A Small Spat

“Look, I really couldn’t care less if you were murdered, okay? This is my job, and I’m doing it. You should have thought about that before you died.”

“Hey, buddy! Everyone has the right to pursuit happiness and justice – the Constitution says so,” Harper dodged his attempts to seal her in the bag.

“It doesn’t apply to you.”

“It does too! The Constitution says everyone. See, there’s the loophole. Criminals can use it,” she noted, eyes hardening, “so why can’t I?”

“Because no one can see you and you have no physical bearing in this world.”

Harper winced at his words. “You have a good point there, Grey, but I’m not giving up just yet.”

“I told you: my name is Dorian.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to call you Grey.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will. My name is Harper. Oh, and just a thought – have a bit of respect for the ghosts you suck up, Grey. If they ever get free, they won’t like you,” Harper informed him.

“You think I wanted to do this? It wasn’t my choice,” he spat, green eyes flashing.

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