Doctor Strangehold picked up the twins a little later than he had planned. He inquired about their days as he tried to push his current case out of his mind. Maybe some connection would present itself if he didn’t think about it too hard.

Tooty felt she had aced her tests and was doing better with her afterschool program. She was on the bench until someone couldn’t play. She didn’t claim to be better than the other girls on her team, but the doctor felt she was.

Timmy was playing. He couldn’t wait until the first game. He thought he could hit home runs on the school field. He didn’t know how good he was doing in his classes. He admitted he didn’t have an interest in most of the subjects.

Strangehold warned him that he had to do well academically if he wanted to keep going with his sport. He didn’t want to get kicked off the team because he didn’t understand his studies.

Timmy assured him he would be a better monster hunter than baseball player any day of the week.

The doctor was not amused by that assertion, and assured his grandchild that all the great monster hunters knew a little about everything, some of them knowing everything about one thing. Timmy would do well to follow their example and learn everything he could while he could.

Timmy didn’t seem convinced by the argument, but said he would do the best he could.

The family had a quiet meal, went over homework, and planned for the next day. Strangehold still had to teach the next day despite the crime he was working on. Maybe he could use it as an example of a strange death, and use that as some sort of test.

He doubted anyone would think an ectoplasmic monster was involved.

After the twins were in bed, and he had set measures in place, the doctor drove down to the Note. He wanted to look at the place for himself before he marked it down as harmless.

He had decided that if his murderer was on the scene, he would try to keep any mayhem down. He didn’t want a crowd of civilians getting in his way while his enemy could act as he pleased.

Threatening to rip off someone’s arm would put the onus on Strangehold on how he could proceed without letting that person suffer amputation by manual manipulation.

And the doctor was not sure he could win a duel with the murderer. His mask was superhumanly strong and fast. He would need a lot of luck to beat anyone like that who was ready for him.

He pulled into the parking reserved for that area. All he had to do was look around, maybe trace some ectoplasm. He should be ready to fight, but it was possible that the murderer had moved on, or waiting for the police to give up before he came back.

Strangehold got out of his car and went to the club door. The first step was to walk in and order something to drink, or eat. After that he would play it by ear.

The doctor paid the booth girl, and nodded at the doorman holding the door for him to step inside the club. Music drifted over him as he looked around for a place to sit.

He saw a small table on one side of the room. It was just out of the overhead lights shining down on the space. He took the spot and watched the room for anything that might be a clue.

Small tendrils that could have been smoke drifted in the room. Some of them wrapped around the patrons with one end drifting in the air.

Strangehold frowned at the sight. Someone was farming ectoplasm in plain sight. He decided to wait. He couldn’t tell who the culprit was so there was no point in exposing himself.

He did make sure to fake the loss of his own ectoplasm. He didn’t want his enemy to know that another medium was in the audience.

His consideration was based on the physical mask. If someone created something like that in the middle of the audience, some of the bystanders would simply die. The rest might be weakened. And the mask was strong enough to rip a man apart in a few seconds. There was no telling how many would get hurt in a melee like that.

If he ran into the murderer here at the club, his best tactic was try to move the fight outside and stop the drain of ectoplasm from the bystanders that would be on the street. Once he had cut off the flow, he could just wear the other magician down with his own reserve.

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He hoped it would be that easy, but he had seen enough plans going askew because his enemy decided on something he would have never considered doing himself.

And this enemy had already shown he liked to make things personal.

Why had he killed the victim? Strangehold felt if he knew that, the rest would drop into his hands. He would be thinking of ways to arrest the murderer and prove that he had committed the crime instead of trying to figure out who he was.

He listened to the music. He frowned as the ectoplasm grew around him. More of it drifted away. The idea that Crenshaw had played the same song and generated the same manifestation crossed his mind. Were they partners? Did the one partner cut the other out when he was no longer useful?

He liked that as a possible explanation of events, but it didn’t bring him closer to a solution unless the partner was somewhere in the club and collecting the ectoplasm for his own use.

