"The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind,

The answer is blowing in the wind..."

Cammie's voice broke and she stopped singing. The thin, little thread of sound hadn't disturbed most of the others in the room. They were sitting in their little corners, huddled in their chairs, lost in their little minds, faces empty, eyes hollow. When she spoke to them, some of them would answer, but others just sat there. It was one of the bad days, the days after it happened, the days when they barely had the strength to put food in their mouths or go to the bathroom. Tomorrow would be a better day. It wouldn't be till the next day that the man would come back. Every three days, he came back. Sometimes, in between, the others came and then it was worse for them all, but usually it was just the lone man, the one with the hard jaw and the cold eyes. No one guarded them, none but the great dog that prowled around outside the house. Sometimes, at night, Cammie heard it baying and knew it sounded dangerous enough to frighten the others. Where could they go? How could they go without strength, without energy? Cammie was scared.

At first, it had seemed like a dream, a crazy, wonderful dream. Freedom, music, anything they wanted. New clothes, no rules, no parents, nobody telling them when it was time to go to bed. Nobody caring if she went off with Jeff. It was a party, a big, wonderful party. Never mind that a part of her couldn't help wondering why she was here, why she was partying, even why she and Jeff got off alone in a bedroom and they were going to do it--and then they just...didn't. That was crazy. One minute she and Jeff were kissing and the next, she was here with all these other kids, sitting like zombies, and nobody even talked to her when she tried to find out what was happening.

Cammie looked at the weary, blank faces of her fellow prisoners. Prisoner? Yes, they were prisoners. They were a prisoner of the hard-faced lone man and of the others. The others weren't hard faced. They were pretty and once they had been something more, but now they were the enemy. Did everybody feel the anger Cammie felt? Did they simply sit there like zombies because they lacked the strength to show it?

"Not long now," the woman had said last time. "It won't be long before it's over." Sometimes she seemed kind, but she wasn't, really. There was a hardness in her eyes that matched that of the lone man. Cammie knew that. No one who was kind would do this to people. No one who was kind would steal kids' souls away.

A shudder of panic ran through her. Was that it? Was it their souls? Cammie had been taught in catechism class when she was little that everybody had a soul. That the devil fought with God over it and that it was your soul that went to heaven or hell when you died. She'd considered that mythology, the kind of line fed to kids to trick them into being good. Cammie's god didn't manipulate them and make them be good by threatening punishment. That wasn't what being good was, anyway. Being good was doing the right thing because it was right, not because you'd be punished if you didn't. If you did it just for punishment, then you weren't good, you were just running scared. Being good meant doing the right thing because it went against a person's dignity not to. What was the point of a free will if you couldn't choose, choose to behave with human dignity? What was the point of a brain if you couldn't reason out a code of ethics and live by it?

If she had a soul, if she had a spirit, then it was her duty to live right, not do the wrong thing because it was easier or gave more instant gratification. She hadn't slept with Jeff, even when she knew most of her friends weren't virgins any longer. She hadn't taken drugs, not even when they were easy to get at school and at parties. Some of them called her a goodie two shoes, some of them made fun of her, but she didn't care.

And then something was inside her, pushing at her, and she and Jeff were running away, and she couldn't understand why. She could imagine her mom's terrified face when Cammie didn't come home, but it didn't help, it couldn't stop the frantic impulse. She ran and ran and Jeff ran with her, and then they were here, knocking on the door, and the lone man was there, and he was smiling and nice and welcoming them to freedom. Only it wasn't freedom. It was anarchy, teenaged anarchy. Nobody cared what she and Jeff did, if they stayed up all night. There were drugs available, but Cammie didn't remember taking them. There was beer and cigarettes and hard liquor, and all the bedrooms had condoms in the drawers. The whole house was theirs and they were encouraged to do everything that appealed to them--until the compulsion inside them pushed them into a bedroom and it was going to happen. The rational, practical, ethical part of Cammie was screaming but the rest of her didn't care. She hadn't been pushed to this level over the drugs and liquor. She'd been able to choose...

But it didn't happen. All at once, something was grabbing her, something she couldn't see, grabbing her body, her mind, her spirit, her heart, and pulling herself out of herself until there was only a shell left behind and she was fainting, and Jeff was fainting, too, and they were sprawled limp and unable to move, unable to think....

And then she was here, with the zombies and she was one, too. What was going on? Why? And why didn't they care? Some of them had come after she did. But they didn't care, either. Why was she the only one that cared?

"Hey," she said. Her voice was small and faint. One or two of them turned dulled eyes in her direction. "Hey, what is this? Why are we here? Don't you care?"

No one answered. Maybe there wasn't an answer.

"The answer is blowing in the wind...."

"'Doom's Electric Moccasin,'" Peter read aloud in an eerie and portentous voice, startling Egon out of the physics text he had been reading. Lost in an essay about the possibilities of converting ectoplasmic energy to a more solid, useful form, Egon had nearly decided the author was an utter crackpot who wanted to capitalize on the Ghostbusters' popularity in New York when Venkman flopped down on the couch next to Egon and dropped his feet in the physicist's lap. Spengler jumped.

"You read Emily Dickinson, Peter?" He arched a sardonic eyebrow at the brown-haired man who lay sprawled in an inert lump, clutching a folded newspaper against his chest, eyes closed. Knowing Peter's propensity for the fine art of doing nothing at all, he could easily have fallen asleep in the two seconds before Egon spoke.

At the question, one eyelid lifted just enough for Peter to regard his friend though a narrowed eye. "Emily Dickinson, Egon? Get with the program here. Who is she, anyway?"

"The author of your quote, I believe. Honestly, Peter, did you think to perplex me? I assure you, I am up to the challenge."

Peter's other eyelid inched its way up. Centimetered? If one measurement could be a verb, why not another? Amused at the thought, Egon regarded the supine man expectantly.

"I didn't quote anything," the psychologist defended himself self-righteously as if the being caught quoting poetry would forever condemn him to geekdom. "I was gonna tell you about Eddie before we started this mysterious foray into literary land."

"What does my cousin Eddie have to do with Emily Dickinson?" All right, Peter had perplexed him, but Peter was good at that, and he had likely done it on purpose.

"Nada, zip, zilch. At least I'd bet good money on it." Peter grinned contentedly. He was having fun. "In case you've been lost in the land of higher physics for the past three months, Doom's Electric Moccasin is the one of the hottest new rock groups. They're touring with the Eddie Plummer Band as the opening act right now and, tomorrow, they show up here in the Big Apple. Something came by messenger for you just now that looks like it could be concert tickets. Janine's got it down on her desk, and she said I should come up and tell you. Or maybe she said she was gonna come up and tell you. I wasn't really listening. Did she come up?"

"No, she's on her break now." Egon knew the time without checking it, and he also knew that Janine usually went down the block to that little café for her breaks, where she often compared notes with another secretary who worked around the corner. Once, while sitting unnoticed in a back booth, Egon had listened to Janine. She had started out with describing to her friend how utterly sexy she found him and why in intimate detail--an observation that made him crouch lower in the booth in hopes of not being spotted; it would have embarrassed them both. Then she had proceeded to the horrible working conditions under which she was forced to labor. Being slimed, putting up with Peter when he was obnoxious--ninety per cent of the time, to hear her tell it--struggling to get Egon's attention, facing the odd demon, all figured in her list of complaints, not to mention long, hard hours, and low pay. Since every person Egon knew complained about the latter, he could safely ignore that part. He had relayed her complaints to Peter in a bit of idle conversation and had seen a spark of unholy glee fill the green eyes. The very next morning, two dozen roses arrived for Janine, Egon's signature expertly forged on the card. Venkman had a very nasty habit of doing that. Egon wished Peter wouldn't do that. At the moment, he and Janine were rather at outs and he didn't need Peter to complicate matters.

Peter didn't dispute Egon's certainty of Janine's schedule. "Want me to sneak down and snatch it?" he offered, but without much enthusiasm. "She catches me, she'll rend me limb from limb for tampering with your mail, but we could always say that you picked it up yourself." He passed over the newspaper to Egon. "I did bring you this. There's a write-up about Eddie in there. I thought you might want a copy before Ray grabs it to recycle it. We've gotta watch that kid. He's so hooked on recycling these days he recycles things I haven't even finished with yet."

"I can wait." Egon took the paper that Peter had folded open to the article on Eddie. The colored picture centered on him on stage with his wife and female vocalist Whitney to one side and their drummer and bass Jackson MacKensie on the other. Eddie was playing his old guitar, the one he used to sing ballads like his mega-hit Leftover Souls, and Whitney had a mandolin. The article told of their current tour, with a list of the cities visited, concluding that it would finish up in New York on Saturday night with a concert at Madison Square Garden that had been sold out for months. It would be pleasant if the mysterious envelope contained tickets after all. Peter would love it. He adored going to rock concerts, especially when they had complimentary tickets that put him in the front row, where he could mug for the cameras. Of all the Ghostbusters, Peter was the glory hound.

The article mentioned the opening act band, a hot new group who had been traveling with them since Chicago when the original opening act had to pull out when their lead singer had undergone an emergency appendectomy. A New York based group, Doom's Electric Moccasin had happened to be free to fill in for the last half of the tour.

"Odd for a rock group to choose its name from an Emily Dickinson poem," Egon murmured. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully.

"Maybe it was a coincidence? After all, it's a great name for a rock group," Peter offered somnolently. Having slept in, eaten a big lunch, and gone through the business mail, he was obviously ready to fortify himself with an afternoon nap. Egon found it interesting that he had forgotten to claim total ignorance of the poet.

"It seems an unlikely coincidence." Such a peculiar phrase was not one that would leap to mind, at least not to Egon's orderly mind. Maybe someone like Peter would be inclined to accept it as a coincidence. Egon didn't. He wasn't sure that rock stars were the type to read poetry from the Nineteenth Century, but then his own cousin was an unlikely rock star; most of them did not possess doctorates in physics and a predilection for the occult. The paranormal often drew in the Spenglers, although Egon's father and Eddie's, Egon's uncle Cyrus, had not matched the trend. While Eddie didn't seek out mysterious happenings, they chose periodically to seek him out. A mere six months earlier, the intercession of a demon involved with Eddie had trapped Peter in the Netherworld. ⁽¹⁾ Before that, a demon groupie had pursued Egon's cousin. ⁽²⁾ He had even bought a haunted house. ⁽³⁾

"Well, whatever," Peter muttered. He took the paper back and read out the list of cities on the tour. "Wow, the high points of Western Civilization. Milwaukee. Indianapolis. Dayton. Cleveland. Pittsburgh."

"I'm from Cleveland, Peter," Egon reminded him dryly.

Peter's eyes sparkled wickedly. "Proves my point." He clutched at his chest. "I'm not sure I can live with the excitement. I spent a year in Dayton one day."

"You spent thirty-six hours there; we all did," Egon replied, remembering the bust that had summoned them to Ohio a year or two ago. The ghost had been uninteresting but, since it only manifested at a certain time of night, it had required them to wait until it appeared before they could bust it.

