CAMPFIRE

Originally published in Magic and Mystery 1

"So then Cousin Sam and Cousin Terry--he was really her cousin, on her mom's side, but I always called him Cousin Terry--and I decided we were going to take the raft downstream like Huckleberry Finn and have adventures. Sam and I were eight, and Terry was eleven, but he was small for his age, and he liked to hang out with us when we were all staying with Cousin Sam so he could boss us around. We didn't tell our parents where we were going." Ray turned the stick that held his marshmallow so it would be just right. He didn't like it when they caught on fire. He already had his squares of Hershey bar and graham crackers so he could make s'mores. That's what you did around a campfire. Even back when he'd been at Camp Waconda, they'd made s'mores.

Peter yanked his marshmallow out of the fire, but it was already blazing. "No, no, no," he objected and blew on it fiercely. The fire went out, leaving him with a blackened surface. When he tried to enclose it between two crackers, the hardened crust came off with a squish, leaving the melted remains on his stick. "Marshmallows hate me," he protested dramatically.

"If you will pay attention, Peter, you wouldn't have any trouble." Deftly, Egon inserted his perfectly warmed marshmallow between his cracker slices, right against the chocolate.

Peter grimaced at him, then he ate the melted part off the stick and fumbled for the bag of Stay Puft marshmallows to try again. "So what happened on the great rafting adventure, Ray?"

Right on cue, an owl hooted overhead. Winston raised his eyes to the dark cluster of trees. "That better not be a ghost." Peter's head bobbed in agreement, but he didn't look particularly alarmed.

"Owl," Egon corrected. "A great horned owl. Bubo virginanus."

"How do you know these things?" Peter demanded. "And why the heck would you want to? Never mind, don't answer. I want to hear about the raft."

Ray grinned at Peter. Had he secretly read Huckleberry Finn as a boy? Had he dreamed of adventures out of story books, just as Ray had? You wouldn't think that would be Peter's bag, but then Peter had never been exactly a font of information about his childhood. Maybe they could get a story or two out of him on the camping trip. Marshmallows aside, he looked like he was enjoying himself, and that was a big improvement from the last time the team had gone camping. They'd left Slimer behind, for one thing, and Peter had crowed about it, that this time the spud was making Janine's life miserable instead of his. So far, anyway, there had been nothing paranormal to interrupt the campfire ritual. No mysterious Bigfoot creatures from other dimensions, no trace of Native American spirits. Egon's meter had been so quiet that he'd even turned it off and left it in his tent, and that was a record.

"Well, we packed up our gear in tablecloths and tied them onto sticks, like hoboes, and we snuck out of the house at midnight. We had the raft all ready, camouflaged with branches so nobody would see it. Boy, did we get wet pushing it into the water, but we didn't care. It was hot out anyway. We had our flashlights with us, and food in cans, even if we forgot a can opener. We had to open them with Terry's jackknife. Got baked beans all over us." He grinned. What had been fun was the comradeship. That was what was fun tonight, even if they were doing nothing more daring than toasting marshmallows. Later on, they could tell ghost stories, but they were Ghostbusters, after all. Frightening tales that would normally scare people as they sat around a campfire, shadows at their backs, and the vast mysterious night all around them, wouldn't faze Ray's buddies.

"So there you are drifting down the river covered with baked beans," Peter said. "I hafta say, it's not a pretty picture. What hap--shit!" He yanked his second flaming marshmallow out of the fire. "I swear, this fire has it in for me."

"If you would pay attention to what you were doing, Peter..." Egon began again.

"Want marshmallow cream in your hair, Spengs?" Peter blew hard on the charring marshmallow and waved the stick in Egon's direction.

Egon arched one Spock-like brow. "I believe the correct phrase is, er, been there, done that."

"Gozer," Winston remembered with a grimace. "After that, I never thought I could toast marshmallows again." He retrieved a perfectly toasted marshmallow from the fire and composed his s'more like a pro.

"At least you're not scarred for life," Peter said with a grin. "Want to know the psychological impact of--"

"No," chorused his friends. "It's not fair anyway," Ray said, grinning. "You hardly got any of the stuff on you after Gozer. Maybe fate is making up for that oversight. What do you think, Egon?"

Mouth full of marshmallow and graham cracker, Egon nodded sententiously.

Peter peeled away the charred crust, stuck yet another marshmallow on a stick, and edged it toward the fire as if sneaking up on the flames was the only safe way to proceed.

"We washed off the beans in the river," Ray explained, watching Peter's marshmallow. In another second he would forget about it, it would shrivel like the last two, and he would probably resort to even more colorful explosions of annoyance. Ray couldn't help grinning. Gee, he loved a campfire. The hiss and crackle of the blaze, the heady aroma of the crowding pine trees, the way the light danced and shifted, illuminating one face after another, just made for a perfect atmosphere. There was such a sense of camaraderie involved in the presence of friends around a fire. Even if nobody said anything significant, the insignificant things became fun, just because they were friends. Campfires were a part of the human tradition, all the way back to their caveman ancestors. The fire protected from dangers in the night, it warmed against the cold, it cooked food, and it created a great atmosphere. It was perfect.

He glanced at the guys to see if his friends shared his mood. Egon, hardly your usual camping type, had donned blue jeans and a tee shirt that Peter had given him once as a gag gift that had a picture of an exaggeratedly silly ghost with the words "Ectoplasm Rules" below it. The shirt was hot pink. Egon didn't wear it where anyone but the guys might see it, but Ray suspected he rather liked it. Even more, he liked the fact that Peter had given it to him and expected him to cringe at the sight of it. When he had emerged from his tent wearing it, Peter had arched his eyebrows--he'd never managed to learn how to arch just one--but he'd smiled.

Egon sat there in his pink shirt, contentedly munching his campfire treat. Even though there wasn't a P.K.E. meter, test tube, or sample of spores and molds anywhere in sight, he looked happy. A weekend was probably as much of the great outdoors, far away from his lab, that he'd enjoy, but at least he was enjoying it now.

"So how far did you get before they found out you were gone?" Winston asked. He was stretched out comfortably against a fallen log, evidently an expert in the art of toasting marshmallows. Winston obviously liked the companionship of the campfire. One of the first things Ray had realized about Winston when he joined the team was that it wasn't the fact of having a job that mattered to him most; it was being part of a team. He'd been quick to fit in, quick to join the family that the three of them had formed over the years. Winston was a buddy in a million.

"We made it all the way down to the Hudson, believe it or not. That's where we ran into trouble."

"I knew there was gonna be trouble in this." Peter's marshmallow wasn't even starting to brown; it was too far from the flames. He edged it a notch closer, eyes narrowed, then he glanced over at Ray. He wasn't worried about the long-ago trouble. Ray was here in one piece and had obviously survived it. "Trouble's your middle name, Tex. What did you do this time? Drift down to the ocean and out to sea?"

"That's what we hoped we'd do," Ray said with a smile. "We knew we wouldn't; it was too far, and they were sure to come after us. We knew we'd be in big trouble, probably get a spanking or get grounded for life, but we went anyway."

"That's our boy," Peter said. "Just goes out looking for trouble, like it's a fly and you're the flypaper."

"Eww," Winston muttered. "Great image, Pete."

