investigate Ms. Moreau. Your psychology background will be useful there and I will need to take thorough readings. Perhaps you can get her to open up?"

"In one visit when no one else has?" Peter shook his head. He knew he was a good psychologist, but miracles were hardly the order of the day. "No, it just doesn't happen that way, Egon, even for someone as brilliant as me." Ignoring the grimace on Egon's face, he continued, "I'll just get a feel for her situation, is all. If there's any lingering readings, then we'll know what we're up against."

"I won't expect you to report to me from Xanadu," Justine said. "But please telephone me on Monday, or sooner if you find her before then. Here's my card. And here is Jason's report. I hope you can find her and save her."

"And any other women who might be in trouble," Ray promised, grasping her hand in both of his and squeezing it earnestly. "We'll do everything we can."

When he first saw Donna Moreau, Peter wasn't sure how much they could do for her. That afternoon, he and Egon drove over to The Whitewoods, a private psychiatric hospital, produced their documentation, and were admitted to the building. Peter liked the look of the place; it didn't feel 'institutional', and the staff seemed pleasant, competent, and caring. He'd heard of the facility before and knew it was highly recommended. When the administrator, Dr. Abe Finkelstein, a middle-aged man with a boyish face belied by a retreating fringe of white hair surrounding a gleaming bald pate, saw their documentation, he frowned, but not in disapproval. "Hmm, Ghostbusters. I must say I'd never considered the possibility of something so outré as possession but I know Dr. Kelvin at Bellevue, and he says he's worked with you before, Dr. Venkman, and had good luck on two separate occasions. I don't think Donna is possessed, though. I'd say the odds are that nothing has been, er, added. More like something has been taken away. She doesn't fit any traditional patterns other than evidence of depression. That was the initial diagnosis but when I've talked with her, I always thought I'd never encountered anyone so completely...empty. I don't know if you can help her, but at this point, I'm willing to try anything. I'll see you are shown to her room. I know I don't have to ask you not to upset her."

"No, we'll be gentle with her," Peter promised. He didn't have it in him to hurt the helpless, and he'd make sure Egon didn't get carried away. They hadn't worn their jumpsuits here for fear it would upset the patients, but they had two proton packs they could bring in from Ecto in case Donna proved to be possessed. Egon carried his P.K.E. meter.

They were shown to Donna's room by a nurse named Molly, a perky woman of about thirty-five, with a mop of carrot curls, a porcelain complection, and a wedding ring on the correct finger. Peter always noticed such things.

"We're really worried about Donna," she told Peter. "I have to say it would never have occurred to any of us that there could be something paranormal wrong with her. Dr. Whitten will want to talk to you if you find anything. Donna's simply closed away. She eats if we give her food, she is up and dressed because we go in each morning and remind her to do it. Left to her own devices, she wouldn't do that, she wouldn't bathe. She doesn't watch television and we can't get her to take an interest in occupational therapy. She does listen to music sometimes, but we have to be careful; if there is anything in the music to suggest sadness we'll find her sitting crying. I've dealt with clinical depression, even very serious cases, but with Donna, it's...different. I'm not sure how it's different, but it is. It's as if something is gone from her that people need just to live. I'm afraid that if we can't help her, she'll simply wither away and die. I know that doesn't make much sense."

Peter hesitated, cast a quick look at Egon, then plunged on. "Do you think that maybe something could have...stolen her soul?"

Molly's eyes grew huge. "That's really odd, Dr. Venkman. The first time I saw her, I thought the heart had gone out of her, that she had suffered a devastating loss, but then, the more I knew her and cared for her, I got to thinking it wasn't the heart, but that it was something, some spark that all of us have--and she doesn't any more. Are there--things in the night that can eat a person's soul?"

"Yes," Egon replied promptly. Molly's face fell.

"Not very often," Peter put in hastily. "We don't see it much, believe me, and we're sure glad of that. And sometimes, I think it can grow back. We'll know more after we've seen her."

"She's in here," Molly said. "I'll come in with you, if you don't mind."

"Fine," Peter said. "If it makes her feel more comfortable, I'm all for it."

"But if our readings indicate demonic possession, we'll ask you to leave for your own safety," Egon added.

Molly nodded and entered the open door. "Hello, Donna, you have visitors," she said. "I want you to meet Dr. Venkman and Dr. Spengler."

The woman in the chair lifted her head at the nurse's words and looked at them out of the emptiest eyes Peter had ever seen in his life. His stomach knotted at the sight of that blank-eyed stare. She was aware; she knew they were there. It was simply that nothing at all had the power to care. There was not one shred of motivation in her entire body. He saw at a glance that she physically resembled Caroline Guest in the narrow face, the fair hair, the rather dramatic cheekbones, the pointy chin. Daniel must definitely have a type he preferred--or maybe his demon did.

"Doctors," she said in a wispy voice. It wasn't even an acknowledgment, just a statement, almost an echo.

Egon started to raise the meter, and Peter grabbed his hand and pulled it down. "Not yet, Spengs," he said under his breath. "Let me first." He went over to Donna and dragged up a second chair, sitting beside her and catching up her hand. Instinct warned him he might get a reaction if he played it smooth, so he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on it. "I'm Peter," he said. "You don't have to call me 'doctor'."

Her fingers tightened for a moment, but her eyes remained empty. He couldn't tell if it was a positive sign or an involuntary reaction. Up close, her eyes were alarming. Once or twice he'd seen the cold eyes of heartless men, and he'd looked into demons' yellow-eyed, malevolent glares, but this young woman should be smiling. There should be life in her face, and there was none. Once, like Caroline, she had been an innocent in the world. Now she was nothing, a shell. It made Peter nervous.

He didn't let go of her hand but sat holding it, stroking it with his other hand. "Donna, my friend and I aren't more shrinks to bug you. We're the Ghostbusters."

"They're here to help you if they can," Molly put in. "It's all right. Your parents said they could come, and Dr. Finkelstein told them so, too."

"Ghostbusters?" Donna looked directly at Peter for the first time. Peter wasn't sure she'd even heard Molly's words. There wasn't anything so positive as hope in her voice; it was just another echo. But her fingers squeezed Peter's with astonishing strength. It was all he could do not to let out a startled yelp.

"That's right, the Ghostbusters," he said. "You know why we're here, don't you?"

Behind him, Peter could hear Egon fussing with his meter, blocked from Donna's vision by Peter and the nurse. A faint pinging of sound indicated a positive reading of some kind. The meter was definitely reacting.

"Yes," said Donna as if reciting dull lines memorized by rote.

"I thought you did." He kept on stroking her hand. "It's all right, we're going to try to help you."

She focused on him, bringing that alarmingly hollow stare into bearing on his face. "No one can help me." It was not even a wail of despair. She might have shown more interest in a patch of house dust.

"That's what she tells the doctors." Molly maintained a soft undertone.

"Hey, Donna. Don't write off the Ghostbusters. We're famous and everything," Peter told her. "Besides, we handle this spooky stuff all the time. It's what we're good at." He tightened his hold on her fingers. "My friends'll tell you I'm a real sucker for a pretty face. So you bet I want to help you out. You're alive. We'll sure try."

"I'm not alive," Donna said with colossal disinterest. "I'm...breathing. There's a difference."

Peter flinched but tried not to let it show. He could hear Egon behind him making fussy sounds as he babied his meter and Molly sucking in her breath in distress. "I know there is, sweetheart," he said. "But breathing's a start. It beats the alternative."

"No, it doesn't," Donna replied. Her features didn't change, and her eyes were just as hollow, but a tear slid down her left cheek. Peter realized she was the most passively suicidal woman he'd ever encountered. She would will herself to death, not even consciously. She had accepted death, she had accepted this empty shell of herself and was prepared to let it take her out of life because life had stopped being acceptable, even endurable. There wasn't even pain in her voice. But Peter could feel her pain reaching out and encompassing all of them.

Instinctively he put his arms around Donna and hugged her tightly. "Maybe not yet, but it will. I know how hard it is. It's so hard you had to shut away everything that's good along with the bad, so you couldn't even see a gorgeous sunset and appreciate it, or the taste of a big juicy burger, or the touch of a human hand. But you're not gone. I know you're not. You like music. You've got a link. A shell can't cry, Donna. It didn't take away your heart."

She didn't sob, she didn't even move in his arms, but neither did she try to pull away. It might be more of the apathy, but Peter didn't think it was. He lifted his eyes and sought out Egon over her shoulder. The physicist was busy with the meter; its faint beeping had continued through the entire conversation, and the antennae were stirring.

"Residuals," Egon said under his breath. "And odd biorhythms. Talk to her, Peter. I suspect what was taken may eventually grow back, if she can be kept alive until then."

Peter tried not to shiver at the condition. "Donna, sweetheart, you have to start with what you've got. I know what happened to you was as bad as it could get. Maybe even worse than you ever imagined it could ever get. But you survived. I know you don't think there's anything left, but I think there is. Can you tell me anything at all? I want to help you."

She didn't speak for a long time. He stroked her hair and muttered soothing words and watched Egon move around, taking readings from different angles and at different settings. Then, when he thought she wasn't going to speak at all, she said, "The caves went on forever."

He was startled, remembering his frivolous quote about caverns measureless to man. "At Xanadu?" he asked.

She twitched and tried weakly to pull away. "I can't do this," she whispered, shaken, and he was encouraged because for her to sound shaken was to display an emotion. It might have been a negative emotion, but it was a feeling. She wasn't beyond feeling. Right now she simply wished she were.

"Yes you can, honey. Because it's happening to other women, too. We have to stop it. We're going to stop it. I promise you that. But anything you can tell us will help."

Another long pause, then she said in a shaken whisper, "I thought he was...human."

"Daniel?" Peter prodded, stunned at her words. He and Egon exchanged a doubtful frown.

"No, the other one. In the caves. I couldn't get out and I ran and ran and ran, and then he came. And I thought he was human. But he wasn't. He...hurt me."

Peter looked up at Molly and mouthed the word, "Rape?" Molly shook her head and whispered, "No evidence of it, Doctor." They would have tested for that, of course, when she was found. Peter realized he didn't know where she was found and he'd have to learn that before they left the facility.

"I'm sorry you were hurt, Molly," he said gently. "Can you tell me how?"

"No. Nonononono." Suddenly there was strong emotion in her voice, but it was dark and despairing. Peter held her closely, prepared to let go at once if she struggled or showed any signs of carrying over that reaction to being held. She never did. She didn't cling to him, but he thought she moved fractionally closer.

"Molly, was he a demon?" he asked very gently without letting go.

She began to shiver, great, shuddering spasms that shook her whole body. "Oh, god, no," she moaned. "Don't do this to me. Don't. Don't touch me. You're hurting me. Let me go, let me go, let me go." But instead of fighting out of his embrace, she burrowed into his arms, and he realized she was reliving the incident.

"It can't hurt you here," Peter said.

"No, no, I don't want be here any longer. Daniel, no! Why are you doing this?"

"Then it was Daniel?" Peter asked.

A silence. She pressed her face against his shoulder and he could feel the moisture of tears in the fabric of his shirt. "What is this place? Oh, god--'no, never god,' you said. Oh, Daniel, I loved you. Oh, please, no, don't, don't, don't let it hurt me. Oh, Daniel...."

"That does it, we're stopping this Daniel character," Peter said tightly. "He won't hurt anyone again, Donna."

"I thought he loved me." She was shivering and quaking. "But that creature, that thing, he loved it more. It watched me when I was on the altar. It stood over me and looked hungry. And Daniel took my clothes and made me lay there, and...something hot on me, blood, and candles burning, the wax hot, and that thing stood there and watched, and....and his eyes were so hollow...." She snuffled into Peter's shirt. "And it... touched me, on my heart, and it was like fire, and Daniel...let it touch me, all at once it was like he was taking something out of me, all my will, all my feelings, leaving nothing behind, and I could see a weird golden light and it came out of me and it went into the thing. And then I was lying there and I was empty and I knew I could never move again."

Peter's jaw tightened. He didn't know what Chant and the entity had done to her; they'd clearly drawn away something of her essence through a ritual that needed a sacrifice--at least Peter guessed that was where the blood had come from since no one had mentioned wounds--but he didn't understand it. Ray would probably know. It sounded like a nasty ritual, especially the bit about caverns and the altar and the entity drawing off whatever it was he drew from her. He cast a wild look up at Egon, who was busy jotting down the young woman's words in a little notebook.

"What happened next?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know. I don't remember. A long time passed, I think. And then I was here." She shuddered, her fingers tight in the folds of his shirt. "I don't want to remember, I don't want to see it. I want it to go away. Go away! Go away!"

Peter couldn't tell her it would ever go away; it would take a lot of time and a lot of therapy to help her work past such a trauma, and he didn't know if she would ever recover from it. Convicting Daniel would be tough. No one would believe her story about the demon, even if Egon produced his readings in court. Chant only had to say that she'd become delusional and he'd ended the relationship. It could go on and on in court and Peter didn't think Donna was strong enough to face it.

"We'll find a way to stop him," he said, and it was a vow he made to her. "We'll find a way."

Molly put her hand on Peter's shoulder. "I've sent for Dr. Whitten," she said quickly. "I think there's been a breakthrough, and now there's something he can work with."

"Yes, but there's more than that," Egon said, lowering his voice. "The entity took something from her. We may need to find a way to replenish that. It might be something undetectable by medical science, but it is clearly something that she needs. That can be one thing we can check when we get to Xanadu. I have her biorhythm readings recorded. We'll see what we can do."

Dr. Whitten arrived then, a stocky, chubby-faced man with knowing blue eyes. He paused to register Donna weeping against Peter's shoulder, and nodded. "Very well done, Dr. Venkman. You got through to her."

Peter shook his head. "It wasn't me, or just that I was a Ghostbuster and she knew I'd believe her when most wouldn't. I think she was almost ready, and the knowledge that I'd probably understand helped. Maybe whatever is missing can grow back and it grew enough for her to talk to me." He gently detached himself from the woman, still gripping her shoulders. "Donna, Dr. Whitten is here. I'm going to have to go now. My friends and I will go up to Xanadu and see if we can stop Daniel."

She let go, sagging back in her chair. Her eyes were still hollow; he had half expected that. But down in their depths lingered a shadowy memory of pain. He'd made her remember and it had hurt her terribly, but he knew she had to remember in order to begin healing. If they could renew what had been stolen from her, maybe trap the demon's essence and bring it back somehow, that might help, too. He didn't say anything; he didn't know if it was even possible, and whatever was taken might even grow back on its own.

"Donna, you know we're going to try to help," he said.

She looked right at him. "Yes."

"That's my girl. Just let Dr. Whitten help you. He's a nice guy. Most guys aren't like Daniel. You know that, don't you?"

She looked slightly doubtful. Then she said innocently, "You're not."

"No, I'm a real prince among men," Peter bantered. She didn't smile but the corners of her mouth twitched faintly.

"Or he thinks he is," Egon added. "Peter, we must go. We have work to do. Thank you, Donna. You've been a tremendous help."

She watched them leave, her face still blank though streaked with tears. In the corridor, Peter heaved a massive sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hard work?" Egon asked understandingly, letting his hand rest for a moment on Peter's shoulder.

"The hardest. There wasn't anything I could do for her, Egon, except make her hurt. I hate that. I know she had to start remembering, but I didn't know her long enough to be sure she was even ready. God, I hope I didn't make it worse."

"You didn't have the luxury of waiting because Caroline is still missing and it might be possible to save her," Egon reminded him. "We had to know what we are up against, and now we have a much better idea. I suspect from the fact that Donna was a similar type to Caroline that he chooses his victims as much for their physical appearance as for their more innocent natures." His voice hardened. "We have to stop him."

"Do we tell the police what she said?" Peter asked.

"They will have to know eventually. But they are not equipped to deal with demons. We will go for the weekend and tell them what we find when we return."

Peter nodded. It was hard to get the right evidence when a cult was involved. The local police up at Xanadu weren't as familiar with the Ghostbusters as the City police were and might be inclined to write them off. "Okay. But we better move. I hope Ray could arrange us to go up there."

"Tomorrow morning," Ray confirmed after Egon and Peter returned from the Whitewoods and explained their encounter with Donna Moreau. The team gathered around Janine's desk, and the secretary listened with dawning horror to the story of Donna. "I called around and we're invited for this weekend's house party. I talked to a lot of people and they say the parties are pretty neat, and people don't make a habit of disappearing from them. There are a lot of fashionable people who go and they seem to like Chant. But I think that's just surface, the way Chant covers himself. Because I picked up on a few negative feelings when I was asking about him." He wasn't at all happy with Chant; it sounded like the man didn't care who was hurt along the way. "Nobody ever saw a demon up there, though," he added. "We'd better take all our equipment."

"What will Chant think of that?" Winston asked suspiciously. "He'll suspect we're up to something."

"Chant wants us to bring it," Ray explained. "He called personally just before you guys got back. He said he wanted us to give a demonstration to his guests and if he'd known we were interested he'd have invited us up there before. He was...smooth, you know. He had his line down. But I didn't believe a word of it, even if he sounded like he really wanted us to come up there." His bottom lip jutted pugnaciously. "He sounded almost urgent about it. Weird, isn't it? Anyway, we're supposed to drive up in the morning and be there for lunch."

"It doesn't sound very safe," Janine offered dubiously. "He's setting you guys up. You need backup. I could come along...."

"Yes, we know it's dangerous, Janine." Egon put his hands on her shoulders. "But he doesn't know for certain that we know what's been happening. Remember, we shall be armed, and we are used to dealing with the spirit world. You can't come with us."

"Well, it's not like I want to, you know," she replied, snapping her gum. "But I'm a woman. You might need me--as bait."

"No way, Janine," Peter objected, and Ray realized he was worried about their secretary getting into trouble. "Besides," he added with a cocky grin, "those girls were all innocent. I'm not sure you qualify."

"Can I kill him now, Egon?" she demanded shrilly.

Egon tightened his grip on her shoulders for a moment, either to restrain or to reassure her. "He's right, Janine. You're no weakling. You're stronger than those women. And they were all blonde. You wouldn't tempt him."

"Gosh, Janine, we can't take the chance." Ray shook his head. "Besides, he only invited the four of us. We need you here in case something does happen to us, so you can tell the world what we knew."

"Nothing better happen to you," Janine said ominously, pounding a fist on her desk. "Or this Chant character will know the wrath of Melnitz." She cast a not-quite-forgiving look in Peter's direction. "And nobody better try to sacrifice any chickens around you, either."

"I don't like blood rituals," Ray replied. "There are a lot of different kinds of them listed in my references. I'm going to take some of the books with us, and I bet Chant's got a library up there that has more information. We can check it out if we get an opportunity."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't put that kind of book where any of his guests could read it," Peter argued. "This guy's been pulling off his little sacrifice games for awhile now and nobody really figured it out. He won't know why we're there; he won't know Justine Bell hired us. But he's gotta know we're not coming because it's the happening place, and the demon might even have an idea of what we're up to. Daniel will keep his eye on us the whole time."

"He will undoubtedly be suspicious." Egon finally lifted his hands from Janine's shoulders with one last quick squeeze of reassurance. "But he won't let it show."

The Ghostbusters drove up to Xanadu early the following morning as planned, on a glorious autumn day and reached the turn-off for the house at a little past 11:30. Down a long, straight driveway shadowed by willows that draped over the road and gave the appearance of a tunnel, they could see a distant structure at the far end. As Ecto-1 emerged from the 'tunnel' they saw that the drive swept around in a perfect circle to pull up before the door, a discreet arrow indicating which way to turn. In the midst of the circle stood a fountain liberally adorned with pseudo-Greek statuary, dolphins spurting water from their mouths in four directions, harp-playing imps spouting it from less mentionable places, and a goddess in a pleated robe pouring more from a pitcher atop them all. Banked flowers, mostly asters this late in the season, grew around the base of the fountain, their bright yellow disks surrounded with pink, white, and blue like decorations for a baby shower. The trees were turning with the season, and the scene was beautiful.

When Winston drew Ecto-1 to a halt in front of the door of Xanadu, Chant came out to greet them as if he had been anticipating their arrival and stood like a sentinel guarding his property on the broad, marble steps that led up to a Greek portico with Doric columns. Like Monticello, it had a Roman dome as well as the Greek influence, but unlike Jefferson's home, it had been built in grey stone rather than red brick. Somehow, the unlikely mixture worked, although Egon thought the balconies on either side of the house with parallel rows of Doric columns were a trifle extreme. The whole conglomeration was set in a glade alive with autumn colors, facing away from the Hudson as if in disdain. From the driveway, the river was invisible, but the road had played tag with it for a bit as it climbed. Xanadu perched on a bluff, and the view out over the water would be spectacular if one didn't have to squint through a plethora of pillars to view it.

"A stately pleasure-dome indeed," Egon remarked, regarding the house. In his lap, the P.K.E. meter lay activated, where he'd lowered it when he'd noticed a movement at the front door. Its antennae quivered faintly but it didn't beep, and the screen indicated only residual energy, too faint to classify. Whatever secrets the house contained were quiescent at the moment, and Egon was disappointed. He would have liked to take a direct reading of Daniel Chant but the guys had argued him out of it. That could be done once they'd settled in, perhaps under the guise of a 'parlor game'. Peter had cautioned him about the need to lull their host's suspicions.

"Just remember, this guy's not exactly brain-dead, Spengs. He might want us up here so he can feed us to his cloven-hooved buddy. So play it cool with the readings. We're used to you, and we haven't got anything terrible to hide--he does."

Mindful of Peter's for-once sensible instruction, Egon turned his attention from the meter, shut it down, and climbed out of Ecto to face the man at the top of the steps. The occultist was a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, with a smooth face, virtually unlined, the Tom Selleck mustache its only distinguishing feature from a distance. As they got out of the car, Chant ran lightly down the stairs. He was wearing blue jeans that had to be custom made for him, so well did they contour to slim hips and long legs. His shirt was white, open at the neck, and clearly silk and he wore a scarf at his neck the same shade of blue as the jeans. Nearly as tall as Egon, he probably weighed twenty pounds less. His hair was straight and a little too long, his features rather angular, and his eyes sapphire blue, bland and welcoming, at least on the surface.

"Ray," he greeted Stantz first, pumping his hand energetically. "I'd begun to despair of ever seeing you and your friends here at Xanadu. We even have a ghost you can investigate, although I've become too fond of it to want it trapped and taken away."

"Gosh, I didn't know you had a ghost," Ray replied, casting a quick, surprised glance at his friends. "That's great. What is it, a fixed repeater?"

"If that's what you call a classic apparition, then yes," Chant replied. "It comes at night, weather or season don't matter, and it doesn't react to my guests or even to me. It will walk right through you if you stand in its way. Some of my guests enjoy it, others avoid it, but I've become quite fond of the old boy." He looked past Ray with a welcoming smile to the rest of them. "Introduce me to your friends."

Ray did, and Chant shook hands with all of them. Noticing Peter eyeing him warily, Chant smiled. "Ah, Dr. Venkman. I was warned you wouldn't want to trust me. A suspicious nature can be a benefit, especially when Ray here is more inclined to trust at the drop of a hat." When Peter's eyes narrowed, he chuckled. "I confess, I'm interested in your jobs and I always watch you on television if I can. You were particularly effective on The Tonight Show last month."

Peter preened happily before he caught himself. Plaudits always scored high with the psychologist, but after the first minute he remembered that praise from Chant wasn't particularly welcome and he stiffened up again. Knowing Peter, he'd probably be all the more wary from now on, thought Egon.

"Mr. Zeddemore," Chant said, moving on, "I understand your father is a construction engineering supervisor. I wonder what he would make of my mishmash of a house."

"He'd say it was a great blend," Winston replied, eying the house. "He usually takes the big jobs, major high-rises and the like; that's where the money is. But he'd have liked to be an architect. When he was in school, that wasn't an easy option for a black man, so he started out as a construction worker and worked his way up. Now he can choose his jobs but I think he'd have loved to work on renovations of buildings like this one."

Winston was talking more than normal. Had Chant's affability led him to it, or was it an attempt to lull their host? If so, it seemed to be working.

Chant raised a proud hand at his home. "I've had massive remodeling done inside," he said. "This house was built in the early 1800s by a man who made a fortune working, I'm told, with John Jacob Astor in the fur trade. Have a look and if you'd enjoy it, take photos to show your father."

He turned to Egon and stuck out a friendly hand, forcing Egon to shift the meter before shaking hands with his host. Egon found his grip firm, his hand cool and dry as if he had nothing to hide, and his eyes opaque as if they held secrets none could read. "Dr. Spengler. I can see you're itching to take P.K.E. readings. Feel free to do so at any time. Start with me, if you like. You know of my interest in the occult. I would be intrigued to learn if it had marked me in any way."

Thus adjured, Egon took a reading immediately. There were residuals all right, interesting ones, but they were not recent, not within the last day or so. It was as if he'd built up a residue, but not as if he had recently interacted with a spirit. Egon said so, allowing curiosity to filter into his voice. It didn't interfere with their plans and the more open they could appear, the better.

Chant laughed. "I'll have to have you explain that to us all over lunch," he said. "Leave your luggage; my servants will bring it in and take it to your rooms." He waved them up the stairs and into the house. "Before you go up to freshen up, I want you to meet my other guests."

The inside of the house was much more modern than the outside. While Chant's architects had retained as much of the old world charm as possible by retaining the rich, wood paneling and maintaining the airy spaces created by the high-ceilinged rooms, the interior was spacious; the front half of the first floor was one vast space broken up by furniture groups, the Roman dome--created of glass in triangular panels--lighting the whole area with warm noonday sunshine. Opposite the door a flight of stairs wide enough for a dozen men to mount it side by side rose to a broad landing where a giant painting that looked like a Velasquez, full of crowding men and the suggestion of a battle filled the entire balcony wall. From the landing the stairs branched to left and right to doorways that opened onto the separate bedroom wings. On the main level, using the natural divider of the staircase to divide the floor area, to the right were a series of conversation pit areas with overstuffed sofas and chairs, some grouped around a massive fireplace. Bookshelves decorated the wall to the far right, and a few desks and reading tables suggested a library. Left, one came to a pair of dining areas, the closer a more informal buffet area and, beyond it, a formal dining room blocked off from the closer space by a series of cabinets where food could be placed before being served. A liquor cabinet had glass doors that opened onto either dining area.

Near the library a group of people had gathered in a sunken area near the front window, and when Chant issued the Ghostbusters into the room, they turned to view the newcomers. At once, Chant guided the four men to join them, Egon still clutching his activated P.K.E. meter.

Four people awaited them, two men and two women, and one of them, the younger man, looked vaguely familiar. Smiling, Chant introduced the Ghostbusters by name, then gestured forward the younger of the two women. She was in her mid to late forties, a pale woman with vast quantities of rich, brown hair. Slender and rather wasted looking like a beatnik poetess, she approached, hips forward, creating a concave appearance in the chest area. She wore a black leotard with a richly patterned flowing skirt over it and a Mr. T collection of gold necklaces tangled about her neck. Eschewing the half-expected cigarette in a holder she greeted them with a burst of spearmint scent from a huge wad of gum she was chewing, perhaps as a means of quitting smoking.

"Sonya Asgaard," Chant introduced her, drawing her arm through his and patting her long-nailed hand. The polish on the near-claws was black with a little quarter moon painted onto the thumbnail. "Playwright extraordinaire."

Egon had heard of her. Canadian by birth, she had lived in New York for many years. He had seen several of her plays and found them obscure but intriguing, with fascinating twists if one took the trouble to concentrate on them. A clever woman, she was reputed to have a scathing sense of humor. But she greeted them politely enough, her deep-set blue eyes measuring each of them in turn. To Egon's amusement, she seemed rather taken with Peter and held his hand a little longer than necessary, moving her fingers caressingly against it. For once, Peter looked ever-so-slightly panicked as if he suspected he'd encountered a woman beyond his ability to handle. Winston noticed and shared a quick, diverted glance with Ray.

"And Margaret Applewood, my state senator," Chant continued, bestowing a charming bow upon the solidly built, middle-aged woman. Her hair was grey as slate and combed tidily but with no pretense of style. Her suit was extremely well cut but did not conceal her massive bosom. She had very thin legs but the thrust of her chin and breast gave her a pugnacious air as if she could walk through stone walls based on strength of personality alone.

"Gentlemen," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "I imagine Daniel will show you the local ghost. A somewhat astonishing apparition. I confess I would enjoy learning something about your work."

"We'll be happy to tell you about it," Peter said, escaping from Sonya with relief and smiling rather more cheerfully on Ms. Applewood in relief. The older woman beamed maternally at Peter.

"Senator," Egon greeted, shaking her hand. She had a grip is tough and tenacious as a wrestler's, and he withdrew his fingers with relief. Noticing, Winston nodded from a distance, but Ray pumped her hand enthusiastically.

"I like your stand on pollution," he told the woman. "We need more people to take responsibility the way you do."

Ms. Applewood beamed, becoming, in that moment, almost pretty.

"This is Margaret's husband, Chester," Daniel said, drawing forth the older man, who had remained virtually unnoticed until attention was called to him. The term, 'Milquetoast' flitted through Egon's mind and he tried to squash it as he shook hands with the colorless little man who was a good three inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than his wife. Finishing his greetings he stepped back and the younger and far more flamboyant man slid forward.

"Jack Wade," said Daniel. "Toast of Broadway and lover of the occult. We met at a seance on East 76^th Street." He was six feet tall, well built, dark-haired, brown eyed, and the type of man young women would drool over.

Peter snapped his fingers in recognition. "You're in that play about the middle ages," he said. "I took my girlfriend to see it about a month ago. You're having a weekend off?"

Wade nodded. "I couldn't resist coming up to Xanadu. I've known Daniel for three months and we keep running into each other. I was thrilled when I heard you Ghostbusters were coming. You'll have to see the ghost tonight. I'm looking forward to it."

"Have you ever seen a ghost before?" Ray asked.

"Well, I've seen you four at work twice, once in Times Square, and one time down on Delancey Street. It was pretty exciting." He grinned boyishly, but Egon, who had been studying him thoughtfully, suspected the youthful enthusiasm covered a quick mind. There were also shadows in his eyes. He wasn't what he seemed, but that could simply be that he kept himself private from his image as an actor and had donned his public face in the company of strangers. Janine lived in the same building as a couple of actors and she said sometimes it was hard to find their identities under all the parts they played. Wade might be no different.

"We'll have lunch in half an hour," Chant explained. "In the meantime, if you four would like to see your rooms and freshen up, I'll have you taken up. Just come down to the buffet when you're ready."

He led them toward the stairs where a housemaid in a crisp black uniform and a white apron materialized as if by magic. She didn't match Caroline's type at all, she was tall and full of self-confidence, an elegant looking black woman with sculptured features and a friendly smile.

"Take them to their rooms, Jackie," he instructed.

She nodded. "Follow me, please," she said and turned to lead the way without paying them more than a second's attention. Peter, that connoisseur of female beauty, followed her eagerly, disappointed she hadn't reacted to his self-proclaimed appeal.

Chant had paired them up two by two, and Egon found his bags and Peter's in a room together. "I apologize that you couldn't each have a room of your own," Jackie told them. "But Daniel's having some redecorating done in the south wing and rooms are at a premium. I hope this will be satisfactory." It was a pleasant if unremarkable room, impersonal as the Holiday Inn, the furniture good quality but in no way outstanding. Even the paintings on the walls were decorator canvases. It held two twin beds that were covered with what looked like homemade quilts, adding the only homey, personal touch to their weekend quarters. Their suitcases plus two proton packs were stacked at the foot of the nearest bed. Egon at once crossed to check the latter to be sure they were undamaged.

"Of course it will," Peter assured her, eyeing the place quickly. "Egon snores, but I'm used to it. At least we don't have to put up with the spud. That's Slimer, our ghost mascot," he added for her benefit. "Thanks for the tour." He grinned at her engagingly.

"I'll show the others their room," she said and left without a backward look.

"I don't think she likes me," Peter mourned, flopping down on the nearest bed.

"Cheer up, Peter. Sonya does. And keep your feet off the quilt."

"Oh, thanks. I needed to hear that." Stomping down his crestfallen expression at the thought of the playwright, he bounced up again, brushing at the quilt absently for invisible dirt. "A man eater if I ever saw one. Oh well, the senator thinks I'm great."

"Fortunately. I shudder to think of your reaction if we had to deal with a crushed ego."

"Crushed? The senator's husband is crushed, if you ask me. Probably suffocated...."

"Really, Peter." Egon frowned. "I must say the senator does remind me of a Dali painting."

Peter looked a wary question. "I'm not gonna get this joke, am I, Spengs?"

"Persistence of Mammary," Egon said, unable to resist, although he knew it was unkind.

Peter looked blank for all of ten seconds, then the light dawned and he crowed with delighted laughter, as much at his ability to make the connection as at Egon's esoteric attempt at humor. "It was like that painting when I was in the Cabinet of Calimari," he remembered. "I looked it up afterwards. Persistence of Memory. Or something. In French, too," he added accusingly. "Only in the cabinet, the echo talked back."

Egon raised an eyebrow as he opened his suitcase and began to dispose of his possessions in drawers and in the huge wardrobe positioned between the room's two windows. "I am impressed. Coleridge and Dali in two days. Have you been taking culture lessons?"

"You're not the only one with culture," Peter told him. He frowned as he opened his own suitcase and began to cram clothing haphazardly into drawers of the chest nearest to his bed. "Think these rooms are bugged?"

"Possible but unlikely." Egon raised the meter, made a few adjustments, and waved it around the room. "The readings are stronger inside than they were before we entered, but they are still only residuals. Either that or the entity Donna reported is blocked off by the caverns she mentioned."

"Measureless to man," Peter muttered without enthusiasm. "I wonder how we get to them. Through the wine cellar and head left until we find the mysterious opening?"

"It won't be easy but if we can get to the lower regions perhaps the meter will guide us." Deciding his shirt was crumpled from the drive, Egon removed it and took out a clean one. Peter gave a cautious and surreptitious sniff at his armpits and decided to stick with what he had.

A quick knock at the door announced the arrival of Ray and Winston. "Gosh," Ray said with a gesture to encompass all they had seen so far, "this place is cool, isn't it?"

"Have you met that Jack Wade before?" Egon asked him. "Since he claims an interest in the occult?"

"I think I saw him at Max's Occult Shop once or twice in the last month or so," Ray replied. "Or maybe it was at The Happy Medium. But I've never met him before. I didn't realize he was an actor. I heard the Senator talk once, though. She's a real environmentalist."

Egon explained his readings to Ray, who had brought his own meter. "Our equipment arrived safely."

"Chant will want us to give a demonstration," Ray replied. "You now, a low-power light show or something. I think it'll be kind of fun. He's sure not like we expected, is he? At least on the surface. He almost seems...nice."

"It doesn't hurt him to be nice, or entertaining, or to gather glamorous people around him," Peter said, sitting more cautiously on the foot of his bed. Egon noticed his fingers stroking the quilt. "He probably likes it. It's not a hardship to him to put on a gracious face. I don't think he's even pretending half the time. But remember Donna, Ray. That's a part of his nature. So is this, I think. We have to be really careful not to buy into the charm, is all."

"Yeah," said Ray quickly. "Because charm's deliberate. It's not even like he's conning us, he's just ladling it on because it's easier. He knows people will react to him so he fakes us out. I know, Peter. But I can see how people who didn't know what we know could like him."

"My mom used to make quilts like this," Peter said at random, then he caught himself for that wistful moment and covered it immediately. "Just remember that, Ray. 'Cause we have to treat him the way he'd expect from that surface persona."

"I know," Ray said. Like Egon, he'd changed his shirt, and had slicked down his hair.

"We'd better get downstairs," Winston said practically. "I don't like the guy, but at least we can be civilized until it's time to go to work."

Ray fell in with Peter as they left the room. "I didn't know your mom made quilts, Peter. Aunt Lois does sometimes. It sure takes a lot of work."

Peter smiled in fond remembrance. "She always had a quilt going when I was a kid. You can sell them for major bucks at craft fairs if they're done by hand and not on sewing machines. I remember she made one for me when I was little that had baseballs all over it...."

Egon trailed them, meter active, as they went down the hall and out onto the stairs, listening to Peter's tales of the quilts and Winston's comment that his grandma had made them, too. Egon's mother had never done anything thing that domestic in her life. Now that she was a widow, her interests tended toward travel and karate lessons.

But it was good to hear Peter reminiscing about his mother. He didn't talk about her all that often. Egon wondered what had happened to the baseball quilt. Worn to shreds by a too-energetic small boy?

The meter stirred softly, recalling him to his job; the residuals were slightly stronger on the ground floor than they were upstairs. Sometime during the afternoon, Egon needed to go lower and take more thorough readings and see what he could find.

The other guests were gathered in the buffet room when the Ghostbusters came downstairs, and Peter led the way over to join them, positioning himself as far away from Sonya Asgaard as he could possibly get. She sure wasn't the quilt-making type. He didn't trust the predatory look in the playwright's face, not one little bit. She was old enough to be his--his aunt, for Pete's sake. Sticking close to Ray, who was still talking about quilts, Peter noticed Egon and Winston react to his wariness and he saw amusement fill their eyes. Not fair. Just because he didn't want to be stalked by an older woman didn't mean he was afraid of her, no way.

Chant greeted them pleasantly if not effusively and gestured everyone to the buffet where a collection of covered dishes produced wonderful, savory aromas. At least they'd eat well on this job.

Jack Wade fell in beside Peter and muttered under your breath, "At least it doesn't hurt your career."

"Huh?" Peter said blankly.

"Ducking her." He hunched a shoulder in Asgaard's direction. "I want her to write me a play, so I've gotta make nice. You know, I've come on strong to women a few times, but I think I'm gonna change my strategy from now on. It's not as much fun when you're on the receiving end."

Peter cast a glance at the brunette woman who was talking to her host, gesturing with a slender hand. "She makes me feel like she's the big game hunter and I'm the prey," he confessed in an undertone.

"Good thing you four are sharing rooms, or she'd be up there once the lights go out," Jack warned. "I know. I got here last night, and she popped in when I was about to go to bed--scared the crap out of me when she came slinking in, wearing a black neglige. I had to do a really quick shuffle to get her to go on her way without making her mad." He lifted the lid off the next dish, sauteed fish in a rich sauce.

Peter shivered. No way was he gonna let Egon go off to explore on his own tonight and leave him unprotected. As a rule, he thought he could handle women just fine, although his friends might have argued that assessment, but he was pretty sure he couldn't handle this one. Look at her, watching him the way she was, like a raptor about to dive down on her prey. She'd dumped the gum, and that made her seem more dangerous. He had the sudden uneasy notion that Asgaard might share Chant's ritualistic proclivities (that was a phrase for Egon, if there ever was one) and sought out her own choice of men for that purpose. After all, he and Jack Wade were about the same age, and roughly similar types. Now there was a scary thought.

