Well, firstly, I'd like to say that, in dedicating this chapter to YamiTai, being that today, 10th December, is her birthday, it proves just how long this storyline has been going – since this the THIRD chapter I have dedicated to the occasion.
Honestly, if there's a fourth birthday dedication to you, my friend, as much as I like doing it… I think it means that this fic is really taking the cake update-wise. O.o
It is with great pleasure, however, that I announce that in this – the chapter dedicated to your birthday – Jonathon Vaughan makes yet another cameo! Hurrah for him!
Thankyou to: YamiTai (you were the first reviewer last chapter too! Thankyou for the birthday wishes, and I return them with glee!); Chanceless (Seth removed Robin's electrical powers from him during the big fight scene quite a while back – it's understandable that you would have forgotten, to be honest… And there's not long 'til Static's cameo, though honestly… it IS tiny, dude. Don't get too excited); LoopyLousise123 (Honestly? My Robin reminds me of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This is probably because I used to filch from Buffy novels to write fight scenes, and I guess a little of Buffy herself seeped into the way I write our Boy Wonder… And ironically, the "new" Raven is still based on Dear Old Buffy-bot!); Quinn and His Quill (I agree – Malachi is an excellent name. I should have named a character Malachi to match up with Marcus and Seth – also EXCELLENT names, wouldn't you agree, Quinny Boy:D); Guardian of Azarath (here's your update, dude!); The FallenAngel67 (thankyou for the Mexican birthday song! I still think it's awesome how you can speak two languages so well! Glad you liked Robin's crazy dream!); dragonprincess1988 (Jonathon is back this chapter for more kicks and giggles!); Someone (oh, Raven's not gonna die! That would be totally dumb, to kill her off, non? Not that it stopped me killing the rest of them…); Amara-Chan (you skim over italics sections? They're like my favourite thing! I am somewhat obsessed with dream sequences in fics, so… yeah… The moon thing will be explained this chapter!); Me (again, I am totally surprised people liked Jonathon, given that he was an OC. Then again, I guess if I'd taken the "The Teen Titans meet a new hero with unspeakable and dangerous power claiming to be from Azarath, but how is he connected to Raven and is he friend or foe?" approach, you'd all have been chasing him with pitchforks…); and Simmie (oh, Seth – he was a slippery customer, non? Sometimes I am struck with the urge to write a musical about him…).
Also, to Narroch, the non-reviewing skeeze: I just mentioned how my Robin became manipulated into Buffy-Robin. Let's just remember the Buffy influence on L coming up in Poison Apple. Review next time or I'll turn L into Buffy-L, and I mean cheerleader-Buffy-L.
It won't be pretty (though it might scare Light: "Ohmigahd, Light-kun, I am like so majorly back from the dead. That whole heart attack thing is so passé…").
And now: The 2am Adventures Fridge-Filching of Robin and Cyborg™, aka…
His Name in Candle Wax
Robin's eyes snapped open as he awoke from his horrific dream with a sudden gasp; he lay there on his side, his eyes wide and staring, for what felt like hours. It was pitch dark in Raven's room – the single candle had burned out long ago; she was pressed against his back, one arm draped over him, her hand on his stomach.
And her stomach was pushed into the arch of his back.
He shivered; the baby – if could even be called that – was still at the moment, not restlessly kicking, which relieved him.
Still…
He lifted her arm and slithered out of her grip; and then replaced his body mass with a pillow, which, in her comatose state, she cuddled up to, thinking it was him. He tucked her in gently and stood back, both sadness and determination creeping over him. She was beautiful pregnant, and he was sorry that he had to kill her child – because, after all, it was true.
Monster it may have been, and not even his, but it was still her child. Half of its genetic makeup came from her; and she carried it within her.
Her child.
And he was sorry for that.
But the child itself… he shivered as he remembered the dream.
He wouldn't let Raven die.
He wouldn't let Seth live.
He wouldn't.
Finding himself a candle and a lighter, he gave himself a little light and used it to begin his search of Raven's bookshelves for the "purple book" Jonathon had tipped him off about.
He found it easily; it was the only purple-bound book she had on her shelves. It was old and heavy, and he suppressed a coughing fit from the dust as he lifted it down and sat on the floor with it.
There was no writing on the cover; only on the spine, and it was in Azarathian. Faded and silver; he squinted at it. From days poring over the chart she had drawn up for him and the books she had lent him, he was beginning to become familiar with the symbols. He couldn't read the language fluently, but he could pick out certain phrases and words and letters.
