Chapter Thirteen

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
-- Joseph Conrad

The almost negligent ease with which Peter side-stepped Frump's headlong charge surprised the others and gave Peter a rather nasty sense of satisfaction. So did the resounding thud Frump made as he crashed into the filing cabinets against the wall. Snarling, the detective rebounded, turning swiftly and swinging a ham-fist at Peter's head. Peter ducked aside, pivoted, and came up behind his attacker. He reached over and tapped Frump on the shoulder.

"Boo."

Without hesitation, Frump drove his fist at Peter's nose. With an indignant yelp of "Not the face!", Peter once again slipped gracefully out of harm's way.

"Stand still, you little fuck!" Frump roared. Panting with a combination of rage and exertion and looking as if he was on the verge of apoplexy, the detective shook an impotent fist at his tormentor as Peter backed smoothly away.

Peter was enjoying himself entirely too much. He watched a large vein throb in Frump's temple and felt himself smirking with satisfaction. In that moment, he realized he had provoked the detective in the hopes of achieving a physical altercation -- and the knowledge brought him up short. As much as it pained him to admit it, Frump wasn't a legitimate target.

The thing inside him writhed with disappointment as Peter forced it back into the shadows and himself away from the policeman. Lucky for Frump he hadn't actually managed to land a blow; Peter didn't think his alter ego would have let that slide quite so easily. Frump glared at him as Peter backed up until they were on opposite sides of the lab. The others watched in various states of astonishment.

"You here for a particular reason, Frump, or did you just miss me?" Peter asked, striving for a conciliatory tone, but unable to keep the edge from his voice. He forced himself to lean casually against the wall behind him while every taut muscle in his body urged him back into Frump's personal space. He pressed his shoulder blades into the plaster and folded his arms, his fingers curling into the soft black fabric of his shirt.

The muscles in Frump's jaw worked for several seconds before he found his voice. "So help me, Venkman-- If you weren't already dead, I'd murder you myself."

"That's what I like about you, Frump. You're always ready with a kind word and a cheerful smile for everyone. You're an inspiration to us all."

Frump's hands clenched, as did his teeth. He ground out between them, "I don't have to take this shit. Especially from somebody who ought to be taking a dirt nap." From an inner pocket of his rumpled jacket, he pulled out a folded sheet of printer paper, crumpled it, and flung it in Peter's general direction. "There's your information. I hope you choke on it."

The wadded up paper bounced off Peter's chest. Frump didn't stick around to watch it hit the floor. Shoving past a startled Ray, Frump was almost at the door when he hesitated. He shot a narrow look at Peter, who hadn't moved a muscle since deciding to prop up the wall, and snarled, "Come near me again, you freak, and I'll give your pasty face a thirty-two caliber makeover."

"Ooh. Color me intimidated."

Peter didn't sound afraid. If anything, he sounded bored, which only served to heighten the detective's fury. Frump scowled over his shoulder at the others. "Do your dead buddy a favor and send him back to whatever hell he came from. And, this time, cremate his sorry ass!"

Frump stalked through the open door, his heavy footsteps thudding down the hall and onto the stairs, leaving behind three stunned Ghostbusters and one sullen-looking Peter Venkman.

Winston frowned at him, then shook his head. "I'd better go lock the door after him," he said wearily, and trudged after Frump.

"Boy. He sure was mad!" Ray observed, more to himself than the others. "Peter, that wasn't very nice, what you just did."

Peter closed his eyes briefly, and let his chin drop toward his chest, his tumbled brown hair hiding his expression from their curious, worried eyes. He shifted his weight onto one shoulder, twisting his body slightly away from them. After a moment, he sighed.

"I know," he said. Lifting his head, he directed his gaze toward the window. "I'm not very nice, Ray."

Before Ray could frame the protest Peter could imagine forming on his friend's lips, Egon demanded, "When exactly did you pay a call on Inspector Frump, Peter? And what possible reason could you have had in what I shall laughingly refer to as your mind for putting yourself at risk by doing something so foolish?"

"Last night after you guys went to bed." Peter kept his eyes focused on the window. His voice was soft, if somewhat strained. A minute shrug, the merest lifting of one shoulder. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. It's not like he could hurt me."