"How did you get rid of her?" he asked.

"Wasn't easy. She was nearly in my bed before I got her out of the room. And believe me, getting women out of my bed isn't my usual style."

"Gotcha," Peter said, grinning. If there had been any younger and more nubile females around, Wade would be competition but, in their absence, he could sympathize with the guy.

Asgaard drifted up to the buffet, and Peter filled his plate hastily and retreated to the table, sitting next to Senator Applewood. With luck, he could retreat behind her ample bosom and stay out of the line of sight. Unfortunately for his scheme, Asgaard dropped into the chair opposite him, spreading out her heaping platter, soup bowl, salad plate and coffee cup in front of her. With a spread like that, it was surprising she was no wider than a toothpick.

Ray took the chair beside her, winked mischievously at Peter, and asked the senator a question about a project to purify the water of the Hudson River. It didn't take much for the politician to start talking--after all, she was used to making speeches. Peter was glad of this one because it gave Asgaard no opportunity to get a word in edgewise. When Applewood paused for breath, Winston, who was as genuinely interested in ecological subjects as Ray, jumped in with another question.

Peter had just started to relax when he felt a bare foot against his shin. Startled, he looked up into the deep brown eyes of Sonya Asgaard and saw at a glance that she was doing it. Yikes. A second later, she had slid her foot up to touch his knee and any second now she'd move for forbidden territory. Peter slid his chair backward and jumped up, heading over to the buffet as if he'd forgotten something.

Chant joined him there. "I can speak to her, if you'd like," he offered softly as if he'd realized what was going on. "She's a man-eater, but she's also a brilliant playwright and a truly intelligent woman. I didn't realize she'd find you and Jack so much to her taste."

Peter hated the thought of being indebted to a man like Daniel Chant. "Nah, I'll deal with it," he said. "Maybe I can get her talking about her plays or something."

"You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din," Chant said with a clap on his arm. If Peter hadn't talked to Donna Moreau the previous afternoon and heard her tale of despair, he'd have started to like the guy. "After lunch, I'm going to serve coffee on the terrace. I suggest you go for one of the chairs that's not part of a circle. I want to get you and your friends talking about your work after we eat, but let me put in a good word for you now." He moved away easily, leaving Peter to return with a dinner roll and a pat of butter, and to sit with his chair slightly to one side and a little bit further from the table. Chant dropped into the chair beside him and spoke to Asgaard about her latest Broadway project the minute there was a lull in the environmental discussion.

Peter ate in silence. What was the deal with Chant anyway? Was it so easy to be a phony and a fraud like this, to pretend to care about his guests' wellbeing? Peter had pegged him for wearing one face and hiding his true self under the mask, but he was easy and unaffected, and it wasn't hard to imagine him sweeping women off their feet. He was sweeping Spiderwoman just fine. Had he simply adopted a charming facade for so long that it had become second nature, the way Peter donned his glib, wisecracking persona because it kept people from getting to see the man underneath? His friends knew the truth about him, but sometimes people, meeting him for the first time, got the idea that what you saw was what you got. Peter knew it was protective coloration with him, and he lowered his guard to people he liked and trusted. Did Chant ever lower his?

"...ghosts," Asgaard said in her throaty voice, pulling Peter back to the discussion at hand. "Not the brightly colored blobs you sometimes pursue," she added, gesturing at the Ghostbusters. Her toes found Peter's ankle and stroked it. He slid his feet under his chair. "But tormented spirits that linger because of past griefs and hatreds. I want to touch upon the secrets that live with families for generations, and use a ghost to convey the message."

"Wow, that sounds great." Ray could generally be counted on to find such topics fascinating. "There are definitely family ghosts that have been around for generations, sometimes even centuries. We see a lot of that kind of thing in England, and the family's usually very possessive of them. We don't get called to bust British ghosts very often. I know of a haunted brownstone on the Upper East Side and even though the family called us in, they wound up deciding we shouldn't bust the ghost. Peter talked to it, found out what was going on, and everybody was satisfied. It's still there, as far as I know and they act like it's just part of the family."

"Do you think they would be willing to talk with me?" Intrigued, Asgaard gave up on playing footsy with Peter and turned to her table mate.

"I can ask," Ray offered. "But I know they wouldn't let you use their name or the exact circumstances."

She waved her fork dismissively. "No matter. But the feel of the haunting is what I'd want to understand. I have seen Daniel's ghost but it is not a conscious personality, or such a limited one that it does not communicate. I stood and watched it last night until it disappeared. Such a sensation of cold."

"That is common in a classic haunting," Egon put in. "We've documented cold, smell, unusual lighting affects, peculiar sounds, a sense of being touched, in fact all the senses but taste."

"Maybe ghosts make people lose their appetites," put in Chester Applewood dryly.

His wife smiled. Peter leaned around her to get a better look at the colorless little man and spotted a gleam in his eyes. Delighted to learn he had a sense of humor, Peter agreed. "It makes me lose mine. And there's Egon always insisting we've gotta bust it. Come back with our shields or on them. Besides, there is taste, and anybody who's ever got a mouthful of slime knows exactly how gross it is. Its a wonder I ever have an appetite."

"You love it and you know it," Ray told him, glancing up from his sliced ham. "You wouldn't give up Ghostbusting when you had that chance to be a rock star."

"A slim chance," Egon reminded them. "We've all heard Peter sing. Ms. Asgaard, what we've learned about ghosts is that while there are some consistencies in various types of hauntings, if you want to explore ghostly motivations, you have a wide range to deal with. We weren't sure if ghosts had feelings when we started our job, but now we know they do. They aren't always a direct analog of human emotions, although a class three can react much as he or she did in life. Mr. Chant's ghost is likely the remnant of a dramatic incident in the past, playing out like a recording."

"A long time ago, then," Daniel said. "I believe he might be from the Civil War era. This house was built in 1819, the first to stand on the site, so unless it stands on the site of a Revolutionary War battle..."

"Local records don't support that," the senator said. "But don't tell me you haven't done your research, Daniel, an occult enthusiast such as you? You bought the house because it was haunted, didn't you?"

"That was one of the greatest draws, I will confess," Daniel replied, grinning boyishly. "Actually the ghost is Cyrus Van Houten. There were a lot of Dutch settlers around here, and his family had been here since prior to the revolution."

"Did he die here?" asked Winston.

"I don't know all the details of his death yet," Daniel replied. "Well, actually he did die in the house, in 1872. He was a Colonel in the Civil War, wounded at Gettysburg. Records indicate he walked with a limp for the rest of his life. He had two sons, Cyrus Junior and Michael, and a daughter named Annabelle. The house went to Michael, I believe, because the older son was either disinherited or died. Family records are spotty and I haven't really taken the trouble to do the research. Perhaps we can find out more tonight."

"Tonight?" asked Jack Wade. "What's up, Danny, a seance?"

"Precisely." He beamed as if he'd just produced a spectacular rabbit out of a hat. "I've convinced Madame Goerteborg to drive up from the city and spend the night. She's intrigued at the thought of a genuine ghost and feels the atmosphere of Xanadu will be conducive to a seance."

"Carlotta?" Ray blurted in surprise, forgetting his meal entirely. "I know her. Guys, she's great. She's a genuine psychic, really can get a feel for a place and an atmosphere. She's really nice, too."

"Do I detect a romance?" Peter teased him, delighted when Ray's cheeks reddened. Startled, Chant stared at Ray, eyes narrowing at the question.

"No, she's a friend," he said at once, but Peter realized he liked the psychic a lot. And if there was ever a more determined exposer of the phony in the field of psychic phenomena, it was Ray. He still resented the television psychic, Dr. Bassingame, who had once tried to profit from his aunt's interest in spiritualism. So if he said this one was real, then she was on the money.

"This isn't that little redhead you made me watch on TV last month?" Peter asked, remembering the interview in delight. She'd appeared on a local talk show, totally dazzled Keith Monahan, the host, and had nearly done the same for Peter. Carlotta Goerteborg was around thirty, drop dead gorgeous, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor that had left Peter howling with laughter. It was only after the show was over that he had noticed Ray sitting there wistfully, still gazing at the screen.

"A nice surprise for both of you," Daniel said blandly, although Peter thought he could feel something less than happy about it in Chant's body language. "I hope she can solve the mystery of Cyrus Van Houten for us."

"When does he make his appearance?" asked Egon. "I've only detected residual readings here, but they're strong residuals."

"That's probably because he comes every single night," Daniel said. "You can set your clock by him. Eight fifty-three p.m."

Peter eyed his host. The guy was as cool as a cucumber. Bringing a genuine psychic into the place after what had happened to Donna and that woman who had turned into a drug addict and a hooker, and after Caroline had vanished took a steel nerve. Surely Ray's Carlotta would be able to sense the ambiance of a place where women were attacked by demons. Good thing she was as worldly wise as she was, not to mention red-haired and about as far from Caroline's type as possible.

"That's not uncommon," Egon told Chant. "Repetitive ghosts usually maintain a schedule." He took another reading, moving the meter around to aim at each person at the table, since it seemed expected. Chant didn't do more than create a faint flutter, which Egon said was probably the result of living in the same house with a ghost. Peter could tell he thought it might be more, but he did say the readings were too weak to determine what class ghost it was. "Although, of course, Cyrus Van Houten would be a class four."

Sonya asked Egon a hasty question about the classes of ghosts, and Peter was relieved to see her turn and study someone else.

"Class threes and fours are those spirits who were human originally," Egon explained to his fascinated audience. "Twos are usually small, incomplete spirits, lacking in much power. Fives are what we call Nether entities." He explained, using Slimer as an example.

"Next time, you must bring your ghost with you," Daniel encouraged genially, casting a practiced eye around the room to make sure everyone had all they needed. Servants came in discreetly at a hand gesture from him and checked the food to see if it was still hot or whether any of the containers needed replenishing.

"Are you kidding?" Peter objected. "The spud can be a real pain. He slimes people, he eats your food--you wouldn't have to have those guys checking the pans over there if he'd come up here with us. They'd all be empty if Slimer were here. Our food bills nearly bankrupt us every month."

"Ghosts eat?" Sonya turned the full wattage of her regard on Peter, resting her chin in her hand. "How utterly intriguing. Do tell me more."

Peter dried up immediately and it was left for Ray to describe the little green ghost's voracious appetite. Ray touched her arm to get her attention and filled her in on Slimer, the way he ate, the things Ray had taught him, how much fun it was to get the spud to slime Peter unexpectedly.

"Thanks a lot, Ray," Peter groaned, relaxing again. Ray had jumped in and rescued him from Sonya. What a pal.

"Slimer is a useful object for research," Egon put in.

"Yeah, except when you try to do a ghost x-ray on him and popped all that unpopped popcorn he'd eaten," Peter complained. "And the way he smells when he's been raiding the neighbors' garbage bins. But Ray likes him and Egon wants him there for research purposes. I just have to learn to live with it. A martyr to science, that's me."

Chant laughed. "Seconds, anyone?"

Wade went back for another slice of ham, and Ray went after a second helping of spaghetti. Peter pushed his chair back from the table, edging out of range of Sonya's voracious toes, and stretched comfortably. "A great meal," he said. "And no spud to spoil it. You can't beat that, can you, guys?"

After lunch, they had coffee on the terrace, a balcony that ran the whole length of the house, a balustrade at the edge except in the middle where a flight of steps curved its way down the bluff in a series of switchbacks all the way to the calm, sliding waters of the Hudson, far below. Everyone fetched up at the railing to enjoy the view, except for Peter, who took one glance at the drop and withdrew to a chaise longue apart from anyone else's where he flung himself down comfortably, propping his feet up. Winston knew he didn't like heights, but Zeddemore himself had no such fears. You couldn't work construction with a fear of heights and he'd worked for his dad's company for a few years before he saw the Ghostbusters' want ad in the Times.

The view seemed to go on forever. Winston leaned over and looked down at the distant river.

"What's down below?" Ray asked his host with a gesture at the stairs.

"I've got a boat down there in a small boathouse. Anyone in the mood for boating can take it out. I've got a man who can pilot if that appeals to anyone.

"I'd like that," Senator Applewood said with a smile. "I can inspect the quality of the water. You'll come with me, dear?"

Her husband nodded quickly. "Of course, dear."

"I believe I'd enjoy a boating expedition, too," Sonya Asgaard remarked, stretching, catlike, casting a speculative eye at Peter, who studiously avoided it. Poor Pete, he was getting a taste of his own medicine, and Winston couldn't help a faint smile, but he knew if the woman pushed too hard, the rest of the team would rally around him, the way they had when Egon had once been pursued by an obsessive groupie.

Winston realized none of the Ghostbusters could go boating, even though it would have been fun. They were here for a serious purpose and would have to spend the afternoon exploring the house, checking its resources, under the guise of learning more about Colonel Van Houten's ghost. Zeddemore was pretty sure any doorways to caverns in the bluff would be well concealed but he knew a lot more about architecture than Chant would expect, and it was possible the faint readings Egon had picked up would strengthen closer to the source. The center of a past disturbance could usually be pinpointed even if there was not much energy left to detect, and Egon could get more out of a P.K.E. meter than Winston had once believed possible. Look at him now, checking out readings on the terrace and over toward the steps. Not a bad idea. The entrance to the caverns could be down there on the face of the bluff, though Winston would bet good money it was in the cellars so it could be accessible in all weathers.

A liveried manservant wheeled out a tray with a large Mr. Coffee machine which he plugged into a covered outlet near the terrace doors where he was soon joined by a woman in a uniform like the housemaid's with a second wheeled cart that rattled with its stacked coffee cups. A platter of fancy little cookies rested on the tray beside them, causing Ray and Jack Wade to begin a determined migration in that direction and Chester Applewood to brighten and follow them.

Peter glanced over at Sonya, clearly weighing the odds of getting his solitary chair back if he vacated it for a cookie run, and opted to stay put, probably until she and the Applewoods went down to the boat. Taking pity on him, Egon fetched two cups of coffee and carried them over to Peter, passing one to him. He set his own on the railing and leaned back against the rail. Winston grabbed a cup and went to join them.

"Thanks, Egon, you're a prince," Peter was saying as Winston approached.

"Yeah, Egon, you know what Kipling had to say about the subject?" Winston asked with a grin.

Egon chuckled, then turned expectantly to Peter. "You do like Kipling, don't you?"

Venkman gave an amused snort and said what was expected of him. "I don't know, I've never kippled. Anyway, if it was Old Rudyard--and that's a heck of a name--he's the one who said that about the female of species being deadlier than the male, right? Daniel was quoting him at lunch, too. I used to date a girl whose father was a Kipling fanatic. She dragged me off to see The Man Who Would Be King."

"I like Kipling," Winston put in. "Always liked The Ballad of East and West."

"'But there is neither east nor west, border, nor breed, nor birth, when two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth,'" Sonya Asgaard quoted unexpectedly, coming up behind Winston. Peter stiffened like a rabbit trapped in the headlights, and Egon sternly hid a smile. The playwright continued, "Or in your case, four strong men."

Peter ventured a cautious smile, clearly appreciating the sentiment, if not its source.

"It's usually men who appreciate Kipling," Asgaard continued. "But I must admit I've had a fondness ever since I read Puck of Pook's Hill as a child."

Peter looked surprised to discover anything in common with Asgaard. "I read that when I was a kid, too. From the library."

"I must say, I'm impressed, Peter," Egon said. "This is turning into a cultural weekend for you after all."

"Come on, Spengs, just because I don't like hanging out at the opera doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Give me a good Bogart movie any day of the week. Look at Casablanca. It's a classic." His eyes kept slipping sideways to Asgaard as if he expected her to pounce in public. She did no such thing, merely smiled absently as if she had forgotten his presence altogether.

"Or a complicated mystery," Winston put in. "Did you notice all those books? I can't wait to dig in and look at them."

"Then I grant you the freedom of my library, Mr. Zeddemore," Chant said, coming up behind them so smoothly Egon jumped. "I have a great many classic mysteries. Some of them actually came with the house; the former owner had a great liking for John Dickson Carr, Dorothy Sayers, and Margery Allingham. And I know Ray will want to take a look at my occult books. The more conventional of them are in the library, but there are some not for the eyes of the average guest that I've locked away." He gestured Ray over. "I've been telling your friends about my private occult collection. It's actually concealed in the attic where the casual wanderer won't locate it. I have a special room up there where I play at seances. It's where we'll meet when Madame Goerteborg arrives. Generally I keep it locked, but I'll have one of the servants unlock it for you if you'd like to see it."

"That'd be really great." Ray's face lit up at the idea of the treat in store for him. Winston saw him catch himself as he remembered Chant was supposed to be a bad guy, and it showed in his eyes, but Chant was speaking to Sonya at the time and didn't see it. Winston gave Ray a quick nudge to remind him to be more careful. Ray had such an expressive face; it was hard for him to keep a secret.

"I shall look forward to the seance," Sonya told Chant. She paused to sip her coffee. "But I believe I shall go up and change for the boating excursion now." She threw a mischievous grin in Peter's direction and slouched away in her affected walk, taking her cup with her.

"Now you're safe," Ray teased Peter wickedly. "You can relax."

"Come on, Ray, she can hardly jump my bones with all of you watching," Peter objected, trying hard not to look embarrassed.

"That didn't stop her at lunch," Egon pointed out, winning a questioning look from Ray who must not have realized what fun and games was going on under the table. Winston had known as soon as Peter had jumped up, and had managed to stifle his laughter with an effort.

"I'll speak to her," Daniel said. "I understand she bothered Jack last night, too."

"Nothing I couldn't deal with," Wade said, joining them.

"I haven't seen this side of her," Chant replied. "Perhaps I am not the type to interest her. People generally are attracted to types, although they can surprise themselves and look beyond their usual choices."

That was true. Winston realized he tended to like tall women and generally gravitated to the tallest woman in the room. Peter liked them tall and brainy--rather like Dana Barrett had been--but wasn't above falling for the occasional bimbo. But he didn't prefer them more than a decade his senior, and he didn't like them to be blatantly aggressive.

"She's been up here before," Chant continued. "We've had some fascinating intellectual discussions. But maybe there weren't any unattached males on those occasions; I can't recall. Or none that pushed her buttons. She really is an intelligent woman. I'm sorry she's disturbing you."

"Yeah, and don't say I don't like 'em smart," Peter put in. "And I don't mind if it's their idea--but if I'm not interested, I like 'em to back off."

"Technically speaking, it is sexual harassment," Egon put in, winning a startled look from Peter. It had probably never occurred to him that people could think such things. It wasn't an option he could tolerate. Winston could see the determination to have it out with her in Venkman's eyes. He had clearly not considered that before.

"I'll speak to her," Chant offered again.

"No, I will," Peter decided abruptly. "I'll go now."

"While she's changing?" Ray asked in surprise.

Peter grimaced. "Not hardly. But I'll go and wait for her to come down." He pushed himself up off the chaise longue, passed his coffee cup to one of the servants, and strode into the house, shoulders squared to face the coming ordeal.

"He never even thought of that," Ray said quickly.

"No, because he's used to playing the game," Egon replied. "Peter, of course, would never inflict himself on someone who was patently not interested. He could spot a rejection coming and back off. He's changed a lot in the last few years."

"And I don't imagine there are as many rejections now you and your team are famous?" Jack put in. "I'm not trying to be a smartass, but I know the feeling. In a way it's cool; but in another, you start to wonder if they like you for yourself or if you're famous."

Winston could remember Peter introducing himself to one woman with the immortal line, "Hi, I'm Peter Venkman, I'm famous," but then he hadn't intended to take that relationship very seriously. He hadn't reached the point of wanting a permanent commitment. Probably if the time came, he'd be more selective. Or maybe it was a test to see if women could look past the thrill of dating a Ghostbuster to the man beneath. Winston had faced a little of that himself and he'd learned to tell, most of the time, when a woman liked him for himself or because he was one of New York's team of paranormal eliminators, and he backed off quickly when it was the latter.

"I understand," Egon said. Women found his air of dignity appealing and tended to chase the tall physicist. He could ignore them with no effort at all; he had several years of practice fending off Janine, although lately, he wasn't fending nearly as hard, if at all. Were it not for the danger to young women, he would probably have welcomed her here at Xanadu with them, and Winston would have been glad to see Egon and Janine have a chance to spend time together away from the office.

"I bet. Some of the time it's great, but not always." The actor took a swallow of his coffee. "So are you planning to scout out the Colonel this afternoon? I'd like to come along for part of the time, if you don't mind. I've seen you four on television and those two busts, but I don't know much about your equipment, and it's hard not to be interested."

Egon could hardly refuse, but Winston knew it would limit their activities. He said quickly, "You can come with me. Egon can get so technical only other physicists--and Ray--can understand him. Peter's always telling him if he doesn't speak our language he shouldn't be on our planet."

"I do speak our language," Egon replied. "Fluently. While I do not expect Peter to understand the language of physics, the rest of my vocabulary is not excessive."

"Not much," Winston teased, giving Egon a nudge with his elbow. He abandoned the thought of the library with regret, but he could get back to it later. There was the whole weekend, and surely they wouldn't spend every spare moment trying to track down the entity Donna had seen.

But he hadn't forgotten Caroline Guest, who was still missing, and he knew he hadn't come up here to wade through old mysteries. The mystery in question was a new one, and it couldn't wait. Pretending an interest to lull Daniel's suspicions was one thing. Actually reading a book in the heart of the crisis was another matter.

Peter planted himself on a bench on the landing, beneath the huge painting that hung there, then he sprang up again a minute later. He didn't want to face the dragon lady sitting down. While he waited, he studied the painting, picking out individual faces in the foreground, spotting one military character who was a dead ringer for Leonard Nimoy and another who looked like Charles DeGaulle. In the background, a row of cannons fired, smoke in unlikely fluffy puffs hanging over them and, on a ridge in the foreground, a general sat on a horse. He had a long, bony face and Peter thought he might be intended to be the Duke of Wellington, except he looked a lot like Jeremy Clyde from the old rock group Chad and Jeremy. If that was Wellington, where was Napoleon? Peter was squinting at the painting, trying to discover the little Corsican, when footsteps on the stairs reminded him of the ordeal to come and he whirled.

Sonya Asgaard halted two steps above him. She had changed into designer jeans and a knit shirt in red, white, and blue stripes and a sailor's collar, pulled her clouds of brown hair back into a loose tail at the nape of her neck, and in general altered her whole persona. He liked this look much better, and it must have shown in his eyes, because she gave him a smile that wasn't remotely predatory. "I see you're enjoying the painting."

"I'm picking out the models," Peter said much more naturally. "Look, there's Spock, and that old guy's DeGaulle, and this one's Jeremy Clyde. Think some old painter was a time traveler?"

Sonya laughed, a natural, bubbling, throaty laugh that transformed her face. "When I first came, I thought it a Velasquez, at least a copy. I've seen his work at the Prado, and it fills whole walls just like this. It's certainly in his style. Daniel laughed and told me it was modern, done in the style of Velasquez, and the artist had chosen models from whoever suited him. That's supposed to be Wellington but, believe it or not, Jeremy Clyde is a descendant or something. I'm from the era of rock groups like Chad and Jeremy, and I remember reading that at the time."

"I never heard of Velasquez," Peter said much more naturally. "Egon knows all this culture stuff, and he gets off on it. He even goes to the opera, for Pete's sake."

"While you pretend you don't know as much as you really do about it," she said knowingly.

"Well, maybe," he conceded warily.

"That's a reverse snobbery, you know."

Peter hesitated, interested in spite of himself. "Kinda, maybe. But I really don't like opera. It's not just trying to be a plain man or whatever. I went to the opera once and the Valkyries tried to take me to Valhalla. That didn't exactly make me want to go back. Every now and then Egon'll try again."

"You needn't share every interest," she said, taking the Valkyrie story with a grain of salt, though it did happen to be true. "It makes you more interesting friends. He could have spent all his time with physicists and opera buffs, yet he enjoys your company, and that of your friends."

"Yeah, and I enjoy theirs," Peter said. "Egon--well, you don't know him yet, but he's got a really wicked sense of humor. First thing I noticed about him."

"Because yours, too, is wicked," she conceded. "And because kindred spirits need not be clones of each other."

Peter eyed her warily. "Why are you like this now and the other way down there?" He felt he could ask the question now because he'd been enjoying the conversation, actually liking her.

"It wasn't fair of me," she said. "And I owe you and Jack a serious apology. I'm working on a new play. I tend to become caught up in them when I write, and this weekend, while a good idea for a much-needed break, has been frustrating because I want to write. One of the characters is a man much your age who somewhat resembles you and Jack. I'm exploring his relationship with a much older woman, and part of the development of the relationship involves her determined pursuit of him."

Peter got it. "Great. I've been a guinea pig," he muttered.

"And that disturbs you?"

Peter grimaced. "Kinda. Because on the one hand, even if I wasn't interested in being chased, it was a little flattering, you know. And now I'm shot down."

"Because even if you didn't want to be pursued, your vanity liked the fact that you were?"

He shrugged. "You got it."

"And do you never pursue women, Peter?"

"I love women," Peter said. "But I never take it too far. I might hang around and hope she'll finally notice my natural charm, that kind of thing, but I wouldn't come on to her if she didn't want me to. And you did."

"And if I had been your age?" she asked seriously.

He hesitated. Would that have been different? Maybe? Though there was a line she'd crossed he probably wouldn't have liked even then. Because he was basically honest, he had to admit he wasn't entirely sure.

"Our society doesn't think anything of a woman dating a man fifteen years her senior," Sonya said. "But if the reverse should happen, people condemn it, consider it unnatural. It may be a holdover from primitive times when childbearing was such an essential part of life, because infant mortality and illness didn't allow as many children to grow up. For a man to be with a woman younger than he was perhaps a survival-of-the-species characteristic. She could still bear children. But in this day and age, sufficient population for species survival is hardly a problem. Yet that old taboo lingers."

"Yeah." Peter was interested in spite of himself. "I once dated a woman ten years older than I was, and the whole time I felt kind of funny about it, as if I had to make excuses. And she was great. I had a lot of fun when I was out with her. A lot of things society pounds into us. Certain behavior might be a given and we don't stop to question why. Winston and I got talking once about slavery. Pretty heavy conversation. And how even two generations ago, racial attitudes were really different than now; yet people simply took them for granted. We're appalled at the thought of a black person having to sit at the back of a bus or use a separate drinking fountain or have to go to a different movie theater than white people. Even if there are jerks out there who are bigots, those old fashioned rules don't apply now. And yet, decent people back then, kind people, took them for granted. We wound up saying it was scary to think what we take for granted now that will appall people two generations from now."

"And you enjoy figuring out how people tick," she mused. "Did you ever think about writing?"

"I do write," Peter admitted. "I write articles for psych journals. I even wrote a book once, put together from a lot of articles I did about what makes people afraid. It wasn't exactly on your bestseller list, but it still sells; it's out in paperback."

"I'll look for it," she said.

"So does this mean you're going to lay off me?" he asked, much more comfortable with the question than he had expected to be.

"I knew I'd have to when I saw Daniel gearing up to take me to task over it," she said. "I enjoy coming up here. The guests are always interesting, and I've gotten several ideas for stories and plays just from the conversations I've had. You've given me several things to think about just now." She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed and, this time, Peter perceived no threat from the touch.

"Peter?"

Egon stood at the foot of the stairs, P.K.E. meter in hand. "I'm going to go over the house now to check for spectral energy," Egon said hastily. "I thought maybe you would come along. Ray and Winston are going to search the upper levels. It's better to go in pairs."

Sonya lifted her hand away and smiled knowingly. "'When two strong men stand face to face...'" She quoted. "He's here in case you need help," she added in an undertone to Peter. "I hope you value him as you should."

Peter gazed down at Egon who waited expectantly, prepared to come charging up the stairs to his rescue if need be, and he couldn't repress the grin that spread across his face. "Everything's cool, Egon," he said. "I'll be ready in a minute." He leaned in and kissed the playwright on the cheek. "Go on, have fun with your boating. We can continue this later."

"I'll look forward to it." She put her hand on his cheek for a second, then bounced down the stairs as if she were many years younger than her actual age. When she reached Egon, she said, "He's quite safe, I promise you that. If you'll excuse me, I have a date with a boat."

Peter came down the stairs slowly, bouncing a bit himself. "She's a classy lady. We worked it all out."

"What were you talking about just now?"

"Chad and Jeremy. And societal taboos and preservation of the species." He grinned broadly. Trust Egon to come to his rescue, even if the rescue hadn't been needed after all.

"In five minutes?" Egon asked in mild exasperation, able to tell with no effort at all that Peter was fine, comfortable with the lady, and starting to enjoy himself.

"I'm a deep guy. You know that."

Egon grimaced. "I shall remind you that you said that--the next time you fault my vocabulary."

With Chant's permission to explore where they would--he must be extremely confident--the Ghostbusters split into two teams to go all over the house on the stated purpose of learning what they could about the colonel's ghost. Egon had reasoned that he and Ray could interpret the P.K.E. meters best, so he paired with Peter, leaving Winston and Ray together, with Jack Wade accompanying the latter duo. Because the actor clearly meant to tag along, Egon assigned Ray and Winston to the upper floors and took Peter in search of the cellars. The four of them donned their uniforms and proton packs before they started.

"Because presumably any entrance to underground caves would open off the cellar," he told Peter when the others started up the staircase. Daniel, seeing the Ghostbusters were happily occupied, went with the boaters, making Egon wonder at his confidence. Either he actually had nothing to hide, which seemed unlikely in the face of Donna's story and Justine Bell's report, or he knew his secrets were safe. Maybe he wanted the Ghostbusters to bust the entity. Ray had said he'd been anxious for them to visit. Possibly the entity Donna had seen was the product of a delusional mind, but Egon doubted that. The fact that Caroline was still missing and that the other woman Justine Bell had found, Andrea Bates, had resorted to drugs indicated that something was very wrong. The missing woman, like Donna, had come to Xanadu.

"But there might be another place nearby where he takes them," Peter said when Egon explained his reasoning. "Maybe there's a shed on the grounds that has an opening into the caves. Or another house, even."

"Or perhaps the demon really does appear only at the full moon--or at specific intervals," Egon replied, speculating on various possibilities. "If this is not its time, we might well search in vain. Chant can claim the residuals are simply from the Colonel and shrug off any questions."

"But you'll be able to tell, won't you?" Peter asked, trying to see the screen of Egon's meter. "Can't you tell, even now, if it's just ordinary old class four readings or something more?"

"I would guess it is something more," Egon replied, pondering the faint flutters on the screen. "A fixed repeater doesn't read as strongly as an active spirit that can interact with the living. There are shades of readings, as you know. But faded residuals from a long-gone class seven wouldn't be very strong, either. There's simply not enough here to indicate which we're dealing with."

"Then let's find the cellar," Peter urged. He caught sight of one of the servants, a man of late middle years with slate colored hair and an expressionless face. "Hey, Jack, where do we find the cellar?"

The man's eyes widened at their outfits and the proton packs on their backs. "What for?"

"Because we're taking readings of the whole house," Peter said. "You probably know about the ghost upstairs. Sometimes there's more than one. Mr. Chant said we could go around and take readings wherever we wanted."

"I doubt you'll find any ghosts in the cellars," the man said with an edge of uneasiness that might have been inside knowledge--or just the hope that there were no more ghosts from a man who had to live here after the Ghostbusters went away. "But the door is there." He gestured around the edge of the wide staircase. "Behind there. It's not locked. Do you want someone to come with you?"

"We'll find our way," Peter said. "If we get lost, we've got our communicators." He patted the device attached to his belt. "We're used to things that go bump in the night. We'll be fine."

"As you wish, sir." The servant went about his business in a hurry and didn't look back.

Egon tried the door; it opened easily. He switched on a light and led the way downstairs. At the foot of the stairs they found themselves in a long passage that looked like it ran the length of the house. Turning right, he opened the first door he came to, revealing a large utility room where a large washing machine and dryer had pride of possession, both running. A stack of folded laundry sat in a basket near an ironing board. Everything was clean, free of cobwebs, and utterly innocuous. "Hmm, very domestic," Egon remarked.

"Even devil worshipers need clean shirts." Peter eyed the huge furnace that took up fully half of the wall on the right side of the main room. The floor was covered with patterned linoleum and the walls were finished in knotty pine. The fuse box was here, too, as well as a shelf of jars containing canned fruit and vegetables. Someone on the staff evidently did canning. Maybe there was a kitchen garden on the grounds.

The meter didn't even flicker in the utility room. Egon backed out.

"Let's try the next one," Peter said. "At least I didn't see any roaches or spider webs or anything nasty like that."

The room beyond was evidently a recreation room, a dartboard on one wall, the paneling around it full of tiny holes where dart enthusiasts had missed the target completely. A big screen TV and several video recorders filled an entertainment center, and an entire shelving unit contained prerecorded movies on video tape. "Better not let Ray see this place," Peter said, prowling over to inspect the titles. "We'd never drag him out of here."

"Indeed."

"Hard to picture Chant hanging out down here watching tapes," Peter mused. "Doesn't seem his game. Maybe this is for the servants."

"In any case, I'm detecting nothing in here," Egon replied as he adjusted the meter's dials. "The overall ambience is fractionally stronger at this level, but it's so slight I could be imagining it. I don't believe I am, however. We will not mention this to Chant."

"What do you think of him anyway?" Peter asked, rapping the far walls for hollow sounds. "He doesn't feel like a total phony. I'm used to con men, and he wasn't trying to con us today. He was just being a good host. I get a bad feeling from him, but I don't know if it's because of Justine's report and what Donna said, or if it's real. I don't trust him, but he's sure not what I thought he'd be."

"You don't doubt he's what they claim?" Egon asked, surprised.

"No, I don't doubt it. But maybe the guy's suffering from MPD or something."

"Multiple personality disorder?" Egon lifted a surprised eyebrow. He hadn't thought of that; there'd been no reason to suspect such a thing before meeting Daniel Chant. Yet Ray hadn't liked him, and Ray liked everybody. On the other hand, Ray had been watching him with surprise since they came and reacting to him more favorably than Egon had expected, which was good, because Ray did not have a poker face. "No, I don't think so. The fact that he might enjoy entertaining doesn't negate his interest in the dark arts. He might be so pleasant because he's secretly amused that he's fooled everyone."

"Possible," Peter said. "Even if it doesn't quite feel like that. Or maybe he can just compartmentalize. He doesn't want to sacrifice any of us; none of us are young blonde women, after all. So it doesn't hurt him at all to be nice. Maybe he just has this one quirk--a really big quirk but he doesn't do it every minute." He hesitated, still rapping. "But if Ray has heard bad stuff, I'd buy that. Ray doesn't get suspicious without good reason."

"On the other hand, he could simply be very subtle, Peter. True, you have exposure to the behavior of a con man, but your father is not a terribly subtle man."

Peter hesitated. "Yeah, I know. Pop never was very subtle. He can manage it for a little while but not very long. Even when he's playing a part, the real man always comes through eventually. I bet it's like that with Chant, too, no matter how devious he is. I don't trust him. But a part of me halfway wants to like him. I know that's the con man part of him--a good con man has to be likeable. And it bugs me, you know."

"Chant--or your father?"

"Both of 'em. Don't worry about Pop. I'm used to what he is; I can live with it. But this guy--he's done some really crummy stuff to innocent women who thought he loved them. He makes my dad look like a candidate for sainthood."

"But he's plausible. So we must remember never to lower our guard. He could very well guess why we are here. He could be--"

"Giving us enough rope to hang ourselves," Peter concluded. "Gotcha. Even if he almost seems to be encouraging us to find the demon, and I can't make sense of that. So what do we do?"

"Never be by ourselves, always go in twos when we're exploring," Egon replied. "If you must be alone--in the shower, for instance, take a P.K.E. meter with you."

"Yeah, I like that. Prop it on the stool and crank the sound up full blast so you can hear it over the water. Too bad there isn't somebody here who'd be fun to shower with."

"Really, Peter, you sound as bad as Sonya."

"Sonya's not so bad after all," Peter said, reaching the end of the wall and abandoning his rapping. "I'm not getting anything here. If these walls hide a spooky secret passage, they're padded so they won't sound hollow."

"The readings are no stronger in here than they were in the utility room. We'll try the next one," Egon urged.

The next one was the wine cellar. Racks and racks of bottles stretched away on specially designed shelves in the huge, stone room. No one had bothered with knotty pine here. These walls were carved out of the bedrock. The minute they walked into the wine cellar, Egon's meter chirped faintly. "Aha," he cried, satisfied that he had finally detected actual readings that could be quantified.

"What have you got?" Peter asked, peering over Egon's shoulder.

"Class seven residuals. Very faint but distinct enough to identify. Donna was right. There is a dangerous entity here. It's not in this room at present, but it has been nearby, and fairly recently. Possibly not before the start of the house party, but several days ago. This is very bad, Peter."

"You mean it might have already done its number on Caroline?" Peter asked unhappily, squinting down the nearest aisle. "I've been hoping she was just held prisoner waiting for the full moon. But the full moon's getting closer. Would Chant have planned a house party if he meant to sneak off and perform nasty rituals?"

"If he is confident enough, he might well have done so. The guests would vouch for him; provide cover." Egon started down one of the aisles. "Peter, we must check every wall in this room. I think the opening to the caverns is here somewhere."

"Okay, let's do it," Peter said grimly. "Because I don't want what happened to Donna to happen to anybody else." His jaw clenched as he remembered the encounter at the Whitewoods. "I hate that. I hate it when people get hurt who didn't deserve it--and nobody deserves that! We've gotta bring this guy down, somehow. We've gotta."

"You're a good man, Dr. Venkman," Egon replied. "Believe me, we will."

"It's lucky we have our packs and throwers," Peter said. "I'd feel kinda naked running around down here without a weapon now that we know there's something nasty here."

"If the readings intensify at all or if we find a concealed opening, then we will definitely need them. But for now, we'll just look for a way down. If we find one, we can use the walkie-talkies to summon them."

Peter started down the next aisle. "Sing out if you get anything," he cautioned. "I don't like being out of sight of each other down here. Makes me nervous."

"I share that feeling," Egon agreed. He could see Peter still, intermittent glimpses of him between the shelves. "Be very careful, Peter."

"Suppose we'll get to sample some of this at dinner?" Peter asked, momentarily distracted. "Here's some Dom Perignon." He didn't wait for an answer. "This passage is a dead end--the shelves come right up to the wall. I can't even see any cracks in the stone."

