Well, this seems to be going down pretty well! All the reviews have been of a very positive nature, and I am glad you see this as something of a refreshing read. I myself have never come across a Teen Titans AU set in the past (they are generally modern day high school ones… there are way too many of those) so who knows? Perhaps this will inspire some other people to try it too. Again, though, I would call this specifically Elseworlds rather than AU (same dif, I guess); that is the Batman term for it and it perhaps fits a little better, since this story is heavily based on a Batman Elseworlds series.

Well, I am glad you all like this very different take on Teen Titans, and to thank you all in person;

Ravenluvver (Yeah, I figured people like you would be glad about poor Terra's death… glad you're enjoying the fic!); Me (yeah, sorry, you missed the First reviewer spot by just a few seconds, probably… thankyou anyway!); Guardian of Azarath (again, thanks so much! I am totally glad you're enjoying it!); Narroch (of course, you are TOTALLY right about the Sherlock Holmes influences on the dialogue of the characters, not to mention the dress code. I guess I should have mentioned it. Glad you though the character transition to this time and place came out okay…); A. P. Pym (if you love Poe, I think you will enjoy this… Thankyou for the very kind compliment, BTW!); Luneko (and if you love Poe that much, you should definitely try to get your hands on the Batman five-part Nevermore series. You could probably find it on eBay or something – it is excellent. You have a Poe action figure? O.o… BTW, who is this strange "orange and furry culprit" to whom you refer?); Poison's Ivy (so basically… you now love me (platonically) again because I killed off Terra? Um, yay? Why is Gotham called Gotham? Interesting question – from 1939 to 1941 Detective Comics writer Gardner Fox called the city New York, but when Batman was revamped into his own comic book in spring 1941 (a year after Robin's first appearance), by-then writer Bill Finger decided to rename it so that people wouldn't be able to identify with it – he apparently considered Civic City, Capital City and Coast City before eventually choosing the darker name of Gotham to match the hero's macabre appearance. So there you are. I am the font of all useless knowledge… You really should buy Batman: The Complete History…); Quinn and His Quill (as before, you are spot-on in some places and terribly wrong in others… nice try, though…); RavensLair (well, Raven makes her first appearance right here!I am glad you are "riveted", so to speak…); and Peace215 (yeah, you gotta love Poe – the man was a freaking genius… You will catch a LOT more quotes from The Raven all over the place, so keep your eyes open! And catch up with RTT whenever you can! You don't have the review…).

Oh yeah, just a note about the journal entries before we begin – the first one was "written" the night before Robin comes to Gotham. The rest are written in the evening following the day's events, so yeah… that last journal entry may have left you confused, since you haven't read about that stuff happening yet. The contents of the journal entry are below. That is how they work – a sort of "Coming Up Right Now" thingie. They are definitely teasers rather than spoilers – I have written them especially so as to make you (hopefully) interested, but they don't give away very much. Robin is now a really vague journalist…

Oh yeah, and no-one actually gets murdered in the morgue – it's just I can't really argue with the story's title…

Nevarmore – II

The Murders in the Rue Morgue

"I have need to see the body of young Tara Markov," Robin stated firmly, leaning over the tall wooden desk of the clerk, who was writing in a black book, in what he supposed was the "reception" of the Rue Morgue.

The clerk looked up, surprised to see him; clearly he hadn't noticed the ebony-clad slayer looming over him until now.

"Ah, sir…" The clerk cleared his throat. "I apologize for my ignorance of your presence…"

He flipped back a page and read down it.

"Yes, her poor body was just brought in a few hours ago." He looked up, his expression suddenly quizzical. "You are a family member?"

Robin shook his head.

"An acquaintance then, sir?"

"I am afraid that I am neither," Robin admitted, straightening his cravat. "Alas, I knew not of the poor girl until her fiancé, Garfield Logan, informed Father Stone and myself of her murder this morning."

"Then why have you any need to see the body?"

"Because I intend to catch her killer."

The clerk looked at him blankly.

"Forgive me, sir, but you do not look like a member of the authority to me."

"That is because I am not. I deal with things of a slightly more supernatural nature," Robin replied icily.

The clerk paled a little.

"You do not think that this killer, this Raven Murderer… is inhuman, do you, my good man?"

"I have my suspicions."

The clerk stood.

"Then perhaps you should meet with the mortician before you gaze upon the girl's body…"

"And why should that be, pray tell?" Robin snapped.

