Monsters and Magic
by Joy Riddle

It was one of those rare, quiet times for the Ghostbusters, a time when only a few calls came in, and they were frequently left to their own devices. This meant Egon and Ray worked on new and improved aids for busting ghosts, Winston went home to visit for a bit, and Peter worked out or jogged or shopped. Janine, of course, manned -- or womanned -- the phones, complaining that she'd never get paid if some work didn't start coming in soon.

Luckily, there'd been plenty of cases before the current lull; for once, there was money in the bank, although if something didn't happen pretty soon they'd probably be in the red again. Peter wasn't inclined to worry about it, as it'd been far too long since he'd been able to exercise normally. 'Normally' meant running in the park, or working out, not dashing frantically after runaway ghosts with a heavy -- and probably illegal, if truth be known -- proton pack on his back, blasting at goopers who'd just as
soon slime him as not.

Humming to himself, he tied his Nikes tightly, admired his trim figure and new jogging shorts set in the full-length mirror, and wandered out to tell Egon and Ray he was leaving.

As he'd figured, they were in the lab.

"Have fun, Peter," grinned Ray. "Although it's supposed to rain, you know."

Egon nodded, eyes glued to the device in front of him. "And my weather balloon won't give you sunshine. Besides, I haven't quite got it repaired yet . . . seems someone used one of my controls for his video game without permission."

"Hey, now wait a minute -- I asked you if I could borrow it, and you said you probably wouldn't be messin' with that balloon for a long, long time!" Peter sputtered, well aware it was simply Egon's way of reminding him he knew where the control was. "I'll find it for you when I get back!"

The redheaded Stantz hid a smile; his two friends were into the "let's snipe at each other and see who wins" sort of bickering they'd indulged in since college. Sometimes Egon won, but usually Peter came out on top. "Don't listen to him, Peter. Go run in the park. When you get back, maybe we can demonstrate what we've been working on."

"Take care not to run into anyone," Spengler murmured. "We don't need to be sued right now."

"I'm not drivin', I'm jogging!"

"Just the same . . . "

"See you guys later," grumbled Venkman, heading for the stairs. He wasn't in the mood to play verbal games at the moment, and if it was going to rain, he sure didn't want to waste time fussing with Egon.

Ray watched him leave. "Peter's being a little short-tempered, isn't he?"

"No more so than usual." Egon shook his blond head. "Although not having ghosts to bust may be putting him a little out of sorts. And he feels left out scientifically when we collaborate on new equipment on our downtime. He'll be all right."

"Yeah . . . I guess so." With a sigh, Ray bent back to work on fine-tuning the device; he didn't like the idea of Peter feeling left out.

* * * * * * *

Once he arrived at the park, Peter felt a bit more clear-headed. What was he thinking of, letting Spengs get the best of him so easily? Probably nothing more than lack of activity; they should start looking for something to do soon, if only a talk show to remind people they were still in business . . .

He noticed a figure standing in his way on the path but figured he could go around him if the guy didn't hear him coming. Funny, looked familiar somehow . . . Egon's build, more or less, broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs, slightly longer torso than normal, but the hair was wrong. Blond, but
straight, with an odd silvery cast to it . . . and he was wearing bluejeans and boots, which wasn't an Egon-ish combination, even if he didn't know Egon was back in the lab experimenting on some new invention with Ray. The man was wearing a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a wristwatch on his right arm,
and smoking, his back to the exercising Venkman.

The cigarette smoke wafted towards Peter, who tried to avoid breathing in, but found the scent was peppermint, not tobacco. He was going too fast but he tried to rein in, for he suddenly knew who this was, and running into him was one thing he'd rather not do.

Unfortunately, he tripped over a branch he hadn't seen lying in his path as he tried to avoid the man. Somehow, despite the distance between them, strong arms caught him before he could fall headlong onto the gravel, and he found himself looking into the amused blue eyes of someone he had hoped he'd
never see again.

"St. Cloud!" Peter spat, struggling to get free. "How'd you get here?" Recalling the fact that there'd been a good ten feet between them, he muttered, "Never mind, I don't want to know." Harry St. Cloud shrugged and shoved him back just enough to let him regain his feet, then let him go. "You said you were leaving New York!"

"I did leave," came the soft drawl as Harry pushed his grey-tinted, metal-framed glasses back into place. "Now I'm back. You don't own New York, ya know. An' I'm a big boy -- I c'n take care o' m'self."

"You can also run out on people, pull scams, and do all other sorts of illegal things, can't you?" The first time Peter had seen St. Cloud, he was about to be incinerated by a flying dragon; the last time he had seen him was after a disastrous dragon hunt where the busker had "done a bunk" -- got out while the getting was good -- and disappeared until the danger was over with, after having claimed to be a dragon hunter.

Ray also seemed to like him a tad too much for Peter's peace of mind, and Egon and Winston seemed to think he was an all-right guy. None of this set too well with Venkman, who remembered his con man father's ways all too well and knew the type that St. Cloud probably was. Not that he'd managed to get
any evidence as to what the man did when he wasn't around the Ghostbusters . . .

St. Cloud shrugged again, puffed his cigarette -- the smoke curled elaborately into oddly quizzical shapes and changed scents to wildflowers of some sort, a magic trick Peter still wasn't sure how he accomplished -- and commented, "If you say so, Pete."

"Dr. Venkman, to you."

"Okay . . . Doc." Harry grinned crookedly. "Remarkable lack o' spooks about lately, huh?"

"I suppose a dragon ate them."

A quirk of an eyebrow showed puzzlement. "Dragon? Not that I know of . . . although I suspect a demon is about. Demons ain't m' best subject, though, so it might be one o' yer more powerful ghosts . . . "

Smoke swirled into the shape of something dark and nasty, vaguely humanoid but with long clawed hands, then blew away; the cigarette's smell was like rotting leaves. Harry withdrew the butt from his mouth and frowned, then took a final puff and stubbed the embers out in his right hand, where they
disappeared when he closed his fingers.

The last scent was like cool mint and soft moonlight, almost indescribable and like nothing Venkman had ever smelled before. "Starblooms," St. Cloud said softly as if in explanation, then shook himself -- reminding Peter of a horse for some inexplicable reason -- and glanced about. "Where're the
others?"

