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So, that was it, then.

A year of silent reverie, of letting her dog befriend a werewolf, of dealing with a Tiny Vamp equal parts sullen and cherubic, of bracing herself before each cold walk into Death, telling herself she'd lay low for real this time, telling herself she'd pull back on the haunting traipses past creatures who'd wanted her dead (or worse) for what she had cost them, knowing it was a lie, because every time she returned to see Veti silent as the proverbial grave, she knew she couldn't just watch another acquaintance die. Because she could see it in her head, even now, even a year later, even with Max alive and whole and apparently no worse for wear, though 'worse' was herein highly suspect terminology.

She'd let Max die, let him slip through her fingers, and before that, let him talk her into taking him at all. His death would -- would have -- led to Veti's, and Daisy was not so confident even Atticus could help Siya recover from that blow. And all of it was just fucking stupid, because Death and dying, none of it had bothered her before. Hell, she was firmly (mostly) on the wrong side herself, and she could attest, it wasn't that bad.

But it could be. Was about to be. For a year she'd put the Black Denizens on hold, because obviously, adding Veti to their numbers wasn't going to help anyone, anyway. But now Max was back, and Tiny Vamp was hooking up with Atticus again, and quaint little Boston studio or not, Daisy had much bigger problems than becoming a fifth wheel.

The thought made her shudder despite the 'warm' and entirely unpleasant breezes thronging around her. She'd liked God(dess)Bird much better as a lady, or even a bird. This whole 'embodiment of life' stuff was so not jiving with Daisy's being pretty much the exact opposite.

Fortunately, Veti's little admission and subsequent departure gave her a decent cover. It didn't quite take the sting off the edge of the Key of Life, or the relative irony that they'd used it to open [read: rip to fucking shreds] a portal to Death, but...well, it was just so stereotypically Veti, and obviously Daisy now had no choice but to stick around and make sure Max was who or what he said he was.

That, and she'd never known the dead to give up one of their own so easily, magic key or no.

She hadn't said a word to Veti, and the werewolf had seemed more or less okay with that. She hadn't stopped talking, anyway, or redacted anything in part or in whole. It was weird and open and personal in that sort of way Daisy liked to pretend didn't exist, and would do her best to forget, while simultaneously thanking every major name she knew that she didn't -- couldn't -- blush. And while she knew it wasn't like Veti would be looking for any compensation, or whatever, she was clearly too wrapped up in her fuckbuddy to keep an eye out for danger. And there would be that. She wouldn't share it with the young lovers. She liked Veti too much, and Max too little for that. But she'd keep an eye out. And Artie would sooner lose a chew toy than see his own cache of delectable table scraps take (another) one for the team.

So, that was that.

Meanwhile, Daisy was just deciding these pervasive feelings of life and energy and goodness were going to make her sick when they dropped her, and everyone else, back at the place they'd been when she'd first killed Max, the morning after his stupid, stupid dare.

Daisy kept silent, a much smaller Artie once more cradled in her arms, watching wordlessly as Max made the usual "hey, fuckers, I'm not dead anymore" spectacle of himself.

That whiny-ass Alanis Morissette song was playing on loop in her head.

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