Originally published in By My Side 2

It was Egon who took the call on that lazy Sunday afternoon. There hadn't been any busts scheduled--the Ghostbusters went out only on emergency calls on Sundays--and as it happened, none of them had made any particular plans, so all four of them were home. With the phone switched upstairs to the lab, the guys could deal with any crises that arose. Even though Egon sometimes became so wrapped up in his work that he didn't notice the phone at all, Winston, who always did, sat not two feet away from it, working on the computer. He'd just upgraded the system from the old DOS to the new Windows, and was busy exploring the various options, although he'd clung to the old ways enough to want to boot up to the DOS prompt instead of going directly into the newer system. Peter, who usually avoided computers because he knew they didn't like him any more than he liked them, had discovered that Windows came with a solitaire game, and he professed himself willing to try it, so Winston gave Ray a wicked grin and offered up his chair to the hapless psychologist.

"You're gonna crash it, Peter," Ray called. He'd drawn proton pack charging duty, and he'd lined all the packs but one on the lab table for the delicate, time-consuming process. It had to be done to exact safeguards or the EPA and the Nuclear Regulatory Agency would yank their licenses so fast their heads would spin.

"Of course he will," Egon agreed. As usual, Egon had a new project, one that he would probably recruit Ray to help him on before much time had passed. So far, he hadn't been very forthcoming, but Ray knew that in the early stages of his theories, Egon tended to bounce ideas around in his own mind, and only shared them when they crystallized. After six years of ghostbusting, everybody understood that system perfectly well, and Peter was the only one who bothered to try to get the secret out of Egon, mostly to bug him. Knowing Peter, he did realize that Egon often made up bizarre and grandiose claims that had only peripheral connection to his ideas, but was having too much fun to care.

Peter froze, his hand on the mouse. "Hey. Who said it was pick-on-Peter day?"

Winston nudged him in the shoulder. "Why state the obvious, Pete? Isn't every day pick-on-Peter day?"

Peter made a face at him and turned back to the computer. "Hey," he cried a second time. "Where did my game go? I was just about to win."

"You closed it," Winston reminded him. "If you click there, it closes."

"I didn't click," Peter insisted, but he sneaked a suspicious look at the mouse. "It clicked on its own. Probably possessed. Can a computer be possessed?"

"It probably closed in self-defense," Ray teased him. "The way you handle the mouse, you'd think you were in the Indy 500."

"Just because some of us are fast and some of us are slow...."

"I shouldn't touch that one, Raymond," Egon said with a grin. He entered several figures in his pocket calculator, and nodded with satisfaction. "When it comes to computer ability, Peter...."

"Who needs 'em, anyway." Peter pushed himself out of the chair and ushered Winston into it. "Go for it. I'm gonna write a nasty letter to Bill Gates."

"You could do it on the computer, Pete. I've got a couple word processing programs."

"WordPerfect doesn't like me," Peter announced and flung himself on the couch. It must be time for his impression of an inanimate object.

Ray grinned and went back to his monitoring. The task progressed smoothly. He liked it when the team hung out together. The guys were the greatest friends known to man.

"WordPerfect is great, Pete. Hey, I wonder if they'll come up with a version that runs in Windows." Winston performed a few quick tasks with the computer. "You didn't close your game, Pete. You minimized it."

Peter's eyes didn't open. "It wasn't there. Same difference."

Egon arched one eyebrow. "Same difference, Peter? Surely a contradiction in terms."

"Thank you, Doctor Nitpick. Who made you the language police?"

"Someone must." Egon concentrated on his calculator.

Ray glanced up from his settings in time to notice Egon's glasses start their familiar slide down his face. "Gosh, Egon, have you got something?"

"It's coming clear, Ray. A suitable application of the Van Dyne principle coupled with a precise adjustment of the reverse capacitors in a dynamic matrix--"

Peter's eyes popped open and he regarded Egon with anticipation. "Egon, you have to speak English to live in New York."

"Why? Cab drivers don't." Winston challenged him.

The phone rang.

Distracted by Peter's comment, Egon actually heard it. He stretched out a long arm for it. "Ghostbuster Central." Being Egon, he didn't throw in one of the little rhymes Ray and Janine dreamed up. All business, that was Egon. "Oh." He smiled fondly. "Hello, Ray's Aunt Lois."

Aunt Lois? Ray hadn't heard from her in a couple of weeks. She'd been on a trip to Sedona, Arizona, communing with her chakras or practicing past-life regressions. Sedona claimed to be rife with psychic

vortices, situated on a ley line. Ray had always hoped that, one day, the guys could visit the area and take readings. Aunt Lois had gone out there to attend a series of seminars on the mystical. The world of New Age spiritualist hocus pocus thrilled Ray's aunt. Once he'd had to rescue her from a phony spiritualist who had tried to con her with a fake séance. It had taken the whole team to bust the conglomeration of Class Seven entities who, enraged by the spiritualist's actions, had attacked him and nearly trashed her house. Ray kept a protective eye on his aunt, but she was awfully energetic for a lady in her sixties, and every bit as prone to trouble as Ray himself was. He loved his aunt. Of the whole family, she was the most like him. If only she didn't fall for every quack psychic who came down the pike.

"We're fine, we're all fine here now, thank you," Egon said into the phone. "How are you?"

Winston's eyebrows shot up at Egon's inadvertent quote from Star Wars. Or, knowing Egon, maybe it wasn't inadvertent. He had a photographic memory and a wicked sense of humor.

Peter rolled his eyes. "No fair, I'm supposed to be Han Solo," he muttered to Egon. "Me Han, you Yoda."

"Yes, Ray is here," Egon said and held out the phone. "She wants us to come to dinner tomorrow night." To Peter he muttered, "Yoda, Peter?"

Peter's eyes brightened at the thought of one of Aunt Lois's delicious meals. "I'm free," he volunteered, ignoring Egon's dirty look. "I'll go."

"Me too." Winston rubbed his stomach. "I could use a meal that wasn't cooked by one of you clowns."

"Hey!" Peter protested. He needed to work on his complaints. He was getting repetitious.

Ignoring them, Ray snatched the receiver. "Hi, Aunt Lois. Gosh, we'd love to come to dinner tomorrow night. It will be a good excuse for the guys to remember they actually have manners." He glanced over at the supine form on the couch. "Especially you, Peter."

Peter's mouth opened for another "hey", but must have decided a free meal was worth the aggravation. He closed his eyes with every evidence of offended dignity and produced a faint snore instead. Nobody ever claimed Peter was subtle.

Egon glanced over at him, produced a fond smile that Peter couldn't see, and lifted one eyebrow. Winston snickered.

"Ray, I'm glad to talk to you," Aunt Lois said in his ear. "The most incredible thing has happened."

Ray's heart sank into his stomach. While that could mean Aunt Lois had found a great bargain at Bloomingdale's, it could also mean that she'd let herself be conned into a phony psychic event designed to separate her from her life savings. "What incredible thing?" he asked suspiciously.

Peter's eyes shot open, and he exchanged a wary glance with Egon. He sat up, prepared for action. Ray couldn't help smiling. If Ray's aunt found herself in trouble, the guys would rally to her side in a heartbeat.

"You know I went to Sedona," Aunt Lois reminded him. "I met a man there who has become an expert in astral projection. He says it calms the spirit and enhances one's spirituality. One becomes in tune with the inner self. We practiced Yoga meditation. Very soothing. We spent a week exploring the process, and I

almost achieved a true out-of-body experience several times."

"I don't think you ought to try that, Aunt Lois." The odds were nothing would happen. It wasn't easy to achieve a true OOBE. Ray had never done it himself, although he knew a couple of guys who claimed they could. One of them had probably been lying, but he wasn't sure about the other one.

"But it felt lovely, Ray. Are you sure I shouldn't try it?"

"It's dangerous," Ray objected. "I've heard stories about people who managed to astral project and couldn't find their way back to their bodies."

Peter sat up straighter, and Egon's face filled with alarm. "Tell her not to try it, Ray," Egon urged.

"Don't worry, Ray. I know that I'll be tethered to my body with a silver cord that will lead me safely home."

Ray didn't even want to think about supposed travelers whose tethers to their physical bodies had been snapped. Without it, their spirits would be lost forever, and their bodies would die. He'd read supposedly true stories of just that, although he personally knew of no one who had died that way. Once the team had met an astral traveler who had been reported as a ghost and had helped guide him back to his body. One of the theories about living apparitions who appeared to people who knew them at a great distance was that they were astral travelers. Ray had seen too many eerie and bizarre occurrences in his studies of the occult and paranormal to doubt the possibility, but he didn't think astral travel was common. People who experimented with such practices could endanger themselves messing with practices they didn't understand. Too many times over the past six years, the Ghostbusters had been summoned to repair a major paranormal mess created by an overenthusiastic amateur. He didn't want that to happen to his aunt.

"Aunt Lois, it's too risky on your own. I wish you wouldn't try it."

"Nonsense, Ray. I bought an excellent guide book in Sedona. The author urged me not to try it when I was out there. Safe in my own home, I will always be drawn back to the familiar surroundings. When you come tomorrow night, I shall tell you all about it."

"No, Aunt Lois, don't. Please. At least wait until I've had a chance to look at the book."

"Now, Ray, I know you want to protect me. I know you think I'm a gullible old lady, but I learned my lesson from Doctor Basingame and his séance. I checked out Brother Michael with several reputable authorities and they had nothing but praise for him."

"Brother Michael?" The name meant nothing to Ray, but the guy could be anybody. A polished con man, with a smooth line and enough seed money to make himself look good, could be out there cleaning up, taking advantage of fleeceable women like Ray's aunt.

"A dear, dear man. He will be in New York next month and I want to show him how far I have progressed on the path to enlightenment."

"Well, just wait till we come over tomorrow night, Aunt Lois, and let me look at your book before you try anything."

"Well, all right."

The reluctance in her voice screamed warnings at Ray. "Aunt Lois, I've got a little free time. Why don't I come over now? I want to look at this book."

"It's always good to see you, Ray. I've made a batch of your favorite oatmeal raisin cookies."

Aunt Lois dropped by the firehall regularly with casseroles, brownies, cakes, and cookies for the guys. Probably thought four men had no idea of cooking--and she wouldn't be entirely wrong, although they could fend for themselves, if not produce gourmet meals. There were times when her surprise casseroles had been just what the doctor ordered after a strenuous bust. The guys all liked Aunt Lois, even if they thought she was too gullible. Heck, they thought Ray was, and he'd been studying the occult since he was a boy. Aunt Lois didn't study. She dabbled. A person could get into a lot of trouble that way. He'd just run up to see her. Surely she'd wait long enough for him to reach the East Seventies. He could take Ecto, use the siren....

When he hung up, he saw the other three watching him. "She wants to try astral projection," he complained.

"Astral projection. Very dangerous." Egon's brow puckered. "I hope you were able to discourage her, Ray."

"Well, I think I was, but she's got a how-to book she bought in Sedona."

"Astral Travel for Dummies?" Peter ventured. The words were frivolous, but Ray could tell he was worried about Aunt Lois, too. Peter was a sucker for little old ladies, and he and Aunt Lois had hit it off. Ray often dragged Peter along with him when he went over on a Sunday night for pot roast with his aunt. It wasn't like Peter ever protested, except to worry, as he sometimes did, that he was foisting himself on his friends' relations. His dad wasn't exactly foist-able, and for all Peter's carefully assumed surface persona of careless disregard for all but his own pleasures, he didn't like taking advantage when he couldn't pay it back.

"Astral travel for gullible idiots," Ray grumbled. "I'm going over there now and grab the book. Remember that guy we found on top of the Empire State Building? I don't want Aunt Lois to end up like that."

"That out-of-body guy we had such a hard time getting home? Oh, man." Winston clapped his forehead. "I forgot about him. I'd hate to see that happen to your aunt."

"Okay if I take Ecto?"

"Go ahead, Ray. It's been quiet all weekend." Egon gave him a reassuring nod.

"You can even play with the siren," Peter kidded.

A part of Ray hoped his friends would volunteer to come with him, but maybe the guys thought since it was his aunt, it was his business. Nobody said a word, and the silence stretched out too long for him to ask. Maybe they thought it could wait till tomorrow night.

Finally Peter spoke. "Think you can handle it, Ray?" He looked like he couldn't wait to curl up on the couch and go to sleep.

"Surely she won't attempt it, knowing you disapprove." That was Egon. His fingers had already started moving on the calculator keys, and his eyes strayed to the paraphernalia strewn out on the table.

Winston half-glanced at Ray, the bulk of his attention on the fascinating new data on the computer screen. "Tell her hi for us, Ray. And we'll look forward to dinner tomorrow night."

"Tell her we said to be good," Peter threw in with a grin.

Okay. He'd do it on his own. Maybe he didn't need them there for reinforcements. It was his job, anyway. He'd dragged them into that phony séance game. They could have been killed by all those enraged Class Sevens. Astral projection wouldn't kill them, but he hated to involve them in bailing out his foolish aunt when a suitable application of common sense might be all it took. He'd run over there and stop her, check out the book she swore by. It might even be harmless, but knowing Aunt Lois, if there was a way to make it dangerous, she'd find it. If she kept on like this, she'd turn Ray's hair grey before he reached thirty-five.

"I'll be okay," he promised his friends and tried his hardest not to look disappointed. It would have been more fun if they'd all come. If she really had found a way to achieve an OOBE, they'd have been helpful. Well, he could always call them if he needed their help. And he wouldn't bring them any oatmeal raisin cookies, either.

