"Nope. Still reading you guys loud and clear."

Ray chewed his lip in frustration and shut down the field. "Sorry, Peter. I didn't think it would take this long."

Peter rolled his eyes and leaned back precariously on the tall stool on which he was perched in the center of the lab. "Ray, so help me God, if you apologize one more time I'm gonna hang your Dopey Dog from one of the flagpoles at Rockefeller Center. I've heard you say `I'm sorry' so much it's about to drive me nuts."

"I'm so...Okay, Peter," Ray caught himself with a sheepish grin. "It's just...I was really hoping we'd get this done tonight."

Peter hooked one ankle around a stool leg and used his other foot to nudge the shoebox-sized device resting on the floor beside him, eliciting an annoyed glance from Egon who was kneeling down adjusting it. "And how many frequencies are possible here even with all the narrowing down we did? What'd you say, Spengs? A couple hundred?"

Egon looked up from his work, glasses down to the very tip of his nose. "Approximately one hundred and sixty-five. And would you please stop fidgeting while I'm working?"

Peter smirked and reached down to ruffle Egon's hair, grinning at the withering glare he received. "And it takes almost fifteen minutes for each trial given that you have to practically reset the widget each time." He shrugged casually. "So it takes a couple of more days. At least you geniuses were able to pull a working field generator out of your bag of tricks in record time and without blowing the place into orbit. I can put up with another couple nights on the couch if I have to. All I have to do is sit here and tell you guys how you're doing. My kind of experiment."

"Indeed," Egon quipped, not looking up from his adjustments. "A role that requires minimal work and brain power. Right up your alley, Dr. Venkman."

Ray gave Peter a half smile as he gave Egon's hair another swat, then went back to looking over the failed frequencies on their list. Maybe he could find a pattern to them to eliminate other dead ends to speed up the process a bit. Despite Peter's reassurances, he didn't think his friend was getting enough sleep even on the couch. Now that Peter had finally agreed to let them study his ability in all aspects, they'd placed his passive reception range at 20 feet. Even sleeping on the couch, he was probably picking up enough from his friends to disturb him.

And that's close enough for him to return the favor, Ray thought with a shudder. The projective aspect had added yet another complication to an already chaotic situation. Ray, Winston and Egon had all awoken in a cold sweat from dreams full of fear and pain with a sensation of cool, scaled hands gripping their heads and the image of large, sad, amber eyes. Once they woke, the images and sensations persisted in a bizarre parallax, and they realized it was Peter's nightmare they were experiencing. Fortunately, Peter woke slightly on his own before they had to go down and shake him out of his dreams. He seemed to be unaware of the event, and the other three had decided not to tell him. They all felt Peter had more than enough to worry about.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw Peter suddenly tense, but, before he could even look up, the psychologist dove from his stool just as Slimer came arrowing through the wall yelling, "Peeeeetuuuuurrr!"

The green spirit went right through the space Peter had been sitting the moment before and skidded to a stop as he found himself looking down the business end of a proton thrower. Peter had been most selective in the direction he'd taken.

"Okay, Spud," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye as he powered up the thrower. "How do you want it? Medium rare or extra crispy?"

Slimer yelled in alarm and shot over to Ray to hide behind the engineer. Ray sighed and endured the chill of ectoplasm as the ghost clung to his back, burbling "Not fair!"

"Life isn't fair, Slimer," Ray said. "Now, if you want to stay, you have to be quiet and leave Peter alone. Can you do that?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh!" Slimer answered and nodded vigorously.

"If you are quite finished, gentlemen," Egon asked dryly, "could we please continue with the next trial?"

"Whatever you say, big guy," Peter said with a melodramatic groan as he powered down the thrower and took his place once again on the stool. "Throw the switch, Ray."

This time, when the field engaged, Peter jumped slightly and took on a listening pose. Ray shot Egon a hopeful look. Did we do it? Looks like we did something.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Slimer's piercing scream nearly made Ray jump out of his skin, not to mention nearly deafening him since the ghost was just behind him. Egon sent several tools flying from the workbench as he spun around in alarm, and Peter nearly fell off his stool, barely saving himself by slamming a foot to the floor for balance.

"Slimer! What's wrong?" Ray demanded as he spun around. Slimer grabbed him around the neck in a panicked hug and started to bawl.

"Ray! Peter gone! Peter vanish! Peter gone!"

