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When the mutilated canine charged again, snapping and snarling, Sadie merely closed her eyes and prepared for the skin-crawling disgust that flooded through her whenever the spirits of the dead touched her body.
"Talking to ghosts again?" Zack asked as he came around the corner of the house carrying a stack of rubber medical waste bins.
"A dog," she replied, rubbing her hand over her short-cropped hair.
"A ghost dog?" Zack grinned, put down the bins, and straightened to his near six feet.
"Yeah. He scared the hell out of me."
"R-i-i-i-ght. The lady who mops blood, guts, and meth while talking to ghosts is afraid of a dead puppy."