"Hey, Ray?" Peter sat up a little straighter. Ray paused hopefully. "Give us a call if you need us, okay?" Peter grinned at him.

Well, Aunt Lois was his problem. Ray made himself grin back. "You bet, Peter," he agreed. "I sure will." And hoped he wouldn't need to.

The proton charging was done. He grabbed his pack from the stack. "Just in case," he said when Egon arched an eyebrow at him.

"Let's hope you don't need it," Peter said with a grin.

Ray had to agree with that. He clattered down the stairs, and made sure he had a P.K.E. meter before he backed Ecto out of the garage and onto the street. You never knew when it might be necessary to take readings.

As for the proton pack, he didn't want to believe he'd need it, but better to have it in case Aunt Lois's mystical experimentation attracted threatening denizens of the spirit realm. Nasty ghosts might take exception to any rituals she might experiment with. Ray had once been a boy scout. Nobody would ever say he wouldn't be prepared.

When Ray had departed, the other three looked at each other without speaking for a moment. Winston played idly with the computer keys, Peter shifted on the couch, and Egon frowned.

"Does anyone but me have a bad feeling about this?" the physicist asked.

The growing uneasiness in the pit of Peter's stomach clarified into full-blown anxiety, and he erupted from the sofa. "I'll take a ride on that bus. We should have gone with him."

"He didn't ask us to," Winston objected. "I got the idea he was a little embarrassed about his aunt's weird hobbies. I was waiting for him to ask, and when he didn't, I thought maybe we'd be pushing in. Family and

all that."

"Ray's family," Peter objected. He didn't want to examine his own motives too closely. Unlike Winston's, they wouldn't stand up to the scrutiny.

"Maybe he didn't like to ask." Egon's frown deepened. He glanced over at Peter, then he set his calculator down on the lab table with a little click. "Especially when the three of us made it abundantly clear that we wished to stay here."

"You mean we should have known he wanted us to come?" Winston took a couple of impatient turns about the room, the "pleasures" of Windows forgotten. "Man, I should have picked up on that. I was thinking about the stupid computer and how I wanted to jump in and see what I could do with it."

"Should have known?" Peter echoed. "Damn it. I was dreaming about a nap, and Ray's rushing off to help his aunt. I did know. I was just being lazy. I figured, he'd go over, grab that book away from her, sit her down and talk sense to her, and he didn't need me for that."

"Like that would work." Winston grinned. "I've seen him sit you down and talk sense to you, Pete. Didn't make the slightest dent in that thick skull of yours."

Peter ignored the slur. "I don't know, guys. I think Egon's right. I've got a bad feeling, too. Psychic vibration #27? Won't hurt to grab a cab over there, make sure Aunt Lois is okay. We can always back Ray when he tries to convince her to give up the idea."

Egon nodded. "I concur. I was enjoying my research so much I didn't want to set it aside, but I would feel better if we made ourselves available to Ray. I like Ray's Aunt Lois. I hate to think she might endanger herself. I'll bring my meter and we can take any readings necessary."

"You think Aunt Lois will try it before Ray gets there?" Winston asked, his eyes wide.

"You bet." Peter looked around for the shoes he'd kicked off when he'd sprawled on the couch. Aunt Lois was a Stantz, and that made her a stubborn lady. Did Ray really believe his aunt would wait? Peter had seen that mischievous gleam in Lois's eyes too many times to doubt that side of her nature. She was as reckless and impulsive as her nephew. "Ray wants to stop her. She'll have tried it the minute she hung up."

"Oh, dear. Then Ray will definitely need us." Egon snatched his meter and checked its setting. He deliberately didn't look at the pages of notes and bits of equipment he had spread enticingly on the table. Once the guys drew old Spengs' attention away from his research, he'd go to the ends of the earth for them.

"Well, yeah." Peter grinned crookedly. "Unless, except, of course, it doesn't work. This Brother Michael guy might be the biggest scam artist since my old man, or not even the sharpest knife in the drawer. His book might not even be worth the paper it's printed on."

Better hope you're right, Peter, he told himself. Otherwise Ray's aunt is in a heck of a lot of trouble.

Ray made great time on his way to Aunt Lois's house, and he had only needed the siren a couple of times. Maybe he shouldn't have used it, even with Peter's kidding permission, but he'd been afraid she'd jump the gun.

No, she couldn't have done that, could she? Surely she would have waited for him. She'd promised, after all. But she didn't answer the door, and Ray's heart sank into his shoes. He hadn't changed into his ghostbusting outfit, not just to visit his aunt, but now he wished he had. The jumpsuit represented authority, the authority of the expert in the paranormal, and it might have offered him a little more credibility with his aunt, who had dandled him on her knee when he was a baby. He was still sweet little Ray to her, not a competent professional whose experience could guide her.

He rang the bell, waited. She didn't come to the door. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ray activated the P.K.E. meter he carried and aimed it at the house.

The antennae shot upright, the lights blinked, the readout screen went crazy with a jagged pattern of colossal energy, and the warning beeps shot up the scale so fast he dialed down the sound to barely audible because the sound hurt his ears.

Ray's heart jumped. Omigosh, look at that. It wasn't ghosts, more of an unspecified energy in one huge surge. Ray knew what that signified, and he didn't like it.

A dimensional cross-rip.

What on earth had Aunt Lois done?

He whipped out his key and let himself into the house. The meter still singing in his hand, he bellowed, "Aunt Lois!"

No answer.

Ray ran for the parlor. Even as he burst into the room, the meter quieted in his hand. Antennae quivering with dying reaction, its screen smoothed out in a residual pattern of skittering lines that gradually eased to a faint, persistent echo. Residuals.

Cross-rip, for sure. Right here in this room. A gateway had opened here, moments before Ray arrived. It had closed now, but the energy required to open a path between dimensions would have set off meters as far away as the firehall. Egon would have picked it up for sure. He always kept at least one meter activated in the lab in case of trouble, and it had lay right there on the table beside his notes.

Ray smiled faintly at the fleeting image of Peter jerking out of sleep at the sound but the amusement didn't last. Although a book lay open on the card table where Aunt Lois kept material on her current psi obsessions, his aunt was nowhere in sight.

Astral projection? Whatever she had done hadn't projected a spirit version of his aunt into a non-earthly realm. It must have projected his living aunt. At least he hoped she was still living.

"Aunt Lois?" He squashed the fear in his voice. It wouldn't help her now. Instead he quickly searched the room: under the table, behind the chairs, even in the huge fireplace. No trace of his aunt. No evidence that whatever had happened had killed her. Thank goodness; the energy readings would be different if she had been neutronized.

"Oh, gosh, Aunt Lois, what have you done?"

He reset the meter for his aunt's living biorhythms. If she had fled the room and passed out in another part of the house, that would tell him. No luck, just faint, dying residuals. Biorhythm residual energy didn't linger as long as psycho-kinetic energy. But if she had been in the house, he would have been able to detect her.

Aunt Lois wasn't here. A cross-rip had opened. She must be on the other side.

Ray had never heard of a botched OOBE shifting a physical body to another realm. How could it have occurred? Was it just a coincidence? Had Aunt Lois's amateurish attempts alerted a passing demon who snatched her away? Had she made a mistake and caused the process to backfire?

The book! He grabbed it warily. With his finger stuck in the open page to mark it, he read the cover. Exteriorization for the Spiritual Traveler: the Perception of Other-Worldly Realms by Michael Reston. Reston? He didn't know the name. There was a picture of the guy on the back of the book, dark and thin, with intense blue eyes; it was the type of face women might find good-looking. He didn't look remotely familiar to Ray. Probably around thirty. Exteriorization was merely another name for astral projection. Maybe the guy thought it sounded more scientific or impressive. To Ray it sounded like hokum. He hated it that the exploitation and abuse of parapsychology by crooks and quacks discredited the legitimate in the field. He'd have to check this Reston out.

If a process in this book had caused Aunt Lois to be sucked into another dimension, Reston must not wholly be a crackpot. Irresponsible and criminally reckless, yeah, but maybe he had something. Ray didn't see how a book could create a cross-rip, though. Sure, a guidebook could help a person achieve meditation or a relaxed state. Spontaneous astral projection was said to occur during waking consciousness, during sleep, at moments of extreme stress. But hypnosis or meditation, or even a suitable application of drugs might produce results. If Michael Reston had been peddling psychedelic drugs such as LSD, mescaline or psilocybin, Ray would see he was arrested so fast he wouldn't know what hit him.

Such drugs might affect the serotonin levels in the brain and cause hallucinations, but they sure wouldn't trigger a dimensional cross-rip. No, it hadn't been drugs. But the book had to have dangerous instructions in it--otherwise, his aunt would be right here waiting for him. She might have achieved astral projection, but if she had, Ray would have been able to detect readings on the "subtle body", the vehicle for her out-of-body journey, and the silvery cord that connected it to her real body.

Aunt Lois had wanted to travel on the astral plane. But if the astral plane were another dimension--and maybe it was; that actually made a lot of sense--astral travelers didn't usually go there physically.

Ray reset the meter to standard p.k. energy. The cross-rip residuals remained strong. Carefully, he recorded them, then he whipped out his notebook to jot down notes.

Okay, Ray, check out the book. Ray skimmed the introduction. Standard New Age claptrap, meant to sound impressive and spiritual, designed to suck in the gullible. There were references to the early book Practical Astral Travel by Yram, a Frenchman who had done some of the earliest systematic research on the subject. Ray had read it back at Columbia when studying parapsychology. The guy's claim of ecstatic astral sex had to be a draw for a lot of people. Ray could imagine Peter's delighted reaction to the concept.

As a how-to book, Reston's "great work" was cloaked in mystical gobbledegook and talk of shamanistic

enlightenment. Shamans claimed to be able to astral-project at will, but Aunt Lois was no shaman. How could she hope to achieve an out-of-body experience from this book?

Ray skimmed a chapter on a step-by-step process to controlled meditation. The book extolled the accompanying tape that one should play to enhance the meditation process. Aunt Lois's tape player sat on a nearby table. The tape must have reached the end of its side. Ray rewound it and hit the "play" button.

At first it appeared to be merely a guided meditation, steering the listener into a state of utter relaxation. Ray could see how the soporific sound could induce a hypnagogic state, or half-sleep, in which the subconscious mind would take control and offer up elusive images and thoughts, producing an ideal condition from which to launch astral projection.

Ray made himself concentrate on it. Probably loaded with subliminal suggestions to which the mind would be responsive in such a relaxed and pliable condition. Messages like "Give money to Brother Michael" came to mind.

But nothing on the tape would cause a dimensional cross-rip. Was it an accidental event, then? Or had Aunt Lois's state of mind made her susceptible to a major demon with the ability to open a dimensional gateway? Standard Class Seven demons couldn't necessarily do that, although they could, in general, pass easily between dimensions, popping in and out of the Netherworld at will.

He opened the book to the page he'd marked. Maybe there were more clues inside.

"'The gentle reader may wish,'" he read aloud, then snorted. "'Gentle Reader'? Who the heck wrote this? Miss Manners? 'The gentle reader'--gag me--'may wish to expand his abilities at this point. Astral voyages of externalization offer great rewards, but for the bold and venturesome, for those with the spiritual grace to extend the self, even more complex journeys are possible.'"

Ray squinted at the page in disbelief. Omigosh. Brother Michael made dimension hopping sound as easy as hopping the D-train for a quick trip to Brooklyn. This was nuts. It shouldn't be possible. Ray's destabilizer rectifier unit/molecular phase amplifier had been created in an emergency and modified to allow the guys to transfer to the Netherworld. They'd done it to rescue Egon, who had been stranded there, and it was a dangerous process, one requiring strict monitoring with rigid controls. It wasn't as if you could click your heels together and find yourself in the Land of Oz. Ray had never heard of any mystical "open sesame" passwords to switch a traveler in and out of alternate dimensions.

Careful not to read any of the text aloud, in case that was what had triggered Aunt Lois's problem, Ray studied the command words, thoughtfully italicized. It was a Latin incantation, a potent spell, words of power. Brother Michael must be a dangerous lunatic--or a being other than what he claimed. Maybe the book was meant to lure innocent people into his realm. Brother Michael could be a demon in disguise. It was possible for a demon to assume human form, after all. Fortunately, it didn't happen very often.

"Where are you, Aunt Lois?"

He reset the meter to specific Class Seven or higher readings. No actual residuals. He'd have detected evidence earlier if there had been, but he needed to be sure.

Ray studied the incantation. It had to be spoken aloud. Aunt Lois must have complied. The instructions were in English; only the damaging words were in Latin. The only way to rescue Aunt Lois would be to speak

the words of the incantation and follow her to the other side.

But if he went over after Aunt Lois, how could he bring them back? He flipped a few more pages, looking for answers. There were none. After that one instruction, the book resumed its platitudes about the joys of OOBE's.

Ray's brow wrinkled. Wait a minute.... He studied the page numbers. The pages with the Latin incantation had no numbers. Remove them and the instructions moved along normally. This copy of the book had extra pages, dangerous pages, added. Were they all like that, or were there a few "special" varieties out there to lure in selected souls? The general population would be entirely skeptical of such a process. If only random books produced the desired effect, the odds were that no police force investigating missing persons would connect a Latin spell with the disappearance. No detective would be likely to notice the book, observe the insertion of unnumbered pages, and suspect a paranormal conspiracy.

Not only that, a lot of people would hold the book when they read the spell, so they'd leave no clues left behind. Ray was sure his aunt hadn't held it because she had some arthritis in her hands. She always read with a book lying on a table or in her lap. People could vanish without a trace and their loved ones would never know where they'd gone, or why.

