by Sammi Cox
Andromache Jones and Jean Pottersworth were sitting in Mac's car, doing their best to calm their adrenaline-fuelled breathing. Whilst they had been busy inside, the sky had started to darken.
'I thought you said there was nothing to worry about. I thought you said that ghosts couldn't hurt people.'
'There was no point in telling you the truth, was there? You wouldn't have dared venture into the house again. And that wouldn't have helped us one bit.'
Mac neglected to mention that Jean had already been harmed by the ghost, the day she foolishly mixed alcohol with apparitions to create her own deadly cocktail of spirits.
'At any rate, I'm pretty sure I never said it quite like that...there would have been much more ambiguity in my answer...I don't like lying unless I really have to.'
'So what are we going to do now? The ghost wants me dead. Dead.'
'Only if you don't give back whatever it is she thinks you have stolen from her.'
'I haven't stolen anything from anyone. Living or dead.'