And from what he could pick out here, he presumed that it read White Enchantments.
Or something along those lines anyway.
He flipped it open and scanned down the contents page.
Solid block Azarathian. He couldn't make any sense of it at all; not without his chart, which he had put into one of her drawers.
Rummaging around now would wake her up – something he didn't want to do.
Because, quite frankly, she was a pest; and this was the first real peace he had gotten since getting up that morning.
He pushed the book under the bed, blew out the candle and crept out of the room; scuttling silently down the hall, moving from shadow to shadow.
It was raining outside; he paused at one of the huge panel windows to look out at it. The moon – full – peeked out from behind near-opaque storm clouds that came rolling over the city with all the speed and determination of a Harley Davidson rider on Route 66.
He went down to the kitchen, lost in his thoughts.
So lost, in fact, that he wasn't looking where he was going and walked smack straight into the fridge door, which was open.
Cyborg peeked up over it apologetically.
"Sorry…" He grinned and ducked back down again.
"What are you doing?" Robin asked wearily.
"Having a late-night rummage," Cyborg answered from behind the door. "Did you grab those leftover burritos?"
"Star did. Drowned them in mustard."
"Why am I not surprised?"
Robin went to the counter.
"I'm gonna make some coffee. Want some?"
"Sounds good." Cyborg ventured up from the fridge with his arms full of leftovers, kicking the door shut behind him. "You came down at just the right time, Robbie. Now you get to share my midnight leftovers binge."
"So that's where those leftover chicken wings go…
" Robin muttered.
"Hey, if you want 'em, you should eat 'em while they're on your plate, otherwise they're just easy prey for Cy on one of his midnight rummages!"
"So what's your advice?" Robin asked, looking over his shoulder at his friend as he starting laying out everything he had found. "Next time, even if I really can't manage that last slice of pizza, if I don't want you to snag it, I should just stuff it down anyway?"
"Yup!" Cyborg agreed cheerfully. "I mean, even if you do puke it back up after, at least you've stopped anyone else from getting it."
"I'll bear that mind…"
Cyborg tutted mockingly.
"Robin, you're a ruthless crime-fighter, but yo, you aren't nearly as aggressive when it comes to food…"
"Or, to phrase it another way, you're a greedy bum," Robin shot back snippily.
Cyborg shrugged amiably.
"Well, sure, if you wanna get technical…"
"What you got?"
"Well…" Cyborg ran his gaze over his haul. "…We have leftover Double Pepperoni and Cajun Chicken with extra cheese and mushrooms pizza from two nights ago, and we have chicken curry in that little plastic tub there, and leftover takeout and egg rolls from that Chinese place on the Lower East Side, ready-cooked Canadian-cured bacon…"
"Anything that's good cold?"
"A half-eaten Hershey bar, two Mallow Blasters, king prawns, cold weenies, rye crackers and a packet of salty liquorice."
"Cool."
Robin came over to the table with plates and the coffee. Cyborg was already scarfing down a slice of cold pizza, the thing hanging out of his mouth, as he opened up the takeout carton and emptied the contents onto the plate Robin had just handed him.
"You want some?"
Robin declined his head and Cyborg put the plate in the microwave.
While Cyborg went back to the pizza as he waited, Robin began a very meticulous method of making a "sandwich", consisting of a strip of Canadian bacon and three king prawns between two dry rye crackers. He also seized the packet of salty liquorice before Cyborg could get his grabby metal mitts on it.
"Somethin' I meant to ask you," Cyborg suddenly said, his mouth full.
Robin looked up, crunching a mouthful of his "sandwich". He cocked his head to imply his question.
"Ray…" Cyborg swallowed and tried again. "Raven."
Robin looked down at the table's surface.
"Cy, I don't know why she's acting so weird, okay?"
Which wasn't actually a lie. He had his suspicions, but he didn't know for sure…
"I know that." The microwave pinged and Cyborg got up to retrieve his takeout.
"Then what…?"
Cyborg brought his plate back, the takeout now steaming with the heat, and sat down opposite Robin again.
"That ring." Cyborg frowned. "Where did she get it from?"
Robin blinked.
"Ring?"
"Yeah, you know, the one on her finger...?"
Oh, the ring. Of course… it kept slipping his mind…
"Where did she get it?" Robin repeated.
"That's what I said."
"One of the guys from Azarath gave it to her."
Again, not a lie; not a lie at all. Seth was a "guy from Azarath"; it was the truth.
Just not the whole truth.