"Oh, no. You're not invitin' yourself to Central again. We don't need you around there, buttin' into our business."

"Except right now, you don't have any business," St. Cloud pointed out, ignoring Peter's hostile tone.

"The one time you showed up before, you led us on a wild dragon chase and almost got us all killed!" Peter almost shook with fury. St. Cloud was too much like him in personality for them to get along, and the street performer never seemed to let Venkman's comments get to him, which infuriated him even
more. Fists clenched, Peter waited for the inevitable wisecrack reply, only to be met with solemn blue eyes.

"I didn't run out on you; I almost died myself."

"Right, I saw you in that stone cage with us when that beast was chasin' Ray and meant to have him for lunch." Peter snorted and turned away.

"I was there . . . and I did almost die. I'd never let anything happen to Ray if I could prevent it. And, believe it or not, I'd never let anything happen to you or the others if I could stop it, either."

Shaking his head, Venkman began to jog away. "I don't believe you. You're a con man, and not to be trusted. Stay away from Ray, or I'll make you wish you had!"

To his startlement, the slender St. Cloud caught up with him easily, matching his pace and not becoming winded even when he picked up speed. "You're not Ray's keeper; he has to have some friends besides the team. And Venkman, I'm on your side. If we can't be friends, can we at least keep the animosity
down enough to consider some of the things I've said? There is something brewing, and I'm not sure what."

"I suppose you're going to go tell Egon about this strange new discovery, right?"

"Can we just agree to disagree, then? And yes, I probably will tell Dr. Spengler what I've found."

"I'll think about it . . . "

" 'Kay, that's all I'm askin' for. See you later." Harry put on a sudden burst of speed and left Venkman behind, dashing around a bend where Peter could no longer see him.

"Waitaminute!" Peter dashed up and around the twist in the path -- but the path was empty. No one was in sight. Frowning, Peter started back to the firehouse to warn the others that trouble was back in town . . .

* * * * * * *

Back at Ghostbusters Central, there came a polite knock on the door. Janine growled under her breath, but it might be a client; she put away the pad on which she had been doodling hearts and the initials "E.S." and "J.M." and went to the door.

Outside was a man she had seen once before, although this time he was not dressed in a grey suit and matching hat. "Mr. St. Cloud -- what brings you here?"

"Harry," he corrected with a grin. "Got somethin' I need t' tell Dr. Spengler an' Ray, if they're in."

"They're workin' on something up in the third floor lab," she jerked her thumb towards the stairwell. "I keep expecting to hear an explosion. Do you remember your way around here?"

"Sure thing, pretty lady. I'll just go on up an' try not t' interrupt 'em til they get to a stoppin' point." He grinned and started towards the stairs, then stiffened slightly. "Spit," he said softly and jumped up the
stairs two and three at a time. "Get outta there! It's gonna blow!"

Janine stared after him, then hit the stairs at a dead run.

Inside the lab, Ray and Egon barely heard the shouting. The new machine was working as planned, but there was an odd hum to it that was growing in intensity. "I'll turn it off," Ray frowned, hitting the button.

The hum grew louder.

Egon stared at the machine. "It should be off -- what is going on?"

The door burst open and Harry St. Cloud catapulted in. "Down! Get down!" He lunged forward, tackling Ray and pulling Egon down as well. They tumbled into a heap, Harry on top, Egon on the bottom, and Ray in the middle of the sandwich, arms and legs flailing at the unexpected attack.

"Stay down!" Harry pushed Ray's head down as he tried to look at the table; Egon automatically searched for his red-framed glasses, knocked loose during the fall.

The machine whined, smoke formed, and the thing exploded, shrapnel hitting all four walls. Janine managed to duck the few pieces that went through the doorway just as she approached it. "Egon! Ray! Are you all right?"

"Fine, Janine, thanks to -- oh, hello, St. Cloud. What brings you here?" Egon extricated himself from the pile; finding his glasses, he slid them into place and stood up, then extended a hand to help Ray to his feet.

"Aw . . . I thought we'd fixed it." Ray muttered unhappily at the sight of the blackened table and the pieces of metal embedded in it and the walls.

"Just dropped in . . . " Harry commented drily. "Good thing, too." He gestured at the wall behind them. Several chunks of smoking metal stuck out of the wall, approximately at head and throat height. "Minute or so more, an' you guys'd be bunkin' in yer own containment unit."

"So it would appear . . . but that isn't what brought you here, I would guess. I should be thanking you, though, for your fast action."

"S'okay. What're friends for?"

Ray grimaced at the mess, then noticed who had tackled him; St. Cloud was still sitting on the floor, catching his breath. "Harry!"

"Hi, Ray. What was that gizmo s'posed t' do, other than take you guys outta th' land o' th' livin'?"

"It wasn't supposed to do that -- it wasn't supposed to be able to explode, either!" Ray said unhappily. "We built in a lot of safeguards so it wouldn't get out of control, but it did. It was a more powerful sort of
P.K.E. meter -- well, it would've worked that way -- so we could calibrate for demons and ghosts above class nines."

"Apparently, some demon or ghost above class nine didn't want you t' be able t' do that," muttered St. Cloud, getting to his feet and dusting off the seat of his jeans. "Which is why I dropped in."

"I suspected as much," Egon said slowly as he considered the possible reasons behind Harry's sudden reappearance. "You only seem to show up when help may be needed for something more powerful than our normal class threes to fives."

"Umph." Harry pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes that had been in one of his back pockets. "Well, those ain't gonna do me much good . . . " He dropped the squashed package into a nearby trashcan.

Egon waited; when St. Cloud was ready to explain, he would do so. He also made a mental note to fish out the discarded cigarette package to see exactly what brand of tobacco the busker smoked, since the smoke seemed to change scents and shapes. Ray stood on one foot and then the other, as if he needed
to go to the bathroom; he already seemed to be ready to go dragon-hunting if need be. Janine glanced from Ray to Egon, wondering what was going on.

"Ran inta Pete in th' park; he was joggin'. I notice Winston ain't around, an' you guys haven't been in th' news lately, so most o' th' cases yer gettin're prob'ly th' threes t' fives. I s'pect that's gonna change real
soon now . . . "

"What makes you say that?"

