So Witch Hunter Robin isn't mine. Don't rub it in.
Chapter One: Through the Glass
The rain thrummed on the window, streaming down the glass, distorting Robin's view of the street outside. She shifted on the padded window seat, unconsciously drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her dark skirt.
Raining, she mused drearily. It's always raining. The films had the right of it. England was very wet. They'd been in the country a month now and she was yet to experience a fine day. The closest they'd come was the day they arrived – her mind shied from the thought. She still couldn't explain what she'd felt, her reaction, her weakness. Amon refused to speak of it.
She sighed at the direction her thoughts had taken. Amon. Protector, guardian. For whatever reason he had taken this burden upon himself, essentially sacrificed his life to be her caretaker. They were destined - or doomed - to be together. Amon, it appeared, considered it the latter.
She sighed again. Never a particularly chatty man, Amon had sunk into solemnity, speaking in monosyllables and only when addressed directly. Sometimes it seemed as if he couldn't bear to look at her, as if the very sight of her repulsed him, while on other occasions she caught him staring, an unfathomable look in his dark eyes. Just like that day at the airport. She inhaled to sigh once more, but caught herself. A smile tugged at her lips. I'm becoming as gloomy as Amon, she thought. Must be the weather.
Standing, she stepped away from the window and surveyed the room. It was spartan – they had to conserve their funds, but comfortably furnished with twin beds, separated by a worn beside table. On it rested a broken alarm clock, and a dodgy touch lamp that had woken Robin twice the night before by switching itself on at odd hours. Each time she'd started, confused by the sudden light, and each time Amon had still been awake, slouching in the chair by the door.
The first instance she'd rolled over, blinked hazily, then sat up, drawing the covers to her chest. Unnecessarily, she'd realized, having forgotten she'd taken to wearing nightclothes. Her eyes rested on Amon's untouched bed beside her, then passed to where he sat vigil. He stared at her in the unexpected glow of the touch lamp.
"Robin?" he whispered. Her breath caught in her throat at his unguarded tone. She leant forward, the light reflecting on her unbound hair, making it a fiery halo.
"Amon. Why aren't you asleep?" He looked down, eyes shadowed.
"I'm keeping watch."
"But no one knows we're-" She fell silent. "Oh. I see." She reached over and tapped the lamp, settling under the covers. Darkness consumed the space, falling over man and girl, shrouding Amon's tortured expression.
The second time he strode across the room and ripped the cord from the power point.
Robin knelt next to the bed, blinking away the memory. In the morning she woke to find him gone, but that was hardly an unusual occurrence. He often took it upon himself to disappear, sometimes for entire days, returning only at night. When questioned, he told her only that he had been out, leaving no room for argument.
No comrade's trust.
She felt very small and in need of something, anything to reaffirm the truth of her existence. Closing her eyes, she started to pray, but broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts.
"Of course!" She opened the top drawer, reaching for that staple of hotels and guest houses - the Gideon Bible - but froze, unable to believe her eyes.
Amon. Staring down the barrel of his gun. Eyes cold.
No comrade's trust.
"I'm keeping watch."
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling tears tingle in the corners. Opening them, she reached with hesitant hands for the object that signified Amon's hatred for her. The depth of his loathing for what she was. With trembling fingers she pulled his gun from the drawer.
Amon strode down the quaint side street, uncaring of the frightened looks the townspeople gave him. His dark clothes and black expression ensured his path was kept clear, but more than that was the tangible…coldness that permeated his surrounds. The newsagent told her neighbour in hushed tones how she'd had to unsnap the pound note he'd handed to her, as if it had been coated in a thin film of ice. The baker wondered how his prize azaleas had been ruined by frost when winter was still months off, and the innkeeper puzzled over the heating in room six, since it was working fine everywhere else.
He felt sick with self-loathing. Robin's face haunted him. Sitting up in bed, her eyes worried. Then, a moment later they were shuttered, but he'd seen the hurt. He witnessed her pain, unable to say or do anything. Always the same. He wished, suddenly and fervently, that he smoked.
The inn came into sight. It was an old manor house, converted some years ago, and had a certain rustic charm to it. Ivy traced elaborate patterns on the red brick walls, the heart shaped leaves glittering. He realized, with some surprise, that the rain had stopped, and the sun was making a feeble effort to shed some light on the town. With the passing of the rain he felt a lightening of his spirits, and resolving to spend less time worrying about his emotional clumsiness he made his way to their room.
He entered without knocking, as was customary, and stopped short at the sight of Robin, kneeling, gun in hand. Terrible images flashed behind his eyes, causing his heart to thud agonizingly within his chest, and unthinking he leapt over the bed, snatching the weapon. Wheeling, something inside him snapped.
"What do you think you were doing?"
Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were confused.
"Amon! I –"
"Do you really think that is the answer? Am I really such an inadequate guardian that you would terminate your own existence to rid yourself of my protection? Do you so despise me?"
She couldn't respond, staring up at him in bewilderment. "I –"
Without warning, Amon felt a push, from deep within. The anger, the uncertainty and now this shock had all combined to set something free that he had hoped would remain bound forever. It tore through him with the force of an artic wind, and indeed, it seemed to take that form upon itself, whipping around the room with gale-like intent. The touch lamp slid from the table and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing Robin, who was braced against the sudden storm, trying to get to her feet. He tried frantically to restrain this frightening new skill but he felt control slipping from his grasp with every passing moment.
Over the whistling, keening wind he heard another more ominous noise – cracking. He turned with difficultly, arms up in a protective stance, peering at the window. Ice blossomed on the glass, spreading from the centre, building upon itself as it reached the edges. He whirled to warn Robin just as the window shattered, frosted shards flying past him.
She had managed to stand and was reaching for him when a jagged chunk of glass sliced her cheek. He could only watch
Always the same
as she pressed a pale hand to her face, crimson liquid seeping through her fingers. She gazed at him, emerald eyes uncertain.
The wind lessened but to his horror he discovered he couldn't stop it. He felt weak, and dizzy – all he could see was Robin, bleeding, worried. He couldn't see her fear
Its getting dark
but he knew it was there, it had to be, he was a monster
A witch
and as he fell to his knees, overcome, the last thing he saw were her tears spilling over, mingling with the blood as she leaned over him, mouthing his name.
Hmm. Sorry this has become so dark, it wasn't really my intention, but it just got away from me. Hopefully a more cheery chapter next time!