"Yeah?" Cyborg raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of coffee.
"Yeah. Why?" Robin picked another king prawn from the tub and popped it into his mouth, gazing at Cyborg all the while.
"'Cause she told me you gave it to her."
"What?" Robin stared at him. "No I didn't!"
Cyborg looked very confused now.
"Well, that's what I said," he said slowly. "I mean, why would you buy her a ring in the first place, and even if you did, it wouldn't be like that one. Platinum and ruby? I mean, come on… I know you're Bruce Wayne's ward and heir and everything, but it's not like he gives you a two thousand dollar allowance…"
Robin was still staring at him.
"How do you…?"
Cyborg sighed and put down his fork; and then proceeded to explain the "interesting" time he had had with Raven in the jewelry store prior to and after the rounding-up of the Amazing Mumbo. Her hysterical attitude, sudden love of "bunnies", her insistence that it had been Robin who had given her the ring despite Cyborg's logical protests, and the examination by the store manager, who has assured him of its material, value and furthermore that she hadn't picked it up from the shop floor.
It wasn't from Diamonds Are Forever.
And so Cyborg just couldn't think where she had gotten it from.
And now Robin said that someone from Azarath had given it to her, but that he hadn't (and he was equally surprised by this revelation); so why was Raven insisting that he had?
The cybernetic teen shook his head worriedly.
"I don't like this, man…"
Robin gave a little shiver.
"Neither do I…"
And a third time… it wasn't a lie. Although perhaps an understatement... He'd been raped and nearly killed by Slade, possessed, gotten Raven pregnant with a demon child that wasn't even his, actually been killed, thrown into the future, nearly murdered twice by Seth, nearly killed by Slade a second time, murdered someone himself, nearly killed by Slade again, and now Raven was acting screwy on him, he was set to murder an unborn child, and he had just spoken to the spirit of a murdered senator – a man who had had his heart torn out – via a dream.
No, he hated this, to be frank.
And that Ghostbusters shtick suddenly seemed cruelly ironic, given that Jonathon was…
…dead.
"You alright?"
Robin blinked and looked up.
"Hm?"
Cyborg frowned at him.
"You look kinda… pale…"
"I admit to neglecting the sunbathing of late…"
"Shame you couldn't neglect the sarcasm too," Cyborg muttered, using his fork to go through his takeout and pick out his favourite bits. He started singing "Sweet Child of Mine" under his breath and Robin smiled; Cyborg had a great voice, but that wasn't the reason he was smiling.
"Guns 'n' Roses," he muttered.
"Uh-huh."
"Bruce likes that song."
"It's a good song."
"He used to sing it when he was in a good mood…" Robin grinned as he looked up and saw that Cyborg was staring quizzically at him.
"Yo, what's with the tender reminiscing?" The half-robot asked, wigged.
"The effect was really kinda funny when he was belting out this powerful rock love ballad in full Batman gear…"
"Oh." Cyborg grinned too. "Yeah, I can totally hear him going that…"
"Whoa, that was Bev Hills," Robin commented, arching his eyebrows. "What's next, a gold-plated mailbox?"
"This coming from the guy who's the ward of a billionaire who buys him designer jeans from Saks, Fifth Avenue in NYC?
"You know I'm good for it."
"You're spoilt rotten." Cyborg handed him his empty cup. "And yo, get your spoilt rotten butt over there and get me another coffee?" His questioning tone showed that he was only teasing, but Robin pretended to be affronted.
"Do I look like your slave?"
"Nope," Cyborg replied cheerfully. "My slave is beautiful, blonde and in a leather studded bikini. You don't look anything like her."
"Too much info, wise-guy…"
Cyborg grinned.
"You asked…"
"You know, I think having girls chained to the foot of your bed is illegal," Robin mused, getting up and refilling Cyborg's cup with fresh black coffee from the pot.
"Damn straight. That's why they're in my closet…"
"This conversation, much like the Ghostbusters one, is becoming way too involved," Robin pointed out scathingly, coming back. "While I sincerely doubt that you actually have a couple of scantily-clad supermodels stuffed into your closet, I have just come to the startling conclusion, Cy, that you are a gutterhead…"
Cyborg's grin only broadened.
"You just came to that conclusion? Gee, and I thought you were some kind of brilliant detective…"
There was a moment's silence; and then Robin slammed his hand onto the tabletop.
"Damn! You know what?"
"What?"
"I just completely forgot how to laugh!"
Cyborg chuckled, impressed, and lifted his coffee.