"Well, he is." Peter risked another inch with his stick. The fire perked up and sent out a curious tendril in that direction. Peter yanked the marshmallow back. "What kind of trouble?" he persisted. He was no more the campfire type than Egon was, but, like Winston, he was the buddy type. Peter thrived on moments like this, whether around a campfire, sprawled in front of the TV back at the firehouse, or even at the end of a bust, when the team was together, united, if tired and sore.

"No, I'm not," Ray said, but he knew Peter was probably right. He liked adventure too much to play it safe. "We drifted out into the Hudson and a barge nearly swamped us. Tipped the raft and Terry fell off, and Sam and I had to pull him in. Sam couldn't swim, and I was just learning, and the people on the barge didn't notice us because it wasn't quite light. So there we were, with me in the water trying to boost Terry onto the raft, and Sam pulling him up, and even if he was small for his age, he was still bigger than Sam and me. All the food got tipped off the raft, and the wake of the barge nearly pulled me under. Gosh, we were scared."

His three friends stared at him, wide-eyed in the firelight. "That sounds extraordinarily dangerous, Raymond," Egon admitted.

"Well, gee, didn't you ever do anything dangerous when you were a kid?" Ray challenged. Just remembering that moment, when he'd been sure he was going to drown, sent shivers through Ray's stomach. He hadn't thought about it in years.

"He burned down the family garage," Peter threw in with a wicked grin. Marshmallow sticking up in the air, well beyond the reach of the flames, he poked Egon in the arm.

"Yeah, I want to hear about that," Winston said. "But let's rescue Ray first."

"Good point. Ray?" Peter waved a hand at him to indicate he was once again the center of attention. His marshmallow dipped lower toward the fire and it sizzled and perked up as if it could sense fresh bait.

Winston noticed, of course. He noticed everything, which was why he was so good at solving mysteries, not to mention handy on a bust. He shared an amused twinkle with Ray.

"Well, by then Terry had a grip on the rope we'd used to tie the logs together. I grabbed his foot. At first he thought it was an octopus or something and tried to kick, then Sam yelled that it was me."

"There are no octopi in the Hudson River," Egon offered dryly.

"Geez, Egon, they were kids. What did they know about stuff like that? Go on, Ray," Peter encouraged. "Don't let Doctor Flotsam and Jetsam spoil your story."

"Well, Terry scrambled up with Sam helping him, and they both pulled me in." He shivered reminiscently. "We were soaked, it wasn't quite dawn, and all our food was gone. That was when we realized we had a major problem."

"Let me guess," Peter said brightly. "No way to steer?"

"You got it." Ray bobbed his head. "And the Hudson's pretty wide there. Instead of wanting to float out to sea and fight pirates, we just wanted to go home." Absently he rubbed his arms, the cold of his saturated clothing vivid in his memory. "So we figured we had to send a signal, only we didn't have flares or anything, and our matches were wet. But we still had one stick--we'd thought of poling if we got stuck in the shallows and we'd tied one to the raft. So we fastened my shirt on it because it was white, and started waving it. We passed a town then and police boat spotted it and came out and rescued us. They gave us hot chocolate--not as good as yours, Egon, but it tasted great when we were so cold. Wrapped us in blankets, read us a world-class lecture, and contacted Sam's folks. They'd already told my parents and Terry's mom that we were missing, and we got into sooo much trouble. My parents took me home and wouldn't let me go back to visit Sam again until they could come, too. But gosh, up until the barge, it was a great adventure."

"You could say that about any bust," Peter said quickly. "Up until the sliming...."

"You ought to know about that," Ray countered. "Happens to you all the time." He noticed Peter's marshmallow, and pointed. "Uh, Peter...."

Peter yanked the flaming marshmallow from the fire, threw the stick on the ground and swore colorfully.

"Really, Peter," Egon chided him. "Profanity is merely the inability of the ignorant to express themselves fluently."

"Took forever to get that marshmallow cream out of that weird hair of yours, didn't it, Spengs?" Peter asked, reaching for the stick.

"You wouldn't." Egon's voice was full of doubt.

"He sure would," Winston agreed. "Even I might, and I don't swear much. So we've got Ray safely back on land. Now what's this about burning down the garage? Even my brothers and I never got into that much trouble."

"Egon always gets into trouble with style," Peter said. "Why are you surprised? He blows up the lab at least once a month."

"Not that often," Egon defended himself.

"Once a month, once every two months, what's the difference? Do you know how much window glass costs? How much work it is to repaint the walls? Not to mention assorted cuts and bruises and burns and even a broken bone or two. That garage was just a sign of things to come." He sounded flippant, but his mouth drew a tight line.

"Last month was an accident, Peter," Egon defended himself.

"Well, yeah, Egon, but that flying glass cut an artery. If Winston hadn't been in the bunkroom and come running, you could have bled to d--" He broke off abruptly.

Egon rubbed his arm automatically. It was all nicely healed now, but that crisis had scared them all. Ray and Peter hadn't even been home when Egon's experiment had gone wrong. They'd later found that Slimer had messed with it, and when that piece of information had come to light, it was all Ray and Winston could do to prevent Peter from zapping the spud and sticking him in the containment unit permanently. He'd sure made the little spud work hard for forgiveness.

"So what about the garage, Egon?" Winston prompted. "All we know is that it happened. Let's have some details."

"I'm sure Peter can give us a much more dramatic story than that." He turned to Peter. "What about it, Peter? Did you face any unusual dangers when you were a child?"

Peter's brow wrinkled in concentration. He stuck yet another marshmallow on his stick, but he kept it well away from the fire. As if it sensed dinner, the flames crackled briefly in his direction. The wind must be shifting. Ray licked a finger and held it up in the air. No, it was back to normal now, blowing from the east; Ray had made them all sit with a gap in that direction so they wouldn't get smoke in their faces. Peter had teased him about being a Boy Scout, and Ray had told him to go ahead and sit there and see what happened. Peter very carefully hadn't.

"Yeah, Pete," Winston threw in. "I hate to imagine what kind of hell-raiser you were when you were a kid."

"Picture of virtue," Peter said with obvious mendacity. He buffed the fingernails of his free hand against the front of his tee shirt. To the team's disgust, the shirt read in big blue letters, "Yes, I am famous." But Ray had to give Peter credit. He rarely wore it in public. Probably afraid somebody might see it and not have a clue who he was.

"Virtue?" snorted Egon. "I doubt that very much. Somehow, I envision you in constant peril, not to mention trouble, as a child, Peter."

"Well, not constant. I'd've given my mom a heart attack."

Peter had been devoted to his mom. He would have kept his escapades secret from her, and from his dad, who hadn't been around that often a lot of the time.

"She'd have expected you to get into trouble," Ray said with a grin. He'd met Peter's mother a couple of times when they were at Columbia. She'd been a great lady.

"Not the kind that gives heart failure, Ray. I didn't pull a Huck Finn number on a raft, either."

"But you did something," Winston pitched in. He removed his second marshmallow from the fire, blew on it lightly, and popped it into his mouth.

"Wasn't my fault," Peter said. When the others gazed at him in amused expectation, he plunged on. earnestly "No, really, guys." With the stick propped between his knees to keep it out of reach of the deadly blaze, he gestured expansively with both hands. "Wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's what they all say," Winston muttered darkly.