"What the...I'm right here, Spud," Peter said with some irritation. He waved a hand in the air. "Hello! This is Houston calling Slimer. Do you copy?"

The Class Five looked up at Peter's voice, confused, but then started wailing again that Peter was gone. Ray's eyes lit with comprehension. "My gosh! It works!" He spun back around to face Peter. "Can you `hear' anything off us, Peter?"

Peter blinked and closed his eyes for a moment. A slow, relieved smile spread across his face. "Shields up, Captain Stantz." He heaved a sigh and opened his eyes again. "Blessed silence. No thoughts in here but my own."

"I hope you don't get lonely with so little company, Peter," Egon teased, elation creeping into his voice. Peter snorted and picked up a wad of bubble wrap to throw at the physicist.

"I am so unappreciated in my time. Okay, we have a working shield. What's wrong with the Spud?"

"It's like we were thinking before," Ray answered excitedly. "Slimer `sees' people using a psychic wavelength as much as a visual one. When that shield went up, as far as he is concerned, you just disappeared."

"Hmmm...and I think I have additional confirmation of this," Egon said, pointing a PKE meter at Peter. "Your biorhythm reading has altered as if part of it is being damped out. Try projecting. We need to make sure this shield works in two directions."

"Aye, aye, sir," Peter said and closed his eyes, this time with an amused smile. After a moment, he glanced at his friends' and grinned. "Congratulations, Wonder Twins. It works."

"And exactly what were you trying to think at us, Peter?" Egon asked sharply.

"We probably don't wanna know," Ray murmured. "Slimer, leggo! Peter's right here. See?"

Ray shut down the shield and Slimer's head came up like a hunting dog. A wide grin spread across his face and he shot through Ray to embrace Peter. "Peter! Peter back!"

"Yuck! Slimer!" Peter groaned in distaste as ectoplasm soaked through his shirt. Ray chuckled and walked over to them.

"Now be nice, Peter," he chided. "Poor Slimer's been through a terrible shock."

"If he doesn't let go of me soon, he'll get another," Peter said sourly, but made no other move to disentangle himself.

"Hey, what's the hubbub?"

Winston was at the doorway leaning in. He quickly scanned the room and took note of the expressions on his friends' faces. "I take it this means good news."

"Very good news, Zed," Peter said. "I get to have a good night's sleep for the first time in almost two weeks." The psychologist's head came up in that listening pose again and he started to peel the ghost's arms from around his neck. "Slimer, get off! I've got a phone call."

***

To Peter's immense disgust, Slimer was even more difficult to dislodge than usual. As he struggled free, he listened absently to his friends' discussion as they started to move the shielding equipment into the bunkroom.

"You know that phone trick's been puzzling me ever since this whole thing started," Winston was saying. "How does a precognitive suddenly turn into a telepath?"

"Probably because it wasn't really precog in the first place," Ray answered. "If human thought is an energy waveform that can be transmitted, maybe it can use other wave forms as a carrier. Say the wave forms transmitted by communication wiring."

"So you're picking up people over the phone, Pete?"

"Sort of," Peter answered as he finally got Slimer to let go. "Kinda makes sense. When people call here, they're thinking about us, which produces a focused thought in our general `direction'. The energy of ole' Ma Bell gives it a boost and...three...two...one..."

Right on cue, the phone rang. Peter let it ring twice before answering. This old trick had gotten a boost as well in that he could sort of `recognize' who was calling, an enhancement which had been invaluable in avoiding his dad's phone calls these last few days. Whoever it was this time seemed familiar, but for the life of him, Peter couldn't place this person's identity.

Well, let's see who our mystery caller is, he thought as he picked up the receiver.

"Ghostbusters," he said. "You got a ghost. We'll make it toast."

"And good evening to you, too, Dr. Venkman," came an amused drawl from the other end. "How's your head?"

The voice caused the final piece to fall into place. "Well, if it isn't Dr. Tabasco. Calling to check on your work or just finally giving into my irresistible charm?"

"Good God, Peter," she replied with a snort. "You're so full of it. I'm tempted to slip thirty cc's of lactulose into your coffee."

"Excuse me?"

"Trust me, if you don't know what I meant, you don't wanna find out." There was a brief pause as her mood sobered. "To tell the truth, Peter, I was calling to check on you. It's been almost two weeks and neither Sara or I have heard yackum from you."

