"What have we got this time, Janine?" Ray asked happily as the Ghostbusters hurried down the stairs in response to the alarm bell that announced a new bust. "Demons downtown, specters in Shea Stadium, hauntings in Harlem?"

Unimpressed with Ray's alliteration, the secretary cracked her gum. "None of the above," she said with a grin. "Ghost in a ballet school."

Winston grinned. "Ghosts in tutus? There's a first for everything. Hey, Pete, you ought to feel right at home."

Peter flinched. Egon frowned. What had caused that? "Why me?" Peter said with a nonchalance that appeared obviously forced, at least to Egon.

"Because you wore a tutu last Christmas when you had to play the Ghost of Christmas past for Scrooge, remember?"

"Under protest," Peter muttered with a grimace.

"And a blonde wig," Ray remembered. He grinned happily. "Gee, Peter, if only we could have snapped your picture in that garb. Immortalized the moment."

"It's a good thing you didn't, Ray, because if you did, I'd have to kill you."

"Where is the ballet school?" Egon said practically as Peter snatched the work order from Janine. Egon thought he paled as he skimmed it, but it could have been the lighting.

"The Madame Nadine School of Dance," Janine said, although Egon could read it perfectly clearly on the label he removed from Peter's hand. Janine had very tidy handwriting.

Peter stiffened still further. Egon frowned and cast his mind back to their days at Columbia, and suddenly thought he understood Peter's discomfiture. "Peter, is that where the football team took their classes?" he asked.

Peter shook his head, although the glare he flung at Egon promised dire retribution for opening his mouth. As Egon recalled, the team had been mortified at the coach's requirement to take a few ballet classes, although Peter had insisted determinedly at the time that it was good exercise and had used the fact to get dates. "Nah. Coach Hansen imported some Russian guy."

"Ballet classes for the football team?" Winston stared at Peter as if he'd grown purple hair. "The football team took ballet?" Like Egon, he must have been imagining a Nureyev-style Russian barking out commands for pliés and grand jetés while a row of jocks stumbled into each other and fell down like ninepins. Peter wasn't clumsy; he wouldn't have stumbled. But he would have hated the image male ballet projected and would happily have kept his secret to the grave, even though it was a secret he shared with the rest of Columbia's football team. Egon was rather sorry he'd mentioned it, although he could see nothing wrong with a man learning ballet.

"Just the five basic positions and some simple routines," Peter said hastily. "He said it would make us flexible and help us move better." A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "You should have seen Jude Henshaw--remember him, Egon, the one you said had the brow ridge of a Neanderthal man?--and the other linebackers. Like those hippo ballerinas in Fantasia, I swear. We all swore a solemn oath that nobody would take any pictures under pain of death--see, Ray, I have lots of practice."

"At threatening photographers?" Ray asked with a ready grin. "Gee, Peter, the way you mug for them on every bust, nobody would ever guess you hated cameras."

"Fame and glory, Ray," said Peter haughtily. "Publicity. Keeps us in business. That's different from blackmail material." He opened the "shotgun" door of Ecto. "We better move, guys. It might be the ghost of a prima ballerina--bound to be gorgeous."

Egon felt a prickle of a frown settle between his eyebrows as he joined Ray in the back seat. Peter was not happy. He'd carried off the football reference, but he didn't like this bust. Could it have anything to do with that ballerina from the New York Ballet Company he had dated last year? Peter had been awfully fond of her, but she'd gone to London and now danced at Covent Garden. Her career and Peter's had wound up on different tracks, as well as different continents.

Winston slid behind the wheel. He wasn't thinking about Peter and ballet but about their upcoming bust. "So what do we know about the ghost?" he asked as he backed the venerable hearse out of the garage.

"It sounds like a Class Three," Egon replied. He studied the work sheet. "A phantom dancer."

"Wow, this is great." Ray thought that about every bust. "Egon, you know about ballet. What can we expect?"

"I know more about the opera, Ray. My mother loved the ballet and often took me to performances, but I preferred the opera. "

"I hate the opera," Peter offered. "Too many valkyries."

"Not in Italian opera," Egon corrected. "According to the work order, the ghost has been disrupting classes and frightening the children."

"I thought they'd take ballet classes after school," said Ray. "It's morning."

"It's a regular school," Peter said. "With dance classes as part of the curriculum." He looked sorry he'd spoken. He added hastily, "Jana went to a ballet school when she was growing up."

"That dancer you dated?" Winston remembered and Peter nodded.

"Peter is correct," Egon confirmed. "Some schools incorporate ballet as part of the curriculum. Children might have a lesson or two a week before being accepted. If their dancing is promising enough, they begin to need more than that."

"So do you think the ghost is somebody who couldn't cut it in the school?" asked Ray. "Somebody who wasn't quite good enough?" He made a distressed face. "Ballet must be pretty competitive. That'd be tough."

"Jana said some people worked desperately and only got into the corps de ballet--extras or something like that," Peter explained vaguely. "They'd be background dancers, but never the ballerina."

"And some probably never even made it into the corps," Egon said. "It could create bitterness and possibly fierce competition. Well, we shall see when we arrive." He looked at Peter, who in spite of the football experience was the last man Egon would have associated with ballet. Peter had been deliberately uncultured when it came to the opera. He'd been happy to give the impression of an utter Philistine when Egon had taken him to see Der Valküre. But he couldn't have dated a ballerina for six months and remained ignorant of the dance.

Of course Peter clung to the impression that he needed to create a certain type of image. In college, it had been frat member, jock, big man on campus. The more introspective man Egon had been privileged to know, who actually studied for his classes--although he'd needed prodding to study for the ones he didn't like--was not a Peter he'd wanted the world to see. The impression Peter created for himself satisfied a certain goal: his perception of what was required for popularity. Of all the Ghostbusters, Peter craved that, even now that he had the certain knowledge of his friends' support and caring, and the adulation of a public who needed to be protected from ghosts.

Ah, well, Egon had a need to be taken seriously as a scientist, and as a result, perhaps he overdid the starchy intellectual type who spouted a fifty-dollar vocabulary and surrounded himself with complex devices. A means of impressing his unimpressible father? A compensation for stepping away from conventional science into a field he had virtually created?

At times, Egon envied Ray, who didn't seem to have anything to prove, although he knew that was an off-the-cuff analysis that probably didn't do Ray justice.

We all have our insecurities, Egon thought vaguely.

The ballet company was located in Tribeca. Morning rush hour had ended so traffic was not that bad, and it didn't take them long to arrive. Winston pulled up in front of the school. It didn't really resemble a school; it was more like a converted office building with the sign that read "Madame Nadine's School of Dance," in discreet lettering beside the door.

Peter tensed up at the very sight of the place. Had he dated one of the teachers? He received his proton pack from Ray in silence and slid his arms through the straps as if the bust were routine, but Egon could feel the tension that vibrated his body. He glanced at Ray to see if he had noticed, but Ray was gazing expectantly at the building.

"Anything on your meter, Egon?" he asked.