"Perhaps not," Egon conceded reluctantly, though his tone remained stern. "But what about the ones who did this to you? Perhaps not the gunman--you seem to possess a remarkable healing ability and you've just demonstrated heretofore unsuspected martial prowess. But what about the specters who were the man's accomplices? Should you encounter them again, could you handle them as easily as you did Frump?"

Thinking back to last night's escapades, Peter had a feeling he could. Oh, an ectoplasmic entity might prove more of a challenge than Frumpy or those clueless wastes of skin who had tried to mug him, but he guessed he could hold his own pretty well against whatever the Netherworld might throw at him. A darker part of him was eager to give it a shot.

Peter shook himself, forcing his shadow-self back. "Maybe you have a point, Egon. But--"

"No 'buts', Peter!" Egon interrupted. "Even if you do not encounter your…murderers… you must still be circumspect. The last thing we need is to find your face splashed across the tabloids under some ludicrous headline."

Peterhad already figured that one out for himself. "Yeah, Egon, I hear you. But I can't just hide out here." He shifted uneasily, only too aware of their stares burning holes in his back. "There are things I have to do."

"Like what?"

"You don't want to know." Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Peter turned to face them. "Sure, I got a ticket back to the land of the living, but it's not a free ride. When the conductor comes to collect, I gotta pay my dues."

Winston had returned in time to hear this last. He demanded, "What kind of 'dues' are we talking about here, Pete? Loose change--or your immortal soul?"

That wrung a stunted laugh from him. "That's the question, isn't it?" All traces of mirth vanished. "I think I know why I'm here."

Now that he had their undivided attention, Peter smiled grimly. "I'm here to make sure that what happened to me doesn't happen to you guys. And to make sure the creeps who did this don't ever get the chance to do it again. To anyone."

"And how, exactly, do you know all this?" Egon asked cautiously. There was something wild in the green depths of Peter's eyes, something dark.

"A little bird told me."

There was a sharp caw from the window. Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at the huge black bird perched on the sill. Peter frowned at the crow. "Speak of the devil…"

"I take it the two of you are acquainted?" Egon asked, reaching surreptitiously for the discarded PKE meter. Turning off the alarm so as not to startle the crow, he switched the instrument on. Both eyebrows climbed into his hairline as the needle shot up on the display. Class nine…

"You could say that." Peter studied his feathered 'friend' with a jaundiced eye. "You know, Edgar, we've really got to stop meeting like this. People will talk."

The bird was not amused. Peter didn't know how he could be so sure of that--it was a bird, for cryin' out loud!--but there was no doubt in his mind that it was an accurate assessment. The crow launched itself from the window sill, gliding the short distance to where he stood and giving him no choice but to either extend an arm for it to land on or end up with a faceful of razor-sharp talons.

"Oof!" Peter winced as those same talons dug sharply into his arm through the sleeve of his shirt. "Anyone ever tell you you're awfully heavy for a bird? Might want to cut back on the birdseed or whatever the hell crows eat."

"Carrion," Egon said distractedly. He was still staring at the meter. "Crows are carrion-eaters."

"Oh, lovely." Peter eyed the bird balancing placidly on his forearm. "Care for a breath mint?"

The crow gave Peter a look that he had absolutely no difficulty in translating, then fluttered to the floor, where it pecked at the crumpled ball of paper Frump had thrown at him. Oh, yeah. He had almost forgotten about that…

Peter bent and scooped up the paper, smoothing it carefully so that he could read what was printed on it. He frowned at the short list of names, addresses and dates. The dates were all the same. Then he saw what had been scrawled below them in Frump's cramped handwriting. Eyes dark with fury, he looked at the crow. It stared back at him and in its ancient, fathomless gaze he saw the truth.

"Peter? What is it?" Ray's voice seemed to come from a great distance, the space between them as wide as the gulf between life and death. "What does it say?"

The hand clutching the paper shook with a sudden tremor. Somehow, Peter found the voice to whisper, "We weren't the only ones."

"What?" The sharper demand came from Winston and Egon almost simultaneously.

"Victims…targets…" Peter choked on the words. "There were others, that same night. A couple of honeymooners. A pair of adolescent twins. An entire family, for Christ's sake--mom, dad, kid and baby."