Harry made a vague gesture. "Y'know that old church 'bout three miles from here? Th' one that used t' be so pretty an' has now been condemned?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah . . . I used to walk by it sometimes when I was a kid. It had lots of stained glass and statues and marble steps . . . shame it got so run-down."

Egon, not being a native New Yorker, frowned slightly. "I've seen it; but not when it was in its glory, obviously. What about it?"

"I've been watchin' it," the street performer scratched his head. "An' from what I've been able t' tell, ghosts've been goin' inta it an' not comin' out."

"Are you certain these ghosts did not exit after you quit watching?"

St. Cloud grinned crookedly. "Pretty sure, yeah -- an' they were goin' in day an' night. None of 'em, so far, has come back out. That's why I'm not askin' Slimer t' come along t' watch -- might be dangerous to him."

Ray frowned. "Sounds like that poltergeist-like spirit that tried to engulf Slimer before; and Samhaine, apparently, can work that way too, gaining power from other ghosts and nether beings . . . "

"But why?" asked Janine, puzzling over the entire exchange.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here," admitted Harry, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets and leaning his rump against the table. "The thing, whatever it is, seems t' be drawing power from either those trapped ghosts or somethin' I haven't figured out yet. But it ain't a nice character, I can say that much."

"Minor demons or dieties seldom are . . . 'nice,' that is." Egon stroked his chin, a scowl deepening as he considered what little he'd been told. "Why can you say that it isn't pleasant?"

A shiver went through St. Cloud, as if a cold wind had hit him suddenly. "It disembowels things. Not completely, mind, but cuts the stomach and lower and then lets the animals -- so far, it's been animals I've found -- panic and run and complete the damage so they bleed to death." He pulled something out
of his pocket; it was a cheap plastic baby doll. "I found that just before I decided to come tell you guys about it. This critter wants to do the same to people as it's been doin' to dogs and cats; it's only a matter of time before children start disappearin', or homeless folks."

Egon took the doll and examined it mutely. Long, deep gashes ran from one side of its body to the other, nearly bisecting it. "This is what the dogs and cats looked like, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Except they had been alive, yeah. I found most of 'em too late t' try t' help . . . "

Ray looked as if he were about to cry. "All those poor animals -- and people, too? Egon, we've got to do something!"

There was the crash of the door being flung open downstairs, then rapid footsteps pounded up the stairs. "Egon! Ray! He's back -- I saw him in the park -- "

"Oops," muttered Harry. "An' no back door f'r me t' go through . . . "

"Let me deal with Peter; it does look as if you've found something that must be taken care of -- by us, if it's supernatural, and by the police, if it turns out to be human."

"It ain't human."

Egon raised an eyebrow. "It probably isn't, but it may have been at one time. Since you have no way of knowing its classification, it may be a ghost or a demon."

"I don't know your classification systems, no -- but I'm fairly certain if this thing ever was alive or human, it was a long, long time ago . . . " Harry turned as Peter pelted into the room, only to stop dead at the sight of St. Cloud.

"How'd you get here so fast?"

"Magicians never tell all their secrets, so let's leave it at that. I'll be goin', now, to check up on what I've been watchin'. You might wanna go through yer Tobin's t' see if you c'n figger it out. I know I didn't have
much t' tell ya, but th' modus operandi should help; can't be too many spooks that like inflictin' pain so much an' so nastily."

Harry walked rapidly to the firepole and slid down; Peter had already discovered he was much stronger and faster than he should be and wasn't about to go after him. "What's this all about? What did he tell you, Egon?"

Egon held out the doll; Ray bit his lower lip at his first glance of the damage. "Somebody hates baby dolls -- well, it is cheap plastic, an' poorly done, at that." Peter shrugged. "Not like it was one of those collector
porcelain thingies."

"St. Cloud found it at the old church not too far from here. He also says he's seen ghosts going in it, day and night, and not leaving."

"You can't trust him, you know that. He didn't get us killed last time, so he's tryin' again." Peter snorted, disregarding the doll in Egon's hand. "Just ignore him. I do."

"He didn't try to get us killed, Peter," Ray denied the charge against his friend. "He helped us -- all of us! You're just too stubborn to see that he might not be -- "

"Might not be what, Ray?" Egon queried gently. He had suspected there was a lot more to Harry St. Cloud than he had discovered himself, and had tried to get information out of Ray before.

"I . . . promised him I wouldn't tell." Ray studied the floor miserably. "But he did help us before, and he must think this thing in the church is serious, too, or he wouldn't've come. He knows Peter doesn't like him, so he's been staying away -- "

"But you've been seein' him, haven't you? He didn't leave town like he said." Peter's eyes glittered a deep, dangerous green.

"He did leave -- for a while. He just showed up in that same park where we first saw him about a month ago. He hasn't been doing his act, either, or dressing in the clothes he did then -- he's always dressed casually, jeans and boots and a button-front shirt. No suits and hats, weird ties or suspenders." Ray frowned slightly. "I don't know where he's staying, or how he's managing to eat. He won't let me buy him dinner -- once in a while he lets me get him a soda or some ice cream, if I'm having some too, or he'll
give me some change to pay for it. No bills -- just coins. Some of them look sorta old . . . "

"Probably stole them."

"He's not a thief!" Ray looked miserable. "And he's my friend. He's not like you think, Peter -- he's a good . . . "

"What's the matter?" Egon prompted. "Isn't he a good man?"

"Well . . . yes . . . but . . . I can't tell you. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you sometime."

"Sure he will."

Janine, fed up with the bickering, went to the bookshelf and pulled out the large volume labeled Tobin's Spirit Guide. "Are you gonna start lookin', or do I?"

Egon took the book from her and carefully put it on his desk. "I'll look up what I can in a moment, Janine. I think, on this case, you should stay out of it as much as possible."

"Yeah, right. Take care of the phones, Janine, stay out of trouble, Janine -- I can handle a thrower and trap as good as you when I need to!" She put her hands on her hips and dared him to refute her.