"Because, sir, I believe his views are somewhat similar to your own." The clerk beckoned as he crossed the floor of the reception area. "Come, the good doctor's office is this way…"

The slayer obediently followed, wondering where this strange twist of events could possibly leave him.

The clerk knocked on the door of the office and went inside for a moment or two; Robin could hear the conversation beyond the heavy wooden door, but could not make out the words.

After a moment the clerk reappeared.

"You may enter," he said quietly to Robin. "Dr Usher is most anxious to meet you and compare theories."

"Thankyou, sir," Robin muttered as the clerk left to return to his tedious duties.

Cautiously, he pushed down the handle on the door and opened it, entering the room in silence. He closed the door quietly behind him, looking up to see the mortician at his large wooden desk, busily writing as the clerk had been.

The man did not look up.

Eventually, after it appeared that perhaps the doctor had not noticed him, Robin subtly cleared his throat. The man looked up with a start, eying Robin for a moment or two; taking in his entire visage.

"Well, I admit that you most certainly know how to make an impression," he declared finally, standing and extending his hand in an invitation for the slayer to approach the desk. Robin complied, holding out his own hand to shake with the mortician.

"I am Doctor Roderick Usher, PhD," he introduced himself, shaking with the Robin; gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. "Pray take a seat so that we may discuss our respective rather unsettling theories on this gruesome matter."

Robin sank into the chair, slipping off his coat; and as he did so, once again a stake slipped out from inside his shirt sleeve and fell into his lap. He cleared his throat nervously and grabbed the thing, meaning to stuff it back up inside his sleeve.

But Dr Usher held out his hand.

"Please, if I may see it…?"

Robin hesitated, then handed the sharp wooden point over. Dr Usher gripped it tightly, turning it over in his hand and examining it with intense interest.

It gave Robin time to study his new acquaintance; Dr Usher was a man somewhere in his late forties, with pale skin and gray-smattered black hair combed immaculately back. He was clean-shaven, but had neat, fashionable sideburns, and his work suit – black and white, like Robin's own; his too professing something about his occupation – was sharp and well-tailored.

"Sir…" Robin cleared his throat a third time – tasting a familiar bitterness that he willed himself not to think about – and tried again. "…You have not asked what my name might be…"

Dr Usher looked up.

"That displeases you?"

"No, not… not exactly, sir, but I am of the opinion that if you request a fellow to come into your office, you should therefore show some kind of interest in him."

Usher smiled vaguely.

"On the contrary, young man, I am very much interested in you," he replied, placing the stake down onto the desk. "I neglected to ask your name because I do, as a matter of fact, already know who you are."

His smiled deepened when Robin looked surprised.

"Oh, come now, young Grayson. Your legend precedes you."

"I have no legend, sir," Robin replied stiffly.

"I beg to differ." Usher clasped his hands together, weaving his fingers. "What I do ask is whether or not you know the difference between a fool and a wise man."

Robin blinked.

"I beg your pardon, doctor?"

"You heard my words perfectly; and so I ask again. Do you know the difference? A simple yes or no will suffice."

"Yes, then."

Doctor Usher gave a sad little shake of his head.

"Then may I ask why you, a slayer, are wandering from city to city in an outfit that clearly gives away your unusual occupation, and no less with holy weapons hidden within each of your sleeves and a crucifix at your throat? Do you wish yourself dead, sir?"

"Clearly I have not made that much of an impression on you, doctor," Robin replied icily. "Do you honestly think I would be in this profession – and be such a "legend", as you so kindly flattered me – if I could not defend myself?"

"That is not what I said. Clearly you are able to function in your job properly or you would be long dead; is that not correct, sir?"

Robin nodded stiffly.

"But you are a destroyer of these things? These vile, unholy apparitions?" Doctor Usher pressed.

"I recall you saying you knew that already."

"I do. And now, thanks to that outfit of yours – a clear advertisement of your occupation – the Raven Murderer probably knows too. Not a good move on your part, my boy, in my humble opinion. Your enemy may already know of your presence, visage, residence, when you know nothing of him. Already, for vanity's sake, you have put yourself at a disadvantage. And so, Mr Grayson, are you the fool or the wise man?"

"Perhaps a combination of the two," Robin placated stonily. "It matters little, doctor; first impressions cannot be taken back. And thus far, I do not think I am completely in the dark about this situation. I believe that the killer is of a vampiric nature. This is your belief also?"