"Sweet Jesus." The words sounded like a prayer coming from Winston. Ray looked stricken, too shocked even to swear. Egon shook his head, as if to deny the horrible conclusion.

"How can you be certain they are connected to--"

"Their graves were vandalized, too." Peter held out the printed list for their inspection. "That's how Frump made the connection. Same date for all the murders, same date for the desecrations."

Winston swore, again. Ray looked around vaguely and Peter grabbed him by the collar, steering him over to one of the lab stools. "Sit down before you fall down, Ray."

Absently, Ray murmured his thanks and sank gratefully onto the seat. He hunched over, hugging himself and looking lost. In a thin voice, he asked, "How could anyone be that…that…"

"Evil?" Peter supplied. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, the anger was taking over, feeding off his outrage at the magnatitude of the crime. "I don't know, Ray. I really don't know."

As shaken as the rest of them, Egon nonetheless was trying to approach the situation logically. "Peter, does that--" He gestured to the paper still clenched in Peter's hand. "--say whether or not any of the bodies were taken from their coffins?"

Peter glanced at the list, again. He shook his head. "None of the bodies were missing."

"Just yours…Hmm."

"I know that 'hmm', Egon. You've got a theory."

"Not so much a theory as the glimmerings of a hypothesis." Egon fiddled absently with the PKE meter. "May I see the list?"

Peter handed it over and watched as Egon scanned it rapidly.

"Share with the class, Egon?" Winston prompted after a moment.

"None of the victims--or targets, as Peter said--have anything in common other than being in New York on the date in question," Egon began slowly, still thinking it through.

"No, there's something else. None of them were killed alone," Ray pointed out.

"That could simply be to eliminate possible witnesses," Winston said.

"I don't think so. At least, not entirely." Egon carefully placed the paper on the table beside the computer. "Ray, do you remember that website you showed me last night?"

Ray looked blank for a moment, then his eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh! Yeah, I printed out some of that stuff." He looked around the cluttered lab. "Where did I…?"

Scrambling to his feet, Ray dashed over to the dusty old books that, the night before, he had left stacked precariously in the corner next to the spare proton pack. Ray retrieved a particular book from the stack, then hurried back to where the others were waiting. The four of them gathered around and Ray set the thin, leatherbound volume on the table. Opening the tattered cover, he retrieved a folded piece of paper he had obviously been using as a bookmark and flattened it so they could read it. In addition to the neat letters of the computer's printer, notes had been scribbled in the margins in pencil.

"I found this website that has all kinds of legends about death and stuff. Actually, the original site seems to have disappeared, but someone had set up a mirror, so most of the information is still there if you know where to look for it."

"That's great, Ray," Peter said, trying not to sound as if he was hanging onto his patience by his fingernails. "What's that got to do with--" He tapped the list with one finger.

"Well…maybe nothing. But maybe not nothing."

"Thanks for clearing that up, Ray."

"Look, let me just read you this part--" Ray cleared his throat, then read. "'People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest.'"

"I think we all agree that multiple murder qualifies as 'bad', but--"

"'…But sometimes the crow can bring the soul back to put the wrong things right.'"

"Wait." It took a moment for the implications to sink in. "Do you mean… Whoever did this…was trying to create the conditions necessary for the legend to come true?"

"It's beginning to appear as if that is, indeed, the case," Egon said, with a frown. "Why else bother to disturb the graves of all the victims but take nothing from them?"

Winston gave a low whistle as understanding dawned. "They wanted to see if it worked."

"Great." Peter grimaced. "So, did they take my body or--"

Egon shook his head. "I believe you are wearing it or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I do not believe it was stolen by whoever is behind these terrible crimes."

"Well, that's a relief, at least." The sarcasm was forced, though the sentiment was real. Peter scowled at the book on the table in front of him. "Anything else, Ray?"

" I'm… not sure," Ray admitted.

Across the table from Ray, Egon removed his glasses and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "We cannot even be certain it's anything more than a legend. It may have nothing to do with your ... circumstances."

'Circumstances'? Peter almost laughed aloud. Trust Egon to find a polite way of discussing 'life' as a walking dead man. "It fits, though. I followed the crow and it brought me back."