"Alright, man, that's gotta be one of your best retorts yet…" He swilled his coffee around the cup. "You mind if I ask you a question, by the way?"
"Go right ahead," Robin replied dryly, "unless it's about that secret stash of back issues of Playboy, because I will deny all knowledge and blame it on Beast Boy…"
"Naturally." Cyborg smiled wryly. "Man, I am gonna need a cold shower if we don't stop talking like this…"
"You're blaming this on me?"
"Sure. Usually I just come down here and stuff all the leftover chicken wings and chow mein. None of this smut ever crosses my mind when I'm on my own. I just sit and eat and sing "Sweet Child of Mine" in peace…"
"Sure you do." Robin opened the packet of liquorice and put one of the little round salty sweets in his mouth. "Your question…?"
"Why did you complain about being a slave, but get up to get the coffee anyway?"
Robin opened his mouth; and then closed it again, floundering for an answer. When he couldn't think of one, he responded in the only way he could; sticking his tongue out, and then, when Cyborg turned away, rolling his eyes, flicking a piece of liquorice at him.
Cyborg caught it and ate it.
"Thanks, man…"
Robin seethed in silence for a while; and then his thought process slid back to the more important matter at hand.
He still had questions; and perhaps Jonathon could answer them…
But Jonathon had contacted him. How was he to…?
"Cy, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure I'll trade you a night with my love slave for all those issues of Playboy…"
"Uh-huh." Robin looked at him reproachfully. "The "Smut Power Hour" is over, Cy; and on a more serious note… if you needed to talk to a… dead person, how would you contact them?"
Cyborg looked up at him incredulously.
"This is a "serious" note?"
"Cy, I'm not playing around."
Cyborg shrugged.
"Go to their grave?"
"No, I mean… okay, not a dead person so much… I mean, they would be dead, but, like… their spirit."
"How would you contact a spirit?"
Robin nodded.
"Uh, well…" Cyborg looked at the ceiling. "Crystal ball? A medium? An Ouija Board? A séance? Ghostbusters?"
Robin nodded thoughtfully. Well, he didn't much like the sound of an Ouija Board and wasn't sure where he would get one anyway. He knew that a lot of mediums were fakes, so he couldn't rely on that. Scrying with a crystal ball required a skill that he didn't have.
And Ghostbusters obviously weren't an option.
But a séance…
If he found the right incantation in one of Raven's books (and he knew of a few that might have what he was looking for), got the right equipment… he could call Jonathon up and ask him what he needed to know…
…Couldn't he?
For example, what he had meant by "The moon is your hourglass, and it is nearly running out"?
He looked up; Cyborg was finishing up his takeout. He ran the phrase by him, and Cyborg frowned.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Oh, I just… read it… somewhere…"
Cyborg shrugged and looked at the calendar.
"I dunno, maybe the new moon? If the moon is your hourglass, but it's almost running out… maybe it means that the hourglass won't be there anymore?"
Robin's eyes widened; and then he smiled.
Because Cyborg was right. He could feel it.
The new moon; one night when there would be no moon in the sky at all.
But the moon… it was full right now, and the new moon came right after the full moon, so…
Robin shot out of his seat and dashed over to the calendar – it was a "heavy-duty" one, showing all international holidays – American, British, Canadian, Australian, Japanese, Russian, Sri Lankan… – and the phases of the moon per month.
Robin scanned down October; today was technically, since it was two-thirty in the morning, Wednesday 4th October.
Friday 6th October was the new moon.
Two days.
Did that mean… that Raven's child would be born on Friday?
"What's up with you?" Cyborg asked, irked.
"Nothing…" Robin backed away from the calendar towards the door. "I just have to…"
"Robin, do me a favour," Cyborg put in as Robin reached for the handle.
"Yeah?"
"Look into that ring for me? You're the one she keeps following around, maybe she'll tell you…"
Robin nodded.
"You got it, Cy."
"Thanks, man. It's been niggling me since Friday…"
Robin raised an eyebrow.
"Welcome to my world…"
"Robin!"
Robin had just gone out the door; but now he poked his head back around quizzically.
"Mm?"
Cyborg put his head in his hands as he gazed long and hard at the Boy Wonder.
"…You were just kidding about those hidden Playboy magazines… right?"
—
The storm clouds were well over the city now; and so was the rain, and with it, the thunder and lightning.
Those stormy brothers did their job rather too well at times…
Robin watched it out of one of the top floor windows for a while, and then crept back into Raven's bedroom, praying he didn't wake her.
