A/N: Warnings: Description of a hospital environment, death of a family member. Starts after the asterisk

Samuel wasn't kidding when he told us we would be folded up in Peter's car. It wasn't as small as he had made it sound, but as there were six of us, and we all had our rapiers, so it was a tight fit. We left part of our luggage with the porter so Peter could drop us off and go back for it. We would all be squeezed together like sardines if we tried to take everything in one ride.

Peter had placed Lockwood in the passenger seat, ("I won't have that tree block my view," he'd said) Kipps in the middle with George on his left. I ended up on Holly's lap on his right side. There were a lot of ways to describe our situation, but comfortable wasn't one of them.

"I'm sorry," Peter apologised for the second time as he pulled out of the small car park, "at least it won't be long."

"I should have stayed behind to watch Portland Row," Kipps complained when Peter took a sharp turn at the roundabout. He was squashed against Holly and me when George careened over because of the sudden change of direction.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad is it?" Lockwood asked with a grin, looking back at us from the front seat.

"Want to sit in the back with us plebs next time, Lockwood?" George shot back.

"Oh, I think I'm fine here."

"You'll all have a bit more room soon," Peter promised. He took another turn onto the main street of town. "We'll be at the Surgery in a few minutes." The main road led to and around the town square which formed the heart of Whitton on Dean. Shops lined the square; a bakery greengrocer and a little flower shop stood proudly on the south side, as always bustling with activity. The supermarket where Mary used to work was located on the other side of the square, creating a bit of a divide between the people getting their groceries there versus those going to the individual shops.

In the middle of the square was a small monument, visible from the road. It was a small column made out of grey stone, about 8 feet tall. Certain parts of it glimmered in the sunlight because of the bronze plaques attached to the stone. Each plaque carried the names of town kids who had fallen during ghost hunts. Some were less shiny than others, as the sun and rain had dulled the metal over time, creating a natural timeline for the deaths of the children. I had been there when five of the shiniest plaques had been placed, and I didn't need to come closer to know what names were engraved on them.

"Are there new names on there?" I asked Peter. It had been over two-and-a-half years since the Wythburn Mill incident and there were bound to have been more incidents involving Visitors. Maybe even deaths.

"Not as far as I know," Peter replied. He didn't have to ask me to clarify what I was looking at. "There've been a lot of near misses the past few years, and then there was the incident with a 10-year-old getting Ghost Touched while out a few months back. Jacobs administered the required adrenaline shot immediately though. The kid was fine when DEPRAC Newcastle send me over to do the follow up check."

Peter took a right turn and drove into the street where the medical centre was located. You could see the white-fronted building from this direction. Large glass doors gave a glimpse into the reception hall, and the words Whitton Surgery were emblazoned on a large sign above the doors. The sign was the only hint that it was a medical facility though. The surgery provided only the basics of medical care. There were two General practitioners offices in the building, along with a small pharmacy to keep the town's people stocked on their medication. For anything more complicated than minor Ghost Touch or a broken bone, you would need to go to a hospital in the city.

Peter stopped the car in front of the entrance, and I got out quickly. Holly rubbed her thighs with a grimace when she thought I wasn't looking, but I couldn't blame her. I was heavier than she was but for convenience's sake I'd been the one sitting on her lap, which couldn't have been very comfortable for her either. I grabbed my backpack from its place between Holly's feet and swung it over my shoulder.

Peter lowered his window after I closed the car door, and I leant in to talk to him.

"I'll take your friends to your Mam's house and help them get settled. You can probably get a ride with one of your sisters, but if you need me to pick you up later, ask the secretary to call your house."

"Will do," I replied, adjusting the straps of my backpack and straightened up. "Thank you for doing this Peter."

"It's no problem, Lu. Keep your head up in there,"

I waited for the car to disappear down the street before I walked to the sliding doors and entered the medical centre. The secretary, a kind woman with large cat-eye glasses, directed me down the hall towards the room where Mam was. Even without her instructions I would have found the room easily. Outside the door, a girl was playing an improvised game of hide and seek with her younger cousin, hiding underneath the uncomfortable plastic chairs and behind the little water fountain.

Their fathers were sitting on afore mentioned chairs, murmuring amongst themselves. Whatever they were discussing was taking up most off their attention, and they only looked up when a child wandered too far into the hallway for their comfort. It was one of the kids who noticed me first.