Peter leaned against the workbench and stifled a sigh. Of course that was why she'd called. Doctor or healer's concern, and probably a hefty dose of curiosity as well. Although she didn't know the nature of his "gift," she sure as hell knew he had one.

"`Yackum'? What the hell is that?" he asked, trying to deflect the issue for at least a couple of moments while he decided what to do. "Am I gonna have to remind you to speak English like I do for Egon?"

"What? Oh, sorry. Bit of Tennessee slang. Mom grew up in Knoxville, and I picked it up from her. Means `nothing'. And don't ask me where it came from, `cause I've got no clue."

Peter shrugged. "Nah. I leave the linguistics to Spengs. Well, if you want to know how I'm doing, yeah, the headache's gone. Sara does good work. I'll have to recommend you two to some of our clients who've had to deal with possession and other nasty stuff."

"Okay, headache's gone, but I know good and well that's not all that's going on here." Tabitha's voice had taken on a "don't you dare try to bullshit me, buddy" kind of tone. When he didn't answer for a moment, he heard her sigh over the receiver. "Hello? We lose our connection, or are you gonna make me use my indirect questioning skills? You know. One of the most irritating things about being a doctor is having to coax the truth out of patients. Could we please skip that part?"

Peter found himself smiling. Even over the phone, he could see the exasperated eye-roll he knew Tabitha was doing on her end. He could also see the worried expression on her face.

Hell! Maybe it's more than just my imagination. She's kinda psychic, too. Maybe her thought forms are able to travel more clearly on a carrier wave.

He wrenched his train of thought away from this interesting tangent. Peter had a decision to make. Would he trust her? She had knowledge and experience that could probably help him, and, intellectually, he knew her secret would be safe with her, through force of medical confidentiality if nothing else.

But it was still putting trust in an "outsider." Something Peter never relished.

For crying out loud, Petey! he snapped at himself. Time to get past your `issues' and act like a grown-up. Okay, here goes nothing.

"Actually, Tabby, I have had some problems with...the other thing. I really don't feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, but you think you and Sara could manage another house-call?"

There was no doubt about it this time. The almost imperceptible wave of relief wasn't coming from him or his friends in the next room. "Sure thing, Peter. Sara's out of town right now. She's got some family obligations upstate, but, if you don't mind dealing with a lowly apprentice, I can come over tomorrow evening when I get off-shift."

"Believe me, Dr. Hot-stuff," Peter said with a grin. "There's nothing lowly about you. Tomorrow it is. Say five-thirty-ish? I think our schedule's free then." If Tabitha had been face-to-face, he would have winked at her. "And maybe we can go out afterward for some private counseling over drinks?"

"Do you ever quit?" Tabitha asked with a chuckle. "Five-thirty it is, and I think I will bring that lactulose with me. See you tomorrow, Peter."

"See ya then." Peter hung up the phone feeling much lighter than he had for two weeks. Tonight, he could finally sleep without worrying about waking up in his friends' heads. And, tomorrow, Tabitha could show him what the hell was wrong with his shielding technique. He'd made some improvement over the last few days now that he was working with Egon and Ray, but he still would be severely limited when it came to going out on busts if he didn't get a whole lot better.

Think about that tomorrow, Peter mused as he stretched lazily in anticipation of a peaceful night's sleep. I'm going to bed and God help the poor bastard who dares disturb me before noon.

***

"Is everything ready?"

"All is prepared, and we will certainly be recovered when you call."

"And the others?"

"All have reported in. We'll signal them just before we leave."

Tirad looked across the cavern-turned-refuge with satisfaction. His followers had gathered together to lend him their strength along with all the power they had purloined for this purpose. A quiet thrum of anticipation filled the air and Tirad had never indulged in an intoxicant as powerful as this. At last, after all their planning and preparation the plan was to be set in motion.

"I thank you all for your sacrifice," he said, raising his voice so that all of his disciples could hear. "Future generations of Y'larat will thank you as well. Our names will be spoken with reverence and gratitude by our children. Children who will be born free of the burden of humiliation. Free of the bounds placed on us by aliens and short-sighted leaders. Today, true life comes at last to the Y'larat. All that came before will be seen as a fever dream."

Tirad clasped the shoulder of his trusted lieutenant. "It is time," he said simply. "At last, it is time."