Strangehold reached out with his senses. The ectoplasm flowed out of the room. Some of the people slumped in their chairs. He stood up. He needed to do something to put a stop to this.

He reached out with his own ectoplasm and used the four tentacular arms he created to touch each of the victims around him. They woke up and sucked in their ectoplasm with a gasp. The move caused the drain to stutter. He stretched his four arms out and worked on everyone in the room from where he stood until everyone seemed to be back to normal.

He decided the music had to go. He could hear the notes in the ectoplasm he touched. And that explained why Crenshaw had been selected as a pawn in the game.

The music put the unwary into a trance. It regulated the flow of ectoplasm from the victim to the thief. And once a band started playing it, a single musician wasn’t necessary if he knew what was going on and didn’t like it.

And now it came down to what he would do now that someone had stepped in and stopped his recharging for the moment. Would he come out on the center stage, or try to hide in the shadows? A physical match up was the expected outcome of his interference.

He still had to shut off the music and look around. He had questions that they could answer about the music and if anyone hired them to perform, or if they were given the song and asked to play.

Strangehold decided the quickest way to stop the music was cut the power. Then he could usher everyone out of the club before he tried to hunt his quarry down. There was no doubt in his mind that the killer was near, maybe as close as the next room behind the stage, or in the alley beyond that.

He had to work fast if he wanted to catch the man once the lights went out.

Then he realized he had no way to cut the power since he didn’t know where the breaker box was in the building. He frowned at that. He had to do something else.

He flicked one of his arms at the drum set on stage. It punched through the skin with a loud pop. The drummer sat back from the sudden breaking. His bandmates looked around at him. It threw the song off, which threw off the culling of ectoplasm into a loss.

That should keep the audience from having any more adverse reactions while he went about his business.

Strangehold looked around as he made his way to the stage door. He needed to get behind the scenes. He doubted his enemy was in the kitchen. Too many people would see what he was doing. Being close to the band and out of sight of anyone not allowed backstage would be perfect.

He walked through the door. Nobody was behind the stage. Where would he set up to collect ectoplasm from innocent bystanders? He decided to try the ready room for the band. Nobody was supposed to be there since the band was on stage.

He could try the alley behind the club after the ready room.

The doctor cautiously walked to the closed ready room door. He knocked before he pushed the door open with one of his tentacle hands. Nothing came out of the room after him.

He took a moment to do a quick search. The room had clothes on hangers, a dressing table to check your look, and cases for instruments. He didn’t see anything that might be used to collect ectoplasm for later use.

How close did the other master have to be for his collection to work? Was there a spot under the club?

He considered that there might be a cellar under the club as he went to the back door. He needed to make sure his enemy wasn’t outside. Then he could think about searching the building itself.

He hoped he didn’t have to deal with a fully charged menace when he did catch up with the murderer. That would make things more dangerous than he liked.

He sent his sense down the alley to the street. No one lurked in the shadows. He closed the door and turned his attention to the building. He should clear it, but he had no idea how to do that other than setting something on fire. That was a last resort in his opinion.

He started searching for a cellar door in the back of the club. He worked his way across the dining area, ignoring the band. The drummer valiantly tried to make his part sound like it fit the music they were playing, but the music wasn’t draining ectoplasm from the people at their tables. The bar and kitchen had to be next. He doubted the employees wanted him looking around back there.

He had to get back there and hope that his idea was right.

He waved the bartender over and gestured for him to lean closer. The bartender frowned at him in a what do you want way.

“Do you have a cellar?,” asked Strangehold.

“I don’t know,” said the bartender. “Why?”

“My name is Strangehold,” said the doctor. “I’m looking into something for the

police. I was wondering if you had a cellar. I’m looking for a small gas leak.”

“I don’t think so,” said the bartender. He glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen.

“You don’t think there is a gas leak, or you don’t want to let me look around?,” said Strangehold.

“Both.”