"Yeah, and you had every bit as much fun as I did." He drew the paper closer and squinting at it, then held it out slightly further away. Vanity was Peter's middle name; he would never consider reading glasses. If he ever did, he would don them in secret, Egon was certain of it.

"When does Eddie arrive in town?" Egon asked. He had always been fond of his younger cousin, and he knew Peter and the others would be glad to see him as well even though the arrival of Eddie tended to lead to paranormal adventures.

"Maybe even today. They played in Philly last night, I think it said." Peter's voice faded; he was definitely on the verge of falling asleep. The paper sagged against his chest.

Egon pushed the supine man's feet out of his lap, winning a protesting, "Hey!" from Peter, and an aggrieved look. "Little Petey Venkman wants a nap."

"You can't have one, Pete!" Winston Zeddemore caroled from the top of the stairs. The African American Ghostbuster must have been minding Janine's phone while she was on break. He and Ray had been downstairs working on Ecto-1, the team's converted hearse when Peter had come upstairs to bug Egon. "Just got a call. They want us at Bloomingdale's. A ghost is running amok in the dress department."

"The dress department?" Peter perked up, actually opening both eyes wide. "Lots of lady witnesses? I better go comb my hair."

Winston and Egon dragged him unmercifully to his feet. "You'll have to do like you are, Peter," Egon insisted, and Winston nodded in agreement and gestured down the stairs behind him.

"Ray's already warming up Ecto-1."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "You're gonna let Ray drive? Come on, Winston, have mercy on an innocent man. It's cold out there. The roads could be slippery."

"Not in October, Peter. It needs to be at least near freezing for the roads to be slippery," Egon pointed out.

"Well, I think it's cold," Peter complained. "It was forty degrees when I got up this morning. And that means it might have been freezing when you did," he pointed out, proud of his reasoning, as he raked his fingers through his hair to settle it into place.

Egon squashed down a smile as they started down the stairs.

"Well, that wasn't fun," Peter complained as Winston backed Ecto-1 into the garage after their bust. "You said it wouldn't be cold," he continued, determined to voice his grievance.

Winston gave a sputter of laughter. "It's always cold in a meat locker, Pete. It's not Egon's fault the ghost thought it was fun ducking in and out between those slabs of beef." They had received a second call after they finished up at Bloomingdale's and wound up at a meat locker where a nasty Class 5 had led them on a merry chase amid the slabs of beef.

"My nose is frostbitten," Peter objected, rubbing it cautiously. "And Ray looks like he needs a heating pad in the next ten seconds." He surveyed the occultist who sat beside him in the rear seat. Winston had chosen to drive home from the second bust because Ray was still shivering. The ghost had flung a side of beef at him and it had pinned Stantz down for a good five minutes while the other three fought the determined specter. When they finally sucked the ghost into a trap and rushed to peel the steak dinner waiting to happen off their buddy, Ray was quivering with cold, his breath escaping in small, white puffs. They'd half-led, half-carried him out of the vast, icy chamber, wrapped him in a blanket, and warmed him up with a cup of coffee they'd begged off their employer, but the deep cold still lingered. Peter had pointed out a time and temperature sign on the way to the bust that insisted it was now thirty-eight degrees outside. Okay, so it was October, but it was late October, and they sometimes got an unexpected snowfall earlier than this. It would be Halloween in three days and the trick-or-treaters would probably have to wear parkas under their costumes if this kept up.

Egon climbed out of the car and opened Stantz's door for him. "Are you all right, Ray? You do look rather chilled."

Ray jumped out, rubbing his upper arms. "I'm okay. I just want another cup of really hot coffee and--hey, Eddie!" he cried, forgetting the chill and darting over to the desk where Egon's cousin stood talking to Janine Melnitz.

The tall, blond rock star didn't really look like Egon unless you were looking for it and then it was easy to see the similar face shapes, noses, chins, and blue eyes. On the surface, they were rendered different mostly by their hairstyles. Eddie wore his spiky, a pair of sunglasses perched in the blond spikes. His attitude and posture were more casual than Egon's, and he wouldn't be caught dead in suspenders. Even his face was more open than Egon's, whose expression revealed his feelings only to his friends who knew him well. Eddie's expressions were more mercurial. He only looked remote when he was singing, as if the process were a communion between himself and music but, even then, his joy in singing shone forth. It was almost as if Eddie had looked at his stern, rigid father and designed himself to be an opposite. Younger than Egon, he had found support from the physicist when he was in high school and college, when everyone else thought he should continue his science training. Eddie had continued it. He had even taught for a year or two at Ohio State before his muse became too much for him.

At the sight of Egon, Eddie smiled, but Peter saw a note of concern in his face that he hadn't expected. Egon must have noticed it too; he knew Eddie best; but Peter didn't think Ray and Winston had picked up on it, at least not yet.

"Hey, Eddie," Peter greeted. "Give us a minute to take care of Ray. He got 'beefed' on our job and he needs a hot shower." Turning to the abashed Stantz, he said firmly, "Up there! Now! Hot shower. We don't want a Ghostbuster with pneumonia. And blue isn't your best color."

"Aw, Peter, I'm okay."

"Peter's right, Ray," Egon urged, gesturing toward the stairs. "Go ahead. You should warm up. Eddie will still be here when you get back."

The singer nodded. "I will be. Go on, Ray."

"Well, okay then." Like a child fearing he was about to be deprived of a treat, Ray trailed up the stairs, looking back at them as if he wanted to say, 'Don't start without me.'

Janine eyed Egon up and down to make sure he hadn't suffered any ill effects from the bust, did a less intense scan of Peter and Winston, then nodded, satisfied. "Eddie sent tickets for tomorrow's concert, Egon. Enough for all of you and your dates." She cast a meaningful look at Egon. He hesitated, pinned by four pairs of eyes.

Peter hid a grin as the physicist said hastily, "I hope you will attend with me, Janine?" You'd think it would get easier for Egon after all this time, but there was always that moment of hesitation. Peter was half convinced his friend would do better with Janine if he didn't have to perform in front of his buddies, but it was too much fun to watch his doubtful steps each time for him to back off. Janine's problem was that Egon was your typical absent-minded scientist. He didn't intend to forget her or neglect her, but he genuinely loved his work so much he got caught up in it to the exclusion of all else. Peter had to nudge him out of his lab-itis from time to time to make sure he ate and slept. He and Janine had formed a conspiracy to steer her into Egon's path or Egon into hers simply to allow their relationship to progress. At this rate, Egon would reach the commitment stage somewhere far into the next millennium. Peter wasn't sure if Janine would ever reconcile to playing second fiddle to Ghostbusting or weird science. But then, a lot of women had to do that to their husband's jobs. It would give her good practice if they ever got married.

On the other hand, Peter suspected the two of them had had an argument or disagreement during the summer. They still got along, but there had been no evidence of actual dating since that time. They'd been very friendly before that, especially around Christmas, but not lately. Hmmm. Peter was sure it had started with the time Egon had become so caught up in his work that he had accidentally stood Janine up for an important date. Peter had always made a point of reminding him of things like that, but he hadn't been home that day. He knew they'd argued about it, and he suspected, although he hadn't been present, that the argument had gotten very much out of hand. Maybe it was time for Pete Venkman, matchmaker extraordinaire, to step in and redeem the situation.

"You bet I'm going," Janine replied, but her eyes warmed. She looked like she was ready to make up if Egon was. Peter angled a gaze at Egon and decided that Spengler wasn't quite sure yet. On the other hand, Egon didn't let his friends see his feelings for Janine; he considered them private and probably feared that they'd tease him. They would, of course, but in a good-hearted way. Peter wondered if she'd really let him have it.

"Eddie, what's wrong?" Egon said, his date made. Getting that difficult moment out of the way always took effort. Peter decided he'd sit Egon down one day and teach him the mysteries of dating, Venkman style. The idea of Egon trying to imitate Romeo Venkman around the fair sex -- especially Janine -- nearly made him crack up, but he restrained himself. Knowing Egon, he would be able to guess without hesitation what Peter found funny and he would retaliate. Egon was good at reading Peter's expressions and reactions--sometimes better than Peter could read his own.

Eddie grimaced. "I'm not sure if it's really a problem or if I'm reading something into it that doesn't belong. Mel says there's something, but he doesn't know what. Chan says he's right, but he can't put his finger on it, either, and he says he can't tell as much as Mel can. We got into town last night. Whitney and I are at the penthouse, and Jackson's here, too, because we've got tomorrow night's gig at Madison Square Garden." Chan was really Chandarl, another demon like Melchazat, who had been recruited from the Netherworld by Jackson MacKensie, the drummer in Eddie's band. Like Mel, Chan had become a roadie with the Eddie Plummer Band. Peter hadn't seen him since that long-ago night he, Jackson, and Mel's soon to be wife Jackie had been rescued from the Netherworld, but Mel had come by to visit a couple of times and he'd said Chan had become a roadie for the band, too. If the two demons sensed trouble, then there was probably trouble, although they might be confused because of their unfamiliarity with life on Earth. Not that Chan was a demon any longer. He'd decided to assume permanent human form.

"Come on upstairs and we can sit down," Winston urged. "After running around that meat locker, I could do with some hot coffee myself."

"I'll bring it," Janine volunteered. "Even for you, Dr. Venkman." Peter hid a grin, knowing the real reason Janine had volunteered was because she didn't want to miss anything. If she brought their coffee, probably no one would notice if she stayed.

She started up the stairs and Egon paused only long enough to fetch his P.K.E. meter from Ecto-1 and to pass it over Eddie. It didn't react at all. Okay, one problem out of the way. Peter grinned. "Guess you're not haunted or possessed, Eddie."

"Well, I didn't think I was," Plummer responded with a quick grin, allowing Egon to gesture him toward the stairs. The grin faded so quickly Peter felt a niggle of unease. Eddie's problem might not even be paranormal. Just because he was one of those people who seemed to attract supernatural happenings didn't mean he had today. But that didn't mean he didn't have a genuine problem.

There was a brief hiatus while and Janine vanished into the kitchen, returning with mugs on a tray and the pot from their Mr. Coffee machine. Winston took it from her as soon as she reappeared and set it on the coffee table and they all disposed themselves on the sofa and chairs while he passed out the cups. Eddie's face held a brooding expression that even the few moments of casual chatter didn't lighten. He hadn't brought his wife, Whitney, with him. Did that simply mean she had other plans, or that he wanted to keep her out of the problem, whatever it was?

They were just ready to start when Ray charged down the stairs, a towel in his hand, clad in sweats and his bunny slippers. Peter had to grin. The sight of a grown man in that particular footwear always won a smile from him. Ray didn't care that people might think it odd. He marched to a drummer no one else had ever heard and enjoyed every second of his own weird music. Toweling his hair energetically, he hurried toward them. "Did I miss anything?"

Peter grinned. "Not a thing, Tex. We've just been discussing the latest Captain Steel news."

"You wouldn't know Captain Steel news from Remington Steele news, Peter," he replied, giving Venkman a poke in the side that Peter arched his back to avoid. "Len Wolfman gives me advance copies of the comics, half the time. He even talked it over with me when he brought in the Ghostly Menace to replace Dr. Destructo."