"Daa, Daa look! Aunty Lu!" The little girl didn't wait for her father to acknowledge her outcry, but ran straight into my legs, wrapping her small arms around them.

"Hello Isabelle," I greeted her, petting her head affectionately.

Isabelle was four years old, dark-haired and wide eyed, and a lot bolder than either of her parents, my oldest sister Margaret and her husband Benedict. I had only seen her a handful of times since she was born, but for some reason she'd taken a liking to me. Her cousin Oliver was a lot less brave and went to hide with his father as I approached with the little girl tugging me along by the skirt.

I exchanged the standard greetings with Benedict and Alice's husband Richard and gave Oliver a little wave when I caught him staring up at me. He shrank back behind Richard's legs in response.

"I'm sorry about that," Richard said, putting a large hand on his sons shoulder, "He's always a bit shy and today is weird for him, what with the hospital environment and his mum and aunts all being stressed."

"That's okay," I replied. "I realise this must all be very stressful. Is everybody in there with Mam?"

Benedict nodded. "They are, and if I were you, I'd go in soon too. It's not looking good Lucy."

"Yeah, I've heard," I sighed, straightening my posture. "Nice to see you both again, and I'm happy to meet you finally, Oliver," I said before turning to the door. It was a rather inconspicuous door, a wooden thing with a tiny panelled window that didn't actually show much of the room behind it. I put my hand on the handle and hesitated.

The first rule of ghost hunting is not to hesitate on the threshold. Hesitation allows fear to sneak up on you and settle in. Letting yourself waver will make you want to turn tail and run. It had been ages since I last hesitated during a job, but somehow the prospect of pushing open that simple door was more daunting than entering a haunted house. It had been over half a year since I last saw my Mam and sisters. And truth be told, it would've been fine with me if it were another half year before we met up again. Biting down the hesitation, I grasped the handle tighter, took a deep breath and-

"Are you going in or not?" A voice from behind me sneered. I jumped and had already whirled around -hand on my rapier- when I realised the voice had come from my backpack.

"Everything alright, Lucy?" Richard asked, giving me a worried look.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." I shot him a flustered smile which I hoped was reassuring and turned back to the door. "Don't scare me like that," I hissed under my breath.

"We would've been standing here all day if it weren't for me," the skull in the jar replied smugly. "So, you're welcome."

I huffed and jabbed my elbow into the backpack. "Shut up, what if Isabelle or Oliver heard you?"

"Oh, don't worry about those kiddies. Deaf as doornails, they are."

*Without dignifying the skull with another response, I entered the hospital room. Two things hit me as I walked in. The first thing was the wall of heat trapped in the room, which made me break out in sweat almost immediately. The medical staff had done everything they could to keep the room hot, as to provide my mother with a comfortable environment. They had turned on the radiator to its highest setting, any gap there might have been at the window wassealed off, and a space heater stood next to the bed. The second thing to hit me was the collective weight of seven pairs of eyes landing on my shoulders as their attention turned to me. The silence of paused conversation pressed down on me as I closed the door behind me and walked further into the room.

Mam was in a very bad condition. If I had to guess, I'd say the Ghost Touch had started at her lower arms, or perhaps her hands. They were visible on top of the thick layer of blankets and duvets and had swollen to an even larger size than they used to be. A blue tint made its way up her skin and disappeared underneath the short sleeves of the white night dress she was wearing. The sleeves were pulled tight around her upper arms, and the seams cut into them, making them look like stuffed sausages. Blue peeked out from underneath the collar of the nightdress as well, creeping up towards her throat as if trying to chase away the paleness of the rest of her skin.

My stomach dropped with that first look I got at my mother. It was enough for me to realise she would pass away within the hour.

"Hey," I said softly. Breaking the silence that had fallen over the room felt wrong, but I felt like nobody would start talking unless I did. In the end, I still made my way to the bed in silence. It was like a spell had fallen over the room. My sisters watched me from the circle they'd formed around the large hospital bed, and I tried not to pay attention to them. I squeezed through the gap in between the chairs Rebecca and Grace were sitting on. The twins were side by side, as they always did when we were gathered. Some things never changed.