"Well, tell us," Ray urged. "What happened?"

"I was nine. We were living in Brooklyn then, over off Ocean Parkway, not too far from where we caught that purple Class Seven last month. Jason Jablonski, kid who lived on my block, and I had a hideout in an empty building. It was all boarded up, and it had been for sale for about a year. But we found a loose board on one of the back basement windows and got in. We thought it would make a great clubhouse, so we started sneaking things in, soda and bags of potato chips, and an old lantern Jason's dad wasn't using, matches, all sorts of cool stuff."

"Did you burn it down, Peter?" Egon asked.

"Heck, no. We were careful with the matches. I wasn't a Boy Scout, but I had common sense."

"Oh, yeah? What happened to it later?" Winston kidded him.

Peter poked him with the end of the stick that didn't have the sacrificial marshmallow on it. "Smartass. No, we didn't set a fire, and we didn't do anything stupid. But one Saturday, Jason had to go on a family visit with his folks, and I went to the hideout on my own." He held up a hand before Egon could reproach him for it. "Come on, Spengs, we'd been hanging out there for months and nothing had ever happened."

"But this time it did," Egon said positively. He attached another marshmallow to his stick and put it in the fire. The flames obligingly didn't attack it.

Peter's eyes narrowed, watching the flames. "The fire has it in for me," he protested.

"Your story, Peter," Egon reminded him.

"Oh. Yeah. Well, I thought I'd look around. We'd explored the place, but not thoroughly, and I wanted to see what was in the rest of the basement."

"Bad idea," said Winston knowingly.

Peter shrugged. "It wasn't my fault the floor was weak. I was just walking across one of the basement rooms and the floor gave way under me. It wasn't like I was a ten-ton wonder, either, just a skinny kid. I fell through to some kind of sub-basement."

"Gosh, Peter, were you hurt?" Ray worried.

"Nah. Well, I broke my arm, so I couldn't climb out."

"It is good to see your remarkable common sense that has persisted even until today existed so early," Egon remarked. Ray had known he'd get that in there somewhere. "Surely there was a door," he added.

"Yeah, there was a door. But it wouldn't open. I found out later there was a ton of junk stored in the other room, and the door had about an inch of give." Even now, Peter shivered reminiscently. In spite of the bravado a kid can produce at the drop of a hat, he had to have been scared silly. Almost obligingly, the fire crackled in his direction, and he put out both hands to the flames.

"How did you get out?" At least Ray's danger had been shared danger. He'd had Sam and Terry with him on the raft.

"Well, I figured Jason would be back that night and my mom might call over there and see if he knew where I'd be. That was the worst part of the whole thing, that she'd be scared."

Egon's eyes softened. Ray knew just what he was thinking, that whenever there was trouble, Peter's first thought was always for the people he cared about. Even back then, with his father's influence probably a lot stronger than it was today, that part of Peter had been there. "You don't think your mother knew where your hideout was?" Egon asked.

"She did, but I didn't know it. We thought it was such a big secret. I found out later it just killed her to let us go there, but she'd had Dad check it out once when he was home. He didn't go all through the basement, just made sure crooks and drug dealers weren't hanging out in there and that our club room was safe. I remember he took me camping about that time--you can imagine how much he had to love that."

Peter's dad was definitely not the camping type, but Ray thought it was cool he'd done that. Peter had mentioned the camping trip before, evidently his only foray into camping out until the trip where the team had met Bigfoot, and Ray could tell he'd been thrilled to have his dad take him camping. He'd probably been thrilled with any attention from his often-absent father.

"So anyway, on the trip he went over all kinds of safety rules; how to use matches safely and make sure I didn't start forest fires--you know, Smokey the Bear rules, all that kind of stuff. I think he must have been trying to make sure I'd do okay in the hideout. But he was out of town on one of his scams the time I fell, and Mom didn't have him to help."

"So what happened?" Ray asked. "Gosh, that must have been rotten."

"Well, it wasn't a laugh a minute. I didn't even have any food with me, just a melted candy bar in my pocket. I musta been there about four hours before I heard something. So I started to yell my head off, then I thought maybe somebody lurking around an abandoned building might not be safe, and I shut up. But pretty soon there were footsteps up above.

"So I yelled that the floor wasn't safe, and next thing I know, there was this huge guy stretched out on the floor looking down at me. He looked like your average thug, believe me. The kind you'd expect to be working for a godfather, doing hits and arranging cement overshoes."

Peter glanced around, relishing the guys' undivided attention. Egon, of course, noticed. "Since you aren't currently residing at the bottom of the East River, Peter, we can assume he didn't dig out the cement for you."

"Heck, no. The guy had five sons of his own. He was a softie about kids. He had a flashlight, shone it around, saw there was a door, and told me to stay put. Pretty soon I heard him dragging boxes around, and then the door opened. He was probably six foot six, built like a mountain, and he took one look at me and picked me up like I was a baby. I tried to tell him I could walk, but he hauled me out of there, really careful of my arm, and took me out to his car. Cadillac, believe me, that year's model, white, covered with chrome, heart-shaped window in the back, with fur around it on the inside. Pimpmobile."

"You loved riding in it," Winston accused.

"Heck, yeah," Peter agreed. "Wouldn't you when you were nine?"

"You know it."

Ray suspected Peter had probably been too out of it with the pain in his arm to enjoy it until after the fact. "So what did he do?"

"Well, he had a mobile phone in the car--I thought that was great."

"That explains why you use the mobile in Ecto to call your girlfriends all the time," Egon murmured.

"Communication. If this cell phone thing catches on, we're all gonna have them." Peter took his hands back from the fire and once again picked up his marshmallow stick. "Anyway, he called Mom, told her I'd had a minor accident, 'cause he didn't want to scare her, and drove me to the hospital. She showed up and fussed all over me, and the guy was still there. His name was Rocco. Yeah, I know, major cliché, but some hit men really must be called Rocco. Mom threw her arms around him and kissed him, and the guy blushed red as Ecto's fins." He grinned reminiscently. "'Course Mom gave me a lecture that wouldn't quit, and I thought she was gonna forbid me to ever go back to the hideout. But she was a classy lady, and she didn't. She just laid down some major rules, like no going in there alone. But after I had my cast put on and they were making me rest before I could go home, I heard Rocco talking to Mom, and he said not to worry about him, 'cause his boss wouldn't want to use a building that was so easy for kids to get into, and that he'd just been checking it out. I bet it just killed Mom the next time we went there, but Jason and I never went alone again, and nothing else ever happened. But, oh, man, hanging out there alone for four hours that felt like four years was crummy." He gave his full attention to the marshmallow so no one would see his face.

Egon smiled fondly at him, looking up to include Winston and Ray in the look. The fire stayed neatly tame and let Peter toast his marshmallow to perfection. Ray held his breath, hoping it would this time, even if it burned his next one.

When Peter pulled back a perfectly toasted marshmallow, his moment of vulnerability had vanished, and he crowed like a cocky rooster.

"One out of three," Egon challenged.