"I hope this Ghostly Menace isn't going to get out of the comic book and start terrorizing the Big Apple," Winston said with a mock shudder.

Ray's eyes lit with excitement. "Gee. Wouldn't it be great if he did?" He took the coffee cup Winston held out and took a big swallow before he sat down next to Peter.

Setting aside his coffee cup, Egon called them to order. "Ray, Eddie has a problem he's come to us about."

Stantz's face lit up. "Wow! What is it? Haunted speakers? Music ghosts?"

"Down, boy," Peter muttered with a grin. "Go on, Eddie, tell us."

"Last night, before the concert in Philadelphia, we had a visitor backstage, a local detective. He said he'd heard from another cop, from Dayton. We performed there, too, a couple of weeks ago, working our way east since Chicago. Anyway, the Dayton cop had been investigating a missing persons report. Two teenagers disappeared from our concert there. They were seen to arrive by friends, but they didn't make it home that night. They were apparently considered reliable by their parents and were barely sixteen. Both were good students and weren't the type to run away."

"Could someone have slipped them drugs at the concert?" Winston asked gravely. "I know you don't do drugs, Eddie, but I'm sure some of the audience does."

Eddie grimaced. "Probably. It's hard to stop that kind of thing. Evidently neither of these kids had ever touched drugs before. Even their friends said so, and while they could have been lying, the Dayton cop didn't think they were. They haven't appeared yet. While they could be runaways, the Dayton cop says it goes against everything anyone knew about them."

"So he called this Philly cop?" Peter asked.

"Well, he called the next stop on our itinerary to see if there'd been any disappearances there," Eddie replied. "Cleveland. The weird thing is, two similar kids went missing there, and two more disappeared in Pittsburgh. All of them were like the first pair, decent kids. Each time, it was a boy and a girl, a couple, and all of them were fifteen or older. A distinct pattern. So the Dayton guy was convinced something weird was going on. He backtracked to Milwaukee and found another couple of missing kids. Every time, they're smart kids who aren't the type to run away and from what they've been able to tell in such a short time, kids from good homes, whose friends don't report any problems with families that might drive them to it. And it's always just two. It's like there's something weird going on, like there's a specific purpose. We did Philly last night and I'm half afraid somebody's going to call us about missing kids there, too."

"I hate to say it," Peter put in, "but don't kids go missing all the time? Maybe rock concerts are the kind of place it happens. I know you don't have anything to do with it. Anybody who knows you can tell that. But you mix sex, drugs, and rock and roll and you've got a recipe for trouble."

"And Peter should know," Egon said sotto voce. "He was a party animal when I first met him."

"And still am," Peter proclaimed. "But it wasn't drugs with me back then. It was beer at weekend keggers. There was stuff around. I didn't mess with it but some of the other frat guys did. Anyway, somebody could be following your tour, Eddie, and singling out kids to kidnap. Wouldn't need to have anything to do with you. I know all the bands have followers who travel all over the country to see their idols. Nice to have that kind of money. You even had a demon groupie following you around once."

Eddie shuddered reminiscently. "I don't even want to think about that."

"When she was attending your concerts, you noticed her particularly," Egon reminded the baritone. "Whitney and Jackson couldn't see her, only you could. Has there been anything like that this time? Anyone in the audience that particularly got your attention?"

The blond head shook vehemently, nearly unseating the shades perched in his hair. "No. After we saw the cop, I made a point to notice last night. There wasn't anything in particular I could pick up on. It seemed normal to me. A good audience. Whit and Jackson said the same. I asked the other band if anything odd went down that they noticed and they said they hadn't seen anything strange either."

"You don't usually travel with an opening act, do you, Eddie?" asked Ray. "Could the problem be someone out to get them and nothing to do with you?"

"Well, the detective said he was going to talk to them, too. We didn't hear anything from him after the concert, but he's got Malcolm's number and can call us if anything happened last night that we don't know about." He frowned. "Poor old Malcolm. I don't think he figured on trouble when he took us on."

"It might be politic for us to take readings at your concert tomorrow," Egon decided. "If Mel sensed something, it's possible that whatever is wrong has a paranormal basis. I'll bring a P.K.E. meter and take readings at various times through the evening."

"That'll sure make Janine's night," Peter said to Egon in an undertone, and Egon nudged him with his elbow.

"I'll bring a meter, too," Ray decided. "If Mel says there's something, then we should be able to pick it up. We can set the meters differently. Wow, music ghosts! We'll get 'em."

"Down, Tex," Peter urged. "We don't know if it's ghosts or not yet. Sometimes Mel can sense people's auras, remember. Kids are missing. It's up to us to figure out what's going down. If it's just some pervert following the tour from city to city, then we won't pick up anything and the cops can handle it, but if we get readings, then we'll know something's happening. The last thing we want to do is face another demon groupie. Nasty stuff. Nasty."

"Eddie, I hate to even suggest this," Winston said gravely, depositing his coffee cup on the table with a little click. "But Mel and Chan are demons. Well, Chan's a former demon, and maybe he can revert, even if he says he can't. We know they're good guys, especially compared to that Astarine who had the hots for you, but they still came from the Netherworld. Do you think there's anything beyond their control that might come out without them knowing it?"

"No," said Eddie vehemently. "I know Mel," he said. "He's honest and honorable, a sweet guy. He'd never hurt anybody. Just because he didn't start out like the rest of us doesn't mean he reverts to type when the moon is full and starts snatching kids. We'd notice, after all. We all fly back together between cities."

Peter had the sudden, horrific image of broken bodies concealed near the concert halls and arenas. He didn't want to take thought that any further, but it was possible. Kids disappeared, sometimes returning horribly changed, sometimes not returning at all. Runaways fled from lousy homes and wound up working the streets, their spirits broken. Once a month Peter put in time at a free clinic and he'd dealt with a few kids like that, kids with hollow, dead eyes. People often wrote Peter off as a frivolous, fun-loving guy without a serious thought in his head, but they hadn't seen him after the clinic visits. They didn't know he'd taken part in the big brother program. He knew the kind of problems kids faced because his own childhood had sometimes been pretty crummy. Not as bad as the problems a lot of kids faced, but he'd contemplated running away. The thought of the look on his mom's face had stopped him from going through with it. None of it was ever her fault and Peter couldn't do that to her. And it wouldn't have been as if his pop would have cared--or even known about it half the time. Kids from decent homes could run away and no one who knew them casually would ever suspect the reason why. But they didn't usually do it in pairs like this, two at a time from a series of cities, right at the concerts. That meant a pattern.

"We'll take some readings of them, anyway," Peter decided. "Eddie, I know how loyal you are to your people, but we can't take chances with kids' lives."

"Weird that it was always a couple," Ray mused, his face grave and thoughtful. "I wonder if that means anything."

"Noah's ark," Peter offered facetiously. "They marched in the animals two by two."

"I thought that was a line from a song, Pete," Winston kidded.

"I will configure several meters to read different fields," Egon decided abruptly. "Set for conventional P.K. or negative valences, or even for abnormal biorhythms."

"Hey, yeah," enthused Ray. "Gosh, it's great. Egon and I have been working on a special meter that picks up living biorhythms outside normal human parameters."

"Okay, Ray, I'll bite," Peter challenged. "What are you hoping to detect? Little green men?"

"Possession," Egon replied. "Psychopaths. Possibly even werewolves."

"You'll be a hit at Halloween, Spengs," Peter replied. It was a good idea but usually what the guys encountered didn't fall into those categories. The possession part could be detected by adjusting a normal meter, but it might be interesting to see what they could find at the concert. "A little too much free time on your hands? Is this what you do when I'm sleeping in?"

"Oh, well, if I'm to fill that vast time, I'll certainly need to occupy myself constructively," Egon responded, straight-faced.

Peter nudged him with his elbow. "Seriously, Egon, what do you think we're up against?"

"If not for the report of Mel and Chandarl, I would assume we have a human perpetrator, kidnaping children from the concert, possibly for deviant purposes. However, if the possibility of paranormal intervention exists, we will need to be very cautious. We'll take our proton packs and particle throwers with us."

"Wear them at the concert?" Winston asked dubiously. "That's gonna thrill our dates all right."

"Dates?" Peter perked up. "The concert's tomorrow. We'd better phone our girlfriends right away."

"You can keep your proton packs backstage," Eddie offered. "That way you can take readings back there before the concert starts, checking us all out, all the roadies, the other band, everybody. Mel can watch them for you. You don't really believe Mel is behind this, do you?"

Peter shook his head. "Not unless it's some weird demon thing; the demon equivalent of Pon Farr, or something."

"Demons in heat?" Winston, the Trek fan, countered. "I don't think I like that."

"Couldn't be, it's couples who are missing," Peter objected, although he was half afraid a mad demon might not be particular. He didn't think it was that, though. It was something else, something that hadn't occurred to any of them yet. If it was ghost-related, Egon would figure it out. He always did.

"It could be anything," proclaimed Ray grandiosely. He looked a lot better than he had at the meat locker; his color was normal again and he hadn't shivered once since he came downstairs. Of course the end result of toweling his hair so vigorously had left it standing in spikes like Eddie's.

"Oh, great," Peter complained, reaching out to tug at Ray's disordered locks. "You like it tough, don't you, kiddo?"

"If it weren't for all those missing kids, it would really be fun," Ray admitted, ducking away and smoothing down his hair.

"Well, come early tomorrow night," Eddie decided. You can come backstage and bring your dates if you like. I'll put your names on the list."

Peter beamed. If that wouldn't impress Jennifer, nothing would. She was notoriously resistant to the Venkman charm. He could hardly wait to phone her.

"So, what do you think it could be, Egon?" Peter asked that afternoon when he encountered the physicist performing adjustments to the abnormal biorhythm meter, a cumbersome adaptation of their standard meter, perhaps a third again as big and heavier, too, from the way Egon lifted it to make adjustments in its mysterious innards.

"Difficult to say at this point," Egon replied. "If it has a paranormal base, one of our specifically configured meters should be able to detect something. It could simply be ghosts, but it could be something worse. The fact that all the disappearances at night could indicate the presence of the undead."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Vampire groupies? Come on, Egon, don't tell me Count Drac is finding his dinner at Eddie's concerts."

"It's merely one possibility," Egon replied, snapping the casing into place. "There are a vast number of paranormal entities who might kidnap people or take away children. On the other hand, teenagers do run away from home, Peter. Normal, happy kids could also be given drugs at a rock concert and forget common sense. That someone perceives them as happy doesn't necessarily mean that they really are, or that all is well at home."

"No shit, Sherlock," Peter muttered, then wished the words unspoken when Egon turned a mildly inquiring eye in his direction. Trust Egon to pick up on a casual response from Peter and read more into it.

"You were never a runaway, Peter." It wasn't a question, but it still demanded an answer.

Peter shrugged. "No, I never pulled that gig. At the last minute, I could never do it to my mom. She worked so hard to give me everything she possibly could and to make it good for me. Sometimes she had two jobs. Once she even had three. Meant she wasn't there a lot but even when I was little, I knew she was doing that for me. When she was there, she was the greatest mom in the universe. I couldn't have done that to her, no matter how bad..." He didn't want to go there. Even now, he didn't like those memories.