"Okay. But there's some stuff that doesn't fit," Ray argued. "After I found the legend, I remembered where I'd seen something like it before. This book came from an estate sale in England. It's the journal of a man called Mordecai Lester, who lived in the mid-nineteenth century. He claimed to have witnessed some things that… Well, let's just say he was prone to nightmares for the rest of his life. And one of the things he claimed to have seen was a man who came back from the dead."

"So far, Ray, I'm not seeing the 'doesn't fit' part."

Ray furrowed his brow as he flipped through the brittle, yellowed pages. "Mordecai says the man came back a full year after his murder. The legend on the website says the same thing: 'one year later'." He shot a glance up at Peter, leaning over his shoulder. "It's only been a few months since you--"

"Hey, I was never the patient type," Peter said, just a bit too brightly, and ignored the evaluating looks they all leveled at him. "Okay, so other than the 'one year later' part, everything else fits. Right?"

"Well..." Ray said, reluctantly. "I guess so, Peter. But we really can't be sure, yet. From Mordecai's description, Crows--"

"Crows? Why do I get the feeling you're not talking about ol' Edgar here?"

"No." Like the rest of them, Ray glanced over at the bird. As if drawn by their attention, it hopped up onto the table and peered at the open journal as if trying to read the faded sepia ink. "That's what Mordecai calls the man who came back. A Crow."

"So…Is that what you think I am? A Crow?" Judging by Ray's sharply indrawn breath, Peter hadn't quite achieved the casual tone he'd been aiming for. He watched his two favorite scientists exchange a look filled with silent communication, and sighed. "Just tell me, guys. I'm a big boy. I can take it."

"I don't know, Peter." Ray sighed, and scrubbed both of his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in short auburn spikes. "As I was saying, the journal gives a pretty graphic description of what Mordecai saw. Apparently, Crows have a certain, uh, distinctive appearance. But you... Well, you just look like you."

Peter tensed. "Just how 'distinctive', Ray?"

"There's a picture," Ray said, turning a page and angling the book so Peter could see it better. "Mordecai was an artist. He made this drawing of what he claimed to have seen."

Suddenly, Peter wasn't so sure he wanted to see what a Crow looked like. But, then, he already knew, didn't he? He forced himself to look at the drawing.

The artist had caught the Crow poised as if on the brink of attack, shoulders hunched and arms spread like the wings of a great bird. The stark white face with its strange black markings was all-too-familiar. Familiar, too, was the fever burning in the Crow's eyes. More and more, he thought he could feel that madness trying to consume him.

"Oh, shit," he moaned. All the starch went out of his knees and Peter sagged, catching himself against the edge of the table. Ray sprang up from his seat and pushed Peter down onto it, instead.

"Peter?"

"You didn't see me, Ray…" Then, quieter, "Thank God, you didn't see."

"What are you trying to say, Peter?"

"I may not look like that, right now." Peter shoved the book away roughly, startling the bird into flight. He watched it with dull eyes. "But that's not saying I never do."

Ray's hand squeezed his shoulder. "Oh, Peter…"

Peter fought the irrational urge to run. He didn't want to know this, didn't want to believe. But there was a harsh core of honesty inside him that wouldn't let him bury himself in denial. Not this time. He had to face this head-on, for the sake of his friends if nothing else.

"So, that's it? I'm one of these Crow …things." Unconsciously, Peter's shoulders hunched defensively and he shivered like someone was dancing on his grave. Maybe they were.

"You are not a 'thing', Peter," Egon said firmly.

"Damn right," Winston added, just as firmly, and Ray tightened his grip on Peter's shoulder.

"Oh, yeah? What do you call it, then? I'm sure as hell not human," Peter countered bitterly . "Just ask Egon's pet meter."

Egon winced. "I told you there are some unusual anomalies in the readings, Peter. It will require further analysis before I can be certain of their significance. In the meantime--"

"Don't try to sugar-coat this, Egon. You saw me. That drawing might as well be of me!"

Glancing from one face to the other, Peter saw their concern, but he wondered if they were worried about the right things. He turned back to Ray. "What else does our pal Mordecai have to say about Crows? Do we make good housepets?"

"Um," Ray looked unhappy with the question. "…Not really."