Egon fastened his pack strap and raised the P.K.E. meter. "Residuals only, Ray. Strong Class Three, however. It has been here, and recently. Perhaps our arrival will provoke its return." He led the way up the steps, conscious of the other three behind him, Peter lagging reluctantly in the rear.

They were shown to Madame Nadine's office by a teenager in a green tunic and tights, a cape draped over her shoulders. She introduced herself as one of the senior students who had been delegated to meet them. The hero worship that shone in her eyes didn't penetrate Peter's funk.

"Have you seen the ghost?" Ray asked her.

She nodded once. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and the style emphasized the bone structure of her face. When she finished growing into her looks, she would be beautiful. Not only that, she moved with startling grace. Of course she would. She had probably been studying ballet for years. "Younger than me," she said. "Wearing a tunic. We don't recognize her. At least none of us high school students do. The younger kids don't either. She hasn't tried to hurt anyone; otherwise Madame would have sent us home. But yesterday she disrupted rehearsals for the spring show for nearly an hour. So Madame called you." She made an economical gesture down the passage. "I'm to take you directly to Madame, then I have to go change for algebra."

She led the way into an outer office with an untenanted desk and rapped on an inner door. A voice from inside called, "Come."

The girl opened the door and announced, "The Ghostbusters are here, Madame."

"Send them in, and you may return to class, Karen."

Karen bobbed a curtsey that seemed to suit her practice garb, and hurried away.

Madame Nadine was probably pushing sixty, but she had kept her figure trim and neat, perhaps by the classes that any dancer must take daily, no matter how great a performer. The woman looked like a dancer, and the grace with which she moved only proved it. She rose in a fluid motion and came to greet them. "Ghostbusters, welcome. I'm sorry my secretary didn't receive you, but she's ill today."

Egon introduced them one by one. Each of them greeted her with a hasty, "Madame." She was a lady who deserved respect. Only Peter pronounced it in the French fashion as the girl, Karen, had done, and he did it so naturally that Ray didn't even notice. Winston let one eyebrow lift.

His second one joined it when Madame swooped at Peter, wrapped her arms around him, and planted a delighted kiss on his cheek. "You terrible man," she scolded him affectionately. "It has been far too long since I have seen you other than on television. You didn't learn mugging for the camera from me. Sublimely unaware of publicity, do you remember?"

"Remember?" Ray echoed doubtfully.

Peter emerged from the lilac-scented embrace with a face as red as the circle in the team's "no ghost" logo. "I ..." Amazing. An inarticulate Peter. Egon stared at him in fascination. "I'm sorry, Madame," he said. "I thought--"

"You thought I had forgotten you? Nonsense. As promising as you were, do you think I would hold it against you that you couldn't continue your lessons?"

"Lessons!" blurted Winston, his eyes huge with disbelief. "You took lessons--here?"

"For a couple of years," Peter mumbled, well and truly caught out. No wonder he'd been the best of the football dancers. He'd claimed to Egon, who had witnessed a class once, that a quarterback needed to be light on his feet. Egon should have realized that he'd picked up the moves far more easily than the other students had. Presumably the instructor had known, but Peter must have sworn him to utter secrecy. He would have been mortified if the knowledge of prior lessons had come out to the other jocks.

"Wow, Peter." Ray beamed delightedly. "Just think, you'll know all the things we need to know to bust the ghost. This is great." He snapped his fingers. "I remember now. You actually did some ballet steps once last year. I saw you."

Peter cringed. "Pretty lousy steps," he said.

"When was this, Pete?" asked Winston. "I never saw it."

"It was after Peter's dad showed up with the ghost repellers," Ray explained. "When the coast guard guy asked us to go into the New Jersey Parallelogram and rescue that lost ship."

"Ah, you have kept it up?" Madame asked, her eyes alight.

Peter shook his head. "No, sorry, Madame. I did a little, at first, and I had a couple classes when I was on the college football team. But I never kept on with it. Not much point in practicing on my own." He didn't sound bitter, and it didn't show on his face, but Egon wondered if there wasn't some lingering bitterness. Had Peter actually wanted to be a dancer? Inconceivable.

Madame dispelled that theory. "As I recall, it was difficult to get you to practice even when you were here. No drive. Very sad, Peter. You might have had it in you to be one of the great ones."

"Not like you could tell when I was here," Peter said more easily now that his dire secret was out in the open. "I was only thirteen when I left."

"No, one cannot always tell, and sometimes an early gift burns out too young. But you were good, Peter. You had an excellent line and the strength to do the routines. What we couldn't have worked past was the fact that you didn't really wish to be a dancer."

Peter gave her a wry grin. "Well, yeah," he admitted. "Or only on every other Thursday. Or after the spring show when I got some great applause."

She clucked, and tapped him on the cheek with her fingertips. "It was never about glory, Peter. I couldn't teach you that. I see you on television now, mugging shamelessly for the cameras. You never outgrew that need for adulation."

No, Peter never had. But, Egon realized, over the past several years of busting Peter had learned when to mug and when to ignore the cameras. He was all business on a bust. When it was over, his love affair with the press was merely a means of unwinding.

"Are you kidding, I love it," Peter said with a quick grin. Now that the axe had fallen and his secret was out, he was somewhat more relaxed.

She rumpled his hair. "I see you have grown into a wicked man. Perhaps it is fortunate you have your friends to rein you in."

"They do a great job of that," Peter said with a half-smile. He was still uncomfortable about the truth of his ballet past, but he looked like he could live with it. He might wish to ask them not to speak of it to anyone else, but Egon didn't think he would ask. That would imply doubts about them, and Peter trusted them. He might hope they wouldn't tease him, and the odds were they wouldn't--at least not often. They could never avoid it entirely, though. It would be almost irresistible. Peter shoved whatever he was thinking aside. "So, tell me about the ghost?" he encouraged.

"It started two days ago--on the main stage," Madame Nadine replied. "The spring show is in the works, and we've started rehearsing on the stage rather than in the practice rooms. We were going through the middle school's ballet when she appeared. She was dressed just like the others, in the green practice tunic, but she was not quite solid. We couldn't see through her, but she was fuzzy around the edges, obviously a spirit. Some of the students panicked and fled, and one of the girls turned her ankle as she fell off the stage. Some of the boys tried to approach her before Mrs. Pentarno called them to order. She was conducting the rehearsal. We're doing Stolen."

Peter grinned. "My last lead," he said with exaggerated regret. He caught the guys' eyes. "I was King Oberon. I was good."

"You were much too conscious of the audience," Madame said sternly, but she didn't deny his claim.

"Madame choreographed Stolen; they use it for the various shows every few years," Peter said. "It's about a girl who was stolen by fairies, and how she comes to Oberon, the King of Faerie, to plead for release to go home."

Ray gave a sputter of laughter. "Peter Venkman, king of the fairies," he choked out, and he and Winston convulsed with laughter. Peter contrived to look scornful and patronizing, but Egon had an idea he was writhing inside.

"Oberon is a very physical role," Madame said sternly. "You two sound like middle school boys snickering in the locker room."

Winston and Ray struggled to paste on sober faces. It took a minute but they succeeded. Egon suspected it would take very little to set them off again.