"Your father," Egon said gently. He didn't push it. If Peter chose to change the subject entirely, he would allow it, but he was also prepared to listen.

Peter nodded. "This may freak you out, Spengs, but I got great grades in high school. Honor roll stuff. The other smart kids never could dig it that I outdid them, but I knew, even back then, that it was my ticket out, away from everything Dad was and the kind of future he had to offer. Yeah, I partied a lot, but when mom was working and I was home, I cracked the books. I knew by then I wasn't gonna be another con man. Wasn't gonna put myself in a position where I'd treat my own kids the way he treated me." He got up abruptly and started pacing the lab.

Egon was silent a moment, then he said, "You wanted to run away?" There was nothing at all judgmental in his voice, in spite of the fact that his own father had been one of those ultra-ethical types who hadn't at first had a shred of respect for Peter Venkman.

"Dad got arrested for a scam he was running," Peter admitted. "I was on the football team; heck, I was even class president. My junior year. I was on a real roll. But then Pop wound up in the slammer, and everybody found out about it. Next thing you know, they found a reason to kick me off the team, and even my best buds wouldn't hang with me any more. I was still getting the grades but now the teachers looked at me like I must have stolen the tests."

"You would never have done so," Egon replied vehemently. "You had innumerable opportunities to cheat off my class papers at Columbia and never once did. You even put in the time in the boring classes you hated; I'm not sure you retained any of that past the tests but you did learn it. How could anyone assume--"

"Like father, like son, Egon." He shrugged. "You're the first person I ever met who didn't tar me with Dad's brush. Anyway, Mom decided we'd move so I could go to a new school. But I'd had it pretty decent at the old one before Dad wrecked it. I didn't want to start all over. So I decided I was gonna take off. I was as tall then as I am now and I figured people would believe I was eighteen instead of sixteen. I was sure I could get a job. I had it all planned out, when I was gonna leave, the whole bit. Then, the night before, Mom came home from work and I'd never seen her look so tired. She didn't know I was in the kitchen getting something out of the fridge and the light was off in there. She stopped just inside the door and let her purse and the groceries slide to the floor." He shuddered. Reliving this was hell. "God, Egon, she didn't know I was watching. She put her hands over her face and whispered, 'Charlie, Charlie, how could you do this to us?' And then she started to cry. I never saw her really cry like that, like her whole life had been ripped apart, like she didn't have any hope, like there was nothing left to live for. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to come out and comfort her, but I was afraid she wouldn't want me to see, so I just kind of lurked out there and hoped she wouldn't come in and find me. Course I couldn't run away after that. I couldn't hurt her like Pop had. For a few years after that, I really hated him. Even when I found out he'd got together some money and helped to pay off what my scholarships wouldn't cover at Columbia."

Egon was silent a moment, then he took a step forward and put his hands on Peter's shoulders. "Peter, you have just proven how different from your father you really are," he said. "You have never run out on your responsibilities."

Peter hesitated, although Egon's words were balm to his soul. "The thing is, there's a lot of him in me," he admitted. "The urge to fast talk people, the way I love money, the way I take the easy way out..."

"Nonsense," Egon snapped angrily. "You are a good man, Peter Venkman. Don't think for a moment I confuse your deliberate surface persona with the man under the surface. You have the kindest heart I have ever seen."

"Ray," Peter offered to disprove Egon's words.

"No. Ray does have a kind heart and he would never hurt anyone, but that is his intrinsic nature, and he is a humble soul. You might have greedy impulses but they shatter in the face of someone in need. Kindness is part of Ray's essential nature, but you overcome your baser instincts. We sometimes pretend you go all out for yourself, but that's a game, what you half expect us to think. But never doubt that we can see past your façade, Peter. And I think your love of money is not because of your father's genes but your father's behavior. When one learns to do without, money becomes more valuable. Don't say that I can't understand this because we were somewhat well to do when I was growing up. I can understand it because I know you so well. Half of your surface persona is a seeking for security. You know that yourself, very well. The other is that it is in your nature to be a showman. Perhaps you did inherit that from your father, but you never inherited his larcenous tendencies. Your father let you and your mother down, but you have never let us down. Never, Peter. You go out of your way to protect us on a bust. You do financial acrobatics so I can have expensive new equipment. And you are the most loyal friend I have ever known. I'm very sorry these missing children reminded you of a low point in your childhood, but I assure you that none of us will ever run out on you or let you down."

God, he was getting all misty-eyed here. Peter grinned shakily at Egon and then whirled to stare out the window at the late October afternoon. "Thanks, Egon," he managed around the gummy lump in his throat. "Anyway," he added hastily, "just because a kid is a good kid doesn't mean he won't run away." He turned back from the window and offered a quick grin.

Egon picked up on his current mood without effort. Somewhere along the line, the stuffy physics student Peter had first encountered in college had turned into the most understanding friend he'd ever had, and then he met Ray, and finally Egon, who were two more guys he could trust to the death. No way would Peter ever run away from this gig.

"The other meters need adjusting as well, Peter." Egon's voice was determined. "I think it's time for you to put in some work on them."

Because it was expected of him, he groaned. "Work? Egon, you know work and I aren't on speaking terms this week." It would never do to let Egon see the blazing smile that spread across his face, so he stomped it down and whirled. "But you know me, a martyr to the cause. Let me at it."

Egon passed him a meter. Probably an extra he didn't care if Peter messed up. Complaining heartily, Peter snatched it up and popped open the case, but he couldn't hold back the grin that blossomed. Egon returned it, then he led Peter over to the table and they sat down side by side. "Now here is what I want you to do," the blond man began.

"So, who are you gonna take to the concert?" Winston set aside the phone with a smug grin. "Keisha's going nuts over it. You'd think I'd asked her to the coronation ball or something. I've got a sneaky feeling she has the hots for Jackson and the idea of meeting him is gonna upstage me something fierce."

Ray hesitated, feeling the color rise in his face. "I haven't called anybody yet."

"Come on, Ray, you had a date last weekend. Can't you call her?"

"Well, I'm gonna. Kelly's great. She's Len Wolfman's assistant, does coloring on the comics. It's just..."

"Just what? I thought your really liked her."

"I do like her." Ray frowned. "She's really nice, and I think she likes me, too."

"Come on, Ray, you asked her out before. Don't tell me you're shy about it."

"She doesn't like rock music," Ray burst out. "We talked about music and she likes all that New Age stuff and Celtic music. Enya and Patrick Ball. Clannad. She doesn't like loud music, and I know that Doom's Electric Moccasin is pretty loud."

Winston shook his head in mock disgust. "Ray, it isn't the music she'll accept the date for. It's you. Have a little confidence in yourself. She likes you, she went out with you before. Even if it's not her music, she's gonna be impressed that you can get her backstage. All her girlfriends will die of envy. Besides, what's this humble number? Come on, m'man, you're a Ghostbuster and a heck of a great guy. Think she'll say no? Not on a bet." He grabbed Ray and dragged him over to the phone. "Call her. Now."

Peter and Winston seemed to have unlimited confidence when dealing with the opposite sex. When he'd called Jennifer, his newest lady friend, Peter had come away from the phone full of self-confident delight. "Got her wrapped around my little finger," he proclaimed. "I hope we don't have to rush off and bust right after the concert. I have more interesting plans."

"You have a job to do," Egon reminded him and Peter's face fell. Ray knew Peter wouldn't hesitate if there was trouble at the concert, but he must have had a big, romantic evening planned.

Shyer around the ladies, Ray was never quite sure what to say in the early stages of a relationship. He'd had another girlfriend right before Kelly and she had dumped him pretty hard for a jet setter type, and Ray had been reluctant to ask Kelly out at first. Put a proton pack on his back and a nasty demon in front of him and he was fearless, but the fair sex was far more intimidating. You'd think a guy in his early thirties would know how to handle women by now. It wasn't fair. Even Egon, who was probably more clueless than Ray, didn't have to worry about it because he had Janine, who would make the date if Egon didn't think of it. Ray assumed that when Spengler was alone with Janine he was much more comfortable with her than he was when he had to perform in front of Peter. Even if he and Janine were going through a rocky patch right now, she was still here and she'd agreed to go to the concert with him. If he hadn't asked her, she would have asked him.

Maybe that was the problem. Alone with Kelly, Ray could probably handle it. He'd known her for six months, after all, and had taken her out a couple of times. The first time had just been coffee after his breakup with Lenore, and she'd listened and been sympathetic, and had practically invited him out for their second date. But he'd never taken her out when the guys were there, too. He'd never even introduced her to the guys. Peter often brought his dates by the firehall, probably trying to impress them. Winston's current girlfriends occasionally stopped by. But Ray hadn't been comfortable asking Kelly over. Now he was going to have to be suave and confident in front of Peter and the others. They'd known how hurt he'd been over Lenore. They'd probably be watching him to make sure he was okay.

"Call now, or I'll do it for you," Winston threatened, and Ray couldn't have that. He dialed her work number quickly. She answered on the first ring.

"Wolfman Studios."

"Kelly?"

"Ray." She sounded glad. "Ray, Len says to come by one day next week. He wants to run something by you, something about the Ghostly Menace and what he might be able to do. He said he'll have to start paying you as a consultant, but he's got a great idea and wants to see if it will fly."

"Really? Gosh, that's great. I'd love to tell him about ghosts." Conscious of Winston at his shoulder nodding encouragingly, he plunged on, "Kelly, are you free tomorrow night? I've got tickets for the Eddie Plummer concert and we can go backstage. I know it's not the kind of music you like , but..."

"I'd love to," she cut in before he could wallow off into awkward half sentences.

"You would? I know it's not the kind of music you like, but it'll be great. Eddie's a swell guy and he said we could all bring our dates. You'll get to meet the other Ghostbusters, too."

"Finally," Kelly replied, a laugh in her voice. "I was starting to wonder if you were ashamed of me."

"Oh, golly, no, of course I'm not. So, it's okay then? That's so great." He caught Winston's eye and gave him a quick thumbs' up sign.

Satisfied, Winston moved away, heading for the stairs to the first floor and leaving Ray in sole possession of the second. Relaxed at last, he plopped down at the desk and told Kelly all about Eddie's visit.

Armed to the teeth with proton packs and throwers, even the atomic destabilizer, but clad in street clothes, the Ghostbusters and their dates headed backstage at the concert, where a tough looking guy with muscles like Mr. Universe's checked them off on a list and admitted them to the hallowed precincts. Egon, Janine hanging on his arm, carried a P.K.E. meter and the bouncer eyed it warily. "We were told you'd have your equipment," he admitted. "Do you think there's a ghost here?"

The physicist checked his readings. "There is not one here presently," he admitted.

Peter slung his arm around the bouncer's shoulders. "But hey, why risk it?" he demanded. "Egon's got an emotional bond with that thing. Not my idea of kicks, but as long as he and Janine can live with it..."

Janine kicked Peter in the shins, fortunately lightly because her shoes had rather pointed toes. He pretended to wince and hopped about on one foot long enough to win the sympathy vote, if he'd been about to get it. Winston snickered and Ray exchanged a grin with Kelly. Where had he been hiding her? wondered Peter; she was gorgeous with masses of golden hair and wide-set blue eyes.