Doctor Usher gave a grave nod.

"Yes, it could be said that we two are of similar par in this matter. I feared as much."

"I admit it is a rarity to meet something with your level of understanding of the supernatural," Robin replied, glad to have found another ally – albeit a patronizing one. "In this modern era, few believe in the things that have been plaguing man's livelihood for centuries."

Usher smiled.

"What may I say? Dealing with death is my job. It is a fool of a mortician indeed who is ignorant of the macabre creatures which roam the night. How else may so many of these bizarre and gruesome murders be explained, but for vampires, werewolves…?"

"And what of Tara Markov, may I inquire, sir?"

"Two distinctive bites in the throat, at the position of the jugular; the girl was drained of her blood."

"Vampire."

Usher nodded.

"I am afraid so." He rose from his seat. "But I am doubtless you would rather look upon her yourself?"

Robin gave a little nod of his own and stood too, gathering his coat and stake under one arm.

"Then let us go through to the morgue. Please, if you would kindly follow me…"

Robin followed Doctor Usher from the office and down a corridor towards the morgue itself.

Usher paused at the door.

"I am sure you are used to this feeling, but I do not think you will like what you find in here…"

Robin smiled thinly, stepping past him.

"I never do, doctor…"

TT

Poring over the newspapers spread on the wooden table before him, Robin scratched his hair with the end of his ink pen thoughtfully.

It was, of course, too late for him to be able to see the bodies of the other victims, but the newspapers he had here had filled him in to a certain extent. And piecing it all together, he could very safely say that it was indeed a vampiric creature he was after. The common link between each of the murders was the sighting of some foul apparition – the "Raven Murderer", if this thing was even the killer. It was possible that this "raven" creature was not actually the killer, but rather a sign left at the murder scene by the killer.

Something of a secret identity.

Garfield Logan had confirmed that he had seen the creature at the crime scene of Tara Markov's murder; and Robin himself could confirm that she had been killed by a vampiric being. According to the past week's editions of The Gotham Gazette, the "raven creature" had also been spotted at each of the five other murder scenes. And, although he had been unable to see the bodies, Robin had been given access to Dr Usher's records and had been able to see the causes of death for each and every one of the victims.

Body drained of blood, perh. via two holes made in jugular, as though with two single pointed instruments.

The whole thing screamed "VAMPIRE" to him.

As with all the victims of the creatures he dispatched he saw, he had felt immense sorrow as he had looked upon Tara Markov's (Terra's)body. Pale of skin, with long golden hair, death had not stolen her beauty.

But dead she was.

And Robin had made a silent vow that she would be the last.

Now, as he copied the victim's names onto a scrap piece of paper wedged in the back of his journal, his brow was furrowed in deep thought. There did not seem to be any particular pattern to the murders – they just appeared to be random, brutal killings.

Vampires were not renowned for their masterful planning of whom they picked off. It seemed to the slayer as though this was simply another case of a hungry, freshly-blooded vampire fulfilling its needs. His theory was that it was a "new blood" – a coined term, on his part, for a vampire not long… vampiric – as they were new to the game and reckless, not realizing that killing a new victim every night was a very good way to get noticed and targeted by a slayer or priest. Older vampires did not need to feed every night, for despite their hunger, they did not die; but fresh vampires…

Robin preferred them to "old blood", because they were naïve in the ways of the slayers, overconfident of their new power and therefore easy to destroy; but God Almighty, if they weren't a nuisance… Their attack patterns were so random (because they were unplanned) that sometimes it took Robin up to a week to nail the thing, and that often meant an amassing body count.

Since six people had already been killed at the hands of the gruesome creature, Robin knew he could not afford to take a week to solve this one. Slaying the vampire wasn't the difficult part; it was catching it first that was the problem…

He coughed a little, feeling his lungs heave, but he wasn't racked with a fit.

Good. He couldn't afford his "sickness" to slow him down, not now…

Additionally, this – the news archive wing of Wayne Manor's public library – was not a very appropriate place to be hacking up a lung; it was very quiet, with only two other people in here aside from Robin himself.

Shaking his head to clear it, Robin pulled one of the newspapers closer to him—

"You like to read the newspaper, sir?"

Robin started and glanced over his shoulder; there was a girl standing behind him, giving him a quizzical look.

