Living with the Dead

"But don't you… get tired of it? My endless angst, my issues…"

"And don't you get tired of mine? Overly protective. Overly territorial. Ambivalent about the Pack. And forget the werewolf issues – I'm a jewel thief. I have enough money, so why don't I settle down, get a nice office job so you don't have to lie to your friends and family – "

Hope cut him off with a kiss. "I understood from the start that's what you are, what you need to be. I bought the whole package."

"As did I." He shifted her aside. "Wait here."

He went inside. A minute later, he returned.

"Put out your hand."

She smiled. "Do I have to close my eyes?"

"Of course."

She did. Something small and cold dropped into her palm. She opened her eyes to see what looked like a figure-eight charm. When she held it by the ring, though, the eight lay on its side. The symbol for infinity.

"I considered a ring, but feared that might be pushing my luck. A more abstractly symbolic gesture seemed appropriate. I'd have hung it on your charm bracelet, but I don't know where you've put it."

"Some thief you are."

"I could take a look…"

She caught his sleeve, closed her hand around the charm and lifted her arms to his neck.

He caught her wrist. "There's an inscription."

She found it. Three words, repeated on the front and back. No matter what.

"Yes," Karl said. "Quite possibly the least poetic inscription ever written."

"No it's…" She clasped the charm. "It's perfect."

"And I mean it, Hope. I'm here for you, no matter what. I always will be. You can never do anything that will scare me away. No matter how hard you try."

She laughed, the tears jolting free. He wiped them away.

"You're right," he said. "You have decisions to make and I shouldn't be a part of that. I don't need to be. You'll make the right choice, and whatever you decide is fine with me… as long as it doesn't involve handing back my condo keys."

"It won't."

"Then, I meant what I said the other day. I'm just along for the ride. Council, Cabal, mercenary, I don't care. I come willingly, and it's not about following you or protecting you. I enjoy it. You aren't the only one who's finding that what satisfied those 'uncivilized urges' in the past isn't doing the job the way it used to. So consider your options, make your choice and call me home."

"I will."

FINN

No one thought it would work.

Hope Adams had put Fi

She'd promised to walk him through it over the phone, but warned him the task was difficult enough for experienced necromancers, let alone one who'd never actively practiced the art. As Damon would say, he didn't have the juice.

From what little Fi

Fi

They tried it in Robyn's apartment, just the three of them: Fi

Fi

From the other room, he heard… his voice. Singing. A song he didn't recognize, in a timbre he didn't recognize. A sob. Then a cry that he knew – even if he couldn't make it out – was Robyn saying a name. Damon's name.

He pictured Robyn leaping from her chair, her face…

The apartment next door went silent, and he imagined her throwing herself toward him. His arms outstretched. Robyn in them. Robyn kissing him. But not him. Not really him.

He imagined it and…

He stopped imagining it.

As he sat there, trying not to eavesdrop, an idea wriggled up from the deepest part of his brain. It had been burrowing there since he'd first realized he might be able to let Damon into his body.

It wasn't so much an idea as an impulse. One that if he decided to follow through on, he knew he couldn't think too much about. Do it or don't.

He pushed to his feet. At the door, he reached for the knob. His fingers passed through. He paused a moment, staring at it. From the next room came a chuckle, then a snuffle – a laugh breaking off in a sob. Fi

Down the hall. He paused outside the elevator, but had no idea how that would work, and wasn't about to shimmy down elevator cables. To the stairwell then. To the lobby. Out the front doors.

He stopped in the doorway. Did he want to do this? It felt like the right thing to do, and he supposed that was what counted. As for what he wanted, he honestly didn't know anymore. It had been too long since he'd considered it.

He did know one thing. He was tired. Tired of being in Los Angeles. Tired of solving cases no one seemed to care about. Tired of the whispers, the looks, the laughs. Tired of being different. Tired of being alone.

A shoe squeaked behind him. Before he could turn, a man walked through him, striding down the sidewalk, briefcase swinging.

Fi

Fi

"I'm talking to you, Detective," she said.

She stretched and stood and, for a moment, Fi

"I asked where you think you're going." The woman walked toward him, her foot passing through a discarded soda bottle. A ghost.

"It's okay," he said, because it was all he could think of. A polite nod, then he turned to head on his way.

"Actually, it's not okay." The woman walked in front of him and turned around. "You can't leave Damon in your body. An insanely noble gesture, Detective Findlay, but you can't. The Fates let you pull off the body switch, but it's temporary. I'm here to make sure of that. And neither of us, I'm afraid, has any say in the matter."

Fi

"Pretty, huh? Being a necro, you know what this is, right?"

Fi

The woman sighed. "It's the outfit, isn't it? I know, they keep trying to make me wear the uniform, but those wings are just so damned uncomfortable. Have you ever tried sitting with wings stuck to your shoulders? And the halo? Does nothing for me."

"An… angel?"

"Don't sound so skeptical. You'll hurt my feelings." She lifted the sword. "Point is, this baby has a point. A very sharp one. And you do not want to feel it. So we're doing this the easy way. We let Damon and Robyn have their reunion, and you go back into your body, and nobody gets hurt. Got it?"

Fi

"Damn, you're stubborn, aren't you?" She stepped closer. With the boots, she was almost as tall as Fi