What Doesn't Kill You...

A Consultation with Death

"There has got to be a better way transport the undead." Miranda Lee nodded at the writhing trash bag sitting on the cold metal slab. She frowned sourly at Violet.

Violet examined her manicured nails and shrugged. "I just get paid to bring them in. I don't get paid to worry about their rights."

"Even the undead deserve to be treated with dignity." Miranda spoke solemnly and started untying the knotted trash bag.

Violet snorted, but didn't reply. She leaned casually in the corner of their makeshift morgue looking utterly unconcerned. Damon watched her out of the corner of his eye. Despite her calm exterior, he knew Violet was furious. Violet was a vampire. She'd been Turned at a time when humans had actively hunted and killed her kind. At a time when society at large hadn't given a second thought about the dignity of the human she'd once been.

Damon cleared his throat and addressed their resident witch. "What can you tell us about Ted?"

Miranda lifted out the gasping head and wrinkled her nose. "I'm not a necromancer. It will take time for me to figure out how he died and who bound him to his flesh." She pulled out a severed arm and inspected the skin closely.

"Some help you are." Violet scoffed. "I can tell you how he died." She crossed the floor at a human's pace in long strides to the slab. She gripped Ted's dark matted hair and held the side of his neck up to the light. Just above the jagged edge of skin were fang marks...vampire fang marks.

"See? Doesn't take a genius." Violet dropped the head and stalked out of the room. Her booted heels ringing harshly on the cold white tile.

Miranda glared after her. "What's her problem?"

Damon nodded his head noncommittally. It wasn't his place to say. "Text me when you know something. We're headed to Charlie." The witch nodded and went back to work, piecing the body of Ted Flanagan back together.

Violet had beat him to Charlie's office. She waited outside with an impassive expression on her pale face. She was still angry. Normally after a successful hunt, Violet would be cracking jokes and flashing her trademark toothy grin. Upon seeing him coming down the hall, she rapped her knuckles on Charlie's office door. The gleam in her dark eyes matched the dark river of her hair running down her back.

"Enter."

Damon shivered at the sound of Charlie's voice. Who wouldn't tremble at the voice of Death? Damon followed Violet inside the office and closed the door behind him. Death, or rather Charlie, reclined in her desk chair, combat-booted feet propped up on her desk. Her eyes were closed as if she were asleep.

She wasn't.

"Whatever happened downstairs can stay downstairs." Her voice was husky and low. She opened her eyes and looked meaningfully at Violet. When her eyes flicked to Damon, a smile tugged at her full lips. "And it was such a nice shirt too."

Damon smiled tightly and folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, it was."

Charlie laughed. "I warned you this job was messy. Tell me what we know about our Mr. Flanagan."

"Shouldn't you know more about him than we do? You are Death after all." Violet spoke, her voice laden with venom.

Charlie stopped smiling. She sat up, her chair screeching. Her husky voice became a low rumble like thunder. "Watch your tone, child. Remember with whom you speak. Remember what you owe."

Damon felt the tension thicken in the room. As Charlie, Death kept a leash on the full weight of her presence. To most she looked like a normal human woman. As Death, her power was old, deep, and utterly inevitable. Violet was the first to look away. Her brow wrinkling in frustration. Violet didn't like losing face, but even she had to yield to Death. Death wasn't just their boss. She was the reason they were running around in the mortal world.

As soon as Charlie settled back in her desk chair, the tension in the air lifted. It was as if the room heaved a sigh of relief. Damon rushed to fill the ensuing silence. "Ted was pretty fresh. His motor skills were functioning incredibly well. There are also indicators that he was killed by a vampire."

Charlie arched an elegant brow. "A vampire? So this could just be a failed Turning. A necromancer might not even be involved."

"It has to be a Rogue. The covens wouldn't just attempt a Turning and leave him alone. A failed Turning is a risk to us all. None of the registered Covens would be so sloppy." Violet replied, coolly.

Charlie nodded. "I'm inclined to agree. The covens wouldn't risk another Purge and few vampires would partner with a necromancer. Check with the covens to find out if anyone has seen or heard of a Rogue in town."

"There's still a possibility of a necromancer using a vampire against their will." Damon added.

"Possibly." Charlie replied. "But I doubt your  necromancer has returned...this looks too small time for someone like her." She eyed Damon with a predatory gaze. Damon knew she resented him. Not necessarily him personally, but rather his existence. Death operated on one simple principle: what lives dies.

Unfortunately for him, death was not a permanent state. Because of a wily necromancer he had the misfortune to meet, Damon could not die.  At least not for long. Whatever spell she'd woven, gripped him tight and pulled him from Death's grasp over and over again. Death generally did not appreciate souls yo-yo-ing back and forth across the Veil.

Necromancers violated the natural order of life and death. They recalled people from the dead and bound them to the corporeal world. They lived unnatural lives, creating chaos and disorder. While not all necromancers used their abilities to upset the balance, enough had to force Death to get personally involved.

"Don't rule it out entirely, but focus on the vampire angle first."