"Heck, in the major leagues, that'd be a great batting average," Peter retorted. "They bat three hundred, they're doing good. Do you think the people of New York would keep hiring us if we got one ghost in three? Those athletes have it made--and look what they pay them."

Yep, vulnerability definitely over. What's more, Egon was interested. "Hmmm. That is a good point, Peter."

"We gonna do statistics now?" Winston asked.

"Any one of you can quote them to me on almost any baseball player," Egon remarked. "I fail to see the value in knowing how many home runs Roger Maris hit in 1961."

"Gosh, Egon, that's the year he broke Babe Ruth's record," Ray cried. "That's a special year. I bet nobody ever breaks that record."

"I wanted Mantle to do it," Peter said.

"You were four years old," Egon pointed out. "No, I stand corrected. You were still only three. Why would you even care at that age, or understand what it was about?"

"My dad wanted Mantle to win," Peter said simply.

"My father didn't follow sports," Egon replied.

"Yeah, Egon? So what's this hang-up you have about the Toronto Blue Jays?" Peter challenged him. "No interest in baseball? You're a guy. It goes with the territory."

"I simply feel they are a team to watch. What little I know of the subject, I learned from simple osmosis."

"Osmosis, Egon?" Ray threw in quickly, grinning. "Doesn't that mean--"

Egon lifted a haughty brow. "I was speaking figuratively, Raymond."

Peter grinned widely. Ray was sure he didn't know the specifics of osmosis. "I knew you'd get something scientific into it," Peter groaned. "So what scientific thing did you do to burn down the garage?" He took a huge bite out of his s'more and grinned at Egon around a mouthful of crumbs.

Egon grimaced. "At least I have tolerable table manners, Peter."

"Not a table in sight, big guy."

"Therefore, one should ignore proper etiquette?"

"You bet," Peter shot back. "We're camping. We're outdoors. We're guys. We don't have to use napkins and finger bowls and all that crap."

"I'll expect you to start belching and scratching at any moment."

Peter hesitated, probably trying to decide if annoying Egon was worth looking crude. In the end, he swallowed his bite and said, "The garage?"

"Winston's turn next," Egon said. "I haven't taken a P.K.E. reading all evening."

"Meters can wait." Peter's eyes narrowed. "What's up?"

Egon set aside his stick. "Actually, if you will excuse me, I must, er, visit the bushes. Start your story, Winston, as I am sure you have one, and I will be able to hear you just fine."

"Take a flashlight," Winston cautioned him. "My cousin Jack went camping once and when he was using nature's bathroom, he got up close and personal with poison ivy. I bet it wasn't a pretty sight."

Egon snatched his flashlight as if his life depended on it. Peter snickered. "Yeah, be careful, Spengs. I have absolutely no interest in anointing certain portions of your anatomy with Calamine lotion."

"Fortunately for me," Egon returned and stalked off into the bushes.

"Watch out for Bigfoot," Ray called cheerfully.

"So, Winston," Peter encouraged him, although he kept his attention on the direction in which Egon had vanished, ready to rush to his rescue if deadly porcupines or lethal flora should attack his friend. Maybe Egon should have taken a proton pack with him.

"I didn't run afoul of any gangsters or runaway rafts when I was a kid," Winston admitted. "But my brothers and I still got into trouble sometimes. Frank is older than me by a year, and Charlie's two years younger. He'd try to come with us, and we'd try to ditch him, 'cause he was younger, the baby, y'know? I was just glad Frank would let me hang with him and his buddies, and I guess I was kind of mean to Charlie. Just the way brothers kid each other. I wouldn't've let any of the other guys badmouth him. He was my brother, so I got to. It's the rules."

"That's why we pick on Peter," Egon called from the bushes.

Peter opened his mouth to object strenuously, realized Egon was calling him brother, and closed it again. A huge grin spread across his face, but he wiped it off quickly. "I'd be careful if I were you, Egon," he yelled back. "You're out there in the dark with all sorts of deadly wildlife."

"Yes, a squirrel nearly mugged me," Egon called back. The beam from his flashlight turned in their direction as he started back. Ray couldn't help wondering why he was delaying telling them about the garage fire, and he was sure Peter was suspicious, too. They'd have to make him fess up, as soon as Winston finished.

"Squirrels are deadly," Peter said. "Why do you think I always avoid Central Park?"

"Thought that was the muggers, Pete," Winston challenged.

Peter made a face at him. Convinced Egon was returning unmugged by squirrels, he gave his attention to Winston. "So what kind of trouble did you get in?" he asked.

"We lost Charlie."

"You lost your brother?" Egon emerged from the shadows, flashlight in hand, and resumed his seat.

Winston grimaced. In the brief silence before he could reply, the fire crackled and sent up a shower of sparks. They all turned to look at it, then gave their attention back to Winston.

"How the heck did you manage that?" Peter asked. "A kid is kind of hard to misplace."

"We were in the park," Winston said. "We were hanging out there for the whole day. It was a Sunday and Dad didn't have to go in and work. Mama had a job back then; she was a nurse's aide at a hospital, and her hours could be kind of funny, but that day she didn't have to go in until three, so we got up early and took a huge picnic lunch and went to the park. Charlie wanted to hang with us, but Frank and I thought we wanted to go off without the baby tagging along. He was eight then and we thought he was too young to keep up, but Mama said we had to take him with us, so we did. We got in a softball game with some kids we met and played for a while, then we wanted to go exploring. There was a river through the park, and a kind of limestone cliff, with little caves in it, mostly just hollowed-out places scoured out over the years when the water had been a little high, but kids always get a kick out of caves. We went there, and Charlie stuck to us like glue. So we showed him the deepest cave, and while he was in there, we climbed up the cliff--it was only about twenty-five feet, but it seemed huge to us then--and hid on the top. Sure enough Charlie came out and couldn't find us. We were up there snickering like crazy, and he took off downstream. So we went the other way. When we got back to Mama and Dad, Charlie wasn't back, and we didn't have him. Mama threw a fit, and if you haven't seen my mama throw a hissy fit, you haven't seen anything."

"She did it the time I said I wouldn't come over and have Easter dinner with you and your folks, the year Egon and Ray were out of town," Peter remembered. "She got me on the phone and said, 'Don't make me come over there and get you. You wouldn't like it if I had to come over there,' and I knew I wouldn't. Your mama is tough, Winston." Peter grinned fondly. "A great lady, but tough." He took the last bite of his treat and cast a speculative glance at the bag of marshmallows. It wasn't as if they'd run out. The Stay-Puft people kept the team supplied and would for the rest of their lives, not only for busting Gozer in their logo's image but for loaning out the Stay-Puft entity that was the residue of Gozer's possession to the company to film a commercial.

"What happened then?" Ray asked. He'd met Winston's brothers a few times, and Charlie was alive and well, and obviously fond of Winston. He and Frank hadn't lost Charlie for good.

"Mama laid down the law to us. We come back with Charlie or we come back to the worst trouble we'd ever known. Didn't even need a ton of imagination to figure out we wouldn't be sitting down comfortably for a heck of a long time. Mom and Dad went to look, too, but Frank and I stuck together, tracking him down. We went all over that park, and not a trace of him. Searched each one of those caves. I was scared to death he'd gone in the river. He was just a kid and he wanted to play with his big brothers. Frank and I felt about two inches high."