"You do ask for it, Peter," Egon began in his most reproachful voice when Mel appeared at the end of the busy passage and waved to them. "This way, guys!" he bellowed loudly enough to make everybody turn. Some guy carrying a gigantic amp nearly walked into the wall but he caught himself and plunged on, grinning, his Afro nearly as big as the amp. Peter realized he was Chandarl, the demon-turned-human that Jackson MacKensie had brought back from the Netherworld. Unable to wave, he nodded at them, smiled, and vanished in the direction of the stage while Egon waved the non-responsive P.K.E. meter in his direction. Peter caught Jennifer's arm and steered her toward the dressing rooms, delighted when she beamed at him.

"Oh, you're here," Eddie said unnecessarily, sounding just like Egon, when Mel led the team and their dates into the dressing room he shared with Whitney. Although the other band would perform first, the couple was already dressed for their performances, each clad in brown leggings that were laced to the knee with the straps of elaborate sandals, wearing thigh-length overtunics in off darker brown over white silk shirts with flowing sleeves, the kind that were sure to trail in one's food when eating. Jackson MacKensie was there too, similarly dressed but for the tunic he still held in his hand. The three of them wore matching headbands with a painted eye in the center of the forehead.

Egon promptly took readings of the trio. The meter didn't even stir. Hastily he gestured for the other three to do the same with the meters they carried. Kelly's eyes widened as they checked out the singers and the dressing room.

Enveloped in the folds of the tunic as he pulled it over his head, Jackson asked, "Well, are we haunted?"

"Not a blip." Ray sounded disappointed.

"You want them to be haunted?" asked Keisha, Winston's date. Another gorgeous one, Peter thought. But then, why not? The Ghostbusters deserved the best. Look at Janine, even, all dolled up in a green number that brought out the color of her eyes. She had done old Spengs proud tonight and he seemed to know it because he looked perfectly comfortable to have her hanging on his arm. Might not be long before they had a reconciliation. Peter beamed paternally at them.

"I'm just as glad we're not," Eddie replied. "Introduce us to your ladies, guys. Janine I know, of course." He sounded vaguely remote, but then the concert would start soon and he was probably thinking of the music.

Ray performed the introductions, beaming proudly when he said Kelly's name. The three band members played up nicely so that even Jennifer came down from her lofty heights and looked delighted. Peter felt his grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Janine," Egon said, tapping the secretary on the shoulder. "Would you escort the other ladies to their seats. We're going to make a quick sweep backstage before we join you."

"Of course, Egon." She squeezed his arm then let go and saw about detaching the others. If the team found anything backstage that required work, she knew she'd have to arrange to get the dates home. It might be harder to make her depart, Peter realized, but they hadn't brought a fifth proton pack. She might be sweet talked into departing if she thought it would free up Egon for his job. From the way the meters hung uselessly in their hands, though, Peter had the idea the missing kids had vanished from far more prosaic reasons. He hated that.

Once the women had departed, Kelly and Keisha looking back over their shoulders, Egon turned to Eddie. "I'm honestly not detecting anything unusual, and we configured all these meters differently in hopes of meeting any contingency. Of course we'll keep them active during the concert but right now there's nothing."

"I'll introduce you quickly to the other band, and then Mel can escort you around backstage," Eddie decided. "Come on."

The other band consisted of three people, too, two men and a woman. They had backup instrumentalists, Eddie explained, but they were more into the vocals than the instrumental part. He knocked on a door and a blond guy nearly as fair as Eddie and Egon opened it. Probably in his late twenties he had the kind of eyes that looked deeper than the surface, eyes older than his years, eyes with pupils slightly dilated. Peter wondered if he did drugs and, if so, if Eddie knew. Eddie was pretty straitlaced and wouldn't approve. Not that he went around preaching about it, but drugs weren't his thing.

The blond guy wore a patchwork outfit in many colors starting with tawny and shading into purple that reminded Peter vaguely of a fairy tale, although he couldn't remember which one. There were little mirrors sewn into his clothes between the patches so that he glittered when he moved. Out there on stage, the lighting would play it up like crazy. Egon took an automatic reading of him and got zilch.

"Eddie, man." The guy's voice had a thread running through it that made Peter wonder if he had it in for Eddie. He didn't like the guy much. "These the Ghostbusters, huh? Man, I don't want to think we've got any ghosts backstage. You'd think if there were spooks at the Garden, somebody would have complained by now."

"Oh, we just bring our stuff whenever we go out in public," Peter said dismissively. "You never know when somebody might have a haunted guitar or something."

"This is Derek North," Eddie introduced and named the Ghostbusters in turn. "I know you guys hit the stage in a few minutes but can you bring the others out for a second."

"Sure, no prob." Derek's voice was mellow and unconcerned. "Hey, babe?"

A woman appeared and took her place at Derek's side. She was probably the same age as he was and she was staggeringly beautiful, the kind of woman who stopped Peter dead in his tracks if he saw her on the street. Her hair was as white as ice and her face was as cold and distant. No dilated pupils here. Her eyes were so knowing Peter was afraid she knew what his underwear looked like--and what he looked like under it. It was not a pleasant sensation. Then the pale blue eyes moved on to study Egon, who suddenly gulped and ran his fingers around the inside of his collar. She ignored Winston entirely, and it wasn't until later that it even dawned on Peter that she had dismissed him out of bigotry. Egon and Winston both told him later it was a good thing he hadn't realized. He had a tendency to get pretty scathing with idiots who didn't recognize Winston's worth. She let her eyes touch Ray for a second, then she dismissed him, too. It was so obviously a dismissal that Ray's face fell.

Derek slid his arm around her shoulders and Peter couldn't tell if he meant it in a proprietary manner or to reproach her for her blatant rudeness. "This is Madeline DuSud," he introduced her. "These are the Ghostbusters, Maddie."

"Charmed." Her voice was British, posh British, and it made it all too clear that she wasn't charmed a bit. The mirrors on her patchwork costume glittered sharply, reflecting back fragments of the Ghostbusters' faces.

A second man appeared, dressed as they were. He was blond as well, just as aloof as Maddie, and just as knowing about the eyes, but he gave an easy grin at the sight of the Ghostbusters. "Hey, it's the spook chasers." He didn't seem to be high on anything but, in spite of the grin, he didn't look as if he enjoyed the disturbance so soon before a performance.

"This is Michael Westin," Derek said in the tones of one making polite introductions at a party. "If we're not haunted and our dressing room is not haunted, we really must prepare. We go on stage in less than fifteen minutes and we need to be in the correct frame of mind."

Eddie glanced at the Ghostbusters who had identical non-reactions from the meters they held. Egon nodded. The door closed instantly, shutting off the other band.

"Hey, real charmers," Peter muttered under his breath.

"They are kind of strange," Eddie agreed. "But they sing like angels. We don't always travel with another band; the fans are paying to see us and it doesn't seem fair. But Moccasin is pretty hot themselves. And their music isn't incompatible with ours. They do a lot of folk-type stuff, too. They attract a lot of the same type audience we do."

Eddie left them to Mel, then, and the demon groupie showed them over the backstage area, including a peep at the stage itself, set up for the Moccasin band, with an eerie backdrop that looked like a haunted castle, probably designed for the fact that it was only two days till Halloween. Opening lighting was already set, creating a pleasantly spooky atmosphere and, as the Ghostbusters took readings on the set, a couple of guys started billowing smoke--or the mist from dry ice--out onto the stage. "Five minutes," one of them told Mel.

"Got it. Anything, guys?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Egon responded.

Ignoring the distractions of smoke and readings, Peter went over to the center of the curtain and opened it enough to stick his head out and survey the audience. Some of them shrieked excitedly when they saw him, then lost interest when they realized he wasn't a musician. Without his jumpsuit, Peter couldn't whip himself out and take a bow and be sure of recognition. If he'd been in uniform, he'd have flung the curtains back far enough to take a bow, but not in plainclothes, even with the thrower on.

"Peter! Hey, Peter!"

The voice was young and came from the second row where a brown haired kid in glasses had jumped to his feet and started waving wildly. It took a second, but Peter recognized him. It was Kenny Fenderman, a kid he'd befriended about six years back when he'd marched into headquarters in a makeshift Ghostbuster uniform and proton pack and proclaimed he wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Peter had made the mistake of giving him a very dangerous piece of equipment that had risked ending Kenny's life, but, in the end, the Ghostbusters, with Kenny on their side, had defeated a nasty ghost. Peter had stayed in touch with Kenny after that, especially when he found out the boy's dad had taken off on him and his mom and had headed for the hills with his secretary. He knew all too well what it was like for a kid without a dad around.

Kenny had his act together now, and in the last year or two, Peter hadn't seen as much of him. Fitting in with his peers, Kenny hadn't really needed Peter any longer, and that was cool, but they still called each other occasionally, and Peter made himself available when possible if there was a father-son event Kenny wanted to go to. He'd met Estelle, the boy's mother, and thought she was a gutsy lady who made the best of her circumstances.

Kenny must be sixteen now. He preferred being called Ken these days, and he had started dating. When the rest of the Ghostbusters had heard that, they'd warned Kenny not to listen to Peter's advice, but Ken was old enough to understand their teasing. He had a date beside him now. Peter had met her once; her name was Diane. She waved, too.

Peter grinned and hollered, "Hey, Ken! Diane!" just before Winston and Mel grabbed him and yanked him away to clear the stage for the advent of the musicians.

He leaned close to Mel. "Hey, guy, you and Chandarl keep your eyes open during the concert. Eddie said you thought something weird was going down. See if you can tell where it came from. Okay?"

"Will do, Peter," Mel answered as he steered them off the stage.

After that, it was a hasty shuffle back to Eddie's dressing room where their proton packs were locked up under the determined guardianship of Mel, and the Ghostbusters were led to their seats. Peter dropped down beside Jennifer, still clutching his P.K.E. meter and grinned at her.

"Why do I have the feeling you have an ulterior motive for being here?" she whispered in his ear.

"Being with you at a concert is enough," he told her soulfully.

She gave his arm a swat. One of the things he liked about Jennifer was that he couldn't quite impress her, at least that he couldn't impress her easily. But when he did...

Before he could answer, the curtain swept open to allow the billowing of mist. A great burst of fake lightning was followed by the rumble of thunder, and then, in the center of the stage as if they'd materialized there, Doom's Electric Moccasin stepped out of the smoke to the screams and thunderous applause of the crowd. Peter eyed them measuringly. Eddie said they could sing, and they were obviously showmen, but he was close enough to see their faces. As they positioned themselves and Derek took up a guitar and Michael a--what was that thing? a balalaika?--they eyed the audience steadily, the diamond mirrors on their clothing reflecting multicolored light in all directions.

Madeline spoke huskily into the microphone. "Welcome. Welcome to you all." She smiled seductively, enhancing the ice queen beauty, then she began to sing in an achingly pure soprano. She sang Greensleeves. The band had a new rendition of it with an extra verse or two with new words, but the old melody was as haunting as ever, and her voice was as pure as crystal. The audience went silent as if someone had flipped a switch. She did the first song alone, accompanied by the balalaika with the melody line mimicked by the guitar an octave lower and so perfectly in tune with her singing that it was as if she produced the sound as well as the words. A neat trick.