"Maybe you should call Winston and tell him we might need him soon," Ray said slowly. "And we might have to call on you, too, Janine, but -- "

"We could always instruct St. Cloud on how to use the equipment. This may require all four of the team and two as back-up," Egon mused, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "Slimer, as St. Cloud pointed out, would be in danger and a liability in this case."

"You'd ask him to train as back-up?" blurted Peter, incredulously. "He's not to be trusted, I tell ya!"

"All right, I'll call Winston," snarled Janine, ignoring Venkman's outburst. "But if you think I'm stayin' outta this bust, you've got another think comin', Dr. Spengler!" She turned on her heel and stalked out, determination etched on her face.

"Trouble," sighed Egon, "major, major trouble. It's not that I'd prefer to use either Janine or St. Cloud -- she's proved her worth, although he is a bit of an unknown quantity -- "

Ray made an odd little sound, something like a strangled nervous giggle, and Egon gave him a contemplative stare. Peter scowled and crossed his arms, then noticed the new wall decorations.

"What gives, Spengs? Didn't think you went for modern art." He fingered one of the metal chunks, drawing back with a yelp. "That's hot!"

"Still?" Spengler doubtfully touched one of the shards, discovered it was indeed still rather warm to the touch. He tucked his forefinger into his mouth, sucking slightly to stop the sting. "Ow."

Ray inspected the wall, but did not touch anything. Instead, he held his hand a few inches away from the metal. "Wow," he breathed. "If Harry hadn't tackled us, that stuff would've hit us and probably gone right through us, cauterizing as it went. Nasty!"

Peter shook his head as if his hearing was defective. "Slower, Ray, Egon. That gizmo of yours exploded?"

The two scientists glanced at each other, then back to Peter. They nodded in unison. "We were doing a test," started Ray.

"And I vaguely heard something downstairs," stated Egon, taking his finger from his lips. "But the machine was making a noise it shouldn't have -- "

"And it wouldn't turn off, and it didn't have a plug, and suddenly someone
yelled at us and grabbed me -- "

"Which knocked me down as well, on the bottom, minus my glasses -- "

"And it blew up!" Ray finished. "But it shouldn't have . . . "

"No chance St. Cloud could've rigged it to blow an' make himself out as a hero, huh?" Venkman chewed on a hangnail he seemed to have just discovered.

"Peter!"

"How could he, I didn't even know he was in town -- "

"Okay, okay, so maybe he is a good guy. Or maybe he just felt guilty about almost gettin' us all killed with that dragon hunt of his. For now, I'll give 'im the benefit of the doubt. But I don't particularly feel safe with
the idea of him behind me with a proton pack, either."

"He has other ways of fighting," Ray murmured. "He may not need a thrower."

"Sure, Ray. Just like he got rid of the dragon. Wasn't it a very big, shaggy horse with a horn in its forehead that killed the thing?" Peter reminded Ray. "And it vanished when it died. Don't tell me St. Cloud had
anything to do with that unicorn; he can't be a virgin."

Ray looked confused. "What has being a virgin got to do with anything? I think dragons and unicorns are just natural enemies . . . Oh. Well, I don't qualify as unicorn bait, either, any more than the rest of you guys."

"Maybe it's just your outlook on things."

"It might have been attracted by purity of heart," mused Egon. "Or innocence of the soul. I haven't been able to find much out about unicorns, actually. At least, not tall, shaggy ones like that one."

"I . . . don't think the unicorn or the dragon were from our world," Ray said softly. "I haven't been able to find out any information on either one, and I've been going through lots of inter-library loans trying to find reference books on them."

"Maybe you should ask St. Cloud to loan you one of his books he said he'd studied," Peter groused. "He'd let you borrow one, wouldn't he?"

About that time, Janine yelled up the stairs from the second floor. "I got Winston; he'll be back this afternoon. Sounded like I'd gotten him outta a quarrel with his dad over something, or maybe he was just bored with his brothers an' sisters squabblin'. One o' you guys owes me lunch! Slimer just swiped mine."

"Slimer must be desperate, if he swiped that rabbit food you've been toting in lately," Peter yelled back. "You holdin' out for MacDonald's, or somethin' a bit more pricey?"

"If we go to MacDonald's, I can get one of those toys for my nephew Victor; he's still missin' the one of the two mice," Janine said, but she didn't sound exactly happy.

"Perhaps we should all go out to lunch," Egon concluded. "We can continue our discussion after we come back; and perhaps St. Cloud will have more information for us then, too."

"We'll go as soon as I change clothes," Peter agreed hurriedly. "Jogging shorts don't exactly count as clothing to go out to eat in!"

* * * * * * *

Outside the church, Harry St. Cloud settled himself down to watch and wait. Bad enough he'd run into Venkman, twice in one day no less, but that explosion in the firehouse lab pointed to the fact something big and nasty was brewing.

He hadn't really intended to get involved with the Ghostbusters again. Ray had run into him in the park about a month ago, when he was checking to make sure that any remains of Basilisk and its cave were gone for good -- sometimes dragons had relatives that followed to share in the spoils -- and not sending out any magical traces that could be followed. Harry had kidded around with Ray, and then had stayed behind, something nagging at his telepathic senses and leading him to the old church.

The building had obviously seen better times and the outside seemed fine, but the inside showed signs of desecration; broken statues, cruciforms turned upside down, red and black paint sprayed on the walls in obscene sayings and symbols. No one seemed to be living there -- surely the homeless of New York
would've been there for some shelter unless something were wrong -- and Harry had opened himself up for a possible psychic attack as he trolled for information.

His hands went to his head as he received impressions of cruelty and blood; his knees gave out for a moment and he almost fell, but stayed erect and moving, possibly giving him a chance to get out. Shakily, he looked about but saw nothing --

No. Something. A coil of smoke or some sinister shadow was beginning to boil out from under the broken altar. St. Cloud held his breath, then turned and sprinted for the door; it might be none of his business and not mean harm, but at the moment he wasn't prepared for a magical battle, either.

On the way out, he'd discovered one of the many pitiful corpses of wild animals, practically torn in half by the being inside the ruined church. It had been a squirrel. Later, he'd found larger animals and could more readily discern what had caused the eviscerations; long, sharp talons. At that time, he merely registered the fact that dead animals and a possible attack on anyone foolish enough to wander in would definitely keep the homeless away from the church -- but there had been no symbols outside to keep anyone away,
either, other than the "condemned" banner that drooped over the open doorway.