He checked the publisher. Not one he'd ever heard of, and he was familiar with most of the publishers of such works; must be a vanity press. They'd probably stick in extra pages if requested and just charge the author for the cost.

"Okay, this is bad," Ray muttered. Whether it had been aimed at Aunt Lois specifically for her money or possibly for her connection to Ray and the Ghostbusters, or whether there were other books like this endangering the gullible, he couldn't be sure. He only knew he had to rescue her.

Peter had said to call if Ray needed their help. He grabbed the phone and punched in the number.

It rang four times before the answering machine clicked on in one of Janine's pre-recorded messages. "Ghostbusters. If you have a ghost, we'll make it toast. We can't come to the phone right now, but we check our messages regularly. Leave your number at the beep."

Give us a call if you need us, Ray thought bitterly. "You couldn't even wait to see if I did?" Maybe they'd been summoned to a bust. He couldn't automatically assume they had blown him off.

But as he left an anxious message about dimensional cross-rips and plots to ensnare his aunt, he felt a rush of disappointment that he couldn't reach them. "I'm going to the Netherworld after her," he explained earnestly. "I'll leave notes of the readings I took and I'll leave the book on the table. Come up here right away and bring the molecular phase amplifier and some recall bracelets, the ones we configured not to need automatic recall. Aunt Lois is in trouble. I can't wait."

He hung up, and took up his note pad. Carefully he copied his meter readings for Egon. "I'll take my meter and my proton pack," he wrote beneath the readings. "Sorry I can't wait, but I have to help my aunt right away. She'll be scared over there. Love, Ray."

Ray placed the note on the table next to the book, then went to unlock the front door so the guys could get in. Back in the parlor, he tucked the activated P.K.E. meter into the breast pocket of his jumpsuit, drew his thrower in preparation for the journey, and bent down to read the Latin spell out loud.

As soon as he spoke the last word of the incantation, lightning flashed, right in Aunt Lois's parlor. All light faded except for the searing after-image of the lightning burst, stark and jagged against the darkness. A surge of dizziness ran through him and he grabbed for the table to steady himself--but the table wasn't there. When the ground shifted beneath his feet, uneven and rough, he staggered and waved his arms for balance.

The darkness melted away, light trickled back, and he blinked against the murky gloom of an alien afternoon.

He barely had a chance to register the stark terrain that surrounded him before a crouching shape burst from the shadows and lunged at him.

"This is very bad, guys." Egon frowned at the frantic meter in his hands. This was the second cross-rip Egon had detected on the way to their destination. The first time the meter had shrilled, the cabby had nearly taken them on an unexpected detour through Washington Square. He might have been the exception to the rule that cab drivers spoke obscure languages that bore no resemblance to English--in fact, he was such a caricature of the character "Cabby" from Escape from New York that he could have been Ernest Borgnine's thinner brother. At the second meter spasm, he nearly made friends with the bus in the next lane.

"What's this shrieking stuff?" he grumbled as he straightened out the cab and slammed his foot down on the accelerator to cut off the bus.

"We are the Ghostbusters, Jack," Winston reminded him.

"Yeah, well, why aren't you driving your hearse? I oughta get hazard pay."

"We'll see," Peter soothed absently. "Another cross-rip, Egon?"

"Yes, and from the directional readings, I very much fear it could be in the immediate vicinity of Ray's Aunt Lois's house."

"Ernest" craned his neck to look over his shoulder at them. "What's a cross-rip?"

"It is an enforced opening between our dimension and another," Egon explained. "A vortex between worlds, full of psychic turbulence. However, you need not fear. It has closed."

"Well, if it opens up and sucks my cab up, I'm gonna sue."

"Hey, hey." Peter couldn't pat the guy on the shoulder through the protective glass, but he patted with his voice. "Come on, guy, you're screwing the image. Whatever happened to calling your dispatcher all excited and yelling, 'You'll never guess who I've got in my cab?'"

The driver hunched his shoulders. In the rear-view mirror Egon saw his eyes rolling. "Gimme a break. I been drivin' a hack in N'Yawk for thirty years, and I never had this kinda crap, thingamabobs shrieking like the devil, scare a guy to death."

"It's just a little harmless noise," Peter consoled him. "Come on, you've been around a long time. You think

this is worse than Gozer?"

"Man, my brother-in-law's cab got squashed like a pancake by that Gozer. I swear to you, I get one scratch on my cab, you guys'll see me in court."

"You'll be famous," Peter explained. "The one who got us here in time to save the day. That's the house, right there. See? No demons. No monsters." He darted his gaze sideways to Egon, who glanced up from the meter long enough to nod. Yes, Peter, the readings came from here.

"Well, yeah, you guys can take your hearse home." He pointed at Ecto. "Looks like your other guy was on the job already."

Peter whipped out his wallet and paid the guy. With a grimace, he added a sizeable tip. The cabby grinned, snapped the bills, and the second the team removed their proton packs from the cab, peeled off in the direction of Lexington Avenue.

"Well, he was no fun." As he settled his proton pack on his back, Peter dismissed the guy. His worry flared in his eyes, although his face remained taut and expressionless. "Come on. We've gotta help Ray."

"There have been two dimensional cross-rips inside this house, guys," Egon announced. He very much feared Ray had fallen victim to the second one. He wouldn't have hesitated to rush into danger out of fear for his beloved aunt.

"Out-of-body experiences don't cause cross-rips, do they?" Winston asked uneasily. He stalked up the steps, only one pace behind Peter.

"Not in this galaxy," Peter denied. "Right, Egon?"

"Er, yes, absolutely correct, Peter." Egon scrutinized the meter screen. "I detect no entities within. Fading residuals from the cross-rips, more powerful than normal because there have been two of them so close together."

Winston jammed his thumb on the doorbell. They could hear it ringing inside, but Ray didn't answer the door. Peter muttered a profanity under his breath and turned the doorknob.

The door swung open.

"I don't like that," Winston muttered. He glanced at Egon. "Aunt Lois wouldn't leave her door unlocked. She's a New Yorker."

"Ray might if he thought we were coming," said Peter. He lunged into the house bellowing, "Ray!" at the top of his lungs.

No reply.

Peter stood in the middle of the entry hall and looked around as Winston and Egon joined him. Aunt Lois's house was huge and fancy and filled with pictures and icons that spoke of her Russian ancestry. Once it had been the "haunt" of a number of domovoy, Russian household spirits, but they had become enraged at the phony TV psychic Doctor Basingame, and the guys had been forced to bust them. There had been no

evidence of haunting since; Ray made a point of checking regularly, just to be safe. Egon's meter revealed no trace of spirits, just the fading residuals from the cross-rips. As for Basingame, the cable channel had fired him, and although episodes of his show sometimes aired in the pre-dawn hours, the old fraud had vanished from the public eye after the debacle in which he and Peter's father had unleashed a demon at Madison Square Garden. Just as well. He had probably moved out to the West Coast to prey on the paranormal gullibility of Californians. Just so long as he left Ray's aunt--and Egon's friends--alone.

"I am a fool," Egon cried, and reset the meter for Ray's biorhythms. At once it settled down. No trace of Ray, just the last fragment of residuals to indicate he had been here recently. He hadn't been gone long. Based on the rate of decay of biorhythm readings, Egon estimated the time would exactly match the opening of the cross-rip.

"Let me guess. He's not here." Peter came up beside Egon and leaned his elbow on Egon's shoulder.

Egon braced his feet to accept the leaning Peter. "No, Peter. I am very much afraid he was here when the cross-rip opened--and took him back to wherever it opened into, most likely the Netherworld."

"Shit, shit, shit." Winston whirled. "Can you pin it down, Egon?"

"In there." Egon pointed toward the parlor. "It happened in there."

Peter poked his head in the door. "No Ray. No nothing." He drew a deep breath, then he slammed his fist into the wall.

"Peter...." Egon began.

Automatically nursing his bruised knuckles, Peter stormed into the room and looked around with the others right behind him. They found no evidence of damage, no scorch marks, no furniture overturned. The room appeared peaceful, untouched, with only the frantic pattern on the reset meter screen to indicate that a paranormal event had ever happened here. That and a faint voice and New Age music coming from a tape player on a table; subliminal sound, barely audible unless one stood closer. Had Ray played the tape? Had the music been involved in the disappearance? Music could induce trance states but, in Egon's experience, music and trance states had never been sufficient to open a dimensional gateway.

"I can't believe it," Peter exploded. "I wanted a nap. A crummy nap. I just wanted to laze around. So I sent Ray off alone, and now he's who-knows-where, in danger because I was a lazy bastard who couldn't be bothered." He cocked his head automatically at the music that played, but his thoughts were far from the soothing sound.

"You weren't alone, Peter. I wanted to work on my project. I could have done it at any time. How important could the project be when compared to Ray's safety?" Egon shifted the meter, aiming here and there. Right beside the table; that was where it happened.

"I was having too much fun with the computer," Winston added. "I figured it was Ray's aunt and all he'd do was talk sense to her. He does that all the time anyway." He spread his hands. "Cop-out answer, I know it. So we're schmucks. We let Ray down. But we're here now. We'll bring him back. Wherever he went, we'll get him back."

Peter looked around the room. Egon doubted he blamed the other two as much as he blamed himself. At

least they had been working. His mouth twisted. His very posture suggested he would jump through the cross-rip into hell itself if it gave them a chance to retrieve their friend. "How?" he asked. "How are we gonna get him back? Egon?"

Egon frowned. He didn't know.

"Aunt Lois must have triggered the first cross-rip, right?" Winston's brow wrinkled. Winston was a good logical thinker. He glanced around the room, and it was he who spotted the note on the table. He grabbed it. "Hey, guys, Ray left us a note."

Peter reached for it so quickly that he nearly tore it. Winston let go to prevent that, and Peter squinted at the note. "He says to check out that book," he said to Egon, who picked up the book that lay open on the table. He took a reading of it, but the book was merely a book. It looked modern, new, and the gaudy cover didn't impress him, designed to suck in the gullible, who were expected to pay $29.95 for the book and an accompanying tape. He set the book aside for the moment and looked at the note over Peter's shoulder.

Winston read over Peter's other shoulder. "Do these readings match what you've got, Egon?" he asked.

"Exactly. If the first cross-rip transported Ray's Aunt Lois, the second one took Ray to precisely the same location." He pursed his lips as he considered the possibilities. "'Sorry I can't wait, but I have to help my aunt right away. Love, Ray.'" he read aloud.

Peter's mouth tightened. "'Love, Ray,'" he echoed. "Even after we couldn't be bothered to help him."

Egon wanted to offer consolation. He knew they really hadn't behaved so very terribly. Ray's aunt was, to put it kindly, a flighty, suggestible woman. Ray often gave her little scolds about acceptable paranormal risks. Sometimes he recruited the other three to help him, sometimes not. He hadn't asked for their help this time, although Egon realized Ray had wanted it. It proved difficult to offer consolation to Peter when Egon felt the same irrational guilt.

"Ray won't blame us," he said.

"He doesn't have to, Egon." Peter lifted his gaze to Egon's and held it. "Because I do. Me, anyway. We've gotta get him back."

"And we will." Egon's brain hadn't stopped its urgent calculations. He would find the solution to this problem.

"So, let's get on over there and get him. Does it tell how to do it in the book?"

"It's not meant to. As Ray pointed out in the note, the book was doctored to set up the reader who wanted to explore astral travel. If this book was aimed specifically at Ray's Aunt Lois because of her connection to us, I would venture to speculate that Brother Michael told her to try the experiment in the unnumbered pages." He glanced at them. "Hmm, Latin."

"So we say the spell or whatever and we find Ray?" Winston prompted. He tried to look over Egon's shoulder at the pages.

Egon snapped the book shut. "No," he said. "Not yet."

"Ray could be fighting off ten demons right now, Egon. What's this not yet gig?" Peter's mouth tightened.

"We need the molecular phase amplifier and someone to trigger it," Egon replied. "It would do Ray no good for us to strand ourselves with Ray. If repeating the spell could bring him back, he would be here already." He flipped a page or two of the book. "There's no counterspell. We need our equipment. From these readings, Ray is in the Netherworld. He knew that already, and he has his thrower. With the equipment, I can configure the settings to take us to the same vicinity. I have a theory that the flow of energy in a cross-rip tends to connect the two locations. Gradually the link will dissipate, but that will take as much as forty-eight hours."

"If you think I'll leave Ray over there for forty-eight hours--" Peter cried hotly.

"Of course I don't, Peter. Winston, will you take Ecto and fetch the equipment? We'll need bracelets and spares as well, and you might bring an extra proton pack as well. In the meantime, I'll call Janine and request that she meet us here. She can operate the device. If she is unavailable, I believe we can recruit a police officer to do it. I would rather have Janine for her experience with our equipment, but I won't deny Ray a chance simply because she might not be home. Don't pick her up, Winston. I'll have her take a cab. She can leave immediately." He knew Janine would never hesitate, no matter what plans she'd made.

Winston nodded. "You got it." He pulled out his keys and set off for the door.

Egon grabbed the phone and dialed Janine's number. To his relief, she answered on the first ring. "Janine, this is Egon. I need your help immediately."

She didn't waste time exclaiming. "Of course, Egon. What do you want me to do?"

"Ray is trapped in the Netherworld. Come as fast as you can to Ray's Aunt Lois's house--you know the address?"

"Yes, I've been there."