A light flickered, Peter's belt flashlight, Egon realized, moving across the wall as he scrutinized it in detail.

"If there's a way to open this, there ought to be cracks," said the psychologist.

Egon ran his palms over the stone at his end of the passage. He might be able to feel a draft if there was an opening here, but he could feel nothing. He hadn't expected the search to be that easy. "The entity might be able to mask the cracks, Peter," he reminded Venkman. "We'll need to examine this room very thoroughly, as well as the rest of this level. Remember, what we are doing is essential, and it will take a lot of hard work."

"You had to say that, didn't you?" mourned Peter, but he applied himself to the search as diligently as Egon did.

"So who's this Carlotta, Ray?" Winston asked as he, Stantz, and Jack Wade climbed a final flight of stairs to reach the attic level. Its middle blocked off by the rising dome, the storage area was divided into two separate sections joined only be a low crawlway across the back that curved around the edge of the dome without opening out into it. Ray could stand up straight, although if he did his hair would brush the cobwebbed ceiling where it sloped down at the edges, but Winston and Wade needed to stoop slightly.

Shining his flashlight around the cluttered storage area, picking out shadowy trunks, crates and cardboard boxes, Ray grinned. Lit from below by the flashlight, his smile had a weird, otherworldly cast to it. "She's really neat. You know about her, don't you, Jack?"

"I don't think I ever met her," Wade hedged. He had one palm flat against the ceiling to remind himself how low it was and keep from bumping his head. "I've only been into this kind of stuff a few months."

Ray looked surprised but didn't pursue it. "She's great, Winston. She's not like you'd expect a psychic to be, nothing like that fraud, Bassingame."

"The TV guy?" Wade echoed. "I've seen his program. Is he really a fraud?"

"You bet he is," Winston inserted quickly before Ray could start on his pet peeve. "He's a phony from the word go. His TV program is all staged, and any information you get on there that's real has been researched by his staff. I saw him fake a seance once, and it was so bad even I could tell it was a crock--and I was fairly new to busting then."

"He rips people off," Ray insisted. "It's always about money. Carlotta never takes money for what she does, not even donations."

Wade's eyes narrowed. "So how does she support herself? Using her gifts to play the stock market?"

"No, she's got a job." He prodded open a cardboard box with the tip of his thrower, revealing household linens, then let it drop closed again. "She doesn't advertise herself as a psychic at all. She works at the New York Public Library. That's probably why she won't be here until tonight; she'll come after work. She doesn't even give normal spiritualist readings. You must have seen her at Wyrd or Max's Occult Shop or The Happy Medium. She's in there a lot."

Wade shook his head. "No, I never did, at least I don't think so. Maybe I'll know her when I see her."

The occultist moved his P.K.E. meter around in a circle. "I'm not getting anything up here, not even a flicker. Gosh, look at all this neat stuff. I'd love to go through it."

"Not our job, Ray," Winston reminded him, prepared to grab Ray by the scruff of his neck and drag him away from the 'treasure' he'd found. Most people would call it junk. "I don't know how you can see anything anyway. It's just boxes."

"Yeah, but think what might be in them."

"Old clothes, worn linen," Winston suggested. "Faded pictures, 78 RPM records..."

"Cool stuff," Ray insisted, grinning. "Anyway, Carlotta's really nice. I've talked to her a lot. You know what she does, Winston? She offers her help to the police on missing kid cases. She found a little boy who wandered away from home and fell into a hole in a construction site. Everybody thought he'd been snatched; the parents were divorced and the mom was sure the dad had taken him, but Carlotta saw it on TV and knew, and she went to the nearest precinct and told them she'd seen it. She got a sympathetic cop, and they went to the site. It was a Sunday afternoon by then and the site had been shut down for the weekend. Ouch!" he interjected as he bumped his head; the ceiling sloped a bit. "Gee, this is low. Anyway, they went where she said and they found little Jackie--he was only three--curled up in a corner of the excavation. He'd yelled so much he'd lost his voice and he was cold and scared, but he wasn't hurt. It was neat. And ever since then, the police will call her when somebody's missing. She doesn't always know the answers, but when she does, she can help a lot. The cops were suspicious of her at first--she could have kidnapped the boy to get attention and make herself look good, but they're used to her now. She really knows her stuff."

"I think I've heard of her after all," Jack said quickly.

Winston surprised a narrow-eyed look on Ray's face. Usually the least suspicious of men, the youngest Ghostbuster generally took everyone on faith. Maybe this job was getting to him. He'd had to suspect Daniel Chant, and being suspicious wasn't a part of his nature. So far there had been no sign of Caroline Guest, and Ray would have to know every moment that passed was one more moment for her to be in jeopardy. That had to bug someone as softhearted as Ray.

"Anyway," Stantz continued, "Larry Kingston said she could come in any time she wanted to...." He gestured warningly for Winston not to speak, the hand motion out of Jack's line of sight. Uncertain of what was going on, Winston frowned but he kept his mouth shut.

"Larry Kingston?" Wade asked obligingly.

"He owns Wyrd," Ray said. "You must have been there, over in Union Square."

"That place by Forbidden Planet," Wade countered. "I have been there. I've seen Daniel there. I just didn't know the owner by name."

"I'm not getting anything up here," Ray said, adjusting the dials of his meter and abandoning his unexpected inquisition. "The residuals are even weaker up here than they are downstairs."

"But the Colonel walks upstairs," said Jack. "Well, a floor down, so maybe we already passed where his readings were stronger."

"I know, but he's a fixed repeater," Ray reminded him.

By this time, Winston half expected the blank look on the actor's face, which he smoothed over immediately. "A ghost that just appears at a set time," he said. "Yeah. This is really interesting."

"I wish we'd gotten more readings," Ray said in disappointment. "Because I'd like to know why the Colonel walks, and he doesn't sound like the type of ghost who can tell us. But if he walks every single night, something really bad must have happened here long ago."

Winston knew Ray would have liked to ask the Colonel's shade if he knew anything about what had happened to Donna or Andrea Bates, and if he knew where Caroline was. What bothered all of them wasn't just that Caroline might be wandering around as distraught as the other two, but that the entity's hunger might be growing--and that Caroline Guest might be dead. Ray would be devastated if they couldn't rescue her--and Winston wouldn't be happy about it himself.

"Well, we can research him," Winston consoled Ray. "But you still haven't told me about this Carlotta. Have you ever taken her out?"

The lighting was too dim to tell if he blushed, but he sounded as if he were. "Well, only out to lunch a couple of times. Wait till you meet her, Winston. She's really nice."

"Pretty, too, I bet?" Ray was not adventuresome around the fairer sex; he didn't date very often and then he started slow. It was dawning on Winston that his friend really liked this Carlotta.

"She's got gorgeous red hair," Ray said reminiscently.

At least she wasn't another blonde. The odds were, the pattern would continue, since Peter had told them Donna and Caroline were very similar in type, and a call to Justine Bell after they returned from visiting Donna informed them Andrea, too, was blonde and somewhat similar in appearance. A new arrival who was a redhead might well be safe, just as the older Sonya and the Senator were probably in no danger.

"There's nothing up here," Winston said. "Even if the Colonel was a member of the original family, those records wouldn't be kept here. If Chant had the whole place redone, this stuff is probably his, not the Van Houtens'"

"Let's go down and see where the Colonel walks," Ray said. "No, let's go over to the other side of the attic first. That must be where Daniel's seance room is. He said we could go there, and I want to check it out."

"Crawl through that tunnel?" Jack asked in dismay.

"A true Ghostbuster doesn't worry about things like that," Ray said determinedly and led the way over to the narrow, curving passage. He went through it on his hands and knees and Winston, with a reluctant grimace, followed him. He could hear Wade scuttling along unhappily in his wake.

Ray emerged into a taller space on the other side that ended in a closed door. It had a hasp with a locked padlock in it, but the padlock hadn't been fastened through the hook on the door. Ray pulled it back and turned the nob, revealing a small, circular room. He shone his flashlight inside, felt around for a light switch, and turned it on.

Winston got his first look at the room where Daniel had planned to hold the seance, set up with a circular draped table and chairs in the middle of the room, and in the center of the table sat a rounded object shrouded in black velvet. Fat, black candles stood in wall sconces and in giant candelabra positioned on small tables in the corners of the room. The flashlight traced a pentacle or five pointed star painted on the floor in a brownish red substance that might have been blood, and a row of ancient, leather bound books stood on a shelf near the biggest chair. It had a tall back, carved with occult signs and devices, some of which Winston recognized and some he didn't--and was just as glad of it.

"Oh, gosh, what a setup," Ray breathed, and edged up to the table, lifting the cloth to uncover a crystal ball mounted in a silver holder molded with twisted, writhing shapes. The flashlight beam caught the glass, and shadows moved eerily inside it. Quickly, Ray returned the black velvet cloth to its place.

There was no dust in this room, no trace of cobwebs. Winston felt profoundly uncomfortable here as if something unseen--and hungry--was watching him. "Oh, man, I don't like this place."

Ray's meter stirred, the antennae quivering and lifting, the lights blinking. "Wow, this is completely localized," Ray murmured. "There have been rituals performed here, and the miasma lingers. This is nasty. I can't believe he encouraged us to come up here. That just doesn't make sense. He'd have to know we wouldn't think much of it." He couldn't add more because of not giving away too much in front of the actor, but his eyes were full of questions.

"You mean he performed dark rituals here?" Jack cast an uneasy glace over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. "I don't like it either. I thought you Ghostbusters wouldn't mind so much, though."

"The occult can be really dark," Ray said. "Some of it is harmless, some of it is white magic, good magic. But some of it can be really nasty. I try really hard to keep up with what's going on in the occult community because one dark practitioner can cause a lot of trouble, not just by creating a bad name for everybody else, but because things can get free, and if that happens, we might have to clean up the mess. Sometimes people play with things they don't understand. They think it's a kick, a parlor game, like using a Ouija board, though that can get nasty, too. Most of the time, one or both of the people are pushing the planchette, either consciously or subconsciously, but it can also invite contact with things nobody wants free in the world." That ought to be a fair answer, Winston realized, one Jack would understand.

"And Daniel does that kind of stuff?" Jack leaned down to peer under the table, then drifted over toward the shelf where weighty tomes too serious for the casual houseguest to see were stacked. He was definitely unhappy. "You think they got out of hand and maybe that's why the Colonel walks every night?"

"I don't know," Ray said, still watching what he said. "Maybe something got loose or almost got loose, even though the Colonel was already here. The pentagram would confine run-of-the-mill entities. If he tried to summon a demon, it might have nearly got away from him. Energy from a near miss would linger. But because of the pentagram, the readings wouldn't be very strong away from this spot." He held the meter directly over the markings on the floor and the beeping rose to a shrill screech that hurt the ears. Ray hit the 'record' button before withdrawing the device. "Nasty stuff. Class seven."

Wade's mouth twisted as if he wanted to be sick. He mouthed the word 'demon' in stunned disbelief. He must have just realized he was in way over his head and that the occult was far worse than the parlor game he must have believed it. But Ray was watching him too, a thoughtful expression in his eyes as if he knew a lot more than he were telling.

"We better go find Egon and Peter, see if they've picked up anything." Ray paused, reached out and grabbed the actor's forearm. "Jack, listen. If this is too much for you, get out before you go in too deep. Daniel's one of those charismatic guys who can make the occult seem like a lot of fun, but people can get hurt if they mess with things this heavy. What's more, he knew we were coming up here and he didn't care. He even told us about this room ahead of time, and he had to know how dangerous we'd think it was."

"Maybe he just has nothing to hide," Wade offered, but Winston had the idea he didn't really believe it. Something dark and brooding lingered in his eyes, something he wasn't yet prepared to reveal. Could he be in on it with Daniel and only pretending ignorance of the more esoteric practices in the field?

"The thing is, it's not against the law to do this kind of stuff," Ray said, gesturing comprehensively around the room. "Lots more people get this far in than you'd think, and even then it doesn't always cause problems. From those books --some of them are spell books and grimoires--and the pentagram, I'd say he tried to use conventional shielding to protect himself and the other participants from anything he'd summon up. Sometimes, that's just not enough. Even without meaning anybody any harm, he could cause it. And he seems like he's confident enough to think he was in control. You haven't been up here before, have you?"

The actor shook his head. "No, no way. Daniel's not like other people. For an actor, the wider range of people you meet, the more depth you can put in what you do. I thought meeting him was a kick. I knew he was going to have a seance, and I thought it would be fun. A parlor game, like you said. I met Daniel at a seance and it was kind of fun. I didn't know it could be dangerous. I didn't really take it seriously before."

"After the weekend, you might want to just get back to your regular life," Ray encouraged. "Because I know you don't know very much about spiritualism and the occult yet. This isn't fun and games. It's not for fun at all. I mean, yeah, there are parts of it that are fun, but not this." He pointed at the covered crystal ball and the markings on the floor. "There's a whole universe just one step across the veil that divides our normal world from...everything else. Once you get too far over, the whole world changes and you can't go back. You know too much--and not enough. I don't know why you're really here, but it can't be more important than your sanity, or your life."

Wade's mouth tightened. "I understand what you're saying," he said stubbornly. "But I know what I'm doing. I might not like all of this, but I'm not going to run."

"That's what the guy said who tried to ride the crocodile across the Nile and wound up Crocodile Chow," Winston put in. "I don't like messing with stuff like this myself, and I've got a portable nuclear accelerator on my back for when the going gets nasty. Being a famous actor won't cut any ice if something huge and powerful pops out and tries to eat you."

"I hear you," Wade said. "But I have to stay. I won't say anything to Daniel about your warning, but I have to stay." He turned abruptly and started scrambling through the tunnel to the main part of the attic.

Ray shook his head. "He doesn't know anything about the occult," he told Winston. "He's faking it, I can tell. He's probably been hanging around for a couple of months and he's picked up a little but I think he did it just to get invited up here."

"Why would he want to do that?" Winston asked.

"Why did we?" Ray countered. "Come on. We've gotta find Egon and Peter." He dropped to his hands and knees and hurried through the crawlspace after Wade.

Wade took off when they reached the second floor, hurrying off in the direction of the bedrooms, but Ray and Winston paused to take readings on the other side of the grand staircase, in the place where the Colonel was supposed to walk. All along the passage, Ray picked up faint class four residuals, just what he'd have expected from a fixed repeater. Not a strong ghost, it left a residual trail only because it came so regularly. It was harmless, unless other ghosts could disturb it, and that kind of thing was rare.

Ray worried about Jack Wade as they started downstairs. The actor was here on his own personal agenda, and he wasn't likely to listen to warnings from those who knew better. If he were seriously trying to be a part of the occult community, he'd have known Larry Kingston by name. Larry was really good at weeding out those who were no more than hangers on and warning them off. You couldn't have found a more ethical guy than the owner of Wyrd, New York's premier occult shop. He took his responsibilities and beliefs seriously, and could probably tell at a glance when a dilettante wandered in, or when someone wanted to play the game for kicks. Ray would call him if he got a chance, and see if the man knew Jack Wade. He didn't understand why the actor was here, but he had a motive. Whether he honestly believed, whether he was acolyte to Daniel's high priest, whether he was new to it and fascinated by something beyond his control, Ray was afraid he'd bitten off more than he could chew. And he hadn't heard of Carlotta either. Not that everybody knew her personally, but if he was involved in the occult community at all, he must have heard her name.

"Think he's in over his head?" Winston asked. "I wasn't sure what you were going for at first."

"He didn't understand that room at all," Ray burst out. "I could see it in his eyes. And it scared him. He was really shaken, scared badly when the meter went off. He's not in it for fun, Winston. I don't know why he's here, but I know he believes he has to be."

"Think it could mean trouble for us?" the black man asked. He paused on the landing to stare at the huge battle painting.

Ray followed his gaze. "It could. We've gotta be really careful. Because if he says anything at all to Chant...."

"Then we're screwed?"

Ray nodded.

"Oh, there you are, guys," Egon's voice made them both turn to find the tall physicist and Peter standing at the foot of the stairs. "Did you find anything?"

"A ritual room," Ray said. "Not a rigged one either." He hurried down the stairs to meet the other two. "A crystal ball, a pentagram, all that stuff."

"And Wade's not really into the occult," Winston offered. "Ray says he doesn't know people he should know and that room scared him."

"So what's he doing here, then?" Peter asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "Is he gonna say anything to Chant?"

"He told us he wouldn't," Winston reassured him. "What about you guys. Anything?"

"Stronger residuals in the cellars," Egon confirmed. "And strongest in the wine cellar."

"We went over every inch of the walls in there and even checked the floor," Peter complained. "And didn't find anything but a few big, black water bugs." He shuddered at the memory. Peter had never been very fond of the insect kingdom. "We're not getting very far."

"Are the others back yet?" Egon asked.

"I haven't seen--" Ray started when a door opened, and their fellow guests appeared, Daniel leading the way like a tour guide. "Ah, Ghostbusters," their host greeted them. "Did you have fun with your equipment? Did you find my little attic room?" He grinned. "I had a bad scare there last week. Something tried to break through. Pretty nasty."

"Yeah, we did find it," Ray agreed, eyes narrowing. Chant would have to know that. If he granted them freedom of the house and mentioned the seance room, he had to be awfully self-confident. He'd even unlocked the door for them.

"You shouldn't mess with things beyond your ability to control, Mr. Chant," Egon reproved him. "Things can break out and wreak considerable havoc before they are controlled."

Chant studied Egon with a thoughtful expression and did not take offense, although an unreadable expression flashed in his eyes and was gone too quickly for Ray to be certain he had really seen it. "So I found out. And I was very confident before. It's one of the reasons I'm glad you're here. I wanted to make sure nothing was loose that could do damage." It almost sounded difficult for him to say those words. Maybe someone with that big an ego didn't want to admit he needed help. Maybe the demon was even controlling him instead of the other way around. Ray eyed him thoughtfully, wondering.

"Loose?" echoed Chester Applewood, joining them. "What do you mean, loose?"

"I think he means a really nasty ghost, or a demon." Sonya did not look shocked, only mildly alarmed as if she did not entirely believe in such things, and slightly amused. She gave Peter a comradely grin that faded uncertainly as she realized they were serious.

"It's not loose," Ray said quickly before everyone could become upset. "We'd have been able to tell. That's what our equipment does, detect trouble. We found residuals from the Colonel, too. I'm looking forward to seeing him."

"I haven't seen him myself for awhile," Chant denied. "Sonya saw him last night, I believe."

She nodded. "Yes, I did. Fascinating, but disturbing, too. A proof that something lingers after death, but to linger trapped like that, playing back the same moment over and over--that's not a view of a happy afterlife."

"It's not quite the same," Peter said, quick to reassure her. "It's more like watching reruns on TV. It's not the actual actors playing the part over and over again. Fixed repeaters are like reruns."

"Good analogy, Peter," Egon said. "I once read an article about the possibility of ancient pots that had been thrown being able to play back sounds made at the time they were cast, should a means be found to play them. A broken record that plays the same phrase over and over again doesn't mean the singer is stuck forever."

"That's comforting to know," the senator said. "But you can't be sure a part of the personality doesn't remain, trapped. I've long felt the concept of ghosts gave no certainty of heaven. Only of a grimmer place. Perhaps that is why many folks refuse to believe in their existence."

Winston shook his head. "No, you can't really say that either. Because sometimes we've helped ghosts disperse peacefully, you know, get rid of whatever is binding them here, and move on. We don't know where they go; we're not philosophers or theologians. But every one of them looked happy--and went gladly."

"That's comforting," Margaret Applewood replied, patting Winston on the arm. "I would think a job like yours would either make believers or atheists out of you in short order."

"Well, we know there's something after death," Peter admitted. "But we can't claim we know what it is. We're not trying to sell anybody a belief system, only the knowledge that what we do is real. There are still a heck of a lot of people out there who think we're frauds, out to scam the public."

"But we have a sound, scientific basis for every claim we do make," Egon added, holding up his meter. "I can document my results, and duplicate them consistently. I challenge any scientist who doubts me not only to study my records but to accompany us on a bust, and see that we are what we claim. Ghostbusting is a serious science, not a sham."

Daniel dropped a reassuring hand on the physicist's shoulder. "You're preaching to the choir, my friend. Remember, I do believe. And while a part of it is faith for me--in a sense, this is my religion--another part of me is far too skeptical to take everything on pure trust. I've seen things that have convinced me every word you say is true. Believe me, we need Ghostbusters. The veil is thin in this part of the world. I don't know if that is because of the coming of Gozer, or simply because major population centers produce enough energy for that to happen." He gave Egon's shoulder a comradely squeeze and let go.

"He could be right," Ray said eagerly. "Because most of our busts are actually in the city. Sure we've had some at isolated country estates, but those were either family ghosts, freak occurrences, or caused by people who got in over their heads or deliberately tried to summon spirits."

"Shall we go out on the terrace?" Daniel suggested. "And where's Jack? I thought he was exploring with you four."

"He was. He went to his room, maybe to change. We got a little dusty in the attics," Winston said, reaching forward to pluck a bit of cobweb out of Ray's hair.

"Yeah, maybe we should go and change, too," Ray agreed. "Gosh, we're a mess. You and Peter don't look too bad, Egon."

"No, the cellars weren't dusty," Egon replied.

"We'll come down right away," Ray promised, and started up the stairs again.

"And we'll change out of our uniforms," Peter agreed, falling in with him. "These packs weigh a ton."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a leisurely fashion with general conversation. Once Wade, and then the Ghostbusters, returned, Chant took them over the grounds, showing them the grotto, a beautiful site with an artificial waterfall cleverly contrived to look natural and a great place for picnics, an oriental bridge across a small brook, and then a walk along its bank to the edge of the bluff where the water shot out in a gushing stream, glittering in the afternoon sunshine, to drop to the Hudson far below.

"A beautiful spot," Sonya remarked, standing much too close to the edge to make Peter comfortable. "Come and see, Peter."

"I can see just fine from here," he insisted. "Great view, just great. I'm not real crazy about heights."

"I don't like them myself," agreed Margaret Applewood. She had changed into Nikes for her boating experience and still wore them. A step further back than Sonya, she peered down without great enthusiasm, clutching her husband's arm, although if she fell, she would surely take him over with her.

Ray and Winston, who didn't have a single qualm when it came to heights, perched on the very edge, gazing down at the distant river, pointing out landmarks. Egon joined the psychologist and nodded in understanding. "I have to say I am at one with you on this, Peter. I am not as comfortable with heights as I was before I fell off the World Trade Center."

"The World Trade Center?" Daniel materialized at Egon's side, eyebrows lifted dubiously. "Yet here you are, intact and in one piece."

"Winston rescued me with Ecto-2, our Gyrocopter," Egon explained.

"Yeah, he should've got a medal for it," put in Peter. "As neat a piece of flying as I've ever seen. And we got our buddy back." He gave Egon an enthusiastic pat on the back.

"You four are quite the team, aren't you?" Daniel asked.

Something in his tone made Peter turn and look at him more closely. Yet there was nothing but affable interest in the occultist's face. "And if we are?" Peter challenged.

"Perhaps it is simply regret that my life has not allowed for such a close bond of friendship," the man replied. "I have many friends, but they're all casual ones. Yet you four, I suspect, would die for each other."

"Greater love hath no man," quoted Chester Applewood surprisingly. Peter kept forgetting he was there, then he'd come up with something so startling everybody would remember him again, at least for awhile.

"I don't like this talk about dying," Peter said with a grimace. It was true he would take any risk to save one of the guys, though. He didn't even have to think about it. He didn't want to think of it, but he knew he'd jump in the way of a speeding monster for his buddies, and they'd do the same for him. He hoped they'd never have to, but knowing they all would was one of the basic foundations of his life. It wasn't something they talked about, but it was real.

"Death is one subject that both fascinates and repels," Sonya put in. "Much easier to deal with in the abstract, yet feared, when it is a natural part of the life cycle."

"It's not the natural life cycle that worries me," Peter countered. "It's the unnatural end of a life cycle I'm not too fond of. Especially my own."

The playwright's throaty laugh bubbled out. "Well said."

"Indeed," agreed Chant. "But enough of dying, unless I should mention the day is dying, as is the season." He gestured up at the glorious autumn leaves. "A perfect day. Those of you who would enjoy it may spend the rest of it outside. The gardener has raked up a huge pile of leaves from the lawns and plans a bonfire for those of you who enjoy such things."

"I sure do," said Ray. "I haven't had a good bonfire since I was a kid. Can we go, guys?"

"Sure, Ray," Peter said fondly. "I'll go with you."

Jack Wade, who had opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and turned toward the house. Peter looked after him in slight surprise. He had the feeling Wade had been about to offer to share the bonfire with Ray, not because he particularly liked the autumn ritual but because he had something he wanted to say. Egon opted to return to the house to go over his readings, and Winston said he wanted to have a look at the mysteries in Chant's collection, so Daniel pointed out the way to Ray and Peter. For a moment, Venkman thought Sonya would follow him, and the idea didn't bug him the way it would before their conversation, but she turned and spoke to Margaret Applewood. The two women set off at an angle on a path that would take them to the rear terrace. Chester hesitated, then he walked off after Winston and Egon. Chant quickened his pace and fell into step with the physicist, asking him a question. Peter couldn't make out the words as they grew further away but he could hear interrogation in the tone. Probably asking about the guys' work. He did seem interested, and probably was. Maybe he was afraid his pet demon, or whatever it was, might get out of control someday.

Ray chatted eagerly all the way to the bonfire, finding the flames just starting to blaze up. One of the servants, leaning on a broom handle, was clearly prepared to stick around to make sure the fire didn't get out of control, but he withdrew to sit on a stone bench a little distance away when Peter and Ray approached, put his feet up, and took out a pack of Camels from his jacket pocket and proceeded to light up. The smoke from the fire blew in his general direction, so Peter couldn't smell the tobacco, and was just as glad he couldn't.

Ray jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and positioned himself so no smoke would blow in his face. "This is neat, isn't it?" he asked.

"If you say so." A city boy, Peter had no fond memories of leaf burning, but he had to admit there was something pleasant about it and he liked the crisp, scented air. Egon would probably say enjoyment of leaf-burning was atavistic, a race memory. Egon always came up with things like that. For whatever reason, it felt natural to Peter, and it was good to see such open delight in the youngest Ghostbuster's face. Ray had taken this job really seriously. He hated it when someone was hurt because of the paranormal, although he couldn't protect the whole world.

"It's really great." He was silent a minute. "I just can't understand Daniel."

"You're not falling for his line, are you?"

"It's just, he seems so nice," Stantz defended himself.

"So did Ted Bundy," Peter pointed out. "Come on, Ray, it could be he just has the one hang-up and he's normal for everything else. It can happen. You can't trust him."

"I know, Peter. But he seems like a nice guy. And there are times when he almost seems relieved to have us here. Maybe the demon is making him do bad stuff. Maybe he can't talk about it, you know, like there's a geis--you know, a magical compulsion--on him about it, but he invited us here in hopes we could help him, you know, bail him out."

"That's a nice theory, but we can't assume it's true," Peter said thoughtfully. "Back when Sonya was pretending to come on to me, he was nice about it, ready to head her off if she got too far out of hand. Yeah, a part of me wants to like him. But that's how scam artists do it. I should know, Ray. My dad can be plausible. He has to be charming, to make people like and trust him, or he'd never pull another con. Charm like that isn't natural, Ray. It's learned. He's learned it so well he can put it on like a mask. But you wear a mask long enough, it's instinctive." He grabbed Ray's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Okay, look at me. I do a little of that myself. I got in the habit of it when I was a kid, 'cause I wanted to be popular, have the other kids like me." He caught himself. Even if Ray and the others knew all about the worst parts of his childhood and how Peter had learned to cope and to find ways to value himself when his father hadn't, he wasn't quite comfortable talking about them. Most of that was a guy thing, but the rest was just Peter's nature. Even with Ray, whom he trusted completely, he didn't want to take the explanation any further.

But with his friends, it wasn't necessary. Ray smiled understandingly. "I know, but we can always see right through it when you do it. We know you better. And even you don't take it seriously any more. Only somebody who isn't very good at people would take it seriously."

"That's the point. You are perceptive about people but you don't know Chant better."

"You've got a suspicious nature." He hesitated, then he turned back to stare at the dancing flames. The sun was low in the sky, invisible behind some trees, making the miniature inferno seem all the brighter. "But I know you're right. If it was just us, it would be different, but we have to find Caroline."

"You do know, don't you, that we might be too late?" Peter hated to pose the question, but maybe he could prepare Ray for that eventuality. He knew how tender-hearted his friend was and how upset he would be if they had come too late.

Ray's face crinkled up in distress. "I know. I hate it, but I know. Okay, Caroline has to be the most important. But if the demon is controlling Daniel, maybe we can help him."

"We will," Peter said, though he was pretty sure Chant was a voluntary participant. It didn't show, but Peter had spent his whole life around a con man. He wouldn't fall for Chant's good nature. At least one of them had to stay suspicious. "So, what's the deal with Jack Wade?" he asked. "If he's not into the occult, why is he pretending to be? I thought he looked like he wanted to talk to you privately just now."

"He could be just new at it and cautious," Ray said. "But when we got the demon readings upstairs, he was pretty upset. I think rituals and all that stuff really turns him off, but he's pretending he likes it. I don't know why."

"Then I think we'd better try to find out," Peter said. "Because the last thing we need is a loose cannon."

"I'll see if I can get a chance to talk to him," Ray promised, "when we go back to the house."

But when they returned, there was a new distraction. Peter and Ray headed back across the terrace to find the others had withdrawn inside and were gathered around the fireplace, where a huge fire roared and crackled, flames gnawing on a log as big as a small tree. Standing beside Daniel at the edge of the seating group was a petite, red haired woman with a pixie face and wide brown eyes. Their host was beaming at her with open affection and had hold of her hand. Ray came to a dead stop at the sight of her and said, "Carlie," under his breath. She was too far away to hear him, but her head came up anyway, and she turned. Her face lit with inner warmth and she hurried to meet Ray, putting out both of her hands. He clasped them and squeezed. They might be better friends than Peter had expected. 'Carlie'? He'd called her 'Carlotta' before.

"Ray, it's good to see you. It's been three weeks, you terrible man."

Ray's cheeks turned pink. "I know, but we were in Pittsburgh for a bust and then when I got back they said you were up in Boston. How are you?"

Right next to Ray, Peter got a good look at the expression that came and went in her eyes. She leaned in under the guise of giving Ray a hug and whispered urgently, "This is a terrible house."

"I know," Ray said softly into her ear. "We'll talk about it later. Be careful." Covering his words with a kiss to her cheek, he let her go. "You look great."

Peter had to agree with that assessment. Carlotta Goerteborg was not the type of woman Peter would ignore. 'Madame Goerteborg', Chant had said. Did that mean she was married? He hoped not, for Ray's sake. His 'kid brother' looked pretty thoroughly smitten.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Ray?" he prodded.

"He doesn't have to. Hello, Peter. I know who you are. Ray has talked about you." Carlotta gave Peter her hand. She was so small-boned it was nearly swallowed up in his own. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and let go before Ray would have time to worry about it.

"Don't believe a word he says," he teased.

"But it was good."

"Then every word is true." Peter smiled at her. "I've gotta say, Ray can sure keep a secret," he concluded pointedly.

"It wasn't a secret, Peter," Ray apologized quickly. "It's just.... Well.... I...."

"A happy reunion." Chant rescued him from a morass of half sentences. "Carlotta, you'll want to freshen up. Dinner will be in half an hour if everyone can be ready."

"I'll walk up with you," Ray said. "You missed a great bonfire."

"I'm sorry I did. I love bonfires. Maybe there'll be another tomorrow." She fell into step with him and they headed for the stairs, Ray still clutching her hand. Chant watched them go, a little frown puckering the space between his brows, then he pasted on determined cheer and turned toward Sonya Asgaard.

Peter nodded Egon and Winston, who joined him. "I think our little boy is growing up," he said. "She's gorgeous, too."

"Back off, Pete, looks like she's taken," Winston commanded.

"Evidently." He wasn't used to Ray with a girlfriend, especially one as appealing as this one. "But you called her Madame," he reminded Chant. "She isn't married?"

"I believe it's just her name for her readings. I knew her husband, Karl--he was Swedish and worked at the U.N. He died three years ago of an unexpected heart condition. I've known Carlotta for just over a year." Something flashed in his eyes too quickly to identify, but Peter noticed it and registered it to think about later. Was he drawn to her in spite of the fact that she didn't match the image of the missing girls?

"I knew Karl, too," Sonya put in as they moved toward the stairs. "He was a great deal older than she was, but, I think, a very stabilizing influence. I believe it's difficult to have a genuine psychic gift. To know the future.... I would not wish it. And now," she concluded abruptly, "It is time to dress for dinner." She smiled at Peter. "I shall enjoy the sight of you in a tuxedo."

"Yeah, it's a sight well worth seeing," he teased back. Jack Wade frowned behind them, and Peter wondered as he headed up the stairs, if Sonya had made her peace with the actor the way she had with him. On the other hand, Jack probably hadn't confronted her. Peter grinned wickedly. This might be fun.

Then he remembered Carlotta's hasty words. A 'terrible house'. Now what the heck had that meant? Had she sensed what had happened to Donna and Andrea? Would she be able to find Caroline? Peter didn't feel like they were making any progress and if a psychic could give them answers, he was all for it.

"Dinner will be a little early," Chant said as they went up the stairs, "Because I want to finish before the Colonel's appearance so all who wish to see him may do so. I'll meet you all down here in half an hour."

It was a rare man, Peter thought as he watched Egon struggle with his bowtie, who didn't look good in a tux. He peackocked in front of the long mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, enjoying the view. He knew he looked good; even old Spengs looked good. "Fumble fingers," he teased. "Do you want daddy to show you how?"

Egon lifted his chin. "Don't be ludicrous. If you weren't so busy admiring yourself, you would have noticed I've finished." He patted his hair, making sure it was in place.

"Come on, Egon, it would be hypocritical not to admire myself. I look great. You look great. And I bet Carlotta's going to look fabulous."

"If so, leave it for Ray to tell her so," Egon said rather sternly. He glanced around the room for his P.K.E. meter and picked it up.

"Is that coming to dinner, too? It hardly has an appetite."

"Yes, Peter. Ray and I are each bringing one. His will be set to detect ectoplasmic beings, and mine is set to detect biorhythm fields much like those I detected from Donna Moreau. I found none to match them in the cellars, but biorhythm fields are highly specific, so I've adjusted the field to detect within certain parameters. It won't be an exact match, but if Caroline has been drained like Donna was, and if she is still in the house or its immediate environs, I will be able to read her. I plan to return to the cellars after dinner."

"So that's what you were up to when I was getting ready," Peter said.

"Part of the time. If you hadn't been so determined to use up all of Chant's hot water...."

"Can I help it if I like being clean? Running around in basements with beetles and getting bonfire smoke all over me...."

Egon smiled. "Are you ready?"

"Yep. What do you think Carlotta meant when she said this was a terrible house?" He'd told Egon that the minute their bedroom door had closed behind them.

"I don't know. Presumably she can sense auras. If an energy residue lingers from what happened to those women, then I would theorize she could feel it as soon as she walked in the door. It must be very difficult for her to come to a place like this."

"Ray will keep an eye on her," Peter said with a wicked and knowing grin. "But I don't like any of this. I've got a really bad feeling about it."

"I haven't liked it from the beginning," Egon replied. He tucked the meter under his arm. "And I think Chant knows that. He has been making an effort to get into my good graces all afternoon. I took specific readings of him earlier, but there's none of the energy pulses in his biorhythms that indicate psi abilities. Carlotta did give such readings when I checked her surreptitiously. He can't be reading my mind."

"Maybe it's your body language," Peter suggested, giving Egon's shoulder a nudge. "You're not exactly hanging loose here, big guy. Ray's so open and he wants to trust Chant. Winston isn't sure what to think. And I never trust anybody and Chant probably knows he's not gonna break through to me. But I think he'd like to con you into buying his act."

"He hasn't done so," Egon responded. He met Peter's eyes. "Is he so self-confident he isn't even worried? What do you think, Dr. Venkman? You're the people expert."

"I think he's pulling a major con, and I think he's a hundred times better at it than my dad. Either that or he's only got the one area where he's twisted and managed to integrate it into his personality in its own compartment. People can do that. Or else he's trapped too and wanted us up here to help him out, but it's hard to say. But my dad says the secret to success is sincerity. Once you can fake that, you've got it made."

Egon's eyes sparkled. "Very profound."

Peter grinned in return. "Anyway, I'd say Chant can fake it with the best. Just don't let him think otherwise, okay, Egon? Don't let him guess how suspicious you are." He dropped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I mean it. I don't want to have to rescue you from those caverns measureless to man."

"You won't. I'm the wrong gender," Egon reminded him, opening the door and waiting for Peter to precede him.

"You hope." Peter grinned wickedly. "Come on, we'll be late for dinner." He stepped out of the room.

"Really, Peter," Egon chided, falling into step with him as he reached the hall.

Peter spread his hands. "What can I say. I'm just a force for good in our time."

Dinner was held in the formal dining room, and the collection of guests looked pretty impressive to Winston Zeddemore. Even old Chester was improved by his tuxedo, and Wade and Chant strove to outdo each other in sartorial elegance. Margaret Applewood wore royal purple, a dress cut especially for her; it couldn't hide her massive bosom, but the color became her and made her look as elegant as a Dowager Empress.

Sonya had shed her beatnik poet look for simple elegance in a vivid turquoise that made her eyes seem huge and dramatic. The gum was gone, and here was the cigarette in a long holder that had seemed missing earlier, although she had not lit it. Most of the gold chains she had worn earlier were gone and she only wore two, one with a round medallion dangling between the vestigial breasts, the other a braided chain that must have cost a small fortune if genuine. Her nails were the same color as the dress, and this time, they had little stars on them. Probably they were the kind of fake nails that glued on. She slouched over to Jack Wade, who looked uncomfortable at her presence, and took his arm. He flinched.

To Winston's surprise, Peter popped up at her other side and said, "Deserting me?" The woman's eyes lit with amused mischief and she abandoned a greatly relieved Jack without a backward look and took the arm Peter offered. They smiled at each other like conspirators.

Ray was firmly planted at Carlotta's side. Her costume was simple, a black, scoop-necked blouse that fitted her snugly and a long silk skirt in an emerald and black pattern like a series of Celtic knots. She wore no jewelry but a plain silver chain and silver drops in her ears, and she seemed to be enjoying the conversation. Ray's face was alight, and he was talking earnestly. When he listened, Winston realized they were discussing Ray's favorite comic book superhero, Captain Steel.