So . . . he had stayed out of the building, waiting and watching as he was now. About two weeks after he'd begun his seige, he noted that spirits entered the building but did not return. That was bad news. Not being able to find out much about what might be tenanting the old church, he wasn't sure
how to combat it, and the only ones that might would be . . .

The Ghostbusters. Harry hated to bring them in on this, but what else could he do? Not being from the Ghostbusters' world in the first place, he was bound by his own rules from his dimension -- although the thing in the church wouldn't know that. If it tried to hurt him, then it was fair game -- well, it had attempted something, but whether it had meant to disembowel him or simply frighten him away, he wasn't sure. And ghosts weren't his specialty, anyway -- although this might be a demon, he thought it was a ghost, but
since it had apparently engineered an explosion of a potential weapon at Ghostbusters Central, it was dangerous to the Ghostbusters, at any rate.

Sighing, Harry mulled it over, still slightly confused and bemused at just what he could do with something preternatural that was out of his realm of experience . . .

* * * * * * *

Under the broken altar was a hidden pathway to the sewers, and those reached under the entire city. It had been easy to send a few of his minions in search of the ones the intruder had been thinking of so furiously these past days.

True, he knew the invader was outside, watching and waiting; unless the man came back in, however, he was powerless to do anything against him.

The foolish mortal children who had desecrated the church had called him up but been unable to control him; still, their incantations had prisoned him within the confines of the building above the surface. Below, however, he could range about the sewers to find habitats (although he could not enter them or entice humans to invite him in) or send weak spirits he had lured to do his bidding. That was how the explosion had happened in what the intruder thought of as "Ghostbusters Central." It had been simple to find the old
firehouse and send ensorcelled spirits to sabotage the machine. However, the explosion had not killed the men as he had intended; another 'favor' he owed the lurker outside.

Like most minor demons, he longed for more power, greedily sought it. The man who had walked in and cast about telepathically had alerted him to the fact that other prey might be had besides animals; prey with abilities he could use, if he could trap and keep or kill the one with the power. If he could capture or kill the one waiting outside, or lure these . . . "Ghostbusters" . . . within his sanctuary and prison, he might be able to break free. Possibly he could possess one, compel him to bring others in as worshipers or sacrifices; either would give him more power.

That would be sweet, to have humans bring in more humans as sacrifices . . . pain and fear to savor, deaths that would bring him even more magic . . . much more satisifying than animals to torture and kill, which brought him a bit of satiation and lessened the hunger for power and blood . . .

Soon, soon. He had only to wait a little while longer and some victim would come to him, he knew . . . He had already worked out a plan and sent one of the weak spirits to make what these beings termed a 'phone call' to a certain special number . . .

Inside the ruined church, the minor demon bided his time, waiting and watching much as the telepathic man outside did . . .

* * * * * * *

When the three Ghostbusters and Janine returned to the firehouse, Winston was waiting inside. "Funny message on the answering machine." He frowned at the blinking light. "I saved it . . . doesn't make much sense."

Egon raised an eyebrow and pushed the replay button. A low moaning sound came over the speaker, followed by someone gasping, "Help . . . old church . . . come quickly . . . " before the sound of a body -- and the receiver on the other end -- falling with a loud crash and a smaller clatter.

"Harry?" Ray looked at Egon and Peter.

"Possibly . . . "

"Don't think so; didn't sound right, somehow." Peter scratched his head. "What say Ray and I head over to that church, walking, and call you guys back once we see if anything's going on?"

"I'm not sure that's wise . . . "

"What else can we do?"

"Somebody fill me in," requested Winston. "I'm lost."

The others gave what information they had to Winston, who looked a bit dubious. "So we don't even know what we're up against? Man, I don't like that one bit."

"Mmm." Egon pulled two reserve proton packs out of storage and began charging them up. "Perhaps Ray and Peter could take Ecto-1 to the church and investigate -- if there is anything happening there, they can use the car phone to alert us. If there is something wrong, we can be there quickly using Janine's car or yours, Winston."

"I took a cab; have to be the bug." Winston shot a look over at the redheaded secretary, who had crossed her arms and looked like a thundercloud.

"You did say you wanted in on this bust, Big J," Peter reminded her.

"Oh, all right. But if my car gets even one little scratch -- "

"We'll let you drive," Egon soothed her ruffled composure. "After all, it is your car."

She gave a resigned look at the blond physicist. "Yeah, sure. If it gets hurt, then it's all my fault, right?"

"Right," grinned Venkman. He pulled his set of car keys for Ecto out of his bluejeans pocket. "C'mon, Ray, time's a-wastin', as the cowpokes say in Dewey LaMorte's book."

"Which book is that?"

"All of 'em. Let's go, Tex!"

Egon watched the two slide down the firepoles to the main floor. "I do hope nothing is wrong at the church; this feels a bit like a trap."

"Pete's a big boy; he won't let anything happen to Ray." Winston shrugged. "They'll check it out and let us know; no reason all of us should go on what might be a wild goose chase."

"True . . . but if St. Cloud is involved, and hurt, I'm not sure Peter would be as prompt to call for back-up as he would if it were Ray or one of us."

"C'mon, Egon, Dr. V.'s a professional; he'd call an ambulance even if it were Harry St. Cloud down and out 'cause of a spook."

"Yes . . . I suppose so . . . " Egon sighed and began making preparations in case the call did turn out to be genuine.

* * * * * * *

Ecto-1 pulled up a block away from the church. "No reason to alert the spooks we're here, is there?" Peter chuckled at Ray's questioning look. "Just take along a PKE meter; we're checking out a possible incident, not a confirmed sighting."

"But Harry said there was something in there; aren't you worried it might be real?"

"Nah, we can take it."

Ray shrugged and opened the glove compartment. Looking over the assorted paraphenalia, he picked out a PKE meter and tested it. "This one's working fine."

"Okay, let's go down, look at this church, and report back. Shouldn't be any problems, and if there are, we can beat it back here and alert the others." Peter stepped out of the car and stretched, waiting for Ray to unfasten his seat belt and come along.