"Excellent. We shall need you to operate the molecular phase amplifier. I'll explain further once you're here. You need bring nothing with you."

He could feel the questions she repressed. "I'll come immediately," she promised and hung up. She didn't offer him pointless reassurances, simply an agreement to help. Later, when Egon had time to consider that, he would let himself think over how much he valued her. Right now, he had no time to spare.

Egon would have liked to send Peter with Winston simply to give him a task to occupy him. It might prove difficult to restrain Peter from going after Ray to provide him with additional firepower. But if there were entities over there who could pick them off one by one, that would not assist Ray. Much better to go as a team. If Ray were still alive over there, Egon had to trust in his courage, cleverness, and resourcefulness, and the fact that he was armed with a portable nuclear accelerator. He would protect his aunt. He would find shelter. He would know the guys were coming. His note expressed nothing but trust.

Peter watched Winston go, waited for Egon's brief phone call to end, then he held out his hands for the book that Egon still clutched. "I'll keep Ray company until Winston gets back."

Egon tightened his grip on the book. He knew Peter could take it from him by force if he really wanted to. Peter wouldn't fight him for it, though, although he might resent Egon for denying him the right to die for Ray. Egon preferred that no one die. It was only common sense to go in a body. He was sure he'd have to fight Janine to keep her from coming along--and maybe he should let her come. Winston would bring an extra thrower so there would be one for her. A police officer could trigger the amplifier, or even Slimer could.

"No, Peter. Ray stands the best chance with all of us together."

Peter glared at Egon. "He stands a better chance if he has help now."

Egon could see both viewpoints. Perhaps Peter was correct. If so, he would be the best man to send. Egon understood the P.K.E. meter best, but he'd be needed to adjust the molecular phase amplifier to guarantee arriving in the right place, so he would have to wait. If he refused to allow Peter to go and Ray died, neither man would be able to live with that, and Peter might find it impossible to forgive Egon.

The subliminal tape ran out and its click made both men jump. Shocked out of the tension of their confrontation, Peter wiped away his resentment and grabbed Egon by the upper arms. "Egon, I've gotta go over there. I let Ray go into trouble so I could lay around doing nothing. He's over there now, and he has Aunt Lois to protect. He'll be watching her back, not his own. You have to stay here to set the phase amplifier. But I just can't leave Ray over there on his own until Winston gets back. Maybe he's fine and doesn't need me, but I don't know that. Maybe he's...maybe it's already too late and I'll be stepping into the same danger. But I will." His shoulders squared. "Egon, you can't make this decision for me. I can't let you. I have to go."

Egon had never been prouder of his friend. "I was working out the odds, to see what options best guaranteed Ray's safety," he admitted. "In truth, I want to go this very instant exactly as much as you do." When Peter opened his mouth, Egon flung up a hand to silence him. "No, Peter, don't talk about degrees of guilt. You know perfectly well that none of us has done anything so very terrible."

"Maybe not," Peter said in the tones of a man who doesn't believe a word of it, "but Ray's still trapped in the Netherworld. If it was just Ray--hell, Egon, I wouldn't leave him there alone for a second. But his aunt's a civilian, and she's not young. I...care about her, too. I have to go, to help Ray protect her." He squeezed Egon's arms. "Come on, Egon, you've gotta see it my way."

Egon swallowed hard. "I do, Peter. I wish I didn't because agreeing endangers you as well. I may have already lost one dear friend. The thought of losing another is unendurable. But I can't diminish you by denying you the right to help Ray now. I give you my word that Winston and I, and possibly Janine, will follow as soon as we can."

Peter's smile blazed out, a combination of trust, love, and regret in his eyes. "So what do I do?" he asked. "And as soon as you tell me, you have to go outside so it doesn't happen to you, too. Got it?"

"Of course, Peter. Since I am required to configure the equipment, I must remain behind." He put the book into Peter's hands. "I wish with all my heart that I need not send you over there alone. But I do know with complete and utter certainty that you are the best man for the job."

"Oh, hell, Egon," Peter muttered, then he grabbed the scientist and hugged him hard. The book jabbed painfully against Egon's spine, but he ignored it. He returned the hug. Peter allowed himself a brief moment

of vulnerability, then he pulled himself together and let go. He opened the book and flipped through it to the unnumbered pages.

Egon stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and ran a long finger over the Latin text. "You must read this phrase out loud, Peter. Stand right here." He pointed to the spot the meter had indicated. "Draw your thrower first, but don't power up until you get there. The energy variables in a cross-rip might interact in an unfortunate manner with the proton pack, although we know that you can use it in the Netherworld."

Peter whipped out the thrower. "Ready," he said. "I'll wait five seconds after I hear the front door close, okay?"

Egon had never wished more that he could be in two places at one time. "Peter. Take care."

"I'll look after Ray for all of us," Peter agreed. He set the book on the table so he wouldn't inadvertently carry it over to the other side. Egon had already memorized the text, but that didn't matter. "Go on, Egon. You know I have to do this."

"Yes, Peter. You do. And I am very proud of you for it." He inclined his head in farewell--please, not a permanent goodbye--and turned abruptly. He made himself walk out of the house without looking back.

He had just reached the other side of the street when the meter went wild. Egon froze, his entire body tense with realization, then he raced back to the house.

When he entered the parlor, the still-beeping meter clutched tightly in his hand, the book lay exactly where Peter had left it on the table, but Peter was gone.

The lunging shape resolved itself into Aunt Lois. Ray barely managed to pull the shot from his particle thrower before she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, shaking. "Ray, oh, Ray, I knew you'd come for me."

"Gosh, Aunt Lois, are you okay?" Gently, he patted her back with one hand while the other gripped the thrower.

"Just scared," his aunt confessed. "Oh, Ray, what is this terrible place?" She shivered. It wasn't actually cold but there was a bite to the wind, and neither of them had a coat. Ray wore his street clothes, a shirt and sweater vest and his jeans, and Aunt Lois a lounging outfit designed like a lightweight canvas caftan in earth-toned stripes with gold piping around the collar. The wind whipped the fabric around Ray's pant legs as she huddled against him.

Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he surveyed the world the book had thrust them into. "Looks like the Netherworld," he confirmed. There was the same gloomy sky full of brooding clouds, the same stark, bare landscape with jagged rocks jutting viciously toward the sky, the same faint, pervasive odor of sulfur he remembered from the time the team had come here to rescue Egon from the demon Tolay.

"The Netherworld? Oh, how dreadful. I just wanted to try astral projection. They say it's so good for one's spirit. But this--how could this have happened?"

"Because that book had some extra pages in it, Aunt Lois, and they were designed to open a cross-rip. Why did you start in the middle of the book, anyway? The earlier parts were supposed to work a person up to astral projection gradually. It's still dangerous, but that stuff in the middle was a whole lot worse."

"Brother Michael said I was very advanced spiritually and that I could go right to that part. We'd practiced meditation in Sedona, and I nearly achieved an out-of-body experience at least twice. I was sure I could do it this time."

Ray bit back a profane remark. "Aunt Lois, what you read was a trap. It wasn't meant to give you an out-of-body experience. It was meant to open a dimensional cross-rip and transport you to the Netherworld. Do you have any idea why Brother Michael would want to do that to you?"

"Of course not. He couldn't have meant that. Such a nice young man."

"That nice young man set you up to be stranded in the Netherworld, Aunt Lois. He wasn't nice at all." He let go of her and pulled out the P.K.E. meter. "I need to take some readings."

"Readings?" Her face fell. "You think there are ghosts here?"

Ray looked at the meter's screen. A general pattern of diffuse energy fuzzed the readings. "Lots of ghosts, Aunt Lois, and some demons, too, but none of them are close by. We'll be okay."

"Can't we just go home, Ray?" She clutched at his arm with shaking hands.

"I called the guys before I left. I told them to bring our equipment that transports us to the Netherworld. They'll take readings and set it up, but they weren't home when I called, so we might have to wait a while. I won't let anything hurt you. We'll find shelter, a place I can defend. Ghosts won't mess with me when I've got a proton pack and thrower." Demons will. He didn't want to admit that to his aunt. One thrower didn't stand a chance against an entity like Tolay. The cross-rip, opening not once but twice, might well summon powerful specters. This could get nasty.

Best way to tell was to filter out the lesser creatures. A Class Five could be a problem, but it was possible for one Ghostbuster to take out a Class Five with skilled thrower and trap work. Ray had done it himself a lot of times. Well, a few times. Once he'd checked the readings, they needed to move away from the place where the cross-rip opened. Not far enough that the guys couldn't find him when they came over, but far enough that he wouldn't be obvious to nasty demons.

Over to his left, a series of rock spires stabbed toward the sky like pointing fingers. The three nearest the distant range of mountains clustered together in a semi-circle. There might be a safe haven in their center. Nothing else within range of the meter offered decent shelter. "Come on, Aunt Lois. We'll go over there." He pointed. A glance down at her feet revealed her house slippers peeping out from under the edge of the caftan. They wouldn't last long on this rough ground. "Can you make it?"

"I'll do whatever you say, Ray. I'll make it."

They took it slowly, for the ground rose in a fairly steep gradient. Aunt Lois was neither young nor thin, and she took medication for her heart. He knew she didn't have a really serious heart condition; she didn't need to carry nitroglycerine pills, for instance. But too much exertion would hardly be good for her. He kept his arm around her waist as they approached the shelter, conscious of her quickened breathing.

Once they arrived, he'd make her lie down and rest. She could have his sweater vest for a pillow and if it got too cold, he'd give her his shirt. He could exercise to keep warm or even huddle with her under it.

Poor Aunt Lois was breathless when they reached the shelter, but her chin held its stubborn line. She let Ray ease her down to lean against one of the stone pillars while he checked out their shelter. Conscious of a wheezy note in her breathing, he gnawed on his bottom lip and contemplated the satisfaction he would feel when his fist impacted with Michael Reston's nose.

Two of the pillars stood so close to each other that not even a flea could fit between them. A good four feet in diameter, they narrowed slightly as they rose to their full height of maybe forty feet. The third, narrower pillar formed an angle with the other two, creating a little nook just big enough for the two of them to huddle out of the wind. A fallen pillar, broken into sections, lay across the alcove's opening. If worse came to worst, Ray could leave his aunt here in cover while he lured a dangerous entity away from her.

"Just rest, Aunt Lois," he urged. "We'll be all right here."

"Oh, Ray, I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I should have listened to you. I should have waited for you to come and look at the book. But I knew you wouldn't let me do it, and I wanted to try it."

Ray felt like a parent with a difficult child. "I don't like to tell you what to do, Aunt Lois. But I am an expert in this field. All of us are. Remember how it went wrong when you called in Doctor Basingame? I was right then, wasn't I?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes, Ray. But it's so fascinating. You're interested, and so am I. I want to try new experiences. I'm an old lady. I don't have that many more years left. Can't you see that I don't want to spend them sitting in a rocking chair, knitting?"

He grabbed her hands and squeezed them fondly. "I know, Aunt Lois. You're like me. You're interested in the same kind of things I am. But there's a difference between interest and taking reckless chances. You have to understand what you're doing first and take precautions." He could imagine the guys' reaction to his urging of caution. Maybe he was a lot more like his aunt than he wanted to admit. But at least he'd studied the occult and paranormal for years. He knew the theories and he understood the processes. He tried to prevent people from risking their lives by dabbling with powers that they didn't understand. He searched occult shops for dangerous spell books and grimoires, to keep them from the hands of ignorant thrill-seekers who might wind up in trouble, or dead, if they experimented unwisely. Peter had once called him the occult police, but Ray did know his subject. He might take chances, but his choices were informed ones. Aunt Lois's hadn't been.

"I see that now, Ray. Next time, I'll listen to you."

"No, you won't," he said fondly. "But maybe you'll take time to think. Promise me you'll listen to me and at least consider what I'm saying."

She hesitated. Okay, time to get mean. He didn't like doing that to his aunt, but he had to because he loved her. "Aunt Lois, what you did risked my life. It's going to risk my friends' lives. Somebody could die. Next time you decide you want to try a new and dangerous experience, I want you to remember that. If a demon attacks before they get here, we'll be in big trouble. One thrower can't stop a demon. And the energy from the cross-rip opening might draw them here."

The color drained from her face. "Oh, Ray, I didn't know...."

"That's why you shouldn't try it. Because you didn't know the consequences. When I take a chance on a bust, I know what could happen and I can make an informed decision. When you did what you did today, you didn't know. You didn't understand. Now we're in danger, and my friends will be in danger, too."

The meter shrilled with a surge of incredible power, and Ray grabbed it and dialed down the sound. It was too soon for the guys to get here, but those were cross-rip readings. Brother Michael had set this up. What if he'd been monitoring Aunt Lois's house? What if he was a demon?

"Stay down, Aunt Lois," he cautioned. "I'll check it out."

He squinted at the meter. Cross-rip, all right, but blended through those powerful energy readings were other readings he didn't like. Demon readings. Coming this way, fast.

Ray peeked over the edge of the fallen pillar. Down there where he had materialized, a dark shape stood bent forward, a hunchback shape, one creature. A demon? Then it moved and straightened, and Ray gulped. Not a hunchback, a man, wearing a proton pack on his back. A man with brown hair, in a brown jumpsuit.

"Peter," he gasped.

The demon readings were closer. "Aunt Lois, stay," Ray cried and leaped from shelter, already running. "Peter!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Peter whirled, and a huge grin spread across his face. "Ray!" He waved his thrower over his head in a gesture of triumph.