She was an exquisite thing; petite, in a gown of black velvet and lace. Her beauty, however, was not conventional; she was not radiant with it. She was quite different to any girl he had ever seen before – her skin was almost unnaturally pale, and she had large dark violet eyes and short dark hair. In a lot of ways, she almost looked slightly vampiric.

He didn't think she was one – for one thing, it was daylight – but was slightly wary of her even so as she came up to the table.

He offered her a thin smile and looked down again; he was uncomfortable with her interest in him, as most people took one look at him (at his clothes, the cross and the usual scowl on his face) and kept away from him. Thinking about it, he realized that Dr Usher probably had a point – his outfit of choice probably did reveal a little too much about him.

Even now, with his coat and jacket off, leaving him with a fairly normal outfit of a shirt, waistcoat and a black silk cravat, the large silver cross at his neck immediately gave the impression that he was a regular in dealing with unholy creatures, hence the need for protection.

Of course, underneath it all, he was not unprepared. He carried a stake in one sleeve for use against vampires, a silver knife in the other for werewolves, there was another knife in his belt along with a phial of holy water, a long coil of sharp thin thread-like wire and a handgun packed with silver bullets. There was a stake concealed in a sheath in each of his boots along with spare bullets in one, matches in the other.

It stood that either way, he was not likely to befriend her. If she was a vampire, then he was far from unprepared for dealing with her, and if she wasn't, it was likely that she would run a mile when a stake inevitably fell out of his sleeve at any given moment. It happened nearly every time he met someone new…

"I am working," he replied nonchalantly. "It is hardly for pleasure, miss."

"I know you are working. That is not what I asked, sir. I asked if you enjoyed reading the newspaper."

Robin looked up at her in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

The girl sat down in a chair opposite to him; and he immediately noticed the knowing, intelligent look on her face.

"I know what you are," she said softly, leaning closer to him. "You are a slayer. You are here to stop the creature that prowls our city by night, killing innocents."

Robin couldn't help but blink at her.

"H… h-how were you able to tell?"

She smiled.

"It would be fun to jest with you and lead you to believe that I have telepathic abilities, sir, but the truth must be told that clothes say a lot about a man."

"Oh." Robin grimaced; Dr Usher really hadn't been joking about that… "But even so, a slayer? Perhaps I am an actor still in costume, or an undertaker…"

"Forgive me, sir, but I have never seen any actor or undertaker with a wooden stake sticking out of his sleeve."

Robin looked; and then snorted and shoved the stake back up his sleeve.

"Does that not bother you?" He asked, looking back up at her and wondering why she hadn't backed off yet.

"Someone must do what you do."

Robin smiled sourly.

"How philosophical…"

"I thank you, sir." Her smile was a little sour in return, and yet Robin couldn't help but like her. There was something about her – and he couldn't say what – that made him trust her, despite his previous speculations that she might be a vampire.

"Your work fascinates me," she went on, "but I must ask; what possessed you to choose this path? This thankless job?"

"As you said, someone must do it. It is good to help people; I do not like to see innocent people suffer. If I can help, then is it not my responsibility to do so?"

She gave a thoughtful little nod.

"You have your own reasons too, I presume?"

"Yes, but I would rather not share them with you, if you would not find it offensive."

"Not at all. However, if you please, sir, will you at least tell me your name?"

"It is Robin."

"Just Robin?"

"Just Robin. At least, that is what I prefer to go by these days. As I am sure you have guessed, that is not my true name…"

"I shall call you Robin, if that is what you would prefer…"

"And you, miss?"

"Ah…" She gave him an abashed little smile. "My name is, at this moment, rather unfortunate…"

"Why should that be?"

She gave a tiny cough and looked away for a moment or two.

"My name is Raven," she muttered finally.

Robin felt his blood run cold at the sound of that name.

"Raven? But that is…"

"…Associated with these murders. I know." Raven sighed. "It is a most unfortunate coincidence indeed…"

"I am… sorry…"

Raven patted his hand.

"Do not be. It is nobody's fault. This story will soon go out of vogue to make way for something more macabre, and people will hiss my name in terror nevermore. It is nothing but a coincidence, because of the creature spotted at the murder scenes…"

"Might I ask why you are in here? Meeting me was but another coincidence, for surely you could not have known I was here, having never met me before. So I assume you are here yourself for a purpose?"