Chant was speaking to Egon, whose face was bland and neutral as if he were only half listening, although Chant's eyes drifted over to the psychic from time to time and clung there for an instant before pushing his attention back to Spengler. Winston felt a tremor of unease at that. Carlotta didn't fit the pattern, but maybe the demon or Chant or whoever was the driving force in what was going on here could break the pattern occasionally. Egon was concentrating on his host's words and his P.K.E. meter in equal shares. They seemed to be conversing about Lorenzo the Magnificent, unlikely as that seemed. On the other hand, Egon knew surprising facts about any number of exotic subjects, so maybe it wasn't too unusual after all. Winston remembered Egon once discussing classical architecture with his dad and both of them enjoying the conversation. Although Egon could become so wrapped up in his research he often forgot his turn to take out the trash, he really had a broad knowledge base that had impressed Winston from the day the Ghostbusters had hired him.

A liveried manservant appeared in a doorway on the dining room's back wall and banged a gong. "Dinner is served," he intoned in a voice so much like that of Sir Alec Guinness, the whole team noticed and Peter looked around in astonishment as if he had expected to find Obi-wan Kenobi announcing the meal.

"Shall we take our places, ladies and gentlemen," Daniel urged.

It was an uneven seating arrangement. There were more than twice as many men as women, so Chant took his place at the head of the table and gestured Margaret Applewood into the chair at his left hand and Egon into the one at his right. Winston found himself between Chester Applewood and Carlotta with Ray at the end of the table. Peter and Sonya were opposite Winston and Jack opposite Carlotta, with Peter safely between him and the playwright.

The first thing Winston noticed as Sir Alec brought the soup and distributed plates of crusty bread along the table was that Carlotta didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Everybody else dug in like trenchermen; the soup was great, a French onion with little dumplings and a thick crust of melted cheese across the top that trailed off the edges of the spoon in little strings as if determined to make a getaway. But Carlotta only stirred it absently and took a sip or two, subduing the wild cheese by drowning it in the broth. Ray had claimed the atmosphere of the house disturbed her, but it probably wasn't a good idea to let it show. When Ray said something to Peter, Winston leaned closer to his seatmate. "I know you're not hungry, little sister, but fake it, if you can."

She looked surprised and grateful. "Thanks. Ray chooses his friends well." She began to eat her soup, and Winston was glad to see some color come back to her face as she ate. She managed the trailing cheese like an old pro.

Sonya talked amusingly about her current Broadway play, Wittenburg, a musical about Martin Luther. There had been more unlikely musicals, but this one had proven a surprise hit. Winston could remember the rousing song about Luther burning the Papal Bull; it would probably run through his head for the rest of the evening. They could turn anything into entertainment these days.

Egon was interested and suggested it might make an potential subject for an opera.

"I'll redo it in German, in the style of Wagner," Sonya said promptly, dimpling like a girl. "I can manage the lyrics, but who shall I find to compose it?"

"Rod Stewart," Peter suggested facetiously. "Or no, wait, how about your cousin Eddie, Egon? He writes music sometimes."

"He wrote Leftover Souls," Egon agreed. "But I don't believe he's ever tried to compose an opera. I shall suggest it to him."

"You mean Eddie Plummer?" Chant asked in surprise. "I had no idea he was your cousin, Egon. He only lives ten miles from here. He and his wife Whitney were weekend guests a few months ago. Now that I think of it, he does bear an amazing resemblance to you."

To Winston's surprise, that made Peter turn sharply and stare at Chant as if he'd said something ominous. Before their host could notice, he glanced up as the servant removed his empty bowl and replaced it with a garden salad.

"I like Leftover Souls," Sonya replied, humming a few bars of the refrain. "Hmm, if I were serious about turning Wittenburg into an opera, I just might take you up on it and contact him. I wonder if he's ever considered doing any composing for Broadway?"

"He could be the next Andrew Lloyd Webber," put in Chester Applewood, tongue in cheek.

"Eddie likes singing too much to turn to composing," Egon replied.

Chant's face was thoughtful. "Resemblances are a strange thing," he said, harking back to the resemblance between Egon and his cousin. "The two of you are very much alike physically, but there's so much more to a face than its bone structure and coloring. What animates it changes it so that identical twins may look totally different even when they look the same."

"It's the personality coming through," Sonya put in, obviously interested in the discussion. She turned in her seat and studied Egon frankly. "I've seen Eddie Plummer on television and in concert and even on MTV, but it never occurred to me you might be a relative of his. Your expression is much more controlled than he is. He lets more of himself show, especially when he sings. You show things in your eyes but it takes knowing to read them. People fascinate me," she added. Deciding she had embarrassed Egon enough, she leaned forward to study Jack Wade on the other side of Peter. "And you, Mr. Wade, wear a series of masks, a new one for each character you play. I wonder, does the real Jack become lost in all those identities?"

"We're being rather personal," Carlotta said hastily, shooting a quick look at Sonya that Winston couldn't see clearly from where he sat. "I would guess that an actor must keep the inner man private, simply because he shows so much of himself when he is playing other people. Some actors always play themselves, yet others submerge in the part and are nearly unrecognizable on the street. Jack is not acting a part now."

But Winston saw the quick flash in Wade's eyes, quickly hidden, that so briefly contradicted Carlotta's words.

"Everybody acts parts all the time," Peter put in. "Except maybe Ray." He flashed a grin at Stantz at the end of the table. "It's instinctive." He'd gotten caught up in the subject and, as usual when he did that, he dropped his more ignorant persona and let his intelligence show. "It's partly cultural. Everybody has secrets. Once we got captured by a demon who threatened to kill us all unless one of us revealed his most shameful secret. Even knowing we could die, we all hesitated. And the funny thing is, when we all did confess, they weren't so bad after all. They were even kind of silly. But maybe that's the worst kind. Nobody wants to look silly in front of the other guy, or have somebody else look down on them. So it's the best foot forward all the time." He grinned, striking a pose without moving a muscle. "Unless you're perfect to start with."

"You, for instance?" Egon teased him. "I know you too well for that, Peter."

"I bet." Peter darted a quick glance at the head of the table as if to try to guess what dark secrets occupied Chant. "What do you think, Daniel? As a student of the occult, you have to be a student of human nature."

"And a more fascinating subject is hard to imagine," the mustached man replied. He paused, salad fork in his hand. "Maybe that's why you chose to take up psychology, Peter. Carlotta, you, too, must know people well." He smiled at her. "Of course you are able to see beneath the surface. Maybe you always know our shameful secrets." Winston could have sworn he was trying to communicate something to her, maybe hoping she could read a secret he concealed from everyone else.

"No," she said rather too hastily before continuing in a rush. "I had to learn to block out random input or I'd know too much--and the knowledge would overwhelm me. It doesn't always work in any case. Most of the time, I'm like the rest of you. I have to rely on what I know of people's interactions, what I observe, what I can reason. But sometimes a light flashes on and I can see past those things to something inside. It's a gift and a curse, and it doesn't often bother with people's shoddy secrets. I might feel one man is trustworthy and another devious, but not why, though sometimes I see images. You asked for a seance, Daniel, but I'm not sure the house would welcome it. Perhaps that's simply my awareness of the Colonel's ghost, though, and I might feel better after I've seen him." Her voice seemed to stiffen slightly when speaking to Daniel; it was such a small difference Winston didn't think most people would notice it. Ray didn't, but Zeddemore thought maybe Peter did.

"Wouldn't it be better to hold a seance in daylight?" Margaret asked. "Wouldn't the darkness be too tempting otherwise? Or have they traditionally been held in darkness to cover the sham--not, of course, that I'm accusing you of sham, my dear," she added hastily. "But when I watch that psychic Bassingame on cable TV, I always know he's perpetrating a fraud."

"He sure is," Ray agreed. "It doesn't matter so much on TV; they have to have studio lighting anyway, but in a real seance, it's different. The spirits supposedly won't come if the light is too bright." Ray chuckled. "But I think that's just silly. Maybe some won't but holding seances in the dark is usually done for atmosphere, and because some phony psychics think they can get away with things in the dark. Even

a high-tech fake medium has props he wants to conceal. Carlie knows. She helped me expose a fake a couple of months ago who was ripping off little old ladies."

"Oh, so you're the one who helped Ray out," Winston realized. He put down his salad fork and let a servant remove the plate, replacing it smoothly with a main dish that included crispy grilled fish and a green vegetable. Savory aromas rose from the plate. "He told us about that. Good work. I hate it when somebody takes advantage like that."

"I hate it when anyone takes advantage," Carlotta agreed. "That's why I volunteer to help the police find missing children, even though it hurts inside to feel their fear and pain." Her fingers closed too tightly around her salad fork, and she was startled when Ray touched her arm and nodded at the waiter. "Oh, sorry." She gave the plate to him and accepted her entree. At the other end of the table, Daniel watched them and something in his face closed away. Winston hoped that didn't mean trouble.

Peter jumped in with a comment about Dr. Basingame that set Ray off on a lengthy explanation of what he did to con people and how easy it was to fake spirit visits at a seance, and for a few minutes, everyone forgot about Carlotta. But Winston could feel her deep distress as she made herself eat her fish. The atmosphere of the house must still be affecting her, he realized. Or did she feel the fear and pain of the women who had been harmed here? It was all Winston could do to sit calmly at Chant's table and be polite to him.

Conversation broke down into smaller groups then, and Winston found himself discussing fishing with Chester Applewood, who explained he was a deep sea fishing addict and often went on fishing cruises while his wife was busy with her legislative work. Somehow it seemed a rather daring hobby for the little man, but his face shone as he described a barracuda he had caught off the coast of Miami the previous year.

Across from him he could hear Peter proposing ludicrous subjects for Broadway musicals to Sonya. "...how about the Crash of The Hindenberg? Or wait. Maybe a play about Gargoyles? There's all these urban legends that people have seen them flying over the city. Hard to tell with all that smog...."

Chant spoke with Egon and Margaret Applewood about a book they had obviously all read, the senator giving her considered opinion of its value while Chant deferred to the physicist. "And what do you think, Egon? Your physics background should prove a natural for such a subject." Egon raised his eyes from his plate and gave a succinct summary, then returned his attention to his food again, but not before he'd cast a quick glance down the table at Carlotta. She still seemed uneasy but maybe Winston could tell that because he was sitting next to her.

"...took the better part of three hours to land the thing...." Chester boasted.

"It's gonna be okay," Ray was soothing the psychic. Winston didn't think Chant would be able to hear him, but Jack Wade could. He watched them both from beneath lowered brows as he dealt with his fish. Ray was right, there was something going on with him. Every now and then he pulled his eyes away from Carlotta and Ray, and cast a completely unreadable glance at Daniel Chant. If he wasn't really into the occult, why had he cultivated the occultist's acquaintance? Or maybe Chant had gone after him. He was a rising Broadway star after all, even if he had been somewhat inarticulate that evening.

"I'm not sure I can do the seance, Ray. It might be dangerous."

"....nearly broke my line, I can tell you. When I finally got him up to the boat...."

"...or how about a play about the Ghostbusters? We're famous, after all. They did two movies about us already."

Winston glanced over at Jack and caught his eye. The actor heaved a sigh and mouthed, "I wish this was over." Maybe he wasn't good in groups. Or maybe something else was bothering him, possibly that room up in the attic.

"We'll do dessert later," Chant said when the plates were removed. "If we want to see the Colonel, now is the time to go. We'll go upstairs and prepare. He comes right on schedule. I've never had him disappoint guests yet."

Egon at once picked up his P.K.E. meter and motioned for Ray to do the same. Although both meters had been activated during the course of the meal, they had given off no readings. Winston wasn't sure that was good or bad. But now Ray's stirred faintly, causing everyone to stop and stare at it as if it had suddenly announced the last trump.

"Let's hurry," Chant encouraged. "Ray's picking up something. It must be the Colonel, right on schedule."

They went up the stairs to the second floor in a bunch, trailing after their host, who had encouraged Egon and Carlotta walk on either side of him, and Wade fell into step with Winston. "You know, a part of me wants to see this, and another part, probably the bigger part, says I'm nuts to even consider it."

"I still remember my first ghost," Winston agreed, understanding the actor's reluctance. "I wanted to run ten miles in the opposite direction. There's mornings I get up and still feel that way, believe me, or times when I'm face to face with a class seven demon when I think I'm definitely in the wrong line of work. But then we go in and clean out somebody's place for them, or we help a ghost disperse peacefully, and I know it's the only job for me. The colonel won't be scary. He's just a repeating phantasm. He's not going to interact with us."

"How do you know?" Wade asked wryly. "I wouldn't put it past Chant to have a spirit that performs to order."

Winston glanced up at their host who was still walking between Egon and Carlotta. "You got a case against him, m'man?" he asked in an undertone. It would explain a lot if he were right.

Jack dismissed the question with a quick gesture. "Maybe. Tell you about it later."

So there was something. Winston filed that away to think about later, because at that moment, Chant opened the door to the south hallway. This was where the repair work was supposedly being done, but evidence of construction wasn't visible in the corridor except for a toolbox with a saw protruding from it that had been left in the doorway of the most distant room. The guests crowded into the passage in a tight little circle and, at Chant's direction, spread out along the walls. Egon frowned over his meter, and Peter could be heard offering to protect Sonya, who didn't seem the least worried. That was right, she'd seen the spirit the night before.

"I guarantee he will not hurt you," Daniel promised, overhearing Peter's words. "I wouldn't expose my guests to danger."

Peter's face scrunched up as if to call him on his claim but Egon caught the psychologist's wrist automatically as if he knew without telling exactly what Peter had meant to say. Peter grimaced, then gave Spengler a quick thumbs' up.

"And if you block his way?" Carlotta asked uneasily. She had spoken directly to Daniel very little since her arrival, and at the question, his eyes went to her face and he smiled gently.

"Then, my dear, he walks right through you. He's done it to me and I've taken no harm. There is a sensation of cold but it is momentary. Don't be alarmed. You see the Ghostbusters haven't even troubled to put on their proton packs."

"Think we shoulda?" Peter asked, measuring the distance to their rooms with his eyes.

Sonya laughed. "No, for there is no danger. Remember, I saw the colonel last night. It was a mildly unnerving sensation but it didn't do any harm. I didn't even dream of it."

"There!" cried Margaret Applewood, flinging out a beringed hand and pointing. "It's coming."

Chester moved closer to her, whether to seek protection or offer it Winston wasn't sure, and took her hand. "It's all right, dear," he said reassuringly, patting her fingers.

"Yes, yes, I know," she replied impatiently. "Look at it. It's hard to believe it's real."

The ghost moved as if it were still alive, striding down the hall in a great hurry, its balance thrown off by a slight limp. It didn't wear a Civil War uniform after all; Winston had somehow expected it would, and he was mildly disappointed. The ghost had been a tall man, spare and loose jointed, but he moved with grim determination. His face sported side whiskers, and his eyes shone vivid blue. There was a purpose in his walk, a fierce intent to accomplish a purpose, but there was also misery in the blue of his eyes and in the way his mouth twisted. The muscles of his jaw bunched, and in his hand he held something too blurry to see. Although he was clearly unaware of the presence of his audience, he didn't look as if he meant the living to stop him.

Carlotta Goerteborg braced herself, stepped directly into his path, and put out a hand toward him.

"Carlie, no!" cried Ray and reached for her to draw her back as if he'd sensed a danger none of the rest of them had considered.

He was not in time. Before he could pull her away, the Colonel's ghost walked right through her, the hand vanishing into his chest and emerging out his spine, then as he thrust forward without check, his larger shape blurred the small woman for an endless second. She gasped and yanked the hand back to press it against her mouth as the ghost continued onward. It tugged open an invisible door, passed through it, and vanished from sight.

Carlotta's eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed in a dead faint. Ray and Chant lunged at her as if they'd choreographed their movements and caught her before she could hit the floor.

"I think she'll be okay," Ray told the others as he carried the slight woman down the hall toward her bedroom. She had a shock. She's sensitive to emotions and you could tell the Colonel was awfully upset about something. Even if he couldn't actually communicate with her, she could sense whatever turned him into a fixed repeater. I'll just lay her on her bed and wait with her till she wakes up."

Peter bounded ahead and opened the door for him. "Want us to wait with you?"

"No, I think she'll talk to me better if it's just the two of us. If there's anything about the ghost we need to know, I'll tell you."

"Okay, Tex, hang in there." Peter reached inside to flip the switch, then stood aside to let Ray carry her into the room.

"I should have warned her; Ray's right," Chant murmured in distress. He had let Ray take her, but his eyes followed Stantz as he moved away. "I ought to be shot for a total idiot. I wouldn't have had anything happen to her for the world. She's very sensitive to moods, and I've seen the colonel's expression before."

"In general, a ghost of his type passing through a human being would only create a momentary sensation of cold," Egon began.

"Yeah, and a kind of an 'ugh' feeling," Peter confirmed. "I hate it when ghosts fly through me. But they don't make me keel over either."

"You have to be sensitive for that to happen," Egon told him, his eyes on his meter as he studied the readings.

"Gee, thanks, if your best friend can't tell you...."

Surprised, Egon lifted his head and frowned at Peter. "I meant sensitive to emotion the way Carlotta is. From what Ray says, her gift is genuine."

"Well, that's better," Peter said, letting Egon off the hook with a grin.

"But you mean she fainted because she could feel the colonel's emotions?" Sonya asked. They stood clustered in the north wing hallway outside Carlotta's room. Peter could see Ray fussing over her and knew she'd probably wake up any minute and wouldn't need an audience. Chant had edged close to stare into the room, and even an idiot could tell he was worried about the young psychic.

"Bingo," Peter agreed. "Maybe you can find out more about your ghost now, Daniel. But I don't think she's gonna need us all out here hovering like vultures when she wakes up. Didn't you say something about dessert?"

"An excellent idea," their host said, although hospitality took more of an effort than it had before Carlotta's collapse. He collected his guests and waved them toward the stairway, casting a wistful look over his shoulder as if he would have liked to stay. Egon lingered with Peter.

Chant paused a short distance down the hallway and returned. "Ray, if she doesn't revive soon, please let me know. I can call in the paramedics to check her out. I'm sorry about what happened to her" He looked as if he would have liked to camp outside her door. Genuine emotion flashed through his eyes.

"I think she'll revive soon," Ray said hopefully. "I think it was just a faint, but I'll let you know if she doesn't come to right away."

Chant nodded, and hurried after his demoralized guests.

Peter hung back a second when the others started toward the stairs. "Ray, we're all going downstairs again," he called from the doorway. "Sure you want us to go?" Egon lowered the meter he'd been using to take biorhythm readings of Carlotta but hesitated at Peter's words.

Ray hesitated. "Maybe you better stay, Peter. Because she looked pretty upset." He thought it over. "No, go on down and have your dessert. I'll talk to her first; she knows me. If we need you, I'll come and get you." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, chafing the woman's hand, and Peter could see she was already beginning to stir. She'd be awake in a few minutes anyway. It had been a simple faint even if it had been induced by the colonel's emotions. She'd probably be disoriented for a minute or two, but it would be better for her to have Ray with her, whom she knew and liked, than to have to pull herself together for a stranger, even one as brilliant and gorgeous as Peter. He grinned. If she needed a psychologist, Ray would send for him.

But he had an uneasy feeling maybe he should stay.

"Go on, guys," he said, urging Egon and Winston after the others. "Doctor Peter is on duty, and I'll give a yell if I need you."

"All right," Egon conceded. "I'll correlate these readings. It may well be that more is going on here than we expected and I think we should keep an eye on Chant," he added in a lower voice before he and Winston turned away. Peter could hear their footsteps on the stairs as they hurried after the others.

Dragging out a ladderback chair from the room he shared with Egon, Venkman called to Ray, "I'll wait out here. If she knows anything that can help us, I can get the guys." He positioned the chair so he could see into the room. Carlotta wouldn't notice him immediately when she woke up but he'd be able to hear her and know if she needed more help than just the comforting presence of a friend.

"It was the colonel she encountered, Peter, not whatever hurt Donna and Andrea," Ray argued without turning his gaze from the unconscious woman.

"And maybe they go together. We don't know. Something nasty had to happen to make the colonel into a fixed repeater. Maybe this kind of thing didn't start with Chant. Maybe it's been going on for over a hundred years. It's gotta be pretty bad if the Colonel walks just because it's the same time of night. Some of 'em need a thunderstorm or a certain time of year, but he comes every single night. Maybe what Donna saw has been here a lot longer than we thought."

"Omigosh," cried Ray in surprise. "I never thought of that." He fell silent a moment, then he said, "Carlie, can you hear me? It's Ray, you're safe now." His voice was very tender when he spoke to her, enough to let Peter know he probably liked her much more than he'd let the woman know, or even admitted to himself.

Peter craned his neck. He could see her move, see her hand tighten in Ray's reassuring grip. "Oh, Ray," she breathed in a shaken voice. "It was terrible...terrible. This is a terrible house. So many terrors, so many broken dreams, so much dark power." She shivered. "I...fainted, didn't I?"

"You scared me silly," Ray confessed. "I've seen a lot of fixed repeaters and some of 'em look a lot more scary than the colonel. I've even had them walk through me like that. And Daniel says this one has walked through people, too, but nobody ever fainted before."

"Nobody ever...felt what I felt before," she said.

Ray gathered her up and pulled her against his chest, and she clung to him. Peter could tell she was trembling. Ray stroked her hair. "Can you tell me about it? It might be important. I don't want to make you remember if it hurts too much, but a life might be at stake."

"So many lives," she murmured in a shaken little voice. "Not just one life. Dead, all of them dead, now, dying empty and alone. And he knows. He can't think. He's all one purpose, one purpose that he failed at. But he knows, all down through the years.... He knows...." She began to cry.

This sounded bad. Peter repressed a shiver.

"Carlie, I hate to make you talk about it. But there's more going on here than you know."

She collected herself with a sudden display of strength, breaking off the tears, though she still nestled into Ray's shoulder. "No, Ray. There's more here than you know. A lot more."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"Tell me what you know first," she urged. The trembling was slowing. She drew back from his embrace and propped herself against the ornately carved headboard of her bed.

Ray tucked the quilt over her, and her fingers moved restlessly over the antique squares as if she were tracing the pattern blindfolded. "It's a long story, and it's not very nice," he said, and told her about Justine Bell's visit and what the guys had learned since. She listened without a single interruption, huddled into the quilt, her eyes fixed upon his face, her complection as white as paper. "And we don't know if Caroline is even alive," Ray concluded. "There might be caves under the house. Donna said she was in a cave. And she said it was Daniel who brought her there, and then the demon came."

Maybe being a psychic made Carlotta receptive to belief. "I know," she said, shaken. "It's a terrible story, but it's not all of it. I only saw it in flashes, but it went on and on and on."

"But Daniel hasn't been here that long, and the Colonel died in the 1870s," Ray reminded her.

"The creature has been here at least that long," Carlotta said.

A lightbulb went on in Peter's head. What if Daniel hadn't even planned to deliver young women for the demon to feed on? What if he'd simply moved into the wrong house? Maybe he wasn't completely a bad guy after all. Maybe he was just--possessed. It was a stretch because it turned everything around, and Egon hadn't been able to prove it with readings but it might explain why he had invited the Ghostbusters to a weekend at Xanadu. He might be desperate for their help.

"How do you know?" Ray asked.

"Because the colonel was going to try to save someone he cared about. His daughter, his granddaughter, I don't know. Details aren't there, just images, but it's someone who mattered to him. I can see her face, and she was fair like those women you told me about." She lifted her hands up and hid her face in them. "That's where he goes every night, hurrying to try to save her. He didn't know what he was up against, so he took a gun and he carried a stake to drive through the creature's heart. He didn't know what it was, but he'd read somewhere about that...remedy." She took her hands down and added in a more normal voice, "It wouldn't have worked, of course, and it didn't. Someone--I don't know who, I only got images--had lured the girl away, and she was to be sacrificed. I couldn't tell who did it, even if I could see a face. We might never know who it was back then. The Colonel got there too late, and she was drained, like you said Donna was. He attacked the creature--demon--whatever, but he couldn't stop it. And somehow, he died. The daughter was found kneeling over his broken body at the foot of the main staircase, and she couldn't tell what had happened to him. Those who were kind thought she had suffered a mental collapse at the shock of finding him. Those who were not so kind believed she had killed him herself and then went into shock from it. Apparently she never came out of it. She was placed in a 'madhouse'." She shivered. "All that was in images, and I might have some of the details wrong, but that's what I saw. And then other images, so fast I couldn't take them all in, other victims over the years, and he always races to stop them over and over, but of course he never can."

"That's terrible," Ray said, stroking her fingers.

"I could feel some of it when I came in here," Carlotta said. "I could always feel something hanging over Daniel, but it was outside him, not a part of him. I thought it was just that some of his occult games might be a little nasty and it distressed me because apart from that I...like him." Her voice caught, and so did Peter's breath because he could tell a major understatement when he heard one. She more than liked him still, even if she was holding herself aloof from him, and Peter doubted Ray understood. "I know stuff like that goes on and so do you. But he was always...nice to me and believed in my abilities and encouraged me when others avoided me and were uneasy around me." And that was only part of the story, Peter thought uncomfortably. Not that she was lying or siding with Daniel, but there was more to her interaction with him than a bit of encouragement on his part for her psi gifts. "I thought if I came up here I could see what was wrong with him and help him, but I didn't know it would be so terrible as this."

Peter knew there was something else he had to get clear before he went looking for Egon so he jumped up and stood in the doorway. "You mean it isn't Chant at all, it's the demon or whatever, and it makes him do it? Doesn't he know what he's doing?"

Carlotta looked past Ray at him and he could tell she had known he was here all along and was not surprised when he entered the conversation. "I think he knows and he doesn't," she said. "And I don't know if he goes along because he wants to, or if he got sucked in, or if it controls him and he can't do anything else, and if he's helpless I have to help. But he did invite you up here."

"And you think that means he wants our help?" Peter asked. "He didn't ask for it."

"Maybe he can't," Ray said. "Maybe he got into it on purpose because he didn't know how far it went. Or maybe he thought he could handle the demon or whatever it is, and then found out he couldn't. He doesn't act like he's guilty, does he?"

Peter rubbed his chin. "He might have blocked it away, repressed it, Ray. Sometimes people do when it's too much to bear. The thing is, he's messed around in rituals and nasty stuff for a long time. Maybe it doesn't bug him they way it would normal people. He can separate it from his daily life the same way people don't go around talking about sleeping with the boss's wife or cheating on his income tax."

"This is far, far worse than that," Carlotta said. She shivered herself out of the quilt and rearranged it around her shoulders. "A person who did this to women over and over, to anyone over and over, has to be depraved. Or under the entity's control. Either way is dangerous. He's been pleasant this evening, and always before, and the shadow over him does seem to be external--and I want so badly to believe he isn't doing it intentionally but I'm not certain I can."

"I bet he got into it voluntarily," said Ray, sitting back against one of the posts at the foot of the bed and checking the meter readings. "He'd tried other stuff before and came out on top. And I think he's the type of guy who is so sure that he knows enough to handle it. Maybe he was overconfident. But once he'd started, there'd be no way to stop, because the demon would be in charge. Or maybe he got off on it." His face wrinkled in a grimace at the very thought of that. "I've heard of people who like that kind of power. We don't know. But tonight, we have to find the caves." An idea struck him and he bounced forward on his knees and caught Carlotta's hand. "Can you sense where the entrance is?" he asked her hopefully.

The psychic took a deep breath and closed her eyes. For a long time, she didn't move or speak, but when Peter opened his mouth to prod her, Ray held up a warning hand and put a finger to his lips in the sign for silence. After a bit, she stirred but her eyes stayed closed. "I can feel the caves, they're vast and full of passages, a real labyrinth. I..." She put out her hand and Ray took it. At once she closed her fingers around Ray's so tightly he winced but didn't protest. "The...wine cellar," she said as if speaking by rote. "The last row of bottles--it swings aside and the steps are under it."

"No wonder," Peter said. "We expected the opening to be in the walls. I'll tell Egon and Winston; when everything's quiet for the night we'll go down and find them. Thanks."

Carlotta opened her eyes. "No. It's dangerous there. I...sense places that close away, places that have no way out. Holes that drop into eternity. Slippery walls. Caves can be dangerous."

"Caroline might still be alive," Ray said unarguably. "We have to go. But you're not coming with us. If that creature's down there, I think the evil you'd feel would be too much for you to endure. It would be a lot worse than the Colonel's ghost. Once we're down there, our meters will warn us of trouble. You have to stay up here."

"I might be able to sense Caroline, and I don't think you can," she disagreed, although the way her mouth twisted proved she didn't want to go.

"We can set the meters for human readings, too," Peter reminded her from the doorway. "We've had one set that way all along. Once we're down in the caves, we can get clearer readings. It's hard to take readings at all through solid stone and earth unless whatever we're looking for is right near the surface."

"Do you want me to let you sleep?" Ray asked.

"No, I'm all right. I can handle it. I'll come downstairs with you, but I'll tell Daniel I won't do a seance after all. He won't expect it after my reaction to the Colonel. I'll tell the others a little, not enough to make Daniel think we've figured out what was going on but that the Colonel was trying to save the life of a daughter or granddaughter and failed. Daniel won't connect that with what's going on here now, or if he does, he won't believe we will."

"You hope," Peter muttered under his breath from the doorway.

"The thing that bothers me," Carlotta continued, tossing aside the quilt and standing up, "is that there's something else, something I'm not remembering.... I've tried, I've looked at the images the colonel showed me, and there's something...."

"Caroline?" Peter prompted.

"No, it's something quite different. I just can't put it together. I don't think he ever did, that's why." She caught Ray by the wrist and gazed up into his eyes. "What scares me is that I think it might be important."

"I assure you," Daniel said as the somewhat demoralized group gathered around the buffet table to select their desserts, "that nothing like this ever happened here before. The ghost walked through me on several occasions and although it produced a sensation of cold, it didn't make me pass out."

"She's a psychic," Winston reminded him. "She'd probably be more sensitive to the auras or whatever you call it than the rest of us would be. I bet a genuine skeptic wouldn't even see the colonel, or would see less detail."

"For me, he was as clear as a photograph," Egon replied. "The readings were class four, strong, but not as strong as a conscious entity would be. What alarms me is that there were other readings tied into the apparition, a great many of them, all of them class three. It's possible a more conscious version of the Colonel exists, even if he doesn't appear. But that would not account for my readings. Part of that, of course, would be the events that drove the Colonel to walk as he does; the other players in the game."

"Other ghosts?" Winston asked in surprise. "I sure didn't see anything else."

"Neither did I," Sonya put in. She was whiter than usual as if she had been shocked out of her customary control by what she had seen. "Last night I thought it rather amusing, almost entertaining, but tonight...I hope that poor girl is all right. I talked to her very little, but she didn't seem the hysterical type."

"She isn't," Daniel replied immediately. "She's exceptionally competent. She helps the police look for missing children, and she doesn't charge for any reading she gives. I'd say she's remarkably normal and grounded for a psychic. She holds down a regular job during the week, too. I was flabbergasted when she fainted." He did look shaken and regretful. "I wouldn't have hurt her for the world."

"And you could tell it was genuine," Wade replied. "I've seen fake faints on stage, and none of them ever looked that realistic. Every drop of color went out of her face. Maybe there's more to your ghost than meets the eye, Danny."

"What about those readings?" Chester asked Egon. "Those extra ones, I mean. What do you think that's about? Or do you think that girl being receptive triggered a change?"

"Now there's a nasty thought," Winston muttered. "How about it, Egon?" he prompted.

The physicist met Winston's eyes, and it was clear to Zeddemore that Egon believed it tied into their purpose here, but he didn't yet understand why. "I would like to take additional readings all around the house, if you'll permit it," he said to Chant.

"Anywhere you like. Heap ashes on my head for what happened to Carlotta. I never dreamed she would be in danger. I wouldn't have asked her here unless I was absolutely certain she would be safe, and you have my word on that. So take all the readings you like. Maybe it will help."

He sounded sincere, but then he had to be good at that if he'd been luring young, blonde women up here for a year and never been found out until now.

"But at least sit down and eat some dessert before you start on your search," Chant continued. Winston wasn't sure if he were stalling or simply being a good host. It was hard to say what he was up to. "Everyone, try to relax. This isn't the house party I planned for you."

Sonya took a small plate of tiramisu and carried it toward the other room. "I think I'd like to have this in front of the fire. Anyone care to join me?"

"Have some cake, Egon," Winston urged. "We can't start anything until Peter and Ray come downstairs anyway. They may have some ideas about the colonel after talking to Carlotta." He knew very well the colonel wasn't Egon's primary concern, but the incident upstairs had surprised them all. Egon would want to learn if it tied into what had happened to the women in any way. Grabbing a couple of plates of chocolate cake, Winston nudged Egon in the general direction of the fireplace.

Chester took his wife's plate of trifle and a piece of carrot cake for himself. "Come along, dear. This is proving quite a weekend, if I do say so."

"I just hope that young woman is all right," Margaret said, casting a wary glance at Chant as if she wasn't sure about a man who let dangerous ghosts roam about his property unchecked. "Can you Ghostbusters bust the Colonel?"

"It would not be difficult," Egon replied, "even if it meant waiting until tomorrow evening when he reappears. Ghosts of that type don't even need a thrower. Simply activating the trap will suffice." He took the cake Winston passed him and set it aside on the end table. Dropping into a chair, he began to readjust the meter he held. "Let me check the settings," he said.

A fire crackled and frolicked in the huge grate, cutting through the autumn chill that had settled over the group and producing both warmth and dancing light. The terrace doors stood open, but as if he realized the weather had turned, Daniel gestured for one of the servants to close them. The man obeyed stolidly. They were sealed in.

Daniel took the chair beside Egon. "Is there anything I can do? As you know, I'm rather well versed in the occult. I don't know as much about your work as I should, perhaps, just the little I've read and seen on television, but there are other ways to stop ghosts besides trapping them."

"Those methods often come attached to dangerous rituals," Egon replied dismissively. "And it is entirely possible that the Colonel will be safe to remain here as long as you don't expose people like Carlotta to it. The traumatic event necessary to create that type of spirit can be shocking, and she may have been able to sense the emotions connected with it. Perhaps because of her it was stronger than usual. Did any of the rest of you feel anything?"

Sonya rubbed her bare arms without realizing she was doing it. "I felt a brief whiff of sorrow and anger, all tied up together."

"As did I," Margaret Applewood admitted. She forked up a bite of her trifle but didn't eat it. "At the moment Carlotta fainted, I was distinctly uncomfortable." Staring unseeingly at the desert on her fork, she appeared to go into a brief trance as she recalled the experience, then she caught herself and started eating.

"I only felt cold," Jack Wade admitted reluctantly as if he didn't want to give the ghost even that much credence. "And it was gone again quickly. It wasn't even that bad."

The servant returned and began to distribute coffee to the guests.

"I felt the cold, too," Winston admitted, curling his fingers around his cup. "But it didn't bother me; I'm used to that when we run into certain types of ghosts. What about you, Egon?" He took a swallow. Chant served excellent coffee.

"I felt a faint sensation of anger and grief," Egon admitted, receiving his coffee and setting the cup beside his cake plate. "At the time, I didn't exactly register what I was feeling, but now that I've given it some thought, I must say Ms. Asgaard's description sums it up quite well." He twiddled the dials, producing a faint peep of sound from the device, and a mere flicker of the lighted tips of the antennae. "There's a lingering residue, as if the house's ambient energy level is rising."

"What's that mean in English?" Wade challenged. He did not look remotely happy. Gulping the coffee as if he needed it to warm his insides, he fastened his eyes on the physicist over its rim.

"There is a consistent level of psycho-kinetic energy in our surroundings at any given moment," Egon explained, sharing the explanation with the entire group. "It's perfectly natural, and I keep ongoing records of it, testing the readings at the same time each day. That way, in the city, I can tell if energy is building up for a major paranormal event. I don't know the cyclical rhythms of this neighborhood or this house, but the readings are stronger now than they were this afternoon. Of course, that could simply be a residue of the Colonel's visit. The readings may always be stronger after his visit and then fade again. I shall take hourly readings for the rest of the evening." He took a quick bite of cake.

"I would suspect there was a lot more science in your job than I had first assumed," the senator said. She had ladled up trifle the whole time Egon spoke and paused now with a piece of strawberry on her fork. "I once read an article that said you try to approach a subject that had never been quantified before with careful use of the scientific method, but I'm afraid I thought that was just public relations, to make your work acceptable to the skeptics."

"No, we can document everything we do, and we can duplicate results," Egon replied. "A true scientist should consider our work with an open mind but, unfortunately, many do not." Winston could tell he was distracted and was speaking old familiar arguments and explanations while his mind pondered what he was detecting, and what he clearly didn't mean to share with the group. Maybe he'd finally been able to detect Caroline's presence. Winston hoped so, at least if it meant nothing had been done to hurt her yet.

"So what will you do next?" Chant asked. He had taken neither coffee nor dessert. Talk of 'ambient energy levels' had clearly intrigued him, distracting him from the creature comforts. "I've tried to imagine where the Colonel is going in such a hurry, but it's only in that hall that he's been seen."

"And obviously not interacting with others," Chester Applewood said surprisingly. "Because presumably we'd see any other entities or see his reaction if he saw someone. He doesn't stop for anything. I think he would have walked through a brick wall to get where he was going. If he'd seen anybody, he might have ignored them, but if he'd met someone involved with what ticked him off, it would have shown on his face, I think."

"Well reasoned," Egon approved. "Winston, would you run upstairs and see if Carlotta has awakened? I need to know what she has to say." He set aside the meter still activated and picked up his cake plate, taking another bite as Winston started to stand up.

"I'm awake." The young woman left the staircase and walked across the large room toward the group around the fireplace, Ray at her side and Peter trailing a few steps behind them. Both men had donned their Ghostbuster jumpsuits, but neither of them had put on a proton pack. Noticing the dessert tray, Peter's eyes brightened and he made a hasty detour toward it, grabbing a plate of cake and a second one for Ray, who took it without realizing what he was doing.

"Cake?" Peter asked Carlotta, hovering near the food.

"I couldn't eat. I wouldn't object to some coffee, though."

"Sit here," Ray said, gesturing toward a striped wing chair. Chant gestured back the servant who was lingering the buffet area and he produced a coffee cup and gave it to the psychic.

"Carlotta, I can't tell you how sorry I am you suffered distress in my house," Daniel told her, and there was nothing but sincerity in his voice. "I'd have done anything to avoid that."