Ray knew they'd only been kids, doing what kids do. But if they'd lost their brother to the river, they'd have never forgiven themselves. When you think of it, it was a wonder nearly everybody got through childhood, with all the stupid things kids do without ever once thinking of consequences.

Peter gave Winston a clap on the shoulder. "We know you found him," he said. "But it must've been rough."

"Rough? You know it, man. You've met my dad. You know how he can be."

Peter shuddered exaggeratedly. "Hope I never have Big Ed Zeddemore mad at me. Bad enough the time you got that concussion on a bust and he sat me down at the hospital and lectured me about recruiting you for a crazy, dangerous job like this."

"Yeah, and I heard every word," said Winston, who hadn't been unconscious at all during the lecture.

"And laid into him something fierce," Ray remembered. "How Ghostbusting was what you did and you loved it, and you'd rather have the concussion than have Egon dead, and that was what would've happened if you hadn't jumped in the way of that Class Seven when you did. Boy, I remember the way your dad's mouth fell open."

"Yeah, you're a heck of a brave guy, Winston. Facing down your dad like that." Peter grinned brilliantly, and his gaze darted to Egon, who sat alive and well and untouched because of Winston's quick action.

"Dad knows what we do is important," Winston admitted. "He was just worried, the way he was about Charlie in the park."

"So what happened then?" Ray asked. "You and Frank didn't get scalped by your dad. Where'd you find Charlie?"

"The little rat knew we'd be looking for him so he took off on his own," Winston admitted with an amused grin. "I wanted to brain him at the time, but he got his own back. There was a man in the park selling balloons. He was an old guy, retired from his real job, and he had a balloon cart and a ton of balloons, all colors. Charlie had met him and the guy befriended him. Charlie fed him a real sob story, batted his big brown eyes at the guy, and son of a gun if he didn't take Charlie off for hot dogs and cotton candy. When we found him, he'd been pigging out for hours and was helping the balloon man fill his balloons. The guy even paid him a whole dollar for helping. The kid was insufferable about it for weeks, and Frank and I were grounded for a whole month." He grinned and reached out a long arm for another marshmallow. "Guess we deserved it, but Charlie went around strutting like mad. Brothers." His grin expanded to include the three of them in it. "A blessing and a curse."

"Peter being the curse?" Egon asked with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"Egon!" No one could whine quite like Peter. He had it down to an art, and he knew just when to do it--and when not to. You had to give him points for that. Of course, he pushed it to the very limits every single time.

"At least he never blew up the lab like a couple mad scientists I could mention," Winston challenged.

"I bet you wouldn't like marshmallow cream in your hair either," Ray threatened and grabbed for the bag.

Winston yanked it to safety in the nick of time, and passed it to Peter, who, having successfully toasted one marshmallow all evening, must have decided it would be a good time to improve on his record. He removed a marshmallow from the bag and shoved it on his stick.

"Speaking of blowing up the lab," he said with a grin, "I think it's time for the story about Egon's pyromania." His eyebrows arched. "Big enough word for you, Spengs?"

Egon grimaced. "It's getting rather late. Perhaps we should retire to bed."

"It's the prime of the evening, big fella," Winston said. His face scrunched up in concentration. "You're not trying to get out of it, are you? It would hardly be fair after the rest of us told about our youthful indiscretions."

"Yeah, Spengs, what's the big secret?" Peter asked. "Failed experiment? Bad science? What a horrible shock. Come on, spill the beans." Grinning in delighted anticipation, he manipulated his stick with the skill of a real pro. The fire was kind to him, even though it made a few teasing forays at his marshmallow that he countered deftly.

Egon's face tightened. Gosh, he was absolutely mortified. Ray saw Peter realize it and hesitate, probably trying to decide if he should back off or not. What had happened? Had someone been hurt in the fire? It dawned on Ray that Egon had never once mentioned the incident, and the only thing they knew about it was that he'd once babbled something when Janine had tried to wake him up in a crisis. Ray hadn't been there. He had been the crisis, missing under the city, but Janine had told him how she'd dragged the guys out of bed and threatened to fire them if they weren't ready to rush to Ray's rescue. Then she'd asked him about burning down the garage, and if it were real or just something in Egon's dream.

But he'd been avoiding talking about it all evening. Gee, if it was something terrible, they shouldn't even tease him about it. What if somebody had been killed? Ray stared at Egon, eyes wide with shock.

Egon saw their looks, but he didn't say anything. It was left to Peter. "Hey, Spengs, want us to back off?" He'd totally forgotten his marshmallow, but the fire had died a bit and didn't attack the hapless treat.

Winston added a log to the fire without even looking at it. He was watching Egon, a line between his brows.

Egon swallowed, squared his shoulders. "No, Peter. You're all now assuming it was far worse than it was."

Peter took that for permission to persist. "So give, already." He nudged Ray with his elbow.

Ray nodded. "Yeah, Egon, we want to hear this."

Egon gazed at the dancing flames with that mesmerized look that people can produce when staring into the fire and seeing the insides of their minds. A fire could be a great focus for remembering. "It wasn't a lab experiment," he admitted reluctantly.

Ray felt his mouth drop open. Egon hadn't mentioned the incident, but given the fact that he'd blown up the lab a few times and nearly blown himself and his teammates up in the process, Ray had simply assumed he'd tried an experiment, and maybe hadn't mentioned it because he considered that he'd used poor scientific method. He'd come down on Peter for designing the "ghost attractor" without keeping notes.

"It wasn't?" Winston deftly popped his current marshmallow into place between a couple of graham crackers. "I thought maybe you tried to automate the lawnmower or something."

"Wow, that's a great idea." Ray couldn't help grinning at the thought of a robotic lawnmower that would work without human intervention.

"Yeah, considering we have such a huge lawn at the firehouse," Peter shot down the idea. He cocked his head and studied Egon, then the light dawned on his face. "You were smoking, weren't you?"

Ray opened his mouth to protest. Even back at Columbia when he and Peter had smoked a little, Egon hadn't. He'd made disparaging remarks about oral gratification and other highfalutin' terms, but he hadn't so much as lit up once. Ray hadn't smoked much, and Peter had quit pretty quick. Their first movie had them smoking all the time, but they'd quit by then. Smoking around their equipment was just plain stupid.

Even in the light of the campfire, Egon's face turned bright red. "Er, um, I...."

"Come on, Spengs, that's not exactly a terrible sin. What kid didn't sneak a smoke when he was growing up? Heck, my pop gave me my first cigarette when I was ten. Told me to go ahead and inhale, and I thought I was gonna puke my guts up. Didn't touch another one till college." He grinned slowly. "Pop was sneaky."

"My father absolutely forbade me to consider smoking," Egon replied. "Uncle Cyrus smoked a pipe, and Father would routinely chide him for it. But I was fond of Uncle Cyrus then, and I thought the pipe looked, er, intellectual, professorial. I had decided at that point that I was going to be a physics professor when I grew up, acquire numerous grants, align with a prestigious university. Father didn't teach, he only worked in the lab, but Uncle Cyrus taught in those days. So I associated smoking a pipe with a higher intellect. When Jimmy Thomas next door got hold of a pack of his mother's cigarettes--they were Salems, I recall--and dared me to smoke one, I said I wouldn't. I was going to smoke a pipe instead. So I borrowed one of Uncle Cyrus's spares. I put so much tobacco into it that I couldn't get it to light, and I knocked some of it out and tried again."