"Something like that. Actually, I live here."

"You live in the news archive room?" Robin repeated quizzically.

"No." Raven shot him a bored look. "I live in Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne is my step-father."

"You don't say…"

Of course, Robin had heard of Bruce Wayne. Everyone had heard of Bruce Wayne. He was the richest man for miles around, with the legend of his materialism spreading as far as Metropolis. The journalist Clark Kent had mused one night, as he and Robin had sat together in a dark corner booth of one of Metropolis' most popular clubs, that he had once been a friend of Wayne's, but as is often the case, wealth had come between them. Since fully inheriting the fortune of his deceased parents, Bruce Wayne had become practically untouchable. He was known to be reclusive and private; occasionally donating large sums of money to different causes, but generally he kept himself to himself.

But while Robin could recall all of that, he did not remember Clark ever mentioning anything about Bruce Wayne having a daughter, or even a wife, for that matter…

"You disbelieve me," Raven said, studying Robin's expression.

Robin blinked.

"Ah, no, it is not that I disbelieve you, Miss Wayne—"

"It is Roth, actually. Bruce Wayne is only my step-father. I love him dearly, and he I, but I have kept my mother's name. But incidentally, I would prefer my Christian name, if it is all the same to you." She offered him a tiny smile. "Even at this most unfortunate time, when my name is whispered on the streets as though a curse…"

"Well…" Robin cleared his throat again. "As I was saying, Miss Raven, I do not disbelieve your story, but rather I was unaware that Mr Wayne was even married. His legend is incomplete, it would appear."

"And how is it that you would even know of such a "legend", sir?"

"I am something of an acquaintance of his one-time friend, Mr Clark Kent of the city of Metropolis."

Raven nodded.

"Mr Kent. My step-father sometimes speaks of him. As for his marriage… He married my mother, Angela Roth, some many years ago. I was a very young child at the time, and remember little of it. My mother unfortunately passed away a few years ago, stolen from us by the affliction of tuberculosis. It has just been my step-father and myself in the manor ever since. Few people know of my existence as he does not publicize the fact that he lives alone with a teenaged girl. You can understand his reasons for this, even if I am his step-daughter…"

Robin nodded vaguely.

"I am sorry to hear about your mother."

"I thank you, but it something that could not be helped." Raven gazed long and hard at the slayer. "It was not a problem that could be dealt with by a wooden stake through the heart."

Robin raised his eyebrows.

"You have done your research. I am impressed." His expression darkened again. "However, if this is the case, then have you not attempted to deal with this creature yourself? The death count is at six already…"

"Were I to try, that would make for seven," Raven replied coolly. "I have not the skill to destroy such a creature; my knowledge comes from books. Yours, I can see, sir, comes from practice."

She looked down at one of the newspapers.

"Besides," she went on, "I am as unknowledgeable as you thus far in the matter of knowing the creature's whereabouts. Even if I were a "slayer" such as yourself, the death count would probably still be at six. How may you stop a creature such as this when you do not know where to find it?"

Robin sighed heavily and looked down at his list of victim's names.

"That is my problem exactly," he murmured.

Raven stood up.

"I hope you will not think me rude, but I am afraid I must be leaving. My step-father returns home soon, and I promised to meet him. I must go and get ready. However…"

Her gaze lingered on him for a long while.

"…Well, I do not think I may be much help to you, but if you have any questions that you think I might be able to answer, please do not hesitate to come to the manor. I want these murders stopped as much as you, so please, cast aside any conceptions you may have of it being improper to call by to see a young lady. Stopping these killings is far more important."

Robin nodded and stood too.

"I thank you. It is possible that I may require your help, especially as you seem to have a knowledge of the nature of my occupation…"

He held out his hand to shake with her and the stake fell out onto the desk with a clatter of wood on wood.

He winced, but she only giggled slightly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Robin," she said, shaking his hand. "I hope that this will not be the last I see of you."

Robin smiled; touched, seeing as most people he met couldn't wait to get away from him, especially after a stake fell out of his sleeve…

Clark Kent, like Raven, had laughed; Cyborg had known Robin since before he had become a slayer, so only rolled his eyes every time it happened; and Dr Usher had been grimly interested.

Everyone else, "Beast Boy" included, backed off sharpish.

So Robin smiled when she didn't snatch her hand back, and noted that she did genuinely seem to like him.

