O lean thy life on mine, dear!
'Twill shelter thee, 'twill shelter thee.
Thou wet a winsome vine, dear,
On my young tree, on my young tree:
And so, till boughs are leafless,
And Song-birds flown, and Song-birds flown,
We twine, then lay us, griefless,
Together down, together down.

From O Lay Thy Hand in Mine, Dear! by Gerald Massey

Chapter Four: Lean Thy Life

I'm a Witch.

His heart was thudding. He didn't want to admit it. But he couldn't escape it either. Amon looked around. Emptiness. It was dark, but strangely, he could still see the other two men reasonably clearly. Their features were not defined; it was more like sensing their presences, or looking through thermal binoculars. Ones eyes were tricked. Yet he could feel them and he was fairly certain they were ignorant of his presence. Not that it mattered in this place of shadow.

The trickling ripple of his newly discovered Craft flowed from within his mind to beneath his skin, spreading throughout his body and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Amon was not intimidated easily but this new side of himself frightened him. He'd known it was there, of course, but he'd hoped to keep it dormant forever. He still didn't understand what it could do. But seeing Robin –

Robin. The power surged and crashed within his body like some primeval tidal force. He growled.

For a moment his vision blurred and he saw the alley superimposed over the black expanse of his current surrounds. Then he blinked and the image was gone, although the sensation of duality remained.

The two man figures were scared. Amon could smell it. They spoke to each other in fearful whispers.

"-is failing-"

"-with earth Craft-"

"-could see me?"

"-yet no focus?"

Earth Craft? Was that the Witch's power? He felt a sudden wrench of fear. Closing his eyes, he remembered another time; shadows and light, and the disturbing image of Robin-that-was-not-Robin, a vacant husk with no spirit within. He understood now why she had seemed lifeless, and empty, staring blankly at nothing while the Hunter moved ever closer, his slow steps a shuffling portent of her own downfall. He recalled his hands had been balled into painful fists at his side, but he couldn't interfere. She had to do it on her own.

And she had. Perhaps she was stronger without him.

Pushing that thought aside, he took a step forward. The Craft seemed to build from a trickle to a torrent. Unable to restrain the unfamiliar pressure, Amon opened his eyes and let the power go.

Miho checked her position on the communicator. Good. Yori wasn't too far off. Dropping the communicator in her lap, she leaned over the steering wheel and took her bearings.

She was in the Old District, but that was the extent of her knowledge. It was a part of Tokyo that Witches, and therefore STN-J, rarely frequented. Street lights placed haphazardly along the pavement cast their dim light upon the dark buildings and narrow roads.

There was no one in sight. This vaguely unsettled Miho – it was just after eight, hardly curfew. To be sure, the neighborhood wasn't exactly savory, but it still gave her that prickly feeling at the back of her neck. She shivered. Then she felt it.

A pulse. A hum. A…scream? It rippled through her mind and seemed to throb through the ground, making the car vibrate on the suddenly unsteady road. She sat glued to her seat, hands gripping the steering wheel as she dealt with this double attack, feeling it both physically and psychically.

A moment – a breath – later, and it was over. Shuddering from the effort of not giving in to the sudden, inexplicable fear that had fleetingly paralyzed her, Miho fumbled with the handle and opened the car door. She braced herself against the hood, catching her breath, then pulling out her gun, set off in the direction the power had come from.

It seemed she was going to have to earn her keep.

Amon felt it leave his body and travel outwards, like threads or vines, speeding off into the distance while remaining tethered, rooted to something deep inside. He felt it undulate through the ground, racing along with no control, moving through the earth as though it –

The earth. "…with earth Craft…." Did the men…mean him?

His overloaded mind tried to make sense of it all. That can't be right. The earth Craft user who Hunted Robin only had a secondary power that needed to be focused through Ogham circles and runic symbols. And yet, what else can it be? He'd reacted instinctively, tearing the threat these men posed far away from where they could endanger Robin, but to where? Their bodies appeared unmoved, if the ghostly image of the alley that played across his eyes was any indication, but their minds…

Amon remembered the othermind - the flood of memories, the feeling of self-yet-other - and on impulse tried to reel in some of the power that had bubbled out of him like a glass overflowing. The threads were slippery, and hard to control, but he managed to pull some back under his skin, where it simmered quietly, seeming to stretch his very being within the housing of his flesh. Recalling his martial arts training, he forced himself to breathe deeply, and sank quickly into meditation.

In the comforting hum of his own power – a pleasantly soothing thrum that resonated through his soul – he sensed two small wells. Skating through the shadows of his mind he moved towards them, and dropped down into darkness.


They are bad men. They know that. They like it. Their victims have said it, thought it, screamed it; hatred all too clear in their innocent, pain-filled eyes. The men are amused by the impotent fury of their powerless prey. It excites them.