Ray had to smile. He could picture a miniature Egon concentrating on the process as if it were a lab experiment, probably taking mental notes, recalling his observations of his uncle's pipe routine. He glanced over at Peter, who was listening to the story with a huge grin on his face. He'd forgotten his marshmallow, but the fire had shrunk away from it and didn't attack.

"Method and precision, right, Egon?" he asked.

Some of the redness ebbed from Egon's face. "Precisely, Peter." It must have dawned on him that the guys weren't laughing at him. "In the meantime, Jimmy was on his second cigarette. He was crushing them out in an old soup can he'd brought with him. If I'd used it, perhaps disaster could have been averted. But I dumped the extra tobacco without realizing it had landed on some old rags, and that it was smoldering. Just when I got the pipe alight and took a puff--and I must admit, I thought it tasted terrible--fire broke out. We tried to stomp it out with our feet, and realized we couldn't, so we ran. The garage door was shut so we wouldn't get caught, but we went out the side door. I turned on the hose and tried to stop the fire, and Jimmy ran down the street yelling, 'Help! Fire!' I applied the hose prodigiously, but it was too late. Several paint cans exploded, and people gathered to watch. My mother ran out of the house, grabbed me, and pulled me out of the way. I remember thinking it was extremely fortunate that Father wasn't home and that the car wasn't jeopardized. We had a detached garage, and the fire department arrived in time to prevent the blaze from spreading to the house. They couldn't save the garage, of course."

"Whoa, Egon, when you were a bad kid, you were way over the top," Winston said.

"That's our Spengs, class act all the way." Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "What did your dad do when he found out?"

Egon winced. "Father had a particularly stern lecture he would give when he felt I had fallen short of expectations, and that time he excelled himself. It was worse than the spanking Jimmy admitted he got. Father managed to make me feel two inches high. I had to forfeit my allowance for a whole year, and to do neighborhood chores to raise the money to replace Uncle Cyrus's pipe. It was only when I went to bed that night, thinking Father was utterly disgusted with me and that I was a total failure, that my mother came and told me he'd been so stern because I had come so close to...." His voice trailed off.

Ray jumped in and rescued him. "Yeah, like I got bawled out royally for the raft. When your folks are scared for you, they get a little fiercer than usual."

"Yeah, Mom really reamed me for going to the hideout alone," Peter admitted. His eyes sparkled at the memory. "Come on, Egon, don't freak. It's how they tell you they care."

Poor Egon reddened all over again. Before he could fumble out any embarrassed words, the fire crackled fiercely and darted a flame at Peter's marshmallow. He let out a protesting yell and yanked it back just in time. "Look at that. Perfect, and I wasn't even paying attention." He assembled his chocolate and graham crackers without looking in Egon's direction. For a guy who could be blunt and annoying without even trying, he could also be tactful when the need arose. He'd probably tease Egon unmercifully about his pipe-smoking escapade later on, but that would be okay. Egon would be fair game, now that the secret was out.

"Even you, Peter, can learn from your mistakes," Egon said, but it was more to play the game than to get on Peter's case.

"Heck, yes. Just hanging out with you and Ray taught me how to build the microwave emitter and take out Nexa after all. I'm a smart guy."

"It did blow up, Peter," Egon reminded him.

Peter stuck out his tongue at Egon. Fortunately, he hadn't yet bitten into his treat, so the view, while not especially appealing, wasn't as disgusting as it could have been. "Afterwards, Egon. It did its job first." He squared his shoulders.

The sound behind Ray started out so soft that at first it didn't penetrate his consciousness. It felt so good to sit here with his friends around the campfire that the rest of the world had faded entirely. But the sound grew, expanding into a snarl or a growl. Ray felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "Gosh, what's that?"

Winston, off to Ray's left, jumped to his feet, spilling a couple of marshmallows into the fire, and took an involuntary step backward. "Where are the proton packs?" he asked in a tight voice.

Eyes as big as dinner plates, Peter grabbed the end of a flaming stick out of the fire. He gasped at the heat of the end he held, even if it wasn't actually burning, but he didn't let go. "Egon, freeze!" he warned. "Ray, edge toward Winston. Now."

Ray risked one look over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. The cougar that emerged from the trees looked as big as a buffalo, its teeth gleaming in the firelight, muscles rippling under its tawny coat. It must have decided it wanted a Ghostbuster as its dish of the day. Its eyes fixed on Egon, it padded deliberately toward them, lean, hungry, and dangerous.

Weird that it would approach them like that. Four of them and a fire; surely it would be more likely to attack a solitary person in the darkness. What if it had come earlier when Egon had taken his bathroom break? Maybe it was starving--or rabid? Ray couldn't hold back the shiver. Maybe it was even an entity. But the glow in its eyes was a reflection from the firelight, not the inner glow of a spirit. Whatever was making it approach the fire like this was bad. They were in big trouble--and not a weapon among them.

Peter's breath hissed out--the stick had to be searing his palm--and he edged very carefully past Egon, right into danger. "Proton packs are in Ecto," he said tightly. The four of them risked quick glances at the converted hearse. It was about five hundred yards away, where the road ended. They could see it in the starlight but it might as well have been on the moon for any luck they'd have racing for the packs. The minute somebody ran, the huge cat would be sure to go for him.

"What do we do?" Winston asked, but Ray could tell he was already trying to work out strategy in his head. "Shouldn't be stalking us like this, with the fire so close."

So he'd felt it, too, that the cat's behavior was unusual. Was it a spirit creature? If only Egon had kept his meter with him.

Brandishing his flaming stick, his mouth tight, Peter jumped past Egon, and thrust the brand in the cougar's face. "Get out of here!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Peter was brave. But Ray was scared to death he wouldn't impress the cougar.

He didn't. It gave out another savage growl, ducked slightly from the fire Peter thrust at him--at least that was a natural reaction--then sprang. Peter stumbled, not backward, which would have pitched him into the fire, but directly between the cougar and Egon, who had turned to consider the situation's possibilities. The cat landed just short of Peter, almost close enough to touch, and snarled at him. Its teeth looked enormous.

"No, Peter," Egon gasped, and went for another log. None protruded, and sticking his hand into the fire wouldn't help anybody. He actually considered it; Ray could see the idea in his face. Then he snatched one of the rocks they'd laid down around the cleared-off area where they'd built the fire, and flung it at the cougar. He missed, but only by an inch. The cougar flinched away from the flying stone, then resumed its stalking of Peter, who pressed right up against Egon's back, refusing to give ground and make Egon a target. Egon stood up carefully without disrupting Peter's balance or making any abrupt moves, and fell in beside him even though he was weaponless. Across the campfire, Winston hesitated, unable to throw a rock because the two of them blocked his shot.