Ray crawled out, then slapped his pockets until a look of relief showed on his face.

"What's up?"

"Thought I'd left my keys to Ecto at home for a minute; but I've got 'em."

The brown-haired psychologist raised an eyebrow, then stuck his hands in his pockets and began walking down the block. Stantz darted after him, taking readings as they went.

"Anything showin'?"

"No . . . not yet." Ray twiddled with the knobs but fine-tuning didn't seem to help. "Looks like it's gone or else Harry made a mistake. Something should be showing up if there was anything weird going on."

"Maybe St. Cloud's got weird on the brain," Peter jibed lightly. "He's weird himself, after all. Maybe you should try for readings on him sometime."

"I have. He doesn't seem to register much differently than we do, actually."

"But there are some differences, huh?" He cocked his head to one side as Ray bit his lip; sometimes, Peter was altogether too quick for his liking. "I'll have to try some readings on him sometime myself . . . "

They stopped and looked at the condemned church building. Pigeons must have haunted the old building for years; the patron saint had a liberal coating of white guano and neither man could decide whether it was supposed to be a man or a woman. Paint curled in long strips from the heavy wooden doors. Ray
reached for the black handle then glanced at Peter. "Should we go in?"

"Think the readings will be any different inside than out?" Venkman parried. Ray frowned slightly, then nodded.

"Yeah, maybe. Sometimes spooks are bound to specific places, so inside would be different if it's trapped there. Might be the reason nothing much is registering out here, other than some sort of mild telepathic activity which might even be us."

"Uhm. Back to that theory that since we've all been exposed to so much ectoplasm and such that we're slowly becoming more receptive to mental abilities, if not gaining them ourselves, huh?" Venkman shook his head. "Other than bein' able to tell when the telephone is about to ring, not much
else has shown up to confirm that idea."

"Oh, I don't know; Egon and I have been playing with it a bit. We're doing better on some things than others, of course, but sometimes we say the same thing at the same time -- "

"That comes from the fact you've known each other for so long. I can do that, too."

Ray shrugged, ducked under the drooping "condemned" banner and hauled the door open. Peter followed, glancing about.

There were stains and spray-painted obscenities on the walls; several statues had been defaced, heads knocked off and replaced backwards or between other statues' feet. Most of it looked like teenagers' pranks, playing at being devil-worshippers and flouting their anarchic ideals. The carpet had been
ripped from the transept; what was left had dark stains. The pews had been ripped from their places and lay scattered. Still, there was an odd feeling of cold creeping through the halls as the two Ghostbusters went deeper.

Inside the sacristy, it was worse. The altar was cracked almost in half, as if by an earthquake, and crucifixes were turned upside down. The hanging lamp that signified the presence of Christ had been shattered; only the metal chain and fittings remained. The entire chamber felt desanctified, but by
what, neither man was sure.

"I don't like this, Peter," Ray whispered as a shiver ran up his back. "I feel like there's something here, watching us."

"Rats, probably," Peter shuddered in spite of himself; he hated wild rodents as well as bats, spiders, roaches, most insects, and snakes. "We're lucky New York doesn't have any rattlesnakes around, or vampire bats -- they'd be living here for sure!"

Ray activated the PKE meter; it showed some activity coming from the way they had entered. "That's strange," he muttered as the device's "arms" raised and the monitor began to flash. "It's coming closer . . . and closer . . . "

The PKE meter was in full cry as Harry St. Cloud pelted into the room. "What're you doin' in here?! Get out -- get out now!" He dashed behind them towards the altar, but stopped before he was up to it and began backing away. "Uh-oh . . . "

A black mass -- cloud or shadow -- began to form, emerging from the cracked altar. Harry turned and gestured the two Ghostbusters back the way he had come. "It'll be here in a moment or two -- run! Get help!"

Ray, who had noticed the PKE meter's readings in alarm, didn't wait for a second urging. After a second more, Peter took to his heels as well, only to look back before he entered the hallway.

The cloud had a quasi-human shape, but was definitely not human; its eyes were yellow and hostile. St. Cloud backed away from the thing, but was making some sort of gestures as he went. Peter supposed they were some sort of incantation, but they didn't seem to be doing any good. The thing was still coming closer to the street performer, preventing him from reaching the hallway.

And then the thing's eyes met Peter's, and the psychologist was unable to move. His body didn't obey his will, which told him to run fast and far away; after a moment, he began walking back towards the demon and Harry St. Cloud.

St. Cloud's eyes narrowed and he dashed between the creature and Peter, only to be caught in a blast of power from the thing; his right side was blackened, the skin seared from his arm and leg as he slammed into the floor, his glasses skittering away into the darkness. Peter stood, helpless to do more than watch, as the demon solidified and examined its victims.

Thin lips writhed back from fangs as it scooped up St. Cloud and bent him across one knee as if it were going to break his back. Harry shook his head slightly but made no sound, his eyes mere cracks; he was apparently only semi-conscious.

Peter saw the demon smile and slowly push its talons into the skin below the arch of St. Cloud's ribcage, then begin to rip the flesh down across his abdomen; the man's eyes squeezed shut and he bit his lower lip, trying to move his left arm. But the effort was too much; the hand drooped and grew still.

Suddenly the demon hissed and dropped St. Cloud, whose body rolled limply face down onto the floor. The thing's fingers smoked where blood had touched them; it glared at the offending stuff and then approached Peter. Retracting its claws, it rubbed the blood over Venkman's face, forcing open his mouth
and making sure some of the liquid found its way onto his tongue. Then it clamped his mouth and nostrils shut.

He fought against its grip until spots danced before his eyes, then the need for oxygen made him gasp, and it was too late. His mouth opened to suck in air and the stuff was inside him. Coughing he fought down the gag reflex. The blood did not taste quite right; Peter decided it was because of the demon's burnt flesh. At any rate, if it had been St. Cloud's blood that hurt the thing, it did nothing to Peter other than make him slightly nauseated. It glared at him, then brought its claws into his view and smiled hideously.

All Venkman could do was hope he passed out before the claws scooped out his intestines; he wasn't sure he could take that much pain.