Peter grinned at her. "Don't worry, Madame, I'm used to it. I have to live with these clowns--and I know all the best ways to get revenge."

Egon decided it was time to intervene. If he didn't, the humor might get to him as well, and Peter did have a creative knack for revenge. "So the ghost looked like a student here?" he asked.

Everybody instantly got down to business. Madame bestowed an approving smile upon Egon. "Yes, that was my theory. She had vanished by the time I arrived in the auditorium, and Mrs. Pentarno has only been with us two years. A most accomplished teacher. She didn't recognize the spirit, and none of the students did either."

"But you have a theory, don't you?" Peter asked her. Egon could tell that he'd probably liked her very much when he was here.

"I think it might possibly be Sharon Welles. She was a most promising student ten years ago. She was to dance the part of the Mortal Girl in Stolen for that year's spring show. But she died tragically in a subway accident three weeks before the show. The understudy did well, but everyone felt bad about Sharon."

"Gosh, yeah," Ray's humor vanished without a trace. "That's sad. How old was she?"

"Thirteen. It would have been her first leading role. She and James Campbell, who was to be Oberon that year, were wonderfully matched."

"Campbell? I've seen him dance," Egon admitted. "Amazing elevation."

"Yes, James is one of our greatest successes," Madame replied. "We think he'll go far. But Sharon was such a loss."

Peter's brow wrinkled. "But if she's been dead ten years, why is she only appearing now? Are you sure she's the ghost?"

"I've shown her picture to Mrs. Pentarno and the students, and they recognized her. As to why she didn't appear till now, perhaps it's because this is the first time we've staged Stolen since that year. At first, it was too painful to use it, and we had a gifted choreographer create several wonderful student dances for us that we used instead. But this year, we have among our students two who would be excellent in the parts of Oberon and the Mortal Girl, so we agreed to stage it again. Would that bring Sharon's spirit back? Has she been unable to rest?"

"It's possible," Peter said seriously. "Playing the part must have been important to her. It was her big chance, even if it was only the middle school recital." He grinned. "Guys, you don't know how fierce the competition is. They always told us not getting a part didn't necessarily reflect on our dancing, but it was a cutthroat game. Sort of like try-outs for the football team--multiplied by fifty. Sharon would have been riding the wave of her greatest triumph. She'd have given anything to dance in the show." He heaved a sigh. It must be all too easy to put himself in Sharon's place. He caught Egon's eye and for once he was deadly serious. "Heck, one of the reasons I took ballet was because Mom really wanted it. She'd taken ballet when she was a kid and she was really good. But in the end, she hadn't gone on with it, and I think a part of her always regretted it. So she got me into it."

"You didn't really want to be a dancer," Madame said.

"No, not really. But I got into it, in a way. The competition pushes you, even if you know you're never going to be a dancer. I got to the point where I knew I was pretty good, and knew I could be even better, and I'd really work hard when a show was in the offing. A few more years and it would've been pretty clear to anybody that I was only in it for the kicks--and for Mom's sake. But for a while there, I halfway wanted it. Halfway not, too, because I knew the kids at a regular school would crack up if they heard about it and mock me. If I'd wanted it bad enough, that wouldn't have mattered. But then I had to quit. We couldn't afford it any more, and there's no way I could have gotten a scholarship, not without more drive and ambition."

"You still minded," Egon said rather quietly.

"Yeah, in a way. I was good, Egon. I don't know if I'd have been good enough to make it--and just as well, as it turns out. I'd rather bust ghosts any day of the week. But when I had to leave ..." His voice trailed off. "It kinda hurt. So I think I've got a feeling for Sharon. She had to leave, too. It was different for her. No choice at all, and I could've really worked and slaved and qualified for a scholarship, and didn't. My choice."

"Do you think you can get through to Sharon?" Winston asked.

"I've gotta try." Peter squared his shoulders. "Can we go over to the auditorium now?"

"It sounds an excellent idea," agreed Madame. "You won't bust her?"

"Bust a kid? Heck, no," Peter said quickly. Egon could tell he hated the very idea. Ghostly children always affected the team. Much better to help them disperse peacefully, if they could. But how could they resolve Sharon's situation? There had been nothing fair about her death, and even Peter's understanding might not be enough to cut through the bitterness that had bound her to her spirit form. Egon heaved an inaudible sigh. This might be difficult.

The auditorium was a small one but the stage was a good size to allow for the various ballets to be performed. The place was deserted. Madame said the stage rehearsals had been deferred until the Ghostbusters had completed their bust. A few of the senior students like the girl who had shown the Ghostbusters to the office lurked around, but Madame sent them away with a few well-chosen words.

"They won't go far," she said. "They want to see you at work."

"Keep them out of here if you can," Peter said. "I don't think we'll need to do any blasting, but in case we do, we can't risk the kids."

He went over to the stage and vaulted up. Egon's meter still registered residuals, but they were stronger here in the place where the spirit had actually manifested. He glanced at it and left it active. They would have warning if she appeared.

Peter couldn't have looked less like a dancer as he stood there in his jumpsuit and boots, his proton pack on his back, but the ham in his nature made it impossible for him to resist the chance to perform. He did a few stretches to loosen up, then quickly went through the five basic positions. He did them so easily that Egon couldn't help wondering if he'd practiced them secretly for years after he had left the ballet school. The odds were great that he hadn't done them since the team opened the business, although Ray had said he'd done a few steps last year.

"You're slumping," Madame said instinctively. "Look at how you move your arm. Is it fluid or is it a stick?"

"Probably mostly stick," Peter said with a grin, then he did a few jeté's across the stage. He was definitely rusty, but a remnant of grace lingered in the movements, even in his inappropriate garb. There had been talent present. A part of Egon thought it a waste that Peter had given it up, but he couldn't be sorry, not when he considered how different their lives would have been if Peter had gone into dance instead of psychology. Would Ghostbusters Inc. even have been formed without Peter? And if not, what would have happened when Gozer came?

Peter went through a few steps of a program, and Egon, who knew more about ballet than Ray and Winston did, realized the routine must have been part of a pas de deux, and Peter had stopped because he didn't have a partner.

"Well, I won't tell you how dreadfully out of practice you are, Peter, because I'm sure you know," Madame said. "The line is good, but you've lost so much flexibility, and your elevation is terrible. Of course you're wearing that device on your back."

"And boots," Peter said with a grin.

"You still remember the pas de deux?" Madame marveled.

"Well, most of it. Moment of glory time. My last great role." He grinned shamelessly. "Peter Venkman, starring as Oberon." Then the smile faded as if a switch had been flipped, just as Egon's meter squealed to life.

The ghost materialized at the edge of the stage and did a series of pirouettes, whirling closer to the center of the stage with each revolution. She moved with an innate grace that almost overrode the fact that she was fuzzy as if not quite focused. One couldn't see through her; she was not transparent. But there was a translucence about her that made her seem very young and not quite real, like the image of a marble statue. She wore her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck like the student who had met the team in the entry hall, and she wore a practice tunic. Egon didn't know what age students began their pointe work, but she managed it effortlessly. She performed a graceful, flowing arabesque, then she came to a stop and looked right at Peter.