He stepped away from the group of Y'larat and began calling together the strands of his power, weaving them into a tool for his will. One by one, his followers channeled their power caches into him and finally added their own personal power to the mix. It would leave them utterly exhausted for hours afterward, but he would arrive in the Forbidden World with his strength largely intact and able to do what was required. It galled him that, even with all this power, he could only open a gate large enough for one being to pass through while his adversaries could part the veil like so much gossamer.

The first thing I will do once I drive the Gaurnim to their knees will be to force them to give up their power manipulation secrets.

But the thought had to be quickly shunted aside as the long process of burning a hole through to another world consumed all of his attention.

***

"Ready, Berni-me-love?"

The russet-haired woman looked up from her pipes with a teasing smile. "I was born ready, Stubbie-boy. With what shall we bless the poor, benighted souls of Central Park West?"

Stubbie sucked in one cheek as he rosined his bow. "How about `The Clumsy Lover'?"

Bernadette shot him a saucy wink. "You always want to play that one. Must be your theme song."

The fiddler grinned back at his partner in music and love. "That's not what you said last night," he countered with a leer. "Come on, love. Let's make rent."

The uillean piper made one final adjustment to the bellows on her instrument. "When did Dave and Joey say they'd be back?"

"Tonight. They only have to clean up some code and the project's done." One Last Round's guitar and dulcimer players had day jobs as web masters. They could usually set their own hours, but there was the occasional conflict. "That's plenty of time for us to get our act together for the gig. And I checked. They do have good whisky, you little drunken wench."

"Drunken wench my foot," she said with a snort as she arranged her fingers over the stop-holes on the pipe. "Just because some of us have a taste for the finer things in life."

"Well let's earn the cash to buy those finer things," Stubbie broke in as he shook his sun-streaked hair out of his eyes and tucked his fiddle under his chin. And off they went on a musical tour of the British Isles. Notes bounced off the walls of the subway station, ricocheting around corners to draw in curious listeners. It was a good time to set up, late morning when people were just beginning to go on lunch breaks or, if they didn't have to work, were heading to Central Park for relaxation. As change and bills began to pile up in the fiddle case resting on the concrete floor, Stubbie smiled in satisfaction. He'd been right about switching to a different spot for a bit. Novelty sometimes brought in extra cash, and he'd checked this particular section of the New York Subway out. There hadn't been a good Celtic band setting up here for a while. Probably would be a good idea to alternate busking here with their regular spots across town.

Stubbie gave himself up to the music, keeping half an eye on the fiddle case to make sure some punk didn't try to make off with their take. He didn't notice that, in the shadows slightly off to his left, the air was developing a subtle shimmer.

***

Winston looked up from his third cup of coffee as Ray practically bounced into the kitchen. "Sleeping Beauty still at it?" he asked.

"Ten-thirty and still sawing logs," Ray answered with a grin as he reached for one of the donuts Janine had brought this morning. "It really does work. This is great!"

Winston chuckled and finished off the dregs of his cup. "That it is. Now that Peter's back to sleeping twelve hours a day, maybe things can start to get back to normal around here."

"That's not all, Winston," Ray said around a mouthful as he plonked down in the chair across from the former soldier. "If we can build a device which can block thought wave forms then, in theory, we can build one that can boost them. Maybe even boost them enough to where people who don't have psychic ability can pick them up. Think of what this would do for communications!"

Winston shook his head and started picking up the breakfast dishes as Ray rattled on about waveforms and power-flow rates, gesturing occasionally with his half-eaten pastry. The creation of an artificial shield for Peter had lifted a heavy weight off of everyone. It was good to see Ray in full cry once again instead of persistently worried.

"Think Pete's gonna want to come on the bust today?" Winston asked when Ray finally seemed to be winding down.

"Maybe," Ray answered cautiously. "He did okay when we went after that class three yesterday. But I hate to wake him up when he's finally getting some rest."

Winston snorted and closed the dishwasher. "Well, I'd hate even more to come back and face the fit he'll pitch when he wakes up and finds out we left without telling him."

Ray winced. "Good point. Well, we can give him another twenty minutes before we rouse him." An impish twinkle appeared in his hazel eyes. "A pity we can't send Slimer to wake him. The little guy won't get near that field."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something."

Yeah, Winston thought. Things are getting back to normal.

***

This can't be right.

The series of figures flashing on the screen on the computer monitor continued their innocent blinking, caring nothing for the doubts of their observer. Egon shoved his glasses farther up on the bridge his nose and ran the test again. The same result came up.