* * * * * * *

Ray raced to Ecto-1, fumbled in his pocket for his keys, dropped them, then managed to retrieve them and unlock the car. He grabbed the car phone and gasped, "There's something in the church -- get here stat! It's got Peter and Harry St. Cloud! I'm going to get a pack and go back -- "

"Ray, listen to me. Stay outside -- we don't need you trapped as well. Chances are, we'll get there in time to trap the thing as well as get Peter and St. Cloud to safety."

"But, Egon -- "

"No buts, Raymond. Stay where you are. We'll need all four of us to get that thing trapped." Egon hung up and Ray stared at the phone miserably. Chances were that both Peter and Harry were dead already, or close to it. He should've stayed behind, but neither of them had taken a pack -- next time, if there was a next time, he'd take the proton pack and forget the PKE meter!

After what seemed an eternity, but was only about five minutes, Janine's Volkswagen roared up carrying Egon and Winston, who jumped out almost before she could stop safely. They pulled their proton packs, plus one for Janine, out of Ecto's back. Ray had fumbled one out and buckled it on so he'd be
prepared once they arrived.

Without a word, the four started for the church, proton packs warming up as they went. Ray filled them in with what little he had seen, and Egon nodded. "Sounds like a minor demon. We should be able to handle it; I only hope we're in time to help St. Cloud and Peter."

"I . . . don't know. Peter had started to run just after I did, but something must've happened." Ray bit his lip, usng the pain to clear his head.

"Hang in there, homeboy," Winston said softly, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. "If we can't handle this, no one can. We'll get 'em out."

Whether or not either one would be alive, they'd bring the bodies out, Zeddemore promised himself. No demon was going to be able to keep a Ghostbuster or a friend of one, alive or dead, in its power.

The antechamber held no answers as to where the two men -- and the demon -- were. The sacristry told the story all too plainly.

Harry St. Cloud lay face down in a pool of blood, right arm and leg blackened, but his left side apparently miraculously untouched. Peter Venkman, as yet unharmed, lay on his back at the feet of a demon that reared back and glared at the hunters entering its lair. It opened its mouth to reveal fangs and roared.

The four almost fired on the thing, but as it made no move towards them, held their throwers at the ready and studied it for a moment.

"D . . . don't b'lieve what ya see . . . " St. Cloud managed to whisper. He cracked one eye open and crawled towards Peter, left hand raised slightly as if to pull him away. Nebulous spiritual entities were hovering about but made no move to help or hinder the injured street performer.

Harry finally managed to reach the downed Ghostbuster and reached out towards him. When his hand touched the body's shoulder, there was an earth-shattering screech and what had seemed to be Venkman became a rather large entity with fangs and talons. The demon form shifted, melting to reveal the psychologist, clothes torn and bloody; his eyes were blank as if he were still under the demon's thrall. Peter pitched forward onto his face, unconscious, while St. Cloud kept hold of the thrashing demon as best he could.

The thing worried its captor like a cat with a rat, but still Harry held on. Stormclouds blotted out the afternoon sky. The Ghostbusters aimed their proton rifles at the demon, but they held their fire until they could shoot without hitting St. Cloud.

Finally, the demon managed to shake the street magician loose, and he fell beside Peter's motionless body. As one, the ion rifles fired, all four catching the demon in the beam. For an instant, it almost broke free and it roared in triumph; then a lightning bolt smashed out of the cloud through the holes in the roof, pinning the monster like a butterfly on a collector's board. Winston threw out a trap while keeping his beam one-handed on the demon, then slammed his foot on the pedal.

The demon struggled and bellowed, again nearly fighting free of the beams. Another lightning bolt streaked down, forcing the demon into the trap; the doors snapped shut and Ray ran to help Harry and Peter. The various ghosts dissipated, the demon's power over them broken.

Winston clipped, "I'm headin' for Ecto an' callin' the paramedics."

"I'm not feelin' so good," quavered Janine, staring at the bloody bodies. "I'm goin' with him, okay?" She turned, hand clapped over her mouth, and raced after the black Ghostbuster. She didn't quite make it outside before she threw up.

"I already called 911," Egon murmured, dropping to his knees beside Ray.

"Oh . . . gosh . . . Peter -- " Ray's face was white. "That thing tried to rip him open, and almost did!"

Egon studied the motionless Venkman. "I . . . think it did. We'd best not move either of them; Harry isn't in much better shape."

"M -- mebbe a bit better," the busker coughed. "I'm still conscious, at least." He closed his eyes wearily, left hand resting on Peter's back. "Spit . . . I don't feel too well, m'self, but . . . "

Spengler glanced at the man, then his eyes widened as he saw faint blue sparks appearing a few inches from Harry's forehead. "Nope . . . that's not gonna be enough."

With a sigh, St. Cloud levered himself to a sitting position; no fresh blood appeared, but he was obviously in no condition to be moving about. Before Egon could move, a shudder rippled through Harry's body; his skin turned white, the hair growing long and straight, his face lengthening into an equine shape. Another ripple revealed a curving horn projecting from his forehead and his eyes opened, strobing bright blue --

A final shiver and the transformation was complete; what had seemed a human male was now a large, shaggy Unicorn. The brilliant eyes focused on the Ghostbuster lying in front of it; the head lowered until the iridescent horn touched Peter's shoulder. A blue glow surrounded the horn, and spread until
Venkman's body glowed as well.

**I cannot completely Heal him,** a voice whispered inside Spengler's and Stantz's heads. **But he will recover. You must not speak of this to the others, Dr. Spengler; Ray already knows that I am not what I seem.**

"But -- what -- when -- "

**Eventually, you will all learn more of me; now I must go. The paramedics are coming, and I . . . cannot be found here. Farewell for a while . . . ** The Unicorn glanced at Ray, who nodded, understanding why his friend could not be there; Egon put out a hand in wonder, touching the long silky mane. Then the outline of the mythical beast began to fade and by the time Winston and Janine led the paramedics in, it was gone.

"Where's St. Cloud?" whispered Winston as the paramedics began working on Venkman. Janine was too involved with keeping her eyes away from the stretcher to really notice only one body remained.

"He . . . wasn't as badly hurt as we thought. He left; seems he has a phobia about doctors." Egon murmured, still a bit dazed by the secret he now shared with Ray.