"Oberon's dance," she said. Her voice was very young and it ached with bitterness and despair. It dawned on Egon that Peter dancing that particular routine must have summoned her, just as the practice with the students had.

Madame pressed a hand against her mouth. "She speaks," she whispered.

Sharon ignored her. She looked at Peter. "You're too old to be a student. I saw them practicing, someone else in my place, someone else in James's. Here, on my stage."

"This is their performance," Peter told her softly. "Not yours and James's."

"It should be mine." There was hopelessness and misery in the broken voice.

"I am sorry, child." Madame's voice was almost as shaky as the spirit's. "You would have made a wonderful Mortal Girl."

"I will be," the ghost insisted. "The dance is mine. The part is mine."

"Oh, Sharon..."

The ghost collected herself and curtseyed to the older woman. "Madame. Please, Madame, I must dance the part. Let me dance."

Egon saw the doubt and denial on Madame Nadine's face. She could hardly allow a ghost to take part in the performance. Not only would it distress the other children, it might be dangerous.

Peter studied her a moment, then he climbed down from the stage. "Conference, guys."

As the Ghostbusters went into a huddle Sharon resumed her dancing. "The Mortal Girl's solo," Madame said under her breath. "The dance she performs to plead with Oberon to release her from the land of Faerie."

Peter watched her for a second before he joined them in the huddle, and when he spoke it was to voice what Egon was thinking. "She was good," he said. "She might have made it to the top." His eyes were grave and sad, and Egon realized how much he empathized with the ghostly dancer. Peter had always been a sucker for kids in trouble, and Sharon's trouble might be beyond their ability to resolve.

"I can see how good she was," Egon agreed.

"So what do we do?" asked Winston. "Not bust her?" His mouth twisted in disgust at the very idea.

Ray's eyes widened in distress. "Gosh, no, she's just a kid. We can't bust her." He took a deep breath. "But we can't let her dance in the actual show, either. Do you think that's what it would take for her to disperse peacefully?"

"Well, I've got a brilliant idea," Peter said with a grin. "James Campbell was to be her partner. Do you think he might be willing to show up and dance the pas de deux with her? Maybe not in front of a real audience, but in front of us and maybe the teachers? I don't think Sharon would hurt anybody, but we can't really risk the kid who has the part now."

"No, nor any of the children," Egon agreed. He glanced at the ghostly dancer as she drifted across the stage, lighter than a feather, her arms curled in elegant, graceful lines as she danced. If spirit alone could create a great dancer, he was seeing one now. Still young, not as perfect as she might have become, but full of a dancer's heart, a dancer's soul. Peter was watching her, too. Even if he hadn't really wanted to be a dancer, he had to understand what Sharon felt.

"Do you think Campbell would agree?" Winston asked. "Even I've heard of the guy. He's a real celebrity now. He might not bother."

"Come on, he'll eat it up," Peter said with a grin. "Think of the publicity. He's a performer. He'll jump at the chance. It'll win him interviews on all the major talk shows."

Winston chuckled. "Not everyone is a glory hound like you, Pete."

"Their loss." Peter shrugged. "What do you say? Think it'll work? She'd be dancing it on the stage; we can coach her so she can manifest the costume, and I bet they've got one here for Oberon that Campbell can wear. We'll have Madame contact him. I betcha he'd take a call from her in a heartbeat. Let him and Sharon do the pas de deux. That just might work."

"It might indeed." Egon felt a surge of pride in his friend for the idea. Of course Peter wouldn't object to meeting the up-and-coming dancer, either. He would shamelessly compare his own performance as Oberon to Campbell's and make himself insufferable--but he would also be glad to help the ghost girl.

Peter whirled out of the huddle. "Madame, we've got an idea, and we need your help."

"Of course, Peter. Anything to help that poor child."

Peter explained his theory. "And it would give her closure, y'know? Let her have her moment on the stage. Set it up the way it would have been for her performance, with the music and the lighting and all. We'll be the audience and applaud at all the right parts, and we can even arrange for a couple of bouquets to be brought to her when she takes her bow. It wouldn't be the same as actually dancing it in a performance, but I think it's the safest way. We can't risk the students, but if we were all here, I'm positive we could safeguard Campbell. Do you think he'd go for it?"

"For Sharon? In a heartbeat. I think he was a little in love with her, back then, and he has a very generous heart. It shows in his dancing. But, Peter, he's on a European tour at the moment. I think the company is dancing in Madrid right now. He might not be able to get back. He can't let the company down, and even if they let him off for several days, it would take time for him to fly to New York."

Peter's face fell. "Rats. I thought I had the perfect answer. It would've been great."

"Seeing Campbell, you mean?" Ray asked.

Peter shook his head. "Well, yeah," he admitted. "Who wouldn't like to see one of the great ones? But it would have been the perfect answer for Sharon. Maybe I can convince her to wait till he comes back."

Egon glanced at the ghost who danced as if she could go on forever--and would, if the team could find no solution. She didn't listen to their conversation. Egon suspected that as long as they were not on the stage with her, she was scarcely aware of them. She might fade away if they left her alone, but only until the next rehearsal.

"Peter, I don't believe that would work. I think she is 'programmed' to respond to the dancing of Stolen. Every time the students rehearsed, it would draw her here."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Peter scratched his head. "I thought it would be great. Campbell would remember the role--well, probably with a quick rehearsal or two. They could have gotten the costume; he'd be so good it would inspire Sharon. She'd give the performance of her life, uh, death. You know what I mean?"

"There had to be other dancers who performed the part of Oberon," offered Winston. "Maybe some of them are still dancing. Madame..."

"We haven't done Stolen since the year Sharon died, and not for a few years before that. Let me see. The male lead that year was Jack Kelso. He did something to his knee two years later and had to give up dancing. A great loss. Before that..." She shook her head. "Before that was Peter. And of course he didn't dance again after that year."

"But he still remembers it," cried Ray. "Couldn't you coach Peter and have him dance it with her? He's a Ghostbuster. It would be the safest thing." He whirled to grab Peter's arms. "Don't you see, Peter? It's the perfect solution."

Peter stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Give me a break, Ray. I haven't danced in years."

"You take all your dates dancing," Winston reminded him. "You love to dance. Most guys I know, their wives and girlfriends have to drag them onto the dance floor under protest. But you thrive on it. I remember one of them saying you were the best dancer she'd ever been out with."

"Bad for his ego," Egon said lightly. Peter made a face at him. Egon continued thoughtfully. "Peter, you did seem to recall the steps. Obviously you were rusty and had stiffened away from the flexibility a dancer needs, but you do dance regularly, if not ballet. Surely Madame could rehearse you. It would be the safest way to help Sharon. Using a rising star like James Campbell, even if he agreed, would be problematic at best. It has been many years since you did any dancing, but you didn't do badly on the stage."

"I sucked," Peter said. "Bottom line, guys, I'd be crummy at it. I haven't tried any ballet, for a while. Jana and I..." His face colored. "She found out I'd had lessons and she had me trying it. We had our own private lessons."