Ray scooped up rock after rock and lobbed them at the cougar, but the blows only seemed to annoy it. Was it rabid? It wasn't foaming at the mouth. Could cougars go nuts? It came a step closer. Peter and Egon must almost be able to feel the heat of its breath. Looking around for a weapon, any weapon, Ray saw Winston frantically prying open the blade of his pocket knife, but a pocket knife wouldn't work against a cougar. They weren't exactly designed as throwing weapons, and if Winston got close enough to use it, he'd probably get clawed. Ray yelled and waved his arms, but the cat didn't give one inch of ground.

The fire crackled and popped with an explosion of sound so fierce it startled them, even focused as they were on the big cat. Sparks shot skyward, and then Ray felt the heat against his back as the flames soared so high they reached as tall as a man. Dancing light filled the clearing, and a portion of the fire detached itself from the main blaze, soared right over Peter and Egon's heads, and dove at the cougar. It turned itself into a protective wall of fire between the Ghostbusters and the cat. Beneath it, the dry pine needles on the ground didn't even ignite.

"Wow," Ray breathed, his mouth agape.

Tentacles of flame lashed out at the cougar, and it reared back, hissing with fury and with fear. For a second, Ray thought it would leap right through the unnatural fire, but after a savage growl, it turned and padded into the trees so fast it disappeared immediately into the darkness. In the silence that followed its departure, Ray heard Peter's breath whoosh out in relief. Once the predator had vanished, the fire collected itself, leaped over Peter and Egon's heads once more and dove back into the main body of the fire. Sparks shot out, and Ray had to slap one out when it hit the sleeve of his sweatshirt. After a second of churning flames, the fire settled down to normal.

"It's alive," Peter blurted out. He looked at the branch he still held, then he edged very cautiously up to the fire and returned it. "Uh, sorry." When he flexed his fingers, he winced, and Egon, in spite of his fascination at the weird paranormal event he'd just witnessed, grabbed Peter's wrist and turned his hand palm up. He stiffened at the sight. "That is a nasty burn, Peter."

"Just blisters," Peter said absently. Although pain shivered through his voice, he wasn't quite focused on his injury. "What the heck happened here? I have to say, that's not fire's usual style. Come to think of it, do wild animals usually come right up to the fire like that? It wasn't possessed, was it, Egon?"

"Without the meter it would be impossible to say, but in the end, it did fear the fire and retreated. However, the fire...." He squinted at the blaze. "Whether the cat was possessed or not, the fire's behavior is definitely paranormal."

"I protected you."

The answer came right out of the blaze, a hissy, crackly kind of voice that made all four men stare. Winston's mouth fell open, and Egon arched one eyebrow practically up to his hairline. As they stared, the fire gathered itself, elongated into a rather manlike shape and produced a face that danced and flickered with little flames, but that still retained its general outline. Darker hollows suggested eyes and mouth.

"Are you the fire?" Ray asked. Excitement thrummed through him. Gosh, this is so nifty.

"I believe it may be a fire elemental, Raymond," Egon said without surrendering his full attention from Peter's palm. He did glance up briefly. "Am I correct?"

"You are." The shape stood burning bright. "I am not the fire, but I have joined it. Ordinary fire may not hold me unless I wish it, but on such occasions as this, I may visit fires. Long have men worshiped fire, back to the dawn of your history, when such fires were the only protection against the night. Of later years, men and fire do not share the intimacy of those early years, and it is only at such moments as this that I can find satisfaction in the presence of those who would bond in the old way."

"There is an atavistic spirit to a good campfire," Egon said as if he understood. "A visitation to an earlier age."

"That's great, and I want to hear all about it, but I have to sit down now," Peter said. Even in the unnatural glow of the enhanced fire, his face held shocking pallor.

The guys converged on him at once. Egon and Ray helped Peter sit on the fallen log. Egon picked up the canteen as if he planned to clean Peter's palm, then frowned. Maybe he thought he should boil the water first.

"That's better." Peter's voice steadied a little, but he still sounded shaky. He let Egon bend his attention over his burned palm. Ray leaned closer to see.

The fire elemental held his peace while they made sure Peter was comfortable. Winston raced over to his tent and brought out the first aid kit and he and Egon conferred over possible treatments.

"Telling stories around a campfire," said the fire elemental, "is one of the oldest communal experiences."

"Yeah, you called that," Peter said, and Ray figured he was paying attention to the elemental so he wouldn't have to think about his burns as Egon bathed his palm. "Sitting around in the dark like this--well, it sort of brings us together. It's kinda...nice, y'know." His muscles tightened, and he suddenly chewed on his bottom lip.

"It creates a type of magic," Ray threw in just so Peter could focus on the sound of a familiar voice. "You know, all jolly together, the stars overhead. There's nothing like a campfire." He put his hand on Peter's back and rubbed it gently.

"Bonds us together," Winston agreed as he pulled out a tube of ointment. "I remember a few campfires in Nam, when we could risk them without alerting the VC. There was always something good about them. Raised our spirits." He glanced at the elemental that had chosen to save them. "Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"You understand. As I listened to your tales, your sharing, and observed your good companionship, I came to like you." The face produced a parody of a smile. "I stopped teasing Peter--"

"You burned my marshmallows on purpose?" Peter blurted. "See, it wasn't me. Told you, guys...."

"Come on, Pete, burning your marshmallows was just like you," Winston disagreed. "Wasn't it, guys?"

Peter made a face at them, then he turned back to the fire. "Thanks for saving my buddies from the cougar," he said. He held his muscles rigid from the pain of his burned hand, but he hadn't even bothered to fuss over himself.

"Perhaps you did not see, but it was injured. A slight wound in the side from a bullet's graze had grown infected. I could not heal it; it would not trust me to do so."

Heal it? Could it have done that? Ray felt sorry for the wild creature. Could it recover on its own? Should they report it to the park rangers to track it down?

The flames crackled in Peter's direction. "While I appreciate your gratitude, I saved you as well, Peter," the elemental said gently.

"Well, yeah, but...." Peter squirmed. His eyes glittered in the dancing firelight, and his mouth tightened.

"It is not a vice to admit virtue," the fire said. "Remember that."

"Usually we have to sit on him to stop him blowing his own horn," Winston said quickly as he unscrewed the medicine tube, and Peter flashed him a grateful look, and quickly reverted to type by making an exaggerated face at him.

"This is all very fascinating," Egon said, "and I would very much like to converse with you, but Peter sustained a serious burn when he grabbed the burning branch to protect me. We must take him to a hospital."

"I'm okay," Peter said promptly. "It's just a few blisters. You guys can do your thing over it and I'll be good as new."

"If the blisters pop, it could become infected, and I fear there might be pieces of the branch imbedded in some of them. We must go."

"Gosh, Peter, that sounds terrible." Ray craned his neck to see better. Blisters spread across Peter's palm and fingers. Peter should be yelling with agony. "We can always come back another time." He turned to the elemental. "Thanks for saving us and for talking to us. We really appreciate it."

"You are not tempted to 'bust' me?" the elemental asked. It must have overheard enough to understand that they were Ghostbusters.

"We'd never do that. You saved our lives. We only bust bad ghosts," Ray said sincerely.