The meter's antennae stood at full attention. "No," Ray screeched. "Demon! Look out!" and pointed past his friend.

Peter whirled, thrower at ready. Ray thudded down the slope as fast as he could go. Beyond Peter, the demon appeared.

As demons went, it wasn't particularly big, and likely not as powerful as Tolay or Arzun, but it was a Class Seven. There were a lot of grades within each class, and some Class Sevens could even be handled by one Ghostbuster. This wouldn't be one of them. It was maybe eight feet tall, but no wider than a human. It had two legs, two arms, and hands with three-inch talons at the tips of its fingers. With its grey, leathery skin and jutting protrusions across its bulging forehead like a series of horns, it might have blended into the jagged landscape if it had stood perfectly still in a cluster of rocks, but it wasn't still. It had seen them, and it was coming.

Peter retreated toward Ray, not out of panic--Peter wasn't given to panic--but to present a united front. "How do you do these things, Ray?" he hollered.

"Well, gee, Peter, what else could I do? How'd you get here so fast?"

"Fast? Damn it, Ray, about five minutes after you left we realized we should have come with you, so we grabbed a cab. By the time we got to Aunt Lois's, you were gone. Egon sent Winston after the molecular phase amplifier. Egon will have to wait and set it. But we couldn't leave you hanging out to dry until

Winston got back." He gauged the distance between them and the demon. "How strong is it?"

"Pretty strong. Not a major demon, though." Ray ran the last few feet and fell in at Peter's side. "It sure is good to see you."

"You ought to be kicking me from here to Tolay's keep and back."

Ray blinked at him in surprise. "Huh?"

Before Peter could explain, the demon swooped at them, hands outstretched to cast fire.

"Full streams," Ray cried and fired. Peter's blast matched his a half-second later, and the two streams struck the demon in the middle of its chest.

Its bellow held more astonishment than pain, then it flung the fire away. Automatically the two Ghostbusters jumped apart, and the demon energy gouged a chunk of stone out of the ground where they'd been standing only seconds before. Small chunks pelted Ray's legs.

"Quit that," Peter yelled and swung his energy stream back to the demon. "Gotta say your welcome-wagon act needs work."

"You invade my realm," snarled the demon. "You will depart now, or you will die."

"What's the third choice?" Peter razzed. "Or are you only smart enough to think of two?"

The demon cocked its head at them. "If you require a third choice, then know, mortal, that it will be slow torture."

"Better not ask for a fourth, Peter," Ray called in an undertone.

"I'm stalling," Peter muttered. "Can you up your thrower strength?"

"Only by narrowing the focus." Ray adjusted the control to produce the same level of energy, but in a much more concentrated strength. He fired, and the much-narrowed beam caught the demon full in the face.

It bellowed, staggered backward, and shook its head fiercely in a desperate struggle to elude the nasty power that tormented it. Bursts of flame erupted from its hands and tore holes in the earth all around them, but with the stream locked on its face, it couldn't see to aim. Peter jumped here and there, dodging the spurts of fire. Ray had to move more deliberately or risk losing his lock on the being. Peter's narrowed stream centered on spike-face's chest. The demon batted at it ineffectually.

"Can you throw out your trap?" Ray didn't dare let loose of his thrower or the demon would be able to see them and correct its aim. At this close range, it could kill them with one lash of energy.

Peter braced his feet, tightened one hand around his thrower, and whipped out the trap with the other. He lobbed it out to thud at the demon's feet.

His motion put his shot off balance and his energy stream slid sideways across the entity's chest. It jerked its hands up and flung fire at him.

Peter stood his ground long enough to stomp on the trap's trigger pedal. The miniature containment swished open. The demon's hands glowed with building power.

"Look out, Peter," Ray cried.

"Hafta trap him," Peter yelled back. "Don't stop firing, Ray."

The demon felt the trap's suction, and it screamed. "No! NO! NO!" It lobbed its energy unseeingly at the two Ghostbusters. The second it loosed its power, it slid neatly into the trap.

The doors snapped shut over it just as Peter hit Ray in a flying tackle and knocked him away from the energy burst. Peter's thrower spun away and shut off the second he let it go.

Ray hit hard, drove the air from his body, and for the first seconds, all he could think of was the desperate struggle to breathe, although he registered that his thrower snapped off when he let go, too. Peter sprawled beside him, and Ray could hear him breathing--at least he could catch his breath.

After the first agonized seconds, painful air filled Ray's lungs, and his beached-fish gasps eased. "Gosh, Peter, you...saved us," he panted--but Peter didn't answer. Eyes closed, he sprawled unmoving on the unforgiving ground.

Ray's heart heaved. Omigosh, Peter. He scrambled sideways like a crab to Peter's side. Don't risk moving him. See what's wrong first. At least Peter was breathing. No obvious wounds, no charred patches on his uniform, no apparent broken bones. But when Ray pressed his fingers against Peter's wrist to check his pulse, he could tell that Peter was unconscious.

The pulse beat steadily, a little faster than Ray's, but Ray's wasn't normal either, from a combination of exertion, worry, and being winded. He couldn't judge. At least Peter's pulse was regular. That had to be a good sign.

"Peter, wake up. Come on, Peter. You've got to wake up," he pleaded.

Peter didn't. He'd wanted to take a nap. Ray wished that he'd stayed at the firehall and done just that.

But he couldn't wish it. He couldn't have fought the demon on his own, and Aunt Lois didn't have a thrower. If Peter hadn't come when he did, Ray and Aunt Lois would both be dead.

"Oh, Peter," he breathed, and examined him more thoroughly. A quick search revealed a lump on Peter's forehead over his right eye that would be sure to darken into a spectacular bruise. A chunk of flying rock must have struck him.

Too chancy to move Peter. For all Ray knew, other chunks could have hit him, too, causing possible spinal damage or internal injuries. The last blast had barely missed the two men. If Peter hadn't tackled Ray, he would have taken the full brunt of the attack.

"You saved my life." Ray brushed the dangling lock of hair on Peter's forehead away from the injury. Peter could have waited for Winston to bring the molecular phase amplifier from headquarters, but he hadn't. What had he meant, that Ray ought to kick him to Tolay's keep and back? Because he hadn't come with Ray to Aunt Lois's house? Ray had wanted the guys to come, but he'd never dreamed this would happen. From what Peter had said, they'd decided to follow him even before Ray had called. That's why Peter had arrived in time to help with the demon. His friends had nothing to apologize for.

"Oh, Ray, is he all right?"

He jumped. He'd forgotten his aunt. "Aunt Lois, I told you to stay in shelter," he reminded her without looking up.

"I saw it all. Oh, Ray, what was that terrible creature?"

"A demon," Ray explained. "We got it. It's trapped. But Peter got hit on the head."

Aunt Lois knelt beside Peter, and touched his cheek with gentle fingers. "I saw what he did. He saved your life, Ray. It was so brave."

"Peter's the bravest guy I know." The words hurt. Peter might be only stunned, but head injuries could be tricky. What if he didn't wake up? Ray's stomach knotted, and his scalp felt too tight for his skull. "The other guys will come soon--they had to go back for the retrieval equipment first, and they'll bring recall bracelets to get us home. But it'll take time. Probably a couple of hours. Traffic will slow them down."

"Will more of those awful creatures come?" Aunt Lois stroked Peter's hair. Watching her run comforting fingers over Peter's hair, he felt a surge of love for her, for Peter. There was nothing he could do to help Peter. He didn't even have any water. All he could do was stand guard and wait.

He reeled in his thrower hand over hand and holstered it. Let the trap stay where it lay. "Let's take his pack off and make him as comfortable as we can," he urged.

Aunt Lois helped, although Ray wouldn't let her lift the pack. Once he worked it off, he eased Peter very gently onto his back. It wouldn't be safe to move him more than that. He folded up his sweater vest and carefully tucked it under Peter's head. A few quick readings proved no other entities lurked nearby. With the meter still active and its sound function restored, he set it on the ground beside him and reached instead for Peter's hand.

"Peter, can you hear me?"

The meter shrilled wildly. Aunt Lois screamed. Ray let go of Peter and grabbed it to check the readings. Not now, not now. He couldn't handle another demon on his own.

It wasn't a demon. Instead the intense energy of a dimensional cross-rip lit the screen. Ray's brow furrowed. It was too soon for Egon and Winston to come. Even if Winston drove like a bat out of hell, he probably would have barely reached the firehall by now. Had Egon decided to come through without him? Maybe he'd figured out how to reverse the spell and bring them home. He was smart enough.

As the energy surge died, Ray whirled. Seething light coalesced around another figure who stood about fifteen feet away, stooped as Peter had been. No proton pack on this one's back, no ghostbuster jumpsuit. Dark hair. A stranger. The meter didn't react to him, so he wasn't a demon.

Then he straightened up and faced them, and Ray's eyes widened at the sight of the gun he carried in his hand, the gun that pointed right at him.

"Brother Michael!" Aunt Lois gasped.

"You can forget that 'Brother Michael crap," the stranger replied. "It served its purpose. I'm sorry I only got two of you, but that will suffice, for now. What happened to Venkman?" Not a trace of concern sounded in his voice as he sneered at the fallen man.

"He saved Ray's life," Aunt Lois spat out.

"Too bad. He didn't save it for long."

"But what are you doing?" Aunt Lois's voice started out shaking but it firmed up nicely. "You used me. I've got the right to know why."

"Easy, Aunt Lois," Ray cautioned. With Peter down, the responsibility fell to Ray to save him and his aunt. Better not alienate the guy. If he wanted to hurt the Ghostbusters, he'd probably explain. Where would be the satisfaction in killing them out of hand when he had an axe to grind? Ray risked a glance at his aunt and made soothing gestures with one hand. The other one he put on Peter's shoulder. He couldn't feel any tension in Peter's muscles to suggest he was conscious and listening.

"You've got no right," spat Brother Michael before he turned to Ray. "I'm glad it's the two of you here. You're the ones I have the biggest grudge against. Tough about the old lady, but what's one doddering old fool, more or less? Who'll miss her with you dead, Stantz?"

"Why?" Ray fought to hold back his fury. If only he hadn't holstered his thrower. He'd been so sure the meter would warn him of approaching demons. The sight of a human being hadn't made him reach for his weapon, not that he'd have had a chance with the gun already pointed at him.

"Why you? Why Venkman? Because you're the two who owe me most. I had to change my name because of you two. You think I had one iota of credibility when you two were finished?"

Ray squinted at the man. Under the expensive haircut and Armani suit, he was still a stranger. "I never saw you before in my life."

"No, that's right, you didn't. But you caused me trouble anyway. I lost my job because of you."

"You're going to kill us because you lost a job?" Ray shook his head. "But why? How did we cost you your job?"

"That was you, Stantz. You think anybody in show biz will hire me now?"

"You're an actor?" Ray couldn't remember any particular problems with actors over the years.

"I'm a producer," the guy explained. "You got my show canceled."

"Your show? We never got any shows canceled--oh. Wait a minute. Basingame's show got canceled but we didn't ask for that. Between what he did to my aunt and that scam with Hob Anagarok, the studio got fed up. It wasn't our fault Basingame was a crook."

"Damn you, he was my father."

Ray stared at Brother Michael in disbelief. "You're Doctor Basingame's son? Gosh, I didn't know he had any family." His eyes narrowed. "He nearly destroyed my aunt's place. He would have taken her for a lot of money. I was supposed to let that happen?" His hands curled into fists. Nobody messed with his aunt. Nobody. Or his friends, either.

"Easy, Ray," Aunt Lois soothed.

"I won't be easy. This guy must be as big a crook as his father." She was right, though. Losing his temper wouldn't help Peter. He put his hand back on Peter's shoulder.

"And is your dead friend there as big a crook as his father?" Basingame Junior challenged.

"Peter didn't trap anybody in the Netherworld and hold a gun on them. Just because your father wasn't honest doesn't mean you have to be a crook." Maybe he should let Michael think Peter was dead. If Junior took a good look, he'd notice Peter was breathing, but the longer Ray could stall, the better chance Peter had of reviving and helping out, or at least protecting himself.

"Damn you, my father's dead!" Michael's face twisted. "He died in disgrace, his reputation gone, his old friends shunning him, thanks to you Ghostbusters. So I figured out how to make you pay. This is foolproof. I'd hoped you'd all be here, but you two will do. You're the ones who owe me the most."

"We don't owe you anything." Ray struggled to control his temper. He wanted to grab the gun or go for his thrower, but he couldn't take the chance, not with Peter unconscious and Aunt Lois helpless. "We didn't kill your father."

"What did he have to live for? You took his career, his credibility."

"What credibility?" Ray countered. "He was a fraud. He didn't have any credibility. That's not our fault."

"Don't make him angry, dear," cautioned Aunt Lois in an undertone.

Brother Michael didn't even glance at her. "Oh, don't worry, you old bag. I'm not angry. Anger controls a person. I'm calm. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold."

Ray bit his lip. What good did it do to bandy words with the guy who meant to kill them? This guy couldn't be quite sane. Who but Basingame's son would dream up an elaborate scheme like this to get revenge? In spite of the guy's claim, it wasn't foolproof. Egon had the book, and he'd know from Ray's phone call it was dangerous. How hard would it be for him to investigate Michael Reston and discover he was really Michael Basingame? Egon knew about the extra pages, that the spell was meant as bait. New York cops would believe the Ghostbusters. They'd listen to Egon.

Ray's heart plunged into his stomach. The second the guys assembled the molecular phase amplifier on site, they'd come here. Solving the mystery of the book would wait until they rescued Ray, his aunt, and Peter. They'd walk right into a trap! What to do? How to get the drop on him?