They target girls. Easy prey. So pretty and pure. Naïve in the ways of the world. In need of education. The men enjoy the sensation – so tangible yet so elusive – of life and hope slipping from their victims. Oh, the power they hold over them!

They have codenames. 'Tweedledum' and 'Tweedledee'. A shadowy man commands them to find a young female. They are ordered to take her alive but nothing is said of untouched. The payment is good, but they prefer their own choice of reward.

They take pictures…

Amon wrenched himself from the sordid pool of memories, images still fresh in his now soiled mind. He felt…dirty after seeing what those men had done. And almost disturbingly, he felt somewhat calm, as well. Calm because he knew what to do, how to repay, in some small way, the countless acts of torture they had committed against innocent young girls. Against girls just like Robin.

He concentrated on the calm feeling, the one that sat next to the shocked revulsion somewhere in his gut. He advanced on the men - the Witch and his human friend, both demons in their own way - and as he got closer, he could feel a small smile playing over his lips. Good things come to those who wait…

Reaching the men unaware, he stretched out his arms and placed a hand on each forehead. Concentrating on the debauched imagery that continued to loop in his head, he tore into their minds and planted the seeds of pain. Pain they had caused, fear and terror that had previously aroused them. With skills he didn't know he had; with power he didn't know how to use; he made sure the pain would haunt their minds forever. He sealed them in a prison of their own making and left them there to rot.

Amon opened his eyes and was promptly sick. He emptied his stomach but found he couldn't clear his mind of those revolting images. If they'd gotten Robin…

He snapped his iron control back into place with the finality of a judge's gavel, and sank to the ground, sweat soaking his clothes and beading on skin stretched over taut, shaking muscles. He couldn't believe what had just happened, what he'd just done. How had he done it?

His body shook from the effort of retching. He carefully avoided looking at the fallen bodies of his enemies and crawled over to where Robin was still lying. The blood had dried on her face in a sticky black line, and this close he could see the purple blossom of a bruise on her temple. Hand trembling, he reached out and placed two fingers on her neck.

A pulse. Faint, but there. Amon released a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. He wanted nothing more than to collapse, exhausted, here on the ground next to Robin, and cry until his eyes were dry. He wanted to cry as he'd never wanted to cry again. He wanted to cry like he did on that day long ago –

Groaning, Amon pushed himself to his knees. One step at a time. He knelt for a long moment, then using his palms, pushed upright. He swayed, caught himself, and tried to remember how to work his own body.

The world stopped spinning. His muscles screamed. Ignoring the protests of his bones and being, he scooped Robin up in his arms, leaning down painfully to grab girl and violin. He allowed himself the small comfort of pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. Then, without pausing to wonder why that was a comfort, he set off slowly for home.

Doujima Yurika looked down forlornly at her Blahnik heels and sighed. You'd think I would have learned by now, she admonished herself silently. But no, if it comes down to a choice between style and comfort, I go for style every time. Even if that means sacrificing ease of walking, freedom of movement and the required speed to keep up with my new partner.

She watched said partner's back, thinking. Doujima was an excellent judge of people – she had to be, in her line of work – and yet she didn't know what to make of this Jabez person. She frowned. Who called their kid 'Jabez', anyway?

Michael's voice came suddenly, annoyingly, in her ear. "The Witch should be a street ahead of you guys." She nodded, then allowing for Michael's inability to see her response, answered verbally.

"Got it."

Jabez stopped, and without turning, motioned Doujima forward. She moved awkwardly to his side, wishing Manolo Blahnik had dismissed his idea to make shoes as just another crazy fantasy, all those years ago.

"He is in the next street over," Jabez said quietly. She felt like rolling her eyes, but was uncharacteristically behaved beside this unknown entity; this new and as yet unidentified force within the ranks of the STN-J. She settled for agreeing, instead.

"Yes. Michael told me, too."

Her sarcasm was apparently lost on the man, as he only nodded. Then, with a speed she'd never seen anyone use before – not even Amon – he slipped out of the alley and was lost in the inky shadows.

If her feet hadn't hurt so much, Doujima would have stamped in frustration. But they did; so she didn't; and sighing, she limped off after the Hunter that, she suspected, was just as dangerous as their unseen quarry.

Miho followed the fading psychic tremors of the mini-quake. The physical manifestation had dissipated moments after the initial shock, but she could see that here and there the walls had cracked slightly, and the pavement seemed uneven in the aftermath of the vibrations. She gripped her gun more tightly, grateful for the sense of security it afforded her. She didn't have either the 'tagger' or any chips on her – and for that, she was almost defiantly relieved. Strangely, Miho felt it would be better for these 'tagged' Witches to die before SOLOMON got its claws into them.