She took her hand back, gave him a tiny little wave, and left, the black velvet skirt of her dress swaying with her movement.

The slayer watched her go, his pen in his mouth; and a sad, strange loneliness suddenly swept over him.

For her, or for himself; he was unable to tell.

There had always been an empty hole deep inside him, and now it became a little more apparent.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

TT

Reading through the notes he had made, Robin was oblivious to everything else as the cab made its way through the city; with the curtains at the window drawn, he didn't care, for the moment, about what was going on outside those four walls.

Vampires, extremely pervious to daylight (hardly sunlight, in this case – this was quite the grayest city he had ever been to), did not dare venture outside before sunset, so he knew he was not missing anything on that front.

He felt that his investigation had gotten off to a good start and planned now to go back to Father Stone's house, as the priest had insisted he be back for dinner, and then after he had eaten, he would go up to his room, write in his journal, look some more at his source material, and then go out on patrol.

Cyborg had a late mass, so Robin knew he wouldn't be disturbing him.

So right now, oblivious as he was, he was almost thrown forwards against the opposite seat when the cab suddenly lurched to a halt, sending his notes everywhere.

Tutting irritably, he straightened up and retrieved them all, snatching them up from where they had fallen. Leaning back, he scowled as he started to leaf through them and put them back in order.

The door to the cab opened but he didn't look up, annoyed by the mess his notes had gotten into.

"There you are, miss. I hope you do not mind sharing…"

Robin felt the cab tip a little as the driver helped someone else into the carriage, then right itself as the man stepped back down. The door shut and after a few moments the carriage began to move again.

The new arrival did not speak, and neither did Robin; he did not even look up, but out of the corner of his eye he saw them shift right along the opposite seat towards the window and lift the curtain to peek out.

The rustles of skirts, added to the addressing of this person as "miss" by the driver, cemented Robin's assumption that his new companion was female, even though he hadn't looked at her.

The curtain slipped back into place again and Robin got the strange feeling that she was now looking at him.

But still she said nothing.

Flipping through his now-organized notes, Robin clicked his tongue as he realized one sheet was missing. He looked up as he heard the rustle of paper; the female was holding it out.

"You are looking for this?" She asked.

Robin looked up at her as he reached for it; and then very quickly averted his eyes again.

Because she was beautiful.

"Thankyou," he managed to say, taking it and quickly stuffing it in with the rest of them.

She uttered a soft giggle and his heart jumped.

"It is custom for you to be so shy?" She asked.

He swallowed and forced himself to look up.

"Not… not usually, miss…"

He could have kicked himself; well, that had sounded ridiculous…

She didn't laugh at him. When his head ventured up again, she was smiling at him.

"Well, please do not be. If we have quite a way to go in this small space, and only each other for company, should we not attempt to make conversation?"

He tried to answer but his voice stuck in his throat, so he nodded instead. Inside, he was mortified; what was wrong with him? Why was it that he could stand poker-faced in front of hissing vampires, snarling werewolves and lurching, rotting walking corpses, and yet he was speechless in front of this girl?

She stood and moved across so that she was sitting on the same side of the cab as him; and as she stood, he was able to see her properly.

She was very tall (taller than him, he could see without standing himself) and slim, the curve of her hips enhanced by the dress of emerald green ruffled velvet she wore. However, where Raven's dress has been perhaps a little figure-hugging, this girls' skirt was fuller, with lace petticoats underneath it to give it shape. The bodice was tight and low, edged with lace, and over her shoulders was a lace shawl, not giving her much protection against the November weather but looking the part.

Her hair was long, shining fiery auburn, her skin was almost unnaturally tanned, and her eyes were orbs of glittering emerald.

Her smile was the most perfect thing he had ever seen.

"Well, I suppose we must do this properly," she said warmly, sitting next to him; those incredible eyes did not avert from him at all, as though she liked what she was seeing. "I am Starfire."

Robin blinked.

"Star… fire?"

She giggled at his expression.

"Yes, it is rather unusual, is it not? I admit, it is not my true name, but I prefer it to the name I was christened with. It is an affectionate name given to me by my father."

"And the reason for that being…?" Robin couldn't help being curious.

"Well, my father is a man of great intellect, and he once called me something in Latin. I asked him what it meant, and he said that roughly translated it came out as "Star Fire". In context, it is taken to mean that one's beauty outshines the fire of a thousand stars." She blushed a little. "I think perhaps he was flattering me too much, but I do rather like the name…"

Robin smiled despite himself.

