No. Harsh truth was better than comfortable lies. It had to be.

I had to take responsibility, even if it meant saying no to an authority figure, because I was the authority on me.

God, I loved him. I could insist I was okay with just being friends, that I'd find someone else and get over him, but I was fooling myself. There was no getting past this. I loved him, and fifty years from now we could be married to other people, never exchanged so much as a kiss, and I'd still looking into his eyes and know he was the one. He'd always be the one.

We had one gun, one werewolf, one poltergeist, one supercharged spell-caster, one not-so-supercharged spell-caster, and one perfectly useless necromancer, though Liz was quick to remind me that she needed me to relay her words. - Chloe

There are lots of things in the folklore, like they can only be killed by a silver bullet, that don't realistically work, if you're trying to say they have existed for hundreds of years, unknown.

Speaking of death, LeBlanc boasted he could kill me in the waiting room. I broke his wrist. He wasn't impressed.

Hello, Aaron," Brigid said, sliding up to him and running a finger down his chest. "You're looking good . . . as always." Aaron lifted her finger off his shirt and let it drop. "Put some clothing on, Brigid." She smiled up at him. "Why? Tempted?" "Yeah, to cover my eyes.