She wondered if she had become cold. Maybe the Hunting life has numbed me. It happened to Kate, after all. Perhaps one day she'd retire, and buy a little farm in the country, somewhere. She could grow roses, and carrots.

Rounding a corner, she stopped short as she encountered a strange barrier. It was…smooth. Unnatural. Obviously made by a Witch. She ran her gloved hand lightly over its invisible surface. It wasn't entirely tangible, but her mind baulked at the thought of having to cross it. Impulsively, she looked down. How odd. All the surface cracks and crumbling cement arced out next to her feet; a perfect half-circle described upon the ground. Inside the circle the ground was untouched.

She stepped through. Her mind registered an uncomfortable sensation - as if she'd just been scanned. Once in, the zinging presence of the barrier seemed to relax somewhat. Looking around the alley, Miho spotted the two dark lumps at the end. She moved over to inspect them.

She tapped her earpiece. "Michael."

He replied instantly. "Yes?"

"Could you please send someone to my coordinates as quickly as possible? It looks as if we've got a new Witch." Miho surveyed the perfectly shielded alley and thought of the small traces of destruction she'd noticed on her way from the car. She glanced once more at the contorted faces of the two men at her feet. Foam dribbled from mouths that were pulled tight in soundless screams and eyes wide with terror rolled wildly.

"Michael?"

"Yes?"

"We're making this one our top priority. He's very dangerous."

They made their way back to the office, Witch subdued. Doujima had suppressed a shudder at the clinical detachment with which the replacement inserted the chip. She was all for messing with people's minds…but figuratively, not literally. She supposed anything was better than the previous two choices: straight out killing; or surrendering them to the depraved clutches of Factory…but now, her spy sense was tingling.

Something was afoot. And it was Doujima's nature to get to the bottom of things.

She indicated, and changed lanes, zippy sports car handling the transition with ease. There was a shorter route, but she wanted to buy a little time, get to know Jabez better.

"The tagging went well tonight," she started conversationally. The hunter said nothing and continued to look out the window. Streetlights flickered over his face, alternately illuminating his features and throwing them into shadow. She tried a different tack.

"Are you from SOLOMON Europe?" Again, no response. "It's just that that's where I'm from, originally. I thought we might have a few mutual friends –"

"No. I'm not. And STN operatives are not friends." The voice was detached, disinterested.

Doujima bristled. "That's not true! Sakaki's an idiot, but we get along fine. Miho's a bit serious and we're still friends. Michael has different interests to me but we can still relate. Chief –" she paused, wondering what to say about the Chief and Hattori. She elected to omit both "- well, you can't say that there are no friendships within the STN."

Jabez turned to look at her. "Have you ever taken the time to meet these 'friends' outside work?"

She frowned at the windscreen. To tell the truth – no, not really. The only time she'd ever gone out of her way was when Robin –

"Yes," she replied softly. "I have." Damn, she missed that girl. From the outset, she'd sensed a kindred spirit in the quiet fire Witch. Doujima had felt a right bitch calling her 'stupid' and 'annoying', but it had been necessary to maintain the deception.

He was still looking at her, those startling green eyes unreadable in the dim light of the car. "And where is that friend now?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "She's gone."

Jabez nodded, as if he'd expected her response. He opened his mouth to continue but at that moment a cell phone shrilled. Doujima reached for her phone just as Jabez pulled out his and flipped it open.

"Yes?" he queried sharply.

They were in sight of Raven's flat. Doujima eased the car down the drive and slid into a park. Jabez gave her a quick nod – thanks, she supposed, for the lift – then exited the vehicle. He stood for a moment, speaking into the phone in hushed tones, while Doujima fiddled with the keys, eavesdropping shamelessly. Then he spun on his heel and left the garage.

She got out of the car and leaned back on the bonnet, deep in thought. Curiouser and curiouser. She wondered why he had denied being from SOLOMON Europe…when he'd been speaking German on the phone.

Amon struggled up the stairs, cursing his choice in hiding places; the horrible timing of the emergence of his Craft; and all of these fucking stairs.

He reached the fourth floor and pushed against the stairwell door, careful to keep Robin's head clear. Then he walked out and cursed every single thing in the entire world, because lounging against the door to their apartment was one very smug Nagira Syunji.

A/N: Hey guys...sorry it took so long for the update on this one, and I hope this chapter wasn't too much of a disappointment. You're reading it in its pure, unbeta-ed form so please forgive any errors or awkwardness. Chapter Five is half done...hopefully it won't take me two months to put it up. :( Blame Full Metal Alchemist and Inuyasha. I'm kind of uncertain as to the tone of this chapter, so I'd appreciate any reviews.

Oh, and a quick thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially the Harry's goers who've checked it out. I love you guys!