"We shall leave the rest of that to our imaginations, Peter," Egon said. "There is a child present."

They all glanced at the lonely dancer on the stage, and then everybody stared at Peter. He stared back, looking curiously at bay.

"I couldn't do it," he said.

"Sure you could, Pete." Winston clapped him on the shoulder. "You're perfect for it. Let Madame rehearse you for a couple of hours to make sure you remember the part. It's not like we have any more busts scheduled for today. You can even practice with Sharon. You're not afraid of ghosts."

"Well, not ghosts like her, anyway," Peter said. "It's the ones with fangs and claws I can't warm up to." His eyes drifted over to the girl. "She might not think I'm good enough," he said. That must have been difficult for him to admit. "It might not work without a real dancer."

"Peter." Egon put his hands on her shoulders. "She was thirteen years old. She wouldn't expect Baryshnikov."

"She sure wouldn't get him." Peter offered a disparaging grin. "I don't know if I even remember the routine."

"Then I shall stand in the wings and prompt you, Peter," Madame offered. "I would far rather assist the child to find peace than have you trap her, but I must have resolution. I have a school to run and a performance to stage, and no matter how much my heart weeps for that poor child, I have a duty to the living. The students can let the rehearsals for Stolen go this one day and work on the short ballet that will accompany it. That shouldn't disturb Sharon. It is a new ballet, very modern, and she has no ties to it."

Peter grimaced. "You guys aren't gonna watch, are you?" he asked.

"We shall have to, Peter," Egon replied.

Madame nodded. "He's right. Sharon deserves an audience. She deserves a bigger one than we can give her."

"You want to risk bringing the kids in to watch?" Peter asked in disbelief.

Madame hesitated. "Only if you could guarantee it's safe."

Peter went to her and clasped her hands. "I don't think it's a good idea, Madame. The teachers, maybe. I really don't think Sharon will hurt anyone. She didn't at the rehearsal, did she?"

"No, of course not. But some of the children were frightened. All right. I just thought it might help her to have a larger audience."

"I think the fact that there's an audience at all will help. My buddies aren't ballet critics; they won't know how good she is. But the teachers will. Okay." He glanced over at his teammates. "I'm doing this for Sharon," he said. "I'm waaaay out of practice and I'll probably fall all over my feet. If you give me a rough time over it, I'll get payback. I've got some great ideas."

Egon smiled. "We won't mock you, Peter. It's what Sharon needs."

"Yeah, to have a has-been ex-ballet student lug her around the stage like a drunken rhino? If there was a better way to handle this, I'd vote for it in a second. You don't think we could get Baryshnikov? No, huh?"

"I doubt it." Winston grinned. "Cheer up, Pete. When I was a kid, my Mama had me taking tap dancing. We can compare emotional scars when we get home."

Egon blessed Winston mentally for the timely intervention. Just what Peter needed to hear.

"Hey, yeah." Ray grinned. "I had to learn the tuba."

"I still remember all three times you've tried to play it since we opened the business," Peter kidded. "Only good thing was it scared Slimer away for a couple of hours each time. I hadda decide which was better, your playing or having the spud gone." He winked at Ray. "Parents have a lot to answer for sometimes. What about you, Spengs? Any shameful secrets from childhood?"

If Peter meant to go on the stage and make a fool of himself over a routine he hadn't danced in more than twenty years, the least Egon could do was embarrass himself equally. It was only fair. "When I was four, my mother took me to a ladies' tea party dressed as Little Lord Fauntleroy."

There was a startled silence, then amusement grew in each man's eyes. Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "You win hands down, Egon. Heck, at least I was good at ballet."

"And you will be today," Egon assured him. He would have to make certain to contact his mother before Peter could sneak in a call, to warn her that under no circumstances was she to share the photo of little blond Egon in a red velvet suit. Once the guys saw that photograph, Egon's life would not be worth living.

Madame Nadine had Peter change into a practice tunic and tights and actually found a pair of ballet shoes that fit him. He went through the five basic positions and wasn't bad at that, then a series of stretching exercises to work himself up to what he would be doing. Running around the five boroughs with a forty-pound proton pack on his back kept him fit, but this required a different kind of fitness. He wasn't breathless from the warm-up, but he did not look happy.

Sharon stopped her dancing to watch him. She offered a few suggestions in a soft voice that the guys couldn't hear down in the front row. Peter must have thought they were helpful because he gave her a big grin and tried to respond to them. She came up to him as he stood with one hand on the barre and demonstrated what she meant. Peter tried it, then he flashed her a grin.

"Thanks, sweetie. You're a real trouper."

Her face lit up. The smile was almost as audible as bells chiming, and as delighted. She did a few quick exercise movements and Peter tried to copy them. He looked like exactly what he was, a man in his early thirties trying to be thirteen and failing miserably. Egon struggled not to smile. Ray and Winston didn't quite succeed.

Peter shot a baleful glance at his friends as Madame walked him through the routine. It was clear to all of them that Peter was excruciatingly out of practice. He remembered more of the pas de deux than Egon had expected him to, and he managed all the steps, but in a jerky, hesitant way that showed it was no longer natural for him. He would be incredibly stiff tomorrow.

Egon kept the P.K.E. meter active as Peter did a walk-through of the pas de deux then danced his part with Sharon, although he didn't do the lifts. "It's not that I'd hurt you if I dropped you," Peter said to the ghost. When her face quivered, he said, "You know how to land if that happened. But let me get used to it. I'm out of practice."

"You were good," she said. "I saw a movie of your show. You made a good Oberon. James said he'd be better, but then James was always like that. It wasn't his ego. He knew he was going to be great. Sometimes people know and they're wrong, but I think James was right. I always felt like I was better than ever when I danced with him."

"He is one of the great ones," Peter assured her. "And you're bound to feel you're better when you dance with me, just by comparison."

"You're just out of practice," she consoled him.

Egon wondered how much she understood. Did she actually know she was a ghost? It was better not to inquire too closely. He drew Ray and Winston in to explain his reasoning. "She is simply not reasoning it out. We want to encourage her to focus exclusively on the ballet. She's interested. I believe that having a chance to dance one more time, even with such a small audience, might well be what she needs to disperse peacefully. Peter is correct."

"Yeah, he's good with her," Winston agreed. "Especially when he's so mortified, first to have us find out about his deep dark secret and second to have to make an idiot of himself in front of us."

"He might do okay," Ray defended Peter. "He is light on his feet--although I would never tell him."

"No, he'd be above himself in a second." Winston grinned. "We'll see. Poor guy's gonna be stiff as a board when he wakes up tomorrow, though."

"Now, together," Madame said. "We'll stop to make corrections as needed." She gestured Peter and Sharon into their starting positions. "This time, we'll have the music."

"Think I can keep up?" Peter challenged.