Unfortunately, she was already awake and standing at the window, gazing out at the storm with her hands on her belly; singing "Hush, little baby" very softly in a hauntingly beautiful voice that also gave him the creeps.
She saw him slip into the room in the reflection of the window and her singing died off.
"Where have you been?" She asked, not turning around.
"Couldn't sleep, so I went downstairs and had a coffee with Cy."
"Coffee will make your insomnia worse," she pointed out perkily.
He crossed the floor and slipped behind her; she reached back, grasped his wrists and encircled his arms around her shoulders, holding his hands to keep them in place.
Outside, lightning flashed, illuminating them both in white for a few moments; and in that light, the ruby ring on Raven's finger flashed.
As the thunder rolled, Robin slipped his hand down on top of hers.
"Ray, the ring…?" He cleared his throat. "Where did you get it?"
He was surprised to note that her reflection looked a little irked.
"You gave it to me!"
Okay, he could hear that she was a bit… annoyed by the question; so perhaps he should play along with her instead of straight-out denying it.
"Refresh my memory, then. When did I give it to you?"
"Oh, a while back. You told me that it was special and that I should never take it off, or allow anyone else to take it off either…"
"I did?"
She beamed and nodded.
"Mm-hm!"
"Well… could I have a look at it?"
Raven grasped at her own hand protectively.
"No! You told me to never remove it!"
"Yeah, well…" Robin was exasperated, but decided again that, for now, it would be better to just agree with her and "admit" that he had given it to her. "…I want to see it for a moment. You can put it back on again once I've—"
"No!" Raven sounded hysterical. "You made me vow never to take it off, and I won't break that vow, not even for you."
"Why would I… I mean, why did I do that?"
Raven shrugged, still gripping her hand.
"I don't know, but I will honour my vow. It stays on my finger."
"Alright, alright, fine…" Robin gave in wearily, more confused than ever.
Why did she think that he had given it to her? She even seemed to have false memories about it…
He sighed and turned her around, steering her towards the bed.
"C'mon, Ray, sleepy-time…"
She perked up.
"Alright…"
She got under the covers and curled up in his arms when he joined her, sighing contentedly as though this was all she had ever wished for…
He waited until she was soundly asleep before finding her hand in the dark beneath the sheets and attempting to slip the ring off her finger.
But it wouldn't come off.
He tugged and tugged at it as much as he dared; it wasn't stuck, because he could still move it up and down easily.
It just wouldn't come off, as though her finger was a strong magnet that attracted the metal. He would pull it so far and it would be yanked back out of his fingers.
Great; something else to add to his Worry List (and it was getting very long at this point).
Because it wasn't, in truth, that the ring wouldn't be taken off.
It was that it couldn't be taken off.
Laying down his pen with his aching hand, Robin leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. His eyes stung and his mind buzzed from an entire day of poring over books and charts in English and Latin and Azarathian; so much that it was all garbled in his brain and he wasn't sure if he was even thinking in English anymore…
Maybe he shouldn't talk to anyone for a while; unless he expected them to understand a stream of tangled, clumsy and inarticulate English, Azarathian and Latin.
But it was done.
The purple book had been a goldmine; and Robin had quickly found the perfect spell. It had taken him six hours to translate it from Azarathian to Latin and then from Latin to English using the phrasebooks and charts Raven had given him, having had the peace and quiet to do so because Raven had gone to the mall, Starfire was cooking and Cyborg and Beast Boy had acquired a new video game.
He would have translated the text straight to English but because Azarathian was a language from another whole dimension, he thought it might come out more accurately if he went to Latin first and then to English. It was also an easier process that way, even though it took longer.
It was a spell that required the enchantment of two items; the weapon itself (which, in this case, was the Blade of Azar) and a pentacle made from black obsidian, a stone that was associated with protective qualities.
Overall, the spell required a lot of actions to be taken to ensure its effectiveness, and he wasn't looking forward to doing any of it at all, but for the most part it was easy to follow and understand. It just seemed like a lot of pointless rigmarole went on before it – things that he would rather skip to speed up the process.
Taking a candlelit bath beforehand was one of them.
Here they were, on a tight schedule as it was, racing against the phases of the moon; and he had this spell demanding that he lie up in a tub for an hour. It was, allegedly, for "purification" reasons; a cleansing of the mind, body and soul.