Peter ran a glance down his row. Egon was staring at the band in breathless fascination. Kelly's blue eyes were huge and her body was swaying in tune to the beat. Ray looked bored and yawned as Peter watched him. Winston and Keisha were listening with what seemed to be technical approval as if they appreciated the showmanship but found little to touch them in the music. Janine looked as bored as Ray did, only the presence of Egon at her side making the experience worthwhile. Jennifer appeared fascinated.

As for himself, Peter thought it was a good performance and he liked the song--all the more because his mom had sung it to him at bedtime when he was very young--but he didn't like the singers. There was something off-putting about them. He didn't like the way they'd treated Winston and Ray, and the fact that they had wonderful voices didn't begin to make up for it.

He ventured a glimpse at his P.K.E. meter. Nothing. It must be as bored as Ray and Janine. Casting a curious eye around the audience, he realized it was pretty easy to pick out the people who had come here purely for Eddie and those who must like both bands or just Moccasin. Kenny and his date were enjoying it like crazy but a couple who sat beside them didn't seem impressed. Yet there were enough people in the crowd who were having a good time that it wasn't obvious that, here and there, members of the audience weren't getting anything out of the music.

Ray sneaked glances at his meter from time to time, then leaned over Janine to stare at Egon's. That made the physicist jump, startled out of his music appreciation, and check it himself. Ray caught Peter's eye and shook his head. They weren't getting anything paranormal at all.

Peter heaved a silent sigh. He'd halfway hoped that whatever was going down was something they could fix, either that or a simple coincidence. He didn't think it was, though. He was afraid his fear of a pervert or two following the tour might be the correct one. When the concert ended, he and the guys had better strap on their packs and mingle with the crowd.

For the rest of the numbers, the two guys joined in, North a tenor and Westin singing baritone. Eddie was right; they did sing like angels, especially when they did a number called Fantasy Home. The chorus continually urged the listeners to 'come away to the land of dreams.' Peter figured it wouldn't be long before he'd be nodding away in that place himself. He thought the song was sappy. Even Ray, who had been born a dreamer, didn't seem to care for the tune or the lyrics. Winston yawned, on the verge of dreamland himself. Keisha shifted restlessly. Kelly mouthed the words along with the singers and Egon, the least likely man Peter knew to buy into fantasy, appeared to find it fascinating.

Curious, Peter quickly adjusted his meter and turned it to Egon's biorhythms, studying the physicist. Nothing abnormal there that he could detect. Egon was just enjoying the music. Funny, when it was as far from opera and that classical stuff he got into as it was possible to be. In a way, it reminded Peter of a lot of those Seventies songs with mystical lyrics that turned out to be cloaked songs about the drug culture. Maybe the band passed out crack cocaine to the kiddies after the show and that explained where the disappearing kids had gone.

Moccasin finished up to wild applause, and a quick scan of the audience proved that even the most enraptured teens were back to normal now, waiting for Eddie to appear.

In the interval, while the set was changed, Peter wandered over to Kenny. "Hey, Ken, did you like it?"

"It was all right," he said. Oh yeah, he was definitely at the age where it wasn't 'in' to rave over things. No one could be more artificially blasé than a teenager.

"I thought it was nice," Diane admitted. "Didn't you, Dr. Venkman?"

"Not bad. They're great singers. If I had a voice like that, nobody could have held me back." He looked down at Kenny. "Hey, give me a call tomorrow afternoon, won't you? Are there are lot of kids here from your school?"

"There are a few," Kenny admitted. "It was kind of hard to get tickets, but some of us managed it. We're all going out for pizza afterward."

"Sounds cool." A distant shout of, "Peter!" distracted him. "Hey, gotta go. Hang in there." He started off then pulled back, waving a delaying hand at his team. "Kenny, listen, there might be something going down in the crowd tonight. Kids have been disappearing from rock concerts. We don't know if it's some ghost thing or maybe even a pedophile working the crowd. So stick with your friends after the concert, okay? Both of you. If anybody tries to talk to you and you don't know him, take off or call for security, or make a scene, okay?"

Ken's eyes widened and Diane looked alarmed, but both of them nodded solemnly.

"That's why you're here." A trace of the old hero worship lit the boy's eyes. "You're here to stop them."

"If it's a supernatural thing, we are," Peter admitted. "Gotta go. Be careful, okay?"

It was Winston who had called him, gesturing him over to a huddle of the other three Ghostbusters. "Hey, man, we all took readings during the performance. There's not a shred of anything weird, at least nothing we can pick up on. Only thing weird I can see is what the thrill is. They almost put me to sleep, man."

"Me too," Ray admitted. "Kelly liked it, but I didn't. Egon did, though, didn't you, Egon?"

"I admit there was something rather compelling about them," the physicist replied, a faint smile lingering on his mouth as he remembered their performance.

"Yeah, and you had me wondering, Spengs," Peter said. "I took a reading of you during the concert when you were kind of drifting away out there. I hate to say it but you're--gasp--normal!"

"Never fear, Peter. No one could ever say that about you," countered Egon. "Did you find the concert compelling?"

"In a way," Peter replied. "I like their sound, but I didn't like them when we met them, so I kinda held back. They just didn't do it for me."

"They were pretty distant, weren't they?" asked Ray. "I didn't think they were friendly at all, but I thought it was probably because they were trying to get in the mood before they started singing."

"They were smug bigots," Peter said frankly. "People like that piss me off. They could have been the best singers in the history of the world and I wouldn't have bought into anything they did. They stood up there all holier than thou as if we were peasants or something, and half the people here soaked it up. Not my gig."

"Bigots?" Egon echoed, startled and rather guilty that he'd enjoyed himself. The lingering remnants of his pleasure faded away. "However, they do not appear to be paranormal in any way."

"Unless it's something the meter wasn't designed to detect," argued Ray.

Peter exchanged a wary look with Winston. "You could say that about anything," he muttered. "I don't like weird things going down that we can't figure out."

"It's probably coincidence or some bad dudes in the crowd," offered Winston.

"Not when Mel said something was weird," Peter reminded them. "I took readings of the crowd, too. Not individual biorhythms or anything, just to see if anybody out there was a demon or something. I didn't pick up a problem there either."

"The most logical explanation for the disappearances has to be criminal," Egon decided. "We'll take the same readings during Eddie's concert and see what we come up with."

Eddie's part of the show was everything Egon had expected it to be. His younger cousin revered music and it showed in every song he sang. Whitney's incredible soprano wove in and out of the melody line and Jackson's mellow tenor added richness but it was Eddie, pouring out his soul because he had to have music on any terms that stopped it from being ordinary. Egon, used to his cousin's marvelous voice from the moment it had broken and he'd formed a band in his garage, had always appreciated it, even when the songs themselves were not to his particular taste.

Watching Eddie's band perform proved that they were actually better musicians than Doom's Electric Moccasin, capable with their instruments far beyond technical precision. Anyone who practiced could play the notes (well, perhaps not Peter...), but not anyone could make the words and music come to life so compellingly. Egon knew he was prejudiced but he was very proud of his cousin.

The meter lay activated in his lap and he checked it periodically but it never so much as beeped. Before the concert, he had filtered Mel's readings out on his meter and Peter's while Ray had done the same for his own and Winston's, so that the presence of a demon backstage would not contaminate the results. He got nothing at all out of the ordinary, and it looked as if none of the others did, either.

Janine was enjoying herself tremendously. Egon favored her with a smile when she wasn't looking, glad she was enjoying herself. He had been afraid the evening would be uncomfortable since it was the first 'date' he'd had with her since the separation, but it hadn't been. He'd missed a date with her that time, an important one, totally caught up in a project in his lab. When Janine had arrived midway through the evening, she had been, not unpardonably, put out, and had complained bitterly. Egon, who had once or twice missed or been late for a date because of being caught up in his work, had apologized abjectly. An attempt to explain by mentioning that he could easily forget to eat or take out the garbage when obsessed with his work had not been a wise choice. Janine had reacted hotly to being compared with garbage, which Egon had never intended. The discussion had gone from bad to worse and ended up with her insistence that if he wasn't ready to remember her even when it mattered that there was no chance of a future together. Egon, in the wrong and knowing it, had tried to apologize, but he could not promise he would not forget again in future. If he had to rely on Peter to remind him of dates, it didn't guarantee successful reminders. Peter was good about it when he was home, but he was often out of an evening. Winston and Ray could serve as alarm clocks too, but Egon knew that Janine wanted to be remembered for her own sake. He honestly did try, but all his life he had allowed himself to become caught up in his research. It was a part of his nature. He was sorry, and he would try to change, but he couldn't guarantee it every single time. Janine took that wrong, too, putting Egon in the position of defending himself, and he had, most unwisely, accused her of coming between him and his work. Janine had backed up a step or two -- she'd been wearing the same outfit she wore tonight -- and said that if he believed that, there wasn't much chance for them. She had gone away, head held high. Egon had called after her but she hadn't turned.

He had never said anything to the guys, other than that he and Janine had had a disagreement, but he had seen the speculation in Peter's eyes.

Now, Janine was on his arm, and Egon didn't know if they could return to their old relationship or not. He would have to go carefully. At least she looked pleased to be here with him.

Everyone was having a good time. Winston and his lady had perked up and Ray had stopped yawning. When Eddie did his trademark piece, Leftover Souls, he did it without accompaniment other than the very faint sound of Whitney and Jackson humming along in harmony, and it was breathtaking. In the end, the band was called back for two encores.

The Ghostbusters went backstage with their dates after the concert to retrieve their proton packs. Both bands had gathered in Eddie and Whitney's dressing room because it was the biggest and they were sipping champagne. In street clothes, Doom's Electric Moccasin were still striking but not quite so aloof.

Madeline slipped up to Peter, hooked her arm through his and said, "Sorry we weren't very friendly before. We never are before a performance--there's just too much on our minds, and Derek never got over having stage fright. Did you find your haunted whatsis out there?"

"Not a thing," Peter said, pretending disappointment. Egon suspected he'd have liked to lay a full trap before her like Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his coat. But he pulled back from her and caught Jennifer's arm. Very smart, Peter. Jennifer took him back but eyed him doubtfully for a moment. She would make him work for it. Good. Peter enjoyed the chase as much as he liked the capture and Egon had never felt it did Peter good if anyone allowed him to become complacent.

"There weren't any ghosts at all," Ray spoke up eagerly, beaming at the singer.

Madeline let her eyes touch him for a bored instant, then she made a shrugging gesture and moved on. His shoulders sagged and his face revealed hurt for an instant before he called his expression to order. Behind the crestfallen Ray, Peter's hands tightened up into fists and his mouth formed the word, 'bitch,' although he didn't say it out loud. Janine took a hasty step after Madeline as if she wanted to have hot words with the lady, but Egon tightened his grip on her arm. It wouldn't do any good.