"I know you can." She went across the stage. "Ordinarily, the company orchestra would play for a performance, but we won't have that. We'll have to go with a recording." She went over to the sound system and manipulated it expertly. The intro music for the pas de deux came out. It was eerie and haunting, composed, Madame had explained, specifically for her ballet by a famous composer whose name Egon had recognized instantly. Sharon, as the Mortal Child, would finish up her pleading dance to show King Oberon what she missed of the human realm--she would do that in the actual performance first--then Oberon would rise from his throne and dance with her. His job was to show her the joy of Faerie, and she would respond to it, but finally she would pull away and dance alone to show her choice. Oberon then came back and danced a few more steps with her, guiding her to the gateway to the Mortal Realm and freedom.

The rehearsal went poorly. It was inevitable that it be that way. Peter and Sharon had never danced together, Peter was utterly out of practice, and Sharon wasn't fully solid, so she had to brace herself instinctively for the lifts, and Peter had to compensate for the fact that she was practically weightless. Since the dance had been designed for students, who wouldn't have the years of experience required to do really intricate and difficult lifts, the routine was necessarily simple, simple, that is, for students who had been working for three or four years or maybe even more to perfect their skills. A person couldn't leap back into the ballet after such a long gap without revealing how rusty they were. Egon knew little of the subject but he did know that the daily exercises were designed to make a dancer's body pliant and supple. Peter could injure himself in the performance because he wasn't properly in shape.

But Sharon danced with a combination of somberness and joy, elated to be dancing with a partner again. When Peter's grip slipped and he nearly dropped her, she levitated automatically then slid to the ground.

"I'll never get this," Peter muttered, disgusted.

"I can go heavy if that would help."

"I think it might. You sure?"

Her head bobbed. "I just want to dance," she said in a small voice.

Peter hugged her. "Sweetie, you're wonderful. You deserve a partner who isn't so stiff and creaky."

"I just want to dance," she said again. "Let's try."

They worked for another hour. Egon could tell that Peter's body was remembering the steps. He couldn't possibly be expert; it wasn't physically possible. But in his movements lurked the ghost of the dancer he might have become, assuming he'd been willing to work at it, assuming he might have had a chance. Egon couldn't tell from watching him if he could have been another Campbell. No one could be certain of that. But he might be good enough to help one lost ghost child find peaceful resolution.

"There," Madame said when they finished the pas de deux and the Mortal Girl pirouetted gleefully off the stage toward the door to freedom. "Very nice, Sharon."

The girl reappeared and dropped a curtsey. "Thank you, Madame."

"We'll get Peter into his costume. He seems to think you can manage your own costume. Is he right?"

Sharon hesitated, closed her eyes, and concentrated. The meter chittered at Egon as the girl used her ghostly ability to change her appearance. Her hair was bound back with a ribbon, her costume was light and filmy in an irregular pattern of greens and golds. "Is this right?" she asked.

"Very nice, dear."

While Peter changed into his costume several stagehands arrived and lowered backdrops from the flies to simulate a woodland glen. Oberon's throne was wheeled onto the stage and anchored in place. "Ordinarily, the rest of the Faerie Court would be on stage during the dance," Madame explained. "Some of the more mischievous of the sprites would dance in and out around Sharon until the pas de deux, but we will dispense with that today as I cannot risk my students. We will have Sharon's solo and then the pas de deux. I hope that is enough for that poor child."

From the way she had cooperated with everything, Egon suspected it would work. Look at her now, rehearsing as she waited, he thought.

"Think Pete can manage this?" Winston asked in an undertone.

"Well, he won't be a second Baryshnikov," said Ray with a grin. "But for somebody that much out of practice, he's not bad." He chuckled. "Better not tell him I said that. He'd get so above himself."

"He'll be lucky if he can get out of bed tomorrow," Winston returned. "Muscles he forgot he had are going to hate him."

"Perhaps we can arrange for Slimer to offer a massage," Egon suggested, and the three of them laughed. Amid the humor, Egon's respect for Peter didn't diminish. He had to know he might look foolish and inadequate--not that there was any reason to expect him to be polished and perfect considering his limited training and the length of time since it had taken place. But for the ghost child, he would risk it. Egon resolved to restrain any possible teasing, although Peter would never expect the team to forego it entirely. And it was even possible he would rise to the challenge and do well.

Peter returned slowly from backstage, his face all scrunched up in preparation for the guys' laughter. Like Sharon's costume, his was patterned in green and gold, but as "royalty" the gold was in ascendancy. It enhanced his dark hair. Winston and Ray struggled not to snicker at the gold tights, and Egon could read the longing for a camera to immortalize the moment in their faces.

"Ah, it fits," said Madame in delight.

Peter shook his head. "The wardrobe mistress had to let this out a little," he admitted, plucking at the tunic. "Most middle school kids don't have my manly physique."

"Is that what you call it, Peter?" Ray asked with a grin.

"One more word, Stantz, and I'll behead your Mister Stay Puft doll when we get home."

Ray pantomimed zipping his lips shut, but his eyes were full of mirth.

Peter struck a pose. Several of the teachers who had come in to swell the audience weren't snickering at the sight of him. Egon saw them looking him up and down and enjoying the fit of the tights. Unfortunately, so did Peter, who could easily read their favorable opinions in their faces. He strutted.

"Very nice, Peter," Egon called. "I'm sure they'll be equally impressed when you trip over your feet."

Peter made a face at him, but he also cut back on the ego. "I'm ready," he said. "Well, as ready as I'll ever be."

Madame moved into the prompt corner and gestured for the "audience" to be seated. Egon drew his thrower, not because he expected to need it, but because in a ghost situation it was better to be prepared. Ray and Winston did the same. The meter lay activated on the empty seat beside Egon, the sound lowered so that he would be able to hear it over the music if it went into strong reaction but soft enough that it would not distract Peter from his upcoming performance.

At a gesture from Madame, the house lights went down and the stage lights settled into what they would need. The curtain swished shut. "Overtures and beginners," called Madame from behind the curtain. Music swelled.

The curtain opened to Peter on King Oberon's throne. The Mortal Girl had come to dance before him to crave an audience with the Faerie King. Sharon was intent, her face grave, abstracted; she was lost in the part. Egon couldn't help thinking of the parallel. As the Mortal Girl had come to seek freedom from Faerie, Sharon now approached the Ghostbusters for help to disperse peacefully.

She danced as if she had to pour a whole lifetime of performances into this one moment, as if she were a dancer heart and soul. As she danced to the eerie, wistful music that simulated the Mortal Girl's plea to return home, a glow began within her and made her appear nearly translucent. Somehow, poise and polish fell upon her and she danced beyond her years and experience, with a fluid grace that filled Madame's face with awe, even though she had seen the great ones perform. It was as if the moment gave to Sharon the full burgeoning of her fledgling gift and transformed her from a child into a prima ballerina. Egon saw Peter's face fill with awe as he realized it. The only hesitation on his face was because he must realize what an inadequate partner he would be for her transitory greatness.

A glow filled the stage that had nothing to do with the lighting, and in the heart of it, other dancers appeared, even more ephemeral than Sharon, filling in the missing parts of the ballet. There were the playful sprites weaving in and out, there were the members of the court who watched in the background as the Mortal Girl danced her longing for home. Egon didn't know if they were a manifestation of the haunting or if they were the actual ghosts of other dancers cut down too early, drawn here by Sharon's need. The meter chattered faintly at him, but he didn't pick it up to look. They might all be part of the overall haunting, but they offered no threat to Peter or to Madame, who hovered in the wings, eyes wide and awed.