When Peter simply stared at him, waiting for more information, Ray sighed and reluctantly continued, "He was pretty clear about that, actually. It seems that Crows aren't very sociable. Not surprising, given how they're brought into being. And they're…well, 'driven' might be putting it mildly." He looked apologetically at Peter. "Mordecai says the Crow he encountered was… dangerous."

Peter's expression froze. In a careful voice, he demanded, "Dangerous…how, Ray?"

"Well…" Ray's gaze fell. He had to swallow hard before continuing. "It killed seventeen people, including Mordecai's younger brother."

A shocked silence filled the room. Ray hastened to fill it. "There were extenuating circumstances! Even Mordecai admits that the Crow was trying to escape. You see, he belonged to this secret society and somehow they captured a Crow in order to study it and--"

"It killed seventeen people." Peter's eyes were blank chips of green ice. "If I'm a Crow, maybe I should fly away before I--"

"Don't you dare!"

In astonishment, all eyes turned to Ray, who was practically livid with wounded outrage. "Don't you even think about leaving us, Peter! Don't you dare! You do and I'll--I'll track you down and drag you back and--"

Tears welled up in Ray's eyes, but he blinked them back. He stared at Peter, who gazed back, wide-eyed with surprise. "You wouldn't hurt us, Peter. I know you won't. And…we won't let you hurt anyone else. I promise."

After a long, frozen moment, Peter's posture relaxed and he reached tentatively to place a hand on Ray's arm. Ray grabbed him in a fierce hug.

"I'm not going anywhere, Ray," Peter whispered into the fabric of Ray's shirt, feeling Ray's arms tighten around him hard enough to make breathing an issue. Well, maybe there was one advantate to not needing to breathe anymore. The shorter man lost his battle for self-control, his tears soaking into the front of Peter's shirt. For his part, Peter tightened his own grip, as if Ray were a lifeline he desperately needed to keep himself from falling back into the abyss. "And that's a promise from Dr. Venkman."

Peter just hoped neither of them had made a promise they couldn't keep.

Egon picked up the paper Frump had given them and again ran his eye down the list of victims. There was one name on the list whose grave had escaped desecration: Charlie Venkman. He glanced thoughtfully at Peter. Perhaps it was because Charlie had been interred next to his son; the vandals had opened Peter's grave first and, seeing the empty coffin, they must have known there was little point in disturbing the elder Venkman's grave as well. Or perhaps the vandals were interrupted before they could complete their grisly task. Either way, he was glad that Peter would be spared that particular horror, at least.

He glanced at the legal pad on which he had jotted notes as he studied the PKE readings, and sighed. He could only wish there was a way to spare Peter the rest. Egon breathed a soundless sigh. There was one test result in particular that Peter was not going to like.

Egon cleared his throat. "If I could continue?"

With a final, reassuring squeeze, Peter let go of Ray and settle back with a negligent wave of his hand. "By all means, Egon."

"Since we now suspect the purpose of the attacks --on us and on the others-- was to create a Crow, it would behoove us to learn as much as we can about the Crow legend. And… I believe we should be prepared for another assault."

"You think they'll be coming after Peter." Winston's voice was flat.

"I'm afraid so." Egon slid a look at Peter, sitting stiffly across from him. "It seems extremely unlikely that whoever is behind this would go to such lengths to create a Crow only to fail to collect their prize."

Peter folded his arms and arched a brow. "They can try," he said, with just a trace of his old smugness.

"Yeah! We're not letting them have Peter!" Ray seconded stubbornly.

"Of course not. That's why we must be ready." Egon turned back to Winston. "If Peter can so easily bypass our current security, so might someone else. Winston, if you could enter these new settings into the alarm system?"

Winston took the piece of paper Egon tore from the legal pad and handed to him. "I'll get right on it," he said, and hurried to his task.

That left three of them in the lab. Egon continued, "In the meantime, Ray, I think you should go back to that website. See if you can find anything else about Crows -- or the people who might be interested in them."

Rubbing absently at the moisture on his cheeks, Ray nodded. "I'll check out their links, too. There might be something there that we can use."

"Good thinking." Egon moved out of the way so that Ray could slide into the chair in front of the computer. "While you are doing that, I would like to collect some more readings. With your permission, Peter, I'll take PKE readings of both you and your feathered companion."