"It could not be more fitting."

Starfire laughed.

"You are too kind, sir. And pray may I ask what your name might be?"

"Ironically, I also go by a name that is not my Christian one. You can call me Robin."

"Robin? The name of the bird?"

"The very same."

"Robin…" She said it thoughtfully. "It is nice. I like it."

"Not as extraordinary as "Starfire", I am afraid…"

"No, I suppose not. However, my real name is not nearly as fantastic…"

"Ah…" Robin bit his lip; this conversation was getting a bit too familiar considering they had only just met. "Well, I would quite understand if you would rather keep that to yourself."

"Oh, I do not mind. My true name is Lenore."

"Lenore. That is not that bad."

"Oh?" She was mockingly indignant. "And what might your name be then, sir?"

Robin paused.

"Richard," he said finally.

She giggled.

"Oh, that is not awful either…"

They were both giggling now, for no real reason; the slayer, one for keeping himself to himself for the most part, was astounded at how much he was drawn to her. Usually, he thought carefully before he spoke, wary of what he said to people. But with her – Starfire; Lenore – he felt like he could say anything. He didn't feel the need to be cautious because her presence made him feel… "relaxed" wasn't quite the word, but he just didn't feel the need to guard himself quite so much.

And he had only just met her.

Even Raven Roth had not made him feel so open.

On the other hand, there was a chance that Starfire would back off the moment a stake slipped out of his sleeve. At least Raven had not been at all alarmed by that…

Starfire let out a sigh and looked around the interior of the cab distractedly.

"Something troubles you?" Robin asked.

She looked at him, her smile restoring itself.

"Oh, no… not at all. Might you have a watch about you?"

Robin declined his head.

"I am afraid not. Did you require the time?"

"Not as such. I just wondered if perhaps my father would be home…" She gave another little sigh. "It is my wish that he does not bring his work home with him tonight…"

"Why should that be?"

"His occupation is positively macabre. He is a mortician. I am aware that someone must do what he does, but I do not desire for him to discuss it at home, as he so often will." She shivered a little. "He has been somewhat obsessed by the Raven Murders that have taken place this week. As I have mentioned, he is a man of great intellect, but he has some rather fanciful ideas in his head also…"

Robin frowned, beginning to piece two and two together…

"What kind of ideas?"

"Well, he has something of an interest in the occult. He is a good, God-fearing man, Robin, do not misunderstand me; but his beliefs do not rest at simply God and Satan. He believes in the creatures of ancient folklore – unholy beasts such as vampires and werewolves… It is his belief that it is a vampiric, inhuman creature which is carrying out this string of gruesome killings…" She blinked at him, trailing off. "Why do you stare at me so?"

"Your… your father…" Robin swallowed and tried again. "Your father is Dr Roderick Usher…"

She stared at him now.

"Why, sir, how can you know such things?"

"Because I met with him only this morning. He is the mortician of the Rue Morgue, am I right?"

She nodded, still speechless; then she shook her head and found her tongue again;

"Why were you at the morgue? Has the murderer taken someone dear from you?"

"No, nothing like that…" He took a deep breath. "Starfire… I do not mean to alarm you, but your father's "fancies" are in fact a grim reality. The creatures he speaks of to you do prowl our mortal realm, and in meeting your father this morning, we have exchanged theories. They did, in fact, match – the killer is not human. Rather, as you cited yourself, of a vampiric nature."

"And why is such a macabre topic your business? My father deals with it because he must – it is his job. But you, sir – what is your excuse?"

He looked up at her, his masked blue eyes meeting her clear emerald ones.

"At risk of you turning from me, Starfire, I cannot deny what I am," Robin sighed finally. ""I am a slayer; and yes, it is something of an invented occupation. I am a destroyer of these unholy phantasms, and I do so with God's grace."

"My… father has spoken of you. Of your kind," Starfire replied softly. "He says that you are… heroes…"

Robin smiled thinly.

"That is one of the many names I have accumulated in the past…"

Starfire smiled back at him.

"I will not turn from you. I suppose that I, to some extent, believe in these things myself. It is just that my father does to tend to obsess over them. I am only glad that there are people like you out there, destroying these things so that my poor father does not have to deal with nearly so many bodies…"

"You know nothing of this Raven Murderer, Starfire? That is why I am here, ultimately."