"I'll tell Janine; she kinda likes the guy," Winston stood up and went to the secretary, who was paler than normal, and whispered to her. She nodded, still not able to look at Venkman.

Ray picked up the trap. "We'd better get this thing to containment; and of course, we'll need to get to the hospital . . . but we do have Ecto and Janine's car . . . "

"You can go with Peter in the ambulance, if you like," murmured Egon, still not quite believing what he had seen, nor the fact that most of the demon's damage to Peter was gone, long and deep scratches being the only sign he had been hurt. It defied all logical explanation.

"I think . . . you'd better go. I'll take Ecto back, put the demon into the containment unit, and get out there as quickly as I can. Peter will be fine, Egon -- you'll see." Ray spoke with the paramedics, getting the hospital's name, and then told Winston and Janine where he was going. Winston nodded,
keeping a comforting arm around their secretary.

Spengler did not quite share Ray's confidence in his mystical friend; there were questions he needed answered, but when would he be able to ask them?

* * * * * * *

Peter was rushed into the emergency operating room, although most of the gashes were not life-threatening. It was better to get the wounds treated and stitched before he regained consciousness. One of the paramedics riding with the injured man simply shook his head and commented to Spengler that if
many of their cases went like this, ghostbusting was not a good career.

Nearly over . . . see first part for disclaimers . . . .)

Egon reflected to himself that normally being a paranormal eliminator was not all that dangerous, until he thought of Gozer and Vigo the Carpathian and a few other busts that had gone awry. He was still muddling through some panicky thoughts as he waited for news on Peter's condition when Ray came
into the waiting room. Winston and Janine were down in the snack bar, getting coffee and sandwiches although no one was hungry, and Egon said as much. Still, common sense prevailed; after a quick lunch that afternoon, some nourishment would keep them going until the operation was over.

Ray nodded and sat down where he could see the doorway; gradually Egon became aware of someone else sitting in the waiting room, someone wearing a grey suit and matching hat, with a bandaged right hand. Wire-framed glasses gleamed momentarily in the dim lighting. "Hiya, Doc. Thought I'd help ya
wait . . . "

"St Cloud!"

"Yup, s'me . . . I'll answer a few questions now, 'fore the others get back. Ray prob'ly already knows some of th' answers . . . "

"You weren't in here when we arrived."

"Nope, just popped in a few minutes ago. Seemed easier than walkin' in th' front doors, considerin'." He raised his bandaged hand. "Hadda go home an' get fixed up . . . if any o' yer hospitals got hold of me, they'd prob'ly make sure I stayed as a specimen. That, I don't partic'larly like th' thought of . . . "

"You're not human." Spengler said it flatly; Ray rolled his eyes.

"He's a Mage, from a different dimension. He's here to help, not hurt." Ray shrugged. "When we fought that dragon, it'd come here from Harry's world; he felt obligated to track it down and take it back. Except it didn't want to go back . . . "

St. Cloud nodded. "I'm a Mage an' a shape-shifter; the street magician act isn't just an act, but it keeps people from realizing I might be just a bit more than I seem." He smiled crookedly. "I think Pete's gonna be fine, he just isn't ready yet to find out that much about me, any more than you were really prepared. It'll be all right; I won't try to come here very often. Maybe . . . just now and then, when you need me."

Janine and Winston entered about that time, hands full of styrofoam coffee cups and vender sandwiches. "Hey, Harry! What're you doin' here?"

"Came t' see about Doc Venkman," was the quick reply. "I'm already fixed up, see?"

"How 'bout a sandwich?" Winston tossed him one of the plastic sealed packages. "Oops. Sorry, no vegetable only things down there, an' they were outta egg salad. Well, we didn't know you were going to be here, either."

"S'all right," Harry said, examining the food. "This says it's ham an' cheese . . . which means the stuff's been chopped, cooked, processed, an' who knows what all 'fore it got here. At any rate, this pig didn't die just for me, which is one of the reasons I don't eat meat. Don't like th' idea of anythin' dyin' just so I can have somethin' t' snack on."

They all ate the sandwiches; Winston had bought several, not knowing just how long they would be there. There were still a few of them left, even after all five of them had eaten two.

As time wore on, Janine remained a bit silent and withdrawn; Ray was optimistic, Egon nervous, and Winston solid and patiently waiting. Even Harry was quiet, occasionally dozing off; Ray whispered to Egon that he suspected it was a self-healing trance, but the Mage woke up at any unexpected movement or could carry on a conversation as if he had not been asleep.

Finally, a man in surgeon's scrubs appeared. "He's out of surgery and he's fine; you can go see him in a bit, if you like. At the moment, he's still under the anesthetic." Egon spoke quietly with the doctor while the other three gave sighs of relief. Harry gave a crooked smile.

"Guess I'll be goin'; tell Peter I was here if he asks, an' I'm fine." He got up and began strolling away. "See you around . . . "

"You aren't going to stay?"

Harry paused at the door. "I'm not family, an' Pete doesn't really like me .. . just tell 'im 'hi' f'r me."

"He's kinda strange," Janine mused as the door swung shut. "But he's a good guy, ya know?"

Ray smiled and nodded, "Yeah. I know."

"So who draws straws to see who goes in first and might be lucky enough to be there when Pete wakes up?" Winston asked, since hospital rules allowed only one person in the room at a time.

"Egon can go; I don't mind," Ray smiled happily. "As long as Peter's all right, I can wait!"

"Sounds good to me. Go to it, big guy."

Spengler nodded. "Thank you . . . I . . . " He smiled weakly and left for Peter's room. "I'll have to thank Harry for the help with the bust sometime," he murmured, still thinking of what might have happened if the
Ghostbusters hadn't had a guardian Unicorn to watch out for them.

**Don't worry about it, Dr. Spengler; I know. Go wait for Peter to wake up. Just remember, if you need me, you've got those business cards from the dragon adventure; it'll have the phone number where you can contact me.**

Egon started and glanced about, but there was no one near. Still, for a second he thought he saw a blue sparkle shimmer into existence to guide him to Peter's room. As he pushed open the door, it winked out.

Then he was beside his friend, and mystical concerns would have to wait.