"I didn't mean to faint," Carlotta said as soon as she had settled herself. "It was just that I felt the Colonel's emotions and they were overwhelming." She sipped the hot liquid gratefully.

"Did he communicate with you?" Sonya asked, intrigued. She leaned closer to the younger woman, her body language encouraging the sharing of secrets.

"No. Because in a way he's not there. Only his image is there," Carlotta replied. "All I got was a residue of his feelings. Anger and sorrow. It was overwhelming, but it wasn't specific."

Ray caught Egon's eye and tried to convey a message. There was more Carlotta wasn't telling. Winston and Egon knew him well enough to pick it up, but the others wouldn't. Chant was looking at Carlotta and not at Ray and missed it, but Winston thought Sonya saw the warning. She was a perceptive woman.

She said nothing, though, only reached out and patted Carlotta's hand. "Are you all right?"

"I am now. I didn't mean to upset anyone."

"We were worried about you," Ray put in quickly as if to remind her she was not to blame. "You know we were."

"Carlotta's not up to a seance tonight," Peter added, dropping down on the arm of the sofa next to Egon. "Besides, I think we've had all the paranormal fun and games we want for now. If you want us to bust him tomorrow night, we will," he added to Chant.

Chant stared at him in surprise. "I'd prefer not to do that unless it's what Carlotta wants. I'd rather find out why he walks each night. If he's angry and upset, we might be able to solve the mystery. I haven't made a concerted effort to do research on him, but there would surely be records in the local newspapers, if they go back that far."

"Probably microfiche in the basement," Ray said with a quick grin. "We've done small town research before and that's usually the best we get. Once in awhile, the old papers themselves are bound, but they're pretty crumbly after so long. Sometimes the old-timers know the local legends. Did you hear anything from the realtor when you bought the house?" He looked rather impatient as if he was just dying to tell Egon and Winston what he'd learned and what he felt was clearly important. "But we can't do that tonight. I think we should try to figure out where he was headed. Egon, is there any rise in the energy levels?"

"There is indeed. I was just remarking on it. Presently we'll do another scan of the house."

"Yes, because if he was sorrowing as well as angry, I find myself in sympathy with him," Sonya put in. "Not for giving you a fright, dear," she assured Carlotta. "But something was wrong. I'd hate to see it go unresolved."

"So would I," Jack put in unexpectedly. "I think there must be something you Ghostbusters could do so he didn't have to walk like that. When I though it was just an echo, I didn't mind, but I hate leaving things undone." To everyone's surprise, he sounded quite fierce about it.

"I give you freedom of the house," Chant put in. "With the proviso that you get the permission of the other guests to enter their bedrooms."

"He was heading away from the bedrooms," Peter reminded him. "Looked like he was gonna take off down the stairs when we saw him last. Nobody ever saw him going down?"

Chant shook his head. "Not that I've been able to find. I'd guess whatever upset him started in the hall or he realized whatever it was in the hall. It's hard to say. I've tried to call him up in a seance. I had another psychic up here once, and he tried, but we didn't have any luck. He said there was something he could feel and it was angry and that it was probably best to leave it alone, but that's as close as we came. Do you want me to come with you while you search?"

"It's better alone," Egon said firmly. "We'll bring down our proton packs in a short while and start the search. In spite of the fact that he appears upstairs, the readings are stronger down here than they were up there."

"What does that mean?" Margaret Applewood demanded. She noticed her trifle was gone and cast a momentary look of regret at her empty plate before turning her attention back to Egon.

"We don't know yet," Winston put in quickly. What he couldn't figure was why Chant was being so cooperative. He had made no obvious attempts to block their efforts. On the other hand, they hadn't found the way to the caves yet. Maybe he was so secure in the concealment of their secret entrance that he didn't think he had to worry. Only, the guy didn't look devious. He looked anxious, willing to do all he could. Winston couldn't figure it out.

Wade sat back in his chair, scowling impartially around the room. Maybe he'd wanted to tag along, too. The Applewoods had drawn closer together as if they shared a joint uneasiness over the events of the weekend, and Sonya Asgaard's eyes were bright with interest, her clever mind hard at work. Carlotta sat swallowed up in the wing chair, her face too pale.

Peter went over to Sonya, bent down, and whispered something in her ear, winning a surprised reaction from Jack Wade, who was still giving her a wide berth. The playwright listened to Venkman, then nodded. He waved a hand for attention. "Listen, everybody. I asked Sonya to keep an eye on Carlotta for the rest of the evening. The guys and I are gonna be busy, and she's still a little bit shaken up. And since Ray has to come with us instead of doing a Romeo number, I thought it was a good idea." His eyes held a challenge as if warning that he intended no harm come to her or they'd face his wrath.

"No one would hurt Carlotta," Chant put in hastily. He got up from his chair and went to stand beside hers, casting a surprised and almost jealous look in Ray's direction. "I guarantee it. I was going to suggest we all stay together anyway. It's not that late, but perhaps an early night. If anyone is up for watching videos or playing cards or something we can all do together, there's a recreation room on the lower level."

Sneaky, thought Winston. He knew, all right. He knew where they intended to go the minute they started their search, and he wanted to be close at hand. Winston resolved not to trust the man one inch.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Ray asked Carlotta as the other three Ghostbusters went upstairs to fetch down their proton packs and Egon and Winston to put on their jumpsuits.

"I'll be fine. Peter asked Sonya to look after me."

"We'll all be here," Wade reminded Ray. He gave Carlotta a warmer smile than Ray appreciated. "We don't want anything to happen to anybody, believe me. My mama raised me to look after the ladies, especially a damsel in distress."

Carlotta smiled. "An old fashioned boy," she said in a faint attempt at teasing. "I really can take care of myself. It was just unexpected. Ray, don't worry. If everyone here can't protect me, then all of us are in trouble, not just me."

But you might be in more danger than any of them, Ray thought in alarm. You're the only one the right age to tempt the demon, even if he does like blondes. I was sure you were safe, but now I just don't know....

"I know. But you gave us all a scare," he told her. "Gosh, I never thought anything like that would happen." He put his hands on her shoulder and leaned in closer. "Yell for us if you remember what you couldn't before. Maybe I should give you my walkie-talkie," he added more loudly. "That way you could call us if you needed to."

"I know I'd feel better," she agreed and accepted it when Ray detached it from his belt and passed it over, showing her how to use it.

Wade edged up and watched. Ray knew he had his own purpose, but he wasn't sure what it was yet. He might even be in on it all with Chant; he called him Danny when no one else was so familiar and he'd pasted himself onto the earlier search, the one in the attic, although the seance room had appeared to distress him.

Chant came up to Carlotta and touched her shoulder. "Are you sure you're all right? Would you like to go to bed?"

"No, I'm all right." She held up the walkie-talkie. "Ray gave me this. I'll come along with the rest of you, and if they get into trouble, we can race to the rescue."

He nodded, accepting that. "Where will you start?" he asked, turning to Ray.

"Egon says the residuals are stronger here than upstairs," Ray replied. "So we'll start by going down, not up. The Colonel was heading for the stairs, after all. Peter and Egon didn't find anything in the basement, but it might be cyclical." He could say that much, and if Chant was fully cognizant of what was happening he'd know where they were heading anyway. Would he let them find the secret way into the caves or manage to prevent it? If Caroline was still down there, he wouldn't want them in the caverns at all. If he'd dumped her on a street in the city, she might be anywhere, wandering around, or dead, beyond help.

"Then you must start down there," Chant said. The words came out reluctantly, as if he had to find a way to stop them that wouldn't make the other guests suspicious--or as if he wanted to encourage them but found it difficult.

Peter came hurrying down the stairs again, pack on his back and carrying Ray's pack. "Here you go, Tex," he said as the others started down the stairs after him, passing it over with relief. "Gear up."

"Are you going to bust the Colonel?" Senator Applewood asked.

"Only if we have to," Egon replied. "His actual ghost may not be there, but we hope the fact that his appearance triggered an increase in paranormal activity in the house may lead us to the source of the disturbance."

"After what it did to Carlotta, I'm rethinking the situation," Daniel said sincerely. "The ghost has always been a draw. I've gotten a charge out of bringing together interesting people for the weekends, and I know the ghost is one of the things that brings them here. Not that I'm not witty and charming enough on my own," he added with a wry grin.

Carlotta looked up at him and Ray noticed a wince on her face. Maybe she was thinking about the darkness she could see around him. Or maybe she really did find him charming. Ray knew the other girls had been blonde, but who was to say Daniel wouldn't make an exception, even if he genuinely liked her.

"Let's move, gentlemen," Egon said, finishing his preparations with the P.K.E. meter.

Ray started for the basement stairs, but Daniel paused and put a hand out to halt Egon. "I...wish I could help you, Egon," he said with what seemed some difficulty. Ray saw Peter pause and stare at their host in surprise at his tone. Egon looked at him with fascination and held the meter out to take a reading of the other man. Chant braced himself as if he didn't want it taken, but he didn't move or speak. Egon didn't reveal his findings to the others.

"I understand," he said ambiguously. "You won't limit our search?"

"I won't," Daniel replied, a faint emphasis on the first word. Peter's eyebrows crawled up his scalp. Winston paused before he finished snapping the stomach strap of his pack and cast a curious glance around the group.

And Carlotta put her hand on Daniel's arm and patted it gently. "I'll remember," she said.

It was as if there were three or four conversations going on at the same time, and Ray wasn't sure if anyone speaking really knew what the others meant or if they only thought they did. Sonya was speaking to Jack, who was trying to edge a little further away from her, and neither of them noticed, but Margaret and Chester did. Ray caught a very shrewd look in the little man's eyes.

Chant put his hand over Carlotta's then lifted it again as if he had been scorched, or as if he feared he would scorch her. His fingers hovered above hers, then he collected himself resolutely and pulled his hand back. "Start in...the...the...the wine cellar," he urged.

Egon drew in his breath at the uncharacteristic stutter, and Ray felt realization dawning. Unless Chant was being as devious as possible to confuse the issue, he might be trying to help them, working past a control he couldn't really surmount. If he was under the control of a demon, it wouldn't allow him to speak. If Chant was sincere, then maybe he was helpless and could only help them with an effort or by standing back passively and letting them search at will. But if he were involved on purpose, reveling in the destruction of the young women, he might want others to believe him a victim. There might be no way to press criminal charges against him, and even if the women tried, Ray wasn't sure he could be convicted. Donna had been traumatized but she had not been raped or beaten. If Chant were as devious as some believed him, he might be paving the way for claims of innocence. Or he might be a helpless victim himself.

"The wine cellar," Peter said brightly. "Okay, guys, we've got our orders. Let's mount up." He started down the stairs, but he paused a few steps down and looked over his shoulder, shooting a meaningful glance at the other three Ghostbusters.

"We'll all stay together," Chester Applewood called after them.

"And watch each other," Jack Wade added.

Was everyone in on the secret? Had they all worn false faces all day? Ray clattered down the stairs in Peter's wake, anxious to find out what everybody thought they knew.

"The last wine rack," Egon said, guiding the way over to the end of the room and staring at the massive shelving unit in surprise. He had never imagined one of the racks would conceal the opening. "How would it move?"

"Let me check," Winston said, prowling around the rack and running his fingers over the end supports. "What the heck was all that about?" He jerked his thumb upward in the direction of the last conversation.

"Either he wants to help us or he wants us to think he does," Peter said quickly. "And either he's had the hots for Carlotta all along or he's got her lined up as victim number four."

"You think Chester can watch her?" Ray asked anxiously. "I'm not sure I trust Jack."

"I think maybe we can," Winston said slowly as if he were running over possibilities in his mind. "For all he's so buddy-buddy with Daniel, I have a feeling he might be here undercover."

"Undercover?" Peter echoed dubiously. "He's an actor. I've seen him on stage. You think he's a cop or something? Or working for them?"

"Would you send an actor undercover if you were a police officer?" Egon asked. "No, I don't believe so. But I think Chant was trying to tell us he knows we're aware of the situation and acknowledging it exists. Whether he was doing it to proclaim innocence and ask for our help or to deceive us, I have no way of telling. He's certainly gone out of his way to give us freedom of the house. He has to know we told people where we were coming. I don't think he can easily dispose of us."

"Dispose of us?" Peter echoed, wheeling to stare at the physicist. "Gee, Egon, you have the nicest ideas. You mean he'd say, 'there was this demon and it was too powerful for the Ghostbusters' and hope everybody would buy it? Come on, if he was on the level, he'd have been reporting those women missing."

"No, he wouldn't say a word," Winston disagreed. He was down on his knees, prodding and poking under the wine bottles in their angled racks. The shelves were huge, towering above their heads and stretching away to the distant wall, each end of heavy wood. The thought that it would move was unlikely. "He'd just play it smooth and high handed. But he hasn't been high handed with us. I have to say, if I didn't know what I knew, I'd probably like the guy. He's maybe a little smug about himself, but he's been pretty pleasant."

"Yeah, but that's what he counts on," Peter reminded Winston. He prowled along the row, pulling out a wine bottle here and there and frowning over the labels. "A con man has to look good; he has to be likeable. All those occult people Ray knows can't be wrong about him."

"He might have got in over his head and be sorry now," Ray said quickly. Trust Stantz to look for the best in people.

"You're pretty generous, after the google eyes he was making at your girlfriend," Peter muttered, giving Ray a quick pat on the shoulder.

"She's not really my girlfriend," Ray corrected rather wistfully, as if he wished she were. "I just like her."

"Hey, I got it," Winston cried. "Stand back, Pete."

Peter jumped sideways as the whole heavy rack rose up a couple of inches and pivoted in his direction. It came to a rest against the far wall, exposing an opening that led down into darkness. Egon's meter went off wildly, beeping and blinking, antennae shooting up to stand at attention. A steep flight of stairs led down through the stone of the floor and vanished from sight in the dark, a metal railing running down beside them into darkness.

"Yikes," Peter said, casting a baleful glance at the shelf that had nearly pinned him against the wall. "Well, I'm not going down there."

"That's what we're here for, Peter," Egon reminded him impatiently. "We have to go down there."

"Well, what's down there, anyway?"

Egon knew Peter had no intention of remaining behind, but he had to protest for show. "Your meter doesn't like it much."

"Evidently a class seven entity, most likely a demon," Egon replied. "It must be the entity Donna Moreau reported. It's some distance away, but now the portal is open, I am able to detect it clearly. It's very strong to give off such an immediate reading. It seems I was right to bring the atomic destabilizer."

Peter cast a quick, wary glance at Egon's modified pack and thrower. "I thought that was what you had. I don't like that thing."

"We've used it safely on many occasions since the time it backfired on me," Egon reminded him. "A powerful demon often requires the destabilizer to enable us to trap it."

"Well, if you put it like that...." Peter edged closer and peered down the hole. "It's dark down there."

"Not entirely." Winston edged into the hole, climbing down a couple of steps sideways, because they were so narrow. "There's a light switch here." He paused and fumbled with the switch, and brightness sprang up, revealing the rest of the staircase, perhaps twice as long as a normal flight of stairs, coming to a stop on what looked like a rough, unfinished stone floor. "There's light here. I wonder who strung the wiring. Come on, guys."

"Well, if I hafta," Peter griped, and started down after Winston, grabbing the railing with one hand and his thrower with the other. "Winston, hang on," he urged. "Don't start off until we all get there."

"You called that one, m'man," Winston agreed, his voice echoing faintly. "Wow, this really opens out."

Ray jumped in after Peter and Egon came last. He turned off the sound function of the meter and stuck it, still activated, into the breast pocket of his jumpsuit to leave his hands free for railing and particle thrower.

Winston was right. When the four men gathered at the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in an enormous, natural cave that opened out to their right, away from the cliff face. A string of sixty-watt bulbs had been attached to the ceiling at forty-foot intervals, leading into two of the collection of tunnels that branched off the main room. It was readily apparent that those two passages were the only ones that could be entered while walking upright. It might be necessary to search the other ones to see if they could find Caroline Guest, but it might be better to see what was lit up first, to get a feel for the place.

"Any biorhythm readings, Raymond?" Egon asked.

Ray took out his meter and turned it on. It didn't seem to react, so he boosted the gain. "No. Well, nothing really close. I'll filter us out and try to set it up for any other readings. We're still close enough to the recreation room upstairs that it could be blocking any new readings." He bent his head over it, concentrating earnestly, the tip of his tongue protruding as he worked. When he had finished, he took a few steps away from the stone stairs and aimed the meter at the collection of openings in the cavern wall. The meter chirped gently.

"Hey," Peter said in surprise; none of them had really expected to pick up anything. "Maybe she's here after all. How are the readings? Weak?"

"Stronger than Donna's were," Ray admitted. "Not quite normal, but better than I would have expected if Caroline had been drained by the demon."

"Could it be one of Daniel's servants?" Winston suggested, taking off his belt flashlight and flashing it into a dark recession in the wall. All he revealed was a collection of stalactites and stalagmites, glistening in the beam's light. A narrower tunnel moved away behind them. At once Ray held the meter up to it and the reading faded.

"She's not down there," he said, turning to try the next one.

"Thank goodness," Peter said, his eyes never still as he scanned the cavern, watching all the openings. "Did I ever mention I don't like small, dark places?"

"That must be why you never clean your closet," Ray retorted automatically.

Peter stuck out his tongue at him but grew serious immediately. "Ray? Is the demon with the biorhythm readings you're getting? Are they together?"

"The demon is that way," Egon said, gesturing at the wider of the two tunnels.

"And the source of the biorhythm readings is that way," Ray said, pointing into a smaller tunnel that led in the opposite direction, and one that had no lighting rigged, although it was almost tall enough for them to walk upright. Ray, the shortest of the four, might have managed it but Egon would have to stoop.

"Then I think we'll have to split up," Egon suggested, "although either of them could move at any time. Peter, I want you to go after Caroline. I know it's a difficult task but you did so well with Donna I believe you would be the best one to reassure her, if the readings are actually her. Ray, you go with him. Your flashlight is working, isn't it?"

Ray clicked it on and a bright beam slid down the dark tunnel. "Working just fine."

"Good. Winston and I will investigate the main tunnel."

"Whoa! Wait a minute! Time out!" Peter interrupted, holding up his hands in the classic sports gesture then grabbing Egon by the arm. "No way, Spengs. No way the two of you are going to try to take on a powerful demon on your own. You know it takes all of us to bring down a class seven. Especially one that likes to eat souls. Besides, it might take all of us to get Caroline out. If the demon thinks we're going to take its dinner away, it might head this way fast."

"He does have a point," Winston agreed, glancing uneasily down the wider tunnel. "I don't like the idea of splitting up either. So we'll stick together unless something comes up to change that. Remember, we're down here without real backup. We don't even know if the walkie-talkie will work."

"I'd better try it and make sure it's working," Ray volunteered. Tucking his flashlight into his belt, he took the communicator and hit the 'transmit' button. "Ray to Carlie, Ray to Carlie. Over."

"I'm here, Ray," came the filtered voice. "You sound fainter than I thought. Where are you?"

"Looking for readings," Egon said hastily before Ray could explain their location. "Right where you suggested we look."

"We're just testing," Ray assured her. "Don't worry about us, we're all together and we'll stay together." He hesitated. "Did you remember what you thought of before?"

"No. But let me think about it. I'll call you back when I do," she promised.

Peter explained hastily to Winston and Egon what Carlotta had said. "Think it could mean anything?" Peter asked when Ray switched off the communicator and returned it to his belt. "What she saw or figured out when the colonel walked through her, I mean?"

"I don't know," Ray replied. "But Carlie isn't often wrong, and if she thinks it's important, it probably is. It's just that her visions don't come to order." He bent forward slightly, aiming his flashlight before him, and started down the tunnel in pursuit of the distant biorhythms.

"I want it down officially on record that I don't like this," Peter said before he plunged in after Ray, thrower gripped before him in his right hand and flashlight in his left. "Too bad we don't have those miners' hats with the light built in. It would leave our hands free. I'll have Janine order us a set of them before the next time we have to go spelunking. The budget can stand it."

"Hope there aren't any bats down here," Winston muttered as he fell into step.

"Bats?" Peter screeched, casting an accusing glance at Winston as if he knew Zeddemore was teasing him but reluctant to admit it. "You guys are no fun, do you know that? No fun at all...."

Egon smiled fondly, checked his meter to make certain the demon hadn't moved, then he followed his comrades into the darkness of the tunnel. It was far too short for him to stand upright. He hoped he wouldn't forget and bang his head on a projecting bit of stone.

"'Caverns measureless to man,'" Peter went on. "I knew I wasn't gonna like this part."

"'And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this Earth in fast thick pants were breathing....'" Winston quoted.

Peter shuddered elaborately. "Will you quit that," he chastised Zeddemore. "If the earth starts panting around me, I'm going home, I mean it."

"It's from that Kubla Khan poem, Peter," Egon said in amusement. "Rather apropos, I must say. Ray, how are the readings?"

"Strengthening," Ray admitted. "We're getting closer. No, wait, it's moving. Away from us."

"Ray, Ray, Ray," Peter chided in an undertone. "We're making as much noise as a herd of stampeding buffalo. If you're picking up on Caroline, she's probably scared to death. How about we try to be quiet."

"Then she'll think we're sneaking up on her," Ray objected. "I think we should call her name."

"The demon might hear," Winston protested, catching Ray's arm. They stood in a spot where the tunnel had widened out enough for the four of them to stand abreast. Above them, the ceiling rose a little, so they could stand up straight. Egon paused and rubbed his neck.

"If you think it doesn't already know we are here, then you're wrong," Egon replied. "It certainly knows someone is and has from the moment we turned on the lights, if not sooner." He checked his meter. The entity was still some distance away, behind them now, and to the left. He didn't like the thought that it could block them in a tunnel where it was too narrow to fire their throwers.

Peter glanced at the meter then at Egon. "Okay," he said. "But if this doesn't work...." He raised his voice. "Caroline? It's the Ghostbusters. We're here to rescue you. I sound like Ray," he added in an undertone. "He's always gung ho to race to the rescue."

Silence. They listened for an answering cry. Nothing but the fading echoes of Peter's shout. "At least the echo is a real echo," Peter said. "The one in Calimari's cabinet talked back to me."

He caught his breath and tried again. "It's all right, Caroline. We'll get you out of here."

"Wait," Ray gasped. "It's coming toward us now."

"Then I hope it's Caroline and not the demon's keeper," Peter said. He shone his torch down the passage and started forward to meet the other person, the rest of the team falling in behind him.

The sound of stones rattling announced the arrival of whoever lurked in the passageway. At first there was only a blur of motion at the far end of the passage, then a dark shape came into view, shielded by black cloak so long it trailed on the floor behind the muffled shape. A hood was clutched close around the face by a dirty hand. The mysterious figure came to a stop, studying them from a distance, the other hand raised to halt them. Winston's flashlight beam shot out and pinned the figure in brightness and it cried out--in a female voice--and flung up a hand to shield eyes grown accustomed to darkness. Peter made a quick gesture for silence as they stared at the ominous, cloaked shape and reached out to pull Winston's flashlight down so it pointed at the wall beside her. Then he holstered his thrower and approached warily, moving with exquisite care, trying not to startle her.

"It's all right," he said softly. "We really are the Ghostbusters. Caroline? Are you Caroline Guest? We've come to find you."

She flinched and backed up a couple of steps at his approach, then she let go of the hood and it fell back on her shoulders, revealing a pointy face streaked with dirt and tears, hollow eyes squinting at Peter as if he were a miracle. With a little cry, she flung herself at him and he put his arms around her and stroked the dirty, tangled hair. "Sssh, it's okay. We'll get you out of here, I promise."

"I want to go home," she moaned. She didn't sound as lost and deadened as Donna but she sounded on the edge of hysteria, only it was a drained hysteria as if it would take her into shaken sobs rather than screaming and ranting. "I don't want this. I've been hiding, but it knows where I am. It follows me, waiting for my energy to grow back. It's just biding its time." She gestured wildly into the dark passage where she had emerged, then pulled her hand back and clutched at the front of Peter's jumpsuit. "Oh, please...."

"It's all right, it's all right," Peter repeated. He sat down on a projecting rock and cradled her on his lap, eyes full of sympathy. "Are you hurt?"

"I feel like I've been torn apart," she said shakily. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad." She scarcely sounded glad, as if every emotion was muted, but the emotions were there. In spite of hiding in the underground caves, she appeared in a better condition than Donna had. "I thought I'd never see another human being. I want to go h-home."

"We'll take you home," Peter promised. "And we'll make sure this never happens again." His hand moved over her hair, soothing her, but he lifted worried eyes to the other three. "Keep an eye out, guys. I don't want anything sneaking up on us."

"He cried," she breathed as if she hadn't heard what Peter had said to the other three. "He cried the whole time. Oh, it hurt so much. It hurts me still. Please, please...."

"Who cried?" Winston asked in surprise. Demons didn't, as a rule.

Egon wasn't certain Caroline heard the question either, but she lifted her head and faced them. She looked as if she had spent the past few weeks living in hell, but the way she held her head up indicated a core of stubborn inner strength that just might get her through her ordeal. "Daniel," she said as if speaking of a stranger who had once been something more. "He did what it said, he did it all, the candles, the altar, the ritual. He said all the words--they were Latin, and I remembered a little. He told me I would serve a higher purpose, and that, later, I would be free, and I should be glad I could help to strengthen a being so far above us. His face was hard as stones and his words hurt like being hit with them, but he cried the whole time. And I saw it in his eyes; he was afraid. Even more than I was. And...and ashamed."

"I don't think you're the type to be afraid of much," Peter soothed. "And there is nothing for you to be ashamed of, either. I think you're as brave as anybody can ever be."

She gave a shaky laugh and gestured at herself. "I"m falling apart. I'm a wreck!"

"This is where I'm supposed to say you should see the other ones," Peter said in an attempt to reassure her. "You're doing much better than they are. I won't pretend it wasn't as bad as it gets or that all the pain is over, but you're here--and you're sane. It's a miracle."

She shivered. "People don't know I'm tough," she admitted in a faint, little voice, and leaned against him as if she desperately needed human contact. "They always think I'm soft and helpless, because that's the way I was always treated when I was growing up. My father gave me everything, and I didn't have to work if I didn't want to. But inside, I knew I did. I'm not soft, Dr. Venkman." Evidently she knew enough about the Ghostbusters to recognize him. She shivered against him, finally catching up on what he'd said. "Other ones? What other ones? You mean I wasn't the first?"

"Daniel brought at least two other women here before he brought you," Ray told her sympathetically. "I'm really sorry...."

"I knew, once he brought me down here, that he didn't love me," she said drearily. "And of course I couldn't love him now. That's all over. Any feeling I had for him just...stopped, except for pity. I pity him. I think the demon wanted me--my type, I mean. It liked the way I looked. It touched my hair. It...stroked my face. Oh, god, I thought it would rape me, but it didn't even try. I was so terrified, but all it did was put its hand here." She leaned a little away from Peter and pressed her palm against her chest between her breasts. The robe fell open revealing her nakedness beneath it, and Peter gently gathered up the edges and pulled them closed, covering her again.

"You don't have to tell us now," he soothed. "It's all right."

"I want to. I feel so empty inside. I know it took something from me, and when I realized it, that it was taking away my ability to feel anything but pain, I was angry, Dr. Venkman. I was furious. I'm not used to treatment like that and I don't like it. I was so angry the demon felt it. I was more angry than I was afraid. I wanted to kill it, to beat it and beat it until I crushed it to death. And I projected those feelings right at it. We had a battle of wills without a word being spoken. Daniel stood there the whole time, his hand on my shoulder as if he had to hold me down even if I was tied up, and tears were running down his face, and he cried so hard his nose was running, and he looked so pathetic. And I just hated the creature, and the ritual--and then I was all empty, like they'd poured water out of a cup and I could only lay there. And they went away, and after awhile, I realized I wasn't tied up any more so I got up and found this cloak and put it on. I don't know where my own clothes were, but they weren't here. I couldn't get out. I found the steps, but they were locked from on top, so I started wandering through the tunnels. It was dark; the light hurts my eyes now. But I kept going." Her voice ran on and on, a thin, trembling sound, and Peter let her talk as if he sensed she needed to say it all. "I found water, a stream, and there were fish in it. The water was so cold it burned, but I caught fish and ate them. I...called it sushi because it was raw, but I didn't care. I was hungry. I-I went on and on and wandered but I kept going back to the tunnel with the stream because it was the only food I could get, that and moss and beetles, and I-I-I think I'm going to be sick." She struggled wildly out of his grasp, and Peter bent over her, holding her and soothing her while she retched.

"You mean the demon didn't drain her?" Winston asked Ray.

"Yes, but maybe she had more to give than the others," he replied. "She's babbling now and pretty shaken up, but she had enough will to fend for herself. I think she's coming back on her own."

"It won't win," she sputtered, then bent again. "I won't let it win." Dry heaves racked her body, and Peter supported her and offered up a litany of soothing words. When she was finished, he produced a pocket package of Kleenex and wiped her face, offering her another to mop her eyes and blow her nose.

"It took emotions away," she said, wadding up the tissue in her hand. "I should have been more afraid than I was. That was the only thing that worked out. I wasn't afraid--and maybe because I was so mad, I had a little of that left. But I feel so empty."

"It won't always be like that," Ray consoled her, reaching forward to pat her on the shoulder. "Because we're going to stop the demon. We came to find you--but we came to make sure it never happened again, too. Can you tell us what it looked like, or will it be too hard to remember?"

"No, I want to tell you now while I can't feel very much," she insisted. Because you're right, Dr. Stantz. It's coming back. Feeling is coming back, and oh, god, it hurts. I have to tell it now, before it hurts more." Tears slid silently down her cheeks, and Egon felt a hard resolution build in him. They had to stop the demon, especially if Carlotta was right and it had been feeding on human will and emotions for over a century.

Taking a step backward so the sound of the P.K.E. meter wouldn't disturb her when he adjusted the volume, he reached for the detection device. Before he could draw it from his pocket, he felt a hand come to rest on his back between his shoulder blades, just above the top of his destabilizer proton pack.

Slender fingers slid down between the pack and his back, and the minute they touched him the ability to speak left his body. When he tried to raise his hand to the meter to turn up the sound as a warning before the entity pulled him away, he couldn't force his hand to grasp the meter. Instead he stood frozen, fear as cold as ice pulsing through his body. The other three were staring at Caroline in sympathy, listening to her attempt to describe the demon, concentrating on her so hard none of them even noticed what was happening to him. "...looked human at first, but then I saw that was an illusion and it was big, big enough to carry me as if I weighed no more than a loaf of bread." She was leaning against Peter again, and she didn't notice either when the demon slid its other arm around Egon's waist and bore him silently down the tunnel toward the entry cavern.

He tried to fight, but he couldn't move against it. And, deep inside, he knew it would drain him the way it had the three women, although he did not understand why. Guys! Help me!

As if it could read his mind, it chuckled. By then they were far enough from the others that the sound would not be heard. "Foolish mortal," it purred in his ear. "Think you I care whether my victims are man or woman? You are both human. I have seen you through Daniel's eyes and wanted to devour your soul. Do not struggle. I will not kill you. I will simply feed." He lifted his hand from Egon's back and put it on his forehead instead, knocking away his glasses, and Egon felt a vast, threatening darkness press him down into an echoing silence where all he could feel was fear.

It was uncomfortable in the recreation room. Carlotta sat huddled at one end of the couch, her mind whirling with an effort to recall what had come and gone so fast when Colonel Van Houten had walked through her. It was hard to remember the cold but it was necessary. She was afraid a life might depend on it.

Sonya had persuaded the Applewoods and Jack into a game of bridge, the men pitted against the women. Somehow, the moment they had reached the rec room, the playwright had dropped her predatory nature around Jack and had grown more serious. Even if she hadn't, Jack no longer seemed uneasy around her. It was as if her actions no longer mattered, that he had something more important that needed to be done. He was playing bridge as if by rote, tense and alert, ready to jump to his feet at a moment's notice.

Daniel sat on the couch, too, but he had carefully positioned himself on the opposite end of it as if he did not dare sit near Carlotta. She remembered the shadows she had seen hovering over his head and the image she had gotten suddenly, of a little boy who had been playing with the grown-ups and didn't know how to stop. The way he had started to touch her hand and then pulled back stuck in her mind. Was he afraid if he showed preference the demon in the caves would want her, too? But that thought hadn't stopped him before. Why should he stop for her? Because of what was over and done, because of the way he had turned his back on her and gone on to the other women?

She turned her eyes in his direction and saw him watching her, focused on her with a desperate need, a hopeless need. For once, her psychic gifts didn't spring into being, but she was a woman. She would have understood the look if she had been psi-blind. He still loved her. Yet he had said or done nothing to attract her, to win her back. He had been there, for a long time now, in the background, but never coming close. Had he wanted her all that time when he had flaunted the other women in her face? And if so, had he held her off because of the demon?

He saw the realization in her eyes, and for a moment, he closed them, shutting out the pain and the regret. Then he looked at her again. "I am so sorry," he said quietly, under the cover of the bridge players' conversation. "I have nothing, nothing but a belief that I could do anything, a belief that was proven untrue. I have a history of misuse of power and a weight of guilt hanging over me that nothing will lift. It will come down on me like an avalanche any time now, and what's left of me will pay the price for the rest of my life. I've been arrogant, insufferable, smug, contemptuous of other people, and it rebounded on me. I treated you so badly I don't expect you can ever forgive me. I have nothing to give you, nothing but a battered heart that will always be yours. But I love you too well to do anything but warn you away from me. Run, and never look back."

It was the first time she had ever heard him sound humble, but she realized in the past year he had changed from the smooth talking, confident man she had met and not quite liked even as she had been unable to resist the pull of him. Ray's story of the women he had destroyed had shaken her, but what she saw and felt now was a man who had gone too deep and paid a price beyond anything he'd believed possible, and who expected to pay it as long as he lived. A man who needed her.

She put his hand over his, and he looked at it warily as if it were a poisonous snake, then he heaved a shaken, weary sigh, and let it lay there. The urge to clasp her fingers was written on his face but he resisted. "I am not worth it," he said. "You can't imagine what I have done."

"I know what you have done, and I know that you could not control it."

"You don't know."

"I know about Andrea and Donna, and I know the Ghostbusters are searching for Caroline," she said very quietly. Even so, Jack stiffened in his chair, abandoned his bridge hand, and turned to stare at them.

"There are more of them!" he howled, leaping to his feet and advancing on Daniel like a juggernaut. "Not just Andrea! My god, what kind of a monster are you?"

"You, too?" Daniel must have seen the condemnation in his eyes because he put his head in his hands, unable to meet the furious reproach in Jack's eyes.

"You know of Andrea?" Carlotta asked in surprise.

"She's my first cousin. We grew up together; her parents were dead and she lived with us. She's like my sister. And now--I had to have her committed because she took drugs to forget. She was working the streets! Andrea, the nicest woman I know. She was friendly and funny and innocent and she never hurt a soul. She taught kindergarten. I found her down on 8^th Avenue, hooking so she could have the money for drugs. You did that! I ought to kill you where you stand!" he flung at Daniel, the words like stones. They must have hurt like stones, because Chant flinched at each one.

"It was the demon," Carlotta said hastily, edging to her feet and sliding in between Daniel, who looked defenseless, and Jack, who was prepared to pounce. "He made him do it. He couldn't control it, can't you see?"

"Oh, god, give me a break!" scoffed Jack. He didn't try to move her out of the way, but he wasn't listening properly either. "'The devil made me do it'? What a hell of a convenient excuse to ruin a young woman's life. I came up here to find out what was going on, faked being interested in your nasty occult garbage, but I never dreamed there were more of them than Andrea. I don't know what you did to her, but it was you. She said it was you when I got her in the hospital. She looked at me like she was a zombie, all strung out, begging me for drugs, and she kept saying your name. You got her hooked. My god, I'll see you in prison!"

"I should be there," Daniel said drearily. "But drugs.... No. I didn't give her drugs, Jack. I never take drugs. I wouldn't have done that. But what I did was...worse. I can't...I can't tell you, even now. I-I-I...." He struggled to speak, his face twisting with the effort, but instead of forcing out words, pain shuddered through his body making him contort with it, curling him up into a ball on the corner of the couch. Sonya stared at him in stunned disbelief, drawing back in her chair with a fastidious distaste. This was all new to her, although she was clever enough to have suspected something unnatural in the atmosphere. She darted a questioning look at the Applewoods.

"I knew there was something wrong here, too," Margaret Applewood said, "but not what. I had an anonymous report from one of my constituents, not this, but that there was trouble. That a woman had been hurt here. Her name was Donna, though, not Andrea. So Chester and I took Daniel up on his invitation and came. We've both felt uneasy about the atmosphere of the house, and after you fainted, dear, and Daniel was so upset, we knew it was more than just normal conflicts between different types of people. But I don't understand what's been happening. A demon? What on earth can you mean? Is that why the Ghostbusters are here?"

"You came to find him out, too?" Jack cried, casting one hasty look back in her direction before he turned a determined glower upon the stricken Daniel. "Did you think you could go on hurting women and not have anybody even notice, god damn you!" Wade shouted. He edged around Carlotta, grabbed Daniel by his shirt front, and hauled him to his feet.

"Wait!" Carlotta yelled at the top of her lungs, tugging at Jack's arm. It was about as effective as tugging at the arm of the Statue of Liberty. "Let him go."

"Are you in on it?" Wade spat at her.

"Leave her alone." Daniel wouldn't fight for himself, but it seemed he would fight for her. He grabbed Jack's wrists and tried without success to break the younger man's grip. "It wasn't Carlotta. She came up here to find out what was wrong, I think. She came here to help. So did the Ghostbusters. They know, somehow they know. When I heard they wanted to come, I was glad. I hoped they could stop...."

"And I did find out what was happening," Carlotta said to her stunned audience. "Ray told me they'd talked to that girl, Donna, the one you know about, Senator. She said a demon lives in caves under the house and it's controlling Daniel, making him bring girls to sacrifice to it. It doesn't kill them. It just drains away their will, their feelings. Daniel doesn't want to do it. I know that much."

"Do you think that matters to Andrea or this Donna?" Jack cried, his face still tight with anger. "My god, I've been pretending all weekend, buddying up to the bastard to see if I could find out what he'd done to Andrea, to get evidence he gave her drugs. She kept saying he did it. She didn't answer about the drugs, just that he did it. So I started planning. I checked him out, found out he was into this devil worship stuff, so I pretended to be interested, too. I went to occult shops and pulled in contacts and wangled an invitation to a seance where I knew he'd be. I found out he invites people up here and I worked at getting to know him to be invited. Donna said it happened here. So I want to know what you did to my cousin, and then I'm gonna beat the crap out of you before I turn you in to the police." He shook Daniel like a rag doll.