"Well, it's being rather persistent for incorrect data," the physicist murmured as he ran the test a third time to make certain. This time, his eyebrows came together in a forbidding frown. This was not good.

"Oh, God! Please tell me that frown doesn't mean what I think it means."

Egon looked up from the computer. "Awake already, Peter? Is the shield still functioning properly? I thought it would require a crowbar and explosives to get you out of bed before noon."

Peter smirked and pulled himself away from the lab's doorframe. "Ha-ha, Spengs. The last couple weeks have so screwed up my circadian rhythms that when Ray woke me up looking for a clean shirt, I couldn't get back to sleep even at this godforsaken hour of the morning."

"Eleven o'clock is hardly `godforsaken' to those of us in civilized society."

Peter collapsed on the lab's ratty couch and yawned hugely, eyelids still at half-mast. "Sure thing. But, to quote Lazarus Long, that old saying about the early bird just goes to show that the early worm should have stayed in bed." He jerked his chin toward the computer. "And this is a fine way to wake up. I find you going over your ambient PKE readings with an expression on your face that tells me something nasty might be joining us for lunch. What's up?"

Egon slipped easily into lecturing mode. "Ambient PKE has taken a sudden climb overnight, and the curve is much steeper than any we have recorded before. We may be looking at the emergence of another powerful supernatural entity into our world."

"Awwww, crap!" Peter groaned. He let his head fall back against the top of the sofa as he sprawled bonelessly across it. "Don't tell me. I think I've got the routine down by this time. For the next few days, we get to break our necks busting ghosts as they slip through this gate-under-construction. And this is just the warm-up act before Old Big And Nasty tries to crash our party."

"Something like that," Egon confirmed with a barely concealed smile. "We need to talk to Raymond. I'm not aware of any prophecies that correspond to this date, however..."

"If anyone knows obscure prophecies, it's Ray," Peter finished. "Got ya, Spengs. I'll send him up as I grab some coffee downstairs."

But Peter's trip to the kitchen was aborted as a piercing alarm went off on the lab's permanent PKE sensor. Egon jumped and spun around to begin furiously tapping commands into the computer. Peter darted over to look over his shoulder.

"I take it this is `bad', right Egon?"

"Quite bad," the older man agreed. "PKE readings just increased exponentially." He murmured something in Sumerian under his breath. "I believe the gate may be opening ahead of schedule."

Peter swore and sprinted to the lab's doorway. "Ray! Winston! Get your asses up here, pronto! How ahead of schedule are we talking, big guy?"

"I estimate in the next twenty to thirty minutes."

"Can we track it down?"

"With readings this high, I could do it blindfolded."

Ray and Winston came thundering up the stairs. "What's going on?" Winston asked.

"Saddle up, partners," Peter ordered as he pushed past them into the bunkroom. "All hell has officially broken loose."

***

A faint movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Stubbie got. As he turned slightly to see what was going on, the gate ripped open in a blaze of iridescent white. Blinded, he stumbled backward into Bernadette, knocking them both to the ground, instinctively protecting their instruments. They squeezed their eyes shut against the light and clung to each other as panicked screams and the tap-tap-tap of running footsteps filled the subway station.

Hail, Mary, Mother of God... Brad found himself praying as he kept his body between Berni and...whatever it was. Finally, the light blazing through his eyelids dimmed and he cautiously looked up, blinking away tears and fighting a headache as spots danced in his visual fields.

"The hell..." he murmured. What he saw took his breath away. Standing in front of them was a tall, muscular creature. He (and it was most certainly a he) stood on two legs and flexed long arms ending in claw-tipped hands as though he was trying to work out a muscle cramp. He was dressed in a pair of tight breeches which were made of something similar to leather and came down only to his knees where the wraparound thongs of sandals were tied off. The rest of the creature's covering consisted of a fine, cream-colored pelt that seemed to cover his entire body. The russet mane around the vulpine face gave him the illusion of being even bigger and taller than he already was.

The beast finally stopped stretching and looked around. His eyes narrowed and a low growl rumbled in his throat. Stubbie was by no means an expert in supernatural creatures, but he thought this one looked decidedly pissed. He nudged Berni to try to make a discrete exit, but, before they could make a move, the creature turned its glittering, black eyes on them.