Winston flashed Ray a quick grin. "That's our Ray," he said fondly. "Come on, Pete, I'll anoint you, we'll stick some gauze on it and then let's get you to the car. We can find a ranger to report to about the cougar." He hesitated. "We can't leave the fire burning while we're gone. We can't risk a forest fire." He sat back on his heels, and Ray understood his hesitation. Would putting out the fire harm the elemental who had saved them?

"There is no risk, nor is there need to go," said the elemental. "Peter, stretch out your hand to me. What was done by fire can be cleansed by fire."

Peter hesitated, his eyes full of doubt. He shot a questioning look at Egon. "Spengs?"

"It is an elemental, Peter, no doubt a Class Eight. It will have powers beyond our full comprehension, and it did speak of healing the cougar." He put his arm around Peter's shoulders. "Is that correct? You saved us, and I sense no malice from you, but we're talking about risking my friend to you."

"It's okay, Egon," Peter said suddenly. "It won't hurt me. It's been playing nice with my marshmallows for a while now."

"You suspected?" Winston asked blankly.

"Heck, no, how could I suspect the fire was alive? But thinking back, it could have burned a couple of marshmallows and it didn't, not even when Egon was confessing his great smoking crime and I wasn't paying attention. What do I have to do?"

"Put out your hand to me," the elemental said.

Egon's arm tightened around Peter's shoulder. "Are you very sure, Peter?" he asked.

Peter stared into the fire at the flickering face for a long moment, then he turned his head to grin at Egon. "Yeah, I guess I am," he said, and put out his hand.

Winston picked up his canteen, prepared to fling water at Peter if needed, and the elemental said, "That will be unnecessary, Winston," and stuck out a fiery hand to enclose Peter's. Ray let out a yelp of protest, and Egon jerked as if the touch had burned him instead of Peter.

But Peter only said, "Chill, guys. Whoa. That feels weird."

"Not burning, Peter?" Egon asked anxiously.

"No. It's kind of cool. It feels good, actually."

"If you're sure...." Egon cast one wistful glance at his tent where the meter lay inactivated, then gave his full attention to Peter's hand. Although it was swathed in flames, Peter didn't stiffen in agony, and Ray could smell no horrible odor of burning flesh.

Ray leaned closer, utterly fascinated, and put out one cautious finger to touch the enclosing fire. Peter was right. It did feel cool. It thrummed with controlled energy, and it didn't object to Ray's touch. Encouraged, he leaned closer. The blisters on Peter's palm shrank even as he watched. "Wow!"

"Yeah," Peter said, with a quick grin in Ray's direction. "Wow. Hey, fire guy, you get the gold star for this. You're doing good."

"So I endeavor." Humor filled the sizzling voice.

Egon maintained his hold on Peter the whole time the elemental worked. Gradually, Winston lowered the canteen and crowded in to see. When the entity finally drew back its fiery touch, Peter's muscles had relaxed, and the lines of pain had eased from his face.

"What fire gives, fire also may remove," the entity said. "You are well, Peter."

Peter flexed his fingers, poked his palm with his other hand. Then he thrust his hand in front of Egon's face. "Look at that."

"Remarkable, Peter. You feel well?"

"I feel great!"

"He's gonna be insufferable about this, you know that, don't you?" Winston muttered.

"As he is often insufferable about many things, I believe we are inured to such behavior," Egon replied. He turned to the elemental. "Thank you for saving us and for healing Peter."

"You are welcome."

"I'm gonna run down to Ecto and use the mobile phone to call in and report the injured cougar," Winston volunteered. "It went the other direction. I should be okay."

"I better come with you," Ray volunteered. He found a couple of big sticks they hadn't yet put on the fire to arm themselves with, and he and Winston hotfooted down to their car. While Winston made the call, Ray hauled out a proton pack to take back with them for protection. If the animal came back, they could stun it and maybe the rangers could heal it--or else the fire elemental could.

When they returned to the fire, Egon had retrieved his P.K.E. meter and was happily taking readings of the elemental while Peter watched, a tolerant grin on his face. Ray was sure Peter had kept his eyes on the two of them on their vast trek to Ecto, and his grin confirmed it. He jumped up and took the proton pack, but didn't put it on. Instead he set it between his position and Ray's where either of them could get at it if they should need it.

"That was so great," Ray exulted with a huge grin at the fire. He thought of something. "We won't be hurting you when we put the fire out, will we?"

"No. I am the spirit of fire, not this one small blaze. I come and go as I will, visiting many fires. When a sense of comradeship draws me, I will spend a whole evening in one small fire, basking in the warmth of shared companionship. But I am not tied to this fire. The spark of me can dim so that none may see me, and I would never allow an uncontrolled fire where I am present." The face in the flames smiled. "However, that is enough of me. Since you need not take Peter for treatment, I hope you will remain and continue your conversation. That is all the thanks I need, that you forget about me and resume your lives. I will tend the fire through the night for you and stand watch against the return of the cougar, or you can use your weapon to stun it until someone can come to remove it."

Ray knew he couldn't easily forget the elemental in the fire, and he was sure the others wouldn't either, but if that was what it wanted, he'd give it a go. "What do you want us to talk about?" he asked. Maybe they could entertain it.

"That is your choice." The elemental shrank down into the fire and melded with it so that its outline no longer stood out from the natural flames.

The four of them stared into the dancing flames, and Ray knew the sense of wonder he felt touched them all. Wow, a friendly elemental. He couldn't wait to look up fire elementals in Tobin's Spirit Guide when he got home. It wouldn't be long before Egon sneaked off after his P.K.E. meter, either. He'd want readings of the phenomenon, and probably of Peter to make sure the healing had left him untouched.

Peter rubbed his palm and grinned, his eyes full of wicked amusement. "Then I want to hear about that blonde I saw you with last Saturday afternoon, Ray. The one in the green sweater."

Ray stared at Peter, knowing his face had reddened. He wasn't sure of Karen yet, and as soon as he mentioned her, it was sure to go wrong, so he hadn't yet risked admitting he had started dating a new woman. "You saw us? Where?"

"Coming out of Forbidden Planet. New girlfriend, Ray? Tell all!"

"Should have known Pete would ask a question like that," Winston muttered to Egon as they all resumed their places around the fire. He pulled out four new cans of beer and passed them around.

"Hafta. It's the rules." Peter said as he popped the top of his can. He paused long enough to take a swallow, then he persisted. Knowing Peter, he wouldn't give up until Ray spilled the beans. "Come on, Ray, give. What's the big secret? Inquiring minds want to know."

"Gee, Peter, you sure are snoopy," Ray retorted. He rolled his own can between his palms.

"We could always hear about your girlfriends, Peter," Egon said. He'd never been the kind of guy who drank beer out of a can, but this was camping. He popped the top expertly, although he didn't yet drink. "You usually never hesitate to enlighten us, in far more detail than we actually have the slightest interest in hearing."

Peter waggled his eyebrows at Egon. "It's not like you plug your ears, Spengs, baby. Maybe you'll actually learn something from my vast experience."

Egon made a rude sound.

Peter only smiled. "And if it comes to that, what's the latest word on the Janine front?"

"That, Peter, you shall never know."

Ray couldn't help wondering what the elemental was making of such silly dialogue. But then maybe it didn't matter. What did was that the four of them were together, having fun, being silly, even Egon, just being friends.

Ray loved a good campfire.

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