Which, okay, he could understand; and perhaps he would have found that idea of it a little more tolerable if the thing hadn't then gone on to demand that he put scented essential oils into the water, and crystals, for petesakes…
So he wasn't too thrilled about that; he didn't like baths much anyway – they were, in his opinion, a complete waste of time, when a shower was so much quicker and more convenient…
He did, however, understand the reason for this too; the oils had to be those associated with protection, and the same applied to the crystals.
So that left him with frankincense for the oil and black obsidian and turquoise for the crystals. The oil was to cleanse any negativity from him and the crystals were to charge him with their protective merits.
But just because he understood and was willing to do it didn't mean he had to like it.
The second thing… again, it was to do with the so-called "associated items" of protection spells. These were that blue was the associated colour of protection – and so he was required to wear something blue – and that the associated number was eight, so he had to wear eight of something.
He had a way of remedying both of these things, and would sort that out later. In fact, he would sort all of his ingredients out later.
Because first, before he even began, he needed some questions answered.
And he knew that there was only one way he could get the answers.
And so, after translating the spell and running over it a few times, he had turned his attention to another book that had caught his eye two days ago while he had been searching for a spell. Heavy, black and old, he had rifled through it and again quickly located what he was after; instructions for a séance.
It was in Latin; and so it had only taken him three hours to translate it instead of six.
And now he had what he needed.
Pushing all of his scribbled notes together, Robin locked them in his desk drawer and went to have a shower.
—
At 1:15am, Robin slithered out of Raven's arms as he had done the night before, slipped the box he had made up from under the bed and crept out of the room.
Initially, he had thought about using the Communications Center (a.k.a: the front room/the TV room/the Den/whatever else Beast Boy chose to call it) to perform his séance, as he needed quite a bit of empty space, but then had decided against it, considering that Cyborg might come dandering through at any given moment on one of his late-night raids of the fridge.
So he opted for the gym, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed at this time of night.
Locking the door behind him, Robin set his cardboard box down on one of the wooden benches and knelt down, beginning to take the things out.
Eight small white tea lights.
One large white church candle.
A book of matches.
A small sharp knife.
And the book.
Carrying everything over to a space in the middle of the gym, Robin made a largish circle using the eight tea lights; ripping a match from the book, he lit them, the hair at the back of his neck already beginning to prickle with anxiety and nervousness.
He was going to attempt to call up a ghost – a murdered person – all by himself.
Even the book had advised that it was not wise to conduct a séance alone; but what choice did he have?
He needed some answers, and he had a feeling that Jonathon might be able to give them to him.
And what other way did he have of contacting the dead senator?
Turning off the gym lights, he crossed the floor again and sat in the middle of the circle, laying the book down open in the middle of it. Picking up the thick church candle and the knife, he swiftly carved the name JONATHON VAUGHAN into the wax and then placed the candle on the gym floor above the book. He lit it and put the matches and the knife aside; and then got comfortably cross-legged in the middle of the circle, just beyond the open book, and breathed deeply to calm himself down.
What was the worst that could happen? He could call up the ghost of an evil person instead? A killer or a rapist; perhaps axe murderer Lizzie Borden, or John Wilkes Booth, Rebel assassin of President Lincoln?
He sighed; no, it wasn't possible. This spell was personalised – by carving Jonathon's name into the candle, it would seek his spirit and his alone. If he could not be located or reached, Robin would get no contact at all.
It was Jonathon or nothing.
That in mind, he was a little comforted.
A little.
Still breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and concentrated and pushing everything out of his mind to clear it; and then concentrated on keeping it clear.
Just an empty blank white…
He took another deep breath and exhaled and then spoke the words he had gone over and over in his head in the shower and during dinner;
"Beloved Jonathon, dearly departed, I ask that you descend from the World Beyond and that you walk once more among the living and commune once more with those of the mortal realm…"
He breathed again, and then repeated it twice more, his voice dull, chant-like…
He paused, wondering if he should begin again—
And then the candle flames all flickered and there was a sudden and noticeable drop in the temperature of the room.
And then, even stranger, Robin began to feel a subtle pain in his chest, roughly around the position of his heart.
"Jonathon…?" He asked tentatively.
"Open your eyes."
Recognizing Jonathon's voice – echoing as though he stood in space – Robin took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
He gasped.
The gym had disappeared; and in its place was…
…nothing…
A white oblivion; sheer nothingness as far as the eye could see.
He was standing, not sitting; and looking down, he saw that he was no longer in his pyjamas, but in his red, yellow and green uniform.
He was about the wheel around and search for Jonathon, but—
"Don't turn around!"
Jonathon's voice again; this time his tone more imperative.