Peter spread his arms. "I'm at your disposal, Egon. But Edgar seems to've flown the coop."

"Hmm." Glancing around the lab, Egon saw that Peter was right. The bird was gone, as if it had vanished into thin air. "Can you get it to come back?"

"I don't exactly call the shots in that particular relationship, Spengs." Peter shrugged. "Edgar comes and goes as he pleases. I'm sure he'll turn up again when he's good and ready."

As intriguing as he found the bird, Egon had something else on his mind at the moment. He retrieved his meter. "We'll start with just you, then. Perhaps we should take this into the kitchen so as not to disturb Ray."

"You won't bother me, Egon," Ray began, unaware of the look Egon sent Peter over his auburn head.

Brows raised, Egon looked at Ray, then shook his head and cocked his chin toward the door. He willed Peter to take the hint; Ray needed a chance to fully recover his equilibrium and the experiment Egon had in mind would not be at all conducive to that goal. It seemed the silent communication they had enjoyed since college was still with them, because Peter nodded and managed a remarkably light tone as he deflected Ray's objection with his usual skill.

"No, that's okay, Ray. Maybe I can convince Spengs to have a snack while we're in there. A couple of pieces of toast doesn't go too far, you know."

"Oh, gosh. I forgot you didn't eat breakfast with us, Egon." Ray gave him a worried look. "You should listen to Peter. Eat something."

"Maybe I will."

"C'mon, Egon. Let's go." Peter strode past him, snagging his sleeve and towing him along to the door. Egon could not help but notice that Peter was careful to touch only the cloth. It was not the first time he had noticed this caution on Peter's part. Indeed, Ray seemed to be the only one of them that Peter was not hesitant to touch. Mulling this over, he allowed Peter to lead him into the kitchen.

As they settled at the kitchen table, Peter frowned at him. "All right, Egon. What exactly didn't you want Winston and Ray to hear?"

"I need to take some readings on your…alter ego," Egon said. "Given your reaction earlier, I thought you would prefer to do so with as few witnesses as possible."

"You want me to--?" Peter sounded incredulous. His hands clenched on the edge of the tabletop. "No."

"But, Peter, I need to--"

"No, Egon." Peter lurched abruptly to his feet and began to pace. "Trust me on this. You don't want my pale-faced buddy coming out to play."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"Me? Never." Peter's eyes darkened. "But then the Crow's not exactly me, is he?"

Egon had suspected as much. "That is one of the reasons I need the additional readings, Peter. From what I have observed so far… I believe you may be possessed."

Peter stared at him with a sick feeling of horror twitching in his gut. It wasn't entirely unexpected. But hearing it put into words somehow made it worse. He swallowed, then forced out the word. "Possessed?"

"You don't seem surprised," Egon said. He set the meter on the table and fussed absently with one of the control knobs on the side.

Surprised? No. Pleased? Hell no. Resigned? …Maybe.

There was a time when the mere thought of possession would have sent him running for the nearest thrower and begging for a proton blast right to the heart. But he had already reached the conclusion that if it took playing host to the devil himself to keep the guys safe, he could deal with it. Just call me Linda Blair, Peter thought with a silent sigh, and sank back down onto his chair. He propped his elbows on the table and let his head fall into his hands.

"To tell you the truth, Egon… I've sensed something inside me almost from the moment I came back. Something…" Raising his head, he gestured with one hand, as if he could pluck the right words from the air. "Something dark and almost… alien. But at the same time… Somehow, it still feels like a part of me."

He risked a sidelong glance at Egon and frowned. "You don't seem all that surprised, either."

"I told you that I had analyzed the PKE readings and found something strange," Egon reminded him. "Putting that together with some of the other test results… Possession is the logical conclusion."

"Wonderful." Peter let his head drop back so that he could stare briefly at the ceiling. "It's not like with Watt, though."

For a moment, both were silent, remembering when Peter had been possessed by Watt, the demon who had almost breached the containment unit while using Peter's body.

"I suspect that whatever has possessed you is a far different type of entity than Watt," Egon said at last. "Not only in origin, but in motivation as well." He watched Peter carefully as he added, "Have you sensed anything about it other than its 'darkness'?"