I gently touched Mam's right hand when I had reached her. Her skin was cold and clammy, and I could feel the tremors running through her body underneath my fingers. Mam slowly reached up towards my face, and I leant forwards so she wouldn't have to reach up so far. Her hand was shaking as she brushed her fingers over my cheek in an uncharacteristically soft gesture. Then she grabbed a lock of my hair.

"Lucy Joan Carlyle," she said, in a voice that lacked the angry strength I knew she longed to put behind it, "What the hell have you done to your hair?"

And just like that, the spell had been broken. I jerked back, trying to reel in the indignation and defiance that immediately flared up before they showed on my face. Over half a year since I had last seen her, and the first thing she said was a comment about my hair? The woman was on her deathbed, for heaven's sake!

"An incident at work," I fibbed through my teeth. "Lockwood used a new type of salt bomb and stuff got in our hair. The stuff worked like bleach." The truth was that I had been left with the white locks after going to the Other Side in Aldbury Castle, but I was not about to tell my family that. My sisters already had their doubts about my job as an agent, messing around with the occult was unlikely to endear it to them.

"A salt bomb?" Judith asked, scepticism clear in her voice. While the contact I had with all my sisters was strained at best, Judith was the one sister I didn't get along with at all. She was glaring at me from underneath her bangs, and I would have snapped at her if we weren't sitting around the bed of our dying mother.

"It was," I confirmed. "It will grow out, I'm sure."

"I'll go get another chair," Mary announced, and before anybody could say something in response, she fled the room. I stared after her as she dashed into the hallway, wishing I could go after her and join Isabelle and Oliver in their game of hide and seek.

"Well… with a family like that, who needs enemies?" The only thing that stopped me from jumping at the sudden intrusion of the psychic silence was months of practising. I took Mary's now vacant chair and let the backpack fall between my feet unceremoniously. The skull let out a sound of protest, but I didn't pay it any more attention.

When Mary returned, the conversation picked up again. It seemed like my mother had accepted she was going to pass away, and she told us about her wishes for her funeral in a hoarse voice. Margaret, ever the organised secretary, was writing down everything in Mam said in a moleskin notebook. The rest of us thought of questions we needed to have Mam answer.

Ever since the problem started, death started playing a bigger part in society. People made sure the dying got everything they wished for, and testaments and last wills were followed to the letter. There were harsh legal consequences for cheating testaments and contracts, as there was always a possibility that it would enrage a ghost and put the general population in danger. If you provided the dead with everything they needed or wanted finished, they would not have a reason to return as ghosts, was the thought. I wasn't sure whether things actually worked like that, but nobody wanted to take the risk, so we listened to our mother closely.

As time passed, it became clear that Mam was reaching the end of her strength. The blue had spread across her neck and now creeped up her cheeks; the skin swelling in its wake. Her voice was growing ever more squeezed, and despite the high temperature in the room, she shivered almost violently. Her breathing grew laboured, and for the first time since I entered the room, I could read the panic in her eyes. Perhaps she wasn't as accepting of her upcoming death as I had previously assumed.

As one, my sisters and I got up and moved closer. Seven pairs of hands searched for a spot on Mam's cold skin, and Margaret smoothed down her greying hair.

"It's okay," she whispered, but her voice cracked and her lower lip trembled. A glance cast across my sisters' faces told me they weren't doing much better, and my stomach clenched with guilt. I wasn't near tears.

My mother addressed all of us individually with her last words. She encouraged Margaret to enjoy her pregnancy, wished Judith and Alice success in their careers, and fervently apologised to Rebecca for her reaction when she had first come out as gay. Rebecca promptly started to cry. Grace tried to console her twin, but she was tearing up as well as Mam told us she loved all of us. After a last expression of pride for Grace and Mary, Mam addressed me.

"Lucy," she whispered, "It's underneath…" she never finished the sentence. At least, not out loud. Her words ended in a sigh and she closed her eyes.

Alice put her fingers to Mam's neck, gently pressing her fingers against the spot where a major artery was supposed to pulse with the beating of the heart. Even before she let out the choked sob, I knew there was no pulse there. Again it hit me how elusive death can be. Just like that, my mother was gone. Her last words echoed in my inner ear.

"… the mattress…"

A/N: Chapter 3! The first look at Lucy's hometown and her family. Let me know what you think! I hope I'll be able to post another chapter before going on vacation next Friday, but I'm afraid I can't promise anything. Thanks for reading!