As Sharon's solo ended and she dropped down into a graceful curtsy at Oberon's feet, Peter rose to dance with her, to show her the joys of Oberon's kingdom. He offered her hand, she put hers into it, and he guided her around the stage, gesturing here and there. This time, the scene seemed real, a vast hall, interwoven with trees that grew up transparently through the stage floor, rising up to meet overhead in a leafy bower that masked the flies and catwalks from sight. Peter's startled "Whoa" was his only reaction to the paranormal alteration of the set; then he caught himself and reverted to professionalism. Oberon's dance called for him to do a series of grand jetés around the stage, Sharon trailing in his wake, as he showed her the wonders of his kingdom. Everyplace he pointed was indeed wondrous, but far more miraculous than that, the jetés that had been shaky and awkward in practice were suddenly graceful and fluid. The glow that permeated Sharon spread to Peter and inspired him, possibly even possessed him with the spirit of a great dancer. After the first leap, Peter's mouth fell open comically, then he caught himself and drew himself into the role. He was Oberon, the Faerie King, proud of his kingdom, determined to win the loyalty of the Mortal Girl, to convince her she would be better here than in the mortal realm. Their dance was a bargain. If he could convince her, she would stay willingly. If he failed, she could go. It was not the Faerie tradition, but her pleading dance had moved the king.

The spirit energy that transformed the stage and drove Sharon to dance with a maturity beyond her years and training permeated Peter. He was dancing so far in advance of his abilities Egon was afraid he might actually injure himself and fail to realize it until the moment passed. Concerned, Egon grabbed the meter, adjusted it to Peter's biorhythms, and took a reading. No trace of conventional possession, but Peter's face wore an unfamiliar expression. For the moment, he was Oberon, if not possessed, then utterly absorbed in the role, in the experience. He and Sharon performed the pas de deux not only as if they had worked together for years but as if they had stopped being Ghostbuster and ghost and become the characters they danced. It was truly an inspired performance.

"Wow," breathed an elated Ray beside Egon. "This is great."

The music swelled. Oberon performed the final lift then deposited the Mortal Girl on the stage, as light as a feather. She danced around him in a circle, deciding, whirled around the stage in a series of pirouettes, then danced back to Oberon, who put out his hands and did a series of complicated steps to lure her toward his throne. Peter never put a foot wrong. She bowed her head in denial, raised his hands to her lips and kissed them, then she let go and danced away backward toward the gateway to the mortal realm.

Oberon danced a couple of quick steps after her for one last plea and put out his hands, but she retreated. Both of them stopped completely and stood unmoving for a breathless moment. The music swelled.

Then the girl ran back, dropped a curtsey at him. He pulled her to his feet, kissed her forehead, and danced her toward the gateway. She danced slowly, gazing back, understanding what she was giving up but choosing willingly to surrender. Oberon danced beside her but he stopped halfway, then turned to gesture to his kingdom. The ghostly dancers surged forward to say farewell to her.

The Mortal Girl vanished stage left and the curtain came down to wild applause from the entire audience.

When the curtain raised, the ghostly court was gone, and the transitory special effects had vanished. But Peter and Sharon were still there for their final bows. Ready for the moment, Winston jumped up and presented two huge bouquets of red roses to Sharon, who stood lightly, clutching them in her arms, her face transformed by joy. Peter stepped aside to showcase her and applauded her. "Isn't she great?"

She looked at him, dimpled like a child, and curtseyed to him. Then she held up a hand for silence. "Oberon tried to make the Mortal Girl stay, but she had to go. I have to go now, too." The bouquets cradled lovingly in one arm, she put out her other hand to Peter, who jumped back and snatched it. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you," Peter said. "You were great."

"I couldn't have been, not without you." Her smile turned sad and wistful, but somehow fulfilled. "I must go," she said and danced off stage to the left. Peter went after her.

A moment later, he returned, the bouquets in his arms. There was a momentary bleakness on his face--it is always hard to watch magic die. Then he smiled. "She's gone," he said. "She dispersed peacefully." He looked around as if he didn't recognize the normal stage, then he went over to Madame, bowed before her in an elegant gesture that suited the costume, and gave the bouquets to her. "She wanted you to have them."

Madame was frankly crying. She enveloped Peter in a hug, the roses squashed between them, then she pulled free. "Thank you, Peter. What you did was above and beyond the call of duty."

"It was sure above and beyond my abilities," he said. He glanced down at his teammates and raised his voice. "Did you see me, guys? Wasn't I great?"

"So great I doubt you'll be able to walk tomorrow," Egon said practically.

Peter groaned. "Man, you called it. I can feel my muscles swearing at me already."

"Just think, Pete," Winston said with a grin. "The second we get home, Slimer's gonna volunteer to give you a massage."

"No offense, Zed, but if he does, I'm gonna have to blast him." He hesitated. "Do you think maybe Janine...?"

"Not in this lifetime," said Ray.

"Oh well, I'll just take a long hot bath--maybe for about three hours," Peter said.

"I would recommend that," agreed Madame. "Peter, I am truly grateful." She clasped his hand. "And if I had believed you really had this much potential, I would have moved heaven and earth all those years ago to make sure you won a full scholarship."

Peter grinned and shook his head. "No way. That wasn't me. I was never that good, not even when I was in shape. Egon, what the heck was all that? All those other people on the stage and the way everything looked different. Did you guys see it? Did I really look that good?"

"Ordinarily I wouldn't touch a question like that with a ten-foot pole, Peter," Egon told him. "However, in answer to your question, we did all see the transformation of the stage--and of your dancing. You were not possessed," he added hastily before Peter's face could darken. "It was more an enhancement. The ghostly dancers and the alteration to the stage were a psi projection, perhaps brought about by Sharon's desperate need to dance the role before she could disperse. As near as I can determine--and this will make an incredibly fascinating study--her need enhanced the projection and it fed upon itself. I did detect faint multiple readings, not as if we had many full Class Three's present but more as if they were an image, a projection of every performance of Stolen ever performed on this stage."

"Gosh, yeah, Peter," Ray cried eagerly. "Sharon's need for completion must have evoked a psi shadow of the other times the ballet had been danced and peopled it with fixed repeaters. They weren't complete entities, more like images of what once was. This is great."

Peter's brow wrinkled. "But I can't dance like that. Even when I was good, I couldn't dance like that. There's no way I could have done that--and believe me, every muscle I've got is ready to go on strike over it. So how did I turn into the next Nijinsky?"

Egon frowned as he considered the possibilities. "In order for Sharon's dream to be fulfilled, I believe it was necessary for her to have the best possible partner."

"And instead she got stuck with me," Peter said. "So what did she do? Give me a psychic nudge?"

"That's not exactly how I would phrase it," Egon replied, "but let it stand. Yes, Peter. She gave you a psychic nudge. I imagine if you tried to repeat it now, you would revert to your more, er, creaky performance."