Peter opened his mouth to deny it, then hesitated. Hadn't he been aware of a sense of purpose not entirely his own? And don't forget that lurking mania. "A little. I think… I think it wants what I want, only it doesn't particularly care about the consequences. Like with Frump. A part of me wanted to tear his head off and, if I had let it, the Crow would've."

"So you can control it."

"Don't go all smug on me, Egon." Peter reached over and toyed with the PKE meter, spinning it in a small circle with one finger. "I've controlled it so far, but it's not always the easiest thing in the world. Who knows? Maybe it's letting me do it."

"What about when you are…" With one long finger, Egon drew a painted smile in the air in front of his own mouth.

"It's like someone takes off the safeties and shoves the levers all the way into the red zone," Peter said. He remembered fighting the would-be muggers, a potentially lethal dance on a dark street that had made his blood sing. For that moment, he had felt truly alive. "Letting go like that is…"

Seductive. He finished the thought silently, staring at his hands. "Let's just say that I now have a far better understanding of mania than I ever wanted, and leave it at that."

Egon looked as if he might try to force the issue, but the stubborn set of Peter's jaw seemed to convince him otherwise. "All right," Egon said quietly. "But I still need those readings."

"Which part of 'no' is eluding the grasp of your genius, Spengler?"

"I understand why you don't want to bring out the Crow," Egon said. "And, if this were merely a matter of scientific curiosity, I would let it go. But it isn't and I can't. Our safety could very well depend on it."

That got to Peter as no other argument could have. Rising, he paced from the table over to the sink while he conducted an internal debate with himself. He lost. "Damn it, Egon--"

When he turned, he saw that Egon had also risen and was holding the PKE meter in one hand. "Ready, Dr. Venkman?"

No. "As I'll ever be…" Peter sighed. "I don't even know if this will work. It's not exactly something I can flip on and off like a lightswitch."

"Just try it, Peter. If it doesn't work, we'll think of something else."

"We could always pay Frump a visit," Peter said, only half-joking. Frump had always brought out the worst in Peter; now it seemed he had a knack for bring out the Crow, as well. Still, Peter didn't think it would be necessary to take such drastic measures. Despite what he had told Egon, he was only too aware of how close to the surface his other persona was. It was keeping the Crow submerged that was the problem, not letting it out into the light.

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Egon said with a tiny smile. "Are you ready to try, now?"

Reluctantly, Peter nodded. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his sense of the darkness within. Hesitantly, he reached out to it and felt it welcome his touch, rising to it like water from a spring. Cold and exhilerating, its power flooded him, forcing the color from his skin and bleeding like black tears from his eyes. With it came that wild, seductive freedom and suddenly he wanted to spin and swoop and race the wind in a dance as old as time. He let himself smile his too-wide smile and opened gleaming, shadow-haunted eyes.

"Oh, I'm definitely ready," the Crow said. "How about you?"

Egon started as Peter transformed before his eyes. He was shocked by how swiftly the change had come. One moment Peter had looked perfectly normal; in the next, he was the Crow. In his eyes, there was the hint of barely contained chaos straining to be unleashed.

"…Peter?" Egon asked carefully.

"You were expecting Santa Claus?" Peter folded his arms and looked pointedly at the meter Egon had all but forgotten he was holding. "Want to hurry up with those readings? I'd like to get this over with before--"

"You guys in here?" Winston stuck his head around the door frame. His eyes widened when he saw Peter. "Egon--"

"It's all right, Winston. I'm just taking some PKE readings. Peter is assisting me."

"Uh-huh." Winston moved swiftly to Egon's side. His wary gaze never left the Crow's painted face. "Mind if I watch?"

It was too late to protest. Egon sent Peter an apologetic glance and quickly aimed the PKE meter at him. After a few minutes, he made sure the readings were stored in the device's memory and shut it down. "Thank you, Peter. That will do for now."

To his surprise, Peter did not immediately revert to his normal appearance. "Peter? Didn't you hear what I said? I'm finished."

"That's nice," the Crow said, smirking darkly. "But I'm not."

And, looking into the manic green eyes of his friend, Egon realized he had made a terrible miscalculation.