Basingame grimaced at him. "I just wanted you to know why you were going to die," he said. "I can't just leave you stranded and hope demons would do my dirty work for me. Your friends will come for you soon. Ah, yes, I researched you. I know your team can travel back and forth to this realm. I know the other two will come after you. When they find your bodies, they won't immediately realize I shot you. They will look around for dangerous entities, and that will give me time to finish them off, too."

Janine! Would she come with Egon and Winston? Someone had to activate the molecular phase amplifier. Ray had assumed they'd send for Janine. Even if they asked a handy police officer to do it, Janine would hear about it. She'd know. She'd organize a rescue party. Basingame wouldn't get away with it, even if he killed them all.

But maybe Ray could even out the odds.

He thought furiously as he gazed down at Peter. He didn't seem quite so lifeless as before. A slight tension grew in the shoulder under Ray's hand. Was Peter conscious, listening, waiting for the right moment to act? Ray tightened his grip on Peter's shoulder once, twice.

In the dust by Ray's knee, Peter's hand curled up into a fist once, twice, in response.

Awake! Ray's relief mingled with worry. At least Peter had the sense to lie quietly, listening, gathering his strength, waiting. He'd act at Ray's warning. So how to pull it off? Peter seemed to have judge Basingame's location from his voice, opening only the eye furthest from him. Ray, leaning over him, saw awareness in it. Pain, too, but the awareness dominated. Ray shot him a warning look and mouthed "play along".

He had an idea, but it was an awfully dangerous one, especially here in the Netherworld. To try it, he needed a distraction, and with Peter awake, he knew he could risk it. Peter's pack lay beside him where he could slip into it in a hurry or at least get at his thrower.

"What makes you think the guys won't come expecting trouble?" Ray curled his mouth into a belligerent snarl. "They'll come with their throwers at ready and they'll zap you."

"They won't be here for at least an hour," Basingame challenged. "I watched you go into your aunt's house. I listened outside the window and heard you call your friends. When they didn't answer, I considered that they might already be on their way. So after you crossed over, I waited. Sure enough, they came. Venkman followed you here, but Zeddemore took off in your ghostmobile. For equipment or weapons, I assumed. I waited long enough to make sure he wouldn't instantly return, then I came after you. The two of you were my worst enemies. Easier to handle you two at one time instead of all four together."

Ray let his body conceal the motions of his right hand on the P.K.E. meter that lay beside him. Instead of taking readings, it could be configured to send out a signal. He'd used it that way once before to summon helpful ghosts to take out some dangerous ones that had imprisoned the guys. No guarantees that any friendly ghosts lurked nearby, and he might summon demons instead, but if a demon took out Basingame, at least it would save Egon and Winston. It was possible there might be helpful spirits, even here. If nothing else, the arrival of ghosts or demons would create a distraction and give Ray a chance to go for his thrower.

Adjustments complete, Ray pushed the button to send the energy pulse in a familiar pattern. S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S. A demon wouldn't know what it meant. To recognize the symbol would require the ghost of a human. Lots of ghosts "lived" in the Netherworld. One of them might actually help out. The sound the meter made was too faint to reach to Basingame, who had enough smarts not to come within range of his victims. He wouldn't hear the call for help.

"Why is it," Aunt Lois said musingly, "that people put the blame for their own failings and weaknesses on others? Your father was not an ethical man. He reaped what he sowed."

"He went to jail," Michael protested.

"So did Peter's father," Ray reminded him. "Peter paid his fines. It cost him his entire savings to do it, too. You could have done that for your father."

Michael shot him a scornful look. "You think I didn't? I couldn't have my father in jail. It was your fault. No matter what, it's always you Ghostbusters who come out smelling like roses. Now my father's dead--and you're about to join him."

"How did he die?" Aunt Lois ventured. If only she didn't start to feel guilty over Basingame. She had no cause to feel guilty. She'd been too trusting, but Basingame had brought the loss of his show and his time in jail down upon himself. Ray hoped Michael wouldn't claim his father had killed himself. That would really upset Aunt Lois. Even as much as he'd disliked and distrusted the old fraud, Ray wouldn't have wished death on him.

"His heart gave out. But you know what I think? I think he just didn't care anymore. That's your fault, yours and Venkman's. When this is over, I'm gonna track down Venkman's father and get rid of him, too."

Every muscle in Peter's body tensed. Ray tightened his grip on his shoulder. Don't, Peter. Not yet. Wait.

S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S.

Ray had lost track of the time. How long had it taken to fight the demon? He was sure Egon and Winston couldn't arrive on the scene yet. At its present setting, the meter wouldn't warn him about approaching ghosts. He had to stay as alert as possible.

"You're no match for Peter's father," Ray scoffed, although he was pretty sure Basingame Junior could get the jump on Charlie Venkman without much trouble, especially if he arrived bearing the news that Peter was dead. In spite of his con man proclivities, Charlie adored his son, was so proud of Peter that his pride shone out of him for everyone to see. Ray didn't think Basingame had any clue about Charlie Venkman, other than the incident in Madison Square Garden.

"I'm more than a match for you, and that's what counts." Basingame narrowed his eyes at Peter. "Awake, are you, Doctor Venkman? You can't stop me killing your old man."

"If you kill my dad, I swear I'll come back from the afterlife and haunt you as long as you live." Peter's voice was rock-steady and full of fury. It must have taken every ounce of will-power he possessed not to lunge at Basingame.

Hang on, Peter. I'm doing the best I can.

"Oooh, scary. I'm shaking."

Basingame's mocking tone had Peter sitting up in a heartbeat, his hands clenched into fists. He didn't seem dizzy. Ray's finger kept on stabbing the button. It had to work. It was their only chance.

Basingame took one step closer and looked from Ray to Peter and back. "Stantz. Your buddy came here to save you. That means you'd really hate it if he died because of you. He dies first--so you can watch. I'm an expert marksman. I won't miss. Don't think I'll aim for a non-lethal spot. I think I'll put the bullet into his left eye. He won't survive that. At this range, it'll blow the back of his head right off."

Peter's face turned a funny color, but he didn't stop his fierce glare. His fingers scrambled in the dust, but Ray knew he couldn't reach his thrower without a sideways lunge that would force Basingame to fire. Even if he flung a handful of dust at the gunman, he was too far away for it to get him in the eyes.

So Peter played the only hand he had, positioning himself between Aunt Lois and the gun. "If I were you, I'd make sure that ghost behind you isn't gonna get you."

Scorn and pity flashed on Michael's face. "Give me a break. If you think I'll fall for that ancient gambit, you must have brain damage."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Peter glanced sideways at Ray and winked at him. There was pain in his face, but it was pain for what they would lose if his ploy didn't work. He looked a desperate question. They were running out of time.

"Peter, it's okay," Ray said urgently. "I'm not mad at you. You know I'm not." Peter had to know he wouldn't say that if he didn't mean it, not now.

Relief flashed in Peter's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ray," Peter said, then he flung up his head and faced Basingame head on. "You with the gun. I don't care what happens to you, but I don't want to be in the line of fire when that ghost grabs you. The gun might go off by accident."

Aunt Lois put both hands up against her mouth to stifle the gasp that struggled to burst free.

Peter sounded so utterly convinced of the ghost's presence and Aunt Lois looked so horrified that Ray looked up to check out the possibility.

Peter hadn't been faking after all. Behind the gunman hovered a ghost. It was fairly human in appearance, larger than life, but probably a Class Three. Male, it was tall and lanky, fairly young--at least as humans went. It could have been a spirit for six hundred years for all Ray knew. It wore a dark jacket and pants that looked vaguely like a uniform, but not a military one. When the spirit saw Ray looking at him, it nodded in acknowledgment. Ray observed nothing malicious in the spirit face. If it had come in answer to Ray's meter summons, it didn't seem to resent doing so.

When Ray yanked his finger away from the meter, the ghost actually waved at him. Then it drifted toward Basingame, who had started to look uneasy. He ventured one quick glance over his shoulder, then his face grew as white as a summer cloud. He screamed and flinched and the gun went off. Ray was surprised at how little noise it made.

Before he could fire a second time, the ghost reached over his shoulder and plucked the weapon from his hand.

Basingame shrieked and tried to run. The ghost tossed the gun away and grabbed him.

Beside Ray, Peter gasped, jerked, and slumped to the ground. Ray whirled, horrified at the sight of Peter sprawled in the dust, a smear of blood across his forehead, very near the darkening bruise. His face was whiter than Basingame's, and he looked so limp and fragile Ray was positive he was dead. Oh, God, oh, God, he shot Peter! Aunt Lois cried out in helpless protest. Ray's heart jumped up into his throat. No time to help Peter; he had to stop the guy from going after Aunt Lois next. It tore him up to leave Peter lying there, but he had to act.

"Take care of him, Aunt Lois," he begged, but he couldn't wait for her reply. With a furious cry, Ray lunged for Basingame. The ghost wasn't solid enough to restrain the killer if he wanted to get away. He might have more guns or knives. He might be in league with demons. Ray had to stop him.

"Let me go!" Basingame wrenched his arm free of the spirit and fled down the slope. As he ran, he plunged a hand into his pocket.

"He's got another gun," Ray cried. He wasn't sure what the ghost could do about it, but Ray pulled his thrower. He had no qualms about zapping nasty ghosts, but Basingame was human--if only just. Ray wanted revenge; this guy had shot Peter, he'd endangered Ray's aunt, and he meant to kill Ray. Ray couldn't kill the guy in cold blood--but if Peter was dead.... It took every ounce of willpower Ray possessed to adjust the thrower to a setting that would render Basingame unconscious without killing him. He couldn't kill the man--but he'd never been so tempted before.

The wind whipped at the Armani jacket, making it hard for Basingame to pull out what he needed. If it was a gun, or if he tried anything else, Ray would zap him. He couldn't let the man shoot Aunt Lois. And if Peter were still alive, Ray had to protect himself so he could take care of Peter until rescue came. I have to stop him.

Unhindered by the need to put his feet on the ground, the ghost pursued the running man and circled around in front of him. Confronted with the determined spirit, Basingame jerked to a halt and jumped sideways. It wasn't a gun he'd gone for but a piece of paper. It caught in the twisted fabric of his jacket then tore free. When the ghost surged at him, snarling, he dropped the paper, then scrambled desperately after it in the dust. The ghost beat him to it and waved it in triumph, floating just out of range of the man's grabbing hands.

"No! Give it to me! No!" Basingame raced after the ghost, who hovered tantalizingly just out of range. He made no sound, but Ray could see purpose in his motions. Every now and then, the entity glanced at Ray and grinned encouragingly.

Ray glanced back at Peter, who lay unmoving while Aunt Lois dabbed at his forehead with a corner of her caftan. Impossible to tell at this distance if he were even breathing, but surely Aunt Lois wouldn't bother if he were dead. He had to be alive. He had to be. "Hang on, Peter," Ray whispered. He couldn't go to Peter, not with Basingame at liberty. Maybe he should just stun the guy and be done with it.

"Give it to me," wheedled Basingame. "I'll go away as soon as I've got it. I'll get out of your realm and never come back. Stantz, make him give it to me."

The guy's effrontery stunned Ray. He stopped dead, staring at the desperate gunman. "I wouldn't give you the time of day. You shot Peter, you son of a bitch."

Basingame threw a malicious glare at Ray. "I hope he's dead," he snarled.

"Pretty big talk for a man who can't get a piece of paper away from a ghost." Ray's thumb hovered over the

firing button. Basingame didn't deserve to live; he'd shot Peter. He could fire a couple of times; even at the stun setting, too much sustained energy could kill a man. If anyone deserved to die....

Ray hesitated. As much as he hated the guy, he couldn't quite bring himself to take his life. And he couldn't stun him, not while he was ignoring Ray in his frenzied leaps to try to reclaim his precious paper.

Ray gave a frustrated sigh, but he didn't take his thumb off the firing trigger. "You don't know how close you came to joining him," he said tightly.

"Give me a break, you're no killer."

"If Peter's dead...."

Basingame made another lunge for the paper the ghost held. "Give it to me. Give it to me."

"What is it?" Ray called.

"It seems to be written in Latin," offered the ghost in such a normal human voice that Ray blinked. He hadn't expected the ghost to talk, and in very British English.

"Latin?" Ray echoed. What could be so important.... Then he knew. The counter-spell! The way home! "Don't let him see it. It's his escape route." If Ray could read it, he could take Peter and Aunt Lois home.

"Ah." The ghost shot upward. Basingame jumped after him, grabbing wildly. Just out of range, the ghost snickered at him and drifted sideways. Basingame raced after him, like a kitten chasing a string.

He was so busy watching the ghost he didn't notice when the chasm opened up before him. Ray saw it a second before Basingame missed his footing and gave an instinctive warning yell, but it came too late.

Basingame dropped into the gaping chasm with a horrible, echoing scream that faded as he plunged out of sight. It seemed that he fell forever, the sound going on and on. Above the chasm, the ghost craned his neck to stare down into the abyss.

At last the distant scream broke off in mid cry. Ray was glad he was far enough away for impact to be no more than a near-inaudible thud.

The ghost whipped over to Ray and passed him the paper. "He didn't watch where he was going," he said.