"Jonathon?" Robin noticed that his own voice was a little shaky. "What's…?"
"It's an illusion; you're technically still sitting on the floor of the gym. If you turn around and face me you'll shatter it."
"Where are you?"
"Right behind you." Jonathon's voice was calmer now. "We're back to back."
Robin looked around as much as he was allowed.
"What happened? I wasn't expecting… this…"
"Most séances aren't like this," Jonathon agreed. "For the most part, if you were to conduct a séance, you wouldn't even be able to hear me talking; we would have to communicate through a rapping sequence or an Ouija Board. But this time, the spell you chose, coupled with the fact that I am not a mortal, but Azarathian… you conjured an illusion."
"But we can't face each other?"
"No. If you turn around, the illusion will be broken and our communication will be cut off."
"How long will this last?"
"Until the flame of the candle completely melts the whole of my name."
"Oh." Robin smiled. "Good thing you have a pretty long name then. "Jonathon" on its own is eight letters."
"The "J" and half of the "o" are already gone. You don't have as long as you might think. I know that you have many things to ask me; I urge you to begin your "interrogation". I will answer you as fully as I am allowed, or to the best of my knowledge."
"Alright." Robin sorted out his mind order and folded his arms. "I expect you know already which spell I took from the purple book?"
"Actually, I don't know, but as there are only two types of protection spell in there, I'm going to go for the "Enchanted Black Obsidian Pentacle" one…"
"Right. I think I've translated it correctly, but I can't read the Azarathian – I can only translate it to Latin by comparing the texts. Do I have to speak it in Azarathian, or can it be in Latin or English?"
"As long as you're doing everything right, you can speak it in English if you would feel more comfortable."
Robin sighed with relief.
"Good. I'm less likely to mess it up if it's in English…"
"We're down to "a". What else?"
"The bath before the spell is necessary?"
"Afraid so."
"There's a… rule, I think…" Robin frowned. "The spell requires… I mean, it has to be performed after the first star has shone in the sky. Is that true? I am restricted that much that I can't just do it tomorrow morning?"
Jonathon nodded, even though Robin couldn't see him.
"Again, I am afraid so…"
"When you said "the moon is your clock, and it is nearly running out,"… you meant the moon phases, right? The new moon?"
"I am not allowed to say, but I think you know, Robin…"
"Right." Robin nodded. "New moon is tomorrow night; Friday 6th October. Raven's child is going to be born tomorrow night?"
"Unless you stop it."
"But I can't perform the spell until after the light of the first night star?"
"Right."
"Why?" Robin demanded.
"The book I recommended to you – and therefore the spell itself – is an Azarathian variant of Wicca."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Wicca relies on a balance of the masculine and feminine elements of the worlds around us; the sun – no matter which sun – is always masculine, and the moon – and you will remember that Azarath has two, Metrion and Zinthos – is feminine. Different spells require the power of the different "gender elements"; for example, spells for courage and victory are associated with the masculine side of the belief, whereas spells for love, fertility and protection obviously need to tap into the feminine power. Therefore, because your spell is one of protection, it requires the power of the moon to help create the magic. Or… well, even though it is a new moon, the moon will still be there, even though you can't see it. Hence, it must be performed after the light of the first star, but before it fades and begins to lose its full power and magical potential."
"Well." Robin couldn't think of anything else to add. "Well," he said again grouchily.
Wicca; why did he have a nasty feeling that it was going to be plaguing him from now on?…
"The ring?"
"What ring?" Jonathon sounded puzzled; and of course Robin had to go by his tone of voice, not being allowed to turn and face him.
"On her finger. The one Seth gave her."
"Uh…" Jonathon gave a weary little sigh. "I'm afraid I didn't even know he had given her a ring. If you remember, he bumped me off quite before any of this business with you going forward and back in time…"
His voice sounded a little bitter and Robin felt a deep pang of pity for him.
"Oh, yeah, I… Jonathon, I'm—"
"Sorry?" Jonathon laughed coolly. "Yeah, me too. I never got the chance to wring his scrawny little half-demon neck… Tell Raven I owe her one…"
"Raven. Spill. What do you know? Why is she acting so… un-Raven-like?"
"I am afraid I do not have the answer to that."
"You don't know… or you aren't allowed to say?"
"I don't know. I truly don't. It's possibly a side-effect of her rather strange pregnancy."
Robin sighed.
"I'm counting on it. It's making my life hell…"
"You're doing very well, I have to say. All that translation… I am very impressed," Jonathon said warmly.