"I fathomed as much." She shook her head. "I am afraid I know nothing but what the newspapers have reported. I have not seen the creature myself, nor do I know anybody who has. I am truly sorry."

"Do not be." Robin shook his head with a smile. "Be glad that you have not seen it. It would seem to be an omen of death, as ravens often are…"

Starfire shivered.

"Horrid creatures…"

"Perhaps in this case…" Robin agreed.

She leaned closer to him, studying his face intently. He swallowed nervously at how close she was; and again, being this close to a werewolf wouldn't have made him so uneasy.

Werewolves didn't make him nervous; didn't make his mouth go dry or make his heart pound in his chest.

Her head tilted a little to the side. He could taste her sweet breath with her nearness. Those fantastic emerald orbs slid closed—

—And the cab slammed to a halt, throwing her right into his chest. His notes went flying everywhere again as he smacked against the wall of the carriage with the abruptness of both the cab's halt and the impact of her.

"Starfire, you are unharmed?" He asked, sitting up and pushing her upright.

"Yes, yes, I am quite alright…" She seemed flustered as she pulled away from his hands. "I am… I apologize, that was highly improper of me to…"

"It is… it is alright…"

"No, no, it is not…"

The cab door opened and they leapt right away from one another.

The driver eyes the mess of notes all over the cab's interior but didn't say a word, his eyes instead moving to Starfire.

"Miss Usher, your stop…?"

"Ah, yes, I thank you, truly…" Starfire stood and moved to the door; pausing there to look back at Robin.

A blush had crept up her beautiful face.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Usher," Robin said finally, beginning to pick up his notes again.

"Yes…" She found her voice again. "Yes, I too took great pleasure in meeting you, sir… I wish you every success with your investigation…"

The driver helped her down as she stole one last longing look at him, and then the door shut again.

Leaning back heavily, Robin threw his notes onto the seat beside him, thinking of the girl who had managed to paralyze him where no demon or monster had ever been able to do before her.

Who called herself Starfire; whose beauty outshone the fire of a thousand stars.

The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.


Uh yeah… this story is RobinxStarfire, BTW… eh heh… guess I kinda forgot to mention that… I guess it has elements of RobinxRaven in a sort of slanted way, but primarily it's RobinxStarfire…

Please don't run away!

And her name – well, it's Lenore instead of Koriand'r in this. Lenore, of course, is the deceased woman, (probably representing Poe's wife Virginia) which the narrator speaks of in The Raven. If you watch The Simpsons Halloween Special version of the poem, Marge is Lenore…

As for Usher… hope you liked my characterization of him. He does turn up again quite a lot, since he is Starfire's father in this (a notion taken from the Batman series Nevermore, in which Usher has a daughter called Lenore)… As far as I know, the real Usher wasn't a mortician – he was a mad guy who accidentally buried his sister alive and what-not… It's pretty much just the name that is the same, to be honest…

Yeah, I know the history is all kind of mashed up now, but it is an Elseworlds. I just hope no-one objects to Raven being Bruce Wayne's step-daughter (I put in the step" part as a reference to the fact that Poe himself got the "Allan" part of his name from his step-father, John Allan). Also, the idea of Arella dying of tuberculosis was a reference to the fate of Poe's wife Virginia, who died of the disease. If I'm not mistaken, I believe his mother also died of tuberculosis…

As above to Narroch, yes, I guess I should have mentioned the rather obvious Sherlock Holmes influences on this fic (I have read well over half of those stories…). The dialogue style is more inspired by Conan Doyle's work than Poe's own, so I apologise if it sounds a bit too English. The characterization of Robin in this also owes a lot to Sherlock Holmes – while Robin has always reminded me of Sherlock Holmes in some ways (the Teen Titans version probably taking the nod from Batman, who, being absent in the show, is (perhaps unintentionally) filled in for by Robin), the Nevarmore version is decidedly more arrogant than his "normal" counterpart (that is, any written versions of him that are strictly the animated version). To be honest, Robin in this isn't really a very nice character – writing him, I have found him a little difficult to warm to. I'm not sure why he has turned out the way he has, but somehow he is something of a combination of Sherlock Holmes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Van Helsing (the Hugh Jackman movie one)…

Never mind. Hope everyone had a great Halloween last Tuesday!

- RobinRocks xXx