***

"Which way now, Egon?" Winston asked as he ran Ecto-1, sirens blaring, through an intersection.

"Keep going northwest. And more speed would be recommended. We just had another spike in PKE. The gate may already be open."

Ray glanced at the map he had unfolded in his lap and held it up with growing excitement. "Egon! Look where we're going!"

"Yes, Ray. That would be a highly probable location for the gate."

A hand grasped the top edge of the map and pulled it down to reveal a rather irritated Dr. Venkman leaning over the front seat. "You guys wanna tell us what's up or do you want me to pull it out of your braincases? Wait a second..."

Peter turned back just in time to pick up the mobile phone as it rang. "What's up Janine?" he asked. "Really...oh that's just swell..." Peter's face hardened. "Yeah, Spengs and Ray probably had it figured out already from the way they were going on." Whatever Janine said next managed to trigger a smile. "Don't I always? See you on the news tonight, Melnitz."

Peter hung up the phone and turned around to face Egon and Ray once again. "Okay, would this highly probable location for your gate be anywhere near Central Park West?"

"The energy signature does appear to be emanating from that direction," Egon answered. "And interdimensional barriers have been notoriously weak in that area. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, Janine just got a call from the police. Chewbacca's weird cousin is terrorizing a subway station over there. Step on it, Zed."

***

Tirad gritted his teeth in frustration. Even with all the power at his disposal, he had not been able to open a gate close to his target. The veil was simply too strong and resisted his attack. At the last moment, he had found a weakness and drilled his way through. But this place was far distant from his intended destination. If only he could make more sense of the names and markings on the map he'd acquired.

Movement caught his attention. Close by, two humans cowered on the ground.

Well, I'm sure the natives can tell me where to go, he thought smugly. He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between the humans and the exit. Slowly, he reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out the map.

"I require assistance," he said, blessing the foresight which had prompted him to learn the language of this particular human social group. "Will you give directions?"

***

Stubbie's first inclination was to laugh out loud. Here he'd just had a creature straight out of a comic book appear beside him in a blaze of glory, pull out a battered, tourist's map and ask for directions. The situation was hilarious. However, something about the way the creature held himself (perhaps the predatory-looking teeth and claws) made him stifle his chuckles.

"Sure thing, mate," he said, helping Bernadette to her feet and carefully placing his fiddle in his case. "Where do you need to go?"

The creature crouched down on the floor of the subway station and unfolded the map. "I must go here," he said in an almost purring voice. "Show me the quickest way."

Stubbie glanced over his shoulder at Berni. She nodded and glanced significantly at the exit which they would have to get past Tall and Hairy to get at. He nodded back and looked down at the map and found the marking the claw-tipped finger was indicating.

"Hey, that's our neighborhood. You're in luck." Brad traced down the street names crossed inside the circle. "That's Ghostbusters Headquarters. What do you need to see the Ghostbusters for, ma...uurrrk!"

"You waste time! Tell me!"

The vice-like grip that closed on his throat nearly cut off his air. The fiddler clawed futilely at the hand as the pointed face leaned toward him, lips curling back from sharp teeth.

"Brad!" Bernadette screamed and threw herself at the creature. "Let him go!"

He'd always been proud of how scrappy his lover was, and at the moment he was really glad she had a killer right hook. His attacker's head snapped back as her fist connected with his jaw, but, before she could throw another punch, the creature turned and glared at her. The woman froze in mid-swing and collapsed on the pavement, eyes staring blindly ahead.

"Berni!" he cried, struggling to get free. The grip on his throat tightened 'til Stubbie's vision started to darken. As he stopped fighting, the hold loosened slightly. He felt the creature's hot breath on his face as it drew him closer.

"Is that your female? Do you care what happens to her?"

Brad glanced helplessly at the crumpled form beside them and gulped. "Yes," he gasped.

"Then tell me what I need to know, or I will make this very painful for both of you."

He had no choice. Stubbie reached down and pointed out the subway station's location on the map.

***

Ecto pulled up to the curb near the subway entrance. The police had cordoned off the area and several officers were stationed at the top of the stairs to the terminal.

"Okay, guys," Winston said as he pulled packs out of the back of Ecto. "Let's get ready to rock. This our gate, Egon?"

"Affirmative," the physicist answered as he aimed his meter at the stairs. "The gate has come and gone, but I'm reading a strong, Class Eight corporeal manifestation below."