"I just hope it goes right…"
"As long as you practise so that you know what you're doing, you'll be fine. Both Earth-bound Wicca and its Azarathian variant do not require the spellcaster to have any magical powers like the ones I had while alive, or the Senate's, or even Raven's… As long as you have the right ingredients, the right words and the right state of mind, you can make the magic happen. That's why I steered you towards the purple book. Raven has spells in other books that are far more powerful and don't have a "curfew" on them like your spell does. She could perform them, or I would have been able to, or Marcus, or… well, you get the picture. But you couldn't do them – you haven't the power, the knowledge or the expertise. I do, however, believe that Azarathian Wicca is the perfect choice for someone of your novice skills. As long as you do everything exactly as you have translated, you will prevail."
"So now I'm supposed to wish Batman had taught me how to command things to transform into something else instead of how to catch crooks?"
"Robin, as the Teen Titans, you and your friends are a team. You each have your strengths and weaknesses and your areas of expertise. Raven's is magic and the light and dark arts; yours is martial arts and detection. It is unfortunate that you have had her duty thrust upon you when you know so little about it, but you are coping very well under the circumstances. You should be proud of yourself; and if not, and still you doubt your abilities, look around you. Look at what you have created; you did this. Made the magic to conjure this illusion in which we now speak. Not bad going for someone who claims to know nothing at all of these arts…"
Robin paused in silence for a moment or two; Jonathon spoke the truth, but that still didn't stop him from worrying about the next night, and he told the dead senator so.
"Robin," Jonathon replied quietly, "I admit I would be extremely dubious if you weren't worried… Arrogance coupled with over-confidence is a festering breeding ground for failure; and if you do not believe that, just look at what happened to Seth to prove my point. Attempting to play God is never a good idea, especially when you're dealing with someone like Raven…"
Robin considered that for a moment; and finally he smiled.
"Yup; we've all learned by now that messing with Raven is a really bad idea… Of course, BB has suffered for that lesson more than the rest of us…"
Jonathon smiled.
"I can understand that… Do you have any other questions? We are down to the first "a" of "Vaughan" already…"
"It's burning quickly," Robin commented in surprise.
"This is a powerful illusion which is sustained by the flame; it takes a lot of power and so the flame burns through the wax a lot more quickly than it would on a normal candle."
"Well, can I ask you one more thing?"
"Sure."
"When you first appeared – or when the illusion first became real, I felt… something, like… um…"
"Pain?"
"Yeah. Real slight, like, above my… heart?"
"Ah." Jonathon gave a little laugh. "A common characteristic of séances. Sometimes you will feel a subtle ache in the area of the body that was the cause of the deceased's… uh, death. So say they get shot in the head, you might get a bit of a headache…"
"Oh." Robin felt another guilty pang as he realised… "…Your heart…"
"Yup." Jonathon sounded quite cheerful about it. "I had my heart torn out, so you got a bit of a pain there…"
Robin winced.
"Nice…"
"Anything else?"
"No, I think – I hope – that's everything…"
"You'll be fine."
"How do we end this?"
"Turn around and the illusion will break."
"Okay… Uh, Jonathon?"
"Mmm?"
"…Thanks…"
Jonathon waved it away.
"It's cool…"
Robin took a deep breath and turned around. Jonathon faced him too and gave him a wicked grin—
And then there was a sudden sharp sound like a hammer being smashed squarely into a mirror; and around him, the entire white oblivion suddenly cracked as though it was a mirror too, and as though Jonathon was a reflection. One by one, the pieces fell away to reveal a blackness beyond and then everything – including the senator's ghost manifestation – was gone.
Just black.
Robin opened his eyes; and there he was, in his pyjamas, sitting in the middle of his lit circle on the gym floor.
A grin slowly stole across his face.
He was hardly Raven; or Zatanna; or even the Amazing Mumbo.
But that hadn't been bad; not bad at all.
He blew out the altar candle and rose to go turn on the gym light; then he blew out his eight tea lights, picked everything up and put it back into the box. Sneaking back upstairs, he slipped secretly into Raven's room, pushed the box under the bed and then slid back under the covers.
In her sleep, Raven nuzzled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He stiffened as he felt a little kick from the baby against his side.
Gave a little shiver.
And then he smiled.
Exciting stuff.
I'd hint at what comes next… if I could remember.
Happy birthday to YamiTai!
- RR xXx
P.S: Salty liquorice is a Swedish thing, I believe. You can buy it in Ikea. Dunno why the Titans have it…