Thicker Than Blood
Chapter Two
Her footsteps echoed in the stairwell as she ascended toward her apartment. Once she reached the door, she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open and closing it as she entered. It was a simple place. Nothing wild or dramatic. Plain white walls and stiff white carpet, white drapes and white tile in the small kitchen—it was the perfect place for two people who were hiding from the world.
Robin stepped into her bedroom and quickly changed out of her work clothes and into a plain black blouse and black jumper. She hung her clothes up and hurried into the kitchen to begin supper.
Amon was always hungry when he returned, though he never admitted the fact aloud.
Robin hummed slightly to herself as she chopped carrots and celery. They had eaten a cooked chicken the night before, and she had decided to use the broth for soup. In a few moments, she had a full pot of soup simmering on the stove, the aroma of chicken and vegetables filling the small apartment.
Robin curled up in one of the arm chairs and waited for the familiar clunk of Amon's heavy boots on the landing.
The sun rose bright and cheerful over the horizon, showering the green earth with warm rays of light. The summer sunshine filtered through the windows of the Burrow and filled the old, shabby dwelling with warmth. Twelve-year-old Ginny Weasly poked her head over the banister and gazed down into the kitchen.
"Well, don't just stand there," her mother fussed from the stove. "Come down here and help me get breakfast on."
Ginny nodded quickly and raced down the stairs, her bright red hair flying behind her. In a moment, both she and her mother had set out a lovely spread of breakfast foods.
"Someday, Ron needs to help with this," Ginny griped as she emptied the last of the sausages onto the bowl on the table.
"Now, now," Mrs. Weasly hushed her as the sound of many feet clumped down the stairs. "You leave the cooking to us. I don't want any of your brothers in my kitchen. They'd burn the house down."
"Mum, they'd burn the house down whether they were in the kitchen or not," Ginny sighed, taking her place at the table as the four Weasly boys tromped down the stairs.
Mrs. Weasly did not have to order them to start eating. All five Weasly children immediately filled their plates and began a rousing round of conversation regarding the nest of garden gnomes they had uncovered the previous day.
"Hey, Mum," thirteen-year-old Ron turned to his mother, "where's Dad?"
"He hasn't come back from the Ministry, yet, dear," Mrs. Weasly. "You can see the clock, can't you?"
Ron glanced at the clock on the wall. The hand with his father's face on it was still pointing toward, Work.
"Isn't that strange, Mother?" Percy, the oldest boy present asked. "He certainly should have been home by now."
"You know how your father's job goes, Percy," Mrs. Weasly sighed. "He can be out all night and all day if he must."
Slowly, conversation returned to the garden gnomes while the twins, Fred and George, threw wads of oatmeal at Ginny when their mother's face was turned.
A sudden loud crash caught all their attention, and they turned to the window at the side of the house. An old gray owl had slammed into the window and was spread-eagled against the glass.
"Ah, the post," Mrs. Weasly hurried to the window and let the old owl in.
"Errol, you're pathetic," Ron shook his head.
"Why don't you just send Pig?" Ginny glared at him.
"Because he's up in Ron's room flying circles around the ceiling, that's why," Fred cackled.
Ron's new screech owl, Pigwigeon, was remarkably hyperactive.
"What is it, Mother?" Percy suddenly asked.
The five Weasly children glanced at their mother. Mrs. Weasly held a piece of parchment in her hands. Her face was somber.
"Children, pack you things," she suddenly folded the letter up.
Gasps sounded from the five children.
"Mum, why?" Ron asked.
"There's been—Something's happened," Mrs. Weasly quickly began to gather the dishes. "Pack your things quickly. You're all going back to Hogwarts."
"Back to school?" Fred and George whined at the same time.
"Yes. Hurry."
"But, Mom—" Ron started.
"Don't argue with me!" Mrs. Weasly turned to them, her eyes on fire and her face turning red. "Get up to your rooms this instant and pack your bags!!"
Without another word, the five children scurried upstairs and started to pack.
Robin's eyes opened when she heard the door lock given an audible click. She unfolded her legs as the door opened and Amon stepped in.
As long as they had been living together, Robin could still never grow accustomed to seeing him in casual clothes. Presently, Amon was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt. He had pulled his hair back in a short ponytail, and he had hidden his stone gray eyes with a pair of nondescript sunglasses, which he removed as soon as he was indoors.