"It wasn't like that," Carlotta said. She tugged at his arm again, and Chester Applewood leaped up and took his other arm. Between them, they pulled Jack away from Daniel, who collapsed bonelessly on the couch, tears tracing wet streaks down his face. Sonya made a sound of distress and came over to perch on the arm of the sofa, patting his shoulder. Margaret Applewood averted her eyes.

"We're here to listen," Sonya encouraged the shaken man. "And you tried to tell the Ghostbusters, didn't you? Even though something won't let you talk about it. You told them how to get to the caves. They're down there to bust the demon, aren't they?"

"I invited them in hopes they would," he admitted raggedly. "It has to stop. If they can find Caroline down there.... Oh, god, I wish I were dead!"

"Another girl, and she's still here?" Jack erupted like a firecracker, brushing Chester aside as if he weren't even there. "We should all be down there, finding her, getting her out of this hellhole, not sitting here making excuses for the bastard."

"No," said Carlotta quickly. "The Ghostbusters are armed and trained. They are the ones who should be down there. They know all about it, they know what to do."

"And you believe this--this piece of filth?" Wade spat with a furious gesture at Daniel. Carlotta followed the motion with her eyes and her heart twinged at the sight of the man, once so confident, once so much a part of her life, now reduced to such wreckage.

"I don't believe--I know," she said. "I honestly am psychic, Jack. I've known for a long time, months, maybe a year, that something was wrong with Daniel. I could tell it was external. I've watched him go from an arrogant, egotistical, confident, amusing, entertaining man to--to this." She pointed, too. "I had to come here and try to stop it."

"But what happened with the ghost?" Sonya asked, still patting Daniel the way a mother might pat an upset child.

"I didn't realize that was part of it, but I knew something bad had happened in this house or he wouldn't appear every night like that, so I thought perhaps there was a connection. That's why I stood where I did. The Colonel walked right through me and I saw this has been going on since before his time. It wasn't just Daniel playing with fire and burning everybody around him. The demon did it to the Colonel's daughter or granddaughter; we should be able to find out which. Maybe there are even other records. Daniel's mistake was to buy the house and live here. He's been used ever since. All those years since the house was built, the owners have been sacrificing men and women to the demon. Not often; too many might have been noticed. The last thing it would want would be to have its source stopped. Perhaps it made Daniel take them back to the city, leave them in their apartments. It might make him lie. I don't think he can talk about it. I--" Her voice trailed off in shocked horror as she realized what she had said. "Men and women?" She grasped Daniel's hand and jogged it. "And you've been talking so much to Egon! Oh my god!" Then she was fumbling desperately for her walkie-talkie. "Carlotta to Ray! Ray, listen to me. There's a danger you didn't expect...."

Peter felt the girl grow quiet as he talked to her. Relief began to filter through her induced apathy. She was starting to listen to him, to realize it was over. "Do you think you're ready to go upstairs now?" he asked gently. "We won't let Daniel near you, I promise. There are other people here, good people, who can protect you while we take care of the demon."

"I just want to get out of here," she said. "Because everything is starting to hurt again. Feelings are coming back. And I know if it senses that, it will come for me again. It lives on feelings. It stole mine. But maybe it didn't steal them all. And it didn't steal enough to keep me from hating it." She tried to straighten up, tugging at the robe to make sure it was wrapped around her tightly. Peter thought that was a good sign, that she cared enough to fuss about her appearance.

"No, don't get up." He had seen her bloody feet and it hurt just to look at them. "You don't have to try to walk. I'm going to carry you. We'll get a doctor for you and some real food, and we'll call Justine to come and be with you and, when the doctor says you're ready, to take you home?"

"Justine hired you?" she asked in disbelief. "She hated Daniel. I knew she didn't trust him. I thought maybe she was a little jealous because--well, because her career's been so important she hadn't had much time for men. I even felt a little smug when I found him...she must have thought me insufferable." She began to cry. "Oh, I'm so glad she hired you."

"She had him investigated," Winston told her. "She found out he was involved in the occult, and she didn't want you to be in that kind of danger. She found out about the other two women Daniel brought here before you."

"He couldn't help it," Caroline said unhappily although her voice held a wealth of bitterness. "It controlled him. I could tell, once we were down here." Her emotions did seem to be coming back, all of them particularly raw and painful. Peter had an urge to plant his fist in the middle of Daniel's face, although he realized from the woman's words that he'd been caught up in something he couldn't control, any more than she could. Busting the demon would give him great pleasure. He could sense that the others felt the same.

"He told us where to look for you," Ray told her gently. "He tried to help, but I don't think he could talk about it, really. He apologized to Egon--" Ray fell silent abruptly as if he'd thought of something and into that brief silence came a faint, scratchy voice.

"Carlotta to Ray! Ray, listen to me. There's a danger you didn't expect...."

"You're very faint," Ray told her. "But I hear you. What danger? Tell me."

"It doesn't just go after women," she cried, and he could hear guilt in her voice for not realizing sooner. "It's drained men, too, over the years. Oh, Ray, I--think it wants Egon!"

Peter's head jerked up. "Egon, you hear th--" he started and fell silent as if he'd been punched in the gut. Egon wasn't there. He was nowhere in sight. Peter gulped in a startled breath of air. "Egon, what the heck...."

Ray and Winston whipped around, staring. "He's gone!" Ray's eyes were huge with shock. "Carlie, he's gone. He isn't here. But it couldn't have taken him. We didn't hear a thing."

"He's gone, it must have," Winston argued. "And we have to find him fast." He looked down the tunnel, then he plunged into it, stooped abruptly, and came up with Egon's glasses. They had managed to fall without breaking and must have landed when the guys were too caught up in Caroline's story to hear them land. For a second, the three Ghostbusters stared at them as if they had never seen them before, then Winston folded them and tucked them in his breast pocket. "To give him when we get him back," he said through clenched teeth.

"Come on," Peter urged. He stood up, still holding Caroline. "We're gonna take you to somebody who can help you and then we're gonna get Egon. I hate to ask you, but can you tell us where the demon does his nasty number?"

His voice was hard and urgent, and she flinched from it, but she squared her shoulders for the ordeal. "I'll take you there."

"No," Ray objected. "We can't let you go back. Just tell us, quickly."

Peter stared down the tunnel. "Egon!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Egon, we're coming for you!" How could he have missed a demon popping up and taking Egon away while he just sat here? It was going to do to Egon what it had done to the women, take away his will and his emotions. It was going to turn him into a zombie like Donna. It wouldn't even need Daniel to help, but who was to say Daniel hadn't come already. If he couldn't control it....

And Peter hadn't even noticed Egon was gone!

"Come on," the psychologist said tightly, and raced down the tunnel, even if he had to do it bent over and weighted down by the injured girl. Once he bumped his head on a projecting bit of stone and nearly fell. The bump wasn't hard enough to lose consciousness or even to stagger, and he ignored the pain. It didn't matter. Egon did. Winston, right behind him, caught his shoulder and steadied him for a second. "All right, Pete?"

"No," Peter said grimly. "Not till we get Egon back. But I'm not hurt."

"Oh, gosh, he'll drain Egon," Ray muttered unhappily. He spoke into the communicator. "Carlie, we need someone to meet us in the wine cellar. We found Caroline and she needs somebody to be with her and help her. I want you and Sonya to take care of her."

"It wouldn't let me...take her away," Daniel's mumbled voice sounded in the background as if he were pushing the words through a brick wall. "It said she...was strong. It wanted to...feed again. Oh, god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"You better be sorry, you son of a bitch," Jack Wade spat, the fury he felt evident, even over the walkie-talkie.

"Shut up," Peter yelled at them. "Worry about that later. Egon's missing. Damn it, Daniel, you knew it was going to take him and you didn't tell us. You better be ready to help us or I'm gonna neutronize you at full streams."

"I'll...come," Daniel said in a broken voice. "I'll open the...passage."

"I'll come, too," Carlotta said into the speaker. "Ray, I'm so sorry. I saw men and women when the colonel walked through me, but I didn't connect it with what was happening. I was so convinced it was only women, it didn't even occur to me that anyone else might be in danger."

"We'll get Egon back," Ray said staunchly. "And he's gonna be all right. Egon's strong. He can fight it. If Caroline can fight it, Egon can fight it. He's a Ghostbuster, after all. He knows what he's up against. He'll be all right."

Peter understood Ray's need to insist on it, but a part of him wondered if Egon's strength would even matter. The demon was a class seven. Could even Egon resist it entirely? An image of Donna Moreau rose up before his eyes as she sat huddled in her institutional room, eating when instructed, speaking only when spoken to, crying at sad music, and his mind transposed the image of Egon over her, Egon who valued his mind above all, Egon reduced to a passive state, Egon desperate and broken. Egon shaken as Caroline was, full of pain with returning emotions. The picture burned Peter like acid.

"We're gonna bust this demon so hard it bounces," he spat.

"We've got to hurry," Winston insisted. "Want me to take her, Pete? I'm a little bigger than you are."

Peter just plunged on; there wasn't time to waste on transferring her. He let Winston's torch light the way for him as he ran. He was heartsick and knew Ray and Winston felt as bad as he did. They'd let the demon take Egon while they stood right there. They hadn't even noticed he was gone. How could they have done that? If Egon was drained, Peter knew it would be their fault. But even that didn't matter as much as the horrifying vision his mind presented him. Egon couldn't be like that. They had to get him back before that happened.

They burst out into the main cavern to find the others coming down the steps, Daniel leading the way. Caroline cried out at the brightness of the illumination and hid her face against Peter's chest and he turned so she wouldn't open her eyes and see Daniel. That made him notice Egon's P.K.E. meter, twisted and smashed, lying near the foot of the stairs and, beside it, his proton pack and thrower. They didn't seem to be damaged, but Peter wouldn't want to risk using them without a thorough examination.

The dark occultist looked radically different from the affable host who had greeted them that morning. He seemed shrunken and beaten and his face was wet with tears. "I can't go on like this," he said. "Caroline, I know you can't forgive me but I am so sorry."

"How controlled are you?" Ray asked. "Will you attack us if it tells you to?"

Daniel opened his mouth, struggled to force out words, but he couldn't do more than make helpless sounds. Jack Wade gave a snort of disgust. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw the Empire State Building," he said.

"Take her," Peter said, putting Caroline into the actor's arms. "She can't walk up those steps; her feet are all cut up from running around down here."

"I want to come with you," Jack insisted. "If Carlotta's right and a demon did that to my cousin, then I want in on the kill."

"Cousin?" Winston echoed in surprise, and Carlotta threw in a few hasty words to explain what had happened upstairs while the Ghostbusters had encountered Caroline and lost Egon.

"I'm coming with you," she told them. "I know I don't have a pack, and I know I'm a sensitive, but you'll need me. I may not be a Ghostbuster but I can take you to the very place. I can feel it. Besides, I don't believe Daniel will hurt me."

Daniel made a choked sound. "Don't believe it," he told her. "Don't believe it. I'd rip out my heart before I'd hurt you willingly but I can't help myself." He stretched out a hand toward her, but she only looked at him steadily and didn't take it. Ray stared at the two of them as if to make sense of what he had just said.

"Why don't we just blast him?" Peter snarled impatiently. "We have to get Egon back, not stand here talking."

"This way," Carlotta said and started down the main passage at a run.

Peter was hot on her heels, Ray and Winston right behind them. He could hear footsteps coming after them and said, "Don't let them come."

"I won't come all the way," Chester Applewood said. "Would a crucifix hold it at bay?"

"No," said Ray without hesitation. "It won't respect the traditional accoutrements of Christianity. There's no reason why it should. We've busted a few demons in our time and they're tough and about the only thing they respect is strength. They have rules, but they haven't made a deal with any of us, so there's nothing for them to honor. And we won't likely have any artifacts they do respect."

"It made a deal with me," Daniel said, following along in their wake.

"What, to give you plenty of nookie if you brought it virgin sacrifices?" Peter spat. "Or was it power you wanted? Give me a break. You might regret it now, but you went into this with your eyes wide open. You're into the black arts. We know that much."

"Yes, I was," Daniel agreed. "I am. But never like this. We used to hold rituals and we used to do mock sacrifices, but we didn't kill anything except for small animals sometimes. But when I came here...." His voice trailed off. "I can't...talk about it," he explained with difficulty. "I tried to fight after Andrea, when I realized what had happened. I took her home, left her in her apartment and she was just like a zombie. She didn't do anything, she didn't talk to me. It didn't--it didn't rape her. It didn't even hurt her, other than touching her. I knew it was drawing something away, but I didn't realize it would--would hurt her like that. I found out she quit her job and then I found out she'd become a prostitute, and I was horrified."

"What did you think it would do, tickle her?" Chester sounded skeptical. "It can't have meant her well."

"It...promised it wouldn't kill her," Daniel said. "I couldn't imagine...."

"But you did it again," Ray reminded him as they ran, sounding much harsher than usual. "You went after Donna."

"That was when I realized I wasn't...acting under my own power," Daniel admitted. "Because I saw her and something went 'boing' inside, and the next thing I know I was taking her out, flattering her, buying her presents, and I didn't even like her. We had nothing in common, and she was--well, she was a little idiot," he admitted. "So boring I would never have looked at her in my right mind. I know that makes me sound like a heel, but just I couldn't stop myself from continuing. And then I brought her up here and said we'd go down and I'd show her something really unusual. She came quite willingly. Until she saw...Lilkharu."

"That's the demon's name?" Ray asked, frowning as he sounded the name out, probably trying to remember if he'd ever heard it before. "I wish we'd thought to bring Tobin's Spirit Guide."

"We can look it up when we get back," Peter said. "How much further? I'm not gonna let it get Egon."

"Sounds like the root words are Sumerian," Ray mused, but he turned to look a question at Daniel expectantly.

"Not far now," Daniel admitted. "Just--around here and down--some stairs." The words did not come easily, but he pushed them out. "Maybe we should be quiet."

"Don't trust him," Chester put in abruptly, eyeing Daniel narrowly. The little man didn't look remotely daunted by the thought of facing a demon. "He could be urging us into a trap." He added quickly, "I don't think he'd want to, but he couldn't help it. Will destroying the demon break the link?"

"Trapping it might," Ray said. "Once we've done that, we can maybe draw it out of him." He held up his hand to stop them and checked the meter for Egon's biorhythm. "He's near, Peter. And his reading's a little elevated. As if he were--scared." He slowed a little to reconfigure the device to pick up the demon, biting his bottom lip.

"I'd be scared," Winston put in.

Peter knew he was, scared for Egon, scared for the rest of them if Egon was zapped by the demon. It hadn't killed the women--but Egon was a Ghostbuster. Lilkharu might consider him an enemy to be rid of, not just a tasty morsel to feed on. It might even have drained Egon already. No, Ray said the readings were normal, or almost. Egon was still undrained, and they had to get to him before it did its thing to him. He plunged out ahead of the others who had slowed when Ray did. Daniel caught Carlotta's arm and pulled her back a little, and that made Winston edge over beside them to protect her while Ray finished the adjustment.

"It's with him," Ray added in a breathless rush. "Right next to him. We have to move now!"

"Let me at him," Peter said without looking back.

"No!" Daniel's voice deepened and thickened and he jumped in front of Ray and Winston--Peter was a little further ahead--and spread his arms out wide. "You dare not interfere with the mighty Lilkharu! I will stop you." His words were ominous, his face was rigid--and his eyes were anguished. Peter goggled at him over his shoulder, trying to judge the danger to Winston and Ray.

"Daniel!" Carlotta cried and grasped his arm, trying to pull him to one side.

He backhanded her across the face. The slight woman collapsed to the stony floor.

"Carlie!" Ray flung himself down beside her, grasping her hand. "Are you hurt?"

Daniel looked down at her, his expression imperious, belied by the stricken tears pouring down his face. Then he jerked and twitched, and suddenly dropped to the floor beside her, thrashing as if he had slipped into a grand mal seizure. "I won't," he gasped. "I won't. No! No more!"

"Then die." The voice seemed to come out of the very air. Lightning sprang into being, crackled. Winston jerked up his thrower and fired at it even as it descended to strike Chant's writhing body. The air crisped and burst in a violent clap of sound, the smell of ozone hanging heavily about them. Daniel went limp as if he'd been struck after all, his eyes blank. He didn't seem to be breathing.

"NO!" Carlotta pushed away Ray's seeking fingers and flung herself at Daniel, a tiny hurricane of activity. She felt his pulse, bent her head to press her ear against his chest, then she tilted his head backward, a hand at the nape of his neck. "He's not breathing but there's a heartbeat," she said and began to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation. Her face was white and stricken. Ray stared at her as if he had never seen her before, then he pushed himself to his feet.

"I'll stay with her," Chester volunteered. "Go. I don't think you have much time to spare."

"Thanks," Winston told him, but Peter was already charging down the tunnel at a dead run.

When Egon's voice and ability to move returned, it was too late. He found himself lying on the altar, cords across his shoulders, waist, and ankles to prevent him from moving. His proton pack had vanished en route to the ritual altar, and his clothes lay in a shredded pile on the stone floor nearby. The marble of the altar was icy against his shoulders, buttocks, and legs. He could see his reflection, blurry though it was without his glasses, in the dark glass of a huge mirror suspended between two tall columns, strategically placed at the foot of the altar, perhaps to give the victim a view of his own demise. That was not a pleasant thought. He struggled to repress a shudder.

His captor stood over him, ominous and threatening. For a moment, Egon thought everyone had been wrong and that the cause of all the trouble was human, for the figure looked like a normal man, taller than most, hair darker and thicker, although it wore no more than a loincloth. But even as Egon focused on the being, it began to shift, slowly morphing into a huge creature, fully seven feet tall and twice as broad across the shoulders as a normal man. Twin horns spouted on its head, one at each temple, curving slightly forward, and the skin around them thickened, growing scaly and grey, the shift spreading across its face, eyes widening, nose flattening, fangs spouting. All the while it changed, amusement lit the eyes that gloated down at Egon, eyes that started glowing, the pupils elongating, narrowing. Cat's eyes that glittered, reflecting back the light from the myriad banks of candles that filled the room. It probably enjoyed transforming in front of its victims, letting them realize gradually what had taken them prisoner.

"You fear me," it breathed, delighted with the concept. "I love to watch my prisoners' eyes as I change and they see me as I really am."

"Who are you?" Egon asked, deliberately ignoring the being's words. To admit to fear was to weaken his already-untenable position and he was determined to show no agitation. He was relieved to find he could talk. Surreptitiously, he tested his bonds only to discover they were as rigid as steel and the motion made them dig painfully into his flesh.

"Who you do think I am?" it countered, a wicked smile curling up the corners of its mouth and pulling his upper lip tight against the pointed fangs.

"A being who enjoys draining young women." Don't show any fear, Egon. Showing fear will give it power.

"Ah, but you are not a woman, Egon Spengler." It licked its lips with a pointed, little, black tongue, eyes twinkling with cruel amusement. "Who said I only drained women? What a chauvinist you are!"

All of a sudden Daniel's marked attentions of the evening and his apology, directed specifically to Spengler, made horrifying sense. It had simply never occurred to him that he had been marked as a victim of the beast. He had seen his role as that of a hostage. Even when the beast shredded his clothing, the rational part of his mind realizing that to strip a hostage was to add to his demoralization. But that he would be drained like Donna, Caroline, and Andrea had never occurred to him until the demon had snatched him in the tunnel. Remembering Donna as she sat helplessly in her hospital room, unable to do anything but react passively to her surroundings, he felt a horrified panic begin inside him, and goose bumps rose. He tried to tell himself it was only the cold of the chamber and the stone beneath him, but he knew he dreaded the thought of being reduced to that. Even Caroline, who had fought it, and who had proclaimed herself to be strong, was emotionally devastated. The thought of being reduced to that state was so appalling he arched and heaved his body up in a fierce paroxysm of energy in a desperate attempt to break free. It didn't work. The bonds remained firm and unyielding.

"Tell me what you do," he asked, stilling his struggles. There was absolutely nothing dignified about being tied naked to a table, but he forced himself to regain his control. "How long have you been doing it?"

"A very long time," the creature said. "I don't need much, just a life energy every now and then. I am hardly greedy."

"How did you draw in Daniel?" Egon persisted. He had to stall as long as possible. If he forced his thoughts away from the fate that awaited him, he could think. He had to think. He had to remember what Caroline had said; she had come out of the experience best of the three women. Yes, she was traumatized, but she had been able to take action, to avoid the demon, to seek food and water, to plan to survive. Egon meant to do that, too. He knew he could count on the guys coming as fast as they could, but they might not come in time, so he had to help himself. If the demon's ego were large enough, it might relish talking.

"He sought me out," he demon replied. "Like all humans, he thought too small, too egotistically, and he did not realize, until it was too late, that he was bound to me. But that is not your concern. I know what you are doing for I am accustomed to humans and I am not stupid, in spite of your belief that your intellect can outdo mine. Ah yes, I can read your mind a bit. Not every detail, but enough to warn me you expect rescue. I am not really very hungry yet, but you tempt me. Always, since the humans came to this region who were different, so fair, I have been intrigued. I made do with what I had before, and often considered moving away from here, but then new humans came and some of them were fair." His hand stroked Egon's hair, trailed down to his chest where he traced taloned fingers through the chest hair, leaving faint scrapes behind. Lifting his head, Spengler watched beads of blood spring up in the wake of the talons. He braced himself, scarcely aware of the minor pain in the more overwhelming anticipation of worse to come. Now, it would happen now.

But the demon lifted its fingers away again, smiling a hungry smile. After a second it raised its hand to its mouth and licked the blood off. The cuts were minor and would heal--assuming he had the chance to heal at all.

I'm sorry, guys, he thought, tension flooding him. I tried to stall him. I won't let him turn me into a copy of those women. I'll fight him. I promise you that. He knew he had to fight, he had to cultivate his anger. Maybe it was the anger that had carried Caroline through it. Maybe that was why she had survived sane. He wouldn't yield up his intellect, his will. He wouldn't put the guys through finding him like that. He refused to give in. No matter what the demon did to him, he meant to survive.

"Hold." The demon lifted a hand, tilting its head in an attitude of listening. "Your friends come."

Egon felt relief surge through him. He had managed to stall long enough after all. But the relief faded when the demon made an esoteric pass with its fingers, blue fire outlining the whole hand. A bolt of light shot down the tunnel, followed by a clatter and rumble of falling stones so loud it nearly drowned out a desperate yelp of pain and panic. Egon strained to hear more noises, but there were none save the pounding of falling rocks that finally eased to a few clacks of pebbles and the echo of the clatter bouncing off the walls. A few moments later, there was silence. The electricity flickered but didn't entirely go out but that tunnel went dark.

"What have you done?" Egon demanded, forcing himself as far up as he could, trying to stomp down his heart as it attempted to stampede up his throat. "What have you done?"

The demon chuckled deep in its throat. The sound was neither pleasant nor reassuring. "At best? I have blocked the passage so they cannot reach you. At worst? They are now squashed flat beneath the stones. You heard someone shout? At least one of them was caught. You do not know which. The others may well be dead too. Which means, no rescue for you. And it gives me a certain latitude. Now I may, er, play with my food." The talons came back to his chest. "No, I will not kill you, for that is not my way. Dead, you have nothing to offer me. But you will wish for death, long before I am finished."

Egon almost wished for it now. He had recognized the cry he had heard. It had been Peter, and its desperate sound had chopped off far too abruptly to indicate safety for his oldest friend. The others might have survived, but Peter was probably dead now. Even knowing he was about to be drained by the demon, even in spite of the sharp stings of pain as the talons traced patterns on his chest, the knowledge that Peter was dead hurt far worse than anything the demon could do to him.

And then Egon was angry, cold fury pulsing through his veins. He had not been able to arouse to this level of fury on his own, but he felt it now. "You killed my friends," he snarled, his face twisted in a rictus of hate. "I will live through this and I will find a way to destroy you. I won't merely trap and contain you. I will destroy you utterly. Don't doubt I can do it, for I can. You might have me tied down, but don't think that will stop me."

"Oh, it's mad at me." The cat eyes slitted in amusement, and one talon punctured his shoulder, digging into him and causing a wave of sudden, sharp pain. "Good. I like anger. The Caroline was angry, too. She will feed me for a long time."

"I will not feed you at all," Egon spat, his jaw clenched tightly. "I will destroy you, and that is a promise." If he had to be a meal for the demon, he would be the most unpalatable meal it ever ate. Peter, he thought, I hope you are alive, but if you are not, I will avenge you. Lifting furious eyes, he glared balefully at the being that imprisoned him, prepared to endure relentlessly whatever happened to him next in order to survive long enough to seek his revenge. Peter might be dead. Ray and Winston might not have survived. But even they were not the only hope of rescue. If he could be rescued or escape on his own, he would take up a proton pack and destroy the demon. If the entity drained him, he would fight his way back from the very mouth of hell.

The demon threw back his head and laughed a full-bellied laugh. "I like danger. And now, shall we see how badly I can frighten you?"

Egon continued to glare. All his fear had been sublimated into anger, worry, resentment. He was not afraid at all.

As if the demon could read his thoughts, it smiled, revealing dripping fangs. "You will be," it breathed. "You will be."

Peter saw the blue fire coming before the others did and he cried, "Look out!" whirling to warn the others as they hurried toward him. Before they could reach him, the ceiling came loose and rushed down at him.

With a frantic yell, Peter jumped forward rather than back. He wasn't about to be cut off from Egon. He didn't make it. Something hit his shoulder, forcing him down and even as he scrambled desperately forward, more rocks came down, bouncing off his shoulders, back, and legs. He kept on going, knowing he had passed the worst of it, but then another rock crashed down, grazing his head, and he sagged, collapsing in a little heap. Rocks fell around him, and he could feel them, but his mind blurred and fuzzed, even as his body kept on struggling forward. Move, Peter, he told himself muzzily. Move. But he could go no further. With a little sigh of regret, he let go of consciousness, his last thought, I'm sorry, Egon. I'm sorry.

Winston yanked Ray back from the falling rocks, but the last clear glimpse Stantz had of Peter before a wall of rock came between them was the dark-haired man surging forward desperately to escape the falling stones, determined not to be cut off from Egon. "Peter!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, but there was no answer.

He flung himself at the rockface and started tossing away jagged stones the size of his head. "We've gotta hurry. Maybe we can neutronize them, get them out of the way...."

"And bring down more of the ceiling?" Winston countered. "If Pete's on the other side, we could bring it down on him."

"And if he's under some of it? And what about Egon?" Ray groaned. "We have to get through. Help me. We'll get this loose stuff off, then I'll set the throwers to melt through it. We can do it."

"No, Ray." Winston gripped his shoulders and pulled him back. "Listen to me. We mess with that, we bring more of it down, probably on us. We won't be able to help either of them then."

"So we just give up?" Ray cried desperately, struggling to break free of the bigger man's grip. "I can't believe you'd give up. They're our friends. We have to help them."

"And we will," Winston insisted. He gave Stantz a little shake to calm him. "Ray, listen to me. Daniel might know another way in there. These tunnels are like a labyrinth. We can find a way around that. You know we can."

"Not in time," Ray said drearily. "Not in time. Besides, Daniel might be dead."

"Caroline, then," Winston returned. "I hate to ask her, but I might have to. Come on...."

Ray shook him off, snatching up his P.K.E. meter and adjusting it quickly to read Peter's biorhythms. He aimed it at the rockface and froze. Nothing. No readings at all. For a long moment he simply stood there, his shoulders slumped, despairing. "Oh, Peter...." he breathed.

"Ray! Listen up!" Winston grasped his shoulders and shook him again. "Come on, m'man, you know you couldn't read him through that. Biorhythms aren't strong enough to read through a solid wall of stone. He could be just on the other side of it, going after Egon." Ray could tell he wasn't sure about his words, that he, too, believed it had come down on top of Peter, but he was trying to function. "We have to go back now. We have to find a way around, find Egon, backtrack to the other end of the tunnel. Standing here isn't gonna help either one of them." Fingers gripping Ray's wrist, he turned down the corridor again. "Come on."

Despairing, Ray let himself be pulled away from the rocks that might be Peter's tomb--and Egon's doom. He knew they had to hurry, but the meter remained silent in his hand, confirming his silent worry. He couldn't bear it, but there was no other choice. If Egon was to be saved, they had to find a way around the cave-in.

They met Chester and Carlotta before they had gone very far, a shaky Daniel staggering after them. A reddened place on the psychic's cheek marked the impact of Daniel's hand, but she didn't seem conscious of it, although he did. Jack Wade hurried up behind them, wearing Egon's destabilizer proton pack, gripping the proton rifle awkwardly. "We heard a crash," he called. "Did the ceiling come down?"

Winston nodded. "Yeah, all at once. There was blue fire and then it just crashed."

"It was Lilkharu," Daniel offered, rubbing his forehead. Even in the unnatural light of the tunnel, it was clear there wasn't a shred of color in his face. "I know his handiwork. He didn't want you to interrupt his 'dinner'. Oh, god, I hurt."

"Where's Peter?" Chester asked with some delicacy.

"He might have got through," said Winston quickly, dropping his hand on Ray's shoulder. He didn't sound like he believed it any more than Ray did.

"I think he's dead," Ray mourned, a twisting sickness flooding his body. "I think it fell on him. I couldn't read his biorhythms. And now Egon...." He lunged at Daniel and grabbed him by the upper arms. "Is there another way through?"

"Are you still controlled?" Winston asked practically, edging closer in case the demon made him take a punch at Ray.

"No. I--it made me hit Carlotta. I couldn't bear it any more. I--I blocked it out. I-I don't know how I did it but I couldn't endure any longer. It tried to kill me for it, but...but she brought me back." He collected himself, clearly still unsteady and badly shaken. "We can go around. It will take longer but it will get us there. I swear to you Lilkharu is not controlling me now. I'll show you the way."

There was no other choice. They had to go with it even if they might have already run out of time. Ray let go of him.

"You can't trust that pack and thrower, man," Winston told Jack as they reversed direction toward the main cavern and the other passages. "The demon could have messed with it. It trashed Egon's P.K.E. meter, remember?"

"No," Jack replied, hefting the thrower awkwardly. "Chester thought of that. I think the meter thingy got stepped on, but the pack was just dumped. We experimented with it. Probably crazy, but we were desperate. I turned the power down and fired it for a second. It's not jammed or blocked, and you're going to need all the firepower you can get. It didn't work quite like I thought it would."

"It's the atomic destabilizer, not a regular proton pack and thrower," Ray explained quickly. "It makes solid entities ectoplasmic so we can trap them easier. If it's working, we're going to need it. Do you think you can hit a target with it?"

Jack hesitated, then nodded. "It's not easy to fire it, but I'm gonna give it the best shot I can. That thing messed with Andrea. I want to get back at it." He shot a glare at Daniel. Even knowing their host had been essentially possessed, Jack didn't seem disposed to forgive him.

Ray didn't mean to argue. They had to stop the demon from doing its number on Egon--if it wasn't already too late--and they had to see if Peter had made it through the cave in. He'd been ahead of them in the tunnel; maybe he'd gotten clear. But he couldn't hope to trap a class seven demon on his own. Either way, they had to hurry.

"Carlie," he called and she edged away from the unsteady Daniel and came up to his side.

"Is there any way you can tell if Peter survived?" He was half-afraid to ask the question, dreading her answer, but he had to know.

Carlotta closed her eyes for a second, her face scrunching up as she sought a vision that would reveal the answer to her. A moment later she looked up and shook hear head. "I can't tell, Ray. If it had been you, I think I might have been able to sense you, because we know each other, but I only met him this evening. I just can't sense him at all."

"Doesn't mean he didn't make it, homeboy." Winston put a consoling hand on Ray's shoulder. "Just that she doesn't know. Believe that."

Ray glanced up at Winston and nodded, never once slowing his pace. But deep inside he knew the answer wasn't good enough. They'd probably been delayed long enough to prevent them from saving Egon in time, and now they might have lost Peter, too.

Ray bit his bottom lip hard and closed down his feelings to leave strength to fight the demon. He would relish stopping this one.

Peter didn't think he was out for more than a moment or two because when he opened his eyes, he hurt all over, but his mind was instantly clear and he could hear the faint, final rattle of loose stones dying away. He blinked dazedly in the dim and dusty passage; the electric bulbs overhead were out, of course, but there was light ahead of him, too far away to be more than a weak brightness where the tunnel must open up ahead. Two passages had been wired, he thought quickly. Maybe they met--where Egon was.

"Egon," he breathed and lunged up, only to fall back, caught, something trapping his foot in a tight, viselike grip. That made him twist around to see and he found his foot pinned by a couple of stones, one about the size of a football, the other maybe twice as big. They had rolled toward each other, capturing his foot and pinning it between them but not crushing it, holding off bigger stones that would have done so if those two had not met, giving him just enough room to save his foot. There was pain, but it was the kind of pain that led to major bruises, maybe a sprain, not fractures. He could wiggle his toes but he couldn't pull free because he was sprawled on his face and his heel jutted up in the gap between the stones, blocking all efforts to pull his foot loose.

"Damn it," he said, writhing about to get his thrower free. If he set the beam at low power and blasted just those two stones he might not bring down any more and then--

The sight of the blocked passage hit him as hard as the falling stones had. Ray and Winston had been right behind him in their mad dash to save Egon. Now there was nothing but jagged rocks, totally blocking the way he had come. Totally crushing his friends? His heart twisted painfully. It couldn't be, could it?

"Winston?" Peter raised his voice a little, but not too loudly because he didn't want the demon to hear him. "R-ray?"

Nothing. Not a sound. No, there was a sound, one so eerie and unwelcome it made the hairs stir on the back of his neck. It was laughter, deep and menacing, unfamiliar, coming from the other direction, from the tunnel that stretched out ahead of him. But Peter didn't need a scorecard to realize who was laughing. It had to be the demon.

Realizing he didn't have the luxury of sneaking up on the creature, he blasted the stones that held his feet with desperate precision--just one quick blast he hoped would go unnoticed in the aftermath of the falling rocks--and yanked his foot free before the bigger ones pressing down on them could collapse. They settled into the space he had just evacuated with so much suddenness he felt them brush the toe of his boot before he yanked himself away. Pushing himself to his feet made him momentarily dizzy but he gritted his teeth together and it passed immediately. Carefully, he tested his foot to see if it would hold his weight. Ouch. Not sprained, thank goodness, but painful. He thought he'd turned it a little, but it held him. He could go on. If the demon had heard his thrower, it didn't come to investigate.

Without conscious thought he threw himself at the wall of stones that blocked the tunnel, tearing at them with his bare hands, desperate to get to Ray and Winston, but when the loose rocks only shifted beneath him and nearly created a second collapse, he jumped free, trembling, and backed off, shocked out of his desperate motion. What should he do? Maybe he was in shock, because he could not even begin to think reasonably.

For a shaken moment, he stood there, grateful that the dizziness had been of such short duration, but desperately torn in two directions. His friends needed him, all three of them, but he couldn't help them all. Maybe he couldn't take on the demon alone, but if he didn't go, Egon stood no chance; he'd be zapped like the three women were, and even Caroline, who seemed the best of them, was far from normal. If Peter could get there in time, he could prevent that. Maybe the entity would take such a dislike to his thrower's proton stream he and Egon could edge past it and seek freedom, and maybe, if he got lucky, he could trap it. But there was nothing he could do anything for Winston and Ray. If they were under that--god, no, don't let them be dead--they were beyond his help, and if they were safe on the other side, they'd find their way around the blockage even if they had to drag Caroline down here again to guide them through the dark passages. He scrubbed a dusty hand across his eyes to take away the painful sting of misery at the thought he might never see them again, then he squared his shoulders. He might still be able to help Egon, so Spengler had to be his first priority. "I'm sorry, guys," he whispered disconsolately to the collapsed wall behind him, then he limped toward the light, determined to do all he could to rescue Egon.

"You blew it, demon breath," he muttered. "I'm not squished after all, and it isn't smart to piss off Dr. Venkman."

The flight of stone stairs Daniel had mentioned appeared before him so abruptly he nearly pitched down their length, but he caught himself just in time, windmilling his arms for balance and nearly dropping the thrower in the process. He caught his breath and his heart slid back down its throat to its proper place. In the ambient glow of the distant light, he spotted a railing and he used it to guide him in a controlled near-fall to the bottom.

It was brighter there, burning his aching eyes, but he couldn't let that stop him. He was pretty sure he didn't really have a concussion, and even if he did, he couldn't allow that to matter. He longed to call to Egon to reassure him, but if the demon hadn't noticed his approach yet the sound might warn it and it might zap Egon quickly before Peter could reach the site or conceal itself and jump Peter before he could free his friend. The narrow passage opened out into what looked like another large chamber only a few feet ahead of him, and that was the source of the light he had followed. He couldn't see Egon yet, but he had to be in there. He had to be. Peter froze, listening for any clues to what he might find.

"You will be," purred the demon ominously, apparently in response to something Egon had said. "You will be."

It was so close at hand Peter was stunned he hadn't been heard on the stairs, but he couldn't take the time to wonder. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he adjusted the thrower to full streams and burst out into the cavern with a fierce and frantic yell. At least it would warn Egon he was coming and it might stop the demon in time.

Across the room, Egon lay bound on a marble altar, his shredded clothing on the ground at the demon's feet. In one quick look, he registered the room's layout in preparation for attacking the demon. Banks of black candles stood near the altar, most of them burning, adding their flickering gleam to the room's dim electricity. There was a mirror, a giant candle in a gargoyle-shaped holder, and esoteric symbols on the walls. Peter could recognize a few of them--nasty stuff.

Even as he prepared to leap to the rescue, he spotted n enormous pentagram surrounding the altar. He hoped setting up rituals to keep everyone out had been Daniel's task. Hopefully the demon wouldn't feel it needed that kind of control, especially with the passage blocked.

He couldn't say much for the largest occupant of the room, either. The beast bent over the trapped physicist, a huge, grey, scaly beast, twice as broad as Peter and at least a foot taller. His hand stretched out to hover just inches above Egon's chest, where dotted beads of blood indicated minor scratches and more blood pooled in the hollow of his shoulder to mark the claws' passage. This demon was physical, all the harder to trap. Egon was breathing hard and fast, and his face was twisted in a furious mask that eased into startlement as he flinched at Peter's outcry. When the demon whirled to face the threat it had not seemed to fear, Egon turned his face in Peter's direction and he squinted at the new arrival blankly, trying to focus. For a second Peter's stomach knotted at the glazed incomprehension, but then he realized Egon wasn't wearing his glasses; Winston had them. He probably couldn't see clearly enough to recognize Peter at such a distance, especially in the dim light, unless he could make out the color of Peter's jumpsuit. But even as that thought conceptualized Egon's face lit up with colossal relief; either he could see clearly enough to recognize Peter or he had realized he knew the voice.