"I'm glad there weren't any," Whitney Stone said hastily, giving Ray a greeting hug. "Hi, Ray. I hardly got to talk to you before. They're right, we're usually not very sociable before we perform." She let him go and turned to a small chest of drawers. "I've got a new comic book for you. I picked it up in London two months ago but we haven't seen you since then."

Peter's expression conferred sainthood on Whitney before he turned to say something to Derek North. Moccasin's lead singer responded with casual politeness, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He had a distant look on his face. Maybe he didn't like it that Madeline had revealed his stage fright, although Egon thought it might be more. He couldn't read the man's face, but his eyes were brooding.

Mel crowded into the room; even in his human form he was big enough that he filled most rooms he entered unless they were huge. The high-ceilinged areas at the Firehall held him well. Edging up to Peter, Mel tugged at his sleeve. Peter turned and regarded him questioningly, then he spoke to Jennifer in an undertone and followed Mel out of the room. Interesting. Ever since Christmas, the demon roadie seemed to prefer Peter out of all the Ghostbusters. Peter was never sure how to take it, but he looked like a man who had been singled out by a huge, shaggy, orange dog that was determined to follow him home. It was almost the same look he pasted on when Slimer decided to favor him with hugs and kisses after a tough bust.

Eddie witnessed their departure and turned to lift an eyebrow at Egon, who returned the arched brow to indicate he didn't know, either. Deep in a discussion of the comic book Whitney had produced, Ray didn't pay any attention, but Winston noticed. Muttering an excuse to Jackson MacKensie, he followed Peter from the room. Egon lifted his meter and took a reading. Nothing. Or perhaps... For just a second Egon had the distinct feeling the meter was on the edge of reacting. It nearly did. Egon had worked with P.K.E. meters so often that, of all the team, he knew them best. The needle quivered so faintly as to be subliminal.

"What's that you've got there?" Derek North asked brightly at Egon's shoulder.

The moment passed, the needle stilled, and the faintest edge of psi disappeared from the air. "My P.K.E. meter," Egon responded. "It detects ghosts. As you can see, there are none here."

"Talk about a guy married to his work," murmured Derek. He gave Egon a comradely pat on the arm, leaned in for a second to study the small screen, then he shrugged, losing interest, and moved on.

At Egon's side, Janine muttered, "Married to his work," under her breath, adding even more quietly, "Boy, did he call that one." Her grievance still held, then. Before he could respond, Peter was back, sending Egon urgent signals with his eyes.

"Just a moment, Janine," Egon said, knowing the timing for his departure could have been much, much better. He gave her hand a quick, apologetic squeeze and followed Peter outside. Mel and the former demon, Chandarl, stood waiting, their faces wearing identical expressions of concern.

"What is it?" Egon asked when they were safely out of earshot of anyone else in the room. People were passing in the corridor, other roadies, a few fans, but none of them paid any attention except to glance at Egon as if to make sure he wasn't really Eddie with a different haircut.

"Tell him, Mel," Peter urged. He looked worried, really upset.

"I usually watch the crowd leave," Mel explained. "Ever since I started working for Eddie, I figured that there were groupies out there who might be dangerous, so I usually check out the people who are going away to see if I can tell if any of them will try to sneak backstage or if any of them have bad auras. Chan can't see auras any more since he turned human, but he can kind of still feel them."

"Did you see any? Did you sense anything?" Egon realized it might have been beneficial to watch the departing crowd, although the audience had not stirred the meters.

"I felt something," Chan replied. He scratched his afro-ed head. "So I told Mel, and he said he could see an aura, but it was very faint."

"What kind of aura?" Egon demanded. Beside him, Peter stood gravely, radiating tension.

"A weird one," Mel replied. The big, blond demon made a gesture toward the nearly empty Garden, where a few janitor types were starting to clean up the debris that remained. "Not evil, but kind of...smothered."

"Possessed?" Egon asked hastily.

Both roadies shook their heads. "Not possessed," Mel replied. "Not quite influenced, either. It's hard to explain. There was a boy and a girl, but they weren't ghosts or anything on your classification schedule. They were human, but they were controlled humans. Not drugs, nothing like that. But something was hanging over them. I came for Peter right away and Chan watched them but they got in a taxi with another couple and took off. The other couple didn't have auras, just normal teenagers."

"It happened," Peter growled. "We were here, we had all our equipment and it still happened." His hands curled up into fists.

"You don't know that, Peter," Egon replied. "Those teens might have even been doing drugs."

Mel and Chandarl shook vehement heads. "Not drugs," Mel said. "There's a difference. We don't get auras from that. I can't sense someone who's spaced out, but I can usually tell when I see them because I've seen people at Eddie's gigs who do drugs." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Hate that. This wasn't drugs. Not sure how to explain."

"Do you think this is what you felt the other times?" asked Egon, determined to gain as much information as possible.

Mel hesitated. "Maybe. Last time was just a feeling. I didn't think much of it then, since it wasn't evil or anything, not until the police came the other night."

"Can you describe the kids for a police sketch artist?" Peter asked more practically. "If it turns out any kids do disappear, we can at least tell if the ones that seemed odd are the ones who are missing. What was it, like they were zombied out?"

Mel shook his head. "No, I didn't see them from the front, so I don't know what they looked like. They were talking to the other couple pretty normally, but there was something hanging over them, ready to happen."

Peter's eyes brooded. "As if they'd been marked," he ground out.

"That's it," Mel cried, delighted with the phrase. "That's exactly what it feels like. They've been marked. It's like whatever happened to them hasn't kicked in yet."

"Now that is interesting," Egon mused, twiddling his meter's dial, hoping to make an adjustment that would give him more information.

"Interesting? Two other kids might be about to take off for Never Never Land and you think it's interesting?" Peter caught his burgeoning temper. "Sorry, Egon. I know it's not your fault."

The physicist had understood Peter's quick anger too well to fault him for it. Peter always identified with kids in trouble. After his revelation about that miserable moment in his teen years, Egon had a better understanding, although he'd always known that Peter's dad had worked very hard to give Peter a less-than-happy childhood. The sad part was that Charlie Venkman's intentions had probably been good; it was his nature that was defective. The fault was in his stars.

But Peter's comment triggered a spark of an idea in Egon. "Never Never Land, Peter?" he echoed.

Peter's head came up and his eyes pinned Egon. "You think this is a Peter Pan gig, Spengs?"

"I'm not certain. The most obvious answer is usually the right one, that teens are being taken for unpleasant purposes, criminal purposes. But the fact that Mel could sense an aura over two of them indicates that whatever the reason, the control is somehow paranormal. That our meters didn't detect it proves only that we're not geared to measure every single type of psi. We geared them to detect ghosts after theorizing and postulating what ghostly energy would be like, and we've never needed to move far from that one area since."

"Well, whatever the case, we can have Eddie call that cop back."

"And tell him what, Peter? That Mel sensed an aura our equipment could not detect? You and I know Mel and understand his abilities. A detective in another city would never understand that, let alone believe it, and it might make him suspect Mel, which we would never intend him to do."

"But we've gotta say something, because it might not be too late to save those kids," Peter insisted. "Come on, Egon. You're the great brain. Think of something."

"I'll tell what I felt," Mel volunteered instantly. "Finding those kids is more important than keeping my secret."

"We need a local police officer," Egon replied promptly. "Someone who will understand the possibility of a paranormal source to the disappearances. They can interface with the Dayton cop and the one from Philadelphia. In the meantime, I want to spend some time with Tobin and see if there have been mass disappearances of children or teens reported in the past."

"You mean paranormal disappearances?" Peter grinned. "Well, there was the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Didn't he make off with kids? What did he want them for, anyway?"

"You think this could be a latter-day Pied Piper?" Egon frowned. "Children are not vanishing en masse. Just several at a time. But there may be previous incidents."

"Yeah, and it still might be a crime and not something weird," Peter argued. "Mel, I know you saw an aura, but how about some kind of precog? Could you have sensed that maybe they were in trouble?"

Egon eyed Peter with respect; it was an excellent question. But Mel shook his head. "No, I can't do that. It takes a lot more powerful demon than me to see the future. This was something else, only I don't know what. I haven't come up against it before. This was something else, like they were influenced."

"Hypnotized?" Peter theorized. Another good idea. He was really working hard to solve this one. The odds were the teenagers weren't disappearing to security and happiness; they were going into trouble.

Ray and Winston came out of the dressing room then and Egon explained what Mel had told them. They were silent a minute, then Ray said, "What about a subliminal command? Something in the music?"

Another excellent suggestion. "Eddie wouldn't be a part of that," Egon disagreed.

Winston snapped his fingers. "Wouldn't have to be Eddie. It might be the other band or something that's accidental."

"Somebody's accidentally making teenagers disappear?" Peter shook his head. "No, this is on purpose. Doesn't even have to be either band, though I kind of like the idea. They're not exactly sweethearts. But it could be someone who sets up the equipment. Mel, do they have any suspicious roadies?"

The blond demon pursed his lips, lost in thought. "No, just normal guys. Mac--he's one of ours--says that the other roadies seem like they're okay although they're not very friendly. Not stiff, either, they just stick together. Doom's Electric Moccasin is a new group; they've been around less than a year. Probably after this they won't need to travel with a more established group." He cast a glance at his wristwatch.

"Eager to get home to Jackie?" Peter asked, noting the gesture.

Mel beamed. "Always. She could have come tonight but she doesn't usually. Knows I'll be busy." He hesitated. "If you want me to tell a local cop what I sensed, I will. Eddie wouldn't like it that something like this was happening at his concert."

And Mel would do anything for Eddie. In spite of his recent domestic bliss with Jackie, he still considered Eddie his master and adored him, almost literally. He would reveal his identity if he thought it would help Eddie, and then deal with the consequences.

"That would go over great with somebody like Frump," Peter said with a grin.

"Frump's not the only police officer we know," Ray reminded them. "That nice Detective Burke might help, you know, the guy who helped us out when we had the run-in with the serial killer." ⁽⁴⁾

"Thanks, Ray, I needed to remember that," groused Peter, who had been a prisoner of the serial killer for more than a day before his friends had tracked him down and freed him. "Burke was a decent guy, though. Think he might listen?"

"We really have very little to tell him," Egon reminded them all. "I suggest we research the various possibilities in our reference books and see if we can find similar occurrences."

"That won't help those kids tonight," Peter argued.

"We don't know who those kids were," Egon reminded him.

Peter's voice rose to a screech. "So we wait till tomorrow to see who's missing?"

Ray took hold of Peter's wrists and spoke reasonably. "Peter, we don't know anyone's going to be missing. We don't know there's anything paranormal going on at all. We might be messing on police turf. I hate it that kids are disappearing, but there might not be anything we can do about it. I want to help them just as much as you do, but I don't know if we can. I know we can't do anything without more information, though."

"Listen to Ray, homeboy," Winston urged. "Come on, Pete, I know this gets to you."

"Kenny was here," Peter reminded them. "With a girlfriend and some of their friends. He might be the one in trouble."

"The odds--" Egon began.

"Never tell me the odds," Peter snapped. "Egon, Kenny's like those kids who disappeared; he's smart and he's a decent kid. Doesn't get in trouble, doesn't do drugs. He could be the one."