"You saying I'm on my last legs?" Peter challenged, but understanding lit his eyes.

"You tell us," Winston said with a broad grin. "I think we're gonna have to carry you home."

Peter hesitated and Egon could see him struggling with his macho image, that he could carry it off without so much as a twinge, but then he shrugged, and even that light gesture made him wince. "I think you are, too," he said. "I'm gonna go change out of this costume. If I don't come back in a reasonable time, you guys will have to come and haul home the corpse." He started for the dressing room slowly, like a decrepit old man, then he caught himself, squared his shoulders, and made himself stand erect. He whirled, gave the audience an elaborate--and disgustingly hammy--bow, then he vanished offstage.

Winston watched him go. "He's never gonna let us live this down, is he?" he asked.

"He will tomorrow morning," said Ray. "When he tries to get out of bed."

They shared an amused grin, then Egon said, "But it was an incredible performance."

Ray's head bobbed enthusiastically in confirmation. "Wasn't it great? I love it when a ghost gets to disperse peacefully."

"I don't think we ever had a showier dispersal," Winston agreed. "Great going, Pete," he concluded to the absent "Oberon". "But Peter Venkman, ballet dancer? Anybody but me think the world is upside down?"

Egon couldn't help but agree with that.

"Go away, Egon," groaned Peter the next morning. "Let me die in peace."

Egon looked down at the sprawled form on the four-poster bed. "I know you feel miserable, Peter, but moving around is the only solution. I could get out the liniment."

"And have the spud offer to rub it on?" Peter groaned and pulled the covers over his head. "No thanks."

Although he felt a great deal of sympathy for Peter's misery, Egon knew staying in bed would not really help him. He drew the covers back. "I'll help you get up, Peter. But we really need you to come downstairs now."

Peter moaned pathetically. "If you tell me we've got a bust this morning, Egon, I'm going to have to kill you."

"No bust, Peter. But there is something you need to see."

One eye cranked open and Peter stared balefully up at Egon. "I'm not gonna like this, am I? What is it? You guys didn't leak the story to the newspapers, did you? I'll never live it down!" He eased himself up on his elbows, and his face contorted in misery. "Go away, Egon. I'll never move again."

"We didn't leak the story," Egon said. "You have my word on that."

"Better not, because I can still get around your mom, even if you already warned her not to let me see your Little Lord Fauntleroy pictures."

"It was one of the teachers," Egon admitted. "She had a video camera and she taped the entire performance."

Peter stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "You're kidding." He sat bolt upright before he realized what he was doing, then his face contorted in agony. He pushed aside the pain of his abused muscles and forced himself out of bed.

Egon gave him a hand and steadied him until he found his balance. "Walk it out, Peter. It will feel better in a few minutes."

Peter stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Riiight. Anybody ever tell you what a pollyanna you are?"

"Well, not recently."

Peter took a few wary steps, then bent to massage his calves. "God, I hurt." Then he looked at Egon. "You weren't kidding, were you. Somebody really did tape the dance?"

"The seniors' ballet instructor," Egon confirmed. "Miss Sheridan."

"She gave it to the networks, didn't she?" Peter groaned.

"She sold it to CNN. They aired it this morning, and Ray taped it. You know how he always has a tape in the VCR just in case. He got the whole thing. Amazing. Not all ghostly manifestations respond well to film, as you know, but this one did. The transformation of the stage was transparent--"

"It was to me when I was dancing in the middle of it," Peter agreed.

"But the dancing came through fine."

"I'm gonna have to move to Cleveland where nobody ever heard of me," Peter groaned. "Just kill me now, Egon, and get it over with. I'll be the laughingstock of Manhattan."

"Actually, Peter, and I hate to admit this as it is sure to be very bad for your overabundant ego, the phone calls we've taken this morning have been overwhelmingly favorable. Well, apart from the would-be ballet dancers who want us to let ghosts out of the containment unit to aid their progress."

"Then there's the ones who claim the whole thing was a hoax, Peter," said Ray as he bounced into the room. Peter eyed his easy movements with sheer loathing and went back to massaging his calves. "Some of them claim that they used computer imaging to paste your head on the body of a real dancer."

"Right, Ray. Like any of us know how to do that." Peter straightened up carefully and took a few more experimental steps.

"Well, looks like you're still alive, Pete," Winston said as he joined them.

"And loving every second," said Peter balefully. "You guys are kidding about the tape, right?"

"It's great publicity, Peter," Ray consoled him. "Just think, it was a really creative way to 'bust' a ghost."

"Right, and if Sharon's family saw it, what do you suppose they're gonna think, Ray?" Peter's face darkened and Egon realized he'd already considered the family of the ghost girl. "I was gonna find out about them from Madame today and see if she thought I should tell them what happened or just avoid the whole thing."

Ray gave Peter a sympathetic pat on the shoulder "Well, gee, Peter, I thought of that, too. I asked Madame yesterday. Sharon lived with her grandmother; her parents were already gone when she died. And Madame checked. The grandmother died three years ago. There wasn't any family to be upset." His eyes were shadowed, but then he'd lost his parents young, too.

Peter forgot his aches and pains and his imagined humiliation to give Ray a quick pat on the arm. "Well, then I don't have to go and break the news to anybody today." He added quickly, "Is there really a tape?"

"There is," Egon confirmed. "I assume you want to see it--or should we tape over it as quickly as possible?"

Peter hesitated, then he brightened. "Tape over it? When the whole world can see how brilliant I am? The Great Venkman, dancer extraordinaire. I bet I get more dates out of this than I can keep track of. Think I can persuade Janine to be my social secretary?"

"You can try--if you've got a death wish," Winston said.

The clicking of high heels announced the arrival of Janine on the third floor. "Everybody decent?" she called.

"Well, more or less," Winston called back. "Come on in, Janine."

She stopped in the bunkroom doorway and surveyed Peter, who was just beginning to loosen up as he took a few wary steps around the room, pausing every now and then to lean against the footboard of one of the beds. With a wicked grin, Janine went over to him, walked around him in a measuring circle, and then folded his arms across her chest. "I saw you on television," she said.

Peter groaned--loudly. "My life is over."

"All I can say is that if these calls keep coming in the way they have, Doctor Venkman, I'm going to expect a raise."

"In your dreams, Melnitz. You'd think it would be a privilege to work for someone so famous."

"Can I be sick now?" Janine asked the other three.

"I'll get a barf bag," Ray agreed.

Janine studied Peter again, then she dimpled with mirth. "That's all right. I'll live with it. You'd better get dressed. Cynthia Crawford called. She's bringing her TV crew over for an interview."

Peter brightened. He thrived at the thought of the press.

"She's got a great title for the program," Janine said as she started for the door. Egon waited expectantly, unsurprised at the suspicion that flooded Peter's features.

"Yeah?" Peter said warily.

"Yeah. She's going to call it 'Twinkletoes'." Janine grinned broadly at Peter's horrified face and fled the bunkroom without looking back. It was just like Janine to claim the last word.

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