"Hey, Spengs," Venkman said hastily, feeling an equal relief gush through him in a flood because Egon's eyes held alertness and reason; the demon had not yet drained him. Sure, he looked upset and scared, but those emotions were already in retreat. Peter was in time to save him, if only he could hold off the demon with a single thrower, drive it away. There was no way he'd let the entity hurt Egon, even he had to block its passage with his own body. "Get away from him or I'll turn you into a pile of squished ectoplasm," Peter growled and fired at the beast's broad chest, angling his shot carefully so it wouldn't hit Egon. The physicist squeezed his eyes shut against the brightness of the particle stream, turned his head away from the demon.

With a furious growl, the entity lunged backwards, batting at the glowing stream with huge fists, and moving away from Egon. That was all the encouragement Peter needed. He scuttled over to the altar, still firing, fetching up against it, prepared to fend off the demon as long as it took for reinforcements to come or until he could drive it away. The pentagram didn't do anything to him, didn't vaporize him or repel him, and when he looked down at it, nothing happened. He hadn't even remembered it in his rush to get to Egon.

"Are you hurt?" he asked quickly, sparing one quick look down at the supine physicist. He didn't dare do more than that, not with the enormous being hovering so close; he couldn't let go of the thrower with even one hand to offer Egon the physical reassurance of a touch. He could only let the relief he felt at Egon's survival and the fact that he hadn't been drained like the three women show in his face and voice.

"A few cuts," Egon replied dismissively, opening his eyes and squinting nearsightedly up at Peter. "I'm all right, now that you are here," he added firmly, pulling his courage around him like a cloak. "Watch him, Peter. He's going to break."

"I've got it." Peter slid between Egon and the demon, cranking up the power to its top limit. "Watch it, Demon Breath. Your number is up."

"You think?" the demon asked wryly, dodging the streams with a worrisome agility.

"I know," Peter insisted. He wouldn't give one inch of ground.

"Don't bait him," cautioned Egon.

"Come on, it's what I do. I've gotta say I'm not wild about your new outfit," Peter teased in hopes of easing his friend's mood still further, shifting the stream rapidly as the demon tried to scuttle sideways to circle around behind him. Egon did sound shaken; he must have believed he had no hope when he heard the ceiling fall. He'd probably been lying here imagining the deaths of his friends or else the demon had told him that was what had happened. Peter needed no imagination to share that feeling. He just had to remember the rockfall. But he couldn't let himself dwell on that right now. He had to rescue Egon first. Together, they could face that crisis if it proved real. But he would salvage Egon from this mess and nothing was going to stop him. Not a seven-foot demon, not a possessed occultist, nothing.

"No, it is a bit chilly." Egon's voice was deliberately dry. "But your timing is without parallel. Where are Winston and Ray? I thought you'd been trapped in the tunnel. I heard a rockslide...."

"It was close," Peter admitted. "They're on the other side of the cave-in," and hoped with all his heart it was true. "I was out ahead of them and it fell between us. I got a little battered, but I'm fine--as long as you are. Oh, no you don't!" he yelled as the demon held up a fist and gathered blue light along its fingertips. Peter tightened the stream and targeted the demon's hand. "You're not shooting any of that blue crap at me!"

"It seems that I am." The demon's energy spat out, taking a chunk out of the ceiling, causing Peter to dodge uneasily, then lunge back to blast a falling stone in midair to keep it from landing on Egon.

"Now I'm mad," he called. "Give up now and I'll only trap you. Keep it up, and you'll be sorry you ever messed with the Ghostbusters." His stream hit the demon full in the face, making it reel backward.

With a furious roar, the demon struggled against the stream, waved his hand in an attempt to cast energy, then, abruptly, popped out of sight. The room seemed very quiet, only Peter and Egon's rasping breathing cut through the stillness. Not even the air stirred.

Peter cut power immediately, his every sense focused on the room around him, half expecting the entity to pop in again just behind him. Nothing. For an instant, he stood braced and waiting, then he fired again in one quick burst, sweeping the stream along the underside of the altar to sever the metallic cords that restrained Egon. They popped free, releasing him, and he struggled to sit, his hand feeling for the still-bleeding wound in his shoulder. Peter helped him to sit up and took two seconds to give him a fiercely relieved hug. Egon's arms came around him with desperate intensity that revealed just how much he had dreaded what the demon had intended for him--he was shaking--then he pulled free with a gasp and flung out a pointing hand.

"Peter! Behind you!"

Egon's warning came barely in time. As the demon rematerialized in a new spot, Peter whirled and fired, driving the looming entity away a second before it would have sunk its claws into the back of his neck, forcing it toward the tunnel that led to the dark stairs. There was another opening on the far side of the room that he hadn't noticed before in his urgent rush to Egon's side, and unlike Peter's tunnel, it was bright with electricity. It might be their only way out, but there was no chance of reaching it without turning their backs on the demon, especially since it could pop in and out at will. Peter's lone stream wasn't strong enough to hold it until a trap could be thrown out. At the sight of one, it would simply break free as it had done before and phase out again. The only thing Peter could do was fend it off until rescue came. And that was pretty chancy....

While Peter maintained steady fire at the lunging entity, Egon scrambled to his feet and dressed hastily in the tatters of his jumpsuit. Huge holes gaped in it and the right sleeve was missing, but at least he was covered again and less likely to catch a chill. Remembering Caroline's bleeding feet, Peter said, "Put your boots on," out of the corner of his mouth and saw the physicist bend to obey, and nearly end up flat on his face as he lost his equilibrium and almost fell, grasping Peter's leg for support.

"Egon?!" He couldn't stop firing to help but he made an involuntary grab anyway, then jerked away to fire again as the demon tried to rush him in his moment of distraction. It fled back to the far wall, growling savagely.

"I...seem to be a little dizzy." Egon sat down abruptly on the rocky floor and stuck his bare feet into the boots without bothering to look for his socks. "It's all right. I'm alert. I can back you. We can watch in opposite directions. I think the stream hurts him."

"Have you got something to stop that bleeding?" Peter fussed, realizing it was probably the blood loss that had weakened his friend. "I don't need you passing out on me." You'd better be okay, Egon. I can't lose you too. Too? No, don't go there, Peter. Not now.

"There seem to be considerable shreds of clothing." Egon grabbed up a scrap of his shirt, folded it into a pad and tucked it under his jumpsuit, pressing it against the deepest wound. The dizziness seemed to have passed, but Peter knew he must have lost enough blood to make him lightheaded. He needed to see a doctor right away. But Grey-and-Scaly wouldn't want to allow that.

Peter maintained a steady fire, targeting the entity's head and hands; he wanted to prevent a psi attack, and he thought the head might be the weakest area. It was clear the demon didn't like it. The thrower's bursts hurt, although it was not strong enough to hold the demon.

"You like that?" Peter challenged. "There's more where that came from, bunky. You aren't getting him if I have to stand here all year."

"Try it," sniffed the demon scornfully. "You think you can hurt me? You are only an annoyance, the buzzing of a fly. I'll swat you soon enough."

"You and what starfleet?"

"I need none but myself to crush you," the creature spat. Weaving in and out of the streams, he got off a few bursts of blue fire that Peter managed to evade by ducking this way and that, careful to stay between Egon and the entity.

More chunks of ceiling fell, but it was easier to duck them now that Egon was no longer tied down and could shelter beneath the altar. "It didn't drain you, did it?" Peter asked him in a quick undertone. "Even a little?"

Egon pulled himself to his feet, using the altar to support himself until he caught his balance. Positioning himself back to back with Peter, he leaned a little against the psychologist, and Peter could feel him moving to match his own moves; they had done this before on busts so often it had become automatic in a crisis. He'd long suspected Egon could practically read his mind anyway. "No," Spengler reassured him. "It was just about to start when you arrived. I have never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life."

"Goes double for me. You scared the crap out of us." Just knowing Egon was safe--or at least as safe as possible under the circumstances--had revitalized Peter. He didn't dare let himself think about Ray and Winston. They couldn't be dead! They had to be on the other side of the rockslide. They had to be! Winston would have pulled Ray to safety. He was good at things like that. "Though Ray and Winston popping in through that other tunnel would rank right up there in my list of favorite things," he added wistfully.

"Are you certain they are unharmed?" Egon didn't sound happy asking the question

Venkman hesitated, unable to lie to Egon. If he tried, Spengler would know. "I wish I were," he admitted reluctantly. "But I just don't know. I was kind of--in the lead. You know, in a hurry to get to you."

He could hear the physicist's smile in his voice. "Rushing headfirst into danger for your friends' sake? You do have a tendency to take the brunt of trouble to protect us, Peter."

"Hogging the glory," Peter countered hastily although Egon's words were far closer to the truth.

The demon lunged and got a chest full of particle streams. It wailed unhappily, cast them a baleful glare, and popped out again, vanishing without a trace. This time, it didn't instantly return.

Peter and Egon circled slowly, watching the room, the arched bowl of the ceiling, the stygian passage where Peter had emerged into the room, the second opening with a glow of electricity in it to indicate it might be the second illuminated tunnel that branched off the main cavern, both men expecting the demon to return. Peter powered down but didn't let go of the thrower. They held their breath.

"Waiting for us to lower our guard," Egon observed. "I wish I had a P.K.E. meter. At least that would give us some warning when it was returning."

"Yeah." Peter caught his breath, then he whirled around to face his friend. "Let me see that wound. I didn't like the look of what I saw."

"It was a talon." Egon perched on the edge of the altar, his eyes moving steadily, if nearsightedly, to watch the room as Peter folded back the tattered jumpsuit and lifted the makeshift patch. Blood still welled sluggishly from the wound, but it had slowed to a faint trickle, nearly stopped. It didn't look too bad. For an instant Peter closed his eyes in sheer relief, then he got down to business. He pressed the pad into place again, guided Egon's hand up to hold it there, then he reached down and grabbed the first thing he found, Egon's suspenders. He used them to secure the compress, tucking the ends under each other and tying them tightly to keep the makeshift dressing in place. Unwilling to lower his guard even during this necessary procedure, he kept his thrower shoved under his arm for easy access. The demon could return at any moment. The back of Peter's neck crawled uneasily. They were still targets, but he didn't mean to give up. He hadn't overcome falling ceilings and...and the possible loss of his other friends to give Egon over to the demon.

"Good thing your tetanus shots are up to date." Peter checked the two tunnel mouths, then he let out a deep, shaky breath and grabbed the physicist, hugging him with all his strength. He would have loved to prolong the moment, reveling in the knowledge that his oldest friend was alive and unchanged, and that out of the chaos, he had salvaged at least one of his team--but the demon might come back at any moment, and he didn't dare take the chance. One thrower wasn't enough to stop it but it was all he had. He savored the moment, knowing it would have to end too quickly.

Egon leaned against him, trembling slightly, either from blood loss or reaction, but at least he seemed warmer than before. It only took him a moment to collect himself; he could always pull his act together fast in a crisis. "You look rather battered yourself, Dr. Venkman," he said quietly. "You came too close to that rockslide, didn't you?"

Peter hesitated, then he confessed in a desperate rush, "Oh, god, Egon, I think they're dead. I think Ray and Winston are dead."

At once Egon's grip tightened in understanding and shared pain. "I could tell you thought so. But we don't know that yet. I think now, while the demon is gone, we need to get out of here. There were only two passages with electricity that extended off the main cavern, and when the roof collapsed, the lights went out in the passage you used. But if we take the other one, it might lead us out of here. With only one pack and thrower and nothing else to use against the demon, staying here is counterproductive."

"Can you move?" Peter fussed. If he had only one friend left, he was determined to protect him at all costs, and if the other two could be saved and needed help, then it was up to him and Egon to rescue them. The tunnel might be dangerous but there wouldn't be so much room for the entity to duck if it confronted them there. "Can you see well enough to get out of here without your glasses?"

"I can move at least as well as you. You were limping when you came in here. And the demon is huge; even I can see him without my glasses. I might trip on a piece of rock, but I won't miss seeing him if he comes after us, I promise you that."

"I know," Peter said. "You warned me once already." He ran his hand up the back of Egon's neck and gave him a reassuring squeeze and Egon's grip tightened briefly.

They separated reluctantly; the comfort of each other's presence had helped to revitalize them, and drawing apart hurt. For a moment, their eyes met, and they weighed the possibility that their friends were dead. Then Peter stiffened his resolve, checked the setting of the thrower, aimed it ahead of him, and nodded. "Come on," he said. "I don't like it here."

"I confess to an equal, if not stronger, revulsion," Egon replied, and fell into step with him. Weakened by blood loss, he was still able to match Peter's halting pace. The psychologist's ankle felt as if it were still swelling and, if not for his boot, he wasn't sure he could have kept on walking, the way it twinged sharply whenever he put weight on it. Unwilling to let himself consider how much it would hurt to take it off, he gnawed his bottom lip against the pain as they risked a cautious peek into the tunnel. At least it was free of the demon.

"Come on," he encouraged, sparing Egon a weak grin. "Let's blow this popstand."

That was when he heard the hum of distant throwers in action far down the stone corridor, and he froze, listening. "Ray and Winston!" he exulted. "Egon, listen! I can hear firing! They're alive!" Eyes closed in breathless relief, he strained to hear the distant hum and make sense of it. That was more than one thrower. Both of them had made it! They were alive after all!

"They're fighting the demon! Hurry. It will take more than two throwers to stop it," Egon warned.

Peter started off at a dead run, the pain in his ankle forgotten, conscious of Egon racing at his side. After all they had been through, he wasn't prepared to lose his friends now.

Ray Stantz was the very picture of distress. He was so certain Peter had been crushed by the rockfall that he couldn't muster up one shred of his normal optimism. Egon, too, had been captured long enough that he might now share a condition with the three drained women. Caroline hadn't been as bad as the others, and Egon must be at least as strong as she was. He had to be all right. He had to be! But how could Ray find the strength to tell him Peter was dead? As they raced down the circuitous tunnel to attempt a rescue, he could imagine the light dying out of Egon's eyes as he heard the news about Peter.

Daniel led the way, Carlie at his side, her hand outstretched to support him. Normally Ray would have felt saddened at her obvious reaction to Chant. He had never really asked Carlie out very much, but a part of him had wanted to, considered her his girlfriend, believed they would gradually grow closer. He'd even vaguely imagined marrying her someday. Now it was clear that no matter how much she might like Ray, it didn't match the strange, elemental reaction she had to Chant. No one could compete with a force like that. She might not even realize it yet, but the ties that bound her to Daniel were so strong her warm friendship for Ray would never break them. As for Daniel, now that he believed he had destroyed all possibility of winning her, the love he felt for her was as monumental as a tidal wave. He had held her off because of the prison he'd made for himself, but she had come here to save him. It might not work; the odds were that salvaging a relationship out of it was more than either Daniel or Carlie could aspire to, but even if so, that didn't mean Ray could step in and pick up the pieces. Nothing would stop him being Carlie's friend, though, and if it was Daniel she wanted, he'd have to help her. The man was in utter torment, despairing, battered by Jack Wade's hatred, broken by the sight of Caroline and by the blow he'd struck Carlie. But he had an inner strength, because he had broken free of the demon's control on his own, and now he led the way down the passage although he could barely put one foot ahead of the other, determined to lead Ray and Winston to the demon.

"Does it always stay down here?" Winston asked practically. They were nearly running; the unevenness of the floor prevented them from going any faster. "Or does it ever come out?"

"Ever since I've had the house, it's stayed down here," Daniel said. "At least I've never seen it upstairs. I've seen the colonel up there, but never the demon. It might go out and about, but it hasn't been in the house itself."

"Maybe somebody put a geis on it to keep him out, you know, a binding," Ray theorized. Speculating would have been fun if Egon and Peter had been with them, had the team been able to face the threat as one. But he didn't have the heart for excitement now, not with Peter buried under all those rocks, beyond their help. Not with Egon.... He heaved a sigh, raising the P.K.E. meter to check for the entity. They had to find it first, stop it, and its readings would be the strongest of all. Ray had checked for Egon first as they went along the tunnel, and picked up a faint echo that indicated he still lived. He was too far away to tell if he had been interfered with or not. As he switched back to the demon readings, the meter all but exploded in his hand, the beeping rising to a shrill, agonizing pitch that hurt everyone's ears, the lights blinking so fast they seemed solid.

"It's coming!" Ray bellowed unnecessarily, shutting down the detection device before it could blow up. "It's coming now. Spread out. Winston. Jack. The rest of you behind us."

Even as he finished speaking, the demon materialized in front of them, huge, grey, and malevolent. It singled out Daniel, who had not withdrawn but stood beside Winston ignoring the efforts of Carlie and Chester to yank him back to safety. "So," it hissed. "You defy me! Petty mortal, do not dare to believe you are free of my power. I will recapture your mind in an instant. But first, I will destroy these companions of yours. Their weapons are not strong enough to stop me, as I have learned. I can destroy Egon at my leisure, after I have finished with these annoyances." It gestured at Ray and Winston. "The woman is not to my taste, but still, she will make a pleasant morsel as I suck away her very essence."

"You touch her and I will destroy you with my bare hands," Daniel shouted. There was too much of a schoolboy's playground defiance in the uneasy tones, but he meant it with all his heart. Ray was afraid he wasn't strong enough to resist. As if she shared that doubt, Carlie put her hand on Daniel's arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It won't be long now," she said in a sepulchral voice as if she had just witnessed an inner vision. "Just hold out for a little while longer. You can do it. I know you can. It will be all right."

"No, it won't," the demon challenged. "I have killed before and will again." Its lips pulled back in a smug grin, revealing nasty fangs.

"Fire!" Ray yelled urgently, and his and Winston's beams shot out in tandem, Jack's following a moment later in a wild and jerky pattern as the actor tried to accustom himself to the way the weapon bounced and pitched in his hand. The two Ghostbusters hit Lilkharu mid-chest, causing it to jerk and bellow, pain twisting its face, but they weren't strong enough to restrain the entity entirely. It didn't like what was happening, and it was in pain, but it was also strong. Maybe too powerful to go down with the firepower available.

"It's a strong mother," Winston gasped, fighting to hold his beam steady. "Catch it. Hold it! It's getting away!"

Ray had a bad feeling two streams weren't quite enough.

Then Jack managed to control his stream and it lashed out, too. The demon screeched, "Noooooo!" in a horrified voice as it hit and, abruptly, it faded into transparency. "Your weapons are not powerful enough to do this," it insisted. Ray realized it had not feared their weapons; it must have believed it could endure the unpleasantness long enough to destroy them, only to realize they had a weapon it had not expected. Egon had been wearing the atomic destabilizer. Jack's beam had rendered the physical form ectoplasmic, weakening it, but the destabilizer wasn't designed to help hold the entity in the stream. It could still break free.

"It's all right," Carlie repeated over and over like a mantra. "It's all right, it's all right. Just hold it off for a few seconds."

The line reminded Ray of Star Wars, of Red Leader in the trench, trying to get a clear shot at the exhaust port before Darth Vader creamed him. Where was Luke Skywalker when you needed him? Or Han Solo, swooping in at the last minute to blow away the TIE fighters?

"Throw out a trap," Winston yelled, his grip so tight on his thrower he couldn't let go to grab one. Ray knew the feeling. Even at full streams, they had to control the weapons precisely. If they let the demon slip free and one of the beams brushed the ceiling, it could come down on them and bury them...like it had Peter.

Ray felt the ghost trap lifted from his pack, and heard Chester's voice. "What do I do with it?"

"Toss it out under the ghost, but leave the cable," Winston said in an undertone.

"It's breaking free!" shrieked Carlie. Chester lobbed out the trap as if he were playing horseshoes, and it dropped to the ground at the struggling demon's feet. Just then the entity gave a huge wrench as if to break out of the streams entirely.

"It's getting away," Winston called. "Get it, get it!"

"Yahoo!" The shout from the tunnel and the sizzle of a fourth proton stream came simultaneously, and Ray froze, nearly losing his grip on his proton rifle as he recognized Peter's voice. Han Solo had come to the rescue after all.

"Peter!" he cried joyfully. "You're alive!"

"Hang in there, Tex!" Peter burst into view, his proton stream locked on the writhing creature. There was a motion behind him, and Egon appeared, too, clad in the tattered remains of his blue jumpsuit. He had no weapon, but he was on his feet, moving of his own volition.

"Egon!"

"Trap open!" yelled Winston and stomped on the trigger release. A wedge of pure white light shot out and enveloped the frantic entity. Destabilized and pinned by three regular proton streams, it had bitten off more than it could chew. As the trap began to draw Lilkharu in, a faint cloud of energy billowed around the demon, drifting away from it and swirling in tight little circles. Weakened by the streams and unable to fight the suction from the trap, Lilkharu wailed desperately and tried to surge up after the cloud. Destabilized, it couldn't resist the pull for a second. With an agonized cry, it swirled, melted, and sank down into the trap as easily as a class two. The doors closed over it and the tunnel suddenly seemed very dim. The drifting energy had disappeared as if it had never been there at all, either drawn in with him or dispersed.

"Ray! Winston!" Peter powered down and lunged for them, grabbing Ray in a fierce embrace. "God, I thought you guys were history!" he babbled.

"I couldn't get biorhythm readings," Ray cried, hugging Peter with all his strength, conscious of Egon hurrying forward to be enveloped in a similar hug from Winston. "I was sure you were crushed and Egon was drained. It was awful. And here you are just in time, coming to the rescue like Han Solo flying out of the sun in the Millennium Falcon."

"Well, the rocks didn't like me very much," Peter admitted, grinning fleetingly at the Han Solo reference. "But I'm okay. Now that I know everybody is." He clung to Ray with the same desperate need for reassurance as Ray felt.

"Egon?" Ray asked.

"I'm fine, Ray," Egon said, detaching himself from Winston's grip and turning to Ray, who let Peter go and flung himself at him. He was conscious of Peter and Winston greeting each other joyfully, then he pulled back and gazed into Egon's face. "It didn't drain you?" he worried.

"No, Peter arrived just in time."

"Not quite," Peter said, giving Winston one final high five before he swung around. "The demon messed with him, cut him up. I want to be the one to put it in the containment unit even if that's too good for it. I want to beat it to a pulp first."

"The containment unit will have to do," Egon replied. "Because there is no way I will allow it out of the trap for you to play with. I am all right."

"Yeah, after a doctor looks at you," Peter replied.

"And at you," Egon countered. "I shudder to think how swollen your ankle is."

"Ankle?" Ray backtracked mentally, remembering that Peter had been limping as he raced to meet him.

"I think we should get out of here," Carlie said practically. "You two look like you've been to the wars, and Daniel actually stopped breathing for a minute. Sonya called the paramedics for Caroline. Come on. Let's return to the house." She ventured a faint smile at Ray. "I told you it would be all right. I could feel it turning in our favor, there at the end."

The four Ghostbusters fell into step immediately, Winston and Ray positioning themselves to help their restored comrades. Peter slung an arm around Ray's shoulders to help his balance and Ray grabbed him around the waist while Winston steadied Egon.

"I've gotta say you called that one," Peter told Carlotta. "Because now that it's over, my ankle feels like I'm walking on knives."

"Want us to carry you?" Winston offered.

Peter surveyed the available candidates for the role of porter and shook his head. "No, it's only little knives. But watch out for Egon. He lost a lot of blood."

"I'll run ahead and see if the paramedics are here," Chester volunteered. If ever a man seemed energized by a crisis, he did. Pulling himself to his full five feet seven, he bounded away, full of vigor.

"I like him," Carlie said, gazing after him. "He's got a really solid core. True blue. Daniel, how are you?"

"I'm alive," Daniel said, gazing down at the woman at his side as if he would rather rip out his own heart that hold her at a distance. "And I'm free of it. I can tell it's gone. Carlotta, don't."

"Don't what? Worry about you?" She gazed up at him, and Ray couldn't read her look as well as he could read the sheer, despairing adoration in Daniel's eyes.

"Don't care," he urged. "I'm not worth it."

"You couldn't tell anyone what was going on, could you?" she asked pointedly.

"I...no. But that's no damned excuse...."

"He couldn't," Ray confirmed, taking some of Peter's weight to give him more support. "It wouldn't let him talk. He knew, but he only knew part of the time, I think. The rest of the time, it made him forget."

"That's a hell of an excuse," muttered Jack in the tones of a man who was trying hard to hold onto his grievance in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He stomped ahead of them as if to distance himself from Daniel's contaminating presence, then his shoulders bowed and he slowed again. "You guys wear these packs all the time?" he asked in rampant disbelief. "They weigh a ton."

Winston laughed, but that made Egon suggest, "Peter, take yours off. You don't need the extra weight with your ankle."

"Are you kidding?" Peter asked, a grin on his face. "You guys are all okay. For awhile there, I thought I was gonna have to play this gig solo. I think I could carry the Taj Mahal right about now. Oh, yeah," he said abruptly, coming to a stop as if he had remembered something. "Winston?" He held out his hand, palm up.

For a second, Winston was puzzled, then he got it. Digging into his breast pocket, he pulled out Egon's glasses and placed them into Peter's hand. Peter eased away from Ray's support and came to a stop in front of Egon. Very carefully, he settled the glasses onto his friend's face, using his forefinger to push them up to their proper place on the bridge of his nose as if he were conferring knighthood. They instantly slid down again.

Egon settled them himself, and Ray could see the warmth and relief in his eyes, not just at being able to see clearly but because everyone was here, no one was dead, and what wounds they had sustained were not serious. They had come too close, and each of them had feared at least one of the others was dead. But they were all alive, and all that was left was the shouting.

Peter beamed, expanding the smile to include them all. Then he winced and looked around for Ray. "Come on, Tex, it's time to play human crutch again. I hate this place. I want to go where its warm and bright and servants will run hot baths for us and bring us food and clean clothes. And I want it now."

It was only midnight. They had emerged from the tunnels to find the paramedics finished with Caroline and ready to transport her to the nearest hospital. When they saw Egon and Peter, they delayed departure long enough to examine them. Removing his boot hadn't been fun, but once it was off, Peter felt better. Allowed a quick shower while they examined Egon and dressed his cuts, Peter emerged to find clean clothes waiting and a liveried servant who introduced himself in a very posh British voice as Daniel's valet, Tarrant. He helped Peter into pajamas and a robe and produced an ice pack for his ankle. Peter sat propped against the headboard of his bed, half dozing, letting the ice pack soothe the swelling. When the paramedics popped in again a few minutes later, he was nearly asleep, but roused enough to ask after Egon.

The physicist himself entered in the paramedics' wake, wearing his nightshirt and a floor-length robe over it that Peter had never seen before, possibly culled from Daniel's wardrobe. "I'm here, Peter. I'm all right. I used the shower in Ray and Winston's room."

"And we'll check that dressing again before we leave," said Jane, the younger of the two paramedics, a fresh-faced woman with wide blue eyes and flaming red hair. "Sit down until I finish here."

"I'll do it." Mel, her partner, fortyish with slate grey hair and a very kind face, made Egon sit on the second bed. Peter closed his eyes as Jane examined him, opening them only when she checked his pupils' reaction to light and asked him questions geared to detecting a serious head injury.

"I was only out a second," Peter reassured her. "I could still hear a few rocks coming down when I woke up again. Any longer and I wouldn't have got to Egon on time. I don't have a concussion. I hardly even have a headache. My foot hurts worse than my head ever did. Really."

"Well, you certainly don't display any evidence of a head injury," she replied. "Dizziness? Blurred or double vision?"

Peter shook his head energetically, and it didn't even hurt. "No, nothing like that. The bruise is sore, that's all. Really."

"I'll tell your teammates to keep an eye on you," she said, "And you might go in with your friend when you return to the city and have your own doctor make sure." She nodded in Egon's direction. "Right now, I'm going to take care of your ankle. She started to apply an ace bandage. It's not a serious sprain," Jane reassured him. "But you walked on it more than you should. Don't do that without the support bandage for a couple of days, and try not to do too much running around. It'll be sore and remind you if you overdo."

"It's not like I had a choice," Peter defended himself sleepily. "My buddy was in trouble." He waved a hand at Egon.

"So I see," Mel observed. "Well, Egon, you're lucky. This is a very clean wound and not deep. I don't think you'll have any infection but you might want to have your own doctor look at it when you get back to the city, and of course see one sooner if you have any trouble with it. These other scrapes don't even need band-aids." He sat back at the foot of the bed. "They weren't jiving us? A demon did this?"

"We're the Ghostbusters," Peter reminded him sleepily. "It's what we do. They don't usually get so physical, thank goodness. But it goes with the territory."

"I'm finished," Jane said, standing up. "Both of you, get some sleep."

"How's Caroline?" Peter asked. "She'd been lost in the caves a long time." They'd decided on the way back to the house that it was better to report her missing in the tunnels for the time being. After that, if Caroline wanted the police involved, it would be her decision.

"She's amazing," Mel said in a dreamy voice. "Lost in those caves for weeks, she said, and with that...that thing down there after her, it's a wonder she's all right at all. She's in a state of shock emotionally, and physically she's malnourished and her feet are a mess, but just being free and found have done wonders for her. I don't think I ever met a woman with that much courage. The way she suddenly looked up at me, and she smiled and fire came into her eyes.... god, I never saw anyone like that before."

"Down, boy, she's a patient," Jane reminded him. "We're taking her to the hospital," she added. "She was grateful to you Ghostbusters for finding her and asked that you visit her tomorrow."

"We will," Peter agreed. "And the doctor can look at Egon's shoulder when we come in. No arguments, big fella," he added.

Egon looked too close to sleep to have thought of arguing. He said drowsily, "Yes, Peter."

"On that note, we'll leave you to sleep," Jane said.

"What about Daniel?" Peter called, straightening up. He had mixed feelings about their host, but he'd also once been the subject of demonic possession and had tried to open the containment unit back at headquarters. He remembered how hard he had fought to hold off Watt's possession and how he had finally failed. So how could he fault Daniel for losing the battle? Except that Daniel had probably gone into it with his eyes wide open.

"Physically, he isn't so bad," Jane said. "They told us he stopped breathing, and we wanted to transport him, too, but he refused. His vitals are strong enough that we didn't override him, and Carlotta says she'll watch him and call for help if he has any sign of relapse." At a knock at the door, she turned her head. "Yes, come in for a minute only, and then I want them to rest." Closing up her kit, she stood up, and she and Mel edged out past Ray and Winston.

"Are you guys okay?" Ray asked. "Want to switch rooms so one of us can watch each of you?"

Peter glanced over at Egon. "I think he's already asleep."

It was true. The physicist had slid down a little, still propped up with pillows. He didn't stir when Winston and Ray went over and settled him under the covers, tucking him in like a child, although he made a sound of contentment and wiggled into a comfortable position under the blankets.

Peter's eyes stung at the sight. He swallowed hard to keep his emotions from showing. The other two advanced on him as if in unspoken agreement and tucked him in, too. Opening his mouth to protest the indignity, he found himself closing it again at the expressions on their faces. They were as relieved as he was and if they wanted to fuss a little, he'd let them. Besides, he was too tired to argue.

"Get some sleep, homeboy," Winston said, ruffling up his hair affectionately while Ray grinned in agreement.

"Winston, I hate that," Peter groaned, but he was asleep before they could get out the door.

"So this was why?" Curled up, feet tucked under her in a comfortable overstuffed chair, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, Carlotta looked over at Daniel in his big four-poster bed. It was a bed she had never shared with him, although a year ago, when they had begun to date, he had stayed at her apartment several times. Before he had dropped her without explanation for a series of blonde women.

"Why?" he echoed sleepily. She knew he wouldn't fall asleep, exhausted and drained as he must be, so she had volunteered to sit with him.

"Why you dropped me as if I were poison? Why you walked out of my life like you did last year? Without even a call to say you were sorry?"

"You were well rid of me." His eyes never left her face. "You told me I was arrogant and insufferable even then, and I was. I used to be the most egotistical bastard on the planet. I used to imagine myself such a charmer that no woman could resist me. Even then, a part of me relished that, even with you."

"I know." That had hurt, but she had felt something more in him, something beyond what she could sense with her psychic ability, beyond the inner voice telling her he was important. "But that wasn't all of it."

"God, no, it was like a force of nature," he admitted. "You felt it, too, or you wouldn't have come near me back then, and even when we were together that month, you kept telling me I was too full of myself. But you didn't stay away."

"It was a force of nature for me, too," she admitted. "It was meant, Daniel. Even more than when I married Karl. I loved him, of course; we didn't have long together, but it was happy. Only meeting you was a revelation, it was so different. When you walked away, when you started taking out blonde bimbos, it was as if I knew something had gone wrong, something more than the usual breakup. Oh, yes, I was hurt, I felt betrayed, and I tried to hate you. It shouldn't have been hard to hate you; it's not as if you were a very nice person back then, even without those women. But I couldn't hate you. I couldn't, and I tried so hard." She averted her eyes from his face; there was so much pain spelled out on it that she couldn't bear to look at him. "And then, you were always there, in the background, at the same parties, even when you had one of the blondes on your arm, and you were watching me, and I knew. I knew you still wanted me, still loved me. And I started to see the shadows over you, to know something was wrong. I saw the shadows and I knew it was something outside yourself, but even with my gift, I couldn't see the possession--not until I came into your house and felt the horror."

"Why did you come?" he asked. "It wasn't the first time I had asked you."

"No. But I didn't realize those were cries for help. I couldn't understand it. No one could have what we had and then just stop cold turkey. And you asked me when they were here. The blondes. I didn't know they were victims. I never let myself concentrate on them at all, or I might have realized. I was hurt, I was betrayed, but god help me, I still wanted you."

"I never stopped wanting you," he said. "But once I realized what I'd done, what the demon wanted me to do with Andrea, I knew I had gone too far, that there was no hope of us. And I couldn't stop. It was in my head."

"Controlling you," she said. "Making you do those terrible things."

"It was still me that did them. You know that. You have to. In the morning, I want you to go away." She could hear the pain in his voice as if he were yanking off huge chunks of his own skin.

"How did it start?" she asked, ignoring the command as irrelevant.

"Lilkharu?" He sounded startled. Pushing himself up a little and sticking a pillow behind his back, he spoke slowly. "I let him take over. I didn't know all of that at the time. I thought I could control it. I've studied the occult for years. I've taken part in rituals that would probably make you sick to your stomach and didn't let them touch me. When I realized this house came with a ghost and a resident demon, I was delighted, charmed. I thought I was hardened, that I knew it all, that nothing could faze me. I tried to summon it up and when it came, I thought I controlled it. And then I went up to the city and met Andrea and, god, she was a tame little innocent, not at all my type, but I wanted her to my bones--only I didn't. I could stand outside myself and watch myself making up to her, winning her, and always you were there in the background, outraged, reproachful, disbelieving, and I wanted you so much but I couldn't go to you. Something made me push you further and further away."

"And so you brought her here?"

"I had to. I brought her here and took her down to the caves and told her we'd have a game, and lit all the candles. She was afraid, but she was excited, too; it was all new to her. Then the demon came and she was terrified, screaming and screaming, and I did the ritual; I couldn't help myself. The demon didn't need the ritual but it liked it and it liked the way it could dominate me. I could see myself from a distance, hate myself for what the demon did to that innocent woman. And when it was over and she was lying there staring up at me with no trace of emotion or expression in her eyes, I put her clothes back on and took her back to the city and left her in her apartment. And I forgot about her. I mean, I could vaguely remember her, that I dated her, but not really what happened to her here, but I didn't think about her. I could even feel...normal again. I even challenged Lilkharu. And he laughed. Oh, god, Car, he laughed and said I was his and I'd have to do it again."

It took every iota of willpower she possessed not to cross the room and comfort him.

"And then there was Donna, pliant, helpless Donna. She was already in love with me, even though I had scarcely noticed her before. She worked as a secretary at my office. I barely had to crook my finger. She was so thrilled, so delighted to have my notice. She'd have slept with me the first day, the first hour, even. I found her tiresome. You know I have no patience with sweet innocence. Never have. But I kept spending time with her, time when I wanted to be with you, and deep inside where I couldn't think about it, I knew what would happen with Donna. And I brought her here. She did everything I said, and was still looking at me with trust when the demon put his hand on her heart and sucked what little spirit she had out of her."

It was a terrible story, but she knew he had to tell it all. She said, "Go on."

"In a way, Caroline was better. She had spirit. It wasn't a chore to spend time with her like it was with Donna. I knew by then what the demon wanted and I got so I would try to turn away automatically if I saw a woman of the right type. But I met Caroline at a reception for the company. Bell and Perez represented us, and she was there with her boss, Justine Bell--I think she's the one who brought in the Ghostbusters. Caroline might seem an innocent, too--I think the demon wanted that--but she was the strongest of the three. I had a little hope that would make a difference, that it would put Lilkharu off. But it didn't. Only I couldn't bear it any more. I stood there through the whole ritual and bawled like a baby. I think Lilkharu knew I was going to fail him, and that's why it decided to take Egon. If it couldn't make me do what it wanted, it would destroy me publicly. All through the evening, I found myself talking to Egon, sitting near him, watching him. I don't know if anyone even noticed. The Ghostbusters knew about the three women, but I don't think it ever occurred to them that the demon might want a man. It hadn't asked me to bring one; perhaps it understood enough of human relationships to know I was straight and that it wouldn't work for me to bring a male sacrifice up here. When I realized they knew about what had been happening, I tried to help, I tried to apologize to Egon, I did what I could."

"I know you did. I could feel how hard it was for you."

"But I couldn't quite break free, not till it made me hit you. God, Car, I can't believe I did that."

"No, that was a good thing," she consoled him, her fingers brushing the tender place on her cheek. "Because it pushed you to the point where you would go no further. Caroline almost did, I think you have been coming closer and closer to breaking the control for a long time. I've felt forces hovering over you for months. I knew something was wrong. When I heard the Ghostbusters were to come up here, I agreed to come, too."

"You and Ray.... I saw the way he looked at you." He hesitated. "No, that's none of my business."

"Ray is my friend. Don't be jealous of him."

"Jealous? God, I don't even have the right to be jealous, after what I've done. I should be in prison."

"On what charge?" she asked.

"Destroying three women."

"You didn't destroy them. The demon attacked them and you couldn't control it."