"You led him there on purpose." Ray wasn't sure he meant it as an accusation or not. Ghosts didn't always possess the same morality people did, and Ray's own feelings on the subject were awfully mixed. The guy had shot Peter. Maybe he wouldn't have done it if the ghost hadn't startled him, but he'd sounded determined to kill them and he'd said he hoped Peter was dead. Ray didn't have it in him to hope the guy was dead--but a part of him wanted to feel that way. He felt cold and sick inside.

"It was never your fault," the ghost reassured him as he floated down to join him. "You sent for me. I helped." He passed over the paper.

Ray blinked at him in surprise. One quick glance back at Peter. Aunt Lois saw him look and called, "He's alive."

Alive! Peter was alive? Ray's heart leapt. If the paper the ghost had snatched held the spell to send them back, they could be home in minutes. Or could they? Ray stared at it and his eyes widened in horror. The bottom edge was jagged, irregular. Part of the text was missing. The rest of it must be down at the bottom of the chasm in Basingame's pocket.

I'm sorry, Peter. We'll have to wait for Egon and Winston to rescue us after all.

As much as he wanted to run to Peter's side, Ray hesitated and spoke to the ghost. "Why did you help us?"

"You sent an S.O.S. I came."

Ray stared at him. "Yes, but why? You didn't have to."

"No? It was an S.O.S. You can't ignore that." He grinned. "I was a wireless operator, a long time ago. I once heard an S.O.S. at sea. We were too far away to get there; we couldn't help. But people died. Too many people. Fifteen hundred people died. We went as fast as we could, but when we got there, it was all over. The ones who survived had already been picked up by another ship." He shuddered. "I'll never forget that morning, looking down into the icy water and seeing floating debris and knowing that down deep below the water so many people were dead. I couldn't ignore an S.O.S. after that."

"The Titanic?" Ray asked in surprise.

The ghost's head bobbed. "Yes. The Titanic. I'll never forget it. That's why I came." He gave a smile. "Go to your friend. You are safe now." He smiled, raised one hand in a quasi-military salute, then zipped away.

Ray raced back to Peter.

Egon paced. When Peter vanished into the Netherworld, the physicist studied the readings in Ray's notes, correlated them with his own, and resolved the settings so the molecular phase amplifier would deposit him and Winston as near his missing friends as possible. He jotted the figures down in neat rows in his notebook and set it on the table, then he skimmed through Ray's Aunt Lois's book. The unnumbered part appeared to be the only dangerous area. In a casual scan, the rest appeared typical New Age babble, that might help the reader achieve a tranquil, hypnagogic state, and might even, with a great deal of practice, guide someone with the right mindset into an actual out-of-body experience. But Egon could find nothing else actively dangerous in the book, at least not in such a superficial scan.

Had it been doctored specifically for Ray's Aunt Lois because of her connection with the Ghostbusters? Had Brother Michael expected her to show it to Ray? Ray was very responsible where his aunt was concerned. He'd never have let her try the incantation.

Abruptly, the meter shrilled. Egon grabbed for it, checked the settings, and his brow puckered. Another cross-rip opening. Had Ray and Peter figured out how to reverse the spell and return? The energy wasn't in this room, but outside the window. Egon looked out. No trace of his friends. Already the energy had begun to dissipate.

Egon hadn't spoken the spell, but the readings he had detected were identical to the energy that had surged each time someone had been thrust into the Netherworld. Ray might have tried reversing the words of the spell, but if so, it hadn't brought him home.

Or had someone else activated the spell nearby?

Sheer speculation. He had no reason to assume that had happened, but in his experience cross-rips didn't open randomly and spontaneously. There had been no suspicious build-up of energy before the meter reacted. What did it mean?

Logic, Egon. Reason it out. He gave his sliding glasses an impatient poke into place. Possibility Number One: Ray had attempted to reverse the spell. The cross-rip had opened without projecting him home. If so, Ray might try again.

Possibility Number Two: Three openings of the cross-rip in such rapid succession had automatically triggered a fourth. Possible, but not entirely likely. The energy had dissipated each time; there wouldn't have been enough of a psi build-up for that to happen. It wasn't impossible, but it was highly unlikely. The laws of physics didn't change simply because Egon dreamed up convenient theories.

Possibility Number Three: Someone watching the house with access to the spell had triggered the cross-rip. Once he'd determined that Ray was not here, Egon hadn't monitored the area for biorhythm signs. Too many people would have passed by; there would be no way to single out specific individuals. If Brother Michael or someone connected with him had realized that Ray and Peter were in the Netherworld, perhaps he would go after them--which would not necessarily mean a noble attempt at rescue. Brother Michael had set up Ray's Aunt Lois. He'd given her a dangerous book, no doubt knowing she was related to Ray. Egon suspected that Ray's Aunt Lois enjoyed bragging about "my nephew, the Ghostbuster."

Possibility Number Four: A ghost or demon had triggered the cross-rip. If it came or went very quickly, the energy of the cross-rip would mask it. But that meant such an entity had either gone to the place where Peter, Ray, and Ray's aunt were or had come from there. Neither option promised a happy outcome for his friends.

It was too soon for Winston to return. Janine had further to come, but she wouldn't be going both ways, so she might even arrive first. As much as Egon wanted to recite the spell and rush to his friends' rescue, he could not do it. Indulging his urge to rescue Ray and Peter would only endanger them. He had to wait.

Egon knew the team should have come with Ray in the first place. But just as logically, he also knew that none of them could have guessed the danger Ray's Aunt Lois faced. Egon had doubted her ability to achieve an out-of-body experience. He had assumed Ray would find her trying, lecture her, check out the book she had bought, and return home, no doubt with said book in hand so he could study it and make sure it was safe.

That didn't alter the fact that Ray had wanted his friends to accompany him. But they hadn't come. As a result, Ray had landed in the Netherworld and Peter had gone after him.

Egon knew he had been wrong to try to stop Peter. The urge to present a united front against possible demons had proven no match for Peter's determination to race to Ray's rescue. One man, one thrower, might have made all the difference.

Or the rescue attempt might have thrust Peter to his death.

Peter, if I find you have endangered yourself....

He cocked his head at the distant wail of an approaching siren, but it wasn't the particular howl of Ecto's. Police car, Egon told himself. Winston may have commandeered an escort, but surely Egon would have heard Ecto's siren too.

The siren drew closer. It sounded like it was coming here. He reached the front door in time to see a NYPD vehicle stop in front of the house. An officer opened the back door and Janine Melnitz popped out. She wasn't wearing her jumpsuit--she kept that at the firehall--but she had on a pair of blue jeans and a sturdy shirt, and a pair of boots. As close as she could come to appropriate garb for a bust with the material at hand. When she saw Egon, she waved a hand at him and spoke quickly to the police officer.

"Hello, Janine," Egon called. "You made excellent time."

"Do you need Manny?" Janine asked with a gesture at the officer. "I wasn't sure what was wrong, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask. He can help if you need him."

Egon felt a surge of relief. He raised his voice. "That would be excellent. Thank you, Officer, er--"

"Rabinowicz, sir." The police officer shut off the car and jumped out. He looked about twenty, and his hair was as red as Janine's.

"He's my cousin," Janine explained as she and Rabinowicz hurried up the steps. "Oh, Egon, what's wrong? You look awful. It's not Ray's aunt, is it? Is she...."

"She's in the Netherworld. Ray went after her, then Peter went after him. We have to bring them back."

"Where's Winston?" Janine began, just as the familiar beat of an engine overhead filled the air. In unison, they looked up to the sight of Ecto-2, the team's gyrocopter, coming in for a landing, Winston at the controls. Egon could see equipment piled in the other seat.

"There he is, and very timely, too. Officer Rabinowicz, if you will help Mister Zeddemore bring in our equipment, I'll begin preparations. Janine, if you'd bring me the recall bracelets so I could configure them...."

"Right away, Egon." When Winston landed in the middle of the street, Rabinowicz directed traffic around it, while Janine ducked low to avoid the blades as they spiraled down. She spoke to Winston, accepted the handful of bracelets he passed her, and raced to Egon.

Egon snatched them from her hands and set off for Ray's Aunt Lois's parlor at a dead run. His friends might be running out of time.

"Please, Peter. Please be all right."

The frantic voice cut through the fog in Peter's brain. Whoever had been poking at his forehead with cudgels decided to let up, and Peter was glad Ray had spoken and made them stop. He tried to think, but that wasn't

particularly easy. What the heck was wrong with him?

Peter could hear Ray's footsteps approaching. Was he okay? And who was that messing with Peter's hair? It would be sticking up all over the place. Felt kind of nice, though.

"Aunt Lois?" Ray faltered. He sounded scared to death. Peter's stomach knotted up. Did Ray sound that way about him?

Aunt Lois's voice quavered slightly, but Peter thought it was a good quaver. "Oh, Ray. I think it barely grazed him. He's breathing just fine."

"Barely grazed...." Ray blurted. What had grazed him? Whatever it was felt like it had drilled a major hole through his forehead. Ray landed with a thud at Peter's side. "Peter? Come on, Peter, wake up." A hand grabbed his and squeezed it urgently. Ray was okay. He was up and walking around, anyway, and he didn't sound hurt, only worried.

"Peter. You have to wake up."

Aunt Lois shifted behind him and the hand that stroked his hair went away. "He'll be all right, Ray. I'm sure of it. He's such a fighter, so brave. He wouldn't leave you to face all this by yourself. You know he wouldn't." Aunt Lois shouldn't be saying all that stuff about Peter. He wasn't brave. He was just a guy who'd come here to help Ray and his aunt because he was more afraid of losing his friend than he was of the Netherworld.

"Not if he could help it, he wouldn't. But I'm so scared...."

"I know he'll be all right. Sometimes I'm sure I'm psychic, and I can just see him waking up." She bent down and pressed her lips against Peter's cheek. At least Peter hoped it was Aunt Lois. Much as he loved Ray, he didn't want the guy to start kissing him.

"Wake up, Peter," Aunt Lois urged. Thank goodness. She was right where she'd be if she'd kissed him.

Peter shifted a little. Time to let Ray know he was okay. He should have spoken before, but he didn't quite have it together yet. Moving hurt, and he moaned.

"Peter! Aunt Lois, he moved. Peter, wake up."

Peter turned his head toward the sound of Ray's voice. "'m 'wake," he muttered.

"Peter, can you hear me?" Ray liked to have all the i's dotted and the t's crossed.

"Yeah, but you're in competition...with a heavy metal concert in my brain," Peter said promptly. His voice sounded nearly normal, only a little unsteady. He was feeling better--as long as he stayed perfectly flat and didn't move his head. "What hit me? A...midtown bus?"

"Peter! You're awake?"

"Yeah, and I hafta say it doesn't have much to recommend it." Peter kept his eyes scrunched tightly shut. "Okay, so I'll pass on the usual 'where am I?' question and move right along to 'what happened?'" He tried

hard to think. "The jerk with the gun? He still here?"

Ray's voice brightened. "You remember what happened?"

"He had a gun on us. You okay, Ray?"

"You're the one he hurt. Gosh, Peter, you scared me silly. I thought you were...." His voice trailed off, but it didn't take one shred of imagination to figure out what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Well, I'm not." Peter risked opening one eye, then the other one, and he gazed up at Ray. The gloomy day was bright enough to hurt his eyes, but he didn't close them. "I'm okay, Ray. Just tell me you are."

Ray hesitated. He gave Peter a relieved smile, but something was still bothering him. Was Peter hurt worse than he thought? Were they prisoners of that Basingame jerk? Peter didn't see the guy anywhere, just Ray with his aunt hovering beside him.

"So tell me, Tex," Peter insisted. "What's biting your butt? Er, ah...." he darted an abashed glance at Aunt Lois. "I mean, what's bothering you?"

"It's all right, Peter," Aunt Lois said serenely. "I have heard the word 'butt' before."

That made Ray's lips quirk in a faint smile, but it faded instantly. He hesitated.

"Don't make me come over there and shake it out of you, Ray. If I get up, I'll probably barf all over you, and I don't think you'd like that."

Ray hesitated, but he must have heard the concern in Peter's voice. The words burst out in a rush. "I...wanted to kill him, Peter." Aunt Lois looked at her nephew sharply, and her eyes filled with sympathy, but she didn't say a word. Maybe she thought Ray needed absolution from Peter more than he needed it from her.

Peter grabbed Ray's arm. Uh, careful with those sudden moves, Venkman. He willed his stomach to settle. Ray was more important than the nausea that threatened him. "But you didn't," he said positively. God, let me be right. I don't see the guy anywhere. Ray's no killer. So what happened to him?

"Well, no." Ray bowed his head. "He fell down a pit when he was chasing the ghost."

Peter lifted his eyebrows, then he frowned and yanked them down. It wasn't fair that even his eyebrows hurt. "Ghost? Pit? What have you been doing while I was down for the count?" He could vaguely remember a ghost in an unfamiliar uniform showing up and freaking Basingame, but nothing after that. His hand tightened on Ray's. "Tell me later. Let me get this straight, Ray." He wished he could sit up and grab Ray and shake sense into him, but he'd have to handle this job flat on his back. "You're fussing because you wanted to kill the guy you thought had killed me?" He slapped a dramatic hand against his chest. "I think I'm hurt. Who says you can't be human? If I'd thought he'd killed you, he'd be in pieces now. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't kill him, you said."

"No, but I had my thrower...."

Geez, there was Ray for you. The Stantz guilt needed reining in every so often or it tended to gallop out of control. Only Ray would worry about a thing like that. "But you didn't use it. Why didn't you blast him?"

Ray hesitated. "I would have if he'd tried to attack me. But he didn't. I wanted to--I thought he'd kill--I thought...." He grimaced. "I was ready to neutronize him."