Robin greeted him with a smile and moved to the kitchen to finish supper. He only nodded and moved toward the shower. That was how their evenings always began.
Robin listened to the water start to run. She stirred the soup and cut some pieces of bread. As soon as she heard the water turn off, she ladled the soup into two bowls and placed them on their small dining room table. She arranged the bread on a plate and set it in the middle. Pouring two glasses of water, she sat down in her chair and waited.
Amon emerged from the bathroom, freshly scrubbed and smelling of cheap shampoo, and he sat in his chair. Robin blessed her plate while he waited patiently. Then, they ate in silence.
Amon finished his first bowl quickly and stood to get a second. Robin took the time to watch him. His movements were slow and tired. Working at the docks over the past three weeks had exhausted him, but it provided valuable information as to what was happening on the streets. He also gained multiple contacts with Paris underground intelligence.
Nonetheless, the hard, physical labor was taking its toll on him.
Robin turned back to her soup and bread.
"The soup has been cooking for a while," she heard his voice from the kitchen.
"Yes."
"When did you start it?"
"When I got back from work," she stirred her soup with her spoon. I knew he would ask. He won't be happy about Mr. Marceau. Should I tell him? Should I lie?
"Robin." His voice was sharp.
She looked up. He was standing beside her, his eyes cold.
"I asked you a question. Didn't you hear me?"
"No. I'm sorry, Amon."
"When did you get back?" he repeated for her benefit.
"Around—around 1:00."
"1:00? Isn't that a little early?"
"I left work early."
"Why?"
"No real reason. Don't worry, Amon."
"Robin."
She looked up at him again. His cold eyes had softened slightly, but his jaw was rigid.
"My boss wants me to have coffee with him," she whispered.
Amon nodded and returned to his seat, taking another bite of soup.
"You know you can't," he said sharply.
"I know," she answered, "but Mr. Marceau is insistent. He bought me a candle today."
"You didn't accept it, did you?"
"Of course, not," Robin scowled at him. "Well. Not really."
"Robin."
"Did you light it?"
She looked down, and he sighed hugely.
"It was an accident," she bit her lip. "I was thinking, and I wasn't paying attention. I didn't mean to light it. Truly, Amon."
He finished his second bowl of soup and set it down.
"You have to stop working."
Robin's head jerked up.
"It won't happen again, Amon," she pleaded. "I promise. And I'll tell Mr. Marceau that I can't have coffee with him one more time. I'm sorry. Please don't make me stop—"
"Nagira called me today," he interrupted her.
Immediately, Robin quieted.
"Nagira?"
"Yes," Amon set his spoon on the table. "SOLOMON is on the move."
"SOLOMON," Robin whispered. "How does Nagira know?"
"How does the fool know anything?" Amon shrugged.
"Maybe he talked to Doujima," Robin mused. "She helped us before."
"Perhaps. Either way, I don't like the fact that they're moving as rapidly as they are."
"What do you mean?"
"They've activated field offices in almost every station around there world, including here."
"We have to leave?"
Amon sighed again.
"Amon, we haven't even been here a month yet, and we have to leave again?"
His eyes bored into her.
"Where will we go?"
"London."
"Again?" Robin closed her eyes. "I didn't much care for London, Amon."
"Neither did I, but we have no choice. That's the best flight I can get right now. Besides, England is the only field that SOLOMON hasn't activated."
Robin nodded and looked down.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"There's nothing you could have done, Robin," he said quickly. "I have to make sure that everything is in order for our departure."
"Yes, Amon."
"Pack your things tonight. We leave first thing tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Amon."
He grabbed his black coat off the rack and headed for the door. Silently, he opened it and stepped out. Robin listened to the locking mechanism click.
She took a deep breath and gathered the dishes, setting them in the sink.
"I'll give the rest of the soup and our groceries to that poor woman down the hall," she said aloud. "She has so many children."
She packed up the soup and the remaining perishables from the refrigerator. She left the half-gallon of milk and a box of corn flakes for the morning meal and set the rest of the groceries on the top shelf in the refrigerator.
"We can leave them on her doorstep on our way out."
Robin closed the refrigerator door and moved toward the bathroom. She shut the door behind her.