"Do you think that matters to Jack Wade? Or to Donna Moreau's people, or to Justine Bell? Bell's an attorney. She'll find a charge to bring against me. Get out, Carlotta. Get out and don't look back. I won't be any good to you in prison. And even if I avoid prison, there will be a scandal, and I won't let you be a part of it. I'm poison. And there's nothing left of me to love."

"There's enough of you to love me," she said. "And I seem to remember something about 'for better or worse.' No, we never took vows, but when I make a commitment, I mean it. It isn't in me to walk away from you. Even before I understand what was wrong, why you had walked away, I couldn't do the same. Besides, you need me. You need me to get you through this. And if I hadn't needed you, I wouldn't be here now. Don't you understand, Daniel Chant? They can send you to prison, they can vilify you in the sensational press, but none of that matters." She pushed herself up out of the chair and walked over to the bed, putting out her hand. He looked at it a long time, then, helplessly, he put his own into it and squeezed so tightly it hurt.

Carlotta ignored the pain. "This is what matters," she said. "It's not in either of us to go away, don't you see?"

He closed his eyes and began to weep, deep racking sobs that shook his entire body.

Carlotta closed her eyes, hurting with his pain, then she climbed into the bed with him and put her arms around him. "It's all right. Go to sleep," she soothed. "I am never going away from you again."

The demon put its hand on Egon's chest, smiling down at him, fangs dripping. The dark cavern surrounded him, lit with hundreds of candles, their flickering light blurring before his eyes as he struggled, fighting to break the unbreakable bonds that confined him. It was like trying to move the Island of Manhattan. He couldn't get free, he couldn't edge away from the taloned hand that pressed down against him, claws scraping his flesh. "Your friends will be too late," it intoned. "Too late.... too late.... too late." And then Egon could feel the suction as his will, his emotions, his intellect were drawn from his body, leaving him empty, spent, a broken shell. "Your soul will be mine...mine...mine..."

"Noooooo!" He jerked up in bed, staring wildly around the darkened bedroom, quivering with reaction. In the first moment of consciousness, he didn't realize it had been a dream, and he gazed numbly into the darkness, unable to think.

Then an arm came around his shoulders, a hand pulled the blankets up around him, and a voice said in his ear, "It's okay, Egon, it was only a dream. Just a dream."

"P-peter?"

"None other." The arm tightened. "It's okay," Venkman repeated. "I kinda figured one of us or both were gonna have our share of nightmares over this. It's natural. We all came too close this time. Just remember, it didn't happen after all. You were in trouble and it would've taken more than falling ceilings to keep us from helping you. The team sticks together. Remember that."

"It was too close...." He leaned into the circle of Peter's arm, feeling his trembling ease. He really was all right, although the experience had not been at all pleasant.

"Yeah, I know. Pushed all your buttons, didn't it?" Peter said knowingly. "Happens sometimes. But the great brain is intact. And it won't be long before you're dreaming up new boring reports for me to read like that Demon Manifestations thingy you were making me read a few days ago. Come to think of it, maybe I should've paid more attention to that one. It could have come in useful on this bust."

That made Egon chuckle faintly. "Naturally you should," he said, tensions fading into a state of contentment. "And I trust you will remember that in future when you put my reports at the bottom of the pile beneath your Baseball Digests and your Playboys."

"Baseball Digests? You know we're missing the World Series up here, Spengs?" Peter asked, adding wickedly, "Just think, your Blue Jays might repeat from last year. And what are we doing? Hanging around in caves? I've gotta say, I wonder about your priorities."

Egon laughed out loud. "Thank you," he said seriously when the amusement faded. "I'm glad you were here."

"I get that a lot," Peter returned, grinning wickedly.

"Go to bed," Egon urged.

Peter hesitated a minute. "Think you'll be okay now?" he asked. "Or do you want to sneak down to the kitchen and whip up some of your famous hot cocoa?"

"I think I'd prefer not to go anywhere in this house in the dark," Egon replied seriously. "And that reminds me, we must still gather information on the Colonel. It's possible that manifestation may end now that Lilkharu has been trapped but, in case not, we may have to trap the Colonel. I would prefer not to do so since he shared a common enemy with us. But he did upset Carlotta."

"True," Peter replied. "But don't worry about that now. You need to sleep--and I know I do. I think we should all sleep late in the morning and, since there are servants here, breakfast in bed has a great appeal. Think I can put in an order for it, or will they just know?"

"Go to bed," Egon instructed a second time, smiling.

Peter edged away and returned to the other bed. Without his glasses and in the darkness, Egon couldn't see him clearly, but he could make out Peter's reassuring and affectionate grin before he lay down and pulled the covers up. "Just remember," he said as he closed his eyes. "One midnight wake-up is my usual limit, but in your case, I'll make an exception--for tonight only. Special limited offer, remember?"

"Good night, Peter."

Peter hesitated, sitting up again. "Egon...." This time there was an uneasy note in his voice that Egon found disturbing.

"Now what?"

"I'm sorry we didn't even notice you got snatched. I can't believe we did that." The guilty words spilled out quickly, surprising Egon, who hadn't expected them, although he had begun to suspect that something was wrong.

"I have a feeling Lilkharu had something to do with your oversight," he replied hastily, sitting up and facing Peter. "It was really very powerful. It made me unable to speak. Maybe it could create a kind of glamour, so that none of you noticed anything but Caroline. Surely you don't believe I blame you or the others because Lilkharu took me? Does Ray?"

Peter grimaced at the very thought of triggering that kind of remorse in Ray. "No, and I'm not going to mention it to him. He hasn't done any major guilt in a long time. I just wanted you to know we didn't mean to--"

"I know quite well you didn't mean to," Egon assured him. "It never even occurred to me. I'm sorry it occurred to you."

"Well, we were scared," Peter justified himself. "When we realized you were gone.... And then Carlotta used the walkie-talkie to say the demon had taken men, too." He shivered reminiscently. "God, that was bad. You were gone and I'd seen Donna and there was Caroline, her emotions all torn up--and you were missing!"

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Egon replied with a reminiscent shudder. "When Lilkharu collapsed the ceiling and implied all of you were dead...."

Peter was silent a moment, then, abruptly, he smiled. "But we weren't. We're all okay, thank goodness. Just so you know we didn't mean...."

"I do know. None of you were to blame for me being taken. Such a concept never even occurred to me. Blame Lilkharu, Peter, not yourself or Ray or Winston. And I realize how much Caroline needed you at that point. It's all right."

The smile intensified. "As long as we all made it," he agreed thankfully.

"Lilkharu," Egon mused. "Hmm, those are Sumerian roots in the word. I mean to look it up as soon as we return home. We should have brought Tobin's Spirit Guide.... Let's see. 'Akhkharu' means 'vampire' and the 'lil' prefix--"

"Egon!" Peter screeched, outraged. The language lesson had reassured him, exactly as the physicist had meant it to. "It's the middle of the night, for Pete's sake. Can't all this 'I can read Sumerian in the dark with the lights off' stuff wait until morning? Late morning?"

"Good night, Peter," Egon said again, his smile spreading across his face.

"Good night, John-boy."

In spite of the near-disastrous activities of the previous night, Ray woke up bright and early, feeling greatly refreshed, and eased out of bed quietly to shower and shave. Last night Peter and Egon had tied up their two bathrooms and needed it, so Ray had simply crashed, too tired to care that he was dusty and sweaty. The hot shower felt wonderful. He stood under the beating water, relishing the knowledge that the whole team was alive. Peter and Egon were only mildly hurt, too; they could have gotten that banged up on a minor bust and both of them should feel better this morning. He grinned happily at the memory of the joyous reunion in the tunnel. All was right with his world.

Then he remembered Carlotta and his joyful smile faded. Okay, so maybe one thing wasn't quite right. He'd have to talk to her but it was pretty clear there was something going on with her and Daniel. He'd never seen them together before tonight and at first they had seemed only conventional acquaintances. But he had freaked when she'd fainted, even if he hadn't shown it much. And she'd been frantic over him. It looks like you lost out, Ray, he told himself regretfully, and shut off the water.

Winston was sitting up in bed when he returned to the bedroom. "It's early," he said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Why are you up?"

"Because I want to see if Peter and Egon are okay," Ray replied.

"Man, if you think you're gonna be able to pry Peter out this early with anything short of a crowbar, you are waaaaay wrong." Winston yawned gapingly.

"Well, I can peek in and see how they're sleeping," Ray defended himself as he checked the drawers to find his clean underwear and shirts. "Besides, we have to find out about the Colonel today. He might not walk any more now that we've busted that demon, but we have to be sure. If he can make people faint...."

"Good point. Why don't you and I run into the nearest town--what's that, Newburgh?"

"Well, I think there might be a little town closer," Ray said thoughtfully. "The servants will know."

"Okay, whichever, and do some research. There should be back issues of the local paper. Maybe we can find out exactly what was going around at the time. If it was his daughter or his granddaughter and what happened to her, and if there are any more women who were drained--or men, too, considering what almost happened to Egon." Winston hauled himself out of bed. "Because we can maybe get word to any institutions where they might be and see if they can change treatment or something."

"Yeah, and I just remembered," Ray said musingly. "We were all too relieved when the demon went down to think of it, but did you see that weird cloud that rose around it when we were trapping it? We didn't trap that, it just vanished." He pulled on his shorts and started to don a tee shirt.

Winston paused in the act of shedding his pajama top off. "Wait a minute. I hope you're not saying we didn't get it all." He strode over to stand toe to toe with Ray as his head emerged from the neck hole of the tee shirt. "Did part of it get away?"

"No, because I did take a reading, remember?" Ray reminded him. "There wasn't one trace of class seven readings left."

"Then what did we see?" asked Winston.

"I don't know. Unless--"

"Unless what, homeboy?"

"Unless it was the energy it had sucked out of people," Ray said. "Just think, Winston, if we could find it, hold it in a trap, and take it back to the people who have been drained, just think. We could make them all right again." He hesitated. He wasn't sure it would be that easy, but it would have to help. "I want to go down there and see if we can trace it. It'd be more like a biorhythm field. Or something like that, anyway."

"If it's been in the demon all this time, who's to say it wouldn't do them more harm than good," objected Winston. "Think about it, Ray. It might have just dissipated anyway. I'm gonna have a shower. I smell. Peek in on the guys, if you must, but don't wake them up if they're still sleeping."

He grabbed clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

Quickly Ray finished dressing then he let himself out of the room and crossed the hall, quietly opening the door to Peter and Egon's bedroom. For a moment, he stood smiling at the sight of his two sleeping friends. Peter was sprawled out across the bed, arms flung wide, the covers twisted around his legs, his expression so contented Ray wouldn't have dreamed of disturbing him. Egon slept more tidily than Peter did, but then he did everything more tidily than Peter did, so that didn't seem wrong. He, too, appeared relaxed and comfortable, and neither of them looked flushed, feverish, or in any way ill. Stantz backed out silently and pulled the door shut after him, grinning a mile wide. They were alive and well, and they were here. For awhile last night, Ray hadn't believed either one of them would survive, and they'd thought the same about him and Winston.

Gosh, he felt good.

The attractive African American maid who had shown them to their room yesterday came down the hall, and Ray greeted her cheerfully. "Hi, Jackie. Is there any way my buddies in there can get breakfast in bed?" He wouldn't make a habit of it; Peter was sure to take advantage and expect it to be repeated when they got home, but just this once....

"Mrs. Goerteborg already requested that for them," Jackie replied. She hesitated. "It's not my business, but I have to know. Is Daniel all right?"

"He's not possessed any more," Ray replied, realizing from her knowing expression that she had a fairly good idea what had occurred the previous night. "We took readings to make sure. But, you know, he's been through a lot. It won't be something he can just shrug off."

"Will he have to go to jail?"

Ray frowned. "I don't know. I'm not sure what the charge would be, and of course we Ghostbusters would testify that he had no control over what he did. I don't know if a good prosecutor would let a defense of demonic possession get past him. But none of those women died." Ray still felt terrible about what had happened to Donna, Andrea, and Caroline, but Daniel was, in his mind, as much a victim as they were. The fact that the occultist wouldn't see it that way himself only made Ray the more convinced of it. "You and the others who work here aren't going to leave him, are you?"

She hesitated. "There might be one or two, but most of us are staying. We had a meeting first thing this morning and talked about it. Tarrant--the valet, I think you've met him--seemed to know the most. He's been with Daniel all his adult life and I don't think you could pay him to leave. But--I just want to make sure it won't happen to him again?"

Ray could understand her worry. "Well, I can't say it's impossible, because nothing is, but what I am sure of is that he isn't likely to put himself in a situation where it could happen, at least not voluntarily. And I think he'll...have Carlie to help him." He heaved a regretful little sigh.

Jackie nodded. "I know he will." She reached out and gave Ray's shoulder a comforting pat. "I like her; she seems special. I can understand how you'd feel, but she isn't the only woman who is special. Was it really love?"

Ray stared at her, astonished. He'd heard servants didn't miss much, but he'd never had any real experience of them except for the odd bust at a rich man's home. "I don't know. I just knew I liked her a lot."

"There will be someone else," Jackie said. "I don't know you, Dr. Stantz, but I've heard of you and I've seen you with your friends. They're going to be busy today and full of other thoughts, but I wanted you to know that you're far too nice a guy to be without someone special forever.... I'll bring up your friends' breakfast in half an hour." She tightened her grip a little, smiled at him, then went down the passage, moving as elegantly as a queen. Ray stared after her in surprise.

He took a P.K.E. meter down to the tunnels, accompanied by one of the servants, a young man named Dave, who insisted on arming himself with a rifle in spite of Ray's assurances that it would be unnecessary. They walked down the tunnel to the place where the demon had been trapped. Ray couldn't detect anything there but fading residuals, exactly what he'd expect to find where a demon had been busted. There were no biorhythm readings there at all, other than his own and Dave's. If there had been a release of energies stolen from the women, it had dissipated. If only he had thought of it the previous night. He might have been able to help them.

Feeling slightly guilty that he'd overlooked a possibility, he and Dave returned to the house and Ray hurried upstairs. Spotting the telephone on the hall table, he called the hospital in Newburgh where Caroline had been taken, explained who he was, and asked after her.

"She's resting much more comfortably this morning," said the voice on the other end of the line, clearly unwilling to give out any further information. "Visiting hours at one."

Ray had to be content with that for the time being, but he vowed to go and see her that afternoon.

He returned upstairs just as Egon and Peter were settling themselves to take their breakfast in bed, and was surprised to find that trays had been brought up for him and Winston, too and they had been placed on the dresser. Winston dragged up a couple of chairs. As Jackie settled the tray on his bed, Peter beamed as if he were in heaven.

"This is the way I like to be treated," he claimed delightedly. "And I'm going back to sleep as soon as I finish eating."

"It's after eight o'clock. You'll waste the best part of the day," Egon chided him. He smiled at Jackie as she arranged the bed tray. "I could get up," he told her.

"Of course you could," she assured him. "But there's no need. Get up after you eat. Mrs. Goerteborg left instructions. She's not used to dealing with servants, but she thinks of things. We'll be glad to have her for the mistress of the house."

Peter's head jerked around and he stared at Ray, eyes widening with sympathetic understanding.

"Yeah, they belong together," Ray said quickly as if he'd always known that, and he saw Peter's expression shift into admiration and respect for the way he was handling it. That felt good, although a part of him felt a little hollow and empty. He'd just read more into his time with Carlie there really was, that was all.

"So what hard work do you guys have planned for me today?" Peter asked, forking up a piece of sausage. "I love breakfast," he added. "The only time of day I eat things I shouldn't."

Egon was working on a half of grapefruit. "We need to resolve the issue of the Colonel," he said.

"Ray and I will go to the nearest town and check the newspaper files," Winston volunteered, shaking pepper onto scrambled eggs.

"And I want to visit Caroline in the hospital," Ray said. He told them about the mist he'd seen emerging from the demon. "And, gee, guys, there was so much going on then, and I got an clear reading when I tested it after the bust. It never even occurred to me it might have been the energy he drained from the women. If we could only have gotten it back, we might have been able to help them."

"It's okay, Tex," Peter said automatically as if he sensed Ray felt worse about this oversight than he did about the loss of Carlotta. Carlie had never been his to lose. But he was a Ghostbuster and should have noticed a possible means of helping the women. "We all kinda had a lot to think about right then."

"I assume you checked the tunnels this morning, Ray." Egon didn't appear to be in any distress from the injury to his shoulder. He was using his arm as if unaware of a wound.

"I just came from there. I couldn't get anything."

"Then don't worry about it." Peter forked up a piece of sausage. "I, for one, don't have a clue how to catch dispersing energy and forcing it into a person, and I bet Professor Einstein here doesn't either," he said, popping the sausage into his mouth and waving the fork at Egon.

"Actually, no, I don't," Egon said, "short of releasing it in the victim's vicinity and hoping for the best. That would assume it would recognize where it belonged and return there, which I would consider highly unlikely. It's not as if it were a directed consciousness."

"No, but it might just go home automatically," Ray argued. "We could have tried."

"No, we couldn't," argued Winston, always the voice of common sense. "Because we had so much on our minds we didn't think of it, and that's the bottom line. You aren't the only one who didn't notice it or think of it, Ray. None of us did, and that's too bad, but even if we had, there's no guarantee we could have helped."

"It might have been like the time on the space station when Egon and I got absorbed," Ray reminded him. "When that entity got zapped, all that energy found its way home."

Peter waved his fork for attention. "Then who's to say this didn't find its way home, too. Anybody checked on Caroline this morning?"

"I called the hospital. They did say she was doing better," Ray admitted. "You don't think it really was her energy and it found its way to her, even if she wasn't here?"

"It would certainly be a fascinating area of study," Egon replied. "I don't believe any serious research as been done on the subject; the nearest field I can consider is an out-of-body experience, and in those instances what has left the body has been the person's conscious essence. I can't believe what Lilkharu drained from those women and meant to drain from me would have retained any consciousness."

Jackie finished pouring out coffee from the pot on the cart she had wheeled into the room and headed for the door. "Ring if you need anything else," she said and gestured to a button on the wall near the door.

"You mean we could have had room service all along and nobody told us," Peter mourned.

"Yeah, like we've spent any time in these rooms except for sleeping," scoffed Winston. "What about you two. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Slightly sore," Egon said when Peter gestured for him to speak first. "I'm aware of the injury but there's next to no pain. I possess no symptoms to suggest infection, and I am quite hungry."

"My ankle's kinda sore." Peter wiggled it cautiously. "Maybe you guys will have to get things for me so I can stay propped up in a chair downstairs."

"I knew it wouldn't take long for old Pete to try to turn us into his slaves," Winston groaned. "Ray and I are out of here right after breakfast. Don't overwork Daniel's servants, Pete. They've got enough to do."

"It's their job," Peter defended his intentions. "Just like I think Daniel himself might be mine."

"Ours, Peter," Egon corrected. "I want to take thorough readings. I tested him before, when we came, and I got nothing that unusual. Yet the demon did control him, so it was not a conventional possession. I believe it was a link more than anything; it could pull back and just touch a corner of his mind, so that most of the time he would behave with complete normalcy. I want to take new readings this morning and correlate them with what I recorded yesterday and last night."

"And what I got when he was throwing off the possession, or breaking the link," Ray offered. "I'll leave my meter with you so you can check them, and I'll take the spare on in Ecto for checking on Caroline. Your meter got broken last night, Egon."

"I know," the physicist mourned. He loved the meters. "But I remember what readings I got and can still correlate them. This will be fascinating...."

"Well, he's off in la la land," Peter observed. "Hey, Egon, mind if I have your sausage."

"Of course, Peter," Egon said abstractedly without even realizing what he had been asked. It took Peter edging out of bed, careful not to disturb the tray, and spearing the last sausage, to win his attention again, and then he swatted Peter's hand.

"Hitting a wounded man, that's low, even for you," Peter teased.

"And stealing from one isn't?" countered Spengler.

Carlotta came in just as they finished their breakfast, a small first-aid kit tucked under one arm. "Ah, good, you've eaten," she said.

"How's Daniel?" asked Winston.

"Still asleep. I hope he sleeps till noon. He was utterly drained last night."

"Yeah, so were a lot of us," Peter put in, then caught himself. "But I know it's different for him. Hey, sweetie, can you check Egon to make sure his shoulder's okay? Do your mystic number on it?"

"I'm not a healer, Peter," she said. But she went to Egon, who lifted away his tray out of the way.

She rested the palm of her hand on Egon's shoulder over the wound and closed her eyes. So great was her concentration that Ray almost believed she would lift her hand away and there would be no mark left to show where Egon had been clawed. Instead she smiled. "I don't usually do this kind of thing, but I can't feel the slightest edge of difficulty with it. It's healing. I can change the dressing, if you like."

She and Winston did it together, Peter and Ray edging closer to make sure. It looked fine, obviously starting to heal. Egon didn't even wince when Winston applied an antiseptic cream.

After she had finished, Ray followed Carlotta out into the hall, and she turned to face him, putting her hands into his. "Ray...." Then she caught herself. "Come on," and led him down the hall to her bedroom. A suitcase lay on top of the bed, a few things disarrayed from it, but the bed itself was made and had clearly not been slept in. The sight finally convinced Ray what he had already known, that Carlotta was not his and never would be.

She put her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never meant to mislead you. But I was lost and sad and betrayed, and I didn't understand why, and you were so warm and kind and funny, and you made me smile when nothing else could. You were like a fire where I could warm my hands--and my heart--for a little while. But I didn't count the cost to you, and for that I apologize."

"You love him," Ray said, prepared to do a Han Solo from Return of the Jedi and step aside manfully. Han had been lucky; Leia's love for Luke had been of the sisterly sort. But Carlie's love for Daniel was the till-death-us-do-part kind.

"It took me time to realize that fully," she admitted, letting him go as if she had realized it wasn't fair to have hugged him in the first place. "It was just that--he was there and he belonged there, and there wasn't any life without him. I almost hated him at first for his arrogance and his firm belief he could tempt fate and come away without injury but I couldn't stay away. He didn't know how to love me then, but he felt it too. We both called it a force of nature. I didn't even let myself try to use my gift on him, but finally, I couldn't bear it any longer and I did, and his need for me was as big as the ocean, even when I thought he was flaunting his mistresses in front of me. I didn't even know it was a cry for help until it was almost too late."

Ray patted her back soothingly. "But you knew in time," he soothed. "And you came here in time to be here for him."

"He didn't let himself acknowledge that he loved me, either," she said. "Not until the colonel walked through me. But now we both know. And I am so sorry. I used you."

"No, Carlie," Ray said quietly. "You needed a friend and I was there. I'm still your friend. If I wanted more than that, it was my expectation, never any promise of yours." He didn't know if that was entirely true, but she had too much on her plate now to have guilt dished up too.

"The woman who loves you will be very lucky," she said. Pulling back a little, she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him, without passion, but with great affection.

Ray leaned into the kiss and then made himself be the one to end it. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Go to Daniel. He needs you. I--care about you, but I don't need you, not like that." He pulled her into the corridor, turned her around firmly, and gave her a slight nudge in the direction of Daniel's room, and hoped the powers that be would forgive him that one lie. Then he turned and returned to his friends, his back straight, his shoulders squared, feeling good about himself.

When Ray and Winston headed into the nearest town to research the Colonel, Peter dragged himself out of bed with great reluctance, enjoyed another long shower, and finally dressed. He came out of the bathroom to find Egon already gone and a note on the dresser explaining that the physicist meant to make a comprehensive sweep of the house with the meter and see if any lingering energy might cause problems. Since Egon could do that kind of work with one hand tied behind his back, Peter left him to it. He looked around a room, discovered someone had brought him an ebony cane with a carved, ivory handle on his bed--and had made the bed while he was in the shower. He really could get used to this servant thing. Maybe he could convince the guys to chip in and hire a cleaning lady for the firehall.

Trying out the cane, he decided it gave him a classy look, even if he didn't need it very much. Strutting a bit, he headed out of his room and made his cautious way down the stairs. Chester Applewood was seated at the table in the buffet room drinking coffee and eating a croissant, and he gestured over to the warming pans. "Want a hand with your breakfast?" he offered.

"I had mine in bed," Peter said. "The life of Riley. I wouldn't say no to another cup of coffee though." He poured himself a cup and sat down opposite the little man. "Have you seen Daniel this morning?"

"He's out on the terrace," Chester replied, gesturing absently in that direction with his coffee cup. "Carlotta said he needed a little time alone and she took Margaret and Sonya out for some fresh air."

"Then I better go out and talk to Daniel," Peter said.

"A tough job." Chester stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and watched the liquid swirl around his spoon. "But he probably needs it. Good luck."

Peter could well imagine. He gulped some of the coffee in his cup, but it was too hot to drink quickly so he abandoned the cane and picked up the cup and saucer, limping out past the staircase to the terrace doors.

Daniel was standing at the railing, his hands gripping its stone surface, his head bent to hang down against his chest. Even from the doorway, Peter could feel the misery that rose off him. He might have been wearing neon 'keep-out' signs, but Peter had never been very good at respecting such subliminal warnings. Approaching softly, he deposited his coffee cup on the glass top of the nearest table and came up behind Chant. If Daniel was aware of his presence, he gave no sign of it.

"I was possessed once," Peter said quietly, standing beside the other man and leaning against the railing as he did. The sight of the drop to the river gave his stomach a mild flip-flop, but he squashed it down and turned away from the view to study the other man.

Daniel didn't react at all for a second, then he jerked around to stare at Peter as if he had never seen him before. "Wh-what?"

Peter nodded. "Well, actually twice, but one of them was sort of an overall thing for the whole group, more of a control than a possession, and it didn't get to me. But the demon Watt did. I knew what was happening the whole time, but I was shunted off to a little corner of my mind where I could watch but not do anything. He wanted to shut down our containment unit, and I fought him. I fought him with everything I had--and it wasn't enough. The guys figured out how to free me." He paused to give Daniel a chance to speak, but the other man was silent, digesting Peter's words.

When he did speak, it was simply to ask, "How did you live with it?"

"I was lucky," Peter said. "I've got the guys. They were there whenever I needed them. Ray was afraid I'd feel bad because I had nearly opened the containment unit and let all those ghosts out, but Egon knew better. He's sort of like my own personal mind-reader. He knew what got me was the loss of control, the fact that I couldn't take over, couldn't fend him off. I was dehumanized, turned into an object, a convenience for the demon. I hated that. It took me awhile to understand that it didn't mean anything was wrong with me, or that I'd failed. And that in order to take back control, I had to get through it, get past it, and go on with living."

"But you didn't invite Watt in," Daniel said. "I did with Lilkharu."

"Oh, come on," Peter said because he knew if he'd been in the other man's shoes he wouldn't want tame reassurances. "The last thing you ever meant was to turn your soul over to a demon. You just had too high a view of your own abilities. You let your conceit get out of hand. But you never once, not for a second, meant to sacrifice women's souls to it."

"It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't decided I could handle a demon."

"So you goofed. You weren't the first and you won't be the last. But think of this. I couldn't dump Watt on my own. And you gave old Lilkharu the boot all by yourself. Course it nearly killed you, but you did it."

"I hit Carlotta. I caused three women to live in hell."

"That's a crummy record, but you know what you've done. I'd be wiling to bet major bucks that you won't pull anything that stupid ever again. Everything Ray knew about you, everything Justine Bell researched said you were an arrogant bastard who thought he was the next thing to god. Even Carlotta seemed to think so in the beginning, from what Ray said. But that wasn't what you were like this weekend. Maybe you learned a good lesson."

"Right!" he snapped scornfully. "That's really worth what those women went through."

"No, those are two separate things. You did something as low as you could get. But you won't do it again. And most of it wasn't you. The thing is, I know just a little of how you feel, not as much because what I did wasn't so bad. I didn't hurt anyone, though I could have if the guys hadn't stopped me. I was luckier than you. But I know how it feels to have a demon leave footprints in my mind. And I know what I've seen of you this weekend. You're stronger than you think you are, and you're not the scum-sucking son of a bitch you used to be. You've got a good woman who loves you. If you want to atone, pay those three women's medical bills and for any therapy they might need. And then go on. Marry Carlotta and treat her well. Nobody ever claimed it will be easy, because it's going to be as hard as it gets. But it's the only thing you can do."

"I used to be so smug," Daniel replied, leaning back against the rail and staring unseeingly at the house. "I used to think I could do anything. Now I realize that I know nothing."

"Then you're ready to start learning all over again," Peter said. "Listen, I don't let myself get serious like this very often, so you better pay attention. I meant everything I said. I'm living proof possession isn't fatal."

The guys wouldn't have let him get away with that statement without a lot of razzing, but the guys weren't here. Daniel only turned and met Peter's eyes. "When does it stop hurting?" he cried as if he had to have an answer in the next three seconds.

"When you let it," Peter replied. "And that's something I can't do for you. Carlie can't do it either. That's something you have to do yourself. You have to forgive yourself, because guilt gets to be a nasty kind of power, in its own way. 'I'm so wicked, I have the power to cause pain.' Don't go there. I don't think Carlotta will let you but I'm gonna talk to her and tell her that whenever you start reveling in how terrible you are she's supposed to kick your butt."

Daniel chuckled thinly. "She probably would, too."

"Then you're a lucky SOB," Peter told him. "Remember that when it feels worst. And remember you're not just healing for your own sake but for her, too."

"I might be able to manage that," Daniel said.

"Go for it." Peter picked up his coffee again and found it cold. "I've gotta get back in there and find some fresh coffee," he said. "And find that nifty cane again. Time to strut my stuff." He hadn't provided all the answers for Daniel, but maybe that would be a good start.

Winston paused at the door to Caroline Guest's hospital room because he could hear voices coming out, two separate women's voices and a man's. Then Ray, who had been a little quieter than usual all morning, stepped forward and went in, and Winston hurried after him.

Justine Bell sat beside Caroline's bed, neat as a pin in a striking Armani suit in a vivid blue, her hair pulled back in its usual elegance, but her face was warmer than it had been in the firehall. At the foot of the bed stood a grey-haired man with a face a lot younger than the hair. He looked familiar, and it took a moment for Winston to realize he was Mel, the paramedic who had come out to Xanadu the night before to treat Egon and Peter, and to bring Caroline to the hospital.

But it was Caroline herself who was the most surprising sight. Cleaned up and wearing a lacy nightie that Justine must have brought for her, she looked so much better than she had when they'd found her in the tunnel that she was nearly a different woman. Although one cheek was scraped, her eyes were alive with warmth and contentment, and she seemed at peace with herself.

"Caroline," Ray cried in delight. "You look great!"

"That's what I've been saying," Mel put in. "I couldn't believe it when I walked in here and saw how good she looked.

"I'm all right," Caroline said. "I think I was all right last night only I was still in shock, a little, and too tired to realize it." She gave Mel a sudden smile, and in her face Winston saw what had made the paramedic rave about her the night before and make a visit today.

"I saw it happen," Mel said. "I saw your eyes come back to life. I knew right then you were going to make it."

"That's it!" Ray cried, snapping his fingers. "The energy. Winston, do you think that was it?"

"The energy?" Justine Bell demanded. She looked content to see her friend doing so well, but somewhat wary over what had happened to her.

Quickly Ray filled her in, explaining what had happened, the possession, the demon, the cloud of energy that had drifted free when it was trapped. "Egon thought maybe it might have been what it took from Caroline and the other two. And that maybe it could find its way home. Maybe it did."

"Maybe," Caroline said. "Or maybe I just suddenly realized I was going to be fine. That it was over. All I knew is that suddenly I was me again."

"You should never have gone through that in the first place," Justine said tightly.

"No, no one should." Caroline smiled. "I'm all right, Justine. I really am. It was frightening, but what I found out was that I can do anything. I can handle anything. Even drained like that, even without much will, I had enough to survive. To keep going. To do what I needed to do to survive. Don't you see? I might never have known that otherwise."

"You rose to the occasion," Mel told her. "Most people don't have to face challenges as great as that, but you did."

"And when I came back, you were there." They smiled at each other rather sloppily. Justine looked from one to the other then lifted her head to the Ghostbusters, eyebrows arched.

"So you found her and put a stop to him," Justine said. "Daniel, I mean. Is he under arrest?"

"No," admitted Ray. "He was under the demon's control. He didn't do it voluntarily. He's fallen apart over it. He feels terrible, guilty. He hates himself."

"Good. I'm not sure what to charge him with but I know there must be something."

"No," objected Caroline, tearing herself away from Mel's gaze and frowning at her boss. "Justine, don't."

"That man put you through hell," she snapped. "No one treats my friends like that."

"It was the demon's doing," Caroline insisted. "And while it's true I was hurt and I was terrified and probably won't be able to walk for a few weeks while my feet heal, I found myself because of it. I know I'm all right. I know I can do anything I like. I know how strong I am. And I wouldn't have known, not for sure, if this hadn't happened. And I..." She looked up at Mel. Ray saw something in both their eyes, a recognition. Who knew where it would lead? Ray had just decided he was pretty clueless in affairs of the heart. But it would be good for her to have someone with her as she healed.

"You mean you won't press changes?" Justine echoed in disbelief.

"No. I won't. I came out of it so much better than Daniel did. It would be cruel. Yes, I thought I loved him, and maybe I did for a little while, but even before that night, I knew there was nothing really between us but physical attraction. I couldn't have gone to him with my inner feelings or my dreams. I couldn't have even talked to him like this. Because there was nothing there, nothing but me being flattered and physically attracted. And that ended. Finally and completely. I'm all right, Justine. And I'm so grateful to you for what you did. If you hadn't hired the Ghostbusters, the demon might have caught me again. And it nearly did the same thing to Egon that it did to me. So I hope you are paying them enough, and if you're not, I'll do it."

"I'm not sure I can compensate for what Dr. Spengler went through," Justine admitted. "But I will pay the rest of the money as promised. There's nothing to stop me from going to those other two women, though, and asking if they want to press charges."

"Don't," Caroline begged, putting out her hand and gripping the older woman's. "Don't take it any further. I don't want to appear in court over this. Don't imagine you've got yourself a wonderful test case, one that will make you famous. Just promise me you'll let me go on with my life in peace. That's all I want, and I can't imagine those other women wanting to relive their experiences in the public eye."

"You don't ask much," Justine said with difficulty. "Caroline, you're my friend. I want to take him down for hurting you."

"The demon hurt me--and it's been taken down already. Let it go, Justine. Please. For me."

The lawyer heaved a sigh, then she nodded. "All right. If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Very well." She rose, tidying her skirt. "I'll come back and visit you next weekend. They said they want to keep you here a bit to treat your feet, to make sure they have cleared up all the infection."

"I know. It's all right. I'll be glad to see you."

Justine bent and kissed Caroline's cheek, then she departed.

"Tough lady," Mel said, capturing her chair and Caroline's hand in one smooth motion.

"Not as tough as me," Caroline insisted. "Not as tough as me."

Ray took P.K.E. readings, explaining to the young woman what he was up to, and then nodded in satisfaction. "Your energy did come back," he said. "There's a big difference from last night. I don't know if it was that cloud of energy we saw or if it was just your time to heal, but your readings are strong. You'll be just fine."

"I know I will. Thank you, Ray. Winston."

"I think that's nice," Ray said as they went out to Ecto.

"Her readings or her new boyfriend?" Winston asked, then was sorry he'd mentioned boyfriends, a subject that had to be painful for Ray right now.

"Both," Ray said as if he hadn't noticed, because Winston hadn't meant to upset him, and he wasn't petty enough to feel upset at such a casual, unintendend remark. "When we get back to Xanadu, I'm going to call those other women and see if they've improved, too. Gosh, wouldn't it be great?"

Winston wasn't sure how great it would be for Jack's cousin. She had fallen furthest after being drained. Maybe Daniel hadn't been able to fight the demon with her; she had been the first. But at least Jack would stand by her. It would take her a lot of healing to get over what she had done to herself, if she ever could. Winston didn't say so to Ray; that was something the Ghostbusters couldn't fix. But there were other things they could and had, and the memory of Caroline made Winston grin as they reached the car.

The guests at Xanadu gathered together for the first time since the events of the night late that afternoon for a formal tea around the main fireplace, where a huge fire flickered and danced. Margaret and Chester were still there, Chester looking rather like a bantam rooster about to burst into first crowing. He had to be pleased with himself for the previous night's work. He'd been unafraid and helpful, and never hesitated. Margaret sat at his side, for once looking as if she were not the most important one of the two of them, her hand on his arm.

Sonya was there, too, affectations dropped away, eyes alert. She hadn't made a fake play for Jack once all day, and he had so far unbent around her to stay where he was when she sat down on the sofa beside him. Jack was tense but not quite as angry as he had been earlier. He'd called the institution where his cousin was staying and had talked to her. "She's doing better," he'd told Peter, seeking out the psychologist of the group to explain. "She's angry, determined to get back on her feet, dump the drugs, even see if she can ever find a way to teach again. She feels so bad about herself though. It won't be easy for her, and it may take a long time for her to be herself again."

"She won't be the same Andrea you knew," Peter had told him sympathetically. "But in a way it's good that she's angry. It means she has it in her to fight back. She was the first one Daniel brought up here. Maybe the demon took more out of her than it did the others. Maybe it was hungrier. Or maybe it was just so far beyond her comprehension that she couldn't cope with it at all. Sometimes when things are too much to deal with, we have to shut them away and not take them out to look at until we're stronger. Like I was just telling Daniel, I got possessed once; it wasn't pretty, and for awhile afterwards, I just used to joke it off and act like it was no big deal, but after awhile, I made myself look at what happened and I had to figure out it wasn't my fault. If we could control the universe we'd be gods. We're just people, and sometimes things come along we can't handle. She ran away from it in the wrong direction, but maybe it was the only direction she could go. Don't hate her for what she did."

"Hate her?" Jack had echoed. "I could never hate Andie. She's like my sister. I'll do anything I can for her, and she knows that. I told her so, just now."

"Tell her again, and again," Peter urged. "What she probably needs most now is to know she hasn't done anything beyond forgiveness. Just remember, none of it was her fault and don't think she was weak because she didn't handle it like Caroline did. She isn't Caroline, and I think she had a worse hand dealt her than Caroline did. By the end, Daniel hated himself and the demon so much he was trying to fight it."

"He ought to be behind bars," Jack had snapped.

"The demon will be," Peter reminded him. "It was the demon's fault, remember that. And we've got it locked up. You helped. And did a great job, too."

Jack had looked thoughtful, but he still had a lot of bitterness toward Daniel and it wouldn't just go away. Peter watched him for a minute, then moved on.

Daniel was there, too, Carlotta at his side as if she were his touchstone, the one safe place in his life. His eyes were full of shadows and he could barely meet the stares of his guests. Carlotta had her arm around his waist as they walked into the room, a