Only Ray.... Peter produced a fond grin. "You'd have zapped him at low power if he'd tried to attack me or Aunt Lois, not killed him. I know you, Ray. He was a killer. You're not. You were angry with him, but you still did the right thing." He collected himself. Any second now Ray or Aunt Lois would urge him to rest, and he had to make his point first. "Come on, Ray, it's okay. We're all alive and he's gone. Hafta say he was a few pistons short of an engine. He was gonna kill us both because his old man was a con man." Peter shivered. Don't take that thought any further, Venkman. He didn't like to think he had anything in common with the guy who had shot him. "No matter what happened, none of this was your fault, Ray." He let go of Ray's hand so he could massage his temples. Felt kind of good. "Can we do this later when we don't have to compete with the insane drummer in my head?" A little distraction never did any harm.

At once Ray abandoned the twisted inner reaches of his conscience and snapped into fussing mode. "You bet, Peter. It's okay. As long as you're all right, we can just wait for Egon and Winston. They should be here soon." Once they were out of here, he'd remember Peter's words. And if he didn't, Peter would be there to remind him.

Peter grinned and closed his eyes. "I'm not asleep, Ray. I'm just kicking back. You want to tell me all about our fun and games in the Netherworld, and why I'm lying here turning black and blue?"

Ray patted Peter on the shoulder, and Aunt Lois went back to her hair stroking. Peter cranked his eyes open to make sure he'd assessed the division of labor right. Yep. Aunt Lois was a hair stroker par excellence.

Ray continued his story. "Well, the first time you got knocked out, it was by the demon. Gosh, Peter, you saved my life."

"It was the bravest thing I ever saw," Aunt Lois proclaimed.

"No biggie. It was for Ray. Are you okay, Aunt Lois?"

"Thanks to you and Ray. Oh, Peter, I am so very sorry. I fell for Brother Michael, and I never realized he was out for revenge. If I hadn't been so foolish, you wouldn't have been hurt--twice."

Peter fumbled for her hand and interrupted her hair stroking. "It's okay, Aunt Lois. I figure Ray gets it from you," he said. When she looked doubtful, he grinned. "You know. Suicidally reckless. Rushing in where angels fear to tread."

"Aw, Peter," Ray objected. "I always know what I'm doing." He ducked his head.

"That's what scares me, Ray."

"Well, gee, I called to tell you what I was planning before I came over here."

Peter flinched. In the midst of fighting demons and dodging bullets, he'd almost forgotten the whole mix-up, the reason he'd had to hurry over here before Egon and Winston to make sure Ray was safe. Now when they went home, he'd be stuck on the couch for a day or so while he recovered. He'd have gotten what he wanted--but at what cost?

Ray leaned forward, eyes wide. "Peter? Are you okay?"

Peter detached Aunt Lois's hand and propped himself up carefully on his elbows. Not fun. His stomach heaved and he had to swallow fiercely a few times to keep his lunch from making an unscheduled appearance. He didn't want to handle this part lying down. "You shouldn't have had to call, Ray. I should have been with you from the beginning. I knew you wanted us to come, but I figured you could handle it. I wanted to lay around the firehouse and take a nap, so I told myself she was your aunt, and it was your job."

"It was," Ray agreed. No hesitation there.

"Come on, Ray, you don't have to cut me any slack. How many times have you and the guys rushed in to help my dad out when he got in over his head? You even went off to Mexico with him that time the coatl trapped you in the pyramid when the rest of us stayed behind. My dad, and I didn't even go then. Says a lot for the kind of guy I am. You got stuck over here and had to face down a demon and a nutcase with a gun because I couldn't be bothered. Some friend I am."

Ray stared at him. It had been obvious that he'd felt bad when he'd left the firehall. The fact that the three of them had raced after him helped, just not quite enough. Ray deserved an apology, and Peter meant to give it to him.

"But Peter, you are here," Aunt Lois reminded him. "You came alone, ahead of your friends, just to make sure Ray was safe. You could have waited for that equipment Ray mentioned, but you didn't."

Peter refused to accept an easy out. "If we'd all come together...." His voice trailed off as he saw where that would lead.

"Somebody would still have had to come over here right away while somebody else went home for the amplifier," Ray reminded him triumphantly. "It would have been you and me, just like now, because Winston would be the best one to get the equipment 'cause he's the best driver, and Egon would have to stay behind to configure it to make sure we could get home. We wouldn't have known that we'd need the molecular phase amplifier until we got to Aunt Lois's house."

"Yeah, but...."

"No, Peter. You came after me alone because you were the only one who could. You didn't even know I was still alive, but you came anyway."

Peter grimaced. "Doesn't change the fact that I was too lazy to bother in the first place."

"The fact that you saved my life means more to me," Ray told him. "The fact that you guys came without even waiting for my call means a lot to me. Come on, Peter, it's okay. Besides," he added with a wicked grin, "you weren't the only one who weaseled out of coming with me. I bet you don't blame Egon and Winston."

"They had real stuff to do." Peter frowned. Egon always had some project going, and the current one was hardly earthshaking. Winston's "work" on the computer really amounted to play. All that meant was that Peter wasn't alone in being a jerk. He shook his head. Not a good idea. A few more fierce swallows later, he controlled himself. Ray grabbed for him and eased him down.

Peter wasn't ready to give in even if he did lie down. "Come on, Ray, you felt bad that we didn't come, didn't you?"

Ray had never been able to lie to Peter. "A little. But it was silly. If I'd just said I wanted you to come, you'd have done it."

Aunt Lois smiled. "I see what it is. You thought they should read your mind, Ray. People expect their friends to know what they want, but nobody's a mind-reader. That doesn't make you a bad person, Peter. It makes you human, just like your friends. When you knew Ray was in trouble, you came after him, and you risked your life to save him from the demon."

Peter felt himself blush beet red. "It's just, uh, what we do. He'd have done the same for me. He stood up to Basingame while I was out of it. Makes us even."

Ray nodded energetically. "Peter, it's okay. I'm not mad at you, and I'm not even disappointed in you or in the others. I wish you weren't here--but that's because I wish none of us were here." He grinned. "So does this mean I'll have to listen to Egon and Winston doing penance, too? I've got to say, a penitent Peter is not a pretty sight."

Peter relaxed at the tone of Ray's voice. He was forgiven. And just maybe he'd learned something from the process. "Probably," he said with a tentative grin.

"He's already listened to me," Aunt Lois put in.

Peter grinned at her. "Well, if anybody came out of this whole mess smelling like a rose, it's our Ray," he proclaimed.

It was Ray's turn to blush. "Well, gosh, Peter, I didn't do any--"

"Peter! Ray!"

At the shout, Ray spun around and Peter pushed himself up on his elbows once more. Standing over there down the slope were Egon and Winston, with Janine right behind them, armed with proton packs. The three of them charged like rhinos.

"The meter didn't go off," Ray said blankly, then his face smoothed out. "Oh, gee, I forgot I set it to send the ghost S.O.S. and I never adjusted it back." He jumped up and waved. "Guys, guys. We need to get Peter to the hospital. He's been shot!"

Egon's knees wouldn't thank him for the rough landing he made on them at Peter's side. "Shot? Peter, how bad is it? Dear God, your head?" His face paled.

Winston screeched to a stop behind Egon. He must have realized from the fact that Peter was conscious and half sitting up, and from the reassuring nod from Aunt Lois, that the injury wasn't serious because he winked at Peter and said, "Well, at least it didn't hit anything important."

"Die, Zeddemore." Peter stuck out his tongue at him, then he turned to Egon. "It's okay, Spengs. Just like the heroes in all my Dewey LaMorte books. Back in the Old West, they used to call this a crease. I figure

it entitles me to one round of being waited on hand and foot, once we get home."

Egon sagged back on his heels. Winston's words and Peter's reassured him, but the relief on his face was humbling. Peter didn't deserve it. He hadn't done anything except failed to duck--not that he could have with Aunt Lois right behind him.

"Really," Peter said. He stretched out a hand to Egon, who took the opportunity to slip a recall bracelet on Peter's wrist before clasping it. Behind him, Winston passed two more to Ray and Aunt Lois.

"Peter, you will be the death of me."

"Yeah, but you know I had to come." He caught and held Egon's gaze.

Egon hesitated. Peter knew he'd have traded places in a heartbeat, bullet wound and all. Good old Egon. Peter plunged on. "It's not like Zed and I know how to set up those recall bracelets. You did your job. We did ours. We're fine, we're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?" He batted his eyes at Egon as shamelessly as he could at the deliberate quote and saw the tension ease out of his friend. Finally.

"At least I can be grateful for that hard head of yours," Egon retorted. Half banter, half dead serious, but he was trying.

Peter gave the hand he held a reassuring squeeze before he let go and administered the coup de grâce. "Can we go home now?"

Winston glanced around the private waiting room commandeered by NYPD when the young officer, Janine's cousin, had called in to report the events of the Netherworld, and was glad that the Ghostbusters, Janine, and Aunt Lois had it to themselves at last. He could have sworn half NYPD's high-powered detectives had stopped by to discuss the crisis. Egon and Ray had explained the book with the extra pages, Aunt Lois made it clear that Michael Basingame, A.K.A. Michael Reston, had gone out of his way to tell her she had to try the added pages. Incantations that took people to the Netherworld went over just as well as Winston would have expected them to--with heavy skepticism. But the story of Basingame's death over there coupled with the claim that he'd shot Peter set off all kinds of alarms. The detectives sent for none other than Detective Frump, the team's police nemesis. He might not like them, but he was considered NYPD's expert on the paranormal. Scary thought.

Frump didn't blow up at them, probably helped by the fact that Peter was in a treatment room by then and couldn't smart off to him. Frump recalled the incident when Peter's father and this Basingame's father had loosed Hob Anagarok in Madison Square Garden. He was able to verify the elder Basingame's death from a heart attack and even to track down reports of the son's shady dealings. He might consider Aunt Lois a flake, but she was a wealthy flake, and she could produce such utter sincerity in her distress that she soon had Frump eating out of her hand. Winston stored up the memory to regale Peter with later.

In the end, Frump decided he wanted Ray and Winston to take him over to the Netherworld the following morning with a couple of officers to retrieve the body of Michael Basingame, and the gun--he was pretty fed up with the Ghostbusters for leaving it there.

"Well, gee, I didn't even think of it," Ray cried. "Peter was down and I was afraid he was dead. Basingame was out of the picture. I didn't need the gun. It should still be there, unless some ghost or demon took it. The wireless operator ghost sure didn't."

Frump grimaced. Winston sneaked a glance at Ray to see if he'd meant to scare the detective, but Ray sat there radiating such sincerity that even Frump would have to believe it.

Aunt Lois spoke up. "I'm sorry that dreadful man is dead, of course, but he could have killed us all." She shuddered elaborately. "What else could we have done? We had to make sure Peter got home quickly to see a doctor. We're not mountaineers. We couldn't climb down into that awful hole to retrieve the body. I didn't even want to touch the gun." The shudder was real, but Aunt Lois was milking her audience. If Peter had been here, she would have winked at him.

"No one expects you to, Ma'am." Frump actually patted her hand.

"I just want to make sure my dear nephew isn't in trouble. We're the victims. That man wanted them dead. He said so. He said he would shoot Peter right through the eye." This time, her shudder held not one element of sham. "He said at that range it would blow the back of his head off."

Egon paled. His imagination was too good. Probably remembering that moment when he realized Peter had been shot in the head. Ray shivered. He'd had to live through the whole experience. He'd believed Peter was dead. It was a wonder he hadn't zapped Basingame with his thrower.

Winston caught Ray's eye and telegraphed a signal to him. You didn't blast him, did you?

Ray gave a quick headshake. Frump, his attention on Aunt Lois, who had managed to produce tears, missed it, but Winston relaxed. No, Ray wasn't likely to play the vengeance-is-mine game, not to that extent. He'd probably wanted to, and knowing Ray, that would bother him. An autopsy would prove the guy hadn't been neutronized. No way on earth would Ray have pushed him down a pit.

"There, there, Ma'am." Frump actually patted Aunt Lois's hand.

Of course that drew Ray in. He put his arm around his aunt. "It's okay, Aunt Lois. I just know Peter'll be fine."

Since Peter had been flirting outrageously with the nurse who had come to get him and walked away with her under his own steam, no one doubted that in the slightest. At least not in their heads. Winston wasn't as sure about their stomachs or their hearts.

Frump asked a few more questions, mostly for form, and made an appointment for the return to the Netherworld to retrieve the body. Winston didn't look forward to that, but it would be for the experts to climb down and bring the guy out in a body bag. Peter couldn't go, of course, not with a possible concussion, and Egon would operate the equipment. Ray, as a witness to the incident, needed to show the searchers where to find the gun and the body, and none of the team would let him go on his own. Ray flashed Winston a grateful grin before he suggested the officers wear proton packs just in case there were any nasty entities lurking around like the demon he and Peter had fought earlier. Frump's face fell.

Annoying as he was, Frump must be a brave guy. He heaved his vast bulk to his feet and stood straight and determined. "Eight a.m." he said. "At your house, Ma'am."

"I'll have coffee ready."

Frump didn't exactly leave with his tail between his legs but he left, and since Peter wasn't here to say, "I'm glad he's gone," Winston said it for him.

Ray glanced around. No lingering cops. No other family and friends waiting for reports on loved ones. Just the team, Janine, and Aunt Lois. Ray took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Aunt Lois, you've gotta see this is why I don't want you trying crazy pa