"A demon?!" Ray asked excitedly as he looked at the meter's viewscreen over Egon's shoulder. "Wow! It's pretty strong."

"And the cops say it's holding a couple of street musicians down there," Peter added as he jogged over from where he'd been getting a briefing. "We'll have to hold off on the destabilizer until we get them clear."

"How are you holding up, Pete?" Winston asked. Peter closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

"I'm good to go. Whatever's down there feels nasty, but I've got it handled. Shall we?"

The Ghostbusters shouldered their proton packs (Egon bringing along the destabilizer for when they could safely use it) and slowly, cautiously made their way down the stairs into the terminal.

"Well, at least whoever it is isn't playing around with the lights this time," Peter remarked as he looked around at the glowing florescent tubes overhead. Carefully, they climbed over the turnstiles and crept down the passage. When they reached a T-junction, Peter quickly darted across and took up a post pressed against the wall across from them. "Heads up, guys," he said as he peeked around a corner. "I think I see our demon."

Ray peeked around the other corner and gasped as he saw the creature. "That's no demon, Peter."

Winston caught the tone in Ray's voice and edged his way around to where he could get a glimpse as well. "Oh, hell."

"What's wrong?" Egon demanded.

"That's a Y'larat," Ray whispered, the blood draining out of his face. "He just broke the Pact."

"Oh, is that all?" Peter asked sarcastically. "So, instead of a normal old demon, we get to bust a renegade dimension-jumper who's about to bring World War Cubed down on our heads. Wonderful." He powered up his thrower with a grim smile. "Let's bust 'im."

"But, Peter," Ray protested. "The Gaurnim took you for something connected to a Y'larat invasion. We need to find out..."

"We don't have time!" Peter snapped. "We've got to get this guy contained before the Gaurnim Gestapo finds out he's here and bring in the Marines."

"Pete's right, guys," Winston said in a tone of steel. "We've got no time to lose."

Peter and Winston took point as they entered the hallway, Egon and Ray following somewhat reluctantly behind. The Y'larat was holding a sandy-haired man by the throat, crouching over something spread on the floor. He looked up as the Ghostbusters approached.

"Welcome to America!" Peter said with a grin. "We're the Immigration Authority. May we see your green card?"

"So the Ghostbusters are here already," the Y'larat growled. He glared at the man he was holding and the musician promptly went limp and fell to the ground next to an apparently unconscious woman. "Do not interfere," he said warningly as he stood up. "I am Tirad op Hwir and I do not look kindly on delays."

"What? No green card, Mr. op Hwir?" Peter continued. "I'm sorry, then you'll have to come with us."

The Ghostbusters opened fire on Tirad. The beams danced over the creature's form, sending shadows dancing across the subway. Tirad laughed at them.

"Fools! Did you really think you could stop a Y'larat so easily?"

Peter caught a glimpse of Tirad's eyes narrowing, and felt something hit his shields. No, it didn't just hit them. It latched on and tore at them. Where they found cracks, something poured through and attempted to get a grip on his thoughts. Furiously, Peter fought back, re-enforcing his barriers from within, using every trick he'd managed to discover to seal the leaks. He distantly felt the thrower cut off and slip out of his hands as protecting his mind required more and more attention. Soon, it demanded all his attention. His world narrowed to himself and the attacker with no room for anything else. After a seeming eternity, the attack suddenly stopped. Peter found himself kneeling on the floor, hands pressed to his head. A soft sound behind him caught his attention and he turned just in time to see Tirad disappear around the corner at the end of the long hallway.

"Come on, guys!" He cried. "He's getting away!"

Peter snatched up his thrower and made it three steps down the hall before he realized he was quite alone. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he turned around.

"Guys?"

Egon was closest to him. He was kneeling on the floor facing toward the fallen musicians. Peter hurried over to his friend and shook his shoulder. "Come on, Egon. We've got places to go and demons to bust."

The physicist simply stared blankly ahead. Peter waved his hand in front of Egon's eyes. No response. Peter looked around for Winston and Ray. Winston was still standing, but he was slumped against one of the support columns. Ray was on the floor, curled up on his side. Both of them had the same glassy stare Egon did. As Peter got a second look at the civilians, he noticed their eyes were open, too. A bit of Ray's briefing on the Y'larat floated through his mind.

It's rumored that some of them can turn people to stone with a glance.