"Did you warn him there was danger?" Egon asked reasonably. Peter in this frame of mind wasn't prone to heed the voice of reason. He'd made the disappearances personal.

"Of course I warned him. Told him to stick with his friends, even said it might be a pedophile. I wanted him scared enough not to go off by himself. I'll call in the morning and make sure he's okay." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "This one really gets to me. Not just because it could bounce back on Eddie, although that's a part of it. I hate it when kids are in trouble. Kids deserve to be happy and carefree when they're growing up. They should be safe. I know they're not, these days, even the good kids. But it shouldn't even be just the 'good' kids who're safe. They deserve it, all of 'em." He caught himself and grimaced. "Anyway, we've gotta do something."

Kids deserve to be happy and carefree when they're growing up. Oh, Peter... Egon made himself focus apart from that because he'd just realized Peter had made this his holy crusade. He hadn't been happy and carefree when he was a child. Since Ray's childhood had been less than perfect and Egon's hadn't been filled with warmth, he could understand a little of that, and knew that Ray could, too. Ray didn't say much about his own bad times, any more than Peter did, though he didn't overcompensate over them, either. Still, Peter couldn't save the whole world and he was smart enough to know that or he'd break his heart every minute of every day and still never do enough. But maybe this was something he could do. This side of Peter didn't show itself to the world very often, but Egon had long known the crusader that was buried deeply inside his oldest friend. Peter donated time at free clinics, he did anti-drug commercials. When he'd realized how lonely Mrs. Faversham was he'd adopted her as a pseudo grandmother and had dinner with her one Sunday a month, sometimes calling her in between to touch base. He'd played big brother to Kenny for nearly six years. People who didn't know Peter well never saw that side of him, but Egon admired his friend and, when Peter was being his most irksome, Egon would sometimes remember the look on his face when he'd gone back to have tea with Mrs. Faversham that first time. Peter was genuinely interested in people and fascinated by their behavior and he had a kind heart.

"We will do something, Peter," Egon confirmed. He saw Peter's eyes lift to meet his and knew he'd made a commitment. "The first thing we'll do is research. We've done all we can here, and our meters haven't given us any clues. If you want us to call Detective Burke, or even Frump, we will."

"Oh, yeah, call Frump. Right there at the top of my list of fun things to do." Peter grinned crookedly, the tension trailing out of him. "Come on, guys, can we go home now?"

The telephone woke Winston. All of them had stayed up late after they got home, checking out various source material like Tobin's Spirit Guide, The Spates Catalog and other reference books, determined to find similar instances of disappearances. There were episodes in history. Egon said that Peter had mentioned the Pied Piper of Hamelin, and that sounded interesting, although there had been no previous bargain to allow the children to disappear. No one had offered to rid the cities of the rats and then come back to lead the kids away. So it wasn't an exact parallel, but the Pied Piper had lured kids away with music, hadn't he? Playing a pipe that made the children of Hamelin jump up and follow him. Winston didn't know if it were a myth or an actual true story and he wasn't sure he wanted to know but, if it were true, it had happened hundreds of years ago. Unless the talent passed down from generation to generation, it wouldn't have anything to do with now.

Ray discovered a series of missing children in Fourteenth Century France and another in Transylvania. The very location of the second disappearance suggested vampires, and the meters would have picked up the undead, so they could probably rule that one out. The French one was not very well documented and Ray planned to do more research on it. Peter had not been able to settle to any given book. He paced the lab uneasily.

None of them had wound up seeing their dates home, except for Ray dropping off Kelly, who lived practically on the way. Janine hopped a cab out to Brooklyn, a look on her face that suggested she would not be a happy camper when she arrived for work in the morning. Keisha, who was pretty easygoing, had kissed Winston goodnight and grabbed a cab, and the imperious Jennifer had given Peter a peck on the cheek and taken off. He'd scarcely noticed. That romance might well be history.

They'd finally fallen into bed around two a.m. Winston, a relatively light sleeper, had heard Janine poke her head in the door to check on them somewhere around eight and disappear again. He dropped off to sleep again afterwards. This morning, they could all emulate Peter.

When the phone rang beside his bed, he grabbed for the receiver and fumbled it into his hand. The bedroom phone was the guys' private line; they gave the number out to their friends and it was unlisted. When they went to bed, they coded the business line over to it, and Janine would uncode the business number when she arrived in the morning so the guys wouldn't be disturbed by work calls if they were up in the night and needed to sleep in. So, expecting a personal call, Winston just said, "Winston Zeddemore," into the phone instead of the business reply.

"May I speak to Peter, please." The woman sounded distraught, on the edge of tears, and her voice was shaking. Not Jennifer. Winston couldn't imagine that cool, self-possessed woman ever sounding like this and, besides, this woman sounded older.

"Just a minute, I'll haul him out." He set the receiver down and went over to shake Peter by the shoulder. The call had awakened Egon, who sat up, hair sticking out in all directions, sliding his glasses on. Peter groaned and tried to pull the covers over his head, but Winston yanked them away. "Come on, Pete, somebody needs you on the phone. Sounds urgent."

One baleful green eye emerged from beneath the pillow and regarded Winston without enthusiasm. "It's the middle of the night," he groused.

"It's nine a.m. Come on, Pete, the lady's really upset. Asked for you by name."

Peter hesitated, then he pushed himself up, knuckling his eyes to rub the sleep away. "Who is it?" he asked, the hint of alarm creeping into his voice.

"Don't know. She didn't say."

Peter went over and grabbed the receiver, plopping down on Winston's bed. "This is Peter Venkman."

There was a momentary silence, then Peter's eyes widened in horror and he muttered, "Shit, shit, shit!" under his breath. "When?" he asked.

A long pause. "Did you check with..." Peter's eyes came around and focused on Egon, and Winston saw the desperation in them. Whatever this was, it was bad. Peter's dad?

Ray sat up, rubbing his eyes, and turned to stare at Peter in alarm.

"Calm down, Mrs. Fenderman," Peter soothed, gripping the phone white-knuckled. "We know something's going on. We don't know what, but we'll figure it out. We'll get him back. Can you get me a list of the kids he went for pizza with?"

Winston's stomach knotted up. Peter's little buddy, Kenny. His last name was Fenderman, wasn't it? But Peter had warned him to be careful at the concert. Even though Pete had insisted last night that Kenny fit the pattern, none of them had believed that, out of all the kids at the concert, the one who would disappear would be the one Peter knew. What were the odds of that? On the other hand, Kenny had been right in the second row, close to the stage. Not that Winston knew what difference that would make but he thought it possible. They didn't know what had happened, how the missing kids had been singled out. But Mel had said the kids with the aura had been with another couple. Had they been a plant? Friends Kenny knew already? Had he disappeared right there? Not if he'd really gone for pizza, he hadn't. That made it even more complicated than they'd imagined.

Peter gestured wildly for a notepad and Egon presented him with one. Listening carefully, Peter scribbled down names and telephone numbers. When he was finished, he said, "No, we don't know what's happening. A couple of kids have been disappearing at each concert and we got called in on the off chance there was something paranormal about it.... No, we don't know it was anything paranormal. We don't know anything for sure yet. Yes, the police are involved. Did you talk to them? You did? Okay, who..." He wrote again. Then he spent five minutes soothing the distraught woman, his voice gentle, his eyes anguished. Egon dropped down beside him on the bed but didn't speak or touch him while Peter was talking. It was easy to see that Peter was deep in blaming himself for what had happened to Kenny, and Egon would understand. He might appear hip deep in his weird science half the time but he could understand where Peter was coming from even at a time like that. Peter knew it, too. When he was bugged about something, he'd often go and plant himself in Egon's line of vision in the lab and wait, and it took remarkably little time for the physicist to notice.

When Peter hung up, Egon didn't offer platitudes. He didn't even remind Peter that he had warned Kenny the night before. He was just there for him, waiting for Peter to speak.

"I warned him, Egon," Peter said in a low voice. "I warned him, guys."

"You did all you could," Ray burst out, jumping up and staring at Peter. "We all did. We couldn't find anything."

Peter's eyes lifted to Ray's earnest face. "I could have run him home." He shook himself. "I've got the name of the cop who's handling this end. Usually they have to wait to take a missing persons' report, but because of the other disappearances they listened right away. I guess the Dayton cop phoned here to alert the local police. I told Kenny's mom we'd talk to the guy. I'm gonna go have my shower. We can't waste time in bed." He stalked off grimly in the direction of the bathroom without a shred of regret for his lost sleep.

"Oh dear," Egon said inadequately when the door closed behind him.

"Gosh, yeah," agreed Ray. "I think Peter would have felt bad no matter who it was, but it's so much worse that it's Kenny. I hate to see him looking like that."

"We'll get him back," Winston proclaimed, then he caught himself. They had no guarantees retrieving the missing kids was even possible. The victims might be murdered on the spot. The kidnappers might have such a thoroughly efficient system that they'd been snatching kids at concerts for years and no one had noticed until now. Winston knew teens disappeared every day, younger kids too, and some of them were never seen again or came back forever changed with dead eyes. "We'll give it our best shot, anyway," he added lamely.

"The thing that disturbs me is the aura Mel claimed to see," Egon responded. "He surveyed the audience before the concert and didn't see it. So, if we assume a paranormal vector, it had to have happened during the concert. I wish we had a recording of the performance. Why didn't I think of that at the time? I know they check people for recording devices at major concerts, but Eddie would have let us bring something in. It could be something in the music, a subliminal instruction. You said that last night, Ray."

"A subliminal command wouldn't cause an aura, would it?" Winston wondered. Automatically he began to make his bed.

"It might if it produced a trance state," Ray argued. He hesitated. "But Peter talked to Kenny after Doom's Electric Moccasin's performance and before Eddie's. I just know Eddie wouldn't have done it, or any of his band. I thought maybe it was those other singers. I didn't like them."

"Yeah, they were jerks," Winston agreed instantly.

"They sang beautifully," Egon murmured. "However, they were rather unpleasant in person." He looked as if he were remembering the way Madeline had snubbed Ray after the concert and the uneasy sense that they were prejudiced against Winston. "I admit, I would enjoy it if they proved to be the villains of the piece. People haven't disappeared from Eddie's concerts before that we know of. It seems as if these disappearances started right after Moccasin joined the tour. We need to find out if there were reported disappearances when the original group was present. I believe Moccasin joined them in Chicago. I'll telephone Eddie and find out what other cities were included in their tour."

"I'll give that cop a call," Winston said, snatching up Peter's notes. "At least it's not Frump. I'm not sure Pete would be up to his sarcasm this morning."

"Ask Eddie if they have a tape of last night's concert they can message over here," Ray urged Egon. "I'll play it through on that fancy sound system of Peter's and see if I can find anything weird about it. If that doesn't work, I know a guy who does special effects for movies and I bet he'd run it through for us, you know, dropping out various sounds, playing it at different speeds."

"An excellent plan, Ray." Egon snatched the telephone and put a call through to his cousin while Ray busied himself making his bed and getting out clean clothes. They had a lot to do.

"Now, let's get this straight," Detective John Easter asked. He had a